It is with extreme regret that I report a death. No, the death isn't someone in my circle of family and friends. It is the death of a long relationship that I used to call a friendship. It is also the death of my own innocence. Isn't that something? Innocence at my age is a joke. By the time one reaches 60; innocence is a forgotten attribute.
Deaths of any kind are mourned as they should be. A loss is a loss no matter what the loss is. Usually I cry over a death and spend a lot of time wondering about deep metaphysical after-life possibilities. Not this time. My anger and hurt aced the crying and musing. This death was different because it ambushed me and left me struggling to breathe. Betrayal will do that to you.
It's hard to even think about, much less write about one's own vulnerability. This blog is cathartic in that it allows a certain amount of baring of my soul and exposing some thoughts that even those who know me well are surprised by.
Betrayal is an ugly word. Some things in life are sacred. Your family especially the children are sacred. Friends can become family. These statements are the truth. I have lived by them. I only wish that everyone would. The ugly truth is that not everyone does.
My once-upon-a-time friend didn't live by those words. She knowingly attacked someone close to me and kept up her barrage of lies and half-truths for over a year. The incident that started the attacks was unfortunate and could have been rectified, but the person in question chose to sink to a level that in my father's words was, "lower than a snake's belly". The lies and all the baggage they carried could have destroyed a very promising career, but instead they provided fuel for his fire. He rose above the lies and prospered. He made me proud. She didn't win that round nor the ones that followed. For that I am eternally thankful.
Me? I didn't fair as well. People lined up to say me, "I told you so." I had always defended her but now it was becoming clear to me that those who had once warned me about her toxic personality were right. I was bruised and hurt. No one had ever done anything like that to me! I have never "lost" a friend. Hell, I still have friends from first grade! There was a hole in my heart where once our friendship lived.
It has been two long years since the friendship ended. I still sometimes miss the friend and hope that she misses me, but we will never be friends again. I can not forgive nor forget the betrayal, nor will I ever be the vulnerable innocent I once was. I believe that she has deep emotional problems. She has always had "family issues", like being estranged from her mother and siblings. The before me believed her when she told me about the problems with her family and friends. The after me knows firsthand that she was not the wronged one, but the wronger (Is that even a word?). It is her nature and possibly the sickness of her soul that makes her this way. I couldn't fix it nor can anyone. That part of this story is the saddest part.
Who will be the next victim? That is anyone's guess. I am reasonably sure that I nor my family will be next because we are off her radar. She didn't win and I know how much she likes to win. This was just a blip on the screen. We had all loved and embraced her. We, my family and I, had included her in family events and celebrations never one time doubting that she reciprocated our feelings for her. Our innocence is gone. We have recovered, however. We thrive and have vowed to never look back. She was a cancer that has been removed.
Time heals all wounds, or so I've been told. I hope that is true.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Rocking the kitchen like Paula!
When Gene and and I got married, I was a sophomore in college. Back then we had Viet Nam looming for him and a less than promising career in theater for me. What was I thinking? I will concede that a background in theater has helped me with my real career as a domestic goddess! More on that in another post.
We set up house-keeping in a small apartment in a suburb with a tiny Barbie-sized kitchen. Now, my mother was a fabulous cook who collected recipes and tried new dishes out on us during my growing-up life. She was always the first person on the doorstep after a death, an illness, or a birth with a pot of soup, a cake or some sort of casserole, because that is what we do in the south. Is there a verse in the bible that covers that sort of kindness and thoughtfulness? If there isn't; there should be one. She tried repeatedly during our almost year-long engagement to teach me to cook even the simplest of dishes. Was I interested? That would be a negative. Who was I kidding? Gene and I picked out beautiful china, crystal and silver. We even got pots, pans and every sort of small appliance for the aforementioned Barbie kitchen. Did I have a clue about what to do with any of that stuff ? If you guessed, yes, you would be wrong. Thank, God, Mother was a phone call away every day at about dinner time. I remember her laughing until she cried about my reading the package of wieners for instructions on how to cook the rubbery tubes! Gene wanted hot dogs for lunch and by golly that's what I cooked. That was only the beginning of my personal cooking journey.
My mother-in-law was a gourmet cook. She followed Julia Child for heaven's sake ! Julia, who? She even grilled me about my culinary skills one night over a gourmet dinner at her house. "Can you cook?", she asked. Squirming in my seat I answered, "No, ma'm." "Well," she said, "If you can read, you can cook." There, just as easy as pie, she drew the line in the sand, or mashed potatoes, as it were. Gene's family had always had a full-time cook named, Katie. She was the sweetest, dearest most lovely person anyone could ever hope to meet. I wish you could have known her. Katie could make biscuits so light that they fluttered to your plate. Her fried chicken was a legend in its own time. Pies, did you say? Her apple pie would make you want to slap your mother. She and my mother-in-law, hereafter known as "she who must be served' or swmbs, were dynamite together in the kitchen. Meals came out of that place that would make one swoon! See what I had to deal with? Gene, bless his heart, was a trooper. Well, most of the time he was. The rest of the time that first year or so, he was, shall I say, less petulant? Most young women just have their husband's mother to live up to. Me, there were three excellent cooks to aspire to be. What was I to do?
The first real shockeroo was that the news of our rapidly approaching wedding was the cause of conversation at the local newspaper! One morning, rather early, about a month before the wedding, a reporter from the paper called to ask if she could do an article about what I planned to cook for our first meal? What? The reporter explained that there were three couples being interviewed. Okay, so why me? She went on to say that since my intended's mother (swmbs) was known for her culinary skills, the curious minds at the newspaper wanted to know what kind of cook I was. I had recently read (translate-attacked) a book titled, _The New Cook's Cookbook_, so I was ready with an answer. Spaghetti with bolognese sauce, salad, garlic bread and a nice red wine, I replied confidently. Now, all I had to do was produce the meal because, after all, it was in the newspaper for God's sake.
The wedding and the honeymoon behind us, Gene and I tackled the grocery store for our first "stock the larder" trip hauling what, at the time, seemed like a hundred bags of food up the two flights of stairs to the tiny kitchen. Now, all I had to do was figure out how to cook. Gene went off to work on Monday morning and I set about doing the things all young brides did in the early seventies, turned on the TV for a little soap opera watching while I got everything out to begin the sauce. The darn stuff had to simmer all day. Following the recipe to the letter was not hard, but when the recipe directed me to "taste to adjust the seasoning", I was answering the phone at the same time. A magazine salesman was pounding my ear about buying his wares when I dumped instead of dashed the red pepper. OHOH! I was an early failure at muti-tasking. Lesson learned: Don't try to adjust while talking.
Gene arrived home and I greeted him at the door with my very best Harriet Nelson smile and led him to our table for the promised meal. Let me pause right here and say that calling the moving boxes a table was stretching the truth. I had set the "table" with our fine china and silver. We even pulled out wine glasses from a box, despite the fact that neither one of us drank red wine, unless Cold Duck was considered red wine then. Well anyway, I served up my first culinary masterpiece and to my horror, Gene turned red and gasped after taking a bite! The lovely sauce was was as hot as a firecracker! I spilled out my sad story and he was very understanding. All was not lost, however, the bread and salad were really good.
After that first disaster, I decided that swmbs. Katie, as well as my own mother were not going to get the best of me. I begin to read cookbooks as if they were novels and bought magazines in the checkout line at the grocery store. Even my conversations with my friends turned to food. We begin to share and exchange recipes too.What was happening to me? The answer is very simple. I became a cook, not because I had to, but because I wanted to do so. You see, this is the south. We cook to show love and to be loved. We want to please that special someone and be appreciated in return. No one leaves a southern cook's house without being offered food and drink. Even ice water served in a crystal goblet becomes a treat. All this I learned at the feet of the master, my mother.
Earlier in this post I said that I refrained from letting my mother teach me the fine art of cooking, but that's not entirely true. I did learn from her but it was more by example than hands-on. Mother played an extremely important role in my culinary journey for it was to her I turned to ask questions when my reading skills failed me. For instance, when a recipe called for an egg, I called my mom and asked if that meant the yellow and the white. She said yes, everything but the shell. How did she keep from laughing? Until the day she died, Mother was always ready to answer my questions about cooking. The more I cooked the more I found that I really liked it as well as my mother did.
I have cooked in sub-standard kitchens for most of my married life. Five years ago we decided to do a major overhaul of our house and finally add a new kitchen. For the first time in our forty-one years of wedded bliss, Gene, the kids and grand-darlings are getting meals turned out in a beautiful, functional and well-designed space. I love it and find that I am the happiest in my new kitchen and dinning space. It isn't really fancy and the meals aren't either, but they are prepared and offered with love. Some of my mother's cookbooks came to live in the new bookcases and they live alongside those I've collected since the beginning of my cooking journey. My sister and I divided those cookbooks up after Mother's death. She and I cried at the smudges and spatters and lovingly touched the notes written beside some of the recipes. I still choke-up when I cook "Brunswick Stew" because Mom had written, "Tom's favorite", in the margin. Tom was her husband, and our beloved, "Daddy".
Cooking has taught me a lot about being a wife, a mother and a person. My mother, my mother-in-law and Katie helped me in my journey to Flavortown (a shout out to Guy)but what I learned all by myself is that you don't need, although it' s nice, a fancy or not so fancy new kitchen or top of the line pots and pans to create a yummy meal for family and friends. She-who-must-be-served was right when she said that all you really needed to do to be able to cook was read. I am still reading, learning and loving everyday as I prepare food. My mother would be happy and, although she never saw the new space; I think she would approve.
We set up house-keeping in a small apartment in a suburb with a tiny Barbie-sized kitchen. Now, my mother was a fabulous cook who collected recipes and tried new dishes out on us during my growing-up life. She was always the first person on the doorstep after a death, an illness, or a birth with a pot of soup, a cake or some sort of casserole, because that is what we do in the south. Is there a verse in the bible that covers that sort of kindness and thoughtfulness? If there isn't; there should be one. She tried repeatedly during our almost year-long engagement to teach me to cook even the simplest of dishes. Was I interested? That would be a negative. Who was I kidding? Gene and I picked out beautiful china, crystal and silver. We even got pots, pans and every sort of small appliance for the aforementioned Barbie kitchen. Did I have a clue about what to do with any of that stuff ? If you guessed, yes, you would be wrong. Thank, God, Mother was a phone call away every day at about dinner time. I remember her laughing until she cried about my reading the package of wieners for instructions on how to cook the rubbery tubes! Gene wanted hot dogs for lunch and by golly that's what I cooked. That was only the beginning of my personal cooking journey.
My mother-in-law was a gourmet cook. She followed Julia Child for heaven's sake ! Julia, who? She even grilled me about my culinary skills one night over a gourmet dinner at her house. "Can you cook?", she asked. Squirming in my seat I answered, "No, ma'm." "Well," she said, "If you can read, you can cook." There, just as easy as pie, she drew the line in the sand, or mashed potatoes, as it were. Gene's family had always had a full-time cook named, Katie. She was the sweetest, dearest most lovely person anyone could ever hope to meet. I wish you could have known her. Katie could make biscuits so light that they fluttered to your plate. Her fried chicken was a legend in its own time. Pies, did you say? Her apple pie would make you want to slap your mother. She and my mother-in-law, hereafter known as "she who must be served' or swmbs, were dynamite together in the kitchen. Meals came out of that place that would make one swoon! See what I had to deal with? Gene, bless his heart, was a trooper. Well, most of the time he was. The rest of the time that first year or so, he was, shall I say, less petulant? Most young women just have their husband's mother to live up to. Me, there were three excellent cooks to aspire to be. What was I to do?
The first real shockeroo was that the news of our rapidly approaching wedding was the cause of conversation at the local newspaper! One morning, rather early, about a month before the wedding, a reporter from the paper called to ask if she could do an article about what I planned to cook for our first meal? What? The reporter explained that there were three couples being interviewed. Okay, so why me? She went on to say that since my intended's mother (swmbs) was known for her culinary skills, the curious minds at the newspaper wanted to know what kind of cook I was. I had recently read (translate-attacked) a book titled, _The New Cook's Cookbook_, so I was ready with an answer. Spaghetti with bolognese sauce, salad, garlic bread and a nice red wine, I replied confidently. Now, all I had to do was produce the meal because, after all, it was in the newspaper for God's sake.
The wedding and the honeymoon behind us, Gene and I tackled the grocery store for our first "stock the larder" trip hauling what, at the time, seemed like a hundred bags of food up the two flights of stairs to the tiny kitchen. Now, all I had to do was figure out how to cook. Gene went off to work on Monday morning and I set about doing the things all young brides did in the early seventies, turned on the TV for a little soap opera watching while I got everything out to begin the sauce. The darn stuff had to simmer all day. Following the recipe to the letter was not hard, but when the recipe directed me to "taste to adjust the seasoning", I was answering the phone at the same time. A magazine salesman was pounding my ear about buying his wares when I dumped instead of dashed the red pepper. OHOH! I was an early failure at muti-tasking. Lesson learned: Don't try to adjust while talking.
Gene arrived home and I greeted him at the door with my very best Harriet Nelson smile and led him to our table for the promised meal. Let me pause right here and say that calling the moving boxes a table was stretching the truth. I had set the "table" with our fine china and silver. We even pulled out wine glasses from a box, despite the fact that neither one of us drank red wine, unless Cold Duck was considered red wine then. Well anyway, I served up my first culinary masterpiece and to my horror, Gene turned red and gasped after taking a bite! The lovely sauce was was as hot as a firecracker! I spilled out my sad story and he was very understanding. All was not lost, however, the bread and salad were really good.
After that first disaster, I decided that swmbs. Katie, as well as my own mother were not going to get the best of me. I begin to read cookbooks as if they were novels and bought magazines in the checkout line at the grocery store. Even my conversations with my friends turned to food. We begin to share and exchange recipes too.What was happening to me? The answer is very simple. I became a cook, not because I had to, but because I wanted to do so. You see, this is the south. We cook to show love and to be loved. We want to please that special someone and be appreciated in return. No one leaves a southern cook's house without being offered food and drink. Even ice water served in a crystal goblet becomes a treat. All this I learned at the feet of the master, my mother.
Earlier in this post I said that I refrained from letting my mother teach me the fine art of cooking, but that's not entirely true. I did learn from her but it was more by example than hands-on. Mother played an extremely important role in my culinary journey for it was to her I turned to ask questions when my reading skills failed me. For instance, when a recipe called for an egg, I called my mom and asked if that meant the yellow and the white. She said yes, everything but the shell. How did she keep from laughing? Until the day she died, Mother was always ready to answer my questions about cooking. The more I cooked the more I found that I really liked it as well as my mother did.
I have cooked in sub-standard kitchens for most of my married life. Five years ago we decided to do a major overhaul of our house and finally add a new kitchen. For the first time in our forty-one years of wedded bliss, Gene, the kids and grand-darlings are getting meals turned out in a beautiful, functional and well-designed space. I love it and find that I am the happiest in my new kitchen and dinning space. It isn't really fancy and the meals aren't either, but they are prepared and offered with love. Some of my mother's cookbooks came to live in the new bookcases and they live alongside those I've collected since the beginning of my cooking journey. My sister and I divided those cookbooks up after Mother's death. She and I cried at the smudges and spatters and lovingly touched the notes written beside some of the recipes. I still choke-up when I cook "Brunswick Stew" because Mom had written, "Tom's favorite", in the margin. Tom was her husband, and our beloved, "Daddy".
Cooking has taught me a lot about being a wife, a mother and a person. My mother, my mother-in-law and Katie helped me in my journey to Flavortown (a shout out to Guy)but what I learned all by myself is that you don't need, although it' s nice, a fancy or not so fancy new kitchen or top of the line pots and pans to create a yummy meal for family and friends. She-who-must-be-served was right when she said that all you really needed to do to be able to cook was read. I am still reading, learning and loving everyday as I prepare food. My mother would be happy and, although she never saw the new space; I think she would approve.
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Okay, my birthday week/month is officially over. I can now put to rest the joy and horror of turning sixty years old. How can that be? Sixty? I remember when my grandmother turned sixty. She went from being fairly fashionable to wearing ankle socks with her wedge sandals. Don't expect that from me any time soon.
If I were to put together a time capsule; what would it look like? I believe that I'd put the load of cards wishing me a great day and poking a little fun at me too. Maybe I'd even include pictures of the trip to New York that my daughter and I took just last week. The delight in our faces of being together is very telling. Years from now, I hope, we will look at them and remember us, not so much the place.
Now, back to those shoes. I love shoes and handbags. The New York city trip was a feast of both. I watched as very sophisticated girls and women hobbled along with boots and high heels on that made me wince just to see them. If anyone wants to know what I think will be the best career in the future; I'll tell them that podiatry is looking very promising. How can they wear those vehicles of pain? Handbags don't pose the same threat. I think that I'll stick to those. Shoes? I have more than enough to ride out the next trend.
I have several very style-concerned friends. Me? I think that I must be style-challenged. At my now ripe old age, I tend to go for comfort and color.I love to wear colorful clothes. Scarves are a way to add a "pop" of color the magazines tell us. My friends can wear their scarves in any number of trendy ways. I look like I have a goiter growing fangs! Getting the knack of tying those things is beyond me, I guess. I'll have to be content to fold and re-fold those beautiful sheets of silk and wool while imagining them chicly knotted around my ever-widening neck. Of course, having a couple of chins on top of them is not too pretty either. Oh well, maybe before the end of this trend, I'll figure it out. Maybe they should go into the aforementioned time capsule.
At any rate, the week/month celebration has left me contemplative. Being sixty has not provided me with any new insight. I don't feel any older. Isn't age just a number after all? I say that and feel quite smug when I do. However, I pick up a magazine or watch TV (when I can figure out how to operate the damn thing) and see the younger version of me and my friends and think, maybe my grandmother was on to something.Screw the style, my feet are happy and so am I.
If I were to put together a time capsule; what would it look like? I believe that I'd put the load of cards wishing me a great day and poking a little fun at me too. Maybe I'd even include pictures of the trip to New York that my daughter and I took just last week. The delight in our faces of being together is very telling. Years from now, I hope, we will look at them and remember us, not so much the place.
Now, back to those shoes. I love shoes and handbags. The New York city trip was a feast of both. I watched as very sophisticated girls and women hobbled along with boots and high heels on that made me wince just to see them. If anyone wants to know what I think will be the best career in the future; I'll tell them that podiatry is looking very promising. How can they wear those vehicles of pain? Handbags don't pose the same threat. I think that I'll stick to those. Shoes? I have more than enough to ride out the next trend.
I have several very style-concerned friends. Me? I think that I must be style-challenged. At my now ripe old age, I tend to go for comfort and color.I love to wear colorful clothes. Scarves are a way to add a "pop" of color the magazines tell us. My friends can wear their scarves in any number of trendy ways. I look like I have a goiter growing fangs! Getting the knack of tying those things is beyond me, I guess. I'll have to be content to fold and re-fold those beautiful sheets of silk and wool while imagining them chicly knotted around my ever-widening neck. Of course, having a couple of chins on top of them is not too pretty either. Oh well, maybe before the end of this trend, I'll figure it out. Maybe they should go into the aforementioned time capsule.
At any rate, the week/month celebration has left me contemplative. Being sixty has not provided me with any new insight. I don't feel any older. Isn't age just a number after all? I say that and feel quite smug when I do. However, I pick up a magazine or watch TV (when I can figure out how to operate the damn thing) and see the younger version of me and my friends and think, maybe my grandmother was on to something.Screw the style, my feet are happy and so am I.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Beach House
I call it building memories; they call it a vacation. We spent a week doing both. When we realized that going to our family cottage was not an option this year; we regrouped and chose to rent a beach house a little closer than the fourteen hour drive to Michigan. A five-and-a-half hour drive to a beach was certainly appealing! The house had a pool which we used daily. It had space for everybody and a modern kitchen. Our cottage has space, but no pool and the kitchen leaves a bit to be desired. The inevitable comparisons were made. The Michigan cottage won out, but only in the memory category.
Going up north every summer for most of his life, my husband grumbled about the heat and the sand of the beach location. The cool Michigan summers are much more to his liking. Don't misunderstand, we do have a sand beach in Michigan, but it is like dust and the water is so cool that actually swimming in the lake is a heart-shocking trip. The youngsters don't seem to notice the chill. Nevertheless, he had as good a time as he could. What he liked was having all of "chickens" ( minus one daughter-in-law) under one roof. Memories were made.
The grand-darlings were in residence. Were they ever! I had stocked the fridge and pantry with the things they like best. Translate; junk food. All of us picked up popsicle wrappers, capri sun sleeves, doughnut crumbs, likewise cupcake ones, and various morsels all week. Our eldest son volunteered to to be the "Grillmaster" to cook the side of meat the hubster had ordered ( He loves to do his shopping on line while in pajamas!). We ate fresh-caught shrimp, burgers, hot dogs and steak until we were ready to pop! We even took everyone out for dinner a couple of nights. We celebrated a daughter-in-law's birthday at a funky crab shack. She feasted on crab and was as happy as pig in mud. The youngest grand-darlings were enchanted by feeding the alligators in the restaurant's swamp! Memories were made.
We had picked a place that was a true beach experience. That means that there was no "shark mini golf', no go-kart track, no arcade and no water park! Our only water park was the ocean. No one seemed to mind. We played (laboriously) a couple of board games and told outrageous stories on each other which kept us laughing. Huge amounts of adult beverages were consumed. I'm sure that the recycle truck had a merry old time emptying the bin. Never let it be said that this clan is a bunch of teetotalers. Memories were made.
Did we miss Michigan? Yes we did. Would we do it again? Yes we would and hopefully will. The truth of the matter is this; We were all together. Okay, so it wasn't the same, but it was still good. Well, mostly good. There were a few hitches in our get-along but we won't talk about those now. What we will talk about and remember is that we were together in a special place. We had a piece of time to just kick back and enjoy each other and relish the sheer wonder of being a family.
What I can take away from the week is this: It is not so much the place but the people. We will continue to make memories whether that happens on a sandy beach in the south or on a cooler one up north. Memories will be made.
Going up north every summer for most of his life, my husband grumbled about the heat and the sand of the beach location. The cool Michigan summers are much more to his liking. Don't misunderstand, we do have a sand beach in Michigan, but it is like dust and the water is so cool that actually swimming in the lake is a heart-shocking trip. The youngsters don't seem to notice the chill. Nevertheless, he had as good a time as he could. What he liked was having all of "chickens" ( minus one daughter-in-law) under one roof. Memories were made.
The grand-darlings were in residence. Were they ever! I had stocked the fridge and pantry with the things they like best. Translate; junk food. All of us picked up popsicle wrappers, capri sun sleeves, doughnut crumbs, likewise cupcake ones, and various morsels all week. Our eldest son volunteered to to be the "Grillmaster" to cook the side of meat the hubster had ordered ( He loves to do his shopping on line while in pajamas!). We ate fresh-caught shrimp, burgers, hot dogs and steak until we were ready to pop! We even took everyone out for dinner a couple of nights. We celebrated a daughter-in-law's birthday at a funky crab shack. She feasted on crab and was as happy as pig in mud. The youngest grand-darlings were enchanted by feeding the alligators in the restaurant's swamp! Memories were made.
We had picked a place that was a true beach experience. That means that there was no "shark mini golf', no go-kart track, no arcade and no water park! Our only water park was the ocean. No one seemed to mind. We played (laboriously) a couple of board games and told outrageous stories on each other which kept us laughing. Huge amounts of adult beverages were consumed. I'm sure that the recycle truck had a merry old time emptying the bin. Never let it be said that this clan is a bunch of teetotalers. Memories were made.
Did we miss Michigan? Yes we did. Would we do it again? Yes we would and hopefully will. The truth of the matter is this; We were all together. Okay, so it wasn't the same, but it was still good. Well, mostly good. There were a few hitches in our get-along but we won't talk about those now. What we will talk about and remember is that we were together in a special place. We had a piece of time to just kick back and enjoy each other and relish the sheer wonder of being a family.
What I can take away from the week is this: It is not so much the place but the people. We will continue to make memories whether that happens on a sandy beach in the south or on a cooler one up north. Memories will be made.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Old-Fashioned Girl... That's me
I am an old-fashioned-kind of girl. Twitter, texting, and alerts by cell phone are just not in my chosen way of communicating. Okay, I know by now that whoever is reading this blog post might leave, but please wait and hear me out.
Last year for Mother's Day the Darling Husband, kids and grand-darlings gave me an Ipad. How I do love that little piece of technology! It allows me to do all manner of things in nano seconds. Wow! I can also indulge my love of words by playing "Words with Friends" and "Scramble", on it, somewhat obsessively, I might add. I call it "keeping my brain sharp", but the DH is asking himself why he ever gave me the darn thing! I had to turn the sound off because the constant dinging drove him nuts. In all honesty, it wasn't a long drive (heehee). The dinging signifies friends playing the games. It is an alert of sorts, so I don't detest all alerts. Right? Another nice touch is the Ibooks. Using the Ipad to read downloaded books instead of lugging books along when I travel is a plus.
For Christmas he gave me an shiny new Iphone! My old cell phone had a crack right through its middle, but I could still get and make calls on it. The fact that I could take pictures with it didn't occur to me until I'd had it for at least two years. At the ripe old age of five years the damn thing wouldn't hold a charge for more than four or five hours, so a new cell phone was certainly welcome. I'm getting used to the new phone, slowly. My very tech-savvy daughter "synched" it with the afore-mentioned IPad so that they "share aps". That, by the way, is super-cool. I can even check e-mail on it;that is if my new bifocals are handy. The gadget takes fabulous pictures too. Two weeks ago I even took a picture of myself while trying to figure out how to flip it so that I could capture my grand-daughter dancing with her Papa. The music ended before I got the shot. Sometimes I get text messages. Great? Not so much. Just yesterday I sent a text message to a friend that read 'us'. Don't I love auto-correct? My fingers hit the wrong buttons because I meant to answer 'yes' to her question. Damn. I can't type well either.
Now that I've got these super gadgets, I'd like to explain my aversion to texting. First of all, I have to get my bifocals out of wherever I've left them to read the message or at the very least tap the little screen to enlarge the words in order to read them. Then there is the reply which means that my once-nimble fingers are called into action. Yikes! Second, texting is the way the young people in my life communicate, so I miss the sound of their voices. Since when did a cryptic message take the place of the human voice? Kids, I'd rather hear your laugh than read an LOL or see a colon with half a parentheses indicating a smile. Actually, I love "seeing" your smiling face up close and personal. Ditto to friends. Texting to me is just another separation by degrees. Like an used muscle that atrophies; will you loose your voice due to constant texting? Probably not but why take the chance? Just kidding! The upside of texting is that the younger generation has more finely developed thumbs than my generation. I read that recently in a doctor's office waiting room. How appropriate! The study said that our ape-like ancestors used their thumbs to cling to tree branches and for feeding themselves. How heart-warming that is to me. Imagine my sheer delight knowing that my great-grand-darlings will be able to swing from branch to branch without missing a single text! Makes a granny proud.
I've said it before but it bears repeating; I love the printed word whether it is in newspapers, books or billboards. A cup of coffee in a favorite mug with the morning newspaper ( no matter how liberal) is how I roll. Curling up with a good book in my semi-dark bedroom on a rainy afternoon is a pleasure I can't resist. Answering the "real" phone and hearing a beloved voice on the other end is about as good as it gets. As you can guess, I am a people person not an introvert in any way. Needy? Yes, if that means that instead of a cold, "how r u", I get a live stream "hello"." Live stream" may not be the right term but I needed to fit in a tech-savvy phrase to keep the kids reading this.
In short; text if you must. I will attempt to send you an intelligent response but please, drop in anytime or call me on the telephone. Seeing a friendly face or hearing the smile in your voice is precious to me. Snicker as you send a tweet. Giggle as you text. Smile as you read this. Is silence golden? Only time will tell. Oh and don't forget to swing to the end of the branch. That is where the fruit can be found! LOL
Love and kisses (xoxoxo),
Mom
facebook.com/lindarichmondhill
Last year for Mother's Day the Darling Husband, kids and grand-darlings gave me an Ipad. How I do love that little piece of technology! It allows me to do all manner of things in nano seconds. Wow! I can also indulge my love of words by playing "Words with Friends" and "Scramble", on it, somewhat obsessively, I might add. I call it "keeping my brain sharp", but the DH is asking himself why he ever gave me the darn thing! I had to turn the sound off because the constant dinging drove him nuts. In all honesty, it wasn't a long drive (heehee). The dinging signifies friends playing the games. It is an alert of sorts, so I don't detest all alerts. Right? Another nice touch is the Ibooks. Using the Ipad to read downloaded books instead of lugging books along when I travel is a plus.
For Christmas he gave me an shiny new Iphone! My old cell phone had a crack right through its middle, but I could still get and make calls on it. The fact that I could take pictures with it didn't occur to me until I'd had it for at least two years. At the ripe old age of five years the damn thing wouldn't hold a charge for more than four or five hours, so a new cell phone was certainly welcome. I'm getting used to the new phone, slowly. My very tech-savvy daughter "synched" it with the afore-mentioned IPad so that they "share aps". That, by the way, is super-cool. I can even check e-mail on it;that is if my new bifocals are handy. The gadget takes fabulous pictures too. Two weeks ago I even took a picture of myself while trying to figure out how to flip it so that I could capture my grand-daughter dancing with her Papa. The music ended before I got the shot. Sometimes I get text messages. Great? Not so much. Just yesterday I sent a text message to a friend that read 'us'. Don't I love auto-correct? My fingers hit the wrong buttons because I meant to answer 'yes' to her question. Damn. I can't type well either.
Now that I've got these super gadgets, I'd like to explain my aversion to texting. First of all, I have to get my bifocals out of wherever I've left them to read the message or at the very least tap the little screen to enlarge the words in order to read them. Then there is the reply which means that my once-nimble fingers are called into action. Yikes! Second, texting is the way the young people in my life communicate, so I miss the sound of their voices. Since when did a cryptic message take the place of the human voice? Kids, I'd rather hear your laugh than read an LOL or see a colon with half a parentheses indicating a smile. Actually, I love "seeing" your smiling face up close and personal. Ditto to friends. Texting to me is just another separation by degrees. Like an used muscle that atrophies; will you loose your voice due to constant texting? Probably not but why take the chance? Just kidding! The upside of texting is that the younger generation has more finely developed thumbs than my generation. I read that recently in a doctor's office waiting room. How appropriate! The study said that our ape-like ancestors used their thumbs to cling to tree branches and for feeding themselves. How heart-warming that is to me. Imagine my sheer delight knowing that my great-grand-darlings will be able to swing from branch to branch without missing a single text! Makes a granny proud.
I've said it before but it bears repeating; I love the printed word whether it is in newspapers, books or billboards. A cup of coffee in a favorite mug with the morning newspaper ( no matter how liberal) is how I roll. Curling up with a good book in my semi-dark bedroom on a rainy afternoon is a pleasure I can't resist. Answering the "real" phone and hearing a beloved voice on the other end is about as good as it gets. As you can guess, I am a people person not an introvert in any way. Needy? Yes, if that means that instead of a cold, "how r u", I get a live stream "hello"." Live stream" may not be the right term but I needed to fit in a tech-savvy phrase to keep the kids reading this.
In short; text if you must. I will attempt to send you an intelligent response but please, drop in anytime or call me on the telephone. Seeing a friendly face or hearing the smile in your voice is precious to me. Snicker as you send a tweet. Giggle as you text. Smile as you read this. Is silence golden? Only time will tell. Oh and don't forget to swing to the end of the branch. That is where the fruit can be found! LOL
Love and kisses (xoxoxo),
Mom
facebook.com/lindarichmondhill
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Random thoughts
Pardon me if I've written this before but I need to say it again. I started this blog mainly for my own children to read. The fact that I share it with others doesn't admit to any vanity or my part. It means that, should I forget thoughts or actions made by me, there will be other people not connected by blood to me who will remind me of them. In other words: before shutting the door on me remind my kids to erase any crappy stuff on my laptop but be sure to read the blog posts! Note to self; write down and store my passwords and then remember to tell the kids that they are in the safe. Another note to self: Give them the combination in order to open the safe. Whew, life as well as death is complicated! All of this is subject to change depending on how well and how long I live.
Now about those thoughts. It has occurred to me that I haven't lately told my children, their spouses and my grand-children how much I love them. This post could end right here, but since when have I ended anything without expounding on it?
Thought #1: Gene and I were looking at a huge house just this week. Never mind why, that is fodder for another blog. Anyway, the house had 3 floors and a basement apartment. He, snickering, replied, "We could buy this place and give each family a floor." I think that he might have been half-way serious. Let me set the record straight; I love all the kids, spouses and grand-darlings, but I don't think having us all under one roof would be a good idea. On the other hand, having daily access to my family would be a dream-come-true. Maybe a family compound would be a better idea? The Kennedys had a lock on that one.
#2. I enjoy knowing and spending time with my adult kids. They don't want us to be their best friends and I really do get that, but eating a meal together (especially one that I didn't cook) or just having a talk over a drink, is a treat. When we still lived in Memphis, I had our parents over to our house frequently. They loved it and now I know why. For me, it meant that they could entertain the children and I that didn't have to drag the kids home from their house for bedtime and Mom or Nana could enjoy someone else's food with the added bonus of being with their grandchildren. I tried to cook a little fancier fare for them until one day when my mother said that even eating a peanut butter sandwich with her grandchildren was a treat. I know now what she meant.
#3. Bickering. Yes, I know bickering is a pain the bohunkus but it happens, all the time. Gene and I bicker, it's how we roll. I admit to fighting, but only about important things and people whom I love. Don't waste a huge amount of time on bickering. Save the energy for the big fights that really matter. I read an African proverb that said in part and I paraphrase, "When your day of reckoning comes and you face God, wear your bruises proudly. Otherwise, God will realize that you thought that nothing on earth was worth fighting for." I will wear my bruises with honor as well as pride because I do fight for things and people worth fighting for.
#4. As much as mothers love their children, they need a break. No matter how liberated women have become, they still seem to carry the heaviest burden of caring for the kids. I tell everyone, including my own kids, that Gene and I shared their childcare from the first diaper change. That is true, but what I fail to say is that I paved the way for the shared responsibilities. Setting the stage for the 50-50 rearing looked easy to the casual observer. Behind the scenes I was washing and drying the diapers and then we'd fold them together. If I had a meeting in the evening, the dinner meal was planned and he served it. See what I mean? Nowadays, dads can pick-up diapers on the way home from work and drive through the local McDonald's for chicken nuggets if Mom has a meeting. By the way, it was probably Mom's idea and plan that led to the drive through in the first place. A break for Mom is always welcome. Dads, make the plan and give Mom's brain a rest. I've watched both of our sons and son-in-law struggle to do their part. Most of the time they get right. Parenting is hard work and certainly not for the faint-of-heart. I had an "aha" moment today, as a matter of fact! One of the boys called this morning to chat on his way home from a business trip. He was telling me about his precious daughter and her persnickety ways when he stopped mid-thought and said that he had not appreciated how picky he was and how we dealt with that until he saw his own daughter repeating his behavior! I laughed because the stories of his own pickiness are family legend now as hers will be years from now. We simply love our children and do our very best to guide with love even when our patience is as thin as dental floss!
#5. Friends can become like family, but family always comes first. My mother was an only child who was pampered and protected all her life. She had no inkling about sibling rivalry, but she somehow figured out how to build a family. Daddy came from a large family of poor country people and had an alcoholic father to boot, but he too figured out the family thing. My theory is that in the early days of radio and later television serials (soap operas), they both drew brain pictures about what an ideal family looked like and set out to make one together. We grew up strong and grounded with a firm hold on what a marriage should be like. Daddy worked and Mom stayed at home and dinner was served at six. Mom and Daddy made a family and instilled in the three of us, my brother, sister and me that sense of family. We've done the same thing with our kids. We can bicker and sometimes really get our knickers in a twist among ourselves, but let an outsider attack and Katie bar the door; we will fight for each other,
There are other thoughts, but my hands are tired. Typing just isn't my thing but neither is handwriting. Please, dear reader, excuse typos and misspellings! My sweet brother has offered to edit these posts, but by the time I would get around to editing with him, my ADD would take possession and I'd be off on another rant and life would be over as I know it. Kids, please leave a comment or just pick up the phone. Remember the telephone, the thing with numbers and no camera? You know the number.
Now about those thoughts. It has occurred to me that I haven't lately told my children, their spouses and my grand-children how much I love them. This post could end right here, but since when have I ended anything without expounding on it?
Thought #1: Gene and I were looking at a huge house just this week. Never mind why, that is fodder for another blog. Anyway, the house had 3 floors and a basement apartment. He, snickering, replied, "We could buy this place and give each family a floor." I think that he might have been half-way serious. Let me set the record straight; I love all the kids, spouses and grand-darlings, but I don't think having us all under one roof would be a good idea. On the other hand, having daily access to my family would be a dream-come-true. Maybe a family compound would be a better idea? The Kennedys had a lock on that one.
#2. I enjoy knowing and spending time with my adult kids. They don't want us to be their best friends and I really do get that, but eating a meal together (especially one that I didn't cook) or just having a talk over a drink, is a treat. When we still lived in Memphis, I had our parents over to our house frequently. They loved it and now I know why. For me, it meant that they could entertain the children and I that didn't have to drag the kids home from their house for bedtime and Mom or Nana could enjoy someone else's food with the added bonus of being with their grandchildren. I tried to cook a little fancier fare for them until one day when my mother said that even eating a peanut butter sandwich with her grandchildren was a treat. I know now what she meant.
#3. Bickering. Yes, I know bickering is a pain the bohunkus but it happens, all the time. Gene and I bicker, it's how we roll. I admit to fighting, but only about important things and people whom I love. Don't waste a huge amount of time on bickering. Save the energy for the big fights that really matter. I read an African proverb that said in part and I paraphrase, "When your day of reckoning comes and you face God, wear your bruises proudly. Otherwise, God will realize that you thought that nothing on earth was worth fighting for." I will wear my bruises with honor as well as pride because I do fight for things and people worth fighting for.
#4. As much as mothers love their children, they need a break. No matter how liberated women have become, they still seem to carry the heaviest burden of caring for the kids. I tell everyone, including my own kids, that Gene and I shared their childcare from the first diaper change. That is true, but what I fail to say is that I paved the way for the shared responsibilities. Setting the stage for the 50-50 rearing looked easy to the casual observer. Behind the scenes I was washing and drying the diapers and then we'd fold them together. If I had a meeting in the evening, the dinner meal was planned and he served it. See what I mean? Nowadays, dads can pick-up diapers on the way home from work and drive through the local McDonald's for chicken nuggets if Mom has a meeting. By the way, it was probably Mom's idea and plan that led to the drive through in the first place. A break for Mom is always welcome. Dads, make the plan and give Mom's brain a rest. I've watched both of our sons and son-in-law struggle to do their part. Most of the time they get right. Parenting is hard work and certainly not for the faint-of-heart. I had an "aha" moment today, as a matter of fact! One of the boys called this morning to chat on his way home from a business trip. He was telling me about his precious daughter and her persnickety ways when he stopped mid-thought and said that he had not appreciated how picky he was and how we dealt with that until he saw his own daughter repeating his behavior! I laughed because the stories of his own pickiness are family legend now as hers will be years from now. We simply love our children and do our very best to guide with love even when our patience is as thin as dental floss!
#5. Friends can become like family, but family always comes first. My mother was an only child who was pampered and protected all her life. She had no inkling about sibling rivalry, but she somehow figured out how to build a family. Daddy came from a large family of poor country people and had an alcoholic father to boot, but he too figured out the family thing. My theory is that in the early days of radio and later television serials (soap operas), they both drew brain pictures about what an ideal family looked like and set out to make one together. We grew up strong and grounded with a firm hold on what a marriage should be like. Daddy worked and Mom stayed at home and dinner was served at six. Mom and Daddy made a family and instilled in the three of us, my brother, sister and me that sense of family. We've done the same thing with our kids. We can bicker and sometimes really get our knickers in a twist among ourselves, but let an outsider attack and Katie bar the door; we will fight for each other,
There are other thoughts, but my hands are tired. Typing just isn't my thing but neither is handwriting. Please, dear reader, excuse typos and misspellings! My sweet brother has offered to edit these posts, but by the time I would get around to editing with him, my ADD would take possession and I'd be off on another rant and life would be over as I know it. Kids, please leave a comment or just pick up the phone. Remember the telephone, the thing with numbers and no camera? You know the number.
Monday, April 2, 2012
Husbands
It's been over two years since the hubster lost his job/retired/became my new best friend. By the way, why is it called, "loosing your job"? The job isn't lost really; it just doesn't exist in its previous form anymore. At any rate, he is at home with me now. Some days that is a blessing and sometimes it is a curse. Mostly it's a blessing and I try not to complain too much on the "off" days. Trying to be sympathetic to his frustrations and restlessness can be equally trying for me. Maybe all that frustration burns more calories! A girl can hope, right?
The blessings are many. He now folds and puts away the laundry and will unload the dishwasher too. The younger gand-darlings get to see him without the distraction of a job that kept him from the picnics and tea parties during the week days. Online shopping and checking investments as well as maintaining our bank accounts helps fill his days. Today, for instance, a box of "Cheri's Berries" arrived at the door. "For you" he said and I marvel at how much better he has gotten at surprises and gifts now that he has the time to "shop". The big secret is that he can now shop in his jammies with his coffee in hand! Funny how that works.
The off days are crappy. We get on each other's nerves and bicker like small children playing in the sandbox. I tear-up and plot an escape (never matter that I never do it). Mother was right; sleep on it and the sun will come up and bring with it new day.
He is way too young to be "retired" ! Isn't that for old men who play checkers and feed pigeons from a park bench? I guess not. When do I retire? It seems that I do he same things as always. I just now have a helper. The pigeons will have to wait and we never did like to play checkers.
The blessings are many. He now folds and puts away the laundry and will unload the dishwasher too. The younger gand-darlings get to see him without the distraction of a job that kept him from the picnics and tea parties during the week days. Online shopping and checking investments as well as maintaining our bank accounts helps fill his days. Today, for instance, a box of "Cheri's Berries" arrived at the door. "For you" he said and I marvel at how much better he has gotten at surprises and gifts now that he has the time to "shop". The big secret is that he can now shop in his jammies with his coffee in hand! Funny how that works.
The off days are crappy. We get on each other's nerves and bicker like small children playing in the sandbox. I tear-up and plot an escape (never matter that I never do it). Mother was right; sleep on it and the sun will come up and bring with it new day.
He is way too young to be "retired" ! Isn't that for old men who play checkers and feed pigeons from a park bench? I guess not. When do I retire? It seems that I do he same things as always. I just now have a helper. The pigeons will have to wait and we never did like to play checkers.
Monday, March 5, 2012
The New "Occupy"
What is with those people? Why are they protesting corporate greed? Why don't I get it?
Let me tell you, I wouldn't camp out in protest against anything unless there was an end in sight and there were flushing toilets at the sight! Geez! Of course, if you know me; you know that I have never camped out, slept in a tent nor owned a real sleeping bag. The last sleeping bag I owned was only suitable for inside sleepovers and I think it flowers on it. My mother gave it to Goodwill when I was in college.
Now that I've gotten all that out of the way; I want to put forth some thought- provoking questions that I can't answer nor do I expect anyone else to do so.
My first question is; What do the occupiers expect to accomplish? Do they think that pooping in public and rabble-rousing will get the ceos to hand over the dough to the less fortunate? Am I the only one who thinks that this smacks of socialism? Hello! Cold War? Berlin Wall? Please spare me.
My second question may seem to have nothing whatsoever to do with protesting but you'll just have to bear with me while I explain. Have you ever attended a college or a professional football game? Basketball game? Baseball game? Well, children you've just handed over your dough (or Daddy's gold card) to the "man". I read in our local newspaper, just two short weeks ago, that the University of Texas football coach, Mac Brown, was expected to sign a multi-million dollar contract (in excess of 50 million over the next 5 years). In the same paper there was a report of a baseball player who had signed a contract for over 30 million (I can't remember the exact amount, since I blurred the ink while spewing my morning coffee). Where are the protesters? Wait, I think I get it. "They" are occupying the seats!
On to my next question; Why are the Hollywood stars participating in some of the protest? Does anyone really believe that the celebs give two hoots about the great unwashed? Take Angie and Brad (please!) for instance. They have made people swoon with their "generosity" and humanitarian good deeds. Let me get this straight. They are unmarried, have a boat load of kids (biological as well as adopted), have an entourage of helpers, have residences in several places and command millions for their films and other endeavors. They could just write a check to rebuild the ninth ward in NOLA and be done with it. Instead of disdain or protests, the public worships them. I really am confused now.
Before anyone starts sending me ugly messages; please just consider my questions. I am older and getting more confused daily about what constitutes right and what is acceptable.
Working hard and rising to the top of the corporate ladder is what America is all about, or used to be. Worshipping celebrities and sports stars is is alien to me. I had a poster of Paul Newman on my wall when I was 15 years old. It was a stunner of him in a tee-shirt ala "Hud" . I loved it and him but I never knew nor cared how much money he made for being the star of "Hud". My father always said that what people made or were paid was nobody's business but their own. I agreed then as I do now. Paul went on to a second career as a philanthropist by parlaying his salad dressings into a multimillion dollar industry and giving the profit to charities. Where are the protests?
It's time to separate the wheat from the chaff . Who are the real enemies and who are the heroes? With the election year here and November approaching, let's take a closer look at the barking dogs. Daddy always said that the guiltiest dog always barked the loudest. Let the protest and the barking begin. I have my pen ready for that $$$contract. What a hoot!
Let me tell you, I wouldn't camp out in protest against anything unless there was an end in sight and there were flushing toilets at the sight! Geez! Of course, if you know me; you know that I have never camped out, slept in a tent nor owned a real sleeping bag. The last sleeping bag I owned was only suitable for inside sleepovers and I think it flowers on it. My mother gave it to Goodwill when I was in college.
Now that I've gotten all that out of the way; I want to put forth some thought- provoking questions that I can't answer nor do I expect anyone else to do so.
My first question is; What do the occupiers expect to accomplish? Do they think that pooping in public and rabble-rousing will get the ceos to hand over the dough to the less fortunate? Am I the only one who thinks that this smacks of socialism? Hello! Cold War? Berlin Wall? Please spare me.
My second question may seem to have nothing whatsoever to do with protesting but you'll just have to bear with me while I explain. Have you ever attended a college or a professional football game? Basketball game? Baseball game? Well, children you've just handed over your dough (or Daddy's gold card) to the "man". I read in our local newspaper, just two short weeks ago, that the University of Texas football coach, Mac Brown, was expected to sign a multi-million dollar contract (in excess of 50 million over the next 5 years). In the same paper there was a report of a baseball player who had signed a contract for over 30 million (I can't remember the exact amount, since I blurred the ink while spewing my morning coffee). Where are the protesters? Wait, I think I get it. "They" are occupying the seats!
On to my next question; Why are the Hollywood stars participating in some of the protest? Does anyone really believe that the celebs give two hoots about the great unwashed? Take Angie and Brad (please!) for instance. They have made people swoon with their "generosity" and humanitarian good deeds. Let me get this straight. They are unmarried, have a boat load of kids (biological as well as adopted), have an entourage of helpers, have residences in several places and command millions for their films and other endeavors. They could just write a check to rebuild the ninth ward in NOLA and be done with it. Instead of disdain or protests, the public worships them. I really am confused now.
Before anyone starts sending me ugly messages; please just consider my questions. I am older and getting more confused daily about what constitutes right and what is acceptable.
Working hard and rising to the top of the corporate ladder is what America is all about, or used to be. Worshipping celebrities and sports stars is is alien to me. I had a poster of Paul Newman on my wall when I was 15 years old. It was a stunner of him in a tee-shirt ala "Hud" . I loved it and him but I never knew nor cared how much money he made for being the star of "Hud". My father always said that what people made or were paid was nobody's business but their own. I agreed then as I do now. Paul went on to a second career as a philanthropist by parlaying his salad dressings into a multimillion dollar industry and giving the profit to charities. Where are the protests?
It's time to separate the wheat from the chaff . Who are the real enemies and who are the heroes? With the election year here and November approaching, let's take a closer look at the barking dogs. Daddy always said that the guiltiest dog always barked the loudest. Let the protest and the barking begin. I have my pen ready for that $$$contract. What a hoot!
Monday, January 9, 2012
Christmases Past
The decorations are packed away and stored in the basement. The wreath is gone from the door and the leftover candy canes look a little silly on the "treat tray" in the kitchen. We are still looking for "Prince Charming's" shoe. By the way, "Cinderella" is naked, so I wonder if that might have something to do with the missing shoe. Yes, Christmas is officially over; Even for us, The Episcopalians. A new season in the church year has begun. We call it, The Epiphany. For me it means moving from celebration to enlightenment. So what could this mean? It means that I miss my children and grand-darlings filling the house with laughter. It means that with all the disfunction in our world, for a sliver of time we found peace.
Those weeks of Advent (the 4 weeks leading up to Christmas) are filled with anticipation as well as preparations. I cook, shop, plan and wrap the gifts. Lists and more lists are made. I pull out the recipes for all the special things reserved for holidays and, yes, make another list. My usual frugality is dismissed and my hedonist self takes over my body and my brain.
Christmas morning arrives, as it always has, no matter the weather, as a bright and shining day filled with love and laughter. My heart swells! The grand-darlings are united in their delight and the children are best buddies as they call-up memories of Christmases past. We sometimes loose a few tears over the ones we've loved and lost and will miss always. This is a quilt, I think, made up of scraps and bits of the present and the past all woven together to spell, family. It is who we are.
Epiphany. What will this year be like? Enlightenment and discovery? Sadness? Loss? New friends? I think that it will be all those things and more. The one certain thing is that time will move on and these days it seems to move even faster than it did when I was a younger person. Change will take place because as my mother used to say, "When things stop changing; You'll be pushing -up poppies!" I'd rather not be pushing- up poppies this year because there is so much more to do! There are more lists to be made and more preparations for the celebrations of family. I am so very blessed.
Happy Epiphany to all and to all a Good Year!
Those weeks of Advent (the 4 weeks leading up to Christmas) are filled with anticipation as well as preparations. I cook, shop, plan and wrap the gifts. Lists and more lists are made. I pull out the recipes for all the special things reserved for holidays and, yes, make another list. My usual frugality is dismissed and my hedonist self takes over my body and my brain.
Christmas morning arrives, as it always has, no matter the weather, as a bright and shining day filled with love and laughter. My heart swells! The grand-darlings are united in their delight and the children are best buddies as they call-up memories of Christmases past. We sometimes loose a few tears over the ones we've loved and lost and will miss always. This is a quilt, I think, made up of scraps and bits of the present and the past all woven together to spell, family. It is who we are.
Epiphany. What will this year be like? Enlightenment and discovery? Sadness? Loss? New friends? I think that it will be all those things and more. The one certain thing is that time will move on and these days it seems to move even faster than it did when I was a younger person. Change will take place because as my mother used to say, "When things stop changing; You'll be pushing -up poppies!" I'd rather not be pushing- up poppies this year because there is so much more to do! There are more lists to be made and more preparations for the celebrations of family. I am so very blessed.
Happy Epiphany to all and to all a Good Year!
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