Father's Day

This week is spring break here in our county and there is no school. My youngest will be home when she feels like it for me to mother and friends will be visiting from Indiana. I have decided to take a few days off from blogging and since no one has stepped up to "guest" blog I shall post old entries from my very first blog that I have recently discovered while searching for something else. I've also chosen to post entries that had to do with my father. Today is the anniversary of his death and so I thought it appropriate to post old entries that had to do with him. See you next week!

June 20, 2004

Today is Father's Day. My daughters were up early, tip toeing into the room to see if their father was awake. Discovering that he wasn't up yet, they retreated to their craft table and worked hard on a homemade giant card which they then left sitting on his night table. It was full of coins they had dumped out of their piggy banks and when he finally awoke they gleefully watched him open it. They brought him homemade gifts they had made in school and helped him unwrap them. They clapped their hands in anticipation and in joy when he oohed and ahhed over his new trinkets. It was joyful and innocent and wonderful.

Unfortunately, as we become adults we lose that wonder. Shopping for special holidays has become the norm, but it is just an occasion where we are forced yet again to buy a gift. There is worry and stress as we ponder what to get, decide when we have the time to get it, and check our bank accounts to make sure we can afford it. Being on the other end of it is just as jaded. Do we really need that? What do we need with another pair of earrings that we could go out and buy ourselves if necessary?

My father wasn't like that. My father loved getting and giving gifts. He was the only adult I knew that still had that childlike glee in giving gifts he thought long and hard about and then purchased. He still had that childlike innocence and wonder in receiving a gift shaking packages and guessing while we begged him to rip into the wrappings. He enjoyed Christmas, his birthday, and Father's Day. He didn't care what we go him. He loved everything from ties and tie tacks to golf balls work gloves. He thoroughly enjoyed any tools he received, and anything from Ronco was a great day indeed. Homemade gifts were put with loving care on his desk or bookcase, and he wrote on every gift he received the date and giver's name. He made shopping for him a blast and my brother and I couldn't wait to get his gift each holiday.

My father isn't alive any more. Now I just pass by the books with titles like, "The Greatest Hardware Stores in America" and "Home Remedies to Cure All Ills". I barely glimpse any more at the new laser tools at Sears. I turn away now at the Chia Pet commercials. It is too hard. I miss his excitement. I miss the joy I felt in giving him a gift, and I miss his joy in getting that gift. I miss him.

Today, instead, I will watch my children celebrate their father. I will instead share in their excitement and join in with them on their happiness. Then later, much later, I will tell them the story of their grandfather so that I too can quietly celebrate my father in the only way that I am able to do today.

Outside & In

This week is spring break here in our county and there is no school. My youngest will be home when she feels like it for me to mother and friends will be visiting from Indiana. I have decided to take a few days off from blogging and since no one has stepped up to "guest" blog I shall post old entries from my very first blog that I have recently discovered while searching for something else. I've also chosen to post entries that had to do with my father. Today is the anniversary of his death and so I thought it appropriate to post old entries that had to do with him. See you next week!

June 19, 2004

When I married I made a deal with my husband. It wasn't his idea, but something that popped into my head most likely when he suggested we go outside and trim hedges. At the time I was working. I worked outside all day while he worked inside all day. On the weekends he would want to be outside and I would want air conditioning. I'm positive the deal came to me on a day he suggested we be outside after a long week of me doing just that.

The deal is that I take care of the inside of the house and he takes care of the outside of the house. It has worked well for us. I'm responsible for inside things like laundry and cleaning and he is responsible for outside things like mowing and pool cleaning. It has worked well for us. Until this week. This week my friend had car trouble. Her car would not start. She borrowed a car for the rest of the week and it too would not start. I sent my husband to help.

He spent most of his Friday jumping cars, testing batteries and talking to various mechanics. That night in bed he grumbled, "You women amaze me. You know you are quite capable of calling a tow truck and getting your own car to a shop, yet you don't."

I stared at him in amazement. I thought all men knew that car repair was...well...a MAN'S JOB. I mean let's be realistic. How many women can point out and name the mechanisms under the hood of their vehicles? How many women mechanics are out there with their heads under the hoods? It's not something I'm proud of, but car mechanics wasn't something our fathers taught us. We didn't learn it in school. Does Home Economics ring a bell? I wish I did know more about what's happening under the hood of my car. I would love to drive into a shop for an oil change, stand over them while they work and leave with just that...an oil change. But it doesn't work like that.

In today's world women go in for a $19.95 oil change and drive out with new spark plugs, replaced cables, and look-at-this-filthy-you-need-to-change-that filters. We come out of an oil change a hell of a lot poorer than we were when we went in. It isn't because we believe the mechanic when he tells us we are damn lucky we got here when we did before driving any more miles. It's because of that nagging feeling that if we wave off the plugs, filters, and cables he suggests we might just find ourselves stalled on the side of the road with our car on fire and our children in the back seat. What kind of a repair bill will that be? And mechanics know this and use it to their advantage. It's one of the reasons why no mechanic offers to teach a woman about the inside of a car.

Men, however, are born with car knowledge I'm convinced. Men know that when you turn the ignition key and nothing happens exactly what the problem is that causes this. They understand alternators and starters. They can change a flat tire and change the oil. I don't know how they know all of this stuff anymore then they know how we know to sort our laundry into white and dark piles. It is just the men/women rule in life. At least for my generation.

My father took care of all of our cars. If we had a flat tire, we called my dad. When it was time to change the oil in our cars my dad climbed under the car and did just that. When something made a funny noise in our car and my dad couldn't locate the source he took it in to a car mechanic that knew him by name, stood over him while he did the work and learned what caused that noise. No one tried to sell him parts he didn't need. If we were stranded on the side of the road because our car had smoke coming out of it we called my dad. He never complained. He showed up and took over. He thought it a MAN'S JOB and we did too.

I explained all of this to my husband, asking him if his sisters were car mechanics. He didn't get it. "What I want to know," he asked, "Is what would have happened if I hadn't of helped? Would you two have just left both cars sitting in the parking lot forever?"

I reminded him again of the inside/outside deal. I take care of the inside of the house and he takes care of the outside of the house. To emphasis the point I got out of bed and pretended to look for my van inside of our bedroom. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. I then played my trump car. I went into the bathroom and raised the toilet seat, reminding him how I clean the toilet each week never mentioning how off his aim might be.

"I think I'll take the van in this week," he said, rolling over on to his side and away from me. "It's probably due for an oil change."

Lasagna soup recipe

I've said this more than once on this site, but for those who may be here because of a search I will say it again. I'm not much of a cook. I'm WAY better than I once was, but if a recipe has ingredients I've never heard of I don't attempt it. I like simplicity. I like recipes that don't hold me hostage in a kitchen all day and that don't make me work up much of a sweat. (That isn't so easy anymore what with the whole menopausal thing going one. Hot flashes!) I'm great when my family tells me what they want to eat, but I can't eat tacos every night like my kids can and so I search desperately for new ideas.

The last month I searched the Internet for at least two or three new ideas to cook for the week. I cook about four meals during the week. Friday we have our set in stone TV Viewing Night and we eat pizza. Saturday we eat out or carry out. Sunday my husband cooks. That leaves me cooking Monday through Thursday with an occasional Friday night. Last Friday was one of those nights. I had found a recipe for Lasagna soup, and since it didn't get made during the week I thought it would be great for TV Viewing Night. 

Kelly: "That doesn't sound good to me."

Tom: "Yuck!"

Darcy: "Why can't we just have spaghetti?"

I made it anyway, because the picture that accompanied the recipe looked SO delicious. I found the recipe via Parade Magazine's community site with the heading, 27 Easy One-Pot Dinners for Busy Nights. That link is here if interested. This site had photos and headings that then linked you to the page with the recipe. I made three of the dishes in the past two weeks and all three were tasty (The only downside to two of the one-pot dishes I made was that I had to keep transferring ingredients once cooked to various bowls while I cooked other ingredients. Not so one-pot in my opinion.), but the lasagna soup was a true keeper despite the above three people's reactions. 

The recipe is super easy, has minimal ingredients, and tastes JUST LIKE LASAGNA without the hassle of standing on your feet and assembling it. Plus it is done in half the time it takes to make a pan of lasagna. I thought I would share it since I made believers out of my three doubters by making and serving the dish against their wishes. Kelly liked it so much she made it this week for herself, adding spinach which we agreed would be an easy and delicious addition.

The recipe can be found here. I HIGHLY recommend it for Italian lovers. It is just as delicious leftover, and it is just as delicious without adding the cheeses on top if you want to cut calories. I ate it without the stuff on top the second day because I forgot, and it was still tasty. Add garlic bread and even a caesar salad and you have a very nice meal. 

Kelly: "Tom was so wrong about this dish. It is quite delicious."

Happy St. Patrick's Day 2016

For the past few St. Patrick's Day I have made Reuben sandwiches and green beer, and while that may still happen today, I thought I would write about something more Irish. All my life I've been told I'm from Irish descendant on my mother's side. If someone asked me how I told them my great, great, great, great grandfather came over on the orphan train. "Ah," everyone would say knowingly, but the truth of the matter is I was ignorant on the subject. I thought he came from Ireland on a train during the potato famine. This is what happens when you don't pay attention, and I didn't. Because I didn't particularly care. As a kid I wasn't thirsty for knowledge.

Now that I'm an adult and an orphan so to speak I care. Now that I'm going through my mother's papers I care. Now that I'm at the latter part of life I care. A month or so ago my mother's sister forwarded an email she received from a cousin she knew nothing about. That coupled with papers and pictures from my mother's belongings sent me into genealogy. Where did I come from? Now I was curious. Now I cared.

It isn't easy this genealogy stuff. I thought with the addition of computers it would be, but I was mistaken. I started first with my father's side of the family because before he died my father researched his family and made a nice little tree. I remembered that I was a member of genealogy site, and after searching various papers and files, I found my password and username. The site had been dissolved into Ancestry.com, and while it was still free to make a tree, delving into anything else cost money. A lot of money. Because once you find your history you don't care?

I made a tree starting with my paternal side. The problem with that is you can go crazy. I kept adding people and adding people and before long the entire day was gone. "Great!" I thought. "A project to keep me busy." Next up was my mother's side of the family. I had some information, but not birth and death dates. I turned to the Internet. The Ancestry site helps some with that, but the best site I found was here. This is a site where people who have tons of time on their hands who are very interested in genealogy, take photos of grave sites and post it along with information linking to other grave photos in the same family. I'm grateful to those people because that site got me TONS of information.

It turns out that my Irish relative was my great great grandfather, closer to me than I thought. He did come over on the orphan train, but not from Ireland during the potato famine. I have read and studied now all about orphan trains. The orphan train movement was started in New York and involved children of immigrant parents who had died, who had left their children to fend for themselves, who had placed them in asylums, etc. Some of these children lived on the streets. The founder of the Children's Aid Society got the bright idea of gathering up these children, putting them on trains, and sending them to live and work with farm families, mostly in the Midwest. It was the beginning of the foster care system.

I spent a good part of St. Patrick's Day researching my great, great grandfather's history, but unfortunately, while Indiana was the largest state to foster these children I couldn't find a site that named the children. I have a newspaper article, his grave site, and dates, but I think I shall have to have a librarian assist me or travel to New York to research the archives. The archives from the Children's Aid Society, which is still running today, has names and information because representatives would visit these children in their foster homes and make notes. I would love to find out more about my great, great grandfather's family who were from Ireland. Especially since I have been to Ireland now.

While I didn't have any green to wear on St. Paddy's Day I feel like I celebrated it by working hard on finding the truth. It was like a little tribute to that side of my family and my Irish descendants whom I don't know.....yet.

Keepsakes - Card Shark Book

Lately when I sit down to write entries I feel like I've written about them before. That's what I get, I suppose, for writing about keepsakes and things from the past. I have a search in my entries and sometimes I find what I'm looking for and other times I don't. Yet the feeling still nags at me, and I have to search using different words. Again, sometimes I find it and other times I don't. So if  you feel like you've read this before...too damn bad sorry.

I found this in my container and pulled it out to show my friend Kelly. She made it for me in 1989. I forgot to show it to her when she was here for our Friday TV Night so I thought I would write about it. Not that she reads my blog anymore. She is "too busy" and doesn't have "great internet service" or a "computer". So I've taken to saying, "I wrote about it on my blog" when things of interest happen and if she wants to know about it then she goes on it. Win, win for us I suppose.

I moved to Florida a couple of years after reconnecting with Kelly. She and I happened to meet up again in a college night class while we pursued, and eventually gave up on, another degree. She was living at the time back with her mother in the same neighborhood where we grew up. I was still living at home with my mother and so we began hanging out again just like we did as teenagers. But then I moved to Florida.

 

I moved there in November before my birthday. It wasn't easy to make the big transition, and truthfully, at the time I wasn't so sure it would be permanent. I arrived with a few belongings, but my heart was still in Indiana and there were many days in Florida that it was splintering. I had never been on my own before and being close to my family I had some adjustments to make. This little gift arrived at the right time in my life and it made me laugh and long for my good friend.

It had pictures of so many of our Spades tournaments in those latter years. We were obsessed and we had many parties and late night drunkenness games. My mom would always get up and do chores while someone was shuffling or dealing. She folded laundry, vacuumed, emptied the dishwasher and did other things that "had to be done". We were always yelling for her to come back and sit down and play. It got to be a huge joke which Kelly included in the book.

Kelly is very creative. She thoughtfully picked pictures to tell a story about our card days, but the accompanying dialogue is what makes the book so funny. In the beginning it starts out with us playing cards, stopping to take pictures, discussing various topics and then we have this:

This one is my favorite. "Mid-Game Lice Check". Who thinks of stuff like that from a picture. Of course, we weren't checking our hair for lice. I was obviously making pigtails and Connie was just probably holding her head up so she wouldn't fall asleep at our antics. Yet Kelly put a great spin on the photo. She's wasted her talents all these years. (That's an inside joke of ours)

Those were good times. It's keepsakes like this that remind me of the great times. Because sometimes the hear and now makes me forget the past, and I'm discovering that the past is important to get me through the hear and now.

And who knew that one day Kelly would join me to live in Florida? Sometimes the past foreshadows the future. Either way our past is part of who we are, who we have become, and who we want to be, and for me remembering and welcoming that past makes me feel like a winner.

Birthday Shout Out #10

Okay, I may be getting a tad nuts on the whole birthday shouting out, but I feel if you read my blog you should have a mention. Originally, the plan was for people with whom I exchange cards, gifts, lunches, etc. But then I realized there are birthdays I remember of people from my past, and if they read my blog, I shouted out to them. Then the other day while on Facebook I sent a birthday greeting to someone, and after hitting send all of my friends' March birthdays popped up. The next birthday in the cue just happened to be someone who reads me religiously, and I mean, she is my biggest fan, and even though I had no idea what date she was born on I couldn't let her day pass without a shout out. Because....hello! B-I-G-G-E-S-T F-A-N. She'd stalk me if she could, well, especially in the winter since I live in Florida, but seriously, she is my biggest fan and reader. She loves me.

SO......

Happy Birthday to my cousin by marriage, Jaimee, who doesn't spell her name right spells her name differently just so she can tell people they have screwed up her name. I get it. I use to have to tell people, and sometimes still do, that my name is with a C instead of a K because people are so stupid.

The first time I remember meeting Jaimee was some family gathering, and she was in the group we labeled "young and cute" which probably, if I'm being honest, really meant in our minds, "beautiful with nothing upstairs". And when I say "we" I really mean me. I've always been self conscious about my looks and body image and so I judged others without really knowing them. Plus, she didn't rush over and fawn over me like she does now and that hurt my feelings and made me feel like she didn't even care about knowing me. (And yes, this is a shout out to someone and not all about me, but remember whose damn blog this is and remember that it is therapeutic too).

The young kids hardly joined in with us elders at family events. I'm sure they judged us as well, but again, just like with my SIL, babies started being birthed and suddenly we had something in common. The real first memory I have of sitting and talking to Jaimee was after she had her first baby. I can remember where we were and where we all were sitting during that conversation, and afterwards I remember coming away from there realizing that I had misjudged this woman.

Not only did she have something upstairs, but she was witty and quite capable at holding her own. I went several years without really talking to her again other than a quick "hi, nice to see you" at reunions, but about five years ago we sat down and started talking. We haven't stopped talking since. She is amazing. She has about fifty degrees and knows everything. She has about ten children and manages them and a household all while working five jobs. She is crafty and everything in her house is handmade and her children wear handmade clothes. I don't know how she does it. She's wonder woman.

Okay, all of that might be a slight exaggeration, but just slight. She recently, and quite unexpectedly, birthed baby number four (bur, really after three who counts...it all seems like ten). She cares for her children, works in the medical field, is studying to get her doctorate degree, builds professional dioramas, travels millions of miles with children without blinking an eye, and maintains a home. ALL AT THE SAME TIME. Who does that? Wonder Woman, that's who.

I tell you, she blows me away with her capability, her sense of humor, her compassion for others, and her tell it like it is attitude. She's gorgeous and always put together like she just stepped out of a modeling gig, and she knows everything about everybody who is anybody. And she tells great stories like I do with plenty of drama and details. I just dearly love the woman, and am so thankful that I got to know her instead of sticking to my first judgement, shame on me.

Happy Birthday Jaimee! I'm so happy that you're family, but I'm thrilled that you're my friend. Oh, and my biggest fan. Thanks for that too!

Out of the mouths of my babes

Today there is no school locally. It is the end of the grading period so I believe it is a day for teachers to get their shit together to wrap up tests and projects and enter grades. (I LOVE teachers. Many of my friends and family members are teachers. They are overworked and underpaid, but then again so was I back in the day. Actually, so am I right now! But sometimes I get annoyed when the grades aren't posted weeks after test taking....at the elementary school level!) We slept in today because we stayed up late last night. Madison is home for spring break from college and that is her normal schedule, and since we didn't have anything to get up for we stayed up with her talking. Darcy and I awoke at a decent time, but Madison was still asleep at noon.

I went about my normal routine, eating breakfast, reading the paper, dong some laundry, working the crossword. From the crossword, which I do while drinking my coffee, I worked the Word Jumble, the Sudoku, and the Cryptogram, and when Maddy still wasn't up after all of that I read the Horoscope. I don't usually read that. I use to, but it caused me too much anxiety so I quit, but today I read it. My horoscope said, "Children might be an increased responsibility today. This well may be the case. Frankly, it goes with the territory, doesn't it? Social plans are difficult." Nothing to cause me anxiety. It was true. Both kids were home and needing me for various reasons. As for social plans, I figured that was more for Scorpios with young children.

From there I read Madison's just for fun. It said, "Discussions with a parent or authority figure in the family could be a bummer today. Therefore, avoid these discussions." Hmmm.. I read Darcy's. It said, "This is a poor day for important discussions with authority figures. Things will not go as you hope. Therefore, postpone these discussions for another day. Wednesday is good." I immediately went into the bedrooms to tell this to the girls, both of whom where lying in their beds.

Madison: "It sounds to me like the writer ran out of ideas."
Me: "What? These aren't made up. They are written by the stars."
Madison: "Uh huh."

I wandered off again to change the laundry and run the dishwasher. Eventually I returned to the bedrooms to tell Darcy that we had been invited north for spring break. She immediately came into Madison's room with her computer to look for plane tickets. That then led to talking about our summer vacation which led to searching for places to stay in the destination.

Me: "What are your plans this summer, Madison?"
Madison: "I don't know."
Me: "Are you going to get a job?"
Madison: (mumble, mumble)
Me: "What?"
Madison: "Nothing."
Me: "What? You said something. What did you say?"
Madison: "I don't think we should be talking about his right now. Remember what the horoscope said? How I should be avoiding these discussions? What are we doing today?"

Keepsakes - Odd and Ends From the Bin

On Wednesday, which is usually a day I reserve for a fun, take a deep breath day, I worked. My daughter, the college kid, is coming home today for spring break, and so I spent Wednesday cleaning in anticipation of her arrival. I wanted to dust and vacuum her room and finish organizing the Steelers room so that she won't make the same comments Darcy makes when she enters that room.

Darcy: "It's too crowded in here with these couches."

In that vein I started in that room and the first thing I saw was the tub of keepsakes that I have inherited from my mother. All of that stuff was originally in a huge tub, but in the last month I have worked hard at whittling it down into a smaller tub which I thought would fit nicely in Madison's closet. I do not have a big house. Big houses in Florida are far and few between for middle income families, and thus my home does not have a lot of storage space. The biggest space is the closet in my daughter's bedroom and as soon as she went to college I filled it. She will tell you it was full before she left, but I rearranged things after she was gone, and anytime we had something extra that we didn't know what to do with we either shoved into Madison's closet or hauled it to The Condo, which I have taken to calling "my storage house".

I took the container of mementos that my brother and I could not ditch into Madison's room and stared into the closet. Where to put it? Where to put it? That, of course, is an igniter and the next thing I knew I was emptying the closet and rearranging once more. In the course of all of that I found my tub of keepsakes. My GIANT tub of obviously important belongings.  Who remembered that I had that tub along with my filing cabinet of junk highly classified souvenirs? Naturally, I could not just continue working without first going through it, and good thing I did because also in the box were all of the precious relics items I kept that belonged to my dad. And while I can't put the two together after death, I thought I could put all of their stuff together in the same tub. At least that is what I told myself as I emptied out the container.

This made me laugh. When I first got my license and car and started driving to school my friends wanted to hitch rides. My mother, ever the entrepreneur and saver, insisted that I charge each person that entered my vehicle. "A quarter," she said. "To pay for gas." So I attached this Sucrets box on the dash of my car on the passenger side with Velcro and each person that rode in my car put a quarter in there "for gas money". I had recently told this to Darcy who carts people hither and yon every day and who had scored a discount on voice lessons by ferrying the teacher's daughter to and from play practice. I thought the box empty, but inside were two $2 bills; an item that I found not only there, but also in my mother's box and in the box of my dad's things. I think I netted $10 all together.

This little gem is a recent addition to the container. I have keepsake containers for both my girls and I'm not sure why this wasn't in Madison's box. Both handprints were in there. I took them when Madison was I think six months old (I think it is written on the back, but I forgot to look). It was a huge pain to get them just right and not get paint all over my furniture and all over her clothes. Oh, and to keep it out of her mouth. I made these prints for a photo frame that we gave Tom for father's day complete with a picture of his daughter. It was one of my more creative endeavors with my child if not the only one. Tom kept it at the office and when he made the move into his work's new billion dollar building last year he brought the frame home. I took out the prints and saved them.

Speaking of prints...I didn't even do that on purpose either. I wrote about my love for investigation in my younger years HERE. I was a huge Nancy Drew fan (I still have all of my books) and was given this finger print kit for Christmas one year. While I don't still have the kit I did keep the book in case I ever got into the business. I also still have the homemade investigator's license that my neighbor and co-owner of our detective agency, Robby, made. It was also inside the Sucret's box with the $2 bills. I forgot to photograph that. (Hmmmm...maybe I'll have to get back into that closet to do just that....)

This is a booklet we received in grade school in 1976. I wasn't sure which grade I got this in, I thought 6th or 7th, so I Googled it and found the booklet was done in 1976 with a revised edition in 1978. I really should have taken some pictures of the inside of this book because, quite frankly, it would itself make an entire blog entry. It is hilarious and so NOT helpful. But then in my Googling I found a blog, Moms Who Drink and Swear (which made me just want to spend all day reading her), that has an entry about this same booklet. The entire book is made up of letters from a group of girlfriends writing each other about their puberty experiences, and this blogger put an excerpt from the book on her blog and it was HILARIOUS. Be aware: the blog is called Moms Who Drink and Swear. 

I'm sure I kept this booklet, not because I learned anything from it, but because it was the most ridiculous thing ever for educating girls on menstruation. For sure, it is now, but I honestly can remember reading the entire booklet and feeling something, although not from the subject at hand, but more from the angst of friendship and growing up. I thought it interesting because also in the closet is a tote I won after reading THIS blog entry about periods from my fav blogger at Girls Gone Child. The difference between these two items is night and day, and well, ironic to say the least. All I can say, is thank god for progress.

(Anyone interested in the tote, let me know. It didn't work out with my daughter or the tween I wanted to give it to)

The last item I took a picture of was a cigar I kept from the last pack my dad bought. My dad was rarely without a cigar whether he was smoking it or just chewing on it. Cigars and bald heads were, and always have been, the words associated with him. Once after finagling his way into a championship tennis tournament, he sat next to Maureen Connolly Brinker, the professional Grand Slam tennis champion, and the two chatted all through the tournament. Several years later she called out to him, by name, at an airport in Pennsylvania telling him, "I'd know that cigar and bald head anywhere."

We put the cigars in the coffin with him, but I kept one for...well, who knows why, I just did. The box of Dutch Masters, above, is what houses all of the things I kept that belonged to him. I thought it fitting, I suppose.

I also thought about smoking it as a toast to keepsakes, but decided a glass of wine would be healthier. Here's to keepsakes and memories!

Out of the mouths of my babes

The college kid came home today for spring break. OH MY GOD IT IS SO WONDERFUL HAVING HER HOME. Somehow in all of the time between when we made the flight arrangements and today I forgot that we had her coming and going on two different airlines. I thought she was on the airline that zooms right into our local airport and is a hop, skip, and a jump from our house. I was happily drinking my coffee and blogging away on the day's post (which will now be tomorrow's post) when hubby came in and reminded me we had to drive 45 minutes to the "big city airport". I argued thinking he was nuts, but turns out I was nuts. Oops.

We were late. She was early. She had her luggage when we pulled up so there was no parking and no fees to be paid, and I didn't care if the airport police arrested me for jumping out of the vehicle, but I had to hug my girl, and kiss her, and hug her, and kiss her. SO good to have her home. We got her tucked into the backseat and headed back across the water to our side of the bay. Her sibling talked the entire way and through our entire lunch (chosen by daughter who was dying for a Firehouse Sub). At one point we got some words in too.

Me: "Are you going to school to visit your high school teachers at all this week?"
Madison: "No, I don't think so."
Me: "You don't want to have them ask you to talk to the seniors or juniors like some of your friends have done during spring break?"
Madison: "No one asks me to do stuff like that."
Darcy: "Well, so and so came back and talked."
Madison: "I heard."
Darcy: "What? How?" Looks at me. "Wait! Mom! You told her?"
Madison: "Yes, mom told me."
Darcy: "Stop that! Stop telling Maddy my stories."
Madison: "Well, you don't call me or talk to me when I'm at school to tell me these things."
Tom: "Yeah. You don't call her to talk. Don't you have things to tell her? Don't you miss her?"
Darcy: "Seriously? Clearly I do. I haven't stopped word vomiting since she got into the car."

After twenty plus years I have new couches

I come from parents who made big purchases and then used the hell out of those purchases for years and years until they got more than their money's worth on the items before replacing. My mother drove the same green station wagon all through my childhood, used the same appliances that came with the house, and other than recovering it we had the same furniture from the time I was born. That mentality has worn off on me, and I married a man who isn't keen on spending money when the items work "perfectly well".

Me: "Hey, can you throw this laundry hamper in the neighbor's trash since her garbage gets picked up this morning?"
Tom: "Why?"
Me: "Because the bottom is broken, it's too big, and I don't want it anymore, and I forgot that yesterday was our trash day."
Tom: "Then the neighbor will probably see it and pick it up and have a perfectly good hamper."

I drove the same vehicle for fifteen years before we replaced it. My couches have lasted twenty one years and would still be in my living room if I hadn't started whining and saying, "new couches" every time I was asked what I wanted for birthday, Christmas, Valentine's, and Mother's Day. But new couches I did get, and after several months of building the frame, tanning the leather, and stitching it all together in Italy, they arrived this week. On Saturday I suggested we move the old couches into the Steelers room the next day. Tom agreed, but on Sunday he got into the leaf raking project and was too tired to move couches and so I did it. With my bad back and my numb leg, and with the aid of my furniture movers, I moved the couches, the end table and the coffee table into the back room.

Darcy: "I hate it in here. It doesn't match and it is too crowded. Why do they both have to be in here?"
Me: "I like it. Makes the room cozy. We can get rid of those two entertainment chairs and this room will be nice."
Darcy: "I'm not getting rid of my chair! You can get rid of one of them."
Me: "Then put the other one in your room or stop whining about how crowded it is in this room."

When we first went furniture shopping I knew I wanted something light. I'm not much of a decorator, but when we first began fixing up the house I was pleased with the color scheme I came up with of reds, greens, and blues, and I made sure that we got blue couches to match. It looked very nice and when my decorator friend came in ten years later to give the room an update we kept the same color scheme so the couches would work. The room was dark and even with new lighting and nothing on the windows it is still darker than I would like it so I thought going light in a couch color would work. We ended up with a medium gray which the sales lady said was the new color because it went with everything. The floor sample was a dark gray, and I loved it, but it was very much like my navy blue couches. Another floor sample was a light gray, and I hated it. The only thing in the showroom that was in the medium gray was an ottoman and the saleslady also showed me a swatch of the color. I was hoping I was going to like it in a couch.

I told Tom I wanted him to be home when the furniture was delivered as there would be electric cords and stuff for him to handle. Plus, I wanted him to look it over too in case there was anything wrong with it. He and the furniture movers arrived at the same time on Monday. I was nervous about the color and peered out of the window as they unloaded. When I saw it for the first time I was thrilled. It looked more blue than gray, but it looked pretty. It wasn't until they hauled them into the house that I realized they were wrapped in blue blankets.

But it was fine. I loved the color when everything was unwrapped. We ordered a couch and a love seat, but they come in four pieces that are interchangeable. The guys showed us how to attach them and then plugged everything in and tested all of the mechanics. I went around looking for issues, discovered none, and the two men left us to our new couches. Tom and I played around with the arrangement and then he went back to work while I sat on all four pieces. I loved them!

Darcy: "I don't like them. They look too modern. Too weird. Why did we have to change?"
Me: "I like the modern look."
Darcy: "Ugh. And they are too firm. Why are they so firm? I liked our comfy couches."
Me: "Well then go sit on them in the other room. And just so everyone knows there will be no eating or drinking on these couches. And the dog isn't allowed on them either."
Darcy: "And I don't like those rules. Why did we have to get new couches?"
Me: "We asked you come with us to help pick out new couches and you didn't so you can't complain. You could have had a voice in the matter."
Darcy: "Pfft. You wouldn't have agreed with what I liked. Now we have to paint the walls. The couches don't match the walls."

She was right about that. With the lights on, the couches made the walls dingy. While the sales lady had told us the gold would be great with the gray she hadn't seen my walls in person. They went great with my red accent wall, but not so great with the gold.

Tom: "We can paint."
Me: "Really? You'll paint? Because I did the entire room last time and I know I can't do it alone this time."
Tom: "Let's live with it for a week before we decide."

So that's what we are doing. I've purchased some accent pillows to match the couches and the red wall. The couches are growing on Darcy.

Elliot was annoyed the first day, but caught on quickly that he was not allowed on the couches. He would give me a pitiful glance that said, "Really? You're really doing this? Sigh." By the next day he would come over to the couch, look at me, and ask, "Is that rule still in effect? I'm still not allowed? Really?" Then he would walk back to the kitchen or to the tile and sigh. By the end of that day I couldn't take the sad face. But it's just our little secret. When anyone else is home he isn't allowed.

Darcy: "He's just going to do it when you aren't home."

Me: "No, he isn't. He's a good boy. And you're a good girl so no eating or drinking on it. I'm serious."

And I am. 

Birthday Shout Out #9

When I made the resolution on the birthday shout outs I was referring to the people that I normally exchange birthday greetings with, but as I hobble along with this resolution I realize that I remember a lot of people's birthdays even if we don't exchange cards. Facebook birthday postings have made that easier, but I still have a few friends and neighbors whose birthdays I remember and so I'm shouting out to those whose birthdays I have celebrated in the past. Plus, they read my blog and I'm so very grateful for their support!

Today's shout out is for my former childhood neighbor Barry who lived across the street from us. We lived in a great neighborhood where all of the kids hung out and played with each other. Barry's house was our house and vice versa, and we came and went into each other's abodes without hesitation. It was a different time where your neighbors were as much a part of your family as your own, and we always celebrated birthdays with each other.

Barry was in the same grade as me, although we only shared a homeroom one year. A good part Most of the time he was annoying like my brother. He and my brother, and a lot of the time Barry's brother, ganged up against and picked on us girls; his sister and me. Despite that we had each other's backs against everyone else's even if we didn't have it against each other.

When Barry got a job at the local pizza joint we would come in to pick up our pizza doing things that we hoped would embarrass him, but secretly it was cool to know him. He was involved in a lot of our fork lore shenanigans, including the after midnight stuck car in our back yard. He was the first person to take me out of the neighborhood on my bicycle. Our parents let Barry, his brother, and I ride our bikes to a hot dog restaurant down by our nearest high school, and I remember how bossy direct he was in telling us what to do issuing safety advice while we rode, but that trip gave me confidence to explore outside my comfort zone. He was the first to drive and the first to get his license, and although he griped about it, he did chauffeur us to various places and activities.

Eventually we all grew up and moved on and kept in touch via the parents. The last time I truly remember seeing Barry was during Christmas on one of my trips back home. He brought his daughter over to introduce us to her. I couldn't believe that the boy I knew was a man, let alone, a father, but he was the best dad playing with her on the floor, talking baby talk, and anticipating her moods and her needs. It was also a relief to see that he had turned out to be a decent human being. I remember being very impressed and also very proud that he had turned out to be a strong, yet caring father.

Now we have reconnected through social media again and I get to see his bald head, pictures and read about his life. Happy Birthday Barry! I'm glad we are back in touch because you and your siblings really are a part of our family.

Raking more than leaves

Friday night we had a roast of sorts for my neighbor who died. A few of us in the hood got together with Sid's girlfriend, her daughter and husband, and some of our former neighbors for cocktails and munchies and we told Sid stories. We ended up telling neighborhood stories, and since quite a few of our neighbors have died, we sort of roasted all of them too. It was a fitting tribute to a good friend who did not want a memorial or a funeral service.

Saturday morning Tom went outside to rake leaves. I had my coffee and some breakfast and then, because I'm working hard on my exercise-get-into-shape resolution, I went out in the front yard to help him. I took over the raking portion of the job while he started bagging the piles he had already completed. As I worked I wondered about how long it had been since I had raked leaves. As kids we raked leaves each fall, and I thought about all of the fun times we use to have building houses and running and jumping into the leaves. I thought about how Darcy should be out helping her parents and that triggered my memory of the last time I did rake at this house. It was six years ago and my kids had been playing in our neighbor, Garnet's, yard with Elliot and her dog Coco. They were swinging on dead palm fronds on her palm tree, and she and I stood and talked.

At some point in our conversation the leaves from our trees was brought up and the girls begged me to rake so they could jump in the leaves. We borrowed a second rake from our next door neighbor Howard and we raked leaves. Eventually the girls and the dogs jumped in the pile I made while Garnet and I stood and laughed. Sid sat out in his garage and watched the girls yelling out that I should come into his yard and continue raking.

As I raked on Saturday all of those memories were rushing through my head, and I thought how cool it was that this little activity had actually involved three neighbors who were no longer around. I thought about how my girls had enjoyed that day running and jumping through the leaves, and that now it was just Tom and me doing the job because it needed to be done. Darcy did eventually make the mistake of driving up while we were working. I commented about how she was off filling her tank and making purchases with my credit card while we worked, and so she sighed and joined us in the activity. We all took turns raking, blowing, and sweeping because we only have one rake, one blower, and one out door broom, and no Howard anymore to borrow those items from.

Later, after lunch, I found the blog entry I had done on the raking of the leaves that day, complete with the video I had made. I used the song, Autumn Leaves, to accompany the video, and as I watched it I couldn't believe how that song, the video, my kids growing older, raking leaves, the loss of my neighbors, and our roast the night before had all come together full circle. Life. It's interesting, and sad, and wonderful.

Here is the video with a few additions:

Weekly adventures with my gal pal

My SIL recently wrote about her adventure with her friend Tara, and on the day that I read it I was waiting for my own friend, SueG, to pick me up for our own day of adventure. I thought that fitting. And then our day began and it was as usual hilarious, blog worthy, and even more fitting. Funny how things work like that.

Our goal that day was to pick up some items from Walmart. I needed to ready The Condo for a friend of my brother's who is coming down for a golf tournament. SueG needed a plastic container with drawers for the junk items we recently had cleaned off of her cluttered dining table and some crafting materials for her daughter's school weather project. We also planned to grab some breakfast or lunch or both, and to visit a religious store because I needed a Baptism gift for a friend. We went there first.

The store was one that SueG had seen, but had never entered. She is not a religious person at all despite her Jewish upbringing, and she kept referring to it as "The Jesus Store". As we entered the parking lot, a car sitting in a parking spot edged forward as if to exit, and SueG, who is a crazed-road-rage driver, sped up so that the car was forced to stop while she pulled into a parking spot opposite him. As she did this she spewed a few choice words aloud. She parked the car, still mouthing off, and I touched her arm to quiet her.

Me: "That was totally unnecessary, and I think before we go into this store..."
SueG: "The Jesus Store, you mean?"
Me: "...and before we go in here we need to take some deep breaths and rid our bodies of any anger and tension. So close your eyes and take a deep breath in through your nose."

I began inhaling and exhaling, but she refused to follow my example. She made some snorting noises and sniffing noises, but I continued, desperate to get her to relax.

Me: "In through your nose. Come on inhale. And then exhale through your mouth."
SueG: "Let's go into the Jesus Store and get your gift."
Me: "You keep talking about how you should come to church with me, but you're not going to be able to do that because we do that meditation in church, and if you won't do it here then you certainly won't enjoy it there."
SueG: "Remind me to take some Sudafed before we go to church and I'll be fine."

The gentleman in the store was very helpful and we were in and out in a few minutes with no incidents. We went next door to Panera Bread and had brunch, and felt we were way ahead of schedule which left us plenty of time to peruse Walmart. We went there next, a store that isn't our usual haunt, but one where I had gotten my fabulous thread for the scarf I made Kelly.

SueG: "You mean yarn."
Me: "Yarn, thread. It's all sewing to me."

We got our baskets and headed off to find what we needed. Somehow in our roaming we ended up in the bedding aisle, and I spotted a quilt that was of interest to me and headed down the aisle. I got to the end of the aisle which was split in a T shape so that I could go left or right. To my left was a woman in an electric cart, and to my right was a Walmart employee assisting her. Both ladies were laughing and talking loudly, and as I came to the end of the T, the Walmart employee asked me if I needed to get through.

Me: "Actually I was just coming to join the party because it sounds like a lot of fun down this aisle."
Cart Lady: "Every day is a party for me. I'm retired. I'm looking for a new bedspread and this woman is helping me. She is in charge of this section."
Me: "Well, I'm thinking that I need that quilt right there to go into my purple bedroom."
SueG: "You don't need that quilt."
Me: "You don't know what I need, but it is that quilt."
Cart Lady: "Don't try to talk her out of it if she wants it. It's beautiful. What do you think of the one that I have?"
Me: "It's colorful."
Cart Lady: "Maybe I need that one up there."
Me: "The orange one? Ugh. I don't like orange."
Cart Lady: "You don't? But it's so colorful. Get that down for me, would you? I want to look at it."
Me: "Is your bedroom orange or this blue color?"
Cart Lady: "No, but who cares?"
SueG: "Exactly. Who cares? Get that one. I like it better then the one you have in your cart. It looks like an old pattern from Little House On The Prairie where Ma sewed the quilt all day while Pa worked out in the fields. Give me that one. I'll put it back. Get the orange one."
Me: "I bet you never even watched Little House on the Prairie. Maybe she likes this one."
Cart Lady: "I don't. She's right. Give me that orange one."
SueG: "I did too watch that. And see! She agrees with me."

While they were exchanging the quilts a man came up to us in another electric cart, but couldn't get past us as we were all in the way.

Me: "Hello. Are you here to join the party? Or are you looking for a quilt? Do you need our help or do you just need us to get out of your way?"
Cart Man: "Oh, no, you're fine. I need to find some sheets."
Walmart Lady: "What size?"
Cart Man: "King."
Walmart Lady: "Individual sheets or a set?"
SueG: "What thread count?"
Walmart Lady: "That aisle has 200 thread count or 250 with both sets and individual sheets."
Cart Man: "I don't know what those numbers mean. Are they important?"
SueG: "Oh, yes they are important. The higher the thread count the softer the sheets."
Me: "What color are you looking for? I hope you aren't looking for orange."
Cart Man: "It doesn't matter. Just some sheets. A set. I don't care what number they are."
SueG: "Yes, you do care. You should. You don't want some low number that will scratch you as you roll around in the night."
Cart Lady: "That's the truth. That's why I sleep on the quilt. I'm going to put this quilt on top of the quilt I have on my bed and lie on top of it."
Me: "That doesn't make any sense to me, but I'm going to let that one go as you obviously have what you want in your mind. As for the sheets, I bought sheets in the next aisle for my daughter. She loved them and they are a 300 thread count. I can recommend those, but they are a little pricey."
Cart Man: "I don't care about the price."
Walmart Lady: "These 200 count are nice sheets and come in a lot of different colors."
SueG: "No, don't get those. If price doesn't matter then go with the higher thread count. Those lower counts get pilling with those little balls. You don't want that."
Me: "Yeah, go with the 300 those are nice sheets."
Walmart Lady: "This is my department, and I know my sheets. I purchased those 200 sheets for my nephew, and I've slept on those. The 250 ones too."
Me: "Are you saying you don't want us butting in?"
Cart Lady: "It's too late for that! We're giving our opinions anyway."
Walmart Lady: "I'm saying you all are crazy, but those sheets in that aisle are just fine."
SueG: "Okay, then, if you say they don't pill I'm sure they are fine. And the cost is right."
Cart Man: "I'm looking for sheets for our new sleep number bed. We just got it two days ago. Spent $7,000 for it, but it didn't come with sheets and our sheets aren't long enough."
Walmart Lady: "You mean you need a California King? Well, let's see that's going to be 84 inches long."
Cart Lady: "How much did he say he paid for a bed?"
SueG: "$7,000. Those beds are expensive, but worth it I hear."
Cart Man: "Let me show you something. I have the bed on my phone. Look. This is going to blow you all away. This shows how I slept last night, how many times I moved around. It tells me all sorts of things right here on my phone about how I slept. Isn't that something?"
Me: "You only slept 64%?"
Cart Man: "Look, here's my wife's stats."
Me: "Well, she only slept at 62% so you have her beat. But that's just typical. Husbands always sleep better than the wives."
Cart Man: "We had some trouble with our son yesterday so that's probably why we didn't sleep so well."
Cart Lady: "I hope that's it, because for $7,000 you should be sleeping at least at 90%."
Walmart Lady: "The 250 have California king size sheets. You'll like those."
Cart Lady: "Okay, that's it everyone. Party's over. Get that man his sheets. I've got my quilt. Are you getting your quilt?"
Me: "No, I don't think so. My husband would probably kill me. I'm not sure it's heavy enough."
SueG: "Heavy enough? Are you nuts? Winter is over. It's just going to get hotter. You don't need anything heavy. Not with all of your hot flashes. Give me the quilt. I'll buy it for you."
Me: "No, you're not buying me a quilt. Don't be ridiculous. And I like a little heaviness on me at night."
SueG: "You're weird. You do not. This quilt is perfect. I'm putting it in my cart. Let's go."

She put the quilt and the matching pillow shams in her cart and strode off past the Cart Man and Walmart Lady out of the bedding aisle.

Cart Lady: "She told you."
Me: "She's always telling me."
Cart Lady: "I use to have a friend like that. We did everything together; went shopping, out to eat. We had so much fun. For a year we had a blast."
Me: "What happened? Ah, jeez, you aren't going to tell me she died are you?"
Cart Lady: "Well, she was 93, but no. She met a man."
Me: "Yep, that'll do it."
Cart Lady: "She got herself a man that lived in our complex. He lived upstairs and she lived downstairs. He had to kiss her every night before he went to bed and he would go all the way downstairs to do that, and then do it again in the morning because he had to kiss her good morning every morning. It was just ridiculous. And what did she do?"
Me: "Kiss him back?"
Cart Lady: "She moved in with him! And that was the end of our fun. She moved in with him despite her daughter telling her not to and me telling her not to. I don't need a man. But she did it anyway."
Me: "I'm sorry."
Cart Lady: "Well, some of these ladies are just zipper hungry, and there isn't anything you can do about that. But I sure do miss our fun like what you two are doing today."
SueG Texting: "Stop talking and let's go!"
Me: "You could join us. Maybe we should meet up each week and offer bedding advice to anyone who wheels through here."
Cart Lady: "Now you're talking!"
Walmart Lady: "I heard that!"
SueG Texting: "It's a long walk home. Stop talking!"
Me: "I'm being summoned. It was nice talking to everyone."
Cart Lady: "The party is over everyone."
Me: "Want me to sing? Then for sure we know it's over."
Walmart Lady: "This was the most fun in my department in years."
Me: "I aim to please. Good-bye everyone."

And we all went our separate ways. SueG and I got all of our items. She bought me my quilt. From Walmart we went to a gas station where I insisted that SueG punch in my rewards card number since she didn't have one. She had to get back into the car to roll down the window to hear me give out my ten digit number. She did all of that, inserted her credit card, and was rejected. She had to go inside, muttering the entire time that it was all due to my stupid rewards number. The lady pushed some button to work the pump and SueG got gas and then headed over to the car wash attached to the station. Someone was in the wash ahead of us so she punched in her number and we watched the car in front of us get washed. As he exited, SueG immediately went inside the car wash and the car behind us pulled in to wait for us. The button on the car wash kept flashing red and she went forward and then back and then forward and then back to try to get it to green.

Me: "You didn't wait until the first car got out. So that didn't trigger your turn. You had to be in such a hurry. The machine didn't tell you to go."
SueG: "%$^#%$^$! I can't back up to the machine because that asshole is behind me."
Me: "You mean the man that is as impatient as you?"
SueG: "Don't start in with that breathing crap again. Get out and go punch the machine. Make it work."
Me: "Wait! Are you going to sit here while I do that or are you going to go forward and trigger the car wash so that I can't get back in without getting wet?"
SueG: "I'm going to wait right here, breathing in and out through my stuffy nose. Dammit! I forgot to get Sudafed at Walmart. Wait! It's green. Close the door. We're good."

And we were. For another day. Until our next adventure bringing joy to all of the people we meet. Namaste.

SueG: "You aren't going to put that on your blog are you?"
Me: "Namaste? Yes."
SueG: "You're full of shit."

RIP my dear neighbor

I lost another neighbor this week. When we first moved into this neighborhood back some twenty years ago we were the "young'ins". In the last five years we have lost our neighbors to death, a move due to financial reasons, and a move to be closer children. Now we are the elders watching the "young'ins" move into homes we know like the back of our hands. It is a strange feeling, but one I felt I could deal with as long as I had my peeps; two neighbors across from me who also refused to leave.

A couple of weeks before Christmas my neighbor Sid got the news that his melanoma was back and had spread throughout his body. The doctors gave him three months. He didn't quite make that. He died at home early Monday morning. It was not something any of us expected to happen when we gathered in the street to whisper about all of the new neighbors moving into the hood.

I've written about Sid on this blog before here and here. I've mentioned him countless other times. He helped paint the exterior of my house with my next door neighbor (who moved away a year ago), built a doll house that my kids played with for years and that we still own, and he provided countless suggestions and advice on my life. After his wife died five years ago, he spent hours writing novels that I edited. He took a college course in writing at our local college and had me help him with computer skills and rewriting of his essays. He was very crafty and built and created all sorts of furniture, collectibles, and items people couldn't afford to purchase. He repaired a rocking chair that my mother had and couldn't find anyone to help her fix. He was always willing to lend a hand to any neighbor who needed it, and he always had the tools to do the job.

He was a retired police officer from Philadelphia, had an arsenal in his house, and was always the first person I told my kids to run to if they had trouble when they were at home alone. He had a huge train collection that he brought out at Christmas time, and he always invited all of the kids to come over to see his display. He never did anything halfheartedly, but was a perfectionist and it showed.

He came across as gruff, but deep down he was a softy. He wore his heart on his sleeve and was not afraid to show his emotions. Many times he broke down and cried while talking about his wife's death and the loneliness he felt without her. He loved her more then any man has loved a woman, but he also had more to give and had found a companion who was with him at the end. 

I last talked to him two weeks ago after hospice had taken over. It was a brief conversation, but I got to tell him I loved him. And I did. I'll miss seeing him outside messing around in his garage. I'll miss sitting in the back of his truck, our feet dangling, chatting about anything and everything. I'll miss his humor, his craziness, his funny emails, and even his smoking because many times the smell of his cigars would come through my windows and make me think of my dad. Now when I smell that I'll think of him too.

Good bye Sid. Thanks for the memories. May you and Sharon find each other in the afterlife and live happily. You won't be forgotten here in the neighborhood. Your absence will just be another hole in all of our hearts as we watch the "young'ins" from our rockers on our porches.