I'm kind of freakish when it comes to spiritual things.
I believe the dead are always with us, in cardinals, in baby deer, in the wind.
I believe that God does speak to us in ways most of us don't even understand.
I believe in signs.
If you're following my rantings, you know about Kate and her quest to decide the path of her future. Should she go back to Boston in the fall, should she stay here and take some courses, should she shuck it all and take her 5' 0" frame and head to Disney World and be a friend to the world's most famous mouse.
The biggest question is "Should she go back to Boston in the fall"
I think she got her sign.
She went up to work graduation. A $100 gig, and a chance to see some friends one more time. On the way, she got a speeding ticket. 68 in a 55 - work zone. She's gonna take a loss on that one.
This past week, she went back to the school to work orientation. She had been contracted to do this in the spring, and she was happy to help. She also wanted to pass go, and collect $1,100. More than that, she wanted to help.
After being there 4 days, she slipped and fell up, then immediately down some stairs, severely spraining her ankle in the process. Her biggest complaint is not from the pain, but from the lack of compassion and assistance her fellow orientation leaders have offered.
No one offers to hold doors, no one offers to carry her meal tray, no one offers anything.
I'm not surprised though. She picked this particular university because of the high caliber business education it has to offer. She has certainly received an education. She has learned life's most difficult lesson. Most people are in it for themselves, not what they can do for others.
Throughout her entire life she has been the one to bring home stray animals and misfit toys.
I wonder if she has seen the sign.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Failure to Sleep
“Remember it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.” That was the only time I ever heard Atticus say it was a sin to do something, and I asked Miss Maudie about it. “Your father’s right,” she said. “Mockingbirds don’t do one thing but make music for us to enjoy . . . but sing their hearts out for us. That’s why it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.”
(Harper Lee)
If you've seen the movie "Failure to Launch" you know what I mean.
It's only a bird, one solitary bird.
One freakin' solitary bird.
One freakin' solitary bird that can imitate every other bird in the neighborhood, and the dog and the neighbor's cat.
And it sits right outside my bedroom window.
It must be a she. I think it is in love with Tom.
A few months ago, we had a Landsacpe Architect come and draw up a planting plan for our house. One little bone of contention in the plan was the removal of the 16-20 ft Blue Spruce that sits on the corner of my house. I know it has to go, as it grows, it's encroaching my front porch, and damage to the house is a real possibility.
But I love that tree. I can sit on my porch and turn a chair around and hide from everyone that drives by. I have pictures of the kids standing in front of that tree for all the special occasions since I've moved in there.
You know I'm a pack rat and an emotional fool. I just hated the thought of parting with that tree. Last night that all changed. Thanks to the mockingbird.
She started at 10PM, the minute she saw the light in the bedroom go on. She went on all night, in her Obsessive Compulsive three count repertoire. I had all I could do not to go outside with the chainsaw right then and there.
I still haven't resolved myself to the loss of the tree. But today, inbetween raindrops, I am going to climb out my bedroom window, and if there are no babies in the nest, the nest will be gone. The mockingbird will be homeless.
If that doesn't work, I could buy a shotgun.
Monday, May 22, 2006
Next time...buy me dinner first!
Wow. You know, it says here that by the time the average American is fifty, he has five pounds of undigested red meat in his bowels.
(Billy Rosewood - Beverly Hills Cop)
Thanks...now I know everything I need to know.
WARNING: THE SUBJECT OF THIS RANT IS A BIT SQUICKY...READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!
This week, in the midst of the rest of the chaos and clutter that has become my life, I got to share in a ritual. A ritual so steeped in mystery, that the Masons don't discuss it. You don't normally share the details of the ritual with your friends, but deep down, you know that someday, they will all share in this ritual too.
This ritual you ask...the colonoscopy.
Imagine it, if you dare. An eight foot rubber hose placed up into your rear while a camera takes pictures of everything inside.
My first question? At what point in medical school do you decide you want to do this for a living?
The preparation for the test starts the day before. A total liquid diet. No red food. Jello, Ice Pops, broth. Did you ever count the number of food commerials in prime time? I was so hungry I would have killed for some Dharma ranch dressing.
At 3PM the night before the test, you start your prep with two Dulcolax tablets.
At six PM, you mix a bottle of some white powder and a 64 ounce bottle of Gatorade. Dring 8 ounces every 15 minutes until gone.
At 9 PM two more Dulcolax and a glass of water.
Begin the cleanse process.
At about 9:30 PM, I began to wonder..."What if you go through this entire process, and you just don't go?" You walk into the Doctor, telling her that you didn't go, and she tells you you are full of it. You agree, and she soon finds out that you are full of it, and were not lying. Fortunately for both of us that was not a problem. Soon, I am clean and 5 pounds lighter.
I get up the next morning, and head to the office of my Gastroenterologist. My Doctors have this big mega complex that makes the local hospitals sad. Instead of having to do these tests in the hospital, you do them in the very swanky, very well decorated Gastroenterology Suite.
They check you in, ask you all sorts of questions, start an IV and wheel you into this little room. I swear..they were playing Enya music. They gave me some Valium to calm me. but I think it was an attempt to put me in the mood. The lights were dimmed, it was really beautiful...sniff, tear.
I'd like to tell you more about the procedure, but I can't. Apprently, this drug named Verced (Now why is it all the good medicines I've gotten lately start with the letter V?) causes a temporary amnesia and you remember nothing. I just only hope she didn't ask me questions while I was under.
All I can tell you is when it's your time...
Get them to buy you dinner first. Just don't make it steak.
Friday, May 19, 2006
May 19th
I hate May 19th.
I know it's not possible to hate a date, but I do.
May 19th took two of the most influential men in my life away from me.
May 19, 1970, my grandfather Henry Harrington died. He was a quiet man, family man. Although I was only shy of 9 when he died, I remember him clearly.
He kept me involved in my father's family, when my father walked away. When I was 8, he piled me and my aunt (two days younger) in the back of the family wagon, and we Griswolded our way across the USA in the back of a Chevrolet station wagon. He took me to Disneyland for the first time. He took me to the beach on vacation every year. He loved my grandmother and she loved him. He allowed his very influential family to cut him off when he married someone beneath his station. Gram was only 52 when he died, but no other man could ever take his place. She died 26 years later, never remarrying, never dating, still loving him.
On May 19, 2003, my grandfather Michael Lepore died. He was a quiet man, family man.
He was the Italian version of Henry. Except he hated to travel.
His mother died when he was 6. The same day as his sister Carmella. He was raised by his older sister after his father showed an inablity to be a widower with 5 children - 12 and under.
He and my grandmother eloped because my grandmother was marrying beneath her by loving an Italian. He loved her for 62 years, and at his funeral we realized that in every single picture of the two of them, he is looking at her with a love in his eyes that most women only dream about.
When my mother and father realized that they were to young to raise a child, he and my grandmother took me in. He taught me to love both the Mets and the Yankees, to love football, and to like only college basketball. Hockey was a Canadian sport, and therefore, something foreign, and not to be liked. I was the son his own son never was. He made me listen to Country music. He made me not snap my gum. He made me never feed the dog off of a people dish. He let me taste his wine, got me drunk and laughed when I closed my hair in my bedroom window and couldn't get it open.
He walked me down the aisle, and placed my hand into that of another quiet, family man.
The night he died, I sat by his side and held his hand. He had been in intensive care for about a week, and wasn't getting any better. Everyone else left about 8 PM, and I insisted I had to stay to watch something on TV. Truth is, I couldn't leave him. At 9 PM, I kissed him on the head, told him that everything would be OK, and that I would see that the "tough old bird" would be taken care of. I drove the 20 minute drive home, and as I walked in the door, received the call that he was gone.
I hate May 19th. But I love it too.
May 19th makes me remember the two men who showed me that that love is not something you do, love is something you are.
I know it's not possible to hate a date, but I do.
May 19th took two of the most influential men in my life away from me.
May 19, 1970, my grandfather Henry Harrington died. He was a quiet man, family man. Although I was only shy of 9 when he died, I remember him clearly.
He kept me involved in my father's family, when my father walked away. When I was 8, he piled me and my aunt (two days younger) in the back of the family wagon, and we Griswolded our way across the USA in the back of a Chevrolet station wagon. He took me to Disneyland for the first time. He took me to the beach on vacation every year. He loved my grandmother and she loved him. He allowed his very influential family to cut him off when he married someone beneath his station. Gram was only 52 when he died, but no other man could ever take his place. She died 26 years later, never remarrying, never dating, still loving him.
On May 19, 2003, my grandfather Michael Lepore died. He was a quiet man, family man.
He was the Italian version of Henry. Except he hated to travel.
His mother died when he was 6. The same day as his sister Carmella. He was raised by his older sister after his father showed an inablity to be a widower with 5 children - 12 and under.
He and my grandmother eloped because my grandmother was marrying beneath her by loving an Italian. He loved her for 62 years, and at his funeral we realized that in every single picture of the two of them, he is looking at her with a love in his eyes that most women only dream about.
When my mother and father realized that they were to young to raise a child, he and my grandmother took me in. He taught me to love both the Mets and the Yankees, to love football, and to like only college basketball. Hockey was a Canadian sport, and therefore, something foreign, and not to be liked. I was the son his own son never was. He made me listen to Country music. He made me not snap my gum. He made me never feed the dog off of a people dish. He let me taste his wine, got me drunk and laughed when I closed my hair in my bedroom window and couldn't get it open.
He walked me down the aisle, and placed my hand into that of another quiet, family man.
The night he died, I sat by his side and held his hand. He had been in intensive care for about a week, and wasn't getting any better. Everyone else left about 8 PM, and I insisted I had to stay to watch something on TV. Truth is, I couldn't leave him. At 9 PM, I kissed him on the head, told him that everything would be OK, and that I would see that the "tough old bird" would be taken care of. I drove the 20 minute drive home, and as I walked in the door, received the call that he was gone.
I hate May 19th. But I love it too.
May 19th makes me remember the two men who showed me that that love is not something you do, love is something you are.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Thought for Today
Some People are like Slinkys
They really don't have a purpose,
But they still bring a smile to your face
When you push them down the stairs :)
They really don't have a purpose,
But they still bring a smile to your face
When you push them down the stairs :)
Thursday, April 27, 2006
You know the cops finally busted Madame Marie
Feeling guilty over depressing everyone with the petty crap going on in my world, I have determined that it is time to brighten up the room with stories of Lola in her prime. Pre kids, pre husband, pre just about everything that makes Lola the Lola you all know and tolerate.
Imagine if you will, a February weekend...much like any other February weekend in the Hudson Valley. Cold, miserable and absolutely nothing to do. Lola, (who was getting married in 4 months) with her friends Cindy and Karen were looking for something to do. Anything at all. Nothing was working. Nothing for three 21 year old girls with too much money and too much time on their hands. (cue music do do do do...do do do do)
We pick up our story with Lola (that's me) deciding that it would be a great idea to drive two hours to see my childhood friend Cheri. Cheri and I have been friends since we were eight. You know the movie Beaches? That's us, without the smoking and the Music career or the money. Maybe, just maybe, Cheri would have some idea of some exciting thing we could do. So Cindy and Karen & I hopped into my 1980 Red Chevy Monza hatchback coupe, and drove to the swamps of Jersey .
When we arrived at Cheri's house, to our dismay she had no ideas either of what we could possibly do to get out of our winter doldrums. Suddenly, and I really don't remember whose idea it was, we decided a little impromptu bachelorette party was in the cards. We summonned Anne, and off we headed to Asbury Park, NJ. Home of the Stone Pony and Bruce Springsteen.
Now before he got all liberal and Al Gore supporting, Bruce was one hot tamale. Not as hot as the tamale I have now (pun intended) but I think if he had just asked me, I would have abandoned my life and run away with him. But who am I kidding, he'd never go for a plain girl like me, oh...wait, he did...
Anyway, I digress.
The five of us drove another 45 minutes from Cheri's apartment to the Stone Pony and began our little party. We were singing, and dancing and generally having a good time...and then it happened...HE walked in the door.
Now Cindy, who was always a little, ditzy, is standing at the bar, ordering the next round. HE is standing next to her, ordering his first drink, and she is oblivious.
We spend the rest of the night staring...and staring...and staring, but not willing to say hello like every other patron in the place. We stared until our eyes fell out of our heads and rolled across the floor.
Closing time came around, and we piled out of the place. My car was parked on the street in front of The Pony, and parked behind me...in all its glory was a 1983 Black Corvette. HIS corvette. Behind MY car. If I told you the the thought of hitting his car as a way to meet him didn't cross my mind, I'd be lying. And you all know about me and lying. We sat there...5 of us in a car the smaller than a test track vehicle. And eventually drove away. Realizing the fantasy of what could have been would always be better than the reality of what was.
Imagine if you will, a February weekend...much like any other February weekend in the Hudson Valley. Cold, miserable and absolutely nothing to do. Lola, (who was getting married in 4 months) with her friends Cindy and Karen were looking for something to do. Anything at all. Nothing was working. Nothing for three 21 year old girls with too much money and too much time on their hands. (cue music do do do do...do do do do)
We pick up our story with Lola (that's me) deciding that it would be a great idea to drive two hours to see my childhood friend Cheri. Cheri and I have been friends since we were eight. You know the movie Beaches? That's us, without the smoking and the Music career or the money. Maybe, just maybe, Cheri would have some idea of some exciting thing we could do. So Cindy and Karen & I hopped into my 1980 Red Chevy Monza hatchback coupe, and drove to the swamps of Jersey .
When we arrived at Cheri's house, to our dismay she had no ideas either of what we could possibly do to get out of our winter doldrums. Suddenly, and I really don't remember whose idea it was, we decided a little impromptu bachelorette party was in the cards. We summonned Anne, and off we headed to Asbury Park, NJ. Home of the Stone Pony and Bruce Springsteen.
Now before he got all liberal and Al Gore supporting, Bruce was one hot tamale. Not as hot as the tamale I have now (pun intended) but I think if he had just asked me, I would have abandoned my life and run away with him. But who am I kidding, he'd never go for a plain girl like me, oh...wait, he did...
Anyway, I digress.
The five of us drove another 45 minutes from Cheri's apartment to the Stone Pony and began our little party. We were singing, and dancing and generally having a good time...and then it happened...HE walked in the door.
Now Cindy, who was always a little, ditzy, is standing at the bar, ordering the next round. HE is standing next to her, ordering his first drink, and she is oblivious.
We spend the rest of the night staring...and staring...and staring, but not willing to say hello like every other patron in the place. We stared until our eyes fell out of our heads and rolled across the floor.
Closing time came around, and we piled out of the place. My car was parked on the street in front of The Pony, and parked behind me...in all its glory was a 1983 Black Corvette. HIS corvette. Behind MY car. If I told you the the thought of hitting his car as a way to meet him didn't cross my mind, I'd be lying. And you all know about me and lying. We sat there...5 of us in a car the smaller than a test track vehicle. And eventually drove away. Realizing the fantasy of what could have been would always be better than the reality of what was.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
No Strings. No Wings. Just Freedom. Oh Brother!
Last night, as I wandered through the Feminine Protection aisle of my local Target store, I came upon what I think must be the product of the century.
Ladies...may I introduce...
Apparently, Instead is a "12 Hour Feminine Protection Cup" apparently "A proven alternative to pads and tampons that you can wear up to 12 hours"
Directions:
To insert, squeeze the opposite side of the rim together.
Insert Instead completely into the vagina.
Instead molds itself to your unique internal shape for a personal fit.
To remove Instead, simply hook your finger under the rim and slowly pull.
Can anyone explain to me why we need this product? Have any of you used it?
Who thought this up? Some American Inventor reject who enjoys seeing women suffer?
And when you hook your finger under the rim and slowly pull...I shudder to think of what will happen. Apparently, the best place to do this is in the shower...for obvious reasons.
Now you can't use Instead if you have an IUD, ever have had Toxic Shock or leave it in 12 hours and one minute...or you may die...or something. Oh yeah..it's also not a condom or diaphragm...don't mix up the two.
There are five star product reviews for this thing all over the internet, and apparently they have been around for years.
I just don't get it.
I just find it wierd.
Ladies...may I introduce...
Apparently, Instead is a "12 Hour Feminine Protection Cup" apparently "A proven alternative to pads and tampons that you can wear up to 12 hours"
Directions:
To insert, squeeze the opposite side of the rim together.
Insert Instead completely into the vagina.
Instead molds itself to your unique internal shape for a personal fit.
To remove Instead, simply hook your finger under the rim and slowly pull.
Can anyone explain to me why we need this product? Have any of you used it?
Who thought this up? Some American Inventor reject who enjoys seeing women suffer?
And when you hook your finger under the rim and slowly pull...I shudder to think of what will happen. Apparently, the best place to do this is in the shower...for obvious reasons.
Now you can't use Instead if you have an IUD, ever have had Toxic Shock or leave it in 12 hours and one minute...or you may die...or something. Oh yeah..it's also not a condom or diaphragm...don't mix up the two.
There are five star product reviews for this thing all over the internet, and apparently they have been around for years.
I just don't get it.
I just find it wierd.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Stupid is as Stupid Does!
Days like today make me more believe in the adage that life is tough, tougher when you're stupid.
A client let me read an e-mail he received from one of his employees. Now I tend to fly off the handle sometimes, but I learned a long time ago, never put things in writing that you can say in person. That way, it's your word against theirs.
In this e-mail, the employee said (I've corrected the spelling and grammar) "Just because you are the owner of this company, you have no right to take days off whenever you please"
There is so much wrong with that thought, I don't even know where to begin.
Why is it that someone who would never think about walking into Target and stealing $150 of DVDs thinks nothing about goosing up their deductions on their tax returns to get back an extra $150.
Why don't teachers proofread the notes they send home? Are we supposed to feel secure in the fact that they can't spell or write a legible sentence?
Why is it a college educated woman can't learn how to enter a stupid picture in a stupid blog?
These and many other questions never to be answered in our next installment.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Time flies when your legs are in the stirrups
It is amazing how long it has been since I've posted something here. That means one of two things. Either everything is going so well I just haven't had the time, or everything is going so crappy that I haven't had the time. Either way, thanks to those friends of mine who refuse to comment here, but are so intent in sending me e-mail telling me I haven't updated them in a while.
October was a blur. Kate's roomate quit college over Columbus Day break.
In November, we went to Disneyland for Maggie's 15th birthday. We met up with a slew of my freakish friends and some normal family and all in all had a fantastic time.
Thanksgiving found us hosting Kate's boyfriend for the weekend. Interesting time, but he got to meet the cast of characters that make up the Rainbow Coalition...we'll see how it all plays out in South Carolina.
I took my Grandmother to Florida in December to visit family. I dropped her off. I went to Disney World.
Christmas was quiet. My sister Gina and my aunt, uncle, Grandmother and Tom's dad came over on Christmas Eve. It's not the same now. My mother and Michele are in Florida, My Grandfather, who lived for Christmas Eve is gone, and somewhere inside, I long for Aunt Sadie to be singing a chorus of "I'll be Home for Christmas" after one too many Reingolds. Christmas Day, it was just the five of us. We played all the new games and just enjoyed being the five of us. I spent a lot of time that day wondering if someday, when the kids are grown and the grandchildren come, if we will have those big family Christmases again. Maybe I'm just being silly.
Middle November also began what has been a wild ride of medical professionals. I feel like crap. I've gained 30 pounds in the last year with no significant change in my eating habits, I feel like I have morning sickenss every day and I have a constant dull ache in my stomach.
And as of last week, (in the TMI department) there is not one opening in my body that has not been violated by something rubber or plastic.
I've had my feet in the air.
I've had and ENT doctor tell me that I feel crappy and my ears ring because of allergies.
After 50 pinpricks by an allergist he tells me I am not allergic to anything.
A hearing evaluation by an audiologist tells me that my ears ring, and well, get over it...too much Twisted Sister or something.
The gastroenterologist got to stick a camera down my throat, stretch things out with a balloon and cut out some rings on the inside. She sends me for an abdominal ultrasound because she thinks I have gall stones, but we find some issues with my liver, and apparently, that is causing the pain.
The endocrinologist sends me for a thyroid ultrasound because it appears there is another nodule, and my personal favorite test, a Glucose tolerence test. Apparently the liver issues are a symptom of impared glucose tolerence.
It was at this point that I decided I hate my family. 3 out of 4 grandparents with diabetes. Auto immune deficiencies galore. Mental Illness runs rampant. And on that subject, after an 8 year hiatus, my father showed up at Christmas. Did I tell you mental illness runs rampant?
Friday, Tom and his Dad leave for a week in Ireland. This will probably be their last trip together. His Dad will be 88 in May. It will be good for both of them. They will be there for the 3rd anniversary of Tom's Mom's death. I can't believe she's been gone that long. I still miss her.
And of course, tax season is upon us. Get those W-2's together, and don't wait until the last minute (you know who you are). FAFSA's are due 2/15!!!
October was a blur. Kate's roomate quit college over Columbus Day break.
In November, we went to Disneyland for Maggie's 15th birthday. We met up with a slew of my freakish friends and some normal family and all in all had a fantastic time.
Thanksgiving found us hosting Kate's boyfriend for the weekend. Interesting time, but he got to meet the cast of characters that make up the Rainbow Coalition...we'll see how it all plays out in South Carolina.
I took my Grandmother to Florida in December to visit family. I dropped her off. I went to Disney World.
Christmas was quiet. My sister Gina and my aunt, uncle, Grandmother and Tom's dad came over on Christmas Eve. It's not the same now. My mother and Michele are in Florida, My Grandfather, who lived for Christmas Eve is gone, and somewhere inside, I long for Aunt Sadie to be singing a chorus of "I'll be Home for Christmas" after one too many Reingolds. Christmas Day, it was just the five of us. We played all the new games and just enjoyed being the five of us. I spent a lot of time that day wondering if someday, when the kids are grown and the grandchildren come, if we will have those big family Christmases again. Maybe I'm just being silly.
Middle November also began what has been a wild ride of medical professionals. I feel like crap. I've gained 30 pounds in the last year with no significant change in my eating habits, I feel like I have morning sickenss every day and I have a constant dull ache in my stomach.
And as of last week, (in the TMI department) there is not one opening in my body that has not been violated by something rubber or plastic.
I've had my feet in the air.
I've had and ENT doctor tell me that I feel crappy and my ears ring because of allergies.
After 50 pinpricks by an allergist he tells me I am not allergic to anything.
A hearing evaluation by an audiologist tells me that my ears ring, and well, get over it...too much Twisted Sister or something.
The gastroenterologist got to stick a camera down my throat, stretch things out with a balloon and cut out some rings on the inside. She sends me for an abdominal ultrasound because she thinks I have gall stones, but we find some issues with my liver, and apparently, that is causing the pain.
The endocrinologist sends me for a thyroid ultrasound because it appears there is another nodule, and my personal favorite test, a Glucose tolerence test. Apparently the liver issues are a symptom of impared glucose tolerence.
It was at this point that I decided I hate my family. 3 out of 4 grandparents with diabetes. Auto immune deficiencies galore. Mental Illness runs rampant. And on that subject, after an 8 year hiatus, my father showed up at Christmas. Did I tell you mental illness runs rampant?
Friday, Tom and his Dad leave for a week in Ireland. This will probably be their last trip together. His Dad will be 88 in May. It will be good for both of them. They will be there for the 3rd anniversary of Tom's Mom's death. I can't believe she's been gone that long. I still miss her.
And of course, tax season is upon us. Get those W-2's together, and don't wait until the last minute (you know who you are). FAFSA's are due 2/15!!!
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
I Hate Chain E-mails
Of course, every once in a while you get one that just cracks you up:
You are my Friend
When you are sad,
I will get you drunk and help you plot revenge against the sorry bastard/bitch
who made you sad.
When you are blue,
I'll try to dislodge whatever is choking you.
When you smile,
I'll know you finally got laid.
When you are scared,
I will rag you about it every chance I get.
When you are worried,
I will tell you horrible stories about how much worse it could be and to quit whining.
When you are confused,
I will use little words to explain it to your dumb ass.
When you are sick,
stay away from me until you're well again.
I don't want whatever you have.
When you fall,
I will point and laugh at your clumsy ass.
This is my oath
I pledge 'till the end.
Why you ask?
Because you're my friend!
Send this poem to ten of your closest friends
(or else you will have bad luck )
and get depressed because you realize
you only have two friends
Monday, September 12, 2005
Sunday, September 11, 2005
The End of my Rainbow.
My grandmother died in 1996. The mother of the man who is my biological father.
My Grandmother was like Auntie Em. Remember the line, "For twenty-three years I've been dying to tell you what I thought of you! And now, well, being a Christian woman, I can't say it!" She lived the golden rule.
Her favorite Hymn was How Great thou Art. It took me years after she died to be able to hear it and not cry.
I am a pack rat. Worse than that, I am a sentimental pack rat. Put any little dohickey in my hands, and I can tell you who gave it to me, why I got it, where I got it...and unfortunately, the kids follow in my footsteps.
One of the local churches got a tractor trailer this week, and the goal was to fill it with goods to send to LA and Mississippi for Hurricane Katrina relief. One of the things being collected was bed linens. They were to be used in shelters, and to donate to people who could eventually return home.
I went through my linen closet, and pulled out over 15 sets of sheets that we could manage to give away. One of these sets was my Wamsutta Rainbow sheets.
These sheets were special. These were the first set of sheets I bought when we got married. I have to tell you, after 22 years...they still looked good......
We haven't used them in about 7 years, since we got the 16" deep matress. They just didn't fit. I saved them to use on the queen sleeper we used to have, but that was gone too. There really was no reason to keep this particular set anymore. None at all. No reason, except that I couldn't bear to part with them.
As I packed the bags to take to the church, I'd put the rainbows in, and take the rainbows out. All day. At 7PM, I kicked myself senseless, and put the sheets in the bag. Here I was waxing sentimental over a stupid set of sheets, and there are a million people who have lost everything. I headed for the church with the satisfaction that someone in a shelter would hopefully sleep in their high thread count luxury, and maybe sleep more restfully than they have for weeks.
Bear with me, this will all make sense in a minute!
As I walked up to the church, there was an evening service going on. Music filled the parking lot.
I've never heard How Great Thou Art sung with so much joy.
I love you too Gram!
My Grandmother was like Auntie Em. Remember the line, "For twenty-three years I've been dying to tell you what I thought of you! And now, well, being a Christian woman, I can't say it!" She lived the golden rule.
Her favorite Hymn was How Great thou Art. It took me years after she died to be able to hear it and not cry.
I am a pack rat. Worse than that, I am a sentimental pack rat. Put any little dohickey in my hands, and I can tell you who gave it to me, why I got it, where I got it...and unfortunately, the kids follow in my footsteps.
One of the local churches got a tractor trailer this week, and the goal was to fill it with goods to send to LA and Mississippi for Hurricane Katrina relief. One of the things being collected was bed linens. They were to be used in shelters, and to donate to people who could eventually return home.
I went through my linen closet, and pulled out over 15 sets of sheets that we could manage to give away. One of these sets was my Wamsutta Rainbow sheets.
These sheets were special. These were the first set of sheets I bought when we got married. I have to tell you, after 22 years...they still looked good......
We haven't used them in about 7 years, since we got the 16" deep matress. They just didn't fit. I saved them to use on the queen sleeper we used to have, but that was gone too. There really was no reason to keep this particular set anymore. None at all. No reason, except that I couldn't bear to part with them.
As I packed the bags to take to the church, I'd put the rainbows in, and take the rainbows out. All day. At 7PM, I kicked myself senseless, and put the sheets in the bag. Here I was waxing sentimental over a stupid set of sheets, and there are a million people who have lost everything. I headed for the church with the satisfaction that someone in a shelter would hopefully sleep in their high thread count luxury, and maybe sleep more restfully than they have for weeks.
Bear with me, this will all make sense in a minute!
As I walked up to the church, there was an evening service going on. Music filled the parking lot.
I've never heard How Great Thou Art sung with so much joy.
I love you too Gram!
Friday, September 09, 2005
I know, I know....
I know I promised to fill you in with all the exciting details of my life...well, that's why this stupid thing has been empty for a week. That is all the excitement I can handle...
First day of school, first day of school again (stupid Archdiocese teachers without a contract) a happy dance and a cold...that is it.
Kate's English Prof (Comparative religions) is apparently hot (but old) graduated college in 2000.
Maggie's English teacher is AWOL..
TJ's English teacher is pregnant...
Do I sense a pattern here?
Nothing witty to say...except this...
Beware of surfing the internet...you can find some very scary things on there if you are not careful
I know I promised to fill you in with all the exciting details of my life...well, that's why this stupid thing has been empty for a week. That is all the excitement I can handle...
First day of school, first day of school again (stupid Archdiocese teachers without a contract) a happy dance and a cold...that is it.
Kate's English Prof (Comparative religions) is apparently hot (but old) graduated college in 2000.
Maggie's English teacher is AWOL..
TJ's English teacher is pregnant...
Do I sense a pattern here?
Nothing witty to say...except this...
Beware of surfing the internet...you can find some very scary things on there if you are not careful
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Imagine for a moment, baking a cake.
Almost every other person you know has baked this kind of cake. Measured the ingredients ever so carefully, agonized over just the right pan and baked...taking care to not let the middle droop or let the edges get too brown.
I baked my cake for 18 years, and yesterday, I left her in the rain.
If anyone had told me that sunny Mother's Day in 1987 that someday, as tenderly as she was handed to me that first time, I would be letting her leave, I couldn't have imagined it. But yesterday, I took my baby girl to college.
Now, I know what you are thinking. Everyone (hopefully) sends their children off to college. It's no big deal. Yeah, Right!
Obviously, you have never done it.
Yesterday morning, I awoke at the same time I have every school day for the last 13 years.
It was the first day of school. We had our normal first day of school breakfast. You know the kind, the kind that you plan to cook all morning. The kind of breakfast that ends up being rushed, and eaten over the sink so that no one misses the bus or gets caught in traffic and misses the first bell.
We drove to the college in total silence, nothing said but a hand, reaching over the back seat to my shoulder, and after a traffic jam (we missed the first bell) we arrived at her hall.
The rooms were smaller and more dismal than I remember my first college day. But those days were different. Our parents dropped us at the door, if they took us to school at all. We brought everything in, and thanks to Space Bags, had more clothing than one college freshman needs in a college career, well enough one semester.
We had lunch, and a trip to the bookstore to buy that sticky stuff you use to hang posters. Then it was time for the moment I have been dreading...time to say goodbye.
Having lived near West Point my entire life, I know about R-day. The day the cadets report for duty and say goodbye to the family they love. Yesterday was my R-day. Without the haircut, and the marching.
Bentley College in Waltham, MA has a highly dignified, convocation ceremony. We were told ahead of time to say our goodbyes before the ceremony started, and I took full advantage of that. She sat near us until the last possible minute, and as The Class of 2009 was seated together, she left with a hug.
Many in her class looked like the "Deer in the Headlights" as they sat there. I didn't see where she went, and at that point was unsure if I wanted to know. It was easier for me to imagine her blending into the crowd of 900, then to look her way one more time. I bonded with the women around me. Almost every one with a tear just under the surface. The rest, the levee had broken.
Part way through the ceremony though, her brother spotted her, and I had to look. Our eyes met, and she signed "I Love You". She rose from her seat, and left the tent, and walked in the rain with the rest of her class, ready to meet the world.
I'd say that I don't know if I can take it,
Cause it took so long to bake it,
And I'll never have that recipe again....
But I have two more cakes slowly baking...and for now they need my attention.
Almost every other person you know has baked this kind of cake. Measured the ingredients ever so carefully, agonized over just the right pan and baked...taking care to not let the middle droop or let the edges get too brown.
I baked my cake for 18 years, and yesterday, I left her in the rain.
If anyone had told me that sunny Mother's Day in 1987 that someday, as tenderly as she was handed to me that first time, I would be letting her leave, I couldn't have imagined it. But yesterday, I took my baby girl to college.
Now, I know what you are thinking. Everyone (hopefully) sends their children off to college. It's no big deal. Yeah, Right!
Obviously, you have never done it.
Yesterday morning, I awoke at the same time I have every school day for the last 13 years.
It was the first day of school. We had our normal first day of school breakfast. You know the kind, the kind that you plan to cook all morning. The kind of breakfast that ends up being rushed, and eaten over the sink so that no one misses the bus or gets caught in traffic and misses the first bell.
We drove to the college in total silence, nothing said but a hand, reaching over the back seat to my shoulder, and after a traffic jam (we missed the first bell) we arrived at her hall.
The rooms were smaller and more dismal than I remember my first college day. But those days were different. Our parents dropped us at the door, if they took us to school at all. We brought everything in, and thanks to Space Bags, had more clothing than one college freshman needs in a college career, well enough one semester.
We had lunch, and a trip to the bookstore to buy that sticky stuff you use to hang posters. Then it was time for the moment I have been dreading...time to say goodbye.
Having lived near West Point my entire life, I know about R-day. The day the cadets report for duty and say goodbye to the family they love. Yesterday was my R-day. Without the haircut, and the marching.
Bentley College in Waltham, MA has a highly dignified, convocation ceremony. We were told ahead of time to say our goodbyes before the ceremony started, and I took full advantage of that. She sat near us until the last possible minute, and as The Class of 2009 was seated together, she left with a hug.
Many in her class looked like the "Deer in the Headlights" as they sat there. I didn't see where she went, and at that point was unsure if I wanted to know. It was easier for me to imagine her blending into the crowd of 900, then to look her way one more time. I bonded with the women around me. Almost every one with a tear just under the surface. The rest, the levee had broken.
Part way through the ceremony though, her brother spotted her, and I had to look. Our eyes met, and she signed "I Love You". She rose from her seat, and left the tent, and walked in the rain with the rest of her class, ready to meet the world.
I'd say that I don't know if I can take it,
Cause it took so long to bake it,
And I'll never have that recipe again....
But I have two more cakes slowly baking...and for now they need my attention.
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