Black cashmere sweaters...

Finally, the weather has turned chilly in San Antonio. It doesn’t take much of a drop in temperatures for me to pull my warm woolens out of storage for our few cold SA days.

A few days ago, I reached for a storage box of black cashmere sweaters. Rummaging through my plethora of BCS, aka black cashmere sweaters, I had to chuckle at the ridiculous number I had acquired over the years. 

Perhaps an explanation is needed. From the very beginning, my November birthday and Christmas were too all consuming for Steve. He abhorred shopping and the fact that he had to do major present buying in back-to-back months almost sent him over the edge.

It didn’t take me long to discover that Steve had found his go-to for this present buying dilemma…the perfect classic, timeless gift…a black cashmere sweater. Normally, I would receive the said sweater on either my birthday or Christmas, however there were a few years that, either having forgotten that he had given me the sweater a month earlier, or the fact that he was completely stumped, and had nothing else to buy, I would receive two BCS in one season. There were several years I was given the exact same sweater on Christmas morning that I had received a month before for my birthday. Oh, this wasn’t done intentionally by any means, Steve had simply given me so many similar BCS over the years that they just began to run together. On those years of duplicate gift giving, I learned to give him a big hug, tell him how much I loved the BCS and then quietly exchange it later in the week. I don’t think Steve was ever aware of his faux pas.

As I rifled through by large storage box of BCS, I smiled. Each sweater was slightly different: turtle necks, crew necks, v-necks, boat necks, a cable knit, a longer tunic type, all different, but, each was solid black and made of cashmere. Aside from the few exact replicas, I never took one of these gifts back to the store, nor have I ever purged my stash and handed one of my beloved sweaters down. Instead, I allowed my collection to grow loving that my precious husband had taken painstaking hours to hand select the loveliest BCS he could find. Today, I’m so pleased that I have kept all these sweet treasures.

At the bottom of this box was a carefully folded tissue wrapped sweater…my favorite of all. Pulling the sweater from the box, the tissue fell away and as the sweater unfolded, I held it immediately to my face. Oh, how I hoped to breathe in the scent of Steve. I hoped the fresh smell of Steve’s soap mingled with his favorite cologne were still embedded in the fibers of this sweater, but too much time had past, as had that all too familiar scent of Steve. In my hands was Steve’s favorite BCS, one he always looked so handsome wearing. I can still see the crisp blue collar and cuffs peaking out from under this sweater. I can remember Steve draping his arm around me, and this sweater keeping me warm on cold evenings. I clung to Steve’s sweater a bit too long that day, much like a small child holding a favorite blanket, finally I folded it back in its tissue and placed it a top my collection.

Cooler temperatures were in the air this morning and it was one of those rare days when I realized I didn’t have to leave the house all day. I showered, threw on my favorite jeans and a pair of socks and reached again for Steve’s BCS. 

Harris, my three year old grandson, likes only to wear clothes that he feels “comfy inside of.” Truthfully, he would rather be naked, but when necessary he looks for clothes that are the most comfortable. I knew exactly what Harry meant today when I took Steve’s sweater and pulled it over my head. It fell away from the frame of my body, the sleeves dangled long past my hands, but oh, it was comfy inside, just right for a day like today. Smiling, I headed for a seat beside the fireplace and began to write these words.

Odd that I have no clue, even now, what my intention is in writing this piece. I rarely know where my writing will take me, but today seemed a good time to visit the sweet familiar, a time to reflect on my cherished memories of Steve.

When Steve died, I was fearful that my memories of him would be about those last few months we spent together. I was fearful I would always picture Steve as tired, weak, failing, frail, so foreign from the reality of him being strong, agile, capable, funny, caring, wise and so very adorable.

I find in these years since Steve’s passing that rarely do I think of him as he was in those last months of his life. Thankfully, today my memories of Steve are filled with the sweetest remembrances as I smile when I see him so completely delighted with himself because he had found me the perfect gift…a black cashmere sweater.

Time has a way of blurring, no softening, the harsh edges of death. God has a way of allowing me to find what is true and honorable and lasting. I am thankful I saved all my beautiful black cashmere sweaters and that they will always serve as a reminder of a man I was privileged to spend the best part of my life with.

For what it’s worth,

Janet

Philippians 4:8 “Finally, brethren, whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy—think on these things”

When you least expect it...

A few weeks ago, on a dreary, cold, rainy Sunday afternoon, I had time on my hands and decided to see a movie. I think I have gone to a movie alone a sum total of three times in my entire life, but this day seemed a good time to put another notch in my lone, movie watching belt.

Steve and I loved movies. We were fortunate to enjoy the same types of films and looked forward to our movie dates. Our neighborhood theatre wasn’t far from our house, so we were frequent flyers of this theatre scene.

I’m not sure how or when it happened, but we became friends with Jay, the ticket taker. Jay is one of those rare people who never meets a stranger and never forgets anything you tell him. Since Steve and I were regulars, we were soon on a first name basis with Jay. As we would walk into the theatre, you could hear our names bellowed across the lobby. We were always greeted with a smile and a barrage of questions about our family, and where we’d been. Jay often made our movie experience more enjoyable than the movie.

As our friendship developed, we also learned about Jay. He loved his birthday and would tell us about his plans months leading up to the date. It was Steve who decided to take him a birthday gift and made a special trip to the theatre to deliver it. The joy and delight on Jay’s face was priceless and the blessing, was in the giving.

Jay told us that eating a Chris Madrid’s hamburger was his favorite thing. One afternoon we made plans to take him to lunch. I think it took him three hours to finish his hamburger, as he wanted to relish every moment of our outing.

I haven’t mentioned that Jay is a person with severe disabilities. Jay was born with cerebral palsy. Over the years, even with extensive surgeries, Jay has gone from a cane, to a walker, to a wheel chair. He has difficulty speaking, swallowing and eating. I’m uncertain of his mental capabilities, however, seeing Jay’s memory at work, well, is evidence he is quite bright.

One evening as Steve and I were leaving the theatre, Jay was outside waiting for a STAR Shuttle to take him home. We visited with him, only to find out he had a two hour wait before his pick-up time. Steve, being Steve, loaded him up in our fairly small sedan and took him to his apartment. Jay insisted we come in and see where he lived. It was a small independent living complex set up for people with disabilities. Of course, Jay introduced us to all his neighbors, proud to have friends visiting. His neat and tidy apartment was well equipped to meet all of his needs.

I think it was about five years ago that Jay told us he was having extensive surgery on his back and legs and asked us if we would visit him in the hospital. Steve was going through chemo at the time and had to be careful with his compromised immune system. Hospitals were off limits, so I went alone. When I saw this brave young man’s scarred back and legs, due to years of surgeries, I became inspired by his optimistic view of life, of his warm and cheerful smiles and of his love of the people he encountered on a daily basis. My respect for Jay, after that hospital visit, grew enormously. He asked me that day why Steve hadn’t come with me. I wasn’t able to be truthful with him, instead I told him Steve had a little cold and was afraid he might be contagious.

Jay was never aware of Steve’s battle with cancer and since Steve’s death, I haven’t gone back to that theatre. 

It has been about three years since I have seen Jay, and as I drove into the parking lot that rainy, cold Sunday, I wondered if he was still taking tickets.

Walking into the lobby, before my eyes could even scan the area, I heard the familiar bellow of my name, “Jaannnettt.” I was greeted with his huge smile, his questions about where I’d been, and…”Where’s Steve?” His eyes searched the moviegoers behind me. I knelt down to eye level with this dear friend and told him of our loss. His eyes filled with tears, his voice broke and his response was, “Oh, I never knew…I wish I had known.” My heart tore once again and our loss was tangible.

I gave him a big hug. I told him Steve was in a much better place now and I knew this was sad news to hear. I walked into that darkened movie theatre and sat numb, paralyzed. I thought back over all the years Steve and I had walked into that theatre together. I thought of our first encounters with Jay. I remembered how Steve looked so forward to hearing Jay yell out our names, and how Steve would laugh at every encounter, always asking Jay what movie he had seen lately.

“When someone you love dies, you never quite get over it. You just slowly learn how to go on without them. But always keeping them tucked safely in your heart.”

I haven’t written in the past several months. Some of you have been so kind to ask why I stopped writing. I have no real answer other than the words were simply not there. A friend posted the above quote from an unknown author on Face Book today and suddenly I knew there was at least one more story in me. I think I owe it to Jay and always, to Steve.

For what it’s worth,

Janet

James 1:14 “Yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes.”

"We'll always have Paris..."

What was the movie and who spoke that line? 

Was it just last week that we were drifting down the Danube River, a group of us sitting on the upper deck of the Amadocle? Sipping wine, and enjoying the incredible view, someone in our group of new friends began asking movie trivia questions, and the little game began. Volleying one question after another, the answers were light, fun and came easy for those of us sitting and enjoying a lovely afternoon. 

“We’ll always have Paris.” Oh, that was easy, “Casa Blanca.”  Bogart, Rick telling Ilsa, Bergman, that he had accepted the fact they would never be reunited again, instead, what they had experienced in Paris would be with them always.

They say that timing is everything. Well, this timing was one of those blind sighted moments that opened up a flood-gate of memories  and a flow of tears within me. 

Let me back up, October 2008, Steve and I made our annual trip to Europe. We rented a car and traveled through Croatia, and into Austria. We drove along the Danube River, and after three wonderful weeks, our last stop was Vienna. Steve spent long hours planning this trip, mapping our route, finding beautiful places for us to stay. He loved the planning. I loved the adventure. We had one of our greatest trips that year, and one month later Steve was diagnosed with Stage Four Glioblastoma Multiform. That was our last trip. The rest is history.

Austria with Steve 2008

June 2014, a group of friends discussed taking a European long boat river cruise before the Christmas holidays. Time and life got in the way and that trip never happened. This past summer, my good friend, Robbie approached me asking if I would be interested in taking that trip in late September. Sure, of course, ask no more, I’m in. Robbie did all the planning and I was just glad to be going along. I knew the Danube and Vienna would entail some of the same places Steve and I had been. Well, I knew this in my head, but I’m not sure it registered in my heart, until that afternoon we sat on the deck of that long boat, playing movie trivia.

Robbie & Janet Mondsee Austria

Robbie & Janet Prague 2015

“We’ll always have Paris.” The statement was innocently spoken. It was at that moment, I looked out and saw the most incredible view of the vineyards of Austria. Our boat was passing Durnstein, which had been our favorite of all of our stops in 2008. Oh no, the tears sprang in my eyes. I quietly rose from the group and moved to the boat’s rail. I watched silently, as we quietly sailed past some of the sweetest memories I had shared with Steve.

We docked in Melk, Austria. A tour was offered of the beautiful centuries old abbey and cathedral. I opted to spend this day alone. I took a tree lined path into the small village. I walked through the gates of this ancient little town, down the cobblestones streets, letting the cool fall breeze take me back to 2008. Steve was by my side. I could feel my hand in his. I could see the twinkle in his eyes and the smile spreading across his handsome face as he excitedly told me of this place, home to Richard the Lionhearted. Steve brimmed with the history that he so loved and could easily recall. I walked past places we had eaten, the lovely castle where we had stayed. I spent that day allowing myself to be absorbed in the most precious memories of our last wonderful trip. 

On my way back to the boat, I noticed a beautiful old church at the top of a small hill. Walking in, sunlight streamed through the lovely stain glass windows. Prayer candles flickered, allowing me to find a seat in one of the old well-worn pews. I was all alone except for the organist who was playing in the balcony high above me. The magnificent pipe organ’s music filled the church as I sat in perfect stillness. The tears streamed down my face, but they were tears of the greatest joy, because I will always have “Paris.” I thanked God for all the precious memories I will always have with Steve. I thanked God for bringing Steve into my life and for allowing us to share a love that will never die. 

I wonder if I thanked Steve enough for planning such remarkable trips. Did I take for granted the time he spent pouring over details, ensuring our trips were the best they could possibly be? Was I appreciative of the fact that Steve loved watching me experience all the marvelous things that traveling the world offered? Did I simply assume we would have years of these wonderful trips? Oh, how I now wish I could say thank you just one last time to my precious husband for all the of these amazing trips. How I wish I could share many more wonderful memories with this dear, darling man.

Sadly, I can’t turn back the hands of time. I can’t live in the past, I must go forward into the future and be thankful, grateful and incredibly blessed because “We’ll always have Paris.”

Steve Vienna 2008
 Janet Vienna 2015

For what it’s worth,

Janet

Phillippians 1:3 "Every time I think of you, I give thanks to my God."

There's something about Judge Judy...

What is it about this show that has me smitten?

Could it be Judy’s long black robe with her little lace collar? Hmm, I think not. I mean if I made a reported $47 million dollars a year I might put a cute crisp white shirt under that black robe. It would have a great collar that flipped up with terrific cuffs that could be turned back in a most fashionable way.  Maybe I’d add some fabulous, yet “Judge-like” earrings and a statement bracelet, or two. A much cuter look to accompany that black robe. Judy, I’m telling you, ditch that tacky little lace collar.

Could it be her wrinkle free face and neck? Maybe, I mean at 72 years old, the body parts that stick out of that black robe are looking really good. I might suggest she find a better hair stylist. Again, to have a show that’s run 19 seasons and is number one in syndication, well, you’d think she could find a “do” that was worthy of her high ranking standards.

No, it’s not Judy’s appearance that keeps me tuning in daily. I realize watching back-to-back episodes of Judge Judy might be considered…mindless? A waste of time? Silly? Yes, yes, and yes. Perhaps I should do something more meaningful with my weekly afternoons…care for little crippled children, feed the hungry, clothe the naked…read a book. Those would all be worthy aspirations, but not during the hour of 4-5 pm, Monday through Friday. 

So what is it about Judge Judy?

Could it be her use of yiddish? Judy handles all these bubbe meise court cases with such chutzpah. The schmutzy litigants seem to kvetch so, that it often causes a kerfuffle in the courtroom.  Say what…? I do love Judy’s use of the Yiddish.

Could it be Judy’s quick sassy, sarcastic comebacks? Might it be the way she rolls her eyes so that no words are necessary? Is it possible that Judy can blast through any ridiculous situation and arrive at a decision that leaves litigants with their mouths wide open in disbelief…until they hear Officer Byrd, ”That's all. The Parties are excused, you may step out.”

 “Real cases. Real people. Judge Judy. The people are REAL. The cases are REAL. The rulings are FINAL.”

Okay, I admit, I love it all, but why? What draws me to watch this show that is way too much like Jerry Springer with a gavel and an Officer Byrd (I do love Officer Byrd). Why do I love Judge Judy?

I think everyone can recall a time in life when you found yourself in a situation where someone, let’s just call him “Chuck,” says something so outlandish that you are speechless? You know, a time Chuck is so wrong. Maybe he’s flat out lying, maybe he’s simply being a jerk, maybe he’s over exaggerating, and you know it. Maybe Chuck has just leveled, embarrassed or humiliated you to the point that anyone walking by could easily scrape you off the pavement. The list of maybes could go on and on, but we’ve all been there, right?

So you leave Chuck. You walk silently away, in disbelief that Chuck is being so “Chuck.” It’s only after you have left Chuck that you say to yourself, man why didn’t I tell him this, or if only I had said that, and then dole out one of those Judy-isms. Bam! That’s it. That’s the reason I love her so much.

It’s so fun to watch my dear Judge Judy in action! Oh how I want to spew forth Judy-isms to the Chucks of the world, but I stop short. I remember I have a faith that asks me not to be critical or judgmental, rather, to see Chuck as Chuck, to be forgiving, tolerant and loving. Instead of wanting to level the Chucks of the world, my desire should be to smile at Chuck, send up a little prayer for him and go on my merry way.

Maybe there are times I wish I had the chutzpah to dole out a Judge Judy like quote, but in the long run I know it would make me feel more miserable than Chuck. I’m thankful I have a faith that tries to keep me in tow. Thank you, Lord.

Judge Judy will always be fun to watch! She says it, I just think it. Of course, she’s got Officer Byrd by her side, $47 million dollars in her pocket, and a television show named after her…makes a bit of a difference, don’t you think?!

So while I may think like Judge Judy, I’m doing my best to try to WWJD.

For what it’s worth,

Janet

Mathew 7:1-3 “Do not judge other people. Then you will not be judged. You will be judged in the same way you judge others. You will be measured in the same way you measure others.

“You look at the bit of sawdust in your friend’s eye. But you pay no attention to the piece of wood in your own eye.”