A Tisket, a Tasket, a Stupid Clothes Basket

I’ll admit – I have an organization problem. With clothes baskets in particular.

Two years ago, I wiped the slate clean and threw out most of my clothes baskets. It makes doing laundry a little tough, (especially when you have to carry a load outside to the clothes line) but the consequences of having a clothes basket in my possession are somewhat life threatening.

Because clothes baskets can be used for many things besides laundry.

You can use a clothes basket to put the pumpkins in that you pick from your garden the night before the hard frost. But they will freeze if you leave them in there, and then you have to dump the whole mess out anyway.

You can use a clothes basket to put your donated clothes in until you get the right size box to put them in and take them to Goodwill. But if you leave the basket sit in your dining room until Easter, you have to move the basket to the basement when you have the family over for dinner.

You can use a clothes basket to store the toys in that you dig out of the closet when kids come to play. But if you don’t put the toys away, the Barbie’s hair gets full of Silly Putty, the slinky gets wound around the Poky Little Puppy’s tail and no one can play with anything anymore.

You can use a clothes basket to put groceries in that don’t fit into your pantry. But then you have to move the basket every time you want to open the refrigerator.

You can use a clothes basket to put your cleaning supplies in that don’t fit under your sink. But then the Mr. Clean will spill out on the dust rag and you will get suds when you use it to dust the coffee table.

You can even give your grandchildren a ride in a clothes basket, pulling them across the dining room floor, with them giggling as you screech around the corner – tumbling them onto the living room carpet.

And you can use a clothes basket as a hamper.

Like the one that I use as a hamper in my closet.

Last Saturday, against my better judgment, I fell off the wagon and put my laundry in one of the few clothes basket I still own and carried it to the washing machine.
I washed and dried the clothes and in my haste, threw the clean clothes back in the clothes basket.

To be folded later.

The basket stayed in the hallway all week. Then I moved the basket to my bedroom. There it sits, piled with other clean clothes that I haven’t put away yet – but plan to soon. Sometime this week. Or for sure by Saturday.

Yes, it’s almost time to do laundry again, but this time I will carry each load individually to the washer, and immediately fold each load as I take it out of the dryer and then put the clothes away.

Right away.

The papers that should be in files are in a clothes basket in my office. (The file folders are in a box on the closet shelf). When I need to find something, I dig through the basket. If I can’t find it after about an hour of looking, I just buy a new whatever it is.

Yes, it’s almost tax time again, but this year I vow to use my new label maker to label each file folder in the box and put them in the drawer in my desk. And to put the papers in the files.

Right away.

Because I shouldn't come within a mile of a clothes basket.

The Icing on the Cake

At age 34, I asked my doctor, “Do you think it’s too late to have a baby?”

She said no.

This one little word had just validated and sealed the thoughts inside my head – the longing all mothers have from time to time – the desire to hold a newborn baby in their arms, to share their love with another , the desire to extend their own mortality through another.

A year later, Mickey was born. Not an afterthought, certainly not an accident or surprise – but a blessing from heaven – and with a set of parents who were armed and hopefully ready for the second round of parenthood, this time with the added benefit of experience.



Mickey graces our life with her bubbly personality, keeping us ever-entertained with her wit and humor. The charm she possesses works well for her, whether she is twisting her mother’s arm to go to the mall, or gracefully coaxing her father into giving her money from his wallet (except she would do the coaxing first, then the twisting).

And she keeps us young.

Or perhaps, she just doesn’t let us feel as old as we sometimes feel.

At a time in my life when parents our age are seeing their children graduate from college and move on to start their lives, our daughter is just beginning to plan her future – thinking about careers, where she would like to live and what her hopes and dreams are. I pray that her future is bright and her aspirations in life are achieved.

Mickey is truly our icing on the cake and we wouldn’t have life any other way.



Plus, she did say that when she is living “some place where it’s warm” six years from now she would still come and visit us at Christmas.

I said, “I'm glad, but could we see you more than once a year?”

She pauses to think and then says, “Sure, you can jet out anytime you want.”

Our daughter. A blessing in our lives, her personality molded and shaped by those who love her. Here with us to live, learn and grow, preparing to fly away just like a balloon drifts off into the sky, not knowing quite where it will land – but enjoying the ride.

That’s Mickey. The icing on the cake.

Happy birthday, sweet daughter.

The Halo?

Someone in this picture is donning a halo (well, a star, I guess). I'd like to think of him as being very angelic.

But I don't know...

What do you think?

The '90s

I unpacked my laptop from its bag and put it on the kitchen table. My mom was intrigued, watching me plug it in, start it up, pop in the DVD I’d burned and navigate through the screens to my pictures.

We sat together at the kitchen table for at least a half an hour, commenting on all the pictures from the past year – from Mickey, Kaitlyn and Chrissy’s birthday parties, to the snowstorm on April 28th, to our grandkids in the pumpkin patch, and of course, most recently - Christmas Eve at my Mom’s.

After I ejected the DVD from my computer, I showed it to Mom. Explaining to her that the pictures we just looked at were all contained on this thin sliver of a disc, she just shook her head in disbelief.

The computer back in its bag, Mickey immediately went on to further wow her grandmother with technology – probably more than she needed in one Sunday afternoon. Mickey took one of her IPod ear buds out and placed it in Grandma’s ear. For a minute, they rocked together in their chairs, back and forth to the music.

For a minute, my mom didn’t look quite so old. For a minute, she didn’t look like she didn’t understand what was going on. Mom enjoyed sharing this piece of technology with Mickey. And I enjoyed watching them rock together in their chairs.

All of a sudden Mom pulled her ear bud out, turned to Mickey and asked … don’t you have any “old” music?

To which Mickey replied … “I have some from the ‘90s … “

Yes, the ‘90s.

Before DVDs. Before IPods. Before Mickey.

January 18, 2004

The phone ringing woke me from an early morning sleep. Still groggy, I picked up the receiver – unaware that this day would leave me forever changed. The news on the other end was something we all dread. The person on the other end was telling me that my son was in a car accident.

Getting into the car with a friend who had been drinking left him injured and unresponsive, the inside of his head filled with stretched and sheared neurons in his brain.

I had no idea that this day would be forever etched in time as a true dividing time in my life. My life is now divided into two segments – the time before his accident, and the time after his accident.

Jonathan is five years into his recovery this January 18, 2009. The time after his accident has been a long journey, filled with ups and downs. There have been times when he seemed to be taking a step forward, only to be thrust two steps behind in an instant. Our lives for the past five years have moved in slow motion, as we painstakingly watched him desperately try to recover and regain his life.

He was saved for a reason. There are times, when life seems to be against him, that I know he struggles to understand why. There are times when his life seems to be filled with more failure than success, and more sorrow than joy. But those are times to step back and take a look at the big picture.

On the fifth day in intensive care, January of 2004, he opened his eyes and looked at me.

It was December, 2006. The band was playing Pomp and Circumstance. The graduates were rounding the corner into the hall. I spotted him amongst the hundreds of black caps and gowns. As he walked up the aisle to the stage my eyes filled with tears of joy. Just a year and a half before, he was lying in intensive care, unresponsive and I didn’t know if he would even ever walk again.

In the spring of 2008, he loaded up his friend’s van with all his belongings. Heading out the driveway he went south – to start a new job and a new life four hours away from us, becoming totally independent again.

This the big picture in our forever journey.

And while he is still searching for that reason, I don’t know if I need to have a reason. I know that over the last five years we have built a strong bond with each other – one that otherwise, may have gone undiscovered.

I run my fingers through his dark brown hair and give his head a squeeze. While all my children are special, each in their own way, I can’t help but think of how I truly value this child’s brain – the very center of his personality, his intelligence and his emotion. I can’t help but think of him as a little boy – in the time before his accident, innocent and full of hopes and dreams. I can’t help but think of him as a grown man – in the time after his accident, wondering what his hopes are now and struggling to make new dreams that he can achieve.

But I do know that he will achieve.

And I will never look upon this day as the day I almost lost my son.

I will forever look upon this day as the day God saved my son.

What You Should Know About My Baby Brother

When he was born, Mom asked me what we should name him. Since there was this cute boy that rode my bus named Leonard, I told Mom we should name him Leonard – and call him Lennie for short. Mom was speechless. She never did share with me who chose the name David.

I got to change his diapers. Something new and exciting called “Pampers” were just invented. You had to use diaper pins, though – no sticky or Velcro tapes to fasten them with.

He loved tractors already at age six. He liked to spend time sitting on the tractor, pretending he was driving. He found out that if you played with the cigarette lighter you could pretend you were smoking a cigarette. Mom found out when she heard him scream, his lips branded with a red circle of burned skin.

With great curiosity, David could be found under Grandma’s hospital bed, turning the crank and trying to figure out just how it worked. That curiosity carried him into the pre-teen years, dragging out Dad’s tools and making things in workshop in the basement. Once again, screams of pain traveled up the staircase as he mistakenly kneeled down on a board which was lying on the cement floor with a nail in it.

He cried when Frosty the Snowman melted.

For a very small moment, we both wore the same size shoes.

For a very small moment, I could take him down and sit on him.

When I got my driver’s license, David was a champion back seat driver. One time after spouting off one too many directions to me, I abruptly stopped the car (not too far from home) and made him get out and walk. I don’t remember any back seat driving after that.

He played the saxophone.

I helped him get ready to go to his high school prom. I shined his burgundy shoes, fastened the bow tie and cumberbund on his light blue tuxedo, and styled his dark brown hair.

My brother survived his snowmobile hitting a tree. He lay in the snow for about three hours until his friends found him. The bark from the tree was embedded in his helmet. We stayed by his side through shoulder and knee surgery – and the rehabilitation after.

David continued in his adult life with his love of tractors and making things, by building his own pulling tractor. Watching the black smoke roll out of the stack, hearing the whistle of the turbos, and feeling the ground beneath you tremble with the unleashed horsepower as the tractor makes its way down the track is breathtaking. Although it lasts only about ten seconds, it overpowers you with a rush of fear and excitement -all at once.

He has two darling daughters, who are a special part of our family.

Oh, and my baby brother has a birthday tomorrow. Happy birthday, David!

Dreaming Under the Influence – or – What Sudafed Does To Your Mind While You Sleep

Cold relief. One tiny, red pill. Half the recommended adult dose.

On Saturday night I was driving my car down a dusty gravel road until I finally arrived at my dad’s farm. Out in the hay field in front of the house he had a great big barbecue set up. Dad was charcoaling something for all the neighbors and friends to eat. I find this to be quite odd, because Dad only threw one party in his life – my wedding reception. The only other party at the farm was a housewarming party when we moved in – and that was a surprise planned and executed by friends.

Dad proceeded to give me a tour of the house (which is also odd, because I lived there for six years and obviously shouldn’t need a tour). But much to my surprise, inside the living room you could look up and see the upstairs through a big hole in the floor. Actually, only the perimeter of the ceiling above the living room was there. We went upstairs and looked down. All along the edges of the room I could see a maple wood floor – its jagged edges peeking through the torn carpeting. I wondered why no one had ever discovered that before.

Could it have something to do with the fact that I recently refinished two hardwood maple floors in one of my rentals?

My cold still getting the best of me, on Sunday night I took another Sudafed. It wasn’t long and I could hear my dad telling me that mom wanted me to make her some meatloaf. I asked him why but he didn’t really want to say. After prodding him just a little more, he admitted that she was sick of the meals on wheels.

I can’t parallel this to anything, except maybe the fact that I’ve been eating fast food all week while I was in town painting at the rental and I could go for some homemade dinner myself, for a change!


Breaking down and actually taking this decongestant to unclog my sinuses for the last few nights has really been pretty eventful for me. In the dream world, that is. I can’t wait to go to sleep tonight – so I can find out what journey is in store for me as I sleep, head propped up on pillows for maximum breathing effect – helping the little red pill work its magic.