I want to tell you about one of my heroes.
Born in southwest
Arkansas in 1923, she lost her Daddy when she and her sister were tiny,
and grew up with a mother who had to work hard to raise them. It was
tough. Along the way, she learned how to pray.
When she was just 16,
she married her sweetheart, and she and her kind-hearted husband raised
two children. They were a good family, church-going, honest,
hard-working, respected in their community.
After working for years
in the succession of small businesses she and her husband owned, she
developed her own career with a Fortune 50 company, working her way up
from the production line to become a trainer who flew around the
country, teaching her skills to others. At her retirement party, she
was personally honored by the company's CEO, who had never failed to
sit down for a private chat with her whenever he visited their local
facility.
If you asked her what her life's biggest challenge has
been, she’ll tell you that it was taking care of her beloved husband
after he got Alzheimer’s Disease. She cared for him at their home in
Camden as long as she could, with both of her children living far away,
then at her family's urging, they packed up and moved to Florida to be
near their son and his family. It wasn’t easy to leave the town where
she had lived for most of her life, where she had close friends and a
dearly loved church home, but she did what she needed to do. And she
prayed.
She finally had to make the hard decision to put her husband
in a nursing home, where she went to see him faithfully every single
day, even when he wasn’t sure quite who she was anymore. In his mind,
she was his teen-aged sweetheart again. Almost every day, her husband
of 50-plus years asked her to marry him. She still smiles when she
talks about that.
When he died, she was heart-broken, but again she
pulled herself up, squared her shoulders, and set about making the best
of her life. She cooked meals for her children and grandchildren. She
made new, good friends. She taught an adult Sunday school class in her
new church. Her pastor often turned to her when he needed a listening
ear and wise advice, just like people have been doing all her life. And
like she'd done all her life, she read her Bible every day. And she
prayed.
Two years ago, when her son and his wife decided to move to
the Ozarks and asked her if she wanted to come along, she jumped at the
chance to come back to her much-missed Arkansas. Even though it was
hours away from her hometown, Harrison was still heaven to her. She
joined the First Christian Church, and proceeded to make friends at
there and in the complex where she enjoyed her cozy apartment. She
learned to navigate around her new hometown, and drove herself to the
doctor, the grocery store, the drugstore. She became a faithful library
patron, and volunteered for a job at church. She picked up her
wheelchair-bound neighbor’s mail for her every day. She called sick
friends to check on them. And she prayed.
Then one day in early
June, she had a sudden weak spell and fell, shattering her ankle.
After complicated surgery to put her bones back together with plates
and screws, she spent the whole summer in a local nursing home, doing
long hours of rehab, and lots of waiting. Much of the time she was in a
cast to her hip. She was in pain, uncomfortable, banished from her
home and her familiar routine.
She worked hard at her therapy, with
the encouragement of her family, including her daughter, who came from
Washington to spend a month. She smiled at everybody who crossed her
path. Lots of people there told her that her cheerful kindness helped
them get through their days. Employees brought their children to see
her, and came by just to give her hugs and see her warm smile.
Sometimes they sat on her bed and told her their troubles. She made
lots of friends.
All summer, she kept a bright and shining goal in
her mind: to gain enough strength to be able to go home again. She
worked hard.
And she prayed.
Saturday, she moved back home to her
apartment. She’s able to walk a little, very slowly on a walker, and
she’s using a wheelchair the rest of the time, at least for now. She’s
fixing her own meals. Health-care workers come by several times a week;
her church folks come. Her son visits every evening, her daughter calls
daily, and her friends and grandchildren call often.
It’s not easy
to switch gears from being able to walk and drive and go, to spending
months laid up and totally dependent on others. It’s not easy to adjust
to a slowed-down version of your life. It’s not easy to be cheerful and
positive when you’re tired and hurting and don’t know what’s around the
next corner. But she does it. She rolls with the punches. She expects
the best.
At 83, Ruby DeWoody, my mother-in-law and my hero, knows where her strength comes from.
She prays.
By Celia DeWoody
Published Aug. 29, Harrison Daily Times, Harrison, Ark.
Copyright CPI, Inc. 2007
I'd like to introduce y'all to the newest member of our family.
If
you've read the Harry Potter books, you'll be familiar with Hagrid, the
tender-hearted half-giant, Harry's staunch friend and defender.
Hagrid
is a perfect name for our new dog, who is going to be OUR
tender-hearted staunch friend and defender — and who's without a doubt
going to be BIG.
Yes, sir, he's going to be big. REAL big.
He's a....gulp....Great Dane.
Yeah, I know. It makes absolutely no sense. Logic did not enter into this decision.
Why, you may ask, did Doyle and I decide to get a Great Dane?
Eccentricity
is the only answer I can come up with. Eccentricity is a personality
trait highly treasured in the South, and Southern people are allowed to
get more eccentric as they get older.
Our 16-year-old white
terrier, Scooter, who had been Doyle's friend and companion for many
more years than I have been, died earlier this summer. It’s taken a
little while for us to get to the point that we’re ready to get another
dog.
And of course, we still have Darnit Kitty, aka "Roscoe: the Cat
Who Tried to Kill Me." Remember last spring when he pulled me down my
front steps and I broke my arm?
I've grown quite fond of Roscoe, but
being a Dog Person is inscribed into my genetic code. And my husband
loves all creatures, great and small.
This weekend started out
innocently enough. On Saturday morning, Doyle and I had a leisurely
breakfast at the Townhouse Cafe, then stopped at a couple of yard
sales. We were headed back home when it happened. Doyle said, "We've
got to turn around and go back to that yard sale back there."
"Why? What'd you see?"
"A sign that said 'AKC registered Great Dane puppies for sale.'"
I'm thinking, "He's got to be kidding."
We
were delighted to see, running around happily in the midst of the yard
sale merchandise, two mostly black BIG puppies. Gorgeous, sweet
puppies. They both immediately ran over to me with tails wagging to be
petted, and one licked my hand very politely.
Doyle got the owner's name and phone number, and we drove away.
I
thought they were adorable dogs, but didn't even really consider one
for us. We live in a small house without a fenced backyard. In town.
On
our way home, Doyle said, in a serious voice, "I wouldn't let myself
pet them, because I knew if I did, there was no way we'd be driving
away without one."
It began to dawn on me that my husband REALLY wanted a Great Dane.
We
talked about it off and on all night. Doyle confessed that he's always
harbored a secret longing for a Great Dane. We went to sleep Saturday
night talking about how neat it would be to have one, what wonderful
pets we'd always heard they made, and how in the world we could adjust
our lives to having a huge creature in the family.
Sunday morning, Doyle called the Great Danes' owner and left her a message. She called back late Sunday afternoon.
Five
minutes later, we were headed south into gorgeous Newton County, and
ended up at a doggie wonderland. A 100-year-old log house, with a yard
full of dogs and two nice people.
We left there about 45 minutes
later with lots of good advice and AKC papers. Doyle was driving, and I
had my arms and lap full of puppy. We were both grinning from ear to
ear.
Hagrid snuggled down into my lap and went to sleep, making
little soft, gentle growly sounds like a baby lion. We were both
hopelessly in love with this 25-pound infant before we crossed the
Boone County line.
Fast forward to 2 a.m. We're asleep in our
king-sized bed...Doyle and me, and Hagrid's in the middle. In all my 51
years, I've never let an animal sleep in the bed with me. But this
over-sized, 10-week old baby puppy cried and cried and cried in his
crate, missing his mama and his 10 brothers and sisters, for so long,
that I finally decided to let him out for a few minutes. He immediately
ran over to my side of the bed, stood up with his gigantic feet on the
quilt, and looked at us like, "There you are. I'm not all alone after
all."
Doyle, who would let every animal in the house sleep with us
every night if he could, laughed at me and said he couldn't believe I
was letting a dog sleep with us.
I'm writing this Tuesday night,
sitting in our big striped armchair with my laptop on my lap, and a
Great Dane lying on the floor at my feet -- well, actually, he's lying
ON my bare feet. He slept in his crate like a big boy last night, and
is learning fast how to walk on a leash by our sides.
Yes, Hagrid
the Great Dane is going to eat a huge amount of food, and he's going to
take up a lot of room in our house -- but I can already tell he's going
to take up even more room in our hearts.
By Celia DeWoody
Published Aug. 22, 2007, Harrison Daily Times
Copyright CPI, Inc., 2007
Hey, y'all.
My name is Hagrid. I'm baby Great Dane. I am 10 weeks old, and I weigh about 25 pounds right now. I love to snuggle. I cried and cried last night because I was lonesome for my nine brothers and my sister and my mama and daddy. I cried in my crate in the living room. I cried when my new mommy and daddy moved my crate right next to their bed. I cried until the lady couldn't stand it anymore and let me out for just a minute. Then I stood up on my hind legs and put my BIG feet up on the bed and looked up at my new mommy and daddy, real sad, with my pretty dark brown eyes.
So, for the first time in my new mommy's life, she let an animal sleep in the bed with her. I snuggled right down in the middle of them, and we all slept pretty good. I like to sleep in that soft bed.
The only thing is, that king-sized bed was a little crowded last night. What are we gonna do when I get all growed up?
Hey, friends,
What are y'all doing?
Doyle and I have almost decided to get a puppy. In fact, we almost brought home a Great Dane puppy we saw yesterday, but we decided to think about it a little more before committing to a dog the size of a pony.
Have any of y'all ever had a Great Dane?
What's your favorite kind of dog?
Just after we'd gotten together for a visit over a
leisurely lunch, a friend of mine once wrote me a note saying our talk
was "refreshing... like taking a long, cool drink on a hot summer day."
I
knew exactly what she meant, because I had felt the same way about our
hour or two of visiting together. I left the restaurant refreshed,
rejuvenated, dust brushed off my spirits, and ready to go back into my
life with a new polish on my outlook.
For most of the women I'm
close to -- and I'm talking about happily married women who have tight,
loving relationships with their husbands -- strong friendships with
other women are a vital ingredient in their recipe for a happy life. I
know they're certainly necessary for my life to feel complete.
I
really think womenfolk are hardwired to need a female support system.
Think about the way women have traditionally lived over human history --
in close-knit family groups, surrounded by their mothers, grandmothers,
sisters, daughters, aunts and cousins. While the men were out hunting
or fishing or fighting battles, the women were often clustered back
home, working together. Helping each other through pregnancy and
childbirth. Grandmothers teaching younger women how to raise their
children well. Planting and tending gardens. Cooking meals. And as they
worked, they talked and shared their thoughts, their dreams, their
problems, their fears, their hopes -- just like women are still doing
every day, in dusty villages or gleaming office buildings, all around
the globe.
When women gather with friends, we smooth out the
wrinkles in our lives. We tell each other funny things that have
happened, but that's a level of conversation that's close to the
surface. When we really get down into deeper levels of friendship, to a
bedrock level of deep trust, we confide in each other our fears -- our
fears that we might fail, our fears about our children. We confide the
things that worry us, that keep us awake at night. We confess our
weaknesses and our failings. We express our deep sorrows, and sometimes
our words are seasoned with tears. We know we have a true friend when
she wipes tears out of her own eyes when she hears about our sorrow, or
when she is truly able to rejoice with us when joy bubbles up like an
Ozarks spring in our lives.
When we're in the process of casting on
the stitches of a new friendship, we confide, and we listen -- a little
bit here, a little bit there. And the garment grows, stitches are added -- first by one friend, then by the other, row by row, knitted together
from the yarn of confidences exchanged, problems and hopes and dreams
listened to, joys and sorrows shared, encouragement given, meals
cooked, notes written, favors done, prayers offered. The garment of our
friendship wraps around us like a warm sweater on a chilly day, making
us feel better about ourselves and better equipped to handle whatever
icy winds life blows our way.
When something hard is going on in my
life, I often feel compelled to let my closest friends know at least
the gist of it. It makes heavy pain easier to bear when I share it with
a friend. It turns the volume down when fear is screaming in my ears.
And because every one of my closest women friends is a serious
Christian, I know that each of them will pray for me and for whatever
the situation is that is grieving me.
There have been times when I've
felt their prayers and their love surrounding me like an armor of
peace. And I hope I've done the same for them.
I haven't always kept
my friends close. During a long-ago season of killing frost in my life,
a time of confusion and sorrow, I withdrew from my closest friends,
keeping even my beloved sisters at arm's length for a time, and I
withered and almost blew away without their strength and wisdom and
support surrounding me. In withdrawing from my friends, I turned away
from some of the primary conduits God uses to pour His love into my
life, and I suffered for it. But my true friends remained steadfast,
and continued to reach out until I was able to reach back again.
Some
friends, even true ones, are only in our lives for a season. I've had
dear friends to whom I never talk any more, not because we've had any
kind of falling out, but because our lives have taken such different
turns that we just don't have anything but the bond of old times
between us anymore.
But as one friendship fades out of my life,
miraculously, another one appears on the horizon and grows bigger as
time goes on, like a boat sailing into my harbor from a faraway shore.
And sometimes old friendships that had faded away for years joyfully
reappear and become even more valued.
"Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of Lights."
The friendship of women is, at its truest and best, one of those good and perfect gifts.
By Celia DeWoody
Published Aug. 15, 2007, Harrison Daily Times
Copyright CPI, Inc., 2007
Wow! We've got a great dialogue going here about women's friendships. Thanks so much to all of you who have already responded. (Please check out the comments on my last post.) If you haven't chimed in yet, it's not too late. What about you, Father J? You have had a unique vantage point from which to observe women's friendships, as a priest.
And felgild? I'd like to hear your thoughts.
Innacanoe? I know you are an expert in women's friendships!
What about the rest of you, my friends? I'm anxious to hear your input.
Women: What do your women friends mean to you? What makes women's friendships so vital, and so deep?
Men, have you ever felt a little threatened, or maybe mystified, by the depths of your wivfe's or girlfriends' friendships with other women?
Help, Xanga friends!
I'm just starting to work on my column for Wednesday's paper, and I've decided to write about women's friendships.
I'm working on the premise that for a woman, close friendships with other women are a vital ingredient to happiness.
Please give me your viewpoint on this, or:
if you're a woman, an example or comment from your own life..
or if you're a guy, your observations about women's friendships.
What makes them special? Are they vitally important to you or the women in your life?
What do women do for each other and mean to each other that's uniquely different from what the men in their lives mean to them?
I really look forward to your comments, and will incorporate some of them, probably - without identifying you - into my column.
Thanks!
Celia
Hey, friends,
What are y'all up to this weekend?
Friday night, we took my nephew
Mike, my baby sister's son, who is here in town to visit my son for 10
days, out to dinner and visited with him for a while.
Today
was a nice, at-home day, mostly. I did housework and just piddled
around, and D got started on his long-awaited project of building a
tiny "teardrop" camper out of wood.
He's got it cut out and ready to
start nailing together.
All
it's going to be is a tiny shell, just big enough for a queen-size
mattress, and the back end opens up like a hatch, and that's where your
little camp kitchen is. We think it will be lots of fun.
I'd never camped at all until D and I got together, and we did a lot of
tent camping in Florida in the winters. This will be a step up from
sleeping in a tent, we think.
We also drove to a neighboring
town to buy a pie safe that I have been wanting. It's a gift from my
Mama, and from Doyle to me for our third anniversary in September. I
just love it...we think it was made in the late 1800s..still has the
original pierced tin. I'm having fun finding old stuff I have to put on
top of it, and inside it.
A little neighbor friend,
Sophie, who's three, came over to visit this afternoon, and I had fun
shooting photos of her in the front yard. She's very dainty and
ladylike, and loves flowers. When she saw the tiny petals of pink crepe
myrtle flowers in the grass, she said, "OH, LOOK!!! They're so cute!"
and carefully picked a tiny petal up and placed it on a leaf on a
nearby bush.
She
liked my pink impatiens, so I told her their names, which she
translated as "patience." Then she pointed to the maple tree's trunk
and said,"What's dis tree's name?"
Kids kill me.
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