Yesterday TG and I had one of those conversations ... you know, the kind of exchange that people who have been together for thirty years tend to have.  It contained many instances of that loaded and lively question ... "Remember?"

Pulling over to park here for a mo ... increasingly as I go about my business I notice that in lots of situations I am the oldest person present.  It is not all that unusual for me to be seated at a conference table with two or three lawyers and a deponent, and for every one of them to have been born after (in some cases long after) me.  I hope you won't think me conceited when I say that often (but by no means always) I note with no small amount of gratification that although I may be someone's senior in calendar years, I look at least forty-five minutes younger than they.  At least I think I do, and if I don't, please no one tell me.  This dream world I inhabit suits me just fine (she said with a beatific smile). 

She says that she mentally relives her entire past life daily, constantly, in minute detail.

At any rate I can take no credit other than my religious -- yea, near fanatical  -- use of sunblock.  And possibly a slight genetic advantage ... no, I do not refer to early blindness!  I will thank you not to snicker.

When I was the age of these younger people, the thought of being the oldest person in the room would have bothered me ... if I could have envisioned such a scenario back then, which I'm fairly confident would have been beyond my ken.  The young think they will always be young.  Period.  It's part of the charm, the fascination, the pink bubble that is indefatigable youth.

But honestly, y'all ... the older I get, in many ways the younger I feel.  And while I don't have that all figured out, I'm good with it.  It's true what they say: Youth is wasted on the wrong people.  If you are reading this and you have not yet attained an age you consider "old," don't ever let anyone tell you that "old" people don't have fun.  It ain't so and you heard it here first. 

Not that I am old.

Let's swerve back onto the highway, shall we?  That detour took longer than I had planned.  I sure hope nobody got off the bus and took a train in the opposite direction ... not that I would necessarily blame them.

After TG and I had verbally reminisced enough to virtually reconstruct an event that took place when we were newlyweds -- an adventure of sorts, with all manner of dangerous twists and turns -- and reconciled our individual recollections of the epic saga as best we could, he asked me if I had heard about the lady who has been in the news lately ... a lady who is unable to forget anything.

I hadn't heard the story, so today I Googled it.  Her name is Jill Price.  She is forty-two years old and she remembers everything that has happened to her since 1980.  You can name a date seventeen years and three months and two days ago, and she can tell you what she wore, what the weather was like, and what she ate for breakfast that day.  She says that she mentally relives her entire past life daily, constantly, in minute detail ... while trying to stay afloat in her present life where she works as a school administrator.  Of course many scientists have been studying Jill for a number of years, and they have even coined a new term for her condition: hyperthymestic syndrome.

Ms. Price says that while some of her memories are warm and comforting, the problem is that she also remembers in sharp detail every sorrow, every failure, every embarrassment.  Anything -- a smell, a few bars of a song, a color -- may trigger a fresh deluge of memories.  She has difficulty sleeping at night because she finds it nearly impossible to relax and stop remembering.

I'm glad I can't remember every sorrow, every failure, every embarrassment ... that would put me under the bed and no mistake.  The ones I do have a hard time forgetting are plenty to deal with, thank you very much. 

And those are just from last week.

Oddly enough, Ms. Price says that while her exhaustive memory is a terrible burden, her worst fear is losing it.

Remind me to count my many blessings before I sleep tonight.  Something tells me I won't be able to remember them all.

Someone sent me this news story and I just have to tell you about it.

Justin Hill of Rock Island, Tennessee, was turning in to his driveway last week when he made the critical error of executing that turn directly into the path of another vehicle, causing a serious accident.

Wouldn't want the guy to get away with anything.

You don't want to be doing that, mate.

This was only the first domino to fall, however.

When Justin's wife, inside their trailer cooking supper for him, heard what must have been the horrendous noise of the crash, she ran outside.  She left the stove on.

Wait for it!

The trailer caught fire and sustained extensive damage.  One can only imagine Mrs. Hill watching helplessly as her home burned, her husband simultaneously being airlifted from the scene of a bad wreck.

That he caused.

Which is why, when all the dust settled, Justin Hill got a ticket!  Wouldn't want the guy to get away with anything.

I'll bet you a cupcake he's gonna get sued, too.  The complaint will likely be in the mail before he gets home from the hospital, all time-stamped and official.

And his dog will probably never speak to him again.

Who knows what his wife is thinking.

Makes me want to send those two a loaf of my banana bread.

"The best kind of prize is a surprise."  ~Willy Wonka

I love, love, love, love surprises!

The good kind, that is.

And boy, did I get a super-duper one today.

I was awakened shortly before six o'clock this morning by a clap of thunder/lightning and the resultant "angels' bowling alley" dark rumbling that seemed to go on forever.  I slept only fitfully after that, as the rain was being flung against the windows and the wind was howling.  I have to get up around seven thirty to make coffee and start getting ready for church anyway, so I didn't want to get too comfortable.  I avoided snuggling close to TG, as this would have gotten me all warm and comfy and I would surely have overslept.

One dozen lush, half-opened, creamy white roses surrounded by a cloud of baby's breath.

SUDDENLY!  My alarm clock sounded ... I thought ... and I began pounding on the little button that makes it stop, only it wouldn't stop!  At the same time I realized it had gone eight o'clock and I needed to get moving.  Silence, at last ... then it dawned on me (sorry): what woke me was not my alarm clock going off ... it hadn't even been set!  It was my cell phone, which was lying on my bedside table.  My standard state of mental confusion exacerbated by too little sleep had made me even muzzier than usual.  I grabbed my phone, flipped it open, and sure enough I had missed a call from Erica.  I pressed the button to call her back.

"Hey Mom!" her cheery voice came through loud and clear all the way from East Tennessee.  "Happy Mother's Day!"  We chatted awhile, rang off, and I got up to get that coffee going and take a shower.  About a half hour later I was sitting at the dining room table applying cosmetics to my face.  The only sound was a news channel on the TV in the kitchen, and the rain splattering on the windows.

SUDDENLY!  I heard what could only be our garage door going up.  Wha ....?  TG and Andrew had not yet emerged from their bedrooms, and no one was expected.  I was, frankly, a little bit scared.  Who had just opened our garage?  I walked with trepidation toward the door in the kitchen that leads to the garage.  A ginormous smile greeted me ... TWO ginormous smiles ... Erica and Daniel!  Erica was grinning behind a vaseful of the most beautiful flowers I have ever seen ... one dozen lush, half-opened, creamy white roses surrounded by a cloud of baby's breath.  And my baby girl ... she and Daniel set out from Knoxville before five a.m. and drove all the way in heavy rain.  When she called me she had been only 45 minutes from home!  What a wonderful Mother's Day gift.

We enjoyed attending church together, then had lunch at one of my favorite restaurants.  My two older daughters called to talk awhile and wish me a good day, and I talked to my own mother.  It's all been so exciting.

Gifts!  The girls gave me music, bath products, and the aforementioned roses.  Andrew bought me a massive indoor/outdoor clock to hang on the outside of the house, by the pool.  This is something I've been wanting and I spied this one at Sam's Club earlier in the week.  It's atomic and sets itself by some big mother-of-all clocks in Fort Collins, Colorado!  All I had to do was mention wanting this clock and my son made it happen.  That's the kind of kids I have, and I do not deserve them.

I was reflecting not long ago on a fact that always amazes me when I think about it: For all I have tried to teach my children, I have learned as much from them as they have learned from me.  Sometimes I think they have taught me lots more than I ever taught them.  They are wonderful people and I love them dearly.

Happy Mother's Day, everyone!  If you haven't already, and if you're able ... call your mother.

Hey y'all ... I'm looking for subscribers to my blog.  You know ... if you subscribe, you'll get notification in an email or via the reader of your choice whenever a new post appears on I'm Having A Thought Here. 

You're getting sleepy ...

To sweeten the deal, if you decide to subscribe and are comfortable sending me your home (or work) address using the "Email Me!" link in my sidebar (of course I would never share that information with anyone), I will send you a special gift!  Yes!  And you will like it and tell all your friends it was worth it and that they should immediately follow suit!

So go now to the "Please Subscribe" link in my sidebar, click on "The Latest Whatever/RSS" and subscribe!  You know you want to!

Then drop me a line and let me know where to send your present.

You won't be sorry.

Honest.

Do it now.

Do not argue with me.

I will win this.

You're getting sleepy ...

Oh and, uhm ... just so you know what you're in for, check this out ...

Ever have one of those days when the wheels fall off right and left? I had one of those days yesterday.

I couldn't be more proud of my good friend June Anderson of Americus, Georgia, than I am today.  June's first book, To Catch A Fallen Star, was released a few days ago by Xulon Press. 

I met June nearly two years ago through somewhat unusual circumstances centering around our mutual admiration for Johnny Depp ... yeah, there's a lot more story there but that's all I'm going to give up for now.

Suffice to say, June was inspired to write the book, worked hard at it with the unwavering support of her wonderfully loving family, and now it is a reality.  I received an autographed copy in the mail today, and I'm fighting the urge to lodge myself in my easy chair tomorrow and read it in one sitting!

The book is available online from Amazon dot com and Target, and very soon it will be offered by Barnes & Noble and Borders.  June may even be visiting your town for a book signing!  If she does I highly recommend you grab the chance to meet her.  She is a delight.

The back cover of To Catch A Fallen Star gives this synopsis:

Holly Monroe has acrophobia. The thought of flying sends her into a panic, but she’s had enough, so today she’s setting out alone to conquer that fear as she steps onto a 767 bound for Amsterdam where she will enjoy a sight she has dreamed of since childhood: fields of tulips in bloom. She is quite nervous as she boards the plane, and to complicate matters her favorite actor, Chris Lapp, boards and takes a seat … beside Holly! As she soon realizes, Chris has troubles of his own, and they form a friendship that sees them through some harrowing times, but there’s something about her that puzzles him. She’s unlike anyone he’s ever met and it’s getting under his skin. What is it about this plain woman ... or “plane” woman ... that makes him question his eternity?  He is so intrigued by her that he asks to meet her family. They invite him to spend time with them in their small Georgia town, and he gladly accepts their invitation only to come face to face with a dangerous storm, a daunting decision, and a delightful woman. As a result of several challenging events, both Holly and Chris discover that God is true to His Word and more faithful than either could have imagined.

To visit June's web site, click on "Junebug" from the blogroll in my sidebar.

Congratulations, Joonie!

~Jenny

It was Dale Carnegie, world-renowned author and lecturer, who asserted that "a person's name is to him or her the sweetest and most important sound."  While I certainly believe there is some truth to that, I think that for parents, surely the sound of their children's names is just as sweet ... if not more so.  Similarly, when people take their precious time and use their personal resources to encourage and undertake on behalf of my children, in many ways it is more gratifying than if they had done the same thing for me.

I am thankful to our many friends ... who remain excellent sources of practical help and wisdom.

I pondered this while we were in Knoxville on Monday, crammed into a huge auditorium waiting for Erica's name to be called ... and there was plenty of time to spare as the awarding of diplomas is pretty much last and being a dubya she was at the tail end of her section of graduates, which happened to be one of the later sections.  For a while I busied myself scanning the names of graduates listed on the program, and, finding hers and having savored the honor legend beside it, I searched for the names of other young people with whom I have had contact over the years.  There were several and I was happy for them, and I think I know exactly how their parents, scattered throughout the crowd, felt.

When the announcer finally called Erica's name, it was a sweet moment for me and TG.  I'm sure it was for Erica as well.  Four years of study distilled into a few seconds of triumph.  And then you have the diploma in its cushy cover and you grab that tassel and a few flashbulbs go off, and you're done.  Time to move on.

I taught my children to say (and write) "thank you" a lot.  And thankfully, each of them have a great deal for which they should be thankful.  Probably even with purposeful instruction in expressed gratitude, none of us utter those words enough. 

I am thankful to God for His faithfulness to my children, and His provision for them throughout their lives.  I thank Him for loving them, saving them, and keeping them.  I am thankful for all that His Son, Jesus Christ, means to them.

I am thankful to my parents and Greg's parents who, in addition to consistently praying for my children, have provided both moral and financial support.  Their extraordinary generosity is overwhelming at times, and it is very much appreciated.

I am thankful to other family members -- aunts and uncles, cousins, in-laws -- who have shown unconditional love and, in doing so, have contributed to the education and welfare of my children.

I am thankful to the visionaries who start schools and have the courage to press on and do the hard thing despite obstacles.  What they do, they do for the sake of future generations.  My children have profited greatly from this.

I am thankful to our many friends -- too many to count, apparently, for even as a few dozen names come to mind, I fear I cannot remember them all -- who have prayed for and encouraged my children throughout, and who remain excellent sources of practical help and wisdom.

I am thankful to my children's friends who have been a good example and have called them to a higher standard of conduct, and also to those who have allowed my children to influence them.

I am thankful to those who have employed and still employ my children, investing costly time in their training and development.  The opportunties they provide amount to vital stepping stones for my kids, the value of which really cannot be estimated until later, in hindsight.

On Sunday morning I was embraced by a friend of many years who has opened her home to Erica while the Boo continues to work at her job and gets her bearings regarding the immediate future.  This means so much to me; to know that your child is safe and secure in a time of transition is a great comfort.

On Monday afternoon I met the charming wife of a man who has taken Andrew under his wing, giving him not only a job but a certain degree of trust that doesn't just happen every day.  And while this lovely woman lives in a mansion of splendor and is surrounded by great wealth, she was as personable and down-to-earth as I can imagine a person being upon meeting strangers.  She said some kind things about my son that indicate genuine interest in him and his future.  This is not lost on me and I pray it will never be lost on my son. 

I am so thankful to those who, no matter what, remain positive about the human experience.  There are inevitable setbacks in life, but we should make it a habit to ignore -- or at the very least, take with a grain of salt roughly the size of a bowling ball -- the prophecies of those ubiquitous doomsayers who eternally prate about the sky's imminent collapse.  They dot the landscape like sepulchral ravens, but they are illusions!  The future is as bright as our justifiable optimism can imagine it to be.

My children and yours are proof of that.