Living Happily Ever After
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My Signature

Date: February 15, 2012  Author: Andrea Merriman

Note: In honor of this month of love, I felt a few love-related posts are in order…

“A man’s kiss is his signature.” (Mae West)

I was raised in a physically demonstrative family—that is to say I grew up in a family of kissers. My parents kissed me before I went to bed each night; my grandparents, aunts and uncles always welcomed me with a kiss; my great aunt, Aunt Ireta, a tiny woman infamous for puckering up her brightly painted lips to greet me never failed to warm my heart with her hello kisses.

With kisses playing such a role in shaping what I’ve become, it comes as no surprise that they led to second marriage moment #30.

One night my new husband, my boys and I were driving in the car. Somehow the subject turned to kissing and of course, my sons just had to make comments about me and how I kiss “everyone.” (In my defense, I’m not the lone kisser in the world. I think it was Jimi Hendrix who said, “Excuse me while I kiss the sky.” I’ve never done THAT! Lol.)

And then suddenly, an epiphany dawned in the minds and faces of my sons. They looked at each other, laughed and one of them gleefully taunted my husband: “HA HA! Now YOU have to be her victim!”

My husband just smiled, looked at my son and replied, “That’s ok. I don’t mind!”

I’m glad he feels that way. Because, “A kiss is a rosy dot over the ‘i’ of loving.” (Cyrano de Bergerac—my favorite play, by the way.)

And because of how I was raised which contributed to making me who and how I am, I don’t see my thoughts on the subject or my propensity to administer kisses changing any time soon.

I believe there is power in them, for sure. They can make you something. After all, “A kiss from my mother made me a painter,” said Benjamin West.

And remember to give them the focus they require. “Any man who can drive safely while kissing a pretty girl is simply not giving the kiss the attention it deserves.” (Albert Einstein)

Smart man.

Marital Advice

Date: April 12, 2011  Author: Andrea Merriman
“This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.” (Winston Churchill) 

The official honeymoon, the part where we went away just the two of us, came to an end just four days later. It was time to get back to our children, our jobs and our new life. I confess, I’ve never been one to leave my children, but strangely, this time as much as I missed them, I could have stayed a few more days with #5:)

We drove back to Utah, enjoying every moment of the drive and the last few minutes of one-on-one time together.

Married.

Happy.

And desirous to remain so. I found a fun suggestion: “Happiness consists of living each day as if it were the first day of your honeymoon and the last day of your vacation.”

Not bad advice, huh?

Anyone else have any marital advice for the newlyweds? We’re open to any and all suggestions…

“Over the next four years, I will continue to listen to different views and accept different suggestions.” (Chen Shui-bian)

Today’s Crisis Is Tomorrow’s Joke, I Hope

Date: February 2, 2011  Author: Andrea Merriman

“I don’t know how to drive a car.” (Javier Bardem)

However, my daughter is learning to. She’ll be 16 in two months, so despite the fact she’s had her learner’s permit for almost a year, we’re feeling the pressure to get her as much experience behind the wheel before her birthday as we can. Easier said than done, though. Especially when I work full-time in another city.

So tonight we combined a driving lesson with a quick errand. Note to self: it would probably be wise to never attempt teenage daughter driving lessons after working all day and commuting both directions in traffic!

She drove. When I instructed her to turn right, she turned left–like she didn’t know her left from her right. (She really does, and she’s a smart girl, but I think she gets a little flustered behind the wheel.) One time when I instructed her to turn left, she hesitated so long the car behind her got in the turn lane, pulled up beside her and she nearly hit them when trying to get in the lane to turn.  After taking the LONG way to our destination, and experiencing her struggle to both use the turn signal and to change lanes, I admit it wasn’t my finest 20 minutes as a mother.

So by the time she ran a stop sign, cut off the car who actually had the right of way, forced them to slam on their brakes to avoid an accident, which apparently angered them because they tail-gated our car all the way down the street until they could whip around us, cut in front of us and slam on their brakes (to reinforce their anger at the way our driver was driving, I guess) I was completely out of patience.

I lectured her thoroughly (and loudly.)

Upon arriving home, my daughter went straight to her room, crying, committed to never getting behind the wheel of a car again. I make an impressive driving instructor, don’t you think? Or at the very least, an impressive mother. (Not.)

Ironically, tonight a friend told me that I have a very nice daughter and that I’m a good mother. Of all the days to tell me that! I had to confess how not true that is today. I can only hope that, “The crisis of today is the joke of tomorrow.” (H.G. Wells)

Or that she’s at least speaking to me by then, so we can laugh about it!

I apologized to her several times tonight, but I’m thankful “tomorrow is another day,” a new opportunity to stand up and do things better as a mother and as a driving instructor–if my daughter will consent to drive again.

“If you fell down yesterday, stand up today.” (H.G. Wells)

Just don’t run any stop signs.

MAC Lipstick And One Water Ski

Date: August 16, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

Our relationship continues.

Every time we talk, text or see each other, she continues be so friendly, kind, patient and loving. She hugs me. She doesn’t miss a chance to express her love and gratitude for me. She shares her perspective and experience with me. She isn’t afraid to tell me, honestly, what she thinks. She is accepting of everyone. She is beautiful inside and out. She is a positive force for good in the world, in my life and for my children.

We’re getting to know each other. We even had our first “sleep over” last month, just she and I–going to dinner, soaking in a hot mineral tub at The Homestead and chatting about anything and everything until late at night.

My children are getting to know her and getting used to her. The first time they met her, they stared at her. A lot. I couldn’t figure out what their problem was, but every time I’d look at my two oldest children, they’d be raising their eyebrows at each other or laughing. On the way home, I asked them what was so funny.

My oldest son said, “Mom, it’s like you two are the SAME person! You do EVERYTHING alike. It’s uncanny!” And he listed the many similarities he had observed in the short time he’d spent with her–right down to the way we both speak, to the way we get side-tracked in a conversation, to the way we talk with our hands (even on the phone), to the way we both have to have lipstick on all of the time, to the way we apply our lipstick in the same way,multi-tasking, while we drive a car! (To the fact that both of us carry and use MAC lipstick without the lids–we lose them.)

“I drive with my knees. Otherwise, how can I put on my lipstick and talk on my phone?” (Sharon Stone)

Although we have our differences.

My birth mother took me out in her boat the other weekend. She is 66 years old now, still really trim and very fit and athletic. She easily got up on one ski (something I’ve never been able to do), skied all around the reservoir (I’ve never been able to do that–I crash before I make it that far!), and then took one foot out of the ski so she could do stunt poses while the boat towed her. (Something I’ve never thought to do and wouldn’t be able to even if I wanted to!)

When she held on to the tow rope with her toes to free her hands so she could do even bigger stunt poses, I had to shake my head in awe. I thought everyone had been joking when they told me she’d water ski with her toes given the chance! Nope.

Clearly, I got ripped off in the genetics of water skiing department!

But that’s ok. She has two skis in her boat. And apparently, I’ll be the only one using two skis as I maintain a death grip on the tow rope…with BOTH hands.

“How about that? That squirrel can water ski.” (Ron Burgundy aka. Will Ferrell, “Anchorman“)

Another Drive

Date: August 9, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

She asked me if I was willing and available to meet in person.

I told her I was open to anything she was, so she invited me to her home that weekend. I felt bad that it was so “last minute,” I didn’t want to disrupt any plans she may have had, and offered to meet any time in the coming month or even later than that if that was better for her. She said no, that was too long. She didn’t want to wait that long.

And with counsel from her to refrain from forming any judgements about her prior to meeting in person, we set the time, and the next day I found myself driving to her home.

It was a very unique experience, that drive. My entire life I’d lived one existence, then it had radically changed in 2009, and it was about to change AGAIN in some way, to some degree. I tried to process it all as I drove. I could not picture or imagine what was in store for me.

“How weird it was to drive streets I knew so well. What a different perspective.” (Suzanne Vega)

I had 40 minutes to think. To wonder. I put music on to try to quell my thoughts but it didn’t change the fact that I was thinking about everything. A lot. Now, I just had background music!

“The real trouble with reality is that there’s no background music.” (“Witty Quotes Haven,” Clever Quotes #2)

As I drove, accompanied by background music, trying not to think yet thoughts racing, scenes from my life replayed over and over in my mind. I tried to picture the next scene. But somehow, I just couldn’t.

All I could do was keep driving.

Can’t Think About The Drive Anymore!

Date: March 15, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

I am SO SICK of the drive to Utah!  I’m TIRED of thinking about all I thought as I drove from Colorado to Utah, newly divorced and single, to begin my new life.  I need a break!

Instead, here is a conversation from last night.  Ironically, it took place in the car, too.  (I promise there is more to me than that!)

“Mom, do you know what this week is?” my daughter asked.

My mind raced as I tried to figure out what I might be forgetting among end-of-term deadlines, ballet, track, tap dance, track meets, cub scouts, preschool, piano lessons, auto repairs, house cleaning and laundry, home repairs, possible birthdays or parties, daycare, church assignments, church activities, swim team practice, pets and my own work projects and deadlines.  But before I could respond, she answered her own question.

“MARCH 18.”

Those two words are all that needed to be said for me to realize that we have carried on and created a new and happy life for ourselves, but there is something underneath it all we haven’t forgotten.

MARCH 18, 2009.  To most people, it’s the day after St. Patrick’s Day.  To me, it’s the day our life ended.

And finally, one year after it happened, I’ll be ready to talk about it.  To share the details of what I discovered.  And about how my world, as I knew it then, ended.

March 18, 2010, is also going to be quite a day in my life as well.  I can tell.

And THEN I Cried

Date: March 14, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

Driving from Colorado to Utah in my Subaru, I tried not to think.  But since I was also trying not to cry, really, the only thing I could do WAS think.  I thought about a variety of things, as I’ve already detailed, interspersed with pep talks to myself:  ”You CAN do this, Andrea. Just keep driving.”

I didn’t cry because I felt I had to be strong for my kids.  Of course I’d let them see me cry in all of this.  The grief and trauma we’d lived through had been so intense, all of us had cried.  All of us had cried a lot. We had cried together.  We had cried alone. At that point, in 2009, trust me:  the Merriman family cornered the market on tears (and tissues) and I knew that.

I guess one reason I felt like I couldn’t cry was because I had to be strong for my kids–because I remembered what I had needed when the family I grew up in lost our dad.  I was devastated, overwhelmed, scared, and a host of other feelings and emotions.  And after the initial grief, what I wanted and needed at that time was for my mom to be strong for me.  I needed to feel confident in her, in our future and that our family would survive in spite of our challenge.  And she was.  She was strong in the face of her tears.  She was stronger and more courageous than I ever imagined she was capable of being.  And she helped us not only survive, but thrive.  I felt my children deserved that same thing from me.

I also didn’t cry as I drove because I was afraid if I gave in and started, I might never be able to stop.

I sort of felt like I was holding back the walls of the Red Sea in Cecil B. Demille’s epic movie, “The Ten Commandments.”  Remember the scene? Where the Lord is miraculously holding back gigantic walls of water of the Red Sea as the Children of Israel crossed to the other side?  That was me.  Trying to hold back the walls as I drove.

Miraculously, I had done it for the first four hours of the drive.

But in the movie, at some point, the walls came crashing down.  And that is what exactly happened to me.

Of course, unexpectedly!

Halfway through the drive I looked in my rear view mirror and realized both boys were asleep.  At the same time I hit my former hometown of Grand Jct., Colorado, and without any warning to my psyche thoughts of the girl I had once been; my optimism for life, the future and eternity; my hopes, dreams and expectations; my childhood memories and everything else came flooding into my mind.  And the walls came crashing down.

I CRIED.

I cried for that little girl, all she had dreamed of, and for what she had ended up with instead.

I cried for my children, for all they had dreamed of and for all they had had, and for what they had ended up with instead.

I cried for my parents–that they weren’t here anymore and I was all alone, without even them to rely on.  I cried, wondering what they would think of me now and the mess I was in, if they only knew.

I cried because I was alone.

I cried because I was so afraid, even though I desperately tried not to be.  (I just couldn’t help myself on that one.)

I cried for all that was ahead of me in the immediate future, the next year, and the next 5-10-and 50 years of life.  My TOTALLY unexpected life.

And I don’t know how, but I kept driving.

I Am SO NOT AFRAID…of Driving!

Date: March 13, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

I’ve had a few fears in my life, but driving isn’t one of them.

Even as a kid, riding a tricycle on the sidewalk in my dress (remember the 1960s and early 1970s?  LOTS of dresses!  Every day!  Those were the good old days, when people truly dressed for success.  In fact, I have pictures of family picnics in the mountains where the women are all in dresses and the men are in shirts and ties!  But I digress…)

Riding my tricycle, I liked to pretend the sidewalk was the road and that my trike was really a car.  My shiny, sexy (aren’t vehicles always described with that word?) purple trike with the metallic streamers coming out the end of the handle bars…I loved it!  And of course, I LOVED every amusement park ride that offered a mini car to drive.  I sacrificed riding roller coasters for those!  So while some people have a fear of driving, I’m not one of them.

Thank goodness for that, I thought, as I drove from Colorado to Utah to begin my new life post-divorce and post the rest of the trauma I had survived the almost four months previously.  But I couldn’t help myself.  While I drove, with lots of time to think, I thought of things I have been afraid of.

Spiders and Bugs; Snakes and Mice. I didn’t think Denver even had mosquitoes.  And then I moved to a home in the “country.”  Back in 1993, people used to joke I’d moved to Kansas; it was THAT far out there.  I missed the sidewalks and community parks and swimming pools of a planned neighborhood. And then I discovered my new home was also replete with everything I feared.  Giant spiders I thought only grew in rainforests were crawling on my porch.  I found bugs I’d never even seen in museums crawling INSIDE my house!  There were snakes of many varieties outside the house–and one VERY HOT SUMMER, I found two GIANT snakes actually INSIDE the house.  Not to mention the little black things I found that I eventually learned were mouse droppings…when I found mice.  I HATED all of that.

I hired exterminators and pest controllers.  I threatened to move to a hotel until they were completely eradicated from my life.  (You should have seen the exterminators’ reactions (yes, I went through countless different exterminators and pest control companies in an effort to have someone remove this fear from my life) to my hatred of pests, “Lady, you live IN THE COUNTRY!”  They must have thought I was a lunatic, an idiot, or both.

I did everything I could to remove these unpleasant things from my life, but none of them ever completely went away.  It seemed like I faced one of those above-mentioned fears every day, in one form or another, and after 16 years, I realized that although I didn’t like them, I wasn’t afraid of them anymore.  It’s true:  ”Each time we face our fear, we gain strength, courage and confidence in the doing.”  It was a good lesson for me to learn.  I was going to need it.

The dark. Even as a little girl, I was afraid of the dark.  Afraid to be alone in the basement even, especially if it was dark.  I was afraid of thunder and lightening in the dark (so afraid that my thoughtful dad got so he’d come and check on me, in the middle of the night, during every storm–even when I was a teenager!) As a woman, I didn’t sleep a wink when my spouse traveled and I was home alone.  And as a mother, the bedtime routine on nights alone was quite a production:  I’d haul all of my children into my bedroom, push a big piece of furniture in front of the door, and STILL lay awake afraid all night while my babies and kids slumbered peacefully!  The confession of a coward, I know.  But, somehow, over time, the fear went away.  I realized a year or two before I got divorced I wasn’t afraid at night anymore.  I don’t know if it was because my spouse traveled so much I got used to being alone at night or if it’s because I simply gave in to the exhaustion and finally slept; or if it’s because my oldest son got old enough I felt I had some protection; or if I just finally “grew up,” but whatever the case, I’m not afraid of the dark anymore.  And that’s good.  Because I’ve had some darkness.  And I’m all alone in it.

Which brings me to my next fear:  Being alone. LOVE this one.  (NOT!)  I was always a social person. Had lots of friends.  Had lots of dates.  Never thought I’d end up alone, much less at just 41 years old.  But I’ve learned to deal with it.  And in many ways, it isn’t as scary or as bad as I’d always imagined it would be. Either that, or I’m getting used to it. (I didn’t want to get used to it, darn it!  I liked being married and wanted to get married again!  Oh well.  At least I’m open-minded about a possibility that includes me being alone for the rest of my life now.)  Good for me for conquering this fear.

Being responsible for a child. Ironic, I know, that a mother of four children would be afraid of this.  But in college, as I saw new parents strapping a baby on their back and going to class, it FREAKED ME OUT.  The thought of having to feed a child when I was a poor college student kept me single until I was ready to graduate!  I was always so afraid of the thought of being financially responsible for keeping someone else alive–I worried I wasn’t up to that.  I was fine when it was just me, but the thought of anyone else relying on me for support terrified me.  Lucky for me, I eventually matured and was married to a good provider before I had children.  I wasn’t so afraid of this anymore because the providing was on his shoulders AND I had a partner in the parenting endeavor.  I wasn’t doing it alone.

Enter March 18, 2009.  I found out not only was I going to be alone, I was going to be SOLELY responsible for FOUR CHILDREN.  Responsible financially, emotionally, physically, in every way responsible.  I WAS TERRIFIED! But I didn’t have the luxury or time to sit around and think about how afraid I was.  (THAT part came as I drove to Utah.)  I thought I had just six weeks to get everything resolved as it related to being alone and being solely responsible for four children.  I had a SERIOUS deadline.

Like the children’s “bear hunt” rhyme, I was going on the hunt of my life and I couldn’t go over it, under it, or around it.  I had to go straight through it.  I had to, as Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “Do what you are afraid to do.”  (No offense to anyone named Ralph or Waldo, but I’ve always found it ironic that someone named Ralph AND Waldo had such great things to say and in such a brilliant way! lol)

And as I did that, I stretched and grew. Again.  Every day.  Just a little bit more.  Until now I can say I agree with Ralph Waldo Emerson on another thing:  ”He who is not everyday conquering some fear has not learned the secret of life.”

But as I drove to Utah from Colorado on July 13, 2009, I hadn’t learned this yet. I had eight hours to think and I thought about how afraid I was of my life.  And how afraid I was of what was ahead of me…for the rest of my life.

Thoughts From THE Drive

Date: March 10, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

As the miles ticked past, thoughts continued to flood my mind.

In between offering cheerful comments to my children about, “Isn’t it going to be GREAT to live in Utah?  Are you guys as excited as I am to live in Utah?  Think how LUCKY we are to get to move and make new friends!  We are going to have a fabulous new life!” and silently wondering how, beginning the next day, I was ever going to leave my children all day and work full time in another city, and how I was ever going to live through the next 50-60 years, much less ever smile for real again, I marveled at my ability to say one thing and think another!  Must be my public relations expertise and crisis training.  Lol.  (Just kidding, my fellow PR professionals out there!)

As if my heart weren’t broken enough by all that I’d already lived through and had to endure, the giant cherry on the largest ice cream sundae of the grief and devastation that had become my lot in life was knowing I was spending the last day of my life as a “homemaker” (totally ironic–didn’t I just break my home up when I got divorced earlier that day?) and stay-at-home mom driving.  Not the memory I wanted to make the last day before I’d have to leave my two youngest children, for the rest of their lives, to go to work to support my family.  THAT had certainly never been my plan.  I never dreamed I’d be anything but a stay-at-home mom.  But again, I tried not to think about that as I continued to head west.

As a younger woman and younger mother, I’d made this same drive to Utah 6-8 times each year to stay in touch with family.  As my children had gotten older and their schedules had gotten busier, I’d driven it less.  And suddenly, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d made the drive alone.  And then it hit me.

It was the day my mom died.

In that moment I decided I HATED the drive from Denver, Colorado, to anywhere in Utah.

That day had started out like any other.  Get up early, exercise, nurse the baby, get the other kids off to school, straighten the house, return phone calls, take care of the business of the day, etc…Oh yes, and that day I was supposed to host a church function for 20-30 girls and their mothers for Mother’s Day (totally ironic, now that I think about it) so I was gathering decorations and items needed for that night, and making desserts.

And then my brother called.  Totally unexpectedly.  His words changed the course of that day.  The ensuing events changed the rest of my life.

“They found mom this morning, unresponsive.  They think she’s had a massive stroke,” he said.

“What?  I should come right away!  Let me gather my stuff, I’ll jump in the car and come there,” I offered.

“Lets not jump to any conclusions.  Why don’t we wait and see what the MRI shows,” he said.

Relief flooded my soul.  That didn’t sound as serious.  Thank goodness, because my baby had the stomach flu.  It would take me HOURS to make the drive to Utah, by myself, with a sick baby.  So like an idiot, I continued to complete my tasks for that night and actually took the time to finish baking the desserts and called a good friend to substitute for me and take over the hostessing duties of the evening. (And in my defense, it is how my parents raised me to be.  Serve others, go the extra mile, NEVER drop the ball on anything you have committed to do.)

A few hours later, the baby was still throwing up and the phone was ringing.  It was my brother calling again.  He was crying.

“The MRI shows a massive stroke.  They’ve given mom 24-48 hours to live.  How fast can you got here?”

Eight hours to drive.

More proof I really must be the Queen of Denial:  I didn’t even pack a dress for a funeral.  What was I thinking?  That’s right, I wasn’t thinking.  I threw some stuff in a suitcase, pulled my 5th grade daughter out of school to tend the baby as he threw up so I could keep driving, and headed to Utah.

It was an eight hour drive.

Plenty of time to think.

And my brother called every hour or so to ask if I was almost there.  My mom was fading fast.  All of my siblings were together, holding her hand and saying goodbye.  I was alone.  Driving to Utah.

About three hours into the trip I had an experience that was unusual enough I noted what I felt and the time I felt it.  I didn’t have cell service at that moment, but as soon as I did, I got another phone call from my brother.  He managed to choke out, “She died.”  And somehow I managed to not crash but to keep driving through my grief.  (Little did I know how expert I was to become in that over time.)  And sure enough, I  knew the moment in time my mom had died.  I had felt it.

She hadn’t made it eight hours.  So I cried and I drove.  I drove and I cried.  Maybe I should have appreciated it more. Because the next time I made the drive, in 2009, I wouldn’t have the luxury of tears.

Keep driving, Andrea.

Eight Hours To Think

Date: March 10, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

Like I said, I drove off in my trusty Subaru without a backward glance to the life I had lived for nearly 20 years in Denver, Colorado.  It had been a good life, with many great experiences and good memories, which made it all the more difficult,and poignant, for me.  I had eight hours to think.

I couldn’t help but reflect on who I’d been when I arrived there–a college graduate as of the day before I arrived; a newlywed with hopes and dreams and my whole life ahead of me; I had had a mom visiting me there through the years.  I realized how much I had learned and grown in Denver.  I realized I had, really, grown up in Denver.

I had entered the workforce and learned valuable lessons; I had learned to be a wife; I had learned to work to have what I thought was a real and great marriage; I had become a mother; I had served in the community; I had served in my church and had learned what it meant to be a Christian and to live a Christian life; I had made friends; I had traveled the world and had life-enriching cultural experiences; I had informally continued my education; participated in book clubs and learned about new things.  And I knew all of that was ending.  Actually, it was already over.

I had discovered my marriage had been built on lies and a sham of epic proportions (in my little world) with its tentacles reaching into every aspect of my personal, public, religious, and family life; I was re-entering the workforce; and my mom was dead.  Everything I’d ever known or had, it seemed, was gone.

I had been unrighteously judged and accused of things I had never known about much less participated in by literally hundreds of people who knew me (and who should have known better) and by countless other hundreds of strangers (that is all I can admit to myself, who knows? It could be in the thousands, really.)  Except for the support of a very small network of friends and family who had not betrayed me and abandoned me in my hour of need, I was alone.  And I felt more alone than I knew one person could feel.

I don’t know how I would have done it, how I could have driven off to face my new opportunities, had I not had a very important epiphany.  You see, I had my two youngest children with me in the backseat.  So I couldn’t cry, wail, or do anything else that felt natural and right, to me, in that moment.  I couldn’t upset them like that.  Their life seemed like it was going to have enough challenges ahead without me adding to them.  All I could do was think.  Eight hours to think.

Thoughts ran through my mind at warp speed, so many, so quickly I don’t know that I processed them all.  But I do remember wondering to myself, “How can I do this?  How can this be happening?  How can I be leaving my LIFE?  How can I be abandoning all I have become and built over the past almost 20 years?  How can this be real?”  And then it hit me like a bolt of lightening. I won’t have a scar from it like Harry Potter, but it has been forever seared in my mind.

I realized I could do it, and had done it with as much grace and dignity as I could muster, I could drive off without a backward glance, I could be an example to my children and show them how you carry on and do what you have to do (even do what you don’t want to do) with your head held high, even when the direction seems impossible because…I had been blessed (yes, I realize now, BLESSED) with my neighbors.

My neighbors were good people.  But some had been affected by my former spouse’s choices (and those that hadn’t, for some reason, jumped on the bandwagon anyway) and had gone from being like family to me to turning in to absolutely the most hateful and hostile people I have personally ever had the opportunity to know!

I reflected on my neighbors and realized they had a purpose in my life.  I saw them for what they were to me–a blessing, in their own way.  Corrie Ten Boom, author of “The Hiding Place,” was sent to a German concentration camp.  Her story taught me about gratitude and choosing to give thanks in all things for SOME thing.  And to look for the tender mercies that come to each of us in our lives.

In her trying and miserable existence, one day the only thing Corrie and her sister could find to be grateful for was fleas!  It seemed a little ridiculous but they chose to be thankful for the fleas they lived with.  (After all, gratitude is always a choice, isn’t it?)  They even prayed to God and expressed their gratitude for the fleas.  And do you know what? Those fleas ended up saving Corrie’s life when Nazi soldiers wouldn’t enter their barracks for inspections–because of the fleas!

I haven’t had the chance to thank those neighbors for being true fleas to me until now.  But thank you.  I mean that, sincerely, from the bottom of my heart.

Each of you made it easier for me to do what I had to do, and to do it with gratitude, and I will always be grateful.

Onward I drove.  Eight hours to think.