Football Fever

I'm not exactly sure when it happened, but it did happen. I fell in love. Oh football, how I love thee! Let me count the ways.

College football is my favorite.

High school football is also great, because it is as American as apple pie and Elvis. I went to the best high school ever and we were good at football and a lot of those guys were my friends. Go Big Reds!

As for the NFL, I have always liked it too, but I don't get as emotionally involved in those games. Maybe if I played Fantasy Football I would, but I don't. By the way, who knew that FF was going to be so ginormous? Wow.

Back to college football:

I love the sounds. Each sport has it's own sounds, and I am not afraid to say that there is no contest. Football sounds are the absolute best. Nobody can compete with the marching bands. Nice try with the organ, baseball, but not so much. Golf? Ha ha. No. As much as I love tennis, nope. Soccer? I love soccer, and there are places (England) that might compete a little bit ...with their throngs of men singing ancient songs of allegiance.... Someone somewhere (South Africa?) decided to introduce the worst idea ever to soccer: the vuvuzela. I rest my case. Anyway, the college marching bands...how great are they? They play their school's fight songs with such enthusiasm that we can't help but get up and clap along. At halftime they march into cool formations representing their schools. They do all of this as a unit. Rarely do we know a band member's individual name. But we do know our fight songs! I'll bet there a lot of folks who could even hum parts of the Notre Dame fight song or the Michigan fight song but wouldn't know what they were humming. My favorite marching band is affectionately called, 'The Pride of West Virginia.' I get a little misty eyed every time I watch them form the outline of West Virginia, while playing 'Simple Gifts' by Copland.

I love the weather. The beginning of football season signals the end of the worst of summer. It means that soon we'll be getting out our jeans and hoodies. And there are few places on earth that are prettier than the place where I fell in love with football. West Virginia in the autumn is breathtakingly beautiful.

I love the excitement. How many times do we watch a game where both teams have given it their all for sixty minutes, only for it to come down to the last two seconds? Have you ever been there? You can't hear yourself think! The noise is awesome!

I love the game itself. Are they going to pass or run it? Should the quarterback use the shot gun? Should he keep it and run? Are they going to blitz? How about a little slant pass over the middle? Who's stronger, our offensive line or their defensive line? Who's faster, our wide receivers or their defensive backs? Are they really going to kick the ball to that guy? He-could-go-all-the-way!!!

I even love the fact that football has cheerleaders and pom pom girls and the girls are still allowed to be pretty. Somehow the PC crowd has not yet imposed some rule outlawing pretty cheerleaders and pom pom girls, because by being pretty they make some people feel ugly.  Yep. They probably do.

And then there are the rules. There are so many rules! Not only is it good to know the rules, it's helpful to know the signals. I like the fact that I know that when the official starts patting the top of his head he means that there was an ineligible receiver downfield. And I guess we can all thank (former?) NCAA official Gordon Riese for giving college football the instant replay challenge. Although every Sooner fan might not recognize his name, most would surely recognize his handiwork from the 2006 game between Oklahoma and Oregon. Had the rules allowed for an instant replay review, Oklahoma would have won that game.

I think I may have transitioned into some things that I don't love....

While we're on the subject of rules, let's talk for just a moment about the, 'excessive celebration' rule. Really NCAA? Excessive celebration? These guys are taught to get as pumped up as they can to play the game of football. They have to out smart, out muscle, and out speed the other team over and over to try to get to that magical place called the end zone. It's hard. It's dangerous. People get hurt trying. And yet....when they finally cross that goal line and score a touchdown, they aren't allowed to celebrate???? Now that's just plain dumb. Taunting is different. Penalize taunting. Don't penalize celebrating. Are we not smart enough to know the difference? I think we are.

Speaking of the NCAA, am I the only one who thinks they are getting a little scary? I mean, they are busy little beavers....sanctions here, warnings there, threats everywhere. I'm beginning to think that they have created a rulebook that is absolutely impossible to obey so they have job security. It's not a matter of whether a school has messed up, it's more a matter of who they are going to go after today. Who is going to stop the madness?

And last but not least...in fact I'm quite sure I will write about this again....WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON WITH THE THE REALIGNMENT OF TEAMS AND CONFERENCES???

Feel free to opine.

Meanwhile there is no debate about what is on the TV at the Pearman house on Saturdays. This coming Saturday my two favorite teams are playing on different channels at the same time. Oklahoma is currently ranked #1 in the land. Boomer Sooner! And WVU is playing at home against LSU. College Game Day in Morgantown??? Sunnyside will accept the sacrifice of many old nasty couches. It's hard to believe that I lived nine years of my life in Morgantown. Those were good years, but that's another story.

Just sayin...

Hey Djokovic, you return like a girl!

And I mean that in the nicest way, really. I really do.

Through the decades of watching the top tennis professionals battle it out on the court I have observed a few things. One of them is that in the men's game, the serve is considered a huge weapon and the return not so much. Exception: Andre Agassi. There are probably more, but he was the best returner I remember seeing on the men's side.... until now.  It makes sense, really. Men are put together differently than women. They have strong shoulders and arms. Women, for the most part are not as strong in the upper body. In the women's game the return of serve  has been considered a huge weapon for many of the top players. Right off the bat I think of Chris Evert, Monica Seles, Steffi Graf, Venus Williams, Serena Williams, Maria Sharapova....you get it. In fact, the only top women's players that I really remember being known for their serves more than their returns were Billy Jean King and Martina Navritilova, both amazing serve and volley players. You may disagree with me, but even as huge as Venus and Serena serve, I think their returns are what  blow people off the court. When I picture these two hitting returns one word comes to mind more than anything else: fearless. They can be up match point or down match point, or anywhere in between and you can bet on one thing: they are going to hit all out on that return of serve. And this fearless, aggressive, 'go big or go home,' kind of returning has, forgive the expression, served them quite well.

On the men's side, however, the servers have had a huge advantage, and that is still true for the most part. Look at John Isner. He is 6'9". He not only hits the serve a million miles and hour, his height allows him to go for the angles too. Many of his  matches have a lot of tie breaks, because it is really hard to break his serve. Yep, he's the guy who, on the third day, and after playing a total of  11 hours and 5 minutes, and 183 games, finally beat Mahut at Wiimbledon last summer. Nobody could break the other guy's serve. It is a record that will likely never be broken. But I digress..... sort of. Here's what has gone through my mind for a long time: what if the huge servers, like John Isner and Andy Roddick, could return better? I mean, what would it take to turn them from one-sided players into players that can do it all, like the Williams sisters on the women's side?

Enter stage left: NOVAK DJOKOVIC.

If you missed the match between Djokovic and Nadal yesterday afternoon, you will get another chance, and I couldn't recommend it more. It was like watching modern day gladiators, and history unfolding before my eyes. There is so much to say, but I will try to stay focused on my point, which is this: Djokovic's return of serve was phenomenal. McEnroe, Carillo, and Enberg were drooling over it, and Nadal was baffled by it. Over and over again the ball came back hard and deep to the baseline, putting Rafa on his back foot and forcing him to hit short. More than once a voice in our living room would say, 'how does he keep doing that?' And then it hit me: Djokovic returns like a girl! His return of serves are not just hard, they aren't just deep, they are FEARLESS. Do you remember when he was down double match point against Federer in the semis? Roger hit a good serve out wide and what happened? BAM! Djokovic hit the return as hard as he possibly could for a clean winner....and ended up mounting a shocking comeback when it looked like Fed had it in the bag. Amazing.

So when I say that Novak Djokovic returns like a girl, I mean it! Way to go, Novak!

The Never Ending Story

Have you ever seen the movie, 'The Never Ending Story?' It is a wonderful children's story about a boy, his love of books, and how he becomes a part of the story he is reading. His adventure includes learning the dreadful secret that, 'a terrible nothing' was taking over the land. He saw it happening. There were others who saw it too, and wanted to stop it, but most of the characters didn't believe it. I haven't thought about that story for quite some time, but I can still picture some of the scenes. I loved to watch it when my boys were young, and as an adult I found myself wondering if the story was speaking to some very deep and current themes all around me. 

For months now I have been unable to sit down and write on this blog. It was like the terrible nothing that took over my writing! Whereas words usually flow easily from my mind to my keyboard, there was a block. My last post speaks to it a bit, I think. The truth is that I have had more than one pity party this year, and all I could think to write was something like, 'Hey 2011, you can kiss my butt.' 

Lovely, right? See why I have been so quiet? Sigh.....

Today, however, was September 11, 2011.

For many of us, I imagine, the parts of our lives that have been fuzzy came more into focus. Priorities became clearer. Life and the preciousness of it took center stage. We mourned the loss of too many innocent souls ten years ago. We grieved with the mothers and fathers, the husbands and wives, the children, and brothers and sisters of not only those who were murdered, but those who lost their lives trying to save others. We wiped tears from our eyes every time an American flag was displayed and songs of our nation were sung in unity of spirit. We were pensive, respectful. For one day, we were all allowed to think about the important rather than the urgent. It was okay to talk about things like the brevity of life, the certainty of death, and ponder what it means to each of us individually. It was a day of honor. Those in uniforms were visible everywhere....some as recipients of invitations, the rest, as part of their ongoing duty to protect others. Because today, just like in the story, whether we acknowledge it or not, there is still an ever present danger. Seventy-seven of our soldiers were injured this morning by the vile and pusillanimous act of a suicide bomber in the Wardak Province of Afghanistan. And we all know that there was a credible threat lurking within our own borders today too. As the clock ticks down on this historic day in our nation's history, though,  I will close  my eyes in thanksgiving. I thank God for hearing the prayers of so many. I thank Him that all of the ceremonies today were performed safely. I thank Him that none of those soldiers died from the attack this morning. I thank our military men and women for volunteering to be in harm's way in an effort to protect us and our freedoms. I thank all of the military families who sacrifice right along with their loved ones who are deployed.  I thank all of our uniformed men and women for choosing lives of service, and for the true American dream of freedom for all men and women everywhere. 

There is a surprise at the end of, 'The Never Ending Story'  that reminds me of a promise at the end of another book. I won't spoil it, but it is worth reading for yourself! 

Revelation 21:5

From Help! to Hallelujah!

Anybody who knows me knows that I am not a fan of worry. My grandma taught me a long time ago that worrying is a big waste of time. She said, 'If you worry you don't trust, and if you trust you don't worry.'  But if I told you that I never worry, not only would I be a hypocrite, I would be a liar. But that doesn't change how I feel about it. 


Other words that I refuse to embrace: anxiety, fear, anger, and depression. These are not emotions that I coddle or invite with any hospitality into my life. I believe that these are great destroyers of all that we can be, and so I am determined to be against them. Having said that, I have to admit that every single one of them has had their way with me from time to time this year. 


It is only April, and I quiver as I look back on the past three and a half months. Our family has experienced much hardship, including things such as sicknesses,  injuries, surgeries, heartbreaks, uncertainty,  and deaths. The bad news has been seemingly incessant. It is hard to believe that it has been over a month since I kissed my sister for the last time. 


One night recently I went to bed and struggled to get to sleep. I was angry, and I knew I shouldn't go to bed angry.  But I was angry.  I was angry with somebody who was purposely  hurting somebody very very close to me, and I was angry with God, because my storm was still raging. I cried into my pillow and prayed that he would help me. When I woke up, I had a peace that truly made no earthly sense. It had to be from him. 


Without warning, a furious storm came up on the lake, so that the waves swept over the boat. But Jesus was sleeping. The disciples went and woke him, saying, 'Lord, save us! We're going to drown!' 
He replied, 'You of little faith, why are you so afraid?' Then he got up and rebuked the winds and the waves, and it was completely calm. 
The men were amazed and asked, 'What kind of man is this? Even the winds and the waves obey him!' 
Matthew 8:24-27


All I have to say to that is....


HALLELUJAH! 

Family Ties

Reunion.

 Some words simply explain themselves. What a delightful thing it is to reconnect.

If you had been spying on me the past few days you would have seen that I was glued at the hip with my good friend, Dianne. You would have seen a lot of smiles and a lots of hugs and if you could have heard, you would have heard a lot of encouraging words. We really do love each other a lot.

There are not very many people in the world who have known me as long as Dianne has. When she was six years old she saw me come home from the hospital. She remembers my very first house better than I do. My parents were like family to  her and her parents were like family to me. Our parents had been best friends for a very long time. Our dads went hunting together. Our moms went shopping together.We went to church together on Sundays and often out to lunch afterwards. Dressed up in our beautiful church dresses and shoes, we ate at places like 'Three Sons's' or 'Seddon's.'  Both had spaghetti and meatballs on the menu, which made me very happy.  The meals always came with salad and bread. The salads consisted of iceberg lettuce with the obligatory julienned carrot, a bit of celery, tomato, and purple onion. I loved thousand island dressing. My goal at each and every one of these meals was two-fold: don't spill my coke and don't get any stains on my pretty church dress. If I were successful with the latter, I earned a quarter, enough money to buy a whole roll of sour cherry hard candies, my absolute favorite. I usually failed miserably. My nickname, 'Spill-it, drop-it, Break-it', was well earned. Sometimes my dad felt sorry for me and gave me a wink and a quarter anyway. Oh how I loved that man.

Dianne was in high school and going on dates when I was still a little dorky thing. I imagined her sitting next to a cute guy in a hot rod car as he drove through the Fat Boy to show her off.  It was like having a big sister, but without the daily sibling rivalry. Jan, Dianne's little sister, and Roxanne, my big sister, were the same age, about eighteen months older than me. When we were little girls, Jan and Roxanne played together a lot. They liked dolls and playing make believe and girl stuff. I was the youngest child and apparently a hazard when it came to breaking things, so touching other peoples toys was off limits for me. Thankfully the Barnetts had a beautiful baby grand piano with classical music on display. Since I started playing the piano at the age of four, I found myself at home in their formal living room practicing music by composers like Beethoven, Mozart or Hayden. I truly was fine with that. At some point I came to realize that I didn't really like dolls anyway. I liked playing kick ball or tennis or kick the can or cards or board games, but I just never enjoyed dolls. I liked rock 'em sock 'em robots, vac-u-form, twiddly winks, erector sets,  and old maid. I liked climbing trees, playing in mud puddles, and jumping on my pogo stick. I loved riding my bike and anybody's horse. But I didn't like playing with dolls.  Dianne and Jan were artistic, and they were good at stuff like tap dance, jazz,  and ballet. Years later Jan taught me how to dance, and because of that I enjoyed two glorious years as a member of the Red Wing Drill Team.  It was good that we all had our own interests, as competition never entered the picture. Fun fact: Roxanne and Jan both played the accordion. And they were good. Unfortunately, in the sixties and seventies there just weren't a lot of opportunities to use that talent, so they both gave it up. Dianne painted the blue devil in the center of our junior high school basketball court. Every time I walked out onto that court to cheer for the basketball team, or for any other reason, I welled up with pride. I knew the artist. As far as I know it is still there to this day. When she came to visit she brought me a few gifts, one of which was something beautiful that she painted just for me. Amazing.

 Charles, Dianne's father, was our family physician, and my dad had been his best friend since they had a fistfight on the playground of Lincoln Elementary School. (I don't know who won, but I just assume it was my dad, of course.) My dad died before my wedding day, so Charles donned a tuxedo, (a huge deal,) and walked me down the aisle. He stepped up to the plate over and over again to help us after my dad died.  Both of our dads are in heaven now, and our mothers are approaching their ninetieth birthdays. Helen and Charles have a namesake: Helen Charlene. Yes. It's me.  I never knew them as Dr. and Mrs. Barnett, except to mail something to them or introduce them to others. To me, they were Helen and Charles. I never thought of it as strange. Jan and Dianne addressed my parents as Jim and Augie. I knew the Barnett's address and phone number by heart from the time I was tiny. I knew that if I were ever in need of anything and I couldn't reach my own parents all I had to do was call Helen and Charles.  Most people know me as Charlene, but new laws require that my driver's license and any official or travel documents be listed as Helen. So more and more people call me Helen these days, and I love it now. It always makes me think of my Helen. She has and always will be one of the most precious people the Lord placed into my life.

Regularly our two families traveled to Columbus for shopping trips (Lazarus!) and sometimes we would have dinner at the Kahiki, an exotic, Polynesian-style restaurant that was kind of like having dinner in the Tiki Room at Disneyland, minus the crooning birds and flowers, but including the thunderstorms and waterfalls. Dinner at the Kahiki was always so exciting that I had trouble falling asleep before such trips. Other stuff that we did with the Barnett family: We traveled to the mountains or the beach or the lake together. We went for boat rides on the Ohio River. We had picnics. We ate ice cream at Broughton's. We celebrated holidays, like Christmas and New Year's Eve. Charles loved technology. Long before anyone had ever seen such a crazy thing, he figured out how to make his Christmas lights blink in rhythm to his music. That was one of the 'neatest' things I had ever seen. That, and his really cool miniature train that went fast and let off steam and whistled as it traveled around and around the extra large Christmas display in their family room.

In 1970 we took a trip to Atlantic City, New Jersey to see the Miss America pageant. It was a very special trip because Miss West Virginia was our very own Dianne! Glowing with beauty inside and out, she represented our state with such poise. I remember wondering what it would be like to perform in front of such a large crowd and TV audience. I remember thinking that I would surely have scraped my leg or arm on something or have a bruise somewhere or maybe I would just trip and fall in my evening gown. I remember being so very proud of her, and also so glad that it was not something I would ever be required to do!  Years later she kind of suggested that I could play the piano and try out, but then I showed her my legs. I guess she had forgotten. They were made for athletic endeavors, not bathing suit competitions. It's okay. I knew I wasn't beauty queen material, but not everyone is. Years later Dianne would be there to support our friend, Patsy Paugh Ramsey, the 1977 Miss West Virginia, after her daughter, Jon Benet, was murdered. Dianne still mentors young ladies, and will do so again this summer at the Miss West Virginia Pageant at the Greenbriar Resort.

As easy as it has been for Dianne and I to stay close, it has been difficult on our sisters. They have drifted away from us and from each other, but a couple days ago, an amazing thing happened. As Dianne and I were here in Charleston having our reunion, our sisters got together in Parkersburg. It was a beautiful thing....more beautiful than it would have appeared to the casual onlooker.  Our mothers called each other and celebrated. They probably cried. I know we did, and we thanked our sweet Lord.

Yes, reunion is a good thing. A very good thing indeed.

Tennis Rules

Sitting here watching the Australian Open is an absolute joy. It makes me happy to see these athletes battle it out. They amaze me.

I love tennis. I don't know why, but I have always loved tennis. Even when I was young, and I was supposed to be single-minded on music, I wanted to be good at tennis. I wasn't good at it, but I played all summer long with my other friends who also were not particularly good at it. We used to love to go watch our friends who were good. Some of the tennis players at my high school were beautiful players. I was sure that I would be watching them on the big screen one day. The ones I'm thinking of got college scholarships.  They were really good, but they were not as good as the ones I'm watching on TV right now. Tennis is funny, in that, no matter how good you are, there is always someone who is a whole level better than you. If that isn't true today, it will be true before long. Even the best in the world can't help but hear the footsteps of those chasing them. The good news is that there is always somebody worse, too! In this country there are so many opportunities to play tennis. Everyone on our family can play tennis, which is great. Geoff played in college and I was always his biggest fan.

I live in Charleston, SC, now, the 2010 'Best Tennis Town in America.' There is so much tennis here. I love tennis. I really do, but seriously, it can be overwhelming. Get this: In the spring we have our adult league team tennis.  If you are over fifty, like me, you can also play seniors. My senior team went to state last spring. It was in Hilton Head. Nice.  In the early summer, there's mixed doubles (and senior mixed doubles.) Men and women on the same team. Very popular. Then comes the  'combo' and senior combo doubles league. This is where one plays with a partner of a different level. The two levels must add up to no more than the number of the league. My 8.5 combo team won our local and state competitions last summer. In March we will all go to Mobile, AL together to compete against other state winners from the Southern section. Normally the sectional champions go to nationals. I have lots of friends who have been to nationals, but I've never been to nationals. I've come so close...at least three times in the finals of sectionals. Hmmm....bucket list? I think so. After the combo season there are fall adult and senior leagues. Oh yeah, there is also a singles league in there somewhere, there's CALTA (Charleston Area Ladies Tennis Association), and there are tournaments throughout the year.  I am sure I have missed something.  I did. I forgot super seniors. 'Super seniors' league is for those over sixty. There may be Uber Seniors, but I'm not sure.... If we tennis-playing baby boomers have our way, there will be! Can you see how people become obsessed? I used to be obsessed. I admit it. I would lose sleep over upcoming or (even worse) previous matches. It is no fun to lie in bed trying to find the rewind button so you can have another chance at that one shot that seemingly cost you the match. Can you imagine what it must be like for these girls I'm watching right now in the Australian Open?

As with everything, tennis has it's ups and it's downs. Besides the cute tennis outfits, on the upside, it's good exercise and it's fun. If it weren't fun, I assure you I wouldn't love it. Fun is good. Is it always fun? Of course not. There are downsides, remember? Sometimes, because I have committed to one of these various team tennis opportunities, I have to go out and play tennis when I would rather not. I don't enjoy playing tennis as much when it's forty degrees or when it's ninety-five and humid as I do when it's seventy degrees.  Losing is definitely less fun than winning. But the older I get the more I truly appreciate the battle, and not just the outcome. The older I get the more injuries I seem to get too, but that's just part of it. Speaking of getting older, where else do you get rewarded for it? In league tennis, no matter how old you get, there's a place just for you. And those young whipper-snappers aren't invited into your league! Tennis is truly a sport for a lifetime.

Here is a picture from the day I had to say good-bye to some of my BFFs in Oklahoma. It was August, 2009. This was our senior team and we had just lost in the final match at sectionals. I lost my match. It was  hard. If my partner and I had won our match we would have gone to nationals. I was sad that we lost and I was sad that I had to say good-bye to these dear friends. I had already moved to Charleston, and had flown back to Oklahoma for the tournament.

That brings me to maybe the best thing about tennis. Friendships. I truly could go on and on with this part. In fact, just the thought makes my eyes burn from the flood of warm memories over the years. I recall faces and hugs too numerous to count. I smell sunscreen and menthol. I hear the sound of the ball coming off the strings. I hear the squeaking tennis shoes. I remember road trips, lessons, matches, parties, tournaments, victories and defeats. I spy wrist braces, elbow braces and knee braces. I taste the ice cold water and gatorade. I see outdoor courts, indoor courts, and clay courts. I think of my friends in tennis skirts, tank tops, hats and visors. I see us growing older together. We might be opponents one season and teammates the next. We start out as doubles partners and become prayer partners. We take our tennis seriously. We fight for every point. Sometimes we get mad at each other, but when push comes to shove, we take care of each other. Tennis has brought me some of my closest friends on the planet. 

So, to my 'old' team tennis buddies in Columbia and Tulsa, my 'tennis mom' friends, 'my girls' from Oklahoma Wesleyan, my 'Family Circle gang', and my newest tennis friends here in Charleston....

Much love. 

 

The Day the World Stopped

It was cold outside, but I was snuggled in my cozy bed in my beautiful old dorm room, if that is what you could call it. It was  more like large guest bedroom in an old mansion. Life was good. I was a freshman at Marietta College. I had managed to find the balance between practicing the piano for hours, getting my work done to make As and Bs in my classes, pledging Sigma Kappa, attending fraternity parties, supporting the football team, spending time with my boyfriend, and making the thirteen-mile drive back and forth from 'my house', where my parents were always there for me. I was one of those weird eighteen-year olds who actually loved and appreciated my parents. My mom and dad loved each other all the time. They still went on dates. My dad came home for lunch. My mom always tried to look beautiful for 'her Jimmy.' My dad was not a man of many words, but when he spoke everyone listened. He was wise. He was kind, but he was strict. Everybody who knew my dad had a deep respect for him. And I dare say that most had an inexplicable love for him, even if they didn't know him well. Those of us who were privileged enough to know him and be loved my him...well we were the luckiest people in the whole world. And we loved him beyond words. Dad always had my back. No matter what, I knew that. He gave me that sense of security that all little girls crave. I knew that I was loved. I was protected. I had everything I  needed, because he worked hard to be sure of that. He always slipped me a little extra cash when I would go out. When I was going on a date, he would slip me a twenty, wink, and say, "Here's your 'mad money'. If you get mad, you can always call a cab and come home."

So on that  morning, January 17th, 1975, my dad's fifty-third birthday, when I was awakened by my sister, Roxanne, and my dear friend, Jan, I smiled and said, "Hi! What are you doing here?" Nothing could have prepared me for the horrible, heart-smashing, nauseating answer. I still shake and cry at the thought of it. "Dad....", Roxanne said. "He....had a heart attack."

That was it. He was gone. He was fine one minute, and then he was gone. He was only fifty-two years old the day before, and, as was their custom on Thursdays, he and Mom had gone out for lunch.

 I remember screaming and crying and having a few people come give me hugs, but other than that I don't remember much. I don't remember the drive to Parkersburg. I don't remember walking into my house.

That day the world stopped.

Nothing made sense. Everything I saw was through the blurred vision of tears and confusion. I couldn't feel anything. I was numb. Except I remember feeling frustrated and angry at the rest of the world for going on. Why were people laughing and telling jokes? Why were they getting dressed up and going to parties? Why were they playing football? Singing?  The world had stopped. Didn't they know that?

 The funeral was a blur. People came in droves to honor my father. I was not surprised, but I still appreciate it to this day.

Everything changed in a flash. My young, beautiful, happy mother was a widow. She was devastated. I knew she needed for me to be strong. She had always been strong for me. It was my turn. I wanted so much to be strong for her. I also knew that I had to go back to school. In order to honor my dad, and all that he did for me, and all that he wanted for me, I had to go on. I had to learn how to answer people who asked me, 'Who's your daddy?' without falling apart. But the truth is, the next two years I made a lot of mistakes. In fact, if I could tear out a couple of pages from the annals of my life, I would probably choose those, because I was a mess.

But I made it. By the grace of God I made it. I mean that with all my heart. I didn't know it at the time, but God himself was watching over me with love. Little by little he drew me to himself. He revealed himself to me by bringing people into my life who knew him. He taught me how to study his Word. I learned to trust in Him, and I am full of joy because of His promises. He has promised me that because of Jesus, I am forgiven. I am His. Forever.  I know that I will not only see my daddy again someday, but I will be with him for all eternity.

My momma is 89 now. She still has not even looked twice at another man. She still dresses up and hopes to make 'her Jimmy' proud. With every day she feels a little older, and a little bit closer to receiving the promises. Someday the world is going to stop again, but I will know this time, that this world is not all there is.  I don't know exactly how it's going to be in heaven, but I know that it's going to be great.

'...Having believed, you were marked in him with a seal, the promised Holy Spirit, who is a deposit guaranteeing our inheritance until the redemption of those who are God's possession--to the praise of  his glory.' Ephesians 1:13-14

Do what you like. Like what you do.

There is something inspiring about a person who has a positive, enthusiastic attitude.

It is really lovely when you find someone who is positively passionate about their work. Right off the bat I'm thinking of you, Rod (Discipleship), Karla (teaching/loving others), PR (teaching tennis), JL (guiding fly-fishing) , Cassie (compassionate nursing) and Smitty (teaching downhill skiing.)

Here are a few stories that have inspired me lately:

Last year I called Southwest Airlines because I was having trouble booking a complicated trip online. It was expensive and I wanted to use some frequent flyer funds. The agent could have easily given me the deep sigh and the rigmarole, but she didn't. In fact, she said, 'I am sure I can help you. Give me your information and let's see how we can save you some money.' By the time she was finished, she had saved me over 900 dollars! Wow! What was cool was that she seemed almost as excited about it as I was. She loved her job.

 A couple weeks ago I had to call the Berkeley County Tax Office because when we got our property tax bill we almost fainted. I expected the worst, but the lady who helped me was amazing. She told me that we needed to fill out a form that she would mail me immediately and our tax bill would be much less. She was very helpful, and she seemed glad to do it. Yesterday we got a big refund check in the mail. Nice.

For the past five years our family has been blown away by the warmth and the, 'What can we do to make your day better,' attitude of the Roaring Fork Club staff in Basalt, Colorado and the Roaring Fork Mountain Club at Snowmass. They set the bar really high when it comes to service. Thank you, Teri, Jan, Cindy, Marian, Chris, Nancy, Amy, JL, Dede, Steve, David, Stephanie, Karen, Jim, (Ted, Kakie,) and so many others, for always making us feel special.

Here'a another example: Thanksgiving 2008. I worked 9AM-9PM in the ER. I went home, grabbed a snack, packed a bag, got in Geoff's little car and headed southeast at 11 PM. He needed his car in Fort Bragg, NC, and I promised to drive it to him. I drove 4 hours and slept for four hours. I still had sixteen hours to go, but when I got up I had two flat tires! I called Geoff and he told me that they leaked air sometimes, so I drove next door to the gas station, aired them up and hit the road. I kept checking them and they kept losing air, and by the time I got to East Memphis I was getting nervous. I was praying for the Lord to help me. I finally pulled into a tire store. When I walked in I saw that they were busy. It was Friday of Thanksgiving weekend, and I wondered if they would laugh at me for showing up without an appointment. A man asked if he could help me. I said, 'I hope so.' I briefly told him the story. He didn't miss a beat. He looked at one of his mechanics and said, 'Take that car down and put this lady's car up there right now.' I couldn't believe it. The tears welled up in my eyes and I squeaked out a 'thank you so much.' He checked the car out thoroughly, and refused to sell me more than two tires, because, he explained, 'the other two are fine, and I'm not going to sell you something you don't need.' He assured me that I would be safe all the way to Fort Bragg, and sent me on my way. As I was driving through Alabama I was reflecting on what he did for me: He made me feel like I was important and worth his time and effort. He listened to my problem and went to work to fix it. I realized that I, as an ER nurse, had the opportunity to do the same thing for my patients. This man from Tennessee inspired me to be better at my job.

Then there's Smitty. I mentioned Smitty in my first blog and promised there would be more to follow. Smitty has been a ski instructor for forty years. He is, in my opinion, a the poster boy for the slogan, 'Do what you like. Like what you do.' He loves to help folks learn to ski so they will love to ski. His enthusiasm is contagious. His wife tells him that it's a good thing he gets paid to do it, because he would do it for free. He smiles and agrees. When we ski with Smitty we smile a lot too.

Here's to all the Smittys out there!

Mountains and Valleys

Life, it seems, is a bit unpredictable. Sometimes we're on top of the mountain with a clear view. Other times we feel like we're stuck in the valley looking up at insurmountable obstacles.

Last year our family experienced some time in the valley. Geoff was in Afghanistan with the U.S. Army 2nd Battalion 503rd infantry, 173rd Airborne Brigade. Sean was waiting tables as he applied to law schools. Mike was getting his feet wet as the new Anesthesiology director at a new hospital in a new town. Mike and I were trying to sell property in Colorado so we could buy something in Charleston. (We rented for a year or so.)  My mom and Mike's mom, at ages 89 and 90, respectively,  were trying to adjust to their new surroundings here in Mount Pleasant.  And I, as wife, mother, daughter, and daughter-in-law, was busy being the prayer warrior, the cheerleader, the nurse, the chauffeur, the homemaker, the house hunter, and the gimpy tennis player.

And the Lord was with us through it all.

A blessing that I received as a result of Geoff's deployment was a whole new group of friends that I call my 'army girlfriends.' I doubt if the designers of Facebook could have imagined that their online social network would be an avenue of love and support between ladies who had never met, but all shared a common burden. Little by little we found each other...moms, wives, sisters, and girlfriends of men in the 173rd airborne Brigade who were deployed to Afghanistan. We were from South Carolina, Colorado, Mississippi, Texas, Georgia, Pennsylvania, West Virginia, Virginia, Ohio, Indiana, Alabama, New York, North Carolina, Utah.....you name it! We lifted each other up, held each other up, cried with each other, laughed with each other, and supported each other in ways that only we could. If one of us received good news, we shared it and did what we called, 'happy dances.' If bad news came, we shared that too. We cried for and with each other, and prayed for each other and for the guys. One of the moms put a prayer list together and sent us all a copy. One of the girls got engaged during the deployment. We all rejoiced. She and her soldier were married in December. We all celebrated. Some of us were rookies and others were veterans. Those with previous experience helped the rest of us navigate through one of the toughest assignments we will ever face. When Geoff returned to Italy a couple of the wives went out of their way to see that he had everything he needed.  This group of ladies will always have a special place in my heart.

Other big turnarounds:

In April Geoff came home for two weeks and some dear friends and family members came to see him and celebrate with us.

Not only did I make a lot of new friends here in the '2010 Best Tennis Town in America,' two of my teams made it to the state playoffs, and my 8.5 combo team won.  I finally got my wrist fixed in June, which really helped. Playing tennis a lot more fun when it doesn't hurt every time you hit the ball!

Last September, after almost two years on the market, the Colorado property sold, and we bought a new home on Daniel Island.

From time to time Geoff would call me on Skype and I would get to see his face. Those moments were more precious than anything money can buy. And then, finally, after eleven long months, Geoff left Afghanistan! He also got new orders: He'll be moving to Fort Polk, in Louisiana in April.

In December, Sean finished his first semester at Loyola Chicago School of Law. He loves law school, and he loves living in downtown Chicago.

Both boys came home for Christmas, and being together as a family was the only gift that really mattered. We enjoyed our time together in Charleston, but the ski trip was epic. We all agreed that it was one of the best weeks ever for our family.

On Friday, the last day of our ski trip, at the top of our last run, we all stopped just above Sneaky's glade, where the view is majestic beyond words. It was a moment full of awe, reverence, and thanksgiving. We didn't say much, except, 'Thank you, Lord'... four hearts in one accord. 

Nicknames

Do you like nicknames? That may depend on how that nickname makes you feel inside. I tend to like them. I tend to use them, and I like it when people call me a nickname. It makes me feel like we're buddies, not just acquaintances.
I have a lot of nicknames. My friend, Denise, reminded me this morning that I have one nickname that is used only by a very select group of friends. Even though it is an awkward little nickname, I love it, because I know they love me. It's 'Weenie.' Yep. Weenie. That's what they call me. It is actually a nickname in a nickname. It is short for Charleenieweenie. I like to end my correspondence with these girlfriends by signing, "Love, Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeenie." It's fun. Within our little group, who has attended the Family Circle Cup Tennis Tournament together for about 25 years now, we have a lot of nicknames: 'BonBon', 'DonDon', 'Herc', 'Jannipoo',' Little Kat', and 'Beezer'. Since BonBon and Jannipoo have recently become grandmothers, I have added the names NanaBon and Nannipoo to the list.  I'm not sure if they will stick or not. Not all nicknames stick, thankfully.
When I was a child, my sister and one of our close family friends nicknamed me, 'Spill it, Drop it, Break it.' I'm glad that didn't stick. However, I have told enough people that story that it sometimes surfaces, when appropriate. It's true. I can be a klutz. (They might have added, "Lose it" to the list, for accuracy.)
Nicknames that I have had or still have: 'Charlie' (my favorite), 'Chuck' (love it), Stinker (my daddy called me this and my husband uses it...how can I not love it?), Winker (It rhymes with stinker, and it is used only by my husband, Mike,) and, the latest one: 'Char', used by my friend Tammy and any new tennis friend to whom she introduces me.  I have had my first name, Helen, used as a nickname, by Mike's best friend, Steve. He calls me this when he thinks I'm being cranky. It's much better than what he calls Mike when he thinks Mike is being cranky. Ha ha. I may have nicknames that I'm not aware of...
That brings me to the difference between nicknames we use as endearing and those we use behind someone's back. I don't have a problem with nicknaming a complete stranger, as I am trying to capture the hilariousness of the moment. Like, 'Hey, check out, 'Elvis' over there".... But I do have a problem with nicknames that are used as a private little joke that is meant to harm someone else, as in,  "Here she comes, 'Miss Brownnoser', as your co-worker is walking towards your group. Not good.
Just sayin....
Back to the endearing  names. When I was little, I called my mother 'Mommy', and my father, 'Daddy'. When I become a teenager, I changed them to 'Mom' and 'Dad', for obvious reasons. I wanted to be cool. Now that my mother is 89 years old, she is 'Mama.' And even though my father is in heaven, he is most definitely  'Daddy' again. I don't care about cool now. I just want to call them the most endearing thing possible.
I love it when my kids call me Mom or Mama. I just love to hear their voices.
My kids got nicknames early in life. I called Sean 'Sean Bear' for a lot of reasons. I love teddy bears, for one. He loved Care Bears for another. (Sorry, Sean...the hazards of having a blogging mother!) I still call him Sean Bear, and he is fine with it, because he knows it's a term of endearment. Now that he is in law school, I sometimes refer to him as, 'Judge'. Not that he is opinionated, or anything... (Side note: Sean has now spent one third of his life in the Chicago area, and is a very passionate Chicago Bears fan.)
Geoff was a very active child. He bounced and jumped at every opportunity, reminding me of a kangaroo. Thus the nickname, 'Geofferoo', which was quickly shortened most of the time to, simply, 'Roo.' His name is actually, Geoffrey, which is what he was called until he was fourteen, at which time he gave himself the nickname, 'Geoff'.' We honored it, and that is what everyone calls him now. He chose to become our protector and has since spent eleven months in Afghanistan, so now I sometimes just call him, 'Hero.' I can get by with that, because he would never see himself as such.
Mike is my husband and his real name is Michael. He likes Mike better, but he doesn't mind when I call him Michael. I sometimes call him, 'Mikey,' but he isn't much in for nicknames. Some people aren't. If you are female, though,  he will likely call you, 'Hun', at some point, which means he likes you, so please don't get all feminist on him and be offended, for heaven's sake.
The member of our family with the most nicknames by far is our little dog, Rudy. He is a pomeranian, and he's the fluffiest, most animated, intelligent, and needy dog we have ever had. We got him from the Animal Rescue Foundation, who had named him, 'Rascal.' We changed it immediately to Rudy, but I call him a lot of things: 'Wiggidy-Wag', 'Fluffty-Puff', 'Cutie-Patootie', 'Rudy-Rude', 'McRudy', 'Bugaboo','Boomer-Spooner',  and others. While we are gone this week, we have a fun, energetic, young lady staying at the house with Rudy. She has given him a new nickname, 'Fizgig', after a character in a fantasy movie by Jim Henson called, 'The Dark Crystal.' She sent me a video clip of this little character and I laughed out loud.
A text from her yesterday: Squirrel-1, Fizgig-0.
Hilarious.

Love,
Charlene

a.k.a., Charlie, Chuck, Weenie, Helen, Char, Winker, Stinker, or Spill-it-Drop-it-Break-it

I blog!

This is my very first blog. The question begs: Why blog? There are probably as many reasons as there are bloggers. My reasons may vary from time to time. The truth is, there have been a lot of times in recent past that I have said, 'I should have a blog...'
I love to tell stories. I love to laugh at the everyday hilariousness of life.  It isn't always possible. Sometimes life just hurts too much, but when possible, I'll take smiles over frowns any day....even if those smiles are through tears.
Blogging is risky. When we blog we become an open book. I will assuredly write about my passions, and those may make some people uncomfortable. But this is my blog.  As I write, I invite you into my thoughts, my views, my joys, my burdens, my passions, and my heart.
A friend told me years ago that, "a joy shared is a joy multiplied and a burden shared is a burden divided."
Well, let's do some multiplication!
I am so happy right now. Our whole family is together in Colorado. We're in a cozy cabin at the Roaring Fork Club watching football. There is a warm fire in the fireplace. Note: family+football+fireplace= JOY!!! The past two days we have skied as a family (Geoff actually rides a snowboard.) Yesterday we skied with Smitty...oh how we love to ski with Smitty. More on Smitty later. For now, just know that it's impossible to have a bad day when you ski with Smitty. 
I didn't grow up skiing, and had no interest in learning. I can thank Mike for changing all of that, but that's a different blog.
Some highlights from our first three days on the slopes:
This morning as we were going up the lift, we all marveled at the frozen crystals glistening in the air through filtered sunshine. It was magical.
Yesterday we skied a very difficult run that had gotten the best of me two years ago. I kicked it's butt yesterday. Boo yah. (For those of you who know Snowmass...it was AMF.)
Sunday Mike and I saw some wispy clouds refract the light from the sun and turn all the colors of the rainbow. Amazing.
Yesterday Mike apparently forgot that Geoff is 26 years old and just got back from defending our country from the Taliban. He told Geoff to put sunscreen on his nose...and touched his nose....as if Geoff didn't know what his nose was. LOL. Sean and I fell out of our chairs laughing.
Geoff got his board stuck in the snow yesterday going through the trees. Sean laughed.  Sean fell over for no apparent reason. Geoff laughed.  I skied well and then fell down walking down the sidewalk. We all laughed...
Here's to laughter!

Charlene