The mentor

When I started my company nearly 15 years ago now, I was very fortunate to have a former CEO of mine mentor me. He “got” me on a very deep level and the entrepreneur in him fed the entrepreneur in me. He had a way of telling me a story or talking me through a situation and helping me find the answer for myself. He never criticized or complained about anything I was thinking or doing. He just tried to help me see everything from all the angles, which absolutely supported my analytical nature.

He has an advancing disease, with which he has struggled for years. He’s not able to serve in that capacity at all really any more, and it’s been really hard and sad to watch him go through all of this. My family was very fortunate to have been adopted by he and his wife when we lost all four of our parents in less than two years. They gave my children grandparents again, and they have been been the source of incredible strength, support, and love for all of us.

His wife was cleaning out some of his older paperwork a couple of weeks ago and ran across a letter I had written him in 2012, about two years after starting the company. That first year I made a point of journaling every day, thinking that journal would surely provide some insight to me as we moved on into year two and beyond. I journaled even on the days I didn’t want to or didn’t think I had anything to say, and I think those days might have been some of the most important. Owning a developing business is hard. It is so hard on so many levels that you just cannot anticipate when you have your big idea. The letter I had written him referenced a little ritual I go through each year in re-reading that journal and the takeaways I received in that first year. The big thing I noticed is how much I mentioned him, his support, his guidance, and his love. I wrote him the letter so he would know what he meant to me and my little fledgling company. We had worked together before and I reminded him of what he had meant to so many of our employees at that company. He never hesitated to take time to help an employee with a problem or listen to a suggestion. He saw the employees who were engaged and wanted to be involved, and he helped involve them. As I was finishing my degree, he would facilitate me working with people in the company who did whatever I was studying and what a difference it made. When I was taking business law, he arranged for me to be able to have access to and see how we were going through a couple of legal processes. He understood that I’m very much a visual and action-oriented person. He had an innate understanding of the people around him, and I was the lucky beneficiary of that in my mentor and my friend as I started my own business.

I had forgotten about the letter. Honestly I haven’t even read the journal the past few years. We had Christmas dinner with them and she brought the letter out and he and I re-read it, each in turn. Both of us, I think, moved by our experience together. I’m so grateful that I thought enough to put that in writing at the time and send it to him.

I’ve been fortunate to have a number of people in my life who have contributed in one way or another to how I conduct business in either the things I do or the things I avoid. I’m so blessed to be sitting here, after nearly 15 years, staring at another year with hope and wonder, which I’ve not felt the past several years. I hope everyone has a mentor in life who means as much to you as mine has to me. I hope to be that person for someone else some day.

I’m back. . .

How has it been almost five years? I’m embarrassed to say that I haven’t even really opened this blog in the past several years. I re-read my last couple of posts this morning and they were all about COVID and surviving. It’s scary to say, but that’s pretty much what I’ve spent the past four years doing.

Just about the time we thought we were over the worst of the COVID-related issues, the largest clearinghouse/payer in the country was hit with a massive “security incident” (data breach) which brought almost everything we did to a screeching halt again.

I own a medical billing company. We’re the ones who get the claims filed, follow up with the carriers, argue incessantly about why something wasn’t done correctly, and hopefully ultimately are able to accomplish a payment for the healthcare provider (doctor, nurse, chiropractor, PT, etc.). We handle a variety of specialties, each of which has its own unique set of circumstances. This carrier won’t pay these two codes together, and an endless set of appeals and arguing occurs. That carrier thinks the first level of appeal is simply sending the claim back and seeing if it processes differently this time (that is NOT how appeals work). The next carrier says our provider is in network on the credentialing/contracting side, but the claims department cannot see him as in network, and the two departments refuse to communicate with each other. You get the idea.

The scary part is that this has not only gotten worse since the pandemic, but the apathy of the employees of these companies is at an all new level. They simply want to process your call and get you off the phone. They don’t care if they solve your problem or not. They don’t care if you’re happy or not. And ultimately (and this is the part that really hurts me), they don’t care if the patient got what they needed or not, owes money they shouldn’t owe or not, or if the provider is getting paid or not. In the end, those of us in healthcare are supposed to be taking care of patients–whatever our role is.

When I was younger and worked for a larger healthcare plan here in the state, that was our primary goal. We were young and idealistic. We were committed to doing right by the patient AND the provider. Sometimes that meant we delivered the uncomfortable company line, sometimes that meant we fought internally for what we believed in. Oh, how I miss those days.

I don’t really believe in resolutions. I’m really a goal-setter. I guess it’s really the same thing, but I think having a goal puts more mindset behind it than just the “I’m going to eat healthier this year” kind of objective. I have missed writing. I have missed photography. I have missed traveling. I have missed spending time with my friends and family. I had just become mostly an empty-nester when the pandemic hit. We had only just gotten used to the idea of meeting friends after work and having dinner or going to a movie, knowing that we no longer had school activities and homework to hold us back. During the pandemic and the lockdown that ensued, we lost that drive to do that. I’m looking to make a big comeback in 2025 and get back to all the things I love, stop working so much, and put people in my life who make a difference for me.

Wishing you a happy and prosperous New Year and hoping that you are able to either rediscover yourself or develop into the person you want to be this year. I won’t dare say “2025 will be your year.” 2020 taught me that. But I will say that I think we all have some big opportunities on the horizon if we can position ourselves to take them.

Well You Might Find. . . You Get What You Need

As a business owner, I spend a lot of time trying to make things happen: get a new client, resolve an issue, implement a more efficient process, etc.    The past few months have been especially complicated as we have been reworking our compliance plan, looking for a new office space (our lease is up where we are soon), working on business process improvements through a class I’m attending, implementing a new system to make billing for our larger clients more efficient.

We started working on the move about 10 months ago.  I wanted us to take our time, work through each building we found and locate the perfect space.  We thought we had landed that and in November 2018 we found a building for sale for a song.  We had never thought of purchasing before, but started working on a deal with the owner.  The building had good bones and lots of potential.  After three months or so of back and forth, and him eventually wanting twice what the building was worth (recognizing that we would be helping him “improve” it), we had to walk away from the deal and resume our search.  We went through three or four more buildings and found another one that we got really excited about.  It was exactly where we wanted to be in town, and had all the amenities we could ever want.  We couldn’t get to the finish line on that one either.  The next building we found sold in the middle of our conversations and the broker was not allowed to complete any of his pending lease arrangements because the new owners had other plans for the building.

So, on and on we went through a few buildings like this for nine months or so.  We would get to the point of bringing our contractors in to give us quotes and something would fall apart.   I dug out the information of a broker who had reached out to me months before and I gave him my list of requirements.  I also brought up a building close to us that I had asked to see a couple of times and no one ever get us in.  He got to the work and had me an appointment that day for that building, and we found a suite in there which met 90% of our requirements.

As our leadership staff toured the building, we found it was almost perfect.  The people who were in the space had previously owned the building and had sold it to this new company only a few months before (which is why we hadn’t been able to see it previously).   They told the new owner they would be leaving at the end of their lease, but that if he had the opportunity to lease their space earlier, they would leave.  There were very few things we were going to have to ask them to fix or change, and there was even space to add a generator, which made my IT Manager especially happy.  They were even going to modify the air for us so that our IT room would have a dedicated unit (one of our harder to achieve asks in previous buildings).    We had agreed on everything, and I was just waiting on the building owner to execute the lease.  I waited several days and talked to my broker, who assured me that he had just spoken to the building owner’s broker and he had just been out of town, but we would have a signed lease by the end of the week.  I was told not to worry–we were at the end and everything looked good.

Then, on a Friday afternoon we found that the current tenants wanted to stay.  I was heartbroken.  We had started this search so early, trying to make sure we had plenty of time and were very carefully considering each location and making sure we were in the right place.  What were we going to do now?  They talked us into looking at a place we had previously seen.  It was MUCH larger than we needed, and we weren’t sure at all about taking another look at it.  They sent us with a building planner who walked around with us, listened to our conversation about what we needed, what we liked, and what we wanted to see.  She had incredible ideas and would interject with questions or clarifications and give us ideas and inspiration about things we couldn’t even comprehend.  She went back and drew up a wonderful floor plan.  She built us the breakroom we had always wanted, built a dedicated server room, opened up some spaced and built other offices.  At the end we agreed on the floor plan and the work was authorized.  It took about seven weeks to complete, and the first week of January we moved into our new space.

Finding a new office space is not for the faint of heart, I can tell you.  Dealing with all the contractors, picking everything, hoping it all works, dealing with all the issues which arise all while maintaining your sanity make you marvel at your own capabilities.

I still sit there today, in awe of what we accomplished.  Is it perfect?  No, but it’s perfect for us.  We’ve got room to grow and room to do other things until we grow.  We’ve got nice amenities for our employees, and we’ve got privacy and a welcoming environment for our clients and employees.  At the end, I couldn’t be happier.

Pandemic and Life

It is now May 2.  As usual for Arkansas, spring has skipped us completely and we’re moving right on into summer.  Just eight short weeks ago, it was still cold outside (mostly), and there was a lot of talk about this Corona Virus, COVID-19, the pandemic, and the other various names blamed for this very bizarre new time in which we live.

It’s taken me a while to feel like I could articulate any of this and put it into any kind of a coherent story.  I’ve struggled with my own emotions:  some days feeling like a rock star and some days feeling like a complete failure.

I work in healthcare.  I’m not a medical professional, as such, but we provide guidance and assistance to many healthcare professionals.  I own a billing company, and by making certain my clients are successful we are successful ourselves.  This might mean that we are billing and following up on claims, but it might also mean that we’re providing IT support, management guidance, clerical assistance, or a variety of other functions.

In the first week of March, I was attending a seminar in northwest Arkansas.  I had no idea how my life was about to change.  Those of us manning booths at the conference were discussing how schools were closing and going to AMI, businesses had pulled out of the conference at the last minute, and we all wondered what exactly that all meant.

That next week, it all changed.  Things closed.  “Non-essential employees” were sent home to work as much as possible.  My son was suddenly doing all his schoolwork online through AMI, and restaurants and stores began closing.  The craziest thing was that the first couple of days before everyone was home all the time, toilet paper was absolutely impossible to find.    As my older son and I drove home at the conclusion of the conference, we discussed that we needed to stop by the grocery store and pick up a few things–not because of the situation, but because it was time to buy groceries anyway.  When we arrived back in Little Rock, we ran by Kroger, and both of us wandered the aisles in disbelief, as we watched people absolutely filling their carts with all kinds of things.  The meat cases were essentially empty.  There was no toilet paper, no napkins, no paper towel.  There was no milk, no eggs, very little alcohol, almost no cheese.   The lines at the checkout were incredible.  It was crazy!

That next week, our leadership team sat down and discussed how to help our clinics stay afloat.  We reached out to the carriers, validated their telehealth information, we provided information to the clinics, and tried to personalize it as much as possible. We modified our website to have a COVID-19 page and updated that information daily.  We updated Facebook and sent e-mails to clients every day with the changes.  The carriers were changing things daily, following the lead from the White House and Medicare.  We would just get something nailed down and it would change again.

I subscribed to every webinar, phone conference, or zoom meeting I could find in regard to what was going on.  How to help my clinics stay on top of things, how the EIDL (Economic Injury Disaster Loan) was going to work, later how the PPP (Paycheck Protection Program) would work, and various other programs available.  So week two, I was feeling a little more lost, frustrated for myself and my clients, and concerned that no one really knew exactly what was going on.

By the third week, it became apparent we needed to lay off most of our staff.  Several of our clients had voiced concern that they wouldn’t be able to pay us.  At least two of our clinics (including two of our largest) were closing or nearly closing.  I had just told them the week previously that we were doing everything we could and we didn’t know what the future would hold, but we were going to do everything we could.  Now I stood in front of them, teary-eyed and honestly scared, and told them that I knew enough of our clients were struggling that we wouldn’t be able to keep paying everyone.  I suggested they go immediately and file for unemployment.  It broke my heart, but I’m glad I did it when I did.  I wouldn’t know until the next week, but so many people were laid off from so many places that the new claims essentially “broke” the unemployment system in our state.  My employees were able to get on unemployment before that happened.  Additionally, the government authorized an additional payment for April, May, June, and July, giving them another $600 a week, which meant that they were making more on unemployment than I was paying them anyway in most cases.

The plan was that we would get the EIDL and PPP fairly quickly (as everyone promised help was coming and coming quickly), and this would just be for a week or two.  It took us just over a month to be able to get any kind of assistance, and by then we had revamped many of our internal processes trying to keep things afloat.   The week we finally started receiving some assistance started out as one of the worst weeks I’ve experienced.  I’d listened to all the calls.  I’d been engaged with my local chamber, the state chamber, my representative’s office, several community leaders, and several industry leaders in finance and healthcare.  I’d read for hours each day to try to sort out details and figure out what to do.  I had spent sometimes more than half of my day on either a phone call or a zoom meeting trying to follow along.  Countless hours on Facebook in industry groups asking for and giving guidance in an exchange of information unprecedented in a week’s time.   We had been promised updates and timelines and nothing was coming.  I had spent a very frustrating morning on the phone, checking on the status of all applications, and finally decided I had done everything I could possibly do.  I needed to face the fact that there might literally be NO help coming for me, and all I could do was hold on.  We had been in some really tight spots before, but nothing quite like this.  I was so depressed that afternoon.  To top it off, my older son was leaving in the morning for Basic Training.  I wanted to spend that last afternoon with him, and I did, but I was emotionally exhausted by the end end of the day.

By Wednesday of that week, we finally started receiving some funding and were able to make payroll, pay rent, and keep things moving forward.  By the end of the week, I felt better.  It took me another nearly two weeks to be able to understand how completely exhausted I was: emotionally, financially, and physically.  I hadn’t been sleeping.  I had eaten just about everything I could put my hands on in an attempt to gain control over my emotions.  I had days where I could focus and be in complete control and other days when I didn’t want to get out of bed.   Honestly, I still have days like that.

We have continued going to our office, and it has made a big difference for me to be able to stay in my routine, but it’s also been really hard watching other small business owners struggle (and some fail), and realize that we’ve been so lucky regardless of how little we’ve accomplished.

So, at the end of the day, we’re not the business we were two short months ago.  We don’t have the same staff, we’re not doing exactly the same work,  and we’re certainly not the same people.  We’ll hopefully look back in six months and be back to “normal” and our appreciation of all things normal.  We’ll be thankful for the time we have with family and friends.  We’ll appreciate our employees and our bosses and leaders.  At least we can hope.

The Jewelry Box

My parents have been gone a little while now.  Mom passed June 29, 2017 and Daddy November 8, 2017.  I’ve made at least three passes through the house now, gradually integrating their things into mine or finally parting with things I didn’t have the heart to lose two years ago.   It’s kind of comical, really, when I look at the things I held onto.  I’m grateful for every piece, but sometimes I have to wonder what in the world I was thinking.

I kept one of Daddy’s lighters.  None of us smoke.  I didn’t like that he and Mom smoked, but I love that lighter.  I have his wallet.  Every few months I pull it out, open it, and smell the smell that I always associated with Daddy giving me cash.  It smells of  leather and sweat and money and a bizarre combination of so many things I can’t possibly explain.  It just reminds me of him.

With all the chaos of late: getting Lucas moved into college and starting back to school with Brennan and the class I’m taking, and Louis getting started with his next group of Webelos moving to Boy Scouts, we haven’t done much around the house.  We decided today was going to be about getting things back in order, and doing little projects we’d meant to but never handled.

I put everything on our bed that I meant to deal with today.  One of those was Mom’s jewelry box.  I wanted to keep it and use it, but I haven’t taken the time to move any of my jewelry around or to really go through hers.  I’m grateful that my older sister insisted that I take some of her jewelry–I wasn’t really interested in any of it originally.  We have dramatically different “styles” (if you can call what little bit of jewelry I wear a style), and I have boys, so I didn’t see the point.  We went through Mom’s things that November afternoon, and separated the things into piles for each of us girls.  I have two rings that we had bought her at different points with her name engraved on them.  I have three sets of pearls, one of her cameos, and another necklace, with a sort of turquoise stone.  A dainty little pearl ring, and three watches (that’s actually where I was totally her daughter–I love watches).

My husband’s father passed away in June of this year, and we’ve gradually wound into the collection the things of his and my mother-in-law which he still had.   We have one of his lighters too, although he hadn’t smoked in years.  Lucas has his Order of the Arrow tie pin, and I found another tie pin in my jewelry box for Brennan.  We’ve tried really hard to make sure the boys each received several things from each grandparent, and I’ve already started setting aside special pieces of jewelry for the boys from me and their dad.

My mom was never the sentimental person.  The few things she kept and valued shed a lot of light on what she valued the most.  She kept a pin I gave her years ago, that I never saw her actually wear.  She kept the rings and necklaces we had given her over the years.  There were entire file folders of every card the boys ever gave them or picture they ever drew for them.  She kept all of Daddy’s military paperwork, which was an interesting read for me.  I learned a lot about the awards and recognition my Daddy earned, both in the military and in his professional life as a truck drive (when he wasn’t farming).  He was so humble, he never bragged about those things.  I didn’t even know he had done most of them.

I didn’t quite know what I was doing, those few last weekends on the farm.  I took almost anything that wasn’t nailed down, and I’m glad I had the presence of mind to grab two smaller jewelry boxes Mom had.  The boys each have one, and they place their grandparents’ treasures in them.  I’ve offered to get them each larger, more ornate boxes that they can use and just put these older boxes inside.  Alas, no.  They want that piece of their family’s history, and that makes me proud.

So now I have emptied the jewelry box, and separated out items for both the boys.  I’m ready to put my own jewelry mixed in with Mom’s, and let the box resume its place on my dresser where I can see it every day.  I’ve shared the pictures I found with my sisters, and we’ve had a good time talking about who was in each one, and where they came from.  I was dreading the process, really.  I get so upset when I go through those things, but I’ve come to realize that this catharsis comes in waves and it’s good for my soul to have done it a little at a time.  I handle it a little better each time, and we’re able to talk about the pieces and the memories.

My favorite piece, and the one with the best story I think, is the piece that sat on Mom’s dresser pretty much my entire life.  It’s dark wood, with a pretty inlay on the top, and had what a handle on each side.  I always thought it was a stationery set and the handles were letter openers, and when I asked my sisters if I could have it, I had imagined putting it on my desk at work.  What a cool conversation piece, and a great addition to my desk.  I take it home and set about cleaning it (everything was covered in tar from years of Mom and Daddy smoking in the house), and as each layer came off, I could more easily operate the locks with each handle.  When I pulled out the handles I found it wasn’t a stationery set at all, and those absolutely weren’t letter openers.  It was a carving set!  One side was a carving fork and the other was a small knife!  My husband and I roared when we pulled that apart and figured out what it was.   So, now it lives in my dining room on my china cabinet, and it’s a great conversation piece.

 

And now he’s grown

He’s 18.  He’s finished his first official college class.  He’s been driving the 30 minutes to school for the past six weeks and started his on-campus job a week or so ago.  We have the garage full of things for him to move into the dorm tomorrow and begin college classes in earnest.

In my mind, he should still be six years old.  Despite the days I thought would never end, fighting about grades and classes, all the Boy Scout campouts and Eagle Project prep and fundraising and all the other things we’ve done that I thought would never end.  Despite all those things and all the long days and nights, I still can’t believe that we’re here.  I can’t believe that he is driving, and runs errands for us, and all the freedom that he’s had the past year and that we’ve grown accustomed to him having (and doing things for us).  I really can’t believe that we’re going to drive him to Conway tomorrow, take him for lunch, and then leave him in a dorm until Christmas.

Lucas has also made the decision to join the Air National Guard.  I’m very proud of his decision to serve.  As a veteran myself, it makes me especially proud.  Both his grandfathers served, and I know they’re both looking down upon him with pride right now.    I’m proud of all of that, but it’s also one more reminder that when all those people told me 18 years ago to cherish every moment because it would go so quickly, they were more right than I could ever have imagined.

I was 30 when Lucas was born.  I was 32 when his brother was born.  I don’t feel 48.  I don’t feel like I have a kid who is grown and one who is nearly grown.  I hope I’ve taught them the lessons they’ll need.  I hope that we’ve raised good people with good hearts.  I hope that they will still think we’re cool and worth their time and attention in five years, 10 years, 20 years.  I hope that they’ll still be as close to us as I was to my parents.

I stood in the garage this morning, looking at all the things we have ready to load and haul to his dorm.  I can’t believe it.  I caught myself looking around his room the other night and thinking about how it doesn’t look like a kid’s room anymore, despite the wall paper border with cars and trucks, and the baseball-themed ceiling fan.  We’ve changed his furniture out and he enjoys having a more mature space.  I guess I hoped it would help with my transition.  Really, I was okay, until this weekend got here.

His boss gave him today off, so he could enjoy the day with his family before he moves to school tomorrow.  We have plans to do fun things with him all day long and end with a dinner of his choice.   I’m thankful he didn’t pick the college across the country he was talking about when he was a high school sophomore.  I’m thankful he’ll only be 30 minutes away.  I’m thankful that he’s taken to texting me funny things throughout the day, and we’ve gotten even closer the past 60 days or so.  I’m thankful he’s mine.

Yes, he’s grown.  But he’s also still got so much more growing to do.  He’ll hopefully still need his parents and the things we’ve taught him over his life.

I look at him and imagine all the things he will be experiencing over this next year.  I imagine that he’s going to call me when he’s had a good (or a bad) day.  I imagine that he’s going to keep me involved in all the monumental moments in his life.  I truly hope he does.  I hope that I have wisdom and inspiration to give him.

Winding down the clock

Today would have been the 49th wedding anniversary of my parents.  I keep thinking every time I get past another “first” everything will be easier.  Daddy will be gone a year next month.  Mom was gone a year in June.  Things are easier than they were a year ago, but those big days still hit me hard.

My dad was in the middle of selling the farm when he passed away; so we already knew the ol’ place would have a new family before long.  We spend the 40 days or so after he passed cleaning out the house, settling bills and closing accounts, etc.,  That very last day we loaded up the last few items (who am I kidding?  We still have two vehicles pretty completely full!), and I went through the house, taking pictures and grabbing the last few little things.  My husband was an angel, and never argued or tried to reason with me–he just obligingly carried anything I gave him and found place for it in one vehicle or the other.

Some of those items didn’t make much sense, and I knew it in the moment, but I just couldn’t bear to part with them.  I took the set of dishes my mom always used when we were kids.  I took 5 or 6 lamps. I was so glad I did, because one of my sisters was telling me she wished she had grabbed one of the sets, and I very proudly took her to the garage and presented her the lamps.  It’s funny what you hold on to, and what represents images from your childhood.

The very last thing I grabbed was the clock that was in the hallway.  It had long since stopped chiming on the quarter hour, as it had when it was new.  It only chimed on the hour now.  It was dusty and tar-covered from years of being in a smoker’s house.  I was scared to clean it too much and risk the wood cracking.  I just dusted it and wiped it lightly and hung it on the wall.  After a couple of adjustments to the pendulum, it was ticking lightly and appeared to be keeping time.

I had set it 5 minutes fast without realizing it, and the next several mornings I awoke each day just in time to hear the gentle chime of the hour.  It still wouldn’t chime on the quarter hours, but that hourly chime comforted my soul.  It made me feel as though I might still be sitting in the dining room, chatting with my parents, or running in the door with groceries from town.  It was a comfort I needed way more than I realized in the moment.  When the time changed, one of the boys re-set the clock and set it on the correct time, and I had to go back and move it so it was fast again–I missed hearing it chime ahead of the alarm clock each day.  And the clock ticked on and on.

Yesterday evening, as we arrived home, I found the clock was stuck on 3:50.  The hands weren’t really moving anymore, and the ticking had become more labored somehow.  We discussed the old clock, and how it was probably just its time.  I know it’s just a clock, but for me it’s also a symbol of time passing, aging, and plugging along even when you’re old and tired.  It’s a symbol of my parents and the work they put in on the farm, and the work ethic we learned working it with them.  But everything has its time, and maybe it’s time to let the old clock go.

Louis is convinced he can fix it.  On one hand, that’s silly.  I promise you that clock didn’t cost $30 when it was purchased 20 years ago.  Still, though, I’m going to let him try.  He thinks maybe he can even restore the chime on the quarter hours.  And if not, I’ll let it go.

 

 

The Dream

As I was waking, I was desperately trying to hold onto the quickly fading dream.   It had seemed so real, although my logical mind was arguing with me as I was dreaming that what I was seeing was not possible.  As I woke up and thought about the date, I realized why my subconcious mind chose to share with me what it did.

The dream was that my mom was really sick (which she had been the past couple of years of her life), and went into the hospital.  She quickly ended up in ICU, and we argued frequently about her care.  She was resistant to believing what anyone was telling her, and was trying to make light of the whole thing.  That was very similar to my experience two years before she passed away, when she was in the hospital, and subsequently in rehab in Little Rock following a near-death situation.

Throughout my dream she was still confined to the hospital, but was herself as I remember her 30-40 years ago.  She was even wearing outfits I remember her in when I was a kid.  She was cleaning, and organizing things and taking care of things as if she wasn’t sick at all.  I kept arguing with her that she needed to take it easy in the hospital and continue to get well, and the hospitalization was obviously doing her good as she had more energy and was acting like her old self.

When I was a child, The Waltons was one of our family’s favorite shows.  In my dream, I had been enlisted to help John Boy get his paper operation up and running, and he had a huge warehouse with large printing presses and needed help getting them delivered because of a group of wildfires in the area.  I know.  Makes no sense, except that I was torn about leaving the hospital and ensuring Mom’s care continued and she continued to get better.  As I discussed it with her and told her I would be back as soon as I could, she told me that she was fine and I needed to remember that, no matter what happened.  Even if she wasn’t going to be with me anymore, I needed to know that she was fine and accomplishing my task was the thing I needed to focus on.  It would all be okay, no matter what.

I went on to help John Boy deliver his papers, along with a guy in an old GMC pickup similar to one we had growing up, and we met a wall of forest fire and grouped up with a bunch of neighbors trying to battle it.  We stood there, side by side, and ready for the fire to advance, and found ourselves with the realization that the fire wasn’t moving at all.  It was simply raging in place.  We discussed what a bizarre situation that was and I recalled Mom’s words about her being fine and everything being fine. I knew it in my heart then:  she was gone.

I don’t remember anything else about the dream, except the realization that it was a dream, and that today marks one year since that fateful call from Daddy telling me she couldn’t breathe and he didn’t know what to do beyond calling 911.  As I drove to Ft. Smith that night and we talked back and forth with him about how they had to go to Waldron instead of Ft. Smith first, I warned my younger sister that this was indicative of what bad shape she was in.  I didn’t want to scare her, but I had a terrible feeling that this was going to be the end.  My sisters and I had talked a couple of times about how badly her health had been going that year, and that she would likely not see Christmas.  I had made that remark a mere 10 days or so earlier—I had never imagined it was going to happen that fast.

Daddy has appeared to me several times in my dreams since his death in November. The first couple were very short and a little disconcerting, but I grew to appreciate these brief appearances, and it kept me connected to him.  Other than the week after her death, I have not seen Mom in a dream at all.  I’ve wondered why that was, and resolved that to my closer relationship with Daddy.

As I was waking, Mom’s words echoed in my mind. “I’m okay.  I’ll be okay.  You need to focus on your task and know it will all be okay.”  I’m smart enough to know that the subconscious mind helps you deal with things sometimes through imagery you’ll understand to work out problems, etc.,    I think that, coinciding with the anniversary of Mom’s last day, probably really made a big deal out of some challenges I’m facing.  Regardless the reason, I’m grateful for the images of a much younger, healthier Mom.  I’m grateful for the memories of someone who was busy and full of life, and willing to work hard.  I’m especially grateful for the message, and for the encouragement.

By the way, in case you’re interested, dreaming of fire means that either you have unchecked, uncontrolled anger you need to get in line, or that you’re facing a reformation in your life which can only be achieved through some difficult changes. In Chinese lore, dreaming about fire either symbolizes passion, desire and wealth or frustration, worry, and anger.

It’s going to be a sad couple of days. I know that. I’m grateful that my brain saw fit to help me begin that acknowledgement with something more positive and encouraging. I’m grateful for all the years I had my mom, and my dad, and the encouragement they gave me when I left a very good job to pursue my business and build a dream. I have so much for which to be grateful.

Sint Maarten/St. Martin

I promised the lady hosting our tour I wouldn’t share any of the pictures from this beautiful island, and I won’t, but I still think what we saw is worth talking about.  we were blessed to visit this amazing little island on our recent cruise.  It’s half Dutch, half French, following years of fighting back and forth and a final resolution which means the island is now shared.  Shared, but with two distinctive personalities.  The Dutch side is pretty much on its own.  With its industry based primarily in tourism, you find casinos, the cruise port, and a variety of tourism-supported activities to bring in money.

As we made our way on our tour of the island, the guide explained the history which led to the development of the island:  large salt lagoons on the cruise port side known as Great Bay, and former plantation land we passed.  We were only about a mile away from the port when we began to see the real devastation.

I admit, geography isn’t really my thing and unless I’ve visited somewhere I don’t always have a good perspective of where it is.  I had no idea of the devastation the island had undergone, and as we started driving through the areas and saw buildings completely obliterated, or walls standing with make-shift roofs, cars demolished in fields, and countless other signs of significant damage.

I didn’t realize (and I’m ashamed to say) that this poor island was nearly demolished by Hurrican Irma.  Within just a few weeks, Jose and Maria unleashed their fury on the already weakened island.    Just as in Puerto Rico, the official death toll was figured in a way that did not accurately reflect what really happened.  The number of ships in the lagoon alone was staggering, and recovery/cleanup efforts are still underway.   Many places of business were simply wiped off the map, lives lost, and the landscape of the island changed.

Now, I tell you that to tell you this:  we had a lovely time on this island.  It was beautiful, and the people were incredible.  Living where we do in Arkansas, we see devastation each and every year somewhere thanks to tornadoes.  We are always proud of how our state pulls together to help one another and recover and rebuild.  We had remarked that we were seeing the same going on in Puerto Rico, and that it was so energizing to see that people were digging in and making the best of things.  In this small island, I saw that same attitude of renewal and appreciation for life on such a larger scale.  Lucas and I wandered through some shopping booths on part of our tour and the first man we met had the biggest smile on his face and the most amazing attitude.  One of the ladies with us remarked that he surely seemed happy and he said that he had been through so much, that he had learned to appreciate each day as its own special gift.

I’ve always tried to be a positive person and to generally look on the bright side, but this young man’s perseverance and his perspective on rebuilding his life was nothing short of motivational and uplifting.  He had NOTHING negative to say, despite the fact that I know the island government hasn’t been especially helpful through their rebuilding efforts.  Most people lost, quite literally, everything.  They came together in groups and tried to help one another stand up and rebuild, one at a time.  Our tour guide probably summed that up best–the people who stayed wanted to build a better life and they understood that they could wallow, or they could get busy doing something about it.

I hope you get the opportunity one day to visit this island, or at least some of the islands in the Caribbean.  It’s truly remarkable to meet these people personally and see how much they get out of life.  It reminds me that we can surely get carried away with ourselves sometimes.  It also makes me appreciate that my “catastrophes” or generally just minor bumps in the road compared to what some of these people have gone through.  Please travel and see some of these spectacular places.

 

People Watching

I’ve been blessed to travel around a decent amount of the world, and I’m hopefully nowhere near finished.   I’ve been all over the US, through parts of Europe, through most of the Caribbean, and to parts of Alaska.  I love to sit and people-watch.  It’s entertaining and revealing, and sometimes self-affirming.

We were in St. Lucia yesterday, and were discussing with our tour guide the differences in the parts of the world,   The Islands, for example, move at a much slower pace.  Some of that is that they have to wait on things to be shipped (they showed us a house which took over 3 years to build and the guy still isn’t moved in yet), for example, but some of it is just purely that they don’t get worked up about things like we Americans do.  We were explaining to her that Southerners move at a slower pace than Northerners, etc.,  Parts of the world take time off in the afternoon. Americans tend to be workaholics (I know I’m in that category—something I’m trying to teach myself to relax about).

Watching people in the casino is one of my favorite activities.  There are as many types of gamblers as you can imagine.  The ones who timidly will only ever bet the minimum—they want to hold onto that money and make it go just as far as it will; as opposed to the ones who are always “all in” and bet the maximum on everything.  They run out of money the fastest or they win the biggest jackpots.

There are the people who only play the card games (poker, blackjack, etc.,) because they think they are more “in control” than on the slots.  There are people who will only play the slots because they’re afraid of the table games.  We saw a lady on our last cruise who played roulette.  She had NO idea what she was doing, but she was winning, and she would squeal and jump up and down.  I had so much fun watching her and sharing in her excitement.  I sat next to a lady last night who was punching the button on her machine furiously—as if she was in her own personal slot tournament and the goal was to get absolutely as much accomplished as possible.  It drove me nuts, until I glanced over and realized she had twice as many points accumulated as I have, so maybe she’s onto something and I could learn from her.

I’m more the fluctuating gambler.  I don’t bet the lowest, but I usually won’t bet the highest either unless I’m feeling good about a machine or it starts paying out.  I was awarded $100 in casino cash on this cruise, so I put that in a machine that looked fund and played $6 bets (I usually won’t go that high) and was rewarded with nearly $500.

The machines are as different as the people are—some of boring and just have one line and nothing much else going on.  Others you can play up to 100 lines and get free games and the machine will go off and chime and do fun things and it’s just like a big party.  I love those machines.  I love it when it does something fun and I get to watch it chime and interact.  You feel the anticipation of what it’s going to do next and you get all excited watching it.

I don’t have to win a lot—I just need to win enough to get to play for a while.  I’m usually lucky enough to accomplish that, and that makes me happy.  My friend the furious button pusher, though, she was rather irritated that the machine wasn’t rewarding her the way she thought it should.   The guys at the craps table last night were all cheering each other on and you could tell things were going well.  It’s fun to be in the casino when there is a lot of excitement like that.  My husband, who almost never gambles, even dropped in $20 and worked his way up to over $100 before we called it a night.  Our original objective was just to play long enough to get a drink (I had earned free drinks in the casino), but an hour later we were both up $100 and having a ball.

This morning as I sit on the deck near the coffee bar, I’m watching all the early morning risers come to get their fix.  I’m a hot chocolate girl, but I appreciate the need for caffeine.  I decided to treat myself today, and I’m amused as the people up and about already.  There are the ones on their way back from their workout, tennis shoes and sweat and already impatient that the coffee bar is a little busy this morning:  they’ve obviously got things to do.  There is the guy who you can tell was sent on an errand from his wife, as he carefully explains to the young girl behind the counter how much cream to put in the coffee and what roast to use.  There’s the guy who isn’t talking to anyone—he just gives his order and steps back—you can tell he’s not in “awake” mode yet.  And then me.  They all look at me half crazily when I order my hot chocolate and retreat to my ipad to blog and surf Facebook.  That’s okay—it takes all types to run the world.

The one constant I seem to see?  Moms.  We moms seem to act pretty much the same no matter what part of the world we’re in, or what speed we operate.  We shoot our kids the same dirty looks to get them in line, or mutter through gritted teeth when we’re getting frustrated.  We tend to have the whole family organized (my family is quite accustomed to the passport handover they have to do with me so I keep everything together), and they’re the ones who always know what “we’re doing next.”  I think it’s one of those genetic things that has been passed down through the ages in different capacities.

As I sit here staring out the window I’m amused by the guy who is obviously late for work, running down the dock.  I guess that’s another constant I suppose.  Some of us are perpetually early and some can’t ever be where they’re going on time or have to procrastinate on everything they do.  Again, I guess it takes all types.

I wonder what I’ll see today?  Happy people watching!