Things I'm afraid of

A few years back our town had a mascot.  It was a cat named Amos.  Amos lived on our town square.  Little children, the elderly, even the curmudgeon among us loved Amos.  I hated Amos.  Amos looked like the grim reaper had lost his address.  In cat years he should have had Kevorkian on speed dial.  HE WAS OLD.  Now before I get an onslaught of hate mail let me tell you specifically why I hated Amos.  Amos was single-handedly responsible for loss of revenue on the square.  I wouldn't shop there. I lived in fear of being the one that would run over and squash his mangie body thereby being the first to be put in stockades on the square since - well maybe ever.  When I drove up there and parked I always checked every angle of my car.  But let me just say IF I had hit that damn cat I would have thrown him in the trunk so fast and driven his body over the Mississippi before his body had had time to cool off.  ------Bill thought I just didn't like to shop on the square.  I may have been the only soul that breathed a sigh of relief when I read his obit in the paper.   ( I scoured it for any mention of my van - just in case that wasn't a speed bump)

Which leads me to my CURRENT fear.  She has to be as old as Amos.  She rides an old fashion bicycle everyday no matter the weather.  Today it was easily 94 degrees when I saw her coming down the rode.  At 2 mph.  With a plastic bag on EACH handle bar that were both swelled to bursting.  I swear I don't know how she keeps that bike vertical.  I take side streets when I see her.  Sometimes I go around the block just to make sure she's still on it.  I don't know this lady but I worry about her so much that the day I get up and she's not on the road I'll be very very sad.  I admire her perseverance and her enchanted bike (that's the only explanation) but mostly I love her smile.  She smiles so big.  She seems happy.  Meantime I'm losing years of my life.   If you know who she is tell her I'll give her a ride to Walmart. PLEASE.

Great ..... I just read where the town is trying to adopt a rooster that wandered up to the fried chicken place close to the square as our new mascot.   He'll be much easier to replace.    



I say, I say , I say ............



Speaking in Code

Raising children is hard.  Marriage is harder.  It's important to be on the same page with your  spouse.  Even more important if you're in the same book.  Or maybe the same state.  Well, it's all important.  I grew up watching soap operas with my mom.  Days of Our Lives. Where marriange is one disaster after another.  As I got older those people just pissed me off.  How can people be so stupid.  And then How can people be entertained by all that stupid?  I'm sure that's why I am not a fan of any reality shows. ( although I am completely fascinated with anything gypsy - I don't know why). I stopped watching them when our daughter was about 4 years old.  While sitting at the lunch table she turned to me and said "But mommy what about Hope, what if Bo doesn't find Hope?"

The most valuable lesson I learned from Tom, Alice, Mickey, Bill, Laura, Julie, and the rest of the parade of DOOLs idiots was no secrets from your spouse.  That was always the problem on soaps.   Also you need a code...........a signal.  Something just between you and your spouse.  Ours was "Andrew , put your shoes on."       This was our universal signal for "don't ask me any questions, it is time to leave the area"  or "the restaurant" or "YOUR MOTHER'S HOUSE"    



from my expression I'd say it was time for someone to find his shoes.



We started this when our children came along to avoid certain, um, certain, uhhhhhh , unavoidable conflicts, discussions, unsolicited advice - whatever.  And it worked like a charm.  We had decided that would be our signal and it would be unacceptable for the others to question why.   And this would be how the evening went:



Jane (Bill's mom):  Well you know what I think you should do about ________(whatever, seriously - you could fill in the blank with anything you can imagine)

Bill:  Andrew, put your shoes on.

Me:  I'm headed for the car, Katie, put up your toys now, time to go.

Jane:  What?  Wait?  Oh, let me get the leftovers out of the fridge for you.

(eventually other family members  figured out the code:)

Bob (brother in law): Omg - Andrew is getting his shoes on , Karen, time to go.

Jim (brother in law)  :   Cindy - help Andrew find his shoes.

Jane:  Why do ya'll always seem to leave at the same time?  Wait, the leftovers ...............

We said this even if Andrew had on shoes.   I don't think Jane ever figured it out and we avoided many unwanted discussions.   Although the kids are in their twenties if Bill and I are out somewhere and need to leave without an explanation we'll still say . "Andrew , put your shoes on."   Some things just work.

God's Fingerprints

When I was 5 years old my throat hurt.  My mom put a bucket next to my bed in case I got sick during the night.  When she came back in to check on me my eyes were rolled up into my head. 

We lived in Paragould, Arkansas in 1966.  It was January and nasty out.  My mother called an ambulance that drove us to a hospital in Little Rock, Arkansas.  They refused to take me.  My mother said it was because I was so close to death.  My mother was prone to being rather dramatic however given that my Grandmother Cage ( my dad's mother) would not even repeat the story because it caused her such grief I think it must have been pretty bad.   I was sent ahead to LeBonheur in Memphis, Tennessee.  It was raining so hard that the ambulance flooded out and they had to transport me from Little Rock to Memphis in a .................hearse.  (Perhaps that is where my dark side comes from).  My mother rode with me.  I can't imagine what was going through her head.    

My Grandmother Cage lived in Memphis and when she heard that I was coming to LeBonheur she drove there to meet the ambulance/hearse.  She looked up the resident doctor on call in the emergency room that night and told him if he was not standing there when her granddaughter arrived she would look him up and break both of his legs.  She meant it.  He said "yes ma'am."  It was after all 1966.  She was fierce.

I was admitted and stayed there for the next 14 days. As far as I know no legs were harmed.   I was diagnosed with spinal meningitis. My doctor, Gene Whittington (who is still practicing ) told my mother I had a 50-50 chance of survival.  I had 4 spinal taps. I had a fever of 106.  They gave me iced alcohol baths to bring down my temperature.  I was also blind and deaf.  Later I would describe dreams to my mother about screaming her name and not being able to see her only hearing my own voice, being cold and far away.  She would cry.  I didn't understand the depth of her pain until having children of my own.  And still I can't begin to fathom how desperate she must have felt.

I lost all my motor skills and had to learn to walk all over again.  My mom said my personality changed from happy happy happy to sad.  Well no kidding.  I think I've overcome that for what it's worth.  My father disliked hospitals and would not come to be with my mother.  My mom wore my Grandmother Cage's clothes.  My mom was very tall and thin - Grandmother Cage was shaped like a Weeble.  Short and round.  My father did eventually come to see me and brought my little sister.  That is my first clear memory of having vision problems.   I remember hearing my sister's voice but not being able to see her very well.

Obviously I lived through it.  But I think that's when part of my mother's soul died.  Her father was terminally ill with colon cancer and died 2 months later and was buried on my birthday.  She adored him. She was never the same.  She blamed God for everything.  She was angry for a very very long time.  I don't judge her for her pain or anger.  I hurt for her even now.  When she died in 1993 at the age of 55 she was still angry.  When I think of this story I don't think it's really about me as it is telling about her.  She was a young mother with an extremely sick five year old daughter.  Who didn't die.  She couldn't see the miracle.  She couldn't see the blessing of being refused at one hospital and turned to the one that would save my life. She couldn't see God's fingerprints or timing.   She just couldn't see. 

When my daughter Katie was 3 days old she got a fever.  I called the doctor thinking they'd just call in something over the phone.  Second children make you complacent.  The nurse instructed me to get her to LeBonheur downtown immediately.  As Bill drove us to the hospital I was terrified but not alone. I was worried but thankful that we lived in a part of the country where there is easy access to the best children's medical care. It was an exhausting watching my newborn getting pricked and prodded but we were blessed to be there and we knew it.   Katie was fine.

I don't know how people make it thru the scary times in their lives without a spouse that loves and supports them, but mostly without believing in the One that put us here in the first place.  My heart breaks for them.  My heart still breaks for my mother. 

a week before me getting sick.  My mom looking at her father.

Coffee Club




Golden Eye..............ing my iced coffee.

 

I made the iced coffee recipe from a popular website called The Pioneer Woman Cooks.  She's awesome.  Love her blog, recipes, stories. We'd probably be good friends except for my on again off again Tourette's.  It takes 8 hours to prepare that recipe, it involves cheesecloth , which you may be surprised to know is NOT in the cheese department at the grocery store.  It makes 8 quarts and for most people will last about  three weeks.  Most people.  She probably did not say what I said when I got a phone call from my lovely daughter while I was at work. ( but I bet she would think it)

Katie (daughter):  Hi mom, I'll be a little late meeting you for lunch.  Someone left the lever down on the coffee dispenser in the fridge and there is now a large pool of cold coffee on the kitchen floor.  Well, what managed to find a way OUT of the fridge.

Me: *&^%*&^!  

Katie:  It's okay, I used all the paper napkins to wipe it up.  It smells great though. 

Me: *&*&$(*&  

Katie:  So, I'll be there to pick you up in a second.  After I get the kitten and dog off the walls from their caffeine overdose.

Me:  *&*$^*(*#^

Katie:   It was you Mom, wasn't it?

Me:  *&$*(&#^**##

Katie:  Yeah, I know Mom, I understand.  Be there in a second.  

I love my children.   It's good practice for them for when I'm ready for the home.  Which is a lot closer than one would think.  Except for maybe Bill.  And the high flying kitten and dog.    

Blind Faith.

Most of my early childhood memories are out of focus, a bit on the fuzzy side.( well shoot, this is out of focus too as I just figured out I put my contacts in the wrong eyes this morning - I think our minister thought I was winking at him during service......crap.....be right back.) 

Okay, all better .       Being  nearly freakin blind in a catholic elementary school ( no glasses until 5th grade) meant that I experienced a lot of rituals and sacraments literally on blind faith.  As in , please God don't let the large white blob at the end of this tunnel/aisle kill me with the flame thrower (large lit candles) for my sins.  My religious education had a dubious start.  Although my eyesight was shit my memory of the first day of 2nd grade is forever tattooed on my brain. 







2nd Communion , head NOT bowed - eye on the blob



When you're 8 years old I think you can go one of two ways in the sinning category - you either have no clue that you're sinning (grow up a normal kid) or as I experienced it, the mere act of breathing had some sin attached to it.  My first day of second grade at St. Paul's Elementary School was not the only "first" that day. It was also my first communion. Only it wasn't suppose to be my first communion.  My first communion was a complete accident.  One I was convinced I'd burn in hell for.  I think I saw it listed in my little catechism book. There was a picture of a ladder and each step was a sacrament.  DO THESE OUT OF ORDER AND YOU'LL LIVE IN PURGATORY FOREVER.  page 3.  Basic catechism.  My goal was to attain priesthood.  Top rung.   Those were the days when every school day started with mass.   Somehow I ended up in the wrong pew at church with a bunch of other 2nd graders who were also going to go to hell.  This was most likely due to the fact that my mother was rarely on time for anything and probably dropped me off at the front of the church.  All I know is at some point there was a large white shaped blob , who later turned out to be Father Somebody,  waving his arms around and then everyone starting moving out of our pew.  I fell in line like everyone else.   Slowly moving forward.  Squinting my way down the aisle.  Probably thinking lunch time was coming early.  At some point it occurred to me I was making a huge error but I didn't know how to fix it.  I couldn't see how to get back to where I came from.  And then there it was.  The big white blob with a wafer still waving his arms around.  I took it and followed the girl in front of me.    Later, Sister Mary Melanie was NOT happy with her little group of wayward 2nd graders who had NOT even received the sacrament of confession yet.  There'd be no rung hopping under Sister M&M's watch.  How would this look on her record?   Day one in second grade and I've already pissed off God.  And worse than that managed to piss off a nun.  Not good odds for getting into heaven. 

The only moment worse than that in 2nd grade WAS the sacrament of confession.  Now, I don't know if my parents just didn't explain things to me, or if I couldn't see what Sister M&M was pointing at at the front of the class OR what but my first confession was like something out of a horror movie.   Again I was clueless.  I remembered the prayer we all memorized 'Bless me Father for I have sinned....." and I stood in line with all the other 2nd graders waiting to enter the confessional trying to dream up and categorize my sins.  "Hit my sister, that's one... "   It certainly would have been helpful if someone had mentioned that after I closed the door and kneeled inside the little tiny claustrophobic confessional box the lights would go off. I would have confessed to anything to get out of there. "I did iiiiiiiiiiiiiiitttttttttttttttt!"

Mom giving me guilt-ridden hell.  She had some to spare.  Me, going blind with sadness.



Church was just full of one frightening experience after another . There was the day we marched down the aisle at church to have our throats blessed.  Something about somebody having a fish bone stuck and having it miraculously cleared or maybe it was fish stick Friday - I don't know.  I had pigtails that day.  Long pigtails.  As I got closer to the priest ( By this time I could guess Father Somebody was at the end of the line)  I noticed there were two very large candles that were crossed and held together with a purple ribbon.  All I could think about was what if he lights the candles and catches my pigtails on fire.   I worried a lot.  Myopic 8 year olds do that

And some experiences are just shocking. I was sent on an errand to the office .  As I rounded the corner toward the Principal's office I ran into Father Kleiser.    He was smoking a cigarette and and had just used the word "hell" as a curse word.  I was sure the end of the world was happening that day.  At the very least he must have slipped off the top rung.  



March 1968 - 13 inches of snow. Clearly I was struck by the somberness of the day. 



After 2nd grade the Tower of Terror at Disney World was a cake walk. 

Say Cheese!

When Bill's mother passed away she left us with quite a mess to clean up.  Her house was about 4300 sq. feet of nostalgia.  and crap.  It took weeks and weeks to go through everything.  What made it so challenging was you would open a drawer or box or closet and there would be 30+ years of coupons or newspapers or clothes and then you would come upon a birth certificate or 100 year old pictures. Or my personal favorite a closet with 200 pairs of shorts on hangers from size 2 to 14. We counted them.  Jane had lots of shorts. 

There comes a point where you're one match away from solving the entire problem. We had a commercial dumpster delivered and set up in the front yard.  It was liberating.



Every once in a while you'd come across a real treasure. And sometimes it was something else.  The kind of something else you'd wish had stayed in Pandora's box.  



Raise your hands, You gotta let the feeling show....



In one bedroom there was an old dresser that had belonged to his grandparents.  His mom had moved the dresser into her house after her mother passed away seven years earlier.  It was rather eerie in that appeared that the dresser had not been touched since Grammie's passing.  Her wallet and driver's license and a variety of membership cards, including old credit cards were still neatly tucked in the top drawer ready for a shopping trip.  All the drawers were full of neatly folded clothes and stuff you'd expect to find in a grandma/grandpa dresser.  But these weren't your ordinary grandparents. Which may explain why it was never cleaned out before now.  And certainly explains why Jane didn't clean it out.



Bill's younger brother , the previously before mentioned coin-rolling brother, was busy cleaning out the dresser while the rest of us were in other parts of the house doing the same thing.  A rather loud gasp followed by a OMG kind of panicked scream came from the bedroom.  Then a " you, guys, come here, I'm not going to be the only one who sees this". 



Honey, does this make me look fat?



This might be a good time to mention that their grandfather was a photographer.  With his own darkroom.  In his own house where he lived in Detroit for 42 years.  I wish I had remembered that before going into the bedroom to see what all the gasping was about.  Let's just say that Gram and Gramps were not particularly worried about the lighting on some of their more revealing pictures.  Complete with lampshades on one young naked woman's head as she was sitting on Gramp's lap while the Gramster was adorned with a lei around her neck.  That was the entire costume.   Also they were NOT youngsters in these photos. I'd like to tell you how we knew that but I'll spare you.  This is also why we were all struck temporarily blind for several hours. 

Then we started laughing , mostly because of the wine, and thinking about how much  fun this couple had together.  They were happily married for almost 60 years.  They did everything together. ( since there was documented proof and no ransom notes in the photos I feel safe making this statement)   They partied harder and longer than anyone I ever met and that included us at their 50th anniversary party one week after we were married.

We contemplated making that photo into a Christmas Card in honor of them.  Gramps would have loved it.  Grams not so much.  Our children would have been an instant shoe in on Dr. Phil.  "You say you were scarred  by a family Christmas card? Please explain."

We learned lots of life lessons from Gram and Gramps.

1. Love your spouse - Love your marriage - Have fun ( maybe don't include the neighbors in everything)

2. Have a buddy system when cleaning out your grandparents house.

3. Leis don't cover much.

4. Use filtered lighting.

5. Don't pick your annual Christmas Card photo while drinking.

New topic to argue about.




white never shows dirt. 

 

I hit our garage last night.  While driving the all white mommy mini-van.  Naturally Bill had just walked out of the house and was standing there when it happened.  That's so annoying.   We've lived in this house almost 20 years.  I've never hit anything.......I've never been witnessed hitting anything.   I seriously sideswiped the left wall scraping paint off the garage all the way down the side of the car.   I wasn't drinking.  Or texting.  Or talking to anyone else. I just hit it. 

There was a time in my life when I would have had a heart attack or cried or apologized profusely or most likely done all three at once.  ( I did feel a little stupid) . But it was his face.  The look of total disbelief on his face that got me.   As I got out of the car and walked past him into the house I said, " I believe that's why they call them bumpers."   He's probably going to park on the street from now on.

argument still in progress.