Sunday, January 24, 2010

Maybe Growing Up Isn't So Bad

Yesterday I found a box of old pictures out in the garage and looking through them brought back such happy memories and made me smile. It also made me the teensiest bit sad because I miss my cute "little" kids. Oh, how precious they were and what fun we had - the giggling and the snuggling and the playing. It doesn't hurt that I was also one of their favorite people back in the day. Then they had to grow up and those apron strings they used to hold onto so tightly have stretched longer and longer and their grip has loosened. Almost sounds like a bad thing.

Except for they were cracking me up tonight. I mean really making me laugh. And it just reminded me ('cause I know this but I forget a lot) that while sometimes teenagers can be exasperating, they can also be a ton of fun. I may not get the snuggling (though I still get a lot of hugs) and playing is not quite the same, there's still a lot of giggling. So I'm not the teensiest bit sad anymore.

Labels: joy, kids, laughter, nostalgia

Mused by Jenster :: 8:59 PM :: 6 People musing:

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Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Grandpa's Fiddle

Some of my fondest memories of my grandfather are when he would bring out his fiddle and play us some tunes in his living room. I can still picture him holding the fret board with his nimble fingers, hunched over with his chin in the chin rest, foot stomping and mouth twitching in time as he would run the bow over the strings and make his music.

I called my mom tonight to get my Grandpa/Fiddle facts straight because I had them a little skewed. So here are the facts as Mom knows them:

Grandpa started his musical career when he was just a kid in Abilene, Kansas during World War I. He and a friend of his would hang out on the steps of the town square singing patriotic songs. Doesn't that just sound like something out of a movie?

Mom said she thought he might have taken some fiddle lessons when he was about 10, but he had to sneak around to do so. Mostly he taught himself to play the fiddle and he couldn't read music so he played by ear. When my mother's family moved from Kansas to California, my grandfather forgot his fiddle in the attic so in 1942 he bought this fiddle at a pawn shop in Oakland.

When I was a teenager I asked Grandpa if I could try to play his fiddle. I knew a little something about music, being a fair to middling pianist and a dabbling guitarist, so I was able to pick out Ode to Joy and he said it was the prettiest his fiddle had ever been played. So not true. It was squeaky and screechy and there were a lot of wrong notes. But I was his granddaughter and I was "playing" a classical tune on his fiddle. What else was he going to say?

Several years after he died my nephew, Matt - an awesome fiddle player, loaned Katie his 3/4 size fiddle and she and I took lessons together. Todd and Taylor took guitar lessons together from the same guy and he would teach Todd the guitar part of some bluegrass tune and me the fiddle part and we'd ho down in the living room every now and again. We weren't so great, but it sure was fun!

Every time I look at the fiddle it makes me smile. I get my love for music (and a slight bit of musical ability) from both sides of my family and Grandpa's fiddle is tangible evidence of what was passed down from my mom's side. But even better are the memories and stories it provides - not just for me, but for all my mom's family. I saw a lovely bit of sunlight coming through the window yesterday so I decided to get some shots of this beloved fiddle. No doubt the pictures don't truly show it the way I see it.









And his rosin. I loved the way the sunlight made it glow!

Labels: nostalgia, photography

Mused by Jenster :: 7:50 PM :: 6 People musing:

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Saturday, June 20, 2009

Making Memories

Friday was one of those days I'll remember for a very long time. The kind of day that wasn't terribly uncommon when the kids were younger - back when we could say, We're going to go see this movie or hike that trail or go on a picnic, or whatever and the announcement would be met with enthusiasm and anticipation. These days, however, trying to find a movie or an activity we can all agree on has proven nearly impossible. Turns out 17-year-old boys don't like the same things 14-year-old girls like and neither of them care for what mom and dad prefer.

Todd and I both had Friday off and the forecast didn't call for a speck of rain, a rarity these days. So we jumped in the car and took off for North Wales where we started our adventure with a great lunch at Chili's - the kids' choice. Down the street from the restaurant we played miniature golf, swung bats in the batting cages, raced each other on the Go-Kart track and just generally had a ton of fun.

In fact the good times started on Thursday. Just hanging out together, eating together, playing together, watching movies together. A lot of "together". And I've cherished every second of it. Today after church the kids left for a Christian teen conference for a week.

How is it Taylor only has one year of high school left? He's much closer to being a man than a kid. When did that happen? And why does Katie have to be a freshman in the fall? My baby will be in the same place as my firstborn before I've had a chance to catch my breath. And then what?

It used to be they were dependent on me for their fun. I was at home with them from the time they were very small and I enjoyed playing with them. The pool, the zoo, an easy hiking trail, the water park, etc. In fact, sometimes they were my excuse to get to do something fun like the science museum or the newest Disney movie.

When the weather was cold I would brew a pot of tea, make some shortbread and set the table nicely for an after school snack. During summer rains we would camp in the living room, eat Popsicles on the front porch and sometimes even play in the rain. One year we had a pretty good snow, but both kids were sick and couldn't get out to play in it. So Todd and I loaded up a big bowl with snow and let the kids build little igloos and castles on cookie sheets in the kitchen.

Trips to the park, swinging into the swimming hole on an old rope, the weekly stop at the library, camping with just us or friends, pulling them in the double wagon, reading in the hallway while a storm raged outside, cuddling on the couch and watching the latest Disney release...

My mind has been filled with these precious memories and my heart with a mixture of sadness that those days are long gone and a joy at the prospect of what these children are becoming. Sometimes I wish we could jump in a time machine and go back to those treasured moments. But at the same time I love the people they're growing into and enjoy when we do get to hang out together.

I am thankful to God beyond measure that Todd and I have good relationships with our teenagers and that sometimes they like spending time with us. I'm also thankful for the friendships they have with other great teenagers, the majority of whom share the same values, morals and take their faith seriously. It's no myth that friends make the person.

There is almost an urgency to spend as much time with them as I possibly can because it seems very limited. At the same time, however, I'm thrilled they both have the opportunity to go away this week and pray not only for their safety, but also for their spiritual growth.

When your kids are little you hear time and time again, "Enjoy them while you can because they're grown in the blink of an eye." Well I have enjoyed them from the very beginning and it does seem as though I've just blinked. The night before Taylor started kindergarten I laid in bed and cried because, "Tomorrow is kindergarten, then it will be college and before you know it he'll be married and living somewhere else." A little dramatic, yes (and Todd does still tease me about it) but not so far fetched.

This evening we had another break in the rain so I took Sookie to the park for a long walk. Families with little ones were out in abundance, making those bittersweet memories even sharper. I wanted to call out the above cliche to make those parents understand how fleeting this beautiful part of life is. But it's not something you can truly grasp until you're at the other end.

So Friday we played miniature golf and stopped keeping score after the 12th hole. We swung bats in the batting cages - my first time since the great breast cancer debacle of '05 (and I can still smack a ball). We drove Go-Karts and I managed to spin Taylor, run him into a wall and stall him. But mostly we just had fun and made a few more memories to add to the stack.

Labels: blessings, family, fun, nostalgia

Mused by Jenster :: 1:04 PM :: 6 People musing:

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Saturday, January 31, 2009

Time

Crossposted at Mothers With Cancer

Todd and I will celebrate our 21st anniversary in June. Some days it doesn’t seem half that long and others it seems like our golden anniversary is just a few years away. I’ve been trying to organize all my photographs from the past 21+ years and I can’t help but linger over pictures of the kids at different stages of their lives. It’s a bittersweet thing to be sure. How did Taylor go from that six-year-old muscle man to a junior in high school considering colleges and careers? Or that adorable three-year-old girl with the curly brown hair. When did Katie turn into a 14-year-old with the confidence to sing in front of an audience of junior high and high school students?

“Cherish these moments. They won’t last long.” How often did I hear those words when my kids were small? Probably more than I can count. I listened and I DID cherish those moments. The conveyers of such wisdom were right. Each instant was over in a blink of an eye.

I love getting a glimpse of the adults Taylor and Katie are turning into. Most of the time I thoroughly enjoy hanging out with my teenagers, but sometimes I wish I could just jump in a time machine and go back to when they were little.

Time is such a funny thing. It never goes at the same speed. When you’re sitting in a boring classroom those 50 minutes seem to stretch on forever. But when you’re doing something you love it seems to breeze by. While I was looking through the photographs it hit me. I’m three months shy of the four year anniversary of my diagnosis.

That first year felt more like several years. I’d start to see the light at the end of the tunnel, only to realize it was a speeding train heading right for me. It was a frustrating year, full of immense physical and emotional struggles. I really thought once I was told there was no more cancer (never thinking I might have a metastasis or recurrence) everything would get back to normal.

But instead of normal, my family moved, settled into our new home, and then I started planning my reconstruction. Once I felt recovered from that I found myself having a complete hysterectomy with removal of my ovaries, throwing me into instant menopause for the third time. It was just one thing after another after another.
2008 was the first year since my diagnosis that was truly good. It took three years for me to get to that point and it felt like forever. But now it sometimes seems like a lifetime ago. Until I wear myself out and end up with thrush and ulcers on the roof of my mouth, courtesy of whatever funky things chemo did to me three years ago.

I don’t delude myself into thinking it will ever be forgotten. My body will always carry the battle scars as reminders. I am once again a happy and contented person except now there is a bit of mournfulness just under the surface that wasn’t there before. That has gotten better with time and I am hopeful it will someday go away - maybe when I finally and completely accept my “new normal.”

Three-and-a-half years ago, when I had just barely started down this path, I thought the journey ended after the treatment and the reconstruction and hearing the words, “No Evidence of Disease”. At that time I felt as though I was progressing so slowly and the road to the final destination would be an excruciatingly long one. What I have learned, however, is the journey never ends. Thankfully the scenery changes, though. The desert that appears never ending does finally lead to greener pastures and the journey becomes much more tolerable and eventually pleasurable.

Just like I would love to travel back in time to when my kids were little, I would love to travel back in time to four years ago; before my world changed forever. But if I were to stay in the past I would miss out on so much the present has to offer. Two incredible teenagers who make me laugh and smile and, yes, a little crazy. And a life with more wisdom and depth and even purpose than I knew before.

So if you are in the middle of the desert and are blessed to fully recover from cancer, I offer you hope. The time may drag by right now, but this too shall pass. I promise.

Labels: breast cancer, kids, Mothers With Cancer, nostalgia

Mused by Jenster :: 6:34 PM :: 7 People musing:

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Sunday, January 25, 2009

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DADDY!!

Today is my dad's birthday. Oh how I wish I could take my motley crew and impose upon my folks to help celebrate another milestone. Instead I'm just gonna talk about him (in past tense just because I'm thinking back to when I was a kid) a little bit.

I've always seen my dad as a quiet, unassuming man and also one of the smartest people I've ever known. He could carry on a conversation with a brilliant scholar or an uneducated dockworker - no one was above or beneath him. Everybody, no matter their education, station, race, whatever, received the same respect. He never flaunted his intelligence and I think there were probably a lot of people who never had any idea just how smart he really was.

He loved classical music and dixieland jazz and I would say he gave my sisters and me an appreciation for all different forms of music. I can remember him sitting in the big, plaid chair in the living room, enjoying a drink while Rossini's William Tell Overture played on the stereo, my sisters and I galloping around the house like the Lone Ranger. Or secretly loving (though I acted embarrassed) watching him dance around with a cigar in his hand as we stood in line at the French Market Restaurant in Disneyland as the jazz band played away.

Mom and Dad were known for their ability to cut a mean rug, too. Every wedding reception where Glenn Miller's In The Mood was played found them doing their thing on the dance floor. Embarrassing to a stupid teenager, but impressive to everyone else.

Dad taught us girls how to read a map and gave us each a pretty good sense of direction. He also taught me to fish and pee in the woods. He never managed to get me to hang over the side of a boat and pee, much to his frustration. I made him take the boat into the dock just as the fish started biting. Of course by the time we got back out to the same spot the fish had moved on.

I love the memories I have of a regular Saturday at home. He would mow and trim and do all the yard work, take a shower and clean up, and then grill in the backyard while he smoked his stogie. The smell of fresh-cut lawn, grilling meat and a cigar equal such happiness to me. Once when I was about 14 or so, I begged him to let me try his cigar. "No, no, no", he kept saying, but I pestered and pestered. So he handed me the cigar and I took a puff, only to turn green and nearly upchuck in the flower beds. As I recall he got a big kick out of that. And I never had a desire to smoke a cigar after that!

Both my parents have always be great examples of serving others. Long before I came along they were active at church, helping in whatever way they needed to. I never thought a whole lot about it - it's just what they did - until I got much older. Now I realize how much of their lives they've given to help others. Even now they work at their church and once a month at a local food pantry. Because it's just what they do.

One of my favorite things to do growing up was our family outings after church on Sundays. Sometimes we'd drive up Western to the Tide Pools and then stop at Arthur's Ice Cream on the way home. Or sometimes we'd take a change of clothes and a picnic lunch and go for a long ride over Mulholland or maybe up to Oak Glen for apples. When most teenagers abhorred hanging out with their folks, I loved to do these fun things with mine.

I was blessed with a very happy and secure childhood. I never doubted my parents loved me and I never doubted they loved each other. Of course Mom played a big part in this security, but today's post is about Dad. :o) To say Dad never got mad would be a falsehood, but he wasn't one to fly off the handle. Usually when my sisters or I were in trouble we deserved it. Of course, we may not have seen it that way at the time.

My dad and I danced to Daddy's Hands by Holly Dunn at my wedding. I can't hear that song twenty years later and not get choked up. I heard it in the grocery store as I was checking out a couple years ago and I could hardly hold it together. But the words couldn't have been any more perfect:

I remember Daddy´s hands, folded silently in prayer.
And reaching out to hold me, when I had a nightmare.
You could read quite a story, in the callouses and lines.
Years of work and worry had left their mark behind.
I remember Daddy´s hands, how they held my Mama tight,
And patted my back, for something done right.
There are things that I´ve forgotten, that I loved about the man,
But I´ll always remember the love in Daddy´s hands.

Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy´s hands, were hard as steel when I´d done wrong.
Daddy´s hands, weren´t always gentle
But I´ve come to understand.
There was always love in Daddy´s hands.

I remember Daddy´s hands, working 'til they bled.
Sacrificed unselfishly, just to keep us all fed.
If I could do things over, I´d live my life again.
And never take for granted the love in Daddy´s hands.

Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy´s hands, were hard as steel when I´d done wrong.
Daddy´s hands, weren´t always gentle
But I´ve come to understand.
There was always love in Daddy´s hands.

Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy´s hands, were hard as steel when I´d done wrong.
Daddy´s hands, weren´t always gentle
But I´ve come to understand.
There was always love .....
In Daddy´s hands.

OH MY GOSH! I'm blubbering again! Dangit! Anyway, my dad was an electrical engineer so I doubt his job ever caused his hands to bleed, but the chorus sums up my daddy's hands perfectly.

And speaking of his hands, I always loved them. They were always neat and clean except when he'd been working in the garage or in the yard and then he'd scrub them with Lava and they'd be clean again. I always thought of them as elegant hands and one of the first things I noticed about Todd was how he had hands like my dad's. Isn't it funny the things that make an impression on us?

I could go on and on and on, but I'll bring this to a close by talking a little bit about my other dad.

Because God is an ethereal being we tend to project our own experiences to create a God we can relate to. Some people see God as distant because they had a father who was distant. Some people see God as indifferent because their father was indifferent. Some people see God as totally absent because, well, you get the idea.

Myself? I've never had a problem seeing God as the perfect and wonderful God He is. Loving, kind, gentle, just, stern when needed, merciful, etc. Now I'm certainly not saying my dad IS God. Just ask my mom and she'll tell you he hasn't walked on water. But what I am saying is that he has always been a great example of a kind and loving Father. Just like my Heavenly Father.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DADDY!

Labels: birthdays, blessings, God, nostalgia

Mused by Jenster :: 1:42 PM :: 8 People musing:

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Wednesday, October 01, 2008

October Musings

Where has the year gone? I can hardly believe it's already October. Mostly I'm very happy about it. I love the cooler temperatures and the changing leaves and the smells of autumn. And as I said in an earlier post, every weekend this month is something unusually fun for me.

At the same time, however, I can't escape breast cancer. Now granted I have learned to embrace pink and I write about my experience, but that's all on my time. If I want to hang up my breast cancer hat for day or so I can. Not this month, though.

I'm hoping this year will be a little better than last year. Not once during October of 2007 did I talk about breast cancer. It wasn't until November when I wrote Blasted October, a post lamenting my dislike of Breast Cancer Awareness. I mean, for hundreds of thousands of us every month is Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

I am farther along this year than I was last year, but I still haven't totally accepted my new normal. I'm getting there. Slowly, but I'm working on it. So I may not write a lot about breast cancer, at least not on this blog. Then again every post might be about the disease. Not likely, but I suppose it could happen.

On a VERY happy note that totally overshadows whatever feeling I may have about all the pink ribbons out there, our weather is going to be Fallish tomorrow and Friday we're driving to Rutgers University to meet up with our Hawaiian friends and watch their daughter play soccer. She was recently named the BIG EAST Offensive Player of the Week, a first for Rutgers in six years!

So watch me go, all enjoying October and having a good time and ignoring the pink splattered throughout the rusts and golds and burgundies and oranges of Fall. I may not have the best eye, but even I know pink clashes with the warmer tones of Autumn!

Labels: breast cancer, friends, fun, Health, hope, Mothers With Cancer, nostalgia, weather, weekend plans, whiney

Mused by Jenster :: 8:21 AM :: 6 People musing:

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Sunday, September 28, 2008

A Good Day??

I think today was a pretty good day despite the fact we decided to attend the new 8:00 service this morning. We've been going to the 11:30 service from the beginning, but now that we've outgrown our parking lot and building and need to spread out the attendance, the church has added a fourth service - 8:00. A couple weeks ago they asked for volunteers and Todd made me write on the attendance card that we would go to the 8:00 service until the new building is finished in April. APRIL! 8:00! A!M!

In case you're new to the party, I do not do mornings very well. So I consider this a sacrifice for Jesus because that's how I roll.

A nice little surprise was seeing my friend, Beans, at the same service. She came and sat with us so that was good.

Today's message was the first in a series called Everything I Learned About Life I Learned From The Beatles. That went a long way in assuaging my gripey, too-early, caffeine-deprived self because I love me some Beatles. Today's song was Help!, one of my favorites. Brian Jones, the pastor, transitioned nicely from the rock song to Psalm 121.

Another score! This is one of my favorite passages of scripture. I was challenged to memorize it several years ago in a women's bible study, only to cling to it and make it my anthem, if you will, when I was diagnosed. Funny thing is I just commented this very thing on our women's blog about prayers and such yesterday.

One more bonus about going to the 8:00 service is that we were home about the time we usually start getting ready for church. Sunday mornings have been slow and lazy, but I actually like having a longer day. Especially when it's rainy like today. Even if it does mean I have to get up earlier than I think is appropriate on God's day of rest.

I've also had some moments today I don't necessarily enjoy. I'm working on two separate writing projects, both dealing with cancer, and it makes me go places I'd rather forget about. But I know I have to - not just for the writing, but because ignoring the still raw spots don't make them go away. And I keep thinking I'm past the hurt, but obviously I'm not. Oh, it's very true that time heals old wounds, but the scars never completely fade.

But this stirring of emotions wasn't enough to ruin my day. Strangely, I think it added to the goodness. Because even though these memories remind me of sad and sometimes terrible things, they also remind me that my help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth. The whole time I was in the bad and scary place he watched over me, never sleeping even a second. And it just doesn't get any gooder than that.

Labels: Bible, blessings, breast cancer, church, God, nostalgia, prayer, worship

Mused by Jenster :: 11:58 AM :: 11 People musing:

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Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Fun Little Meme

A couple weeks ago Cheryl at Life with Cheryl tagged me for this fun little meme. Apparently I had a two-week senior moment because I totally forgot about it until last night. So without further ado, here we go...


Ten years ago I was:

Loving life! Todd and I had been married ten years, Taylor was 6 and Katie was 4. What incredibly fun ages! Taylor was in 1st grade and Katie was in preschool along with several of my friends' kids. Every Thursday we would take our kids to preschool and then meet at the cute little coffee shop around the corner. It got to where the people who worked there knew what we were going to order. Good times. In fact, some of the best times. (Wouldn't you agree Rhonda, Beth, Shelly, Kim -- who am I missing??)


Five things on today's To Do List:



1. Laundry. (Just like Cheryl said, why is this ALWAYS on my daily list?)

2. Dust the first floor, not to be confused with the basement which is really the first floor.

3. Vacuum the first floor (see #2 for clarification) and the stairs.

4. Sweep and mop the kitchen.

5. Work on the CLEAR website.


A snack I enjoy:

Peanut M&Ms.


Things I would do if I were a millionaire:

* Give more to church
* Support my beloved charities more
* Support other charities I like but can't afford to right now
* Decorate my house exactly the way I want to
* Do a little remodeling to the house
* Travel a LOT


Places I have lived:

* SE Pennsylvania
* Central Arkansas
* Las Cruces, New Mexico
* Torrance, California

- That's the West, the Southwest, The South and the East. While I'd love to hit every region, I think I'd rather just stay put now.


Now who should I tag? I'm going to say everybody because I'd love to know these things about all of you! So if you do this meme please let me know.

Labels: meme, nostalgia

Mused by Jenster :: 8:13 PM :: 6 People musing:

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Sunday, June 29, 2008

AVMDIJ & "More"



Stop the presses!! Have I got a news breaking headline!! And this isn't even part of today's post!!

A few weeks ago I told you Katie had tried out for the Youth Band at church and had made it. She wasn't supposed to start singing for another month or so, but she just got a call from the Student Worship Leader, Alex, who asked if she could sing tonight. TONIGHT PEOPLE!! She hasn't practiced - heck, we just went online to see what songs they're singing tonight - but she's up for the challenge. Taylor is practicing with her in the basement while this goes to press.

So guess what I'm doing tonight? Instead of just hanging out with Todd while the kids are at Youth Group, I'm video taping her debut. If I get her permission and I figure out what I'm doing (I'll be checking with Sing 4 Joy) I'll put it on YouTube or GodTube and post it later in the week. I know she's more than capable, but since this is her first time and it was a last minute thing it may not be up to her standards. I'll let her make the call.










Today the worship team sang this song during communion. This song holds such a special place in my heart because when Katie was about 9 or 10 we were chatting in the car and I told her I loved her. Instead of the usual, "I love you, too", or even more common, "I know," she started singing the chorus of More by Matthew West to me.



I love you more than the sun and the stars that I taught how to shine, you are mine, and you shine for me, too.
I love you yesterday and today and tomorrow. I'll say it again and again. I love you more.

Can a mother's heart get any fuller without completely exploding? Comparing a mother's love for her child to God's love for us is a common theme among parents. But what about a child's love for a parent? I remember thinking I loved my mom and dad more than they loved me when I was young. It's as deep and intense as it gets when you're a kid.

So if my child loves me that much (we always have these arguments over who loves the other more) how much more does God love me? I don't believe we have an adequate scale to comprehend it. I just know it's MORE.

Labels: church, God, kids, love, nostalgia, Verse of the Day

Mused by Jenster :: 1:47 PM :: 9 People musing:

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Thursday, June 26, 2008

A Bunch of Good Stuff

So what's up? Nothin' much going on here. Just the usual. You know. Todd's at work - he's got major short timer's disease, but he's making a valiant effort; Katie's babysitting; Taylor's at CIY in Tennessee - kind of like church camp only much more intense. Katie's Little Homies are going camping this afternoon through Saturday morning so Todd and I get some just us time. I think I'm going to make reservations at that new Italian restaurant we were going to eat at for our anniversary, but they were booked. Yeah. That's a great idea.





We watched "Fools' Gold" last night and LOVED IT! The chemistry between Kate Hudson and Matthew McConnohotty is nearly palpable. It had everything I love in a movie. Adventure, romance, humor, an exotic location and even a bit of history. Well, made up history, but still.




The prude that I am was a little disappointed at a flash of anonymous boobies. It's PG-13, for cryin' out loud. It was a quick flash, but so very unnecessary. It reminded me of when I was in 8th grade and my AT group went into Hollywood to see Romeo and Juliet at Grauman's Chinese Theater. Really cool experience, but the boys in the group were thrilled when Olivia Hussey jumped out of bed, baring her chest. (But really, what do you expect with a name like Hussey?) The girls were just embarrassed. And a little envious. Or maybe that was just me.



OH! Have I told you we actually have a Sonic AND a real Starbucks with a drive through now? Maybe two miles from the house, if that. The only problem with the Sonic is it's such a novelty up here that they have to have traffic managers with walkie talkies directing cars who are waiting for the next available slot. It's totally insane. I mean, I love Sonic and all - you know I do - but it's not THAT great.

Last Sunday after Youth Group a bunch of the older kids went to Sonic. They parked in the lot and walked over to order and eat at the picnic tables out front. You order in the same kind of speaker box as if you'd pulled up to a slot, but you give them your name so when they come out they know where the order goes. So here's the conversation with the Sonic chick and my son:

SC: What's your name?

T: Taylor.

SC: What is it?

T: Taylor.

SC: Tyler?

T: Taylor.

SC: What was that?

T: Billy.

SC: Billy?

T: Yup.



This is the top of the swimsuit I bought for Hawaii the other day. I consider it was a good day because I didn't cry in the dressing room. Didn't even feel the urge. I certainly don't like the way I look in a swimsuit. Heck, I didn't like it when I was 40 pounds lighter. But it is what it is so there's no sense getting depressed about it. But what thrilled me was the fact it's just a normal top and it just happens to hide both my mastectomy scar (my left mastectomy scar is pretty high up) and my port scar. I also got two different bottoms - red regular bottoms and a coral SwimMini.



This morning I found a great deal on plane reservations for my parents to come up for Thanksgiving. So I called Mom and we booked those babies before they went away. Mom and Dad actually get in on my 43rd birthday. I think we'll celebrate with a chocolate cake and 29 candles. It's just been the four of us for the last two Thanksgivings so we're really looking forward to having some family to help us celebrate.



All this goodness leads me to today's verse.

If you, then, though you are evil,
know how to give good gifts to your children,
how much more will your Father in heaven give
good gifts to those who ask him!

Labels: birthdays, blessings, family, fun, God, holidays, homies, humor, kids, laughter, movies, nostalgia, random, reconstruction, vacation, Verse of the Day

Mused by Jenster :: 9:41 AM :: 16 People musing:

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Monday, May 05, 2008

My Week In Arkansas, Part Two

I'm not sure what my deal is, but I'm having the hardest time getting the Arkansas trip written. In fact I'm having the hardest time getting anything written. Or done. I think I'll blame the puppy.

When we last parted I was regaling you with my wallpaper faux pas. Let's move past that, okay?

Friday, April 25:

After a stout cup of coffee and cereal, Shelli and I went back to work. She worked on the entryway while I continued to angrily rip gently pull the rest of the wallpaper from the kitchen wall. Mom and Dad went to pick Terri up at the airport and Rhonda showed up to see my mess handiwork. I think I'd finished the removal and had done a bit of Spackling and sanding, preparing the wall for the next step. But I didn't have what I needed for the next step so Rhonda drove me to Lowe's for primer. Used to be when I got in this predicament I would buy some drywall mud and mix it with the paint. That worked pretty good, but it made the wall almost too textured. This day, however, we found wall texture specifically made to mix with paint. So I bought that, a can of primer and voila!!

Terri was at the house when we returned from Lowes. She tried to convince me and Michele that she came to supervise, but two against one trumps the oldest. So Shelli worked on the hallway (the entryway was finished and looked great!), I set out to redeem myself and Terri started taping the eating area.

After I got the textured primer applied I began to relax. It looked pretty much like a regular wall so I knew most likely I was going to get to go home the following Tuesday. Which was a good thing because I was almost getting those little tiny twinges you get when you kinda, sorta miss someone.

Terri did trimming, I did trimming, Shelli did trimming, Terri did taping, I did painting, Shelli did painting, Terri did painting, I did taping, Shelli did more painting. We had four areas to paint and it was nice to have three of us always with something to do.

I wish I had taken notes while I was there like I'd meant to do, but the slave drivers my sisters cracked the whip so I wouldn't have had time to write anything anyway. Since I know somebody will tell on me I'll confess right now that I did take frequent Sudoku breaks. However, they were only to keep my brain sharp against the dulling effects of paint fumes. Anyway, since I didn't keep a paint trip journal I'm a little sketchy on when we finished one project and started another, etc. Not to worry, though. I'm pretty sure Terri or Michele will be perfectly happy to fill in any gaps.

What I know for absolutely positive (because how could I forget) is we had a delicious roast with vegetables and salad for dinner that night. And what roast beast meal would be complete without following up with ice cream later? So the three of us hopped into the folks' car and drove to Baskin Robbins. My sisters had to decide what flavor they wanted while all I wanted was Vanilla. "Boring", you say? Quite the contrary!! Vanilla ice cream, melted chunky peanut butter and chocolate syrup. Now THAT'S delicioso!!

Once again we stayed up too late.

Saturday, April 26:

At the risk of being redundant, we trimmed. And taped. And painted. I believe this was the day we put the finishing touches on the dining area. My parents have cathedral ceilings in the living room and we had to do one side at a time. So I trimmed one of the "triangles" on Saturday.

We couldn't get too into the painting because we had some major celebrating to do. We worked for a couple of few hours and then cleaned up so we could take our parents to dinner for their 55th anniversary. Yup. You read that right. Fifty-five years. We took them to the same restaurant the family went to five years earlier after their 50th anniversary party.

I was driving so instead of going straight home after dinner I took the scenic route past our old house. It's still as cute as ever. *sigh* I miss my wide front porch. And the most beautiful redbud tree I've ever seen still grows in the front.



Comfy jammies, conversation and ice cream completes day four. I'll try not to go so long before the final installment of the My Week in Arkansas chronicles.

Labels: anniversaries, family, food, home improvement, nostalgia

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Tuesday, March 25, 2008

More Nothing

Today was my first day back at work since spring break and the kids' first day back to school. To say this morning was crumby is an understatement! After more than a week of sleeping late to all of a sudden getting up at 6:30 - or 5:45 if you're Taylor - was, in the infamous words of Jeff Spicoli, gnarly, dude.

****

My family is conspiring against me to get a dog. I don't want a dog. Don't get me wrong. I love dogs and have had several in my lifetime. They're wearing me down, however, and I'm pretty sure we'll be owning one soon. As long as I'm not the one getting up in the middle of the night with it or cleaning up the backyard is all I'm gonna say.

****

I'm reading the most excellent of books! It's called Mistress of the Art of Death by Ariana Franklin. It's a medieval (1172) mystery in the fashion of CSI - two of my favorite genres all mixed in together! Here's the back blurb:

In Cambridge, four children have been murdered. Wrongly accused of the crimes, a small community of Jews threatened by Catholic mobs is given sanctuary by Henry II. To assist in proving their innocence, he summons an expert in the science of deduction and the art of death. She is Adelia, a prodigy from the Medical School of Salerno, and an anomaly in a medieval world, who is forced to concel her identity and her purpose from England's grave superstitions and condemnation. One man willing to work with her is Sir Rowley Picot. His personal stake in the investigation makes him an invaluable ally - and in Adelia's eyes, a suspect as well. From navigating Cambridge's perilous river paths to penetrating the dark shadows of the Church, Adelia's investigation will not only reveal the secrets of the dead, but in time, the far more dangerous ones buried by the living.

Now if I only had time to read more...

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Tomorrow I go back for the tattoo touch ups and my first laser hair removal treatment. I'm so excited about never having to shave/Veet my underarms again.

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Thursday is my thyroid biopsy. I'm seriously not concerned about the results. I've had these nodules and calcifications for at least 10 years. I AM, however, a little freaked out about the actual procedure. Todd is taking off work to go with me which means I'm getting a Venti White Chocolate Mocha out of the deal so I suppose it's not so bad. Besides, Radioactive Girl gave me the scoop on what to expect so I know it's not going to be as horrible as it sounds.

****

I'm listening to my iPod and 100 Years by Five for Fighting is on right now. If I listen to the lyrics it will make me cry. Not because they're sad. They're just, I don't know... So very, very true.



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I've become addicted to Sudoku. I hate it, but I can't stop myself. I have to do two or three puzzles every day and then I dream about it at night. The other night it was like a cross between Hollywood Squares and the beginning of the Brady Bunch with faces and numbers or numbers and faces or something. I don't know, but it plagued my sleep all night long.

****

I slighted Ben in my telling of how the boys scared the girls last Thursday, but only because I didn't have all the details when I wrote that post. Ben's part was rather devious and I believe Jesus warned about people like him. He went down to the basement and told the girls he needed to use the computer for something. Then when Taylor was scratching and knocking on the basement windows and the girls were freaking out, Ben was their hero. First he told them it was only the wind, then he said he'd go check it out and when he came back he told them it was just the wind. Nothing to be scared about. So he got them a little worked up and then lulled them into a false sense of security, priming them for Taylor's entrance. And he seems like such a nice boy, too.

****

The girls that spent the night were my little homies. Or K Squad Unit Fresh as Taylor calls them. We had been talking about the last days of Jesus' life the previous two weeks so Thursday night we watched The Passion of the Christ only after getting the parents' permission. A part of me was hoping either the parents would say no or the girls would change their minds. But no such luck. And it actually turned out to be a very good thing. Intense, but good. And after the movie was over they decided to watch Hairspray. lol

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There's a two-inch gash on my good coffee table in the living room. Not a scratch that I could maybe rub out, but an honest to goodness gash. I just wish I knew how it got there so I could make myself feel better by blaming someone. But no one has any idea how it got there. The hand-me-down coffee table in the family room is fine. The really cheap table is fine. The good coffee table? Not so much.

****

I'm terribly behind in my bloghopping. Now that I'm feeling better and things are getting back to our regular routine, maybe I can catch up. But right now I think I'll go take a little nap...

Labels: dreams, family, homies, job, kids, medical, nostalgia, random, reading, reconstruction

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Thursday, March 13, 2008

ROAD TRIP!

The kids and I took a quick trip to Arkansas this afternoon. Or at least it seemed like it.

I worked at the preschool until 3:00 this afternoon and then picked Taylor up from a school club meeting. We met up with Katie at home and then left around 4:00 for a three hour adventure.

Before we even walked out of the house, however, I traumatized my daughter. Again. Taylor had her upside down over his shoulder and this would be the conversation:

Me: Taylor! Put her down!

Katie: Yeah! Put me down!

Taylor: Teeheehee…

Me: I mean it! Put her down now! She's going to scuff the door with her shoes!

Katie: What about me? All you care about is the door?

Taylor: (After putting Katie down) Mom only cares about the door! Tee hee!

Me: Giggle.

Katie: Huff!

We then jumped in the car, opened up the sun roof, plugged in Taylor's iPod and headed for Morgantown with an ETA of 4:30. It was a beautiful drive through rolling hills and by old (and I do mean OLD) farms and historic houses. Taylor actually fell asleep in the back while Katie and I occasionally broke the companionable silence with a little chatter. It was lovely.

Just before 4:30 we arrived at our initial destination, the Morgantown Sonic. That's right, folks! We drove 21 miles just to eat at a mediocre fast food dive for a little taste of home. And thoroughly enjoyed it. I was so excited I texted my friend, Beth, in Arkansas and sent her a picture of Katie eating cheese fries in the front seat of the car.

When all our vittles had been consumed we went to the Super Center Wal-Mart across the parking lot. Sonic and Wal-Mart in one trip? It doesn't get more Arkansas than that! What a grand time we had perusing the aisles, trying on sunglasses, waxing nostalgic. So I texted Beth and sent her a picture of Taylor looking at posters.

Why, oh why didn't I have my real camera with me?? The one difference between this Wal-Mart and every other Wal-Mart I've ever been in was the covered buggy parking at the side of the parking lot. Seriously!! But don't you fret yourselves. I shall return with a real camera in hand because it was most definitely photo worthy.

After our grand tour of Wallyworld we drove through Dairy Queen to get the kids yummables for the trip back home. Katie ordered her usual – a Scooby Doo nose, better known as the Dairy Queen dilly bar. That's what she called it when she was little. In fact, my parents took her to DQ when she was about 5 or 6 and she told them she wanted a Scooby Doo nose. So that's what my dad ordered for her. The girl working the counter was one smart cookie because she figured out what Katie was talking about.

Finally, we headed for home. In one spot there was a beautiful white spire visible above a copse of trees so I took a detour to see it better. What a gorgeous old church it was. Again, curse my lack of camera! I pulled into the parking lot to turn around, but had to park so we could all dance to Every Time We Touch by Cascada. Oh. My. Gosh. It was hysterical! I'd never heard the dance tune before but somehow we all ended up doing the same "party boy" moves in perfect sync. Todd happened to call while we were all getting our groove on, but we were laughing so hard we had to hang up.

As we drove back to the main road we passed such an interesting old house. It was a two story stone house that looked normal straight on, but from the side you saw that it was only about 20 feet deep. So many things for me to get a picture of when I go back!

It was a great condensed version of a road trip and made us feel like we were back in Arkansas for just a little bit. It's the simple things in life, you know.

Labels: food, fun, kids, nostalgia

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Wednesday, March 05, 2008

The Perilous Lake Perris Portent

AKA Lake Perris – The Misadventures of a Teenage Jenster

A couple of months ago while perusing my favorite blogs I made the mistake of mentioning to His Girl that I'd been to Lake Perris before and it was, in fact, where I had gotten into the worst trouble of my life (please don't correct me if I'm wrong about that, Mom). Did you know you can't just throw out a statement like that and expect people to forget?

Just so you know, there were no sex or drugs involved, though I do believe there was a substantial amount of rock 'n' roll. And those of you with no children may not see it as such a big deal. Those of you who are parents, however, will probably shake your head at my stupidity and mutter things like, "if my child did something like that she'd find herself in a high security boarding school until she was 30."

So without further ado, here it is. The infamous Lake Perris story…

***

The church I grew up in was full of campers. My dad was the Wagon Master because: a) we did a lot of camping and he knew how the California State Parks worked; b) not only did his truck have a CB, it also had a PA system which he used for camping announcements; c) his daughter (me) had mad whistling skills and was able to get the attention of everyone in a ½ mile radius; or d) he was the only one who offered to do it. I’m not sure which. When I was 14 he chose a campout at Lake Perris, a man made lake in Riverside County.

Not only did my best friend, Cindy, come to church with me and even joined when I did, she also came on nearly all the church camping trips. She was tall and thin while I was short and not as thin. We had one thing in common, though. We were both flat as boards and not the kind of girls who inspired thoughts from older boys, lascivious or otherwise. Kathy, however, was 16 and built like the proverbial brick house. At 5' or so, she was even shorter than I was, but she had solid curves in all the right places and the French bikini she wore the entire weekend looked exactly like it was supposed to.

Now Kathy only ever came to church or a church activity when she was in trouble for something, which means she was a fairly regular attendee. It seems to me this particular weekend her reason for being there came in the form of a stash of pot found in her locker at school, but it could have been anything. Because she was a bit of a rough girl, a lot of the kids would hardly give her the time of day. My mother - being high on the compassion scale - told Cindy and me to be nice to Kathy. So Saturday morning after breakfast we invited Kathy to come down to the beach with us. She seemed genuinely pleased to be included and came along.

After a while of tanning, talking and listening to that devil music (I have to blame something for my actions) we headed to the bait shop for sodas and a snack. Three guys around 17 or 18 came out of the bait shop and jumped into a ski boat. I don’t believe they even saw Cindy or me, but six eyes landed on the French bikini we were with. And by the way the French bikini started walking, she noticed them as well.

You can see where this is going, can't you? I imagine some of you are sitting there, glued to the screen, nearly breathless with anticipation as to what will happen next. "No, Cindy and Jenster! Don't do it! You're good girls!" Actually, I can't imagine that any of you are quite that riveted, but it's fun to pretend.

The guys asked Kathy if she wanted to go for a ride in the boat. And this is where it gets a little foggy. If memory serves, she didn't even consult Cindy or me and she just jumped in. As an afterthought we were invited to tag along.

For years after the "Great Lake Perris Debacle" Cindy and I argued vehemently over whose fault it was. Easily it was Kathy's fault because she just hopped in the boat with these guys she didn't know. But as far as our participation in the scandal - who pushed who? Now that I'm older I can see we were both probably right. I always argued that I tried to talk her out of it but she happily went along with Kathy and she always argued she was the voice of reason while I just blew her off.

I think we both were screaming on the inside, "Nooooooooooo," but on the outside we didn't want to appear foolish or uncool. Not only that, but I think we both felt a responsibility to Kathy and neither one of us could leave her to her joy ride alone. So much to my everlasting shame, Cindy and I went on the joy ride, too. I use the term "joy" loosely because I can tell you neither one of us enjoyed it. Kathy, on the other hand, was having the time of her life.

I have no idea how long we were out on the lake other than it was too long. We finally pulled up to the dock and I know Cindy and I were greatly relieved. Though I do have to say for the record, the guys were actually very nice and never did or said anything inappropriate. But I hear axe murderers look suspiciously like nice guys.

When we got out of the boat all I could think of was getting back to the campground. The boys were locals and offered to drive us up to the campground in the back of their truck. Fine, fine, whatever. Just get me back to my people! OH! And drop us off at the entry. I don't want anyone seeing us with you! As we walked to the truck I heard my name. I barely recognized the voice as that of my father's. Can you say "busted"?

Up until that time I had never been afraid of my daddy. Since that time I've never been afraid of my daddy. In that moment -- I was a little afraid of my daddy. He had this glazed, crazy look in his eyes I'd never seen. I had received a few spankings in my life and I deserved all three. If ever a spanking was called for it was that day, but I didn't get one.

** And for the record, being spanked DID NOT MAKE ME VIOLENT. I'm a lover, not a fighter. Except that I do kick Taylor in the shins sometimes or pinch the tender underside of his arm to get his attention. But that's another post. **

I quickly changed directions and walked toward my dad and the other people that were with him. I was in trouble and I was humiliated in front of half my church. It's all a bit of a blur now, but I remember walking back to the campground with several people. You know in the historical-type movies when the villagers chase the outcast out of town? That was sort of how I felt. But instead of being chased out of town Cindy and I were being chased back to our camp site.

Apparently the entire group was out looking for us. And if that wasn't bad enough, the park rangers were looking for us as well. One of them even asked if we could be out on the lake. "Oh, no," said my mom. "Jennifer would never get into a boat with complete strangers." Yeah, I would have thought the same thing.

The worst part of all of it, though, was when Cindy and I were sitting in the back of the truck (with a shell on top, a couch that made into a bed, a built in cassette system, carpeted and with curtains – our little camping oasis). My mom was telling us how worried they had all been and how disappointed she was in our behavior. I remember thinking, "Oh, please! Just beat me now! It would be so much easier to take than this guilt!"

It was bad enough that Cindy and I did something so stupid. But to do something so stupid in front of half the church was horrible. And it wasn't just my parents who were worried. Oy! I'm embarrassed just thinking about it and it happened ten years ago. Or twenty. Or nearly thirty. Whatever!

I have had a little experience as a parent with the anger that turns into worry that turns into relief that morphs into righteous indignation, but not on this scale. If I think about it too much I am surprised at the mercy that was shown to me when I really didn't deserve it.

Oh, I was punished. Grounded, maybe? I don't remember. I try to block unpleasantness from my conscience. Part of my "ignorance is bliss" theme. But a lesson was learned by all that weekend. Cindy and I learned that we really needed to stand up for ourselves. The church learned that "Little Jenni" wasn't nearly as good as they thought. My parents learned their youngest was more adventuresome than their two oldest. And Kathy learned that wearing a French Bikini could open doors. Or something.

Labels: nostalgia

Mused by Jenster :: 9:42 AM :: 25 People musing:

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Friday, February 29, 2008

Busy, Busy, Busy

I'm going to be very busy this weekend doing nothing. Seriously. I have the pleasure of a ton of alone time and I'm going to fill that time with flicks of the chick variety, books and computer. Coffee will be flowing freely and I may even throw in some Vermonty Python ice cream for good measure. I'm not going to go totally crazy with the eating, though.

I'm picking the kids up from school and taking them directly to church where they will get on a big bus and head to Harrisburg for PCTC - Pennsylvania Christian Teen Convention. They went last year and it was an awesome experience for all the teens.

My only glitch in the whole Weekend-To-Myself plan is another stinkin' cold. It's not a terrible cold. Mostly a full head - scratchy throat, plugged up ears, postnasal congestion. That sort of thing. But it made me miss Home Team this morning and I'm not happy about that! I drove the kids to the bus stop because it was about 12 degrees outside with a decent windchill and when I went upstairs around 7:20 to start getting ready I decided to lay down for a few minutes since I had plenty of time. The next thing I knew it was 9:10. Home Team starts at 9:00. Then I rolled over with the intention of getting up and making it for at least half of bible study and the next thing I knew it was 10:00. So I gave up. But I feel the loss of connecting with my Homies.

Oh wait. There may be another glitch. We're supposed to get some snow and possibly ice tonight which means I'll have to shovel the drive way tomorrow since my snow blowers will be in other parts of the country. That will cut into my indulgent plans and I'm not thrilled about that. But oh well.

But I am looking forward to having the remote control all to myself. I'm looking forward to catching up with all my blog buddies without hearing someone say "You spend more time with people you don't even know than you do with us." (I've never actually heard anyone say that, but there's always the risk.) I don't have to prepare any meals, do any laundry, be nice to anyone... I'm excited.

Both the kids asked me if I was really happy they were going away. Geesh. They make it sound so horrible when they put it that way. I told them I was thoroughly looking forward to some time alone, but that by Sunday I would be so happy to have them back. Hopefully I didn't damage them any more than I already have. Driving Taylor to the bus stop in my pink robe and then cuffing him upside the head for messing with the buttons in the car in front of some of the neighborhood girls did enough of that.

And trying to pretend our life is a musical after watching Dream Girls and singing our conversation with a little dance move thrown in here and there seems to really bother him. Not Katie, though. She just plays along. OH! That reminds me of when she was very young - probably around four or five, maybe a little older. I would tell her to go clean her room and then spy on her from around the corner. She would walk around the room very dramatically, singing, "My mother told me to clean my room, but I don't want to-o-o-o-o-o-o. Why must I do these things she asks of me-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e?" It was hysterical! I so wish I would have gotten that on tape. She was starring in her own little version of Katierella or something. So funny!

Back to all of my family being gone. I suppose I could have lied to them and tell them how sad I was going to be, how miserable my lonely weekend would be, how I would probably spend most of the time crying, blah, blah, blah. But they would have caught on pretty quickly and lying is just wrong.

Lucky Todd gets to see his new niece and nephew - The Pretty Princess and Tank. Or Olivia and Nicholas. I'm very jealous. VERY JEALOUS! They are so cute! We're going to California for Christmas (in Palm Springs) and I'll get to see them then. But this very weekend -- nay, this very day he'll get to hold them and squeeze them and munch on them... Jealous I am. (I talk like that because I'm part hobbit. Remember?) My mother-in-law cracks me up because she's so worried my children will think she doesn't love them any more now that she has two new grandchildren. How wrong she is, but I can't figure out how to convince her of that.

Ooo! Look at the time!! It's almost time to pick up the kids!!

Ciao!!

Labels: babies, family, fun, homies, joy, kids, movies, nostalgia, reading, sick, TV, weather

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Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Ten Years Ago Today

The preschool party that morning proved to be just a little too much for a three-year-old Katie.



Whatever was on the TV that afternoon was fascinating!

Labels: joy, kids, love, nostalgia

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Monday, January 21, 2008

Last Year's Post

I have no idea why, but I wanted to see if I posted on January 21, 2007. I did and it made me smile. Dang, but it was good to be me back in the day!

So in case you missed Where I Grew Up last year, here you go.

Labels: blog, nostalgia

Mused by Jenster :: 2:34 PM :: 11 People musing:

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Monday, December 03, 2007

A Lawn Mower, A Snake and a Phone

A Lawn Mower, A Snake, and a Phone

Because I have nothing to blog about I’m going to tell you a story. It’s a story about a lawn mower, a snake and a phone. I like to call it, “A Lawn Mower, A Snake and a Phone.” Hope you like it. Here’s how it goes…

Once upon a time there was a wife who loved her family very much. Her husband worked hard and provided well so she was able to stay at home to take care of their children. Because she felt such gratitude for her husband she decided to mow the back yard so he could come home from work and relax.

Now the lot the house sat on was a fairly large lot. Some might even say they had “land” because it measured a fourth of an acre. The town in which they lived had a law that said land owners may have one horse for each acre. The wife amused herself greatly with the thought they could own a quarter horse since they had a quarter of an acre.

The husband, being manly and riddled with testosterone, thought they needed a riding mower. The wife, being much more practical and grounded, thought it was silly, though the idea of driving an almost-tractor did sound fun.

This particular day she walked out the back door and, as she headed to the lawn mower, caught some movement out of the corner of her eye. When she looked closer she realized it was a snake, quietly slithering toward the deck she stood on. Not inclined toward dramatics, still the wife squeaked and ran inside to call the man she called hero. Her husband.

But alas, he was no longer in his office given it was lunch time. She left this frantic message on his voice mail: “Are there any good black snakes?” then hung up. As she waited for the husband to call her back she watched intently for the cold reptile through the bay window of the dining room. The last thing she saw was a shiny, dark tail as the offending creature slid under the deck.

When, after several minutes, the husband didn’t return her call she thought it best to page him – this being before he had been issued a cell phone. The husband and the wife had a code amongst them to alert the husband if the wife was in a true emergency. After leaving the phone number on the pager she was to add 911. Believing this was not a true emergency but an almost emergency, the wife entered 910, that number being almost 911. Unfortunately, the wife was so anxious she did not realize she had entered her phone number incorrectly.

The husband, being in a hurry to catch up with his co-workers for lunch, had listened to the voice mail but did not consider it to be critical. When he received the bewildering page while at the restaurant, however, he became concerned that a venomous snake had bitten his wife and already the delirium had set in.

Even though mobile phones were commonplace at this time, nobody at his table seemed to carry one. So he appealed to the good graces of the restaurant manager to let him use the phone for an emergency. But the manager was of a bad ilk and had no good graces, directing the husband to a pay phone in the entry way of the restaurant.

The husband had no change on him, thought thankfully was able to scrounge some up from his friends. Fearing the worst as he called home, he was greatly relieved when he found out the wife had not been bitten by the snake. His relief was replaced with huge guffaws as she explained why she used 910 as opposed to 911 and at that moment he vowed never to let the story die. In fact the husband was in a terrible hurry to get back to his table and share the tale with his friends.

After assurances from the husband that it was a garden snake and perfectly harmless, the wife decided to risk everything and mow the lawn as originally planned. This, however, meant she would have to walk across the deck the serpent had slithered under. Being an intelligent woman and having seen Anaconda, the wife knew the snake was capable of bursting through the decking, biting her heel and dragging her down into the bug infested great abyss beneath the porch.

But the wife’s love for the husband overrode her mounting dread so she ran down the steps, jumping as far onto the deck as possible and clearing it in two bounds. She sought refuge on the seat of the hulking lawn mower and managed her passes by the deck on the side opposite the clutch so she was able to lift her foot high, rendering an ankle attack useless.

The End

If names had been used in this story, they would have been changed to protect the innocent and the not so innocent. There are those among us who like to change the story to their whim, but this is the truest, most authentic telling.

Labels: domestic failure, nostalgia

Mused by Jenster :: 7:54 AM :: 29 People musing:

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Wednesday, October 03, 2007

The Rest Is History

Back in the spring I wrote about how Todd and I met twenty-three years ago on April 5th. If you didn't read it or want to refresh your memory you can read it HERE.

My plan was to write about our next meeting the following month, however, as is often the case with me, I forgot. I'm guessing the rest of you forgot as well and could have lived out the rest of your days without the rest of the story. But I found it written and need something to post. So without further ado, here is the long awaited (or not) post.

May 4, 1984 was a very warm Friday in Southern California. I ditched my classes and met a friend at the beach. From 10:00 until 4:00 we sat in our beach chairs, toes wiggling in the sand, catching up on all that had happened since our high school graduation nearly 12 months before. The only real movement was to either turn over or move our chairs into perfect, hedonistic position. I suppose we probably ate some sunflower seeds and drank some soda somewhere in there, too.

When I got home I rushed upstairs to shower and get ready for my Friday night. Cathy and I were going to go see the Rick Springfield movie, Hard to Hold. Since Cathy loves me for me I forewent any type of fashion or make up. I had on an old pair of sweats and a sweatshirt with the bottom ribbing ripping away, my short hair dried with no rhyme or reason and a sunburned nose.

Before Cathy got to my house my mother informed me I had received a phone call while I was at the beach. A guy named Todd. “Todd?” For some ridiculous reason the name didn’t register, even though I had talked about him with my beach friend just hours before. “You know, Eddie’s friend,” she called up the stairs.

“Oh!! Todd!!” It had been an entire month since I met him at Eddie’s house and I hadn’t seen him since. Still, the realization of who she was talking about sent a jolt through me and I couldn’t have wiped the silly grin off my face if I’d tried.

He hadn’t left a number, but said he’d call back later. Just as Cathy and I were walking out the door the phone rang. I looked back at my mom, her hand on the phone, and she asked, “Are you still here?” It took me about a half a second to say, “Not unless it’s Todd.” It was.

He and Billy had been playing basketball and wanted to know if I wanted to come over to his apartment and watch the Lakers' game with them. I told him I already had plans. He persisted, but come on. Lakers?? Or Rick Springfield?? It was a no brainer, though I certainly liked the idea of seeing him again. Finally Billy got on the phone and he apparently has superior persuasion skills because he coerced me and Cathy into coming over to Todd’s apartment to pick them up so they could go with us.

Now if you read the post where I explained how I met Todd you’ll know he was in an unstable relationship when we met a month earlier. Two weeks after we met, however, he broke up with his girlfriend. Coincidence? Or something else? Like being smart enough to recognize his best chance for a happily ever after. Anyway, since he’d removed that obstacle I felt no compunction about going to the movie with him even though it wasn’t a date.

So Cathy drove us to Todd’s apartment where the four of us then got in his car for the ride to the movies. As I said in the other post, he was really cute. As soon as Cathy saw him she called shotgun. And she was supposed to be among my very best friends. But since this wasn’t a date or anything I guess he was fair game. Besides, I had that kind of, sort of boyfriend. But he was on the other side of the world and frankly, I kind of, sort of forgot about him. Cathy hadn’t forgotten about him, though.

I pretty much figured my chances for this hunka hunk were out the window as soon as Cathy showed up anyway. She was tall (taller than me, anyway), thin, blond. I was short (relatively speaking), healthy (I should be half as healthy now), and brunette. But when we got to the theater I was very encouraged. Somehow Todd managed to arrange the seating so that I was sitting next to him. Very slyly, too, I might add.

The film was showing at The Strand – a 1930’s theater across from the Redondo Beach pier. The beauty of this old movie house was that they usually showed a double feature. This particular night’s double feature was Hard to Hold preceded by that underappreciated gem of the big screen – Seven Doors of Death. Or something like that.

Now we’re getting to my favorite part. The cheesy part. The part where I think I started losing my heart. During one of the tenser (or would that be more tense?) scenes of the first movie Todd grabbed my shoulder to enhance the scary factor and make me scream. Yeah. But that’s not the good part. THIS is the good part. He then gave me a “watch this” look, reached around me and scared Cathy in the same way. But the BEST part was that he left his arm there on the back of my chair for the rest of the movie. How "Happy Days" is that?? It still makes me giggle just to think about it.

The next day was a Saturday and Todd was busy with his family, but we had made arrangements to go watch Cathy’s softball game Sunday evening. After the game we went for pizza with the team and hung out for a while. When he drove me home we stood out on my front porch for what seemed an eternity and just talked. Finally around 2:00 in the morning he gave me the kiss I’d been waiting for.

After that we saw each other just about every day. The rest, as they say, is history. And what a history it is!

Labels: love, nostalgia

Mused by Jenster :: 3:47 PM :: 19 People musing:

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Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Fried Green Tomatoes and Stuff

Katie and I watched Fried Green Tomatoes last night. It’s times like that when I love having a daughter. Oh, I suppose there are other times I love having a daughter, too. But chillin’ together with a chick flick is just fun.

It’s been quite a while since I’ve seen this movie, but watching it brings up such pleasant memories and emotions. Some things in life are pure Southern – things I’d never even heard of growing up in California. Things like chiggers, crawdads, fried okra, sweet tea that can pass for pancake syrup, kudzu, fried green tomatoes…

There’s a little town just east of Little Rock called Scott that reminds me of the little town in the movie. In Scott you can find a shack of a famous restaurant, the back of which is on stilts over a creek, called Cotham’s Mercantile. It was built in 1917, has been a general store, a jail and a military commissary. Regardless of how primitive, the joint is always jumping. I’ve seen it packed from wall to wall with distinguished business people from Little Rock and farmers alike.


Every time I see Fried Green Tomatoes I think of Cotham’s. They even serve – you guessed it – fried green tomatoes.



Another thing about the movie is the mythical warrior Towanda they call on for courage. When I was going through chemotherapy I was part of a wonderful on-line community of women who all started treatment in June of 2005. Towanda was a part of our kicking cancer's butt attitude.

The day after my last treatment, November 23, 2005, my family took me to a Build-A-Bear where I was told to pick out whichever animal I wanted. I chose a white teddy bear and when we had it stuffed Todd pulled out four sound chips - one for each paw. He and the kids had recorded messages about my courage and how much they loved me.

I named the bear Towanda because she's a symbol of how I had gone all Bruce Lee, Jet Lee and Tommy Lee on my cancer. She sits next to my glider in the sitting room and I see her every morning - assuming I get out of my pajamas. And now Katie gets why I named the bear Towanda.

***

Todd was out of town on business and Taylor was at a Student Leadership meeting at church last night. I had told Taylor to come tell me goodnight when he got home because I was pretty sure I'd be watching TV in bed by then. I heard him come in, heard the lock click and the porch light switch clack, heard him go into the kitchen and I relaxed. I promptly fell asleep, only to be jarred awake by this big kid jumping onto the bed to tell his mama goodnight.

As shocking as that was I must admit I loved it. Here's my baby boy who is taller than I am; has a girlfriend; is starting to think about college and what he may want to be when he grows up; and I saw a glimpse of the little boy he used to be. We chatted for a little bit -- or he chatted and I mumbled -- and then he kissed me, said, "I love you", went off to bed and I fell back to sleep with a big grin on my face.

***

Hangin' and giggling with the girl and getting some mama love from the boy. Yeah. It's good to be me.

Labels: breast cancer, joy, kids, love, movies, nostalgia

Mused by Jenster :: 7:32 PM :: 16 People musing:

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