The Workshop and a New Perspective....

It will be 6 years tomorrow that I said good bye to my dad on this earth. I celebrate the promise that I will see him again one day in heaven. It's true. Each year the sting of losing him unexpectedly becomes duller. The pain in the gut of missing someone I love so much becomes less prominent. The tears don't come as often.  But there are times that I just want to hear his voice or ask his advice. Then the tears come quietly, and I talk to him as if he were here.  It's about then, Izzy, my dog, senses the sadness and licks the tears from my cheeks. They would've liked each other.  More than anything, I become sad that I can't remember his voice as well, and I can't remember the details of the stories he told me of his life.  And even if I did try to retell his stories, I could never get the tone, humor and sarcasm in the way he did.  I wish he would've written them down. I wish I had some video of him to watch. I wish I could have just one more minute.

I have a box. A box to put everything special that reminds me of him in it. Pictures that were special, a journal to write to him in, the order of his memorial service, and even pictures of him at his service. I haven't looked in his box for a long time. I haven't written in the journal for years.

Today, I think I will take a moment and write to him. I will tell him again how much I miss him and his calls. The way he answered the phone with a a southern twang "YEL-low". We would spend hours talking about all matters big and small. He would get on his soap box and I would just listen as he became my biggest cheerleader in life.

I will tell him about my change in perspective as I've become older. That, as a child, the time he spent in the garage "working" on projects during evenings and weekends often left me feeling less important. Why didn't you come to my swim meets or Girl Scout activities? Why did you always want to be home in the garage with all that wood and tools and loud country music?  Why?

NOW I get it. I understand now, dad, it was where you felt the happiest. NOT because you loved me less or didn't care, but BECAUSE you just needed to. I know how much you loved me and I value those moments of pulling up a stool and talking to you for hours in your "shop" as you organized and made things from wood.  Today, when I smell fresh cut lumber my thoughts go directly to those moments.

Maybe it wasn't by accident that you were always there to help when I fell off my bike in front of the house, or that you were there to greet my friends as we came in and out of the house. I remember the night of my first real kiss on our doorstep after a date. I was a Junior in High School. It was after midnight and the house lights were off except for a glow in the garage.  There you were, waiting up for me "working" on some project under the flickering light of a florescent bulb. You were the first person I told about that kiss. And with that you turned off the light and we both went to bed. You just wanted to make sure I made it home safely.

When I started driving, you were always there with the garage door open, ready to greet me with a wave or do an inspection of my car tires and oil. Remember how you told me my "U joints were old" and not to drive faster than 55 or my wheels would fall off. I believed you! You were clever, because I know now that you would've NEVER let me drive a dangerous car. I listened...and never got a speeding ticket. Dad, in the moments you felt you'd lost control of life, I believe the "workshop" was your way to find it. I get it, I so get it now dad.

I will tell him how proud I am of him for serving in the Air Force.  That our frequent moves and his absence made me learn how to adapt quickly. With each move I couldn't wait to fix up my room. To surround myself with the things that I recognized and loved. The things that expressed who I was and made me feel happy.  I believe that constant change in homes gave me the desire I still have today to make each house a place that says "HOME" to me and our military family.  I still want to surround myself and the people I love with comfort and warmth. I am so grateful for that gift.

I believe your garage "workshop" was YOUR room. The place you couldn't wait to unpack and be at home in surrounded by what made you remember your passion and gave you peace. And, dad, I so get that too!

Yes, today I will write this down, and I will put it in his box. The wood box he made for me on my 19th Birthday. The box he lovingly cut out, nailed and glued out of scrap cedar in his "workshop". Just for me. Because he loved me so. And I will put it in my room along with my favorite things. And I will smile finally understanding the depth of that gift.

I love you too, daddy.

xoxoxo

Jodi

The Pillow

In one of my earliest childhood memories I am lying upon my mothers lap, nestled against her, with my favorite blanket draped over me.  I remember the fresh scent of her lotioned skin, the muffled voices of my parents having a leisurely conversation, and the lull of the car motor as I drifted off to sleep.  Perhaps we were on a Sunday drive, or moving to another town, as we did both quite often over the years. But at that moment I felt safe and at home.

My pillow and blanket have been a source of comfort and peace my entire life.  I love taking a nap.  I never fought my parents when it was time to rest or go to bed. I decorated my bed with all of my babies and often stacked books around the perimeter, as if to remind myself that my bed was my personal sanctuary.  A place to day dream and sing and of course, sleep.

My dad was in the Air Force. We moved often as a child. Our belongings would get packed up in boxes and sent ahead to our new base. My pillow and my blanket stayed with me.  I knew its scent and texture, and it comforted me during the unknown.  On one such trip when I was about 3 years old, I remember staring out the back window of our car clutching my beloved pillow.  The foam inside was broken down into tiny pieces. My mom had lovingly recovered it at least once in a soft flannel.  As our car was traveling down the highway, I decided to hold my pillow outside the window.  The wind caught the pillow and it flew out of my hands into the traffic behind us.  I watched out the back window in horror as MY pillow lay in the road. I cried out for my dad to stop the car, but it was too late.  I sobbed and sobbed until we stopped at a store to buy a new pillow. It just wasn't the same.

Over time that "new" pillow took on the same scent as my first, and I became fondly attached to it.  It too, broke down into tiny foam bits inside a recovered pillow casing.

The blanket lost its hold on me, but my pillow was my main squeeze.  It traveled with me across the United States a few times, through childhood and my teen years.  When children would make fun of me in elementary school, or a boy didn't notice me in junior high, and later when my parents divorced, my pillow was there to cry on. 

Later, when I moved away from home, got married and was about to deliver our first son, I had my pillow with me.  When my husband left on deployment, I'd put his last worn t-shirt on the pillow and sleep with it until his cologne wore off.  Over time, with the addition of two more children, the pillow became insignificant in the shuffle of life.  Eventually, after being the target of sick children and puppy dogs, it made its way to the trash can.  I didn't need to find solace in that pillow any longer. The hugs of my children and husband were my comfort and joy.

Now in my 40's, and almost an empty nest,  I love to snuggle into my bed at night next to my husband.  As I close my eyes and drift into a lull of sweet peace, I hear him breathing next to me.  I'm often overcome with the same warm fuzzy feeling that I remember while being held in my mothers arms all those years ago.  This is home.

xoxox

Jodi

One Word Wednesday

((Heart))

The call that broke my heart...

Four years ago today I went to work, came home and noticed that I had missed several calls on my cell phone.  Recognizing that they were all (425) area codes,  I felt weak in the knees and sick to my stomach.  I knew something was terribly wrong, and I was too afraid to find out.

I called my husband at work.  "Honey, something is terribly wrong". Then I started to cry.
"Call this number, and call me back right away".  By the time he called me back 5 minutes later, I was shaking and gripped with fear.

"Jodi, sit down, are you sitting? It's your dad...." The rest is a blur. "I'm on my way home". He said.  My husband came home from work to help me prepare for a flight from Washington to Arkansas.  A trip to say goodbye to my daddy.

The year before, Dad had open heart surgery.  I went home to help him so Karen, his wife, could go back to work after his surgery.  Dad and I watched Lucille Ball on TV in the hospital, and Karen and I made a Coconut Cream Pie to welcome him home.  He didn't have much of an appetite, so when he was hungry for his favorite pie, we eagerly made it.  It was Fall, and we laughed a lot while he "bossed" Karen and I around from the porch.  We totally took advantage of the fact he HAD to be still and we could run around on "his" golf cart collecting the Fall decor, and digging through the stuff in "his" garage.  This is a picture from that day.  I know I show it a lot on here, but its my favorite.

The Summer after his surgery I planned a trip back down to Arkansas with the kids.  I had an overwhelming feeling that I HAD to make the trip. There was also a huge family reunion planned for my maternal Aunt and Uncles 50th Anniversary near by, so we were excited to go. As much as I tried to include our entire family on the vacation, Jeff and our oldest son were unable to go.  As it turned out, Dad and Karen marked the dates wrong on their calendar, so when I called from the airport on our way they were (happily) surprised.  Karen had taken the following week off, and so she was unable to spend the daytime with us.  Dad used that time to take us all over the area. He shared stories of his youth and the trouble he and his friends found. At 62,  and retired from the Air Force, Dad lived on the farm where he grew up. Janelle and Jordon thought he was so funny and loved to hear all the stories.   The very last time I saw my dad alive  he was driving down the road  to catch us before we left  the nearby McDonalds to go to the airport.  Jordon had left his baseball cap at their house, and dad didn't want him to forget it.  With our cars stopped side by side on the road, we said "thank you" and "I love you".  I believe there was a part of me that knew I wouldn't see him again, but you never want to believe that feeling.

my niece Jessica, nephew Jeremy, Jordon, me, dad, Janelle
(My sister was taking the picture)
August 2007

I talked to my dad for the last time about 2 weeks before he had the catastrophic stroke.
It was easy for us to talk hours without effort.  I remember him saying he felt better than he had in several years.  "I have a new lease on life" he said.  He and Karen had just returned from a long desired camping trip to the Smokey Mountains. He had finally felt well enough to have a huge garden, catch up on home maintenance and take a vacation.

But on that bright, sunny, crisp Fall morning in 2007 my dad would get up like any other day and have coffee with Karen, take a shower, and give Karen a kiss goodbye as she left for work.  Sometime that morning he got a debilitating headache.  He called Karen and told her it was the worst pain he ever had.  She left work right away. He managed to call 911.  As she arrived home the paramedics were loading him into the ambulance.  By then, he had lost all use of his body. He could not speak, but he was able lock eyes with Karen. I cannot imagine her pain as she watched her husband of nearly 21 years fade away. He died on the way to the hospital, but was resuscitated.  He would never regain consciousness.

As I packed my suitcase, I didn't know what to pack. Do I pack for a funeral or will he survive? I felt guilty thinking I might need something to wear to a funeral. My head was spinning, my eyes hurt, my heart hurt worse. Jeff made flight arrangements for my sister and I.  She lives in Arizona, and I had to call her to tell her.  My heart hurt for her too.

Whidbey Island is over 2 hours from the Seattle airport. I had to arrive 2 hours early. I only remember parts, like sitting between two men on the red eye flight to Dallas. Wanting desperately to sleep, but when I dozed I would awaken with the realization it was not a dream. Nearly 12 hours after leaving my house,  I reached the Fayettville Airport.  I learned dad was on life support and wasn't coming back to us.

When I saw my dad in the hospital, I knew that his spirit was in heaven.  I held his hand, trying to memorize every crease. All the while, I knew that Jesus was holding mine. Amongst the grief, I felt His peace.  With the rhythm of the ventilator in the background, my mind drifted off to moments in my life and how those hands helped me grow. They taught me how to put a worm on my fishing line, tickled my back as a little girl, disciplined me when I misbehaved, and hugged me when I cried.  His hands showed me how to change a tire and check the oil when I began to drive. They were the hands of a man who could build and fix anything. The hands that taught me how to make the best popcorn EVER.

That afternoon we let him go. The family gathered at the farm and we shared stories. As I stood on the front porch I looked around and felt the cool Fall air on my face, inhaled the familiar smell of the farm, and was flooded with memories...fishing in the ponds, riding horses, milking cows with grampa,  riding in the tractor bucket, finding kittens under the house, huge spiders, snakes, and so much more.


I went inside to the restroom and saw my dads pajamas from the morning before lying on the floor beside his slippers.  I slid my feet into the slippers, smelled his t-shirt,  and I broke down.   I was flooded with the realization he wasn't coming home. For my entire life, the farm was where I could find my grandparents or dad.  I felt the weirdest loneliness I'd ever experienced. It was at that moment I started a new journey...what I call  "My Dirt Road Home".

The farm was the one place that was a constant. From my earliest memories to adulthood it was "home base".  We moved often with the Air Force, so from the moment our tires hit the dirt road to the farm,  I felt a sense of belonging and "going home".  With my dad gone, it left a huge void in my heart. Thankfully, time, love, faith and forgiveness has healed that void, but it has been an emotional journey. I went back for the first time last spring. I feel whole again.

One of the  hardest parts about losing my father is the fear of forgetting our stories. If you'd like to read more,  I shared more about my dad here.

Thank you for reading my stories.

xoxox
Jodi

And...the rest of the story....

I think my calendar is wrong...

I missed a day this week, where did yesterday go?

I guess I shouldn't promise "tomorrow" unless I

have the post ready to go.

*Geesh*

Its been a weird few days. My sister and niece went

back home to Arizona on Thursday.

Jill, Jessica and me on the way to the Airport
(much to my decorating dismay we added a tv to the living room...)

Fun in Aunt Jodi's tub!

My son (my only one at home) went to

Whidbey Island to spend a week with his besties.

My husband is at work...

and I have slept til nearly 10AM 

each morning!

I think its the lull of the fan and quiet house.

Time to get with it girl!!

TODAYS LIST:

*write this post

*sew the summer slipcovers for the couch throw pillows

(before FALL arrives, ha ha)

*Remember to eat the right things 

(Hubby and I are on day 2 of Phase One

of the South Beach Diet!!

Long overdue......)

*Hmmm, do I dare add painting something to the list??

<FOCUS>

So, now after 4 eggs and 1 cup of coffee I am fueled up....

********************************

The REST of the story...

(continued from Sunday)

After leaving Wisconsin,

my daughter, Janelle, and I drove ALL

the way to Pennsylvania! 

I think it was like 14 hours,

$60 in tolls, 2 anxiety attacks in the tunnels

and a lot of potty breaks.

One of MANY toll booths

Anxiety attack about to happen...

Pennsylvania!

Once there, we got her settled into her

new home. I stayed with our

really good friends. I wish I would have taken

pictures of my friends GORGEOUS house!

She has such a beautiful home.

**Almost as beautiful as her heart **

Diane, (a very tired) me, Geri

After a few wonderful warm days of visiting there,

I went to Virginia with my friend Diane.

On the way, we stopped at 

LUCKETTS!


Here are some photo's from other vendors in the store

I was so happy to finally see

Miss Mustard Seed's

space.

Marion is now in the process of moving inside the building.

I am so happy for her, she's VERY talented

and was a huge inspiration to me when

I was considering the blog thing.

She also lives in the same town where my daughter

is now living.

As you may remember, I went from Virginia to

Arkansas as my step father underwent

open heart surgery.

He is doing well now, praise God!

The days prior to the surgery we did some reminiscing by

going to my old stomping grounds.

After graduating from High School in Arizona in *ummm*

the mid eighties *gulp*

I moved to Arkansas to be near my father and his new wife, Karen.

I lived on the 3rd floor of this amazing old building in the

heart of old town Rogers, AR.

My apartment was the top corner (The cross wasn't there then)

Looking up at my old apartment

The doorway in from the street

The stairs up to our apartment. Sometimes this was a little
scary. One time a guy climbed through the window to the roof
and was spying on my friend Laurie!

I loved the Coca-Cola mural on the side of the building.

It was recently restored.

There was a working bakery on one side of the street, 

so every morning I woke to the smell of fresh bread!

The streets are brick, there were office buildings on the first floor.

Across the street the old movie theater was a antique mall.

The DAISY B.B. gun museum is on that street now,

and the old theater is a theater again.

There were only 4 apartments in the building.

I lived in the 3rd floor facing the street, my best friend, Stephanie, lived

across the hall way and our other best friend, Laurie,

lived on the 2nd floor below us. There was also

a "really old" (probably my age now, ha ha)

 man that lived below me.

Some of my very best memories are from that time!

SO.MUCH.FUN...and D.R.A.M.A.

I worked at THE BANK of Bentonville as

the switchboard operator. 

I started as a bank teller, but let me back up a little.

Actually, I was a waitress at Kings Pizza when I first moved there.

A TERRIBLE waitress!

One day I was waiting on a table with

the bank president and bank officers.

I spilled a soda on one of them.

I was offered a job at the bank on the spot.

I'm not sure if it was because I was a terrible waitress

or I just handled it well, ha ha.

Flash forward (a few weeks)...I am now a 18 year old bank teller,

hardly a clue what Im doing, and my first customer

approaches the window.

I should have known by the dead silence that fell upon

the teller line....

Me:  Good morning sir, may I help you?

Sir:  Good morning, I would like to cash this check please.

Me: Ok, may I please see your I.D.

*Gasps among the other tellers*

Hands me his drivers liscense.....

Me:  Ummm, Ohhhh, Mr. (SAM) Walton. I am so sorry,

this is my first day on my own.....stutter.

Mr. Walton:  Thank you for treating me like a regular guy.

Then he went in to talk to the bank President. I thought I was fired for sure.

But they called me in and praised me.  *whew* (I was a terrible teller too,

but a good talker, so they "promoted" me to switchboard operator...I loved it!)

I made $210 every 2 weeks and my rent was $190 month!

I lived there until Stephanie and I went on a big

adventure and moved to Jacksonville Beach, FL  a few years later.

(That's where I met my husband, but that's entirely another story!)

Now that Walmart has become so big and Mr. Walton has passed away, Its fun to remember how our lives crossed for just a brief moment.

My step mother's mom worked for the

5 & Dime Store on the Bentonville town square

before it became the Walmart we know today.

Now there is a really neat museum in that building!

Another place we stopped by is Susie -Q!

It has been there FOREVER.

My grandpa took me there when I was 9 years old.

I love their Cherry Lime-aide! Soooo good.

We also went by the Veterans Cemetery so I could see my dad's
Memorial Headstone. This was very special.

During my stay, my moms brother Uncle Don and Aunt Donna came over to visit.

Their daughter, my cousin, Angie was visiting
from Kansas City. She and I are like two peas in a pod.
We always have a great laugh. She has a beautiful family.

I spent most of the time with Mom and Ron at the hospital and at their home.

I enjoyed helping mom around the house
 and planting flowers for her.

I also went out to visit my stepmom, Karen, and step siblings

Stacy and Traci.

I had not been back to the "family farm" since my dad passed

away in 2007. It was bitter sweet, and very healing.

Karen took me out to the family homestead in Pea Ridge. We took

pictures of the old family cemetery and the original old house

that my grandparents lived in when they were first

married.

The hundreds of acres that have not been

touched since the Civil War are now plotted and for sale for

development. Life moves on...

I wish I had the money to buy it all and restore the house to its

original glory. Oh, it was spectacular.

After 2 weeks there, I headed back to my family in Washington.

Its always fun to go back to where you came from,

but really there is no place like HOME!

What was it like when you moved from home for the first time?

I'd love to hear your story!

xoxoxo

Jodi

The gift of Love...

Sunflowers!

Do they make you smile?

They have always been my favorite

HAPPY flower,

like a big smiley face.

Several years ago my dad gave me the

greatest gift.

We have lived several states apart my entire adult life.

In the summer of 2005 my family

went on vacation to visit for the 4th of July.

My dad, knowing my favorite flower, surprised

me with the most amazing gift....

Nearly an acre of sunflowers planted

 just.
for.
me!

Imagine the love I felt.

My dad passed away suddenly in 2007.

Every 4th of July since, I have displayed a large bouquet 

of sunflowers to remember

that loving gift from my daddy.

THIS year, I have my own little sunflower garden of my own.

My sweet husband gave me a corner of our garden 

JUST for Sunflowers.

I can't wait for them to bloom!!! Happy smiley-faced flowers,

a beautiful reminder of a loving gift.

Each day we have an opportunity to give...

IN FACT...

Smokey, the cat, brought me a special gift today....along with the fresh leaves
from the tree he found it in.
Thank you Smokey, I love you too.
Next time you can leave it at the door...outside :)