About a month ago, I’m waiting for a medical test when the nurse walks out and starts grinning from ear to ear as she says hello to a woman in the room. They exchange greetings, and then the nurse looks down at the piece of paper in her hand and calls out the next victim’s, I mean patient’s name, which is mine. I look over my shoulder as I walk through the door with her and say, “See you soon, Mom.”
The nurse suddenly realizes the woman she’d been so happy to see is with me. “That’s your Mom?!?” she exclaims, eyes wide.
I grin. “Yep.”
She smiles again. “Oh, she’s SO beautiful.”
I chuckle. “Yeah,” I nod.
The nurse’s brow weaves together. “Oh, you’re beautiful, too,” she adds quickly.
I laugh as she begins telling me why she thinks my mom is so special and beautiful, and quickly I figure out that though she may have only met my mom a handful of times over the years, she knows what most people know…Mom is beautiful inside and out, and that my friends, really is something. Here’s a little birthday card I wrote for the mothership. If you see Jacquelyn, give her a hug…
She prays without end
She’s always a friend,
She falls, she gets up
She tries again
She explores, she sees,
She hikes, she believes
She gardens, she listens
She inspires, she sings
She’s sugar and spice,
She laughs till she cries
She gives everything,
She dares you to dream
True beauty, the real deal
She’s a helper, she’s a fighter
She’s there for you and me.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOM! I love you.
Love your favorite pain, (AKA the middle child), Sarah xoxoxo
You know you’re doing the parenting thing right when your twelve-year-old is looking at you with a combination of doubt and amusement. At least, that’s the way I figure it. So the other morning, my beloved dog woke me up at 4:30 as she paced back and forth down the halls and up and down the old wooden staircase of our house over and over. I finally convinced myself to give up on the tossing and turning bit and groggily ventured downstairs and to my fuel, ahem, coffee maker at 5:58. As I was pressing start on my favorite kitchen appliance, the electricity went out. Noooooooooo!
The first five minutes of the power outage I was optimistic. I lit some candles, chatted with my ten-year-old, (who was so excited to be using her new flashlight in the dark), and I decided to start my Bible study. But all I could think about was that coffee. So when the power came on about forty minutes later and I had the first cup of deliciousness in my hand, I was dancing across my kitchen. Now, some people know that kitchen dancing is kind of my thing, but this morning I got lost in the moment. All I know is that I glanced up mid-one-woman-conga-line to see that look I mentioned a minute ago coming at me from my 12-year-old. I was singing the Conga beat, (da-da-da-da-da-da), coffee in hand, my favorite cozy robe on, dancing across the kitchen and in place of shouting “Con-ga! Con-ga!” I was singing, “Cof-fee! Cof-fee!” What can I say? I like my coffee.
A little while after my earlier than usual kitchen dance party, I had just finished my yoga and was at the sink, when I spotted a hawk on my neighbor’s fence. I got excited. I always do when I see hawks. I think they’re so cool I had to include them in my teen fantasy book series, HARMONY RUN. I showed my daughters, who both thought the bird of prey was neat, and enthusiastically alerted my husband. Meanwhile, the hawk flew to another tree. By the time Charles got to the window all he could see was, “something black.” Based off his description, I gathered he didn’t quite seem convinced his dream woman had seen a hawk. (Maybe her overactive imagination had gotten carried away again?) To be honest, I think he was only on his first cup of coffee, so maybe he wasn’t as alert as yours truly. Still, in my ongoing quest to prove to Charles I’m holding onto a bit of sanity, I tugged my boots on, grabbed my camera and a winter coat to go with my yoga pants, and headed out into 23-degree weather.
The hawk moved from branch to branch despite my stealth-like approach, (snow boots snapping every twig and crunching every leaf in my yard), but I kept praying that I could just get one picture to show that man. And voilà. I got one, and only one, picture. But thank you, Lord- that’s all I needed!
When I went back inside, my 12-year-old was laughing, the doubt still lingering on her beautiful face. She nodded towards my yoga Capri pants and shook her head. “Cold, Mom?” she asked. “Yes, but I got the evidence I needed for your dad,” I declared triumphantly. The girls were impressed with the photo. And Charles…well, he took one look at the photo and said, “Oh…wow!” surprise evident in his expression, and that made my dash into the cold worth every freezing moment.
I may be a coffee-chugging-one-woman-Conga-line, but I’m not seeing things. Well, not all of the time, anyway. 😉 Don’t forget to look out your window, friends. You never know what you may see. And the next time your morning cup of coffee brings a smile to your face, why not consider doing the kitchen Conga line? I promise I won’t judge. I’m too busy amusing my children.
My Grandpa, “Doc Standring”, passed a week ago today. My heart is still heavy and the tears are still coming. Since Grandpa was a huge supporter of my writing and my blog, I thought I’d post the words below I said at his funeral. My dad spoke as well, and he stood beside me while I shared my memories, for which I am so thankful. The few paragraphs in black ink are parts that I did not share at the funeral but thought people might like to read. Everything I said aloud is in blue. My family and I are thankful for all of the notes and kind words we have received over the past week. As we saw at the visitation and funeral, Grandpa was loved by so many people. God bless…Sarah
I’m not a fan of public speaking. I have a history of breaking down in tears in front of groups as I am a bit of an introvert. But I can’t let this day pass without sharing some of my memories of the best man I have ever known. You probably called him Doc. I called him Grandpa. Sometimes, I called him Abuelo, the Spanish word for Grandpa, and he called me Sarita, the Spanish nickname for Sarah. He was my first inspiration to study Spanish. Grandpa was a constant source of inspiration to me.
If you’re here right now, you know what he was like. He was intelligent, interested in learning more about everything, from technology to foreign languages to cooking. He was a hard-worker. He played the bagpipes. Not only was he a dentist in the Navy, he had his own practice here in Evansville. He was a proud founder of Sonitrol and opened his company here in 1969. He spoke to me often of our family ties to the co-founder of Sonitrol, his cousin Bob Baxter.
Grandpa loved his family and was interested in where we came from. He spent years collecting genealogy information on both sides of my family tree. He and my late grandma Marilyn even visited some of our distant relatives in England, the Standrings, and in recent years Grandpa was in constant contact with another one of our distant cousins, Almuth, in Germany. She helped him fill in some of the blanks of his ancestry study. One of the emails he sent me recently detailed some of the information about one of my ancestors, Bertha… In his email he wrote:
Hola Sarita, Here is some more information about one of your ancestors. Bertha was born in Ostfreisland, Holland near the German border in 1838. At age 12, in 1851, she left with her family from Gross-Midlum, Germany and traveled to Baltimore. The six weeks voyage was very hard and the ship came dangerously close to an iceberg. The captain called everyone on deck to pray for a safe passage.
Grandpa worked hard to organize our ancestry for us, and I loved getting those emails.
As you know, Grandpa brought laughter and smiles to every room he entered. He had a lot to boast about, yet he never did. He was very humble. Instead of talking about himself, he had a knack for making others feel special.
For as far back as I can recall, Grandpa told me stories over and over about how he’d gotten such a kick out of my younger years. He’d say “Say-rah Lou”, or Sarah Louise, I remember when you were a baby. And you cried all of the time. But all I had to do was carry you outside, and you’d look up at the trees and get real quiet.
I was born on Flag Day, a lesser-known American holiday. Every single birthday, Grandpa would bring me my present along with a small USA flag and say Happy Birthday, Sarah Louise, and Happy Flag Day.
Everyone knows how he’d say, “You breed rabbits you get rabbits. “ Every time we did anything ornery growing up, which we are Standrings, so you know we did, sure enough he’d say it.
He’d entertain me and my siblings with jokes that many of you are familiar with. He’d play pranks on his friends. He’d ask to smell your ice cream cone or popsicle as you were eating it, and then he’d steal a bite- He taught my dad to do this, too.
I used to love when I’d hear the story of when my dad first introduced my mom to my grandparents. They were at the Evansville Country Club eating dinner. This was in the seventies so my mom had on an assortment of rings. At the end of the meal when the desserts arrived, Grandpa asked my mom if she thought his piece of carrot cake felt a little too warm. He kept waving his hand over his cake and asking her what she thought. Though hesitant, he finally convinced her to wave her hand over the cake to check, and she did. Immediately, he smashed her hand, completely submerging it into the cake, covering her hand and rings with cake and icing. Welcome to the family.
I always looked forward to eating lunch at the Shrine. Not really because of the food, but to see my dad and my Grandpa and to hear the jokes Grandpa would tell. One time when I was in high school, right after he got his first hearing aids, we were there eating lunch, and he got that mischievous look on his face, so I knew he had a new joke to tell us. This one involved my dad’s help. From across the table, Grandpa looked at my dad and said, “You know, Mark. I’ve got this new hearing aid. It’s the best one yet. I can hear the leaves rustling in the breeze; I can hear the birds chirping off in the distance. It’s incredible.” Right on cue, Dad would tilt his head and ask, “What kind is it?” Grandpa would lift his hand to his ear and reply, “What time is it?” He’d look at his watch and add, “It’s ten past twelve.” I don’t know how many times they told that joke, but I never got tired of hearing it.
At one time, Grandpa hired all of the acts for the circus. He took me back stage every year growing up to meet the entertainers. One year, Lassie was the main act, and they needed a helper, and Grandpa really wanted me to do it. But I was about ten and terribly shy and didn’t want to. But he insisted, and I could never say no to him. I always wanted to please him because I admired him so much. I had short hair at the time and the announcer kept calling me a boy, and I wanted to run and hide, but I didn’t. I couldn’t let Grandpa down.
One year in St. Croix, Grandpa and I noticed an older German traveler; he was there alone. And Grandpa told me, “Go use your German and talk to him. He’s all alone.” I honestly didn’t want to approach a strange man and strike up a conversation, but not being able to say no to Grandpa, I did and found out the man’s wife had recently passed and he was sailing around the world. Every day, Grandpa encouraged me to go keep the man company for a few minutes and finally one day Grandpa said, “Sarah, I want you to invite him to dinner with us.” So I did. He ate dinner with all nine of us one night, and we had a great time. The man felt so special that we had included him in our family plans, and he thanked us. Grandpa was so pleased, not just because I had used my German, but because he just couldn’t let that old guy feel alone. He wanted him to feel special.
When I first got published, I knew he’d be proud of me, but I honestly didn’t expect him to read my book. But he did, and he quoted lines from my book back to me. He showed up at Barnes and Noble for every event with his walker, even when he wasn’t feeling well. He always made me feel so special. When I’d write a poem or a blog post online, he’d read it and post a comment for me to see. Two weeks ago, I wrote a blog and it had only been up for five minutes when I received a notification that William Standring had commented. Just seeing his name and comment made me smile.
Grandma Marilyn used to tell me the story about when she and Grandpa officially became an item. She said one day while she was in nursing school in St. Louis, she came home to find Grandpa and one other fella standing at her doorstep. Both of them had been trying to win her heart. She said it was a deciding moment. It was serious. She had to make a choice. She looked from one guy to the other and then she walked straight over to Grandpa. She told me she just knew she had to choose him. I’d always been told about when I was a baby and I wouldn’t let anyone hold me- willingly that is- except three people. My Mom, my dad, and my Grandpa Doc. My grandmothers couldn’t hold me, but Grandpa could hold me all he wanted. I went straight to him. I never asked Grandma to elaborate as to how she knew Grandpa was the one. I didn’t need an explanation. Of course, he was the one. Just like I knew from the moment I met him as a child, I went straight to him, too.
A few months back, Grandpa emailed Sam, Coleen, and me, and he told us in the email he didn’t think he had much time left. Then he wrote, “It has been a privilege to be your grandpa.” The email made me cry, imagine that- and of course, I wrote him back immediately and told him “Grandpa, it has been a privilege being your granddaughter too, and just so you know I plan to see you again in Heaven.”
Friday I watched my daughter, Audrey, give a presentation about Neil Armstrong’s success story. I couldn’t stop thinking about Grandpa. Grandpa’s success story wasn’t the businesses he started and grew or honors he received. Those things were important and they’ll live on through the next generations. Sonitrol will continue to be carried on by my brother, Sam. And that made Grandpa so proud. But Grandpa’s success story was more than that. His success story was the way he made us feel. He made each and every one of us feel loved and feel special, and he made us smile.
One of my friends told me the other day, that the more you love someone, the more your heart hurts when they pass. Well, Grandpa I must have loved you more than I can comprehend, because my heart has never hurt like this before.
Still, I’m certain God has a new angel in charge of the entertainment committee and probably telling one of his favorite jokes as we speak.
May those of us still here do our best to carry on his legacy of love and laughter. We’ll never forget you, Grandpa. And we’ll see you again.
Grandpa came to every book event I had back home in Indiana. ❤
Grandma and Grandpa in 1947 at the Washington University School of Nursing Prom. Grandpa went to dental school there, and Grandma went to nursing school there.
My brother Sam, myself, sister Coleen, and Grandpa at his last birthday party
My dad and I after Grandpa’s funeral
Link shared by Sonitrol about Grandpa: http://www.sonitrolev.com/doc-standring-he-will-be-missed/