What You Focus On Expands. It sounds like a pretty simply concept but I believe much more than that. It is profound. The more I try to live my life better, the more I understand the truth of the phrase. This isn’t just a thought for the day it is a thought for living better everyday. Want to change your life,  change what you focus on, because What You Focus On Expands.

Thank you to all those who have fathered in someway. To all of the women, siblings, even grandparents, friends and relatives who have taken on a father role, who have filled that empty spot when some father couldn’t or wouldn’t be the responsible and loving dad that was needed. Thank you to all the dads who stuck it out when it wasn’t pleasant, who stayed and were present when needed. Happy Father’s Day to you all!

My dad died 5 years ago. His death was quite a shock. My family and I were all focused on my brother Tom who was very ill and we knew he would not live long. So when the call came about my dad it was hard to comprehend the news. Even though dad was 86, he was in pretty good health. He had no major illnesses or injuries to suggest death was near. At the care home that evening, some time after dinner, he went to his room and sat down in his recliner. That was it. He never awoke. He just checked out. He was done with this world. Done. Right then. Done. We should all be so lucky I suppose. He died quickly. There was no illness, no hospital, no lingering, no pain. There was only quietness.

My dad was not a complicated man but to say he was a simple man seems like an insult to him. He wasn’t highly educated and he never had a lot of money. What he did have was far more important and valuable, something that seems to be absent from the hearts and minds of many people today; my dad had a strong a sense of duty.

Dad grew up in the 1930’s and 1940’s in a large family. They worked hard for what little they owned.

He quit school after the 8^th grade so he could help on the family farm. A few years later in 1944, when he was only 18 years old, he joined the Marines. Serving his country during World War II was something he didn’t talk about much. Dad served in the Pacific Theater, Okinawa, Ryukyu Islands, and Saipan. He was awarded a Purple Heart for injuries he received in Saipan.

After he returned from the war, he married my mother and they proceeded to have a family. Six kids they had. Yep, six little hellions to feed and clothe and to see through all the different situations kids can get in to including some most unusual circumstances. Now mind you, we were kids in the 1950’s and 1960’s. We played with things that are completely outlawed today. Dad worked through it all. My brother David says dad was the hardest working SOB anyone could ever know. That’s true. To this day, my dad is still the hardest working person I have ever known.

Dad worked building the telegraph line, doesn’t that sound strange in this day of technology. He labored at carpentry, concrete, construction, farming, the gravel business, and operated heavy equipment. He worked long hard hours. So some days we didn’t see much of him. If one of his kids were in trouble though, he was there. Let me tell you, with six kids, there were some years he was there a lot. Ha.

Anyone who knew my mother knows she was hard to love sometimes. Dad did though, right to the very end. He spent the last few years of her life seeing to it that she was cared for. Mom was bipolar, something none of us knew, including her, until she was almost 60. So staying and caring and loving her was no small thing, but he stayed through it all.

Today I remember my dad, a hardworking man who had a sense of duty like I have never seen in anyone else.  He showed me and my brothers what a strong work ethic looked like and I can say with ease that all of us emulate that work ethic. He showed us what it meant to stick-it-out and do what is needed. He did that. So thanks Dad, job well done.

This is only a test. If this were a real post, your computer would be on fire by now.

My dad died 5 years ago. His death was quite a shock. My family and I were all focused on my brother Tom who was very ill and we knew he would not live long. So when the call came about my dad it was hard to comprehend the news. Even though dad was 86, he was in pretty good health. He had no major illnesses or injuries to suggest death was near. At the care home that evening, some time after dinner, he went to his room and sat down in his recliner. That was it. He never awoke. He just checked out. He was done with this world. Done. Right then. Done. We should all be so lucky I suppose. He died quickly. There was no illness, no hospital, no lingering, no pain. There was only quietness.

My dad was not a complicated man but to say he was a simple man seems like an insult to him. He wasn’t highly educated and he never had a lot of money. What he did have was far more important and valuable, something that seems to be absent from the hearts and minds of many people today; my dad had a strong a sense of duty.

Dad grew up in the 1930’s and 1940’s in a large family. They worked hard for what little they owned. He quit school after the 8^th grade so he could help on the family farm. A few years later in 1944, when he was only 18 years old, he joined the Marines. Serving his country during World War II was something he didn’t talk about much. Dad served in the Pacific Theater, Okinawa, Ryukyu Islands, and Saipan. He was awarded a Purple Heart for injuries he received in Saipan.

After he returned from the war, he married my mother and they proceeded to have a family. Six kids they had. Yep, six little hellions to feed and clothe and to see through all the different situations kids can get in to including some most unusual circumstances. Now mind you, we were kids in the 1950’s and 1960’s. We played with things that are completely outlawed today. Dad worked through it all. My brother David says dad was the hardest working SOB anyone could ever know. That’s true. To this day, my dad is still the hardest working person I have ever known.

Dad worked building the telegraph line, doesn’t that sound strange in this day of technology. He labored at carpentry, concrete, construction, farming, the gravel business, and operated heavy equipment. He worked long hard hours. So some days we didn’t see much of him. If one of his kids were in trouble though, he was there. Let me tell you, with six kids, there were some years he was there a lot. Ha.

Anyone who knew my mother knows she was hard to love sometimes. Dad did though, right to the very end. He spent the last few years of her life seeing to it that she was cared for. Mom was bipolar, something none of us knew, including her, until she was almost 60. So staying and caring and loving her was no small thing, but he stayed through it all.

Today I remember my dad, a hardworking man who had a sense of duty like I have never seen in anyone else.  He showed me and my brothers what a strong work ethic looked like and I can say with ease that all of us emulate that work ethic. He showed us what it meant to stick-it-out and do what is needed. He did that. So thanks Dad, job well done.

Do you have a Wolf in sheep’s clothing in your life? Are you the only one that can see the wolf? That is probably because this wolf feels inferior to you. You have something they do not have and they feel insecure because of what you have and what they do not.  If there is no way you can remove this person from your life, for example, they are a family member or someone that works in your building; how do you deal with them? Tell your story here.

The answer could be very different for many of us just as we women can be very different.  I believe, however, the answer is more likely to be the same.

When I was a little girl I would go to the dime store (yes I said dime store) to get my mom a card, or some piece of costume jewelry, or a handkerchief. Of course I had no money of my own so I’m sure I got the money from her to buy the gifts. My brothers did the same thing, although some of them were old enough to have jobs and money of their own to buy her gifts. She saved many of those gifts.

Mom was bipolar. During one of her manic phases she cleaned out a great deal of the things she had saved over the years, and with six children she had saved a lot of things. She took large apple boxes and put our names on them and then put in them the gifts that we had given her, along with drawings we had made, school report cards, birthday cards, etc. Then she gave each of us our own box. So, now I have some of the Mother’s Day gifts that I gave my mom. My favorites are the little handkerchiefs. Many of them had embroidered scalloped edges; all of them had flowers on them. Mom loved flowers.

As an adult, deciding what to get her for Mother’s Day wasn’t as easy. Usually a card was in order, she liked getting cards. Sometimes I gave her a little trinket or a scarf or lipstick-she loved scarves and lipstick. Even though she didn’t always wear the scarves, she usually used the lipstick. The last Mother’s Day gift I gave her was a white rose lapel pin. I gave it to her when she was in the care home about a week before she died. That was 12 years ago.  I still have it, in the nightstand beside my bed.

Most Mother’s Days I went to see her. There were times when I wasn’t really thrilled about doing that. Mom and I often had different opinions, different ways. Then there were times when I just wanted to spend the day with my own children and sometimes I did that. She never said that it hurt her feelings when I didn’t go see her, but I’m sure that sometimes it did.

So were all those little gifts what she really wanted for Mother’s Day? Of course they were. They were signs that she was acknowledged, loved, and remembered. Isn’t that what all of us mothers want?  It’s not so much the gift as it is that your child took the time to choose a gift that they think you would like. It’s that they took the time to call you, to pick out a card and get it in the mail; it’s that they took some time out of their busy life to spend it with you.

We all know we aren’t perfect mothers, and Lord knows we have made and still make mistakes with our children.  Whether our children are young or adults, whether the gift is small or large, expensive or not; what we most likely want is to be acknowledged, loved, and remembered.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Writing is something I have wanted to do for many years.  So now I am taking a little time to write and I have a place for others to see my work, and I can’t seem to decide what to write about.  I have kept a short list the last few days of topics I want to write about. The list includes a product review, commentary on gang crime in Walmart, and loneliness.  I keep finding other things to do instead of write, as if writing is something I don’t want to do, but I do. Maybe I’m afraid of it (writing) somehow? Maybe putting my thoughts out there for other people to read is putting me out there, or not. I really think people will like my writings. I have lived through some unusual experiences and some very common ones. That should make my writings doubly appealing because that is how most people’s lives are, some unusual events and experiences and some common ones.

I have decided, though, my writings will be dedicated to my Mom.  My Facebook page and web blog are named with her in mind. My Mother liked to write. She kept daily journals that recorded some of the most mundane moments of life, grocery lists, the weather. Some entries documented the exciting events in live, the sad, and the tragic. She kept records on family history, recipes, even her favorite color. I wish I had those journals today.  She wanted to be a writer. I believe she wanted to be seen and heard, acknowledged for her existence. Don’t we all want that, to feel that our life matters?  Her desire to write in a public forum, however, would not be granted, until now. My writings will not be exactly how hers would have been but they will be because of her. She was beautiful, smart, and strong beyond my comprehension. Her life was not easy. She endured hardship that I can’t begin to imagine, grief, and mental illness. Her family didn’t understand the emotions that drove her to do some of the odd or unpleasant things she did. Yet, she was able to laugh and appreciate the beauty in life. She read her Bible almost every day, she loved Jesus, and she loved new life. She loved the little birds and rabbits that seemed to be everywhere in the yard at times, like they knew it was a safe place to be. Most of all she loved babies. She loved her babies and she was a wonderful nurturer, I know because I am a good nurturer. I got that from her. She loved other babies too, her grandchildren especially. She worried about them and prayed for them and never wanting anything from them except for them to come see her and spend some time with her. She wanted her children and grandchildren to know her, to really know what was in her heart. Sadly, I don’t think we did, we were all too busy.

So, in honor of my Mom, I write. I hope I can do justice to her life, to give her the acknowledgement she was looking for and for being my Mom, for teaching me so many things, some I didn’t know until l had children and grandchildren. What they say is true; you never stop being a parent. You continue to teach long after you are gone from this world. She wasn’t a perfect mother but she was a good mother.

She would love the name I have chosen for my Facebook page and web blog, Steele Street Station, and she would love the color I am using as the signature color for the pages, blue.

Well, my first real article is done. I am on my way. Write on.