Climbing back on the saddle

It's been a while since I've posted on this blog. If you read my last post, you know that I lost my beloved father on March 22^nd. It's been a struggle for me to get back to me since that time. Though my father had been sick for quite a while, I really had not prepared myself for living the balance of my life without him. I miss him so much. Because I am still in Pittsburgh in the home where he lived, there are daily reminders of him. It's been kind of surreal for me. Because he was in and out of the hospital so often the last two years, it seems like he's just away at the hospital or the rehab center. When it slams home to me that he's not and that he's not coming back, I get a stabbing pain in my heart and the tears once again flow. Strangely, my mother seems to be coping the best out of all of us. I suppose that older people accept death as inevitable and perhaps are more accepting of it when it occurs. Though I know that my Dad is no longer in pain and being poked and prodded, the selfish, imperfect human side of me still wants him here with me. I want to be able to hear his beautiful voice. I want a few more hugs. I want to just know that he is still here. I know that my Dad would not want any of us to be sad, that he was ready to go, that he only hung on as long as he did for our sakes. Yet, I was not ready for him to go. I want to believe that "he's in a better place." But, how do we really know? Some religions teach that the dead are resurrected to heaven and are wearing wings and golden shoes. Others teach that at death, a person ceases to exist and that hell is the grave. Though I've lost others who were dear to me, my father is the closest person I've lost to death and suddenly, I want to really know what happens at death. A friend told me recently that my father gave me all I needed to build and live my life as a good and successful person so he had done his job. This is true. So much of who I am, the values I hold dear, the traditions I cherish, the importance I feel of family, are all directly attributable to my Dad. Thank you, Dad.

T

His Name was Bill

His Name was Bill

.

My memories of him are numerous:

• Cream fills and cruellers from Wohfarth's bakery every other payday Friday
  
• Cartons of hotdogs with all the toppings from the Original Hot Dog Shop on Station Street
  
• Hot sausages from Frankies on Station Street
  
• School picnics with the family at Kennywood, ended by a family ride on the train
  
• Post office picnics at Westview
  
• Dad and Uncle Jimmy paneling walls, laying tile and painting
  
• Fixing anything that needed fixing around the house
  
• Don't put your hands on anybody but if somebody put their hands on you, defend yourself
  
• Carrying a club made from the bottom of the Christmas tree to school with us to fend off bullies. (They never bothered us again.)
  
• Whuppings when we needed them
  
• Sunday school and church at Mt. Ararat
  
• His playing Row Row Your Boat with the grandchildren and great-grandchildren standing on his lap
  
• Getting what we wanted for Christmas, not what we needed. Christmas was for fun stuff.
  

Bill loved pecan rolls, halibut, red salmon patties, steak, oysters and BUTTER. But, most of all he loved and cherished his family. Family was paramount to him. Like his father before him, he believed that if you had your family, you really didn't need anybody else. He didn't have many outside activities that didn't include his family.

But, most of all, I remember the music. Bill had a beautiful baritone voice. I grew up listening to the rich, melodic sound of his voice as he sang both religious song and popular standards. I have often said over the years that Nat "King" Cole voice was nothing compared to his. I still remember all the words to Moon River, You Belong to Me, Mona Lisa, and so many others. Years after he left the choir, I would often run into people who remembered him and they always mentioned his beautiful voice.

Bill was a man of his word. If he said he would do something, it was as good as done. To him, a man's word was his bond. He didn't believe in foolishness or loud talking and shouting. Though Bill was a quiet man, he had strong opinions on many things and if asked, he would discuss anything with you.

Bill was a proud, loving and independent man.

His name was Bill, but we called him Dad.

William Garfield Cottrell, Sr.
January 28, 1926 – March 22, 2008

Coffee

A group of alumni, all highly established in their respective careers, got
together for a visit with their old university professor.

The conversation soon turned to complaints about the endless stress of work
and life in general.

Offering his guests coffee, the professor went into the kitchen and soon
returned with a large pot of coffee and an eclectic assortment of cups:
porcelain, plastic, glass, crystal - some plain, some expensive, some quite
exquisite.

Quietly he told them to help themselves to some fresh coffee.

When each of his former students had a cup of coffee in hand, the old
professor quietly cleared his throat and began to patiently address the
small gathering.

''You may have noticed that all of the nicer looking cups were taken up
first, leaving behind the plainer and cheaper ones. While it is only
natural for you to want only the best for yourselves, that is actually the
so urce o f much of your stress-related problems."

He continued. "Be assured that the cup itself adds no quality to the
coffee.

In fact, the cup merely disguises or dresses up what we drink. What each of
you really wanted was coffee, not a cup, but you instinctively went for the
best cups. Then you began eyeing each other's cups.''

"'Now consider this: Life is coffee. Jobs, money, and position in society
are merely cups.

They are just tools to shape and contain Life, and the type of cup we have
does not truly define nor change the quality of the Life we live.

Often, by concentrating only on the cup, we fail to enjoy the coffee that
God has provided us.


God brews the coffee, but he does not supply the cups.


Enjoy your coffee!''

T

I love to cook!

I'm one of those women that most men love and a lot of women envy: a woman who loves to cook and does it well.

Though I have my insecurities, my cooking is not one of them. I am a very good cook. I can't claim all the credit for it; I inherited my love of cooking from my mother and, I've learned, from her natural mother before her. Growing up, while my mother cooked the usual fare – fried chicken, roast chuck, roast chicken and the like – she also regularly cooked a variety of other meals, including duck, goose, oysters, shrimp and the like. When I was home this summer, my younger brother asked me jokingly, "if you like to cook so much, why aren't you fat?" I laughed and told him that while I love to cook, it doesn't necessarily mean I love to eat. I mostly enjoy cooking for others and seeing others enjoy the food I've prepared. I also find it therapeutic , in an odd way, to do the cutting, chopping and slicing while preparing the food. I love the sifting of the flour, the rolling out of the dough and the chopping of the nuts. I find that when I'm down and depressed about something, there's nothing better for me than to get in the kitchen, roll up my sleeves and make something from scratch. Of course since I now live alone, I must constantly find someone to give my food to, mostly my sons. I'm that person who sees something that looks good on Emeril or another cooking show, goes to the website, prints out the recipe and cooks it. I don't feel there's much I can't cook – other than biscuits. Well, I can make a passable biscuit, but I'm still not satisfied with my biscuits. I've tried numerous recipes but haven't quite hit upon one that results in the light, fluffy biscuits I desire. One rainy afternoon, I tried three different recipes in a row – all to no avail.

Because I love to cook, there' have been ideas for several different types of food establishments in the back of my head for years. I've finally settled on one. I'll reveal the specifics of the venture at a later date as I must first get everything, including funding, in place.

I also must admit that I am something of a food snob. I dislike, no, I despise, fast food. I see most of it as empty calories prepared by often less than clean hands. I don't eat out much, but when I do, I want quality food prepared correctly. I don't eat everyone's food either. I rarely participate in the potluck thing at work either. I find that there are a lot of people who think they can cook who can't. One guy I know makes spaghetti casserole that he always brings to work functions. Basically, it's spaghetti with sliced wieners mixed with Prego Sauce and topped with slices of American cheese. Now this dish may sound interesting to you, but believe me, it doesn't taste very good at all. Surprisingly, he actually gets requests for this dish. Different strokes, I guess.

Now, while my ancestors are from Virginia and not Louisiana, I make a mean, put your foot in it, seafood gumbo. Recently, I attended a house party and one of the guests, a man actually born and raised in Louisiana, brought gumbo. I just knew it was going to be good. I got a bowl and piled a heaping amount in it, got the Tabasco Sauce and a spoon. Well, let me just leave it at, not everyone from Louisiana can make good gumbo. It was so bad I threw most of it in the garbage. Funnily, this guy actually raved about his gumbo the entire night. I made sure I hid my smirks.

My younger son seems to take after me. After working at several restaurants, he has become a quite adventurous and daring cook. He'll call me up and ask me what are shallots? How do you make fresh pasta? How do you make hash browns? He'll sauté some shrimp, toss in some fresh garlic and mix it with pasta in a minute. Recently he also made breakfast tacos to go along with a seafood supper. (He is after all, a 6'3" young man whose appetite is always ravenous.)

What's on the menu for today? Mahi Mahi in a cream Cognac sauce over wild rice pilaf accompanied by a Greek salad!

Bon Appetit!

T

I’m Dancing Like There’s No one Watching!

One of the resolutions I made for this New Year was to sing and dance every day. Music is such salve for my spirit. There's an old superstition that however you bring in the New Year is how you will spend the New Year. I brought the New Year in singing and dancing (and playing cards). I'm reminded of the following:

Dance Like No One's Watching

We convince ourselves that life will be better after we get married, have a baby, then another. Then we are frustrated that the kids aren't old enough and we'll be more content when they are. After that we're frustrated that we have teenagers to deal with. We will certainly be happy when they are out of that stage.

We tell ourselves that our life will be complete when our spouse gets his or her act together, when we get a nicer car, are able to go on a nice vacation, when we retire. The truth is, there's no better time to be happy than right now. If not now, when? Your life will always be filled with challenges.

It's best to admit this to yourself and decide to be happy anyway. One of my favorite quotes comes from Alfred D Souza. He said, "For a long time it had seemed to me that life was about to begin - real life. But there was always some obstacle in the way, something to be gotten through first, some unfinished business, time still to be served, a debt to be paid. Then life would begin. At last it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life."

This perspective has helped me to see that there is no way to happiness. Happiness is the way. So, treasure every moment that you have. And treasure it more because you shared it with someone special, special enough to spend your time... and remember that time waits for no one...

So stop waiting until you finish school, until you go back to school, until you lose ten pounds, until you gain ten pounds, until you have kids, until your kids leave the house, until you start work, until you retire, until you get married, until you get divorced, until Friday night, until Sunday morning, until you get a new car or home, until your car or home is paid off, until spring, until summer, until fall, until winter, until you are off welfare, until the first or fifteenth, until your song comes on, until you've had a drink, until you've sobered up, until you die, until you are born again to decide that there is no better time than right now to be happy...

Happiness is a journey, not a destination.

Thought for the day:

Work like you don't need money,
Love like you've never been hurt,
And dance like no one's watching.

So, this year, I'm dancing, and singing and I don't care who's watching!

T

Sunday Morning

It's a beautiful Sunday morning here in San Antonio. We've been having, even for us, unusually warm days for nearly the last week, highs in the 70's. I'm loving it. (There's a reason I moved from Pennsylvania.)

I've had an amazing week. No earth-shattering events, however, for reasons that I don't understand and am not questioning, it seems I'm gaining a sense of stillness, balance in my life. I began reading, again, The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle. I knew, but had forgotten or rather had not been living, the principles taught in it. I am, by nature, a worrier or what I like to call, an anticipator. You know the type, anticipate this, worry about that, expect this, a kind of what if this happens person. I'm learning to separate my mind from myself. Sounds kind of New Age, right? But hold on, don't get caught up in labels. Our minds are ever in motion, constantly thinking, anticipating, even awaiting. This process prevents us from the stillness that is necessary for us to become attuned to ourselves, our being. The most brilliant accomplishments - musical compositions, literary masterpieces, even scientific discoveries - have come from a moment or moments of stillness. It is when we are most in tune with our true self. True intelligence operates silently. Stillness is where creativity and solutions to problems are found.

Be still for a moment and allow and enjoy the suchness of the moment.

Have a blessed week!

T

Disappointment

Disappointment is defined as: a feeling of dissatisfaction that results when your expectations are not realized.

Lately, I've been thinking about disappointment and my ownership in it. I realize that we have control over disappointment in our lives. Often, we set expectations about jobs, lovers, children and even ourselves. We have an agenda and when that agenda or expectation is not met, we feel such a sense of disappointment. So, are we setting ourselves up for disappointment when we place an expectation or agenda on something or someone over whom or which we have no control? I suspect we do. The only person or thing over which or whom we have control is ourselves.

Yet, I think it normal, even human to have expectations. It's how we handle it when those expectations, for whatever reason, are not met that is at the crux of the matter.

Think about these disappointment quotes:


The size of your success is measured by the strength of your desire; the size of your dream; and how you handle disappointment along the way.”

Disappointment to a noble soul is what cold water is to burning metal; it strengthens, tempers, intensifies, but never destroys it.”

We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.”

and my favorite:

“Ones best success comes after their greatest disappointments.”


Disappointments are a part of life. It's how we handle it and what follows it that truly matters.

T