As sympathetic as I am for the people on the gulf coast, I'm also thinking of another man who tried to move 6 million people out of harms way, and wonder about all the agencies he had or didn't have.
I've listened to the Governor, the head of FEMA, the mayor, and the news people as they talk of working together getting the sick out to hospitals nearby. In fact my son is part of the receiving team for our area. He dispatches his ambulances to the site of drop off.
As I say, it must be horrible for many of the same people to be uprooted, and wonder if they will have a home to come back to. A home could mean a rented apartment, but it has been made a home after all.
I see the buses, the trains and planes. I see the interstates with cars lined up bumper to bumper headed any way but home. All with the same thought, I wonder if I'll have to relocate permanently.
Then I remember the Bible history of Moses, and the task he had to get the Jews out of Egypt. I know there was no e-mail, for sure there were no telephones either, no CNN, Fox or ABC to give a minute by minute update. I remember a saying we had when I was in High school "Telephone, telegraph, tell a woman!" if you want anything broadcast.
Well I'm not so sure about that now that I think of it. Have you ever wondered what Moses method was of getting the word out to the people? I know their system had to involve the leaders of each tribe, but even then there were multitudes in each tribe.
I don't think I have a handle on the picture even now; of millions of people moving as one with the possessions they could carry, following a man who had been raised as an Egyptian, and yet trusting his network. Arkansas census showed 2.8 million in 2002 As I said, I can’t get my mind around 2.8 million having to be evacuated, much less the miles of land and people on the gulf that number much more.
Whatever homeland security Moses had must have been something extraordinary we could pattern after. In addition, his National Guard had to be as big as an army was, or as well prepared as an army anyway. Therefore, I still wonder how - if indeed the word was passed from one person to another, the message was not distorted so much there were misunderstandings, and one tribe went one way and another tribe the other.
Like the game "gossip" that I used to play with my children. I didn't think of it as proving a point, however it would be a point to take note of. I whispered a long sentence to one, and that one had to repeat in a whisper to the next and the next and so on until the last one had to say aloud what the message was. Wow, what one can learn of misunderstandings.
Really, it could have been a visual for a life story. Often we put our interpretation into the message until the original message is lost or distorted. So how did Moses do it? I understand the system much better as it is recorded after they left Egypt. However, before they left, the people were in slavery, making bricks in an almost impossible way, prospering in everything they did,tired and weary of life the way it was. Maybe they were ready for deliverance.
Who delivered the letter from Moses? Was he the spokesman on the evening news? Was it he, or was it Aaron who dictated the memo for each head of household? In order for everyone to get the message on their impending departure, was it forwarded in an e-mail, or was it a cut and paste job?
Regardless of what the storm does this time, people are people and grumbling will surely start. I’m the first to admit, the storm in ’05 was more devastating than any of the officials could fathom; and for some reason the levees were not sufficient to hold the extra water. When everyone realized the city was under ocean water, there was mass chaos with agencies running over agencies; all with the heart to rescue people, but with no command station. People were displaced, hungry, thirsty and tired and for many days, they could not think of anything good. Death and dying was all around them, and most could not see a brighter day ahead.
Moses did, as he was told, and even though the people followed him willingly, they got through the first hurdle, and realized things were not what they had hoped for. Therefore, they murmured and complained. For sure, their message of despair was carried in a hurry through out the millions of people from the oldest to the youngest, on the other side of the Jordan River. The blame game started. Their memory was unclear about the slavery days they had left behind. Now those days were looking good. Even the food they had then sounded good now.
I’m grateful for the history of both the people who were delivered from harm. Both are a lesson in life. Often we know when to move out of Dodge. Many times we do not heed the warning and we stay behind, and blame the preacher for not giving us sufficient warning. With our eyes wide open, as Christians we should be able to read the signs of the time. Should we read the signs, we might be better prepared for what is ahead. There are a lot of things in this life I don’t understand, but this one thing I know. The impending storm of wind and darkness will sweep on this nation before Jesus returns.
I stand in awe of the great old Testament story of Moses leadership. I also have to say I admire those who have worked tirelessly these past three years to find a better way of helping get people out of harms way. I have to say, I appreciate the Moses's of today who are also working to spread the word of "get ready for we are leaving here soon."
Have a safe day.
Grammyof13
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Labor Day Musings!
Labor Day. I guess that means a day to cease or rest from labor. That is good unless you don't do any laboring! Laboring to me was those days in the garden gathering vegetables to be frozen or preserved, or especially those days in the frosty fall when corn still in the field had to be gathered into the barn.
Laboring to me, would also be going to the factory, working on an assembly line making shirt sleeve cuffs. (I have not thought of that in years!!) Weary from a job I was not suited for, I always needed rest by the time I got home. The stress of making production was terrible.
Resting from a laborious week gives me a distinct picture of my poor husband, who had the "glamorous" job of driving the big rigs on the super highways of America. He was good at what he did, receiving several awards over the years. One of which was a plaque for one million miles of driving without an accident. We have trophies on the wall, in boxes and in bureau drawers proving his ability to make the company money with his being conscientious of doing a job well. By the time labor day came around, he needed more than one day to rest. We remember many holiday afternoons, having to say good bye for another week. His day of resting from labor was most often short lived.
I also think what would help me to rest (since I've not done much labor to speak of) would for the news people to talk about something beside politics. I enjoy TV but watch very little - because the morning news covers the events of the day before, and from there is repetitiously boring.
Mind you I pay attention when I do stop to catch up, for I am interested in those I'm interviewing and will eventually hire for public office. I want to be an informed voter, and personally I can't believe everything I hear or read. Sad isn't it?
I wonder what we did in the 40's and 50's on a labor day. That may be the reason I have no distinct memories because each day was the same back then. We may have gone to the creek to swim. Didn't think of laying in the sun, we were brown as a berry by the time September came around anyway. I do have visions of sitting on the "foot log" that crossed the creek, and swinging our feet in the cool crystal clear water while we did sister stuff. Talking and sharing dreams of how tomorrow might be.
I also have vivid pictures of resting on Sunday afternoons. Mama always had a special meal after Church, and after the dishes were washed and put away, we tried to stay cool by going down under the big tree. The big tree in our yard was one of those beautiful Oak trees that grew out more than up, even though it did have some height. Most all afternoon from noon til sundown it gave us a dense shade where we lay on the grass and dreamed some more. I can see Daddy with a straw for a tooth pick, his sweat soaked well worn hat covering his eyes, lounging against the giant trunk of the 100 year old tree, trying to keep the flies and bugs away so he could rest.
It was not Labor Day, it was the Sabbath. And rest is what one did on the Sabbath. That I understand! It has been ingrained in me to have a Sabbatical once a week.I don't have any trouble taking a nap on Sunday afternoons, before I start my week of what has become a life of ease where life places no particular demands on me. I didn't like getting up and going to a job then, and I'm thankful I don't have to report for duty now.
Oh that's right, I have wash to do, bed linens to change and floors to sweep. Could that be laborious enough to enjoy Monday without feeling guilty?
I sure hope you have a great week-end. I'll be thinking of you.
Grammyof13
Laboring to me, would also be going to the factory, working on an assembly line making shirt sleeve cuffs. (I have not thought of that in years!!) Weary from a job I was not suited for, I always needed rest by the time I got home. The stress of making production was terrible.
Resting from a laborious week gives me a distinct picture of my poor husband, who had the "glamorous" job of driving the big rigs on the super highways of America. He was good at what he did, receiving several awards over the years. One of which was a plaque for one million miles of driving without an accident. We have trophies on the wall, in boxes and in bureau drawers proving his ability to make the company money with his being conscientious of doing a job well. By the time labor day came around, he needed more than one day to rest. We remember many holiday afternoons, having to say good bye for another week. His day of resting from labor was most often short lived.
I also think what would help me to rest (since I've not done much labor to speak of) would for the news people to talk about something beside politics. I enjoy TV but watch very little - because the morning news covers the events of the day before, and from there is repetitiously boring.
Mind you I pay attention when I do stop to catch up, for I am interested in those I'm interviewing and will eventually hire for public office. I want to be an informed voter, and personally I can't believe everything I hear or read. Sad isn't it?
I wonder what we did in the 40's and 50's on a labor day. That may be the reason I have no distinct memories because each day was the same back then. We may have gone to the creek to swim. Didn't think of laying in the sun, we were brown as a berry by the time September came around anyway. I do have visions of sitting on the "foot log" that crossed the creek, and swinging our feet in the cool crystal clear water while we did sister stuff. Talking and sharing dreams of how tomorrow might be.
I also have vivid pictures of resting on Sunday afternoons. Mama always had a special meal after Church, and after the dishes were washed and put away, we tried to stay cool by going down under the big tree. The big tree in our yard was one of those beautiful Oak trees that grew out more than up, even though it did have some height. Most all afternoon from noon til sundown it gave us a dense shade where we lay on the grass and dreamed some more. I can see Daddy with a straw for a tooth pick, his sweat soaked well worn hat covering his eyes, lounging against the giant trunk of the 100 year old tree, trying to keep the flies and bugs away so he could rest.
It was not Labor Day, it was the Sabbath. And rest is what one did on the Sabbath. That I understand! It has been ingrained in me to have a Sabbatical once a week.I don't have any trouble taking a nap on Sunday afternoons, before I start my week of what has become a life of ease where life places no particular demands on me. I didn't like getting up and going to a job then, and I'm thankful I don't have to report for duty now.
Oh that's right, I have wash to do, bed linens to change and floors to sweep. Could that be laborious enough to enjoy Monday without feeling guilty?
I sure hope you have a great week-end. I'll be thinking of you.
Grammyof13
Monday, August 25, 2008
Trouble With Retirement!
We had a good week-end in spite of not feeling the best last week. I was working at my computer yesterday afternoon, and fell asleep! Well I realized I was staring at the screen, so I took myself to the couch and laid my self down. I did get a short nap in before my Sister called.
The trouble with retirement, is that often our days start looking like the day we just had. Talk about a routine, I think we are there. We don't do a lot of extra curricular activities like couples we could compare ourselves to. But we aren't complaining. My husband was on the road for 32 years, and frankly he is not interested in doing much more than what he does to help me around the house. We do go to the fitness center now and then for a swim or biking. I'd hate for moss to grow under us 'cause we don't move much!
Tomorrow is his birthday, and I have a day of running. I'll take time to prepare him a good supper if he isn't called to his part-time job. We are having friends over on Saturday to celebrate. Today we thought of his mother, and how she must have been feeling 69 years ago today even. I'm sure he was delivered at home, but he doesn't remember any details being spoken of.
It had to have been difficult on our mothers. My sisters and I pass around the stories we heard from Mother about her live births. In fact being six of us, and I being the third, I remember the two births vividly of my younger sisters. Mother got to deliver my last sister in a Clinic with a Doctor present. The others were delivered at home by the help of mid-wives who were neighbor women and an aunt who boiled the water and prepared everything for the Doctor to come rushing in on the last minute to say "he" delivered the baby.
One sister who was born in 1947 I remember well. We were told to go outside and play for the day. My aunt brought her three children and as we occupied ourselves outside, a black car came sailing down the graveled road and jerked to a stop in front of our house, which was built close to the road.
Up the steps the Doctor bounded not paying any attention to all the little curious eyes watching his every move. We had watched him rush from the car to the door. He had been in the house only a few minutes it seemed, when we heard a baby cry.
My cousin who was oldest of the seven of us playing in the yard that day, said, "I declare! Every time that Doctor comes with that black bag, he leaves a baby. The next time he comes with that black bag I'm going to trip him to see if it cries."
That sounded so grown up we accepted he knew what he was talking about. We thought he had hit on a truth and we heard it first, fresh from his brain!
After we learned it was "another" girl, we went back to playing. By then it was nothing new, for this sister was the 5th daughter born to Mama and she would have yet another one seven years later. The girls kept coming. Daddy was a farmer, and I'm sure he stood in the noon day sun many times and said, "Lord, what are you doing to me. I need help with the farm - a boy would be nice!" I can almost see him remove his dirty, well worn old sweat trimmed hat, scratch his bald head and look to heaven before going back to his chores.
Oh how I wish I'd have asked Mama more questions. I need to finish my book!
Make notes along the way, someone may be interested after all in what you were thinking.
Grammyof13
The trouble with retirement, is that often our days start looking like the day we just had. Talk about a routine, I think we are there. We don't do a lot of extra curricular activities like couples we could compare ourselves to. But we aren't complaining. My husband was on the road for 32 years, and frankly he is not interested in doing much more than what he does to help me around the house. We do go to the fitness center now and then for a swim or biking. I'd hate for moss to grow under us 'cause we don't move much!
Tomorrow is his birthday, and I have a day of running. I'll take time to prepare him a good supper if he isn't called to his part-time job. We are having friends over on Saturday to celebrate. Today we thought of his mother, and how she must have been feeling 69 years ago today even. I'm sure he was delivered at home, but he doesn't remember any details being spoken of.
It had to have been difficult on our mothers. My sisters and I pass around the stories we heard from Mother about her live births. In fact being six of us, and I being the third, I remember the two births vividly of my younger sisters. Mother got to deliver my last sister in a Clinic with a Doctor present. The others were delivered at home by the help of mid-wives who were neighbor women and an aunt who boiled the water and prepared everything for the Doctor to come rushing in on the last minute to say "he" delivered the baby.
One sister who was born in 1947 I remember well. We were told to go outside and play for the day. My aunt brought her three children and as we occupied ourselves outside, a black car came sailing down the graveled road and jerked to a stop in front of our house, which was built close to the road.
Up the steps the Doctor bounded not paying any attention to all the little curious eyes watching his every move. We had watched him rush from the car to the door. He had been in the house only a few minutes it seemed, when we heard a baby cry.
My cousin who was oldest of the seven of us playing in the yard that day, said, "I declare! Every time that Doctor comes with that black bag, he leaves a baby. The next time he comes with that black bag I'm going to trip him to see if it cries."
That sounded so grown up we accepted he knew what he was talking about. We thought he had hit on a truth and we heard it first, fresh from his brain!
After we learned it was "another" girl, we went back to playing. By then it was nothing new, for this sister was the 5th daughter born to Mama and she would have yet another one seven years later. The girls kept coming. Daddy was a farmer, and I'm sure he stood in the noon day sun many times and said, "Lord, what are you doing to me. I need help with the farm - a boy would be nice!" I can almost see him remove his dirty, well worn old sweat trimmed hat, scratch his bald head and look to heaven before going back to his chores.
Oh how I wish I'd have asked Mama more questions. I need to finish my book!
Make notes along the way, someone may be interested after all in what you were thinking.
Grammyof13
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda!
My husband and I had a date today. Too bad it was at the Doctor's office! It is difficult to have romantic thoughts while on the way to an appointment that someone else set for you. However that is often how life gets after 65. Living 25-30 miles from our Doctors we try to make our appointments the same day whenever we can. I took some reading material and newspaper to keep my waiting for him from being too bad.
I have another grand child story. Only this time it was one of the great grands. I haven't had much of an opportunity getting acquainted with those four little guys. I've admired them at a distance as they don't know what to do with so many grandmothers around. Will was fascinated that his mother had a grammy! When they get old enough to finally get things figured out in their brain, it is fun to watch the light bulb behind their eyes come on!
My second granddaughter brought her little Axton when she came to take me for my eye surgery the other week. He hasn't forgotten his visit to grammy's house. I think I made a friend. Last night I took him a potted plant I did just for him, and you'd have thought I had given him a million dollars. His mother told me he talked about it all the way home from church, how he had to water it, set it in his window, take care of it, etc. I had a good laugh when she told me he had wanted to sleep with it. He is not quite four but full of wonder. I may pot him another plant just to hear him again, "OOh! Thank you Grammy".
I don't remember motherhood being this much fun! I honestly don't. I can always find things I shoulda, coulda, woulda done if I'd thought about it. My children are productive citizens so I must have done something right. They seem to be adjusting to life very well, and I don't think they beat their kids.
I love hearing them tell about the times when we were on a road trip, and in the station wagon with dual facing rear seats (that did not have seat belts, by the way) two of them got into a fight!!! (not my kids!!!) Anyway, I gave them the evil eye through the rear view mirror but it had little effect on them. So I threatened to stop the car, "and if I have to stop this car,you're gonna get it. Do you hear me? Consider this your last warning."
Like I say, my fair warning fell on deaf ears. So I proceeded to pull to the side of the road and by the time I got around to open the rear door, the youngest (who was, by the way, the instigator) did a nose dive over the other kids, and wound up in the front seat I had just vacated. I'm sure we looked like a family circus to those who passed us by.
I did a lot of traveling with the four of them while my husband was on the road. If we got to go anywhere we could not wait around for my husband was exhausted after 4-5thousand miles a week. He didn't want to do anything but stop rolling.
They had their squabbles, but mostly we sang. Many miles went under that car while we were playing and singing.
Good memories tonight. They come rushing one of the other on occasion.
Grammyof13
I have another grand child story. Only this time it was one of the great grands. I haven't had much of an opportunity getting acquainted with those four little guys. I've admired them at a distance as they don't know what to do with so many grandmothers around. Will was fascinated that his mother had a grammy! When they get old enough to finally get things figured out in their brain, it is fun to watch the light bulb behind their eyes come on!
My second granddaughter brought her little Axton when she came to take me for my eye surgery the other week. He hasn't forgotten his visit to grammy's house. I think I made a friend. Last night I took him a potted plant I did just for him, and you'd have thought I had given him a million dollars. His mother told me he talked about it all the way home from church, how he had to water it, set it in his window, take care of it, etc. I had a good laugh when she told me he had wanted to sleep with it. He is not quite four but full of wonder. I may pot him another plant just to hear him again, "OOh! Thank you Grammy".
I don't remember motherhood being this much fun! I honestly don't. I can always find things I shoulda, coulda, woulda done if I'd thought about it. My children are productive citizens so I must have done something right. They seem to be adjusting to life very well, and I don't think they beat their kids.
I love hearing them tell about the times when we were on a road trip, and in the station wagon with dual facing rear seats (that did not have seat belts, by the way) two of them got into a fight!!! (not my kids!!!) Anyway, I gave them the evil eye through the rear view mirror but it had little effect on them. So I threatened to stop the car, "and if I have to stop this car,you're gonna get it. Do you hear me? Consider this your last warning."
Like I say, my fair warning fell on deaf ears. So I proceeded to pull to the side of the road and by the time I got around to open the rear door, the youngest (who was, by the way, the instigator) did a nose dive over the other kids, and wound up in the front seat I had just vacated. I'm sure we looked like a family circus to those who passed us by.
I did a lot of traveling with the four of them while my husband was on the road. If we got to go anywhere we could not wait around for my husband was exhausted after 4-5thousand miles a week. He didn't want to do anything but stop rolling.
They had their squabbles, but mostly we sang. Many miles went under that car while we were playing and singing.
Good memories tonight. They come rushing one of the other on occasion.
Grammyof13
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Eddie.
I've been busier than a one armed paper hanger this week. I've got to come up for air soon though.
I haven't shared anything about Eddie in several months. Eddie you remember is the man who walked our neighborhood, mostly on our street, singing as he strolled. I'm not sure if his hearing was bad, or he just talked loud by nature, but from the time he left his yard part way up the Fox Trot Hill, he called out to anyone who was listening, "I'm going for a walk now! Come on boys if you're going with me!" His voice thundered so the neighborhood would be ready for a conversation if we happened to be outside.
Eddie, I told you before, and his wife found each other in a workshop for the mentally handicapped. His wife is bi-polar and very destructive at times, but Eddie on the other hand was a gentle soul who took what life handed him and made the best of it. I'm not sure if he and his "wife" were actually married in name, but for sure he called her his wife.
We knew some about their history, but there were pieces missing that we will probably never know. One could not hide themselves from this colorful couple who brought us a good laugh occasionally. May I quickly add, we could not laugh at them only with them.
Like the time Eddie used the street in front of my house for his Elvis Act! His hips swaying, his leg shaking, his voice booming the words of Heartbreak Hotel! He could have had a microphone in front of him, as far as he was concerned. Even though there were only one other neighbor and myself outside to see the performance, we both cheered and laughed.
"It is Elvis birthday today, you know? Yea, Elvis was my favorite singer. I used to imitate Elvis in the bars. Did you know that", he inquired not to anyone in particular. It was a question that he tossed out hoping for a response I guess.
Anyway, our neighborhood has been quiet for the last couple months. After trouble happened at the place where he and his wife shared a home with her sister, they were forced to find a new place to live.
For several weeks, we had no idea where they had gone or what had happened to them. I called a friend of mine who works for Department of human services to inquire of them, and she immediately knew who I was talking about.
"We've tried to help them," she said. "I hate that it takes a lot of paper work, but we can't help that part of it. As of now, no one will follow through on their paper work. There is a lot of assistance we could offer, but we have to have all the documents in place."
She appreciated my concern, but it was not mine to offer that kind of help. It had to come from a family member, such as her sister who had allowed them to move in with her.
Recently, we were talking with one of the neighbors who said, "By the way, Eddie came by the other day."
"Really!" we replied with interest.
"Yes, he said they were moving to (a town south west of here). He told me he knew we were worried about him, and he wanted me to have something to remembering him by."
"Oh really, that is so sweet and thoughtful of him to make a stop by here. I have to know what was the souvenir he gave?" I had to know.
"A room key to motel 6 was my neighbor's reply. "Eddie said, 'every time you see this key, I want you to think of me. I'm going to miss you guys, You all have been so nice.'"
My neighbor has the key - but I can't help but think of Eddie each time I pass a Motel 6. I wonder if he has found good neighbors that appreciate his Elvis impersonations, or his fishing stories, or his desire to just sit on your porch and chitchat the evening away. I wonder if he has found someone who is as interested in sports as he, to toss around some ideas on how those Razorbacks could do better if they would just... I do pray life will be kind to him for the rest of his days here.
Grammyof13
I haven't shared anything about Eddie in several months. Eddie you remember is the man who walked our neighborhood, mostly on our street, singing as he strolled. I'm not sure if his hearing was bad, or he just talked loud by nature, but from the time he left his yard part way up the Fox Trot Hill, he called out to anyone who was listening, "I'm going for a walk now! Come on boys if you're going with me!" His voice thundered so the neighborhood would be ready for a conversation if we happened to be outside.
Eddie, I told you before, and his wife found each other in a workshop for the mentally handicapped. His wife is bi-polar and very destructive at times, but Eddie on the other hand was a gentle soul who took what life handed him and made the best of it. I'm not sure if he and his "wife" were actually married in name, but for sure he called her his wife.
We knew some about their history, but there were pieces missing that we will probably never know. One could not hide themselves from this colorful couple who brought us a good laugh occasionally. May I quickly add, we could not laugh at them only with them.
Like the time Eddie used the street in front of my house for his Elvis Act! His hips swaying, his leg shaking, his voice booming the words of Heartbreak Hotel! He could have had a microphone in front of him, as far as he was concerned. Even though there were only one other neighbor and myself outside to see the performance, we both cheered and laughed.
"It is Elvis birthday today, you know? Yea, Elvis was my favorite singer. I used to imitate Elvis in the bars. Did you know that", he inquired not to anyone in particular. It was a question that he tossed out hoping for a response I guess.
Anyway, our neighborhood has been quiet for the last couple months. After trouble happened at the place where he and his wife shared a home with her sister, they were forced to find a new place to live.
For several weeks, we had no idea where they had gone or what had happened to them. I called a friend of mine who works for Department of human services to inquire of them, and she immediately knew who I was talking about.
"We've tried to help them," she said. "I hate that it takes a lot of paper work, but we can't help that part of it. As of now, no one will follow through on their paper work. There is a lot of assistance we could offer, but we have to have all the documents in place."
She appreciated my concern, but it was not mine to offer that kind of help. It had to come from a family member, such as her sister who had allowed them to move in with her.
Recently, we were talking with one of the neighbors who said, "By the way, Eddie came by the other day."
"Really!" we replied with interest.
"Yes, he said they were moving to (a town south west of here). He told me he knew we were worried about him, and he wanted me to have something to remembering him by."
"Oh really, that is so sweet and thoughtful of him to make a stop by here. I have to know what was the souvenir he gave?" I had to know.
"A room key to motel 6 was my neighbor's reply. "Eddie said, 'every time you see this key, I want you to think of me. I'm going to miss you guys, You all have been so nice.'"
My neighbor has the key - but I can't help but think of Eddie each time I pass a Motel 6. I wonder if he has found good neighbors that appreciate his Elvis impersonations, or his fishing stories, or his desire to just sit on your porch and chitchat the evening away. I wonder if he has found someone who is as interested in sports as he, to toss around some ideas on how those Razorbacks could do better if they would just... I do pray life will be kind to him for the rest of his days here.
Grammyof13
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Detours!
Dad and I took the long way home from church today. We were in my sons neighborhood and decided to go a different route for scenery sake. I think we left his house (he lives in a houseboat on the Arkansas river), around 12:30. Shortly after church anyway.
We had been the same route last year in June when my husband (aka Dad) had a broken shoulder. It was the day after Father's day and our family reunion in Tenn, when he and I were getting ready to start home. My husband (aka Dad), was loading the suitcases in the car using the ramp that had been built for Daddy's safety, when somehow his foot slipped, he tumbled into the yard with my hard top Trojan week-end bag and fell on his left elbow. Somehow in the fall he broke his shoulder. I called an ambulance who took him to Clarksville emergency room. They X-rayed and sent him home with the film on DVD and said it looked like a break that would heal itself in time!
What else could we do but start home the next day. He was in such pain that he tried sleeping in a chair, but could not find a comfortable place to sit, sleep, or stand.
I drove home the next day. What would normally be a 5 hour trip took over 7 hours. I know my children laugh at how long our trips normally take us when it takes them half the time. In my defence, he again was in such pain I tried to be careful and not hit any potholes in any one's road or interstate. Each time we stopped to refuel, or use the bathroom, it was an ordeal getting him out of the car and back in again.
Then when we got into town, traffic was backed up on I40 west which meant our last leg toward home. I had to make a choice to find an alternate route when I asked my son about the Hwy 10 route. He told me it was not closer, but I figured I would at least be moving and I was desperate.
I took his information, and following the planned path getting home an hour after leaving his area.
This is not my story, but I will finish with the verdict concerning his shoulder. He was in surgery on Wednesday after we got home on Tuesday. He was out of commission for several months - so his initial diagnosis was very disappointing as they gave him a prescription for pain meds and sent him the 250+ miles home.
We couldn't say we enjoyed going the extra miles, but did see enough for us to make plans to go the same way again to actually see the scenery this time. Part of the country even.
He was driving this time; we didn't bother to ask anyone directions! We just started driving. Had we gone the usual way, it may have been a 30 minute drive tops, but as it was we made it home around 2pm. Don't ask me where we were. I'd have to say sightseeing. We weren't sure where we were going to wind up. Hopefully in Conway, but we did find some little towns in between.
I was glad I put a pork loin in the crock pot last night. I added corn and mashed potatoes to it and we were able to eat soon after we walked in the house. We were both starved by that time, our cheese toast had long been digested.
It is times like this when we think I'm a good cook! Especially when we are famished.
Life occasionally takes us on detours. May each of your detours have beautiful scenery.
Grammyof13
We had been the same route last year in June when my husband (aka Dad) had a broken shoulder. It was the day after Father's day and our family reunion in Tenn, when he and I were getting ready to start home. My husband (aka Dad), was loading the suitcases in the car using the ramp that had been built for Daddy's safety, when somehow his foot slipped, he tumbled into the yard with my hard top Trojan week-end bag and fell on his left elbow. Somehow in the fall he broke his shoulder. I called an ambulance who took him to Clarksville emergency room. They X-rayed and sent him home with the film on DVD and said it looked like a break that would heal itself in time!
What else could we do but start home the next day. He was in such pain that he tried sleeping in a chair, but could not find a comfortable place to sit, sleep, or stand.
I drove home the next day. What would normally be a 5 hour trip took over 7 hours. I know my children laugh at how long our trips normally take us when it takes them half the time. In my defence, he again was in such pain I tried to be careful and not hit any potholes in any one's road or interstate. Each time we stopped to refuel, or use the bathroom, it was an ordeal getting him out of the car and back in again.
Then when we got into town, traffic was backed up on I40 west which meant our last leg toward home. I had to make a choice to find an alternate route when I asked my son about the Hwy 10 route. He told me it was not closer, but I figured I would at least be moving and I was desperate.
I took his information, and following the planned path getting home an hour after leaving his area.
This is not my story, but I will finish with the verdict concerning his shoulder. He was in surgery on Wednesday after we got home on Tuesday. He was out of commission for several months - so his initial diagnosis was very disappointing as they gave him a prescription for pain meds and sent him the 250+ miles home.
We couldn't say we enjoyed going the extra miles, but did see enough for us to make plans to go the same way again to actually see the scenery this time. Part of the country even.
He was driving this time; we didn't bother to ask anyone directions! We just started driving. Had we gone the usual way, it may have been a 30 minute drive tops, but as it was we made it home around 2pm. Don't ask me where we were. I'd have to say sightseeing. We weren't sure where we were going to wind up. Hopefully in Conway, but we did find some little towns in between.
I was glad I put a pork loin in the crock pot last night. I added corn and mashed potatoes to it and we were able to eat soon after we walked in the house. We were both starved by that time, our cheese toast had long been digested.
It is times like this when we think I'm a good cook! Especially when we are famished.
Life occasionally takes us on detours. May each of your detours have beautiful scenery.
Grammyof13
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Through My Eyes!
Well, we are still here enjoying the wonderful cool down of the temperature outside. I have been able to sit on the deck a few mornings and enjoy the sights and sounds of the neighborhood. Children playing, katydids crying, birds singing, lawn mowers going, and overhead the C130 planes from the LR AFB flying in formation in groups of three. Hopefully they are making a practice run. I always wonder!
The week has passed by so soon, and I'm trying to figure out just what I accomplished. Can't come up with a whole lot, but I do have a project I'm working on that has consumed my time and will for a couple more weeks yet. Then hopefully, the great unveiling.
School has started for some, while others will have their big day on Monday. There are not many children in this part of the subdivision. I always feel a compassion for those who have to be on the street to meet the bus at 7A. I'm sure we did it too when my sisters and I rode the big ole yellow bus. Our driver had several routes, so it meant everyone getting up early for him to make his rounds and get us to school on time. I only remember the times when the gas fumes would make my migraine headache worse and Mr. George would have to stop the bus so I could up chuck. I learned soon enough, that when I got up with one of those horrific headaches to stay home until it passed.
In fact many school memories have been visiting me lately as I write occasionally, our story "The Whippoorwill's Song". I'm relying on my memories and those my Dad has shared so it keeps my brain challenged to get the details as close as I can. I wonder if all history is written from where the writer sits with his interpretation of the events.
I recognize that in the writing of the four gospels. Each writer has recorded the same story in their own voice, yet it doesn't take a scholar to realize all four of them are seeing the same story but from a different angle. Luke as a physician, Matthew as a former tax collector, etc. etc. And yet, we do not fault them for telling the same event differently than their peers did.
I'm sure my sisters have their own set of memories, special to them. Even though we shared the same parents, the same home, the same bed, we are individuals that see through a different set of eyes, and what was important to me may not have had the same effect on them.
I'm going back to my Saturday - I trust you have a great week-end. Go out and make some memories.
grammyof13
The week has passed by so soon, and I'm trying to figure out just what I accomplished. Can't come up with a whole lot, but I do have a project I'm working on that has consumed my time and will for a couple more weeks yet. Then hopefully, the great unveiling.
School has started for some, while others will have their big day on Monday. There are not many children in this part of the subdivision. I always feel a compassion for those who have to be on the street to meet the bus at 7A. I'm sure we did it too when my sisters and I rode the big ole yellow bus. Our driver had several routes, so it meant everyone getting up early for him to make his rounds and get us to school on time. I only remember the times when the gas fumes would make my migraine headache worse and Mr. George would have to stop the bus so I could up chuck. I learned soon enough, that when I got up with one of those horrific headaches to stay home until it passed.
In fact many school memories have been visiting me lately as I write occasionally, our story "The Whippoorwill's Song". I'm relying on my memories and those my Dad has shared so it keeps my brain challenged to get the details as close as I can. I wonder if all history is written from where the writer sits with his interpretation of the events.
I recognize that in the writing of the four gospels. Each writer has recorded the same story in their own voice, yet it doesn't take a scholar to realize all four of them are seeing the same story but from a different angle. Luke as a physician, Matthew as a former tax collector, etc. etc. And yet, we do not fault them for telling the same event differently than their peers did.
I'm sure my sisters have their own set of memories, special to them. Even though we shared the same parents, the same home, the same bed, we are individuals that see through a different set of eyes, and what was important to me may not have had the same effect on them.
I'm going back to my Saturday - I trust you have a great week-end. Go out and make some memories.
grammyof13
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Pre Arranging
I'll have to start my blog with a joke tonight. I have had a mentally heavy day, and I need a laugh.
Two blond girls were working for the city public works department. One
would dig a hole and the other would follow behind her and fill the hole
in. They worked up one side of the street, then down the other, then moved
on to the next street, working furiously all day without rest, one girl digging a hole, the other girl filling it in again. An onlooker was amazed at their hard work, but couldn't understand what they were doing, so he asked the hole digger, 'I'm impressed by the effort you two are putting into your work, but I don't get it why do you dig a hole, only to have your partner follow behind and fill it up again?'
The hole digger wiped her brow and sighed, 'Well, I suppose it probably looks odd because we're normally a three-person team. But today the girl who plants the trees called in sick.'
Ain't that a hoot? I'm not blond, but I'm sure I have had blond moments along the path of my life. Maybe it gave someone a good laugh to lift his or her heart for a moment.
My husband and I spent several hours pre-planning our final arrangements so our children would be relieved of the responsibility. I'm glad I got the information now, for I don't know how I'd have left a list that long for my children if I didn't know what was needed. Education is what it turned out to be.
They didn't ask to measure me or anything like that, but color coordination? I hadn't thought of that before. What to wear? That either. Wood or metal? That either. Vault-yes. Where? We have had an on going argument for awhile now, before coming to an agreement on that one. I always thought I'd want to be right beside my mother in Tenn or close by anyway.
He on the other hand has memories of the church family plot in the country in Miss. I for sure did not want to go to Miss, even though I know many people there in the community, as well as his family who still live in the surrounding area. However, to be there when Jesus comes, somehow I could not digest that one. We tentatively have drawn straws, and made the decision on a nice cemetery about three miles from here.
I’ll have to do some thinking about a lot of the blanks left to be filled in; using pencil in case the subject matter changes over the years. I plan to be here 30 years from now, blogging perhaps! (Jogging I wish!) I may outlive all those on my to-do list! I heard of someone recording their own music to be on the safe side. It would be my luck if I live 30 more years for someone to play blue grass gospel with an out of tune guitar. On second thought, I may start recording my visitation music on CD. Then I meet with the dilemma of which songs, from what era, what decade of my 100 years.
This is getting too complicated. My brain is tired from all the information and education it has received today. Since I plan to stay around awhile longer, maybe there isn’t such a big rush after all.
Please forgive me. I’m trying to find humor in a subject where little or no humor is found. I’m not handling this frivolously. It is a serious matter to take responsibility for those final arrangements. Lord knows, I would want help if I had to make such big decisions in a couple hours time while trying to grieve. I’ve decided the best thing about it all would be for the Lord to come get us before we go by way of the grave. Now that is a good note to close on.
May you live all your life.
Grammyof13
Two blond girls were working for the city public works department. One
would dig a hole and the other would follow behind her and fill the hole
in. They worked up one side of the street, then down the other, then moved
on to the next street, working furiously all day without rest, one girl digging a hole, the other girl filling it in again. An onlooker was amazed at their hard work, but couldn't understand what they were doing, so he asked the hole digger, 'I'm impressed by the effort you two are putting into your work, but I don't get it why do you dig a hole, only to have your partner follow behind and fill it up again?'
The hole digger wiped her brow and sighed, 'Well, I suppose it probably looks odd because we're normally a three-person team. But today the girl who plants the trees called in sick.'
Ain't that a hoot? I'm not blond, but I'm sure I have had blond moments along the path of my life. Maybe it gave someone a good laugh to lift his or her heart for a moment.
My husband and I spent several hours pre-planning our final arrangements so our children would be relieved of the responsibility. I'm glad I got the information now, for I don't know how I'd have left a list that long for my children if I didn't know what was needed. Education is what it turned out to be.
They didn't ask to measure me or anything like that, but color coordination? I hadn't thought of that before. What to wear? That either. Wood or metal? That either. Vault-yes. Where? We have had an on going argument for awhile now, before coming to an agreement on that one. I always thought I'd want to be right beside my mother in Tenn or close by anyway.
He on the other hand has memories of the church family plot in the country in Miss. I for sure did not want to go to Miss, even though I know many people there in the community, as well as his family who still live in the surrounding area. However, to be there when Jesus comes, somehow I could not digest that one. We tentatively have drawn straws, and made the decision on a nice cemetery about three miles from here.
I’ll have to do some thinking about a lot of the blanks left to be filled in; using pencil in case the subject matter changes over the years. I plan to be here 30 years from now, blogging perhaps! (Jogging I wish!) I may outlive all those on my to-do list! I heard of someone recording their own music to be on the safe side. It would be my luck if I live 30 more years for someone to play blue grass gospel with an out of tune guitar. On second thought, I may start recording my visitation music on CD. Then I meet with the dilemma of which songs, from what era, what decade of my 100 years.
This is getting too complicated. My brain is tired from all the information and education it has received today. Since I plan to stay around awhile longer, maybe there isn’t such a big rush after all.
Please forgive me. I’m trying to find humor in a subject where little or no humor is found. I’m not handling this frivolously. It is a serious matter to take responsibility for those final arrangements. Lord knows, I would want help if I had to make such big decisions in a couple hours time while trying to grieve. I’ve decided the best thing about it all would be for the Lord to come get us before we go by way of the grave. Now that is a good note to close on.
May you live all your life.
Grammyof13
Monday, August 11, 2008
Lights, Camera, Action!
How was your week-end?. I didn't get outside the house yesterday due to feeling queasy. Kinda pampered myself, I guess you'd say. Saturday however, Dad and I actually went to some of the sales along the "Bargains Galore on 64". In fact it was his suggestion. Of course by the time we got moving, some people were closing up shop.
Wouldn't you know it, the first one we stopped at, the TV station was there doing a spot for their 5 and 10pm news? I promise I didn't see the truck setting a few cars in front of us. There was a sign closer into the yard that advertised a photography studio whose office was on the grounds, so I thought nothing of the tri-pod with the camera hoisted on. I walked past the cameraman, said, "Excuse me" as I passed.
He said, "Oh that is alright", and my husband and I continued examining things on the table as if we were experienced in garage/yard sales. I'm sure I wouldn't recognize bargains that were lighted up like a neon sign, but we looked anyway. My husband has never (that I know of) been a yard/garage sale enthusiast, so what we were expecting to find I'm not sure. He actually found something before I did; A tag for "my" car of a big tractor-trailer rig! He doesn't ask for much!
Even after passing the tri-pod camera hoisted contraption, I was not thinking that the camera was aimed at my backside and me! DUH! Truly I thought his subjects were some children and adults, that seemed to be too dressed up for the outdoor yard activity. But whatever floats their boat, I figure.
It was only after we arrived home in time for the 5pm news, that my husband said something about the channel 7 news truck being at the yard sale, and wondered if we got into the picture! Sure enough, it was too late to bribe the station into going on down the road to another house. The blerp of a picture, the cameo really, picked up my husband's back and every bit of my front and side, so that no one, absolutely no one could mistake that it was anyone else but me. Then at 10pm, they had nothing better to run, than our picture meandering through the tables with "bargains galore on 64".
Reminds me of the second time I was ever caught off guard at my son's school and asked to be the spokesperson (woman) for the visitors. It was the day of ROTC graduation. My son had a great representation, and I'm sure the station did not know which one was my son.
"Mam'am, would you mind if we ask you some questions for our afternoon news story on the ROTC program here at Parkview?" She seemed nice enough, but my mind went in 40 eleven different directions. I had no idea what to expect. My daughters who were with me said, "Come on Mom, you can do it".
"Oh, is my slip showing? Is my face fixed? Is there stuff in my teeth? Is my hair in place?", all the usual questions of a disturbed mind. I didn't have time to question if they would powder my nose!.
I wish I could tell you the questions they asked. I really do. However, I only remember the embarrassing moment when my answer didn't match their question!!! She had told me ahead of time what the questions would be, but not long enough ahead for me to prepare my answers. So I did my best to quickly get my brain in gear with my hearing before the bright lights of the camera was in my face blinding me. Until then I don't think I noticed just how much of a head shot they do, until my mouth, nose and eyes were all that anyone would see on the evening news.
My daughters had helped me rehearse on my answers. We did not entertain any consideration the questions may not be in the order they were given! Need I say more?
I've spent years trying to apologize to my son for my moment in the sun. He is able to laugh about it now. I can too. Often over the years, I have been able to use the line, "and we didn't even ask that question!"
I thought about being an anchorwoman, or an actress, but changed my mind after that. I'm afraid I'd get ulcers trying to remember my lines when I heard, "Lights, Camera, action!"
Grammyof13
Wouldn't you know it, the first one we stopped at, the TV station was there doing a spot for their 5 and 10pm news? I promise I didn't see the truck setting a few cars in front of us. There was a sign closer into the yard that advertised a photography studio whose office was on the grounds, so I thought nothing of the tri-pod with the camera hoisted on. I walked past the cameraman, said, "Excuse me" as I passed.
He said, "Oh that is alright", and my husband and I continued examining things on the table as if we were experienced in garage/yard sales. I'm sure I wouldn't recognize bargains that were lighted up like a neon sign, but we looked anyway. My husband has never (that I know of) been a yard/garage sale enthusiast, so what we were expecting to find I'm not sure. He actually found something before I did; A tag for "my" car of a big tractor-trailer rig! He doesn't ask for much!
Even after passing the tri-pod camera hoisted contraption, I was not thinking that the camera was aimed at my backside and me! DUH! Truly I thought his subjects were some children and adults, that seemed to be too dressed up for the outdoor yard activity. But whatever floats their boat, I figure.
It was only after we arrived home in time for the 5pm news, that my husband said something about the channel 7 news truck being at the yard sale, and wondered if we got into the picture! Sure enough, it was too late to bribe the station into going on down the road to another house. The blerp of a picture, the cameo really, picked up my husband's back and every bit of my front and side, so that no one, absolutely no one could mistake that it was anyone else but me. Then at 10pm, they had nothing better to run, than our picture meandering through the tables with "bargains galore on 64".
Reminds me of the second time I was ever caught off guard at my son's school and asked to be the spokesperson (woman) for the visitors. It was the day of ROTC graduation. My son had a great representation, and I'm sure the station did not know which one was my son.
"Mam'am, would you mind if we ask you some questions for our afternoon news story on the ROTC program here at Parkview?" She seemed nice enough, but my mind went in 40 eleven different directions. I had no idea what to expect. My daughters who were with me said, "Come on Mom, you can do it".
"Oh, is my slip showing? Is my face fixed? Is there stuff in my teeth? Is my hair in place?", all the usual questions of a disturbed mind. I didn't have time to question if they would powder my nose!.
I wish I could tell you the questions they asked. I really do. However, I only remember the embarrassing moment when my answer didn't match their question!!! She had told me ahead of time what the questions would be, but not long enough ahead for me to prepare my answers. So I did my best to quickly get my brain in gear with my hearing before the bright lights of the camera was in my face blinding me. Until then I don't think I noticed just how much of a head shot they do, until my mouth, nose and eyes were all that anyone would see on the evening news.
My daughters had helped me rehearse on my answers. We did not entertain any consideration the questions may not be in the order they were given! Need I say more?
I've spent years trying to apologize to my son for my moment in the sun. He is able to laugh about it now. I can too. Often over the years, I have been able to use the line, "and we didn't even ask that question!"
I thought about being an anchorwoman, or an actress, but changed my mind after that. I'm afraid I'd get ulcers trying to remember my lines when I heard, "Lights, Camera, action!"
Grammyof13
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Enjoy Your Day.
Well, I cannot say as others have, that I see dust I didn't know what there. My eye is still healing, and remembering to put the drops in the eye each hour is my biggest challenge. I have a way of getting busy and remembering 30 minutes later.
My granddaughter Sharon and her little 3 1/2 year old Axton took me to the eye clinic. I haven't had the privilege of getting acquainted with my great grand children, so it was good to have him for a little while at Grammy's house. Sharon told me I had made a friend, which pleased me no limit. He is a little doll, and has only been with me when my house was full of all the other 9 little boys. We had one on one time, and I am looking forward to another time when he and I can make memories.
Two years ago, a couple moved here from Maryland to spend their golden, yet most active years. Soon they decided this town needed a writers group, so she advertised and two years later we have grown from the three of us, to 20+. Last night they gave a party in their home to celebrate two great years when we each feel we've grown in our abilities, and with all the encouragement we strive to do better.
In those two years, we boast that one of our fellow writers has been published, which is a great accomplishment. Several are near completion on their manuscript of Christian Fiction, Science Fiction, and autobiography. Last week one of the facilitators wrote a tribute to me and my writing abilities. I was so moved that he took notice and the tribute was so complimentary, I feel now I must meet a standard he has set for me.
To say the account of my days on the farm, and the stories I have learned from my almost 100 year old dad, could easily be his memories gives me great pleasure knowing that I have been able to draw a word picture that causes the mind or that of anothers to see what I am able to see. Thank you again Dan for the beautiful compliment.
Make memories, and enjoy your day.
Grammyof13
My granddaughter Sharon and her little 3 1/2 year old Axton took me to the eye clinic. I haven't had the privilege of getting acquainted with my great grand children, so it was good to have him for a little while at Grammy's house. Sharon told me I had made a friend, which pleased me no limit. He is a little doll, and has only been with me when my house was full of all the other 9 little boys. We had one on one time, and I am looking forward to another time when he and I can make memories.
Two years ago, a couple moved here from Maryland to spend their golden, yet most active years. Soon they decided this town needed a writers group, so she advertised and two years later we have grown from the three of us, to 20+. Last night they gave a party in their home to celebrate two great years when we each feel we've grown in our abilities, and with all the encouragement we strive to do better.
In those two years, we boast that one of our fellow writers has been published, which is a great accomplishment. Several are near completion on their manuscript of Christian Fiction, Science Fiction, and autobiography. Last week one of the facilitators wrote a tribute to me and my writing abilities. I was so moved that he took notice and the tribute was so complimentary, I feel now I must meet a standard he has set for me.
To say the account of my days on the farm, and the stories I have learned from my almost 100 year old dad, could easily be his memories gives me great pleasure knowing that I have been able to draw a word picture that causes the mind or that of anothers to see what I am able to see. Thank you again Dan for the beautiful compliment.
Make memories, and enjoy your day.
Grammyof13
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
A Trim will do!
I must be the most misunderstood person on the earth some days, especially when I go to the Beauty Salon/parlor/etc.etc. It has happened to me several times over the years, and I just hate the experience. Each time I think I am making myself clear in what I want only to leave 45 minutes later disappointed and trying to hide from everyone who knows me for a few weeks, or for sure hide from anyone I may want to impress.
For instance, I have been wearing my hair in a 50's style since the 50's. Cropped at the neck, layered from the crown, above the ears, and up up and away from my face. I think it is becoming - no one has ever told me otherwise, or made suggestions as how else to wear it, so I have grown accustomed to having it the same way for all these years. I don't mind the color, even though it is showing signs of gray, I accept that as the small price to pay for living so long. Too, a 90 year old woman (no-not me yet) with dark hair just looks out of place, don't you think? The same with long stringy hair on a fashionably round, even slightly old woman, there is just something wrong with the picture it evokes in my head.
One thing about the women in my family, we take care of our hair. Some may not remember what the original color was, but not me, what you see is what you get, until I pay the fortune to have it "highlighted" I believe the word is now. In my day, it was "frosted". How times do change.
In May when getting myself ready for the traveling we had planned, I went to the stylist who has been doing my hair for a couple years. I keep forgiving her for overdoing it. Each time I tell her a trim will do.
I have learned not to talk to her when she gets started with the scissors. Yet I have not figured out yet what it is that triggers her need to shave me. I know there has to be something blocking my voice from reaching her ears, which are twelve inches away from my face. Until now, I have not had the urge to repeat myself; however, that will change if I decide to go back again.
I always set it myself when I get home. I pay her for the cut with a tip and move on. In May, she decided to blow dry and set it for the same price. I know free things are not handed out freely, but I was not counting the cost of the freebie.
I noticed she never handed me the mirror so I could get a good look at myself. When I reached home, I went to the bathroom and did a double take when I saw this woman with a buzz. Well not exactly, but to me when I cannot get a curling iron with the diameter of a half dime around a strand of hair, then I get worried. I do not like the looks of the person looking back at me from the bathroom mirror. She has no poof or style about her face, there is nothing to bring up up and away to highlight and lift the sagging cheeks or chin.
One thing about it, I have learned the difference in a good haircut and a bad one is two weeks. However, those two weeks are difficult weeks. I have wanted to call her to say what a terrible thing she did to me, but I didn't want to burn any bridges. Instead, I would wear a scarf, if they were in style. I could wear a wig if I had one. Nevertheless, most often I have to endure the remarks of "Got a haircut did ya?" No compliment, only a question filled with "How can you stand it like that" hidden in the way it is said.
When we got to Sioux City, it was time for another trim. My daughter told us of a shop she had been to before that only charged $10 on Tuesdays. Her daughter, my husband and I decided that sounded good. (When am I going to learn???)
"I like the fullness of the top, so if you will just trim and shape me I'd appreciate it." I said with ease that she had understood.
Nothing else was spoken between us while she worked. I have decided not everyone in the north is as friendly as we southerners are. They do not take to chitchat much. She got scissor happy too, and it was too late when I realized I had been cropped.
"Leave me enough to get around my curling iron", I said with anxiety building in my voice when I saw all the hair on the floor.
"Oh you have enough!" was her reply.
Well I don't think so. When I got home, my daughter tried to spike it. She played beauty operator on me but I knew if spiking my hair was left up to me, it might not be done.
We had our pictures made the next day. To my hair, we sprayed it, gooed it, pulled it, spiked it and I almost cried about it. But we went to the studio anyway. I decided I didn't want one of the pictures if I was anywhere in it. I spent my money on ones with the grandchildren, and one of my daughter with her children. She made me take the one of Dad, the children and me. I have not decided what I'll do with it yet. Keep it hid until she comes to see me maybe.
I may just take an online barber course. Surely, there is one out there! Surely, trimming can’t be that difficult. Maybe my husband would let me practice on him or even better than that – I could return the favor to my stylist and trim hers!
Grammyof13
For instance, I have been wearing my hair in a 50's style since the 50's. Cropped at the neck, layered from the crown, above the ears, and up up and away from my face. I think it is becoming - no one has ever told me otherwise, or made suggestions as how else to wear it, so I have grown accustomed to having it the same way for all these years. I don't mind the color, even though it is showing signs of gray, I accept that as the small price to pay for living so long. Too, a 90 year old woman (no-not me yet) with dark hair just looks out of place, don't you think? The same with long stringy hair on a fashionably round, even slightly old woman, there is just something wrong with the picture it evokes in my head.
One thing about the women in my family, we take care of our hair. Some may not remember what the original color was, but not me, what you see is what you get, until I pay the fortune to have it "highlighted" I believe the word is now. In my day, it was "frosted". How times do change.
In May when getting myself ready for the traveling we had planned, I went to the stylist who has been doing my hair for a couple years. I keep forgiving her for overdoing it. Each time I tell her a trim will do.
I have learned not to talk to her when she gets started with the scissors. Yet I have not figured out yet what it is that triggers her need to shave me. I know there has to be something blocking my voice from reaching her ears, which are twelve inches away from my face. Until now, I have not had the urge to repeat myself; however, that will change if I decide to go back again.
I always set it myself when I get home. I pay her for the cut with a tip and move on. In May, she decided to blow dry and set it for the same price. I know free things are not handed out freely, but I was not counting the cost of the freebie.
I noticed she never handed me the mirror so I could get a good look at myself. When I reached home, I went to the bathroom and did a double take when I saw this woman with a buzz. Well not exactly, but to me when I cannot get a curling iron with the diameter of a half dime around a strand of hair, then I get worried. I do not like the looks of the person looking back at me from the bathroom mirror. She has no poof or style about her face, there is nothing to bring up up and away to highlight and lift the sagging cheeks or chin.
One thing about it, I have learned the difference in a good haircut and a bad one is two weeks. However, those two weeks are difficult weeks. I have wanted to call her to say what a terrible thing she did to me, but I didn't want to burn any bridges. Instead, I would wear a scarf, if they were in style. I could wear a wig if I had one. Nevertheless, most often I have to endure the remarks of "Got a haircut did ya?" No compliment, only a question filled with "How can you stand it like that" hidden in the way it is said.
When we got to Sioux City, it was time for another trim. My daughter told us of a shop she had been to before that only charged $10 on Tuesdays. Her daughter, my husband and I decided that sounded good. (When am I going to learn???)
"I like the fullness of the top, so if you will just trim and shape me I'd appreciate it." I said with ease that she had understood.
Nothing else was spoken between us while she worked. I have decided not everyone in the north is as friendly as we southerners are. They do not take to chitchat much. She got scissor happy too, and it was too late when I realized I had been cropped.
"Leave me enough to get around my curling iron", I said with anxiety building in my voice when I saw all the hair on the floor.
"Oh you have enough!" was her reply.
Well I don't think so. When I got home, my daughter tried to spike it. She played beauty operator on me but I knew if spiking my hair was left up to me, it might not be done.
We had our pictures made the next day. To my hair, we sprayed it, gooed it, pulled it, spiked it and I almost cried about it. But we went to the studio anyway. I decided I didn't want one of the pictures if I was anywhere in it. I spent my money on ones with the grandchildren, and one of my daughter with her children. She made me take the one of Dad, the children and me. I have not decided what I'll do with it yet. Keep it hid until she comes to see me maybe.
I may just take an online barber course. Surely, there is one out there! Surely, trimming can’t be that difficult. Maybe my husband would let me practice on him or even better than that – I could return the favor to my stylist and trim hers!
Grammyof13
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Dropping the Ball.
I'm sure somewhere along the way, I have dropped the ball as the saying goes. Didn't follow through with a project or promise. Don't remember any such occasion, but it happens and I have been a victim.
We are only human I'm quick to add and should be forgiving when someone doesn't follow through. It is just difficult to understand how a Doctor's office can give you an appointment card, but fail to write it down on their appointment book!
Now that exasperates me. I always put my appointment cards on the refrigerator along with my husbands scheduled appointments, and the pictures of every one's grandchildren of course. It is an unwritten rule that the cards not be moved under penalty of my law. Each time I open the refrigerator door, I see the card which shows me the day and time I am to be at a certain place. To go a step further, I also write the date on my desk calendar which stays by the phone in the kitchen.
Now that you see by my word picture of how organized I am, I will continue with my story. I was supposed to get my cataracts removed today, but remembered I had to be in LR at the cardiologist office for my six month check up at 3:30p. That is a little late for an appointment I know, but that is the time she gave me and I had to live with it. The last time I was there several months ago it was after lunch and the practitioner seemed a bit irritated. I didn't ask what his problem was, I listened long enough to know the Doctor he worked for had either not answered his call, or had called too often. Anyway, I knew he was not a happy camper, and he suggested that he run the valve re-gurge test next time. I agreed and left with my appointment card for August 5, 3:30 pm, which promptly went on my refrigerator.
I left home around 2:30 today, not knowing how the LR traffic is; I always allow myself enough time. The parking lot was sparsely full, and it was not difficult to find a parking place close by the building. I took the elevator to the second floor and introduced myself to the secretary. I watched as her face gave a scowl, then a question mark as big as Texas was written from her eyes to her chin. She finally worked up enough courage to say, “I don’t have you down anywhere in the system for an appointment; besides that group of Doctors is out of the office until August 18.”
“What about the Practitioner?” I asked still composed at this point.
“No like I say, they are all gone until the 18th?” She said apologetically.
“Did the Doctor take them all on a cruise?” I asked trying to find some humor in the situation. It was difficult for all I could think of was the gas I had just wasted going somewhere I did not need to go after all.
“I’ll see anyone else who is here; I don’t have to see Dr. Beau”. I suggested.
“There is only one Doctor here and he is booked up!”
Suddenly, I visualized a clinic where many Doctors practice medicine (that is scary,” practice”) empty, void, vacant of physicians. I thought about the people who were having heart attacks at that moment who would die because their Doctor was out of town on an extended vacation. I thought about cardiologist in my town, and now could have easily picked up my records and went shopping for a new cardiologist closer to home.
All the standing there smiling through clinched teeth was getting me nowhere. The two girls who were trying to help me didn’t have anything to do with the discrepancy, so I drove the 30 miles back home without setting another appointment, because I was told, the schedule clerk for my Doctor was out also until the 18th!!!!!
My mind flashed back to the day in February when I was there, late in the afternoon; Grumpy practitioner, addled nurse, and an all round bad hair day for the whole office. I still do not know how she managed to write August 5th 3:30pm on my card and not record it anywhere else. I don’t know their procedure, but something needs to be changed. I have not decided yet how I will go about collecting my expenses for a wasted trip. In addition, I just hope I stay well until he returns; I hate to break in another Doctor.
Grammyof13
We are only human I'm quick to add and should be forgiving when someone doesn't follow through. It is just difficult to understand how a Doctor's office can give you an appointment card, but fail to write it down on their appointment book!
Now that exasperates me. I always put my appointment cards on the refrigerator along with my husbands scheduled appointments, and the pictures of every one's grandchildren of course. It is an unwritten rule that the cards not be moved under penalty of my law. Each time I open the refrigerator door, I see the card which shows me the day and time I am to be at a certain place. To go a step further, I also write the date on my desk calendar which stays by the phone in the kitchen.
Now that you see by my word picture of how organized I am, I will continue with my story. I was supposed to get my cataracts removed today, but remembered I had to be in LR at the cardiologist office for my six month check up at 3:30p. That is a little late for an appointment I know, but that is the time she gave me and I had to live with it. The last time I was there several months ago it was after lunch and the practitioner seemed a bit irritated. I didn't ask what his problem was, I listened long enough to know the Doctor he worked for had either not answered his call, or had called too often. Anyway, I knew he was not a happy camper, and he suggested that he run the valve re-gurge test next time. I agreed and left with my appointment card for August 5, 3:30 pm, which promptly went on my refrigerator.
I left home around 2:30 today, not knowing how the LR traffic is; I always allow myself enough time. The parking lot was sparsely full, and it was not difficult to find a parking place close by the building. I took the elevator to the second floor and introduced myself to the secretary. I watched as her face gave a scowl, then a question mark as big as Texas was written from her eyes to her chin. She finally worked up enough courage to say, “I don’t have you down anywhere in the system for an appointment; besides that group of Doctors is out of the office until August 18.”
“What about the Practitioner?” I asked still composed at this point.
“No like I say, they are all gone until the 18th?” She said apologetically.
“Did the Doctor take them all on a cruise?” I asked trying to find some humor in the situation. It was difficult for all I could think of was the gas I had just wasted going somewhere I did not need to go after all.
“I’ll see anyone else who is here; I don’t have to see Dr. Beau”. I suggested.
“There is only one Doctor here and he is booked up!”
Suddenly, I visualized a clinic where many Doctors practice medicine (that is scary,” practice”) empty, void, vacant of physicians. I thought about the people who were having heart attacks at that moment who would die because their Doctor was out of town on an extended vacation. I thought about cardiologist in my town, and now could have easily picked up my records and went shopping for a new cardiologist closer to home.
All the standing there smiling through clinched teeth was getting me nowhere. The two girls who were trying to help me didn’t have anything to do with the discrepancy, so I drove the 30 miles back home without setting another appointment, because I was told, the schedule clerk for my Doctor was out also until the 18th!!!!!
My mind flashed back to the day in February when I was there, late in the afternoon; Grumpy practitioner, addled nurse, and an all round bad hair day for the whole office. I still do not know how she managed to write August 5th 3:30pm on my card and not record it anywhere else. I don’t know their procedure, but something needs to be changed. I have not decided yet how I will go about collecting my expenses for a wasted trip. In addition, I just hope I stay well until he returns; I hate to break in another Doctor.
Grammyof13
Sunday, August 3, 2008
I'm My Mother's Child.
My mother was a prankster, and I for one inherited her genes. One other sister did too. I have five you know. From Mother's six girls, there are two carrying on her mischievous tradition that we know of. It could be the others just have not been as open with their tomfoolery.
I have played pranks on my children and my husband. I just can't help it. My husband is so much fun to play a joke or trick on. I have told you about a few, like the time when my children were small and we were on our way home from visiting his family in Miss. The children were safely in their seat, (not in a seat belt, I'm not sure if cars were made with the harness then) and we were on our way.
We made a stop for the usual coke and chips or candy bar or whatever it was we hankered for, and while my husband finished filling the car with fuel, my oldest son was taking the order of the other two children and myself. As he opened the passenger door where I sat, I just leaned lazily into the door and the further it opened the more my body relaxed in a position I only wish I could get into now! He watched me as in slow motion I leaned sideways against the door until I was partly in the car and mostly on the ground.
He knew I was in a impish mood, so he played along. "Go tell your Dad I fainted," I whispered. It took a little coaxing, before he left his mother in such a position. I think he was almost embarrassed at this grown woman, (well I was only in my 20's, give me a break!) whose head, arms and upper torso was out of the car while her lower torso and legs was still inside.
Before he could get his dad to understand what he was shyly saying, the attendant inside the store made a beeline out of the store and came to my aid. “I am just pretending,” I whispered as he leaned to examine me closer. “Lady, you scared me to death, I thought you were dead!” Then he disappeared into the store.
My husband did not get the joke. I thought I was entertaining. The kids got a good laugh, and my husband sat quiet almost all the way back to Memphis! I drank my coke, ate my peanuts, and cried, I laughed so hard.
Well that was not the story I planned to tell, it just seemed appropriate to share that with those who haven’t heard or read it before. I talked with my prankster sister yesterday and she reminded me of one of her roguish spells.
Her drivers licenses were due to expire so she dressed up in her Sunday best, (as us girls are prone to do), and went down to the Department of Motor Vehicles and Drivers licenses. People were everywhere in every seat, as she scanned the crowd, found an empty chair, then sat down without taking a number. “I figured that didn’t mean me, since I was there to renew my driver’s licenses,” She told me.
“Mamm you are supposed to take a number”, said the young man who was blessed to be seated next to her.
“Oh, I’m only here to renew my driver’s licenses so I didn't figure that applied to me.” she answered.
“Well then, you must fill out those forms over there on the counter, and take a number anyway.” He seemed very informed and was glad to share his knowledge with this stranger, (probably thinking she was some helpless female who needed his assistance.)
She retrieved the forms and set down to the endless questionnaire. “Well they know my name, it is on my licenses and I got them here last year”, she said as she wrote down her name.
“What color is my hair? What do they mean? What color it is today, or may be tomorrow, or what it was yesterday?” She glanced at the man sitting next to her. So far, he was not catching the humor.
Her number was finally called, and she walked to the counter with the form with blank lines. “Mamm we have to have all this information,” the clerk said.
“Oh, I didn’t figure that meant me, as I am only here to renew my licenses, and besides you already have the information since I got my licenses here last year.” She said with a twinkle in her eye the girl did not notice.
“Well, just answer the questions for me, and I’ll fill in the blanks. How old are you?”
My sister said, “Well, I figure how old I am has nothing to do with my driving abilities, and beside you know better than to ask a woman her age. You mean how old do I feel, or how old do I look or how old I am according to the calendar?”
The clerk was trying not to show her irritation. "I'll put down 39"
"That sounds good," my sister continued trying not to chuckle.
“What is the color of your hair”? the clerk asked.
“Well, now. That is where I had the biggest problem trying to finish your form. Do you want to know what color it is now? What color it was yesterday, or what it will be tomorrow? You see, I forgot what color it was when I was born, it has been so long since I saw the real color that I don't remember.
“Just whatever you say, Mam, just pick a color”
"Do you know how tall you are?"
"Well, do you want to know how tall I am when I'm in 3inch heels, or barefoot, or a flat heel shoe?"
"I'll put down 5'2""
“What is the color of your eyes?” Her questions were getting shorter but firmer.
“Well, you see that is a problem too” my sister began. “I have a difficult time knowing what color they are. Do you mean….”
The clerk handed the forms back to her, and said “Just go down to the other end of the counter and get your picture made.” Whereupon, she walked away laughing, remembering Mama.
She tells it better, but she is a hoot and had me laughing on the phone the other night when she relayed the story again.
She is the one who helped me baptize the cats when we were small! It wouldn’t do for us to live close to each other, we might get into more trouble than our husband’s could get us out!
Life is short, find a little humor even if you have to make it yourself.
Grammyof13
I have played pranks on my children and my husband. I just can't help it. My husband is so much fun to play a joke or trick on. I have told you about a few, like the time when my children were small and we were on our way home from visiting his family in Miss. The children were safely in their seat, (not in a seat belt, I'm not sure if cars were made with the harness then) and we were on our way.
We made a stop for the usual coke and chips or candy bar or whatever it was we hankered for, and while my husband finished filling the car with fuel, my oldest son was taking the order of the other two children and myself. As he opened the passenger door where I sat, I just leaned lazily into the door and the further it opened the more my body relaxed in a position I only wish I could get into now! He watched me as in slow motion I leaned sideways against the door until I was partly in the car and mostly on the ground.
He knew I was in a impish mood, so he played along. "Go tell your Dad I fainted," I whispered. It took a little coaxing, before he left his mother in such a position. I think he was almost embarrassed at this grown woman, (well I was only in my 20's, give me a break!) whose head, arms and upper torso was out of the car while her lower torso and legs was still inside.
Before he could get his dad to understand what he was shyly saying, the attendant inside the store made a beeline out of the store and came to my aid. “I am just pretending,” I whispered as he leaned to examine me closer. “Lady, you scared me to death, I thought you were dead!” Then he disappeared into the store.
My husband did not get the joke. I thought I was entertaining. The kids got a good laugh, and my husband sat quiet almost all the way back to Memphis! I drank my coke, ate my peanuts, and cried, I laughed so hard.
Well that was not the story I planned to tell, it just seemed appropriate to share that with those who haven’t heard or read it before. I talked with my prankster sister yesterday and she reminded me of one of her roguish spells.
Her drivers licenses were due to expire so she dressed up in her Sunday best, (as us girls are prone to do), and went down to the Department of Motor Vehicles and Drivers licenses. People were everywhere in every seat, as she scanned the crowd, found an empty chair, then sat down without taking a number. “I figured that didn’t mean me, since I was there to renew my driver’s licenses,” She told me.
“Mamm you are supposed to take a number”, said the young man who was blessed to be seated next to her.
“Oh, I’m only here to renew my driver’s licenses so I didn't figure that applied to me.” she answered.
“Well then, you must fill out those forms over there on the counter, and take a number anyway.” He seemed very informed and was glad to share his knowledge with this stranger, (probably thinking she was some helpless female who needed his assistance.)
She retrieved the forms and set down to the endless questionnaire. “Well they know my name, it is on my licenses and I got them here last year”, she said as she wrote down her name.
“What color is my hair? What do they mean? What color it is today, or may be tomorrow, or what it was yesterday?” She glanced at the man sitting next to her. So far, he was not catching the humor.
Her number was finally called, and she walked to the counter with the form with blank lines. “Mamm we have to have all this information,” the clerk said.
“Oh, I didn’t figure that meant me, as I am only here to renew my licenses, and besides you already have the information since I got my licenses here last year.” She said with a twinkle in her eye the girl did not notice.
“Well, just answer the questions for me, and I’ll fill in the blanks. How old are you?”
My sister said, “Well, I figure how old I am has nothing to do with my driving abilities, and beside you know better than to ask a woman her age. You mean how old do I feel, or how old do I look or how old I am according to the calendar?”
The clerk was trying not to show her irritation. "I'll put down 39"
"That sounds good," my sister continued trying not to chuckle.
“What is the color of your hair”? the clerk asked.
“Well, now. That is where I had the biggest problem trying to finish your form. Do you want to know what color it is now? What color it was yesterday, or what it will be tomorrow? You see, I forgot what color it was when I was born, it has been so long since I saw the real color that I don't remember.
“Just whatever you say, Mam, just pick a color”
"Do you know how tall you are?"
"Well, do you want to know how tall I am when I'm in 3inch heels, or barefoot, or a flat heel shoe?"
"I'll put down 5'2""
“What is the color of your eyes?” Her questions were getting shorter but firmer.
“Well, you see that is a problem too” my sister began. “I have a difficult time knowing what color they are. Do you mean….”
The clerk handed the forms back to her, and said “Just go down to the other end of the counter and get your picture made.” Whereupon, she walked away laughing, remembering Mama.
She tells it better, but she is a hoot and had me laughing on the phone the other night when she relayed the story again.
She is the one who helped me baptize the cats when we were small! It wouldn’t do for us to live close to each other, we might get into more trouble than our husband’s could get us out!
Life is short, find a little humor even if you have to make it yourself.
Grammyof13
Friday, August 1, 2008
Constant Reminders.
Each morning as I swing my legs off the side of the bed, set my feet on the floor,and finally stand up, I am reminded that my future could contain far less years, than my past has had. At this stage of my life, I can say I have been blessed with many days of good health. However, each morning I am so stiff that getting out of bed is an effort, or I must push myself into moving around at all. I hesitate to make decisions on what I should do to get anything accomplished, especially when my bones are crying in pain. Then its off to the bathroom where I see the aging, wrinkled woman with the gray streaks in her hair, staring back at me.
I don't have to get up and get my teeth out of its soaking container. I do have to get my glasses firmly fixed over my ears and nose in order to see. I am impelled to take a few minutes on the deck for a time of devotion and rest before I start my day. Constant reminders as I slowly get into my morning that I am a Senior citizen.
I said all that to say this. Yesterday after I got myself in gear, dressed for the day, all the necessary bending and bowing to get my sacroiliac into motion, I was working at my Computer when the doorbell rang. I expected to see a salesman, or one of the neighbors. To my surprise Lana’s Mom with her baby greeted me as I opened the door.
Surprised I said, “Well hello,” as I opened the door to invite them into the living room. I kissed the baby she held in her arms, and we had a chit chat type of conversation before she shyly gave me the reason of her call.
“Lana has come down with a bad tooth ache, and I have no one to leave “Alexei” with while I take her to the Dentist.”
“I realize I hardly know you, but I know you better than any of the other neighbors”, she continued. “Would you mind keeping Alexei for a couple hours?”
I had nothing better planned but to go groceries shopping and I was not looking forward to the 110-degree weather I would encounter when I left my cool house. So I assured her I would love to, it would give me an excuse to set down and rock her as we got acquainted.
“She won’t go to sleep by rocking. We’ve tried that, for we love holding her, but she is such a good baby, she goes to sleep by herself. My husband and I would love holding her to get her to sleep, but she prefers to do it her own way.”
“Well, maybe I can hold her while she takes the bottle”, I offered.
“She will probably let you do that”, she assured me as she turned to kiss the baby on its little angelic face.
I could see Lexie was not deprived of love,attention, and care.
We had met when Lana, her three year old, stumbled onto my deck making the sound of a body being thrown and dropped. I found Lana sprawled out on the deck crying crocodile tears. My motherly instinct went into gear immediately, as I reached for the little dark haired girl that had found her way to my domain. I tried wiping her tears and upon asking questions as to her name, or where she lived, I received only more tears and wails for my answers.
Shortly, a young mother from the house behind me came running at the sounds of her little one’s cry. It was then we got acquainted, and talked several times after that when Lana wandered into my yard at other times. It seemed she loved watching my bird feeders swing back and forth, when she hoisted herself to the deck bench so she could reach them.
As my neighbor and I talked, I learned she grew up in South Ark, while her husband grew up in Laurel MS. My husband also being raised in MS, always evokes a tad of excitement from me as I exclaimed, “Oh yes, my husband was raised in Tupelo”.
Her response surprised me when she said, “I’m not sure where that is”.
“Oh that is the town where Elvis was born!”
She gave me a puzzled look like Who is Elvis?
I don’t remember that ever happening to me before. Who is Elvis? Suddenly, I realized I am “old”, or this child is a child from the future, or 1800. I opted for a child of the future, and decided to venture my next question. “You don’t know Elvis, do you?”
“No” she said shyly and added, “My grandmother is crazy about him”.
“I forget there is a new generation that was not privileged to know the man”, I said with a laugh. Then I added, as I always do, “My husband and he were boys together in the 50’s.”
Again, not realizing that was, to her, another century and before time. I rambled on, “Elvis’ father and my husband’s father worked together at a Grocery distributor in Tupelo during those years.”
I decided not to go any further for my enthusiasm of Elvis was falling on deaf ears.
She left to get the kids ready for the trip to the Dentist promising to be back by 1:30 to leave Lexie.
Sure enough, as she promised, the doorbell rang. I had prepared a pallet of quilts on the floor in front of the TV for Lexie to take her nap. As I settled down in my rocker, with Lexie in my arms close to me, her mother brought me the blanket and the bottle.
I remarked about the blanket. It was beautiful. Pink, of course, with a satin lining.
“This is beautiful,” I exclaimed as I felt of the soft material and examined it as I would before purchasing a piece of cloth. It so suited the nine-month-old baby girl.
I broke out in song, “Satin sheets to lie on”, as my neighbor stood there listening to the first few lines before I stopped, “You’ve never heard of that one either have you?”
“No, I don’t believe I have”, again her answer was with shyness, but this time with a smile.
“Child, how old are you”, I teased. “I can’t get on the same page with you, you are from another time.”
We both laughed and I decided not to pursue any more age or time related stuff that always works with people of my generation.
She left with the promise to be back in a couple hours. Lexie watched her leave, but went back to her bottle. As she drank, I gently rocked and looked at the tiny features of the unfamiliar baby in my arms. She looked at me with a toothless grin as she took the bottle away from her mouth, to examine my wrinkled face with her tiny hand.
It is only natural for me to sing to children. “Rock a bye baby, on the tree top!” I sang as Lexie continued to smile and listen, watching my face as though she was trying to figure out who this stranger was.
I’m not sure if she cared that the song I was singing was from another time, centuries before she was born. I’m not sure if she cared the lady who held her was also from another century.
Babies are like that. They accept us for who we are. She did not have to know about my arthritic back or knees, or that a few hours earlier, I was stiff and in pain.
Her mother and I decided we would teach her to call me Grammy. And even though the name itself denotes an aged person, it is all right - for again, babies and children have no frame of reference as to when or how long ago you were born. And that is a blessing.
Grammyof13
I don't have to get up and get my teeth out of its soaking container. I do have to get my glasses firmly fixed over my ears and nose in order to see. I am impelled to take a few minutes on the deck for a time of devotion and rest before I start my day. Constant reminders as I slowly get into my morning that I am a Senior citizen.
I said all that to say this. Yesterday after I got myself in gear, dressed for the day, all the necessary bending and bowing to get my sacroiliac into motion, I was working at my Computer when the doorbell rang. I expected to see a salesman, or one of the neighbors. To my surprise Lana’s Mom with her baby greeted me as I opened the door.
Surprised I said, “Well hello,” as I opened the door to invite them into the living room. I kissed the baby she held in her arms, and we had a chit chat type of conversation before she shyly gave me the reason of her call.
“Lana has come down with a bad tooth ache, and I have no one to leave “Alexei” with while I take her to the Dentist.”
“I realize I hardly know you, but I know you better than any of the other neighbors”, she continued. “Would you mind keeping Alexei for a couple hours?”
I had nothing better planned but to go groceries shopping and I was not looking forward to the 110-degree weather I would encounter when I left my cool house. So I assured her I would love to, it would give me an excuse to set down and rock her as we got acquainted.
“She won’t go to sleep by rocking. We’ve tried that, for we love holding her, but she is such a good baby, she goes to sleep by herself. My husband and I would love holding her to get her to sleep, but she prefers to do it her own way.”
“Well, maybe I can hold her while she takes the bottle”, I offered.
“She will probably let you do that”, she assured me as she turned to kiss the baby on its little angelic face.
I could see Lexie was not deprived of love,attention, and care.
We had met when Lana, her three year old, stumbled onto my deck making the sound of a body being thrown and dropped. I found Lana sprawled out on the deck crying crocodile tears. My motherly instinct went into gear immediately, as I reached for the little dark haired girl that had found her way to my domain. I tried wiping her tears and upon asking questions as to her name, or where she lived, I received only more tears and wails for my answers.
Shortly, a young mother from the house behind me came running at the sounds of her little one’s cry. It was then we got acquainted, and talked several times after that when Lana wandered into my yard at other times. It seemed she loved watching my bird feeders swing back and forth, when she hoisted herself to the deck bench so she could reach them.
As my neighbor and I talked, I learned she grew up in South Ark, while her husband grew up in Laurel MS. My husband also being raised in MS, always evokes a tad of excitement from me as I exclaimed, “Oh yes, my husband was raised in Tupelo”.
Her response surprised me when she said, “I’m not sure where that is”.
“Oh that is the town where Elvis was born!”
She gave me a puzzled look like Who is Elvis?
I don’t remember that ever happening to me before. Who is Elvis? Suddenly, I realized I am “old”, or this child is a child from the future, or 1800. I opted for a child of the future, and decided to venture my next question. “You don’t know Elvis, do you?”
“No” she said shyly and added, “My grandmother is crazy about him”.
“I forget there is a new generation that was not privileged to know the man”, I said with a laugh. Then I added, as I always do, “My husband and he were boys together in the 50’s.”
Again, not realizing that was, to her, another century and before time. I rambled on, “Elvis’ father and my husband’s father worked together at a Grocery distributor in Tupelo during those years.”
I decided not to go any further for my enthusiasm of Elvis was falling on deaf ears.
She left to get the kids ready for the trip to the Dentist promising to be back by 1:30 to leave Lexie.
Sure enough, as she promised, the doorbell rang. I had prepared a pallet of quilts on the floor in front of the TV for Lexie to take her nap. As I settled down in my rocker, with Lexie in my arms close to me, her mother brought me the blanket and the bottle.
I remarked about the blanket. It was beautiful. Pink, of course, with a satin lining.
“This is beautiful,” I exclaimed as I felt of the soft material and examined it as I would before purchasing a piece of cloth. It so suited the nine-month-old baby girl.
I broke out in song, “Satin sheets to lie on”, as my neighbor stood there listening to the first few lines before I stopped, “You’ve never heard of that one either have you?”
“No, I don’t believe I have”, again her answer was with shyness, but this time with a smile.
“Child, how old are you”, I teased. “I can’t get on the same page with you, you are from another time.”
We both laughed and I decided not to pursue any more age or time related stuff that always works with people of my generation.
She left with the promise to be back in a couple hours. Lexie watched her leave, but went back to her bottle. As she drank, I gently rocked and looked at the tiny features of the unfamiliar baby in my arms. She looked at me with a toothless grin as she took the bottle away from her mouth, to examine my wrinkled face with her tiny hand.
It is only natural for me to sing to children. “Rock a bye baby, on the tree top!” I sang as Lexie continued to smile and listen, watching my face as though she was trying to figure out who this stranger was.
I’m not sure if she cared that the song I was singing was from another time, centuries before she was born. I’m not sure if she cared the lady who held her was also from another century.
Babies are like that. They accept us for who we are. She did not have to know about my arthritic back or knees, or that a few hours earlier, I was stiff and in pain.
Her mother and I decided we would teach her to call me Grammy. And even though the name itself denotes an aged person, it is all right - for again, babies and children have no frame of reference as to when or how long ago you were born. And that is a blessing.
Grammyof13
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