Dear Friends,
For years I’ve chosen a word of the year in January and hoped it would define my year, but it’s not working out folks. So in honor of my current situation, and in a quest for accuracy, I’ve decided to choose my word at the end of this year.
My word for 2023 is frahoodled. I discovered it in a novel about an Amish girl who was shunned. And books about high control religion fascinate me. I think it’s fair to say the patriarchy and high control religion can leave anyone frahoodled. And some things I’ve discovered about the origin of the denomination I was raised in have definitely given me pause this year.
frahoodled
an old Pennsylvania dutch word meaning confused, disoriented
This damn Rubik's cube has me all frahoodled.
Your plot synopsis of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man leaves me just as frahoodled as before.
Frahoodled is also the state of my house after adopting a Siberian Forest kitten. My little Magdalena Magnolia has joined the family. Luna Tallulah Belle got bent out of shape at first, but after three months of shared shenanigans, she seems to like her new sister.
Kittens, as you know, have no propriety and Maggie is no exception. Everything that moves and can be moved she sees as a toy. Despite more toys than many cats, she continues to make her own toys. She loves water and turns faucets on and steals food off my plate. I can’t even consider putting up a tree because she would be so frahoodled it would come down as fast as it went up.
And the new cat baby is just a small sample of my frahoodled situation. I finished writing my second memoir in August and was excited to edit and hoped to publish by October first. I was so happy that I bought this kitten for my birthday in September to celebrate my birthday and the finished book.
Two days after I brought the kitten home, my father had a stroke. While he was in the hospital, my mom was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Then my mother-in-law was given a terminal diagnosis. Raleigh’s parents have now both passed on. I have no idea how much longer my mother, my father, and my remaining uncle will be with us, but I want to love them the best I can while they are still here.
Life is precious and there’s something about my parents nearing death that stabs me in the soul. It’s possibly my own mortality, but I think it’s something more. My uncle who passed recently asked his son if this all there is? It’s a gut cramping question and I can’t get it out of my mind.
Among the many phone calls and visits with these three beloved people, one of my uncles who is 93 kept driving quite a distance to see my father who is now in a care center. This uncle is nine years older than my father and he’s still haunting the highways by driving on the wrong side of the road and without insurance. We’ve had a platoon of people trying to catch him and stop him from driving, but he not only evades all traps, but keeps trying to bust my father out of the care center.
My Uncle and father’s plan was to drive to Southern California and meet up with their middle brother who was also in a care center. but sadly, that brother passed away this weekend. My father and his remaining brother are sad they never had their reunion. I’m sad too. Even though I disagree with my 93 year old uncle’s driving and want my father to stay safely in the care center, their loss is heartbreaking.
Why do brothers who once chased each other in the creek with crawdads, and rode a horse named Scout, or who jogged on the beach with dreams to be boxers, and then studied to be pastors so they could change the world, have to end their lives with a whimper in a care center?
I ache for my father and his brothers. No one should get old. No one should feel alone. No one should have to die. And yet none of us will escape death.
When I was ten, a girl shoved me into a pit dug out by a backhoe. I tried to climb out, but the walls of the pit were clay and I kept sliding back to the bottom. I was hysterical and definitely frahoodled. Finally, an older boy reached down and pulled me out. Despite being rescued, I had nightmares for weeks. I cried when I went to bed. I’d wail and say, “What if no one had found me? I would have died alone.”
My dad listened patiently and replied, “No one dies alone. God is with them. But you are young and I would have come looking for you.”
My dad was not a perfect father. He often yelled at me and frequently belted me. He moved us constantly and struggled to make a living. But when I was ten and dealing with this trauma, Daddy made it known that despite his mistakes, he loved me.
Today my father calls me to say he doesn’t know where he is. Sometimes he seems to know the date, other times he says “I’m confused, can you help me know what’s going on?”
And despite our many differences, because my father is young again, I will continue to come looking for him. And when I am not available, (because no adult child can be available 24/7) I will trust that God is with him and he will not have to die alone.
Frahoodled describes my house, my family, and my heart. So yes, my well laid plans to publish my second memoir and my novel have been frahoodled, but hang on friends, I still have books to publish in 2024.
Meanwhile, I wish each of you a peace-filled Christmas and holidays!
And no matter how your year is ending, just in case you are hurting or discouraged, please know that you are not alone.
PS I have tried to contact each person who supported me through a subscription in 2023 and I’ve given them a free subscription for 2024. If I missed you, please send me a message at my first and last name at live.com and I’ll make it right.
So.well.written. Eloquent.
I love this! Perfect word. Love what you shared