You can't take it with you

Last night I picked up a copy of FD Luxe, a free fashion magazine. They often have interesting articles and sometimes a friend has photography featured, so I always grab a copy when I run across one. The story catching my eye this time was about the renowned opera singer, Lily Pons.

It's made up of bits and pieces from news stories written across the years about Pons. She apparently knew everyone in the entertainment world and beyond. Her Dallas home was filled with great works of art and cultured friends.

This is the bit that jumped out at me:

SEPTEMBER 1985“In her day, Pons had been a major international celebrity. She ate barbecue with Dwight Eisenhower in the White House. She was presented the French Legion of Honor by Charles de Gaulle. When she died, mementos of her glamorous life were disposed of in a giant estate sale that was open to the public. A picture of her partying with actor Humphrey Bogart went for 50 cents. Chatty letters from Princess Grace and Prince Rainier went for $5, as did a personal note from Princess Elizabeth thanking Pons for a wedding present.” — The Dallas Morning News

I don't know if she died surround by loved ones and friends. But, it does look as if no one claimed her stuff. Was her stuff important to her? She held onto it until the end. Maybe she had it tucked away and never thought about it. She did keep it though. It was, in some sort of fashion, still in her possession.

And, she didn't take it with her.

No matter how much you have of anything (insert what you wish here), when you die, it doesn't go with you.

And, collecting and keeping doesn't hold you here.

You still go.

I've been thinking a lot lately about not wanting to burden my children with stuff they have to get rid of when I die. I want to pare down what I have to be only things I absolutely love and/or use. If I can combine them be things I love and use, then great!

Lily Pons might have done all that before she died and the stuff in the little blurb might have been all that was left. If so, bully for her.

Or, whatever the French equivalent is for "bully for her."

10 things about ME, ME, ME that everyone needs to know

1. I can't sing. I can sing, just not well. If you ever see me when music is being played and others are singing and I'm moving my lips...that's all I'm doing. Very seldom does any sound come out.

2. I can't do math. Started struggling in 4th grade and never recovered. I could do Algebra for about 5 minutes in high school, but that's it. My brain pretty much completely freezes up with anything number related.

3. I have trouble remembering how old I am. Probably has something to do with the numbers problem and age. The older I get the harder time I have keeping the numbers straight. It's been going on for awhile. I don't mind people knowing how old I am. I just can't remember!

4. I really, really, really hate cherries. Really. So much so that I once spit out cherry ice cream in front of my grandmother. You don't waste food around my grandmother. She had given me a big bowl full thinking it was strawberry.

5. I'm not fond of apples either.

6. I tend to be a tad bit sarcastic. It drives my youngest daughter and other non-sarcastic people crazy.

7. I would love to own a fair-trade shop, but I have no business sense. Probably goes back to that numbers thing.

8. I have a tendency to talk too much or not at all. No happy medium. It makes me socially awkward.

9. I annoy my children like all get out. They'll be the first to tell you.

10. I am useless with other languages. I've had people laugh out loud at my attempts at Chinese. Watched heads shake at my Spanish attempts and my French son just pats me on the head and says "you're so cute" when I butcher a French word. I speak East Texas fairly well, but I mutilate anything proper.

Ride Out The Waves

I wrote the following while going through a rough patch a few months ago. At the time I wasn't sure I would be able to ride out the waves.

Death is final

Death is final and when I say that I mean the life here on earth is forever gone. It's permanent. As in forever more.

The only thing that keeps me from going insane is knowing that Grandmother is a beautiful soul in an earthly shell and the second the shell shuts down she will be with her Father. The one that she has loved and faithfully followed always. It will be beyond glorious, nothing our small minds can even begin to imagine. And she will be perfect and perfectly content.

Tonight, or I guess I should say this morning my tears have finally started flowing in a way that doesn't hint of a let up anytime soon. I've cried on and off since Friday morning, but quickly fended them off.

Not now.

Now I'm in pain thinking of the things that will never be again.
The really bland cookies she makes. Not sure what she does to them, but we eat them all up anyway.
Always being able to count on the ingredients for a Dr. Pepper Float to be on hand.
The best scrambled eggs in the world.
Hugs at the front door.
Her ability to talk for 30 minutes without having to stop to take a breath.
"Sit down here and talk to me" as she pats the couch cushion. And then not being able to get a word in edgewise.
Her way of pronouncing alcohol "alkeyhall" and tacos "tacas".
Her clothes hanging on the line.
Knowing that she starts her days praying for every single one of us.

In those ways death is very final. The day to day things. The things with skin on them. Those will be gone. Forever. And I don't like it one bit. That's where I am right now. Trying to come to grip with this final part. I hate it.

Conversations with My Children

Me: Stop harassing me!
Clay: Be thankful I'm harassing you. At least I'm paying attention to you!
--------------------

Me: How's Matt?
Aaron: Good

Me: How's Brad?
Aaron: Good

Me: How's Crystal
Aaron: Good
--------------------

Callie: OH MY GOSH! Clay has those glasses! (Looking at the cover of Rolling Stone)
Me: Don't you know who that is?
Callie: It's Bono.
Me: And he gave the glasses to Clay.
Callie: I know!
Me: Then why are you surprised to see them on Bono?
(And yes, I know he has many pairs of those glasses.)
Callie: I don't know.

Callie: Are we going to the Smith's tonight?
Me: No, we're going Saturday night.
Callie: Are we going to the wedding?
Me: No, we're going to the Smith's!
Callie: Are we going to the Smith's tonight?
Me: NO!

Six Sights that made me Smile this Saturday

Phil
Kids
Dogs
Cleaning
Newborn Calves
Sonic Cheese Sticks

Ditzy at its best

It took me a few tries to get out the door today. Actually, I made it out the door. Three times. I got into my van and realized I didn't have my glasses on. I sat and debated on going back in to get them. I really didn't feel as if I needed them today, but my eyes have become used to seeing them on my face when I look in the mirror. So, I went back in and got them. While inside I decided that I needed to change my shirt because it was chilly outside. I took off my shirt and stared at the clothes in my closet. I determined that what I had already put on was the only choice. That shirt went back on and I grabbed my 60's vintage coat that I picked up at Goodwill for $12 (just had to throw that in here, has nothing to do with this blog) and threw it on, buttoned it up, and proceeded out the door. Once back in the van I realized that I was almost out of gas. And, for once, I remembered that the credit card was in the back pocket of my blue jeans. The ones on the floor of my closet. Back inside. Got the credit card. Back outside.

Now, some may say that I need to keep a list to help me get out the door. I would lose the list. Some may say make a mental list. With what? Don't you have to have some sort of mental capability to make a mental list? If it just took being mental then I would have that covered, yet it takes more. Some may wonder why the credit card was in my back pocket and why I didn't put it in my purse. That takes time and usually when I am getting gas I am in a hurry, because of things like forgetting my glasses and changing my shirt and grabbing my coat and forgetting my credit card is in my other jeans. See, it is just a vicious cycle. A cycle set on high heat that burns away more brain cells daily.