Praying In Water

My daughter's name is  Kellye Lauren. Sensitive and intelligent, stubborn and passionate. She is unable to connect with people. The road less taken has been her path in life. The difficult path. It always will be. In her high school years when it became increasingly obvious that some connection was missing, I would hold all of my tears until my evening shower. This is when I would pray to God to save our daughter. The pain was unbearable, I wanted my life to end.

Surviving one car accident, "Kellye, God is calling you." Battling anorexia and the ever increasing distant personality, "Kellye, God is calling you." Surviving a second car accident, "Kelly, why can't you hear God?" A mother overdosing on all of her medication in front of her daughter, "Kellye, you can't hear God, can you hear my plea for you to get well?"

Home from the emergency room, my life in shatters, my beautiful daughter nearly gone to us, prayers in the shower. "God, I can't do it anymore. I give up. I let go. I give her to you." The answer from God was immediate. God had not been calling my daughter, he had been calling me.

At that moment I surrendered my life to God. My heart immediately felt light. I only spoke words of love and encouragement to my daughter not the negative begging that had no effect. She began to heal as I began this blog to tell my life's story from a point of honesty but also joy. By doing this I have truly let go of the past and am ready to flourish in the present.

Bobwhites and Roller Rings

Only Child girl's parents rented the cutest summer cottage just blocks from the sugary white sand of Myrtle Beach. Breakfasts barely eaten we bicycled, towels wrapped around our necks, inflatables flapping behind us as we held them by their ropes, peddling as though the beach wouldn't be there if we didn't hurry. Body surfing and handstands in the water, drifting lazily with the current far down the shore, slowly walking back to lay on our towels and read. With the changing of the tide, we slowly peddled home. Revival cold showers in outdoor bath house, our favorite part of the day just beginning.

Two dollars for two hours of roller skating heaven on smooth as ice varnished wooden flooring, Golden Oldies background for our lighthearted mood. A local hangout for the small community, boys hoping to skate with girls who weren't their sisters. We couldn't wait for the lights to dim and the silver faceted ball to begin casting squares of color in an endless circle. "Couples only." The announcer's voice floated above our heads. Hearts on our sleeves we pretended we weren't interested all the while hoping for a tap on the shoulder.  Beautiful Only Girl was always asked to skate. It was enough for me to live through her excitement and keep hopeful for the next time we came to skate.

 End of summer, beginning of fall, roller skates forgotten as ice skates where rented. An ice rink nestled in a valley of pine trees. A tap on the shoulder, "Couples Only" skate, a man who would become my husband.

Please do not Pin pattern on Pinterest.

Bobwhite Boyfriend Crushes

If the Bobwhites weren't mooning over old movie stars, we were drooling over our school year books. Slumber party the last day of school was mandatory. Location - rec room floor of only child, fish tank glowing in the background. Sleeping bags arranged like wagon spokes. Pillows to the center, yearbooks on top. No peeking. We would drag out our ritual every year. This was serious business! Brownies had to be baked and cooled, Coke's on ice. Pretzels in big bowls, napkins to please the Mom. Slip between the zippers, pillows tucked under elbows. Open, inside cover. Squeals of delight and endless discussions over each and every syllable, the slant of the letters, the flourish of the name. Hopefully a boy name! Our entire summer would be planned around any boys we were lucky enough to get to sign our books. We may not have had cars, but we had bikes!

Endless summer days of riding our bikes past boy's houses that we each had crushes on. We would make enough noise to bring anyone out of their houses, but not the boys! The only time we ever saw them was if they were outside mowing the lawn or playing basket ball. Heads down, pedal faster, not enough nerve to stop. All summer long we thrilled ourselves with the possibility that one would look up and smile, or gasp, wave! And then one day, one did! "Hey, do you girls live around here? I see you ride past my house every single day." "UHHHH, we just like the exercise. Well, gotta go." He probably could hear us squealing all the way out of his neighborhood. This one hello kept us on cloud nine for the entire summer. Nothing more was needed. So simple were our days.

A Couple's Dance

The most romantic couple I have ever known were my Uncle Howard and Aunt Mildred. Howard had been an airplane mechanic in War World II and continued in that field after the war. Aunt Mildred was a homemaker. I never wanted visits to their home to come to an end.

Their home was quintessentially 1940's Americana. Knotty pine walls yellowed with age, oval braided rugs, pipe stand and fringed lamps. High backed couch and step down end tables, walk around fireplace. Starched white Priscillas and Miss America glass pattern. Big open kitchen, bread and butter pickles, homemade biscuits, Uncle Howard at the sink. Every evening after supper he would wash the dishes for Mildred, happily whistling. He said he loved washing dishes because he could really get his nails clean after a day working on airplanes. Aunt Mildred at his side quietly drying and putting away, the light above the sink in the darkening kitchen, just for them. Dishes done, a breakfast spot set for Uncle Howard's early rise, his coffee cup turned upside down on it's saucer, their quiet dance done for the evening.

My last visit to Uncle Howard and Aunt Mildred's house was the same as my first visit as a child. The simple sharing of the routine of the day showed me the type of love I wanted for myself. Aunt Mildred was very ill on that last visit. Uncle Howard slept on the floor by her bedside so as not to disturb her painful sleep. He said to me, "I have never spent a day apart from her. She has given me so much, I am happy just to be near her." Uncle Howard would pass away very shortly after the death of Aunt Mildred. I have always loved to wash dishes. I know this is because of this most romantic couple.

"Digging To China"

Every kid at some point in childhood hears the expression, "If you dig deep enough, you can dig your way to China." My brother took this saying literally! He asked my Mom if could he and the neighborhood kids could dig a hole in the backyard. "Of course, just play nice." replied my Mom.

By the end of the week, my mother received a telephone call from the next door neighbor, "Peggy, I didn't know you all were getting a swimming pool." Of course my mother had no idea what she was talking about. "You had better look outside your window!"

There in the middle of our yard was a hole as wide as a small swimming pool, no brother in sight. Going close to edge of the hole, there was my brother and 12 neighborhood boys all digging furiously. "John! What are you doing!" yelled down my Mom. "Digging to China." yelled back up my brother.

My brother and I giggle to this day at the thought of the parade of neighbors that came to see the swimming pool sized hole!

A Bobwhite's First Crush

In my 13th summer I got to be the "bring along companion" of my Bobwhite Only Child friend for two months in Boothbay Harbor, Maine. Each day we bicycled to our very own cove, spent hours rowing about in the Magdalena Hagdalena, dove off  rock embankments into the briny ocean and let the sun bake our skin dry. We pedaled back to our cottage along an old tar road enveloped by the tallest pine trees with blueberry bushes growing along the edges in time to dress ourselves for dinner at Fisherman's Wharf. Each night we sat at the same window table and ordered our favorite meals, and each night the same cute busboy who cleared our plates visited my dreams with romantic kisses. My first crush on a boy! As the summer came to an end I still had only managed a shy smile. I didn't even know his name.

Home. I just could not stop thinking about the blond haired, blue eyed, lanky tan busboy; so I wrote a letter and put it in an envelope inside of an envelope, and sent it to the restaurant. On the inside envelope I wrote, "Please give this to the busboy who is kinda tall and has blond hair and really blue eyes and is really cute." In the letter itself I poured out my adoration as only a teenage girl can..." I like swimming, and tennis, and bike riding, and I love the Osmonds...." No return letter.

School begins, no letter. Leaves begin to fall, and finally a letter comes. "Hello, I got your letter. I thought you were a really cute girl. Very tan. I didn't write sooner because I've been getting settled in at my dorm. I drove my new motorcycle here. Hey you are a really special girl, but my girlfriend says I can't write to you. Well, I gotta go now and hit the books... Always, your busboy, Dan ......"

 A Bobwhite's first crush, a heart ache so sweetly remembered.


Story Update: 2017 As is the case with me, I am late to the world made oh so small through the wonder of Facebook. I couldn't imagine what I would ever use Facebook for until the thought occurred to me I might just be able to discover whatever had become of "my busboy".  Dan ..., Boothbay Harbor, Maine. Easily enough found, but how to know if it was truly him. Scrolling through each group of pictures shared I came to the very last picture, a motorcycle! The very one he had worked all summer to buy before heading off to college. A message sent,  "Were you ever a busboy at Fisherman's Wharf , do you remember a 13-year old pen pal?" I went on to thank him for my wonderful girlhood memories, and how happy I was to see it seems as though his life was a good one. Months passed by, a message for me to read. "Hello! Yes I am your busboy. So nice of you to remember me."