run on sentences

Over the years the older women I sat with in church were cut and replaced - plucked from the pews by death or a serious illness that made it impossible for them to attend. I got to know and love many of them, sometimes painting nails or curling hair when arms could no longer be raised high enough to get those old fashioned brush rollers in. I spoke at some of their funerals. It wasn't a church calling or duty - these ladies were my friends. My church girls. One Sunday, a replacement older woman sitting next to me was dozing during the sermon. Her nicely made up eyelids were closed, pink blushed wrinkled cheeks puffed in as her breath made a soft purring sound. Being a retired nurse I often did a quick scan - color, appearance, work of breathing - which gave me a clue into their health status and sometimes their age. I noted her makeup looked expensive and skillfully applied. A matte type of foundation recommended by many websites that claim to know what is best for women ...

 No one  really knows why my uncle Jim was called Jab.  His youngest sister thinks it was because he talked a lot.  One of his friends says that his dad was also called "Jab".    Anyone that could have told us for sure is gone to wherever one goes when they leave this earth.   Jab died last week in the early morning hours.    He was my last uncle, my mom's youngest brother and I loved him a lot.  He was one of the kindest, most real people I have ever known.  Jab's real name was James Lynwood.   He was named after his dad, my grandpa who was James Valentine, and also an older brother, James Wesley, who died when he was less than a year old.    My sister and I probably are the only ones who still called him Jab. Left to right:  My sister, Barb, me, Uncle Jab.  I don't remember the dog's name Left to right:  Grandma Maxfield, Jab, his sister in law Delores, and me.  He wrecked his...

My daughter Kseniya and I were awake and chatting in the AirBNB we were sharing in Austin Texas.  We were there to run a half marathon, a tradition we started about ten years ago.  It was after midnight on a warm February night and neither of us could sleep mostly because of a strong cold brew coffee we had too late in the day at Mozart, a nice coffee place on a lake where we could sit outside and enjoy the warm air.  Not something we could ever do in Utah in February. There's something magical about being awake at night when others are asleep.  It's rare to share this time with a grown daughter and the darkness lends itself to interesting conversation that might not take place in the light of day. At first the night was quiet.  We could hear dogs barking and traffic, car doors slamming as people came home from wherever they had been.  There were some gentle snoring noises coming from the next room.  Kseniya argued that it wasn't snoring; it was th...

I was out running with Toby when my phone beeped.  I had a premonition of what the message would be and stopped, getting out a dog treat for Toby as I dug my phone out of my pocket.   “My dad died a few minutes ago” was the the message I received and unfortunately expected  from my cousin Grace. Her dad was my uncle Booie. Bernard was his real name and I had no idea why he was called Booie - no one is left that I can ask anymore.  Uncle Booie was one of my mom’s younger brothers - she had three younger brothers and now there is only one - my uncle Jab. I am not sure why he is called Jab either, Jim being his real name.  You couldn't find two finer guys than uncle Jab and uncle Boo. Me, Uncle Jab on the left, and uncle Boo on the right. When I was growing up,  Uncle Boo was always a part of my life.    He made me feel safe. He was a big guy to me as a little girl and was handsome  and strong. I always thought he looked like...

On my morning run, I frequently stop to chat with an older man named Jerry.  Seeing Jerry is a great way to start out my day as he is, at 86 years old always smiling and usually has something to say that stays with me throughout my run.  He walks with two canes, and is one of the most optimistic people I have ever “ran” into. I always stop to say hello and to ask how he is. “I am great.  And even if I wasn’t I would tell you I was, because I would just be anticipating the future”, he always says.  Then after kissing my hand, says, “The honor is mine and I hope the pleasure is all yours”. One morning after this usual greeting, He said, “There are only three things in life that people really need to be happy: “Something to do, someone to love, and something to look forward to” .   He is right.  We don’t need so many material things. I think of the words of my son who at age 8 already had a lot of wisdom: “Having something is not nearly as ...

I had a love-hate relationship with my childhood home. The empty house this past winter This was my brother's bedroom - the wall in the back is damaged because of a chimney fire.  We were happy kids. My memories of that house are mostly good - feelings of being cozy, and warm, the house heated by two wood stoves before it was cool (and not bad for the environment) to burn wood.  Wood was our only source of heat, which resulted in a few chimney fires, one of which left a hole in the floor in one of the upstairs bedrooms that was never repaired.  Burning wood also kept us kid busy in the summer and fall, chopping wood and then piling it in the shed where the growing piles gave my dad a sense of happiness and providing for his family. On school mornings, I woke up to the sound of my dad crinkling newspaper and the squeaking of the handle on the stove door as he threw in kindling to start the fire.  Then, the sizzling of snow on the big block of wo...

For the past three weeks, I have been in my hometown, helping my sister who recently had surgery. She is now the proud owner of zipper like incisions on the inside of both her still shapely legs (a gift from our mother) resulting from a chunk of her right saphenous vein being yanked like a worm from the comfort of its usual location on the medial side of her leg, turned upside down to disable the valves, and transplanted on her left leg, bypassing a blockage in or near the femoral/popliteal artery. This is her fourth surgery on her left leg which refused to consistently deliver oxygen to her foot.  Hopefully the displaced vein will pick up the slack and keep her foot pink. I have enjoyed some great runs in the humidity and clean smelling, moist air.  I never see anyone else running in this town of 150 or less people. Maybe no one ever does so I am somewhat of a curiosity. “I saw you running” people say.  Sometimes they seem puzzled by the activity.  "You wo...