Another New Year

This post was started on New Year's Eve with plans on posting immediately; now it covers a period of 3 days.  Well,  I hope I get it posted within that time.

2014--it's here folks.  We will wake in the morning and a whole new year will be upon us.  Right now I'm waiting for my New Year's Eve Festivities to begin.  It's 8:00 and the party hasn't started yet.

I remember those days that the plans for New Year's Eve were a bigger than big deal.  My thoughts would be like, "We gotta do something.  What can we do?  Where are we going?  Who is going with us?  What shall I wear?"

Now mind you, even though I wished for it, I didn't always have fantastic plans for New Year's Eve.  I longed to have them as a single girl in my late teens and early twenty-something years, but more times than not I didn't have any plans at all.  Poor me, right?   Don't feel too bad for me...I made up for the lack of parties after I married.  Fun for sure.  But I think the fun tonight will surpass any of those parties.  We will see.  I know for sure it will be one that I have never experienced before.

And I'm game, so here's the game plan:

The must-have New Year's Eve hats, necklaces, neon lights and whistles have been dutifully purchased from the Dollar Tree.  (We go all out for our decorations!)  Dinner has been eaten and dishes cleaned up.  The house straightened for the party.  The grandson is due to arrive soon for our New Year's Eve affair.  We are prepared to be at his beck and call.  (Nothing unusual there!)

Some appropriate TV shows have been recorded, just in case.  New books available.  Of course, there are plenty of real toys in his room plus all his imaginative items and friends that can talk i.e. "Cat in the Hat can talk" which means that you must talk for Cat in the Hat.  Rabbit can talk, etc., etc.

I'm sure we will have no problem in the play portion of the evening.  However, we have been forewarned that our guest for the evening woke up from a 3-hour nap at 6:00 p.m.  So, we may be in for some really wild times tonight.  He is known to come alive at night. 

But now as I am waiting for the arrival of our guest of honor (and only guest), I begin to wonder about this new year that is upon us.  Hmmm.  I'll be 64 this year.  Wow!  How can that be?  What are the words to that Beatles' song, "When I'm 64?"  Wait--I'll google it.  (Never could remember words to songs...)

Ah yes,  "...Will you still need me, will you still feed me
               When I'm sixty-four?"

Man, becoming 64 sounded like it would take forever to be that old when those words were first heard on the radio in the late sixties.  I was just a teen and being OLD--like 64 years old--was quite beyond my teen-aged comprehension.  I mean old people were those that were turning 40 or, for heavens' sake, maybe 30.  Did I know anyone at that ripe old age of 64?  My parents weren't even that old!  Maybe those little ladies with the blue hair and ugly sensible black shoes on--maybe they were that old!

But the thought of someone loving me when I was 64--that was appealing even then.  Honestly though, being a late-bloomer, I guess I really thought having someone "love" me at 17 would have been preferable.  However, I must admit, love at 64 (minus 2 months) is good, very good.

And having a party with the grandson is good as well.  I'll wait to post this until after the sleep-over and the new year actually arrives.

January 1, 2014--


Happy New Year!  We made it through the night and was entertained by not only the great little entertainer but also, surprisingly enough, a lovely five man brass band.  Quite  unexpected.

That little fellow made it until midnight, but sadly, YaYa did not--after all, I am almost 64 and I didn't have any nap, much less a 3-hour nap.  When the clock struck 12 midnight, I am told, he was ready to come to bed.  I did wake up enough to read him a story before we both fell fast asleep.

Oh, how nice it was to wake up with such a wonderful little guy next to me even if he, by that time, left me with only one foot of the bed.  But he was snuggled right next to me.  I watched him a little bit and when he woke up, he looked at me.  I smiled at that sweet face and the first thing he said to me was, "Put your glasses on, YaYa."  I guess his waking up next to a 64 year old was not quite as wonderful for him--at least not until I got my glasses on. 

Then the play began again.  Horsey-back ride through the house, outside to the club house, inside to some jumping on the bed.  Then during a break in the bed-jumping he hollered, "Grambo, come here."  When no answer came, this cute little guy turned to me and added, "Grambo is not listening to me."

His parents came and joined us for the black-eyed peas and cornbread traditional lunch.  Then home they went with a tired little boy in tow.  A nap was sure to come--for him and for Grambo and YaYa.

Well, it's now 3:00 in the afternoon.  The first day of 2014 is here and practically gone.  Boy, the days do pass fast, don't they?  But, thankfully, the joys and memories last.   I know I'll enjoy the wonderful stories and fun memories from this New Year's Eve all year. What a fun way to begin a new year.

So here's a toast to 2014--May the year be filled with lots of wonderful days and nights with the ones we love--with or without a five man brass band.  Oh, yes, did I mention to you that the band was on "Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood?"  I must admit that is something else that I have NEVER done before on New Year's Eve.

"It's a beautiful day in this neighborhood,
A beautiful day for a neighbor,
Would you be mine?
Could you be mine?

Won't you be my neighbor?"

Don't worry--I had to google that ditty too!

 

Laughter at the Breakfast Table

The grandson who is almost 3 has learned to tell jokes--well, at least the art of delivering them.  One day this week, the family gathered around the breakfast table and was entertained for quite awhile listening to his jokes.  Question:  "Hey, buddy, do you know a joke?"  Response:  "Wickely, wickely, wickely."  Quick pause, then with open mouth and head thrown back, the little emcee would burst into an enchanting fake laughter which would totally create genuine belly laughs from the rest of the table.

Repeat this scenario over and over again and you can imagine our breakfast that day.  While we were engaged in this routine, I was reminded of how much laughter has been shared through five generations at this very table.

In fact, my earliest memories of going to my grandparents involve this table and laughter.  No matter what time of day or night that we arrived at their farm, the grown-ups would circle around the table in their ladder back chairs and the hours would tick off as would the stories and laughter.  Many times I can remember falling asleep or waking up to the comforting sounds of indistinguishable words followed by the most infectious laughter you could ever imagine--just like the laughter following the "wickely, wickely, wickely" mumbled by the newest generation around that table.

My Grandma and Granddad made this table for their household and raised their 4 boys around it.  I was lucky enough to be able to take ownership of it when it was no longer needed for them.  It has been the breakfast table for my family for the last 30 or so years.  Hence, the laughter and memories continue.

Magic must have been waxed into the grain of this old oak table.  It was a plain farmhouse table--not fancy but solid and practical--important traits for furniture as well as men and women during those pre-Depression days on the flat plains of windy southwest Oklahoma.  It was just a round table with three or four leaves readily available to add with the sound of a knock on the door or the sight of dust stirred up in the drive.

Those leaves magically stretched that old round table to a size capable of handling the whole Strother clan, plus a friend or two who may have popped in, certainly the mail man making his rounds two or three days a week through the dusty country roads delivering not just the mail but the latest news of friends and neighbors.

The table magically became a unifying web around a family who no longer lived and worked in the area, who maybe even didn't share the same views politically or religiously anymore.  It magically reconnected the family; it provided the boys a place to relive their history, to confirm their relationships, to put their own personal spin on growing up and on events that happened while growing up.  It was an animate object embracing an inanimate emotion--love.  There was definitely lots of love around that table.

I can still see and hear those conversations, that love, especially those with the handsome Strother boys and their dad, my Granddad, telling stories and jokes.  There was probably a lot of re-telling the same stories over and over, but the laughter was as new and spontaneous as it was after "wickely, wickely, wickely."

As I picture the table from years and years ago, I can even feel the love through those sweet memories--the men would be sitting there, elbows on the table with each man leaning in eager to catch every word.  There would definitely be a cup of strong, black coffee before each man and ashtrays scattered around.  The smoke was as abundant as the laughter.  Each one of the four brothers' delivery was right on; the pitch, the timing, all precise.  Perhaps because of the frequency of the telling or perhaps because they were all natural born story tellers.

Nevertheless, the punchline would be delivered and the belly laughs would ring out as the rickety-looking wooden farmhouse chairs holding those men would tilt back on just two legs of the chairs.    I remember wondering how could they lean so far back without the chair falling over, breaking, or without Grandma scolding them for leaning back in their chairs.   It was like they were extending the enjoyment, the merriment, the love as far as possible--proving, at least for the moment, that nothing bad could happen or stop this feeling, this closeness, this love.

Two of those Strother brothers, the younger crop as Grandma would call them, are still around--not around that old Strother table, but thankfully, around; and I'm sure they still are telling some wonderful stories with that same great style that their brothers and others leaned far in to hear.

Now at that same Strother farmhouse table, I'm leaning in--hoping once again to catch the punch line and the laughter of those days.  I think I hear it--"wickely, wickely, wickely."

An After Christmas Poem

Yesterday morning I woke up at 4:30 and couldn't go back to sleep.  The highly anticipated day had come and gone.  As I walked through the still dark house, I was aware of the difference a day makes.

The house was pretty much the same--decorations, tree, lights were all still there.  But it was obvious that it was over.  The empty boxes were stacked together waiting to be flattened and recycled, the ribbons and wrappings were gathered and thrown into trash bags waiting to be taken out, the gifts dispersed to their new owners and taken to their rooms or neatly stacked waiting to be packed in suitcases all too soon closed for trips home.  Yes, it was done.  Another Christmas, another family get together, another set of memories.   Wow!

I studied the remains of the day, examined the tree, looked at all the decorations that would soon be packed away for another year, thought about the night before, the excitement, the fun, the laughter still hanging in the air.  It felt good; it felt sad; it was a cluster of memories wanting to find a permanent place in my head, begging not to be forgotten. 

So to process it all, I sat down to write.  Then the words to the season's favorite children's poem, "The Night Before Christmas," started repeating itself in my mind.  Now I know this classic poem written almost two hundred years ago has been used and misused through the years, and I have found myself doing the same many times.  It's just such a good poem.  But this old favorite poem became the format for my thoughts on the day after Christmas, 2013.


'Twas the day after Christmas, and all through the house,
Not a creature was there, not even a mouse.
The stockings were emptied and scattered without care;
It was obvious that St. Nick had been certainly been there.

The Christmas tree once festive now looks lonely and bare
With no presents spilling out from under there.
No little boy reaching in for a bright colored bow
And tossing the name tag over his shoulder with a quick throw.

Examining the trimmings, unusual things I now see
That were added discreetly to the decorated tree.
An empty wooden spool so gingerly placed
About a hand higher than a little boy's face.

A cowboy boot once part of a wreath
Now taps its toe on a tree branch underneath.
The feathers and leaves that evened the tree out
Found bundled together--by small fingers no doubt.

A frilly reindeer once participating in imaginative play
Lies forgotten in favor of toys from Christmas Day.
The wooden train engine originally bright and red
Now in three pieces--no more needs to be said.

Santa, glittery and spry, who sat in his sleigh
Has been found near a bed three rooms away.
Even the nestled metal trees on tables nearby
Were expertly relocated in the blink of an eye.

It appears the Dickens' village with its warm lights all aglow
Now has fewer villagers milling in the white snow.
Accidents happen and memories do too.
These are a few that I will treasure the whole year through.

Then knowing soon I'd be taking decorations down
I felt blessed and happy that these memories abound.
I wished to myself as I flipped off the light
That there were Happy Christmas memories for all, and for all good nights.

Tangled Roots

I love gardens.  I guess one usually thinks of gardening in the spring and yes, that is a beautiful time.  But I am really enjoying the fall gardens this year.  Maybe it is because the mums I planted last fall after the blooms died back are alive and well in the backyard this year.

There are yellow and burgundy mums growing randomly against the house.  They don't look as perfect as the mums in the gallon pots I bought this fall, but I like that.  They are different heights and kinda wild-like but stunning.

Now when my Master Gardener friend came to visit recently, I didn't get to ask her what she thought about my garden of mums and monkey grass.  I'm sure she would have been kind, but it really didn't matter to me.  I like them and proud of the fact that they actually came back.

I guess I was somewhat surprised when the mums came back because I really know just very little about planting.  I know that when you take the plant out of the pot, you have to spread the roots out.  Generally they are very tangled; some are even growing through the bottom of the pot.

Now that is about the extent of my gardening expertise.  And I haven't engaged in any of my "heavy duty" gardening in awhile.  But what I have done is paint a picture for a dear friend who is about to celebrate a big birthday--you know, one of those that end in 0.  After painting the picture, I decided it needed a perfect quote to top it off.

I could have thought and thought and thought and come up with a sentiment to use, but instead I resorted to "googling" quotes.  Do you know that there are millions, no billions, of quotes about everything.  Well, I wanted an extra special one about friendships for my extra special friend.

I found a bunch.  Some were way too wordy.  Scratch those.  I'm sure they were very meaningful quotes, but remember, I was a preschool teacher forever.  I like short books, short sentences, and lots of great pictures.

Nevertheless, I won't list all of the quotes I actually read and liked, but the one that grabbed me was this:

"Growing apart doesn't change the fact that for a long time we grew side by side; our roots will always be tangled.  I'm glad for that."  Ally Condie

 

WOW!  Isn't that good? 


That quote made me think not only about my garden but also my friend.  You know so many of metaphors of gardens and friendships.  But what struck me was the phrase, "our roots will always be tangled..."

My friend and I were young adults when we first met, but I still believe we grew into an awesome adulthood together.  Although there were many times we were as carefree and playful as young children, we had our serious times as well--tangling our roots tighter with each experience.

We have helped each other through good and bad times.  And I would do anything for her and I know she would for me too.  Before I moved, we would spend a Saturday or two each month running around.  I love her.  We would laugh and laugh.  We would eat Mexican food or if we were being "good," we would divide a sandwich and fore go the french fries.

We would attack painting walls or even wall-papering walls or moving heavy furniture.  We discovered that if we had a beer or two, we would do much better.  (Sometimes it took us until wee hours of the morning to finish our projects--and beer!)  We shopped together--tried on clothes over our clothes cause we didn't want to go to dressing room.  That was fine until the time she couldn't get the dress off that she pulled on over her clothes.  Then there was the time we had to try out the hula hoops at a discount store. 

We never were asked to leave a store, I promise.  Because of her, though, we knew where every restroom was in every store in town.  I could count on making memories on any day I spent with my friend.

Then the husband and I moved to Texas for five years.  My friend and I still talked and saw each other a few times.  Each time we got together, it was like nothing had changed.  But in reality it had.  When we moved back, my friend and I didn't get together as often.  Those weekend days had been filled with other friends of hers; I had a grand baby that I wanted to be with.  She had several grand kids that took her time.  She worked full time still; I didn't.  So I was sad that we weren't able to pick up exactly like we left off.

But when I read that quote, I realized that we will always be connected.  Our roots run deep and are pleasantly tangled.  I love her and enjoy the times we spend together as much as ever.  Sure I wish it were more, but our friendship has survived and perhaps even strengthened because of realizing the value of the tangled roots.

I am glad for the side by side times with my dear friend.  I'm sure there will be more and more.  I am glad for those roots that through our deep friendship got tangled and strong.  I am glad I have her as my friend and know that just like my perennial mums, she'll be there year after year. 

Old Friends and Old Friends Long Gone

Tonight I got to see some old friends and some old friends long gone.  The church celebrates its Centennial this weekend with a various activities planned--drop in reception, dinner tonight, and special worship service tomorrow to name a few.

We attended the dinner.  That was where we first got to connect with some friends.  I got to see those friends we usually just see on Sundays.  And I got to see one of my favorite people, Milly.  She has not been able to get to church for awhile but special efforts were made for her to get there tonight.

She looked beautiful.  I could tell that this was an important occasion for her and she wanted to look her best.  (I understand that--I just put on and took off 3 outfits trying to find one that I liked for tonight.)  Her hair looked lovely and the smile on her face lit the room.

Milly is one of the church members whose example I treasure.  I remember (there was a lot of remembering going on tonight) her always being at church.  She faithfully attended Wednesday nights as well as Sunday mornings.  That in and of itself is worthwhile but she would also have her young granddaughters in tow.  Wow!  She did this from the time they were toddlers.  She knew the importance of being in church so she made sure those little girls were too.  Because of her, they grew up in the church.

Then I saw a girlfriend I hadn't seen in probably twenty years or so.  We had gone to a NLR church together at the age of 5 and 6.  She was a year older than me, but we spent many an afternoon together.  We also attended Ouachita together.  We lost contact with each other for several years and then, lo and behold, one weekend when I went to visit my parents in Fort Smith, I discovered that she and her husband and children lived just a few houses down the street from my parents.

Time went on.  My friend moved; my parents moved.  I hadn't seen her since, I don't believe.  But I saw her tonight!  It was great to catch up on her life.  I have such fond memories of our friendship.

At the end of a delightful program highlighting the events over the last 100 years, there was a slide show.   Some current church members--our friends--gave their reflections of the church.  There were funny stories told; there were poignant testimonies shared.  There was strength in their stories--the strength that this church needs now with enough to survive the future.

Then there were those slides from earlier generations--more friends--but long gone.  These old friends had been pillars of this church.  There was strength in their faces.  They had grit.  They had courage.  They had skills. They had love and pride in their church. They provided what the church needed--some did the unseen things, the repairs, the care of the building; some were the teachers, the nursery workers;  some were leaders in the community who had the courage to fight for civil rights.

They all were the backbone of the church; they lived their faith so loudly that the neighborhoods wanted to be a part of this church.  It was the glory days of this church.

Time has changed the church in many ways.  The pews aren't always filled; the dress is no longer your Sunday best; the songs are sometimes different.  But the friends are there.  Friends long gone are there in their supportive spirits.  Love is there.

Tomorrow is Sunday.  Those friends will be there.  I'll be there as well.

Forget School Supplies and Think Nora Ephron

“Don't you love New York in the fall? It makes me want to buy school supplies. I would send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address.” --Nora Ephron

Whew!  When I read that quote, I immediately felt better about my neck, myself, my silly attraction to school supplies and my previous lengthy post titled "School Supplies."  After seeing the quote on a quest for something else (can't remember what now), I thought I would just edit that post, include the justifying quote, and then be on to something else.

Well, let's forget the editing of that post and just go on to something else...like Nora Ephron.  Too bad there will be no more of her books and commentaries.  I've read a lot of her work and still laugh and think about her quirky wisdom and advice.  And yes, I do feel bad about my neck as most women of a certain age do, but I am glad about a woman such as Nora Ephron. 

Not being able to spontaneously recite interesting or famous lines from books, movies, or even songs, I turned to Google, always the smartest thing in the room.  (The husband is not here right now.)

I typed in "Nora Ephron quotes" and was successfully greeted by so many funny, thoughtful lines.  I simply could not quit reading them, laughing and pondering them all.  I won't copy and paste them all here; you can find them and enjoy them next time you're online.  You will probably agree that an essay, or blog post, could be written on any one of them.

But the following lines of a dialogue in Ephron's movie/play, Heartburn, really spoke to me.  I guess it's because I always seem to have a story.  My niece used to grab the camcorder when I arrived at family gatherings, ask me something, and then start recording away.   (Hmmm.  I better find out what she did with those!)  Anyway, maybe this is why I turn things into stories.  How about you?

“Vera said: “Why do you feel you have to turn everything into a story?”
So I told her why.
Because if I tell the story, I control the version.
Because if I tell the story, I can make you laugh, and I would rather have you laugh at me than feel sorry for me.
Because if I tell the story, it doesn't hurt as much.
Because if I tell the story, I can get on with it.” 

Talking

I recently saw a quote and illustration on a Kleenex box (of all places) that I thought was hilarious and probably more true than anyone would like to admit.  The illustration was fine but it was the quote that got my attention.

"I hear what you are saying, but I'm thinking about myself." 

Okay, I confess--I am guilty of that at times.

I'm sure if everyone was really honest they could remember some--maybe many--occasions in which this has happened.

It reminds me of an incident that occurred while I was director of a preschool.  One morning a teacher came to my office during her break to tell me this absolutely precious story that happened earlier that morning during circle time with her class of three year olds.

I think the unit for the week was "Dinosaurs," and this superb teacher would have been presenting it in a totally awesome way as usual.  After talking awhile about dinosaurs and getting the children interested by showing pictures and books, she noticed a little princess of a three year old with her hand waving fiercely in the air.

The teacher sweetly called on her, thinking the child was anxiously wanting to tell something she knew about dinosaurs or that she had a new cat or something equally important, but then to the teacher's great amusement, the little girl said with much exasperation, "Can we talk about me now?"

There you go. That says it all, right?  It's funny and true.  I think maybe the three year old child in all of us has experienced that desire from  time to time.  Then there are those adults who haven't grown past that stage.   They keep the conversation centered on them.  Some do it to the extent to make this following quote true:

We would rather speak ill of ourselves than not talk about ourselves at all.

Francois de La Rochefoucauld  

Those people are tiresome.  But there are those people that you don't ever get tired of listening to.   Some people, such as my brilliant husband for one,  are wonderful conversationalists.  The husband can talk about anything with facts, history, and humor, so it is great fun to be a listener to a person like that. 

But it is equally important and takes great skill to be a good listener.  I've known both great conversationalists as well as great listeners.  But I am now wondering how many people are excellent at both?  Hmmm.  Good question.  (Husband, are you reading this?  If so, then you are that person!  kiss kiss)

We have all listened to great speakers.  These are the speakers who keep you waiting for the next word or sentence.  Listening to my brother-in-law is like that.  He is enthralling.  I never want to miss a word in any of his sermons or his conversations. 

Brother-in-law is the exception.  Many times listening can be hard.  Have you ever "listened" to say--directions to some place (especially if someone else is also listening), the "specials" on the menu, or someone's latest "problem du jour" and afterwards realized that you had no idea what was just said.  Or you just catch some of what was said?  I hate when that happens.

I also hate when you are with someone who doesn't ever start a conversation.  I've come to realize how important that is.  In fact, I think I would rather have someone with me that talked all the time than one who never started a conversation. 

I had an occasion with a non-starter recently.  It was just the two of us and once I could start the conversation, it was fine.  Lots of interesting information came out.  Then a long pause...Think, think, think...what else can I ask?  I didn't dare think about me (too much) during the conversation with that person because I was trying to listen to know what else I could ask.  Whew!  Let me just say, it is much easier to "talk about me!"  

But come to think of it, who TALKS anymore anyway.  Talking and listening may go the way of the hand-written letter.  In fact, why talk when you can just text; why listen when you can just read.  So go ahead and put that phone that you keep in your hand to good use and just text me.  Then we both can text about ourselves!

Oh, wait--who texts first; do you have to put a smiley face in the text or respond with a K or respond at all?  Do you abbreviate everything?  Do you correct spelling?  Do you include others in your message?  Do you wait to text until the sun comes up?  Do you LOL.  Gee--Forget it--Just call me.  I'll be glad to listen to you talk about yourself (while I think about myself!)



ADBB4N

                                                       

--in case you don't text much and would not ever know what that meant unless you googled it like I just did, it says, "All done.  Bye Bye for Now."  I think all I would have figured out is the 4!

A Significant Day

Thirty-four years ago today, I was up all night just like last night.  But back in 1979, it was for a much better reason.  Last night was due to an unpleasant cold and stuffed up nose.  Yuck.

But back then, I was arriving at the hospital about this time of morning--6:00 a.m.--to deliver my second sweet daughter.   Having had one baby already, one would think I would know about labor.  I did but I didn't.  

I definitely didn't want to get to the hospital too early this time and be told to go home or walk around the maternity floor in my breezy hospital gown throughout the night.  So about 5:45, we decided to take our first born to a friend's house and then head to the hospital.

It wasn't 30 minutes until she popped out (well, was born--there really wasn't any "popping out" going on.   I still remember those few minutes.)  But I must say, being in labor at the hospital for just 30 minutes wasn't bad.  

Of course, at that time 34 years ago moms and pops didn't know what sex the baby was and we didn't know exactly when the baby would arrive.  I remember discussing what the middle name should be if it was a girl on the way to the hospital.  We had already decided on the first name for a girl and just in case, one for a boy.    

Good thing she wasn't a boy cause I can't remember what the boy's name would have been!

But this sweet daughter one couldn't forget.  She is a bright, loving daughter with a super husband and child.  She has brought much joy to our lives.   

I wish her a very wonderful birthday (and I hope I can stay awake to tell her in person!)

Sleepless in Little Rock

We all know how important sleep is.  No one does too well without it.   We are lucky if we get through the next day with just crankiness.  Sometimes other things happen.  And they usually are not good. 

I realize there are various reasons for lack of sleep.  My sleepless night this time was a result of my jumpy legs acting up.  After being up all night, I had plenty of time to think about sleep and the lack of it.  My predicament brought to mind the movie, "Sleepless in Seattle."  However, none of my sleepless nights have turned out as well as the ones in "Sleepless in Seattle." I certainly don't look as perky as Meg Ryan after little or no sleep.   Maybe I don't look that perky with a good night's sleep either.  Hmmm.  

I had hoped to go directly to bed after finishing my middle-of-the-night post which was my way of trying to trick my legs into behaving.  However, it didn't happen.  Sleep was not forthcoming.  

So, I decided to jump into my chores, full force.  I spent the day vacuuming, dusting, washing clothes, and folding them.  You know the drill.  All those things that always have to be done over and over and over again. 

Miraculously, I got it all done just in time to go to the airport to pick up my daughter flying in from California.  Then the results of no sleep started making their appearances.  I was half way to the airport and I remembered I didn't have my phone. 

Not too big a deal except the flight info was on the phone--not in my head.  Why bother trying to remember details when you have them all in the phone, right?

Well, I knew she was arriving at 4:00 so obviously I could look at the arrival screens and find out if her flight had landed.  No phone?  No problem.  Right?  Not so much.  

Uh--I didn't see a 4:00 flight listed from California and I didn't know if she flew through Dallas or Phoenix or Las Vegas or what.  In fact, I didn't even know which airline she was flying on.

Now, don't be harsh in your judgment.  I know I should have known all of that.  But remember, too, I was operating on no sleep.

But it was all okay.  She found me.  We got her luggage and headed to the car where I asked her if she wanted to drive.  "No, you drive," she said.  She later questioned her judgment on that matter when I parked at the liquor store to purchase some wine for the night's dinner party.  

There were no other cars around and I just whipped into the parking space quick as a wink.  Only on coming out of the grocery store next door, did my parking skills come into question.  (Not by me, of course.)  The car was parked perfectly straight but perfectly straddling two places.  She drove the rest of the way home.

But actually, that is not the worst part of this story at all.  I thought I handled the evening fairly well and finally headed to bed that night about 11:00.  I did all (well, most) of the nighttime rituals--at least I got into my jammies.  

I can't remember if I did the full routine of teeth brushing, makeup removal, applying the cream to make me look younger and perkier by morning (I'm sure Meg Ryan does all that cream stuff every night), but I did remember to plug in my phone.  

Lights out.  Covers up.  Phone on the nightstand.  Great.  Turn over and go to sleep.  And, thankfully, I actually did fall fast asleep!  All is well until around 2:00 when the dog starts barking and barking and barking.  I reached to turn on the light and touched the phone instead.  Oh well.  Dog stopped barking.  I returned to slumber land.  

Next thing I knew it was morning.  Like always I immediately reach for my glasses and phone, and in the daylight I see my phone floating in my glass of sweet tea on the night stand. Holy moly!

When I reached for the light, I must have knocked it gently into the glass.  I didn't hear any splash and I know that phones should not purposely go in a glass of liquid, contrary to my daughters' "cute" comments.  Listen, I was sleep deprived, remember!

Now what is worse is that I didn't have a case on my phone this time.  I always have a case on it.  I have had the Otterbox case since I got this version of the smart phones.  And then my daughter had given me the new and improved case called the LifeProof iPhone Case--you know the one--it can withstand being under water or dropped from a thousand feet and claims to keep your iPhone safe and sound against anything and everything.  

I guess it actually has to be on the phone though.  I had taken it off because I was not able to hear or be heard.  Now, I must admit I also had that same problem of not being heard with the Otterbox; but, nevertheless, I was just seeing if it made a difference.

Well, I quickly put the water-logged phone in a bag of rice and waited until my daughter woke up.  She, being savvy about cameras and phones and computers, asked when I had backed it up.  "Recently?" she asked.  "Uh, no, not recently.  More like in never," I sheepishly admitted. 

She looked astonished and kinda rolled her eyes or laughed or did one of those things that young people do when you show how stupid you are about electronics.  Well, then she plugged it into the computer in hopes of at least saving the 10,043 pictures (mostly of grandson, of course) that filled my phone's camera roll app.   

After a few hours, the pictures were all backed up and saved on the computer.  Whew!  That was a relief.

I hated that I was going to have to go to the phone store and admit what had happened.  Well, mostly.  I did have a fleeting thought of getting to upgrade!  A new 5 version iPhone.  Ahhh.  How nice...but back to reality...expensive.

But miracle of miracles, I unplugged the phone from the computer late in the day, and behold--all the messages of the day popped up.  Then all the other apps popped up.  Everything was working!  YAY!  

Except the phone itself.  No way to make a call.  So back to the daughter.  She took the sim card out--dried it off a little--put it back in and called me.  

IT WORKED.   I could talk on the phone, get my messages and emails, take pictures, and even play my games.  All is well!  Who needs sleep anyway?

(Now, you know as well as I that none of these mishaps would have happened if I had not been sleep deprived.  I would never do such silly, crazy things.  You know me.  So there.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it--thank you very much.)

But I do hope I don't have any more sleepless nights in Little Rock.

All Through the House, Not a Creature Was Stirring except...

It's 2:00 a.m.  The husband is sleeping soundly in the bed.  The dog is comfy in his bed.  There is that rhythmic heavy breathing from the husband or the dog.  I'm not sure which.  Nevertheless, I wish I were a part of that melody.  But no.  It isn't happening for me tonight. 

It's been quite awhile since I have had such a night.  But tonight my legs are jumping, kicking, and being a total nuisance.  I haven't missed this one bit. 

It is so frustrating to go to bed and then have this cruel trick played on you.  You do all the prep work to go to bed--jammies on, the face cleaned, the teeth brushed, the creams applied--all routine.  Then you snuggle under the covers, start to drift off to sleep as planned and then it happens...a twinge in the legs begins.  Don't think about it, I admonish.  Keep thinking about that cozy bed.  Relax.  Go to sleep.  Count backwards. 

Shortly there is another twinge, then another, and then they become more than a twinge--they kick like a pony; they move like pedaling a bike; they cause my whole body to jump; and they refuse to let me ignore them.  I can't keep the legs still. 

After fighting it and realizing that sleep is not coming, I get up and take a hot bath.  That usually relaxes me so much that I am able to stumble back to bed and finally go to sleep.  

But not tonight.  So I do the only thing left to do to get relief--I walk.  And walk.  And walk.  The path is rather short--down the hall, through the living room, through the dining room, through the kitchen, back to the hall, and over and over I go.   So why tonight?  Why does my RLS kick in so dramatically now?  Not sure.  (Maybe the mojitos??  Naw, surely not.  It was a celebration for Memorial Day.  And it was only one and half.)  Like I said, this hasn't happened in a long time, thank goodness.  But it certainly messes up my plans for tomorrow--I have a feeling that when I do get to sleep, I won't feel like getting up early and finishing the cleaning for my out of town daughters to come.

But then again, I'm sure that the ingrained Strother attitude of getting everything done will kick in with or without sleep.   I can almost bet on it.

Wow!  It's really getting late (or early).  It is now 4:15 a.m.  You know, I actually may see the first  wagon load of day being pulled across the sky this morning.  I would prefer to be asleep.  Oh well.

My head is nodding again.  My legs seem to have calmed down.  Maybe it's time.  I hope.   See you when the sun comes up.    

Good night.  (I hope.)

PS--I guess my brain was foggier than I thought.  I didn't push the "publish" button before going to bed (and BTW--the rest of the nighttime hours were spent not sleeping either.  Good news though--I did get a lot of work done.  Bad news--my brain is still foggy!)

Do I or Don't I?

There are inevitably dilemmas that require a decision everyday.  Some are not really big or life-changing, but they are there.  So let me ask you what you would do.

When I drive through a Sonic (I've been known to do that quite often) and I throw away trash after getting my order, sometimes the trash (usually the paper covering the straw) doesn't make the trash can.  It falls to the ground.   So do you drive on or get out of the car, pick it up, and put it in the trash? 

On Sunday morning when it is rainy and cold, do you go ahead and go to church or do you stay in that cozy bed?

Do you give money to your church regularly?

Do you let someone go in front of you in the grocery line who has just an item or two?

When someone approaches you with a story of needing a little money for her grandbaby to have some food, do you hand over some cash or deny that you have any on you that day?

Well, those are just a few questions that may pop up during a day.  My answers are "No,"  "Yes," and for the rest of the questions, "Sometimes."

The last question faced me yesterday--maybe all of them would if it were Sunday and if I were still drinking my DDPs from Sonic (that's a whole other story!) and if I had stopped at Target for some "deals." 

I began deliberating these type of questions yesterday.  It all started when I was getting in the car to do a bunch of errands--post office, my flea market booth, Dollar Tree, Target--blah blah blah. You know the kind of day that was and you probably noticed the high end shopping that I do!

Nevertheless, when I was getting in the car, I saw a $10.00 bill stuck between the seat and the door. Whoopee!  There is nothing like found money. 

Anyway, I had just left Dollar Tree, when I was approached by a lady with very polite manners carrying a pizza box.  She apologized for perhaps startling me and assured me she would not hurt me, but would I be able to give her some money for her grandchild's pizza?  She only needed $14.52 more. 

Well, like I said, I had already been in Dollar Tree and had received change of $2.35 or so which I had stuck in my pocket.  So, I dug out the dollars and apologized, yes--apologized for not having more to give to her--and gave her all I had in my pocket--"Wait," I said.  "Here is some change."

She was seemingly grateful and I continued on my way.  Only after getting a few blocks away, I realized she already had the pizza, evidently, cause she had the box, so how did she get the pizza if she didn't have the money beforehand?

I seem to always have to pay before I leave a store with what I want.

So, I ask, do you give to people who approach you for a little help or not?  This time I did.  Sometimes I don't.  I can't tell you exactly what makes me choose to give or not because it's not always whether I have money in my pocket or not.

It made me think a bit about the general dilemmas one faces everyday.  I think my grandson has a good attitude right now.  If you ask him something, his answer is, "Sure do."  So sweet and positive. 

Maybe that should be my answer to some of these questions.

Let me try it out--"Sure do!" (sometimes!)

Juggling

I've always admired people who can juggle--balls, batons, whatever.  And I've admired even more those people that can juggle a lot of jobs or activities.  I think the word for it today is multitasking.

I've been multitasking for awhile since my "retirement," and I have come to the conclusion that I don't like it.  Maybe it is because I'm not good at it.  My idea of retirement was to play, read, do my crafts, and most importantly, keep the grandbaby--all at my leisure.

Of course, I didn't factor in doing laundry, cleaning the kitchen every day, vacuuming, (forget the dusting--it always gets pushed to the last thing to try to get done for company).  I guess I never really liked factoring those chores in.  When the girls caught me in a rush cleaning the house, they would always ask, "Who's coming over, Mom?" And sometimes I was just cleaning and no one was coming over.  Honest!

So, now I'm still supposed to do those chores although my husband pitches in some--well, a lot.  But I really would just like to keep the kiddo, do my creative stuff, manage the flea market booth, find bargains for my booth, go on trips, read, and write.  I can't quite figure out how to do all of that and the dreadful household necessities.

So, I ask you to guess which things I do first.  You are so right if you said keep the grandson and do the creative things.  So that always leaves me in a tizzy to get the dreadful chores done.

When I was growing up, my father traveled all week--leaving early Monday and sometimes not getting back until Saturday night.  When it was the day he was coming home, Mom always got us four  kids in high gear to get the house all clean.  Actually, the house was cleaner than mine on any given day.  She was an excellent manager because she didn't just keep the house clean, she cooked meals--no take-outs--she sewed for all of us, she worked at different stores, and I even caught her reading books!

Maybe it is genetic and I just didn't get that gene.  Of course, she also started her day early and didn't sit down much during the day or night.

Blast it all, I hate it when I figure out an answer to my situation and it requires something like getting up early, keeping to a plan, not putting things off, etc.  Is there a pill for all of that???

Probably not.  So I guess I'll practice my juggling.  Wish me luck or at least call me before you come over.  I can get a lot of chores done in 10 minutes if I have to!

Uh-oh, there's only 20 minutes before grandbaby gets here.  Gotta go!

Lucky Me!

"I cannot even imagine where I would be today were it not for that handful of friends who have given me a heart full of joy.  Let's face it, friends make life a lot more fun."  by Charles Swindoll


Life has been a lot of fun for me lately; and yes, it is because of some of my friends.   After a wonderful trip to Hawaii with my friend--my husband for 40 years, I got to go on another wonderful trip.  

Two of my close friends and I went to New Orleans for three nights last week. 

Here we are crossing into Louisiana.  Margaret was the driver and I am so glad that I didn't have to drive at all especially in New Orleans.  I was fine sitting in the backseat.  But she did it; we found our way; and it was fun.


We ate at some of the finest restaurants in New Orleans; we explored all sorts of places; we walked a million miles; we discovered many things we had not known before.  It was fun.

 
Becky, my other friend that went--in fact, she initiated the trip--has also been a wonderful friend for many years.  I believe our friendship started and developed through running together.  That in itself tells you how long we have been friends.  Now we do good if we walk.  (However, she looks so good that I think she must still run--maybe in the middle of the night!)


But those runs in the 80s and 90s were fantastic. They were therapeutic. We ran three miles--sometimes more. We even ran the hills. (Of course, if you run in Little Rock, you are bound to find a hill or two.) Those runs made us healthier--physically and emotionally--and closer; and they were fun. Even running is more fun with a friend.


Becky is also a phenomenal person.  (I told you I am lucky--lucky to have such good friends.)  She has a special way about her--she is funny, she remembers the details of our lives, she keeps journals about trips and turtles, she is diplomatic, she is kind, she loves to laugh, she understands, she is loyal, she is beautiful, and she is fun.


One interesting thing about Becky is her unique way of asking questions and getting answers from people--even strangers.  Because of her ability to get people to open up to her, she found out where some well-known stars live while in New Orleans; she found out many connections of people who had lived in Arkansas.


She found out for us many other things--like what makes the chandelier lights at Commanders Palace flicker as if they were lighted candles, and showed us where Paul McCartney stayed while in New Orleans years ago--details that make a trip with her particularly interesting and fun.  

Between Margaret and Becky, there is little left of New Orleans that we now don't know about.

So I am lucky; I do have a heart full of joy; and my friends do make my life a whole lot of fun.

Thank you, Becky and Margaret, for being fun friends.





   

There Are Nice Strangers

Okay, I finally made a plan to organize my time.  One part of the plan was to walk daily with Sonny.  Since I just made the plan last night, I hated to cop out on it the first day.  So Sonny and I went for a walk in the neighborhood after my storytime visit at the church's dayschool.

It's a beautiful day and it felt good to walk.  I told Sonny we would walk for twenty minutes.  He said that was fine.  In fact, everything was fine until...

We were moving along at a good clip with me pulling Sonny away from what I guess was various delicious smells to him.  One truck slowly passed.  We waved and continued the walk.  Then another truck, a red one, pulled slowly to the side to make sure we were safe and then it happened.

I hit a uneven piece of road which is quite common in our neighborhood.  But what is probably not common is to see a 60-ish (my pride is a little injured so I hesitate to say my real age) go flying through the air with the phone, sunglasses (prescription) and dog leash flying in their own directions.

I did have the recollection of what a physical therapist friend had told me long ago--when you fall, roll with it.

So that is what I did.  And I ended up on my back looking up at a fuzzy sky.  (Remember, my glasses were three feet away.)  Now, here is the best part.  The young man in the red truck hopped out and asked me if I was okay.

Silly question, I thought, and replied truthfully, "No, not really."  But really I was--no blood, no bones sticking out, no facial injuries.  My next sentence was to ask him to get my dog who was standing near by probably amazed at this spectacular walk.  I don't think the walks he has with the husband includes such excitement.

Then the very, very nice young man (and nice looking I might add--I'm not that old or that blind!) helped me up and proceeded to tell me he had been a military medic.  Since I told him I had hit my elbow and knee, he checked my wrist and had me move my hand up and down (something about pressure points) to make sure my elbow was okay which it was since it didn't hurt doing those motions.  He had me do the same with my foot to check on the knee.

So I am okay.  (Well, I could always use a little sympathy!)   But I am also very impressed with the kindness of this stranger.  He could have just driven on and I could have just laid there for awhile hoping to melt into the concrete, but he was very concerned and helpful.

Indeed there are nice people in this world--even nice strangers.  Thank you kind sir.

I just hope the rest of my organizational plan goes better or a nice (good-looking stranger) is nearby to help!

Reading vs Cleaning House

Last night we celebrated the husband's birthday with a dinner at our house which I didn't have to cook (thank goodness for take-out) and I didn't have to make the cake (thank goodness for the daughter who made a cake more superbly than I ever could or in fact, better than any bakery cake I've ever bought--which is what I usually do when I need a dessert) and a friend who brought a chocolate cream pie.

So, you say..."How easy that dinner party was!"  Yes, I agree and no, you don't know the whole story.  When I know I'm having company, I get into the "clean it up, YaYa" mode as the grandson would say.  That mode really comes from my mother who always had a tidy if not very clean house.  The grandson may have gotten that gene.  I definitely hope so.

Nevertheless, I always think the house must be spotless for company--no clutter out, no old newspapers or magazines untidily sitting around, no keys (or anything else, for that matter) left on the side table where they are not suppose to live, even rearranging furniture or pictures.  Everything needs to be as "magazine-perfect" as possible. 

The husband doesn't understand that notion because he says that we live here and, of course, things are out!  He doesn't understand that I don't think everyone lives with so much mess out and he didn't have my mother expecting one to actually put away their things, dust furniture on a weekly (at least) basis, and vacuum and mop not just weekly but more like daily if there was a spill or noticeable dust bunnies or spider webs.  (Oh my--I forgot to even check for those.  Yikes.)

So that brings me to last night.  I kept my precious grandson yesterday afternoon and I am known to leave things until the last minute, so there was plenty to do yesterday.  I did get a good amount done before he arrived, but then my time was his time.

For his time, he loves books.  "Go to my room and read book, YaYa."  So we did.  That brings me to the question or dilemma presented in the title of this post--"Reading vs Cleaning."  And I must tell you reading books to that sweet feller won out hands-down! 

So, the party went on quite well with a few spots on the kitchen floor and the furniture not dusted.  I don't even care if anyone was noticing or later criticizing the state of the house.  I did the most important job I have as YaYa--I read and loved on that grandson of mine!   I think my mama would understand and agree because he is SO cute.

"Read it again, YaYa."

Some Things Don't Change

 

I found this poem I wrote a couple of years ago.  It goes to show some things just don't change.  

Resolutions

I resolved to do better this year.

I would eat right, exercise, and think pretty thoughts.

I would get organized by February.

The house would be clean.

The fridge purged of lean cuisune.

The laundry washed, dried and put away

All in a single day.

The closets would be straight

And I wouldn’t even stay up late.

I’d read—not watch crime

And I’d do better with my time.

But April is now descending upon me.

And I wonder how this could be.

The house is topsy-turvy.

The laundry needs to be done.

The vacuum run,

And the closets are screaming for help.

Even the maid who was heaven sent

Has now given me up for Lent.

But the year isn’t over.

There is time left.

Surely I can find a solution.

So let it be said

While I’m in my right head

I will not make any more resolutions.

Hugs

Isn't it wonderful to see someone and they give you a great hug?  I love to get hugs, don't you?  It doesn't even have to be after several loads of days have gone by.  It can be just after a few hours of seeing someone.

There are so many kinds of hugs--you know what I mean.  Some are those that are "almost hugs" for appearance sake.  In those hugs, there is usually little if any actual touching one another.  It may be like an arm partially around the other person and a "body lean in." 

This motion is quickly followed by the typical social comments--"Good to see you.  How's it going?"   But, most importantly, it is followed by a quick withdrawal--usually to the other side of the room.  These are often the "party hugs." 

Then there is the hug that's a little too long.  Generally, these are from those who have maybe, say, a different agenda than you do.  You do your best to avoid their hugs at all costs--unless...oh never mind that thought.  I don't know what I was thinking--I promise!

Of course there is the genuine hug that is when both arms go around your body or neck with a short squeeze included.  Hmm, those are nice.  They are given freely from old friends, moms and dads, children you haven't seen or won't see for awhile and maybe a few other special people.

Oh, and don't forget the hug from the grandchild or even any little one.  They are so pure and sweet.  Today, in fact, when the grandson woke up (of course in my arms), he looked up, smiled, and gave me a hug and a sweet kiss on the mouth no less.  So unsolicited.  So wonderful.

Even doing story times at the church, the children come give my legs hugs.  And did you know that with children, hugs generate hugs?  All of a sudden I will have a herd of children grabbing and hugging my legs or hugging someone who is hugging my legs. If you ever want to feel really important, read some stories to children.  They are so eager to express their adoration.  It does your soul good and you can easily get a few hugs.

Then occasionally, you will run across someone--sometimes male, sometimes female--that can give the ultimate hug.  That is when their shoulders as well as their arms encircle you; their shoulders mold around you and make you feel totally important to them.  Wow!  You feel empowered yet you wonder how they learned to hug so--well, so right.  It's like they are surrounding you with comfort, friendship, and mutual respect. 

I have a few friends that know how to hug like that and it always takes me back a bit with delight.  I love it and want to be that kind of hugger myself, but most often I forget with friends and acquaintances and give the hug that is somewhere between the same-o "glad to see ya hug," "we'll be friends forever hug" and "I can't really remember your name, but I know I know you" hug. 

I think I'll go practice my hugs on my husband and surprise the heck out of him.  I wonder:  Can you give one of those hugs when another is soaked into the sofa watching TV?

I'll let you know and maybe it will be before too many wagon loads of days go by again.  In the meantime, go give someone a really, really good hug.