The Shine In Your Eyes

Another thing I miss more than anything at times is the look I used to get from Beloved when he was a little boy.   Do you know it?   It’s the look that reflects pure happiness and unconditional love on my child’s face when I enter a room.  It’s a look that thrills me as soon as I see it.   It was immediate and electric, “Yes, Mom is home! Joy, Joy, Joy.  Please pick me up and love me.”

I’ve come to learn that the look will begin to fade, just slightly.   As your children grow older, it may not be as instantaneous or as powerful as it once was.   Some parents tend to greet their children with a barrage of questions and instructions.  “How was school?  How much homework do you have?  Wash your hands.  Where’s your lunchbox?”  And if a parent becomes too critical or demanding, the shine can be extinguished altogether.  Maybe you won’t see it again until years later, maybe a whole generation later, when a child lovingly calls you grandpa or grandma.

Time can rob you of the shine.  Lovers know the shine.  But as time goes on the shine fades. Couples in love that once showed the thrill in their eyes when their love walked into a room, have now become complacent, apathetic, or indifferent due to the stresses of life. 

Queen Maker coming home one evening said, “There it is, that look.  The look I love.  I’ve really missed that look.”  I realized that over the years, the look had turned into, “Oh hi, you’re home.”  No big deal.  Or during my cranky years (not sure I'm out of the woods yet) when I'm sure my look was anything but welcoming. 

In our school, we developed long term relationships with our students, some lasting between seven to thirteen years.  After class, a parent asked why our students stayed for so long.  Trying to come up with an explanation, I realized that we treated our students as though they were dear long lost friends each time they walked in the door.  Our eyes truly shine with delight and hugs of greeting are a norm around here.

We both concluded that adults rarely experience the thrill of experiencing shining eyes of love, acceptance, and welcome turned in their direction anymore.  Children grow up and daily life becomes mundane.  Marriages may be in peril, if the spouse finds the shine in someone else’s eyes.   Adults don’t even know they miss it, until they recognize the “instant joy” once again.   It was a look that was lost and it saddened me to think that this was the case for many people.

I realized that as human beings we want eyes to light up when we come into a room.  The shine has to say, “You’re here. Joy, joy, joy.”  People want, or more accurately, need for someone’s eyes to shine, happy, throwing out open hands in friendship or an enthusiastic embrace of unconditional love.  I crave it and feel joy when I see it.  Queen Maker no longer has to “miss that look” because he sees it every time he walks in the door.  Such a simple act to keep a relationship alive and fresh, deepening bonds of friendship and love.  My advice is to show all those you meet or love, the shine in your eyes and see what happens.  

Will he live to be one hundred?

Check out the Raisin Chronicles for Fiction Friday.  I missed out on her latest offering, but I can't help myself.  Here is my story to Friday's prompt.

If he lived to be a hundred, he would never forget this birthday party. Hearing that he never had a stripper, the guys in the family decided to cross this one off his bucket list.  It was kind of mild which he appreciated, but she still managed to get his palms sweaty and his heart palpitating. The paramedics were called.

The guys feeling guilty asked for his forgiveness. He gave them a huge smile as they loaded him into the ambulance. The woody he hadn’t experienced in two decades was totally worth it. It was the best 99^th Birthday ever!  

Random Minutia

Check out Un mom.

I had to limit my viewing of the Stephen Corbert show. His narcissism is glorious. I kept getting smile-gasms.  If he keeps this up, I might fall for him.  

In order for me to watch a television program, I need to see real people. I can’t take it when every character in the episode looks like a model. It saddens me.

Speaking of model types. I don’t care for guys that are pretty boys. They don’t send me.  Give me a face with character. My gauge is if the guy were to masquerade as a woman, he would be the ugliest woman in the room. That’s my kind of guy. Oh wait, except for Johnny Depp. I always liked him, only because he plays such weird characters. Good looks and being a little askew, hot!

Speaking of characters, I loved the way he played the pirate, Jack Sparrow.  I used to tell my son when he was a little boy that I was a pirate once.  I would go around saying, “Aaaaargh, matey!”  I would tell him stories about the high seas, then look him square in the eye and ask, “Do you beeelieeevvvve me, Beloved?”  He decided he didn’t. So throughout his life, whenever I brought up my pirate days, he would sigh, roll his eyes, and tell me how he hated when I did that.

Speaking about rolling his eyes and sighing heavily, he used to do that when I told him I numbered all of his toys.  He used to come and ask me, “Mom, do you know where this toy is or that toy?”  Why do kids ask us that question? I’ll tell you why, because we truly know where everything is.  I was just so amazed that he would think that I would know where he left his Ninja Turtle or the broken piece of tubing that belonged to his space ship. Maybe its because his dad does it everyday too.  So one day I started telling him, “Oh yes. I numbered all your toys.  Let me see.  Um, that toy is number 237. No, No, it’s 239.  Toy number 239 is under your bed, near the back on the left side. “  Amazingly most of the time I would be correct because I am a very observant mother and wife. That’s suppose to be my job isn’t it.  Keep track of all of their belongings.  So after a while, whenever I would respond, “Oh, that’s toy number 1674,” he would sigh and say, “Never mind.”

Speaking of never mind, I never mind when people drive crazy.  I just keep an eye out for the zanies and realize that it might be my job to help keep them safe because it keeps me safe too. I see them coming, anxiously driving, or mindless driving, or stupid driving, or aggressively driving or old driving, so I make room. I make accommodations for their driving by slowing down, or speeding up, or cutting off access, or convoy with them until they disappear.  No thanks needed.

But thanks are extended to Jim Spyro of Speaking in Caps for setting me straight on the random path.  

Tongue Out and Belt Jumping

When Papi got mad it was an amazing sight.  He had a look that could stop you in your tracks. The phrase, “if looks could kill…” comes to mind and his were lethal.  I’m proud to say I have inherited that look, a look that stops people in their tracks, keeps children in line, and can make a husband turn on a dime and leave a room.   What power. 

If Papi told you to do something you did it immediately.  If he asked you a second time, you may or may not be safe, but don’t push it. He’d asked for quiet, but with five loud, screaming children, playing or arguing, some days he just had enough. Rage would overtake his face.  His eyes narrowed, his head would snap toward the offending child, and his tongue would settle on the side of his lips.  He’d begin to unbuckle his belt and everyone would scatter. Sometimes the guilty party would get away and he’d get the wrong person. So it was always best to scatter first, ask questions later. He was like a T-rex instinctually going after the slowest or the weakest at times, but his pinpoint accuracy to track and capture a known offender is also legendary.

He had no trouble with the prospect of chasing you down, even if it meant climbing the stairs two or three at a time or chasing you into the basement.  Sometimes it was better if you just stayed where you were and took it.  He always made sure not to hit too hard and never above the waist. But the belt did sting which is why it was so effective. Yes, occasionally he would just threaten, but if the unbuckling process had begun, it was going to be used, much like the code of the samurai, a sword drawn from its sheath is a sword that must draw blood. 

Experience taught us that if we started wailing right away and yelled the words, “Ow, ow, OW” each time he swung that he would stop sooner. Distraction techniques were deployed, such as pointing to another sibling and tattling on some heinous deed yet to be discovered. Another talent developed was avoiding the belt like a jump rope. Although this made Papi angrier, he got tired more quickly and we got away with hardly a scratch. We got so good at jumping, that we would compare notes afterwards to see who got the worse and who got away, offered tips, and reviews on particularly good performances.

The most comical moment was the time Papi holding Youngest Sister’s arm while trying to belt her and Youngest Sister jumping over it like a gazelle over and over again. Her rhythm was fantastic and when he tried to change up on her, she jumped even higher and matched every swing of his belt with a skillful leap that even Nureyev would have been proud.  Papi missed every time and finally gave up. What a girl!

With four girls in one room, we would talk and giggle for hours. Mami or Papi would yell up to quiet down and go to sleep. If we heard the first step squeak, we’d shut up and listen. At times, Papi would sit quietly on the bottom step, waiting. We would forget and the steps would creak heavily and we knew we were in for it.  We start wailing before he hit the top step. “It’s wasn’t me, it was Middle Sister.  I wasn’t talking, it was those two!”

Afterwards, we would compare notes. How many times did he land a strike and the percentage of swings vs. strikes?  We analyzed his particular striking method, soft or hard, which was a reflection of his particular mood that night, either very angry or slightly annoyed.

As we got older, Papi didn’t pull out the belt as often. Plus he was getting worn out by now, right? Wrong.

Only Brother, who was in his teens, decided to act all “alpha” and talked back to Papi. Judging from Papi’s reaction, Only Brother soon realized his peril and jumped the fence. Feeling pretty smug about getting away from the “old man” he looked over his shoulder in time to witness the “old man” kick down the fence without breaking stride.  The combination of fear and awe on Only Brother’s face was priceless as he sped away down the street.

Here are some tips on how to avoid the belt…

1) Start whimpering right away, crying “No Papi, No Papi, it wasn’t me. It wasn’t me. I didn’t do it.”  It is helpful to have at least three or four siblings you can implicate.  The art of misdirection, a much needed trait for survival.

2) Tattletale – Start the blaming right off the bat so you don’t get bunched in with the offenders.

3) Secret hiding place – No one must know where it is, because you’ll find another sibling there in your place, or they will surely fink on you.

4) Stay put – Take what’s coming, finding comfort that the real offenders will be chased down and  get a really good whooping.

5) Run – Easy to do, faster than Papi. Lots of places to run him out like running upstairs, then downstairs to the basement, then around and around the kitchen, dining room and living room doors or run out the back door if its a warm day. Stay away at least 20 minutes to an hour. If a new infraction has taken place and justice has been dealt to a new offender you may return because Papi’s already forgotten about you. Maybe.

5) Subterfuge – Scream “Ow” louder with each strike reaching a dramatic crescendo. The Pavlovian Response will kick in and he’ll stop. This important observation helped us create other verbal cues signaling we had had enough, triggering the response, becoming all Meryl Streep to sell it. (I want to thank the Academy for the Oscar.)

6) Learn to jump with great skill and timing.  Special skills must be developed to jump while he is holding your arm. Be a gazelle. Be the gazelle. You are the gazelle.

7) Learn the warning signs.  Head snap, eyes become like slits…. Swoosh, that’s me running out of the room. Don’t want to be there when the tongue comes out. 

8) Proximity - Sit next to Papi the whole time he’s home.  Watch his favorite shows and ball games with him, ask him questions about the ball game, and try to engage him. He will recognize you as the only child that should have survived and make you his heir apparent, because that’s all you really want anyway.

 

Banking Life Lessons

Practically my whole adult life I spent working at the bank. I finally set myself free about eight years ago. After twenty years, these are some of the lessons I have learned. 

Life Lessons Learned at the Bank - Lessons #1, #12, and #32

# 1) I’ve learned that the definition of poor is relative.

I had two customers that had nothing, lived sparsely, clipped their Beef Carver coupons and ate there three times a week, taking the leftovers home providing meals for the rest of the week.  Both of the their coats were old, tattered and need of repair. Both women would bemoan their poverty. But one had an account with just about sixty dollars, so she could cash her monthly social security check of $69.  The other had accounts with over a quarter of a million dollars.

# 12) That never buying yourself anything is no way to live.

Many customers had money in their accounts but could never bring themselves to buy anything.  They were obsessed with their large account balances and how much it would grow or didn’t grow, checking it four times a week to make sure it didn’t somehow disappear.  These were children of the depression. They fretted constantly. They were unable to buy a new coat, a new refrigerator, or a new roof because it would take precious money away from their balance. They lived poorly because they were afraid of becoming poor. They sacrificed quality of life for a sense of security. Living in fear is no way to live.

# 32) Do what you can, now. Don’t wait.

This is a particularly sad lesson.  I’ve watched elderly couples whose love seemed as fresh as when they met. They talked about their future retirement as though they were waiting to begin their lives anew. The trips to Hawaii, getting the fifth wheel and seeing America, the cruises, staying more often at the cabin and how long they have waited to enjoy themselves and their retirement together.  With only four or five more years to go they start to dream and plan in earnest. They would share their aspirations. But their dreams never came true.  A spouse becomes ill with cancer or Alzheimer’s, or suddenly dies. They feel robbed.  I’ve heard the same advice from so many of them. With tears in their eyes, they said, “Don’t wait.  You think you have all the time in the world but waiting until retirement is a lie. They tell you to wait until you retire, the golden years, but it’s all a lie. Don’t wait for a specific time in your life to go do the things you’ve always wanted to do together. Do what you can together now.” 

Friday Ice Cream

I have been having a hard time lately.  My craving for sugar is at a peak and has been for weeks. Every time I drive by an ice cream/donut shop (damn those that have both under one roof), I have to stop myself from jumping out of the car and getting a donut a la mode. At least I have my memories.

Friday Dairy Queen Runs

For a stretch at the bank the turnover was very low, so I had the fortune of working with the same group of incredible women for eight years.  We enjoyed each others company so the work atmosphere was one of the best I have ever experienced. During these years we started a tradition during the summer or at least as soon as the placed opened in the spring, Friday Dairy Queen.  Yum.

A Peanut Buster Parfait, strawberry shortcake, a banana split, a Hot Fudge Brownie Delight, a chocolate sundae, a strawberry milkshake, a Pecan Cluster, a Pecan Cherry Blizzard with extra pecans and extra cherries, a chocolate malt, and a butterscotch sundae.   I do miss those ladies.

Looking for the Ghost

Why the fire started I would find out later, but we know who started it, Youngest Sister and Only Brother, five and six years old respectively.

Our upstairs bedroom had access to two separate attic spaces.  One door about three feet high was along one wall of our bedroom. No one ever wanted their bed near this door because it was spooky. You never knew what lurked within. The second door was above the landing at the top of the stairs.  You had to take a big step up to get into this attic space.  Inside this door was a large cedar lined closet with shelves and poles for hanging clothes. Beyond this space was another 3-foot door that led to the rest of the unfinished portion of the attic. We never explored this area beyond the closet because it was dark and scary and you had to walk stooped over in that part of the attic, making it hard to turn and run from monsters if need be.   It was hard to feel secure in the cedar closet because who knows what lurked behind that other door, but sometimes you would find all five of us in there playing. 

It started when Mami decided to play a prank on us one day.  She was cleaning out the cedar closet and she thought it would be funny to go into the other section of the attic behind the second door. She decided to hide. Where is she? She’s gone.  Mami, Mami where are you?   She started making ghosts sounds that made us jump and run.  She started screaming pretending that the ghost was “getting her.”  We screamed and cried, and then she came out laughing.  It was a good prank, but some of us didn’t think it was funny at all. Mami always had a mischievous streak and she loved to watch the reactions she would get when she did or said something outrageous.

So that’s why I found it strange that Only Brother and Youngest Sister would be alone together in that closet a week or two after Mami’s prank.  When I realized why they were in there I thought them both brave and stupid at the same time. They were going ghost hunting. What they did next was very, very stupid. 

The light was dim so they took matches with them. And you know it; they dropped a lit match and tried to blow it out themselves. Only Brother sent Little Sister down to get a glass of water. Mami noticed the filthy glass in Little Sister’s hand and asked, “Where are you taking that glass?” Only Brother wants some water she explained. Mami took the glass and told her to get a clean one. Soon Only Brother had to raise the alarm, running down the stairs screaming that the attic was on fire.  No one believed him at first, until I looked up the stairs and saw a glow coming from the inside of the closet. Mami flew into action. 

First she screamed for Only Brother and Little Sister to get out of the house, and they ran out the back door.  Mami screamed, “Girls! Bring me water. Get the big pans and fill them up with water and bring them to me quick.  Hurry, hurry!”  Pretty much every kitchen had huge pots to make enormous amounts of rice or soup for their big families.  Luckily we had three good size pots. Mami jumped into the closet and started beating the fire with whatever she could.  She started tossing things out of the closet as not to catch fire. 

Sister After Me, Middle Sister and I were taking turns running the pots of water to her. We started out by trying to fill the pots to the top, but this was too inefficient. The pots were too heavy and water sloshed out before we could get them up to her.  Plus Mami was yelling down for us to hurry, she needed water, NOW! We realized that we couldn’t fill the pots too high, but at the same time there had to be sufficient water in the pots to do any good, otherwise Mami she would certainly lose the battle. And battle she did. 

Every time I went up I still saw the glow of the fire, sometimes against her face, her arms rising above her head, working hard to beat the blaze down. We ran up and down the stairs over a dozen times each, Mami grabbing the pot of water and throwing it onto the fire and screaming for us to hurry with more.  We decided to try the bucket line, where I would fill and the others would grab the pot and leave the empty one. But it seemed to take forever. Besides I was the oldest, the strongest to carry the heaviest of pots, so we went back to each of us filling and carrying our own pots.  I can’t tell you how long it took to put it out.  After a point, we realized that Mami was in danger.  We started calling and crying for Mami to come out. But she wouldn’t give up.

It seemed an eternity. I think it actually took about 10-15 minutes, but finally the fire was out.  We were amazed. She did it.  My mom was a hero, and one of the bravest women I know.  I was so proud of her. When she came out her hair was wild, her face black, and she looked exhausted.  We looked at her and started laughing because even the inside of her nose was black. She looked perturbed with us, but then gave a big smile.

I realized that not only was she battling to put out a fire, she was battling to keep her home. She was fighting to keep a roof over our five heads.  Mami saved our house. What a woman!

For punishment Little Sister and Only Brother knelt for hours on the bathroom floor.