It is Tuesday morning. I have not opened the front door yet. "I", has not opted to go out . She lies in the big chair here in the dining room. Waiting to see what goodies I will give her. She loves a early morning snack. When I step out of bed in the morning, even if its three. She is up with me. When I lay at night. She is with me. My shadow. I love this dog.
If I have accomplished anything in this lifetime, its that I have gave people much fuel for conversation. Hey, don't laugh, its not easy always having to do something dumb so people have something to talk about. Being a tad bit off the beaten path I feel it falls to me to make sure they have stuff to chat about.
It's always been my attitude, clothes, hair or erratic behavior. The Emperor thinks I talk to loud or too low. The Emperor talks about my voice as he mutters to himself. He may have to talk to himself to talk about me. But he does what he has to do.
I have never dressed the way I was suppose too. I know I have written about that before on here. My age and my clothes never match the way people think they should. I love clothes. I love pretty clothes. When I see something pretty I want it. I want to wear it. It doesn't matter if it is age appropriate I know the day will come when the Shady Tree Home will come for me. They will probably dress me in nothing but Polyester. Oh, no, a fate worse than death. But I guarantee I will give them a run for their money.
Many things people say I have done. I have done. Many things people say I have done. I have not done. But I never deny. Because I learned a long time ago, if people want to believe something they are going too. so why get all upset and try to make them think different. It won't work anyway.
I have never fit into the hole people have at times thought I should. To be truthful, I have never wanted too. Some people are happy being a carbon copy. To fit in and not make waves. That I am afraid is not for me. My clothes have always been what I wanted. At least once I was old enough to buy my own. From my hair to my attuide, to me in general. I have walked the path I chose. I think different is cool. Others don't. But one thing I know I need to work on is aceppting those who choose to stay on the beaten path. The "Robert Frost," poem. The path less traveled. That would be me, talking to myself, my hair chopped off and in a odd hue. Happily skipping down that less traveled path. For the most part I am happy. I surely hope you are too.
So I have learned over the years just to take everything with a grain of salt. If you see me dancing through a store, if you hear me yacking a hundred miles an hour. That's me okay. My hair will be goodness only knows what color. And I could be wearing a short skirt or maybe one down to my ankles. Its really hard to tell. So if you are looking for someone to have a conversation about, use me. I really don't mind. But please lets keep it interesting. I sure don't want to be dull.So I will drift out into the wide scopes of Blogland. So for now, I'm outta here.
Monday, May 31, 2010
HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR BILLIE
Yes, it is Monday again. I am going to try to slow down the days a little this week. So Monday does not become Friday so fast. But those who have a work week I am sure don't mind them zipping by at lightening speed. So another week to do with as you will. Unless of course the fickle finger of fate tries to mess around with our days. Hopefully Miss Fate will be kind to us all.
May the 31st,1959. Down on ninth street. Remember I've told you all about ninth street. I had turned eighteen in February. I was a very immature eighteen believe me. I was going to have a baby. I had been going to have a baby for a week and half. I had been in the hospital four days, then I had come home. I was determined I was not going back to the hospital until this time it was the real thing. My Mother was just as determined I was not having the baby at the house. This was the only time I myself ever saw my Mother lose her temper. She threw, yes threw, for those of you who did not think my Mother capable of such things. She threw my overnight case and said, "Get in the car or I am leaving the house. I will not be here for you to have this baby at home." I got in the car. I was crying, Grandma Minnie trying to wash my feet, because my water had broke all over me. Also I always went barefoot and my feet was dirty. We went to the hospital. It was very high drama.
Less than an hour later this beautiful little girl made her entrance into this crazy world. She had no idea when she was first laid into my arms the ride she was in for. But Willamina Elizabeth Miksell started her journey that Sunday May afternoon. Her name was Geri LaVerne for Five days. Named after my two sisters. The name change is a whole different story, remind me and I'll tell you sometime. I was upset at the time of the change, but a year later I was very glad it worked out the way it did. We called her Billie Beth for short. Listen folks if your name was Willamina you would want to be called Billie too.
They brought her into me. I counted her toes, I counted her fingers. Her little face bruised as if she had been in a fight. She had, a fight to get into this world. She looked at me with clear eyes as if to say, "Now whats going to happen?" Well at times the going was rough but through it all she has persevered.
Billie is the worlds most compassionate person. The greatest Grandmother bar none. She is a giver, just like my Mom. Gives of herself till there is nothing left for herself. She is pretty, very smart and quiet. Her brother and I, talk, dance bounce through life. Billie is not a bouncer. She works non-stop, she tries to take care of the world. She is serious, funny and has had my heart since day one.
In my opinion they should make this day a National Holiday. Oh, I forgot today it is, "Memorial Day." But I meant one for just her, the national "Billie Day". God blessed me with this amazing child, who become a amazing woman. So Happy Birthday Billie. I love you so and I am so proud you are my daughter. Oh yes everyone, check out the pictures at the top of the page. Courtesy of Al and Mae Chamberlain. Billies Dad and step-mom. Al the man who had such a good influence on her and helped shape her into the hard working person she is today. Thanks to them both. So happy Birthday Billie. We all love you.
May the 31st,1959. Down on ninth street. Remember I've told you all about ninth street. I had turned eighteen in February. I was a very immature eighteen believe me. I was going to have a baby. I had been going to have a baby for a week and half. I had been in the hospital four days, then I had come home. I was determined I was not going back to the hospital until this time it was the real thing. My Mother was just as determined I was not having the baby at the house. This was the only time I myself ever saw my Mother lose her temper. She threw, yes threw, for those of you who did not think my Mother capable of such things. She threw my overnight case and said, "Get in the car or I am leaving the house. I will not be here for you to have this baby at home." I got in the car. I was crying, Grandma Minnie trying to wash my feet, because my water had broke all over me. Also I always went barefoot and my feet was dirty. We went to the hospital. It was very high drama.
Less than an hour later this beautiful little girl made her entrance into this crazy world. She had no idea when she was first laid into my arms the ride she was in for. But Willamina Elizabeth Miksell started her journey that Sunday May afternoon. Her name was Geri LaVerne for Five days. Named after my two sisters. The name change is a whole different story, remind me and I'll tell you sometime. I was upset at the time of the change, but a year later I was very glad it worked out the way it did. We called her Billie Beth for short. Listen folks if your name was Willamina you would want to be called Billie too.
They brought her into me. I counted her toes, I counted her fingers. Her little face bruised as if she had been in a fight. She had, a fight to get into this world. She looked at me with clear eyes as if to say, "Now whats going to happen?" Well at times the going was rough but through it all she has persevered.
Billie is the worlds most compassionate person. The greatest Grandmother bar none. She is a giver, just like my Mom. Gives of herself till there is nothing left for herself. She is pretty, very smart and quiet. Her brother and I, talk, dance bounce through life. Billie is not a bouncer. She works non-stop, she tries to take care of the world. She is serious, funny and has had my heart since day one.
In my opinion they should make this day a National Holiday. Oh, I forgot today it is, "Memorial Day." But I meant one for just her, the national "Billie Day". God blessed me with this amazing child, who become a amazing woman. So Happy Birthday Billie. I love you so and I am so proud you are my daughter. Oh yes everyone, check out the pictures at the top of the page. Courtesy of Al and Mae Chamberlain. Billies Dad and step-mom. Al the man who had such a good influence on her and helped shape her into the hard working person she is today. Thanks to them both. So happy Birthday Billie. We all love you.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
THERE WAS GOING TO BE A DRUM ROLL.
Sunday morning, very early morning. I have been up since three. One of those nights again, where sleep would not stay with me. I would like to go out and sit in the yard but will wait at least till the sky lightens up a little. "I" was up with me awhile, but filled her little belly and has went back to sleep. So only myself and the computer are up. I sipping tea and the computer making its steady sounds. We are friends the computer and I. Especially in the night. When everyone else is quiet, she sits with me. Her friendly lights letting me know I am not alone.
This was the day for the drum roll. I was going to tell of Brett and Bradley's awards. There was suppose to be pictures. There is no pictures yet. So I will wait a couple oif days to post about them. But I am very proud of both boys . Brett you are awesome but then so is Bradley.
So what should I write about today. As I said I intended to write about Brett and Bradley. Oh yes, Jer has finished his semester at college. He is a senior now. He finished the year with A's and B's. Very good for the tough classes he takes. I have written before how proud I am of Jer. My hats off to you son for all your hard work.
So here I am a empty Blog today. I seek for witty words but I must have left them back in bed, asleep beside the Emperor. The Emperor never seems to be at a loss for words. But then the ones that tumble helter skelter from my mouth never seems to have a loss either. Its connecting them from head to fingers that somehow they seem to get lost in the translation.
Words have always seemed important to me. Though I know sometimes I say too many. My brain is always on go, weaving words in my mind. I have always wanted to be an artist. The one thing that always held me back is that I can't even draw a stick person. I always wanted to paint a picture with words. I think the words but drawing them onto paper, the written word is not always easy. Someone writing should be able to make you see what they are saying. Paint the picture as surely as they have a brush in their hand. I see the words, I feel the words but not always able to draw them.
This is where I sit this morning, my paint brush empty. No magical words appearing as I sit here. I would truly like to blame my daughter because there was no pictures of the boys getting the awards, to paint a Blog around. But in truth I must take the blame. I may go over and crawl into the big chair that sits in here. Close my eyes and just not worry about words or rather the lack of them. I will amble out of Blogland and close my eyes. See you later, but for now I'm outta here.
This was the day for the drum roll. I was going to tell of Brett and Bradley's awards. There was suppose to be pictures. There is no pictures yet. So I will wait a couple oif days to post about them. But I am very proud of both boys . Brett you are awesome but then so is Bradley.
So what should I write about today. As I said I intended to write about Brett and Bradley. Oh yes, Jer has finished his semester at college. He is a senior now. He finished the year with A's and B's. Very good for the tough classes he takes. I have written before how proud I am of Jer. My hats off to you son for all your hard work.
So here I am a empty Blog today. I seek for witty words but I must have left them back in bed, asleep beside the Emperor. The Emperor never seems to be at a loss for words. But then the ones that tumble helter skelter from my mouth never seems to have a loss either. Its connecting them from head to fingers that somehow they seem to get lost in the translation.
Words have always seemed important to me. Though I know sometimes I say too many. My brain is always on go, weaving words in my mind. I have always wanted to be an artist. The one thing that always held me back is that I can't even draw a stick person. I always wanted to paint a picture with words. I think the words but drawing them onto paper, the written word is not always easy. Someone writing should be able to make you see what they are saying. Paint the picture as surely as they have a brush in their hand. I see the words, I feel the words but not always able to draw them.
This is where I sit this morning, my paint brush empty. No magical words appearing as I sit here. I would truly like to blame my daughter because there was no pictures of the boys getting the awards, to paint a Blog around. But in truth I must take the blame. I may go over and crawl into the big chair that sits in here. Close my eyes and just not worry about words or rather the lack of them. I will amble out of Blogland and close my eyes. See you later, but for now I'm outta here.
Friday, May 28, 2010
AN ESSAY BY MIKE BASSETT
Saturday morning is here again. This is going to be a long weekend, Memorial Day. I am doing something a little different today than I normally do. My Grandson Mike, Dad of Mikayla Bassett has written a Essay. It will soon be published in a magazine. He has allowed me to run it here. He has written a very moving piece, not only for Health Care Professionals but everyone. An insight to how we live our life's, just day by day. Then in an instant everything changes. Thanks Mike.
AN ESSAY
"by"
MIKE BASSETT
This is a brief essay for health care professionals for what its like for the patient and family of the patient. You’re a parent and it’s early morning with the nagging sound of an alarm clock trying to wake you out of bed. You grumble and begin your daily rituals that somehow seem to be set on autopilot. You make breakfast, get the kids ready, yourself ready, and head out the door for your journey. On the way to school the kids are fighting over who is looking at who, while the other is trying to finish last nights homework they forgot to do the day before. The glorious clam of voices in the background almost mute with the thoughts about what lies ahead today. You drop the kids at school telling them you love them and head to work. At work most of us are like machines. We have sets of tasks that we try to accomplish to the best of our abilities and then we call it a day. Most of our days are much the same as the one before it. Little ever seems to change.. After work its back to our first life picking up kids, running errands, going to practices, all before we get home. Still set on autopilot dinner is made, baths are given, and chores are done. If we are lucky we will have a minute to ourselves, but most are not so fortunate. The kids are yelling again about mundane and trivial things. You get frustrated and are looking forward to the kids sleeping so that you have that peaceful time before you sleep that allows you to think about your day. When you lie there thinking what do you think of? Did your children drive you crazy? Did they fight all day and somehow become destructive to the house adding more pressure to you because you’re the one that has to clean? For most of us that have children this is how it is.
We loose focus on the small things in life and rarely are we faced with something so big that our lives would be altered forever. What if it was altered? Altered in a big enough way that we no longer were on autopilot. What would you do? I was a parent that was on autopilot, but in an instant my life was altered in a huge way. My daughter whom was five at the time was diagnosed with AML Leukemia. Our world would never be the same again. It consisted of hospitals, doctors, nurses, caregivers, therapists, and specialists. We as parents longed for the car rides to school. We missed the fighting over who is looking at who. We wanted to have to clean house because it was destroyed by the children, but that was not our world anymore. No longer on autopilot each day presented it’s own challenge. Being stuck in this situation makes you appreciate things you normally take for granted. The tugging of your shirt tail by a toddler showing you their mess they just made with the crayons on the wall. The roar of cries when somebody takes something away from the other. We instead had to face challenges far greater than any parent that hasn’t gone through it can imagine. When we are in this situation our heads are spinning and our hearts are heavy.
We look to others such as our health care professionals for guidance. We build bonds and relationships that help us to cope with our situation. Our daughter was much the same as us. Some she loved others she didn’t want to see. As parents you try to rid the bad ones and keep the good. After seven months we completed therapies and started to rebuild our lives at home. While in the hospital we noticed something. Did most of the health care professionals see so many sick patients that they too were on autopilot just completing the tasks that lay before them? Did their daily lives begin with the hum of the alarm much as mine? We tend to see life though our own eyes and not realize what kind of impact we have on others. As a healthcare provider you may not realize how important of a role you play in the patients life. Its not just about performing your tasks, but about relationships you build with the patient and the patients families. Try not to be stuck on autopilot. Rather think of your patient as if she or he was your own child that was sick. Your job will be more rewarding and you will feel good about yourself.
AN ESSAY
"by"
MIKE BASSETT
This is a brief essay for health care professionals for what its like for the patient and family of the patient. You’re a parent and it’s early morning with the nagging sound of an alarm clock trying to wake you out of bed. You grumble and begin your daily rituals that somehow seem to be set on autopilot. You make breakfast, get the kids ready, yourself ready, and head out the door for your journey. On the way to school the kids are fighting over who is looking at who, while the other is trying to finish last nights homework they forgot to do the day before. The glorious clam of voices in the background almost mute with the thoughts about what lies ahead today. You drop the kids at school telling them you love them and head to work. At work most of us are like machines. We have sets of tasks that we try to accomplish to the best of our abilities and then we call it a day. Most of our days are much the same as the one before it. Little ever seems to change.. After work its back to our first life picking up kids, running errands, going to practices, all before we get home. Still set on autopilot dinner is made, baths are given, and chores are done. If we are lucky we will have a minute to ourselves, but most are not so fortunate. The kids are yelling again about mundane and trivial things. You get frustrated and are looking forward to the kids sleeping so that you have that peaceful time before you sleep that allows you to think about your day. When you lie there thinking what do you think of? Did your children drive you crazy? Did they fight all day and somehow become destructive to the house adding more pressure to you because you’re the one that has to clean? For most of us that have children this is how it is.
We loose focus on the small things in life and rarely are we faced with something so big that our lives would be altered forever. What if it was altered? Altered in a big enough way that we no longer were on autopilot. What would you do? I was a parent that was on autopilot, but in an instant my life was altered in a huge way. My daughter whom was five at the time was diagnosed with AML Leukemia. Our world would never be the same again. It consisted of hospitals, doctors, nurses, caregivers, therapists, and specialists. We as parents longed for the car rides to school. We missed the fighting over who is looking at who. We wanted to have to clean house because it was destroyed by the children, but that was not our world anymore. No longer on autopilot each day presented it’s own challenge. Being stuck in this situation makes you appreciate things you normally take for granted. The tugging of your shirt tail by a toddler showing you their mess they just made with the crayons on the wall. The roar of cries when somebody takes something away from the other. We instead had to face challenges far greater than any parent that hasn’t gone through it can imagine. When we are in this situation our heads are spinning and our hearts are heavy.
We look to others such as our health care professionals for guidance. We build bonds and relationships that help us to cope with our situation. Our daughter was much the same as us. Some she loved others she didn’t want to see. As parents you try to rid the bad ones and keep the good. After seven months we completed therapies and started to rebuild our lives at home. While in the hospital we noticed something. Did most of the health care professionals see so many sick patients that they too were on autopilot just completing the tasks that lay before them? Did their daily lives begin with the hum of the alarm much as mine? We tend to see life though our own eyes and not realize what kind of impact we have on others. As a healthcare provider you may not realize how important of a role you play in the patients life. Its not just about performing your tasks, but about relationships you build with the patient and the patients families. Try not to be stuck on autopilot. Rather think of your patient as if she or he was your own child that was sick. Your job will be more rewarding and you will feel good about yourself.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
THE BLONDE LADY IN MY MIRROR.
Here it is again, Friday. In all its glory. Memorial weekend coming up, so I'm sure there is lots of plans with everyone. My plans are for staying home.Woe is me.
I guess I should just confess that I have messed with my hair again. I'm sure my family was in hopes at my age I would put the dye and bleach bottle away permnantly. Sorry but it didn't happen. With my hair I always mean well. I guess it just happens to be the one thing about my looks I can mess with. The brown dye kept washing off and red came. Bright red. I prayed for grey to come to cover the red. No go. So I decieded to streak blonde through my hair. I used a small brush. I do not see well. The streaks become clumps. To even up the clumps, I did more clumps. Now I have almost all blonde hair. Gasp, gasp. My daughter is probably rolling her eyes again.
I went to California when I was nineteen. I went with natural brown hair. I came back being almost a white blonde. I think the peroxide got into my blood. I have had my hair almost every color in the rainbow since then. And it doesn't look as if I have stopped yet. Oh I hear the groans coming up. Silly old lady with bleached hair. Excuse me. I really don't mind being silly. I've been this way all my life, so I'm use to it. I get bored with the same old color. Maybe disatisfied is a better word. I am always looking for the perfect hair. I of course will never find it. But I keep chasing the dream.
Actually I do feel sorry for my children. They are adults who probably get embarressed by me and my crazy antics. I would love to be the sedate little granny with the grey locks. Honest I tried to get the grey to come in. Anyway I would like to be the grey haired with the apron and sit quietly in some corner. Oops, I'm afraid it's not going to happen. I'm sure they have all realized that by now. I'm the granny who nows has bleached hair, my ever famous black eye liner I speak of. But I suspect my daughter knows its a losing battle to think I'll ever shape up. She bought me an apron. Guess what it has, the comic strip from the Joplin Globe on it. That ought to tell you something.
But then I've always said, "Life is just a big comic strip anyway." In other words don't take yourself too serious. Believe me I don't. Just dance in the rain. Forget your aches and pains and do a jig. Don't worry what the world thinks of you. Just what you think of yourself. Now I think that I am a nut. But it feels good to me. Watch out world, the old blonde lady is on the loose. But for now, I'm outta here.
I guess I should just confess that I have messed with my hair again. I'm sure my family was in hopes at my age I would put the dye and bleach bottle away permnantly. Sorry but it didn't happen. With my hair I always mean well. I guess it just happens to be the one thing about my looks I can mess with. The brown dye kept washing off and red came. Bright red. I prayed for grey to come to cover the red. No go. So I decieded to streak blonde through my hair. I used a small brush. I do not see well. The streaks become clumps. To even up the clumps, I did more clumps. Now I have almost all blonde hair. Gasp, gasp. My daughter is probably rolling her eyes again.
I went to California when I was nineteen. I went with natural brown hair. I came back being almost a white blonde. I think the peroxide got into my blood. I have had my hair almost every color in the rainbow since then. And it doesn't look as if I have stopped yet. Oh I hear the groans coming up. Silly old lady with bleached hair. Excuse me. I really don't mind being silly. I've been this way all my life, so I'm use to it. I get bored with the same old color. Maybe disatisfied is a better word. I am always looking for the perfect hair. I of course will never find it. But I keep chasing the dream.
Actually I do feel sorry for my children. They are adults who probably get embarressed by me and my crazy antics. I would love to be the sedate little granny with the grey locks. Honest I tried to get the grey to come in. Anyway I would like to be the grey haired with the apron and sit quietly in some corner. Oops, I'm afraid it's not going to happen. I'm sure they have all realized that by now. I'm the granny who nows has bleached hair, my ever famous black eye liner I speak of. But I suspect my daughter knows its a losing battle to think I'll ever shape up. She bought me an apron. Guess what it has, the comic strip from the Joplin Globe on it. That ought to tell you something.
But then I've always said, "Life is just a big comic strip anyway." In other words don't take yourself too serious. Believe me I don't. Just dance in the rain. Forget your aches and pains and do a jig. Don't worry what the world thinks of you. Just what you think of yourself. Now I think that I am a nut. But it feels good to me. Watch out world, the old blonde lady is on the loose. But for now, I'm outta here.
THE CARPET ROSES.
It is Thursday morning. I have been up and going for two hours. It is now almost 6:30. The computer has been difficult again. But finally I am on and hope it cooperates with me until I can get these words out into cyberspace.
In between rebooting and rebooting this computer, "I" and I went out and sat in the swing. Letting the sounds and smells of early morning surround us. Morning sounds different at five am, than it does at nine. Duh, you knew that already didn't you? There is a silence but you can hear the sounds of the birds beginning to stir, not loudly but just a low sound. Their day is starting. I imagine I can hear the Momma bird chirp to the daddy, "Get up already, go get a worm for the babies." They are communicating these birds. But so often during the day the other sounds over powers the sounds of birds. But not in the early morning hours. Not when the dark sky shows only a hint of daylight beneath the surface.
There is smells in the dawn hours too. Oh you smell them later in the day. But its not the same as sitting in the swing, under my beloved trees, smelling the Carpet Roses as their aroma drifts gently to me. I close my eyes and let the fragrance surround me. If you do not go sit alone at the dawn of the day, you should surely try it sometime. As nature revels itself to you so strongly at the breaking of dawn. Maybe because there is not so much noise and confusion around us as the day begans to compete for our attention. It's just you and in my case "I", is always with me. But she sits her head cocked to one side, ears up. As she is listening too. Straining to hear the sounds that lay just beneath the surface.
My carpet Roses cover a section of fence on the South side of the house, [t is a experience that I would hope for everyone to have at least once. They are beautiful, a blanket of color and fragrance. I go several times a day, sticking my face into the petals, in spite of the thorns. Just to drink the pleasure of their smell. How can I not be grateful to be alive. How can I not be touched by the natural beauty in my yard.
I have rattled on this morning. My words not concise at all. But I have been touched by nature this morning, by God's hand. I just had to share it. To tell you that old quote that has been around for years, "Stop and smell the roses." Whoever wrote that, certainly knew what they were talking about. See ya.
In between rebooting and rebooting this computer, "I" and I went out and sat in the swing. Letting the sounds and smells of early morning surround us. Morning sounds different at five am, than it does at nine. Duh, you knew that already didn't you? There is a silence but you can hear the sounds of the birds beginning to stir, not loudly but just a low sound. Their day is starting. I imagine I can hear the Momma bird chirp to the daddy, "Get up already, go get a worm for the babies." They are communicating these birds. But so often during the day the other sounds over powers the sounds of birds. But not in the early morning hours. Not when the dark sky shows only a hint of daylight beneath the surface.
There is smells in the dawn hours too. Oh you smell them later in the day. But its not the same as sitting in the swing, under my beloved trees, smelling the Carpet Roses as their aroma drifts gently to me. I close my eyes and let the fragrance surround me. If you do not go sit alone at the dawn of the day, you should surely try it sometime. As nature revels itself to you so strongly at the breaking of dawn. Maybe because there is not so much noise and confusion around us as the day begans to compete for our attention. It's just you and in my case "I", is always with me. But she sits her head cocked to one side, ears up. As she is listening too. Straining to hear the sounds that lay just beneath the surface.
My carpet Roses cover a section of fence on the South side of the house, [t is a experience that I would hope for everyone to have at least once. They are beautiful, a blanket of color and fragrance. I go several times a day, sticking my face into the petals, in spite of the thorns. Just to drink the pleasure of their smell. How can I not be grateful to be alive. How can I not be touched by the natural beauty in my yard.
I have rattled on this morning. My words not concise at all. But I have been touched by nature this morning, by God's hand. I just had to share it. To tell you that old quote that has been around for years, "Stop and smell the roses." Whoever wrote that, certainly knew what they were talking about. See ya.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
DON'T PEOPLE JUST TALK ANYMORE?
Good morning, good Wednesday morning to be exact. I have written this Blog once this morning and watched in horror as the words began disappearing before my eyes. I fumbled for the save button. The dang computer ate my Blog. I swear I heard it burp awhile ago. So here I am, I hope I can remember my words.
What I had written about is the fact people just don't talk to each other anymore. Not face to face anyway. Everything is texting or facebook. Oh I know people still talk on the phone some. But this texting is plum getting out of hand. You can be talking to somebody and their thumb will be moving at lightening speed. Good grief I think, they have a completely;y different conversation going on with someone else. Excuse me, I am here, eye ball to eyeball with you. Talk to me. I wonder sometimes what these kids would do if their thumbs fell off. They would not know how to communicate with anyone.
When I was growing up we didn't have a phone half the time. Mom would get us one and in a couple of months it would be gone. If the choice came to food or the phone, Mom opted for for food. Most of the time if you wanted to talk to a friend you walked to their house. Yes walked. Like you went out the door, moved your feet till you came to their door. You hung out, had fun and nobody had a phone in their hand and thumb moving a hundred miles an hour
So here we are in the texting age. Nobody speaks right at each other any more. They go on facebook and spit little innuendos at their ex's. Now I like Facebook okay, but it has replaced real human contact. The social age for busy people I guess. Whats happened to just visiting with someone. Instead of going on Facebook giving them a shout out or sending a text. I guess the world has moved on and left me with my outdated, too young clothes. Black eye liner and a permnant squint as I try to see the world around me. Give me a call sometime, don't bother to text. I can't see it. I'll answer, Hello. Hello." Remember those words. But for now. I'm outta here.
What I had written about is the fact people just don't talk to each other anymore. Not face to face anyway. Everything is texting or facebook. Oh I know people still talk on the phone some. But this texting is plum getting out of hand. You can be talking to somebody and their thumb will be moving at lightening speed. Good grief I think, they have a completely;y different conversation going on with someone else. Excuse me, I am here, eye ball to eyeball with you. Talk to me. I wonder sometimes what these kids would do if their thumbs fell off. They would not know how to communicate with anyone.
When I was growing up we didn't have a phone half the time. Mom would get us one and in a couple of months it would be gone. If the choice came to food or the phone, Mom opted for for food. Most of the time if you wanted to talk to a friend you walked to their house. Yes walked. Like you went out the door, moved your feet till you came to their door. You hung out, had fun and nobody had a phone in their hand and thumb moving a hundred miles an hour
So here we are in the texting age. Nobody speaks right at each other any more. They go on facebook and spit little innuendos at their ex's. Now I like Facebook okay, but it has replaced real human contact. The social age for busy people I guess. Whats happened to just visiting with someone. Instead of going on Facebook giving them a shout out or sending a text. I guess the world has moved on and left me with my outdated, too young clothes. Black eye liner and a permnant squint as I try to see the world around me. Give me a call sometime, don't bother to text. I can't see it. I'll answer, Hello. Hello." Remember those words. But for now. I'm outta here.
THE GRADUATIONS
Tuesday has arrived. It is after five and just finally was able to get on the computer. It has a mind of its own this morning, but finally here I am. I'll hope for the best.
We have had grade school graduations, Amber, Darian and Brett. They are growing up at such alarming speed. It seems just yesterday they were babies. Now all getting ready to start a new chapter in their young life's. It seems that is what our life's are made up of, chapters. First chapter a baby, then next a toddler. Then kids as these three are. Then its teenagers, then the long awaited twenties. Before you know it the thirty chapter is here. Then we start the forties chapter and its all down hill from there. Then you near the end of the book. Good grief I think that may be where I am at. Because when you get to the final chapters, you want a rewrite and as of yet I found the Editor is turning a deaf ear.
But it is exciting, getting close to being a teen, getting out of elementary, sliding into the future. I think they call it Middle school now, Then high School instead of Junior High, then High School But there are so many changes these days I can't keep count. Amber told me on the phone she goes to another school before she goes to Middle school. So maybe Duneweg does things different. But no matter what school they are moving too, they are growing up. Can this be possible, I ask myself. Can these great-grands be getting this old. Whoa is me. I have a grandson a few months older than my Jer, so I guess it is possible.
There are days I still think I should be in grade school with Mr. Barlow the principle. But alas that is not the way it is. So to Amber, Darian and Brett, congratulations on your graduations. We are all proud of you. As Kiefer use to say, Woohoo. Big things lie ahead. Go, kids, Go.
We have had grade school graduations, Amber, Darian and Brett. They are growing up at such alarming speed. It seems just yesterday they were babies. Now all getting ready to start a new chapter in their young life's. It seems that is what our life's are made up of, chapters. First chapter a baby, then next a toddler. Then kids as these three are. Then its teenagers, then the long awaited twenties. Before you know it the thirty chapter is here. Then we start the forties chapter and its all down hill from there. Then you near the end of the book. Good grief I think that may be where I am at. Because when you get to the final chapters, you want a rewrite and as of yet I found the Editor is turning a deaf ear.
But it is exciting, getting close to being a teen, getting out of elementary, sliding into the future. I think they call it Middle school now, Then high School instead of Junior High, then High School But there are so many changes these days I can't keep count. Amber told me on the phone she goes to another school before she goes to Middle school. So maybe Duneweg does things different. But no matter what school they are moving too, they are growing up. Can this be possible, I ask myself. Can these great-grands be getting this old. Whoa is me. I have a grandson a few months older than my Jer, so I guess it is possible.
There are days I still think I should be in grade school with Mr. Barlow the principle. But alas that is not the way it is. So to Amber, Darian and Brett, congratulations on your graduations. We are all proud of you. As Kiefer use to say, Woohoo. Big things lie ahead. Go, kids, Go.
Monday, May 24, 2010
THANKFULLY THE EMPEROR DIDN'T SHOW HIS NEW CLOTHES.
It is Monday all over again. But not early morning hours as usual. It's almost noon. We went away for the night and didn't get home until eight. I had many things to do but finally here I am. At least I didn't miss again.
We went to the Casino last night. It was a pool party but there was nobody in the pool. Well a couple but mostly people sitting around, free food and any kind of drinks. And the most important to the Emperor was the fact they had beer. Unlimited supplies of beer and free. The Emperor was very happy. We gambled a short time, then listened to the music. Finally we went back to the Casino because I had twenty-five dollars and sure did not want to have any money left ro rake home. The Emperor within a short time headed back downstairs. Free beer you know does sing through the air. "Come, Come," at least to him.
He was gone about an hour and came back after last call at ten. He was excited, three women had came and wanted to share his table. The Emperor was very happy. Three mind you, not one but three. He said he told them no and moved to another table after they took over his. As he told me the story over and over I realized he must have hung around awhile to get all that talking in. After we went upstairs he told and retold the tale. And how he had said he was married and I might come down anytime. But at least the Emperor got a shot in the old ego.
You know I think maybe we all need that once in awhile. Someone that looks at us and acts like they see something interesting not just what is old hat to them. So all in all I guess it was okay, at least the Emperor did not show his new clothes. If he had I am sure he would have told me about it. I'm thankful at least for that, I might have not been so okay with it if he had. But for now I am going to scoot on out of Blogland, I'll be back tomorrow early. But for now, I'm outta here.
We went to the Casino last night. It was a pool party but there was nobody in the pool. Well a couple but mostly people sitting around, free food and any kind of drinks. And the most important to the Emperor was the fact they had beer. Unlimited supplies of beer and free. The Emperor was very happy. We gambled a short time, then listened to the music. Finally we went back to the Casino because I had twenty-five dollars and sure did not want to have any money left ro rake home. The Emperor within a short time headed back downstairs. Free beer you know does sing through the air. "Come, Come," at least to him.
He was gone about an hour and came back after last call at ten. He was excited, three women had came and wanted to share his table. The Emperor was very happy. Three mind you, not one but three. He said he told them no and moved to another table after they took over his. As he told me the story over and over I realized he must have hung around awhile to get all that talking in. After we went upstairs he told and retold the tale. And how he had said he was married and I might come down anytime. But at least the Emperor got a shot in the old ego.
You know I think maybe we all need that once in awhile. Someone that looks at us and acts like they see something interesting not just what is old hat to them. So all in all I guess it was okay, at least the Emperor did not show his new clothes. If he had I am sure he would have told me about it. I'm thankful at least for that, I might have not been so okay with it if he had. But for now I am going to scoot on out of Blogland, I'll be back tomorrow early. But for now, I'm outta here.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
NOT ONE, NOT TWO, BUT THREE.
Sunday morning coming down. It's early but I have both doors open to let the cool morning air drift through. The quiet drifts through too. Making me realize why I love these early mornings. The day seeming to whisper on the breeze, I am coming. Bring it on day, I am waiting for you.
Well I had my sale. I am not comfortably rich. I made very little, worked hard and the sunshine hurt my eyes, Now I am done whining, I will pass the cheese. But I do loudly declare, no more sales. I could not see hardly a thing by evening.
Billie came by, all three little boys in tow. With an amazing tale. Of accidents, injurys and mayham. I smile when I think of Brandi, a single mother with three boys. Doing it alone, of course she has her Mom and Dad. They are always there for her. But even then I know it has to be overwhelming with three growing boys. Never still, always on the go, looking for the next incident. And they all found it Friday night..
Ryan a black eye and stiches under his eye. Courtsey of a flying plastic gun. Bradley on crutches with a deep cut on his foot, from misplaced steps on glass. Then we have Brett who has slight burns on his arm from where he and a neighbor boy decieded to check out something and the experiment did not turn out well. This all my friends in one evening. That pretty red hair of Brandi's may turn grey by thirty,
Boys I learned with Jer, are not like grls. And I don't mean in the obivious ways. Billie was quiet, did not jump, jerk, always looking for something to do. Jer on the other hand was always moving, he had more bumps on his head the first few years of his life. He had a burn when he was six. It was not because we did not constantely try to keep him safe, just that he moved faster than us. Boys move whirl, they want to see what makes something work. They want to see what happens it you jump off something high. I think boys are why God made emergency rooms.
But they seemed yesterday to be none the worse for wear. They were smiling, happy, slightly bruised. But all is one piece. Thank God for that ending. Brandi is young, takes the rough spots pretty good. I am sure though by late Friday night, even her youth couldn't save her from being ready to yell, "No more, No more." Boys are wonderful, boys are fun. Boys are accident prone. Just ask Brandi.
Well I had my sale. I am not comfortably rich. I made very little, worked hard and the sunshine hurt my eyes, Now I am done whining, I will pass the cheese. But I do loudly declare, no more sales. I could not see hardly a thing by evening.
Billie came by, all three little boys in tow. With an amazing tale. Of accidents, injurys and mayham. I smile when I think of Brandi, a single mother with three boys. Doing it alone, of course she has her Mom and Dad. They are always there for her. But even then I know it has to be overwhelming with three growing boys. Never still, always on the go, looking for the next incident. And they all found it Friday night..
Ryan a black eye and stiches under his eye. Courtsey of a flying plastic gun. Bradley on crutches with a deep cut on his foot, from misplaced steps on glass. Then we have Brett who has slight burns on his arm from where he and a neighbor boy decieded to check out something and the experiment did not turn out well. This all my friends in one evening. That pretty red hair of Brandi's may turn grey by thirty,
Boys I learned with Jer, are not like grls. And I don't mean in the obivious ways. Billie was quiet, did not jump, jerk, always looking for something to do. Jer on the other hand was always moving, he had more bumps on his head the first few years of his life. He had a burn when he was six. It was not because we did not constantely try to keep him safe, just that he moved faster than us. Boys move whirl, they want to see what makes something work. They want to see what happens it you jump off something high. I think boys are why God made emergency rooms.
But they seemed yesterday to be none the worse for wear. They were smiling, happy, slightly bruised. But all is one piece. Thank God for that ending. Brandi is young, takes the rough spots pretty good. I am sure though by late Friday night, even her youth couldn't save her from being ready to yell, "No more, No more." Boys are wonderful, boys are fun. Boys are accident prone. Just ask Brandi.
Friday, May 21, 2010
ISN'T IT SAD, OUT OF TEN ONLY ONE CAME BACK.
Saturday morning, the weekend has arrived. It's about 4:30 and I have been outside. The weather seems good. I went about four and only stillness surrounded me, No rain, way to go. So here's hoping it stays that way.
This is my rummage sale day. At first light I will start carrying things out. So I will make it short today. I will be back tomorrow as my rambling, long winded self. These following verse's are only food for thought. Though I know of course not everyone likes the same kind of diet or eats the same kind of food. But here are the verse's anyway.
Luke 17:11-19
[11] Now on his way to Jerusalem, Jesus traveled along the border between Samaria and Galilee. [12] As he was going into a village, ten men who had leprosy met him. They stood at a distance [13] and called out in a loud voice, "Jesus, Master, have pity on us!"
[14] When he saw them, he said, "Go, show yourselves to the priests." And as they went, they were cleansed.
[15] One of them, when he saw he was healed, came back, praising God in a loud voice. [16] He threw himself at Jesus' feet and thanked him -- and he was a Samaritan.
[17] Jesus asked, "Were not all ten cleansed? Where are the other nine? [18] Was no one found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?" [19] Then he said to him, "Rise and go; your faith has made you well."
This is my rummage sale day. At first light I will start carrying things out. So I will make it short today. I will be back tomorrow as my rambling, long winded self. These following verse's are only food for thought. Though I know of course not everyone likes the same kind of diet or eats the same kind of food. But here are the verse's anyway.
Luke 17:11-19
[11] Now on his way to Jerusalem, Jesus traveled along the border between Samaria and Galilee. [12] As he was going into a village, ten men who had leprosy met him. They stood at a distance [13] and called out in a loud voice, "Jesus, Master, have pity on us!"
[14] When he saw them, he said, "Go, show yourselves to the priests." And as they went, they were cleansed.
[15] One of them, when he saw he was healed, came back, praising God in a loud voice. [16] He threw himself at Jesus' feet and thanked him -- and he was a Samaritan.
[17] Jesus asked, "Were not all ten cleansed? Where are the other nine? [18] Was no one found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?" [19] Then he said to him, "Rise and go; your faith has made you well."
Thursday, May 20, 2010
STUFF I LEARNED FROM RYAN WITH THE DANCING BLUE EYES.
Friday morning, the weekend looming on the horizon. And good news its suppose to be pretty. Warm and sunny. It looks as if Mr. Rain and all his merry little raindrops just might have packed up and left town. At least I hope so. I am having a rummage sale tomorrow. Mostly junk I have drug in from other sales. But my friend Joan, who is an artist is setting up, doing face painting on children. So that sounds like fun. At least I hope so.
Ryan with the dancing blue eyes came yesterday. He never comes when I don't learn a bunch of new things from him. He is full of wisdom, sage advice, many facts and he is only four. He makes me laugh, makes me tired and makes my heart sing. I learned pretty early yesterday that Roaches turn into Ants. Now I don't have Roaches, but I am sure they don't turn into ants. But Ryan seemed very convinced of it. So who am I to argue the fact with one so wise He also told me he only farted because I had fed him. If I would quit feeding him, then he would quit farting. I told him that I hated to quit feeding him and he said, "Good," but he would probably keep farting. And so he did.
He was petting "I" on the bed, he yelled frantically. "Grandma, come here quick. "I" has winkies all over her stomach." Winkies being what little male dogs and boys have, Get my meaning. "No Ryan," I told him. "Those aren't Winkies, there her little Boobies. She's female and she will nurse her puppies that way." "Whats nursing Grandma," he asked wide eyed as he kept checking out her bumps. I quickly took him out of the room to do something else. I was not prepared to teach sex education. I'm only a Granny.
We danced Ryan and I, booging strong to "Good golly Miss Molly. Both of us twisting and turning, jumping and really grooving. He stopped. "I can do a head stand in my dance," he said. "Okay," I said, "Go for it." He did something, it happened so fast I am not sure just what it was. But he was proud of it, so I was proud of him.
When he's two brothers come home from school I learned a few things from them too. One is when two healthy young boys have been in school all day they will wrestle, tease and make each other cry. They also do this to their little brother who waited so patiently for them to come home. They are fighting one minute, laughing with each other the next. So it was cool. Oh yes I also learned just because boys don't like hamburger meat and beans, it doesn't mean they won't like cheeseburgers and they can eat more than one. I only made one each. I will store that in my things to remember.
All in all the two days went rather well I thought. I love both my children with a great intensity. I love my four grandchildren the same way. I also love all my great-grands. Each of them special, each smart, cute. But let me warn you about Ryan with the dancing blue eyes, just in case you ever meet up with him. He will steal your heart before you even know its gone. Then he will ride away just like the cowboys in the old western movies did. And you'll be left alone. So on that sad note, I'll ride on outta Blogland for today. See ya.
Ryan with the dancing blue eyes came yesterday. He never comes when I don't learn a bunch of new things from him. He is full of wisdom, sage advice, many facts and he is only four. He makes me laugh, makes me tired and makes my heart sing. I learned pretty early yesterday that Roaches turn into Ants. Now I don't have Roaches, but I am sure they don't turn into ants. But Ryan seemed very convinced of it. So who am I to argue the fact with one so wise He also told me he only farted because I had fed him. If I would quit feeding him, then he would quit farting. I told him that I hated to quit feeding him and he said, "Good," but he would probably keep farting. And so he did.
He was petting "I" on the bed, he yelled frantically. "Grandma, come here quick. "I" has winkies all over her stomach." Winkies being what little male dogs and boys have, Get my meaning. "No Ryan," I told him. "Those aren't Winkies, there her little Boobies. She's female and she will nurse her puppies that way." "Whats nursing Grandma," he asked wide eyed as he kept checking out her bumps. I quickly took him out of the room to do something else. I was not prepared to teach sex education. I'm only a Granny.
We danced Ryan and I, booging strong to "Good golly Miss Molly. Both of us twisting and turning, jumping and really grooving. He stopped. "I can do a head stand in my dance," he said. "Okay," I said, "Go for it." He did something, it happened so fast I am not sure just what it was. But he was proud of it, so I was proud of him.
When he's two brothers come home from school I learned a few things from them too. One is when two healthy young boys have been in school all day they will wrestle, tease and make each other cry. They also do this to their little brother who waited so patiently for them to come home. They are fighting one minute, laughing with each other the next. So it was cool. Oh yes I also learned just because boys don't like hamburger meat and beans, it doesn't mean they won't like cheeseburgers and they can eat more than one. I only made one each. I will store that in my things to remember.
All in all the two days went rather well I thought. I love both my children with a great intensity. I love my four grandchildren the same way. I also love all my great-grands. Each of them special, each smart, cute. But let me warn you about Ryan with the dancing blue eyes, just in case you ever meet up with him. He will steal your heart before you even know its gone. Then he will ride away just like the cowboys in the old western movies did. And you'll be left alone. So on that sad note, I'll ride on outta Blogland for today. See ya.
THREE LITTLE GIRLS FROM EASTON, JACKIE, JAMIE AND JENNA ANN.
Thursday here, poking its head at me. I sure hope it doesn't rain. I went to the bowling alley last night with Steve, I was given a gift. So unexpected. Amidst all the bowling Kiefer, my thirteen year old great-grandson came to where I was sitting and set with me a couple of times. Chatting, asking how I was and what I had been doing. We talked about summer. His broken phone. Just talking. What a nice thing for a teenager to do. He left me feeling just like a real person. A very gracious act for just being thirteen years old. I was so impressed. Thank-you Kiefer for not letting me fade away as I sometimes feel with many around. A gift you didn't even know you gave.
I wrote yesterday I was going to write on the "Three little girls from Easton, all with their names starting with J.' So here I go. The problem I have come across is there is so many gaps in my knowledge of these three little girls, their names being, Jackie Sue, Jamie Beth and Jenna Ann. That I have found it difficult to paint a picture with words that I would like tp paint for you. But with brush in hand here goes.
First of all Easton in a little town, about fifteen miles from Leavenworth Kansas. Can you really call it a town? Population about 250 people. A main street. A couple of bars, there use to be a grocery store but I think that is gone now. There is a bank, a Laundromat, a conivance store at the edge of town. two churches and a lumberyard. I haven't been there for several years. Just a little patch of space that changes very little. But my sister lived there for years. Her oldest two born in Joplin, the youngest born in Easton. So their children have grown up there, or in some cases still growing there. I have always thought it would be kind of neat growing up in a place like Easton. Everyone knowing you, knows your name. And certainly all your business. There might be a draw back to having that happen. Anyway I am getting away from the "J's". I don't want to do that, I want you to see them in your mind. Just as I can as I sit here typing these few words.
Steve and I use to go up to Easton every once in awhile. To see Geri and spend a couple of days. The girls always come. Jackie with the smile that could light up Joplin, let alone Easton. Now when I look on facebook, I see pictures she puts on of her and her girls. The smile is still there, the bubbliness still present in her eyes. Then there is Jamie Beth, she was gangly, pretty like Jackie and out going but in a more shy way. Last was Jenna Ann. Pretty too, the youngest, smiling but quiet. Wanting to be a part of all going on but hanging back a tad. While Jackie and Jamie took center stage.
The days we were there, they were in and out. Laughing, having fun, being girls.We had tea parties the girls and I. Talked together, laughed together too. I still see them in my minds eye. Anxious to see the visiting relatives, because they did not see too many. And to see a Aunt Billye who acted like a nut and a Uncle Steve who drank and teased them. Looking back now I am sure we were almost like the circus coming to town. But they made us feel special and I hope I did them. Because they were.
Steve liked wrestling. So Geri had a television on the back porch, where he and the girls watched together, yelling fot their favorites. You could hear them as their voices drifted through the house. Those were the days. It was fun, getting to see my sister. And each time we went getting to know the Easton girls a little better.
Gone are the Easton days now. Although Jamie and Jenna's Mom and Dad still live there. Jackie gone to Wichita, Jamie in Leaven worth and Jenna in college. My sister moved to Leavenworth. But I bet if I could go to Easton and stand right down by the Bank and just listen quietly. I just might be able to hear them. The three cousins, laughing as they walked the streets, that old dog "Jake," faithfully following them around. It makes me smile as I close my eyes. Three little girls. You have walked off those streets, out into the world. But I know all those years in Easton goes along with you. Three little girls from Easton, Jackie, Jamie and Jenna Ann. Thanks girls for the memories, they are tucked away in my heart.
I wrote yesterday I was going to write on the "Three little girls from Easton, all with their names starting with J.' So here I go. The problem I have come across is there is so many gaps in my knowledge of these three little girls, their names being, Jackie Sue, Jamie Beth and Jenna Ann. That I have found it difficult to paint a picture with words that I would like tp paint for you. But with brush in hand here goes.
First of all Easton in a little town, about fifteen miles from Leavenworth Kansas. Can you really call it a town? Population about 250 people. A main street. A couple of bars, there use to be a grocery store but I think that is gone now. There is a bank, a Laundromat, a conivance store at the edge of town. two churches and a lumberyard. I haven't been there for several years. Just a little patch of space that changes very little. But my sister lived there for years. Her oldest two born in Joplin, the youngest born in Easton. So their children have grown up there, or in some cases still growing there. I have always thought it would be kind of neat growing up in a place like Easton. Everyone knowing you, knows your name. And certainly all your business. There might be a draw back to having that happen. Anyway I am getting away from the "J's". I don't want to do that, I want you to see them in your mind. Just as I can as I sit here typing these few words.
Steve and I use to go up to Easton every once in awhile. To see Geri and spend a couple of days. The girls always come. Jackie with the smile that could light up Joplin, let alone Easton. Now when I look on facebook, I see pictures she puts on of her and her girls. The smile is still there, the bubbliness still present in her eyes. Then there is Jamie Beth, she was gangly, pretty like Jackie and out going but in a more shy way. Last was Jenna Ann. Pretty too, the youngest, smiling but quiet. Wanting to be a part of all going on but hanging back a tad. While Jackie and Jamie took center stage.
The days we were there, they were in and out. Laughing, having fun, being girls.We had tea parties the girls and I. Talked together, laughed together too. I still see them in my minds eye. Anxious to see the visiting relatives, because they did not see too many. And to see a Aunt Billye who acted like a nut and a Uncle Steve who drank and teased them. Looking back now I am sure we were almost like the circus coming to town. But they made us feel special and I hope I did them. Because they were.
Steve liked wrestling. So Geri had a television on the back porch, where he and the girls watched together, yelling fot their favorites. You could hear them as their voices drifted through the house. Those were the days. It was fun, getting to see my sister. And each time we went getting to know the Easton girls a little better.
Gone are the Easton days now. Although Jamie and Jenna's Mom and Dad still live there. Jackie gone to Wichita, Jamie in Leaven worth and Jenna in college. My sister moved to Leavenworth. But I bet if I could go to Easton and stand right down by the Bank and just listen quietly. I just might be able to hear them. The three cousins, laughing as they walked the streets, that old dog "Jake," faithfully following them around. It makes me smile as I close my eyes. Three little girls. You have walked off those streets, out into the world. But I know all those years in Easton goes along with you. Three little girls from Easton, Jackie, Jamie and Jenna Ann. Thanks girls for the memories, they are tucked away in my heart.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
THIS IS NOT WHAT I MEANT TO WRITE.
Wednesday with its midweek Aura is here. My days seem such a blend anymore, running together, blending their edges, Until I can't tell one from the other.
I had a topic picked out in my mind for today. It was called, "Three little girls from Easton their names all start with J"." For my great-niece Jackie. I will write it, probably tomorrow. I have been wanting to write about Jackie and her two cousins for quite awhile. But some thoughts came into my head yesterday and I decided I would write about them today.
I don't believe I have ever told you why the name of my Blog is what it is. Quite possibly you don't care. But I will tell you anyway. "A stranger in my own skin." Part of it comes from looking up one day into the mirror and thinking who in the heck is that woman? Also from how I feel people precept older persons. And how you can go years of your life, blindly seeing things one way and then realizing they are another. But this is what has happened to me.
My sister-in-law Dixie use to always tell me I was a Pollyanna, Too chirpy and looking for the best. Because I always believed there was that rainbow and at the end of it lay the treasure. I felt that about people as much as I did about anything. That there lies in us all usually a goodness that will eventually rise to the top and be seen. I to my sadness have found that is not totally true. To me it is sad to discover there is not always the treasure. Not always the goodness laying underneath the surface. Rising slowly to the top. It saddens me to realize what is showing, is sometimes exactly what there is and nothing more. To realize that in some instances that what you see is what is the truth about a circumstance or a person.
But for the most part I still believe that all of us are basically trying our best. Its just we never see ourselves in the light that others see us. I try hard to remember that when I am bowled over by someones actions or lack of understanding. Could it possibly be true that they may think the same of me. Could be I suppose. We all usually choose to see ourselves in a rosy light. Its when the light really comes on that we realize that maybe we don't look so rosy after all.
These last few months have been eye opening and sad at the same time. As I have come to the realization as I grow older people are not always what we want them to be. And we ourselves are not always what we want ourselves to be or thought we were. As the years slide by me with increasing speed I see myself in a different light. "A stranger in my own skin."
I had a topic picked out in my mind for today. It was called, "Three little girls from Easton their names all start with J"." For my great-niece Jackie. I will write it, probably tomorrow. I have been wanting to write about Jackie and her two cousins for quite awhile. But some thoughts came into my head yesterday and I decided I would write about them today.
I don't believe I have ever told you why the name of my Blog is what it is. Quite possibly you don't care. But I will tell you anyway. "A stranger in my own skin." Part of it comes from looking up one day into the mirror and thinking who in the heck is that woman? Also from how I feel people precept older persons. And how you can go years of your life, blindly seeing things one way and then realizing they are another. But this is what has happened to me.
My sister-in-law Dixie use to always tell me I was a Pollyanna, Too chirpy and looking for the best. Because I always believed there was that rainbow and at the end of it lay the treasure. I felt that about people as much as I did about anything. That there lies in us all usually a goodness that will eventually rise to the top and be seen. I to my sadness have found that is not totally true. To me it is sad to discover there is not always the treasure. Not always the goodness laying underneath the surface. Rising slowly to the top. It saddens me to realize what is showing, is sometimes exactly what there is and nothing more. To realize that in some instances that what you see is what is the truth about a circumstance or a person.
But for the most part I still believe that all of us are basically trying our best. Its just we never see ourselves in the light that others see us. I try hard to remember that when I am bowled over by someones actions or lack of understanding. Could it possibly be true that they may think the same of me. Could be I suppose. We all usually choose to see ourselves in a rosy light. Its when the light really comes on that we realize that maybe we don't look so rosy after all.
These last few months have been eye opening and sad at the same time. As I have come to the realization as I grow older people are not always what we want them to be. And we ourselves are not always what we want ourselves to be or thought we were. As the years slide by me with increasing speed I see myself in a different light. "A stranger in my own skin."
Monday, May 17, 2010
BRANDY, WE MAY HAVE BEEN FRIENDS IN A PREVIOUS LIFE.
Tuesday morning is here. I went out with the dogs about 3:30 and did not see or feel any sign of rain, Yahoo. I called my brother Bud yesterday and asked if he was building his Ark yet. He hadn't started but was thinking maybe he should. Of course come August with its dry, hot heat, we will look back on rainy May and wish for rain again.
I received a email yesterday from Brandy. Who happens to be married to my Grandson Vernon. I met Brandy in 1996, not long after her and Vernon met. I didn't get to know her too well until the next year. Steve and I took over the Capri and a little later her and Vernon came to stay at the Motel. And Brandy went to work for us, on the all night shift. Brandy was young, small, and very pretty. I was not sure how she would do all alone at night on the desk. She did great and everyone who came into the lobby loved her. Leroy one of the owners called her a Barbie Doll. But as time passed every morning when I came on about six and she checked out we would have coffee together. We talked about everything, wise beyond her years. I thought then Brandy was a old soul. I still think that today after almost fourteen years.
Brandy loved to read, fiction, non-fiction, magazines. She came to work every night with her current book or magazine. She wiled away the dark, lonely night reading. She came up one afternoon looking for the magazine she had left behind that morning. "It was a True Romance," she said. I shook my head, I hadn't seen it. Steve who was getting ready to come on for the afternoon shift smiled sheepishly. I took it home earlier ," he said. "I was reading a story in it." We both looked at him in disbelief, then started laughing. Big tough guy Steve, who walks with a swagger, promises to pound anyones head who crosses him and every third word is usually a cuss word. He was reading Ladies love story magazines. It just goes to show you can't tell a book by its cover. From that day on, every once in awhile she would bring some of her magazines and he read them gladly. She was then and still is, our friend.
Now comes the part, where if my daughter reads this her eyes will roll. I have written here on my Blog before I truly believe in God and Christ. But as I have gotten older I have come to believe there are souls who may come back, Reincarnation. I would not bet my life on it but strongly suspect it could be so. I believe Brandy could be one of those. A soul who has been here before. A young woman, who has tasted lifes turmoils before. Now I will really make Billie roll her eyes. There could be a chance we were friends before, Brandy and I, in a previous life. All right, quit laughing. Its not as far out as it seems. Haven't you ever met someone who you instantly felt a connection with. Brandy is one of those people, though there is some thirty odd years that spans between us, I felt at ease with her at the start. I believe I may be a old soul too. So who's to say we hadn't met before. In some previous life, maybe pioneer ladies together. The options are unlimited.
Now I will be looking all day for the company car of Shady Rest to pull up, to take me to the paddy house. Thank goodness my son doesn't read this or I would be going for sure. I certainly do try to keep my strange opinions and ideas to myself. But all kidding aside, Brandy has had a rough year. Strain, worry, heartache. She has handled it well. Quietly she has went on with her life, holding onto her husband and children. Loving them, fighting for her family. In the words of the song "Brandy," "Brandy you are a fine girl." My friend, the old soul. I count myself lucky to have you for a friend. For now I'm gone. I hope to catch up with you all later. Hey, do you think you could be a old soul too? Just asking. I'm outta here.
I received a email yesterday from Brandy. Who happens to be married to my Grandson Vernon. I met Brandy in 1996, not long after her and Vernon met. I didn't get to know her too well until the next year. Steve and I took over the Capri and a little later her and Vernon came to stay at the Motel. And Brandy went to work for us, on the all night shift. Brandy was young, small, and very pretty. I was not sure how she would do all alone at night on the desk. She did great and everyone who came into the lobby loved her. Leroy one of the owners called her a Barbie Doll. But as time passed every morning when I came on about six and she checked out we would have coffee together. We talked about everything, wise beyond her years. I thought then Brandy was a old soul. I still think that today after almost fourteen years.
Brandy loved to read, fiction, non-fiction, magazines. She came to work every night with her current book or magazine. She wiled away the dark, lonely night reading. She came up one afternoon looking for the magazine she had left behind that morning. "It was a True Romance," she said. I shook my head, I hadn't seen it. Steve who was getting ready to come on for the afternoon shift smiled sheepishly. I took it home earlier ," he said. "I was reading a story in it." We both looked at him in disbelief, then started laughing. Big tough guy Steve, who walks with a swagger, promises to pound anyones head who crosses him and every third word is usually a cuss word. He was reading Ladies love story magazines. It just goes to show you can't tell a book by its cover. From that day on, every once in awhile she would bring some of her magazines and he read them gladly. She was then and still is, our friend.
Now comes the part, where if my daughter reads this her eyes will roll. I have written here on my Blog before I truly believe in God and Christ. But as I have gotten older I have come to believe there are souls who may come back, Reincarnation. I would not bet my life on it but strongly suspect it could be so. I believe Brandy could be one of those. A soul who has been here before. A young woman, who has tasted lifes turmoils before. Now I will really make Billie roll her eyes. There could be a chance we were friends before, Brandy and I, in a previous life. All right, quit laughing. Its not as far out as it seems. Haven't you ever met someone who you instantly felt a connection with. Brandy is one of those people, though there is some thirty odd years that spans between us, I felt at ease with her at the start. I believe I may be a old soul too. So who's to say we hadn't met before. In some previous life, maybe pioneer ladies together. The options are unlimited.
Now I will be looking all day for the company car of Shady Rest to pull up, to take me to the paddy house. Thank goodness my son doesn't read this or I would be going for sure. I certainly do try to keep my strange opinions and ideas to myself. But all kidding aside, Brandy has had a rough year. Strain, worry, heartache. She has handled it well. Quietly she has went on with her life, holding onto her husband and children. Loving them, fighting for her family. In the words of the song "Brandy," "Brandy you are a fine girl." My friend, the old soul. I count myself lucky to have you for a friend. For now I'm gone. I hope to catch up with you all later. Hey, do you think you could be a old soul too? Just asking. I'm outta here.
ONCE UPON A TIME, I LOVED GENE AUTRY.
Monday has arrived again. I will refrain from my tired old quotes on the speed of time. A new week and a new list of promises I have made of work I will get done. As I always say, we'll see if I get to it. So far I am not seeing much accomplished. Spring cleaning better get done quick or I will have to put it off until fall.
I don't think I ever told you that once I was in love with "Gene Autry," I was young but oh the love ran deep. In case you are reading this and don't know who Gene Autry was. He was a singing cowboy in the movies. In the forties and fifties, maybe even longer he ruled the silver screen. He shot the bad guy, got the girl and sang to her, all during the movie. he also had a television show in the fifties called. :Melody Ranch." He was handsome, polite, and he rode a horse. To a six year old he was the perfect man. I fully intended to marry him one day.
I truly believed he would ride up one day, lift me upon his horse and we would ride away. It didn't work out the way I dreamed. But it took me years to finally accept he wasn't going to come. He died October the 2nd, 1998. at the age of ninety-one. In later years he owned the baseball team, "The Los Angles Angels." The last time I saw him in a television interview, he was probably in his "80's" and had Parkinson disease. They asked him to sing a chorus of something and he declined. The interviewer tried to push him into it, saying he was known as known as the, "Singing Cowboy." I wanted to jump up and slap the man on the screen a good one. "Leave Gene alone," I wanted to scream. Old cowboys need respect. You could hear the tremble that had come into his voice from age and Parkinson's.
I have perfect memories of Saturday afternoon and three cowboy movies for a dime. "Roy Rogers," was a star bach then too. With his gal, "Dale Evans." But he couldn't touch Gene. He was my hero. And every Saturday I watched wide eyed as he rode his horse champion onto the screen. Two six guns at his sides. Blazing fire at the ones who trampled on Justice, law and order. Oh yes, he always said Mam. As he flashed his smile and stole your heart. They just don't make hero's like that anymore.
If I ever get to heaven. There is much talk among people that I might not.. But if I do, I'm marching down those golden streets. Of course after I see my Mom, Dad, sister, Dix and Bobby. I'll call out Gene, Gene Autry. And then at the end of the golden street, probably in the shade of a tree. He will be perched on his horse. His guitar in hand, strumming softly as he watches me approcach. Then I am postive he'll start singing a song. Then I will say, "Thanks Mr. Autry," I'll be too nervous to call him Gene. "Thanks for the memories, all the Saturday afternoons of whisking me off to a magical place. Where the good guys always won." Did I ever tell you I loved Gene Autry?
I don't think I ever told you that once I was in love with "Gene Autry," I was young but oh the love ran deep. In case you are reading this and don't know who Gene Autry was. He was a singing cowboy in the movies. In the forties and fifties, maybe even longer he ruled the silver screen. He shot the bad guy, got the girl and sang to her, all during the movie. he also had a television show in the fifties called. :Melody Ranch." He was handsome, polite, and he rode a horse. To a six year old he was the perfect man. I fully intended to marry him one day.
I truly believed he would ride up one day, lift me upon his horse and we would ride away. It didn't work out the way I dreamed. But it took me years to finally accept he wasn't going to come. He died October the 2nd, 1998. at the age of ninety-one. In later years he owned the baseball team, "The Los Angles Angels." The last time I saw him in a television interview, he was probably in his "80's" and had Parkinson disease. They asked him to sing a chorus of something and he declined. The interviewer tried to push him into it, saying he was known as known as the, "Singing Cowboy." I wanted to jump up and slap the man on the screen a good one. "Leave Gene alone," I wanted to scream. Old cowboys need respect. You could hear the tremble that had come into his voice from age and Parkinson's.
I have perfect memories of Saturday afternoon and three cowboy movies for a dime. "Roy Rogers," was a star bach then too. With his gal, "Dale Evans." But he couldn't touch Gene. He was my hero. And every Saturday I watched wide eyed as he rode his horse champion onto the screen. Two six guns at his sides. Blazing fire at the ones who trampled on Justice, law and order. Oh yes, he always said Mam. As he flashed his smile and stole your heart. They just don't make hero's like that anymore.
If I ever get to heaven. There is much talk among people that I might not.. But if I do, I'm marching down those golden streets. Of course after I see my Mom, Dad, sister, Dix and Bobby. I'll call out Gene, Gene Autry. And then at the end of the golden street, probably in the shade of a tree. He will be perched on his horse. His guitar in hand, strumming softly as he watches me approcach. Then I am postive he'll start singing a song. Then I will say, "Thanks Mr. Autry," I'll be too nervous to call him Gene. "Thanks for the memories, all the Saturday afternoons of whisking me off to a magical place. Where the good guys always won." Did I ever tell you I loved Gene Autry?
Sunday, May 16, 2010
GPS, and I don't even drive.
It is 4:00 AM on Sunday morning. I have been up since 2:30. Steve was up on the computer, so I have been just messing around, waiting my turn to get on and write my blog. Around nine I will be very sleepy. I wish I was a day time napper but I'm not. Our dogs sleep all the time, day or night. It doesn't matter.
I wrote yesterday about being excited about my new phone. I have it now and its a beauty. Sleek, green and capable of almost doing anything. At least it appears that way to me. Billie came over, poor Billie having an older Mother that not does see well, I am sure is not always easy. She does these things with a smile though. I am sure I am like having a older child who does not see well but tries to do all the normal things and wrecks havoc in my wake. She had Ryan with her. Ryan with his dancing blue eyes and me. What a handful.
She finally got the Sim card in and tried to get my songs all together. One for each person who calls much. She showed me how to turn it on and off. Its a slider and seems to be pretty easy to use. Since I do not see well, I have to be shown what buttons to push. She showed me. I was delighted. She left and that was when the problem started.
The Emperor is gone alot and I am left to my own devices. I have been trying to teach the dogs to talk which would be good. If I had them to chat with I wouldn't get so bored. But so far,"Wolf," is the only word I can get "I", to say. Its hard to carry on much of a conversation with that limited vocabulary. Billie left, I got bored. Well, I thought. I should try and see what all this phone offers. There is where I made my first mistake.
So I finally got into the menu. Scrolling down I sar a place that said, "ATT GPS. Hmmm, what is this, I pushed a button. "Oops," I still am not sure what the initials stand for. Just that is has something to do with driving and planning trips. As I had to quit driving six years ago, maybe getting that feature is not going to be beneficial to me. The message came up, squinting trying to make out what it said, I saw the words free month of GPS. Free, I made that out pretty quick. I punched yes. Things starting happening, . I realized with horror, I might just be on the Internet. I quickly got off. "No harm done," I thought. Nobody will ever know. Wrong! A few minutes later I received a text message. I don't see well so I don't read the small grey screen very good. But I saw where they were thanking me for joining and accepting the GPS. Holy S---t." What do I do now? Call Billie, that's my answer to everything. "Billie, "I said nervously, "I think I might have accepted GPS." She groaned. "I'm not sure just what that is," I said. "Its for going on trips and stuff," she said. "It gives you maps and things." "Oh no," I said quickly, "I don't need that. I swore I heard her groan again. Maybe just a tiny touch of exasperation. But I can't be sure.. "I'll take care of it Monday," she said.
I'm not sure I mentioned how much I love the new phone. Right there at my fingertips lies the source to give me directions. The source to connect me to the Net. But I swear, I promised her I would not go into anything like that again. The phone smiles up at me, tempting me with all of its buttons. "No," I say sternly, "No more, only talking." But on some warm, sunny afternoon when I am all alone. Temptation will probably come calling again. If I can have a box of Little Debbie cakes in the freezer and not eat them. I can stay off the phone except for calls. At least I think I can. At least I surely will try. But for now, I'm gone, outta here.. See ya later. I'm the lady with the green phone. GPS and I'll be walking. You'll reconigse me for sure.
I wrote yesterday about being excited about my new phone. I have it now and its a beauty. Sleek, green and capable of almost doing anything. At least it appears that way to me. Billie came over, poor Billie having an older Mother that not does see well, I am sure is not always easy. She does these things with a smile though. I am sure I am like having a older child who does not see well but tries to do all the normal things and wrecks havoc in my wake. She had Ryan with her. Ryan with his dancing blue eyes and me. What a handful.
She finally got the Sim card in and tried to get my songs all together. One for each person who calls much. She showed me how to turn it on and off. Its a slider and seems to be pretty easy to use. Since I do not see well, I have to be shown what buttons to push. She showed me. I was delighted. She left and that was when the problem started.
The Emperor is gone alot and I am left to my own devices. I have been trying to teach the dogs to talk which would be good. If I had them to chat with I wouldn't get so bored. But so far,"Wolf," is the only word I can get "I", to say. Its hard to carry on much of a conversation with that limited vocabulary. Billie left, I got bored. Well, I thought. I should try and see what all this phone offers. There is where I made my first mistake.
So I finally got into the menu. Scrolling down I sar a place that said, "ATT GPS. Hmmm, what is this, I pushed a button. "Oops," I still am not sure what the initials stand for. Just that is has something to do with driving and planning trips. As I had to quit driving six years ago, maybe getting that feature is not going to be beneficial to me. The message came up, squinting trying to make out what it said, I saw the words free month of GPS. Free, I made that out pretty quick. I punched yes. Things starting happening, . I realized with horror, I might just be on the Internet. I quickly got off. "No harm done," I thought. Nobody will ever know. Wrong! A few minutes later I received a text message. I don't see well so I don't read the small grey screen very good. But I saw where they were thanking me for joining and accepting the GPS. Holy S---t." What do I do now? Call Billie, that's my answer to everything. "Billie, "I said nervously, "I think I might have accepted GPS." She groaned. "I'm not sure just what that is," I said. "Its for going on trips and stuff," she said. "It gives you maps and things." "Oh no," I said quickly, "I don't need that. I swore I heard her groan again. Maybe just a tiny touch of exasperation. But I can't be sure.. "I'll take care of it Monday," she said.
I'm not sure I mentioned how much I love the new phone. Right there at my fingertips lies the source to give me directions. The source to connect me to the Net. But I swear, I promised her I would not go into anything like that again. The phone smiles up at me, tempting me with all of its buttons. "No," I say sternly, "No more, only talking." But on some warm, sunny afternoon when I am all alone. Temptation will probably come calling again. If I can have a box of Little Debbie cakes in the freezer and not eat them. I can stay off the phone except for calls. At least I think I can. At least I surely will try. But for now, I'm gone, outta here.. See ya later. I'm the lady with the green phone. GPS and I'll be walking. You'll reconigse me for sure.
Friday, May 14, 2010
"HAVE YOU EVER DANCED WITH THE DEVIL IN THE PALE MOONLIGHT?
Saturday morning is here. With Saturday comes my new phone getting ready to use. Neon green, I'm excited. So I get excited easy these days. Billie will come, take it away and put in my music for my numbers and make it slick for me. What would I do without Billie?
I was just sitting around thinking yesterday. Oh, I know that thinking sometime gets me in trouble. But I was thinking about some of the cool classic one liners from the movies. In many movies they will say one line that you will repeat again and again. One of my favorite movies is that sappy romantic movie, "You've got mail." At the end when Meg Ryan is waiting in the park to meet the man she has been emailing for months. She is hoping it is Tom Hanks. "Somewhere over the rainbow," starts playing. Tom comes around the corner, Meg starts crying. Tom takes out his handkerchief and wipes her eyes. "Don't cry shop girl," he says. Oh I love that line. Nobody ever wiped my eyes when I cried and whispered those words. I loved it and have watched that movie over and over just to see that scene again and again.
We all know a line from another Tom Hanks movie. "Forrest Gump. He says, "My momma says life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you're gonna get." I like that one too. In the movie, "Deep end of the ocean, when the two young brothers are talking. And the one that had been kidnapped all those years says to Sam his brother, "Damn Sam, everyone says stuff like that, they don't mean it" I went around saying that over and over, "Damn Sam. For some reason I loved that line.
One classic line that has been around for years is when Robert DeNiro is talking to himself in the mirror, remember that one from "Taxi?". "You talking to me, you talking to me." I've always wanted to walk up to a stranger and say, "You talking to me." I've always wanted too but haven't had the nerve.
Another great line that's been around since 1939,“Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn”, Rhett Butler said that to Scarlett in, "Gone with the wind."
Humphrey Bogart had some good lines in some old movies.Casablanca , (1942), “Play it again, Sam”, he says, a drink in his hand and a cigarette in his mouth. In that movie he also says to Ingrid Bergman as he is telling her goodbye.“We’ll always have Paris”, Wouldn't it be wonderful to have Paris with someone, then have them tell you that. But the very best line he had in that movie was, “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine”, again he has a drink in his hand and a cigarette in his mouth. Humphrey Bogart died of lung cancer and liver problems in the late 1950's. Ican see why. He always played the dark sided guy, drinking and always smoking.
Then there was the line from Batman , when the Joker said,, “Tell me something, my friend. You ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight”. Don't you love that line. Jack Nickelson played the Joker in that movie and only Jack could deliver the line the way he did. In Apollo 13, Jim Lovell played by Tom Hanks says, “Houston, we have a problem”, I say that line all the time.
But of course the greatest classic line came from, "Somewhere over the rainbow," when Dorothy says to her dog. "I don't think we're in Kansas any more Toto." No Dorothy I don't think you were. Who would have guessed after all those years people would still be saying that line. Classic movie lines. A few words spoken on the screen that sticks in peoples minds and are repeated over and over. And I like that line from the "Terminator, "I'll be back." And I certainly hope I will. But for now I'm outta here.
I was just sitting around thinking yesterday. Oh, I know that thinking sometime gets me in trouble. But I was thinking about some of the cool classic one liners from the movies. In many movies they will say one line that you will repeat again and again. One of my favorite movies is that sappy romantic movie, "You've got mail." At the end when Meg Ryan is waiting in the park to meet the man she has been emailing for months. She is hoping it is Tom Hanks. "Somewhere over the rainbow," starts playing. Tom comes around the corner, Meg starts crying. Tom takes out his handkerchief and wipes her eyes. "Don't cry shop girl," he says. Oh I love that line. Nobody ever wiped my eyes when I cried and whispered those words. I loved it and have watched that movie over and over just to see that scene again and again.
We all know a line from another Tom Hanks movie. "Forrest Gump. He says, "My momma says life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you're gonna get." I like that one too. In the movie, "Deep end of the ocean, when the two young brothers are talking. And the one that had been kidnapped all those years says to Sam his brother, "Damn Sam, everyone says stuff like that, they don't mean it" I went around saying that over and over, "Damn Sam. For some reason I loved that line.
One classic line that has been around for years is when Robert DeNiro is talking to himself in the mirror, remember that one from "Taxi?". "You talking to me, you talking to me." I've always wanted to walk up to a stranger and say, "You talking to me." I've always wanted too but haven't had the nerve.
Another great line that's been around since 1939,“Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn”, Rhett Butler said that to Scarlett in, "Gone with the wind."
Humphrey Bogart had some good lines in some old movies.Casablanca , (1942), “Play it again, Sam”, he says, a drink in his hand and a cigarette in his mouth. In that movie he also says to Ingrid Bergman as he is telling her goodbye.“We’ll always have Paris”, Wouldn't it be wonderful to have Paris with someone, then have them tell you that. But the very best line he had in that movie was, “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine”, again he has a drink in his hand and a cigarette in his mouth. Humphrey Bogart died of lung cancer and liver problems in the late 1950's. Ican see why. He always played the dark sided guy, drinking and always smoking.
Then there was the line from Batman , when the Joker said,, “Tell me something, my friend. You ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight”. Don't you love that line. Jack Nickelson played the Joker in that movie and only Jack could deliver the line the way he did. In Apollo 13, Jim Lovell played by Tom Hanks says, “Houston, we have a problem”, I say that line all the time.
But of course the greatest classic line came from, "Somewhere over the rainbow," when Dorothy says to her dog. "I don't think we're in Kansas any more Toto." No Dorothy I don't think you were. Who would have guessed after all those years people would still be saying that line. Classic movie lines. A few words spoken on the screen that sticks in peoples minds and are repeated over and over. And I like that line from the "Terminator, "I'll be back." And I certainly hope I will. But for now I'm outta here.
DAMIEN BASSETT, HONOR SOCIETY MEMBER
Good grief it is Friday again. I know you probably get so tired of my days flying by line. But this is getting ridiculous. At the rate these days are going by, I will be another year older in three more months. I shudder at that thought. I almost had a break down over the last one. Oh yes it is raining again this morning. April showers somehow came in May this year.
I hope you check out the cool young man at the top of the page, Damien Bassett. Son of Rea and Michael Basset, grandson of Billie and Ron Bassett. Also great grandson of Billye and Steve Swift. I had to get my name in there somewhere. He is a very handsome boy. I know all parents and grandparents think theirs are the cutest or most handsome. But come on, he's really handsome, right? The dark good looks, great smile and confident stride. As he walks to pick up his award. From the "Honor Society. Smart and good looking, I might add,
Now of course comes the question comes. Which side of the family did he take it from? Now I don't want to brag but my Mother was very intelligent, so was my Dad. In fact I think our whole family is extra smart. So actually there is I might add a very good chance he took it from us.
But then you have Rea who will I assume say he takes it from her side. I suppose there could be a chance. Or maybe all their children will wind up being in the Honor Society. You mix Munch blood with Rea's Philippine blood and this is what you get. Good looks and brilliant. Of course if he could the Emperor would say he took it from him. There is no blood tie there, but I am sure he would find a way to take the credit. Emperors are like that you know.
But regardless of where he took it from, the truth lies in the picture, handsome and smart. So Damien my hats off to you, Congratulations. Make your walk in life be just like your walk in the picture. Smiling with confident strides. I'm proud of you.
Of course he could have taken it from me. I am smart you know. Oh yes I'll shut up. I'm rambling again. So for now I'm outta here.
I hope you check out the cool young man at the top of the page, Damien Bassett. Son of Rea and Michael Basset, grandson of Billie and Ron Bassett. Also great grandson of Billye and Steve Swift. I had to get my name in there somewhere. He is a very handsome boy. I know all parents and grandparents think theirs are the cutest or most handsome. But come on, he's really handsome, right? The dark good looks, great smile and confident stride. As he walks to pick up his award. From the "Honor Society. Smart and good looking, I might add,
Now of course comes the question comes. Which side of the family did he take it from? Now I don't want to brag but my Mother was very intelligent, so was my Dad. In fact I think our whole family is extra smart. So actually there is I might add a very good chance he took it from us.
But then you have Rea who will I assume say he takes it from her side. I suppose there could be a chance. Or maybe all their children will wind up being in the Honor Society. You mix Munch blood with Rea's Philippine blood and this is what you get. Good looks and brilliant. Of course if he could the Emperor would say he took it from him. There is no blood tie there, but I am sure he would find a way to take the credit. Emperors are like that you know.
But regardless of where he took it from, the truth lies in the picture, handsome and smart. So Damien my hats off to you, Congratulations. Make your walk in life be just like your walk in the picture. Smiling with confident strides. I'm proud of you.
Of course he could have taken it from me. I am smart you know. Oh yes I'll shut up. I'm rambling again. So for now I'm outta here.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
THE STORY OF MY LIFE, HE SAID.
Thursday morning coming down with the rain making its tapping sounds on the AC unit. I didn't get up until five. Just laying there too lazy to swing my legs over the side of the bed. But I am up, sipping coffee. Hoping for a good day. Oh wait a minute, I think I am the one responsible for making it good. So that's just what I'll try to do.
In 1997, Steve and I went to work at as Managers of the "Capri Motel." We had a older lady that worked as the laundry lady. Barely five feet tall and almost seventy years old. Her name was "Opal." One Sunday morning we stood behind the desk, her and I, going over the room list. When a young man came to turn in his key. Young, tall and skinny, he wore a long coat. He also had a ring in his nose. Opal never seeing up close someone with a ring in their nose was quite awe struck. After a few minutes of chatting, he rolled up his sleeve, showing a young man in a hypodermic needle, fists clenched, pounding on the sides. Trying to get out. Pointing at it he said, "This is the story of my life you know." The silence that came from Opal and I was deafening. It was a heartbreaking sight and told his life story. Later in the day, I wrote this poem as follows.
THIS IS THE STORY OF MY LIFE YOU KNOW.
You have a ring in your nose, she said.
Stretching to her full five feet,
She looked up at him in awe.
Grey curls plastered to her face.
Her old, him young. Very young.
He smiled pleased to be noticed.
It comes out easy, he said.
And quickly snapped it from his nose.
She grimaced in pain.
Pain he seemed not to feel.
Not wanting the attention to pass,
He rolled up his sleeve,
Pointing to a large tattoo, that nearly covered his arm.
He said, This is the story of my life you know.
A tattoo of a needle adorned his arm.
Showing a young man,
Trapped inside,
Pounding to get out.
A slight gasp escaped from her lips.
But she seemed not to know,
Just what to say.
Turning to go,
She whispered one more time.
You have a ring in your nose.
In 1997, Steve and I went to work at as Managers of the "Capri Motel." We had a older lady that worked as the laundry lady. Barely five feet tall and almost seventy years old. Her name was "Opal." One Sunday morning we stood behind the desk, her and I, going over the room list. When a young man came to turn in his key. Young, tall and skinny, he wore a long coat. He also had a ring in his nose. Opal never seeing up close someone with a ring in their nose was quite awe struck. After a few minutes of chatting, he rolled up his sleeve, showing a young man in a hypodermic needle, fists clenched, pounding on the sides. Trying to get out. Pointing at it he said, "This is the story of my life you know." The silence that came from Opal and I was deafening. It was a heartbreaking sight and told his life story. Later in the day, I wrote this poem as follows.
THIS IS THE STORY OF MY LIFE YOU KNOW.
You have a ring in your nose, she said.
Stretching to her full five feet,
She looked up at him in awe.
Grey curls plastered to her face.
Her old, him young. Very young.
He smiled pleased to be noticed.
It comes out easy, he said.
And quickly snapped it from his nose.
She grimaced in pain.
Pain he seemed not to feel.
Not wanting the attention to pass,
He rolled up his sleeve,
Pointing to a large tattoo, that nearly covered his arm.
He said, This is the story of my life you know.
A tattoo of a needle adorned his arm.
Showing a young man,
Trapped inside,
Pounding to get out.
A slight gasp escaped from her lips.
But she seemed not to know,
Just what to say.
Turning to go,
She whispered one more time.
You have a ring in your nose.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
OH I KNOW I TALK TOO MUCH.
Good morning. It is five O:clock and I have been up since four. I should have already had this at least partly written. But I do not. Two little dogs who do not know if they want in or out has kept me bouncing from the chair to the door. Now I think they have settled down and maybe I can get this written.
Maybe I am using them for a excuse if I must be honest. Because no matter how hard I try, I cannot get words together this morning . So it looks like another babbling day in blogland. Of course in my part of Blogland that is what it usually turns out to be. Babel.
I am not sure at what age I realized I talked much more than anyone in my family. Maybe at age seven when I strolled the neighborhood talking to all my imaginary friends who lived in various places. I mentioned this before on here. A woman who lived in the garbage can. A man who lived in a bucket that sat on a stand the neighbor man built to put scraps in for his chickens. I would take the oatmeal pan out after breakfast, beating it on the side of the pole. Mr. Brown here's your oatmeal. I carried on quite a conversation as I beat the day lights out of the pan. Mom always got on me for it but I continued to do it. Why she didn't put the scraps on something like a paper towel I do not know. Maybe we didn't even have paper towels back then, I can't remember.
There was also a man who lived up the telephone pole. I must have been quite a sight as I stood, neck stretched upward and talked to him. I asked him questions, laughed with him. Wow, looking back I realize why Mom always thought I was the goofy one. I would prefer if you don't mind to call it imagination. And maybe I talked so much my family tuned me out and I had to make friends up. I really am not sure. But I loved to communicate, even back then.
People who are very quiet make me nervous. You don't know whats going on with them. When I am with someone who is that quiet I always try to compensate for their quietness by talking non-stop. Pretty soon I hear this noise that is called constant chatter. I think, "Who in the heck is that?" Then I realize its me. Oops, sorry. I just get nervous if I am in the presence of someone who just sits staring off into space. "Excuse me," I want to say. "I'm here, talk to me." But then not everyone has that need in them I guess. But really thats okay as I talk enough for both of us.
Well I have rambled on again. And reading back over this I realize I write like I talk, non-stop, making little sense. But I guess that's just the way I am. Some things you just can't change. So for now, I'm outta here.
Maybe I am using them for a excuse if I must be honest. Because no matter how hard I try, I cannot get words together this morning . So it looks like another babbling day in blogland. Of course in my part of Blogland that is what it usually turns out to be. Babel.
I am not sure at what age I realized I talked much more than anyone in my family. Maybe at age seven when I strolled the neighborhood talking to all my imaginary friends who lived in various places. I mentioned this before on here. A woman who lived in the garbage can. A man who lived in a bucket that sat on a stand the neighbor man built to put scraps in for his chickens. I would take the oatmeal pan out after breakfast, beating it on the side of the pole. Mr. Brown here's your oatmeal. I carried on quite a conversation as I beat the day lights out of the pan. Mom always got on me for it but I continued to do it. Why she didn't put the scraps on something like a paper towel I do not know. Maybe we didn't even have paper towels back then, I can't remember.
There was also a man who lived up the telephone pole. I must have been quite a sight as I stood, neck stretched upward and talked to him. I asked him questions, laughed with him. Wow, looking back I realize why Mom always thought I was the goofy one. I would prefer if you don't mind to call it imagination. And maybe I talked so much my family tuned me out and I had to make friends up. I really am not sure. But I loved to communicate, even back then.
People who are very quiet make me nervous. You don't know whats going on with them. When I am with someone who is that quiet I always try to compensate for their quietness by talking non-stop. Pretty soon I hear this noise that is called constant chatter. I think, "Who in the heck is that?" Then I realize its me. Oops, sorry. I just get nervous if I am in the presence of someone who just sits staring off into space. "Excuse me," I want to say. "I'm here, talk to me." But then not everyone has that need in them I guess. But really thats okay as I talk enough for both of us.
Well I have rambled on again. And reading back over this I realize I write like I talk, non-stop, making little sense. But I guess that's just the way I am. Some things you just can't change. So for now, I'm outta here.
Monday, May 10, 2010
PEACE CHURCH CEMETERY
Tuesday morning and I think it may not be raining. The dogs went out anyway. Today I need to be much more productive than I was yesterday. So as I mentally make my list of what I want to accomplish. I am at the same time, making excuses for why I may not get them done. So we will see how the day comes out.
In the fall of 1958, when I was first pregnant with Billie. Mike Miksell took my Mom, Dad and I on a drive. We drove out North Schifferdecker and he stopped at a old unkempt cemetery. It was called Peace Church Cemetery. The graves for the most part were very old. Some dating back to the late 1700's. We walked amidst the stones. Some broken and toppled. Reading the inscriptions that were still visible on some. One that I will always remember. As I was seventeen that's a long way back to bring to mind. But it was a fifteen year old boy's stone, it read. "Think of me as you walk by, As you are now once was I. As I am now, soon you will be. Prepare for death and follow me." Pretty heavy, huh?
The cemetery over the years has been vandalized many times. There has been different groups of people who have undertaken to try to preserve it. It is such a great part of the history of the people who first settled here. But the young people come back, trying to destroy these wonderful pieces of history. Another fact about the cemetery is that Billy Cook was buried there. But only on the outskirts of the cemetery as many people did not want him buried inside the official boundaries. There has been stories that drifted down over the years that the ghost of Billy, ashamed of his murderous deeds, wanders the grounds at night.
In 1950, Billy Cook who was born and raised in Joplin Missouri went on a killing spree across the country. The one that really rocked the papers was a family of five that he shot and killed along with their dog and dumped them down a mine shaft on forth street here in Joplin. He also killed several others on his murderous mission. When he was caught and finally executed in 1952. He was sent back home though nobody wanted to claim his body and was eventually buried outside the edges of the old cemetery.
Kids have gone there for years, partying, trashing the cemetery. Many of the two-century old stones have been broken and strewn across the grounds. It is sad I think. I fell in love with that old place when I was only seventeen. It bothers me to think of the history that lays there,broken, being neglected.
Does Billy Cook really roam the cemetery at night. Seeking vengeance on a world that he felt was cruel to him. Or maybe I would like to think if he really does haunt the cemetery it is because he is restless. Seeking forgiveness for the cold, cruel acts he placed upon on the Mosher family and several others. I guess we'll never know. But I would like to believe the latter. At the top of the page I have added a old picture of "Peace Church Cemetery." Most of the old stones had writing on them, little pieces of poetry or something personal written about the person who lies there.. The one I will always remember though is, "Think of me as you pass by." Its something to think about. I do from time to time, think of them. Their part these unknown people played in beginning of Joplin. I also think of Billy Cook, a young man at just twenty-one who was so angry at the world he murdered so many people. Coldly and cruelly and if what I read is correct without ever having any remorse. I hope that somehow he has come to feel remorse and wanders at night amidst the ruins of this old cemetery, keeping vigil among the crumbling stones. Seeking peace. I hope someday he finds it.
In the fall of 1958, when I was first pregnant with Billie. Mike Miksell took my Mom, Dad and I on a drive. We drove out North Schifferdecker and he stopped at a old unkempt cemetery. It was called Peace Church Cemetery. The graves for the most part were very old. Some dating back to the late 1700's. We walked amidst the stones. Some broken and toppled. Reading the inscriptions that were still visible on some. One that I will always remember. As I was seventeen that's a long way back to bring to mind. But it was a fifteen year old boy's stone, it read. "Think of me as you walk by, As you are now once was I. As I am now, soon you will be. Prepare for death and follow me." Pretty heavy, huh?
The cemetery over the years has been vandalized many times. There has been different groups of people who have undertaken to try to preserve it. It is such a great part of the history of the people who first settled here. But the young people come back, trying to destroy these wonderful pieces of history. Another fact about the cemetery is that Billy Cook was buried there. But only on the outskirts of the cemetery as many people did not want him buried inside the official boundaries. There has been stories that drifted down over the years that the ghost of Billy, ashamed of his murderous deeds, wanders the grounds at night.
In 1950, Billy Cook who was born and raised in Joplin Missouri went on a killing spree across the country. The one that really rocked the papers was a family of five that he shot and killed along with their dog and dumped them down a mine shaft on forth street here in Joplin. He also killed several others on his murderous mission. When he was caught and finally executed in 1952. He was sent back home though nobody wanted to claim his body and was eventually buried outside the edges of the old cemetery.
Kids have gone there for years, partying, trashing the cemetery. Many of the two-century old stones have been broken and strewn across the grounds. It is sad I think. I fell in love with that old place when I was only seventeen. It bothers me to think of the history that lays there,broken, being neglected.
Does Billy Cook really roam the cemetery at night. Seeking vengeance on a world that he felt was cruel to him. Or maybe I would like to think if he really does haunt the cemetery it is because he is restless. Seeking forgiveness for the cold, cruel acts he placed upon on the Mosher family and several others. I guess we'll never know. But I would like to believe the latter. At the top of the page I have added a old picture of "Peace Church Cemetery." Most of the old stones had writing on them, little pieces of poetry or something personal written about the person who lies there.. The one I will always remember though is, "Think of me as you pass by." Its something to think about. I do from time to time, think of them. Their part these unknown people played in beginning of Joplin. I also think of Billy Cook, a young man at just twenty-one who was so angry at the world he murdered so many people. Coldly and cruelly and if what I read is correct without ever having any remorse. I hope that somehow he has come to feel remorse and wanders at night amidst the ruins of this old cemetery, keeping vigil among the crumbling stones. Seeking peace. I hope someday he finds it.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
THANK GOODNESS I WASN'T THE OLDEST MOTHER.
Monday morning again. I could hear the rain before I got out of bed. Stumbling to the door I opened it for the waiting dogs to go out. Each hovered at the door. Watching the rain and slowly wandered back to the bedroom. Our dogs do not do rain well at all. I will have to bodily force them out later. But for now back to dreamland for "H" and "I"
I had a good Mother's Day yesterday. Jer called and wanted to come pick me up to go to church with him for Mother's Day. The very church he had preached on me at last week. How do you tell your child you will not go to church with him, you don't. So of course I went. I dreaded it, you should not go to church when you are in that attitude. Its surely not saintly or something. But go I did. I have to admit the service was good. It is not your run of the mill church that is for sure. I think young people especially would love the services. Jer introduced me to several people. One man looked at me and smiled, "Oh," he said, you are his Mother." I knew the meaning of that remark. He meant I was the heathen that isn't lead to go to church. But everything was going along pretty good until Pastor Phil pulled out two pretty pink gift bags. "This," he announced is gifts for the oldest and youngest Mother's here. Oh no, I looked around in panic at the sea of young faces. I got this sinking feeling who the oldest Mother was going to be and it wasn't the blond woman on the seat if front of me. "No," my mind cried. I do not want to be the oldest Mother, please don't let them ask my age. But they did.
I slid down a little in my seat. Pastor Phil said, "We'll start with the oldest Mother first," he said. Oh, yeah sure, torture me first I thought. Jer sat beside me smiling. We'll start with sixty first," he said. "Anyone here over sixty," Jer grabbed my arm and against my will stuck it up in the air. "Stop," I hissed. It went downhill from there. Every time he gave a year Jer grabbed my arm and raised it up. I slapped him on the leg. "leave me alone." He didn't. Finally he hit a age I wasn't yet. His grandmother was. Thank-you God," I whispered. "Thank-you there was one person in here older than me. Thank you Grandma B, that's what they called her, for being there. A fate worse than death being the oldest Mother there. I have really had this age phobia since my last birthday.
But wait my torture wasn't over yet. The youngest Mother after receiving her gift bag promptly carried it over and gave it to me. The next to the oldest Mother. Everyone said, "oh how sweet." Yeah sure youngest Mother. Just when I thought they were beginning to forget I was so old you brought the attention right back to me. The bag sits now on my dining room table, its pink and white tissue peeking out of the bag. It's like its saying, "Old Mother, old Mother."
Its a very nice gift. And I should surely appreciate it and be grateful the girl was so sweet. But if you want me to be truthful, I wanted to scream get away from me. There's been a mistake. I'm not the next to the oldest Mother. But there hadn't been a mistake. I am just grateful Grandma B was there. Or I'd have really been in trouble. The moral to this story is if you are an older woman and don't want to feel even older. Stay out of churches where the average age is 35 and under. Especially on Mother's day.
But it really was a nice day. Billie came by and brought me gifts. I spent the morning with my son. Talked to both my brother and sister. I also turned out not to be the oldest Mother there. Thanks again "Grandma B."
I had a good Mother's Day yesterday. Jer called and wanted to come pick me up to go to church with him for Mother's Day. The very church he had preached on me at last week. How do you tell your child you will not go to church with him, you don't. So of course I went. I dreaded it, you should not go to church when you are in that attitude. Its surely not saintly or something. But go I did. I have to admit the service was good. It is not your run of the mill church that is for sure. I think young people especially would love the services. Jer introduced me to several people. One man looked at me and smiled, "Oh," he said, you are his Mother." I knew the meaning of that remark. He meant I was the heathen that isn't lead to go to church. But everything was going along pretty good until Pastor Phil pulled out two pretty pink gift bags. "This," he announced is gifts for the oldest and youngest Mother's here. Oh no, I looked around in panic at the sea of young faces. I got this sinking feeling who the oldest Mother was going to be and it wasn't the blond woman on the seat if front of me. "No," my mind cried. I do not want to be the oldest Mother, please don't let them ask my age. But they did.
I slid down a little in my seat. Pastor Phil said, "We'll start with the oldest Mother first," he said. Oh, yeah sure, torture me first I thought. Jer sat beside me smiling. We'll start with sixty first," he said. "Anyone here over sixty," Jer grabbed my arm and against my will stuck it up in the air. "Stop," I hissed. It went downhill from there. Every time he gave a year Jer grabbed my arm and raised it up. I slapped him on the leg. "leave me alone." He didn't. Finally he hit a age I wasn't yet. His grandmother was. Thank-you God," I whispered. "Thank-you there was one person in here older than me. Thank you Grandma B, that's what they called her, for being there. A fate worse than death being the oldest Mother there. I have really had this age phobia since my last birthday.
But wait my torture wasn't over yet. The youngest Mother after receiving her gift bag promptly carried it over and gave it to me. The next to the oldest Mother. Everyone said, "oh how sweet." Yeah sure youngest Mother. Just when I thought they were beginning to forget I was so old you brought the attention right back to me. The bag sits now on my dining room table, its pink and white tissue peeking out of the bag. It's like its saying, "Old Mother, old Mother."
Its a very nice gift. And I should surely appreciate it and be grateful the girl was so sweet. But if you want me to be truthful, I wanted to scream get away from me. There's been a mistake. I'm not the next to the oldest Mother. But there hadn't been a mistake. I am just grateful Grandma B was there. Or I'd have really been in trouble. The moral to this story is if you are an older woman and don't want to feel even older. Stay out of churches where the average age is 35 and under. Especially on Mother's day.
But it really was a nice day. Billie came by and brought me gifts. I spent the morning with my son. Talked to both my brother and sister. I also turned out not to be the oldest Mother there. Thanks again "Grandma B."
Saturday, May 8, 2010
HAPPY MOTHERS DAY.
Mothers Day, May 9th, 2010. I am sure you know the day and the date. But I just thought I would start out spreading a little knowledge, in case you didn't know. It is 4:00 am, I am sleepy but have been up for a hour at least. Both dogs have gone outside and back to bed now. Sleeping curled up under the covers along with Steve. I envy all those who sleep so well. Dogs or man. Happy Mothers day to any Mother who might stumble across my page.
I have written over the last four plus months of my Mother many times. She was always and still remains the strongest force who has ever been in my life. So as the months have passed you have read many stories about her or included her in them. But today in honor of Mother's Day I would like to tell you a few things about my Mother you might not know.
So in honor of a most honored Mother here goes. She was born December 10th, 1910., in Hinton Oklahoma. Wow, if she had lived she would have been 100 years old this year. I can see Mom as a person of 100 years of age. She would love the computer and all the gadgets and electronics. I can close my eyes and see her reading facebook and keeping up with all the family that are scattered everywhere. Yes Mom would have loved the computer.
Mom had been a school teacher. She taught in a one room schoolhouse in Kansas. Oh by the way they called those little schools spread out across Kansas, "Cracker Box", schools. I read that on the computer. She quit teaching after she married Dad. Mom was super smart and very talented. For those of you that are young and maybe not around her much, she wrote songs. Christian songs and sang them at churches all around. Her songs are still being sung today by people who never met her.
Mom loved Cream Soda pop. When I was young she would let Bud or I run over to Illa Bakers grocery store around the corner on ninth. She ran a grocery Bill there. She would get us all a treat of a bottle of pop once in awhile. I drank mine as fast as I could, eyeing Mom's bottle that sat on the table unopened. Always wondering why she didn't start drinking the cool, sweet liquid. Whenever I finished I would always ask, "Aren't you going to drink your pop Mom? She would always smile and say. "You can have it if you want it, just share with your brother." I never turned it down. I always wondered why she would get herself one but never drink it. Now after all these years I know. She would have loved to have drank that cream soda. But she wouldn't until she knew we didn't want anymore. Because we didn't get much pop back in the day. How many of those treats did I guzzel of hers, never stopping to think of her Mothers love that just kept giving, even her pop.
Mom fought cancer for seven years. No matter how sick she was she never complained. If you asked, "How are you feeling this morning Mom?' She always answered, I'm feeling fine." Of course she wasn't feeling fine. Looking back I know she must have been overwhelmed by the cancer that kept coming back, taking her health in its angry jaws. She always smiled though. Always praised God for all her blessings. Her faith never faltered.
I know I have mentioned here before that Mom instilled in all four of us kids the love of reading. Sitting us down and reading books to us at a early age. She always thirsted for knowledge. My brother I think is like her. His handy little notebook within his reach as he writes down bits of information he wants to remember. He knows so many facts or has them wrote down where he can look them up at a moments notice.. A mind that is constantly searching for new things to learn, will never grow old.
I have rattled on and probably have not given you any new knowledge about my Mom that you didn't already know. Except she loved cream soda pop and hardly ever got to drink one, thanks to me. I just wanted to write about her today. To honor her with a few written words and send them out into the dark recess's of blogland. So Happy Mother's day Mom. You are certainly an Honored Mother.
I have written over the last four plus months of my Mother many times. She was always and still remains the strongest force who has ever been in my life. So as the months have passed you have read many stories about her or included her in them. But today in honor of Mother's Day I would like to tell you a few things about my Mother you might not know.
So in honor of a most honored Mother here goes. She was born December 10th, 1910., in Hinton Oklahoma. Wow, if she had lived she would have been 100 years old this year. I can see Mom as a person of 100 years of age. She would love the computer and all the gadgets and electronics. I can close my eyes and see her reading facebook and keeping up with all the family that are scattered everywhere. Yes Mom would have loved the computer.
Mom had been a school teacher. She taught in a one room schoolhouse in Kansas. Oh by the way they called those little schools spread out across Kansas, "Cracker Box", schools. I read that on the computer. She quit teaching after she married Dad. Mom was super smart and very talented. For those of you that are young and maybe not around her much, she wrote songs. Christian songs and sang them at churches all around. Her songs are still being sung today by people who never met her.
Mom loved Cream Soda pop. When I was young she would let Bud or I run over to Illa Bakers grocery store around the corner on ninth. She ran a grocery Bill there. She would get us all a treat of a bottle of pop once in awhile. I drank mine as fast as I could, eyeing Mom's bottle that sat on the table unopened. Always wondering why she didn't start drinking the cool, sweet liquid. Whenever I finished I would always ask, "Aren't you going to drink your pop Mom? She would always smile and say. "You can have it if you want it, just share with your brother." I never turned it down. I always wondered why she would get herself one but never drink it. Now after all these years I know. She would have loved to have drank that cream soda. But she wouldn't until she knew we didn't want anymore. Because we didn't get much pop back in the day. How many of those treats did I guzzel of hers, never stopping to think of her Mothers love that just kept giving, even her pop.
Mom fought cancer for seven years. No matter how sick she was she never complained. If you asked, "How are you feeling this morning Mom?' She always answered, I'm feeling fine." Of course she wasn't feeling fine. Looking back I know she must have been overwhelmed by the cancer that kept coming back, taking her health in its angry jaws. She always smiled though. Always praised God for all her blessings. Her faith never faltered.
I know I have mentioned here before that Mom instilled in all four of us kids the love of reading. Sitting us down and reading books to us at a early age. She always thirsted for knowledge. My brother I think is like her. His handy little notebook within his reach as he writes down bits of information he wants to remember. He knows so many facts or has them wrote down where he can look them up at a moments notice.. A mind that is constantly searching for new things to learn, will never grow old.
I have rattled on and probably have not given you any new knowledge about my Mom that you didn't already know. Except she loved cream soda pop and hardly ever got to drink one, thanks to me. I just wanted to write about her today. To honor her with a few written words and send them out into the dark recess's of blogland. So Happy Mother's day Mom. You are certainly an Honored Mother.
MAJORS HIGHBOY
Well it is Saturday morning. It is 4:00 and I have been up since 3:30. Another restless night. Sleep and I have never been best friends and last night we hardly spoke at all. But I am still sparky this morning. I am going to a few rummage sales again. As I said last week, I really don't need anything. I just like to go and come home, arms full of who knows what.
If you checked out the picture at the top of the page you will see two little girls. Dixie and Ruth. Dixie was my sister-in-law for almost forty years. Ruth her little sister. The Updegraff girls.if I had someone ask me what I thought I knew about Dixie that maybe everyone first meeting her would not know. I would say her sense of humor. Because I think sometimes not everyone picked up on the fact she was really a very fun person. Looking back at my memorys as I sit here at this computer. Eyes squinted as I try to see if what is coming out on the screen is what I meant to come out of my fingertips. Memories come surging up as I recall "Majors Highboy," and early 1957.
If you watch old movies you will know the drive-ins with their big fancy, flashing neon signs were a very big concept back then. Carhops with cute or not so cute uniforms, metal trays that slipped on your window. There was always a jukebox on the side of the building with speakers that blared out music onto the lot. If I close my eyes I hear the sounds of the Everely Brothers singing "Kathy's clown." . So many priceless songs filling the air. It was a time when I first began to really get to know Dixie as we scooted around the lot, bringing burgers, cokes and fries to all the cars that passed through our lot on any given night.
This was the place where Dix and I pooled our money and bought the first pack of cigarettes. I watched in amazement as she inhaled her first one and hardly coughed. I coughed, sputtered and finally after trying a couple of times just gave it up as a lost cause. But oh the fun and memories that old drive-in weaved for me in my mind. There is where I saw Dixie become a fun teen. Because she had a pretty heavy load on her plate as she grew up. There at Major's, surrounded by a large group of teenagers. Who I might add probably ate Lorianne Boles out of business. She learned to relax and just be young.
She was young, she was cute, she made good tips. But got to keep very little. So after about a month we made a plan. After about three hours into the shift she gave me a portion of her tips. I put them away, then when the person who almost always came about nine or ten came to collect her money, she gave him what she had. We would smile across the lot at each other as he pulled away. Both of us knowing in my purse was her money. Money I kept for her and soon she bought a new dress. Or shoes and a purse. Once awhile we went to the movies, things she hadn't done much. Not movies with a friend, where we laughed so much I was afraid at times we would be asked to leave.
Her and I would stay after work many nights to clean the lot, spraying each other with water and sitting on the curb of the lot. music in the background as she told me how her life would be someday when she married Bud. We would make the long walk home, each of us clutching a bag of bugers and milkshakes. We would work all evening and walk almost four miles home and never complained about being tired.
The drive-in become Dixie's world, a place where we laughed, shared secrets. Four or so of us girls going places together when we wasn't working and Dix wasn't babysitting. It was fun, it was a world all our own. I wonder sometimes what happened to all the kids that worked there. The tall slender boy who when I took a order for five icecream cones from a family parked out front. Where I might add they could see him from the car window. As he dipped each cone with hard ice cream and carefully took a lick off each one. Needless to say when I took the cones out on the little round metal tray that held each cone in a hole. The man of course refused the cones and was very irrate. I rushed in, threw the ocones away . I hastily made more as the man frowned through the windshield at me. The boy collasping with laughter along with about eight other teenagers. Mrs. Boles left us all alone way to much in the evenings. You can't let a bunch of silly teenagers run your business for you. I am sure she learned that lesson well. We all ate constantely, each of us making a bag of something or other to take home for a late night snack. Well, you have to understand she said to us, "Eat whatever you want." We did and then some.
There was certainly laughter back then, work didn't seem like work, you spent the evening with friends, acting silly, having adventures. Carefree I think is a good word. I wish there was places like that now, where kids could go to work and have the fun we did back then. Oh I know there is McDonalds but somehow I don't see the kids throwing each other in the trash can there, or dancing a fast dance on the lot in between waiting on cars. I smile at the sight in my mind. A different time, a different place. But there I made a friendship that lasted over forty-four years. I think I feel you smiling Dix. Those were the days, weren't they girlfriend? Yep those were the days.
If you checked out the picture at the top of the page you will see two little girls. Dixie and Ruth. Dixie was my sister-in-law for almost forty years. Ruth her little sister. The Updegraff girls.if I had someone ask me what I thought I knew about Dixie that maybe everyone first meeting her would not know. I would say her sense of humor. Because I think sometimes not everyone picked up on the fact she was really a very fun person. Looking back at my memorys as I sit here at this computer. Eyes squinted as I try to see if what is coming out on the screen is what I meant to come out of my fingertips. Memories come surging up as I recall "Majors Highboy," and early 1957.
If you watch old movies you will know the drive-ins with their big fancy, flashing neon signs were a very big concept back then. Carhops with cute or not so cute uniforms, metal trays that slipped on your window. There was always a jukebox on the side of the building with speakers that blared out music onto the lot. If I close my eyes I hear the sounds of the Everely Brothers singing "Kathy's clown." . So many priceless songs filling the air. It was a time when I first began to really get to know Dixie as we scooted around the lot, bringing burgers, cokes and fries to all the cars that passed through our lot on any given night.
This was the place where Dix and I pooled our money and bought the first pack of cigarettes. I watched in amazement as she inhaled her first one and hardly coughed. I coughed, sputtered and finally after trying a couple of times just gave it up as a lost cause. But oh the fun and memories that old drive-in weaved for me in my mind. There is where I saw Dixie become a fun teen. Because she had a pretty heavy load on her plate as she grew up. There at Major's, surrounded by a large group of teenagers. Who I might add probably ate Lorianne Boles out of business. She learned to relax and just be young.
She was young, she was cute, she made good tips. But got to keep very little. So after about a month we made a plan. After about three hours into the shift she gave me a portion of her tips. I put them away, then when the person who almost always came about nine or ten came to collect her money, she gave him what she had. We would smile across the lot at each other as he pulled away. Both of us knowing in my purse was her money. Money I kept for her and soon she bought a new dress. Or shoes and a purse. Once awhile we went to the movies, things she hadn't done much. Not movies with a friend, where we laughed so much I was afraid at times we would be asked to leave.
Her and I would stay after work many nights to clean the lot, spraying each other with water and sitting on the curb of the lot. music in the background as she told me how her life would be someday when she married Bud. We would make the long walk home, each of us clutching a bag of bugers and milkshakes. We would work all evening and walk almost four miles home and never complained about being tired.
The drive-in become Dixie's world, a place where we laughed, shared secrets. Four or so of us girls going places together when we wasn't working and Dix wasn't babysitting. It was fun, it was a world all our own. I wonder sometimes what happened to all the kids that worked there. The tall slender boy who when I took a order for five icecream cones from a family parked out front. Where I might add they could see him from the car window. As he dipped each cone with hard ice cream and carefully took a lick off each one. Needless to say when I took the cones out on the little round metal tray that held each cone in a hole. The man of course refused the cones and was very irrate. I rushed in, threw the ocones away . I hastily made more as the man frowned through the windshield at me. The boy collasping with laughter along with about eight other teenagers. Mrs. Boles left us all alone way to much in the evenings. You can't let a bunch of silly teenagers run your business for you. I am sure she learned that lesson well. We all ate constantely, each of us making a bag of something or other to take home for a late night snack. Well, you have to understand she said to us, "Eat whatever you want." We did and then some.
There was certainly laughter back then, work didn't seem like work, you spent the evening with friends, acting silly, having adventures. Carefree I think is a good word. I wish there was places like that now, where kids could go to work and have the fun we did back then. Oh I know there is McDonalds but somehow I don't see the kids throwing each other in the trash can there, or dancing a fast dance on the lot in between waiting on cars. I smile at the sight in my mind. A different time, a different place. But there I made a friendship that lasted over forty-four years. I think I feel you smiling Dix. Those were the days, weren't they girlfriend? Yep those were the days.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
THE FLEMINGS GET AWARDS.
It is 4:30 on Friday morning. The weekend almost here. "I" and "H" have both been out and "I" has made her way back in. "H" still lingering behind. He probably is in the back yard sniffing the ground, searching for who knows what. I think they should have their own television show and we could call it, "Frick and Frack," they are funny dogs.
We went to the Bowling Banquet Saturday night. I waited to write about it, thinking maybe some pictures would show up on Facebook. No pictures, then I got to thinking I never saw Billie take pictures. So I thought I would go ahead and tell you about the Banquet and the awards.It was fun. Chris had gotten us ten seats together. It is a family a family affair at Bowl East. Chris the manager, Billie, Will, Lori, Chris's son James and Brandi. They were all there except James. Also there was Ron, Steve and I. Amber and Victoria were there too. Chris is like family, well actually she is family. She is Dixie's niece. Her and Billie are bonded together like sisters. So many years of being friends and working together.
There was laughter, good food and drinks for some. Brandy, the little girls and I stuck to coke.I was so proud, Victoria got a award. Amber received three. I'm wondering in maybe Twenty years or so, it may be the bowling circuit for her? Who knows, it could happen .Will's kids have just about grown up at the bowling alley. Its not a bad place to grow up, just a little noisy at times.
But my proudest moment was Will. He got a 300 game award. But that wasn't the cause for the proud moments. Every year they give a scholarship to a young teenage bowler. This year they gave one to both a boy and girl. When the girl spoke she talked of the coaching and help she received from both Lori and Will. When the boy spoke he talked of Will and how he had coached him and encourgaged him when he hit the rough spots. What a good influence Will's help had been.
I wanted to stand up and shout like they do on the Jerry Springer show. "Will, Will, Will." Oh I know on the "Springer show they holler, Jerry, Jerry,Jerry. But I had a gut feeling Will and the others at the table would not approve. What a acomplishment to have had a postive effect on not one but two teenagers. I don't know how Will feels about his mark on life. Does he wish he had a high powered job and drives a Porsche? I suppose there are many out there that do drive a Porsche. But Will Fleming had two teenagers, who at that age sometimes don't like anyone. They both thanked him for his help and the role he played. Good job Will. Don't ever think you have not accomplished alot in this life. You have three beautiful children, a pretty wife. And two teenagers who spoke your praises. And I know many more teenagers you have been a good influence on.You Will have already left your mark. I am proud of you.
So Saturday night was fun with the Bowl East family. They are a close knit group. Chris said when she gave a little speech that she been there twenty-six years. I think Billie about fifteen. I hope Ron Richards knows what he has in Chris and Billie. Loyalty and hardworking. I think he is a lucky man to have them working for his company. So I have no pictures showing Victoria with her wide grin holding her award. No picture of Amber smiling at the camera, all three of her awards in her hands. So do me a favor, just picture it for me. Now isn't that pretty, don't they all look good? I guess I will slip on out of Blogsville one more time. See ya later, I hope.
We went to the Bowling Banquet Saturday night. I waited to write about it, thinking maybe some pictures would show up on Facebook. No pictures, then I got to thinking I never saw Billie take pictures. So I thought I would go ahead and tell you about the Banquet and the awards.It was fun. Chris had gotten us ten seats together. It is a family a family affair at Bowl East. Chris the manager, Billie, Will, Lori, Chris's son James and Brandi. They were all there except James. Also there was Ron, Steve and I. Amber and Victoria were there too. Chris is like family, well actually she is family. She is Dixie's niece. Her and Billie are bonded together like sisters. So many years of being friends and working together.
There was laughter, good food and drinks for some. Brandy, the little girls and I stuck to coke.I was so proud, Victoria got a award. Amber received three. I'm wondering in maybe Twenty years or so, it may be the bowling circuit for her? Who knows, it could happen .Will's kids have just about grown up at the bowling alley. Its not a bad place to grow up, just a little noisy at times.
But my proudest moment was Will. He got a 300 game award. But that wasn't the cause for the proud moments. Every year they give a scholarship to a young teenage bowler. This year they gave one to both a boy and girl. When the girl spoke she talked of the coaching and help she received from both Lori and Will. When the boy spoke he talked of Will and how he had coached him and encourgaged him when he hit the rough spots. What a good influence Will's help had been.
I wanted to stand up and shout like they do on the Jerry Springer show. "Will, Will, Will." Oh I know on the "Springer show they holler, Jerry, Jerry,Jerry. But I had a gut feeling Will and the others at the table would not approve. What a acomplishment to have had a postive effect on not one but two teenagers. I don't know how Will feels about his mark on life. Does he wish he had a high powered job and drives a Porsche? I suppose there are many out there that do drive a Porsche. But Will Fleming had two teenagers, who at that age sometimes don't like anyone. They both thanked him for his help and the role he played. Good job Will. Don't ever think you have not accomplished alot in this life. You have three beautiful children, a pretty wife. And two teenagers who spoke your praises. And I know many more teenagers you have been a good influence on.You Will have already left your mark. I am proud of you.
So Saturday night was fun with the Bowl East family. They are a close knit group. Chris said when she gave a little speech that she been there twenty-six years. I think Billie about fifteen. I hope Ron Richards knows what he has in Chris and Billie. Loyalty and hardworking. I think he is a lucky man to have them working for his company. So I have no pictures showing Victoria with her wide grin holding her award. No picture of Amber smiling at the camera, all three of her awards in her hands. So do me a favor, just picture it for me. Now isn't that pretty, don't they all look good? I guess I will slip on out of Blogsville one more time. See ya later, I hope.
THE EMPEROR
Thursday morning. "I" will not go out this morning. She has had a couple of cookies, followed me around. But she only stands at the door, ears straight up listening. I try leaning out the door listening too. Trying to hear whatever is causing her not to go out for her morning bathroom break. I hear nothing. So finally I am at the computer, she is here in the dining room watching me. I sure wish she would learn to talk.
I didn't get up until almost five. I stumbled through the dining room. I glanced down at the computer as I walked to the bathroom. A brown square sat right in the center of the screen. "Oh no," I thought. Somethings wrong with the computer. I went on to the bathroom, turned on the coffee, then sat staring at the screen. I hurriedly tried going to the "Missouri Lottery," site. Thinking maybe if I changed sites the brown square would go away. The other site came up. Still there was a brown square, right in the center. I bent down turned off the computer, as I waited for the computer to reboot I saw even with the computer off, there was still a brown square. My heart sank, he, the Emperor would get up and see his computer has a brown square in the center of the screen. I would be blamed. He calls himself the Emperor, you know the ruler of the land. I am smiling as I write this.
Anyway the Emperor I knew would be very unhappy. Sighing I reached out and touched the screen. The brown spot moved, it came off at my touch. Oh thank goodness the spot was a stick em note from the head man himself. After I knew the computer didn't have some strange virus that left a brown square on the computer screen, I laughed. But sometimes not seeing well is really not funny. I go to the bank every month, to cash my check. Most of the girls know me. They know I can't see the light colored writing on the back to see where to sign my name. They take my finger and lay it on the line. Without ever asking. But once in awhile there will a new girl. I have signed my check upside down before. I hate the look on someones face when they stick a paper under my nose and ask me to read it. I say I'm sorry, "I can't read." I know they look at me thinking, "Good grief that age and is still illiterate.
But I have many things to be thankful for. This morning I am thankful the brown square was only a stick em note. And really I should be totally grateful, for how many mortal people get to live with a real live Emperor. I do, so I know I am blessed. I kept asking him if he had ever heard the fairy tale of the Emperors new clothes. He hadn't, I told him. He was not amused. Later that day he came out of the bathroom in his bathrobe. I wondered why he had taken his clothes off and put on his bathrobe. He threw open the robe. "I;m the Emperor,' he hollered. "I stared at him in his birthday suit. "Well," I said as I stared at him, a big smile covering his face. "Do they give refunds, I think they left some wrinkles in the suit." he did not laugh. For one minute I had forgotten. Only Emperors are allowed to crack jokes. So that little episode ended with the Emperor demanding, "off with her head." Oh well I can out run him. Even if I am older. So for today I will wander out of here. Hopefully I can keep my mouth shut today and try not to hear the words, "Off with her head." See ya later, I'm outta here.
I didn't get up until almost five. I stumbled through the dining room. I glanced down at the computer as I walked to the bathroom. A brown square sat right in the center of the screen. "Oh no," I thought. Somethings wrong with the computer. I went on to the bathroom, turned on the coffee, then sat staring at the screen. I hurriedly tried going to the "Missouri Lottery," site. Thinking maybe if I changed sites the brown square would go away. The other site came up. Still there was a brown square, right in the center. I bent down turned off the computer, as I waited for the computer to reboot I saw even with the computer off, there was still a brown square. My heart sank, he, the Emperor would get up and see his computer has a brown square in the center of the screen. I would be blamed. He calls himself the Emperor, you know the ruler of the land. I am smiling as I write this.
Anyway the Emperor I knew would be very unhappy. Sighing I reached out and touched the screen. The brown spot moved, it came off at my touch. Oh thank goodness the spot was a stick em note from the head man himself. After I knew the computer didn't have some strange virus that left a brown square on the computer screen, I laughed. But sometimes not seeing well is really not funny. I go to the bank every month, to cash my check. Most of the girls know me. They know I can't see the light colored writing on the back to see where to sign my name. They take my finger and lay it on the line. Without ever asking. But once in awhile there will a new girl. I have signed my check upside down before. I hate the look on someones face when they stick a paper under my nose and ask me to read it. I say I'm sorry, "I can't read." I know they look at me thinking, "Good grief that age and is still illiterate.
But I have many things to be thankful for. This morning I am thankful the brown square was only a stick em note. And really I should be totally grateful, for how many mortal people get to live with a real live Emperor. I do, so I know I am blessed. I kept asking him if he had ever heard the fairy tale of the Emperors new clothes. He hadn't, I told him. He was not amused. Later that day he came out of the bathroom in his bathrobe. I wondered why he had taken his clothes off and put on his bathrobe. He threw open the robe. "I;m the Emperor,' he hollered. "I stared at him in his birthday suit. "Well," I said as I stared at him, a big smile covering his face. "Do they give refunds, I think they left some wrinkles in the suit." he did not laugh. For one minute I had forgotten. Only Emperors are allowed to crack jokes. So that little episode ended with the Emperor demanding, "off with her head." Oh well I can out run him. Even if I am older. So for today I will wander out of here. Hopefully I can keep my mouth shut today and try not to hear the words, "Off with her head." See ya later, I'm outta here.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
DON'T LIE TO YOUR GRANDCHILDREN.
Wednesday morning has arrived. I hope the weather is as beautiful as yesterday. I had so many things to do but I just kept trailing outside to sit in the swing. I will be stricter on myself today and keep my nose to the grindstone. Or at least I'll try.
I sit in the swing, under the trees and call it my green room. The trees are in full bloom with Saul and Sarah intertwined. Their branches blossomed out in green. You can hardly see the spots where one stops and the other trees branches start. The trees around us in the other yards stand straight and tall. These two stand tall except for the sides where they face each other. The branches bend out, reaching towards the other. Then when the leaves come they seem to bend farther until their leaves wind round each other. They make a green canopy across the walk leading to the house.
Brandi's boys were over a couple of weeks ago after school. Brandi's and Billie's schedules had crossed or something, so they came for a hour or so. I sat out in the yard with them, swinging in my swing. As they each would come and sit with me at different times to talk. Bradley as I wrote then talked of Abrahan Lincoln and others. Then I told him the story of "Saul and Sarah." He was very impressed, caught up with the part of their souls jumping into the trees. He asked questions, "How did they jump? Did it hurt?" Then Brett came out. Bradley hurriedly called him over, excited to tell him about the trees. Brett was semi-impressed but not as much as Bradley. Brett wandered over to the picnic table. Finally I asked Bradley, "You do know that was just a made up story?" I asked.
Bradley looked at me with total shock. His earnest little eyes boring into mine. "You lied," he whispered. "No, no," I assured him. "I didn't lie. It was just a little story I wrote for the Blog." He sadly shook his head. "There is no Saul and Sarah?" The look he gave me was accusing.
I tried to explain maybe there was a Saul and Sarah. Maybe there were two souls that were torn apart by prejudice and hate. But these two were a story I made up. "See," I asked as I waved towards the trees. "They just blend together, not like the other trees. The story may very well be true." But he wasn't buying it now. I had shattered his illusion about Saul and Sarah and it couldn't be repaired.
He called out to Brett. "There's not no Saul," he said. Shooting a whithering glance my way. "Grandma lied." Brett looked at me. "Grandma you lied?" I wanted to jump up and point at Bradley. "No, no," I wanted to scream. I wanted to say, "It was him that lied not me." But I didn't, I only dropped my head in shame. Grandma was a liar.
The moral to this story is, if you are going to weave a fantasy story to your grandkids maybe you should say a disclaimer before you start. Or you will be like me, the lying Grandma. Believe me it doesn't feel good when that happens. I've always heard, "Know your audience." Truer words were never spoken. So for now I am going to go get a cup of coffee, then edit this mess. Then I will get on with my day. Wish me luck, sometimes it can be a jungle around here.
I sit in the swing, under the trees and call it my green room. The trees are in full bloom with Saul and Sarah intertwined. Their branches blossomed out in green. You can hardly see the spots where one stops and the other trees branches start. The trees around us in the other yards stand straight and tall. These two stand tall except for the sides where they face each other. The branches bend out, reaching towards the other. Then when the leaves come they seem to bend farther until their leaves wind round each other. They make a green canopy across the walk leading to the house.
Brandi's boys were over a couple of weeks ago after school. Brandi's and Billie's schedules had crossed or something, so they came for a hour or so. I sat out in the yard with them, swinging in my swing. As they each would come and sit with me at different times to talk. Bradley as I wrote then talked of Abrahan Lincoln and others. Then I told him the story of "Saul and Sarah." He was very impressed, caught up with the part of their souls jumping into the trees. He asked questions, "How did they jump? Did it hurt?" Then Brett came out. Bradley hurriedly called him over, excited to tell him about the trees. Brett was semi-impressed but not as much as Bradley. Brett wandered over to the picnic table. Finally I asked Bradley, "You do know that was just a made up story?" I asked.
Bradley looked at me with total shock. His earnest little eyes boring into mine. "You lied," he whispered. "No, no," I assured him. "I didn't lie. It was just a little story I wrote for the Blog." He sadly shook his head. "There is no Saul and Sarah?" The look he gave me was accusing.
I tried to explain maybe there was a Saul and Sarah. Maybe there were two souls that were torn apart by prejudice and hate. But these two were a story I made up. "See," I asked as I waved towards the trees. "They just blend together, not like the other trees. The story may very well be true." But he wasn't buying it now. I had shattered his illusion about Saul and Sarah and it couldn't be repaired.
He called out to Brett. "There's not no Saul," he said. Shooting a whithering glance my way. "Grandma lied." Brett looked at me. "Grandma you lied?" I wanted to jump up and point at Bradley. "No, no," I wanted to scream. I wanted to say, "It was him that lied not me." But I didn't, I only dropped my head in shame. Grandma was a liar.
The moral to this story is, if you are going to weave a fantasy story to your grandkids maybe you should say a disclaimer before you start. Or you will be like me, the lying Grandma. Believe me it doesn't feel good when that happens. I've always heard, "Know your audience." Truer words were never spoken. So for now I am going to go get a cup of coffee, then edit this mess. Then I will get on with my day. Wish me luck, sometimes it can be a jungle around here.
Monday, May 3, 2010
NOBODY KNOWS THE TROUBLE I'VE SEEN.
Tuesday morning has descended on us. I am hoping it is desending softly. I had worked on my blog some yesterday evening. When I got on the computer at 5:00 this morning my title was in Hindu. I had messed with the settings and this was what happened. Don't ask how I did it and why it was only the title. I worked for thirty minutes, it now is in English. I just hope it stays that way. If it changes back to Hindu, the title reads. "Nobody knows the trouble I've seen." I sure knew what I was talking about.
You know when I wrote last week that I had a bad day. Well yesterday I had a repeat. Steve didn't talk about his life after I am gone again. But just a real stinky day. Yesterday was check day. Not that there is anything left after I pay my part of the bills,but for a couple of hours I have a dollar in my pocket. I called Social Security office to see if it had been sent out. First I was on hold for almost thirty minutes. Then a lady came on, asked my name and my Social Security number. She brought me up on the computer. She knew no more than I did. in fact I am not sure who was more in the dark about the elusive check, her or I. There was no answers to ease my mind. Only to call back in three days if it didn't come in. I was depressed. I laid on the couch singing "Nobody knows the trouble I've seen." I didn't know what trouble was yet.
A couple of hours later Steve said he would buy Subway. Okay, I brightened at that thought. No cooking tonight. My spirits started rising. I could see the rain bow at the end of the rain. I hurried to get off the computer, the last words I heard him say was, "Close the door when you come out." I usually take my purse everywhere I go. I started out the door, leaving the purse behind. I won't need it I thought. I slammed the door shut just as Steve came around the house carrying "I." "You do have your keys don"t you, I asked. But somehow I knew the answer and it wasn't yes. No keys, locked door. I the wife the one that shut the door. "Nobody knows the troubles I've seen.
He had to call "Coats lock and key." Steve was not happy. Believe me, I was not happy. Because you see I knew although I was not the one who let the dog out, laid their keys down. Still it was all my fault. I think that has been the case from the beginning of time. The unwritten law says, the woman is always to blame.
Have you ever went somewhere in a car with your husband or a man you're connected too. He does not exactly know how to get to the place, he will not listen to your directions, they always think they can get there on their own. But of course they get lost. Wait a minute, who gets the blame. You got it, the woman. She may not have been driving, she may have known how to get there and tried to tell him. Men of course don't take direction, especially not from a woman. But when it all gets messed up, its the woman to blame.
I am hoping for a better day today. I will take my purse if I walk out the door. Maybe my check will come, the bills get paid and happiness will fill the Swift home. But somewhere today I will probably mess up again, doing something. "Nobody knows the trouble I"ve seen."
You know when I wrote last week that I had a bad day. Well yesterday I had a repeat. Steve didn't talk about his life after I am gone again. But just a real stinky day. Yesterday was check day. Not that there is anything left after I pay my part of the bills,but for a couple of hours I have a dollar in my pocket. I called Social Security office to see if it had been sent out. First I was on hold for almost thirty minutes. Then a lady came on, asked my name and my Social Security number. She brought me up on the computer. She knew no more than I did. in fact I am not sure who was more in the dark about the elusive check, her or I. There was no answers to ease my mind. Only to call back in three days if it didn't come in. I was depressed. I laid on the couch singing "Nobody knows the trouble I've seen." I didn't know what trouble was yet.
A couple of hours later Steve said he would buy Subway. Okay, I brightened at that thought. No cooking tonight. My spirits started rising. I could see the rain bow at the end of the rain. I hurried to get off the computer, the last words I heard him say was, "Close the door when you come out." I usually take my purse everywhere I go. I started out the door, leaving the purse behind. I won't need it I thought. I slammed the door shut just as Steve came around the house carrying "I." "You do have your keys don"t you, I asked. But somehow I knew the answer and it wasn't yes. No keys, locked door. I the wife the one that shut the door. "Nobody knows the troubles I've seen.
He had to call "Coats lock and key." Steve was not happy. Believe me, I was not happy. Because you see I knew although I was not the one who let the dog out, laid their keys down. Still it was all my fault. I think that has been the case from the beginning of time. The unwritten law says, the woman is always to blame.
Have you ever went somewhere in a car with your husband or a man you're connected too. He does not exactly know how to get to the place, he will not listen to your directions, they always think they can get there on their own. But of course they get lost. Wait a minute, who gets the blame. You got it, the woman. She may not have been driving, she may have known how to get there and tried to tell him. Men of course don't take direction, especially not from a woman. But when it all gets messed up, its the woman to blame.
I am hoping for a better day today. I will take my purse if I walk out the door. Maybe my check will come, the bills get paid and happiness will fill the Swift home. But somewhere today I will probably mess up again, doing something. "Nobody knows the trouble I"ve seen."
Sunday, May 2, 2010
I SAW CAROLYN.
Monday, here again. I have all these big plans for Spring cleaning this week, you know curtains, shampoo carpets. Now lets see if I follow through. I make these plans but morning turns into afternoon and nothing gets accomplished. This week I promise myself will be different. I will get it done and without the help of Miss Debbie. So let the week began. I am ready.
Yesterday was Sunday. I got bored and got on the computer and tooled around Blog land again. There are many interesting people out there. Oh by the way, did you check out the border. I wanted a fancy one with flowers and such but as of yet have not gotten the hang of it. Instead I had to settle on this but at least I am going a step up. Or at least I tell myself that is so. I want flowers and interesting objects. Or something different, but I have not given up yet.
Also yesterday we went to the Dollar store. I was grabbing a couple of cans of soup and I heard someone say, "Willamina." Now when someone says that name its a good give away its someone from my school years. As I have a little trouble making out faces I squinted and peered closely. Good grief it was Carolyn Rowan. Now if you read his Blog weeks ago maybe you will remember one called, "Things my Momma use to say. One saying was, "Birds of a feather flock together." She was referring to a girl I had brought home to play with. Mom thought she came from a rough family, too rough for me to play with the daughter. And surely not go to her house.
Well before me stood a grey haired lady with glasses and a big smile. Mom if you are listening she had no tattoos, no red face from years of drinking. In fact she looked far more sedate than me in my bell bottom jeans and yellow hoodie. I'm not a middle aged hippie anymore, more like a really old one. She wore what looked like polyester pants and a nice cotton blouse. She also wore no makeup. I wore lipstick, blusher and my ever faithful black eyeliner. There's no telling what she thought of me. I also carried a very large animal print purse. Hers was a nice small black one. he kind old ladies are suppose to carry. I failed in comparison to her Mom. She looked the part of a nice older lady. I in turn looked like the crazy older lady that I am.
I got to thinking when I got home. I wonder if that day so many years ago if she might of went home and told her Mother she stopped at Willamina Munch's house to play. And maybe her Mother sat down on the steps with her and carefully explained it would be better if she didn't come back to my house and didn't ask me to come and play. She might very well have told her that she had heard very strange things about me. That I dressed up in my Mothers clothes and hats. That I walked around the neighborhood talking to non-existent people up the telephone pole and down the garbage can. When I think about it she never did ask me to come to her house again and she never came back to mine.
So Mom I think you might have had it wrong. Her life probably never played out like a bad country song like mine did. She looks pretty normal and nice to me. I didn't talk to her long. I could hear Momma say, "Birds of a feather flock together." Her feathers looked much nicer and age appropriate than mine. Maybe Mom you should have let me hang out with her. I just might have turned out better. Who knows, right. But it just goes to show you can't judge people by their families, just look how nice, quiet and normal my brother and sister are, then look at me. It was nice to talk a minute to her though. So Carolyn wherever you are out there. I know my Mom would be proud of you. But for now I am outta here.
Yesterday was Sunday. I got bored and got on the computer and tooled around Blog land again. There are many interesting people out there. Oh by the way, did you check out the border. I wanted a fancy one with flowers and such but as of yet have not gotten the hang of it. Instead I had to settle on this but at least I am going a step up. Or at least I tell myself that is so. I want flowers and interesting objects. Or something different, but I have not given up yet.
Also yesterday we went to the Dollar store. I was grabbing a couple of cans of soup and I heard someone say, "Willamina." Now when someone says that name its a good give away its someone from my school years. As I have a little trouble making out faces I squinted and peered closely. Good grief it was Carolyn Rowan. Now if you read his Blog weeks ago maybe you will remember one called, "Things my Momma use to say. One saying was, "Birds of a feather flock together." She was referring to a girl I had brought home to play with. Mom thought she came from a rough family, too rough for me to play with the daughter. And surely not go to her house.
Well before me stood a grey haired lady with glasses and a big smile. Mom if you are listening she had no tattoos, no red face from years of drinking. In fact she looked far more sedate than me in my bell bottom jeans and yellow hoodie. I'm not a middle aged hippie anymore, more like a really old one. She wore what looked like polyester pants and a nice cotton blouse. She also wore no makeup. I wore lipstick, blusher and my ever faithful black eyeliner. There's no telling what she thought of me. I also carried a very large animal print purse. Hers was a nice small black one. he kind old ladies are suppose to carry. I failed in comparison to her Mom. She looked the part of a nice older lady. I in turn looked like the crazy older lady that I am.
I got to thinking when I got home. I wonder if that day so many years ago if she might of went home and told her Mother she stopped at Willamina Munch's house to play. And maybe her Mother sat down on the steps with her and carefully explained it would be better if she didn't come back to my house and didn't ask me to come and play. She might very well have told her that she had heard very strange things about me. That I dressed up in my Mothers clothes and hats. That I walked around the neighborhood talking to non-existent people up the telephone pole and down the garbage can. When I think about it she never did ask me to come to her house again and she never came back to mine.
So Mom I think you might have had it wrong. Her life probably never played out like a bad country song like mine did. She looks pretty normal and nice to me. I didn't talk to her long. I could hear Momma say, "Birds of a feather flock together." Her feathers looked much nicer and age appropriate than mine. Maybe Mom you should have let me hang out with her. I just might have turned out better. Who knows, right. But it just goes to show you can't judge people by their families, just look how nice, quiet and normal my brother and sister are, then look at me. It was nice to talk a minute to her though. So Carolyn wherever you are out there. I know my Mom would be proud of you. But for now I am outta here.
THE ESTATE SALE.
Sunday morning is here. "I" has went out, "I" has come in. It is cool outside but I think it has stopped raining. I cannot hear the rain, only the coffee pot as it chugs that dark, hot brew into the pot. I got up about 4:15 and here it is 5:00 and I still have cobwebs in my head . I had not prewrote my Blog for today. Not nary a thought in my head, So we probably are in for a very rough day here in Blogland.
Yesterday morning I got to go to my garage sales. It misted rain on us a little but any died in the wool rummager will not let that stop them. Nothing keeps us from our junk. It was fun although I didn't come home with many treasures, there was several. Things I felt I just couldn't live without. A radio that hangs in the shower. I do not know if it works as it has no batteries but I will buy some and find out. Now my only problem is how will I hear the radio when the shower is running. Oh yes it also has a clock. I can see me with soap in my eyes, shampoo on my hair, straining to see the time and hear the radio. I'll have to buy batteries to find if this will really work out. I also brought home a large soup tureen. Fancy fall flowers adorning it and it has its on plate to sit on. Just what I need for all the large dinners I don't cook. I promptly brought it home, washed it and shoved it to the back of the top of the refrigerator. There it will sit, gathering dust for many months to come. I also bought a bunch of yellow fabric flowers and a Christmas afghan. Treasures that I didn't need but at the moment I saw them felt I wanted them. So the hoarding continues.
The one sale that tugged at my heart and always does is the estate sale. They always make me sigh as I wander through the rooms looking at the remnants of someones life. Its different than when you go to a sale and the person whose items you are buying is walking around, laughing as you rummage through their things. A estate sale is much different as you have adult children sitting at the card table as strangers paw through their parents belongings. I always think I can see the shadow of some elderly lady looking in horror as a stranger carry's her yellow Afghan out that she had spent hours making. Thinking one of her children would want it. In the garage I swear I see a older man watching from the shadows of the corner of the garage as men seek through his tools he spent years accumulating. All of their years of obtaining these items, these memories, gone in a day. I wonder at the end of the day are the ghostly figures watching as the children divey up the proceeds from the sale.
When I got home I dropped into a chair in the living room, looking around at rooms filled with things. I could picture my two children sitting here, me gone. Shaking their heads at all of these mementos of my life. I can hear my daughter as she opens the cabinet door over the sink. "Good grief," she will say to her brother. "Would you look at all these empty cottage cheese cartons. Why in the world did she save these?" Well I saved them dear heart because you never know when you will need them for leftovers.
Now I won't even have to be there when they go through my clothes and shoes to know what they will say. As they go through a closet so full that one has no idea just what is in there. There could be a body and if it never smelled, you'd never know. There is of course shoes that you won't believe. When they go through my jewelry boxes there is no jewels. But they will find a fancy piece of glass that use to be a pin. The pin part is broken off but Brandi bought it for me when she was five, at a rummage sale across the street from where I lived. They also will find Jer's bars from R.O.T.C. and a necklace that is really part of a pair earrings Billie bought me for Mothers Day at least twenty-five years ago. Will they go in the trash never realizing these are treasures. Important things that fit into my heart.
It makes me want to go around taping little notes on different things. A dress I bought in 1983 back in a time my life was serene and my Mother was still alive, a suit a older woman gave me in 1986 She had bought in 1949. She told me how she had saved for months to buy this suit. So she could wear it to work at "Newmans," a department store that use to be here in Joplin. These things can't grace a garage sale table nor wind up in a trash can.
But who knows how the outcome will be. I would like them to know as they sort through all the junk, I will be watching. My hand outstretched as they head to the trash can. So I guess if they can still do it knowing that I will know. Then just go ahead. It just seems sad to me a person's whole life can be erased, at least their material things. At a house somewhere with a rummage sale sign in the yard. Gone after one day of sales. A few dollars, run the vacuum. All is over. You know I think I may follow the ones who buy my shoes. I'm going to stir their life's up a little. But for now after rambling and making little sense , if any at all. I am gone. To write my notes. First I have to find the scotch tape. But for now, I'm outta here.
Yesterday morning I got to go to my garage sales. It misted rain on us a little but any died in the wool rummager will not let that stop them. Nothing keeps us from our junk. It was fun although I didn't come home with many treasures, there was several. Things I felt I just couldn't live without. A radio that hangs in the shower. I do not know if it works as it has no batteries but I will buy some and find out. Now my only problem is how will I hear the radio when the shower is running. Oh yes it also has a clock. I can see me with soap in my eyes, shampoo on my hair, straining to see the time and hear the radio. I'll have to buy batteries to find if this will really work out. I also brought home a large soup tureen. Fancy fall flowers adorning it and it has its on plate to sit on. Just what I need for all the large dinners I don't cook. I promptly brought it home, washed it and shoved it to the back of the top of the refrigerator. There it will sit, gathering dust for many months to come. I also bought a bunch of yellow fabric flowers and a Christmas afghan. Treasures that I didn't need but at the moment I saw them felt I wanted them. So the hoarding continues.
The one sale that tugged at my heart and always does is the estate sale. They always make me sigh as I wander through the rooms looking at the remnants of someones life. Its different than when you go to a sale and the person whose items you are buying is walking around, laughing as you rummage through their things. A estate sale is much different as you have adult children sitting at the card table as strangers paw through their parents belongings. I always think I can see the shadow of some elderly lady looking in horror as a stranger carry's her yellow Afghan out that she had spent hours making. Thinking one of her children would want it. In the garage I swear I see a older man watching from the shadows of the corner of the garage as men seek through his tools he spent years accumulating. All of their years of obtaining these items, these memories, gone in a day. I wonder at the end of the day are the ghostly figures watching as the children divey up the proceeds from the sale.
When I got home I dropped into a chair in the living room, looking around at rooms filled with things. I could picture my two children sitting here, me gone. Shaking their heads at all of these mementos of my life. I can hear my daughter as she opens the cabinet door over the sink. "Good grief," she will say to her brother. "Would you look at all these empty cottage cheese cartons. Why in the world did she save these?" Well I saved them dear heart because you never know when you will need them for leftovers.
Now I won't even have to be there when they go through my clothes and shoes to know what they will say. As they go through a closet so full that one has no idea just what is in there. There could be a body and if it never smelled, you'd never know. There is of course shoes that you won't believe. When they go through my jewelry boxes there is no jewels. But they will find a fancy piece of glass that use to be a pin. The pin part is broken off but Brandi bought it for me when she was five, at a rummage sale across the street from where I lived. They also will find Jer's bars from R.O.T.C. and a necklace that is really part of a pair earrings Billie bought me for Mothers Day at least twenty-five years ago. Will they go in the trash never realizing these are treasures. Important things that fit into my heart.
It makes me want to go around taping little notes on different things. A dress I bought in 1983 back in a time my life was serene and my Mother was still alive, a suit a older woman gave me in 1986 She had bought in 1949. She told me how she had saved for months to buy this suit. So she could wear it to work at "Newmans," a department store that use to be here in Joplin. These things can't grace a garage sale table nor wind up in a trash can.
But who knows how the outcome will be. I would like them to know as they sort through all the junk, I will be watching. My hand outstretched as they head to the trash can. So I guess if they can still do it knowing that I will know. Then just go ahead. It just seems sad to me a person's whole life can be erased, at least their material things. At a house somewhere with a rummage sale sign in the yard. Gone after one day of sales. A few dollars, run the vacuum. All is over. You know I think I may follow the ones who buy my shoes. I'm going to stir their life's up a little. But for now after rambling and making little sense , if any at all. I am gone. To write my notes. First I have to find the scotch tape. But for now, I'm outta here.
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