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.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
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!
Friday, December 9, 2011
The Real "Help"
I recently saw the film, "The Help". Having read the book, I can truthfully say that although a good read as well as a fine movie, the book and film left gaps in the real stories of "The Help". I am also sure that there are a million or more sites where one could read similar stories. So in the interest of preserving, for my kids, a bit of family history, I offer this little story.
I grew up in a multi-generational household. Mother was an only child of a working mother and an alcoholic father. Her father had been a successful banker who had built a nice house in a new neighborhood for his young family. Her mother had a very nice career working for doctors, since she'd been denied a nursing education by her own father. That is another story for another time. The stock market crash happened and my grandparents, like so many others, lost their home and most of their money. Granddaddy had enough cash left to buy another house in an older, but still "good", neighborhood, so they moved. Both of my grandparents worked, so Mom was the original "latch-key" child. She told stories of learning to cook by pulling a chair up to the gas stove in order to light the pilot before cooking dinner for her parents. By today's standards, my grandparents would have been reported to the social services department! They didn't have hired "help" until much later. After Mom and Daddy married, they stayed on in the same house with my grandparents, because as Mom said, my grandmother needed them. Granddaddy was a handful during his drinking days, I was told.
That brings me to the blessed event, my birth, two years after my parents wedding. Mom had gone to a junior college and was working when I was born, so what was there to do but hire someone to "look after" the baby? With all the adults in the house at their jobs all day, the care and feeding of me was left to a series of "maids". They were never called "house-keepers" in those days. I remember a few of them; most notably the one who hid me from her "friend" . She also made long-distance phone calls to a northern city, resulting in a very large bill which she didn't pay. Needless to say, Pearl didn't make it in our house. Reflecting on it now so many years later, I can only imagine how my parents must have agonized over childcare! Perhaps, our sons and daughter can relate when searching for good daycare people or places for our grand-darlings.
Enter Annie O'Neill, our "help", and Mom's lifeline. Annie became a fixture in our home because not only was she bright but trust-worthy and kind as well. I remember watching her as she walked from the bus stop with all the other maids into our little cove. They were a happy group, laughing and talking carrying brightly colored parasols to their jobs. Annie's parasol was red and I thought it was swell. Back then I knew all of their names, for whom they worked and, most important what they cooked! Their names are lost to me now, but I can't forget their foods. Mrs. Carruthers' maid made fabulous cookies and invited the neighborhood children to tea parties with Alberta. You see, Alberta was a grown woman, who I realize now, had Down's syndrome. She would hug us and offer tea and cookies on her lawn. Some of the kids were afraid of her, but not I. The cookies were too good to pass up! Annie didn't cook much. Mom loved to do that, so Annie did other stuff. After my sister was born and my grandmother retired; life changed. Mom was at home all the time, having given up her job and Annie didn't come everyday anymore. I don't remember missing her at first because I had a baby sister, Mom and a grand-mother to dance to my tune. However, on the days that Annie did come, I knew that the two ladies of the house would be out for the day. Mom and Mama would dress-up, put on their gloves and hats and head to "town", leaving me screaming while Annie held me. Town was the mysterious place where they shopped and had lunch, only returning in time for Annie to catch her bus. Those days with Annie were spent following her around while she did all the housework. Sometimes she'd sit with me to show me a book or tell a story. My favorite story was about the "other little girl" at the other place where she worked. That story always raised the green-eyed monster in me, because the "other little girl" always did what she was told and minded her manners. She, unlike me, didn't take her shirt off when she got too hot nor did she give her mother and maid "hissy fits'. I always promised to do better, but miserably failed. Years later Mom told me that the "other little girl" never existed and that Annie made her up to keep me in line! Annie would work like a house afire to get everything done in time for us to do the ironing so that she could watch her "stories". I say "us" because Santa had brought me a small ironing board and a real miniature iron (it really heated up). Annie taught me to iron Daddy's handkerchiefs while we watched "The Edge of Night" and "The Guiding Light". Soon, I was as hooked as she was and we talked about the ups and downs of the families on that small screen in our living room. Again, I ask; What would today's parents think bout a four-year-old's passion for a fictional family? On the ironing front, which I never mastered, to this day I can't iron anything but flat napkins and tea towels! I also no longer watch "stories", also known as soap operas.
Annie had one son whom she called, Brother, I have no idea why. Her husband, although not Brother's father, was named Pops. He worked for us too, but on a limited basis because of his bad heart. After an almost fatal attack one spring, Pops, moved to California to live with his daughter. Annie was sad but confessed that they were never formally married and she couldn't take care of him the way his family could. We, the whole family, visited him in California and met his daughter and his family. Reporting after the visit to Annie about how well Pops looked and how happy he was; we never heard about him again. Annie didn't mention him and we were told never to ask about him. Brother was Annie's only child, but it was no secret that she pined for another baby. One Saturday when I was about 8 years-old, Annie called to say that she'd be coming by for a visit and that she had a surprise. The surprise was a little baby girl! The baby had been left in Annie's care while her mother moved to Mississippi. Annie hoped that the mother wouldn't come back to claim her child, but she did and Annie's heart was broken. We never asked about the baby either. Mom said that it would make Annie cry, so we never mentioned the baby again. We became her "babies. No matter how many times we sang, "Annie is the Queen of Africa", a song we made up just for her, she didn't scold us. Not until I was a college student do I remember being scolded by Annie. She would tell me repeatedly to unload the dishwasher, or stay out of the peas she'd cooked for Daddy's supper, or to hurry-up and get out of her way so that she could get to the ironing and her "stories"!
The years during the civil rights struggle are as vivid to me now as they were 50 years ago. Annie was vocal in her disapproval of all things "uppity", whatever that meant. I remember hearing her talk with my mother about the craziness in her neighborhood. She couldn't understand the rioting and burning. The year, 1968, was the worst. The sanitation workers' strike brought hate right to our front doors. Dr. King arrived in Memphis to offer his help in resolving the differences. On one of the most awful days Annie came with Mom to get us out of school. I am ashamed to admit that I was a bit embarrassed to have those two women come to my high school and put me in the car! It wasn't about race at all but the fact that I was almost 16 and ready to embrace change since, of course, I knew everything! Mom wanted Annie to stay with us, but she wouldn't hear of it. Mom drove her home that night through a neighborhood already beginning to riot. I realize now what guts it took for my very southern lady of a Mama to do such a brave thing. Many years later Mom confessed how scared she'd been. Daddy fussed, but Mom felt that she had to see Annie home safely. That night Daddy loaded a gun, which I didn't know he had. It probably wouldn't have worked since it was an old rifle of his father's, but it might have frightened someone. By then end of that horrible week, Daddy installed a new lock on the front door. I think we were the first in our cove to have a deadbolt lock. Dr. King's murder brought shame to our city. Annie didn't say much accept that maybe he should have stayed away and let Memphis work it out. While we went to school with the National Guard acting as crossing guards and lived under a curfew for what seemed years, Annie religiously came to work and did her best for us. I wonder if she mourned Dr. King's death or ever felt that she couldn't openly grieve for fear of our disdain. I'll never know.
When I got engaged Annie threw herself into the preparations for the wedding as much as Mom did. She came more often and was more vocal in her opinions than she'd been in the past. Her fear was that I wouldn't "cotton' to being a housewife because I'd shown no interest in cooking, ironing, nor any other of the "housewifey stuff". In her infinite wisdom she warned me to not let my "man" use a condom because doing so was like having sex in a raincoat, she said. I'm sure that I must have blushed and was rendered speechless by that remark. On my wedding day, Annie and Mom were with me as I put on the billowing white gown. She placed the vail on my head and she and Mom held hands and shed a few tears. Mom asked her what they'd do without me to take care of and Annie announced that she was retiring. Mom gasped and I felt the air sucked out of the room. Annie quickly assured my mother that she wouldn't be disappearing entirely but would come back when mom needed her help. True to her word when things got a little hairy on the home front, Annie would appear and set everything right again.
Mom never replaced Annie. Their was never anyone who could fill her shoes. We loved and respected her despite our racial differences. The south in the fifties and sixties was a very divided place, but at Overland Place we didn't really notice. I can say in all honesty that we had prejudices and that everything discussed at our dinner table was not without mention of those issues. However, we were taught to respect all people despite their color. That may seem to be somewhat of a mixed message but to us, my siblings and me, it was a message heard and understood.
My parents and Annie are gone now. They lived their lives in their time and passed on their wisdom and traditions to us. To this day I cringe when a hat is placed on the bed because Annie said that that was bad luck. All the superstitions and myths that Annie lived by are lost now. I admit to being a modern mom and didn't pass them on to my kids. If I could remember them all, I'd tell them. Even without the superstitions, I am the person I am because of the care I received from those who loved me. Annie does deserve some credit for that, but she wouldn't agree. Of that I am sure. She would say that she was just doing her job. I wonder what that "other little girl" would say to that?
I grew up in a multi-generational household. Mother was an only child of a working mother and an alcoholic father. Her father had been a successful banker who had built a nice house in a new neighborhood for his young family. Her mother had a very nice career working for doctors, since she'd been denied a nursing education by her own father. That is another story for another time. The stock market crash happened and my grandparents, like so many others, lost their home and most of their money. Granddaddy had enough cash left to buy another house in an older, but still "good", neighborhood, so they moved. Both of my grandparents worked, so Mom was the original "latch-key" child. She told stories of learning to cook by pulling a chair up to the gas stove in order to light the pilot before cooking dinner for her parents. By today's standards, my grandparents would have been reported to the social services department! They didn't have hired "help" until much later. After Mom and Daddy married, they stayed on in the same house with my grandparents, because as Mom said, my grandmother needed them. Granddaddy was a handful during his drinking days, I was told.
That brings me to the blessed event, my birth, two years after my parents wedding. Mom had gone to a junior college and was working when I was born, so what was there to do but hire someone to "look after" the baby? With all the adults in the house at their jobs all day, the care and feeding of me was left to a series of "maids". They were never called "house-keepers" in those days. I remember a few of them; most notably the one who hid me from her "friend" . She also made long-distance phone calls to a northern city, resulting in a very large bill which she didn't pay. Needless to say, Pearl didn't make it in our house. Reflecting on it now so many years later, I can only imagine how my parents must have agonized over childcare! Perhaps, our sons and daughter can relate when searching for good daycare people or places for our grand-darlings.
Enter Annie O'Neill, our "help", and Mom's lifeline. Annie became a fixture in our home because not only was she bright but trust-worthy and kind as well. I remember watching her as she walked from the bus stop with all the other maids into our little cove. They were a happy group, laughing and talking carrying brightly colored parasols to their jobs. Annie's parasol was red and I thought it was swell. Back then I knew all of their names, for whom they worked and, most important what they cooked! Their names are lost to me now, but I can't forget their foods. Mrs. Carruthers' maid made fabulous cookies and invited the neighborhood children to tea parties with Alberta. You see, Alberta was a grown woman, who I realize now, had Down's syndrome. She would hug us and offer tea and cookies on her lawn. Some of the kids were afraid of her, but not I. The cookies were too good to pass up! Annie didn't cook much. Mom loved to do that, so Annie did other stuff. After my sister was born and my grandmother retired; life changed. Mom was at home all the time, having given up her job and Annie didn't come everyday anymore. I don't remember missing her at first because I had a baby sister, Mom and a grand-mother to dance to my tune. However, on the days that Annie did come, I knew that the two ladies of the house would be out for the day. Mom and Mama would dress-up, put on their gloves and hats and head to "town", leaving me screaming while Annie held me. Town was the mysterious place where they shopped and had lunch, only returning in time for Annie to catch her bus. Those days with Annie were spent following her around while she did all the housework. Sometimes she'd sit with me to show me a book or tell a story. My favorite story was about the "other little girl" at the other place where she worked. That story always raised the green-eyed monster in me, because the "other little girl" always did what she was told and minded her manners. She, unlike me, didn't take her shirt off when she got too hot nor did she give her mother and maid "hissy fits'. I always promised to do better, but miserably failed. Years later Mom told me that the "other little girl" never existed and that Annie made her up to keep me in line! Annie would work like a house afire to get everything done in time for us to do the ironing so that she could watch her "stories". I say "us" because Santa had brought me a small ironing board and a real miniature iron (it really heated up). Annie taught me to iron Daddy's handkerchiefs while we watched "The Edge of Night" and "The Guiding Light". Soon, I was as hooked as she was and we talked about the ups and downs of the families on that small screen in our living room. Again, I ask; What would today's parents think bout a four-year-old's passion for a fictional family? On the ironing front, which I never mastered, to this day I can't iron anything but flat napkins and tea towels! I also no longer watch "stories", also known as soap operas.
Annie had one son whom she called, Brother, I have no idea why. Her husband, although not Brother's father, was named Pops. He worked for us too, but on a limited basis because of his bad heart. After an almost fatal attack one spring, Pops, moved to California to live with his daughter. Annie was sad but confessed that they were never formally married and she couldn't take care of him the way his family could. We, the whole family, visited him in California and met his daughter and his family. Reporting after the visit to Annie about how well Pops looked and how happy he was; we never heard about him again. Annie didn't mention him and we were told never to ask about him. Brother was Annie's only child, but it was no secret that she pined for another baby. One Saturday when I was about 8 years-old, Annie called to say that she'd be coming by for a visit and that she had a surprise. The surprise was a little baby girl! The baby had been left in Annie's care while her mother moved to Mississippi. Annie hoped that the mother wouldn't come back to claim her child, but she did and Annie's heart was broken. We never asked about the baby either. Mom said that it would make Annie cry, so we never mentioned the baby again. We became her "babies. No matter how many times we sang, "Annie is the Queen of Africa", a song we made up just for her, she didn't scold us. Not until I was a college student do I remember being scolded by Annie. She would tell me repeatedly to unload the dishwasher, or stay out of the peas she'd cooked for Daddy's supper, or to hurry-up and get out of her way so that she could get to the ironing and her "stories"!
The years during the civil rights struggle are as vivid to me now as they were 50 years ago. Annie was vocal in her disapproval of all things "uppity", whatever that meant. I remember hearing her talk with my mother about the craziness in her neighborhood. She couldn't understand the rioting and burning. The year, 1968, was the worst. The sanitation workers' strike brought hate right to our front doors. Dr. King arrived in Memphis to offer his help in resolving the differences. On one of the most awful days Annie came with Mom to get us out of school. I am ashamed to admit that I was a bit embarrassed to have those two women come to my high school and put me in the car! It wasn't about race at all but the fact that I was almost 16 and ready to embrace change since, of course, I knew everything! Mom wanted Annie to stay with us, but she wouldn't hear of it. Mom drove her home that night through a neighborhood already beginning to riot. I realize now what guts it took for my very southern lady of a Mama to do such a brave thing. Many years later Mom confessed how scared she'd been. Daddy fussed, but Mom felt that she had to see Annie home safely. That night Daddy loaded a gun, which I didn't know he had. It probably wouldn't have worked since it was an old rifle of his father's, but it might have frightened someone. By then end of that horrible week, Daddy installed a new lock on the front door. I think we were the first in our cove to have a deadbolt lock. Dr. King's murder brought shame to our city. Annie didn't say much accept that maybe he should have stayed away and let Memphis work it out. While we went to school with the National Guard acting as crossing guards and lived under a curfew for what seemed years, Annie religiously came to work and did her best for us. I wonder if she mourned Dr. King's death or ever felt that she couldn't openly grieve for fear of our disdain. I'll never know.
When I got engaged Annie threw herself into the preparations for the wedding as much as Mom did. She came more often and was more vocal in her opinions than she'd been in the past. Her fear was that I wouldn't "cotton' to being a housewife because I'd shown no interest in cooking, ironing, nor any other of the "housewifey stuff". In her infinite wisdom she warned me to not let my "man" use a condom because doing so was like having sex in a raincoat, she said. I'm sure that I must have blushed and was rendered speechless by that remark. On my wedding day, Annie and Mom were with me as I put on the billowing white gown. She placed the vail on my head and she and Mom held hands and shed a few tears. Mom asked her what they'd do without me to take care of and Annie announced that she was retiring. Mom gasped and I felt the air sucked out of the room. Annie quickly assured my mother that she wouldn't be disappearing entirely but would come back when mom needed her help. True to her word when things got a little hairy on the home front, Annie would appear and set everything right again.
Mom never replaced Annie. Their was never anyone who could fill her shoes. We loved and respected her despite our racial differences. The south in the fifties and sixties was a very divided place, but at Overland Place we didn't really notice. I can say in all honesty that we had prejudices and that everything discussed at our dinner table was not without mention of those issues. However, we were taught to respect all people despite their color. That may seem to be somewhat of a mixed message but to us, my siblings and me, it was a message heard and understood.
My parents and Annie are gone now. They lived their lives in their time and passed on their wisdom and traditions to us. To this day I cringe when a hat is placed on the bed because Annie said that that was bad luck. All the superstitions and myths that Annie lived by are lost now. I admit to being a modern mom and didn't pass them on to my kids. If I could remember them all, I'd tell them. Even without the superstitions, I am the person I am because of the care I received from those who loved me. Annie does deserve some credit for that, but she wouldn't agree. Of that I am sure. She would say that she was just doing her job. I wonder what that "other little girl" would say to that?
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