EPSIE'S CURSE

EPSIE'S CURSE
T. Wieland Allen

Epsie was a wonderful friend and neighbor. She was always there for us. She never let one house guest leave our house without having a plate full of her best-ever fudge, not the kind made with marshmallow cream, but the fudge made in her old beat up pan on top of the stove with sugar and cocoa as the basic ingredients.
Epsie was always good for a laugh, too, being that she was one of God's wonderful characters. I could write a volume about her, and I might some time but not right now. I want to tell you about her words that came to me as if she were speaking them to me in my presence rather than from heaven, where she's lived for quite a few years.
The topic of her words in my mind referred to a conversation we had years ago. She told me that she was talking to her daughter one day on the phone, which was their daily habit since both daughters lived far away in other towns. Epsie told me that her daughter said to her, "Mom, don't you and your friends ever talk about anything else but the three Cs?"
Epsie asked her daughter what three Cs she was talking about as being the subject of all of her conversations.
Her daughter said, "You only talk about constipation, cholesterol and children. Don't you have any other subject in life in which you are interested? "
Epsie assured her daughter that, yes, certainly those three Cs comprised 99 percent of the conversations between herself and her friends.
Since my husband and I have great cholesterol numbers, that leaves out that interesting subject from our talks together or with friends.
Our children are wonderful people, self supporting, independent, happy, and with the wisdom to handle their own problems, so we have no problems relating to our children on which to bore people or elicit their input.
That leaves the last subject of interest in the conversations of Epsie, her friends, and most other people over 70 years old. Constipation.
Now, that is not a normal subject in which my husband and I are interested, because it's never been a problem for us. However, during a current surgical procedure and the beginning of chemotherapy treatment that subject has been foremost in our minds. In fact, it has become kind of an obsession. I can finally understand Epsie's obsession with it. It can be a real problem.
The PDR information on all three chemotherapy meds which my husband has been prescribed have a notation that we dreaded seeing, "MAY CAUSE CONSTIPATION." Then the PDR information on the meds given to him to prevent nausea and vomiting read, "MAY CAUSE CONSTIPATION."
Well, let me tell you, they got the inscriptions wrong. The package inserts and the PDR information should have said, "WILL CERTAINLY, 100% CAUSE CONSTIPATION, LOCKING YOU UP SO SUCCESSFULLY THAT ONLY DYNAMITE CAN UNLOCK YOU. "
Three days into the chemotherapy there it was, Epsie's curse, present in our lives. We had escaped the other two conversation topics but now we were in the throes of 24 hour, every second of every minute of every day talking about the third C topic.
The more remedies we tried, the more frustrated we became. We tried stool softeners. We tried meds the pharmacist suggested. Then we tried Dr. Gott's formula which consists of applesauce, prune juice and bran mixed together. We tried Metamucil. We tried plain hot prune juice. We tried more stool softeners, now being on the side of disobeying the orders on the side of the bottle cautioning people not to take more than four in a day. We tried bran cereal. We tried bran muffins. At that point dynamite was looking very possible as the next step, or the dreaded trip to the ER to have the doctor there do their painful plumbing unstopping procedure.
My sister Lou, bless her sweet, resourceful heart, called to inquire how the third day of chemo had gone. I relapsed into Epsie's curse of talking at length about the constipation problem. Then she spoke magic words, "Have you tried suppositories?"
Oh, My Gosh, how did we ever forget that one?
Looking in my medicine cabinet I found a jar of suppositories, the magic cure. I gave it to my husband, and voila, several hours later the problem was solved.
This is my last opportunity to talk about the three Cs that permeated Epsie's conversations. The one C that became a problem was instantly cured by my sister's input, a simple suppository. Thanks to her we didn't have to seek drastic measures, dynamite or the ER plunger technique.
Sister Lou fulfilled a message that came to me that very morning, "Today is the day of salvation. You'll find the cure for the constipation."
That's the first time God had assured me of something as mundane as that, one of the three Cs. But that day we were in need of divine guidance to solve what had become a problem to us, one of Epsie's curses.
Now if Lou could teach me to make fudge the way Epsie did, I would be in debt to her all my life.

LINDSEY'S SIDE OF THE STREET

Our granddaughter Lindsey is very fortunate. She has the ability to always be smiling. Sometimes it confuses her, also. She stated to me a few weeks ago that she always happy and can't understand why she is that way. She commented that she's always positive and enjoys life. It's puzzling to her, and I'm sure it's puzzling to others who habitually walk on the dark side of life.
What she doesn't know is that she inherited some good genes, the happy gene that causes people to always see good, always laugh at things, always think positively. That is a wonderful heritage to have, the happy gene.
I was listening to her tell a story about being with friends at a new park and a photographer happened to drive up and walked directly to the four friends, asking if he could take a picture for the paper of them playing on the new playground equipment. She said that they performed on the equipment in different stances while the photographer took pictures.
We quickly found the picture in the paper and she glowed with joy, as always, delighted with another of life's unexpected surprises. Of course, she immediately began texting all of her friends, spreading her exuberance around, which is her normal habit. What she might not know is that people are attracting to "sunny" individuals and that photographer was attracted the the light in her.
I was thinking about her capacity for happiness and the words to an old song came to my mind which perfected describes Lindsey.

"Grab you coat and grab your hat,
Leave your worries at the doorstep,
Life can be so sweet
On the sunny side of the street.

Can't you hear the pitty-pat,
And that happy tune is your step.
Life can be complete
On the sunny side of the street.

I used to walk in the shade
with my blues on parade.
But I'm not afraid,
This rover crossed over.

If I never have a coat
I'll be as rich as Rockefeller,
Gold dust at my feet
On the sunny side of the street.

It's wonderful just to be in her presence, gleaning some of the joy and happiness, enjoying life like Lindsey does. I pray she will always stay that way. I know she will. She's a teenager and still continues to walk, "Gold dust at my feet on the sunny side of the street." She'll always leave her worries on the door step and cross to the sunny side of the street where she sees joy in everything and entertains positive thoughts, speaking loving words and glows with excitement at every turn of events.
Keep spreading it around, Lindsey. The world needs your sunshine!

THE ZERO DOLLAR MOVIE

Well, our mark-down-angel finally did it. He over did it, in fact.
You know that everyone has a mark-down-angel who goes ahead of them marking down every item they want to buy. It happens for me and it will happen for you, too, if you will begin looking for bargains, markdowns, etc. Then thank him every time and you will see more and more mark-downs come your way.
Several years ago our mark-down-angel showed us that he had provided movies for us at the Dollar Movie Theater in a nearby city. Gramps loves movies and I love to see Gramps happy, so I began to go with him every Sunday to the Dollar Movie Theater, whose price fits right in with my frugal nature. I get that from my father, who could make a dime stretch from here to Alaska. We get to see movies after they leave the first run theaters but before they are available on DVD. We have seen some really great movies that we wouldn't have chosen to see if they had cost us the going rate of eight bucks.
Our habit is that we go to see whatever movie is showing at the Dollar Movie Theater at 12:00 noon after we go to Sam's for their $1.80 meal of a hot dog and a 32 ounce pop. That really fits in with my frugal nature. The entire day of a meal and a movie only costs Gramps a little over five bucks. You know he calls me his cheap date; or, really, maybe he says that he takes me on a cheap date. Whatever.
The mark-down-angel surprised us with a real treat Sunday. Actually it was a very heart warming day because we saw trustworthiness personified in the attendants at the Dollar Movie.
We had arrived at the Theater early because the movie we wanted to see had an 11:00 showing. We had decided to go to Sam's for our hot dog/pop treat after the movie. I think our systems are glued together with the ingredients in those delicious Sam's hot dogs. In fact, we went to a funeral of a friend not long ago and his brother-in-law said during his eulogy tribute that at least Lewis got to have a Sam's hot dog before he died because his brother-in-law made sure of that. That was a very unique eulogy, but one we heartily agreed with.
Back to our story about the mark-down-angel. When we arrived at the Dollar Movie Theater the doors were locked but people were milling around outside waiting for the doors to be unlocked. This was a repeat of an experience from several months ago.
Suddenly a snack bar worker came to the door and said that the manager had to be there before paying customers could come in the door. She said that it would take twenty minutes for him to arrive. We decided to wait because we really wanted to see the movie. We're use to minor inconveniences at our movie adventures, and we make light of them, always getting a big laugh from them. We always say, "What can you expect for a dollar?"
Yesterday we started toward the car where we planned to read the Sunday paper and wait twenty minutes. We sat in the car, and as we gazed at the entrace to the Theater we saw a worker motioning people to come in the door. "That was a quick twenty minutes," Gramps remarked. It had really only been a few minutes but the worker had decided that since the scheduled movies were starting their early showings that all the waiting customers could go into the individual theaters and watch the movies. Then he told us that we could pay our dollar to the person at the cash register on the way out, after the movies were over. That was an unusual offer, that we could pay after the movie. What a guy, trusting ten or fifteen people not to walk out the door after seeing their choice of movies. How refreshing!
Gramps and I visited the rest rooms first (we're senior citizens, you know) and then went to Theater Number 7 where Blindside was showing. There were only a handful of people there because it was so early.
After seeing the great feel-good movie we left Theater Number 7 and headed to the man at the cash register where Gramps was prepared to give his couple of dollar bills to the attendant. Then the real surprise came. The manager said that we owed nothing, that it was the gift of the management for the inconvenience. We thanked him for his generosity and left the Dollar Movie Theater also thanking the mark-down-angel for the bargain of the day. We acted like the manager had forgiven us a hundred dollar fee instead of a dollar fee apiece. Generosity isn't measured by the size of the gift, only by the attitude behind the gift.
We are constantly amazed at the gifts we are given by God and his angels, who always keep us surprised and elated by gifts great and small.
Yesterday's surprising adventure came from the Dollar Movie Theater becoming the Zero Dollar Movie for an hour. Thank you, mark-down-angel. You topped yourself with that unexpected surprise! We eagerly await your next surprise. We are grateful for the anticipation of your unusual gifts. It keeps us expectant, like little kids. That's part of what keeps us so young.

EDAN'S ENCOURAGEMENT

Edan and PopPop and MeMe had a good time making hand puppets out of a craft kit the last time we were visiting. We were amazed at the patience this little three year old had in putting the eyes, ears, noses and button stickers on the puppets. Some of the stickers were very small but she had the patience of an adult in handling them and putting them in the right places.
Eventually the activity grew boring and Edan announced that she didn't want to make the puppets any longer. PopPop remarked that he didn't want to do it alone, that he wanted some help from Edan.
In a voice laced with encouragement Edan said to PopPop, "You can do it by yourself," and turning to leave she finished the encouragement by saying, "Big Guy."
She is a loving and clever child, so much fun to be around. She's the best stress reliever we've found. She's a joy!

THE SINGING SINGER

Grandmas were once little girls, too. That fact would shock a lot of kids. This Grandma, or MeMe as some grands call me, has fond memories of being one of four sisters. Our mother was a creative seamstress and she loved sewing for us. My older sister and I were only 20 months apart in age and we were years older than the other two sisters. Our mother made most of our clothes because of rationing of goods during World War II. Even with the lack of goods, Mother was able to buy a used electric Singer sewing machine when my older sister was a baby. She kept that Singer humming, making creations that looked store bought, as we used to say. I can still see Mother sitting at that Singer sewing machine late Saturday night finishing the last touches on our new church dresses for Sunday School the next morning. We were the best dressed little Baptist girls in Borger, Texas. We would go to Amarillo some days to visit our Grandma and we always took a trip to town where Mother would get ideas at the fancy stores. Then she would buy material and laces and rick rack and threads to match the expensive dresses. At home she would combine patterns, and the finished product always looked identical to the ones in the windows of the stores. My sister Joy and I didn't appreciate her labors then, which is not unusual for kids. We took her for granted. We did enjoy looking like fashion plates, but we longed for store bought clothes. I remember one time we were in the Penney's store in Pampa, Texas where mother was getting ideas for dresses in the ready made children's department. My sister made a curt comment in close ear of Mother that hurt her deeply. I can still see the look on her dear face, one of being unappreciated for the hours of stitching and hemming and embellishing that she had done. My sister said, "We're lucky Mother didn't take leather working in school or she would be making our shoes, too." My sister never realized how deeply that hurt our mother. However, that comment didn't slow down the Singer from its stitch, stitch, stitching. Mother tried other sewing machines throughout the years, ones that made button holes, gathered, puckered, embroidered, etc., but she always went back to the Singer. It was like an extension of her hands. When Daddy would be working late, she would be at the machine. It was a source of comfort to her, as well as an outlet for her creativity. She would get lost in the hum of her old friend, that ancient machine. Many, many years later when Mother and Daddy were living in a retirement home we put her old Singer on one of the shelves in a bookcase next to her bed. My sister Mary wove a garland of plastic daisies around it and it added a creative yet nostalgic accent to the room. Eventually Mother went on to heaven for a glorious reunion with God, the source of her creativity. I asked for the sewing machine because I had so many wonderful memories relating to it. I remember her taking it into a sewing machine store for its yearly oiling and cleaning. That's what kept it humming all those years. She took as good care of that machine as she did her family. I brought the Singer to my home, sat it on top of my sewing machine console, simply thinking it would be a constant reminder of Mother and the time she put into sewing dresses and costumes for us, and a reminder of the love she put into us, around us and onto us. New Years Day, 2010, I had a sudden urge to sew. I was already in football game overdrive. In the imagination of my mind I saw some chair pads for our ladder back dining room chairs. I needed material to cover the cheap chair pads that I had bought, planning to cover the pads with tapestry material. I had not found the tapestry material I wanted yet, but in my imagination I saw pads made from some blue and beige sculptured velvet drapes that had been in Mother and Daddy's house forty years ago. I always loved those drapes and saved them until just the right idea hit me. Well, the idea finally hit me. I even knew where the drapes were stored. I made a pattern from newspaper of the existing chair pads, cut the velvet material into the right pad size and went to the bedroom to sew the pads. I was intending to move Mother's machine off of the top of mine, but an idea come to me, I wonder if the old Singer would still work? It had sat idle for many years. I took the cover off. She looked dusty but she hadn't changed at all. I remembered how to thread that old machine, wonder of wonders. I found a bobbin on the rewind spool, placed it in its proper holder and plugged up the old girl. Much to my amazement, that old Singer started singing the same beautiful song that she had always sung. It was almost as if she sounded like she was glad to be out of retirement and creating again. She didn't sputter once or spew oil or miss a stitch through six heavy velvet chair pads. I felt rejuvenated and I think the Singer felt revived. It was like history repeating itself. We were both delighted with our mission, ah, ha, creating again. I guess Singer sewing machines never stop singing. They sing while they work, enjoying every stitch of creativity they make. I had so much fun and I enjoyed cooperating with the Singer so much that I decided that I also would make a long pillow for the bench at the end of our bed. I had two valances that matched my bedspread, so I put the two of them together, invited Ms. Singer to work with me, and we made another beautiful creation. My machine friend didn't miss a stitch, never broke the thread, just kept singing her songs of joy at being able to contribute beauty to the world with her creations. While Mother's old friend and I were sewing, I felt Mother looking over my shoulder, just like I used to look over hers. I know she loved hearing the Singer begin its work as if it was singing, "Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to work we go."
I swear I could also hear eighty years of songs of praise from that machine, praising the Creator for the love that flowed from that Singer sewing machine to our family. No wonder it continues to sing, because music makes the heart merry. Mother's Singer sewing machine continues to make my heart merry just like it made her heart merry by singing its wonderful songs of love. Let's see, what else can I sew?

EDAN'S EMBARRASSMENT

Small children are very proud of their parents. Some even cling to their mom or dad when they are left at play school or kindergarten for the first time. Not our grand daughter Edan. At three years old she was so ready for play school that she requested her parents leave her there at the door instead of accompany her to class. Yes, she is very independent.
Everything went great at Edan's encounter with play school for the first several days. Then Mom decided to take her to school and visit the room so she could envision her daughter during the day having a wonderful day learning, playing and eating.
Mom and Edan went into the classroom where Edan was excited to show her mom some of the resident toys. Her favorite toy was on a nearby shelf. The only problem was that the string that held the pencil to the toy was caught in the shelving. Edan's mom gently tugged on the toy in an effort to release the string.
Lo and behold, the toy laden shelf came tumbling down on Mom. The teacher ran over to assist Mom, to which Mom protested that she was okay and, thank you, didn't need assistance.
After Mom picked up the toys that belonged on the shelf and replaced them, Edan told her mom in an authoritative voice, "You can leave now."
Three year kids are just as affected by the blunders of their parents as teenagers are. Embarrassment is not age conscious.