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

Raspberry Preserves

This morning, while getting a piece of toast ready for breakfast, I was happy to see the jar of red raspberry jam was almost empty. It means I can purchase a jar of raspberry preserves next time I’m at the store. Mike had gotten the jam recently when I had it on a list – not realizing I prefer the preserves, or perhaps not getting the difference between the two. And while spreading it on the piece of toasted 100% whole wheat, 100% sugar free bread which has been on the counter for two weeks without getting hard or moldy and is now beginning to scare me, I wondered why I like the preserves more than the jam? There are probably more raspberries that go into preserves than into jam. Jam just needs enough to flavor and the rest is sugar, or so my brain deducts. How many raspberries do you need to call it raspberry jam? And how many more are needed to call it preserves?

         And of course, that all gets me to remembering the summer at the house on Zimmerman when we got a huge batch of ripe raspberries on the bushes out back near the cherry tree, near the artesian well, near the septic system. You’d think we would have gotten a great yield every summer, but the raspberries only happened once. And the cherries only happened once, in a different year. All the other years, the birds got the fruit before they were ripe. Frustrating and sad. But the summer of the raspberries, Mom and I looked up the procedure for making and freezing raspberry preserves. I can still taste their goodness now when I think about it. Nothing has really compared ever since – but it is why I prefer the store-bought preserves  to the jam today – they come closer to that wonderful summer.

         But another memory comes to mind also when thinking about sugar and breakfast. The day I was on the plane flying to Martinique, back in 1979, 25 years old, I was in an aisle seat next to two young women who were together. Breakfast was served, and when I bit into a muffin, my mouth exploded with the wonderful flavor! Oh it was so good. The girl next to me bit into her muffin and her mouth exploded too but for a different reason – she almost spit everything out! Then she turned to her friend and said, “this is pure sugar!” I was embarrassed. Such a vivid recollection that is in my head, and I can still taste that muffin if I think about it. But even more vivid is the loneliness - I was traveling by myself, and at that point I felt more alone than ever.

         This morning, however, I am the only one in the house, but I am not at all alone. Life is full, and now that I’ve been pondering on it so much,  I’ve got an inkling to make a batch of raspberry preserves!

20180507 raspberry preserves