When we needed to replace our CD player, I remember the kids saying, "You still have CD's?"

We did, we do and they encompass different genres and artists and we enjoy them.

Feeling bouncy or house bound and the Irish Pub classics will be serenading us.  We go through our oldies moments, the country siege, love songs, dance tunes, and many of today's current artists that are well below 40 years old.

One feature included was Bluetooth. This was before we upgraded to a car that included Bluetooth and before we added Spotify to our phones and computers.  

I am really enjoying compiling a huge list of favorite songs that span decades, artists, and genres.  And the added bonus is synchronizing my phone with the CD player and having music magically infuse the air. All music that I love.

Pretty nice technology which includes online banking and bill paying, debit cards, facebook, snapchat, solar, and Zoom which makes my life easier. and helps me stay connected without a lot of fuss. 

I am still waiting for an easy way to open a child proof cap.  

 I have to admit it.  If you put a clean writing surface in front of me, I begin to twitch and reach for something to write with.

It has been like this since I was a child and I first learned that words equaled stories and stories could take you anywhere.

When I was 5 and just learning to read, I would memorize the stories my mother read to us, and then I would retell them with the opened book in my lap.  It wasn't long until I realized that those letters were the story.

When the kids were young I enrolled in a writing course to relearn all of the writing skills I had lost or forgotten along the way. My goal was to write children's books.

But the years passed and I read books I wished that I had written, but had no books inside of me to share. What I did have life experiences and they were funny and odd and thought provoking.  So, back in 2002 I began to write in earnest, well after the kids were grown.

After getting a piece published in the local paper, the editor offered me a monthly spot to write a column on whatever I wanted.  I did that for 15 years.

Back in 2010 I self-published a collection of 72 of those columns and titled it Laughing All the Way.  My dad was fighting terminal cancer and since he was featured in some of the stories, I wanted him to read it before his passing. He received his copy three weeks before he died.

This blog spot was created because of the book.  It was to give me another outlet to write but I got stingy with my writing since I was producing it for publication.  I only have so much to say or only so much folks want to read.

I recently retired after 19 years and a lot of my writing was used for client classes and teachings.  Again, that fulfilled the part in me that needed to write.

Today, I am revisiting this blog not knowing if any of this will be read, but desiring to have a place to gather and share those things that I write.

I am really going to try to use those hours when I cannot sleep to gather my ideas and put them here.  Maybe you will join with me in this journey. 

 

Born to Be Wild

In 1968 one of the first major rock songs was blasted across multiple music stations.  It became a major hit informing the world that motorcyclists were out seeking adventure and were Born to Be Wild.

Seriously, only cyclists are wild? It took until 1968 to tell everyone? Honey, it starts when you’re in diapers.

Be sure to have rattles, tubes of ointment, and possibly snacks available when you change the diapers of a child that can roll or crawl.  Not unlike a greased pig at a fair they can and will escape.

When children begin to toddle around they are thrilled to be “mama’s little helper” and willingly toss items into the trash and pick up toys.  This works for about three years or until they fully understand the word “No”. Sadly, this may happen much sooner than three.

 Welcome to Parenting 101 or Help! I Have Birthed a Child Just Like Myself! And that’s the hard truth because inside we all still want what we want …we are all born to be wild.

Looking back over my own childhood I cringe to remember the name calling, clique forming, parent sassing, rule breaking, edge pushing person that I was. 

Today I am much more controlled and yet, on occasion, the rebel rises. If I pass a coin drop, I usually DON’T contribute; it feels too much like panhandling and peer pressure.

Ever go to a church with a prolonged greeting of peace?  This is the kind where all the pews are vacated and then everyone visits everyone else in the church.  AWKWARD, especially if the only person you know is married to you and is required to sit next to you.  I always greet Russ enthusiastically; shake hands with those sitting directly by me, and then study the architecture.

  I will buy Girl Scout cookies, Boy Scout popcorn, or candy bars sold for class trips.  But I buy from the children not from the parents even if they bring the order forms to work.  Although I like the parents, I find saying no to a cute kid hard, the parent not so much.

What could be more fun than role playing during a seminar?  The only thing that I can think of is a root canal without medication.  Enough said on that.

And I don’t want to forget being in a crowd where you are encouraged i.e. demanded to clap, stomp your feet, stand up, or do hand signals.  There’s a good chance that I will gamely clap along; slim to none odds on any of the other.  Add to that any standing ovation because it’s expected and it’s not gonna happen.

When my son Peter was 6 he passed on some profound wisdom.  He had been playing at the neighbor’s when he came into the house crying.

“Peter, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He shook his head and continued to cry.

“What is it?”

“I heard a bad word.”

“Well, that’s ok.  You don’t have to cry about hearing a bad word.”

He threw his head back and howled, “But I want to SAY it!”

 Exactly! Born to be wild.

 

 

 

                 

 My last post was in 2015.  Because I have not posted one would think that perhaps I was:

1.    No longer interested in writing

2.    Void of ideas

3.    Deceased

None of the above is true.  I have been dropping thoughts and stories here and there, but mostly I have been sharing things on facebook.

Today I decided to dust off this blogpost and share again thoughts that come my way.

I don’t know that this will be read but it will give me an outlet to release pent up ideas.

I want to qualify that my picture has aged since the last time I was here.  Now at 65, I find that I am fighting the ‘melt’, that wonderful humbling time when your skin becomes like molten wax.

The biggest change is that I no longer use eyeliner.  Because I have to prop up my eyelids to apply it, once I release them the liner disappears. This is a plus because it has effectively eliminated any makeup that I use.

Again, since being retired not many people see me and with my wonky eyesight that includes me.

Catch you later! 

A Legacy of Kindness, Love, and Gratitude

                                 

            Each year Russ and I travel to Illinois to visit my mother, Darlene, who has now reached the age of 87.  It’s an honor and a privilege that I don’t take lightly.   I am well aware of the passing of time and I don’t want to miss any of her remaining years.

            She is in relatively good health but is experiencing more and more dementia.  Her short term memory is gone and during my weekly phone calls I make sure that I announce who I am at the start of the conversation. “Hi Mom, this is Kathy.”  After all she has nine children to remember.

            My younger sister Carol visited two weeks before me.  Since she had changed the color and style of her hair, my mother couldn’t quite place her.  When they visited a local pizza parlor for a buffet lunch my mom thought Carol was a very nice and efficient waitress.  The fact that the waitress joined her for lunch didn’t strike her as odd.

            When we arrived I was a little apprehensive wondering if Mom would recognize me.  Amazingly, she did and greeted me with, “Of course, I know my Kathy.”

  We spent some time looking through family pictures on my computer.  Several times when we came across a picture of Russ she would say, “Now, why does he look so familiar?” I would gamely point to Russ seated across the room and say, “Because he’s right there, Mom.” She’d giggle and we would continue on.

            For five years she has been a widow, three years in assisted care, and just a year ago her twin brother died from the effects of Alzheimer’s.  His death is foremost in her mind and because of this she is re-experiencing her mother’s death.  It is like the childhood memories are clearer than todays, and the pain of her brother and mother being gone is acute.

            When she wonders anew if her mother has died, I simply remind her that her mother would be over 107 years old.  That’s makes sense to her and it helps her cope with the fact that she has now lived longer than her mother.

My mother is well loved at the care center.  As she makes her way to the dining hall she waves and smiles at whomever she meets not unlike a reigning queen.

“It’s always good to be friendly; everyone can use a smile.”

When she comes upon a resident that she has some shared memories with, she stops, sets aside her walker, to embrace them and gently kiss their cheek.

When anyone visits she struggles to her feet to extend a welcoming hug and kiss.  My brother Dan’s wife received one and then Mom reached out to Dan exclaiming, “Your wife didn’t come?”

“She’s right behind you Mom, you just hugged her.”

“Oh, my,” she says and smiling, she bestows another hug and kiss on Carolyn. 

When Mom asks about our lives, our children, our trip she really wants to know.  But she doesn’t remember asking the questions or receiving any answers so our conversation is repetitive.  But her great joy is being in the room as we converse.  Her joy is in our presence, as is our joy in hers.

It takes so little to bring her happiness. She is grateful for our visit, her children and grandchildren, her home, and the feeling of being cared for and safe.    Her only complaint is that she believes that someone keeps eating her chocolate.  But at 87, it’s easy to forget having just one more piece when chocolate goes down so smoothly.

The last thing I did before we left was polish her nails with a glittering mauve nail polish.  She loved it and kept exclaiming it was the nicest that she could remember.

 “I did a good job picking out that color, didn’t I?” she asked.

“Yes, Mom, you did.”

 I am blessed to be able to visit and talk to my mother.  I am doubly blessed by her example into old age of kindness, love and gratitude.  I hope that will be part of my legacy, that and an ability to forget eating chocolate. 

Flower Show Meditation: This Season Will Pass

          I love flowers and plants. To date, I have 40 houseplants that are lifting my spirits through the winter, and I am already planning the flowerbeds that will need tending throughout the spring, summer, and fall. 

          This past Saturday Russ and I ventured up to the Vermont Flower Show in Essex Junction to jumpstart our need for floral beauty. Daffodils, tulips, primrose, rhododendrons, Irish moss, hyacinths, English daisies, lilies, miniature iris, and candytufts were some of the varieties displayed.  Ten thousand square feet showcased them in various colors and hues; they numbered in the thousands.  It was a feast for the eyes, the nose, and the soul.

          As I gazed on all that beauty I reflected on the short duration of blooming time that each flower possesses.  I have managed to plant my yard so that from the time the first crocus appears, I have a variety of perennials flowering in my yard until frost.  

Some blooms endure for a day, others for possibly one or two weeks, and a few for a month.  But they have their seasons, appear for a time, and slowly fade away.  Though the blooming time is brief, I anticipate and cherish those moments.

Life is filled with seasons that are not exclusively spring, summer, fall, and winter.  In my own life I feel as if I have experienced very different periods of time.  From childhood to teen, from single to married with children, and now with all of them grown my life has known many phases. 

 I have been a child, a sister, a teenager, an aunt, a student, an employee, a friend, a wife, a mother, a teacher, a counselor, a grandparent.  And I have been formed and shaped by living in these callings. I wish that I could state that I have lived without any mistakes or errors.  I have had plenty and I have tried my best to restore those things that have been damaged, to let go of those things beyond my control, and to live in the present day.  This day won’t return again.

The book of Ecclesiastes has a list of seasons and times and I’ll name a few: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to lose and a time to keep, a time to keep silence and a time to speak. (The complete list is in chapter 3 of Ecclesiastes.)

Perhaps someone you know has just given birth.  What a joyous time this is filled with laughter and hope.  Embrace these wondrous years of baby and toddlerhood when every day is one of discovery, new expressions, and the words ‘no’ and ‘why’.  This time passes so quickly.

You may be in a time of loss - the loss of a friendship, a career, a spouse, your health.  So many emotions occur.  You may feel disoriented, alone, mournful, or unable to express what is happening to you.

 My friend, Mel, lost her husband to a massive heart attack when he was just 34 after only 4 months of marriage.  In her profound grief she was counseled to do something for someone else every day.  At first it was just a kind word spoken in a check-out line, later she sent cards to shut-ins, as time passed dinner invitations followed to neighbors, and bit by bit she came through more loving and kind than when she began her journey in grieving.

After the flower show, we visited a dear friend who is engaged in a battle against cancer that gave little until Rachel could not get out of bed one morning.  She has already endured the fusing of her spine; radiation is to follow, and more surgery is expected.

 The road ahead appears to be full of obstacles, yet she is hopeful and gladdened by her family uniting together to uphold her and each other. In this season she is blooming and showing her true colors.  Her love is a beautiful fragrance.

Someday we all come to the inevitable truth of the end of our days here on earth.  Not unlike the flowers our appearance is for a brief time. We will face rocky soil, inclement weather, choking weeds, and dry spells.  Our response to life will determine how our flowering will affect those around us.  It’s been said before – “Bloom where you are planted.” This season will pass. 

What Did You Say Your Name Was?

            When we were having children we dutifully read any baby name book that we found, and at their birth we called them by names that we felt were lovely and had meaning.  I think this is how most children receive their title.

 Yet when certain physical traits and personality attributes become dominant, the child is honored with a nickname.  I share some of these without interpretation: Red, Towhead, Motor Mouth, Peanut, Buckethead, Fatty Patty, Rusty, Slack Hands, Pudge, Leggs, Pumpkin, Belly and Beanpole.

            Our youngest Elisabeth was first called Ba-beetle-bit because her older sister couldn’t pronounce Elisabeth.  Over time it became Beetle, then Beet which only I call her occasionally.  Elisabeth’s youngest Trinity was an especially difficult baby and on some trying days Elisabeth would offer Trinity for sale to the other siblings calling, “Who wants a baby? She’s going cheap, anybody got a penny?””

Amid a chorus of “I do, I do”, Tr­­inity would then be hugged and loved on by the other three­ and today she is called Penny.

Once a child enters school any unusual surname may get morphed.  Ruark to Ruarkski, a wee expression of Polish humor: Monahan to Mamahan, the mothering instinct on high alert: Puopolo to Poopsie or Little Poop, a natural handling of this unique last name;  Monk to Monkey, who would capitalize on the term, screeching and chattering, scratching and scampering, and once eating 12 bananas in one sitting.  Her credo was “if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em”.  She also loved the attention.

Neighbors and employers also hand out labels.  One young man’s first job was as a field hand.  He was thin and sorely lacking in muscle.  As time passed he gained muscle and mass and could move 350 pounds at a time.  His boss promptly called him Hercules.

An impressively bulked up teen was an ace catcher that mastered guarding home plate, and could throw out anyone running to second base.  Needless to say, he was Tank.

Then there was Steven.  He was the oldest boy and had 10 siblings.  As the oldest his father held him to a high measure which Steven struggled to attain and often fell short of. He was known at home and in town simply as Damnit Steven the name his father regularly called him.

My husband Russell received a nickname when he was in his mid 30’s.  We lived across from a General Store and would regularly stop by to pick up items that we needed.  John, the owner, was jovial and loved to greet his customers by name and he knew everybody.  It gave a homely feeling to the place.

He really liked Russ and every time Russ entered, John would boom, “Hi Bob!” The first time I heard it I looked to see who had followed us in. No one. John was making eye contact with Russ, and Russ was nodding and smiling right back.

When we got home I was puzzled about the ‘Bob’ thing.  Russ looked sheepish and said, “I don’t know, but he’s been calling me that for weeks.  I know that I’ve told him my name is Russ on more than one occasion, but ‘Bob’ seems to be stuck in his mind.”

So it continued.  One Saturday Russ said, “This is embarrassing.  Everyone else in town knows that I’m Russ. Today when I get some hardware I’ll tell him.”

Russ came home about a half hour later with an interesting fact he learned from John.  John’s real name was Evan.  The former owner was called John and when Evan took over the store the town folk just continued to call him John.

“He must have laughed about having your name wrong after that.  What did he say when you told him?”

Silence.

“You did tell him, right?”

“You know, Bob’s not such a bad name after all. And he has called me it for a long time.”

“You chickened out?”

“I chickened out.”

“Way to go, Bob.”