When my twin sister and I were little we shared a bedroom, and of course, the closet, and for the most part we managed to get along famously.
We always kept our room clean, toys put away, and bed made. We also shared a bed which we always made together. She would get on her side and I would get on mine and we'd have that bed made in no time. That is as long as she was ready to do it.
You see...We had slightly different ideas on when we should get this accomplished. I was of the opinion that we should do it as soon as we woke up, so as to "get it over with", she , on the other hand, wanted to do it when the spirit moved her to do so.
This is where my story really begins...
One morning I was trying to convince my sister to make the bed when I wanted to, and as usual, she didn't seem willing to get on the page, so to speak. Now, as a general rule I have a very calm and peaceful personality, and I had never fought or argued with any of my siblings.
On this particular morning, however, when she kept on and on refusing to help me, it was suddenly as if my body had been possessed by the Wicked Witch of the West. I came unglued.
On top of our chest of drawers was a little ceramic kettle shaped dish. It had Tiffany blue marabou running around its entire opening, and inside it I kept my rings and earrings. When my sister repeatedly refused to help me I suddenly snatched that little kettle up, dumped my jewelry out of it, and hummed it at her. I used the word hummed because I didn't just throw it. I threw it with full force. I threw it with every ounce of strength an 8 year old little girl could muster. I mean it was raining marabou.
It hit the wall right above her head just as she was ducking down to avoid stitches. It made a loud crashing sound as it hit the wall and shattered into a million pieces. I stood there in shock at the fact that I had actually thrown it. As my brain began to function again I had only one thought she is going to kill me....
That thought was interupted when I heard the click of the intercom in our room that signaled someone was about to speak to us, I wanted it to be God forming an intervention to save my life , but, my gut feeling told me it was going to be my Mama. My instincts were spot on.
She said "Girls, is everything alright in there?". Well don't you just know that I piped up immediately with what I hoped was a very convincing yes ma'am. unfortunately, for me, my sister didn't feel as good about things as I did. She began to scream at the top of her lungs that I was trying to kill her and that she needed help.
Needless to say the intercom conversation was over. Before I could blink Mama had appeared in the flesh, and to tell you the truth she didn't look all that happy.
Before she could even begin her questioning about the broken glass and it's origin, I turned on the tears and lots of them. Between sobs, I began to explain to Mama that I had no idea what had come over me. I said that my sister wouldn't help me with the bed and that before I even knew what I was doing I had hurled the little dish at her.
I just felt sure, since I never got into trouble, she would believe the whole thing and that I'd get off with a warning. What I wasn't counting on was that Mama had already gone all Dick Tracy on the situation. You see...she had already completed her review of the evidence that was before her and she said....
"You knew exactly what you were doing. and you had time to think about it!". I assured her that I hadn't given it a bit of thought, and that's when she caught me up short. She said "Yes..You did. I know that you did because you had the forethought to dump your jewelry out of the dish before you threw it at her."
I just looked at her, and for the second time that morning , I was in shock. That's when I had my second thought...my murder was going to be a team effort...they were both going to kill me. I was horrified of getting in trouble, because I had never been in trouble before, so my thoughts at that point were extreme.
The first thing Mama did was tell my sister to leave the room. She did stand between us as my sister made her exit, which I was very grateful for. My thoughts had changed slightly at that point and were more along the lines of ... good Lord she is going to kill me, and she's going to do it alone and without witnesses.
The truth is she had taken my record of good behavior into account. She was going to let me off easy, but she didn't want my sister to know that, especially with the offense being attempted murder and all...
When all was said and done, I had to clean up the mess, apologize to my sister, and promise my Mama that I would never do anything like that again. When I had done all of the above, I was left in my room to "think about what I had done"...
My Mama knew exacty what she was doing because in the silence of that room my conscience went all Jiminey Cricket on me, and I felt soooo guilty I could hardly stand it.... I don't think I could have felt more ashamed of myself if I had killed her.
I also suffered in a way that my Mama and sister knew nothing about. I went through a grieving period for my Marabou dish....I suffered in silence...it being my fault that it got broken and all, but it was suffering just the same...
Honestly.... I still love myself some Marabou........
That was about 40 years ago and I've never thrown another thing.....
I would love to tell you that I haven't even thought about it, but lying is in the top ten rules of things not to do ......
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Thursday, February 23, 2012
Thursday, January 5, 2012
The Mother Ship.... A Search For Her Captain
I spent many years working in a high school and like all places of employment it had it's share of "crazies". To be honest there were times when I suspect we had more than our fair share of them.
Now, let me say for the record, I am talking only about co-workers, not students, and I do not mean Crazy in a Mental illness sort of way. I mean it in an "extremely odd bird" sort of way.
Now if you worked with me, you know deep in your heart that I am right about this, and in fact, you would have to admit that you have worked with, or at least met some of these people.
During my years, at this high school, I worked directly with a wonderful Lady who I became friends with and in fact remain friends with today. When we were working together we had a few conversations about the "crazies".
One day, after an encounter with one of them, I said to my friend, "You know, I think one day the Mother ship is going to just land right out back on the 50 yard line of the football field, and they are going to just start walking out the doors in droves to get on board.".
This whole concept led us to a new conversation, in which we decided we would try to determine who would be the Captain of said Mother ship. The leader among the "crazies" so to speak.
Now I will tell you there were many people to choose from, so we were aware that it wasn't going to be an easy feat, but at any rate the search began. As we had conversations with some of the candidates we would do things as we walked away like look at each other and simply say "Captain."
A firm decision on a winner seemed as if it could not be reached, however, because one crazy continued to top another with their behavior, thoughts, and ideas almost daily.
Then one day, when I was least expecting it, it happened. I found her, or maybe I should say she found me. I was outside walking around the track, and I was joined by a female substitute teacher, that I had never met before.
I introduced myself and she did the same. We began talking and suddenly she just looked at me and said "Sometimes I pretend that all of the food on my plate are the people, and my mouth is the space ship, and I open my mouth and let all of the people in."
My response was "Wow"...Really?? Well now, that sounds like a really fun game. It was nice to meet you, but I do have to be getting back to class now."
Having excused myself from the conversation, don't you just know, that I all but killed myself flying back to the room. I burst in the door, and said to my co-worker, "The search is over!! I found her!! Hands down! No question! It is over!! She is a blonde, she is out there on the track right now as I speak, and she has come for her people!!"
I said let me back up and tell you what just happened. I filled my friend in on everything that the woman had said to me and within seconds we were in full agreement that I had indeed solved the mystery. We spent the rest of our afternoon listening for the landing of the Mother ship.
Although we never actually heard it land, I feel that it must have. Perhaps sometime during a hot summers night, because I can report that the next school year several of the "crazies" did not return, and I never saw their Captain again either.
To be honest sometimes I feel a little crazy myself. I think we all do. I know there are times when I chuckle, and think...
Have mercy.... I should have just gotten on board.
Now, let me say for the record, I am talking only about co-workers, not students, and I do not mean Crazy in a Mental illness sort of way. I mean it in an "extremely odd bird" sort of way.
Now if you worked with me, you know deep in your heart that I am right about this, and in fact, you would have to admit that you have worked with, or at least met some of these people.
During my years, at this high school, I worked directly with a wonderful Lady who I became friends with and in fact remain friends with today. When we were working together we had a few conversations about the "crazies".
One day, after an encounter with one of them, I said to my friend, "You know, I think one day the Mother ship is going to just land right out back on the 50 yard line of the football field, and they are going to just start walking out the doors in droves to get on board.".
This whole concept led us to a new conversation, in which we decided we would try to determine who would be the Captain of said Mother ship. The leader among the "crazies" so to speak.
Now I will tell you there were many people to choose from, so we were aware that it wasn't going to be an easy feat, but at any rate the search began. As we had conversations with some of the candidates we would do things as we walked away like look at each other and simply say "Captain."
A firm decision on a winner seemed as if it could not be reached, however, because one crazy continued to top another with their behavior, thoughts, and ideas almost daily.
Then one day, when I was least expecting it, it happened. I found her, or maybe I should say she found me. I was outside walking around the track, and I was joined by a female substitute teacher, that I had never met before.
I introduced myself and she did the same. We began talking and suddenly she just looked at me and said "Sometimes I pretend that all of the food on my plate are the people, and my mouth is the space ship, and I open my mouth and let all of the people in."
My response was "Wow"...Really?? Well now, that sounds like a really fun game. It was nice to meet you, but I do have to be getting back to class now."
Having excused myself from the conversation, don't you just know, that I all but killed myself flying back to the room. I burst in the door, and said to my co-worker, "The search is over!! I found her!! Hands down! No question! It is over!! She is a blonde, she is out there on the track right now as I speak, and she has come for her people!!"
I said let me back up and tell you what just happened. I filled my friend in on everything that the woman had said to me and within seconds we were in full agreement that I had indeed solved the mystery. We spent the rest of our afternoon listening for the landing of the Mother ship.
Although we never actually heard it land, I feel that it must have. Perhaps sometime during a hot summers night, because I can report that the next school year several of the "crazies" did not return, and I never saw their Captain again either.
To be honest sometimes I feel a little crazy myself. I think we all do. I know there are times when I chuckle, and think...
Have mercy.... I should have just gotten on board.
Friday, December 16, 2011
"Stuck"
Let me just start by saying that I realize that I write quite a bit about my husband but please understand that with the material he provides I am honestly unable to help myself.
That being said I have another story to tell involving him. One afternoon, as I pulled into the driveway from work, I was thinking the usual things, how tired I was, what to do for dinner, and how glad I was to be home. Well let me just say that on this particular afternoon those thoughts were short lived.
I say this because as I was coming to the top of the driveway I could hear yelling coming from inside the garage. I had no idea what was going on, only that it was my husbands voice. As I began to exit the car I could see that he was on his cell phone.
When I got closer to where my husband was standing I could hear what he was shouting. He said , and I quote, "Ma'am, I AM AN ADULT!!"
After I was finally able to wrap my mind around the fact that this was actually happening, I just looked at him and said "Give me the phone." He looked at me and mouthed "I've got this, while simultaneously pointing to his free hand and attempting to show me something about his fingers".
I replied, "Evidently you do not have this. Hand me the phone." He reluctantly placed the phone in my hand.
After saying hello, and engaging in a brief conversation with the woman on the other end of the line, I was able to ascertain three things.
1. My husband had evidently super glued his fingers together, and was in the process of trying to secure some help for himself.
2. He had done so by contacting poison control.
3. He was in such a state of panic about the glue on his hands, that the woman he was talking to assumed that he was a young boy, and so she had asked him if there was an adult in the home that she could speak with.
You might wonder if I explained to the woman that she was dealing with a 40 something year old man. The answer to that is, no I did not.
I assured her that an adult had arrived, and that things were under control. I then thanked her for her help, and hung up the phone.
I then asked my husband, in my mother voice, if he had completely lost his mind. He mumbled something about not knowing what to do, and I said follow me.
He followed me into the house, where I retrieved a cotton ball and some nail polish remover from my vanity, and began to clean his fingers with it. I followed that up with some warm soapy water, and like magic, he was again a candidate for mittens.
After forming a rescue for him I sat him down and we had a talk, wherein I explained that in the future, should he find himself in a non life threatening situation, it would be perfectly acceptable for a man his age to try and problem solve on his own without contacting any outside resources.
I gave him an example of why he should try to save himself in the future. I told him that a baby could have ingested poison at the same time he glued his fingers together, in which case the mother would have needed immediate help.
I further explained that she might not have been able to get that help, if he had the phone line to poison control tied up over a little super glue.
He admitted that he may have over reacted, and said that he was just glad that it was over. Lord, I'm glad he got that behind him too. My relief is almost tangible.
I do find myself wondering, at times, as I back out of our driveway without him, if it's a good idea to leave him unattended. The thing that helps me with that concern, however, is just recalling the memory of that day and hearing him shouting at the lady from poison control.. "Ma'am, I am an adult!"
I mean adults can be left alone...right???
That being said I have another story to tell involving him. One afternoon, as I pulled into the driveway from work, I was thinking the usual things, how tired I was, what to do for dinner, and how glad I was to be home. Well let me just say that on this particular afternoon those thoughts were short lived.
I say this because as I was coming to the top of the driveway I could hear yelling coming from inside the garage. I had no idea what was going on, only that it was my husbands voice. As I began to exit the car I could see that he was on his cell phone.
When I got closer to where my husband was standing I could hear what he was shouting. He said , and I quote, "Ma'am, I AM AN ADULT!!"
After I was finally able to wrap my mind around the fact that this was actually happening, I just looked at him and said "Give me the phone." He looked at me and mouthed "I've got this, while simultaneously pointing to his free hand and attempting to show me something about his fingers".
I replied, "Evidently you do not have this. Hand me the phone." He reluctantly placed the phone in my hand.
After saying hello, and engaging in a brief conversation with the woman on the other end of the line, I was able to ascertain three things.
1. My husband had evidently super glued his fingers together, and was in the process of trying to secure some help for himself.
2. He had done so by contacting poison control.
3. He was in such a state of panic about the glue on his hands, that the woman he was talking to assumed that he was a young boy, and so she had asked him if there was an adult in the home that she could speak with.
You might wonder if I explained to the woman that she was dealing with a 40 something year old man. The answer to that is, no I did not.
I assured her that an adult had arrived, and that things were under control. I then thanked her for her help, and hung up the phone.
I then asked my husband, in my mother voice, if he had completely lost his mind. He mumbled something about not knowing what to do, and I said follow me.
He followed me into the house, where I retrieved a cotton ball and some nail polish remover from my vanity, and began to clean his fingers with it. I followed that up with some warm soapy water, and like magic, he was again a candidate for mittens.
After forming a rescue for him I sat him down and we had a talk, wherein I explained that in the future, should he find himself in a non life threatening situation, it would be perfectly acceptable for a man his age to try and problem solve on his own without contacting any outside resources.
I gave him an example of why he should try to save himself in the future. I told him that a baby could have ingested poison at the same time he glued his fingers together, in which case the mother would have needed immediate help.
I further explained that she might not have been able to get that help, if he had the phone line to poison control tied up over a little super glue.
He admitted that he may have over reacted, and said that he was just glad that it was over. Lord, I'm glad he got that behind him too. My relief is almost tangible.
I do find myself wondering, at times, as I back out of our driveway without him, if it's a good idea to leave him unattended. The thing that helps me with that concern, however, is just recalling the memory of that day and hearing him shouting at the lady from poison control.. "Ma'am, I am an adult!"
I mean adults can be left alone...right???
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Running Is For The Chosen...Myself? I Wasn't Chosen
When I was in high school, I had a coach that was relentless about my running during the fifty minutes each day that I was forced to spend with him. We would all dress out in those wonderful gym shorts and t-shirts and hit the track.
I admit I abhorred it, but being the good student that I was, I made an effort to run when I was told. Okay, it may have been a slow trot, but there was effort.
After all, there was the preservation of my cosmetics to be considered. I mean good Lord.. What girl wants to go to her next class with mascara running down her overheated red face, hair gone wild, and smelling like the great outdoors?
Was that ever good enough for this man? Nooo it was not. He would run behind me and yell wonderful things like "Arlene/Darlene! Pick up those knees!!"
You see, I have a twin sister. The coach had her in his class during another period of the day, and I'm not sure if it was that it was more convenient for him, or if it would have put him on academic overload to get to know us and address us as individuals, but either way, He chose instead to just combine our names. Nice.
This torture went on until one day when I was with my counselor and we were choosing my classes for the next year and she asked me the most wonderful question I had ever heard.."P.E. or Music?" I was so thrilled, I was stunned into a momentary silence.
When I found my voice, I said "Do you mean that I have a choice next year?" She said "Yes, that's right." Lord have mercy I think I heard the angels singing in that moment it was so glorious.
Well I just about yelled out the word music at the poor woman. She then asked "Band or Chorus?". I had a fleeting thought about band, but there were a few problems with that choice.
1. I had never even so much has played that little plastic flute thing they give you in elementary school.
2. The only instruments I had heard of girls playing at that time were flutes and clarinets, and those would just make putting on lip gloss pointless.
3. You had to perform at halftime during football games making socialization impossible.
4. The uniforms looked hot and unflattering. Decision made! Chorus it was!!
Fast forward a few years. I had gotten married and had my daughter. I was back in shape and feeling pretty good about it. I had been walking for several miles each day, and riding a stationary bike as well. That's when I heard that coach in the back of my mind saying "Arlene/Darlene! Pick up those knees!"
Suddenly I thought, I can run. I just wasn't interested in it during school because it was hot, and I would ruin my makeup before my next class. That did it. I was on a mission. I got in the car and went right to the mall. I purchased some very cute, yet proper, running attire and I went back home and I suited up.
I marched myself into the den and said to my husband "Let's go". He asked "Where are we going?" I replied "we are going over to the high school. I am going to run around the track."
When he grew tired of laughing, he drove me to the school. I walked over to the track and he propped himself against our car and prepared to watch.
I was so clueless! I had no idea that you should stretch before you ran, or that you might want to pace yourself. I took off full throttle and began my run.
One quarter of the way around the track I found myself doubled over with severe side pain and gasping for breath. I was so upset. I mean I was in shape, or so I thought. I was twenty something!! What in the world was the problem?
Well, at that point my husband asked, while laughing shamelessly, if I was alright. I had no choice but to shout, between my gasps for air, "Just get the car." As I stood there waiting for the car to arrive, my intense side pain subsided, and I was able to regain the ability to draw breath.
It was at that point that I had an epiphany. I wasn't meant to be a runner! Period! I wasn't chosen to run. I don't have the God given talent to be a runner. It's as simple as that.
It wasn't me that had suffered the confusion about the whole running concept back on that same track years before. It was my Coach. I now believe that man actually thought that I had the ability to run....Bless his heart...
That was about 26 years ago. I have never attempted to run again, and unless I sense imminent danger I don't foresee it happening in my future. What with my not having any talent for it and all. I do, however, appreciate the effort of the runners I see out on the roads when I am in the car, and I think to myself...Yes sir..they've got a God given talent....I wonder if they know?
I admit I abhorred it, but being the good student that I was, I made an effort to run when I was told. Okay, it may have been a slow trot, but there was effort.
After all, there was the preservation of my cosmetics to be considered. I mean good Lord.. What girl wants to go to her next class with mascara running down her overheated red face, hair gone wild, and smelling like the great outdoors?
Was that ever good enough for this man? Nooo it was not. He would run behind me and yell wonderful things like "Arlene/Darlene! Pick up those knees!!"
You see, I have a twin sister. The coach had her in his class during another period of the day, and I'm not sure if it was that it was more convenient for him, or if it would have put him on academic overload to get to know us and address us as individuals, but either way, He chose instead to just combine our names. Nice.
This torture went on until one day when I was with my counselor and we were choosing my classes for the next year and she asked me the most wonderful question I had ever heard.."P.E. or Music?" I was so thrilled, I was stunned into a momentary silence.
When I found my voice, I said "Do you mean that I have a choice next year?" She said "Yes, that's right." Lord have mercy I think I heard the angels singing in that moment it was so glorious.
Well I just about yelled out the word music at the poor woman. She then asked "Band or Chorus?". I had a fleeting thought about band, but there were a few problems with that choice.
1. I had never even so much has played that little plastic flute thing they give you in elementary school.
2. The only instruments I had heard of girls playing at that time were flutes and clarinets, and those would just make putting on lip gloss pointless.
3. You had to perform at halftime during football games making socialization impossible.
4. The uniforms looked hot and unflattering. Decision made! Chorus it was!!
Fast forward a few years. I had gotten married and had my daughter. I was back in shape and feeling pretty good about it. I had been walking for several miles each day, and riding a stationary bike as well. That's when I heard that coach in the back of my mind saying "Arlene/Darlene! Pick up those knees!"
Suddenly I thought, I can run. I just wasn't interested in it during school because it was hot, and I would ruin my makeup before my next class. That did it. I was on a mission. I got in the car and went right to the mall. I purchased some very cute, yet proper, running attire and I went back home and I suited up.
I marched myself into the den and said to my husband "Let's go". He asked "Where are we going?" I replied "we are going over to the high school. I am going to run around the track."
When he grew tired of laughing, he drove me to the school. I walked over to the track and he propped himself against our car and prepared to watch.
I was so clueless! I had no idea that you should stretch before you ran, or that you might want to pace yourself. I took off full throttle and began my run.
One quarter of the way around the track I found myself doubled over with severe side pain and gasping for breath. I was so upset. I mean I was in shape, or so I thought. I was twenty something!! What in the world was the problem?
Well, at that point my husband asked, while laughing shamelessly, if I was alright. I had no choice but to shout, between my gasps for air, "Just get the car." As I stood there waiting for the car to arrive, my intense side pain subsided, and I was able to regain the ability to draw breath.
It was at that point that I had an epiphany. I wasn't meant to be a runner! Period! I wasn't chosen to run. I don't have the God given talent to be a runner. It's as simple as that.
It wasn't me that had suffered the confusion about the whole running concept back on that same track years before. It was my Coach. I now believe that man actually thought that I had the ability to run....Bless his heart...
That was about 26 years ago. I have never attempted to run again, and unless I sense imminent danger I don't foresee it happening in my future. What with my not having any talent for it and all. I do, however, appreciate the effort of the runners I see out on the roads when I am in the car, and I think to myself...Yes sir..they've got a God given talent....I wonder if they know?
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Mr. Romance Strikes Again
I have written, on more than one occasion, about my husbands lack of romantic ability, but this week he said something that prompted me to have to do so again.
Now you might be thinking that I'm expecting some mushy over the top romantic candlelit dinners, or flowers being sent on no special occasion, and that kind of thing. I can assure you that I'm not expecting any of that. I am a realist, who happens to be no where near delusional.
When I say that my husband lacks romance, I mean the man doesn't have a romantic bone in his entire body. To give you an idea let me present you with a few of the past incidents as evidence of this fact.
Here goes..He took me to the movies twice in one week and actually skipped a seat between us both times. There have been numerous Valentines day cards that he has given me over the years that were completely void of any reference to love or romance whatsoever. (Yes, they actually make them.) One that comes to mind said "On this Valentines Day I just wanted to tell you how I feel. That was on the front of the card, and inside it said.. "I feel fine.".
Good Lord the man can't even play along with holiday rules. I haven't been kissed under mistletoe since I married him. Last year I even hung a sign in my office at home that said Mistletoe testing done here...hint hint. I got nothing.
One evening I completely lost my mind and suggested that we make a calendar appointed date night once a week. He responded with "Why do I need to take you on a date? We've been married for twenty something years.
Yes, as you can probably already tell my husband is just full of cupid inspired remarks. A virtual fountain of love.
Anyway, on to what great thing he said this week. We were lying in bed and about to go to sleep and I looked at him and said "It bothers me that you never kiss me goodnight".
I want you to know that he looked at me and without any hesitation whatsoever, answered with a remark that was so intelligent, if I didn't know he had gone on to the hereafter, I would have thought I was sleeping with Einstein himself.
He said "It's implied". What?? Who being told that someone would like to be kissed goodnight says off of the top of their head "It's implied."?? Are you kidding me??
I was stunned into silence. I thought right then and there that of all the great things he has said to me in the twenty something years of our marriage this one was the winner.
Do you think that he laughed or bothered to say he was kidding...Oh no. He meant it. He actually thought he had given me a suitable answer. When I found my voice I said "Wow. So an implied kiss is the same as one that involves actual physical contact. Honey, you might not believe this, but I had no idea.".
We went to sleep as usual, without the goodnight kiss, but I couldn't help thinking that if a kiss could be "implied" then so could other things....
I had no idea that for years I could have been responding with "oh that? It's implied."...
Now you might be thinking that I'm expecting some mushy over the top romantic candlelit dinners, or flowers being sent on no special occasion, and that kind of thing. I can assure you that I'm not expecting any of that. I am a realist, who happens to be no where near delusional.
When I say that my husband lacks romance, I mean the man doesn't have a romantic bone in his entire body. To give you an idea let me present you with a few of the past incidents as evidence of this fact.
Here goes..He took me to the movies twice in one week and actually skipped a seat between us both times. There have been numerous Valentines day cards that he has given me over the years that were completely void of any reference to love or romance whatsoever. (Yes, they actually make them.) One that comes to mind said "On this Valentines Day I just wanted to tell you how I feel. That was on the front of the card, and inside it said.. "I feel fine.".
Good Lord the man can't even play along with holiday rules. I haven't been kissed under mistletoe since I married him. Last year I even hung a sign in my office at home that said Mistletoe testing done here...hint hint. I got nothing.
One evening I completely lost my mind and suggested that we make a calendar appointed date night once a week. He responded with "Why do I need to take you on a date? We've been married for twenty something years.
Yes, as you can probably already tell my husband is just full of cupid inspired remarks. A virtual fountain of love.
Anyway, on to what great thing he said this week. We were lying in bed and about to go to sleep and I looked at him and said "It bothers me that you never kiss me goodnight".
I want you to know that he looked at me and without any hesitation whatsoever, answered with a remark that was so intelligent, if I didn't know he had gone on to the hereafter, I would have thought I was sleeping with Einstein himself.
He said "It's implied". What?? Who being told that someone would like to be kissed goodnight says off of the top of their head "It's implied."?? Are you kidding me??
I was stunned into silence. I thought right then and there that of all the great things he has said to me in the twenty something years of our marriage this one was the winner.
Do you think that he laughed or bothered to say he was kidding...Oh no. He meant it. He actually thought he had given me a suitable answer. When I found my voice I said "Wow. So an implied kiss is the same as one that involves actual physical contact. Honey, you might not believe this, but I had no idea.".
We went to sleep as usual, without the goodnight kiss, but I couldn't help thinking that if a kiss could be "implied" then so could other things....
I had no idea that for years I could have been responding with "oh that? It's implied."...
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Packing My Bags
When I was a little girl, and the school bell rang to signal that Summer was here, I only thought about one thing. How fast could I get my bags packed to go and stay with my Grandparents? My twin sister and I went every summer.
They lived in a house in what is now known as the “Historic Grant Park district” of Atlanta. The house sat up on a hill and was complete with a front porch that provided me with a place to make more treasured memories than I can even begin to count. There was a glider, two of those wonderful metal chairs that everyone had back then, and of course, a front porch swing.
Upon my arrival, I would race up the two flights of stairs that led to that porch, throw open the screen door, which would inevitably slam shut behind me, and run in the house like I was on fire, because I just knew they were going to be thrilled by my presence. My grandparents and my Aunt, that lived with them,would then respond by giving me hugs and kisses and acting like I was the best thing since sliced bread.
Those weeks were filled with so much fun and what seemed to me like endless days of adventure. I woke up in the mornings to the smell of my Granny frying bacon, eggs and making buttermilk pancakes, and was hummed to sleep at night by the sound of a window fan out in the kitchen that drew cool air through the house.
Every Monday was grocery store and drugstore day. My grandparents kept a schedule that rarely varied. One Monday we went to the grocery store and Granny said “When we're done here I'll take you next door and get you something.”. Next door was a Sunshine department store, and I knew what I wanted.
My sister went directly to the toy department, like most children would do, but not me. I went straight for the cosmetics. I found some light blue eye shadow, of the crème type, and I proceeded to beg for it.
I say beg, because my Grandfather called it war paint, and my Granny never wore it, nor cared for it herself, so they weren't in favor of making such a purchase. I can still hear her saying to me “Powder and paint make you what you ain't.”. She said “That mess will ruin your skin, and you don't need it.”.
It took me a few minutes, but when we left Sunshine's I had my eyeshadow and couldn't wait to get home to a mirror. I ran in the door and straight to my Aunt's vanity where I applied a very generous amount, and just knew that it looked amazing.
Less than 30 minutes later I had blisters that ran all the way across my eyelids from an allergic reaction, caused by my adolescent attempt at “beautiful”. I cried and carried on and the tears were not good... Lord have mercy did they burn. My Granny was a smart woman.
I did many things when I was at my grandparents house. To many to list here, but I am going to share a few.
There was a field beside the house where wild violets grew in deep purple, lavender and white. I would spend hours out in that field picking them until I'd have so many my hand could hardly close around them. I would bring them in and put them in glasses of water and place them in every room in the house. I still love violets today.
We'd sit on the front porch in the afternoons working puzzles on a card table or shelling/hulling purple peas, and snapping pole beans into bowls for supper. We'd talk about what we thought the trees across the street that were wrapped in kudzu vines looked like, or what the cloud shapes reminded us of.
I also learned to knit sitting on that front porch. My Granny was right handed and I was left handed, so it was a struggle, but she managed to teach me, and I loved it. I would sit for hours and knit. My Grandfather loved to tease me. I remember every time that I walked by him that Summer he would say “knit one, pearl two.”
Many old “Southern Sayings” were spoken and learned on that porch as well. I heard things like someone was “so stuck up if it rained they'd drowned”, and the sight of gray clouds brought “It's come up a cloud”...meaning a storm had blown in.
I have heard it said that someone was “no count”. This meant that the person was not making any sort of contribution to society whatsoever.
I heard “Lazy man's load” meaning trying to carry everything in one trip, when it should take several, or “poor to carry it” meaning someone was small for the load they were carrying. This could also be said about a small person if they had eaten more than it looked like they could hold.
The most important lesson I was taught by one of my Granny's sayings was without a doubt “Can't never could do nothing.”. Meaning if you said you couldn't then you never would because you were self defeating with your own words before you ever got started.
A close second I think would have to be that “You are judged by the company you keep.”'. My Mama reiterated this one and as an adult I know now that they were so right.
I was also taught that “A bird don't fly so high, it doesn't have to come down for water.”. This one meant simply that everyone needs someone at one time or another in their life. It took me a few years of growing up to understand that one, but now I totally get it.
The front porch was also a place for history lessons. I learned so much just sipping my sweet tea and listening to them talk. They told of how they met, they told stories of their parents, siblings, cousins, and friends, along with many other great stories of family and times gone by.
When my first love broke up with me, I was in high school. I was like just about every other girl, always applying my makeup, heavy on the lip gloss, rolling my hair with hot curlers, and wearing my perfume, but when we broke up, I was devastated. Near grown or not, I needed to be babied again, so I packed my bags and ran straight to Granny's house.
That's right I was going where there was no makeup required, sundresses and bare feet were accepted, and hair that was air dried, curly and wild was actually called beautiful. I needed love, rest, and to lick my wounds.
When I got there I was met with a hug and my Granny saying “Forget about him. Your backside would make him a Sunday face”... this reminded me that humor is also healing. Between the feeling of love and the humor that was provided, Granny's house gave me more inner healing than any spa in Buckhead could have.
I loved that house and front porch, and I loved the people who lived there. There was no better place for me than my grandparents house. There was a feeling of love, security, and peace there that was so strong it was close to tangible.
If you walked in feeling lonely or unloved they gave you their love, reminded you that Jesus was always with you and that you had his love. You left knowing you were wrong for thinking there was a lack of love in your life.
If you came in hungry you left full..(My Granny could stretch a meal like you wouldn't believe. I often joke that on any given Sunday she was like Jesus and the fish. No matter how many people walked in unexpected, after church, she fed everyone and there were leftovers.
The three people who lived there gave me so much more than they were ever aware of. They have, as my Granny would say, “Gone on to be with the Lord.”, and There are new residents in the house these days. I can only hope that they take time to sit and talk on the porch and learn a few things from each other.
As for me, there have been many times when I would love to pack my bags and run back to that house and the people who once lived there.
The knowledge that it is no longer possible has caused more than a few tears to spill onto my cheeks, but if I close my eyes and listen...
I can still hear that window fan humming, see a little girl among a field of violets, hear that screen door slam,and feel an unconditional love surround me......
They lived in a house in what is now known as the “Historic Grant Park district” of Atlanta. The house sat up on a hill and was complete with a front porch that provided me with a place to make more treasured memories than I can even begin to count. There was a glider, two of those wonderful metal chairs that everyone had back then, and of course, a front porch swing.
Upon my arrival, I would race up the two flights of stairs that led to that porch, throw open the screen door, which would inevitably slam shut behind me, and run in the house like I was on fire, because I just knew they were going to be thrilled by my presence. My grandparents and my Aunt, that lived with them,would then respond by giving me hugs and kisses and acting like I was the best thing since sliced bread.
Those weeks were filled with so much fun and what seemed to me like endless days of adventure. I woke up in the mornings to the smell of my Granny frying bacon, eggs and making buttermilk pancakes, and was hummed to sleep at night by the sound of a window fan out in the kitchen that drew cool air through the house.
Every Monday was grocery store and drugstore day. My grandparents kept a schedule that rarely varied. One Monday we went to the grocery store and Granny said “When we're done here I'll take you next door and get you something.”. Next door was a Sunshine department store, and I knew what I wanted.
My sister went directly to the toy department, like most children would do, but not me. I went straight for the cosmetics. I found some light blue eye shadow, of the crème type, and I proceeded to beg for it.
I say beg, because my Grandfather called it war paint, and my Granny never wore it, nor cared for it herself, so they weren't in favor of making such a purchase. I can still hear her saying to me “Powder and paint make you what you ain't.”. She said “That mess will ruin your skin, and you don't need it.”.
It took me a few minutes, but when we left Sunshine's I had my eyeshadow and couldn't wait to get home to a mirror. I ran in the door and straight to my Aunt's vanity where I applied a very generous amount, and just knew that it looked amazing.
Less than 30 minutes later I had blisters that ran all the way across my eyelids from an allergic reaction, caused by my adolescent attempt at “beautiful”. I cried and carried on and the tears were not good... Lord have mercy did they burn. My Granny was a smart woman.
I did many things when I was at my grandparents house. To many to list here, but I am going to share a few.
There was a field beside the house where wild violets grew in deep purple, lavender and white. I would spend hours out in that field picking them until I'd have so many my hand could hardly close around them. I would bring them in and put them in glasses of water and place them in every room in the house. I still love violets today.
We'd sit on the front porch in the afternoons working puzzles on a card table or shelling/hulling purple peas, and snapping pole beans into bowls for supper. We'd talk about what we thought the trees across the street that were wrapped in kudzu vines looked like, or what the cloud shapes reminded us of.
I also learned to knit sitting on that front porch. My Granny was right handed and I was left handed, so it was a struggle, but she managed to teach me, and I loved it. I would sit for hours and knit. My Grandfather loved to tease me. I remember every time that I walked by him that Summer he would say “knit one, pearl two.”
Many old “Southern Sayings” were spoken and learned on that porch as well. I heard things like someone was “so stuck up if it rained they'd drowned”, and the sight of gray clouds brought “It's come up a cloud”...meaning a storm had blown in.
I have heard it said that someone was “no count”. This meant that the person was not making any sort of contribution to society whatsoever.
I heard “Lazy man's load” meaning trying to carry everything in one trip, when it should take several, or “poor to carry it” meaning someone was small for the load they were carrying. This could also be said about a small person if they had eaten more than it looked like they could hold.
The most important lesson I was taught by one of my Granny's sayings was without a doubt “Can't never could do nothing.”. Meaning if you said you couldn't then you never would because you were self defeating with your own words before you ever got started.
A close second I think would have to be that “You are judged by the company you keep.”'. My Mama reiterated this one and as an adult I know now that they were so right.
I was also taught that “A bird don't fly so high, it doesn't have to come down for water.”. This one meant simply that everyone needs someone at one time or another in their life. It took me a few years of growing up to understand that one, but now I totally get it.
The front porch was also a place for history lessons. I learned so much just sipping my sweet tea and listening to them talk. They told of how they met, they told stories of their parents, siblings, cousins, and friends, along with many other great stories of family and times gone by.
When my first love broke up with me, I was in high school. I was like just about every other girl, always applying my makeup, heavy on the lip gloss, rolling my hair with hot curlers, and wearing my perfume, but when we broke up, I was devastated. Near grown or not, I needed to be babied again, so I packed my bags and ran straight to Granny's house.
That's right I was going where there was no makeup required, sundresses and bare feet were accepted, and hair that was air dried, curly and wild was actually called beautiful. I needed love, rest, and to lick my wounds.
When I got there I was met with a hug and my Granny saying “Forget about him. Your backside would make him a Sunday face”... this reminded me that humor is also healing. Between the feeling of love and the humor that was provided, Granny's house gave me more inner healing than any spa in Buckhead could have.
I loved that house and front porch, and I loved the people who lived there. There was no better place for me than my grandparents house. There was a feeling of love, security, and peace there that was so strong it was close to tangible.
If you walked in feeling lonely or unloved they gave you their love, reminded you that Jesus was always with you and that you had his love. You left knowing you were wrong for thinking there was a lack of love in your life.
If you came in hungry you left full..(My Granny could stretch a meal like you wouldn't believe. I often joke that on any given Sunday she was like Jesus and the fish. No matter how many people walked in unexpected, after church, she fed everyone and there were leftovers.
The three people who lived there gave me so much more than they were ever aware of. They have, as my Granny would say, “Gone on to be with the Lord.”, and There are new residents in the house these days. I can only hope that they take time to sit and talk on the porch and learn a few things from each other.
As for me, there have been many times when I would love to pack my bags and run back to that house and the people who once lived there.
The knowledge that it is no longer possible has caused more than a few tears to spill onto my cheeks, but if I close my eyes and listen...
I can still hear that window fan humming, see a little girl among a field of violets, hear that screen door slam,and feel an unconditional love surround me......
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Dick Clark, Juan Ponce de Leon, & My Husband
I have written several blogs, and the topics have been varied. However, there is one topic that I seem to write more about than any other. The topic that I am referring to is my husband. God love him, he gives me such great material that I can't help but write about him. This week has been no exception, so here goes....
He is forever asking sales clerks, and other random people, that don't know him, how old they think he is. I have to admit that 99.9 percent of the time they guess him to be at least ten years younger than his actual age.
I usually just keep my mouth shut, and walk away, although he doesn't necessarily deserve this kindness from me. I say this because when he speaks about my being in my forties, he makes me sound as if I'm about as useful, at this point, as a trap door in the bottom of a canoe.
Anyway... this past week he asked a sales woman to guess his age and Lord help me she gave him an answer of 32 years. He is 50..I thought I was going to have to stick a pin in his head just so he could get back in the car.
My first thought was to say yes he's 32 and you can go home with him if you'd like because I am not going to be able to tolerate living with him after your genius estimation. I mean really, this woman should work in an amusement park, or traveling fair. I'm just saying, with that kind of talent her working in retail sales is nothing more than a pure crying shame.
It's not that I am jealous, although I can't say I wouldn't love to look 32 myself. It's just that hearing it from him so much has become insufferable. I finally just went ahead and diagnosed him with "Dick Clark Syndrome" and asked him if we could just leave it at that.
I have no illusions about not looking my age. I know perfectly well that I do. I will also admit to buying every kind of youth serum and skin cream known to man and I will continue to do so, but I am well aware that I am not going to win that battle.
My husband, on the other hand, walks around like his bff is Juan Ponce de Leon, and they just had lunch and it included plenty of drinking water straight from the fountain. He's as delusional about his age as I would be if I thought that every time I sprayed my Este Lauder Youth Dew perfume on it took ten years off of mine.
Okay so now that I've explained the situation and what I'm dealing with I have to give it to him...He does actually look younger than he is by more than just a couple of years...
I do wish that he could find it in his heart to cut me a little slack about my age...I mean he may be Dick Clark on the outside, but I know his secrets...
You see...It's my reading glasses that he reaches for when we are in a restaurant and he would like to actually see a menu...It's me that knows he likes himself an occasional nap, and it's me that helps him celebrate those birthdays he has every June that pushes his chronological age further and further away from that 30 mark...
Let me just leave him with this...Honey you might be the keeper of youth, but as you continue to get older..never forget that I am the keeper of your secrets...
He is forever asking sales clerks, and other random people, that don't know him, how old they think he is. I have to admit that 99.9 percent of the time they guess him to be at least ten years younger than his actual age.
I usually just keep my mouth shut, and walk away, although he doesn't necessarily deserve this kindness from me. I say this because when he speaks about my being in my forties, he makes me sound as if I'm about as useful, at this point, as a trap door in the bottom of a canoe.
Anyway... this past week he asked a sales woman to guess his age and Lord help me she gave him an answer of 32 years. He is 50..I thought I was going to have to stick a pin in his head just so he could get back in the car.
My first thought was to say yes he's 32 and you can go home with him if you'd like because I am not going to be able to tolerate living with him after your genius estimation. I mean really, this woman should work in an amusement park, or traveling fair. I'm just saying, with that kind of talent her working in retail sales is nothing more than a pure crying shame.
It's not that I am jealous, although I can't say I wouldn't love to look 32 myself. It's just that hearing it from him so much has become insufferable. I finally just went ahead and diagnosed him with "Dick Clark Syndrome" and asked him if we could just leave it at that.
I have no illusions about not looking my age. I know perfectly well that I do. I will also admit to buying every kind of youth serum and skin cream known to man and I will continue to do so, but I am well aware that I am not going to win that battle.
My husband, on the other hand, walks around like his bff is Juan Ponce de Leon, and they just had lunch and it included plenty of drinking water straight from the fountain. He's as delusional about his age as I would be if I thought that every time I sprayed my Este Lauder Youth Dew perfume on it took ten years off of mine.
Okay so now that I've explained the situation and what I'm dealing with I have to give it to him...He does actually look younger than he is by more than just a couple of years...
I do wish that he could find it in his heart to cut me a little slack about my age...I mean he may be Dick Clark on the outside, but I know his secrets...
You see...It's my reading glasses that he reaches for when we are in a restaurant and he would like to actually see a menu...It's me that knows he likes himself an occasional nap, and it's me that helps him celebrate those birthdays he has every June that pushes his chronological age further and further away from that 30 mark...
Let me just leave him with this...Honey you might be the keeper of youth, but as you continue to get older..never forget that I am the keeper of your secrets...
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