Obsession...and Not The Fragrance

Wish my obsessive/compulsive tendencies  would carry over to some other aspects of my life...oh, sure...it kicks in with things like Facebook, blogging...that kind of thing.  But housework has suffered and could certainly benefit from a shot of the time and energy I spend on those two obsessions.

That hasn't always been the case.  I was never one of those "spit and polish", "everything looks spotless" kinds of housekeepers but I was one who liked to have the place straightened up.  There may have been dust on most surfaces but ask my boys and they'd probably tell you, I ragged on them plenty about picking up the Star Wars figures!  And I recycled newspapers before there even WAS recycling and many times, before hubby even had a chance to read it!

But those were the days before all this mesmerizing technology...Facebook, Instagram, Twitter.....If THEN was NOW, there'd probably still be Star Wars figures laying on the floor around here!

  I really feel for you young Moms!  Good luck with all THAT!

P.S.  And my obsessive ways with social media are impacting me in other ways besides housekeeping.  I think there is a direct correlation between my Facebook usage and the growing size of my posterior section.  So much so that I think there should be a warning label on it.   That's not going to happen, is it, Mr Zuckenberg?  Better just work on my OCD and take responsibility for my actions, huh?

Senior Madness

Senior Madness

We're in the midst of "March Madness", that crazy time of year when collegiate basketball crowns its champion.   And I can't help but think how big a role basketball has played in our family's lives.

Three sons played different levels from grade school to high school.  Seems like Saturdays and Sundays, afternoons and nights, were spent sitting on bleachers, cheering on whoever was playing.  Week nights were for car pooling to sooo many practices.   And it's not over yet - we still have one active in the sport, as a collegiate coach for a successful women's program.   We follow them when we can make the trip.  We've  always been more of a football family but that hasn't kept us from enjoying basketball a lot. 

So much so that, back in the 80's, hubby and I hosted "The Seniors Classic", a backyard basketball tourney, that pitted two-men teams against one another.   Made up of friends, you had to be over 30  (yeah, can you imagine?  We considered anyone over 30 "senior"?) Guys who didn't play, manned the grill.  The wives cheered and performed drill team routines (ha!) and the kids ran around and played hoops, during halftime of the seniors' games. It went from morning til night...intense competition between  friends...bruises, pulled muscles, broken eyeglasses...hardly worth the t shirt each fella had received at the start of the games.

I'd forgotten how much craziness went into the "Seniors Classic".  We had a "Walk of Fame", which one year, had our dear old neighbor, Al Hinkel Sr, an annual spectator, being "inducted".  An MVP was named every year - one year, the refrigerator repairman, a.k.a. the "Norge Man," who had to come and fix our fridge in the middle of the tourney, got the nod...-(probably because he insured that we'd have cold beer all day! ) and "The Horse's Ass" award went to someone who was particularly obnoxious that day or to an occasional referee.

The tournament ran five years....some guys played all five years.  A few of the older ones bowed out to make room for younger "seniors".  Some of those "seniors" are gone now - way too soon... most of us ladies couldn't do a kick line to save our lives these days.. And the "kids" who ran around the yard back then are "seniors" now.  

March Madness, in a Lindenwald backyard...too much beer, a lot of laughs, a few minor injuries, and so many memories...

Flying the Friendly Skies

Do you remember flying the friendly skies years ago?  So much has changed in air travel since the good old days.  And don't you yearn for them again...just a little bit?

I remember my first time on an airplane.  I was in the 8th grade and was flying to Washington D.C. with my folks and two of my siblings.  Everything was so exciting!  And it all seemed so grown up and elegant.  Taking off from the Cincinnati Airport, we breezed through check-in, with ticket in hand, and walked out, onto the tarmac and up the steps to the plane. As we boarded the plane, we were greeted by young and attractive "stewardesses".  If memory serves me right, the passengers were dressed up, like they were going somewhere important.   We were seated and told "to fasten our seat belts"... a new concept.  Remember?   We didn't have seat belts in our cars in the 60's.  We weren't in our seats for long, and were served a "meal".  It didn't matter the time of the flight, a meal or a substantial snack was served on most flights.  How fun!  It didn't matter that it wasn't fine cuisine, it was something new and different.  We were settled in for what was going to be a great trip.

How things have changed!  On a recent trip, as we waited in line for bags to be checked, I thought back to those simpler times.  Whoever would've thought...that we'd be charged extra for bags?  That we would have to go through a "security check", where we would be scanned and probed?  That we'd be greeted by older women...and men, instead of the stewardesses from the "Coffee, Tea, or Me" days?  That people would be cramming full-sized luggage into the overhead compartments to avoid paying those baggage fees?   That most of my fellow passengers would be in sweats and jeans?  That, after using seat belts in our cars for 40 years, we'd still be hearing an explanation on how to use them?  That we'd have peanuts and pretzels thrown at us, instead of those fun meals?  

I know a lot of these changes had to happen, because of circumstances beyond our control, like 9/11.  And some of them just because of the way things are.... Folks don't get that dressed up anymore...the airlines, facing high oil prices, have to charge more...and serve less... I sound like an old-timer, I know....longing for the good old days....  Change is good...most of the time, I guess.  More people fly than ever before and that's a good thing.  

But forgive me if, instead of listening to the seat belt instructions, I just sit there, in my slacks and sweater, anxiously awaiting my peanuts.

The Demise of Home Ec -Part Two

The Demise of Home Ec - Part 2

Who'd have thought I'd have struck such a nerve, revisiting Home Ec?  Seems a lot of folks also enjoyed their time in that class.  I say "folks" because in my last post, I neglected to mention that young men also took the class -  called "Single Living".  Interesting that, in the early '70s, before women's lib caught on, girls taking the class were being prepared to be wives and mothers...Guys taking it were being prepared to be independent.  Hmmm...

Anyway, the other part of the class was cooking and baking.  Now, I'm not talking about the cuisine we see on the Food Network.  I'm talking basic stuff, like measuring ingredients, reading a cookbook, easy foods....Oh, oh, here comes that darn  Math and the need to follow directions again.  (See previous home ec  post)  With all that knowledge imparted, we were ready to go...cranking out pancakes, french toast, scrambled eggs, like it was our job.

The best part of this class was that we got to eat our creations --that, plus the fact that there was no style show! (Also see previous home ec post).  I wouldn't go so far as to say that students who weren't in our class were jealous, but the aromas, wafting through the school halls, had to be tough to ignore.

After we mastered the breakfast portion, we moved on to more complex dishes - like chocolate chip cookies, from scratch,  tuna salad and puff pastry.  I remember these dishes because I probably haven't made chocolate chip cookies, from scratch SINCE,  and my future husband was the "guinea pig" when I prepared the tuna puffs on my own.

I would never say that home ec made me a better cook, but again, my fellow chefs and I had a lot of laughs and probably did glean some information from that class.  Who knows?  Maybe the tuna puffs played a role in my nabbing that "guinea pig" of many years ago.  Nah, they weren't THAT good.   But going on 42 years of eating my cooking and he hasn't kicked me to the curb yet!

Like Grains of Sand...

 I once heard a celebrity say (and it pains me to be quoting a celebrity---please believe that!) that her Dad told her "When you start getting too big for your britches and thinking you're something special, go to the beach.  As you sit there, looking at the vastness of the ocean and the billions of tiny grains of sand, realize how insignificant you really are in the world."   Pretty humbling, I'd say!

Humility is an attribute I hope to have, as I age.   Our older generation deserves our respect... even a reverence .... but I'm beginning to believe that it can be pretty easy to slip from humility to a bit of narcissism as we age.   An "I've put my time in so I deserve it" attitude.  "This is my world, and you're just living in it" tone.  And I really hope that I'll be more humble than that.   

The older folks that I admire the most are the ones who still show a genuine interest in others...they want to know how you're doing...what you're up to...  They aren't so consumed with their own problems...and, many times, they have plenty.  But their interest in others makes it a joy to see them.  And I so want to be like them.

The nearest beach is hundreds of miles away.  I wish it was closer so I could sit there, like that wise father suggested...being reminded that,  in the big picture,  I'm just like one of those little grains of sand... hopefully, I'll be one who has a sincere interest in others.

P.S. And we all knew it would start sometime --- the subject of health....and talking about it. It comes up a lot in our age group now.  We're all interested in each other but I think that it'd be a great idea to make a pledge that we limit ourselves to talk about our health and the problems we're experiencing with it, for two minutes.  That's the limit.  Two minutes!  It's not that I'm hard-hearted or not interested. It's just that everybody's got something going on in their lives.  And wouldn't it be better to spend our time, conversing about positive things?

You've got to hold me to it... Deal?  Deal!

Ewww...Those Lecherous 7th Grade Boys!

7th Grade boys...I don't know how they are these days but when I was growing up???

We had moved to a new house and a different school was in my future.  As a "new kid", the juniorhigh years were going to be interesting.  These were the days when we were starting to notice the boy/girl differences and there were some "he "likes" her" stuff going on.  But for the most part, we were just a bunch of kids, innocently experiencing life, before the hormones really kicked in.  At least that's what the girls presumed.  

Some of the boys in our class decided that on Saturdays, whoever -boys and girls -wanted to show up at an old schoolyard, would play a game of touch tackle football.  Sounded like fun...

"Time to pick teams"...one of the most dreaded phrases ever muttered, especially to a tall, dorky, un athletic, new girl....As we all lined up, the boy "captains" began their task of choosing up sides.  I had no high expectations but prayed that I wouldn't be the last one standing.  Names were called out, "I'll take Mike"...  "We'll take Greg"...  After all the boys had been chosen, the  captains started calling out the girls' names..."we've got Linda"..."Marcia, you're over here"...  "We'll take Marysue"...What?  Drafted so early?  I was both surprised and pumped!  Must be because they thought I could run like a gazelle!  I couldn't -- but with my long legs, maybe that's what they imagined. 

The teams were set and for a few Saturdays in the fall of 1965, we had a lot of innocent fun...or was it so innocent?  I came to find out that it wasn't my imagined running ability that garnered my position on a certain team.  One of the "captains" confessed, years later, that the girls who were flat as boards (not "busty") were on his team because the "busty" girls (at least to a 7th grade boy) were a lot more fun to touch tackle.  Is there anything worse than lecherous 7th grade boys?

Thinking back on those days, I'm not sure if, had I known their strategy, I'd be more disappointed that the boys didn't think I had gazelle-like moves or that I was flat as a board.  It really doesn't matter now.  I'm still friends with those lecherous "boys,  I can't run (if I ever COULD) and being "flat as a board" wouldn't be the WORST thing for an old gal.

Rewind The Tape, Please...

It's funny how the memory works...I just wish that our memories were like the old video tapes we used to have in the 70's.   Rewind the tape and see things in order, as many times as we want.

I received a phone call tonight from my aunt, telling me about the death of another, older aunt.  In her 90's, my aunt had a very rich life, made fuller by the nine kids she bore and the farm she helped to run.  I feel badly for her kids -losing your Mom must be awful - but selfishly, I'm sadder about how time is going so quickly and how things change.

She was my Dad's older sister and since my Dad's death, our time with her family hasn't been what it used to be.  We've all grown up and gone different directions...and that's sad...but without the older generation "glue" holding us together, it was inevitable and that's even sadder.  

But we're blessed to have the gift of memory.  That city slicker/country cousin "tape" would be a lot of fun to watch now, if it only worked that way.  The city slicker kids of my branch of the family always knew that if we went to "the farm", we were in for adventures.  And the country kids from the other branch of the family never disappointed!  The sheer number of the kids in that family guaranteed it.

Whether it was swimming in a pond (something totally unique to kids used to swimming at a public pool in Lindenwald) ....swinging on ropes in the barn (that about caused our Dad to have a coronary) ... throwing pitch forks at bales of hay (another coronary for Bob) ...chasing after farm animals... chemistry set experiments before we were ready for them... Gosh, we had a lot of mischievous fun with those cousins!

The country cousins seemed to have a freedom that we lacked...maybe because they so greatly outnumbered their parents...maybe the size of the farm aided their getting away with stuff...maybe we city kids were more sheltered than we should have been.  I just know our cousins probably thought we were wimps when we were there...and I remember the scoldings we got in the car, on the way home.

Life isn't a video machine, sadly...and different happenings in our lives can't be re-wound.  But if all that were true, I know one of those "tapes" that would be played plenty.  And those fun, exciting days with our country cousins would come to life again...and be missed.

Single Stitch, Chain, Percocet...

Chain, Single Stitch, Percocet...

Add another craft to my list of things I'll never master.  I'm talking Crocheting!

I've long been an admirer of the beautiful handwork of those who HAVE mastered it.  The beautiful colors, the exact precision in their stitches....I'm blaming it on my being a left-hander.  And if that fails, I can always fall back on my dislike for following directions.  Have you ever read those things?

My grandmother was a wonderful crocheter- and we all had the bedspreads, afghans and house slippers to prove it.  When I first attempted to try my hand at her craft, she was more than willing to teach me.  I remember her loving instructions and her trying to adapt them to a lefty.  I promised to practice, which is what it takes.  Hadn't planned on falling and breaking my tailbone that winter.  Bad for my hubby and kids, but good for my intentions to master crocheting.  Couldn't do much else, as I was laid up for a week.  I learned something more than crocheting that week, though.  I learned that prescription drugs can be wonderful things.  

That week, while under the influence,  I was cranking out crochet squares like I was possessed.  When my Grandma witnessed my progress, I'm sure she was proud.  But when the drugs ran out and my tailbone healed, a strange thing happened.  No longer relaxed, I regressed, tightened up and it showed in my stitches.  Truth be told, nothing has come out straight or even ever since.

Friends have tried their best (Thanks, Sherry..) to help me produce the beautiful pieces I've admired for years.  I just can't do it!  Things come out too tight or too loose....scarves come out too long and crooked.  And my afghans are laughable...seriously!

Crocheting just seems like a cozy thing to do.  I really wish I could have made my late Grandma proud, replicating the fine things she made.  But I also know she'd be proud that I "just say NO" to  drugs, and accept the fact that I need to find something else to do on these cold winter nights.