From the travel journal - Day 1 Pompano

Cara - "While I still have the Caravan I have retired it from long travels much to my husband's dismay. "There is nothing wrong with that van," he says every time I refuse to drive it on trips. I disagree, however, having been stalled on the side of the road, the middle of the road, and smack dab in the middle of intersections. SO the new vehicle of choice for travels is the Honda van, although I guess it can still be called the caravan since technically that name only referred to a van owned and driven by a girl named Cara. It wasn't truly a caravan, but a Grand Voyager. I shall call this van the Caravan II.

Susan and I had the van packed and loaded and on the road by 8:30 a.m., only 17 minutes off our planned schedule. Next stop was picking up Kelly at her apartment, but we got to talking and my mind wandered and suddenly I forgot that I had to pick up Kelly. I came to my senses before we got too far down the road, and I made a U turn remarking loudly on the lack of sense of direction of my children.

Kelly was ready and came outside pulling a giant, purple suitcase packed to the gills. The case was larger than the one I had packed for three people and larger than the one Susan had packed for two people. We all made several remarks about her suitcase, but as usual Kelly let that roll right off her back. She rearranged the trunk so that all of the cases fit in nicely and then climbed in behind me in the middle row of the van. Susan was up front with me, and Darcy and Gabby were in the very back. We had plenty of room and off we went.

We had discussed previously that we would eat before we left so that we wouldn't have to stop, but Kelly apparently was not listening (her hearing is going at 50 years of age) or she chose to ignore that arrangement and she promptly wanted to know what we were getting to eat. I was more concerned with directions. I had left the house without researching our route, something that I never do. I am direction-challenged and have been all my life. I have trouble getting from point A to point B unless I know the way. North? South? Couldn't tell you. I want people to give me directions that include "turn right" not "head north". This use to drive my mother madly insane as I would end up in the opposite direction of where I was headed or I would get lost coming from a place I knew fairly well. It didn't bother me so much as I was resigned to it, but her getting upset caused me to suddenly get anxious about directions whether she was with me or not. I tend now to panic and so I make sure to map out the route ahead of time any time I am traveling. I did not do this for this trip, figuring that once we were on the road the GPS on our phones would get us to where we needed to be. WRONG MOVE.

As I headed from Kelly's I was suddenly wondering if I should go right or left (north or south) from her apartment. She was concerned with food, having not eaten per the instructions, and so no one questioned Madison when she told me to go north and then to cut across the state to Pompano Beach. It seemed like we were driving forever. Thank goodness we had stopped and gotten Kelly food before we left the county! We were on the interstate and then we were taken off the interstate to travel down some po-dunk road. Susan commented that it seemed odd that we traveled north to go south, and while Kelly and I made noises about how Pompano wasn't that much further south then the Tampa area, Susan googled it and found she was correct. There are three different routes we could have taken and after paying $12 for traveling the Florida turnpike, we all agreed the route home would be Susan's southern way. Oops.

The day started off sunny, but then we got pelted with rain and darkness. It didn't last long and the sun was out again, but this continued the entire trip. Sun and then terrible rain. Sun and then terrible rain. The last batch of thunderous rain was the kind that made people pull over because they couldn't see, but again it didn't last longer than ten minutes and so I was able to keep on driving, although I was quite tense in the shoulders.

Kelly entertained us the last hour by reading our previous journals from the travel journal which I had thought to bring along at the last minute. In it we learned that we had traveled to Pompano Beach in 2006 by the southern route. Susan did not gloat, but smiled to herself when Kelly read this aloud. We all got several chuckles from the journal.

After almost six hours of driving, longer than the four and a half hours we were expecting, we arrived in the rain at Florida Atlantic University. This was my idea since we were going to be so close to it on the the way to our resort. Why not take time for a college visit? Madison had signed all of us up for the 2 o'clock tour and since it was already two we let Kelly take the wheel after we got out at our destination. She agreed to find a parking spot and return. If I had been her, I would have found a spot and a Starbucks before heading over, but she is a better woman than me. Plus I think she needed a restroom.

Darcy - I am writing this because Madison is being a lovely poo head and doesn't want to talk or actually write in the journal. The college visit, from my point of view, wasn't bad. When we pulled up to the information gate some lady gave us directions that lasted for about five minutes, telling us where to go and why we would have trouble finding parking. We didn't really get any of what she was saying, but much to our bladder's amusement we did found where to go and we were able to release our fluids. Maddy (although she may deny it) seemed quite enthusiastic to go on the college tour. We all packed into a small room and listened to some woman talk, but honestly I wasn't paying attention so I could not inform you of anything she said. Cara - I can't really help either because I was tired and my mind kept drifting off worrying about Kelly finding us and how long this tour would take. I think she was mostly giving a run down on scholarships and SAT and ACT scores, but I was hoping Madison was paying attention.

Darcy - We then were passed off to the tour guide who was a junior at FAU. He was very fun. We started off on the tour with a good size group, but all I could think about was how cute the shorts and shoes were on many of the fellow tour-ers.

Maddy kept hanging back with the family who were farther from the rest of the group. This caused me some stress that she would miss parts of what the guide was saying as this was her college tour. Well, Maddy did not seem to share my concerns when I voiced them...so I just shut up for the rest of the tour. 

About an hour into the tour, Kelly, Gabby, Susan and I wandered off to the bookstore leaving Madison and mom to continue on without us. (Sidenote: FAU is home to some BIG spiders that were hanging in the trees and were quite disgusting leaving me to believe this school will be a no). The bookstore was quite unfulfilling as everything was too expensive. After awhile of wandering through it, we got bored and decided to find our way back to the building we had started from. Unfortunately, the weather decided it did not want us to make our way back easily; we had two umbrellas for four people. Kelly used her umbrella and the rest of us packed under the one the school had provided. Kelly - Let it be known that I offered to share my umbrella! Darcy - Passing through the newly formed rivers in our flip flops we found our way back and waited for Maddy and mom to join us.

Cara -  The FAU tour was interesting, wet, and at times entertaining. The guide was gung ho about his school and gave us insight on the college experience at FAU. Maddy, however, was unimpressed with this (she would prefer to know about educational stuff) and marked this school off the list that she doesn't even have. 

After hooking back up with the rest of the group, Kelly took the wheel and drove us the 18 minutes it took to get to our Wyndham Palm-aire resort. I went in to register, tired and hungry. I tried to look as pitiful as I could in preparation for the pitch to get me to a sales meeting, one of the annoyances I despise about these vacation ownerships - especially in Florida. Daniel, at the front desk, saw that I was a big wig Presidential owner and gave me a unit in the last building to be renovated. He gave me my keys, showed me how to get to the building, and then apologetically sent me to the conceige desk to "get my parking pass". 

There were three people at the conceige desk. Two were standing around as I walked toward the desk and one was sitting at a computer fiddling with it. I was told that "someone would be right with me" as if they had a huge amount of work they were doing and then Lizbeth stepped up and asked me abruptly for my driver's license. I hadn't even had to give my ID to the front desk so I thought it odd, but I didn't question it, just handed it to her and she in turn handed it to a good looking man with an NBA physique and height. He palmed my license and sat down at a computer to what? Run a financial report? A criminal background check? I thought it odd and wish now that I had asked what they wanted my license for.

Lizbeth started out very helpful giving me information on the area and things to do. She recommended dining options and handed me some coupons that she wrote her name on as she passed them over. She looked at me and asked me if I was tired, and when I admitted that I was, she asked, "Why? From what?" in a snotty voice as if she had ridden all day in the car with me, witnessing my day. I wish I could have told her it was none of her god damn business, but she had all ready moved on to the real reason that she stood behind that desk - to get me to a sales meeting. She started pulling out papers and rattling off times, although they were almost full, hurry, hurry. I beat her off over and over, telling her I was not traveling with my husband and that I was one of three owners and therefore could not purchase more points if I even wanted to. She ignored all of this, and finally I pulled out the big gun and told her I had just had a death in my family and that all I wanted and needed was peace and quiet to grieve. Her response? "So 10:45 tomorrow morning?" I finally got away by giving her my cell number and promising to text her if I changed my mind. We were free!

Prepping for Pompano

Every summer my SIS and my niece visit us in Florida usually in June. This year their visit got pushed back due to driving school (my niece, not my SIS) and the fact that my annual trip to Indiana wasn't going to happen due to school obligations. We originally  planned on a two week trip, but then they had the opportunity to travel with my brother to some golf tourney and so they only flew down for a short week. Because we are owners in Club Wyndham, I thought it might be fun to spend a few days on the other coast and so I booked us into a place in Pompano. Wyndham has three resorts in that area, but the only one I could get us into was one that I have visited previously in 2006. It isn't on the beach, but it is fairly close to it and there is a shuttle that will take us to the beach if we want.

Susan and Gabby got here late Saturday night and we stayed up until almost 4 o'clock in the morning talking. While the kids had no problem getting up the next morning, Susan and I were a tad sluggish. Susan, of course, went directly outside.

She stayed there until we left for Pompano on Thursday, even when the skies were overcast and raining, her faithful pool companion at her side.

We also ate out because that is what my brother and his family like to do. I have never met a family that eats out more then them. I've decided I can't vacation with them longer than a week because I can't afford it! I had found an article in our newspaper before they arrived that listed some new restaurants that had opened on the beaches and Madison suggested that we try some of them when Susan and Gabby arrived. She said we should do what we did when we visited Indiana last summer and visit new restaurants and rate them. I thought this a jolly idea and so one night we picked a place on the list and ate there (those ratings will be forthcoming in another entry).

The drink special for the night was Rum Runners for $5 and so Susan ordered one. I wasn't too keen on that and asked the waitress for a suggestion. She named two of them as her favorites, one of which had been one I had been eyeing. It was called the Bahama Mama or something along those lines with banana liqueur and rum and some fruity juices. When the drinks came mine was delicious, but Susan's was nasty. It was full of alcohol that could take the varnish off of wood and while it was pink we did not taste anything fruity in it. Susan inquired as to what was in a rum runner and so I googled it. I found a sight that not only gave us the ingredients, but also the history of the rum runner which I read aloud. I suck at reading aloud. I always have. My mother use to make us read aloud and then when I would stumble over words she would correct me and give me the definition of the word. I'm not sure why I have trouble with words, but I do. It has not improved with age and wisdom so I rarely read aloud to certain people (my husband and Kelly) who might roll their eyes at my mispronunciations.

I was reading about the history of  the rum runner on a site and how it was invented in the late 1950's in Florida. I kept going on and got to this part that said, "A very tasty concoction was developed using the excess alcohol and viola!" Only instead of reading "viola" the way the french pronounce it, I read it "vi-ola". Susan let me read a few more words and then corrected me on the pronunciation. I was sure I had not made this mistake, but Madison, snickering, sided with Susan and in looking back over what I had read aloud I realized I had mispronounced it. Then we all laughed, and ever time someone made a statement or a remark the rest of us would throw our hands into the air and shout, "VI-OLA!". It will now be the hashtag for our upcoming trip for those following along on social media.

They grow up, but I prefer them as tots

While Madison and Tom were away in North Carolina Darcy had her friend Sarina over for the night. Because we couldn't agree on a joint movie I rented something I wanted to watch and they rented something they wanted to watch. While I suppose I should have monitored their choices more closely I figure that rated R movies aren't any worse than what they hear and see at school or out with friends. At least that is what they tell me when I argue about their picks.

Darcy and Sarina watched their movie in the Steelers room, and I watched mine in the living room. The rooms are not far apart. My movie kept freezing on me and the last time that happened I heard the two girls laughing in the other room. I thought how great it was that they have stayed friends all these years and that they still were laughing. Then I heard this:

Laugh, laugh, laugh..."That guy was sucking his dick!"  Laugh, laugh, laugh.

And I remembered when the two girls were like this:

And what they laughed at was goofiness and silliness and hair sticking up and food stuck on the end of a nose.

Sigh.

5 things to start the weekend

1. My family is coming! My SIS and niece will be here this evening for a week. We are hanging here for three days and spending four days in Pompano Beach. Usually we are in Indiana this time of the year, but with Maddy's schedule we knew that wouldn't happen this year. Susan usually comes in June, but with Gabby's driving schedule she had to push it back a month. July in Florida is rainy season (if we are lucky) so I've warned Susan ahead of time. We have had rain all week long, but as it always is in Florida it doesn't hang around all day. We are hoping for a great week!
2. Both girls are driving! Thanks to my friends and my husband the girls have gotten driving lessons. Darcy has more confidence because she has had more experience. She took up my friend, SueG's, offer to drive and they have been out every week. Madison has done more driving with her dad and Kelly, but she did drive with SueG this past week and might continue those lessons. Tom takes one or both girls to The Condo each Saturday to switch out one of the four cars we have now so that it doesn't look too much like a used car lot in front of our house. That is great driving experience. I have kept to my word and not driven with them until today. Today Darcy talked me into letting her drive to Sam's Club. She did great and I did fine. I drove home, however. I didn't think I should start out crazy the first time or she would take over driving ALL the time. I'm not sure my nerves can handle that just yet.
3. My nails are growing! After my mother died I stopped chewing my nails. I'm not sure why, but they are strong and long, at least for me. I file them. I paint them. I use all sorts of decorative things on them. When they are naked I do put them in my mouth so I try to keep them covered with something. It is quite exciting, although sort of a bother. Now if I can just stop putting extra food in my mouth.
4. Orange is the New Black! That is an original show on Netflix that I have started watching. I have to say though that I feel very naughty when viewing it as I'm not a premium cable girl. The nudity and sex is quite open and revealing, but the stories are interesting and entertaining. The show just received several Emmy nominations in the comedy category which I found odd. I laugh, but I feel kind of depressed after watching it. I definitely can't watch more than two episodes in a row as it is intense, but I do enjoy it.
5. There is an APP for everything. I have one child that has bowel issues, but apparently that is quite common now in children. I know of at least four kids that are on a daily regime of Miralax. My child has been to a gastroenterologist, but except for telling her to take Miralax as needed he did nothing. Since she is of an age where I don't monitor that any more I never know there is a problem until there is a problem. The other day I reminded her, once again, that she needed to be more on top of that thing, and I suggested she keep track of her bowels daily. She agreed and then returned a few minutes later to tell me that she had downloaded a poop APP for that very purpose. Now why didn't I think of that? 

Kelly is 50 and older than me!

Today my friend, Kelly turns fifty; half a century. It doesn't seem real to me. The other day I realized that I've been out of high school for over thirty years and lived in Florida for over twenty years. How is that possible? Just the other day I moved out of my parents' house and into my own apartment...in my mind. My oldest daughter will be eighteen years old this November. It all seems so surreal. Maybe too because Kelly and I still act like this:

Years ago I wouldn't have expected fifty year olds to act like that, but now? Now I think it is the norm. I don't feel like the fifty I remember thinking was so old. My hair isn't gray. My body isn't stooped. I don't have a cabinet full of vials of medicine bottles and milk of magnesia. I don't sit all day wishing my children would visit. I take solace in that until I realize that I color my hair, the left side of my body from the knee down is numb and my lower back painful, my medicine cabinet has a couple bottles of pills and tons of liquor, and I sit around worrying about the time I sit around wishing for my kids to visit. And that's when it all hits home. I'm going to be fifty and I'm old.

But...Kelly is older than me! For once I am finally happy to be the youngest in my class. For years I had to watch while my classmates drove and voted before me, making sure to point out that they were older. Now I can point out that I'm younger, and let me tell you that happiness more than makes up for the years of taunting that I received. Unfortunately for Kelly she is the only classmate within hearing distance so she gets all of it. Well, she gets some of it. Her hearing is going so I'm not sure she hears most of it.

Happy Birthday to my oldest and dearest friend. Without you...

I wouldn't have a travel buddy that makes me visit places I would never have visited. I wouldn't have someone that listens to my stories from beginning to end and I wouldn't have anyone that tells me stories in the same exact way (details are important!).

Without you I might have lost my mind after having the second child and wouldn't have known what it was like having a third. Without you I wouldn't know about living with animals, juggling for the I'm Right title, and knowing the feeling of winning at spades big beamo.

 

Without you my children wouldn't have someone else in their lives that loves them like their parents.

Without you I wouldn't laugh as hard.

And without you I wouldn't want to live another fifty years.

July 4th holiday

The fourth of July was always a big deal in our family. It was my father's birthday. It was in the middle of summer and vacations. It was an excuse to play with fire, which I learned was a huge deal to boys. When we were young we always had sparklers on my dad's cake, and I would stage our summer theater/musical performance for that day. We always had a big cookout with the neighbors and we always had fireworks in the evening. Our friends, the Smiths, started the tradition when they visited us on the fourth, bringing a trunk load of fireworks picked up on the drive down in a state where it was legal.

Mr. Smith and my dad rigged up a cannon with a tennis ball can and fireworks and we spent hours chasing balls and projectiles that were shot out of it. We use to move from neighbors house to neighbors house each year and as we grew older we migrated to the street in front of our houses where it was easy to run from the police if they happened to patrol.

We always went to the country club in the morning where the pool would have games and races that we all completed in. They would release goldfish into the pool and we would come home with them in bags and put them in jars where they would last for a few days before the chlorine would finally do them in. The last game of the day would be a huge watermelon that was greased with Crisco and thrown into the pool. Two teams would compete and the first team that pushed the watermelon to the opposite side of the pool was declared the winner. This was the one game that the dads loved to participate in so they could show off their muscles and strength, but their competitiveness coupled with the children wanting to join the fun made for some scary moments. Everyone came out of the pool all greasy, but happy and everyone got watermelon.

As I got older I had to work on the fourth of July. (I outlawed the greased watermelon game) But once the pool was closed we would head home for cake and fireworks and maybe join our friends and head downtown to watch the city's firework display. It was always a good holiday.

I've tried to keep that alive with my family. This year we had friends over and we swam and played water volleyball. We had games where the kids took on the parents and the girls took on the boys. We played cards and board games. Tom grilled hot dogs and hamburgers. Our friend brought fireworks and sparklers. And we all had watermelon.

Hope everyone had a great July 4th!

Bravo to Always and #LikeAGirl

My favorite blog writer posted recently about a video that Always, yes that company, had done called #Like a Girl. Curious, I clicked on it and watched one of the best videos for women that I have seen in awhile.

As I began watching it and the first action was given, I thought in my head how I would do it, and it was very similar to what the people in the video did. When the second action, fight like a girl, was asked I pictured my brother making fun of me for how I made a fist when I punched him. When the third action, throw like a girl, was given I pictured my daughter Darcy throwing a ball and then fighting and then running, and it wasn't like any of what was portrayed on the screen. And I realized that I wouldn't really do any of that in talking about myself. I think I run like the wind, fight like a boxer, and throw like, well, maybe my pitching could use some work. 

When "We asked young girls the same question" came up on the screen I was thrilled that I had thought of all of that in my head before that lit up the screen. And then I got teary because I knew what was coming. Because my younger daughter, while past that crucial age, does believe she can do all of that just as good as Carl Lewis, Mohammed Ali, and David Price. She knows she can run because only one other person could keep up with her in middle school track and she outran everyone on her soccer team. She knows she can fight and throw because, well, why wouldn't she not be able to do so? 

She and her friend, Sarina, were in the other room watching a movie when I saw this video. I made them pause the movie and then I did what the director of the video did. I asked them to run like a girl. Sarina said, "I would run like I myself" while Darcy took off running out of the room and around the inside of our house. They both loved the video. Darcy spent the first semester of her Inquiry Skills class arguing that the textbook the class used was totally out of date because a writing paragraph in the book talked about women in the kitchen and the fact that boys could do everything better than girls. It started a daily discussion of the message in this very video.

I approached the same method to my husband and Madison when they returned from their trip to North Carolina. Tom portrayed everything the man did in the video. Madison, of course, analytically thinking it through and so I just played the video for them. Tom wanted to argue at the end that he only did it the way he had done it because "like a girl" is a connotation. Madison and I explained that yes, that was what the video was trying to discuss. Why? Why is "like a girl" considered an insult? He tried to say that he didn't see it as an insult, but that just fired us up more when we said that the way he had thrown and fought and ran was an insult.

I loved the video. My mother would have loved the video. It would have set her off on a topic that defined her entire life and existence.  While I wish that she could have come to terms with her anger and the men, and boys, and her father, and the world who insulted her I am grateful for the fact that I learned enough from her to realize my mistake at the beginning of this video. I want my girls to still believe like those middle school girls, to know, that they should keep on doing what they are doing, being who they are, despite those who insult them for being "like a girl". They are girls. And they are wonderful and strong and powerful. Rock on girls!

6 month 2014 resolution check

1. To take control of my life both physically and mentally so that I am a happy, healthy person by the time I turn 50.  I have started working out at the gym, joined the YMCA where I've taken yoga classes, an ab class, and swam laps. I have started water aerobics in my own pool daily. I have certainly worked on the physical aspect of this resolution. I have tried to start eating more fruits and vegetables. I have not lost weight, but I don't think that was necessarily the goal here. Mentally, my attitude has taken a turn for the better, I think.  Score:  8
2. To treat my blogging as a job so that I am writing more than the previous year.  Hmm..I would say so far this one hasn't been worked out as much. I think about it so I think that counts at least for a 1.  Score:  1
3. To purchase a new wardrobe and get rid of items that I have held on to for way too many years.  I have done this one. I decided at the start of summer that I needed to toss out items and replace them and I did. I have new shirts, some new shorts, and two new bathing suits. I also am wearing two pairs of shoes that belonged to my mother that were purchased by me for her so that counts. One pair was never worn and the other pair was only worn once or twice, and of course, only on one foot. Score:  10
4. To assist in the college process as needed.  I like how I added "as needed". The one thing I've learned is that I can't hover, no matter how much I would like to. The more I push the more she retreats. I pile up the catalogs and hand them to her each day. I forwarded on emails on scholarships. I saw to it that she and her father got to North Carolina for college tours. I think this one can be considered done. Score:  10
5. To seriously change my language so that the "naughty" words are used less.  Yes, this is one I've worked on for years, but if I'm going to take control this one should be controlled as well. I think that I am still good on this one. Only when I'm around certain people do I really curse so I'm going to have to work on that a bit more.  Score:  7

Total (out of 50):  36 Better than half. I'll take it.

Out of the mouths of my babes

Several months ago Darcy broke out with an itchy rash on her legs. It happened after shaving and so she received lots of helpful advice about razors and different shaving creams from all of us and it eventually went away. It has now reappeared and after trying itching creams and doses of Benadryl she asked to go see a doctor. Since it was Saturday I told her she would have to wait until morning since our pediatrician is only open for three hours in the early morning on the weekends. She suggested we go to the free clinic.

Me:  "The what?"
Darcy:  "The free clinic. The one dad took me to where he just let me go back by myself with the doctor and you got upset about that."

Our hospital chain opened up a couple of walk-in clinics, not free, several years ago, one of which happens to be down the street from my house, and we have used it frequently since I love the doctor that runs it. He was the one that calmed me after Darcy was thrown from a horse while at riding lessons, an imagine that still plays in my head when I find I haven't worried enough. The last time Darcy had gone there was when I was dealing with a crisis with my mom and so Tom had taken her because she was sick over a weekend. She called me from the exam room where he had let her go by herself because she couldn't answer the doctor's questions on whether she was allergic to any medication. I, of course, had a fit that she was back there alone, but I was thirty minutes away and Tom, when I reached him by phone, thought my concerns absurd. It had all worked out okay, but I was still a bit peeved that the clinic had taken her without a parent.

I had forgotten that the clinic was an option, and since I was tired of hearing about how she wasn't getting sleep because of the itching, I drove her there to get some answers. It was not crowded and we got right into an exam room. She hopped up on the table and when the nurse asked her why she was here I interjected and told her. She asked some more questions, which I answered, and then she said the doctor would be right in and left.

Darcy: "Mom. When the doctor comes in I will do the talking."
Me:  "What?"
Darcy: "You just started answering the nurse when she was talking to me. I'll do the talking with the doctor. It is my legs that are itching. Besides I know how to handle this, remember? Dad made me come back here by myself the last time."

The door opened and my favorite doctor came in. He is a super tall Asian man with a great sense of humor and he always takes time and explains everything patiently. He shook all of our hands (Darcy's friend Sarina was with us too) and sat down, pulling his chair up close so that he could look at Darcy. He asked about her itchy legs, and I kept quiet. She began talking. And she talked, and talked, and talked. He kept smiling, asked a few other questions, and then turned to me and began to explain about inflammation and blood vessels and what was happening. He asked me if I had changed my detergent recently. Darcy piped up and answered him. And talked and talked and talked. When he would turn again to me to explain his course of treatment she would interject with something and go off again on a talking streak. The poor guy was never going to get out of there at this rate and so after about fifteen minutes of her telling unimportant details, I gently put my hand on her arm to quiet her, discussed some things with him, and got his course of treatment. He went out to write prescriptions.

Me: "Holy, talk a lot, Darcy! What was that?"
Darcy: "What? I was answering his questions."
Me: "But you just kept talking and talking even after answering him."
Darcy: "I thought the details were important."
Me: "Jeez, I guess you got that from me, but you have to learn when those details are important and when they aren't."
Darcy: "Well, that's how I'm going to learn is by doing it by myself."

The doctor came back in again with the prescriptions and he discussed again what he wanted from her. She again talked and talked and he smiled and laughed. Sarina and I laughed at both of them, and I finally stood up and told both of them their time was over. He shook our hands again and told us to call him if needed.

On the way out the door I pointed to the huge sign that covered a wall above the waiting room chairs that told the fees of all of the various tests and procedures that the clinic charged.

Me:  "Oh, and Darcy? You might want to study this on your way out the door."
Darcy:  "What is it?"
Me:  "The charges that this "free" clinic makes everyone pay upon entering."
Darcy:  "Well, just look at what a learning experience I've had today besides taking care of my itching!"

Namaste

For Madison's CAS, part of her school requirement in the IB program, she chose to learn yoga and signed up at the YMCA to take a class. Because I have to drive her there I joined too hoping yoga would help my back. The Y offers various yoga classes with names like "Flow" and "Hatha" which meant nothing to us, and the description after each one didn't really help. We went to the class in the evening because that is the class Madison looked into a few months ago. It was the "Hatha" yoga.

The first time we went we were running late. I should say, Madison was late. Madison is always running late for things and it is something she claims she is working on, but I have yet to see results. By that I mean that when she makes events on time it is because others have awakened her, harped on her, and yelled and screamed at her. By the time we got there the class had started. It is held in this tiny room with only one window that leads to the hallway. One side of the room is covered with ceiling to floor mirrors and has a wooden bar attached so I'm guessing this room is used for a small ballet group. The yoga teacher had left the door open for stragglers. It was pitch black inside except for a battery operated lantern that gave off zero light for seeing anything. We entered and realized that there was only one spot left on the floor and so Madison took it and I was left to work out in the gym.

The second class we got to early. The room was being emptied of art work that camp kids had done that day and so we all sat outside waiting. By the time the teacher got there we had come to the conclusion that there was no way we would all fit into this room and so we moved down the hall to this nice, big, airy room with windows to the outside as well as floor to ceiling windows on two sides that helped to open up things. I put my mat at the back of the room, which ended up as the front of the room after the teacher decided to move...right next to me. The lights went off and the lantern and music came on and she asked the class who was new.

Now I have done yoga before. Once. Years ago. My friend Sharon and I took an evening yoga class at the wellness center. She wanted to try it, and I went along for support. It was taught by this short, muscular, buff guy who was very serious about yoga. The class consisted of older students, we were the youngest, she in her late twenties and me in my thirties, and it was a damn hard class. I didn't have any trouble, however, because I was young and I worked out every day back then so my arms and legs were strong enough to hold me. The class was very serious with everyone breathing loudly, working their core, and their mind and spirit. Sharon and I did a lot of face making as we twisted our bodies into odd shapes as if we were in a game of Twister. At one point when we were bringing our head to our toes with our hands wrapped around our legs, the man in front of us farted. It was a nice release of air, but it wasn't quiet. Not one person reacted. I was bent, staring at the floor, when I heard it and I knew better then to look over at Sharon. I had to keep telling myself not to laugh, that this was a part of yoga, that good for him that he didn't give a shit about farting in a room full of people, but I so desperately wanted to release my own air by laughing. The more I thought about what Sharon would do if I looked at her the harder it got not to laugh. Sharon, too, was having the same issues and every once in a while a snicker would come out of her and then out of me, and then we would have to cough and try again to relax. We did it. I still to this day don't know how we did it, but we did. After class the instructor, a man who I ended up knowing, suggested we start with an easier yoga class, this one being one for more experienced students. We chatted with him about yoga for a while and then left, and as soon as we got outside into the fresh air, we broke up laughing. We laughed and laughed and laughed. And we never went back. Ah, youth.

I raised my hand as one of the newbies in this yoga class. There were four of us in there and so she taught the class by explaining every pose and flowing each one into the next. We started out standing and by the time we got down to the floor I was drenched in sweat, my mat was drenched in my sweat, and I was huffing and puffing. It was depressing. My arms were shaking from trying to hold my overweight body. My knees were aching from the various twists. I was just so grateful to be sitting that I almost cried. The rest of the workout was more along the lines of what I needed with stretching, but I still could not even get all the way down into the child's pose. Still, when it was all over I felt free. As if something inside of me had shifted. I felt like I had really pushed out all of the worry and embraced my inner strength to open myself to happiness. Both Madison and I did a little bit of crying on the way home.

The third class was back inside the little, one window room and we were all packed in like sardines. I was actually not even in a row with people, but stuffed in the back by some weights that I kept hitting with my feet when she made us raise our legs. I was terrified I would jolt one loose and that it would fall down on top of the woman behind me. I also could not relax with the horrible smell of stinky feet which permeated the room, and my mind kept wandering to why we had started out on the floor (class had already begun when we got there) and whether or not I had been wrong on the start time of the class. It was not a good class for me, and I would have ended my yoga career then and there if Madison hadn't forced me to try again.

This time we went to the Flow yoga class during the day. As usual, we got there late and the small room was too packed for either one of us. We went instead to the gym where I worked out my frustrations with my daughter and her lateness, and the two of us agreed that I should carry on with life and not worry about her being a part of the things she wasn't getting up for. We worked out for an hour and then went back to the small room where a second Flow yoga class was to start, and it was not nearly as packed and the people in the class were very friendly and chatty. We all got to spread out around the room and the teacher introduced Madison because she is so thrilled to have a youngster who is getting school credit for yoga. The class was all over the place, I thought, with the teacher doing poses that seemed to literally pop up in her head. I found it disorganized from a teaching perspective, but have since learned that there is no sequence to follow in this type of yoga and that it is up to the quirks of the teacher and the students. I found it much like the first class in that I was drenched in sweat and huffing and puffing. I didn't have that internal experience that I had the first time, but a few days later my body felt more limber and longer.

I decided that I should try to work with some of the poses myself during our off yoga days to try and improve my strength. I researched yoga and found that Hatha is for beginners and that "you won't sweat" in this class. Oh boy. I started doing some yoga after I shower in the evening and can already feel my stretches going farther then before, and since I'm in charge of what poses I'm doing I find that I'm not sweating. I also slow things down and work more on my breathing as I do the poses. I'll probably try a few more classes with Madison to see if things improve and to learn more poses. Then I can work at home where I can feel better about my yoga farting. Yep, that I think comes with age.

5 things to start the weekend

1. The weather. Yes, I know. I gripe when it is cold and now I'm griping when it is hot. Too damn bad, this is my blog and I'll gripe when I want, and right now I want to whine about the hot weather. One of the issues with living in Florida is the up and down weird weather. While this year we did get a "spring" of sorts before we got the hot weather it feels like the hot weather in June is the hot weather we usually get in July. Or maybe I've just forgotten. Either way the weather is hot, clammy, and stifling. I've been trying to get into the pool daily and even at 9:00 in the morning the weather is all of the above. The pool water is hot and not refreshing. Still...I love Florida, and the weather, and my pool.
2. College visits. When planning our summer I left the last week of June free for college visits. Tom decided that North Carolina would be a good place to go, specifically Raleigh since he spent ten years in college there as there are many colleges within that area. I had a vision of college visits for three of the days and then maybe a trip into the mountains. Our visions were not on the same page apparently as I wanted to drive and he did not. By the time the back and forth had ended Tom and Madison were flying for four days to Raleigh to visit Duke University, North Carolina University, and Tom's alma mater North Carolina State. Darcy and I were left behind, much to her great happiness and joy. I have yet to recover from the snub, although I do enjoy not making my bed and leaving dirty dishes in the sink.
3. First night at home. A year or so ago I would not have slept while Tom was away. I just couldn't. I worried about everything that went bump in the night and about every evil person and thing in the world. Then after years of that I got over it. So when Darcy and I came home after a night of partying with friends I didn't hesitate to walk the dog in the dark. I did check both of the cars that Tom drives that sit out in our driveway, and upon finding them both unlocked, I locked them and only briefly muttered about his inability to listen to me when it comes to locking the cars. Then I went inside and promptly went to bed. It was after midnight by this time. I went right out due to alcohol tiredness. At one o'clock my dog began barking and then howling at the door leading to the garage. When I saw the time I got up, trudged out into the dark kitchen, opened the door, turned on the light and showed him that his daddy was not home and in the garage. I assumed that was why he was crying because Tom is this dog's whole world and I knew he was confused as to why the man had not come home. I shut the door and locked it and started back to bed. That is when I realized that the helicopter that I had heard upon exiting my bedroom was back again. I hadn't paid it much mind the first time as we get a lot of planes and helicopters flying over us during the day, but when I heard this copter the second time I knew what that meant. Sheriff. The department my husband works for has a helicopter that they use when hunting down bad, bad, bad people. The helicopter was flying in circles over my neighborhood, shining a big, bright light down into my backyard and those yards of my neighbor's. My dog would sit on the couch while I moved from window to window, door to door, and suddenly the hair would stand on the back of his neck and he would jump up and begin barking, "Intruder! Intruder!" at the various doors I have that lead to the outside. This went on until three o'clock in the morning at which point the helicopter either caught his man or gave up. I then promptly went to bed and got four hours of sleep before the dog woke me for his breakfast and daily walk. 
4. Teen Driving. I still can't deal with it. I have apologized to my children for my lack of ability to allow them to drive, but I have made other arrangements for them. My good friend, SueG, has been taking Darcy driving each week. She offered the same to Madison, but SueG frightens Madison and so she opted out. SueG frightens Darcy too, but driving outweighed that and so she has been learning with her. SueG had her drive us the night we went out partying. Darcy drove SueG's car and her children to the restaurant and then to KMart where we partied. SueG made me a nice cocktail to relax me before we went and then gave me a sippy cup for the ride. Darcy did very well and SueG's twelve year old son did well by keeping me occupied with conversation in the back seat, but occasionally I did have to close my eyes and pray. It is so weird that I can't handle this driving stuff. SueG is so good at it, talking her through situations and explaining what is needed. She has been through it once already with her older son, but she just has a knack for it I think. I told her I would hire her when I open my driving school.
5. Estate Management. My mother told me that the job of the Personal Representative (the term executor is obsolete now) was a difficult one and time consuming, but I have to say that I haven't found it to be so difficult. I have had a few glitches and problems like the credit card and bank and it is time consuming, but for the most part it has been, well, quiet. The Internet is helpful. The lawyer is helpful. There are weird things that pop up that take time to deal with and make me a bit nuts, but I'm dealing with them. I am amazed at how willing people are to accept it when I say my mother died. I was told to order tons of death certificates because everyone requires one, but so far I've only given out two. The other day Darcy and I went to collect on a loan she had given and the accountant handed over the check without incident and without asking for any identification or death certificate. I had the paperwork and that was good enough for him. I'm thinking I'll write a book of what people should do before they die to make it easier on their loved ones though because the information that is out there is misleading and confusing. I keep waiting for something major to happen that will make me go, "OH, here is what everyone was talking about when they said this job sucked", but fingers crossed I'll be the one person who just sails smoothly through.

Go Windows 8.1!

My computer died, the innards I mean. Whatever that means. I don't understand any of this technical geeky computer talk, and honestly, I have too many other things in my brain to add this to it. Especially when I have the tech computer guru living in my house. Why worry? I depend on him for these matters. And he delivered. He decided for me, after giving me two options, that I needed a new desktop computer, and by that he meant new innards, hard drive, or what not. Again, I don't clutter the brain with stuff like that, which annoyed my mother, but she isn't here now to worry herself about stuff like that either.

Tom suggested I decide between a docking laptop and a new desktop. I researched it, something he has taught me to do, but then he called me from the computer store and told me he thought a desktop was the way to go, and I didn't argue. I like having a computer on my desk because then I have to sit up straight in a chair and it makes me feel like I have a job. Bottom line.

He came home with the new system unit (I used Google) and installed it that very night. Usually when Tom installs or works on a computer it takes days hours. And I mean days hours. I have spent many an days hour sleeping sitting nearby while he works to finish installing or fixing a computer. I didn't expect this installation to go any faster, and so instead of heading to bed that night at a decent hour, I felt the need to stay awake as he was doing me a favor. I would venture into the Steelers room/office and inquire to how things were going. He would grunt and I would head back into the other room to pass the time with television or tidying up the kitchen. At midnight I went in to check up on him and found him cleaning up. He was done. I was shocked. He was shocked.

Tom: "I even put your hard drive into this computer with no problem. I moved some programs, but the rest...well, I don't know anything about Windows 8 so you are on your own. Good luck."

He put the old innards into the new innards' box, and he went to bed. I sat down at the new computer (it is easy to call it that despite having only new innards) and stared at the Windows 8 screen, which looked like the picture below only with strange squares on it that meant nothing to me. (This picture has my new tiles on it now that I've learned all about tiles)

Both the girls and Tom had told me that "everyone" hated the new Windows 8. I found that the Start screen reminded me of my Apple devices only without the touching capability. I began Googling (a bit difficult in the beginning because Microsoft wants you to use Bing as your search engine) how to work this new system and pretty soon I was pinning and unpinning tiles to my start screen which then led to deleting and adding apps. I ended up playing on the computer until 2:00 a.m., and when I went to bed I absolutely LOVED the new system.

I've read a few of the comments on why "everyone" hates the new operating 8.1 system, but I have to say that I find it not that difficult once you play around with it. I've had more problems with going from all the other operating systems in the past then I did with this one. I enjoy the tiles. I like that I can change their size and move them around in position. I like that if I get confused in finding a tile I can click the arrow at the bottom and it takes me to an alphabetized version for easy searching. I like the taskbar and the split screening, even though I have two monitors. I really haven't found much to dislike, and I am pleasantly surprised that I have adapted so well. Usually I am whining and whining about new fangled changes and having to relearn things. I wonder if this means I'm actually becoming techy?

A tweet that just might keep me going

I am working hard at trying to put this fat, old body into some kind of shape. I started going back to my wellness center and have slowly started adding in the weights along with the cardio training. Madison had to join the YMCA to work on the active portion of her CAS project for school, and since I have to drive her there I signed up too. She and I take yoga once a week, and while I enjoyed the first class, last night's class wasn't my favorite. But that is another story. The Y also has an indoor pool, and since my mom died I have decided that I need to get back into the water.

I've spent my life swimming. My mother was a swimming teacher who put me in the pool at an early age. I grew up swimming on teams and then went on to coach those teams, lifeguard, teach swimming and water aerobics, and run a pool. Somewhere along the lane lines, after having kids, swimming laps ended for me. I would swim and the next day have neck pain. Every time we would go to a pool I would swim 200 yards or so just to see, and while that was fine, swimming farther seemed to bother me so I just gave it up.

Lately though, I've been looking at pictures on Instagram of a retired athlete who swims daily. I follow Charlie Batch, retired back up quarterback of the Pittsburgh Steelers, who I've written about in this blog back when he played. I've always loved and believed in Charlie when he played and so I followed him on social media. He swims every day and always posts his time and a picture. I decided that if Charlie could do it, then so could I, and so I got back into the pool.

Darcy and I went on Tuesday night to the Y. We shared a lane with two small girls, no more then ten years of age. They were good swimmers. Darcy was there to work her shoulder per her physical therapist's advice, and I was there to start my Charlie Batch swimming routine. It went really well, although I was tired. I pushed myself, but when I woke up the next day I felt pretty good. I had some soreness in my arms, but that was about it. Feeling thrilled with that, I tweeted:

I wanted to let him know that his daily picture and tweet of his swim motivated me. I think it is important to give credit where credit is do so I tweeted. Then I promptly forgot about it and went about my day. Around three o'clock, Darcy and I were in an accounting office at a country club dealing with some estate stuff when my phone alerted me to the fact that someone had tweeted. I only have family tweets that go to my phone so I waited a bit before I calmly pulled out my phone to find this:

OMG! Charlie Batch tweeted me! He didn't just retweet me. He tweeted me some encouragement! I had to control myself not to jump up out of my my chair and jump up and down. I once read a tweet from a celebrity who was talking about how sad it was that people got so excited about retweeting from celebrities, and I had to agree with the man. But I have to say, that getting a tweet from Charlie Batch changed that because the feeling I got from his encouragement made me want to go swimming right away. Despite the fact that my neck had gone into spasms early that morning. Thanks Charlie! I will slug through it somehow because I know you have faith in me!

Pictures I have found

My mother had tons of pictures for a woman that never owned a camera in the 49 years I knew her. Of course, most of the photos were ones that my dad took and that I have copies of since he insisted on sharing his photos with all of the subjects in them. But she also had pictures of her life before a husband and children, school pictures of us, and pictures she obviously treasured. What I'm going to do with all of these pictures is the next question, but for now I'm just enjoying going through them.

          

The first picture is my grandfather, my mother's father. He died after I was married and living in Florida, but I remember him as the man who always gave us $20 for our birthday, let us have a soda at his store's soda fountain, and let us fill a bag of candy from the candy counter when we visited him at his five and dime store. As I got older, I knew him as the man who caused uncertainty and nervousness in my mother. I can't remember having any meaningful conversations with him, anymore then I did with any of my grandparents, but I'm fascinated with him now that I'm looking at his pictures and going through what little belongings my mother had of his. In this picture I am totally amazed at how much my brother and my nephew look like him.

My mother had a box of pictures of herself that I don't think I've ever seen. Once when I was cleaning out our utility room in Indiana, thinking to making it into an escape room for myself, I discovered a box of her keepsakes and went through a few of the pictures. I remembering finding one of my aunt and taking it to my mom to ask who it was. She wasn't thrilled I was going through her things, but she came downstairs and we looked at some of the photos. Those are here too, but I really don't remember seeing all of these. Of course, as a kid you are fascinated at first, but not really because you can't relate that child or young girl with the woman who is your mother.

There are no dates on most of the pictures nor names. A few of them she wrote on the backs, but most of them are blank so I'm left to guess or to recognize them. The next picture blew me away because at first I thought it was my cousin, and I wondered who the heck the kid was in the picture, and then I realized she was the kid and that the woman was my Aunt Helen. My cousin looked exactly like that at her age!

Then there are the school pictures of my brother and me through the years. She has gobs of those just like I do of my girls. It feels wrong to throw them away, but seriously, how many copies of the same picture does one really need? It isn't like anyone is going to want these pictures for identification purposes. Again there are no dates, but I have my class pictures so I can definitely search those for my age.

Madison had to have her senior pictures taken already for next year. She thought it was silly and didn't understand what the point was of having more pictures, especially since she just finished her junior year. Lucky for her I found our senior pictures and I showed her mine and said, "The point of these pictures is to look back at how hideous you looked at this age and make fun of them."

I hate having my picture taken, and obviously I have always been like this as witnessed in the next pictures. I rarely take a good picture. I'm just happy that my college senior picture was better. I like that one so much I might just start using it for identification. I haven't changed a bit!

Mushrooms and the hunt for them

My mother loved mushroom hunting. For those not sure what that is, it is what it says... hunting for mushrooms. Morel mushrooms to be exact. This is a morel:

Mushroom hunting for morels involves getting out in the woods during the first signs of spring in the Midwest, hunched over at the waist, eyes to the ground in search of the spongy edibles. In Indiana it is another rite of passage along with attending your first basketball game. There was no choice on whether you wanted to go or not in my family, and so I can add mushroom hunting to the list of things I have accomplished.

I vividly remember my hunts; traipsing through the woods near our family farm, one eye on the lookout for snakes and other crawling things, the other eye on the lookout for the fungi. I could have cared less about the whole experience except once involved my competitive nature, as well as my desire to please and fit in with the rest of my family, would kick in, and I would try to get just as many mushrooms as everyone else. I can still remember thinking I was the only one who knew that the mushrooms loved to hide under a may apple plant that had these giant leaves just perfect as a hiding place, and so I would try to spot those leaves first, and the thrill when I would lift that leaf and see a morel. Oh, pure joy.

I didn't go very often once I was a teenager, too much hiking, but my mother went every spring. One of her greatest memories was going to the farm and hunting with my cousin and his two boys. They had secret places that they would hunt and my mother was one of the few they would allow to accompany them. They would be gone all day, just hunting. Once she and the two boys went, just the three of them, and she use to tell us afterwards that she never thought to ask the boys, who were young at the time, if they needed to eat, or drink, or use the bathroom. She said they never complained and never said a word. They just kept hunting for mushrooms.

Once collected the mushrooms are washed and cleaned in the sink to ride them of dirt and small bugs. Then they are soaked in salt water for awhile. From there they are drudged through a mixture of salt, pepper, and flour and fried up in a pan of oil. I can honestly say that while I hate mushrooms of any other kind, I will eat a morel prepared this way. I don't crave them the way my mother did, her mouth would salivate just talking about them, but I enjoyed a few of them as an appetizer or with a meal. Of course as kids we weren't given a choice when it came to food; we just ate it.

When my aunt died a month or so before my mom did and I went back to the farm for the funeral, my cousin talked about the time he took my mom and her friend Jill mushroom hunting. When I told him that it was her wish to hunt mushrooms just one more time he told me that he was determined to get down south to visit her. Unfortunately she died before he could do that so he got into his truck and drove straight from Indiana so that he could be there for her memorial service. He pulled me aside and told me that when he got the news about mom he went out into the woods to mushroom hunt. The first place he walked into there was a large squared area full of large, plump mushrooms, enough to fill a huge bag. Which he brought with him to Florida.

He and my other cousin, who also drove down, fried them up in my kitchen after mom's service and we all ate morels, telling stories of our own hunting trips and stories of mom. My husband and the girls finally got to experience the mushrooms grandma talked about for so long, and we all agreed it was the greatest tribute to a woman who belonged to the Indiana Mycological Society.

Complicated relationships

I always wanted a relationship with my brother when I became an adult. As kids we were siblings, and in my memories, we fought all the time, coming together only when we needed to form a united front against our parents. We played together, but as we moved into our teens we went separate ways in activities. Golf for him. Swimming for me. The two only met when he came up on the tee that sat down the hill from the pool I ran. He was always busy with work, golf, and his girlfriend. He had no interest in being more than what he was with me, but I always craved more.

Him: "Like what? Holding hands and skipping down the street?"

He was smarter than I. He got away. He left home for college and formed his own life away from parental guidance and drama. I didn't. I stayed because I knew my parents needed me. Without a mediator they were likely to kill each other and then what? I went to the local college and lived at home. I regret that decision now, but at the time it was what was expected, although not truly spoken aloud. Once he left any hope of a relationship went with him as he began gathering a new persona and making a new family.

We've always had moments. After his daughter died he use to send me emails in the early morning pouring out his feelings. We never talked about it aloud, just the emails. Once when he was visiting we went off together in a car, and in a conversation we had he told me he would always take care of me if I needed him. Dealing with our mother's illness through the years, there were moments he would send a text encouraging me and he was always there when I called for help. But that relationship I so wanted? Not there.

When my Aunt died earlier this year I got up and spoke at her funeral reading something I had written. When we got into the car to drive to the cemetery he told me he knew I could write, but that he had no idea I could speak. I was stunned and hurt. At least my sister, who I had not grown up with and who really doesn't know me all that well, had looked at him during my speech and said, "Well we know where that comes from." I could not believe that he had never heard me make speeches before. My dad taught me how to speak to a group of people long before he educated my brother. He started out by teaching me how to sell anything and it evolved from there. I was the one who sold the geraniums my brother had to sell for his baseball team every year. How could he not remember that? It haunted me for weeks. I've always been able to stand up and speak. I hosted our swim team banquet every year. I made so many speeches in front of civic organizations after being awarded Employee of the Year for the city I worked for that I can still recite the speech I wrote. I hosted a retirement party and roast for the girls' preschool and kindergarten teacher. But as I went through all of that I realized that he was never at any of those events. How would he ever know what I was capable of? It made me sad.

Several weeks later we were together again sitting at our mother's bedside for four days. It was an experience that will always bind us together whether we want it to or not. During one of those days my brother started speaking, pouring out all sorts of things about his life and his feelings, aloud to our aunt who is very good at getting you to do things like that. I sat in a corner and just listened. He spoke of a person that I had never seen, never knew existed. I hadn't know of the things he had accomplished in his life, of the things he was capable of, of the man he had become, and I realized that I didn't really know my brother any more than he knew me. We were that disconnected. It made me even more sad, but I had some hope that maybe this shared experience would change that. Because we have the ability to make changes.

Then my brother left after the memorial service. We have spoken twice by telephone, both times to discuss the estate I'm in charge of settling. I sit alone to go through the mass amount of "goodies" my mother left behind. I feel a responsibility to be the protector, the caregiver. I felt that during her dying, a need to protect my baby brother from what was coming, to make sure he was okay and getting enough to eat. I feel that now as I read journals left behind, sift through emails, and read letters that she kept. And then as I delved further into things I realized that she too had that kind of a relationship with her own sibling. That need to have more, but not knowing how or not having the willingness to not be judgmental. I'm not for sure, but I think her mother had the same issue with her sister and brother. And so I sit and think about that. A family that could not be more to one another then what was. Each sibling feeling a responsibility; one to stay and one to go. Each time the eldest being the one left behind feeling a sense of abandonment and resentment, but secretly proud of the youngest who got away to make his life his own. But then how sad that neither really knew or knows the other.

I still hope for a chance. I'm lucky I still have that chance; to have a relationship beyond the superficial. But I also know that it won't be easy or be reciprocated. Perhaps it can't be. Family dynamics are hard things to break down, but having this experience has made me look at my own children's relationship and my nephew and niece's. Even now I can see that my oldest daughter is the caregiver, wanting to make everything right within the family while the youngest one, although she cares, doesn't think it her responsibility unless asked. Perhaps it age thing, but I'm hoping that they can all break the cycle; to go on with their lives, but also remain close enough to share in each other's lives, to have a relationship. Then maybe I won't be so sad.