The Women

Once again the women gathered. This past weekend my mother’s two sisters, their best friend, and several more of us gathered for dinner and laughs. There were four generations represented. The oldest in their mid-seventies and the youngest at eighteen months.

We ate dessert first. Then after dinner and a lot of talking and laughing, we donned Mardi Gras beads and crazy hats for our group photo. My aunt figures out something silly for us to put on each time for the pictures.

The littlest two girls loved the beads. They loaded all they could around their necks. Our baby girl finally dropped hers down to her ankles and kicked them off!   Big sister’s pile must have weighed half as much as she did!

This is a new ritual for us. My mother’s youngest sister has been diagnoses with Alzheimer’s. One would have to pay attention to realize she is having problems. When we are all together, she laughs and visits right along with us. We will try to get as many laughs and hugs in as we can in the time each of us has left.

What else is there? Love. In the end, that is all that matters. In the end, it is what made us and what sustains us. He is Love. From His Love He created us. Through His Love He saves us. To His Love we will return.

To love and worship Him through Christ. To keep His commandments. To keep His command to love each other. When one really gets to the center of that concept, everything else is a natural outpouring of true love. It is hard to love others. To make our way to true love. It is risky and dangerous to extend the heart and mind to love. To love and be loved.

And so, Lord willing, the women will continue to gather. To love and be loved. To learn to love even more. To teach the little ones how to love and be loved. Just as our mother’s before us taught us to love. In their memory and honor we gather to sustain each other and grow another generation to love and sustain each other.

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His Biggest Fan

I am his biggest fan.  I am his roadie, his groupie, his fan club president.  He sings specials in church.  He is my favorite singer.  Period.  He has never had the ambition to pursue singing on a larger scale.  He is content to sing at church whenever the opportunity arises.  He sings for his Lord.  He sings to help others see who Jesus is in his life, ever hopeful his song will lead a lost soul to Christ.

I am his grunt on home projects.  I fetch the tool or the light.  I hold this or push right there.  I go behind and try to get the tools and mess picked up and put away when I can.

I am his housekeeper and chief cook and bottle washer.  I like doing that, too.  He appreciates what I do and how I cook and says so.  Appreciation expressed is a nice thing to hear.

Some menfolk were talking about their wives’ projects.  I commented that he is my project.  Looking after him, tending to things, keeping up with business matters, stocking supplies, tagging along.  It is what I do.  What I want to do.  I want to love like crazy.  I want to surround him and our family with love and affection.  No other agenda.

I was visiting with a lady at a crawfish boil.  She was a fun, happy character.  She and our husbands were talking about the toilet seat issue.  She asked me to take her side in the discussion and I declined.  I simply don’t think that I have more authority than my husband.  I should look before I sit.  She liked that I took his side.  He is my best friend.  Of course, I take his side.  Even if he is wrong, I will take his side.

It has taken many years of married life for us to get here.  I knew early on this is the way I wanted it.  I knew I wanted him to be the man in charge.  I promoted the idea and prodded him sometimes to make him understand I wanted him to take control and let me play the supporting role.

My reward for what I try to do and the way I try to act is knowing he does not lead a life of quiet desperation.  He does not dread “dealing with” me.  He knows he can make whatever decisions and choices he wants without discussing anything with me.  I not only do not interfere in his business, I usually don’t even have an opinion to share when he asks for it.  I trust and believe in him in so deeply, I will go with him into the gates of hell never asking why.

He is in no way perfect.  I get my feelings hurt from time to time.  He is one of the only people on this planet who has the privilege of hurting my feelings.  Sorry, but no one else really does.  (Except my children.  But, don’t tell them.  I wouldn’t want them to know if they did hurt mine.  It would hurt theirs.)  Some people make me madder than a wet hen, but they don’t hurt my feelings.

He keeps me from going too far.  I am a little wild and a little crazy.  I have a tendency to get down and depressed.  He reins me in and keeps me safe.  He is my hero and my favorite celebrity. I am his biggest fan.

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