I'm a Banana and a Golden Retriever...

Have you noticed the explosion of quizzes on Facebook like "What Fruit Are You?"  Or "What Breed of Dog Are You"?  Or am I the only one getting them?  They present you with questions and depending on your answers, tell you what you are.  A fun nonsensical way to pass the time, I guess.

There was a recent quiz entitled "What Movie Are You?" and this got me to thinking of all the terrific movies I've enjoyed -which one best reflects my life?  The title, not necessarily the content or story line...

It certainly wouldn't be "Braveheart" because I'm a big "chicken" about so many things.  I need to venture out of my comfort zone more, I know...become more daring.  But in addition to not being brave, I'm not a big fan of change either, so maybe I'll just remain a "chicken".

"Footloose" I'm not.  Comfortably married  for 42 years, I have no desire to become "footloose" any time soon either.  

I thought, for a moment, about choosing  "The Longest Yard", "Hoosiers", The Sand Lot",  "Tin Cup" " Major League" or any other sport-themed movie.  But just because I've been surrounded by jocks in this house, my whole married life, doesn't make ME one!  So I'll pass on those.

How about "West Side Story"?  It represents where we've lived for the past 24 years.  Nope, that would diminish the blessings of our early years, spent in Lindenwald, a lovely place to raise kids, or Fairfield, a fine place to be one.

Well, there's "The Sound Of Music".  I've always loved music -all genres!  I can't imagine not having some kind of soundtrack to our lives....remembering a certain song that can be matched up with a certain milestone. That's one to consider...

"You've Got Mail" could be a contender because I love communicating with people, via cards, letters, e-mails and Facebook.  But as much as I love those, nothing beats face-to-face, in person, communication, so "nope"...

When  I thought of "It's A Wonderful Life", I knew that was it!  My life isn't perfect -whose is?  But with a terrific family, loyal friends, good health, enough "stuff" to get by and great memories, it really IS a Wonderful Life!

So What Movie Are YOU?

Coppertone, Baby Oil and Charley...

As the weather starts to warm up, my childhood memories always go back to the public swimming pool in our neighborhood.  That was the center of the universe for the kids of Lindenwald in the summers of the 60's.

There really was no discussion.  Siblings, friends, neighbor kids -we would all head to the pool, usually walking there.  Standing in line with our quarter in hand, we'd enter the place, put our belongings in the metal basket, found in the dressing rooms.  We'd turn the basket in to the desk and get a pin with a number that corresponded with the number on the basket.  Pinning it to our swimsuits, we knew our belongings were safe for the afternoon.

Our folks were comfortable turning us loose there every day, unaccompanied, because the gentleman who was in charge, Mr Sharp, (that name just sounds like someone in charge, doesn't it?) ran a tight ship.  "No running"..."no horseplay"(what does that word MEAN?  I've never understood that word!) "no food or drink in the pool area".  A few of the rowdier boys didn't get the memo and spent a lot of time on the "penalty bench" for not following the rules.

One of those guys was particularly pesky.  I'd better not mention names (maybe he straightened up, is
a successful lawyer now and would come after me for defamation of character) but let's say, for the sake of this story, his name is "Charley".   Charley was the pest who would dunk the girls, splash
them when they walked by, cut line at the concession stand.... He was such an annoyance!   A good day at the pool for us was when Charley spent the better part of it on the penalty bench!  I often wonder what ever happened to Charley.  Haven't seen his name in the police blotters but If there's any justice, he had to raise five sons who were as big a pain as he was!

"Pool breaks", when the pool was emptied of kids and the adults could swim in peace, were touted as a chance for the kids to rest.  I really think it was a conspiracy to up their profits at the concession stand,  because that's where we all headed.  Back then, the big decision of the day was whether to get a pop and popcorn, or switch the popcorn out for a frozen Zero candy bar.  Either way, for 20 cents, it was a win-win situation.  When the whistle was blown again, it was back into the pool!

Not so for the older girls.  They, with their train cases (that small boxy piece of luggage) in hand, would spread their towels, get out their baby oil and Coppertone, and be all set to talk and tan.  They didn't get in the pool very often...Didn't want to muss their hair, I guess....and with good reason.  The teenage boys who were too cool for the pool hung on the chain link fence, ogling the girls in their cute swim suits.  

All the pools in our town are gone now.  High maintenance costs, liability, folks having their own pools... I know you can't go back in time but such a big chunk of our summertime  was spent at those pools, that their closings makes me sad.  Splashing around, being with friends, even having to deal with the "Charleys" of the world... Life , in the 60's at a public pool in Lindenwald, was good.

Driving Miss Daisy

Someone lost their independence today.  You won't see it on the news...no one will be staging a protest.  There was no drama, no tug of war...it was just another "senior" giving up her license to drive.  It happens everyday - all over the world - but this time, it's personal.

It was my Mom who surrendered her car keys and shiny red car to us...nothing dramatic... more of a resignation that her eyes, memory and reflexes aren't what they used to be. And it's a good thing. Her safety and that of those on the road around her is too important.  Except why do I hear, in my head, the soundtrack of "Driving Miss Daisy", starring me, in the Morgan Freeman role and my Mom, playing the Jessica Tandy one?

My Mom was a late bloomer when it came to driving.  Maybe it was that way for many women back "then".  There was no getting your license when you were in high school, like now.   I'm pretty sure of that.  When my Mom started to drive, she was a young wife and mother.  Having groceries, bread and milk delivered to your doorstep sounds wonderful to me, now, but I bet my Mom had had enough of that and was anxious to get out and do things for herself.

I remember my Mom's driving lessons.  I was only about 6 years old but I recall it very clearly.  I seldom question my late Dad's wisdom, but piling three kids into the backseat of a car and heading out to old Ford Blvd to teach his very pregnant wife how to drive, wasn't his most shining moment.  It must have gone okay because no one was injured and Mom eventually got her license.

It's funny how so much is attached to that piece of plastic (although a license was just paper back then)   The freedom to pick up and take off...to do your own thing...or to assist others in doing their own thing.  My own Mom spent twenty years chauffeuring her non-driving mother  around to appointments, to stores, to lunches.  So I guess it really is true that everything in life is cyclical.  What goes around... I know my folks took their turns,  carting five kids around from place to place,  and now it's our turn to return the favor.

Yep, a woman lost her independence today - my Mom did - and maybe I'm losing a little bit of mine, too, but that's okay.  I'm "taking one for the team" so that you can go to sleep tonight, knowing that the streets are a wee bit safer.

There's that damn music again!  "Where to now, Miss Daisy?"

"Let It Go, Let It Go....."

Unless you live in a cave and haven't a clue about anything, the title of today's blog comes from the song lyrics of the wildly popular movie "Frozen".  I'm pretty sure that the constant repetition of that song, in households everywhere, has driven a lot of mothers close to the point of drinking!  (I kid.  What's sweeter than a child's slightly off-keyed attempt at belting out a song?)

Someone very dear to me suggested those words and sentiment as a blog topic and I'm pretty sure, it's because of my letting things fester.  I hang onto things waay too long.  I only need look at past postings to this blog to see what I need to "let it go" of.  Like,
*The fact that I will never be graceful (when's the last time there was a demand for a 62 year old ballerina anyway?)  
*The fact that I'm never going to be short...(at my weight, 5 foot 4 wouldn't be good...truly)
*The fact that I have a sleeping disorder (sleep's over-rated...yeah, keep repeating that and maybe it'll be true!)
*The fact that I lack focus (just a minute, I have laundry to fold...)
*The fact that I have three sons and will never have a "daughter" ( can you imagine a pregnancy at the age of 62? Yuck!  Plus having daughters-in-law is good enough.)
*The fact that I'm a size twelve and I'm not the biggest fan of the gym.  (I have, however, never had an eating disorder...at least not the anorexia/bulimia type... Maybe an occasional OVEReating one!)
*The fact that my purse is NEVER going to be organized....(it's my life's "office" away from home-everything I need and then some...)
*The fact that I, along, with everyone else, am getting older (and that's a GOOD thing that I hope to keep witnessing.)

On second thought, if I were to let go of all the things I hang onto, what could I possibly write about?  Those shortcomings, flaws and memories are who I am.  So to my way of thinking, the song is great, the message is wonderful.  But if I were writing a song for a movie, starring me, it would be more like "It is What It Is, "It is What It Is"...  

"The Cold Never Bothered Me Anyway!" 

P.S.  And for those of you still living in a cave, those are the last words to that song from "Frozen".  And not true, in my case, either....

Another Cockeyed Blessing...

For as long as I can remember, we've had a snoring problem in this house...and as we're getting older, it's getting worse!    Some nights, it's subtle and occasional...other nights, loud and constant.  The noises sometime cause me to head to the couch with my pillow and blanket, in tow. Now I'm not saying that hubby's the only culprit.  I may be guilty, too.  I can't say for sure, because if I'm snoring, I'm sleeping - no way of knowing...

It's gotten to the point that I decided to look into snoring's causes and possible remedies.

I have learned that "snoring is the vibration of respiratory structures and the resulting sound, due to obstructed air movement during breathing while sleeping. In some cases,  the sound may be soft, but in other cases, it can be loud and unpleasant." YA THINK?  "Snoring is known to cause sleep deprivation to snorers and those around them, as well as daytime drowsiness, irritability, lack of focus and decreased libido."  REALLY?

They offer up all kinds of reasons -none of which sound pleasant or fun -except the part about alcohol consumption, being a possible cause.  And remedies?  Think we'll pass on the machines and surgeries. It's not THAT bad.

I guess if I have no other complaints about life with hubby, I sure am fortunate.  I think the only thing worse than hearing him snore would be NOT hearing him snore.    Snoring...another cockeyed blessing...who knew?

A Hand Model? Nope.....

One can tell a lot about a person by looking at their hands.  But you would be wrong, in MY case.  I haven't worked in a mine, haven't spent a lifetime washing dishes (we've been blessed with a dishwasher) and I'm not a carpenter.  I just have unattractive old hands.  They're disproportionately small for the rest of my body, with short stubby fingers, and have not been very pampered...unless you count the fake nails that have graced them, off and on,  through the years.  (Looking back, that was kind of "like putting earrings on a pig".)  So you get it.  My hands would never make it as a hand model.

I remember, as a kid, how firmly my Dad would hold my hand, when we were crossing streets.  He had a strong grip and made me feel safe.  I remember Mom's hand on my forehead when I wasn't feeling well. Her touch made me feel loved.   I remember getting bopped by one of their hands when I used the word "crap" - a grievous sin back then - (but, boy!  They should hear me NOW!). I used to tease my Mom about her hands not being real pretty...shame on me...mine have surpassed hers, in the "old looking" category...and she's 90!

But I shouldn't complain.  My hands have held babies, caressed the same face for almost 42 years, been shook by some wonderful folks.  They've  prepared countless meals, have patted the backs of some remarkable people, and have done some good work. They've been folded in prayer for big miracles and small ones.

Yep...My hands have served me well so far...and I hope they have many more prayers in 'em.

Hot Tubs, Lava Lamps and Water Beds....

For me, the mention of those three items conjure up thoughts of the '60's and '70's....the days of "Make Love, Not War", bell bottoms and fringed vests, LSD, campus demonstrations, Viet Nam.

Not that I was actively a part of any of it.  (Okay, I wore bell bottoms...)   I was a straight-laced,  conservative girl in the 60's and by the early 70's, I was married to a pretty straight-laced, conservative guy.  But no one escaped the influence of the 60's and 70's.  It was everywhere!  Turning on the TV  every night brought all these strange and foreign images into our family rooms.  To me, the 60's had a kind of sleazy feel to it. I don't know.  All these new things... beaded curtains..."turning on and tuning out".. water beds...(whoever thought THAT one up?) the psychedelic colors and patterns....Twiggy and the London Look....  I really wasn't a fan.

So  why do I even bring this up?   It probably has everything to do with the fact that we've sprung for a hot tub!  But no worries.  There won't be any wild parties here, like I imagine took place in the days of "free love".  Nope.  Sad to say, it's for therapeutic purposes now.  These old bones and muscles crave its warm massage and I thought we'd better get one now, when I can still climb into it!   I suppose there would've been more of a fun factor to it years ago, but  maybe having relaxed and loose muscles will be fun now.

If you drive past our place and see the glow of a lava lamp (one of the boys left one here from their college days -I guess they made a brief resurgence in popularity.) know that I'm having a "groovy" time in my hot tub, about 40 years late.  And if you hear someone hollering, do me a favor and come and help me get out of it!

Scars-Proof That We Have A Past...

"Scars are proof that we have a past."  No one gets thru life unscathed.  We all have scars, whether inside or out.

Anyone who knows me knows that I would HAVE to have external scars, as I am far from graceful.  Through the years, I've been hung up on barbed wire...that's on my chin.  Also on my chin is a scar from doing a "star-turn" -some dumb move where you spin around when jumping into a pool.   Key to that is making sure you jump out far enough from the ledge.  My legs have been banged up countless times...walking into furniture, tripping over stakes, falling up steps, falling down steps...my nose has been broken, twice, that I know of.  We've joked around here that if they ever do an autopsy on me, hubby will probably be arrested for domestic abuse.  If you're still around, please, tell them that's not the case.  He's a sweetheart and I was just a klutz!

Most of my internal scars probably came about the same as everyone else's.  Losing a loved one,  being left out...hurt feelings... criticism over something.  A kid in grade school once called me "Meadowlark Lemon", one of the Harlem Globetrotters...not because of my prowess on the basketball court but because of my height.  I think I slouch to this day because of that "scar".

Stitches took care of most of the injuries that produced my many external scars.  But there's no plastic surgery for the internal kind.  I guess that's where age, gaining confidence, or granting forgiveness enter the picture.    I'm comfortable in my skin now, scars and all -it's taken about 5 decades.  But that's not to say I don't secretly hope that some unkind fifth grader never grew past his 5th grade height.  (I didn't mention revenge, or holding a grudge, did I?  Yeah, there's that, too.)

"A", "A", "A"....

As I'm sitting here, tapping on my IPad, I'm pondering how many hours I spent, learning the keyboard in my typing classes back in the 70's?  Too many to count, I bet!  And does it even matter now?

I struggled with typing but it wasn't because I didn't have good teachers.  It was one of those classes we took to prepare for the working world back then and I underestimated how difficult it was going to be -without lots of practice.

One of the good nuns -Sister Sara Francis - who taught us, was so serious about her subject.  We'd sit there, backs straight, our wrists arched a certain way and she'd repeat "a" "a" "a".  We were to strike that letter without looking at the keyboard.  "I've got this".  We'd go thru the alphabet, as the weeks went on.  Then we started with sentences.  "A little peek at the keys won't hurt"...  Then paragraphs!  "Are you kidding me?"  That's when the temptation to look at the keys completely took over.  From that day on,  I was so screwed!

Our tests consisted of typing from our textbook, as quickly as we could, with no errors....no easy task when you're looking at the book AND the keyboard!   Numerous times, Sister would catch me, eyeing the keys, and  would correct me.  I'd listen to her briefly and what SHOULD have read "The young girl went to the store to buy bread and eggs" came out "rhr youbf gurk webt  to (I always got "to" right) rhw drotr to (there's "to" again!)  nur   bresd amd effs". Then I'd go back to looking at the keys and the book.  About 20 words a minute.   WOW!  What a speedster!

I guess it's pretty sad when you can't even get a secretarial job at a company at which your Dad's  a vice-president.  But no worries.  There was a demand for file clerks elsewhere.  And if you wait 40 some years, "typing" as we knew it, would become obsolete and tapping your finger on a screen would be just good enough.