Black Friday

  The Black Friday madness is on and I have to admit that I love every minute of it.  From mapping out quick exit strategies to determining who has the best electronics, it is a treasure hunt that I simply can't resist.  While I have no need for a 50 inch tv or a waffle maker, I find joy knowing they could be mine if I'm willing to wake in the pre-dawn hours and stand in long lines.  I've met some of my closest friends while sitting on the floor at Wal-Mart waiting for the iPads to be distributed from the pharmacy like some kind of controlled substance.

  Social Media has added a new element to this game as we upload and compare "selfies" of each other holding oversized electronics or laying across the last Dyson vacuum cleaner in the store.  My friends and I can instantly message one another about inventory updates and alternate travel routes that will get us where we need to be long before we need to be there.

  While my husband sits in a deer stand in the quiet of the woods, my friends and I are the true hunters the day after Thanksgiving.  We need no scopes to lock a pair of leather boots in our crosshairs from 100 yards away. Proudly, I can spot a discount panini maker from the opposite end of the store.

  Just as there are various hunting seasons for deer, duck and grouse, some retailers have divided Black Friday into different "events", each with their own set of discount goods.  It has added a new element of confusion as one never wants to make the mistake of trying to purchase an out of event Blu Ray Player.  Your timing must be spot on for the true discounted price.

  Much like my husband who pre-hunts and teases the deer with corn and promises of happiness, I've been known to walk the aisles of Wal-Mart hours before the sale to accurately determine the pre-positioning of Price Buster goods intentionally placed where least expected. Imagine the joy of finding a 40 inch tv in the frozen goods section.  It's better than a ten point kill.

  The best purchase I've ever made was a 32 inch television for $99.  With the $75 gift card received from purchasing the iPad, the cost went down to $24.  Because I waited too long to pick up my pre-purchased item, there were none to be had and the only thing left was a 42 inch tv valued at $499.  With an "in stock" promise and an additional $5 coupon applied, my cost for unexpected happiness was $19. The personal satisfaction was similar to the joy realized the year I squeezed an eight foot Christmas tree into a six foot car and nobody lost an eye.   When you happen onto a musical tree that can play Canon in D major, you're certainly not going home without it, even if someone must ride on the top of the car to get there.

  Black Friday madness causes me to cast physics to the wind and I'm known for procuring items that are much too heavy for a five foot tall woman to pick up.  Sadly, against his will, I've drug my husband into the crowds for much needed logistical support  One would think they would build a shopping cart large enough to carry two trampolines at once.  The biggest purchase ever made was the air hockey table that was larger than the room it was to go in.   Black Friday just makes everything bigger and brighter and one naturally assumes there is room in their world for such bargains.

  As my children have grown and I've discovered life is actually simpler without electronic juicers and hot irons that can shape a piece of French toast to look like Mickey Mouse, I have nothing I really need to buy.  My daughter, however, has her own list of needs and spied and ad for ball gowns for $100 each.  So, this year, instead of battling for kitchen ware, we will be mining for evening wear.  Somehow, I don't expect the lines to be quite as long, but the fun will be just the same.

  I salute my fellow hunters and huntresses and look forward to the day after Christmas when we can do it all again!

Snuggling and Buggling

Picture (c) Charles Schultz

  Since my children were little, we would pile up on the couch under a mountain of blankets, snuggled up like puppies.  It was not uncommon to have a foot in your face or have a hand come crashing against your head from a sleeping child shifting their position.  Snuggling and Buggling is what we did.  My mother had taught me, early in life, that there is nothing more magical than a good blanket.  Yesterday, as I folded the last of the blankets in the living room, I thought, "Man, we have a lot of magic."

  I admit that I am a sucker for a soft blanket and have them readily available from the bedroom to the living room to the trunk of my car.  One should always be prepared for instant comfort.  While I consider myself a collector of fleecy goodness, my son shattered my delusion by informing me, years after the fact, that I had failed in providing him with a proper blanket and pillow when he was in Kindergarten, leaving him to stretch out on nothingness.  I stood there, aghast at such a thought.

  I was young and believed in following the rules.  When the teacher said to send a beach towel for nap time, that is what I sent.  Little did I know, other children arrived with furry blankets of joy and chilly pillows designed just for the angle of a five year old child's head resting on a 1 inch thick mat.  Had I known, I would have sent fluffy monogrammed blankets and matching pillow.  Sadly, I have missed my opportunity to provide comfort and joy and will have to move forward unable to change the past.  This would be more troublesome to me except for the fact that I remember the same teacher telling me how my child's eyes would close and sleep quickly wrapped around him like the good blanket he did not have.  I suppose when you are tired, you can buggle down just as good under a large towel that smells like home. While the bow haired beauties who rested close to my child stretched out on their fleecy throws, a boy under a beach towel rested just as well.   

  My daughter, who genetically possesses the need to seek out comfort, traveled like a princess from the day she was born.  Her Kindergarten nap time experience included a fleecy Barbie blanket and a pillow fitting of a queen.  She was able to snuggle and buggle with the comforts of home.  Her socks were seamless.  There were no buttons on her back.  From the moment she laid down, sleep gently cradled her in comfort.

  As I sat on my couch last night, with a pile of blankets around, there were no flailing feet or sleeping children and I wondered if they would remember the joy of snuggling and buggling. About the time I had accepted being alone, my daughter dropped what she was doing and plopped on the pile of blankets next to me.  She knew.  Some deep memory called to her and I knew then, that both of my children would always remember the magic of snuggling and buggling.  My mother was so very right.

Make a Joyful Noise

My father in the 1940's

 When my son left for college he took the sounds of our home with him.  The constant singing, humming, giggling between siblings and simple sounds of youth slipped out the door with him. My daughter and I tried our hands at the guitar and ukulele and realized that stringed instruments were just not our thing. I was thankful for her endless energy and took refuge in her tumbling and leaping down the hallways that, too, was a constant in our world.

  I longed to hear the sounds of the guitar strumming in the middle of the night or the mumble of singing coming down the hall.  I missed the kids creating videos and recording songs. Allie had been the star of every video ever made in our house and then suddenly the set was closed.  The cameras had stopped.  The songs didn't play and life was simply different.  It wasn't bad, it was just different.  We found our way around in this quieter world and accepted what was. 

  And then when the silence was no longer bearable, God moved His hand and delivered my nephew to my doorstep.  He arrived with guitar in hand and song on his heart.  As much as he needed us, we needed him.  New songs filled our home and constant sounds were a part of our world again.  The piano plays softly in the far end of the house and while Allie leaps down the hallway, my heart leaps with joy.   

  I still wait for the songs of my child to return, but am thankful for the young man sent here when I most needed a joyful noise. 

The Reason for the Race ....The Future of Every Girl in the World

Amelia the Flyer

  Meet Amelia!  Amelia joined us for a short time when her first flight from the nest proved to be unsuccessful.  She and her brother PePe were found on the pool deck and were whisked away to the intensive care unit, also known as the laundry room bathroom. Much like a triage team, we went about gathering eye droppers, a heating pad, and a recipe for home made saline solution certain to provide energy.  

  While my daughter welcomed our new house guests with loads of love, the cats were even more excited about who was living in the laundry room.  Needless to say, they were temporarily banned from the house. Their intentions were quite obvious and less than desirable. 

  Pepe was not long for this world and left Amelia in our care. His fall had been hard and was too much to overcome.  While I'm certain it was my imagination, the tiny she-squirrel appeared to reach out to me anytime we were near.  She took comfort in my hand and I didn't want to let her down.  

  The same fall breeze that brought down the squirrels reminded me that it was time to plant winter flowers.  While time waits for no one, I found myself doing household chores and planting pansies, all with one hand while a baby rested comfortably in the other.  Amelia traveled outside with us for a reminder of the smells of home.  It was Velvet, a flyer who had come before Amelia, who reminded me that these babies bond quickly and easily take comfort with those who care. After a few days, it was clear that Amelia's strength was fading and I prepared my child for the process to follow.  Comfort was the most important thing to offer and Amelia left us on a Monday resting softly on a warm bed of fluff with tiny squirrel memories of a family who loved her. 

  

Halloween Express

  Fall has arrived and that means caramel apples, sweater weather and the greatest joy of all.. the arrival of the Halloween Express Costume Catalog!  It ranks right up there with the Sears Christmas catalog and brings sheer joy to my family.  I have always been drawn to the Power Ranger costumes for my son and the cute witch costumes for my daughter.  Unfortunately, they have long since outgrown such, but I can still see them dressed in their festive costumes.  

  For nineteen years, I have found great enjoyment dressing my kids as Flintstones characters, superheroes, zombies, and more. For those same nineteen years, I have tried in vain to dress as a sexy pirate.  I'm never quite successful with this look as somewhere during the process of getting children dressed, dying their hair blue, mining in the attic for plastic swords and plastic pumpkins,  donning outerwear that is reflective, trying to get the blue off of my fingers, and chasing down the dog who is chasing down the neighborhood children, I find myself exhausted and feeling nothing like Anne Bonny or any other sexy pirate.  But I cling to the dream and each year the Costume Catalog shows me glimpses of what I can be one day. 

  My husband, who has no concern for costume selection, has faithfully donned the same Mexican serape for years.  Wrapped in his blanket shirt and armed with a bowl of candy, he sits on the patio watching the kids come and go.  One year, upon a whim, I opted for the King and Queen outfits, thinking we might ditch the serape.   The royal wear was on sale and my dreams of sexy pirate were put on the back burner.   While it was good to be queen, the headwear paled in comparison to a feathery hat that secretly called my name.  

  My daughter wanted to be a rock and roll cat but changed her mind after the outfit arrived and she discovered everyone else was wearing wings that year.  I couldn't fault her for this change of decision, as who doesn't want to wear wings.  I was jealous that I didn't have some and realized that wings just make everything better.  She wore them for weeks after Halloween and I never asked why.  The answer was clear.   They made her happy.  

  While my kids no longer want costumes, their mother still does.  My heart skips a beat just knowing the opportunity is there once again to dress up as something I may never be.  There is excitement in the possibility and whether that be with wings or with a ship under my command the dream is always with me.  

Fish On

 

  My husband has dreams of family outings that simply don’t play out the way he envisions them.  Once a year, the kids and I gather round and participate in some outdoor expedition sure to bring happiness to “Dad.”  It only takes one trip to steer him off of this insane pursuit of unrealistic family adventures.  This year’s annual attempt at family fun was a fishing trip in the dead of winter.   When we woke that morning to rain, I should have said "No!"  When I demanded that we take sacks of groceries, extra clothes in case anyone gets wet, an assortment of ointments for everything from contact dermatitis to cobra bites and enough camera gear to look like a tourist, my husband should have said "No!"  Instead, we loaded the gear, text our children to rise from their beds and get into the truck, and headed off to the lake. 

Note that I consider myself a professional angler with my Snoopy rod and reel and can cast a plastic lure across our backyard pool, past five cats and around our patio table with great skill.   It’s those giant saltwater rods and reels that challenge me.  Once aboard the boat, my husband gave me specific instructions not to cast the reel.  This defeats the entire purpose of fishing.  I knew this was unnecessary advice and immediately flung the rod at the water.  Much to my surprise, his advice should have been heeded because unlike the Snoopy Rod and Reel, fishing line went everywhere except towards the fish.  It’s hard to hide a giant twisted ball of monofilament line coming from your reel and my husband soon spied the mess I had made.  No words were spoken.  After what seemed like a very long time, the fishing line was back in place and the rod was placed in a holder.  Again, I received instructions not to cast the reel or even touch it.  He explained that you have to keep your finger on the line when you cast or the line will tangle.  He obviously believed I was not properly skilled to perform this maneuver.  Now that I understood the concept, I was curious if only a second was a precise measurement of time needed to create such a large and tangly mess.   Surely, you could lift your finger for a split second and still have control.  Apparently not is that answer to that question, as I stood there a second time with a giant ball of fishing line tangled around the reel.   Since my daughter was driving the boat, I wondered if my husband would be focused on her, giving me time to untangle this mess I had gotten myself into.   Apparently not is the answer to that question, as well.   

  Once my rights to cast had been stripped away, my daughter drove us further into the cold and my son huddled at the back of the boat texting friends and family back home in warm, dry places. I was the only one determined to catch a fish and call it a day.  I should share with you that when you are fishing with really big fishing reels, you should not wear a hoodie with draw strings that dangle loose and free.  Since I was unaware that a giant striped bass was on the end of my line attached to a rod I didn’t cast, my husband yelled at me, “Fish On.”  I’ve since learned that those two words demand immediate attention by all and everyone has a duty to fulfill whether it be to stop the boat, reel in the other lines or set the hook and bring in dinner.  I panicked and leaned over to reel in the giant fish when the drawstrings on my hoodie wound right up into the reel.  In a split second, I had reeled myself straight up to my neck and stood there with my face attached to the rod and a 20 lb Striper attached to the other end.  The fish was pulling.  I was panicking.  Once again, I hoped that nobody would notice and the best plan I could come up with was to yell, “Don’t be mad, Don’t be mad.”   Without turning to look at the situation I had gotten myself into, my husband prepared himself for whatever mess I had created this time.  I can’t remember if we got the fish or not, but I do remember sitting in silence as he removed my drawstrings from the reel and realized this was nothing like fishing with buddies.  
  
  There’s a reason men fish together.  It's to keep people like me out of the boat.  Now, if a day of swimming and excellent meals is on the agenda, the kids and I are the ones you want to take fishing, but if you want to actually catch fish, it’s best to leave all of us behind and find someone who longs to hear those words “Fish On.”  I still panic when I hear those two words and do my best to move out of the way and avoid being gaffed or hooked in the head. The kids are great about going along for the ride and stand ready to post pictures of me with my head attached to a reel or of their father realizing that his dreams and his reality are two different things.  Both are good and blessed is the man who finds the fun in each.