#AtoZChallenge Comfortghan

When you are a grown-up, you still want your mommy and daddy, even long after they are no longer with you. You can surround yourself with friends and family, but nothing takes the place of those who brought you into this world. 

Granted, not everyone is as close to their parents as I was. I am one of the lucky ones. That makes it even harder forme at times.

I recently joined a group that creates comfortghans for those in need. I cannot crochet, but was the point person for their first project. They created afghans for the families of the firefighters that were gunned down here on Christmas Eve. Others were being delivered to the families that lost their homes in the melee. Since then, they have been feverishly working on more and more afghans to send to families all around the country. I started thinking more and more about it, and how comforting those afghans really can be.

This is an afghan, folded up, that my mother's mother made at least 40 years ago. My parents always kept it, plus two other ones, in the cabinet part of an end table that she bought when she met my dad. (She was a customer at his family's furniture store.) This was one of the ones that was considered extra special, because of the intricacy of the flowers. Somehow, I ended up with it. 

I have two cats and a dog and don't trust any of them. So, I usually keep this afghan folded and put away. One night, right around what would have been my father's 70th birthday, I started to feel sad and missed them a lot. I was also really, really cold. All of my blankets and the space heaters weren't doing their job. So, I went to the cabinet and pulled out this afghan. I immediately fell asleep, as I felt the two of them with me that night. It was like I was a little kid again, wrapped up in it with them.

Do you have any afghans or something special from your loved one that gives you comfort?    

#AtoZChallenge Bye-bye

One of the worst things about visiting a loved one with Alzheimer's is definitely having to say goodbye. I always feel like I am dealing with a little kid. 

"Now wave bye-bye to the nice lady and let her leave!"

Ugh. She never wants me to leave. She isn't sure who I am, but she knows that I am someone important. Sometimes there is that glimmer of recognition and she wants to go on a mommy-daughter outing, like in the good old days.

This is me getting ready to say goodbye to her the last time I visited, which was unfortunately back in August 2012.

Before I left, I knew I wanted a new picture of me with my mother. Just in case. That isn't the mother I know and love, of course, but that is who she is now. That doesn't sound right when I say it, but I think you know what I mean.

Anyway, it took a lot of failed attempts to get this one picture. First, I had to ask permission to get a hug and to have my picture taken with me. Then the poor kid who was trying to take the picture seemed to have no idea what he was doing. Finally, she grabbed me before this shot and said, "You're the best sister ever!"

*sigh*

At least that demonstrated a bit of recognition, right?

And then I was trying to leave. My friend was waiting for me out in the waiting area. We still needed to visit my father's grave and then stop at the museum on our way out of town. He had to be back to work in the morning. 

So, I said goodbye. She said, "Let me get my purse and then we can go."

Here we go again. During one of my visits the previous year after my father had passed away, I had to sneak out of the back of the dining room to get away from her. I always think of my students' parents as they run out the door, with me holding their crying child. One of the nurses always has to distract Mom so that I can slip out. I hope she doesn't get too upset, but am sure she probably quickly forgets about it.

So, a nurse escorted her back down the hallway to her room. I made a mad dash out the door, found my friend, and collapsed into a puddle of tears.

I hope to get back this summer. Who knows how the bye-bye will go at that point?       

#AtoZChallenge: Accepting Alzheimer's

I feel like somewhat of a slacker. I don't post to this blog as often as I should. The A to Z Challenge helps to lubricate the wheels of thought every year, though. In fact, this blog was originally born because of the A to Z Challenge. Back in 2011, I had a long talk with my father, as we were dealing with my mother's rapid decline into the abyss of Alzheimer's. We decided that this would be a joint effort. We would share our stories of triumph and heartache as we traveled along this journey with Mom. Our goal was to reach out to others in similar situations, to stand together in solidarity, to laugh and cry together.

Alas, my father fell ill just before my spring break from teaching that year. I was going to come home and get him all set up to post whenever he wanted to do so. Ironically, he had fallen and hit his head while getting my mother situated in a nursing home because she had run away in the middle of the night. He ignored all of the symptoms of a concussion that turned into a brain bleed and eventually took him from us. He never had a chance to see much happen with this blog. I still find it difficult to do much with it without him.

All of that being said, I have to say that this year, I finally feel like I have accepted Mom's Alzheimer's. There isn't much else I can do about it. She has slipped away to a place that I will never know, nor understand. I can no longer talk to her on the phone. I tried that at Christmas. She didn't understand how to use the phone at first, let alone try to talk on it. She had no idea who I even was. All I can do is call regularly to check in on her, which I know I don't do nearly as often as I should.

I did mange to visit her last year. I hate having her be 400 miles away. It is much more difficult for me to travel there now. And she has no idea who I am. Somewhere, deep in the back of her mind, I am a familiar face that she cannot place. She feels comfortable with me. She always wants to try to leave with me. It's heartwrenching to witness. But it is what it is. I can't change it. I can't fix it. I can grieve for what we have both lost. I can be a shoulder for others.

Thanks for listening.

Alzheimer's Plot: 'The Christmas Clock' by Kat Martin

I was going through my blogs one day to check out old book reviews. I came across one from 2009 called 'The Christmas Clock.' The book has a subplot of early onset Alzheimer's in one of the characters. I remember reading it back then, feeling drawn to the story, because of my own mother. This was well before she went downhill so fast. I enjoyed it, as some of you may. I am reposting my review here, for those who may be interested.

The Christmas Clock is the latest book by bestselling author Kat Martin. It's the story of a young boy named Teddy Winters, who at the age of eight lives with his grandmother, Lottie Sparks. Unbeknownst to him and many others in their small Michigan town, Lottie is suffering from a very rapidly progressing form of Alzheimer's disease. She is seeking to find him a permanent home before she becomes too disabled. At the same time, Teddy is trying to earn money to by his beloved grandmother a mantel clock that reminds her of her childhood.

Teddy goes to work doing odd jobs around the mechanic shop owned by Joe Dixon. Joe has been trying to rebuild his life after doing time for accidentally killing a man in a bar fight many years ago. His rage had been sparked by the love of his life, Sylvia Winters, suddenly taking off, claiming she had never loved him, which he felt in his heart of hearts wasn't true.

Sylvia has recently returned to town, carefully guarding the secret that had caused her to flee all of those years ago. She is also looking to start over, but is finding it difficult, as she keeps running into Joe, and realizes that her feelings haven't changed.

At the same time, Sylvia is becoming close friends with Doris Culver, her landlord. Doris and her husband Floyd have been married forever, but lost the spark years ago. They dance around wanting to revive the relationship, but neither will be the first to admit it or to make the first move.

All of these people are interconnected, and every choice that they make somehow affects all of the others. Though highly predictable, as most romance novels are, each of these choices eventually leads to a Christmas miracle of sorts for everyone involved. A few lessons in life and love can also be gleaned from these pages if you pause for a second to reflect.

It's an extremely easy read, designed to allow you to relax for a couple of hours during this hectic holiday season. It's not written to change the world, but to entertain. Those with families touched by Alzheimer's will feel a sort of kinship with the characters dealing with it, even though Lottie's descent into the depths of dementia feel a little too fast for reality.

Purchase in paperback.



Purchase for Kindle

Reflecting on Mom From A to Z

Like usual, I am behind on doing my posts. Reflections on the A to Z Challenge were supposed to be completed by last night. Even if I weren't behind as it is, it feels more appropriate to post this on Mother's Day.

I just hung up with my mother. She has no concept of it being Mother's Day, let alone the fact that she is a mother. I do not exist in her world anymore. They put her on the phone and she could hardly complete a sentence, let alone a thought. There were lots of "Um, uhhh, I forget the word" and lots of trailing off. I was able to translate some of it and fill in the blanks. I know what she would have said had it been even a year ago. She just can't do it anymore.

The nurse said that she is doing well, though, as far as her health is concerned - as much as she can, anyway. She has had no problems with breathing nor any other signs of the blood clot since she got out of the hospital. So, the long goodbye and slow neurological degeneration continues.

Last year, I started this blog in honor of the A to Z Challenge. Dad and I were going to work on it together, but life had other plans. I did do several posts in honor of my mother and our journey. This year, I managed to complete it in time for the end of the challenge. It felt good to try to think about the good times with my mom. I enjoyed honoring her memory. I did the same for my dad over on Montessori Writer's Thoughts. I have shed a few tears through the process, but it was cathartic. I will probably do something again next year.

Here are the links from this year's challenge. Following this list are last year's posts, as well.

A is for Acceptance
B is for Bookkeeping
C is for Christmas
D is for Daughter
E is for Easter
F is for Farmer
G is for Gardening
H is for Happiness


I is for Independence
J is for Juggling
K is for Kids
L is for Love
M is for Mommy
N is for Norma
O is for Organist
P is for Prayer
Q is for Quadrille
R is for Reading
S is for Symmetry
T is for Typing
U is for Underwear
V is for Violets
W is for Words
X is for Xendochial
Y is for Young
Z is for Zzzzzzz

Here are the posts I managed to do last year.

A is for Anger and Acceptance
B is for Brain, Babies and Boyfriends
B is for Bras
C is for Caregivers
C is for Crying
D is for Daddy
E is for Escape
F is for Football
G is for Grandma
H is for Happiness
Ignorance is Bliss
J is for Judgment
K is for Kicking and Screaming
L is for Lying
M is for Mother's Day
N is for Normal
O is for Opinions

My mother's voice

The other night I took some Benadryl before bed. My allergies have been acting up like crazy and I just wanted to SLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP. I was definitely deep in sleep when all of a sudden, I heard my mother's voice in my ear and could feel her breath tickling my ear.

I sat straight up in bed, despite the Benadryl fog. Of course there was no one there. She is in a home 400 miles away. But it really seemed like she had been.

I cannot remember anymore what she said to me. I wish I could. It was something profound and necessary for me to hear. Or, perhaps I just needed to hear it for that moment.

I miss her wisdom and talking to her.

I Had a Dream....

Last night, I had a throbbing headache. (Thanks for passing those on, Mom!) I went to bed early and took one Benadryl. (I still have it this morning. *sigh*) So, I slept pretty hard for about 7 hours or so, before waking up from a really bizarre dream.

In my dream, I was taking some of my students to a large field so that we could look at the stars and use my Google Sky Map app for real. We have used it in real life, but it isn't as much fun when you can't see the stars to match. I am all excited, trying to point out to the kids how you can see the actual constellations and planets in the sky, but they quickly lost interest. (They are ages 3-6.)

So, somehow the dream shifts and we are in some kind of seminar about keeping yourself safe, as well as child development. I am there with a couple of my colleagues, some old friends from back in the high school and college days, and a couple of students. Somehow, I am back on campus in the town where my parents retired, also where I went to school. I am feeling guilty because I have traveled all this way for the seminar, but have not gone to see my mom. My BFF keeps reminding me that it probably isn't the right time to squeeze in a side trip, how upset my mother gets when I do visit, and how hard it could potentially be on me. So, I acquiesce to simply taking the BFF and one other person on a quick tour of campus before we all pile in the cars to head back to NY.

We get to the new building that houses the pool. (My university is in a massive rebuilding phase right now.) I want to take them in there, even though it looks crowded, because this pool is supposed to be amazing. When we go in, I notice that my mom's nursing home is there on some kind of a field trip, and she is sitting in an armchair in the corner!

I go running over to her and introduce myself. "Hi, Mom. I'm Andrea." She snaps at me, "I know who you are," but by her conversation, I know she has no idea. I go ahead and introduce her to my BFF, even though they met a couple of times a few years ago. BFF is wiping tears away, because she has heard about the degeneration, but can't believe it.

The conversation with Mom continues in circles as it usually does. A nurse comes over to take Mom away for her medication, and I realize she is wearing a neck brace. It had been covered up by a blanket. I ask what had happened, because I am usually the one notified when something happens to her. The nurse says she isn't sure, but that it seemed to be more of a panacea than anything actually medically necessary. I wonder briefly if she is reliving 16 years ago when she had back surgery and then remember that she is much farther behind than that anymore.

I feel sad, yet relieved, as she is wheeled away. The three of us turn to head back to the cars. And then I wake up, 10 minutes before the alarm is set to go off.

My Mommy Tribute: Z is for Zzzzzzzzzzz

One of my favorite memories is curling up with my mother to fall asleep. When I was little, Mom would rock me in the oversized upholstered rocking chair that she bought when she met my father. It made this horrible creaking noise, the rhythm of which would lull you to sleep. I would fight sleep because I knew as soon as I was out, she would make me go back to bed. It was so comforting to be in her arms.

On Friday nights, we would watch Dallas together. As long as I could fit, I often lay in front of her on the couch.  Unfortunately, I seemed to quickly get too big for doing that. She would also let me squeeze into bed with her if I had nightmares or didn't feel well. To this day, when I have a nightmare or don't feel well, I just want my mommy to curl up with me to make me feel better.

I miss my mom a lot. I know she is still physically here on Earth, but it just isn't the same. Thank you for taking this journey with me this month as I reminisced about her.

My Mommy Tribute: Y is for Young

My parents were older when they had us. Mom turned 37 right after having me and 40 right after having my sister. Most of my friends had parents who were at least 10 years younger. Mom was fully aware of being older. She used to dye her gray hair on a regular basis. I would stand and watch her color her hair. I can almost still smell the dye. I didn't understand that she was so much older, though.

Mom always said that she didn't feel older when she had us. She tried to not be offended when people asked if we were her grandkids. The two of us kept her feeling young and that was more important.

When Mom started to decline, people often asked me how old she was. She is 71, but started showing signs ten years ago. All I hear in response is, "Oh, that is so young." Yes, she is young to be suffering from Alzheimer's. It's sad that it struck her so young. At the same time, it was to her benefit as she got to miss the hell of watching Dad die last year. But at the same time, she is forever young.

My Mommy Tribute: X is for Xendochial

Thanks to my favorite resource for this challenge, The Phrontistery, I found yet another great word to describe my mom. "Xendochial" means "hospitable; kindly to strangers." That describes my mother to a T. (Or in this case an X?)

My parents were always very accommodating to friends and family in need. Their dinner table was always open for a meal, whether or not it was a holiday. They often put up my friends who needed a place to stay for a few weeks. They liked to take care of everyone.

As for the strangers, my mom was like the motherly figure of wisdom to a lot of the young couples that came into their furniture store. She would spend hours at the desk, talking to the young parents-to-be. She was like an unpaid counselor for some of them. I remember one particularly lonely woman would stay at the store up to two hours after we were closed. Her husband worked nights and she had no family in town. For a few years after she had her baby, we often took care of him.

Mom just had that friendly and comforting look on her face that allowed people to trust her as soon as they met her. Who knows how many lives she was able to touch?

My Mommy Tribute: W is for Words

Mom loved words. She loved to play word games. My great-grandmother on Dad's side of the family was also a fan of word games. Mom often went to visit her in the nursing home and the two of them would play Scrabble. Grandma Belle would abruptly decide that a game was over, close up the game and announce that it was time for Mom to go home. But they enjoyed their weekly games.

Every once in a while when I was a kid, my mother would bring out the special edition Scrabble game that she and my father owned. They didn't want us to ruin the set; we had a tendency to lose pieces to our games. We ended up with our own word games, such as Boggle and Upwords. After I moved to New York, I often played word games with Mom when we would visit each other. By then she didn't care about following the rules. I would decimate her by using slang and foreign words, because I knew so many in a bunch of different languages. She didn't care. It was more important that we were spending time together and laughed a lot.

To pass the time, Mom started doing a lot of word search puzzles. It was her way of keeping her mind active. It was difficult for her to read, but she could still focus on one word at a time. She had dozens of those books lying all around the house. No matter where she went, she could do a puzzle.

When she moved into the nursing home, we made sure she had a good stock of them available to her. She had a tendency to leave them lying around there in random places, as well. I believe she even got in trouble a couple of times for trying to take some away from the other residents, believing them to be hers.

I don't know how frequently she is using those at this time. So many of those things are difficult for her to do anymore. But if she does, I know she is enjoying them.

My Mommy Tribute: V is for Violets

My mother was a big fan of houseplants. She had this giant cogwheel table that sat in the front window of our living room. It was one of the pieces of furniture that she purchased when she met my father. On it, she had a variety of plants. What worked well for that table was that you could turn it to be able to reach all of the plants for watering. You could also turn it to give the plants a chance to grow evenly in the sunlight. I loved that table.

One of her favorite plants to grow was the African violet. She had them in every color imaginable. She couldn't go to The Anderson's store without checking them out and often left with another one. They were her pride and joy. I inherited a love for them from her and used to keep several of my own in my home.

Photo by Deb Collins on SXC

When Mom moved into her room at the nursing home, I hoped she would still be able to take care of the violets she loved so much. I brought her all of the ones from her house after Dad died and purchased a couple of new ones. A huge sign that she was losing her faculties was that the plants quickly died because she couldn't remember how to take care of them. I think that in her mind, though, she still takes care of them on a regular basis and that makes her happy.

My Mommy Tribute: Q is for Quadrille

How did I miss Q?? I was just going back over my posts and realized that somehow I had skipped over this letter. I wrote so many posts yesterday that I guess it was easy to do.

While perusing the list of words that begin with Q on The Phrontistery, I came across "quadrille." Its definition is "square dance for four couples; card game for four people." That brought back all kinds of memories about my mom and her family.

Every time someone on her side of the family got married, we had square dances at the receptions. My cousins are significantly older than me, so I was young when they all got married. I didn't really understand how to perform the dances, but I loved to do-si-do. My cousin Ken was so tall that he would whip me around until my feet were flying off of the floor! My sister and I used to fight over who was going to dance with him and be flown. We would also bug Mom to get up and join in the fun. Sometimes she did and sometimes she didn't.

As for the card games, my mother was a fan of euchre. She would play with her cousins and many of her friends when they would come visit. The poor woman tried in vain to teach me how to play, but to no avail. I still don't get the game. I probably never will. But at least she tried.

My Mommy Tribute: U is for Underwear

My mother grew up on a farm. They often reused material for chores around the house. I still have beautiful cloth towels decorated with pink flowers that used to be feed sacks. All of these years later, they have held up to hundreds of washings and dry better than any kitchen towel you can buy in a store today. Mom also used cloth diapers to dust. What horrified me as a young child was that she used old underwear for cleaning rags.

Once a month or so, we would go on a massive cleaning spree around the house. The worst part was having to go behind the couch where the organ and piano were. My parents were the King and Queen of Knick Knacks. It would take all day to pick up all of those stupid little trinkets, wash them and the cabinet on which they sat, and then return them to their proper places. I loved the smell of the Murphy's Oil soap, but was completely grossed out that I had to use the old underwear as a rag.

Even worse was when I had to use my father's Jockeys.

I know that they had been washed numerous times and were actually clean. I know that they had holes in them and were therefore no longer fit for wearing. But seriously, UNDERWEAR?? It just seemed dirty to me.

To this day, whenever I clean with Murphy's Oil soap, I have to look down at my hand to make sure it isn't an old pair of tighty-whities that I am using.

My Mommy Tribute: T is for Typing

My mother grew up in an era where women were expected to learn all kinds of basic secretarial skills so that they could get a job. Mom learned how to take shorthand and how to properly type. She could run her fingers across that keyboard like no one else I knew. I was also always impressed at how quickly she could type in a set of sums on a calculator or adding machine. She almost never made a mistake.

When we were in elementary school, my parents splurged on their first computer. They needed it to keep track of their business. Plus, Mom was working at the local Montessori school as their bookkeeper, to offset the two tuitions. We were basically not allowed to touch it, but she did eventually buy us a program called "Typing Tutor." It was a game designed to teach kids how to properly type, quickly and accurately. She was determined that her girls were going to have this life skill. We also were not supposed to use the typewriters if we could help it. Ribbon was expensive.

I did well with that typing program. I remember being the nerdy kid who would stay in from recess to type things for the teachers who had never learned how to type. I typed my friends' papers because I was so much faster than their hunt and peck. I kicked butt at "Oregon Trail." Back then, you killed your animals for hunting based on how fast you could type the words "bang" and "pow." I remember having small groups of people standing around me to watch me go.

I am glad that my mother made us learn how to type. It is obviously a skill that I use on a daily basis, even if not in the way that she had imagined.

My Mommy Tribute: S is for Symmetry

My mother had a very logical, mathematical mind. That meant that she liked to have things even. My father, on the other hand, had a very artistic mind. He preferred things to be odd in number. The two of them had a constant battle over the symmetry of plants and decorations on the shelves and tables in the house.

Mom would always put out two or four of something. Dad would take one away to make three. The two of them would go back and forth with it, making each other crazy. At the same time, they were just trying to fulfill their own needs. My poor mother was finally outnumbered when my sister took after my father.

I am like my mother and tend to prefer even numbers. I have to take an even number of M&Ms in my hand at one time. I can't handle eating an odd number of things, unless I close my eyes and don't pay attention. The difference between my mother and I is that I can see how odd numbers can be made symmetrical and am okay with that.

To honor my mother's symmetrical mind, my father did give in once when he created a special painting just for her. It is in various shades of blue, which is her favorite color. The patterns are even in number and in perfect symmetry. He once told me that it was very difficult for him to let go of his own patterns, but wanted to do this for her. It is currently hanging in her room at the nursing home. She doesn't remember from whom it came, but it makes her happy to have it there.

My Mommy Tribute: R is for Reading

My mother learned how to read at a very young age, just like I did. She was super smart and even skipped kindergarten. When it was time to start school, she just went straight into first grade. When she hit the 8th grade, she was the only one in her grade. She attended a one room schoolhouse out in the country. She often got to teach the younger children when she was finished with her studies.

Mom always loved to teach children. She fondly spoke of the Mexican migrant workers who helped on their farm every summer. She taught many of the children how to read English words.

Mom also used to like to read. She had a thing for Perry Mason novels and Sue Barton, RN. I even spotted a Harlequin or two stuffed under her bed, but she would never admit to it. I don't remember ever see her reading a novel, though. My memories of her reading are of magazines and the newspaper. I am sure she was too busy with three jobs to really take the time to focus on a novel.

As I got older, Mom always would lament about how she used to love to read, though never the "heavy stuff" that my father, my sister and I read. I would take her to Barnes and Noble with me, showing her some great books that I thought she would enjoy. I picked up vintage copies of the Earl Stanley Gardner books that she loved so much. Little did I realize at the time, she was probably already unable to actually understand and remember plot points in a book. She did better with the shorter topics that were found in periodicals. Eventually even that started to elude her. I remember countless evenings where she would open up the newspaper and exclaim in surprise at some story in the newspaper. She would have to read it out loud over and over and over again throughout the evening. She didn't believe you if you said you had already heard it a dozen times. To her it was brand new information again. So, we did the best that we could to swallow our annoyance and move back into reading our own novels.

My Mommy Tribute: P is for Prayer

My mother was a woman of very strong faith. While she didn't wear her Christianity on her sleeve like so many do, she always let you know that God would take care of whatever was ailing you. She was fond of spouting off cliches and old sayings. The last one that she repeated ad nauseum was "When it rains, it pours." But she would also say things like, "When God closes a door, he always opens a window."

There are three particular prayers that stand out in my mind when I think of my childhood. The first is The Lord's Prayer. Like a good Lutheran girl, I memorized it and all of our other recitations at a young age. When we switched to a Presbyterian church when I was in the 6th grade, I had a hard time remembering to say "debts/debtors" instead of "trespasses/those who trespass against us." (Honestly, I still do, even as an adult.)

The second one was shared before meals around the dining room table. "Come Lord Jesus, be Thou our guest. And let these gifts to us be blessed. Amen." It was our standard prayer until we became adults. By that point, my sister was in seminary and could come up with other words on the spot.

The third one was used any time that I had a nightmare or was scared during a thunderstorm. Mom would either come into my bedroom and hold my hand, or have me tuck into bed with her in my parents' room. She would always make me say, "Jesus, Dear, be real near, for nothing then shall I need fear." It's very short, but to the point. And I always felt better when I said it. Every now and then, I find myself uttering it, even as an adult.

My Mommy Tribute: O is for Organist

I am the only person outside of my family that I know who is the daughter of an organist. I even grew up with an organ in my house. My mother learned how to play when she was a young girl. Her first job playing the organ began when she was 16 years old. She continued playing in various churches for 50 years. When she was let go from her last job, it was very difficult for her, because it was her life.

Mom had perfect pitch. She could hear if you hit a wrong note and would come running to correct you. She could also tell if an instrument was out of tune and it made her cringe. I have inherited that from her on some level. I can identify a note being off-key and it hurts my ears. I just cannot play as well as she did. I never bothered with much practicing.

Mom would practice songs for church and weddings by playing on the organ we had in our living room. Sometimes she would then move over to the piano for a different sound. Every once in a while, she would have a friend come over and they would play organ and piano duets. Every Christmas season, Mom would gather us around the organ and play Christmas carols.

We were allowed to play the piano as much as we liked. We were more restricted from the organ. When I was a kid, that annoyed me. Looking back, though, I guess I can understand why.

Mom always loved to tell stories about my sister and I and the organ. Apparently when I was really little, she had to bring me with her to a funeral. I kept changing the stops and messed up the songs. (Ooh! Button! I wanna push the button!) My sister was once sitting next to her on the organ bench during a church service. Suddenly there was this humming sound, and no one knew what it was. My sister had fallen face-first onto the keyboard.

My mother's style of playing the organ was so much her own that to this day, I have a hard time listening to another church organist during a service. Most of them make lots of mistakes and I cringe. Mom was enough of a perfectionist where that almost never happened. She was an excellent musician.

My Mommy Tribute: N is for Norma

My mother's name is Norma. Here is what various sites have to say about her name's origin and meaning.

From BabyNames.com:

The origin of Norma is English and means "from the North." It was most popular in 1950

From Think Baby Names:

The origin is Latin. It means "the standard or the norm."

From Baby Names World:

The Gaelic origin of this name means "Thor mind, Thor courage."

From Dictionary.com:

The name Norma is also a small constellation between Scorpio (or Lupus) and Ara. In the medical profession, it can be "A line or pattern defining the contour of a part, especially of various aspects of the cranium."