'Tis the season to go shopping....
Fa La La La La, La La La La!
Christmas Wish Lists keep me hopping...
Fa La La La La, La La La La....
Oh, yes. The consumer season is upon us. I'm not a big shopper for most of the year, but give me a reason to shop and permission to spend and I'm right out there with the best of them.
What really gets me...in the wallet...are all those shiny gadgets, colorful gift boxes, and new, never marketed before, glossy or sparkly, or just plain cute...THINGS just begging to be bought!
During the year I walk past displays in Target (or Wal-Mart--I don't discriminate), head held high, motivation intact. Nope. Don't need that. I came for the dog food on sale. I don't need the latest sweater or the matching individual casserole bowls in fall colors. But starting with Black Friday, I am way-laid by the sparkly tops. I gaze at the Christmas dishes. I find my cart filling with cute toys for kids, 'adorable' stocking stuffers, and...oops...what to my wondering eyes should appear, but holiday wineglasses to help spread the cheer!
And I confess I am a sucker for a MAN gadget in a gift pack!
Let's face it. Is there anyone harder to shop for than a man? First of all, most men can't come up with a (decent) list of things they want for Christmas so it's really their own fault when they end up with the stuff marketed for men at Christmas. And even if they do give you a wish list, it's for work gloves or something silly like drill bits! I mean, what kind of gift is that? It's like giving me an iron! Why don't they want fun stuff? How many wrenches, drill bits, or black electric tape can they use?
And that is the crux of the problem and the reason for all those glitzy gift packs. Women like shiny and glitzy. Men like useful and practical. The result is predictable. He gets the charging station and the matching briefcase, billfold and credit card holder, when what he really wants are the floor mats for his truck. She gets the crockpot and set of cookbooks from the Food Network, when she was hoping he'd go to Jared's.
Do we need anymore evidence that 'Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus'? Christmas should be the exclamation point on that concept!
Before I close, I need to add a disclaimer here. My husband and I both go towards the practical side. I like a bit of glitz in my own life and I am guilty of buying that gift item marketed towards women to buy for men, but overall, most of the gifts we buy for each other are simple, practical, and right on target. He doesn't really need to go to Jared's to reach my heart.
And now...back to the store. There are only a few shopping days left and I'm pretty sure I hear Target calling my name.
Fa La La La La La La La LA!
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Sunday, December 16, 2012
It's been a tough weekend. A community in Connecticut is reeling from a tragedy that is unimaginable. While we go about our lives putting up trees and wrapping presents they are planning funerals. What else they are going through, I can not even imagine, and I won't try. I haven't gone through anything like what they are. I won't put myself in their place.
I had a blog post ready to go, but it is way to cheery, blythe, and light-hearted to post just now. I will post it in a day or two. But I felt as if I needed to say something. So I will speak to one area I do know. I was a teacher. My daughter and son-in-law are teachers, as is my niece and two of my husband's cousins.
I remember one interview I had for a pre-school teaching position. It took place at night. Shortly after we began, the power went out and we were thrust into darkness. As they searched for candles or flashlights, a faceless voice said, "Mrs. Rosenberry, if this happened when you had a roomful of children, what would you do?" I thought for a moment and then answered that in a calm voice I would tell the children to be very quiet and listen to my voice. Then I would tell them to carefully walk towards my voice. Shortly after that the power came back on. (I guess I did ok. I got the job.)
Teachers handle all kinds of situations from fire drills to lock-downs. I was teaching in an elementary school on 9-11. It was so hard to know what to tell children. My daughter tried to find the right words, the right balance, for her 4th graders. Later, I listened to the stories of teachers in an elementary school near the World Trade Center as they took care of their children until parents could get there. I tried to imagine what it was like for them. A friend of mine lived in Arkansas in 1998 when the middle school in his town was targeted. He was not a teacher then, but he did become one later.
Nothing can prepare you for a school shooting, but learning how to calm children becomes inherent in the job. Drills help them set the stage and help children respond calmly when panic could ensue. Even so, there is always one child who knows 'it's just practice', but still gets really scared. We take that one by the hand and help them lead everyone else.
Now that I've said all that, I want to add that every story I've heard this weekend about teachers makes me so proud of them. They were heroes. They hid them, read stories to them, made it into a game of pretend, or told them a fox was in the hallway. They found amazing ways to keep the children calm and protect them when surely they knew it was very bad out there.
They are heroes.
But it's not over.
When school reopens, be it this week or in January, they will have to do it all over again. They will have to help their students find a sense of normalcy while validating their fears. There will be counselors all over that school, but after the parents, the classroom teacher will be a student's first counselor, and the one that will be there every day, all day, whenever a child's fear bubbles to the top.
No teacher goes into teaching thinking about protecting a classroom full of children from a crazed killer. But when fate puts them in that situation, they rise to meet it with courage, calm, and ingenuity. They do it well.
I had a blog post ready to go, but it is way to cheery, blythe, and light-hearted to post just now. I will post it in a day or two. But I felt as if I needed to say something. So I will speak to one area I do know. I was a teacher. My daughter and son-in-law are teachers, as is my niece and two of my husband's cousins.
I remember one interview I had for a pre-school teaching position. It took place at night. Shortly after we began, the power went out and we were thrust into darkness. As they searched for candles or flashlights, a faceless voice said, "Mrs. Rosenberry, if this happened when you had a roomful of children, what would you do?" I thought for a moment and then answered that in a calm voice I would tell the children to be very quiet and listen to my voice. Then I would tell them to carefully walk towards my voice. Shortly after that the power came back on. (I guess I did ok. I got the job.)
Teachers handle all kinds of situations from fire drills to lock-downs. I was teaching in an elementary school on 9-11. It was so hard to know what to tell children. My daughter tried to find the right words, the right balance, for her 4th graders. Later, I listened to the stories of teachers in an elementary school near the World Trade Center as they took care of their children until parents could get there. I tried to imagine what it was like for them. A friend of mine lived in Arkansas in 1998 when the middle school in his town was targeted. He was not a teacher then, but he did become one later.
Nothing can prepare you for a school shooting, but learning how to calm children becomes inherent in the job. Drills help them set the stage and help children respond calmly when panic could ensue. Even so, there is always one child who knows 'it's just practice', but still gets really scared. We take that one by the hand and help them lead everyone else.
Now that I've said all that, I want to add that every story I've heard this weekend about teachers makes me so proud of them. They were heroes. They hid them, read stories to them, made it into a game of pretend, or told them a fox was in the hallway. They found amazing ways to keep the children calm and protect them when surely they knew it was very bad out there.
They are heroes.
But it's not over.
When school reopens, be it this week or in January, they will have to do it all over again. They will have to help their students find a sense of normalcy while validating their fears. There will be counselors all over that school, but after the parents, the classroom teacher will be a student's first counselor, and the one that will be there every day, all day, whenever a child's fear bubbles to the top.
No teacher goes into teaching thinking about protecting a classroom full of children from a crazed killer. But when fate puts them in that situation, they rise to meet it with courage, calm, and ingenuity. They do it well.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Gloating on a Snowy Day
I'm gloating. If you were here you would know it without me telling you. You would read the smug look on my face and ask "Why are you gloating?" Then I would point outside and you would say "So? It's snowing. Why are you gloating?"
Then I would try without success to take the humble approach as I explain that my Christmas lights are up.
You see, I am a procrastinator. I have good intentions but even though I could get something done ahead of time it doesn't happen until I have reached the countdown phase. I remember one year, when I was still working. The kids asked me if we were going to put up the Christmas tree before Christmas. I don't remember sarcasm. There was more a sense of panic in their voices. (I finally got the tree up about a week before The Day.)
Now that I am retired I always put our Christmas lights up outside on the weekend after Thanksgiving. Of course in Pennsylvania the weather can be nasty and cold. Which brings me to why I am gloating.
Two weeks ago the weather was mild and warm. Larry suggested we put the lights up since the weather would be nice. Much to his surprise, I was thinking the same thing. And then came the double suprise. I did it! I put the lights up two weeks early. When the weather was nice...and everyone else was busy cleaning out their garage, or taking a walk on a lovely day.
Today, when I would normally be stuck on the portico roof over the front door winding strands of lights around the railing I am inside. Gloating. It is snowing outside and my lights are done!
Then I would try without success to take the humble approach as I explain that my Christmas lights are up.
You see, I am a procrastinator. I have good intentions but even though I could get something done ahead of time it doesn't happen until I have reached the countdown phase. I remember one year, when I was still working. The kids asked me if we were going to put up the Christmas tree before Christmas. I don't remember sarcasm. There was more a sense of panic in their voices. (I finally got the tree up about a week before The Day.)
Now that I am retired I always put our Christmas lights up outside on the weekend after Thanksgiving. Of course in Pennsylvania the weather can be nasty and cold. Which brings me to why I am gloating.
Two weeks ago the weather was mild and warm. Larry suggested we put the lights up since the weather would be nice. Much to his surprise, I was thinking the same thing. And then came the double suprise. I did it! I put the lights up two weeks early. When the weather was nice...and everyone else was busy cleaning out their garage, or taking a walk on a lovely day.
Today, when I would normally be stuck on the portico roof over the front door winding strands of lights around the railing I am inside. Gloating. It is snowing outside and my lights are done!
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Thanksgiving Traditions
Thanksgiving. No matter how you say it, it is hard to change
the meaning or the intent of the day. It is a special time. And in every family
it is celebrated a little differently. Some opt for the best china and silver
while others go for the buffet, paper plates and plastic ware. For most, it
means a day with family even if it is just your spouse and kids.
When I was growing up our Thanksgiving celebration resembled
the Saturday Evening Post cover with the family gathered around the table,
dressed in their best clothes, dad carving the perfectly roasted turkey while
we all watched. I assumed everyone celebrated it the same way. Then my
brother-in-law joined the family. He came from a different background and was
always amazed at the rituals of our celebrations. Our holidays were peppered
with customs and conventions. “TRA-DI-TION!” he would declare playfully!
I like rituals and routines. They are a family’s way of
making a special day really special. When we moved away my husband and I had to
set up a few of our own routines for holidays. And without a lot of family
nearby, we became much more relaxed about most holidays. But we still had our
special Tra-di-tions!
One custom has completely
escaped me. Black Friday. I am not a big shopper and I’ve never wanted to head
out for the big deal of the day. I did go one time, 30 years ago. A friend and
I spent the day fighting crowds in the mall and
we had fun! We got a couple of good deals. But I’ve never felt the need to do
it again. But for those who love to stand in line and hit the stores at
midnight, I say ‘Have at it’! I will be warm and snug in my bed in a tryptophan
induced dream state.
This year the competition to open earlier than anyone else
has hit a ridiculous level. I wonder if anyone is actually eating turkey
anymore, or are they just grabbing a cheeseburger at Wendy’s while they hold
their place in line? Is there a new tradition for family assignments? Whereas one
person used to set the table, while another mashed the potatoes, perhaps now
one holds the place in line while someone else runs to Dunkin’ Donuts for the
hot chocolate and cream filled confections.
My only problem with all this is what about the employees of
those retailers vying for the ‘first-to-open’ trophy? A paycheck is a wonderful
thing, but so is a day with family. Even better is a day OFF work. The ‘consumer’
season is upon us and those employees are going to be working their weary heads
off over the next four weeks.
Some employees are finally saying enough is
enough. Many even picketed outside the store. Unfortunately, that still meant
they had to give up part of their day that should rightfully be off. I
recognize the necessity of some professions who take care of us. And I
appreciate the sacrifice those people make. But for retailers the day of thanks
has become the day of greed. Instead of giving thanks for, and rewarding good
employees, they have found new ways to walk all over them and take advantage of
their need for a paycheck.
I don’t worry about what the world is coming to. Times
change. They always have. My kids don’t do things the way I did. I didn’t do
things the way my mom did. She didn’t do things the way her mom did. That’s ok.
As inventions change the way we live, our lifestyles will
change. I don’t worry about the world my kids will inherit. They will adapt and
think little of it. All I can do is make sure my family knows and remembers the
most important elements…the basic foundations that make their life a valuable
and memorable experience. But I do hope that at some point businesses remember
happy employees are a good thing, and something to be thankful for. Trust me.
If the stores don’t open until 12:00am, Friday morning, the people will still
come.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Deal's Orchard
While I was in Iowa, Janice and I took the kids to Deal's Orchard in Jefferson, Iowa. They had been there earlier in the fall when things were at their peak but when the kids had a day off from school we went again. It is a family run farm that mainly grows apples, but also pumpkins, corn and Christmas trees.
A few years ago, we went there and did the corn maze. Their corn maze is awesome. It covers several acres, and has a Question/Answer hunt hidden in it. It is designed with a theme in mind. This year it was about pumpkins. They give you a map with an aerial view of the maze. On the back are questions about pumpkins. The questions are actually designed to get you to explore all the maze to find the answers, not just run through it.
The maze was just about over this year. The corn was thinned, and trampled, but it was fun to go through it anyway.
After the maze, we headed for the kids area.
First of all there is a huge jumping pillow--similar concept to a bouncy house, but much bigger, and without walls. It is built right into the ground. The kids had a ball.
Then it was on to the Corn Box. I grew up with a sandbox, but this is really cool. It may not stack and pile as well as sand, but with all the toys in it, who cared? Samantha and Warren didn't. Great fun.
We tried the scooters...I wasn't sure I could stand back up after I got on and bent my knees to my chin, but I managed.
We raced ducks in the water trough using hand pumps to push the water through.
Warren tried out the tricycle track.
But the slide is one of the best. It is a huge tile or corrugated drainage hose built into a hillside. The braver ones would use sleding disks to sit on and go down, but Warren and Samantha just had fun sliding through the hose to the bottom and then climbing back up the hill.
There are goats to pet. Cats to make friends with. Pumpkins to buy. And a final jump on the pillow.
It was a great way to spend a day. Even one as chilly as that day.
Before I close, I have to add in one more photo. I was chastised after my Halloween post because I forgot to include a picture of that John Deere Tractor Costume. So here it is. Warren is already a charter member of the Future Farmers of America. This picture proves it!
A few years ago, we went there and did the corn maze. Their corn maze is awesome. It covers several acres, and has a Question/Answer hunt hidden in it. It is designed with a theme in mind. This year it was about pumpkins. They give you a map with an aerial view of the maze. On the back are questions about pumpkins. The questions are actually designed to get you to explore all the maze to find the answers, not just run through it.
 |
| The answer to "the largest pumpkin grown". Glad I didn't have to pick it! |
 |
| Peeking through the stalks |
 |
| Bundled up and having fun! |
 |
| We made it! |
After the maze, we headed for the kids area.
First of all there is a huge jumping pillow--similar concept to a bouncy house, but much bigger, and without walls. It is built right into the ground. The kids had a ball.
Then it was on to the Corn Box. I grew up with a sandbox, but this is really cool. It may not stack and pile as well as sand, but with all the toys in it, who cared? Samantha and Warren didn't. Great fun.
We tried the scooters...I wasn't sure I could stand back up after I got on and bent my knees to my chin, but I managed.
We raced ducks in the water trough using hand pumps to push the water through.
Warren tried out the tricycle track.
But the slide is one of the best. It is a huge tile or corrugated drainage hose built into a hillside. The braver ones would use sleding disks to sit on and go down, but Warren and Samantha just had fun sliding through the hose to the bottom and then climbing back up the hill.
There are goats to pet. Cats to make friends with. Pumpkins to buy. And a final jump on the pillow.
It was a great way to spend a day. Even one as chilly as that day.
Before I close, I have to add in one more photo. I was chastised after my Halloween post because I forgot to include a picture of that John Deere Tractor Costume. So here it is. Warren is already a charter member of the Future Farmers of America. This picture proves it!
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Good Friends
Tonight, as I write this I look out my window at the darkness below. It makes me a little sad. Behind my house is a ravine and at the other edge of that ravine, below my house, is another house, identical to mine. Until today, Diane and Trip lived there. They have become special friends of mine.
Four years ago, Larry was working in the garage when he came in the house and called up to me to come meet someone. It was Diane. She was new to the neighborhood and was taking a walk. As she came to our house she saw Maggie outside. (Maggie has made me more friends than I can count!) She stopped and introduced herself to Larry and then came in to meet me.
We sat at the kitchen table for over an hour and a friendship was born. She finally realized she'd better head home since her husband, Trip, would be wondering where she was. Diane and I quickly discovered we had several things in common. Until recently she had a dog like Maggie, but she was forced to give him up because of her husband's health issues. We were both Empty Nesters. We lived in the same model home, (a 4 bedroom home, but with only 2 adults living there!) We were both Christians. Neither of us had children or grandkids living nearby. Both of us have moved a lot. She has moved 11 times; I have moved 8. We are both pretty independent.
Over the years we became good friends, but I think we became even better neighbors. There wasn't anything we wouldn't do for each other, at the drop of a hat. Give me a ride to the airport? Sure. Let the dog out? Of course. Trip was fighting a respiratory condition that was very serious. Eventually he got a lung transplant, but before that there were situations. One day she called me. She was out of town visiting a daughter. Trip had been suddenly admitted to the hospital the night before. Could I go to the house, pick up some essentials and take them to the hospital? I was glad to help out. Truthfully, when a friend calls you for little things like that, it is a privilege to be asked.
Diane and I were not 'soul mate' type friends. I love to read. She can't sit still long enough to get past page 1. She is in constant motion, working on 5 projects at a time (on a slow day). I have a hard time getting a room painted. Ah, yes. Painting.... There was the time Diane said 'are you STILL painting that room? You've been working on it all week!' Yes, I had been and yes, I still was. I am not the best painter and I couldn't seem to get all the spots adequately covered. Diane dropped what she was doing, showed up, and spent the afternoon finishing the detail work and fixing my mistakes. Room--Done! Diane liked doing things for people. She kept tabs on people who moved into her part of the neighborhood, provided meals for people she found through her church, invited neighbors to a casual dinner.
During the summer the trees in the ravine blocked my view of her house, but from November to May, I had a clear shot. I jokingly referred to my ability to spy on her. My kitchen and family room overlooked her house. "Oh, Trip just pulled in," I'd tell her as we chatted on the phone and I watched a car pull in the drive. "I didn't know you were gone this weekend," I would text her. "Your house is dark." She had a good view of my house, too. But mine was better. (I wonder if she has warned the new owners of their 'nosy neighbor'!)
Diane and I didn't hang out. We texted more than we talked. "In W. Va. be home in another hour" "welcome back"... "going to Bunco?" "can't make it" "Sorry".... It was casual, but we kept in touch.
One text was not casual. Trip had gotten his lung transplant, only it was a surprise to me. The text woke me up early one morning. When Larry is on the road I sleep with my phone near me. I don't hear emails that come in overnight, but the text alert is distinctive. I grabbed the phone and read "Out of surgery. In recovery. all went well." Then I noticed the text I'd slept through, sent 5 hours earlier. "Lung available. going in now." WOW. I texted her back. "I didn't know he'd even been approved!!!" ..."He made the list 9 days ago." Double WOW. Today, as we said farewell it was so special to see Trip standing there, talking, making plans for the future, with no oxygen tank in sight.
Communication methods have changed. Sometimes it seems we have lost the fine art of conversation. But with a friend like this I don't think we have lost anything at all. We keep in touch. It may be small comments, rather than deep discussions, but the connection is there. And I will miss her.
There is a bright spot. For people like us, people who move a lot, there are a few friends that you hold onto. Diane has friends all over the country. Diane will stay on my list of friends, as well. The best part is she will be in Charlotte, NC. I drive through there a couple of times a year on my way to and from Florida. I have one friend in Fayetteville, NC, and one in Hilton Head, SC. I see them each year as I travel south. I now have 3 places to stop and stay on my way through. How lucky is that?
Good friends are rare. John Lennon's song "In My Life" speaks of how people come in and out of our lives. For people like us that move alot, we've had our share of friends. Some stay with you longer than others. I hope Diane is one that hangs around.
Four years ago, Larry was working in the garage when he came in the house and called up to me to come meet someone. It was Diane. She was new to the neighborhood and was taking a walk. As she came to our house she saw Maggie outside. (Maggie has made me more friends than I can count!) She stopped and introduced herself to Larry and then came in to meet me.
We sat at the kitchen table for over an hour and a friendship was born. She finally realized she'd better head home since her husband, Trip, would be wondering where she was. Diane and I quickly discovered we had several things in common. Until recently she had a dog like Maggie, but she was forced to give him up because of her husband's health issues. We were both Empty Nesters. We lived in the same model home, (a 4 bedroom home, but with only 2 adults living there!) We were both Christians. Neither of us had children or grandkids living nearby. Both of us have moved a lot. She has moved 11 times; I have moved 8. We are both pretty independent.
Over the years we became good friends, but I think we became even better neighbors. There wasn't anything we wouldn't do for each other, at the drop of a hat. Give me a ride to the airport? Sure. Let the dog out? Of course. Trip was fighting a respiratory condition that was very serious. Eventually he got a lung transplant, but before that there were situations. One day she called me. She was out of town visiting a daughter. Trip had been suddenly admitted to the hospital the night before. Could I go to the house, pick up some essentials and take them to the hospital? I was glad to help out. Truthfully, when a friend calls you for little things like that, it is a privilege to be asked.
Diane and I were not 'soul mate' type friends. I love to read. She can't sit still long enough to get past page 1. She is in constant motion, working on 5 projects at a time (on a slow day). I have a hard time getting a room painted. Ah, yes. Painting.... There was the time Diane said 'are you STILL painting that room? You've been working on it all week!' Yes, I had been and yes, I still was. I am not the best painter and I couldn't seem to get all the spots adequately covered. Diane dropped what she was doing, showed up, and spent the afternoon finishing the detail work and fixing my mistakes. Room--Done! Diane liked doing things for people. She kept tabs on people who moved into her part of the neighborhood, provided meals for people she found through her church, invited neighbors to a casual dinner.
During the summer the trees in the ravine blocked my view of her house, but from November to May, I had a clear shot. I jokingly referred to my ability to spy on her. My kitchen and family room overlooked her house. "Oh, Trip just pulled in," I'd tell her as we chatted on the phone and I watched a car pull in the drive. "I didn't know you were gone this weekend," I would text her. "Your house is dark." She had a good view of my house, too. But mine was better. (I wonder if she has warned the new owners of their 'nosy neighbor'!)
Diane and I didn't hang out. We texted more than we talked. "In W. Va. be home in another hour" "welcome back"... "going to Bunco?" "can't make it" "Sorry".... It was casual, but we kept in touch.
One text was not casual. Trip had gotten his lung transplant, only it was a surprise to me. The text woke me up early one morning. When Larry is on the road I sleep with my phone near me. I don't hear emails that come in overnight, but the text alert is distinctive. I grabbed the phone and read "Out of surgery. In recovery. all went well." Then I noticed the text I'd slept through, sent 5 hours earlier. "Lung available. going in now." WOW. I texted her back. "I didn't know he'd even been approved!!!" ..."He made the list 9 days ago." Double WOW. Today, as we said farewell it was so special to see Trip standing there, talking, making plans for the future, with no oxygen tank in sight.
Communication methods have changed. Sometimes it seems we have lost the fine art of conversation. But with a friend like this I don't think we have lost anything at all. We keep in touch. It may be small comments, rather than deep discussions, but the connection is there. And I will miss her.
There is a bright spot. For people like us, people who move a lot, there are a few friends that you hold onto. Diane has friends all over the country. Diane will stay on my list of friends, as well. The best part is she will be in Charlotte, NC. I drive through there a couple of times a year on my way to and from Florida. I have one friend in Fayetteville, NC, and one in Hilton Head, SC. I see them each year as I travel south. I now have 3 places to stop and stay on my way through. How lucky is that?
Good friends are rare. John Lennon's song "In My Life" speaks of how people come in and out of our lives. For people like us that move alot, we've had our share of friends. Some stay with you longer than others. I hope Diane is one that hangs around.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Random Thoughts of Halloween
1. Maybe October isn't the best time of year for Halloween. Blizzards, Hurricanes, just plain cold weather. What's the point of dressing up in a great costume if you have to wear a snowsuit over it?
2. My favorite place to celebrate Halloween? Florida. See #1. Hurricanes could be a problem, but snowsuits? Never. Great place for a little princess costume.
3. Jack-o-lanterns. Best place for them? In the North. You can watch them shrink and shrivel into toothless old people after Halloween is over. Not so in Florida where after one night of fun they grow stinky, fast!
4. Remember when you created a costume from old sweaters, bad wigs, or cardboard boxes? Or you bought the cheesy plastic ones at K-Mart? Not anymore. Thanks to Party City or the Internet there is nothing you can't buy! My grandson dressed as a tractor this year. Yep... That's what I said. A tractor. John Deere of course. My daughter found it online. She had planned to make it out of a box, but Costume Express to the rescue!
5. Trunk or Treat--I'm about to upset your candy basket. Just a thought here... trunk or treat is meant as a safe alternative to going door to door in the neighborhood. It is usually done by a community or a church but does anyone get the irony here?
We teach our kids not to take candy from a stranger and not to go up to a stranger's car, and then we take them trick or treating at a stranger's car to get candy. It just seems funny to me.
6. When you get right down to it, Halloween is probably the least safe thing we let kids do (besides play tackle football, but I'm not going there so relax!). First we dress them in costumes that impede their vision and often their movement. At dusk, the hardest time of the day to see pedestrians, we walk up and down the street collecting candy from strangers. We are so concerned by this that we go home and sort through the candy looking for booby-traps and throw out anything suspicious. But...
7. Parents are Involved and that's the key to a happy halloween. Trick or Treat, Trunk or Treat, Candy night at the mall, or a Fall Festival in costume... Having fun with your kids is what Halloween is all about.
8. The Great Pumpkin Trade-off -- A Great Tradition
Last year I witnessed my daughter's family tradition for the first time. After Nicholas went trick or treating he came home with a bag full of candy. Mom and Dad checked it for 'bad stuff' and then Nicholas went through it and sorted out all the candy he didn't like. This candy was left in a bowl for the Great Pumpkin. While Nicholas slept the Great Pumpkin came and took all of his extra unwanted candy to give to boys and girls who needed candy. In return he left Nicholas a small gift. For Nicholas it was a Hot Wheels car, (what else?). What a great way to clear out the junk!
I hope you
A. Had a great halloween
B. Survived Hurricane Sandy/Snowicane Sandy/Tropical Storm Sandy or whatever weather you had to put up with or,
C. Live in Florida where a Halloween costume is always more important than the weather
2. My favorite place to celebrate Halloween? Florida. See #1. Hurricanes could be a problem, but snowsuits? Never. Great place for a little princess costume.
3. Jack-o-lanterns. Best place for them? In the North. You can watch them shrink and shrivel into toothless old people after Halloween is over. Not so in Florida where after one night of fun they grow stinky, fast!
4. Remember when you created a costume from old sweaters, bad wigs, or cardboard boxes? Or you bought the cheesy plastic ones at K-Mart? Not anymore. Thanks to Party City or the Internet there is nothing you can't buy! My grandson dressed as a tractor this year. Yep... That's what I said. A tractor. John Deere of course. My daughter found it online. She had planned to make it out of a box, but Costume Express to the rescue!
5. Trunk or Treat--I'm about to upset your candy basket. Just a thought here... trunk or treat is meant as a safe alternative to going door to door in the neighborhood. It is usually done by a community or a church but does anyone get the irony here?
We teach our kids not to take candy from a stranger and not to go up to a stranger's car, and then we take them trick or treating at a stranger's car to get candy. It just seems funny to me.
6. When you get right down to it, Halloween is probably the least safe thing we let kids do (besides play tackle football, but I'm not going there so relax!). First we dress them in costumes that impede their vision and often their movement. At dusk, the hardest time of the day to see pedestrians, we walk up and down the street collecting candy from strangers. We are so concerned by this that we go home and sort through the candy looking for booby-traps and throw out anything suspicious. But...
7. Parents are Involved and that's the key to a happy halloween. Trick or Treat, Trunk or Treat, Candy night at the mall, or a Fall Festival in costume... Having fun with your kids is what Halloween is all about.
8. The Great Pumpkin Trade-off -- A Great Tradition
Last year I witnessed my daughter's family tradition for the first time. After Nicholas went trick or treating he came home with a bag full of candy. Mom and Dad checked it for 'bad stuff' and then Nicholas went through it and sorted out all the candy he didn't like. This candy was left in a bowl for the Great Pumpkin. While Nicholas slept the Great Pumpkin came and took all of his extra unwanted candy to give to boys and girls who needed candy. In return he left Nicholas a small gift. For Nicholas it was a Hot Wheels car, (what else?). What a great way to clear out the junk!
I hope you
A. Had a great halloween
B. Survived Hurricane Sandy/Snowicane Sandy/Tropical Storm Sandy or whatever weather you had to put up with or,
C. Live in Florida where a Halloween costume is always more important than the weather
Saturday, October 27, 2012
An Articulated Quad-Track
I am now in phase 2 of a marathon fall pilgrimage. Usually I visit my two daughters and their families at different times, but this year the visits are literally back to back. Maggie and I made the long trek from Florida to Iowa, with a short visit in Atlanta seeing my sister and her husband.
The drive up was lovely and I had 2 days of fall with leaves in their prime and the sun beaming from a blue sky. The temperatures were very mild and the whole trip was delightful. By the time I reached Iowa the trees were bare, so 'pretty fall' is past and late fall is here.
Now I'm getting to catch up with my other 5 year-old grandson and 2 year-old granddaughter. 2 year-olds change so quickly that it is like finding a new child every time I see her. Samantha's chatter is almost undecipherable, but after awhile it is like learning a new language. Even without realizing it you recognize that 'babry duppi' is 'Granberry, thank you', and 'bobe ow' is 'puppy down' ( on the floor) and most importantly that 'I'm full' means 'I'm done' even if it means she is tired of doing puzzles or reading stories.
Warren doesn't change as drastically anymore. He and Nicholas are very different in temperment and interests, but one thing is the same. Nicholas is obsessed with Nascar, but he is learning that housekeeping in Pre-K is fun. Warren is just as obsessed with tractors but puzzles, and drawing pictures are finding their way into his life.
A big change for Warren is the addition of other brands. My John Deere only grandson has added Case/International Harvester (called CaseIH), and New Holland brands to the list of tractors he identifies with equal enthusiasm.
His knowledge and understanding of life on the farm astounds me. He listens with rapt attention to the conversation of the adults and asks them intelligent questions about all sorts of things. The other night we were out and heading home after dark. Spying a pair of large headlights in a field Warren suddenly piped up. "Is that the articulated quad track, Dad?" HUH? I've been around long enough to have learned what a quad-track was, but articulated? New one for me. I kept silent, but the next morning I had to ask Mike what articulated meant. (It bends in the middle. AH!)
"Yes", Dad responded.
"Oh, the CaseIH." Warren said, knowingly. (He spits out the words so rapidly it sounds like KCH.)
"What's over there?" Mike asked pointing to another set of headlights.
"Is it Tom?" (Warren's uncle)
"Yup"
"Oh"
Notice we are looking at headlights and it is dark! ( I will admit, the field Mike was pointing to, was by Tom's house, so that wasn't as ridiculous as it seemed.)
Now I've learned to recognize Sprayers and Planters, Diskers and Combines, Quad-Tracks, Skid-Loaders, Tractors, and Wagons. I can keep up with the CaseIH, John Deere and the New Hollands, but if I have to pick out a CaseIH Articulated Quad-Track by it's headlights, I might as well confess right now.
The Jig is up. I'll never know as much as my 5 year-old grandson.
The drive up was lovely and I had 2 days of fall with leaves in their prime and the sun beaming from a blue sky. The temperatures were very mild and the whole trip was delightful. By the time I reached Iowa the trees were bare, so 'pretty fall' is past and late fall is here.
Now I'm getting to catch up with my other 5 year-old grandson and 2 year-old granddaughter. 2 year-olds change so quickly that it is like finding a new child every time I see her. Samantha's chatter is almost undecipherable, but after awhile it is like learning a new language. Even without realizing it you recognize that 'babry duppi' is 'Granberry, thank you', and 'bobe ow' is 'puppy down' ( on the floor) and most importantly that 'I'm full' means 'I'm done' even if it means she is tired of doing puzzles or reading stories.
Warren doesn't change as drastically anymore. He and Nicholas are very different in temperment and interests, but one thing is the same. Nicholas is obsessed with Nascar, but he is learning that housekeeping in Pre-K is fun. Warren is just as obsessed with tractors but puzzles, and drawing pictures are finding their way into his life.
A big change for Warren is the addition of other brands. My John Deere only grandson has added Case/International Harvester (called CaseIH), and New Holland brands to the list of tractors he identifies with equal enthusiasm.
His knowledge and understanding of life on the farm astounds me. He listens with rapt attention to the conversation of the adults and asks them intelligent questions about all sorts of things. The other night we were out and heading home after dark. Spying a pair of large headlights in a field Warren suddenly piped up. "Is that the articulated quad track, Dad?" HUH? I've been around long enough to have learned what a quad-track was, but articulated? New one for me. I kept silent, but the next morning I had to ask Mike what articulated meant. (It bends in the middle. AH!)
 |
| CaseIH Articulated Quad-Track Tractor |
"Yes", Dad responded.
"Oh, the CaseIH." Warren said, knowingly. (He spits out the words so rapidly it sounds like KCH.)
"What's over there?" Mike asked pointing to another set of headlights.
"Is it Tom?" (Warren's uncle)
"Yup"
"Oh"
Notice we are looking at headlights and it is dark! ( I will admit, the field Mike was pointing to, was by Tom's house, so that wasn't as ridiculous as it seemed.)
Now I've learned to recognize Sprayers and Planters, Diskers and Combines, Quad-Tracks, Skid-Loaders, Tractors, and Wagons. I can keep up with the CaseIH, John Deere and the New Hollands, but if I have to pick out a CaseIH Articulated Quad-Track by it's headlights, I might as well confess right now.
The Jig is up. I'll never know as much as my 5 year-old grandson.
Thursday, October 18, 2012
Baby Watching
I'm having fun. I am baby watching. On the weekends, I get to play with Nicholas, but during the week he is in school all afternoon. We didn't really want to disrupt his schedule that much, so he stays at his other grandma's house in the morning and she gets him to school. I stay home with Zachary.
What I've learned in the week I've been here.
1. Zach is strong. He's been crawling for 2 months. Now, at 7 1/2 months he is standing and letting go. He loves to do this. He will go from sitting or squatting to standing and repeat it several times.
2. Zach is fearless. Big dogs and vacuum cleaners are things to follow after and grab ahold of.
3. Maggie loves babies. I didn't really realize that before. I knew she was good with them, but she seems very happy to be here and she rarely moves away from the baby.
4. Zachary is a chatter-box but he speaks mostly cave-man: "uh, uh, uh, HUH, AHH, uh, uh"
5. Zachary ADORES his big brother.
There's a story that goes along with that.
When Nicholas comes home in the afternoon, Zachary lights up. Nicholas plays pretty well with him most of the time. When they play together, Zach's normally happy face becomes a huge grin, and the laughs and shrieks follow.
Sometimes Nicholas likes to play with his race cars and at those times, he doesn't want Zachary around. The other night I was feeding Zachary while Nicholas was racing. Nicholas is full of sound affects. His car sounds can be quite real. EEEYYOWW echoed into the kitchen as the cars went around the track.
Zachary couldn't see him from his chair. I kept trying to spoon cereal into his little mouth, but I was having trouble. There was 'The Moving Target' to deal with as Zach kept rocking back and forth in his chair. He was also busy making his caveman sounds. mmMMMmmm, mmMMMmm, mmMMMmm... As I watched, I caught on. He was imitating Nicholas with his race car sounds.
I moved the high chair to the doorway where he could see his brother. The rocking slowed. As I moved a spoon into view, the mouth popped open. It worked for a few minutes at least. Then a big grin covered his face and he gave a happy shriek....splattering cereal all over. Which brings me to...
6. The other thing I've learned...feeding babies is still a messy business.
What I've learned in the week I've been here.
1. Zach is strong. He's been crawling for 2 months. Now, at 7 1/2 months he is standing and letting go. He loves to do this. He will go from sitting or squatting to standing and repeat it several times.
2. Zach is fearless. Big dogs and vacuum cleaners are things to follow after and grab ahold of.
3. Maggie loves babies. I didn't really realize that before. I knew she was good with them, but she seems very happy to be here and she rarely moves away from the baby.
4. Zachary is a chatter-box but he speaks mostly cave-man: "uh, uh, uh, HUH, AHH, uh, uh"
5. Zachary ADORES his big brother.
There's a story that goes along with that.
When Nicholas comes home in the afternoon, Zachary lights up. Nicholas plays pretty well with him most of the time. When they play together, Zach's normally happy face becomes a huge grin, and the laughs and shrieks follow.
Sometimes Nicholas likes to play with his race cars and at those times, he doesn't want Zachary around. The other night I was feeding Zachary while Nicholas was racing. Nicholas is full of sound affects. His car sounds can be quite real. EEEYYOWW echoed into the kitchen as the cars went around the track.
Zachary couldn't see him from his chair. I kept trying to spoon cereal into his little mouth, but I was having trouble. There was 'The Moving Target' to deal with as Zach kept rocking back and forth in his chair. He was also busy making his caveman sounds. mmMMMmmm, mmMMMmm, mmMMMmm... As I watched, I caught on. He was imitating Nicholas with his race car sounds.
I moved the high chair to the doorway where he could see his brother. The rocking slowed. As I moved a spoon into view, the mouth popped open. It worked for a few minutes at least. Then a big grin covered his face and he gave a happy shriek....splattering cereal all over. Which brings me to...
6. The other thing I've learned...feeding babies is still a messy business.
Monday, October 15, 2012
Heroes
A good pediatrician, an excellant nurse, and a fireman. What could they have in common? They are the ones that can make a 'bad' day an awesome one. They are the stuff of little boys' heroes!
It was time for Nicholas 5 year-old checkup. Checkups are easy. It's those darn vaccinations, boosters and flu shots that make kids want to grab hold of their mother's skirts and beg for protection. Zach was also getting a flu shot, so I went with Jen and Nicholas to the doctor's office.
I remember getting shots as a kid. They hurt! A pinch, a sting, an ache and it's all over. But who wants a pinch and a sting?? No kid I know! I think times have changed. The last flu shots I've had have been incredibly---painless! Truly painless! Smaller needles? Good nurses? Who knows and who cares? As long as it doesn't hurt I'm good!
Well, when it came time for the flu shot, Nicholas sat bravely on the table and stared at his mom while the nurse gave him the shot. Not a flinch. Not a blink. I think his felt like mine. Painless. Smaller needle? Good nurse? I don't know. Maybe both. Who cares? As long as it ends without screams it's all good.
Then it was Zach's turn. He's just a baby. No way you'll give him a shot without a cry, even a brief one. Andrea, the nurse got the injection ready. Jen shielded Zach from seeing what was happening. Nicholas made funny faces and googly eyes to distract him. Andrea gave him the shot. Not a flinch! Not a blink! Zach never knew what happened. Andrea proudly told them, "I told you. I'm good!" I don't know what the secret is, but I'm all for it. They are heroes to me. And if my grandkids knew how it used to be, they'd be heroes to them, too.
Jen had a few questions for the doctor so we left the room so she could talk privately. She was his last appointment which was great. He took the time with her and gave her the attention she needed. Advice, assurance, validation about her concerns. Any mentor or advisor who listens to your concerns is a hero, be they teacher, counselor, doctor, or nurse. They serve not only the person they are helping but everyone that person interacts with.
As we left the doctor's office a chance treat was waiting for us. Just outside the door was a fire engine. Several firemen (not in full dress-out garb which is a good thing because it means no fire is actually present) were clustered together talking. Jen smiled as we passed them and said, "Hey guys! So nice of you to stop by. My son just loves fire engines!" (For those of you who haven't tried this, take heed! Firemen love the hero worship of kids!) They looked at Nicholas and asked him if he'd like to see the truck. "Sure!" he said.
We walked him over to the truck and the guys lifted him up so he could climb in. (I'm not sure I could have made that first step into the truck. It was a big one!) Nicholas climbed up, checked out the seat and put the seat harness on. Two men exchanged glances, nodded to each other and then looked at Jen. "Where is your car? We'll drive him over."
"Really?"
"Sure. It's ok. You can trust us."
(I'm sorry. How can you say that with a straight face. They are firemen for pete's sake! In a fire engine! Like they are potential kidnappers? )
So, after bravely getting his flu shot without flinching, Nicholas got a ride in a fire engine. And when he got out, he had a badge on his shirt. And a big grin on his face. And I didn't have a camera.
As the truck drove away I asked him, "Did you see the number on the truck?"
"No," he answered. Then he looked up.
"FOURTEEN!" he said as it pulled away.
"Yup,"
You have to be a NASCAR fan to understand that one. Nicholas is a fan that comes from a family of fans. Nicholas can tell you most of the drivers, car numbers and sponsors from both the Nationwide and Sprint Cup teams. And he's only 5. ( If you aren't a nascar fan, Nationwide is like the Arena Football league and Sprint Cup would be the NFL)
14? Means Tony Stewart, (Office Depot) in the Sprint Cup. And Tony was his dad's favorite driver. What other number would you expect on the Fire Engine that gave him a ride? None other.
A great way to end a heroic afternoon.
It was time for Nicholas 5 year-old checkup. Checkups are easy. It's those darn vaccinations, boosters and flu shots that make kids want to grab hold of their mother's skirts and beg for protection. Zach was also getting a flu shot, so I went with Jen and Nicholas to the doctor's office.
I remember getting shots as a kid. They hurt! A pinch, a sting, an ache and it's all over. But who wants a pinch and a sting?? No kid I know! I think times have changed. The last flu shots I've had have been incredibly---painless! Truly painless! Smaller needles? Good nurses? Who knows and who cares? As long as it doesn't hurt I'm good!
Well, when it came time for the flu shot, Nicholas sat bravely on the table and stared at his mom while the nurse gave him the shot. Not a flinch. Not a blink. I think his felt like mine. Painless. Smaller needle? Good nurse? I don't know. Maybe both. Who cares? As long as it ends without screams it's all good.
Then it was Zach's turn. He's just a baby. No way you'll give him a shot without a cry, even a brief one. Andrea, the nurse got the injection ready. Jen shielded Zach from seeing what was happening. Nicholas made funny faces and googly eyes to distract him. Andrea gave him the shot. Not a flinch! Not a blink! Zach never knew what happened. Andrea proudly told them, "I told you. I'm good!" I don't know what the secret is, but I'm all for it. They are heroes to me. And if my grandkids knew how it used to be, they'd be heroes to them, too.
Jen had a few questions for the doctor so we left the room so she could talk privately. She was his last appointment which was great. He took the time with her and gave her the attention she needed. Advice, assurance, validation about her concerns. Any mentor or advisor who listens to your concerns is a hero, be they teacher, counselor, doctor, or nurse. They serve not only the person they are helping but everyone that person interacts with.
As we left the doctor's office a chance treat was waiting for us. Just outside the door was a fire engine. Several firemen (not in full dress-out garb which is a good thing because it means no fire is actually present) were clustered together talking. Jen smiled as we passed them and said, "Hey guys! So nice of you to stop by. My son just loves fire engines!" (For those of you who haven't tried this, take heed! Firemen love the hero worship of kids!) They looked at Nicholas and asked him if he'd like to see the truck. "Sure!" he said.
We walked him over to the truck and the guys lifted him up so he could climb in. (I'm not sure I could have made that first step into the truck. It was a big one!) Nicholas climbed up, checked out the seat and put the seat harness on. Two men exchanged glances, nodded to each other and then looked at Jen. "Where is your car? We'll drive him over."
"Really?"
"Sure. It's ok. You can trust us."
(I'm sorry. How can you say that with a straight face. They are firemen for pete's sake! In a fire engine! Like they are potential kidnappers? )
So, after bravely getting his flu shot without flinching, Nicholas got a ride in a fire engine. And when he got out, he had a badge on his shirt. And a big grin on his face. And I didn't have a camera.
As the truck drove away I asked him, "Did you see the number on the truck?"
"No," he answered. Then he looked up.
"FOURTEEN!" he said as it pulled away.
"Yup,"
You have to be a NASCAR fan to understand that one. Nicholas is a fan that comes from a family of fans. Nicholas can tell you most of the drivers, car numbers and sponsors from both the Nationwide and Sprint Cup teams. And he's only 5. ( If you aren't a nascar fan, Nationwide is like the Arena Football league and Sprint Cup would be the NFL)
14? Means Tony Stewart, (Office Depot) in the Sprint Cup. And Tony was his dad's favorite driver. What other number would you expect on the Fire Engine that gave him a ride? None other.
A great way to end a heroic afternoon.
Monday, October 8, 2012
Summer's End
I can't believe how fast September flew by. This year, summer seemed to take its time and I enjoyed its leisurely pace. (To those of you with children, the concept of a leisurely summer is foreign, I know. But to Empty Nesters, it can happen, although it is still rare.) Suddenly October is here and I'm remembering the beginning of June with a sense of nostalgia.
We welcomed summer with a trip to Niagara Falls, a visit to my sister and brother-in-law in Canada and a visit with friends in upstate New York. I realize now, I never shared it because there was so much else going on then. As I was looking back at pictures, I decided the way to greet the end of summer was to remember the beginning of it and reminisce about a wonderful week.
Our trip began with an overnight stay in Niagara Falls. We had a beautiful room overlooking the Falls which we really appreciated that night. After settling into our room, we drove down and parked where we could walk along the river.
No sooner did we pay to park the car, and walk down towards the road, than a heavy rain set in. For the next 45 minutes we huddled in a bus stop with the rain pouring down, while our car was less than a block away.
The rain finally stopped, but it was too late to do any of the tours, so we returned to our room. (I'm glad to say this was not our first trip to Niagara Falls, so the rain dampened our trip, but it didn't ruin it.) The night view of the falls from our room, with the light show and fireworks over the falls, was beautiful.
Visiting my sister and brother-in-law was a treat. We don't get up there very often, and it was wonderful to spend a couple of days on their rustic farm in Tweed, Ontario. My daughters consider Tweed one of their favorite places to go, even though we have been there so few times.
Early in their marriage, Mary and Joseph spent 2 years in Guatemala as members of AFSC (American Friends Service Committee). They lived in a tiny mountain village working with the villagers and showing them ways to improve hygiene, farming, etc. They went back recently, for the first time, and met many people who remembered them from those days. The quilt on the bed in this picture was from that trip.
While we were there we took a boat tour on the St. Lawrence River. Joseph hadn't been feeling well, so he stayed behind, but Mary, Larry and I went. It was a gorgeous day as you can see.
Being early June the sun was warm but the air was cool. We were bundled up pretty well for much of the trip, but we opted for the top deck in the fresh air instead of the enclosed lower deck.
The St. Lawrence is an amazing river and we traveled into the beginning of the 1,000 Islands region. The houses along the river are always fun to see. Some people own entire islands. It makes me wonder what life would be like living on an island, and needing a boat just to buy milk. I think they would be better organized than I am!
After seeing Mary and Joseph, we headed down to New York, just across the 1,000 Island bridge to visit friends of ours that spend their summers on Black Lake. It is a perfect get-away. No phone, no Internet, little cell service. Instead all they have to spend their summers doing is boating, fishing, kayaking, enjoying the view of the water, wine in hand, reading on the dock, hanging by the campfire ...
A day trip to Ottawa, hot dogs over a campfire, kayaking in the lake, (note the crackers and bottle of wine in the cup holder---we do know how to relax!)... we had a wonderful time.
October is here. Looking back it doesn't seem very long ago that summer was just beginning. (I hope winter moves that fast...hee hee!)
We welcomed summer with a trip to Niagara Falls, a visit to my sister and brother-in-law in Canada and a visit with friends in upstate New York. I realize now, I never shared it because there was so much else going on then. As I was looking back at pictures, I decided the way to greet the end of summer was to remember the beginning of it and reminisce about a wonderful week.
Our trip began with an overnight stay in Niagara Falls. We had a beautiful room overlooking the Falls which we really appreciated that night. After settling into our room, we drove down and parked where we could walk along the river.
 |
| Our view from the safety of the bus shelter |
The rain finally stopped, but it was too late to do any of the tours, so we returned to our room. (I'm glad to say this was not our first trip to Niagara Falls, so the rain dampened our trip, but it didn't ruin it.) The night view of the falls from our room, with the light show and fireworks over the falls, was beautiful.
 |
| View of the Falls from our room |
Visiting my sister and brother-in-law was a treat. We don't get up there very often, and it was wonderful to spend a couple of days on their rustic farm in Tweed, Ontario. My daughters consider Tweed one of their favorite places to go, even though we have been there so few times.
They live in an old farmhouse surrounded by fields, and woods. In good weather meals are always held on the porch overlooking the fields.
It is as peaceful as you can get (hence the 'favorite destination' label). The deer provide a constant source of pleasure and consternation as they are very comfortable coming close to the house, and enjoy the fruits of Mary's labor in the vegetable garden...which provides most of their food in the winter!
View from the porch
Early in their marriage, Mary and Joseph spent 2 years in Guatemala as members of AFSC (American Friends Service Committee). They lived in a tiny mountain village working with the villagers and showing them ways to improve hygiene, farming, etc. They went back recently, for the first time, and met many people who remembered them from those days. The quilt on the bed in this picture was from that trip.
 |
| Country bedroom, Quilt handmade in Guatemala |
 |
| I love this stain glass hanging in the kitchen window. |
While we were there we took a boat tour on the St. Lawrence River. Joseph hadn't been feeling well, so he stayed behind, but Mary, Larry and I went. It was a gorgeous day as you can see.
Being early June the sun was warm but the air was cool. We were bundled up pretty well for much of the trip, but we opted for the top deck in the fresh air instead of the enclosed lower deck.
The St. Lawrence is an amazing river and we traveled into the beginning of the 1,000 Islands region. The houses along the river are always fun to see. Some people own entire islands. It makes me wonder what life would be like living on an island, and needing a boat just to buy milk. I think they would be better organized than I am!
After seeing Mary and Joseph, we headed down to New York, just across the 1,000 Island bridge to visit friends of ours that spend their summers on Black Lake. It is a perfect get-away. No phone, no Internet, little cell service. Instead all they have to spend their summers doing is boating, fishing, kayaking, enjoying the view of the water, wine in hand, reading on the dock, hanging by the campfire ...
October is here. Looking back it doesn't seem very long ago that summer was just beginning. (I hope winter moves that fast...hee hee!)
Thursday, September 20, 2012
My Accidental Garden
Here in Pennsylvania it's been a little different, but as I've related before, gardens and planning are two words that don't really work well for me. Most of my landscaping was not the original plan I had in mind, but consists of the 'substitutions' the landscaper assured me would work better. He was right. I am very happy with his choices!
At the edge of our yard is a ravine that was partially created by the developer. It is steep and was bare when we moved in. Now it is covered with wildflowers and renegade trees. I wanted to create a barrier garden to separate the 'weeds' from the grass. I marked off the garden, killed the grass, and covered it with mulch. I planted a few daylilies with plans to divide and plant more in other areas. I transplanted some cone flowers and Queen Anne's Lace from a neighbor's yard. One day I saw some zinnia seedlings and thought they might be a pretty addition. Before I had a chance to plant them I discovered something was eating my plants. The cone flowers were nubs cut off at ground level. The Queen Anne's lace wasn't much better.
Hmmm. Not a good place to plant tender zinnias. I decided to plant them around the corner of our patio. I've never had zinnias before so I wasn't sure what to expect.
They liked the location. And I love zinnias! ( Ah yes. You will notice a morning glory also was planted there. Probably not a smart move since I routinely have to rescue one of my zinnia plants from the sneaky, or should I say snaky, tendrils of the morning glory. But we are all working it out. Live and learn!)
It has become a peaceful refuge for us. Maggie lays in the grass, soaking up the sun. I enjoy the birds, the water, and the summer colors that linger into fall.
And the zinnias? They'll be back next year! My favorite accident.
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
A Little Apple Tree Grows Up
http://viewfromanemptynest-connie.blogspot.com/2011/04/little-apple-tree-true-story-with-happy.html
After a difficult beginning, we kept the tree on the deck in the summer, out of harm's way, and for the last 2 winters it has stayed in the garage. (It is getting so big Larry needs to trim it so it fits inside.)
Every spring we wait for the blossoms. This year we were rewarded with lots of pretty little pink flowers. Some of those blossoms turned into apples. There were several baby apples that turned brown and withered before getting big.
However, one grew. We watched it every day as it went from a tiny green apple to a larger green apple.
A month ago it really began to turn red. Where it sat high on our deck I could see a spot of bright red from whereever I was in the yard.
Today, we harvested the little apple.
I cut it open. It was tart, but not sour, and I ate it!
Thursday, September 6, 2012
3 Old Dogs
We had a party last weekend; our "2nd Annual Labor Day Party". There was great food, lots of people, plenty of kids, one old dog, an array of beverages for all ages and types, and of course.... crummy weather.
Isaac had been making his way up through the heartland and had finally turned east. We watched the weather closely to see how we would be affected. Saturday morning the weather man optimistically assured us the rain would arrive late. Saturday should be OK, except for the occasional shower, but Sunday and Monday could be pretty wet. We set up an awning for people to sit under in case of a shower, or to keep off the sun. We cleaned the patio. We packed coolers with ice, water, and sodas so the kids would stay out of the refrigerator. We packed the refrigerator with beer. Lots of beer. Several kinds of beer. And Wine. (gotta have the wine.)
At 2:30 the first 'shower' arrived. Not to worry, I thought. As long as it is out of here by 5:00. At 4:30 the thunder began. At 4:45 the heavens opened. At 5:00 the rain paused and people began arriving. The coolers were placed in the basement Man Cave/party room. At 5:05 the heavens once again opened all its doors. A few neighbors had not shown up yet.
One texted "Is there a rain date?"
"NOPE, we're all in the basement. Just wait until it slows enough that you can see our house, and run on over."
The kids played. They played Tag. They played Hide and Seek. They played Squeal and Shout. They were having a wonderful time.
The adults talked, and mingled, and drank, and nibbled. They drank some more. We moved from appetizers to the main course. They ate, and talked and mingled, and refilled glasses. The kids continued to play the Squeal and Shriek game.
The old dog paced, went from child to child in search of food, and adult to adult in search of love.
The rain cleared and we sent them out to play. They saw lightning and came back in. One parent's eyes crossed as she mumbled to her friend, "oh go out and play anyway. it won't hurt you..."
The lightning moved on. The adults moved outside, and wiped off benches and seats and sat in the muggy, dark, quiet, cool of the night.
The next morning we woke up. I remained in bed in a groggy half sleep as Larry got his shower. He dropped something making a clatter and I jumped, (in my sleep). The dog slept on.
We went to breakfast at a local, popular tiny restaurant that is always packed. It is the kind of place 'where everybody knows your name'. After waiting for a table we took the one nearest the door. Shouts of welcome greeted newcomers from people already eating. It truly is a local haunt. Our eyes glazed over. The din was relentless. If we were hungover, we would have deserved the pain. But we weren't. We simply have Old Ears. Ears that are far removed from the normal noise of a household of kids. Ears that have adjusted to the Empty Nest. Ears that no longer bend and flex to the varying sound waves the way they did when we were 20.
Breakfast over we went back to our quiet home. No TV. No radio. No noise. We moved slowly through the day.
Oh yes... Sunday and Monday they were still predicting 60% chance of rain, but alas, the skies were overcast, but dry. Perfect for a picnic.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Silver Sneakers and Golden Girls
I've developed a problem with my feet. My feet are not my
strongest feature. For years I've worn orthotics in my sneakers. I never wear
truly flat shoes (like the ones in vogue right now... with all the support of a
ballet slipper). I rarely wear sandals, and only for a few hours at a time, like
to church or out to dinner. And those heels every one wears on TV. Really? No
way. I have flat feet and they tire easily when I am on them for hours at a
time. All that being said....
This summer I have added a new problem. I don't know if it is because I am working out more, but the toes next to my big toe have learned how to scream when I've exercised a lot. For years, yoga was not a problem. Suddenly, this summer, after a yoga class I would find I couldn't do my traditional 2 mile walk around the township building. Then one day after an aquatics work out, they said the same thing.... YOOWWWW!
I imagined turf toe. I suspected arthritis. I hoped for a bandaid or toe pad that would make it feel better. What I got was the diagnosis of a 'neuroma', and a cortisone shot. The pain in my toes diminished, but the bruise from the cortisone stayed for days. In a way the good news was that the doctor didn't tell me I had to cut back and stay off my feet. I've worked hard this summer. I don't feel like losing the gain.
But the doctor also said there wasn't too much that could be done. The cortisone was the first step. The verdict is still out as to how much relief it will bring, but it has put a definite crimp in my workouts. Hopefully it will take care of the problem and I can get back to normal.
The rules are simple. Shoes feel best. Slippers even work. Barefeet (Yoga) bring on the pain. Although the doctor didn't feel as if I needed to take it easy on my feet, common sense says cutting back can't hurt, (no pun intended).
I hate getting old. A few years ago I started walking and exercising hard, pelvic tilts were my new focus. I ended up with shooting pains in my butt and down my legs. It felt like electric shock! Fortunately it was short lived. After 2 weeks it stopped. But so had my walking workouts.
Bad ankles, worn out knees, arthritic hips, sore feet. It's a wonder any of us over 50 can get out of bed in the morning, let alone get into an exercise maintenance program. If this keeps up, I'm going to have to head over to the Senior Center and join the Silver Sneakers gals. I'm not ready for that. I may have a lot in common with the Golden Girls, but in my heart I just see the GIRL part.
Until I get up and walk.
Humph!
This summer I have added a new problem. I don't know if it is because I am working out more, but the toes next to my big toe have learned how to scream when I've exercised a lot. For years, yoga was not a problem. Suddenly, this summer, after a yoga class I would find I couldn't do my traditional 2 mile walk around the township building. Then one day after an aquatics work out, they said the same thing.... YOOWWWW!
I imagined turf toe. I suspected arthritis. I hoped for a bandaid or toe pad that would make it feel better. What I got was the diagnosis of a 'neuroma', and a cortisone shot. The pain in my toes diminished, but the bruise from the cortisone stayed for days. In a way the good news was that the doctor didn't tell me I had to cut back and stay off my feet. I've worked hard this summer. I don't feel like losing the gain.
But the doctor also said there wasn't too much that could be done. The cortisone was the first step. The verdict is still out as to how much relief it will bring, but it has put a definite crimp in my workouts. Hopefully it will take care of the problem and I can get back to normal.
The rules are simple. Shoes feel best. Slippers even work. Barefeet (Yoga) bring on the pain. Although the doctor didn't feel as if I needed to take it easy on my feet, common sense says cutting back can't hurt, (no pun intended).
I hate getting old. A few years ago I started walking and exercising hard, pelvic tilts were my new focus. I ended up with shooting pains in my butt and down my legs. It felt like electric shock! Fortunately it was short lived. After 2 weeks it stopped. But so had my walking workouts.
Bad ankles, worn out knees, arthritic hips, sore feet. It's a wonder any of us over 50 can get out of bed in the morning, let alone get into an exercise maintenance program. If this keeps up, I'm going to have to head over to the Senior Center and join the Silver Sneakers gals. I'm not ready for that. I may have a lot in common with the Golden Girls, but in my heart I just see the GIRL part.
Until I get up and walk.
Humph!
Saturday, August 18, 2012
A Perfect Day Ends with Food for the gods
A perfect day. How do you describe it? I find there are many kinds of perfect days. Sometimes it is a rainy day with a book. Other times it is time spent building a snowman with a grandchild and then admiring it over a cup of hot cocoa. And then there are days like today. A summer day with few "must do's" on my list.
Today dawned beautifully. Clear, cool, sunny, gorgeous. A perfect day. By noon I had eaten breakfast, showered, cleaned the shower, vacuumed half the house, read a couple of meaningful scriptures, had lunch and was ready for a manicure. Now that's a way to start off an afternoon!
It was truly a gorgeous day so after my manicure I treated myself by sitting on the patio watching the robins feed their babies and reading. After all, I couldn't mess up that manicure by doing yard work, now, could I?
And then it was dinner time.
On weekends, Larry is the grill chef. Sometimes I prepare something for him to grill but at least 2 weekends a month it is steak and corn on the cob.
When I was growing up my dad used to love to build a fire and cook chicken and roast corn in the coals. It was without a doubt my favorite summer meal. He cooked the best chicken. Slightly charred, juicy, never overcooked. Just the right amount of salt and pepper. Why anyone thought they had to do the southern style of buttermilk soaked, breaded, fried chicken I could never understand. It is still the very best way to cook chicken in my book. I drool just thinking about it.
Larry doesn't like the careful monitoring of chicken although he cooks it just as well as my dad did. He is a red meat man. And can he cook a steak! Oh, wow! I rarely buy one when we are out. His is just as good, and often, better.
But corn roasted in the husk on a grill, or in the coals is magnificent. As a child I was blessed with the experience of fresh corn. A favorite childhood memory is stopping at a farm stand and asking for a dozen ears of corn, which was then obligingly cut in the fields and sold to us. Fresh corn! There is nothing as sweet. Within a couple of hours it was steaming on the table. Butter dripping off the corn and running down my elbows, a bit of salt. It was like sugar on stick!
The best part of summer in Pennsylvania is the abundance of farm stands selling corn cut just that morning.
So tonight, after spending a perfect day, (chores...done, manicure...pleasure, reading outside on the patio...delight) I had dinner fit for the gods.
Steak perfectly seasoned and cooked, fresh corn on the cob and a glass of merlot to wash it down. I am still floating in a mellow mood and feeling like I have experienced heaven on earth.
It is days like this that remind me what true riches and blessings are.
Today dawned beautifully. Clear, cool, sunny, gorgeous. A perfect day. By noon I had eaten breakfast, showered, cleaned the shower, vacuumed half the house, read a couple of meaningful scriptures, had lunch and was ready for a manicure. Now that's a way to start off an afternoon!
It was truly a gorgeous day so after my manicure I treated myself by sitting on the patio watching the robins feed their babies and reading. After all, I couldn't mess up that manicure by doing yard work, now, could I?
And then it was dinner time.
On weekends, Larry is the grill chef. Sometimes I prepare something for him to grill but at least 2 weekends a month it is steak and corn on the cob.
When I was growing up my dad used to love to build a fire and cook chicken and roast corn in the coals. It was without a doubt my favorite summer meal. He cooked the best chicken. Slightly charred, juicy, never overcooked. Just the right amount of salt and pepper. Why anyone thought they had to do the southern style of buttermilk soaked, breaded, fried chicken I could never understand. It is still the very best way to cook chicken in my book. I drool just thinking about it.
Larry doesn't like the careful monitoring of chicken although he cooks it just as well as my dad did. He is a red meat man. And can he cook a steak! Oh, wow! I rarely buy one when we are out. His is just as good, and often, better.
But corn roasted in the husk on a grill, or in the coals is magnificent. As a child I was blessed with the experience of fresh corn. A favorite childhood memory is stopping at a farm stand and asking for a dozen ears of corn, which was then obligingly cut in the fields and sold to us. Fresh corn! There is nothing as sweet. Within a couple of hours it was steaming on the table. Butter dripping off the corn and running down my elbows, a bit of salt. It was like sugar on stick!
The best part of summer in Pennsylvania is the abundance of farm stands selling corn cut just that morning.
So tonight, after spending a perfect day, (chores...done, manicure...pleasure, reading outside on the patio...delight) I had dinner fit for the gods.
Steak perfectly seasoned and cooked, fresh corn on the cob and a glass of merlot to wash it down. I am still floating in a mellow mood and feeling like I have experienced heaven on earth.
It is days like this that remind me what true riches and blessings are.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Center for Hope Gives Me a Warm Glow
When we moved here I wanted to get involved in something that would help people, but because I traveled a lot, I was hesitant to volunteer anywhere on a regular schedule. A few years ago I learned about a program that impressed me so much I wanted to be a part of it. The Center for Hope is a non-denominational Christian based community center that provides educational programs for adults, after school kids programs, utilities and housing assistance, clothing and a food pantry that distributes food 2 days a month to families that qualify through the state. And that is just for starts. Sue Otto, the director, has a motto: A hand up, not just a hand out. And that's her criteria for adding programs.
I like volunteering at the food pantry that distributes food 2 days a month. I usually help one day. The people are a mix of old, young with children, healthy, infirm, smart, or educably handicapped. Many (not all, there are a few gnarly apples in every bushel) are very appreciative and happy to be there.
This week was my pantry week and a group from my church went with me, but one day last winter really stands out in my mind. We had taken a new volunteer with us. As Sue Otto, the director, started handing out assignments, she asked the newcomer if she 'had the gift of mercy'. This is actually a trick question, which most of us knew. If you have the gift of mercy it means you will probably find it difficult to say no to a client who wants something they aren't allowed to have. For instance, occasionally we have a few bottles of syrup and boxes of pancake mix. On those days, in the Breakfast section, everyone will get cereal, but only the large families will get an extra apportionment of pancake mix and syrup. A single person will occasionally fuss and ask for it. It is difficult telling them no and making them move on. Sue knows this so if she feels it will be hard for you, she will give you a task that removes you from this situation.
Center for Hope receives it's food from the State. Food is allocated to families based on the old Supply vs. Demand principle. State allocations must be followed to the letter or the pantry will lose it's license. Sometimes it is hard, but volunteers must follow the rules.
Sue also receives a lot of items from local collection groups: churches, school clubs, scouts. For instance, our church collects toiletries and pet food that we send there. Grocery stores give them surplus items. She has more leeway over how those items are distributed. They are put on shelves or in bins in what I call the "Free Select" section. Families of 1 may get 1 item from each section, while familes of 5 may choose 2 or 3 (supply vs. demand, again). Understanding these details will help you understand the predicament I was presented with one day.
A tall, clean, but shabbily dressed man came in for his food. I've seen him there before, but never worked with him. As he went through the pantry he was very selective about what he needed. The cans of meat were welcomed, but he had plenty of pasta. He wouldn't take any of that. Then came the Free Select section. The first shelf had everything from a couple of boxes of pancake mix, syrup, soups, cake mixes, oatmeal packets... My client looked the shelves over and was delighted to see a box of salt! "Oh," he said. "Salt! No pepper? Oh well, I could use salt!" (Do you know how inexpensive salt really is?) We went on. The next Free Select section was a bin of candy. "No, I don't need no candy, " he said. Then we came to the toiletries. He was a single person so he was only allowed 1 item. "Oh man, soap! I could use me some soap," he said. He looked through the bin until he spied the toothbrushes. "A toothbrush? I really need a toothbrush."
It was my turn. Time to push that 'gift of mercy' to the back. "I'm sorry. Only one item. You have to choose."
It was hard to do. The problem is, the were only a few toothbrushes, and several bars of soap. But there were many more families who would be coming through. As Sue reminds us, we have to be sure there are things left for the last family, too.
It was a tough choice. "I really need the soap. I could use a new toothbrush, too." He looked at me, took the toothbrush and acted like he was going to slide it in his sleeve. "I could hide it in here, couldn't I?" he asked. My heart sank. I looked at him and gently removed the toothbrush.
"I can't encourage you to do that," I said. I held the toothbrush in my hand. He kept the soap. We moved on. He finished collecting his order and I turned him over to the baggers. As he left, I tucked the toothbrush into his bag. "I'd like you to have this, too. Have a good day."
He just smiled and nodded his head.
There are times when you have to hold the line. If that toothbrush had been part of the State allocation, I would have kept to the rules. He would have had to choose, and be stuck with his decision. But that toothbrush came from my church. How would the person who bought it felt if they knew someone who really needed it was denied it?
All I know is that tiny flicker of light I usually feel (see my post on Feb. 19) warmed me like a campfire when I went home that night.
I like volunteering at the food pantry that distributes food 2 days a month. I usually help one day. The people are a mix of old, young with children, healthy, infirm, smart, or educably handicapped. Many (not all, there are a few gnarly apples in every bushel) are very appreciative and happy to be there.
This week was my pantry week and a group from my church went with me, but one day last winter really stands out in my mind. We had taken a new volunteer with us. As Sue Otto, the director, started handing out assignments, she asked the newcomer if she 'had the gift of mercy'. This is actually a trick question, which most of us knew. If you have the gift of mercy it means you will probably find it difficult to say no to a client who wants something they aren't allowed to have. For instance, occasionally we have a few bottles of syrup and boxes of pancake mix. On those days, in the Breakfast section, everyone will get cereal, but only the large families will get an extra apportionment of pancake mix and syrup. A single person will occasionally fuss and ask for it. It is difficult telling them no and making them move on. Sue knows this so if she feels it will be hard for you, she will give you a task that removes you from this situation.
Center for Hope receives it's food from the State. Food is allocated to families based on the old Supply vs. Demand principle. State allocations must be followed to the letter or the pantry will lose it's license. Sometimes it is hard, but volunteers must follow the rules.
Sue also receives a lot of items from local collection groups: churches, school clubs, scouts. For instance, our church collects toiletries and pet food that we send there. Grocery stores give them surplus items. She has more leeway over how those items are distributed. They are put on shelves or in bins in what I call the "Free Select" section. Families of 1 may get 1 item from each section, while familes of 5 may choose 2 or 3 (supply vs. demand, again). Understanding these details will help you understand the predicament I was presented with one day.
A tall, clean, but shabbily dressed man came in for his food. I've seen him there before, but never worked with him. As he went through the pantry he was very selective about what he needed. The cans of meat were welcomed, but he had plenty of pasta. He wouldn't take any of that. Then came the Free Select section. The first shelf had everything from a couple of boxes of pancake mix, syrup, soups, cake mixes, oatmeal packets... My client looked the shelves over and was delighted to see a box of salt! "Oh," he said. "Salt! No pepper? Oh well, I could use salt!" (Do you know how inexpensive salt really is?) We went on. The next Free Select section was a bin of candy. "No, I don't need no candy, " he said. Then we came to the toiletries. He was a single person so he was only allowed 1 item. "Oh man, soap! I could use me some soap," he said. He looked through the bin until he spied the toothbrushes. "A toothbrush? I really need a toothbrush."
It was my turn. Time to push that 'gift of mercy' to the back. "I'm sorry. Only one item. You have to choose."
It was hard to do. The problem is, the were only a few toothbrushes, and several bars of soap. But there were many more families who would be coming through. As Sue reminds us, we have to be sure there are things left for the last family, too.
It was a tough choice. "I really need the soap. I could use a new toothbrush, too." He looked at me, took the toothbrush and acted like he was going to slide it in his sleeve. "I could hide it in here, couldn't I?" he asked. My heart sank. I looked at him and gently removed the toothbrush.
"I can't encourage you to do that," I said. I held the toothbrush in my hand. He kept the soap. We moved on. He finished collecting his order and I turned him over to the baggers. As he left, I tucked the toothbrush into his bag. "I'd like you to have this, too. Have a good day."
He just smiled and nodded his head.
There are times when you have to hold the line. If that toothbrush had been part of the State allocation, I would have kept to the rules. He would have had to choose, and be stuck with his decision. But that toothbrush came from my church. How would the person who bought it felt if they knew someone who really needed it was denied it?
All I know is that tiny flicker of light I usually feel (see my post on Feb. 19) warmed me like a campfire when I went home that night.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Realities of an Olympian
I have had a hard time keeping up with my blog this past week. I've been glued to the TV watching the Olympics. If they ever make television watching an event, perhaps I can qualify for a team! I've written and re-written this post several times, but I keep tweaking it as I watch a little more. (I find it interesting that women, who would normally groan when their husbands are glued to the television watching sports and flipping through channels to catch all the games, are quite likely to be doing the same thing when the Olympics are on.) The athletes amaze me. The stories behind them are interesting. I have to say though, I don't think anyone did the background stories better than ABC in the 80's. I learned about people in different countries, saw their villages and towns, and therefore, became involved in the outcome of obscure sports I knew nothing about. This year a few stories really stuck out.
Olympic Athletes run, swim, jump to the beat of a different drummer. They sacrifice normal childhoods. They carry determination and dedication to levels that leave the rest of us breathless.
And then there is another huge part in the life of an Olympic Athlete. The Parents. I watched them in the stands, barely contained in their seats as they encouraged, prayed, and rooted their children on. The bond between the parents and these kids is special. Without their infinite support, many of the athletes would never have made it to London.
The story that touched me the most was Gabby Douglas. Not because she is aptly nicknamed The Flying Squirrel. Not because she has a smile that could end world wars or a perky effervescence that makes you want to grab the person standing next to you and hug them. No, those are nice qualities for a star, but that's not what Gabby's story truly signifies. If the dictionary showed a picture of Sacrifice, Gabby's face should be it. And so should her mother's.
Two years ago Gabby decided that she wanted to go to the Olympics and in order to do that she convinced her mother to let her move to Des Moines, Iowa to train with Shawn Johnson's trainer. The family didn't move. Just Gabby. She was 14. What guts that took. Nerve. Sacrifice. Dedication. Love. I'm talking about her mother.
Gabby moved in with a host family. When asked how many times she has been home in 2 years, she said 'I haven't been home'. Wow. From age 14-16, never went home. I assume her mother has been out to see her at least a few times, but that question wasn't asked, so I don't know. It costs money to travel. And raising an athlete is expensive. All I know is that I don't know if I could make that sacrifice as a mom. How do you let them go? For most of us letting our kids go to summer camp for a week is hard.
As much as the athletes sacrifice, what the families sacrifice is almost beyond comprehension for me. The money. The time. (Any parent of a child athlete knows how much little league can cost in both time and money.) These families are into full time sports training! As a parent it is always a struggle to find a balance between pushing a kid too hard, or holding them back. But the financial sacrifice would stop most of us.
Athletes sacrifice a lot, but their sacrifice is different than their parents. A parent didn't sacrifice for something they loved. They sacrificed for someONE they loved.
I watched Gabby's mother and her host mom as she took gold in the All-around in gymnastics. I'm a weeper. Give me an emotional moment...happy, sad, nostalgic, patriotic...I'll be hugging the box of Kleenex.
I watched them through my tears and I heard myself whisper "You go, Mom! You earned this too."
The athletes may be our heroes, but the parents... well they are in a class by themselves.
Olympic Athletes run, swim, jump to the beat of a different drummer. They sacrifice normal childhoods. They carry determination and dedication to levels that leave the rest of us breathless.
And then there is another huge part in the life of an Olympic Athlete. The Parents. I watched them in the stands, barely contained in their seats as they encouraged, prayed, and rooted their children on. The bond between the parents and these kids is special. Without their infinite support, many of the athletes would never have made it to London.
The story that touched me the most was Gabby Douglas. Not because she is aptly nicknamed The Flying Squirrel. Not because she has a smile that could end world wars or a perky effervescence that makes you want to grab the person standing next to you and hug them. No, those are nice qualities for a star, but that's not what Gabby's story truly signifies. If the dictionary showed a picture of Sacrifice, Gabby's face should be it. And so should her mother's.
Two years ago Gabby decided that she wanted to go to the Olympics and in order to do that she convinced her mother to let her move to Des Moines, Iowa to train with Shawn Johnson's trainer. The family didn't move. Just Gabby. She was 14. What guts that took. Nerve. Sacrifice. Dedication. Love. I'm talking about her mother.
Gabby moved in with a host family. When asked how many times she has been home in 2 years, she said 'I haven't been home'. Wow. From age 14-16, never went home. I assume her mother has been out to see her at least a few times, but that question wasn't asked, so I don't know. It costs money to travel. And raising an athlete is expensive. All I know is that I don't know if I could make that sacrifice as a mom. How do you let them go? For most of us letting our kids go to summer camp for a week is hard.
As much as the athletes sacrifice, what the families sacrifice is almost beyond comprehension for me. The money. The time. (Any parent of a child athlete knows how much little league can cost in both time and money.) These families are into full time sports training! As a parent it is always a struggle to find a balance between pushing a kid too hard, or holding them back. But the financial sacrifice would stop most of us.
Athletes sacrifice a lot, but their sacrifice is different than their parents. A parent didn't sacrifice for something they loved. They sacrificed for someONE they loved.
I watched Gabby's mother and her host mom as she took gold in the All-around in gymnastics. I'm a weeper. Give me an emotional moment...happy, sad, nostalgic, patriotic...I'll be hugging the box of Kleenex.
I watched them through my tears and I heard myself whisper "You go, Mom! You earned this too."
The athletes may be our heroes, but the parents... well they are in a class by themselves.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Daydreams of an Olympic Wannabe
I've been watching the Olympics and I wonder why I couldn't have been like them when I was 16? They are so good, so fit, but really, what sets us apart? I've given it some thought.
Hmm...
Swimming--I love to swim and hang out by the pool. So, why didn't someone pull me aside and say
"Why don't you try out for the Swim Team?"
Tomorrow I will drag myself out of bed at 6:00 am and go to a cardio class at the local pool. UNLESS... it is below 65 degees when I wake up...it is raining...the sun isn't ready to come up...or maybe I just don't feel like it when the alarm goes off. I bet those Olympians have days when they just don't feel like it, too.
Gymnastics--This was my favorite part of PE in school. I loved the balance beam, and I could vault right over that pommel horse! Of course, I don't ever remember being asked to do a back ward flip on the beam, which was just as good. I mean, really, why would someone do a back flip on a 4 inch wide piece of wood, 3 feet off the ground, if they didn't have real eyes in the back of their head? So perhaps, I was missing a secret anatomical part that gymnasts have.
As for the Parallel bars, sure, I remember working out on them. Some moves were really fun, but I wasn't all that impressed with a move called 'traveling'. It meant swinging from one end to the other on my ARMS. OW! They could really get bruised that way. I'm not real big on activities that could get me bruised.
One event really does get me though. It is the men's tumbling on the mats. Have you seen the hand stand they do with the arms spread out at a wide stance? Are they kidding? I'm still working on learning how to do a real push-up, where my nose actually gets within a couple of inches of the mat, instead of a foot away. Oh well... that's the men's gymnastics. I'm a girl! So as long as I can jump 3 feet in the air and do a bunch of twisting and turning and land upright on 2 feet like a cat, I'm good. (Not that I can actually do that, but I'm not 16 and no one asked me to do that when I was, so who knows?)
Yep. When I think about it there really isn't anything separating me from an Olympic athlete except:
Dedication
Determination
Motivation
Physicality
Ability
And the Uneven Parallel Bars.
I don't like heights.
Hmm...
Swimming--I love to swim and hang out by the pool. So, why didn't someone pull me aside and say
"Why don't you try out for the Swim Team?"
Tomorrow I will drag myself out of bed at 6:00 am and go to a cardio class at the local pool. UNLESS... it is below 65 degees when I wake up...it is raining...the sun isn't ready to come up...or maybe I just don't feel like it when the alarm goes off. I bet those Olympians have days when they just don't feel like it, too.
Gymnastics--This was my favorite part of PE in school. I loved the balance beam, and I could vault right over that pommel horse! Of course, I don't ever remember being asked to do a back ward flip on the beam, which was just as good. I mean, really, why would someone do a back flip on a 4 inch wide piece of wood, 3 feet off the ground, if they didn't have real eyes in the back of their head? So perhaps, I was missing a secret anatomical part that gymnasts have.
As for the Parallel bars, sure, I remember working out on them. Some moves were really fun, but I wasn't all that impressed with a move called 'traveling'. It meant swinging from one end to the other on my ARMS. OW! They could really get bruised that way. I'm not real big on activities that could get me bruised.
One event really does get me though. It is the men's tumbling on the mats. Have you seen the hand stand they do with the arms spread out at a wide stance? Are they kidding? I'm still working on learning how to do a real push-up, where my nose actually gets within a couple of inches of the mat, instead of a foot away. Oh well... that's the men's gymnastics. I'm a girl! So as long as I can jump 3 feet in the air and do a bunch of twisting and turning and land upright on 2 feet like a cat, I'm good. (Not that I can actually do that, but I'm not 16 and no one asked me to do that when I was, so who knows?)
Yep. When I think about it there really isn't anything separating me from an Olympic athlete except:
Dedication
Determination
Motivation
Physicality
Ability
And the Uneven Parallel Bars.
I don't like heights.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Grotto of the Redemption
This spring while Larry and I were in Iowa visiting Janice we took a day trip to see the Grotto of the Redemption in West Bend, Iowa. It is an incredible achievement of one Catholic Priest that started as a simple promise. In the early 1900's a young priest in Germany was about to be ordained when he was stricken with pneumonia. As he lay there, possibly dying, he made a promise to the Virgin Mary that if he survived, he would build a shrine to her.
He survived...and fulfilled his promise....and then some!
He was sent to a small town in Iowa and enjoyed traveling around the United States. A fairly common activity in those days was to collect gems, crawling inside caves, or finding them in fields, wherever they were available. Father Dobberstein collected all kinds of gems and gorgeous pieces of petrified rock, sending them home, by rail or by freight, whatever way was available. In 1912 he began his shrine to the Virgin Mary. And when that was done, he kept going!
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| This is a tiny corner of a large wall covered in petrified rock. |
The grotto was built to resemble caves in a mountain side. Each cave depicts an aspect of Christ's life, from his birth to his crucifixion. The entire thing is covered in gems..... $4,000,000.00 (that's millions!) worth of gems, and petrified rock! It is quite a sight to see.
White quartz pieces were used to create the illusion of snow capped mountains. In some places he used the green glass of broken coke bottles to depict flowing mountain streams.
Rose quartz and other rock minerals and gems cover this stairwell.
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There were several other scenes. The garden of Gethsemane was beautiful. The 2 disciples were tucked into corners, sleeping. Another big focus were the Stations of the Cross.
The Grotto of the Redemption is an unusual tourist attraction, but well-worth the trip. Since there was plenty of room to run, even the kids liked it. Next time you are near West Bend, Iowa, take a few hours to see this one-of-a-kind place.
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