Tag Archives: grandparents

What Would Nannie Do?

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When you spend a week at the “cabinet” (my four year old nephew’s word for cabin)  without television with your parents and siblings and their families, you have plenty of time for conversation.  One of the topics that comes up every time we are all together is a task that I have struggled to complete.  Have you done anything with your inheritance? Now before anyone suddenly decides to become my new best friend, let me do a little explaining.  My “inheritance” is a whole life insurance policy that my grandparents, Nannie and Granddaddy, bought when all of us kids were little.  If I were to pass away today, my family would have a thousand dollars to spend towards my funeral. If I wanted to be buried in a soup kettle, that might cover it. There is a buy-out option, which the last time I checked was considerably less.

Since we have worked hard to adequately insure ourselves, my best option would be to take the pay-out.  I professed that I hadn’t made up my mind and was waffling between several options for what to do if I took the cash option.

But then there was the other conversation that took place at the cabinet. This one bittersweet in nature, as caring for elderly parents is a difficult challenge. Both my Nannie and Granddaddy have gone on home to heaven as well as my Papa, leaving only Mama left of my grandparents.  Mama’s house is in dire need of some repairs, but she adamantly refuses to let us do any work to fix it, always comparing the days she has left on earth to the cost/benefit analysis of spending her money to make the repairs.  Even when we have offered to make the repairs at no cost to her, she refuses.

great depresion

Farm Security Administration: Destitute pea pickers in California. Mother of seven children. (Circa February 1936). Picture for the FDR, courtesy of the National Archives and Records Administration.

I wasn’t even a twinkle in someone’s eye during the Great Depression, but all of my days I have lived with the after effects.  My grandmothers are the perfect dichotomy of those ripples from that era in our nation’s history.  Mama has chosen to save every last penny she has, just in case.  She never wanted to live like that again, choosing to do without now, while saving for the day that she might need it later.  Nannie on the other hand lived by the philosophy “smoke ‘em if you’ve got ‘em”.  My maternal grandmother’s take on life was to enjoy the good days while you’ve got them and not worry or plan for tomorrow.

The irony of the situation is the one time she chose to plan for tomorrow is what has me in a quandary.  My grandmother, a shrewd businesswoman with only an 8th grade education, was a whiz at numbers, but somehow never mastered spending within your means.  If she saw something that made her smile, she bought it and LOTS of it.

When it comes to grandmothers and genetics, I definitely take after both of them.  My love of crafting, hospitality, and good ol’ Southern comfort food can be attributed to both.  My love of bling definitely originates with Nannie as does my love of animals, but my money sense falls in step with my Mama’s pragmatism.

So even though my letter from the insurance company arrived over two years ago, it sits collecting dust.  My dilemma haunts me every time I come across that letter.  Do I spend the money on something practical like paying for tuition for the doctorate I am pursuing?  Or do I honor the grandmother who gave it to me and ask WWND – What Would Nannie Do?

For a while now, I have had my eye on this nugget ice counter appliance which is the first of its kind.  Some may raise their eyebrows at that purchase, but if you have ever seen me order a beverage at a fast food drive-thru you would understand.  Can I please get a sweet tea with extra, extra, EXTRA ice?  And trust me, if my straw doesn’t hit a cube on the way in, I am righteously indignant.  Ice machine may sound frivolous to some, but to me, it sounds divine – simply divine. And then I remember that my kitchen, while beautifully remodeled still has limited counter space. Ugh!

And then there is the home fitness surfboard that I have dreamed of owning for a bit.  I regularly profess that I need high doses of Vitamin Sea; so if I can’t bring Mohammed to the mountain the girl to the Gulf, then at least I could pretend to be there while toning my well-earned momma-to-many core. A little ocean music and (voila!), I am home. Of course, this kind of surfing won’t result with sand in places I didn’t even remember I had which is always a bonus. And then the Mama side kicks in and reminds me the last fitness equipment purchase I made ended up being a jungle gym for my kids and place to hang the laundry. Argh!

All of this puts me right back at square one, still stuck. So for now, the letter sits, until I can completely make up my mind or at least, until I can balance whether the Nannie or Mama side of me wins out.

But like my Mom said at the cabinet, if you were truly going to spend it like Nannie would, I should go out and buy some lottery tickets. Somehow I have to believe that if there is a window from heaven, tucked up in her favorite fishing hole, Nannie would have looked down and laughed at that idea.

I know for sure one part of her philosophy was spot on – enjoy the moments you have because someday they will be your precious memories!

 

 

 

Fly high, son. Fly high!

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wingsIt isn’t often that I envy my kids. They live in a such a high-tech and fast-paced world, that I think my days of Saturday morning cartoons and playing outside until dusk seem downright genteel. But the ol’ green-eyed monster did rear his head after picking up my son from a week long experience he had the honor to attend.

My parents made mention of this academy a few years back and remarked about how they really wanted him to attend. When I told the Boy Wonder, he was intrigued by the idea of an elite training in all the subjects he loves. I’m telling you the apple does not fall far from the tree on this one. Science, Math, and Engineering, oh my! On the beaches of Pensacola Bay! I ask you what is not to love here? When we further researched the experience, I was momentarily deterred by the cost, but nonetheless made a vow that the summer between his junior and senior years we would make it happen. My parents kept us up-to-date of times to apply and opportunities for scholarships.

Let me back up a little bit in this story. Every time, we have gone home (to Pensacola), we get up early to go watch the Blue Angels practice. If my children bleed Laker blue from school pride, then I think the color of my blood must look like a combination of gulf green and Blues paint. Following the aerial show, we tour the museum. The volunteers have asked my kids if they would like to fly like that. The boys always answered with an enthusiastic, “Yes!” to which the tour guide faithfully replied back, “Study your math and science!” If that wasn’t enough to swell this teacher momma’s heart, I don’t know what would. (Seriously y’all! Melt My Heart!)

The dream slipped by the way side when he endured years of hospitalizations and surgeries, but his commitment to excellent study never did. Even though it seemed like an impossibility, he completed the very rigorous application process. Not only was he accepted but also offered a full scholarship. After what seemed to be a sequel to Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, the Boy Wonder and I arrived in Alabama where he was swiftly whisked away by my folks.

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I won’t give away everything that he did in the week so as to not spoil it for future AXPs, but let’s just say I was jealous before he began and even more so afterward. From the moment he arrived, they are welcomed on board their carrier, Ambition. Throughout the week, they train, coordinate, plan, and complete missions. Think: intelligence and rescue missions. The technology is so amazing at this academy that my son could name every local airstrip within a short drive of Pensacola Naval Air Station (because he had flown over them or to them). Not to mention, when we toured the Ambition at the closing, he showed us equipment that exists nowhere else in the world.

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At graduation, they received their wings, but family members were in for a real treat when we learned our children’s call signs. I was a little perplexed when I learned my son’s co-pilot  (6’4” and already a Marine) had the call sign, “Elsa”. When I later learned that it is very common for pilots to sing during missions, I was still a little baffled. With a small chuckle, he explained that the Commander overheard his friend singing Frozen songs and the name stuck. No, Goose and Maverick, here, but Astro and Elsa have their own ring, I guess.

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During the debriefing (by which I mean the point when you go grab an amazing burger with your mom and grandparents at Whataburger), we heard his tales of the great blue sea and sky. We heard about his dismay on the first day they introduced themselves. Everyone there had experience as pilots or the dream of being pilots. When it got to him, the Boy Wonder explained, “I’m planning to be doctor. Um, naval doctor.” He didn’t let the disconnect deter him one bit. Going on to successfully complete missions, he loved every minute of strategy, navigation, and of course, flight.

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While eating our burgers, he did share one story that had my dad’s and my hearts swelling with pride. He explained that not everyone was as versed in some skills as others and about how on his first mission, he and Elsa were the navigators at the beginning. The pilots weren’t responding to his coordinate instruction, and it was frustrating him. When it was their time in the cockpit, he quietly whispered to his buddy. “We are NOT taking navigational advice from those guys. I’ve got this! I know vectors like the back of my hand.” I know that is not exactly a team mentality, but as math teachers, we understood. I think Minnesotans could have seen our beaming smiles, and to every single one of his math teachers up to this point, I THANK YOU!!!

Well, he didn’t attend the National Flight Academy with the intention of being a pilot, but he sure caught the bug while he was there. On our three hour drive home from the airport, he remembered something he learned at med school camp a year earlier. Sometimes the pilots for medical rescue missions ARE the doctors. And yes, he has already asked to earn his pilot’s license, just to be ahead of the game.

Oh, Boy! Here we go! Up, up and away!

Special Note: A very special thank you to the National Flight Academy for the opportunity he had to attend and to learn that his knowledge and passions have real-world applications. He is waiting anxiously to learn if the advanced academy will be up and running next year. On a similar thought, I am waiting for the teacher training academy. I will bring friends! Also, to my readers, if you want to learn more, go to www.nationalflightacademy.com or ask us, we have some great stories to share.

The making of a Grammy

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My last few posts have been about grandparents and how the world is truly a better place because of them. Whether by blood, “adoption” or simply by taking an interest in the lives of children, grandparents fill a magical place in hearts.

grandmothers

A dear friend of mine, who I’ve always thought of as the quintessentially hip grandmother, had this picture posted on her Facebook wall the other day. If you knew my friend, the sentiment suits her. As far as being a grandmother, I think I fall somewhere between all things magical with a little bit of adventure thrown in for good measure.

Before any of my friends fall out of their chairs, I did not become a grandmother by blood. Not just yet! (My high school son just looked at me in horror.)  Although I will confess, I do already have things stored away for when that day becomes a reality. I like to think of it as Grammy’s secret stash of goodies (remember the magical and adventuresome description).  I now understand the trance that Cracker Barrel holds on all grandmothers.

There is a really long background story here, and if you ask me in person, I will be happy to tell you. We’ll grab some iced teas and chat! The shortened version of how I became a Grammy (more on that name later) is one of L.O.V.E. lived out through friendship.

When Jesus called us to love others as the second greatest commandment, there are those who embody his teaching. A blessing to me is how I am a recipient of that love. I have written and spoken about how once upon a time, a former student stepped up to “fill in for” but never to “replace” Reed as the big brother of our family. When he met the girl of his dreams and was married, our “son’s” mom gave me the honor of being listed as “honorary mother”. It was one of my life’s proudest moments.

Well this year, my son and his wife had their first baby. Before sweet little L’s birth, I had been knitting and sewing all matter of items. She had a rough beginning; so, my whole family (aka Team Stevens) had a very brief visit to give momma and baby the rest they needed. We gave L her knitted blanket, said we would be praying, and asked them to keep us posted.

When they were finally able to come home, I was out in my flower beds prepping soil. A series of text messages left me with a puddle of tears and one befuddled husband.

The first message told me that they made it home, and they received many compliments on L’s new blanket. My response was complete momma bear mode asking if baby’s health was okay now, and if they think of it sometime, please send a picture of her with the blanket. Within seconds, I had a picture of happy, healthy and sleeping baby wrapped in the blanket stitched with love and prayers. Tears began to well in the corners of my eyes. I told her parents that whenever I make any gift, I pray for the recipient; therefore she was wrapped in many prayers.

A quick whirlwind of text messages cleared my anxiety about baby L’s health, assured me my prayers had been answered, and amazed me with an honor I didn’t see coming.

The closing message was: We love you Grandma and the rest of the family.

Even though our county had been experiencing a drought for some time, that little patch of ground was watered with salty drops, leaving my husband perplexed. I simply handed him the phone, and he whispered, “Wow!”

Not only had one mom loved in selfless ways by allowing me to be “the other mom” at her only son’s wedding, but now two grandmas (moms) were sharing in a way I could have never imagined. Sweet L is the first grandchild of both flesh and blood grandmothers. I know these ladies personally, and both, along with their husbands, raised amazing children who daily live what it means to love others first. There are many other compliments I could give to both J and B, but honestly, that last sentence is the highest praise from my momma heart to theirs.

Here is where the Grammy part came in. L is one lucky little girl. She is blessed with amazing grandmas, who simply adore her! I would never want, nor could I ever achieve, replacing or being in competition with that love. Even though her tiny heart could not physically fill a measuring cup, she has enough room to fit some great-grandmothers, Grandma B, Grandma J, and me – one incredibly humbled and thankful, Grammy!

So yes ma’am! I am a Grammy through God’s love poured out through his Son and lived out in faith by my incredible adopted family!

My baby holding my grandbaby wrapped in a prayed up blankie! B-L-E-S-S-E-D!

My baby holding my grandbaby wrapped in a prayed up blankie! B-L-E-S-S-E-D!

 

 

 

 

Invasion of the Gnomes

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Since my Nanny’s passing, my mom and dad have spent much of the last several months working on sorting through the items she left behind.  It has been a grueling task, physically and emotionally.  As they were going through volumes of items, they decided to ask the grandchildren if there were things that we or our children would like to have.  Eventually one of the things making the round of the “Does Anybody Want These?” lists was garden tchotchkes.

My parents who are actually quite adept at technology and decorating sent us a picture with my dad’s legs standing among the items available balancing a yardstick to give perspective.  I immediately requested the tall gnome with the measuring stick even though I couldn’t see anything more than his bottom half.  I figured he might come in handy around here. My mother replied he was already taken. Since my first request was unavailable, I took a closer look at what new treasures lay waiting. I love a good garden gnome; so, I speedily replied as to which couple I would love to see in my garden.  My brother chimed in on a few he would like.  My sister’s response was a flat out, “NO THANKS!”

My first exposure to gnomes was when my family made a cross-country move to North Dakota.  I remember being smitten with them, because my brother and I were huge Smurfs fans.   Years later, I created tiny fantasy gardens with itsy-bitsy gnomes.  My children grew up watching very carefully, because sometimes it would seem the gnomes had moved or new items appeared with them.  We still talk about the bowling ball and pins that appeared one morning in one of those gardens. Such is the whimsy of my backyard!

Almost a month after the text messages, my parents arrived with a U-Haul full of treasures from my Nanny’s house.  Among them was our new garden kitsch.  At first, we placed them on our deck carefully, cautioning the kids that we would think about exactly the right place for them later.

Since they were my grandmother’s, I wanted to preserve them, put them on a shelf, and make sure they lasted forever.  I didn’t want anyone or thing to touch them.  Then one night, I got a nudge deep in my heart. I knew Nanny would ask, “What in heaven’s name are you thinking?”.  She would never want me to box them up for display only, much like many of us do with our best china.  They are meant to be in the garden bringing smiles and maybe just a touch of mischief to anyone lucky enough to spot one.

My nerves steeled. I resolved to place them in Reed’s garden, by asking my little girl to have the honors.  I think both Reed and Nanny would have been proud of that choice. A job of this importance required a child-like heart, not a heart, like mine, too timid to even use them.  I told her there was only one rule.  That rule: Mom can’t change where you put them.  Imagine the gift she received that day!

gnomes

That night in bed, I realized that I do that a lot.  I receive blessings from God, but I am, on occasion, too timid to use them.  I want to put them on the shelf and look at them.  I want to be reminded that, indeed, God has blessed me.  Sometimes, I don’t want to share them in fear that the blessings will tarnish or diminish in beauty. But much like my Nanny’s garden decorations, I am beginning to realize that perhaps the reason for the blessings is for us to pour them out to others.  Memories of the times that God was so good to us! Perhaps that was God’s plan all along for our new little buddies waving from the greenery in the back of the lot.

So today I choose to not hold on too tightly to my blessings, counting them one by one, but instead allowing God to use them through me.

Where the dance will lead . . .

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Photo found at www.selectregistry.com

Photo found at www.selectregistry.com

In addition to the tender moment shared yesterday, there were  a couple more moments that took my breath away at the hospital.  One in quiet reflection, and the other in laughter.

Over the course of the summer, my pastor has had a wonderful sermon series entitled, “What’s messing with your faith?”.  His transparency is palpably real as he confesses to struggle with each topic.  His genuineness in delivery has touched me very deeply, because I struggle with all the same things.  These things that mess with our faith take us so far away from contentment in God’s plans for our lives.

On my travels, I decided that I would use what God had been stirring in my heart based on what I had gleaned from each topic this summer.  With a renewed spirit, I wanted to travel with no agenda other than to love and to serve.

Just a few days ago, I saw a post a friend had on Facebook and it read something like this. “Are you waiting on God?  Tell me then, when did you ever get ahead of Him?” Those were very convicting words, indeed!

The times when my faith is the most vulnerable is when I allow – worry, fear, bitterness, doubt, or busyness – to lead my thoughts.  So upon embarking on this journey, I decided to just follow.  Follow where God took me, and not try to get ahead of Him.  It was already evident that traveling this far from home was His idea; so why not enjoy the travels.

One Saturday in July, following God’s heart took me to the hospital bed of a black grandfather and pastor.  As we sat there swapping stories, I felt compelled to ask a question.  When I say compelled, it was like an explosion of my soul as I was being pulled farther and farther away from the shore of my control.  My question was simple.  Can we pray?

Just the four of us, including the patient, clasped hands and prayed.  I prayed for peace, for healing, for wisdom, and for all the things God laid on my heart.  It was beautiful and tender and very much God-breathed.

As family members and hospital staff came in and out of the room, Ninny would introduce me.  “This is Kandy.  She is Bug’s friend, and she KNOWS the Lord.”  Not one single person that entered that room was spared of that introduction.  Those words made me smile, at first, but later became a badge of honor.  I was His beloved, and I KNOW His love.   I had never stopped to think of myself using those words, but they tasted so sweet. THIS is Miss Kandy, AND she KNOWS the Lord!

As the day unfolded, I was unceremoniously adopted as “Daddy” proclaimed me, somewhat teasingly, as his to the nurse.  She came in to take some vital sign measurements and asked him how he was doing. Despite feeling pretty awful, it was joy to see that he still had a bit of mischief up his hospital gowned sleeve.  He said that he was doing great because he got a new grand-daughter today.

“Really!”, she excitedly asked.  “Where was she born?”

In a barely perceptible grin covered by the oxygen mask, he replied, “I have no idea, but you can ask her. She’s sitting right there.”  At this point, he motioned to me sitting at the foot of the bed.

If I were a poker playing kind of gal, I would want to play cards with this nurse.  The look of confusion was painstakingly present.  How can this grown white woman suddenly be your granddaughter?  The rest of us in the room could hardly contain our giggles.

I have to think at this point even Jesus snickered in heaven.  His Dad’s love opens wide the door of family.  When He does, you get a small glimpse of how He sees you and all his children.  In those moments of tenderness and a fit of giggles, I began to see what transformative power slowing down and ceding control can do for your soul.

Allow God to lead the dance of your life’s journey, and see – just see – where He and the dance take you.

All in a touch

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The home my Nanny and Granddaddy lived in since 1961 was one in which several additions were made to it.  I’m old enough to remember the carport renovation and the subsequent addition behind that.  With those two extra rooms, the traffic flow of the house became like a race track.  Anyone could make laps around and around inside the house, and as kids we often did just that.

My favorite part of romping through the house was when my Granddaddy would come in from work and plop down in his chair, a burgundy swivel rocker/recliner, to relax and watch a little television. Inevitably during one of my laps, Granddaddy would stick out his gigantic hand, riddled with arthritis and aged with years of hard work, with his palm up.

This was my cue.  The ritual was enduring, and it continued right up until his passing.

His outstretched hand blocked the path of my meandering.  I would always stop, waiting for the next line in this well-rehearsed script.  I would squeak out with glee, “Hey Granddaddy!” and then slap his calloused hand with mine, thus giving him “five”.  Then in a booming voice, dripping with a Floridian Southern drawl, he would announce, “Hey Granddaughter!”

As a child, if I had been asked to define love, I would have drawn his hands.  Even today, I would give anything to once again touch his gigantic, but gentle, man-paws of hands.  Every once in a while, I am fortunate enough to see that kind of love in tender moments of others. I think God knows my soul needs to espy those gentle touches.

I was blessed to witness such a moment on my trip to Kentucky.  One of the days, our plans were changed because my friend’s grandfather was sent to the hospital.  Rather than taking in the sites of the area, I offered to ride along with her and her grandmother to sit with “Daddy”.  He was in considerable pain due to diminished breathing capacity with masks, tubes, and machines everywhere.

Quickly, quietly, lovingly, it happened – that comforting ritual.  Her grandmother, affectionately known as Ninny, reached over and gently rubbed his legs.  My breath caught in my throat because the lump lodged there seeing such tender love.  I hoped no one in the room saw my tears.  God’s beauty often does that to me.  Those beautiful hands that had worked for years, raised babies and grandbabies, and had many times folded in prayer were the embodiment of how God loves. I don’t know what possessed me, but I asked Ninny and Daddy if I could capture the moment.  They agreed it would be alright. One click and the moment was preserved forever in image and in my heart.

Ninny's hands

Even though spending the day in the hospital wasn’t what was originally planned, it was where God needed me to be.  After glimpsing love that day, I knew precisely why He had called me to that place at that moment.  For gentle reminders of how tenderly He holds each of us, I am so thankful.

If you enjoyed today’s blog, I would love to hear what you would draw for love.

The tale of two Reeds

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I wish I could locate my photos of the two Reeds together.

I wish I could locate my photos of the two Reeds together.

I received one of the sweetest text messages ever today, while still snuggled in my quilts and pjs.  The message was simple:

May the 4th be with you!  Thinking of you and Reed today. Love you!

It was a simple acknowledgement of how fun this day was to our favorite little redhead, but more so, the remembrance that someone recognized we would miss him, just a little more today.  Written in the text was a whole lot of love from a friend who always brings me joy.

Once up, I spent a little bit of time searching for the perfect Star Wars video on Youtube.  I wanted one that would make my proclamation of love for my Jedi, who actually had the e-mail address jedione@????.??? once upon a time.  Settling on the link below, I posted a quick tribute and was off to spend the rest of the morning with my family.

All was well, until I stepped outside in bare feet to deliver items to the recycling bin.  Ouch!  That is cold!  (Later in the day, I actually noticed a few snowflakes mixed in with the drizzle that persisted throughout the day.)  If ever a light saber would come in handy, today was it. Of course, it  could have functioned as a blue therapy light as well.  I might actually have to look into that.  Additionally, I would want it to make the great sounds effects as well – which would doubly serve to lift my sad spirits.

After reading the thermometer (a not so balmy 38 F) by my kitchen window, I got the chuckles. You know those that I seem to have a proclivity for, the kind that bubble up from a deeply hidden well-spring that just erupt forth spewing uncontrollable laughter.

The source of my giggles was from a cold April day in Alabama many, many years ago.  I was living with my grandparents during graduate school at Auburn University.  My Papa (pronounced pawpaw) and I were going on one adventure of sorts.  Upon stepping outside that day, we noticed our breath in the air, which was not typical in late April in Opelika.  We (well okay I) went back in to get a warmer jacket.  Papa Reed was dressed appropriately – because he was astute follower of the best weather forecaster around: The Farmer’s Almanac.  Anyways, once I finally joined him, he dropped some good ol’ fashioned country knowledge on his young, but educated granddaughter.  “Gal, it’s cold as a blue lizard out here.”

I still remember looking at him and bursting into laughter.  If that saying didn’t describe the situation to a tee, I don’t know what one would.  He relished my giggles and we continued on, him with a twinkle in his eye and me with a giggle at the ready.

Standing at the kitchen counter today, I could almost picture my two Reeds in heaven, each with those sparkling blue eyes.

One saying:  “Momma, May the 4th be with you!” and the other saying, “Yep, Gal, still cold as a blue lizard.”

Today, I am grateful that God gave me the opportunity to love both of them.

For the love of boys and trucks

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papa's truckIt never ceases to amaze me. God will put something in my head as a topic for this blog, and then He gives my heart confirmation that He meant it.  It happens all the time.  In fact, it happened today.

I had been thinking about how I had never really written about my little blue pick-up truck.  Well actually, it was my Papa’s (pronounced Pawpaw) truck.  Long ago, I lived with my grandparents in graduate school.  That time of my life remains one of my most special.  One day after classes, my Mama (Mawmaw) told me that they were working on their will and were wondering if there was anything that I had my heart set on.  Looking back, the conversation was quite comical.

How about one of the cedar chests?

Sorry shug, your cousin has already asked for those.

How about your bedroom furniture?

No, I’m sorry that is going to your Momma and Daddy.

How about the kitchen chairs?

Well, um, no hun. Another cousin has already spoken for those.

(Eyebrows raised) The old stool we used to all play on?

Nope.

(Exasperated) Well, how about you just give me that old truck and the lawnmower.  That ought to be about good.

Done!

I don’t rightly know all the circumstances, but the old truck was sold off much to my broken heart. I loved that old green Ford my Papa drove when we carried out our adventures.  But some short time after “my” Ford was sold; he purchased a little blue pickup.

As time wore on, my Papa slipped further away from us due to dementia.  Slowly, his memories and recollections just faded away.  He began to forget generations of people.  All of us grandkids morphed into one of his children. By the time he arrived at the Alzheimer’s unit at the nursing home, there were only two things he remembered with certainty.

He knew that my Mama was his gal.  And the second thing he remembered was he had a little blue truck.  Of course, how we found out about that memory was something else.  Papa (who went by Mr. Reed at the home) was being pushed down the hall by another gentleman. When asked where they were going, the other man told the nurse that they were going to take Mr. Reed’s little blue pickup for a spin.

After he passed away, Mama gave the pickup to my dad.  I think he just felt wrong about it, and he turned around and gave it to me.  When we drove it back from our meeting spot in Arkansas, we told Reed that the truck would be his someday.  From one Reed to another.

As we know, that plan didn’t turn out as hoped.  For nine years, she’s been used to haul anything too large or too messy for our other vehicles. In January, plans began to fix up that little blue truck for Sawyer.  Eighteen years old and only 62,000 miles.  We figured she has a few more years left in her. My parents told Mama what we were doing, and one day I got a call from her saying that she knew that Papa had to be so proud knowing that one of my boys was driving that truck.

Today as I was driving down the road to one of my kiddo’s VIA (Very Important Appointments), I heard a song that had the tears flowing down.  It was the confirmation I needed to know that I really was meant to write this blog. My thoughts were tied to my heartstrings. I love it when God sends those heavenly assurances.

Take a listen below and hopefully you will see what I mean. And, in case you were wondering, the place I feel closest to my Papa is in that truck.  And you better believe if “Sweet Home, Alabama” or anything Hank Williams, Sr. comes on, we crank it way up!