D, C, E

 Someone told me one time that the mere fact I worry about whether I am a narcissist or not means that I can’t be a narcissist. It is not the nature of a true narcissist to wonder about being narcissistic. I just googled it, and apparently that is the case. But still there is a nagging something in me saying I am very self-centered, and I need to do more about it, more than just wallow in guilt.

         When I was very young, meaning, we were still living in the house on Heinrich, and thus I was younger than 10 years old, Mom had a calendar hanging in the kitchen. It was the kind that showed just one month at a time. One day I noticed there was an initial on each Saturday in the month. And the initials repeated in a D, C, E pattern. I put on my thinking cap and quickly deduced these initials to correspond to each of us kids- Den, Clark, Eric.

         Hmmm, on every third Saturday, one of us gets some kind of attention that the other two do not. Of course, my mind leapt to a treat! I was then anxious for the Saturday with my initial to come around to see what I was going to get that my brothers did not.

         I don’t recall how many cycles it took for me to figure out the significance of the initials on the Saturdays. But I’m fairly sure I did not ask about them (for fear of being called self-centered in expecting some visible form of attention given to me on a D Saturday). So I probably just kept observing until I solved the mystery on my own. Maybe I saw Mom look at the calendar and then watched what she did afterward.

         The letters referred to whose bedsheets Mom would put in the wash that Saturday! Instead of doing everyone’s at once, she did only one kid’s sheets every weekend, and Mom kept track on the calendar whose were next.

What a total let-down in what had been a somewhat fun puzzle! I mean, could there have possibly been a duller solution?

And then I wondered why Mom and Dad’s sheets were not part of the rotation? Well, with a little more observation, I discovered Mom washed their sheets every Saturday. The kids’ bedsheets could go three weeks between washings, and the parents’ got done every week. Hmmm, good to know.

         And I think about that calendar and the tiny initials on the Saturdays whenever I change the sheets in my present world. I won’t say whether I do this once a week, or not. But the sheets are getting washed this morning, and thoughts of narcissism are wafting about.

27 20180924 D, C, E

     

Thirty-Five and Holding on Taylor

         So a guy on a motorcycle passed me on Taylor Road yesterday. He was going more than 35MPH to get by me. The speed limit is 35, and I was doing 35, so clearly, he was speeding, and I made a face as he vroomed by. This is Taylor Road in Suwanee. I was on the way to the library to drop off two books, and Taylor is one way to get there.

         The high school my girls went to is on this road. That’s why I am so familiar with the speed limit and why I adhere to it so closely. No matter how anxious I might have been to get to or from that school during our tenure there, I was always sure to keep to 35MPH. With so many kids in the vicinity, the speed limit is kind of sacred.

         And every time I turn onto Taylor Road these days, I’m reminded of a special night right after Sarah began her freshman year at Collins Hill High School.

         There was a dance at the school. Did they call them mixers back then? I don’t know – that’s what we called them in my day – mixers were dances less fancy than homecoming or prom – no need to dress up or have a date, just come as you are. It was a Saturday night and Sarah’s first high school dance. She asked if I would drop her off and pick her up. And of course, I said yes.

         We drove to the front of the school to the door that opened to the common area, close to the main office. That’s where the other cars were dropping their kids off, so it’s not like I was at some weird entrance while the rest of the parents were elsewhere. Sarah disappeared into the crowd of excited students.

         I went home. Google says home is 7 miles and 15 minutes from Collins Hill. As the night wore on, Amanda went to bed and was sound asleep when it was time for me to pick Sarah up.

         It was late, and it was difficult maintaining the speed limit on Taylor Road, but I was good. I got to the school and back to the same door that I had dropped Sarah at. Only there was no line of cars this time picking up the kids. In fact, there was not even one car picking up a student at that door. Was I that late? There weren’t that many kids mingling around. I parked and went into the common area – no Sarah! I told myself not to get unnecessarily anxious, perhaps she got a ride home, and she thought she would be there before I would need to leave the house to pick her up.

         So, I drove home, creeping at 35MPH down Taylor and probably above the speed limit on the other roads between the school and the house. Panic was trying to settle in, but I convinced myself that Sarah had gotten a ride.

         At home, Amanda was sleeping.  And there was no Sarah.

         I turned the car around and drove back to Collins Hill, keeping it at 35 when I got to Taylor, cursing at the speed limit sign and asking if it was not aware of what I was going through at that point?

         Once again at the school, there was still no Sarah and even fewer kids lingering than before. The principal was there and saw my distress. He let me into the office, so I could call home on the chance that Sarah had arrived since. I called. The answering machine picked up – I was yelling into the phone, “Amanda!!! Wake up! Wake up and tell me if Sarah is there or if she has called!!” But Amanda did not wake up. So, I had no idea if Sarah had left a message or not. Where was she?

         And I drove home once again. It did not seem that Sarah was at the school, so it was logical to think she got a ride and home was where she had to be at that point.

         But she was not home, and there was no message on the answering machine from her giving me a clue.

         My brain tried to stick to practical reasoning. If Sarah was not at home, and if everything is okay with her, then she must still be at the school somewhere. I got back in the car and motored back to Collins Hill.

         With excruciating restraint, I held to 35 on Taylor Road.

         I told myself that the door I had been going to just was not working for me. Could there have been another door for the pick-up of the kids? I had already tried the doors by the major parking lot that we used for marching band. No one was there. Another door was around the back by the student parking lot. It is the door closest to the gym. And the gym might be where the dance was, not the common area!

         I drove all the way around to the back of the school. Hope was rising in me – of course Sarah would be at that door. Logic dictated that’s where she would be.

         The light by the door was on. But there was no one around. No students. No parents, no school officials.

         My heart sank. What could I do next?

         I had slowed down when approaching the door, but with no one there, I turned to drive off.

         And that’s when I saw a tiny head pop up into view in the upper half of the door that had the window.

         A girl who looked so sad and abandoned.

         Relief flooded me as I stopped the car.

         Sarah got in. “Why are you so late, Mom?”

         I sank my head and with a soft shaky voice I answered, “It did not occur to me that you would be picked up at a different door than the one I dropped you off at.” Are parents supposed to just know these things?

         And one of the touches of irony here is that the door Sarah was waiting at – the one all the other kids had been told to wait at, is at the bottom of a staircase that leads to the open space common area. If Sarah had not been so intently watching out the door for her errant mother to pick her up, she might have heard up the stairs in the distance said mother screaming into a phone with hysterics for Amanda to wake up!

         And so now you can understand how the memory of all the emotions from that night can run through me again each time I turn onto Taylor Road and see that 35MPH sign.

         I caught up to the motorcyclist-in-a-hurry at the red-light. He was in the left lane stopped; I was in the right lane. It seemed wise to not make any more faces at him, although he did look my way. The road was clear, and I was content to just make my right-on-red while he had to wait for the light.

026 20180726 Taylor Road

Dutch Apple

            For the celebration of the 4^th of July this year, Mike and I have decided to visit his sister and brother-in-law in Orlando. So this morning I have softened a stick of butter and prepared a loaf of Dutch apple bread. The recipe is a favorite of mine because it is easy, travels well as it fits perfectly into a gallon size ziplock plastic bag (once cooled), gets lots of compliments, and is really really tasty! The recipe is in my Egor Presents cookbook – the one put together when I was practicing word processing back in 1980. The recipe must have come from somewhere else when I typed it into Egor, so that means I’ve been making Dutch apple bread for nigh onto forty years now! I am too embarrassed to scan the recipe from Egor and show it to you here because there are markings on it for doubling the recipe and the math is wrong, and there are stains and, well, a much cleaner copy of the recipe is typed up below.

         There are many hits and misses with recipes I have tried over the years.  I remember times when I worked at Roswell back in the late seventies when I would bake something to take to my co-workers, and more often than not, the results were too bad to take to the lab! My co-workers never saw how much I baked! Fortunately my lab experiments were a little more successful. Or were they?

         The mistakes in cooking make more interesting stories, but I will try to share a few of the highlights in subsequent blog posts. And the Dutch apple bread is definitely one of them. So here is the recipe:

Dutch Apple Bread

Ingredients:

½ cup butter                             2 cups flour                  1/3 cup milk with

1 cup sugar                              1 tsp. baking soda              1 tbs. vinegar

2 eggs                                      ½ tsp. salt                   1 cup chopped apples

1 teaspoon vanilla                     1 tsp. cinnamon           1/3 cup chopped nuts

Directions:

Combine the butter and sugar until creamy.

Add the eggs and vanilla and beat well.

Sift together the flour, baking soda, salt, and cinnamon and then add to the

mixture along with the sour milk.

Mix well.

Fold the apples and nuts into the mixture.

Pour into 1 greased bread pan and bake at 350 degrees for 1 hour or until

a toothpick comes out clean when inserted into the center.

From Egor Presents my original source is unknown, circa 1970s

025 20180703 Dutch Apple

I Don't Gym

         So there were only a few months left before the wedding, before being the mother-of-the-bride. I still had time to lose the weight. And I joined a gym that had a facility near the house and also one near the lab where I worked.

You know, the treadmill sounds easy and painless, in theory. And there is something called an elliptical which is supposed to be even easier. I tried to go in the mornings – around 5:30, so it didn’t dig into my work hours too much, and at the gym there would be fewer people. And I got on the elliptical and started moving my feet and legs.

I didn’t like it.

         The overhead music was dreadful, or rather, not to my taste. It gave me a headache and made me less motivated to go. The televisions mostly only had the news on that time of the day, and I had to bring ear buds to listen to any of the channels. But I did not bring any – I can’t remember why except that maybe I would have had to purchase some since they were not as ubiquitous around the house in late 2007 as they are these days. The ear buds would have also allowed me to listen to my choice of music. But again, I just didn’t bring any.

The two things I remember the most about being on the elliptical those few months attending the gym were Brittany Spears’ public meltdowns on the news and a music video on one of the other TVs of Mick Jagger and David Bowie doing the Locomotion.

         One of my co-workers, the same one who had done the Boot Camp that so impressed Mike, also belonged to the same gym. She and her husband would be there many of the same mornings I was. When I finished on the elliptical, I would walk past them on their respective ellipticals – they were both drenched in sweat while I was merely huffing and puffing.

         That’s when I realized I was probably not getting any worthwhile exercise at all.

         Working with weights at the gym was of no interest to me even though Mike would mention them almost daily. And while the indoor cycling class piqued my interest for a while, I never was able to coordinate a class with my lab hours – again, I don’t think I tried very hard.

         Swimming was fine. Except that I’m not really much of a swimmer. I like to stretch and float and do a few kicks. But to swim lap after lap? Yuck! I managed to talk myself into 18 laps when I was in the pool. I don’t recall how I got at that number and don’t know why it is I remember the number. But it was boring. And when I was done with the 18, I would think, “now what?” and all I could come up with was to do more laps – but to what end? It was still boring and most of my thoughts were about being done and getting to the lab. Other thoughts were of what I would do with myself if I ever were in jail? Walk back and forth across the cell all day long to no end?

my right foot

         So it was tough to talk myself into going to the gym at all. And then one morning at the lab, I had an accident with the liquid nitrogen. Some had spilled onto my right sneaker and left burn marks where the holes for the laces were and other parts of my foot where there was bare skin. The foot was blistered and became multi-colored. This was just the excuse I needed to not go to the gym! I couldn’t expose my foot to other people and have them wonder if I had injured myself at the gym or if it was infected and shedding germs or if I was contagious. You know, altruistic rationalizing.

         I stayed away for two or three weeks. The foot got better except for the scars of which some are still there today. The scars would not have scared any of the gym members, so I tried to motivate myself into going back. My visits, however, became ever more infrequent, and I knew I was getting nothing out of the gym, so I discontinued my membership, and in the eleven years since then, I’ve had no desire to ever go back.

         A few months later, the mother-of-the-bride was plump for the wedding.  I’m probably the only one who took note of it. And fouryears after that, I was a plump mother-of-the-bride at Amanda and Tony’s wedding. A disappointment to myself – it is the culture we live in. You know, if it came in a bottle, we’d all have great bodies!

024 20180628 I Don’t Gym

Boot Camp

         So it was August of 2006 when Sarah and John got engaged. The wedding was planned for August of 2008 – there would be a small window of days that month between John’s graduation from law school and the beginning of UGA football season, perfect for a wedding! I was very grateful to have two years’ notice, because that would give me plenty of time to lose weight! You know that losing weight has to be the first thought of any mother-of-the-bride in our culture, right?

         But as the next few months rolled along, there was no weight coming off. I had not been trying that hard, because, there was still enough time. And there was no Mission SlimPossible available then – and I would have cheated anyway.

         So the next spring, when the wedding was still more than a year away and Mike was tired of hearing me whine about my weight, he signed me up for a boot-camp thing that a co-worker of ours had been doing with great results. Mike did not sign himself up – just me. Such a dear!

         Boot camp was Tuesday through Friday from 7 to 7:45PM for, I think, three weeks. We also had to agree to a food plan set up ahead of time. Limiting my food was tough, but I did start losing pounds right away. The exercise was super tough, but anyone can do anything for just 45 minutes at a time, right?

We worked out in the parking lot of the boot camp office. There were a lot of jumping jacks. Like, we couldn’t just stand around in between exercises – jumping jacks were what we were supposed to be doing. Not a hundred and stop, no – just keep going! And then, I think it was starting in week two, we had to run a mile at the beginning of the session – which was five times around the building – this was a small strip mall. When had I ever in my life run a mile? And it was all so matter-of-fact – “run around the building five times and then we’ll continue on with the rest of the evening!”

         There are emails I still have wherein I documented in journal form the days of the boot camp. I ached all over, constantly, from day 1! And day 1 was just the orientation – paperwork and proving how many sit-ups and push-ups we can each do – my totals were 0 for both, but I guess that was enough for my body to ache the next day!

         After about three days, endorphins had kicked in and when a co-worker asked if I was going to sign up for Boot Camp II when Boot Camp I was all over I enthusiastically responded “Sure!”  I had started to lose weight and had squeezed into an old pair of pants. So, heck yeah! I’ll do a boot camp sequel!

         The Saturday after the first week of boot camp, Mike asked if I would please stop moaning every single time my body made any kind of move.

         The Saturday after the next week of boot camp, I was still hurting everywhere constantly, but I was hopeful that with just one week left, I was really going to finish the whole program – not quit, not get too injured to continue. That same afternoon, I twisted my knee helping Sarah move furniture. But I did not think I was too injured to return to boot camp.

         The first day of my third week of boot camp, I twisted my ankle – probably while trying to avoid further damage to my knee. I was officially finished with boot camp. Later I went to the doctor where an x-ray was taken. The ankle was sprained, not broken, thankfully. And apropos of everything, I got a boot that I was to wear for the next two weeks so my ankle could get better.

         So I started this post as an addendum to the last one to elaborate on why I don’t want to join a gym – but I haven’t even gotten to the gym part yet. There was still time left to lose weight for Sarah and John’s wedding. And there’s still another post to put down the story of my former gym membership.

023 20180628 Boot Camp

If It Came In A Bottle

         In January of this year, Mike signed up for a program at his place of employment called Mission SlimPossible. So cute, right? Many months have passed since that fated day, and Mike has lost close to forty pounds! He looks and feels great. The program finished in May, but Mike does not want the weight to creep back on him. So he joined the next program at work which is a sprint triathlon. This involves training up until September when the event is scheduled to take place.

        

Mikey did it!

At first the training was easy enough because, for Mike, it involved getting equipment and do-dads. Mike had his ancient bike refurbished – we tried to give the bike away last year with no takers, and suddenly this summer Mike is riding it! Amazon started delivering packages with swim goggles and bike shorts (ooh la la!), swim trunks and running shoes with the toes in them, and then, of course, socks with toes in them, and more socks with toes in them. This week some plugs that you put in each end of the handlebars on the bike arrived in the mailbox. Getting stuff is always fun.

         But then there is the other part of the training - the actual bike riding, swimming, and running for the triathlon. That’s all daunting! Mike decided to join a gym so he could do laps in the pool and build up the stamina needed for the 300 yards stint of the triathlon. There is a facility a mile from our house, so one Sunday a couple of weeks ago, we walked to the gym together. Mike was signing up for a membership and then going swimming.

         The lobby of the gym was open to the weights area – lots of equipment, and there were quite a few folks working out. I was suddenly overcome with an image from long ago. I was transported back in time to a living room and the television running a commercial with Cher for Holiday Spa. Googling now, the commercial was more exactly, Jack Lalanne Holiday Spa, and the year was 1985. Cher made a few ads for Holiday, but the one I was thinking of on that recent Sunday afternoon was the one with Cher’s hair cut super short and dyed blonde. She is most noted for her long dark tresses. But in the commercial with the blonde hair, Cher was working the weights and talking in a normal, non-I’m out of breath from this heavy exercising voice, about how we too could look like her if we worked out at the Holiday Spa. And at the end of this particular commercial, Cher said, “If it came in a bottle, we’d all have great bodies.” I could not find this on YouTube today, but did see a version that starts with a similar quote, “Getting blonde was easy. Getting this body wasn’t.”

         Mike headed toward the pool, and I told him I’d walk to the mall across the street. I do not want to join the gym with him! I had to go up a small hill to get out of the parking lot. It was very hot. The sun was beating down. I was already sweaty from the walk we had just taken. And all I could think while trudging up that incline was “if it came in a bottle, we’d all have great bodies!”

I walked around the inside of the mall – stepping to the beat of “if it came in a bottle, we’d all have great bodies!” I was hot, sweating, frustrated. That commercial was thirty-three years ago! And we are still working hard, still hoping for great bodies.

And why haven’t we figured out how to get great bodies from a bottle?

If humanity doubles the discovery of information every ten years, then, heck, we should have a formula for great bodies by now!

Mike texted when he finished, and I walked back to the gym. I stomped to the rhythm of “I bet these days even Cher wishes it came in a bottle. I bet even Cher wishes it came in a bottle! If it came in a bottle, everyone would have a great body!” He didn’t even notice my bitter mood. Mike was wiped out from his swim. The walk home was hot. We were sweaty. We were tired. And, we trudge on. Because, you know, we still have hopes for bodies we like someday. And those great bodies don’t come in a bottle, yet.

022 20180628 If It Came In A Bottle

Cowboy Pajamas

         Among the many notes I have for memories that I can write up is one that says Beatles, Ed Sullivan. Anyone my age or older probably has a story about the first time the Beatles were on Ed Sullivan. Every Sunday night back in the sixties, Ed Sullivan hosted a variety show. If we were at my grandparents’ on a Sunday night and Sullivan came on, my grandfather would call me to the living room to see the act that was on the TV. I wanted to stay in the kitchen and listen to my mother and grandmother gossip, but I knew it would be wrong to not do what my grandfather was asking, especially since he had a smile on his face and was sure he was sharing something fun with me. And what was happening on the TV? A man spinning plates with poles. Today I would find that man very entertaining – knowing to appreciate the skill it takes to do that and the guts to make a living at it – I totally respect all that now. But as a kid? Don’t call me into the living room to see a juggler when there’s gossip about people I don’t even know going on in the kitchen!

         Anyway, the Beatles had several hit records in England and the U.S. through 1963, and Ed Sullivan invited them on his show in the States in early ’64. This event was later dubbed the beginning of the British Invasion – popular English bands touring the States to thousands of screaming fans.

         So, to be at home in front of the TV the night the Beatles were on Sullivan for the very first time was a very big event. One that some have never forgotten. I myself recall being excited that finally there would be something worth watching on the Ed Sullivan Show. And I do remember the Beatles being introduced, and they started singing. They were so young and cute with their mop haircuts. And as the camera zoomed in on each Beatle, his name came across the bottom of the screen. The audience was screaming so loud, you could not hear the music well at all. When the camera turned to John, the name across the bottom of the screen said John Lennon. Sorry girls, he’s married. The girls kept screaming.

         A few years ago, there was a disc jockey on the country station I listened to in the car, Rhubarb Jones. He was from around here, and although obviously a country music fan,  there was more than one occasion when he mentioned the first time the Beatles were on the Ed Sullivan Show. Rhubarb, clearly quite young back in ’64, said he was wearing his cowboy pajamas and rocking on his rocking horse in front of the TV while watching the Beatles. How precious is that? Well, one time when Rhubarb was talking about the Beatles and his cowboy pajamas, his sidekick started teasing him about it. Then Rhubarb said to his sidekick, “Do you remember what you were wearing the first time you saw Journey on TV?”

         That’s right. Remembering the night Ed Sullivan brought the Beatles to the American stage – that’s big! Journey? Yeah, not so much. Ever since Rhubarb’s remark, I giggle when I hear anything about Journey, and then I picture a little guy in his cowboy pajamas on a rocking horse in front of a black and white TV watching real history being made!

21 20180518 Cowboy Pajamas

Lovin' From the Oven

        Here is a picture of a pair of earrings I still have that date back to the seventies. I don’t think I’ve worn them in decades, but it seems wrong to part with them.

Love me, Squeeze me, Take me home!

I’m sure Mom gave the earrings to me one year for Christmas. They sport the Pillsbury Doughboy proclaiming love me, squeeze me, take me home! I was always very fond of the Pillsbury Doughboy, or Poppin Fresh, as he is also referred to in commercials. He has a squeaky voice and in the commercials, he giggles if you press his tummy. I used to do a fair imitation of that squeaky giggle. On another Christmas I received the Poppin Fresh doll with his own stand – I think he was still around when my girls were little, but eventually he went to the Goodwill hopefully for others to enjoy.

         One of the Pillsbury Doughboy’s sayings was love me, squeeze me, take me home. I can remember him saying that, but this morning I cannot find any youtube videos of it. There are a few tee shirts for sale with the doughboy and those words. I’ll bet I’m the only one who has the earrings, though!

20 20180517 Lovin from the Oven

Tony

      Yesterday, May 15^th, was the birthday of my son-in-law, Tony. Amanda and Tony have been married now for six years. I only vaguely remember the first time I met Tony. Amanda had her LaGrange friends over to the house one night – she was probably a senior in high school then. Tony was one of the friends, and he was introduced along with the others. Kind of a blur, but my brain fills in the memory with his smile and a “nice to meet you.” Wish I could say I had a premonition about the two of them at that moment, but my premonitions have never proved true anyway.  It was a couple of years after that when Amanda and Tony had their first date, March 12^th. Since then they have celebrated the anniversary of that date each year in special ways. On March 12, 2011, Tony proposed, and March 12^th a year later they were married!       

Family Pic May 2018

At a Mexican Restaurant 2010 for my birthday!

         What strikes me most about Tony is his easy way with people. He’s attentive and patient with everyone. He is especially tolerant with me when I ask him questions that range from frantic computer issues to what should I bring for Christmas brunch? Lots of goofy questions.  Lots of patience. And by the way, Tony and Amanda’s Christmas brunches are the highlight of our holiday season! 

     My fondest memory of Tony, so far, is from the day Theo was born. As family members gathered into the hospital room to wish them all well, a nurse was teaching Tony different things, including how to bathe the baby.

Theo after the bath, an hour or so after his birth, January 2017

We all took a picture of Tony receiving instructions intently and handling little Theo excitedly, nervously, proudly, gently. Theo has picked two of the bestest parents a little guy could have!

19 20180516 Tony

Ankle Peace

       

  

D.C. Peace March January 2007

     Well, the peace symbol earring story can’t go by without mention of an earlier story. Of course, peace symbols were ubiquitous during the Vietnam War, or at least they seemed to be to me – jewelry, bumper stickers, tee shirts, flags. Then there were a couple of decades of our country being more at peace than at war, and I guess the peace symbols waned throughout the land if not in my imagination.

         In 2003 as it became apparent our country was going to enter Iraq, over protests of “this will become another Vietnam,” I went to the mall to purchase peace symbol jewelry to wear. To my surprise, tee shirts, bumper stickers, and flags were not in the storefronts sporting the peace symbol. Were they not in demand? It was disturbing. After going through every store on both floors of the mall, I was unable to find any jewelry or anything else with the peace symbol on it. I was sad. My lone opinion does not do much to change the world, but at least I could wear it every day – to remind me and perhaps touch others.

Peace flag from Amanda's trip to Italy 2008

         I started through the stores again, focusing on the jewelry displays, and then I skipped a few shops and headed to Claire’s. This is a boutique chock-filled with bracelets, necklaces, hair bows and many other accessories. It is where Amanda and Sarah got their ears pierced for the first, and maybe, if I remember correctly, the second times years earlier. It is a good place to go for seasonal jewelry also – fun. And that evening, looking for the peace symbol jewelry, I told myself to place my hand on every single item in the store so as to convince myself I had not missed anything.    

   Next to a display of dog collars for women that were popular that year, (remember those hideous tight ribbons with the spikes sticking out? Ladies, what were you thinking?!)  was a rack of jewelry stuffed with items on sale. I patiently started to touch every single item. And then there behind about five other dangly objects, I found an ankle bracelet with a lone peace symbol on it! Where there was one, there could be more. I excitedly checked everything else on the rack and then the rest of the store.

Gift to Stories on the Square August 2017 from Kristina Johnson

         An ankle bracelet was not what I had in mind when I entered the mall that night. But one ankle bracelet appeared to be the only thing in the entire mall with a peace symbol.

         I bought it and put it on my ankle. And the peace symbol anklet did not come off again until one day, a couple of years later, after I had gone swimming at Lake Lanier, I noticed it was gone. This was after the peace symbol made a big comeback at the malls and is ubiquitous again throughout the land. It was after “mission accomplished” in Iraq. The war, however, was still on.   

18 20180515 Ankle Peace

Peace Earrings

          It was Easter weekend four years ago, 2014. Sarah and John and the kids were going to Chapel Hill to look at apartments and houses – Sarah would be starting graduate school there that August. She invited us to go along and tour the area with them. I drove there by myself because Mike was out of town for work, but he had arranged for his flight back to deliver him to the Raleigh airport, and I was going to pick him up there the evening the rest of us got to Chapel Hill.

          Raleigh is only a half hour drive away, and I was able to find it just fine. I had arrived very early and ended up walking the length of the airport, inside, many times back and forth while awaiting Mike’s arrival. At one of the newsstands, a young woman behind the counter exclaimed how much she loved my earrings. I loved my earrings – peace symbols that Mike had gotten for me a few years earlier. Then the young woman burst out with:

         “Can I have your earrings?”

         Um….was she kidding?

         What a dilemma!

         Mike gave me the earrings. They were extra special to me.

         But they are peace symbols. How do I say no when someone asks to have my peace symbols? Wouldn’t it be hypocritical – parading around as if I believe in peace when in actuality, I’m not willing to share the peace?

         If I said no, would the earrings continue to be special to me or would I feel guilty because I did not give them away when asked?

         My brain shut down just like a smoking Star Trek computer. The smiling newsstand girl was eagerly awaiting my response.

         I ended up giving her one of the earrings and uttered something about how we would be sharing the peace across our respective places in the world.

         She was thrilled.

         I felt a genuine loss. How could I give away something Mike had given to me?

         About a half hour later, I saw the young woman walking through the crowd. The peace symbol earring was dangling from one of her ears. She did not see me but seemed lost in thought and was grinning broadly.

          Since then, I have taken a peace symbol off of a necklace that I have and hooked it with an earring that actually spells peace, and I pair that with the peace symbol earring Mike gave me whose mate was given away that night at the Raleigh airport.

         The two earrings I wear as this new pair look just fine together. But it still tugs at me, more than I think anything else that I have ever lost or regretted giving away – because it had been something special from Mike. Why didn’t I just say no, in a nice way with a big smile when the young woman had asked?

         But then again, I could get lofty about it. I’ll never know the adventures the other earring has had or will have. Maybe the young woman was inspired to pay it forward and it has somehow spread love throughout the land? Maybe she lost it and it was found by someone else who now has a story about it. Or maybe she has forgotten about it and it sits in a drawer – but will be discovered again someday and have new adventures or will be given away and then have new stories.

         Okay, if you put it that way, giving her one of the earrings was really the only way to go!

16 20180514 Peace Earrings

Mothers' Gifts

         While making the bed this morning, a memory from a long ago Mothers Day flashed through my mind. We were still living in Buffalo, on Argyle Avenue, and Sarah was about a year old. Off and on for quite a few Sundays, we had been attending the Unitarian Church – I think the one in Amherst. We were there on a Mothers Day Sunday, and when folks got up one at a time to give announcements or concerns, a man stood who I recognized as one of the ushers/greeters, someone involved in the church. He gave a Happy Mothers Day message to the Moms in attendance and then said that his gift to his wife on that Mothers Day was that she did not have to go to church with him! She got to stay home!

         This, in my mind, was funny. And he may have gotten the irony – he enjoyed going to church, but his wife? Not so much. He liked being a cog in the church mechanisms, and she was mostly only there to support him. So it made perfect sense to give her the gift of staying home on Mothers Day instead of the usual weekly burden of accompanying her husband to church. But to announce it during the service as if everyone would understand that for some, going to church was a chore?

         I get it, though. I like to tell the story of my Dad taking his three kids to church every Sunday, Catholic mass, while Mom stayed home. Her explanation at the time, and for anyone who asked us kids about it, was that Mom was not Catholic, but rather Episcopalian. And one time Mom told me she did not go to the Episcopalian church either because in the earlier years of her marriage, she did go to church but people started asking her where her kids were – so she stopped going. But truth be told, I’m sure Mom very much enjoyed that hour by herself every Sunday, closer to two hours, actually. And at the risk of breaking the first commandment, being home alone can be one's religion.

Amanda, Sarah, me, and my Mom, Mary Des Soye

         Here is a picture that came up as a memory on Facebook today – it is one Amanda originally posted in 2009 and taken the day of her college graduation. Amanda, Sarah, me, and my Mom, Mary Louise Junkin Des Soye. Today that picture represents three generations of mothers – she who bore me, and two who I had the blessed honor of boring, and that’s me, the goofy one second from the right.

         To all mothers out there: may you celebrate or not, go to church or not, enjoy the solitude or the multitude, and may you for sure know that you are truly blessed!

16 20180513 Mothers’ Gifts

Honeysuckled

    

     Earlier this week, a message arrived from daughter, Sarah, with a picture of her son, Horatio, gleefully sucking on a honeysuckle blossom. Quoting her text: Honeysuckles are blooming! Possibly bugs are pooping in them, but we don’t worry about that.

Horatio sucking honeysuckle

         Once upon a time, when Sarah was quite young, I had stopped her from nibbling on a honeysuckle blossom with the warning that bugs had peed and pooped on it! Sarah tells the story much better than I with her much more vivid remembrance of the incident. What I do vaguely recall is that I did not know if the blossoms were safe to eat/suck, and also worried that Sarah might be allergic to them – spring used to wreak havoc on her allergies, many kinds of blossoms bothered her. And I guess at the moment I saw Sarah put a honeysuckle flower to her mouth, I thought the quickest way of getting her to release the blossom was to suggest she might be eating poop.

from my backyard - just blossomed!

         After a while, was it days or seasons? Sarah realized my warning was ridiculous. And even though she has been known to call Poison Control herself for other things her kids have eaten, Sarah encourages all who listen to her story to suck honeysuckle with abandon, and insect poop and pee be damned!

15 20180511 honeysuckled

        

Squirrels, chipmunks, birds, big fluffy cat, and insects all poop and pee somewhere!

Stone Mountain Shower

         Every time I am in the shower, I am reminded to write a post about the beach at Stone Mountain. Back in the late nineties, mostly on summer Sundays, the girls and I would go to the Stone Mountain beach. We had a season pass for entry to the park. The beach was right next to the water slide. When we arrived, around noon, the girls would go directly to the slide. Sometimes there was a long line ahead of them and sometimes not – I was standing nearby. Even though Sarah and Amanda wanted me to join them, share the experience, I was too self-conscious and would disappoint the girls by always saying no.

         I remember times when we’d sit at a picnic table when they had had enough sliding, and the three of us would eat lunch - fast food picked up on the way to the park. I never had enough in the house to whip up for a picnic. And then after that we’d lie on beach towels on the sand by the water.

The Carillon and Stone Mountain

         The mountain was the backdrop to this beautiful scene. Sarah and Amanda spent more time in the water than I did. Often I could read a whole novel in one afternoon at the beach. And of course I enjoyed the people-watching and eavesdropping on nearby conversations. Also within hearing distance was the park’s carillon. Its wonderful sounds were something we took for granted back then, but thoughts of them now make me ache with wanting to hear them once again!

         There was one summer when Eric and his family came to visit and we took them to the beach and water slide at Stone Mountain. Since then, on the wall going up the stairs in their house, there is a picture from that afternoon – Eric, Michelle, and their three kids along with Sarah and Amanda all bobbing in the water with the mountain behind them. It looks like a scene from a Where’s Waldo book and a precious shot. When I get a chance, I’ll put the picture with this post.

         Of course, an afternoon of sun-worshiping can make one’s feet rather sandy, and sand can get into the weirdest cracks and crevices in other parts of the body – stepping back in the lake was okay to get the sand off, but then there was the walking back across the sand when one got out of the water. 

         So, there was a shower at Stone Mountain, on the beach. A great idea, right? Not that you could strip down, because it was out there in the open, but you could rinse the sand off.

         Except, the water was very, very cold!

         Rarely did I rinse off in that shower. I don’t recall Sarah or Amanda ever doing it. We mostly got back into the lake or accepted the sand – because the shower was just too darned cold.

         And that’s what I think about every time I take a shower now at home. You see, I’ve heard for years now, that cold water helps burn more calories. Drinking water as cold as you can stand it burns more calories than room temperature drinks or hot tea, which is what I’m sipping on right now.

         And cold showers can do a lot more for our bodies than burn calories, including making our vagus nerve happy, a nerve which sends signals from the gut to the brain and back again. A happy gut means a happy brain. Oh gosh! Googling the benefits of cold showers right now brings up lots more good info!

         So these days at the end of each shower, I turn the knob slowly from hot to not so hot to cool and sometimes all the way to cold. One is supposed to take an entire shower as cold as one can stand it for as long as one can stand it. Obviously I don’t do that. But while I’m turning the knob, and the water gets a little cooler, my brain goes back to the shower at Stone Mountain and those long ago summer afternoons spent with my daughters and what good times those were.

         And my vagus nerve gets happy!

14 20180510 A Stone Mountain Shower

Fire Ants

Yeah, just before the fire ant pile!

According to the date on the picture, it was this past April 11^th. I was at Amanda’s piano studio watching Theo. We often enjoy walks in the big yard along College Station Road, looking at the trees, waving to the planes or helicopters, kicking the golf balls around that someone else apparently hits and leaves at other times. There are raised bed vegetable gardens with not much in them yet this spring – I took a picture one day of Theo under what I thought was a cabbage, but Mike said it is something else, so I guess the story of the stork would not apply after all.

Of course there is a playground there too – but Theo is still too little for everything. I can sit on a swing with him, but if he approaches a swing on his own, the slightest touch on the swing causes the swing to swing back, and hit him and brings a look on Theo’s face that says, “why is the world so cruel?” He can climb the stairs on the playground apparatus, but then I have to go up after him so Theo doesn’t fall off. I carefully hold him as he comes down the slide. The playground is not much fun for either of us quite yet. So we just walk around the rest of the yard instead, and our own entertainment is fine.

cabbage patch kid

         So, there is a raised slab of cement with what looks like a meter and a pump on it. And there’s a piece of metal flush with the cement which might be a door to something below. Theo loves to stomp on the metal which then makes a neat sound. He plays with the pump and explores all the stuff there. From the picture, you can see he is having a good time.

         I myself was not on the cement slab with Theo, but rather I was walking around it, keeping an eye on him continuously and responding when he chatted. So I was not quite within reach when Theo stepped off the cement, lost his footing, as he has not as yet mastered the step-down process, and landed on his bottom. 

         On top of a fire ant hill!

         As I ran over and picked him up to a standing position, I saw that Theo’s pants were covered with a seemingly solid crawling mass of ants! Oh my gosh – I started swiping them away. But there were too many. I realized I’d have to get Theo into the building so I could take his clothes off and get the ants off of his skin before too many bit him.

He was in my left arm, and I tried to walk fast. Every few steps, Theo would make a face and I panicked that he could feel a bite. Where Theo and my left arm met, I was getting bit repeatedly – but I couldn’t put Theo down to wipe the ants away.  I just had to take what the critters were dishing out.

         Once in the nursery, Theo had no problem with my taking off his clothes and turning them inside out and shaking and shaking – no more ants. I checked his diaper quickly – no ants. And Theo seemed happy. I found two ants on me and took care of them. On Theo’s neck, I found three ant bites right next to each other. Oh dear. And my left arm? Yeah, not a pretty sight. They also got my wrists, hands, and ankles.

         Amanda was cool about it. Thank goodness. Over the next week, his mom said the ant bites did not bother Theo too much. Mine have finally all healed, but there is a nasty scar on my left arm in the crux of the elbow where the worst bites had been.

         And this all brings to mind, of course, the time when we moved to Texas and enrolled Sarah, at four years old, in a pre-school. It was connected to a church, and one of the forms I had to sign before Sarah could start school stated that I agreed to come to school and spank Sarah should she do something in class that warranted a spanking! I told Sarah at the time I signed the policy that the day I get called to come to her class and spank her would be her last day at that school – so she’d better behave – Sarah would be spared the rod but deprived of pre-school.

         Well, one day I did get a call. Sarah was not in trouble. But she had been in an incident. A classmate, a boy named Toby, was chasing Sarah around the playground. When he caught her, Toby pushed her into a fire ant pile! Sarah had ant bites all over both her legs. Toby may or may not have known the ant pile was there. The fire ant part of the incident could have been an accident. But Toby got a spanking! Sarah was very uncomfortable with the ant bites, but we both felt bad for Toby.

         We weren’t sure if Sarah would from that point on be allergic to fire ant bites. And we were extra careful about it the next year when she went to kindergarten. There were epipens in the school clinic, and at home, in case Sarah had a bad reaction to fire ants. The epipens never got used. Sarah has probably had a fire ant bite or two since then. But the thought of it still makes me nervous.

    

Me and Theo 

     Hopefully Theo will be able to handle a fire ant bite or two more in his lifetime – but they won’t be happening on my watch!

013 20180508 Fire Ants