A Bigger Picture, Part I

This is one of those stories that I need to add some details, so bear with me.  When I arrived in Florida to help my daughter, the first thing on my long list was to get her car's air conditioning fixed.  I took her car to Midas thinking a little freon was all it needed.  When I was told that it needed a whole new system, I politely said, "Prove it."  Which the very large Midas mechanic did (referred to as "Big M" hereafter).  Big M told me that it would take 3 - 4 hours.  I panicked knowing that the a/c was only the first thing on a list of many.  Big M agreed to let one of his mechanics drive me back to my daughter's school so I could help her clean, sort, pack and store her dorm room.  Edgar, the mechanic who drove me, was a nice man from Puerto Rico.  He was flipping through the radio stations and settled on a Christian music station.  I excitedly said, "You're a believer!!"  To which replied (after he recovered from the shock of my yelling at him on a busy highway), "Yes, with the life I have, it's my only hope."  He told me his life story which includes a hard working man, husband and father of 3.  He worked 3 jobs to support his family.  His oldest child, a son, is 15.  Last year his wife abruptly left him, taking the 3 children to Puerto Rico.  He has not seen his family since then.  Their leaving has left a huge hole in his heart.  I was saddened and spoke of how hard it must be for his son also.  I said, "A 15 year old boy needs his dad."  He assured me that he tries to talk to his son daily.  We were coming up on my daughter's school, but her school is a series of buildings on one way streets and alleys.  After we missed our turn, I said, "Turn here!", which Edgar did . . . right into a Funeral Parlor.  Much to our surprise, a funeral was in session!  Between our intense conversation, my anxiety and being lost, we were ripe for a bit of relief  . . .  we laughed hysterically and tried to disappear under the dashboard of the truck as the mourners poured out of the Funeral Parlor to their cars.  Little did I know that would not be the last time I saw Edgar, nor did I know that our chance meeting was perhaps not chance after all . . .  to be continued . . .

What A Trip It Has Been

I was away for seven days in Florida and I think I have seven stories.  I'll start with the airplane story.  You all know I get travel anxiety.  People with anxiety have a fear of losing control in public.  One of my fears is that I will start to laugh (get hysterical) and not be able to stop.  It's silly, I know, but anxiety is not rational.  I got my ticket late and had no choice but to take a window seat in the back of the plane.  Not the best for someone with anxiety.  In the final minutes of boarding a huge black man sat down in front of me.  He literally spilled over into my lap. The man who had the seat next to him refused to sit there.  The big man had a brief conversation with the Flight Attendant who apologized because she could not get him 2 seats together.  He apparently had ticketed two seats but the airlines messed up (big surprise there).  The Flight Attendant was saying to him, "I'm sorry, but I could not get you another seat, but I have someone who volunteered to sit next to you."  The Flight Attendant was an attractive women of medium height and weight.  As she stepped aside, you could see behind her stood a 5 foot, little old white lady with even whiter hair.  The little lady said, "Oh, I will sit next to him."  And there it was. . . , the one hysterical thing that I thought would be the end of me.  To complete the picture, I must tell you, the biggest thing on the man in front of me was his smile.  His white teeth matched perfectly with the little lady's white hair.  They sat together in perfect harmony for the entire flight; big and small, black and white, young and old.  I noticed that people knew him, talked to him about his football career and that he wore a "Lion of Judah" gold necklace.  Eight days later as my husband was flipping channels I yelled excitedly, "There is the man who sat in my lap on the plane!"  This man, a retired football player, was speaking about his Christian faith, smiling with those pearly white teeth.  This time when I saw him, I laughed hysterically, but without fear!

A Mother's Fruit

God's Word says that a good tree will bear good fruit while a bad tree will bear bad fruit.  The way you recognize a tree is by it's fruit.  If you plant a seed from the fruit of a good tree it will blossom.  However, sometimes, because of things out of the control of the tree (e.g., storms, worms and such), the fruit rots.  And it is only with great care that that tree will ever bear good fruit again.  Do you smell an analogy?  I was a piece of rotten fruit!  Who do you think nurtured me, with great care, to bear good fruit again?  Who do you think continued to love me in spite of the storms and worms and the stench of rotting fruit?  Where do you think I got my strength from?  Not from any sissy.  No, I got my strength from my Italian mother.  Italian mother's are the best of the best.  They love you until you want to scream and feed you until you want to burst.  They fatten you up and then tell you to lose weight.  They say don't talk back to me, but then want to know why you're not talking to them.  They don't tolerate bad behavior, but they love you anyway.  They can produce a great harvest from a bad seed.  They never say I told you so, but they don't need to, you know that they told you so!  It is with great honor and respect that I give a shout out to the best Italian mother I know, my mother.  If I am any good at all, it is to her credit.  If I bear good fruit, it is to her credit.  If I make a good meatball, it is to her credit. She works hard, loves deeply and, of course, cooks superbly.  Italian mother's are like no others.  Love you Mom, Happy Mother's Day!

Meet The Grandson

Congratulate me! I am the proud grandmother of ED (Evil Device).




Don't let his sleek, cheerful exterior fool you. This little 10 digit bundle of connection is nothing but a 24/7 distraction. It's funny how a person can send and receive thousands of text messages from peers, but never seems to get the one text message mom sends. Well, I have adopted ED as my grandson. He now resides with me at night. He also spends his evenings with me while the boy gets his homework done. While in grandmother's care, ED is learning better language, balance and boundaries, and good sleeping habits. ED's dad, the boy, is also learning stuff, like Spanish because ED will not pass from grandma's hand to the boy's hand until his Spanish homework is done, better sleeping habits, and a whole slew of things, like the benefits of uninterrupted conversation. Who knew that parenting in the 21st century would involve the need for parents to babysit electronics?