Friday, July 29, 2016

One more look at a niece's Wedding #tbt

A look back at
 the Berg Wedding weekend:

Rolando & Romeo
competitive, as usual

Glenda, the Birthday Girl

Marissa, Bailey, Farrah


A view from the opposite side of the bubble aisle
Jared doing his part to add to the festivities

...but looking rather somber.
Do you miss your Camp buddies, son?



Everyone loves bubbles!

Farrah & Cousin Jamie (future dentist). ETA, she's now an RN

Farrah "borrowed" my LV pochette
Throw Back Thursday.  This was what I wrote then. Good times, and memories:  

 The wedding is over, the couple is honeymooning in Hawai'i, homeschool duties beckon, & we're back at our old routine. We are looking forward to Kristi's full-time, paid status at Season's. Camille is leaving for college on August 21st --- not looking forward to THAT, but we'll cross the bridge when we get there. She is chompin' at the bit, though, and has bought 99% of what she thinks she needs.

I need the grace of God to get me through this season of life --- letting go of our adult (!)children; and cheering them on with enthusiasm. Where, oh where, did the time go??

Tuesday, July 26, 2016

I must give flowers


I am no flower-arranging whiz, nor a florist, but I am always on the prowl for beautiful flowers at low prices. These flowers were either $4.99 or $5.99 a bunch; with the exception of the roses which were $9.99 a dozen.  I  take them home, plop them into an available vase, and allow their natural beauty by God's hand to shine forth. On Sunday mornings, we may bring an arrangement to church, put it on the Piano as part of the decor, then give it away to some random member after the services are over. In almost all cases, the recipient seems genuinely happy and thankful. So are we. 

He that doeth good is of God 
3 John 11

Purple Daisies






two-tone roses on my MacKenzie-Childs round tray

Lily

sunflowers

roses

white roses in my courtly check  M-C tea pot



15.10.27.17





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Saturday, July 23, 2016

Severe Hydrocephalus (water on the brain)


"For the last nine months, my wife, Brooklyn has been pregnant with a very sick baby boy. Three or four months ago, we learned that the baby had severe hydrocephalus. Back in the old days, hydrocephalus was called, "water on the brain"....too much brain fluid. Ultimately, we were referred to the Cincinnati Children's Hospital, where we were told, by several of the most highly regarded fetal specialists in the country, that his condition was dire. The baby's condition was "off the charts bad." It was so extreme, that the specialists stopped measuring and monitoring his brain's fluid level because, at that point, it didn't really matter. The MRI's were sickening to look at. We were told, pointblank, that there was over a 90% chance that the baby would either die shortly after birth or have such severe cognitive impairments that any quality of life would be hard to imagine. We had a meeting with palliative care regarding the use of life sustaining measures, and had detailed, awful, and emotional discussions about the ethics of when we might need to remove or cease such measures - which would result in the baby "passing away peacefully."
Brooklyn relocated to Cincinnati and lived in a hotel close to the hospital - in case she went into labor. I commuted back and forth, while trying to work and take care of Sophie and Lily at home. On July 8th Brooklyn did, indeed, go into labor. Literally, 15 minutes before they wheeled her back to start the C-section, we had another meeting with doctors regarding the use of a breathing tube and at what point we might need to remove that tube and let the baby go to heaven. Guess what?. .The baby came out crying - which was the sweetest sound I have ever heard.
In a nutshell, Charlie Edward Schnarr, stayed in infant intensive care until yesterday - when we all came home. He seems to be a normal, beautiful baby doing all the things that babies do. He has mild ventricular enlargement, but we can deal with that with checkups. How did this happen??... The doctors said, "we do not have and cannot come up with a medical explanation for what we've witnessed here." Somehow, his brain found a way to naturally "clear" the blockage or re-route the fluid that was causing the oppressive "back-up" of brain fluid. During the last week, I heard the word "divine intervention" and "miracle" more times than I could count. Nurses with decades of experience, and esteemed, nationally admired doctors were flabbergasted but jubilant. Because of the "domino effect" of friends, family, clients, colleagues and even strangers praying and asking others to pray for us, I do not doubt that there were thousands of people praying for us.
I'm a practical person that certainly believes in science and medical technology, but I absolutely know, from the bottom of my heart, that God was involved in this. I give ALL of the credit and glory to him. From the bottom of my heart, thank you, thank you, thank you for all of your thoughts, prayers, notes of encouragement, cards, texts, emails, and outpouring of love. Prayer is positively powerful. God is real, and he still performs miracles."
God bless,
-Nick




 Thou shalt not kill.
- Exodus 20:13





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Thursday, July 21, 2016

Superhero boy






As some of you know, I have gone through every mother's worst fear. On June 2nd, I lost my youngest son in a horrible car accident. I was driving. I had pulled away from a gas station, checking each buckle, and I began to drive the curvy, mountainous road to my family's house. My son was notorious for doing everything he could to unbuckle in the car ("The Flash doesn't wear a seat belt, and I'm the Flash, mama") We tried five point harness seats, boosters, I believe even zip ties at one point (probably not safe either) but he always viewed it as a superhero challenge. He was a superhero because he always succeeded. On average, I would usually pull over three or four times on any given trip to firmly make him buckle up again. We were only five minutes out when a large rock rolled into my lane. I had three choices: try to straddle the rock, move to the oncoming lane which was a double line large curve with an angry river at the other side. Rock, head on collision, river. I chose the rock. I chose wrong. And yes, he had already unbuckled along with his 8 year old brother. (They were switching spots and I didn't know.) The rock hit my axle, and sent us plummeting into the side of a cliff. Our 13 passenger van rolled and my son was instantly gone. Our lives were instantly ripped apart. The little boy who had been my pride and joy was cruelly taken from me in a matter of seconds. I remember being smashed between my console (no airbag engaged) and our three ton van. I had blood everywhere. I fought and fought and then blacked out. When I awoke, I was unbuckling my baby from her car seat (she was upside down) and working to get each child (5 of my children were with me) out of the van. When I came to Titus I worked with all my might to lift the heavy van off his tiny body. My 8 year old son was trying to help me. I could only see the lower half of his body. I rubbed his tummy and tried gentle compressions. But he was already gone. It was instantaneous, which only brings me comfort because I know he felt no pain. What followed was a blur. I refused treatment from the paramedics until they let me hold my dead son. All my children were whipped away and taken to an ambulance to be cared for. I was life flighted and sedated, for the shock made me inconsolable. It was two days later that I saw it all over Facebook. A news report reporting the death of my child as if they were reporting that the weather might change, or a new planet had been discovered. I was thankful they reported that no drugs or alcohol had been a factor. But that's not what hurt. The readers commented the cruelest things about how horrible of a mother I was. How I deserved it. How my children should be taken from me. I wanted to punch them, shake them. Tell them how close we were, how hard I fought to keep him safe. How we had a special good night kiss and a designated McDonald's date each week. I wanted to scream that he always told me he wanted to marry me, that I was the best mama ever. That he built me Lego ships, took naps in my bed while holding my hand with his dimpled little fingers.

But no one would have listened anyway. I feel led to write this to all you Mamas because I have a longing to look each of you in the eyes and tell you this: "Hold your babies tight". That's all I want to shout to the world.

I'm not who I once was; death and loss changes a person from the inside out.

I have held my dead sons body in the middle of a highway while I rocked him and screamed - no ordered God to bring him back.

-I have chosen a funeral plot for my four year old boy as I contemplated jumping from the cliff the cemetery overlooks just so I could be where he is.

-I have purchased a 200 dollars superhero outfit for my son to wear as he decomposes in the earth.

-I have kissed a corpse over and over and wept as I traced over every feature of his ice cold face and held his still dimpled, but lifeless hands.

-I have slept in a cemetery just to try and take one more nap with him. I talk to the dirt. To the ground where he lies with his lovey blanket and his avengers outfit.

And what I want to say (if you've read this far, you're so patient and so kind) is this. And you can share it with any mama you know.

- maybe finishing broccoli at dinner isn't as important as we might think. Watch how your children eat, soak in their hatred for corn (oh how Titus hated corn). Maybe they can still have ice cream - even just sometimes - while those veggies still sit on their plate.

-learn to pretend. Get into their world. Learn to play the Xbox with them. Embrace their beautiful, fleeting imagination. Let them really believe that they are Captain America or Queen Elsa. Get in their mind, see how they tick. The dishes will still be there.

- take every hug and kiss they bring you - even the twenty fifth one they use just to get out of bed at night. And really squeeze them.

-stop and look at the bugs, the rocks, the sticks, the sunset. Slow down mama, slow down.

- tell them you love them. But look in their eyes and say it like you mean it. Tell them they can do anything - anything they set their mind to.

-yes, we must hold them accountable but sometimes- maybe grace is the answer. Maybe, just maybe, they won't end up ruined if we let some things slide.

-never judge another mama. We don't know the whole story, we don't know. We just don't know.

-Go hug your babies right now. Soak in their smell, look at the innocent sparkle in their eyes that is lost somewhere between childhood and adulthood. Really feel how they squeeze you. Set down your phone and see them through the lens of your eyes not only the lens of your camera. Remember the feeling of their head on your shoulder, their hand in yours, their sloppy kisses on your cheeks. Nurse them one more time. Sleep is overrated. Listen five minutes longer about Star Wars, minecraft and Disney princesses. 

Mamas, hold your children tight. How blessed you are to have been entrusted with such unique, beautiful, tiny humans.

From my heart to yours,
Ashley







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Tuesday, July 19, 2016

6 Degrees of Separation

This showed up on my Facebook wall, and I was honestly perplexed.  Who in the world took this picture; and knew to forward it to our son, who in turn forwarded it to me?  The answer below ...





Chris  knows our son through their mutual employment with the Youth Camp in WI a few years back. Plus, our son was his wedding photographer.  Chris and his wife are also friends with our daughter-in-laws relatives here in  the area. Chris  will continue his connection to Jared as he's been hired by hubby's  company as a temp in the Design Department.  It's a small world after all!


PS:  Hubby's heart-felt words really touched my heart!

Thursday, July 14, 2016

Are cops perfect? No. Are there bad cops? Yes.




"This is me at 21 years old. This is the day I graduated from the Detroit police academy at 4:00pm, went home and took a couple hour nap, woke up at 9:30 that night and reported to my first tour of duty at the 12th Precinct for midnight shift. Look at that smile on my face. I couldn't have been more excited, more proud. Armed with my dad's badge that he wore for 25 years on my chest, one of my mom's sergeant stripe patches in my pocket, my lucky $2.00 bill tucked into my bulletproof vest, a gun I was barely old enough to purchase bullets for on my hip and enough naive courage for a small army, I headed out the door...my mom snapped this photo on my way.
The next 17 years would bring plenty of shed blood, black eyes, torn ligaments, stab wounds, stitches, funerals, a head injury, permanent and irreparable nerve damage, 5 ruptured discs, some charming PTSD and depression issues and a whole lot of heartache. They brought missed Christmases with my family, my absence from friends' birthday get-togethers, pricey concert tickets that were forfeited at the last minute because of a late call and many sleepless nights.
I've laid in wet grass on the freeway for three hours watching a team of burglars and orchestrating their apprehension, I've dodged gunfire while running down a dark alley in the middle of the night chasing a shooting suspect, I've argued with women who were too scared to leave their abusive husbands until they realized they had to or they would end up dead. I've peeled a dead, burned baby from the front of my uniform shirt, I've felt the pride of putting handcuffs on a serial rapist and I've cried on the chest of and kissed the cheek of my dead friend, coworker and academy classmate even though it was covered in his own dried blood and didn't even look like him from all the bullet holes. I know what a bullet sounds like when it's whizzing past your ear, a few inches away, I know what the sound of a Mother's shrilling scream is like when she finds out her son has been killed in the middle of the street and I know what it's like to have to tell a wife and mother of 3 that her husband was killed in a car accident while on his way home from work.
Smells, pictures, sounds and sights are burned and engrained into our minds...things we can never forget, no matter how hard we try; things that haunt our sleep at night and our thoughts during the day; things that we volunteered to deal with so that you don't have to. Things I don't want my sister, little cousins or YOU to even have to KNOW about.
I never once went to work thinking, "I'm gonna beat someone tonight."; "Hmmm...I think I'm gonna kill someone tonight." I DID, however, go to work every night, knowing that I was going to do the best I could to keep good people safe, even if that meant that I died doing so.
We ALL need to start being more understanding and compassionate toward one another. Violence doesn't cure violence and hate doesn't cure hate. I've seen and experienced both sides of the spectrum since I left the PD and I get it. I truly do. But this all has to stop.
Are cops perfect? No. Are there bad cops? Yes. But please...understand that the vast majority of police are good, loving, well intentioned family people. They have husbands and wives and children and parents and pets and cousins and mortgages and electric bills and lawns that need cutting, just like you. They have hearts and consciences. They aren't robots, they're not machines and they just want to help keep the wolves away from the sheep. I KNOW there's people who don't deserve to wear the badge but they're SO VERY few and far between. It breaks my heart to see all this hatred and anger flying around. All it's doing is encouraging more of the same.
If you've read this far, thank you for listening. I'm not gonna sit here and tell you that if you hate or don't support one side or the other, to unfriend me and never speak to me again...I hope those are the people who come straight TO me. Because I'll be more than happy to hug you and pray or meditate with you. I'll be more than happy to listen to your concerns and let you vent and empathize with your feelings. But then I'll encourage you to help me find a solution to end all this nonsense because if we're not part of the solution, we're part of the problem. Love to all of you. ALL OF YOU. We're all SO much better than this." ❤️✌🏼


-- Credit: Merri McGregor

21.07.05.18

Facebook: Love What Matters




*****

Tuesday, July 12, 2016

It is the public that needs retraining, not the Police





It's not the police who need to be retrained, it's the public. We have grown into a mouthy, cell phone wielding, vulgar, uncivil society with no personal responsibility and the attitude of 'it's the other person's fault', 'you owe me'. A society where children grow up with no boundaries or knowledge or concern for civil society and personal responsibility.
When an officer says "Put your hands up," then put your hands up! Don't reach for something in your pocket, your lap, your seat. There's plenty of reason for a police officer to feel threatened, there have been multiple assaults and ambushes on police officers lately. Comply with requests from the officer, have your day in court. Don't mouth off, or fight, or refuse to comply... that escalates the situation.
Police officers are our sons and daughters, fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters. They're black, white, brown, all colors, all ethnicities, all faiths, male and female, they are us. They see the worst side of humanity... the raped children, the bloody mangled bodies of traffic victims, the bruised and battered victims of domestic violence, homicide victims, body parts... day after day.
They work holidays while we have festive meals with our families. They miss school events with their kids, birthdays, anniversaries, all those special occasions that we take for granted. They work in all types of weather, under dangerous conditions, for relatively low pay.
They have extensive training, but they are human. When there are numerous attacks on them, they become hyper vigilant for a reason, they have become targets. When a police officer encounters any person... any person, whether at a traffic stop, a street confrontation, an arrest, whatever... that situation has the potential to become life threatening. You, Mr & Mrs/Miss Civilian, also have the responsibility of keeping the situation from getting out of control.
Many, the majority, of law enforcement officers are Veterans. They've been in service to this nation most of their lives, whether on the battlefield or protecting us here at home. They are the only thing that stands between us and anarchy in the streets.
If you want to protect your child, teach them respect... for themselves, for you as a parent, for their teachers, for police officers. Police officers do not make the laws, they merely enforce them. If you don't like the law, be proactive in the political process. The police officer doesn't have, or want, the role of judge and jury.
If you get a speeding ticket... were you speeding? Don't blame the cop if you broke the law. Go to court, pay the fine, don't do it again.
It's easy to judge, it's harder to look within oneself and see what your role should be as a citizen, as a responsible person seeing both sides of the issue.
All lives matter, Blue lives matter, too!

(Please note that I reposted this, I didn't write it, but it says what I feel in my heart and soul, no one had accredited who did write it, I saw it on a comment, and they said the same "reposted", I added this pic of that vile and rude person shoving her phone in the officer's face, as it fit perfectly  -- Linda Burdick, Facebook July 2016)

Saturday, July 9, 2016

While I was Driving, 1: Car Plates and Sticker

I have seen some doozies, but was not camera ready.
Here are recent ones that did not get away:


Indeed!
Johann Sebastian speaking

Sing it, Doris Day!

what a beauty!