Tag: life

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How I Learned to Drive

This month, I’m writing posts from prompts in the Writing Down the Bones Card Deck by Natalie Goldberg, shared with me by my friend Barb Edler of Iowa. Today’s post inspires us to write about how we learned to drive.

In a Volkswagen

I learned how to drive in a

red Squareback stick shift

I still remember those days vividly – especially the day I pulled out in front of a car coming around a curve to make a left-hand turn at the last minute, thinking I had time. I don’t know how I avoided a collision, but I am convinced it was the other driver’s reaction time that kept us from wrecking. My mother was on the passenger side, and I remember the look of sheer fear on her face. She screamed, and the other driver laid on the horn.

This is what comes to mind when I think of the patience of my mother. She didn’t take my license away or put me on restriction – she quietly reminded me of the consequences of decisions that are made too quickly without enough forethought. Unintended consequences often have impacts on others that can’t always be undone.

Some lessons are never forgotten, and some words come rippling back right through the years.

Last night at our County Commissioners’ meeting, in a count of 4 to 1, our Commissioners did something no other Board has ever done in Georgia history. In a “hold my beer” move by one Commissioner who confused courage with a lack of sense, he made a motion to reject the school board’s millage rate proposal. The consequences for this are now that our county Tax Commissioner will not be able to collect taxes until the millage rate is submitted. The deadline is September 1. Today is August 27. I fear for the ripple effect that may close our library doors or other county departments; this impacts far more people than school leaders who are charged with making the best decisions for their schools and taxpayers worried about pennies on the dollar in their own pockets.

The one vote against this act of senselessness was my husband, I’m proud to say. As one who rarely comments or gets involved in politics on any level, I applaud his standing up for what is right in the face of overwhelming opposition. He voted for what was right.

It’s comforting to know that there are drivers who, unlike me in my learning days, do not put others in jeopardy. I rest fully in the confidence of his ability to lead and to drive. I pray for the ones who do not know what they do not know and do not count the costs.

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Saying Goodbye

In Dad’s final days, we recorded some audio clips that will keep him close to us and help us process this consuming grief we are feeling. My brother and I spent countless hours by his side as he reluctantly shifted his weight from this world to Heaven to be with our mother again, a lot like a kid being dropped off for summer camp who wants to go but keeps coming back for one more reassuring hug before being able to go pick a bunk. His words here are powerful reminders to do things while we still can.

There are lessons on this side in the moment of hearing Dad’s recorded words spoken, but there are the realities of this on the other side, once a person has left this world, in seeing so many things that did not get finished. We see it in the unfinished projects, the bookmarks, the tasks, the notes, and the paperwork. My brother stood in the shed last weekend and held up an ornate wooden spindle: for the stair rail we were going to refinish back in the 1980s, he explained. It struck me in a visual way when I walked in his kitchen and saw the Lazy Susan still on the counter, covered in shot glasses that were filled with his medicine doses. That’s how he organized his medicines for the week. I gave it a spin and watched it whirl, then slow, then stop.

Then, I discarded each pill and stacked the glasses in the box I was packing to be donated, wondering where each would land beyond its purpose here in the grand scheme of their own lives as medicine cups before I moved on to the next counter and the cabinet after that and the shelves after that.

How quickly a life shuts down and the physical space once occupied becomes a hollow cavity. A dumpster. A donation box. An estate sale. A few memorable pieces tucked into the folds of our own homes as reminders that what matters truly are the memories – – not the stuff.

no one leaves this world

feeling like they’re finished with

all that needs doing

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End Zone Ball

In Dad’s final days, he was full of metaphors about life experiences and advice. Here, he shares what to do when we fumble the ball, after referencing the iconic high school yearbook photograph of him in the end zone, midair, arms up, eyes focused, reaching for the football.

The Plays You Fumble

you can’t catch every

pass but it doesn’t matter

the next play matters

when you drop one, you

get another chance

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The Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval

This month, I’m sharing stories I captured on audio in the final days of Dad’s life. There were funny moments, serious moments, sad moments – – all of them with levity and meaning. In today’s audio below, listen for the phrase “the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval.” Translation: someone passed every level of acceptance and had made it to the inner circle of the Haynes family. While every family has its way of declaring their acceptance of a new member of the fold, this was Dad’s – – and, of course, we as his children had to get through the tests of our own spouses’ families’ gate keeping systems, too.

At our family dinner following the graveside burial, all in attendance were invited to share stories. My husband, eyes brimming with tears as they often do when something hits deep, stood and shared the story of the day he’d “done the old-fashioned thing and asked Felix if he could marry his daughter.” He described the scene: there they were, standing at the top of the dock along the Sapelo River, Spanish Moss gently blowing in the limbs of the Live Oaks, where Briar had expected it to be just him and Felix.

Only it wasn’t.

Felix was “the easy one to get by,” he shared. Miriam……..not so much. But there he was, face to face Felix AND with Miriam and all her intuition, when Dad looked over at Mom and saw that Briar got a passing score – so Dad gave Briar his blessing with two conditions: 1) “get your arms around the kids;” and 2) “encourage Kim to finish her doctoral program.” Briar had just received the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval.

He was in! And 17 years into our marriage, Briar has done both of the things my father asked of him – the kids love him, and I finished my doctoral program, ten months after Mom died of complications from Parkinson’s Disease. Even though she wasn’t physically present to see these things happen, somehow I know she knew. She knows everything, still.

Fast forward to June 2025. In the hospital room with Felix were Ken and Jennifer and I. Somewhere between Heaven and Earth, Mom stepped from behind the veil to join Dad and deliver a message to Ken and Jennifer through Dad’s words.

Did Jennifer get the Haynes family’s Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval?

She got The Grand Slam Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval!

Listen above for

the Good Housekeeping Seal of

Approval: She’s in!

Bottom of the ninth,

bases loaded with Felix,

Miriam, and Kim,

and Ken hits a Grand

Slam homerun with his choice of

a winning soul mate!

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Telling Stories to Pass the Time and Touch the Future

Today is Slice of Life Tuesday, and we’re writing to a prompt shared by Jenna Komarin: “The only thing that makes life possible is permanent, intolerable uncertainty; not knowing what comes next.” — Ursula K. Le Guin

That quote aptly describes the past six weeks, from the time my father took a steep nosedive the last week of May after finishing chemotherapy treatments and died of complications from Pulmonary Fibrosis on Friday, June 13. Even though there was a known certainty in the dense fog of uncertainty, the glimmer of hope in the uncertainty is what kept us all going.

Throughout the month of July, I’ll be using Dad’s stories I captured in the final weeks of his life to share poems about things that were on his mind – and I’m using the actual words from recorded audio, preserving the wording the way he spun it. I’m grateful to my friend Janette Bradley for sharing the idea to record these conversations to play again whenever I need to hear his voice.

When my brother Ken and I were there with Dad as he was rapidly deteriorating, we asked him to tell stories of family and his younger days to pass the time and keep his (and our) mind off the endless waiting and dreadful reality as things kept taking turn after turn like some sputtering single-plane engine spinning wildly out of control before the crash. It took some effort through broken breaths and the din of the oxygen machine that reminded me so much of a noisy generator, but he managed to share priceless treasures full of nuggets of wisdom from a life well lived with rich descriptions of family and friends from long ago.

In one story, he spoke an unintended haiku about his mother out of thin air. He told us, “Your grandmother said, ‘we dig our graves with our teeth,’ and she was not wrong.” I counted the syllables and captured the wisdom that he was sharing with his children ~ wisdom that his grandchildren and great grandchildren will appreciate in the coming years as they continue to remember Dad. Even when – – no, especially when – – life feels so uncertain.

Media Clip: Dad Telling About His Mother’s Sayings

Dad’s Thin Air Haiku

your grandmother said

we dig our graves with our teeth

and she was not wrong

Note: My grandmother’s quote is attributed to Thomas Moffett, a physician from the 1600s, and later to Thomas Edison, who often gets credited as the originator.

Special thanks to Two Writing Teachers at Slice of Life

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Thursday the 12th: Leading up to Friday the 13th

The last person to see our father alive who knew him was Nick Doster.

My brother Ken and I had been trying to keep vigil next to Dad’s bedside so that he didn’t die alone in a room, but the hospice nurse urged us to go take showers and grab an hour or so of sleep when we’d become too exhausted. Some patients look for those moments to die alone, preferring not to have loved ones near in their final moments, she’d assured us. We knew the time was close, too, because just that afternoon Dad had begun the conversations with the others not of this world, but with whom he was having undeterminable conversations and for whom he was reaching.

Nick Doster and Dad had traveled to Wrigley Field in Chicago to see the Cubs play several years back, and shared a deep love of all things sports. So it was no surprise that when Nick showed up in the remaining hours of Dad’s life with a red Georgia Bulldogs hat, Dad found strength for an appreciative smile.

Imagine our bittersweet sadness when the call came at 4 a.m. that Dad had passed. We felt the grief of the loss and the joy of the release of all pain and suffering from this earthly realm into the Heaven he preached about all his life. Now. Imagine us walking into that Hospice room to spend time prior to the funeral home coming for the body.

Take all the time you need, the hospice nurse offered.

Imagine us opening that wide door one last time and looking at the bed, only to see a bright yellow blanket embroidered with Psalm 119:76 in black stitching on one corner covering Dad’s body – the sunshine of Heaven. And imagine a face at total peace, no wires or tubes protruding, no oxygen machine droning, the red hat still on his head against the stark white of the pillow.

My brother and I agreed – – he wears the hat to Heaven. We know it will be the perfect complement to his black doctoral robe with the velvet on the sleeves and the red piping. Above all, we know it will bring smiles to those who will come for visitation to see that Dad, ever the champion of going as far as one can go with education and cheering as strong as one can cheer for the Georgia Bulldogs, can still cause a stirring of hearts.

Imagine the grief

Imagine the laughter

Imagine the joy

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Friday the 13th For Real

This is a time of reorienting after the loss of my father on Friday, June 13. He was diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis four years ago, and with both prostate and colon cancers in the past year. He began to suffer from SVTs, a heart arrhythmia that mimics a heart attack, because of the cardiopulmonary functions working in tandem with lack of oxygen from the lungs to the heart. In other words, the lungs weakened too much to support the heart, and with the chemo cocktail on his frailty, he didn’t have anything to fight with as he reflected on his choice.

These past three weeks have been a blur, since things took a steep nose dive the Tuesday after Memorial Day. He was transported by ambulance to the hospital, on to a rehab center, back to the hospital, back to the rehab center, and back to the hospital and then a hospice facility. He never returned home, his beloved dog Kona left there to wonder what happened to him. Within hours of his first ambulance ride, one of his many dog park friends came to get Kona and will keep her as her own, assuring both Dad and us that as long as she has Kona, she will have a part of Dad; we’ve arranged for Kona to see his body at the funeral home so that she understands he did not abandon her by choice. The blanket provided by hospice covering Dad during his ride to the funeral home was not laundered at my brother’s and my request – – this will be a gift for Kona. We hope it holds Dad’s scent for her forever.

These weeks have been filled with frustration, sorrow, laughter, denial, peace, acceptance, silence, noise, unforgettable moments, and hundreds of friends and family reaching out from across the miles to get the daily update and express their condolences. His grandchildren and great grandchildren who had traveled from as far away as Nevada to say goodbye arrived in intervals on Friday, just a few hours too late – – but we know Dad left on his own terms, and we believe he did so to keep their memories of him as they knew him in healthier days. Sunday was our first Father’s Day without our patriarch.

And now, our father – pastor, friend, brother, and legend – has reunited with our mother in heaven. We celebrate them and know they are at peace, and we lay him to rest on Saturday in Christ Church Cemetery on St. Simons Island right next to her, where she has been waiting since December 2015. So many stories have been lived and shared over these past few weeks, and there will be so many more as we navigate the days ahead – – stories and events that Dad continually referred to as the serendipitous steering currents of the spirit. His service will be live streamed on St. Simons Island First Baptist Church Youtube channel at 1:00 Saturday, June 21 for any of his friends who are reading and would like to attend virtually.

serendipitous

steering currents, Dad reminds,

are of the spirit

We anticipate and welcome these moments, and we’re on the lookout for every sign and every miracle that we know will be divinely channeled our way from Heaven.

Goodbye, Dad. Until we meet again.

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Say Yes to Oui

I find inspiration in the lids of the yogurt I eat. I buy this brand not just because it’s delicious, but for the messages and the pure glass containers that will root new plant life for me to share with friends. Here is a poem inspired by Say Oui to Time Off!

Say Yes

we said yes because

what we know about us

is that we like a big window

and gray and white

and newness and matching

towels and linens

not odd assortments

and light,

plenty of light

and good music speakers

front, back, and outside

for good 70s tunes

and fifteen trips to France but

not going there

instead, staying close to home

but still away, oui?

and time off

to enjoy it

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March 29: 7:56-8:27 The Moment I Knew My Husband Had Taken to the Hot Tea Ritual

We’re the world’s biggest YouTubers.

And by YouTubers, I don’t mean the kind that make videos and upload them, exposing every detail of our lives in the process, right down to how we organize our underwear in the drawers of our camper that we sold at the beginning of the month like some adventurers do.

I mean the kind that pretty much every weekday evening are checking for the latest posts from the people we follow. So when my slicing time from 7:56-8:27 rolls around, I’m usually just finishing the Wordle and getting ready to start the latest video from Keep Your Daydream or Turner Max Adventures or Randi’s Adventures. I’ve already watched and rewatched Plant Vibrations With Devin Wallien right when I got home and finished taking the dogs out and watering plants (Devin’s recent Houseplant Tour – 125 is my current favorite, and I’ll watch that one on repeat practically).

Seriously? A favorite word and it took five tries?

We have our fixed routine about it, too, like most other old people. We come in, change into t-shirts and pajama pants, empty our lunchboxes, figure out what’s for dinner, and then one of us will start the teapot for our evening hot tea during this time of the day. We decide together what kind of tea we want, and rarely do we have two different kinds. Usually it’s green tea, but sometimes we go all out and have black tea or white tea. On nights when we really feel like getting wild, we have spiced tea.

I’m always the tea fixer, but either one of us might hit the button to start the electric kettle after we decide which kind to have. That’s important because we need to know whether to hit the button for green tea at that exact temperature, black for that temperature, or white for that temperature. It matters.

My husband empties his lunchbox in the kitchen

Honestly, I wasn’t sure when I switched us over to drinking more green tea whether my husband would buy in, but he has.

Want to know when I knew it for sure? It happened one afternoon when I’d started the evening tea ritual a little earlier than usual because I was feeling chilly. He hadn’t even emptied his lunchbox yet, and already I was stirring the honey in his tea.

I heard him mutter something about meaning to cut something back. He took his tea and disappeared through the garage door. Next thing I knew, I heard the tractor coming from the barn and looked out and saw him coming across the yard – – with his tea! On the tractor!

And that’s when I knew I had a serious tea drinker on my hands.

I laughed so hard. It brought back memories of The Art of Racing in the Rain when that French racecar driver was in a race sipping on his espresso like there was nothing to winning a race. Here was my backwoods country husband still in his work clothes, on his tractor, sipping his evening tea, and here I stood laughing from the living room window and loving him so much because this is the life partner I’ve always wanted to be surrounded by trees with. In a house on a farm on the backside of nowhere where there is so much simple life to count on and celebrate at the end of the day.

Today is our anniversary,

and I’ll tell him

just what I tell him every day: that I love him.

and what I love most is knowing

that at the end of it

we’ll be right here in our chairs

sipping tea together

Living life on the edge!

Cheers!

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March 25: 5:48-6:19 – A Long Walk

long walk after work

out on the farm with the boys

we love exploring!

I come home tired at the start of the work week, which almost always starts out in high gear. All day, I look forward to returning home with the dogs and being able to put on a pair of sweatpants and go for a walk with them. More and more, my heart stays right here on this farm even though my mind and body go to work.

I gather Fitz’s leash from the basket by the front door – the only one of my trio who will chase a critter into the woods and completely lose his way back. Boo Radley and Ollie only lose their minds with excitement to get out the door as we prepare to take to the trails my husband keeps cut back just for us. It’s my slicing time today, my 31 minutes between 5:48 and 6:19, just before dinner, and the boys and I step out into the still-chilly damp air and hear the birdsong. Except for the occasional airplane, it’s all we hear other than our own footsteps.

It’s peaceful. So peaceful, in fact, that I could take the rest of the school year and just take walks instead of going to work, where the phones forever ring, the meetings never stop, and even the delightful sounds of laughter are still…..well, noise.

I signed my contract for another year, and by December of this year I’ll know whether I will pursue retirement starting 26-27 or hang in there for another year on the heels of the coming one.

So much is changing in the world of education, and at times it seems overwhelming to keep up. It seems there is no “staying ahead of the curve,” as there used to be.

The more I take long walks and feel the inner joy of the peace it brings just being home, the stronger the chances of retiring next year. I want to read more than I have the time to read as it is now. I want to take long walks with the dogs in the late morning. I want to press plants and decoupage them onto candles, to sew soft flannel rag quilts in light pastel patterns, to visit grandchildren and have lunch with retired friends…….to bake, to work the crossword puzzle every afternoon, and to get started on some writing projects that work leaves no time to enjoy. I want to think less each night about what I’ll wear the next day based on which meetings are on the calendar.

How does one know when it’s time to turn in the keys and sign on the dotted retirement line? If you’re retired, I’d love to hear your thoughts on this one. On one hand, I feel ready – – even past ready. On the other hand, it all seems so final to walk away from a career in education when that has been my life.

I would love for you to share your perspectives with me. What are your best tips and pointers, and your best advice for someone considering taking the leap?

Boo Radley and Ollie
Johnson Funny Farm West Side