The Almost Daily Thread

musings from the blue chair

Why I March

I will march with women as long as my feet will carry me. In my 67 years I have worked my way through many a gender equality issue.
I married young because I believed it “the thing to do”.

After 10 years, I became a single mother and discovered that in spite of having complete control of the finances, I was without any credit rating. After my second divorce, and while, indisputably, not the primary bread winner in either marriage, yet being again in charge of the finances, I was AGAIN without any individual credit rating.  Yes, even with the 7 years of living single between marriages. Credit ratings were attached only to the male and because my single days were previous to the 2nd  marriage they disappeared.

I worked as a banquet waitress (my second job) carrying heavy trays wearing high heels because it was the dress! Why haven’t males been expected to wear high heels to be sexy?

I lost a job once because my commissions paid me more than the boss made for a quarter of that year.

I was any number of times sexually harassed in my job. I was in sales and I certainly encountered sex for business offers. One, in particular, from a  man who was a friend of my father’s, albeit, my father was deceased.

I’ve bought make up, had my nails polished -many women color their hair (I don’t. My hair is still red!) -to step correctly, ie young and perfect, into the cultural acceptance of beauty. Has a man?

So, we, across the board, earn less and we spend on looking culturally acceptable.. (I LOVE YOU, PAULA ANN, my dear friend who does nails and throws in the loving counseling because that is the kind generous soul she is). And, I really do like to have my toenails polished in the summer!

And whose is benefiting from the sale of all that make up and cream and beauty enhancer that we are force fed by our culture? A marketing plan that tells us to be who we are and shine through our God given faces?

Why isn’t there a male word with the same connotation as  misogyny?
mi·sog·y·ny — (dislike of, contempt for, or ingrained prejudice against women.
“she felt she was struggling against thinly disguised misogyny”)

Why is hysterical and hysterectomy from the same root word?

Why is is history and not her-story? Because I think they would write differently.

How many years has it been since women were chattel? Not so many.

Why isn’t there male genital mutilation?

Why is there still a sex trade using young girls as bartering tools?

Why were the girl children killed in China?

Why was there foot binding?

Need I go on?

Yes, I sill go on and I will march for the freedom/equality path I have and will continue to pave for my daughters and my granddaughters and your daughters and your granddaughters.

Take nothing for granted. The freedoms we have now, someone has protested to provide.

Why is this permitted?

Did you know that in 2015, women working full time in the United States typically were paid just 80 percent of what men were paid, a gap of 20 percent? While the number has gone up one percentage point from 2014, the change isn’t statistically significant — because the increase is so small, mere tenths of a percent, it doesn’t amount to perceptible change. According to the U.S. Census Bureau, the earnings ratio hasn’t had significant annual change since 2007. The gap has narrowed since the 1970s, due largely to women’s progress in education and workforce participation and to men’s wages rising at a slower rate. Still, the pay gap does not appear likely to go away on its own. At the rate of change between 1960 and 2015, women are expected to reach pay equity with men in 2059. But even that slow progress has stalled in recent years. If change continues at the slower rate seen since 2001, women will not reach pay equity with men until 2152.

http://www.aauw.org/research/the-simple-truth-about-the-gender-pay-gap/

 

 

Thank you Donald Trump for bringing our issues to the open and letting us examine our values in front of the world, our neighbors, ourselves.  I am certainly more and more convinced of my beliefs – the truths I hold to be self-evident.

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My winter project – 2017

To go through, sort and organize a box of letters collected from the home office of my Uncle John, retired newspaper editor.

Uncle John died in 2007. In our disassembly of Uncle John’s favorite area’s of the house, the basement and his office/library we discovered…well, we discovered Uncle John was rather a pack rat. Not a hoarder. He had discriminating preferences!

Very notably, Uncle John collected books. Lots of reference books and biographies and books about Kentucky. Books whose information is now readily, immediately available online- at the push of a button or the statement of a command.  Articles that he cross referenced to other articles and books he had read. A newspaper man’s legacy.  (Ah, what will happen to the love and connection of the turning of a page.)

Uncle John also collected oddball stuff like swizzle sticks, matches, parts of clocks. He had one glass jar labeled “the tiniest nails on earth.”
He saved stacks of paper’s from Hazel’s, his mother, who taught him everything he knew about saving stuff. “Save it, it might be worth something someday,” I can hear her say, as plain as if she were right here beside me.

Also, we found a box of ephemera from his first wife, Janet, who passed in 1975. Her baby books, high school yearbook. On my.

After Uncle John’s passing, my sister and I spent many months visiting Carolyn, his widow. On “Tuesday nights with Carolyn” after dinner, we organized the paper and personal belongings, pilfering, plowing, crying, grieving, laughing with wonder and curiosity at our findings. I came home with 9 Rubbermaid tubs, full. Many of these items were returned to the Cincinnati Enquire for their archives. Two winters following I sorted from the late 1800’s to digital. Ten+  3-ring binders later – it is archived!

Except for this small box of personal correspondence gathered from drawers and files. Some of the letters are written to Uncle John. Many are copies of letters he wrote to others, particularly Aunt Mary. He retold many family stories and reported on his life in general.
This winter I will open the box and sort and organize. I will cry and laugh as I read and experience the calm, curious, humor and opinions of my Uncle.

I had hoped to share these moments with Carolyn and rehear the storied through her voice, but I waited a winter too long. Carolyn died at the grand age of 97, having only retired her high heels for 5 years!

My procrastination to dive into this project (which is much smaller than the first one) has found it’s way to the kitchen table for completion this is the winter.  I approach my project with fresh grief and one of the first pieces of paper to fall out of the box is Carolyn’s acceptance speech and the newsletter from the Cincinnati Junior League announcing her designation as Carrie Nowland Sustainer Award!  She notes in the speech that she, Carolyn, is the same age as the Junior League.  so, wish I could share that with her.

So, Carolyn and John, as I review a few of our years together in letters, I am so incredibly grateful for for the lessons, the memories, the meals, the stories, the books, the editing, the Grater’s, the blueberries, the impatiens (restarted from reseeding from 1956 to 2007), the blooming of the Cereus  and…and…and…

Your written memories will soon be in linear order. I promise!

 

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Where Susan Rea Caldwell is from

Hello everyone who reads my blog!  It’s been a long time~a long time~ since my last post.  This poem keeps telling me it wants recognition not only for myself but because it will encourage you, the reader, to create your own poem about your self.

My poem is modeled after George Ella Lyons’ poem Where I am from.  George Ella is homegrown and her works, her voice certainly makes Kentucky Proud.  She is the Poet Laureate of Kentucky this year.  http://www.georgeellalyon.com/where.html

If you read the article you will see that this poem is a favorite among her students and has been a call to writers/poets in Kentucky to honor her position this year.

I challenge you to write the poem about yourself and your past.  It’s enlightening and fun and really interesting.

I find I could write a poem about each decade and really measure the changes.

So here goes.  I am not a poet!

Where Susan Rea Caldwell is from –

I am long awaited
Kentucky Proud
Since before statehood was declared.

I am a Baby Boomer – Class of ‘67

I am from many names so reissued
The tree becomes brambles
William – John – Mary
Directly I am from
Glen Gordon and Lorel Kelly
William and Hazel Gertrude – Betty Rea and Asbury

I am marriages with unique stories
Surnames grafting to twist the branches.

I am red curls from the X and Y
Hazel and Philadelphia.
I am Scotch Irish freckles and sunburns
Forbidden to wear pink, orange or red.

I am 2nd generation from leaving the farm to become
entrepreneurs, cooks, seamstresses, bankers, beauticians,
bookkeepers, salesmen, writers,
homemakers bringing the farm habits to the suburbs.
while keeping the family rooted at regular gatherings and reunions.

I am 5th generation Disciple of Christ.
from Sunday School, choir, Brownies, Girl Scouts and Wa-Kon-Da-Ho.

I am from National Clean-up Your Plate Day,
Patience is the Prince,
God is Great,
Peace, and
Save it, it might be worth something someday.

I am from safety
nurtured and supported in a loving tribe,
running streets with no fears.

I am from a yard full of adventure and
and neighborhood housing mystery and playmates
duck funerals, pink chickens, kick-the-can, tag,
dancing with garage poles, forts, Jacks and Barbies,
the practical green bike, not the shiny pink one
A younger brother and sister (She really is not adopted).

I am from a well storied and often shared oral history

laughter and card playing
cocktails and cigarettes

I am from widowed grandmothers –
the grassroots independents
who produced we bra burners.

I am from Kanebrak and Town and Country
fried chicken from cold oil served in baskets
to fine upscale dining.

I am from practical jokers — and cancer, which is NOT –
I traded a parent for a daughter
5 years apart.

I am from being married to my step-brother and my children being my nieces.  (Figure that one out!)

I am from 3 last names
2 college degrees
I am from learning how to make ends meet when no end was in sight and
death that came too early too many times in waves of 3’s.

Yet, the shrinking tree now expands with names and faces I know only on Facebook.

I take my place as an archivist of my ancestral history from unidentifiable tin types to digital where the paper trail ends and void where the fire destroyed.

From 1-11 my history is recorded in 3-ring binders – linear – to prove that
I AM and how I got to right here!

 

Thank you for reading.

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My Christmas gift to you

I am offering you a rest.  Get yourself a cup of coffee, a cup of tea, a nice beverage of some kind and take a few minuted to snuggle into your favorite chair and enjoy my Christmas short story – Rondo and the Purple Play Mobile.

The story is a result of my granddaughter’s Santa being broken.  A child who is happy, very easy going, easy to please and a joy to be around!  Here’s to you, girl.

The story says that even Santa can get too caught up in preparations for the big season!

So have a “time out” on me this year.  As I attempt to be the Peace I seek for the world in this crazy time of year.

Merry Christmas to you and yours.  And may the blessings of all this is king, compassionate and brings joy come to your world.

Enjoy the show!

RONDO AND THE PURPLE PLAY MOBILE

By Susan Rea Caldwell

 

Rondo came zooming into Santaland one August day on the snappiest purple moving vehicle ever seen by any of the Elves gainfully employed by S. Clause Industries, which by all opinion far and wide was the very jolliest place to work in the whole of the North Pole. The boss was reputed to be a “right jolly old Elf” himself although his clothing and size did not exactly fit the genetic dispensation.

Rondo went straight to Human Resources, knocked loudly on the door and presented himself boldly.

He said to Carla, the clerk, a cute, dark-haired, red-cheeked Elf, “I am here to revolutionize the world of children’s outdoor wheeled vehicles. Stop the toy makers until you have seen my plan. Please look outside at my Purple Play Mobile and see what you think.”

Carla walked to the window, looked out, “Sir, you can’t just come buzzing in here all souped-up about your Purple whatever and expect the Santa Industrial Machine to come to a screeching halt.”

“But, I have the newest innovation ever to hit the South Pole.”

“This is the North Pole, sir.  Maybe your Purple what’s it needs a newfangled thing called GPS.  The Get Places Safely system.”

“My dear, little clerk Elf, I’d like to speak to your manager. I’d really like to speak to Mr. Santa Claus, CEO, CFO, Owner-Operator Himself.”

“I bet you do, hot shot.  What is your name?”

“Rondo.”

“Please take a number and have a seat.  Someone will be right with you, just after all these others ahead of you are seen.”

Rondo looked around to at least ten others waiting very quietly on red and green benches.  Each carried cases or boxes holding their presentation.

Rondo sat next to one very eccentric looking gentle elf who spoke in whispers about the toy camel he was presenting.  The camel had a bendy straw out of its mouth.  The hump raised up to hold water.  He told of his plans to create a variety of animal water bottles beginning with African animals and, depending on the success, perhaps going from country to country.  “They can learn geography while collecting!”

Seriously, thought Rondo, hoping he had not said that out loud.  “Seriously?” he burst out.  “Kids today want to ride.  They have places to go.  Kids today move fast and they are smart and they want to crank a lot into this life.”

“Then they will need to know where they are going and they will need a drink of water,” the man said dryly.

The door opened suddenly, blowing in sun kissed snow crystals.  “Rondo, I thought I would find you here.”  A bedraggled Elf, shoulders stooped, grey hair uncombed, stood before him.

“MOMMMM???”

“Rondo, you know your purple riding toy concept has not been fully tested.  Why just today, trying to follow you, I had a flat tire in mine and the fuel fill up meters didn’t have the equipment to fix it. I had to go back to Bob’s Basics.  I had to get the tires completely unscrambled and then rescrambled back into working order by a very confused tube inflater Elf.  He says the verbonic valve vibration will not withstand the Starlight Shrinking process required by Santa Industries specific guidelines.”

Rondo’s face got redder and his cheeks got puffier and his ears turned greener as she talked.  “Mother, I told you I have fixed all that. The Purple Play Mobile you are riding hasn’t been upgraded.”

“Well, thanks for doing good things for your mother,” she said in that aggravating Mother tone.  “Your mother always did the best for you and what does she get in return?  The old, inferior version of Purple Machine.”

“Mom, Mom, can’t you see I am busy here in a crowd of people ready to present my latest and greatest to Mr. Santa Clause, himself?  Do you have to do this now?”

“Son, I have watched you invent many a thing that has worked, shall I say politely, less than perfectly.  I want to make sure you have considered every single-bingle thing that could possibly go awry.  You are dealing with Christmas here and Santa and you know that I know that you know how AWFUL it is to be a disappointed kid.”

“I did, Mom.  I fixed all the problems.”

“It doesn’t seem like testing time has been adequate to have worked through any problems.  You just dreamed this up four weeks ago when the snow apples were ripe and you claimed to be too busy to help me pick them. Being brilliant is your greatest gift.  Being patient is not.”

“I did test it.  I did. I want Santa to have the Purple Play Mobile for this year.  Then I will be rich and I can get my own factory and live in my own house and hire someone to pick snow apples and cook them and clean up after me.”

“I am your warning system, Rondo.  I always have been, whether you like it or not.  Don’t fool yourself.  No creation is finished before its prefect time.  Think it out. Think it perfect.”

“This is all I have been thinking about for four weeks, Mom.  All.  Nothing else.  I am ready to be famous and successful.”

This conversation went on while the others in the waiting room were called back, leaving only Rondo and his mother, Matilde alone.  Rondo’s rage was subsiding as his mother blathered on and on listing the projects he had started and did not complete or that didn’t work properly.  Like the glow in the dark flashlight that was too hot to hold for a flashlight. Or the snow apple picker that broke the branches off the tree.

“Rondo, I am begging you to be sure you are prepared. This is your big Santa moment.  Is your Purple Playtoy ready?  Let’s not disappoint the big guy.”

“Mother, go home.  I am 143 Elf years old.  Most Elves leave home at 144 or 145.  I can make my own decisions.”

“Then I am going home.  I have snow apple compote baking for dinner.  You are on your own.”

“Rondo, you are next,” the Carla clerk called out.  She looked at him, “This is about responsibility, Elf.  This is creating Christmas for others, not just for the glory of yourself.  I hope you are being honest.”

“Why is everyone challenging me?”  Rondo said under his breath.  “Is the world full of mothers?”  Yet, Rondo knew full well why.  He did have many failed projects and he wasn’t completely sure about the capability of the verbonic valve to withstand the vibrational pressure of the Starlight Shrinking process necessary for all the toys to go through in order to fit into Santa’s sleigh.  And, of course, then expand back to original upon delivery.  Santa-shrink is what the Elves called it!  It is what makes the magic possible in one night around the globe.

Rondo followed the Elf clerk down a hallway lined with pictures of toys from the past and present.  Lincoln Logs. Train sets.  Davy Crocket hats and toy rifles.  Red wagons.  Gerber babies.  Cabbage Patch kids.  The first Barbie and Ken.

“I know mine works.  I know that when the tests come back from the famous and expensive ‘You-build-it-we-test-it’ Shrink laboratories over in Flake City they will prove me right.  The tests were due back day before yesterday and did not arrive. I couldn’t wait another day without telling Santa.  So…here I am,” he whispered walking down the hallway.  “My mother is right,” that voice in his head kept repeating.

And he walked into a glorious room filled with toys moving about, twirling from the ceiling.  Ticking.  Jumping.  Rolling across the floor.  All colors.  Lights and sound.  Toy heaven.  And at a huge wooden desk with papers all around him was a giant bearded Elf dressed in green and blue flannel with black fuzzy boots.

Rondo made his presentation to Santa, invited him outside for a ride.  They drove around the factory of Santa Clause Industries passing his Mother whose  Purple Pain Mobile (she was now calling it) was being pushed by a handful of Elves.  Rondo and Santa even drove through the peppermint milk shake plant for a tall drink with a blinking straw.

Santa was thrilled.  He asked to drive and drove so fast through the fields he scared the reindeer.  Blitzen shook his head, “Santa is the biggest kid of all, heh, Vixen?”

“The biggest!”

They got back to the office and Mrs. Clause had a contract ready for Rondo to sign.  In it Rondo agreed that all the appropriate tests had been passed and all was in perfect work as a Santa approved toy.  Rondo closed his eyes as he signed and his mother’s voice inside his head was screaming, “Don’t do it.”

“You seem a bright fellow and if this Purple Play Mobile becomes a favorite with the kids, well maybe we will have a place for you to work next year at Santaland.”

Rondo was so excited he barely remembered doing cartwheels to the Purple  Play Mobile.  He passed his Mother about half way and waved at her gleefully.  She was at the fuel fill up meter again.  Probably just for a fill up, he thought.

He got home in time to hear the timer go off for snow apple compote.  He saved as much as he thought his Mother should eat.  She had been talking about losing some weight.

Meanwhile, back in Santaland . . .

Christmas Eve and the builder Elves became Starlight Shrinker experts.  Taking the toys and putting them on the Shrinker conveyer in alphabetical order so that when Santa called the name of the child requesting the toy it could eject through the modified Starlight Shiner reverse module attached to the special magic expand-a-Santa bag.

But…when the Elves switched from manufacturing to Shrink loading toys, Clyde the Controller Elf got injured.  His toe got smashed when Sammy Psycho was bouncing all over on a pogo stick instead of concentrating.  Sammy was sent to tend the reindeer and Clyde was asked to go to the kitchen and chop greens.  (Elves must have their daily portion of greens to keep that lovely green complexion, you know.  If not they fade to pale white and they disappear in the snow.)  Clyde could sit with his foot propped up and chop and then be back to work in a couple of days.

That day the Shrinking Machine made very unusual popping noises.  Frank the Freekizoid Elf heard them, stopped the machine twice to examine things which backed up the entire two mile assembly line and caused cosmic confusion and complaints.  He checked inside the Expand-a-Santa bag.  He checked the gears and conveyer of the Shrinker.  He found no problems and ordered packing to be continued.

The Santa sendoff was spectacular.  Red and green fireworks lit up the snow brighter than glitter on aluminum foil.  The fireworks banged louder than all the Elf bells put together.

And so Santa called to the reindeer and the sleigh and carrying the Santa-Expans-o-matic bag lifted off and up they flew.  Santa circled back twice to wave and cheer with the Elves, proud of another successful toy making season.

Rondo and his mother joined the crowd to celebrate.

Santa flew first to New Zealand and went about his work with ease and a tough determination.  All the toy drops worked well except at a few houses he noticed some strange hissing and popping sounds as the toys came through the Expando-matic mechanism on the toy bag.  But each time he checked the toys before moving on and they checked out.

By the end of the night somewhere over the Hawaiian Islands where he was offered coconut milk and macadamia nut cookies he realized the noise was coming from the Purple Play Mobile.

And just then the first sun ray popped over the horizon and Donner, the reindeer in charge of directions, and Vixen, in charge of velocity, brayed to Santa that the magic night was over.  They had to move, and move now.  The other reindeer pawed and pranced and Santa had no choice but to proceed swiftly back to the North Pole before being spotted by kids getting up early.

Meanwhile, back in the North Pole, the Kid Satisfaction Machine was blaring red, recording disturbed, sad, mad, unhappy children.  It glowed so brightly not one Elf could sleep.  They were waiting for Santa in the send-off yard.  When he heard, Santa was appalled.  Santa didn’t know the meter was capable of recording such a level of frustration.  But he did know the toy that had malfunctioned and before he even settled down into a long winter’s nap he called for Rondo and the manager Elves to come his office, immediately.

“This is what happens when we do not pay attention to the details.” He pointed to the button that was glowing nuclear.  “These are kids we have disappointed.  Kids!  It’s an abomination.  Have you ever seen a child cry over their Santa present?  Have you ever shared the heartbreak and disappointment of a child?”

“Well, let’s have it, Rondo.  What do you have to say for yourself?”

Rondo began to hurt so badly in his heart he had to hold onto his chest to keep it from breaking.

“I did this, didn’t I, Santa?  Because I. . .”

“Now don’t go on with that ‘feel sorry for me’ just now, Rondo.  What is done is done and we need to know how to fix it.  How are you going to fix this?”  Santa asked very loudly.  For now he was getting very sleepy and he knew that across the globe children were sad and mad at Santa and having someone sad and mad at you never makes for a very good night’s sleep.

So Rondo paced and paced.  He thought and thought.  He drew a plan and handed it to Santa.

“This doesn’t help now, Rondo.  The night of magic has passed and Santa failed some of the children.  We have to leave it into the hands of the Daddy’s now.  The dads and the stores.  We have to trust that the children are patient and understanding and forgiving.  The Dads of the world will step up to make it right for their sad children and the Purple Play Mobile will become one of those Christmas stories families tell and retell every year.  And the sad/mad at Santa will lessen with each telling.”

“And for you Rondo, to make retribution…  Well you will come up with three plans and I will come up with three plans and I will talk to you as soon as I have an extra-long winter’s nap.”

“So, take this macadamia nut cookie to your Mother and have as happy a day as you can.”

“Macadamia nut is my favorite,” claimed Rondo.

“This cookie is for your Mother, not you.  Think of someone besides yourself, Rondo. And if you eat even one crumb of this cookie.  Even one crumb. . .”

 

AND SO I SAY “JOY TO THE WORLD!”

 

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My Hope for Myself, My Hope for the World

This is a thoughtful and lovely poem. Let us all rise up into the truth of who we really are.

sky rope (subterranean rappel)

ash bird - February 12, 2015s

author’s note:

My goal isn’t to write my story, but to write our story.

MY HOPE FOR MYSELF, MY HOPE FOR THE WORLD

I wish I could assure you
salvation naturally follows destruction

but the bird doesn’t always
rise from the ash.

Nonetheless…

if the fire of the our present
becomes a conflagration in the future
I will try to write of hope—

just as I do today

as I struggle to learn
how to maintain a stable peace
without losing my fire—

as I struggle to learn
how to grow a strong flame
without the blaze bursting
into a one-man conflagration.

On this mission
I often collapse into ashes
yet I keep raising myself
back up

strengthened by hope.

My hope for myself
is my hope for the world.


2015, Michael R. Patton
myth steps: the blog

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A Dog’s Guide to Life. (for Ellie)

1.  Get moving! Get outside. Get into nature. Go for a walk. Garden. Run. Play in the snow. The river. The mud. And don’t forget to take me with you. I like being outdoors. There’s so much out there to explore and it’s just good doginess to share it! 2.  Stop and smell the roses. Breathe. […]

http://dareboldly.com/2015/06/23/a-dogs-guide-to-life-for-ellie/

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Magic, Opportunity & Luck

Lovely post. Thank you for the information.

bluebutterfliesandme

Cosmanialotus-fire-chris-crowleyCosmania

The Air That I Breathe

Magic, Opportunity and Luck For the Taking: Jupiter Uranus Trine Grand Finale

Crystal B. Astrology

Sometimes things just magically come together.

On June 22nd, 2015, Jupiter and Uranus will come together in the most magical way — for the last time.

The popular saying, “Save the Best for Last” comes to mind when I think of this grand planetary finale (referred to as a Jupiter Uranus trine). Jupiter and Uranus have met up before—2x already to be exact.

The first time was on September 25, 2o14. That was great but Jupiter wasn’t quite giving HIS all since he was going RETROgrade.

The second time was on March 3rd, 2015. That brought out some great energy too.  However, Uranus wasn’t quite giving HIS all at that time since he was going RETROgrade. Plus he was moving into that nasty last square with Pluto which peaked mid-March.

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Pomp and Circumstance – The Class of 2015

Pomp and circumstance makes me cry. From my own graduation – The Class of 1967 – Russell High and after a few decades UK and Marshall. Then to my daughters high school and college graduations.  I still know the separation anxiety from back then. Uggg. And now, now? How did this all happen so quickly – my oldest grandchild’s high school graduation? The Class of 2015. So many changes.

William, who I held all night when he was 6 weeks old through a glorious Christmas Eve with a full moon on snow; who taught me to play trucks and then to read maps. I would pick him up at day care and after feeding him (because school makes a kid really hungry) he would draw a map. In actuality it was scribbles on a piece of paper but when we went outside he would follow the lines and we’d walk around town following his detailed instructions, explainations and directions.

I tried to understand Pokémon and listened intently but never really latched onto their collective significance. He left me with his extensive capabilities with Legos. Although I did spend many hours in ToysRUs agonizing over which box to buy.  Can you say Star Wars up the walls of his bedroom?

I sewed the official flag for Sector 7. We had road trips, one to buy a ridiculously expensive organic free range turkey for Thanksgiving. He navigated, perfectly through road construction. (Maybe it was the training from the  kindergarten map game. Hummm).

He liked to spend the night and we would talk about life’s maneuverings about soccer and bullying team mates. He helped me build labyrinths. I saved him from having to ride the school bus more often than not. “Gram, don’t make me ride the bus today.  Please come and get me!”

I took him all three times to drivers license testing. And then he was off – launched via a plastic card into his own world – friends, engineering classes, soccer, clubs,  and girls. No more exploring with a grandmother.
While Grandmother status eliminates the daily responsibilities of child nurturing, it is also a generation removed from the intimate dependency of parent-child. My link with William (and the other four) a generation removed. So I was “re-placed” by the growing up and away options. And while I know this is for sure, absolutely, positively the way things happen, I miss him.   And I know for sure, absolutely, positively our blood connection will never change nor will our history together and thus the influence we have had on each other is genetic and a part of who he is.

Life is ever changing. Like the DNA strands people, situations, places and things come together and separate. We come together and we grow apart while coursing through the mutable rapids of life where we hold tightly onto love and relationships while writing our stories a chapter at a time.  This is the unchanging part, the foundation part.

And I do not wish to stop you, William, or hinder your growth, or keep you from experiencing that which peaks your curiosity. I miss your childhood. And I do know that no matter where you go and what you do I will always be your grandmother – your favorite grandmother in Scott County. I am the one who rocked you that Christmas Eve when we talked of the life ahead. And I am the grandmother who once bought you a popcorn pan for your birthday and I am the one who lost you in the lobby of the hotel in Florida when you were two years old. And, yes, on my watch you only fell down the stairs once.  Only once. Oh and then there is the curling iron event.

Yet you did grow up, in spite of it all!

(Changing the words by inserting boy for girl, obviously!)

May your warrior heart be guided by compassion, tenacity, joy and love. And may the pitfalls be pot holes not sink holes.

I love you, William. Always.

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Healthy Eating Challenge

Breakfast is ready!

Dream Big, Dream Often

So Evelina has found this great morning breakfast meal called Overnight Oats.  Have you seen this on Pinterest or Twitter?  It is so good and very easy to put together.

First, you need a glass mason jar with a lid and the following ingredients:

1/2 cup of oatmeal

1/2 cup of almond milk

1/3 teaspoon vanilla extract,

1/3 teaspoon flax seed

1 packet of Truvia or a dab of honey.

1 tablespoon of crushed almonds

image credit: Evelina Ray image credit: Evelina Ray

Combine the oatmeal and almond milk in the mason jar and mix in all the ingredients except the chopped fruit.  Seal the jar and place in the refrigerator overnight.  In the morning open the jar, mix in chopped fruit and eat.  It is so good!!  You may need to adjust the amounts to fit your eating requirements.

I really enjoy this because the oatmeal absorbs the almond milk overnight and really adds a…

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Who are you?

Lidia Laughs at Life's Tragedy's

 

 

Today you are you, that is truer than true.
There is no one alive who is youer than you.
— Dr. Seuss

Be yourself. Everyone else is taken.
— My good friend, Janet

A friend of mine just published a book: Alchemy 365 by Brenda Lightfeather Marroy.       (https://brendamarroyauthor.wordpress.com/about-me/)

Her marriage to Paul was the first wedding ceremony I ever preformed! I was not the scheduled minister and yet ended up perfectly suited to the situation by faith on both sides of the decision. We connected.
I am prompted to promote her book here because I am proud of her tenacity and determination to publish this self-awareness daybook.
May 11, today’s quote from Dr. Seuss directs me back to many Julia Cameron Artist’s Way exercises and prompts me to write this post.

Who are you?
Where are you from?
Where are you now?
Where do you want to go?
What have you done?
What do you want to do?
What makes you you?

List your special qualities.
List your quirks.
List your favorite things.
List your passions and your passionate dislikes.

All of these lists paint the picture of the you that is YOU.
I challenge you to make the lists. Laugh at yourself. Cry with yourself. And as you open the gift to discover YOU more fully, I challenge you to say I Love You every time you see yourself in the mirror as a way of honoring and accepting the you that is YOU.
All the best in your journey to self-discovery. Mine sure has been a rocky and gratifying road.  Sometimes more rocky.  Sometimes more gratifying.

And I just have to include this:

Warning – bad word.  Or what used to be considered a bad word – not is as common as dirt!

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