The Sun and the rain and the appleseed

The Sun and the rain and the appleseed

Written 8 minutes ago

For some reason, after pouring my heart and soul out to the world for the last 12 months, I am having a really difficult time getting out my last blog. It’s odd because I’ve never really had a problem with closure. Last night, Nathan and I were watching Mad Men, and Don Draper said, “I’ve started over a thousand times, and trust me – this is the worst part.” He was referring to the “end” of something being the worst part…because you have to let go, and move on. This is a valuable lesson about growing up.

I learned a lot of things about growing up at my Granny and Pop’s house. We spent a lot of time there during Summer months and holidays and Sundays, and we loved being there. There were a lot of restrictions at Granny and Pop’s house – we were really only allowed in the sewing room, the hallway, and the breakfast room…but we mostly spent our time in the sewing room. We played with paper dolls, learned how to sew pillows, played with Granny’s old make-up, Barbies, wrapped presents…what didn’t we do?

One time at Granny’s, Little sis Jayme and cousins Ann and Mary Katherine and I were playing with Granny’s make-up…undoubtedly taking a break from playing “Drs. Blackmon and Blackmon.” MKat and I were always doctors, and Jayme and Ann worked for us. And Ann was always singing something. I’m not sure what she was singing in the bathroom that day while we were rummaging through Granny’s old make-up, but whatever it was struck a chord with MKat. MKat cupped her hand over Ann’s mouth and yelled for her to STOP SINGING! Ann ran off to Granny, and the next thing I knew MKat was told to remove her make-up and come to the breakfast room table. It was the closest thing that 1988 knew to a time out. I was outraged that Ann told Granny that MKat “slapped” her, and I was mortified that Granny was punishing MKat for this outright lie. So I marched my sassy little butt back to the bathroom, removed my make-up, and marched right back to the breakfast room table. Granny was cooking in the kitchen – I will never forget the smell of that fried chicken. And she glared at me, “What do you think you’re doing?” I told her that Ann lied, and that if MKat had to sit there, I was going to sit there with her. And sit there we did, in complete silence. I was so proud. Until Granny said, “You can get up now and apologize.” MKat stood up on queue and apologized, and she quickly fled the tension of the breakfast room. I started to stand up, and Granny quickly said, “Not you. You wanted to sit, you can sit.” And it was in that moment that I realized two things. 1) Sometimes you have to stand up for what you believe in, even if that means going against the grain; 2) You have to be prepared to reap what you sow. And sow I did.

Our job as grandchildren was to set the table prior to dinner. It was a duty and a privilege to set the table, rather than a chore. There was always a fabulous display of the best fried chicken I’ve ever tasted, butter beans, sliced tomatoes with mayonnaise, iced tea, squash, and sliced bread. And when the table was set, it was time to get Pop. All of us would run to Pop’s chair in the dining room to coerce him from his chair. “Pop! Dinner’s ready, Pop,” we would say in unison. And every time he would ask, “Is it really ready? How many really’s ready is it?” We would count the really’s as we answered, “It’s really, really, really, really, really ready!” It took five minutes for Pop to get out of that chair because he was not going to sit down at the table until dinner was properly displayed on the table. And the lesson that I learned from this display is that you never called men to a table until it’s set and ready, because if you do, they will eat without you.

We sang Johnny Appleseed at the dinner table at Granny and Pop’s house. And it was no ordinary Johnny Appleseed. We stood in a circle around the table and held hands, beginning with the loudest, most obnoxious, “Ohhhhhhhhh,” that we could muster up.

The Lord’s been good to me (clap, clap)

And so I thank the Lord (clap, clap)

For giving (clap) me (clap)

The things (clap) I need (clap)

The sun and/(clap) the rain and/(clap) the ap-ple/(clap) seed (clap)

The Lord’s (clap) been good (clap) to me (clap)

A-men (clap, clap)

And as obnoxious as we were, Granny always said, “That was so nice.” And she was just as sincere as she could be. She loved our pure joy and love of song. And it was in that blessing that I realized that Granny felt blessed to have us there (probably because she could give us back)! And that was probably the first song I ever learned to sing other than my ABCs.

I sing Johnny Appleseed almost every night, although not in an obnoxious tone like when I was a young girl with my sisters and cousins. I sing it to Logan and Parker as a lullaby. And it makes such a beautiful lullaby with a slow tempo. Singing it this way made me pay attention to the words which have developed a new meaning to me over the last year.

Ohhhh, the Lord’s been good to me

And so I thank the Lord

For giving me, the things I need

The sun and the rain and the appleseed

The Lord’s been good to me

Amen.

Oh, so good. Thank God. What are the things we need, anyway? The sun – the good, the light, the new day. The rain – the low, the dreary, without which we cannot grow. And the appleseed – a beginning at the cellular level, a lesson, growth. Acknowledgement that the Lord has a plan, and that His plan is good. Amen.

I have had the opportunity over the last year to learn many lessons. I have had the opportunity to know my true self in the face of great adversity. I have looked inside myself and accepted what I cannot change and with grace I have changed the things I can. I have lived a lifetime in a year. In my short 33 years, I have experienced much growth. I am an old soul. And I have many more lessons to learn. This appleseed is just a sprout. I will see much more sun and much more rain before I grow roots and grow tall. I have much life to live, and many miles to go. I only hope that I can take what I have learned from this experience and grow stronger, stand up for what I believe in, reap what I sow, bait my own hook, find joy in the simple lessons of my youth, be a good wife and mother, and leave this experience behind with grace. I’ve started over a thousand times, and trust me – this is the worst part…closure. 

Dear Mama

Dear Mama,

It happened so much differently than I was prepared for. I knew when I felt that lump years ago that one day I would have to tell you that I had breast cancer. It happened in my head so many times…each time the same way. In my head, I had already begun treatment when I told you. I simply told you that I had breast cancer. You told me that I was over reacting, and that you were sure that everything would come out fine. You told me about lumps and bumps that were found in yourself and my aunts that turned out to be nothing…you had that much out before I cut you off and told you that I had already begun treatment and that we knew it was malignant. Grace under fire. That defines you. You have such a presence of calm in a crisis, and it is truly a gift.

That’s the only thing that was the same when I actually told you that I had breast cancer. Everything else was completely different from what I had imagined. I guess in some way I felt that if I told you in a different way that this premonition wouldn’t come true and that the report would come back benign. And yet, the end result was the same – grace under fire. And they wonder where I get it from. They do…I don’t.

In fact I know where most of my best assets come from – my ability to tell a story with a slight exaggeration in order to raise the emotional energy of the audience; my resourcefulness; my love for eye make-up artistry; my strength and courage; my faith; my work ethic; my charm; my love of cooking…and eating; my ability to build a colorful sandcastle on a white sand beach; and my legs (which have been, and will forever be my best physical attribute) – there’s no doubt they came from you.

There is no way to properly thank someone for what you have done for me (and for Nathan) in the last year. There simply aren’t words. There is no Hallmark card that says, “Thank you for giving up your life for helping me with mine. Thank you for not moving to Houston with your husband, but for moving in with us for more or less eight months. Thank you for quitting your job. Thank you for playing mother to my children and for keeping my husband fed. Thank you for keeping my house sterile when I was at risk for infection. Thank you for attending chemo with me every time but one. Thank you for buying groceries when I wasn’t getting a paycheck. Thank you for keeping a brave face when I needed someone to be brave with me. Thank you for handling this better than anyone – thank you for your grace under fire.” No, there is no Hallmark card for that.

There is a song, though, that reminds me of our time together over the last 11 months, and it isn’t that sappy Martina McBride (love her, hate the song) ditty about the person who stands beside the lady with breast cancer. I cannot tell you how much I dread hearing that song every October. Nope, it’s not that song. It’s one from American Idol contestant Lauren Alaina from 2011. I loved the song when I heard it closing night of Idol last year, but it means a lot more to me now.

"Like My Mother Does"

People always say

I have a laugh

Like my mother does

Guess that makes sense

She taught me how to smile

When things get rough

I've got her spirit

She's always got my back

When I look at her

I think, I want to be just like that

When I love I give it all I've got

Like my mother does

When I'm scared, I bow my head and pray

Like my mother does

When I feel weak and unpretty

I know I'm beautiful and strong

Because I see myself like my mother does

I never met a stranger

I can talk to anyone

Like my mother does

I let my temper fly

And she can walk away

When she's had enough

She sees everybody

For who they really are

I'm so thankful for her guidance

She helped me get this far

When I love I give it all I've got

Like my mother does

When I'm scared, I bow my head and pray

Like my mother does

When I feel weak and unpretty

I know I'm beautiful and strong

Because

I see myself like my mother does

She's a rock

She is grace

She's an angel

She's my heart and soul

She does it all

When I love I give it all I've got

Like my mother does

When I'm scared, I bow my head and pray

Like my mother does

When I'm weak and unpretty

I know I'm beautiful and strong

Because

I see myself like my mother does

Like my mother does

I hear people saying

I'm starting to look like my mother does

I wish I could say that I couldn’t have written that better myself, but as you know I just LOVE a little constructive criticism – no offense to the song writer(s), but no God-fearing country girl sings a song about her Mother…she sings about her “Mama.” And that’s the only thing I’d change about that song to make it mine. That’s my Hallmark card.

And with that, I wish you a Happy Mother’s Day filled with gracious love and thanks for not only the past year, but also the 32 prior to that. May you always know that your grace under fire gives me peace and inner strength, and may I someday be able to repay the unconditional support that you bestowed upon me in the last year.

I love you,
Beanie