For years my son has loved sports - any kind of sports. He has played football, baseball and lacrosse and is also interested in soccer. We have concentrated on his love of sports for so long we forgot that our daughter might be interested too.
This year she expressed an interest in playing lacrosse. This made me happy since she chose not to joing cheerleading this year, a decision I wholly approve of. Previously she took karate lessons, but when she progressed and she was smallest of the students in her class, I felt too protective and pulled her out. She had been surrounded by students of all ages including adults. She was disappointed, but she quickly adjusted to the change.
We signed her up for lacrosse this spring. I wasn't sure if she would really end up liking it. It was her first team sport and I was afraid she would feel overwhelmed. I should have known better. That girl isn't afraid of anything.
At her first formal game the coach put her in for the face-off. All the parents were thinking the same thing: Why in the world would they put one of the smallest girls into the middle of the action? I wasn't able to be at this first game but my husband told me she won the face-off easily. She was just lucky, I thought. At least she might gain some confidence.
At her second game the coach again put her in for the face-off. I was ready to comfort her when she failed at her task.
No problem.
She won the face-off and ran down the field with the ball. She passed it, but the other player didn't catch it. I was stunned. She didn't think anything of fighting for possession. Unfortunately, the game was called soon after because of a thunderstorm.
Yesterday was her next game. I wasn't able to get there on time so our friends took her. I arrived several minutes into the game. My daughter wasn't on the field and I couldn't see her standing on the sidelines. I got a bit worried but I was sure she was OK and I watched the game.
Our team was doing well. The goalie blocked two of the passes when another thunderstorm started.
I still didn't see my daughter and started to panic. Everyone was walking quickly to the safety of the school building. I was so confused and scared. I looked down to see a small player standing in front of me covered in pads and a huge helmet. It was quite strange since I didn't know why this child was not with her parents. I bent down to see what the problem was. I saw blond curls escaping from underneath her helmet. Two brown eyes stared at me. I looked again and realized it was my daughter underneath that huge goalie uniform. She looked like the Michelin man only in miniature.
After I recovered, I told her how proud of her I was that she blocked the passes.
"How did you get to be the goalie?" I asked her.
"The coach asked who wanted to do it", she answered, "so I told him I would."
Like I said before, that girl isn't afraid of anything.
I walked towards the building, my little girl waddling beside me. When we got to the protection of the school overhang, the coach helped her take off all of the padding. He pulled her helmet off and there was those sparkling brown eyes and golden curls.
"Good job!" he said. The parents around us congratulated her too. "Since you did such a good job, here's a T-shirt just for you!"
Our daughter thanked him nicely and we went on our way. I was speechless but she thought nothing of it.
How could this child belong to a mother who was an introvert and was never really interested in sports? I guess she takes after my husband. He's an extrovert who has never shied away from a challenge. Thank goodness she takes after him.
Although she can be a challenge sometimes, I'm sure that when she grows up she'll have the confidence to succeed in life as well.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Friday, May 23, 2008
(Technology) Terror on Wheels
I knew right from the start of our relationship my husband's true love (besides me, hopefully) was his cars. I really do admire his long term committment to that common form of transportation. However, through the years, it has become apparent that our thoughts on the subject are quite different.
When we got married and we bought my first car, he nicely suggested that anything that is put into the car in the morning be taken out the same day. He respected the automobile so much that he wanted it treated carefully. I had no problem with this. After all, I usually only had my purse and maybe a bag for work.
Fast forward six years...
Our son was born in 1997 and things were never the same. In addition to my purse, I needed to bring a diaper bag full of stuff to clean, change, and feed this new person. Often while in motion, I would need to reach back from the driver's seat (I know...not safe) and give the baby his pacifier or blankie, etc. Inevitably some things would fall on the floor and stay there for weeks. Anyway, the rule of 'you bring it in and take it out the same day' didn't last.
But I digress.
As I have said in the past, all this new technology drives me crazy. It has now entered the domain of the motor vehicle. My husband loves all the bells and whistles that are available and after buying vehicles with these features, I now insist on simple old fashioned controls. My truck has six buttons on the radio so I can choose which station I want. The heating and cooling controls are knobs that I can turn to control the air.
Today I left my truck home so my husband could pack it for our trip to the Adirondacks this weekend when he comes home from work. He left his car for me to drive. I've only driven it once or twice before so I'm not quite used to it yet.
First issue I have: Instead of a key, it has a fob that you carry on your person. When you get close enough to the car, you simply press the open key on the fob. Once inside the car, you just turn the ignition, no key required, to start the car. As long as the fob is near you, you don't have to worry about a key. This makes no sense to me. Isn't it just as easy to carry a key with a fob? Once you put the key in the ignition you don't have to worry where your keys are. When I ask my husband the reason for this unnecessary technology, he just says that it's cool. OK. I'll buy that.
Next, I pulled out of the driveway and wanted to turn on my favorite morning radio station. This vehicle has GPS with that annoying screen that you're not supposed to look at while you're driving. This was not a problem since it was in night mode and the screen was dark. As I was driving and listening to an annoying station, I tried to figure out how to change it. With one eye on the road and one eye on the screen I kept pushing buttons hoping to find the magic button that would lead me to my station.
Just when I started screaming , I tried one more button, and my friendly DJ's were talking to me. My heart calmed down. Next, I needed to find out what time it was so I could tell if I'd be late to work or not. I knew, from riding in the passenger seat, the the clock was on the top right of the screen. Unfortunately, the screen was still in night mode and I couldn't quite see the time. Oh well. I figured I'd get to work when I got there. No big deal. Then the car started to get hot inside.
I turned my attention to the three evil buttons below the GPS screen. I knew this thing had climate control, one of the most horrible inventions ever, so I realized my work was cut out for me. Luckily, I just turned the knob from 'auto' to regular and was able to turn down the heat.
After all this I was feeling much better and decided to watch the GPS in action. I knew enough to push the 'Navi' button to get the map. This was useless, however, since the damn thing was still in night mode and I couldn't see anything. When I get really frustrated, I have learned to take a deep breath and realize that it is not a big deal. I didn't need the map. I had been taking this route for ten years now so who cared if I followed the map?
I finally pulled into the driveway at work and parked the car. I started to turn of the ignition when I saw the screen turn to day mode. This car has a vendetta against me, I swear. It was laughing at me since it had the last say in the matter. I got out of this beast of rubber and metal, fob in hand. I locked it and didn't look back. Right now I'm safely in the building and the evil vehicle is outside waiting for me to get done with work. I think I'm ready for the battle later on knowing what I know now. I have the fob on my desk and I'm keeping a close eye on it. You never know when it will attack.
I just know that when I get home, my husband will have a big smile on his face and ask, "How was the car?". I hope he's ready for me to throw daggers at him with my eyes.
When we got married and we bought my first car, he nicely suggested that anything that is put into the car in the morning be taken out the same day. He respected the automobile so much that he wanted it treated carefully. I had no problem with this. After all, I usually only had my purse and maybe a bag for work.
Fast forward six years...
Our son was born in 1997 and things were never the same. In addition to my purse, I needed to bring a diaper bag full of stuff to clean, change, and feed this new person. Often while in motion, I would need to reach back from the driver's seat (I know...not safe) and give the baby his pacifier or blankie, etc. Inevitably some things would fall on the floor and stay there for weeks. Anyway, the rule of 'you bring it in and take it out the same day' didn't last.
But I digress.
As I have said in the past, all this new technology drives me crazy. It has now entered the domain of the motor vehicle. My husband loves all the bells and whistles that are available and after buying vehicles with these features, I now insist on simple old fashioned controls. My truck has six buttons on the radio so I can choose which station I want. The heating and cooling controls are knobs that I can turn to control the air.
Today I left my truck home so my husband could pack it for our trip to the Adirondacks this weekend when he comes home from work. He left his car for me to drive. I've only driven it once or twice before so I'm not quite used to it yet.
First issue I have: Instead of a key, it has a fob that you carry on your person. When you get close enough to the car, you simply press the open key on the fob. Once inside the car, you just turn the ignition, no key required, to start the car. As long as the fob is near you, you don't have to worry about a key. This makes no sense to me. Isn't it just as easy to carry a key with a fob? Once you put the key in the ignition you don't have to worry where your keys are. When I ask my husband the reason for this unnecessary technology, he just says that it's cool. OK. I'll buy that.
Next, I pulled out of the driveway and wanted to turn on my favorite morning radio station. This vehicle has GPS with that annoying screen that you're not supposed to look at while you're driving. This was not a problem since it was in night mode and the screen was dark. As I was driving and listening to an annoying station, I tried to figure out how to change it. With one eye on the road and one eye on the screen I kept pushing buttons hoping to find the magic button that would lead me to my station.
Just when I started screaming , I tried one more button, and my friendly DJ's were talking to me. My heart calmed down. Next, I needed to find out what time it was so I could tell if I'd be late to work or not. I knew, from riding in the passenger seat, the the clock was on the top right of the screen. Unfortunately, the screen was still in night mode and I couldn't quite see the time. Oh well. I figured I'd get to work when I got there. No big deal. Then the car started to get hot inside.
I turned my attention to the three evil buttons below the GPS screen. I knew this thing had climate control, one of the most horrible inventions ever, so I realized my work was cut out for me. Luckily, I just turned the knob from 'auto' to regular and was able to turn down the heat.
After all this I was feeling much better and decided to watch the GPS in action. I knew enough to push the 'Navi' button to get the map. This was useless, however, since the damn thing was still in night mode and I couldn't see anything. When I get really frustrated, I have learned to take a deep breath and realize that it is not a big deal. I didn't need the map. I had been taking this route for ten years now so who cared if I followed the map?
I finally pulled into the driveway at work and parked the car. I started to turn of the ignition when I saw the screen turn to day mode. This car has a vendetta against me, I swear. It was laughing at me since it had the last say in the matter. I got out of this beast of rubber and metal, fob in hand. I locked it and didn't look back. Right now I'm safely in the building and the evil vehicle is outside waiting for me to get done with work. I think I'm ready for the battle later on knowing what I know now. I have the fob on my desk and I'm keeping a close eye on it. You never know when it will attack.
I just know that when I get home, my husband will have a big smile on his face and ask, "How was the car?". I hope he's ready for me to throw daggers at him with my eyes.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
I'm Hungry!
Being a mother is not the easiest job in the world. Not only do we feel responsible for our families, but a lot of us hold down full time jobs. Unfortunately a lot of husbands choose to live in the past. They feel their work is done when they get home. Luckily this doesn't exist in my house. But for those women who have to deal with it, I find it incredible that, even with their jobs, they still clean the house, care for the children and cook meals.
When I was growing up my mother worked as a teacher. Her work day was over at 2:00 but then she would go home and take care of everything else. She constantly had a dust cloth or vacuum in her hand. Dinner was always on time and consisted of a well-balanced variety of foods. She also took care of all of the laundry and grocery shopping along with managing finances. My father would come home from work and sit in his chair with a beer. Mom would be busy making sure dinner was on time so he wouldn't get upset. If he was outside doing something she would keep dinner warm so as not to upset him. After dinner he sat in his chair again, read the paper and watched TV. Mom would be cleaning up the kitchen. My sisters and I would help but not as much as we should have.
This was all I knew. Every night there would be a meal on the table. When she was a child this was what was expected of her. Since my grandmother worked full time my mother would come home from school, clean the house, and have dinner ready before my grandmother got home. To this day she doesn't find anything wrong with having to do everything. You would think this would pass to the next generation.
Not so.
I never saw the logic in that way of thinking. If I was working just as hard as my husband, why should I be responsible for all the family stuff too? My husband is just like me and we share the responsibility. I remember when my grandmother was alive and I was visiting her, she let me know what she thought of that!
"You'd better get home and have dinner ready for him", she'd say.
"He'll be fine", I'd reply. "He knows how to feed himself."
She'd shoot me a look that could kill. "You know, he's not going to put up with that for very long. You'd better make sure everything's done!"
I would laugh at her, but she'd still have that look that would say, 'just you wait and see!!'.
Even though I feel deep down that my house should be clean all of the time and dinner should be prepared every night, the logical side of my brain thinks that's crazy. We do quite well with sharing the chores, but there is one thing that doesn't work out very well.
Neither of us likes to cook.
What a terrible person I am!!! Aren't I responsible for ensuring that my kids get healty meals so they can grow up big and strong? Isn't it child abuse when they only get a bowl of cereal for dinner? As much as I want to give them a decent meal every night, I can't. The idea of cooking makes me sick.
From years back when I'd try to make a decent meal, I would get very angry. This is a strange thing that no one can understand but me. I wasn't angry with my family. I was angry at the idea that humans need nutrition to survive. Who thought of that anyway? Wouldn't it just be easier to take a pill everyday instead of all that cooking nonsense? And why was I expected to supply this 'nutrition' everyday? With my husband helping, I still needed to cook several times a week. As time went on the meals got worse and worse.
Now we have spaghetti with jar sauce at least two to three times a week. Cereal is another staple at the dinner table. Occasionally my husband will go to the freezer and put artificial chicken product patties and processed french fries in the oven. I have to admit he's better than me at this since, when he 'prepares' dinner, he always includes a vegetable.
I'm not really a big fan of food. If I like something I'll eat a lot of it. It's very hard to cook something that I can barely look at, let alone eat. The guilt of my failings overtakes me everyday. I just know that my family will sit me down one day and tell me that their lives were miserable because I didn't fulfill my motherly duties of providing nutrition.
It amazes me when I see my friends get home and start working in the kitchen. There is no anger in their eyes and they almost look like they enjoy cooking. How bizarre!
I'd rather clean the basement than cook a meal.
One day when I was feeling guilty I told my kids I was sorry. My son looked at me, somewhat confused. "What do you feel guilty about?", he asked. I looked at him with concern in my eyes. "I'm sorry I don't have a decent meal for you every night like the other mothers", I told him.
"Mom", he said, looking at me with brows furrowed, "I don't get it. We eat every night. I like what you and Dad make. Why are you so upset?"
I replied, "The other mothers always cook for their families every night. They don't always pour cereal or boil pasta for the zillionth time. I feel bad that I don't take the time to make something better".
He looked at me again with concern in his eyes. "Mom," he answered, "I like everything you do. You spend time with us and make us laugh. You're the best mom I know. Who cares about dinner?"
Again, the wisdom of the children triumphs everytime. Even though I stink in the kitchen, I must be doing something right.
When I was growing up my mother worked as a teacher. Her work day was over at 2:00 but then she would go home and take care of everything else. She constantly had a dust cloth or vacuum in her hand. Dinner was always on time and consisted of a well-balanced variety of foods. She also took care of all of the laundry and grocery shopping along with managing finances. My father would come home from work and sit in his chair with a beer. Mom would be busy making sure dinner was on time so he wouldn't get upset. If he was outside doing something she would keep dinner warm so as not to upset him. After dinner he sat in his chair again, read the paper and watched TV. Mom would be cleaning up the kitchen. My sisters and I would help but not as much as we should have.
This was all I knew. Every night there would be a meal on the table. When she was a child this was what was expected of her. Since my grandmother worked full time my mother would come home from school, clean the house, and have dinner ready before my grandmother got home. To this day she doesn't find anything wrong with having to do everything. You would think this would pass to the next generation.
Not so.
I never saw the logic in that way of thinking. If I was working just as hard as my husband, why should I be responsible for all the family stuff too? My husband is just like me and we share the responsibility. I remember when my grandmother was alive and I was visiting her, she let me know what she thought of that!
"You'd better get home and have dinner ready for him", she'd say.
"He'll be fine", I'd reply. "He knows how to feed himself."
She'd shoot me a look that could kill. "You know, he's not going to put up with that for very long. You'd better make sure everything's done!"
I would laugh at her, but she'd still have that look that would say, 'just you wait and see!!'.
Even though I feel deep down that my house should be clean all of the time and dinner should be prepared every night, the logical side of my brain thinks that's crazy. We do quite well with sharing the chores, but there is one thing that doesn't work out very well.
Neither of us likes to cook.
What a terrible person I am!!! Aren't I responsible for ensuring that my kids get healty meals so they can grow up big and strong? Isn't it child abuse when they only get a bowl of cereal for dinner? As much as I want to give them a decent meal every night, I can't. The idea of cooking makes me sick.
From years back when I'd try to make a decent meal, I would get very angry. This is a strange thing that no one can understand but me. I wasn't angry with my family. I was angry at the idea that humans need nutrition to survive. Who thought of that anyway? Wouldn't it just be easier to take a pill everyday instead of all that cooking nonsense? And why was I expected to supply this 'nutrition' everyday? With my husband helping, I still needed to cook several times a week. As time went on the meals got worse and worse.
Now we have spaghetti with jar sauce at least two to three times a week. Cereal is another staple at the dinner table. Occasionally my husband will go to the freezer and put artificial chicken product patties and processed french fries in the oven. I have to admit he's better than me at this since, when he 'prepares' dinner, he always includes a vegetable.
I'm not really a big fan of food. If I like something I'll eat a lot of it. It's very hard to cook something that I can barely look at, let alone eat. The guilt of my failings overtakes me everyday. I just know that my family will sit me down one day and tell me that their lives were miserable because I didn't fulfill my motherly duties of providing nutrition.
It amazes me when I see my friends get home and start working in the kitchen. There is no anger in their eyes and they almost look like they enjoy cooking. How bizarre!
I'd rather clean the basement than cook a meal.
One day when I was feeling guilty I told my kids I was sorry. My son looked at me, somewhat confused. "What do you feel guilty about?", he asked. I looked at him with concern in my eyes. "I'm sorry I don't have a decent meal for you every night like the other mothers", I told him.
"Mom", he said, looking at me with brows furrowed, "I don't get it. We eat every night. I like what you and Dad make. Why are you so upset?"
I replied, "The other mothers always cook for their families every night. They don't always pour cereal or boil pasta for the zillionth time. I feel bad that I don't take the time to make something better".
He looked at me again with concern in his eyes. "Mom," he answered, "I like everything you do. You spend time with us and make us laugh. You're the best mom I know. Who cares about dinner?"
Again, the wisdom of the children triumphs everytime. Even though I stink in the kitchen, I must be doing something right.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Mine, Mine, MINE!!
Through the years I have observed how animals mark their territory in different ways. My dog(s) have always shown their superiority by marking every tree in sight even though they are 'fixed'. It's fascinating to me because I have to get a life. Actually I have always thought it a strange way to declare their turf.
I experienced this yesterday but not with my dogs.
It's routine in our house that my husband gets home from work and gets the kids off of the bus. They are trained to know that the first order of work, after snacks, is to do their homework. By the time I get home the homework is done. It's a great system since they don't have a chance to procrastinate.
Yesterday, after a dental procedure, I went home for the day and was able to get the kids. My husband stayed late at work since I would be there. The kids walked in and got their snacks. Soon after, with a bit of prodding, they started their homework. I went upstairs to pick up.
"Mom!," my son yelled, "I need you!"
I went downstairs to see him working on his math homework. I like to pride myself on the fact that I aced calculus in college. I explained how to solve the problem, carefully watching him to make sure he understood me. He seemed confident and the next answers were correct.
Not long after I heard, "Mom, I need you!"
He was on another section on his math homework that was puzzling him. I went downstairs again to teach him how to simplify and solve the problem. As I was doing so my husband got home from work.
"How's it going?" he asked as he walked in.
"It's good", we replied and went back to math problems. My husband sauntered over and looked at the work we were doing.
"Are you showing him how to do it", he asked,looking intently at me, "or are you doing it for him?"
I peered up at him from over my glasses and said, "I'm showing him, duh. I'm not a moron."
He quickly shot back, "Well I don't want HIM to be a moron."
What had gotten into my husband that he would think so ill of me? That wasn't like him at all! All of a sudden it occurred to me:
I had peed on his tree!
I had invaded his territory by helping my son with his homework, a task he usually undertakes. Maybe it's an instinctive behavior for all males to be territorial, but I hadn't realized I had tread into such forbidden territory. I guess even the gentlest of giants can still have these instincts.
After realizing this was a result of such primitive behaviors, I didn't take it personally. The pack leader in my house is still the most wonderful man I know.
...But he'd better not talk to me like that again!
I experienced this yesterday but not with my dogs.
It's routine in our house that my husband gets home from work and gets the kids off of the bus. They are trained to know that the first order of work, after snacks, is to do their homework. By the time I get home the homework is done. It's a great system since they don't have a chance to procrastinate.
Yesterday, after a dental procedure, I went home for the day and was able to get the kids. My husband stayed late at work since I would be there. The kids walked in and got their snacks. Soon after, with a bit of prodding, they started their homework. I went upstairs to pick up.
"Mom!," my son yelled, "I need you!"
I went downstairs to see him working on his math homework. I like to pride myself on the fact that I aced calculus in college. I explained how to solve the problem, carefully watching him to make sure he understood me. He seemed confident and the next answers were correct.
Not long after I heard, "Mom, I need you!"
He was on another section on his math homework that was puzzling him. I went downstairs again to teach him how to simplify and solve the problem. As I was doing so my husband got home from work.
"How's it going?" he asked as he walked in.
"It's good", we replied and went back to math problems. My husband sauntered over and looked at the work we were doing.
"Are you showing him how to do it", he asked,looking intently at me, "or are you doing it for him?"
I peered up at him from over my glasses and said, "I'm showing him, duh. I'm not a moron."
He quickly shot back, "Well I don't want HIM to be a moron."
What had gotten into my husband that he would think so ill of me? That wasn't like him at all! All of a sudden it occurred to me:
I had peed on his tree!
I had invaded his territory by helping my son with his homework, a task he usually undertakes. Maybe it's an instinctive behavior for all males to be territorial, but I hadn't realized I had tread into such forbidden territory. I guess even the gentlest of giants can still have these instincts.
After realizing this was a result of such primitive behaviors, I didn't take it personally. The pack leader in my house is still the most wonderful man I know.
...But he'd better not talk to me like that again!
Thursday, February 14, 2008
My Toughest Critic
As I was walking the trails at our nearby nature park, I decided what I wanted to write about. All around me were lots of nordic hats and spandex. Attached to these creatures were sticks on their feet and in their hands. I know I am a little bitter about cross-country skiers, which I wrote about earlier, but they closed off all my trails again today since there's enough snow to ski on. Once again I'm on the pee wee trails. But I digress...
Anyway, I've had an interesting few weeks.
After vacation we got settled back into our routine. It always takes a while to adjust to reality but we did fine. One evening my 7 year old daughter looked at me closely.
"Mom", she said carefully, "No offense, but all the mothers I know who are in their forties look like they're in their forties, but you look like you're in your fifties. No offense mom."
A lot of people would be offended but I considered the source. Here was the girl who wore high-water pants and shirts with holes in them because they were her favorites. I admit my clothes are a bit matronly, and I seldom wear make-up because I frankly can't stand it. My hair was getting too long and puffy and the gray was showing.
"Stay there", she said, "I'm going to go get some make-up to make you look younger".
I quietly sat there expecting the worst. I wasn't disappointed. She came downstairs with all of my old make-up, a brush and a ponytail holder. First she took a handful of hair from the back of my head and made a small ponytail. Next she applied the make-up very carefully. I had blush on my cheeks and blue eyeshadow applied to my eyes. The lipstick she put on me was crooked. She stepped back and looked at me.
"That looks much better!" she exclaimed.
The little fashion diva skipped merrily away. I looked in the mirror and sighed. Not long after I had to go to the store so I washed it off, took out the ponytail and brushed my hair. As I was leaving, she came to kiss me good-bye.
"Why did you take it off?" she asked. Looking for a good excuse I told her, "My face was already dirty and it was bothering me. Sorry".
"That's OK", she said and went back to play.
I started to look at myself and I really didn't like what I saw. I don't usually critique myself since I don't get into all the hair and make-up stuff, but I saw an old looking disheveled woman. Luckily I had a hair appointment the next week.
As I was waiting for my turn I looked in books to see what cut I wanted to try. I finally found one and my hair dresser cut and highlighted it to hide some of the gray. I really loved the results since it made me look years younger. With great confidence I drove home. I couldn't wait to hear what my family thought.
I went in the house and my son was in the kitchen. He looked at me and said, "Wow, Mom, I really like it!"
One down, two to go.
My husband was in the next room. "I like your hair!", he said. Coming from him, this was a great compliment. It worked! I thought.
Finally, Miss Beauty Consultant came in.
"WHAT DID YOU DO, MOM???!!! I DON'T LIKE IT AT ALL! YOU LOOK REALLY OLD. I WANT YOU TO GROW IT BACK!", she said rather crossly.
Trying not to laugh, I asked her, "Don't you think the highlights cover my gray?"
"You don't have gray! I can't BELIEVE you did that! I hate it, no offense".
Needless to say my daughter is very opinionated.
The next day I went to the drugstore to buy some new make-up that would be easy to apply in the morning. I'm not a big fan of lipstick but my lips are nondescript so I bought some. I knew this would add to my new look. Sure enough all the lines in my face disappeared and I looked fresher and more vibrant (..sounds like a commercial). I went proudly downstairs
"Are you wearing lipstick Mom?" she asked.
"As a matter of fact I am", I said smiling.
"Well, it doesn't look any different, no offense", was her observation.
I guess the most important thing is that no matter what I look like my family still loves me. I'll still try to make myself look younger, but I won't take forever applying make-up and doing my hair. I don't have the patience.
Maybe someday my daughter will give up the mismatched socks and the outfits that don't go together at all. Maybe someday she won't look like a waif.
No offense.
Anyway, I've had an interesting few weeks.
After vacation we got settled back into our routine. It always takes a while to adjust to reality but we did fine. One evening my 7 year old daughter looked at me closely.
"Mom", she said carefully, "No offense, but all the mothers I know who are in their forties look like they're in their forties, but you look like you're in your fifties. No offense mom."
A lot of people would be offended but I considered the source. Here was the girl who wore high-water pants and shirts with holes in them because they were her favorites. I admit my clothes are a bit matronly, and I seldom wear make-up because I frankly can't stand it. My hair was getting too long and puffy and the gray was showing.
"Stay there", she said, "I'm going to go get some make-up to make you look younger".
I quietly sat there expecting the worst. I wasn't disappointed. She came downstairs with all of my old make-up, a brush and a ponytail holder. First she took a handful of hair from the back of my head and made a small ponytail. Next she applied the make-up very carefully. I had blush on my cheeks and blue eyeshadow applied to my eyes. The lipstick she put on me was crooked. She stepped back and looked at me.
"That looks much better!" she exclaimed.
The little fashion diva skipped merrily away. I looked in the mirror and sighed. Not long after I had to go to the store so I washed it off, took out the ponytail and brushed my hair. As I was leaving, she came to kiss me good-bye.
"Why did you take it off?" she asked. Looking for a good excuse I told her, "My face was already dirty and it was bothering me. Sorry".
"That's OK", she said and went back to play.
I started to look at myself and I really didn't like what I saw. I don't usually critique myself since I don't get into all the hair and make-up stuff, but I saw an old looking disheveled woman. Luckily I had a hair appointment the next week.
As I was waiting for my turn I looked in books to see what cut I wanted to try. I finally found one and my hair dresser cut and highlighted it to hide some of the gray. I really loved the results since it made me look years younger. With great confidence I drove home. I couldn't wait to hear what my family thought.
I went in the house and my son was in the kitchen. He looked at me and said, "Wow, Mom, I really like it!"
One down, two to go.
My husband was in the next room. "I like your hair!", he said. Coming from him, this was a great compliment. It worked! I thought.
Finally, Miss Beauty Consultant came in.
"WHAT DID YOU DO, MOM???!!! I DON'T LIKE IT AT ALL! YOU LOOK REALLY OLD. I WANT YOU TO GROW IT BACK!", she said rather crossly.
Trying not to laugh, I asked her, "Don't you think the highlights cover my gray?"
"You don't have gray! I can't BELIEVE you did that! I hate it, no offense".
Needless to say my daughter is very opinionated.
The next day I went to the drugstore to buy some new make-up that would be easy to apply in the morning. I'm not a big fan of lipstick but my lips are nondescript so I bought some. I knew this would add to my new look. Sure enough all the lines in my face disappeared and I looked fresher and more vibrant (..sounds like a commercial). I went proudly downstairs
"Are you wearing lipstick Mom?" she asked.
"As a matter of fact I am", I said smiling.
"Well, it doesn't look any different, no offense", was her observation.
I guess the most important thing is that no matter what I look like my family still loves me. I'll still try to make myself look younger, but I won't take forever applying make-up and doing my hair. I don't have the patience.
Maybe someday my daughter will give up the mismatched socks and the outfits that don't go together at all. Maybe someday she won't look like a waif.
No offense.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Vacation!
I'm back. It's been awhile since I've written. My family and I went to Florida last week to visit the famous rodent in Orlando. We always stay on site since there is so much to offer. At our resort we could take a boat to Downtown Disney every day where there are shops and restaurants. We also get free transportation to the theme parks. The pools there are wonderful and the kids spent lots of time in them.
I've always loved Disney but in the last few years, I feel the tug of rampant consumerism eminating throughout the 'Kingdom'. It seems like everything you see is extremely overpriced. I had forgotten my hair conditioner at home. If I don't use it I look like a badly groomed poodle. I went into the store at the resort to find some. A tiny bottle of conditioner (1 oz.) was $1.69. I won't pay that at home for a regular bottle! Unfortunately my hair was crying out for the stuff so I paid for two bottles.
When we checked into the hotel the first day my husband gave each of the kids 50 Disney Dollars (equivalent to $50.00 US). Usually when we go to the 'Kingdom' they would see things they wanted. My husband and I would try to figure out who got what and how much money had been spent. This time was different. The kids had to learn how to budget their own money. When it was gone, it was gone.
Immediately after checking in they wanted to go to the store in the resort that had all kinds of Disney stuff (clothes, animals, housewares, etc.). My 7 year old daughter went right to the stuffed animals, her passion, to see what she wanted to buy. She had picked up one she loved. As I watched, she looked at the price and put it down. "I'm going to wait on this because I might find something I like better later", she stated. Unbelievably we walked out of the store empty handed.
The next night we went to Downtown Disney and walked around. We went into the childrens' clothing department.
"Can you believe these prices?", she said to me. "I can't believe how high they are!"
"Look at this!", my husband exclaimed, pointing to a shirt. "Do you like it?"
My daughter went over and looked at the price tag.
"It's nice, Dad, but look at the price! It's ridiculous! You can buy it for me if you want, but I'm not paying that price out of my own money!"
It's as if a light had gone on.
The next stop was at the LEGO store. It's my son's favorite place in the whole world. They carry every kind of LEGO that was ever invented. I knew this was where he would spend most of his money.
We wandered around a while, but my daughter and I left for a while as the boys looked around. Around 20 minutes later we returned to find my son empty handed.
"Didn't you find anything?" I asked.
"Yeah, but I'm going to wait. I have to figure out what I really might want later in the week to make sure I'm making the right decision", he replied.
I was wondering what had happened to my children. Although we certainly don't buy them everything they want at home because of our rules, it was usually open season at Disney. Not this time, though.
All week I would watch them looking around. They looked at the items and the prices and learned what they could and could not live without. In the end they came home having spent all of their $50.00. Of course, Grandma gave them an extra ten dollars each near the end for which they were incredibly grateful. It was like Christmas all over again.
I have to admit it was so hard to watch them debate over how they were going to spend their precious money but at the same time it was quite rewarding to see them learn about budgeting. Our jobs at parents and teachers was working.
I stopped giving weekly allowances several years ago. As their passbooks would fill up they felt we should go shopping and use it. Now they get no allowance but have more chores. They sometimes complain but they need to know that they are a part of the family and chores should not be monetarily rewarded. We all have to work together to keep things going. I haven't heard complaints for quite a while now. I've also told my mother she is not to pay them for helping her around her house and yard. The reward should be higher self-esteem and self-satisfaction.
It just seems that people today are so used to getting what they want regardless of the consequences. Their houses can't be big enough. Their cars can't be fancy enough. Their children can never be imperfect no matter what the cost. Their debts are out of control because they believe they are entitled to anything they want.
How sad.
I've always loved Disney but in the last few years, I feel the tug of rampant consumerism eminating throughout the 'Kingdom'. It seems like everything you see is extremely overpriced. I had forgotten my hair conditioner at home. If I don't use it I look like a badly groomed poodle. I went into the store at the resort to find some. A tiny bottle of conditioner (1 oz.) was $1.69. I won't pay that at home for a regular bottle! Unfortunately my hair was crying out for the stuff so I paid for two bottles.
When we checked into the hotel the first day my husband gave each of the kids 50 Disney Dollars (equivalent to $50.00 US). Usually when we go to the 'Kingdom' they would see things they wanted. My husband and I would try to figure out who got what and how much money had been spent. This time was different. The kids had to learn how to budget their own money. When it was gone, it was gone.
Immediately after checking in they wanted to go to the store in the resort that had all kinds of Disney stuff (clothes, animals, housewares, etc.). My 7 year old daughter went right to the stuffed animals, her passion, to see what she wanted to buy. She had picked up one she loved. As I watched, she looked at the price and put it down. "I'm going to wait on this because I might find something I like better later", she stated. Unbelievably we walked out of the store empty handed.
The next night we went to Downtown Disney and walked around. We went into the childrens' clothing department.
"Can you believe these prices?", she said to me. "I can't believe how high they are!"
"Look at this!", my husband exclaimed, pointing to a shirt. "Do you like it?"
My daughter went over and looked at the price tag.
"It's nice, Dad, but look at the price! It's ridiculous! You can buy it for me if you want, but I'm not paying that price out of my own money!"
It's as if a light had gone on.
The next stop was at the LEGO store. It's my son's favorite place in the whole world. They carry every kind of LEGO that was ever invented. I knew this was where he would spend most of his money.
We wandered around a while, but my daughter and I left for a while as the boys looked around. Around 20 minutes later we returned to find my son empty handed.
"Didn't you find anything?" I asked.
"Yeah, but I'm going to wait. I have to figure out what I really might want later in the week to make sure I'm making the right decision", he replied.
I was wondering what had happened to my children. Although we certainly don't buy them everything they want at home because of our rules, it was usually open season at Disney. Not this time, though.
All week I would watch them looking around. They looked at the items and the prices and learned what they could and could not live without. In the end they came home having spent all of their $50.00. Of course, Grandma gave them an extra ten dollars each near the end for which they were incredibly grateful. It was like Christmas all over again.
I have to admit it was so hard to watch them debate over how they were going to spend their precious money but at the same time it was quite rewarding to see them learn about budgeting. Our jobs at parents and teachers was working.
I stopped giving weekly allowances several years ago. As their passbooks would fill up they felt we should go shopping and use it. Now they get no allowance but have more chores. They sometimes complain but they need to know that they are a part of the family and chores should not be monetarily rewarded. We all have to work together to keep things going. I haven't heard complaints for quite a while now. I've also told my mother she is not to pay them for helping her around her house and yard. The reward should be higher self-esteem and self-satisfaction.
It just seems that people today are so used to getting what they want regardless of the consequences. Their houses can't be big enough. Their cars can't be fancy enough. Their children can never be imperfect no matter what the cost. Their debts are out of control because they believe they are entitled to anything they want.
How sad.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Just Say No to Tech-NO-logy
I am a cynic of sorts. I think it's the result of life experiences. Nowhere is this more apparent that in the field of technology. When is enough too much?
It all started when I was in college in the early 80's. I took a course in FORTRAN. Basically, it was an early introduction to computer programming. Back then computers were on the threshold of bursting into all of our lives. I had no idea what to expect but I studied really hard. For our final project we had to write a computer program including two unknowns and the results. I picked the topic of windchill. Both temperature and windspeed create different windchill temperatures. I wrote the program carefully trying over and over to create the perfect result. In the end it worked beautifully. After hours of work all one had to do was input the temperature and the wind velocity and the resulting windchill would appear. Wow! What a timesaver! I received a great grade. Now I see how all of this insanity began.
Isn't it just easier to make a graph of temperature and wind velocity? All you would have to to is look at the resulting windchill temperature on the graph and you're done. There's no going to the computer and waiting for it to warm up. There's no internet exploring to find a windchill program. There are no pop-ups showing how you can win millions while waiting for the graph to appear. It's really cool knowing how to get this information on your computer, but do we realize all the time it's taking? It's quite silly if you ask me.
A few years ago we bought my brother-in-law a Palm Pilot. We watched carefully as he input all of his information into that tiny machine. He had already learned the special alphabet that made input so much easier and, being a tech expert, it didn't take long for him to get it done. He showed us everything that could be done on that Palm Pilot. You could do calculations making it easier to do those nasty equations that we have to do. You could look at your calendar and see what appointments you had. This thing was SO AMAZING! Several months later I went out and bought one for myself for my birthday.
I started by inputting all of my friends' addresses. It took forever using the tiny keyboard screen and puny plastic writing thing-a-ma-jig. I hadn't yet learned the alphabet so it probably took me longer than a Palm Pilot expert.
By the time I had done all of this work I was burned out. It took me several weeks before I began inputting all of my upcoming appointments on the calendar. Again I spent quite a bit more time on this than I expected.
The Palm Pilot had a charging dock so there was no need to replace batteries. How convenient!! Unfortunately I put the little pain in the donkey in the dock the wrong way. The leads didn't touch and I only realized this after a few days. When I turned it on, there was nothing. There was no trace of all the information I had so carefully entered.
Now I know that just using an address book and a wall calendar works just as well. Simple calculations are much easier to do on paper than pulling this thing out and hoping you input the right numbers. Needless to say this 'thing' is now in my drawer; a reminder of my lost effort of trying to be techno-savvy.
Fast forward several more years. I wanted a laptop computer so I could do our finances in Quicken. I knew that having all our financial information in one program could get a quicker snapshot of where we stood.
After the installation of the program I began to study it. The program showed me how to import information from my bank or credit union. What a time saver! The push of a button would give me everything I needed to analyze our financial situation. I pulled up the list of participating banks and credit unions that were able to send this information.
Our credit union wasn't there. Bummer.
I had to manually input all of our transactions. Instead of a time saver, it was a time waster. I could have easily just looked at our register on our credit union's web page to see what our balances were. However I bravely continued to input every single transaction so the program could calculate our finances.
All the program did was spit back all the information I put into it in different graphs. I could have done that on paper.
Finally, our credit union came into the new millenium. All I had to to was put our user name and password into the program and our information would magically appear on the screen. Unbelievable! Not only that, but it would categorize each payee so we could see the data on each area of spending. It would show gas costs, groceries, clothing, doctor co-pays and water bills to name a few.
The first time I downloaded all of our information, I quickly went to the graph analysis to see where we were spending.
To my surprise we were withdrawing from the ATM the most. This was quite strange since we might take out $20.00 once or twice a month. I went back to the check register. The program magically assigned categories to each payee and I found that most of them were wrong. I then went back to the beginning of the register and fixed each transaction category to show where it was supposed to be. After an hour of tedious work I was done. My graph was much more accurate.
The next time I downloaded our bank info there was more erroneous information. The grocery store was showing 'gifts given'. The gas station showed 'groceries'. Frustrated, I waited until my brother-in-law came back into town.
I asked him to show me how to fix this problem. He went into the program and tried to show me. He didn't have much time so I tried to concentrate on what he was doing. When he left I had no idea what he did.
As I was walking in the woods today at lunchtime I realized that the old fashioned budget book I had at home with the hand-written entries might be the answer. The hours I had spent trying to make things easier did the exact opposite.
I'm used to the fact that I will never embrace all the technologies that are available. It seems that new things keep being introduced not to make our lives easier but rather to increase the revenue of the companies that make them. Cynical? Yes, of course. But I know that these corporations have to survive and making these things look cool brings in the bucks.
I like the idea of paper and pens. These can't be lost in cyberspace although I lose things in house-space too. I only know that it works for me. I spend much less time in front of the computer now getting nowhere. It frees up my time to do other things that have been neglected such as raising my children.
This technology has made us rely on a little machine instead of ourselves. There are lots and lots of people that will disagree with me but in the end I'm sure I spend much less time on the computer than they do. And my spreadsheets won't disappear.
I was born in the wrong century.
It all started when I was in college in the early 80's. I took a course in FORTRAN. Basically, it was an early introduction to computer programming. Back then computers were on the threshold of bursting into all of our lives. I had no idea what to expect but I studied really hard. For our final project we had to write a computer program including two unknowns and the results. I picked the topic of windchill. Both temperature and windspeed create different windchill temperatures. I wrote the program carefully trying over and over to create the perfect result. In the end it worked beautifully. After hours of work all one had to do was input the temperature and the wind velocity and the resulting windchill would appear. Wow! What a timesaver! I received a great grade. Now I see how all of this insanity began.
Isn't it just easier to make a graph of temperature and wind velocity? All you would have to to is look at the resulting windchill temperature on the graph and you're done. There's no going to the computer and waiting for it to warm up. There's no internet exploring to find a windchill program. There are no pop-ups showing how you can win millions while waiting for the graph to appear. It's really cool knowing how to get this information on your computer, but do we realize all the time it's taking? It's quite silly if you ask me.
A few years ago we bought my brother-in-law a Palm Pilot. We watched carefully as he input all of his information into that tiny machine. He had already learned the special alphabet that made input so much easier and, being a tech expert, it didn't take long for him to get it done. He showed us everything that could be done on that Palm Pilot. You could do calculations making it easier to do those nasty equations that we have to do. You could look at your calendar and see what appointments you had. This thing was SO AMAZING! Several months later I went out and bought one for myself for my birthday.
I started by inputting all of my friends' addresses. It took forever using the tiny keyboard screen and puny plastic writing thing-a-ma-jig. I hadn't yet learned the alphabet so it probably took me longer than a Palm Pilot expert.
By the time I had done all of this work I was burned out. It took me several weeks before I began inputting all of my upcoming appointments on the calendar. Again I spent quite a bit more time on this than I expected.
The Palm Pilot had a charging dock so there was no need to replace batteries. How convenient!! Unfortunately I put the little pain in the donkey in the dock the wrong way. The leads didn't touch and I only realized this after a few days. When I turned it on, there was nothing. There was no trace of all the information I had so carefully entered.
Now I know that just using an address book and a wall calendar works just as well. Simple calculations are much easier to do on paper than pulling this thing out and hoping you input the right numbers. Needless to say this 'thing' is now in my drawer; a reminder of my lost effort of trying to be techno-savvy.
Fast forward several more years. I wanted a laptop computer so I could do our finances in Quicken. I knew that having all our financial information in one program could get a quicker snapshot of where we stood.
After the installation of the program I began to study it. The program showed me how to import information from my bank or credit union. What a time saver! The push of a button would give me everything I needed to analyze our financial situation. I pulled up the list of participating banks and credit unions that were able to send this information.
Our credit union wasn't there. Bummer.
I had to manually input all of our transactions. Instead of a time saver, it was a time waster. I could have easily just looked at our register on our credit union's web page to see what our balances were. However I bravely continued to input every single transaction so the program could calculate our finances.
All the program did was spit back all the information I put into it in different graphs. I could have done that on paper.
Finally, our credit union came into the new millenium. All I had to to was put our user name and password into the program and our information would magically appear on the screen. Unbelievable! Not only that, but it would categorize each payee so we could see the data on each area of spending. It would show gas costs, groceries, clothing, doctor co-pays and water bills to name a few.
The first time I downloaded all of our information, I quickly went to the graph analysis to see where we were spending.
To my surprise we were withdrawing from the ATM the most. This was quite strange since we might take out $20.00 once or twice a month. I went back to the check register. The program magically assigned categories to each payee and I found that most of them were wrong. I then went back to the beginning of the register and fixed each transaction category to show where it was supposed to be. After an hour of tedious work I was done. My graph was much more accurate.
The next time I downloaded our bank info there was more erroneous information. The grocery store was showing 'gifts given'. The gas station showed 'groceries'. Frustrated, I waited until my brother-in-law came back into town.
I asked him to show me how to fix this problem. He went into the program and tried to show me. He didn't have much time so I tried to concentrate on what he was doing. When he left I had no idea what he did.
As I was walking in the woods today at lunchtime I realized that the old fashioned budget book I had at home with the hand-written entries might be the answer. The hours I had spent trying to make things easier did the exact opposite.
I'm used to the fact that I will never embrace all the technologies that are available. It seems that new things keep being introduced not to make our lives easier but rather to increase the revenue of the companies that make them. Cynical? Yes, of course. But I know that these corporations have to survive and making these things look cool brings in the bucks.
I like the idea of paper and pens. These can't be lost in cyberspace although I lose things in house-space too. I only know that it works for me. I spend much less time in front of the computer now getting nowhere. It frees up my time to do other things that have been neglected such as raising my children.
This technology has made us rely on a little machine instead of ourselves. There are lots and lots of people that will disagree with me but in the end I'm sure I spend much less time on the computer than they do. And my spreadsheets won't disappear.
I was born in the wrong century.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
I Can't Find 'It'
I still haven't found it.
What is 'it'? I think it's a place that exists in my mind where I can find true peace. That's not to say I don't feel peace now. I do! I've got everything I want. It's just that, at times, I'll see or hear something that reminds me of a house that I've been dreaming of. This is really going to be getting deep.
I don't know if I'm the only one. Have you ever heard a song that brings you to a peaceful place that never existed? Did you ever smell something that was so familiar yet you can't figure out where you've smelled it before? Have you ever seen a piece of furniture or a picture of a kitchen sink that made you dream of a place that would finally let you exhale and relax? This happens to me all of the time.
Looking back I faintly remember being in my great-grandparent's house down the street. Perhaps it was that familiar smell and appearance that comes to mind. Or maybe it's the kitchen in my great aunt's house with the tall dark cabinets and the old-fashioned hardware. I have memories of my other great grandmother sitting in her old victorian house. She came from Poland and spoke little, if any, English. My mom would take my sister and I there to visit and my great grandmother always gave us ginger ale and egg biscuits. She would talk to my mother endlessly in Polish while we sat there quietly. My mom didn't understand Polish but that didn't matter. I can still faintly remember the old furniture and elaborately carved staircase. She had a old-fashioned butler's pantry with the tall glass doors on the upper cabinets. The kitchen was very basic with old linoleum on the floors. I never really enjoyed going there but, looking back, the memories of that house bring me peace.
As I was growing up I always pictured having a home with some of these features. I wanted the worn floors that had been endlessly walked upon by my relatives. I wanted the smell of old wood that was used as trim and stairways. I'll see fabrics from the 30's and 40's and yearn to sew these into curtains and bedspreads. If I had a small kitchen I'd love to put a small table next to the window with a gingham or checked tablecloth and a small vase of daisies. Outside the kitchen a screened door would lead to a small yard with a clothesline and a small flower bed. A few lawn ornaments would complete the picture.
I'd put up wallpaper reminiscent of the that point in time when victorian was all the rage. My 'fancy' china would be displayed in a hutch that smelled of old times. I'd have chenille bedspreads in one of the bedrooms along with a hurricane lamp on the night table.
I don't know why this style sticks in my head. It wasn't like I found great comfort in these homes. Actually my great aunt liked us but we had to sit quietly while mom visited. My great-grandparent's house down the street is now quite dilapidated. Even when I was small and my great aunt and uncle lived there, I would go over to play with their daughter. I could tell that it was starting to crumble. On their back porch was a player piano that was beautiful in it's day, according to mom. It sat there for years decomposing until they sold it.
So why do I yearn for these times? I wasn't even alive then. Even if I was, they were extrememly difficult times. I don't know why I romanticize over all these things. I haven't yet found the reason. All I know is that when I sense any remnant of those times, I find a great sense of peace.
I also realize that, even if I could create this dream house, the reality wouldn't be the same. You can't recreate something and expect it to bring you the peace you yearn for.
This is yet another strange part of my being. Normal people don't even think of intangible things when they create their home environment. The house itself creates all of their memories and dreams. I love my house. My kitchen is the closest I've gotten to recreating some of the ideas in my mind. I have old-fashioned signs up on a shelf. The wallpaper I chose is quite simple yet vintage looking.
I'm always dreaming of something else. As I get older I'm beginning to realize that whatever 'it' is, will never come to be. That's not being negative. It's being realistic.
What is 'it'? I think it's a place that exists in my mind where I can find true peace. That's not to say I don't feel peace now. I do! I've got everything I want. It's just that, at times, I'll see or hear something that reminds me of a house that I've been dreaming of. This is really going to be getting deep.
I don't know if I'm the only one. Have you ever heard a song that brings you to a peaceful place that never existed? Did you ever smell something that was so familiar yet you can't figure out where you've smelled it before? Have you ever seen a piece of furniture or a picture of a kitchen sink that made you dream of a place that would finally let you exhale and relax? This happens to me all of the time.
Looking back I faintly remember being in my great-grandparent's house down the street. Perhaps it was that familiar smell and appearance that comes to mind. Or maybe it's the kitchen in my great aunt's house with the tall dark cabinets and the old-fashioned hardware. I have memories of my other great grandmother sitting in her old victorian house. She came from Poland and spoke little, if any, English. My mom would take my sister and I there to visit and my great grandmother always gave us ginger ale and egg biscuits. She would talk to my mother endlessly in Polish while we sat there quietly. My mom didn't understand Polish but that didn't matter. I can still faintly remember the old furniture and elaborately carved staircase. She had a old-fashioned butler's pantry with the tall glass doors on the upper cabinets. The kitchen was very basic with old linoleum on the floors. I never really enjoyed going there but, looking back, the memories of that house bring me peace.
As I was growing up I always pictured having a home with some of these features. I wanted the worn floors that had been endlessly walked upon by my relatives. I wanted the smell of old wood that was used as trim and stairways. I'll see fabrics from the 30's and 40's and yearn to sew these into curtains and bedspreads. If I had a small kitchen I'd love to put a small table next to the window with a gingham or checked tablecloth and a small vase of daisies. Outside the kitchen a screened door would lead to a small yard with a clothesline and a small flower bed. A few lawn ornaments would complete the picture.
I'd put up wallpaper reminiscent of the that point in time when victorian was all the rage. My 'fancy' china would be displayed in a hutch that smelled of old times. I'd have chenille bedspreads in one of the bedrooms along with a hurricane lamp on the night table.
I don't know why this style sticks in my head. It wasn't like I found great comfort in these homes. Actually my great aunt liked us but we had to sit quietly while mom visited. My great-grandparent's house down the street is now quite dilapidated. Even when I was small and my great aunt and uncle lived there, I would go over to play with their daughter. I could tell that it was starting to crumble. On their back porch was a player piano that was beautiful in it's day, according to mom. It sat there for years decomposing until they sold it.
So why do I yearn for these times? I wasn't even alive then. Even if I was, they were extrememly difficult times. I don't know why I romanticize over all these things. I haven't yet found the reason. All I know is that when I sense any remnant of those times, I find a great sense of peace.
I also realize that, even if I could create this dream house, the reality wouldn't be the same. You can't recreate something and expect it to bring you the peace you yearn for.
This is yet another strange part of my being. Normal people don't even think of intangible things when they create their home environment. The house itself creates all of their memories and dreams. I love my house. My kitchen is the closest I've gotten to recreating some of the ideas in my mind. I have old-fashioned signs up on a shelf. The wallpaper I chose is quite simple yet vintage looking.
I'm always dreaming of something else. As I get older I'm beginning to realize that whatever 'it' is, will never come to be. That's not being negative. It's being realistic.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Do We Have To????
It seems like one of the hot topics people are talking about these days is the inactivity of our children. Everywhere you look kids now have hand held games and Playstations and Wii's. If they're not playing with those they are staring at the television. My husband thinks our kids are addicted to these things, but after a short time they want to play outside. My son is really into sports so he'll go outside and shoot some hoops or catch a football. My daughter likes TV a little more but turns it off if there is a possiblity to go out and play. They also like books. One of my son's favorite memories of camp last summer was laying in the hammock reading. My daughter will sometimes sit on the couch reading. By today's standards I think they are doing quite well.
Last weekend we decided to go up to our camp in the Adirondacks. This was greeted with whining and complaining since they had never been there before in the winter. When we told them we were the decision makers they packed their clothes along with their game boys and books. Our camp is not insulated, but we have a gas fireplace. There is no running water in the winter and our driveway is full of snow.
"Hey, guys", I said enthusiastically from the front seat of the car, "just think of this as an adventure". I was greeted with blank stares. Having been there is the winter when I was 13, I knew they would have a good time.
We arrived there Saturday morning and had to park at the end of our driveway because of the snow. We all had to pitch in to get our supplies out of the truck and into the old camp. This was not easy since there was no path through the snow, but we slowly got everything inside.
The camp was freezing There was frost on all the windows inside. My husband turned the propane on and the stove was soon warming the kitchen.
After we got settled the kids put on their snowsuits and went outside. Our place in on a hill so it was perfect for sledding. Since the lake was frozen they could slide down and keep going on the solid ice. I think they were surprised at how much fun it was. As they were sliding I saw two deer run across the lake to one of the islands.
After a few runs the kids wanted to walk across the lake. They were amazed that this was possible since they had never seen anything like this before. We walked over to one of the closer islands and looked around. We had only seen this island from our place and from the water when we were in our boat. Our kids walked faster than us and sat right on the edge of the island.
"Hey look!" they said, "we're the first ones in our family to ever set foot on this island!" They were right. Since it is privately owned we had never gone there in the summer. However in the middle of winter it was empty. The quiet was strange. We're used to the sound of the lake as the winds blow over it. Not long after, they went back to the sled run.
After veering off the course a few times my husband started shoveling snow on each side to keep the sleds on track. White dog and little brown dog were unwilling passengers on the sleds. They looked pleadingly at me as they flew down the hill.
After a while I went inside to organize all of our stuff. Since there is no insulation we closed the doors to the bedrooms and living room to keep the heat in the kitchen. The cramped quarters were not conducive to keeping things neat, but I did my best.
My daughter came in first. Her feet were soaking wet. I helped her take off all of the layers and got her dry clothes. There was long dog rope in the kitchen so I made a make-shift clothesline. It was filled quickly with wet snowclothes. My son came in later and the kitchen looked even more like a boarding house.
Since there was no running water the bathroom was unavailable. This didn't seem to bother the kids. They were thrilled to go outside and experience the joys of nature when answering nature's call.
The next day they couldn't wait to get up and keep sledding. I was watching them for a while when I suggested we make a snow fort. They had gotten those plastic snow block makers for Christmas and the snow was perfect for packing.
I started building the fort layer by layer. I must admit I was having a great time but they soon grew bored and went to go sledding again. I kept building for a while until my back and legs got tired.
The kids complained when they saw me go into the camp, but I promised them I would be out again later. Once inside I put on dry clothes and sat next to the fire. I had brought a knitting project I never had time for at home and sat knitting in the peaceful camp. I kept waiting for them to come in for dry clothes but it never happened.
I went outside to check on them. "Where's dad?", I asked.
"He's in the hammock", was the reply.
I looked under the deck and there he was. His eyes were closed as he quietly swung from side to side in his parka, boots and gloves. He claimed to be watching the kids, but that's not what I called it. It was good to see him so relaxed.
By afternoon we had to make the kids come in and get ready to go home. They were inconsolible.
"Can't we take tomorrow off and stay one more day?", they implored. That was quite a switch from the complaining the day before.
"We'll come back again", we assured them.
It reminded me of my childhood when we stayed outside and played all day in the snow. We'd be outside for hours and only came in when we were soaked or hungry. Those were the days when children loved to be playing all of the time and not staring at handheld games or TV's. While we were at camp they didn't want to come in to play their Game Boys. They only watched videos when it was dark out.
Our society wonders why our children have become overweight. It seems obvious to me why. They don't move enough and they are snacking on high calorie foods. It's sad to think in the future a lot of them will only have memories of sitting and winning at Playstation. Personally I don't find that very appealing. I'm hoping my kids can look back and have real childhood memories.
I just wish parents would think about this and realize that they aren't doing their children any favors with all of that high priced technology. All of that knowledge can come later but once childhood is over, there's no going back to that time of innocence and wonder.
What a waste.
Last weekend we decided to go up to our camp in the Adirondacks. This was greeted with whining and complaining since they had never been there before in the winter. When we told them we were the decision makers they packed their clothes along with their game boys and books. Our camp is not insulated, but we have a gas fireplace. There is no running water in the winter and our driveway is full of snow.
"Hey, guys", I said enthusiastically from the front seat of the car, "just think of this as an adventure". I was greeted with blank stares. Having been there is the winter when I was 13, I knew they would have a good time.
We arrived there Saturday morning and had to park at the end of our driveway because of the snow. We all had to pitch in to get our supplies out of the truck and into the old camp. This was not easy since there was no path through the snow, but we slowly got everything inside.
The camp was freezing There was frost on all the windows inside. My husband turned the propane on and the stove was soon warming the kitchen.
After we got settled the kids put on their snowsuits and went outside. Our place in on a hill so it was perfect for sledding. Since the lake was frozen they could slide down and keep going on the solid ice. I think they were surprised at how much fun it was. As they were sliding I saw two deer run across the lake to one of the islands.
After a few runs the kids wanted to walk across the lake. They were amazed that this was possible since they had never seen anything like this before. We walked over to one of the closer islands and looked around. We had only seen this island from our place and from the water when we were in our boat. Our kids walked faster than us and sat right on the edge of the island.
"Hey look!" they said, "we're the first ones in our family to ever set foot on this island!" They were right. Since it is privately owned we had never gone there in the summer. However in the middle of winter it was empty. The quiet was strange. We're used to the sound of the lake as the winds blow over it. Not long after, they went back to the sled run.
After veering off the course a few times my husband started shoveling snow on each side to keep the sleds on track. White dog and little brown dog were unwilling passengers on the sleds. They looked pleadingly at me as they flew down the hill.
After a while I went inside to organize all of our stuff. Since there is no insulation we closed the doors to the bedrooms and living room to keep the heat in the kitchen. The cramped quarters were not conducive to keeping things neat, but I did my best.
My daughter came in first. Her feet were soaking wet. I helped her take off all of the layers and got her dry clothes. There was long dog rope in the kitchen so I made a make-shift clothesline. It was filled quickly with wet snowclothes. My son came in later and the kitchen looked even more like a boarding house.
Since there was no running water the bathroom was unavailable. This didn't seem to bother the kids. They were thrilled to go outside and experience the joys of nature when answering nature's call.
The next day they couldn't wait to get up and keep sledding. I was watching them for a while when I suggested we make a snow fort. They had gotten those plastic snow block makers for Christmas and the snow was perfect for packing.
I started building the fort layer by layer. I must admit I was having a great time but they soon grew bored and went to go sledding again. I kept building for a while until my back and legs got tired.
The kids complained when they saw me go into the camp, but I promised them I would be out again later. Once inside I put on dry clothes and sat next to the fire. I had brought a knitting project I never had time for at home and sat knitting in the peaceful camp. I kept waiting for them to come in for dry clothes but it never happened.
I went outside to check on them. "Where's dad?", I asked.
"He's in the hammock", was the reply.
I looked under the deck and there he was. His eyes were closed as he quietly swung from side to side in his parka, boots and gloves. He claimed to be watching the kids, but that's not what I called it. It was good to see him so relaxed.
By afternoon we had to make the kids come in and get ready to go home. They were inconsolible.
"Can't we take tomorrow off and stay one more day?", they implored. That was quite a switch from the complaining the day before.
"We'll come back again", we assured them.
It reminded me of my childhood when we stayed outside and played all day in the snow. We'd be outside for hours and only came in when we were soaked or hungry. Those were the days when children loved to be playing all of the time and not staring at handheld games or TV's. While we were at camp they didn't want to come in to play their Game Boys. They only watched videos when it was dark out.
Our society wonders why our children have become overweight. It seems obvious to me why. They don't move enough and they are snacking on high calorie foods. It's sad to think in the future a lot of them will only have memories of sitting and winning at Playstation. Personally I don't find that very appealing. I'm hoping my kids can look back and have real childhood memories.
I just wish parents would think about this and realize that they aren't doing their children any favors with all of that high priced technology. All of that knowledge can come later but once childhood is over, there's no going back to that time of innocence and wonder.
What a waste.
Friday, January 4, 2008
This Land is MY Land
OK. I have a childish mentality sometimes. It's not very often that I let myself lapse into this mode, but every winter it comes back when the snow falls.
During my lunch hour I usually go to a local nature park to walk the trails. It's not that I really enjoy it but I know that with my family history it's essential to my health. My doctor told me it could prevent a future heart attack or the diabetes that runs in my family.
I do enjoy spring and fall, however, when the weather is cool and the snakes aren't out yet. My one major phobia is snakes. It drives me nuts when people assure me that the local snakes are not poisinous. I don't care. They still slither around and startle me when they're in my way. I'm constantly looking ahead on the path to see if an S-shaped object is in my way. I have to stop an assess the situation to see how I can get around the vile creature without having it taunt me. Anyway, I digress.
The first year I walked in the winter I noticed that most of the trails were only open to cross-country skiers. I would walk on the pee-wee trails that allowed walking but these paths were tiny. I'd have to go around and around to get in my 2 miles. It was then that I decided to get snowshoes.
That first year I was able to go on two more trails that allowed snowshoeing. This worked well although these trails were also quite short.
The next year I discovered that these paths too were closed to snowshoers. I had enough of these cross-country skiers with their skin tight pants and nordic knit hats. I felt like a second class citizen with my puffy ski pants, my ten year old puffy LL Bean parka and my clumpy snowshoes. One day I went inside the building to talk to a naturalist. I'm normally not an assertive person but I found it necessary to confront this abomination.
"I'd like to speak with a naturalist, please", I said confidently to the woman at the front desk, rising to my full 5 foot 1 inch height.
A few minutes later a man came over and introduced himself. Again, I got my nerve up.
"I've been walking here for quite some time now but I'm not happy. When I first noticed that most of the trails did not allow walking in the winter I spent a lot of money on snowshoes. Now most of the trails don't allow snowshoes either! This is ridiculous! You rent snowshoes here but there is nowhere to go! What are we supposed to do? Why do the cross country skiers get all of the good trails? I pay my membership fees every year but I can't go on most of the trails in the winter!!!"
The naturalist listened attentively, seeming to be unsympathetic to my ramblings.
"Well", he said, "once we groom the trails for the cross country skiers we can't have anyone walking or snowshoeing on them because they ruin the trail. It's hard to ski when the trail is rutted."
I think he expected sympathy from me for these poor people. Heaven forbid their sport be ruined by those of us who prefer a different type of exercise.
"I went out last year and bought these snowshoes so I could go on more trails", I exclaimed, "but now you're telling me I can't go on them. Just what are we supposed to do?"
The lady behind the desk smiled and said, "You can go on this trail around the meadow. That's open to walking and snowshoeing!"
"I'd have to go around the trail four times to get the exercise I usually get on my favorite trail!"
She looked at me sympathetically. "I'm sorry," she said, "but that's the only choice right now".
I had enough. My face was turning funny shades of red and purple (just kidding) and I raised my voice again. "You mean to tell me that I spent all this money on snowshoes to go on the trails, which you encourage, and now there's nowhere to go???
That's crazy! Is there anyone else I can talk to?"
The naturalist calmly told me, "No, I'm the one to talk to. I'm sorry, but there's nothing else to do. I am considering making a dedicated trail to snowshoers next year so they have somewhere to go."
I wanted to tell HIM where to go, but I left leaving quite unsatisfied. The rest of the winter I silently circled the meadow over and over again. The next winter I saw a sign.
'This trail open to showshoers ONLY' with a sign pointing the way. I must say it was quite a nice trail. It went through the woods, down hills, across meadows and back to the parking lot. The trail is two miles long and gives me a great workout. Unfortunately the evil child in me still exists.
My trail criss crosses the cross country trails at several points. When I have to cross THEIR trails I can't help but stomp on the smooth ski tracks. It won't kill them to have a bump in their way. It's really pathetic that I get such satisfaction in their misery.
I still feel like the red-headed stepchild when they look at me behind their sporty sunglasses and fashionable winter garb. But I know that when the snow melts I can take back what is rightfully mine. My favorite trail will be glad to see me again and all the interlopers will be long gone. That is, until they run past me in their $200 running shoes and tank tops.
I guess I'll have to share.
During my lunch hour I usually go to a local nature park to walk the trails. It's not that I really enjoy it but I know that with my family history it's essential to my health. My doctor told me it could prevent a future heart attack or the diabetes that runs in my family.
I do enjoy spring and fall, however, when the weather is cool and the snakes aren't out yet. My one major phobia is snakes. It drives me nuts when people assure me that the local snakes are not poisinous. I don't care. They still slither around and startle me when they're in my way. I'm constantly looking ahead on the path to see if an S-shaped object is in my way. I have to stop an assess the situation to see how I can get around the vile creature without having it taunt me. Anyway, I digress.
The first year I walked in the winter I noticed that most of the trails were only open to cross-country skiers. I would walk on the pee-wee trails that allowed walking but these paths were tiny. I'd have to go around and around to get in my 2 miles. It was then that I decided to get snowshoes.
That first year I was able to go on two more trails that allowed snowshoeing. This worked well although these trails were also quite short.
The next year I discovered that these paths too were closed to snowshoers. I had enough of these cross-country skiers with their skin tight pants and nordic knit hats. I felt like a second class citizen with my puffy ski pants, my ten year old puffy LL Bean parka and my clumpy snowshoes. One day I went inside the building to talk to a naturalist. I'm normally not an assertive person but I found it necessary to confront this abomination.
"I'd like to speak with a naturalist, please", I said confidently to the woman at the front desk, rising to my full 5 foot 1 inch height.
A few minutes later a man came over and introduced himself. Again, I got my nerve up.
"I've been walking here for quite some time now but I'm not happy. When I first noticed that most of the trails did not allow walking in the winter I spent a lot of money on snowshoes. Now most of the trails don't allow snowshoes either! This is ridiculous! You rent snowshoes here but there is nowhere to go! What are we supposed to do? Why do the cross country skiers get all of the good trails? I pay my membership fees every year but I can't go on most of the trails in the winter!!!"
The naturalist listened attentively, seeming to be unsympathetic to my ramblings.
"Well", he said, "once we groom the trails for the cross country skiers we can't have anyone walking or snowshoeing on them because they ruin the trail. It's hard to ski when the trail is rutted."
I think he expected sympathy from me for these poor people. Heaven forbid their sport be ruined by those of us who prefer a different type of exercise.
"I went out last year and bought these snowshoes so I could go on more trails", I exclaimed, "but now you're telling me I can't go on them. Just what are we supposed to do?"
The lady behind the desk smiled and said, "You can go on this trail around the meadow. That's open to walking and snowshoeing!"
"I'd have to go around the trail four times to get the exercise I usually get on my favorite trail!"
She looked at me sympathetically. "I'm sorry," she said, "but that's the only choice right now".
I had enough. My face was turning funny shades of red and purple (just kidding) and I raised my voice again. "You mean to tell me that I spent all this money on snowshoes to go on the trails, which you encourage, and now there's nowhere to go???
That's crazy! Is there anyone else I can talk to?"
The naturalist calmly told me, "No, I'm the one to talk to. I'm sorry, but there's nothing else to do. I am considering making a dedicated trail to snowshoers next year so they have somewhere to go."
I wanted to tell HIM where to go, but I left leaving quite unsatisfied. The rest of the winter I silently circled the meadow over and over again. The next winter I saw a sign.
'This trail open to showshoers ONLY' with a sign pointing the way. I must say it was quite a nice trail. It went through the woods, down hills, across meadows and back to the parking lot. The trail is two miles long and gives me a great workout. Unfortunately the evil child in me still exists.
My trail criss crosses the cross country trails at several points. When I have to cross THEIR trails I can't help but stomp on the smooth ski tracks. It won't kill them to have a bump in their way. It's really pathetic that I get such satisfaction in their misery.
I still feel like the red-headed stepchild when they look at me behind their sporty sunglasses and fashionable winter garb. But I know that when the snow melts I can take back what is rightfully mine. My favorite trail will be glad to see me again and all the interlopers will be long gone. That is, until they run past me in their $200 running shoes and tank tops.
I guess I'll have to share.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
The Greatest Gift
Over the past few years I've purged a lot of 'stuff' from my house. As I do it, I'll remember all the memories these things brought me. Several times when I've moved from house to house I'll find an old record album from my high school days. Back then there were no video tapes, only records. This one was recorded during the New York State Field Band Championships in 1978. The music from the four highest scoring bands was recorded. That year, my senior year, we won first place in our category among New York State marching bands. I remember how hard we worked to get there. I was in the percussion section and had been for years. I played the xylophone in the band and after five years had become quite good at it. That year our percussion solo highlighted the xylophone in it's performance. I remember the pride I felt when my playing was recognized. That year, our drum line was voted the best in the state.
I looked at the old record album each time I cleaned. Several times I was tempted to throw it out but something always made me hold onto it. I felt that someday my children might appreciate hearing their mother solo in a packed stadium.
Fast forward many years.
I was cleaning again a few weeks ago and saw the album. I remembered that my mother still had a record player in her living room so I took the album with me when we went to visit.
"Do you want to hear Mommy play the xylophone in the band?", I asked them. Their eyes lit up. "Oh yeah!" they replied. I put the album in the player and started it.
Immediately I remembered back to that day it was recorded almost thirty years ago. It didn't seem possible it was that long ago, but I could clearly hear each instrument. When it came to the drum solo I said, "Hey kids, here it is!". They pulled their eyes away from the TV for only a few seconds before watching it again.
"Can you hear Mommy?", my mother asked from her chair.
"Yeah," they replied, their eyes glazed over.
When it was over, I quietly put the album away. Then it hit me. I was the one who lived that experience. I was the one who put in so many hours practicing. They just heard a lot of music that could have come from anywhere. They didn't understand the level of competition we were facing.
Over the next few hours I thought about it. I wasn't feeling sorry for myself but so many things I had accomplished in my life filled my brain. I was so proud when I got accepted to Cornell University. After a LOT of hard work and effort I graduated. My diploma was mounted on a piece of mahogany and it hung on my wall for years. My old t-shirts and sweatshirts with the Cornell logo are carefully stored in my closet. All the pictures and things I had collected those years are in a box waiting for who-knows-what.
Then the tears came.
My poor husband was there when I let loose.
"No one cares!" I cried.
"What are you talking about?"
"The kids could have cared less about my championship competition. They have no idea how hard I worked to get there", I choked. "No one knows how hard I worked to graduate from a college filled with extraordinarily smart people. I had to work a lot harder than them to keep up!"
The strangest thing about all this was that I had no self pity. It was more of a realization about life. We all have things we are proud of and the only person who really appreciates our efforts is ourselves. It's nice to have some recognition, but it's better to have the self-satisfaction of a job well done.
My poor hubby just stood there looking at me. He knows that I tend to ramble and get dramatic when I'm upset so he just listened.
On Christmas morning our kids woke us up at 7:00. We went downstairs and watched them open their presents. It's so wonderful to see the excitement on their faces. When the mayhem was over I looked at the pile of gifts that were waiting for me.
My kids gave me such thoughtful things that they had picked out themselves. Then I started opening the presents from my husband. He got me two crystal ornaments I had asked for so I was thrilled. Then I looked down to see another gift he had for me.
Curious to see what was inside I opened it carefully. It was a shirt box. I opened it to find a beautiful red fleece jacket. Embroidered on the top was 'Cornell University'. Under the jacket was a car sticker that said 'Cornell Alumni'.
Just when I think my husband can't be any more thoughtful, he does it again. He knew how important it was for me to remember my past.
The greatest accomplishment of my life was not excelling in music or receiving an Ivy League diploma. It was finding a person that truly cares about the feelings of others; especially mine.
I looked at the old record album each time I cleaned. Several times I was tempted to throw it out but something always made me hold onto it. I felt that someday my children might appreciate hearing their mother solo in a packed stadium.
Fast forward many years.
I was cleaning again a few weeks ago and saw the album. I remembered that my mother still had a record player in her living room so I took the album with me when we went to visit.
"Do you want to hear Mommy play the xylophone in the band?", I asked them. Their eyes lit up. "Oh yeah!" they replied. I put the album in the player and started it.
Immediately I remembered back to that day it was recorded almost thirty years ago. It didn't seem possible it was that long ago, but I could clearly hear each instrument. When it came to the drum solo I said, "Hey kids, here it is!". They pulled their eyes away from the TV for only a few seconds before watching it again.
"Can you hear Mommy?", my mother asked from her chair.
"Yeah," they replied, their eyes glazed over.
When it was over, I quietly put the album away. Then it hit me. I was the one who lived that experience. I was the one who put in so many hours practicing. They just heard a lot of music that could have come from anywhere. They didn't understand the level of competition we were facing.
Over the next few hours I thought about it. I wasn't feeling sorry for myself but so many things I had accomplished in my life filled my brain. I was so proud when I got accepted to Cornell University. After a LOT of hard work and effort I graduated. My diploma was mounted on a piece of mahogany and it hung on my wall for years. My old t-shirts and sweatshirts with the Cornell logo are carefully stored in my closet. All the pictures and things I had collected those years are in a box waiting for who-knows-what.
Then the tears came.
My poor husband was there when I let loose.
"No one cares!" I cried.
"What are you talking about?"
"The kids could have cared less about my championship competition. They have no idea how hard I worked to get there", I choked. "No one knows how hard I worked to graduate from a college filled with extraordinarily smart people. I had to work a lot harder than them to keep up!"
The strangest thing about all this was that I had no self pity. It was more of a realization about life. We all have things we are proud of and the only person who really appreciates our efforts is ourselves. It's nice to have some recognition, but it's better to have the self-satisfaction of a job well done.
My poor hubby just stood there looking at me. He knows that I tend to ramble and get dramatic when I'm upset so he just listened.
On Christmas morning our kids woke us up at 7:00. We went downstairs and watched them open their presents. It's so wonderful to see the excitement on their faces. When the mayhem was over I looked at the pile of gifts that were waiting for me.
My kids gave me such thoughtful things that they had picked out themselves. Then I started opening the presents from my husband. He got me two crystal ornaments I had asked for so I was thrilled. Then I looked down to see another gift he had for me.
Curious to see what was inside I opened it carefully. It was a shirt box. I opened it to find a beautiful red fleece jacket. Embroidered on the top was 'Cornell University'. Under the jacket was a car sticker that said 'Cornell Alumni'.
Just when I think my husband can't be any more thoughtful, he does it again. He knew how important it was for me to remember my past.
The greatest accomplishment of my life was not excelling in music or receiving an Ivy League diploma. It was finding a person that truly cares about the feelings of others; especially mine.
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