*You might need Kleenex.
Well, you probably all know that today is my birthday. Wooohooo 42~ 41 and all the yuck that went with it is OVER! ( I hope)
So anyway, I didn't think I would post anything today, and I'm pushing it with time, but wanted to share something that happened while it's still fresh in my mind. Oh for crying out loud, I just realized I left it in the car! Talk amongst yourselves for a minute........
Ok. Every year on our birthdays' my Mom would tell us the story of the day we were born. It drove me bonkers. "I know Mom, I KNOW." Even as an adult she would call and wish me a Happy Birthday and then the story. My birth wasn't a dramatic event, unlike both my brother and my sister. Just a regular old easy delivery. She would tell me that I was a good baby, most of the time I didn't cry, when I woke up I would sing to myself in my crib. It always ended with, you were born on a beautiful September day, but two weeks later we had to drive you half a block to church for your baptism, in a snow storm. I would honestly give back a year of my life if I could hear that story from her own lips just one more time. Or to hear my Dad joke about how I was born two weeks after their wedding date. (two years and two weeks) Birthdays now are definitely missing something.
I had my "sad" moment earlier in the day, then put that stuff back where it belongs and took off to my sisters house to play with the dogs, do laundry, and wait for her to get back from an appointment to take me to birthday lunch. When I got out of the car and came around to get out my laundry I found this.
They call this flower an "Indian Paintbrush" probably renamed now to be more politically correct. :) However, that's what my Grandma Lenihan called it, and that's what I will always call it. I remember our car trips and how she would always point them out. They are plentiful in the summer on the side of highway 53. I would pick her bunches whenever I could find them around the neighborhood. When the landlord doesn't have the grass cut for a month at a time I will pick some from the yard here, but they don't grow in the fall. I stopped dead when I saw it right there in my normal walking path. There were no others in the yard. Just this one lone flower.
You believe what you want, but I firmly believe that sometimes people who have gone before us are allowed to do something small to reach back and remind us that they are still there, still loving us and watching over us. I have had it happen too many times to think otherwise, and will keep that flower for the rest of my own days on this earth. Thank you Grandma, I love you too.
Well, you probably all know that today is my birthday. Wooohooo 42~ 41 and all the yuck that went with it is OVER! ( I hope)
So anyway, I didn't think I would post anything today, and I'm pushing it with time, but wanted to share something that happened while it's still fresh in my mind. Oh for crying out loud, I just realized I left it in the car! Talk amongst yourselves for a minute........
Ok. Every year on our birthdays' my Mom would tell us the story of the day we were born. It drove me bonkers. "I know Mom, I KNOW." Even as an adult she would call and wish me a Happy Birthday and then the story. My birth wasn't a dramatic event, unlike both my brother and my sister. Just a regular old easy delivery. She would tell me that I was a good baby, most of the time I didn't cry, when I woke up I would sing to myself in my crib. It always ended with, you were born on a beautiful September day, but two weeks later we had to drive you half a block to church for your baptism, in a snow storm. I would honestly give back a year of my life if I could hear that story from her own lips just one more time. Or to hear my Dad joke about how I was born two weeks after their wedding date. (two years and two weeks) Birthdays now are definitely missing something.
I had my "sad" moment earlier in the day, then put that stuff back where it belongs and took off to my sisters house to play with the dogs, do laundry, and wait for her to get back from an appointment to take me to birthday lunch. When I got out of the car and came around to get out my laundry I found this.
They call this flower an "Indian Paintbrush" probably renamed now to be more politically correct. :) However, that's what my Grandma Lenihan called it, and that's what I will always call it. I remember our car trips and how she would always point them out. They are plentiful in the summer on the side of highway 53. I would pick her bunches whenever I could find them around the neighborhood. When the landlord doesn't have the grass cut for a month at a time I will pick some from the yard here, but they don't grow in the fall. I stopped dead when I saw it right there in my normal walking path. There were no others in the yard. Just this one lone flower.
You believe what you want, but I firmly believe that sometimes people who have gone before us are allowed to do something small to reach back and remind us that they are still there, still loving us and watching over us. I have had it happen too many times to think otherwise, and will keep that flower for the rest of my own days on this earth. Thank you Grandma, I love you too.
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