What I Learned From David Clapp

David’s hair smelled like hot sand when he was a sweaty toddler. He was very quiet downstairs one day. I got suspicious. I went downstairs and he had green all around his mouth, like a clown mouth. I said, “David have you been sucking on the green marker? ”  

He said, “No, Mommy.”

All I could do was laugh and take his picture.   

He was the first child.We made a lot of mistakes with him.  He floundered in college then found his footing in his faith. Then he met Jen the Wonderful. They are going to be missionaries on a college campus with the Navigators, a Christian organization that helps students get to know God. 

He’s almost 30 now. But the other day I remembered how his hair smelled and the green marker. If I think about the past the present passes me by—all the kids, original kids and added kids, around the dinner table last Sunday. If I think about the future, Jen and Dave, Jesse and Margaret, Bobby and Shayna, then I miss the joke that has just been told.

And when they talk about their lives I wonder where I was. I drove them and fed them; put did I see them or hear them? I wish I could have them back as kids for a couple ours just to watch them. 

 In spite of all the mistakes in parenting and my majoring in the minors like food and clothes, when I needed to listen and read to them more, my kids grew up into amazing people. Even the later kids like Rachel who joined our family at 21, and Shayna who joined at 16, and Heather and Ayden are pride- producing.

I don’t know how they got that way.

 I’m not fishing for a mothering complement. I’m thanking God. 

I sat at the table Sunday and looked at Dave and the rest. I thought it was a privilege to know such great adults.  And I still remember what they looked like when I met them all the first time.

What I Learned About Triggers

Last week, at the end of our week in a vacation house, Roger came in the bedroom and said, “I’m going to pack the car.”

I leaped from bed and began to rush around. I tried to pack, clean the house, eat my breakfast, separate dirty clothes from clean ones, clean out the refrigerator, and get dressed all at once. I felt rushed, harried, pressured. When I turned to yell at Roger for pressuring me, he was staring at me like I had suddenly lost all my marbles.  

Once I heard a father speak to his unruly children in Spanish. He said, “Sit down and be quiet.” I had the overwhelming urge to run over to the bench he pointed at and sit down and be quiet. I didn’t remember the words from elementary school Spanish I just remembered what to do.

Like I knew the words, “I’m’ going to pack the car,” meant hurrying up and help before my mother and father argue.  My mother was more creative than organized. My father did things yesterday. So when my father came home from work and said, “I’m going to pack the car,” a bomb or rushing pressure went off in our house. You knew it was time to be helpful and that you would at least feel the tension between the parents, if you didn’t get yelled at for doing or not doing something. 

I couldn’t believe how those packing the car words brought back the tension. I reacted to Roger as if he were already mad at me because I stayed in bed when he packed the car! 

I sure hope my kids don’t have any words like that. Maybe they will have a nice trigger. Whenever I smell- just- blown- out- candles, I expect Angel food birthday cake. How about you?  

What I Learned At Uncle Jerry’s Funeral

I learned yet again that I have a family to be proud of, a family who loves each member old or young. Hospitality is a condition of the heart, and I was reminded once more where I learned what I know about opening my heart and loving others. 

The following poem was written by Carol Gillespie. She read it on 2/14/12 at the funeral of her father-in-law and my Uncle Jerry Gillespie. It is modeled after Mary Frye’s poem called Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep. 

If you knew Uncle Jerry, you’ll know why Carol picked the images she picked. If you didn’t know him, you’ll still enjoy this lovely poem.  Carol is the blogger this Tuesday. Thanks, Cuz.

Do not stand at my grave and mourn,

I am in the sound of the Atlantic’s low roar.

I am the ocean’s sparkling white light,

I am in our grandchildren’s smiles so bright.

I am the breeze off Nags Head beach,

I am the push to help a child’s earnest reach.

I am in the million grains of sand,

That fall from your waving outstretched hand,

I am the vapor from a chemistry lad,

I am in plastics, and that isn’t so bad.

I am Georgetown’s gray and blue,

I am in Jeannette’s book of Who’s Who.

I am the rain drop that fell on your cheek,

 I am the star wish you thought of last week.

I am the quiet before the movie starts,

 I am the peaceful beating of two loving hearts.

 Do not stand at my grave and cry,

 I am not there, I do not die.

Carol Gillespie 2012

Written upon the passing of Gerald Gillespie- Feb. 9, 2012.

What I Learned on my Ground Hog’s Day Birthday

My friends are nuts. Maybe that is just a condition of being friends with me. Sane people look at me and say, “Run, run, run as fast as you can . . .” but people who are just a little (or a lot) off say, “Hmm, she looks like an interesting person . . . “  

One of my friends, a cake artist, made a birthday cake that depicted the truck that is driven by the main character in my book.  Lutie, the main character, backs her books in a retired U-Haul truck and runs away from home. Have you ever had a U-Haul truck cake for your birthday?  

I just sent the book away for an agent to look at, so several of my friends included Lutie in their wishes for a great year. Just as if Lutie is a real person in their heads too! 

Another one posted a picture of my grandmother’s paint-by-number Last Supper on her web site. Of course, under the paint by number is a sign from my now defunct purse business. The sign says, “The larger the purse the smaller the body appears.”  She saw some humor those two things together!

Another friend made a sign that included valentines to and from my book characters, and another drew me a cute ground hog to hang on my wall. My sister sang me the groundhog song, (call her if you want to hear it).  Shayna made me art that looked child-like because she said I didn’t have any art from when she was a little kid. 

My friend Diane, the ground hog painter, also made me a lovely painted stick so I could smack the boys if they get out of line at our writer’s meetings on Saturdays.  

And to the rest of you who posted on my face book, or sent cards or called?  I was blessed beyond belief by all of you. I’m gonna have fun as a 56- year- old- kid and I want all of you to come along with me. And reserve next Ground Hog’s Day to come to my house for another birthday party!