My apologies to my myriad of readers (smile). I did not realize that I had inadvertently stopped anyone from commenting on my new posts. I know everyone is feeling writer-deprived by the mistake.
I really do consider myself fairly technologically minded -- semi-computer savvy with heavy emphasis on the semi part. However, I read the instructions erroneously, I guess.
Thanks to APN for emailing me my faux pas. Hopefully everyone will now flock to the site and read all about the Newton Nut House and Fine Emporium, and COMMENT. I want everyone who reads this blog to know I have a few friends. HAHAHA
Hey, APN -- did I ever tell you that even intelligent, educated people in the 40's and 50's pronounced "faux pas" as "fox paw". There was even some kind of story explaining why a "fox paws" was a social blunder -- poor fox what did he do...
Now, on with Act II, Scene 1...
Saturday, November 3, 2007
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Ode to Witch Hazel
It was October 31, 1921. Late. It was the night of a full moon, too. Into a family of 3 children, a little girl was born. She was a tiny thing, but with a big voice. Her grandpa was there for the “birthin’”. He looked into the face of the brand new baby, and said she was an “old soul”. She had probably lived for hundreds of years. She had a shock of red hair, and right out of the womb, she had the “darkest of brown eyes”. He proclaimed that “red hair and brown eyes was a sign of the devil” – she was a witch -- and being born on a full moon verified that thought. He named her Jezebel.
Isn’t that a HORRIBLE tag to place on a beautiful baby girl! Her mama stood up against the older man and reminded him that they were a Christian home and they would NOT be naming a baby Jezebel! He backed down after about 2 days and named my mama “Jessie Beatrice”. She went most of her life as “Jessie B”. Pretty close to Jezebel, if you ask me…
That’s the beginning of the story for my mama: Jessie Beatrice McMahon Adams. A witch. Back in a time in our very recent past when no one thought anything evil about Jessie saying she was a witch. Boy, you go around nowadays saying your Sunday School teacher, or PTA President, or Camp Fire leader, or Cub Scout Den Mother, or even just your favorite hairdresser was a WITCH. Different response all together. Hm-m-m-m…
Paul even joked about the fact that he was probably the only man that could call his mother-in-law “an old witch” and get away with it!!!
But there couldn’t have been a woman further from a witch, or even a bad person. She was love personified. Good, kind, meek, gentle, a wonderful mother, a giving wife, the best of friends. But she’d tell you she was a witch, after all, and once a year she would try to prove it!
She loved Halloween and dressing up as “Witch Hazel”. It was her mission once a year to actually turn into Witch Hazel and see just how many people she could trick! You see – she was good!!! She already had this red hair! Plus, she had red hair pieces that had been made from her own hair that she had weaved into forms when she would cut her hair. She let them fall naturally down her back, and being “real hair”, they were dry from age, so they stuck out down her back.
She had this slinky black skirt that had about 8 gores made into it that would ripple when she turned. She had “lacy leg” hose that I have no idea where she got such an item in the ‘50’s. They were really something else – really lacy legs – but she said all of her spiders weaved them for her. She had an incredible black thigh-length jacket with lots of pockets she had sewn into it to put extra spiders, webbing, candy, or whatever.
She made this fabulous nose out of silly putty and put it on her face, under her glasses, and then coated her face and nose with green face powder. (that she bought at Bluestein’s – who’d a thought!!!) She added a few extra warts for effect, plus spider earrings, necklaces, and other jewelry. Plus she had made this fine witches hat. Out of satin, nonetheless, too
She was so very real looking. And she was GREAT!!!
Then off she would go to Port Arthur public schools. She would pass out candy and let the kids talk to her spiders, and talk to them about being safe on Halloween night. She was a “good witch”, and wanted them to be “good little goblins”, too. She was the best.
This went on every year. All through the 3 of us kids being in school, and after we were grown and had left. She even came out to West Hardin when I was teaching there for a huge Birthday party in her honor. She loved it!
Few people can imagine what it was like for her when her grandchildren were in Port Arthur schools and she was told she couldn’t come to school any more. Halloween had become too real, too scary, and too violent for them to bring a “witch” to school. The school board had spoken.
She was devastated. How could anyone not want Witch Hazel to come and love on the kids and tell them to be safe. She was truly wounded. However, in true Jessie-style, she rebounded quickly. Surely there was someone that would appreciate her venture. And there were – the area nursing homes and facilities welcomed her with open arms. She had a calling once again. For a while she even talked Andrew into dressing up life a cat and being “Felix” along with Hazel. What a pair!!!
Not one to “celebrate” Halloween myself, but…to the one and only Witch Hazel…
Happy Birthday, mama. Words can never express how much we all miss you. You were the greatest mom in the world. Thanks for showing me the way towards motherhood. I can only hope and pray I have influenced my children as much as you did me…
Isn’t that a HORRIBLE tag to place on a beautiful baby girl! Her mama stood up against the older man and reminded him that they were a Christian home and they would NOT be naming a baby Jezebel! He backed down after about 2 days and named my mama “Jessie Beatrice”. She went most of her life as “Jessie B”. Pretty close to Jezebel, if you ask me…
That’s the beginning of the story for my mama: Jessie Beatrice McMahon Adams. A witch. Back in a time in our very recent past when no one thought anything evil about Jessie saying she was a witch. Boy, you go around nowadays saying your Sunday School teacher, or PTA President, or Camp Fire leader, or Cub Scout Den Mother, or even just your favorite hairdresser was a WITCH. Different response all together. Hm-m-m-m…
Paul even joked about the fact that he was probably the only man that could call his mother-in-law “an old witch” and get away with it!!!
But there couldn’t have been a woman further from a witch, or even a bad person. She was love personified. Good, kind, meek, gentle, a wonderful mother, a giving wife, the best of friends. But she’d tell you she was a witch, after all, and once a year she would try to prove it!
She loved Halloween and dressing up as “Witch Hazel”. It was her mission once a year to actually turn into Witch Hazel and see just how many people she could trick! You see – she was good!!! She already had this red hair! Plus, she had red hair pieces that had been made from her own hair that she had weaved into forms when she would cut her hair. She let them fall naturally down her back, and being “real hair”, they were dry from age, so they stuck out down her back.
She had this slinky black skirt that had about 8 gores made into it that would ripple when she turned. She had “lacy leg” hose that I have no idea where she got such an item in the ‘50’s. They were really something else – really lacy legs – but she said all of her spiders weaved them for her. She had an incredible black thigh-length jacket with lots of pockets she had sewn into it to put extra spiders, webbing, candy, or whatever.
She made this fabulous nose out of silly putty and put it on her face, under her glasses, and then coated her face and nose with green face powder. (that she bought at Bluestein’s – who’d a thought!!!) She added a few extra warts for effect, plus spider earrings, necklaces, and other jewelry. Plus she had made this fine witches hat. Out of satin, nonetheless, too
She was so very real looking. And she was GREAT!!!
Then off she would go to Port Arthur public schools. She would pass out candy and let the kids talk to her spiders, and talk to them about being safe on Halloween night. She was a “good witch”, and wanted them to be “good little goblins”, too. She was the best.
This went on every year. All through the 3 of us kids being in school, and after we were grown and had left. She even came out to West Hardin when I was teaching there for a huge Birthday party in her honor. She loved it!
Few people can imagine what it was like for her when her grandchildren were in Port Arthur schools and she was told she couldn’t come to school any more. Halloween had become too real, too scary, and too violent for them to bring a “witch” to school. The school board had spoken.
She was devastated. How could anyone not want Witch Hazel to come and love on the kids and tell them to be safe. She was truly wounded. However, in true Jessie-style, she rebounded quickly. Surely there was someone that would appreciate her venture. And there were – the area nursing homes and facilities welcomed her with open arms. She had a calling once again. For a while she even talked Andrew into dressing up life a cat and being “Felix” along with Hazel. What a pair!!!
Not one to “celebrate” Halloween myself, but…to the one and only Witch Hazel…
Happy Birthday, mama. Words can never express how much we all miss you. You were the greatest mom in the world. Thanks for showing me the way towards motherhood. I can only hope and pray I have influenced my children as much as you did me…
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Off/On/Off/On
Growing up in Port Arthur, TX during the 50’s, 60’s and 70’s appears to have been an interesting time. Janis Joplin and I didn’t share the same perspective of my hometown. I lived a rather idyllic life, perhaps truly with my fingers in my ears saying “nyah-nyah-nyah” and not paying one bit of attention to what was going on around me. Or at least that is what my brothers think. I never had even heard of the term “refinery mentality” until I was grown. I had no idea that people thought less of Port Arthurans, or that we were suspected to be rough or trashy. Never crossed my mind. I was just living the life: growing up, going from watching Gunsmoke to the Monkees on TV, being in Blue Birds and Campfire, dance lessons from “Mr Johnny”, piano lessons, going to Central Baptist Church and involved in every facet of church life, touring with Melody Maids, loving school, and liking boys. (It was always the boys that kept me in trouble beginning in 1st grade. I had to sit in the corner for kissing Jimmy Hughes behind the boiler house at Lee elementary school. It went kinda down hill from there, I guess. But this is DEFINITELY another story!)
On the surface, my parents were fairly typical parents, too. Mother was involved in our lives, doing all of the right mother stuff. One major difference, however was that mother worked. None of my other friends’ moms worked. Mine did well, too. Made good money, too. Daddy worked at Texaco, always working shift work, plus he always had a second or third job. He loved money, and loved to spend it, too. My parents and their money. I never truly understood it, I always guessed it was living during the Depression and being old enough to be affected by the loss AND remembering it!.
I really can never remember much “cussing’ growing up. My daddy threw a few of “damns” and “hells” around when things were tense at home, and I actually remember him getting mad at some parents that he felt were neglecting their kids and called them “lazy SOB’s” however with words included. But my mama simply abhorred dirty language. The end. Or it was until we kids got older and cussing was the way to express yourself and be cool. Or so we thought.
My brother, Kelly, was the first to try to get away with cussing in front on my mama. I would say he was a brave soul, but he wasn’t – just nervy! He got mad and said, “that just pisses me off”. Well my mother, in her soft ways, just looked him DIRECTLY in the eyes and said, “Well, Kelly, I’ve found that it’s always better to be pissed off than to be pissed on”. Talk about shutting a mouthy teenager up!Think about that next time you say the phrase...Hm-m-m-m. Whole new perspective, huh.
The next one to try to “mouth off” in front of Mama was my friend Vikki. I could never imagine Vikki getting sassy enough with my mom, but she did – once. She was standing by the back door and said “S—T”. With her typical sleekness, Mama looked at Vikki (yes, directly in the eyes) and said, “You know, Vikki, I wouldn’t have that on my shoe, much less in my mouth”. Talk about getting the point across!!!
But that was it. I spent years learning to cuss and out cuss just about everybody! I thought it was so cool. No one could convince me that “studies showed” that only dumb people cussed because they didn’t know what else to say. Wrong. I knew exactly what to say. Then I met Paul. He wasn’t real fond of trashy mouth girls. Okay, I’ll clean up this mouth a little. Then came Adam. I wasn’t about to have my child hear me cuss. I’ll clean up this mouth some more. (Don’t you wish the parents behind you in WalMart felt that way now!!!) Then came the Lord, and he finished the work. Oh, I have to admit, it hasn’t always been easy, but it has always been right.
Recently, I was introduced to a new facet / opponent in my new career: Insurance companies. Whether it is Blue Cross, or Medicare, or Medicaid – I feel like I have met a worthy adversary. They truly have strange, ingenious torture systems built right into them. They do not want to give you money, they do not want to have to pay a claim, and they want you to be the one to quite trying. They know how to hold you over the pit trying to get you to yell “uncle, uncle – you win”. A worthy adversary, indeed. However, like in most other times in my life when I am faced with an obstacle, I do one of two things, (rarely anything in the middle): I determine that I will win, or I quickly abdicate and let the new opponent win.
Oh-h-h-h…this time I WILL win. But it is quite a learning curve that seems endlessly long. And it has brought out my evil twin. I have let my mouth override my common sense. It has been such a frustrating endeavor trying to win the Match, that when I have lost Round 1 or Round 2, I have said the “wordy dird”. Felt good. Felt appropriate. Felt like I had control. NOT! NOT! NOT!
Thankfully, conviction is winning and so is God. I have NO desire to have to relearn some of the many lessons I have had to learn in the 25 years that I have strived to live for God. I do not EVER want to go back, either.
So why the mouth? Who knows! Whatever! Going through this strange depression surely hasn’t helped my frame of mind. I just know that not only can I hear the sigh of God when I am saying trash I don’t need to say, but also I can hear Jessie’s sigh of frustration, too. I can see her face with those piercing brown eyes just boring holes through me letting me know SHE KNEW I’d done something wrong. She was never a yeller, or a screamer, rarely even raised her voice. BUT she did know how to give “the look”. I was so glad she was a forgiving mom, and knew how to help me get right and want to do right, too.
So glad He’s a forgiving God, and knows how to help me get right and want to do right, too. More importantly, I so glad He’s the God of 2nd chances – and 3rd, and 4th, and 5th one, too.
On the surface, my parents were fairly typical parents, too. Mother was involved in our lives, doing all of the right mother stuff. One major difference, however was that mother worked. None of my other friends’ moms worked. Mine did well, too. Made good money, too. Daddy worked at Texaco, always working shift work, plus he always had a second or third job. He loved money, and loved to spend it, too. My parents and their money. I never truly understood it, I always guessed it was living during the Depression and being old enough to be affected by the loss AND remembering it!.
I really can never remember much “cussing’ growing up. My daddy threw a few of “damns” and “hells” around when things were tense at home, and I actually remember him getting mad at some parents that he felt were neglecting their kids and called them “lazy SOB’s” however with words included. But my mama simply abhorred dirty language. The end. Or it was until we kids got older and cussing was the way to express yourself and be cool. Or so we thought.
My brother, Kelly, was the first to try to get away with cussing in front on my mama. I would say he was a brave soul, but he wasn’t – just nervy! He got mad and said, “that just pisses me off”. Well my mother, in her soft ways, just looked him DIRECTLY in the eyes and said, “Well, Kelly, I’ve found that it’s always better to be pissed off than to be pissed on”. Talk about shutting a mouthy teenager up!Think about that next time you say the phrase...Hm-m-m-m. Whole new perspective, huh.
The next one to try to “mouth off” in front of Mama was my friend Vikki. I could never imagine Vikki getting sassy enough with my mom, but she did – once. She was standing by the back door and said “S—T”. With her typical sleekness, Mama looked at Vikki (yes, directly in the eyes) and said, “You know, Vikki, I wouldn’t have that on my shoe, much less in my mouth”. Talk about getting the point across!!!
But that was it. I spent years learning to cuss and out cuss just about everybody! I thought it was so cool. No one could convince me that “studies showed” that only dumb people cussed because they didn’t know what else to say. Wrong. I knew exactly what to say. Then I met Paul. He wasn’t real fond of trashy mouth girls. Okay, I’ll clean up this mouth a little. Then came Adam. I wasn’t about to have my child hear me cuss. I’ll clean up this mouth some more. (Don’t you wish the parents behind you in WalMart felt that way now!!!) Then came the Lord, and he finished the work. Oh, I have to admit, it hasn’t always been easy, but it has always been right.
Recently, I was introduced to a new facet / opponent in my new career: Insurance companies. Whether it is Blue Cross, or Medicare, or Medicaid – I feel like I have met a worthy adversary. They truly have strange, ingenious torture systems built right into them. They do not want to give you money, they do not want to have to pay a claim, and they want you to be the one to quite trying. They know how to hold you over the pit trying to get you to yell “uncle, uncle – you win”. A worthy adversary, indeed. However, like in most other times in my life when I am faced with an obstacle, I do one of two things, (rarely anything in the middle): I determine that I will win, or I quickly abdicate and let the new opponent win.
Oh-h-h-h…this time I WILL win. But it is quite a learning curve that seems endlessly long. And it has brought out my evil twin. I have let my mouth override my common sense. It has been such a frustrating endeavor trying to win the Match, that when I have lost Round 1 or Round 2, I have said the “wordy dird”. Felt good. Felt appropriate. Felt like I had control. NOT! NOT! NOT!
Thankfully, conviction is winning and so is God. I have NO desire to have to relearn some of the many lessons I have had to learn in the 25 years that I have strived to live for God. I do not EVER want to go back, either.
So why the mouth? Who knows! Whatever! Going through this strange depression surely hasn’t helped my frame of mind. I just know that not only can I hear the sigh of God when I am saying trash I don’t need to say, but also I can hear Jessie’s sigh of frustration, too. I can see her face with those piercing brown eyes just boring holes through me letting me know SHE KNEW I’d done something wrong. She was never a yeller, or a screamer, rarely even raised her voice. BUT she did know how to give “the look”. I was so glad she was a forgiving mom, and knew how to help me get right and want to do right, too.
So glad He’s a forgiving God, and knows how to help me get right and want to do right, too. More importantly, I so glad He’s the God of 2nd chances – and 3rd, and 4th, and 5th one, too.
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Orange macaroni
I’ve probably tried them all. From Weight Watchers to NutriSystem, from old school “Wisconsin Diet” to new-fangled “South Beach Diet”. All with incredibly limited success. I’ve tried to “just accept the way I am” – bigger and better for Jesus (hahaha) – again with limited success. I hate being fat. It is just that simple. Also, I simply don’t seem to have the intrinsic capabilities to get thin. I guess I really live and love the joke that there’s a skinny girl inside of me just screaming to be let out, and I keep her quiet with chocolate…or something like that, I think.
The most important thing is, however, I try to eat right and feed my family the right foods. We have definitely seen both ends of the spectrum on this subject, too. We’re on the uphill side, though. The downhill side began insidiously about 22 years ago…
I truly love the Willow Tree collection by Demdaco. They have come to hold a very special meaning in my life. And like other collections, they are some “meaningful” portrayals: mother and child, father and child, mother and father, new mother, and so on. Again, meaningful portrayals of life situations. Where are the TRUE portrayals, though. I have never seen a Willow Tree or a Precious Moments figurine of a mother and her three children all clinging to her skirt as she ushers them through the grocery store. Where’s the cute little depiction of a mother with two in the stroller, another holding her hand, and there’s obviously only weeks to go before there’s an addition to the family. Where are those pretty representations?!? Huh?!?
A larger family is still a most beautiful thing. Don’t ever get me wrong. I wouldn’t trade my four sons for anything in this world. If God wouldn’t have intervened, I would have had many more. I love large families. I feel it is God’s way: He opens the womb and he closes it. But with two kids everything is balanced: One for mama. One for daddy. Everyone is taken care of and everyone has a “buddy”. Then there’s the third child. Suddenly – you as parents are outnumbered. Who will manage the third one? Or if you’re alone, what mother has three arms? Do you see the dilemma?
Our little “back to nature” family was ambling along though life just fine. We had a garden – grew a lot of our own vegetables. I baked our own bread twice a week, always making a couple of extra loaves to share with other families. We ate organically, as much as we could – there wasn’t an organic section in Howard’s grocery store, I guarantee!!! I didn’t let artificial colors or preservatives come into my house. Not for my babies!
Then Adam went to Kindergarten. Did I know that the other children had write bread for sandwiches? It was prettier than my bread. The other kids had Ding Dongs and Twinkies. He had an apple, or some fruit leather, or a good banana nut muffin with extra wheat germ and sprouted wheat. Not even close… And then Halloween came. His first school party. He was ecstatic -- he was the bubbliest little kid. He came out of the school, little candy bag in his hand, and oh I wish I could paint a better picture with mere words. His eyes sparkled with excitement. He couldn’t wait to share his days events. Guess what he had at school that day? GUM! It was so-o-o-o good! Why hadn’t he ever had any before…? Oh, things were quickly spiraling out my control.
And by then,we had the third child. My hands were more than full, and as I said before, we were outnumbered. Our little family was growing not only in size, but also in age. We were moving out of our little space of absolute control in the home into “extra-curricular activities”. There were Sunday School parties, we joined Cub Scouts, we had neighborhood friends and “sleepovers”. There were birthday parties at Putt Putt. Need I go on…
Plus. we were busy. If our kids were going to be involved, well, as parents, so were we. We joined PTA. We joined Scouts. We taught Sunday School. We organized parties. We helped other mothers with their activities. Again, need I really go on…
Soon, as my children’s worlds expanded, they brought home grand stories of even grander adventures in the food world: Did I know that Grandma’s macaroni and cheese was ORANGE!!! Why was ours just plain. Did I know that Marla got her spaghetti sauce out of a JAR!!! It is good, too. It doesn’t have green things in it like yours. Did you know that you could get biscuits out of a CAN and make doughnuts with them? And then there was Cokes, and chips, and cheese puffs, and real life.
Soon there were four little boys in the family. Life is really real, too. Basically, we started looking for ways to cook/eat easier, faster, “make everybody happier”, and also CHEAPER.
We strayed for a long time in the world of not always eating right, but there were areas where we never slacked. We’ve never allowed a lot of preservatives or artificial colorings. I’ve never bought or made white bread. I’ve never cooked a lot of sugary desserts.
I have said all of this to say this: Last Monday, Oct 1, was my number 3 son’s birthday: his 22nd for the second time (but that’s another story). We are all doing everything we can to eat right. We’re sitting around the table and I tell the orange macaroni and cheese story – and he asks for macaroni and cheese like I used to make. Did you know that you can buy boxed whole wheat macaroni with white cheese with no additives? Well, I didn’t – but there it was in the natural food section at the store. I bought some, looking for the easy way out to Matt’s request. Big Mistake. Here I am, still 22 years later looking for the fast way to healthy eating for a family that is too busy.
The fast way doesn’t exist. Neither does the cheap way. If you want healthy, it will cost you, and you will have to take the time to do it right. It is worth it in the long run.
The same with family, except the fast way truly exists. They grow up only too fast. So it is imperative that you do what it takes to do it right. It will definitely take time. It will definitely “cost” you. But you only have one chance to try to do it right. It IS worth it.
The most important thing is, however, I try to eat right and feed my family the right foods. We have definitely seen both ends of the spectrum on this subject, too. We’re on the uphill side, though. The downhill side began insidiously about 22 years ago…
I truly love the Willow Tree collection by Demdaco. They have come to hold a very special meaning in my life. And like other collections, they are some “meaningful” portrayals: mother and child, father and child, mother and father, new mother, and so on. Again, meaningful portrayals of life situations. Where are the TRUE portrayals, though. I have never seen a Willow Tree or a Precious Moments figurine of a mother and her three children all clinging to her skirt as she ushers them through the grocery store. Where’s the cute little depiction of a mother with two in the stroller, another holding her hand, and there’s obviously only weeks to go before there’s an addition to the family. Where are those pretty representations?!? Huh?!?
A larger family is still a most beautiful thing. Don’t ever get me wrong. I wouldn’t trade my four sons for anything in this world. If God wouldn’t have intervened, I would have had many more. I love large families. I feel it is God’s way: He opens the womb and he closes it. But with two kids everything is balanced: One for mama. One for daddy. Everyone is taken care of and everyone has a “buddy”. Then there’s the third child. Suddenly – you as parents are outnumbered. Who will manage the third one? Or if you’re alone, what mother has three arms? Do you see the dilemma?
Our little “back to nature” family was ambling along though life just fine. We had a garden – grew a lot of our own vegetables. I baked our own bread twice a week, always making a couple of extra loaves to share with other families. We ate organically, as much as we could – there wasn’t an organic section in Howard’s grocery store, I guarantee!!! I didn’t let artificial colors or preservatives come into my house. Not for my babies!
Then Adam went to Kindergarten. Did I know that the other children had write bread for sandwiches? It was prettier than my bread. The other kids had Ding Dongs and Twinkies. He had an apple, or some fruit leather, or a good banana nut muffin with extra wheat germ and sprouted wheat. Not even close… And then Halloween came. His first school party. He was ecstatic -- he was the bubbliest little kid. He came out of the school, little candy bag in his hand, and oh I wish I could paint a better picture with mere words. His eyes sparkled with excitement. He couldn’t wait to share his days events. Guess what he had at school that day? GUM! It was so-o-o-o good! Why hadn’t he ever had any before…? Oh, things were quickly spiraling out my control.
And by then,we had the third child. My hands were more than full, and as I said before, we were outnumbered. Our little family was growing not only in size, but also in age. We were moving out of our little space of absolute control in the home into “extra-curricular activities”. There were Sunday School parties, we joined Cub Scouts, we had neighborhood friends and “sleepovers”. There were birthday parties at Putt Putt. Need I go on…
Plus. we were busy. If our kids were going to be involved, well, as parents, so were we. We joined PTA. We joined Scouts. We taught Sunday School. We organized parties. We helped other mothers with their activities. Again, need I really go on…
Soon, as my children’s worlds expanded, they brought home grand stories of even grander adventures in the food world: Did I know that Grandma’s macaroni and cheese was ORANGE!!! Why was ours just plain. Did I know that Marla got her spaghetti sauce out of a JAR!!! It is good, too. It doesn’t have green things in it like yours. Did you know that you could get biscuits out of a CAN and make doughnuts with them? And then there was Cokes, and chips, and cheese puffs, and real life.
Soon there were four little boys in the family. Life is really real, too. Basically, we started looking for ways to cook/eat easier, faster, “make everybody happier”, and also CHEAPER.
We strayed for a long time in the world of not always eating right, but there were areas where we never slacked. We’ve never allowed a lot of preservatives or artificial colorings. I’ve never bought or made white bread. I’ve never cooked a lot of sugary desserts.
I have said all of this to say this: Last Monday, Oct 1, was my number 3 son’s birthday: his 22nd for the second time (but that’s another story). We are all doing everything we can to eat right. We’re sitting around the table and I tell the orange macaroni and cheese story – and he asks for macaroni and cheese like I used to make. Did you know that you can buy boxed whole wheat macaroni with white cheese with no additives? Well, I didn’t – but there it was in the natural food section at the store. I bought some, looking for the easy way out to Matt’s request. Big Mistake. Here I am, still 22 years later looking for the fast way to healthy eating for a family that is too busy.
The fast way doesn’t exist. Neither does the cheap way. If you want healthy, it will cost you, and you will have to take the time to do it right. It is worth it in the long run.
The same with family, except the fast way truly exists. They grow up only too fast. So it is imperative that you do what it takes to do it right. It will definitely take time. It will definitely “cost” you. But you only have one chance to try to do it right. It IS worth it.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
A Mother's Sweet "Revenge"
As a Christian, trying to raise not only my own children, but helping to influence other kids, too, to live a Godly life in a less than godly environment, I have been challenged by the expression “tell a story”. As a child of the 50’s, we lived such a pristine life – no really an ostrich life – never saying bad words such as “pregnant” or “divorce” or “lie”. The only time I know that one could say “lie” and not get that ugly look was when talking about George Washington. We at least could say he never told a lie and that was okay – but don’t ever say “You lied”, or “That’s a lie”, or – the worst – “You’re a liar”. That was not tolerated. One simply “told a little story.”
So, when I want to tell a “story”, or talk about a “story”, I immediately get that “uh-oh” feeling. I can hear Jessie B – my saintly mama saying, “Are you sure you’re telling the truth? We don’t want to be telling stories, now do we?” But I do have stories, and I do want to tell them and the difference is these stories are the truth (at least the way I remember – hahaha). The stories are sometimes about my growing up years – my daddy was worthy of a book himself – but mainly centered around the growing up years of my 4 sons – the main reason I have early onset senility and a head full of very grey hair!
For as long as I can remember, my sons have joked about my repetitive story telling. They even suggested numbering my stories so they can simply yell “number 12” and not have to hear the whole story one more time. While I haven’t always appreciated their witticism, I have wanted to get the stories “down” instead of always depending on my memory. I had a grandfather that had some of the neatest stories of growing up in Texas from 1882 – wild and wooly Texans, Indians, wildcatting at Spindletop and in Mexia, even riding with the Texas Rangers – and while he told these stories, I was young, and didn’t really want to listen to the ramblings of an old man. Now, while I have some vague ideas, the details are buried – literally. Why he never wrote them down… That’s why I want to write down some of my kids’ stories. It is their history. It is their lives that made mine and their daddy’s journey these last 30 years so much richer. I don’t want them to forget the fun.
Wait. That’s not completely true. It wasn’t all fun. But, it was all an adventure. Hey guys – that’s it. Don’t you get it?!?!? I love this! This is just perfect! This is truly a mother’s revenge! I love it! I love it!
While you dreaded getting into the car for those infamous weekend rides – you even called them ugly names, “Mom and Dad’s Bogus Journey” – it has come the proverbial Full Circle. It truly has been a “Mom and Dad Excellent Adventure.”
And don’t you ever forget it!! HAHAHA!!
So, when I want to tell a “story”, or talk about a “story”, I immediately get that “uh-oh” feeling. I can hear Jessie B – my saintly mama saying, “Are you sure you’re telling the truth? We don’t want to be telling stories, now do we?” But I do have stories, and I do want to tell them and the difference is these stories are the truth (at least the way I remember – hahaha). The stories are sometimes about my growing up years – my daddy was worthy of a book himself – but mainly centered around the growing up years of my 4 sons – the main reason I have early onset senility and a head full of very grey hair!
For as long as I can remember, my sons have joked about my repetitive story telling. They even suggested numbering my stories so they can simply yell “number 12” and not have to hear the whole story one more time. While I haven’t always appreciated their witticism, I have wanted to get the stories “down” instead of always depending on my memory. I had a grandfather that had some of the neatest stories of growing up in Texas from 1882 – wild and wooly Texans, Indians, wildcatting at Spindletop and in Mexia, even riding with the Texas Rangers – and while he told these stories, I was young, and didn’t really want to listen to the ramblings of an old man. Now, while I have some vague ideas, the details are buried – literally. Why he never wrote them down… That’s why I want to write down some of my kids’ stories. It is their history. It is their lives that made mine and their daddy’s journey these last 30 years so much richer. I don’t want them to forget the fun.
Wait. That’s not completely true. It wasn’t all fun. But, it was all an adventure. Hey guys – that’s it. Don’t you get it?!?!? I love this! This is just perfect! This is truly a mother’s revenge! I love it! I love it!
While you dreaded getting into the car for those infamous weekend rides – you even called them ugly names, “Mom and Dad’s Bogus Journey” – it has come the proverbial Full Circle. It truly has been a “Mom and Dad Excellent Adventure.”
And don’t you ever forget it!! HAHAHA!!
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Perception -- is it really everything?!
Well, the best laid plans…, And so on and so on and Scooby dooby do on…, and all of that…
My original intent, and still my primary focus, is to use this “blog” as the place to get my stories – finally – about motherhood and mothering, and life with my sons, out of the cobwebs of my mind and onto “paper”. However, things can change, can they? As a young girl growing up in the late ‘50’s and ‘60’s, I was encouraged to believe that a woman’s prerogative was to change her mind. Of course, we don’t talk in non-politically correct terms anymore, but there are some old adages that are worth trying to use when one deems it appropriate.
“Perception is everything” is another adage that has seen it’s time and perhaps is passing from usage. However, I believe it to be quite true. Here’s an example: This past weekend, Paul’s youngest brother and his wife came to visit. Really a treat, and an unexpected one, too. He’s probably the only in-law that likes me, and he is definitely the only one that has made an attempt to be in my boys’ lives. (ie coming to birthdays, Eagle Scout events, graduations, etc.) He’s a great man, very witty and smart, and very talented. And, so is his wife. They’ve only been married about 3 years, and we all really like her and glad she’s a member of the family.
Well, Tom told a story about when he was still in college and was painting Adam’s room with a “Wink ‘em, Blink ‘em, and Nod” motif, complete with shooting stars. He said that I told him he reminded me of the Carly Simon song “You’re so Vain”, because I felt he must be the vainest guy I knew because every time he walked past a mirror, he looked in it, smiled, fixed his hair or something. He assured me that even today my remark still kinda stung, because he was far from vain, instead being very insecure and unsure of himself, especially in the looks department.
Deliver me!!! This was 28 years ago!!! He was the cutest of guys then and is still a nice looking man at 50! Not only is he a good looking man, he only looks about 40! Unfair! And he was walking by the mirror checking himself out because he was afraid he was a dork. Who would have believed that!!! I perceived Tom to really have it all together – and knowing what to do with it!!! Then, it’s the perception was everything to me, but nothing to him.
However, in observing my 4 sons, who are the biological sons of me and Paul, been raised in the same house (we didn’t farm any of them out, promise!!), one can’t help but notice they are 4 of the most different men I know. They were raised by a mother that read the books about children’s self-esteem and tried her best to make sure the other people in their lives at least heard of some of the positive techniques. (I’m sorry, Stephen. Nothing could change your Paw Paw making “wah-h-h-h, wah-h-h-h” noises and horrible faces when you cried. Talk about self-esteem issues.) While I wondered, even worried, about them growing up with such well-defined egos they would believe they were invincible and unbeatable, and not depend on God enough, they are not as self-assured as I want them to be. Yes, I know I have one son that knows he’s “Superman” or at least is every girl’s “Knight in Shining Armor”, but that’s not what I’m talking about.
It’s the perception thing, still. It’s what I “perceived” I wanted them to be vs. what I “perceive” them as being today. I wanted them to grow up to be ready to tackle the world – to be ready to do anything and be able to do anything. Can they not do that? It was my perception that they would grow up to be successful, rich businessmen. Granted, while two of them are still young enough to be in college, none of them is quite what I perceived them to be. Hm-m-m-m…What then is successful? What is rich? Successful with money, with women, with God, with themselves… Rich in these same parameters… How shallow can I be! On the other hand, how normal is that for mothers? What did I perceive would be the “right thing” for them?
Again, it’s all a perception thing. As I was writing this down, trying to put my thoughts into some logical order, attempting erudition and eloquence, I began to read it aloud to two of my sons. Quietness ensued, and then my critical son – known to me as “my worst critic” -- bellowed this long, extended, LOUD Burp! Perception truly is everything. Some things never change and some adages are “truisms” always.
My original intent, and still my primary focus, is to use this “blog” as the place to get my stories – finally – about motherhood and mothering, and life with my sons, out of the cobwebs of my mind and onto “paper”. However, things can change, can they? As a young girl growing up in the late ‘50’s and ‘60’s, I was encouraged to believe that a woman’s prerogative was to change her mind. Of course, we don’t talk in non-politically correct terms anymore, but there are some old adages that are worth trying to use when one deems it appropriate.
“Perception is everything” is another adage that has seen it’s time and perhaps is passing from usage. However, I believe it to be quite true. Here’s an example: This past weekend, Paul’s youngest brother and his wife came to visit. Really a treat, and an unexpected one, too. He’s probably the only in-law that likes me, and he is definitely the only one that has made an attempt to be in my boys’ lives. (ie coming to birthdays, Eagle Scout events, graduations, etc.) He’s a great man, very witty and smart, and very talented. And, so is his wife. They’ve only been married about 3 years, and we all really like her and glad she’s a member of the family.
Well, Tom told a story about when he was still in college and was painting Adam’s room with a “Wink ‘em, Blink ‘em, and Nod” motif, complete with shooting stars. He said that I told him he reminded me of the Carly Simon song “You’re so Vain”, because I felt he must be the vainest guy I knew because every time he walked past a mirror, he looked in it, smiled, fixed his hair or something. He assured me that even today my remark still kinda stung, because he was far from vain, instead being very insecure and unsure of himself, especially in the looks department.
Deliver me!!! This was 28 years ago!!! He was the cutest of guys then and is still a nice looking man at 50! Not only is he a good looking man, he only looks about 40! Unfair! And he was walking by the mirror checking himself out because he was afraid he was a dork. Who would have believed that!!! I perceived Tom to really have it all together – and knowing what to do with it!!! Then, it’s the perception was everything to me, but nothing to him.
However, in observing my 4 sons, who are the biological sons of me and Paul, been raised in the same house (we didn’t farm any of them out, promise!!), one can’t help but notice they are 4 of the most different men I know. They were raised by a mother that read the books about children’s self-esteem and tried her best to make sure the other people in their lives at least heard of some of the positive techniques. (I’m sorry, Stephen. Nothing could change your Paw Paw making “wah-h-h-h, wah-h-h-h” noises and horrible faces when you cried. Talk about self-esteem issues.) While I wondered, even worried, about them growing up with such well-defined egos they would believe they were invincible and unbeatable, and not depend on God enough, they are not as self-assured as I want them to be. Yes, I know I have one son that knows he’s “Superman” or at least is every girl’s “Knight in Shining Armor”, but that’s not what I’m talking about.
It’s the perception thing, still. It’s what I “perceived” I wanted them to be vs. what I “perceive” them as being today. I wanted them to grow up to be ready to tackle the world – to be ready to do anything and be able to do anything. Can they not do that? It was my perception that they would grow up to be successful, rich businessmen. Granted, while two of them are still young enough to be in college, none of them is quite what I perceived them to be. Hm-m-m-m…What then is successful? What is rich? Successful with money, with women, with God, with themselves… Rich in these same parameters… How shallow can I be! On the other hand, how normal is that for mothers? What did I perceive would be the “right thing” for them?
Again, it’s all a perception thing. As I was writing this down, trying to put my thoughts into some logical order, attempting erudition and eloquence, I began to read it aloud to two of my sons. Quietness ensued, and then my critical son – known to me as “my worst critic” -- bellowed this long, extended, LOUD Burp! Perception truly is everything. Some things never change and some adages are “truisms” always.
Saturday, September 8, 2007
"Let's start at the very beginning. A very good place to start."
Motherhood
Sorry guys (i.e. the men folk), but you’ll never understand it, appreciate it, or comprehend it. And girls, you too will never fully grasp the true scope and sequence of the word unless you join the ranks of motherhood.
Mothering
Yes, and while it is both a noun and a verb, it is a term that should not /never be compared or confused with Smothering. While many of us have felt the two were often synonymous, they are not. In fact, they are truly polars apart. I have so many people in my life to thank for helping me learn the fine art of “Mothering,” and while I have tried to share this knowledge with many other women, not all women have been receptive. Of course, there are many, many levels of mothering, many kinds of mothering and we shouldn’t be “judgmental” of those who “do it” differently. HOWEVER, thankfully, there were women who risked my non-acceptance of them and their ideas to share with me a lifestyle of mothering/loving/nurturing/parenting my children that I embraced. I would have been far less of a mother if I would have followed the traditional mores of the late 70’s and early 80’s, and I never would have had the chance to have the relationship with my now grown children that I so cherish.
Mother
On June 25, 1979, at 11:11 am, a nurse placed into my arms my first-born son for me to hold for the first time. He was a wanted and welcomed baby. I was 25 yrs old, my husband 30; but my parents were 58 and70! And this was their first grandchild! Wanted and welcomed, to say the very least! Here’s your baby. He’s yours. It’s your turn to take care of him. The interesting part of this baby-holding experience is that he was the very first baby I had ever held! Really!?!? You’ve got to be kidding, you say. No, truly I avoided babies altogether. I hadn’t baby-sat as a teenager like my friends. I was career-minded and didn’t have many friends that were “mommies”. I didn’t have any nieces or nephews that I had known as babies. I wasn’t really the baby type at all. And NOW, what is this cute little red-headed doll someone has placed in my arms that has IMMEDIATELY stolen my heart.
Paul and I had long decided on a more “natural” kind of existence. He was already the “live on an island”-type of guy, and was pulling me – oh, I mean encouraging me -- along into this lifestyle. We were learning to do without many trendy gadgets, opting for more homespun. We had decided that I would be a “stay-at-home” mom, and while I definitely knew that was the right thing to do, there were many other avenues, where I wasn’t going along very well, yet. We desired to have a 70’s style of natural childbirth, complete with daddy in the delivery room and mother-infant bonding via nursing on the delivery table. (These were still very big issues in the late 70’s. Few drs in our area were compliant.) Thankfully, the JERK that was my OB went out of town, and another dr, that seemed not to care what we did, was on call. Of course, we still had to follow the most conservative rules of the hospital (wearing masks and gloves to hold the baby, etc.), but we had a successful experience of sorts.
Finally, back to the mothering part. Let’s face it. I had no clue what I was doing. I don’t know how that could have been correct, however. Why, I had read ALL of the books available at the time whether they were good or not. I wanted to know it all. (The teacher/learner in me!) I was going to be a well-educated mother. Of course, a lot of that book-learning isn’t important, because we all know that this mothering thing is “natural.” All I had to do is follow my instincts. NOT! NOT! NOT! What a joke. Who ever told that lie, and got us all to believe it, was good! But, it is still a lie. I simply had no clue what to do.
Mothered
And, how dare he! This little beautiful red-headed doll wasn’t by Mattel after all. He was a live real baby. AND, he did not follow ANY of the rules in the books. He couldn’t tell time! He didn’t know how to follow a schedule! He wasn’t doing things the “right way”. Again, how dare he! He was messing up! Then, I “obviously” didn’t have enough milk, or my milk was “bad”. Why, this baby needed formula. Now it was ME messing up. I couldn’t even do this “naturally instinctive” mothering stuff. What was wrong with me? Well, perhaps this is all of the best, they said. That way we could give the baby a bottle, and I could go back to work and use this wonderful education I had instead of wasting it by staying home and becoming dumb.
Motherhood 101
La Leche League came to my rescue. Such an interesting bunch of nutty-as-a-fruitcake women, but with an idea, and a “brand’ or mothering that appealed to my “natural instincts.” Their battle cries of “baby the baby while it’s a baby, and you won’t have to baby the adult”, or “no one knows what is best for your baby like you do because no one know y our baby as well as you do”, became my mantras. All of the wacky ideas that seemed “natural and instinctive” to Paul and I, but the books and the doctors said were “wrong” or “harmful” or “potentially” something or other bad, we discovered weren’t so wacky anyway. There were many people and many doctors that found our particular type of mothering / parenting not only appropriate, but also nurturing, bonding, cultivating, and just downright, the RIGHT way to approach this mothering.
SO, first we threw away the clocks, then we forgot schedules, then we didn’t look at the calendar, and settled into simply loving our baby. Of course, we were now attempting to swim up stream amid raised eyebrows, scornful looks and acrid, crass remarks and opinions. Oh yes, in due time, we decided to risk further disdain and we even threw away the baby bed. I “scooched” over into the middle of our bed and made room for the baby and FINALLY we all got to sleep, to rest, and to snuggle, and to bond, and most importantly, to -- love!
Ah, Mothering!!
Sorry guys (i.e. the men folk), but you’ll never understand it, appreciate it, or comprehend it. And girls, you too will never fully grasp the true scope and sequence of the word unless you join the ranks of motherhood.
Mothering
Yes, and while it is both a noun and a verb, it is a term that should not /never be compared or confused with Smothering. While many of us have felt the two were often synonymous, they are not. In fact, they are truly polars apart. I have so many people in my life to thank for helping me learn the fine art of “Mothering,” and while I have tried to share this knowledge with many other women, not all women have been receptive. Of course, there are many, many levels of mothering, many kinds of mothering and we shouldn’t be “judgmental” of those who “do it” differently. HOWEVER, thankfully, there were women who risked my non-acceptance of them and their ideas to share with me a lifestyle of mothering/loving/nurturing/parenting my children that I embraced. I would have been far less of a mother if I would have followed the traditional mores of the late 70’s and early 80’s, and I never would have had the chance to have the relationship with my now grown children that I so cherish.
Mother
On June 25, 1979, at 11:11 am, a nurse placed into my arms my first-born son for me to hold for the first time. He was a wanted and welcomed baby. I was 25 yrs old, my husband 30; but my parents were 58 and70! And this was their first grandchild! Wanted and welcomed, to say the very least! Here’s your baby. He’s yours. It’s your turn to take care of him. The interesting part of this baby-holding experience is that he was the very first baby I had ever held! Really!?!? You’ve got to be kidding, you say. No, truly I avoided babies altogether. I hadn’t baby-sat as a teenager like my friends. I was career-minded and didn’t have many friends that were “mommies”. I didn’t have any nieces or nephews that I had known as babies. I wasn’t really the baby type at all. And NOW, what is this cute little red-headed doll someone has placed in my arms that has IMMEDIATELY stolen my heart.
Paul and I had long decided on a more “natural” kind of existence. He was already the “live on an island”-type of guy, and was pulling me – oh, I mean encouraging me -- along into this lifestyle. We were learning to do without many trendy gadgets, opting for more homespun. We had decided that I would be a “stay-at-home” mom, and while I definitely knew that was the right thing to do, there were many other avenues, where I wasn’t going along very well, yet. We desired to have a 70’s style of natural childbirth, complete with daddy in the delivery room and mother-infant bonding via nursing on the delivery table. (These were still very big issues in the late 70’s. Few drs in our area were compliant.) Thankfully, the JERK that was my OB went out of town, and another dr, that seemed not to care what we did, was on call. Of course, we still had to follow the most conservative rules of the hospital (wearing masks and gloves to hold the baby, etc.), but we had a successful experience of sorts.
Finally, back to the mothering part. Let’s face it. I had no clue what I was doing. I don’t know how that could have been correct, however. Why, I had read ALL of the books available at the time whether they were good or not. I wanted to know it all. (The teacher/learner in me!) I was going to be a well-educated mother. Of course, a lot of that book-learning isn’t important, because we all know that this mothering thing is “natural.” All I had to do is follow my instincts. NOT! NOT! NOT! What a joke. Who ever told that lie, and got us all to believe it, was good! But, it is still a lie. I simply had no clue what to do.
Mothered
And, how dare he! This little beautiful red-headed doll wasn’t by Mattel after all. He was a live real baby. AND, he did not follow ANY of the rules in the books. He couldn’t tell time! He didn’t know how to follow a schedule! He wasn’t doing things the “right way”. Again, how dare he! He was messing up! Then, I “obviously” didn’t have enough milk, or my milk was “bad”. Why, this baby needed formula. Now it was ME messing up. I couldn’t even do this “naturally instinctive” mothering stuff. What was wrong with me? Well, perhaps this is all of the best, they said. That way we could give the baby a bottle, and I could go back to work and use this wonderful education I had instead of wasting it by staying home and becoming dumb.
Motherhood 101
La Leche League came to my rescue. Such an interesting bunch of nutty-as-a-fruitcake women, but with an idea, and a “brand’ or mothering that appealed to my “natural instincts.” Their battle cries of “baby the baby while it’s a baby, and you won’t have to baby the adult”, or “no one knows what is best for your baby like you do because no one know y our baby as well as you do”, became my mantras. All of the wacky ideas that seemed “natural and instinctive” to Paul and I, but the books and the doctors said were “wrong” or “harmful” or “potentially” something or other bad, we discovered weren’t so wacky anyway. There were many people and many doctors that found our particular type of mothering / parenting not only appropriate, but also nurturing, bonding, cultivating, and just downright, the RIGHT way to approach this mothering.
SO, first we threw away the clocks, then we forgot schedules, then we didn’t look at the calendar, and settled into simply loving our baby. Of course, we were now attempting to swim up stream amid raised eyebrows, scornful looks and acrid, crass remarks and opinions. Oh yes, in due time, we decided to risk further disdain and we even threw away the baby bed. I “scooched” over into the middle of our bed and made room for the baby and FINALLY we all got to sleep, to rest, and to snuggle, and to bond, and most importantly, to -- love!
Ah, Mothering!!
Saturday, September 1, 2007
One word. No explanations.
I have waited and waited for the chance, the place, the time to do "this". Thanks, Adam for all of your help, your love, your support. I hope you feel the same from me. You are the greatest #1 son in the whole wide world.
And now... TA DA...
1. Yourself: accepting
2. Your spouse:BEST
3. Your hair: graying
4. Your mother: pattern
5. Your father: brilliant
6. Your favorite item: punches
7. Your dream last night: tiring
8. Your favorite drink: coke!
9. Your dream car: cadillac
0. The room you are in: office
11. Your ex: gone
12. Your fear: alone
13. What you want to be in 10 years: grandma!
14. Who you hung out with last night: couch
15. What you're not: skinny
16. Muffins: spice
17: One of your wish list items:"craft room"
18: Time: flies
19. The last thing you did: ate
20. What you are wearing: denim
21. Your favorite weather: fall-ish
22. Your favorite book: old
23. The last thing you ate: burrito
24. Your life: GRAND
25. Your mood:hyper
26. Your best friend: unexpected
27. What you're thinking about right now: me
28. Your car: Chevy
29. What you are doing at the moment: typing
30. Your summer: difficult
31. Your relationship status: loved
32. What is on your TV: jibberish
33. What is the weather like: humid
34. When was the last time you laughed: tonight
And now... TA DA...
1. Yourself: accepting
2. Your spouse:BEST
3. Your hair: graying
4. Your mother: pattern
5. Your father: brilliant
6. Your favorite item: punches
7. Your dream last night: tiring
8. Your favorite drink: coke!
9. Your dream car: cadillac
0. The room you are in: office
11. Your ex: gone
12. Your fear: alone
13. What you want to be in 10 years: grandma!
14. Who you hung out with last night: couch
15. What you're not: skinny
16. Muffins: spice
17: One of your wish list items:"craft room"
18: Time: flies
19. The last thing you did: ate
20. What you are wearing: denim
21. Your favorite weather: fall-ish
22. Your favorite book: old
23. The last thing you ate: burrito
24. Your life: GRAND
25. Your mood:hyper
26. Your best friend: unexpected
27. What you're thinking about right now: me
28. Your car: Chevy
29. What you are doing at the moment: typing
30. Your summer: difficult
31. Your relationship status: loved
32. What is on your TV: jibberish
33. What is the weather like: humid
34. When was the last time you laughed: tonight
This is it! Or something like that...
I've been told -- or perhaps by some standards encouraged -- to start a blog. A blog! Why -- I've said slightly ugly things about people who have all of this time to sit around and not only write their own thoughts, but also read other's ramblings. Then, during an incredibly trying time in my life, while reading the only 3 blogs I've ever kept up with, I decided to expand my proverbial horizons and try my hand at writing and reading at other sites.
Oh, was I ever dismayed (if that is even a word!) While I have belonged to many diverse organizations during my lifetime (La Leche League, Scouts, Ham Radio, food co-ops, a fundamental church) that have definitely made me feel that there are DECIDEDLY different people in the world, I now had hard written proof of their existence. I read about these people and entered into their world of words that gave me more the reason to feel like I needed to just keep my thoughts and opinions to myself -- I surely did wish they had!
Oh well, here I am anyway. My favorite oldest son has come home for the weekend and, with the suggestion of a family friend, has taken me to this site and helped me begin what hopefully will be a fun, exciting, and learning experience.
I want to begin my making the admission that I really don't expect anyone to read this with any regularity. Sure, I know that my "booster club" of APN, Nate, and Wilsonian might keep tabs on me making me feel good about my endeavor, but I don't expect the masses to come. This is not a "you write it and they will come" type of experiment. Like many people, I have always wanted to write a bookor even better a school curriculum. However, while raising 4 sons and working to "school" them, I never either had the time or made the time. So, I want for this space and time to be a place where I can tell my stories, where I can share my experiences, where I can put to paper the words in my heart.
Was that syrupy or what! But that's what I want in/from this venue. And... I do have some stories to tell, too!!
later...
Oh, was I ever dismayed (if that is even a word!) While I have belonged to many diverse organizations during my lifetime (La Leche League, Scouts, Ham Radio, food co-ops, a fundamental church) that have definitely made me feel that there are DECIDEDLY different people in the world, I now had hard written proof of their existence. I read about these people and entered into their world of words that gave me more the reason to feel like I needed to just keep my thoughts and opinions to myself -- I surely did wish they had!
Oh well, here I am anyway. My favorite oldest son has come home for the weekend and, with the suggestion of a family friend, has taken me to this site and helped me begin what hopefully will be a fun, exciting, and learning experience.
I want to begin my making the admission that I really don't expect anyone to read this with any regularity. Sure, I know that my "booster club" of APN, Nate, and Wilsonian might keep tabs on me making me feel good about my endeavor, but I don't expect the masses to come. This is not a "you write it and they will come" type of experiment. Like many people, I have always wanted to write a bookor even better a school curriculum. However, while raising 4 sons and working to "school" them, I never either had the time or made the time. So, I want for this space and time to be a place where I can tell my stories, where I can share my experiences, where I can put to paper the words in my heart.
Was that syrupy or what! But that's what I want in/from this venue. And... I do have some stories to tell, too!!
later...
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