Taylored Words

13 things I learned post-tornado: It is difficult to do things like brush your teeth and apply makeup in the bathroom with a flashlight, so if you come out to a room that lets the sun in, it is easier. This also leads to the next thing I learned, natural light is really helpful in tweezing those stray chin hairs! Poop is easier to smell than to see in a dark bedroom. (And before you even ask Bud, NO, I did not do it!) There are “security” nozzles that you can have on gas cans now. And you can STOP right now, trying to squeeze the cap and turn it—like a pill bottle. You actually have to grab the sides of the long spout and pull back on it—almost—dare I say it—as if pulling on something un-circumsized—to pour the gasoline out. Which, I am sorry, is INCREDIBLY tricky to do unless you have three hands! AND, I didn’t learn that one, after about 15 minutes of trying to turn the cap in the cold, I gave up. Lisa had to show me how it worked. Generator—shouldn’t have a “rip co...

My "run in" with the Military Police Most people don’t know that I was one of the fastest recruits into the 294 th  Dental Detachment of the Iowa Army National Guard. Or that the M.P.'s (Military Police) had showed up looking for me at the house I had previously shared with my younger sister. When my term of service ended in the U.S. Army, I opted to join a reserve unit in Michigan. I drilled with the unit for two months, and they were preparing to do their two-week annual training. However, I was convinced by one Ed Taylor to move to Iowa with him and enjoy the low unemployment rates. It seemed very scary to pack up and move to Iowa, but after three years in the Army, I was no stranger to moving out of state. With a promise to only be in Iowa for a little while, I said goodbye to my little sister (who I never saw again) at the end of May and moved to Iowa. I had previously told my reserve unit that I was leaving, and I did the paperwork to process out. I was...

All the things that used to annoy me... I had no idea how much I would later miss them. The biggest one was the way you would talk incessantly as soon as I got home. I didn’t have any time to decompress, think through my day, and think about what I would accomplish for the night. It was a barrage of things on your mind, questions you wanted to ask, and ideas you wanted feedback on. You would talk until, exasperated, I would ask you to just stop talking for a while and give me some quiet time. I had no idea how soon I would have more quiet than I could possibly imagine. What I wouldn’t give to have those conversations now. How I regret every time I stopped you from talking to me and from asking me questions. How I would love to fill up my days with those conversations…especially those nights when I sit here by myself, wanting nothing more than some conversation. To talk about what my day was like, mistakes I made, things I didn’t get done, and what the rest of my life will look...

So, the #1 Question: How Am I? Indeed. How am I? I often answer this complicated question with a brush off and a quick, “I’m fine.” And maybe sometimes, if I’m feeling particularly light, I’ll add, “Taking it one day at a time.” But if you know me well, I have trouble looking you in the eye when I answer. The pain of answering it honestly is too much. My life partner of 30 years is suddenly gone, and my world has instantly changed without my permission or approval. I now have to make decisions, and do things, everything, entirely on my own. A once busy, two-person team has just vanished, and is replaced with a team of one that doesn’t always feel motivated to get up in the morning--let alone “seize the day”. And I have to face it EVERY DAY. Every day. I don’t get a vacation from it, I can’t avoid it, and I can’t pretend it didn’t happen. Everything in my whole life is a constant reminder of it. So, how am I? Well, I struggle to get up every day. I struggle to find joy ...

My first thought was Robin Williams. I remember the sadness and pointlessness of it all--a man so comedic and entertaining could struggle at such great lengths with depression. It emphasizes the fact you just do not know what another person might be struggling through at any given moment.  But, why pick someone famous? On the same day Arnold Palmer passed away, a homeless guy, James, passed away as well. James was an interesting fellow with wild, curly blonde hair and a VERY deep voice. But once you started talking to him you learned at a very young age he learned to play guitar. His eyes lit up underneath all those blonde curls when he talked about guitars. And once again I feel the enormous sadness for the soul who passed in the bathroom at the local grocery store.  As much as I am moved by these, when I focus on the question of whose death has affected me the MOST (and besides Jesus, whose life and death has greatly impacted millions, hands down), I must pick my mot...

The Necklace I wear this necklace today, as I wore it every day for years. The shiny, silver, embossed pieces that endured cold weather and hot, sweat and tears, dust, dirt and blood; and dangle unremarkably on their chain around my neck. The same necklace my father wore, my grandfather, and many of my uncles, cousins and my nephew. Although it identifies the wearer, it’s purpose is to identify the remains. There are many just like it dangling from the necks of those brave brothers and sisters who serve side by side and are willing to die for this country. I wear it to honor those I served with, those who serve now, and for those who served before me.

It was about four years ago, and I was facing the dreaded “C-word” diagnosis (thyroid cancer). It was very traumatic, as I was dealing with surgery, radiation, a possible protracted illness, and maybe even death. Also, I was facing the possibility of being temporarily incapacitated and unable to care for myself and my family. And, being the strong, independent, modern-day woman, mother and wife that I am, all of these things were very daunting. So, when my church family heard the news, several people asked what they could do to help. Being that strong, independent, modern-day woman, I told them I would be fine (did I also mention proud...and stubborn?). A few days after the thyroid surgery, I was at a meeting at a local shelter where I served on the Board, and the shelter’s case manager, who was also my friend, asked me how I was doing. I gave her my usual pat answer. “Just fine.” She asked if there was anything she could do for me during my recovery or while I was receiving r...