Feel Good Friday, July 25

 

At the end of a very long and stressful week, I know I need just a minute of feel good.  If you do, too, take a minute to watch this video.

Not only do I love the message, but I especially love that it’s trying to get kids to spread the message.  I’ve reached the point in my life that I’ve begun to believe that it may be too late for many of the “adult” generation to learn the simple truth that we are all—every single creature on this planet—dependent upon each other for survival, and we should be coming together to find ways to share this world and celebrate the differences that make the world exciting.  Instead, we focus on those differences as a bad thing, and we’re slowly tearing our world apart, through both hatred and a scramble to be the first to claim and control some of the limited natural resources we have  at our disposal. 

And if it’s too late for the adults to recognize these things and try to do something positive in the world, then I worry about who’s going to teach the next generation how wrong this approach is, and I despair that we’ll find ourselves on a never-ending downward path.   So, when there’s an initiative that wants to use children to share a positive message about the inter-connectedness of the planet, I’m all for it. 

By the way, if you want to get your own young people—whether they’re your kids, students, church group, whatever—drop by the We Are All Connected site, and learn how to make your own video.  Who knows, maybe even some of the not-so-young people will prove that it’s not too late, and want to get involved, too.  Let’s follow the lead of the kids.

Say Hello to the World, Again

 

How about a quick stroll through Tube Day Tuesday this evening?  Really quick, though, because it’s been insinuated that I might have to give up my grown-up card if I speak too loudly about enjoying this particular program.

And what kind of a program might bring such shaming?  One of the latest offerings on the Disney Channel, Girl Meets World.  It’s only aired two episodes to date, and I can certainly admit that it skews pretty young, and there are some definite over-the-top characterizations.  But, its predecessor, Boy Meets World, started out pretty young, too.  And even though it aired during the 90s—otherwise known as the decade of my 30s—I really enjoyed watching it grow up.

Following the story of young Cory Matthews and his friends, it was definitely a “family” show—meaning that it was truly geared toward the younger members of the family—but it was funny, endearing, touching, and very often, real.  I liked Cory and his gang, and I liked seeing them grow up together, particularly Cory and his girlfriend, Topanga.  They had the sort of honest and committed relationship that many adults can’t manage, much less high school kids (or younger).

But Boy went off the air back in 2000, having seen the kids live and love, laugh and cry, and ultimately grow up, move from grade school all the way to college, get married, and move away to start their adult lives.  The show really did mature as it moved along, tackling some tougher subjects and letting the characters be real people, even as it stayed primarily a light-hearted comedy.  It seems I’m not the only one who misses it.

Now, more than ten years later, the new show picks up with Cory and Topanga still happily married and raising a family of their own.  The focus this time around is their daughter, Riley, and her best friend, Maya.  As in Boy, the Matthews child is the more grounded of the two, with the best friend around to pull Riley out of her comfort zone and into trouble.  But it’s all in good fun. 

As I mentioned, I think the first couple of episodes are not indicative of where I hope the show ends up.  It’s been a little uneven, and sometimes it feels forced—both the laughs and the emotions.  But I’m pretty sure if I went back and watched the first few episodes of Cory and Co., I’d find pretty much the same sort of thing, and look how well that turned out.

So, even if it is a Disney show that people poke fun of me for watching, and even if it does seem a little too cutesy and childish right now, I’m still going to keep watching.  Maybe it will grow up as well as its parent show, and maybe it won’t, but either way, I think there are worse things than to try to create a show that focuses on the importance of having family and friends around as you learn to navigate the world around you.  Regardless of age, we should all be so lucky. 

TBT

 

Once a week social media gets inundated with postings tagged with #tbt.  It’s Throwback Thursday, where people take a stroll down a photographic memory lane.  I have yet to dig out any of my own pictures from back in the day, but I like to see the ones my friends post; they make me smile.

I still didn’t find any pictures this week, but the hashtag did get my memory to wandering, probably heightened by an upcoming holiday family gathering.  And mostly what my memories tell me is that I really miss the good ol’ days.  My son will almost certainly skip the gathering, as he has grown distant from the family.  And, of course, my granny won’t be there, and I find that’s hitting me a little bit harder than I would’ve expected. 

It occurs to me today that the union of my personal Venn diagram of perfect holidays—those that I can spend with my mother, grandmother, sister, and son—is very small, and it’s never going to get any bigger. It also occurs to me that a couple of weeks of just not feeling well has  put me in a fairly melancholy mood, and this sadness that I feel is exaggerated.  But that doesn’t change the fact that I am sad, and I really do miss the times that seemed simpler, happier.  And while a silly little hashtag topic is probably not intended to bring about such gloominess, I think there’s little doubt that a yearning for simpler times is what brought about the theme to begin with, and keeps person after person posting photos from decades ago.  Which, of course, leads to the inevitable question:  will these days ever be considered the good ol’ days for some future generation.  It seems almost impossible, but the photos we take this weekend may someday be our children’s #tbt.

A Mother’s Worry

 

“A mother who is really a mother is never free.” ~ Honoré de Balzac

 

My guess is that there aren’t too many parents out there who haven’t spent at least a few passing moments fearing that they just aren’t up to the job.  I know I’ve certainly done my share of wondering where I messed up and how I could’ve done things better.  Most times I simply have to remind myself that there was never a moment that I didn’t do the best I knew how to do at the time, and accept that there really isn’t much more than that to do.

Of course, I really have these moments of self-doubt at times when my son is facing any sort of difficulty in his life, particularly if it’s difficulty that he has either brought on himself or is somehow exacerbating.  Those are the times when I think perhaps I somehow didn’t prepare him adequately, or led him astray in some way.  But the truth is, it’s only my opinion that he might have caused or exacerbated his own problems, and I naturally have advice on ways to resolve difficult situations.  He frequently doesn’t agree with me, or at least doesn’t take my advice on how to fix things.  There are many times when it becomes painfully clear that we share a different world view on some key issues.  And even though that hurts sometimes, and even though I may remain convinced he’s not making good decisions, I have to recognize that he knows how to disagree with me because I spent his whole life trying to make sure he understood the importance of thinking for himself.  There are times I wish he hadn’t learned that lesson quite so well, and that I could simply tell him what to do and he’d blindly obey, but I know that would be doing him a disservice.  So I will continue to worry that perhaps I haven’t done as well as I might have hoped in the parenting department, and I will worry that my son may not always be taking the best path for his life, but I will try to cling to the idea that at least he’s following a path that he had the strength to choose for himself.

The Times, Are They a Changin’?

 

I oscillate back and forth when trying to decide if I actually grew up in a more innocent time, or if the world now is just so much better connected and reported—I’m pretty sure there are no true secrets these days—that everything seems more tainted than it really is.

And why do I wonder this today?  Because Justin Bieber has been arrested for drunk driving.  And Miley Cyrus is . . . well, honestly, I don’t know what she is.  The word lost comes to mind.  And they’re far from the only teen idols making headlines for things having nothing to do with their particular talents.

Of course, these idols aren’t exactly teens anymore (well, technically Bieber is, but not for much longer), but they are the people our teens look up to, and I have to wonder sometimes if this is really the best we can do these days.  But that’s when I start wondering about earlier days.

I grew up with Donny Osmond, David Cassidy, and Michael Jackson, among others.  While I can’t really recall any scandal surrounding Osmond (though that doesn’t mean there wasn’t), Cassidy certainly dealt with his own demons, and we all know what happened to MJ.  And I’m sure there were others of the day who had their own issues, too. 

But back in my day, if you wanted to read about these heartthrobs, you had to shell out for a copy of Tiger Beat, or something.  You couldn’t just turn on the TV and let the 24 hour news channel fill you in on their troubles, and there was no internet to both glorify and vilify the behavior.  So the problems still seemed to be there, but without so much of a spotlight.

Which, of course, makes me wonder about other aspects of life.  I never heard of a school shooting in my youth, but there were groups of people openly called “hoods”, and, in retrospect, I guess I’d be surprised if at least one or two of those hoods wasn’t armed with something more than a bad attitude and a sneer. 

As for drugs and/or alcohol, I’ve always been with the goody two-shoes crowd, but even I knew which kids I could reach out to if I wanted to partake.  The substances that are readily available might have changed some, but my guess is they’re not any easier to come by than they’ve always been.

And, in terms of bullying, we didn’t talk about it so much back when I was a kid, but it certainly still existed.  In a way, it may have even been more common, since there was a definite attitude of “kids will be kids”, rather than understanding the harm that was being done.

So, was the world a kinder, gentler place in generations past?  I’m still not sure.  Maybe.  Or maybe it was just a little more relaxed, things happening in just a little bit of slow motion compared to today.  Or maybe it’s just a nostalgic haze that makes the old days seem different even when they were exactly the same.  Either way, I’m pretty sure that every generation of fifty year olds have looked at the antics of the current crop of teen idols and wondered exactly when the world became such a crazy place, so in that regard, I guess things really do remain the same.

Thanksgiving 2013

 

 

 

 

 

 

Image courtesy of debspoons at

FreeDigitalPhotos.net

It’s been a long day.  The alarm went off only about half an hour later than any other day of the week, and still slightly before the sun came up.  But sometimes—a lot of times, really—good times require some effort.  And today was good times.  The family was here for lunch and we visited and laughed and ate a whole bunch of food.  I’m thankful that we have the opportunity.

And, as I spent my first Thanksgiving without Granny, I realized how fortunate I was to have her for as many as I did.  At my office, three of us have lost our grandmothers in the past few months, and I am by far the oldest of the trio; I know that I had a gift many, many people do not.  And while Billy may never have gotten to know my mother, he was blessed to grow up with a great-grandmother who adored him.  Today I am particularly grateful for that.

Honestly, as I sit here, tired, full, and reflecting on a good day and a good life, I am simply grateful.

Family Feud

 

“A father is a man who expects his son to be as good a man as he meant to be.” ~Frank A. Clark

Fathers and sons.  What is it with those guys, anyway?  I mean, I’ve always heard about the quarrelsome dynamic that exists between men and their male offspring, and goodness knows, I’ve certainly been witnessing it first-hand for years now, but I still don’t understand it.

Maybe I wasn’t prepared because I’d never been exposed to it personally before I began living it.  I have brothers, but they’re of the step variety, so we didn’t grow up in the same household.  Certainly there was some tension between them and our dad at the times they lived with us, but I always thought that was because they moved in with us as they were becoming young men after being separated from their dad for so long.  And Brian has never indicated that he went through any significant drama with is own father.  So how was I supposed to know what was lurking in the wings?

All I know for sure is that my husband and son have not particularly seen eye to eye on much of anything since the kid hit driving age.  And whatever frustration it is they feel for each other is exacerbated by the fact that neither of them can see—or at least won’t admit—how very much alike they are.  I keep thinking things will eventually improve, but I think at least one of them is going to have to grow up first. 

 

Goodbye

 

Sometimes the simplest words are the hardest ones to say.

 

I love you, Granny, and you’ll be missed.

Those Three Words

 

 

 

 

  I think it’s probably normal when you lose someone to wonder “what if?”, and second guess yourself and your actions.  Could I have done things differently, done things better, made more of a difference?  And, because we’re human, and don’t always treat other people—even the most important people in our lives—the very best that we could, the truth for most of us is that we probably could have done better.

  But in some cases, and certainly with my grandma, I’m confident in the idea that she thought I did enough, even when I am not so sure.  And, the thought that brings me more comfort than any is that the last thing I said to her, just hours before she passed, was, “I love you.”  I am convinced they are the most important words in the world, and can never be said too often. 

 

 

Woodstock

 

I think it is a sure sign of old age that upon thinking of the Woodstock Music Festival your thoughts always turn to the idea of how difficult it must have been to find someplace to go to the bathroom and that there would have been no way to grab even a few good hours of sleep during those hectic three days.  Of course, this is not to trivialize what a truly cool event the festival must have been, only to say that it’s been a really long time since I thought of it as “cool”. 

The massive gathering took place over forty years ago, kicking off on this date way back in 1969 (well, it was August 15; an unexpected snooze means I’ll be posting today’s entry after midnight).  I was just about to turn six, and though I’m certain the event must have garnered all sorts of attention from the national news, I have zero recollection of hearing about it.  But as I was growing up, the name Woodstock got tossed around frequently, whispered like kids were talking about the Promised Land.  You see, back in my youth, the idea of Woodstock conjured much more pleasant thoughts than huge crowds and limited facilities.  Even though the musicians that made up the festival were not so much my cup of tea—then or now—I still could appreciate the idea of such rock royalty appearing out in the middle of a field, performing for the masses, really bringing people together.  And that part of it really is still cool, even as old as I am. 

Today’s counterpart is, I guess, the Bonnaroo festival that goes on every year out in Tennessee.   My son has always wanted to go, and I hope he’ll get the opportunity to do that sometime before all he can worry about is how he’ll be able to go to the bathroom or grab a few winks during the weekend.  But me, I’ll be staying home.

Thoughts of Days Past

 

  For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a mother.  Probably because I had such an amazing example, I never realized how difficult a job it could be.  When Billy was a baby, and then a growing child and a teen, there were times when I was pretty sure I didn’t have a clue what I was doing.  But the light at the end of the tunnel was always how much easier I thought things would be when he was grown.  Now, most days, I’d give anything to go back to those “harder” times.  Because even though I might have felt a little lost from time to time, I always felt connected to him.  He enjoyed talking with me, playing with me, just being with me.  We’ve lost that connection now, and I miss it.  Really, he’s a little lost now, and I miss him.  I hope that one day he’ll find his way back to me.

 Image courtesy of Vlado at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

T is for Two of My Favorite People

 

I know the people I talk about most are the B-boys in my life, Brian and Billy.  And, of course, they are my world.  But there are other important people in my life too, including my terrific T-twosome, Tanya and Taylor. 

   This is one of my very favorite pictures of them ever, even though it’s now about . . . oh, I don’t know, maybe ten years old.  (I need to tell Tanya not to make my same mistakes of leaving the picture taking behind as the child grows older, and especially not to give in to the temptation to avoid getting in front of the camera herself.)

   At any rate, to set the record straight, Tanya is my sister, four years younger, though I’ve sure learned a lot from her over the years.  And Taylor is my smart, funny, and caring nephew. 

He’s a willing photo ham in this picture, just having a good time with his mom and not caring who saw.  He’s 13 now, and getting a decent photo of him is a challenge, but that’s not entirely unexpected.  I hope he outgrows that, though Billy hasn’t really.  Though at least Billy will generally look at the camera these days, even if you can’t really get a smile out of him; Taylor is still in the hiding his face stage, the little troublemaker. 

Tanya got all the domestic skills from our mom, with the cooking and the decorating and the making of Halloween costumes and such.  That entire skill set mostly passed me by.  But I like to think we were both blessed with my mom’s sense of fairness and compassion.  And I am blessed to know that I can call her up any time for any reason and she’ll lend an ear.

As for Taylor, I think he’s got an amazing future in store.  He’s bright and inquisitive and is one of those kids that could do anything he puts his mind to.  Of course, getting his mind set to it can sometimes be a challenge; I’m pretty sure his middle name is really “stubborn” and they’re just trying to keep it a secret.  But that usually goes hand in hand with smart, doesn’t it?  About my own son I often think that the downside of teaching kids to think for themselves is that then you have to live with it when they do.  I’m pretty sure Tanya is beginning to recognize the truth of that, too.

So that’s a tiny look at Tanya and Taylor, two of my very favorite people.  I’m glad that they’re my family, and even more glad that spending time with them feels like visiting with friends.  Everyone should be so lucky.

Linking up with the fine folks over at ABC Wednesday.  Do traipse on over and meet those who have teamed up to bring you a tantalizing array of themes, tropes, and treasures.

 

The New-Fangled TV

 

Image courtesy of tungphoto at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

 

Sometimes, television makes me feel sort of old.  Not the stuff that’s on TV—though sometimes that has the same effect—but the actual television sitting in my living room.  It’s what some would consider a fancy piece of equipment—HD, Wi-Fi, 3D, bigger than two of my parents’ old sets—and I alternate between taking it for granted and being amazed by it.  It’s during those latter moments that the old-age feelings sink in.

Since I can remember when HD and Wi-Fi didn’t even exist, 3D was reserved for cult films, and a 21 inch screen was considered big, it’s not all that hard to understand why this technological marvel makes me feel like some kind of artifact.  I even remember black and white TVs, though it’s true that when I was growing up, the primary set in our home was always color.  But, other than a small hand-held we kept around for weather alerts during power outages (until everything went digital), I’m not sure my son has ever seen a B&W set. 

And the accessories?  Cable, satellite, VCRs, DVDs, DVRs, they’ve all come into existence within my lifetime.  Well, okay, cable was around before I was, but it was hardly widespread.  I can remember when it became available in my hometown, and I can remember how excited we were when my dad finally relented and said we could get it.

All of this technology goes into the television viewing experience, making it more convenient, and, in many ways, more enjoyable.  It’s all part and parcel of the normal television landscape these days, and I’m grateful I’ve had the opportunity to witness this sort of electronic revolution.  But sometimes it still makes me feel old.

What’s your favorite piece of television technology?

Love and the Television Comedy

 

Tonight, as we were watching Two Broke Girls, my husband made the same comment he makes every week when we tune in to that show (and probably Two and a Half Men as well, though I’m never home when he watches that anymore, so I couldn’t say for sure if that tradition continues): “I can’t believe they can get away with saying that on TV”.   As you might guess, it’s invariably some thinly veiled sexual innuendo that’s been slipped into seemingly casual conversation that prompts this comment, as he’s long since gotten used to the actual language that can be used on television these days. 

                                                              Image courtesy of Simon Howden at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

The problem is not that he’s particularly prudish (trust me; that’s definitely not it), but that we grew up in a different era of television.  You see, we are from a time when the standards and practices folks seemed to believe that a great many people were unaware of sex, and that the very idea should either be ignored completely or glossed over so that maybe viewers wouldn’t recognize what was actually being discussed.  Back then, you would never have seen a male character walk into the apartment of two female characters with a video camera, glibly talking about getting topless and spreading plastic to keep the oil from getting everywhere.  And that’s the mild stuff.

So that got me to thinking about sexual humor back in my childhood and how it was portrayed, which led me to the one and only Love, American Style.  I was young when this show debuted, and still a pre-teen even when it left the air, and I can remember that my mom had some qualms about letting me watch it, though my guess is that her ultimate deciding factor was that I was probably too young to understand the more “adult” jokes, anyway.  And she was probably right.  Still, even as a kid, I could understand that in this context, “love” often went hand in hand with “sex”.  But I digress.  What I really wanted to say is that I look back with some fondness for this cute program, tame by today’s standards, but sometimes considered racy back in the day. 

For those too young to remember, Love, American Style was a weekly anthology program concerning a wide variety of characters and whatever love scenario they happened to be in—singles looking for love, couples working at love, people of all sorts pondering love.  Of course, it was a comedy, so we might have been treated to some universal truths about relationships, but it was all done with humorous touch, and things most always worked out in the end.

Each week presented multiple short stories, so we got to meet many new characters with each episode.  This led to a long line of weekly stars, and it seemed like just about everybody who was anybody made an appearance, sometimes multiple times.  It really was like a Who’s Who of 70s character actors.  You had folks like Milton Berle, Bert Convy, Ruth Buzzi, Davy Jones, Bill Bixby, Stephanie Powers, Soupy Sales . . . the list goes on and on.  I think it must have been some sort of badge of honor or something, to land that gig.  And, as an interesting tidbit, Happy Days was originally an episode of Love, American Style before it was picked up and given a long life of its own.  That should give you some idea of the type of “adult” comedy you’d expect to see on the program.

Yeah, I remember really enjoying this show, and though I also am amused by things like Two Broke Girls, there are definitely times I wouldn’t mind going back to a simpler time.

 

Thoughts On Life, Death, and the Closing Gap Between Them

 

Lest there be any confusion from the title of today’s post, or anyone feel ultimately let down, let me say right up front that I don’t have profound thoughts on the subject at hand, and absolutely no answers.  Really, I’m not sure I have too many coherent thoughts, even; mostly what I have is just a bunch of confusion and frustration.  I just wanted to be sure the record was clear from the beginning.

As I mentioned yesterday, my grandmother (we call her Granny) had to make a trip to the ER.  Bottomed out blood sugar levels yesterday afternoon, and she was essentially unconscious by the time we knew there was a problem.  Thank goodness my uncle came by when he did.  So, the ER did their job—got her stabilized and sent her home.  Per their orders, we adjusted her medication a bit, stocked up on some slightly higher sugar foods than normal and thought she was good to go.  Her home nurse agreed after last night’s visit.

                                                                                                   Image courtesy:  olovedog / FreeDigitalPhotos.net  

Approximately twelve hours later, her blood sugar was again dangerously low, and I spent a frantic couple of hours trying to get enough sustenance into her to bring it back up, then the rest of the day trying to stabilize it through diet.  That was in between trying to get her to the bathroom when she needed to go, and then cleaning up afterward because we never quite got there in time.  My husband says, “I don’t know how you do it”, but I’m quite certain she wiped my butt a time or two in years past, so that’s okay.

What’s not okay, though, is the lack of options we have to do anything else.  And, like most people without options, it’s because we don’t have enough money to make those options available.  Today (and last night, really), Granny probably needed to be in a hospital.  In the long-term, she either needs to be in a nursing home or have a live-in caretaker.  But do you know how much that stuff costs?  She’s currently receiving hospice services, not for a “typical” life-ending disease, but for a diagnosis of “failure to thrive”.  I’d never even heard of such a thing, except in the context of babies, but apparently it can happen to adults, too, especially when they get older.  Granny’s 92, so she definitely falls into the “older” category.

Anyway, this care is paid for by her Medicare and supplemental insurance, which is great.  What isn’t so great is that she can’t go into the hospital for circumstances directly related to her hospice diagnosis unless she wants to A) discontinue the hospice service, or, B) pay for the hospitalization herself.  Neither of those are great options.

As for a nursing home, neither she nor I (nor the combination of the two) have an additional $3500 per month (minimum) to get her into a decent facility.  Her hospice people believe she would now qualify for Medicaid, which does have a nursing home option, but the approved facilities around here are not places I want my Granny to spend her final days, however many she may have left. 

And, like many families, bringing her into any of our homes has challenges we are not equipped to overcome, and would not solve the underlying problem, anyway, as none of us are at home 24/7 to care for her. 

The confusion for me comes first from the rather inexplicable physical symptoms Granny’s been having.  Given that we typically have to medicate her to keep her blood sugar low enough to be healthy, I have no clue why all of a sudden we can’t keep it high enough to keep her from slipping into a coma.  And, I’m pretty sure that’s not an answer I’m ever going to get, which is where the frustration begins.

You see, I’m pretty sure that I won’t get an answer because the one thing I’ve learned as Granny’s health has begun to decline in the past few years, is that the medical profession pretty much writes you off once you’re old.  Everything that goes wrong is simply attributed to age or “part of the disease process”.  And to a certain extent, I get that.  I mean, I understand that our bodies slow down as we get older; things wear out, and we simply don’t function as well as we did in our younger days.  But if there’s a body part breaking down and causing a symptom to present, someone ought to be able to explain which body part is failing, why we’re seeing what we’re seeing, and what we might expect next.  But I so rarely get any of that information.  If she were even 20 years younger, I bet they’d be running tests like crazy to figure out what was going on.  And if she were 50 years younger?  Her caregivers would be falling over themselves to find a reason—and then a treatment—for her symptoms. 

So, yeah, it’s frustrating to me that the medical profession has made the decision that my Granny isn’t really worth fighting for, simply because of her age.  I don’t like the idea that they get to decide that she’s lived long enough, and her best days are behind her anyway.  And I certainly don’t like the reality that if we had tons of money to spare, that decision could be made as it should be made: by Granny and our family. 

It’s true; she has had a long life, and though in many ways it’s been a hard life, it’s been a good one.  And you know what?  Maybe her best days are behind her.  But I feel like the system we’re working within is set up to guarantee the truth of that statement, to create circumstances where it simply isn’t possible to give her more good days.  It just doesn’t seem fair that life boils down to this.

Five Questions, One Grown Baby

 

Happy Friday, everyone.  This time next week, I will be in Branson, MO, enjoying a long-awaited girls’ getaway with my BFF, Kim.  Right now, I’m watching football with hubby.  (Technically, he’s watching; I’m blogging.)

But, it is actually a big day in the household.  Today, our one and only baby, my sweet boy Billy, is officially grown up.  He celebrated his 21st birthday today.  It was pretty low-key.  Out to dinner with the three of us, then cake and ice cream back at home, and now he’s out with friends. (Being careful, I hope.)  Hard to believe, since it still seems like just yesterday when we were first bringing him home, worried about every little move we’d make and hoping we were doing things right.  Time really does fly. 

But, now, before I get all nostalgic and weepy, I suppose I ought to get down to the business of 5 Question Friday.  As always, linking up with Mama M; many thanks to her for hosting the fun.

1. What is one grammar issue you cannot let go without correction?

Really, there aren’t any.  Not that there aren’t plenty of grammar issues that make me crazy on a fairly regular basis, because there are.  In fact, while I freely admit that I’m far from perfect, I’m still a tiny bit of a grammar snob.  Try as I might, it is one thing that still causes me to judge people quickly, especially if we’re talking about written communication.  I tend to be more forgiving of the spoken word, because I figure just about everybody is more lax about the things they say, even when they know it’s not quite right.  But, at any rate, the question is what do I have to correct, and the truth is that I correct people very rarely.  It isn’t my job to be the grammar police, and, honestly, it’s a good thing.  With the advent of communication avenues like email, texting, Twitter, and Facebook, I’d constantly be working overtime trying to keep up with all the offenders.  Easier just to grit my teeth and move on.

But what things make me grit my teeth really hard?  “I got my hair did.” comes readily to mind, as does the entire there/their/they’re confusion.  One of the things that really makes me crazy, though, is truly atrocious spelling.  In this day and age, there are spell check programs on just about any form of electronic communication you choose to use (including Facebook, which is where I see the most egregious infractions), so why wouldn’t you use them?  If your message is riddled with red squiggly underlines, for God’s sake, take a minute to figure out why.  I should not be forced to read your words aloud to try and figure out phonetically what you might have been trying to say.   </rant>

2. What's your favorite thing about fall?

I think I just did an entire post about this very topic.  In a nutshell: the new television season.  Cool fall weather is fine, but, really, we don’t get a lot of the in-between seasons here, moving pretty quickly from hot to cold and back again, so any really nice weather isn’t around long enough to really enjoy.  Football is is also fine, but I don’t go into withdrawal during the spring/summer like my husband.  And, while Thanksgiving is really spectacular and I love getting the family together, due to that weather situation I was just talking about, it often feels more like winter than fall by the time turkey day rolls around, so, for me, it’s a fall tradition in name only.  But fall always brings fresh new television shows and returning favorites, and I don’t think you can go wrong with that.

3. What's your favourite dish to take to a potluck?

If I can get away with it, anything I can pick up at the grocery store deli or bakery. If people are insistent I make something, I typically opt for ham and cheese pinwheels.  I don’t like them myself, but they’re easy-peasy, so there you go. 

4. When do you start Christmas (Holiday) shopping?

I’m not organized enough to have a consistent answer to this.  It’s whenever I see something I think someone would like, which might be October or might be March.  I start making dedicated gift-buying trips sometime early in December, and am often still shopping in the final few days.

5. Did you move homes a lot growing up?

Not really, at least not within my memory.  Realistically, I know that in my earliest days there were likely several homes that I don’t recall at all.  But from about age five or so (which means almost 45 years), I’ve lived in a total of 7 different places.  My mom, sister, and I lived in an apartment (I think; could’ve been a tiny house) before “we” married my (step)dad.  Then we moved into Daddy’s house and lived there for several years.  When I was in 4th grade, we moved to the home where I’d spend the rest of my childhood.  In my early 20s, I moved into an apartment with my BFF, but during those six months, her grandmother died and my dad; we both were ready to move back home and be with our families.  Then the next year Brian and I were married; we spent our first year together in my grandmother’s house (she was living with my mom), then bought our first home, where we stayed for about 10 years, and, finally, we’ve been in our current home for the past 14.  My instinct is that this is the last home I will have, barring a spectacular lottery win.

Don’t forget, I’d love to hear your answers, too.  So join the link up (be sure to let me know, please) or answer any/all in the comments.  And I hope you all have a great weekend. 

The Shortest Streak Ever

 

Happy Sunday, everyone.  Yes.  It is officially Sunday, even though I haven’t gone to bed on Saturday yet.  And, yes, I’m about to answer the Five Question Friday prompts.  Which officially puts my streak for posting this topic on the correct day at . . . one week.  I guess that wouldn’t be horrible if it was actually something I had to do for an entire week, so I would’ve accomplished on-time posting seven whole times.  But when it’s a weekly task, and you do it in a timely manner for one week, well . . . let’s face it, that means once.  Like I said, Shortest. Streak. Ever.

But, it is what it is.  I still want to play.  And, if it matters at all, I actually did jot down the answers to all but Q5 on Friday; I just never had the time to put it into a post.  Did I mention that I got to see Barry Manilow on Friday?  And to do that, had to make a couple hour drive out of town?  And that on Saturday, hubby returned from a week away and then we had to make the couple hour drive back home?  Anyway, point being, I was kind of busy the past couple of days.  I bet Mama M won’t mind that I’m a little late to the party.

But, let’s do get the party started.

1.  Did you do anything special for your kids on the last day of school? Or did your parents do anything special for you?

No traditions as a kid or for my kid that I recall. I think maybe dinner out, though, honestly, for both me and my mom, I think that would fall under the heading of “any excuse”.

2. What's your favorite summer tradition with your children?

My child is grown now, (and not currently quite as much fun to be around as he used to be!), but when he was younger our traditions were pretty simple. We’ve been fortunate enough to have a pool in the yard of both houses he’s lived in, so afternoons in the sun were pretty standard.

3. What was your favorite thing to do during the summer as a kid?

We almost always got to take a vacation somewhere, which is surely what started my love of travel. Also, sometimes, when my dad would get home from work in the evening, we’d pack a cooler of sandwiches and Cokes and head out to the lake for a picnic dinner and a short swim. I always loved that.

4. How old were you when you were married? Were you a Bridezilla?

I was just shy of 23 (which seemed old at the time, but, oh so young now!). And, no, not a Bridezilla. I’m a pretty laid back person, generally speaking, though weddings do present some challenges to that mindset. I remember being stressed, and obsessing about some things that others thought inconsequential, but I think that goes with the territory. I’m pretty sure my family and friends would agree with my assessment, and have no lingering resentment for anything I put them through.

5. What is your favorite girl name? (I'm needing suggestions.

This is the hardest one this week . . . so many to choose from.  When I was a girl, I always wished my name was Candy.  I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be happy with that choice now, though, but as a kid . . . oh, yeah; it would’ve been great.

I’m partial to traditional, though . . . Victoria, Catherine, maybe Elizabeth.  I’m also fond of the variations of Alex—Alexandra, Alexis, Alexandria.  I have never been a fan of “trendy” names, as I think it’s hard enough being a kid without having a weirdo name that no one has ever heard of, or that is more commonly associated with a weather pattern.  Also, speaking as someone who has a fairly common name with a fairly uncommon spelling, don’t set your kid up for spending their entire life either correcting people or getting name tags/certificates/invitations/whatever with an incorrect spelling. 

And that brings us to a close of another week’s questions.  Tell me in the comments your thoughts on these, or, better yet, put them in your own blog and add to the linky list.  Even if it is Sunday, I’m a big believer in the idea of “the more the merrier”. 

Homecoming (June Photos, Day 9)

 

 

  Today’s photo theme: your view today.  This is what I could see waiting in the cell phone lot for Brian’s plane to arrive this afternoon.  And, if I may digress a minute, I have to say that I love the convenience of a “cell phone lot”.  In the post-9/11 days, there’s no longer any short-term parking near the airport terminals, so picking up/dropping off passengers has become almost as much of a hassle as actually flying.  But, these little lots where you can sit and wait—without a parking fee—for your loved one to actually get off the plane and make it through the airport and out to the pick-up spot, they’re great.  I didn’t have to pay to park, didn’t have to circle the lot countless times, and didn’t have to risk loitering and being considered some sort of terrorist threat.  These lots are a wonderful invention.  Our airport in OKC doesn’t have one yet, at least not that I’m aware of.  But since I was up in Tulsa for the Barry concert anyway, Brian flew in there and we drove home together.  So kudos to Tulsa for having a lot for the drivers to await their incoming passengers.

Anyway, the point is, yes, I was picking Brian up from the airport.  He returned home from his visit back east to see his dad.  It was a stressful week for him, as the uncertainty surrounding most medical issues makes everyone a little crazy.  I wish there were better news to report on Pop’s condition, but at least he is hanging in.  He survived the surgery, and is battling down the pneumonia, but it just seems to be one complication after another.  Sadly, he is also so exhausted that he is rarely alert, and often totally non-responsive.  It’s hard for Brian (and his sisters) to see their father like that.  Thankfully, Pop had one really good day while Brian was home.  He was awake, and focused, and they got to have a father-son talk about the Phillies, and hospital food—but mostly the Phillies.  I pray that it won’t be the last time they can chat about pitching rosters and on-base percentages, but whether it is or isn’t, I think it made the whole trip worthwhile.

I’m glad Brian’s home (though I encouraged him to stay longer, maybe until his dad was at least a bit more recovered), but I am even more glad that he will have that memory of talking baseball with his dad. 

Still Holding My Heart (May Photos, Day 13)

 

It’s Mother’s Day, so of course the theme for today is “mum”, or, what we here in the States would call “mom”.

Ever since I’ve been a mom, Mother’s Day has been bittersweet for me.  When I was pregnant, my mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer.  At the time of diagnosis, the doctors believed she had three, maybe six months to live.  She surprised everyone by lasting eighteen.  I was grateful for that for many reasons, but the greatest was because it meant she survived to become a grandmother.  She also survived long enough for me to celebrate one Mother’s Day with her after I had joined that special club, though that was the beginning of the bittersweet times, knowing that it would likely be the last with her.

Ever since then, of course, each and every Mother’s Day brings a bit of sadness, because she is no longer here with me.  I can’t call her to tell her how much I love her, or have her help me with my own parenting questions.  I can’t ask her when—if—being a mother ever gets easier.  When my son was little, there were times I thought I’d never survive without my own mother teaching me how to be a mother.  But now that he’s a grown man, I realize this might really be the time that I could use some guidance. 

Of course, I have that guidance.  I have my memories; I know how she handled different circumstances, and I try to learn by proxy by remembering. She was my first friend, and my friend until the day she died; she taught by example and I was blessed to have her in my life.  

As another Mother’s Day passes, I miss her all over again, and I take a moment to send a prayer her way.  A prayer of thanks for being the best mother I could’ve hoped to have, and a prayer for guidance to somehow help me still.  I know that I’ve fallen short in so many ways, and I wonder if she felt that way, too.  I wish I could tell her she needn’t have worried, and I hope she knows that she is still my shining light.  And, I hope it’s not too self-serving of me to hope that someday my son will feel that way about his mother, too.

Mothers hold their children's hands for a short while, but their hearts forever.

                                                                ~ Unknown Author

 

 

The generations:  My grandmother, my mother, me, my son

Drowning My Sorrow in Queso (May Photos--Day 6)

Today's theme is "you". It's apropos, as I was doing a lot of thinking about myself today as I entered into a new phase of motherhood.

Today, my not yet 21 year old son moved to California to make his mark on the world. Now, he had moved into his own apartment for a while last year, but that was a short-lived experiment. So, except for those six months, he's lived his whole life under my roof, where I can say hello to him each and every day and assure myself that the big bad world has not yet done him in. I'm having a hard time coming to grips with the idea I won't be able to do that any longer.

I've also been crying a bit. Silly, I know-- everyone leaves their parents behind at some point. And, of course, as much as I'd like to keep him wrapped up in the safety of home and parents forever, I know I can't do that. In truth, even if I could, I'd find a way to make sure I didn't. That wouldn't be good for him, and I only want the very best for his life.

But that's all about him, and as I mentioned, this is about me. That's how it came to be that hubby and I had dinner at my very favorite restaurant. It's the place I go to for celebrations, and also the place I go to when I'm feeling down and need a little pick me up. Today was definitely the latter. Thankfully, it was scrumptious as always and served to perk my spirits just a bit. Taking the above photo helped a little bit, too. There's rarely anything better at bringing a smile than plain old silliness. Although, truth be told, a fresh basket of chips, creamy queso, and a nice crunchy taco goes a long way, too. I'm glad I decided to partake in it all.

But, the photo challenge didn't end there. I knew I'd be writing this post, and I'm not sure there's much that's more "me" than my personal blog-- not even my favorite Mexican food. It seemed fitting that the official entry pic should include it all.





But, the truth is, I can't continue to dwell on missing my son. And I certainly can't continue scarfing down too large amounts of chips and queso to hide my sadness. So I guess I better find some more constructive options. Like maybe calculating how many text messages he could receive before he'd block my number. Or, better yet, maybe I need to start planning a vacation.

I hear it's nice in California this time of year.


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