Posted on by ChatterLei · 2 Comments

Are You Living My Dream?

It was the year I turned twenty. Two months later my my fiance and I were married. I became a wife and instant mom (a story for another post). I left home for the first time and moved with my husband from a western state to the eastern (midwestern?) state of Ohio in the Sandusky area.

One of the first Sundays we went to church, I met a married woman in her 30’s. I don’t remember her name, but I remember the experience like it was last week. She invited us to their campsite for dinner one evening. I do not remember what we ate for dinner or much about our conversation, but I remember feeling so at home in the cozy camp chair near the fire. I remember being surprised when she told us that she and her husband didn’t have a home to go back to. The camper was their home. They seemed so laid back, without a care in the world.

He with his long hair and she with her longer hair were not scraggly looking. They wore comfortable summer shorts and had a bit of a hippy vibe that surrounded them, especially when he pulled out the guitar as the shadows lengthened across the campground. Night was falling and here we were so far from the “city” (smallish town) where I grew up, listening to him play folk songs on his guitar. I remember her voice was lower when she sang. They sang as comfortably as they spoke. That was when it became a little awkward. We are not singers, so rather than comfortably joining them in song, we nervously smiled and sang a note here and there. The did not seem to mind.

I was enthralled with their voices, but mostly with their lifestyle. That scene is indelibly burned into my mind. That is the life I wanted to live. It represented freedom and a carefree way of life on the road, stopping every few towns and staying for awhile-just long enough to meet new people, hear their stories, and gather up friends along the way. I have always wanted that. I still do.

A few years ago when I worked as a professional wedding photographer, I remember telling my husband I wanted to travel from town to town and capture in photography and in words the lives of people I meet along the way. Then I discovered “Humans of New York” and it was amazing! but, my idea was already done…it was so fun to see the photos of everyday people in New York and read their stories alongside the photos. I wanted to do the small town version of that, but the wind kind of blew out of my sails when I saw that book. Somewhere in the back of my mind, that dream still lives. However, it seems to be further back in the recesses of my mind because I am not getting any younger.

There are blogs written by people who live the “nomad” lifestyle. They are living my dream. I am sure it is not always easy on the road, but it sure seems like a lifestyle I could live, at least for awhile. When I come across a blog or vlog of someone sharing their story of that life, I live, if only for a moment, vicariously through them. It almost always takes me back nearly 40 years to that one moment, a moment I have longed to repeat…sitting around a campfire without a care in the world, enjoying the peaceful surroundings, and making new friends along the way.

Actually, it takes me back further, to my childhood days of camping with my family. Fishing in the lake and playing in the sand in the daytime. Then, sitting around the campfire under the stars eating marshmallows at night. I loved listening to the adults tell stories and reminisce about days gone by.

It brings a tear to my eye even now, knowing that is a lifestyle I long for, but will never be able to have due to my own family circumstances.

So, if you are living my dream (or even if not), give me a like and/or follow so I can read about your experiences on the road and relive that nostalgic moment I once had so very long ago.

Posted on by ChatterLei

Memories

What makes you feel nostalgic?

Memories of time spent with family or friends, looking through old photographs, and reminiscing with my mom.

Posted on by ChatterLei · 2 Comments

Gone Too Soon

My newest coworker is happily married. She and her husband both have good jobs. They have three sons. The oldest son has been on a mission in Brazil for their church for over a year. The second oldest son is a senior in high school. The youngest is a junior at the same high school. They are a happy family living the American dream, with a house, two cars, and a dog. Until…

Last night, just before midnight, their American dream became a nightmare….

This morning, when I arrived at work, it was shared with me that my coworker’s son (the senior) was killed in a car accident last night.

The news article said a teenager driving a small car on a highw]ay crossed over the center line, crashing head-on into a pickup truck, killing himself, and the 28-year-old male driver of the truck. Neither driver was wearing a seatbelt.

This young man’s tragic death is worsened by the fact he and his girlfriend were in a fight not long before the accident. The girlfriend is devastated and feels her life has been shattered.

My coworker and her husband, this young man’s parents, are beyond grief-stricken, as you can imagine. No parent should ever have to lose a child. I think of all of this boy’s family, friends, classmates, and neighbors, whose lives have been touched by him. Those who want, but will never get, to see him again, at least in this lifetime. My heart breaks for them, all.

Give your loved ones an extra tight hug tonight. You never know when it just might be their last.

Posted on by ChatterLei

Empty

Over the past ten years, music is what we have used to help spirits go home by the thousands at a time. Why? Because everyone has a song, a melody, or a hymn that touches their soul. Something from their childhood. Their first love. Their first lost. Music, is a part of us. Music, IS […]

Empty

This puts my thoughts into words beautifully.

Posted on by ChatterLei

Three A.M. Awakening

The title makes this post sound more ominous than it is. I was awakened at 3AM in the middle of a bout of hiccups. They were going on at regular intervals and light enough they were not painful, only slightly irritating. After all, they woke me up before my alarm, two hours early. When I sat up and got out of bed to go to the kitchen to get a glass of water, the hiccups strengthened, becoming way more irritating. I opened my bedroom door and took a step out. When I stepped through the doorway, I was startled by a sound in the kitchen and glanced up to see if there was movement. Of course there was not anything there, so I walked to the kitchen to choose a glass to fill with water. I realized while reaching for the cupboard door that my hiccups had stopped. Apparently, that little startle in my doorway was enough to “scare” the hiccups away.

The cool drink of water was refreshing anyway. I took it back to my bedroom, set it on the night stand, and began perusing the news online. Nothing positive, same old stories. Trump and Kamala are racing for the Whitehouse, calling each other names and pointing out why one is more deserving of our votes than the other. There was another senseless school shooting resulting in more death. Oh, and there was a car chase in Florida that was caught on camera from high above the freeway where the chase took place. This one ended when the driver of the car being chased clipped the corner of a pickup, sending the pickup in a tailspin across the road, and slowing down the driver so the more than 16 police cars that were chasing after the him could slow to stop behind driver, get out of their cars, guns drawn, leaving their doors open as a shield while waiting for the suspect to exit the now-wrecked undrivable car. They made the arrest and, I assume, eventually opened the closed road, so the miles of cars backed up on the freeway could make their way to their destinations. That was 45 minutes of my life I will never get back.

It is now before 6:30 AM as I sit and type this. My simple morning routine is complete. I am ready for the day, whatever it brings. Hopefully, it will not include more hiccups.

Posted on by ChatterLei

Perfect

What is a word you feel that too many people use?

In the years 2006 thru 2010 when I was working for myself as a people photographer shooting weddings, engagements, bridal sessions, senior photos, and family sessions. I remember, especially in the years 2008 to 2010, arranging the people to set up the shot. When I would get a person in the ideal placement for the photo, I would say, “Perfect!” I don’t remember hearing that word other than when I proclaimed their perfect placement and asked them not to move.

In the fall of 2010, I began working for a doctor as his receptionist. I remember that following year recognizing that people were using the word “perfect” instead of saying “that’s great” or even when a simple “thank you” would suffice. Had I started a trend? Or was it there all along, but I just became aware of it?

I had never heard it used in the context in which it was now being used. And, overused, I might add. It reached a point of overuse over a short few years, in fact. So much so that I purposely avoided using it.

It has become a source of irritation when, for example, I hand someone my debit card for payment or if I am checking in at a hotel and need to show them my debit card and driver’s license. They look the cards over and exclaim, “perfect” in place of a simple “thank you” while handing the cards back to me. The worst example is when they give a long, drawn-out, high-pitched version of the word: “Perrrr fect!”

Ugh… Gag me with a spoon! 😉

Posted on by ChatterLei · 1 Comment

And then this happened…

Feeling very emotional, one day, I wondered if I could release my emotions through a fictional scene created from emotions I was feeling. In my mind, I was screaming right along with her. Here is the result…

“NOOO!!  It was NOT supposed to happen this way!!” Her screams echoed through the trees.

“Nooo! Nooo! Nooo! Please, God, don’t let this happen!” Not even the forest could contain her anguished cries.

The bodies of both men were lifted into the back of the first and second ambulances. The flashing of the lights, the cop cars surrounding the campground, the EMTs trying to calm her and keep her from pulling more locks of hair from her head as she screamed like a mad woman, was all so surreal.

“Who will put the fire out?” She sobbed, barely able to breathe. She jerked away from the medical technician holding her by the arm. Robotically walking in circles around the firepit, her hands over the sides of her cheeks, cupping her face, she thought, “It doesn’t matter now. NOTHING matters!”  

Those dancing flames that once represented happiness and life, will now forever represent the end of dancing. The end of a dream. The end of breath. The beginning of a nightmare. Her nightmare. The one she created….

It is not very long, but it’s a start. And it is fiction. And it worked! The emotions I felt were screamed right out along with her feelings. In my mind, I screamed with her, pulled my hair out with her, jerked away from the technician, sobbed and walked around the firepit aimlessly. It was a very interesting experience/experiment.

The story brings up so many questions and could go any direction. Thoughts?

Posted on by ChatterLei

Hospice or Not?

    My dad had his first stroke on December 14th, 2023. After a series of watershed strokes, several rides to the hospital in the back of an ambulance, time in and out of the emergency room, a couple of weeks in a rehabilitation center, and three more trips back and forth to the ER, he was sent home on hospice with “comfort care.”

    He was driven to his home via non-emergent transport from the hospital. Home is where he wanted to be for however many days he had remaining. It was a Sunday. Monday and Tuesday were fairly good days. Wednesday, he started seeing children playing around his bed. Dad was full of smiles. His demeanor was relaxed and peaceful as he watched the children play. Even when he could not quite catch the pork that was floating at the end of his bed, he seemed unbothered. Thursday, there was less talking and more sleeping. By Friday, late afternoon, he had slipped into unconsciousness. 

   We were not fully prepared for what came next. The “death rattle” type of breathing began at 6pm Friday night. For twelve and a half hours, we surrounded our dad, husband, and grandpa, administering medication to him via syringe between his cheek and tongue, as we listened to that rattle. At first, it was administered every 2 hours, then one hour, then every 30 minutes at the direction of the hospice nurse via telephone on call that night. We were up all night. No nurse came. No matter how many times we called to explain that our dad seemed to be in distress, unable to swallow (for the last 12+ hours) the medication inevitably draining down the back of his throat. No suctioning was offered. Nothing.

   We were together as a family but alone in this process. We were exhausted to the point of tears, each of us lost in our own loneliness and confusion. Torn between the desparate need to hang on to this man, who is THE central part of each of our lives, and letting go, knowing his body gave him 84 years, but would not be able to give him one more day. It was his time to go home to his family, who were waiting to greet him on the other side of death. He took his last breath at 6:30 a.m. on Saturday morning. 

My sister’s grief poured out of her body in inconsolable sobbing and wailing exhales of emotion that her heart could no longer hold. Her daughter, my daughter, our mom, and I all wrapped her in arms of love, understanding exactly how she felt.

I don’t remember who made the call to the hospice nurse. I do remember watching the men from the funeral home load my dad into the back of their van and pull out of the driveway.  I don’t remember anything else, except feeling the need to sleep.

A few weeks after the funeral, my mom, my sister, and I met with the director of the home health and hospice company to share our experience. We do not want another family to experience the trauma our family experienced with “comfort care.”

We explained that expectations and options were not made clear. The nurse never offered to come lay eyes on our dad to make sure we didn’t need to change what we were doing. He did not appear comfortable. My understanding was that hospice meant comfort care. Our experience of comfort care was anything but comfort.

Home health and hospice listened intently to our concerns. We hope they make the changes they said they will, so anyone using their hospice service in the future has a positive experience of their loved one’s passing.

The good memories of our dad help to soften the pains of our loss. For that, we feel immense gratitude. 

Posted on by ChatterLei

Shelter Island – Sunday afternoon

After a day of battling traffic on the freeway, following behind my brother-in-law and sister, who were nearly taken out by a pickup pulling a trailer of dune buggies and four-wheelers, and reaching speeds over 100mph, it was a welcome relief when we arrived at our destination in Southern California. My sister, her head leaning out of the car window, stated, “Never traveling here on a Sunday after Thanksgiving ever again. That traffic was horrendous!” I agreed. It felt good to stretch my legs and back, stiff from sitting in the pickup truck so long. Our arrival was about two hours before check-in time, but we were told at the desk one of the rooms would be ready in about 45 mins.

We parked in the same spot as last year. The first slot was available nearest the entrance to our hotel building. Pulling the wheelchair from the back of the truck was a fairly easy feat. The four of us took our first walk across the road over to the pier. I was surprised at how crowded it was with people fishing from the pier, eating at the at the outdoor bistro, walking their animals, etc. Last year there was hardly anyone on the pier when we arrived. The difference probably was the day of the week. This year was a Sunday afternoon. Last year was a Monday evening.

While on the pier, we met a man walking a very spoiled and friendly dog named Spud. His owner, whose name I neglected to ask, was very friendly himself. He offered to let us pet Spud, stating the dog is very friendly and likes to be loved on. I declined due to allergic reactions to animals that have increased over the years. My sister happily pet the pooch, though. Spud was then joyfully on his merry way.

One thing that stands out about this area is how relaxed and friendly everyone is. Is it like that everywhere in San Diego? Or just in the park along the Bay?

Memories / Ghosts of the past

My mind was flooded with memories from our stay here last year. The first impressions are always the strongest when in a new place or meeting someone for the first time or experiencing things not experienced prior to that moment. It was like that for me when searching for seashells on the beach in Corpus Christi, or eating authentic tacos under the hut on the beach in Cozumel, Mexico, or on the sunset whale-watching cruise in San Diego, last year. Have you ever had beef wellington on the Queen Mary off the coast of Los Angeles? Or have you experienced seeing the birth of a grandchild and holding that sweet grandchild when only a few hours old? That is an unforgettable experience for sure. I could go on and on.

Memories from last year are like that for me. It is best described as ghosts floating in and out of my vision and mind with every step I take on these walkways around the hotel and on the island. This year I will add new memories to ones of last year. The activities of today, which will become memories of tomorrow, are important. My husband is planning to show me where he lived and share his memories of time he spent in San Diego while stationed here in the Navy. The view from our hotel balcony is of North Island Naval Base. Watching the naval ships cruise in and out of San Diego Bay, seeing the fighter jets take off, and hearing the noise of the afterburners, awakens the ghosts of his past for my husband. We are looking forward to revisiting and sharing his memories in the coming days.

Posted on by ChatterLei

Unshaken

What podcasts are you listening to?

Unshaken Saints | a podcast by Jared Halverson
https://unshaken.podbean.com/

Jared is intelligent and educated… outside of Utah. Give him a listen.

Actually, I often forget to listen to podcasts. Plus, time is not most plentiful in my life these days. Working full-time, spending quality time with my husband every day, cooking, cleaning, extended family time, counseling appointments to prove to myself the insanity of life has not taken me down yet, and throwing in a blog reading and post now and then takes up plenty of time.

When I am cooking or cleaning and feel like seriously learning, those are the times I listen to podcasts. If not in the mood for listening to talk, I like to “move it, move it” to Zumba music or crank up Miranda Lambert. Or when chilling and journaling by the fireplace, slow it down a bit with Macy Gray or the jazzy voice of Emma Nissen.

Whether you listen to a podcast or your favorite music, make it a great day!!