Oh my.

I can’t tell you what it did to my heart to see Jodi make the suggestion that Smithellaneous readers might want to help out Julia and her son.  And then to see another half a dozen of you join in with her and say that you were also on board with it?  Well, Steve, Sarah and I are all incredibly touched by your generous, giving hearts. I always knew I had the best readers around!

(Scroll to the end of this post for more info on how you can help.) 

 In a minute, you’ll see some photos of Steve’s and my jaunt up Jockey’s Ridge last night. Before I post those though, some of you may remember some pictures from Nathan’s last visit home before he got married when the four of us took a trek up Jockey’s Ridge.

It was an evening that was lit up with laughter.

But in the midst of all the happiness of that afternoon, my mind was never far from the inescapable fact that our family was facing the completion of a chapter, the end of an era. In fact, the realization hit me so hard that I finally had to give in and do a Mama Cry. In case you’re wondering, a Mama Cry is the sort of cry you do when you’re not really sad exactly, but your heart is stuffed full of so many emotions that some of those emotions have no choice but to leak right out of your eyes.

THAT is a Mama Cry. And THAT is what I had.

Well last night, Steve and I decided to take ourselves off on yet another Jockey’s Ridge jaunt. (Sarah was gone so we were left to our own devices.)

Before the climb though, we figured we needed to get our strength up so we went out to eat at one of our favorite restaurants.  Their Philly Cheese sandwich is amazing; big enough to share and accompanied by fabulous fries. We split a sandwich, had water to drink and made it out the door for just $12. (Hooray for thrifty living!)

Then it was time to drive to Jockey’s Ridge and prepared for The Climb. Would you believe that as soon as we got out there, I immediately thought about the last trip and started crying all over again?  We mamas have tear ducts like faucets, sometimes. Fortunately, I got it out of my system pretty quickly and was able to enjoy a fabulous evening with a fabulous husband.

I took a couple pictures of him . . .

and then he took some of me.

Do you get the impression it was a bit windy out there?

Windy or not, it was a lovely half hour spent on one of the most famous sand dunes in the country. 

As much as I loved the time with my husband, as we walked back to the car I could still hear the echoes of other laughter, other voices and other seasons.

Such sweet, olden, golden days.

How You Can Help Julia

Once again, thank you to those of you who have expressed interest in helping our new friend, Julia.

Here are three helping options:

1. Clothing for her son.  He wears a size 8-10 or boys medium. I’m sure he would also love books or toys.  (Used articles are fine.) 

2. Gift cards.

a)  General Shopping:  Walmart and K-Mart are within 30 minutes so they would be best.  Our nearest Target is 2 hours away.

b)  Grocery Stores: Our nearest stores are Food Lion and Harris Teeter.

c)  Gas stations:  Shell or BP 

3.) Monetary gifts to go toward her general expenses and furnishing of her home.

You can do this one of two ways:

a) Go to manteofirstag.com and click on “Online Giving” at the top right. Specify in the blank, “For Julia.” 

b) Send a check made out to Manteo First Assembly.  Put “For Julia” in the memo area. 

Gifts/clothes/cards may be sent to:

Manteo First Assembly
Attn: Becky Smith
812 Wingina St.
Manteo, NC 27954  

These gifts are tax deductible as long as you include your address.  ALL gifts will be given straight to Julia and her son.

Again, many thanks to those of you who hearts are impelling you to give to this precious little family. 

I also know that we are all praying for the victims of the recent tornadoes and will be giving to help that need as well. 

Blessings to you, sweet Smithellaneous family!

The post Sweetest Readers. And Steve, Me and Jockey’s Ridge. appeared first on Smithellaneous.

Last week as I was glancing through some old posts, I came across this one called, “Introduce Yourself.” This post stood out to me especially because it holds the all time record for the most comments ever collected on a single post–164!  

Reading all those comments a year after they were left was fascinating as many of you introduced yourselves, told about your background and where you are from.  So many of your names have become familiar to me over the year(s) which made it especially fun to return to that post and be reminded of so many of the back stories behind your familiar names.

The very coolest thing about it though, was that some of you left comments about other peoples’ comments and then other people commented on those comments. It ended up turning into one big happy, across the backyard fence conversation.

And I thought last week as I read those old comments, “Wow. This is so much fun to read the interactions between people who are strangers to each other except through this blog.”  And then I thought how cool it would be if my readers continued to do that occasionally—see another comment and follow up on it.

But like many bouts of wishful thinking, I got all done thinking about that particular wish and went on with my day.

Imagine then, my happy surprise last Friday when I checked the day’s comments and saw that someone from a long distance away (Alaska, to be exact) had somehow managed to read my mind and was zipping all around the comments area, writing responses to other readers’ comments.  It truly made me smile!

And so yes, Kristina Creek, you are my Monday morning smile-maker. I am shouting out a big “hooray” to you for the effort and time you took to interact with some of the other wonderful Smithellaneous readers. (I know there are a few others of you who have done some of that in the past too, and I appreciate you as well.)

So anyway, I just wanted to mention that and let you know that if you ever say to yourself, “Hmmm. That was an interesting comment; I should reply back to it” please feel free to do so. The resulting conversations are always so much fun.

The Wastebasket/ Moose Shower

I was so proud of the women in our church last week; they outdid even themselves, and that’s pretty hard to do!

Here’s the story.

A couple of months ago, a young mother (who I’ll call Julia) fled an abusive relationship in another state and ended up staying for several months at a local shelter. One of our members works at the shelter; she got to know Julia and invited her to church and Julia has been attending ever since.

Julia landed a good job and then last week, she found an apartment for her and her young son. Only problem? She had left her former home with just a few basic belongings and had nothing with which to furnish an apartment. A tough place for a young mom to be but thankfully, not the end of the story.

Early last week, one of the women in our church called me and said she wanted to throw a housewarming party for Julia. What followed was an amazing outpouring of love and generosity. If you could have seen Julia’s face as she unwrapped gift after gift after gift, you would have had tears in your eyes, just the way the rest of us did. She laughed and she cried–she was overwhelmed, overjoyed, amazed and thankful, all wrapped up into one. And by the time all her gifts had been opened and stacked for transportation, they overflowed our entire (huge) dining room table!

One of Julia’s favorite gifts (that she clutched to her chest and oohed and ahhed over) was a simple, plastic wastebasket. She said, “Oh this is wonderful!  I’ve been using a grocery bag for a wastebasket and now I get to use a real one instead!”

I must say that there is something especially joyful and rewarding about giving things to a person who has nothing. So many times when I am buying a Christmas or birthday gift for a friend, I rack my brains trying to think of what I can possibly give to someone who already has everything she needs.

But to buy something for a person who has nothing?  Let me just say that those of us on the giving end had a whole lot more fun than our new friend did who was on the receiving end–and that’s saying a whole lot.

Several of the women’s thoughtfulness also extended to Julia’s son.  One of the gifts he received was a brown blanket that folded up inside a moose’s head. You have never seen a child love a gift any more.

 There was wonderful food in abundance, some of it healthy . . . 

 . . .  and some of it not so healthy.

When these bars arrived in my kitchen, I got weak in the knees and came close to swooning. In fact, you know the looks those girls used to get on their faces when they watched The Beetle’s perform? Yep, I sported the very same expression when I took a bite into one of these delectable, delicious confections. 

(That is a layer of peanut butter between the cookie crust bottom and the melted chocolate chip topping. Just in case you were wondering.)  

The whole evening was so very special to those of us who got a front row seat on the transformative, life-altering powers of compassion of compassion and generosity. And what made the evening all the greater was the knowledge that Julia is the kind of person who will one day turn around and pay forward the kindness she received that night.

Haven’t we all had something paid forward to us–at one time or another?  

Sometimes paying it forward is done in large and bold actions . . . and sometimes it’s performed in actions as simple as presenting a single mom and her son with a moose blanket and a plastic wastebasket.

The post Kristina Creek! And A Moose Blanket And A Plastic Wastebasket. appeared first on Smithellaneous.

Before I post the list though, here are a few pictures of the place where I spend 25 hours each week.

My desk. 

Most of the time, I keep the blue curtain between me and the sanctuary closed, but occasionally I open it up so that I can see the big screens at the front of the auditorium and get an idea of what the graphics look like that I’m working on that day.

At the other end of the office is a work table and filing box where I organize all the music that the worship band uses each week. (Sarah is my official music filing person.)

So.  Here’s my list of stuff I do, as retrieved from notes and lists from recent workdays. Most are self-explanatory but a few needed a little explanation. This list will probably give you a good idea of why I  refer to myself as “The Minister of Miscellaneous.”

1.  Retype new song with changes

2. Will 18 sandwiches be enough?

3. Rock and roll oldies  (I was doing a slide show of pictures for a memorial service and asked the widow what kind of music her late husband liked.)

4. Sit in with Steve on a counseling session.

5. 350 x 490  (Written in the margins of my book to remind me of the dimensions that a particular image on our church website has to be)

6. All grad pictures in?  (Working on media presentation for the Sunday when we will honor our grads)

7. Bird guy respond?  (The nickname I gave a guy who contacted the church through our website whose email address had “bird” in it.)

8. Sign up sheet for church lunch.

9. Buy 3 reams of legal sized, 60 lb paper.

10.  Find Mother’s Day video; download and insert into media script.

11.  Make up new singer schedule

12.  Who is running media on Sunday?

13.  Pizza with Pastor event?

14.  Do visitor letters

15.  Organize Board get together

16.  Record “Redeemer” on piano

17.  Make sign for the food donation box

18.  Work on chord chart for new worship song

19.  Change directory listing

20.  Worship Choir announcement

21.  Start Sunday’s bulletin

22.  Begin designing poster/flyers for Craft Sale

23.  Find a sunrise video

24.  Email Sunday’s video to Linda

25.  Find music for skit

26.  Make new signs for offices

27. Set up table in lobby

28. Offertory slide show

29.  Make 30 copies for Steve

30.  Order flowers for funeral

31.  Call Marsha about date change

32.  Start designing graphics for upcoming sermon series.

33.  Pull music for Sunday’s service

34.  Set up media script for Sunday

35.  Replenish supply of “feminine products” in womens’ bathroom

36. Turn in receipts from last week.

37.  Send two thank you notes.

38.  Create new graphic for website home page

39.  Update calendar on church website

40.  Order toner for copier.

41.  Kiss my boss  (Ha. That one was just thrown in there for those of you who read all the way to the end. And of course, my boss is my husband.)

What about you?  What do you do on YOUR job?

I think what people do for a living is fascinating and would love a description or a list of what YOU do!

The post I’m the Minister of Miscellaneous (What’s YOUR Job?) appeared first on Smithellaneous.

just posted this picture of the two of them on Facebook when they were both seven years old. (Sarah would have been about two months past her bone marrow transplant.)

It was so much fun to see a picture of Sarah that I’d never seen before. She and Victoria have always been into dressing up and doing dramas and skits and plays so this is a picture of them “hard at work.”

And speaking of Victoria . . .

she just announced that after graduating in June, she will be attending UNC-C (which happens to be Steve’s alma mater) to study pre-med and nursing. When she is finished with that, she wants to go on to become a doctor and eventually use her training in medical missions.

Can you believe the little girl in this picture is headed off to be a doctor?  Where do the years go? (I’ve heard it said that for mothers, the days pass slowly and the years pass quickly—how true that is.) 

And on the subject of doctors . . .

I’ve mentioned Tricia Lawrenson a few times on this blog. (Tricia’s husband, Nathan, is the music pastor at a church about fifteen minutes away from us.)  Tricia has been in desperate need of lungs for a second transplant and was in ICU at Duke headed downhill very quickly.  On Tuesday, lungs became available and she went into a 10-hour surgery Tuesday night. Fourteen hours after the surgery, she was off the vent, up and walking. 

Our family and church have prayed often for this couple;  so happy to report good news!

And speaking of guys named Nathan . . .

Here is a fun story about our own Nathan.

One of my readers, Linda Johnson, sent me this note:

Just had to share with you. We were in Lakeland Saturday, and went to Chick-Fil-A.  I noticed this young man and thought I think I know him. Then I remembered where I had seen that face on your page. I ask if his name was Nathan and he said yes, and if his sister’s name was Sarah he smiled real big and said ” you must follow the blog” I said I sure do everyday and then I congratulated him on the baby. It was neat seeing him in person.

What a funny coincidence! And another coincidence is that one of the few other “family sightings” by blog readers also happened in a Chick-Fil-A near Greensboro, NC when a reader spotted Sarah.  And if I recall correctly, someone else said they saw Steve earlier this year at a gas station somewhere in North Carolina.

Definitely a small world . . . 

The post A Never Before Seen Picture of Sarah And A Tale Of Two Nathans. appeared first on Smithellaneous.

Orange Dreamsicle Cake

2013-05-15 14:17:32

An easy, light, citrusy confection of deliciousness.

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For the cake

1 box orange cake mix

3 oz. box orange jello

1/3 C oil

1 1/4 C water

3 eggs

Mix batter according to directions on back of box.

Icing

8 oz. sour cream

12 ounces frozen coconut-thawed (this could be omitted)

1/2 C undiluted frozen orange juice-thawed

1 C granulated sugar (could use a little less)

8 oz. Cool Whip

For cake

Mix ingredients and pour batter into two 9-inch, greased pans.

Bake at 350 degrees for 20-25 minutes until a knife inserted comes out clean.

After cake cools, slice and make 4 layers. (Could also just do two layers.)

For icing

Mix sour cream and coconut.

In separate bowl, add sugar to orange juice.

Stir until sugar is dissolved.

Combine two mixtures and fold in Cool Whip.

Frost cake and refrigerate.

Notes

You can add mandarin oranges on top of the cake for a decorative touch.

Smithellaneous http://smithellaneous.com/

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The post Orange Dreamsicle Cake (A Recipe) appeared first on Smithellaneous.

To that little piece of nonsense I say a most emphatic, “Ha.”  

I am here to unequivocally state that although many of my Southern Sisters may very well glisten (and verily, even glow) when they are under stress, I can personally attest to the fact that this southern gal is quite capable of producing impressively copious quantities of genuine sweat when given the proper circumstance.

And it just so happens that I ran across such a circumstance one southern, summer day.

Sarah and I were driving home from her summer camp in Steve’s newish car. It wasn’t until we had stopped for gas that it occurred to me that I had driven his car so little, I didn’t even know how to open the gas tank. I messed around with the cover a little, trying to find something to push or pull that would accomplish the needed task, but with no success.

So I unlocked the car door, reached inside for my phone, and leaned against the side of the car while I obtained Official Gas Tank Opening Instructions from my husband.

As I was talking, I happened to glance at the woman in line behind me. She was looking at her watch more times than was absolutely necessary and sending all manner of frowny-faced, impatient vibes in my direction.

I’m sure that from her perspective, I was acting just a little strange. First, I couldn’t even open my own gas tank and then for no readily apparent reason, I stopped making any attempt to do so and started chatting on my phone instead. She was not pleased with my obvious inadequacies as a human being.

After Steve told me about the magic button that had to be pushed from inside of the car, I quickly filled my tank and hurried to get everything put away so that I could stop impeding the important progress of Miss Impatient.

Everything was going along just swimmingly until I got back behind the wheel and realized that I had no keys. They had disappeared. Completely.

Now you may be wondering how anyone could possibly pull into a gas station with their keys in plain sight, only to discover five minutes later that the keys are gone. I was wondering that very thing.

After a cursory glance around the inside of the car and the pump area, I decided I was going to have to make a little speech to the snippity lady-in-waiting. I was going to have to tell her that I couldn’t move my car out of her way because I could not–and here comes the embarrassing part–seem to locate my keys.

A spasm of incredulity crossed her face after I had relayed my unwelcome news. She sighed hugely, rolled her eyes, and then backed out to get in another line.

Fine. She was taken care of. I, on the other hand, had a minor crisis in front of me. I had a car. I had a daughter. I had a trip to finish. But I had no keys.

I continued my not-yet-frantic search, thinking that I must have dropped them behind the seat or tossed them into the abyss I call a purse.

Nothing.

Then I glanced up and saw that a second car had pulled in behind me. I sighed, walked toward the car and made the motion of rolling down the window so that I could tell the teenage driver about my situation. However, it suddenly occurred to me that she was so young that she’d probably only ever used a switch to put down a window and would therefore have no idea what my motion even meant.

I suddenly got so befuddled by the fact that I didn’t know the proper methodology for asking a young person to open their window that I just stood dumbly outside her car in a puddle of misery (and sweat) until she finally took pity on me and opened her window a crack. I repeated my little speech about having lost my keys and watched as she, too, moved to another line.

Returning to my car, I asked Sarah (who was rather wide-eyed at the debacle unfolding in front of her), if she would please get out and look for the keys underneath the car. I didn’t really want to do that myself because when I look under a car, I tend to stick my unsmall rear straight up into the air which is not an inspiring sight for anyone. (I am not even kidding.)

Sarah checked under the car and then started doing some general rummaging around, looking everywhere she could think of.

No keys.

The temperature was in the high 90′s (with humidity to match), and I was quickly discovering that my deodorant was not doing what it was touted to do. I could feel the sweat forming under my arms and the heat rising in my cheeks and to make the whole situation all the more fabulous, I saw that another car had pulled up behind me–except this car was driven by a man. 

Oh great. This will make his whole day. He is about to be told by a ditzy woman that she has just filled her car with gas and in the process, has managed to lose her keys.

I trudged miserably back to his car–armpits continuing to produce a suspicious substance that wasn’t a glisten nor a glow–and stood silently beside his window, once more scrolling through my mental litany.

Do I make the “roll down your window” gesture? Is he old enough to know what means? Do I smile? Do I wave? Do I really want to make this speech all over again?

After a few moments of awkward silence, he finally opened his window to see what this strange, sweating woman might possibly have to impart to him. I repeated my pitiful speech and saw the look in his eyes that immediately labeled me as A Scatterbrained Woman.

As I watched him move to another line, I began to suspect that my sanity was slipping. I mean, I know I have reached the middle years of my life and my memory is not what it used to be, but surely I would have remembered if some criminal type had walked up to me and stolen the keys right out of my hand! I mean, really?

I even walked over to the garbage can and looked in there to see whether some wild moment of perimenopausal brain spasming had caused me to absentmindedly toss the keys in with the Burger King wrappers.

No keys.

As I got back in the car and attempted to gather my wits, I noticed in my rear view mirror that yet another vehicle had pulled in behind me. Driven by another man.

Sigh.

Heaving my sticky, stinky self out of the car, I trudged forlornly in his direction. Thankfully I was spared the whole Rolling Down The Window Conundrum because his window was, happily, already open. I forced myself to don a nonchalant smile as I repeated my speech.

“I pulled in here to get gas. When I got back in the car, I couldn’t find my keys. I’m still looking for them. You’ll have to move to another line.”

It sounded so ridiculous to say it, even to my own ears. I could see in his eyes the same opinion as the first guy. What an absolutely wacky woman! How could someone lose their keys in the time it takes to pump gas?

I sent one last wavery smile in his direction and stepped away from his van so that he could back up.This particular fella, however, was not to be deterred. He turned off the engine and settled back to wait. And watch.

I thought, “Oh great. Not only can I not find my keys, I now have an audience who is going to watch me not be able to find them.”

For the third (or was it the hundredth?) time, I went through my routine.

Bent over (flaunting the aforementioned rear), and looked under the car. Looked all around the gas pumps. Looked in the garbage can. Looked in my pockets. Looked in my purse. Looked behind the seat.

And sweated.

Because believe me, I was way beyond the point of glowing. I was way, waaay beyond the point of glistening. This was a circumstance that called for sweat.

Pure. Simple. Smelly. Sweat.

I got up my courage to steal a glance at the guy in the van behind me and discovered that he was leaning forward with his chin propped in his hands, viewing the whole sorry scenario like he was watching his favorite TV show.

And I was it. I was his Reality TV show. I was the sole source of this guy’s entertainment for the foreseeable future.

Oh happy day.

Just as I was pondering whether to ask someone to help me push the car out of the way, a man and woman on a motorcycle pulled in to the other side of the pumps. As the man started pumping his gas, the woman gradually became aware of my circling, mumbling, and sweating. I caught her puzzled look in my direction said feebly, “I lost my keys.”

And that was all it took. Immediately, I knew I had a comrade on my side. There was no “This is a scatterbrained woman”  look in her eyes; she was sympathetic and better yet, she was willing to help me look.

While Mr. Van Man continued to happily observe the entertainment unfolding before him, I watched my new friend begin a search of her own.  And do you know the first place she checked for the missing keys? In the garbage can.

I wanted to hug her. She completely understood the fact that the female brain sometimes compels us to do things that are not completely logical. I had found a kindred spirit!

Not finding anything in the garbage, she circled around the far side of the pumps and approached my car from the front. Then she stopped. And she smiled. And she said, “There they are.”

And there they were, indeed.

The keys were hanging in the outside lock of my car door. When I had unlocked the car to get my cell phone, I hadn’t closed the door again and so I never even saw them. (In my feeble defense, the car I usually drive has a remote clicker to unlock the door and I wasn’t used to putting a key in an actual door lock.)

I smiled. I laughed. I almost cried.

And then I said, “I’m so thankful it was a woman who discovered the keys in the door and not a man.”

She understood that sentiment completely. She gave me a conspiratorial wink and a glimmer of a smile and without another word, got back on the motorcycle with her fella and roared away.

I pulled the keys out of the door, held them up to the guy behind me and yelled, “I found them!” He straightened in his seat, beamed at me, and then burst into wild applause, like his team had just made the winning touch down.

I was so very happy to be of service.

Who knows? If my new best friend on the motorcycle hadn’t shown up, I might still be at that gas station. I might still be mumbling and circling and searching and sweating and providing rare entertainment for all the guys in the vicinity whose opinion that all women are scatterbrained was being confirmed right before their very eyes.

I would like to close this out by saying to all of my genteel Southern Sisters that I am sorry to have to let you down. I am sorry that I had to spoil the Southern Sister Illusion by admitting that a woman from the south can indeed be transformed into an unglowing, non-glistening, sweat producing machine.

But here’s the thing. 

Some situations call for glistening.  Others call for glowing.  

And there are a few rare situations that call for sweating–Southern Sister or not.

And if you ever lose your keys in a busy gas station on a hot, humid southern day?

You will have found that situation.

Trust me on that.

The post The Key To Being A Sweaty, Southern Sister. appeared first on Smithellaneous.

For those of you who are not good at math—like me—he turns fifty-six.

His actual party was on Saturday night and so we spent all day Saturday cleaning, cooking, and doing various prep. After a few hours of work, Steve laid down on the sofa for a small snooze with a small canine.

Summer loves nothing more than assisting one of her humans in taking a snooze—small or otherwise.

After working a few more hours more, Steve took a moment  to sit down with a book and his afternoon cup of tea. Nothin’ like a little caffeine to propel one though a busy afternoon and evening.

As the day progressed, I made several large messes which Sarah swooped in behind me to clean up. I tell you one thing for sure, I could not get through any of the many events we have at our house without Sarah’s efficient swooping. She and Steve could seriously hire themselves out as Party Helper People; they are that amazing.

See the difference after Sarah got done swooping?

Summer was overdue for a haircut but since our extra funds had gone to Steve’s birthday instead of the dog groomer, Sarah used a pink rubber band to get the overgrown hair out of her eyes. Lady Summer doesn’t look too thrilled, does she?

Even though she was a wee bit put out with Sarah for subjecting her to such an indignity, Summer has never been one to hold a grudge. A little kiss soon followed.

One of my party responsibilities was to make the cake Steve requested which was a Dreamsicle Orange Cake. The recipe didn’t actually call for mandarin oranges and a sprinkle of cinnamon but I thought they were pretty.

I’ll post the recipe later this week.

Steve decided that for his birthday, he would like a hog dog bar. I don’t know if hot dog bars actually exist anywhere outside the Smith abode but we went ahead and created one anyway. I even printed up an Official Hot Dog Bar Guideline according to Steve’s official instructions.  (Do you have specific, traditional hot dog toppings where you live? If you are a New Yorker or a Chicago dweller, did we get your ingredients right?)

 We had the ingredients available for each permutation and our guests had a lot of fun topping their dogs with myriad ingredients.

I went all crazy with my hot dog and topped it with . . . ketchup.  Yep.  It must be the new medications that are making me so act so wild.

We also had burgers and beans and chips and ramen slaw and watermelon  . . . it was a yum fest, for sure.

Steve had to don the Traditional Smith Family Party Hat before the cake was brought in. (And just in case you’re wondering, the reason everyone is wearing name tags is because we invited a whole bunch of new people over who didn’t know each other. We also had everyone add their first job beneath their name to serve as an icebreaker. Mine says, “Hotel maid” and Steve’s says, “Mechanic’s assistant.”)

 Tonight (on Steve’s actual official birthday) we’ll grill out some steaks since grilling is Steve’s all time favorite way to eat. Of course, the three of us would love nothing more than to have Nathan and Meagan (and the baby-to-be) join in the celebration but it appears as though a 12-hour drive is just a wee bit too far to drive to a birthday dinner.

Oh well. We’ll just console ourselves by looking at their picture instead. This is a recent shot of them with Meagan’s parents, sisters and brother-in-law.

 And since we’re on the subject of family, here’s a picture of the official baby bump! Isn’t it the cutest baby bump you’ve ever seen?  I have absolutely no doubt that residing inside that particular bump is the smartest, best looking baby you’ve ever seen. 

 What more appropriate way to end a birthday post than with a picture of a woman who is soon going to be giving birth to the grand baby of the person whose birth we are celebrating today.  

Happy, happy birthday to the husband of my heart.

The post Steve. A Birthday. The Dog. A Baby Bump. appeared first on Smithellaneous.

I got a card and corsage from Steve this morning . . .

and a card and a “Cleaning Out and Vacuuming of my Van” gift from Sarah.

The two of them made lunch, I took a long snooze and now I’m just hanging out for the afternoon with Summer sleeping by my side. May go for a bike ride soon. Nothing much planned.

After a long, hard week and some sleep that has been getting rudely interrupted by steroids, a peaceful day soothes my soul.

Jacket-$7  Pants $3   Shoes $3      

A restful day at home. Priceless.

The post Priceless. appeared first on Smithellaneous.

To those of you who took the time this week to write leave such beautifully inspiring words—thank you!  I have read each comment several times and received new encouragement each time. It’s amazing to me that so many people whom I’ve never even met have become such an important part of my life; I’m incredibly blessed by my Smithellaneous circle of friends.

I’m also blessed by a husband and daughter who have been especially supportive over the past few days with extra hugs and prayers–and flowers. Here are some tulips Steve brought home for me Wednesday afternoon.

It’s hard to be gloomy when one is faced with a vase full of cheer.

I was grateful to have the tulips for company as I got all my new meds organized.

In the midst of  my med arranging Steve texted me and said, “It’s a pretty day. Get the camera and go capture some magic. Love you. S”

He knows me so well. He knows that my camera IS my medicine.

Although I wasn’t able to go out on that particular day, I did embark on a picture-gathering expedition last night. I took Steve along with me since I was heading back to that same secluded trail I had gone to a couple of weeks ago. (Except this time I actually made it to the end of the trail!)

It’s amazing how the elements in nature conspire together to soothe the spirit and to put things into perspective. Spunky daffodils, peaceful waves, a setting sun, a pristine evening, a walk with my husband . . .  there are no medicines a doctor could ever prescribe that could do me any more good. 

And while those things can’t cure my COPD or my rheumatoid arthritis, they can dilute my sadess and multiply my joy. 

And that’s good enough for me.

The post Plaquinel and Daffodils appeared first on Smithellaneous.

Well, those words certainly caught my attention! It didn’t take me long to get that doctor’s number and make an appointment.

(Although I had really liked the first rheumatologist, as far as her bedside manner and people skills, I didn’t feel like she had been as thorough as she should have been.)

Even though the new doctor (who I saw yesterday), is 2 1/2 hours from Manteo, he was well worth the trip. In fact, even before I actually met him, I was already impressed with him, not only because of the recommendation of my friend but also because he had served as Head of Rheumatology at Walter Reed Hospital for eight years.

While my first rheumatologist had spent less than ten minutes doing an initial assessment, this new doctor spent forty-five minutes; in the process, he discovered that at least twelve of my joints have been affected. (Which was actually sort of discouraging because I hadn’t thought that it was that widespread.)

The previous doctor had put me on a low dose steroid which this new doctor quadrupled; he told me to continue with the Plaquenil and also added Methotrexate and folic acid. (The folic acid has to be taken to offset some of the effects of the Methotrexate.)

When I finally left his office, I felt encouraged knowing that I had found a doctor who really knew his stuff; however, I was a little discouraged, too. I was discouraged by the fact that I’ve seen a worsening of my symptoms, even in the last six months. I was discouraged by the number of joints that have been affected. And I was discouraged that the medications I have to start taking have some not-so-great side effects like weight gain, hair thinning, nausea, vomiting, etc.

And today when I woke up, I still felt the lingering after effects of yesterday’s appointment, the inescapable reminder that I’m no longer a spring chicken with a healthy, strong body. That wonderful health and strength I had in my younger days has been pretty well stomped on by cancer, COPD, and now rheumatoid arthritis.

Although I don’t really feel I have the right to complain when so many other people have it so much worse than I do, I will admit to you that I feel discouraged today. And old. I feel afraid of the future, afraid of the day when my hands might no longer be able to do all the things they can do right now–play the piano, cut an apple, take a picture, type a blog entry.

And as much as I hate to admit it, while I usually try to end my posts on an up note, I don’t really have a positive spin to put on today’s post. I  guess its purpose is not so much to inspire, but just to say that I’m having a tough day.

Thanks for reading. Thanks for listening. Thanks for caring.

The post Hard Day. appeared first on Smithellaneous.