The Labor Day weekend has come and gone. I’m sure there were many of you that went away for the long weekend or had a backyard barbecue. Labor Day typically signifies the final days of summer where we all want to get in one last hurrah before getting on with fall and winter. But for Rick and me, the Labor Day weekend brought sadness as we learned of two friends who had passed away.
Doug was one of the guys who went to welding school with Rick. He kept in touch with Rick almost every day. Jenna was a lady from our church family in Illinois and since moving away I only interacted with her through Facebook.
Both were too young to die. Doug was 34; Jenna was 52.
Both deaths were unexpected and shocking. Doug died in a jail in Oklahoma after being arrested for public intoxication; Jenna died alone peacefully while sitting in a chair in her home in Illinois.
When situations like this happen, the first question you want to ask is why? But that is a question only God can answer. So instead, I decided to look at these two deaths to see if I can use what happened to help answer another question, “Are you ready?”
Doug was a good guy who didn’t always make the right choices. His happiness seemed to be a result of what was happening in his life. He tried to improve his life by going to welding school and learning a trade, but in the end he wound up losing his wife and daughter in divorce, losing his job, taking up with a woman too soon after his divorce who wasn’t good for him, ignoring help and advice from his friends and using alcohol to temporarily bury his troubles.
Jenna was a sweet lady who loved her family and friends and was loved in return. She loved the Lord and her church family and had a heart to serve God. When she was diagnosed with colon cancer, she trusted Jesus to heal her. She always had a smile on her face and was a positive and optimistic person.
Here you have two very different people that had one thing in common on the day of their death…they didn’t know it was their last day to live. They didn’t know they had no more time left. They didn’t know they were leaving their friends and family behind. They didn't know they had no more chances to say "I love you." They didn’t know and neither will you when your time comes.
A few weeks ago my pastor asked this question during his sermon, “What would you do if you knew Jesus was coming again tomorrow?” This question screamed at me as a born again believer. The Bible says that as a disciple of Christ, I must go and tell others that Jesus can forgive them of their sin and save them from eternal damnation in hell, and that by accepting God’s free gift of salvation through Jesus Christ they can have eternal life in heaven. Once Jesus comes again, it will be too late. Well, I can tell you that I did not take the pastor’s question to heart until now. For Doug and Jenna life is over. It's too late for me to ask them "Are you ready?"
In a telephone call, Doug’s dad told Rick that Doug had a peaceful look on his face and he was sure he was headed in the right direction. And if you knew Jenna, you would believe that today she is in the arms of Jesus in Heaven. But it is not for me to say who is going to heaven and who is going to hell. Only God knows what was in the hearts of these two friends.
So today I ask you “Are you ready?”
Blessings and hugs,
~ P
If you would like information that will show you how you can become a child of God, please click here: Four Spiritual Laws.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Saturday, September 4, 2010
"Super" Walmart
But there is one day in the week that regularly gets me out of the house, and that’s the day I go grocery shopping. I go to a Walmart Supercenter for my one stop weekly shopping. I just don’t agree that it’s “super.” That word seems to be overused these days. Oh, I get it that they are combining a grocery store with a department store of sorts. But does that really warrant having SUPER in the title? They could just as easily call them Walmart Plus stores. We all would have understood that.
So here I am thinking about what’s so “super” about Walmart Supercenters and I came up with this…it’s the people who go there to shop. Each and every person is unique in his own right. No two of us are alike…we are all one of a kind. Now that’s super!
Take today for instance.
I was lucky enough to get a parking spot fairly close to the front of the store. When I got out of my car, I saw a lady hobbling around the car next to mine holding on as she walked towards a empty cart left next to her car. You could tell she was in pain by the way she was walking…kind of like she was walking on hot coals only very slowly.
“Do you need any help,” I asked her.
“No, not really,” she said. “It’s just when I sit too long I get stiff and it takes me a while to get moving. I need to get this cart to hold on to while I walk.”
I knew exactly what she was talking about. I get the same way sometimes. I walked beside her as we made our way in to Walmart talking about our aching knees and how the heat doesn’t much help. I was going to suggest a motorized cart for her but when we got to the lobby, her elderly mother, whom she had apparently dropped off before parking, was waiting for her in a motorized cart and she had her foot in a cast. What a pair they made. We parted ways at that point. I felt a small part of me had bonded with her during our short 2 minute walk. We shared something…even if it was only the same aches and pains.
The rest of my shopping trip was pretty much a one man show…I was in my own little world looking for this and that, marking them off my list as I went. Finally, I was done. Check out is always a nightmare, trying to find the shortest line, hoping the clerk is fast and knows what she’s doing. I picked aisle 12. There were only two people in line. The first person in line was almost finished and the guy behind her was just buying some beer and a few other things. Not too bad.
As I stood there waiting, a young man in his late 20’s early 30’s came up behind me. I turned and saw he had only two items. I told him to go ahead of me. “Are you sure?” he asked.
“Yes, go ahead,” I said. “I have way more items than you.” As it turned out I had $132 worth of items in my cart. That’s the problem with going to a Super Walmart…but I’ll leave that for another day. I like to let people with only a few items go ahead of me so that maybe one day when I only have a few items, someone will let me go ahead. You know, the biblical “do unto others” thing.
Anyway, as I continued to wait for my turn to check out, this guy comes up behind me. He’s a short, thin, 40-something year old biker guy dressed full out in leather pants and jacket with chains all over the jacket and piercings all over his face (nose, lips, eyebrows, ears). He smiles at me with a one tooth missing smile and asks, “Can I look at those Pez dispensers down there?”
“Sure,” I said as I moved over so he could look.
“Do you collect them?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said shyly almost as if he was embarrassed about it. Not finding what he wanted he moved on to the next check out aisle. Too funny. I would never have pegged him as a collector of Pez dispensers. Looks sure can be deceiving.
The two-item guy and beer guy in front of me were staring at biker guy as he went from aisle to aisle and they were quietly laughing. Yes he was different and looked strange in his leather outfit and piercings, but how bad can a guy be who collects Pez dispensers?
Sometimes you just have to look at people and see them the way God sees them. The Bible says we are fearfully and wonderfully made and we are made in God’s image. It also says that man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart. So who am I to judge…who are we to judge?
Home I went with all my groceries. Another week done. I feel good about today. God showed me that I need to offer help to those in need, to be kind to one another, and not to be judgmental; all good lessons.
I wonder who I’ll meet in Super Walmart next week and what God will show me.
~ P
Thursday, August 19, 2010
The Miracle
This is the story of a miracle, a miracle that happened forty years ago. It is the story of how God blessed our family with a perfect little baby boy, who we named Jeffrey.
I thought it would be neat for Jeffrey to know the circumstances surrounding his birth from his mother's point of view. So often we wonder, but never ask.
August 18, 1970, 5:00 am
I'm not an early riser, but on this day I got up early. I went to the bathroom and discovered I was in the early stages of labor. Uh oh. It was happening. I was going to have my baby. There was no more time to think about it or plan for it and there sure was no stopping it.
A bizillion thoughts were running through my head. What do I do now? I'm just nineteen. What did I know? I never had a baby before and I didn't know what to expect. I need to call my doctor. No, first I needed to eat. I read somewhere that you shouldn't eat when you're in labor. But I was hungry! So I toasted two Thomas' english muffins and had them with a glass of milk. Who knows, this might be my last meal for a while. There, I feel better. Now I can call my doctor.
Every morning from 6:00 to 7:00 a.m. my doctor, Dr. Robert Schrier, had question and answer time for expectant mothers. Great! I would call and ask him what I should do. When I got Dr. Schrier on the phone and explained what was happening to me, he told me to come to his office at 9:00 so he could give me an examination.
By now Don was up and getting ready for work. I told him what was happening. He said he would drive me to his sister Betty's house and she would take me to see the doctor. He would go on to work and check on me throughout the day. So that's what we did. At the doctor's office, my doctor told me I was in the very early stages of labor and it may be a while before I delivered. "Go home and come to the hospital around 3:00 p.m. for another exam. And don't have any solid foods to eat," he said. Boy, was I glad I had the foresight to eat those two english muffins when I did.
So back to Betty's house we went where I had chicken broth for lunch. Yum. Around 3:00, Betty took me to St. Charles Hospital in Port Jefferson where we met up with Dr. Schrier. After a quick examination, he told me I was hardly dilated at all. He said I probably wouldn't have my baby until the next day. He told me to go home and come back to the hospital just after midnight. He said I would be charged for the whole day if I came in before then. I'm glad he said that because we didn't have maternity insurance because I was already pregnant when Don got his job with the New York Telephone Company.
I stayed at Betty's house until Don picked me up after work. My labor pains were tolerable, but slow going. I do not remember much of that evening. I probably had more chicken broth for dinner. Yum yum. I tried to go to sleep at a normal hour, but the pains were annoying enough and kept me awake, plus I was anxious about the whole process of labor and delivery. One clear memory I have is of Don and me watching my belly as each contraction started and ended. It was an amazing sight to us first time parents-to-be.
August 19, 1970 12:00 midnight
At last we were headed to the hospital. I had my little bag with my nightgown and size 9 slippers.
Sidebar: towards the last weeks of pregnancy, my feet had swelled so much due to fluid retention. I had to buy slippers that were two sizes larger just to get my feet in them. Not a pretty sight then (or now-inside joke).
Getting back to the story, we finally arrived at St Charles Hospital and I was seated in a wheelchair and wheeled to the admissions office. Since we had no maternity insurance, we had to sign our life away and practically promise our first born son to insure them that we would pay the bill. Then an aide took me to the labor room. Don stayed behind until I was situated in the room. After being poked and prodded in every way imaginable, the nurse asked me if I wanted to see my husband. I said no. I'm not sure why. Maybe I wasn't thinking clearly. Maybe I was just scared and wanted to be by myself. Nobody prepared me for anything like this, not like they do today. Back then you experienced labor and delivery on your own and it was a scary time for a new mom-to-be.
August 19, 1970 3:15 p.m.
"Mrs. Neidhart, Mrs. Neidhart," I heard someone say. "You had a baby boy." What? Was it over already? What happened?
That's how I found out I had a baby boy. A nurse told me. To this day I don''t remember what happened from that last contraction exam until I heard the nurse calling my name. "The Miracle" had happened and I was so drugged I slept right through it.
But...
Jeffery Donald Neidhart was finally here, all 8 lbs. 5 oz. of him. He was the cutest little baby I had ever seen in all the world. And he was a good baby. At just ten days old he started sleeping through the night. I was trying to give him his 2:00 a.m. feeding and he wouldn't wake up. I tried to wake him up by tickling his feet. He just kept sleeping. I put the bottle to his lips and tried to make him drink. The milk ran down the side of his face. I was so concerned that I called his pediatrician the next morning telling him I was afraid Jeffery wasn't getting enough to eat. He laughed and said, "Mrs. Neidhart, let your baby sleep. He'll let you know when he's hungry." And he did.
The years have been good to Jeffery. He was an adorable little boy who grew into a handsome young man. He has a mother and father who love him very much, even though we ended the marriage when Jeffrey turned five. He's smart too. He graduated from college with a degree in Accounting and went on to get his CPA. Jeff is married and has three little miracles of his own. Today, he turns forty years old and I am very proud of the man he has become.
I remember holding Jeffrey one night when he was just a few days old. I had my knees up and cradled him in my lap. Watching him I could imagine him inside my belly. What a miracle, what an awesome miracle. This baby grew inside me. Yes, giving birth to a child is a miracle and even though these miracles happen every day to women all over the world, they are no less special.
Jeffery, you are my miracle. I love you. Happy Birthday!
Love and hugs, Mom
I thought it would be neat for Jeffrey to know the circumstances surrounding his birth from his mother's point of view. So often we wonder, but never ask.
August 18, 1970, 5:00 am
I'm not an early riser, but on this day I got up early. I went to the bathroom and discovered I was in the early stages of labor. Uh oh. It was happening. I was going to have my baby. There was no more time to think about it or plan for it and there sure was no stopping it.
A bizillion thoughts were running through my head. What do I do now? I'm just nineteen. What did I know? I never had a baby before and I didn't know what to expect. I need to call my doctor. No, first I needed to eat. I read somewhere that you shouldn't eat when you're in labor. But I was hungry! So I toasted two Thomas' english muffins and had them with a glass of milk. Who knows, this might be my last meal for a while. There, I feel better. Now I can call my doctor.
Every morning from 6:00 to 7:00 a.m. my doctor, Dr. Robert Schrier, had question and answer time for expectant mothers. Great! I would call and ask him what I should do. When I got Dr. Schrier on the phone and explained what was happening to me, he told me to come to his office at 9:00 so he could give me an examination.
By now Don was up and getting ready for work. I told him what was happening. He said he would drive me to his sister Betty's house and she would take me to see the doctor. He would go on to work and check on me throughout the day. So that's what we did. At the doctor's office, my doctor told me I was in the very early stages of labor and it may be a while before I delivered. "Go home and come to the hospital around 3:00 p.m. for another exam. And don't have any solid foods to eat," he said. Boy, was I glad I had the foresight to eat those two english muffins when I did.
So back to Betty's house we went where I had chicken broth for lunch. Yum. Around 3:00, Betty took me to St. Charles Hospital in Port Jefferson where we met up with Dr. Schrier. After a quick examination, he told me I was hardly dilated at all. He said I probably wouldn't have my baby until the next day. He told me to go home and come back to the hospital just after midnight. He said I would be charged for the whole day if I came in before then. I'm glad he said that because we didn't have maternity insurance because I was already pregnant when Don got his job with the New York Telephone Company.
I stayed at Betty's house until Don picked me up after work. My labor pains were tolerable, but slow going. I do not remember much of that evening. I probably had more chicken broth for dinner. Yum yum. I tried to go to sleep at a normal hour, but the pains were annoying enough and kept me awake, plus I was anxious about the whole process of labor and delivery. One clear memory I have is of Don and me watching my belly as each contraction started and ended. It was an amazing sight to us first time parents-to-be.
August 19, 1970 12:00 midnight
At last we were headed to the hospital. I had my little bag with my nightgown and size 9 slippers.
Sidebar: towards the last weeks of pregnancy, my feet had swelled so much due to fluid retention. I had to buy slippers that were two sizes larger just to get my feet in them. Not a pretty sight then (or now-inside joke).
Getting back to the story, we finally arrived at St Charles Hospital and I was seated in a wheelchair and wheeled to the admissions office. Since we had no maternity insurance, we had to sign our life away and practically promise our first born son to insure them that we would pay the bill. Then an aide took me to the labor room. Don stayed behind until I was situated in the room. After being poked and prodded in every way imaginable, the nurse asked me if I wanted to see my husband. I said no. I'm not sure why. Maybe I wasn't thinking clearly. Maybe I was just scared and wanted to be by myself. Nobody prepared me for anything like this, not like they do today. Back then you experienced labor and delivery on your own and it was a scary time for a new mom-to-be.
August 19, 1970 3:15 p.m.
"Mrs. Neidhart, Mrs. Neidhart," I heard someone say. "You had a baby boy." What? Was it over already? What happened?
That's how I found out I had a baby boy. A nurse told me. To this day I don''t remember what happened from that last contraction exam until I heard the nurse calling my name. "The Miracle" had happened and I was so drugged I slept right through it.
But...
Jeffery Donald Neidhart was finally here, all 8 lbs. 5 oz. of him. He was the cutest little baby I had ever seen in all the world. And he was a good baby. At just ten days old he started sleeping through the night. I was trying to give him his 2:00 a.m. feeding and he wouldn't wake up. I tried to wake him up by tickling his feet. He just kept sleeping. I put the bottle to his lips and tried to make him drink. The milk ran down the side of his face. I was so concerned that I called his pediatrician the next morning telling him I was afraid Jeffery wasn't getting enough to eat. He laughed and said, "Mrs. Neidhart, let your baby sleep. He'll let you know when he's hungry." And he did.
The years have been good to Jeffery. He was an adorable little boy who grew into a handsome young man. He has a mother and father who love him very much, even though we ended the marriage when Jeffrey turned five. He's smart too. He graduated from college with a degree in Accounting and went on to get his CPA. Jeff is married and has three little miracles of his own. Today, he turns forty years old and I am very proud of the man he has become.
I remember holding Jeffrey one night when he was just a few days old. I had my knees up and cradled him in my lap. Watching him I could imagine him inside my belly. What a miracle, what an awesome miracle. This baby grew inside me. Yes, giving birth to a child is a miracle and even though these miracles happen every day to women all over the world, they are no less special.
Jeffery, you are my miracle. I love you. Happy Birthday!
Love and hugs, Mom
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
The Baby of the Family
If you are the youngest sibling in your family, you know that being the “baby” can be a curse or a gift. Fifty-seven years ago today I was replaced as the baby of the family by my brother Rick. I probably wasn’t too happy about that. You see, being the baby has its advantages. You are the center of attention (at least for the first few years), everyone thinks you are so cute (and I could have done cute for quite a while), Mom and Dad let you get away with murder, you have the advantage of learning from the mistakes of your older siblings, and you have your pick of bedrooms when they leave the house.
Richard, Ricky, Rick was born on July 6, 1953. He’s a Monday’s Child, meaning he’s “fair of face.” I agree. He was an adorable baby that grew into a handsome man. To get there though, he went through a transformation as you will note from the pictures I’ve posted here.
HAPPY
BIRTHDAY
RICK!
Love and Hugs, Sis
Friday, June 11, 2010
25 Days
I spent 25 days at my mother's house this past May. She is 82 and lives by herself, well not really by herself as she has a boat load of cats to keep her company. I went to help take care of things while she was in the hospital having surgery and afterwards. I didn't realize how long 25 days can be, especially when two grown women share the same house and they are mother and daughter.
Two years had gone by since my last visit home, and then I didn't stay with my mom, I stayed with my brother. It probably has been more than 40 years since I've slept at my parents house. So this was going to be a challenge for me. Why is it when you are under your parents roof, you revert back to being the child? There I was playing the role of the dutiful daughter. “Would you like me to do anything for you?” “Can I get you something to eat?” “Do you need anything from the store?” I was also fulfilling requests she made. “Can you make me a cup of coffee?” “Can you carry this for me?” “Can you vacuum the rug?” Vacuum the rug…that’s when it all changed.
Here’s how it went down. As I went to get the vacuum, my mom began giving instructions. “I plug it in over here.” “I put the cord on this side of the coffee table.” “Ok,” I said. As I was vacuuming, she continued to watch me and make comments. “Make sure you pick up the area rug and vacuum underneath.” “Use this brush to brush along the edges of the furniture.” “When the canister gets full, you’ll need to empty it in this bag and make sure you clean out the filter.” I was immediately transported back in time to when I was about 12 and Mom and I were cleaning the house on Saturdays. She would give me instructions on what to do and how to do it, which is ok when you’re 12 (even though I secretly hated it at the time). But wait!! I was a grown up now. I was also a mother for almost 40 years. Can my mom really tell me what to do now?? So I stopped vacuuming and said, “Mom, I’m 59 years old. I think I know how to vacuum a rug.” She finally walked away to do something else and the comments stopped. I felt a small victory had taken place and my 12 year old self had finally been avenged!!
After that, I found myself frequently shifting between the roles of mother and daughter. Here are some of the ways I “tried” to mother my mother.
“Mom, you stay up too late. You need to go to bed earlier. At your age you need your rest.”
“Mom, you get up too late. You shouldn’t stay up to watch late night reruns of Two and a Half Men and Everybody Loves Raymond. This is not good for you.”
“Mom, you shouldn’t eat breakfast at 11:30. You need to have more regular meal times. Eating breakfast late messes up lunch and dinner times.”
“Mom, you shouldn’t be eating that. You know it will upset your stomach.”
“Mom, you have too many cats to take care of. It would be easier on you if you got rid of some of them.”
“Mom, you need to watch how you spend your money. You know you’re on a fixed income.”
And just how did Mom respond to my mothering? Just like any teenager would, she either ignored me or gave me one word answers!! “Yeah, yeah.” or “So?” were the ones she used most often.
When the 25 days were over, we were still mother and daughter in good standing. Who was I kidding? It was going to take a lot longer than 25 days to change my mother’s way of doing things and alter her views on how she should live her life. Maybe if I had a little more time, another week, maybe another 25 days, perhaps then she would have seen it my way. Somehow I doubt it.
~ P
Two years had gone by since my last visit home, and then I didn't stay with my mom, I stayed with my brother. It probably has been more than 40 years since I've slept at my parents house. So this was going to be a challenge for me. Why is it when you are under your parents roof, you revert back to being the child? There I was playing the role of the dutiful daughter. “Would you like me to do anything for you?” “Can I get you something to eat?” “Do you need anything from the store?” I was also fulfilling requests she made. “Can you make me a cup of coffee?” “Can you carry this for me?” “Can you vacuum the rug?” Vacuum the rug…that’s when it all changed.
Here’s how it went down. As I went to get the vacuum, my mom began giving instructions. “I plug it in over here.” “I put the cord on this side of the coffee table.” “Ok,” I said. As I was vacuuming, she continued to watch me and make comments. “Make sure you pick up the area rug and vacuum underneath.” “Use this brush to brush along the edges of the furniture.” “When the canister gets full, you’ll need to empty it in this bag and make sure you clean out the filter.” I was immediately transported back in time to when I was about 12 and Mom and I were cleaning the house on Saturdays. She would give me instructions on what to do and how to do it, which is ok when you’re 12 (even though I secretly hated it at the time). But wait!! I was a grown up now. I was also a mother for almost 40 years. Can my mom really tell me what to do now?? So I stopped vacuuming and said, “Mom, I’m 59 years old. I think I know how to vacuum a rug.” She finally walked away to do something else and the comments stopped. I felt a small victory had taken place and my 12 year old self had finally been avenged!!
After that, I found myself frequently shifting between the roles of mother and daughter. Here are some of the ways I “tried” to mother my mother.
“Mom, you stay up too late. You need to go to bed earlier. At your age you need your rest.”
“Mom, you get up too late. You shouldn’t stay up to watch late night reruns of Two and a Half Men and Everybody Loves Raymond. This is not good for you.”
“Mom, you shouldn’t eat breakfast at 11:30. You need to have more regular meal times. Eating breakfast late messes up lunch and dinner times.”
“Mom, you shouldn’t be eating that. You know it will upset your stomach.”
“Mom, you have too many cats to take care of. It would be easier on you if you got rid of some of them.”
“Mom, you need to watch how you spend your money. You know you’re on a fixed income.”
And just how did Mom respond to my mothering? Just like any teenager would, she either ignored me or gave me one word answers!! “Yeah, yeah.” or “So?” were the ones she used most often.
When the 25 days were over, we were still mother and daughter in good standing. Who was I kidding? It was going to take a lot longer than 25 days to change my mother’s way of doing things and alter her views on how she should live her life. Maybe if I had a little more time, another week, maybe another 25 days, perhaps then she would have seen it my way. Somehow I doubt it.
~ P
Thursday, April 29, 2010
My Top Ten
Here are the top ten lessons I’ve learned from watching my cats.
Number Ten:
Sometimes it’s better to say nothing.
The look on your face will say it all.
Number Nine:
Be picky about what you eat.
Number Eight:
Number Seven:
Number Five:
If you’re going to consume calories,
they might as well taste good.
Number Eight:
Make sure you get enough sleep –
8 hours are good, 10 are better, but 12 is way too much and might label you a slacker.
8 hours are good, 10 are better, but 12 is way too much and might label you a slacker.
Good grooming is imperative. Bad hair day are NOT something you want to have.
Number Six:
If something frightens you, run first, ask
questions later. There’s no shame in
being called a scaredy cat. Own it!
questions later. There’s no shame in
being called a scaredy cat. Own it!
If you do something stupid, you might as well laugh at yourself. Others will.
Number Four:
Pick your battles.
You're not gonna win every fight.
Number Three:
The road of life will get bumpy. Just hang on!
Your faith in God will get you through.
Your faith in God will get you through.
Number Two:
If you’re curious, investigate.
I use Google, Bing and Ask.com.
And the Number One lesson
I’ve learned from watching my cats is:
Cover up your mess so other people
won’t have to look at it.
won’t have to look at it.
A special thanks to Funnycatpix.com for these wonderful pictures of our feline friends.
And thank you Lucky, Halle, Petey, Puss Puss, Spencer, Tracy, Rusty, Blackie, and Stinker, my precious cats past and present.
You have taught me well!
Friday, April 23, 2010
Thanks for the memories . . .
This will be the last installment of memories about my school days. I’ve been putting off writing this as I’m almost ashamed by how much I don’t remember. I guess it was all the drugs I was on that affected my memory. LOL, no but it sure seems like it. If you’re bored or didn’t know me back then, you can stop reading now.
Here’s what I remember about my Newfield High School days:
I remember meeting Don Neidhart in our sophomore year. We were assigned the same homeroom because our last names were alphabetically close, his started with N, mine O. It was the first week of school and the teacher was having us fill out some papers that we had to turn back in. Don sat in front of me and turned around to ask me a question. That was how we met. I remember sometime later he asked me out on a date. We double-dated at the Smithtown Drive-In with his brother Richie and his girlfriend, Chris Motto (also from our class).
I remember Don was on the wrestling team and I would go to watch his matches. His mom would go too. She liked to get as close to the mat as allowed to cheer him on. She’d yell something like, “Go Donald” or “Get ‘im Donald.” She became almost an icon at each match. Newsday captured her perfectly and published the picture of her yelling, the ref checking for a pin, and Don going for the win over his opponent. I can see the commercial now. . . wrestling shoes $40, kneepads $20, a picture of your mom cheering you on as you pin your opponent…priceless. I hope Don still has this picture from the newspaper.
I remember lunches in the cafeteria. I would usually buy the school lunch. There was one cook, not sure of her name, who was Italian and made the best spaghetti sauce ever. It was always crowed on the lunchroom line on spaghetti days. I would buy extra Italian bread on those days…boy that was some good eating.
I was pretty much a goody two shoes in school. There was one or two times I remember cutting through the senior courtyard (oooo, bad bad Patty!!). And once, only once I let Don talk me into cutting school. I couldn’t enjoy the day because I was constantly looking over my shoulder for the truant officer, so I never did it again. I remember going to a party (who’s ???) where there was beer and though I didn’t drink any, some was spilled on my skirt and I prayed my mom wouldn’t smell it on me. I don’t think she did.
I remember being excited about being a senior. In fact, someone from the Quadrangle staff (unbeknownst to me at the time) asked me how I felt about coming back to school. My response, along with the responses of lots of other kids, was published in the first issue of the newspaper. My reply was something to the effect of “I’ve been looking forward to coming back for my senior year all summer.” And that was the truth.
I joined the Quadrangle staff that year. Don was the sports editor so it seemed like the thing to do. I had my own column. I would get all the newspapers the Quadrangle received from other schools and would report on the interesting happenings that were going on there. Not Pulitzer worthy, but I enjoyed it.
I also took part in our Senior Production. The theme of it was a takeoff on the hit TV show Rowan and Martin’s Laugh In. The back of the stage was set up with a wall that had several small window-sized doors in it. Just like the show, someone would open one of the doors and tell a joke, then close it, then someone else would do the same, and so on. Sometimes it was a two part joke, like a knock knock joke, and two people would participate. I remember Joann Salmeri took on the roll of Joann Worley from the TV show and would laugh in a funny yuck yuck way. She was so good at it too!
I remember going to the meeting to brainstorm on ideas for the show. I wrote a commercial and the teacher liked it. Me and Marc Cappobianco did the audition and got the parts. It went something like this:
[Patty enters stage right, holding both hands on the side
of her head]
PATTY: Marc, can you get me the Excedrin? I have an
awful headache.
[Marc enters stage right, struggling to get the lid off a
large school-size mayo jar with a green Excedrin
label on it]
MARC: I can’t get the lid off.
[Patty waits patiently as Marc continues to struggle
with the lid]
[Patty becomes impatient and grabs the bottle from
Marc and starts to hit Marc with the bottle]
PATTY: Marc, can’t you do anything? I need my Excedrin!
[Patty and Marc exit stage right as Patty continues to hit
Marc with the bottle]
The dialogue is not verbatim, but it’s close. We got laughs from the audience, but looking back at it now I’m not pleased that I was portraying a wife who abused her husband LOL. I kept that Excedrin label for a long time in a little memento box I had. I finally threw it away several years ago when I got ready to sell my house. I remember we closed the show with the song Bob Hope used to sing at the end of his show, “Thanks for the Memories.” Of course, we changed all the words to suit our senior class. I think the first line went something like, “Thanks for the memories of football afternoons and sunny days of rest…” Does anybody else remember more?
I remember getting my senior ring and being proud to be a part of the Class of 1969. I remember senior prom, going with Don, the beautiful dress my mom made for me (I still remember those awful fittings), and the beach party the next day. I remember standing in line at graduation and hearing Pomp and Circumstance as we all walked in. Every time I hear that music it brings back my own graduation memories and I get a little teary-eyed. I remember the significance of moving my tassel from one side of my cap to the other…high school days are over, there’s a whole other world out there.
And was there ever. . .
Here’s what I remember about my Newfield High School days:
I remember meeting Don Neidhart in our sophomore year. We were assigned the same homeroom because our last names were alphabetically close, his started with N, mine O. It was the first week of school and the teacher was having us fill out some papers that we had to turn back in. Don sat in front of me and turned around to ask me a question. That was how we met. I remember sometime later he asked me out on a date. We double-dated at the Smithtown Drive-In with his brother Richie and his girlfriend, Chris Motto (also from our class).
I remember Don was on the wrestling team and I would go to watch his matches. His mom would go too. She liked to get as close to the mat as allowed to cheer him on. She’d yell something like, “Go Donald” or “Get ‘im Donald.” She became almost an icon at each match. Newsday captured her perfectly and published the picture of her yelling, the ref checking for a pin, and Don going for the win over his opponent. I can see the commercial now. . . wrestling shoes $40, kneepads $20, a picture of your mom cheering you on as you pin your opponent…priceless. I hope Don still has this picture from the newspaper.
I remember lunches in the cafeteria. I would usually buy the school lunch. There was one cook, not sure of her name, who was Italian and made the best spaghetti sauce ever. It was always crowed on the lunchroom line on spaghetti days. I would buy extra Italian bread on those days…boy that was some good eating.
I was pretty much a goody two shoes in school. There was one or two times I remember cutting through the senior courtyard (oooo, bad bad Patty!!). And once, only once I let Don talk me into cutting school. I couldn’t enjoy the day because I was constantly looking over my shoulder for the truant officer, so I never did it again. I remember going to a party (who’s ???) where there was beer and though I didn’t drink any, some was spilled on my skirt and I prayed my mom wouldn’t smell it on me. I don’t think she did.
I remember being excited about being a senior. In fact, someone from the Quadrangle staff (unbeknownst to me at the time) asked me how I felt about coming back to school. My response, along with the responses of lots of other kids, was published in the first issue of the newspaper. My reply was something to the effect of “I’ve been looking forward to coming back for my senior year all summer.” And that was the truth.
I joined the Quadrangle staff that year. Don was the sports editor so it seemed like the thing to do. I had my own column. I would get all the newspapers the Quadrangle received from other schools and would report on the interesting happenings that were going on there. Not Pulitzer worthy, but I enjoyed it.
I also took part in our Senior Production. The theme of it was a takeoff on the hit TV show Rowan and Martin’s Laugh In. The back of the stage was set up with a wall that had several small window-sized doors in it. Just like the show, someone would open one of the doors and tell a joke, then close it, then someone else would do the same, and so on. Sometimes it was a two part joke, like a knock knock joke, and two people would participate. I remember Joann Salmeri took on the roll of Joann Worley from the TV show and would laugh in a funny yuck yuck way. She was so good at it too!
I remember going to the meeting to brainstorm on ideas for the show. I wrote a commercial and the teacher liked it. Me and Marc Cappobianco did the audition and got the parts. It went something like this:
Excedrin Headache #69
[Patty enters stage right, holding both hands on the side
of her head]
PATTY: Marc, can you get me the Excedrin? I have an
awful headache.
[Marc enters stage right, struggling to get the lid off a
large school-size mayo jar with a green Excedrin
label on it]
MARC: I can’t get the lid off.
[Patty waits patiently as Marc continues to struggle
with the lid]
[Patty becomes impatient and grabs the bottle from
Marc and starts to hit Marc with the bottle]
PATTY: Marc, can’t you do anything? I need my Excedrin!
[Patty and Marc exit stage right as Patty continues to hit
Marc with the bottle]
The dialogue is not verbatim, but it’s close. We got laughs from the audience, but looking back at it now I’m not pleased that I was portraying a wife who abused her husband LOL. I kept that Excedrin label for a long time in a little memento box I had. I finally threw it away several years ago when I got ready to sell my house. I remember we closed the show with the song Bob Hope used to sing at the end of his show, “Thanks for the Memories.” Of course, we changed all the words to suit our senior class. I think the first line went something like, “Thanks for the memories of football afternoons and sunny days of rest…” Does anybody else remember more?
I remember getting my senior ring and being proud to be a part of the Class of 1969. I remember senior prom, going with Don, the beautiful dress my mom made for me (I still remember those awful fittings), and the beach party the next day. I remember standing in line at graduation and hearing Pomp and Circumstance as we all walked in. Every time I hear that music it brings back my own graduation memories and I get a little teary-eyed. I remember the significance of moving my tassel from one side of my cap to the other…high school days are over, there’s a whole other world out there.
And was there ever. . .
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Lucky's Story
I thought it only fitting since I wrote Halle’s story that I tell you how Lucky came to be a part of our family. It’s a simple story really; he was “the chosen one.”
First, I have to tell you about our “first born” Petey. He was a 6 month old male cat that came to our door on a cold night in January, 1999. I found out about a month after we took him in that he had wandered away from the home of Jon Eller, someone I actually knew from work. Jon lived about 2 miles from me and told me I could keep the cat if I wanted. Darn right I was keeping him, I just paid to have him fixed!
Now fast forward to June of 2004. Petey had been moping around, constantly lying beside the sliding glass door looking out to the backyard. We thought he was watching for a neighborhood cat that periodically made visits. Our human nature interpreted this as he was lonely for other cat companionship. That’s what we pet lovers do, we apply human characteristics to our pets. What? You’ve never watched the Dog Whisperer?
Anyway, a few days later Rick happened to be at the home of Dan Yonikus talking to him about refinishing some furniture. Rick noticed a boat load of cats in various stages of growth hanging around Dan’s garage-turned-storage-shed-for-all-his-antique-furniture in the back of the house. Rick asked Dan what he was doing with all those cats. Dan’s reply was simply, “You want one?” Rick pointed to a little 7-week old, long-haired, orange and cream colored ball of fur and said, “Yes, I want THAT one.” Dan told Rick that the cats were wild (they didn’t have much human interaction except at feeding time) and that he would have to catch the one Rick wanted. He said he would call him when he caught it. A few days later, Dan called and Rick went to pick up the kitten, but Dan had caught the wrong one. Oh, it was similar, but not the RIGHT one, not the one Rick had picked out. Dan said he would try again. The next time Dan called, he got it right.
We picked up the kitten after church on Sunday, June 13. When Dan said the cats were wild, he wasn’t kidding. This little ball of fur bit Rick on the finger when he tried to pet it. We decided to put the cat in our second bathroom to give it time to get accustomed to the surroundings. You couldn’t touch the little thing. It would swat at you with its tiny but deadly claws. I got the idea to use an old backscratcher that we had as a tool to offer food to the kitten. The backscratcher was in the shape of a cupped hand and had a long handle. I put the food in the cupped hand and slowly presented it to the kitten. It worked. He accepted food this way. Then I got another bright idea. As I was sitting on a small wooden stool talking softly to the cat, I decided to “meow.” Yes, I said, “meow.” I was pretending to be a cat to see if I could coax the little guy out from behind the toilet. “Meow, meow, meow,” I said softly. I saw the kitten peak around the corner of the cabinet and then come towards the sound. I kept at it, “Meow, meow, meow.” The kitten was now at my feet. “Meow, meow.” Then all of a sudden it jumped into my lap, layed down, and started to purr. I had him at “Meow!”
Rick and I discussed what to name him. Rick didn’t like any of the names I picked…too girlie he said. I had a cat named Rusty when I was young, that name would have fit because of Lucky’s coloring, but Rick liked the name Lucky because he was lucky Rick picked him out of all those cats and saved him. A few months later Dan did take all the cats to the shelter. So Lucky was very lucky indeed.
Lucky was introduced to Petey after being in the house a few days, but Petey really didn’t want to be bothered. I guess he tolerated Lucky but sometimes Lucky brought out the kitten in Petey. That was always fun to watch. Petey and Lucky played together for the next 8 months. Then on a cold day in February Petey went to kitty heaven. A sad day for me.
There are a lot of sides to Lucky’s personality. He’s smart and seems to understand me when I say certain words or phrases. He likes when you talk baby talk to him. When you do, he rolls over on his back and looks up at you. And he’s taken over the job of my alarm clock. I’ve read, “There is no snooze button on a cat who wants breakfast.” That statement definitely defines Lucky
He’s also likes adventure. One time I left the cabinet door in the kitchen slide out open and Lucky got in and disappeared in the underbelly of the RV for several hours until he decided to come out. Now he remembers he’s been down there and will meow at the door wanting to get back in. But I don’t let him because I don’t know what he can get into down there.
Another time he escaped from the car when we were visiting Barb Bergstrand. He avoided capture for about 20 agonizing minutes, but was eventually cornered in her barn. Now I am very careful when I move him from house to car.
But Lucky can also be a scaredy cat. He runs for the hills whenever he hears the crinkle noise of aluminum foil. He’ll even run if he just sees the box because he knows what’s coming next…the dreaded crinkle noise!! And if I turn on the vacuum or the hair dryer when he’s around, he will slink down and quickly leave the room while keeping his eyes on the “monster” until he is in the clear.
So that’s Lucky’s story in a nut shell. He’s a cat with a sweet disposition, beautiful face, inquisitive nature, affectionate when he wants something, and can be fearless or fearful depending on the moment. I consider myself to be fortunate to be his owner partner because, as you know, no one ever really owns a cat.
If you want up-to-the-minute information on what is going on with Lucky and Halle, please visit my Facebook profile page and click on the “Catbook” tab. You will see pictures of them, can leave them a comment, and see what groups they’ve joined. My cats are now in cyberspace!!
First, I have to tell you about our “first born” Petey. He was a 6 month old male cat that came to our door on a cold night in January, 1999. I found out about a month after we took him in that he had wandered away from the home of Jon Eller, someone I actually knew from work. Jon lived about 2 miles from me and told me I could keep the cat if I wanted. Darn right I was keeping him, I just paid to have him fixed!
Now fast forward to June of 2004. Petey had been moping around, constantly lying beside the sliding glass door looking out to the backyard. We thought he was watching for a neighborhood cat that periodically made visits. Our human nature interpreted this as he was lonely for other cat companionship. That’s what we pet lovers do, we apply human characteristics to our pets. What? You’ve never watched the Dog Whisperer?
Anyway, a few days later Rick happened to be at the home of Dan Yonikus talking to him about refinishing some furniture. Rick noticed a boat load of cats in various stages of growth hanging around Dan’s garage-turned-storage-shed-for-all-his-antique-furniture in the back of the house. Rick asked Dan what he was doing with all those cats. Dan’s reply was simply, “You want one?” Rick pointed to a little 7-week old, long-haired, orange and cream colored ball of fur and said, “Yes, I want THAT one.” Dan told Rick that the cats were wild (they didn’t have much human interaction except at feeding time) and that he would have to catch the one Rick wanted. He said he would call him when he caught it. A few days later, Dan called and Rick went to pick up the kitten, but Dan had caught the wrong one. Oh, it was similar, but not the RIGHT one, not the one Rick had picked out. Dan said he would try again. The next time Dan called, he got it right.
Rick and I discussed what to name him. Rick didn’t like any of the names I picked…too girlie he said. I had a cat named Rusty when I was young, that name would have fit because of Lucky’s coloring, but Rick liked the name Lucky because he was lucky Rick picked him out of all those cats and saved him. A few months later Dan did take all the cats to the shelter. So Lucky was very lucky indeed.
Lucky was introduced to Petey after being in the house a few days, but Petey really didn’t want to be bothered. I guess he tolerated Lucky but sometimes Lucky brought out the kitten in Petey. That was always fun to watch. Petey and Lucky played together for the next 8 months. Then on a cold day in February Petey went to kitty heaven. A sad day for me.
There are a lot of sides to Lucky’s personality. He’s smart and seems to understand me when I say certain words or phrases. He likes when you talk baby talk to him. When you do, he rolls over on his back and looks up at you. And he’s taken over the job of my alarm clock. I’ve read, “There is no snooze button on a cat who wants breakfast.” That statement definitely defines Lucky
He’s also likes adventure. One time I left the cabinet door in the kitchen slide out open and Lucky got in and disappeared in the underbelly of the RV for several hours until he decided to come out. Now he remembers he’s been down there and will meow at the door wanting to get back in. But I don’t let him because I don’t know what he can get into down there.
Another time he escaped from the car when we were visiting Barb Bergstrand. He avoided capture for about 20 agonizing minutes, but was eventually cornered in her barn. Now I am very careful when I move him from house to car.
But Lucky can also be a scaredy cat. He runs for the hills whenever he hears the crinkle noise of aluminum foil. He’ll even run if he just sees the box because he knows what’s coming next…the dreaded crinkle noise!! And if I turn on the vacuum or the hair dryer when he’s around, he will slink down and quickly leave the room while keeping his eyes on the “monster” until he is in the clear.
If you want up-to-the-minute information on what is going on with Lucky and Halle, please visit my Facebook profile page and click on the “Catbook” tab. You will see pictures of them, can leave them a comment, and see what groups they’ve joined. My cats are now in cyberspace!!
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
The Keeper
This post was inspired by an email I received recently. It was simply titled “Keeper.” I thought it was good and I forwarded it on to the keepers in my life. The email spoke of times gone by where we cared for things we loved, fixed them when they broke and didn’t throw them away until they were completely used up. It also mentioned people we keep in our lives because they are worth it, “like a best friend that moved away, or a classmate we grew up with.” This statement immediately brought to mind my husband Rick. He is a keeper of people. It’s one of the things I admire about him.
Anyone who knows Rick knows he loves to talk. This is his preferred method of communication, whether it be by phone or face to face. However, since discovering the internet, construction job chat rooms, and Facebook, he has expanded his modus operandi, but not by much.
The way Rick draws people out is by asking them questions, and twenty never seems to be enough. It can go on and on until he is satisfied or runs out of things to ask about. He’s a good listener too and doesn’t interrupt when you’re speaking. He is truly interested and learns a lot just by listening to what people have to say.
Rick keeps in touch with all kinds of people from high school friends, to people he’s worked with, to friends from church, and just about anyone else who’s crossed his path somewhere along the way. When we get ready to move from a place, he makes sure he gets telephone numbers from everyone he connected with. Then he’ll call them at some point to see how they are doing. Some people he speaks to weekly, others monthly, and some will only get an annual phone call so he can catch up on what’s going on with them.
Rick also stays in touch with the Fullers and Flatts (Rick likes to say his mother was a Flatt until she became a Fuller, hehe). He will regularly call aunts and uncles to find out how they are, who’s sick or having surgery, what’s going on with his cousins, etc. This is something his Dad used to do, and since his Dad passed away, Rick has taken up the torch.
And Rick doesn’t just talk to people he knows, he’ll talk to anyone who’s standing close enough to hear him speak. Here is a recent example that is so typically Rick. Last weekend we went to a buffet restaurant to celebrate Rick getting a job. The line was very long to get in. As we stood there waiting with about 100 other people, Rick started up a conversation with an older couple and their family in front of us. After an hour in line (it was a really good buffet), the couple finally reached the cashier. Just before they left to be taken to their table, the woman hands me a piece of paper with their names and telephone number on it and tells me if we are ever in town again, to please call them. Wow!! That was a first!!
After we had gone through the buffet line and returned to our table, Rick points and says, “See that guy over there?”
“What guy?” I say as I look in the direction he’s pointing.
“The guy in the red shirt.”
Spotting a red shirted man I reply, “What about him?”
“He works at the steel mill for Halliburton making $24 an hour as a pipe fitter.”
“Where do you know him from?”
“I met him on the buffet line just now.”
“Is there anyone you won’t talk to?”
“No,” he replies with a grin.
Rick never meets a stranger. His likeable nature, his quick smile, his inquisitive mind with seemingly endless questions, along with his desire to listen makes it easy for people to talk to him and sometimes even share the most intimate details of their life; like the forty-something year old lady in the tire store last Friday who told Rick how her boyfriend of 20 years cheated on her, how she dumped him and then later was set up on a blind date with a man who was a preacher and now they are happily married. I could go on, but I think you get the picture.
Such is life with a talker for a mate. After twenty-one years, I would have it no other way. And that makes Rick a “keeper” for me.
Anyone who knows Rick knows he loves to talk. This is his preferred method of communication, whether it be by phone or face to face. However, since discovering the internet, construction job chat rooms, and Facebook, he has expanded his modus operandi, but not by much.
The way Rick draws people out is by asking them questions, and twenty never seems to be enough. It can go on and on until he is satisfied or runs out of things to ask about. He’s a good listener too and doesn’t interrupt when you’re speaking. He is truly interested and learns a lot just by listening to what people have to say.
Rick keeps in touch with all kinds of people from high school friends, to people he’s worked with, to friends from church, and just about anyone else who’s crossed his path somewhere along the way. When we get ready to move from a place, he makes sure he gets telephone numbers from everyone he connected with. Then he’ll call them at some point to see how they are doing. Some people he speaks to weekly, others monthly, and some will only get an annual phone call so he can catch up on what’s going on with them.
Rick also stays in touch with the Fullers and Flatts (Rick likes to say his mother was a Flatt until she became a Fuller, hehe). He will regularly call aunts and uncles to find out how they are, who’s sick or having surgery, what’s going on with his cousins, etc. This is something his Dad used to do, and since his Dad passed away, Rick has taken up the torch.
And Rick doesn’t just talk to people he knows, he’ll talk to anyone who’s standing close enough to hear him speak. Here is a recent example that is so typically Rick. Last weekend we went to a buffet restaurant to celebrate Rick getting a job. The line was very long to get in. As we stood there waiting with about 100 other people, Rick started up a conversation with an older couple and their family in front of us. After an hour in line (it was a really good buffet), the couple finally reached the cashier. Just before they left to be taken to their table, the woman hands me a piece of paper with their names and telephone number on it and tells me if we are ever in town again, to please call them. Wow!! That was a first!!
After we had gone through the buffet line and returned to our table, Rick points and says, “See that guy over there?”
“What guy?” I say as I look in the direction he’s pointing.
“The guy in the red shirt.”
Spotting a red shirted man I reply, “What about him?”
“He works at the steel mill for Halliburton making $24 an hour as a pipe fitter.”
“Where do you know him from?”
“I met him on the buffet line just now.”
“Is there anyone you won’t talk to?”
“No,” he replies with a grin.
Rick never meets a stranger. His likeable nature, his quick smile, his inquisitive mind with seemingly endless questions, along with his desire to listen makes it easy for people to talk to him and sometimes even share the most intimate details of their life; like the forty-something year old lady in the tire store last Friday who told Rick how her boyfriend of 20 years cheated on her, how she dumped him and then later was set up on a blind date with a man who was a preacher and now they are happily married. I could go on, but I think you get the picture.
Such is life with a talker for a mate. After twenty-one years, I would have it no other way. And that makes Rick a “keeper” for me.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
It's a new dawn . . .
8:12 am. I’m sitting here at the computer staring out the dining room window… waiting.
About two hours ago it was pouring down rain. I’m glad, my car really needed a washing. I didn’t get up from bed; instead I just laid there praying. The rain has stopped now and all that’s left are some puddles in the road.
I can see about seven other RVs from this window. No one’s outside yet. Most people are already at work. Wait, a lady just came out carrying an umbrella and something else. Aw, it’s one of those cute little toy dogs, looks like a Chihuahua from here. “Yo quiero Taco Bell!” She puts little Taco on the ground and begins to walk. Makes me glad I have cats. Other people are now starting to move around, someone walking towards the laundry room, another taking trash to the dumpster. A few cars are coming and going. The day has begun for sure despite the fact that I can’t see the sun. But I know it’s there shinning down on me and all the earth.
9:20 am. I can see a few patches of blue sky begin to peek through the clouds. I can hear one very loud bird singing. Are these signs? I glance at my watch… that’s good I say to myself. I continue to wait.
I try to keep my mind occupied. I feed the cats, eat breakfast, take a shower. I don’t dry my hair because the blow dryer is too loud. Who knows what it will look like later? I don’t care. Back on the internet I check my emails, sign on to Facebook where I write a few comments, play a game of Farkle, and visit my Island Paradise.
10:23 am. Still waiting. The more time that goes by, the better I tell myself.
The microwave timer goes off. Time to drink more water. I’ve been trying to drink 10 glasses of water a day. I haven’t been successful until I started setting the timer every 30 minutes. When the timer goes off, I drink 9 swallows. It takes 1 ½ hours to drink one bottle equal to 2 glasses. It works well on days I stay at home. If I’m out and about, then it’s hit and miss and I have to drink more in the evening.
I’m listening to the song “Nothing Without You.” It’s on my playlist that’s on my blog page. Such a good song for me to listen to while I’m waiting. In fact, they are all good. All these songs help me focus on the one sure constant in my life… Jesus. What do people who don’t have Jesus in their life do when they need help? Who do they cry out to? Where do they get their hope from? I can only imagine.
11:38 am. The slow internet connection is driving me crazy. Grrr!! I turn on the television to Fox News. They talk about Obama, the deficit, the healthcare bill. I switch channels and stop at a movie, the 2005 remake of H. G. Wells’ “War of the Worlds.” The original was better. I turn the television off… I hate daytime tv. I also hate waiting.
12:24 pm… the phone rings… FINALLY…. It's Rick. My wait is over. I answer quickly. I try to guess what he is going to say. He says, "Do you want the good news or the bad news?" Oh, I can't handle any more bad news. Then, on the one year anniversary of Rick being out of work, after the endless phone calls and emails, after going back to school to upgrade his skills, after the many prayers by us and our dear friends and family, after all the disappointments we've endured over the last 12 months, he says, "I got the job."
And all I can say is God is good!!
"It's a new dawn . . .
it's a new day . . .
it's a new life . . .
for me . . .
and I'm feeling good."
About two hours ago it was pouring down rain. I’m glad, my car really needed a washing. I didn’t get up from bed; instead I just laid there praying. The rain has stopped now and all that’s left are some puddles in the road.
I can see about seven other RVs from this window. No one’s outside yet. Most people are already at work. Wait, a lady just came out carrying an umbrella and something else. Aw, it’s one of those cute little toy dogs, looks like a Chihuahua from here. “Yo quiero Taco Bell!” She puts little Taco on the ground and begins to walk. Makes me glad I have cats. Other people are now starting to move around, someone walking towards the laundry room, another taking trash to the dumpster. A few cars are coming and going. The day has begun for sure despite the fact that I can’t see the sun. But I know it’s there shinning down on me and all the earth.
9:20 am. I can see a few patches of blue sky begin to peek through the clouds. I can hear one very loud bird singing. Are these signs? I glance at my watch… that’s good I say to myself. I continue to wait.
I try to keep my mind occupied. I feed the cats, eat breakfast, take a shower. I don’t dry my hair because the blow dryer is too loud. Who knows what it will look like later? I don’t care. Back on the internet I check my emails, sign on to Facebook where I write a few comments, play a game of Farkle, and visit my Island Paradise.
10:23 am. Still waiting. The more time that goes by, the better I tell myself.
The microwave timer goes off. Time to drink more water. I’ve been trying to drink 10 glasses of water a day. I haven’t been successful until I started setting the timer every 30 minutes. When the timer goes off, I drink 9 swallows. It takes 1 ½ hours to drink one bottle equal to 2 glasses. It works well on days I stay at home. If I’m out and about, then it’s hit and miss and I have to drink more in the evening.
I’m listening to the song “Nothing Without You.” It’s on my playlist that’s on my blog page. Such a good song for me to listen to while I’m waiting. In fact, they are all good. All these songs help me focus on the one sure constant in my life… Jesus. What do people who don’t have Jesus in their life do when they need help? Who do they cry out to? Where do they get their hope from? I can only imagine.
11:38 am. The slow internet connection is driving me crazy. Grrr!! I turn on the television to Fox News. They talk about Obama, the deficit, the healthcare bill. I switch channels and stop at a movie, the 2005 remake of H. G. Wells’ “War of the Worlds.” The original was better. I turn the television off… I hate daytime tv. I also hate waiting.
12:24 pm… the phone rings… FINALLY…. It's Rick. My wait is over. I answer quickly. I try to guess what he is going to say. He says, "Do you want the good news or the bad news?" Oh, I can't handle any more bad news. Then, on the one year anniversary of Rick being out of work, after the endless phone calls and emails, after going back to school to upgrade his skills, after the many prayers by us and our dear friends and family, after all the disappointments we've endured over the last 12 months, he says, "I got the job."
And all I can say is God is good!!
"It's a new dawn . . .
it's a new day . . .
it's a new life . . .
for me . . .
and I'm feeling good."
Friday, March 19, 2010
We're Off to See the Wizard
Since beginning our life on the road, we have been to a lot of different cities and states. It's like being on the Yellow Brick Road. Each time we leave a place, we feel like we're off to see the Wizard, the Wizard being any company where we can find employment. Well, we left South Carolina last week and headed to Pascagoula, Mississippi to find the Wizard. I thought it only fitting to say goodbye to the people and places in and around Greenville and Piedmont, South Carolina who have touch our lives during the five months we lived there.
Goodbye Ivy Acres RV Park. With your park like setting, it felt like we were out in country yet we were never more than 15-20 minutes away from anywhere in Greenville. We enjoyed the curb-side garbage pickup and having our own private mailing address.
Goodbye Missy, the RV park cat. Even though we “adopted” you while we were living here, fed you each day and gave you shelter (outside) when it was cold or snowy, it breaks our hearts that we could not take you with us when we left. Three cats in an RV is one too many. I will miss our walks to the mailbox and seeing you sitting on the RV steps each morning. You’re a good cat and I hope you find a home someday.
Goodbye Copper River Grill. You were by far our favorite restaurant here. Your house salad is the best salad we ever had…mixed greens with diced black forest ham, cheese, hard boiled eggs, bacon bits, sliced almonds, all topped with the best honey mustard hot bacon dressing you ever tasted and you even included a hot croissant drizzled with honey . . . absolutely to die for.
Goodbye Mr. K’s Used Book Store. I was able to trade my used books in for credit against other used books. I got them for a fraction of the price they were when new. I was a reading machine while I was here! I stocked up before I left and now have about a dozen books to read.
Goodbye Callahan’s Family Restaurant. You serve the best Sunday-after-church fried chicken I have ever eaten! And your hamburgers were good too!
Goodbye Dr. Tucker at Greenville Eyecare Associates. You really blessed my heart with your generosity and compassion (see blog post One Act of Random Kindness).
Goodbye Fluor. Thank you for offering the Pipe Upgrade program for only $6/day. Rick has learned much from Austin the instructor and leaves with confidence in his pipe welding abilities. It’s too bad you took your time getting back to us regarding that job in Juliette, Georgia. You would have liked having Rick as an employee. Your loss.
Goodbye FGS Hardware Store. There is nothing better than a small town hardware store. You get personalized friendly service every time you visit. This is where we got our propane and discovered lye soap. It’s amazing stuff and good for your skin.
Even though it’s tough to say goodbye, I know there is a hello waiting on the other side. A new city is always exciting for us. The chance to explore the area in hopes of finding other great people and places is what life is all about.
Goodbye Ivy Acres RV Park. With your park like setting, it felt like we were out in country yet we were never more than 15-20 minutes away from anywhere in Greenville. We enjoyed the curb-side garbage pickup and having our own private mailing address.
Goodbye Missy, the RV park cat. Even though we “adopted” you while we were living here, fed you each day and gave you shelter (outside) when it was cold or snowy, it breaks our hearts that we could not take you with us when we left. Three cats in an RV is one too many. I will miss our walks to the mailbox and seeing you sitting on the RV steps each morning. You’re a good cat and I hope you find a home someday.
Goodbye Copper River Grill. You were by far our favorite restaurant here. Your house salad is the best salad we ever had…mixed greens with diced black forest ham, cheese, hard boiled eggs, bacon bits, sliced almonds, all topped with the best honey mustard hot bacon dressing you ever tasted and you even included a hot croissant drizzled with honey . . . absolutely to die for.
Goodbye Mr. K’s Used Book Store. I was able to trade my used books in for credit against other used books. I got them for a fraction of the price they were when new. I was a reading machine while I was here! I stocked up before I left and now have about a dozen books to read.
Goodbye Callahan’s Family Restaurant. You serve the best Sunday-after-church fried chicken I have ever eaten! And your hamburgers were good too!
Goodbye Dr. Tucker at Greenville Eyecare Associates. You really blessed my heart with your generosity and compassion (see blog post One Act of Random Kindness).
Goodbye Fluor. Thank you for offering the Pipe Upgrade program for only $6/day. Rick has learned much from Austin the instructor and leaves with confidence in his pipe welding abilities. It’s too bad you took your time getting back to us regarding that job in Juliette, Georgia. You would have liked having Rick as an employee. Your loss.
Goodbye FGS Hardware Store. There is nothing better than a small town hardware store. You get personalized friendly service every time you visit. This is where we got our propane and discovered lye soap. It’s amazing stuff and good for your skin.
Even though it’s tough to say goodbye, I know there is a hello waiting on the other side. A new city is always exciting for us. The chance to explore the area in hopes of finding other great people and places is what life is all about.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
The Dawnwood Years, Part 2 (The Stu Mystery)
Here are some more of my ramblings on the notes that were written in my yearbooks and the memories they evoked.
I didn’t really date in 7th grade. Note passing, eating lunch together, walking to classes together, going to someone’s party together, and coming by the house after school or on Saturday’s are what I would call dating in the 7th grade. There were a few notes written in my yearbook that gave me some clues as to who I was “dating” back then. Here’s what Alice Madonna wrote:
God made butter,
God made cheese,
God made Patty,
For Jimmy to squeeze.
Love Alice
My friend Gail Casserly also wrote a note that mentioned Jimmy. The Jimmy they were referring to is Jimmy DeGregorio. I remember he was my boyfriend in 7th grade and into 8th. He is the first boyfriend I remember having. I don’t remember how long we dated or even when or why we broke up.
But Jimmy wasn’t my first crush.
My first crush was Henry McDowell, who was two years older than me and lived next door. He was also my brother Mike’s friend. But Henry never acknowledged this crush. To him I was only Mike’s little sister who always wanted to hang around with them and one time when they let me, I wrecked Henry’s mini bike down at Wood Road Elementary School. It happened at the end of summer just a few days before school started. Going too fast + forgetting how to stop = big crash!! I remember I skinned up both knees pretty badly and was embarrassed by this on my first day of 7th grade. I looked like a little kid with skinned up knees. Ugh!
Sorry, I got sidetracked. Getting back to the notes. There was one note that indicated I had a crush on someone else besides Jimmy. It was written by Stu.
It’s too bad it didn’t last.
Oh well, good luck.
Stu
Stu who? Pantke or Silberman? Or was it another Stu? Anybody remember? The mystery continues.
Moving on to 8th grade, there wasn’t much in the way of “clues” in my yearbook so I don’t have much to tell about that year in my life. There were only 8 kids who signed my yearbook and 7 of them just signed their name. I wonder why? Did I fall in a hole or something? Tommy Accardi wrote a note on the FRONT of my book that got me in trouble with my mom. She didn’t think I should let kids “deface” the cover of my yearbook. I got mad at her for saying that. Maybe that is why I didn’t get many people to sign it. Did Mom confiscate it?
Notes picked back up again in 9th grade with 35 students and 5 teachers signing my yearbook. Stu’s name turned up in 4 of those notes and there was even the most sincere note to me written by mystery Stu himself. I'm embarrassed that I can’t remember. I wonder if Stu even remembers?
The other notes in my yearbook contained some endearing comments about me. Louise Kilcoyne called me her “science buddy,” Rich Portnoy called me his “little friend,” Al Giuffrida thought I was a “gr-8 German student,” James Feigel called me his “partner in the hall,” while others used words like sweet, kind, considerate, nice, thoughtful, loveable, a real doll, and a cute kid to describe me. Was I all that? Hmmm, but it’s nice to know others thought so.
I wish I could remember more of what happened during these impressionable years. When life is happening to you, you take it for granted. You know some of the major events in your life will pop up in your memories later on, that’s a given. It’s the minor or trivial things that don’t hang around in your brain for recall. I’m glad that these notes in my yearbooks were there to coax my brain into giving up these few memories that have been hidden for so long. I wish it had given up more.
I’ll close the Dawnwood years with another 7th grade memory that came to mind as I sat on my bed in my RV looking through my yearbook.
It was 1964. I just got the yearbook. I was sitting on my bed in my room looking through it and picking out all the cute boys in my class. At that age it was all about the boys. Little did I know then that the boy I thought was the cutest would become my husband six years later, Don Neidhart. Was that my destiny? I think so. My wonderful son, Jeffrey, and my beautiful grandchildren, Lexi, Niki and Andy, are proof of that.
To be continued . . .
I didn’t really date in 7th grade. Note passing, eating lunch together, walking to classes together, going to someone’s party together, and coming by the house after school or on Saturday’s are what I would call dating in the 7th grade. There were a few notes written in my yearbook that gave me some clues as to who I was “dating” back then. Here’s what Alice Madonna wrote:
God made butter,
God made cheese,
God made Patty,
For Jimmy to squeeze.
Love Alice
My friend Gail Casserly also wrote a note that mentioned Jimmy. The Jimmy they were referring to is Jimmy DeGregorio. I remember he was my boyfriend in 7th grade and into 8th. He is the first boyfriend I remember having. I don’t remember how long we dated or even when or why we broke up.
But Jimmy wasn’t my first crush.
My first crush was Henry McDowell, who was two years older than me and lived next door. He was also my brother Mike’s friend. But Henry never acknowledged this crush. To him I was only Mike’s little sister who always wanted to hang around with them and one time when they let me, I wrecked Henry’s mini bike down at Wood Road Elementary School. It happened at the end of summer just a few days before school started. Going too fast + forgetting how to stop = big crash!! I remember I skinned up both knees pretty badly and was embarrassed by this on my first day of 7th grade. I looked like a little kid with skinned up knees. Ugh!
Sorry, I got sidetracked. Getting back to the notes. There was one note that indicated I had a crush on someone else besides Jimmy. It was written by Stu.
It’s too bad it didn’t last.
Oh well, good luck.
Stu
Stu who? Pantke or Silberman? Or was it another Stu? Anybody remember? The mystery continues.
Moving on to 8th grade, there wasn’t much in the way of “clues” in my yearbook so I don’t have much to tell about that year in my life. There were only 8 kids who signed my yearbook and 7 of them just signed their name. I wonder why? Did I fall in a hole or something? Tommy Accardi wrote a note on the FRONT of my book that got me in trouble with my mom. She didn’t think I should let kids “deface” the cover of my yearbook. I got mad at her for saying that. Maybe that is why I didn’t get many people to sign it. Did Mom confiscate it?
Notes picked back up again in 9th grade with 35 students and 5 teachers signing my yearbook. Stu’s name turned up in 4 of those notes and there was even the most sincere note to me written by mystery Stu himself. I'm embarrassed that I can’t remember. I wonder if Stu even remembers?
The other notes in my yearbook contained some endearing comments about me. Louise Kilcoyne called me her “science buddy,” Rich Portnoy called me his “little friend,” Al Giuffrida thought I was a “gr-8 German student,” James Feigel called me his “partner in the hall,” while others used words like sweet, kind, considerate, nice, thoughtful, loveable, a real doll, and a cute kid to describe me. Was I all that? Hmmm, but it’s nice to know others thought so.
I wish I could remember more of what happened during these impressionable years. When life is happening to you, you take it for granted. You know some of the major events in your life will pop up in your memories later on, that’s a given. It’s the minor or trivial things that don’t hang around in your brain for recall. I’m glad that these notes in my yearbooks were there to coax my brain into giving up these few memories that have been hidden for so long. I wish it had given up more.
I’ll close the Dawnwood years with another 7th grade memory that came to mind as I sat on my bed in my RV looking through my yearbook.
It was 1964. I just got the yearbook. I was sitting on my bed in my room looking through it and picking out all the cute boys in my class. At that age it was all about the boys. Little did I know then that the boy I thought was the cutest would become my husband six years later, Don Neidhart. Was that my destiny? I think so. My wonderful son, Jeffrey, and my beautiful grandchildren, Lexi, Niki and Andy, are proof of that.
To be continued . . .
Thursday, March 11, 2010
The Dawnwood Years, Part 1
In the next few blog posts, I’ll be continuing on with my reminiscing about my Junior High and High School experiences that were sparked by me digging out my old school yearbooks.
As I entered 7th grade at Dawnwood Junior High School, I remember being scared and excited at the same time. Afraid I couldn’t get to my classes on time or would get lost in the halls. Excited about all the new people I would meet and experiences I would have. I slowly thumbed through the pages of my yearbook, the 1964 Orbit, trying to relive that time by coaxing buried memories to the surface of my mind.
The great thing about 7th grade yearbooks is they are full of notes and well wishes from your classmates that give you clues to what your life was like back then. Some of them are funny, others simply wishing you the best in the future. Here are a few classics:
Remember Grant;
Remember Lee;
The “hell” with them;
Remember me!
Ted (Blanco)
Ashes to Ashes
Dust to Dust
If it weren’t for boys
You would rust.
Love & Lolly Pops,
Cecelia (Vanisky)
Never kiss by the garden gate.
Love is blind, but the neighbors ain’t.
Love ya, Jack (Reinhard)
There were loads more, equally as corny. Some wrote “good luck in 8th grade,” while others just signed their name. John Brown wrote “Peace & Contemplate.” A 7th grader? This guy was so far ahead of the rest of us. In all there were 40 students and 9 teachers who signed my 7th grade yearbook. I will cherish every one of them.
I must say that traveling down this road has awakened something in me…a desire to reconnect with the person I was back then and a need to reflect on the person I am today. How do the two compare? I would like to think that I am that same person deep down inside, but how can I be? So much has happened in my life these last 45 years that forced me to change.
For one, I am now a child of God…the old me is gone and I was made new. Hallelujah! And life experiences change you: 3 marriages, 2 divorces, children, death, etc. all have a part in shaping who you are and how you look at life. I’d like to think I’ve handled these changes in a positive manner, that I didn’t let them take away from who I am at the core, but instead used each experience to make the person I was back in 1964-69 a better version of the one I am today in 2010. Yes, that’s what I think.
To be continued . . .
As I entered 7th grade at Dawnwood Junior High School, I remember being scared and excited at the same time. Afraid I couldn’t get to my classes on time or would get lost in the halls. Excited about all the new people I would meet and experiences I would have. I slowly thumbed through the pages of my yearbook, the 1964 Orbit, trying to relive that time by coaxing buried memories to the surface of my mind.
The great thing about 7th grade yearbooks is they are full of notes and well wishes from your classmates that give you clues to what your life was like back then. Some of them are funny, others simply wishing you the best in the future. Here are a few classics:
Remember Grant;
Remember Lee;
The “hell” with them;
Remember me!
Ted (Blanco)
Ashes to Ashes
Dust to Dust
If it weren’t for boys
You would rust.
Love & Lolly Pops,
Cecelia (Vanisky)
Never kiss by the garden gate.
Love is blind, but the neighbors ain’t.
Love ya, Jack (Reinhard)
There were loads more, equally as corny. Some wrote “good luck in 8th grade,” while others just signed their name. John Brown wrote “Peace & Contemplate.” A 7th grader? This guy was so far ahead of the rest of us. In all there were 40 students and 9 teachers who signed my 7th grade yearbook. I will cherish every one of them.
I must say that traveling down this road has awakened something in me…a desire to reconnect with the person I was back then and a need to reflect on the person I am today. How do the two compare? I would like to think that I am that same person deep down inside, but how can I be? So much has happened in my life these last 45 years that forced me to change.
For one, I am now a child of God…the old me is gone and I was made new. Hallelujah! And life experiences change you: 3 marriages, 2 divorces, children, death, etc. all have a part in shaping who you are and how you look at life. I’d like to think I’ve handled these changes in a positive manner, that I didn’t let them take away from who I am at the core, but instead used each experience to make the person I was back in 1964-69 a better version of the one I am today in 2010. Yes, that’s what I think.
To be continued . . .
Monday, March 8, 2010
If I Could Do It All Over Again
Since being on Facebook, I have been in touch with several old classmates that I hadn’t thought about in 40+ years. There was a 40th reunion of the Class of 1969 this past summer, but I was not able to attend. Neither did I attend my 20th or 30th. There was always something stopping me from going. My loss. It would have been nice to reconnect with people who knew me when.
Yesterday, I took out my Dawnwood Junior High School and Newfield High School yearbooks to jog my memory of those years in my life. So much has happened between 1964 when I entered the 7th grade and 1969 when I graduated high school. Now, my brain is clogged with 45 years of stuff and, try as I might, I can’t shake out many memories from back then. I wish I would have taken the time to write a journal, take some pictures or do something that would have helped me later to recall the fun times, the heartbreaks, the experiences I had back then. Kids today have it much better. With affordable digital cameras, online social networks and blogs they can record their entire life without much effort and recall it down the road to relive again and again. I see my granddaughters doing it.
The one regret I have after looking through all the yearbooks was that I didn’t make the most of my school years. I didn’t really get involved. I didn’t join in enough.
The only group I remember being involved with through all three years of Jr. High was Chorus. I loved to sing. Still do. Also, I saw my picture in the German Club for 9th grade. (Was machst du heute nach der Schule? Translation: What are you doing after school today?) But I don’t remember anything about German Club. What did we do in that club? Anybody?
In my sophomore and junior years I didn’t do or join anything. In my senior year, I joined the Quadrangle staff (probably because I was dating Don Neidhart who was the Sports Editor) as a contributing writer (I wrote a column about what was going on in other schools) and I was involved in the senior production (I wrote the Excederin Headache #69 commercial and co-starred in it with Marc Capobianco).
When the 1969 Medietas came out, I remember feeling sad when I looked up my name and there were only two numbers listed beside it, #95 and #200, the pages on which my picture appears. One was my senior picture and the other the group picture of the Quadrangle staff. Aside from class head shots, there were many other pictures in the yearbook, but I was only in one of them. I remember looking at the senior pictures and seeing all the activities, sports and clubs other seniors were involved in and the number of years they were active and thinking I wish I had done more. But it was too late. You can’t go back and relive your school days again. You only get one shot. But if I could, I would do it differently.
If I could talk to a bunch of 7th graders today, I would tell them the key to a successful and fulfilling academic experience is to get involved. Join a club, sing in the choir, play sports, get to know as many people as possible, have the best school spirit you can have, attend all the games, plays and events you can get to, and record as much of it as you can in photos and journals. There will come a time, maybe 20 or 30 or 40 years later, when you will be glad you did.
To be continued . . .
Yesterday, I took out my Dawnwood Junior High School and Newfield High School yearbooks to jog my memory of those years in my life. So much has happened between 1964 when I entered the 7th grade and 1969 when I graduated high school. Now, my brain is clogged with 45 years of stuff and, try as I might, I can’t shake out many memories from back then. I wish I would have taken the time to write a journal, take some pictures or do something that would have helped me later to recall the fun times, the heartbreaks, the experiences I had back then. Kids today have it much better. With affordable digital cameras, online social networks and blogs they can record their entire life without much effort and recall it down the road to relive again and again. I see my granddaughters doing it.
The one regret I have after looking through all the yearbooks was that I didn’t make the most of my school years. I didn’t really get involved. I didn’t join in enough.
The only group I remember being involved with through all three years of Jr. High was Chorus. I loved to sing. Still do. Also, I saw my picture in the German Club for 9th grade. (Was machst du heute nach der Schule? Translation: What are you doing after school today?) But I don’t remember anything about German Club. What did we do in that club? Anybody?
In my sophomore and junior years I didn’t do or join anything. In my senior year, I joined the Quadrangle staff (probably because I was dating Don Neidhart who was the Sports Editor) as a contributing writer (I wrote a column about what was going on in other schools) and I was involved in the senior production (I wrote the Excederin Headache #69 commercial and co-starred in it with Marc Capobianco).
When the 1969 Medietas came out, I remember feeling sad when I looked up my name and there were only two numbers listed beside it, #95 and #200, the pages on which my picture appears. One was my senior picture and the other the group picture of the Quadrangle staff. Aside from class head shots, there were many other pictures in the yearbook, but I was only in one of them. I remember looking at the senior pictures and seeing all the activities, sports and clubs other seniors were involved in and the number of years they were active and thinking I wish I had done more. But it was too late. You can’t go back and relive your school days again. You only get one shot. But if I could, I would do it differently.
If I could talk to a bunch of 7th graders today, I would tell them the key to a successful and fulfilling academic experience is to get involved. Join a club, sing in the choir, play sports, get to know as many people as possible, have the best school spirit you can have, attend all the games, plays and events you can get to, and record as much of it as you can in photos and journals. There will come a time, maybe 20 or 30 or 40 years later, when you will be glad you did.
To be continued . . .
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Dance With My Father
Over the last few years, I've heard the song, Dance With My Father by Luther Vandross, played on the radio only a few times; but whenever I heard it, I would think of my dad. Because of that, I decided to add it to my playlist. Now, each time I hear it, more and more memories of my dad come flooding back, some better than others. If you are listening to my playlist while reading this, please click on that song. It is what inspired this post.
My dad passed away on July 2, 1998. He was on vacation in San Diego with my mom visiting my son Jeff and his family. They all had no idea that an aneurysm was lurking in his brain just waiting to burst. It all happened so quickly. In less than 24 hours he was gone. There was no time for anyone to say goodbye.
A few weeks before Father’s Day 1998 I was in Walmart with Rick. I was looking for a card to send to my dad but Rick thought it was a waste of money (sorry Hallmark). He said for the $4.50 I would spend on a card I could talk to my dad on the phone for 45 minutes. That reasoning sounded good to me. So on Father’s Day, me and Dad talked on the phone for almost an hour. I don’t think I had ever heard him talk so much at one time before that. We talked about his favorite sports teams, what woodworking projects he was working on (he liked to build bird houses) and other stuff I can’t remember now but wish I could. We had a good talk that ended with “I love you Dad” and hearing “I love you too” in return. That was the last time we spoke. If only I had known that, I would have recorded the conversation. Life is filled with “if onlys.”
The earliest memory I have of me and Dad was back in the late 50’s. I’m not sure how old I was, probably about seven. We lived in the Bronx and Dad had to take the bus to work. I was playing outside when I saw him come out of the apartment building we lived in. I asked if I could go to work with him. He gently said no. I persisted and even started crying saying that I wanted to go with him. I followed him all the way to the end of the street all the while asking, “Can I go, please, please, can I go with you?” He continued to tell me he couldn’t take me with him. He worked in a plastics factory on the night shift. Finally, with me standing there crying, and him having to go or he would miss his bus, he handed me a dime and told me to go buy myself some candy. I reluctantly accepted his “bribe” and watched him as he crossed the street and walked out of sight to the bus stop. I did go and buy some candy. It helped erase the sadness of not being able to go with him.
My memories of me and Dad haven't always been good ones. Like the time he took my brother Michael to Coney Island and I didn’t find out about it until they got home. Of course, I whined and said, “When can I go?” “Someday,” he said. But someday never came. He later told me that Coney Island wasn't a good place for girls. That was no consolation.
And the time Dad took me for a driving lesson. Our driveway has a slope to it. I put the car in reverse and gave it some gas. The car quickly went down the drive and halfway out into the street before I applied the brake. Dad scolded me saying I didn’t need to give it any gas as gravity would take the car down the drive. “Oh,” was all I could say. Flustered, he said, “Okay, let’s go." I stepped on the gas and boy was I surprised when I drove up on the neighbor’s lawn…behind me! You see, I’d forgotten to put the car in drive, it was still in reverse. Really flustered now, Dad told me to put the car in drive and go back up the driveway. Our lesson was over. Dad never did take me for another driving lesson, instead I signed up for Drivers Ed at school.
Or the time he got mad at me for using his razor and not telling him. I wondered how he knew. I cleaned it and everything. He later he told me he knew because I had dulled the blade and he could feel it on his face. LOL.
No matter what I was feeling at the time these memories occurred, I wouldn't trade them for anything now. They are precious and priceless to me and even put a smile on my face. Time indeed does heal all wounds.
Other memories I have of me and my dad are:
Dad playing guitar for my birthday while everyone sang the happy birthday song;
My dad passed away on July 2, 1998. He was on vacation in San Diego with my mom visiting my son Jeff and his family. They all had no idea that an aneurysm was lurking in his brain just waiting to burst. It all happened so quickly. In less than 24 hours he was gone. There was no time for anyone to say goodbye.
The earliest memory I have of me and Dad was back in the late 50’s. I’m not sure how old I was, probably about seven. We lived in the Bronx and Dad had to take the bus to work. I was playing outside when I saw him come out of the apartment building we lived in. I asked if I could go to work with him. He gently said no. I persisted and even started crying saying that I wanted to go with him. I followed him all the way to the end of the street all the while asking, “Can I go, please, please, can I go with you?” He continued to tell me he couldn’t take me with him. He worked in a plastics factory on the night shift. Finally, with me standing there crying, and him having to go or he would miss his bus, he handed me a dime and told me to go buy myself some candy. I reluctantly accepted his “bribe” and watched him as he crossed the street and walked out of sight to the bus stop. I did go and buy some candy. It helped erase the sadness of not being able to go with him.My memories of me and Dad haven't always been good ones. Like the time he took my brother Michael to Coney Island and I didn’t find out about it until they got home. Of course, I whined and said, “When can I go?” “Someday,” he said. But someday never came. He later told me that Coney Island wasn't a good place for girls. That was no consolation.
And the time Dad took me for a driving lesson. Our driveway has a slope to it. I put the car in reverse and gave it some gas. The car quickly went down the drive and halfway out into the street before I applied the brake. Dad scolded me saying I didn’t need to give it any gas as gravity would take the car down the drive. “Oh,” was all I could say. Flustered, he said, “Okay, let’s go." I stepped on the gas and boy was I surprised when I drove up on the neighbor’s lawn…behind me! You see, I’d forgotten to put the car in drive, it was still in reverse. Really flustered now, Dad told me to put the car in drive and go back up the driveway. Our lesson was over. Dad never did take me for another driving lesson, instead I signed up for Drivers Ed at school.
Or the time he got mad at me for using his razor and not telling him. I wondered how he knew. I cleaned it and everything. He later he told me he knew because I had dulled the blade and he could feel it on his face. LOL.
No matter what I was feeling at the time these memories occurred, I wouldn't trade them for anything now. They are precious and priceless to me and even put a smile on my face. Time indeed does heal all wounds.
Other memories I have of me and my dad are:
Dad playing guitar for my birthday while everyone sang the happy birthday song;
being his “partner in crime” as he would break open a bag of candy or cookies in the grocery store for us to “sample” a few and my mom getting so angry with him then trying to find the bag so she could put it in her cart;
going strawberry picking with the family and watching Dad eat one strawberry for every one he put in his box;
Dad buying his one quart bottle of beer to have as he watched his Sunday sports games and me asking for a sip and making a sour face at the taste;
And Dad asking me to dance the mambo (a latin style dance-Dad was Puerto Rican) when I was in my teens. We danced for a few minutes and then he finished the dance with my mom. That was the one and only time I can remember that we ever danced together.
Dad was the quiet type, never saying too much to us kids; and he only had one speed-slow, which always annoyed my mom. But I did learn some valuable life lessons from him: 1) Say “I love you” as often as you can, whenever you can to the ones you love; 2) You can’t always get what you want, but maybe you'll get a dime for trying; 3) Make sure you have it in drive; 4) Replace the blade so you won’t get caught; 5) Candy, cookies, and strawberries are yummy but beer is yucky; and 6) Never turn down a dance with someone you love. You may never get another chance and you won't want to miss the memory.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Monday's Child
Last Sunday was my friend Susan’s birthday. Facebook made it easy for me to send her birthday greetings. Since I had her birth date, I decided to look up what day she was born on. I remembered that poem Monday’s Child that goes like this:
Mondays child is fair of face,
Tuesdays child is full of grace,
Wednesdays child is full of woe,
Thursdays child has far to go,
Fridays child is loving and giving,
Saturdays child works hard for a living,
And the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.
I found out that Susan was born on a Saturday. She does indeed work hard for a living. She works at the high school in Pittsfield, IL as the food services director and is also transportation secretary plus she drives a school bus when needed. I decided to look up my other friends and family to see what day they were born on (yes, I did look up each one individually). If your name isn’t listed here, it’s because you chose not to share your birth year on your Facebook page.
Monday’s child is fair of face – My brothers Rick and Mike were both born on a Monday. Of course I’m gonna say they are both good looking!! It runs in the family, doesn’t it? Some of my good looking friends born on Monday are Ahron, Gail, Kristen, Bridgett and Larry C.
Tuesday’s child is full of grace – Rick and I were both born on a Tuesday. Graceful? I don’t know about that. But I do know we are saved by grace through the blood of Jesus. Crystall, Dale, Jenna, and Rich all share this day.
Wednesday’s child is full of woe – I was not looking forward to seeing who was born on a Wednesday. Webster defines woe as “Deep distress or misery, as from grief; wretchedness. Synonyms are regret, misfortune, calamity.” I wish woe on no one. I discovered my son Jeff was born on a Wednesday. I thought he was going to be born on a Tuesday, but 36 hours of labor pushed him over to the next day. So far I see no woe in his life. Friends Patty, BJ, Fran, Linda Mc, Jerri, Janet, Richard, and Troy are also Wednesday children. Interestingly, out of all of the people I looked up, Wednesday contains the largest group with nine.
Thursday’s child has far to go – I’m not sure how to interpret this. “Far to go” may mean they will travel far in distance or life or maybe they have to go the extra mile beyond everyone else to succeed. I don’t know but Becky, Debbie L, John F, Larry T, Phyllis R, and Rhonda all have “far to go.”
Friday’s child is loving and giving – Dr. Phil was born on a Friday and we all know how giving he is as seen on the Dr. Phil Show. Friends Alice, Blyss, Nancy , Stu, and Tom were also born on a Friday. Everyone loves Fridays!
Saturday’s child works hard for a living – In addition to my friend Susan, Debbie O, Sara, Ed D (not Big Ed), and Phylis H share this day. Nothing wrong with a little hard work.
The child born on the Sabbath day is bonny and blithe and good and gay – Bonny is defined as “pleasing to the eye” and blithe means “carefree.” My best friend Barb was born on a Sunday. I’m not surprised. She is such a beautiful person inside and out. Evan, Rita, and Teresa were also born on Sunday. It was the smallest group with only 4 out of the 42 friends being born on this day. Sunday is the Lord’s day and that makes it a very special day.
After going through this exercise, I have come to the conclusion that the attributes ascribed to children born on each day of the poem apply to us all. I believe we are all fair of face, full of grace, full of woe, have far to go, are loving and giving, work hard for a living and no matter what our birth day, we are bonny and blithe and good and gay.
Mondays child is fair of face,
Tuesdays child is full of grace,
Wednesdays child is full of woe,
Thursdays child has far to go,
Fridays child is loving and giving,
Saturdays child works hard for a living,
And the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.
I found out that Susan was born on a Saturday. She does indeed work hard for a living. She works at the high school in Pittsfield, IL as the food services director and is also transportation secretary plus she drives a school bus when needed. I decided to look up my other friends and family to see what day they were born on (yes, I did look up each one individually). If your name isn’t listed here, it’s because you chose not to share your birth year on your Facebook page.
Monday’s child is fair of face – My brothers Rick and Mike were both born on a Monday. Of course I’m gonna say they are both good looking!! It runs in the family, doesn’t it? Some of my good looking friends born on Monday are Ahron, Gail, Kristen, Bridgett and Larry C.
Tuesday’s child is full of grace – Rick and I were both born on a Tuesday. Graceful? I don’t know about that. But I do know we are saved by grace through the blood of Jesus. Crystall, Dale, Jenna, and Rich all share this day.
Wednesday’s child is full of woe – I was not looking forward to seeing who was born on a Wednesday. Webster defines woe as “Deep distress or misery, as from grief; wretchedness. Synonyms are regret, misfortune, calamity.” I wish woe on no one. I discovered my son Jeff was born on a Wednesday. I thought he was going to be born on a Tuesday, but 36 hours of labor pushed him over to the next day. So far I see no woe in his life. Friends Patty, BJ, Fran, Linda Mc, Jerri, Janet, Richard, and Troy are also Wednesday children. Interestingly, out of all of the people I looked up, Wednesday contains the largest group with nine.
Thursday’s child has far to go – I’m not sure how to interpret this. “Far to go” may mean they will travel far in distance or life or maybe they have to go the extra mile beyond everyone else to succeed. I don’t know but Becky, Debbie L, John F, Larry T, Phyllis R, and Rhonda all have “far to go.”
Friday’s child is loving and giving – Dr. Phil was born on a Friday and we all know how giving he is as seen on the Dr. Phil Show. Friends Alice, Blyss, Nancy , Stu, and Tom were also born on a Friday. Everyone loves Fridays!
Saturday’s child works hard for a living – In addition to my friend Susan, Debbie O, Sara, Ed D (not Big Ed), and Phylis H share this day. Nothing wrong with a little hard work.
The child born on the Sabbath day is bonny and blithe and good and gay – Bonny is defined as “pleasing to the eye” and blithe means “carefree.” My best friend Barb was born on a Sunday. I’m not surprised. She is such a beautiful person inside and out. Evan, Rita, and Teresa were also born on Sunday. It was the smallest group with only 4 out of the 42 friends being born on this day. Sunday is the Lord’s day and that makes it a very special day.
After going through this exercise, I have come to the conclusion that the attributes ascribed to children born on each day of the poem apply to us all. I believe we are all fair of face, full of grace, full of woe, have far to go, are loving and giving, work hard for a living and no matter what our birth day, we are bonny and blithe and good and gay.
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