Weekend Musings

Jack is OK, thank goodness. His blood work was perfect, which means he picked up some kind of doggie virus and fever somewhere along the way. A shot of penicillin from the vet did the trick, knocking it out of his system. $200 later ...

I was needing a "grace-snack" big time yesterday, after a week of difficult news on the health front. We found out my mom's cancer is very different than the one two years ago, this time much more aggressive. The fear of it spreading is forefront is our minds. This is all just so heavy -- feeling like a sodden, weighty blanket weighing us down. My "grace-snack" came in the form of a nice visit from a friend -- her son and my kids played nicely indoors and out, while we had coffee and banana bread and talked. I was able to unload a bit, cry some, resent this latest wave that has crashed on our shore. Unloading helped, with a caffeine kick to boot.

Today we bought a beautiful red Gerbera daisy for my mom to cheer her up. Gerbera daisies are some of the most inherently cheerful plants -- how can you not look at it and feel your spirits being lifted? Bright red blooms set against the rich green leaves -- it's gorgeous. There's a little grace-snack right there. Thanks, Trader Joe.

This afternoon we're heading out the mall for a portrait appointment for Grace. This is a "tradition" we've followed, having a professional portrait taken for each year of their little lives. I have a cute little blue floral dress all set to go, but I am going into this with very low expectations. My girl is a spit-fire with ants in her pants, as the saying goes. I am not expecting perfection, a sweet little girl sitting serenely in front of the camera for a great length of time. I'm expecting silly faces, blurry shots, perhaps even a tantrum or two. That would be more true to life, of course -- capturing a girl on the go.

Don is singing another solo on Sunday, and this one is a killer for me: "Precious Lord, Take my Hand." The last time I sang this song was on my grandmother's death bed, having arrived at the hospital a few days after her terminal stroke. She hadn't been responsive since it happened, but the gift to me was the fact that when she heard my voice she opened her eyes for a moment, and tears started streaming down her face. I'll never forget that moment. My mom took her hand, I held her other, and we started to sing this song --

Precious Lord, take my hand, lead me on, let me stand,
I am tired, I am weak, I am worn;
Through the storm, through the night, lead me on to the light:
Take my hand, precious Lord, lead me home.

When my way grows drear, Precious Lord, linger near,
When my life is almost gone,
Hear my cry, hear my call, hold my hand lest I fall:
Take my hand, precious Lord, lead me home.

When the darkness appears and the night draws near,
And the day is past and gone,
At the river I stand, guide my feet, hold my hand:
Take my hand, precious Lord, lead me home.

That was the last time I ever saw her. I can't sing this song without shedding tears, and especially now, living in our latest shadow ... oh man. Another wet Sunday.

Happy thoughts: we started our day with homemade blueberry muffins, courtesy of my husband. You can't beat that. It will be a good day.