Theme Wk 9 ..Beyond the Obvious

" Are you crazy? Why are you taking three classes and working full time too?"
I've heard that more than once. Usually I give some glib response like " It beats housework!"
Even though most of the women I know my age are preparing for retirement and spending time with grandchildren, I'm plugging away toward that cap and gown. My first.
Heredity indicates that I'll be around for another 30 or 40 years. Mom was in her 80's when she died, as were her parents. Dad is 90 and still going strong. His mom lived to be 95. ( When she was in her 80's we finally convinced her to stop climbing the ladder outside to wash her windows. )
Unfortunately, my husbands ancestors were not so long lived. Many of them died young from heart disease. Others from various forms of cancer. My husband, who is not yet 60, had two heart attacks last year, and one the year before. I've told him he could find a better spring hobby...
Six more credits and I'll have my degree. Will I stop then? Probably not. This little journey has taught me that the more I learn, the more I want to learn. It started out for the money,continued through the fear of being alone, but has evolved into so much more. It's all about me now. I'm doing it for myself.

Theme Wk. 8/ Small to big

“He cut me!”
If you’ve ever spent more than 15 minutes in an elementary school, I’ll bet you’ve heard those words, spat out with a vehemence unimaginable to anyone not familiar with the ritual of lining up to go…everywhere… the bathroom, the gym, the library, the cafeteria, recess. For some reason, and for most kids, being the first one in line is more important than three squares a day and a place to sleep under a warm blanket. They don’t seem to care that the last in the line will get wherever they’re going approximately 3.2 seconds after the first in line. If a nearby adult makes any exaggerated, shocked expression, or slightly sarcastic comment about a lack of blood, it will be met with either a glare of daggers, or a totally blank stare. (And more than likely, more whining about someone jumping the line.) This scenario often progresses to the dreaded, “She’s looking at me!” or that equally onerous “She made a mean smile at me!” ( not quite sure I’ve figured that one out yet) For whatever reasons, kids seem to be getting shorter and shorter tempers, and less tolerant of the other kids around them.
Fast forward a few years, and these little darlin’s are behind the wheel. Is it a big surprise that they still don’t want to have anyone in front of them? They ride your back bumper until they can’t see any cars coming toward them (of course they can’t see any cars, there are too many curves) and then they fly by you, all the while yakking on a cell phone. You overhear their conversations at the mall about how he “showed her what mattered”, or how she “let him **%^$ know what he could do to %$@#& himself. Whoa. Chill out kiddos.. Of course it’s a real joy when one of these same people is telling all of this to a co worker while they wait on you at the local convenience store. I would way rather hear “Have a nice day” than some of the conversations that go on at the checkout counter. But.. At least they’re working, right? The ones who aren’t can spread their brand of cheer through their gangs.
More and more parents are criticizing teachers for picking on their kids or not giving them a chance. (if little Sally doesn’t have time to finish her homework that should be ok…after all, she does have soccer practice and gymnastics, and cookies to sell… who has time for math?) When she fails her test, Momma can whip off a phone call to the superintendent or the school board quick as you please. If she’s really good at it, she can round up lots of other parents who can all whine to the school board about the big old meanie who is expecting their children to actually do their work. Of course at the same time, there is usually at least one student in the classroom that these same parents want “something done” about .
So you go to a basketball game to relax, and get to hear “fans” screaming at the other “fans”, the players, coaches and especially the refs. It used to be just a handful of loud mouths who would embarrass their families , schools, or towns, but it’s becoming more prevalent, and has finally reached the point of the over paid and under-talented players going into the stands after the rude loud mouths. Don’t get me wrong…I love basketball! I have my March Madness brackets in front of me now..watching the outcome of the tournament, but it’s a game! It’s not a matter of life and death. That would be when countries get involved in the business of other countries either because they disagree with the politics of that country, or because they want something from that country. “His friend made a mean smile at me.” Well sure…that’s a good reason to go to war.

Theme Wk. 7 Person

Mom was a 5 foot 2 inch dynamo who was a walking miracle. (And the 2 inches was a bit of a stretch. I don’t think she ever really got that tall.) When she was only 3 years old, she fell down the stairs in her kiddy car and broke her back. I suspect that emergency medical care in 1918 was not what it is today, but live she did. She spent years in a series of casts, and then a back brace well into high school, but it didn’t seem to slow her down. Nicknamed “Snooky” by her older brothers, after Baby Snooks, she was doted on by them and her parents. She loved to dance and sing and took much pride in being able to do the split, well into her 50s, even though she could never master a back bend. When she was a cheerleader in high school, she used to cheer standing on the balcony railing, while strapped to the support posts in the Town Hall. She attended hairdresser’s school, which she hated. “All those fussy old ladies who wanted finger waves in their greasy hair.” And Maine School of Commerce, before it was renamed, Husson College. She had a series of secretarial jobs before and after her marriage and then moved back to Brownville Junction to settle after Dad went to work for the railroad. Come spring, she didn’t just clean house, she went into battle against the winter dirt, complete with a plan of attack and a stack of egg salad sandwiches, so that she didn’t have to stop to fix lunch. She’d tear the whole house apart from the attic to the cellar. She scrubbed and painted walls, ceilings, dressers…and the piano..one year pink..another year green. She put up new curtains,. scrubbed Venetian blinds in the tub, painted closets…aired out the new season’s clothes.. She put tile on the bathroom walls, and installed flooring in the hall. She reupholstered furniture. She rebuilt one chair in the living room that apparently we sat in too heavily, because she took out the broken springs, and the first one to collapse (teen age style) into the chair met with a solid plywood seat under the fabric. One year she laid a wall to wall carpet in the very large living room…by herself… She had her own work bench in the cellar with her tools. You just never knew when she might decide that a new bookcase was needed somewhere, and she was the one to build it. There was never a craft project that she wouldn’t tackle. She once made a 5 foot Santa Claus out of vinyl upholstery material left from taking apart the benches in the breakfast nook. He hung on the peak of the house along with a wreath she made on a discarded hula hoop, for many Christmases before being done in by a rainy December.
Mom was a very talented artist who in a different time might have chosen a career in art. Her beautiful oils remain treasures in our family. She went through a “ceramic period”, when everyone in the family received ceramics for every holiday. If art was her interest, her passion was reading. She read anything and everything. A few times I cringed when I bought a book for her to read and when she finished she said “It was a little earthy.” No censorship for Mom…she’d just raise her eyebrows, and keep on reading. She loved to watch “McGiver” and later “ Murder She Wrote “ and “Diagnosis Murder.” Her grandchildren joked that "Mamie" wrote the screen play for Angela Lansbury.
When she died, I received a lovely letter from a former neighborhood friend, who called Mom a “fearsome little woman” which she surely was. She ruled with an iron hand, and all the kids in the neighborhood knew they’d better mind their manners around Snooky. She also said how much she had admired Mom as one of the only women she knew growing up, who “read real books”. Truly a compliment from this contemporary who ended up being an English teacher.