Taking A Break From Cancer....Please Join ME!

Memories are wonderful, destructive, chilling, but most of all they are heartwarming. Remember. Remember Jesus Christ. God called the Israelites to "remember and share this with your children."
Since this is my journey through quite an interesting maze....I am going to Remember for a couple of posts. If it goes to three - so be it. It's my journal.
It's 3:35am. I came in the kitchen and made french toast and am waiting for a hot cup of tea. A little Yorkshire Gold.
So this post will be a look back. I'm in the mood to remember and to write what I remember. Memories are exactly that. A brain in recall mode. As the song writer wrote,' a misty, water colored' thing . This is what I remember and you will remember my story in a different way. That's what makes this so much fun.
As I was laying in my bed wondering if I was going to go back to sleep, I thought about quilts. How loved they are. Quilts created by grandmothers, great grandmothers. Lovingly, painstakingly thought over. Pieced with fabric out of their stash, stitched by hand. I have a quilt on my dining room table, pieced and quilted by my mom, grandmother, aunts and many women from Newton, Kansas. That quilt was on a quilt rack in our home - a daily reminder of my mother's story. Dresses made for her girls and for herself adorn that quilt. What a wonderful thing to look at as I pass through my dining room today.
Today's quilts are lovely...however, there is something about the those quilts of old. They are stories. I have a quilt that was made my my great grandmother's family coming across the plains of Tennessee,Arkansas to what then, Oklahoma Territory. The Land Race was on. Imagine making a quilt in the back of a covered wagon, heading out to the Wild West. Remember.
I have two quilts made as wedding gifts for me and my first husband. The one made by my grandmother was well loved and used and is now too fragile to use. I love it. It's from her hands to my heart. That gift of love is still with me to this day. The other quilt lays on the end of my bed. Well loved, tattered and torn around the edges, roughly repaired by a novice - me. It keeps me warm in more ways than I can tell you. Remember.
Matthew Ford, "Bruce Hornsby & the Range" is playing in the background. You and Jo Ann bought it for me during a trip you all made to DC. Remember.
Now I will go back a few more years. As you read along, you will see why it's so important. This may take a while. Again, I'm writing for me and for Jim...if you wish, take a stroll down memory lane with me.
A gorgeous spring morning broke on April 23, 1978, The Village/Oklahoma City, OK. A Sunday. I do not recall that familiar electric guilt pang I usually experienced when I attend church. This particular weekend, I had returned to Okla City to pick up the last of my things and visit with a dear friend. She had baked Greek Easter Cookies. There was also a roast cooking on the stove. I ate roast and cookies for breakfast. Thinking - pondering an unknown future.
A month earlier, I finished my job in Oklahoma City. It was past time to move on. Three weeks earlier, I had moved back to Broken Arrow to live with my parents. I was worn out, physically, spiritually, emotionally. Like my grandmother's quilt. I was threadbare and needing a little tender loving care; I needed some new stitches crafted artfully around my heart.
D. came home from church. We were sitting in her backyard, enjoying the day and visiting. Being 25, I usually had all answers I needed for my life. During the past 3 yrs, my answers had led me down a lot of back alleys, leading to many dead ends. "What will I now?" Her reply, "you will go home, you will attend your parent's church and you will let them love you." period. Clarity and most importantly - a plan. I grabbed my things, hugged her good-bye putting Oklahoma City in my rearview mirror.
I wheeled in as my parents were backing out of the driveway "just a moment, I'll go with you (to church)." I threw on the only dress I owned and went to evening worship. D. was right. This was "the plan". I threw my hat into the ring. During that period of time, though I did not pray, I wrote a list of character traits that were important to me --- "in case" there was anyone 'out there' for me. I tossed it in a box under my bed, never giving it another thought.
After worship, Jim's sister in law, mentioned that Jim was home on leave (Navy). Jim...I had met him twice. Once when I was 16; he was married, sitting next to his wife, holding a baby in his lap. (hi Dain, i love you). The second time, Oct 1975; Bob Stephens, their dad, died unexpectedly. I had driven to Broken Arrow for his funeral. Jack, Jim and I sat in the backyard of his parent's home shooting the breeze; escaping the crowds of people inside. Speed forward 3 years. Sorry, sometimes you have to step way back to move forward
...so now we are speeding forward
Jim. Hi, remember me? Yeah, I remember you. Me. Stepping on his feet, several times. Making small talk. His mom came over and asked me if I would like to come over for sandwiches. Very Sunday night. D. might me right. Sure. Love to. We piled into his mom's car, I visited with Doris. Jim. Man of few words. (remember)
Out came all of the sandwich equipment. Only those who have been to the Stephens's home fully understand what is involved in "having a sandwich". Salads, desserts, lunch meat, homemade pimento cheese, every kind of chip on the market, several kinds of dips, carrot and celery sticks plus all kinds of drinks.
That Sunday night, the debut of "Dallas". Remember? We decided to tune in. The worst soap opera on television; we were hooked, well at least Doris and I were! Jeff came in from a date, said hello and headed to bed. Jim stood up and said I need to leave by 5am. I can take you home.
We got into his little tennis shoe sized car. A 1977 Honda; banana yellow. Cool car. A warm evening and suddenly we were talking and for a place to drink coffee. Remember Winchell's Donuts? Well, it was the only place in town that was still open. I do not recall the cofffee or if we ordered a donut. I do remember Jim sharing photos of Dain he kept in his wallet. Before we walked inside, he grabbed an evelope of larger photos he kept in his car. Jim was sharing his story. We got back in the car and drove through the streets of our old hometown. A small, tumbleweed, dust blown town had grown into a large bedroom community to Tulsa. We only recognized things from our past. Remembering....sitting in a banana yellow Honda on "Luthern Hill"....sharing the past - stories of our lives...both of us talking, sometimes talking only to ourselves....both of us knowing we had come to a turning point. We had our watershed moments. It was now time for a change. At this point in time, the unspoken question that literally burned in our souls...what path and how? Remembering brought back memories that were so heartbreakingly painful; there wasn't much to laugh about. Our memories were spilling into our present life; we were drowing in our past and could not turn around and face a future. Both stuck in the muddle of life.
My dad always said, as we walked out the door, "remember who you are." At that moment, I was remembering who I was. Though there were some wonderful memories, most were just bittersweet. Jim would agree.
Since I reminded you of the opening night of "Dallas"....please stay tuned...the next episode is coming...
...all alone in the moonlight....
Remembering times with each of you,
Lovingly, Kathryn