This has been quite a week; on Wednesday in the early morning my daughter, only child delivered a lovely little baby girl; the process was pretty quick, not much pain; for me anyway, it was a great birthing experience, I was there for the whole experience; I will never forget that night, it was a highlight of my life. The baby is a welcomed addition to my family; she is beautiful, tiny and delicate, warm and cuddly. Mother, father, brother are all doing quite well. As a matter of fact she is doing so well, she does not need me; this time she is totally independent; as she should be at her age.
I taught her to be independent; strong, I taught her so well that she now handles a full time job, is a great mother and provider for her family; bottom line here is she does not need me anymore. I thought with the baby coming I would be going over to help out; nope, I call and get a cheerful, reply that all is well and she needs nothing from me at all; “relax mom, we are good” how can this be? With my grandson she was constantly calling with questions, visiting daily, now she is content in her home with her family.
This is good, I am elated for her; a special time in her life to be nested in her existence. I am rising above the feeling of not being needed so much; it is all good; different, but good.
For Mother’s Day the family gave me a beautiful Beta Fish, deep blue complete with a lively tank with lime green trim. We named the fist “Mr. Buffett” I talk to him, tap on the window; he seems to follow me around the room. Another being in the house is what I need; he requires little from me, this is good. But Mr. Buffett does not lie on my chest and fall asleep making soft cuddling noises, he does not snuggle in my neck nor feel warm, he will not grow into a young speaking child who calls me YAYA; he will swim around and eat.
I have a tendency to make the beings who surround me self sufficient and free. This is a good thing; isn’t it?
Monday, May 18, 2009
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Sometimes it just takes a word or two from a friend
Yes it has been awhile since I have written anything; don’t know why. I have been busy with the Daffodil Festival a labor of love I have been doing for 19 years. The hard economic times that seem to be swallowing up the world around me have also taken their toll on my creative spirit. Today my friend Ruthie reprimanded me for not using my God given gift to write to my advantage. My conversation with her made me sit down and write this; I had to. I have been blessed with an ability to write anything quickly and with soul; so why am I not utilizing this to better myself personally and professionally.
So now you are all stuck with me again. My fingers will once again fly over the key board; the writing pad will grace my bedside so I can write down those midnight thoughts. I will look at my everyday adventures and journalize my days and nights and let the reader decide if it is worth it or not.
My life right now is tied to the phone; waiting for the familiar tune of Jimmy Buffett’s “A pirate looks at forty” . The call will go “Hey mom, can you come and get LJ, the baby’s is coming and you need to be with my son” I will joyously retrieve the love of my life; and wait in the birthing area to meet my granddaughter and welcome her into our lives.
So, stayed tuned if you care to; I am back into the journey of life and living my life with my words close by – again thank you sista Ruth.
So now you are all stuck with me again. My fingers will once again fly over the key board; the writing pad will grace my bedside so I can write down those midnight thoughts. I will look at my everyday adventures and journalize my days and nights and let the reader decide if it is worth it or not.
My life right now is tied to the phone; waiting for the familiar tune of Jimmy Buffett’s “A pirate looks at forty” . The call will go “Hey mom, can you come and get LJ, the baby’s is coming and you need to be with my son” I will joyously retrieve the love of my life; and wait in the birthing area to meet my granddaughter and welcome her into our lives.
So, stayed tuned if you care to; I am back into the journey of life and living my life with my words close by – again thank you sista Ruth.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Blah Day in February
I have had enough of the snow; sleet freezing freaking rain and most of all, the wind. Waking up this morning to the horrific sound of ice being scraped off the windows and cars dictated my crankiness and unrest for the day. It is however the end of February and the first day of spring is exactly to the date, one short month away, so it is a little more tolerable; but not acceptable.
My computers (now I am attached to three) all have web cams of islands and warm climate beaches; whenever a friend is visiting and exotic place; I make it my business to find a cam in a nearby locale to check out the weather; the beach and hopefully catch a glimpse of them enjoying a frolic in the water or better yet a frothy cocktail at the outside tiki bar. I live vicariously through many.
Right now the weather in ST. Martin, Riveria Maya and Fort Meyers looks great; outside my window it is snow covered; bits of ice and a whole lot of wind.
If there was a cam at my desk; no one would secretly watch what I am seeing.
I NEED A BEACH BADLY
My computers (now I am attached to three) all have web cams of islands and warm climate beaches; whenever a friend is visiting and exotic place; I make it my business to find a cam in a nearby locale to check out the weather; the beach and hopefully catch a glimpse of them enjoying a frolic in the water or better yet a frothy cocktail at the outside tiki bar. I live vicariously through many.
Right now the weather in ST. Martin, Riveria Maya and Fort Meyers looks great; outside my window it is snow covered; bits of ice and a whole lot of wind.
If there was a cam at my desk; no one would secretly watch what I am seeing.
I NEED A BEACH BADLY
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
An old write; somehow fits this day
He looks like my friend” is how my grandson described his new friend as I quizzed him on his new school and how he was adapting socially. He was telling me that he had made quite a few new buddies; so I asked if he wanted to have one over to play with him; somehow I asked him what his new friend looked like; I don’t know why; it came out of my mouth. He stared back at me and gave me his response; I was amazed; and taken back at how this four year old had but me in my place……. in the simplest of terms he told me; no more, no less, he had not judged him by appearance; but by the ultimate fact that they found a common bond, whether it be legos or Star Wars, they were friends.
As adults, we tend to be much more defined in our friendships, we judge by looks, clothes, cars and just about anything else that defines what we want to portray ourselves to the public eye. Of course we are not always what we dress ourselves as; many people are way deep into MasterCard and ready for debtor’s prison but on the outside; they look like Donald Trump with better hair.
Unfortunately people perceive that all races and/or religions are the same; they group people together with their heritage as a common denominator. Much amazed I am that in this day and age there remains so many preconceived notions regarding people of various races or creeds. Tying together ethnic origins drives me crazy. Expressions which characterized certain nationally are just wrong; true each nationality has their own set of quirks; but so many generations have passed from the origin of birth and most have been so Americanized it just does not make any sense to lump them all together. What startles me most is the acceptance of these racial/religious
slurs and jokes; it is just not right; funny maybe; but not nice.
Yes, we seek comfort in people who are similar to ourselves in likes and dislikes but we learn from others not in our realm of our security if we learn to branch out.
From the looks of it; my grandson won’t have any difficulty accepting people for what they are; not how they look; I hope people accept him for just what he is; a kind young man; with the ability to read people and accept them for what they mean to him as an individual.
As adults, we tend to be much more defined in our friendships, we judge by looks, clothes, cars and just about anything else that defines what we want to portray ourselves to the public eye. Of course we are not always what we dress ourselves as; many people are way deep into MasterCard and ready for debtor’s prison but on the outside; they look like Donald Trump with better hair.
Unfortunately people perceive that all races and/or religions are the same; they group people together with their heritage as a common denominator. Much amazed I am that in this day and age there remains so many preconceived notions regarding people of various races or creeds. Tying together ethnic origins drives me crazy. Expressions which characterized certain nationally are just wrong; true each nationality has their own set of quirks; but so many generations have passed from the origin of birth and most have been so Americanized it just does not make any sense to lump them all together. What startles me most is the acceptance of these racial/religious
slurs and jokes; it is just not right; funny maybe; but not nice.
Yes, we seek comfort in people who are similar to ourselves in likes and dislikes but we learn from others not in our realm of our security if we learn to branch out.
From the looks of it; my grandson won’t have any difficulty accepting people for what they are; not how they look; I hope people accept him for just what he is; a kind young man; with the ability to read people and accept them for what they mean to him as an individual.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Winter is way too hard
Winter is hard. Everything is more difficult. I realize we live in New England where some folks call snow pretty; so we should either stop complaining or move south. I hear many complaints in my job about the day to day problems of snow, sleet and rain, so I spend a lot of time talking about the problems of snow during those long cold months.
Start with getting up in the morning. It is dark, which makes even getting out of bed easier said than done. It is cold; and to keep warm you have to have some artificial heating device blow warm air out of a small grated hole in the wall. Instead of waking up to the sound of birds; the first noise of the day is ice scraping or plow related noises, not comforting, but hostile like a nail against the blackboard. Getting in the shower is cold; in and out no dallying; get out, stand there stark naked shivering. Skin goes to hell in the winter; we moisturize the hell out of my bodies, only to cover it up with itchy fibers. While examining a mole on my leg with a magnifying glass; my normally tan well oiled leg looked remarkably like the other side of mars. I screamed out loud, not wanting to believe this skin was attached to my body. Time to blow dry the hair which will stand on end from the static produced by the fake warm air. Then apply make up in fake lighting, so the remainder of the day you look like the walking dead or some overage actress.
Getting dressed. too many damn layers; socks, two shirts, long pants, nylons, way too much clothing for me. As I put on my boots, which I have to maneuver into as opposed to just slipping them on; I try to bend down to tie them; which did not work; so I tried sitting on the bed, to perform this feat. The socks were causing some friction, and they started to “blow out” at the big toe. Boots are made to protect from weather, so they have to be sturdy; with sturdy you get heavy and the very last thing I need is an extra five pounds on the each leg.
On to the outer gear. First I search for a match pair of gloves to cover the moisturizer soaked hands. One of each was what I found, five black gloves, all of them different shapes. Wrap the scarf around my neck and look down to see it hanging down next to my heavy boots. Obviously this was meant for one on the UConn Woman’s basketball team players, not for a 5’3’’ spectator. So I tried to make it fashionable any try some new-fangled scarf procedure. Now I have no neck, but I will not trip over my accessory. On to the traditional black coat, which added another eight pounds to my anatomy. Topped it off my wool hat which will create
hat hair combined with static cling and I am out the door.
Once out the door, I walk to the car, portraying Katarina Witt, famous ice skater, slipping and sliding out to the car. Boots acting like tires, keeping me from crashing into obstacles and other moving vehicles. When I make it to the cute little VW bug car, it doesn’t look so precious under inches of snow and packed ice, it looks cold and ugly. Hoping the locks are not frozen, I get in, start it up and engage in hand to scraper combat with the Suzio/York Hill commemorative ice scrapper and broom. Then my relative starts her car, parked right next to mine, from deep within the warm house and scares me half to death. I am now freezing and just filled with angst. On my way to work (I don’t go out to play much in winter) I get behind “Joe SUV” who obviously has a garage because there is not a speck of white stuff on the vehicle; he drives with reckless abandon, caring less that the very small car in back of him is just trying to get somewhere, not looking for a race or combat, just a smooth ride to work.
Children have it rough in the winter; babies are wrapped up to resemble mummies; carriers are covered with aunt Edna’s hand crafted blankets, the child has no clue of why he can no longer see the light of day. Toddlers swathed in outfits created by the Michelin man himself, arms extended, scarfs wrapped around the mouth, silly hats with pompoms on them and boots made of rubber all this to “play outside” for ten minutes until they will inevitably will have to use the bathroom facilities and elect to play indoor games or watch a video.
Many other situations traditionally correlate with winter time. All Bob Maxon has to do is say “snow” and all the bread and milk in a 100 mile radius is off the shelf. I can’t remember the last time a storm kept anyone in the house longer than a day or two at the most. So what’s this relationship to bread, milk and snow? I just don’t get it and frankly no one else I know does either. I don’t understand why people worry about ‘getting out of the house” when it snows on weekends? Why do they shovel their walkways while it is still snowing? Why does beautiful snow turn into the ugly brown slush?
All this, makes me question my move back from the Southwest, but I did and will try not to complain too very much, I will just think of summer, the beach and count the days until I wake up to the sun, get out of bed, jump into my shorts and tee shirts slip on my docksiders, and head out the door. Summer is soft and so much easier on the soul.
Start with getting up in the morning. It is dark, which makes even getting out of bed easier said than done. It is cold; and to keep warm you have to have some artificial heating device blow warm air out of a small grated hole in the wall. Instead of waking up to the sound of birds; the first noise of the day is ice scraping or plow related noises, not comforting, but hostile like a nail against the blackboard. Getting in the shower is cold; in and out no dallying; get out, stand there stark naked shivering. Skin goes to hell in the winter; we moisturize the hell out of my bodies, only to cover it up with itchy fibers. While examining a mole on my leg with a magnifying glass; my normally tan well oiled leg looked remarkably like the other side of mars. I screamed out loud, not wanting to believe this skin was attached to my body. Time to blow dry the hair which will stand on end from the static produced by the fake warm air. Then apply make up in fake lighting, so the remainder of the day you look like the walking dead or some overage actress.
Getting dressed. too many damn layers; socks, two shirts, long pants, nylons, way too much clothing for me. As I put on my boots, which I have to maneuver into as opposed to just slipping them on; I try to bend down to tie them; which did not work; so I tried sitting on the bed, to perform this feat. The socks were causing some friction, and they started to “blow out” at the big toe. Boots are made to protect from weather, so they have to be sturdy; with sturdy you get heavy and the very last thing I need is an extra five pounds on the each leg.
On to the outer gear. First I search for a match pair of gloves to cover the moisturizer soaked hands. One of each was what I found, five black gloves, all of them different shapes. Wrap the scarf around my neck and look down to see it hanging down next to my heavy boots. Obviously this was meant for one on the UConn Woman’s basketball team players, not for a 5’3’’ spectator. So I tried to make it fashionable any try some new-fangled scarf procedure. Now I have no neck, but I will not trip over my accessory. On to the traditional black coat, which added another eight pounds to my anatomy. Topped it off my wool hat which will create
hat hair combined with static cling and I am out the door.
Once out the door, I walk to the car, portraying Katarina Witt, famous ice skater, slipping and sliding out to the car. Boots acting like tires, keeping me from crashing into obstacles and other moving vehicles. When I make it to the cute little VW bug car, it doesn’t look so precious under inches of snow and packed ice, it looks cold and ugly. Hoping the locks are not frozen, I get in, start it up and engage in hand to scraper combat with the Suzio/York Hill commemorative ice scrapper and broom. Then my relative starts her car, parked right next to mine, from deep within the warm house and scares me half to death. I am now freezing and just filled with angst. On my way to work (I don’t go out to play much in winter) I get behind “Joe SUV” who obviously has a garage because there is not a speck of white stuff on the vehicle; he drives with reckless abandon, caring less that the very small car in back of him is just trying to get somewhere, not looking for a race or combat, just a smooth ride to work.
Children have it rough in the winter; babies are wrapped up to resemble mummies; carriers are covered with aunt Edna’s hand crafted blankets, the child has no clue of why he can no longer see the light of day. Toddlers swathed in outfits created by the Michelin man himself, arms extended, scarfs wrapped around the mouth, silly hats with pompoms on them and boots made of rubber all this to “play outside” for ten minutes until they will inevitably will have to use the bathroom facilities and elect to play indoor games or watch a video.
Many other situations traditionally correlate with winter time. All Bob Maxon has to do is say “snow” and all the bread and milk in a 100 mile radius is off the shelf. I can’t remember the last time a storm kept anyone in the house longer than a day or two at the most. So what’s this relationship to bread, milk and snow? I just don’t get it and frankly no one else I know does either. I don’t understand why people worry about ‘getting out of the house” when it snows on weekends? Why do they shovel their walkways while it is still snowing? Why does beautiful snow turn into the ugly brown slush?
All this, makes me question my move back from the Southwest, but I did and will try not to complain too very much, I will just think of summer, the beach and count the days until I wake up to the sun, get out of bed, jump into my shorts and tee shirts slip on my docksiders, and head out the door. Summer is soft and so much easier on the soul.
Friday, January 2, 2009
The call for Adventure and change
It defies everything that is logical; all that is practical; the mere thought would throw most my age over the edge; but here it is straight from the thoughts and wants of my inner most being on this cold January day; where the earth is brown underneath a covering of grey like snow.
I want out; I like my job well enough; love my family and friends, but the urge to live the remainder of my life on a beach front is taking over once again.
I am fully aware of the good common sense of having a pension; it has been drummed into my head for many years; I know I should have a good amount of money socked away just in case; should make sure I have medical coverage and all that stuff; but I don’t want to; I want to live out the rest of my life with ex-patriot Americans who threw caution to the balmy winds of the Caribbean; dropped the pretense of “the good life” and actually LIVED. Each day being an experience unlike the day before; lots of new friends and hopefully my old friends would come to visit.
When I left the east coast last time thirty three years ago; I had little baggage physically or mentally; I was young and very employable; I had family; but no first line responsibilities. Several years ago; I moved into a small place; pared down my material goods; so the physical move would be easy; it is the mental move that might be difficult; now my I have a daughter, grandson and a granddaughter on the way in May; could I leave them? I would miss their youth; it would be tough not to talk to them and see them more than once a year. But this urge to go is so strong today; (it isn’t helping that I am listening to Buffett music while I write) and I don’t want to look back and say “ I should have”……………………
I need an adventure.
I want out; I like my job well enough; love my family and friends, but the urge to live the remainder of my life on a beach front is taking over once again.
I am fully aware of the good common sense of having a pension; it has been drummed into my head for many years; I know I should have a good amount of money socked away just in case; should make sure I have medical coverage and all that stuff; but I don’t want to; I want to live out the rest of my life with ex-patriot Americans who threw caution to the balmy winds of the Caribbean; dropped the pretense of “the good life” and actually LIVED. Each day being an experience unlike the day before; lots of new friends and hopefully my old friends would come to visit.
When I left the east coast last time thirty three years ago; I had little baggage physically or mentally; I was young and very employable; I had family; but no first line responsibilities. Several years ago; I moved into a small place; pared down my material goods; so the physical move would be easy; it is the mental move that might be difficult; now my I have a daughter, grandson and a granddaughter on the way in May; could I leave them? I would miss their youth; it would be tough not to talk to them and see them more than once a year. But this urge to go is so strong today; (it isn’t helping that I am listening to Buffett music while I write) and I don’t want to look back and say “ I should have”……………………
I need an adventure.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
some thoughts on a rainy December night
I have a huge list of things to do when and if I retire; but bigger than my list of things to do is the things I won’t do.
I will not go to the bank between the hours of 12:00p and 2:00p; I will leave those times, especially on Fridays to those who have only one small hour a day to do all their banking.
I will not go the grocery store on weekends; during weekday lunch hours; or at 5:00p during the week; I will save this time for those who have no choice other than go on their way home from work or on precious time during weekends.
I will not go lunch at noon; I will go at 11:30a or 2:00p; I will let those who have limited time constraints have those hours to meet with friends and associates/friends from work; after all; waiting for a table is only for those with time on their hands.
I promise that all of the above will be especially honored during the Christmas season.
Can you tell I just came back from waiting in line at the bank on Friday in December while four retired people came to settle their accounts; I used half of my lunch hour; I am not happy.
I will not go to the bank between the hours of 12:00p and 2:00p; I will leave those times, especially on Fridays to those who have only one small hour a day to do all their banking.
I will not go the grocery store on weekends; during weekday lunch hours; or at 5:00p during the week; I will save this time for those who have no choice other than go on their way home from work or on precious time during weekends.
I will not go lunch at noon; I will go at 11:30a or 2:00p; I will let those who have limited time constraints have those hours to meet with friends and associates/friends from work; after all; waiting for a table is only for those with time on their hands.
I promise that all of the above will be especially honored during the Christmas season.
Can you tell I just came back from waiting in line at the bank on Friday in December while four retired people came to settle their accounts; I used half of my lunch hour; I am not happy.
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