When my kids were infants I used to wonder what in the world they were thinking about. As their language started to form, and words were uttered I was delighted in their new found connection with the world. Tantrums and crying were just another way of expressing their frustrations and needs. The terrible two's made way for the three's and four's. Now I am in the teen's with my kids. It's basically the same tantrums and frustrations, it's just that we now look eyeball to eyeball, not in opinion always, but in physical standoffs. These last years, I have figured out the terrible two's. My dad is 88 now, and acting like a two year old. He has Alzheimer's. I am watching the clock go back, as he is loosing it all, sometime in little bits and sometimes in big chunks.
I remember hearing my kids make silly and absurd comments and laughing at them. "how cute and clever" I said often. When my frail dad looks at me and says "who in the hell are you" its not so cute or funny. The flashcards I used to show the kids to help them learn what things are called, are useful now. At breakfast the other day, he couldn't figure out what was missing on his plate. It was flat, and brown. We used the menu like a flashcard, and discovered the word he always knew, was lost. Bacon. The hardest "lost word" was ketchup. Ketchup and my dad, have always gone hand in hand. Its really how my mom and dad met, many years ago. Over a bottle of ketchup. In a mess hall of 1500 men eating a holiday dinner of ham and the trimmings, only one guy asked for ketchup. The staff, led by my mom, paraded down the aisle with a huge commercial tin of ketchup, held high on a tray. She put it down in front of my dad. Five kids later... every night, at 5:15pm exactly, my dad was home from work. At 5:30pm he was surrounded by two boys and three girls, waiting to eat dinner. We all had our favorite seats. My place was next to him. In fun, we would always dip our meat in his ketchup. He would go on and on, about who stole his favorite food, to the giggles of his mischievous kids. He just looks at the bottle now. That brings tears to my eyes.
I used to help my kids get dressed in their silly, not matching outfits. It was what they wanted, and I wasn't going to go to fashion war over it. My dad forgets what a shirt is, and how to put it on. Sometimes its backwards. It doesn't really matter. It certainly isn't cause for a fight. I've had to let go of the dad I once knew, and am getting to know the dad he is becoming. Its hard though, as he changes minute by minute.
My childhood home was a neighborhood urban legend growing up. It was where friends would stop by, just to see what my family was "in to". We had welding tanks, and pottery kilns. We had workbenches with balsa wood airplanes, and train boards. We had racing pigeons, and a mean duck that never quacked. My mom got Chester to eat the slugs, when all Chester wanted was our barefoot toes. Now, friends want to see the booby trap my dad set up to keep robbers away from his tools. Its a brick that sits up high, and when the drawer is open it falls and crushes anything in its way. He is quite sure that his grandson is the robber.
We ate lunch recently at Frosty Freeze, a special old hangout of my family. My dad was convinced that the gathering lunch crowd of day laborers thought we were movie stars. It was a moment of pretend that made him feel important. In my rush to grow and mature, I've forgotten how to pretend. He just reminded me again of the magic of being anyone you want to be.
My dad is in the terrible two's now. He has tantrums and throws food. He refuses to eat, doesn't want to use the toilet, or take care of himself. For any parent, we remember that stage. I just never expected to see it again. His life is rewinding, back and back, as I watch it all in reverse.
Now...would you please pass the ketchup?......I need it for my ham!
Sunday, October 02, 2005
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Love of Flying
I love airports! I love the adventure of leaving one place and arriving someplace else. It's like walking in the front door to have a meal or two with complete strangers and walking out the back door in a different part of the world. Lately though, the meals have dwindled to be peanuts or pretzels. Hard to share when they give you so little. Traveling to Europe though, I got a full meal. Its was a miniature version of what I can get at home. Lean Cruisine looks huge compared to the chicken something or other. I think its because they need to fit the meal, and a drink on a shelf that drops down from the seat in front, giving you hardly room to breathe. Its a real test of manners to slice meat and to eat with your elbows glued to your ribs. The rolls could be used as weapons if need be. But I don't complain much, and eat it all, while the guy next to me falls asleep and I need to get up and use the restroom. There's the "cough, cough" get his attention to get up move, and there's the "turn the light on and off" move also. Once, a man next to me fell asleep, and as much as I tried to ignore him, I couldn't... he slumped towards me and his head rested on my shoulder. I was frozen. I sat there for a few moments trying to figure out my next move when he started snoring. Before the drooling started I jostled in my seat and he woke up.
Still gives me nightmares and giggles.
Still gives me nightmares and giggles.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
I Am World Famous!
My image has traveled the globe. I am in photo albums around the world, in countries I can't even remember, let alone pronounce. I'm mostly in albums in Japan. If you look closely you can see me...there in the background. Sometimes I'm in front, as I walk in front of a group, not realizing they are posing for a picture. In major movies, they pay for extras to fill a shot. You don't get mentioned in the credits, but there is no denying your presence.
I thought a lot about this, while on my trip to Italy. Each tourist had a camera. Stopping and taking pictures was the norm. Even in the Sistine Chapel, where pictures are forbidden, I saw people snapping photos. Some were discreet, and others just let the flash go off. I saw a lot of camera phones there. You would think people would have a little more guilt being in God's chapel. I guess they weren't Catholic. Catholics know guilt better than most. I know, I felt it.
I spent 45 minutes climbing the steps inside the dome at St. Peter's Basilica. It was hot, and humid, and the steps narrowed as we made our ascent. I was in front of three teenage boys from Germany. We were almost at the top, when I stopped to take a break and turn around to see where I had come from. Just when my eyes focused, and my mouth fell opened, the flash of their camera went off. I wish I could see that photo. I'm sure it showed every nose hair I have, and cavities in my mouth. They laughed and so did I. I'm glad they live so far away.
When I got home, and looked at all 431 snapshots I took, I started looking in the background to see who was there. Japan was well represented, and so were Americans. Americans are easy to spot. Bright colors, white tennis shoes. The Japanese are usually in a tight group with someone holding a flag. I saw families dragging kids behind them, and groups of teenagers hanging out. I think its universal for teenagers to hang out. Here, it's at the mall. In Italy its at a fountain, or piazza.
Each person has a story. Some we know, but mostly not. In their small way, as an extra in my photo, they influence the composition. My favorite picture is of my friend Linda, in Florence, with the majesty of the cathedrals in the background, – a tourist walked by, in front, and made the most wonderful composition. I have no idea who she is, but thanks ...for the story. (See photo below.)
I thought a lot about this, while on my trip to Italy. Each tourist had a camera. Stopping and taking pictures was the norm. Even in the Sistine Chapel, where pictures are forbidden, I saw people snapping photos. Some were discreet, and others just let the flash go off. I saw a lot of camera phones there. You would think people would have a little more guilt being in God's chapel. I guess they weren't Catholic. Catholics know guilt better than most. I know, I felt it.
I spent 45 minutes climbing the steps inside the dome at St. Peter's Basilica. It was hot, and humid, and the steps narrowed as we made our ascent. I was in front of three teenage boys from Germany. We were almost at the top, when I stopped to take a break and turn around to see where I had come from. Just when my eyes focused, and my mouth fell opened, the flash of their camera went off. I wish I could see that photo. I'm sure it showed every nose hair I have, and cavities in my mouth. They laughed and so did I. I'm glad they live so far away.
When I got home, and looked at all 431 snapshots I took, I started looking in the background to see who was there. Japan was well represented, and so were Americans. Americans are easy to spot. Bright colors, white tennis shoes. The Japanese are usually in a tight group with someone holding a flag. I saw families dragging kids behind them, and groups of teenagers hanging out. I think its universal for teenagers to hang out. Here, it's at the mall. In Italy its at a fountain, or piazza.
Each person has a story. Some we know, but mostly not. In their small way, as an extra in my photo, they influence the composition. My favorite picture is of my friend Linda, in Florence, with the majesty of the cathedrals in the background, – a tourist walked by, in front, and made the most wonderful composition. I have no idea who she is, but thanks ...for the story. (See photo below.)
Monday, September 19, 2005
Saturday, September 17, 2005
Friday, September 16, 2005
Travel Tips
After spending two weeks in Italy, I have come up with my very own list of does and don't while traveling. I gleemed these from first hand experience, of watching loud obnoxious Americans in a foreign country. I tried to be invisible, and then tried to talk with a British accent. Didn't work. It's hard to hide an American anywhere. Here they are in no particular order.
1. You are the visitor. This is NOT the USA, so don't expect it to be. Imagine standing in your mother-in-laws house...would you criticize the food, the furnishings and the service? You would get the silent treatment for sure.
2. Smile alot.
3. Learn to talk with your hands...pointing left and right is universal. Be careful what finger you use.
4. Don't pack anything in your suitcase you couldn't just walk away from. Things do get lost.
5. Order food off the menu you can't pronounce. (see #3 for pointing directions)
6. Go down a road even if you don't know where it goes. The maps will drive you crazy anyway.
7. Keep smiling.
8. Wrinkles in clothes are ok. No clothes in some places are ok.
9. Board the correct train car, and look for your seat. There is a reason your ticket has numbers on them. It's easier than lugging luggage through cars looking for the right seat.
10. Buy small gifts to take back, especially flat ones. Chocolate always works.
11. Stop looking at the map and look around.
12. Taxis are a good thing. Especially when you are lost late at night. (see #16)
13. Eat at McDonalds at least once.
14. If you think your lost, you probably are. In fact, as soon as you get off the plane assume your are, until you board the plane to go home.
15. Keep medicines in your carry on. (see #4)
16. Take a business card or address of where you are staying. After a long day of walking around, you can hand it to the taxi driver to return you back to where you started. (see #12)
17. When walking, turn around and see where you've come from. The view is different. (see #11)
18. Don't be timid about asking directions, even if you can't speak the language. (see #7)
19. Always give your seat up to an older person...esp. a woman. Kindness is understood in all languages.
20. When crossing a busy street, shadow a local.
21. Do not buy souvenirs from a man with shifty eyes, holding a black folder with rolex watches for 19.95 euros.
22. Pat the dogs.
23. Eat grapes off the vine.
24. Bring postcards from your home city and write thank you notes.
25. Make copies of your passport and any credit cards and leave them at home. Also put a copy in your suitcase.
26. Take a first aid kit for every scenario. Even if you don't use them, someone else might need help.
27. When hand washing items and hanging them out to dry...make sure they don't blow away and end up on someone's roof...esp brightly colored undies.
28. If they indeed relocate, ignore them and buy more in the next town. (see #27)
29. Think of round-a-bouts as lazy susans. There is no need to exit until you are sure which way to go. Going round and round is no big deal.
30. When driving, know the signs for one way and do not enter.
31. Don't talk loudly. Americans are very loud.
32. Aways get to your accomodations in daylight.
33. Don't ever let the gas tank go below 1/2.
34. Take your phone and make sure its for international calling..... even if its for just an add on for one month
35. Take a watch with an alarm, and forget the travel kind. Learn how to use it before you leave.
36. Eat mexican food in a foreign land. It will surprise you to experience what they think is authentic.
37. Do not take books to read. They weigh a ton. Take magazines that you can toss out.
38. Buy a piece of original art from a local artist. Make sure it calls your name before you buy it.
39. Airports are a great place for last minute gifts.
40. If you've used an internet cafe change computer pin numbers and passwords when you return.
41. Do not wear new shoes. If you do, make sure your have bandages. (see #26)
42. Do not stand in an open piazza and talk bad about the surroundings (see #1)
43. Leave your address book at home and jot the info you need on a small piece of paper.
44. Bring a cheap rain poncho.
45. Do not drink carbonated drinks during the flight. The bubbles get into your intestines and expand.
46. If you are a woman take sanitary supplies, even if you think you are in menopause and don't need them. They are very hard to discribe or point to, when you can't speak the language.
47. Don't exchange all your foreign money when returning. When luggage is loaded, and you've passed the security screening, flights do get cancelled and you could be out of luck.
48. Better to be stuck in an airport than a dark hotel.
49. Touch ancient old buildings. They do speak to you.
50. Always travel with plenty of clean underwear. (see #27, 28, 46)
1. You are the visitor. This is NOT the USA, so don't expect it to be. Imagine standing in your mother-in-laws house...would you criticize the food, the furnishings and the service? You would get the silent treatment for sure.
2. Smile alot.
3. Learn to talk with your hands...pointing left and right is universal. Be careful what finger you use.
4. Don't pack anything in your suitcase you couldn't just walk away from. Things do get lost.
5. Order food off the menu you can't pronounce. (see #3 for pointing directions)
6. Go down a road even if you don't know where it goes. The maps will drive you crazy anyway.
7. Keep smiling.
8. Wrinkles in clothes are ok. No clothes in some places are ok.
9. Board the correct train car, and look for your seat. There is a reason your ticket has numbers on them. It's easier than lugging luggage through cars looking for the right seat.
10. Buy small gifts to take back, especially flat ones. Chocolate always works.
11. Stop looking at the map and look around.
12. Taxis are a good thing. Especially when you are lost late at night. (see #16)
13. Eat at McDonalds at least once.
14. If you think your lost, you probably are. In fact, as soon as you get off the plane assume your are, until you board the plane to go home.
15. Keep medicines in your carry on. (see #4)
16. Take a business card or address of where you are staying. After a long day of walking around, you can hand it to the taxi driver to return you back to where you started. (see #12)
17. When walking, turn around and see where you've come from. The view is different. (see #11)
18. Don't be timid about asking directions, even if you can't speak the language. (see #7)
19. Always give your seat up to an older person...esp. a woman. Kindness is understood in all languages.
20. When crossing a busy street, shadow a local.
21. Do not buy souvenirs from a man with shifty eyes, holding a black folder with rolex watches for 19.95 euros.
22. Pat the dogs.
23. Eat grapes off the vine.
24. Bring postcards from your home city and write thank you notes.
25. Make copies of your passport and any credit cards and leave them at home. Also put a copy in your suitcase.
26. Take a first aid kit for every scenario. Even if you don't use them, someone else might need help.
27. When hand washing items and hanging them out to dry...make sure they don't blow away and end up on someone's roof...esp brightly colored undies.
28. If they indeed relocate, ignore them and buy more in the next town. (see #27)
29. Think of round-a-bouts as lazy susans. There is no need to exit until you are sure which way to go. Going round and round is no big deal.
30. When driving, know the signs for one way and do not enter.
31. Don't talk loudly. Americans are very loud.
32. Aways get to your accomodations in daylight.
33. Don't ever let the gas tank go below 1/2.
34. Take your phone and make sure its for international calling..... even if its for just an add on for one month
35. Take a watch with an alarm, and forget the travel kind. Learn how to use it before you leave.
36. Eat mexican food in a foreign land. It will surprise you to experience what they think is authentic.
37. Do not take books to read. They weigh a ton. Take magazines that you can toss out.
38. Buy a piece of original art from a local artist. Make sure it calls your name before you buy it.
39. Airports are a great place for last minute gifts.
40. If you've used an internet cafe change computer pin numbers and passwords when you return.
41. Do not wear new shoes. If you do, make sure your have bandages. (see #26)
42. Do not stand in an open piazza and talk bad about the surroundings (see #1)
43. Leave your address book at home and jot the info you need on a small piece of paper.
44. Bring a cheap rain poncho.
45. Do not drink carbonated drinks during the flight. The bubbles get into your intestines and expand.
46. If you are a woman take sanitary supplies, even if you think you are in menopause and don't need them. They are very hard to discribe or point to, when you can't speak the language.
47. Don't exchange all your foreign money when returning. When luggage is loaded, and you've passed the security screening, flights do get cancelled and you could be out of luck.
48. Better to be stuck in an airport than a dark hotel.
49. Touch ancient old buildings. They do speak to you.
50. Always travel with plenty of clean underwear. (see #27, 28, 46)
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
It only takes a spark, to get a fire going.....
Going to Rome and visiting the Vatican, is like mecca for catholics. It's where the Pope is. It's where thousands of believers gather to get a glimpse of him when he appears in front of the little window, or when he drives by in his popemobile. I saw neither. This is catechism 101 in real time, with nuns and brothers walking everywhere. I felt like I was on a pilgrimage, even though I hadn't really given it much of a thought before I got there. I got caught up in the hugeness of the basilica, and the inspiration of the art. The Sistine Chapel is hard to describe. My forefinger hasn't quite straighten out, since seeing the scene of God's finger touching man's. All I have to say is the words "Sistine Chapel" and my forefinger starts to bend.
I was on a mission of sorts. I wanted to light a candle, and say a prayer for all my friends and family. I was taught as a child that lighting one and saying a prayer would reduce the time spent in purgatory, and they would get to heaven sooner. I don't believe that. I just wanted to stand as close as I could to heaven, the same place that the pope stands in, so my prayers would go straight to the top...right to St. Peter. I was in his house. I was thinking of my prayers, the same time I was looking for the candles. I saw the flickering lights near a side chapel that glowed with the light coming through ancient stain glass windows. I reached into my pocket to pull out a few euros, when I just stopped. All prayers ceased at this time. All thoughts of the expressway to the pearly gates stopped. The candles that were to carry my deepest prayers to heaven were electric light bulbs. How could this be! I was in the pope's home church. I was in the heart of all Catholicism, and there were no wax candles!
I did not pray for my family or my friends. I had a few choice words with those standing around me. Not religious talk, but honest straightforward grunts. I was not a happy camper! And even though I don't go to catholic church anymore, I felt betrayed a bit.
A few days later, I was in another Italian town, another ancient catholic church, and more ancient stain glass windows> And there were waxed candles. There were about 10 unlit candles amongst many that formed a circle, in tiered layers. I put my euros in, lit my candle and moved it to the top row. Just in case. I wanted my prayers to go straight to St. Peter. Yes. Amen.
I was on a mission of sorts. I wanted to light a candle, and say a prayer for all my friends and family. I was taught as a child that lighting one and saying a prayer would reduce the time spent in purgatory, and they would get to heaven sooner. I don't believe that. I just wanted to stand as close as I could to heaven, the same place that the pope stands in, so my prayers would go straight to the top...right to St. Peter. I was in his house. I was thinking of my prayers, the same time I was looking for the candles. I saw the flickering lights near a side chapel that glowed with the light coming through ancient stain glass windows. I reached into my pocket to pull out a few euros, when I just stopped. All prayers ceased at this time. All thoughts of the expressway to the pearly gates stopped. The candles that were to carry my deepest prayers to heaven were electric light bulbs. How could this be! I was in the pope's home church. I was in the heart of all Catholicism, and there were no wax candles!
I did not pray for my family or my friends. I had a few choice words with those standing around me. Not religious talk, but honest straightforward grunts. I was not a happy camper! And even though I don't go to catholic church anymore, I felt betrayed a bit.
A few days later, I was in another Italian town, another ancient catholic church, and more ancient stain glass windows> And there were waxed candles. There were about 10 unlit candles amongst many that formed a circle, in tiered layers. I put my euros in, lit my candle and moved it to the top row. Just in case. I wanted my prayers to go straight to St. Peter. Yes. Amen.
Monday, September 12, 2005
Just Penciled In
Finally. My trip to Italy has begun. I'm buckled in, and imagining the wonderful sights I will see. The passport I held in my hand fell open, and I saw the photo of myself, that looks nothing like me anymore.
I had prepared well, and left copies of documents with others in case something tragic happened while out of the country. In the space for emergency contact, I had written in pencil my dad's name and phone number. I had to erase it and put someone else's name there. It was a sad moment, to realize if someone called him, he wouldn't know who they were talking about. The name of his eldest daughter was lost, as has the names of his 5 kids.
Now, if you asked him about "that nice lady that lives far away" they would get a reply. If you asked him about "that guy that lives in a different country", he would say he knows me. We are one in the same. His mind tells him he doesn't have kids, we know better. He has 5. We have been renamed. Even my mom has been renamed. She gets called the names of my dads female friends. She is kind. She answers to all of them.
My oldest brother Chuck is now "my very good friend that likes me", that is, if he stops and speaks to my dad. If he just walks by without a word, then he is "that guy that doesn't like me"
My younger brother David is the "guy with the three dogs, and my very favorite man". I think he only has 2 dogs, but that's beside the point.
Karen, my younger sister is the "lady next door amd does my hair". That's easy for him, she literally lives next door and she does indeed cut his hair.
Lori, the youngest is the "blonde bomber" She's also been called "fat". My sister is no way fat. She is beautiful, and has long blonde hair. She is also his favorite.
Somedays when we visit, he doesn't even recognize those terms, or our faces. After a family gathering of about 20 people, I talked to him on the phone. "Yes, I had a great time" he exclaimed with enthusiasm. "These people were so nice, but I have no idea who they are." I'm glad someone in my family remembers who we are, while my dad is on his own trip...out of the country.
I had prepared well, and left copies of documents with others in case something tragic happened while out of the country. In the space for emergency contact, I had written in pencil my dad's name and phone number. I had to erase it and put someone else's name there. It was a sad moment, to realize if someone called him, he wouldn't know who they were talking about. The name of his eldest daughter was lost, as has the names of his 5 kids.
Now, if you asked him about "that nice lady that lives far away" they would get a reply. If you asked him about "that guy that lives in a different country", he would say he knows me. We are one in the same. His mind tells him he doesn't have kids, we know better. He has 5. We have been renamed. Even my mom has been renamed. She gets called the names of my dads female friends. She is kind. She answers to all of them.
My oldest brother Chuck is now "my very good friend that likes me", that is, if he stops and speaks to my dad. If he just walks by without a word, then he is "that guy that doesn't like me"
My younger brother David is the "guy with the three dogs, and my very favorite man". I think he only has 2 dogs, but that's beside the point.
Karen, my younger sister is the "lady next door amd does my hair". That's easy for him, she literally lives next door and she does indeed cut his hair.
Lori, the youngest is the "blonde bomber" She's also been called "fat". My sister is no way fat. She is beautiful, and has long blonde hair. She is also his favorite.
Somedays when we visit, he doesn't even recognize those terms, or our faces. After a family gathering of about 20 people, I talked to him on the phone. "Yes, I had a great time" he exclaimed with enthusiasm. "These people were so nice, but I have no idea who they are." I'm glad someone in my family remembers who we are, while my dad is on his own trip...out of the country.
Saturday, August 20, 2005
Don't Misinterpret My Kindness For Weakness
Have you ever just heard something that you just had to stop and listen? And you knew your life had changed direction a bit.
Happened on the tennis court. In the midst of an intense rally, Linda punched the ball for a winning point. The moment she said those words, I knew I would learn a lot from this woman. For years I was kind and weak. Life has toughened me up a bit. I'm still kind, but certainly not weak!
We are playing doubles together, learning how to ebb and flow, holding back and going for the juggler. The strategy is so different than playing singles. I've always been a singles player. Its hard for me to rely and trust someone. I'd either win or lose on my own shots. It can be a lonely game. No one to share in the highs and lows. But not doubles. There is a constant chatter of encouragement and strategy that feeds my competitive nature and nourishes my need to share what I do with someone.
With laughter and joy we are becoming friends and a winning team.
Thanks Punch!
Happened on the tennis court. In the midst of an intense rally, Linda punched the ball for a winning point. The moment she said those words, I knew I would learn a lot from this woman. For years I was kind and weak. Life has toughened me up a bit. I'm still kind, but certainly not weak!
We are playing doubles together, learning how to ebb and flow, holding back and going for the juggler. The strategy is so different than playing singles. I've always been a singles player. Its hard for me to rely and trust someone. I'd either win or lose on my own shots. It can be a lonely game. No one to share in the highs and lows. But not doubles. There is a constant chatter of encouragement and strategy that feeds my competitive nature and nourishes my need to share what I do with someone.
With laughter and joy we are becoming friends and a winning team.
Thanks Punch!
The 50's Style
I loved turning 50. I loved all the celebrating and the fuss. It was my day, and I embraced it with everything in my being. Trying to dress like a mature person is another matter. I just can't seem to find a style that portrays the new me. If I just go with comfort, then the discussions ends right here - jeans. I'm trying to come in to the new me with an artistic flair, with classiness and edginess. I wish clothing store layouts were different....I can wander in the Misses section, find things in the Junior area, and sneak into the Plus aisles. I wish it was Artsy, Classic, Comfort, Snooty, Anything Denim. Then break it down by decades. It would help. I wouldn't have to wonder if I looked good in low cut butt crack jeans, and cropped tops.
I'm taking a trip overseas soon. I'm going to a foreign country where no one knows me, and I want to dress wild and artsy. To the department store I went, with my teenage daughter. She has a wonderful sense of style. It helps being a size one, and no stretch marks, and a bottom that hasn't gone south.
We combed the sales rack with diligence and determination. I would hold up something, and I would know in an instant if it was a keeper or not, by the look on her face. "This is great, but not for you" "Do you think I would look good in this?" "Step away from it mom, no way." "Mom, you've got to try this...even if its a size 6" Yeah right. We got the biggest dressing room to hold our armload of potential "looks". She layed them out, and started handing them to me. Some worked, others we had a good laugh. I needed help getting out of the size six. An hour went by, and we narrowed it down to three great "new look" outfits. As the clerk was ringing it all up, my daughter, who has helped me find a new style that won't embarrass her if we are seen in public together, sighs, "I need some chocolate" Now, that is a seasoned shopper.
I'm taking a trip overseas soon. I'm going to a foreign country where no one knows me, and I want to dress wild and artsy. To the department store I went, with my teenage daughter. She has a wonderful sense of style. It helps being a size one, and no stretch marks, and a bottom that hasn't gone south.
We combed the sales rack with diligence and determination. I would hold up something, and I would know in an instant if it was a keeper or not, by the look on her face. "This is great, but not for you" "Do you think I would look good in this?" "Step away from it mom, no way." "Mom, you've got to try this...even if its a size 6" Yeah right. We got the biggest dressing room to hold our armload of potential "looks". She layed them out, and started handing them to me. Some worked, others we had a good laugh. I needed help getting out of the size six. An hour went by, and we narrowed it down to three great "new look" outfits. As the clerk was ringing it all up, my daughter, who has helped me find a new style that won't embarrass her if we are seen in public together, sighs, "I need some chocolate" Now, that is a seasoned shopper.
Friday, August 19, 2005
Cross My Heart
God did not bless me with big boobs. He has blessed me in many other ways, but mammaries are not one of them (or two of them for that matter). Cross your heart, was as a child, making a promise. I promise to say the truth. Why a bra was named for such a truthful expression is beyond me. Cross your heart for an uplifting look, or cross your heart, padded and they appear bigger. That's not telling the truth. We would cross our hearts, and hope to die if we lied.
"Be your own ideal. Cross Your Heart's signature criss-cross lift elevates you and your self-image, with beautiful shaping that's still true to you. For a flattering, confident silhouette that keeps you looking your best. Watch out, World." —Playtex
My first bra was a "Cross Your Heart". It did not elevate my self image, or make me feel like I was looking my best. Watch out, World. I was a young girl, with this elastic contraption strapped to my chest. I could hardly raise my arms, let alone breathe deeply. I don't think it fit, but I never said anything.
My daughter wore her first bra to second grade. I mentioned it to the teacher in case there was a problem. Her body didn't need one, but her wanting to be a big girl did. God has blessed her now, in ways He didn't bless me.
I enjoy watching her in cheerleading. It is a new way for her to elevate her self image. Mine, on the other hand, got lost temporarily in the parent seating area. I turned to the lady on my right. We exchanged names and nicetees. The small waisted woman with long blonde hair was very blessed. I don't think my God blessed her, I think that she paid someone for her blessings. The lady on my left was blessed the same. Even the owner of the place was blessed. Their bottled blonde hair was no match for my natural gray/white. I tried not to stare, or even laugh at the comical scene. I kept wondering if they could raise their arms, and still breathe.
That's the truth....honest....cross my heart.
"Be your own ideal. Cross Your Heart's signature criss-cross lift elevates you and your self-image, with beautiful shaping that's still true to you. For a flattering, confident silhouette that keeps you looking your best. Watch out, World." —Playtex
My first bra was a "Cross Your Heart". It did not elevate my self image, or make me feel like I was looking my best. Watch out, World. I was a young girl, with this elastic contraption strapped to my chest. I could hardly raise my arms, let alone breathe deeply. I don't think it fit, but I never said anything.
My daughter wore her first bra to second grade. I mentioned it to the teacher in case there was a problem. Her body didn't need one, but her wanting to be a big girl did. God has blessed her now, in ways He didn't bless me.
I enjoy watching her in cheerleading. It is a new way for her to elevate her self image. Mine, on the other hand, got lost temporarily in the parent seating area. I turned to the lady on my right. We exchanged names and nicetees. The small waisted woman with long blonde hair was very blessed. I don't think my God blessed her, I think that she paid someone for her blessings. The lady on my left was blessed the same. Even the owner of the place was blessed. Their bottled blonde hair was no match for my natural gray/white. I tried not to stare, or even laugh at the comical scene. I kept wondering if they could raise their arms, and still breathe.
That's the truth....honest....cross my heart.
Saturday, August 13, 2005
The Cane
I've decided if I ever come to the point in my life, that I need a cane, it would not be just an ordinary, Walmart variety. I would have to paint it, decorate it, do whatever I could to make it a part of me. Maybe even find a stick, and carve my initials in it. If I could figure out how to put blinking lights on it, I would. I would decorate it with the seasons, and celebrate each spring with a new color scheme.
My dad has come to the point in his life that he will need a cane. He is loosing his ability to do even the simplest tasks. The bracelet on his wrist, given to him by his kids for father's day, has his name and where to return him, if he gets lost. At first he was thrilled, and then he wanted it off. No one could figure it out for him. No one knew how. The one good thing about his Alzheimers- he forgets quickly and moves on. Now he is limping and he looks like he might fall at any moment. He can't tell us if something hurts, and my mom doesn't know if he has gout, or he needs a cane.
We all use canes everyday. The physical ones are easy to spot. The people that walk with me every day, are the canes I carry with me now, until the day comes, and I get my glue gun out and start decorating one. I have friend canes, and family canes. I have dog canes and food canes. Anything I lean on becomes a cane. I used to have a huge Starbucks cane, and then one day, two weeks ago, I woke up and the thought of drinking coffee, turned my stomach. I don't use that cane anymore. It's the stranger cane, that I find most interesting. It's that brief moment during the day, when someone, whose name I don't even know, does something that touches my spirit, and helps me. They'll never know, they were a cane.
I saw two elderly ladies the other day, walking arm in arm. Something tells me, that if they walked unattached, they would be wobbly. They were each others cane. I have many elderly friends and their spirit and wisdom, playfulness and grumpiness are wonderful canes. Their canes come out to help them recover from their latest illness, and then tossed aside as they get their strength back.
I'm going to see my dad in a few months. I think he'll will be walking with a cane. He will be surrounded by his family of canes, and I'm going to put my name on his. Right below his initials, carved deeply in my heart.
My dad has come to the point in his life that he will need a cane. He is loosing his ability to do even the simplest tasks. The bracelet on his wrist, given to him by his kids for father's day, has his name and where to return him, if he gets lost. At first he was thrilled, and then he wanted it off. No one could figure it out for him. No one knew how. The one good thing about his Alzheimers- he forgets quickly and moves on. Now he is limping and he looks like he might fall at any moment. He can't tell us if something hurts, and my mom doesn't know if he has gout, or he needs a cane.
We all use canes everyday. The physical ones are easy to spot. The people that walk with me every day, are the canes I carry with me now, until the day comes, and I get my glue gun out and start decorating one. I have friend canes, and family canes. I have dog canes and food canes. Anything I lean on becomes a cane. I used to have a huge Starbucks cane, and then one day, two weeks ago, I woke up and the thought of drinking coffee, turned my stomach. I don't use that cane anymore. It's the stranger cane, that I find most interesting. It's that brief moment during the day, when someone, whose name I don't even know, does something that touches my spirit, and helps me. They'll never know, they were a cane.
I saw two elderly ladies the other day, walking arm in arm. Something tells me, that if they walked unattached, they would be wobbly. They were each others cane. I have many elderly friends and their spirit and wisdom, playfulness and grumpiness are wonderful canes. Their canes come out to help them recover from their latest illness, and then tossed aside as they get their strength back.
I'm going to see my dad in a few months. I think he'll will be walking with a cane. He will be surrounded by his family of canes, and I'm going to put my name on his. Right below his initials, carved deeply in my heart.
Saturday, August 06, 2005
Dark Rimmed Glasses
You are what you wear! I've learned how to get a bit of edge when I go on the tennis court. A killer outfit. It goes with a killer attittude and a killer serve. Somehow strutting helps and bouncing a ball. A good pair of dark rimmed glasses helps to hide the nervousness, and frustration. They are also good at hiding tears. These are the behind the scenes lessons that I have learned in life. Look better than you are. Look the part. When I first got invited to play tennis after many years of "doing other things", I just had to have the right outfit. There was no way I was going to show up in something that would not bolster my flimsy self confidence. It didn't matter that my timing was off, and I hit everything out. At least I looked good hitting it out.
I stood in a pool today talking with a dear friend. No killer outfits, just our swimsuits. Can't hide much there. He's my friend, and a therapist. He told me about a time when he tried to look the part of a really smart shrink - the three piece dark suit, power tie, wing tips. Even a pair of dark rimmed glasses! When his daughter was young, she overheard him on the phone with a client. "Daddy, you were using your doctor's voice" It was a turning point for him to be just who is he is.
I went to the theatre the other day, and a whole busload of ladies showed up wearing purple dresses with red hats. I like that poem "When I am old, I will wear purple" I read it many years ago when I was younger. I sent it to my mother, with a photo of herself that I had retouched and made her shirt purple. But I think their missing the point. The point is not being like everyone else, and being comfortable in your own skin, not looking like 100 other old ladies. There is a whole industry of "Red Hat" paraphernalia. So much for being unique!
Now, when I hit the tennis courts, my outfits don't quite match. The blues are a bit off, and I don't really care. I'm more concerned with how my timing is that day, and if the serves are going in. My game is back, and my confidence is soaring. I exited the pool with much to think about. I said goodby and as I glanced back, I noticed that he was wearing dark rimmed glasses.
I stood in a pool today talking with a dear friend. No killer outfits, just our swimsuits. Can't hide much there. He's my friend, and a therapist. He told me about a time when he tried to look the part of a really smart shrink - the three piece dark suit, power tie, wing tips. Even a pair of dark rimmed glasses! When his daughter was young, she overheard him on the phone with a client. "Daddy, you were using your doctor's voice" It was a turning point for him to be just who is he is.
I went to the theatre the other day, and a whole busload of ladies showed up wearing purple dresses with red hats. I like that poem "When I am old, I will wear purple" I read it many years ago when I was younger. I sent it to my mother, with a photo of herself that I had retouched and made her shirt purple. But I think their missing the point. The point is not being like everyone else, and being comfortable in your own skin, not looking like 100 other old ladies. There is a whole industry of "Red Hat" paraphernalia. So much for being unique!
Now, when I hit the tennis courts, my outfits don't quite match. The blues are a bit off, and I don't really care. I'm more concerned with how my timing is that day, and if the serves are going in. My game is back, and my confidence is soaring. I exited the pool with much to think about. I said goodby and as I glanced back, I noticed that he was wearing dark rimmed glasses.
Saturday, July 30, 2005
March of the Penguins
I never wanted to visit Antarctica until today. I sat in the movie theatre in awe watching what I thought at first were very tall creatures, only to find out, after the credits, they are only knee high. What an incredible story of survival. I loved watching them walk single file through the harshest of weather conditions. I loved watching them find a mate and bond, even if it was just for one year. I loved how they carry their young on the tops of their feet to protect them from the elements. But I especially love how the male penguin carries the egg while mom walks to find food. That's my kind of guy. They were constantly sharing the responsiblities of bringing a life into this world. That's how it should be. I'm blessed. I found a guy who wasn't afraid to change diapers, or to have baby spit up end up in his mouth. I found a guy who didn't mind that I took off for a week's vacation in Hawaii with some girl friends, and left him to care for two kids...one being just 6 months old. I figured I birthed the baby...I needed a break. Looking back, I was really doing the "penguin" thing. Going off for some rest and letting dad take over for awhile.
I've had a few penguin role models in my life. In fact, my teachers were penquins. At least that's what we called them in Catholic school. Sister Mary Clarence was the best role model. She was tall and lanky, ruddy skin, buck teeth and spit when she talked. She wore all black and white. She even waddled. And because I lived only 5 houses away from the convent and the school, I could see the nuns line up and waddle in formation back and forth to school and church. Sometimes they took walks in our neighborhood. Always in pairs....just like in the movie.
I've had a few penguin role models in my life. In fact, my teachers were penquins. At least that's what we called them in Catholic school. Sister Mary Clarence was the best role model. She was tall and lanky, ruddy skin, buck teeth and spit when she talked. She wore all black and white. She even waddled. And because I lived only 5 houses away from the convent and the school, I could see the nuns line up and waddle in formation back and forth to school and church. Sometimes they took walks in our neighborhood. Always in pairs....just like in the movie.
Friday, July 22, 2005
Grunting
What is it about tennis and grunting? Why do top athletes have to grunt so loud. Its quite disturbing. I can take once or twice, but every hit? I grew up in the old fashion tennis way. Proper white attire, proper manners. I was almost British in my demeanor. My shot selection was limited, but effective. Hit it in!
I can think of a few times that I would want to grunt, like stubbing my toe, or lifting something too heavy. Pigs grunt from just being alive. I wouldn't call tennis players pigs, but if I were to pass an open field and listen I might mistaken the sounds on the court for a farmyard.
It would make it a bit easier to take, if the pro grunters were ugly. But they aren't and they are seen on the covers of all the latest magazines. I think the headlines should read "She grunts like a pig and makes millions"
I was playing doubles the other day, and for the life of me, couldn't get my serve in. My timing was off. My opponents, who by the way were beautiful and could be on a magazine cover, were killing me with their serve, and grunting. So I started timidly to grunt. It took a bit of timing. I'd hit the ball, and then grunt. Or I'd grunt and then hit the ball. I felt like a pig trying to find her voice. And then it happened. I tossed the ball, grunted in perfect unison with hitting it, and it went in.
I'm a firm believer in grunting now. I don't know why or how it works, but it does. And I don't care who is listening.
The other day I had a match with a woman who whistled to herself as she prepared to hit the ball. I know for a fact, that I cannot whistle and grunt at the same time.
I can think of a few times that I would want to grunt, like stubbing my toe, or lifting something too heavy. Pigs grunt from just being alive. I wouldn't call tennis players pigs, but if I were to pass an open field and listen I might mistaken the sounds on the court for a farmyard.
It would make it a bit easier to take, if the pro grunters were ugly. But they aren't and they are seen on the covers of all the latest magazines. I think the headlines should read "She grunts like a pig and makes millions"
I was playing doubles the other day, and for the life of me, couldn't get my serve in. My timing was off. My opponents, who by the way were beautiful and could be on a magazine cover, were killing me with their serve, and grunting. So I started timidly to grunt. It took a bit of timing. I'd hit the ball, and then grunt. Or I'd grunt and then hit the ball. I felt like a pig trying to find her voice. And then it happened. I tossed the ball, grunted in perfect unison with hitting it, and it went in.
I'm a firm believer in grunting now. I don't know why or how it works, but it does. And I don't care who is listening.
The other day I had a match with a woman who whistled to herself as she prepared to hit the ball. I know for a fact, that I cannot whistle and grunt at the same time.
He Said My Name
For a brief moment, the cloudiness of my father's alzheimers cleared, and I heard words that haven't been spoken in years. "Hi Judy!" he said in the midst of sounds and words that made no sense. It didn't matter that my mom told him that I was on the phone. It didn't matter that it was repeated over and over again, before the receiver was handed to him. He actually held that thought long enough to repeat it. In the midst of our brief conversation, he mentioned both sisters by name. Then he was gone. The clouds came back, and the darkness of such a horrible disease took over. He's leaving us all, moment by moment, as we sit and watch, and try to be patient and do what's right.
He has brought out the best and worst of my family these past few years. My mom, who is the real hero in all this, is struggling to wear her halo proudly, when what she really wants to do at times is ring his neck. Her daily dealings with him, in his confusion and outburst of anger have given her reasons to take daily walks to ease the pain. Her body is in great shape, even if her soul is worn out. I'm convinced she is next in line for sainthood....after the pope.
I don't know when it will all be over, but last night, I prayed that it would be soon.
He has brought out the best and worst of my family these past few years. My mom, who is the real hero in all this, is struggling to wear her halo proudly, when what she really wants to do at times is ring his neck. Her daily dealings with him, in his confusion and outburst of anger have given her reasons to take daily walks to ease the pain. Her body is in great shape, even if her soul is worn out. I'm convinced she is next in line for sainthood....after the pope.
I don't know when it will all be over, but last night, I prayed that it would be soon.
Monday, May 30, 2005
Love, Love
I love Tennis! I love the fact that the score begins with love on each side. The world would be a better place if everyone played tennis. Just think of it. Standing with someone you disagree with and having to say "love, love" and agree. Common ground. And when your opponent still hasn't scored, it's still love.
Tennis has lots of "nice" words.
Let -
the ball nicks the net on the serve and goes in. Go ahead, have another chance. Your first one didn't quite make it over the net, and you can try again.
Rally -
let's hit the ball back and forth over the net many times. A friendly exchange as I'm waiting for you too blow it. The trick here is to be patient.
Seeding -
getting ranked for a tournament. You don't want the best player playing the worst player. It puts the best players at opposite ends of the draw, to meet hopefully later. Gives the little guy a chance to feel important for awhile.
Sweet Spot -
magic area on my strings, when hit perfectly, makes the sweatest sound.
Deuce -
sounds like a dance move, but it just means we both have the same point score.
Advantage -
kind way to say, I am ahead of you by just one point. If I get the next point, I win the game.
When all the niceness wears off and nerves are on edge, attitudes begin to heat up. Sweat is on the brow. The terms in tennis seem to get a bit more aggressive.
Approach Shot -
I'm heading to the net, stopping half way there, and hitting the ball before it bounces. Hopefully it puts you off guard, as I make the kill shot and win the point.
There are some shots that just aren't very straightforward. Trick shots.
Slice -
I'm hitting just a part of the ball, which makes it spin and do all sorts of weird things, usually hugging the ground.
Topspin -
like a slice, but I'm hitting it to make the ball become a super ball.
Kicker -
type of serve where anything can happen. Surprise attack! It's on my list of things to learn. I keep hearing about it.
Choke -
when the easiest shot it the world comes my way, and I look like I've never played the game in my life.
Double Fault -
same as choke, but during a serve. For some reason, you get two chances to get the serve in. Second serve is usually wimpy.
Lob -
nothing more frustrating as the perfect lob over your head. You're at the net, ready to attack, and the opponent hits the ball over your head and it drops in near the baseline. Nothing more perfect, that hitting it over the opponents head to drop in near their baseline.
Poach -
a doubles play, when the net player sneaks over to the middle, and hits a winner. They are usually smiling. I don't trust these kind of players...they smile, then attack.
Rush the net -
I use this when I have no other option, and I just charge to scare the other guy. I usually lose the point and get hit with the ball. Its my "Braveheart" battle strategy.
Ace -
serving it so hard you can't even touch it. I love this shot. It makes me feel like I know what I'm doing.
Unforced Errors -
you get the point the easy way! I missed my shot.
And when the game is over, hands are shook. Great job! We'll battle another day and our games will start with love.
Tennis has lots of "nice" words.
Let -
the ball nicks the net on the serve and goes in. Go ahead, have another chance. Your first one didn't quite make it over the net, and you can try again.
Rally -
let's hit the ball back and forth over the net many times. A friendly exchange as I'm waiting for you too blow it. The trick here is to be patient.
Seeding -
getting ranked for a tournament. You don't want the best player playing the worst player. It puts the best players at opposite ends of the draw, to meet hopefully later. Gives the little guy a chance to feel important for awhile.
Sweet Spot -
magic area on my strings, when hit perfectly, makes the sweatest sound.
Deuce -
sounds like a dance move, but it just means we both have the same point score.
Advantage -
kind way to say, I am ahead of you by just one point. If I get the next point, I win the game.
When all the niceness wears off and nerves are on edge, attitudes begin to heat up. Sweat is on the brow. The terms in tennis seem to get a bit more aggressive.
Approach Shot -
I'm heading to the net, stopping half way there, and hitting the ball before it bounces. Hopefully it puts you off guard, as I make the kill shot and win the point.
There are some shots that just aren't very straightforward. Trick shots.
Slice -
I'm hitting just a part of the ball, which makes it spin and do all sorts of weird things, usually hugging the ground.
Topspin -
like a slice, but I'm hitting it to make the ball become a super ball.
Kicker -
type of serve where anything can happen. Surprise attack! It's on my list of things to learn. I keep hearing about it.
Choke -
when the easiest shot it the world comes my way, and I look like I've never played the game in my life.
Double Fault -
same as choke, but during a serve. For some reason, you get two chances to get the serve in. Second serve is usually wimpy.
Lob -
nothing more frustrating as the perfect lob over your head. You're at the net, ready to attack, and the opponent hits the ball over your head and it drops in near the baseline. Nothing more perfect, that hitting it over the opponents head to drop in near their baseline.
Poach -
a doubles play, when the net player sneaks over to the middle, and hits a winner. They are usually smiling. I don't trust these kind of players...they smile, then attack.
Rush the net -
I use this when I have no other option, and I just charge to scare the other guy. I usually lose the point and get hit with the ball. Its my "Braveheart" battle strategy.
Ace -
serving it so hard you can't even touch it. I love this shot. It makes me feel like I know what I'm doing.
Unforced Errors -
you get the point the easy way! I missed my shot.
And when the game is over, hands are shook. Great job! We'll battle another day and our games will start with love.
Saturday, May 07, 2005
Mothers
We all have one, some have two or more. Mother, Mother-in-law, step-mother...and the grandest of all - grandmother.
Some mothers are still alive, others have gone on, and live in the hearts of their kids. Some become mothers at an early age, others later in life. Some are mothers of babies, others have kittens and puppies.
I like my mother.
I was the second baby of five. She did a good job, I think, although there were times we didn't like each other. Mothers can take it. I know. I'm a mother now of two. There are days I sit and marvel at the two beings I helped create. Then there are days that I hardly recognize them in their adolescent stretching of their wings.
I hear my mother every day. I hear her in the tone of voice I use with my kids to clean their rooms, or to pick up after themselves. I hear her when I tell them to eat their vegetables, or to brush their teeth. I hear her when we talk on the phone, and catch up the little things of life.
Now I'm starting to see her everywhere. I see my mother when I look in the mirror and see my graying hair. The wrinkles on my face have formed through the years. I think they are genetically linked to her. The road maps on our faces are the same. When I prepare dinner, I see my mother's hands. Mine are shaped just like hers.
I hope my kids can see and hear me the rest of their lives. Just like I see my mother.
Some mothers are still alive, others have gone on, and live in the hearts of their kids. Some become mothers at an early age, others later in life. Some are mothers of babies, others have kittens and puppies.
I like my mother.
I was the second baby of five. She did a good job, I think, although there were times we didn't like each other. Mothers can take it. I know. I'm a mother now of two. There are days I sit and marvel at the two beings I helped create. Then there are days that I hardly recognize them in their adolescent stretching of their wings.
I hear my mother every day. I hear her in the tone of voice I use with my kids to clean their rooms, or to pick up after themselves. I hear her when I tell them to eat their vegetables, or to brush their teeth. I hear her when we talk on the phone, and catch up the little things of life.
Now I'm starting to see her everywhere. I see my mother when I look in the mirror and see my graying hair. The wrinkles on my face have formed through the years. I think they are genetically linked to her. The road maps on our faces are the same. When I prepare dinner, I see my mother's hands. Mine are shaped just like hers.
I hope my kids can see and hear me the rest of their lives. Just like I see my mother.
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