Rocking Chair Ruminations

Spring has sprung . . .

2008-05-17T12:29:00.006-05:00

Spring has sprung
The grass has riz,
I wonder where
The flowers is?

Not sure how well known that little spring verse is in your part of the world, but when I was growing up in the fifties, Iowa, it was a big spring time hit. You would hear it often recited by as many adults as children while they chatted over fence lines and clothes lines on some of those first warm sunny spring days.

And today, as I sit here working at my laptop, the sound of our riding mower and that of our neighbor’s riding mower, are humming away outside my open window. So nice to have the windows and doors open, airing out the stuffiness of a long hard winter. The lilacs are working on blooming--they’re just beginning to “show”, and I’m sure before the weekend is over, their fragrance will be wafting through the house carried on these gentle spring breezes.

All the apple trees, including the Crab apple trees, have been in bloom for part of a week or so. If you go anywhere near them, their scent will intoxicate. Funny how they don’t quite “broadcast” as the lilacs do. However, if you’re out driving with the windows open, once in a while, when you’re passing a large grove, their fragrance will sweep through the car, and your head will immediately turn in their direction, and you will be rewarded with the sight of their white and pink blossoms en masse along a hillside.

Mm, the smell of freshly mown grass has just gotten up to my second-story window. All that mowing is paying off in olfactory delight. For my dear hubby, all of it amounts to heading straight to his antihistamine supply. But for me, it fills me with sensory delight, and memories of a very happy childhood sprawled out on a blanket in our big backyard, watching the clouds roll by. Nothing quite like the contentment that would come from spending a lazy spring day soaking in the warmth of the sun after a winter of little sun, and being bundled to the hilt to stay warm.

I do believe my outdoor flower pots are calling. Today will be a good day to head to the local nursery and pick out my tomato plants, some flowers for my big barrel pots and some to line the garden path borders. Once home I’ll get last fall’s residue of late coming weeds and this spring’s early weeds out of the garden spots around my house. And I can work up the flower pots so they’ll be ready to plant tomorrow.

Ah yes, Spring has sprung, and I know exactly where the flowers is! Ain’t it grand!

Life's Little "oops" . . .

2008-05-08T15:45:00.003-05:00

I’m not sure if it’s my age, “the” age we live in, or . . . ? But it seems in the past few years there have been more “surprises” thrown at me.

I know some of it has to do with the age of my mother, and her going in to a nursing home. All those little Life surprises that my two young sons used to bring into my day, have now been replaced by all those little surprises my almost 99 year old mother seems to add. This week, on Monday, bright and early, I received a call they were taking my mom via ambulance, to the hospital. That sent me into a scrabbled morning as I tried to cancel and/or re-arrange MY Monday, and get going on the road to cover the over hour drive to the hospital, so I could be there with her.

And that is kind of how the rest of the day went. There was a lot of hurry up and wait, of course, once you’re in the E.R. and they’re working through tests to determine what’s up. As I entered the E.R. room one of the blood lab technicians was working to get three vials filled with Mom’s blood. Mom is a tough one to find a vein, so the gal was having problems as they’d already started an I.V. in Mom, and that was her one fairly “good” vein. I walked in the door, and as Mom looked up and realized it was me, she let out with, “Thank God you’re here, they’re trying to kill me.”

She had already endured being temporarily catheterized, simply to get a urine sample, which later she sat on the bed pan and could have freely given them all the sample they needed SANS the invasive procedure. I tell you folks, it’s not a good idea to be in the hospital without someone “healthy” and vocal with you--they just take over and do things to their heart’s desire, and you’re just “at their mercy” so-to-speak.

It was finally determined she had pneumonia, and they admitted her into the hospital--and, of course, there went the rest of the day. And there went the next day, and the next. Gratefully she is responding very well to the antibiotics, and they determined they could switch her off the I.V. administered antibiotics and put her on orally given medication. That meant she could go back to the nursing home today. And that meant all the things I was suppose to be doing Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and today, are being done TODAY as best I can get to them. Needless-to-say, some of it will be finished up tomorrow along with the “usual” Friday venue.

I’m grateful it wasn’t a bigger Life “oops” and that Mom is responding to the treatment very well. I’m grateful that other than being inconvenient driving the two plus hour round trip three times this week, spending money on gas that was not in my weekly allowance, and eating out with funds NOT in my budget NOR in my “allowed” food’s list, things weren’t any worse, and it’s all been covered.

I really need this weekend to be peaceful. I could stand to take the weekend “off”--but I see that spring has finally sprung and the grass is growing up, up, up. Translated, that means I’ll be spending a great deal of Saturday astride my trusty lawn tractor, mowing a fourth of our town (well, our family members own a fourth of the town, so I’m the one who mows all of our properties). I’ll be singing at the top of my lungs as I merrily buzz along. It is just as good if not better than singing in the shower! And in truth, it will probably feel pretty darn good being outdoors instead of sequestered in a hospital room as I was much of this week.

Viva la Oops! As I live through them, I become stronger--well, at least I become more grateful for all the non-oops days.

What was that . . . ?

2008-04-28T14:31:00.001-05:00

This morning, April 28th, I got up, headed downstairs and went to the kitchen. Outside were three of my four dogs, all looking at me through the French doors with rather sad puppy dog eyes. My DH had evidently let them out, but had gone off to other chores, and now they looked very cold and weary of all the “fresh air”--time to come in.

As I opened the door and stepped adroitly aside so as not to be run over by the horde, my attention was drawn to the skies--what was that? It was snow--only a few flakes flitting about--but what in the world . . . This is April, no time for snow, not even a few flakes!

We have been having some fairly decent temperatures. However, the extreme amount of rain has been making streams and creeks over-flow their banks, flooding fields, flooding parks, and then glutting the larger rivers like the Mississippi River turning them into muddy roiling messes.

But today, after putting up with all the wet mess, we have to put up with snowflakes. Granted, they haven’t amounted to anything (I’ve been told they did accumulate up in Minnesota, which is a very good reason NOT to live that close to Canada). However, let me say, when I’m figuring out where to put my new blueberry bushes, and whether I want to put in a new section of garden this spring, I do NOT want to see snowflakes. I’m really done with winter--really truly deeply earnestly DONE with WINTER and any sign of it.

Oh yes, and if snowflakes flitting about wasn’t insult enough, I had to put on warm clothing today before I left the house. I had already broke out my Capri pants--my short-sleeved shirts--my light-weight socks. I had put the snow scraper in the trunk of the car and had thought seriously about bringing my spare coat and my gloves back in to the house for summer storage. And they say tonight will be a hard freeze--please, enough already with the cold.

For those of you living where the trees are fully leafed out, where the flower buds are beginning to make their appearance, where you actually have flowers not just poking their stems up out of the ground, but flowers blooming, ENJOY all of it. Just the minute it gets to Iowa, I intend to drink it all in and relish every moment of it--right up until it turns humid and sticky and sultry and bugs are every where and you can’t sit outside in the evening because the mosquitoes will drain you of your life’s blood . . . Then I’ll be missing those little snowflakes I suppose.

Country Folk and the Big City

2008-04-24T12:29:00.004-05:00

There’s a great concert going on in Chicago April 30th. It’s suppose to take place at the Navy Pier Grand Ballroom--on the Lake front downtown Chicago from what I can tell on the map. It looks like an amusement park of sorts, and the event is in the ballroom at the end of the pier.

I really wanted to go. I probably had enough warning that I could have secured some pretty decent seats, up close where I most enjoy being in a concert. Money for gas and food and lodging would have added significantly to the cost of the event--but it’s a group of performers I would truly like to see LIVE. AND, it’s going to be video-taped, so eventually when I would buy the DVD, I would know that I had been there in person and witnessed the entire event. How cool!

HOWEVER, in the paper recently, as in as recent as this past weekend, there were something like 26 shootings in Chicago. And that, according to the article, is NOT unusual there in the area. They cited how many shootings there had been in the past couple weekends--all double figures. The shootings were not all in one place--they sounded over-all gang related, yet it was not only gang members that were the victims.

I understand I’m a country gal, so I’m not a big city fan--but really, why would I seek out going to a place where they have THAT kind of thing going on regularly? I know there are a lot of great events going on in Chicago--many of them I could see me wanting to take part in. BUT, why would I put myself in that kind of danger? Is there really nothing that can be done?

The article, if I remember correctly, quoted a police officer as saying there were just too many guns in the area for anything effectively being done to curtail the shootings. When I finished reading the article, my impression was: too bad about it, but we can’t do anything to really get it stopped, so this will no doubt continue, and probably escalate.

Is that acceptable? Is that attitude acceptable? I know I’m Miss Small town and Rural Girl’s poster child--but I just can’t believe big city folk would be willing to accept that kind of response considering this is where they live, work, recreate, and function daily. Is it true that NOTHING can be done?

Anyway, I’m not going to my big event. They will come somewhere else I can get to without thinking my life is at stake to see them. In this world today I understand there are always risks being out in public anywhere, even Small town U.S.A. However, there are cities that appear to be keeping their crime to a dull roar--where a person can go to an event and expect to live to tell about it. Color me old fashion, but I choose to believe the American public should expect better living conditions whether living rurally or in the big city.

NEW FACE

2008-04-22T17:39:00.001-05:00

OK, it’s the same face I’ve had for a very long time--however, today I ordered new glass frames--and that is kind of like getting a new face. At least it will change my looks--kind of sort of . . .

I say kind of, because it amazes me how many times friends and family members have gotten new glass frames, and I’ve not noticed. This could be completely me, Miss Non-observant. However, I’m sure I’m not alone in this department. Am I?

Of course, there are some glasses that just draw your attention, whether they’re “new” or not. But many people I know that wear glasses really don’t try to have “outstanding” frames, but rather ones that blend in to their face, or at least don’t make a spectacle of their face (OK, I could have helped myself, but I didn’t--it was a blatant use of the word to elicit a smirk, giggle, chuckle . . .).

As a very pleasant young woman helped me with my frame’s choices, her first response to the frames I liked best was that they were “too large” for my face. She said that the top of the frame covered up my eyebrows. I told her if she’d look closely at my eyebrows, that wouldn’t be considered a bad thing. I also told her I have rather outstanding peripheral vision, and that small frames tend to stay in my sight and bug me as I’m attempting to look out at the world (not at the frames). I also thought the color went well with my hair (as in marble-looking white frames matching the increasing white mixed in with my past-prime brown/auburn hair).

AMAZINGLY, the store manager and prime sales person immediately began to see my point, and could see all my points as being VERY well-thought out. At her quick concession speech, I reached for my cell phone and called my cousin, who was elsewhere in the store shopping, to come give me HER opinion!

The first words out of my cousin were: “They go really well with your hair.”

I felt that was good confirmation, as I have to say my very first thought on trying on the frames was that they went well with my hair.

NOW, how good is it that frames match one’s hair? Is it a valid selling point? Possibly not a primary one, but then again, they were large enough NOT to affect my peripheral vision (you do remember that good point, right?). And did I add that they were from the Sophia Lorenz line of designer glass frames?

I have to say, as the conversation continued to come back to the size of the frames on my face, I finally had to let the young woman know, I have worn glass frames MUCH larger than these in my life. Back in the tortoise shell plastic frame days, I looked like I was wearing massive underwater diving goggles. And during the early sixties, the “wings” on my glass frames rivaled the “wings” on my dad’s car (fins they were called on the cars--but the affect of the sweeping upturned expanded metal was pretty equivalent on both the car and on the glass frames).

Of course, during the end of the sixties, the turn in design had been in large part due to John Lennon’s “granny glasses”--which were pretty much duplicates of Benjamin Franklin’s half-glasses I think. John had pink lenses in his, other people had blue, and yellow, and purple, etc.--but they were tiny and a direct revolt against the wings of the early sixties style. I had them too--no colored lenses, but they were barely large enough to look through--which must be true as I think they were forever hanging off the end of my nose and I looked over them more than through them.

And in a week, I’ll be wearing my spiffy new Sophia Lorenz designer glass frames that go with my whitening hair. You can see some of what’s left of my eyebrows, which are also whitening. I think I’ll be very happy--with the glass frames and my new face.

Back Aboard

2008-04-17T19:39:00.002-05:00

I had been on a roll. I was looking at that big 100 mark, and thinking what I might post for my 100th blog entry. And then . . . And then the bottom seemed to drop out of my little world and voila, it’s been almost two months since my last post.

And what “bottom” dropped, you ask? Well, my doctor (my new doctor), decided to do a complete blood workup on me--and since I’d not had a complete blood workup on myself, as in NEVER, I decided to let him. So when he said “type two diabetes”, he might as well have hit me over the head with a loaded two by four. I did NOT take the news graciously.

His answer was to begin going down the “type two diabetes” hit list. There were medications to help prevent any damage to my heart. There were pills to lower cholesterol. He had already gotten me on a blood pressure pill before we even got to the blood workup. And once he had his final figures from the month of doing blood sugar daily testing (four strips a day, on rising and before and two hours after two meals) he was prepared to put me on insulin medication and/or some other diabetic medication. He had his “list” and I listened to all of it.

As soon as I got the blood workup results (a full four weeks before my next doctor’s appointment where I knew he would indeed begin giving me his roster of diabetes to-do list items), I got to work doing my research on Diabetes Type Two! I’m a teacher and a writer, and the thing I always start with is RESEARCH. I wanted to know everything I could about this named adversary--if at all possible, much more than my doctor would know, because I’d be looking at what one could do sans medication. And since my research assured me it was my eating and habits that got me into this mess, I was equally sure eating and building new habits would get me out of it.

God has blessed me with a very good doctor. He has stuck with this old broad now for two months as I have made major over-hauls on all aspects of my daily life--my eating and my exercising. He hasn’t pushed his list down my throat. Now, I do believe he may well have felt I’d be enthusiastic for a month or so, but that soon my old habits would resurface, and THEN we’d go to his list. But week after week he’s watched my weight going down. And week after week he’s watched my first blood sugar reading of the day lowering and lowering, and my daily readings lowering and lowering. To the point where he’s finally decided to let me go for two months “on my own” and then we’ll regroup for another full blood workup and see where we’re at. As it is right now, my numbers put me OUT of the Type Two range, but I’m still in the “pre-diabetic” range.

Of course, Life seems to bring things in bunches, so I’ve not been able to just concentrate on “me” and changing these quite well established daily life habits. No, I’ve had my 98 year old mom having health problems that have required quite a bit of time and travel getting her to her doctor and seeing to her specialized care. And I’ve had another close relative pass on--so was able to be with her as she passed on, and then be there for the family for her funeral and the time since as we all make our adjustments to her loss.

A number of you dear blogging buddies have sent me notes asking after my well-being, and have also expressed missing hearing from me. I cannot express my gratitude to those of you who took time to send me these thoughtful notes. I’m not sure I have much to say of import, but you’ve all blessed me by taking your precious time and reading and responding to my posts ever since I began blogging. Thank you one and all!

Hopefully I’m back and will be up and posting again regularly. I’m SO close to that 100th post--I can “see” it coming. Again, thank all of you who gave me encouragement to come back to the blogosphere. I’m so grateful for all of your support.

DIFFERENT PERSPECTIVES

2008-02-20T11:56:00.004-06:00

It had been an interesting supper hour with my son. Last week we were on a day of errands together and decided to stop for a nice meal at one of our favorite Chinese restaurants. Good food, pleasant atmosphere, and rather one subject leading to another from conversations that had been going on during much of our car trip that day.

My son is now 31 years old. He has been observing me, therefore, for a very long time. He has gone through many years of growth, experiencing me as a child, a youth, and now a young and maturing man.

He is a unique soul, with his own take on the world, people, and spiritual matters. He is so singular in many areas, that his teachers finally defined one of his habits as “well, he’s doing it in ‘Zach-time’” which is because Zach has one speed--HIS speed. And whether you want him to snap it up, hurry along, work as quickly as possible--well, he’s going to be doing it in Zach time and you might has well cool your jets or risk an aneurism, because you can bet Zach’s not going to move faster for all your persuasions, threats or cajoling--if anything you may well slow him up.

One other thing about Zachery, are his opinions of his father, brother, and mother. And, naturally, I am rather invested in the subject of his opinions of his mother. Even when I feel I want to correct something he’s said, or relate something I think will influence his thinking--you know, Paul Harvey’s “the rest of the story”--often I’ve learned to just shut my mouth and listen. I can learn a lot and have learned to change some things thanks to listening to him.

Now I’m not saying I agree with all of his opinions and observations of me. However, just realizing he has these ideas about me, and listening to what he has observed that brought him to these assumptions about me, HAS helped me. If he is coming to these ideas about me, then probably others react to me sometimes in similar ways. And if I don’t like what I’m hearing, if that is NOT the impression I want others to have about me, then I am grateful for the head’s up and the opportunity to change.

Of course, sometimes what he comes up with amuses me (as in it doesn’t always make my toes curl in my shoes, my hair sockets cramp, and my nerves jangle). One of his continued assessments is that I am a powerful woman. This one always cracks me up. I truly wish he’d been able to express that to me when I was younger. There have been times I felt the world was mopping me up, or people I was attempting to help were walking right over my prostrate body. It would have been so good to know much of the unkindness was based in their “fear” of me. This is Zach’s assessment.

He tells me that when I walk into a room, my very aura says “I’m in charge”. And sometimes others react by immediately stiffening their necks and rejecting anything I say or do, because they’re afraid of my controlling them.

Wow--to think I’ve been wielding that kind of power all these years, and I felt when I walked in a room and slid into a chair at the back of the room, everyone was either NOT noticing me at all, or thinking “who’s the strange little broad with the out-dated clothing?”

Now it’s true, back in my stand-up comedy days, I did a bit on my being Super Woman. However, it was done for comedic affect--as in, those who were looking at me on stage could tell I was anything BUT a super woman. However, my son, who was VERY little when I was doing this bit, says the humor was that I was making a joke out of “the elephant in the room”--everyone KNEW I was Super Woman, and therefore I could make jokes about myself because who was going to challenge Super Woman?

OK, I will admit, my pastor at the time called to tell me he’d gotten a call from his son’s school. Seems his son had told his class that Super Woman went to his church. The teacher tried to explain there was no such person in reality, and if there were, she wouldn’t be going to his church. No dice. He was very adamant. So much so, that it became a brouhaha with his teacher, which got him sent to the principal.

The principal wanted to know what the minister was going to do about it. He told them he wasn’t going to do anything, because Super Woman DID go to his church! I had done my bit for a church teacher’s appreciation dinner the Sunday before, so, of course, their son believed Super Woman did go to his church. After my talk, even some of the deacons offered to put a telephone booth downstairs by the back entryway incase I had to make a quick outfit change and fly off to fight crime!

In the years since my Super Woman era, I think I look less and less like a super hero or person of power. Yet my son sticks to his opinion, his mom is pretty amazing. I really don’t want him to have a false opinion of me--unrealistic. And yet, having your son think you’re extraordinary, singular, accomplished . . . Not such a bad thing, is it?

He does feel, as I age, I’m losing some ground. Some of my super powers are slipping. He feels by the time I’m ready for the old folks home I’ll be “ordinary”, maybe even fall to the state of “average” if I really get old old. Guess I can live with that. Just wish I’d known when I was younger that I was so powerful--I’d have done things differently!

hi ho - Snow white and the seven dwarfs

2008-02-11T14:08:00.001-06:00

Just get right in there and "dig, dig, dig . . ."

Hi-Ho, Hi-Ho, It's off to work I go . . .

2008-02-11T13:55:00.000-06:00

It’s Monday, the beginning of the week. And I’m ready to get back on the horse and ride! Well, OK, I’m working on being that chipper. I have had almost two weeks, though, of taking care of family business, and trying to get a little R & R for moi. So I’m thinking it’s time to just get back in the saddle and head for the horizon.

And what kind of music does one need to truly INSPIRE a good work ethic? What better than Disney’s Snow White and Seven Dwarfs’ Hi-Ho? So whistle a happy tune, and “dig-dig-dig-dig . . .” along with our little mining crew ;-)

Check in with Soccer Mom in Denial who started Music Monday and see who else is playing!

SINGULAR SATURDAY

2008-02-09T13:10:00.000-06:00

Hopefully turning the corner on the past few weeks, I‘m beginning to feel:

RESUSCITATED

Jenn in Holland inspired me to join in on her: Singular Saturday. If you pop over to her site, you can see who else is being "singular" today.

Harry Nilsson...One

2008-02-04T03:49:00.001-06:00

Haunting, heart-felt . . .

Sometimes you just feel like you're all alone . . .

2008-02-04T01:46:00.000-06:00

I’ve been having a couple of tough weeks. And this weekend hasn’t improved things a bit. I’m hoping to get a few things at least “resolved” by the first of this week--but I’m trying to steady myself incase these things go on for a while longer.

What, you might ask, does that have to do with Music Monday? And well you might ask. Songs create moods, but they also reflect moods. And these past few days, possibly because I’m feeling somewhat over-whelmed an oldie but goodie song has been running through my head.

It’s a song that I cannot recall ever making me feel bad--but I can remember feeling bad and then this song would come on, and some how it just “spoke to me”--it was like “someone else KNOWS what I’m feeling”--and that, amazingly, did comfort me.

So, here’s a rather sad song, that gave me comfort forty years ago--and it’s still able to do that for me now. One Is the Loneliest Number by Harry Nilsson. Harry is the one who actually wrote it, however, it’s been performed by many others, including the best known version by Three Dog Night. Yet for simplicity, and I feel the truest interpretation of the song, I rather turn to its creator, Harry Nilsson.

Check in with Soccer Mom in Denial who started Music Monday and see who else is playing!

MIRROR MIRROR ON THE WALL

2008-02-02T01:11:00.000-06:00

As a little girl our kitchen table was positioned next to a large plate glass window. My chair faced the window. I have vivid memories of just staring at myself for the entire dinners during the winter since the dark would turn it into a mirror. When talking about my day, I would talk to my reflection, watching how I carried myself, how my clothes looked.

It drove my mother nuts.

Now why she didn't move me to another chair I'm not sure. But I recall being constantly asked, cajouled, told to stop staring at myself.

So when we moved into a bigger house when I was in third grade it was a bit of a relief to find our kitchen table had a very small window in the room.

Then she hung a mirror.

Years later my mother cannot understand why I don't have a slew of mirrors around my house.

I don't need them. When darkness falls my three kids perform in front of the bay windows.

Just like their mama.

Soccer Mom in Denial is visiting the Rocking Chair today. A mom of three kids - twin 7 year old boys and an almost 4 year old girl - she dragged* Wholly Burble into the blog exchange. Today we're writing about Groundhog Day, or things that keep repeating. Come to Soccer Mom in Denial's site to find Wholly Burble's piece. Click here for more information on the Exchange.

*A wee note from Wholly Burble: SMID really didn't "drag" me into the exchange--I was quite honored that she asked me to participate--Thank you SO much for allowing me to host your Groundhog Day entry, and for hosting my piece on your site today.

THE WRITING GAME IS FINALLY HERE!

2008-01-31T10:13:00.000-06:00

Well, it's not "here", but it is HERE! Please head over to the Game site, or to jen's a2eatwrite, and find out who's playing. Then go read some FUN stories--and NEXT TIME, be sure to sign up so you can play too.

Click on: Blogosphere Meets Real World to read my entry. Hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thanks again, jen, for inviting all of us to play The Writing Game!

the Association - Windy

2008-01-28T19:41:00.001-06:00

Ah to be young again . . .

Windy and a little breath of youthful joy . . .

2008-01-28T19:32:00.000-06:00

Check in with Soccer Mom in Denial who started Music Monday and see who else is playing!

On Soap Opera Sunday I’ve been telling tales from my early dating years entitled “Older Men and other acts of insanity . . .” The first fellow I’ve been talking about was a very gifted artist, Tony. He was a drummer besides being an art major--drew in several mediums, but I think was partial to acrylics, pencil, chalks and charcoals.

Anyway, one of the big summer hits was a song called Windy. And for whatever reason, Tony decided it was “our” song, and most especially because he felt the words described what he saw in me.

NOW, before all those who know me now think it has something to do with me being long winded, talking ad infinitum, etc.--NO--a thousand times NO (and stop your giggling). Tony was a romantic, and saw me through his artistic, romantic-soul eyes as this wild and free character, breezing through life with a song in my heart.

Not sure that would have summed me up at all--but the Idea of it and the song itself, became one of my favorites, just because I accepted it as his vision of me, and one I found VERY winsome and wonderful.

Hope you will enjoy the song with me.

SOAP OPERA SUNDAY--postedponed due to Life . . .

2008-01-27T19:01:00.000-06:00

Hey Gang,

Life rather "happened" around here, and I'm going to postpone my next SOS segment for this week and possibly next week. Sorry--there's more of Tony, more of "Older Men and other acts of insanity . . ." And I thank everyone for giving me great encouragement to continue sharing all my hair-brain youthful escapades LOL.

Please head over to Anonymous Soapiness to see who else is writing today! And I'll see you back again in a week or two!

DEADLINE WRITER

2008-01-24T19:59:00.000-06:00

It amazes me that last November, when I took on the thirty day blogging assignment, I actually wrote something every single day--week days, weekends, through the holiday with houseguests--I wrote something every day. And further to my own amazement, some of them were fairly “substantial” pieces.

However, as soon as November was over, it was like one of the Macy Day balloons--like someone let all the air out. I was full and inspired, right up there flying high all November. And then, whoosh, December 1st, the party was over. No inspiration, not a thought in my head worthy of adding two or three words together to express. Zip.

And, more or less, it’s been like that ever since. I try to get myself going. I sign in, go out and begin reading others’ blogs, and commenting on others’ blogs--and there goes my day, there goes my time on the computer, and I haven’t created one single paragraph for my own blog.

Heaven forbid, but I’m beginning to wonder if I should have taken on the new expanded NaBloPoMo 365--writing daily for the year.

It seems I need deadlines. I need writing assignments. Mostly I need an editor who says “write this, have it on my desk by this” and then hangs up on me, or swivels their chair around and all I see is the back of their head and a perfunctory wave of their hand dismissing me from the room. OK, I might have made that last part up . . .

Never-the-less, I am often astonished how completely focused I become as the days dwindle down to hours, and the hours to AN hour--just focused, creative, words flowing . . . And I always read the thing thinking “now if I’d just had a wee bit more time, I could have done this, or I could have added a great quote, or . . . “ but of course, there was no more time was there!

Perhaps like the drunk at the party who, in his/her impaired condition, thinks ALL his/her jokes are hilarious, I’m convinced I do my best writing under these eleventh hour writing jags because that’s almost always how I allow Murphy’s Law to affect my time: A task will automatically fill all the available time--whether two minutes or two hours or two days.

And how about you, my fellow bloggers? Are you deadline writers--or are you all organized, topics for the week picked out, a time lined up for your writing, editing? Pages in the hopper, waiting for posting? Come on, you can tell me.

Wordless Wednesday

2008-01-23T09:03:00.000-06:00

It's a dog's life--part two.

Check out Jenn in Holland to see who else is playing Wordless Wednesday.

Blue man group - Sing Along - Live!

2008-01-21T00:51:00.001-06:00

Will you sing along?

Will You Sing Along?

2008-01-21T00:16:00.000-06:00

Check in with Soccer Mom in Denial who started Music Monday and see who else is playing!

It’s probably because I have always felt tuned in to the percussion instruments (OK, I have always had a “thing” for drummers too--but that’s rather a side-bar issue), but I can listen to drum solo’s, and heavy percussion pieces and just be in my fifth heaven. And that’s probably why, when I first heard the Blue Man Group, I just went total immersion into their stuff.

I suppose if I were to get all “into” the heady diagnostic angles, like their appearance, their on-stage persona’s and how they work off each other, there’d be an entire other aspect to why I enjoy their performances so much. But basically I just enjoy their sound.

Now, although the piece I’ve chosen to share today isn’t one where they show off so many of their varied instruments, it just happens to be a song that resonates inside me. I don’t care to analyze it--I just like to listen to it (over and over and over). I can play it for quite a few takes before I’ve had my fill. And then the song can run around in my head for the rest of the day.

Hope you enjoy it too.

Older Men and other acts of insanity . . . Part Three

2008-01-20T19:23:00.000-06:00

SOS is an event inspired by Brillig and Walking Kateastrophe's . To find out who else is taking part, and read some great SOS, Walking Kateastrophe is hosting this week. Go check it out for some soapy fun! This is my own story--an ending and a beginning, from high school to college--and the array of “older“ men that came through my life back then. Part One is here., Part Two is here.

With approximately three weeks of finals and my actual graduation ceremony left, and Tony’s last two weeks of college finals, we saw very little of each other after our rather enticing first date. We spoke via the phone, and saw each other Saturday evenings during finals weeks.

My father kept pushing for me to go to the state university, even though my dorm room and roommate were already chosen for the coming fall semester at the university at Ames, Iowa. However, once the local university offered me a generous honor student placement, if I would go to summer school instead of waiting until the fall semester, my father offered me the sun, moon and stars if I’d accept. Ok, not the sun and moon, but a Maroon Mustang and a gas credit card (unheard of back in the late sixties for a student to have a gas credit card). Of course, Tony was also pushing for me to accept the local honor student enrollment so he and I could continue dating.

Finally with so much pressure from my parents, I accepted the honor student position, and there I was four days after high school graduation, I was starting summer school, sitting in the honor’s classroom at 7:30 a.m. If I hadn’t been practically asleep in my chair, I would have been completely devastated that I was no longer going to the college of my dreams, but I was also surrendering my last summer of “freedom” before beginning “adulthood”, college, and looking at a life of WORK and OCCUPATION squarely in the face. Good thing I had a very cool car to drive around in, or boyfriend or not, I could have been pretty depressed.

Tony, on the other hand, was also taking summer classes and was there to pick me up for my first day of classes. He was extremely tickled that he would have me by his side, and get to walk me to classes, take me to the student union, to the library for study dates, to school events, etc. I tried to join in on his enthusiasm, but I’m NOT a morning person, and pretty summer weather or not, climbing in his car at six-thirty a.m. on a June morning, didn’t catch me in my most “perky” mood.

Still, Tony showered me with little surprises throughout the day. He had created a series of small “welcome to college” gifts, each one wrapped in crazy and sweet ways, decorated with his own personal artistic flare. It was difficult to stay in a crummy mood when such attention was being lavished on me.

At the end of the day, before delivering me back home, he had one more BIG box in the trunk of the car. I unwrapped it, and there was a stuffed teddy bear with a graduation hat on--and it was sitting on top of another wrapped box. I opened the next package, and it had a box of new ink pens in it--and another box. By the fourth box, which held a “coupon” for one free back rub, redeemable from gift-giver at the time of my own choosing--and one more tiny box, I was pretty knocked off my feet by his thoughtfulness and creativity. In the last box was a bottle of VERY expensive perfume.

I wasn’t sure my father would allow me to accept such an expensive gift--but that wasn’t all that was in the box--under the perfume was a beautiful wristwatch--with diamonds set around the clock face. THAT I was VERY sure my father was going to object to heartily.

Tony was rather surprised when I said I couldn’t accept his gifts without my father’s permission. He argued about it saying he was working, and had been working for over a year and a half to pay for his college expenses, but that he had enough to “spoil” his favorite girl. I told him my father was born in 1908, was pretty “Victorian” in his views--and I doubted he’d let me keep the gifts. I told him my folks had me when they were forty, so I’d grown up used to an “older” set of values--and there really would be little chance he’d bend on this.

Tony said he wanted to talk with my dad--I gave him credit for courage, but I felt it was going to NOT bode well for our “future” dating. But Tony went right in to the house and asked my father if he might speak with him. He explained that he had his own money. He had purchased the watch for my graduation present, but hadn’t had time to give it to me since between graduation and my starting college I’d been busy with family things. He said it wasn’t just an “off-handed” gift, but appropriate for graduation. My father was protesting, but I was surprised, he finally agreed as Tony assured him his parents knew of the gifts, and his intentions were honorable.

I was impressed. And I only had to take a mild amount of static from my parents after Tony left that evening. All-in-all, my first day of college had been pretty awesome.

The second weekend after college classes had started, Tony asked me out for a second “date”. We had been fairly inseparable on campus between classes, but Tony said that didn’t count as a date. He had planned a special outing for us, and he’d be there to pick me up bright and shining on Saturday. I said it was going to be my first day to sleep in since school began, so not to make it too bright and shining. But he said we had a ways to go, so no sleeping in.

After a two hour’s drive out through the countryside, Tony turned in to an area marked as “trout stream” area. He had packed not only a picnic and munchies, but also a bunch of art supplies. Tablets, pencils, charcoal, colored pens, just all sorts of things. I figured they were for him. But he said since I’d shared with him I’d been a rather “closet” artist since my dad was the real artist, and told me I was NOT an artist, I was a writer; well, he wanted me to free myself and just draw. He said there was plenty to inspire me there--a trout stream with water cascading over colorful stones, trees with shaggy bark, an array of summer flowers in bloom, birds and critters all around, granite outcroppings, etc.

Tony threw our drinks in the cold stream, made a little fire ring for our foil wrapped steaks, potatoes and corn on the cob to slow cook in the fire’s coals. And we two settled down with our art supplies and began to draw. By late afternoon we stretched out on the blanket just enough in the shade of a large tree to keep from getting sunburned, and took a catnap. We were lulled asleep with the sounds of the birds and the water rushing over the stones. The scent of the flowers was intoxicating.

When I came to, Tony had packed everything up, and was stretched out beside me, tickling my ear with the edge of a daisy. He brushed kisses along my cheek, my nose, and nibbled on my earlobe. The light warm breeze of the day seemed to accentuate his every move. He ran the tips of his fingers from my shoulders, down my arms, and out to my fingertips. It felt like tiny electrical zings that went from my finger tips, directly to my very alert breasts and other VERY alert special places. He took his time, even playing gently with the ringlets around my face.

I had reached up and put my arms around his neck, pulling him over me and down closer to my body. The warmth of his skin, and his scent made my body ache. As his lips pressed into mine, I tightened my arms, pulling him deeper into my embrace. About the time I was beginning to wrap my leg around his, he laughed ever so gently, and pulled himself out of my arms, and raised himself up and away from me.

“Whoa there, Sweetheart. Let’s not do anything we’d be sorry about later. I intend for us to make it for the long haul. We better head back to the car and down the road for home.”

He took my hands and pulled me to my feet. I was rather confused and a bit out of it. The hormones were still dictating what my body wanted--and his words weren’t quite registering. The Sunday-go-to-meeting side of me was glad for his restraint. The “you’ve GOT to be kidding” hormonal side of me was a bit hurt about this seeming rejection of my “offering”.

Tony pulled me close to him and kept his arm around me on the drive home. I really was inexperienced in getting into hot and heavy sex--but some how I did feel rejected. I kept telling myself he was right, and I was safe with Tony and could trust his judgment. It had been a wonderful day--and he had seen to it I had nothing to regret later. Now if I could just convince my hormones, it would truly have been the end to a perfect day.

SINGULAR SATURDAY

2008-01-19T19:40:00.000-06:00

After a week babying my back, mincing around, and taking muscle relaxants, I‘m:
EXHAUSTED

Jenn in Holland inspired me to join in on her: Singular Saturday. If you pop over to her site, you can see who else is being "singular" today.

Wordless Wednesday

2008-01-16T09:11:00.000-06:00

Colorado View

Neil Diamond

2008-01-14T11:56:00.001-06:00

Beautiful noise: The Music of Life

MUSIC MONDAY

2008-01-14T11:46:00.000-06:00

Soccer Mom in Denial started Music Monday. This week, though, Flower Child is hosting, so check out and see who else is playing over at her site!

Here’s a very simple tune, yet I find it nurtures my soul. Hope you enjoy this Neil Diamond song and find it as pleasing as I do. It truly is a “beautiful noise”:

Older Men and other acts of insanity . . . Part Two

2008-01-13T16:48:00.000-06:00

I introduced Tony to my parents. He did all the proper things, like looking directly into my dad’s eyes as they shook hands, pleasant smile, but a direct man-to-man look. As my mom stretched out her hand, he shook it smiling as he kept her gaze. I saw Mom and Dad nod an approval to each other on his manners. Round one, and Tony was doing pretty darn good.

He was dressed in a very handsome suit, which I would have expected since we were going to a wedding. But as he chatted with my parents, he stated that he was one of the ushers, and we really would need to leave as he was wanted at the church prior to the wedding to get his boutonniere and begin seating the guests as they arrived. I have to admit, I probably looked a bit concerned, as I had thought I’d be sitting with Tony. He looked over at me, grinned, and assured me he’d be close by, and I wouldn’t have to sit with his parents unless I wanted to. I DID let out an audible sigh of relief, to which everyone chuckled.

And then we were off. He had rather whisked me out the door, down the stairs, and off to his car, where he opened the door. I slid on in (and in those days, no seatbelts), and tried to straighten out my dress so it wouldn’t wrinkle.

It turned out the church was only a few blocks away. Funny how we’d evidently been practically neighbors for years, but had never met. We went to the same high school, but I would have been a sophomore while he was a senior--that pretty much would have kept us separate right there! Seniors and sophomores don’t share classes, unless they’re in band, orchestra, chorus--or a few “elective” courses. And if we’d ever seen each other at the local grocery store, pharmacy, etc., well, unless he tripped over me, or we bumped car fenders, I doubt we’d ever really would have noticed one another. OK, I would have noted a good looking fellow, but no sense in dwelling on something “out of your league”.

I have to admit, by nature I’m rather shy. OK, everyone who knows me, stop chortling, you might hurt yourself. I know I have performed on stage for crowds, I’ve taught from lecterns in theaters and at the front of classrooms. And I engage total strangers in conversations with no hesitation. BUT, when it came to my dating years, being with a new fellow, and meeting his people, his family, his friends, I was ready to blend in to the woodwork, be the mouse under the table, or the fly on the wall--I really was so worried about the impression I’d make, I would freeze up like a deer in the headlights.

We walked into the church vestibule, and there they were. Hoards of them. All people Tony seemed to know. Everyone came over to give him a squeeze, a handshake, a kiss on the cheek. And EVERYONE, was rolling eyes, tipping heads my direction, and asking “Oh Tony, who’s THIS sweet girl?” or "Oh, FINALLY, we get to meet your special lady.” And I clung to his hand for dear life, as he graciously, and with a sweet little grin, introduced me with the title of “his lady” and my name.

I was very relieved when he finally led me to a pew at the back of the church. His parents weren’t there yet, and he needed to begin seating people--so he put me back close to the place he’d be sitting during the service. Everyone was being ushered up to the front, filling in seats there first. And I was quite content to hold down the fort at the back, all by myself.

Just when I had begun to breathe normally, Tony was standing next to my seat and on his arm was a woman--who turned out to be his mother. And on the other side of his mom was his dad, and his two brothers. They had decided they would sit back with me, rather than move up closer to the front. Tony busied himself making introductions, and I stood up and moved out of the pew to make room for them--at which point his Mom went past me and began moving down the pew to make room--but his dad shoved me back in telling me he didn’t want me to feel left out, so I was going to sit between he and Tony’s mom. Yikes.

Good thing I was young and not prone to heart attacks, as I’m sure my blood pressure was off the Richter scale! Everyone was speaking in semi-hushed “church” tones, with his brothers leaning around their father to ask me questions, and his mother leaning around me telling them to be quiet. Every time Tony went by ushering someone to a seat, his father would elbow me, and nod toward Tony. To which he would add some kind of conspiratorial wink and grin, which I decided not even to try and figure out all of what that was about.

Although we all stood as the chords to the wedding march for the bride began, I have to admit, the rest of the service was a bit of a blur to me. I was greatly relieved when we all stood and filed out of the pew, and I could beg off needing to head to the little girl’s room. Sitting in my little potty cubicle, I finally had a few minutes to collect myself and see if I could get my blood pressure back somewhere close to normal--I don’t think even when you’re young it’s good to have elevated blood pressure for over a half hour.

As I came out of the bathroom, I was almost afraid to look around and find one of Tony’s immediate family ready to corral me again. Instead, there was Tony. He bowed slightly from the waist. Flashed me an irresistible smile. And slightly extended his bent arm, allowing me to take hold as he led me toward the church’s reception hall. And just as we got to the door of the hall, he dropped his arm, moved slightly behind me, and wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me close into his body.

I barely had time to react to this masculine gesture, when I felt his warm breath on my neck, as he whispered in my ear, “You’re safe now. I’m not letting you go for one more moment the rest of the day.” I felt the heat rise from my neck up what I was sure to my now blushing cheeks. And from that moment on, he was at my side. Even sitting at the table for our meal, he ever so slightly moved his leg over to touch my leg. When dancing, he alternated holding me out at arm’s length, as he looked me over like he was thinking I was edible, and then pulling me in to his warm muscular body directing us smoothly around the dance floor.

And some where in all of it, there on the dance floor, as he pulled me in close, he dipped me ever so gently and kissed me. His lips were soft, tender, yet with just a bit of urgency. I was grateful he had a good hold on me or I’d have swooned and hit the floor.

Can’t tell you much more about the rest of the day--I don’t think my head was in gear, but my glands were working over-time. And this was our FIRST date, I couldn’t imagine how he could top it on our second date--but he did!

SINGULAR SATURDAY

2008-01-12T10:02:00.000-06:00

The reason I read:
INFORMATION

Jenn in Holland inspired me to join in on her: Singular Saturday. If you pop over to her site, you can see who else is being "singular" today.

Reporting on Day to Read!

2008-01-11T21:37:00.001-06:00

I read, pretty much off and on all day long. One thing I did, which I have not taken the time and enjoyed the luxury of for a VERY long time, was to read the paper from beginning to end--pretty much every page, every article! Wow. I used to be such a paper reader. But now, with on-line news "clips" and such, I just don't read the entire paper. BUT, yesterday I had the joy and satisfaction of reading it cover to cover.

I also worked on other things--but really that was my one big commitment for the day. There is a book I'm reading, but it's going to take me some time to get it finished. And I have a couple others I have been reading excerpts from as research for my novel. But over-all, I am working on reading those things all the time. The paper was "special" for me--and I only wish it had been a Sunday paper, because that can be an all-dayer, replete with munchies and such! ;-)

It's been fun today to go around to those participating and see what they read and their reports. I'm so pleased we all took this time and made this commitment. I just left off the computer for the largest part of the day, and didn't go to any blogs--it was the only way I wouldn't find myself reading blogs LOL.

Again, this has been fun--maybe we'll have to do it again.

Wordless Wednesday

2008-01-09T10:28:00.000-06:00

DOG TIRED

Momma's auburn-haired sleeping angel: Daisy Mae

Elvis Presley - Amazing Grace

2008-01-08T15:11:00.001-06:00

Happy Birthday Elvis!

2008-01-08T14:38:00.000-06:00

Today is Elvis Aaron Presley's birthday. I was pretty sure I was born as his 14th year birthday present (the day before, so I'd be there on time I'm sure). However, other than my grandma and me, no one else seemed to share this idea.

I was pleased that the year before he died, I was able to see him perform live, in Ames, Iowa. I was up in the third tier of balcony seats--had to have binoculars, and try to keep the pigeons from roosting on my head LOL (OK, maybe a slight exaggeration). But, still, he and I were in the same "room", breathing the same air--it was live--and after so many years of being a true blue fan, it was a biggie in my book.

The next year, as I was taking care of my one year old son, the phone rang. A relative who knew what a die-hard fan I was, asked if I was sitting down. That is NEVER a good sign. She told me Elvis was dead--that it had just come on the news. She told me what channel to put on to see for myself. I was shell-shocked. I really didn't want to believe it.

There was much time afterwards to contemplate the why's, hear all the suggestions of how it came to happen, and think about the what if's. And it still all came down to the fact--Elvis was gone.

I have never gone to see an Elvis impersonator--if I want, I can see his movies, I can listen to his recordings--there is only one Elvis, and I don't care to see anyone trying to "play" him.

He was a one and only. He was a man with foibles. He was a gifted fellow, who had, within him, the ability to bring happiness to others through his singing. He never took the Elvis image seriously. In fact, he had quite a sense of humor about himself. But he understood people did take the hype seriously, and he tried to be that for them as much as he could.

He is missed by many. I am one of them. Here's a little tribute for him--enjoy. And Happy Birthday Elvis!

Happy Birthday!

2008-01-07T06:32:00.000-06:00

Check in with Soccer Mom in Denial who started Music Monday and see who else is playing!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!

I’ve hit the big 59--and the BIG 6-0 is looking me square in the face LOL. Although I’m all for saving a few quarters, I’m really not dancing for joy to being another year closer to my Senior Discount at all my favorite restaurants!

I wish I had great revelations of knowledge, pithy sayings that apply to aging gracefully, and wisdom being revealed by my every thought and deed. However, I’m turning out to be a pretty nice gal, and a good friend, and as long as I wake up breathing, I have another day to be my very best.

Here’s a little music to celebrate my special day!

Paul McCartney - Birthday (Knebworth)

2008-01-06T18:40:00.001-06:00

Happy Birthday to me!

Older Men and other acts of insanity . . .

2008-01-06T08:21:00.000-06:00

SOS is an event inspired by Brillig and Walking Kateastrophe's . To find out who else is taking part, and read some great SOS, Brillig is hosting this week. Go check it out for some soapy fun! This is my own story--an ending and a beginning, from high school to college--and the array of “older“ men that came through my life back then.

It was my high school senior year. We were allowed two days off to travel to colleges and attend their events for selling their school to potential students. My only desire was to visit the university at Ames, Iowa--where my brother had gone. The ratio of males to females was something like five to one (and I felt five males to my “one” was a good thing).

My father wanted me to check out the university at Cedar Falls, Iowa--a mere twenty minute drive from home, thus eliminating the need for housing and food expense since I could stay at home. According to my father, when they snipped my umbilical chord from Mom, he picked it up and had attached it to himself--so, in short, he said I could only go so far from home/him--and then HE would feel he could keep me safe (Dad’s are SO unrealistic. If a girl decides to do stupid, dumb, potentially harmful things, by golly, she’s going to find a way!).

Anyway, my cousin was a sophomore at the local college--so I decided to go with him to some of his classes, and he had agreed to take me to some of the scheduled events for potential students. And spending the day with my cousin was going to be a treat in itself, since he was my “other” brother, and always fun to be with.

My senior year I was pretty “buff”--long before working out was “in”, I was a closet exercise nut. At a petite 5'2", eyes of blue--I was a mini-Dolly Parton (OK, not the same cup size, but not bad either). My cousin thought I created “good PR” for him, as fellows envied him his “date”, and potential girlfriends wondered what they’d been missing with this guy (at least that was how he saw having me tagging along).

The day was a blast. I met SO many good-looking fellows, all friends of my cousin, and all college sophomores--a high school girl’s dream. “Older” men, and I got to chat with them, flirt discreetly, and often was the only female in a pod of males. Well, if I hadn’t decided I was going to the other university, this had to be a great selling point right there.

However, the icing on the cake was a call from my cousin a couple of days later asking if I’d be OK with one of his classmates calling me. Evidently I’d made quite an impression on one of his buddies, and he wanted to call me and ask me out on a date. A college man wanting to date me. OK, I was officially psyched! But for the life of me, as my cousin described the fellow, I couldn’t think who he was, or what I’d thought of him when I met him. Ah well, details, I’d find out after he called.

That evening the call came in. Dad had answered the phone. I had an extention phone in my room, which back in those days was pretty rare (yes, I’m dating myself). So at least once my dad hung up I had relative privacy.

His name was Tony. I was already in love. He started right off trying to help me figure out which he had been, of the many fellows I’d met that day at school. Finally he admitted he hadn’t talked with me, but had seen me with my cousin, and thought I was his girlfriend so didn’t intrude. He had ethics, hum.

He began telling me where he lived (which turned out not to be very far from my home). He said I couldn’t miss his family’s home, as it was the only “barn” on Fourth Street. That street was filled with some very beautiful old Victorian homes, so I was thinking, “wow, NICE neighborhood”. I assumed the joke was calling it a barn because of its size--but later I was to find out it was, indeed, the shape of the house, like an old red barn found everywhere in Iowa’s farming landscape.

He then told me about his family. His sense of humor was fantastic. I’m a sucker for a guy with a good sense of humor. And this fellow liked to play with words, doing quite a “standup” routine via the phone. I was more than hooked. He had me chuckling and occasionally laughing out loud. I figured by then looks would be small potatoes, as he had me where my heart is. Laughing.

When he asked me out, I was a bit surprised. He had to attend a relative’s wedding that weekend, and he wondered if I’d like to be his date. He thought it would be a great way to spend time with me, and introduce me to his family. My goodness, meet his family already--we had barely met. But he was so sincere, so dear the way he asked, how could I refuse?

So I dressed in my Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes, nice pumps, new purse, hair all done up, and there I sat, waiting for him to arrive. I had older parents, so there was no need (and probably no use) giving the “Please don’t say anything stupid or embarrassing” speech. My folks were SO proper, they would be polite to someone who picked his nose, although he would never be invited back.

A pristine baby blue 55 Chevy pulled into the drive. OK, in 1967 you couldn’t do better than that unless you had a Vet! And as I tried NOT to be seen staring out the window, I was intense, trying to see what this fellow with the great sense of humor looked like. The car door opened, he stepped out of the car, closed the door, and there he was. He was Handsome--I mean, Hollywood handsome--not Marlboro man handsome--more a shorter version Cary Grant handsome. Extremely BUFF! As in I work out with weights, Buff.

He came to the door, which I already had wide open. He took one look at me, and before either of us said a word, he broke out in the biggest smile, then rather shyly looked down as if to regroup--but then looked right back up, deep into my eyes, reached out to take my hand in his, and said a sweet and simple, “Hi.”

I was smitten, and amazingly he seemed to be smitten with me--Wow!

SINGULAR SATURDAY

2008-01-05T09:21:00.000-06:00

Looking toward my upcoming fifty-ninth birthday, I can truly say, My Life is:

BLESSED

Jenn in Holland inspired me to join in on her: Singular Saturday. If you pop over to her site, you can see who else is being "singular" today.

The Blog Readability Test

2008-01-03T13:07:00.000-06:00

Found this “test” for readability level at Katstuff’s site. Clicked on over to the site and found out what my site’s readability level was--and found out it’s Genius--who knew LOL?

You’ll have to click on over and find out where you land--might surprise yourself.

Happy New Year's Eve!

2007-12-31T07:16:00.000-06:00

Check in with Soccer Mom in Denial who started Music Monday and see who else is playing!

Auld Lang Syne sung by: Barbra Streisand

As I was looking through the offerings on YouTube for Auld Lang Syne, I ran into a number of truly fun, and some rather nifty entries. This particular rendition of this New Year’s Eve standard, was one I had not heard before. I also got a kick out of it being a recording of a 2000 New Year’s Eve concert, and that flashlights had been provided for those in attendance, incase the lights went out--do we ALL remember the “turn of the millennium” forecast of gloom, doom, and random blackouts, etc.?

For me that rather added to the nostalgia. I hope you’ll enjoy this arrangement of “Auld Lang Syne”.

So here's to all my old and new friends: May you all have a VERY Safe and Fun entry into the New Year!

Auld Lang Syne

2007-12-30T16:41:00.001-06:00

Enjoy, and Happy New Years!

SINGULAR SATURDAY

2007-12-29T08:12:00.000-06:00

Jenn in Holland inspired me to join in on her: Singular Saturday. If you pop over to her site, you can see who else is being "singular" today. So here’s this Saturday’s “singular”:

GRATITUDE

Celine Dion-Oh Holy night

2007-12-24T11:24:00.001-06:00

Wishing You All A Merry Christmas!

MUSIC MONDAY

2007-12-24T11:18:00.001-06:00

Check in with Soccer Mom in Denial who started Music Monday and see who else is playing!

Oh Holy Night sung by Celine Dion

Beyond the tinsel, lights and glitter, beyond the gaily wrapped presents, the ribbons and the bows, beyond the festive decorations and turkey, stuffing, pies and desserts, beyond all of the rest, we find the true meaning of Christmas, of our dear Savior’s birth, of the greatest gift of love our Heavenly Father has bestowed upon us.

This song, for me, epitomizes the true meaning and spirit of Christ’s birth. I hope you enjoy it with me.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

2007-12-23T21:15:00.000-06:00

Today my uncle went home to be with the Lord, and to be with his wife, Nina and all our other relatives who I am sure are welcoming him even as we speak. It has rather changed the tenor of our family’s holiday celebrations--but life does go on, and there will be meals shared and gifts exchanged yet this week.

Right now I find myself at the end of the day. We’re in the middle of quite a nasty snow storm, with winds whipping up the four to six new inches of snow with gusts up to forty-five miles per hour. There’s been baking to finish, a huge meal to prepare and now put away and store. But dealing with the loss of my uncle, that I’ve just not had time to do yet.

So, not knowing what the next few days are going to entail, I wanted to wish all of you my Christmas best wishes. I will try to get around to read and comment to all of you whom I’ve come to enjoy sharing your thoughts and family’s and activities. I am continually impressed with the number of gifted, creative, sensitive, caring, sharing, widely diverse and infinitely talented people this blogosphere has made available for me to meet and interact with.

Joy to each of you and heart peace. I will be thinking of you, and will write as my heart allows me to do.

Merry Christmas!

SINGULAR SATURDAY

2007-12-22T09:50:00.001-06:00

Jenn in Holland inspired me to join in on her: Singular Saturday. If you pop over to her site, you can see who else is being "singular" today. So here’s this Saturday’s “singular”:

ANTICIPATION

READING FOR LIFE

2007-12-18T10:16:00.000-06:00

In our Sunday paper, there is an insert magazine called PARADE. This past Sunday they had an interview of sorts with author James Patterson.

Here is the opening to the article:
“The best-selling novelist James Patterson has written 44 books, which have sold an estimated 130 million copies worldwide. He’s also the first author to have his books occupy the No. 1 spots on both the adult and children’s best-seller lists at the same time. PARADE asked Patterson what present he’d most like to give his son this holiday season. Here’s his reply--in a letter to 9-year-old Jack.”

Here are a few excerpts from the article:
“I have something grand to tell you--not dreaded advice or a boring lecture, just something cool as ice that I want to share. It’s a gift from your old dad--maybe the best one I’ll ever give you.

. . .

“Jack, I want you to become a passionate reader for life, and not because you have to or because it might make you more successful or get you into Harvard or Stanford. I’m talking about real passion here, like the way you currently go crazy over The Simpsons and The Incredibles.

. . .

“A great French writer named Gustave Flaubert once said, ‘It is a delicious thing to write, to be no longer yourself but to move in an entire universe of your own creating. Today, for instance . . . I rode in a forest on an autumn afternoon under the yellow leaves, and I was also the horses, the wind, the words my people uttered.’ Jack, that’s how I feel when I write, and it’s also how you’ll feel when you read a great book. It’s truly one of the best things in life!

. . .

“I believe that getting you to read is my responsibility, my job. In fact, it’s the responsibility of all parents, grandparents and teachers. That’s why I’m doing my homework now and searching for some terrific books that I know you’ll love.”

This article in its entirety is found in PARADE magazine, December 16, 2007 issue, pages 22-24. I’m not sure what else they may have at their website www.parade.com; however, they end the article with a blurb about sharing your own favorite books for kids.

Please come join our Day to Read:
If you would like to add your two cents to this Day to Read, January 10, 2008, please send to SMID or a2eatwrite for the button--display, and talk it up!

Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer by Dr. Elmo

2007-12-17T10:26:00.001-06:00

Just for a giggle or two . . .

Music Monday

2007-12-17T10:04:00.000-06:00

Check in with Soccer Mom in Denial who started Music Monday and see who else is playing

In the tradition of Christmas songs that others have been sharing lately, I’d like to add in one of my son and his grandmother (my mom’s) favorite holiday selections: Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer.

Zach had shared this song for the first time with Mom years and years ago--but as the years have added up, Mom forgets about it. So then, when she comes for her Christmas visit from the nursing home, Zach will haul out the tape player and share it with her. And once again they both sit and laugh and share rolled eyeballs as each verse unfolds.

Mom will ask him to play it again and again over the week long visit, until I think my hubby and I have had enough. But it’s pretty great that she and Zachery have this song to share each holiday.

Hope you enjoy it too--it’s just for some laughs and a giggle. Maybe you’ve got a grandma to share it with too!

There's No Place Like Home: Part 3

2007-12-16T07:00:00.000-06:00

There‘s No Place Like Home: Part 1 may be found here. Part 2 may be found here. SOS is an event inspired by Brillig and Walking Kateastrophe's . Hope you all enjoy this next entry to this fictional tale. To find out who else is taking part, and read some great SOS, Musings from a Muse is hosting this week. Go check it out for some soapy fun!

Gratefully the La Crosse airport was relatively small. Grace knew the only reason for the crowd that filled the lobby was because they had traveled the last leg of the flight from Minneapolis to La Crosse with a plane full of kids coming back from a school field trip to the Guthrie Theater. They had been there working in some kind of workshop with other youth from around the country, and were quite wired as they headed home.

And now, as Leland jockeyed for a good position to grab their luggage off the horse-shoe baggage conveyor belt, Gregory did his best to stick close to both of them. The nearest spots were filled, and Leland had to content himself with a spot about half-way around the “u” shape. Although there was a rather loud “hum” of voices, Gregory tried to explain why he was there, and what was going on. Grace knew his voice was deeper and could be louder, but he always spoke with hesitancy around his grandfather.

“They air-lifted Uncle Mick around nine this morning. Dad figured you’d be on your flight, so there was no way to get word to you. Dad drove Aunt Delores and me, and Mom stayed home with all the kids. Aunt Delores wanted him to stay with her at the hospital, so that’s why they brought me, to come pick you up.”

There was no acknowledgment from his grandfather, so he nervously sputtered on.

“Uncle Teddy is out at the farm seeing what can be salvaged.”

Leland’s voice was almost a growl, “Junior should have stayed at the farm to look after the animals and sent Teddy.”

Grace flinched as she watched her grandson’s posture stiffen. It wasn’t fair of Leland to take out his angst on Gregory, but it had been that way ever since his father and mother had chosen to name him Gregory, instead of Leland Allen Mueller V. It wasn’t Gregory’s fault, but since his father had become a veterinarian, putting a Doctor in front of the name, Leland hadn’t been able to put the blame on his own son. He blamed his daughter-in-law, who chose her own grandfather and father’s names for her son: Gregory Michael.

The luggage had finally arrived and the noise level appropriately increased as young voices sang out identifying their bags, and eager hands reached out to grab them off the conveyor belt before they passed by and would have to make another round before appearing again. Leland snatched all of their bags off the belt without saying a word. And Gregory skillfully placed them between he and his grandfather until all the bags were accounted for. Once in hand, they made their way to the parking lot and the family van without another word being spoken.

Grace wanted desperately to get more news out of Gregory as they drove to the hospital. Leland had taken the keys to the van while Gregory helped his grandmother into the front seat. He had climbed into the back grateful to be out of the line of fire from his grandfather. So instead of getting information, there was nothing but silence inside the van.

Grace tried a couple of times to say something about seeing the Mississippi again, how green everything was, something just to lighten the heaviness as they drove. She was grateful the hospital was just a twenty minute or so drive from the airport.

“They’re building a new parking garage or something, Grandpa, at the hospital. You’re going to have to follow the signs for the parking, and then they have transportation picking people up in the lots and getting them up to the building. Would you like to pull right up to the front door, and then I’ll park the van and catch a ride up from the lot?”

“Yes. That will be easier on Grace, and get us into the hospital faster. Where do they have Mick?”

Gregory took a moment to answer, since his grandfather’s voice was the softest and weariest he’d ever heard it. There had never been a sign of frailty in his grandfather as far as he could remember. But in those few words, he heard his grandfather sound tired, and old. When he finally found his voice, he tried to give the best directions he could.

The van came to a halt close to the door. Then Leland rolled the car a little further ahead out of the direct line of the door, thus allowing another vehicle behind him to move directly in front of the doorway. He shut off the motor, and turned around in his seat trying to look at Gregory sitting in the back. His face and eyes looked worn, and it was evident he’d been crying. Both Grace and Gregory were taken aback. Both tried to say something, anything, but neither did more than open their mouths and then close them again.

“Do you know how bad it is, boy? Did they say anything concrete?”

Gregory almost whispered, “Uncle Mick‘s got broken ribs, Grandpa. One of them has punctured his lungs. I think they were talking about a surgery, and needing a specialist. That’s all I’ve heard. Nobody talked all the way here. Grandma Telner told me to pray and not stop praying. So that’s what I’ve been doing.”

Leland let out a deep dragging sigh. Grace thought it sounded like he’d held his breath for the whole trip, and then let it all out in that one long sigh. She began to fumble through her purse looking for a Puffs, as the tears she’d been trying to keep back began to roll down her cheeks, unchecked. Gregory reached out for his Grandfather’s hand, then his grandmother’s. Leland bowed his head, as his grandson offered a prayer. Then there was only the sniffling back of tears. Gregory got out of the van, walked around to his grandmother’s door, and helped his grandparents into the entrance of the hospital.

As if on cue, Leland appeared to escort his parents. Gregory had used his cell phone to call from the lot where he was parking the van letting his dad know they had gotten from the airport to the hospital. Grace threw herself into her son’s waiting arms. Leland was rather amazed when his father joined in the embrace, putting his arms around both his wife and son. For a moment he couldn’t find his voice.

“Dad, it’s not good. They’ve got him in surgery right now. There’s a punctured lung, he’s bleeding internally, they’re looking at a fractured pelvis, a dislocated knee, and they said his ankle will need to be pinned. But all of that will have to wait until they can get him stabilized, the bleeding stopped . . .” his voice trailed off as he felt his parents both shivering in his arms.

“I should have come home this summer. Please take us to Delores, son.”

And with that, Leland straightened himself, pulled Grace to him, holding her firmly, and looked to his son for directions.

SINGULAR SATURDAY

2007-12-15T01:14:00.000-06:00

Jenn in Holland inspired me a few Saturdays ago to join in on her: Singular Saturday. So here’s this Saturday’s “singular”:

FRAZZLED

In Answer to Mariposa's Meme

2007-12-11T15:34:00.000-06:00

Mariposa was “tagged” by Gwen of Everything I Like Causes Cancer--and now has tagged me for this meme:

Here are the rules...
(1) Make a list of eight random facts/habits about themselves.
(2) Tag eight other people to do this meme and list their names. [I've amended this to TWO people, not eight.]
(3) Leave a comment on each of the Tagged People's websites to inform them about the meme which they're tagged to do (enjoined to participate!). [I'm amending to ask "Please, would you enjoy taking part? I'd like to see your answers!]

OK, we’ll start with the Eight Random Facts/habits about ME:

When I was very young, my folks owned and operated a pet store.
I grew up having my father telling me and my brother stories at bedtime which he would make up “off the top of his head”; and, he always left them at a “critical point” so my brother and I were hanging on every word, and would never fight going to bed the next night, so we could hear more of the story. (Unfortunately, there were no tape recording devices in our home in those days, so all of these marvelous stories are lost to the world--which is very sad, as he was a wonderful and magical storyteller.)
No doubt because of being raised in a pet store, and having parents (especially my father) loving critters, I have had an alligator, numerous chameleons, “circus” mice, guinea pigs, and a host of birds, dogs, a cat, fish, rabbits, etc., as pets over the years.
I lived in Aspen, CO for one interesting summer when I was 39 years old (my children and husband were back in Iowa--and it was the first time I’d ever been alone, as I went from daddy’s home to hubby and my home, no place of my own in-between).
It is a rare thing for me to have, as my health and body can’t really tolerate too much of a good thing--but I am a major fan of Cotton Candy. Any midway I go to, at any fair, and I’m in line at the first cotton candy vendor!
When I was a little girl I had copper red hair. And along with the red hair, came a red-head’s fiery disposition if crossed. I now have pretty much “salt and pepper” hair, more salt than pepper. And you really have to push things to ever see my temper flair.
When I was young I got on a kick of naming everything “Buttercup”. I believe it was the name of Dale Evan’s horse (Roy Roger’s wife)--I may be wrong, but it was a horse on a TV show. For the next few years, I named every doll, every stuffed toy, Buttercup. My family couldn’t see how I kept all the Buttercups separate--but then again, why would I need to, it wasn’t like any of them had to actually “answer” to the name and show up when I called. LOL
One of the people I’m looking forward to seeing in Heaven is Mark Twain/Samuel L. Clemens. I have been a fan, an admirer, a student of his for eons. I’m sure I have a host of questions for him--but in truth, I would just enjoy sitting over a cup of tea with him and letting him do all the talking.

There we go, eight exceptionally random facts about me. And now the two people I'm tagging:

Jen from a2eatwrite

GF from View from Here

Now I’ll zip over to their spots and “tag” ‘em. And thanks Mariposa for thinking of me!

The Puppy Song - Puppy Music Video 4

2007-12-10T03:21:00.001-06:00

Music Monday

2007-12-10T03:01:00.000-06:00

Check in with Soccer Mom in Denial who started Music Monday and see who else is playing!

This is my first Music Monday:

There is a song that just makes me happy. I’m happy when I hear it, I’m happy when I sing it. I was introduced to it when I first watched the movie, You’ve Got Mail, with Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan. It just sets the tone to the entire movie--and it took no time at all for me to fall in love with it.

Once you’ve heard it, I think you’ll agree, you just have to smile and tap your toe. Have a listen. Also go to YouTube and do a search for other Harry Nilsson songs--he wrote “Everybody’s Talkin’ At Me” for the movie Midnight Cowboy, as well as “I Guess the Lord Must Be In New York City”, which was also in You’ve Got Mail.

Enjoy!

Home Is Where The Heart Is: Part 2

2007-12-09T03:05:00.000-06:00

Home Is Where The Heart Is: Part 2

Home Is Where The Heart Is: Part 1 may be found here. SOS is an event inspired by Brillig and Walking Kateastrophe . Hope you all enjoy this next entry to this fictional tale. To find out who else is taking part, and read some great SOS, Walking Kateastrophe is hosting this week. Go check it out for some soapy fun!

For the first time in a month, Grace was headed in the right direction, home. It wasn’t for the reasons she would ever wish, but still, she was going home to Wisconsin, the farm, and her family.

The early evening phone call had been a shock. It seemed so incongruous to hear your son was in the ER, there was a bad storm, a tornado, undetermined damage . . .and all the while your eyes were looking out on San Diego’s swaying palm trees and balmy robin egg blue skies.

The hours from then to now, sitting there in the plane, sandwiched in between her sizeable husband, and a very hefty woman who reeked of garlic, seemed a blur. For once Grace was pleased Leland knew his way around a computer. She had mixed emotions about his bringing his laptop on their summer vacation--but as he scanned for the most direct flight, the least number of transfers, made the reservation, and made all the arrangements for checking out, returning the lease car, canceling events, etc., she was duly impressed.

And now there was nothing to do for the next few hours, but sit and try not to think too much. Leland had brought his computer, but had denied Grace bringing her hand work. Right now would have been a good time for crocheting, tatting, anything that would have allowed her to keep her hands busy, and her mind occupied. Instead she tried to doze. Sleep seemed the only escape, and something she would probably be short of in the coming days.

Images of Dorothy’s house being tossed around the dark Kansas skies, with the wicked witch of the West, looking a lot like a green Leland, cackling heinously as the swirling house landed on the wicked witch of the East, all flew through her sleepy head. Grace twisted in her plane seat as much as the house did in the Tale of Oz.

At last the plane taxied down the runway. It had been a fairly smooth flight, especially the last leg of the journey. And now, in minutes, Grace would be able to see her daughter-in-law, Delores’ face. She’d be able to tell immediately if things were OK. As she looked through the crowd of waiting faces, she finally spotted her grandson, Gregory. His boyish face looked drawn and anxious. Her stomach lurched. It meant Delores hadn’t been able to leave the hospital and Mick, and neither had Mick’s brothers or sisters been able to come. Not a good sign.

Grace reached for Leland’s arm. He had spotted Gregory too. His stride increased and it was all she could do to keep up with him. She was almost panting when they reached Gregory, but Leland merely nodded at his grandson, and continued in full stride toward the luggage pickup area. It became a race to see if the young man could keep up with his grandfather. He and Grace exchanged glances, but there was little time to talk as her husband wangled his way through the crowded terminal.

It was like having her old husband back. He had his family first and foremost in his mind, and he would let NOTHING stand between himself and getting to his son. Her heart swelled, and tears welled in her eyes--she was truly coming home. And with her husband. No matter what they would face, they would be facing it together, no holds barred. If she would have had any breath left, she would have sighed.

SINGULAR SATURDAY

2007-12-08T13:18:00.000-06:00

Jenn in Holland inspired me a few Saturdays ago to join in on her: Singular Saturday. So here’s this Saturday’s “singular”:

A word that exemplifies the sights and sounds of the holidays for me:

Kaleidoscope

Addicted to Blogging?

2007-12-07T14:19:00.000-06:00

74%

Having found this interesting percentage comment at Katstuff’s site, I immediately clicked on the link to find out what percentage my data would illicit. Much to my chagrin, I came up with 74%, barely shaving off 1% point from Kat’s--argh--how did this happen? I’ve only been blogging for a little over a month now.

I want all of you reading this to know, you are, in part, responsible for this score, If you all didn’t write such great blogs, I wouldn’t be spending so many hours a day reading and commenting on blogs. That would have helped heaps in keeping my percentages down.

And since so many of you have written such encouraging and wonderful responses to my blogs, you have encouraged me to be THINKING about what I’m going to blog next--again, raising my percentage points.

Then there’s the whole Soap Opera Sunday thing, and the Music Mondays, Wordless Wednesdays and Singular Saturdays--yes, I’ve “blown things off” to get to these special entries. Again, clearly NOT my sole fault, as it’s all of you writing such great things that draws me in.

Clearly, I’m not taking the hit for this 74% alone--I’m holding all of you responsible for my addiction. Thank you, by-the-way, I’m having WAY way too much fun ;-)

Home Is Where The Heart Is: Part 1

2007-12-02T01:27:00.000-06:00

Soap Opera Sunday is an event inspired by Brillig and Walking Kateastrophe's . Today's entry is a fictional piece I've been working on--hope you enjoy!

The wire whisk stopped mid-stroke. “You want to go to San Diego? Why?”

“Listen Grace, I’ve been reading. They have a zoo, a sea world, a huge museum, a planetarium, beaches. And if we run out of things there, we can hop on the freeway and be up in L.A. in an afternoon and go to Disneyland. Come on, admit it. You’ve said you wanted to go to Disneyland ever since you were a slip of a girl and watched old Walt himself turn the first spade of dirt on the future home of Disneyland.” Leland’s words tumbled out trying to find favor with the ridged backside of his wife.

As his words continued, naming this place and that from all the tourist brochures he’d received from the San Diego and California Tourism boards, Grace once again worked the whisk until the eggs and milk were a yellow foam. Adroitly she reached over to the small length of countertop and picked up saucer after saucer, dumping their contents of sliced mushrooms, diced green peppers, onions, and ham into the froth. Soon the click, click, click accompanied Leland’s remarks as she turned the ingredients through the omelet, never letting them settle until she was ready to pour them into the awaiting pre-heated pan.

Quickly she moved the two feet back to the small double sink and placed the large bowl, now devoid of its mix, the wire whisk and assorted saucers, spatulas, measuring cups and knives into the sink. Briefly she allowed her thoughts to encompass the sizeable array in the small metal sink. How fixing breakfast muffins and an omelet for two could possibly take up that many utensils was a mystery, she chuckled. Nothing like fixing breakfast for five strapping teenagers come in from farm chores, she silently avowed shaking her head in testament.

“It’ll be fun, Grace. We’ll map out all the places we want to see between St. Louis and San Diego. Make a real trip of it. No holds barred!” Leland said with great relish. “I can send for information from each state we’ll go through. They all have tourism boards. They all want you to spend your money in their state, so they have all that stuff free,” he almost drooled over the prospect of sending for more pamphlets. His days would soon be filled with more pictures of distant places. Spots he had spent a lifetime envisioning while milking placid cud-chewing cows in the bitter Wisconsin winters, and while riding high atop a hay wagon pitching bales skyward to the next level, sweating profusely in the sizzling summer sun.

“I thought you said we could go home this year.” The words came slowly as if drug from the very depths of her soul.

“Home? Home to Wisconsin? Are you crazy woman? Life is in the living, not in the sitting,” recited Leland. “Why on earth you’d want to spend another hot humid summer in that state is beyond me. Cool ocean breezes. Yeah, that’s the ticket. Let’s do it, Gracie, let’s let ourselves wade in the Pacific, watch dolphins and whales. Yeah, did I tell you that one? The brochure said there was a beach where you could watch whales swimming right off shore. They even have a beach with seals,” his voice warming to the subject, he once again launched into a full description of the many and varied attractions all to be found in sunny California.

The timer on the oven began its insistent dinging, calling Grace back to her task at hand. Opening the small oven door with her large oven-mitt, she could see the muffins had come up full and perfectly golden. They had just begun to pull away from the muffin tin. As the oven door opened, the room was flooded with their light spicy cinnamon aroma. Grandma Iris would be pleased, Grace inwardly beamed.

Giving the omelet pan a slight swirl, she assured herself it wasn’t sticking and put the heavy glass lid over the mixture to allow it to cook and rise. She prided herself on her light fluffy omelets. Everyone wanted to know her secret. Her secret, she knew, was so very simple, a sprinkle of cream of tartar in the mix. Something every McAlester woman knew from the time she could see over the countertop--maybe even earlier, she smiled.

Leland’s voice sounded something like a fly buzzing, or maybe, she ruminated, like a mosquito that invades the bedroom at night with its high-pitched whine assaulting your ear in the darkness. Her knuckles whitened as she leaned on the sink edge wishing she could stop the never-ceasing drone. He was definitely on a roll, she thought, shaking her head wearily, shoulders sinking with her sigh.

She raised her gaze from the child-sized sink to her lovely flower box in the window sill. One thing the man got right, nodded Grace with approval. The box had been his attempt to meet his wife’s complaints over her lost herb garden and flower beds from the farmstead. She reached out now and lovingly caressed the light purple flowers on the chives.

“Leland, I just can’t do it,” Grace drew herself up and braced for the reaction to her announcement.

“Can’t do what?” Leland’s voice rose an octave. “Can’t sit in the damn car and look out the window? Can’t lounge around motels and sit pool side in the evenings? Can’t eat out at fancy restaurants and dress for dinner? What the hell can’t you do? he demanded, his voice continually rising with each query.

Never turning, she knew his face would be beet red by this time. She didn’t want to see it. She wouldn’t look. It would drain her resolve.

“Please, Leland. After last year’s trip up the Alaskan highway, you promised we could go home this year. You said we could take the camper and stay in the park near the farm. I could cook for the kids. The only time we get to see the grandkids is in pictures in our email. They’ve grown so,” she implored. “You know you’re their favorite grandpa. Don’t you want to see them while they’re still small. Soon enough they’ll be grown and won’t want to have anything to do with two old people.” She turned irresolutely hoping she’d see some sign of him weakening.

There Leland sat, face fire red. “That’s hitting below the belt, Grace!” he boomed. “Bringing the kids and grandkids into this is just not right. We can fly home for the holidays like we did last year. One week with that crew is enough. Good Lord, woman, you spent thirty years plus raising that wild bunch. Why in the world do you want to spend what good years you and I have left raising another set? You know damn well that’s what would happen. We’d been there for one hour last Christmas when Delores asked you to watch the baby for Christ’s sake.”

“Leland, she hadn’t been out of that house for weeks with Tammy Lee sick with chicken pox. It was all she could do to get ready for the holidays, what with shopping and cleaning and all the farm chores. You know she doesn’t have children yet with any size to them. She has to fill in the chores for Mick when the summer hands are laid off.” Grace poured out the defense from all the years she had done the same, and been glad for Grandma Iris, and her own mother Ida’s helping hands.

“Just the same, she’d do it again in a New York minute, summer or winter! Never saw a woman so anxious to get to town. Don’t know how Mick took up with a city girl. Told him right off it was a foolish move. Love my ass,” Leland snorted, settling back into his kitchen chair in a huff, arms crossed defensively across his heaving chest.

Grace searched her husband’s face for some sign. Something that showed he’d heard a word she’d said. That he might feel something she felt for her home, her lost life. Of her being trapped inside this “senior housing” unit that she referred to as a gerbil cage. The reddish purple had worked its way down Leland’s neck to his chest. She could see the veins swollen from his brow to his shoulder. There would be no home visit this summer.

Turning back to the stove she realized she’d almost allowed the omelet to over-cook. Hastily she grabbed the oven mitt and removed the glass lid, skillfully cut the omelet in fourth’s with the spatula edge, and flipped each section. Reaching over to the tiny counter, she retrieved the shredded cheese and scattered it across the surface of the overly brown omelet hoping once melted Leland wouldn’t see the dark surface. She was ashamed she’d allowed herself to be so distracted from her task.

With his wife’s back to him once again, Leland opened his arms from across his chest. He knew she’d say nothing more about it. He’d won. He’d have his trip. Her stiff back robbed him of any sense of victory.

Grace brought the muffins, now cooled, over to the table and returned to the counter, her haven. Leland reached for the muffin and broke its golden top open, smearing it with heaps of butter. As his teeth sunk into the soft tender meal, its aroma still filling the small room, his muscles loosened and so did his anger.

Sheepishly he began to coax her. “Come on, Gracie, old girl. Those kids are doing just fine. And we got lots to see and do together, now, eh? Tell you what. You don’t want to make the drive, right? Well, fine. Let’s fly out, eh? That’s right. We’ll fly out and lease one of them economy cars from one of them easy rental shops. Hey, there’s lots to do right there in San Diego, we don’t need to do the whole cross country trip if you think it will tire you too much.”

With each seeming “concession” Leland grew more animated. He was, after all, a reasonable man, a loving husband. “We’ll have a helluva time, Gracie gal, you’ll see!” And with that he piled into his next muffin warming himself to the task of getting the best airfare rates--more brochures and a trip on the internet were going to be the order of the day.

Grace brought the omelet over and placed it on Leland’s plate and returned to eat her meal at the counter as she had done for more years than she could remember. She watched the sun dance on the leaves of her parsley plants.

SINGULAR SATURDAY

2007-12-01T23:51:00.000-06:00

Jenn in Holland inspired me a few Saturdays ago to join in on her: Singular Saturday. So here’s this Saturday’s “singular”:

RECUPERATION

The Grand Finale--NaBloPoMo 2007!

2007-11-30T21:19:00.000-06:00

Here we are, November 30th, and here’s my last entry for the month. This has been FUN. And as much head scratching and such as I went through a day here and a day there, I have to say, it really has been exhilarating coming up with each entry, all month long.

BUT--the REAL FUN, has been reading everyone else’s daily entries. This has been a blast. It has afforded me a wonderful opportunity to get to know so many of you, and really see you in action! Coming up with such interesting, comical, insightful, caring, learned, inquisitive, captivating, revealing topics--and so much of it truly showing YOU in all your variances, shades and nuances. Talk about showing your true colors when the pressure’s on ;-).

With the holidays dead ahead, I’m sure everyone will take on another rhythm of publishing your blog entries. And, for me, this is all new, and all great fun. I’m not sure how I will work this out through the holidays, but I know I’ll get great ideas and see wonderful examples by visiting all of you throughout the season.

Thank you, one and all, for sharing yourselves with all of us throughout NaBloPoMo. It certainly has brought me a long way in understanding blogging, and seeing its potential. I’m SO looking forward to the coming month, sharing the holidays with all of you.

And don't forget: January 10, 2008

A Word to the Wise (in fact, a whole book of words!) . . .

2007-11-29T22:38:00.001-06:00

Soccer Mom In Denial recently shared an article she’d read on “Young people reading a lot less” found in the Boston Globe. Jen of a2eatwrite joined in, and soon “Day to Read” was born. The article AND a number of our blogging buddies have built wonderful arguments for reading--and have declared January 10th, 2008, as a day of rest--from blogging, and a day to hit the books/magazines/papers--in short, READ something. Then they suggest we all reconvene the following day and report on what we have been reading.

They have also suggested that between now and that date, we read more and share what we’re reading, helping to promote reading along the way. If you would like to add your two cents to this, please send to SMID or a2eatwrite for the button--display, and talk it up!

Please visit SMID, a2eatwrite, GF’s and other sites today for their great endorsements of reading!

My own contribution is to share with you about my first reading experiences. My mom was a working mom, a registered nurse. She often worked split shifts, weekends, third shift, etc., so our time together was often scarce. So at some point (my mom, dad, and family in general were all avid readers), my mom suggested I bring home a book from the school library for us to read together.

Each noon when I came home for lunch, Mom would get up, fix our lunch, and then we’d get out a book--first I’d eat my lunch while Mom read to me; then she’d eat and I’d read to her. This became a “regular” lunch habit for the rest of my elementary life.

The first book I brought home was Cotton In My Sack. After a seventh reading, Mom suggested I find another book LOL. So the librarian suggested Charlotte’s Web--another instant “fav” and ran for another seven or eight readings before Mom was begging me to find yet another book. Hey, when I find something I like, I REALLY get into it! Still do.

These books led to reading Madam Curie, Florence Nightingale, a whole host of what became my “heroes”, my examples of excellence. They became a part of how I wanted to see myself.

So, what are your first memories of reading and the book titles you loved? Share your “fav’s” with us, and help promote “Day to Read”.

Whimper not a bang . . .

2007-11-28T20:56:00.000-06:00

It’s almost November 30th, I can see it, just ahead of me is the end of NaBloPoMo. I had wanted to end it with a bang. However, today I received a call from the nursing home, and I needed to head in to Waterloo (an hour plus away), and take Mom for x-rays--a possible fracture in her wrist/hand. That let me know, the rest of this week was probably going to be on the road and in doctor’s offices, not blogging.

Bless my mom’s heart. For 98 she endures these things with great stoicism. It’s no fun outside, getting her from point A to point B, as it only got in the teens today, and the wind was really piercing every time it hit your exposed skin. But in and out of the car Mom went, in and out of wheelchairs, in and out of waiting rooms . . . Not a whine out of her--but quite a few heavy sighs.

Funny thing is, she kept saying how sorry she was to put me out. What a silly goose. She’s the one in pain, she’s the one having to put up with all the poking, prodding, being hauled out of low car seats and everyone meaning well, but having to take a hold of the “bad” arm to try and get her up and out of the seat, arms pulled in and out of coat sleeves, etc.

Me, OK, there was a lot of hauling, pushing wheelchairs, trying NOT to put stress on her “bad” arm, walking from one end of the hospital to the other and then over an extension to the doctors’ office complex--and then back again to get X-ray pictures, and then back to the office, and then back through to the entry in the hospital to get the car . . . all the while pushing the wheelchair (and dear Mom having to be hauled).

Yes, I went through a lot, but my hand isn’t fractured, and I’m not 98. There will be two more days of doctors and tests (her shortness of breath is worsening, and the meds don’t seem to be holding her condition, so the doctor said as soon as the hand is set, then she wants her in for tests). At least Mom will have her hand immobilized, and we won’t have to be concerned we’re twisting it or going to break it worse than it already is.

Because they want Mom in the doctor’s office by 8 in the morning, I’ll be up at five getting ready for the trip in, and will have to leave at least by 6:15 a.m. for the commute. This is going to be a short night, and a long day tomorrow. Then at least on Friday I won’t have to leave home until about 10 a.m., but that will be the day of some heart testing which will include a stress test--very hard on Mom.

I’m not whimpering, but this isn’t exactly the bang-up way I wanted to end this writing month. I’m going to make two more posts come wind, rain, or hail! By Saturday I’ll hopefully be around to read and respond to everyone’s blogs. Please put up with me, I’ll be back!

Salad Forks

2007-11-27T10:45:00.000-06:00

If there’s any doubt the holidays are in full swing, there’s evidence right in my kitchen. We’ve just come out of the first “round” of the holiday season, Thanksgiving. And there isn’t a clean fork available in the kitchen other than a few salad forks. Now we never use the salad forks for regular meals, only for . . . Well, we just never use them. BUT, after every fork has been dirtied, and there’s still food requiring forks, a person will reach in to the kitchen drawer and bring out a salad fork. Ours are short, stubby little things no one enjoys using.

Now I have place settings for twelve--and there are only three of us living in this household. Even with company, generally my cousin, there’s only four places being set and used for a meal. And that would give a minimum of three meals before getting to the salad fork necessity stage. Then, of course, if it weren’t being used for meals, but desserts, well, then it’s usually one fork at a time, and could last longer than the minimum three meals.

And if a person is being diligent and frugal, he/she CAN stand at the sink, put some dish soap and hot water in one of the bowls that also needs to be washed, and quickly wash up a few forks, thus staving off the task of washing the entire dirty dishes for a bit longer--possibly until the next morning if a few plates and bowls are washed along with the forks.

Of course, eventually it is a fact, the dishes have to be washed. I mean, after all, you can only eat so many frozen pizzas (which require little in the way of forks, or anything else), and re-heating left-over items--and you must face it, the holiday is over, and reality sets back in--dishes must be done every day.

No, a dishwasher wouldn’t help. You still have to load it, turn it on, and unload it. And with twelve place settings, our household can nurse that process out for days if we apply ourselves. It might require getting down to eating breakfast cereal out of a Ziplock disposable container--but it can (and has been) done.

Ah well, the holidays are rare occasions. Normally dishes are done every day, and sometimes when I am not working, I even do them after each meal. But with twelve place settings and three people who work different shifts, so most meals are quite often eaten singularly during the week, the question is WHY would you do the dishes after every meal? It just isn’t efficient.

If they ever make a truly GOOD disposable fork . . . Ah it is but to dream . . . It could be like the holidays EVERY week!

The Home Stretch

2007-11-26T15:15:00.000-06:00

NaBloPoMo has informed me via e-mail that this is the home stretch. As if I didn’t know this LOL--wow, I can feel the burn! ;-)

I must say, I’ve had a blast all month long. Considering I “joined” blogspot and began seriously blogging only, what, three days before choosing to join NaBloPoMo, I had NO idea what I was going to come to for this--and really very little idea what I’d come out of from it.

BUT . . .

This has afforded me so many wonderful opportunities to get to know all of you. I want to thank all of you who have dropped by, read and commented. Your caring and sharing has kept me going, kept me encouraged, kept me focused.

Also, visiting all of your sites, reading your wonderful entries, and reading all the comments left by everyone on your sites--well, it’s been one big coffee klatch all month long. What a great way to get to know all of you!

I’m having way too much fun, and find myself running to the computer to get to everyone’s posts, just so I won’t miss out on all the good “visiting”--you’re all very generous-hearted the way you are willing to share of yourselves. And so many truly gifted writers here too--my, you’re keeping me on my toes.

There’s so much inspiration on all of your sites, I’m almost ready to see if I can figure out how to download from YouTube so I can participate in Music Monday LOL--you just all have so much fun, I want to jump right in. Of course, not sure anyone will want to hear my choices, but there’s always the opportunity to “click” on out of the site.

OK, I won’t wax on and on, but suffice it to say, I’m glad I came, glad I joined in, and SO glad you’ve all welcomed me and encouraged me! Thanks again, one and all.

Soap Opera Sunday

2007-11-25T00:38:00.000-06:00

Soap Opera Sunday This is my first time participating in Soap Opera Sunday--It was introduced by Brillig and Kateastrophe, and is being hosted this week at Brillig's blog. OK, here goes.

Why am I out on this ledge? What was I thinking? I’ve heard them say from this height the people on the sidewalk look like ants--but I never expected to be up here looking down and find out they were right!

“Clara, girl, you’ve got to come back by me, just ease on back and we’ll climb through the window."

“NO! Charlie’s left me I tell you. He thinks I’m fat. He thinks I’m a wimp. There’s nothing left for me. Just leave me alone. If you try to touch me, I’ll throw you off this ledge with me.”

Clara’s tears ran down her cheeks as she shot each sentence at me in staccato bursts. I could feel the shock of each statement as it hit my guts. And the worse thing about it was, what was hitting my guts was the sense that I shouldn’t be out here with this deranged woman--friend or not.

“Baby, what are you doing out there?”

Charlie’s wail came rushing past me as he stuck his head out of the window to my immediate left. I jerked my head first to Charlie, and then back toward Clara to see what her reaction would be. The head “jerk” was a wrong move as my body momentarily swayed away from the building. I felt a bit of my lunch come up in my mouth and had to swallow back the acid-drenched morsel which then scorched my throat on its return trip to my stomach.

“YOU ASSHOLE. What right do you have saying anything to me about what I’m doing? You’re the one out playing footsies with Doreen. You’re the one who told me I was a fat cow. You’re the one who said I wimped out on my diet. And you have the nerve to ask me what I’m doing?"

As Clara increased in volume with each new “you're the one” clause, she also took a step back toward me, the window, and Charlie. I could tell the look in her eyes. She’d had these blasts of remorse and recovered indignity with Charlie before. After the suicide attempt came the boxing of ears. But in the past this had taken place indoors, or at least on even ground--lots of ground, not on a barely one foot wide ledge twenty stories above ground. Maybe I’d been between them before, but I’d had plenty of room to step aside. Now I had no where to go but down.

“Clara, Girlfriend, kill Charlie later, let’s get in off this ledge first.”

I tried not to let panic hit my voice, but the higher pitch of it was probably obvious to everyone BUT Clara. She was now standing next to me, her chubby arm trying to push me aside and climb over me toward Charlie.

As I grappled with Clara and tried to pinch my fingers deeper into the cement brick crevices, I realized a strong hand was shoving my shoulders back against the wall. It was Charlie. He’d climbed out on the already overly crowded ledge trying to help.

For a dizzying moment my senses tried to record all that was happening. I had sweaty Clara wheezing expletives replete with spittle as she huffed and tugged trying to get at Charlie. There were those large baseball mitt sized hands of Charlie trying to simultaneously grab me and Clara and pull us toward the window. And there was the whirling suffocating sensation of my upper body being ripped away from the cold secure brick. I realized that in that one last frantic moment my entire body was free of attachments, hovering mid-air. The scream that was coming from me emptied my lungs until with mouth still gaping, the sound seemed equally suspended with my body.

Within a few moments, it was all over.

Through the shockwaves enveloping me, I realized I was “sinking” into a huge rubberized air bag, Clara’s arms, Charlie’s legs, and my limbs all akimbo as we fought to right ourselves on the ever shifting surface. With all the hoopla topside, I’d not noticed the arrival of the rescue squad and their inflating the huge air bag. And if I had, I would have thought “no way” would I ever commit to let go of the ledge and see if they’d positioned it in the right spot for me. Or whether I’d snap my neck anyway hitting the bag off to the side.

As the fireman helped me slide off the collapsing mat, I caught sight of Clara and Charlie, locked in each other’s embrace. Their kisses were fervent. Their love-making tonight would be beyond words. Although, at that moment, I had a few words I could have used . . .

SINGULAR SATURDAY

2007-11-24T10:13:00.000-06:00

Jenn in Holland inspired me a few Saturdays ago to join in on her: Singular Saturday. So here’s this Saturday’s “singular”:

FULFILLED (as in: filled full)

In Memory

2007-11-23T10:08:00.000-06:00

This handsome naval officer is my dad. I was born when he was forty, and the war was long over. But I was raised seeing this picture on top of the piano, and knew his uniform and hat were hanging in the closet--seeing them always made this little girl’s heart ache with pride for her father.

My dad would tease that the good died young, and therefore he expected my mom to live to be a very old woman. He bothered to end the joke by dying at the fairly young age of sixty-four. I’m sure he walked through the Pearly Gates chuckling to Gabriel, “I told them the good die young”.

A few years after my father’s death, I was in Mom’s basement helping clean out some things, and ran into my dad’s old Navy trunk. In it I found some of his personal items, but much of what was stored there were records from my family’s grocery store. Dad had closed the store and re-opened it as a pet store back when I was three years old. So how and why the records from the store got put in this trunk I do not know.

Among the bookkeeping ledgers I found a stack of white slips of paper. On unfolding them and reading, I found the names of dozens of people I did not know--and a number of names of prominent families from our community. On the top of each paper was written : IOU. I went upstairs to ask Mom what this was all about.

Seems before Dad left for the war, and during the time he was over-seas, many people came to the store, women left without their husbands, children to feed, elderly to care for--but no or little money. Dad, and then Mom, allowed them to write IOU slips so they could get the supplies they desperately needed.

After the war, Dad returned to run the business again--and most of those men returned as well. Of course, there were many men who never returned. Dad just let the slips sit. He didn’t seek the people out to repay their debts, saying they’d get to it when they could. He was just glad God had seen to it the store had been able to stay open and survive--and that he’d been able to return home safe and sound to his loved ones.

Needless-to-say, as I looked through the names, some of the richest families in our community were represented there--and evidently had never gotten around to repaying their debts.

My dad died with a modest amount in the bank. Enough to take care of Mom into her old age. Enough so Mom wasn’t in jeopardy of losing her home, nor going without. But no luxuries particularly--no trips to Europe or Hawaii--no extravagances. Her house was in the same “working class” neighborhood we’d always lived in. And her friends were as mixed and varied as Mom and Dad’s had always been. My father assisted anyone who came to him for help. In a class-oriented, and racially-oriented community, my dad took no concern for race, creed or color--he was a friend and mentor to everyone who sought him out.

And at his funeral, there was standing room only. There were people there in mink coats, and there were people there in tired and worn coats. It, at the time, was one of the few funerals in town that was NOT segregated (the segregation wasn’t because of laws, but because people didn’t “associate” with one another). But all were there, and each one came by to shake our hands, tell us some brief account of how they knew Dad, and what he had done that made a difference in their lives.

Today it has been thirty-five years since my dad passed on.

Dad you are loved and live in my thoughts and in my heart always.

My Interview Questions:

2007-11-22T09:15:00.000-06:00

Thanks to jen of a2eatwrite, I have interview questions. And here we go!

1) You seem to have so many irons in the fire--can you tell us a bit about your many hats? (Not to mix metaphors or anything!)

My parents were 40 years old when they had me--so I came into a family where my first real memories and knowledge of what was going on was of parents in their mid to late forties and early fifties. And I cannot remember a time my parents weren’t taking classes, doing course work, improving themselves, and most often “changing hats”. I was raised with the “if you’re breathing you should be learning”, and if learning, then, of course, you’ll be altering your life.

So it has seemed most natural for me to learn, grow, and try another aspect of my heart’s desires, loves, passions. Comedy came naturally. Our dinner table was a time of sharing the
day’s events--and if you couldn’t put some kind of a “spin” on the story--comedy expected generally--then you were surely going to lose the conversation! So it’s little wonder two out of three siblings have done stand-up--and the third is a hoot to spend a dinner hour with.

My dad and aunt were teachers--I cannot imagine not teaching. Writing, my family has a number of published writers--I cannot imagine not telling stories. And ministry--Mom is a lay-speaker in our church, and a counselor by trade--so ministry combines speaking, counseling, teaching, and sharing my love of the Lord with others--I cannot imagine my life without doing all of these things.

2) Of your many wonderful stories, which is your favorite and why is it your favorite?

Which ever one I’m working on at the time. I’m truly not trying to be evasive. I just saturate myself in whatever story I’m working on--it becomes my thoughts awake or asleep LOL. And, therefore, it is my favorite--kind of like every time I make homemade bean and ham soup--each batch is always “the best I’ve ever made”--no doubt because it’s the one I’m eating at the time ;-)

I have to say, I actually enjoy working on short stories, simply because they are “complete” and you can “see” them--novels go on FOREVER LOL--as you know.

3) What is the most rewarding thing about being a minister?

I have done counseling for a long time. Adding in the spiritual aspect is the part that is sorely needed, but not often given in “traditional” counseling. And for me, without God in the equation, you cannot come up with workable nor satisfying answers and means to solve your problems. We are created in the image of our creator--created to BE creators of our world, our lives. Without recognition of who we are and how we work--and from where our real “help” comes--well, this can be a very sorry world, with little hope.

Minister means “to minister” “to administer”--so it’s an act of service to others, administering help for their needs. Nothing is so satisfying than being of service to others--and seeing others come out of despair, come to their own victories in life, it is a reward all its own.

4) How do you concoct a story or novel?

For me it’s a bit of “improve” work. If you’ve ever watched a comedian, say Robin Williams, who allows the audience to “throw out” topics, questions, etc.--and then instantly turns them into “something”, then that’s how I see story telling. If someone throws an idea, question, relates a situation in their life, I read something, hear a bit of conversation at a café, etc., then pretty soon something begins to stir inside me.

Of course, not all have enough “juice” for a novel, or even a good short story. BUT, the seed for a story can be found almost anywhere. And the fertile ground that seed lands in is the human mind. Anything can grow there IF you don’t censor it, or put restrictions on it.

At some point, though, to actually create a story, especially of a novel length, you get to the grit of it--that’s the part where you sit down at the computer keyboard, grit your teeth, bite the bullet, and you create your outline, make your Lists, flesh out the background of your characters, etc. You must have a good framework, a working skeleton of the story to hang the flesh, meat and muscle on, and pump the blood through.

Just never let the framework stop your imagination, or allowing the characters to take the story somewhere new or novel--if necessary, you may have to rework the entire premise--but to create something magical, you have to trust your heart, and go with it!

In Ripley's "Believe it or not" division . . .

2007-11-21T21:37:00.000-06:00

The one day half of America is on the move--going to visit the other half--wouldn’t you know we’d have our first accumulation of snow here in Iowa. And I was on the move--going to pick up Mom in a town some fifty miles away, to bring her back up home.

Of course, that would have been too easy, it was the other “errands” I’d lined up because I was going in to the “big city” of Waterloo. That’s the part that always gets me in trouble. I feel that after spending the time on the road, the gas, etc., I should kill as many birds with my one stone as possible. So I’d left a number of time-sensitive (bill paying to be blunt) errands to be done today (such as they were DUE today, so I had to get there).

And then there were those “sales”. I had lined up items I had not purchased up home, waiting for the trip to the larger metropolitan area where sales abound on holidays. Normally you can only save so much IF you have to add in the cost of the gas. However, when you’re already making the trip for other reasons, then you don’t have to “count” the cost of the gas out of the sale price. Trust me, I use this rationale and have staunchly stood by it for years.

OK, so now, I have my “list”, my bills are made out and in the purse, a return item is in the purse with sales receipt, suitcase in the car to carry Mom’s clothes back here, empty water bottle to be refilled at the Wal-Mart conveniently along my route to the big city, check book WITH checks in it, and both rain gear and snow gear, extra jacket, gloves, scraper, well, let’s face it, I’m prepared.

I pulled out of the garage, and in the time I had walked out, packed the car, and backed out of the stall, the skies had opened up and what had been a few flakes, now looked like I was inside one of the snow globes. I stopped at the end of the drive-way and began reassessing my LIST!

The first thing to go was taking my son and daughter-in-law’s rings in to the jeweler for their six month check up and cleaning. I pulled out of the drive, turned to the right instead of the left--not out of town, but toward my son’s home. No one was home. Argh! Headed on out of town and used the cell to locate daughter-in-law. She was along my route, and in about ten minutes I handed off the rings and continued on toward Waterloo.

As I drove south and west, the storm intensified. The wind was whipping it up, making some spots almost white-outs. By the time I was about twenty minutes out of Waterloo, I spotted my first police car with flashing lights, and both lanes on my side slowed to a “roll” as we made our way past the cars pulled off to the side. Visibility, even that slow, was so bad I really couldn’t tell if it was an accident--but I saw no twisted metal, so hopefully it was a rear-end “fender-bender”, at least no sirens or ambulances were making their way through to the scene that I could tell.

My LIST was beginning to look pretty much a washout.

And by the time I got to the place to pay my DUE bills, I was realizing how “mushy” the street was under my wheels, and how with any effort to change lanes the car was ready to slide on past a corner, or into the other lane. I parked carefully, walked carefully on the snow and ice packed walkway, paid the bills, minced on out to the car, and called Mom on my cell. The errand running was officially over--I was on my way and told her to be ready.

Now let me tell you if you’ve never done it yourself, collecting a senior citizen from a nursing home is NOT a few minute “in and out” procedure. First you stop at the nurses’ station and sign for her--they don’t let just anybody walk off with your relative. Next the nurse begins loading you up with the medications and giving any directions in administering said meds. Then there’s the packing of the suitcase. And finally there are the hugs and kisses goodbye and wishes for a happy holiday to roommate, hall mates, the woman in the beauty salon, the people in the dining hall, any staff we might meet between Mom’s room and the door out to the car. And the snow just kept falling.

With the motto slow and steady wins the race, we drove safely, albeit slowly, home.

Mom has been just like a kid at camp. She really loves getting to be in a REAL house. Her piano is here--that is such a joy for her to run her hands over her own keys. We ate REAL food, not institution food--and she had all the butter and salt and time to eat food as she wanted. We sat and visited while I made a fresh batch of brownies, and then the family sat together for ice cream and warm brownies for dessert. We did the celebrity cipher from the evening paper and while I was working on clean up, Mom did her crossword puzzle from the evening paper.

I just came upstairs after tucking her in and getting some hugs and kisses goodnight. She was smiling and looking up into my face with such a happy countenance. She is so excited about what the next few days will bring. All four dogs have arranged themselves around her bed, and we have the night light on. I can hear Mom snoring, my hubby and son snoring, and our golden retriever, Daisy snoring--if the beagle, English setter or terrier are snoring, they aren’t loud enough to be heard over everyone else LOL.

I feel pretty good. My loved ones are safe and sound, well fed, and snug in their beds.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow . . .

Two Days to "T" Day and counting . . .

2007-11-20T13:45:00.000-06:00

It’s time to get down to checklists! With less than twenty-four hours to “pick-up” time--going to the nursing home and collecting my mom (clothes, medications, walker, special pillowcase, books, song books, letter writing materials, and all those other things she has rarely used in her holiday stays with me, yet insists on bringing “just incase” LOL)--it is now the final hours for preparations both for Mom’s stay here in the house, and for the holiday feasting itself.

Here in the house, it’s along the lines of “kid-proofing” you do when the grandkids come, and you’re house is no longer set up for “little ‘uns”. With four dogs in the house, who feel compelled to slip in front of you as you walk, ram into you in a hearty greeting every time you enter the house, and fall asleep under your recliner’s foot rest, making it impossible to put the rest down and get out of the chair, well, that is just a whole area that cannot be controlled, nor prepared for adequately. However, for all those other things that can be fixed, there is the list to assure nothing is over-looked.

We recently took up the carpet in the entry room with the intent of putting down linoleum. At present the floor is uneven between the entry room and the living room, which is carpeted.

SO:

#1. A metal piece has to be put down over the edge of the carpet allowing Mom’s walker to easily go over the difference in heights without hanging up nor Mom stumbling.

#2. All extra shoes, work boots, and slippers, must be removed from bathroom floor. (No room for Mom’s walker, nor barely room for Mom with the floor covered in footwear.)

#3. Bake cookies! Mom has a sweet tooth. As she has aged and her taste buds have died off, it takes a lot of salt, a lot of butter, and a lot of cookies and other sweets before Mom senses she’s had anything decent to eat. NO, it’s not good for her. However, she’s made it to 98, and if she wants this stuff, hey, it’s her decision--I’m not her mother!

#4. Put on all fresh bedding. One day early is too early, as three out of four of the dogs feel the extra bed in the house is NOT for guests, but instead is THEIR bed. So until someone comes to use the bed, there will be dogs and dog hair on the bed LOL.

#5. Get all the games out of the closet and downstairs--Mom likes to play games. Yahtzee, Backgammon, Chess, Scrabble, and anything else you want to teach or remind her how to play. She has always liked to play games, and in the past few years increasingly we have to re-teach her the rules and remind her of the strategies--but she still gets a real kick out of playing, and it’s something she gets none of in the nursing home.

#6. Have the piano (Mom’s piano which I brought to my home once her house had to be sold before she entered the nursing home), dusted and the seat cleaned off of all those things that get placed on it when it’s not in use. Mom still plays the piano at least two hours a day, to keep her fingers from stiffening up and to entertain the “troops”, her fellow nursing home residents. She has informed me she’s preparing for the holiday programs coming up at the nursing home and the other nursing homes in the area where she is invited to play. Mom will be the first to tell you, music to entertain IS her main reason for getting up and getting dressed each day.

#7. All those other little things it takes for Thanksgiving, baking pies, making the stuffing, dragging out all the serving dishes that are usually at the back of the upper cupboards and seeing to it they don’t need to be rewashed from just sitting there LOL. Seems there are always things that still need to be done right up to the serving of the meal.

And so goes the list. And here I go to continue checking off the things on the list. Hope you’ve made your list, checked it twice, and have means and energy to fulfill it.

May God sustain us all!

REVOLVING DOORS--REVISITED

2007-11-19T15:03:00.000-06:00

Not too far back I had a blog entitled Revolving Doors. In it I talked about my family, a recent baby shower I’d been to, and the span of the family, from 103 years of age, to the baby which was due very soon.

This past week-end we truly witnessed the “revolving door” in operation. On Friday evening, at approximately 11 p.m., our 103 year old grandmother went home to be with the Lord. And nine and a half hours later, at 8:30 a.m. Saturday morning, our baby arrived safe and sound.

My what an awesome thing to realize, how the balance is maintained, how both events are to be celebrated. One life that was filled with love, with devotion to God and family, commitment, diligence, and service. And now a new life, promising so much, with his family’s hopes, dreams, devotion and love for him--all there to give him every opportunity to grow and develop and be his own person.

On Wednesday the family will be able to say goodbye to Grandma. They will accompany her one last time to her final resting place. Thanksgiving will be expressed, I know, throughout the service, for all that she has contributed to her loved ones.

On Thursday, our baby will make his first appearance at the family Thanksgiving Day celebration. He will add much joy, just by being there. Everyone will want to take turns holding him. And the first of many pictures will be taken, showing him taking part in his family’s gatherings.

God is Good to our family.

MARTIAN CHILD

2007-11-18T11:34:00.000-06:00

Went to see a movie yesterday. Martian Child with John Cusack and Joan Cusack.

What a heart-lifting story, so well acted. And what I had not known, it was based on a true story, although they fictionalized the characters rather than use their real-life names.

A very young and gifted child actor, Bobby Coleman, plays the Martian Child. John Cusack plays the Sci-fi writer, widowed several years earlier, who decides he should carry through with his wife’s dream of adopting a child (she had been adopted, therefore had wanted to give some other child an opportunity in life). Joan Cusack plays John’s sister (they do that VERY well, and I’m sure being siblings is the foundation of that chemistry).

Adopting any child, especially one that is older (as in not an infant/baby, toddler), they come with their own history, their own baggage. In this case, the child had been abused, had been through several adopted situations and foster-care situations. So he had developed a survival mechanism of believing he was a Martian “on assignment” to learn earthlings’ ways. And then he believed “they” (those who left him here on earth as his assignment), would return to pick him up and take him home.

The story begins letting us see that John Cusack’s character, David, had been an “odd-ball” child in school as well. He had found coping mechanisms of his own, which eventually brought him to his present livelihood, sci-fi writer. He, therefore, had ready empathy as he watched this young boy being segregated from his classmates, and the target of class bullies. He also had a ready and creative attitude in dealing with this child’s “Martian” behaviors--basically accepting them, and showing an interest in learning them himself. David’s attitude of acceptance provides a means for communication into this boy’s fantasy world. He even finds a way to help Dennis (the Martian child’s name), vent his frustrations and rage against this often-times hostile world he feels he’s been abandoned in.

I really don’t want to give away the story. It is revealed so very carefully through the movie, each scene building on the next as this man and boy learn to relate, learn to trust, and come to love one another. My goal is to introduce this movie to you. I’d heard very little about it, except I had been in the theater when they showed its trailer a couple of weeks earlier. But I don’t want you to miss out. It is a remarkable story, and remarkable actors reproducing it for us.

I know if you go, you’ll be rewarded for it. Take some Puffs, but know the tears will be ones of joy and triumph in the end.

SINGULAR SATURDAY

2007-11-17T10:31:00.000-06:00

Jenn in Holland inspired me a few Saturdays ago to join in on her: Singular Saturday. So here’s this Saturday’s “singular”:

Diversity

Coin-operated Laundromat

2007-11-16T16:02:00.000-06:00

Not much has changed. I haven’t been to a coin-operated Laundromat for quite a while. However, after my visit today, I can say, not much has changed.

There was the mess left behind by weary young mothers, who had evidently tried to keep small children amused while waiting for the wash machines and dryers to do their job. And there were the umpteen clothes dryer cloths left floating around the floor of the facility. Also a few crumpled candy wrappers, and several discarded quarter wrappers, all indicating a busier morning than the present slow afternoon.

And of course, there were two out of nine dryers “out-of-order”, and at least one washer “out-of-order” on each side of the machine rows. In all my days of using the Laundromat, I cannot recall a time when all the machines were operational simultaneously.

Today was my obligatory “fall cleaning” of the bedding. I have those comforters on the beds, and those “extras” for changing the bedding as needed. I opted to do the bedding today, safely before Mom’s visit this coming week for Thanksgiving.

Upon entering the Laundromat and seeing the extent of “out-of-order” machines, I questioned the wisdom of my decision. However, I was using the double and triple-sized machines, and they were all up and working. As it was others had shown up before me to use the regular-sized washing machines, and had, therefore, filled most of the working dryers.

By the time my over-sized loads of comforters came out of the machines, I had to leave one comforter awaiting a dryer, while the others began the process of drying. And, as it turned out, the spin cycle on the double-load machines must have been very poor, as water was actually dripping off part of the blanket. I could tell one roll of quarters wasn’t going to cut it; so off my cousin went to the nearest bank to purchase another roll for me before she took off to do a host of other errands.

As time passed, I would occasionally get up to test for “dryness” or to load more quarters into the slots. I continued reading my book. And there were, off and on, fellow patrons coming in to throw their wash from machine to dryer, or if carrying in baskets, they would begin to look for empty wash machines that did NOT have “out-of-order” signs on them, nor were sitting there still filled with wet laundry, awaiting their owners to come and retrieve them.

Gratefully no tribes of wild local natives showed up, replete with gooey little hands covered with melted chocolate, splashing sticky pop across the floor and drying tables, and knowing all the really bizarre things kids who frequent Laundromats with their mothers know to amuse themselves as their mothers turn their backs on them to visit with other women who are more than willing to turn their backs too.

In my young married life I had lived through two times of no machines of my own--so I’d been there with the wild tribes, and done my share of mopping up the gooey and sticky before I could fold my clothing on the tables. I had finally expressed with gusto the fact NEVER AGAIN--and my hubby had taken the hint and purchased brand new machines with VERY long warranties and the ability to purchase extended warranties!

Now when the season comes to wash our comforters, I’m pretty savvy about what time of week and time of day to hit the Laundromat. Today was a good day. Not too messy. Not noisy. I got to the working dryers without much of a wait except for that one last dryer. A minor matter. I got my book read in peace. And even the bathroom was fairly clean!

Now all our bedding will smell and feel good. And it will be another season before I need to return. God is Good to Me!

HOLIDAY PREPARATION: A week out and counting . . .

2007-11-15T19:30:00.000-06:00

I’m saying it’s because Thanksgiving is a week away, because the weekend will have the grocery stores chockfull out the door with shoppers, because there are sales upon sales on all the holiday food goodies. That’s why I brought home a truck load of food today.

My husband said it’s because he told me last night that he will be laid off all next week with only the two days of the holiday being paid--and therefore, I tend to panic we’ll all starve, and load up on food until there are not cupboards, shelves, refrigerator, nor freezer space to hold it all.

Clearly, there is a difference in perception here LOL.

If I were to buy in to reincarnation, I would say I must have starved to death in a number of past lives. The end must have been grizzly, agonizing, painful, and frightening. If there isn’t such a thing as reincarnation, well, all I can say is, I’m one sick puppy, because I have missed very few meals in THIS lifetime without expressly choosing to do so--and I, therefore, have no excuse for this panic buying of food stuffs. Of course, that’s assuming my husband’s assessment is correct.

NOW, a possibly more likely scenario would be, I’m an “impulse” shopper. You put something in those bins close to the register, and it is all I can do not to dump a few of these ridiculous items into my cart. They all look like such “good ideas” and the “deals” are stupendous. Who doesn’t need a really tiny little cute brightly colored flashlight that goes on your keychain? I mean, you would NEVER have thought of it while walking through the regular aisles--BUT, right there, just as you’re waiting in line to put your items on the conveyor belt--PLEASE, it makes perfect sense and a deal at twice the price (Ok, maybe not twice--but a deal none-the-less).

When I got home and my third shift hubby had to wake up and get warmly dressed in order to carry in the Haul--LOL--I found out the supervisors and schedulers had thought the whole thing over, and decided they could not possibly be without my son and husband all those days. We will not be without a good paycheck for next week. My son and his family won’t be over “borrowing” (a quaint term for “Mom, you’re never getting any of it back, after all, you are a mother, are you not?, so you feed the world, right? Especially your first born, etc.???).

Am I dismayed I spent two weeks’ worth of budgeting money on all this food? NO, an emphatic NO! A resounding NO! These items, almost across the board, were on SALE. I had COUPONS! You do not pass up sales AND coupons that can be combined. So the budget will be a little tight for a few weeks. So some of the food is like, well, ten boxes of scalloped potatoes and cheesy potatoes, and two flats of vegetables, and twelve cans of crème of mushroom soup, and it will take weeks and weeks to use it all. It was on sale. I had coupons.

Really, it’s self explanatory, right? Right.

Of course, I am going to have to put some of the canned goods under the bed for a few weeks, but it’s a small sacrifice really.

SQUIRRELS: Cute or Irritating?

2007-11-14T13:30:00.000-06:00

Two years ago I persuaded my hubby to let me buy this old house on land adjoining our own property. It added five town lots to our already seven lots (yes, a whole LOT of mowing!) and our additional ten acres that attach to our property just on the other side of the city line.

It needed major repairs, such as I literally had the family GUT the house to the outer walls, all plumbing, every piece of wiring, everything LOL--gone. And then we began the tearing out walls, and putting up new ones, etc. And when we tore out the upstairs ceilings, a host of mummified squirrels came tumbling out of the loose insulation that had been blown in there who knows how many eons ago. Needless-to-say, we found all the places they’d managed to enter (but not able to get back out from), and repaired those areas.

BUT, the lovely old growth oaks that surround the house, still have many large branches that bridge the gap between tree and roof. And a whole new crop of squirrels run the gauntlet daily from trees to roof, even walking the wiring from garage to roof on the other side of the house.

Having them come to the roof is one thing. But they feel compelled to find a way IN. So there’s a lot of gnawing going on up on my roof! And talk about the Night before Christmas, when all you could hear was the patter of reindeer hoofs--well, these wee critters sound like horses thundering over my roof at a full gallop, when three or four of them get to chasing and cavorting across the many angles and sides of the roof.

It is, however, the gnawing that not only sounds irritating, it IS irritating. This old house needs a new roof. And they are NOT helping! They already broke through an eave area and we’ve had to mend that. And then they chewed a hole out UNDER the mending metal piece. They are SO destructive. How can something so CUTE and furry, be such a menace? They have become Public Enemy Number One around here!

The way the house is designed, there are a number of windows upstairs that are dormers--so the roof slants down on each side of the window. The squirrels come over from the trees with their walnuts and sit on each side of my window (of my office where I sit typing away at my computer keyboard), munching away, looking adorable. I have a front row seat on all this cuteness. And then they finish their nut, and begin to chew on my window framing! Argh! Those little . . .

SO, cute is not cutting it. Some of us have to go . . . And it’s not going to be my family!

YouTube YouSure?

2007-11-13T10:35:00.000-06:00

Not sure how I weigh in on the whole concept of having things put up on the web, and no one getting any royalties for creative property/copyright, etc. But yesterday, after visiting Jenn of Holland’s site, and being introduced to Kristen Chenoweth, well, I had to head over to YouTube.com to find out what else I could about this talented and funny lady.

Of course, once at the site, I found out I DID know her, just didn’t know that was her name in “real life”. But once at YouTube, well, I couldn’t help but do a search and see what else I could find on her. And voila! A host of performances starring Ms Chenoweth. And then that site had other “choices” listed on the side bar--easily clicked on and viewed--which led to other clickable delectable sites, . . . And by sometime in the wee hours of the morning, I’d managed to put in a full evening of GREAT musical numbers from a number of wonderful Broadway hits by talented, gifted performers.

It was magical, it was marvelous, it was exhilarating, it was FREE! So why was it I felt like a voyeur? Why did I have that feeling that I had snuck in through the side door, and hadn’t paid for my ticket?

Probably something about my son, who watches many things he cannot find any other place but YouTube, who keeps saying he wonders what day the whole thing will be shut down by the courts! He also likes to say he wonders if they’ll come and drag all of us users away . . . Yes, that might have something to do with that feeling of “unclean”.

SO, what do YOU think? Weigh in on this. Your vote counts (well, it counts with me). To view or NOT to view, via YouTube and other “free” sites, these often “pirated” performances (I watched one that had actually taped the announcement saying to turn off all electronic recording devices as it was illegal to tape without authorization LOL)?

YouVote, YouTube or NoTube--THAT IS THE QUESTION!

THE ROAD HOME

2007-11-12T10:39:00.000-06:00

The Writing Game is Here!

This story was inspired by the ideas of Gunfighter of The View from Here.

Story ideas:

Characters:
Josiah Bell: 18 year old, heir of "Tall Cotton", a slave holding plantation in Prince William County, Virginia, circa 1774.
William Bell: 16 year old hot-head, supporter of the patriot case as the revolution looms large.
Jesse: A 19 year old slave, sent to be the personal body attendant Josiah, that, when the time came, he would have someone to "load his musket".
Setting:
Prince William County , Virginia .... at the very northern end of what would later become the Confederacy.
The Conflict: The looming fight for "independence" while some people were still held like cattle all around.
[Must tell you, this has launched me into developing a novel based on this short vignette--so know there'll be more to come. Thanks GF!]

THE ROAD HOME

Several minutes had passed since the carriage had dropped from view. In its wake, the dust still lingered in the air. Seemingly transfixed, the porch occupants had stood staring at the buggy’s retreat. Then, as if on cue, each member returned to their own occupations. All except Josiah and Jesse, who were both absorbed in their own meditations.

Josiah Bell, joint heir one day to Bell Plantation, continued to chew on the Continental Congress news that their guest had been imparting to his father and other family members over tea. Although no one wanted to say it aloud, a fight for independence was now being called for, if only in innuendos and subtext. Everyone kept saying “reconciliation” measures were all that was being sought. But each and every act the Congress followed, seemed to be taking the colonies a step closer to a call for independence.

Jesse stepped to the side of his young master, just enough to be able to see the field to the right of the road. With no breeze, the dust hung suspended over the road allowing an unobstructed view of the tobacco field. Although it was a ways off, he could see heads bobbing up and down as they worked their way through the rows, weeding and tending the young plants. Finally he spotted the bright red kerchief wrapped around his sister’s head. He watched as she stood, arched her back, and tried to relieve her aches, if even for a brief moment. He felt helpless. Master Bell had decided he would belong to his oldest son. That had taken Jesse out of the field, and put to any task his young master gave him.

The quiet revelry was broken as Willie came stomping out from the house, directing his steps across the porch toward his father, and his remarks to anyone who would listen.

“Steps, measures, all these women do in Congress is talk. It’s time to act. Why do they want to reconcile? We’re making money for the blighters. Why not make it for ourselves? It’s clear King and country could give a crack for the colonies, no more than what we represent in guineas, pounds and shillings.”

His father and brother shot glances between them. Such talk was heretical, and outside of the farmhouse, dangerous.

“Willie,” Josiah took the conversation, seeing his father turn scarlet right through his hairline, “you’ve been told not to spout your mind. Give it a rest. Why do you think we have the Congress? You’ve never fought, little brother, I have. And the men that have don’t want to go it again.”

“Bells have been fighting for eons big brother. Our name means armor bearer for Heaven’s Sake!” proclaimed Willie.

“William, you’ll not be loose with your talk in the presence of your mother,” Josiah Senior‘s voice boomed across the porch.

Willie looked quickly toward his mother and bowed his head. She was still directing the clean up of the tea and had paid little attention to what her son had said. But on hearing her husband’s voice, she had instinctively looked up. As her son nodded toward her, she smiled faintly, nodded back, and then turned back to the task at hand.

“Down south, battling the French and Indians, they gave the slaves their freedom if they’d fight. That’s how important this thing is, and you’re saying ‘keep quiet’ and ‘hush about it’ won’t change a thing. King George has as much said he could do as he pleased with the colonies. Where’s the trust in him when you know he could care a lick?” protested Willie.

Jesse’s attention perked up. Had Master William said slaves were freed in the south, just for fighting the war along side their masters? If his master Josiah was to fight for independence from the Crown, would Jesse be able to fight for his own freedom? He quickly stepped to the side of his master and caught sight of the red kerchief. Could he win freedom for his sister too?

The conversation continued between father and sons. The dust had long settled on the road, and the sun had dropped low enough to lose its intense heat. Camden, the work foreman, had mounted his horse to ride out to the field and see to the field hands. Jesse’s eyes followed the horse and rider. He could hear the droning of the men’s voices. This was not his native tongue, and it took more effort than he could muster to understand all that was being said. So he lapsed into his own thoughts, dreams of a possible day of freedom. Was it true? Was young Master William telling the truth? For the first time in ten years, a spark of hope flickered in Jesse’s weary heart.

To read more stories from our Writing Game, go to: A2eatwrite

VETERAN'S DAY

2007-11-11T11:50:00.000-06:00

“World War I – known at the time as ‘The Great War’ - officially ended when the Treaty of Versailles was signed on June 28, 1919, in the Palace of Versailles outside the town of Versailles, France. However, fighting ceased seven months earlier when an armistice, or temporary cessation of hostilities, between the Allied nations and Germany went into effect on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. For that reason, November 11, 1918, is generally regarded as the end of ‘the war to end all wars‘.”
[taken from: www1.va.gov/opa/vetsday/vetdayhistory.asp ]

I was raised on that saying “the war to end all wars”. I can remember being told my father joined the service even though he was on the far side of the age for joining--but he had been told by Uncle Sam that this was the war to end all wars, and if he didn’t want to see his son going to war, then he needed to go himself. And he went. BUT, that was NOT for the “great war“, that was for what became known as WWII--so already that saying had been betrayed.

When the local draft hit our community sending off our young men to Viet Nam, my father was still alive. He felt betrayed by his government and grieved that this war had the possibility of taking one of his sons. After all, hadn’t he fought the “war to end all wars” so his sons wouldn't have to go to war?

I realize there are fewer and fewer of our Veterans alive now from WWII. I have one relative left that was in that war. I have never asked him how he feels about these present wars, or whether he feels betrayed that he’d fought the “war to end all wars” but his son had to serve in the military during Viet Nam.

But every year in August, his army buddies and their families still have their Army Reunion, and they continue to say how proud they are of our young fighting men and women. How proud they are to be in a country where the men and women have never faltered in standing in the gap for their country, for their fellow countrymen and women.

It can be contested whether each involvement was/is the wisest or right way to go. However, there is no contest about the commitment these young people make when they take up arms for all of us here at home, and go fight the good fight. May they always know we stand behind them--that we applaud them--that we will help them in anyway we can, and be here to support their loved ones they leave here in our care while they’re gone.

We salute you today!

SINGULAR SATURDAY

2007-11-10T09:21:00.000-06:00

Jenn in Holland inspired me last Saturday to join in on her Singular Saturday. So here’s this Saturday’s “singular”:

DILIGENCE

SUBJECTS I HAVE REJECTED TODAY:

2007-11-09T11:08:00.000-06:00

Subjects I have rejected today:

Rising gas prices (too depressing, not much to add)
Weather (it’s fall in Iowa, it’s cold, not much to add)
Today’s Errands (ugh, not much to add)
Laundry (egad, I haven’t come to writing about that have I?)
. . .

OK, possibly jumping into the NaBloPoMo after only having a blog for three days was a bit presumptuous of me. But I’m going to stick with my gut instinct and I can see where it’s making me push myself, get off the dime, put pen to paper (fingers to keyboard), get organized . . . (you get the point).

Of course, the rest of my life has had to go to the back burner, or at least to the side boards. I’ve set myself to the task by saying I must get this written and posted BEFORE I take on any other task for the day. That is keeping me honest about writing this--but it is also pushing my other chores of the day further and further into the morning (or first of the afternoon LOL). And yes, I do sometimes sit here with my laptop, in my recliner, and get to reading everyone else’s blogs, chuckling, smirking, guffawing, snorting, shaking my head, putting hand to chest, praying--and then writing comments.

Perhaps I’m getting addicted. Each blogger comes to their blog with so much of themselves in tow. I marvel at how sharing all of you are. You’re all so brave. You share yourselves, your thoughts, feelings, creativity, your lives--and you’re all so marvelous! I am amazed every single day by you.

And I’m off . . . Blogs to read, blogs to respond to, and a host of errands to run for my family, or they might get me for MIA. Or worse yet, they might claim desertion while under fire. After all, it’s Friday, and they will want food in the house this weekend and the coming week.

WHAT'S IN A NAME?

2007-11-08T11:01:00.000-06:00

I was reading in another blog today, Twas Brillig, where she was telling how she came about choosing her pen name. After making comment to her blog, I began clicking on some of her past posts, and found even more about the name she had chosen for her blog ID. She expressed how choosing the name had given her a bit of freedom of expression, using her own name had not afforded her. And also how she now truly identifies herself in this personage of Brillig. Go check out her site, she has some really good stuff, you'll enjoy!

And here I am, just a matter of a couple of weeks now, having taken on Wholly Burble. It is not the only name I’ve worked under that was not my christened name. And I’ve even managed to alter my everyday life name from my christened name, and made it my “legal” name.

In the Bible names MEAN something. When by faith Abram accepted God’s word for his life, God changed his name to Abraham--which then bespoke the very promise God had made to Abram. God had said He would make Abram father of many, that his descendants would be as many as the stars in the heavens and the grains of sand on the beach. So he changed his name to Abraham, meaning father of nations.

Having been raised in the church, and knowing this story most of my life, and having been a story teller and eventually a writer much of my life, names have always held a fascination for me. When I craft a story I realize what play a name is going to have for a character. When I used to do standup, I realized in a short time whether a name was intrinsically funny or a dud. All my life I’ve had a myriad of pets, and it was always a challenge to find the right name for that pet.

Now as I work to become an active member of this blogging community, I am fascinated at all the interesting names each blogger has come up with to express him/herself. And realizing that each and everyone of them is a story in itself--how the name was dreamt up, what meaning it holds for the individual, the images it brings to the front, how others react to the name, and then, how the name and the personage of the blogger evolves over time with its usage, I become even more intrigued.

I hope more of you decide to share how you came to your name, and what it has meant to you, and what you believe it is saying about you. That, I think, would make for some wonderful tales to tell. Later this week, I’ll share how Wholly Burble came into my life.

Bowel Movements and other conversation pieces . . .

2007-11-07T11:18:00.000-06:00

My mother is 98. I’m 58. Evidently somewhere between these two ages is where bowel movement discussions become important, and daily--much like the movements themselves (one hopes).

Having been around my mom all these years, I’ve been trying to figure out when this topic came to the front in importance, and regularity. I’m a bit unsure. I was thinking it was when she actually entered the nursing home almost three years ago now. But, on further thought, I’m thinking the theme had begun appearing as a daily conversation gambit before nursing home entry.

Now I’m not a bit squeamish. I am not only a mother, myself, but I have done counseling for years. So there’s not much anyone can say to me that will throw me for a loop. However, I do have favorite and not so favorite and some REALLY not so well liked subjects. In rank and file situations, discussions on old surgery scars and hemorrhoids as subjects do rank higher than bowel movements. Call me wacky, but that’s just me.

Last evening I called Mom just to say hello and see how she was doing. It took very few opening pleasantries, until Mom began explaining that for the past two days she had been constipated (if you’re delicate, please, I won’t feel bad, just walk away now--it’s not too late, you can click and be out of here in a flash--this is not for the faint at heart).

She said it had gotten so bad by the second day, she was having quite a bit of pain in her abdomen. It finally woke her in the middle of the night, and in she went to the bathroom to see if she could work something out. After a few minutes of groaning and such, the bathroom door opened a jar, and a nurses aid stuck in her head to see if Mom was OK. Mom told her the problem, and the aid said she’d go get the nurse and see what could be done.

In a few minutes, the door opened wide, and there was the male nurse. Mom looked up, and exclaimed, “Oh Not YOU!” At which he said he was sorry, but yes, he was the only one on duty, and asked what she needed. Reluctantly she explained her situation.

As he began to put on his plastic gloves, the entire vision and personal horror of the situation hit Mom, and she gave it, against the pain, one more hard push. And, Eureka, everything from two days, flushed on out, with sound affects and wild abandon.

Mom looked up at the male nurse, who’s face was recording his astonishment at the present event, and said to him, “You scared the shit out of me!”

Laughter convulsed both of them for a few minutes. At that point the nurse put his gloves back in his pocket and as he turned to go, said, “OK, it looks like my work here is done.”

OK, not a story for the weak in spirit--but I have to say, the best bowel movement story Mom has come up with to date. I hope you’re not flushed, but it just had to be told.

DID I MENTION . . .

2007-11-06T14:18:00.000-06:00

Did I happen to mention that I used to do stand up comedy?

Many many (OK add a few more many) moons ago, I used to do stand up comedy. If I were still performing, it would have to be sit down comedy, as I'm too old to stand in one place that long.

Back in the olden times, when I was a girl, my father told me actresses don't come from Iowa. He told me "nice" girls didn't go into the theater as a profession. He told me the umbilical cord my mother had snipped off at the time of my birth he had picked up and attached to him and it did NOT stretch far enough for me to go on stage nor out of town!

SO, since my dreams of becoming an actress were becoming mangled in all this what couldn't be done, I came up with the alternate career of becoming a singer--another no go; and then comedy. Since my father had been quite the ham and cutup of his day in school, he had more sympathy for this possibility--but again, he said you only would be able to perform in seedy bars, so a "not for my daughter" on that one too.

To further the crumpling of the dream, there were few female standup comics for me to use as role models, or to hold up as "proof" to myself that this could be done. The Ed Sullivan Show was about my only platform to see standup comedy being done, and the bulk of those were men. [Note: For those of you who need to know, I'm talking fifties here and early sixties--if you need to Google the following names, please do.]

Every week the show offered a comedy spot--and predominantly it was filled by men: George Jessel, Joey Bishop, George Gobal, Henny Youngman, a very young Allen King and George Carlin, etc. For women, well, there was Moms Mabley, Phyllis Diller, Joan Rivers, Gracie Allen (of Burns and Allen), and Anne Meara (of Anne Meara and Jerry Stiller). Most females involved with comedy were actresses who did comedy--such as Lucile Ball, Mary Tyler Moore.

But then, when I was 17, I got the opportunity, at school, to present a ten minute speech--it was called a speech to entertain. I turned it into a ten minute standup spot. My teacher was NOT prepared for this. He had wanted us to tell an amusing anecdote from our family life, or something like that--but standup, no one even thought of doing anything like that back in those days, or at least in an Iowa high school LOL.

I pretty much took off Joan River's delivery style--but it was all my own material. It was actually based on using school situations my classmates were all aware of, including a bit about our teacher. I knew that was a risk, but it HAD to be done if I was going to pull this off.

And then it happened. The kids started laughing. My teacher turned red right up through his hairline--but he was laughing. Try as he might to keep from it, he was laughing. By the time it was over (trust me, the more they laughed the more I was ready to do ANYthing, to keep them laughing, so it got "out there" for my material), I had people almost falling out of their desks. I was a hit!

Well, let me tell you, after that, there was no going back. I was addicted. I wanted to have it happen again. Gratefully, Life afforded me opportunities to do standup routines. I didn't have to perform in bars. I didn't have to do anything immoral to get work. Eventually my father and the umbilical cord gave way, and I found myself able to go and do, and live my life. And I have a ton of good memories of those years of entertaining.

Now a days I pretty much do my "routine" any time some poor hapless person gives me a "straight line" in a conversation. I still get a kick out of getting those laughs--perhaps there's a twelve step program for it? HA: Ham's Anonymous perhaps.

Will I ever get up on the stage again and do comedy? Hum, possibly, if they let me sit down.

REVOLVING DOORS

2007-11-05T17:49:00.000-06:00

Life is filled with revolving doors. No sooner has someone made their "grand entrance" than someone else is heading back out the door. We celebrate the arrival, not so often do we celebrate the departures.

In my family we have five members all over ninety years of age. We even have one member one hundred and three years old. Although she is fairly bed-ridden, along with one uncle that is requiring more and more assistance, the other four are all up and functioning, two of them still in their own home, still able to drive their own cars, and all four of them have daily "schedules" of outings, visiting, doing volunteer work, etc. Only two out of the six, therefore, really are ready to go home to be with the Lord--the rest are busy and not thinking about leaving any time soon.

Elsewhere in our family, we have many many new members, all under the age of ten, and one ready to be born this month. It was rather something at this newest "soon to arrive's" baby shower. We had his Great great grandma, his great grandma, his grandma, his great great great Aunt, his great great Aunt, his great Aunt, a number of his Aunts, and a host of "grandmas" from former marriages, along with cousins, etc. It was the going concern around the party to get LOTS of pictures, as we figured this particular gathering of clan elders was probably the last of its kind--that many generations all up and functioning, and having a good time at the party.

So, we have times coming, I think, when we'll be witnessing many departures, going on out the door of life. But then, we've been having our share of new entries, swinging on in, filling our family with new smiles, children's laughter, hopes and dreams. Quite a span of years, quite a remarkable span of "era's" we represent--and all of it, to some degree, you just have to take in stride, even though I'm one of the ones getting closer to the "out" door myself.

Kind of remarkable, kind of exciting, to think about going on through those revolving doors and seeing what's up ahead. Many in our crew have gone on before--so there's bound to be a lot of celebrating when each of us gets there, just like when the new ones come in through this door to earth. I like to celebrate the coming and the going. Much to look forward to on both sides of the door for our family. Although there's always that sense of missing someone, to know he/she is just on the other side of the door, awaiting our entry, well, that's a great feeling.

Thank God, for God is good.

FALL BACK POSITION

2007-11-04T08:48:00.000-06:00

Not sure how it gets to be "that time of year" again--but here we are at the bi-annual event, the changing of the clocks. Whether we've saved an hour, or spent an hour, today is the day we all search the house for all available time pieces needing manual resetting, and call all relatives and friends we KNOW miss this function twice a year to tell them to reset their clocks.

The changing of the clocks always takes me back to the BIG discussion of whether or not Iowa was going on daylight savings time. I was quite young, but the significance of the debate was not lost on me--it was THE talk of the town.

Iowa being basically a rural setting, much of the discussion was farm-based. Many farmers were quite convinced the cows wouldn't know when to give milk, or the chickens to lay eggs. It was NOT considered a joke--it was serious business. And further, how would farmers be able to attend church if they had to be back home milking? It seemed the incongruity of running the farm via the "savings" clock rather than the "regular" clock, was going to be a rather daunting task.

There were documented cases printed in the local paper of terrible outcomes from neighboring states that had already opted for daylight savings time. When all the reports began mounting up, it was enough to curl your hair.

And then there was the "pro" side of the discussion. We would be raking in the harvest of all that saved time. Hours of our lives would have immense opportunities for improvement, hours that would be otherwise lost to us, would be "saved", and summer would become a virtual paradise with all these added hours in our day. As a child, I was rather awed at these speculations. According to these reports coming in from happy partakers in other states, it seemed rather incredulous that anyone would not take advantage of this time-saving device.

Eventually it was voted on. Daylight savings time was adopted state-wide. After the fact, I don't remember hearing any reports of curdled milk, dehydrated cows, or eggs hatching before their time. But there were untold ruffled feathers across the state!

I think the only thing that out-stripped the daylight savings crisis, was the debate on "to fluoride or not to fluoride" the water supply. But that, as they say, is another story.

Singular Saturday

2007-11-03T14:46:00.000-05:00

Jenn in Holland has got a new thing going on - Singular Saturday. I checked it out, and it looks like quite a proposition. So here's my "Singular Saturday":

Compassion

CATERWAULING

2007-11-02T11:18:00.000-05:00

My mom was adopted back in 1909. She had a German and English (and a little Scot) heritage. And the people who adopted her were German primarily--and spoke German in the home. So although Mom had lost much of her ability to speak German by the time I was born, she knew many German words and phrases, and interspersed her speech with them in our home. Without knowing it, I came to school and into friendships, using phrases NOT well known and possibly never heard before. Of course, from my perspective as a child, it was rather amazing that everyone didn't know these words. But then, my friends and teachers would use words and phrases not known to me--yet I picked them up as I heard them again and again.

One of my many favorite family words was CATERWAUL. It just sounds interesting, doesn't it? And to some degree, I think it sounds a bit "like" what it means (although that might come from the way, tone, and times my mother incorporated the word into what she was saying):

cat·er·waul intr.v. cat·er·wauled , cat·er·waul·ing , cat·er·wauls

To cry or screech like a cat in heat.
To make a shrill, discordant sound.
To have a noisy argument.

NOUN:
A shrill, discordant sound.

ETYMOLOGY: Middle English *caterwawlen : *cater, tomcat; akin to Low German kater + wawlen, wrawlen, to yowl ( ultimately of imitative origin)

As an example of how this was used in my home, was when I, the child, whined with that high-pitched little girl's whine, (which my father said was the MOST irritating sound) wanting something, or not wanting to do some chore. Mom would say, "Stop that caterwauling and just go do it." Or "Stop that caterwauling, it's not going to change a thing." Certainly you can see, it was not employed in any manner that would make it a fun word. Yet, I have to say, even as a kid, I thought it was an interesting word. Just nothing quite like it in English (well, except the English-ization of this German word).

And as the Bible points out, the sins of the father go on for seven generations--so too the speech of the house, falls to the next and next and next. . . generation with euphemisms, catch phrases, and those words thrown in liberally from the family's heritage of Greek, Hebrew, Italian, Spanish, German, Swedish, etc.(hand gestures and body language added for flavor and color as needed). Such is, after-all, the melting pot that is America.

I think our everyday speech needs some revitalizing. The phrases and such that are making it today, such as using the word cool for hot, or just saying "word" with attitude, are these really an expression of YOUR heritage--or are you just imitating what's being said by others to whom it IS their unique expression? Well, just stop that caterwauling, and try adding in some of your family's linguistic heritage whenever you can. It will add flavor to all our lives, if we celebrate our roots through our speech.

Salesmanship

2007-11-01T17:36:00.000-05:00

For the past almost eight weeks, my son has been out in the world looking for a job. He had been laid off from his job, with a "call back" label, saying when work picked up, the job would be his again. After three months of living on the lesser pay of Unemployment, and with no sign of his former company calling him back, he began the arduous and unenviable task of job hunting.

The job he came from was material handling and he had done machining. Nothing he has ever done involved sales. And yet, when you go to look for work, what you really need to be is a top notch salesman--and the goods you're selling is YOU.

As I've listened to my son's daily encounters, the finding places that will take applications, the places that advertise, but then all the applications must be made through the state's employment center, the on-line applications now used by the small local branches who are owned by larger corporations, so everyone for all positions must jump through all the hoops of those larger operations . . . I think I was having as many nights of wrenched guts as he was enduring.

And then the call backs began to come in--the ones who said the job was already filled. The calls that set up interviews, set up "walk-throughs", the ones that announced "OK, the Next step is . . ." and then when you've jumped through that hoop" LOL . . .

All the time you're watching the calendar pages turn--the days seem to fly by, you can see the "ending" of the unemployment coming--and still nothing. So you push harder, you go to more places, where no one is asking for workers, but you want to get yourself out there. It doesn't help that we live in rural Iowa--twenty miles to the nearest decent-sized town, fifty to anything really respectable.

The interviews become acid tests--can you sell yourself to this person, today, right now, in the next few minutes--because if you can't do that, no matter how long the interview will go on, you've either "got" that person on your side or you don't! You can see if you have them or not in their body language, hear it in their voice, see it in their eyes. No sale--yes they will call you back with the results, yes, you know it might take a week or more, yes, you already know the answer is NO--you can see the "no sale" sign in their eyes. And when you're not a salesman, you really aren't sure what else you should/could/would do--and now the interview is over, and that door of opportunity has closed.

In my life, I've had to go out there and sell ME. I've never cottoned to it--but out of necessity, I've done it. In fact, I've been fairly successful at it. And in life, I've also been the person conducting the interviews, and felt, with compassion, the situation I was now inflicting on another human being. There was only so much I could do to lessen the angst--it seems inherent.

But watching my son go through it. That has been an entirely "other ballgame". It seems almost as heart-wrenching as watching him let go of my hand and climb up the stairs of the school bus that first day of school. There are things you find early on as a parent you cannot take off your child's plate. They have to go through these things alone. And as I listened to my son's daily job finding adventures, I wondered what I should have or could have done while raising him, to create a self-made salesman out of him---and is that what was needed?

He has been hired. He's now going through the drug screening, physical exams, all the hoopla of finalizing the hiring. It isn't that he has the job of his dreams that has him dancing--it's that the job hunting is over! I thank God for getting him to this job--even with the anxiety of starting a new job and being the "new kid" on the block, at least the selling task is over.

What have I done?

2007-10-31T19:05:00.000-05:00

You've heard of "buyers remorse"? You see something, on impulse buy it, and then, as you are pulling out of the mall parking lot, think, "Oh my, what have I done, why did I buy that, what will my family say?"

It may be that I'm going to have "writer's remorse", as I just followed the link to NaBloPoMo and JOINED--oh my, what have I done? And in the month of Thanksgiving, with my mom staying for a week's visit . . . oh my . . .

I was visiting Gunfighter's blog, and there he had his month of November lined up. My I am impressed. I'm really quite new to blogging, having tried twice before in lame attempts, and quit--so now three is a charm, and here I am. I had seen GF do this kind of "listing" of coming events before, and it had truly inspired me. Hope he never drafts me into service, I'd probably follow him into the fray LOL. As it is, writing a blog daily IS fraying my nerves, does that count?

OK, here we go, I'm heading to my WordPad program and going to begin my "list" for November. As an out-of-discipline writer I feel like I'm stepping back in time and putting on that darn Playtex girdle again. Oh boy, this could be a squeeze.

Hand me downs.

2007-10-27T16:22:00.000-05:00

This very pretty lady is my mom. She was in nurses' training in this picture, close to graduation. She was in the first graduating RN class in Waterloo, IA. She nursed for over fifty years. At the age of 72 she entered college as a full time student, and graduated in three years Magna cum laud. Then, at 75 she entered graduate school and graduated in two years with an MA in counseling. At that time she began working for Black Hawk Mental Health in Waterloo, IA. She worked until she was 86, not leaving until the federal grant that subsidized her position was terminated--in other words, Uncle Sam ran out of money for the program, Mom didn't run out of energy and determination to do her job! And she continued playing (she is a consumate pianist, organist, and song writer) and entertaining at area nursing homes, adult care centers, churches, right up until she had to enter the nursing home herself two and a half years ago. She continues playing daily for two hours, entertaining at her own nursing home, and others in the area.

On July 17th of this year, 2007, she celebrated her 98th birthday. Still going on her own power, still practicing and auditioning, she claims, for that big pipe organ in heaven. As much as I'm sure heaven will enjoy her joining in their big band, I'm grateful we have her with us here, entertaining the locals who experience joy and share smiles and laughter as she plays their favorites.

MOM, you have set the bar pretty high for your kids. As your only daughter you've given me quite a view of what a woman can accomplish, in ANY era, at ANY age! Quite the "hand me down"--Thank you.

Integrity--a word for today!

2007-10-24T22:36:00.000-05:00

This past week I was listening to a speaker, and during his presentation he talked about integrity. I don't think it's a word that's used a lot--or when it is, I think it is rather "tossed out there", without much thought.

I was born to older parents. Mom was thirty-nine and a half years old, my dad was forty years old. Many of my school friends had grandparents the same age as my parents. So I was a generation "behind" my own when it came to looking at things progressively. However, that also afforded me being raised in a household where a "handshake was as good as a contract", where a person would "swear to his/her own hurt" rather than break a vow (which means, even if I find out later this is going to cost me dearly, I will still honor what I have said, and agreed to). And I witnessed my dad give his word, and carry it through even though it cost our family later. I watched my mom have to go back into the work force because of a vow my father upheld, even though it was his business partner who had broken his word.

So when this speaker brought up the word "integrity" my ears perked up. He defined integrity as a person doing the right thing, even when no one else is around, or would find out about it. I thought that was a pretty good way to look at it.

According to the dictionary, integrity is defined as follows:
1) firm adherence to a code of especially moral or artistic values: incorruptibility.
2) an unimpaired condition: soundness.
3) the quality or state of being complete or undivided: completeness
syn see honesty

As I was reading through these, I remember the articles just recently on the bridge that collapsed on I35 in Minneapolis, MN. There were questions about the bridge's integrity. It's soundness. I thought that was especially interesting when thinking of a person's integrity.

If a person's integrity isn't sound, many people can be hurt because of it. When you give your word, and someone relies on you--but you don't come through, you may say, "Hey, something came up, don't make such a big deal out of it". But now your integrity is at risk. Your friend or family member will be a little bit hesitant to take your word the next time. And you rationalize saying, "Hey, they're anal retentive, they need to just get over it, things happen, stuff changes--what did they expect me to do?" But my friend, it's you who have the problem--you're not sound, you're soul is showing cracks, it might be risky for someone to put much weight on your word. They may end up being dumped in the river and mangled under the debris.

How about your marriage vows? Where's your integrity when it comes to committing adultery? You're not only hurting your spouse, you have so little integrity, you're willing to hurt another person just to satisfy yourself and your desires, salving your hurts or inadequacies at their expense.

How about when you volunteer for a committee at school, your club or church? And when something better comes up, or you're too tired, you just don't show up. Where's your integrity?

I can think of so many times when my kids were little. We'd tell them all week long we were going to take them fishing on the weekend. My husband would end up having to work over-time, or his back would be hurting (this was before his back surgery), and we'd have to stay home so he could rest before beginning another arduous week. It got where when I did tell the kids we were going fishing, they'd be numb to it--I couldn't get them excited about it, because they felt they'd heard that all before.

Now as their mother I used to get so frustrated. Why couldn't they understand things happen, life doesn't always go as we plan? I felt it was a life lesson they needed to get--but also felt they should believe what I said and accept what I said. I really didn't understand what all was involved, or how to handle it myself.

I now realize I should NOT have said anything until I knew it was a fact. There were just too many times when what I said and what happened didn't match up. Yes things happen, but because of that it would have been better not to have spoken about it at all until I was sure of what I said.

Today I can see the same thing is true. Rather than talk about things that really are "out there" a ways, with no guarantees, I should just shut my mouth. My own integrity will be much more sound, if I speak less, and when I do speak, make sure I carry through with what I say--to swear to my own hurt, and make sure what I say comes about.

So I do agree, integrity is something that shows up, when you follow through when no one else will know or see. It takes integrity to do the right thing at all times. However, I also think today we have excused ourselves from carrying through with our word out in the world. It's time we begin stepping up to the plate and saying what we mean, meaning what we say, and seeing to it what we say is what is true. It's not someone else's problem, it's ours. Our word should be our bond.