Lately, All I've Got Is Leaving On My Mind!

"Sunshine, blue skies, white sand by the mile" --- that's a line from a song on "The Golden Girls", but it's true! Unfortunately, the traffic is as plentiful as grains of sand on the beach. Snowbirds, such as I, crowd into the state along with several hundred people, who are moving there weekly. We are in search of warmth from the sun to keep our bones from barking at us when the frost is on the pumpkin. The prospect of SAD (seasonal affective disorder) looms on the horizon as the gray skies pile up along the edges of Lake Erie and our moods become a pile of gray lumps. I really believe that I could stand to hibernate indoors, shut the drapes and pretend that the snow is not there, but instead --- somewhere over the North Pole --- way up high. I can be satisfied with quilting, reading and blogging, whereas my darlin' husband would go round the bend if there were no golf club in his hand or halcyon days loafing around the pool or just plain sitting on his porch and watching the world of geriatric strollers with similar ideas. Every time we make the shift from one state to the other, we get about four months under our belts and then thoughts drift to our other home and we start yearning to be wherever we are not at the moment. The advent of cell phones has made "reaching out and touching someone" so easy, that we don't even miss the kids too much and they can visit --- if they bring enough sleeping bags.
One of our close friends called from Ft. Myers today to say they were cooking out and we could come on over. That really stinks! It is really chilly here in Ohio and he was just rubbing it in --- like SPF #15 onto my goose pimples. There are so many things to be accomplished here --- like trimming the flower beds down for the year, washing and storing the porch furniture and making to do lists for all the things we need to haul back to Florida for the winter. Talking about that porch furniture on the deck --- a crazed squirrel has attacked one of the cushions on the wicker loveseat and pulled the foam rubber out. He is going to be really constipated if he is eating it or he is going to have a lovely soft nest for the winter. The chipmunks have headed into their burrows and are harmonizing to "Christmas, Christmas time is near", you know--- Alvin and his bunch? The leaves have been dropping quietly to the ground without as much fanfare as usual. The fall colors have been muted this year as though someone gave the signal that there should be no riotous colors before we dissolve into the world of winter white.
Some time has passed since I first started on this post and I find myself with one week to cram all the last minute stuff into the few short days until we leave. We went out and voted by absentee ballot yesterday and got new driver's licenses. The husband is getting some shots into his knee to stave off total knee surgery. If it didn't hurt so much, I'd think he was just hogging all the attention. We celebrated our fifty third wedding anniversary on Tuesday and he claims he brought me a present. He proudly showed the kids his big purchase --- a new toilet seat for the guest bathroom--- for me? You have to be kidding, Charlie --- I was thinking of something with class. He has been talking about another set of Taylor Made Golf Clubs to leave in Florida and I am not in the least in tune with that. He has been through several brands of clubs and still has a couple of sets that he doesn't use. Golf widows never mind the purchase of a single club --- even when it is his sixth putter and he is only allowed to carry one putter at a time on the course --- but another whole set? Get real! It is so cold outside tonight that I am anxious to finish the housecleaning, packing and move on down the road to the land of milk and honey or beer and chips, just as long as it is sunny and hot. My daughter-in-law has been over and cleaned out my excess food purchases. Why is it that I still think I am cooking for an army and buy as though the grocery stores are going to close suddenly? But, I will arrive in Florida and immediately head for the closest grocery to stuff my pantry there. I will just pretend that I am prepared for the next hurricane. The truck is packed, the house is cleaned, the doctors have given us prescriptions to last us for six months ---look out Florida --- another pair of snow-birds are exercising their wings for the flight to paradise. Woo Hoo!

The Only One --- Therefore --- Priceless

This is Lacey. She is one of my eight grandchildren. We have seven great boys and this one lone girl. (Thank You God! for finally sending one.) This was taken at six years old and she is now fifteen. She is still beautiful and priceless in every way!

Lovely Tradition

This is a quickie post about a lovely tradition. Our pastor and his wife came to our church twelve years ago.
They were the parents of three married daughters, who were all flight attendants. None of them had any children. Now, twelve years later, there are twelve grandchildren and we come to the tradition. When one of the girls is expecting the stork, Grandma buys a large handkerchief from a bridal store (we found the last one online). She gives it to me, because she is craftily challenged and I have made everything from suits, quilts and wedding dresses to these adorable bonnets.
I fold the back edge to form a casing and stitch with a long machine stitch, then run a silk ribbon through the casing and tie it into a bow. Then, the front edge is turned back and I embroider silk flowers (in the proper boy or girl color) and tack them over the silk bonnet strings. This little number is the last one I made (hopefully, the very last) and is pictured adorning a head of lettuce.
Oh, yeah, the tradition --- the new baby wears this bonnet home from the hospital and it is then put into the babybook. When the child marries, the stitching is picked out and the bride carries the handkerchief down the aisle. If if is a boy child, his bride carries it. My friend, the pastor's wife, has given these as gifts and has actually seen the tradition fulfilled. I hope I live long enough to see one of this "holy dozen" carry my handiwork down the aisle. They can leave the lettuce in the kitchen.

Just Curious

Big Dave of Blogger fame commented that he wished he were a robin or even a goose and could fly south with all the migrating snow birds. True, I am pulling things out of their hiding places and starting to pack for the other half of our year, but the only thing a robin packs is it's belly. They are fat as the proverbial Christmas goose, in anticipation of winging southward for a few rays while the rest of the world freezes their tail feathers in the north. I just noticed something peculiar about several of the robins hopping around on our deck and pecking away at the seeds we have thrown out there to assist them in their carbohydrate loading before the big trip. A bunch have gray feathers mingled with their red breasts. Are these the senior citizens of the bird world ? If, so --- how are they going to make the long trip with aging wings? We, too are carb loading (I just frosted a ton of graham crackers to get rid of the last of my five pounds of frosting), but I am not planning to flap my arms all the way to Ft. Myers. The robins are the lucky ones --- they don't have to drag their golf clubs, or sewing machine and clothes for any and all occasions. I am just curious to know if birds camouflage themselves with scattered gray patches to blend in with the drab winter colors? If that is the way it works, then HRH and I are going to blend in perfectly with the other golden agers, who live in tin cans and eat early birds every night for dinner.

The Time Has Come

"The time has come," the walrus said, "to speak of many things --- of shoes and ships and sealing wax and cabbages and kings." Summer just arrived three weeks ago. Then, the autumnal equinox came and certainly there must be more to fall than three weeks. Last night, Buffalo, N. Y. got twenty-two inches of snow. Really --- truly! My mind cannot curl around the thought of all that snow, now that we no longer snow ski. Those were younger, more pliable times --- when bones did not cry out in dismay at thought of shishing down a mountain or more accurately falling down a mountain with the tips of my skis stuck six inches into the snow, while I lay prone beneath the chairlift. I can still hear the sweet young thing (all of nine years old) offering to help, while overhead cute ski bums hollered out words of encouragement, e.g. "Looking good' --- "Wait for me and I'll help you when I come down." I was looking about for the St. Bernard with the keg of whisky and Lord knows ---- I don't even drink! So, here we are with over two and a half months left to enjoy the beautiful fall season and someone is pushing for an early Christmas. The maples outside our deck are still green. I cannot wait for their glorious red season, but the sudden cold has caught them by surprise. Could they be kidding us about global warming? I digress from my original point, which is, that the time has come to start getting all uptight about our move to the sunny south. My darling husband sees to it that the car or truck is ready and he does most of the driving. This leaves me more to do than I even care to contemplate. Tonight I finished piecing a quilt that I need for our bed in Florida --- all 2689 pieces.
Tomorrow, I will take it to the machine quilter. I called her a month ago and put my quilt in line to be processed, even though it was in pieces at the time. The pressure to be ready on a given day makes me want to dive into bed and accomplish nothing. One thing I could do is quit reading the blogs of the wonderfully talented people here in Blogspot, but they have brought new life to this old heart. Throughout my lifetime, my compulsive listmaking has kept me sane and helps me remember most things to keep everything running smoothly. The list will look something like this:

1. Take the teaspoon I inadvertently brought home in the spring --- it matches the silverware I bought for down there.
2. Take the CD box for our personal CD that our daughter made for our 50th anniversary and we left in the T.V. in Ft. Myers.
3.Sort through the Christmas decorations and decide how I will decorate the tree, if HRH (His Royal Highness) lets me buy a tree.
4.Try to remember which clothes I left there (Why didn't I make a stupid list? )
5. Dig up all the rechargers for cameras, cell phones, razors and the cords for the computer.
6. Go through all the file cabinets and pull out any pertinent papers we might need to file our income taxes. Put important stuff in the fire box or the safe and tell our trusty son where everything is.
7. Turn off the phone, computer, cable T.V. here ---reverse in Ft. Myers. Also, unplug all valuable appliances against power surges.
8. Go through our closets before next Friday and stick the stuff out for the Easter Seal Pick-up. I'm thinking I need to part with a bunch of junk, before I die and my kids are forced to do that which I have been putting off. I don't think size 4 will ever come my way again --- unless I get cancer or anorexia.
.9. Take extra pads of checks and notify the bank that I might be transferring money from other computers this winter. (They now register the computer I.D., besides the user I.D. and password)

The list will get longer and longer as the next two weeks go on, but one thing will surely happen. We will get into the truck (Ford F150 with heated seats) and about 15 miles down I-75, HRH will say, "Did you bring my sunglasses?"---and I will kill him!

A Boy in Trees

Sunday, September 24, 2006

A Boy in Trees
There's a new show on T.V. this year called "Men in Trees". I watched it and discovered that they literally meant the men were in the trees. You know, lumberjack types overhead trimming the branches from the fir trees. Today would have been my parent's seventy-ninth wedding anniversary. I wanted to write about my dad and the unusual life he had. The first thing that popped into my head was the tree thing, so----

Dad was born December 3rd, 1897 in Jonesboro, Arkansas somewhere in the middle of eleven children. Being a very bright little boy, he finished elementary school at twelve and then quit. Quit? He left home and joined his father in the logging camps of Arkansas to help support the family. He was "A Boy in Trees" for four years, until the thirst for knowledge overcame him and he left for the big city. He stuck out his thumb and hitch hiked to Toledo, Ohio where he had cousins, who would allow him to live with them. Between sixteen and nineteen, he attended high school, played football and supported himself in assorted jobs. That was just the first step toward an education. After high school, he began college at the local university and worked for a small newspaper as a reporter, doing a little bit of everything. Also, he worked at the original Jeep production plant.
After getting a degree in education and he started law courses by mail from the University of Chicago and night classes at The University of Toledo. He met my mom and they married somewhere in the middle of law school. The five children arrived starting in 1928, ending in 1936. Great timing--have a whole brood of children during the "Great Depression"! I suppose they had it much better than most people, because as a public employee --- he was paid in script. He had started teaching high school classes in English, Economics, Sociology, Auto Mechanics and World History the day the doors opened to a brand new school and he was coaching football at another high school for free. Because of the children, his law degree was delayed to the point that he could not afford to open an office and give up the safety of the teaching job.
I know he had become a flaming liberal during his college years and yearned for a world where there was no poverty or inequality. He loved to teach about the problems of the world --- we were served history and English with every meal. It was a mistake to ask a question --- that led to a half hour of explaining the hows and whys of the subject. He was active in the union fight at the Autolite Company in Toledo during the depression. This fight made national news for it's bitter physical battles between union loyalists (imported thugs) and the company hierarchy (more hired thugs). About a year after I was born, his picture was all over the local papers and he was temporarily suspended from teaching for reported un-American activities. The problem was that he was now legally an attorney and was busily forming The Federation of Teachers locally. That was the first teacher's union to hit the scene. The fact that he was a card carrying Socialist didn't help a bit. I get the picture of a bunch of young men sitting about and dreaming of how they could make a utopian society where all would have equal status. I wonder how they could have desired to elevate people who did little to help themselves to the level of those who had worked so hard to educate and sustain themselves? He was reinstated to his teaching job after a few months, but still believed that somehow life should be made easier for the downtrodden.
Dad had his office at home and after dinner at night, there was a steady procession of people needing basic legal advice or just wanting to sit at the feet of the master of dreams. People came and went, but if they didn't ask how much for a legal service---- they never got a bill.I watched as he built our home with his own two hands, because he couldn't find anyone who would rent to a family with five kids after WWII. He cut down trees and put through two roads nearby for a share in selling the property. Funny, that sounds amazingly like capitalism at it's best --- diametrically opposed to his share and share alike philosophy.When he died at seventy-eight, this little Ozark boy held a Degree in Education and a Doctorate of Jurisprudence. He was a wonderful and caring man, who built a great life and a terrific family. His name was Clyde and he was "A Boy in Trees".
posted by Kacey @ 4:54 PM 1 comments

Party on Down

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about my confusion regarding the marriage of my deceased brother's widow. How would I feel knowing that she is no longer related to me, but to a whole new family? The wedding was last weekend and we did travel a couple of hours to attend. Since they are an older couple with children and grandchildren, I thought it would be a simple affair with a bit of family present. Not in this world, Charlie! Two hundred and fifty guests at an exclusive club, with crudities and cocktails before a dinner of filet mignon, turkey, roast pork, a pasta buffet table, a salad table and fancy little dessert goodies followed by dancing the night away was their idea of a little wedding ceremony. It was a really nice affair and I only had a couple of hard moments. The first one was when she passed from my brother's last name to the new husband's last name. The second was as the couple sealed their vows with the marital kiss and I missed my brother terribly at that moment. The funny thing was that her maiden name was Elizabeth Stone and in marrying this man, she became Elizabeth Fieldstone (pseudonyms, but you get the idea). It really was a lovely wedding and must have cost an arm and a leg. Elizabeth looked radiant and very happy. I enjoyed seeing my nephews and their young families and am happy to report that the new husband is a really nice guy and good looking, too. I knew he would be, beause she has good taste. She married into our family, didn't she? We met her intended as he was entering the building to dress for the wedding. I shook hands and said, "I guess, if you are marrying my sister-in-law --- you will be my new brother-in -law!" My world remains unchanged and I sincerely hope that her world has changed for the better. God intended that man have a helpmate... life is meant to be lived in pairs.

The Apnea Machine

Last week, the husband went to the Apnea Clinic and according to their standards --- he flunked! I've been hearing from friends in real life and in the blogashpere that many people are having this same testing done. Also, many people are getting hooked up to the machines every night for the rest of their lives. The thing is --- you might be saved from an early death from respiratory arrest, but you might never sleep again. Who had the bright idea to strap a moist air machine to your head with it's mask stuck up your nose and a hose leading to the machine? Can people really sleep like that? Maybe they can and thus arrive at the REM state of sleep, but their bed partner might never sleep another night. If it gets twisted or loosened or any other advent during the night --- it begins to sound like a circle saw bent on adding a new room onto your bed. Someone is getting rich! The husband is managing to sleep eight or nine hours, but the REM stage is elusive at best. I, on the other hand, have been hiding my head under my cuddle pillow to shut out the wooshing and squealing noises and after about four hours, am up and pacing the floor, flopping on the couch or watching T.V. in the LazyBoy. Last night, or rather at 4:00 this morning, I had a full blown panic attack. The only other one I ever had was over ten years ago and I recognized it immediately, this time. But, when you have been married forever, you don't want to start sleeping in another room. If I thought that this get rich quick machine would really keep him from dying, I would go quietly into that dark night and let the machine win. However, he doesn't feel any less sleepy in the daytime and his nose hurts from the strap and I am so tired! The newest feeling is atrial fib several times a night, because what he really needed in the first place was a pacemaker to speed up his old heart. I can't say anything to him about the pain in the arse machine, because it would look really tacky to stop him from using the machine and then have something happen to him. Now, he is saying that he wants to go to Florida and forget about the whole thing. How can doctors become such a force in your life without your permission? Stay tuned --- I might get out the sledge hammer and smash that thing!

Thanks for the Memories

Tonight, my darlin' husband is sleeping away from home. No, he's not messing around, he's sleeping at an apnea center to record why his heart rate drops to the low 30's during the night. I think he's just lazy and doesn't want to expend enough energy to get his ticker going any faster. The problem is --- we've been married so long that I can't sleep when he isn't home. I've been sitting here reading some wonderful blogs and looking through some of the pictures I have loaded into my folders. The picture on the left is one that was taken at my Junior Prom. The interesting thing is that the cute guy with me was not my boyfriend. He was my older sister's steady in high school until they both went to separate colleges. She met another dude at the local college and ditched this great guy. This wonderful young man was so sweet to me. I didn't have a date for the big prom and he was a fantastic dancer, so I wrote him a letter and asked if he would take me, providing I bought the bid and he would be home from Ohio University that weekend. He obliged me and we spent a super evening talking about my sister! (He still couldn't get her out of his mind)
His willingness to escort me was a great break for me. My classmates did not vote on a queen of the prom --- that was reserved for the Senior Prom. Instead, the dance band picked three Sweethearts of the Prom and surprise! They picked me to be one.
I know they noticed me because of this young man's dancing! He was really great on his feet and I was able to follow him(like a brother). I'm not writing about this to pat myself on the back, but for the big kicker of the whole deal. He took me to two big dances that year and I have pictures and nice memories of those times, but the big deal? He turned out to be a movie producer in Hollywood! My husband and I were invited to his wedding in Scotland, but could not attend because I was busily having babies every year for a while. It's fun to look at old pictures and think --- I dated a big wheel Hollywood type, even if he really had a thing for my sister. Thanks for the memories, Wayne.

The Little Red Haired Girl

She arrived in the middle of my fourth grade year and I held my breath as she walked into the room. I had started into the new school at the beginning of the year and still felt like the odd man out. The other kids already had friendships going and I desperately needed a best friend to feel as though I were at home in this strange place. She was beautiful --- long red finger curls bobbed about her freckled face. I knew --- I just knew, she had to be the friend I needed. I, too, had finger curls, but I didn't have naturally curly bright red hair. She was a little Shirley Temple dropped right into our classroom. Perhaps she felt that she was the strange one in this new place, but somehow we gravitated towards each other and started a friendship that was to grow and continue through many decades of our lives. Our school was a little country school, without enough kids in any one grade to make up a class. The whole school, at that time, consisted of four classrooms with two grades in each room. There were empty rooms for want of children to fill them. The third/fourth grade teacher had a peculiar practice. Talking, gum chewing, fidgeting --- just about any infraction of her rules led to being summoned to the front of the room and being seated in the reading circle chairs. With the advent of "The Nanny", I like to think of those chairs as "The Naughty Chairs". Once six children were in the circle, she took us to an empty room and paddled us with a large wooden paddle. My only turn in the chairs came about when the person behind me asked me for the answer to a test question and I shook my head to keep the dreaded Miss Bourn's eyes from lighting upon me. The look and the nod came and I went to the reading circle, not knowing how long it would take to accumulate five more recalcitrant fourth graders. As we finally arrived in the empty room, she asked me if I had ever been spanked before. Are you kidding? I was the youngest of five kids! You betcha I had been spanked. Most of the children stumbled back into the classroom with tears streaking down their cheeks, but I gritted my teeth, set my jaw and willed myself not to cry. Instead, I waltzed back into the room and actually giggled out loud (because the teacher was still whipping the others in the spare room). Suddenly, I was a class bad girl and a folk hero among ten year olds. My little red haired girl stuck steadfastly by me, even if I were becoming not quite the model of decorum that her mother would have liked for her. I don't think Elaine ever met with the humiliation of that dreaded paddle, but I would have taken it for her. You can't hit a delicate little red haired girl with all those lovely freckles. We did all the things little girls do from the fourth grade through the eighth grade. We played jacks indoors at recess and baseball outdoors in the sunshine. There were wonderfully tall swings and tetter-totters for us in the younger grades. Sometimes, we just sat and talked through recess or the end of lunch hour. We stayed at each other's homes for overnights, but mostly it was at her house. I know her mom didn't trust me to keep her safe and innocent ---after all, I had all those older brothers and sisters. Her house was an absolute wonder to me. We (a family of seven) lived in a four bedroom, one bathroom home and I was the only child with a room to myself. But, her house had a little, narrow staircase leading upstairs, with only her room, her sister's room , a huge empty room, a bathroom and a storage room up there. I loved her room. The windows were low and seemed to me to be under the eaves and there were lots of them. Her parents never bothered us up there and we talked for hours, did homework, gossiped about the other kids and exchanged secrets never to be divulged to another soul. We told each other whom we liked and whom we hated. When we liked a boy, we practiced writing our names as they would be if we were to marry the boy. We had many crushes and did much speculating, but it was harmless fun. Her mother made the greatest chocolate cakes with marshmallow frosting in the world---oh, how loved them. She seemed to be the perfect mother, but I knew she didn't like me very much---- tough---we were best friends! Elaine seemed to have everything I every wanted. She actually had a huge collection of Nancy Drew books. I never knew until recently that Millie Benson from right here in Toledo, Ohio wrote those books and people came from all over to get them signed and have Nancy Drew gatherings. But, you can see how I loved her---red ringlets, chocolate cake and Nancy Drew books--- I hit the trifecta! Many teachers never understood what sort of problems I had. They were not big problems, but being the last of the Mohecians, my parents didn't pay much attention to my needs or lists of supplies needed for school. I just struggled along doing what I could. On the other hand, the little red haired girl had a mom who sewed and understood that children need help from their parents, if they are to succeed in life. By the eighth grade, we had sewing class from Miss Kitzmiller and I could tell that she thought me to be a total loss. We were to make a simple straight skirt or blouse. I picked a complicated pattern and my mom popped for some cheap colored cotton. Elaine's mom was a sewer and knew how to help her at home without making it look as though she had actually done the project for her, Our second item was to be of our own choosing. Elaine choose to make a stuffed lamb, so I made one, too. Why buy another pattern? Her's was adorable,(it was white with little flowers all over)---- mine was just okay. I had no sewing machine at home and had to make seams by hand with backstitch. The one thing I had going for me was an abiding interest in sewing that started in the sixth grade and continues to this day. (I can finally buy beautiful fabrics.) The thing I admired the most about my friend was her ability with the piano and the flute. She was good! Really good! I took one year of piano and gave it up ---I was tired of paying for the lessons out of my babysitting money. Armed with a bit of musical ability on my part and a bunch on her part, we started off to high school --- she to the marching band and I to the choir. This quickly changed when the band director asked who could actually read music. I raised my hand and he stuck a baritone horn in it. I was in the band with the little red haired girl!
This meant that I had to take a crash course in how to play a brass instrument, but I was in the band and on the band bus with some really cute guys. We each picked out people we thought were worth a second look and set about making them like us. Those band bus trips were so much fun ---singing ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, munching apples, flirting, et cetera. We were freshman riding to football games on the bus with juniors and seniors! Woo Hoo!
High school meant sharing a locker with another person--- guess who? Right you are --- the little red haired girl. We kept this up all the way through high school, even as seniors when we were allowed to fly alone at long last. Staying together in a locker meant that we would be certain to see each other between classes and and at the beginning and ending of the day ---before we would go home and call each other. (Times when we could talk about how we felt we would die if that certain someone should notice us) Sometimes, we even liked the same guy and wanted at least one of us to be the chosen one. We took the same college prep classes and were in many of the same rooms at the same time. We always got to be in homeroom together.
Then, I did something that changed it all for a while, I ran away and got married. She loaned me her good navy blue suit to be married in, because I had nothing suitable. This was the worst I had ever felt about her mother. Even though I always wanted her to like me --- she wanted to burn that suit, because I had worn it for a nice legal Lutheran ceremony an illicit runaway ceremony. I always wanted her to know that I went down that aisle as pure as the driven snow and would never have done anything to hurt her daughter ---she was my Best friend!
Today, I drove from Northwestern Ohio to Southwestern Ohio to celebrate the little red haired girl's 70th birthday! I remember seeing it written on the mirror of her compact in the 9th grade in lipstick. 9/11 She had no way of knowing that her birthday would go down in infamy. I haven't mentioned a couple of things that are really important in her life. The first is her marriage to a great looking guy from our class after she had been to college. The second thing of importance are the births of her three babies,---Sandy, Bobby and Cheri. The third event was a devastating sadness that should never come to a mother. Their only son died a sudden and confusing death at an early age. (in his twenties) And, something that should never happen to a family---My Little Red Haired Girl developed Multiple Sclerosis when she was 28 and carrying her last baby. The progression of this disease put too much strain on the marriage and it broke up after many happy years together and now her daughter is devoted to the care of my Little Red Haired Girl. I wish you could have seen the many family members and others who gathered to share with her, a Happy Birthday. No one wishes her happiness more fervently then I. You go girl --- race along on your scooter, knowing that a lot of love goes with you. I still love you, Elaine.

And the Beat is Gone!

Electronics have gone too far. Technology has taken over our lives and I am going to take things into my own hands and stop the insanity. I have been sitting here...being a fairly normal blogaholic... checking e-mails, reading a few good blogs (see my beginners list above) and chatting with my husband in the other room, while he watches T.V. The strains of very tiny music have been tickling my ears for two hours. At first, I thought that there was a musical background to his movie, but it continued into the next program, so that wasn't it. Perhaps my asthma is wheezing with sibilant rales....no, I held my breath and still the very tiny music continued. I checked the boom box on my desk...nope, that was not it. I turned off the speakers on my computer... ditto... and the beat goes on. I moved further afield...not in the garage, not the bedroom T.V. (okay, I admit we are unclassy enough to have a T.V. in our bedroom), not the T.V. in the utility/sewing room. Possibly, the crazy lady who thinks that the government is leaking electricity out of her switchplates knows something after all. Could I be going crazy and marching to the tune of a different violin? Suddenly, I have a bright idea...a couple of years ago, I bought some greeting cards in one of those cutesy card shops in Florida. Little, old ladies do those sorts of things. Among my bargains were a couple of cards with the little musical discs inside that play the appropriate message...( like, I'm sorry to hear that the carpet layers accidentally covered your canary with the new broadloom, boom, boom). I searched through the pile of bills that I have tried to ignore,.... after all, I have a couple more days until the 10th of the month. There it was, in my trusty "Hallmark Monthly Card Planner" merrily playing an unrecognizable tune. The poor little disc has probably been on play since I sent a card to my grandson ten days ago. Therefore, I took matters into my own hands and wrung it's little neck... thereby putting the both of us out of our misery. If birthday cards are going to drive us round the bend, then technology has definitely gone too far.

Quilt vs. Blog?

There are so many great writers in blogsville, that I am spending too much time reading their great posts. I have loved words since I started reading at four or five years old. I don't know how I knew to read, but it seems that it was always there. I had no kindergarten, but was reading years ahead of my class in the first grade. The reason was probably that I was the baby of a family of five children and the boys would hold me on their laps and have me read the newspaper.
So, here I am in the latter stages of life and hoping to leave quilts to each of my childred and grands and I am spending all my spare time reading blogs. Quit being so facinating, so I can get back to leaving a heritage for my descendents. In my sewing room I have two quilts sliced and diced and awaiting the sewing machine. One has almost 3000 pieces and has to be finished this month, because it matches our bedroom in Florida and it will be quilted by a big machine here in Ohio. I have one in the works that I am hand quilting, but the rules are--- piece in the summer and quilt in the winter. If you live six months in Ohio and 6 months in Florida--- when to you hand quilt? The quilt shown here is made from 1930's retro fabrics. Individually, they are sort of ugly prints, but they make a nice looking quilt. And so, my friendly bloggers ---please, stop being so good---go on vacation for a couple of weeks ---okay?

Uno Septembo

In my last post, I mentioned my puppy middle-aged son who is brilliant with computers. He also has a love affair with autumn and has started a new holiday in these parts. So, if you are reading this ---check out his site:
www.unoseptembo.com
He would be thrilled to pieces if he had mail from all over the country. ( I can't believe that I am doing this, but "what's a mother to do?"

Old Dog, New Tricks

A really good blogger asked me to make a link for his posts. Being an old dog, I did not know how to do very many things with my computer, but I do have a puppy who knows all about this stuff. (And, a little child shall lead them!) My little child is forty-seven and pretty good looking. That's my opinion and I'm sticking to it! So, the puppy taught his old dog how to make a list of my favorite blogs. It is at the top of the page --- I am proud of my new trick!:o)

The Betrayal of my Soul

My ideas of marriage have been in constant flux over a lifetime of marriage to my one and only. Early on, I had lofty ideals that if, (God forbid) I should suddenly be run over by a speeding train or any other such catastrophe --- my dear husband would have to remarry, because he was so happy with me. Actually, I think I wanted someone to mother my children until they could fend for themselves. Deep in my heart, I knew that I couldn't stand the thought of him whispering sweet nothings into another woman's ears. The very tiny, creeping, ugly little voice said in my ear, "What if he tells her about all your shortcomings?"

There is a joke about a wife questioning her hubby in this way;
She, "If I were to die, would you remarry?"
He, "Oh, probably".

She, "Would you give her all my lovely things?"
He, "Oh, probably."
She, "Would you even give her my clothes?"
He, " I might."
She, "How about my golf clubs?"
He, "Oh, no, she's left handed!"

In my late thirties, a good friend died from a really nasty cancer. As if that were not bad enough, her husband told a few of "the guys" some of her intimate details. (e.g., having her monthly period start when she was sick unto death and lying in her own blood) I cried at this betrayal of her womanhood. We all know that there are thoughts and happenings in our lives that we hold near and dear and share only with one other trusted person, perhaps we even keep them to ourselves. Our inner being is indeed fragile and in need of a confidant with the ability to respect our privacy. Another friend lost his wife a couple of years ago and is blissfully married to another woman and people are saying things like, "John is so much more fun with his new wife than he was before." Just stick the knife into my ribs and twist it around a bit! Admittedly, his new wife is a live wire and the first wife was every inch the lady. I went to Hospice and gave her manicures and pedicures because I loved her and now he is having more fun with the new model.
My brother's widow of three and a half years is getting married next month. While I am extremely happy that she has found someone to be a companion--- I harbor this nagging little thought ---"You can't do this --- you are my sister-in-law and your children are my nephews." The new groom is a widower and certainly loved his first wife and my s-i-l loved my brother. We are talking older people here---grandparents. This man will make her life very comfortable and they love to travel all over the world ---she can stop tutoring primary children in her home, if she wants . Don't jump on me because I sound selfish --- I am in a whole new territory here. I must be thinking in terms of those left handed golf clubs. My husband has been with me as long as I can remember and I would hate to die and have him find out that some other woman would have been a better wife, lover, companion. We have to keep changing out minds about how we feel regarding life and love. There should be a pre-nuptial that says you cannot tell your new husband the longings of your previous mate's heart.

So, you're a nurse, too?

One of the other bloggers mentioned being a nurse. So, I thought I would quickly give you a taste of hospital humor ---

Doctor, leaning over a patient just recovering from anesthesia, "I have good news and bad news, which do you want first?"

Patient, "Give me the bad news first."

Doctor, "I had to amputate both your legs."

Patient, "OMG! After that, what could possibly be good?"

Doctor, "Your roommate wants to buy your slippers!"

Second scenario:

Doctor, "Good news or bad news first?"

Patient, "Give me the bad news."

Doctor, "I amputated the wrong leg."

Patient, OMG, what could be good about that?"

Doctor, Your bad leg is responding to treatment!"

You see, nurses work through blood, sweat and tears. They eat lunch between emptying bedpans and cleaning barf off their scrubs. So, in self defense and to keep from fleeing, screaming from the hospitals --- we hear and tell truly tasteless jokes and laugh before the
tears start.

Today was Odd

You don't get into your eighth decade without experiencing a number of interesting things. Marriage, childbirth, deaths in the family, auto accidents, et cetera are all occurances that routinely come and go with the rhythm of a marching band. I worked in a hospital as a nurse for twenty years and saw all sorts of horror and proceedures, along with joys and blessings.
Today, I have seen and felt something completely new to me. The doctor plunged a 20 gauge needle directly into my throat , and thence into my thyroid gland. It wasn't that bad --- just that weird. Thirty years ago, we didn't have ultra sound images to guide physicians in their perverse doings. Of course, they didn't have the life saving techniques at their finger tips, but my grandmothers would have run screaming into the night at the thought of needles sticking into their throat. Sometime, I will have to sit down and ponder on the things that I have seen come on down the Pike during my lifetime. It seems like we have always had these wonders available to us, but I remember being in the hospital for the first time at seventeen and the nurses didn't even start I.V.'s, the doctors did.
Well, I'll find out at the end of the week whether or not this worked or whether they will be playing pin cushion with my neck again. Big thought of the day--- "You're gonna do what to me?"

Under Construction---Please Excuse

Please excuse this blog site. I have attempted to fix something and I broke it! The letters are as big as a Times Square Billboard and I am stuck! I'll be back as soon as one of my kids takes pity on me and fixes things! Thanks

Well, I retyped that post, but I'm not certain that I did my blog any favors! lol

The Perfectionist

I'm turning into a blogaholic. The whole thing has been creeping up with increasing velocity. I am wondering, uh ---where have I been, lo, these many months? The wonderful world of electronics belongs to the young, but eventually the senior citizens will catch on ---then, you'll all leave and start something new. Adults have been copying teens for years, but the newest fashions have finally gone too far to be copied by anyone in their right mind or rather in their right size. So, as I started out to say ---a few people have clicked on my comments on other blogs and one thing has led to another and I am totally enthralled by the sheer numbers of great, funny, insightful people flying around the blogasphere. Today, I was catching up with Dr. Andrew in his lovehonoranddismay.blogspot.com/ blog (isn't that a clever title?) about the problems a perfectionist creates within a relationship. After admitting that I am indeed a perfectionist, I had to stop and realize that I wasn't always aligned with the weirdos of the world. It started on a very specific occasion. If he reads this, I will probably be committed --- but, I'm going to give it a shot!
The background has to come first ---
I started my senior year of high school the first week of September, 1953.
The new schoolbus driver was a twenty-one year old hunk, who had recently returned from the Navy, during the Korean thing. He was going to college on the G.I. Bill and driving bus to have spending money.
I was the first one on the bus in the morning and the last one off at night. Not being one to let any grass grown under my feet, I struck a claim before any other girls could bat an eyelash and started dating him the next
Friday night. He made the mistake of using a line on me --- something to the effect of, "If you were out of this school, I'd marry you". Sure thing!
Before he knew what hit him, I dragged him over the state line, forged parental permission and we were married on October 24th. We had some grandiose plans of keeping it a secret until I graduated. Think again, el bimbo! Being young and very dumb, I did not realize that our city is right on the Ohio/Michigan border and some of my classmates lived in Michigan and got "The Monroe Evening News". But, they paid tuition and crossed the state line to attend our school. When the marriage license was published, the jig was up --- we had to fess up, tell our parents and take our medicine. My father (a teacher and attorney) was going to have it annulled, but my mom said, --- 'THEY SPENT A NIGHT TOGETHER!" Now, think 1953 --- a night together meant "used goods" and they would probably be stuck with me forever.
Dad gave up his dream that I would teach Latin and mom had lots to
chat about with her girlfriends. I did manage to continue my senior year despite mononeucleosis two weeks into the marriage. I used every cent my new husband had for the hospital bill, because as a married, almost woman, I was no longer covered by my dad's health insurance.
So, we started our married life in a one car garage apartment sans T.V., dishes, pots, pans --- and anything else you can think of, but we had a wonderful time together. (Getting to know one another, so to speak --- both as people and in the Biblical sense.) His mom would look at me as though her son had lost his mind, but she always did want another little girl. (All 5'2" and 95 pounds of good gymnast and bad majorette)
About a year later, we moved into an 8'x26' trailer. Things were really tight and there was no bathroom --- that was across the street. (It did make things difficult, if you had the flu.) But, being young and resourceful, we found lots of things to do with each other. Keep your minds clean, folks! (Well, fairly clean) Our big plan was to pay the thing off and go to the Florida shore to listen to the waves crashing on the sand. I worked in an office and he worked as a carpenter while we lived in the trailer. Between a full time job and being a full time wife, I wasn't really committed to keeping things in great shape. Besides, we spent most of our spare time chasing each other around that 8'x26' space. One night, I awakened to a husband who was delirious with fever and I had absolutely no idea of what to do. We had no phone (keep thinking poor), so I jumped into the car and drove five miles to his parents home at three in the morning to call the medical academy. They promised to send a doctor right out and then, his mom said that she would be right over. EGADS! I drove those five miles back in an illegal flash. The clean dishes were in the drainer --- stick it under the sink! The dirty dishes were in the sink ---stick them in a bucket and hide them in a closet! Our hastily discarded clothing, even the undies were caught up and stuffed into another, tiny closet. Then, OMG, DH is naked --- and his mom is coming over. Have you ever tried to put jammies on a delirious, naked dude? Everything looked presentable when his mom and the doctor arrived, except for me---think bed hair and wrinkled clothing. The first words out of the doc's mouth were, "I forgot my tongue blades --- could you get me a spoon?" Mom started for the silverware drawer ---"NO! I'll get it." I'm fishing silverware out of the drainer under the sink. It turned out to be tonsillitis, but his tonsils had been removed when he was a child. I didn't know that you have several sets of tonsil tags and sometimes new ones take over when your immune system is threatened.
Now, faced with a mother-in-law who thinks you are a bimbo, not to be trusted with her only son -- wouldn't you develop a lifelong problem with perfectionism? The rules are something like this --- keep the home like something out of "House Beautiful", pick up every night before bedtime, never leave dishes in the sink, bathrooms must look like they haven't been peed in for years, closets and drawers have to line up like a department store display and make the bed if hubby gets up during the night to potty. Today, I keep two homes (one in Ohio and one in Florida) but, the work of moving twice a year is killing me! The hardest part is pretending that the "good fairies" take care of the details.
I forgot to say --- besides being a willing wife in the Biblical sense --- I could really cook at seventeen, after having cooked for a family of seven for five years. My mother had not been well during that part of my life, so cooking for only two was fun.
Life together has turned out to be ten times anything I ever had dreamed it could be --- and they said it would never work! We had three children in our twenties and then I went to nursing school at forty. (I finally found a use for all the high school Latin) You really can have it all, but I don't think they meant my way!

The Eye of the Beholder

Here we are, suddenly finding ourselves on the short end of the stick of life. We still believe ourselves to be the same two people we were the other day when we married. Our minds tell us that we are just as good as ever. Then, we arise from our easy chairs and find the first couple of steps to be difficult, because the joints have stiffened up when we weren't looking. The mirror holds still more surprises. When did that seventeen year old girl become a grandmother? When I was young and the children were little, the days were longer and the years went by more slowly. Now they fly past in a blur and I am afraid that I will miss something in this fast paced world. I read in another blog that the elderly are funny to watch with all our little foibles. I beg your pardon! I am seventy, not elderly. I thought my conversation had kept up with the rest of the people being held in place by the Earth's gravity. I have to snicker to myself when I hear a younger person (perhaps 40ish or 50ish) talking about their parents, as though they had lost their marbles in a crap shoot. We have forgotten more than they have learned much of the time. Young people will be amazed at how quickly the time goes between fifty and seventy and how badly they will wish they could hold back life's final curtain. Every day is a gift and we really love opening that gift every day.
Since we have retired from the working world, we live half the year in a condominium in Ohio and the other half in a candominium in Florida. (Candominium being a tincan in a doublewide park full of old people) Yeah, I'll admit that some people get old, not just in their bodies, but in their thought processes, too. The ladies who walk their poodles in baby strollers do catch a raised eyebrow from me and the non-golfers who buzz about in their golf carts are a real trip. But, I know I get the same reaction when I strap on my rollerblades and take a couple of laps around the park. They probably have 911 on speed dial and are anxious to see the men in white coats catch me in their butterfly nets. It is getting harder and harder to live those six months among the people who play Bingo on Wednesday nights at 6:30 and are home promptly at 8:00 for a nice early bedtime at 9:30. My lights burn into the night as I play on the computer or read or watch the medical channel, while the rest of the park is in total darkness. One thing I can say for these lovely over 55ers --- they get out of bed by 6:00 and have done their daily walking exercise, while I am still snoozing lazily in bed.
The best part of Florida is the trip to and from in the proper season. The world we see is ever changing and so beautifully made. Interstate 75 is as familiar as the back of my hand, but there is always a freshly mowed field of wheat, a country church with the sun shining on the steeple or one of those wonderful old, wooden barns to admire. Most of the barns are beginning to sag a bit or are outright falling down and being replaced with the newer steel, pole barns. We love the old barns --- they seem to hold a more romantic time, a time when farmers loved the land, the stock, the crops, their families and everything natural. I suppose that we are a couple of old barns, beginning to fall into disrepair around the edges, but still capable of holding the crops for a few more years. We behold the beauty along the roads between here and there and love the sight of the old and regal, when others might only see the piled up mile markers and weeds along the fence rows. It is all in the eyes of the beholders.

Summer Daze

To the Youth at Church


I've been reading blogs and see a pattern of late summer, early fall uncertainty in many of the bloggers. Junior High apprehension about going on to Senior High, Senior High fearful of the college or adult life in front of them. It's sort of like babies taking that new first step or not taking it for fear of falling down --- fear not --- The Lord is with Thee and with Thy Spirit! All of life is a series of endings and new beginnings. If we had crystal balls, and could see into the future, would we really want to know what lies ahead? Most of the fun in waiting for Christmas morning, is the anticipation of what lies in those festively wrapped packages. Some people cheat and peak into those packages and then are disappointed that there are no surprises in store. I could tell you that your parents and grandparents are just as uncertain about some aspects of their lives, but are afraid to admit that they are not as sure of themselves as they might appear. All we can do is throw ourselves on the mercy of God, knowing that everything in our lives has been known since we were still in our mother's womb. You get up in the morning, do what you have to do, keep heading in the direction that you desire and the next thing you know --- great things start happening. If God doesn't want you to continue in a particular path, He will slam the door and you will get the message through the window He has opened. Enjoy your young life --- we are too soon old and too late smart. ^_^

Are they cute, or what?

When I close my eyes very tightly, I see my children as they were. It was a time when I was their whole life, before the schools took hold of their minds and hearts and changed them into something they had not started to be.
My firstborn was the product of four years of tests, surgeries, thermometers and desperation to have a child. Luckily, God knew that children should not be born to seventeen to twenty year old moms ---- especially when the young couple didn't have enough money to feed themselves. The wait made her arrival doubley special and she was so beautiful! Pale blond hair, big blue eyes and generally adorable. What parent thinks any less of their offspring? She grew more special every day and was so smart that I was astounded. Well, I did feel pretty good about her intelligence, because my older brother had told me that drooling was a sign of idiocy --- and she did drool around seven months old.
Since it had taken four years to accomplish what most people accomplish on their honeymoons, we began trying for another child on Lesley's first birthday. Our son arrived nine days before our daughter's second birthday. Now, here was a placid, easy-going baby. I hardly remember hearing him cry and he was even happy in a playpen. Somehow, our difficulty conceiving turned around and bit us very quickly and I found myself expecting a third child forMatthew's first birhday. The poor little guy --- morning sickness forced me to shake up his vegetables and cereal in his formula so I could manage to feed him at all. I grew and grew and so did he. At twelve months, he was perfectly happy to sit or crawl, but though he was sturdy as a tree stump --- he would not walk. Why walk when somebody will cart you around and you didn't care where they were taking you? Within two weeks after his birthday, I forced him to walk by putting M&M's on the couch and making him walk to them --- no dropping and crawling! He was twenty-seven pounds on one hip and I had a six pound newborn in the other arm. Okay, Mom, ---for M&M's,--- I'll walk!
We had started out with the idea of having half a dozen kids, but having three in three years changed our minds. Stacey was born five days after Matthew's first birthday and four days before our Lesley's third birthday. This has led to what we call "Birthday Week". As they grew up, each child would pick an activity, a meal and a dessert for their own birthday and all participated in each other's day. Today, they are in their late forties and are still sharing their "Birthday Week". The best part is that it culminates on the 4th of July with fireworks for all, not just the firstborn. (I plan to tell her soon that the fireworks are not all for her --- before she turns fifty.) When I was expecting Stacey, I wanted a girl and the hubby wanted another boy. I satisfied both of us by having a lovely little girl, who was the greatest tom-boy on the block. The two little kids would play with matchbox cars, making roads around the evergreens by the front porch for hours. The guys on the block would come over and holler for her to come out and play football by the time she was nine. No Barbie Dolls for this one --- just double up on the boy toys at Christmas. In high school, she would run track, high jump, play 2nd base and then turn around and become ultra female in her majorette's uniform on Friday nights.
I would jump at the chance of going back to the pre-school days when the child in your arms smelled of Johnson's Baby Powder or Baby Magic Lotion and the look on their faces meant that you were the most important being in their lives. I couldn't get enough of them and am sorry now that we didn't stick tothe original plan for six. Motherhood was the closest bond in the early school years, but as they approached high school, fatherhood took over slowly. I remember reading that children of tender years are best left with the mom, but children of business years are the perview of the father. His ability to cut to the chase in any given circumstance is a gift that few women have. They also, are afraid to cross dad, because they are just not certain how far they can go with dad. I was so lucky that my children respected my wimpiness. We never had any problems raising them. God is good! The oldest tried two cigarettes and came home and stood in her oppen window for an hour, because she felt so sick. She told us the next day. The youngest went to adinner party as a senior and the idiot parents served Tom Collins with dinner. She had two and came home and went to bed very early. We had company for dinner and the oldest one checked on her and came back and said, "It's okay---she's just drunk!" We didn't get mad at her, but at the parents who had the poor judgement to serve liquor to underage kids. None of them went to the alter with a bun in the oven, none of them has used drugs, been arested or bankrupt. The oldest did get divorced after three boys and ten years, because he had a girlfriend. She has remained single for eighteen years to raise those boys and besides being a mommy to three pre-schoolers --- she taught 3rd grade full time and got her Master+ in the two years after the divorce. She just got home from a missions trip to Moscow for our church. Her oldest boy works in Washington for a govenor, and the second boy is at the Defense Language School in Monterey, CA for eighten months of Arabic and her last one is a sophomore in college studying the basics, before he chooses a major.
Our son paid for college himself and is the only support for a familyof six. His wife stays home and homeschools four kids. The youngest is also a nurse and works for a gastroenterology clinic.and she does videography. This interet has led her to Russia, Macedonia and Sebia for film work for our church missionaries. Her only remaining child goes to Nyack College in New York and is studying film and directing.
I don't know why our lives have been so blessed, but like I said in the beginning --- Are they cute, or what?
Hold your babies closely, love them hugely and thank God for the gift of life that some people will never experience.

Simple Times

There was a time when life was easier and safer. Children were able play outside without fearing that someone would attack or steal them. I was accustomed to leaving the house with dawn streaking across the morning sky, dew sparkling like fairy dust in the grass and going a half mile away with an old tin can to catch polliwogs in the creek. Then, possibly rollerskating or hanging from the highest limbs of a big maple tree by my knees . Life was good and fun was free. If I did something wrong, like piddling in the urns at the old orchard site, someone in the neighborhood would drag me home for the appropriate punishment. They might even smack my behind and my parents would thank them for their concern.
Parents never thought about buying all the latest toys on the market, though there weren't that many anyway. Little boys had bicycles, baseballs, bats and maybe fishing poles. They could always make their own poles out of a stick, a string and a hook swiped from Dad's tackle box. Picking up night crawlers with a flashlight was a guy type of fun in itself. An old tennis ball was good for lots of things. Little girls has some sort of doll, a baby blanket, roller skates and paper dolls. They could always make the paper dolls out of a Sears Catalog model and then design clothes on drawing paper. Crayolas were a staple as long as they had a point, enabling you to color inside the lines of the coloring Book. ( you could sharpen a crayon on the sidewalk by scraping the edges) We coveted the box of sixty-four, but settled happily for the box of twenty-four. Oh, how we loved the silver and gold ones!
We had three meals a day, but if you missed lunch because the polliwogs were jumping into your tin can, then you would certainly eat a better dinner. Sugary treats came at the end of dinner and were called dessert. People worked and played hard and were not overweight. I cannot remember ever having soda pop in our home as a child. Even birthday parties served milk with the birthday cake. If your birthday was right after Christmas, there was no party. You just became a year older.
When I was starting third grade, we moved to southeastern Ohio where my sister and I had to have vaccinations to start school. The smallpox vaccination almost killed us... we were so sick, but the doctor wasn't called. Oh, they'll get over it ... and we did. We didn't go for regular check-ups, but when we had strep throat and bronchitis, the doctor came to the house and painted our throats with iodine. (penicillin was not around, yet) Rheumatic Fever was treated by staying in bed until we could walk again. During the third grade, we lived in two cities and went to three different schools. WWII was just ending and there was a housing shortage. Nobody would rent to a family with five children ranging from nine to eighteen. Dad taught English, Economics and Sociology in high school during the day and was an attorney (JD) at night. When our rental home sold, we split up for six months. Dad took the two boys and went to his sister's home, so he could teach and they could finish high school. The oldest sister became an au pair for the next door neighbor, so she could finish her senior year of high. Mom took the youngest two girls and went to her Dad's in southeastern Ohio. Grampa was a draftsman for the Sunday Creek Coal Company and lived downtown in a little town, above the local Elk's club. This is where I became aware that there are black children in the world, but children are truly color-blind. I was blond haired, blue eyed and pasty white. They were black haired, brown eyed and brown skinned, but we all could do leg spins around the teeter-totter bars and giggle like all little girls do. My sister and I had to race the delivery truck to the paper stand every Wednesday, because there was rationing and we each could buy a Mounds Candy Bar for our Dad back home in the big city. It was Mom's gift to him, because you couldn't get them in a bigger towns. The drunks from the Elk's Club used to stagger upstairs and fall down in the back hall, where they would drink the dregs of Grampa's beer bottles. Were we scared? Yes! But, were we abused? No! People were of a higher moral quality and grown-ups took care of kids. From the milkman, who chipped pieces of ice out of the sawdust to the policeman on the crosswalk, adults were there to make kids safe and special.
By the end of the third grade, Dad was building a house to get us together again. He hammered and nailed late into the night after teaching school all day, but we went along to keep him company. It was a wonderful place outside the city, where I could wander in the woods all day and play in the creek. The gypsies camped on the other bank of the creek, but nobody ever worried that they would take me --- or were they wishing that I would disappear?
In middle school, all girls needed was a jump rope and a set of ball and jacks to keep them happy at recess. The boys were still tossing baseballs and wrestling on the playground. Nobody worried about the swings being dangerous or someone getting a concussion by falling off the teeter-totter. We have become pro-active and worry about everything under the sun, instead of reactive after the "God-forbid" has happened. Without television, we went to bed when it got too dark to play outside or you played games with your siblings or read books. It was a lovely time, when people were not on Prozac, chasing their tails or eating themselves into obesity. The pendulum swings both ways and I wonder when it will swing back to simpler times. The times were safe and uncomplicated and wonderful. "Everything we've wanted, was everything we had. Honey, take me home, let's go back to yesterday." Niel Sedaka

Twenty two years ago today, a beautiful baby girl was born to our youngest daughter and her husband. This was a first baby after one miscarriage, but unfortunately she was born with very little brain tissue. She existed on this earth for nine and one half years and then took flight to be with The Lord. During that time, our daughter had four more miscarriages, one little boy and another child just like our Courtney. That child died at birth. I think of our granddaughter many times ... on holidays, birthdays, the anniversary of her death and when dusting her pictures, etc. The many women who have lost children know the horrible feeling that goes with the loss... the whys, did I do anything wrong, what happens to cause these kinds of problems? In this case, we have thought probably the diethylstilbesterol I had taken twenty-three years before, when I was pregnant caused our daughter's many pregnancy related difficulties. I suppose I am writing today to warn young women, who were born between the early 1950's to the 1980's that their mothers may have take this drug to prevent miscarriage. If your mom is still alive, ask her if she took any medicine while pregnant. You could be a DES Daughter and need to talk to your physician about it. To my wonderful daughter and son-in-law.... our hearts are with you today as always.

Australian Adventure

Australia! The dream vacation of a lifetime was ours for our 45th anniversary. I can hear the groaning now....Why waste a trip like that on two old coots? Well, these old coots rode horseback through the rain forest and snorkeled the Great Barrier Reef with the sting rays on the very day of our 45th. The horse back instructors had asked who were considered expert riders and which losers were novices. Since I fall into the novice class (but hopefully not off the horse) I raised my hand and was sent to the group on the left. Now, I happen to know that left means sinister in Latin, so I was looking for some sort of plot. Alas! It came from my expert rider husband. Off he galloped with my asthma rescue inhaler in his pocket (because I am not to be trusted with important things) and I dutifully followed the group into the humidity laden rain forest sans inhaler. Nobody had mentioned that this trail ride would include riding through a river with moss covered stones lining the bottom. We had to lift our feet with our hands behind our shanks to keep our shoes dry....which is no easy feat when you have accumulated an extra 30 pounds over the years! Having come through with flying colors (okay, dragging colors), I was pleased to make the husband proud of my tenacity. Next, we headed for a luncheon ship that opened in the forward deck to allow people to descend stairs right to the floor of the ocean .... the sting rays were delighted to see us. I really think it must have been the buckets of fish pieces that the crew dumped overboard to assure compliance of these giant creatures. The countryside is beautiful and the ocean is a color not known to me before this adventure. Azure blue with aqua patches.... Sumptuous.
The evening dinner at a kangaroo and koala farm was not to be missed. We were given handfuls of grain for the roos. I held out my hand and a kangaroo "reached out and touched someone"....me! She firmly grabbed my forearm with claws that appeared to be about six inches long, but I am known to exaggerate.... just a wee bit. About this time, a Joey popped his head out of her pouch and started munching on the grass below. Did you know that a roo can have two different babies in her pouch at one time with two different gestational ages? One can be similar to "Failure to Launch" and one can be very young and tiny. My first thought was that perhaps her different formulas were not just for early and late pregnancy, but instead vanilla and chocolate. The guide quickly relieved me of my happy thought. Well, I had thought it made lovely sense.
While in Cairn, we stayed at a five star hotel (way too good for our hearty peasant stock) which we enjoyed immensely, and they held a genuine Aboriginal dinner with entertainment....I didn't understand it, but it was different (as long as they don't eat white people). We were all given didgeridoos and I can blow it, since I played a euphonium in my high school band. (I don't want to hear any mutterings about how many years ago that was ... you never lose your pucker! ) The company who had paid for our trip, also paid for really great souvenirs and shipped them directly to us. Who am I to complain? The didgeridoo resides in our den and is quite a conversation piece. Our four days in Sydney were also at a five star hotel and I reveled in the great service.... that is never going to come my way again. We toured the opal factory and the opera house, but did not climb the bridge over the harbor. (This is the point, at which, old age puts in a good word for avoiding any such complaints as a heart attack or stroke.) We did go on a catamaran for an evening dinner cruise, but I had not used any
ScopeDerm Patches and could not eat due to motion sickness --- but I was a great sport and didn't barf on anyone.
We were given three seats on Quantas Airlines for the fourteen hour trip home, so we could take turns curling up for naps and that was a Godsend! The highlight of the trip was when boarding the plane for LA, one of the side evacuation doors refused to lock shut. The ground crew came aboard, took the innards out of the door, screwed it shut and taped it with duct tape for the whole fourteen hour ride home. For those of you who have ever had misgivings.... duct tape is truly the handyman's secret weapon!
My picture shows me on one of our harbor cruises in a genuine Australian woolen sweater (they confiscate your MasterCard until you fork over the money for a sweater).
So, if you get the opportunity ... go to Australia, because as my darling husband said of our 50th anniversary... "I cannot top that" and he didn't even try.

Why blame the feds for a local problem?

I wish I could find a way to make this blog red, white and blue. Something is really nagging at my innards and has been eating at me ever since last summer: specifically, ever since Katrina roared ashore in New Orleans and the Gulf Coast. who or what has incurred my mental wrath?
The powerful press and media of The United States have managed to make an act of God into a blame game and are making up our minds for us with their inaccurate reporting. True, the whole hurricane was a disaster from the time it made it's way across the tip of Florida and into the Gulf of Mexico. Naturally, Florida was ready and equipped to contend with whatever catagory the storm became, but was fortunately spared the worst of the storm. As Katrina blew her way aross the Gulf, I worried and most of America worried about New Orleans, perched precariously below sea level at the mouth of the Mississippi. The winds blew, the sea raged and the waters inundated the city. Was anyone surprised? If we all have known for years that this city would flood in the event of Catagory 3 or larger hurricane, why are we all acting as though we were caught unaware? Blame must be assigned whenever something happens that we cannot get our minds around. The media have spent seven months trying to pin the tail on the top of the pyramid and work downward. The pictures during the storm, immediately after and continuing to this day are totally unbelieveable --- but there is no direction for the massive clean-up necessary. The displaced residents may never be back in New Orleans and I for one believe that despite the fact that it is an historical city, it should never be rebuilt! The figure put on the recovery is $200,000. for every person affected and what do we have to show for that money?
Why are we spending so much time trying to figure out what to do? Why are the networks trying to make a natural disaster into a political football? If we all knew that it could happen, why didn't the citizens of New Orleans have a personal plan for evacuation? Do modern day people think that someone other than themselves will be responsible for saving their skins? Katrina was wandering about in the Gulf, getting stronger and stronger and the Weather Service began to warn that this storm was going to get really nasty. What word did individuals not understand? Why didn't people with cars, trucks, busses , motorcycles or bicycles get themselves out of town to the safety of higher ground? Why didn't the mayor use those empty school busses to transport his citizens to safety, instead of letting the busses sit and be flooded in the heart of town? Why didn't the govenor ask the federal government to be prepared for disaster assistance the minute Katrina's backside was out of sight? For many months, all we have heard is that President Bush and FEMA failed to take care of this catastrophy. I understand that the federal government cannot go into a state until the govenor of that state has asked for help. But, here we are ---embroiled in the "blame game" and the mold, stentch and filth remain and are growing bigger every day. Couldn't the govenor call together a group of people to plan for the clean-up of the state, the relocation of the parts of New Orleans most likely to flood again in a hurricane and check the official accounting of the emergency funds allocated for this work? Can't we stop kicking this football around and get down to business before the next hurricane season? Is Marti Gras more important than getting this show on the road? Americans would pour into the area to help clean things up, if only the local, state and federal officials would pick up the reins and decide on a plan of attack. New Orleans and the Gulf coast need to get started on a clean-up before the next natural or terrorist disaster is upon us. People of New Orleans --- don't go back! Stay where you are and stay safe.

The Epiphany of Retired Souls

Having sold one place last year in sunny, southern Florida, we thought that we were finally over our love affair with this state. Alas! It was not to be. When will we ever learn? Offering perfectly good money for a nasty 1971 double-wide was something that younger people should do. Yes, the sun shines on "trailers" the same as it does on proper homes, but the hurricanes seem to have a peculiar affinity for the flimsy. It really strikes the funny bone to think that trailers have hurricane shutters. Wouldn't you think that in the event of a Category 3 or thereabouts, the whole place will flit around the neighborhood, so what purpose do the shutters serve? I'm being too hard on this place, because if it is indeed a 1971 SunHome-- it has stood for 35 years without becoming a missile for the unfortunate. The latest info (since Charley and Wilma) is that they will not insure "trailers" against the full value. They will give only a small portion of the value, but they charge premiums consistent with mansions. We have replaced the sub flooring, floors, carpet, toilets, sinks, counters, bathroom walls. Italian kitchen tile, draperies, rods, all appliances and have all new furniture. Most rooms have been painted or lined with bead-board and wallpaper borders. Ugly cupboards have turned into buffets and bookcases. The 1971 has become a 2006 (curtsey of HGTV) and it looks like a brand new place, but all this cuts no ice with the insurance company. OLD is OLD! Makes me feel like I should turn in my driver's license, because I am old!
What I started out to say is that our friends who have been so instrumental in getting us to spend our retirement money on a home in Florida for the cold season, have forsaken us. They have been so successful at talking their families into moving and building here in the Ft. Myers area, that they have no time left for us!!! Ergo---what the heck are we doing here? We are spending money that we will need later in life (if we live as long as I'd like) and spreading ourselves a little thin. The two of us are sitting home nights and watching things like Desperate Housewives, Grey's Anatomy, Skating with the Stars, Dancing with the Stars and, of course, The Olympics. January and the first part of February has been chilly --- don't you think we could watch T.V. in Ohio and avoid the negative spending to see blue skies and not be 1,200 miles from our children and grandchildren?
We watched "Oprah" on TV today and she said that the average American lives paycheck to paycheck and is living on credit. Since we are in our 70's (ugh--- I can't believe the whole thing) and have no debt at all, we have a tremendous credit rating --- but everything is tied up in condos, doublewides and stocks. We are rapidly becoming slaves to our perfect purchases and are faced with two options.
1.) Keep the Florida place for a couple of years and enjoy all the sunshine and loose joints --- but, watch our bank accounts dwindle down to perilous levels, or
2.) Sell this masterpiece of decoration and spend the winters in Ohio with snow up to our arses. I mean really --- we could watch the T.V. with the drapes pulled and who would be any the wiser? Our finances would be logical and we might even be able to do that trip to England and Ireland that I have always wanted. Someone smack me if I ever even hint at the possibility of doing another overhaul. Young people can do the necessary work without Ben Gay rubbed head to toe. When will we ever learn that chronological age means something. No matter what we look like---the spirit is weak and the flesh is downright flabby. I think we need to go home to Ohio, where our family is and move only if they decide to go to another state.
One of the worst problems is that I love all the new "stuff" I have purchased for this place and I want to keep it all. It has taken another half year from my already pitifully short life to furnish it and we are talking "another sale!"
My mind has short-circuited! WE have been here for 7 weeks and I have not been to the pool, have no suntan and my asthma medications are running low. Do you get the picture of a dog chasing it's own tail?

Deep Thoughts

We are the proud grandparents of a young man, who is just a fuzz below genius in intelligence. When he was a little guy, his smile was endearing and always lit up a freckled face like sunshine peeking through clouds. I remember his fourth birthday, with his little hands hanging onto each newly opened present to the point that he was unable to open any more. His desperation to keep an older, more savvy brother from latching onto any of the new "stuff" was hard to watch. His abilities in math and with video games was amazing, his personality seemed to be even keeled and affable, but lurking under the surface was a mind in turmoil. Junior High was a very uncomfortable period --- he didn't do homework (why bother, I know all that) or if he did the assigned work, he forgot to take it to school. There were fights on the playground by the fifth grade, but he would never tell us what was bothering him. In high school, he spent most of his extra time in his room with his computer playing video games, and his grades were not outstanding. There was never a girlfriend in his life or any great interest in the outside world. After three years in college, majoring in computer engineering, he couldn't come up with the money for any more classes and he decided to join the Air Force. The recruiter told him to lose 49 pounds and sent him to a larger base to test him for decoding abilities. The 49 pounds came off in four months and he got the highest score they ever had at the center where the testing was done. As an honor graduate from basic training, he was tested and is in the .06% of the entire Air Force.

Finally, we arrive at the deep thoughts part of this whole thing. After flight training, he was sent to The Defense Language Institure in Monterey, CA for eighteen months of training in Arabic. While chatting with the head of the Arabic language section, we discovered that linguists are usually extremely intelligent and are loners. This explains the diffident behavior all of those years --- so, I asked him if he were aware that he had been stand-offish as a teen and a loner. Here comes the part that hurts for the parents and grandparents of these kids ---Yes, they know that they are extremely intelligent and are not like the other kids in their grade. They are not well liked, other kids resent their smart genes and they don't particularly care to associate with kids their own age, but of normal intelligence. So, truly bright children hide in their rooms, read books that are years beyond their age level and study things that appeal to them.

This disparity continues into adulthood and it becomes harder and harder to make friends, since the majority of people are not overly bright and even conversation becomes tedious. Would it explain people like Vincent Van Gogh --- "And when no love was left in sight, on that starry, starry night, he took his life like lovers often do ---but I could have told you, Vincent ---the world was never meant for one as beautiful as you". In America, we have classes for developementally delayed, regular, everyday kids, but who is looking out for the truly exceptional kids? They are usually pretty unhappy until they find the key to their personalities.

Today's the big day....but, no fireworks or celebrating in these quarters. When your birthday is two weeks after Christmas, nobody notices or goes into raptures of good wishes or offerings of extravagant presents. Frank Sinatra's "When I Was Seventeen" comes to mind, and it was a very good year! I ran off and got married that year and it was wonderful...still is. Some years are better than others, so I'm hoping that this year will be everything that I ever dreamed it could be. We have been caught up in buying, decorating, selling and buying again in the sunshine of Florida. True, you can make money, but will the old bodies hold up long enough to enjoy the latest purchase? We spent December running up and down Interstate 75 in an attempt to furnish the newest of our follies. What's 1,200 miles more or less? Three trips in three weeks with Christmas in the middle of it all... makes me tired just thinking of it. We came back in time for New Year's Eve and spent the last week in the company of an alcoholic house painter. My idea of morning is watching the sun come up at 10:00 A.M.... this dude arived before 7:00! Egads! The middle of the night! However, his painting skills diminished by 10:30 to noon and he was off to spend the rest of the day lying in the sun with a beer in his hand. The kitchen is painted (mostly---I'll do touch-ups) and Old Bud is a thing of the past. The expensive things are all purchased and we only have a couple of things to do, like laying the new kitchen floor, putting in a sink and counter top. There are sewing projects that will take a couple of weeks and twenty-eight panels of drapes to press, but I'll handle it as long as I can sleep in the mornings without a crazed painter banging on the door. I'm left wondering how Murphy Brown stood Eldon for all those years???? Florida would be wonderful, if the only things you had to contend with were blue skies, sunshine and white sand by the mile, but no --- there are old people all over the place, riding in their golf carts (but they play no golf), tooling around on three wheeled bikes and pushing baby strollers with poodles in the seat. And friendly? Planting a bush or shrub is an occasion for all and sundry in the neighborhood to stop by and tell you the story of their lives and how to plant said bush. We once had neighbors who buried a dead fish under all shrubs and plantings....maybe, I'll try that and keep the weirdos away by sheer odor. Perhaps, they'll think we are the stink in the area.
My DIL called last night and said that my son was rocking and sobbing in the throes of kidney stone pain and what should she do. OMG --- Take him to the hospital! Now, this led me to think that perhaps having children was not such a hot idea. How could I have know forty some years ago that the pain would go on forever. Your babies are your babies always and then grandkids get into the mix. I just plain don't believe that my heart will be able to take great-grands or the troubles that are just down the road for all these boys in the next few years. I refuse to worry about the only grand-daughter... the seven grandsons will keep her straight! (And keep the mongrels away from the door) So, I started out saying that it is a big day for me...Happy 70th Birthday to me --- I freakin can't believe it! Somebody must have changed my birth certificate!