It’s Spring in the south.

The azaleas have already bloomed through their first cycle. Giant hanging ferns are taking their place back on the front porch.

I’m pruning today.

The skies are not sunny and cloud strewn, as is more common than not this time of year.

Instead, it’s overcast. Windy. It reminds me more of fall, with the cool breeze tossing the leaves around in the yard.

The grey sky suits me. I’m intent on getting this done.

Last years growth is 6′-9′ per branch, but the branches are easily lopped off with a quick snap of the clippers.

These branches would be in the way of new growth. Tiny little buds would amount to nothing, and windy days would fling the long strands of branches around like whips.

I carefully leave a little more branch stub than last year. Last years true growth may only be a couple of inches, but new and vibrant branches, full of blooms, will shoot forth in no time.

Twelve years ago the trees were stubby, hugging the fence.

Now they are tall and wider of trunk, showing growth that has been carefully trimmed back and monitored every year.

Left alone, the crepe myrtles would have branches in every direction, out of control, choking out anything nearby.

By the armful, I load branches onto the trailer to go to the landfill. Soon they will be turned into compost.

One last glance at the ten trees standing over the fence, ready for the sun to return and start them to bud.

Today, though, I’m content with the grey skies.

I’m getting things in order.

Out to the front yard I go.

It’s been a rough week.

It’s surreal that one week ago we received news that Mom was leaving us soon. We got in the car and raced up through three states to try and see her before she left her frail body, but she passed away 30 minutes before we arrived.

Friday through Monday we cared for Dad, even as we grieved. Monday night brought the viewing, and Tuesday morning, the funeral.

We took Dad around and tried to keep him occupied. We remembered Mom and told stories of her love. We did a little laughing, and a lot of crying. We cooked him meals, and made a pot of chili to hold him for a few days.

Mom’s presence permeated, and was my touchstone. I remembered her unfailing love for her husband of 62 years, and for her children…and for me. I basked in her love for almost 12 years.

She was all about family, and anyone who hurt her family brought out the mama bear in her. She was especially grateful to know her son and kids were in good hands with me, and told me so – often.

I hope to walk in the gratitude she walked in.

We got to see two of our grandsons while we were there, and it was a joyous time. Dad held the twins in his lap, and the energy and love of another generation gave him a few carefree hours. I’m grateful our daughter and son in law could be there.

As I sit at home now a week later, I’m rocking the newest grandson to join the family. Mom would have loved seeing all these great grandsons. She would have reveled in all this boy love!

She lived a life of service to God, love of family, and service to others. She lived a no nonsense life of truth and honesty.

She lived life, abundantly.

This will be the legacy we carry forward for the next generation.

I’m in a small town one more night, staying with Dad as we mourn the loss of Mom.

It’s the Midwest, and winter is holding on to the bitter end. We wake to frosty mornings, with clear sunny skies that magnify the cold.

As I toss and turn each night, I hear the train whistles in the distance. The town is dissected by tracks, and the low rumble of train cars moving through the still night air is heard for miles, cutting into our cul-de-sac.

It reminds me of years I lived in nearby states, with towns that had more corn fields than housing developments.

As my restless mind fades in and out of consciousness, the pale light of early morning begins to strain through the window shade.

Outside, the gentle coo of turtle doves mournfully comes to me, awakening me reluctantly.

Today we bury Mom.

I’ll lay here a little longer…listening to the birdsong, and remembering the Mom that so loved birds, and country life, and most of all her family.

After 62 years of marriage, Dad has lost his beloved wife.

We bury Mom tomorrow.

He’s beside himself. Although she’s been declining in a nursing home for the past year, he was there every day, visiting with her.

Now he doesn’t know what to do.

His daughters are nearby, and have been here for him in every way possible.

His son and I are here for a week, trying to take care of him the best that we can.

He’s 84 with a strong work ethic. He put a lot of that into caring for his beloved over the past few years as the dementia slowly took hold. After 50 years of her strong maternal presence holding it together, the last ten years have been losses by degree.

He doesn’t know what to do.

We have taken him to the store, out to eat, to the funeral home. The grand kids and great grand kids are coming over today, sure to bring a smile to his face.

At night, though, the sleep doesn’t come. He sits at his desk and stares during the day, jumping up to compulsively vacuum, only to fall asleep in his recliner minutes later.

He talks about Mom and we share stories. Memories lead to more memories.

The little things that have been over looked in his stress and exhaustion are seen by my husband, and he takes care of them – putting new fluorescent light bulbs by the half dozen in the kitchen and garage. Replacing batteries. Fixing the perilous garage step. Making meals for him to last for the next couple of weeks.

My husband talked to the friends at church, imploring them to take Dad out, make him participate, get him out of the house. They assure us they will.

Tonight and tomorrow we say goodbye to a wonderful Mom.

We will drive south, states away, praying for Dad every mile.

Lord, take care of Dad- and all the little things that add up to so much loss.

I met my mother in law in December 2007.

I had flown up to Kentucky to be with my soon to be husband’s family for the Christmas holiday.

My first impressions were of welcome, and of love. She took me right into her arms, right from the start. She knew I loved her son, and over the years she thanked me over and over for taking care of him. Her heart bore the deep wounds inflicted by the betrayal her son had suffered, and she commiserated with me often, knowing I would not bring him the same suffering.

She was a farm born Kentucky girl, and wow she could cook! Like many Southern cooks, she loved to read Southern Loving and cookbooks, but cooked from recipes handed down to her. On the rare times she checked a recipe, it was just to confirm what she already knew.

She loved taking care off others – she was a great mom and wife. She made sure everyone had what they needed. As a career, she was a nurse, and she had the no-nonsense, clear eyed way of seeing things the way they were. She was honest, funny, and sassy.

She loved dogs – she rescued and raised many dogs that may have had a short and tortured life. She usually had a dog by her side – most of my memories have her in her chair, dogs around her in adoration.

The early years, we went home to the farm in Kentucky biannually. Every 4th of July and Christmas we would spend a week at home. It quickly became our favorite place to go. Summers were fireflies and riding three wheelers through the fields, fireworks along the bank of the Ohio river, homemade peach cobbler with ice cream, and walks through downtown on gallery nights. Winters were cold, clear, starry nights, card games around the kitchen table, great home cooking around the clock, and watching “The Sound of Music” on TV.

Her house reflected her loves – photos of her family covered every room. Christmas trees twinkled during the holiday, and there was at least one tree up and decorated year round.

She loved sitting on the glassed-in porch in the morning, rocking in her rocking chair, watching the birds in the backyard. Her favorite were the cardinals that flourished on the farm.

We found out Wednesday that her health was quickly failing. She had been overwhelmed steadily by the pervasive curse of dementia, and last April she became confined to a bed after a fall.

We’ve been waiting ever since.

Waiting for her to escape her failing mind and find her home in heaven, to be with the Lord she so loved and faithfully served.

Last night, the wait was over. When the daughter who had been standing vigil stepped away for a moment, and as we approached from the south after 11 hours of driving, she slipped out of her body, and into God’s arms.

The waiting is over for her. I’m grateful for this wonderful woman of God and all the love she has given me over the years.

Mom, thank you for being a great mother to my wonderful husband. I’ll spend the rest of my life loving him, just as I promised.

My get up and go has…well, you know.

I have really tried to start realigning myself toward my goal of writing full time.

The first step was stepping away from 22 years as a bedside RN.  I loved my job, but it’s not an easy one on the lower back, among other things.

My casual blogging on three other sites has fallen by the wayside, but I am focusing on this blog to spur me on.  Onward – into my first novel!

I have three books published on Kindle, written during my long back induced time off.  That was three years ago.

Procrastination has always been my middle name.  With the burden of being an artist comes a dreamers mind.  Believe me, my mind is going a million directions at once.  I’m trying to get my ADD self together and make my dream of being a published novelist come true.

Now that I have begun to maintain my house more in order, and I minimalized my closet (a huge undertaking, thank you very much), I feel less cluttered, and more creative.  I will continue on my new journey of REAL housewife.  It’s one I longed for since I was a young girl.

So my focus now is loving my family, serving at my church, and writing.  Writing.  Writing!!

It’s time to giddy up on this next great American novel gig!

Lead me not into temptation…I think about that phrase from the 23rd Psalm often as I navigate life as a type 1, insulin dependent diabetic.

I’m making boiled eggs right now for egg salad. Directly next to the pan I am using is a tin of luscious cherry pie. In the freezer is the perfect topping, vanilla ice cream.

It’s been here since last night. The donuts over on the island have been here two days.

Everyone manages their diabetes different, and this is my story – not advice from a doctor. If you want diet advice, see your physician.

If you want help succeeding in loving a healthy lifestyle, don’t bring temptation into the house.

My home is my sanctuary. I want it to be a place of health and peace – peace of mind. Safety.

After I was diagnosed type 1, I was angry. After almost six years of eating healthy and exercising, my faux type 2 diagnosis revealed the more sinister actual diagnosis of type 1. Now I was injecting insulin every day, with every meal, and checking my blood sugars more times than I can count.

I thought I had fended off type 2 – I had in fact delayed full blown type 1. My habits had done me good by giving me a long honeymoon, but the honeymoon is over.

Now I’m in forums with type 1 diabetics who eat whatever they want, whenever they want, and dose accordingly with insulin.

I thought I’d give it a try. I said hello to foods I had nearly forgotten. Pastry, breads, ice cream were eaten at will, and enjoyed vigorously.

I said hello to 20 of the 30lbs of weight I had lost.

I said hello to bigger insulin boluses, and the roller coaster of high and low blood sugars.

It was not for me.

I have gone back on my low carb diet – modified for safety in my case. The weight is falling off. My blood sugars are great. Smaller carb numbers in my meals lead to smaller corrections, and tighter control of my blood sugars.

Dealing with temptation is a daily event. Anywhere I buy food, there is more unhealthy food than healthy food. I know what to do, after six years of making better choices.

I don’t want to undermine myself by buying food that will undermine my health – but it happens. Holiday meals are filled with foods I can’t indulge in. The times I only have time to grab a bite of fast food takes concentration on food labels and nutritional information.

Nothing is new.

What is new is I look past the cherry pie, and make my egg salad. I discard the stale donuts as I eat fruit and peanut butter before I go on my daily run. I drink another 32oz of water before I have a solitary diet soda.

It’s all about choices.

These are mine.

I choose daily good habits for long term health.

Eight years ago, I was diagnosed with type 2 diabetes. I actually had type 1, but that’s a different story…

When I was diagnosed, I lived a carb heavy, sedentary life. I decided that the diagnosis was not one I wanted to accept willingly, so I began to change my habits.

Probably seven years ago, I bought my first Fitbit. I also joined a private online group of women who motivated each other to better health, through Fitbit challenges, etc.

I began by walking 5k a day – 3.12 miles a day. Walking. Not speed walking, just walking around the neighborhood.

I started parking my car further away from stores. I took the stairs wherever I could find them.

About five years ago I worked my way up to doing races, and to date, I have done 21 half marathons, and countless 10k and 5k’s.

I lost 30lbs in the process, and am much more mindful of my health.

The Fitbit really motivates me! I have minimim daily steps goals set for myself. The Fitbit keeps me accountable.

Today, they sent me this badge:

I’m ecstatic. Every single one of those steps led me to the healthier person I am today. I’m grateful for my little Fitbit. It’s made a difference in my health!!

It bought me a six year “honeymoon” – six years of not needing insulin.

Last year the honeymoon was over, and my type 1 diabetes was finally diagnosed.

I’m grateful for the good habits I have built over the last seven years. It helps me be healthier every single day as I live with this disease!

It’s my birthday – the first thing I did was feed my pets. I’m grateful for the dogs and cat I have, and they really have enriched my life. I am especially grateful for Mitzi- my first dog, the pup that turned me into a dog person. She takes good care of me.

The second thing I did was go outside…and the sun is out! I have been lamenting the fact we have not seen the sun in weeks. I’m so grateful for a sunny day!!

The azaleas are blooming out front – I stopped and looked at them for a few minutes. Their vivid pink amazes me – it seems too bright to be a natural color. I’m grateful for the abundance of beauty all around me.

I got on my rebounder to exercise – I am acutely aware of how blessed I am to be alive and well. I am grateful for the ability to take care of this body that has been given to me. I have lost many friends over the years – friends that I loved, who never got to celebrate this particular birthday. Today I am grateful for the time I got to spend with them. I miss them.

I’m going to church this morning – I’m teaching Sunday school, and I’m grateful for the opportunity to share what God has done in my life. Then I’m going to sing in choir, and I am blessed beyond measure to be able to worship God freely.

I have heard from many friends and family already, greeting me and wishing me well. I’m thankful for children and my grandchildren- I’m blessed to be the mother of four, a stepmom, and a Nana of five (and one more due in September). My cup overflows.

After church, I’m going to a wedding for a dear friend. I love going to weddings, especially now that I am married to my beloved husband. I don’t take him for granted – he was my third chance at happiness, and he is a wonderful spouse, friend, and father. Today as I listen to my friend recite her vows, I know I’ll be reflecting on the 12 years I’ve been with my husband.

It’s my birthday – a day of reflection for me. New Years never brought resolutions for me. My birthday has always been a day for me to reflect on where I’ve been, where I am, and where I’d like to be.

It’s a day to realize how blessed I am. There are so many things I have overcome, and I am acutely aware of them. I remember the hard times. The hard years! I am grateful that I walked through. I hope I keep my perspective.

Of course, I have to thank my parents – without them, none of this would be possible!!

When I was a child, I learned early on when spring was coming. It wasn’t in the soft, warm winds that would begin to blow gently, cutting through the chill, or in the lengthening of days. It was when I was in the car with my dad, and he’d suddenly exclaim “Redbud!”

I have to admit, this made no sense when I was a very small child. He would be gesturing out the window, and I would neither see anything “red” nor “bud”. Just the blur of bare trees and evergreens lining the road.

Eventually I figured out what he was pointing at – a blur of delicate purplish pink blossoms, standing out in stark contrast to the bare grey or dark green trees around it. Sometimes the tree was barely a wisp, but on a grey day, it meant spring was coming.

As I got older, into my middle school years, it became a challenge to see who saw the redbud first. I would be scouring the scenery, looking for any sign of the pale frothy flowers in bloom. Of course now I had the advantage, because I knew what I was looking for, and Daddy was concentrated on driving. But it was a win for both of us when the first redbud was spotted, and it never ceased to lift our spirits.

In the Southeast, following in bloom after the redbud, are the delicate white or pink dogwood trees. Driving down two lane roads with redbud and dogwoods blooming, it would strike one speechless.

It’s been a long, grey, and dismal winter here in the Southeast. I can’t remember a winter where the sun rarely made an appearance for months. We are accustomed to mild sunny days, and a few cold, sunny weeks.

Today, as I was leaving my neighborhood, a flash of colorful petals caught my eye. I pulled my car to a stop, and snapped a picture. Redbud!

I just sent that picture to daddy. His response?

“It’s Spring!!”