A Thank You from the Past

A Thank You from the Past

There are moments of time that stand out more clearly than the moments that surround them. This post is about just such a moment.

I am an old Army wife. During my husband’s Army time, I saw parts the world I might have otherwise missed. I have an abundance of stories from our travels, and eventually I might share them all. As Memorial Day approaches, I felt it was appropriate to share this moment and remember.

We were overseas at a time when embassies were being bombed, and security was just beginning to tighten, in the late 1990s. We were encouraged to be aware of our surroundings, to be careful at all times, and to be observant.

Since Germany is so centrally located in Europe, groups frequently made weekend trips to shop, explore and learn. It was on one of these trips that I went with a group of Army wives to the Dachau concentration camp just outside Munich.

Dachau Gate
The iron gate leading into the camp, says “Work Makes Free.” People were told they were going to “work camps.”

It is a part of German history that the locals don’t like to talk about, but World War II evidence can be found just walking past a local church or building. The country is steeped in history much older than any American city. In most cities, you could still see the damage caused by bullets and mortars from a war before our time on the facades of the huge stone churches and only begin to imagine what transpired nearly 60 years earlier.

Being in that culture makes you want to delve into the history of what our troops went through in an earlier time. Learning from our past we can better understand our present and hopefully not make the same mistakes in our future.

The camp opened in 1933 shortly after Hitler became Chancellor. The camp was designed to house political prisoners, and it was the model for all the other camps that came afterward. In it’s 12 years of operation over 200,000 people were imprisoned, and over 40,000 were murdered. It was also known as a “school of violence” for the SS in training.

Walking through the exhibits and grounds literally made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. You could feel the sadness and devastation, even 55 years later.

From 1959 until 2009 memorials and exhibits were added to the site. In 1967, both the Protestant Church of Reconciliation and Jewish Memorial was erected.

On the path between these two memorials, I noticed an old Polish man in a wheelchair with a blanket across his legs. He had his caregiver wheel him up to where we were standing. He began speaking rapidly in Polish and his caregiver, with a tear in her eye translated. I remember standing there in amazement while what she said sank in; he wanted to thank the Americans and our husbands, the US Army and all who gave their lives and served to free him from the death camp. He said he owed his life to the Americans. He shook our hands, and then his caregiver rolled his wheelchair on down the path. The whole exchange took less than 5 minutes, and it forever changed me.

Dachau_US Troops free Dachau
Liberation of the camp by US Army troops took place on April 29, 1945.

That was one of the most humbling encounters of my life, and seeing how it affected that little old man, one person. Reading about the experience of those interred there and seeing the actual site was one thing, seeing the gratitude, tears and emotion of what our men and women fight for every day, priceless.

In Dachau and other camps millions of lives were devastated. To stand in its confines and see the bullet holes in the stone walls, I will never understand how anyone can believe it didn’t happen.

Dachau sculpture
Picture of the monument created by Nandor Glid, a metal sculpture of skeletal prisoners caught as if in barbed wire. It is a chilling reminder of how many died.

Dancing with Green-Teeth

By Charmin Foth

Flickr: sean-b

As our 20th-anniversary approaches, I am reminded of a skinny cowboy propping up the wall. My dear husband and I met twenty-two years ago on December 9th.

At the time, I didn’t want a relationship. I didn’t want to date, I was pretty much over romance all-together. I had been in an abusive marriage for seven years and couldn’t believe the person I had become in that time.

I had lost my self-esteem and my sense of who I was, or what I wanted out of life. I was burned-out, struggling with my faith and feeling like a failure. Years of being treated badly had led me to believe I deserved such treatment. I was just beginning to figure myself out again, thanks to the help of some great girlfriends, who dragged me out of the house and into the world again. They took me to line dancing classes at the local skating rink and concerts, and weekend trips, keeping me from drowning in a pool of self-pity.

On December 9th, my friend Beth, did exactly that, she drug me out of the house. Living in Nashville, there was always an opportunity for musical entertainment. On that night David Lee Murphy was playing at the Wild Horse Saloon, one of Nashville’s hot, touristy spots on 2nd Avenue, Beth suggested we go and try out our new line-dancing skills. So, rather than sitting at home on a Friday night eating fish sticks and tater tots, I agreed.

When we got there, we found a table and ordered Diet Cokes. Not my usual fare, I’m more a Mountain Dew connoisseur (diet – now that I’m older). I know you thought I was going to say something else, but alcohol was never a vice for me. I preferred to abuse myself with bad relationships.

So, I am truly a wild woman hanging out at a saloon drinking Diet Coke. Beth and I had fun people-watching and dancing. The wonderful thing about line-dancing is it doesn’t require you to have a date, and no one has to be in your personal space. Both of which appealed to me at the time, since I had sworn off relationships with men. I had a strict rule, I never slow danced with anyone. PERIOD. That was WAYtoo close for me.

While Beth and I were people-watching, I had noticed a cowboy in a fringed jacket, Resistol cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes, Wrangler jeans and boots leaning up against the wall. He was cute, in that lone-wolf kind of way.

The place was packed with people and we were lucky to have a table with a good view of everything. They were having a beauty contest before the concert so the dances were spread out between the contest events. The place was crawling with very pretty, scantily-clad girls and all types of guys, trying to get their attention.

When the guys couldn’t get the time of day from the pretty girls, they would begin to look around and ask the rest of us to dance. I wasn’t particularly looking for a dance partner, but this nice looking young man came up to me and asked me to dance. Since it was a “Boot Scoot Boogie” it wasn’t as if I had to get too close to the guy, so I said, “yes.”

It wasn’t until he got on the dance floor, and started smiling at me, that I realized he had horrible green teeth. When he got close enough to where I could actually hear what he was trying to say, I realized he had horrible green breath to go along with it. This is exactly the reason I was against dating. UGGH!

Beth and I laughed over the green teeth once I got back to the table, and I marked another notch in the list of THINGS I DON’T WANT. But, I was still keeping an eye on the cowboy holding up the wall across the way. Beth and I may have made a few comments amongst ourselves about him too.

The beauty contest continued for a little while and then they played a slow love song.  Beth and I were talking and minding our own business when I looked up and saw “green teeth” headed straight for our table. The cowboy holding up the wall must have seen the look of sheer terror come across my face, because just before “green teeth” stepped up to ask me to dance, the cowboy stepped in front of “green teeth” and asked me to dance.

In that moment, the cowboy rescued me from certain awkwardness, and left “green teeth” standing there looking dazed and confused.

Much to my surprise, when the cowboy asked me to slow dance, I said, “YES!”

“Green teeth” did not look happy, but I was so relieved the cowboy was taking me in the opposite direction, I didn’t care. It wasn’t until I was on the dance floor I realized I had broken my own rule. Here I was dancing close to a tall cowboy with a buzz cut. Oh, this could be trouble!

Not wanting to waste time I figured I’d find out exactly what was wrong with this guy and then get back to the table and enjoy the rest of my evening. We exchanged names, I told him I didn’t usually slow dance and apologized if I stepped on his feet. He told me if a horse could step on his feet, then me stepping on his feet wasn’t anything to worry about. I had a snarky comment about the horse thing, but I kept it to myself.

As we made small talk I found out he was a soldier at Fort Campbell, looking for a tourist to “date.” We had a lot in common, he was coming out of a bad relationship too.

I asked him at least twenty questions during the dance. I was determined not to repeat the bad relationships of my past. So I had this checklist in my head and on the first wrong answer, this guy was going to be history. The only problem was, he was getting all the answers right, and from the way he answered, he seemed to be pretty honest. That was different. He was different.

I asked him if he did drugs? No. Did he drink a lot? Mountain Dew (Hmm, that’s what I drink). Drugs and alcohol abuse were the big deal breakers, I had been around those guys, and wasn’t going down that road again. He passed the first two big tests. Time to just hit him with the big list of WHAT I DON’T WANT.

I asked him if he knew how to read? What was the name of the last book he read? You name it, I was straightforward, to  the point and more than a little obnoxious. I was sure I had put this guy off. He would never look my way again.

When the song ended, he followed me back to my table. He made me laugh and spent the rest of the evening at the table with Beth and I. He ordered a Coke (they didn’t serve Mountain Dew). I told him he was free to order a beer if he liked, he didn’t have to drink Coke just because we were.

He replied, “I’ve been holding this same beer all night.” One-half of a beer ALL NIGHT, what strange world was this?

He got his soda and we talked until they closed. He still got all the answers right. I was amazed. As he walked me to my car, he asked me out for the next night. The rest is history.

The first date is another story. 🙂

It’s hard to believe I have been with that cowboy all these years and I love him more every passing day. Amazingly, I owe it all to a guy with green teeth.

It’s strange how God works in ways we could never imagine. Be open to the possibilities, but never settle for less than what God has for you.

Thanks for reading.

An Outdoor Oasis

10419592_10202201301940647_5835138032285511343_nThere is nothing more relaxing than a long, hot soak in a tub full of bubbles. Soaking is a stress reliever on so many levels, be it a hectic mind-bending day at work or to soothe tired muscles after a day of back-breaking labor. With warmer weather here, it is time again to enjoy our outdoor oasis. 

For me the biggest downfall of purchasing the mini “money pit” in 2003, was the horribly uncomfortable, extremely shallow, 1950s bathtub in our tiny one bathroom house. It wasn’t feasible to pull out the old tub and put in a new one that was suitable for soaking. The room was just too small and, years later, when the old tub did come out, a new walk-in shower went in its place, because we also enjoy long HOT showers in my house.

We did have big plans, but as often happens when you have a farm, other things come first and we just couldn’t find the time or the money to make those plans a reality. Maybe someday, there is always hope.

One of our plans included the purchase of an old 1904 claw foot cast iron tub. Friends helped us repaint and seal the outside of the tub to look like new. The inside of the tub was in very good shape, considering when we bought it the owners were using it as a horse trough.

Sadly, our plans got waylaid year after year. For six years, the tub sat unused in my laundry room because we weren’t ready for the added expense of a remodel to add a second bath.

Then a few years ago, my husband and I formulated a wonderfully creative solution. After seeing examples of tastefully done outdoor tubs on Pinterest, we decided we could create an outdoor oasis of our own. There are many advantages to living on 32 acres in the country, on a dead end road, privacy is just one. Finally, we had a use for the beautiful old tub. I was over the moon about it.

We had dismantled our old pump house in the back yard earlier, as we are now on “city” water. The pump house foundation had a concrete floor and was conveniently located next to our newly installed deck that faces the upward slope and woods of our mountain. The concrete pad, an 8′ by 6′, was the perfect size for the old tub. I tiled the pad using miscellaneous ceramic tile, left over from previous tile projects. We then put the tub in place. Along a half wall of concrete block, I used recycled brick to build a fire pit along side the tub for added warmth and ambiance.

In the summer we plant a screen of corn, so it serves a double purpose, corn for the grill and an extra layer of privacy to our little oasis. The plumbing is in place, so no longer do we have to cart water from inside to out, or heat water over the fire. Life is good.

Once we had it set up, I laughingly told Andy, my husband, “Our marriage would have been much better if we had done this 10 years ago.” Never being a “soaker” he just didn’t get it, until one night when his back ached and his muscles hurt, so I suggested a long hot soak in an Epsom salt bath. Now he gets it, and more often that not, it’s him you will find soaking in the bath. My hubby may not fully understand the therapy of bubbles yet, but he’s coming around.

While the mini money-pit is still a work in progress, but we are happy to have our little outdoor oasis to take away the stresses of the day.

The tub also serves double duty, when we barbecue we fill the tub with ice and drinks. Now, that is definitely something my hubby can appreciate.

Soaking away my cares, until next time.

Charmin

 

This post was originally posted in 2013, but has been updated with new information.

10 Signs You Might be a Perimenopausal Woman…

A humorous look at getting older

By Charmin Foth ImageCaption: Perimenopause? What!?! Doc says, “Don’t worry, it only lasts 10 years or so!!!”                         Photo: Microsoft Images
 
  1. You can no longer remember the names for persons, places or things; everything becomes a whatcha-dittle, thing-a-ma-bob, or a whozy-whats-it, and you expect people to know what you are talking about.
  2. You want to nap at 4 in the afternoon, but are wide awake at 4 in the morning.
  3. You spend hours in the cosmetic aisle, looking for something that is unmeltable and sweatproof.
  4. You have an overwhelming urge to punch cute, cuddly couples in the face.
  5. Your bladder wakes you up about every 3 hours and every morning at least an hour before the alarm clock goes off.
  6. You cut up all your gym clothes to make a quilt that “wicks away moisture.”
  7. You mix your wrinkle cream with Clearasil.
  8. People who talk or breathe irritate you.
  9. You gain/lose/gain the same 10 pounds at least 50 times.
  10. You wake up at 3 am in a puddle of sweat and stick your head in the freezer to cool off only to wake at 6 am in a puddle of melted icecream with a lump on the back of your head from the freezer door.

Men, if you have a lady in your life exhibiting these symptoms, you may want run and hide, or for the brave of heart – arm yourself with chocolate, just don’t get too close!

Remember these are only a few of the warning signs, ladies, you know there are more lurking in the shadows.

The Count…

Count on your surroundings
The Count

There are no children at my house, not that I need any, my hubby, Andy is a big kid himself. Believe me when I tell you, the only difference is the cost of his toys.

We never had children together, I never felt bad about that. I have a beautiful step-daughter I am proud to say I know and love. She is an amazing young woman.

Andy and I love children, and relate to them because we function on their level. 🙂 The kids think we are great fun. I have had tea parties, colored, made friendship bracelets, built forts with sheets, played games, you name it. Andy loves to play video games, play pull my finger and burp letters of the alphabet, great boy stuff. We both watch cartoons. We once had a little boy turn around in the theater at a Disney movie and ask where our kids were? We have never lost our childish nature, and I think that is a good thing.

But, sometimes I think our friends, the parents, worry when we come to visit.

Please don’t, I think I finally have him trained…somewhat, and here’s how I did it.

At times, Andy is the Duke of Inappropriate Conversation. He has gotten better over the years but still sometimes there is no buffer between his brain and his mouth. When you don’t have children around all the time, you get used to saying exactly what’s on your mind at any given moment. That has always been one of my favorite parts of our marriage. We can truly be ourselves around each other. However, once you step into someone else’s world, at the very least you want to appear civilized.

When we were younger there were so many times a parent had to say, “Andy, the kids.” Don’t get me wrong, I am far from perfect, I can lose my filter too, especially if I feel safe with people.

Several years back we went to visit friends in Virginia. I reminded Andy, two weeks earlier he had offended another of our friends by saying or doing something goofy that was not intended for children’s ears. I did not wish to repeat that event. I told him that when he had a quick comeback to what someone said he needed to stall his quick response. I suggested that when the urge to utter something he thought was witty, that he count to ten slowly and think about who was in the room.

Five minutes after our arrival in Virginia, someone said something and I immediately saw the look on Andy’s face and he began to count out-loud, 1, 2, 3, 4… you get the picture. I couldn’t help but laugh and our friends asked, “what is he doing?”

I told them about my idea to make Andy aware of his surroundings. They began to laugh too.

Well, as the weekend progressed, Andy had to count many, many times, and soon the kids were in on it. As soon as someone would say something, the kids would look at Andy and begin to count. It was priceless. As soon as Andy began to count all the adults could guess the direction his thoughts and would begin to laugh. So he never had to actually say the comment out loud.

My friend said she was going to make it a family rule and apply it to both her brothers and her brothers-in-law. It seems that Andy is not the only “Duke of Inappropriate Conversation” out there.

I think everyone had a great time with the count. If you have a “Duke of Inappropriate Conversation” in your life, don’t get discouraged. Suggest they count. It could be fun. I recommend to ten, but if they are really bad, you may want to consider more. Just be sure you do it with a smile.

Thanks for reading.

Republished from November 2010.

Are you a toon?

Woody and Jess Pez I love cartoons and puppets. I always have. Maybe it comes from my love art, drawing, and doodling or from growing up on Sesame Street, but cartoons and puppets have always made me smile. On a dreary day or when I’m in a bad mood nothing can lift my spirits and bring me out of the dark places like an episode of the Muppets, Despicable Me, Minions, or old episodes of Pinky and the Brain, Animaniacs or just good ole’ Looney Tunes.

I have always been a bit of a toon myself. Over the years, many of my friends have said so. Andy, my hubby, agrees with the statement too, he even thinks I’m part Muppet. He says he can tell when I’m really mad because I get “Muppet lips.” Except for Janice on the Muppets, they don’t have lips. So, I guess that means my lips disappear. He knows I can’t stay mad when he tells me I have “Muppet lips.” I can’t seem to keep myself from laughing when he says it.

I am blessed that I have a husband that loves cartoons as much as I do. There have been many times when Andy and I were the only adults in the theater without children with us. We even had one little boy, barely able to see over the seat, turn around and say, “Where are your kids? What are you doing here?” He just couldn’t wrap his little mind around the fact that we were there to see the movie with just as much excitement as he had. Often times when asked what the last movie we saw together was, we received a strange look when Andy and I both name whatever the last cartoon released on the big screen.

It wasn’t until we moved with the Army to Germany in the late 90s that I realized I wasn’t the only toon in the family. Most people don’t see it, but my husband is quite the toon himself. If you have never met my husband, here is the visual… Andy is 6 feet tall and weighs about a buck forty-five soaking wet. He is lean and mean and still wears the same clothes he had in high school. He wears his hair Army short. He never wears anything but cowboy boots and jeans. His idea of dressing up is a big silver belt buckle and a western shirt to go along with the boots and jeans. He tops it all off with a straw cowboy hat. I fell in love with the guy in that cowboy hat.

One afternoon we made our way across post housing in Bad Kreuznach, Germany where we lived at the time, to barbecue with friends. As we walked closer to the playground where the barbecue area was, our friends 4-year-old son yells across the play ground in a crystal clear voice, “Woody!”

At that time, “Toy Story” was the latest Disney movie and 4-year-old Shane, thought Andy was the cartoon character come-to-life. Well, from that moment on every kid in the neighborhood and most of the adults called him “Woody.” Sometimes, I still do. I even have a little Woody figurine that sits on my computer desk at work to remind me of the toon that I love the most.

Shane is all grown now, and probably doesn’t even remember “Woody” but we will never forget that adorable little 4-year-old and the cartoon legacy he left with Andy.

Are you a toon? Maybe you just need to let your inner toon free. Trust me, it will make you smile, even if you don’t want to. If you could be a toon, which one would it be?

🙂

Thanks for reading.

Reposted from January 2011.

Darkest Days

Photo: Mircosoft Clifpart - a candle burns in the dark
A light unto the darkness

By Charmin Foth

I recently read that experience without sharing leaves no room for growth. Instead, bad experiences turned inward make you bitter and isolated. Wow! Been there, done that, brought home a whole crate of T-shirts. So here I am opening myself up, exposing the dark.

I will be honest, sometimes I have an ungrateful heart. I think at one time or another we tend to want things now, instead of later. We ask, “why me?” or “will this ever end?” I know that I can end up in a big ole’ pity pool, wallowing in it, and never looking to the future. Sometimes I have to look at where I have been to appreciate what I have now.

It is no secret that everyone has to suffer through hard times and dark periods in their lives. I have often heard it said, “It is not the situation, but how you handle the situation that matters.” I suppose that is true to some extent, but what about those situations that you don’t handle with grace?

In those times when you don’t make the best decisions, you end up on the wrong side of things but somehow you make it out alive. Do you hold on to that shame and hurt, hoping no one will ever see the dark that lives inside you? Are you bitterly ashamed of your past and pray no one will ever know the true you?

I am certainly no stranger to dark times. As a matter of fact, if you had asked me 25 years ago where I would be now, my answer would have been, “Dead.” After the death of my young husband when I was 19, I descended down a dark and treacherous path.

You see, I had convinced myself that it was my fault, and I felt like those closest to me blamed me and hated me for his death. Beyond that, I convinced myself I didn’t deserve anything or anyone good in my life. I sought out dangerous people and compromising situations. I dated all the wrong people for all the wrong reasons. I just couldn’t buy into the premise that I was worth it, so I treated nice guys horribly and kicked them to the curb. Being abused, became my normal because I thought I deserved it.

I battled with my worth and my past for ten years. It haunted me. More than once, it almost killed me. I felt alone, isolated and scared of the person I had become.

I didn’t have the strength to walk away from the things that had beaten me down. It took a series of unfortunate circumstances (isn’t that always the case) for me to seek a counselor. Many see counseling as a sign of weakness. I see it as the strongest moment of my life. It’s where I began to see past the darkness.

I had spent so much time railing at God. Screaming. Crying. Why? Why? Why? For me, coming back to a faith I had lost, saved me physically, emotionally and spiritually.

Everyone wants the quick fix. There isn’t one; there is no pill, no magic bean, no physical interaction that can take away the pain you try to hide, medicate, or abuse out of view. Counseling takes time and work, hard work. Faith takes believing. God never said life would be easy. He never said bad things wouldn’t happen. By surviving your worst situation, you can encourage someone else. But God can’t use your story unless you are willing to tell it.

To look back on my past now, I am grateful, not only for where I am now, but that I made it through. I may not have the nicest house, or drive a new car, but I have riches beyond gold and silver. He told me that I am beautifully and wonderfully made and that He loves me in spite of myself.

Isaiah 61:3 (KJV) says this:
To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord that he might be glorified.

God gave me beauty from the ashes of my life and gave me joy for my mourning. I exchanged my heavy heart for a garment of praise.

I am no expert and I can’t wave a magic wand and fix problems. If you are hurting, I strongly suggest finding a Christian counselor, someone who won’t try to fix you with a pill. Find someone who will listen and lead you on the right path. Know that you are NEVER alone, God always walks with you, even in the dark times.

Now you know a little about one my darkest times and how it has made me grateful for the light. So, will my journey into dark places help you? I hope it does.

If not, that’s ok too. I’ve given you a bit of my story, I pray God will now use it.

Republished from June of 2013.