Memories, “Rhymes & Reasons”

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While out on yard sale patrol, a good friend and I came upon these long lost, but not so forgotten memory makers from days gone by.
I better stipulate right here, that I am one nostalgic old hippie. I love life today, look forward to all the future has to offer and I do so because I celebrate the past.
One thing I have learned throughout the years is that in addition to the visual, the melodic sound of yesteryear provides a much needed music to the soul.
So, needless to say when I see an old radio/record player or better yet 8track on somebodies curbside, I have an overwhelming need to hear the sound of music once again.
On the larger of the two console’s I enjoyed listening to the owner’s own Xanadu of memories on vinyl.
The smaller stereo encased within an 8track, which for me brings back many a memory indeed, not only of the era but of those lost but never forgotten.
After a wonderful day of restoration, I sit basking in the glory of a well worn much much beloved Carole King record, helping me to remember that is in memory we are able to find “Rhymes & Reasons”.

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With Every Twist and Turning Branch of The Family Tree

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Hey man in my family, not a one of us fall far from the family tree.

It matters not if our bloom has long since faded far from the vine or if we are just coming into bud.

We continually sprout, bud and eventually bloom into the fruit we were intended to bare.

For us we were through many years of grafting, pruning and nuturing meant to produce the love of faith, forgiving and family that was planted by those who have long since past, yet had laid solid ground for us to grow.

How silly, ridiculous and arrogant of us to do anything other than continue and progress, as meant to be.

From what I know of life, not much that grows without encumbrance holds within the seed of character. 

Character must be cultivated in the rich soil of  family, some adversity, rich love and most of all a deep rooted faith.

For my family, each and everyone I pray. we continue grow through all the twisting, turning and most of all loving that lies within and beyond our family tree.

“windows are not made for looking out but more for looking in.”

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When I was a child I had my Dottie She was my salvation. I loved her, I adored her and I miss her to this day. Dorothy Kathryn Jenkins (Mobley) was my grandmother. God really broke the mold with Dot. … Continue reading

If I Knew Then, What I Now Know

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If I knew then that my sister and brothers would many years later find so much humor in the fact that my mama dressed me funny (even in pajamas),
I would most definitely find a smaller pair to wear, just so we could share a belly laugh together as only siblings can do.

If I knew then that aluminum Christmas trees were only a novelty,
I would have stocked up. I did so love to lay in front of that tree with the color wheel turning. I would stare at the ceiling for hours on end, probably a precursor to a few little trips (if you know what I mean and if your old and lived through the 70’s, you should) I took a not so many years later.

If I knew then that my father would grow old and tired,
I would not have wasted so much time being angry with him and more time celebrating the man he was.

If I knew then my mother did love me as only a mother can,
I for sure would have not held onto childhood hurts that only ended up hurting her too.

It wasn’t until some years later I realized my family is everything I am.
They are a gift that I have many times over been afraid to love fully.

I wish I knew then what I now know.

Bitch Slapped Into Reality II

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Because I’m now a card carrying, senior discount taking, don’t mess with an old lady, member of the AARP. I reserve the right to re-tweek just a little, a previous post in which I allowed myself to poke a little fun at all us oldie’s but still goodie’s.

So, suck up the neck, pull on the depends and try not to pee yourself if you do get your giggle on, cuz here goes nothin;

As a still vibrant on the inside, used to be cute on the outside, 57yr old woman I just gotta say growing older aint for no stinkin sissy’s to be sure.

For me every birthday has been a celebration of life.
I love that I get the opportunity to age, learn and hopefully mature (debateable in my case). I am grateful to be older (again debatable as to any wiser.)

After all I have soooo many more life experiences I get to share (whether they like it or not) with my family and friends. So many more memories made together with those I love (and in some cases love to terrorize).
So, why in the heck does this neck of mine betray me at the supposed to be precious “kodak” moments.

Why am I developing and oversensitive fear that I may actually have to acknowledge someone, with the now tsunami porportioned “wave” capability of my lower arm?

Geez, I want to be able to gesture a big hidy-ho to all the other gray haired beauties, while we’re hitting senior Tuesday at the Goodwill.
But at the same time I avoid at all costs raising the arm that when in “wave” motion has the potential to “bitch slap” us all right back into our senior reality, like it or not!!!!

All kidding aside, I really do dig the fact that I’m still here. I love most of the journey (as long as they have a bathroom along the way). I’m still too cool for school and determined to live, love and learn (but not wave).

Mom

christmasmomdadjanmikemeThere are those of us who write our feelings so much better than we could ever say them.
For me, I think the written word and the silence it has to offer is so much more meaningful than the sound that accompanies verbal communication.
Not to mention that there are always those who just love to hear themselves talk. To me that form of communication has the strong possibility of cheapening the emotion.

Simply put, I hear better when there is silence. I feel better when writing in silence. I can feel my whatever the emotion may be and also do it in a more constructive way, whilst typing away my feelings, thoughts, etc.

So here goes nothing I got a little diarrhea of the finger to keyboard and I have a strong need to dump my load from ink to paper.

My mother died this morning a 6:10. I do believe she is with my sweet father Jesus, who will allow her to bask in his glory and love on her mother, father, brother, first son-In/law Mike and not to mention at least 3 grandchildren she never got to meet.

I’ve come to realize after my first husbands, my father’s and now mother’s passing that death like life is one heck of a trip.

I feel so much obligation to celebrate my loved one’s passing through our life’s interactions.

Tonight it is mom who I want/need to celebrate. I must preface by saying that I am one heck of a hard ass nut and I expect a lot of others and myself. But what I am learning is that the world really doesn’t revolve about my “hard-ass-ness”. I wish I had learned that sooner.
I judged my mother so strongly due to my own childhood hurts. What hurt the most was that I thought my mother was never happy. I wanted so much for her to be. Actually I wanted both my parents to love life because isn’t that what we all want to achieve, while here.

I wish I’d have spent less time judging her and more time relishing in her strengths and gifts.
She was so childlike. She was wonderful with small children and naptimes with mommy were special. She could weave a tale like nobody’s business and I realize now it is her I got that from.

She was a good sport, for sure. Because not only her children but also her extended family could torment her and she would just go with our flow. I remember more than one occasion involving a can of fart spray (John).

She had the voice of an angel and she knew it. Actually I think that is the only thing my mother felt good about. She had little, if any confidence except in the fact that she could sing.

She was so stinking beautiful, actually she was stunning. But she never saw what the rest of us saw. So sad and for so long I couldn’t understand that. I’m sorry mommy. I know your happy now and singing “I hope” at the top of your lungs.

1948, I’m Tuning In and Turning On!!!!

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I have been anxiously (the patience thing hasn’t been working so well) awaiting this piece finished. I was so excited when Gary spotted this at a local yard sale.
The owner had explained, though in rough condition the radio still worked. It was then; Gary explained to me that this was going to be a radio with wine storage. Because listening to tunes and drinking wine are two of my favorite things, my excitement went into overdrive. I about drove my poor husband nut’s encouraging him to “please hurry up and get it done!”

On the drive home, you better believe that seat belt could hardly contain my enthusiasm or me. When we got home and plugged in “Jack” (as in Jack Benny) both Gary and I were amazed. There is something so different and wonderful about sound coming from a tube rather than transistors. I went into immediate nostalgia overdrive.

Now just imagine if you will an over excited, way enthusiastic wife now in nostalgic mush mode. My poor husband!!!!

1948 was the year the Eagles Glenn Frey was born and James Taylor too. Not to mention my darling husband came into the world that very year (a big thank you to his mom and dad from me).
Not that it’s my cup of tea at all but in 1948 Nascar held it’s first race for modified stock cars in Daytona.
The movie Easter Parade came out. Watching Judy Garland and Fred Astaire in all their glory was a great pleasure to me. For years I thought life would be so much better if we could just make it a musical. After all who could get pissy when “singing in the rain”.

It was 1948 that the Wham-o slingshot became a catalyst for the famous toy company. It would be 9yrs later that the hula-hoop would come to be and for me that stinkin hula-hoop has always been my nemesis. I have yet to master that darn thing and have added that feat onto my “bucket list”.

It was 1948 that President Truman won his second term in office. That man truly had the weight of the world on his shoulders. General Patton said, “If you don’t stand for something, you will fall for anything.” Somehow I always relate that phrase to President Truman.

Don’t get me wrong I live in and love being present. But I have a strong need to celebrate and learn from the past. I think that’s what I’m going to do this evening, I’m gonna bask in the glow from the old radio dial and pop the cork on some cheap wine while I tune in and turn on.

Happy Birthday Dad(Thank you for being our DAD)

June 5th 1931 my father was born. February 22nd 2011, my father died. Today as I miss my Dad, I needed to share just a snippet of who he was to me.

I have been thinking of him for weeks leading up to this day. I loved him, miss him and wish I would have let him know more how much I adored him.

With all this said I wanted to write. But not something sad or melancholy. I wanted to write a giggle. I choose to celebrate my Dad today through laughter and I hope some of you can relate.

My Dad was almost as ornery as he was handsome. To his children he was bigger than life. I realize now that Dad was just as big a kid as us and he lived to rattle a cage or two.
I was reminded of this endearing but sometimes embarrassing trait my father epitomized when recently I overheard my husband sharing a story with my grandchildren.
As I listened to my grandchildren howl with laughter I thought of how much my Dad would have loved it. I knew he would have added even a little more flare and shock value. I wanted to share this part of my Dad, the part I loved and sometimes feared just a little, because you never knew what was coming out of that mouth.
So, for just a moment reach back to that awe-struck little kid in each and every one of us. As you sit quietly at Dad’s or PaPa’s feet, just wait for it cause you know you’re not to be disappointed in the tale to be told.

Little Red Riding Hood (with just a twist)

Once upon a time there was a little girl who lived with her mommy and daddy.
This little girl had a grandma who she loved very much. Grandma had not been feeling well as of late. Grandma didn’t live so far off that the little girl couldn’t walk there but then again not just next door either.
The little girl and her mother wanted so much to help grandma get better soon. So they prepared the most wonderful basket of food. They had with delicate precision cut the turkey, cheese and bacon sandwiches. There was homemade chicken soup and hot apple cider. The cookies had chocolate morsels melted within a homemade batter that surpassed anything purchased in the market.
After painstaking food preparation the little girl wrapped herself in her cloak of red and started out for the journey to grandma’s home. Her mother reminded her “don’t talk to stranger’s” and she was off.
Not long into her journey the girl with the red cloak “Little Red
Riding Hood” felt an uneasiness as if someone was following her. She looked about and saw a certain wolf lingering and crouching behind a rock. He had a menacing look about him. She remembered her mother’s words and scurried off.
Further down the road she happened again upon the same scary creature. He looked as is he was up to no good to be sure. He was bent as if hiding behind a small group of bushes. Mother’s words rang loudly in her ears. She ran as fast as her little feet would carry her and as far away as she could get.
Sometime later Little Red Riding Hood knew she was so close to her
destination. She couldn’t wait to nourish her beloved grandma back to health with her basket of love filled goodies. To her dismay though, there he lurked again. He was slouched down and off to the side of a small out building. By this time though, she had enough of his constant and frightening presence. His following her every move had to end here and now. She shouted loudly and forcefully, “why don’t you just go away and leave me alone?” Then to her surprise that slouched down, filthy beast blurted out,
“hey, do you mind I’m trying to take a poop here!”

That’s the version I think my Dad would have loved!!!! I know my grandson’s did.

Faith vs Contradiction

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It’s spring 2013 and there is much evidence of life renewed all around me. I’m in awe of how much things have changed yet in some ways remain the same. I wanted to write about it but just kept going back to this past pondering from a couple years ago.
It was the holiday season and I was then as I am now counting my blessing for the ability to stay constant in faith in this crazy, wonderful and ever-changing, not-so changing world.
Please forgive the redundancy but here goes:

I’ve been doing quite of bit of reflection this holiday season and I have a strong need to put pen to paper (or finger to keyboard) and share a few thoughts. I turned 55 this year and feel like a youngster, one who is old enough and wise enough to take nothing for granted or lightly. I find with each year the only thing I know for sure, is that I don’t know much and neither do alot of others who maybe think they do.
As I see it myself included, most of us are just contradictions with feet. For a good deal of my life I have been the ying to my own yang (that doesn’t sound too good).
Life is so darn complex and ever changing and it seems we always complicate it further with one contradiction after another. Please indulge me with just a few silly examples;

“I’ve heard it said, so it must be true”. Don’t believe everything you hear

“I saw it with my own two eyes”. Looks can be deceiving

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me”. The tongue is sharper than the sword

I’m hoping you get my drift. Whether it be by circumstance or never ending opinions (and like bottoms, everybody’s got one), change is a constant.

However, I for one find so much comfort in knowing that my faith far outways all change or contradiction. My faith is the gift of love through my sweet Jesus. Faith is Love and that remains as true and constant today as it was yesterday, today and hopefully many more tomorrows.

Take Me Out To The Ballgame

With the spring 2013 baseball season in full swing (hee-hee), I hope you’ll enjoy this repost from one grateful but frugal grandma.

A few years ago my husband Gary and I took our grandson Mikey to a Seattle Mariner’s game.

Oh my, he was excited and I was determined to milk every moment of my super grandma status for all it’s worth!

I had pried my purse strings open, painful as that is for me to do, and actually purchased tickets to something.

After our arrival to the stadium and trudging up step after step to the nosebleed section, I soon realized that maybe I should have pried a little harder on those purse strings. Sometimes you do get what you pay for and this was the case here. The nosebleed section is called that for good reason.  Honestly, I thought I may have heard the “Sound of Music” playing off in the distance. I felt we were on a Swiss Alp, Bavarian kind of hike and I started to frantically search for oxygen.  In my opinion, the stadium could make a small fortune renting oxygen tanks to cheap grandmas.  Thank goodness we eventually collapsed in, I mean arrived to our seats.

But just as soon as those bats started crackin’ things quickly got to a fever pitch and I couldn’t help but get caught up in all the excitement. I must have been delirious from all the action and lack of oxygen because I grabbed the grandkid and announced to my husband I was off to get some eats, a giant finger for Mikey and a $6.00 beer! Good Lord, would the madness never end! Off we went, one lucky grandkid and one blessed grandma.

After dropping more than a buck or two at the concession stand, we collected all our booty and began the long hike back. While making the climb I happened to notice people were staring at me. I thought I was looking nice but I must have been looking real good that day. Wow, maybe they thought I was Mikey’s mom. Climbing, carrying food and sucking in my gut and double chin at the same time was quite a feat. But, with each step my confidence grew almost as big as my head.

Finally we were to our row and had only to squeeze by several people, who looked thrilled to see us coming. As we continually excused ourselves while slipping past fellow spectators, the stares continued and I’m sure I was flashing a smile here and there to all my admirers! Then when we were almost to the safety of our cheap seats, it happened.  There was some very nice, possibly also oxygen deprived woman, who felt compelled to let me know, “Excuse me ma’am, but your fly is open”.