Where are the picker bushes?

The news is something that just seems to be gloomier and doomier every hour of every day. The most disturbing news to me are the stories involving younger aged people who seem to have no regard for people or property. As most of us do I began thinking "what is going on?" Suddenly it hit me! The push to have landscaped yards has ruined our world as we know it ~ we're not using picker bushes!

Who among the 40 and up crowd doesn't remember getting caught in the picker bushes? Everyone seemed to have them near or around their porch and under their windows. If picker bushes were on the scene we didn't ring their doorbells and run away or even think of hunching under the windows to knock and run.

Now, our parents taught us to stay off the lawns of our neighbors and to say hello to them long before they said hello to us. We knew we weren't supposed to go sneaking around their property, but kids will be kids.

Picker bushes taught us something about boundaries and barriers and respecting others properties in a more emphatic way. If you dared cross that boundary eventually you would find yourself getting picked because surely you would fall in the bushes, get your clothes caught on them or, on the rare occasion, get snapped in the face with a branch. It reinforced what our parents and that generation of society agreed upon. Respecting others.

I say, Bring Back The Picker Bushes!

Go, Go, Gadget Car!

When I took my drivers training class in 1972, which was an actual semester class at my high school, my instructor was emphatic with one particular reminder. Driving was a serious privilege. We were to have nothing hanging from our mirrors, radios should be low if used at all. How lame! Sitting up straight with my hands at 10 and 2 was such puritanical thinking I can hardly believe it. Didn't they know all the wonderful multi-tasking I could accomplish?

Shoot, if you want you can pay bills, read a map, style hair, apply makeup, watch a movie, hold a conference call while driving through construction and enjoy a 3 course meal. Some people think it's okay to try to drive like Danica Patrick. Who are "they" to tell us otherwise?

In my fantasy world, I have a GO, GO, Gadget Car. I don't care about luxury so much, nor about prestige of the type of vehicle own. I long, however, for a safe commute to work and for everyone to get out of my way when I'm trying to hurry. Is that to much to ask?

How we drive reveals a lot about us, I'm afraid. There are days that I'm kind and considerate on the road. Then there are days we're better off not discussing. :) But most days, I just want a car that will allow me to police everyone else around me and make them follow the rules of the road. Since I can't boss anyone around or control other peoples lives, I just want a little vengeance once in a while.

For instance, the other morning I was driving my son to work when I ended up behind a classic older car. Classic meaning big boat type...impenetrable by most things. He was swerving constantly and I could see on occasion as he lifted his arm that he was either reading a text or texting back. Swaying and swerving constantly made me keep a distance and remain even more alert. Finally I dropped my son off and proceeded onto my commute. Not to long after, I was behind another vehicle whose brake lights would constantly flash on and off for no apparent reason. The driver wasn't close to anyone ahead and I kept a safe distance behind. Driving anywhere from 10 mph below the speed limit to 15 mph over the limit was extremely irritating, to say the least. I thougth for a moment it was another tweeter when I noticed some arm moving and constant fidgeting. The dome light would flash on and off and on and off....finally I realized that I was driving behind a talented make-up artist who was working very hard at getting just the right cheek line.Where are all those GO, GO, Gadget options on this car?? I would just bump other drivers out of my way, safely of course, but not have to worry about them bumping me or slowing me down. I would simply have a Go, GO, Gadget arm that would reach right into their cars and take their phones, maps, books and make-up bags and put them away. On occasion I would be required to be a little more authoritative and stop them in their tracks with my GO, GO, Gadget drill that would reach over and remove a tire without injury. Just get them out of my way.

I would just love to have a neon sign that I could talk into which would flash them a scolding message expletive free of course! So to all you Texter, Tweeters and Indulgent Eaters, be aware!




What do you think, Santa?










*All Pics Googled*

Tradition!

If you're a lover of musicals you may recall Tevye from Fiddler on the Roof singing all about Tradition. While I haven't really lived a life with many traditions, I find at times that I yearn for things that seem familiar and comfortable.

The older I get I seem to be drawn to a nostalgic urging that dictates my purchases when it comes to things like Christmas cards and ornaments. There was great joy in the past, at least in my way of thinking. Facebook may be part of this nostalgic feeling as I am not only connected to all of my siblings who are near and far, but now the neighbors we grew up with are once again in our circle of life. It's a very fond reconnect.

So, Thanksgiving morning I rose a bit early though I really didn't have to. I would be preparing dinner for just my son and me. Invitations had been given but declined and so it gave me the gift of solitude which is a gift I don't get as often as I'd like. But, I guess if I had the gift often it wouldn't feel like much of a present, now would it?

Anyway, the turkey had been thawing and I had all the preparations for our "traditional" dinner. Scaled back, mind you, but not forgoing the favorite dishes of years gone by. I was setting things up for the day, pulled the bird out of the fridge to begin roasting and of course had to go a'huntin for the innards. Why do they hide those things anyway? First I opened the neck area and pulled the neck out, followed by the packet of organs in the bag inside the rear. How many times have you cooked the turkey without pulling out that bag? No? Ok, just asking, cuz.....

I had a little pot with water in it and tossed in the neck and the innards and put it on the stove at the lowest heat possible. I said to my dearly departed mother "this one's for you". This was the way Mom always cooked the innards and then would use them in either the gravy or sometimes chopped up in the stuffing. She liked the neck, and sometimes she indulged in sampling it while we all appropriately screamed out "eeewwwww".

I'm not sure why I cooked these parts because I never used them. It just felt right to have them in their place on the stove. It was comforting to see them simmering there and think of Mom throughout the day with visions of Thanksgiving's gone by. Seeing those innards on the stovetop gave me a chance to have another thanksgiving in my heart for my Mom and Dad and the years of holiday dinners that made me feel safe, loved and happy. I'm thankful that I carry around years of good memories of a home life that was comforting to me in so many ways.

Tradition!

*All Pics Googled*

Waiting to Exhale

Driving around Michigan, at least around the metro area of Detroit, can be quite a nail-biting experience. I know that everyone says their metro area has the absolute worst traffic problems but I think Detroit is a classic. First of all, the first stretch of freeway ever constructed was in the Detroit area, and drivers have been speeding here ever since. The dilemma for many Detroiters' is that we have absolutely no transit system to speak of. Oh, there are buses that run periodically but nothing you could count on for a quick trip to work. Some folks have to rely on the bus system as their only mode of transportation but they would tell you that it leaves so much to be desired it's nearly impossible to believe it would ever improve. For example, where I live is seven miles off the last exit of a bus line and I don't live in the country! That means I would have to drive a car and park it in a lot, which isn't a bad idea, and then catch a bus that runs straight down 15 Mile Rd., which would get me very close to my work. But it zigs and zags and stops for a cigarette break every 30 minutes or so.

So that takes me back to my title. When I get in my car to take my daily jaunt to work I unknowingly hold my breath about all the way. In the midst of my lung inflation I do find a few moments to let a little air out when I'm wondering aloud how that moron got his license and why is there never a cop around to see what I see???

Arggggggg. I'll always be waiting to exhale.

(Thank you, veterans.)

Dancing To The Stars

Do you know what today is? It's October 3rd and one of the most special dates in my memory bank. October 3rd was the date I took my first ballet/tap lesson as a young girl. I begged my parents for months to let me take lessons after I had attended my neighbors recital. I was immediately bitten! Of course, I was dancing long before I took lessons but this was the real deal! I wanted to be under the lights,wearing beautiful costumes and moving gracefully to music that moved my soul.

Being one of nine children is one of the things I love most about who I am, but when it came to being able to participate in extra curricular activities being one of nine was often our nemesis. What seemed like a perfectly normal request became a major proposition to gain approval for my lessons. "Miss Joan" taught in her home in our neighborhood. She was really a phenomenal teacher in more ways than I can count. By teaching in her home, she gave opportunities to hundreds of little prima donna's that went through her back door and down the stairs in hopes of becoming a star. When I began my lessons with her, they were only $1.00 per week, but that dollar meant a lot to my parents who were already stretching a budget tighter than glad wrap on a bowl of leftover goulash. They simply didn't have it to give, but still found a way. They even asked me if I was still interested in taking lessons if it meant I couldn't participate in the recital due to costs. I answered with a resounding "yes!" as my heart sang, "Gotta Dance".

So there I was on October 3rd, in my pink tights and black leotard standing swayback at the ballet bar with 10 other swayback ballerinas. I didn't have ballet shoes yet as it wasn't in the budget, but it didn't matter. From my first plie' to my last releve, I was hooked. This first lesson began many years of dancing that took me through my high school graduation and beyond. Nine recitals followed that first lesson and I was able to participate in every one of them. My first pair of ballet shoes were a Christmas gift that year that sealed my fate. Eventually I began to earn money to help pay for my lessons and dancing shoes I needed by babysitting as much as I could. My mother spent countless hours from year one through year nine sewing thousands of costumes to help keep the costs down too. I can still see her under her spotlight hunched over her sewing machine that was whirring late into the night making sure every stitch was just right.

Those lessons took me a long way into life by giving me an appreciation for music and dance I might otherwise have never known. Miss Joan taught us poise, grace and to smile no matter what steps your feet might be missing. That's a lesson to be used in daily life, isn't it?

No matter what your circumstances are, no matter where you are in life,


"The Show Must Go On."

Bugged!

Last Saturday as I started out on a short road trip to pick up my niece an hour away, I unwillingly picked up a passenger. I was sitting at a red light waiting for the light to change so I could turn onto the freeway when suddenly a small, black-winged creature landed on my windshield wiper. I quickly turned on my blades to see if the bug would fly off before I entered the freeway but he insisted on hanging on. Okay bug, I thought, you're gonna die!

The light turned green and off I went like a Nascar contender. I drove down the entrance ramp and smoothly melded into the stream of traffic as if I'd been there all along. My eyes glanced down every 30 seconds or so and noticed that my little companion was still there. Suddenly it seemed he was waving at me to let me know he was still alive and well. He was taunting me as he would cautiously move around while hanging on precariously. I sped up and darted around my slower counterparts in an effort to make this little rebel give up and let go! He was downright bugging me!! At some point the traffic became a bit more intense and required my undivided attention and maybe eight to ten minutes passed before I thought of him again. The next time I glanced down I noticed that he was thrusting himself forward with his itty, bitty face in the wind acting as if his wings were long, silky flowing hair. By this time I was really quite amazed to realize that at approximately 73 mph my passenger was braving the elements with gusto. My heart began to turn and I felt a bit like the Grinch when he was whipping Max the dog. Just as the Grinch had a change of heart, I too felt differently toward my little companion. Now I was urging him to hang on and survive. As if a miracle of sorts was being performed right in front of my eyes! How was this possible that this creature could not only survive the ride of his life but move around to gain a more comfortable position or a stronger grip?

I let up on the accelerator and began willing my pal to move so I could see that he was alive. Soon the other vehicles seemed foreign to me as I moved through traffic like I was lost in a dream. The others were darting around me and probably cursing my presence while I just continued to urge my pal to hang on. His heart was pounding like crazy. Did I really see it beating or just imagine that I had? Thankfully I was approaching a rest stop and decided to pull over. I just had to see if my buddy was alive.

Parking in the first parking space available I turned off my car and watched my buddy with bated breath. What seemed like an hour was in reality about sixty seconds. One by one, he moved his legs off the wiper blade and shook them out almost as if he were waking a sleeping limb. He went around his body until it seemed all 8 legs were functioning and had blood pumping back through them. His two front legs rubbed together for quite some time and then he fluttered his wings a bit. Now, as a proud peacock shows off his full plumage, my pal strutted around the windshield stretching his wings and shaking his legs again. This went on for approximately five full minutes and when he just launched into what looked like the "hokey pokey" I finally realized he was just bugging me even more and planned to make this a permanent relationship!

I flicked my windshield wipers and sent my nemesis flying away and off I went to pick up my real passenger of the day.

That's the last bug that will get a free ride from me!

Call Me Crazy!

"Your call is very important to us. Please remain on the line for the next available operator." Trying to accomplish a few things at my desk while waiting on the line for some assistance from AT&T allowed me to think back to the olden days, or at least what were the olden days for me. Good old Ma Belle. It seems to me not all that long ago that you could contact the phone company, or any utility company for that matter, and speak to a real live person. Usually you were assisted in a timely manner and given the answers you needed. They may not always have been the answer you wanted, but it certainly answered the question you had.


Fast forward to our fast paced world where we get to hurry up and wait. Every utility company starts out with the same recording that your call is important, but due to the unusually high call volume you may be waiting on hold for an undetermined amount of time. If you'd like you can visit their website to take care of some of your requests but otherwise you may hold. So we wait. We really want to talk to a person in hopes of getting clarity, resolution and satisfaction. That's quite a wish list, isn't it??


As I tap my pen waiting for the next available operator I glance at the timer on my phone. Gee, five minutes have passed. Finally a male answers the phone and thanks me profusely for my business and wants to know how he can help me. I tell him that I'd like to get a detailed call history for my bill and wonder why I can't find it on the website. He doesn't know how to do that and will give me to the department that will help me get the pages that I want, but asks me if he's answered all my questions today. Not really, I think but go ahead and pass me on. Please hold on and thanks again, he says, for my business! I'm put into the next queue. Why is it that you can't be connected immediately to someone when you've already done your time in the prior holding pattern? I've never understood that. It just seems more confusing than ever.

Do you really think they're scrambling to answer all the incoming calls like we do at our smaller business? Are they concerned that someone may be left on hold for an inordinate amount of time? Or is it a smoke or coffee break time? Hmmmm...

Operator number two answers and begins her speel by thanking me for calling and asks how she can help me. I explain that I am trying to find or receive a detailed call history for my phone bill. It doesn't come with the bill automatically any longer and I am trying to determine if there is a way I can cut down on the cost of my phone. She clicks around while I sit quietly waiting. Next she asks me to please hold while she checks on this for me. Tick, tick, tick. The counter on my phone says I've been on this call a total of 12 minutes now. The operator comes back on the line, apologizes for the wait and says she's trying to find out how I can get the information I seek. She will be right back.

Humming some little tune to keep myself relaxed, I continue to wait. She is back to say that she will connect me to another person who will take my information so they can send me the pages I want and that it will cost me $5.00 per page. Huh??? I have to pay for this information? Yes, I do. I ask again as to why I can't find out this information on their website. "Please wait, I'll check again." Humm, humm, humm.

The third time I speak to the operator she says that they in fact, do have a department that will help walk me through the internet website so I can find my call history. Like the original customer service representative, she doesn't know how to help me with that either. I wonder why this is a secret on the website? Have I overlooked a simple direction? Evidently not, as there is a whole deparment waiting to walk me through this passage. She offers to transfer me yet again and I explain to her that the time has passed (it's now been 20 minutes) for me to move on and is there a direct number that I can call. She gives me that number which I will use as soon as I have another 20 minutes to kill.

Ain't progress wonderful?

Caught Short

"Five foot two and 1/2". What did you say?? The nurse repeated herself, "five foot two and 1/2". I don't believe it, I screamed inwardly. All my adult life I was certain that I was close enough to 5' 4" to claim it as my own. While standing on the scale at my BMI test and hearing this out loud I quickly ransacked my thoughts trying to remember the last time my height had actually been measured.

Growing up in our family, height was measured quite regularly. No, we didn't mark a wall with all our heights, names and dates. It just wasn't done like that. Our official measuring device was each other. Early on we kicked off our shoes and stood back to back in front of many witnesses to determine who was the king of stature. It was a contest challenged often as kids are sure each day that their height has changed. With seven of us being so close in age this process was a regular Saturday night feature that played often. When relatives gathered together the game was even more fun because they would encourage the challenge with cheers and beer, waging verbal taunts over who was gaining on whom. As we grew older, the next measure of our growth spurts were determined by my sister Nancy. Standing tall at 5' 1/2", Nancy was our marking post of progress. To this day she holds her title still as the official sign of "growing up". All the nieces and nephews love to stand up next to Aunt Nancy and peer down upon her.

I'm not sure when I began saying that I was almost 5'4" but I know I was somewhere close to Mom's height and Kate and I are nearly the same. Now I'm freaking out wondering if I have really shrunk THAT much or had only gained all this elevation in my mind trying to sound taller. Man....have I been lying to myself? The biggest ugh of this whole revelation is that I'm more overweight than I thought!

Kate?? Kate?? How tall do you say you are?

Oh my beautiful wickedness.....melting......melting

Back it up, Lady

What a month I've had! I don't think I've complained at all so far about being in my 50's. In fact, I feel that I've embraced it quite well. But when you enter the fifth decade of your life suddenly it seems your life is in everyone else's hands. Medically, that is.

Catching up on some long overdue appointments I was given the gift of being prescribed for a mammogram, a bone density test and, to my delight, a colonoscopy. Additionally, the dentist and I have been seeing each other quite a bit lately and I think he really likes me too. Every orifice of my being has been invaded by others hands and tools as if I were their playing field. I think they relish it, really!

"Have your last meal of the day by 2:00 pm and then starting at 4:00 pm, drink this mixture until it's gone. It's not that bad really, especially if you chill it." So last Sunday there I sat facing my meal as if it were my Last Supper. In my mind I planned all kinds of gourmet meals but in reality I made chicken, salad and some kind of potato. Earlier in the day I had mixed my love potion #9 so that it would be good and chilled when it was time to drink it down. The plastic container made 4 liters. 4 LITERS!!! It was clear and looked completely harmless...this is no big deal, I thought.

After I ate, I pulled out my instructions and reviewed them to be sure I didn't miss a thing. I had plenty of clear, sugar free liquids, sugar free jello, and just in case, some clear broth on hand to get me through my little fast until the next day. On the stroke of 4:00 pm I began my regimen and poured out my first 8 ounce glass of chilled liquid cleanser. I threw my head back and tried to gulp it down but found that as it passed my teeth, my tonsils grew fingers and put out its own hands and yelled "stop" ...it wasn't enjoying the moment at all! I made it through about 6 ounces and then quickly poured a glass of diet ginger ale. This little routine went on every 15 minutes for HOURS. I could barely choke it down. What should have been over in 2 -3 hours lasted well into the evening. I didn't have to worry about being hungry. This was quite a workout and food never entered my mind or my mouth as I forced down this clear, poisonous, oil slick. The liquid did what it was supposed to do but I didn't find that nearly as offensive as drinking the stuff.

The next morning, bright and early I checked in to the hospital where I was sure they were waiting just for me. I was told to be there at 6:30 with my test scheduled for 7:30. When I arrived I expected to find a quiet area just waking up to the world but instead found that it was a regular colonoscopy celebration! We were lining up like spectators to see the baseball playoffs! Over and over I heard the rumblings of conversation with the word "colonoscopy" popping up throughout the room. My vision of all of us in a row, with our posteriors positioned appropriately was more than my mind wanted to see. Finally I was taken to my little room by a little nurse to get ready for my little adventure.

When they wheeled me into the arena, I mean surgical ward, I found that I was indeed the first one of the day. Whew!! That meant that hose would be clean! People hovered all around me as I was asked to lay on my left side and the IV was being filled with a nausea prevention medicine as well as a twilight sleeping aid. The surgeon stood behind me, positioning my behind (back it up to the end of the table, lady) and asking what a pretty young thing was doing in a place like this. Did he mean me or my behind? I'll never know! I went to sleep.

The next thing I knew someone was talking about a recipe for parmesan crusted chicken and I was being given some diet coke and a graham cracker. I saw the surgeon for a minute and he said my colon was a thing of beauty and I didn't have to repeat this performance until I'm sixty.

I can hardly wait.

Flushed and Fuming....

I should have known when the electric percolator (yes, an old fashioned percolator) wouldn't perk my coffee this morning that it was going to be a "day". My trusty vehicle and I were on our way for an oil change, flushes and filter changes. My maintenance was WAY overdue on my '93 van and so I had the best intentions today to treat her right. I set out extra early before work just for the occasion.

I pulled up and went right into the stall and "my oil tech" went about his business. I was having the deluxe version which would cost me more than I originally planned to spend but when my tech showed me my power steering fluid and my totally grungy air filter I knew I had to give her some TLC. Why, I even sprung for new wiper blades! My radar was up as I was keeping an eye on the clock and my tech told me I would be out in 15 minutes. No problem! My tech also lay the new wiper blades on the windshield over the appropriate arm blades and would change them once everything else was completed and he could close the hood.

As my tech began to wrap things up and check all the fluids he asked me to go ahead and start the car. I turned the key with a flair ready to rejoice in the new energy she would have and heard nothing but a "click". Everyone stopped and looked as he asked me to try again. "Click". From where I sat I could see the hands of my tech fingering over all the surfaces quickly as if he was thinking "this can't be happening". Meanwhile, he asked me again to try and start the car and "click" echoed throughout the stall. I'm not sure if it was my temper or bile beginning to rise but something just wasn't feeling right as I sat in my van sure that my composure appeared intact. My tech's boss came over and ran his fingertips all over the engine area again as a blind man would speed read braille. He peeked out at me from behind the hood and asked me how old my battery was. I replied that it had been replaced about 1 to 2 years ago. He said "well they aren't making them like they used to" and I most likely needed a new battery or possibly a starter.

"WHAT???" When I drove in here she was perfectly fine!

Now, up until that point I felt that I was being quite patient and genteel. Suddenly I was hissing like a cat and spatting with tech boss. Oh the redhead that lives in me! He hissed back that they didn't touch or do anything that would be part of the engine problem that my van was experiencing. All I know is she was flushed and I was fuming. Tech boss and I retreated to our mutual corners without moving a muscle. My tech and Tech boss continued to try to figure out how they were going to get me out of their bay and I was just as quickly on the phone to my office to let them know of my little dilemma and that I wasn't sure if I'd be late or out all day. During my conversation, tech boss called someone else and the next thing I knew another tech guy from across the street was checking under the hood and turning the key several times quickly and determined the problem to be the starter. Suddenly with a quick key turn the car started and I was more than relieved. My tech pleasantly continued to go about getting my van done as quickly as possible as other trusting souls were lining up waiting for a flush. I could see tech boss giving him the look to get me out! Finally, my tech set me free and suggested that I go across the street where the starter man would look at my engine, make recommendations and also give me a little discount for the possible replacement of my starter.

I quickly pulled forward to exit but I couldn't go directly across the street. The exit required me to turn right, go down the street a piece and turn around so that I could enter the driveway on the opposite side. As I proceeded to try and maneuver through all these frustrations I made a turn and suddenly the new wiper blades went flying across the road! My tech never put them on! In the commotion and urgency to get the fuming redhead out, he forgot to swap the blades.

To close this long and drawn out escapade, suffice it to say that later that day my tech, tech boss and I all had a conversation in which I apologized for spewing at them in my frustration. As I made my apology I explained that I was new in the area and all I could see were dollar bills flying out of my wallet. Tech boss said he was sorry too and asked me to accept his apology as he realized he was a bit short with me too. He also said that they were my guys for any work or recommendations for future work needing to be done.

All being said and done, I have a happy van that was flushed, I quit fuming and I HAVE GUYS!!

Who could ask for anything more?

Soul Searching....

Dashing and dodging the other drivers made me groan inside and chastise myself for not getting out an hour earlier. I'm always amazed on the weekends when traffic can be just as brutal as during the week. Many drivers are darting around those who paused for the best spot. Still other drivers find a spot to claim long before necessary and aren't about to yield. Since the spring weather is upon us sounds of crying children and barking dogs loft about. The only absent noise are blasting horns, though I'm sure some drivers wished they had them.

Yes, this was another typical weekend morning at the laundry mat. Everyone is vying for the best machine in the lineup, even though they are all identical. Carts are crashed about by some drivers while others leave their carts abandoned in the middle of the lanes never looking back

Lately I've been frequenting the laundry mat in my town while I await some work needing to be done at home. Grabbing a cup of coffee and a book I try hard to concentrate on my words whilst ignoring the commotion around me. It's nearly impossible. Many little children are frequent guests at this laundry mat and are quick to share a smile or do some little antic in hopes of gaining an audience. I never let them down. Then there are the sweet little ones who clearly don't want to be there. Often they are under one year and they are unhappy as can be, crying with such fervor caring not who they may be disturbing. What alarms me most are the parents yelling at these tykes who aren't old enough to understand that not everyone is eager to hear their next new word, or what present they left in the bathroom, or observing their temperament in action. When did "shut up" become a parenting skill used to soothe a crying child?

Everywhere you go, people are people. You see them as they are whether it be in a formal setting or a casual encounter. Our character comes through especially in the mundane tasks of our day. How we are with a shopping cart, laundry cart or vehicle indicates what we are like in other aspects of our living. Do we let others go first once in a while or are we sure we need to be at our "spot" before someone else might get it? In our effort to do things quickly do we snap at everyone else around us?

Who's watching us while we watch the others? What would they say about me?

Does Decluttering cause soul searching??

I WANT MY MOMMY!!

Do you ever feel that way? My beloved mom was set free from this earth nearly four years ago and not a day goes by that I don't think of her. I recall the exact moment and place I stood at my mother's funeral when my Uncle Jim said "you will think of your mother every day." So far, he's been right. She visits my dreams and smiles. I'm so glad because the last few years of her life were spent trapped in a body that refused to do what the brain instructed. So now I have only the memories I choose to cherish as my own. However one of the blessings of having eight siblings is that others have cherished memories of their own too and we get to share them between us. At times it's a "mommapalooza" of fun. Other times it's a melancholy moment of quiet. No matter which, there is always a longing to share something with Mom physically and personally that leaves me a bit saddened.

Missing Mom is sort of like being at the ocean where the waves rise and fall. The last twelve months have personally been fraught with emotional battles that would be off the stress charts if tallied. The waves roll and seem to gain volume and power with each approach. Beautiful as these waves appear they also spew remains of debris and smelly dead things on the smooth sand. Once the seas pull back, it seems you have just enough time to catch your breath for the next momentous crash. On and on it goes until the water has churned up all the poison that has been brewing and gurgling below, preventing that serene calm that draws us to the edge of the sand. During the rise and fall of these waves in my life, I've thought of Mom more than ever.

How fun it would have been for her to become a great-grandmother when Kenzie Rose was born! We would have been in the grandparent club together that growing older usually allows. I've had so many mental conversations with Mom about life's greatest joy and am a little saddened that Kenzie won't know her as my sons knew their great-grandmothers. I've also missed Mom simply for the cherished chats that Mothers and Daughters share. Our chats were soothing to my soul and I thought they would go on for years. How comforting it was for me when she would listen and sometimes not say much of anything about that particular situation yet knowing she pondered and held my concerns close to her heart. She was my harbor in the storm......

I want my mommy.

DePain of DeClutter

A passion for writing has prompted me to sign up for a 90 day course with a writing coach in hopes of making my dream of writing professionally a reality. This past Monday nearly twenty aspiring writers met online for the first time for a teleseminar and introduction to the next ninety days of our writing futures.

Our instructor has given us a list of things to do, one of which is to "declutter". Huh????

Clutter is my happy place! I've moved so much over the past thirty years that I've moved with my clutter, neatly in boxes from place to place. Now I have to actually go through them and make sense of my self? Order in my life?? I don't know about this!

Depain of decluttering is what kept me here for all these years. Decluttering is about more than clearing out a box or two. Why, in my case, it means decluttering my thoughts first. My mind is fairly creative, this I know. However, it's bogged down with thoughts of "where'd I put that bill?" or "what's the date of that get-together?" Eventually I find my calendar and the bill I'm looking for and they are usually in the general area of where I thought they were. It's systematic in my way of thinking. Yet there's still more to it than that.....living in my cluttered space and mind allows me to be prevented from being what I can be but am afraid to believe about myself. It's my safe place but at the same time it's my personal prison. It's made me look at others and wonder how they accomplished all they have and what traits they have that I don't. It's lied to me!

Sooooooooo....to begin my week of declutter I took a step and joined Weight Watchers! While these two things may not seem to have any connection they are totally related. My mind has been cluttered for years about getting my weight under control and living a freer life not worrying about my weight, my health and appearance. I've only taken the first step but it's already giving me a sense of freedom. Not that it will be a perfect roadtrip, but taking this step means I'm making a change in my thinking and have eliminated one chunk of guilt regarding my lifestyle. If you've never battled weight you may not know the amount of time and energy these thoughts have consumed, but if you've battled any type of addiction in your life and wanted to change it then you know exactly of where I speak. This week I've taken two major steps. One, is taking my writing seriously and to another level, and two is taking better care of me by taking control of the food in my life. Whew! What an exhilirating week I've had!!

I will keep you posted on my process of decluttering my life. This will give me about another 30 years worth of writing!

Till next time!

Ahem....please indulge me.....

It takes over......you have no control whatsoever. The world revolves around a 7lb living beanie baby and we all bow. It just keeps happening!

Kenzie Rose, the prettiest granddaughter ever born, changed my life forever on December 23rd, 2006. She entered the world on the day of our "family" Christmas party and brought the most Joy we've had in a long time. I'm smitten beyond normal. It's a very familiar smitting I must say since I was smitten 28 years ago with her father. I think smitten is just as intense as any other addiction except its fairly harmless. Annoying to others maybe, but harmless in the long run.

Now, as I've been all my life, I'm not a techno gadget girl. I'm still not sure what the huge draw to an IPOD is and I'm beginning to sound like my dad when I ask someone to show me how to use the remote. Arggggghhhhh!! So it goes with cameras too. I have never taken a lot of pictures and have mostly used throwaway cameras. But now things simply must change. I want a digital camera and ask everyone I see using one all about the pros and cons of their camera. Otherwise, I will forever be forcing everyone to look at my cell phone photos of "baby girl" as I call her often.

That action brings up a memory of hauling around a small hand held viewer and loads of slides...of a certain little boy. Marie Barone has nothing on me!!

Here she is....



Gotta love her!

Moving.....again

"Are you in the military?" I've been asked that question more times than I can count. I've moved 21 times in the last 30 years (as I sit and count I'm shocked too!) You'd think by now I'd be a pro and have a real plan of action for moving. No such thing. Being born a redhead brings about a few personality quirks that forever shall remain. One is, I'd rather be having fun somewhere else than doing this. Two, I won't give up my childish attitude about item number one. Somewhere I hear the refrain to "I won't grow up...."

I've blamed this moving around action on a particular situation in my growing up years. Living in Detroit we witnessed many changes in a city that struggled to truly move forward like Chicago and Atlanta have done. I'm not an economist but this city of my birth seemed to really slump when white flight occured after the riots in the 60's. It was also a city that never diversified to other forms of economical support other than auto related employment. We didn't move out of the city during that time but eventually many of us grew up, got married and moved on. However, as our parents moved on too there was no longer the foundation marks of the neighborhood where we grew up. We couldn't go back and see that the Carey's still lived in the corner house, and the Martin's are next door with grandkids visiting often. The Rutkowski's and my parents were some of the last to leave but I often feel like I'm standing in a room looking all around me and wondering where everyone went. I long for connectedness and have struggled to find that place again. It's harder when you grow older as people don't let you in as easily as they did when I was four and would walk up to others and introduce myself.

"Hi, my name is Laura and I'm four and I live in a brown house. Want to play with me?" It just doesn't sound the same now..."Hi, my name is Laura and I'm 52 and I ......."

Naaaah.

I'll just get back to my moving.

Tip Tappin Away....

On minimal coaxing from my friend Kathy, I am here tip tappin away. Now, you may think that my blogging name is from tip tappin on the keyboard but actually I spent my formative years wearing tap shoes, which I loved. I still own a pair and threaten to wear them when the mood strikes. I've determined that the world would be a much nicer place if we all wore tap shoes. "Clickety clickety clickety click."

Who could be angry with shoes that sound so cool??

Since I still have my shoes (No, I'm not squeezing into my childhood tap shoes like an ugly step sister. I danced as an adult too!) I've threatened to sit at a local soda shop/drugstore and wear them on the off-chance ("way off" as they don't have soda shop/drugstores anymore) that I would be discovered and tap my way into hollywood. Why, I've done the routines over and over to perfection. I would dazzle "them" for sure and they would scream for more! At least in my mind I've done all that. Sometimes I'm simply worn out for the rehearsals I've had!

Okay, so I'm a wee bit hooked here....since I love to write and live in my own never, never happen land, I think I'll be blogging a bit more!

See ya!

Laura