My husband is very dependent on me when it comes to certain things. Saying that really is a polite way of saying that he is like having another child. I think somewhere along the way he was misled into believing that taking a wife meant getting a second Mother and relocating.
I don't suppose I can be to upset with the fact that he grew up believing this, I mean after all, I was misled myself. I saw Cinderella, Snow White, and Sleeping Beauty at the Fox Theatre when I was a little girl, and I bought Walt Disney's whole Princess marrying her Prince, glass slipper wearing, life's loaded with romance, bunch of mess completely.
These days, I understand the fact that Walt Disney needed a kick right square in it for misleading small children, and I have spent a good deal of time trying to help my husband overcome the fact that he no longer lives with his Mother. I will tell you he's having a bit more trouble understanding that concept, than I am getting over the whole fairytale thing.
To be perfectly honest, I am partially to blame for his dependence on me. I began taking care of him when we were only dating. I spent my days off from work doing his laundry, cleaning his bedroom, and making his lunch or going out to get him something while he slept all day. Three years later, when we were married, I wanted to be the best wife anyone ever had, so I continued to run around doing every little thing that I could for him.
Well, good job me! All this managed to do was spoil him beyond repair. He's 48 years old now, and I'm still doing all of these things and more. The reason I have this on my mind is because he recently said something I couldn't believe, not even coming from him.
One of the things that I do for him is put his medication into his little pill container for him to take each day. Well, a couple of weeks ago I was so busy that I decided that he was grown and could take care of it himself.
Do you think that he bothered to read the labels on the pill bottles, and take what he needed each day? I mean you would think that he would, considering that he is a diabetic and a heart patient(both of which can be life threatening) but no, he most certainly did not.
My husband chose another route. The same one my children take. It's called blame the wife and mother. It's the one where all things are traced back to being completely my fault. It's quite a bit like the Kevin Bacon game, and let me just say that they are all really good at it. Their ability to make everything my fault amazes me at times.
Okay, so back to the medication thing. This man went several days without taking any medication whatsoever, and then he comes into the living room one day and looks at me and says, very seriously, "I know what you're doing". I said "Excuse me?" He said "I know why you didn't put my pills in the container".
I just looked at him and said "Okay, let's hear it. I can't wait". He said "It's because you are plotting to kill me". I looked at him as if he had lost his mind, and I said "Are you serious right now?" He said "I don't know, you might be".
Well, Crack up! A grown man not taking his own medication, because he has chosen to remain oblivious to what those medications even are, and how they are suppose to be taken, was actually standing before me saying that I was plotting to kill him.
There was only one response that I could give him. I looked at him just as seriously, and I said "My God, you have figured it out. You are an absolute genius! I should have known, with all of your experience as a Detective, I never had a chance."
I must have been insane thinking that he was going to do what he needed to do on his own. The minute we were done with the conversation about it, I went and put his medication in the pill box for him.
Lord... if he doesn't take it and he dies my children could trace it all straight back to me and the empty pill box. I hear you can't have perfume, nail polish or cosmetics in prison, and to tell you the truth I'm just not willng to take that kind of a chance...like I said, they are all really good at it.
I can just see the headlines now: "Dick Tracy Dies When Second Mother Refuses To Organize Medications In Pill Box"....No..I'd just better not risk it....
Friday, December 25, 2009
Saturday, November 28, 2009
"The Love Of Her Life... Stolen So Quietly"
My husband and I were recently in a restaurant together having lunch. We were seated and waiting on our food when two elderly gentlemen walked by our table on their way out,one assisting the other.
These two gentlemen were followed by one more elderly gentleman, and three elderly women, one looking a bit older than the other two. The eldest of the women was obviously the matriarch of the family.
She appeared to be in her late 80's to early 90's and was dressed in a manner that would have made Coco Chanel proud. She was wearing a suit and heels, complete with pearls and a manicure. She was both classy and beautiful.
As the group she was with began to make their way to the door, the woman stopped directly beside our table, and for the first time I saw her eyes. I made eye contact with her, and I knew immediately she had a broken heart, although I had no way of knowing exactly what had caused it.
My unspoken question about her pain was answered very shortly when her eyes filled with tears, and the other women and two of the waitresses surrounded her. With tears threatening to spill over onto her cheeks at any moment, she began to speak.
She first gave an apology for the tears, followed by an explanation for her behavior.
She looked into the eyes of the waitress that she evidently hadn't met (the rest seemed to know the woman), and said, "you see dear, the two men that just went out the door were my husband and my son". As she pointed to the other people with her, she said "these are my other children (all of which appeared to be at least 60 or so), and we've been eating here as a family every Saturday for years, but today will be the last time that we are all here."
The waitresses asked her why that was, and she went on to say that her husband had Alzheimer's disease, and that her children were placing him in a home that afternoon. She said they felt that it had become to dangerous for her to care for him on her own, because he was becoming violent at times.
My eyes were filled with tears that had begun to quietly spill onto my cheeks by this point, and as she went on to say that they had been married and slept next to each other for 69 years. My heart felt an enormous ache for the pain and loneliness that I could only begin to imagine she was feeling. The love of her life was being stolen away by this terrible illness.
The tears spilled from her eyes as she finished her story and as they did the waitresses let their tears fall also. They gave her a hug and walked with her and her children towards the door.
When she had gone I just sat there thinking about both the depth of the love I had seen in her eyes when she spoke of her husband and what they had shared for so many years, as well as the look of heartbreak in them when she spoke of their lifetime together drawing to a close beginning with this physical separation.
I spent the rest of that weekend thinking about her and all that she was going through, and when I was able to get past thinking about the look in her eyes and the thoughts of her pain, I realized that she had been so greatly blessed in her life to have had a love that she felt so deeply and that had been so strong and long lasting.
We should all be fortunate enough to have someone love us in such a deep way. So deeply that it can be seen in the other persons eyes when they look at us, and felt in our hearts when we meet their gaze...
My darling's, in case you haven't figured it out yet...what this woman had with her husband, and the family that they created, is simply by definition.. a rich life....
These two gentlemen were followed by one more elderly gentleman, and three elderly women, one looking a bit older than the other two. The eldest of the women was obviously the matriarch of the family.
She appeared to be in her late 80's to early 90's and was dressed in a manner that would have made Coco Chanel proud. She was wearing a suit and heels, complete with pearls and a manicure. She was both classy and beautiful.
As the group she was with began to make their way to the door, the woman stopped directly beside our table, and for the first time I saw her eyes. I made eye contact with her, and I knew immediately she had a broken heart, although I had no way of knowing exactly what had caused it.
My unspoken question about her pain was answered very shortly when her eyes filled with tears, and the other women and two of the waitresses surrounded her. With tears threatening to spill over onto her cheeks at any moment, she began to speak.
She first gave an apology for the tears, followed by an explanation for her behavior.
She looked into the eyes of the waitress that she evidently hadn't met (the rest seemed to know the woman), and said, "you see dear, the two men that just went out the door were my husband and my son". As she pointed to the other people with her, she said "these are my other children (all of which appeared to be at least 60 or so), and we've been eating here as a family every Saturday for years, but today will be the last time that we are all here."
The waitresses asked her why that was, and she went on to say that her husband had Alzheimer's disease, and that her children were placing him in a home that afternoon. She said they felt that it had become to dangerous for her to care for him on her own, because he was becoming violent at times.
My eyes were filled with tears that had begun to quietly spill onto my cheeks by this point, and as she went on to say that they had been married and slept next to each other for 69 years. My heart felt an enormous ache for the pain and loneliness that I could only begin to imagine she was feeling. The love of her life was being stolen away by this terrible illness.
The tears spilled from her eyes as she finished her story and as they did the waitresses let their tears fall also. They gave her a hug and walked with her and her children towards the door.
When she had gone I just sat there thinking about both the depth of the love I had seen in her eyes when she spoke of her husband and what they had shared for so many years, as well as the look of heartbreak in them when she spoke of their lifetime together drawing to a close beginning with this physical separation.
I spent the rest of that weekend thinking about her and all that she was going through, and when I was able to get past thinking about the look in her eyes and the thoughts of her pain, I realized that she had been so greatly blessed in her life to have had a love that she felt so deeply and that had been so strong and long lasting.
We should all be fortunate enough to have someone love us in such a deep way. So deeply that it can be seen in the other persons eyes when they look at us, and felt in our hearts when we meet their gaze...
My darling's, in case you haven't figured it out yet...what this woman had with her husband, and the family that they created, is simply by definition.. a rich life....
Saturday, November 21, 2009
"American Pride And Respect, Get You Some"
The bell rings every morning for school to begin and we observe a moment of silence, which I personally use to pray. This is followed by the pledge of allegiance. I stand each and every morning for the pledge in my classroom, and if I should be out of the classroom I stop wherever I am, place my right hand over my heart,and remain in that position until the pledge has been said to completion.
All of the students in our special education classroom stand for the pledge as well. This is something that I feel is important, as it shows respect for our country.
As I mentioned, there are some mornings when the pledge begins that I am caught out in the hallway because of my morning bus duty. I have seen many teachers and students walk right past me, as I stand with my hand over my heart, and I feel they are showing a blatant disregard and disrespect for the pledge and all that it represents.
I have stopped in front of open classroom doors and seen students sitting in their desks not being made to do so much as stand up. I have taught students outside of special education and I have made them ALL stand during the pledge.
Some of these students did not mind letting me know that I couldn't "make them" recite the pledge because they have "the right not to say it". That may be true, but my response to that is unfortunately they are exercising another right at the same time. That right in my opinion is "their freedom to act like disrespectful, ungrateful idiots".
Understand that I am not talking about people of one certain race or religion that disrespect our country. The students and adults that I've observed are from all races and cultures including many that were born and raised right here in this country.
I had a student last week inform me in the hallway that he would never say the pledge and that those of us who do are "programmed". This student also said that he had written a song that was Anti-American. I'm not sure, but I think he wanted me to say that I understood.
There are men and women who serve our country each and every day sacrificing more than the average American could ever begin to wrap their mind around, and all for
very little pay.
There are Americans who have lost their moms, dads, sons, daughters, and spouses so that we could maintain the right to stand in a classroom and say the pledge of allegiance.
The People who feel as if they don't owe our country any respect and our soldiers any support and appreciation are the same ones who spend their days utilizing all of the benefits and rights that this country provides them with.
Don't get me wrong there are still some respectful students and adults that do as I do and give respect where it is due, and teach their sons and daughters to do the same, but for the ones who don't recognize the need for it, or lack a patriotic feeling of loyalty in their hearts, let me clue you in, it's called "American Pride and Respect" get you some, or move your disrespectful self to a country you do appreciate, and stop taking up space in ours.......
All of the students in our special education classroom stand for the pledge as well. This is something that I feel is important, as it shows respect for our country.
As I mentioned, there are some mornings when the pledge begins that I am caught out in the hallway because of my morning bus duty. I have seen many teachers and students walk right past me, as I stand with my hand over my heart, and I feel they are showing a blatant disregard and disrespect for the pledge and all that it represents.
I have stopped in front of open classroom doors and seen students sitting in their desks not being made to do so much as stand up. I have taught students outside of special education and I have made them ALL stand during the pledge.
Some of these students did not mind letting me know that I couldn't "make them" recite the pledge because they have "the right not to say it". That may be true, but my response to that is unfortunately they are exercising another right at the same time. That right in my opinion is "their freedom to act like disrespectful, ungrateful idiots".
Understand that I am not talking about people of one certain race or religion that disrespect our country. The students and adults that I've observed are from all races and cultures including many that were born and raised right here in this country.
I had a student last week inform me in the hallway that he would never say the pledge and that those of us who do are "programmed". This student also said that he had written a song that was Anti-American. I'm not sure, but I think he wanted me to say that I understood.
There are men and women who serve our country each and every day sacrificing more than the average American could ever begin to wrap their mind around, and all for
very little pay.
There are Americans who have lost their moms, dads, sons, daughters, and spouses so that we could maintain the right to stand in a classroom and say the pledge of allegiance.
The People who feel as if they don't owe our country any respect and our soldiers any support and appreciation are the same ones who spend their days utilizing all of the benefits and rights that this country provides them with.
Don't get me wrong there are still some respectful students and adults that do as I do and give respect where it is due, and teach their sons and daughters to do the same, but for the ones who don't recognize the need for it, or lack a patriotic feeling of loyalty in their hearts, let me clue you in, it's called "American Pride and Respect" get you some, or move your disrespectful self to a country you do appreciate, and stop taking up space in ours.......
Sunday, November 1, 2009
"Visual Assessments"
My husband is always looking at beautiful women when he is out in public. This happens both when I am with him, and when he is alone. I know that it happens when he's alone for two reasons. One, he's human, and two, he has reported back to me on more than one occasion that he's seen an attractive woman while he was out.
I have no clue as to why he feels like he is a mandated reporter regarding all such incidents, but I do have my suspicions as to why he felt the need to tell me the first time. I think it may have been because he came home with a slight head injury, complete with bleeding, that he felt needed my immediate attention.
He had been to the grocery store, and evidently saw an attractive woman as he was walking out. With his attention totally focused on her, he forgot to watch for fixed objects, and walked full force into a brick column, thus causing a small cut above his eye. He came right home, gave a full report, and asked me to put a band aid on the wound.
Another great example of this behavior happened just last week. He went into a store, that I had driven us to, and I waited outside. A few minutes passed by, and he came back out dying from laughter. I asked what happened, and he had no problem informing me that he had been staring at a "really pretty woman" and walked directly into another woman who was standing at an ATM machine, nearly knocking her down to the ground.
Let me just say that I have, in the past, been offended by the fact that he was looking at other women so openly with me standing beside him. I felt like it was disrespectful.
These days, after taking the time to be honest with myself, I am willing to admit the fact that I am guilty of the same behavior when I see handsome men, but with two major differences. One, I am much more discrete, and two, I have never felt the need to report such incidents back to him.
I have come even further in my thinking after the most recent of such reports given to me by my husband. I have decided that I have the right to be just as blatant with my visual assessments as he is with his. I'm not sure I want to go as far as reporting back to him just yet, but I'm not ready to rule it out for the future.
I may still be a little more reserved than he is in my assessing of other men. Not because of my husband, or what he might think, but because they may notice me doing it.
Maybe as time goes by I can become as relaxed about it as he is.......well..maybe not quite that relaxed....but then again, who knows?
Lord...I'd better go and put a band aid in my purse....
I have no clue as to why he feels like he is a mandated reporter regarding all such incidents, but I do have my suspicions as to why he felt the need to tell me the first time. I think it may have been because he came home with a slight head injury, complete with bleeding, that he felt needed my immediate attention.
He had been to the grocery store, and evidently saw an attractive woman as he was walking out. With his attention totally focused on her, he forgot to watch for fixed objects, and walked full force into a brick column, thus causing a small cut above his eye. He came right home, gave a full report, and asked me to put a band aid on the wound.
Another great example of this behavior happened just last week. He went into a store, that I had driven us to, and I waited outside. A few minutes passed by, and he came back out dying from laughter. I asked what happened, and he had no problem informing me that he had been staring at a "really pretty woman" and walked directly into another woman who was standing at an ATM machine, nearly knocking her down to the ground.
Let me just say that I have, in the past, been offended by the fact that he was looking at other women so openly with me standing beside him. I felt like it was disrespectful.
These days, after taking the time to be honest with myself, I am willing to admit the fact that I am guilty of the same behavior when I see handsome men, but with two major differences. One, I am much more discrete, and two, I have never felt the need to report such incidents back to him.
I have come even further in my thinking after the most recent of such reports given to me by my husband. I have decided that I have the right to be just as blatant with my visual assessments as he is with his. I'm not sure I want to go as far as reporting back to him just yet, but I'm not ready to rule it out for the future.
I may still be a little more reserved than he is in my assessing of other men. Not because of my husband, or what he might think, but because they may notice me doing it.
Maybe as time goes by I can become as relaxed about it as he is.......well..maybe not quite that relaxed....but then again, who knows?
Lord...I'd better go and put a band aid in my purse....
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
"Getting Out Of The Box: Fantasy Football, And Other Great Activities"
Several months ago I decided I needed to step out of my comfort zone, and try some new extra curricular activities. My choices have been limited in the past, due to my inability to conquer certain fears.
I use the word fear in its plural form, because I have many. Among them are things like chipping or breaking a nail, breaking into a full all over body sweat, public showers, or the complete lack there of, being clueless about the activity and looking like a complete and total idiot, or even worse, the chance for bodily harm.
As soon as my "get out of the box" decision was made, I began to think about some things I could do, and I actually tried a few of them.
Golf: I bought clubs, and a bracelet with charms. The charms were of things like a golf tee, a golf ball, a flag in a hole, etc.. End result: Clubs, in the attic. Bracelet, located in my top dresser drawer. Never been worn.
Camping, fishing, and Kayaking: This idea was put on the back burner for now, after consideration of all of the potential disasters that could occur should I go out into the woods with a tackle box, tent, and other equipment that would allow me to wind up in the middle of a lake.
Softball: Did it. Purchased an equipment bag, complete with monogram of my initials and number, got an actual team together, practiced, watched from the bench(in uniform)for about the first three games,to smoke it all over, actually played in the last five or so, wasn't very good, but I can report that I kept the umpires entertained.
After the softball adventure I decided I needed to slow things down a bit. My wheels were turning thinking about the things that I might try next, and then it happened. I came across an add for a fantasy football league on the Internet.
The next thing I know I had signed myself up. No research no questions. Keep in mind I knew absolutely nothing about NFL football, but I figured, what better way to learn?
The first thing I had to do was choose my players for the draft. Since I knew nothing about football, I knew nothing about player ability or statistics, so I did the logical thing and picked them by name. I say logical because I just figured if I had heard of them,they must be really good. That's pure logic, right?
After the draft came the big decisions, like who to keep on the bench and who to play. The first two games came and went and my record was 2-0. In week 3 I asked my husband for help, because it was really getting complicated. People were getting injured, I was hearing terms like waivers, and bye weeks, and becoming more and more confused. He refused to help me, and so I turned to a friend of mine for advice. His advice was good and I became 3-0.
During week 4 I went back on my own, and I suffered my first loss making my record 3-1. This past week was week 5, and I am happy to report that my record is 4-1 and I am ranked 1st in my league. I know, crack up!! Right?
Lord only knows how this will eventually turn out (there are 16 weeks), but I will tell you that I have learned a good deal about football. Positions, offense, defense, passing games, rushing games, fumbles and so on.
Every Sunday now I get in front of the television with my laptop and launch my live scoring. I become so stressed and competitive I'm dangerous. I even yelled out at a player during a game like he could hear me. My husband called from the other room asking "was that you Arlene?" I admitted that it was, and have yet to tell him that I was a little shocked myself when I realized what I had done.
At any rate, I'm loving fantasy football and I've already decided that I'm playing again next year.
As far as what I'll do next, I'm not sure yet, but I will tell you that my friend just moved into a house on the lake....
I use the word fear in its plural form, because I have many. Among them are things like chipping or breaking a nail, breaking into a full all over body sweat, public showers, or the complete lack there of, being clueless about the activity and looking like a complete and total idiot, or even worse, the chance for bodily harm.
As soon as my "get out of the box" decision was made, I began to think about some things I could do, and I actually tried a few of them.
Golf: I bought clubs, and a bracelet with charms. The charms were of things like a golf tee, a golf ball, a flag in a hole, etc.. End result: Clubs, in the attic. Bracelet, located in my top dresser drawer. Never been worn.
Camping, fishing, and Kayaking: This idea was put on the back burner for now, after consideration of all of the potential disasters that could occur should I go out into the woods with a tackle box, tent, and other equipment that would allow me to wind up in the middle of a lake.
Softball: Did it. Purchased an equipment bag, complete with monogram of my initials and number, got an actual team together, practiced, watched from the bench(in uniform)for about the first three games,to smoke it all over, actually played in the last five or so, wasn't very good, but I can report that I kept the umpires entertained.
After the softball adventure I decided I needed to slow things down a bit. My wheels were turning thinking about the things that I might try next, and then it happened. I came across an add for a fantasy football league on the Internet.
The next thing I know I had signed myself up. No research no questions. Keep in mind I knew absolutely nothing about NFL football, but I figured, what better way to learn?
The first thing I had to do was choose my players for the draft. Since I knew nothing about football, I knew nothing about player ability or statistics, so I did the logical thing and picked them by name. I say logical because I just figured if I had heard of them,they must be really good. That's pure logic, right?
After the draft came the big decisions, like who to keep on the bench and who to play. The first two games came and went and my record was 2-0. In week 3 I asked my husband for help, because it was really getting complicated. People were getting injured, I was hearing terms like waivers, and bye weeks, and becoming more and more confused. He refused to help me, and so I turned to a friend of mine for advice. His advice was good and I became 3-0.
During week 4 I went back on my own, and I suffered my first loss making my record 3-1. This past week was week 5, and I am happy to report that my record is 4-1 and I am ranked 1st in my league. I know, crack up!! Right?
Lord only knows how this will eventually turn out (there are 16 weeks), but I will tell you that I have learned a good deal about football. Positions, offense, defense, passing games, rushing games, fumbles and so on.
Every Sunday now I get in front of the television with my laptop and launch my live scoring. I become so stressed and competitive I'm dangerous. I even yelled out at a player during a game like he could hear me. My husband called from the other room asking "was that you Arlene?" I admitted that it was, and have yet to tell him that I was a little shocked myself when I realized what I had done.
At any rate, I'm loving fantasy football and I've already decided that I'm playing again next year.
As far as what I'll do next, I'm not sure yet, but I will tell you that my friend just moved into a house on the lake....
Sunday, September 20, 2009
"Southern Without Embarrassment"
There are quite a few things in life that I have great passion for. One of these things just happens to be the fact that I am Southern. I say this with pride, not embarrassment.
It seems to me that when a person is caught saying something negative about a culture different from there own people get up in arms and offended immediately. The thing that I find upsetting about this is the fact that the exception to this is any derogatory comment made about the South.
The prejudice against all things Southern is something that drives me insane. You hear it from ignorant people who don't mind walking right up to you and making some "great"(spoken like a true smarta##) statement about how terrible the South is in one way or another.
The people who make these statements with such blatant disrespect have no clue that by doing so they are telling us that "they just weren't raised right". You don't go into someones home and disrespect them or it. It is simply bad manners.
Unfortunately this occurs on a much greater level than these face to face encounters.
The media is also on board. I have heard criticizing statements from broadcasters of both news and sports,and seen ridiculous portrayals of our lives done with accents that make me cringe, in both movies and television.
An example in sports I can give you, came when the Braves made it to the world series. The national announcers had my blood pressure up so high that I had to turn the sound down on my t.v. and turn the radio on to listen to the local ones. Not only was it evident that they wanted the Braves to lose, but the jokes and smart remarks were rude, unacceptable and not even close to being cute.
The newest thorn in my side is that joke of a reality series called The Real Housewives Of Atlanta. Are they serious? Let me say,I was born and raised in Atlanta and I have never been more embarrassed by a representation of our city.
I would just like to take this opportunity to inform all of the transplants to Atlanta, that feel like all things southern are beneath them , that I-75 does in fact run north and Delta is ready when you are. We're over the disrespect.
The suggestion that t.v. networks and movie producers and writers, as well as newspaper editors and writers on a national level take the time to actually LEARN something about the south would, I am sure, fall on deaf ears.
Finally I have to say thank you to Jimmy for turning against his own Southern heritage by basically saying we are all ignorant southern racists. I have one suggestion for him, get out in the real south and meet and actually talk to people before labeling them racists. Obviously he is ashamed that he's southern, us all being such terrible people and everything, so let me add that we southerners feel the same way about that fact as he does..it's embarrassing.
There doesn't seem to be very many people left like me who are willing to speak up about this issue, but then I'm living in an Atlanta now that is so diverse people actually hear my Southern accent and ask where I'm from.
The diversity is fine, but so is the love of home that I have for Atlanta, as well as my need for it to be respected. I respect the love of home others have regardless of where home is for them. For those of you not born and raised in the south that show the ones of us who were, and our cities respect, Thank you. For those of you who don't....respect shows good manners, and we're big on manners in the South in case y'all haven't heard.
Why is this the way things are in a world where prejudice and stereotyping are suppose to be such a huge no no? My guess would be plain ignorance, but the people who make these remarks and portray the south in such a negative way were probably born above the Mason/Dixon Line and would be hard pressed to agree with this explanation since they're so positive we are the ignorant ones.
I know reading this may upset some people, but I have to tell you just writing it has improved my blood pressure greatly...
It seems to me that when a person is caught saying something negative about a culture different from there own people get up in arms and offended immediately. The thing that I find upsetting about this is the fact that the exception to this is any derogatory comment made about the South.
The prejudice against all things Southern is something that drives me insane. You hear it from ignorant people who don't mind walking right up to you and making some "great"(spoken like a true smarta##) statement about how terrible the South is in one way or another.
The people who make these statements with such blatant disrespect have no clue that by doing so they are telling us that "they just weren't raised right". You don't go into someones home and disrespect them or it. It is simply bad manners.
Unfortunately this occurs on a much greater level than these face to face encounters.
The media is also on board. I have heard criticizing statements from broadcasters of both news and sports,and seen ridiculous portrayals of our lives done with accents that make me cringe, in both movies and television.
An example in sports I can give you, came when the Braves made it to the world series. The national announcers had my blood pressure up so high that I had to turn the sound down on my t.v. and turn the radio on to listen to the local ones. Not only was it evident that they wanted the Braves to lose, but the jokes and smart remarks were rude, unacceptable and not even close to being cute.
The newest thorn in my side is that joke of a reality series called The Real Housewives Of Atlanta. Are they serious? Let me say,I was born and raised in Atlanta and I have never been more embarrassed by a representation of our city.
I would just like to take this opportunity to inform all of the transplants to Atlanta, that feel like all things southern are beneath them , that I-75 does in fact run north and Delta is ready when you are. We're over the disrespect.
The suggestion that t.v. networks and movie producers and writers, as well as newspaper editors and writers on a national level take the time to actually LEARN something about the south would, I am sure, fall on deaf ears.
Finally I have to say thank you to Jimmy for turning against his own Southern heritage by basically saying we are all ignorant southern racists. I have one suggestion for him, get out in the real south and meet and actually talk to people before labeling them racists. Obviously he is ashamed that he's southern, us all being such terrible people and everything, so let me add that we southerners feel the same way about that fact as he does..it's embarrassing.
There doesn't seem to be very many people left like me who are willing to speak up about this issue, but then I'm living in an Atlanta now that is so diverse people actually hear my Southern accent and ask where I'm from.
The diversity is fine, but so is the love of home that I have for Atlanta, as well as my need for it to be respected. I respect the love of home others have regardless of where home is for them. For those of you not born and raised in the south that show the ones of us who were, and our cities respect, Thank you. For those of you who don't....respect shows good manners, and we're big on manners in the South in case y'all haven't heard.
Why is this the way things are in a world where prejudice and stereotyping are suppose to be such a huge no no? My guess would be plain ignorance, but the people who make these remarks and portray the south in such a negative way were probably born above the Mason/Dixon Line and would be hard pressed to agree with this explanation since they're so positive we are the ignorant ones.
I know reading this may upset some people, but I have to tell you just writing it has improved my blood pressure greatly...
Friday, August 14, 2009
"Healing A Heart"
My husband and I spent the last few weeks at an Atlanta area hospital. This stay was prompted by chest pains that left my husband doubled over and unable to speak. I took him to his cardiologist, at the hospital, who ordered a catherization of his heart, which revealed the need for triple bypass surgery.
Upon hearing that he would need this surgery, I did what I always do in times of crisis, I cried. I then tried to tell myself that bypass surgery is a procedure his doctors perform several times a week. I spent the time after the decision was made to do open heart surgery going back and forth between being worried, scared and crying, and being rational and calm.
My husband and I had an entire week to worry, and let our anxiety levels build, because the surgery couldn't be done until all of his Plavix, a medication he has been on since receiving stints a few years ago, was out of his system.
He was admitted on a Tuesday and had the catherization. The Plavix levels were checked almost daily and it was finally determined that the surgery would be on the following Monday.
There are several things that had to be done the night prior to the surgery such as; blood being drawn every hour to test his glucose levels, and being bathed several times , in his case by me, with an antibacterial wash provided to us by his nurse.
Sunday night he obeyed all the surgical rules, and I bathed him and helped in anyway that I could. Bright and early Monday morning we were all set. I had hugged him, kissed him, and cried...it was go time.
The nurse came in and told him that transportation was on the way to get him, and then about two minutes later she was back. She then said that she had gotten a phone call, and that my husband's surgery had been "cancelled".
I was stunned. The first thing I did was ask her if she was serious, at which point she assured me that she was. I said "but I've already cried and everything." None of our protests mattered. There had evidently been an emergency or something that amounted to my husband being "bumped" from the schedule and we had no choice but to wait until the next day.
We tried to entertain ourselves by talking about some of the motivated workers we had encountered during our stay. They were numerous. There was one that my husband asked for clean towels who gave him a very quick response of "that ain't my job."
There was another man riding on a machine that seemed to be polishing the hallway floors. He was riding up and down the hall at the same rate of speed, ultra-slow, with a completely emotionless expression on his face until somebody said something to him about the fact that it was almost five o'clock, at which point he sped up and began turning the machine on a dime.
I also shared with him that I had gotten on the elevator with another motivated employee who was sighing and making noises to such an extent that I had to ask if she was okay. She said "No I'm not feeling good, and I'm tired." I said that I was sorry to hear that, and I asked her if she thought she might be getting sick. She looked at me, very seriously, and she said "No, but I worked yesterday." Wow!! Two days in a row...seriously??...is that like pulling a double?? I work five days a week ..I'll be dead if I'm not careful.
The waiting another day was hard, to say the least, and it meant that the bathing ritual and blood being drawn every hour had to be repeated that night, but we survived it. My husband is my hero, if it had been me, I think I would have lost my mind completely.
Tuesday morning he was to be the first "case". They came for him at around 7 a.m. and I cried again. The nurse informed me that I would need to take everything out of the room and move down to the ICU Red waiting room where the surgeon would have someone give me reports on how the surgery was progressing.
The first report that I received wasn't until 9a.m. There was a little patient representative reporter person, who gave these updates, and he came over and said "Mrs. Foster, the surgery has begun". I received a second report at 9:40. He said "Mrs. Foster, your husband is now on the bypass machine"..
This was information that I didn't want to know. I wanted to just yell are you insane?? Why would I want to know that??? I've got an idea. Since you're not a reporter for Star magazine I'm not going to be needing all of the gory details, let's try and use statements like "it's all going well" or "it's almost over"..
After that all I could manage to think about for the next few hours was that my husbands heart wasn't beating...I mean his valves were hooked to some sort of a machine or something like that, but overall it was just more than I could wrap my mind around.
When I finally got the report that it was over and had gone well I almost went down in a dead faint. I had been sleeping in a chair for seven days and had raw nerves as a bonus.
Two hours or so, after the surgery was over the little patient representative guy came over and informed me that I could "go back and see my loved one". I was both anxious and apprehensive about seeing my husband with all of those tubes everywhere, and hooked to all of those machines, not the least of which was the ventilator.
Again, I cried . After this initial visit, I was allowed to go back every two hours to see him. This happened three consecutive times, and I was asked to leave very shortly after arriving for each visit. Not by his nurses, or a doctor, but by my husband himself.
He was saying things to me like "Okay, I'm resting now" and shooing me out with hand gestures. I left and tried again each time until the third time when he said "okay, I'll see you upstairs". Upstairs meaning when he was moved from ICU to CCU. When he said that, I looked at him and said "so you don't want me to come back here for anymore of the ICU visits?" and he said no he did not.
I had a hard time with this because I wasn't even trying to talk to him, I was just standing there next to his bed. The allotted time for visitation in ICU was 20 minutes per visit, and I was getting 20 to 30 seconds at best. Well, needless to say I left with my feelings hurt.
On Wednesday afternoon, I got the news that my husband was being moved upstairs to CCU. I was so excited. We would be in a private room ( sleeping on a couch in the public like I had done the night before in the ICU waiting room has never been something I'm all that big on) and he had made it!! He was leaving ICU.
I grabbed the bags we were living out of, and headed upstairs to meet him. It didn't take me long to realize that he wasn't feeling as good about things as I was. He was extremely nervous and uptight. The first three days out of surgery we sat in that room together, in the dark. No blinds open, no TV, no phone, no communication, no noise whatsoever. For those of you who know me..trying to remain sane in complete and total silence ...well...enough said.
When Thursday rolled around the nurses were saying things to us about needing to "get his wires pulled". The first time I heard this I was like...Wires? What wires? I found out later that they were referring to small wires that had probes on the ends, and they were attached to my husband's heart. They were to be removed basically by being yanked out through two holes left in my husbands stomach from his drainage tubes.
The huge concern the nurses had for us was that if the wires weren't "pulled" by Friday we wouldn't be allowed to go home until Monday. As luck would have it, his wires were "pulled" on Friday, and on Saturday he was discharged.
The drive home was the longest ride of my life. We were told that he would have to ride in the backseat for the next month because his chest wouldn't be healed well enough to tolerate an airbag deploying. I was never happier to be home than I was that afternoon.
The past month has been an extremely hard one, but we were also reminded of how very blessed we are. We have family and friends that go above and beyond to help us in anyway that they can.
We had, and continue to have, prayers going up for us in numbers so large I would never be able to count them. There are times when God slows your life down, and even though the process may be a hard one, it can be very valuable. Valuable not only for health reasons, but because it becomes a reminder of all that we do have on any given day, and so we stop to heal... as well as to appreciate....
Upon hearing that he would need this surgery, I did what I always do in times of crisis, I cried. I then tried to tell myself that bypass surgery is a procedure his doctors perform several times a week. I spent the time after the decision was made to do open heart surgery going back and forth between being worried, scared and crying, and being rational and calm.
My husband and I had an entire week to worry, and let our anxiety levels build, because the surgery couldn't be done until all of his Plavix, a medication he has been on since receiving stints a few years ago, was out of his system.
He was admitted on a Tuesday and had the catherization. The Plavix levels were checked almost daily and it was finally determined that the surgery would be on the following Monday.
There are several things that had to be done the night prior to the surgery such as; blood being drawn every hour to test his glucose levels, and being bathed several times , in his case by me, with an antibacterial wash provided to us by his nurse.
Sunday night he obeyed all the surgical rules, and I bathed him and helped in anyway that I could. Bright and early Monday morning we were all set. I had hugged him, kissed him, and cried...it was go time.
The nurse came in and told him that transportation was on the way to get him, and then about two minutes later she was back. She then said that she had gotten a phone call, and that my husband's surgery had been "cancelled".
I was stunned. The first thing I did was ask her if she was serious, at which point she assured me that she was. I said "but I've already cried and everything." None of our protests mattered. There had evidently been an emergency or something that amounted to my husband being "bumped" from the schedule and we had no choice but to wait until the next day.
We tried to entertain ourselves by talking about some of the motivated workers we had encountered during our stay. They were numerous. There was one that my husband asked for clean towels who gave him a very quick response of "that ain't my job."
There was another man riding on a machine that seemed to be polishing the hallway floors. He was riding up and down the hall at the same rate of speed, ultra-slow, with a completely emotionless expression on his face until somebody said something to him about the fact that it was almost five o'clock, at which point he sped up and began turning the machine on a dime.
I also shared with him that I had gotten on the elevator with another motivated employee who was sighing and making noises to such an extent that I had to ask if she was okay. She said "No I'm not feeling good, and I'm tired." I said that I was sorry to hear that, and I asked her if she thought she might be getting sick. She looked at me, very seriously, and she said "No, but I worked yesterday." Wow!! Two days in a row...seriously??...is that like pulling a double?? I work five days a week ..I'll be dead if I'm not careful.
The waiting another day was hard, to say the least, and it meant that the bathing ritual and blood being drawn every hour had to be repeated that night, but we survived it. My husband is my hero, if it had been me, I think I would have lost my mind completely.
Tuesday morning he was to be the first "case". They came for him at around 7 a.m. and I cried again. The nurse informed me that I would need to take everything out of the room and move down to the ICU Red waiting room where the surgeon would have someone give me reports on how the surgery was progressing.
The first report that I received wasn't until 9a.m. There was a little patient representative reporter person, who gave these updates, and he came over and said "Mrs. Foster, the surgery has begun". I received a second report at 9:40. He said "Mrs. Foster, your husband is now on the bypass machine"..
This was information that I didn't want to know. I wanted to just yell are you insane?? Why would I want to know that??? I've got an idea. Since you're not a reporter for Star magazine I'm not going to be needing all of the gory details, let's try and use statements like "it's all going well" or "it's almost over"..
After that all I could manage to think about for the next few hours was that my husbands heart wasn't beating...I mean his valves were hooked to some sort of a machine or something like that, but overall it was just more than I could wrap my mind around.
When I finally got the report that it was over and had gone well I almost went down in a dead faint. I had been sleeping in a chair for seven days and had raw nerves as a bonus.
Two hours or so, after the surgery was over the little patient representative guy came over and informed me that I could "go back and see my loved one". I was both anxious and apprehensive about seeing my husband with all of those tubes everywhere, and hooked to all of those machines, not the least of which was the ventilator.
Again, I cried . After this initial visit, I was allowed to go back every two hours to see him. This happened three consecutive times, and I was asked to leave very shortly after arriving for each visit. Not by his nurses, or a doctor, but by my husband himself.
He was saying things to me like "Okay, I'm resting now" and shooing me out with hand gestures. I left and tried again each time until the third time when he said "okay, I'll see you upstairs". Upstairs meaning when he was moved from ICU to CCU. When he said that, I looked at him and said "so you don't want me to come back here for anymore of the ICU visits?" and he said no he did not.
I had a hard time with this because I wasn't even trying to talk to him, I was just standing there next to his bed. The allotted time for visitation in ICU was 20 minutes per visit, and I was getting 20 to 30 seconds at best. Well, needless to say I left with my feelings hurt.
On Wednesday afternoon, I got the news that my husband was being moved upstairs to CCU. I was so excited. We would be in a private room ( sleeping on a couch in the public like I had done the night before in the ICU waiting room has never been something I'm all that big on) and he had made it!! He was leaving ICU.
I grabbed the bags we were living out of, and headed upstairs to meet him. It didn't take me long to realize that he wasn't feeling as good about things as I was. He was extremely nervous and uptight. The first three days out of surgery we sat in that room together, in the dark. No blinds open, no TV, no phone, no communication, no noise whatsoever. For those of you who know me..trying to remain sane in complete and total silence ...well...enough said.
When Thursday rolled around the nurses were saying things to us about needing to "get his wires pulled". The first time I heard this I was like...Wires? What wires? I found out later that they were referring to small wires that had probes on the ends, and they were attached to my husband's heart. They were to be removed basically by being yanked out through two holes left in my husbands stomach from his drainage tubes.
The huge concern the nurses had for us was that if the wires weren't "pulled" by Friday we wouldn't be allowed to go home until Monday. As luck would have it, his wires were "pulled" on Friday, and on Saturday he was discharged.
The drive home was the longest ride of my life. We were told that he would have to ride in the backseat for the next month because his chest wouldn't be healed well enough to tolerate an airbag deploying. I was never happier to be home than I was that afternoon.
The past month has been an extremely hard one, but we were also reminded of how very blessed we are. We have family and friends that go above and beyond to help us in anyway that they can.
We had, and continue to have, prayers going up for us in numbers so large I would never be able to count them. There are times when God slows your life down, and even though the process may be a hard one, it can be very valuable. Valuable not only for health reasons, but because it becomes a reminder of all that we do have on any given day, and so we stop to heal... as well as to appreciate....
Friday, July 24, 2009
"Manicure? Are You Serious?"
I love my twin sister dearly, but though we are identical by birth , in personality we couldn't be more different if we tried.
The differences between us are huge. I am an over the top, got to get my hair done, nails done, purse collecting, make-up, lipgloss, and bracelet wearing, perfume's a must, non-athletic individual. She is pretty much the opposite.
One thing that is located fairly high on my priority list is having my nails done. Let me just say that my twin doesn't quite place that particular activity as high on her list of priorities as I do.
At any rate, about two years ago we were on our way out of town together and I announced that before we got on I-75 I had to go by the nail salon and have my nails done. She looked at me like I was insane. I just looked back at her and said "do you think that I can just walk around all week watching my nail polish become chipped and look worse with every day that passes?"
I will tell you she was not at all happy about my need for a manicure. She was completely at a loss as to why this was a must before we could leave town. I assured her that not going to have them done would ruin my entire trip and so she let me out of the car in front of the nail salon.
The manicure took about an hour and needless to say when I came out my sister's mood had become a little more intense, as had her need for understanding. I told her I just had to do it and I apologized for not having been able to find the time to work it in before the last minute and she let it go...or so I thought.
Tonight my sister stopped by for a visit and as we were having a cup of coffee together she told me that she had a dream last night. She said it was actually a nightmare. I said that I was sorry and told her how I hate nightmares and asked her to tell me what it was about.
She began by saying that she and I were in a Jeep and she was driving. I began thinking thoughts like oh God, someone was after us and we died, or we crashed and I died, and all the horrible things that one would associate with a nightmare.
Well as she went on to tell me more I learned that she had dreamed that the Jeep was out of control and that the entire vehicle was falling forward. She said that her head was forced down and she couldn't see out of the windshield so she had no idea where we were going to land or what she could do to try and save our lives.
I told her that all sounded terrible, and then she said "that's not how it ended". I said oh. What else happened? She said "I asked you if you could see out of the windshield and I looked over at you..and there you were just slowly painting your nails". She then proceeded to give me a visual on just how I was doing it.
I looked right at her and said "Are you serious right now?" She assured me that she was, and I then told her that I knew why she had dreamed that I was nonchalantly painting my nails in the middle of a life and death situation. She let me go on to explain, and I told her that I thought it was because she never thinks that I take things as seriously as I should.
After hearing my explanation, she told me that wasn't why at all . I then asked her why she thought she had that dream, and ...here comes the good part...she said "Do you remember that time we were going on vacation together and you had to stop and get your nails done?"
Well I have to be honest with you... I cracked up!!, Then I said "Yes..Oh My God! You've been holding onto to that for years!" I thought you let that go before we entered I-75 that day.
When she left we were both laughing, each at ourselves...me because I knew good and well that my part in her nightmare sounded just about like something I would do, and She because she realized that she had been holding on to her frustration with me over that little incident for so long.
I do feel terrible for asking her to wait over something like my nails, but a woman's gotta do what she's gotta do...
Let me just say now that I am sorry Sister...I love you ..And it was in truth pretty selfish of me to make you wait, but if it helps, my vacation was much better for your kindness.
Oh, and one more thing to make you feel better... don't worry about the nightmare coming true...I never paint my own nails..(Smile)
The differences between us are huge. I am an over the top, got to get my hair done, nails done, purse collecting, make-up, lipgloss, and bracelet wearing, perfume's a must, non-athletic individual. She is pretty much the opposite.
One thing that is located fairly high on my priority list is having my nails done. Let me just say that my twin doesn't quite place that particular activity as high on her list of priorities as I do.
At any rate, about two years ago we were on our way out of town together and I announced that before we got on I-75 I had to go by the nail salon and have my nails done. She looked at me like I was insane. I just looked back at her and said "do you think that I can just walk around all week watching my nail polish become chipped and look worse with every day that passes?"
I will tell you she was not at all happy about my need for a manicure. She was completely at a loss as to why this was a must before we could leave town. I assured her that not going to have them done would ruin my entire trip and so she let me out of the car in front of the nail salon.
The manicure took about an hour and needless to say when I came out my sister's mood had become a little more intense, as had her need for understanding. I told her I just had to do it and I apologized for not having been able to find the time to work it in before the last minute and she let it go...or so I thought.
Tonight my sister stopped by for a visit and as we were having a cup of coffee together she told me that she had a dream last night. She said it was actually a nightmare. I said that I was sorry and told her how I hate nightmares and asked her to tell me what it was about.
She began by saying that she and I were in a Jeep and she was driving. I began thinking thoughts like oh God, someone was after us and we died, or we crashed and I died, and all the horrible things that one would associate with a nightmare.
Well as she went on to tell me more I learned that she had dreamed that the Jeep was out of control and that the entire vehicle was falling forward. She said that her head was forced down and she couldn't see out of the windshield so she had no idea where we were going to land or what she could do to try and save our lives.
I told her that all sounded terrible, and then she said "that's not how it ended". I said oh. What else happened? She said "I asked you if you could see out of the windshield and I looked over at you..and there you were just slowly painting your nails". She then proceeded to give me a visual on just how I was doing it.
I looked right at her and said "Are you serious right now?" She assured me that she was, and I then told her that I knew why she had dreamed that I was nonchalantly painting my nails in the middle of a life and death situation. She let me go on to explain, and I told her that I thought it was because she never thinks that I take things as seriously as I should.
After hearing my explanation, she told me that wasn't why at all . I then asked her why she thought she had that dream, and ...here comes the good part...she said "Do you remember that time we were going on vacation together and you had to stop and get your nails done?"
Well I have to be honest with you... I cracked up!!, Then I said "Yes..Oh My God! You've been holding onto to that for years!" I thought you let that go before we entered I-75 that day.
When she left we were both laughing, each at ourselves...me because I knew good and well that my part in her nightmare sounded just about like something I would do, and She because she realized that she had been holding on to her frustration with me over that little incident for so long.
I do feel terrible for asking her to wait over something like my nails, but a woman's gotta do what she's gotta do...
Let me just say now that I am sorry Sister...I love you ..And it was in truth pretty selfish of me to make you wait, but if it helps, my vacation was much better for your kindness.
Oh, and one more thing to make you feel better... don't worry about the nightmare coming true...I never paint my own nails..(Smile)
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
"Final Wishes"
My husband said to me one night that he didn't think that he would live to be very old. I could tell by the way he said it, he was being serious, so I Just looked at him and said "Don't worry about it. They say only the good die young, so you'll be around for a long time".
I then became very quiet. After a short time he looked at me and said "what's wrong with you?" I said I just realized...I'm so screwed. He cracked up.
This led to us discussing things like what we would do if the other one went first, and what we would want done, should we be the one that goes first.
He began by asking me to bury him in his police uniform, and to be sure that his name plate and serving since pins were on his shirt. His logic behind this request was that #1, God would be able to identify him without looking for his name in the book, and #2, It would be readily evident to God that he had spent 25 plus years as a humble community servant. Just to Sum it up...He's looking for brownie points.
Of course, my husband, being a Christian, knows that this is all futile because when it comes time to stand before God, our lives are what they are, and we will have done what we've done. Some of us will just be in a little more trouble than others. We both also know that there will be no "guilty with an explanation" on judgment day."
At any rate, that particular part of the conversation ended with me telling him that I would do as he had requested and honor his wishes.
When it was time for him to say what he would do should I go first, it was no problem at all . . . Without hesitation, he said he would marry someone about 25, and try and move on. He said it would be tough, but life must go on, and he knew that I would want him to be happy.
When it was my turn to make requests, I said if I should happen to go first, I want lots of flowers. I let him know that my friend Tracey has been asked to check my hair, if she finds it unacceptable... closed casket...not up for discussion. I said I want my nails painted, and if the polish is left chipped in the slightest way, I will be back.
I also requested bracelets, and a little perfume. I mean the Bible does say "the dead in Christ shall rise", and I want to be presentable...I'm in enough trouble.
Another thing that I told my husband was that I expected tears, and lots of them. I told him I wanted my funeral to include a slide show of my life, and him on the front row crying like a girl.
I made one last request using an idea that I had heard from another married couple earlier in my life. I told him that he should bury me with a shovel. He immediately responded with "why in the world would I do that?". I let him know that it was completely for his benefit.
He then wanted to know how that would benefit him? I said well, when Jesus comes again, as I rise up from the ground, if I don't see you, I thought you might want me to start digging, but if you don't think it's a good idea I can live with that. "No tears past the gate", so I'm good either way.
After telling him that I hadn't given much thought to what I would do should he go first, I just simply promised to keep in mind what I had learned from him. Especially the part about how life must go on, and being happy. I assured him that I would try to do exactly as he would do, if the shoe were on the other foot.
As far as headstones go, he pointed out one in Oakland Cemetery in Atlanta, one day when we were there, that said a woman's name, followed by "Went through life merrily doing good". He said he was going to put that on mine... I , in turn, promised to put something great on his as well, like for example; "Keep the line moving".
We handle pretty much all things with humor at our house, but I will tell you that many of the above requests are things we actually want done. Neither one of us would ever take the others death lightly. In fact, we would be devastated. It's just that when you are speaking about personal desires involving death and a loss of that magnitude, it's easier to convey and receive each others wishes with a little humor added in.....
Good Lord..We have to laugh, and I can't expect the man to get all upset and cry now, when we are only discussing it... especially since he's going to have to come up with all of those tears when I do go...
I then became very quiet. After a short time he looked at me and said "what's wrong with you?" I said I just realized...I'm so screwed. He cracked up.
This led to us discussing things like what we would do if the other one went first, and what we would want done, should we be the one that goes first.
He began by asking me to bury him in his police uniform, and to be sure that his name plate and serving since pins were on his shirt. His logic behind this request was that #1, God would be able to identify him without looking for his name in the book, and #2, It would be readily evident to God that he had spent 25 plus years as a humble community servant. Just to Sum it up...He's looking for brownie points.
Of course, my husband, being a Christian, knows that this is all futile because when it comes time to stand before God, our lives are what they are, and we will have done what we've done. Some of us will just be in a little more trouble than others. We both also know that there will be no "guilty with an explanation" on judgment day."
At any rate, that particular part of the conversation ended with me telling him that I would do as he had requested and honor his wishes.
When it was time for him to say what he would do should I go first, it was no problem at all . . . Without hesitation, he said he would marry someone about 25, and try and move on. He said it would be tough, but life must go on, and he knew that I would want him to be happy.
When it was my turn to make requests, I said if I should happen to go first, I want lots of flowers. I let him know that my friend Tracey has been asked to check my hair, if she finds it unacceptable... closed casket...not up for discussion. I said I want my nails painted, and if the polish is left chipped in the slightest way, I will be back.
I also requested bracelets, and a little perfume. I mean the Bible does say "the dead in Christ shall rise", and I want to be presentable...I'm in enough trouble.
Another thing that I told my husband was that I expected tears, and lots of them. I told him I wanted my funeral to include a slide show of my life, and him on the front row crying like a girl.
I made one last request using an idea that I had heard from another married couple earlier in my life. I told him that he should bury me with a shovel. He immediately responded with "why in the world would I do that?". I let him know that it was completely for his benefit.
He then wanted to know how that would benefit him? I said well, when Jesus comes again, as I rise up from the ground, if I don't see you, I thought you might want me to start digging, but if you don't think it's a good idea I can live with that. "No tears past the gate", so I'm good either way.
After telling him that I hadn't given much thought to what I would do should he go first, I just simply promised to keep in mind what I had learned from him. Especially the part about how life must go on, and being happy. I assured him that I would try to do exactly as he would do, if the shoe were on the other foot.
As far as headstones go, he pointed out one in Oakland Cemetery in Atlanta, one day when we were there, that said a woman's name, followed by "Went through life merrily doing good". He said he was going to put that on mine... I , in turn, promised to put something great on his as well, like for example; "Keep the line moving".
We handle pretty much all things with humor at our house, but I will tell you that many of the above requests are things we actually want done. Neither one of us would ever take the others death lightly. In fact, we would be devastated. It's just that when you are speaking about personal desires involving death and a loss of that magnitude, it's easier to convey and receive each others wishes with a little humor added in.....
Good Lord..We have to laugh, and I can't expect the man to get all upset and cry now, when we are only discussing it... especially since he's going to have to come up with all of those tears when I do go...
Monday, May 4, 2009
"Storm Watch"
I am terrified of storms. I don't mean the afternoon/evening, run of the mill, heat of the day thunderstorms. The kind I'm talking about come in riding a warm or cold front, and have hail, high winds, and tornadic content.
This fear began for me when I was a little girl. I believe it began when I was at my Granny's house in Grant Park. It would "come up a cloud", as she would put it, and the thunder would make the windows in the house rattle. The entire house would rumble and shake. It didn't help matters much that my grandfather loved to tease me. He would say things like "Let her rip!", and "It's going to blow this house off the hill!".
This, in my little 5 year old book, was cause for alarm. To tell you the truth I was not all that brave in the first place, so it didn't take much to scare me half to death.
Granny's house sat on a hill and was surrounded by trees. The old very large oak, been there forever, type of trees. These two facts made me believe two things. one, being on a hill made us far closer to the lightening than everyone else, and two, if the lightening didn't kill us one of the trees whipping in the wind would.
As I grew a little older my fear of storms only intensified because our neighborhood was hit by two tornadoes within a two or three year period. One occurred when I was in elementary school. I was just sitting in class minding my own business when I heard this sound outside.
It was the freight train noise that everyone on the news refers to, but I remember thinking that it sounded more like a very loud whistle. Observing how dark the clouds looked outside, I felt myself begin to panic and immediately began to search my mind for any other cause for the whistle noise other than an actual tornado.
Being the little Southern Baptist Sunday school and church goer that I was, I thought Lord, just let it be Gabriel with his horn announcing the second coming of Jesus.
Who could blame me? It sounded much better to me, and the truth is, minds are always filled with religious thoughts in a time of great fear or need, so it was actually a perfectly normal reaction.
It wasn't long before I realized it wasn't Jesus coming to take me home. I spent the rest of the day with my heart literally hurting due to the high level of anxiety I had worked up. If a child was found to be in this state these days they would probably be rushed to the nearest doctor and diagnosised with post traumatic stress disorder or something along those lines.
The other tornado I was in, came about a year or two later, and I am sure the two storms are a huge part of why I remain afraid in my adult life. I have a cousin, who is like a brother to me. He calls me on occasion when the weather is bad and says things like "are you on storm watch?", or "take cover, it's coming out of Alabama, moving as fast as it can, and it's headed right for your house."
He teases me, but he loves me. I know this because in one of my houses, I had a room behind a wall in my garage where I sought shelter from the storms. He showed up at my house one night with a small roll of carpet and said "This is for your storm shelter. It's spring time and I know you'll be living in there." How sweet is that?
The older my children get, the harder it is to convince them to take cover with me, but I do what I can. My husband has never been willing to enter the storm shelter. I have opened the door and shouted things at him like "fine! Let a tree fall on you!!, or the roof!! Die!! It won't be my fault, and random things of this nature.
This usually goes on until the storm gets so bad outside that I have no choice but to close the door, and leave him for dead. I have to consider the safety of the children and myself.
As I have gotten older my fears have lessened. The new radar technology and my ability to follow the storms more precisely on the weather reports and on my laptop has reduced dramatically the need for me to remain in a constant state of panic when it gets cloudy outside.
I have also discovered that the amount of times a storm actually hits my area is substantially less than the number of times the weathermen will scare me with a warning for my entire county.
I guess we all have our issues....some people have more than others, and some seem more well founded than others. The way I see it, I could find things far less serious to be afraid of, so I'm not feeling so bad about my fear of natural disasters..I mean that's pretty big stuff...right?
This fear began for me when I was a little girl. I believe it began when I was at my Granny's house in Grant Park. It would "come up a cloud", as she would put it, and the thunder would make the windows in the house rattle. The entire house would rumble and shake. It didn't help matters much that my grandfather loved to tease me. He would say things like "Let her rip!", and "It's going to blow this house off the hill!".
This, in my little 5 year old book, was cause for alarm. To tell you the truth I was not all that brave in the first place, so it didn't take much to scare me half to death.
Granny's house sat on a hill and was surrounded by trees. The old very large oak, been there forever, type of trees. These two facts made me believe two things. one, being on a hill made us far closer to the lightening than everyone else, and two, if the lightening didn't kill us one of the trees whipping in the wind would.
As I grew a little older my fear of storms only intensified because our neighborhood was hit by two tornadoes within a two or three year period. One occurred when I was in elementary school. I was just sitting in class minding my own business when I heard this sound outside.
It was the freight train noise that everyone on the news refers to, but I remember thinking that it sounded more like a very loud whistle. Observing how dark the clouds looked outside, I felt myself begin to panic and immediately began to search my mind for any other cause for the whistle noise other than an actual tornado.
Being the little Southern Baptist Sunday school and church goer that I was, I thought Lord, just let it be Gabriel with his horn announcing the second coming of Jesus.
Who could blame me? It sounded much better to me, and the truth is, minds are always filled with religious thoughts in a time of great fear or need, so it was actually a perfectly normal reaction.
It wasn't long before I realized it wasn't Jesus coming to take me home. I spent the rest of the day with my heart literally hurting due to the high level of anxiety I had worked up. If a child was found to be in this state these days they would probably be rushed to the nearest doctor and diagnosised with post traumatic stress disorder or something along those lines.
The other tornado I was in, came about a year or two later, and I am sure the two storms are a huge part of why I remain afraid in my adult life. I have a cousin, who is like a brother to me. He calls me on occasion when the weather is bad and says things like "are you on storm watch?", or "take cover, it's coming out of Alabama, moving as fast as it can, and it's headed right for your house."
He teases me, but he loves me. I know this because in one of my houses, I had a room behind a wall in my garage where I sought shelter from the storms. He showed up at my house one night with a small roll of carpet and said "This is for your storm shelter. It's spring time and I know you'll be living in there." How sweet is that?
The older my children get, the harder it is to convince them to take cover with me, but I do what I can. My husband has never been willing to enter the storm shelter. I have opened the door and shouted things at him like "fine! Let a tree fall on you!!, or the roof!! Die!! It won't be my fault, and random things of this nature.
This usually goes on until the storm gets so bad outside that I have no choice but to close the door, and leave him for dead. I have to consider the safety of the children and myself.
As I have gotten older my fears have lessened. The new radar technology and my ability to follow the storms more precisely on the weather reports and on my laptop has reduced dramatically the need for me to remain in a constant state of panic when it gets cloudy outside.
I have also discovered that the amount of times a storm actually hits my area is substantially less than the number of times the weathermen will scare me with a warning for my entire county.
I guess we all have our issues....some people have more than others, and some seem more well founded than others. The way I see it, I could find things far less serious to be afraid of, so I'm not feeling so bad about my fear of natural disasters..I mean that's pretty big stuff...right?
Thursday, April 23, 2009
"Autism: Thief Of Our Children"
The children I work with all have special needs, and they are all very precious to me. The many facets of their personalities make this true for a variety of reasons. Although the students in the classroom are all within the same I.Q. range, their disabilities vary.
The most fascinating of the disabilities for me is that of the autism spectrum disorder. It is a challenge to form a two-way bond with these students because of the emotional disconnect that comes with being autistic.
I want the students who have this disorder to understand that I care about them. I want them to experience the feel of that emotion. I want them to feel more connected with the world and not so isolated. It causes me great sadness to think of anyone going through life without experiencing love and that is exactly what some of them have to do.
I know that I am not going to accomplish this with all of them, but I am going to try as hard as I can. I am pretty stubborn when I feel it's worth it, and I can't think of a better cause.
I have worked with autistic students that have fallen anywhere from the lowest functioning end of the spectrum to the highest functioning end of the spectrum.
One of the savant students that I worked with in the past was so amazing. He would hold your face between his hands when he first met you and say "what's your first name?" then he would inquire about the rest of your name then ask "where are you from?" This question would be followed by him asking for your date of birth.
He could calculate how old you were in days and tell you what day of the week you were born on in a fraction of a second. I know this because once after he had transferred to another area high school, I walked into a room at a county event, and he shouted out for all to hear "Mrs. Arlene Lynn Foster, from Atlanta, Georgia, 43 years old in 39 days!".
In case I forgot to mention it disabilities don't come with filters on what should and should not be said aloud.
I now work very closely with a couple of female students that are autistic. My co-workers call one of them my shadow. Her desk is located right beside mine and she wouldn't have it any other way. To tell you the truth neither would I.
She is very sweet most of the time and has a beautiful smile. Once in a while however, she will have a bad day, and she becomes aggressive. She has thrown things at me, turned her desk over, cursed, slapped me and kicked me, and I have gone home with bruises the size of softballs.
Some of these episodes have occurred in the community in front of a large number of people. The episodes are not necessarily prompted by something that is happening right at the moment . Although, the cause could be something happening at the time the aggressive behavior occurs, it could very well be due to something that has happened days or even weeks before.
My shadow for instance, believes, with a conviction that I have been unable to overturn, that I make the rain. As luck would have it ...she hates the rain...rain causes an immediate bad day. I have tried to convince her that God or whatever name she might recognize as her higher power makes the rain, but in her mind I'm the rainmaker and so the ramifications are mine.
I am sure that some people would say that I am crazy for doing what I do. I on the other hand, don't believe that I am. I care a great deal about these students and regardless of how their disability affects their behavior, as long as I can say that any negative behavior they exhibit is a manifestation of their disability then I'm okay with it.
I know that it is much more frustrating for them than I could even begin to imagine. As I said earlier the one thing that is really painful for me and makes my heart ache for the students with an autistic disability is the lack of emotional connection with other people that some of them have.
I have worked with one particular female for about 4 years now and just this year she began to say I love you in response to my saying it to her first.
Finally, about a month ago, she said it to me without any prompting. I have to tell you that I cried. It meant more to me than you could begin to imagine. This same student also stares at me all day long. Needless to say my ability to recognize the fact that I am being stared at is virtually non-existent due to this behavior of hers.
One day last week, I ask her why she was staring at me, and she said "because I want to". I responded with the question "why do you want to?" She said "because I love you" with this huge grin on her face. I melted. It was a wonderful moment for me.
I have always believed that Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is correlated with Autism and I'm not sure what the most recent research shows about that. I am also convinced that immunizations play a part in its cause.
In the 1980s a child received 10 immunizations before the age of 6, now they receive 36 before they are that age.
In the 1970s and 1980s 1 in every 2000 children was diagnosed with autism. The Centers For Disease Control and prevention said in their February prevalence report that now 1 in every 150 children are diagnosed with autism. Studies have also shown that a male child is 4 times more likely to be diagnosed with autism than a female child so this statistic becomes 1 in 94 for male children.
I have a personal belief that the children could also possibly be genetically predisposed and that potentially something in the immunizations triggers the autism.
A story was released by the Huffington Post that said three weeks after a Vaccine Court ruled against three families that claimed that vaccines caused autism in their children, Special Master Abell of the Vaccine Court awarded $810,000, and medical compensation to parents of a young boy named Bailey Banks.
This came after Special Master Abell ruled that the petitioners had proven that an inflammation illness called acute disseminated encephalomyetis (ADEM) was the result of his MMR vacine which triggered his autism.
I hope that this is a step forward in making scientists take a look at doing more research on the cumulative effects of vaccines, and not only the effects of each individual vaccine if it were to be given alone.
Although I know for many, discovering the cause for autism is not a priority at this time, It desperately needs to be. We need to be concerned about this as a society. No one is safe from this becoming a personal issue. With the statistics showing autism on the rise at such a rapid rate, it is no longer only the problem of the people who have been diagnosed and their families....
This is most definitely everyone's problem.....
The most fascinating of the disabilities for me is that of the autism spectrum disorder. It is a challenge to form a two-way bond with these students because of the emotional disconnect that comes with being autistic.
I want the students who have this disorder to understand that I care about them. I want them to experience the feel of that emotion. I want them to feel more connected with the world and not so isolated. It causes me great sadness to think of anyone going through life without experiencing love and that is exactly what some of them have to do.
I know that I am not going to accomplish this with all of them, but I am going to try as hard as I can. I am pretty stubborn when I feel it's worth it, and I can't think of a better cause.
I have worked with autistic students that have fallen anywhere from the lowest functioning end of the spectrum to the highest functioning end of the spectrum.
One of the savant students that I worked with in the past was so amazing. He would hold your face between his hands when he first met you and say "what's your first name?" then he would inquire about the rest of your name then ask "where are you from?" This question would be followed by him asking for your date of birth.
He could calculate how old you were in days and tell you what day of the week you were born on in a fraction of a second. I know this because once after he had transferred to another area high school, I walked into a room at a county event, and he shouted out for all to hear "Mrs. Arlene Lynn Foster, from Atlanta, Georgia, 43 years old in 39 days!".
In case I forgot to mention it disabilities don't come with filters on what should and should not be said aloud.
I now work very closely with a couple of female students that are autistic. My co-workers call one of them my shadow. Her desk is located right beside mine and she wouldn't have it any other way. To tell you the truth neither would I.
She is very sweet most of the time and has a beautiful smile. Once in a while however, she will have a bad day, and she becomes aggressive. She has thrown things at me, turned her desk over, cursed, slapped me and kicked me, and I have gone home with bruises the size of softballs.
Some of these episodes have occurred in the community in front of a large number of people. The episodes are not necessarily prompted by something that is happening right at the moment . Although, the cause could be something happening at the time the aggressive behavior occurs, it could very well be due to something that has happened days or even weeks before.
My shadow for instance, believes, with a conviction that I have been unable to overturn, that I make the rain. As luck would have it ...she hates the rain...rain causes an immediate bad day. I have tried to convince her that God or whatever name she might recognize as her higher power makes the rain, but in her mind I'm the rainmaker and so the ramifications are mine.
I am sure that some people would say that I am crazy for doing what I do. I on the other hand, don't believe that I am. I care a great deal about these students and regardless of how their disability affects their behavior, as long as I can say that any negative behavior they exhibit is a manifestation of their disability then I'm okay with it.
I know that it is much more frustrating for them than I could even begin to imagine. As I said earlier the one thing that is really painful for me and makes my heart ache for the students with an autistic disability is the lack of emotional connection with other people that some of them have.
I have worked with one particular female for about 4 years now and just this year she began to say I love you in response to my saying it to her first.
Finally, about a month ago, she said it to me without any prompting. I have to tell you that I cried. It meant more to me than you could begin to imagine. This same student also stares at me all day long. Needless to say my ability to recognize the fact that I am being stared at is virtually non-existent due to this behavior of hers.
One day last week, I ask her why she was staring at me, and she said "because I want to". I responded with the question "why do you want to?" She said "because I love you" with this huge grin on her face. I melted. It was a wonderful moment for me.
I have always believed that Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is correlated with Autism and I'm not sure what the most recent research shows about that. I am also convinced that immunizations play a part in its cause.
In the 1980s a child received 10 immunizations before the age of 6, now they receive 36 before they are that age.
In the 1970s and 1980s 1 in every 2000 children was diagnosed with autism. The Centers For Disease Control and prevention said in their February prevalence report that now 1 in every 150 children are diagnosed with autism. Studies have also shown that a male child is 4 times more likely to be diagnosed with autism than a female child so this statistic becomes 1 in 94 for male children.
I have a personal belief that the children could also possibly be genetically predisposed and that potentially something in the immunizations triggers the autism.
A story was released by the Huffington Post that said three weeks after a Vaccine Court ruled against three families that claimed that vaccines caused autism in their children, Special Master Abell of the Vaccine Court awarded $810,000, and medical compensation to parents of a young boy named Bailey Banks.
This came after Special Master Abell ruled that the petitioners had proven that an inflammation illness called acute disseminated encephalomyetis (ADEM) was the result of his MMR vacine which triggered his autism.
I hope that this is a step forward in making scientists take a look at doing more research on the cumulative effects of vaccines, and not only the effects of each individual vaccine if it were to be given alone.
Although I know for many, discovering the cause for autism is not a priority at this time, It desperately needs to be. We need to be concerned about this as a society. No one is safe from this becoming a personal issue. With the statistics showing autism on the rise at such a rapid rate, it is no longer only the problem of the people who have been diagnosed and their families....
This is most definitely everyone's problem.....
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
"It's A Boy! Activate The Tracking Device"
Last Thursday I was at a metro Atlanta hospital, for the birth of my grandson. This event was very exciting for my entire family, and I have to add that the baby is beautiful!
A few things happened over the course of the two days, however, that weren't as nice as his arrival. One of them was that my daughter spent an entire day and most of an evening, under the care of nurse Ratched.
This wasn't the most alarming thing that happened, and we weren't surprised considering all hospitals seem to have one or more of these type nurses on their payroll. Maybe it's some sort of an attitude diversity requirement.
Anyway, the other thing was a little more alarming to me than the demeanor of my daughter's nurse.
We were decorating the door of her room with the usual bows, ribbons and signs declaring the arrival and sex of the baby. As we were doing this, one of the nurses came up and said "We no longer allow the doors of our new mothers to be decorated."
Someone in the family said "Excuse me?" The nurse then said "these days it is entirely to dangerous to advertise not only that you have a newborn, but also the sex of the baby".
It seems that not only are there baby thieves striking at area hospitals, but the children are being snatched according to the perpetrator's boy or girl preference.
I was beyond shocked when I learned all of this, although considering what I already knew about the state of the world, I'm not sure I should have been.
We had seen the security guard walking, at a somewhat alarming rate, earlier that day with his hand on his gun, mace, or whatever, and talking on his radio. Still, the fact that a child could be in danger of being stolen never occurred to me.
Right after the nurse completed her no decoration rule explanation, the baby arrived in the room. I immediately unwrapped him, to get a better look, like grandmothers do, and that's when I spotted it.
He was wearing a small ankle bracelet that made him appear as if he were on house arrest. It was a small white hard plastic square box type apparatus with a ribbon type material running through it.
I asked the next nurse that entered the room what it was. She looked at me, and without batting an eye, said "it's a tracking device".
Well, after a hard pause, I looked at her and responded with "are you serious?" She assured me that she was.
Upon hearing this, needless to say, my daughter and son-in-law never let my grandson out of their sight again.
I left the hospital thinking even the most precious moments in our lives cannot remain untouched by crime.
The only thought that followed that one for me was...Let us pray...
A few things happened over the course of the two days, however, that weren't as nice as his arrival. One of them was that my daughter spent an entire day and most of an evening, under the care of nurse Ratched.
This wasn't the most alarming thing that happened, and we weren't surprised considering all hospitals seem to have one or more of these type nurses on their payroll. Maybe it's some sort of an attitude diversity requirement.
Anyway, the other thing was a little more alarming to me than the demeanor of my daughter's nurse.
We were decorating the door of her room with the usual bows, ribbons and signs declaring the arrival and sex of the baby. As we were doing this, one of the nurses came up and said "We no longer allow the doors of our new mothers to be decorated."
Someone in the family said "Excuse me?" The nurse then said "these days it is entirely to dangerous to advertise not only that you have a newborn, but also the sex of the baby".
It seems that not only are there baby thieves striking at area hospitals, but the children are being snatched according to the perpetrator's boy or girl preference.
I was beyond shocked when I learned all of this, although considering what I already knew about the state of the world, I'm not sure I should have been.
We had seen the security guard walking, at a somewhat alarming rate, earlier that day with his hand on his gun, mace, or whatever, and talking on his radio. Still, the fact that a child could be in danger of being stolen never occurred to me.
Right after the nurse completed her no decoration rule explanation, the baby arrived in the room. I immediately unwrapped him, to get a better look, like grandmothers do, and that's when I spotted it.
He was wearing a small ankle bracelet that made him appear as if he were on house arrest. It was a small white hard plastic square box type apparatus with a ribbon type material running through it.
I asked the next nurse that entered the room what it was. She looked at me, and without batting an eye, said "it's a tracking device".
Well, after a hard pause, I looked at her and responded with "are you serious?" She assured me that she was.
Upon hearing this, needless to say, my daughter and son-in-law never let my grandson out of their sight again.
I left the hospital thinking even the most precious moments in our lives cannot remain untouched by crime.
The only thought that followed that one for me was...Let us pray...
Saturday, April 4, 2009
"The Written Word"
I am a bit old fashioned in more than a few of my ways and beliefs. I have perfumed handkerchiefs and Victorian calling cards in my purse. I say ma'am and sir when addressing my elders and I believe in the written word.
On a personal level, I actually enjoy writing letters. James A. Michener, a novelist and short story writer, once said "I love writing, I love the swirl and swing of words as they tangle with human emotion". I love this quote because it describes the way I feel about writing perfectly.
I realize that people are busy these days and that our ability to email each other is both simple and convenient. Now, when people are in a rush, it isn't even required that they type out an entire word.
You can, evidently, just type a letter or two. Some examples of this that I have seen are; u for the word you, u r, for the words you are, or when place together, ur to represent the word you're. I suppose that's great sometimes, for certain things like short messages, or for things of a non-personal nature.
I do, however, feel that there are times when we should put forth the effort it takes to write someone a letter, and that saying thank you with a written note is mandatory. I believe that when someone takes the time to do something for us that deserves our thanks, the very least we can do is take the time to write them a thank you note.
Not so long ago my husband was shown great kindness and generosity by several of his co-workers. I hand wrote around forty thank you notes and was more than happy to do it, as well I should have been.
My husband in turn took the thank you notes, and gave them to an administrative officer, to be placed in the office mailboxes of his co-workers. Needless to say, his doing this caused me to suffer a complete and total hissy fit. After said fit, I informed him that I hoped he was satisfied to have single handedly caused Emily Post to be rolling over in her grave....Please mail your letters and thank you notes. Hand delivery is not an option.
As far as writing letters go, I have always done it. I enjoyed writing my grandparents and some of my other relatives when I was a little girl, and I am still a letter writer today. I write both good and bad letters. Good as in, You're doing a fantastic job, or I'm thinking of you...Bad as in I'm disgruntled, and I'm going to need your name.
I just think that writing letters is a much more personal way of communicating, and it upsets me to see this practice disappearing completely from our society. I would venture to guess that most people couldn't even begin to tell you when the last time was that they went to their mailbox and found a handwritten letter waiting there for them, and I think that's just a shame.
Emails are quick and convenient, as I said before, but the next time you find yourself thinking of someone you haven't seen or spoken to in awhile, take the time to write them a letter letting them know that you are thinking of them.
There is some really beautiful stationary still being sold, and wax stamps are still available to seal your envelopes. Ladies, use your favorite perfume and spray a mist of it over your letter, seal it, and stamp it. It really is very little effort that will most certainly go a long way.....
On a personal level, I actually enjoy writing letters. James A. Michener, a novelist and short story writer, once said "I love writing, I love the swirl and swing of words as they tangle with human emotion". I love this quote because it describes the way I feel about writing perfectly.
I realize that people are busy these days and that our ability to email each other is both simple and convenient. Now, when people are in a rush, it isn't even required that they type out an entire word.
You can, evidently, just type a letter or two. Some examples of this that I have seen are; u for the word you, u r, for the words you are, or when place together, ur to represent the word you're. I suppose that's great sometimes, for certain things like short messages, or for things of a non-personal nature.
I do, however, feel that there are times when we should put forth the effort it takes to write someone a letter, and that saying thank you with a written note is mandatory. I believe that when someone takes the time to do something for us that deserves our thanks, the very least we can do is take the time to write them a thank you note.
Not so long ago my husband was shown great kindness and generosity by several of his co-workers. I hand wrote around forty thank you notes and was more than happy to do it, as well I should have been.
My husband in turn took the thank you notes, and gave them to an administrative officer, to be placed in the office mailboxes of his co-workers. Needless to say, his doing this caused me to suffer a complete and total hissy fit. After said fit, I informed him that I hoped he was satisfied to have single handedly caused Emily Post to be rolling over in her grave....Please mail your letters and thank you notes. Hand delivery is not an option.
As far as writing letters go, I have always done it. I enjoyed writing my grandparents and some of my other relatives when I was a little girl, and I am still a letter writer today. I write both good and bad letters. Good as in, You're doing a fantastic job, or I'm thinking of you...Bad as in I'm disgruntled, and I'm going to need your name.
I just think that writing letters is a much more personal way of communicating, and it upsets me to see this practice disappearing completely from our society. I would venture to guess that most people couldn't even begin to tell you when the last time was that they went to their mailbox and found a handwritten letter waiting there for them, and I think that's just a shame.
Emails are quick and convenient, as I said before, but the next time you find yourself thinking of someone you haven't seen or spoken to in awhile, take the time to write them a letter letting them know that you are thinking of them.
There is some really beautiful stationary still being sold, and wax stamps are still available to seal your envelopes. Ladies, use your favorite perfume and spray a mist of it over your letter, seal it, and stamp it. It really is very little effort that will most certainly go a long way.....
Thursday, March 19, 2009
"Dressed Down And All Inked Up"
My husband and I went to a restaurant tonight to eat dinner. When we are out, on more occasions than not, we get stared at. I mean blatantly, and tonight was no exception.
We have gotten stared at by on duty police officers, elderly couples, small children, middle aged adults, and tonight we managed to get the attention of an entire baseball team.
The attention we draw when we go out is not because I'm some breathtaking beauty, not even close. The attention grabber is my husband. He will wear anything, and he will wear it anywhere. It makes not one bit of difference to him where he is going. If he wants to wear something ...he does.
This man once wore his pajama pants to a Longhorn restaurant and caused us to be seated so far in the back corner that it was like an isolation booth. He wears sleeveless t-shirts (self-altered) with quaint sayings like "Boot Hill Saloon, Daytona Beach, Across From The Cemetery."
He usually wears these shirts with Abercrombie cargo shorts, although he does have a pair of mint green polo shorts with pink flamingos on them that he opts to substitute now and then.
To complete such an ensemble, he chooses from an assortment of shoes that you would have to see to believe.
Among his shoe collection are a pair of navy blue Crocs, Ed Hardy tennis shoes, and plaid Sperry topsiders just to name a few.
Another thing that enhances my husbands look when he goes out, is the fact that he wears his hair as is. Meaning if he gets up and his hair is standing straight up like a toddler after a good nights sleep then that's okay with him.
I realize that the clothing and hair descriptions that I have just given you would be quite enough to get the attention of others, but believe it or not there is more to the attraction.
To add to his look, my husband has seven tattoos that are all exposed when he is dressed as I have described above. There is bob wire running around his arm, Japanese writing that says who knows what, a tombstone, a polo horse with rider, and God knows what all ...both arms..both legs...as one of our friends likes to put it..."He's all inked up".
When I married my husband he didn't have a single tattoo. He was a preppy clean cut guy with unmarked skin. Now when I roll over at night I am momentarily frightened that I've gotten into bed with a convict.
Now don't get me wrong, this man who wears these sleeveless shirts, shorts, crazy shoes, with wild hair and all the ink exposed knows how to dress. He can dress in very nice clothing, I know because I have seen it happen once or twice.
One time in particular that comes to mind is when I had to have a fairly major surgery done at Piedmont Hospital. I had just gotten back in my room from recovery, and I was on a morphine drip, so I was a bit unsure of what was going on around me.
That's when it happened. I looked up and saw him at the foot of my bed. I will never forget that moment, because it scared me to death. There he was in a pair of very nice dress pants, a white dress shirt and a tie.
I glanced down at his feet and he was wearing a pair of Bostonian loafers.....all I could think after I caught my breath was my God they've told him I'm going to die and he's decided he needs to look his best to go over to the funeral home and make the arrangements.
The one thing that really puzzles me about him is that when we get the stares and looks, he seems confused about it. I had to give him a brief synopses on what he looked like tonight when we were getting stared at, because I could tell that he was going to need clarification on what the problem might be.
Did he care? Not one bit. There is a part of me that thinks that degree of self-esteem must be a wonderful thing to have. I personally don't even come close to having that kind of self assured attitude.
He sits and has his dinner as if he never notices a thing, while I sit across from him feeling self conscious enough for both of us. I usually have on whatever I've worn to work and since my job is in a high school classroom, needless to say, I look a bit more conservative than he does, yet I'm the one that is bothered by the stares...
I will say that it is eye opening to see how quickly people judge others by their appearance...They are probably thinking that my husband is a criminal, who doesn't have a job, and could care less.
In reality,however, he is a Lieutenant with one of the largest police departments in the state of Georgia, and has been with them for over 25 years.
Changing my husband's idea about what constitutes proper attire for leaving the house is not a feat I'm ever going to accomplish. I have even gone as far as loading Z Z tops "Every girls crazy 'bout a sharped dressed man " song into the CD player in his vehicle...he was unaffected.
I just wish that every now and then he'd wear a dress shirt and tie......I love a man in a dress shirt and tie....I suppose I should be more realistic....okay...sleeves....could I get a shirt with sleeves?
We have gotten stared at by on duty police officers, elderly couples, small children, middle aged adults, and tonight we managed to get the attention of an entire baseball team.
The attention we draw when we go out is not because I'm some breathtaking beauty, not even close. The attention grabber is my husband. He will wear anything, and he will wear it anywhere. It makes not one bit of difference to him where he is going. If he wants to wear something ...he does.
This man once wore his pajama pants to a Longhorn restaurant and caused us to be seated so far in the back corner that it was like an isolation booth. He wears sleeveless t-shirts (self-altered) with quaint sayings like "Boot Hill Saloon, Daytona Beach, Across From The Cemetery."
He usually wears these shirts with Abercrombie cargo shorts, although he does have a pair of mint green polo shorts with pink flamingos on them that he opts to substitute now and then.
To complete such an ensemble, he chooses from an assortment of shoes that you would have to see to believe.
Among his shoe collection are a pair of navy blue Crocs, Ed Hardy tennis shoes, and plaid Sperry topsiders just to name a few.
Another thing that enhances my husbands look when he goes out, is the fact that he wears his hair as is. Meaning if he gets up and his hair is standing straight up like a toddler after a good nights sleep then that's okay with him.
I realize that the clothing and hair descriptions that I have just given you would be quite enough to get the attention of others, but believe it or not there is more to the attraction.
To add to his look, my husband has seven tattoos that are all exposed when he is dressed as I have described above. There is bob wire running around his arm, Japanese writing that says who knows what, a tombstone, a polo horse with rider, and God knows what all ...both arms..both legs...as one of our friends likes to put it..."He's all inked up".
When I married my husband he didn't have a single tattoo. He was a preppy clean cut guy with unmarked skin. Now when I roll over at night I am momentarily frightened that I've gotten into bed with a convict.
Now don't get me wrong, this man who wears these sleeveless shirts, shorts, crazy shoes, with wild hair and all the ink exposed knows how to dress. He can dress in very nice clothing, I know because I have seen it happen once or twice.
One time in particular that comes to mind is when I had to have a fairly major surgery done at Piedmont Hospital. I had just gotten back in my room from recovery, and I was on a morphine drip, so I was a bit unsure of what was going on around me.
That's when it happened. I looked up and saw him at the foot of my bed. I will never forget that moment, because it scared me to death. There he was in a pair of very nice dress pants, a white dress shirt and a tie.
I glanced down at his feet and he was wearing a pair of Bostonian loafers.....all I could think after I caught my breath was my God they've told him I'm going to die and he's decided he needs to look his best to go over to the funeral home and make the arrangements.
The one thing that really puzzles me about him is that when we get the stares and looks, he seems confused about it. I had to give him a brief synopses on what he looked like tonight when we were getting stared at, because I could tell that he was going to need clarification on what the problem might be.
Did he care? Not one bit. There is a part of me that thinks that degree of self-esteem must be a wonderful thing to have. I personally don't even come close to having that kind of self assured attitude.
He sits and has his dinner as if he never notices a thing, while I sit across from him feeling self conscious enough for both of us. I usually have on whatever I've worn to work and since my job is in a high school classroom, needless to say, I look a bit more conservative than he does, yet I'm the one that is bothered by the stares...
I will say that it is eye opening to see how quickly people judge others by their appearance...They are probably thinking that my husband is a criminal, who doesn't have a job, and could care less.
In reality,however, he is a Lieutenant with one of the largest police departments in the state of Georgia, and has been with them for over 25 years.
Changing my husband's idea about what constitutes proper attire for leaving the house is not a feat I'm ever going to accomplish. I have even gone as far as loading Z Z tops "Every girls crazy 'bout a sharped dressed man " song into the CD player in his vehicle...he was unaffected.
I just wish that every now and then he'd wear a dress shirt and tie......I love a man in a dress shirt and tie....I suppose I should be more realistic....okay...sleeves....could I get a shirt with sleeves?
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
"The Flip Side Of Nice"
I have had a pretty rough week. Nothing Earth shattering has gone on. It's just been a lot of little things that seem to have become overwhelming, and now I find myself wanting to sleep for about 3 days, when in reality I never sleep more than 3 to 4 hours at a time.
Not only have I had the type week where numerous things have happened that caused me to experience every emotion known to man, from frustration to tears, but I have been very vocal about it without thought.
This behavior is somewhat new for me, and can be dangerous, yet seems almost out of my control. I use to be so passive. I kept my mouth shut and did what everyone else expected or needed me to do to avoid any disagreement or conflict, as well as hurt feelings.
I was evidently overly nice, as I discovered one day when my husband and I were walking through Oakland Cemetery in Atlanta. He saw a headstone and said that's what I'm going to put on yours. It said "Went through life merrily doing good."
Well, as flattering as that is, I am afraid it didn't change the need I had for an individual revolt against being too nice.
These days I am so different. Not only can I feel it, but I have actually been told. One night, not long ago my sister in law looked at me and said "You use to be so nice". I will say this made me take pause, and it did bother me...for about a minute....and then I thought ...."Yeah well nice bites."
Nice gets you ran over and disrespected and neglected, if you allow it to go to far. The difference in me isn't that bad in my opinion. It's just that now when I feel like someone does or says something I don't appreciate I make them aware of it.....Immediately.
I suppose I put up with things for so long, that my speaking my mind now, freaks people out a little bit. I'm thinking..."they'll adjust".
I have even recently been called a "bitch". Funny thing is ...I didn't mind so much...as a matter of a fact I have decided that having a little "bitch edge" to my personality is a positive thing. Don't get me wrong, I still think I'm nice, and I take care of lots of people, but I am now demanding the respect and appreciation that I deserve for it. This goes for my personal and professional life.
Anyway, there's nothing attractive about some soft spoken door mat that's getting walked all over. I have, however, seen more than one man attracted to the "bitch factor".
I will say that being more vocal and letting people know what I'm thinking and feeling has been a wonderful thing. It feels so good in fact that I couldn't go back to the old me if I wanted to. I guess that doesn't matter, however, because I don't want to.
Everyone should have a flip side to nice. So maybe I'll hear the "Bitch" word in reference to my personality a few more times. Maybe it will be spoken behind my back even more frequently than I hear it.
If it means I'm living my life the way that I want to, with no unnecessary apologies, and doing the things I want to do, then fantastic! Call me a bitch. Have at it!
I'll just add an addendum to my prayers at night asking God not to let me get to drunk with power.........
Not only have I had the type week where numerous things have happened that caused me to experience every emotion known to man, from frustration to tears, but I have been very vocal about it without thought.
This behavior is somewhat new for me, and can be dangerous, yet seems almost out of my control. I use to be so passive. I kept my mouth shut and did what everyone else expected or needed me to do to avoid any disagreement or conflict, as well as hurt feelings.
I was evidently overly nice, as I discovered one day when my husband and I were walking through Oakland Cemetery in Atlanta. He saw a headstone and said that's what I'm going to put on yours. It said "Went through life merrily doing good."
Well, as flattering as that is, I am afraid it didn't change the need I had for an individual revolt against being too nice.
These days I am so different. Not only can I feel it, but I have actually been told. One night, not long ago my sister in law looked at me and said "You use to be so nice". I will say this made me take pause, and it did bother me...for about a minute....and then I thought ...."Yeah well nice bites."
Nice gets you ran over and disrespected and neglected, if you allow it to go to far. The difference in me isn't that bad in my opinion. It's just that now when I feel like someone does or says something I don't appreciate I make them aware of it.....Immediately.
I suppose I put up with things for so long, that my speaking my mind now, freaks people out a little bit. I'm thinking..."they'll adjust".
I have even recently been called a "bitch". Funny thing is ...I didn't mind so much...as a matter of a fact I have decided that having a little "bitch edge" to my personality is a positive thing. Don't get me wrong, I still think I'm nice, and I take care of lots of people, but I am now demanding the respect and appreciation that I deserve for it. This goes for my personal and professional life.
Anyway, there's nothing attractive about some soft spoken door mat that's getting walked all over. I have, however, seen more than one man attracted to the "bitch factor".
I will say that being more vocal and letting people know what I'm thinking and feeling has been a wonderful thing. It feels so good in fact that I couldn't go back to the old me if I wanted to. I guess that doesn't matter, however, because I don't want to.
Everyone should have a flip side to nice. So maybe I'll hear the "Bitch" word in reference to my personality a few more times. Maybe it will be spoken behind my back even more frequently than I hear it.
If it means I'm living my life the way that I want to, with no unnecessary apologies, and doing the things I want to do, then fantastic! Call me a bitch. Have at it!
I'll just add an addendum to my prayers at night asking God not to let me get to drunk with power.........
Saturday, February 28, 2009
"Directionally challenged"
I have heard that there are people who have a "natural sense of direction." These people, never, from what I understand, get lost. I am amazed by this phenomenon because to me having that ability is the equivalent of having a super power.
I, as you may have guessed by now, am not one of those people. If I attempt a trip that goes beyond a twenty mile radius from my house I'm as good as lost...guaranteed.
I don't know why I can't process and follow directions. I honestly am a relatively intelligent individual, but I just simply can't do it. The following is an example of just how severe my direction deficit is:
When one of my former students moved to Winder, Ga, I made several trips there to see him. The first one was for his high school graduation. I called and got interstate directions from a friend of mine, who happens to live there.
I was lost before I could get out of Dekalb county and I live in Henry county. For those of you who may not know, these two counties are located next to each other. I got lost, not because the directions my friend gave me were bad, in fact, they were perfect, I just managed to screw them up.
Warning to others: If you are not in the correct lane on I-285, far in advance, you will miss the exit for I-85 north, and end up on Buford Hwy. where everything is written in a foreign language.
Yes, that is exactly what happened to me. I called my friend back, and he was, thank God, able to put me back on track with just a few turns.
When I made it to Winder, the school parking lot was full, so I parked at a church close by and walked to the school stadium. I will say that I was relieved to have arrived on time.
Everything was great until the ceremony ended and I got into my car to leave. I suddenly realized that the school officials and local police were directing traffic out one way, and you guessed it, it was not the way that I had come in.
Panic sat in, because now, not only had it gotten dark, I was being sent down a road to who knows where, all the while thinking in my mind, this is definitely going to be a problem.
I immediately flipped my phone open and called my friend. I explained the situation and he helped me out again, staying on the phone with me until I was back on the interstate and headed in the right direction.
It was 1 a.m. before I got back home. I left Winder at 9:30 p.m. I live about an hour and a half away from there, if that helps to put things in perspective for you on just how bad I am.
The next time I decided to make the Winder trip, I contacted my friend via email, and asked him for new directions, this time using back roads. I wanted to try a new route, because even though, it had been about a month since my last trip, I was still feeling a bit traumatized.
He sent me written directions, and I followed them to the best of my ability. I did make it to Winder, but became lost somewhere down Hwy 53, where I can assure you, that dark means dark. I did the usual phone a friend for help thing , but this time he didn't answer.
I called repeatedly and still no answer. At this point the word panic didn't begin to cover it. I called my husband for help but in my state of alarm I didn't realize that I would actually need to know where I was exactly before he could give me any google map help.
I had no clue where I was. I hung up the phone, took a few deep breaths, and preceded to go up and down Hwy 53 like a carnival duck. I finally kept going in one direction long enough to find a little store where I found three men, who were Winder locals. They were very kind, and able to point me in the right direction. All in all I was lost for about an hour.
Using my same back road directions I have gone to Winder at least 4 other times and managed to come into town on a different road each and every time, making at least 2 other calls to my friend for help.
I am sure that when I let him know I had gotten navigation on my cell phone it was cause for a celebratory event at his house. He is a wonderful and patient man......I know this because I am sure if he wasn't I would have gotten a recording by now saying this number has been changed to an unpublished number. Lord knows I wouldn't have blamed him.
I'm not sure why I have such a poor sense of direction, but I'm not as concerned as I use to be about it. I mean surely between cell phone navigation, Google maps, and good friends I'll always get where I'm going...if not...I'll just see lots of places I never planned on seeing......I am going to try to stick with day trips whenever I can........Dark like you find on Hwy 53 adds an extra stress factor that a lost person such as myself just doesn't need.......
I, as you may have guessed by now, am not one of those people. If I attempt a trip that goes beyond a twenty mile radius from my house I'm as good as lost...guaranteed.
I don't know why I can't process and follow directions. I honestly am a relatively intelligent individual, but I just simply can't do it. The following is an example of just how severe my direction deficit is:
When one of my former students moved to Winder, Ga, I made several trips there to see him. The first one was for his high school graduation. I called and got interstate directions from a friend of mine, who happens to live there.
I was lost before I could get out of Dekalb county and I live in Henry county. For those of you who may not know, these two counties are located next to each other. I got lost, not because the directions my friend gave me were bad, in fact, they were perfect, I just managed to screw them up.
Warning to others: If you are not in the correct lane on I-285, far in advance, you will miss the exit for I-85 north, and end up on Buford Hwy. where everything is written in a foreign language.
Yes, that is exactly what happened to me. I called my friend back, and he was, thank God, able to put me back on track with just a few turns.
When I made it to Winder, the school parking lot was full, so I parked at a church close by and walked to the school stadium. I will say that I was relieved to have arrived on time.
Everything was great until the ceremony ended and I got into my car to leave. I suddenly realized that the school officials and local police were directing traffic out one way, and you guessed it, it was not the way that I had come in.
Panic sat in, because now, not only had it gotten dark, I was being sent down a road to who knows where, all the while thinking in my mind, this is definitely going to be a problem.
I immediately flipped my phone open and called my friend. I explained the situation and he helped me out again, staying on the phone with me until I was back on the interstate and headed in the right direction.
It was 1 a.m. before I got back home. I left Winder at 9:30 p.m. I live about an hour and a half away from there, if that helps to put things in perspective for you on just how bad I am.
The next time I decided to make the Winder trip, I contacted my friend via email, and asked him for new directions, this time using back roads. I wanted to try a new route, because even though, it had been about a month since my last trip, I was still feeling a bit traumatized.
He sent me written directions, and I followed them to the best of my ability. I did make it to Winder, but became lost somewhere down Hwy 53, where I can assure you, that dark means dark. I did the usual phone a friend for help thing , but this time he didn't answer.
I called repeatedly and still no answer. At this point the word panic didn't begin to cover it. I called my husband for help but in my state of alarm I didn't realize that I would actually need to know where I was exactly before he could give me any google map help.
I had no clue where I was. I hung up the phone, took a few deep breaths, and preceded to go up and down Hwy 53 like a carnival duck. I finally kept going in one direction long enough to find a little store where I found three men, who were Winder locals. They were very kind, and able to point me in the right direction. All in all I was lost for about an hour.
Using my same back road directions I have gone to Winder at least 4 other times and managed to come into town on a different road each and every time, making at least 2 other calls to my friend for help.
I am sure that when I let him know I had gotten navigation on my cell phone it was cause for a celebratory event at his house. He is a wonderful and patient man......I know this because I am sure if he wasn't I would have gotten a recording by now saying this number has been changed to an unpublished number. Lord knows I wouldn't have blamed him.
I'm not sure why I have such a poor sense of direction, but I'm not as concerned as I use to be about it. I mean surely between cell phone navigation, Google maps, and good friends I'll always get where I'm going...if not...I'll just see lots of places I never planned on seeing......I am going to try to stick with day trips whenever I can........Dark like you find on Hwy 53 adds an extra stress factor that a lost person such as myself just doesn't need.......
Monday, February 23, 2009
" MaryJane"
My husband was telling me a story today about one of our friends. He said that when our friends daughter came across a picture of him drinking a beer he had to tell her that he was of legal age when he was actually only 17.
I responded by saying at least he was able to get away with that, unlike myself, who thanks to you, had a full report given to my children on my behavior during my teenage years, without my consent.
This conversation occurring today is what led me to write the following:
When I was young I was very focused on academics and always worried more about doing everything I should be doing, and not getting into trouble, which to tell you the truth, led to my not having much fun.
When I started high school I was 14 years old and in the 10Th grade. I was very focused on the work I had to do to get A's and that sort of thing... until my junior year....
I got my first serious boyfriend. I just knew that I was madly in love. This put things in a whole new light for me. I still made good grades but I became more than ready to add major fun to my daily schedule.
I wanted to spend all the time that I could with him and so he began to come over to my house every day after school. He was a senior and had much more experience than I did in the whole fun department.
I'm not sure how my parents felt about him at first, but once they had gotten to know him , I convinced them to let me started going out on dates with him, even though I was only 15.
My argument was that I had started school at a very young age and I would graduate when I was 16, and be socially ruined for the rest of my life, if they didn't let me date while there was still time.
Now, on to the Maryjane thing... on one of our very first dates he brought out a joint and we smoked it together. I was horrified at first because I was such a little lady and my mother had raised me to behave myself at all times and that certainly included not partaking in illegal substances.
After the first time, however, I began to relax about it and wouldn't you know as soon as I did my boyfriend suddenly became concerned about my well being, and said he no longer wanted me to participate in having that particular type of fun.
I listened to him...... for awhile....and then, as luck would have it..... we broke up.
I began spending more time with my friends and the more time I spent with them the more I realized my ex boyfriend had no idea what the definition of fun was.
I had turned 16 by this time and like all teenagers, my friends and I knew all there was to know. On Friday and Saturday nights we put our make up and perfume on, rolled our hair, put on dresses and stilettos,heavy on the lip gloss and hit the door running... we were dangerous.
We were going to bars by the airport like Adams, which later became Cowboys, The Scotch House,and the Limelight in Atlanta. We were drinking and flirting and chasing guys and doing all the things that make mothers proud.
Among my activities with my friends was a revival of the smoking of the occasional funny little cigarettes.
One of my friends just happened to have an older brother with a nightstand drawer containing a scoop, and an ample supply of a substance that when rolled up in a 1.5 could contribute greatly to a good time.
Each and every weekend we helped ourselves and her brother would in turn, see us, and threaten our lives for thievery.
During my wilder days with my friends I met my now husband, who by the way, has never had so much as a tobacco product to his lips.
At any rate, being my friend during this time afforded him the opportunity to learn about all of my "fun" activities which he never seemed to have a problem with at the time.
what I was not thinking about was the fact that he could be storing up this information to use against me later in life, but that is exactly what happened, and use it against me he did.
He had a talk with our children when they became young adults, that they found quite hilarious and entertaining.
He informed them that their mother smoked more than Virginia Slims during her high school days...He also added that his nickname for me was Maryjane...which I might add is actually the way that I am still listed in his cell phone contacts.
My husband not only told our children about my past behavior, he also shared stories of my behavior at the police department where he works..... including the whole Maryjane tag.
I suppose I should be embarrassed that he did that, but all I can think is I hope that they all had fun too. I know of at least one of them that did,because he told me about it. I wish I had known him then, I think we would have had lots of fun together. Talk about a hot mess.
Anyway.....It's my story so I thought that I might as well tell it......especially considering the fact that my husband has already been sharing it like the town crier.
Let me just add that when my husband and I started dating, I stopped running around with my friends as much, and I never smoked another funny little cigarette.
When all was said and done my children laughed it off and made fun of me. Of course, they still occasionally tease me about it and probably always will.....
Do I regret my Shotgun Maryjane days? No...not really...and Maryjane? .....Darlin'....I've been called worse.......
I responded by saying at least he was able to get away with that, unlike myself, who thanks to you, had a full report given to my children on my behavior during my teenage years, without my consent.
This conversation occurring today is what led me to write the following:
When I was young I was very focused on academics and always worried more about doing everything I should be doing, and not getting into trouble, which to tell you the truth, led to my not having much fun.
When I started high school I was 14 years old and in the 10Th grade. I was very focused on the work I had to do to get A's and that sort of thing... until my junior year....
I got my first serious boyfriend. I just knew that I was madly in love. This put things in a whole new light for me. I still made good grades but I became more than ready to add major fun to my daily schedule.
I wanted to spend all the time that I could with him and so he began to come over to my house every day after school. He was a senior and had much more experience than I did in the whole fun department.
I'm not sure how my parents felt about him at first, but once they had gotten to know him , I convinced them to let me started going out on dates with him, even though I was only 15.
My argument was that I had started school at a very young age and I would graduate when I was 16, and be socially ruined for the rest of my life, if they didn't let me date while there was still time.
Now, on to the Maryjane thing... on one of our very first dates he brought out a joint and we smoked it together. I was horrified at first because I was such a little lady and my mother had raised me to behave myself at all times and that certainly included not partaking in illegal substances.
After the first time, however, I began to relax about it and wouldn't you know as soon as I did my boyfriend suddenly became concerned about my well being, and said he no longer wanted me to participate in having that particular type of fun.
I listened to him...... for awhile....and then, as luck would have it..... we broke up.
I began spending more time with my friends and the more time I spent with them the more I realized my ex boyfriend had no idea what the definition of fun was.
I had turned 16 by this time and like all teenagers, my friends and I knew all there was to know. On Friday and Saturday nights we put our make up and perfume on, rolled our hair, put on dresses and stilettos,heavy on the lip gloss and hit the door running... we were dangerous.
We were going to bars by the airport like Adams, which later became Cowboys, The Scotch House,and the Limelight in Atlanta. We were drinking and flirting and chasing guys and doing all the things that make mothers proud.
Among my activities with my friends was a revival of the smoking of the occasional funny little cigarettes.
One of my friends just happened to have an older brother with a nightstand drawer containing a scoop, and an ample supply of a substance that when rolled up in a 1.5 could contribute greatly to a good time.
Each and every weekend we helped ourselves and her brother would in turn, see us, and threaten our lives for thievery.
During my wilder days with my friends I met my now husband, who by the way, has never had so much as a tobacco product to his lips.
At any rate, being my friend during this time afforded him the opportunity to learn about all of my "fun" activities which he never seemed to have a problem with at the time.
what I was not thinking about was the fact that he could be storing up this information to use against me later in life, but that is exactly what happened, and use it against me he did.
He had a talk with our children when they became young adults, that they found quite hilarious and entertaining.
He informed them that their mother smoked more than Virginia Slims during her high school days...He also added that his nickname for me was Maryjane...which I might add is actually the way that I am still listed in his cell phone contacts.
My husband not only told our children about my past behavior, he also shared stories of my behavior at the police department where he works..... including the whole Maryjane tag.
I suppose I should be embarrassed that he did that, but all I can think is I hope that they all had fun too. I know of at least one of them that did,because he told me about it. I wish I had known him then, I think we would have had lots of fun together. Talk about a hot mess.
Anyway.....It's my story so I thought that I might as well tell it......especially considering the fact that my husband has already been sharing it like the town crier.
Let me just add that when my husband and I started dating, I stopped running around with my friends as much, and I never smoked another funny little cigarette.
When all was said and done my children laughed it off and made fun of me. Of course, they still occasionally tease me about it and probably always will.....
Do I regret my Shotgun Maryjane days? No...not really...and Maryjane? .....Darlin'....I've been called worse.......
"Beauty: A Personal Definition"
My husband says things to me quite frequently, in a joking manner, about women my age, in association with fading beauty. He never lets an opportunity go by, when he is given the chance, to remind me that I am not so young anymore.
He would certainly say, if you asked, that he is only teasing me, and maybe he is, but he has that sense of humor which contains enough truth to sting a bit at times.
There is a large part of me that wants to be deeply offended and another part that has to admit it is the simple truth. I am getting older.
I have read studies that show my husband is not alone in his thinking. Most men see youth as beauty. I don't necessarily need the reminders, however, and I don't feel like any woman wants to be made to feel that she is basically at a point in her life when she is no longer attractive.
Does knowing this bother me? Yes, but not just on a personal level. It bothers me because I think that beauty is so much more. I think beauty lives in a persons heart and is reflected in their eyes when they smile. I find beauty in almost all people.
I believe that a few things can keep beauty from a person, some of which are; bitterness, cold heartedness, conceit, unkind words spoken about others, and an overall mean spirit.
One of my favorite quotes is by a man named Henry Miller. He said "Develop interest in life as you see it; in people, things, literature, music - the world is so rich, simply throbbing with rich treasures, beautiful souls and interesting people. Forget yourself."
To me any person leading their life in that manner would have a pretty good shot at being beautiful. I find beauty in many different forms.
Beauty to me is seen in a person when they are passionate about life. It can be found in people who show kindness to others . I see it in the eyes of elderly couples that are still in love after years and years of being together who have a connection so deep they truly are one.
I feel like beauty can also be found in great wisdom and moral character. Beauty to me is a simple kindness of the soul.
There are plenty of people in the world that meet the standards of beauty that society has put in place over the years, and I like everyone else can see that type of attractiveness. I just don't think that appearance should be the only factor in determining what constitutes true beauty.
I personally believe that real beauty is so much deeper than that.
I am sure that some people are reading this and thinking she is just saying she feels this way because she is getting older herself, but I have always felt the way that I do about what is attractive in others, even when I was very young.
I have never considered myself to be a physically beautiful woman so age is not really a factor for me in how I feel about beauty now.
My grandmother had a simple saying "pretty is as pretty does." I love this statement because I wholeheartedly agree with it. I realize my way of thinking is not probably the most common, and I know that most of the world will continue to see beauty just as society defines it for them.
For those people, I feel a bit of remorse in that... they will never experience true beauty in all of its many facets.....The kind that is seen when you least expect it....and subsequently the moments that take their breath away will be far to rare..
He would certainly say, if you asked, that he is only teasing me, and maybe he is, but he has that sense of humor which contains enough truth to sting a bit at times.
There is a large part of me that wants to be deeply offended and another part that has to admit it is the simple truth. I am getting older.
I have read studies that show my husband is not alone in his thinking. Most men see youth as beauty. I don't necessarily need the reminders, however, and I don't feel like any woman wants to be made to feel that she is basically at a point in her life when she is no longer attractive.
Does knowing this bother me? Yes, but not just on a personal level. It bothers me because I think that beauty is so much more. I think beauty lives in a persons heart and is reflected in their eyes when they smile. I find beauty in almost all people.
I believe that a few things can keep beauty from a person, some of which are; bitterness, cold heartedness, conceit, unkind words spoken about others, and an overall mean spirit.
One of my favorite quotes is by a man named Henry Miller. He said "Develop interest in life as you see it; in people, things, literature, music - the world is so rich, simply throbbing with rich treasures, beautiful souls and interesting people. Forget yourself."
To me any person leading their life in that manner would have a pretty good shot at being beautiful. I find beauty in many different forms.
Beauty to me is seen in a person when they are passionate about life. It can be found in people who show kindness to others . I see it in the eyes of elderly couples that are still in love after years and years of being together who have a connection so deep they truly are one.
I feel like beauty can also be found in great wisdom and moral character. Beauty to me is a simple kindness of the soul.
There are plenty of people in the world that meet the standards of beauty that society has put in place over the years, and I like everyone else can see that type of attractiveness. I just don't think that appearance should be the only factor in determining what constitutes true beauty.
I personally believe that real beauty is so much deeper than that.
I am sure that some people are reading this and thinking she is just saying she feels this way because she is getting older herself, but I have always felt the way that I do about what is attractive in others, even when I was very young.
I have never considered myself to be a physically beautiful woman so age is not really a factor for me in how I feel about beauty now.
My grandmother had a simple saying "pretty is as pretty does." I love this statement because I wholeheartedly agree with it. I realize my way of thinking is not probably the most common, and I know that most of the world will continue to see beauty just as society defines it for them.
For those people, I feel a bit of remorse in that... they will never experience true beauty in all of its many facets.....The kind that is seen when you least expect it....and subsequently the moments that take their breath away will be far to rare..
Monday, February 9, 2009
"Cellular Addiction"
Not so long ago I was fine without a cell phone glued to my person, 24/7. I managed to go through daily life driving a car and leaving home without any way whatsoever to contact another person unless, in case of an emergency, I had to stop at a pay phone.
I managed to have perfectly peaceful rides in the car going from point A to point B. I had nice dinners out in restaurants with my husband without getting a single phone call or text message, and it was probably much nicer that way. I am also sure it was much less rude.
Now, however, I find that we as a society are ridiculously dependent on our cell phones. If I leave my house and suddenly discover that I can't find my phone, I immediately ransack my purse, and when I come up empty my panic begins.
Next, I pat myself down, and when I have no luck there, my anxiety over not having it escalates into full blown panic mode.
I begin to have random thoughts like; what if someone tries to call me?, or I have a flat tire? What if someone is trying to send me a text message and I'm not there to receive it?
I might need to call someone, and not only will I not have my phone, but even if someone let me use their phone, I wouldn't know how to call anyone. I don't know the phone numbers of any of my "contacts". They are all stored in my phone and I have never memorized a single one of them.
I finally decide that the possibilities of my desperately needing my phone are absolutely endless and my anxiety level escalates to an all time high.
The next step for me, after reaching this point, is to began my attempt at rationalizing the entire situation. I start by saying things to myself like; I managed for the first 20 or so years of my life to leave home without the ability to contact another individual during my ride in the car and it was always okay.
I then tell myself that I'll be just fine without it, and that it might just be a more enjoyable ride. Then, I move on to; In fact, my entire day may be more peaceful and relaxing without the interruptions of people calling and texting me all day long about this and that.
During this long conversation with myself I ultimately decide that I can manage for one day without my phone...no big deal. I mean in a real 911 my family could call the school where I work and they would come and get me out of class.
I also know that if I have a flat tire someone would eventually help me, or worse case scenario, it would get extremely late, and one of my family members would need dinner, at which point they would notice that I was missing and form a search party for me. Right?
By this time I have talked myself down from my self-imposed escalating panic and of course I make it through the day without major incident. If truth be told, I usually enjoy the peace and quiet that comes with not having had the phone with me.
Maybe I should "accidentally on purpose" leave my phone at home more often. If I did this often enough, I may even reach the same conclusion about cell phones that my father has.
The last time I was at his house, and his cell phone rang while he and I were talking he looked at me real seriously, and said "I'll tell you what sugar, I'm about ready to take this thing outside and lay it down on my driveway and run over it."
I left his house that day smiling and thinking that he might just be on to something...
I managed to have perfectly peaceful rides in the car going from point A to point B. I had nice dinners out in restaurants with my husband without getting a single phone call or text message, and it was probably much nicer that way. I am also sure it was much less rude.
Now, however, I find that we as a society are ridiculously dependent on our cell phones. If I leave my house and suddenly discover that I can't find my phone, I immediately ransack my purse, and when I come up empty my panic begins.
Next, I pat myself down, and when I have no luck there, my anxiety over not having it escalates into full blown panic mode.
I begin to have random thoughts like; what if someone tries to call me?, or I have a flat tire? What if someone is trying to send me a text message and I'm not there to receive it?
I might need to call someone, and not only will I not have my phone, but even if someone let me use their phone, I wouldn't know how to call anyone. I don't know the phone numbers of any of my "contacts". They are all stored in my phone and I have never memorized a single one of them.
I finally decide that the possibilities of my desperately needing my phone are absolutely endless and my anxiety level escalates to an all time high.
The next step for me, after reaching this point, is to began my attempt at rationalizing the entire situation. I start by saying things to myself like; I managed for the first 20 or so years of my life to leave home without the ability to contact another individual during my ride in the car and it was always okay.
I then tell myself that I'll be just fine without it, and that it might just be a more enjoyable ride. Then, I move on to; In fact, my entire day may be more peaceful and relaxing without the interruptions of people calling and texting me all day long about this and that.
During this long conversation with myself I ultimately decide that I can manage for one day without my phone...no big deal. I mean in a real 911 my family could call the school where I work and they would come and get me out of class.
I also know that if I have a flat tire someone would eventually help me, or worse case scenario, it would get extremely late, and one of my family members would need dinner, at which point they would notice that I was missing and form a search party for me. Right?
By this time I have talked myself down from my self-imposed escalating panic and of course I make it through the day without major incident. If truth be told, I usually enjoy the peace and quiet that comes with not having had the phone with me.
Maybe I should "accidentally on purpose" leave my phone at home more often. If I did this often enough, I may even reach the same conclusion about cell phones that my father has.
The last time I was at his house, and his cell phone rang while he and I were talking he looked at me real seriously, and said "I'll tell you what sugar, I'm about ready to take this thing outside and lay it down on my driveway and run over it."
I left his house that day smiling and thinking that he might just be on to something...
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
"The Great Outdoors"
I have joked in previous blogs about how I felt about outdoor activities when I was a little girl.
Since I have become an adult, however, my feelings about being outdoors have changed a bit.
There are things about nature that I enjoy now, that I would never have been able to appreciate as a child.
One thing that I enjoy is walking the nature trails in some of the parks and mountains in north Georgia. I haven't done it in a long while because my husband has no interest in doing it, and I'm afraid to go alone.
I had one fishing experience as a child. I was about eight or nine years old. My Dad bought fishing rods for me and my brothers and sisters, and we all went to the lake.
My dad baited my hook and helped me cast my line out. I was all set. Within ten minutes I realized that I had a fish on my line. I began reeling it in, but as soon as I had a visual on the fish, I stopped reeling and began yelling for my Dad.
My Dad was a helping my brothers and sisters get ready to fish, but was trying to get to me as quickly as he could. Meanwhile, since I had stopped reeling so soon there was an excess of line for the fish to flip and flop around on.
This caused the line to start swinging and the fish slapped against my thigh....that did it for me. I threw rod, reel, fish and all right into the lake. My Dad arrived just in time to watch it sink.
I think he was upset with me because he couldn't begin to wrap his mind around why I had done something like that. He was, however, able to handle it well in the end.He just looked at me and said "don't worry about it, Go and get a chair and sit down and watch your brothers and sisters."
He was shaking his head as he walked away, and I never got another fishing rod.
I have since had many successful fishing trips as an adult. Each and every year our class of special needs students goes on a fishing trip that I really enjoy.
I think my attitude has changed because now, I appreciate the beauty of the lake and the peace and quiet that comes with fishing. It doesn't hurt that I've learned that you can fish with shrimp and small pieces of hotdog so that no worms have to be involved.
There are also several partners from the community that help us with our students so when I get lucky and catch a fish, one of the men are always willing to take it off the hook for me. Overall it's always a great day.
I also love being out on the lake in a boat. I love the feeling of the wind combined with the warmth of the sun. I do keep my face out of the sun now all that I can, but being a sun worshiper from way back, I do love the feel of it on my skin.
Another thing that I would enjoy doing would be going on a romantic picnic. The type with wine and a blanket, deep conversation and quiet cuddle time, but as I may have mentioned before my husband would need Merriam Webster's help with the word romantic, so I probably won't be experiencing that any time soon.
One of my very favorite outdoor things to do is go to the beach. I could walk the shoreline indefinitely. I also love being on the beach with a good book and a beverage. (preferably something with an umbrella in it signifying that it contains alcohol)
When I sit and listen to the sounds of the ocean waves, and watch them crest one over the other, I am in such awe at its magnitude and beauty, and it brings me such a great opportunity for introspective thought and surrounds me with such a feeling of peace....There really are no words for it.
I'm not sure how anyone could see, hear, and feel the ocean and deny that there is a God.
I have not gotten the opportunity to see just how adventurous I could be on a hiking or camping trip now, because I feel like to be in the woods I need a man with me, and my husband isn't interested in doing either one.
I know that some people may think that my saying that I need a man is a neanderthal Idea, and are probably getting all Gloria Steinem on me right now for saying it, but they can hit the woods alone if they so desire. I'll take the man.....
I might even be willing to spend one night in a tent.....providing, of course, that the conditions were right and the right man was present...(I have learned a few other things since I've grown up.)
After writing this I've decided that I want to start doing more things outdoors.....Spring is coming, and that is a wonderful time to be outside.... I do realize, however, that I'm either going to have to try to talk my husband into doing more things I want to do, or enlist my friends. I'm going to enjoy spending all that time with my friends...
Since I have become an adult, however, my feelings about being outdoors have changed a bit.
There are things about nature that I enjoy now, that I would never have been able to appreciate as a child.
One thing that I enjoy is walking the nature trails in some of the parks and mountains in north Georgia. I haven't done it in a long while because my husband has no interest in doing it, and I'm afraid to go alone.
I had one fishing experience as a child. I was about eight or nine years old. My Dad bought fishing rods for me and my brothers and sisters, and we all went to the lake.
My dad baited my hook and helped me cast my line out. I was all set. Within ten minutes I realized that I had a fish on my line. I began reeling it in, but as soon as I had a visual on the fish, I stopped reeling and began yelling for my Dad.
My Dad was a helping my brothers and sisters get ready to fish, but was trying to get to me as quickly as he could. Meanwhile, since I had stopped reeling so soon there was an excess of line for the fish to flip and flop around on.
This caused the line to start swinging and the fish slapped against my thigh....that did it for me. I threw rod, reel, fish and all right into the lake. My Dad arrived just in time to watch it sink.
I think he was upset with me because he couldn't begin to wrap his mind around why I had done something like that. He was, however, able to handle it well in the end.He just looked at me and said "don't worry about it, Go and get a chair and sit down and watch your brothers and sisters."
He was shaking his head as he walked away, and I never got another fishing rod.
I have since had many successful fishing trips as an adult. Each and every year our class of special needs students goes on a fishing trip that I really enjoy.
I think my attitude has changed because now, I appreciate the beauty of the lake and the peace and quiet that comes with fishing. It doesn't hurt that I've learned that you can fish with shrimp and small pieces of hotdog so that no worms have to be involved.
There are also several partners from the community that help us with our students so when I get lucky and catch a fish, one of the men are always willing to take it off the hook for me. Overall it's always a great day.
I also love being out on the lake in a boat. I love the feeling of the wind combined with the warmth of the sun. I do keep my face out of the sun now all that I can, but being a sun worshiper from way back, I do love the feel of it on my skin.
Another thing that I would enjoy doing would be going on a romantic picnic. The type with wine and a blanket, deep conversation and quiet cuddle time, but as I may have mentioned before my husband would need Merriam Webster's help with the word romantic, so I probably won't be experiencing that any time soon.
One of my very favorite outdoor things to do is go to the beach. I could walk the shoreline indefinitely. I also love being on the beach with a good book and a beverage. (preferably something with an umbrella in it signifying that it contains alcohol)
When I sit and listen to the sounds of the ocean waves, and watch them crest one over the other, I am in such awe at its magnitude and beauty, and it brings me such a great opportunity for introspective thought and surrounds me with such a feeling of peace....There really are no words for it.
I'm not sure how anyone could see, hear, and feel the ocean and deny that there is a God.
I have not gotten the opportunity to see just how adventurous I could be on a hiking or camping trip now, because I feel like to be in the woods I need a man with me, and my husband isn't interested in doing either one.
I know that some people may think that my saying that I need a man is a neanderthal Idea, and are probably getting all Gloria Steinem on me right now for saying it, but they can hit the woods alone if they so desire. I'll take the man.....
I might even be willing to spend one night in a tent.....providing, of course, that the conditions were right and the right man was present...(I have learned a few other things since I've grown up.)
After writing this I've decided that I want to start doing more things outdoors.....Spring is coming, and that is a wonderful time to be outside.... I do realize, however, that I'm either going to have to try to talk my husband into doing more things I want to do, or enlist my friends. I'm going to enjoy spending all that time with my friends...
Friday, January 23, 2009
"Worker Bees And Slackers"
I have worked in a few different places throughout my life. I have had jobs ranging from working in a mall to working for a group of neurologists in Atlanta, and now I am in a high school classroom.
Over the course of time it has been my experience that all of the jobs have had one thing in common even though the positions themselves have varied greatly. The common denominator is always the same. The worker bees and slackers are always present.
The worker bees are, of course, the ones who actually do all of the work, while the slackers are easily identified as the ones who do nothing, make the most money, and get stunned looks on their faces when they are asked directly to do a specific task requiring that they put for effort.
The degree of slackers varies from the ones who just do the least amount of work they can, to the ultimate slackers who have an uncanny ability to "make 8" without accomplishing a single work related task all day.
When I worked at the mall, the head slacker was someone with the mindset of who cares about commission? I 'll just stand here all day, collect my minimum wage, and cash my paycheck. With money in hand, I'll then make a purchase of some funny tobacco for myself that I can roll up in a 1.5 and burn baby burn....Hey, everybody needs a plan.
When I moved onto the doctors office there was a woman there who could very well be the queen of all slackers, if someone should take a poll. Each morning she would pull a few files from the shelf, take them to her desk, open the top one, and pull up a patient information page on her computer screen.
Other than having to move her fingers on the keys, should one of the doctors happen by, so she appeared to be covered up, and putting the files away at 4:00, her work for the day was done.
I kid you not, this woman should have ended her day by standing up from her chair and saying "I'd like to thank the academy".
Now I work in the school system, and surprise the slacker factor exists here as well. When the students have group work the same things go on that have always gone on. One or two of the students are the worker bees while the slacker, who is just along for the ride, waits with baited breath to see what grade they have earned for him or her.
Unfortunately, over the years I've spent in education I've seen the slacker factor in some of the adults as well. Let me also add that not all of them were teachers. Some have held other positions in the school building, some were county office workers, and some even stop by to "serve"students in a specialized area.
I suppose that I feel frustrated because I have watched so many of these people get by with their behavior as I worked diligently beside them and received no more pay or respect than the slacker received.
I feel sure that as you read this you are also thinking that you work with someone just like the people that I am talking about.
Do I understand how these people lay their heads down at night? No. Do I think that this will ever change? No. Do I feel better for having vented here about it? Abso-friggin-lutely!
Over the course of time it has been my experience that all of the jobs have had one thing in common even though the positions themselves have varied greatly. The common denominator is always the same. The worker bees and slackers are always present.
The worker bees are, of course, the ones who actually do all of the work, while the slackers are easily identified as the ones who do nothing, make the most money, and get stunned looks on their faces when they are asked directly to do a specific task requiring that they put for effort.
The degree of slackers varies from the ones who just do the least amount of work they can, to the ultimate slackers who have an uncanny ability to "make 8" without accomplishing a single work related task all day.
When I worked at the mall, the head slacker was someone with the mindset of who cares about commission? I 'll just stand here all day, collect my minimum wage, and cash my paycheck. With money in hand, I'll then make a purchase of some funny tobacco for myself that I can roll up in a 1.5 and burn baby burn....Hey, everybody needs a plan.
When I moved onto the doctors office there was a woman there who could very well be the queen of all slackers, if someone should take a poll. Each morning she would pull a few files from the shelf, take them to her desk, open the top one, and pull up a patient information page on her computer screen.
Other than having to move her fingers on the keys, should one of the doctors happen by, so she appeared to be covered up, and putting the files away at 4:00, her work for the day was done.
I kid you not, this woman should have ended her day by standing up from her chair and saying "I'd like to thank the academy".
Now I work in the school system, and surprise the slacker factor exists here as well. When the students have group work the same things go on that have always gone on. One or two of the students are the worker bees while the slacker, who is just along for the ride, waits with baited breath to see what grade they have earned for him or her.
Unfortunately, over the years I've spent in education I've seen the slacker factor in some of the adults as well. Let me also add that not all of them were teachers. Some have held other positions in the school building, some were county office workers, and some even stop by to "serve"students in a specialized area.
I suppose that I feel frustrated because I have watched so many of these people get by with their behavior as I worked diligently beside them and received no more pay or respect than the slacker received.
I feel sure that as you read this you are also thinking that you work with someone just like the people that I am talking about.
Do I understand how these people lay their heads down at night? No. Do I think that this will ever change? No. Do I feel better for having vented here about it? Abso-friggin-lutely!
"Twinship"
I have an identical twin sister. My sister and I were born only five minutes apart and we shared a room from birth until I got married. We were best friends growing up, and we dressed alike until we were ten years old, alternating who picked our clothes out every other day. We also participated in our share of twin antics on occasion.
My mom got the same question over and over when we were little girls.."Are they twins? " I remember that even as a five or six year old this seemed like a dumb question to me.
We looked exactly alike, same clothes, same hair style, same size.....not rocket science. I wish that my mom had just once pointed to one of us and said something like "no they're not twins, I cloned that one."
It is still funny to me, however,that we carry the label "identical" considering we are almost nothing alike. We have some similarities such as; our voices sounding alike, having some mannerisms that are the same, and of course, as I mentioned before, we look alike.
My sister and I differ greatly in personality as well as our preferences for recreational activities.
This was as true when we were children as it is today. She wanted to do things like play softball and basketball, and all I wanted was some pom-poms.
This would not have been a problem except for the fact that if one of us wanted to do something my mom signed us both up. Oh yes! We were a pair and we came as a set under any and all circumstances.
The first thing I remember my mother asking us if we wanted to do was join the Brownies. Brownies are a young level of Girl Scouts. When I learned there were little brown dresses, pins, hats, ties, and meetings as well as arts and crafts, it was YES for me.
Mom signed us up, and I loved it. We participated for a few years becoming Girl Scouts, complete with green dresses, sashes, and all the badges we cared to earn.
I had only one close call to a bad experience while I was a Girl Scout and that came when we went on a camping trip. I was initially very excited . I packed my bag with all of the things on the list I was given, including my new sleeping bag, and got in the car.
Everything was going great until I actually got my first look at the accommodations for sleeping and showering. I am not sure what I expected to find upon my arrival but I will tell you that when I got the visual I was stunned.
I immediately called my mother from a pay phone and reported that the conditions were unacceptable. I mean...an open air, no door, very public shower with a pull chain...they must have been kidding. I also informed her that we had passed a Holiday Inn right before we arrived at the camp site and that I would be needing a room.
I know...close call right. My mother rescued me and transported me back and forth for the daily activities. I have since decided that this doesn't make me a bad person, it's just simply that the "roughing it" type camping isn't for everyone.
I appreciate the outdoors now, but a cabin with a private bathroom and a bed to sleep in is as close to "camping" as I care to get.
Other than the camping thing I enjoyed the time I spent as a Girl Scout, but, I feel pretty confident in saying my sister wasn't loving the whole experience.
The next activity we signed up for was my sisters choice. So before I knew how it happened I was on a softball team. I got a uniform, cleats, and a glove, but one thing that I didn't have was a clue.
I had no idea what to do, so each and every time I heard the coaches say someone would have to sit out my hand went up like they had requested volunteers. I can also tell you that they never refused my offer. This was due to my lack of athletic ability I'd venture to guess.
My twin was an all-star player and she earned many iron on stars for her hat. These were awarded for great plays and hits. I earned myself one little star when during one of our games I was playing out in the field and a pop fly accidentally found its way into my glove. Evidently my coaches thought I had something to do with it landing there and who was I to argue?
By seasons end, after frequently "riding the pine" my nylon shorts had more knots and picks in them than a chenille bedspread.
After suffering through the softball experience the next activity was mine to choose. Yep you guessed it....it was pom pom time. I loved cheering and I'm sure I drove our mother insane with my practicing cheers and splits and all of that. We did the recreation cheering thing and we were on the pep squad at our middle school.
I feel pretty sure my sister wanted to kill me when all of that was said and done, and in retrospect I can't say that I would have blamed her. I probably needed killing.
Another thing my mom always insisted on was that we remain in the same classes throughout elementary school, and so we did. Several teachers and principals let her know that in their professional opinions she was making a huge mistake, but she stuck to her demands and they were forced to comply.
I have since read several research studies done by prominent doctors and other professionals, regarding twins, that show my mother was right. It seems they have learned that separating twins from both their parents and their twin sibling when they go to school causes the children to experience double separation anxiety...(Thank you Mom!)
As we were growing up we shared much more than our bedroom. We shared each others joy and pain. We knew, and still do know, when something is wrong with the other one.
I have such a closeness with my twin sister it's almost as if even when we aren't together I can feel her with me. That sounds odd I am sure, but that's just how it is.
Over the years we had the normal sibling arguments, and we both went through a great deal for the sake of the other ones wants.
We have shared our true feelings about our adolescent years since we've become adults and we laugh at how tortured we felt during some of our "extra curricular activities", but neither one of us carries an ounce of regret. We wouldn't change it, even if we were given the choice.
We have decided that we are just better and more well rounded people for having traveled through the experiences the other one chose. We not only learned from one another, we also know that for each other's happiness, it was well worth the trip...
My mom got the same question over and over when we were little girls.."Are they twins? " I remember that even as a five or six year old this seemed like a dumb question to me.
We looked exactly alike, same clothes, same hair style, same size.....not rocket science. I wish that my mom had just once pointed to one of us and said something like "no they're not twins, I cloned that one."
It is still funny to me, however,that we carry the label "identical" considering we are almost nothing alike. We have some similarities such as; our voices sounding alike, having some mannerisms that are the same, and of course, as I mentioned before, we look alike.
My sister and I differ greatly in personality as well as our preferences for recreational activities.
This was as true when we were children as it is today. She wanted to do things like play softball and basketball, and all I wanted was some pom-poms.
This would not have been a problem except for the fact that if one of us wanted to do something my mom signed us both up. Oh yes! We were a pair and we came as a set under any and all circumstances.
The first thing I remember my mother asking us if we wanted to do was join the Brownies. Brownies are a young level of Girl Scouts. When I learned there were little brown dresses, pins, hats, ties, and meetings as well as arts and crafts, it was YES for me.
Mom signed us up, and I loved it. We participated for a few years becoming Girl Scouts, complete with green dresses, sashes, and all the badges we cared to earn.
I had only one close call to a bad experience while I was a Girl Scout and that came when we went on a camping trip. I was initially very excited . I packed my bag with all of the things on the list I was given, including my new sleeping bag, and got in the car.
Everything was going great until I actually got my first look at the accommodations for sleeping and showering. I am not sure what I expected to find upon my arrival but I will tell you that when I got the visual I was stunned.
I immediately called my mother from a pay phone and reported that the conditions were unacceptable. I mean...an open air, no door, very public shower with a pull chain...they must have been kidding. I also informed her that we had passed a Holiday Inn right before we arrived at the camp site and that I would be needing a room.
I know...close call right. My mother rescued me and transported me back and forth for the daily activities. I have since decided that this doesn't make me a bad person, it's just simply that the "roughing it" type camping isn't for everyone.
I appreciate the outdoors now, but a cabin with a private bathroom and a bed to sleep in is as close to "camping" as I care to get.
Other than the camping thing I enjoyed the time I spent as a Girl Scout, but, I feel pretty confident in saying my sister wasn't loving the whole experience.
The next activity we signed up for was my sisters choice. So before I knew how it happened I was on a softball team. I got a uniform, cleats, and a glove, but one thing that I didn't have was a clue.
I had no idea what to do, so each and every time I heard the coaches say someone would have to sit out my hand went up like they had requested volunteers. I can also tell you that they never refused my offer. This was due to my lack of athletic ability I'd venture to guess.
My twin was an all-star player and she earned many iron on stars for her hat. These were awarded for great plays and hits. I earned myself one little star when during one of our games I was playing out in the field and a pop fly accidentally found its way into my glove. Evidently my coaches thought I had something to do with it landing there and who was I to argue?
By seasons end, after frequently "riding the pine" my nylon shorts had more knots and picks in them than a chenille bedspread.
After suffering through the softball experience the next activity was mine to choose. Yep you guessed it....it was pom pom time. I loved cheering and I'm sure I drove our mother insane with my practicing cheers and splits and all of that. We did the recreation cheering thing and we were on the pep squad at our middle school.
I feel pretty sure my sister wanted to kill me when all of that was said and done, and in retrospect I can't say that I would have blamed her. I probably needed killing.
Another thing my mom always insisted on was that we remain in the same classes throughout elementary school, and so we did. Several teachers and principals let her know that in their professional opinions she was making a huge mistake, but she stuck to her demands and they were forced to comply.
I have since read several research studies done by prominent doctors and other professionals, regarding twins, that show my mother was right. It seems they have learned that separating twins from both their parents and their twin sibling when they go to school causes the children to experience double separation anxiety...(Thank you Mom!)
As we were growing up we shared much more than our bedroom. We shared each others joy and pain. We knew, and still do know, when something is wrong with the other one.
I have such a closeness with my twin sister it's almost as if even when we aren't together I can feel her with me. That sounds odd I am sure, but that's just how it is.
Over the years we had the normal sibling arguments, and we both went through a great deal for the sake of the other ones wants.
We have shared our true feelings about our adolescent years since we've become adults and we laugh at how tortured we felt during some of our "extra curricular activities", but neither one of us carries an ounce of regret. We wouldn't change it, even if we were given the choice.
We have decided that we are just better and more well rounded people for having traveled through the experiences the other one chose. We not only learned from one another, we also know that for each other's happiness, it was well worth the trip...
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