channeling one’s inner Ester Williams while thanking the founding Fathers


(Ester Williams)

Well, my fourth of July post suffered a major glitch for some odd reason.

Foreign or local nationals is yet to be decided.

On the morning of the 4th, I went to hit the publish button and to my surprise, nothing posted.

Quickly, with a rising sense of panic, I went in twice to cut and paste the post,
creating a “new” post in order to attempt a “re”- publish.

Twice again, nothing…only the day prior’s post.

Hummm… or more like Agggghhhhhh…

Finally, the third, or perhaps was it the fourth or fifth time??, was the charm…
it posted…

However, later, several folks told me that the post never showed up in their Reader
but that they had to go to my regular WP site of cookiecrumbstoliveby to find it.

Odd…to say the very least.

In the meantime, spending the 4th with the Mayor and her new Sheriff, it was
apparent that the spirit of the famous 1940’s great competitive swimmer and actress
Ester Williams was alive in well in the Mayor as she donned her swimming cap for a
celebratory dip in the watermelon pool.

While the Mayor was busy with her photo ops, the Sheriff was busy showing off his red, white and blue
Patriotism while enjoying a refreshing bottle of formula…

Thank you dear Founding Fathers, along with all the countless men and women, throughout the
decades, who freely gave their all in order that one day a little girl would have the joyous freedom
to play in a watermelon wadding pool while her little brother enjoyed a bottle of formula,
all the while a loving grandmother cherished the moment of a family’s 4th of July and has the
freedom to have a tiny platform to speak her mind…

“I must study Politics and War that my sons may have liberty to study Mathematics and Philosophy.”
John Adams, letter to Abigail Adams, May 12, 1780.

the paparazzi don’t lie…do they?

“I believe in equality for everyone, except reporters and photographers.”
Mahatma Gandhi


(visiting the Mayor and the New Sheriff—the Mayor does not appreciate the Sheriff
recieving more time and attention than herself, while demanding she occupy the same chair)

I’ve been away, over in Atlanta for the past few days,
working at the main Woobooville headquarters.

Working of course with the Mayor and her new Sheriff.

And it appears as if a bit of damage control is in order due to a few pictures that have
surfaced in a few of the tabloids.

Now if there is any truth to the pictures, well, that will be left to the viewer to
decide—however one report is that the Mayor has taken the 5th.

One image appears to show the Mayor attempting to derail, or as some unnamed
sources are claiming, actually do away with her new Sheriff.


(the mayor and the new sheriff—is she attempting to adjust the speed or merely
checking for safety…you decide)


(the Mayor denies all wrong doing)

Naturally, the Mayor is vehemently denying any wrongdoing.
She denies attempting to take a teething ring that did not belong to her while
at the same time dumping her new Sherrif from the Mamaroo.
The Mayor reports that she was actually checking to make certain that the speed was
indeed appropriate for his safety…while also claiming that she was merely
safekeeping the teething ring.

Later the Mayor took advantage of a photo op in an attempt to boost her poll ratings
with one of the local clans.
Here we see the Mayor showing her support for the local Cook Clan by attempting to treat
a cornhole board as an indoor slide…
her aides had to step in and quickly correct the mistake of sliding vs bean bag tossing.

Next, some photographer caught the Mayor, with all of her chief aides, eating out publically.
It appeared she was conducting a working business dinner while busily signing some important documents.

The reporter noted that at some point during the outing,
part of one of the crayons the Mayor had been working with was oddly and mysteriously missing.

Further investigation revealed that the tip of a crayon had actually been bitten off.
Perhaps it was just coincidence but the Mayor showed traces of orange wax on her teeth.

Again all wrongdoing was vehemently denied.
The Mayor claimed that any shade of orange near her mouth or on her teeth was
merely some residual BBQ sauce.

She quickly asked for the bill and left the restaurant.

The Mayor’s office is now claiming that her personal account has been hacked by some
foreign nationals who have obviously sold off some compromising pictures to the
highest bidder.
These images were published in a tawdry rag of a magazine showing the Mayor is a rather
risque pose donning a new swimsuit.

Unaware that her mic was hot while dining out at a new restaurant that was proud
of its pickled asparagus, all the while posing for another photo op,
the Mayor accidentally expressed her alarmed disdain for the pickled asparagus.

All the while the Sheriff is trying his best to keep his new boss on the up and up…
while maintaining the law and order in Woobooville.

But at the end of the day, when it’s all said and done, the Mayor remains securely at the helm.
She works hard running a tight ship while all of her constituents continue to give her their
full and entire support…even her new Sheriff offers his all,
given his often precarious position in her life.

Deja vu not intended and this is going to be a long rehab

“We are healed of a suffering only by experiencing it to the full.”
Marcel Proust


(Percy, on the morning following his having found us when he was thrown from a moving car as a tiny kitten—
his injuries were severe but 8 years later, he’s been loved to both life and health…
yet a remnant and a torn tendon has brought the most traumatic surgery to date)

I thought I’d be all techy and try to put together a post to use yesterday on the evening prior,
via my phone.
I found the little quotes I wanted to use and picked out a picture…
then I hit the button to save the post.

Yesterday morning, I pulled out my phone, went into my drafts and hit publish.
But what was published was not what I had put together but rather as a previous post from a week
or so prior.

Huh?

So I’m just going with the idea of Divine Intervention…meaning
Someone greater than I thought a repeating was in order and repeat we did.

For you see, on Monday, I had taken my Percy over to a surgical vet’s practice north of Atlanta
for a joint fusion to help repair a near unrepairable injury.

I dropped him off and headed to stay the night with the Mayor and the new Sheriff,
who also had to go back to visit the doctor for his ongoing issues.
So needless to say, I didn’t have the proper time to write a decent post, hence the quickie from
my phone…that actually didn’t work.

If we can just get these two little boys on the track to good health, it’ll be a wonder!

Percy’s surgery was successful…
however, it’s not so much the surgery that I now worry about being successful
but rather this business of recouping and rehab time.

12 weeks he’ll need to be confined to a cage!!!
But oddly it seems Percy started out his life in a cage…healing from abuse
when someone threw him out the window of a moving car.
Dante would say there is a certain ring in hell for such folks but I digress.

So yes, deja vu in all sorts of ways.

But now let’s add in an “e” collar or what is known as an Elizabethan collar or more infamously, the cone of shame.
Add a splint as big boxing glove on his back leg and life is now a giant misery for all involved.

How he’s going to manage to get into the litter box is yet to be seen but I somehow don’t see any of this
going well.

He can’t stand on the giant splint.
He can’t eat with the cone.
I remove the cone and hold a bowl up to his mouth.
Spoon feeding didn’t work so well as more fell than hit his mouth.
And drinking water has been a no for now.

He is currently in the foyer just off the den so he can be near us.

He flops and flays, falling into the litter box.
I’ve had to fetch him out of the litter box twice.
But since he’s yet to “use” the litter box, we’re ok.

He gets meds twice a day.
That part is proving the easiest thus far.

We will make the pilgrimage back in two weeks for the sutures to be removed and
hopefully a cone removal and smaller splint…but that is if he doesn’t break his neck
flaying in the meantime, starve to death or make a terrible mess all over himself…

Living with an open wound, exposed bone coupled with the bleeding and oozing while having to
rebandage every other day, oddly is now a bit more appealing to this current slight fortune
of a surgery in order to bring, literally closure to a nearly year-long battle.

The new Sheriff is on doses of maintenance antibiotics to keep any and all UTIs at bay—
a regime that will last for months.
Balancing his digestion and guts throughout all of this will be a delicate balance.
His surgery will be in about 5 more months.

One day for a day…is now the motto of this family!!!!

“Is anyone among you sick? Let them call the elders of the church to pray over them and anoint
them with oil in the name of the Lord.
And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well;
the Lord will raise them up. If they have sinned, they will be forgiven.”

James 5:14-15

dirty windows or smudges on a heart?

“And now here is my secret, a very simple secret:
It is only with the heart that one can see rightly;
what is essential is invisible to the eye.”

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry


(a front door in need of cleaning / Julie Cook / 2019)

Life has certainly been busy has it not?

When I was still teaching, the two busiest times of the school year were the first month
as well as the last month of the school year.
Fall and Spring.

The opening and the ending.

Those were also the two most important keys to teaching…
it was not only critical as to how you started a year…it was equally as important
as to how you ended it.

So no surprise, this Spring has been a busy time in my tiny little corner of the world.

My little world has been so busy that blogging has actually had
to take a back seat…
Imagine that…life getting in the way of blogging!?
Who knew?!

Hence why my posts have become sporadic and my reading and commenting
have become fewer and farther between.

There have been recent days that I’ve thought, that after 6 years perhaps, it’s time to
shutter the doors in Cookieland…
but then I catch the latest episode of Anglican Unscripted
and I’m reminded that voices to the Truth need to continue sounding…

But more about that and the good Bishop’s words tomorrow as time hopefully allows.

But first, let’s get back to that picture up above…
that picture of a seemingly smudgy storm door.

It seems that my weekend company went home yesterday afternoon.

They came for Mother’s Day and they left Tuesday afternoon.

In and out right?
Short and sweet…

Throw in two cats, one awaiting leg surgery,
and a large dog who currently happens to be on a small vacation this trip.
Add in the 4 adults in the room.

The key players, however, were a 15-month old and a two week old.
Seems simple enough, right?
Two under two…with one being way under the first one who’s under two.

They’re small.
They’re simple.
They’re sweet.

Well, mostly.

Yet these two small beings come with a wealth of stuff and each one requires their own
fair share of stuff when and wherever they may roam.

They also require 24-hour a day constant care.

24 x 2 = 48
48 into 24 doesn’t exactly fit.

Things seem to appear out of nowhere
Things appear in places where they shouldn’t.

There are smelly things that happen.

Accidents, spills, “uh oh’s” and “OH NOs!”

Things are dropped that should never drop.
Things disappear…only to be found days, even weeks, later.

Too many bodies try sleeping in beds made only for two…
with one preferring to sleep sideways, while everyone else sleeps longwise.

There are fingers that end up in closing doors and drawers.
There are jealous cats coupled with jealous babies.

There are tears, screams, laughter, kisses, messes, and lots of chaos.

There are spills along with sticky, greasy smudges and smears…everywhere.

Smeary, smudgy tiny handprints all over the place…

Just as in that glass door pictured up above…

But here’s the thing…

Where most folks see a dirty smudged up window…

Those aren’t really dirty smudges…

Those are simply the marks etched upon my heart…


(the Mayor / Julie Cook / 2019)


(The new Sheriff / Julie Cook / 2019)

And I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you.
And I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh.

Ezekiel 36:26

Mother’s Day–happy and nostalgic

The two most important days in your life are the day you are born
and the day you find out why.

Mark Twain


(me and mom circa 1980 )

The fact of life is that we all have two parents.
A mother and a father.

If life is as we would wish it to be, we will know both of these parents.
They will love us and we will love them.

We will all grow together through both ups and downs.

Yet if life opts for a different path, we may or may not know our parents…
or we may not love them and they may not love us.

However, the fact of the matter remains— we all have had two parents.

And we all had a mother who carried us for, give or take, nine months.

If you’ve ever been pregnant, you know that those 9 months can be joyous, fretful, painful,
jolting, frightening and certainly changing.

Most of us have one mother…
I, on the other hand, had three.

My first mother, my original mother, my birth mother, is unknown to me.

In early 1959 a 23-year-old woman became pregnant.
Plans did not go as perhaps they should have and this young woman up and moved away
from her home…moving to a large city where she could blend in and become,
for the most part, anonymous.

She never traveled home for those many months as her pregnancy was her secret to keep.

She gave birth to a premature baby girl and left the hospital shortly thereafter.

Leaving behind…me.

I eventually went into foster care until I was adopted by the woman who would become my
second mother, or what is commonly known as an adoptive mom.


(me and mom on my wedding day, 1983)

When I was a teenager I was sent another mother…a God-mother.
I say ‘sent’ because I honestly believe God sent in a pinch hitter because He knew
the turns my life would take and that I would need someone to catch me when I’d fall.

And I fell many times.

This third mother was the wife of the Dean of the Cathedral of St Philip.
Both she and her husband designated themselves as my God-parents.
They were keenly aware of the fact that I was in desperate need for Godly parental guidance…
and it was at such a pivotal age.

They offered stability, encouragement and a clear Spiritual direction.
This Godmother taught me the importance of what it was to be a Godly woman, wife and mother…
despite all evil attempts to disrupt such.

She also taught me about Spiritual healing…healing that was crucial to my very survival.


(a grainy photo of Ginny Collins from 1978 / Julie ‘Nichols’ Cook)

Tragically, due to my brother’s mental illness, my adopted family was a caustic and dysfunctional mess.
It was an illness that took a grave toll on all of us,
but perhaps none greater than upon our adopted mom.

My brother and I were both adopted, five years apart, and we each had different biological parents.

Mother died very unhappy and prematurely at the age of 53.

My Godmother then stepped deeper into the fray of acting as a surrogate guide.
Her support and guidance remained a key part of my life until up until the time she died.

She died two years ago at the age of 94.

On the polar opposite end of the spectrum of life and of the two women, I eventually lost,
is my biological mother.
She is now 83 and is still living–but where I truly cannot say nor of what path her life
eventually took.

Maybe one day we will meet and I can tell her something very important.

Maybe I will be able to say to her “thank you.”
Thanking her for the selfless gift she gave me…that being the gift life.

Had she been selfish, putting her life and plans first, you and I wouldn’t be currently sharing
this moment together.

And I wouldn’t have my son or his wife or their two children in my life.

The choices we make in this thing we call life all have far-reaching and lasting effects…
be they negative or positive.

Life is positive.
Abortion is not.
My biological mother chose life rather than my death.

So today I want to thank all three of these women…
these three mothers who were, unbeknownst to one another,
intertwined in a single life..that life being mine.
Be it either briefly or for far much longer, they each gave me various gifts of love.

A love that now lives on in two precious little grandchildren…

And so on this Mother’s Day 2019, I want to say thank you to three women.

Firstly, thank you to my biological mother for the choice of giving me life.
I miss not having known you.

Secondly, to Mary Ann my adoptive mother, thank you for taking me into your heart and raising me–
a role that was no easy task—I have missed you terribly.

And finally to Ginny, my adopted Godmother, thank you for instilling in me the
importance of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit…thank you for teaching me
what it means to live, to love, to confess, to repent, to forgive and to be forgiven…
I miss your wisdom.

And lastly, I want to thank a fourth woman.

Thank you, Abby, my dear daughter-n-law…

Thank you for loving our son.

Thank you for opening your heart to us and our family…
and thank you for the gift of two precious babies…The Mayor and her new Sheriff…

Only be careful, and watch yourselves closely so that you do not forget the things
your eyes have seen or let them fade from your heart as long as you live.
Teach them to your children and to their children after them.

Deuteronomy 4:9

It only takes a sign

God said to Moses, “I am who I am.
This is what you are to say to the Israelites:
‘I am has sent me to you.’”

Exodus 3:14


(James / Julie Cook / 2019)

So the past couple of weeks have been absolutely crazy as well as exhausting.

We had another bit of a scare yesterday morning with our little fellow concerning a
potential liver disorder…and so another trip to the pediatrician has us
thankfully monitoring for the time being rather than doing something much more serious.

This little brother is proving to be a far cry from his big sister…
as he is just more fragile and not as seemingly tenacious…

And speaking of The Mayor, she is none too keen having this new usurper in
her midsts.


(first outing for the Mayor and new sheriff—pizza for the family / Julie Cook / 2019)

I’ve spent the better part of the last three weeks in Atlanta with a drive or two home
for a day of rest and regathering.
Nerves, for all of us, have been both frayed and raw…
Fatigue, exhaustion, and worry have dominated our days and nights.

So since I have been driving back and forth over these past many weeks,
two small rural church signs have caught my eye…

The first sign:
God is speaking.
Are you listening?

The second one:
I Am is coming

Both signs piqued my tired soul’s interest.

The first sign offered a good wake up call.

For despite my willy nilly running around all frantic, coupled by a self-absorbed burden of worry…
I fear I’ve not been listening…I’ve not been listening to anything around me let alone
listening to the Great I AM.

Secondly, when I initially saw this second sign, I had to do a quick double take…
because grammatically I was a bit perplexed…

I.
am.
is.
coming.

I am is…??

Huh??

And then it dawned on me….ahhhhh….

The great I AM is coming…

And it was in those two statements that I found a sudden rush of calm along with a sense of
great humility.
Because it was twice the Great I AM spoke to my weary soul.

The One who is greater and bigger than any burden or worry I may have on this earth.
He sees.
He knows.
He hears.
He is listening.
And He is present.

Sometimes it only takes a sign…or two.

For the word of God is alive and active.
Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit,
joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.

Hebrews 4:12

the Sheriff has arrived for duty

“Human happiness and moral duty are inseparably connected.”
― George Washington


(the Sheriff dressed for his arrival at home…finally)

It’s been a whirlwind of time and activity…
trying and hard as well as grateful and good.

It’s like I told Tricia the other day…when our family’s newest addition ended up in the
neonatal unit shortly after his birth, it was as if the world simply stopped and stood still.
Nothing outside that hospital mattered…

no politics
no societal or cultural idiocy
no countries
no governments
no Democrats
no Republicans
no tit for tat…

Absolutely nothing mattered but that our little guy would rally.

In hindsight, we learned that one of his lungs had collapsed and he “strangled” on amniotic fluid—
of which was suddenly realized when the “crisis” occurred while he was being kept in the nursey
following his birth.
Hence the surge of staff presence and the rapid removal to the neonatal care unit.

Add to that a few other issues that would delay circumcision for at least 6 months.

When my son and daughter-n-law returned home without a baby…
the very baby they had raced to deliver Sunday night, it was a sad arrival back home
and it was hard.

I had just returned home from having spent 4 days with them—we thought we still
has about 3 days when at midnight I got the call…
“Mother, I need ya’ll to come back, NOW!”

But how many couples experience such…?
How many parents continue to leave for the hospital only to come back home without the baby
they had left to go deliver?

It quickly put a spin of reality on birth…
something that we in the “civilized world” now take for granted.

We treat delivering a baby much as we do a trip to the dentist— a simple in and out.

100 years ago…folks knew not to take such for granted…

Perhaps it is our technological advances that have left us jaded and smug while feeling
almost infallible and indefensible to those worst-case scenarios…
situations that a century ago our grand and great grandparents knew better than to assume
that all would be well.

I learned as an educator to expect the worst, but rejoice when the success comes…

Maybe that’s why I consider myself more or less a pragmatist…
despite the fact that I claim and often cling to the positive…
I know, however, that life can change on a dime.

We were fortunate.

His initial tests came back negative and he got to come home to us late Thursday afternoon.

He weighed nearly a pound less than and was shorter in length than that of his sister,
The Mayor, when she was born nearly 15 months ago.

He lost weight in the hospital…backtracking from his birth weight.
But is slowly making a come back to the weight he arrived with.

Lanky and spindly vs a sister who was more round and full.

And speaking of the Mayor…she was a bit apprehensive on the day of her brother’s birth.

And note that face on The Mayor when she clamored up to sit by Mopie (aka “Biya”) when holding
the new Sherrif…

The Sheriff now wears a tiny monitor on his foot which measures his heart rate and oxygen levels…
And thankfully so far so good.

He’s just so tiny and seemingly frail…but I suspect that having to live under the tutelage
of his new boss, the Mayor, will require a ramp up in fortitude…
something I suspect our little Sheriff will certainly rise to occasion for…

I have no doubt…

Rejoice in the Lord always.
I will say it again:
Rejoice!
Let your gentleness be evident to all.
The Lord is near.
Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition,
with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.
And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding,
will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Philippians 4:4-7