IT’S ALL ABOUT COMFORT - AT LAST!

While chatting with my friend Carolyn on the phone the other day, the subject of endearing old practices and traditions arose.  Somehow, it came around to the smell and feel of freshly washed and ironed sheets, and how nice it feels to just snuggle into them.  Since we lived with my grandparents for a little while when I was very young, I do remember my grandmother’s maid, Lillian, ironing them.  I learned how to iron from Lillian, and she would let me stand on a box and iron pillowcases while she prepared other clothes to be ironed.   She ironed everything from table linens, sheets and my grandfather’s dress shirts, khakis, boxer shorts, my grandmother’s nighties, to hankies and even the baby’s diapers. I must have been about five years old.  Remembering just how nice they smelled, I tried to iron sheets after I married, but I just got too busy working and taking care of a baby.  I did iron the pillowcases for a while; and that really made a difference.  The sheets could just be wrinkled.  Thinking about all of this, I thought of all the items that were ironed and starched, and then remembered all the old comforts that are now settling on my shoulders like a favorite old bathrobe.

There are certainly wonderful old comforts to be reviewed, but I started remembering way back when some things were just plain uncomfortable or un-cool.  I recalled net and crinoline petticoats.  

As little girls are from the very beginning, we were very fashion conscious from kindergarten up.  Fashion and beauty were to be attained at any expense from then on.  Crinoline and net petticoats were a big fashion statement, and we’d starch them in heavy starch, and then lay them out on a flat surface on a sheet to dry.  Once dried, we could wear them under our fullest skirts to fluff them out, or under a circular felt skirt with a poodle appliquéd on the front.…Very fashionable in the 50’s and 60’s.  The really bad part is that they were so uncomfortable as hell to sit on, not to mention that we didn’t have air conditioning in our schools then.  We would sit on those petticoats in the sweltering heat of the classroom, only to get up with them stuck to the backs of our legs.  Next trip to the restroom we peeled them off our legs and tried to fluff them out once more. Oh, the work ... the agony!

Crisp white blouses were starched to wear with the full skirts; and gym clothes were another couple of things that were a bit chaffing; and after one ran around the gym or played basketball or volleyball enough to break a sweat.  The stuff just stuck to you.

We little girls showed extreme interest in shoes even back then, and we knew what we wanted.  Saddle oxfords were high fashion when Mom was in high school, but she made us wear those late 30’s and early 40’s “fashion statement saddle oxfords” until we were in junior high school.  My sisters and I hated them.  We wanted cute shoes like the other girls wore to school; the black patent Mary-Janes, and later in middle school, the “flats” and penny loafers. 

Mom would buy us the Buster Brown brand or saddle oxfords, and then she would swear we would thank her later for our perfect feet and nice straight toes.  And, according to Mom, you didn’t need to polish your saddle shoes very often.  It was fashionable to let them get worn looking.  I didn’t think that was right and was always polishing mine.  If I had to wear them, then they would look as new as I could make them look, that is, until I outgrew them.  But, out growing these shoes took a long time, as Mom would buy them two sizes to long for me, in anticipation of my growth, and the new ones always rubbed blisters on my heels.  With these, she bought a box of band-aids. What a bonus.

In about the 6^th grade, I started bugging Mom to let me shave my legs.  "No!” She said. “You’re too young!”  She said I couldn’t’ until I was 14.  Well, that was just forever!  So, with that, I just quit asking and just gave myself permission to shave my legs during the summer before I entered junior high school.  I was sure she wouldn’t notice.

So, I crept into the upstairs bathroom and closed the door.  There was a razor in the cabinet that my older sister had used.  I lathered up my right leg with the bar of Palmolive soap and started out by taking a big swipe from the ankle of my right leg.   In the process, I cut a nice, neat slice from ankle, almost to my knee.  Geeeeeezzzze!  How was I going to explain that?  And, since that was the first pass at my leg with the razor, the job never got finished.  I was much too busy trying to stop the bleeding.   It looked like I was going to need stitches, or at least butterfly sutures.   At any rate, since I didn’t ask (because the answer was going to be “no”), I got in a lot of trouble and given extra chores to do; and of course, GROUNDED!!!!  The subject was never brought up again, and I just became very careful about shaving.   I learned early that it’s painful trying to be gorgeous and fashionable.

I finally reached junior high school and was allowed to wear flats and penny loafers.  I never had to wear saddle oxfords again!  With the flats, you needed hose.  A girl needed all the right paraphernalia to hold up the hose, a garter belt, or a girdle.  I guess nothing comes easy.  Panty hose were still very new on the market, and still being perfected.  You needed at least one back up pair of hose, because inevitably you’d get a run in one.  I learned to use clear nail polish to stop a run.  I was getting a real fashion education.

Penny Loafers required crew socks.  This was really a problem, because there were three of us girls in high school or junior high school at once.  We learned early to try to do our own laundry separately from everyone else’s.  Mom tried to mark all of our clothes with color codes. No one seemed to take the color coding seriously. If your socks got tossed into the laundry for the “general population” the crew socks were as good as gone; the general population being eleven of us kids and Mom and Dad.  Possession was the general rule for the general population laundry.  ALL socks from the general population laundry got tossed into the sock bag.  The sock bag was actually a navy-blue canvas bag that used to fit on the back of one of the old strollers.  If your socks got chunked into that bag, you might as well just kiss them good-bye.  You’d never see/match your socks again, unless they were on another sibling.  Most times I’d end up wearing the revered hose with my loafers, which worked, but wasn’t as cool as it was when Mom wore loafers.

Makeup was a whole different matter.  Dad was a real watch dog about this.  He’d send us back in the house to “Wipe off at least half of that!  You look like a clown!”  On those days, we were usually late for school.  From those days forward, I wore makeup, shaved, wore penny loafers, flats and hose, started coloring my chestnut-colored hair and used hairspray.  After a while, I got pretty good at all of that, and it became just a part of who I was.

Now, there is a paradox in all of this.  As I got older, I have noticed that wearing less makeup looks much better; and shoes that are more the shape of my feet are much more comfortable.  I actually had a pair of Earth Shoes for years; and wish I still had them.  The picture below is exactly the style I had to wear with my hip-slung bell bottoms and Tees. 

When I lost all of my hair in chemotherapy, I was amazed at the color that grew back.  It was a color it had never been, and it had literally been every color under the rainbow.  It came back in black and silver.  That was quite a switch from the natural chestnut color I vaguely remember before I started coloring it when I was about 26.  I found that, not only can I live without coloring my hair, but that I prefer to leave it alone.  I am very comfortable with it.

I look for comfortable clothing in the department stores.  Sometimes it’s really hard to find jeans and slacks that come to the waist.  I asked a clerk what I was supposed to do with the muffin top that bulged out of the top of the pants cut below the belly button.  Blouses must be loose with three-quarter sleeves, and just the right neckline.  I love my clogs, crocks and walking shoes.  My favorites are still my flip-flops.  However, I still have a few very classic dress shoes that I just refuse to get rid of; just not very many places to wear them.  I guess it’s just the girl in me ... hanging on to them.

So, I’m getting to where comfort overrides style, but I’ve developed my own style over the years.  No one noticed or cared when I quit wearing mascara 10 years ago.  It saves me money and several minutes putting on a face in the morning; and that’s been pared down to just the very basics.  I love dressing up in comfort and looking good at the same time.  Why didn’t I think of that years ago?

I guess the older you get, the less you depend on what others think.  It’s called having a mind of your own.  When you worry about what someone else thinks of you, you’re just handing them a lot of power. 

And guess what?  I washed all the pillowcases and ironed them today.  They smell heavenly and provide a wonderful memory and comfort of long ago.  I might just do that again.  So, I’m all about comfort now, and I’m off to watch the “eye-lid movies”! (Dad used to say that.) with my head on a freshly washed and ironed pillowcase.  Nighty-night y’all!  Sweet dreams!

COWBOY COFFEE, CRITTERS AND ARROWHEADS

I found a twig the right size, and put it in the coffee pot … keeps it from boiling over. 

Our Cowboy Coffee is made in an old blue, enamel coffee boiler by pouring the ground coffee in the bottom of the pot, and then filling it with water.  Then, you sit it on the campfire until it just starts to boil.  The twig does keep it from boiling over.  Once it gets to the stage where it almost boils, you move it out to the edge to “steep” for a few minutes and to let the grounds settle to the bottom.  You can make it on the Coleman stove if you want to, but It just isn’t really Cowboy Coffee that way.  If you don’t have an old blue, enamel coffee boiler, then you can put coffee in a plain white cotton sock and tie a knot in it and toss it into a pot of boiling water.  Do make sure the sock is clean.  I have done that when we were out of power during a hurricane.

Sitting at the campfire, staring at the embers and waiting for the Cowboy Coffee to be ready, The Royster and I would sit chatting quietly and watching the dawn wake up the landscape.   In the faint light of dawn, you could see a few deer grazing several yards away.  There are just no other smells or sounds like the smells and sounds at dawn out where we used to camp.  Nor is there the peace that one feels in that place and at that time.  Roy had been camping at that same spot yearly, long before he and I met.  His friend, John, called the spot where we camped, Roy’s Camp, which made it that much more special. 

The place where we camped was on a ranch in Montell, Texas near Uvalde.  You have to go through about seven bump gates to get there.  Our little camp was situated among the hills and native trees below a ranch house, and just above a creek that flows on a limestone bed.  There are real human foot prints fossilized, both in the creek and along either side.  There were also limestone depressions about the size of a bathtub that two grown people could actually sit in. The whole area holds an enchantment of historical times when the Montell Indians lived there.

Where we camped, there were no conveniences as we know them in the everyday life of urban and suburban dwellers.  No timer to set to have the coffee ready when we wake up; no plumbing, and no electricity.  Our tent, sleeping bags, a small table, a couple of folding chairs and a lantern were all we had.   We used an old Coleman two burner stove if we wanted to cook breakfast, and a couple of large coolers for food and drinks.  Oh, yes, and The Royster's homemade stereo.

Since our Hosts would pop in unannounced periodically (And, they were always welcomed), we devised a really good make-shift shower using two solar camp shower bags, a very large Hula Hoop and a couple of shower curtains to hang in a nearby tree.  Perfect.

It was during these early mornings when Ol’ Vic would show up to have some Cowboy Coffee with us.  Roy had met Ol’ Vic through his son, John, whom he had contracted to do some work on an oil lease.  They became good friends.  He and his dad owned the land that we camped on, and, in his younger days, Ol’ Vic had been a 1936 Bronc Riding Champion.  Vic would sip his coffee with us and tell us stories for a while before he would tell us that he had to get on with the day, which usually meant a casual day of fishing or deer hunting through the window of his cabin from his rocking chair in the living room.  The window just happened to face a deer trail, and he knew just when to “hunt”.  He made his own venison sausage, and cured and smoked it in the old smoke shack that had been there for generations.

Later on in the day, John would show up.  I’d never hear his horse approaching, nor would I hear him sneaking up behind me to pick me up and spin me around.  It always just scare the poop out of me; not just once, but every time he’d do that.

 

Sometimes, John would just call Roy and tell him that he’d just plowed up a field, and there had been a pretty good rain right after plowing.  “There’ll be plenty arrowheads surfacing.”  He’d say.  We’d pack up the truck and head out west to see what we could find.  With a stick and a good eye, we could go scratching around and usually come up with several good arrowheads and a pretty good artifact or two; even if it was just an old horseshoe or cow bell.

 

We would look for arrowheads, and snoop around until it just got too hot, and then we’d go back to camp and have some lunch and possibly a nap in the shade of a tree, or maybe take our lawn chairs down to the creek to loll in the cool clear water.  On another day, we might go to Blue Hole, which was a really  beautiful place further up the creek, where torrential rains had pounded a hole in the creek about 20’ deep, and maybe 30’ wide.  The result was a perfect swimming hole, complete with a stone diving platform.

 

One afternoon we’d just finished a lunch of sandwiches and coleslaw.  Since the slaw was gone, I just dropped the spoon in the Tupperware bowl and put the sealing lid back on and sat it on the table.  As we gazed around, The Royster pointed out a small armadillo that was sniffing around.  It was several feet away, and Roy picked up a clod of dirt and chunked it at the armadillo.  Startled, it popped up like a piece of popcorn.  We entertained ourselves by chunking clods of dirt at the poor thing, watching it pop up with every clod of dirt tossed near it.  Later in the evening we would join John and friends for a little band music and dancing up by the ranch house.  After that, it was back to camp and a very peaceful sleep.

 

In the wee hours of the morning there was a startling rattling noise; sort of like a spoon stuck in a garbage disposal.  I jumped up and woke The Royster, who would have slept right through it.  The rattling just kept on.  I let my eyes adjust to the dark, and peeked out of the tent.  There in the moon light, sitting on the little table was a raccoon with the sealed bowl with the spoon it.  The raccoon was shaking the bowl violently, trying to get at the food inside.  My hero, The Royster, came out and hurtled a cantaloupe at the little raccoon to chase it away.  I brought the rattling bowl back into the tent with us.  The little raccoon had won after all…a wonderful cantaloupe for a nights foraging.

We have not been out to Roy’s Camp in years, but I think about it fondly, and wonder if I could camp like that again.  I think I could, but not in the heat of the summer.  We had so much fun out there, and there was so much to see.  It took away the fast paced, rough and tumble of the city life and the suburban life.  Yes, I think I could get used to that kind of living on a daily basis … maybe not camping out, but out away from the masses of toil and haste.   

Yes … I think April might just be perfect. 

BIRTHDAY DINNER INTERRUPTUS

There is a new Mediterranean Grill restaurant down the road, and I chose that for my birthday dinner on Monday night.  The Royster and I drove there and took a seat.  It appeared we were the only ones there besides the staff, and they were glad to see us.  We ordered our salads and were brought some wonderful bread along with our salads.   So far, so good.

Finally our main courses were brought out.  I had ordered lamb kabobs.  It was cooked to perfection.   Forgive me if this is sounding all too familiar.  I tasted the rice with it, and it proved to be very good.  Then I selected a piece of roasted lamb from the kabob; cut off a bite size piece and savored the taste as I chewed.  Excellent!  As I swallowed, I noticed a familiar feeling as the morsel moved down to a stop.  Okay, M’liss … relax.  It’ll move if you just relax.  Sip some water. 

Oh! *#%$@!!!  It’s happened again!  The Royster guessed right away what had happened, and was watching me intently, as if watching for the winning lottery numbers roll out. 

       

Food had lodged in my esophagus and it was not going to move.  The Royster asked me if he should take me to the hospital E.R., and I told him that we should go home and give it a chance to move on its own.   Besides, we needed to let the dog out, and if need be, find someone to check in on Hank if we had to be gone.  We asked for doggie boxes and took both our full meals home.  What a bummer!   On the way home, he watched me out of the corner of his eye for something good to happen.  Nothing!  We agreed that this always seems to happen only when we eat out; and usually it’s an expensive restaurant.  When we arrived home, I promptly got into the shower to try to relax….even knowing that scar tissue isn’t going to relax, once it’s constricted.  After about an hour, I decided that we should go to the E.R.   So we got in the car and drove the 15 minutes to St. Luke’s in The Woodlands.

So, once again, I found myself in the hospital E.R. waiting room, with a chunk of food stuck in my gullet.  The last time was Labor Day week-end.  I’ll call that The Beef-Tip Incident.  And, again, the Royster dropped me of at the E.R. entrance to get a jump on signing in while he parked the car.  I was at the desk in no time, and filled out the short form.  The woman asked me what was wrong, and I told her I had food stuck in a stricture in my esophagus.

 

She said:  “Oh my gosh!  Are you in pain?   Discomfort?”

My eyes rolled as I said:  “I’m in considerable pain and discomfort!”

She said:  “Alright then, have a seat, and doctor will be right with you.”

I asked:  “Any idea of how long I’ll have to wait?”

She said:  “Oh, it shouldn’t be long at all."

As I turned around, I saw that there were about 40 other people ahead of me.  My heart sank with the realization that most of those people were there with cold symptoms.  Runny nosed kids running around and maybe a couple people with serious hangnails.  They were there because they didn’t want to go see a regular doctor they’d have to pay.  They were there because emergency room care is free to people with no insurance.  By law, they cannot be turned down.  The only seats left were next to the automatic door, which opened every time someone walked by.  It was cold.   I sat and watched for an eternity, as one after another snotty nose and hangnail was called in to see doctor.

This brought to mind a song by Stevie Ray Vaughn – HANGNAILS AND BOOGERS.

  

We had arrived at the E.R. around 9 p.m.  Around 10 p.m. I went to the desk and asked when I might be called to see a doctor.  I was told there were only a few ahead of me.  Again, told the nurse at the desk that I was in a great deal of pain and discomfort.  He asked again what was wrong; and again I told him.  He looked surprised.  “It shouldn’t be long now.”  I returned to my seat.  The Royster and I were both squirming and very tired.  I made at least two more trips to the restroom, and each time, I passed by the desk, I asked again, “How long?”   The third trip around 12:30 a.m.   I was told there was one more ahead of me.  I thought there was truly some hope.  Another eternity slipped by.

The nurse checking a list and calling patients called three more…by that time it was 1:45 a.m.  I’d had enough!  I stood up and glared straight at the male nurse that had told me there had been only one ahead of me.  My glare said that I was coming over the desk to do some damage to him.  He quickly took side-bar with Nurse Nancy who had been calling all the snotty noses and hangnails to see the doctor.  He casually gestured in my direction and acted very nervous.  Nurse Nancy side-glanced in my direction…..and I gave her a full glare.  She nervously went back to her rolling podium and looked at her list…..”Oh, yes!  Here she is!” she added with a nervous “Ha-ha”.  She nodded to me and called my name.  The Royster and I jumped up as if someone would hop in front of us.

Nurse Nancy escorted me in to see doctor.   By this time, poor Royster was sleep-walking.  Doctor asked me what the problem was, as if I hadn’t told anyone.  When I told him that I had a chunk of meat stuck in the stricture in my esophagus, he acted surprised, again as if ... and then asked me if I was in any pain or discomfort!  I was ready to explode, and I said:

“YES!  I’m in a GREAT DEAL of pain and discomfort, not to mention that I cannot swallow my own saliva, and have been spitting in this plastic barf bag since 9 p.m.”   He actually had the nerve to ask why I didn’t tell anyone when I came in.  I think he sensed that I was going to take someone’s head off, so he had someone come in with a wheelchair to whisk me off to x-ray at 2:30, and after that, around 3:00 to the E.R. Examination cubicle.

 

They didn't have a G.I. person there, but they'd try to get the "on call" G.I. person.  In the mean time, I was to sleep on a gurney in the E.R.  There were no rooms available in the hospital.   I sent the Royster home to get some sleep and let Hank out.  Arriving home at 3:30 a.m., he didn’t get much sleep before he was back by my side before 7 a.m.

We were told that the on call G.I. doctor was on the way.  We hurried up to wait longer….until 11 a.m. the next morning, when I was whisked off to surgery, prepped and lectured by a doctor I was sure didn’t like his job, or at least didn’t want to be there.  Without knowing anything about my history, nor having seen the problem, he fussed at me and accused me of taking too big a bite and not chewing.  I guessed that I’d interrupted a golf game or sex, or something equally as important, and he was really mad at having been called to surgery.

 

He said he’d take out the blockage, but was not going to dilate me.  I implored him to please dilate me, because the stricture had shrunk once again.  Surgery performed and the offending piece of lamb kabob extracted, and gullet dilated (9th time).  I guess he finally realized the situation.  He admonished me again for getting food stuck.  How stupid of me!  Further, he had the nerve to hand me his card, and ordered me to report to him in one week for a follow-up.  I’ve made an appointment with another doctor for the follow up.  I’ll be writing a complaint on him to the hospital.  I was released from Recovery at 12:42 p.m.

After picking up prescriptions at the pharmacy, we were home by 1:30 p.m. and we slept all the rest of the day.  We woke to have something to eat.  I had a little broth, took some Aleve for pain (my head, throat and chest ached terribly from straining), and slept until about 5 a.m. the next morning.   I'm on a soft diet for the next week....No problem there. 

I do feel much better today; ran some errands, and will finally dismantle the Christmas tree. A nap will be in order. I do have pictures of the procedure and the offending piece of lamb kabob, but I don't think I'll put it on display.  We did bring home doggy boxes from the Mediterranean Grill, and I will make soup with the kabob meat....for Roy....I think I’ll just just have some of the broth … thanks very much.  And the lamb soup was pronounced good, and enjoyed by two very hungry people. 

WHAT ON EARTH? Some Very Good Questions

What on Earth has become of our Country, our Continent and our whole world?  What’s the matter with kids today?  What has come over adults to believe that they are powerful enough to control the forces of nature of our living, breathing planet?  Who and what can we blame for this global warming (not that it hasn’t happened before)?   And, what’s going on with our corrupt leaders, our corrupt nations and the people who pretend to care?  What the hell is this business of being politically correct?  Why won’t our Federal Government protect our borders from allowing the drug cartels from all over the world to come in?  Surely the drug cartels do not fall among the “...Your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free…”  

I have become one of those old fogies that ask these questions…one of those old people (babyboomers) that the present administration is trying to squeeze out of the “economy”.

What’s going on with people that they don’t own up to responsibility for themselves and their families?  How has it come to the point here in the United States of America, where the American Dream is to be able to work hard and make a good life, that the harder you work and the more you make, the more our government will take away from you?

 

Why do so many people think that our government owes them a living, stripped from people who have worked hard for their money and livelihood; though these “entitled people” don’t opt to support themselves?  Why do so many people who have worked hard for the money they make and the life they have worked hard for, owe it to our government to give it to those who don’t /won’t work, and won’t own up the responsibility of themselves and their families.  Why does our government think it has to have a hand in everything?

Could it be that our Government has become such a chronic consumer, spending away our funds, and trying to make up for the debts owed that they are taxing us all into poverty?  Another question would be….Doesn’t our government know that if you find yourself in a hole, you should stop digging?   I guess not.

Well, I can’t believe I just asked all those questions…the same questions asked by our parents, their parents and their parents before them.  These are valid questions and deserve an answer; though I don’t even pretend to have an answer to any one of these questions myself.  The answers lie in our hearts and the reality of the persons who squint their eyes and then open them wide...wide enough to see the whole spectrum of how things have come to the point that they are now.  Sorry.  I guess I just got carried away once again.

Well, I guess my mind just got on a track of questions starting with, how on Earth are we going to protect our children from hot dogs and candy canes?  That’s been on my mind since a middle school boys choir group called the Christmas Sweater Club, got in trouble for bringing 2” candy canes to school to pass out to all of their school mates.  They were given detention for passing out “potential weapons”.  And further more they were made to pick up all the wrappers from said “potential weapons” because they caused a horrible litter problem.  It seems that their parents, knowing that those candy canes could be sucked on until a sharp point was established, allowed them to be brought to school; therefore providing a weapon that could possibly disrupt the entire school.

 

Actually, the teachers were probably afraid of them, and the students had not even considered that they could be used to stab anyone.  If this rule is passed, then all pencils and pens should be taken up immediately, and jail time for anyone harboring any of these “potential weapons”.

And while I’m on the subject of punishment for infractions in school, I heard someone say that their son got detention for skipping school.  The teen, obviously more clever than the person issuing the detention said, “You’re giving me detention for skipping school.  What makes you think I’ll show up to do detention?”  Now, that is a very, very good question.

My question would be on the above school related incidences, Why are these kids not coming to school?  Granted, skipping school is as old as time itself, but more and more, there is less attraction to school.  Could it be that teachers aren’t allowed to teach?  They aren’t allowed to fail any student.  The students know this, so they just skip school.  Teachers are not allowed to discipline.  Teachers are afraid of the students, because the students know teachers aren’t allowed to discipline students (outside of detention).  They (teacher) are Union, so they don’t have to try hard?  Teachers only have to teach for a short time, and then, they are given full benefits regardless of how they exit teaching.  Children are learning from school that they don’t have to do anything to graduate. 

So, they aren’t learning anything practical to help them in the real, grown-up world.   I agree that technology is the future, but it shouldn’t interfere with education.  In fact, it should be helping education, but as long as these communication devices are allowed in school, it will only hinder education.

Why are cell phones, iPods, Blackberries and other means of communications allowed in school AT ALL?  No wonder our students are not learning anything.  They can’t spell, but they can text faster than a minnow can swim a dipper.  If a kid needs to call Mommy, then they can go to the office and use the phone, or the school office can contact your mom at a moments’ notice.  It’s highly unlikely they are calling or texting “mommy”.  Again, why are these devices even allowed in school?  These devices are loaded with information, as well as the ability to contact another student for the answers to a test.  It’s called C-H-E-A-T-I-N-G.  And, again, teachers don’t have to do much.  Are there any students or teachers, for that matter, that can spell?  Or, are all teachers just equipped with blinders upon getting their teaching assignments? Key words here are, They are not allowed. 

And, here is one other observation.  A friend of ours got a substitute teaching assignment.  He took his laptop to class.  His only comment was that it was a piece of cake.  Paid hourly, all he had to do, basically, was to babysit.  Why even have anyone there, except for the illusion an authority figure?

Before the “Candy Cane Conspiracy”, there was the “Hotdog Dilemma”.  Some hysterical person decided that the shape of hotdogs needed to be changed because young children could choke on them.  They probably didn’t even consider the alternatives available:  A) Cut said hotdog up in tinier pieces for the baby/toddler. B)  Don’t give your baby/toddler a hotdog if you are afraid they could choke on them.   Don’t even bring up changing the shape of bananas.  You will be considered a moron for suggesting that we find a way to change the shape of a banana.  Whatever happened to common sense?

The above two examples go with other hysteria, like banning of certain games or practices.  One practice was to let the students “choose sides”.  This was banned because “It might hurt some students’ feelings if they aren’t picked”.   I will interject here, that I was one who was not chosen on the favored team in my elementary school.  Much to the chagrin of the favored team, I hit a softball so hard into right field, that I broke a second story window in our school building.  AND, I didn’t even get in trouble for it.  No one called to report it to Mom and Dad.

Several games have been banned, like dodge ball.  Someone could get hurt.  Whatever happened to common sense and logic?  We used to play swinging statue, red rover and crack the whip all of which would be outlawed today, because someone might get hurt.  You cannot ride a bicycle today without full gear.  Can kids still jump-rope, or is the rope a potential noose?  Someone might get hurt.  The point is that parents have become so controlling and so over bearing that they are unwilling to allow their little darlings to suffer as much as a scraped knee.  This, in itself, is very detrimental, in that the child will never learn what is to fail and recover.  They will never learn these important lessons that people/children have always been allowed to learn from the beginning of civilization…the beginning of mankind.

Okay….I’m stepping off the dais for the time being.  Please comment on this..Pro and Con.  I want to hear it.  I promise a rebuttal! 

Respectfully,

Mena/Melissa/Mom 

A GATHERING OF SIBLINGS Reflections of Reinvention

A GATHERING OF SIBLINGS

Reflections of Reinvention

Recently, I had the opportunity to attend a birthday party for one of my brothers.  We’ve been giving special birthday celebrations for those of us that have turned 60 for almost 3 years.  That means that three of us, plus one cousin, have made it to 60.  Most of our siblings were able to come for this celebration.  Two were not, and they were missed and talked about, lovingly, of course.   As I observed my siblings, I saw “Momisms” and “Dadisms” in each of them, and I dare say they see the same “isms” in me.  My observation of the entire celebration is that we all had a wonderful time, good food and very good company.

 

What a comfort that all of them are fine people with separate agendas; and that they certainly do not need to have my same agenda, nor my advice.  It’s even conceivable that I am just fine, and can do whatever I choose, including screw up, without the help and/or advice and consent of others.  And, yes, it has taken that long to realize that my siblings are just fine.  This whole paragraph gives light to the term I’m OK You’re OK, which was originally coined in a book of the same name, by Thomas A Harris, MD  in 1972.

 

Actually, I do vaguely remember reading this book about 38 years ago.  In his book, Dr. Harris talks about the movie, “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Wolf?”  I remember seeing that movie as well, and that I was disturbed at how the characters treated each other.  It seemed that from this scenario, we are supposed to see that we create our own illusions; and when we are not happy with the illusions we have created for ourselves, then we tend to pick on the illusions that our loved ones (family, friends, neighbors, strangers?) have created for themselves.  Shouldn’t we just create newer, better illusions for ourselves; reinvent ourselves?  That would have been great, if we had only realized that it was that simple.  Sadly, we did not and sometimes still don’t, so we continue to observe and critique others.  And that’s only part of the analogy.  Hence, the good doctor is telling us that we’re all okay, so we should quit picking on each other, and just appreciate and accept.   What a relief not to have to analyze and pick apart!

All of this has made me realize just how difficult it is sometimes, just to be ourselves.  It is very complicated.  I certainly do not consider myself unique in this.  We all care what others think of us, seeking approval for our deeds and actions.  

Sometimes, don’t we alter the way we do things, reinventing a part of what or who we think we are?  I told you that it’s complicated.  We all fancy ourselves as being one thing, or one way or another.  During my lifetime, I’ve seen men and boys try to emulate John Wayne, Steve McQueen, Elvis Presley, James Bond, James Dean, Ringo Starr, Steven Seagal, Gregory Peck , Mahatma Gandhi, and even Steve Martin;  just to name a few.  Women and girls I’ve known have tried to be Princess Grace, Marilyn Monroe, Sophia Loren, Janice Joplin, Nicole Kidman, Kathy Hepburn, Meg Ryan, Angelina Jolie, Doris Day, Twiggy and Julia Roberts; again, just to name a few.  But, I’ve never seen anyone try to be Ward or June Clever or Ozzie or Harriet Nelson.  I couldn’t wear a dress and a strand of pearls even for one day … personally.

In retrospect of growing pains up to the age of 60, I’ve done the same thing.  When being who I am (Who is that anyway?) didn’t work for me, I tried to be like someone else.  No.  That’s not entirely true.  I wanted to actually be someone else…anyone else that might have more success than I thought I was having at the time.  And, didn’t we have the strangest notions of what “success” was to us then?

So, here’s where I’m going with all of that.  “First, do no harm” comes to mind.   It is not up to me to judge, critique, nor to try to persuade anyone to my way of thinking.  It makes my life much more comfortable to accept them for just who they are, and by this, find their opinions and values much more interesting.  Not only do I like them for who they are, but for their differences as well. What makes more sense is to take all of the information of differences and / or the things that I might disagree with, and process it, not to judge them, but to form my own decisions and choices.

  

The only time we have is right here, and right now.

SO, JUST VOTE !!!

Early voting this past Monday was a piece of cake.  I drove up to the precinct 4 Fire Station and saw a pick-up truck pulling out of a prime parking spot … right in front of the door.  And, I didn’t have to fight for it.  I just pulled in.  A woman standing in the parking lot next door shouted, “Do you live in the Spring ISD?”  Oh, crap!  I’m in the Klein ISD.  Maybe I’ve parked in a place reserved just for Spring ISD voters.  I hollered back, “NO!”   She seemed to have lost interest with that, and I shrugged and went in the front door and handed my Voter Registration I.D. to one of the women seated at the long table.  I signed, and she handed me a little slip of paper with my voters’ code on it; and I went to one of several booths.  Piece of cake!  I knew how I wanted to vote and what all the issues were.  Turning the dial was a pleasure.  The whole thing took less than 15 minutes.  I drove back home feeling the usual satisfaction that comes with having cast my vote.

The only things remaining are the political ads on television, and the recorded political phone messages.  I did receive a phone call yesterday that wasn’t a recording.  It was from a phone bank, and the young girl said,”I’m calling to ask just a couple of questions about how you voted.”  Well, how in the hell did she know I’d already voted?  And what gave her permission to, a.) Invade my privacy at home with a bunch of survey questions and,  b.) Ask questions about how I voted at all?  I told her that we are on the NO CALL list.  She retorted that it was a political survey, and that the rule didn’t apply to political surveys.  I told her that I still considered it an invasion of my personal space and that just by the fact that she would even ask me about how I voted is a violation of my privacy.  Knowing that she had to get to a certain point in her “interview monologue”, I refused to allow her to get to that point.  I told her I would NOT answer her questions, and that she needed to get another job….because I was not going to cooperate.   Her only reply was, “We’ll just call back at a more convenient time.”   I told her that there was not a convenient time to intrude on my privacy, and that she’d better not even consider calling back.  I hung up feeling pretty smug.  Actually, I used to be polite to telemarketers.  That changed one night when we were just settling in for the night….in bed, and we got a survey call.  The Royster and I started making up stuff to tell these intruders of privacy.  Neither of us have any shame there.

The other annoyance is the political ads on T.V.  My take on that is that if a candidate cannot run for office on their own merits, and keep their “promises” without mud-slinging, trashing, and out and out slander of their opponent, then they don’t have any business running for office.   Politicians are politicians; salesmen/women with a smoke and mirrors agenda. The debates are a joke, and I don’t believe that our news medias are much better.  They give the word journalism new meaning.  Isn’t there supposed to be truth in journalism?  Somehow, the politicians have reached into our media and opened the “bias” door to all of them.  More’s the pity.  Where is that “NONE OF THE ABOVE”, or the “WRITE IN CANDIDATE”  selection?

Having cast my vote and endured all of the insulting ads and political phone invasions, I’ve had my opinionated say about all of this.  I’m sure that all of these candidates and the media are crying all the way to the bank about my opinion.  Hah!  I’m not that powerful, but together, we as citizens are a powerful force.  Look through all the political mud-slinging, smoke and mirrors and know what YOU want, and JUST VOTE!

AMAZING GRACE - ONCE AGAIN After All “Near Occasions” of Sin

Once again, here I am, blessed in my life, and forgiven for my occasions of sin, and for my black soul that follows me everywhere.  Every day I can count on these blessings, and I don’t know why, but the blessings keep coming.  Possibly I should not count on them, but just count them.


I guess the reason that I’m so focused on my black soul, is because from the very first day of catechism I was told that our young innocent souls are already tainted with original sin until we are Baptized.  Original Sin would be the grave sin bestowed on us by Adam and Eve by eating from the Tree of Knowledge.  In the next catechism, I learned that we are never supposed to question the teachings of the Catholic Church…..EVER!  Ummmm……and why not?  Why shouldn’t we question anything we have a doubt about, wonder about or have a genuine curiosity about?

Sin seems to be available around every corner; pretty easy to find.  It’s our job to try to avoid the near occasion of sin.  We are taught from the very beginning that Satan and his minions are around every corner, lurking and sleazing around for lazy, vulnerable souls to bribe, harvest, and to convince us that bad is good, and good is bad.  And furthermore, I learned that it’s a sin to waste a single second of time.  Say, if you spend an afternoon lying by a river bank wondering about the miracles and beauty that our God has created, then you’re in real trouble.  Couldn’t that be counted as meditating on how great our God is?

There is far too much detail heaped on us about what is bad or just plain evil.  This is enough to make anyone paranoid.  Our God blessed us with a free will, and then told us to use it wisely.  My daily prayer is to ask God to just help me be good.  That’s all I need for me.  I know the difference between right and wrong.  So, if I do something that is wrong, then I’m pretty aware of it, and feel appropriately guilty.  Then I will summon up the appropriate amends eventually.  Mea culpa, mea, culpa, mea culpa….  Done!

Blast that emotion of guilt!  Ann Landers says that if you feel guilty, then you probably are guilty of something. Ain’t it the truth!  And, aren’t we always?  Our daily media crams us with  as much fear and guilt up our patooties as they possibly can.  This is done to sell products and politics.  It’s on every T.V. news channel, newspaper, and televangelist and on all of the radio stations.  We don’t have to have a preacher do it on Sunday.

 

According to whom?  It’s all about viewers and ratings.  They’ll promote anything within the realms of “journalism” (and these days, I use the term loosely), to promote whatever the sponsors have paid for them to say and promote.  If you squint your eyes and tune in your ears, you can tell when it’s a crock.  You just have to look at both sides and bone up on what each side has to say, and then take from that what you will.  Who knows….really!  Does anybody really know?  Will anyone challenge the media, or are we all Sheeple?

Inevitable temptation is always going to be there, but perhaps we should focus more on how we respond to the temptation.  Learn from it.  Pride, Envy, Gluttony, Lust, Anger, Avarice, and  Sloth.  These seven deadly sins predate Christ.  Jesus only highlighted what was already being preached.  Is it Sloth   then, to be sitting here at this computer?

From the beginning of mankind, people have looked to the “heavens” for the God that made them.  We have basic knowledge of what’s right and what’s wrong.  These are the sins we have to watch out for.  People will see a temptation and assume that it is somewhat innocent, and then the next time, they/we will find it much easier to fall prey to that same temptation once we look at it as a rational, justifiable decision because we have a free will.  Lightening didn’t strike, so it must not be so bad.  I guess we can rationalize anything to be right and good.

So, why am I expounding about sin and guilt?  Shouldn’t we be more focused on just doing good in our world, and possibly how to help others?  And shouldn’t there be less focus on how bad we are, and less emphasis on the consequences for not following the rules of any one religion.  Just being a good person is a step in the right direction; then follow a religion….one you believe is good for you. 

 We have been programed to fear retribution, and if we’re afraid, then, we humans respond with rebellious actions….fight back!  And, what of the “rewards” for just being a good person?  This should start out with ….First, do no harm!  The very first reward for this would be the knowledge that you have harmed no one. 

That’s the way I’m looking at things this morning.  I think the media news on T.V. set me off.  I stand by being a good person first.  Eradicate fear and go forward. Recognize what is the right thing to do and do it.  If you don’t know the right thing to do, then just do the next right thing.  Being a good person is just too under-rated.  Too many rules have been attached to being a good person.  And I think that most people qualify as good people, and don’t even know it.  We are a good people.

Now, just do some good for yourself and for mankind.  Smile and be happy you are here for the lessons you will learn.

THE RULE OF: If It’s Not One Thing, Then It’s……

We all get to a certain age, health-wise, where we feel we’re catching all of the juggling pins, but that they just keep coming.  You swear that you only started with five things to juggle, but now there are six, then eight, then ten.  Geeeeeezzzze!  Where did they all come from?  Just when you think you’ve nipped one thing in the bud, another one crops up.  You’ve learned in life that if you keep a semblance of a schedule, that it makes life simpler.  But…there are always things of the unexpected nature cropping up.

For our Labor Day week-end, we had planned to drive downtown and spend a day taking some candid photos of life inside Loop 610; possibly snagging some photos of some of the interesting people on Westheimer.  This was the plan for at least one day of the three day week-end.

Friday night, we were having our usual dinner with friends at The Texas Roadhouse.  I had decided that I would have something other than my usual medium rare steak with salad and baked sweet potato.  The beef tips looked wonderful.  All was good while waiting.  My mouth all set for this, and I started tearing through the salad and rolls.  These are always very good. 

As we ate our salads, we were royally entertained by the other couples’ two year old granddaughter, Izzy.  She had been staring at the funny looking man that had all the ear markings of Teddy Bear; particularly around his fur covered face.  Izzy was intrigued with The Royster’s face fur.  He allowed her to touch it, and that sent her in to a frenzy of giggles, much to everyone else’s’ delight.  After a while, she thought it was okay to give the big Teddy Bear a kiss, which sent her in to hysterical laughter.  What better entertainment at dinner time than a happy, funny baby.

The main course arrived.  The waitress cleared away empty plates, and placed food in front of us.  Those beef tips were making me drool.  As she placed the food in front of me, I saw that the beef tips were cooked to perfect medium rare, and the rice was brown with beautiful little sautéed mushrooms.  I took a big sip of water to clear my palate, stabbed one of the sautéed mushrooms and put it in my drooling, waiting mouth.  The flavor was wonderful.  Next, I tried the brown rice.  I was deliberately teasing my mouth; making it wait for the beef tips.  Finally, I cut off a bite of the beef tips and delicately placed it in my mouth to savor.  Excellent, just as I thought it would be!  BUT WAIT!!!!!  As I chewed and swallowed, a familiar uncomfortable feeling crept in. 

Six years ago, I had some radiation that created scar tissue in my swallower that had made it impossible to swallow.  I had that treated (dilated) about seven times before the dang thing would work properly.  Before it was fixed, though, I would have episodes of food sticking; not moving up or down.  Generally, after an hour or so, the food would eventually move on.  Mind you, it always happened at a really nice restaurant, and we always had to get a to-go box so I could at least enjoy the meal later.

The familiar feeling persisted, and I finally had to excuse myself to the ladies room.  I wasn’t choking, but wanted to make sure I was in a convenient spot in case the beef tip finally decided to come flying out my mouth.  I waited and nothing happened, so I returned to our dinner table, and announced that I’d have to have a “doggie box” to take my dinner home in.   I darn sure was not going to leave my dinner on the table.  The Styrofoam box arrived along with the check.  We divided-up and left.  I was getting more and more uncomfortable.

 

We stood outside in the parking lot chatting with our friends.  Finally, I motioned to The Royster that we really needed to head home.  I just knew that the offending beef tip would move along if I had a nice hot shower and relaxed a little, and I did just that as soon as we got home.  Sadly, the clog remained.  I could not even slip a sip of tea past it.  Finally, I drifted off to sleep around 10:30, only to wake every hour on the hour until I finally got up around 2:30.  The swallower would not relax to let the food pass.  A panicky feeling replaced hope.  I let The Royster sleep, because I knew that he would have to be in charge a little later.  I had already made up my mind that we would be heading to an emergency room at 5:30.

 

Dressed and ready to go with medical info in hand we headed out the door, arriving at St. Luke’s at 6:00.  The Royster let me out at the E.R. door and went to park the car.  The waiting room was surprisingly quiet.  We did have to wait but were called in just as the sun was about to come up, and were escorted to a small room, where I was hooked up to an I.V. of something that was supposed to relax the esophagus.

The Royster patted me in sympathy and entertained me by drawing a face on a latex glove and blowing it up.  The man is talented!  There just wasn’t anything to read while we waited.  After about an hour, the I.V. was empty, and its contents had failed miserably.  The clog had not budged.  So, I was taken up to be pleasantly sedated while the doctor went diving for the beef tip.  Seems the old swallower had started shrinking up again.  Beef tip removed, I was dilated and awakened 40 minutes later.  After all was said and done, I was cleared to go home and eat soft foods (ice cream) for the rest of the day.  I was handed a page of nine progressive photos of what the doctor was doing while I enjoyed my drug induced nap.  She also gave me another sheet with instructions on how to take care of myself.  She then said I would need a follow-up visit in a week.

 

Stopping only at the pharmacy for prescriptions, we made it home around noon.   The Royster poured us a cranberry pomegranate juice, and I retired to the bedroom to sleep off the rest of the anesthetic.

All is well today (a day later), and I thoroughly enjoyed the beef tips for lunch.  All is back to normal, and as usual….waiting for another danged ol’ pin to be thrown into my juggling act. Bring it!  Whatever comes along, we’ll just handle it!   So, once again, if it’s not one thing, then it’s another.  Life just happens that way and you deal with it and move on.

THAT LOVING FEELING

And, I just feel loved….more now than ever in my life.  How much time do we, as individuals, spend wondering if we’re loved, or even liked?  I can tell you right now, we waste waaaaayyyyy too much time on this.  Look around you.

I go out in the back yard every morning, and see just what’s opening up to me.  It reminds me that there is beauty, love and unity in our world.  Too often we see the destructive side of life in the news, and it tells me otherwise.  I choose to see what’s worth living for.   There is a positive for every negative that we see, know and feel.

At this juncture in my life, I can see, know and feel choices.  We can go wherever we want, and live the way we want to live.  Nothing in this life is anything I haven’t invited into my life…..including the misery.  If we choose to feel misery, we will.  After all, if we don’t know misery, how are we supposed to know joy?  We choose to feel joy.  And, how else are to know misery?

My children are a joy to me, just knowing how special each of my two daughters are.  Opposite as night and day, they are on their own paths, and giving so much of themselves to what makes the world go around.

My siblings…and there are many, are also contributing to their lives, as well as the lives of others for the good in this life.  I see beautiful art work, and beautiful children, and beautiful words coming from each of them; and .....

I feel loved.

All I’m saying is that we have choices to feel misery, or not. 

A friend of mine made the statement that “No one would ever want either of us! We’re so weird.”   I started to challenge that, because I was thinking the very same thing about “us”.  “No one would want either of us. We’re so danged different.”  I suggest that when each of us has found our mates, soul mates; the love of our lives … No one else would do.”  And that’s the truth.  If there is anyone who thinks they would want either one of us, they would be sorely disappointed in their choice.  They would not see the wonderful things we see in each other.  It’s not because we disapprove of anything the other has to offer, but because we so totally accept exactly who the other one is.  That’s the one I want.

I feel so loved.

Just to know that is very important.  Do you know that?  Many of us do…..finally, and sometimes, that’s just what it takes….just time.  We are so fortunate to live long enough to know this.

I feel so loved.

I HAVE FAT MASSES, AND I KNOW WHERE THEY ARE HIDING!

Exactly a month ago, I started back to the gym (Curves); not because I expect to get back to “Cute and Adorable” again, but I finally realize that doing this can only improve my respiratory system and get me back in to pretty good shape.  I felt that this is something I need to do, and I just accept this as part of my life and responsibility now; part of my efforts to keep fit for my kids.  We all know that as long as we keep healthy, fit and active, then we have a much better chance of keeping our mental facilities for a longer period of time, and therefore avoiding that which we Babyboomers fear most; getting put in a nursing home or, even worse, just ending up a burden to the people we love.

Today, when I went in to do my daily 30 to 45 minutes of rigorous exercise, I was stopped by a woman with a measuring tape!  “Halt!  It’s your turn!  It’s been exactly a month since you’ve been coming here, and it’s time to see what you’ve done!” 

What have I done?  

I didn’t realize they took it so seriously!  Was I late?  Did I miss a day or two?  Oh, nooooo!  She came at me with a tape measure, and measured my bust.   Actually, that wasn’t so bad.  After I had turned 55, it (my bust) had actually started to grow, and I was very upset over this.  It had started to get in my way.  I really didn’t like it at all, remembering after my two girls were born and how I actually knocked over poker chips and drinks with my newly acquired buxom boobs.  At that point, I fretted and envisioned suddenly turning sideways and giving a short person a concussion.   How embarrassing!  I had never had them before, and didn’t want them….well not “bigguns” (Al Bundy speak).  At any rate, the lady with the tape measure whipped the tape around my bust!  Wow!  What a relief!  I had lost two inches!  Even better, that probably means I’ve lost some of my recently acquired (within the past 6 years) back fat.

Next, she measured my waist.  That was a disappointment, as I had not even lost a centimeter there.  How discouraging!  More HULA HOOP!  By the way, there is actually a hula hoop at Curves that weighs about 4 lb., and the inside is scalloped.  When you get it going, it actually pummels your waist line.

After that, she measured my upper arms, abdomen, hips and thighs.    I had lost a total of 8 inches.  It didn’t mean much to me because I had not noticed it before.  However, what I did notice when I finally got on the scale, was that I had lost 2 lb.  That, once again, was a little disappointing.  After all, I’d been at this for a month now.  You would think there should have been a greater weight loss.

   

Then the aggressive woman with the tape measure said:  “Congratulations! You’ve made some really great progress.  You may have lost only 2 lb., but you’ve lost 8” inches overall.  This means you are increasing your muscle mass, and losing fat mass”.   No one had ever told me that I had “fat mass”.  That seemed to make everything a little better, but I had a moment of hitting basement when I realized that there was much more to go.  “I know where the rest of you fat masses are hiding!”  And by the way, it is NOT doing such a great job of hiding.

After giving it a bit more thought, I decided that it must be that nightly ice cream with The Royster. Well, that’s just one of the factors though.  Seemingly, everything started changing at once about 6 years ago.   There was the fact that I had to quit smoking, hormonal changes, chemo and radiation and age all collided at once.  Oh, and add the fact that I had always been used to “eating like a man”, without gaining an ounce or an inch anywhere.   Put that together with the fact that I live with a diet saboteur.   Yes, and come to think of it, I’d probably lose weight and inches faster if I’d leave off the late night ice cream with The Royster.  I sincerely hope The Royster won’t get his feelings hurt if I don’t join him in serving bowls of ice cream late at night.  Serve yourself, Honey.  I’ll try not to watch.

Alright!  I’m encouraged.  I’ve actually seen some progress, and just when I was starting to get discouraged.  Over the past week, I had started thinking up excuses not to go to the gym.  That’s a familiar pattern.  I’m getting to know the other ladies, and I appreciate every one of them.  Possibly I could get to know one of them well enough to call me every morning g to tell me to “Move AWAY from the computer and get your butt down here to the gym!”  Guess I’m just lacking a little discipline, and could use a drill sergeant pal to encourage me.

   

Now that I am aware of “fat mass”, and where it’s all hiding, then I do feel inclined to continue going to the gym.  I actually feel that I can drop off the ice cream habit.  I’ll be starving the “fat mass”.   “Put that cinnamon bun down and step AWAY from the computer and get your ass to the gym!”  So…………..Call me!