Smooth Journeys Into the Past

 

  You never really know how bumpy a road is until you travel it with a pot of chili in your trunk. Suddenly, every bump and turn becomes an obstacle certain to sling deep red sauce across the interior of your car. While most of my adult life has been spent driving sport utility vehicles, a truly gentle ride has been out of the question, until now.  

  My dream car, you see, had always been a deep red Cadillac because I remember the smooth ride of my childhood when perched in the backseat of my grandparents Cadi'.  We would sail down Highway 31 with my grandmother behind the wheel.  She was dressed impeccably and wore her leather gloves that matched the leather interior of the Cadillac.  All of five feet tall, she handled that car like a race car driver who owned the road. We flew through traffic like a laser beam splitting atoms, with everyone moving out of the way of the tiny woman in the big car.  With my feet sticking straight out in front of me, I sat in the large backseat watching the woman behind the wheel, knowing that someday that would be me.

  As luck would have it, at 49, a deep red Cadillac was placed in my name.  While the ride is smooth and the leather is soft, I've discovered that the joy is more for the driver than the passengers.  I love my car, but have found that most who sit in the back seat experience some kind of motion sickness.   It's a common complaint from the back seat passengers and I'm starting to realize that they aren't having the same joyous experience as my 1969 backseat ride with my grandmother.   

 For those who won't verbalize their discomfort, the beads of sweat on their brow and the greenish hue to their skin, tells the tale.  Even if I drive like there is a pot of chili in the trunk, the backseat riders feel every bump of the road.  

  My husband, who drives an old pick-up truck that is full of hunting gear and fishing tackle, has been quietly aware, over the years, that his vehicle is the best riding vehicle around.  It is smooth and there is room to stretch out in the oversized cab if you're willing to move the outdoor gear around.   When my family began choosing a ride sitting on top of a tackle box over a ride in my luxury car, I realized that my car is designed for me, only.  My daughter, who is tiny like her grandmother, enjoys the backseat ride of the Cadillac, so she and I fly down the road in the car of my dreams, oblivious to the obstacles in our way.  

 Even though I'm keenly aware of those bothered by the tight suspension of the deep red Cadillac, the same color as the chili in the trunk, it is still my dream car.  A fifty year old dream cannot be discounted simply because of a bumpy backseat ride.   My car, a gift from my father, takes me down roads that are not defined by bumps in the asphalt, but are gentle paths back to my past and a time when our family was whole.  Thank you Dad. 

Homey Cat

Homey

A smooth talking cat who says nothing at all
Yet tells the whole tale with a swat of a claw.

A testy old thing with a patch on his side

Where an ill-tempered fox took a bite of his hide.

A Siamese kitten, now aged in years

Rules the roost like a king whom everyone fears.

Homey, the cat, with blue eyes so deep

Picks the most inconvenient places to sleep.

His favorite one being the top of my head

Once I snuggle down deep in my comfortable bed.

I wake in the night to a soft, rhythmic purr

Of my sweet, sleeping cat who's missing some fur.

With the swoosh of a tail and a paw on my chin

His tail bats my face each time he breaths in.

In a half conscious manner, I hold down that tail

But it just keeps on swooshing ‘til I finally yell

And disrupt his dreaming of mice and great things

And up from my head, Homey cat springs.

With one eye half open and an indignant shrug

He gives me a look that is hateful and smug.

Tossed from his napping and removed from my bed

He’ll decide it is time to be watered and fed.

There’ll be no sleeping for anyone now

As he turns up the volume on his cat’s meow.

Louder and louder he’ll sing his song

Calling for tuna until I come along

In a half conscious fog from a sleep that was deep

Serving up cat food when I should be asleep.

Homey the cat gets whatever he likes

Because everyone knows that Homey cat bites.

He’s king of the castle but I wonder, yet…

Who’s really the owner and who’s the pet?

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.