Oh, Mercy Me!!

"Oh, Mercy Me!" How many times did I hear my sweet grandmother say that? I have no idea -- many, many, many because it was one of her favorite expressions. I'm not quite sure what it meant. Perhaps it meant, "Oh, mercy, what hath me done?" Or perhaps it meant, "Oh, Lord, have mercy on me!"

Whichever, it's a phrase that came to mind in my frantic efforts to undo an "oops" this afternoon. My cell phone accidentally ended up in water. It ended up in water because . . . big surprise!! . . . I dropped it there! I'd heard from my son, who once dropped his into a pool or a hot tub, that it isn't a good way to clean your cell phone. Now I could experience first-hand just what he meant, although it's an experience I would rather have skipped.

I snatched the phone out of the water, grabbed a paper towel, and began frantically to dry that little thing off. But there are nooks and crannies in cell phones, not to mention ports for chargers and head phones, and a battery that keeps it all running.

I ran downstairs, phone clutched in my hand, flew into our bathroom, threw open the cupboard door, and grabbed my blow dryer. Opening all the little things that open, I worked frantically to blow air into each space in hopes of preventing the death of my beloved cell phone. That little device is my memory. It holds information about how to reach people important in my life, information that I'm not sure I have stored anywhere else. (OK, that isn't my smartest move, and it's an oversight that definitely should be checked out and corrected!)

Tugging and struggling, I tried to get to the battery, to no avail. Surely that cover is supposed to slide off, right? I became stubborn and persistent. (It is not appropriate to say, "She's always stubborn . . . ") I WAS going to get to that battery, and eventually I succeeded. Blow, blow, blow went the dryer, after I'd taken out the battery and dryed it with a towel, in hopes of removing every bit of moisture in the battery compartment, and anywhere else on that small but powerful device known as a cell phone.

Praying fervently, I tried to use the phone in hopes that I had not caused its demise. It did weird things -- changing from one mode to another without my asking it to. YIKES! Would it ever work again?

Eventually, I called Neil, who is spending today as he did yesterday at the hospital with his mother. Comic relief is good, right? I told him what I'd done, and he said, "Wait a minute. . . I need to stop laughing!"

Maybe now is a good time to finish my confession. I dropped my cell phone not only into water, but into "eau de toilette" -- commonly known as the commode. Oh, yes, I did! Can you believe it? And my husband, instead of his usual unflappable demeanor, is laughing! Go figure! What happened to his love and compassion? His calm in the midst of storm?

I tried to send a text message to my children, to see if that feature would work, but one column of buttons (the three middle ones) would not allow letters to be typed. That was surely not a good sign! Going back downstairs, I used the blow dryer yet again, in case I'd missed a small vestige of moisture, then I put the cell phone down to let it rest. After all, being "baptized" must be a relatively traumatic event, especially baptism in the rather unusual baptistry that I used!!

Eventually, I gathered my courage and tried yet again, texting my children to confess that my phone had been momentarily dipped, and asking for a reply to see if the text option still worked. You can imagine my relief when a response quickly came back!

Whether everything still works on my cell phone remains to be seen, but now that it's been especially "blessed by baptism", perhaps it will work better than ever!!

Oh, mercy me, you can stop laughing any time!!

My Daddy

In the wee, dark hours of Christmas Eve morning four years ago, our telephone rang. Rarely, if ever, does a phone ringing in the middle of the night do so to announce good news, so I answered with more than a twinge of fear in my heart.

The voice on the other end of the line was one I did not recognize, but she knew me, for she said, "Patty, this is Ruth at Atherton, and I'm so sorry to tell you your daddy passed away a few minutes ago."

My dad was gone? I'd been with him a few hours ago, laughing as I kissed him and telling him, "Christy will be here tomorrow, so you'd better be good 'till then!" He laughed -- it was the first time he'd laughed out loud in so long. What a treasured sound!

Five months earlier, my dad "bottomed out", although the doctors seemed not to know exactly why. The vagaries of old age and Parkinsons Disease conspired to make life those last five months of Dad's life extremely challenging and limited. What we would have done without the incredibly tender care given by the wonderful caregivers at Atherton Baptist Homes, I do not know. He could no longer walk or feed himself, sometimes he could talk--but not always, and sometimes I know he knew me, while at other times, I'm quite certain he did not.

Every day -- before work, during the work day, on the way home from work, or early in the evening, I'd slip down to Atherton to spend some time with Dad. Mom had been gone for a year before Dad became so compromised physically. He missed her beyond words. She was the love of his life, the reason for his existence. "I just want to live long enough to take care of your mother," Dad would say. They were devoted to each other, an amazing example of love and commitment -- to one another and to God.

Two weekends prior to this middle-of-the-night phone call, I had expected Dad to die. He had pneumonia, and his blood pressure got so low, it seemed that he would just gradually slip away, but he did not. Now it was the day before Christmas, and two of his grandchildren were coming to see their grandpa, but . . . Dad was spending Christmas in heaven with Jesus & Mom instead.

If you didn't know my dad, you really missed something. He was wonderful! I almost said he was about the best man who ever lived, but there are several I've never met, so I guess that would be difficult to prove. But those who knew him would agree that he was a truly fine man.

Dad was frugal, something for which he has taken a fair amount of kidding. A standing family joke is, "Dad said money's meant to be spent," or words to that affect. Then we all crack up because that is so NOT what Dad would say.

Dad's memory was perfect -- well, perhaps I should explain that. Dad had two daughters, my older and much more mature sister, Merrilyn, and me. For decades -- thus totally not related to age and Parkinsons and the dementia that came near the end of Dad's life -- Dad had been unable to remember a single thing either Merrilyn (save one dusting incident that Merrilyn never lets us forget) or I ever did wrong. How's that for a great memory!! I've decided that being forgetful of your children's misdeeds is a wonderful thing, and I am trying to emulate it with my own children.

Dad was tender. He so loved his wife, his children, and his grandchildren. One of the hardest things this year for Merrilyn and me has been knowing how much Mom and Dad would have loved to see and snuggle with their three great grandbabies who were born in 2008. When our David first arrived from Vietnam and often needed to be held and walked, Dad would tuck him inside his bathrobe early in the mornings, hold him close to his heart, and just walk with him. So tender . . .

Dad was fun. He had the best sense of humor and an incredibly quick wit. You never knew quite what comeback he'd have to a comment or situation, but he always had something good.

Dad was caring and committed, working hard to provide for his family and serving God through his church faithfully. He and Mom were amongst the most generous people I've ever known, giving way beyond 10% to the Lord, in addition to giving of their time and talents.

One of my most special memories of Dad near the end of his life was the weekend he had pneumonia. I was sitting with him, praying and trying not to cry, feeling fairly certain he wasn't going to be with us much longer. Neil was in the hospital recovering from gall bladder surgery, and Merrilyn was in Washington, so it was just Dad and me. Lying in his bed at Atherton, Dad turned to me and said, conspiratorily, "Let's break out of here!"

Not quite sure I'd heard correctly, I parroted, "You want to break out of here?"

"Yep!"

"Dad, where do you want to go?

"Heaven!" said in a voice that indicated I should have known the plan. He was ready to leave that weak, feeble body and dance the streets of heaven with Mom!!

Dad's death was not a tragedy. It was a blessed release from a failing body and mind, an event that for Dad was much-anticipated and long-awaited because he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would be with his Lord . . . and Mom.

This Christmas season, as I've reflected on Dad and Mom and their impact on Merrilyn's and my lives, as well as the lives of their grandchildren, extended family, and many friends, I again realize how incredibly blessed Merrilyn and I were to have these two amazing people for parents.

I also realize that, altho we continue to miss these two precious people, we have many friends who have lost loved ones this year, whose grief is fresh, for whom this is the first Christmas season without their grandchild, child, husband/wife, father/mother, grandparent, or friend. My heart aches for each. I pray that the God who loves them will hold them close in His arms, as He has held us, bringing comfort as only He can, and that warm memories of good times together will bring a smile to the face and comfort to the heart, even as tears trickle down the cheeks.


P.S. One more memory -- and a confession: the last Sunday of Dad's life was Christmas Sunday 2004. Dad could no longer attend church, so he and I were watching the worship service from our own church, First Baptist of Alhambra, which is available on TV at Atherton. Dad was relaxing in his recliner, having a pretty good day, and I was reclined on his bed, since there was not a second chair in his small skilled nursing room. The worship that morning was the Christmas musical, interspersed with scripture read in some of the many languages represented by our congregation, which is very multi-cultural. Neither Dad nor I understood most of the scripture, but we'd found out that the Holiday on Ice Christmas Special was on another channel, so whenever there was reading we couldn't understand, we'd watch the beauty of ice skating to Christmas music. Dad used to be a good skater, and I believe he and Mom even met on an ice rink, so it seemed fitting. We saw the most gorgeous, touching skating done to "O Holy Night" that morning.

Ever since Dad's death, that precious time with him his last Sunday on earth -- a wonderful combination of worship in word, song, and dance on ice -- has made it really hard for me to attend church on Christmas Sunday, so I spend the morning at Starbucks, talking to my sister, reminiscing about the great gift God gave us in the form of our dad, or . . . this year, telling you all about our daddy on this blog!

The Youngest Juror??

It's a thing of the past -- already. Trisha Lynn Carter, at the tender age of 3 weeks, has already reported for her first jury duty at the Sacramento Court House. Impressive, don't you think?



Christy had received a jury summons a month or two ago, with the instructions to report on Monday, 1 December. She returned the paperwork asking to be excused on the basis that she would be a nursing mother by that time.

Due to a glitch, Chris received a denial to her request, which arrived when Trisha was just a few days old. Calling the courthouse, she was assured they would send her paperwork again.

Thanksgiving weekend arrived, and as Christy began to think about things, the jury summons came to mind. She realized that she had not received the paperwork to request being excused and that her jury duty was to begin early this morning, Monday, 1 December. The courthouse was closed for Thanksgiving weekend. What to do?

Well . . . obviously you bundle up the baby, trundle yourself and wee infant down to the courthouse, and report for jury duty as instructed.

Although she was asked by the guy at the desk, "Don't you have child-care?", when Christy responded that the baby was only 3 weeks old and that Chris was a nursing mother, he did send her on to another office where they officially excused her . . . and Trisha Lynn . . . from serving jury duty this week.

This little munchkin has to be the cutest thing ever to report for jury duty!!