Distracting Minutia

Can't Stay. Just Have a Few Moments to Say, "Hey Blog."

2012-01-23T21:56:00.000-08:00

I have visited my blog page many times the past months and just sigh. I can visit but can't stay. My life has been so full these past months. Not really complaining, just stating a fact. It seems non-stop at times. And when I do get a few minutes, or lucky me, an afternoon or evening free, I vegetate. I do absolutely nothing.

There is a lot of relief and joy in nothing.

At Death's Door

2011-11-18T22:07:00.000-08:00

Warning and I'm sorry but you may not want to read the following because it is in no way light reading.

The thing that we have been dreading for months is happening. QueenMaker's mom is in the hospital with end stage COPD. I cannot convey the feeling adequately, but I'll try. This sucks.

It took us by surprise, especially her. We didn't realize that the final drop would be so great. We expected it to be more gradual. But one day she is coping well, the next day she hits the wall. I decided to stay for many overnight stays. Reality hit me hard. I thought I could take care of her and her needs but realized that it would take every last ounce of strength I had emotionally and physically to take care of her.

The other shock - the pain. She thought that she would be just gasping for air in the end and they would quietly manage her symptoms and she would quietly slip away. She did not expect the pain, the agony she would feel. I sat with her, comforted her, talked her down from the panic attacks, cradled her like a child, calling her my baby girl.

The fall she experienced the other day sent her to the hospital. The pain became tenfold and she was denied her meds until they checked for broken bones. Finally the medication she so desperately wanted and begged for finally came giving her the relief. This was so hard on her and hard to watch.

I cannot thank the hospice nurses enough. They came to her home, helping to guide her, support her, and treated her with such kindness and love. The hospital hospice nurses here are beautiful to me. They treat my mother in law as though she was an angel and that they are the blessed ones to have her among them. Bless them indeed.

So here we sit waiting. Hoping her eyes will open so we can say good-bye. Waiting for the inevitable. Waiting for her pain to end.

And it sucks.

Short-Timers Advice

2011-10-17T20:35:00.000-07:00

Time can not be wasted at this point. It is running short.

To recognize this fact is to see all things anew.

I am surrounded by folks whose time is running short, my parents, my husband's parents. When I worked at the bank it was located near two senior citizen high rises. I met a lot people whose time was short. And they always had the same advice. And they gave it with a sense of urgency.

That's why I listened.

They will tell you the truth about time. Time should not be confused with the past or the future. Time deals strictly on a now basis. They will make you realize that time is urgent.

For some the urgency drives them crazy because they can no longer control what happens in time. They can't ignore it anymore. It becomes the elephant in the room.

Sickness and infirmity keeps them from spending time well. Time is fleeting and they don't have the strength left to capture it again. It becomes lost. And they want it back so badly. Some desperately. They want time back to show how much they appreciate it now.

For some, they look to others to give them or help them fill time. Sometimes, no one is willing to give their time. No one visits. No one is compelled. There are no hobbies or interests to create time. Time was not used wisely. Time was not honored for its potential to give and enrich. You did not take the time, so why should time or anyone else do it now.

For others, family and friends help to fill the time. Gifts of time are presented and offered with love and joy. Time was used more wisely, and is much more hospitable as it marches along. Time does not scare them as much. They've used time wisely. They resign themselves and step in line and march along with time, sometimes hand in hand.

Time is not to be wasted. That is their message.

Time should not be taken for granted. She'll bitch slap you when finally after years, you take notice of her. Time can also be very cruel. That is also part of the short-timers message.

It is an abstract idea at first - what time is exactly. Many look for a concrete example to understand it better. So people measure it. They put in on a scale. As long as the scale says lots of time, they ignore it. Time seems plentiful. There is no urgency. Time can wait.

The mistake is reading the measurement of time in this way. When time is at its most abundant is exactly when time is the most useful, the most generous, and most efficiently used. It's heavy weight signals you to use it to its fullest measure, not save it. Time is vibrant, healthy, and has great legs. Use them. Use them now.

That is their message. And the short-timers always add urgently... Please. I beg you. Don't wait. Take time now.

(After spending the weekend along the shore of Lake Michigan, a weekend I had promised to my 80 year old parents. A place they love but without the means to get there. I had to take them, and take them now. There is no time to lose. .... To report, we had a lovely time. It was time very well spent.)

Handyman Love

2011-10-13T20:49:00.000-07:00

What is it about a handyman husband that can fix all your stuff when it breaks down? Why do I find that so sexy?

It must be a throw back to when females chose their mates by their ability to provide, to hunt down the wooly mammoth and consistently put meat on the table. He has skills. A man that can fix things. Successfully. Be still my heart.

Replacing things are costly. When he fixes the lawn mower, the toaster, my micro tape recorder, the washer, my hot rollers, the car, the plumbing, and my sewing machine, he saves us hundreds upon hundreds of dollars. That's money that we I can spend on more important things. Yeah, baby!

It's such a gift when something you think is dead and gone is suddenly restored and handed back with pride and love. When he says,"Let me see what I can do about that." My heart beats a little faster.

That's damn sexy.

Eighty Year Old Heros

2011-09-01T21:11:00.000-07:00

My mom and dad are 80 and 82. They still drive. They can still think. They are a marvel. My parents are super-heroes.

Daddy is much thinner than he has ever been. But I expected that when you think of over 80 crowd. What I did not expect was to have him pick up a plastic bin filled with cookware and haul it into the house like it was nothing. I barely could get the thing up the porch steps.

Mami is hurting more, more than she has ever been. I expected that, with her asthma, COPD, arthritis, and leg pains. What I did not expect was her running house to house on Halloween with a blond Marilyn Monroe wig on, begging for candy. Okay... maybe I wasn't expecting it, but am I surprised, not at all.

My Little Sister was the closest relative, living only two doors down from my parents. She has since moved away (I'm thinking running away), and it has been left up to me to be their "go-to" gal. At first I was wary. Mami can demand a lot of attention. Papi usually doesn't speak at all (especially when Mami is around.)

But as I spend more time with them, I find that I really enjoy their company. There is a camaraderie. I make sure I take time to engage Papi in conversation, not letting Mami cut him off or take over the topic. Soon we are all conversing about world affairs, local news, their childhood memories, grandchildren and much more.

My parents are sentient, they're smart, they're passionate. Their life has been a hard one. They have lived all of their 80 years living way below the poverty line. They showed me that worrying does you no good. That money and living can be difficult, but manageable even with five kids, a dog, and a parakeet.

They showed us that even without money, one can live a full and rich life, filled with love, without fear, without regret.

I look at them. I feel that there is decades in them yet. But I know that life has a way of hitting you with the unexpected. My sisters and brother and I are so lucky to have them still.

Decorating with a Bulldozer - Spin Cycle

2011-06-09T08:18:00.000-07:00

The Spin Cycle topic is decorating. Lovely when you actually finish a project. But what if...? I'm ashamed of what I am about to show you.

Ha, ha decorating. For someone who loves, loves, loves watching everything HGTV you'd think I would have a handle on this decorating business. I did at least paint an accent wall in my dining room (yeah for me) and made a group of pillows for my living room to pull the colors together. Put new tile on the bathroom floor, changed the vanity but that's about it.

But really it's the time constraints, the big commitment, the fear of finding out what is under there that has stopped us.

We fell for the myth that your first home will most likely be your starter home, out in five, with bigger and better things yet to come. I couldn't wait for the time when we would be "moving on up." But 24 years later, we are still in our little bungalow. We were such suckers.

I never liked the house much because it reminded me too much of my mom's house. As a new bride and mother to be, I wanted something that was mine, something new, something fresh. This wasn't it.

Finally I had to admit that after 10 years that this was our home forever, and we needed to add our personal touch to make it reflect our tastes. We did a few cosmetic changes but soon realized we needed to overhaul a few rooms, okay really all of them. A major problem is that the house is so old, the oldest in the neighborhood that we don't really want to put a lot of money into the place. Especially since every other house similar in size and age to our home has been bulldozed. Just didn't make sense. But after this many years, I just couldn't stand it anymore.

So Beloved decided we'd start with the kitchen. Due to slight water damage the paint on the kitchen ceiling started to peel. So he started to remove the paint, layers and layers of it. Until we hit the red paint layer, which refuses to come off the ceiling. What would possess someone to paint fire engine red on a kitchen ceiling! We realized that if you let it alone, that eventually it was easier to get off bit by bit. That was a few years ago.

The last stubborn spot.

A year later, trying to psyche ourselves into finishing the project, we bought flooring for the kitchen too. We planned to be 'weekend warriors' and get that floor in ASAP. That was a few years ago.

Sitting in the basement, no doubt warping

Here is the wall paper in our living room. Looks very much like the same wall paper on Laura and Rob Petrie's bedroom wall in the Dick Van Dyke Show. After an all day session of cooking an ethnic family traditional food for the holidays with my mom and sisters, which required four gigantic pots boiling on my stove for hours, creating enough steam that old wall paper will bubble and slide down your walls. Who would of thunk? We managed to get the paper back into place before it dried permanently that way.

See the pretty birdies and butterflies, and the bubble seams?

So after a few weeks I realized it was a lost cause and started removing it. But alas, layers of paint came off with it, removing down to the plaster in some places, and then Beloved scared me by mentioning lead paint, so I stopped. That was a few years ago.

Just lovely

A nice touch would be to redo the wood floors, but that would mean removing everything from the house and dust would be everywhere for weeks, on all my stuff, up my nose, in the vents, the hardship, the work, the stress... crap, let's forget that.

When they bulldoze the house, someone should save this flooring

Oh yeah and the tub, the big fat, taking all the room, I can hardly manage to get in and out without killing myself tub.

See how close the vanity and toilet is to the tub. That's it for room.

So I have been waiting for years for the decorating angel to visit me or possess me, maybe bring a heavenly host of angels with her, a crew if you will. Maybe better yet, if she brought me a winning lottery ticket so that I could hire my own crew, that would be special.... wait.... winning lottery ticket, hmm. Let's bulldoze the 'mother' down! Yeah! Now that's a make-over.

Check out Sprite's Keeper for more Spins on decorating and make-overs. No bulldozing over there.

What Am I Waiting For? - Spin Cycle

2011-05-30T21:13:00.000-07:00

Waiting is a perpetual state with me. I'm waiting for the right answer to hit me or for the right moment or waiting for a sign. I'm waiting to become successful. I'm waiting for the indecision to leave me. I'm waiting for my gut to tell me, because damn it after decades of waiting, I've found that my past gut decisions have served me well. I'm just willing to wait.

Funny thing about waiting, it's an action word. If I'm waiting, I'm actually doing something, right?

I used to feel guilty about it, as though waiting was akin to laziness. But things have happened in my life that has shown me that waiting was the right decision after all.

Is waiting, wisdom in patience? Or is it the refuge of the indecisive?

Waiting is tolerable when it's my decision. But when it's out of my control and a required state of mind, it can be excruciating. Like the time I was sitting in a hospital waiting room with my mother and father waiting for the news on whether my brother was going to live or die. The rush of relief when the waiting was over is not one I will ever forget.

But as I get older, waiting becomes less and less appealing. Time is marching on. It used to be small thing, but my, how it has grown. It's legs have gotten strong and it's about to surpass me at a rapid pace. I hear the steps coming behind me in the distance. So I have got to pick up my pace. No more waiting.

Because I certainly don't want to have to beg as it tries to pass, "Wait! I'm not fast enough! Please wait!

Wait no more Spinners. Head over to Sprite's Keeper with Jen, your host of the Spin Cycle.

Reunited and It Feels So Good

2011-05-22T22:20:00.000-07:00

OMG, Jen has brought back the Spin Cycle! What could she be thinking? As an experienced "mother," I know that Sprite will become increasingly more involved in projects, parties, school functions,and major events that Jen, as the facilitator majordomo, just might need to put Spin Cycle on hiatus once more. So I'm taking advantage of it now while the going is good. Thanks, Jen. You're a peach.

This week's topic is Reunions.

Although I have over 45 first cousins, and who knows how many second cousins, a reunion of this magnitude will most likely, never occur.

I went to my one and only high school reunion at the five year mark, a picnic, cheap and easy. I know its a cliche, but the ugliest girl was a stunning, desirable beauty and the drop dead gorgeous and most desirable jock was unrecognizable with a paunch and hair line that resembled Friar Tuck. We grabbed the yearbook to figure out who this guy was. After the initial shock, I felt a little guilty, which usually means I feel the need to go to confession, because I felt pleased at his demise. Wicked girl.

My five year high school reunion lesson - justice. To me this was a high water mark. No need to go to another.

My reunions are daily. Every meeting is a reunion. I can't stand going too long without hugging a person I love.

There are those that I miss so much right now. I've gone a whole month without hugging my son. When it hits two months, I barely can stand it. I've gone a whole three months without hugging my little sister. I've gone a whole six months without hugging some of my extended children, not really mine, but they feel like mine. I miss them. I hope to fill these holes in my soul, soon.

Every day, I reunite with my mom who is eighty years old. For her, waking up every morning is a reunion with the sun, life, family and God.

I envy young parents. Because every evening, you still get to experience the reunion of your very own family together under one roof. Rejoice. This is the most precious reunion you can ever experience. Don't take it for granted.

And don't take for granted this reunion with the Spin Cycle. Off you go and don't forget to come back, because I need the hugs.

Random Happiness

2011-02-15T09:09:00.000-08:00

I love being around little kids. The four to six year old set are the best. If only I could shrink down to their size and run around like a nut like they do, that would be heaven.

I held our annual Valentine' s parents night out and kid's sleep-over at our school. The school becomes an indoor playground and we set it up so there's cool stuff to do in every corner. One of my five year old students, Maya, came running up to me and said, "This is the best time I've ever had in my whole life! In My Whole Life!" I take being the highlight of any child's day as a real compliment, but of their whole existence. Now we're talking.

Speaking about highlight of the day, Smokey the dog was not left behind. Since he is our guest for three months, we didn't feel right leaving him home alone for so long. Besides he seems to me to be a dog that would like a good party. So Smokey went to the sleep-over too. With six Lil' Dragons constantly on his tail lavishing love and attention, he had a great time. He slept all day the next day. That's what happens when you party too much.

Speaking of partying, I plan to be celebrating this weekend and for so many random reasons, yet connected.

First: Road Trip. Yeah!
QueenMaker and I will be hitting the road and I love it. A short road trip, only four hours, but enough time to have great conversations, break out some jams and a gigantic bag of trail mix.

Second: Going to Chicago. Sweet!
Beginning to like this city more and more, except for the surprising thirty-one dollar parking fee. We've been to the Historic Museum, to the Aquarium, had Chicago style pizza, and checked out the University of Chicago. My son moved there almost six months ago, long enough to explore what the city has to offer. We're going to Chinatown, a jazz club, and checking out a Frank Lloyd Wright home in the area. We're looking forward to his tour.

Third: My Son, Beloved. (blinking back the tears)
My one and only and I miss him dearly. This is our reason for going, to see our son. Our friendship with him continues to grow. Since our parent/child relationship is partially behind us, we hope that he continues to turn to us not only as his parents but as his dear friends as well.

Fourth: Permanent Full Time Employment. Yeah!
Beloved has been discovered! He has part-time employment at a bookstore and hired as a coffee barista, but he works in all the departments when needed. His store is closing so he's been worried about finding a new job. A woman customer noticed that he was everywhere it seemed at once. She complimented on his excellent customer service and his willingness to help out his fellow co-workers. And then she offered him a job. Full-time employment with benefits and a raise in pay. Woo-hoo!

Fifth: My Wedding Anniversary! Kisses.
This is why I picked this weekend to go see our son. To celebrate our love, to celebrate what our union gave us, Beloved, and to celebrate the many years of happiness we have shared.

Speaking about happiness we have all shared, head over to Keely's UnMom and read the tales of the more random happiness happening over there.

Distracted Bitch - And It's Not My Dog

2011-02-01T11:59:00.000-08:00

In this edition of Random Tuesday Thoughts, a secret is revealed, eccentric persona emerge, a geological phenomena simile. "Cats! Dogs! Living together...!", metaphors for life, and a husband gets a break.

Here's a little secret. I've changed.

Inside this sweet, fuzzy warm, very loving sheep's clothing I've been wearing for the last decade or two, was once a hardened, seething, anguished waiting-to-pounce bitch. She doesn't appear anymore.

Okay. Maybe a couple days of the month, she reappears, but really just a mere shadow of her past self and only for minutes at a time. Really. Take my word for it. She's hardly recognizable anymore. Right Honey?

Now, where did he go?

But like the newly formed volcano, erupting angry lava carelessly in its youth, years and years of trials and tribulations, of experience and wisdom have cooled down the exterior. It hibernates in the depths, underneath cool waters and spring meadows. No longer recognized as a volcano. Really. It's true.

But occasionally steam does rises. It's sounds like a slow hiss.

And it sounds like a cat's hiss. And I am very much a cat.

Smokey, our temporary dog boarder, just wants to be loved. And loved. And loved. And loved.

His exuberance and "love-me" eyes were hard to resist, but now when I come through the door I find it maddening, so I have taken to ignoring his requests for instant affection gratification. Later on, he will insist that ignoring him is just out of the question. So I relent.

Now I'm not one that likes things that are too needy. Girlfriends who need to be pacified too much, boyfriends that need constant validation, folks that are touchy feel-y, arm tappers, wide-eyed dramatic people (besides myself), and delusional love starved dogs.

Because They. Want. Too. Much. And since I don't have the personality or fortitude to give it to them, I feel slightly guilty and put upon, and seriously, who needs that?

So the dog and I have been going through a ritual, a one sided conversation where I tell him all the things I won't do for him. Telling him to stop watching me. To quit following me around the house all the time. Don't you dare lick me. That I recognize his ploy of bringing me his toys. Interrupting conversations by chomping on his squeaky toy. That this is MY food and I'm not sharing. Sure he gets the occasional display of affection. But I let him know that I am not going to sit there and pet him for hours.

As the dog and I were going another round, QueenMaker looks at Smokey and gratefully says:

"Dog, you don't know how happy I am to have you here."

Touche. QueenMaker. Touche.

So off you go to Keely's for more random happenings and distractions. You'll find a lovely group of personalities there that you'll want to get to know. They don't seem too needy either. Awesome.

Mixing Metaphors - My Forte

2011-01-29T16:00:00.000-08:00

QueenMaker walks up behind me while I'm doing the "financials" for our accountant and says, "That's wrong. It should be 58, not 56."

Me: "No honey. That is 58. See it says 58."

QueenMaker: "Oh. Are you sure?"

Me: "Yes."

QueenMaker: " Oh, I guess I read it wrong. How about that one. It seems wrong. Shouldn't that read 184?"

Me: "It does silly. See? Are you wearing your reading glasses?"

QueenMaker: "No."

Me: "Well, people without glasses should not cast the first verbal stone."

Random Words

2011-01-25T10:42:00.000-08:00

Pressure - That's when you have six highly diverse projects with deadlines that fall within one week of each other in February.

Balance - That's when you help your sanity by staying on track, continue hacking away at the debris, to remove each item from the dust bowl in your head, and then, maybe, there's still a ray of hope that it will all get done and done properly - the Slow March of Progress.

Excuses - trying to stay away from the emotional, depressing, anger filled, distractions that can put a halt to the Slow March of Progress and turn it into the I Don't Give a Flick Anymore - Lying in Bed All Day Doldrums.

Weathered - Everything looks weathered. My car, my house, my poor coat, my boots, my life, my hair, my face, and my patience. Winter needs to pick up its long grey weathered coat and get out of here!

Space - Home on the range. Vast Space. Free range chickens. Space to run. Time to Run. Space time continuum. Time to spare. Time to think. Thinking freely. Running freely. Freedom. Space equals Freedom. I want a lot of both.

Distractions - Lots of them. To stop you, to boost you, to help you weather the bad stuff, to keep you from doing the good stuff, to give you space, to give you excuses, to offer balance or to keep you off balance, or to take the pressure off or to turn up the heat. It could go either way.

Either way, head over to UnMom for more Random Tuesday Thoughts.

She Needs to Know

2011-01-20T17:54:00.000-08:00

I was inspired by the connection we made today when my mother called from Puerto Rico.

She Needs to Know

She called wanting to know. That’s what a Mom needs.

She needs to know. Everything.

If She can know

then maybe She won’t worry so much.

She’ll keep connected to the people she loves.

A connection that cannot possibly ever be severed.

If she knows, maybe she can be there for her child.

Maybe there will be a need to console,

to advise, or to cry with her child.

Or maybe to cheer, rejoice, congratulate,

or exclaim like the days of old.

But best of all maybe to laugh

and be more than mother and child

and thereby find joint joy.

By knowing, she can imagine

that eyebrow of yours going up,

the glint in your eye when

you’ve made a decision,

the way you look when you’re pensive.

Her connection is experience.

She needs to know

because she believes she’s the one person

that knows you better than you know yourself.

She imagines the thoughts and emotions running through you.

And feels it with you so far away.

And when She called, I made it light and airy.

There was nothing new to report

No crisis, no triumphs, a typical cold day

Much like hers except there’s heat in her day.

Nothing that needed much knowing

No underlying need to role-play mother and child

But I know that She likes to console and feel needed

so I complained of all I had to do.

And she told me to slow down and take it easy.

So we laughed, we talked

Of happy things, listening to the joy

And the harmony within our voices.

Because now I know what She knows

Our ages are far closer than our years

And I know and feel the same need

To be the She, wanting to know.

Don't Expect Any Doggie Back-Up

2011-01-10T22:47:00.000-08:00

When everyone in the house heard the loud thump on the floor, the three of us looked at each other. Two of us jumped up immediately to investigate.

The third one made a bee-line for the back door and wanted out of the house.

Smokey is no guard dog.

Sugar Make You Go - Go Do Random Stuff

2011-01-04T13:38:00.000-08:00

Well I've done it again. My motor is revving and there is no stopping me now. Let me see. Let me count the sugary ways that somehow, randomly, don't know how it happened, got into my body.

First:

Pies: Loads of them. From Thanksgiving forward, there are pies and cheesecakes. Pumpkin pie, pecan pie, apple pie, spinach pie, strawberry cheesecake, turtle cheesecake, all the way to New Years.

Second:

Cookies! Tons and tons of them. My mother in law who has been pretending she's been dying for the last six months, had her medication adjusted. She's in hospice now and her new nurse reconfigured her medication. At first she was afraid of hospice. But they assured her that hospice didn't mean they were going to put her down like they do an ailing dog, but to improve her quality of life. And they have! She feels more vibrant and can breath more easily. To prove it she made eight gigantic batches of eight different kinds of the most delicious cookies. But with whom can she share these mountain of cookies? Me. So there's that.

More cookies! The mother of a student of mine sent in a gigantic tray of homemade cookies and muffins, along with handfuls of chocolates. The centerpiece was two caramel apples, one covered in white chocolate chips and the other in dark. Do I have to eat them all?

Christmas Party for the kids at our school. All the wonderful parents brought treats, cookies, cupcakes, cookies, sweet tamales, cookies, twizzlers, and cookies.

Third:

Chocolates: Who gave me this ginormous bag of Ghirardelli Squares? Hell, who gave me this other bag of Ghirardelli squares? People stop it!

Fourth:

Birthday Cakes: Why does everyone in my family procreate in March? Ladies are you so cold that you pretend to forgive your husband, or pretend to be asleep, or suddenly your headache is cured, so you can grab some of that fiery furnace heat coming off your man, that you actually snuggle up to him? Ladies, that can only lead to one thing. Right? You know what I'm saying. Consequently December babies are dropping left and right around here!

I proclaim that March is a NO SEX month! Who's with me? Please family, I can't afford the birthdays and the baby Jesus' birthday too. No. More. Cake.

Fifth:

Baklava: My Birthday. Yes, I too am a Christmas baby. For most people, they get to wipe their brows and thank their stars that the holidays are over and all the food they have consumed over the past two months will soon find its way out of their systems. But each year for my birthday I get a half a tray of baklava from my love. And. I. Eat. It. Like. It's. Potato Chips. So there's that.

Sugar Make You Go

Bouncing off the walls.
Took my nephew to school.
Went to the fruit/vegetable market.
Went to the school to work a couple of hours.
Cleaned my room. It was a mess.
Organized my sewing and craft room.
Created a marketing slash office slash budget slash personal goals slash, weight loss plan for the next six months.
As a spreadsheet.
Called our accountant for our yearly appointment.
Called everyone and made appointments with everyone.
Took down both Christmas trees.
Made onion rings.
Talking a lot to anyone and no one.
Dancing down the decked halls.
Imparted great wisdom on the web.
Reviewed the latest Adult Education brochure that came in the mail. Circled some classes.
Colored my hair.
Updated my weekly and monthly calendar.
Completed some on-line banking.
Reorganized pictures for our web guy.
Rewrote copy - four pages worth.
Emailed my son three times. I kept forgetting to tell him stuff.
Cleared off every flat surface in the house. Almost.
Visited with my sister, niece, and nephew.
Baked chocolate chip cookies.

Yes, I made chocolate chip cookies. But thankfully they're for my 21 year old niece for her birthday. She insists I make her a batch every year before she goes back to school. She's a December baby too, born on the 22nd. And so is her brother, born on the 24th.

Stupid sister, having sex in March, be-otch!

Did I eat some of those cookies? Only one from each batch that came out of the oven. Or only the ones that were almost burned or too brown to give away. Only a dozen or so. They're almost gone.

Anywho...

The accelerated particle collider gots nuthin' on me. I might create my own black-hole right here in the living room. So stand back. No really. Stand back.

I've got more to do and there's so little time. I suspect that this sugar high will last about another week or so and then I can relax again with the same lazy panache that is so my trademark.

So onward to the next thing, and then the next. Go to Keely's and check out the list of randomness going on over there and get back to me later.

My Brain is having an Eclipse

2010-12-21T13:40:00.000-08:00

I'm feeling kind of random. My head is so full of stuff that I can't think straight. There's about five lists floating around in there and they're all getting mixed up. Instead of progress, I wander around trying to figure out what to do next. Too much data. Does not compute. Overload. Overload.
Obviously, I need more coffee.

Weather - Seven days of Caribbean breezes, lovely cool bright mornings, perfect warm afternoons, and never ending blue skies. The feeling is still inside of me and I'm holding on to that feeling for dear life. Because the day I came back to Michigan it was 22-25 degrees for a high, and has stayed that way since December 7. The sky, the ground, the snow, the cars covered in salt are all cold and grey. Grey, grey, grey.

Wait until I meditate, Oooom, Ooom. Ah, blue skies, warm breezes. Still got it. Okay.

Christmas Menu - How can I make a list, when Sister After Me still hasn't decided on the menu yet. Times a tickin', which means I'll be at some grocery store in the middle of the night or worst yet on Christmas Eve. Please. No. More. Stores.

Lil' Dragons and Kid's Christmas Party - Baking away and wrapping forty little trinkets for my kung fu students. Luckily a sub-par wrap job is okay because how else can you wrap yo-yos, poppers, sling shots with parachute skateboard guys, princess wands, jean stickers, and flip cars? Any way you can.

Wrapping Christmas Gifts for the family like a Crazy Woman - Till three in the morning. Feet hurt, back is poking me in the back, and my state of mind isn't getting any better. I'm hoping a little snooze will help. Decided at 2:22am that I should take a gander at the total lunar eclipse. Queenmaker jumped out of bed when he heard the front door open. "Crazy Woman, what are you doing out there!" Nothing, just spinning in place trying to find the moon's position in the sky. Took me a few moments to realize that it was cloudy. (Notice that Crazy Woman is capitalized. My new moniker as of late. QueenMaker added it to his list of pet names for me. How sweet.)

"Been shopping? Nooooo, I've been shopping." - Done as of yesterday. Yahoo. That's all I have to say on the matter.

Using Credit or Banks - Wait! Yes, there is more to say on the matter. I refused to give those skinflint, disreputable, racketeering, predatory, svengali vultures, the satisfaction of pulling me into their maniacal financial scheme. Why should I use my credit card, when they won't lend credit to anyone without making them jump through hoops, stand on their heads, give up their first child, and then still won't extend any credit? Hellz no.

Disclaimer (in very itty, bitty, small print):
Okay, I did use one credit card, but in my defense, they kept sending me 30 percent off coupons on my total, already heavily discounted, purchase price. Plus they gave me bonus bucks on top of it. How is a consumer supposed to resist? I tell you.

But bwahaaaahhaaahhaaa! I fooled them. Every time I used my credit card, I walked back to the service desk and made a payment. So I owe them NOTHING! Nothing I say!

Miss My Mommy - I sent her a box full of stuff she forgot when she went to Puerto Rico. Before I taped up the box and took it to the post office, I ran upstairs and got my santa hat and put it into the box. I know she'll wear it, until they celebrate Three Kings Day in January. She said it rained hard all day, the day after I left. She said the island was sad to see me go and was crying. Me too island, me too.

My brain is running a mile a minute, so I could go on and on, and obviously be less coherent as time goes on. So it's best that I send you over to Keely at UnMom for Random Tuesday Thoughts. Because I need that snooze now.

Puerto Rico. Do I Have To Go To Paradise?

2010-12-10T20:00:00.000-08:00

Panoramic Views of lush valleys at every turn.

I haven't been to Puerto Rico since I was thirteen years old. I wasn't interested in going back because of that teenage attitude, "Been there. Done that." But Papi and Mami are getting up there in age. Papi will be 82 years old and Mami will be 80 in April.

The last few years my sisters have been taking turns going with them to Puerto Rico. We were feeling a little anxious letting them go alone the last few years, so we decided that one of us should fly in with them to help get them settled. Another sister went a week before they were to return home and help close the house and travel back with them.

I have been avoiding it, but it was my turn to take them. Sister in the Middle, Sister After Me, and Only Brother have been there twice already. Finally the inevitable had to happen. It was my turn.

So I went with much apprehension in leaving my business (especially my little dragons), my husband (it's hard to leave your solace and life-force), my home (not too much time left before Christmas), and my comfort zone (change is not necessarily a good thing.)

I dreaded the plane rides. (Delays, cancelled flights. It's happened so often. I also pray a lot during takeoffs, landings, any time between 11,000 to 42,000 feet and during turbulence.)
I dreaded the drive from San Juan to Añasco. (Rush hour. Wow, I didn't need to experience that.)
I didn't want to think about the drive up the steep, winding roads to my parents' home at the top of a ridge. (Horror stories from Only Brother, constantly telling me his driving mantra, "Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!)
I especially didn't want to drive it in the dark. (Damn, I had to drive it in the dark.)
I worried about the state of the house and their car. (Last year there was no running water for a week. The stove was broken, the toilet was broken, and the car wouldn't start.)

But I kept my perspective and my fears in check and decided that "no expectations" was the best expectation. Sister After Me said, "You have to decide to be in the moment." Because in the end, when you can't change or have control of what's going on, you have to go with it. You have to be in the moment.

I'm back, exhausted. I feel like I've been on high alert, jittery for seven days. But my sisters and brother were right. I didn't believe them, or I didn't care to listen.

But by the second day, I fell in love with Puerto Rico. Yes because of its infinite beauty, but more, because it was the land of my forefathers. My mother was raised in these hills. Almost every home my mother pointed was a relative, a cousin, an uncle, or an aunt. She pointed to businesses owned or once owned by relatives. She pointed to miles of valley and hill sides that belonged to her father and uncles. I was amazed how hard and beautiful the terrain was. I was amazed on how much family history was still here.

My father was raised in a much dryer and hotter area called Sabana Grande, lower in elevation, but just as beautiful. The terrain was flat, the flora more cactus like. We spent an afternoon and evening there, but the breezes of the cooler hills were calling us back home.

So the next few posts will be about my days in Puerto Rico with my parents. Time with them I would not have traded in the world. I'm so glad I'm home, but I am equally as glad that I went.

The hardest part of the trip was leaving them behind.

Thanks is a Two Way Street

2010-11-19T08:24:00.000-08:00

Giving Thanks is the Spin Cycle topic this week. Alas, the Spin Cycle will be on hiatus for a while, but I'm thankful to have participated while it was around. Thanks, Jen.

See there. See what I just did? I gave Jen thanks.

I feel we should think about turning "Thanks" around. I want to GET thanks. I want to hear a lot of thanks.

Thanks is a two way street.

My "Get Thanks" project has been implemented for quite some time now. My goal: to hear thanks more than I say it.

My mission is to do or give to another human being. To uplift the human condition ever so slightly throughout my day, at every opportunity that presents itself. If you can get someone to say thank you then you are giving to the world instead of taking.... except for the thanks. You have to take that.

No matter how great or small the deed, I want to create a situation where there is a thanks involved. If I say it, I always follow up with how that person made my day, or how lovely they look, or how grateful I am of their good service, or how nice it was to meet them. I want to cultivate this ability in getting a thanks into an art form. Better yet, maybe a super power.

I'm not seeking acknowledgment of my goodness or to have anyone beholden to me. I don't need to be there when the thanks is given. It's not that type of ego trip. I'm seeking to bring thankfulness into someone else's heart.

When the heart is trained to love, to welcome, and to thank even a wee bit, it's equivalent to getting a small jolt of positive electricity. It jump starts the heart. It brings a smile to a face and health to the body.

Thanks is a two way street. so get more thank yous instead of saying them. Find someone and do something really nice, or tell them something nice, or just be the super sweet person that you are because you'll get a thank you and a smile.

So do both, give thanks and help create it. Drive back and forth on that graceful road called Thanks.

You're welcome. Ah, my work here is done.

Now go visit the Spin Cycle for more of the thankful.

Mid Day Malaise - Get this Earth Off Me

2010-11-17T10:38:00.000-08:00

I've decided to blog during my mid day malaise.

In the throws of it right now. Mind wondering, eyes drooping, my knees notice more the weight of the Earth's gravity as it pulls my upper body downward.

Get this Earth's pull off me. Please.

But it's only one o'clock. Grab the keys. Go.

I'm walking aimlessly around to and fro, my thoughts flitting here and there.

I should stay up and be productive, not meaning it, can't mean it.

My will is ebbing. Undisciplined and under exercised body wilting looking for a place to sink into for a just twenty minutes.

But first....

I must write this blog.

Whistler's Mother

2010-11-08T10:42:00.000-08:00

Let me start out by saying, I will be 52 years old in a couple of months. I've been told that I look younger. I chose to believe people when they say that because I'm always grasping for straws of hope that age hasn't caught up with me yet. But actually it's probably because I don't have that "put together look" that most women learn by now. Anyways, I dress for comfort and warmth. And I'm feeling and looking old. I'm tired of it. I'm tired of wearing clothes that don't flatter. I look at my dismal wardrobe and think, "What was I thinking?"

So after watching a mountain of episodes of the program, "What Not to Wear" and several marathons of "Say Yes to the Dress" and rushing home every Thursday to watch my favorite program "Project Runway," I've come to learn the magical powers of the empire waist. I've learned what an A-line skirt can do for the legs. I learned that wearing baggy clothing to hide your body backfires. I learned that any size woman can find clothes that make her look terrific. I learned the meaning of the flattering silhouette, proportion, styling, and couture.

So after a few months of experimentation, I'm buying things I never would have even looked at before. I went sleeveless for the first time this summer. I bought my first sandals. Sandals that show my feet and toes. Egads! I try everything on and if it doesn't look absolutely fabulous on me, I won't buy it. Not even if it is 60% off!

I straightened my curly hair. It's actually pretty long. My stomach got flatter when I figured out what foods made me feel inflamed and got rid of them. I still need to start an exercise program, but girl, I've been saying that for three decades.

Compliments are nice to hear again. People ask me if I have lost weight. Not an ounce. But miracle upon miracles, I got whistled at and not by the 70-year-old, old dude down the street. I haven't been whistled at in 25 years. I got whooped at too. Hells Bells!

Men, again, look me over instead of look over me. It's a nice nod to my ego, but since I've been working on reaching an ego-less state, the effect was negligible. Plus for some inexplicable reason, I found I didn't really miss or even want it. I forgot what it felt like to be given a USDA meat grade upon inspection. It's disconcerting. I'm definitely not Prime nor Choice. Hoping for the Select cut. But now, I only want to be selected by my one and only man.

I never thought I would get noticed in that way again. I knew my whistling days were way, way over. Apparently, the key here is flattering clothes and - great distance. At a distance ~~(at least a half a block)~~ I look effin' hot!

But it's hard to keep it all up. Lately, I've been sick, twisted my back, and hurt my shoulder when reaching too far to get something, so there are plenty of reminders of my age to keep me humble. It's easy to go back to the comfort of my sweats or baggy jeans. Been in them again for about a month. But I plan to keep it up and have my eye on revamping my winter wardrobe.

The last guy that drove by and whistled was rather young. He stuck his body out of the car waving his hands. I just shook my head, perturbed that he couldn't tell the difference and yelled for him to get a pair of glasses.

I was old enough to be that whistler's mother.

Perfection, Where Are You?

2010-11-05T07:29:00.000-07:00

The Spin Cycle has given us our mission should we accept it and that was to write about Perfection. I having just met her may not be the right person to expound on her incredible attributes and undeniable style. But I can say what she has meant to me and my life.

Perfection where are you? I'd look for Perfection all the time, but she was hiding somewhere. I looked everywhere but just couldn't find her. I looked for her in my closet, in my mirror, in other people, but Perfection was highly elusive and great at hiding. Maybe she was hiding in situations like in a perfect dinner, the perfect romantic date, or the perfect wedding proposal. It seemed the harder I looked, the harder she was to find. Where was she? Didn't she know how much I needed her? Chasing Perfection just made her run faster away from me.

How come everyone else seemed to have Perfection within their grasp? That woman's relationship looks perfect. His exciting career seems perfect. She has the perfect kitchen. That neighbor's landscaping is perfection. What a perfect couple. That woman has a perfect body. That man is living large. Her home is perfectly clean and decorated. Everyone else's situation seemed to be touched by Perfection.

Damn Perfection, where you hiding, girl?

Then I tried to become her creator. Maybe I could create Perfection. I could set up perfect situations or make perfect children or maybe I could assume Perfection's identity. But after many attempts, although a few were successful, I found that Perfection couldn't be created with any regularity, especially if my requirement was that everything, every point, every moment be perfect. It took a lot of hard, hard work to create Perfection.

Finally I let the idea of Perfection go. I understood the futility of seeking Perfection. No more expectations of finding her at my house, or at the party, or in my relationship, or in other people. Since she would have nothing to do with me, ha!, I'd forget all about her ass.

It was exactly when I stopped looking for her that Perfection started to visit me. Sometimes she visited for just a moment, opening my eyes to something marvelous. Perfection had a spontaneity about her. Sometimes she would stick around for a whole evening and on a rare occasion, she'd visit all day.

I met her in the oddest places sometimes. I could be sitting in my car waiting for my son to come out of school. My eyes closed, resting. The sun warming my face, melodic chirping of birds in the tree next to me. Then a wave of sound coming from children bursting forth from the building, and a sweet little boy saying, "Hi Mommy." Perfection.

I could be driving by a park and recognize Perfection standing at the top of a sledding hill. Or she would give me a newborn to hold. Sometimes she's hitchhiking and rides with us a while. Or she'll show up in my bed transforming into the loving arms of my husband. Perfection is an angel, a muse. Her visits are to be cherished as gifts, not as mandates.

So when I stopped searching for Perfection, Perfection comes looking for me. I like the arrangement much better this way. As a matter of fact, Perfection is with me right now. More often than not, I find her at the bottom of my coffee cup.

Sip. Ahhhhh....

So off to Jen at Sprite's Keeper for more topics on Perfection, because she is one busy girl.

Planning a Surprise Party Takes Over Your Life

2010-11-02T09:28:00.000-07:00

Well hello there, Random Tuesday Thoughts. I have so much random stuff to tell you, especially after the weeks of adrenalin rushes, trials and tribulations, and random stuff that happens to you when you are trying to put together a surprise birthday party.

Surprise parties are hard to give, especially when you live with the person who is supposed to be the surprisee. The idea popped in my head about a month ago. Once I got the go ahead from my sister, she's letting me use her home for the party, I made a time chart. I made lists and lists. I planned and strategized. Timing was everything.

Then you start lying, and lying, and lying. Damn. I didn't bargain for this part of the plan. I needed to make up stories as to why I was going to my sister's so much. Why was I making so much food? Why was I doing all the work? Why did he have to go anyways? Who was going to be there? Why was my sister throwing this event? This lying part was getting to me.

The universe can be very helpful during times like this. One, QueenMaker really pissed me off about a month ago. So we weren't too communicative for a couple of weeks. Sometimes, it takes me that much time to cool down. But I'm working on that part of my personality. Two, the day before the party, he was called away to a late afternoon meeting. Then the universe somehow gave him a second meeting to go to right after the first one and he wasn't expected home until midnight.

Yahoo! I finished cooking, did some last minute shopping, and took everything to my sister's. He didn't suspect a thing and the party was a great success.

Then the universe does random stuff that can hinder you when you are trying to keep a secret. The week of the party, when I'm doing the final push to get everything ready, QueenMaker decides to take one of our cars into the shop for repairs. "But I NEED a car this week." "Why, we can drive together." Mayday! Mayday! I might need to borrow a car!

Luckily it was done the same day.

Then we had to give a presentation to a local elementary girl scout troop called Stranger Smart, which took much longer than I thought it would. I have to say it was a blast, the girls were terrific, artistic, and super fun. But time was a tickin' and I needed to get out of there.

Then all week, I was deflecting our four to eight year old students that kept running up to QueenMaker to ask about his party. I'd cover with, "Isn't that cute? They want to give you a party at the school."

By Friday, my head was swirling, running lists in my head, running around with last minute errands. I had a premonition the day before, when I thought, I better keep focused because I'm driving. It's not good to be so scattered. It's the perfect time to get a ticket.

Then my mother called me to ask if I would pick up her prescription. Dear me! So I added that to the list and hurried to pharmacy.

I was so distracted I thought, I shouldn't be driving right now. I REALLY SHOULD NOT be driving right now. And the police officer driving behind me felt the same way. Leaving the pharmacy, I even said to myself, "Remember the stop sign at the end of the entrance ramp." But my head was full of distractions and two seconds later, I rolled slowly past it, merging in front of a police cruiser.

I wholeheartedly agreed and admitted to him that I had just rolled past a stop sign. He took pity on me and thanked me for my honesty and instead of the 3 points and $500 fine for going through a stop sign, he gave me a ticket for impeding traffic, only $135 fine, no points. I have to thank the man. He probably saved my life.

Damn this party is costing me more and more. Not only do I get to add another $135 to the tab, but my brain cells are fried, my body is working on fumes, and I've lied more in one week than in my whole life.

The adrenalin drop was profound. I've been in high gear for two weeks, trying to keep twenty balls in the air at the same time. Every spare second was used to its fullest. I planned, strategized, worked, cooked, lied, covered every contingency, then when it was all over, I crashed. I slept for two days.

The only thing is that the party was over so quickly. I didn't get to visit as much as I wanted. I was in the kitchen for an hour or so. Everyone got there at 6:30pm and three hours later, they were gone. Where did they all go? Where's the party 'til you drop mentality I was hoping for? Are we all getting that old? Sigh.

Go visit Keely at UnMom. The party is still going on strong and not a fuddy-duddy in the whole group.

Distracting Minutia - Replacing Thought with Matter

2010-10-12T06:31:00.000-07:00

RTT: Random Tuesday Thoughts -

Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts. thoughts....

I just read that the mind is so powerful that it can affect matter. The theory is that if you think or want or look for something hard enough and long enough, it will manifest itself. Matter is created. That's why when an astronomer is looking for that elusive new point of light in the sky, he will eventually find it, because his mind will place it there for him.

But it's the looking, the searching, the mind focused intently on the task at hand, sometimes focused for years - to find that new star. The astronomer's thoughts can create matter.

This blows my mind. I'm scared that it means it's all in our heads. If I look and think hard enough for something, it might just materialize. "Don't think zombies, don't think zombies."

Maybe I can use it to find my keys.

Or maybe if we think hard enough we can turn the government into rational thinking, reasonably responsible people that have our best interest at heart. THINK HARD People!

It is amazing when a crisis hits the family, how diverse the perceptions. Some are very accepting of the trials and tribulations and don't seemed phased a bit. Strife like everything else in life is natural. It's just the circle of life.

Others are go getters that jump on a problem, wrestle it to the ground, give it a couple of well placed hits and walk away with hands pumping triumphantly in the air.

Others imagine worst case scenarios, some to be prepared, others to be fearful. The fearful bemoan and complain how horrible everything is, putting themselves through so much distress and pain.

See, some are half full people and some are half empty people. Let's hope the "thought to matter" theory doesn't really work. Because if it does, the half empty people better watch out!

I remember a friend saying when her boyfriend dumped her, "I thought I mattered."

Imagine that. He never thought of her, so of course she never materialized as matter. Wow, does this stuff work in reverse? If no one has thoughts of you ever, do you dematerialize? You don't matter? Heady stuff, indeed.

Can you see why I feel so distracted sometimes?

For more heady reading stroll on over to Keely's UnMom and get a dose of random thoughts. They might just materialize.

You know what Ms. Liz?

2010-09-22T19:26:00.000-07:00

Ms. Liz, you know what a fish would say if he could talk?

Oh.

Oh.

Oooooooooh.

Oh.

See, that's because his lips can only say a circle.

Oh.

Leaving His Heartbroken Parents Behind

2010-08-26T08:02:00.000-07:00

He's in bed right now. In his own bed, in his old bedroom. His lease was up on his apartment so he moved home for his last two weeks in Michigan. QueenMaker and I get a few more days with our boy before he moves to Chi-town.

This means we will see him less. Visits will be farther apart. Luckily Chicago is not that far away, just a four hour drive. QueenMaker and I are already planning our trips.

He is about to embark in a new adventure. He loves adventure. He loves new experiences. So the move will be a welcomed change from life in Ann Arbor. He will explore his new city with gusto and call us with his discoveries.

We get to discover it too. Looking forward to Chicago deep dish pizza, the museums, the aquarium, and whatever else Chicago has to offer.

His dad has voiced it more than I have of late. I think he'll miss his son more than any of us know. So when Beloved packs his belongings into his car and drives away, our hearts will be breaking a little.

Oh Canada, There Some Random Loveliness Happening Up There

2010-08-10T14:05:00.000-07:00

It's Random Tuesday Thoughts, yeah! Go visit.

Randomness happens all the time, particularly when you go out of town. Because nothing is the norm, nothing is familiar, so everything is a random happening. Especially if someone else makes out the itinerary for you. Great fun, but effin' exhausting!

I went to Canada!
Winnipeg, Manitoba to be exact, the heart of the Canadian Midwest. For some reasons there are comparisons made between Detroit and Winnipeg so they tell me, but for the life of me, I don't see the similarities.

Winnipeg is a beautiful city, rich history, clean, great architecture, great fishing, beautiful rivers, and great restaurants. After our guided tour with a friend that obviously loves his city, I fell in love with the "Peg" too.

Every time we said we were from Detroit, the Canadian response was overwhelmingly positive. Usually when traveling in the states or even in my own home state of Michigan, I don't tell people we are from Detroit. The response is negative and about stereotypes. But instead in Winnipeg, I heard how they love Detroit, Motown, the Detroit sports teams, and the car industry. That was a nice surprise.

Our trip began with a drive under the Detroit River to get to Windsor. We have two choices in Detroit for border crossings, one is the bridge and the other is the tunnel. The last time I went through using the tunnel was back in 1979 and there was water running down the walls. Yikes! Happily in 2010, I can report not a sign of water.

As an American citizen, I'm used to hearing a lot of fear mongering on my side of the border. Border problems, a grueling customs search, ready to show "my papers", the illegal alien problems, immigration problems, bad people trying to sneak over and plotting to do harm to our country problems. So with passport, birth certificate, driver's license and even my voter's registration card in hand, and feeling every bit like an intruder trying to sneak into another country, I approached the Canadian border with apprehension and was ready for anything.

You know what I got? Welcome to Canada! Have a great trip and a really nice day. Oh, Canada.

Windsor airport - small and petite, no fluff, no muss, one small terminal. What, no wait at the counter? No long lines at security? No color coded alerts. Oh, Canada. Are you trying to lull me into a false sense of security or something?

The airline we flew touted their slogan, we never over or double book - be confident that you'll always have your seat. What? Are they treating me like a valued customer, with respect for me and the money I spent with their airline? Are they honoring our implied contractual agreement and putting me on a plane, that is well maintained, on time, and has a seat for everyone? Oh yeah, and each person gets two check in two pieces of luggage and can take two overheads and best of all at no extra charge.

"Memories, light the corner of my mind...." Sorry, got distracted.

With a lay-over in our flight itinerary, we had to take off twice, Windsor to Calgary, then Calgary to Winnipeg. We flew right over Winnipeg on our way to Calgary and waved to it from high above. I know, I know. We flew a three and a half hour flight to Calgary just to get on another plane to fly back an hour to Winnipeg. Next time, we're getting a direct flight.

The amazing thing was when we got onto our planes, no one was pushing or shoving. No one was more important than anyone else. Everyone waited with patience and courtesy. And when the plane stopped and passengers made ready to disembark, each row was allowed to empty before the next row.
How orderly, how courteous.

Those Canadians waited their turn and didn't fill the aisle to be the first one out. They thanked each other, helped each other with the overhead luggage and waited patiently for their turn. What was this? Courtesy begot courtesy. Patience begot patience. I felt like a sentient, logical, common sense human being.

Oh, Canada - can I move here? What? Temperatures can get to be -26 Celsius in the winter. On second thought, never mind. I will admire you from afar.

So when I got home, on the last leg of our journey, and the plane landed in Windsor, everyone promptly jumped from their seats and herded into the aisle, pushing and shoving to be the first out the plane door. Queenmaker was trapped standing patiently, awaiting his turn to exit. But he was blocked time and time again until all the important cattle herded out the door. He looked at me in surprise. "What happened to all the manners?"

"Honey, those were US citizens, not Canadians."

"Oooooh."

Memories light the corner of my mind.

Misty water color memories

Of the way we were.

Scattered picture of the smiles we left behind,

Smiles we gave to one another

For the way we were.

Can it be that it was all so simple then,

Or has time rewritten every line?

If we had a chance to do it all again,

Tell me? would we? could we?

Please.

Visit Keely for more great Canadian hospitality and friendly, down home blogging.

Quiet

2010-07-06T06:48:00.000-07:00

It's quiet.

I haven't felt this way in many a moon.

No need to be anywhere. No obligations to fulfill. No guilt, no need to strive, no needs at all.

Time to relax, to read, to bathe, to sit in the shade.

A tall cool glass of ice tea and lemonade at my fingertips.

My eyes half closed, listening.

My mind quiet. My body is quiet.

Quiet. It's so blissfully quiet.

Father's Day - The Emotional Roller-coaster Ride of Manhood

2010-06-22T07:14:00.000-07:00

Go over to the Spin Cycle. Topic is Father's Day. Enjoy all the great reads.

Father's Day was a hoot. I know of five arguments that broke out that day. Some serious, some not so serious, but it made for a really weird weekend. It emphasized how stressed out everyone is, especially the men in the family.

I feel sorry for guys sometimes. I was brought up in the knight in shining armor era, a fantasy held by many young women. While my man was courting me, I fell in love with him because he was funny, brilliant, and talented. He did so many things well. Maybe that's why I thought he could fix anything and everything. Geez, wasn't he a husband and dad, a man ready to take on all problems and solve them.

Men come home to the news that a pipe busted, the refrigerator stopped working, the car broke down, or the sewer backed up. Then all eyes look to him to fix it. What do you mean you don't know what you are doing? You're A Man. And if you don't have the extra cash to pay for large repairs, men will get down and dirty and learn by doing, bitching and swearing all the way.

I feel for them, but at the same time, no way would I slosh through three inches of waste water, not as long as there was a man around to do it for me.

We learn that they are as vulnerable and as fallible as we are. When reality pushed my fantasy aside, I felt gypped. He was supposed to take care of me like my daddy wasn't he? I soon realized that we were in it together. Together sounded good, fair and empowering. How fair was it for me to think he could fix everything that went wrong in my life, just because he was the man in the family.

I realized that most men are really just the boys their mama and daddy raised. Men need their women just as much as women need their men. In the beginning, we are all just inexperienced grown up kids before we become wise old folks.

Father's Day is usually a very nice day with events celebrating all the dads in our family. This weekend was an exception. It was a very weird weekend.

My brother in law picked a fight with my sister because, well, it was Father's Day.

My other brother in law picked a fight with my other sister, because, it was Father's Day.

My mother in law and husband exchanged a few heated words. It was about to become a full emotional blow out but luckily cooler heads prevailed when the subject was changed abruptly and they let it go.

I thought I was going to have an argument with my hubby, when I told him he should apologize to his mum. But he would have nothing to do with it. He refused to budge on his position and I really couldn't argue with him, because he was basically right. Argument averted. Yeah.

My brother in law above decided to pick a fight with the rest of his extended family via email accusing us of not doing enough. We are not taking the bait.

There are things happening in their lives that are bringing the men in my family down. But they are reverting to boys kicking and screaming because it is becoming too hard to deal with the hardships. And who could blame them. It's natural to want out. They are in the denial stage and the anger stage. Hopefully they will reach the acceptance stage some time soon.

For two of them, this is the first year without their dads.

For three of them, they have mothers with latter stages of depression, Alzheimer's, and lung disease. They all wished they had sisters or women in their families t~~o dump their mothers on~~ take up the slack and help takeover their mother's care. They are stuck and want to escape, but can't.

One broke his leg in the middle of working on getting his family in a new home. But I think there is a lot of guilt involved as well, because my sister does EVERYTHING anyways and now he has to sit there and be witness to it.

Two of them have brothers that have embezzled funds from their ailing mothers making one mom practically destitute.

So Father's Day, a day celebrating men, was a day full of problems with the women in their lives. They don't want the title of being patriarch of the family, that belonged to their dear departed fathers. There is a lot of guilt, stress and melancholy when dealing with their moms. They have to step in and take over the roles of their fathers, becoming their mothers' advocates, care-giver, financial advisor, and for one, her companion.

Stressed out fathers. Yes. Feeling like celebrating Father's Day. No.

Travel Companions

2010-06-03T07:41:00.000-07:00

I have found over the years that I love traveling with my husband. Whether that be running around doing our weekly errands or a weekend road trip.

The two of us tooling down the road ready for high adventure, even if the adventure is just driving to the local fruit market. Always prepared, Queen Maker packs cold water, coffee, and cream for me. On longer excursions there are oranges, apples and sometimes trail mix and jerky. We love the snacks when we travel. We bring our own coffee bean and coffee maker just to make sure we have an amble supply of the luscious brew.

The car is a comfortable traveling sanctuary. We talk and talk. We listen to great music. We munch and crunch all the way down the highway. Rarely does either one of us sleep on long road trips. We take turns pulling out our notebooks writing down our thoughts and ideas. We are quiet together too.

A car meant adventure. We're on the road and who knows what the road will bring. Adventure was possible. Yes there were flat tires. I cried when I locked the keys in the car at a Kentucky rest stop. Almost running out of gas. Bad hotels and even worse restaurants.

We once found the only restaurant in the Western Hemisphere that could make a breakfast taste awful. Seriously, breakfast. Before we went in, I made the mistake of saying, "How can you ruin breakfast? It's just two eggs, potatoes, and toast." Well, it can be done.

But there were also the unexpected little restaurants with atmosphere and great food. Lovely evenings in our hotel room. The crowd that gathered at the rest stop to help sooth me and help retrieve my keys. The Michigan State Trooper who changed our tire for us. The massive brown eagle we saw on the road. The surprising rest stop with a path to two gorgeous waterfalls and a small box canyon.

A car meant freedom. Maybe it's because we were together before either one of us had a driver's license. When we borrowed our parents' car, we felt freedom for a few hours. And when we could afford our own, freedom was complete.

A car is a time machine. Only Brother described the car as a time machine and I understood what he meant immediately. Queen Maker and I used to ride our bikes or walk everywhere. Distance didn't matter much to us, we rode miles and miles. We rode two hours to the zoo one day, against the wind, then back again. We walked four miles a day to each other's house. Make that eight for Queen Maker. The time machine cut down travel time and allowed us to go farther with the time allotted.

So a rode trip is in our future. We haven't been on one for a long time. We were thinking about flying to our destination. An airplane might be the ultimate time machine but right now, it doesn't sound attractive at all.

So we will pack up our car with all the comforts of home, with the things we love to eat and hear and drink. We will listen to each other carefully. We'll marvel at the landscape. And the coffee will be flowing. We will enjoy each other's company and hold hands for miles and miles and miles.

Technological Wonder - Will The Wonder Ever Cease?

2010-06-01T06:31:00.000-07:00

Technology is the topic over at the Spin Cycle. Do you love it, hate it? Could you do without it? Take the button, this technological wonder, and it will transport you to more Spins on technology. Wow! It's an actual transporter. Beam me up, Scottie!

An adventure finding nature's technology - Three of my aunts were walking a narrow path and we were following them. The path went through beautiful tropical forest and a lush valley until after twenty minutes we finally reached our destination. Excitement rose because we could hear and smell the water ahead of us, and relief because we were near the end.

The spot was a tropical beauty, picture postcard perfect. A small water fall fell into a pool about 20 feet below. Large flat rocks lined the edges of the pool. The pool shaded on one side by trees, the other in full sunlight. The water was crystal clear and cold. It was the most inviting place on the planet.

We children were there to take a bath. We plunged into the icy water, screaming with both shock and delight. We passed a bar of soap and washed our hair. Shivering with cold, we laid on the flat rocks to warm ourselves.

When it was time to go, my aunts climbed to the edge of the waterfall and filled the jugs they brought with water. We were filled with awe and admiration when they placed the tall, heavy jugs on their heads and without using their arms to balance the jugs, walked back the way we came.

To get fresh water, they made this walk everyday. It was a novelty for us, four children ages 7-12, visiting from a very modern life in Michigan. We experienced a walk back in time. We were walking a path that our mother had taken many times when she was a child. It was thrilling.

Until one year, they wrote my mother that they were finally able to dig a well and install a pump. My aunts were delighted. But the memory of that day made me realize that when we gain something, we also lose something too.

Technology - the ripples are endless. Technology begets technology.

It's amazing to me that the invention on the cotton gin allowed a boon to the textile industry and that production of textiles using automated looms, with its punch card technology would be the predecessor to the computer.

Whether good or bad I sometimes think that it will take two generations or so to really determine the ripple effects of certain technologies. An example is television. When first introduced it was a wonder. Instant information, education, and entertainment. A symbol of prosperity. I thought it helped to expand the mind.

A few channels are worth viewing but right now, I see it mostly as a medium that dulls and numbs the mind, a type of addiction or smokescreen. Material messages bombard, minimum standards and the overly dramatic exalted, and is more bizarre entertainment than informational or educational. The screen is a feast for the eyes, but starving the mind.

Remember this? We were washing clothes by hand when my mother got this older version of a modern convenience.

When I was seven, I got my arm stuck in one while helping my mother with the laundry. I impulsively put my hand between the rollers and it took my arm through up to my shoulder. Traumatized but okay, I didn't want to go near it. But Mami said it was either that or wash our clothes by hand. No way, not fun at all, hand numbing work. I was so thankful when we got a modern washing machine.

Dishwasher - No. My mother had four daughters, why would she need a dishwasher. Since I can't stand the thought of putting even the slightest remnant of food stuck on a plate into anyone's dishwasher, I must wash the plate first. So it's usually clean when I put the dish in anyways. So why bother with the redundancy. My girlfriends and sisters say, you don't have to do that. Umm. Yes I do.

Internet - Really fun and information at your fingertips, but addictive and a real time sucker.

Cell phones - At first I was against them. But I changed my mind when 9/11 happened. Cell phones allowed loved ones to say I love you and good bye one last time. I discovered they were a lifeline.

Indoor lights and plumbing - good. Refrigerators, washing machines, and stoves. - good. Cars vs. Horses - good. But with every innovation, there had to be something lost. Maybe those losses will be missed or not. Maybe the losses were unwarranted. Maybe there were many wonderful things lost. But the next generation will never know of them.

When I look at technology's journey during my grandmother's lifetime, then my mother's lifetime, and now mine, it seems amazing. If you say land line, dial telephone, television tubes, eight tracks, cassette player, or walkman, kids today will look at you as though you've talking klingon-ese or something.

I am excited to see what the next fifty years will bring. During my son's lifetime, or his son's after him, what wonders or of technology will be in place. How much will be gained and how much will be lost and forgotten? Will technology gains offset the negatives? Only time will tell.

RTT: Household Workouts

2010-05-18T06:39:00.000-07:00

Random Tuesday Thoughts is here.

Picking a room today and spending an hour in it. Clean it, purge it, reorganize it. I promise to stay in ONE room.

My cleaning style has been go to one room. Find something that needs to go into the linen closet. Linen closet could use some work. Start working on linen closet. I notice towels are missing. Hit the laundry room to get towels, laundry room needs tidying up. Notice floor needs mopping. Start to mop. And on and on and on. All rooms always have that work in progress feel. Today, ONE ROOM.

Speaking about cleaning. I've taken a job cleaning a loft apartment in one of the trendier downtown districts. I usually go every other week. Unfortunately for me, all the surfaces are either glass, stainless steel, stone countertops, slate floors, stone and marble floors. Altogether a bitch to make it all shine. It takes me four hours minimum. I call it my workout. My body screams at me for days after it.

Speaking of body ache. I mentioned to Queen Maker that my body really ached from all that "exercise" cleaning that loft. He says his body aches everyday because of his training and exercise regime. You mean that this is how you WANT to feel, all the time? No wonder no one sticks with exercise.

Speaking about getting exercise. Sister After Me asked me what my free time looked like. She has access to a lake and wants to buy a raft. She's looking for a partner to paddle around the lake for exercise and fun. Random thoughts popped into my head.

Panic, life preserver, holes, leaks, shrinking raft, feet not touching bottom, a yellow flotilla of death, shifting uncomfortably to one side then the other trying to maneuver an oar, wet butt. The usual.

I think I'll pass.

Speaking about passing. I think it's time to pass the baton to the next blog at UnMom. So visit and read a while. It's be a workout.

Good Sleep Better Than ...

2010-05-14T10:19:00.000-07:00

Yahoo! I SLEPT ALL NIGHT last night. Didn't get up once. So, so awesome.

Been a full seven days when sleep has been good and last night was the icing on the cake.

I haven't been here in a few years it seems. I'm going to guess that there is a "Pause in the Meno."

Yuk, yuk. I'm making bad puns. That's how giddy I am.

Yessssss!

Life in the Slow Lane or I'm a Thriftiholic

2010-05-13T08:40:00.000-07:00

Jen at the Spin Cycle is looking for tips and cost cutting measures that we could all use in these tough economic times. So check out the Spins. It's one of the best freebies you will find.

My thrifty ways comes from watching my mother stretch my dad's meager paycheck for fifty years. She hoarded her pennies, made tough decisions, was a master of robbing Peter to pay Paul, and always prayed for forgiveness when she did it.

When I left my job some nine years ago, we had to manage on one income. So I returned to budgeting techniques I used when QueenMaker and I were first married.

1. No car payments. We buy only used cars. Used cars that need only basic car insurance to cover. No collision or replacement costs.

2. Money envelopes. I am amazed how well this works. The insurance envelope, the credit card envelope, the taxes envelope, the luxury envelope. I put a small amount of money in each envelope whenever I can. In the luxury envelope I deposit only two or three dollars every once in a while. Even if I don't have the whole amount when the bill comes in, but I usually do, this method has been a tried and true friend to me.

3. Stop going to restaurants. QueenMaker and I love cuisine and went out to eat at least two or three times a week, plus a breakfast on the weekends. Now we limit ourselves to once on Saturday because we both work until 1pm. We are both starving and cranky so Saturday we go for a big lunch. If a restaurants offers lunch specials on Saturdays, we're there.

4. A cooperative and trusting partner. When you are both on the same page it helps immensely. QueenMaker and I came from the same background, impoverished. We didn't have a thirst for materials things. Although this might backfire and has for many a couple, QueenMaker used to hand me his paycheck and I handed him an allowance. In our early years he used to ask, "Can we afford this?"
I admit that he didn't really want to know about finances. Lucky for him, I was a saver.

One time his mother admonished him for not knowing what I was doing with our money, the little busy body. So finally after six years together, he asked how much money do we have in the bank. His eyes popped when I said ten thousand. Well, I was saving for a down payment for a house. His trust in me was vindicated and he never asked again.

5. Hand me down furniture. My mother in law and several of my friends feel the need to change out their furniture more often than I think is practical. Sometimes it doesn't fit right, or what they really wanted was a leather couch, or what was I thinking buying blue when I wanted black. So I reap the benefits. I haven't bought furniture in years.

6. Never buy a cereal unless its on sale. I never buy a grocery item unless its on sale. Occasionally I may give in and buy something at full price, but it always makes me feel better when I calculate the hundreds of times I've bought the item on sale.

7. This is a recent one. I now only take cash when I go to Sam's or Costco's. I used to spend way too much in these stores. Bulk buying is a trap. Going with cash only has saved me hundreds of dollars.

8. No house payments. I know this is a tough one. But for the last twelve years, no house payments. When we bought our house we were disciplined enough to know what we could afford as a monthly mortgage payment, not what the realtor or bank said we could afford. I didn't want the house to own me. With my aversion to debt and by tightening our belts, I paid the fifteen year loan off in ten.

We never fell for the hype of making our home a commodity, to refinance for extra cash, to use my home as some kind of hidden savings account. I do have an equity line on the house, but that is for emergencies only. The bank kept pushing me to take a large home equity line, but I took a line half the value of my home. Since I don't use it, no house payments. But it has pulled me out of some tough situations in the past.

9. Driving. No more multiple trips to the same area. Shopping trips are planned with multiple stops to cut down mileage. If I need to go to the cleaners, I hold off until I can hit the bank, post office, and my favorite fruit market. My husband and I work in the same building. We used to drive separately because he started an hour or so before me or let an hour after me. Now I go in with him and utilize the extra time to read or work on a project or take a walk with a dear friend.

So there you have it. Even without a car and house payment I get stressed about our cash flow which lets you know we are living on very little income as it is. What's next? Get rid of my health insurance. We're paying for that ourselves at $500 a month. Just got word that our health insurance company has just been taken over by the state and may fold. Yikes, an increase to $700 a month is the cheapest I can find. Got my house insurance bill as well. It's gone up so that it matches my property taxes. This just doesn't seem right.

It just doesn't stop, people. Oh well, belts will be worn tighter this year.

Lots of Love There - Mother's Day Number 22

2010-05-09T20:17:00.000-07:00

A sublime day. The day came together in a lovely, almost poetic way.

Maybe it was the fact that I was able to pull off four days straight of uninterrupted sleep. If this streak keeps up, mental agility and fortitude may return full force. Always enjoy mental, chemical, joint, and muscular harmony.

Mother's Day.

The sun shined all day. A mood enhancer for sure.

Took my mother to church. Every pew filled to bursting. Because my hearing is highly attuned today, my mind is concentrating on the sounds of church. I close my eyes and listen. There are so many layers of sounds and I listen to the undercurrent. The sounds of children, the pre-schoolers, the toddlers, and babies hum throughout the mass. And many times rise above the mass.

I open my eyes and search for them. I don't have far to look because the pews are filled with them. Some churches sequester their children to other parts of the church lest they disturb. But in this church every child is held high by their parents. Lots of love there. The children's small heads rest on their parent's shoulder. I try to discern boy toddler to girl toddler ratio, but give that up right away. I'm glad that they are there. Without them the place is stoic.

After church, Beloved and QueenMaker come by to visit with my mom. Lots of love as grandmother hugs a grandson she's missed so much. It makes me so happy to witness the massive amounts of love my child receives and better yet how much he gives in return.

Beloved is here and now my Mother's Day begins anew. He will be with us the rest of the day, no matter how long the day. My heart is filling up.

The three of us together again. Dad, Mom, Son. A quiet peaceful comfort descends upon us. On the ride to my mother in law's house, we reconnect as a family. The two-wheeler becomes the tricycle again.

QueenMaker is making dinner for his mom and I am helping him in the kitchen. Beloved is visiting with his grandparents in the next room. Lots of love there.

Breaded pork country ribs, salad, baked potatoes, a sauteed vegetable medley that included onions, asparagus, red and yellow peppers, zucchini, carrots, and lacinato kale. Dessert was homemade pecan pie. It was awesome. Lots of love there. Okay mostly in one direction as we devour it all.

We end the evening by watching Jeremy Brett in Sherlock Holmes. I ABSOLUTELY LOVE this series.

On the ride home we talk about martial arts, chinese philosophy, and the western mindset. The college student actually had an interesting conversation with his parents.

The best gift my son gave me today and every time we get to spend time together as a family, is when he says, "Today was a good day." or "I always feel so relaxed when I'm with you guys." or "I miss our time together so much sometimes."

A Mother's Day that fills the soul.

Mother #3 - Just Doesn't Count

2010-05-05T06:21:00.000-07:00

This week's Spin Cycle is all about Mother's Day. A day I have coveted from afar.

I've been a mother for 23 years come September. And I can tell you that it hasn't been enough. I've been bemoaning my rather "dormant" status for a few years now. Beloved, a grown person, has grand plans for the future, and they unfortunately have very little to do with his parents. **sigh.**

Mother's Day - My vision.

The sun streams through the window and illuminates the ivory satin sheets on my bed. The smell of coffee and bacon wafts under the bedroom door which serves to rouse me further. The sounds of breakfast are coming from the kitchen. I hear my husband's voice kidding with the kids (I wanted three) as they make breakfast makes me smile.

Soon everyone is in the room showering me with kisses and lots of "I love you mommy" hugs. After breakfast we laze in bed together talking and deciding what we will do to commemorate this wonderful day. I look forward to a Sunday where I get to do and enjoy whatever I want.

I'm running through a field of wildflowers with my children. A picnic lunch is set up ahead in a clearing under a tree. Ice cream will be involved at one point.......

Screeeeeeeech! Snap! Flip, flip, flip. Stop the film. Editing! **sigh**

Ladies and gentleman I am what you would call a third mother. In a family dominated by strong women and a few weak ones, a mater hierarchy has been established.

Numero Uno - My Mom.

Deux - My Mother In Law

Third - Me.

Mother's Day is a Sunday like any other. Take my Mom to church. Run home pick up hubby and child and return to my Mom's for loving big family get together to honor our mother, then off to my mother in law's (an hour drive) to honor her motherhood. A very long day.

In the past, I have warned both these women that one Mother's Day, I will stay home all day to celebrate my motherhood. But it was a bluff. I never did it. I no longer care about my position on the mother totem pole.

Numero Uno and Deux are getting up there in age and the Mother's Days with both of them are becoming more and more dear to me. So off I go to buy a corsage for mom to wear for church and a miniature rose plant for my MIL. Have a great day you mothers.

So go to Sprite's Keeper for more spins about the whole Mother's Day experience.

Witness To Spring and The End of Smokes

2010-04-26T22:41:00.000-07:00

I've been waiting for Spring for such a long time. But with every Random Tuesday Thoughts rolling by so quickly, I feel like time is running out.

I need to make every effort to watch the season carefully. I need to be outdoors, to notice the ever changing landscape which seems to change hourly. The baby greens burst out quickly this year. The contrast from just a few weeks ago is striking. It went from bare to lush. The flowering trees are blooming and the spring flowers have made their appearance. I drive past the park everyday and everyday brings something new. This week a blanket of yellow dandelions dots the landscape.

I sometimes look out the window from my desk and feel like I'm missing it. It's as though I'm allowing another opportunity to slip by and unfortunately, that means another year before spring is here again. Even though I am fully aware of the spring, it's seem like I am admiring it from afar. I've got to go out there and feel it, to be a witness to it.

Because before you know it, six Tuesdays will go by and it will be gone.

Computer or outside.

Technology or Nature.

Small screen or panoramic view.

Scattering distracting minutia or tranquil reflective centering.

Choices, choices.

I wish I had a laptop, then I can take my technology with me and sit under a quiet shady tree feeling the spring breezes. That would be so pleasant. But that would be making spring background scenery, just a backdrop to my day. It's not really an interaction. And I'm looking for interaction.

I feel it. A NATURE SAFARI is about to commence.

I would highly recommend you take one in the near future. Go on an adventure. Take another human with you, one that would appreciate it. Take binoculars, a camera, a sketch pad. Take a walk in nearby woods or county park. Put on your boots, cross a stream, turn over rocks, look for new growth, get down and dirty.

Speaking about interacting with nature, Smokey, the most zen dog in the universe, will be leaving our care and going back home. Seven weeks are up and my parents will be home on Friday. QueenMaker finds the dog comical and has laughed non-stop for seven weeks. I can't tell if he's laughing at the dog or just laughing because the dog makes him happy.

For sure, one day, when we are old, and starved for affection, or craving for someone or something to accept our love one last time, we will get a dog. Just like Smokey.

So I looked him up. He is a tibetan terrier, which is not a terrier at all. His doggie ancestors were raised by tibetan monks 2000 years ago. No wonder he's so zen. They were temple dogs and considered good luck charms. The monks would never sell the dogs but would often give them as gifts.

It makes me happy. You know the seven degrees of separation? Smokey somehow connects me to the high altitudes of the Tibetan Himalayas, to the yellow and red robes of the monks, and to 2000 year old Buddhist temples. Thanks, dog.

Now when I go visit my parents, will I go to see them or to visit Smokey, the Zen Dog.

"Oh, I'm not here to see you, Mom. Just the dog."

Oh she would love that. First she would give me that look to see if I was serious. Then she would pretend to be hurt. I can hear her now. Then every time I came over after that she would direct me to the dog, because of course, her daughter is not here to see her. I don't care about her, just the dog. She would announce to the dog, "your mother's here." Hey! Oh, it would go on for weeks and weeks.

Although I will miss the dog for about a minute, rest assured, my heart will not suffer any "Smoke Damage" when he leaves.

(Yes, I said it. Been trying to work that in for weeks.)

So if I haven't damaged you with my rather lengthy random post, work your way over to Keely at UnMom for more Random Tuesday Thoughts.

The Quotable Impulse

2010-04-19T21:53:00.000-07:00

Damn it. If it wasn't for UnMom with her RTT's (could be contagious) and Jen at Sprite's Keeper, keeping us going with the whirly, swirly Spin Cycle, where would I be?

Today's Spin Cycle is about words that move you, quotes that soothe you, and phrases that make you smile.

Words, quotable words, I love them. Some of the best come from Twain and Franklin. But great lines come from every genre. And I'm picking a few that have stuck to me the moment I heard them. They are with me forever.

When the right moment presents itself, these quotes bubble up. I've said them aloud many times and sometimes get the confused doggy head tilt from many a folk. But every once in a while, someone gets the reference and a small laugh is heard in the back of the room. And I know I have found a kindred spirit.

Ah, the coveted mind meld. Priceless.

"Pretty. Handsome. Pretty, Handsome. Dr. Smith."

"Those beautiful beautiful sound of nickels, nickels, nickels."

"And your little dog too!"

"Oh what a world. What a world!"

"What a maroon!"

"Cats and Dogs! Living together!"

"That chick is toast!"

"Seven-Eleven, Ha!" "Number please." "Seven-Eleven, Ha!"

"Damn it Jim! I'm a doctor not a ..."

"I'm sooo tired...of playing the game."

"It says here. ... A person can develop a cold."

"Fasten your seat-belts. It's gonna be a bumpy night."

"In order to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first create the universe."

"When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

"Come at me with that banana!"

One of many great Mark Twain quotes, "Whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority. It is time to pause and reflect."

My hero, Benjamin Franklin's quote, "If you know how to spend less than you get, you have the Philosopher's stone."

My fifteen year old son complaining, "Why can't they let a song die with dignity?"

My niece when she was three years old, walked around my mother's house picking up various trinkets, figurines, whatever was in her reach and placing the treasures in a plastic grocery bag she carried on her shoulder. I asked her what she was doing and told her she needed to put everything back. She put up her hands, shrugged her shoulders, and said, "Sorry, nothing I can do. It's in the bag."

It's in the bag folks, so head over to Jen's Spin Cycle for more of the quotable. I'll bring the potables.

RTT: The Pendulum Won't Stop Swinging

2010-03-30T07:18:00.000-07:00

Tuesdays mean Random Tuesday Thoughts. So head over to Keely's for more of the same.

Okie Dokie, here's the deal. I'm feeling rather yin and yang this week. The pendulum won't stop swinging.

My kid is all grown up and doesn't need me anymore. Ha! It's liberating and very, very disturbing at the same time. Bitter Sweet.

Our business is picking up lately but still on life support. The cart keeps coming around, but the business keeps picking up its head and proclaiming, "I'm not dead yet." Optimistic Realist.

My mom and dad are away for two months. I miss them but at the same time I'm feeling "guilty happy" because I've got more free time on my hands. Guilty Comfort.

My house needs a good cleaning, but I don't feel like doing it. But that little pan in the sink needs a good scouring. I think I'll spend 20 minutes brillo-ing all the dark spots off until it shines. Lazy Ambition.

I was all ready to participate in Earth Hour. The staunch conservationist and avid recycler in me was ready to turn off the lights. Then I got all militant on my ass and thought to hell with it. I'm not a joiner. I don't do causes. I stood there arguing with myself. What's up with that? Oh yeah. Menopause. Crystallized Moments of Confusion.

The gray at my temples is becoming too prominent. My sisters keep telling me to color my hair. But I don't want to bend to peer pressure or vanity. But I guess I'll do it anyways, because I do want to look a few years younger. Better to Look Good than to Feel Good.

It's been a weird week.

Will the Real Me, Please Stand Up, Please Stand Up

2010-03-26T09:02:00.000-07:00

It's supposed to be about ME. Jen at Sprite"s Keeper assignment was to write something about myself.

Well after years of living with me, I've finally realized a few things. I can tell you who I was. I guess I'm pretty much the same person, expect a little wiser, a little more retrospect, a lot less angst.

ME, ME, Me, Me, Me, me, me.

See that little me there at the end of the line. That's the me I like to be. Hopefully no one will notice me. At least not too much. It rare to be the middle me, but that is who I play most of the day. The big me, no way, no how. Okay, maybe when I'm really mad, then big Scary ME comes out. But is there a big vivacious ME? No. I like the middle, balance you know.

I'm a lazy woman but only when it comes to housework. Give me a project, work assignment, a job doing for others, cleaning someone else's home and I'm a dynamo. I'm an overachiever. I'll go beyond the call of duty. I'll think of every contingency, complete the task in lightening speed, stay until its done or obliterate every speck of dust.

Apparently I am in need of a lot of approval. I guess I do need to be noticed, and I get it through the work I do. It seems I need people to say good job, great presentation, the house never looked better. See that, I redirected your gaze at my work, not at me. Good job.

Here is one example of things I won't do for myself but will for someone else.

Like most women my age, I should lose weight. I should get more exercise. I want to be a healthier, a stealthier me. But will I do that for myself? No, it's not convenient right now. I don't feel it right now. I don't have the motivation the drive. All the excuses or permissions I give myself not to work out.

Well now I am dog-sitting Smokey. And guess what? Smokey usually lives with my 80 year old parents, so I know he doesn't get the exercise he needs to burn off extra energy or to keep healthy. So in my quest to do a great job, to do for someone or something else, to prove that I am the best dog-sitter in the world, Smokey walks every day for a mile and a half and we walk fast.

Every. Single. Effin. Day. And we both reap the benefits.

So me apparently needs to be needed to be the best me I can.

Now give yourself a hug and go to Sprite's Keeper to read more wonderful ME stories

Happy Birthday Sis

2010-03-22T11:30:00.000-07:00

Sister After Me is having a birthday today. She is now officially 50 years old.

And a mother of a five-year-old.

She is also the mother of a 31 year-old daughter and a 29 year-old son.

And a grandmother of four, ages 14, 4, 2, and six months.

My memories of her go all the way back to the crib we shared, when exchanging or stealing her bottle was a favorite past time of mine. When she was little, whenever she got mad, her hands became tightly clenched fists, her arms stiff by her sides. She loved mischief. She loved fun. She was always up for the challenge.

Boys adored her from the moment they saw her, five "boyfriends" in kindergarten was just the start.

Since she was a small child, she was always saving animals in distress. That crazy woman chasing a dog around on the freeway trying to grab it before it got hit by a car, that was probably her.

Although I was older, by one year, she was always the one I looked to for comfort, for confidence, for allegiance, and more often than not getting it. I sometimes wished that she needed me as much as I needed her.

She is a person that believes that you get out of life what you put into it. Karma is big on her list. She is very health conscious, always reading and learning how to be healthier in body, mind, and the spirit. She wants everyone around her to feel fulfilled, to feel balanced, to take things in stride, to be happy. And if you can't be happy, to find solace. She makes the effort to plant that seed.

At her younger daughter's preschool graduation, she turned to me and said, "I am so thankful because I am here. I get to do a re-do. I wasn't able to appreciate as fully as I do now my role as a mom. Being a single mom, I always felt sorry that I wasn't there as often for my older two. I was too young. My work took me away. But this time I get a re-do. I can give my youngest the home, the attention, a family that has a mom and dad, some stability in her life. I get another chance, a re-do. I'm very blessed."

Her life has been filled with many highs and lows. And I'm not sure she will ever know the stability that she strives for in her life. I know she is a "master juggler." No matter how often life gives her another ball to juggle, she will be able to do it.

As a 50th birthday present, she is giving herself this year. This year is for her, for her health, for her happiness, for her indomitable spirit. My wish is to help her celebrate this Year of Me.

Happy Birthday, Evie. I love you.

Seven Weeks of Smokey

2010-03-18T21:22:00.000-07:00

Seven more weeks. Smokey is staying with us while Mom and Dad are sunning themselves in the Caribbean, really going back to their childhood homes. This is Smokey, the most chill dog ever. I don't believe in endowing animal with human traits, but he is...

the most patient, loving, comically endearing dog, such a character. Perfect for my parents who are in their 80's.

QueenMaker and I had dogs when we were children, but we never owned one during our married life. The whole family decided that we were just too busy to give a dog the quality of life it deserved. So its been 40 years since a dog has graced our lives.

I would never volunteer to take care of a dog, but for some reason, Smoky loves me. He adores me. Maybe it's because every time I visit, Smokey gets a complete doggy massage. I look at that fur and I immediately feel the itch. So I figure he must too. That is why he loves me. I'm way too empathetic.

So I mentioned that I may, possibly, give some thought, ask hubby first, not sure, but thinking about it, on the fence about taking him. That means its a done deal to my Mom.

Every maybe hints at possibility. Possibility means a potential positive outcome. So every maybe means a positive and even enthusiastic Yes! to my mom. She will always say, "But you said..." I didn't want to disappoint her.

So we have Smokey for seven weeks. You never know what to expect from a dog that doesn't belong to you. But he is true to character. With a big sigh of relief for me and especially to hubby, the dog shows great self control. It's as though he has always been here.

Today, I swear he did a seven take. We confused him, momentarily. First I saw the double take, then the quad, then a seven take! It was simply awesome.

So I'm beginning to feel like a "mommy blogger," okay more like a beloved auntie with a nephew visiting for a month or so. He's becoming our little bundle of joy, waiting for us, greeting us with so much love and enthusiasm, reveling in our affection, wanting to play.

And he can stand on his hind legs forever too.

Aging - One Lemon, One Lemonade

2010-03-01T22:41:00.000-08:00

One Lemonade:

I've worn glasses since the first grade. I'm very nearsighted and my eyesight has progressively gotten worse over the years. My range of vision has gotten shorter and shorter that I feel more comfortable taking off my glasses and bringing whatever I'm working on right up to my nose.

But aging also means that now I need bifocals. Stupid aging. I hate you. I can't bring things right up to my nose anymore. I loathe the whole bifocal experience. But when I remove my glasses, my range of clear vision is now at a range of only 5 inches to 10 inches from my face.

QueenMaker is farsighted and also needs reading glasses. But because of that stupid aging thing, his range has diminished quite a bit as well. His range of clear vision is from 24 to 30 inches.

After hugging me the other day, he extended his arms and held me far enough away so he could see me clearly.

Me: You mean you can't see me clearly?

QM: Nope, can't see you at all. I mean I can see you, but not clearly.

Me: You mean that you can't see my face. It's blurry?

QM: Right. You have to be at least two feet away before I can see your face clearly.

Me: You mean no matter how old I look, you can't see the wrinkles or lines on my face?

QM: Right. Not up close at least. And really, not far away either because at 24 o 30 inches your facial features aren't as prominent at that distance. It's like you have a soft filter on your face.

Me: You mean like in the movies? That means you will always see me in your mind's eye as I was, not as I am. I will always be youthful and beautiful, with a soft glow.

QM: I guess that's true.

Me: Yahoo! What a perk. That makes me so happy. I could be an old hag, with a giant pimple or wart on my nose and you wouldn't know the difference would you?

QM: No. But I'm sure someone would warn me or something.

Me: Yahoo! Just think of it. You can't see me aging and I can't really see you aging either. That takes a load of my mind. I will from this time forward be timeless.

I danced merrily out of the room to look for a mirror.

One Lemon - When lemonade gets turned back into sour lemons, the flip-side.

My 49 year old sister who SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER, decided to go sledding with her 11 year old daughter. Everything went well the first five runs down the hill until on the sixth, when her sled hit a giant bump. She landed on her tailbone and compressed three of her disks. She is in agony.

Apparently it is a common injury that could have been very serious, in some cases causing paralysis. After some research on the internet, she said, "I should have checked the internet first before I went sledding."

Shouldn't we all check with the internet before we do anything?

Seriously. As a middle aged woman, shouldn't she know that speeding uncontrollably down a hill is never a good idea? Doesn't she remember that summer when her rollerblades caught the edge of a driveway and sent her hurdling forward, cracking both elbows? She had to wear casts that rendered her helpless. She walked around with her arms in a perpetual, "This is a hold up! Hands in the air!" kind of position. She couldn't feed, dress, or wipe herself for weeks.

Remember people. The body hates impact. It will make you pay.

So if you’re into high impact or prefer softer speed bumps, sled on over to Keely’s, oh sorry, I mean Bitchin' Wives Club, for some high speed and invigorating Random Tuesday Thoughts, but put your glasses on first.

Spontaneous Northern Day aka Snow Day

2010-02-14T14:07:00.000-08:00

Every once in a while, the planets align and unexpected bliss rains upon the hopeful.

The snow comes just at the right time. Time enough to close school for the full day.

The snow stops just at the right time. Early morning hours, giving you plenty of time to play out there.

The snow is the right type. Not too wet, not too powdery, but the proper weight and consistency.

The snow pile is just high enough. Plenty of powder, but not enough to give anyone a heart attack.

And the best thing of all, because the timing is just right, Mom or Dad gets to stay home too.

And finally, it happens. The day is here!

And when we drove by the park, I made QueenMaker stop the car to watch. We both were filled with happiness because we knew that perfection had arrived. We remember fondly the feeling of it.

A spontaneous day had arrived, when there are no other plans than to play in the snow.

I didn't want to let it go and quickly got out to take a picture. The wide hill was full of people, more than I had ever seen. My picture does not reflect the multitude, or the joyful noise, or the smiling kids and parents.

But of course, it's hard to capture perfection.

The Day I Became a Queen

2010-02-11T08:43:00.000-08:00

I walked into the choir room excited because today the choir would be rehearsing with a live band. Just as I sat down I spied the guy on the drums and caught my breath. I couldn't take my eyes off of him. Who was he? I needed to know. I never experienced such a "hit" before. Why was my heart racing? I figured he must be a college student, I knew I would never see him again. Oh, well.

A few weeks later, the school had to rearrange classes and homerooms. I walked into my new class and there he was, blond, blue-eyed, long hair, and ready smile. And he was smiling at me. His seat was behind mine. He kept talking aloud to himself "really to me" so I could turn around and ask him to be quiet. Over and over again.

One day, I heard the words, "A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse." So I looked through my book and found a picture of a great bronze horse, turned and said, "Here, my lord. A bronze horse. Now be quiet, would you please."

As I turned back to my book, he said, "Now my lady, I give you all I have. My kingdom is yours. You are now my queen."

Thrilled to my toes at such a proclamation, I wondered what the kingdom of a fifteen year old boy would look like.

37 Valentine's Days later, the thrill is still there, the passion is still there, and when we look into each other's eyes, we are still fifteen. He has been true to those words he spoke so many years ago. He took a shy, self-deprecating young girl and made her feel like a beautiful queen. Over and over.

Thus his name, I knighted this angel of mine, QueenMaker.

Now onto more Valentine's Day Spin Cycles that will make your heart sing.

The Kindest Eyes

2010-02-04T09:29:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking about my nephew lately. He lives in California. I keep seeing his face. About a year ago, he was here for a visit and during an anniversary party we had an opportunity to sit down and talk with him. We miss him very much.

QueenMaker said, “Will has the most kindest eyes I have ever seen. Did you notice when he’s speaking to people, his eyes are always gentle and full of kindness. What a great young man.”

To my nephew:

When a good soul comes along

It makes the world brighter

He’s good nature, helpful, and full of love

The glass is always full, his smile always shining

When he talks, he talks about family

The bonds of joy, the ties between us

He gathers us to him, his eyes singing his love

He wants and needs to know what we know

We watch him, his manner infectious

We smile because he smiles

We laugh because he laughs

We love because he loves so much

And when he listens, he listens with his whole being

With the most gentle eyes ever expressed

With the fullest of kindness that reaches deep

And when you speak and look into his eyes,

your beings meet, talking soul to soul.

Come visit us soon.

RTT: Something's Got To Go

2010-02-01T22:30:00.000-08:00

It's Random Tuesday Thoughts once again. So in the spirit of randomness, I've written down the first things that popped into my head.

Question and Answer Period:

I’ve always wanted to hear a president say FU. I believe I’m finally hearing it said, but in the nicest way possible. The recent Q & A session between the President and the Re-pube-licks was a beautiful thing to hear. I enjoyed it immensely.

There’s a metronome ticking in my head. I think it’s the march of time.

Under-wire bras suck. I keep thinking I’m having a heart attack.

Biting my nails big time again. That is not a good sign.

Bought a swifter kit. Used it once. Dust taking over. Cough. Cough.

Of all my K2 sized flaws, my minimal housekeeping is the last guilt I must conquer. I must figure out how not to feel so guilty about it. Cough, hack, hack.

Thinking about my life roles a lot lately. Daughter, daughter in law, sister, aunt, teacher, role model, mother, wife, companion, lover, friend, queen, business owner, instructor, marketer, financier, manager, char woman, confidant, therapist, researcher, individual, and creator. How do I satisfy so many facets of myself? How do I satisfy the responsibility of each of those roles that I feel must be met?

I’m feeling a little overwhelmed. So that is when distracting minutia takes place to help quell the guilty feelings, to keep me looking industrious and busy, and thus temper the demand of those roles. The benefactors will learn to say, “Well, she is so busy. Poor thing. How does she manage to do it all?”

That’s right. I can’t do everything.

Housekeeping? Sorry, you’ve been dropped off the list of top priorities again. Hang in there kid. You will always be on my mind, so don’t you worry. We’ll pick things up again real soon.

You may want to continue picking things up. I suggest you visit Keely at UnMom and pick through other Random Tuesday Thoughts.

Pet Peeves - Not My Cup of Tea

2010-01-31T20:20:00.000-08:00

Pet Peeves – A new Spin Cycle. Okay mine might be a little preachy. But isn't that what pet peeves are all about.

One of my pet peeves is people with pet peeves. They make life so negative some times. They start by saying things like,

“I hate it when…” or “It drives me crazy when…” or “I can’t stand it when…”

When I hear these words I feel like I’m being drawn into their minor hate, or craziness, or intolerance. I can feel a migraine coming on right now just writing those words.

Pet peeve is defined as a source of annoyance or irritation. Ouch, your negative aura just increased by 2 degrees. I’ll stand over here.

Their psyche apparently snaps to attention when they meet their pet peeve, or let’s admit, any peeve at all. A pet peeve is a drama in the miniature, one that resides in a room of a beautifully furnished peeve dollhouse in one’s head.

They correct you constantly whenever possible. Seemingly normal people transform, morphing into your parents, your teachers, your bitchy girlfriends, your blaming boyfriend, or your nosy neighbors. Some stay silent but make a small judgment call on your character, intelligence, or obvious inferiority.

Even if they understand exactly what you are trying to say, they will stop you in mid-sentence to correct your grammar, your metaphor, even your thought process. And you know how much I love that. My husband belongs to the Grammar Police Association (GPA). I think he’s a General now within this esteemed organization.

I don’t mind that people have pet peeves as long as they're, there, their tirades are not directed at me. If something really bugs them that much, I guess they are entitled to voice their extreme displeasure. I have relatives that are light years ahead of the rest of us in the scope of pet peeve annoyances and irritations. I barely can be around them. I can only soothe them, bring some perspective, and offer alternatives views to their complaining, whining, and eternal accounts of despair and irritation.

My happy brain cells are finite and must be retained at all costs. I need to worry about peeves that are worthy of my time and effort. I’ve dropped the peeves at the low end of the scale. I can’t afford to let my head think in terms of what drives it crazy. I need to think of things that give me solace.

But a pet peeve is nothing, nothing compared to what should really be bothering them.

Maybe that’s it! A pet peeve may be part of the every day distracting minutia that they can focus on, to avoid the things that go deeper beyond mere irritation or annoyance, a safety valve if you will. Gee, I'm all for that.

I guess we need pet peeves. I've changed my position. Carry on.

So carry on to Sprite's Keeper to read more about some really great pet peeves.

My Opinions - Worthy or Worthless

2010-01-22T14:25:00.000-08:00

Well the assignment this week on the Spin Cycle is opinions. Whoa! I am very opinionated, but usually I keep my opinions within these four walls. But if you get me going, I will give my uninformed, less than stellar and sometimes incoherent opinions to whomever wants to hear. I in return will courteously listen to others offering an opinion all the while thinking, "But you didn't acknowledge my point."

Any-who, here goes.

When did it happen? It used to be that saving money was suppose to be a good thing. They were chastising us for not saving enough less than a decade ago. Or was that just a quaint 20^th century notion? We weren’t saving for our kids’ college funds, or for a rainy day and definitely not enough for our retirement.

When did it happen? It used to be that we knew how much house we could afford? We knew that a car should not cost as much as a house, or half as much as a house, or a third as much as a house.

When did it happen? We used to have patience, saving for the new couch, pinching pennies to buy the new dress. We were willing to wait making our purchases special occasions.

When did it happen, that credit became our lifeline? We used to know that credit should not cost as much as a house, or half as much, or even a fifth of a house, or even a ...

When did it happen? It used to be that we knew not to use our house as a commodity. We turned our dream of owning a home into a scheme for making quick money. We used to protect our homestead instead of draining it. When you turn life’s necessities into commodities, you’re asking for trouble.

My credit card company just sent me a letter telling me that they were lowering my credit line. At first I was angry. Because the way credit is working these days, I know that their action would lower my credit score. Imagine, a non-entity affecting your worth. Bastards!

The letter said, since I use so little of the credit available to me, that obviously I didn’t really need that high of a limit. I realized that they were correct. It meant that they were either punishing me for not getting myself into trouble, or that they were actually pulling it back to where it should have been all along. All I could think was screw them.

Slowly throughout the years, the worth of brick and mortar industries have been reduced and transformed to judging their worth based on paper only and the betting and odds given on the worth or health of that paper. Since we are running out of these types of commodities, there is a need to seek other avenues of profit and worth.

Real estate, at first an unlikely area for speculation, has now been ravished and decimated much like locust descending upon the plain. My sister lost her home and my niece is about to walk away from hers. She can’t get the bank to work with them. I can see why people abandon their loans, because the industry abandoned their customers long ago.

Really people, bundling mortgages or portion of mortgages and selling them as paper and speculating on them was irresponsible, open to all kinds of illicit activities and stupid, on any plane of existence.

The only other big industry left for speculation, that I can see, is health care. Insurance companies already do this when they try to predict, speculate and lay odds on how long we will live or whether there will ever be a need for a payout. What we do next regarding health care can be a big step forward for society or end up like real estate, laying in waste, boarded up, and people experiencing the same and very real abandonment issues.

What’s next? Us. We are turning into the commodity that everyone wants to bundle. Our habits are studied extensively. The technology is here to help. Advertisers, politicians, industries hire ethicists, psychologists, behaviorists to figure out what people will do next, to help predict and then to speculate and bet on the odds. I hope that they will always underestimate us.

I feel like I’m turning into paper. I’m not kidding myself that it hasn’t been happening for a long time. I won’t need to ask, “When did it happen?” I know. I hope that when that time comes I can just say, “Screw them!” and walk away.

Now onto Sprite's Keeper to get more opinions that you can sink your teeth into. Yes they are that meaty.

Papi and Boyfriends - The Early Years

2010-01-20T10:16:00.000-08:00

I was chatting with my sister on the phone and she reminded me about the time Papi went after a boy that was bothering her. It makes a young girl feel safe when her daddy is willing to be her knight in shining armor and save her from the advances of some unseemly suitor. Then again...

Here is a short history of my dad’s interaction with his four teenaged daughters’ boyfriends, the early years.

Chased boy with a crowbar, a guy bothering Youngest Sister.

Chased boyfriend P with butcher knife, boyfriend arguing vehemently with Sister After Me.

Chased rival boyfriends P and W, fighting over Sister After Me. Stupid guy, W pulls small knife, Papi pulls much bigger butcher knife, chases both guys away.

Frightens future suitor of Middle Sister while wielding a baseball bat in the air.

Finds oldest daughter making out with boyfriend on couch. Boyfriend suddenly disappears, flying through the air, landing on butt about fifteen feet away. Daughter looks up to see very angry father, very frightened boyfriend, and Youngest Sister (could have warned me that Papi was home from work, but chose not to, Punk!) and friend coming in to watch the fun, laughing their arses off. Boy ordered from house. Boy running as fast as possible.

My dad, the Dark Knight, fiery eyes, with his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth, wielding tools of mass destruction – priceless.

Coloring Hair May Cause Childhood Injuries

2010-01-18T10:10:00.000-08:00

Memories of Childhood, always good blog fodder.

Principal Lord, what a man. He was great guy and a gorgeous one at that. He had presence and charisma that even the youngest children at our school would take notice of it. And his name, can you believe it? Just saying it makes me think of him with a dreamy smile and real affection. Principal Lord.

The parking blocks in the teacher’s lot lined up nicely and the kids would walk and hop on them on our way into the building. I was doing just that when I slipped on a wet block and put a gash in my knee that would not stop bleeding. Being the wimp that I was, I cried uncontrollably.

Principal Lord drove me home. How cool! We found Sister After Me and soon we were in front of our house. He carried me to the door (Sweet!) and when the door opened, I think we both gasped. Mami was wearing a tattered housecoat, had plastic gloves on and her hair was covered with goop. What was that stuff!

She grabbed her head in horror when she saw Principal Lord and frantically looked around desperate for something to cover up. Her expression quickly changed from extreme embarrassment to concern and she forgot her head. Soon the red dye was running down her face and dripping on the floor. Who knows what Principal Lord was thinking?

The following year someone pushed me down. My face hit the gravel and a gash opened up over my eye that later required nine stitches. Blood poured down my face getting into my eyes and although I was the biggest wuss ever, I felt perfectly justified in screaming my head off. Again the gallant Principal Lord came to my rescue and drove me home. With blood dripping down my face, he swooped me up and carried me to the door. My mother seeing a man carrying one of her children swung open the door wearing once again, big plastic gloves and black goop in her hair. What are the odds!

A year later, Sister After Me broke her ankle and you guessed it, Principal Lord took her home and carried her to the door. Yes you can guess the rest. Mami opens the door with plastic gloves and was coloring her hair. My poor embarrassed mother. Everyone said she was a beautiful woman, looking a bit like Elizabeth Taylor, but Mr. Lord would never know it.

The three times Principal Lord came to our home. Three times he comes carrying injured children. Three times he finds a woman that is apparently obsessed with her hair color. Did we have radar and know just when and how to embarrass our mother in front of the most gorgeous man on the planet?

Is there a cosmic connection that whenever Mami colors her hair, one of her children incurs an injury? A twist on the old chant that children sing when walking along, “Don’t step on a crack or you’ll break your mother’s back.”

“Color your hair red and a child will break his head.” Really what are the odds?

RTT: Challenge, Life's Motivator

2010-01-12T20:26:00.000-08:00

I am so excited. Project Runway starts on Thursday. This is the only "reality" program I will watch. Why? Because I get to watch super talented people, displaying their versions of art in clothing form down a runway. I am not a fashionista, but I do love sewing. I love construction. I love tailoring. I love the drape. I love artisans. I love to watch the talented express themselves. They are challenged and they always step up to produce some great pieces.

I wish I could challenge Dr. Henry Louis Gates, Jr. to research my family tree. In an upcoming episode on PBS, he is tracking down the ancestry of an interesting group of people, Meryl Streep, Stephen Colbert, Yo Yo Ma, Queen Noor, among others.

Remember Gates? He's the guy that President Obama invited to the White House to have a conciliatory beer with the police officer that offended him.

I've tried to trace our family tree, but I found it to be a monumental task. My major problem stems from the way names are recorded with both mother and father's name as part of the last name. In some cases, it was normal practice to have the lineage be carried by the mother, which adds to the confusion. I would have to travel to the island to find birth records in churches, or family bibles. Then to trace roots beyond the island would mean to travel to Spain. From what I understand they kept excellent records when they conquered the Caribbean, but the records are in Spain. I know some of my descendants are Taino indians that were enslaved by the Spanish. My last name means Bethlehem in Spanish, which means we took the last name of the slave owner. My mother's ancestry comes directly from Spain. How about it Mr. Gates? Care to take up the challenge? Call me.

Speaking of challenge, I have been challenging myself to get stronger and healthier, or at least, not to punish my body. I took a survey on a women's health website about my habits. It tallied my answers and then gave me the results. It basically said, "You are very hard on your body." I sort of knew that in the back of my mind, but now it was there spelled out, something I had to confront. Why was I punishing my body by depriving it of what it needed most?

My challenge is to be good to my body. It's not about weight loss, though I suspect that kindness to my body will help in that endeavor.

Hydrate it.
Feed it on regular intervals stretching it out to four or five small meals a day.
Allow it to sleep.
Find time to go to the bathroom because apparently you are training your body not to expel and it will forget how to do it. Really? Use or lose it people.
Breathe deeply twice a day.
Put my feet up.
And think positively. Because like Stuart Smiley on Saturday Night Live, "I'm Good Enough, I'm Smart Enough, and Doggone It, People Like Me."

No go over to Keely, because there are a lot of doggone, good and smart people over there.

Silent Parents - An Enigma

2010-01-10T20:47:00.000-08:00

Silent parents, standing back, blending in the background, watching their children. Patiently waiting without opinion in their eyes, without interference, or suggestion. There was no boredom, no tension, no emotion at all. A decision was being made and they were totally not part of the process. They didn't factor into the equation at all.

I saw this image four times in the same store, a big chain music store. I walked into the drum room of the store. A young boy of twelve was trying out a set displayed on the floor. He went from one drum set to another, his concentration on the feel of each set. His mother stood to the side, and just looked.... just looked like what? I didn't recognize that look. Was it resignation? Didn't look like it.

Then I walked into the piano room. An even younger boy of nine or ten was playing, his mother standing close behind him. I was impressed. He was good. He moved to the next piano, checking the action of the keys before playing another tune. She had the same expression on her face as the mom in the drum room. When I walked in to investigate who was playing, she looked up. I half expected to see a prideful smile, then I thought she might look annoyed at me for the intrusion, but her face showed no expression at all. Interesting.

The same thing in the guitar area. A father stood silently behind his son as the son tried out several of the electric guitars. Wow, this is not a look I am used to seeing. Another father was watching his son of fourteen in the acoustic guitar room.

No involvement, no intrusion in their child's search for an instrument. Because an instrument must be found my its owner, right? No one outside can make the decision for an artist, especially for the talented young people I heard today. The parents stood to the side as though they were wallpaper.

I realized that there was something else missing. I didn't see the seeking of approval from the kids. They never looked up at their parent like most kids do, the whole "look at me, mommy" or "isn't this cool." I was waiting for it, but it didn't come. Interaction between parent and child were nil, the child in deep concentration, the parent purposely looking on dispassionately. I figured that the kids must be here with Christmas money and didn't want or need their parents input. But it seemed to be more than that. I usually have a good sense of reading people's expressions, but I couldn't figure this one out.

Was it more that this was a realm that could not be shared? Was the patient parent just waiting for their child to emerge? Was it a learned response from years of conditioning by the child?

It was a puzzlement.

Purge First, Clean Later

2010-01-08T22:08:00.000-08:00

Spin Cycle this week has to do with Spring Cleaning. I think that the only way my house will be cleared of all debris and elephant sized dust bunnies, is if we dynamite it. But I do have some lofty goals and maybe, just maybe, I will accomplish a few things.

Purging, a goal I have longed thought about. So many things to purge so little time. How can I think about Spring Cleaning when there is so much stuff and no place to put it. Seriously, I'm waiting for the ceiling to come down because of all the stuff we have stored in the attic.

Like the attic, the basement is brimming. The garage packed. The closets are overflowing. They are full of plunder that we have collected over the years. Good stuff. New stuff still in the packages. Stuff waiting for the call to become a functional piece in our lives.

How to Purge myself of this stuff? Sometimes you can't look at it. Some things are oh so sentimental and sweet. Some were a fantastic deal. Some still have tags on them. There is so much stuff buried in the back I don't even know or remember what we have stored there.

Junk Drawer - Get a garbage bag, close your eyes, and then dump the drawer over. This is a JUNK drawer for goodness sake. Don't look through it because you'll start picking out a myriad of useless bits and pieces.

Shoes - gross, I smelled them. As we get older the our feet flatten out, so we need a wider shoe anyways, so you might as well get rid of those super pointy shoes. Also I've determined from reading so many blogs that many folks are on meds, some really potent ones, so stability is an issue too. I think I want meds too? Wait, maybe not.

Me, I plan never to work in an office again, if I can help it. So out they all go. Plus if I do, that just means I can buy cute NEW shoes. (Now, of course, since I said never...)

Business Suits - the same as above. I don't want to work anywhere that requires a man's style power suit. Since I worked at the bank, they are bankers suits, conservative and boring. Eight suits, out.

Closets - Yes I have several outfits in there with tags on them. They were such a great deal that I had to, I just had to buy them even if they were one size smaller. I vowed that I would get into one day. Well that day never came. Out, they go.

Functionality - None. I'm beginning to look at my furniture. I need pieces that work. I need storage. Most of it is hand me down pieces thrown together and have no style and most disturbing no function. Coffee table, going. Coffee table books, going. Four small, ugly, overloaded CD and DVD holders, going.

My problem is that QueenMaker and I are huge recyclers. If we can find a second or third function for an object, or think we can, we keep it around. If we want to get rid of it, it means extra time to sort and carry this stuff to the appropriate agency.

So much work to purge. Should we ebay, or maybe send things to a consignment shop. Should we take a ride to the recyclers, should I just put everything in a box with a big FREE sign on it. BUT, this adds so much more work to the whole purging process. Maybe I'll just keep it all another year.

I need to be like Gathering. Dust, although her blog name describes perfectly my main problem when I do get around to spring cleaning. She did a fantastic job and in only one week.

I need to be like Jen at Sprite's Keeper, because when she's bored or has a little extra time, the first thought that comes into that terrific mind of hers is, "What can I clean?" WTF! Mine is, "Do I have time for a nap?" or "I really should get around to doing that."

First, purge. Then clean. Then nap. Got it.

And of course, stop cleaning for a second and visit the Spin Cycle. (I knew I'd find a distraction somewhere.)

Weighty Problems

2010-01-05T09:03:00.000-08:00

Well RTT is here again. The Random Tuesday Thoughts are flying all over at Keely's. so go take a gander.

Remember the tree? The one that saved the Christmas spirit for me? It died the other day. My little crooked tree just toppled over one night. I thought it was leaning a little. We thank it for giving its life, but could it just have waited until I got the ornaments off of it?

Just when I had a post ready about taking down our beloved ornaments while Christmas choral music played in the background. I have a glass of wine in my hand, singing along. I lovingly wrap each ornament in tissue paper and finally toasting, paying homage to a bare tree that we mercilessly cut down in the prime of its life thanking it for its fragrance and strong boughs. Really poetic stuff. Really. But this tree decided to go out in a dramatic ornament popping fashion.

Speaking of ornament popping, I wish the proto-teens (it's my new favorite word) would stop touching the tree at the school. Isn't it enough that they keep bouncing balls into the thing. One of them picked up an ornament and promptly dropped it. Silly human. Apologizing profusely, touch another one, and dropped that one too. Dumb proto-teen human.

Speaking of silly humans, I made the mistake of telling my MA kids that I weighed 165 pounds. I also made the mistake of telling them that my goal for the year was to become a healthier and stronger person. Not that I wanted to lose weight, but that I wanted a stronger, fitter body. I've always said that I wanted to maintain strength well into my eighties and my measure would be my ability to pick up a 50 pound bag of rice, or rock salt, or silly child.

My big mouth told them that I wanted them to become stronger too and that we were going to ramp up the calisthenics and do them together, and that they could watch my progress, and be impressed with my muscles, and that they could ask questions about my nutrition, that I would bring in a scale, watch my belly fat go down, take measurements....... WWwwhaaat!!! have I done?

Now. I. Have. To. Do. It. Unless I lied. Another resolution lie. Heinous.

But now, those proto-teens will swarm around me constantly asking me my progress. Disappointment in another adult that doesn't say what they mean. Yes! Continue with those great life lessons. Stupid adult human being.

I guess that's why I told them. It's my last ditch effort to set up a situation that I cannot get out of. It's not really fair to use them like this, using them as leverage against my 35 years of laziness. But proto-teens are relentless. Also I believe telling children a promise is like whispering a prayer in God's ear.

Plus OMG, I just told you. I guess I am going to have to deliver.

On that note: Weight: 165 lbs. Height: 5'5" Waist: 38 Chest: 38 Thigh: 24 Butt: 44

So far in 2010:

Drank three classes of water a day so far. I know that's low, but its way better than the four ounces I would drink every three days. A bit of dromedary in me. Will ramp up the water intake as time goes one.

Limited my coffee intake to two cups a day. Not too hard, but I love my warm drink in the winter, so I'm switching to teas.

Picked up a weight the other day. Actually I just moved it from one side of the room to the other. To a prominent place, where I would see it everyday, taunting me. Oh all right, come here little dumbbell. "Who you callin' a little dumbbell. You're the dumbbell. You're a big. fat. dumbbell!"

Did calisthenics with the proto-teens. Man, my abs are still kicking it. Just can't see them under the fat.

Trying to keep my insulin levels in check, so no more sweets, limited bread intake to just two slices a day, had oatmeal and an apple this morning, and took a walk.

So what am I looking to accomplish here.

Get my digestive tract in good working order.
To increase my stamina.
To increase my fresh air intake, breath deeply people. I have a tendency to hold my breath.
To rearrange pounds from fat to muscle.
To regain some strength that this 51 year old has lost these last four years.
To inspire my kids.
To feel energized.

That's not too much to ask is it? Cheer me on if you wish, but it might be better for me if you pretended never to have seen this. And looking at my stats, that really won't be an issue.

Now go away and go to UnMom and get your fill of RTT's.

Guilty Resolutions

2010-01-01T10:33:00.000-08:00

Another year has flit by, whoosh! There is goes, bye, bye. The Spin Cycle's topic today is New Year's Resolutions. Be resolute to go to Sprite's Keeper and become a Spinner.

When it comes to making resolutions I've learned to keep my mouth shut. No one remembers what your resolutions were, thank goodness, except me. At first resolutions were positive changes I was going to make in my life. Then I realized they were more like wishes. I was hoping to make change happen. After years and years, I've come to realize that in my case, it's more like lying. I don't like to lie, it makes my head hurt. So I have stopped lying to myself.

But at the party last night we all took turns telling our New Year's Resolutions. All the women said the same thing they say, Every. Single. Year. that they were going to lose at least 30 pounds. For some, the changes coming in 2010 were inevitable, like finding a job, saving for the graduation party coming in the summer, saving more cash, and on and on.

Sister After Me vowed that 2010 was the year she was finally putting herself first. Her health, her happiness, her needs. I don't know, but these sound like code words. I'm going to keep an eye on her.

My mom vowed to have each of her children come to take her some place every single day and to take her on glorious trips, and to include her on every family function, to invite herself whenever possible with the words, "Can I come?" or "Take me with you." or "You're going to invite me, aren't you? or "Where's my ticket?" If it wasn't winter, you would've heard the crickets in the background but because it is winter and there are no crickets, the Silence Was Deafening. NEXT!

When it was my turn, I couldn't say anything except, yeah what you all said. But something came to mind this morning that I think I will try. It came to me after my 22 year old son, Beloved, told me how good it felt to be home this year. He's spending the whole week with us which was the best present he could have bestowed upon his parents.

He told me how happy he was to see a Christmas tree this year. He cared? I didn't think he cared about stuff like that. We didn't have one last year and I bemoaned how much work I thought it was going to be, how I wasn't inspired, that I seriously considered not getting one this year either. Both he and my husband shrugged their shoulders and said they didn't care and even agreed with my assessment. But Youngest Sister brought me tree and thus brought the Christmas spirit and saved the day. She is a wise and giving woman.

He later told me how happy he was to see the tree. He didn't even realize that it made such a difference. We weren't home the day Beloved arrived, but when he came into the house and saw the Christmas tree, all stress left him. He was home and it looked homey, warm, and inviting. The Christmas tree gave him solace that everything was right in his world and that he was HOME.

I realized then that a tree will always be waiting for him and us in the future. It is motivation enough.

I was being selfish, thinking that Christmas was a burden or more work than I wanted to do. I couldn't find the magic in it, because things weren't the way they used to be. Beloved was a man, not a baby. Presents weren't a surprised, just things checked off a list he gave me. I didn't want to make the effort.

But Beloved made me realize that the symbols of Christmas were really symbols of hearth and home, of the peace and love that we have shared over the years. He needed that, and I need that too.

Get ready, I'm about to make a New Year's Resolution. Here it is.

I am going to figure out which voice in my head is the most positive and follow it.

I'm going to use the negative sign posts of guilt and burden and figure out what they really mean and instead of hiding from them to power right through them. Because these emotions are trying to tell you something. They are warning signs that your heart, head, and soul are in conflict, that you are not being true to yourself. And when you are not true to yourself, you hurt, you become depressed, you become angry, you make excuses.

I will find my true voice and follow it.

RRT - Word Pop Ups

2009-12-29T06:36:00.000-08:00

Fish - I'm always thinking the word fish. Why? Why? Why?

Bedding - You know.

Tree - Garbage day tomorrow or keep it up another week.

Adult Child - home

New Year - Decisions must be made!

Laziness - Guilty, my biggest flaw. Consequently, feeling the perpetual guilt, but still won't do anything about it.

Cold - Cold, shiver, need another layer.

Coffee - Need some now! Up an hour already, how could I have gone this long without a cup?

Mom - Wants a visit today.

Dad - Never spend enough time with this guy. Clock is ticking.

Time - Never enough.

Random Tuesday Thoughts - over here.

Christmas Road Kill

2009-12-26T14:11:00.000-08:00

Every time we go out during the day, we see the carnage left from the night before.

Demise of Three Penguins and a Snowman

Queen Maker. "It's so weird. Every time I look at a lawn with deflated inflatables. It doesn't seem right somehow. Why would folks want these things strewed across their lawn like Christmas road kill?"

Santa and the Grinch

Looks more like a drive-by to me.

The Humbug Routine

2009-12-23T22:26:00.000-08:00

Hey, hey, time for sweet Christmas memories. I've had tons and tons of them. I remember the joy of running down the stairs and seeing bikes in the living room! I remember the smell of a new doll, nothing better. When I was sixteen, I received my first gift of jewelry from a suitor, a pair of opal earrings from Queen Maker, followed by an opal ring three days later for my birthday. Okay, getting jewelry is way better.

So I am now going to tell a tale from the Belen family files, describing one of those rare but cathartic Christmases. The one dramatically silly.

CHRISTMAS, BAH! HUMBUG!

My father sometimes played games that would backfire on him. Everyone knew that every Christmas Papi would start the humbug routine. He’d start with saying that Christmas was too commercialized. Even hinting that, maybe, there would be no tree this year. We of course would protest and beg for our tree and he seemed pleased with the rise he would get out of us as kids, pretending to relent or keep us in suspense for a few days.

His main complaint was that everyone was knocking themselves out buying presents they couldn’t afford and he hated watching it. The true spirit of Christmas was lost. He’d be joking at first and then get angry, and soon he convinced himself and us that no Christmas was coming. But of course, it always would.

The way my dad showed affection was by picking on you. He baited you, bantered back and forth, sometimes poked or pinched you when you walked by. We all knew he loved us and that was his way. Although my little sister did once ask Mami why Papi didn’t like her since he would pinch her every time she walked by. But Mami would always explain and remind us, that Papi was a product of his own upbringing. That he did love us but didn’t know how to express it. That Papi was trapped and didn’t know how to change. He couldn’t make himself pass out the hugs and kisses so he would show his attention and affection the only way he knew how, by bugging us.

As we grew older, Papi continued to repeat the annual Christmas rhetoric. As preteens we would tease him and counter, “Yes we are going to have Christmas." Although it always started out as playful banter, he would work himself into a corner of stubbornness where there was no retreat and then get angry. We learned to modify our responses to his Christmas diatribe. But this became a never ending pattern for him for many years. At Christmas parties, he wouldn’t open his gifts, his stubbornness, childlike and unyielding. But he always took them home with him. He’d try to say hurtful things though by this time we just let the comments go by. We knew it was his way of venting and that in reality he didn’t mean a word of it.

One year in my 20’s I went to my mother’s home to find that the Christmas tree was in a horizontal position. Apparently someone had thrown the tree to the floor, the tree lights still twinkling. The carnage of broken bulbs and ornaments were everywhere. Papi was sitting in his chair, as always watching television. Where was everyone? Papi pointed his finger upwards and told me to check the upstairs flat. Upstairs my mom, my brother, and three sisters were huddled together. Sister in the Middle is crying her eyes out. What happened? Well apparently Papi was doing his usual Christmas rhetoric, when Sister in the Middle said as a joke, “Oh Papi, quit being such as scrooge.” It was the trigger Papi needed and he jumped up and hit her on the back of the head, a patented dope slap. Now mind you, we are all in our 20’s, adults, not children anymore. Our relationship with our parents had evolved to that of mutual understanding and respect. So to be attacked like this, just for making a joke, unprovoked and by your own out of control father, was too much for any of them to bear.

I asked is this when Papi threw the tree down? To my surprise, Mami had done it. She stood up to him at last. Always the peacemaker and the soother of every potentially volatile situation, Mami finally exploded herself and threw down the tree he so hated. I was shocked. Mami did it? Way to go Mom. My father’s game finally backfired. My anger grew, because I am just like my father. Here we are gathered to celebrate being together and he has to pull his usual crap. This time, regrettably he took it too far and successfully ruined everyone’s Christmas.

I went downstairs and was about to give him… what? My anger, to scold him, to tell him off, to tell him what a bad person he was?

No, that would give him exactly what he expected or perhaps in his own self-destructive way what he wanted. Poor guy, I thought, he’s a little messed up. And really when you think about it, the whole situation was ridiculous. His stubbornness, the passion play, my mom tossing the tree down with a stomp, (wished I had witnessed that myself). finding my family huddled together in despair all to be forgotten tomorrow as “one of those things.” I just had to smile. As I walked down the stairs to confront him, I stifled a laugh. The last few Christmases have been a tad boring.

Instead I said, “You know what Papi? No matter what you do, no matter how hard you try, you can’t make us stop loving you. You can be as stubborn, mean or as hurtful as you want, but it still won’t matter a bit. We will always love you, no matter what you do to us. So you can keep on trying to drive us away, but I’m telling you right now, it isn’t going to work. We will still be here and loving you. So there!” And I left.

Ah those cathartic moments. Christmases were damn good after that one.

She Brought Me the Christmas Spirit

2009-12-22T07:10:00.000-08:00

I've been having either a menopausal moment, lasting for the last seven days, or depression is back like gang busters. It hit me like a snow shovel and I've been down ever since.

It seemed that the fates lined up perfectly to put me in this mood. It started when Middle Sister's father-in-law died and the whole funeral thing, not eating well or drinking much water because we were at services and wakes for two days and I was working my arse off, in heels! My feet, knees, and back will be talking to me for days after that. After the second wake, I drove a four hour round trip to take my nephew back to college, finals week you know.

This culminated with the whole, it's that time of the month thing, with several people asking me to do favors I DON'T want to do, the yelling at my Mom and husband thing, causing the very guilty syndrome thing. Add to that the whole, I'm not ready for Christmas thing but I have a kids party to host, and I have yet to buy Beloved anything thing, and nothing I planned is working out, and time and money is running out thing.

Other than that I'm okay.

As I was sewing Beloved's steam punk vest, (it only needs button holes and buttons, yahoo!) Little Sister and her three children home from college came through the door. This brightened my spirits because my niece and nephews were always considered mine too. Beloved was always with his cousins and our homes were practically interchangeable, acting as one household when it came to the kids. I missed them. I realized that not only was I missing being a mom to Beloved, but here were my other kids. They were so much part of my life and I missed them more than I knew.

They brought me a Christmas tree. The smallest the lot would let them cut down. It was a crooked four foot tall, "a Charlie Brown tree" she called it, exactly what I wanted. After they left, I went back to sewing. When I finished, I opened the door and the sweet smell of pine greeted me. QueenMaker had brought the tree in and had it in its stand.

The nostalgia, the smell, my big smile, the knowledge that I finally got my tree lifted the doldrums from my heart and head. I called my sister immediately to thank her again. I wanted her to know how her loving gesture was just the cure I needed.

I decorated the tree last night, wrapped some gifts. I feel much better now.

If you want to feel better, go over to Keely at UnMom for some blessed RTT.

2009-12-10T22:35:00.000-08:00

This week's Spin Cycle assignment is about our Christmas wish list. Go to Sprite's Keeper to read more spins about All I Want for Christmas...

I could pretend I was a finalist in a beauty contest and say all the right platitudes and cliches that inspires others to nod their heads in agreement and condone my "goodness." Because I do, like so many others, wish for world peace, end world hunger, and so many other worthy causes and endeavors.

But what I want and what I need is moolah, wampum. greenbacks, dough, bread, legal tender baby!

I'm going to admit that my wish is for M.O.N.E.Y.

Maybe it's because I grew up in a household where the lottery was played everyday. My dad always wanted to hit it big. He plays every single day of his life and starts to get jittery if he can't get to the store to play his numbers. He just turned eighty. I figured that if he put away that five bucks everyday, he'd have over a hundred thousand in the bank right now. Yeah Dad, that's right, put away the fiver.

Maybe it's because I watched my mom stretch a dollar better than anyone I have ever met, her sole purpose to keep a roof over our seven heads.

Maybe it's because I thought as the next generation that we had moved up the poverty ladder a couple of rungs. Our kids are going to college for goodness sake! But the last few years has brought everyone in my family back down the ladder and we are no better off than my mom and dad were forty years ago.

I might sound a little whiny, but only because I'm tired. I feel like a toddler that hasn't taken her nap. Don't get me wrong, I do believe that I have a little piece of heaven on earth and I am very grateful for all I do have. When it comes to relationships, family, friends, love and support, its a virtual cornucopia.

I'm not asking to be a billionaire or even a millionaire, yes I am just enough for some real breathing room. That's another thing, I haven't taken a full breath in a long time. Can I say that money will help me in my quest for peace, sleep, and expanded lung capacity? Yes, yes I think I can.

So Santa Baby...

Season's Clock is Ticking Away

2009-12-08T12:26:00.000-08:00

Here is another installment of Random Tuesday Thoughts hosted by the lovely Keely.

Christmas Tree - Grown Up Christmas – just not the same. We didn’t get a tree last year. The thought of stomping around in the cold to cut down our annual tree didn’t seem worth it, plus we just couldn’t find the time. I’ve lost the Christmas spirit. My house is a the size of a shoe box, removal of furniture is required, the hauling of boxes and boxes of ornaments, lights, wreaths, and garlands just seemed like too much work, for what, three weeks of watching needles fall.

The thrill is gone. See already it’s happening again. It’s a mere two and a half weeks out, and I can’t see when we will have the time to put up a tree. What happened to the festive home I used to know? Gone since my kid left? I spend Christmas Eve at my in-laws. I spend Christmas Day at the sister’s. So why do we need a tree anyways?

I need to find a tree soon otherwise it won’t happen. I mean seriously, Queen Maker and I were together for seven years before we even had Beloved. So why am I so down on working this hard for Christmas. I think I'm using Beloved's absence as an excuse. I need an intervention. But please don’t send three ghosts to do it.

I am not being a good Christmas Role-Model.

Baking – Now here is another story. I’m always up for baking. Because economic times have been hard, I’ve baked a lot of gifts last year. Cinnamon Rolls that were to die for, Spinach Pie triangles, cookies upon cookies, to give to friends and clients.

But unfortunately I sample each and every one. Sprite’s Keeper reminded me about the battle of restraint that I am going to embark on soon.

Baking – Fun. Baking – Creative. Baking – Keeps house warm.

Baking – Good. Sampling everything – BAD.

I am not being a good Health and Nutrition Role Model.

Shopping – nearly done. The thought of going out in the next two weeks makes me cringe. I need to get it done soon because I need to do a lot of baking and decorating. I need to have time to enjoy these things, not feel like I’m adding to the burden pile. I scour the store circulars and comparison shop like no other. I am a champion of finding a great gift at a ridiculously low price. I buy quality at bargain basement prices.

I am not a good Stimulate Our Economy Role-Model.

Sewing – Make a steam punk vest for Beloved for Christmas. Need to start that project, soooon. Also bought brocade material in an Asian motif to make a jacket for Queen Maker. Like that’s ever going to happen before Christmas. If I ever get them done, I will post pictures.

Wrapping Gifts – Thank God for gift bags.

Christmas Projects with my niece, Amber, 11 years old, and my friend, Hailey, 5 years old. Hailey, this Friday. Amber, next week. I’m looking forward to creating and crafting with the girls. It can be so relaxing and it’s a great way to keep the bonds of friendship strong.

Christmas Get-Togethers – How many invitations will we turn down this year? It means I need to bring something, preferable food. My hair will never, ever cooperate and will never look fabulous no matter how much time I spend on it. I hate the whole dressing up thing and that is bad. It means that looking sweet in a new dress and heels doesn’t get seen often. What, Queen Maker? I’m sorry, the sweatshirts and ponytail not getting it for you anymore? Call What Not to Wear! Use it or lose it. And I’ve lost it.

I am not a Good Friend or a Social Role Model.

I feel time ticking away. The flight or fight mechanism is kicking in people. I chose to run away from Christmas last year, but I’m planning to stick it out and stay and fight. Wish me luck.

First Step:

Put some Bailey’s in my coffee and play “A Charlie Brown Christmas” by Vince Guaraldi over and over. If that doesn’t put me in the mood, I don’t know what will.

Beautiful Goodfellows Firemen

2009-11-29T17:19:00.000-08:00

Being one of the poorest families in our neighborhood, a fact totally lost on us because we didn't know any better, several boxes were dropped off at our home during the Christmas season with some great stuff in it. I assume a teacher or the school had given our name to the local chapter of the Goodfellows.

I was six years old. The door bell rang and Three. Tall. Muscular. Beautiful. Blond. Men walked into our home carrying several boxes. They were all over six feet tall and they were wearing their firemen gear.

One of them made a big impression on me. Maybe it was the uniform or how high I had to look up to see his face, or how blond he was or that deep voice when he offered the boxes to my Mom, but I was instantly smitten. Up to that point, all the men I knew were friends of my parents. They were short, flabby, and all brunettes. This was a new revelation of manhood never before experienced! It was as though Superman had walked in the door.

To have strangers in our home was exhilarating for the five of us. My Mom was incredulous. all this for us! In the boxes were foodstuffs, white t-shirts, toys for my brother, and dolls. We were touched. My mother cried when they left. The Goodfellows came several years after that always wearing their uniforms. They were sometimes police officers or firemen and it was thrill to have them in our home.

My family think of the Goodfellows with great affection. I saw them today selling their newspapers and it always transports me to that day when I discovered tall gorgeous blond men that others actually cared about our family. They made sure we had a good Christmas and we will always be grateful.

Acting Squirrely

2009-11-24T09:02:00.000-08:00

Squirrel. Big fat brown squirrel chewing on my back porch. Begone you stupid squirrel!

Holes, someone is digging holes into my newly seeded lawn area out front. Everyday find a new spot. They're more like shallow cups not exactly holes. Wonder what's doing that and why?

Oh, squirrel. Big fat brown squirrel is messing with me. He's eating my back porch and digging up my lawn. Where's the pellet gun? Lucky squirrel. I don't have a pellet gun.

Gigantic seed pods. How did these seed pods get here half eaten and strewn across all four steps? Who leaves gigantic seed pods as a booby trap to kill innocent women carrying their groceries in the house? I know it's on purpose because who ever it was spread them across the full length of the steps so I had to step on them. Is that you squirrel?

Urban tumble weeds. They blow between the houses, swirl a bit, then down the street. Why can't my neighbors put lids on their trash cans? Hey! don't you know you can recycle those bags?

Door window. Big brown squirrel looking through my door window. WTH? What's up squirrel?

Getting creepy. Squirrel antics making me uncomfortable. Going on for weeks. Is this really an ordinary squirrel or a zombie squirrel?

Barking. A supposedly sane woman barking like a ferocious chihuahua at big bad brown squirrel.

No more squirrel. Yeah! But I think he still had the last laugh.

Go over to Keely at UnMom. Check out how random folks can be.

The Daughter I Used to Be

2009-11-15T19:30:00.000-08:00

I don't like to be touched. My personal space is hallow ground. Step too close and I might bark or give you a swift kick to the knee.

My mom's a hugger and a kisser - to EVERYONE. Be careful because you might meet my mom on the street one day. And if you look down or disheartened, don't be surprised if a four foot nine, redheaded, 78 year old, looks you empathetically in the eye and with an impish smile, rushes up to give you a big hug and a kiss. You think I'm kidding?

One thing that annoys my mother is when some of her friends during a conversation keep touching her on the knee or arm every few seconds to get her attention or to emphasize a point. She tells me this all the while she is touching my arm every few seconds to keep my attention and to emphasize a point.

After about the ninth tip touch, I can't take it anymore, "Mami, stop doing that, okay?" "What?"

Living with all that love, empathy, and need for human connection, finally got to me. I can't help myself. At our martial art school, students are regularly greeted with big hugs and a few kisses. Children and adults stay with us for five years or more so they become closer to family than clients. My mother taught me that people all need to feel wanted, welcomed, and understood. Instead of being the growling grouch of my youth, I have become a loving, hugging fool.

Vodkamom posted some posts about her mother that got me thinking again about my dear Mami. I realized that as you get older, real intimacy is sometimes lost between a parent and child. There are a lot of grandchildren and my brother and sisters, and there is plenty of love, but intimate moments are few yet cherished by her. My dad is not a demonstrative man, very closed, never was. My mom is a complete opposite. She needs lots of love, but she is not too selfish. Because what she gives will tenfold exceed what she needs.

So at church today, watching the multitude of children in our congregation, and I mean multitude, I witnessed the little one's need to hold a parents' hand or to be picked up in those loving, safe arms. The complete bond, that oneness between mother and child was something my mom hasn't experienced for a long, long time. So I decided to be her little girl again.

I slipped my hand into hers as a five year old would, and we held hands the whole service, as daughter and mother, reliving the oneness we used to feel.

Potatoes are Free Balling

2009-11-11T19:17:00.000-08:00

This week's Spin Cycle is anything goes. We can choose our own topic. My Spin is my challenge with language.

I have always had a problem expressing myself verbally. You will find a rather lengthy post describing my problem. An example I used in that post was when I wanted Queenmaker to get the milk out of the fridge for me.

"Honey, could you, um, um get, ah, ah grass! COW! um, um, you know, liquid-y WHITE! Cold! in big box?"

Poor guy, he didn't have a clue. He even looked around the room trying to find what I'm talking about. Bless him.

The other day I said,

"I'm going downstairs to stitch, jeans, um, um, Water! Soap! Switch-y machine! ah, ah Clean. Basket. Stuff." Translation: I'm going downstairs to start some laundry.

But my latest, Potatoes are Free Balling. Whew. Wow. I don't even know what to say.

QueenMaker and I decided that in the future we would bake potatoes without wrapping them in foil - Aluminum - Alzheimer connection scare. We now bake potatoes in a casserole dish. They taste better. Or maybe I think they taste better than being foiled because its supposedly a healthier way to go, so of course they taste better.

Anyways, I was trying to express to QueenMaker that the potatoes had a drier texture than those wrapped up in foil, which produced more steam. I said,

"They're drier but still tender. These potatoes were not harnessed, um, they were free from, um, um, they weren't wrapped up, um, um (hitting my head hoping for clarity). The potatoes are free balling it!"

QueenMaker, "WHAT!"

Go visit Sprite's Keeper for more individual Spins on any and all topics.

Random Germ-y Family Affairs

2009-11-10T06:48:00.000-08:00

Yes, we gathered together for yet another family event. This time it was my beloved niece's birthday. Whenever the clan gathers, and we gather a lot, there is at least 22 or more people in the house ages four months to eighty years old. These events despite their joyful, fun filled, somewhat harmonious family state of affairs have a more ominous side to them. I'm beginning to dread them just a little.

They have become a germ convention. All the kissing and hugging, the clasping of hands, the carrying of sick babies and snotty children. Carriers of disease coming from all quarters, college students whose campuses are under siege, old folks just out of the hospital THAT day, parents who left a child behind at home because "he threw up just before we left," children that stayed home all week because of fever, not to mention the overtaxed bathroom that over twenty people have use. Aaaugh!

Checking vitals everyday now. Was that a little soreness in my throat just now? Was that a regular sneeze (my, is this place dusty) or was that a sickness sneeze? Are my glands *engorged?

My Beloved is a tea connoisseur, working at the Crazy Wisdom Book Store in Ann Arbor, for the last two years. He brought home a tea called Beloved's Don't Get Sick Tea, one he blended himself. Sweet kid, always thinking about his mommy. (Oh yea, and his daddy too.)

What? Fever for the last two days? Aaaugh! He's got the sickness too!

This past Sunday my mother and I got an unexpected treat at church when we found her goddaughter there. Maria is a nurse. There is a point in the mass when we offer each other a sign of peace, which means shaking hands with everyone around you. It's the only time that people will actually look you in the eye and smile, otherwise its stone face. Well as soon as it was over, Maria grabbed her purse in a fury and took out hand sanitizer. She grabbed her sister's hand and put a dollop, then she grabbed my mother's then mine. It was so overt that everyone we shook hands with turned to look giving us the ole fish eye. Usually I try to do things like that on the sly.

Well at first I thought she was overreacting until I look to my right and saw a man helping his eldest daughter. Her head was in her lap and he was stroking her hair. I wondered if she was sick. No. He was removing the lice from the back of her head. Aaaaaaauuuuuugggghhhh!

Now go visit Keely at UnMom for more Random posts. At least they won't be a sick as mine although I could be wrong about that.
* that's for jim styro

No Room to Think

2009-11-05T06:40:00.000-08:00

The Spin Cycle this week is parental confessions. Check out more Spins on Jen's Sprite's Keeper.

Confessions of a mom when her child was three years old.

Aaargh. I'm going mad. There were times when the only voice I could hear in my head was that of an adorable somewhat high pitched voice belonging to an equally adorable little boy. He learned not only to ask questions and form sentences, he's learned he could ask them non-stop. Question after question would fly my way, which I dutifully answered as best I could and I have to admit, I was pretty good at it.

Then he would check my answers by repeating what I had said over and over. We moved from two word phrases like "Look mommy." or "What's that?" to requests for full explanations about the world around him and then ask why, until each explanation needed another until he was fully satisfied. Then he would take the information and talk and talk about what he had just heard, peppering me with, "Isn't that right mommy?"

After a while I realized that my willingness to answer all his questions was a way for him to keep me near him, which was really sweet of him. It was a way to get my full attention, every second of the day, the unconsciously sweet little manipulator. If I started to move from the room or look in another direction, he would recognize the body language to flee and ask another question. He sometimes grabbed my chin to make me look at him.

At one point I told him, that he needed to give mommy a break because the only voice I heard in my head was his, that I couldn't hear my own thinking voice anymore, that my head was full of his questions and that there was hardly any room for my own questions.

After a while, he looked at me with concern and asked, "Is there room up there now mommy?" Yes baby, there's room.

Random Errands

2009-11-03T18:58:00.000-08:00

My mom has been lonely lately. She sees all five of her children at least once a week, some of them more, but she still gets lonely. Trapped inside that 78 year old body is a 22 year old girl trying to get out. She loves life. She loves people. She loves adventure. One day trapped in her house without something to do and no visitors means a day of gardening, or cleaning, or sorting. She loves to sort her stuff. Two days and she gets anxious with no contact. Papi's sitting in his chair putting together a puzzle. The dresser in his room is piled high with jigsaw puzzle boxes. But he doesn't count. He hasn't counted in ages. He's home and stays alone, maybe a little lonely, but she definitely gets lonely and needs to get away.

So I called her and asked if she wanted to keep me company while I ran errands the next day. When I awoke and the sun was shining. becoming a beautiful crisp November morning, I knew she would be pleased. I know I was.

I always drive a circuit. I plan my drive for minimum miles per gallon. I also pile my errands together to make sure the trip to one place will yield another place to stop. So if I go east, I visit every store that I usually frequent in that area.

First I take her to the a polish meat market, the only one left in the area. Been there forever. Yea, no line. We munch on samples of bratwurst, kielbasa and jerky. Meat is king! She wonders from one end of the store to the other munching on cajun and garlic roasted peanuts.

Then off to the italian meat market, the only one left in our area. She's amazed that so much can be packed into a small store. I buy fresh ricotta, freshly shredded mozzarella, and freshly ground parmesan. Cheese is king! I get a pepperoni and grab a dough out of the freezer. Guess what we are having tonight.

Oh, don't look at the cannoli. Back away, pretend it's not there. Don't buy a cannoli! Hey mom do you like cannoli? No sweetie, I don't. Thanks Ma.

Then off to the fabric store. I need some black satin to make black sashes for the upcoming black belt test. I love this store or any fabric store. Unfortunately they are going the way of the dinosaur. Even this store is a fabric slash craft store, but I'm grateful for any space in a store for fabrics. It will be a sorrowful day when I won't be able to see and feel all these lovely textiles.

The little woman is meandering around. I see her up an isle and I hurry to catch up to her. What the hey! She turned the corner and she was gone. I call her, Ma! She's two isles down and cruising in the direction of the call. But I've moved too, moving fast to head her off, but she'll already turned around and is out of sight. Ma! Now she's confused and heads left and down another isle. I hit the isle and again, What the hey. Where is she? I've got to stop calling out Ma.

I finally corner her and we're off to the bank. Then to the post office. By the way the Christmas stamps are in. Just saying. The post office was the only place where I encountered a line. So off she went to check out what's cool at the post office. She came and found me in line to tell me that a little old lady was coming in the door and that she was going to keep an eye on her. Oookay. I wondered what my 78 year old mother thought an old lady looked like, but I kept that to myself. Besides she moves like she's 60 and acts like she's 22. She helped me place a hundred postcard stamps on a hundred postcards, reminding me that we are so grateful that they are self stick.

Then off to the dentist's office to drop off a payment. She stayed in the car and was delighted that I put on the classical station for her. Throughout my circuit, I went down the less traveled roads or chose the roads where the scenery was pleasant. She always thought she was lost until she realized that the stores were on main roads. She was pleased. We were lucky and were serviced quickly at each location.

QueenMaker just walked in the room and looked at my post. What?! He started with the usual, people write way to much information on the web. You just told the everyone in the world how to track you down. There would be no way you could go into hiding if you wanted to, because you just told everyone you love to hang out in meat markets, that you need and love fabrics. When they come looking for you, they'll just stake out those places. Who knows what other info you've let out on the web... His voice is trailing off as he walks away. He's been reading 1984 lately, so excuse him.
But he is right.

Anyhoo. Mami and I were back by noon. I dropped her off at home and raced home to make dinner. We had a lovely morning. I felt very daughter-y.

Now go visit Keely our hostess for Random Thoughts Tuesday.

Eye Candy and Food Jewelry

2009-10-27T11:40:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I really want the things that I just can't afford. Every time I walk into a specialty shop, I have to admire their gorgeous displays. Each and every time, I allow myself five minutes eyeing each beautiful gem with desire in my heart. I'm always tempted to spend the money, to pick up a little box and secretly enjoy in private my lovely little treasure.

But I sigh and smile at my self control. I've saved QueenMaker so much money, if only he knew. How many goodies could I have bought myself, hundreds and hundreds. But I have learned to walk away, satisfying my eyes and savoring them in my imagination.

I circle and circle the store, fluttering to every display case, eyeing the beautiful rings of gold, the exquisite detail and color on each setting, the way the light hits each glistening surface...

QueenMaker, "Why are you circling those pastries like that?"

"I'm admiring them. I admire the donuts, the cakes, the pies. They are like little gems in a jewelry box. Aren't they beautiful?"

"Yes, yes they are."

Sweet Little Brew

2009-10-22T22:50:00.000-07:00

Oh you sweet little brew, my love for you grew and grew.

You kept my hands warm all winter long.

But seven cups a day to keep warm is just wrong.

Each morning I wake to the whirling sound of the bean grinder.

And when the aroma fills the air, instead of grumpy, I feel kinder.

When the coffee pots makes it’s last gaaawfaaaw, expelling its last drop

My man grabs the milk and splashes just a bit of it into my cup.

But alas our coffee clutches are now just a one-time morning affair.

Too many cups a day and you’ll find me doubled over in a chair.

No matter how many times a day I must run and find a place to pee

You will always be in my life. I need you. I love you, my dearest sweet coffee.

Got this tidbit of information from coffee bump blog.

Studies have show that drinking coffee actually offers antioxidant benefits that can protect you from premature age and disease. What's more astounding is by sniffing your favorite Java, it can still offer those same antioxidant properties to combat the damaging effects of stress in your body's cells. That's right, smelling coffee brings down your stress levels.

So smelling coffee is just as good as drinking it. Ah, No.

Anyways in support of all coffee lovers and Jen from Blissfully Caffeinated, (hope you're feeling much better), go over to Jenni's blog Oscarelli to read more about this delicious brew.

Grown Up Talk

2009-10-17T19:06:00.000-07:00

After watching a program on Michigan Television called Pain of Depression: A Journey Through the Darkness, I commented to QueenMaker how nice it was that I was witnessing a grown-up conversation, full of insights, examples and scenarios that help me learn and understand the comprehensive subject at hand. This is something that I was not accustomed to, but wholeheartedly welcomed and enjoyed. No yelling, no animosity, just a panel of experts from a court justice, mental health professionals, journalists, advocates, lawyers, judges, and scholars listening to the various scenarios and rendering their expert opinion on the facts, the known and realistic actions that will take place in each query posed to them. Don't worry there was always someone playing devil's advocate to offer an opposing position. I have watched these discussions on other subjects as well, always fascinating.

Queenmaker told me it was because they were talking philosophy. "Philosophy doesn't yell. Politics does. Philosophy seeks to understand. Politics seek to dominate. Believe, me, philosophy disengaged with politics years ago."

Where did all the grown-ups dissolve to?

I think we need to find a philosophy...or something.

A Wistful Dear So-and-So

2009-10-11T19:46:00.000-07:00

Dear Father-in-Law,

Could you please not get the Alzheimer disease yet? I’m not prepared. I didn’t know how quickly it would or could take hold. You and Mom (an invalid) live an hour away. Your job of taking care of your wife will become mine. I am realizing that my life is going to be overtaken by your lives. Can I have a month or two to get used to the idea? No. Okay, I understand.

Love,

Your wistful daughter.

Dear Mother-in-law,

You’ve called in a panicked state the last two days since your husband has been in the hospital. Because of your illness, emphysema and COPD, you have abrogated all thought processes to your husband for the last decade. So when you called me I said, “Step up to the plate. What happened to that woman that was a single mom, taking care of her kid, and working two jobs? The woman who used to take care of business, the accountant, the avid reader, the capable woman I used to know? Don’t worry I will be there to do for you, but I won’t take over ALL of your responsibilities as you have given to your husband. You need to help me as much as you need me to help you. Make some phone calls woman, ask questions, be a proactive advocate. You are not helpless.

Love,

Your Partner in Illness

Dear Life,

Why do you insist on changing on a dime? What, did you see a dime on the ground? Did I step on it by accident? Maybe it was someone else’s dime. I know, I know. I stepped on it anyways. I won't fight it.

Regards,

Learning to Balance Life as It Comes

Visit

President Obama and the Nobel Peace Prize

2009-10-09T22:16:00.000-07:00

In my opinion, there is a strong reason why President Obama won the Nobel Peace Prize. It was something almost imperceptible, but I'm sure I heard it, and even felt it myself.

It was the almost audible collective sigh that every nation gave when they heard he won the U.S. Presidential election.

You know how satisfying a sigh can be, especially one of that magnitude. A sigh of relief is one of the best feelings a world can experience. So if one man can do that for the entirety of the world, if he can make it sigh, then by golly give him the prize!

Aunt Ellie Holds A Baby

2009-10-01T11:23:00.000-07:00

Baby Holding - Awesome!

At a mere five pounds, he fits so perfectly in the crook of my arm. It's been a while since I held a baby but it always feels so right. The maternal gene kicks into high gear, a smile spreads across my face, a feeling of complete contentment comes over me, and it seems like I have found my calling. I was born to hold babies.

Not necessarily have them. Just hold them.

Missing Oneness

2009-09-29T22:25:00.000-07:00

My guys are coming home. QueenMaker and Beloved have been gone a week now. They boarded a plane westward on a business trip. They also took a few days to see Redwood trees and visited Crater Lake. They were looking forward to their trip as father and son. They haven't spent much time alone before and as Beloved said, "This will be the first time we are going together as grown men. I think I can be considered a grown man, don't you think Mom?" "Yes, baby. You're a grown man."

I get to experience the day on a totally different timetable. I still take care of our business, but my days are less structured. When there is no one waiting at home I'll wander. I'll hang around. I'll stay put longer. I'll stop at a bookstore. My day is mine to do what I wish. I eat when I want and visit family and friends without looking to see if it's time to go home.

Of course, knowing this, my family has made all kinds of plans for me. I don't mind. It's always a good time to refresh family bonds. But I allow myself to selfishly decline if I want. I never feel guilty when I say no because I need my alone time.

It's been a while since I have been completely alone. I'm not a person that gets lonely. I like solitude and seldom need the companionship of other humans. But the feeling this week can only be described as empty. My bed seems particularly cold this past week. It's hard to sleep when the furnace of your life is away.

I'm ready to leave aloneness. I'm glad I can set aside this state of being until another time. It's an option that some people just don't have. I miss my companions and the togetherness of our little trio.

Please bring them back safe to me.

Crater Lake

Mini Heroes that Change Your Life

2009-09-26T01:50:00.000-07:00

It's after midnight here and technically it's no longer Friday, but after a long day of distracting minutia, I finally got to the meme topic for Sprite's Keeper Spin Cycle. I have avoided memes in the past because truthfully, I didn't know what the word meant. But thanks to Jen, I think I understand.

Beloved has taken to drawing famous characters or persons on backpacks, mailbags, and clothing. He asked me to name a few characters in pop culture or history that I would want on a mailbag, people I admired or are my mini heroes. And without hesitation, three names came to mind. Bugs Bunny, Walter Cronkite, and Sgt. Hans Schultz. Yes, yes, I know. His left eyebrow went up too.

Anyways, here is my spin.

Name the people or characters that you grew up on that have changed your perspective on life. They can't be anyone you have met before because that would be too easy. As a kid growing up what had an influence on the way you look at the world today. Who made you sit up and take notice? Who became mini heros in your mind.

1. Bugs Bunny. - I learned a lot from Bugs Bunny. He taught me the nuances of language. He was inquisitive, charming, honest and always in control of every situation. I learned that you don't always have to be nice, that it was okay to be a "stinker." He used cunning and wit to outsmart his opponents. It was okay to be sarcastic, irreverent, and even nasty at times. When he looked at his audience and said, "Of course, you know (realize), this means war!" It meant I could stand up for myself. I loved it when he said, "Whatta maroon! Whatta a ignoranious!" or "What a gulli-bull! What a nin-cow-poop."

2. Walter Cronkite - I sigh just saying his name. I watched this man every night with my parents and fell in love with him. I remember wishing he was my uncle. That voice was so soothing, his manner so forthright. When he talked I listened. I believed. I knew I was getting it straight. He exuded honesty, fairness, and integrity. He was a role-model of what I thought a mature adult should aspire to be. Years later I heard him described as the "most trusted man in America." Too bad those days are long gone.

3. Sergeant Hans Schultz - As a kid, I loved this character on Hogan's Heros. He was so cuddly and cute. Schultz was definitely a lover not a fighter. In one episode it's learned that he is really a pacifist and owned a toy factory before the war. I loved him even more. What did I learn from Schultz? That calling a person your enemy is not as cut and dry as one might think. That both sides in a conflict has its share of unwilling participants. It was hard to think of him as an enemy soldier or even a traitor to his own country. It was more that he wasn't a traitor to himself.

4. Carl Sagan - He taught me about the Cosmos. I can still hear his voice and his unique way of phrasing a sentence. He gave me an appreciation for everything stellar. He gave me a new way to think, beyond myself and my own little world. One of his quotes stays with me today, "Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known."

5. Mother Teresa - I watched a documentary following Mother Teresa in Calcutta. It was very hard to watch and I cried and cried from beginning to end. The depth of her compassion defined for me what it is to have real strength, super human strength. The depth of the poverty and suffering I witnessed in this film showed me a level of pain and suffering far beyond my imagination. The depth of their need to be held and loved and to watch Mother Teresa compassionately cradling, stroking and loving the ill and the dying was too much for my soul to take.

I learned that I can never again complain about my life or my hardships again. They are infinitesimal, an affront to those that are truly suffering. I learned that I truly lack nothing in this world. We in America are truly rich, even when we are poor. I understand that nothing I can experience can compare to what others around the world must endure. Kiss the ground you walk on people!

6. Our Town - When I was a young girl, I watched a production of the play, Our Town, written by Thornton Wilder. One particular scene had a profound effect on me. The character Emily Webb, after dying in childbirth joins a group of dead souls in the local cemetery. She discovers that she can revisit and witness any time in her past life. She chooses to go back to visit her family. She's back in her mother's kitchen, watching her mother cook breakfast, her father at the table. She realizes that everything is so beautiful and she revels in every detail down to the wallpaper. She tries to get her family to realize that every moment is precious, to realize and experience the joy of being together. But they cannot hear her. For them it is just a routine morning and they are blind to the beauty of the moment. Emily's lesson is that human life is precious because it is fleeting. It becomes too painful for her to remain among the living and she returns to the cemetery.

So I have learned to be in the moment as often as I can, especially when I am with the people I love. When I visit my parents and sit in their kitchen having coffee, I look around. I experience the moment. I absorb every detail. I listen to the timber and vibration of their voices. I smell the coffee in the air. I feel the breeze from the window on my face. I look at my dad as he does his crossword puzzle, and how my mom's hair frames her face. The beauty of the moment fills my soul.

7. Benjamin Franklin - How about this guy! What do I admire about this great historical figure? Let me count the ways. Well I guess I won't because the roll call of his accomplishments already fills volumes and volumes. A scientist, inventor, printer, philosopher, economist, musician, statesman, and don't forget a Founding Father. Huzzah! Founding Father in the house. But under each of those categories or careers listed above you will find a list of accomplishments that boggles the mind. When did he find the time to do so much? What energy! What stamina! Oh yes, let's add to the list, Lady's Man. If he were around today, I would be a groupie.

What did I learn from Benjamin Franklin? I learned to never be fearful of changing your career. Your job does not dictate who you are. If you are not happy with your career, change it. Never feel stuck. Change it a dozen times or be like Ben and do them all simultaneously.

"If you would not be forgotten, as soon as you are dead and rotten, either write things worth reading, or do things worth the writing." ~ B. Franklin

Introducing Great Aunt Ellie

2009-09-18T15:08:00.000-07:00

Oh yes little ones, you are going to know me well. I have the time and dare I say it the inclination to visit you every Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday. Your mommy just had a new baby, your new brother and brought him home this week. She has joined the ranks of women who have three children under the age of four.

When I came to visit, you were both screaming at the top of your lungs and running around like whirling tops. As soon as I walked in you both decided it would be wildly funny to come over and start smacking me. Little girl started screaming at me to get out and generally maligning my character. Kid, you barely know me.

I looked over at your Mom exhausted and staring out into space. I heard that when her hubby came home the other day, she grabbed the keys and got in the car and had a good cry.

Now I know for sure that I was right to offer my services to her when she was in the hospital. Don’t worry; you will have the times of your lives when I am there. So you will be more than happy to bend to my will. So kiddies, get ready, here comes Great Aunt Ellie.

Spin Cycle - So Much to Hate, So Little Time

2009-09-17T08:17:00.000-07:00

What do I hate? Sprite’s Keeper’s Spin Cycle is on the topic of hate. After reading some of the other posts regarding this topic, it got me thinking about true hate. Do I know hate? Have I felt real hate?

As the oldest of five children, all one year apart, I can honestly say that we all experienced hate. Put five rambunctious children; keep them closed up in a tiny house, always hungry, playing and arguing constantly with each other. Add to the mix a dog, a cat, and a bird flying around and you have chaos. The four girls had to share everything, clothes, shoes, socks and coats. Four girls eyeing the same outfits or stealing clothes from each other and it’s a recipe for knock down, drag out fights, with lots of hair pulling, name calling, clothes tearing and lots of tears. (Go ahead pull my hair. My scalp doesn’t feel a thing. Mega Scalp.) By the time I was eight years old, I knew my sisters hated me. They kept telling me so.

Now don’t let this Lord of the Flies situation get you down. It is so true that there is a fine line between love and hate. But I have to admit, that as a child, I experienced great love and great hate when it came to my siblings. I wailed at my mom many times, “Why didn’t you stop having babies after me?!”

But do I hate as an adult? Like many of you, I do not hate individuals. People can be misguided, sick, ignorant, ridiculous, blinded, dramatic or unthinking. People can also be con artists, greedy, unfeeling and prey on their fellow human beings. I do not hate individuals. It’s what they may do as a group that scares me.

Here are a few things I do hate.

Hypocrisy – I can avoid hypocritical individuals. When they come into my life, I run the other way, closing the doors and windows behind me. But massive hypocrisy as I witness in our political system and parties, I truly hate. They all move like schools of fish, first one way then the other, swishing around, changing direction in ethics, speech, and mores. It hurts me to listen to the parroting rhetoric, the propaganda, and the hypocrisy. Have our attention spans become so small that we can’t remember?

Dramatics – I can avoid dramatic individuals. I can avoid the “chicken little” people or the “poor little me” people that dot the landscape with a quick side step or by using the phrase, “You and a thousand other people in your situation.” But mass dramatics as I witness in everyday television is frightening. It’s like a primer for our nation on how to act.

Here you go folks, a little problem, and no big deal, really. Let’s see how to handle it. Oh yes. Blow it out of proportion. Right, have a tantrum. Finger pointing, Excellent. Oh good, make a scene. Let’s make it much bigger than it really is. Did you just call him a bleep? Fantastic. We’ll put you on television. You will be our new national hero!

Oh yea, what was the problem in the first place, inconsequential. No need to correct it. It was just a means to an end, dramatic anarchy and incivility. Don't worry your little pretty heads about it.

When did we become satisfied with the lowest common denominator?

But what I hate is that it has leaked onto our political scene. Why has the high school mentality taken over our politicians? I hate it that the struggle between them is not for our benefit (American people), hasn’t been in many, many years. It’s more like the jocks against the greasers, the Jets against the Sharks, the nerds against the pops, just a struggle for power. They would rather bring each other down instead, taking us down with them.

My, this has truly turned into my own dramatic tirade. I’m going to stop now. Oh believe me there’s more. But the post would probably be way too long. But in my defense if you asked me what I loved, it would take up volumes and volumes.

Gee, reading over my post above, it seems I hate politics. And my friend, you would be right.

RTT: Purge or Become a Collyer Situation*

2009-09-15T13:09:00.000-07:00

My house is getting smaller and smaller. Storage has become a big issue. Beloved informed me yesterday that he decided he had to move back home as a base of operation. He was hoping to be in a new apartment by this time but needs a second job to accomplish this goal. For the last month he has been staying with friends while he searches. Finally, the truth of what needs to be done has hit him. No more living in limbo.

Since he graduated, I have been purging, reorganizing, and making room for his belongings. How do I fit an apartment’s worth of stuff in our little bungalow? I put up three shelving units in the attic. Wow, look at all that floor space. Yessssss! I bought eight 18-gallon bins, all still sitting in my living and dining rooms, ready to head up to the attic. So if the floor or ceiling depending on the way you look at it holds up, we might make it.

I need one of those $19.95 television products, the one that sucks all the air out of a bag filled with comforters and throws making it a mere four inches thick. I imagine a whole linen closet full of those bags. The only thing I’m worried about is if they get pierced or fail, will the resulting explosion destroy the closet?

Speaking of purging, why is it so hard? Well I guess the word itself may hold a clue. Throwing up one’s stuff, not pleasant. My house was supposed to be a starter home. I was looking forward to my dream home, with a fantastic kitchen, immense closets, and a family room that could accommodate big family gatherings. Well, that’s been way out of reach for decades.

The lovely gifts I’ve received over the years are wasting away in the attic. Would I like to display the Peanuts’ Schroeder playing a Grand Piano with skating Snoopy on top? Damn straight. Would I like to display my Christmas village with operating railroad? You know it. Would I like to show off my Guy Noir bobble head? Yes, indeed-y. Would I like to display the exquisite Asian tea set that Queen Maker’s dad got in Okinawa? You betcha. These are possessions that I will never get rid of, yet will never see the light of day. Sigh.

How about the one room I never, ever use. I could make it into an office or my artist’s sanctuary. I could get rid of the couch. No one sits on it. I could get rid of the electronics. No one listens in there. I could get rid of the coffee table. No one takes coffee in there. Would it be wrong for a home to be without a living room, especially when no one lives in it? Or is that taking purging a little too far?

RRT is getting huge. Check UnMom for more Random Thought Tuesdays.

*Collyer Situation

Dear Four and Five Year Olds

2009-09-11T23:10:00.000-07:00

Visit 3 Bedroom Bungalow for more Dear So and So's. This is my first one.

Dear four and five year olds,

Please refrain from calling my name 17 times in one minute. Although my ability to hear three conversations at once is amazing, I can’t possible do five, six, or seven. The cacophony of noise actually made my brain freeze.

Yours in hiding, Teach

Dear four and five year olds,

My bad. After my brain unfroze, I realized my mistake. Please raise your hands if you want to talk to me. Thanks.

Hopeful, Teach.

Dear four and five year olds,

I meant raise your hands and wait until I look at you before talking. Thanks a heap.

Got it Now, Teach.

(With a deep breath and thinking, "How do real teachers do this?)

Dearest four and five year-olds,

Again my apologies. Raise your hand and wait until I call your name before you start talking.

Learning lessons, Teach

Dear four and five year olds,

Please don’t get angry because I call someone else’s name first. I’m sorry I didn’t get to you fast enough, no offense meant. That furrowed brow of yours is so deep I’m tempted to sow some seed.

Tired, Teach

Dear four and five year olds,

Mom and Dad are here to pick you up. I will see you tomorrow. It will be a different day I’m sure. I will be better prepared, I promise. I’ll figure it out. I’ll be going to bed early tonight, and for my sake, please do the same.

Lessons learned, Teach

Exciting News for Crazy People

2009-09-08T08:34:00.000-07:00

While visiting some of my favorite blogs, Sprite’s Keeper and historymike I found the word neuroses on both of their blogs. When I visited Keely's blog UnMom, she had a link to something called, Emails from Crazy People. How timely. My very next entry was about one of my many little ~~crazy~~ eccentricities - talking out loud to myself. I often say things to myself like, “Well, that’s what you get for being so…” or “You’re such an idiot!” Now many folks might do this too, but I actually will answer myself.

“Well, that’s what you get for being so…” “What, What, being so what? You don’t know what you are talking about!” Or “You’re such an idiot!” “No, I’m not. You are!”

I will attribute this to the many years of conditioning, yelling, arguing, or telling secrets with my siblings and old friends. Maybe I miss the tete-a-tete, or maybe I am just crazy.

How exciting for crazy people. At first I thought more and more of us were all coming out of the closet. Based on anecdotal evidence the percentage of people talking to themselves in public seems to have risen significantly. Now of course, I realize that it isn’t the crazies that are talking out loud, it’s the normals.

A new technology has been introduced to the world that allows us to walk among the normals. We no longer have to hide the fact that we talk to ourselves. Now I can go out in public and talk away to the many people residing in me. I can have whole conversations or let my inner child playact, rehearsing imaginary dialogue out loud. I can gesticulate all I want, flailing my hands, pointing my finger to the sky to make a point. In the ancient times, in the twentieth century, people usually crossed the street.

But now it a new millennium, it’s the twenty-first century and I’m giving a shout out to the inventor of the Bluetooth earpiece. Now everyone sounds and acts crazy. While waiting in a line, for a split second I wonder if the person behind me is speaking to me. With a sideways glance I realize, “Ooooh, the person is on the phone,” which seems sane enough for some reason, even though they are staring out into space having what seems an imaginary argument with someone. My fears of standing next to a weirdo subside and the person will segue from the “possibly insane category” into “just really annoying category.” Yes, even crazy people are scared of other crazy people.

My route to work goes through the middle of a park. I’m used to seeing dozens of people walking or running on the walkway along the rode every day. But yesterday I noticed that some of the walkers are doing something bizarre. They are waving their hands and talking loudly to someone. What used to be a contemplative time has become “crazy person walking!” Honey, look at that woman. What is she doing? Poor thing. Why isn’t anyone with her? Ooooh, she’s on the phone. She seemed crazy a second ago. And that’s when the light in my head went off.

Now it is relatively easy to talk out loud whenever I want. So whenever someone looks up with a queer look on his or her face or when a whole room becomes silent because I made the mistake of saying something out loud, I can point to the cell phone and say, “Oh sorry, I’m on the phone.” (I really don’t have a cell phone. I just pretend I’m holding one. With my long wavy hair, no one can tell the difference.) They look so relieved, give me a little smile and nod their heads knowingly. Their world is right again.

So crazy people go right out and buy an earpiece for your phone. Wear it all the time. Or get the earpiece and don’t bother getting the phone. Go take a walk in the park, to the store, or even up and down your street. Talk loud, wave your hands about, and tell yourself some stories. If someone spots you, point to your earpiece and smile. You will fit right in because you can now hide among like things. Crazy no more. Priceless.

“That was a dumb post.” “So what, you didn’t even try to come up with anything better.”

Silly Me. What Middle Aged Tween Years?

2009-08-31T12:20:00.000-07:00

For the last two years, I have been grappling with the Mom Missing It stage and finally started embracing my Middle Age Tweeness, you know, between mom and grandma. I am only fifty years old after all and still young enough to enjoy many new things. I was looking forward to a carefree, rediscovery of myself. I thought I had all the time to pamper myself, renew old hobbies, rejuvenate connections with friends and sisters, and throw in a little travel. How naïve am I?

Little red warning signs started popping up. The first flag appeared about six months ago, nothing to really get worried about, just a sign of things to come years in the future. Or so I thought. But now they appear monthly. Although my role of Mom is on hold or on permanent hiatus, and my role of grandmother doesn’t seem to be coming around anytime soon, I still have one role that I had been taking for granted lately, a role that seemed fairly carefree and easy thus far, the role of daughter.

I’m finding out that the Tween years also means between children and parents. My parents are 78 and 80 years old and are still independent. They were always highly active people and are just now slowing down. They try to avoid driving at night and mom is showing signs of real fatigue because of her asthma. Luckily there are five children in our family, so we share in keeping them occupied and entertained.

Queen Maker’s 75-year-old mom has COPD, and her husband is 71 years of age. Both have been inactive for years becoming feeble fast and increasingly need of help in running a household. Last week, my mother-in-law ran into the lid of the dishwasher when she was loading it. It tore a huge gash in her leg. Because of the steroids and medications she takes for her condition, her skin has become very thin. It doesn’t take much for her to sustain a wound and unfortunately her wounds are always major ones now.

Her husband called us in a panic around nine o’clock in the evening. He couldn’t help her to the chair or to the car to take her to the hospital. Queen Maker told him to call 911. But hearing the panic in his voice, we drove the hour to get to them, fretting the whole way. She managed to stop the bleeding, and they were debating and unsure on whether to sit three to four hours in an emergency room and asked us to make the decision for them. I looked closely at her leg and realized I was looking at fat cells and muscle. No question we should go.

Before making the trip to the hospital she needed to refill her portable oxygen tank. It of course decided not to function. Taking her without her oxygen was out of the question. The alternative was to call an ambulance, but then afterwards, how would she get home without her tank. She was adamant that she couldn’t go without her oxygen; that sitting in an emergency room for hours was stupid and besides the bleeding had stopped. Then she realized that she couldn’t sit with a lot of sick people because of her COPD. She was in full panic attack mode.

It is now eleven o’clock and ignoring their protests (they hate to bother anyone), I immediately call the oxygen company. I got a human being. Amazing. She connected me to a tech in the field. Hope. Ignoring their protests, I call her doctor’s office and found out the office was open the next day, Saturday, for emergency care only. Great. So the decision was made. The tech would bring a machine in the morning (or I would hunt him down like a dog) and my in laws would go to her doctor’s office in the morning instead. I bandaged her leg to cover the wound, keeping my worries about infection to myself.

Because I was so worried, I chastised them. First, I told them, they needed to create a larger support group. They may need the immediate help of neighbors, especially if my father in law can’t help his wife off the floor. In a real emergency, swallow your pride and enlist the help of neighbors if need be. Secondly, my father in law’s daughter lives much closer than we do and works at Beaumont Hospital. Although their relationship is not as close, it was no excuse. Make her part of your support team. It would make driving that hour less stressful. Thirdly, I looked at my father in law, who lately is refusing to exercise, or walk, or do anything to keep his vitality, most likely due to depression over the deteriorating health of his wife, and told him, “Exercise.” He should at least maintain his strength to be able to help her the two feet to a chair for goodness sake! He was their first line of defense and he should be ready for it.

This event shook me to the core. My eyes have been opened. I saw what old age was going to be. It could be like my parents or like my husband’s parents and it was only a mere twenty years away. I am guilty of inactivity, of laziness, of constantly saying I was going to do something about maintaining my own strength. This has motivated me to start core strength training now.

I also realized that my time as a Middle Aged Tween was highly limited. I was fantasizing about all the time I had. How silly. Life’s reality has a way of pushing fantasy back to where it belongs. I see it coming. In the near future, I will be devoted in maintaining and caring for our parents’ home and health and eventually taking care of them full time. Actually for some people there are no Tween years, just moving from children that need you to parents that need you.

I got a big reality check, but I will endeavor to enjoy my teeny, weenie, Tween year as long as it lasts.

Spin Cycle - Embracing the Motto

2009-08-26T20:38:00.000-07:00

This too shall pass.

I’m really big in keeping balance in my life these days and this motto alone can keep me centered.

This too shall pass was a phrase that was supposed to help a person through many turbulent times. My mom used to pat me on the head and say, “Don’t worry sweetie, it won’t last forever.”

It’s gotten me through pubescence, gym class, arguments, the depressions, the job I hated, the terrible twos, the vomit in my hair, the sleepless nights, the sickly parents, the funerals, the hospital visits, the tumultuous teen years, Beloved’s girlfriends, the lost jobs, my broken toes, and the downward spiral of my 401K.

This too shall pass allows me to look to the future with hope and understanding, mostly hope.

This motto rings true for both misery and happiness. When you realize that all that you know to be beautiful, the things that bring you happiness and joy may also pass away, you begin to live in the moment. I look at things with new eyes. Clarity of what is important in life finally permeates the thorny thicket in my head. I understand that knowing that “This too shall pass,” is a means to cherish without smothering, to hold on without squeezing tight.

Instead of bemoaning my losses or feeling cheated of happiness, instead of feeling the hole, I am able to appreciate the happiness and joy I was given and still hold it in my heart. You can enjoy, and want, and care but still feel inner peace to let it go later without reservation.

Sister After Me, always into self-help and uplifting literature, her favorite saying is, “Ellie, maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be.

Middle Sister always had three snappy mottos she used whenever someone tried to make her feel bad or when bad things happened. The first was “So what?” The second one was “I don’t care.” The third was, “Oh well.”

Only Brother’s saying was “Don’t sweat it.”

And Little Sister’s saying was “Bite me.”

Visit Sprite Keeper for more motto reading.

How Yah Gonna Keep "Em Down on the Farm...?

2009-08-06T21:07:00.000-07:00

My college student, Beloved, just returned to the nest. He's distraught over the situation. Secretly, I'm cheering. I called Middle Sister a few weeks back and gave her the news, "Beloved is moving back home, temporarily." Her happiness for me was emphasized beautifully by saying, "Yaaaahooooo, Alleluia! I'm so happy for you. This is sooo exciting." I really appreciated the glee, the yelp for joy, the acknowledgment of the truth. I thanked her for saying aloud what I was feeling. "I'm keeping my emotions on the down low," I told her.

Ex-college student thinks moving back home is a step backward. Mr. Maturity, I've Got It All Together, had no choice but to move back home. For his sake I'm feeling sorry for his plight. He wants desperately to be independent, not to be a financial burden, and to stand on his own feet. Plus QueenMaker pointed out that coming home squelches particular social gatherings, ahem, to which Beloved had become accustomed. O00000h, I'm so dumb sometimes.

I've dismantled the sewing, craft, and projects room formally known as Beloved's Room to make room for his things, thus becoming Beloved's Room once again, temporarily. My house is a wreck with boxes piled high. I'm still trying to find room for it all.

Then there's QueenMaker. I didn't ask how he felt about our newly evolving "alpha male" offspring returning to his domain. But the look in his eyes tells me that he is as happy about the outcome as I am. At least temporarily.

I don't ask Beloved when will he come home, or whether he will come home, or if he will be home for dinner. I don't want to fall into that trap of parenting when it is no longer required or desired. We recognize that his autonomy is paramount. It maintains a balance in his life and in ours.

He still works in Ann Arbor, so he stays there with friends four days of the week. So QueenMaker and I still have the alone time that we have learned to relish. We are just as grateful that our kid is with us a few days and a few hours more each week for a little while longer, temporarily.

Family Camping Trip Memories

2009-06-18T07:09:00.001-07:00

For the past 30 years our family meets up north one weekend a year for the family camp/canoe trip. We first started going on these canoe trips as part of a company outing, originally hosted by my brother’s employer. Richard, who was also a good family friend, organized these weekend trips. Camping somewhere in Grayling, and then Saturday morning canoe down the Au Sable River. We were single then and went sporadically, but my brother hasn’t missed a year in 30 years.

Soon as we started having our own families, our family decided to break from the original group, because we like acting like grown-ups and wanted to be respectful of our camping hosts. Our group was big enough on its own and we wanted to make it a family affair instead of the wild corporate party that soon had them ban from every campsite in the area.

The best memories started when as parents of pre-~~schoolers~~ scholars, we began our children’s indoctrination to the camping and canoeing experience. Soon the grandparents started coming too. At least fifteen to twenty family members went year after year.

Imagine five little boys and two girls ages 3-6 looking up at us in astonishment. You mean the dirt is our living room floor, and our kitchen floor and our playground? Wow, you mean we can play in the dirt? Yeah, let’s get down to business. Soon we had dirt highways for their matchbox cars and tonka trucks around the tents. Whole armies of ninja turtles set up in foxholes fighting off Barbie dolls. We couldn’t keep the kids clean and after a while we stopped trying, changing them three times a day. Or the following year, when one of the dads pulled out a bag of marbles, showing the boys the art of shooting marbles. Gradually the little boys were replaced by grown men, kneeling in the dirt, aiming with one eye showing off their shooting accuracy.

There was a small patch of trees and brush next to our campsites. Really it was just a couple of pathways from one camp area to the camp store or pool. The kids kept going into the four by six patch of “woods” chasing each other around and pretending to be lost. To this day they insist that the “woods” were immense. Then at dusk we would walk through the “woods” with our children wearing their pj’s to the showing of a Yogi Bear cartoon and eat popcorn.

I found I love meandering down a river in a canoe. If I could, I would do it every week. I remember my three-year-old niece proclaiming, “I don’t like this. I want to go home” over and over again all the way down the river. Seven years later, I hear my three-year-old niece, Ms. A proclaim the same thing over and over. Aha, the tradition continues! I remember the lunches we had at the halfway point. After lunch the kids are in the water searching for guppies and tadpoles with their dads. The water cannons and squirt guns in later years and their riotous play in the water.

Two years in a row, we found a spot in the river around a bend, where the current was moderately fast and a perfect size for young children. We parked our canoes along a sandy bank and one by one each child rode the current. The life jackets made them buoyant enough to let one go at one end and ride the current to a waiting parent on the other. It was a blast. But the river changes year after year and we never could recognize where the bend with the fast water was ever again.

We relished whenever my brother brought a new girlfriend or a new couple decided to join our group. “Umm, never been in a canoe before, really?” The scene was repeated year after year. The arguing, the bickering and the blaming begin immediately. The couple is in full adrenalin mode as they crash over and over again in a zig zag pattern up the river, only moving a few feet forward at a time, and fighting all the way. Then the inevitable happens. No matter how hard they try, they will eventually flip that canoe and land in the river soaked from head to toe. For a couple to navigate a canoe down a river is a true test of any relationship and damn entertaining. See how I italicized it and underlined it. It’s just that entertaining.

These were really good years. The kids were young enough to put to bed by eight or nine and the grown ups made a fire, had cocktails, and talked. Some times the guys did skits and we would roar with laughter and the contests of man versus woman on who could start a fire. The ladies usually won because we were patient enough to gather or cut kindling wood. The men would throw a huge log in the fire pit and throw fluid all over it and grunt, “Ugh, fire.” While the kids slept, we took turns taking romantic walks under the stars. We brought our lounge chairs and look up at the magnitude of stars and felt the awe and wonder of the universe. We were recharging our souls.

So many memories, the year that Beloved skidded in the sand while riding his bike and fracturing his collarbone. The year some of the kids came down with the measles. The years of cars breaking down and the guys going to the rescue of some family member. Some unbearably hot weekends, especially the year that every campsite in sight had fans blowing outside of their tents. What a strange sight. People everywhere rushing to Wal-Mart to buy a fan, any fan and sitting together under the trees. We were the first to put four or five of them in a row hoping the blowing air from the fans would cool us off. All envied us. The year of the big rains when camping was just miserable but always remembered as adventure. The year hail as big as baseballs came down and dented all of our cars while the twenty of us huddled in the one tent that was erected in the nick of time. “Was that a tornado warning in the distance? Anybody else hear that?” The year my brother lost his keys in the river. It took us an hour but we found them. The year my niece found she loved bugs and taught all the other kids to love bugs. Think, bugs in pockets. Hearing the maneuvers and artillery fire coming from the nearby army reserve base in Grayling. The women staying in camp while the men took the kids to Hartwick Pines or Gaylord Alpen Fest. We played skip bo (card game) in the camp’s laundry room while having cocktails. Ah good times.

When the kids got older, we found another campsite, less commercial but with a lovely private beach, a few small cabins, a boat launch, and fishing poles for rent. This secluded campground was our destination for the next decade. New traditions were born, swimming in the lake, the volleyball tournaments, the nighttime search for crawdads and frogs, Saturday night popcorn and Sunday morning pancakes provided by our hosts, the evening gathering at Middle Sister’s cabin to play cards.

Now the kids were older and could stay up and roast marshmallows. They would spend hours looking for the right size fire stick. This cut down adult “party” time considerably since we couldn’t send them to bed early anymore. They were mesmerized and loved the fire, the little pyromaniacs. Listening to their youthful exuberance and conversation was enlightening and entertaining. Now the whole family could sit around telling stories. One year the kids grabbed the video camera and made an impromptu film on their hunt and quest for the big crawdads called, “The Crawdad Hunter.” (I'll have to post that later.)

I thought when the kids became fourteen or fifteen that the camping trip would lose its appeal. After all they were teenagers now and surely wouldn’t want to go anywhere with their parents. But they all informed us that it was the highlight of their year that they would never get tired of this trip. They loved it and would always love it. One year my sister and husband decided to skip the family camping trip. My eleven-year-old nephew was so angry that he made picket signs and walked up and down in front of his house in protest. He got his way.

The little boys and girls that were 3-5 at one time are now 19-22 years old. I hear them talk about coming up north on their own and camping together “without the parents” or how they will continue the tradition with their own kids. It gladdens my heart. I’m looking forward to the time when they are the ones setting up camp and cooking all the meals and driving us around.

A full circle is coming. As we (the parents) are getting older, it’s harder and harder for my sisters and brother and their spouses to enjoy the tenting experience. We can’t take the heat. We can’t stand the dampness on wet weekends. The whole setting up camp and then taking it down again has become a big chore. Taking that long walk to the bathroom three times a night is not fun at all, especially when it’s raining. There is not enough excitement for the young adults especially since there are “no babes or hunks” in our secluded campground hideaway. We’re all ready to go someplace new. Plus we have new little ones in the family, new children to introduce to the camping and canoeing experience. They have yet to get really attached to our present camping site so moving to a new one is sounding good to everyone.

Since I don’t “party hardy” anymore, (Did I mention we are getting old?) I’m never ~~inebriated~~ tired enough to stay asleep all night. For the last few years, my irritation with nature has grown. The birds start chattering loudly in the wee hours of the morning that I have to keep myself from screaming, “Shut up, you stupid birds!” Or pull out a shotgun and plug ‘em full of lead. Just a fantasy I’ve had the last few years. Finally when they settle down, chipmunks, squirrels, or crows start their bickering and run around our tent and up the trees making sleep impossible. If it rains, the drops against the tent sound like timpani. So I have been wearing earplugs and taking Ambien on our last few camping trips.

Queenmaker announced no more tenting for him and I wholeheartedly agree. We’re just not sure if this is a new tradition we want to start, leaving the campsite and missing out on all those late night activities and stories around the campfire. It’s bittersweet. But we are planning to go this year, rent a cabin or motel room and see how it all works out. If it’s not too expensive maybe we’ll rent a camper.

Summer memories are best when they are part of a tradition. I would like to keep it going. I want to be part of this ever growing family’s trips up north. Every year we are together at the same place, same time, and same river, with the same beloved family. Every year we share new bonds, new experiences, and new traditions adding to our ever-growing treasure trove of beloved memories that family summers bring. Priceless.

Remember to go to Sprite's Keeper for more memories.

Mami's Love for Machetes

2009-06-10T19:38:00.000-07:00

My mom, 78, got a new machete. I said, “My god woman! How many do you own now?” This was her third one. Her grandson Jose gave it to her. I asked her how many did she need, really, I mean. She said, "Never too many." She pulled it out to show me. She was so happy like a little kid at Christmas. “I got a new machete! I got a new machete!” This has always been Mami’s tool of choice especially in the garden. Now this tool might be a little over kill for a garden, but it’s the tool she knows. She can wield it expertly. Her expertise was always apparent. I never questioned it.

We finally asked the history of her affinity for the machete, and the stories she told generated a paradigm shift within me. I know nothing about my mother. I don’t really have a clue. She has history to tell and she has been busting out trying to tell it. But I have been deaf to the stories about her life all my life.

Since Mami doesn’t own a computer, she has been curious about my blog, so she asked me to print them out for her to read. I think she also wants to make sure that I show her in the proper light. She's been saying a lot lately, "You know I tried my best. I don't think I was too bad a mother." I keep assuring her she's a great mom.

Since we were all getting together for Memorial Day, I printed them out for her to take home. She decided to read several of my stories. She later said to me, “You forgot to mention that I was the one that bought the Pecan Sandies. I knew that Papi did that, so I made sure we had them around.” In other words, I’m the one that facilitated your visits with your father. It was because of me that good things happen in your life. You didn’t acknowledge that. Because I didn't know.

Knowing that she had this thing about being left out of anything or that any of us say something favorable about Papi, drives her crazy. I said, “But Mami that’s not really the point of this particular story.” She said, “I know, but…” Again I assumed that she was being overly needy, slightly jealous or childish.

Later she said to me, with real longing and sadness in her eyes, "If I could write about my life it would be a real story to tell. I have a lot to tell."

These two sentence had a profound effect on me. Here I am, writing the stories I want about my childhood, as a young woman, motherhood, and as the middle age tween that I am today. How pale in comparison. I have a burning desire to write, but I realized that Mami needs to write too, but she doesn’t have the means. She has no outlet. She tries to tell her story, but no one wants to listen.

I only know the woman that Mami is today. But she needs me to see her as the impoverished child foraging for and stealing food to help feed her brothers and sisters, her mother’s right hand, her mother’s only ally, the indentured servitude first to her father who never treated her as a daughter, and then as a young woman in the many homes she was sent to work.

Searching for love, she thought she wound find it with her husband. And since a lot of us marry our fathers or mothers, she robbed herself of the love she sought, finding someone whose pain body was as large as hers. The only joy she acknowledges is her children and grandchildren. She was always known for the unconditional love she taught and gave freely to others. I realized that she was filling the hole with as much love as she could give, because the hole within her was just as large from the lack of it.

I haven’t been able to write a word since. I realized that the stories she told, I always discounted as complaining because they were the “same old stories.” They were about the hurts and pain she had experienced in her life. I never realized the extent of the sorrow and hardship in her life story. I wasn’t willing to listen. But I got a glimpse of it when I asked her why she loved her machete. I finally listened. My mouth dropped when she told me just a fraction of what had happened to her.

I began to feel that writing was a therapy and I want to extend that therapy to my mom. My story and need are so miniscule to hers. I realized that my need to blog seemed more akin to self-indulgence or a self-cleansing. But in reality I just wanted it out there. I wanted my stories to be told and since they’re out there in cyberspace, I feel perpetuated. Do I need comments? Really for me, no. Knowing that my stories are out there are mainly an experience of release. Feels damn good. My need is no longer paramount.

Now I will try to release it for my mom and dad. I will be starting the Mami and Papi Project. We start taping Friday.