Theme Week 15..

One more for the road....just got it from a friend, and had to share...

Subject: Fw: This says it all......




Time passes.........

Life happens..........

Distance separates......

Children grow up.....

Jobs come and Go........

Love waxes and wanes........

Men don't do what they're supposed to do......

Hearts break..........

Parents die.........

Colleagues forget Favors..........

Careers end.

BUT........

Sisters are there, no matter how much time and how many miles are between you. A girl friend is never farther away than needing her can reach. When you have to walk that lonesome valley and you have to walk it by yourself. The women in your life will be on the valley's rim.

Cheering you on.

Praying for you.

Pulling for you.

Intervening on your behalf.

And waiting with open arms at the valley's end.

Sometimes, they will even break the rules and walk beside you.

Or come in and carry you out.

Girlfriends, Daughters, Granddaughters, Daughters-in-law, Sisters,

Sisters-in-law, Mothers, Grandmothers, Aunts, Nieces, Cousins, and

extended family,

All bless our life!

The world wouldn't be the same without women,

And Neither would I.

When we began this adventure called womanhood. we had no idea of the incredible joys or sorrows that lay ahead. Nor did we know how much we would need each other. Every day, we need each other still.

Theme Week 15

This is all good advice from my friend, Miz Myrtle...a true "G-R-I-T-S"...

Only a Southerner knows the difference between a hissie fit and a conniption fit, and that you don't "have" them, you "PITCH" them.

Only a Southerner knows how many fish, collard greens, turnip greens, peas, beans, etc., make up "a mess." .. and we ain't given our secrets away to no Yankees.

Only a Southerner can show or point out to you the general direction of "yonder."

Only a Southerner knows exactly how long "directly" is - as in: "Going to town, be back directly." The Cornish also know this secret, but they 'ain't tellin' either.
Even Southern babies know that "gimme some sugar" is not a request for the white, granular sweet substance that sits in a pretty little bowl in the middle of the table.
All Southerners know exactly when "by and by" is. They might not use the term, but they know the concept well.
Only a Southerner knows instinctively that the best gesture of solace for a neighbor who's got trouble is a plate of hot fried chicken and a big bowl of cold potato salad. If the neighbor's trouble is a real crisis, they also know to add a large banana puddin!

Only Southerners grow up knowing the difference between "right near" and "a right far piece." They also know that "just down the road" can be 1 mile or 20.
Only a Southerner, both knows and understands the difference between a redneck, a good ol' boy, and po' white trash.
No true Southerner would ever assume that the car with the flashing turn signal is actually going to make a turn.
A Southerner knows that "fixin" can be used as a noun, a verb, or an adverb.
Only Southerners make friends while standing in lines. We don't do "queues," we do "lines"; and when we're "in line," we talk to everybody! Southerners know grits come from corn and how to eat them.
Every Southerner knows tomatoes with eggs, bacon, grits, and coffee are perfectly wonderful; that red eye gravy is also a breakfast food; and that fried green tomatoes are not a breakfast food.
When you hear someone say, "Well, I caught myself lookin'," you know you are in the presence of a genuine Southerner!
Only true Southerners say "sweet tea" and "sweet milk." Sweet tea indicates the need for sugar and lots of it -- we do not like our tea unsweetened. "Sweet milk" means you don't want buttermilk. ?
And a true Southerner knows you don't scream obscenities at little old ladies who drive 30 MPH on the freeway. You just say, "Bless her heart" and go your own way.

To those of you who are still a little embarrassed by our Southerness: Take two tent revivals and a dose of sausage gravy and call me in the morning. Bless your heart!
And to those of you who are still having a hard time understanding all this Southern stuff, bless your hearts, I hear they are fixin' to have classes on Southernness as a Second Language!
And last but certainly not least, for those that are NOT born Southern but have lived here for a long, long time, all y'all need a sign to hang on y'alls front porch that reads "I ain't originally from the South, but I got here as fast as I could."

Theme week 15

Theme Week 15.

Singing “Sherry Baby” while decorating the high school gym
Cranky old teachers still just don’t understand.
Skipping study hall to smoke a cigarette.
Scolding a student for hanging out in the bathroom.
Going for a spin down to Exchange Street while Dad was at the races.
Dodged the bullet…Teflon life.
6 kids, 2 women, a 1600 mile road trip.
Hillary and Norkey…”Because it is there”
Scotia Prince…Dramamine instead of bonine..
…of an apparent overdose…
Romantic Carnival Cruise…
Tropical storm strength winds…12 foot seas..
Consecutive yearly trips to the ER..stents and home.
A good friend, lost too soon from an ignored MI.
Cooing over a friend’s new grand daughter.
Patting the grand dog on my lap.

Theme Week 14...Risk

Theme Week 14..

“So, Sampson…what da ya think of these Grandhumans? Pretty cushy place to visit, eh?”

“You’re kidding, right? Come on Chauncy, use your head, man, for something besides sniffing crotches…These people are evil. I don’t care how many times she squeaks about “treats for Sammikins”, she’s the bitch ( no offense) that stuck me in that cage.”

“Sampsy, baby! She was just trying to keep you safe. Really. She didn’t want you Tommin’ all over the hill and getting run over. Give her a chance. She’s an ok granny. She rubs my ears and scratches that place on my back where I can’t get to. Ya know? Right where I have to squeeze under the porch steps to reach. Whoa! This is like sooo much easier. I just give her the sad look with the big browns, and she melts softer ‘n ice cream in July.”

“ Well maybe so, but she took me back to the orphanage and THEY took me over to T-H-E V-E-T. It was dreadful. Even now I can’t talk about it. It brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it.”

“I guess I made that trip before Scott rescued me out of the shelter. It was a long haul from Georgia, so maybe I figure I’m happy just to be here. My only complaint is that they don’t want me to broaden my horizons. That damned run doesn’t go nearly far enough, and when I take off and show them all the great places in the neighborhood to sniff, and all the cool places to roll around and play tag, they just don’t seem to appreciate it. Grandpup even hollered at me this morning. How was I to know that having coffee was such a big deal part of getting up? I figured a good run up the hill would be a great way to start his day”

“You’re pretty funny, Chaunce. You should have seen the way I twisted myself inside out when he tried to put me in the cage to go home. I growled and hissed and hollered just like Simba. He said he didn’t believe I only weighed 4.9lbs…whatever that means.”

“So what happened then?”

“Well, Granny and her friend took me back home to my Mom and Dad’s apartment.I was a little wobbly from the drugs, but it sure was good to get home. Mom and Dad really love me. They leave the tv on for me when they go to work. When the grandhumans come to visit there, you wouldn’t know they were the same people . I guess they know they’re in my castle then, and I am the boss.”

“OK, Sampson…whatever you say. Wanna share some of that tuna with me?”

Theme Week 13...Vignettes

Theme Week 13..Vignettes
All sisters have some sort of special relationship, good or bad. My sister and I are no different. The bad was mostly before I was 12 years old. That was before she moved out and got married. She was 7 years old when I was born. She was a princess, like many 7 year old, only children, and she didn’t like me much when I came kicking and screaming into her world. “Whaddya mean..be quiet the baby’s sleeping…this is my kingdom.” It must have been very hard to share what had been her glory for 7 years. Of course I only know this part because she told me, when we were both much older, and able to handle that truth. I do remember being a royal little pain in the ass who must have caused her no end of headaches when she was a teenager, with teenage friends, and teenage secrets. I remember sitting in the living room, under the piano (one of my favorite spots so the gypsy lady in the painting couldn’t see me) and tattling whenever Di and her boyfriend got too close on the couch, or turned out the lights to “watch tv.” More than once I heard, "Mama, can't you make her stop talking?"
As an adult with children and grandchildren, she probably wouldn’t condone corporal punishment now, but at that time it didn’t bother her much to whack me when she thought I needed it…which seemed often to me. I was sure she was just being mean when she made me spit out the gum (right in front of my friends) that I’d taken from her dresser. (That was o.k. My friends each shared a piece of their already been chewed gum with me) Or when she put the dishes back into the dish water saying they were still dirty, when in truth, they were probably still dirty.
On the flip side, I became her trained mascot who could jitterbug with the best of them…very handy to have a dance partner who was little enough to toss over your back or slide under your legs. It was cute to have a little sister dress up in a cheering uniform (pint sized) and go out on the basketball court. I was pretty useful as a go between with authority too. Lots of “go ask Mama if we can…” conversations. When she got a convertible,(57 Chevy Bel Aire...the only Chevy I ever loved)it was quite a thrill to be invited to go for a ride. When she got a diamond, she woke me up to show me first. By the time she was 19 and moving out, I figured she had grown up enough so we could finally be friends. It was many years later that it occurred to me that maybe I was the one who had grown up a little. It was very cool to go stay with her and her husband down near the coast. Later when I had a niece, then a nephew, it was my favorite place to go. My brother-in-law was the perfect big brother to me…wonderful to my sister, kind and caring with his small children, and just enough of a tease to always make me laugh. That all changed with a middle of the night phone call to tell us he had been killed in a car accident. As a typical 16 year old drama queen, I was pretty sure it was the end of my life too. I soon realized that my pain was trivial compared to my sister’s. She was now a 24 year old widow with two toddlers. Many years later, she summed it up when she told another young mother that when people tell you that time will heal the wound; you want to tell them to go to Hell, even knowing that they are right. We did all move on from that time.
When I got married, I moved in with Di and her children, while my husband was finishing basic training and tech school in the Army. At the end of the month, just before the allotment checks came, we’d clean out the pocketbooks for a supper out at The Chuck Wagon. We had a great laugh when Di introduced me to the waitress after I’d just ordered a beer, and the waitress asked which one of us was older. Filet mignon couldn’t taste any better now then those hamburgers did back then. We also had a great sense of teamwork. She worked and I babysat. On the weekends, we’d start cleaning at opposite ends of the trailer, and meet in the middle. During that winter, she began a new relationship, and when I moved out in June with a new baby, she remarried.
We’ve remained close, asking and giving advice freely over the years. Whenever there’s been a family crisis, we’ve talked to decide how and how much to tell Mom and Dad. That’s something that has continued with Dad now that Mom is gone. We’ve had a running joke about the Christmas newsletters from the absolutely bloomin’ perfect relatives with their exceptionally brilliant children, a la Lake Wobegon. Even though we’re both busy with our families, work, and school, and don’t get together as often as we’d like, because of the distance, we’re still best friends. We may have gotten off to a rocky start, but I think we’ve worked it out pretty well.

Theme Wk 12 "..where they ain't..."

“They” are a couple who “enjoys ill health.” No one has ever had an ailment that “They” haven’t already had…worse, longer, a more serious case. If you meet “Them” on the street, you’ll soon learn not to ever say, “How are you?”
That simple, courteous, rhetorical question will always be met with an organ recital “well my knees…having a replacement…horrible stomach aches from… headaches….Dr. thinks…probably a rare type of …..deficiency…”

Unfortunately, they aren’t usually kind and thoughtful enough to keep their bad attitudes between themselves. They’ve shared them with their children as well…”Are you feeling ok?....you look pale…let me feel your forehead…are you sure you aren’t…..blah blah blah…They drive away friends. They alienate colleagues to the point of people ducking around corners when they see either of the pair approaching. They are angry at the world. What makes people dwell so on their own problems...real or imagined…that they forget all the basic lessons they’ve learned (and taught) in Sunday School? So sad. It must be an exhausting way to live.

Week 12 theme..Hit 'em where they ain't..

December 2005

Dear Friends and Family,
Season’s Greetings! We just can’t believe another year has passed…and what a busy year we’ve had!
Bailey will be back to school in only one more week. He was able to reduce his suspension by 15 days with daily counseling sessions. We are so proud of his initiative! The doctor says that with proper therapy, his word retrieval should return to almost normal.
Bif Jr. served the last week end of his sentence over Thanksgiving. As soon as his hand heals, he should be able to go back to college. Since he no longer has a driver’s license, he’s looking forward to getting lots of healthy exercise walking back and forth from the dorm to his classes. The Police have worked very hard with the college to clean up the crack house on the corner, so he should have a wonderful chance to see the area and get to know his neighbors.
Little Becki is enjoying the antics of her twins, as do we! Billy is so athletic! He is able to jump from the kitchen counter to the dog’s back without ever missing! It’s so sweet! He and Bobby make quite the little team. They work together to reach the top of the refrigerator just like little mountain climbers. Just the other day a woman in the grocery store compared them to the twins on “Desperate Housewives.” Isn’t that precious? Imagine! Celebrities!
Bif and I have decided to follow our life long dreams of travel. We’ve both quit our jobs and put the house on the market. As soon as he clears up the misunderstanding of the misappropriation of funds at the office, we’re off to parts unknown! (He just told me to pack a bathing suit!) Rest assured, we will keep in touch with each and every one of you.
Have a joyful holiday, and a blessed New Year!

Much love to all,

Bif and Bobbi

Week 11 theme/Distance, frame, alienation

Everything I’ve tried to write so far, I have quickly abandoned. I keep re-reading the examples and starting over…. I can’t seem to bring myself to write about the downside, the problems, or the heartaches. Is it because of my New England upbringing? “You don’t air your dirty laundry in public.” “Everyone has troubles…you don’t need to broadcast your own…just deal with it and move on.” Is it because the writing, the letting it air in public, might hurt someone, in my mind, ..Even though those same “someones” will probably never read it? Is it a feeling of not supporting someone close to you? Of refusing to let go of the past? Perhaps there is guilt over my own shortcomings, my own transgressions that I don’t want to face. Guilt for having a relatively carefree childhood? I grew up, living in one home, with the same two parents and one sister. When I was hungry, there was always food. When I was cold, I turned up the thermostat. My needs were met. Enough of my wants were met to strike a balance. While I didn’t ever feel a sense of being denied, ( other than wanting my own horse, and a swimming pool…and I was able to ride my Godmother’s horses, and swim in the river), I wasn’t given everything I wanted, either. I had rules to follow, and even though I didn’t feel like they were very fair at the time, in retrospect, they were not unreasonable. I had my own dog, and my own cat. I knew that my parents loved me, and when my sister wasn’t being a big sister bully, she did too. That may be why I have no great desire for “things” now. I live comfortably, but certainly not lavishly. I don’t mind if someone has the latest greatest “whatch ma callit”. I can be happy for them without coveting that which is theirs.
My mother told me once that when she lost a pet as a child, her mother told her not to cry. She said, “The most you could do if I died is cry.” The loss of a pet shouldn’t be equal to the loss of a mother. That seemed rather heartless to me at the time. Maybe it helps explain why I always cried over the misfortunes of other people… the cousin who asked as we picked him up in the middle of the night, “Aunt Laura, why doesn’t anybody want me?” ( I was around 8 at the time. He was 10) My neighborhood friends who lost their mom to lung cancer, then suffered more pain when their dad’s new mail order bride blew into town and turned out to be the wicked stepmother. I sat in a circus as a 9 year old, and cried because as I saw it, the children didn’t have a real house to call home.
I still can’t write about the low spots. I will continue to cry over the children in The Bridge to Teribithia , and for the boy in Stone Fox . ( there’s just something about him carrying his dead dog over the finish line that does me in every time) Maybe someday I can distance myself enough to write my own creative non fiction. Until then, I’ll continue to skirt around the edges. This may even help to explain the Blogger name, since it bears no resemblance to my real name.

Theme .Week 10. Irony

Theme Week 10 . Irony. When things simply don’t mean what they seem to mean.

“ When you don’t know what to write about, the best way to start is to just begin writing…about anything.” I tell my 3rd graders this all the time. Make a story web. Outline your ideas. Use a blank piece of paper and just brainstorm as fast as you can. Write any ideas that come into your head.
“Johnny, if you want to write, you can’t do it wandering around the room. You can’t get it finished if you don’t start it. You’ve got your paper and pencil. Now get to it. You don’t want to have to miss recess time. “
It is now Sunday..week 11 has started. I’ve done my environmental science paper this week. Who knew waste water treatment could be so fascinating? Those “daphnia” are really something. Met Sis and Dad at the OTB yesterday. Finally sat down at the computer this morning. Had to make a pot of tea. Might as well throw some brownies in the oven. The kids are coming up today. Back to the computer. Whoops…email coming in. Better check it. It might be important. Check the March Madness pool. See where Adam is in the standings. Maybe just play one game on POGO. Or two. I’ll just rework the wording on those business cards. Maybe the font needs to be bigger. That should do it. Hmmm. Week 10. Irony.
OK.. The sun is shining. Recess is coming. Get to it.

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.

Theme Week 6

Chairs that aren’t quite big enough. Desks in groups of four or five. Some desks have books neatly stacked according to size…pencils lined up... crayon boxes full. With the name tag still fresh and untouched , beside the pencil well. Other desks look ready to explode. One small jiggle will start an avalanche of books, broken pencils, eraser bits, and papers…some completed and corrected, others barely started. “Caught being good” stickers are stuck to the daily planner, and candy wrappers stuffed in the back. A run has started near the seam of the new carpet.
The unmistakable smell of chalk dust brings back childhood recollections of being the lucky one to write the date on the board.. Being the helper who got to clap the erasers. The new smell of dry erase markers competes with the old memories. The books are lined up in order for now. A-Z of the well used encyclopedias. Junie B Jones and the Bailey School Kids are ready for DEAR time…”drop everything and read”. On the walls, posters in primary colors contrast with the pastels of the world map. The classroom rules stress respect for friends, school property and ones self. All of the students have signed the rules. Some will remember them always. Others only until someone challenges them. The only sounds now, are the soft buzz of the clock on the wall and the occasional rattle of the hamster’s wheel. Ric tic tic, stop. He’s listening too. Ric tic tic, stop. Very soon the silence will be broken by the clatter of rolling packs, and the laughter of excited voices… Seeing one another after nine days at home. Catching up on the news. Making plans for after school. Re-forming cliques.
The closet will soon be filled with jackets askew on hangers, and backpacks stuffed haphazardly onto the bottom shelf. The ragged hand me down with the broken zipper alongside the Columbia 4 in 1 Systems, with a lift ticket attached to the zipper pull. The little girl, responsible for 3 younger siblings at home, competing with the privileged child, just back from his tropical vacation. Some are anxious to learn. Others are just happy to be back where they feel safe. Where no adult yells or raises a hand to them. Still others are already trying to decide if they have a headache or a belly ache, and can they convince the school nurse to send them home. Different sizes, different backgrounds, different goals and wishes. Which ones will be successful?
Another day begins.

Theme week 5 (2nd)

Joe and Henry landed in town in the 1930s, from somewhere in Massachusetts, so they said. People had no reason to disbelieve them. Everybody liked Joe. He was Portuguese, a big guy..maybe 300 pounds, but soft spoken, and honest. If you asked a direct question, he wouldn’t lie to you. He always wore his wool lumberjack shirt and pants in red plaid. He claimed it kept out the hot in summer as well as the cold in winter. Joe trapped some, tried his hand at logging, and built a camp with Henry on Ebeeme Pond. Their first winter there, Henry shot a moose and the wardens nailed ‘em. They spent that winter in the county jail. After they did their time, they were back at camp where Henry had been doing some bootlegging. Not the first in the area, but he was after all a stranger. One afternoon when Joe was cooking a mulligan stew, a boat load of the local gendarmes showed up. Joe invited them in for some dinner.
They had their fill of stew, and conversation, and as they were leaving, the leader gave a stretch and said, “Well boys, seeing as how we’re here anyways, we might as well take a look around. You don’t mind do ya, Joe?”
Joe said it was ok by him, so they went outside the camp and proceeded to have a look around. Pretty soon the leader brushed away some leaves which revealed a trap door. When he opened it up, it was filled with bottles of liquor. From the look on Joe’s face, they knew it was a surprise to him, but he picked up his jacket anyway, and said ,”O.K...Let’s go.”
They said they weren’t interested in him this time, so he could just go on back to work and they’d leave him alone. About this time, Joe was working on the extra gang with the railroad at Bodfish, near the foot of Borestone Mountain. He was a cracker jack mechanic, and fixed the motors on the motor cars. One day when the time keeper was at the shack by himself, a big white Cadillac pulled up into the yard. Two men in suits came in asking for Joe Silva. The timekeeper said he was not very well acquainted with the men there yet, and he wasn’t familiar with that name. As soon as they left, he high tailed it up the tracks to the rock cut where Joe was working. He told Joe what had happened and Joe thanked him. The next day they came back and Joe spent the better part of the afternoon in that white Cadillac, talking to the men.
Not long after that visit, Joe disappeared, without a trace. For weeks, everyone asked where Joe was. No one seemed to know for sure, but Doc and Fr. Daily, his two best friends, were not as convincing in their denials. Speculation was that he’d been in the witness protection program, and given a new identity. A guy who weighs 300 pounds, doesn’t just disappear, but no one in these parts ever laid eyes on him again.

Theme Week 13..Vignettes

All sisters have some sort of special relationship, good or bad. My sister and I are no different. The bad was mostly before I was 12 years old. That was before she moved out and got married. She was 7 years old when I was born. She was a princess, like many 7 year old, only children, and she didn’t like me much when I came kicking and screaming into her world. “Whaddya mean..be quiet the baby’s sleeping…this is my kingdom.” It must have been very hard to share what had been her glory for 7 years. Of course I only know this part because she told me, when we were both much older, and able to handle that truth. I do remember being a royal little pain in the ass who must have caused her no end of headaches when she was a teenager, with teenage friends, and teenage secrets. I remember sitting in the living room, under the piano (one of my favorite spots so the gypsy lady in the painting couldn’t see me) and tattling whenever Di and her boyfriend got too close on the couch, or turned out the lights to “watch tv.” More than once I heard, "Mama, can't you make her stop talking?"
As an adult with children and grandchildren, she probably wouldn’t condone corporal punishment now, but at that time it didn’t bother her much to whack me when she thought I needed it…which seemed often to me. I was sure she was just being mean when she made me spit out the gum (right in front of my friends) that I’d taken from her dresser. (That was o.k. My friends each shared a piece of their already been chewed gum with me) Or when she put the dishes back into the dish water saying they were still dirty, when in truth, they were probably still dirty.
On the flip side, I became her trained mascot who could jitterbug with the best of them…very handy to have a dance partner who was little enough to toss over your back or slide under your legs. It was cute to have a little sister dress up in a cheering uniform (pint sized) and go out on the basketball court. I was pretty useful as a go between with authority too. Lots of “go ask Mama if we can…” conversations. When she got a convertible,(57 Chevy Bel Aire...the only Chevy I ever loved)it was quite a thrill to be invited to go for a ride. When she got a diamond, she woke me up to show me first. By the time she was 19 and moving out, I figured she had grown up enough so we could finally be friends. It was many years later that it occurred to me that maybe I was the one who had grown up a little. It was very cool to go stay with her and her husband down near the coast. Later when I had a niece, then a nephew, it was my favorite place to go. My brother-in-law was the perfect big brother to me…wonderful to my sister, kind and caring with his small children, and just enough of a tease to always make me laugh. That all changed with a middle of the night phone call to tell us he had been killed in a car accident. As a typical 16 year old drama queen, I was pretty sure it was the end of my life too. I soon realized that my pain was trivial compared to my sister’s. She was now a 24 year old widow with two toddlers. Many years later, she summed it up when she told another young mother that when people tell you that time will heal the wound; you want to tell them to go to Hell, even knowing that they are right. We did all move on from that time.
When I got married, I moved in with Di and her children, while my husband was finishing basic training and tech school in the Army. At the end of the month, just before the allotment checks came, we’d clean out the pocketbooks for a supper out at The Chuck Wagon. We had a great laugh when Di introduced me to the waitress after I’d just ordered a beer, and the waitress asked which one of us was older. Filet mignon couldn’t taste any better now then those hamburgers did back then. We also had a great sense of teamwork. She worked and I babysat. On the weekends, we’d start cleaning at opposite ends of the trailer, and meet in the middle. During that winter, she began a new relationship, and when I moved out in June with a new baby, she remarried.
We’ve remained close, asking and giving advice freely over the years. Whenever there’s been a family crisis, we’ve talked to decide how and how much to tell Mom and Dad. That’s something that has continued with Dad now that Mom is gone. We’ve had a running joke about the Christmas newsletters from the absolutely bloomin’ perfect relatives with their exceptionally brilliant children. Even though we’re both busy with our families, work, and school, and don’t get together as often as we’d like, because of the distance, we’re still best friends. We may have gotten off to a rocky start, but I think we’ve worked it out pretty well.

Theme Week 4

Theme Week 4.
Take I
In March of 2004, my husband was in the hospital for a cardiac catheterization , after having a heart attack. (at the ripe old age of 55) Family members of patients are issued beepers so that they can be notified of the status of the procedures being done. Since I do not sit still well, and the weather was miserable, I decided to take a walk to the Riverside Inn, which is connected to EMMC by a series of dreary corridors, in essentially the basement of the hospital. The hospital was built in the 1890s, and the original portion is still there, where nurses used to receive their training. Since I was running on caffeine and nerves at the time, my imagination was a bit overactive. I did walk all the way to the hotel and back. I told myself that it wouldn’t be so bad in the daylight, and then I realized that there are no windows, so there would never be any daylight. It helped to pass the time, and kept me busy until Hubby was out of surgery and I could see him.

Take II
Have you ever walked from EMMC to the Riverside Inn through the underground maze? I have. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I had my Cardiac Cath Lab issued beeper, Hubby was safely ensconced in the cath lab, surrounded by knowledgeable professionals, who were going to fix him up good as new (good as 40 anyway) , and the tv in the cardiac waiting room was driving me crazy…not to mention the morons waiting there. O.K. I should be charitable. Maybe they were as nervous as I was and their way of handling it was to be loud and obnoxious. At any rate, I needed to walk and since it was one of those crummy, slushy, days that we only seem to get in March, I figured I’d follow the arrows on the floor to the Inn. Kind of like my own Yellow Brick Road.
Things started out pretty well, but the further I went, and the more corners I turned, the creepier it got. I saw no one. I started talking to myself (only in my head… I figured whistling a happy tune might get me locked away somewhere) But every corner brought a new shadow, or the hiss and rattle of old pipes. Visions of the ghosts of nurses past and shrouded bodies from the morgue were in the back of my mind. In spite of wanting to just turn back, I was determined to give myself this little test of endurance, however silly, and go on to the end. Door signs indicated various labs, nuclear medicine, inhalation therapy, caution..oxygen, prosthetics, boiler room….always a scary place in the movies, and none the less so in my head at that moment. The writing on the floor told me that the Inn was just ahead, and at long last I came to the stairs which led up into the lobby. Once there, it looked like any number of hotels I’ve stayed in; A bit of an anticlimax after the walk there. I wandered around the room for a bit and headed back down the stairs, to the hospital. It was no less eerie going back, but I knew that I could do it without making a scene and totally embarrassing myself. It seems a bit juvenile now, but at that moment, it was a small victory that I needed for myself. Sometimes small victories are the ones that matter.

Take III

Have you ever walked from EMMC to the Riverside Inn through the underground maze? I have. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I had my Cardiac Cath Lab issued beeper, Hubby was safely ensconced in the cath lab, surrounded by knowledgeable professionals, who were going to fix him up good as new (good as 40 anyway) , and the tv in the cardiac waiting room was driving me crazy…not to mention the morons waiting there. O.K. I should be charitable. Maybe they were as nervous as I was and their way of handling it was to be loud and obnoxious while listening to their soap operas and talking on their cell phones. At any rate, I needed to walk and since it was one of those crummy, slushy, days that we only seem to get in March, I figured I’d follow the arrows on the floor to the Inn. Kind of like my own Yellow Brick Road.
Things started out pretty well, but the further I went, and the more corners I turned, the creepier it got. I thought I heard a gurney being pushed toward me, and moved to one side, expecting to meet someone around the next corner, but when I got there, it was empty. There were no doors in that part of the corridor; only the fire extinguishers on the walls. I started talking to myself (only in my head… I figured whistling a happy tune might get me locked away somewhere) But every corner brought a new shadow, a new squeak, or the hiss and rattle of old pipes. Visions of the ghosts of nurses past and shrouded bodies from the morgue were in the back of my mind. In spite of wanting to just turn back, I was determined to give myself this little test of endurance, however frightening, and go on to the end. Door signs indicated various labs, nuclear medicine, inhalation therapy, caution..oxygen, prosthetics, boiler room….always a scary place in the movies, and none the less so in my head at that moment. I tried to ignore the brown spots on the floor , and convinced myself it was just paint. (even though it looked as though nothing had been painted in decades) The writing on the floor told me that the Inn was just ahead, and finally, running by now, I came to the stairs which led up into the lobby. Once there, it looked like any number of hotels I’ve stayed in; A bit of an anticlimax after the walk there. I wandered around the room for a bit and headed back down the stairs, to the hospital. It was no less eerie going back, but I knew that I could do it without making a scene and totally embarrassing myself. It seems a bit juvenile now, but at that moment, it was a small victory that I needed for myself. Sometimes small victories are the only ones that matter.

Theme Week 3

I was just trying to be helpful when I put the “Grand-dog” outside on his chain, for a little fresh air. Being a stray from the hills of Georgia, Chauncy hasn’t grasped the idea of staying in his own yard (or his grandparents’) and unless he’s in the house, and you have a biscuit, forget trying to get him to come when he’s called. Unfortunately, when I realized that I hadn’t heard him up on the deck for a few minutes, and went to check, the only thing left was a chain lying in the snow, with the registration and rabies tags attached.
With a yell of “The dog’s loose!” into the house, my son and I sprang into action. He grabbed a couple of flashlights and headed up the street. I jumped into the car and headed the other way, to the main road. I made a quick circle of the trailer park up the hill, where the dog had gone before, but saw no signs of him. Coming back down the hill, I met a car that came to a stop when the red dog ran in front of him. I opened the car door and in my best granny tone, called, “Let’s go for a ride!”
“No way Gran! I am having way too much fun sniffin’ around!”
I parked in a neighbor’s yard with the car lights on and the door opened, hollered to my son and we played tag with the little varmint until he streaked off back up the street. I stopped back at the house for bait, but the lure of freedom was much stronger than the box of Meaty Bones that I was rattling. When he disappeared into the woods again, I went back to the trailer park, cruising around slowly for a glimpse. I spotted him and with the door opened tried to make a ride in the car sound like the most fun since his coon chasing days..
He came running at me like a rocket, and at the last minute veered off to the left, “Psyche! Gotcha Gran! “
By this time, my son had joined me and was walking around with the flashlights, calling and coaxing. I had gone back to cruising, trying to spot the beast, and every time we’d get close, he’d take off again. It was getting darker. It was getting later. I had seen a few people look outside, but no one had come out to help or to ask what was going on. Pretty soon, as I was parked trying to figure out my next plan, a car full of young people pulled up and got out by one of the trailers. They spoke with Scott and all scootched down to call the dog. Again, he ran toward them like a shot, but when they grabbed, he dodged, laughing all the way.
At this point, I could see a police cruiser coming toward me. I rolled down the window as the cruiser stopped, and the officer inquired , “ Is everything ok?”
“Do you have a lasso? “
“Lasso? “ (followed by a blank expression)
“My son’s dog got loose, and he’s playing tag with us.”
“Oh. Someone called and said that someone was shining car lights and flashlights in windows. We’re just checking on it. “
“I’m sorry, officer. We aren’t shining them in windows on purpose. We’re just trying to get the cussed dog. “ (and I can just picture the jail administrators face when he goes to work in the morning if you haul us off to jail! The dear is sound asleep in his recliner, and missing all this great fun)
“OK..” And off they drive into the darkness….
I drive up the street and stop. Scott feels like he’s getting close. I’m watching from the car, and when I look beside the car, so is Chauncy! As soon as I open the door he takes off again. Finally, a man lets his dog out for his nightly pee, and when Chauncy goes to socialize, the bigger dog snaps at him. Chauncy cowers, and Scott is finally able to put the leash back on and lead him home. Wish we’d thought of using another dog as a lure about an hour earlier! Now if I put the dog out, I triple check that the chain is on the collar ring, not the tag ring.
I’ve cut the county police log out of this week’s paper for my scrap book:
“ 9:35 p.m. Car driving slowly around trailer park and shining lights in the trailers. “ Sorry people! Next time if you want to know what’s going on, just ask! I’m pretty harmless!

Theme Week Two..

Wow..the state basketball tournament is such a high for this little corner of the county, it almost makes us forget about the nightly news… for just a minute. I take the letter off the sweater, and fold up my cheering uniform for the last time while listening to Walter Cronkite tell us about the latest battle in Khe Sanh. The politics aren’t real to my 17 yr old brain, but the pictures of flag draped coffins will never leave my head. I regularly write to friends in the Army and Navy, and pray nightly that they don’t have to go to Nam. I love the biting humor of the Smother’s Brothers, and the silliness of Laugh In. My white sneakers with nylons are absolutely The thing to wear to school…no pants allowed, and skirts must fit the “kneel on the floor” rule..so of course I wait until I get out of sight, and roll the waistband so my knees will show….Cher, the original, is our hero..our fashion maven..I try every cure I read about for my cursed curly hair…Ironing it, using soda cans for rollers, taping it down while it drys…nothing works. At this time in my history, I’ve never heard of Farrah Fawcett, and have no idea that in 10 years, my hair could be the envy of those around me….alas…I won’t be a teenager then, so what does it matter?
The summer brings more California sounds. We all want to be part of the surfer crowd... quite a feat for kids in central Maine, but out comes the “Summer Blonde” for our hair, and huarache sandals too. (they were, after all, in the song) The summer spent at the camp on the lake, drive in movies, roller skating, and dances. Listening to Janis Joplin, and the Mamas and the Papas at the submarine races. Summer ends too soon. My boyfriend leaves for basic training. Two months later, a quick trip to North Carolina for a wedding..not your Bride Magazine , maids in frilly dresses wedding, but one in the judges chambers..the groom’s best friend, also in uniform, standing beside him. The brides older sister, with her. Niece and nephew in the back of the room being fed crackers lest they disrupt the ceremony. Months later, we are so thankful that hubby is sent to Korea, instead of Viet Nam…but he lands there the day the Pueblo is seized by the North Koreans. My closet is showing more flowers, more flowing fabrics. Caught between the idealistic, ‘flower-child-wannabe’, and the wife of an MP. A cap and gown is traded for smocks and a diaper bag. My hospital stay coincides with the funeral of Bobby Kennedy. Later that summer, we watch the news again to learn the fate of Dr. King’s killer. We move to Maryland during their hottest summer in 50 years. Short shorts and flip flops..Who can believe men are walking on the moon? Going back to Maine, getting caught in a traffic jam on the N.Y. Throughway…what’s with all these hippies in long dresses and dirty hair? The only “Woodstock” I know is in Canada..How confusing! New closet…new clothes… a fringed vest and hip hugger pants…Kent State on the news …A divided country…
I go to work in a shoe factory for the longest 9 months of my life. My clothes always look dirty with shoe cement…always smelling like leather.. For years after, the smell of leather jackets in a store, will turn my stomach. When the July vacation bonus comes, I walk out. Call this my notice. I won’t be back after vacation. I spend the week working on a roadside cleanup of cans and bottles..hot into the environmental movement..
New suit, job interview, no time for vacation..I’m a bank teller. Shorter skirts and higher stacked heels. I can’t imagine now how it must have looked, leaning over the counter of the drive up window. The little old ladies must have clucked their tongues and shook their heads. Saturday nights spent listening to Waylon and Willie..dances at the Red Barn. The end of the 70s brought me the same fashion as the end of the 60s. I had survived a decade of polyester, and was once again pushing a stroller, and watching Sesame Street..Slightly older, wiser and far more settled. Definitely better the second time around.

Journal Day 6

Ahh..Friday..a great time to sit by the pool with a frosty beverage and read...since the pool is buried in snow, in spite of the recent rain,and it's only 34 degrees out, I'll settle for the frosty beverage and a good book. This week it's a Nelson DeMille, one of my favorite authors. I love the John Corey character and can picture him played by Mel Gibson in a movie..(even though movies are never as good as the books..) Nothing big planned for the week end..our youngest son will probably come up for a visit and bring our beloved grand-dog.. The minute he comes in the door, he makes a bee line (dog line?) to my husband's recliner in the living room, knowing that that's more than likely where David will be! Then awake or asleep, Hubby will have a lap full of lab/boxer/whatever else mix.. I seem to get second billing here, but that's ok..it's the week end, and life is good..

Journal Day 5

Still obsessing about finding all the nooks and crannies that I'm supposed to read and/or respond to.. I haven't quite figured out what I'm missing when I try to edit..the bad spelling doesn't seem to go away! Other than that, it seems to be going well. It was great to see the sun shining today, and certainly made late bus duty more pleasant. Some of those poor kids have to wait around for 45 minutes after dismissal before the bus picks them up. Seems way too long for the little ones. (and with some of the older ones, it's way too long for the ed tech..)
Tomorrow is Friday!

Journal Day 4

Snow Day! I wish it had been real snow instead of this icy stuff. I spent most of the day trying to find the source of Grampy's poetry line about the dingbat. I did find some definitions from a dictionary of Railroad slang. (Grampy moved to Brownville Jct from NB with the Canadian Pacific RR around 1915 just after Dad was born) Dad thought the poem might have been "Hoghead's Last Request" which was one that Gramp used to recite. I found it and it wasn't the right one. I spent the rest of the day looking for the words to "Gila Monster Route". I found some references to it, and they suggested key words, hobo, travel, prison, and drink, which gives you some idea of the lullabies Grampy used to sing to us. One of my favorites was "Halleluja I'm a Bum". I guess he couldn't really sing, but I didn't know that, nor did it matter. It's incredible the amount of useless but interesting information available on the web...

Dingbat (1) - An old hobo who mooches off of other hoboes.Ding bat (2) - A person who has no sense, often a railroad worker.Ding bat (3) - A down-and-out hobo.

Journal Day 3

Back to work! It's great to have a 3 day week end, but you work twice as hard catching up when Monday comes on a Tuesday. The forcast sounds like we might be home tomorrow too.. it will be nice for the moment, even though we'll regret it in June. Had a great meeting after school to plan for our 2 day health and wellness fair in April. Hubby just shook his head when I said "Guess who gets to lead the parade around town, dressed as a tomato?" My tall friend gets to be a carrot.. Stopped at Dad's to give him a good eraser..he's just discovered SuDoKu and thought he might need one. He does the crossword in pen. Maybe by the time I'm 90, I'll be able to do that.

Me in Three Persons

bitsnpieces

You In Three Persons

My first published book, Fido in the Case of the Missing Food, is quite a page turner...all 6 of them...published is the same as stapled in the middle, right? Mum and Daddy both like it a lot..not sure why they keep laughing though..don't they know it's a mystery, not a funny book? Little LuLu is a funny book. I'll have to ask my teacher when I go to school tomorrow. First grade is fun.

You didn't mind being home sick. It was a little embarassing to have measles in 7th grade, but at least you had lots of time to work on your Tall Tale for English Class. Grampy Jeff used to tell great yarns about life on the railroad, and you always loved the line from his favorite poem when he said,"...the dingbat sat on a rotten tie."
He explained that it was another word for a hobo---Eureka! What a great idea for a story. You really put a lot into that tale about cutting across the tracks ( strictly forbidden) and stumbling into the ring of hobos at their campfire. You were so excited when you went back to school and the teacher read it out loud! Then she said, "I don't think a student really wrote this."
You couldn't breathe. You had to hold your breath to keep from crying. Cheating? No Way! After 40 years, it's time to Let-It-Go!

She was determined to do well in her first college class. She thought it was hilarious that the light from her 40 candles kept the flash from going off during the picture. That summer, she learned to golf ( very badly, but with a good looking swing) and for the first time, she volunteered to play the piano in public and didn't throw up first. Now she sat in a small room with an intimidating professor who told the class if they got a "c" from him, they should be glad. Oh no..He just picked up her paper to read. He didn't ask if it was o.k. like he had with others. He hasn't done that before. Now a girl with a whiny voice is criticizing from the back row. Some nonsense saying the writer used "men" instead of "men/women". Yeah, well miss whiny voice is what..like 15? What does she know? Wait a minute..Mr. W. likes the piece.. He's saying good things about it. She can relax a minute, and enjoy this class..she thinks it might be fun after all!

Theme Wk 1. Know Thyself.. Journal Day 2..

Monday, Jan. 16..MLK Day. We went to visit son # 2 and his girlfriend in Bangor. Such a sweet pair and so much fun to talk to. Picked up essentials like olive oil for Dad and cashews at Sam's club...Hubby assured me that nuts are good for him...then wanted to go to the golden arches for a lunch..what's wrong with this picture?? When I delivered the olive oil, Dad wanted to "play a tune, so I accompanied him on the piano. One of the joys that I'll miss the most someday. When the dog had had enough and started singing too, we quit for the day.
A phone call from my good friend "M" helped me realize that I'm not the only one feeling stressed and confused about our assignments, and we will get it all done eventually!

Theme Week One: Know thyself

Sunday, Jan 15...Here it is...know thyself..Do I? I've lived with myself for a very long time, and hope that I've grown and changed for the better. Some constants in my life are comforting..breakfast at the restaurant with my girlfriends on Sunday morning , continues to be a source of grounding for me. We check in on each others' lives, and share both the highs and lows of the week. The mom in a nursing home, the grandchild's birthday party, or the widowed dad's new friend...all reasons to laugh, cry or commiserate. It's a safe place to crab about husbands, because we realize that we don't really mean it...mostly... and we're thankful that we haven't yet had to cope with the pressures faced by our widowed friend. The rest of the day will be spent visiting with my 90 year old dad, if I can catch him at home, and puttering around the house....still trying to put away all the stuff from Christmas...can't believe I'm still finding decorations and dishes with holly and trees! Sunday..a day of rest.. not such a bad thing...