Final Wishes

My husband said to me one night that he didn't think that he would live to be very old. I could tell by the way he said it, he was being serious, so I Just looked at him and said "Don't worry about it. They say only the good die young, so you'll be around for a long time".

I then became very quiet. After a short time he looked at me and said "what's wrong with you?" I said I just realized...I'm so screwed. He cracked up.

This led to us discussing things like what we would do if the other one went first, and what we would want done, should we be the one that goes first.

He began by asking me to bury him in his police uniform, and to be sure that his name plate and serving since pins were on his shirt. His logic behind this request was that #1, God would be able to identify him without looking for his name in the book, and #2, It would be readily evident to God that he had spent 25 plus years as a humble community servant. Just to Sum it up...He's looking for brownie points.

Of course, my husband, being a Christian, knows that this is all futile because when it comes time to stand before God, our lives are what they are, and we will have done what we've done. Some of us will just be in a little more trouble than others. We both also know that there will be no "guilty with an explanation" on judgment day."

At any rate, that particular part of the conversation ended with me telling him that I would do as he had requested and honor his wishes.

When it was time for him to say what he would do should I go first, it was no problem at all . . . Without hesitation, he said he would marry someone about 25, and try and move on. He said it would be tough, but life must go on, and he knew that I would want him to be happy.

When it was my turn to make requests, I said if I should happen to go first, I want lots of flowers. I let him know that my friend Tracey has been asked to check my hair, if she finds it unacceptable... closed casket...not up for discussion. I said I want my nails painted, and if the polish is left chipped in the slightest way, I will be back.

I also requested bracelets, and a little perfume. I mean the Bible does say "the dead in Christ shall rise", and I want to be presentable...I'm in enough trouble.

Another thing that I told my husband was that I expected tears, and lots of them. I told him I wanted my funeral to include a slide show of my life, and him on the front row crying like a girl.

I made one last request using an idea that I had heard from another married couple earlier in my life. I told him that he should bury me with a shovel. He immediately responded with "why in the world would I do that?". I let him know that it was completely for his benefit.

He then wanted to know how that would benefit him? I said well, when Jesus comes again, as I rise up from the ground, if I don't see you, I thought you might want me to start digging, but if you don't think it's a good idea I can live with that. "No tears past the gate", so I'm good either way.

After telling him that I hadn't given much thought to what I would do, should he go first.  I just simply promised to keep in mind what I had learned from him. Especially the part about how life must go on, and being happy. I assured him that I would try to do exactly as he would do, if the shoe were on the other foot.

As far as headstones go, he pointed out one in Oakland Cemetery in Atlanta, one day when we were there, that said a woman's name, followed by "Went through life merrily doing good". He said he was going to put that on mine... I , in turn, promised to put something great on his as well, like for example; "Keep the line moving".

We handle pretty much all things with humor at our house, but I will tell you that many of the above requests are things we actually want done. Neither one of us would ever take the others death lightly. In fact, we would be devastated. It's just that when you are speaking about personal desires involving death and a loss of that magnitude, it's easier to convey and receive each others wishes with a little humor added in.....

Good Lord, we have to laugh, and I can't expect the man to get all upset and cry now, when we are only discussing it... especially since he's going to have to come up with all of those tears when I do go...

Storm Watch

I am terrified of storms. I don't mean the afternoon/evening, run of the mill, heat of the day thunderstorms. The kind I'm talking about come in riding a warm or cold front, and have hail, high winds, and tornadic content.

This fear began for me when I was a little girl. I believe it began when I was at my Granny's house in Grant Park. It would "come up a cloud", as she would put it, and the thunder would make the windows in the house rattle. The entire house would rumble and shake. It didn't help matters much that my grandfather loved to tease me. He would say things like "Let her rip!", and "It's going to blow this house off the hill!".

This, in my little 5 year old book, was cause for alarm. To tell you the truth I was not all that brave in the first place, so it didn't take much to scare me half to death.

Granny's house sat on a hill and was surrounded by trees. They were the old very large oak, been there forever, type of trees. These two facts made me believe two things. one, being on a hill made us far closer to the lightening than everyone else, and two, if the lightening didn't kill us one of the trees whipping in the wind would.

As I grew a little older my fear of storms only intensified because our neighborhood was hit by two tornadoes within a two or three year period. One occurred when I was in elementary school. I was just sitting in class minding my own business when I heard this sound outside.

It was the freight train noise that everyone on the news refers to, but I remember thinking that it sounded more like a very loud whistle. Observing how dark the clouds looked outside, I felt myself begin to panic and immediately began to search my mind for any other cause for the whistle noise other than an actual tornado.

Being the little Southern Baptist Sunday school and church goer that I was, I thought Lord, just let it be Gabriel with his horn announcing the second coming of Jesus.

Who could blame me? It sounded much better to me, and the truth is, minds are always filled with religious thoughts in a time of great fear or need, so it was actually a perfectly normal reaction.

It wasn't long before I realized it wasn't Jesus coming to take me home. I spent the rest of the day with my heart literally hurting due to the high level of anxiety I had worked up. If a child was found to be in this state these days they would probably be rushed to the nearest doctor and diagnosed  with post traumatic stress disorder or something along those lines.

The other tornado I was in, came about a year or two later, and I am sure the two storms are a huge part of why I remain afraid in my adult life. I have a cousin, who is like a brother to me. He calls me on occasion when the weather is bad and says things like "are you on storm watch?", or "take cover, it's coming out of Alabama, moving as fast as it can, and it's headed right for your house."

He teases me, but he loves me. I know this because in one of my houses, I had a room behind a wall in my garage where I sought shelter from the storms. He showed up at my house one night with a small roll of carpet and said "This is for your storm shelter. It's spring time and I know you'll be living in there." How sweet is that?

The older my children get, the harder it is to convince them to take cover with me, but I do what I can. My husband has never been willing to enter the storm shelter. I have opened the door and shouted things at him like "fine! Let a tree fall on you!!, or the roof!! Die!! It won't be my fault, and random things of this nature.

This usually goes on until the storm gets so bad outside that I have no choice but to close the door, and leave him for dead. I have to consider the safety of the children and myself.

As I have gotten older my fears have lessened. The new radar technology and my ability to follow the storms more precisely on the weather reports and on my laptop has reduced dramatically the need for me to remain in a constant state of panic when it gets cloudy outside.

I have also discovered that the amount of times a storm actually hits my area is substantially less than the number of times the weathermen will scare me with a warning for my entire county.

I guess we all have our issues....some people have more than others, and some seem more well founded than others. The way I see it, I could find things far less serious to be afraid of, so I'm not feeling so bad about my fear of natural disasters. I mean that's pretty big stuff...right?

Autism: Thief Of Our Children

The children I work with all have special needs, and they are all very precious to me. The many facets of their personalities make this true for a variety of reasons. Although the students in the classroom are all within the same I.Q. range, their disabilities vary.

The most fascinating of the disabilities for me is that of the autism spectrum disorder. It is a challenge to form a two-way bond with these students because of the emotional disconnect that comes with being autistic.

I want the students who have this disorder to understand that I care about them. I want them to experience the feel of that emotion. I want them to feel more connected with the world and not so isolated. It causes me great sadness to think of anyone going through life without experiencing love and that is exactly what some of them have to do.

I know that I am not going to accomplish this with all of them, but I am going to try as hard as I can. I am pretty stubborn when I feel it's worth it, and I can't think of a better cause.

I have worked with autistic students that have fallen anywhere from the lowest functioning end of the spectrum to the highest functioning end of the spectrum.

One of the savant students that I worked with in the past was so amazing. He would hold your face between his hands when he first met you and say "what's your first name?" then he would inquire about the rest of your name then ask "where are you from?" This question would be followed by him asking for your date of birth.

He could calculate how old you were in days and tell you what day of the week you were born on in a fraction of a second. I know this because once after he had transferred to another area high school, I walked into a room at a county event, and he shouted out for all to hear "Mrs. Arlene Lynn Foster, from Atlanta, Georgia, 43 years old in 39 days!".

In case I forgot to mention it disabilities don't come with filters on what should and should not be said aloud.

I now work very closely with a couple of female students that are autistic. My co-workers call one of them my shadow. Her desk is located right beside mine and she wouldn't have it any other way. To tell you the truth neither would I.

She is very sweet most of the time and has a beautiful smile. Once in a while however, she will have a bad day, and she becomes aggressive. She has thrown things at me, turned her desk over, cursed, slapped me and kicked me, and I have gone home with bruises the size of softballs.

Some of these episodes have occurred in the community in front of a large number of people. The episodes are not necessarily prompted by something that is happening right at the moment . Although, the cause could be something happening at the time the aggressive behavior occurs, it could very well be due to something that has happened days or even weeks before.

My shadow for instance, believes, with a conviction that I have been unable to overturn, that I make the rain. As luck would have it ...she hates the rain...rain causes an immediate bad day. I have tried to convince her that God or whatever name she might recognize as her higher power makes the rain, but in her mind I'm the rainmaker and so the ramifications are mine.

I am sure that some people would say that I am crazy for doing what I do. I on the other hand, don't believe that I am. I care a great deal about these students and regardless of how their disability affects their behavior, as long as I can say that any negative behavior they exhibit is a manifestation of their disability then I'm okay with it.

I know that it is much more frustrating for them than I could even begin to imagine. As I said earlier the one thing that is really painful for me and makes my heart ache for the students with an autistic disability is the lack of emotional connection with other people that some of them have.

I have worked with one particular female for about 4 years now and just this year she began to say I love you in response to my saying it to her first.

Finally, about a month ago, she said it to me without any prompting. I have to tell you that I cried. It meant more to me than you could begin to imagine. This same student also stares at me all day long. Needless to say my ability to recognize the fact that I am being stared at is virtually non-existent due to this behavior of hers.

One day last week, I ask her why she was staring at me, and she said "because I want to". I responded with the question "why do you want to?" She said "because I love you" with this huge grin on her face. I melted. It was a wonderful moment for me.

I have always believed that Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is correlated with Autism and I'm not sure what the most recent research shows about that. I am also convinced that immunizations play a part in its cause.

In the 1980s a child received 10 immunizations before the age of 6, now they receive a multitude before they are that age.

In the 1970s and 1980s 1 in every 2000 children was diagnosed with autism. The Centers For Disease Control and prevention said in their February prevalence report that now 1 in every 150 children are diagnosed with autism. Studies have also shown that a male child is 4 times more likely to be diagnosed with autism than a female child so this statistic becomes 1 in 94 for male children.

I have a personal belief that the children could also possibly be genetically predisposed and that potentially something in the immunizations triggers the autism.

A story was released by the Huffington Post that said three weeks after a Vaccine Court ruled against three families that claimed that vaccines caused autism in their children, Special Master Abell of the Vaccine Court awarded $810,000, and medical compensation to parents of a young boy named Bailey Banks.

This came after Special Master Abell ruled that the petitioners had proven that an inflammation illness called acute disseminated encephalomyetis (ADEM) was the result of his MMR vaccine which triggered his autism.

I hope that this is a step forward in making scientists take a look at doing more research on the cumulative effects of vaccines, and not only the effects of each individual vaccine if it were to be given alone.

Although I know for many, discovering the cause for autism is not a priority at this time, It desperately needs to be. We need to be concerned about this as a society. No one is safe from this becoming a personal issue. With the statistics showing autism on the rise at such a rapid rate, it is no longer only the problem of the people who have been diagnosed and their families....

This is most definitely everyone's problem.....

It's A Boy! Activate The Tracking Device

Last Thursday I was at a metro Atlanta hospital for the birth of my grandson. This event was very exciting for my entire family, and I have to add that the baby is beautiful!

A few things happened over the course of the two days we spent there, however, that weren't as nice as his arrival. One of them was that my daughter spent an entire day and most of an evening, under the care of nurse Ratchet.

This wasn't the most alarming thing that happened, and we weren't surprised considering all hospitals seem to have one or more of these type nurses on their payroll. Maybe it's some sort of an attitude diversity requirement.

Anyway, the other thing was a little more alarming to me than the demeanor of my daughter's nurse.

We were decorating the door of her room with the usual bows, ribbons and signs declaring the arrival and sex of the baby. As we were doing this, one of the nurses came up and said "We no longer allow the doors of our new mothers to be decorated."

Someone in the family said "Excuse me?" The nurse then said "these days it is entirely to dangerous to advertise not only that you have a newborn, but also the sex of the baby".

It seems that not only are there baby thieves striking at area hospitals, but the children are being snatched according to the perpetrator's boy or girl preference.

I was beyond shocked when I learned all of this, although considering what I already knew about the state of the world, I'm not sure I should have been.

We had seen the security guard walking, at a somewhat alarming rate, earlier that day with his hand on his gun, mace, or whatever, and talking on his radio. Still, the fact that a child could be in danger of being stolen never occurred to me.

Right after the nurse completed her no decoration rule explanation, the baby arrived in the room. I immediately unwrapped him, to get a better look, like grandmothers do, and that's when I spotted it.

He was wearing a small ankle bracelet that made him appear as if he were on house arrest. It was a small white hard plastic square box type apparatus with a ribbon type material running through it.

I asked the next nurse that entered the room what it was. She looked at me, and without batting an eye, said "it's a tracking device".

Well, after a hard pause, I looked at her and responded with "are you serious?" She assured me that she was.

Upon hearing this, needless to say, my daughter and son-in-law never let my grandson out of their sight again.

I left the hospital thinking even the most precious moments in our lives cannot remain untouched by crime.

The only thought that followed that one for me was...Let us pray...

The Written Word

I am a bit old fashioned in more than a few of my ways and beliefs. I have perfumed handkerchiefs and Victorian calling cards in my purse. I say ma'am and sir when addressing my elders and I believe in the written word.

On a personal level, I actually enjoy writing letters. James A. Michener, a novelist and short story writer, once said "I love writing, I love the swirl and swing of words as they tangle with human emotion".  I love this quote because it describes the way I feel about writing perfectly.

I realize that people are busy these days and that our ability to email each other is both simple and convenient. Now, when people are in a rush, it isn't even required that they type out an entire word.

You can, evidently, just type a letter or two. Some examples of this that I have seen are; u for the word you, u r, for the words you are, or when place together, ur to represent the word you're. I suppose that's great sometimes, for certain things like short messages, or for things of a non-personal nature.

I do, however, feel that there are times when we should put forth the effort it takes to write someone a letter, and that saying thank you with a written note is mandatory. I believe that when someone takes the time to do something for us that deserves our thanks, the very least we can do is take the time to write them a thank you note.

Not so long ago my husband was shown great kindness and generosity by several of his co-workers. I hand wrote around forty thank you notes and was more than happy to do it, as well I should have been.

My husband in turn took the thank you notes, and gave them to an administrative officer, to be placed in the office mailboxes of his co-workers. Needless to say, his doing this caused me to suffer a complete and total hissy fit. After said fit, I informed him that I hoped he was satisfied to have single handedly caused Emily Post to be rolling over in her grave....Please mail your letters and thank you notes. Hand delivery is not an option.

As far as writing letters go, I have always done it. I enjoyed writing my grandparents and some of my other relatives when I was a little girl, and I am still a letter writer today. I write both good and bad letters. Good as in, You're doing a fantastic job, or I'm thinking of you...Bad as in I'm disgruntled, and I'm going to need your name.

I just think that writing letters is a much more personal way of communicating, and it upsets me to see this practice disappearing completely from our society. I would venture to guess that most people couldn't even begin to tell you when the last time was that they went to their mailbox and found a handwritten letter waiting there for them, and I think that's just a shame.

Emails are quick and convenient, as I said before, but the next time you find yourself thinking of someone you haven't seen or spoken to in awhile, take the time to write them a letter letting them know that you are thinking of them.

There is some really beautiful stationary still being sold, and wax stamps are still available to seal your envelopes. Ladies, use your favorite perfume and spray a mist of it over your letter, seal it, and stamp it. It really is very little effort that will most certainly go a long way.....

Dressed Down And All Inked Up

My husband and I went to a restaurant tonight to eat dinner. When we are out, on more occasions than not, we get stared at. I mean blatantly, and tonight was no exception.

We have gotten stared at by on duty police officers, elderly couples, small children, middle aged adults, and tonight we managed to get the attention of an entire baseball team.

The attention we draw when we go out is not because I'm some breathtaking beauty, not even close. The attention grabber is my husband. He will wear anything, and he will wear it anywhere. It makes not one bit of difference to him where he is going. If he wants to wear something ...he does.

This man once wore his pajama pants to a Longhorn restaurant and caused us to be seated so far in the back corner that it was like an isolation booth. He wears sleeveless t-shirts (self-altered) with quaint sayings like "Boot Hill Saloon, Daytona Beach, Across From The Cemetery."

He usually wears these shirts with Abercrombie cargo shorts, although he does have a pair of mint green polo shorts with pink flamingos on them that he opts to substitute now and then.

To complete such an ensemble, he chooses from an assortment of shoes that you would have to see to believe.

Among his shoe collection are a pair of navy blue Crocs, Ed Hardy tennis shoes, and plaid Sperry topsiders just to name a few.

Another thing that enhances my husbands look when he goes out, is the fact that he wears his hair as is. Meaning if he gets up and his hair is standing straight up like a toddler after a good nights sleep then that's okay with him.

I realize that the clothing and hair descriptions that I have just given you would be quite enough to get the attention of others, but believe it or not there is more to the attraction.

To add to his look, my husband has seven tattoos that are all exposed when he is dressed as I have described above. There is bob wire running around his arm, Japanese writing that says who knows what, a tombstone, a polo horse with rider, and God knows what all, both arms, .both legs...as one of our friends likes to put it..."He's all inked up".

When I married my husband he didn't have a single tattoo. He was a preppy clean cut guy with unmarked skin. Now when I roll over at night I am momentarily frightened that I've gotten into bed with a convict.

Now don't get me wrong, this man who wears these sleeveless shirts, shorts, crazy shoes, with wild hair and all the ink exposed knows how to dress. He can dress in very nice clothing, I know because I have seen it happen once or twice.

One time in particular that comes to mind is when I had to have a fairly major surgery done at Piedmont Hospital. I had just gotten back in my room from recovery, and I was on a morphine drip, so I was a bit unsure of what was going on around me.

That's when it happened. I looked up and saw him at the foot of my bed. I will never forget that moment, because it scared me to death. There he was in a pair of very nice dress pants, a white dress shirt and a tie.

I glanced down at his feet and he was wearing a pair of Bostonian loafers.....all I could think after I caught my breath was my God they've told him I'm going to die and he's decided he needs to look his best to go over to the funeral home and make the arrangements.

The one thing that really puzzles me about him is that when we get the stares and looks, he seems confused about it. I had to give him a brief synopses on what he looked like tonight when we were getting stared at, because I could tell that he was going to need clarification on what the problem might be.

Did he care? Not one bit. There is a part of me that thinks that degree of self-esteem must be a wonderful thing to have. I personally don't even come close to having that kind of self assured attitude.

He sits and has his dinner as if he never notices a thing, while I sit across from him feeling self conscious enough for both of us. I usually have on whatever I've worn to work and since my job is in a high school classroom, needless to say, I look a bit more conservative than he does, yet I'm the one that is bothered by the stares...

I will say that it is eye opening to see how quickly people judge others by their appearance...They are probably thinking that my husband is a criminal, who doesn't have a job, and could care less.

In reality, however, he is a Lieutenant with one of the largest police departments in the state of Georgia, and has been with them for over 25 years.

Changing my husband's idea about what constitutes proper attire for leaving the house is not a feat I'm ever going to accomplish. I have even gone as far as loading Z Z tops "Every girls crazy 'bout a sharped dressed man " song onto my playlist that I play in his vehicle...he was unaffected.

I just wish that every now and then he'd wear a dress shirt and tie......I love a man in a dress shirt and tie....I suppose I should be more realistic....okay...sleeves....could I get a shirt with sleeves?

The Flip Side Of Nice

I have had a pretty rough week. Nothing Earth shattering has gone on. It's just been a lot of little things that seem to have become overwhelming, and now I find myself wanting to sleep for about 3 days, when in reality I never sleep more than 3 to 4 hours at a time.

Not only have I had the type week where numerous things have happened that caused me to experience every emotion known to man, from frustration to tears, but I have been very vocal about it without thought.

This behavior is somewhat new for me, and can be dangerous, yet seems almost out of my control. I use to be so passive. I kept my mouth shut and did what everyone else expected or needed me to do to avoid any disagreement or conflict, as well as hurt feelings.

I was evidently overly nice, as I discovered one day when my husband and I were walking through Oakland Cemetery in Atlanta. He saw a headstone and said that's what I'm going to put on yours. It said "Went through life merrily doing good."

Well, as flattering as that is, I am afraid it didn't change the need I had for an individual revolt against being too nice.

These days I am so different. Not only can I feel it, but I have actually been told. One night, not long ago my sister in law looked at me and said "You use to be so nice". I will say this made me take pause, and it did bother me...for about a minute....and then I thought ...."Yeah well nice bites."

Nice gets you ran over and disrespected and neglected, if you allow it to go to far. The difference in me isn't that bad in my opinion. It's just that now when I feel like someone does or says something I don't appreciate I make them aware of it.....Immediately.

I suppose I put up with things for so long, that my speaking my mind now, freaks people out a little bit. I'm thinking..."they'll adjust".

I have even recently been called a "witch". Funny thing is, I didn't mind so much...as a matter of a fact I have decided that having a little "bitch edge" to my personality is a positive thing. Don't get me wrong, I still think I'm nice, and I take care of lots of people, but I am now demanding the respect and appreciation that I deserve for it. This goes for my personal and professional life.

Anyway, there's nothing attractive about some soft spoken door mat that's getting walked all over. I have, however, seen more than one man attracted to the "witch factor".

I will say that being more vocal, and letting people know what I'm thinking and feeling has been a wonderful thing. It feels so good in fact that I couldn't go back to the old me if I wanted to. I guess that doesn't matter, however, because I don't want to.

Everyone should have a flip side to nice. So maybe I'll hear the "witch" word in reference to my personality a few more times. Maybe it will be spoken behind my back even more frequently than I hear it.

If it means I'm living my life the way that I want to, with no unnecessary apologies, and doing the things I want to do, then fantastic! Call me a witch. Have at it!

I'll just add an addendum to my prayers at night asking God not to let me get to drunk with power.........