Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Grandparent's Day: Another Hallmark Holiday
Many people think of today, Grandparents Day, as a Hallmark Holiday.
So what if it is? If it's not your cup of tea , don't celebrate it. When you see commercials or reminders, make sure not to think of your grandparents. Even if you remember only unkindness or downright cruelty, remember that every time you remember them, you are honoring this made-up holiday that you don't respect.
Every day, these days, seems to have been set aside by some group or government to commemorate Something-or-other. For millions of people, any day is a special commemoration for the individual because it's their birthday.
Birthdays are (locally) about presents and cakes and gimmes. Breast Cancer Awareness and similar 'events' often call for fundraising in many different ways, although the focus and the honorees may be survivors or contenders or a thousand other _________--ers.
There is nothing wrong with this. Why not?
So, some holidays -- these so-called Hallmark Holidays -- encourage people to buy cards (preferably Hallmark, I suppose) and flowers. Some of these holidays are newer, like Grandparents Day and Sweetest Day. Others have been around for centuries, like Valentine's Day.
What difference does it make?
Many of you complain about the "crass consumerism" of these special days.
If you're crass that's your fault.
If you're a consumer, that's your choice.
So what if it is? If it's not your cup of tea , don't celebrate it. When you see commercials or reminders, make sure not to think of your grandparents. Even if you remember only unkindness or downright cruelty, remember that every time you remember them, you are honoring this made-up holiday that you don't respect.
Every day, these days, seems to have been set aside by some group or government to commemorate Something-or-other. For millions of people, any day is a special commemoration for the individual because it's their birthday.
Birthdays are (locally) about presents and cakes and gimmes. Breast Cancer Awareness and similar 'events' often call for fundraising in many different ways, although the focus and the honorees may be survivors or contenders or a thousand other _________--ers.
There is nothing wrong with this. Why not?
So, some holidays -- these so-called Hallmark Holidays -- encourage people to buy cards (preferably Hallmark, I suppose) and flowers. Some of these holidays are newer, like Grandparents Day and Sweetest Day. Others have been around for centuries, like Valentine's Day.
What difference does it make?
Many of you complain about the "crass consumerism" of these special days.
If you're crass that's your fault.
If you're a consumer, that's your choice.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Dream it; Do it; Or Quitcher Whining.
My husband is watching yet another reality show about gold mining or fishing or deep sea ice diving (or ice driving) or whatever excuse this bunch of "men" are using as an excuse to not have to live a real life, like the rest of us have to do.
I don't know why he watches these shows. I don't know why anyone watches many of these shows. I think there's supposed to be a "Man against Nature" challenge, and we're all dreaming of ourselves as winning against the impersonal, implacable elements.
But what you hear during these programs is a lot of whining. "Oh we need 35 per yard and we're only getting six. It's all the machine's fault." "Oh no, if we don't find something, I'm going to go to jail for child support. The boss better find us a better place to work; it's his fault this isn't working." And the self sacrificing Valiant "I do this for my kids. So they'll have something. That's why I'm 2000 miles away and unavailable by telephone."
1) Take care of the machine, and don't over work it. It's a machine, dumbass.
2) If you're worried about paying support, get a real job with a regular paycheck in a regular amount.
3) Maybe, just maybe what your kids really need is a father. Ever thought they might like to see you every now and then? They might like to call you in an emergency and have you there in a half hour or two? They might even appreciate a hug or a handshake, depending on age or gender!
One of the gentlemen earlier today was talking on and on about his "Big Dream" of making "THE Big Strike." Then he'll never have to worry again.
We all have Big Dreams. Almost all of us dream of winning the lottery, especially when that old Power Ball gets way up there. We don't abandon our families to chase that dream. We don't spend money they could use for food or heat while we travel to another state to be closer to the winning-ticket-vending places, do we? And blame the machine for not printing us the winning numbers? Or the clerk for not selling us the right numbers? Because we are trying so hard to realize our dream, the failure couldn't be our fault, could it?
(Of course, that could be why we don't get made into TV shows.)
Another Big Dream of mine is to be a published, income-earning writer. If I never become that, though, it's no one's fault but mine. Yeah, there are publishers turning their backs on a good thing, and editors who don't know what they're missing -- but I'm the one who didn't write right enough to attract them. I'm the one who used the wrong approach or followed the wrong path to their doors.
I'm the one who is dreaming big and doing little.
But at least I'm not on national cable television crying and whining and telling the world that I am a big LOSER because someONE or someTHING is stopping me. (I admit to whining about it amongst my colleagues and kinfolk, but that is a little different.)
There's nothing wrong with dreaming of a gold mine, but you take care of your family first. You handle your responsibilities first.
You get a day job, for those you love, and you pursue your dream on your own personal private time.
Or you make yourself famous for being a loser at life.
The choice is yours.
I don't know why he watches these shows. I don't know why anyone watches many of these shows. I think there's supposed to be a "Man against Nature" challenge, and we're all dreaming of ourselves as winning against the impersonal, implacable elements.
But what you hear during these programs is a lot of whining. "Oh we need 35 per yard and we're only getting six. It's all the machine's fault." "Oh no, if we don't find something, I'm going to go to jail for child support. The boss better find us a better place to work; it's his fault this isn't working." And the self sacrificing Valiant "I do this for my kids. So they'll have something. That's why I'm 2000 miles away and unavailable by telephone."
1) Take care of the machine, and don't over work it. It's a machine, dumbass.
2) If you're worried about paying support, get a real job with a regular paycheck in a regular amount.
3) Maybe, just maybe what your kids really need is a father. Ever thought they might like to see you every now and then? They might like to call you in an emergency and have you there in a half hour or two? They might even appreciate a hug or a handshake, depending on age or gender!
One of the gentlemen earlier today was talking on and on about his "Big Dream" of making "THE Big Strike." Then he'll never have to worry again.
We all have Big Dreams. Almost all of us dream of winning the lottery, especially when that old Power Ball gets way up there. We don't abandon our families to chase that dream. We don't spend money they could use for food or heat while we travel to another state to be closer to the winning-ticket-vending places, do we? And blame the machine for not printing us the winning numbers? Or the clerk for not selling us the right numbers? Because we are trying so hard to realize our dream, the failure couldn't be our fault, could it?
(Of course, that could be why we don't get made into TV shows.)
Another Big Dream of mine is to be a published, income-earning writer. If I never become that, though, it's no one's fault but mine. Yeah, there are publishers turning their backs on a good thing, and editors who don't know what they're missing -- but I'm the one who didn't write right enough to attract them. I'm the one who used the wrong approach or followed the wrong path to their doors.
I'm the one who is dreaming big and doing little.
But at least I'm not on national cable television crying and whining and telling the world that I am a big LOSER because someONE or someTHING is stopping me. (I admit to whining about it amongst my colleagues and kinfolk, but that is a little different.)
There's nothing wrong with dreaming of a gold mine, but you take care of your family first. You handle your responsibilities first.
You get a day job, for those you love, and you pursue your dream on your own personal private time.
Or you make yourself famous for being a loser at life.
The choice is yours.
Labels:
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diving,
doing,
dreams,
driving,
failure,
father,
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ice,
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Monday, August 27, 2012
Hailey and the Cricket
Hailey, age 4, has developed a bug phobia. When she sees one, she screams and runs and cries.
I am one mom/grandmom/aunt/sister who has no patience -- and I mean NO PATIENCE -- with that behavior. Unless it's a wasp. But that's one bug, one specific kind of bug, not any and all. Anyway, I have no patience with that. Time to nip it in the bud. (Or in the bug. just to be funny.)
This is somewhat natural for the age, I suppose. I never paid a lot of attention to it when my girls went through it, because of that no patience policy I may have mentioned. The sudden appearance of any critter is startling and evokes an "oh!" or an "Eek!"
I told Hailey's mom I'd like to slap silly whoever taught Hailey to act that way, but that it wouldn't be satisfying to do so, because said person has already attained that state. (Translation: She's silly to start with.)
Hailey sees two kinds of bugs. Flying bugs are flies. Crawling bugs are spiders.
Size or color doesn't matter. Except in the bathtub. Anything black in the bathtub is a cause for panic, has been for about three years. Instant hysteria, climb up the gramma, refuse to put a toe in the water, plain basic panic. (See, I do know the difference.)
Now, there are flies that get in her swimming pool. Spiders, too. She wouldn't get in the pool with flies and spiders, so I got her a net. The first few times I skimmed it for her. Then I showed her. She still refused to have anything to do with the skimming.
So, mean Mammaw took her and bodily stood her in the center of the pool, wrapped Hailey's little fingers around the net handle, and held on to Hailey's arm and made it swish swish, then showed her how to knock the stuff onto the ground.
After that, it was up to Hailey. If she wants to swim, she either has to swim with the bugs or skim them out herself. Meanie Mammaw would sit on the porch and let her holler, whine, scream,whimper. If she wants to swim, she knew what she had to do. It was up to her, old Meanie said.
The next morning she hopped in the pool, skimmed it and showed the spiders to that old meanie.
This visit Hailey started screaming running through the house and even refusing to go potty because there are crickets hopping around in the almost remodeled bathroom. Someone had to go to the bathroom with her, to protect her from the spiders that jump on her.
So, on one trip to the bathroom, we started talking about the bugs. The jumping spiders that are called cricket and that jump in the wall and make noise.
"They make noise."
"They're singing to you."
"SingING?"
"Yes, they are in the wall singing to you."
Then we experimented with walking around in the bathroom, and how the cricket would stop singing whenever we moved too close to the wall, and then start singing when we'd be quiet and be still.
We headed out of the bathroom, and the cricket chirped twice. I said, "It sang 'good-bye for now.' "
Hailey stopped in her tracks and looked at me. "It was singing TO ME?"
I said yes.
Wonder dawned in her face. "Oh, Mammaw. You mean it's nice?"
I am one mom/grandmom/aunt/sister who has no patience -- and I mean NO PATIENCE -- with that behavior. Unless it's a wasp. But that's one bug, one specific kind of bug, not any and all. Anyway, I have no patience with that. Time to nip it in the bud. (Or in the bug. just to be funny.)
This is somewhat natural for the age, I suppose. I never paid a lot of attention to it when my girls went through it, because of that no patience policy I may have mentioned. The sudden appearance of any critter is startling and evokes an "oh!" or an "Eek!"
I told Hailey's mom I'd like to slap silly whoever taught Hailey to act that way, but that it wouldn't be satisfying to do so, because said person has already attained that state. (Translation: She's silly to start with.)
Hailey sees two kinds of bugs. Flying bugs are flies. Crawling bugs are spiders.
Size or color doesn't matter. Except in the bathtub. Anything black in the bathtub is a cause for panic, has been for about three years. Instant hysteria, climb up the gramma, refuse to put a toe in the water, plain basic panic. (See, I do know the difference.)
Now, there are flies that get in her swimming pool. Spiders, too. She wouldn't get in the pool with flies and spiders, so I got her a net. The first few times I skimmed it for her. Then I showed her. She still refused to have anything to do with the skimming.
So, mean Mammaw took her and bodily stood her in the center of the pool, wrapped Hailey's little fingers around the net handle, and held on to Hailey's arm and made it swish swish, then showed her how to knock the stuff onto the ground.
After that, it was up to Hailey. If she wants to swim, she either has to swim with the bugs or skim them out herself. Meanie Mammaw would sit on the porch and let her holler, whine, scream,whimper. If she wants to swim, she knew what she had to do. It was up to her, old Meanie said.
The next morning she hopped in the pool, skimmed it and showed the spiders to that old meanie.
This visit Hailey started screaming running through the house and even refusing to go potty because there are crickets hopping around in the almost remodeled bathroom. Someone had to go to the bathroom with her, to protect her from the spiders that jump on her.
So, on one trip to the bathroom, we started talking about the bugs. The jumping spiders that are called cricket and that jump in the wall and make noise.
"They make noise."
"They're singing to you."
"SingING?"
"Yes, they are in the wall singing to you."
Then we experimented with walking around in the bathroom, and how the cricket would stop singing whenever we moved too close to the wall, and then start singing when we'd be quiet and be still.
We headed out of the bathroom, and the cricket chirped twice. I said, "It sang 'good-bye for now.' "
Hailey stopped in her tracks and looked at me. "It was singing TO ME?"
I said yes.
Wonder dawned in her face. "Oh, Mammaw. You mean it's nice?"
Adventures in Freeloading: Proud to be an American?
Adventures in Freeloading: Proud to be an American?: I've often said that being taken for granted is the most annoying compliment possible. If so, America must be quite flattered and annoyed! ...
Saturday, August 25, 2012
Yard Sellin'
As you may guess, I'm having a yard sale. It's a time when I have to do something, and this is what I can think of. I never do well holding these sales, but I do well enough.
According to guidelines and how-to articles, I do everything wrong.
I don't buy advertisement in every local publication. Why not? Because the reason I'm holding the sale is because I need money. Not a lot, just enough to get by.
I also don't wash, dry, sand, dust, paint and in general pretty up stuff. The reason for that isn't because I'm lazy. It really isn't. The reason depends on what types of item it is that I'm selling.
I have a box of miscellaneous saucers, bowls, and plates. I just put that type of discard into that box, and when I do a yard sale, I haul the box out to the yard. Besides, even if they were sparkling clean and shiny, anyone buying them is going to wash them anyway before using. (I have to admit, that does sound lazy. So I guess that is a factor.) I don't see the use in unpacking, washing, drying, waiting, repacking (god forbid a speck of water get in the box.) I'm probably not going to sell any mismatched dishes or serving sets of one. Those seldom sell. So I'd end up hauling them in and out and back again, over and over, until I can donate them somewhere.
I have some power tools. I could sand off the metal, I can wash off the gas tanks, I can put in a new spark plug. But I can't start the darned things -- part of the reason I'm selling them. I can't tell anyone how they run. Since I can't start them, I don't know if they run, let alone how well.
Also, I've been burned buying prettied-up gear at yard sales. The seller will tell me, "I just replaced the spark plug." He won't say, "but that wasn't causing the problem." But, because it looks good -- and possibly because of the amount of time and work that went into the prettying-up -- he asks for good money for the item.
My stuff may look old and used -- that's because it is. Unapologetically and unabashedly. But no one has to pay me for sanding and scrubbing.
I have some secondhand bicycles. They were secondhand when I got them. I don't know their pedigree or any event history. I do know that no one in my home is riding bicycles. It's been so long since anyone has ridden that the tires have all gone flat. You fix that with air.
My prices are lower for these reasons.I don't ask pretty prices (although I myself would call them nice-looking.) I ask what would I pay for this at a yard sale. Since I'm a frugal buyer, I add a little more. I know normal people will probably pay more than I would. I'm always open to offers, too, and expect that. Older-looking stuff brings out the haggler in people.
Heck, I'll even barter if you have the right stuff. That's what I'm going to do with any money made -- trade it in for different goods. Your goods even have an added benefit -- you came to me. No gas/driving expense or time.
So bring me a sack of taters or a box of eggs -- I'll give you a box of saucers and a rusty Weed-Eater if that's what you want.
We'll both be satisfied that we got the "best deal EVER!."
According to guidelines and how-to articles, I do everything wrong.
I don't buy advertisement in every local publication. Why not? Because the reason I'm holding the sale is because I need money. Not a lot, just enough to get by.
I also don't wash, dry, sand, dust, paint and in general pretty up stuff. The reason for that isn't because I'm lazy. It really isn't. The reason depends on what types of item it is that I'm selling.
I have a box of miscellaneous saucers, bowls, and plates. I just put that type of discard into that box, and when I do a yard sale, I haul the box out to the yard. Besides, even if they were sparkling clean and shiny, anyone buying them is going to wash them anyway before using. (I have to admit, that does sound lazy. So I guess that is a factor.) I don't see the use in unpacking, washing, drying, waiting, repacking (god forbid a speck of water get in the box.) I'm probably not going to sell any mismatched dishes or serving sets of one. Those seldom sell. So I'd end up hauling them in and out and back again, over and over, until I can donate them somewhere.
I have some power tools. I could sand off the metal, I can wash off the gas tanks, I can put in a new spark plug. But I can't start the darned things -- part of the reason I'm selling them. I can't tell anyone how they run. Since I can't start them, I don't know if they run, let alone how well.
Also, I've been burned buying prettied-up gear at yard sales. The seller will tell me, "I just replaced the spark plug." He won't say, "but that wasn't causing the problem." But, because it looks good -- and possibly because of the amount of time and work that went into the prettying-up -- he asks for good money for the item.
My stuff may look old and used -- that's because it is. Unapologetically and unabashedly. But no one has to pay me for sanding and scrubbing.
I have some secondhand bicycles. They were secondhand when I got them. I don't know their pedigree or any event history. I do know that no one in my home is riding bicycles. It's been so long since anyone has ridden that the tires have all gone flat. You fix that with air.
My prices are lower for these reasons.I don't ask pretty prices (although I myself would call them nice-looking.) I ask what would I pay for this at a yard sale. Since I'm a frugal buyer, I add a little more. I know normal people will probably pay more than I would. I'm always open to offers, too, and expect that. Older-looking stuff brings out the haggler in people.
Heck, I'll even barter if you have the right stuff. That's what I'm going to do with any money made -- trade it in for different goods. Your goods even have an added benefit -- you came to me. No gas/driving expense or time.
So bring me a sack of taters or a box of eggs -- I'll give you a box of saucers and a rusty Weed-Eater if that's what you want.
We'll both be satisfied that we got the "best deal EVER!."
Friday, August 24, 2012
Adventures in Freeloading: I win, I win, I win.
Adventures in Freeloading: I win, I win, I win.: Thinking about competition today. What are we competing for? What is most important in this world, or the next? Everyone has a different ...
Monday, August 20, 2012
Back to the schoolroom
It's back to school time, and the news is out. All over the broadcasts are good schools, bad schools, charter schools, school levies, buses, teachers, backpack programs, and a lot of discussions. Most of the discussions are about costs.
Anyone who thinks free public schools are free hasn't gone to one for more than two generations. When I was a child, we had school fees every year to pay for workbooks to go along with the textbooks. These workbooks were not and are not optional. There are more programs today than there used to be to help parents pay for them, but that's not the point.
The point is that free schools aren't free.
There's been discussion, too, about the school year. About the whole school year concept. The September-to-May concept is fairly recent . School, in my lifetimes, started after Labor Day and ended by Memorial Day. Many things have happened to change that -- standardized Monday holidays, for one thing. Memorial Day isn't the 30th of May anymore.
The school year somehow changed into a certain number of days in school instead of a season of education. I have a lot to say about this ridiculous concept. My daughter had to make up absent days one year by going to school during her Christmas vacation. She didn't have to learn anything -- she wasn't making up tests, or reviewing chapters she missed due to her injury. She just had to have her butt in a seat at the school building, so they could have the requisite numbers of students on the minimum number of days.
Education is not the goal of school. Attendance is.
Some of this -- most of it -- is due to funding formulas. #of students, multiplied by # of days = $$$. Never mind the learning. No child can learn in 52 days, they absolutely need to have 53 days. It's the law.
It's the law.
Schooling should never have been made a matter of law.
Once it was a matter of law, it should have remained a matter of local law.
Not state.
Not Federal.
Not run by dollar dictators who want only a return on their investment.
To get that return, they turned to athletics. The games children play at recess for fun have become big business and are the secondary purpose of having school.
Again, if you think school athletics are about equal opportunity, you haven't been living in the real world. All sorts of personal gear and equipment have to be purchased. One year it was name brand shoes decided by the coach, because they were best and safest. Problem was, the shoes cost more than the monthly electric bill. Without the proper shoes, the students aren't allowed to play.
Doesn't sound very free or equal to me,and kids have always been pretty good at playing games without help. Just because the town council can get a cut of the gate and the state can run the concessions doesn't seem to me a sound educational platform.
It's back to school time.
At least we don't have to worry (too much) about what's required of us or our children. All we have to do is make sure they get there (Attendance) and encourage them to play games (Athletics.)
That's what school is all about.
Anyone who thinks free public schools are free hasn't gone to one for more than two generations. When I was a child, we had school fees every year to pay for workbooks to go along with the textbooks. These workbooks were not and are not optional. There are more programs today than there used to be to help parents pay for them, but that's not the point.
The point is that free schools aren't free.
There's been discussion, too, about the school year. About the whole school year concept. The September-to-May concept is fairly recent . School, in my lifetimes, started after Labor Day and ended by Memorial Day. Many things have happened to change that -- standardized Monday holidays, for one thing. Memorial Day isn't the 30th of May anymore.
The school year somehow changed into a certain number of days in school instead of a season of education. I have a lot to say about this ridiculous concept. My daughter had to make up absent days one year by going to school during her Christmas vacation. She didn't have to learn anything -- she wasn't making up tests, or reviewing chapters she missed due to her injury. She just had to have her butt in a seat at the school building, so they could have the requisite numbers of students on the minimum number of days.
Education is not the goal of school. Attendance is.
Some of this -- most of it -- is due to funding formulas. #of students, multiplied by # of days = $$$. Never mind the learning. No child can learn in 52 days, they absolutely need to have 53 days. It's the law.
It's the law.
Schooling should never have been made a matter of law.
Once it was a matter of law, it should have remained a matter of local law.
Not state.
Not Federal.
Not run by dollar dictators who want only a return on their investment.
To get that return, they turned to athletics. The games children play at recess for fun have become big business and are the secondary purpose of having school.
Again, if you think school athletics are about equal opportunity, you haven't been living in the real world. All sorts of personal gear and equipment have to be purchased. One year it was name brand shoes decided by the coach, because they were best and safest. Problem was, the shoes cost more than the monthly electric bill. Without the proper shoes, the students aren't allowed to play.
Doesn't sound very free or equal to me,and kids have always been pretty good at playing games without help. Just because the town council can get a cut of the gate and the state can run the concessions doesn't seem to me a sound educational platform.
It's back to school time.
At least we don't have to worry (too much) about what's required of us or our children. All we have to do is make sure they get there (Attendance) and encourage them to play games (Athletics.)
That's what school is all about.
Labels:
books,
children,
education,
entertainment,
fees,
free,
history,
kids,
knowledge,
law,
learn. teach,
school
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Writing a Blog
I like writing a blog. (I must like it I have two)I like the informal language and that I can devote as many or as few words as I wish to my chosen topic. I get to choose the topics, too. That's pretty neat.
Blogging, however, has infected my other writing. Once used to the chatty style, it can be difficult to switch to other voices. It -- that casuality -- sneaks into everything I write. Informational articles, reflective essays, editorials, even personal letters and journal entries have all begun to sound like a xhat.
I'm not complaining, just noting. I'm a writer, and blogging has given me a chance to do just that for a larger audience than just family and friends. It's not the only thing I can write, or the only way to write. I have many voices, depending on what I want to communicate.
It's just funny how the 'blog voice' keeps creeping in. It's like the 'y'know's and 'like's that are really annoying when you're waiting for the person to get to the meat of the story being told. It takes attention and practice and active correction to change that speech pattern.
Another good thing is that writing a blog is a way to learn deadlines . I try to -post at least twice a week on this blog. I'm happy if I can do three times a week, but I wonder if that gives my readers enough time to savor whatever I've written. I may be giving them too much credit. Nah, my readers are all intelligent people and many are writers themselves. My other blog (www.areyoumycousins.wordpress.com)I update once a week. It is more of a family oriented/ genealogy / history theme. Because I find those things interesting.
Anyway, I love writing. I love the chance to write on a regular, if self-imposed, basis. I love what I can learn about writing through the actual act of writing.I love what I can learn from my readers.
Heck, I just love to write and I am glad to have an outlet for my genius.
Thanks for letting me share ME with YOU.
Blogging, however, has infected my other writing. Once used to the chatty style, it can be difficult to switch to other voices. It -- that casuality -- sneaks into everything I write. Informational articles, reflective essays, editorials, even personal letters and journal entries have all begun to sound like a xhat.
I'm not complaining, just noting. I'm a writer, and blogging has given me a chance to do just that for a larger audience than just family and friends. It's not the only thing I can write, or the only way to write. I have many voices, depending on what I want to communicate.
It's just funny how the 'blog voice' keeps creeping in. It's like the 'y'know's and 'like's that are really annoying when you're waiting for the person to get to the meat of the story being told. It takes attention and practice and active correction to change that speech pattern.
Another good thing is that writing a blog is a way to learn deadlines . I try to -post at least twice a week on this blog. I'm happy if I can do three times a week, but I wonder if that gives my readers enough time to savor whatever I've written. I may be giving them too much credit. Nah, my readers are all intelligent people and many are writers themselves. My other blog (www.areyoumycousins.wordpress.com)I update once a week. It is more of a family oriented/ genealogy / history theme. Because I find those things interesting.
Anyway, I love writing. I love the chance to write on a regular, if self-imposed, basis. I love what I can learn about writing through the actual act of writing.I love what I can learn from my readers.
Heck, I just love to write and I am glad to have an outlet for my genius.
Thanks for letting me share ME with YOU.
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Soothing Saturday.
What a day this should be. It's cooled off outside -- I'm actually wearing a sweater. The sun is shining, the sky is blue, with fluffy white clouds. There's food in the fridge and the cabinets, and there's a busy little girl with her colors sprawled on my living room floor. She's the sunshine inside the house.
It's been a busy week, and a fairly normal one, I'd guess. A mixture of good and bad, a look at some beginnings and some endings. Scary stuff sometimes, those glimpses into the future.
The most fabulous and the most frightening was Hailey's birthday party. She turned 4, and such a big girl. She had an "Urel' (Ariel) cake, with Sponge Bob and 'Packrit' added to it -- don't tell Disney, they'll sue us. She had a lot of grown up family there, and the one cousin that we can provide her. He's nearly twice her age at this point. She has another cousin, on the other side, but she's too little as yet for celebrating at a party. Hailey would have been glad to see her, though. She fell in love with that baby while they stayed at Hailey's house.Hailey is definitely wishing for a sibling. (What does a 4 year old know?)
Tam had thoughtfully had the party at a facility so her dad could attend. The August weather, in a good year, is hard for him to take. This year, with all the heat and humidity, it's been impossible.
And it very nearly killed him. Not from attending the party, but by leaving. We opened the door to the parking lot, and the parking lot had been baking in the sun all day and especially all evening while we were inside. It took his breath away.
I am being very literal, and I am not exaggerating. Sheer willpower kept that man on his feet to the car and once in the car, barking like a seal, he used his rescue inhaler and gestured for me to just DRIVE! I wanted to drive to the closest hospital, but he just kept waving for me to drive -- get the air moving, that's what he wanted.
It worked. After a couple miles, we pulled over and I hooked him up to his portable oxygen tank and he made it home and hasn't had too much trouble since, but it was a frightening portent of things to come.
A sad commentary on things that are, as well. We had been talking a bit about taking a trip in September or October. A weekend trip, one day going, one day coming back. We had discussed who might go with us (as alternate drivers), how he could use his nebulizer on the road, costs, etc. The nebulizer, we thought, would be the big issue.
It's not. He may have saved his travels "Later" until they've become "Too late." But that's okay.
I'll enjoy him as he is -- that's the best way to love anyone. I'll enjoy him, and our daughters, and our granddaughter and any siblings-for-her that will someday make an appearance.
To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose... .
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance...
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
For now we choose to laugh, and dance (metaphorically speaking), and we both speak and keep silence together. The time will come for the other stuff, but for now --
For now, we DANCE.
Labels:
attitude,
birthday,
breathing,
celebration,
child,
dance,
family,
gratitude,
health,
heat,
party
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