Shift Tab

With the price of groceries soaring I opted to finally try a single twelve-pack of Big K Diet Cola, the off-brand cheaper version of Diet Coke. At $1.99 I hoped it would be a good substitue for the nearly $4.00 name brand. After unloading and putting away all the groceries, I popped open a can and poured it over ice. With the first sip I was taken back almost forty years to my carefree high school days. This soda tasted just like Tab, a diet cola introduced in the seventies. Memories flooded my mind of my good friend Holly. We spent many summer days lying in the sun, on beach towels stretched brightly across the lawn in our backyards, sipping Tab while we baked our bodies to a golden bronze. Sometimes we would climb up to the flat tar roof over her garage, slather ourselves with baby oil, and lounge on the aluminum-framed chaises to give ourselves a quick tan. Ice cold Tab quenched our thirsts while we sizzled in the sun. We would set a timer, then turn on cue, like chickens on a kabob, basting ourselves evenly from back to front and sides. When the heat became more than we could bear we would scramble down and walk across the street to the public swimming pool and seek cooling relief in the cold chlorinated water.

On other occasions we would seek out the sun with a group of friends at various locations. My favorite was to swim and sunbathe at the river dam. We could lie on the flat rocks nearby and soak up the sun then wade into the rolling water and slide over the first tier of the dam, catching ourselves before we slipped over the second tier flowing into the main riverstream. Then we would scramble back up and do it all over again. We challenged ourselves to wade all the way across the dam to the other side of the river where we would climb up into the pumping station and sit on the brick wall and watch the water roll by. Sometimes we would hike up to the road, climb up onto the old iron bridge, and dive into the river upstream of the dam. Then we would float along until we were whisked over the edge of the dam. Sometimes we would go further upriver to the sandbar, where we spent late afternoons swimming and sunbathing, then early evenings partying around a campfire, laughing and having a great time with friends, some of us drinking Tab while others experimented with alcohol. There were always adventures to be had somewhere along the river and we were the river rats enjoying every moment we could.

Another popular swimming destination was the reservoir about thirty miles away from our small town. There we would spend hours floating on rafts, swimming, and exploring. We would climb up the steep hill and swing out over the water from a rope tied to a tree limb, then jump or dive into the water at just the right moment to avoid the rock ledge lying just below the surface near the shore. Then we would swim back to the ledge and watch the others do the same. We would wave to the sight-seers on the pontoon tour boat as it went by, entertaining them with our acrobatic skills from the rope. It is here that I learned to do a perfect dive, a useful skill when I joined the swim team. We challenged ourselves while we developed our friendships and the sun and water were our common ground.

One of our friends' parents owned a camper at a private lake. There we would float lazily on big inner tubes until we were waterlogged. Then we would roast hot dogs and marshmallows over a roaring campfire and spend hours playing euchre at the picnic table by the light of kerosene lamps. Whoever got tired first claimed the beds or sofas and sleeping bags were strewn on every inch of floor space available for the rest of us. The next morning we would take one last morning swim then head out, crammed into our cars with all our gear. We would lean our heads out the windows to let the wind dry our hair as we drove along the country roads toward home.

Looking back, I suppose we were extremely lucky that nobody got hurt during our many watery outings. Oh, but the memories are fond of this carefree time of our lives.

Random

On Tuesday morning an elderly woman came into my office looking for the stairs to get to the third floor oncology office. I informed her that there was an elevator in the next hallway that she could take but she seemed hesitant. I then offered to ride up in the elevator with her if she would like me to and she seemed to melt with relief. I walked over with her and rode up to the third floor then walked her to the door of her doctor's office. She told me, as I suspected, that she was somewhat claustrophobic and could only ride in elevators if someone else was in it with her. I empathised with her because my mother battled the same fear of elevators while going through her chemo treatments. I was only too happy to pay back the small kindnesses that strangers had bestowed upon my mother. I gave her my business card and told her to call me if she needed someone to ride down with her when she finished her treatment. She was very grateful for such a simple kindness.

Yesterday I went to the grocery to do the weekly shopping. After parking and heading toward the entrance I got behind an elderly gentleman who was standing behind his car with his empty cart looking confused. I asked him if he was finished with the cart and told him I would take it for him. He thanked me, stating he had been trying to locate the cart return. I went on in and did my shopping then went out with my cartful of groceries. As I was nearly finished loading my bags into my car another man walked up and asked if I would like for him to take my cart. I thanked him and tried to hurry to get the last of my bags into my car. He told me to take my time, that he was in no hurry. Then he advised me to fill my car up with gas also before the prices went up again and discussed how food prices would be going up again also. After a few minutes of conversation he took my cart and I headed off to the gas station. I thought about the unusual coincidence of my offer to take the cart being followed by another shopper offering to take the cart from me. It made the chore of shopping just a bit more pleasant to bestow a small kindness and then to receive one in kind unexpectedly.

I have decided to make a conscious effort to do at least one random act of kindness for someone every day. This will be my Lenten project and hopefully will turn into a habit for a lifetime.

Outside Looking In

When I think of my daughter and my grandchildren I sometimes feel like a window-shopper, face pressed against the glass, longing for the treasures that lie within, knowing I cannot have them. I long to be a part of what is going on inside, to actively participate in their lives. The physical distance between us is a barrier to being able to reach out and touch the people I love the most. Though I would never tell them so, my heart breaks because of that distance. While webcam and phone calls help ease the burden, there is no comparison to being physically present in their lives. I would trade almost everything I own for the chance to hold them in my arms more frequently than once every twelve to eighteen months. And with the downturn in the economy I foresee that stretching out to every two or three years. I know that as my grandchildren grow they will become busier with their own lives and the webcams will slow from once a week to once a month or so. The phone calls will taper off as they get busy with school, sports, friends. I won't resent it, but I will regret it. I respect my daughter's decision to move with her husband to live in his British homeland. I am grateful that she has his parents fairly close by to be involved with my grandchildren, to give their support and love, to give them that wonderful experience that only doting grandparents can provide. Yet, I wish my husband and I could do the same. In lieu of frequent visits, I hold on to the idea that we may be able to have them come for long summer visits every few years, allowing us the opportunity to shower them with our love and give them a sense of their American family heritage. I hope to give them many happy memories of time spent with us, to feel comfort and joy in our love. An ocean seperates us, but blood bonds us. I pray that they will understand and treasure that.

A Moment of Truth

Yesterday was a stark reminder of how quickly our lives can change, suddenly and unexpectedly. And how easily we let our relationships slip into non-chalance, taking for granted that our loved ones will always be there. I should know better than most that this is not the case but find myself vulnerable to this human condition as much as anyone else. While enjoying a leisurely webcam visit with our daughter and grandchildren, my husband, who has been fighting off a horrible respiratory infection for the past several weeks, began a coughing fit that took his breath away. He rose from his chair at the kitchen table to move out of the webcam's field as he gasped for air. He did not get far, only a couple of steps, before he was suddenly falling face first to the floor. It happened so fast that I wasn't sure if he had tripped or fainted. I leapt from my seat to his side, shaking him and calling his name, to no avail. He was face down on the floor, glasses askew on his face, blood splattered across the tile and dripping from his nose. He was unresponsive and not breathing. I glanced back at the webcam to see the wide-eyed expressions of helplessness on the faces of my daughter and granddaughter as they watched the scene unfold from thousands of miles away. I shook my husband's shoulders again to no avail. I needed to roll him onto his back to assess him, fearing the worst, expecting to be doing CPR. As I grasped his shoulder to turn him he drew in a gasping breath and slowly came around. He was dazed, trying to understand why he was on the floor bleeding. I quickly told my daughter we would call back, not wanting to frighten my granddaughter any more than she had already been, and disconnected the webcall. Then I was back at my husband's side, assessing then easing him slowly from the floor to his recliner so I could elevate his feet and tend to his injuries. He had lacerations across the arch of his eyebrow and the bridge of his nose from his eyeglasses and blood was dripping profusely from his nose. I checked his pulse, his pupils, and asked him a few questions to determine his neural status. He was becoming more alert and he was breathing normally. He refused to go to the ER so I cleaned his wounds and iced the ever-growing goose egg on his forehead. The lacerations were not deep so I agreed to let him just rest for a while. I suspected that he had had a vasovagal episode caused by the coughing, but I would have felt better if he were assessed by a physician and perhaps a CT scan of his head and chest. He promised to go to the doctor again first thing on Monday morning. In the meantime, I will worry every time he coughs. I gave him a Mucinex, Advil and a tall glass of water, the remote to the tv and strict orders to stay put for a while. He wanted to finish mowing the lawn but I hid the keys to the rider so he could not. I called my daughter back to reassure her that he was okay, knowing that she would be stewing with worry from across the wide expanse of ocean between us. Then my other daughter called from Chicago, alerted by her sister in London of the situation.

After everything settled down, I found myself trembling with the fear that I had kept at bay while getting the situation under control. I was overwhelmed with the thought that I could have lost my husband right then and there with no warning, no chance to say those things we tend to expect they know and take for granted. Though I tell my husband every single day that I love him, I don't always make him feel my love the way I should. I used to do little things, like a love note tucked into his shirt pocket or hidden under the receiver of his office phone that he would find unexpectedly when I was at work, a small note of encouragement when he would travel for an important meeting or presentation, a funny card to lift his spirits. I used to make breakfast every weekend morning as a way to thank him for cooking our dinners during the week. Lately, we have been so busy that I have lapsed into letting him have cereal to avoid the extra dishes and time spent before I could start my day's chores and projects. I know he enjoys a leisurely breakfast but I was too busy to indulge him. So this morning he got his breakfast.

My husband is a wonderful man, easy-going and fun, a friend to all. He finds it natural to pick up a conversation with total strangers and has a way of making everyone feel at ease. He is a wonderful father to our children and adores our grandchildren. He makes them feel his love every time he talks to them or sees them. He loves them with all his heart and they know it. He is a father figure to many others who don't have the support of family. He is generous to a fault, and loves to share his enthusiasm for music with anyone with the slightest inclination to listen. He does not exclude from his life people who are different. Rich or poor, intelligent or mentally challenged, straight or gay, black or white, all are worthy of his respect. He is more like his own father, his hero, than he will ever realize. He is a truly good man. He is my lover and best friend, my confidante and counselor, my sounding board when I am frustrated, my soother when I am out of control. He makes me laugh, he makes me cry, he makes me face my own self-destructive emotions and reaches out his hand to pull me back from the brink of guilt and depression, he encourages my creative obsessions, and gently guides me toward truth. I know he loves me. I fear that he may not know truly how much I love him. I do. With all my heart, all my soul, and all my flesh, I do. We are so interconnected after all these years and all our heartache and joy that for a moment yesterday I thought that if he died I too would die, unable to disconnect from his love. So I will renew my effort to not only tell him how much I love him, but to show him, so I know that when he looks into my eyes he will see and feel that love. To our dying days and beyond he will always be my true love.

Just Said No

I thought I would try to write daily for NaBloPoMo but I have failed. I simply don't have time and so I had to Just Say No to NaBloPoMo. I will try instead to post something weekly.

A Tisket A Tasket

A tisket, a tasket

A red and white blind basket

With zero cost

Nothing's lost

I'm getting better at it.

#3

Crimson and Cream

There's nothing like getting up before the crack of dawn to prepare for a day of tailgating and football in Bloomington with my daughter and friends. Go IU!

Just a Moment

Our young people who havc taken it upon themselves to serve in our military deserve our respect and prayers more than ever today. The shooting in Fort Hood yesterday hits hard because it seems to be such a senseless act of violence. Let us all take a moment today to really think about what these men and women and their families sacrifice every day and offer up our prayers and thoughts for all of them.

Just Say No

Four weeks ago I started a healthier eating plan. I didn't want to call it a diet because I am not restricting myself from any particular food with the exception of Big Red. I just want to get and stay healthier and I am giving myself a year to lose the excess weight I have put on over the past three years. So though I may have a small piece of chocolate (one Dove milk chocolate piece is only 44 calories) or a coffee with Baileys in the evening (not sure of the calories in that and don't really care to know) I feel much more in control of myself. Knowing that I can allow myself a small portion of anything has made this lifestyle change much easier. So today I was pleasantly surprised when I weighed in at the office on those dreadful doctor's scales that don't lie. I have lost nine pounds since starting this plan. I am hopeful that I will be able to make it through the holidays because I know I can allow myself small portions of those foods I love to eat at this time of year. I think this will make me less apt to binge eat. So I am saying No to diets and Yes to the basic food groups and Yes to a small bit of something savory to treat myself every day. I am hopeful that I will be fit enough to run the mini-marathon in April 2011.

Trash Talk

I made another basket with those plastic mini-blind strips. This one is a bit more pleasing. I think I will add a handle and embellish it with red so I can use it for tailgating at the IU game on Saturday. It's the perfect size for a couple of bottles of wine, some cheese and crackers, a tablecloth, and a few other items. It's plastic so it can be washed in the sink afterward. And since it was free to make with the scrap blinds it's a win-win. It's nicer than a plastic bag to carry my items and I get to practice my newly discovered enjoyment of the craft. Who knew?

From Trash to Treasure?

Last night I replaced my mini-blinds in the living room windows. They were the ultra-thin plastic type. After taking out the excess slats for each set of blinds I had a sizeable pile of plastic strips left. I almost threw them away but thought I would just play with them instead. Surely they could be useful for something. Maybe a basket? I had never made a basket before but had nothing to lose but my time for trying. It was good for a bit of entertainment to wrestle those plastic strips into place as I wove them in and out. If my husband had been awake he would have thought I wqs crazy. And maybe I am. Here is the result, my "garbage basket". Not a bad way to recycle I guess. I even added the leftover string for decoration around the top. I actually found that I enjoyed this process. Maybe I will take a basket-weaving class.

Writers Block

It's National Blog Posters Month
It's National Blog Posters Month
Can you write every day
Do you have something to say
For National Blog Posters Month?

Do you have a good tale you can share
Or simply a thought you can spare
Can you pen a quick rhyme
Do you have the time
For National Blog Posters Month?

Can you write something silly or sad
Will your faithful readers be glad
That they frequent your sight
Whether by day or by night
For National Blog Posters Month?

Can you hang up your phone for a bit
And show the world your true grit
Can you get it done
Will you try to have fun
For National Blog Posters Month?

Have you noticed that I'm a bit slow
Getting started on NaBloPoMo
Thanks Conversations
For your revelations
'Bout National Blog Posters Month.

It's National Blog Posters Month
It's National Blog Posters Month
Join us in writing
It's so exciting
It's National Blog Posters Month.

Crazy for You Baby

My husband and I are crazy for our grandchildren. We dearly love the weekly webcams we have with them. It is the next best thing to seeing them in person. We arm ourselves with assorted props: frog puppet, crazy viking hat, assorted items from the toybox. I love that our thirteen month old grandson is really beginning to get that those two crazy people in that computer box are really talking to him. He smiles and waves and claps his hands for us. He blows kisses and laughs at our crazy antics as we try to interact with him over the world wide web. On Saturday, after finishing his lunch as we watched and chatted, he lifted his empty plate, set it back down, spread out his little arms and announced "All gone". I loved it. To be able to see the progress he is making as he takes in the world around him. His time in front of the webcam is usually somewhat limited by his camera loving older sister. She commands us from across the ocean, as we read her books and play games with her. We take turns playing hide and seek, one of us hiding while she counts to ten, the other taking the computer on a search through the house so she can find us. We happily oblige when she asks us to take the computer outside so she can see the flowers on the porch, or when she asks us to cut out shapes and color for her. She sings songs and reads to us. She adjusts the camera so she is the main focus on the screen. I know one day she will get bored with it and our visits on webcam may get shorter, but for now I am enjoying every minute we can get. To be able to reach across the vast ocean and interact with them both is absolutely mind-boggling. We are totally and enthusiastically crazy for you Amelia and Evan!

A Moving Experience

Today I spent some time clearing some things out of our storage shed. I gave up on the notion of having a yard sale so I loaded my vehicle with items to be donated to a local charity. After several trips back and forth with the boxes of smaller items I was finally ready to load up some of the bigger items. I scooted a desk out to the SUV and then contemplated how I would lift the heavy, bulky item up into the back of the vehicle by myself. Determined not to have to move it back into the storage unit, I looked around for a possible solution. I did not want to take a chance of scratching the vehicle and I sure did not want to hurt myself lifting it. Then I spotted a couple of table leaves standing in the corner. I propped them against the bumper creating a makeshift ramp. Then I tilted the desk onto its back and slid it up the ramp and right into place in the back of the SUV. Problem solved.

My thoughts flashed back to a similar situation I ran into years ago when I held a yard sale. The extra long plaid sofa that my husband had helped me move out into the yard before he left for work had not sold by the time I needed to go to town to pick up my children from school. The skies were beginning to darken and threaten rain so I needed to move the sofa back inside the house. I had no nearby neighbors to help me. How could I move this monstrosity across the lawn and up the steps to the screened porch? After a few minutes of contemplation I came up with an idea that just might work. I slipped each sofa leg into my children's roller skates and tied them on tightly. I was able to roll the sofa across the lawn right up to the steps. Lifting one end over the steps I was then able to then lift the other end and roll it straight into the house. Then I rushed off to pick up my kids from school.

When I was growing up it was not uncommon for my mother to decide at a whim to repaint a room and rearrange the furniture in the middle of the night while no small children were afoot. Sheer determination to get a project finished before the light of dawn made for some ingenious methods of moving bulky heavy items. I credit her for passing on the problem-solving gene to me.

I also credit my grandfather for allowing us to experiment with all sorts of tools and devices in his basement workshop. Under his guidance we learned to build gocarts, skateboards, pulley systems, bike ramps. We learned how to motorize our bicycles. We learned about the function of ball-bearings. Without those experiences I may not have understood the laws of motion and gravity as well.

So I have also been known to rearrange the furniture in the middle of the night while everyone else was sleeping. I would use rugs or sheets of plastic to help slide big pieces across the floor. It took a while longer than if I had help but I was a night owl and I did my best decorating and arranging with everyone else out of the way. And I did not have to irritate my husband when I wanted to try multiple arrangements before I decided on what fit my mood at the time. My family never knew what they would wake up to.

Office chairs were great for moving televisions and other heavy electronic equipment and boxes. Planks of wood became ramps. Belts linked together became great hoisting straps. I have used a makeshift rope and pulley system to hoist bedroom furniture up and into a second floor bedroom window in my daughter's college apartment because the spiral staircase leading to the second floor was so narrow. A strip of plywood made a good surface for sliding heavy furniture down stairs.

So thank you Mom and PaPaw for allowing me the opportunity to learn these valuable skills. They have come in handy many times over.

Grace and Gratitude

Last week my father-in-law's long struggle with Alzheimers and/or vascular dementia ended. He passed away at his home under the devoted care of his beloved wife. I am sure that he is in a better place now. Being trapped within his own body and mind, unable to embrace life with the energy and enthusiasm that was typically him, failed to rob him of his faith and optimism. Faith in God so unwavering and optimism that things would always get better, even if in a way not fully comprehended by the human mind. He was an ordinary man who lived an extraordinary life of value, honor, service and love. Not a day went by when he didn't greet and close the day with prayer. Never did he fail to express his love to his family and friends with a kiss, hug, or handshake. Stranger was not in his vocabulary. He befriended all he met and took great care to extend that friendship to those whom society rejects. Never seeking accolades for his service, he humbly volunteered his time to his church and community, serving as board member or dishwasher, fundraiser or mentor, repairman or teacher, actor or clown. He was a buzz of hyperactivity, seizing the day with great intention. Yet he was able to center himself through prayer and reflection. He was always grateful for the goodness in his life. And when things went wrong, as they always will, he was optimistic that it was going to get better. He was not perfect and he recognized that. He simply chose to never stop trying and to look for the lesson in failure. His optimism allowed him an ability to see hope where others saw despair, to seek out the good in spite of the bad, to live a life of grace without the need for glory. His spirit will remain in our hearts and hopefully live on through us as we seek our own path to grace and humanity. I am honored to have known him.

Crunch Time

My little sister has recently informed me that she has noticed how much of a potty mouth she has developed. Words fly out of her mouth that she would have been embarrassed to have uttered in public in prior years but the stress of her job and the constant buzz of cursing around her by her male coworkers have taken a toll on her censory abilities. Now that she is acutely aware of how she sounds she has started a self-imposed deprivation program based on Pavlov's theory. First, she started wearing a specific bracelet and ring to work so that every time she sees them she is reminded of her goal to clean up her vocabulary. Then, the hard part: for every foul word that escapes from her subconscious thoughts she will punish herself with ten stomach crunches.

I had to laugh when she told me about this plan. I could just imagine how her days would go over the next few weeks:

"I can't f'...ing believe those assholes. Oh shit, I didn't mean to say f....! That's ten damn, I mean darn, crunches. Oh crap, I just said shit, didn't I? That's twenty crunches."

Never mind that she glossed over a few and by my count she probably should have done at least fifty crunches. The next morning would start out something like this:

"Holy shit, I can't get out of this freaking bed. I am so sore from doing those crunches. How the hell will I be able to work today?" Wincing in pain as she rolls out of bed, she realizes she now has earned twenty crunches to start off the new day. "Crap, I have got to get a handle on this." With shallow breathing and shuffling feet, she walks in to work just in time. Glancing at her bracelet she vows to make it through the morning without further punishment. All goes well until her coworker announces that he has to take a road trip to pick up some parts -code for he's going home for the rest of the day. "That son-of-a-bitch....! No, no, no, what the hel..ck is wrong with me? I have got to stop my mouth. That's thirty crunches and it's not even lunch time yet. God help me. It just pisses me off so much that I work my ass off while he's out screwing around."

Stopping for a moment, she realizes just how hard this endeavor is going to be. She grabs her cigarettes and heads outside to take a break. She calls me for a bit of phone therapy. "Crap, I forgot my lighter. No, crap is not a potty word. I'm thinking more like the F word, you know, the bad ones." She borrows a lighter and as she takes a long draw from her cigarette she contemplates other methods she can add to reach her goal. I suggest a rubber band around her wrist that she can snap to inflict pain instantly whenever she slips up, truly Pavlovian conditioning. She envisions a visit to the hand surgeon as a result and vetos the idea. Maybe a swear jar where she drops in a quarter for each infraction and she has to give the proceeds to those infuriatingly lazy coworkers each day. This goads her into another round and she bites her tongue.

This bad habit may be hard to break but she very well could end up with abs of steel in the process. Good luck Sis!

Tumbled Memories

My dryer is not working properly so I have had to do the wash then haul it off to the laundromat for drying. I would hang it out on the line to dry but with all the trees in my yard I am afraid the birds would make a mess of it. So I loaded the baskets into the back of the car, grabbed my library books and a soda, and drove down the road to the coin laundry. As I parked the car near the door I was glad to see that I would be the only one there. After dropping my quarters into the slots and selecting the heat settings I settled into a chair to read. As I sat there my mind wandered away from my book and back to my childhood. My mother would be doing this very same thing, late at night or very early in the morning so she could stake claim to as many washers and dryers as necessary for a family of eight. If any of us kids were awake and willing to go she would let us tag along to help with the folding and hanging and the loading of the car. I always loved it if I got to be the sole accompaniment and have time to talk to her without all my brothers and sisters around. It didn't seem much like work because time spent with my mother was always a pleasure. She would let me put the coins in the slots and slide them in to start the wash and she would follow me down the row of machines adding detergent. A few extra coins would appear for the soda machine and then we would take our seats and flip through the magazines, talking idly as we listened to the swoosh of water cleaning away the dirt of our busy lives. It was at the laundromat that my mother taught me how to sort the clothes, to get out stains, when to take clothes out of the dryer before they wrinkled, how to fold sheets so they would feel fresh and sleek when stretched tight across the beds. It was at the laundromat that I learned to appreciate the quietness of the early mornings, the glow of neon, the clean powdery smell of laundry soap, and the dance of colors as the clothes tumbled and floated in the dryers.
I was brought quickly back to the present when a mother and her teenage daughter walked in with their baskets overflowing with wet clothes. The teen loaded the dryers as the mother went in search of the change machine. Then they too settled into their seats with magazines and sodas, chatting off and on as they flipped the pages. I couldn't help but smile to think of how these most mundane tasks have a way of becoming the concrete foundations of our relationships and a pleasurable pool of memories from which to dip as the years go by. I closed my book and waited quietly until the dryers buzzed, wishing I could have my mother here with me, thankful for the times we shared before the light of dawn.

I Love You Most

After a wonderful, long-awaited visit from our daughter and her family it was finally time to say our farewells and see them off for their long flight back to London. That is the hardest part of the visits, not knowing how long it will be before we will once again hold them in our arms and wrap them with our love. After hugs and kisses and trying to hold back tears we left our daughters and our grandchildren at the check-in counter of Virgin Airlines. My husband and I walked slowly down the corridor then stopped to get one more glimpse. As we stood there watching them checking the bags and pulling out passports our three year old granddaughter, perched in the baggage cart, caught sight of us. Cupping her little hands to her face she called out loudly "I love you". My husband and I called back "We love you more" to which she immediately responded "I love you most". And that is what will get me through the months to come until we see them in person again.

Rocky Day

Somehow I missed the memo that today was Take Your Raccoon to Work day. If I had gotten it I am fairly certain I would have been more prepared for the sight at the gas station this morning. As I stood pumping money into my seemingly bottomless tank I glanced across the parking lot to see a man emerge from his pickup truck with a small raccoon perched upon his shoulder. As I blinked in disbelief he sauntered into the mini-mart, the masked critter clinging to his shirt for balance. Emblazoned across his T-shirt were the words The Tree Man. I wondered what exactly one would do with a raccoon while out trimming trees? Perhaps send the animal as a scout to scare away any animals lurking in or near the tree? Or maybe Tree Man uses the raccoon as an unpaid laborer, sending the little creature up into the highest boughs with a small chainsaw to top the trees? Maybe the raccoon helps with tying off limbs by dragging ropes up the tree to the designated point? I finished filling my tank and walked warily into the store to pay. As I approached the counter there was Tree Man talking to the wide-eyed clerk. I kept my distance, not wanting to alarm the creature who was now clinging to the man's head. I could envision being attacked by this woodland creature for invading his space. I wanted to turn around and leave but I didn't want to be charged with theft so I waited quietly in line. After the man had paid for his Slushee and cigarettes he turned ever so slowly, and the raccoon scrambled from his head, across the counter, and onto the clerk's shoulder. She laughed nervously and the man stepped aside to allow me to step up. I practically threw my money at the clerk, not wanting to encourage another change in transport for the raccoon. On the way back to my car I made a mental note of the truck so I could drive on by the next time I might happen to be stopping for gas. I think I would probably make it to the next station instead. Why do people have to take their pets with them everywhere they go anyway?

From Old Comes New

I have been counting down the days until my children and grandchildren are all gathered in one place. I can hardly wait for the plane to land in Chicago, bringing its most precious cargo to American soil once again. It has been nearly six months since I last saw my younger daughter and her family. My husband has been anxiously waiting to hold his grandson for the first time and to swallow them all in giant bear hugs. I want everything to be perfect for their visit, yet I know it will not be so. I haven't managed to clean out my husband's home office to make way for a room of her own for our granddaughter. She will have to share a room instead. I haven't gotten around to touching up the paint on the bathroom wall where the new light fixtures were installed. I haven't managed to weed all the flower beds and trim all the shrubs. I haven't yet planned out the menus. But nearly perfect is good enough for me. I have managed to drag out my children's toy box and sort through the twenty-something year old toys. I had to smile when I opened a small blue jean purse to find it filled with dozens of Cabbage Patch Kids Shrinky Dinks. Dance leotards and tap shoes were tucked into a pink ballet bag. Jump rope, pink child-size weights, and assorted exercise gadgets were tucked into another bag. Rainbow Bright and Strawberry Shortcake dolls were packed away in boxes, while My Little Ponies were corraled in a small trunk. My youngest daughter's Lemon Drop treasure box was secured tightly with its tiny lock, the key to which was found hidden inside another small purse in a sliding metal lip balm case. Adjustable Fischer Price roller skates await my granddaughter's use, as do the hundreds of storybooks that I saved from my children's early years. A Rainbow Bright cassette player still seems to work and the cassettes are now sitting on a shelf just waiting for little ears to enjoy the tales to be told. My younger daughter's music box, a gift from her grandmother, sits upon the bookcase, beckoning with its tinkly song and tiny twirling monkey. The giant chalkboard is waiting to be washed down and fastened to the garage wall in anticipation of little artful hands. I was actually surprised at how many things I had kept from my daughters' childhood days. I expect that they will get a kick out of seeing some of these relics of their past. A new wading pool is stored in the garage and several new baby toys share space in the toy box for my grandson's pleasure. The car seats, strollers, baby monitors, booster chair and sippy cups are ready and waiting. It has been a pleasurely trip down memory lane getting ready for this visit. I cannot wait for the chance to create many new memories while sharing the past.