While Writing Under the Influence…

If you’ve beat the Virus, you’ve got some grit. You deserve a badge for Life. Only those who had it knows how sick you can be, and what it takes to get well.

It all started on the tenth day of recovering from the Virus. I arrived at the Clinic, with a bottle of cough medicine under my belt, and medicine prescribed from the Emergency Room Staff.

The man at the admission counter was too, too, pretty. His flowing palomino white mane and mustache-to-match caught my attention. I made a mental note. I need to write about him when I get well. The lady at the first desk recognized my name and said, “I know Sweet Al.” And, immediately we bonded. I found a friend.

I sat down to wait. My daughter said, “Mother, you’re sitting on the wrong side. The sick patient side is over there.” I thought it was funny they had a well patient side.  As I blew, sneezed, hawked and coughed, the well patients all gladly moved to the sick patient side.

I said to her, “I don’t know their routine. I think I better stay here. The well patients won’t appreciate me following them to the sick side.”

“Mother, put on this mask.” Angel, my daughter handed me a mask and a germ free tissue. “Wipe your hands.”

I did what she told me to do. My body was so hot my glasses were fogging up as I tried to breathe into the mask. I couldn’t see. Steam was coming off me like a cup of hot coffee. I could’ve cooked an egg in the palm of my hand.

All I could think, I’m going to die. I was waiting for the big white light to lead me down a tunnel. In that moment of total despair, Cindy appeared in the light. She explained what I needed to do. “We’re going to give you stronger medicine. Your liver is abnormal, your white cells are too high, and your blood pressure is way too high. This Virus has been brutal to your body.”

I understand now why a sick person will deed everything they have over to a nurse. When you are that sick, you are so grateful for anyone who will protect you from yourself or the world, because you feel so helpless.

Cindy tried to explain what I needed to do. Nothing she said registered. “Get more tests. Go there on Thursday and here on Friday, don’t take any more of that, take this.” I couldn’t connect the dots. Finally, she recognized I wasn’t there. She wrote everything down, she guided me in and out, and took my hand like a little child.

I wanted to assure everyone I was sick and I didn’t normally act this way. I said, “I usually have a quick mind. I’m aware that I’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer at the moment. I can’t connect.”

Everything had gone into slow motion. I felt like Tim Conway in the dentist office. The nurses’ staff all nodded their heads and looked at me with pity. That was my sickest day, the scariest day, and the beginning of my get well day.

David, Al’s brother called every day to keep me in touch with the death rate, he said he didn’t think he was going to make it, either. He was tough, but this one almost done him in. This Virus had kept the Old Grey Wolf out of the chicken coop for four weeks. Those little chicks were fluttering around and were frustrated and they wanted him back in the chase. They were calling him again. I was thinking, Give the poor old man a rest. He’s been near death. Isn’t this a wakeup call?

Operating under codeine, everything became funnier and there was another and another story to write. My mind was checking back in.

I thought I was getting better and I wanted to get back to doing what I needed to do. This is when writing under the influence is not good. I sent off a couple of scorching letters, but I added, “I’m sick, too sick to deal with pleasantries.” I figured that was my disclaimer and I got to write what I wanted to say.

I had put my newly appointed office with our Southwest Writers Group on hold. One of my jobs was to schedule speakers for the year’s calendar. I was going on the third week of this wicked Virus, and I was beating it, especially with more cough syrup.

You got it, I wrote to this international speaker, who I don’t know, but who I found very warm and open. The more I wrote, the funnier I got. (Of course that was in my own sick mind.) I had written pages to her and waxed eloquent in humor. I had never been so clever.

The next morning, I realized I was under the influence of Codeine and I had shown her the treasury. It was a case of King Hezekiah. He was given another chance to live and became very generous. Not wise, but generous to his enemy.

I knew I had to apologize for myself and to tell her that my actions shouldn’t be a reflection on this group. I blamed it on the codeine. I had to undo what I had done. When I began to write, I wrote even more humorous and couldn’t stop typing. For this speaker who I don’t know, who flies all over the country speaking in conferences, I wrote volumes and volumes.

She wrote back: “And, just between you and me, when I take certain meds, my husband takes away the car keys and locks down my computer.”

I think she was telling me something, but I thought she was being funny. So, I wrote funny back, “Wise husband. I’m going to have to duct tape my fingers together so I won’t type. My Sweet Al says, ‘There are only two tools you need in your toolbox, duct tape and vise grips.’ If I don’t quit writing it will be vise grips for me.”

Final Brushstroke! When I’m back in my right mind, I’m going to have to survey the damage. It’s dangerous to write under the influence of cough medicine. You’re not the sharpest knife in the drawer and you think you’re funnier than you really are. 

Sweet Al - Please Pull the Plug!

The conversation came up between my daughter and I. We had heard a report that the parents of a young girl wouldn’t pull the plug. Their daughter was brain dead and she was being kept alive on a machine. The hospital didn’t have room to keep her, so they moved her to a special room where she remained hooked up. Her parents couldn’t let her go.

I said to Allison, “They should just let her go and be with Jesus. She’s trapped. Don’t do that to me.”

“I know.”

“No, I’m serious. Let me tell you now. You know how your daddy is? He gets really sentimental. You’re going to have to be the one.  Your dad would have me on a machine for years caught between heaven and earth, visiting me every day, bringing me flowers and crying over me. He’ll listen to you, he always does. If he can’t pull the plug, just go over and pull it for him.”

That conversation happened probably fifteen days before I got sick. After seven days with that wicked virus I found myself lying in the ER for 5 hours. If I could’ve, I would’ve pulled my own plug.

I realized we’re not as tough as we sound. Al had a cold 3 days before. He went to bed and slept. He was no problem. He didn’t need any care. I went on about my business.

Now I’m sick. He became the caregiver he was destined for. He became my loyal companion. He busily sang and whistled as he folded clothes and fluffed up my pillow. He said, “I could have been a good care giver.”

“Yes you are, Honey.”

He squared the pillow and put it in the pillowcase perfectly. He made the bed and turned down the sheet for me to get back into the bed. He changed the bedding four or five times that week and had the washer going all the time. I woke up in deep cold sweats with germs flying all over, but he didn’t leave my side.

He folded his nice soft white handkerchiefs and stacked them on my nightstand. He’d draw my bath every morning, light a couple of candles, and helped me into a bubble bath. He’d spray the room with disinfectant. He’d give me medicine, which my daughter dropped off for me.

 A couple of years before when I got a new bedspread with shams, I showed him to grow the flowers upward. Now I was sitting in the chair watching him make the bed, turning the sham one way, and then another way, trying to figure out how the flowers were supposed to be. My heart leaped for joy just looking at the beautiful heart of this man who has been my life partner.

Over the years, the kids made their dad promise not to wash their clothes when they came home. He’d put their sweaters in the dryer, and wash darks and lights together. He ruined their clothes but with all good intentions of being a good dad and wanting to help.

So when I told him, “I’m too sick to care, just wash them anyway you want, darks with lights.” I just made my Sweet Al a happy man.

Communication became a strain. I couldn’t talk over a whisper. If I said anything, he’d say, “Huh?”

“Nothing.”

“No tell me.”

“It hurts too much to talk.”

“It’s okay, I’ll listen.”

Our daughter came over and I’d lip something to her, then she’d tell her dad. I said to him, “You’re going to have to learn to read my lips.”

“What did you say? Tell me again.”

“I can’t. It hurts too much.”

I called Allison about the fourth day and said in a low voice. “It hurts too much to talk, just listen.  Your dad is giving me all this stuff. He doesn’t have his glasses on and he can’t find them. Should I be concerned? I don’t feel great.”

“Oh you’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.”

I said to Al, “I’m not taking another pill until I see the bottle and read the instructions.”

I slept for days. I was in a deep sleep when I heard a gong. I thought it was resurrection morning. I couldn’t remember if Jesus said he’d come back with a big bell or on a white horse, but all of a sudden it didn’t matter. I knew the bell was tolling for me.

I looked up to see Al standing at the end of our bed with a six-pound cowbell from outside. He was smiling. He was afraid he wouldn’t hear me if I needed something. He had it figured out.

“Honey, I can’t hear you when you talk. I’m going to put this on the bed next to you on this towel, and when I’m out of the room if you need anything, just ring it.”

I looked at it. “Al, it’s so heavy I can’t pick it up.” This guy thinks with his heart, it might not make sense, but I’ve always known where his heart is. It’s always full of love for me.

Then Al’s brother called every day from Albuquerque, reporting another person died because of this virus, flu bug and cold. I had been seven days on home remedies, and I wasn’t getting better, but worse.

Then Al got sentimental, “I love you too much to let anything happen to you. My brother said to take you to the doctor. You can’t fool around with this stuff.” And you know, if his brother says it, my Sweet Al is going to do it.

“I don’t have a doctor.”

“We’ll just get in the car and I’ll drive from one doctors’ offices to another until we find someone who will see you and give you a prescription.”

“In a few quiet words, I said, “No, you’re not going to drive me all over town looking like this.”

“But my brother keeps calling and telling me the death rate is rising. It’s now up to six.”

“The only place I’m going is to the emergency room.” And that’s how I ended up in the ER.

Next week’s article, it’s been almost twenty-one days, and I’m getting better. This cough is brutal. I got hold of the cough medicine and drank it all in one day. You can’t imagine how funny I can be while writing under the influence.

Final Brushstroke! I don’t think I’m as tough as I think I am. One thing for certain, life goes on and everyone is too busy to stop. If you’re really blessed you’ll have a Sweet Al who’ll take great joy in taking care of you. He’s been put to the test and he hasn’t wavered at all. No, there’s no way my Sweet Al could pull the plug.

How about those Ladies!

It was not quite a year ago, I stood beside a young tall girl who was hanging onto her mother in a rambunctious crowd. The two were watching the cameras flashing as the Pagosa boys were holding up their State First Place trophy. The boys passed the coveted golden object around to the other champion players.

The girls basketball team had been forgotten in the school parking lot for a moment, no mention was made of the girl’s accomplishment.  The young girl was doing everything she could do holding back the tears. Her heart was breaking.

I wanted to console her. I said to her, “It’s hard, isn’t it?”

She said, “Yes it is.”

The Pagosa Boys Basketball team had just returned with First Place at State. Key people were called from Wolf Creek Pass to get everyone ready to give the boys an entrance of their lifetime. “They’re coming. They have just gone over the Pass.”

Facebook, texting, phone calls and e-mail spread throughout the town. On Sunday afternoon, the good fans of Pagosa were there to welcome the boys home from State. Bright yellow signs, decorated cars and trucks with balloons, and flags were waiting for the Big Yellow Bus. The Press was there with a notebook and camera. Even Ron was there in his clown suit. It was the greatest moment for the Pagosa Boys Basketball Players since 1960.

The school bus windows went down, the boys leaned out the windows, and they knew they were heroes. It was like a scene from an old movie.  After the bus passed, the cars followed the players to the Pagosa High School parking lot. They were just boys, but they came home as men.

At the parking lot I asked, “Where’s the girls?”

“Oh they planned it for them to come in early so they wouldn’t feel badly.”

“They shouldn’t feel badly at all, they lost only one game at State. They went all the way, too. They ran up and down the courts as many times as the boys. They just didn’t get the trophy.”

As I reflect back to last year, I can only imagine the tears and the joy that went on in the Lucero family. Their son won First Place, their daughter didn’t. They both practiced and played their hearts out. That was the boys’ year, most of them were seniors, and they only had that year to prove they could do it and get a scholarship for college. A lot was riding on it for the boys.

The girls had another year to be more seasoned. They are on a roll, rolling down the highway in that big yellow school bus, going from here to there. To date, they have won all their games.

I believe today, if I had a chance to talk to the same young girl standing in the crowd with her mother, I would probably say to her, “Last year made you hungry, didn’t it? Your whole team became one from that experience, no one knows how it felt but the team.”

Final Brushstroke! I always love watching Hoosier. I remember the coach saying, “We have to break them down, in order to build them into a team to play as one.” I believe last year was the girl’s breaking-down season. They will never forget how it felt to come in second. It was harsh, but look at the girls this year! I’m putting my money on them.

Cut off at the Pass

One thing for sure, when you write a weekly column, you’re an open book to the world you live in. I would think if you are hiding a secret, cheating on your mate, or treating your neighbor badly, it’ll come out some way. It can’t be helped. It’s a small town and a small world we live in.

One of the reasons I feel like I can write what I do, I try to check my motives, my heart, and I figure its just life. I pray the Holy Spirit will read these articles to you. God keeps me on a short tether. Before the sun goes down, if I’ve done anything I’m ashamed of, or if there is someone I need to forgive or apologize for what I said or wrote, I can’t rest until I make it right. It’s that built-in Life of Christ in me. Believe me, the Lord wakes me in the night hour. I know when He’s talking. I know to listen.

There have been a few things I have written, which I wished I hadn’t. But, I trust the readers have overlooked them. They probably aren’t as important or close to home as they were to me. Everyone reads from his or her own heart. Making Al look badly is probably my greatest fear. He’s the love of my life.

Something has been bothering me for the last couple of weeks. I wrote a Movie Review on Cowboys*Indians, which was a movie by Ian McCrudden and his Pagosa-based production company, Epiphany Pictures.

I took a different voice. I looked at the way it was executed; the editing, sound, lighting and story structure. I kept my feelings out of it. I was very generous toward the film. I still feel like it was done well for the budget he had to work.

I understood it was R rated, but I went. I was really excited about having Mr. McCrudden’s company here and the great opportunity he offered to Pagosa. I overlooked the rating. I touched lightly on the content of the story. I didn’t like the darkness of the human soul, the nudity and the language. It was dark, raunchy and sleazy. I don’t want Pagosa to be represented in that way.

I kept ME out of the message. I didn’t say what I really wanted to say.  I concentrated on the WORK only. The Lord cut me off at the pass on this review and He has been gnawing on me ever since. I might have misled my friends of Pagosa. I need to apologize. I couldn’t say it was acceptable to me because it wasn’t.

Mr. McCrudden, you do not know me. You could be a great asset to our town. You stepped out of a predictable box and took a chance on a different way of producing a movie. You were determined and had the fortitude to push it to completion. You were gracious to the people of Pagosa. We need people like you in our little town.

 We are surrounded by all of this beautiful country, beautiful rivers, and beautiful people. I heard you were coming here to make another picture about an avalanche. I hope you do. I would like to make a couple of suggestions. This is a family town. There is something about the cleanness of the air, the principles parents are instilling in young people and the decency of our town people.

Maybe a good family movie doesn’t have enough teeth in it for you, but you could make some great movies here, like River runs through it, or The Horse Whisper. We have the location.

I hope you read this article. I want to cut you off at the pass now before you start another movie project. I’m only one voice but I know if you come in with good godly principles and make movies here, all of Pagosa will embrace you. We will gladly support you. I’ll sing your praise.

Final Brushstroke: I dug myself out of this avalanche, and I might be looking at another one coming. I’m looking forward to seeing movies made here if they aren’t R rated. I don’t know about R rated. Does it sell more tickets?

An Ugly Sweater Christmas

It was the year for ugly sweaters. I’m sure you’ve gone to at least one ugly sweater party in 2013. For us, we’ve done the party and it’s time to take them to the thrift store.

The children have all gone home and its quiet once again on the Lower Blanco. It’s funny about family. We raised them the same, but they operate at different speeds and different volumes of loud and quiet. We have night people and morning people. We have goers and stayers at home, but we are family.

I was putting the Christmas decorations away and thought about how much we enjoyed our children. We laughed all the time, mostly at ourselves. I’m not sure how we do it! Twelve family members, and four dogs spend two weeks together. And, we still love each other and want to spend time together whenever we can.

I saw this post on my son’s Facebook. He wrote, “I love that my family can be so candid…and then laugh. My mom ask why we came home (for the holidays), Cricket said that she came to serve, (Isn’t that beautiful? I feel a tear in my eye.) Angel said she came home out of obligation. (She really came home to Daddy.) My mom looked at me and said, ‘I suppose you just came home to be waited on.’ Allison, stay at your house, none of us can top Cricket.”

Families come home, apparently for different reasons. The most important thing is they come home. This is how our family manages to still love each other.

1. Let everyone be who they are. It’s not always easy. Our son came from the Philippines. He had jetlag, a cold and came off a big high and a big production. He was freezing in the 20 below weather the whole time. We have learned to put on another layer, he hasn’t.

He slept the first five days and spent two days texting and on Facebook. He never leaves his work thanks to mass media. While the family was opening presents, he was sleeping. When we were eating Christmas dinner, he was watching TV.

He is a foot taller than all of us and he scans the horizon over our heads as if looking for an eagle when he talks to us. No eye contact. I felt like I was with Robert Redford waiting for an autograph.

He brought home a recent magazine from the Philippines, about how the rich and famous live. He was in it. They interviewed him as someone doing good for the people in the Philippines whose roots are in the country soil of Pagosa Springs, Colorado. His article was about coming home for the holidays and missing us. Wow! That’s news to me.

We do not pamper him, or walk on eggshells around him. He doesn’t get any special attention. He gets a short rollaway bed sometimes and leftovers. Of course, if he would eat with the family, he’d get a fresh cooked meal. Believe it or not, he needs us.

When we were getting ready for our annual family portraits, he was outraged. “How can you take family photos looking like that? These are family portraits, how could you wear those ugly sweaters?”

“Because we’re doing ugly sweaters this year. It’s not my idea, but your sister’s. Lighten up and enjoy the family. Be a part.” Need-less-to-say, we will photo shop him in again this year. I think he was afraid it would show up on Facebook. Well, it did. Ha.

Finally on the last two days of his visit, he became the enjoyable, funny and witty Stephen we all love. We had to forget the first seven days. He took pictures of photos on the wall of Al and I in our twenties. He posted them on Facebook, as “Yup, They were hotties. Mother is on a diet so she can be bikini ready for Manila.”

I told him, “If you don’t act better, I’m not going. That’s final.”

2. To get along, we look the other way. We had four dogs here. With all the mud and dogs, I only lost my cool once. That was when the dogs ran in and Daisy jumped on our bed with mud on her feet.

After Christmas, I took the leftover turkey and made a big roaster of turkey soup. I put it out on the porch to stay cold. Yes, of course the dogs got into it and ate it all. My son-in-law said, “I was looking forward to turkey soup.”

I said, “You’re not getting any turkey soup this year.” 

3. Laugh a lot. During the picture taking, Allison said to me, “Mother, look better. You’re not looking right.”

I said, “I’m looking the best way I know how.”

“Well, mother, we’ve got to do something with your hair.”

“I was wearing a Santa’s Hat, that’s why my hair is a mess.”

“Not the whole time.”

“When the camera is clicking, don’t talk.”

“I’ll try not to.”
“When you talk, you close your eyes. Look at all the photos, you have your eyes closed in every one of them.”

My comment to her was, “Go ahead and shoot me and take me out of my misery.”

4. Let everyone do what they want to do.  We had puzzles, chess games, and Hallmark movies all going at the same time. After the evening meal, Allison is famous to say, “What game do we ALL want to play? We have Apples to Apples, Farkle, Thirty-One or Spinners.”

I said, “I’d like to play Scrabble.”

“No, Mother. No one wants to play Scrabble. We all play together.”

Some of the family went shopping in Durango, others shopped in Pagosa and some of us stayed close to home.

Our oldest daughter and I made two videos, one of our ugly sweater picture day and a demo for an art project. She came to serve. I took advantage of her beautiful heart. My daughter taught me how to make and edit videos. The result was a family movie night with the ugly sweaters. I laughed until I cried. Of course, I added the subtitles, which I thought was really funny. (The family didn’t see the humor in them.) The delicious rum cake given to the family by Traci, of which I had two pieces, helped also. The family thought watching me watch the video was funnier.  I’m still laughing and the rum cake is all gone. (Traci, next year we need two rum cakes.)

5. Love them no matter what, even if they don’t want to play Scrabble with you. Then they will always come home.

Final Brushstroke! Remember the Five L’s

1. Let everyone be who they are.

2. Look the other way.

3. Laugh a lot.

4. Let everyone do what they want to do.

5. Love them no matter how they act or why they come home.

….Or you could do the No-elllllllls and book your next holiday in Hawaii! The tan would be nice but the laugh lines that you would miss are priceless.