Part Two....I can dig it, He can dig it, She can dig it, We can dig It, They can dig it.....Can you dig it, Baby?

As Jim was walking towards a home near the cemetery, the nice man, Dean, who was in charge of getting the grave dug, drove up in his pick-up.

“Everything, okay?”  he asked.

“Say, we have a little problem,” stated brother Jim.  “The grave has been filled in....and we haven’t buried Mom yet.”

“Nah,” said Dean.

“No, we’ve got her right here, “ stated brother Dan.

Dean continued to shake his head from left to right.  At that point I knew we needed a visual aid.

I held up the urn.

The nice young man started beating his head on his steering wheel.  “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes, “ stated the entire group.

Immediately, Dean was on the phone with the young man who had filled in the grave.  We heard muffled parts of the conversation....”Didn’t I tell you to make sure the urn was in there?”  “Didn’t I tell you to feel the urn with your shovel before you started filling in the hole?”  “What were you thinking....no, I take that back....you weren’t thinking at all, were you?"

(I started really laughing.....really, really laughing.  That kind of laughing that is never good.  Never appropriate.  Never kind.  Never ceasing.)

“Do you have a shovel?” stated brother Dan.  “We can do this by hand."

Within minutes, plywood had been placed around the grave....and the three men, Jim, Dan, and Dean started redigging the grave together.  AND the guy who had filled in the grave by mistake,  well, he was critiquing the digging.

Me?  Well, I was taking pictures and laughing.

To Be Continued......Part Three....It takes a village!

What’s Wrong with this Picture? Part I

Don’t judge....and it’s nobody’s fault.  The stars were in alignment for a atypical, funny, wonderful burial.  Yep....laughter, love, joy, mud, dirt and my family.  I can’t imagine my life in any other way.  Look for the silver lining in any cloud-- you’ll see it and appreciate the wonders of our universe.  To piggyback on one of my favorite county songs, “God is great, Beer is good, and People are Crazy!”
and damn it, Momma’s burial fit right in with the crazy.

Mom passed away in January.  We knew then that we wanted a nice Iowa SUMMER day for the internment of her ashes.  My brothers and I spent the spring getting the gravestone reworked and we set a date of June 27 for her burial.  It was going to be simple.  Sweet.  Personal.  Mom and Dad would be together after 45 years apart.

The immediate family planned to meet in State Center for a 9 a.m. ceremony.  (That time was crazy in the first place--we were coming from various places and the logistics would have given Eisenhower a migraine.)  I didn’t get to State Center until 10 and I had Mom riding shotgun with me (Momma loved riding in the front seat of the 4-Runner.  Even at 90 years old, she could still hop right in.)  Jim’s clan wouldn’t be arriving until noonish so our plans were changing moment by moment.

But, we knew everything was cool.  Dan and Kim had visited the cemetery on their way into town that morning and had even taken pictures of the grave.  It was deep and very nicely dug.  We were
good to go.  Jim had fastened a macrame structure for lowering the urn into the ground.  On point!  We met at the family home and at noon we left for the burial.

Our small caravan drove to the cemetery in our birth order.  It was a beautiful Iowa day.  The wind was gently blowing.  The sun was shining brightly.  Flowers were blooming.  We were together for Mom’s send off.

As I drove into the cemetery, I marveled at the lot we had chosen when my dad had passed away in 1970.  You can see our home from that site.  It just made me feel good.  Everything was just perfect.  (Note:  Whenever this feeling passes your way, we afraid.  Be very afraid.)

I got out of the car, picked up the urn, and walked to the grave.

Oops.  No empty hole.  It had been filled in.

“Houston, we have a problem!”

As Dan, Kim, Jim, Jody, Erin, Charlie, and Annie walked towards the grave, I stated, “The hole has been filled in.”  Everyone doubted me....they all came, looked and stated, “The hole has been filled.”

One brother asked the group, “Anyone got a shovel?”

To Be Continued

Poison Ivy comes a Creeping Around

Late at night,
When you’re sleeping
Poison ivy comes a creeping
A-a-round.


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I never knew the words of this song until Mike (at age 7) sang them to me.

I had never paid attention to those details.  I had always just la-de-da’d through this part of the song.

The adage that the devil is in the details is so, so true.

It’s the "measure twice, cut once" times in life that we need to remember this.

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Some days, I feel like I’m slugging through jello....some days, I’m on point.  Frankly, I love those days when I’m a hair off-kilter.  I love laughing at my foibles.  I don’t like giggling about other people, but I think I’m funny.

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Part of my problem is my “list”.  I’ve always got a list going on in my life.  I enjoy checking thinks off my list.  Like the day I needed to get to the bank....it was on my list and as Larry the Cable Guy says, “Get ‘er done."

I was on Zebulon Road and zipped into the bank to deposit some money.  “Ma’am, this isn’t your bank,” stated the little teller.

“I’m so sorry,” apologizing profusely. "I usually bank on the other side of town."

I drove immediately to the next bank.....nope, they, too, told me that I didn’t bank there.  Oops! Dang!  At that point I started paying attention.

Heck, the third times the charm, isn’t it?  On to the next bank.  This time, I looked at my check card, I looked at the bank front....they matched!  BINGO!

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Those “poison ivy” times make us who we are.  They are the rain on our parades.  The soufle that falls.  The chipped fingernail polish....but they are also the stories left to tell.  The people left to love.  The freak flags left to fly.  The stars left to wish upon.  I love the saying that many a good story starts with the phrase, “Hey, watch this!"

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The young woman had come for an interview.  She was delightful.  After knocking the interview out of the park, she was telling a story how her baby had been fussy before she had left him with her mother....she was so happy to have been on time.  YaDa, YaDa.  As she got up to leave, I noticed that most of her back was covered with dried baby throw-up.  She wasn’t aware that Junior had garped down her back.  Oops!  I hired her....but I never told her about how that baby throw up had endeared her to me.  “Poison Ivy."

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

Late at night,
When you’re sleeping
Poison ivy comes a creeping
A-a-round.  

To Everything There is a Season

I read an interesting article today that stated that people created the idea of time.....

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So how old are you?

In my head, I am about 25.  In my right knee, I am about 90.

I have a 14 year old's sense of humor.

I have the appetite of a 40 year old farm hand at harvesting.

I have the metabolism of a sloth.

My feet are great-- maybe 20.

*******************************
So, what is age?

My hair is gray.  I have laugh lines and I have earned every wrinkle I own.

I am as soft-hearted as a 4 year old.

I can't get up from the floor gracefully-- I look like a rolling beach ball.

I adore my pets.... Like a 10 year old.

I have the same dreams, hopes, and aspirations as in years gone by but they have more texture.  My friends are my friends; they ignore my faults and celebrate each day.  We laugh more, talk more, are quiet more, and face our challenges with confidence that no one knows what the heck will happen.  You have to hang on, stick together, and be there for each other.

Brothers, Dan and Jim, and I have been perusing our family's past life.  It has been a study of time, energy, love, laughter, tears, joy, heart ache, and a pull-yourself up by the bootstrap existence.  We have learned that Grandma Malloy did talk (just not to us), relatives that were ill, love eternal between couples, and a deep sense of loyalty.  From Great-grandpa, Michael, who lived til he was 95 to the stillborn baby called Sister, our family mirrors what I've read in books. It wasn't easy but there was love.  The letters of support from each other kept the mail service busy....our family communicated its love for each other in visible ways on a daily basis.

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The three of us are 58 years older than in this picture.  But time has not diminished the love our family had for each other.  We've told stories of our father who passed away in 1970 and stories of our mother who passed away this January.  Looking at our smiling faces in this photograph show three children whose parents took the time to love them on a daily basis.  AND that we have learned those lessons on how to live and love with our families today.

Ecclesiastes 3:1
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: