I FEEL SO LOVED

Yesterday, after my part time job, I went to the Personal History luncheon, which we hold once a month. I took the ugly salad on my cookbook site and Sarah had made candied yams and everyone else brought desserts, which is just about right.

After taking my 96 year old friend, Mona, home, I hightailed it to Smith's because it was the last day of their case lot sale. (See yesterday's post.) After I was finished shopping I started the car...almost. It was doing it's Clown Car antics. Tried again, nothing. So I did what I always do in any bad situation. I call Phil. He is my "voice of reason." I knew he couldn't help but I called him anyway. He told me it was probably flooded and to just let it sit for a while and then try again.

So, I went to Sally's Beauty Supply and looked at all the fingernail stuff for 20 minutes and then I went to Tuesday Morning and looked at all the stuff that is supposed to be terrific bargains but just seems like a bunch of junk, with some good stuff mixed in. All of it was higher priced than I think it should be, but I spent a good half hour or so and then I left and thought I'd try to start the Clown Car again.

Just outside of Tuesday Morning I met Taylor, my son. "Oh, Mom," he said, "you're all right." And then he gave me the biggest hug. It was worth an hour of inconvenience to get a hug like that.

"We've called and called you."

"You have?"

And so I looked at my phone and there were 17 missed phone calls, from him and Phil. (I had the phone on vibrate at work and hadn't changed it.) I also had a bunch of texts that said things like, "Are you okay?" "Where are you?" "WHERE ARE YOU?!?"

Both Phil and Taylor had come to my rescue.

The car started right up.

Taylor rode home with me to make sure I was all right.

Phil followed us to make sure the car wouldn't quit on me.

I must be loved.

A MINOR DETAIL---and---I WANT THIS READ AT MY FUNERAL, WHICH I HOPE WON'T BE FOR A LONG TIME

Today I had cut an orange, washed strawberries and blueberries and left strawberry hulls, etc. on the breadboard.

I was talking to Gilmore Girl on the phone when Phil came in the kitchen, looked at the breadboard and said, "Why didn't you clean up your mess?"

I had to answer the phone," I said.

"Hey," Gilmore Girl said, "You called me!"

A minor detail.

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A friend, who shall remain nameless , gave me this card today.


I want it read at my funeral, which I hope won't be for a lo-o-o-o-ng time. But first I want to live up to it. I'm sharing it with you because so many of you are peach-pit-planting people, too.


~A story About You~

Who in their life hasn't planted a peach pit just hoping that somehow a seedling would grow? And then they move on to some other adventure, and if it comes up--well, they don't even know.

That's one way of picturing your style of living. You've planted ideas and dreams unaware. You've noticed somebody who's heart need attention and planted a positive feeling in there. It's part of your nature. You may not remember the kind and encouraging things that you've done.... But everywhere, "peach pits" are growing like crazy. and people are blooming. (I know it--I'm one.)

Happy Birthday,

To my forever friend,

Love,

Pam



And this unnamed friend brought me exquisite flowers, right out of her garden. And she took me to lunch. She often calls and says, "What are you doing?" I know that I'm in for an adventure as she has something up her sleeve--and it's not her arm.



Thank you, my unnamed friend. You are my peach pit friend, too.

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We have all had peach-pit-planting friends in our lives. Some of them were our own mothers. Some are our sisters. Occasionally they might even be our brothers. Some are friends who have come and gone but we are changed forever because of their kindness. We are stronger. Have more compassion for others. Better know our strengths because they were so generous to tell us what they are. Sometimes they had to shout to us to make sure we heard. Occasionally there may have been shaking involved.

Sometimes they planted a peach pit in a note or, in this day and age, in an email. I got one last week from an old friend. I had forgotten some of the things mentioned but was happy to be reminded. I think sometimes we have family and friends who are shouting encouraging words from beyond the veil. We just can't hear them but we occasionally feel them near.

I feel friendships from my blogging friends, some of whom I have never met. One such friend sent me six beautiful collectible dishes. How do you repay such kindness? I treasure most of all her encouraging words.

To all my friends, old and new, found and lost, I thank you. My peach tree is growing because of you. And bearing fruit, and it's delicious.

THE NAP

Last night at 7:00 pm I was exhausted. I knew if I went to bed I'd wake up at 11:00 or 12:00 and be wide awake so I told Phil I was just going to take a nap. "Come upstairs and lie down with me and we'll visit for a little while," I said.

He wasn't interested. One of my friends called. "Come over," I said. "We'll lie on the bed and visit."

She didn't say she thought that was a little strange. She didn't say I was fully weird but I'm pretty sure she rolled her eyes. She declined.

I was in the bathroom--yes, we have a phone in the bathroom. Best gift I ever gave Phil, my phone loving husband. I looked in the mirror at a bleary Lynne. I really needed a nap although I looked pretty good, bleary. Better than normal. Perhaps the world should dawn smudgy glasses so I could look better than normal on a daily basis.

I stumbled into the dark bedroom and threw back the covers. They didn't throw back very far but I crawled in anyway. My head hit something hard. It was big...and warm. I started to scream when my husband chuckled. He was lying on top of the covers, that's why they wouldn't move. Then he moved as I attempted to beat him to death.

After my adrenaline was absorbed I did manage a nap and was up in time to go to bed.