Here's the challenge. Write for 5 minutes. No rewrite. No edits. Then, link up to
The Gypsy Mama
The prompt: On forgetting
Go:
I'm learning to live with it, but I don't like it. I have some neurological issues and one way it manifests itself is that I forget. It is mostly short term memory loss, but still...it is unfamiliar territory to me.
I have to write things down. All things. I used to keep a calendar because it was socially acceptable, but I didn't need it. I remembered all the appointments, birthdays and other things that one puts in a calendar. I remembered my schedule and my childrens' as well. I knew those things. Just knew them.
I could remember your birthday if you ever told me the date. I just remembered. I couldn't remember my husband's birthdate last week. I look at my grandchildren and ask, "What is your name? Do I know you?" I do it to be funny, but it is because the name is simply gone.
I live with the fear that I will forget more and more. That I will forget my husband, my children, my grandchildren, the life that we have worked so hard to build together. That I will forget my faith. That I will forget myself.
Stop
Friday, May 27, 2011
In Which I Say Much of Nothing about Why I Haven't Blogged Much of Late
In the midst of a vacation, a tornado, an anniversary, a birthday and some other stuff...life has gotten totally out of hand here in MolliWorld. And while I am filling up a notebook with things to post about, I haven't gotten around to posting anything lately.
In fact, not much has gone the way I planned lately. I'm not complaining, I'm simply rolling with it.
So, while I'm in the process of some major changes involving my blog, I'm not actually doing much in the way of blogging. Please bear with me. Things are about to change...in a big way.
Rest assured, Rocket Man still rocks my world. I'm still working at the Church House. The Boys Fantastic are still in the picture. My Annie with the million watt smile is another semester closer to graduation. Ourleft west coast kids are doing A-okay. I had a very nice, if somewhat low key, birthday. Things are rocking along. I'm just not writing about it at present.
Stay tuned, though. Because I'm about a month away from my next round ofpoison steroids. I'll be writing like crazy, if past infusions are to be repeated.
I hope you are all doing well. We're having a normal 3-day weekend around here. Rocket Man has already asked if he can buy me breakfast tomorrow...and if I want to go to work with him tomorrow, since he's working on Saturday. Ah....the good life!
Have a wonderful Memorial Day Weekend!
~Mollianne
In fact, not much has gone the way I planned lately. I'm not complaining, I'm simply rolling with it.
So, while I'm in the process of some major changes involving my blog, I'm not actually doing much in the way of blogging. Please bear with me. Things are about to change...in a big way.
Rest assured, Rocket Man still rocks my world. I'm still working at the Church House. The Boys Fantastic are still in the picture. My Annie with the million watt smile is another semester closer to graduation. Our
Stay tuned, though. Because I'm about a month away from my next round of
I hope you are all doing well. We're having a normal 3-day weekend around here. Rocket Man has already asked if he can buy me breakfast tomorrow...and if I want to go to work with him tomorrow, since he's working on Saturday. Ah....the good life!
Have a wonderful Memorial Day Weekend!
~Mollianne
Friday, May 13, 2011
Happy Birthday, Bobo!
A repost from our family blog about my maternal Grandfather. Add a year to all the dates about how old he is and when he died...everything else is right. I miss him, still.
Today is the 103rd anniversary of the birth of my Grandfather…we call him Bobo. Malcolm Anderson Younger. He died 33 years ago, so really, he’s been gone more of my life than he was here. But he made a huge impact on my life and today, I honor him and his memory.
I used to have a letter that he wrote to me. I lost it to water damage about 20 years ago, but I know what it said. He wrote it on May 27, 1957. He had just put my Grandmother on a train to Louisville, Kentucky. She was coming to help Mother. You see, I was seven days old, the third child and my oldest brother was only four and a half years older than I. Mother had her hands full. Bobo’s letter said that he was sending me the best gift he could possibly send. He sent Neenie. He assured me that I was a very welcome addition to the family. He told me how much he admired my Mother and my Daddy. He added that they were all thrilled that I was a girl, because they needed a baby girl in the family. Then, he told me that he would pray for me every day of my life.
What an amazing promise, and I’m certain that he kept it. I’m sure it has made all the difference in my life. It was a wonderful letter! My mother gave it to me when I was a teenager and I kept and cherished it until it was lost, along with much of the memorabilia of my childhood. The love he gave me in that letter remains in my heart today.
There are many things, facts, I could tell you about him. What I want to tell here, though, is how I remember him. The smell of coffee in the morning makes me think of him. My folks weren’t coffee drinkers, but he was. When I woke up in the morning and smelled coffee, I knew that Bobo was in the house. If I got up quickly enough, I was likely to see him in a chair, reading the morning paper, doing the crossword puzzle.
I was 10 the year my great-grandmother, Bigmama, died. Bigmama and I were grand friends, and her death was the first death that was personal to me. I felt a loss at her passing. We gathered at the family cemetery in the tiny town of Oakland, Tennessee to bury her. I was overcome with grief, the first true grief I’d ever experienced. I was sitting next to Bobo and as I melted into tears, he put his arm around me and gathered me to his side. He pulled the ever-present handkerchief from his coat and wiped my eyes. He told me to hang onto the handkerchief, in case I needed it. He told me not to be sad, that everything was going to be okay.
He came to see me graduate from high school and was still with us when I came home from my first day at work as the hostess at a busy restaurant. I hobbled in the door. My feet were killing me! Bobo sat down beside me and rubbed my feet. He smiled and said, “Poor little working girl! Poor little girl.” I knew he was teasing me, but he was rubbing my feet and he could have said anything he wanted to at that moment.
When I was to be married, I asked him if he would help officiate at my wedding. That brought on even more teasing. He told me that his fee was going to be quite large. He complained when I showed him the scripture I wanted read. He gave me a bad time about the cost of tuxedo rental. He told me he was an old man and he couldn’t stand that long. In March, before my June wedding, he told me that he needed me to come to his house before the wedding and get some stuff he had for me. So we made plans to make a quick trip to Missouri near the end of May. I knew that he had refinished an antique washstand for me. I had no idea that he had built a hope chest for me. I was so surprised when I got to his house and there it was. It is beautiful and to this day, it is my most prized possession. He designed it and built it out of walnut. For me. A beautiful and cherished gift.
I got dressed on my wedding day and different family members were coming in for pictures before the ceremony began. Bobo came in and told me he had something special for me. He had a dime to put in my shoe for good luck. He told me that he had gotten it the day I was born and saved it for this day. Another cherished possession.
During the wedding, as my groom and I knelt on the bench, Bobo prayed over us. We were kneeling with our hands clasped and he had his hand over ours as he prayed, squeezing tighly. Before he was finished, one of his hands was on my cheek. I opened my eyes and his face was wet with tears. He’d have sworn, I’m sure, that the tears were a result of a tear duct issue he had, but I know that they were tears of joy.
The last time I saw him was just shortly after the wedding. We were ready to start out on a great adventure, my groom and I. We were driving to Florida to a tech school and then on to Germany for our first duty assignment in the Air Force. It was mid-afternoon and really time to go. I was avoiding my husband like the plague, sitting in the kitchen with my grandparents. As much as I wanted to start my new life, it was so hard to think that I was going to walk out that door and get in the car and drive away. The minutes ticked on and I said one silly thing after the other. Finally, Bobo took my chin and made me look in his eyes. He said, “Mollianne. Its time for you to go. Your husband is waiting and it is time. Everything is going to be okay.”
That is the last thing he said to me. That is what I carry in my heart. Everything is going to be okay. It has to be! Bobo said so.
When I think of him, I think of a man called by God who spent his adult life in the ministry. A man who answered the call to duty and served (and was decorated) as a chaplain in the Pacific during World War II. I think of his engaging smile and piercing eyes. The practical jokes he played on his friends. The way he used to whistle under his breath. The manner in which he absolutely adored his wife and daughter. The pride he had in his grandchildren. His amazing woodworking skills. His quick step. A camera in his hands as he documented my childhood. Coffee and a newspaper. Crossword puzzles. Those coveralls he wore when he retired. His amazing intellect. His hands that were gnarled with his old pal, Arthur. The schwitzel he drank every night before bed. The love that he showed to all he met, both in his words and his deeds.
He’s been gone a long time, but he is very much alive in my heart. His name lives on, carried down from generation to generation. My brother is Terry Malcolm. My brother’s son is Terry Malcolm, Jr. My grandson is Malcolm. I have a great-nephew who is also Malcolm and one who is Anderson. Bobo was a man who left a legacy so mighty in our family that his grandchildren who never knew him, or if they did-they can’t possibly really remember him, have named their children in his honor. That, my friends, says a lot about the man, Malcolm Anderson Younger.
Happy Birthday, Bobo. I know that if you were here today, instead of saying that you were 103, you'd say that you were nearly 110. I love you and I miss you.
~Mollianne
 |
| Malcolm Anderson Younger, aka Bobo |
I used to have a letter that he wrote to me. I lost it to water damage about 20 years ago, but I know what it said. He wrote it on May 27, 1957. He had just put my Grandmother on a train to Louisville, Kentucky. She was coming to help Mother. You see, I was seven days old, the third child and my oldest brother was only four and a half years older than I. Mother had her hands full. Bobo’s letter said that he was sending me the best gift he could possibly send. He sent Neenie. He assured me that I was a very welcome addition to the family. He told me how much he admired my Mother and my Daddy. He added that they were all thrilled that I was a girl, because they needed a baby girl in the family. Then, he told me that he would pray for me every day of my life.
What an amazing promise, and I’m certain that he kept it. I’m sure it has made all the difference in my life. It was a wonderful letter! My mother gave it to me when I was a teenager and I kept and cherished it until it was lost, along with much of the memorabilia of my childhood. The love he gave me in that letter remains in my heart today.
There are many things, facts, I could tell you about him. What I want to tell here, though, is how I remember him. The smell of coffee in the morning makes me think of him. My folks weren’t coffee drinkers, but he was. When I woke up in the morning and smelled coffee, I knew that Bobo was in the house. If I got up quickly enough, I was likely to see him in a chair, reading the morning paper, doing the crossword puzzle.
I was 10 the year my great-grandmother, Bigmama, died. Bigmama and I were grand friends, and her death was the first death that was personal to me. I felt a loss at her passing. We gathered at the family cemetery in the tiny town of Oakland, Tennessee to bury her. I was overcome with grief, the first true grief I’d ever experienced. I was sitting next to Bobo and as I melted into tears, he put his arm around me and gathered me to his side. He pulled the ever-present handkerchief from his coat and wiped my eyes. He told me to hang onto the handkerchief, in case I needed it. He told me not to be sad, that everything was going to be okay.
He came to see me graduate from high school and was still with us when I came home from my first day at work as the hostess at a busy restaurant. I hobbled in the door. My feet were killing me! Bobo sat down beside me and rubbed my feet. He smiled and said, “Poor little working girl! Poor little girl.” I knew he was teasing me, but he was rubbing my feet and he could have said anything he wanted to at that moment.
When I was to be married, I asked him if he would help officiate at my wedding. That brought on even more teasing. He told me that his fee was going to be quite large. He complained when I showed him the scripture I wanted read. He gave me a bad time about the cost of tuxedo rental. He told me he was an old man and he couldn’t stand that long. In March, before my June wedding, he told me that he needed me to come to his house before the wedding and get some stuff he had for me. So we made plans to make a quick trip to Missouri near the end of May. I knew that he had refinished an antique washstand for me. I had no idea that he had built a hope chest for me. I was so surprised when I got to his house and there it was. It is beautiful and to this day, it is my most prized possession. He designed it and built it out of walnut. For me. A beautiful and cherished gift.
I got dressed on my wedding day and different family members were coming in for pictures before the ceremony began. Bobo came in and told me he had something special for me. He had a dime to put in my shoe for good luck. He told me that he had gotten it the day I was born and saved it for this day. Another cherished possession.
During the wedding, as my groom and I knelt on the bench, Bobo prayed over us. We were kneeling with our hands clasped and he had his hand over ours as he prayed, squeezing tighly. Before he was finished, one of his hands was on my cheek. I opened my eyes and his face was wet with tears. He’d have sworn, I’m sure, that the tears were a result of a tear duct issue he had, but I know that they were tears of joy.
The last time I saw him was just shortly after the wedding. We were ready to start out on a great adventure, my groom and I. We were driving to Florida to a tech school and then on to Germany for our first duty assignment in the Air Force. It was mid-afternoon and really time to go. I was avoiding my husband like the plague, sitting in the kitchen with my grandparents. As much as I wanted to start my new life, it was so hard to think that I was going to walk out that door and get in the car and drive away. The minutes ticked on and I said one silly thing after the other. Finally, Bobo took my chin and made me look in his eyes. He said, “Mollianne. Its time for you to go. Your husband is waiting and it is time. Everything is going to be okay.”
That is the last thing he said to me. That is what I carry in my heart. Everything is going to be okay. It has to be! Bobo said so.
When I think of him, I think of a man called by God who spent his adult life in the ministry. A man who answered the call to duty and served (and was decorated) as a chaplain in the Pacific during World War II. I think of his engaging smile and piercing eyes. The practical jokes he played on his friends. The way he used to whistle under his breath. The manner in which he absolutely adored his wife and daughter. The pride he had in his grandchildren. His amazing woodworking skills. His quick step. A camera in his hands as he documented my childhood. Coffee and a newspaper. Crossword puzzles. Those coveralls he wore when he retired. His amazing intellect. His hands that were gnarled with his old pal, Arthur. The schwitzel he drank every night before bed. The love that he showed to all he met, both in his words and his deeds.
He’s been gone a long time, but he is very much alive in my heart. His name lives on, carried down from generation to generation. My brother is Terry Malcolm. My brother’s son is Terry Malcolm, Jr. My grandson is Malcolm. I have a great-nephew who is also Malcolm and one who is Anderson. Bobo was a man who left a legacy so mighty in our family that his grandchildren who never knew him, or if they did-they can’t possibly really remember him, have named their children in his honor. That, my friends, says a lot about the man, Malcolm Anderson Younger.
Happy Birthday, Bobo. I know that if you were here today, instead of saying that you were 103, you'd say that you were nearly 110. I love you and I miss you.
~Mollianne
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Friday, April 8, 2011
Friday Night Blessings
The windows are open and I hear crickets chirping. The overhead fan is whirring softly and the computer hums. There is an occasional giggle erupting from the room across the hall. The amazing Rocket Man is sleeping beside me, his breath is steady and soft. I hear the sound of traffic on the main road several blocks away.
An hour ago, the laughter in the room across the hall was loud as boys who are no longer little-but not really big-were playing together. The newly turned 13 year old was on facebook, in a poking war with his Mother and me. He is feeling his way into adolescence and pushing his limits, as is his way. As has ALWAYS been his way. His younger brother is observing and no doubt perfecting his own act as he is following closely behind.
The night is peaceful and comforting.
An hour ago, the laughter in the room across the hall was loud as boys who are no longer little-but not really big-were playing together. The newly turned 13 year old was on facebook, in a poking war with his Mother and me. He is feeling his way into adolescence and pushing his limits, as is his way. As has ALWAYS been his way. His younger brother is observing and no doubt perfecting his own act as he is following closely behind.
I think we are in for lots of boundary
pushing in the next few years.
This night reminds me of many nights when I was younger and my children were growing and Friday nights were a special time. Sometimes, we pulled the sofa bed out in the family room and piled on it while eating popcorn and watching a rented movie on our Beta Max. There was much silliness, giggling, tickling and finally the noise would drop off and little heads would nod and they would be asleep. Their Daddy would fall asleep and I would be up by myself, in the glow of the television with the volume turned down just listening to the three of them breath in unison. I prayed over all of them on those nights.
Especially on Friday nights as I listen
to the sounds of a sleeping house.
When my children were small, I used to love the hours of the night that I spent awake and alone. I read, wrote letters, studied, watched movies, sewed, did crafts, cleaned, did laundry and reigned over my house through the night. Not every night, but many nights I was up past midnight just enjoying the solitude.
I fancied myself a Queen of the Night.
This night reminds me of many nights when I was younger and my children were growing and Friday nights were a special time. Sometimes, we pulled the sofa bed out in the family room and piled on it while eating popcorn and watching a rented movie on our Beta Max. There was much silliness, giggling, tickling and finally the noise would drop off and little heads would nod and they would be asleep. Their Daddy would fall asleep and I would be up by myself, in the glow of the television with the volume turned down just listening to the three of them breath in unison. I prayed over all of them on those nights.
And I was so thankful for all of them and for our life together.
Things have a way of changing.
The Boys Fantastic are not my own. They are on loan for the weekend, as grandchildren ought to be. The amazing Rocket Man is not the Daddy from the sofa bed. That marraige ended poorly. But Rocket Man has been a kind and good stepfather to my children and is as dear and as loved a Granddaddy as there ever has been. My children are only small in my memory. I am no longer that young mother who.
But things have a way of coming full circle, too.
The giggling across the hall has stopped. The Rocket Man's breathing has turned into a gentle, almost melodic snore...but shhhh! You mustn't tell him I said that. He is convinced that I'm hearing the dog (who happens to be sleeping downstairs in the garage). I find myself once again awake and praying over three precous, sleeping persons.
The cast of characters has certainly changed...including me.
Yes. Things have changed a great deal since those Friday nights so long ago. Some of that change has been gut-wrenching, hurtful and hateful. But the change has brought some mighty wonderful blessings. Three of them are snoring, in unison, as I listen.
And I am ever so grateful for them and for the life that we have together.
Sometimes, the more things change..the more they stay the same.
My gratutide for my blessings,
for this family, is unchanging.
for this family, is unchanging.
Especially on Friday nights as I listen
to the sounds of a sleeping house.
~Mollianne
If I Met You {5 minute Friday}
The challenge is to write for 5 minutes. The prompt is: If I met you
Go:
If I met you today, that means you would have walked into my office at the Church House. You probably are here to meet with one of the Pastors and possibly are in some sort of crisis.
You would see sitting behind my desk a middle aged woman who is having a bad hair day. You would be met with a smile and a friendly, "May I help you?" I would try very hard to put you at ease and and offer you a drink of water and perhaps engage in some sort of small talk about the weather...just to try to pass the minutes until you were able to see the person you were here for.
I hope that if you met me in that way, you would see not only the woman who sits behind this desk, but that you would also see a likeness of Christ. I believe that everyone who walks into this office is in need of something. Some come seeking money to pay their rent or light bill. Some need food. Others are desperate for gas money to get someplace else. Some need money for medication. Some just need comfort. All need Christ.
I pray daily that God will put someone in my pathway who has need of Him in a way that I can provide. There are days when I feel that I am the last hope for people who come in off of the street and I serve as his hands and feet. Other days, I recognize my co-workers and church members as the people who have the greatest need of His love.
Stop!
I'm linking up to The Gypsy Mama with others who have particpated.
Have a wonderful weekend!
~Mollianne
Friday, April 1, 2011
And me in my Jammies!
A party! And me in my jammies with no makeup and my hair in a ponytail, sporting my cat-eyed reading glasses with all the rhinestones!
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| It's me! |
Hi! I'm Mollianne. Welcome to MolliWorld, where I am the Queen of all I survey{mostly a very small bedroom in dire need of remodeling...on my extended list of things I'll get to someday}. I'm a 50-something career homemaker who finds myself sitting behind a desk 40 hours a week wondering why I'm not at home in Camelot {yes...I live in Camelot. Don't you just love it?}! I'm looking forward to the possibility of retirement from that desk in the next 15-18 months.
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| The amazing Rocket Man |
I am deliriously, happily and blissfully married to the amazing Rocket Man {he's a real, live, honest-to-goodness Rocket Engineer} and we have 4 children {1 son, 3 daughters}between us, all grown and gone. We're happily-ever-aftering here in the Camelot subdivision. We love our quasi-empty next and the grandsons {The Boys Fantastic- Mac Attack and Boy Wonder} who spend their weekends with us. We just ended 3 serene years of NOT having a teenager around, since the youngest princess left her teenage years behind in 2008. As of March 24, Mac Attack is 13 and we are in for a bumpy ride.
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| The Boys Fantastic, Boy Wonder and Mac Attack |
I work at The Church House as the Clergy Administrator {fancy title for preacher's secretary} and mostly love what I do there. When I'm not doing that {and sometimes when I am} I find plenty to do. I sing. I read. I write. I occasionally make cards. I bake. I cook. I take pictures. I knit a little.
I got a .357 magnum for Christmas and I named it The Vera {because I store it in a Vera Bradley backpack in my closet}. I think I'm very big now that I have my very own revolver.
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| Mollianne and The Vera |
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| I helped rotate the tires! |
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| I love smooching with the Rocket Man! |
~Mollianne
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