2016 can smooch my sizable caucasian posterior

No, it wasn't the worst year of my life. (That distinction is awarded to 2014.) But like many people in my age range, it felt like we just had one major loss after another. Throw on top of that a painfully excruciating election year, a highly divided country - including friends and family, and a few personal things, and this year has become an annus horribilis that I (and I believe most of us) can't wait to get past. Here's my look back at the year from my point of view...

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David Bowie
The year started off with the loss of a true legend. And so shockingly unexpected. I had really only come to appreciate his music as an adult. When I was a kid, I of course knew his Nile Rodgers era of pop, but it wasn't music that I bought. In my world, he was Jareth the Goblin King from Labyrinth. One of the most awesome characters of my childhood. Of course I had a crush on him; that's the way the character was written - as an idol dreamt up by a teenage girl.

Once I got older and started expanding my musical horizons, I really started getting into music from many different incarnations of his career. No one certain phase, older songs, newer songs, I was into it. He was one of those people you just assumed would always be around in one form or another. Immortal. 2016 and cancer proved us wrong and a bit of my heart went along with him.

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Alan Rickman
So soon after we lost Bowie, we lost Rickman. I know many people think of him as Snape from the Harry Potter movies, but in all honesty *whispers* I'm not a big Harry Potter fan. I think I liked just about everything I saw him in. He was one of my top 5 favorite actors because he was just so good. He morphed into so many different characters and even when he was despicable, you still liked him. He was one of the good ones and suddenly he was gone.

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Prince
This one hurt. It really, really hurt. In the holy trinity of 80's pop stars (Madonna, Michael & Prince), he was the one who I was a fan of the longest. Sure, I didn't show it as much as I did the other two, but his music was always in my library. Michael was my crush in grade school, but he went kind of...well, you know, and I grew out of it quickly. Madonna was my idol in high school, but I grew out of dance music in college. Prince was another artist who transformed his music, his image, and it always seemed to fit the time. I had the Purple Rain soundtrack on cassette, the Batman soundtrack was one of the first CD's I ever bought. He was one of the first to embrace (and then reject) the use of the internet for music. The man was a genius, he had so much f-ing talent, and he was pretty dang sexy.

I saw the news break on Twitter while I was at work. First that an ambulance was called out to Paisley Park. All I could think of was "No, no, no...lots of people are there. It might not be him." Then the news broke that it was, in fact him, and I found myself saying "No, no, no" out loud. Nobody else seemed to care as much. I had to hold it in. Just that morning I had told my husband I needed more Prince songs on my phone after hearing I Would Die 4 U on the radio. "Pills and thrills and daffodils will kill. Hang tough children."

I had to make a pilgrimage to see this while I was in Minneapolis this year.

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Gene Wilder
By this point, we knew what kind of fresh fuckery 2016 had turned out to be. This time it was fellow Wisconsinite, Gene Wilder. Yes, when he died it was like a fantastical part of our childhood went with him like he had shot off the globe in a great glass Wonkavator, but then you remembered all of the other great roles he played. One of my favorites was actually the Fox in the live action version of The Little Prince. Ugh, my heart.

His acting, his comedic timing, his charity work. Gilda's Place is an amazing thing and I wish there had been one closer to me a couple of years ago. It was sad to hear that he had suffered from Alzheimer's, but at the same time, I was thankful to know that he was free from that suffering.

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George Michael
This one is still fresh. I have told some George Michael stories on here in the past, like my grandmother's hatred of him. I remember sitting outside on our front steps with my boom box in grade school, playing Wham! Make it Big and singing along at the top of my lungs. I'm sure the neighbors appreciated it. I remember being alone in the middle school art room after school, putting in my cassette of Faith and singing along at the top of my lungs. I remember putting in the CD of Listen Without Prejudice Vol. 1 in the 5 disk changer my college loft when I had a moment alone and singing along at the top of my lungs. Do you see a pattern here?

That man could SING! I had just been telling my son a few days earlier that I never heard him sing off key while performing live. It was just amazing! Have you ever heard him sing "Brother Can You Spare A Dime" live? You need to. Let me find it.

I've heard this so many times and watching it now made me completely tear up. My god, what a talent!

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Carrie Fisher
Talk about being fresh in your mind. This loss might be the hardest of the year. I guess that's pretty obvious coming from me. She played one of my two childhood idols - Princess Leia (the other being Wonder Woman). Leia was strong, put people in their place, lead a rebellion, had a wicked sense of humor, and nabbed a hot scoundrel. I wanted to be her! As the years went by, I learned that she was many of these things in real life as well. Wickedly funny, an amazing writer, an advocate for mental illness and didn't give a hoot what others thought. Well, I take that back. Once she finally came back to her role as General Leia Organa, the media and internet were their hurtful selves and she spoke up about it on her favorite outlet - Twitter.

I still wish to be like Leia, but now I also wish to be like Carrie Fisher.

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Oh, that was just the celebrity deaths that affected me. I was going to go on about the other stuff that happened like my dad's medical emergencies and the crappy election that we went through and the way people have been acting like children and the fact that I let myself go during all of this and now am the heaviest I've ever been, but I think you guys have probably read enough already.

All I have left to say is Good riddance, 2016. May 2017 be a year of joy whether it takes an ass-kicking to do it or not.

remembering once again

It's been 5 years since I wrote this post. 25 years since the accident.
Yet I still remember it like it was 5 days ago.

Forever Young

when the villains from your past become heroes of the present

You probably don't remember this post from way  back in 2012, but both of the people who I wrote about have really come through over the past couple of months and I wanted to share the fact.

Person 1 - The Student.  We actually became "friends" on facebook recently and though we don't really communicate, she's been supportive of me.  She's shared and reposted links for our fundraiser and our card shower for our son.  Again, does she even remember how she was toward me back in middle school?  I don't think I even care now.  It's ancient history.

Person 2 - The Teacher.  She was actually my son's homeroom teacher last year and he got along with her quite well.  I spoke with her briefly at parent-teacher conferences, mentioning that I was one of her students back in the day, but never divulging my maiden name.  I could tell she was trying to search the 30 years of students that she had locked away in her brain to find me.  I did tell her the years that I was there and she told me that she was still pretty new back then.  That explained a few things about how she acted back then.  Well anyway, when we had the card shower for our son for his 14th birthday, she happened to be one of the few teachers from his now former school who took the time to send him a card.  Any hard feelings I might have had left toward her completely faded away when I saw it.

That's it.  Anger gone.  Issues disappeared.  I haven't forgotten the pain it caused, but I know I've gotten past it and learned from it and I know I'm stronger because of it.  We've matured and grown and moved on.  It's so good to know that it does happen.  Maybe not with everyone as there are still some people who I grew up with who have the same ugly attitudes they had in high school, but I'd say for the most part it does happen.

Maturity.  Wisdom.  Compassion.

be still my geeky heart

We recently attended our son's 8th grade band concert.  I know, I know...middle school band - oh the horror!  Fortunately, they've improved with age and practice.  Anyway, we were looking forward to it because it was the first time their Jazz Ensemble performed and our kid happened to have a solo.  I had a feeling my mom-pride would make me tear up a bit, but I wasn't expecting it to hit when it did.  It wasn't his solo...it was when I heard this:



This gave me the chills. This somewhat not-quite-right rendition of the theme from Superman made my heart skip a beat and my eyes welled up.  I'm so pathetic.  In my mind's eye, I saw Christopher Reeve flying into frame and giving a little smile, and my son was providing the soundtrack.

Yep, that's me; that's how I roll.  Oh, I did tear up a bit during his solo too, because the kid totally rocked it, but I'll also remember this concert because it was the one time my inner geek got the best of me in the strangest of places.

turkey day

Thanksgiving is rapidly approaching.  Again.  Already.

Really I've never been the biggest fan of the holiday.  I mean, turkey is okay, rolls and butter and gravy are awesome. Don't really care about cranberry sauce or stuffing, so I don't really eat that much.  We still live in the same town as our families, so it's not like we never see them or have dinner together.  It would be different if it was the one day of the year when family from near and far would get together, but that's just not the case with my us.

When I was younger, I'd wake up, watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade (too young to be put off by the bad lip syncing and sometimes actually excited by the people who were on the floats) we would hope for good TV marathons since our family didn't watch football, and around actual dinner time, the three (or sometimes 4-5) of us would have our turkey dinner, and that would be it.

I got a little older and at least we were given a day of awesome movies to watch.  The family would sit and watch Mystery Science Theater 3000's Turkey Day Marathon on Comedy Central every year.

Awesome side note here:  The Turkey Day Marathon is returning this year!  Granted it's online and not quite as long, but it's back!  Read more about it here.  I was sure to give Joel my suggestion (which he retweeted...geek squee!).  

@JoelGHodgson I think it would be appropriate to watch Giant Spider Invasion after watching the Thanksgiving Packer game, don't you? — Rebecca (@GoddessR_75) November 19, 2013

These days, between running between the two families' turkey dinners, our annual tradition is watching Home for the Holidays and the Thanksgiving program from Addams Family Values.

 

Well, this year we're going to change it up a bit.  We're going to be spending a good part of the day volunteering with one of the local clubs serving Thanksgiving dinner to people who don't have the money to make dinner of their own or don't have anyone to have dinner with.  This is something we've all wanted to do. Something to make the day special for us as a family by making the day more special for other people in the community.

 

And then we'll come home and watch the Turkey Day Marathon.  'Cause that's how we roll. 

 

Mmmm...rolls.

 

 

random again

This song popped up on my iPod, so I was going to find the video and post it here as a "Yeah, I'm feeling this today" post, but then I found this lovely gem of a performance...


Not only is it the song that I was looking for, but this video oozes so much 80's awesomeness that it could bleed neon pink and aqua blue.  It was Solid Gold!  I freaking loved that show!  I wanted to be a Solid Gold Dancer when I grew up!  Badly lip-synced performances, cheesy dance routines, Marilyn McCoo interrupting the song for no reason whatsoever and lamely swaying to a beat all her own, realizing why some one-hit wonders were limited to one hit since they had faces for radio, crimped hair and headbands!

Ah, the nostalgia. 

And now someone just broke my stride...
*sigh*
Carry on....

fumbling towards ecstasy

We all have a few albums that we can listen to from beginning to end, without skipping any songs, over and over and over again without ever getting sick of them.  Sometimes you have to find yourself in the right mood first.  Sometimes you have to feel reflective or nostalgic before you put it on, but once you do you're instantly engrossed - humming or singing along with every song, transported to another time or place.  One of these albums for me is Sarah McLachlan's Fumbling Towards Ecstasy.

The album was released in 1993, but I never heard it until '97 or '98.  I remember it was in my friend's car and even though we were busy talking, I kept pausing and listening to the music.  It was like I'd heard the whole album before even though it was the first time.  Within a few days, I went out and bought the CD for myself.


From the first song, I knew it was going to be put into heavy rotation on my stereo (ah, the memories of the 5-CD changer).  It was haunting, simple yet complex; full of emotion, yet not melodramatic.  The melody and the harmonies intertwined in something that was completely organic.  It was almost perfection.


As time went on, I found other music that fit more with where I was in my life and I stopped listening to it as often.  With the arrival of mp3's, the CD collection that I had was thinned out, but this was one of the few that I kept.  It's sitting in a box in a closet somewhere with a few select others.


Today was one of those days when the mood was right.  I've now listened to this album twice so far and am guessing it will probably be at least once more before I move on. 

What are the albums that you can listen to over and over without ever getting sick of them?

did she say what i think she just said?

Oh, all this Paula Deen nonsense.  I really don't care what some butter-lovin', fake-tanned, southern-cookin' TV personality says.  (If y'all don't know what I'm talking about, and I only know about it because of the Daily Show, here's the scoop.)

The whole thing did remind me of one very important life-lesson that I learned...the hard way.

Where to start....  Well, I guess the beginning.  My grandmother was born in 1912 (a week before or after the Titanic went down - I can never remember which) and lived in a farming town in South Dakota.  They were extremely rural (she endured the Dust Bowl), and a little behind the times.  She was raised with certain...stereotypes...and used certain terms that in her mind were perfectly commonplace and not at all taboo.  She was raised with poems and songs from the time that she would recite around the house when she was cooking or cleaning, the same way we would sing along with any song we grew up with.  Here's an example of one of them (if you're offended by n-words, I suggest you don't click the link).  Yeah...  Brazil nuts were called "n----r toes" (sigh), and this was a book that I read quite often when I was at her place:

I remember this cover vividly.
It was much more tame than the original 1900's version.

Don't get me wrong - I'm not accusing her of being blatantly racist.  (Okay, she wasn't the most open-minded of individuals, but she wasn't out to be intentionally derogatory.)  She just didn't understand that the terms and phrases that used to be mainstream (right or not), had become quite offensive and were not to be used  - especially in public.  Especially especially around children.

On one occasion, after she had recited one of her childhood poems and because it was a word I had never heard before (because my parents knew it wasn't very nice), I asked her what that n-word meant.  She stated very simply that it was just another word for a black person.  Oh!  Well, okay then.  I was in grade school, my brain was a sponge, and I loved soaking up new words to impress people with.  Let's add this one to the list!

Flash forward a few months later to one of my parents' popular outdoor parties.  As everyone was on our lawn playing another round of killer croquet while downing sipping on bullfrog punch, my mother had donned some sort of wig stand head of a brownish color and put it on her shoulder to become a two-headed monster.  (Don't ask, I don't remember the details...I attribute it to the copious amounts of bullfrog punch.)
I said, "Wow, Mom!  Now you're a N----r!"

Her eyes widened, I think she actually stopped breathing for a moment.  My uncle, who was standing behind her, did a bullfrog punch spit-take and said, "Oohhhh, I think I'll go this way now..." backed up a few steps and high-tailed it back to the food, trying his hardest not to laugh.  After catching her breath and a bit of stammering, my mother tried keeping her voice at 7 instead of the 11 she really wanted and asked, "Where did you learn that word?"  I was very confused.  It didn't seem like a bad word to me, I mean my grandma said it a lot, so why were people reacting that way?  I told her very innocently and quietly that it was her own mother who gave me that new word.  She was not amused.  In fact, I believe after quickly telling me that that word was never to be used again because it's not a nice word at all, she sought out her mother and gave her a good what-for.  Luckily because of my complete innocence, I was spared from punishment.

It did made for quite a spectacle though, and I don't think I ever heard my grandmother say that word around me again after that.  Oh, there were plenty of other choice words, but that one was not one of them.  (Sometime I'll have to tell you about her hatred of George Michael.)

So, yeah.  There's my random flashback for no good reason.  Thanks a lot, Paula Deen!

regression

Because I'm extremely frustrated, in need of an escape, have no money with which to do so, need a new job, wish the school year was over so I wouldn't have to force my kid to do homework without feeling the need to tie him to a chair to do so, yadda, yadda, yadda, I've found myself looking for items that I loved as a child.  Here are some that I've found that will hopefully bring a smile to your face as well.

Doesn't this just reek of being a kid - and not a bad reek, more like a bread was baking in the oven, but it's been sitting on the counter for a while kind of reek.

I played with this thing a ton!

And I was a Barbie freak.  I had this one - thought the astronaut by day/party girl by night outfit with shoulder-poufs the size of Alaska were something to aspire to.  "We girls can do anything!"

 

Zug-zug

White Nights - I've watched this movie hundreds of times and never tire of it.

I was also a Michael Jackson fanatic back in the days of Thriller, but looking back, I think my favorite album of his was Off The Wall.  It was him before he started going a little off-kilter.

Yup.  Had it.  Most of my "Ponies" were unicorns and pegasuses (or is it pegasi?)  Hard to stick a sunbonnet  on a unicorn.

And last but certainly not least.....

Our old pal, Grover.  Who didn't love Grover?  He was sweet, friendly, sometimes even Super.  He was the epitome of childhood innocence, 20x better than Elmo,

 and thankfully we never realized how similar his voice was to Yoda's.  

the day i had the right stuff

You might remember me giving a few random facts about myself in this post, and it was requested that I expand on the subject.  Well, it was just announced that these people are going to be performing less than an hour away from me in July and it's brought up the conversation again, so I guess it's time to talk about it. 

The day was January 10, 1990.  It was the day that I met two of the New Kids on the Block.

I was a freshman in high school.  I was chubby, had a huge mound of bangs on the front of my head, wore vests over t-shirts and rolled up my ripped jeans in a tight roll.  A total goddess among women.  I was constantly listening to them, watching them, my room was truly wallpapered with posters of them.  I was a tad obsessed. 

My whole room looked like this. 
It helped to cover up the blue flowery walls.

The New Kids on the Block were going to be performing in Milwaukee that night and my friends and I had tickets to go see them.  (Throughout my obsession, I saw them 6 times in concert.)  After months and months of reading about them in informative magazines like Bop! and Teen Beat, we had a feeling they'd be hitting the mall near the concert venue during that day, so we begged and pleaded with politely asked our parents if we could take the day off from school and go into the city...to the mall...on the off chance that we'd run into them. (Of course we never told our parents the reason we wanted to run into them was so they'd fall madly in love with us and whisk us away to a life of love and fortune...or maybe even just take our virginity on the tour bus.  This would surely happen given the description I just mustered in the previous paragraph.)  Because we were such good, responsible girls, they agreed and we were on our way.

One of our moms was kind enough to drive us there and tag along.  (I have to pause here and give props to all of our parents for enduring us through this phase.  They had to put up with screaming girls screaming - not only their own girls, but also the thousands of other girls at the concerts that they were forced to sit through.  Way to go moms and dads!)  Exciting things began happening right away.   As we were driving into the city, we just happened to end up right behind their tour bus.  How did we know it was their tour bus?  Because we had seen it over and over on the VHS tape that they had sold that was full of backstage antics, the "real them" and music videos - we had the whole thing memorized. 

  

And there was the bus....right in front of us.  And we were breathing in it's exhaust and squealing.  We followed the bus to the parking lot of the arena where the concert was being held and waited for them to come out.  There was already a group of other eligible pre-teen to teen girls there waiting for the same thing, chanting their names.  There was movement on the bus and then out came....their security guard.  He was on the video too, so we knew him by name - Biscuit.  We waited some more and decided they were never coming out, so we went to our main destination, the mall.

I don't remember what my friends were wearing, but I distinctly remember my ensemble for the day because I had so carefully planned it out.  Black pants, tight-rolled of course; black button-down short-sleeved shirt, most likely men's; off-white brocade vest; black patent leather (plastic) mens-style shoes; atop my head and neatly behind the mound of bangs sat a black hat much like the ones that they were known to wear.  Over the whole ensemble, because it was January and I live in Wisconsin, was a full-length down-filled acid-washed jean jacket.  Honestly, I'm not sure if that made things better or worse.

We walked around the mall for quite some time and though we would run into other fans every now and then, never saw any of the young men...until...

Walking up one hallway, we heard a girl squeal in the distance.  It was a sign.  The call of the teen girl fan.  Someone was there.  We looked at each other and raced toward the call.  All of the sudden there was a group of girls (How did so many convince their parents to let them take the day off of school?) and coming out of the store was a tall man in a black leather coat and following him was Joe McIntyre.  We stood there, mouths probably hanging open, as he walked past us, smiled when we said "Hi" and continued on, followed by the gaggle of girls.  His blue eyes were enhanced by the turquoise blue jacket and hat he wore.  I was never his biggest fan - I didn't like the cutsey ones, I liked the bad boys - but I remember how dang blue his eyes were.  We stood there for a couple of minutes and then started bouncing around. "Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!"  We were sure there had to be more than one of them there, so we continued our quest.

Another squeal, another direction change, and there was Jordan Knight coming out of another store, bodyguard in tow.  The inevitable group of girls surrounded him for a little while, but they were still kind enough to let him get on with his browsing.  Again - we just stood there in stunned silence as he walked right past us, so close that I could smell his leather jacket.  Why didn't we say anything?  I have no freaking idea.  We decided to keep walking around to see who else we could find. 

Eventually, we ended up seeing Jordan again.  He and his counterpart were headed to the end of the hall about 25 yards ahead of us and they were about to go downstairs.  We sped up.  We didn't want the opportunity to pass us by again, but nobody else was saying anything.  He was going to get away when I heard myself say, "Jordan!"  Me - the introvert - go figure.  He stopped (probably rolling his eyes), and turned around.  Oh crap, what do I do now?  I remembered that I had been carrying around a manila envelope of drawings that I had done of each of them in hopes of getting them signed.  We caught up to him and I asked him for his autograph.  His bodyguard said no, said he was in a hurry and had to go, but Jordan said, "No, it's okay."  My Knight (pun intended) in shining armor was so enamoured by my beauty that he was making time for me!   I quickly found the picture that I had sketched of him and pulled it out.  He chuckled (for good reason - seriously) and asked for my name then signed the picture (with the Sharpie I was so kind to supply) "To Becca, Love always, Jordan Knight"  Oh. my. god. LOVE ALWAYS!!  I took the marker from him, our fingers touched.  Gah! I should have hugged him, I should have said "Thanks for the best birthday gift ever," to get the obligatory Happy Birthday response from him, I should have asked to have my picture taken with him, but instead I pulled out my Instamatic camera and snapped this picture:

I thanked him and he went on his way.  Yup.  That was our amazing encounter.  What my friends were doing this whole time, I have no idea.  I think they were just standing behind me watching the whole episode unfold.  They worshipped my newly-signed sketch for a little while and we moved on again.

We were hungry, so we went up to the food court, which unlike most malls is actually located on the second and third floors.  We were milling about trying to find just the right mall food to eat (Sbarro?  Orange Julius?) when we noticed the turquoise ensemble sported by Joe.  Ack!  I wasn't ready for that.  He was eating a gyro and I didn't really want to bother him, but the chance might pass again and my friends were pushing me to go up, so I did...and I was denied.  I asked for an autograph, but his bodyguard refused and gave me some pre-printed photo of all of them with their pre-printed signatures on it.  Lame.  I said thanks anyway and asked if I could take his picture, which he agreed to (you know thinking about it, I don't think I ever heard him mutter a word), and I snapped this one:

And that was it.  We stayed a while longer, but none of the other guys showed up.  After talking to some of the mall employees, it turns out that they had been there a little earlier.  Drat!  The tour bus was a decoy!  We had heard through the grapevine that they were staying at a hotel just a couple of blocks away, so we headed there.  Sure enough, another group of girls was hanging out outside the doors.  We just walked right in and got into the elevator.  Was there security?  Did they figure we were just hotel guests?  It's a mystery to me.  Anyway, we headed up a few floors, got out of the elevator, and across the atrium and up a floor, we saw the back of Danny's head as he walked into his room.  Meh.  It was just Danny.  We decided to get out of there before we got into trouble.

Finally the time for the concert came.  We had nosebleed seats, but ended up running into some girls from our school and proceeded to tell them everything that happened.  The whole section of people, complete strangers, wanted to hear the whole story of how we met them.  The concert went on into the wee hours of the night and we went home.  Unfortunately I lost the sharpie that Jordan had used somewhere in the arena.  I was gonna frame that thing too...

I took my autographed sketch to school with me the next day.  I was tired, but I was on cloud nine.  I had no photos to show yet because they were taken on a camera with film and we didn't have instant gratification like we do now.  We were the most popular girls in that school that day.  Even the teachers were happy for us (though I'm amazed we didn't get into trouble for skipping school).  I remember one of the most popular girls in the school saying, "I don't even like New Kids, and I think that's pretty cool."  I cared about stuff like that back then - especially since I was just a freshman who got picked on quite a bit.

My mom was kind enough to take the film to be processed at a one-hour photo place about a half-hour away while I was at school so they'd be ready for me when I got home.  Photographic evidence that it actually happened!  I didn't forge any signatures, I actually saw them.  Those went to school with me the next day, were framed immediately after that, and hung on my bedroom wall right next to my signed sketch.

And there you have it - my brush with fame followed by my own 15 minutes of fame in our small town high school.  *Bows*

I don't think I'll be attending the concert this summer.  Though I think it would be fun to get together with all of my friends who were also into them back then and go to another concert...it's just not the same if we're not screaming and crying at every pelvic thrust because we're lusting over them and thinking that every song is just for us, you know?  (Especially not for the ticket prices that they'll be asking.)  Sure, I'd still probably remember all the dance moves and sing along and bounce around with all of the other thirty-somethings, but maybe I can do that at my upcoming 20-year high school reunion instead. (Gulp)

boo to bullies: the next chapter

Some of you may remember the post I wrote last year called boo to bullies where I talked about the bullying I went through as a kid in middle school and the bullying that my own middle school son was enduring.  Well, almost a year has passed and there are changes afoot for both of us.

My son is getting picked on less and less.  I think it has something to do with the fact that he's actually starting to step in when he sees another student being picked on.  He doesn't get violent, he just tells the other kid to knock it off and sometimes physically takes the victim out of the situation.  This has happened three times that I know of this year.  Once with a kid who kept getting picked on in the cafeteria where he called out the kids as being immature for ganging up on this other student, once when he stood up for a girl who kept getting picked on (she had a bit of a hero crush on him after that), and just a couple of days ago he told a kid to stop picking on a smaller kid after he'd been doing it for quite some time and actually moved the kid out of the situation.  I love my son!  Now I'm just afraid that someone's gonna end up getting fed up with him ruining all of their fun and take it out on him.  Man, I wish we had better health insurance...  Anyway, he's really beginning to come into his own with a group of friends and his confidence level is beginning to soar.  (Well, except with his actual schoolwork.  If we could get him just as passionate about that....)

In my story, things have just taken an interesting turn.  The girl who used to pick on me in middle school, who called me names in 6th grade and laughed at me with the basketball coach in 7th grade, who had disappeared from my life after graduation, has just now reappeared in the world of Facebook.  And the irony of it all - She's now a 6th grade teacher.  I don't hold a grudge against her for the way she treated me.  We were all young and I'm sure she's matured since then.  I do wonder a few things though, like does she remember or even realize the way she treated me?  And if so, does she regret what she did?  And if not, does she teach her kids to be accepting and not to judge?  And as a teacher, how does she feel about bullying?  It will be interesting to see if she shows up at our 20 year reunion (gulp) this summer.  But if she does, do I bring any of it up or just pretend it never happened?  I guess we'll just see what happens.

Anyway...it's funny that at the same time we're both coming to new chapters in moving on from the negativity thrown at us when the occurrences were so many years apart.  Hopefully the next chapters will prove to be even more positive.

the city is mine

After attending a lecture in Chicago last week and being gently shooed out around midnight, I walked back to my hotel room which was about six blocks away.  I traveled with friends for the first three blocks, laughing and talking about what we had just learned, and then we went our separate ways.  I was on Michigan Avenue - the Magnificent Mile to be exact, usually one of the busiest streets in the country both in pedestrian and vehicular traffic, and there I walked alone. 

Just a couple of hours earlier, I was weaving in and out of groups of shoppers and tourists, but now I had the whole sidewalk to myself, save for a person here or there quickly walking to his or her hotel room from a bus stop a couple of blocks away.  Where the streets were lined with drivers who could barely get their cars from one lane to another, only a handful easily manuvered from block to block.  The sounds of honking horns and emergency vehicles were replaced with the low rumble from a distant el train and the occasional jackhammer from the road crew trying to finish their work while disrupting the least amount of traffic possible. 

The neighborhood belonged to me.  The yellow streetlights reflected off of the surface of the pavement giving the starkness a warmth that invited me to stay. The traffic lights silently moved from green to amber to red, but no matter what the color there was no need for me to wait for anyone.  I walked on slowly and without stopping.  A homeless man took shelter on the steps within the vine-covered arches of the First Presbyterian Church and slept.  It was his own sanctuary for the night.  The only bustling activity to be found was in front of the John Hancock Center where a small crew worked to set begin setting up holiday displays on the smooth dark granite pavement of the plaza.  They paid no attention to me as I drifted past.

I wanted to take a barrage of pictures of everything around me to say, "Look!  Can you believe there's no one here but me?!" but I didn't want to interrupt my enjoyment.  I didn't want to stand out as the tourist, the outsider; I wanted to be part of the living organism that was Chicago.  I could hear it breathing, feel its pulse in my bones.  I was in it and it in me.  And in that distance of three city blocks, it was mine.

my memories of the rnc

The date was July 31, 2000.  Ah, I remember it well.

It was night-time. I was stuck in bed in the maternity ward of our local hospital...still pregnant.  They had induced labor that morning, but the dang kid was stubborn and didn't want to come out into the world yet.  The doctors decided to keep me overnight so that they could kick it up a notch the next morning, so I shooed my hubby home so he could get some sleep in a decent bed before he wouldn't be able to again for quite a few months.

So there I was, alone in a hospital bed, hooked up to internal monitors (in other words, I had wires hanging out of my hoo-ha) and an IV, a nurse call button to the side of me, and a TV remote in my hand.  Unfortunately the only thing that was being shown on the limited number of channels offered by the local hospital was the Republican National Convention. (This was prior to the name being shortened to RNC for the sake of people who type using only their thumbs.)  Hundreds of people in silly hats prattling on about the "great state of" blah-ba-dee-blah that they were from and casting their nominations for "The next President of these great United States, George W. Bush!"  Sigh.  (Don't get me wrong, I would have despised being forced to watch the Democratic Convention as well, though this was a bit worse.  I hate politics.)

The 2000 Republican National Convention

A scream came from down the hall.  She must have been just as thrilled about the television selection as I was.  Oh, wait...this was the maternity ward.  Nice to know someone around here is actually giving birth.  And then I remembered that I was supposed to be doing the same thing the next day.  In an instant, I wasn't so thrilled to be listening to the woman down the hall screaming in agony.  I wanted to turn up the sound on the TV to block out the screams, but that would have only made me scream right along with her.  I couldn't win!

I tried desperately to find something - ANYTHING - else to watch.  I would have taken the Weather Channel if they had it, but I wasn't that fortunate.  I tried going to my happy place, but the 3rd circle of hell that I was somehow trapped in was too overpowering to allow me to escape.  I had to concede to one or the other and in an effort to psych myself up for the next day and keep a little bit of sanity, I turned off the television and listened to the horrific beautiful sounds of the miracle of childbirth, made a mental note to have the hubby bring movies for me to watch the next day, and swore that I would never watch a political convention ever again.

I'm proud to report it's a promise I've kept to myself for twelve years now.

trying to fill in the blanks in my mad lib memory

I usually pride myself on my long-term memory.  (Let's not discuss my short-term memory where someone can tell me a time or a number four times and I'll forget it by the time I get to the other side of the room, okay?)  I remember sitting in my car seat, dropping my bear-shaped bottle full of orange juice on the floor of the car, getting frustrated and crying.  I remember falling into the tub of the apartment we moved out of when I was 3, hitting my head on the side, crying even though it didn't really hurt, and feeling all better when my mom gave me a few M&M's.  My memory is awesome!  Or so I thought.

I don't remember what it was (short-term again...ahem), but something made me remember an interesting couple of days in college.  It started out as a protest that the students in my housing complex decided to hold against the director who didn't listen to the needs/complaints of the students living there while living in her posh digs up on the top floor of the building.  I really have no idea why things were so unfair.  I mean, we were living in two-bedroom loft apartments with full kitchens, private bathrooms, an excercise room, a game room, music practice rooms and friendly security guards.  Sure, the hallways could have used a fresh coat of paint and things weren't perfect, but this was the first year our school provided any housing; there were kinks to be worked out.  Other than the psycho roommate I had for a while and the neighbors who would play Madonna at all hours that I could hear even while wearing earplugs and then get mad at me when I'd knock on their door to ask them to turn it down, my time there was pretty pleasant.  Of course I say this now.  Back when I was 19, I heard about people being treated unfairly and by gosh I was going to do something about it! 

The protest was in the form of a sit-in in the commons area.  (This is where we would always convene after the numerous pulled fire alarms at all hours and would get lectured by the Chicago Fire Department.)  I changed the message on our answering machine (yes this was pre-cell phones) letting people know we weren't there because we were busy sitting-in and would get back to them once our point had been made, and after the fire alarm was pulled to signal the beginning (great idea, people) my roommates and I proceeded down to sit...in.

The police were outside because of the fire alarm, a news cameraman was there because one of the "organizers" invited him, but things were completely unorganized, nobody really knew what was being protested, but they sure were mad, and then somehow all hell broke loose when the cameraman was asked to leave and then ended up getting arrested and I think a couple of the students were arrested as well.  Pretty exciting for a girl from a town of 7,000 people. 

I don't remember anything else from that night.  I guess we just went back to our rooms? 

This is blank memory spot number one.  Feel free to fill in the blanks with your own colorful ideas.  After that we __________ (verb) to our __________ (noun).

The next day, one of my roommates (I had anywhere from 2-3 roomies over the course of 2 semesters) and I were walking through the lobby of our building and she did a double-take toward the security desk.  "Oh my god, I just creamed my pants.  That's __________ from Channel ___ News!  He's a fuckin' god!" 

And this is where the most frustrating part of this spotty memory lies.  For the life of me, I cannot remember the name of the reporter who was there or the channel he was with.  I suppose it's not terribly important, but I'm now obsessed with trying to find this out.

I had no clue who this person was.  We didn't have a tv in our room, so I never watched the news, and being from Wisconsin, I wasn't familiar with the Chicago news-folk.  I had to agree with her astute observation of his good looks though.  God?  Maybe not, but he was pretty easy on the eyes.

We decided to non-chalantly go over to the security desk to see what was up and if we could be of any assistance.  He and his cameraman were trying to take a look around, but they wouldn't allow him in for security reasons unless he was a guest of a resident and signed in as any other guest would.  We were more than happy to make him our guest.  The cameraman had to stay behind though.  We didn't care, he wasn't that cute anyway.  The kind security guard was a little leery, but had no valid reason to say no, so he was ours!  Okay, our guest.

____________ (Ugh!) signed in, gave his ID, and we were off.  We showed him where the director lived, the smell of fresh paint wafting through the air.  We took him to the common areas including the game room and exercise room, and then we took him up to our floor and then our room.  (Yeah baby!)  The walls oh the hallways were in dire need of a new paint job, the carpeting already needed to be replaced, and the smell of pot (it was an art school) mingled with the nose-stinging aroma of burned popcorn, but it all passed as soon as we got in our room.  Clean, spacious, 4 empty beds... 

And then I go blank again, so now it's time to play.  We took ___________ (name) to our ___________ (place) and __________ (verb) until we couldn't ____________ (verb) anymore.

When we were done, he asked if he could interview one of us, and me being an introvert but not wanting to miss a rare opportunity, agreed.  He had me stand on the front stairs of the building and asked me questions about the conditions, the reports of racism (which I really hadn't heard much about though it was apparently the underlying reason for the protest that I hadn't heard about), and damn he had beautiful blue eyes. 

Spotty memory again.  He asked me "How do you feel about __________ (noun) in your _________(noun)?"  To which I replied, "I'm a small-town girl.  I don't really _________(verb) that way."   I do remember wanting to kick myself after the small-town girl comment though because I just happened to be dressed in overalls, a white tank top, white Chucks and had my hair in pigtails.  Way to go city, girl!  Also, the fact that I can remember exactly what I was wearing, but not what the guy's name was astonishes me.

My response, what ever it might have been, made him chuckle and then he threw this one at me.  "Well, Danny Bonaduce lives just down the road from you.  What do you think about that."  I laughed at that one and replied...um, yeah...I have no idea what I said.  Let's just make this one up completely.  "I think he should __________ (verb) __________ (plural noun) in a _________(adjective) _________(place)."

That was the end.  I watched the news in the tv in our commons area at 5,6 and 10, but there was no story about our little student scuffle at all.  I guess our little unorganized hubbub really had no bearing on the outside world - especially in a city as big as Chicago.   Of course, maybe the fact that it was John Wayne Gacy's execution day had something to do with it.

A year or two later, I remember being at a movie and  Mr. News God played a news anchor...or an entertainment news show anchor.  I don't really remember,  And I certainly don't remember which movie it was.   I do remember turning to my fiance and saying a little louder than I should have, "Oh my god!  That man was in my bedroom!"  It was met with extremely puzzled looks from the people around me and I had some explaining to do after the movie was over.

I've scoured the internet looking for both a list of Chicago reporters from 1994 and "news anchor" characters on IMDB, but haven't found what I'm looking for.  (I did find one Chicago reporter who was in a movie in the 90's, but that was Lester Holt who is now on the Today Show.  Though my reporter's skin color was very similar...this was not Lester Holt.) 

The internet has failed me.  My memory has failed me.  Hopefully you can help me out.  If you know your Chicago newscasters and have a clue as to who this might have been or if you came up with some great Mad Lib memories, leave them in the comments.

madam librarian

I don't know what made me think of it yesterday, but someone mentioned a librarian and my mind just started on a roll.  A small part of me always wanted to be a librarian.  They're stereotypically smart, quiet, somewhat mean and have a very naughty streak.  If the shoe fits...  They wear glasses, have their hair pulled up, wear long-sleeved, button down shirts and long skirts and walk around telling people "Shhhhh!" And the crazy thing is men have fantasies about these women.  Of course, men's fantasies never make much sense.

But then I thought about the librarians at the small rural library in the town I grew up in.  Sure, the somewhat mean part of the librarian lore held true, but visually these librarians were nowhere near that picture.  They were all middle-aged, wore appliqued vests and matching turtlenecks, and pleated khaki pants or those non-denim mom jeans.  They basically looked like they were going to a bad sweater party, but were dead serious about their ensemble.  I think most of their clothing came from the Blair Boutique or McCall's patterns.  And they always seemed confused by my questions.  I guess the subject matter I was looking for was a little off the "norm" for them.

Not the most welcoming of people or places.  I think it's time for a change.

With the advent of things like the Kindle and the Nook, people are downloading their books.  If you don't want the latest bestseller, the classics are free.  School papers are now researched online instead of encyclopedias and stacks of books.  Bookstores have places to sit and read and coffee and snack shops.  

Why don't we combine it all...and throw in some helpful, friendly, librarian-looking librarians?!

The library I grew up with was two stories (main level and basement), so I'm going to work off of that basic structure .

Main Level:  

Welcome to the library!  One side of the main level is set up for research and work.  Non-fiction books, long wooden tables with desk lamps, computers with internet access, reference books, encyclopedias, microfilm, etc.  

The other side is where you relax.  The fiction section, magazines, comfortable chairs, fireplace.  It's cozy and inviting.  You can start a book here before you decide whether or not you want to check it out, or check it out and then read it from cover to cover.

By the way, this level is still the quiet zone.  Those breaking the rule will be given a stern Shhhhhhh!

Lower Level:

This is kind of a multi-use level, but it all ties in.  First off, a coffee shop.  It's a great way to bring more people in and how about you add the fact that it's only open to those who have library cards.  Good quality fair trade organic coffee, pastries, soups, seating for groups and singles.  And it's NOT Starbucks or Caribou or any other chain.  Privately owned by local business-folk.  

The children's book collection.  Beanbag chairs, murals on the walls, puzzles, activities, places for reading and daydreaming.

Finally a multi-use room for readings, book clubs and lectures.  

And to tie it all together, the friendly knowledgeable staff of librarians.  They love what they do, love books, they're not early twenties hipsters and not too old to know how to do a Google search.  They can suggest a great classic or let you in on the latest new release and they'll probably know of that rarely-heard-of magazine that has an article that would clinch the "A" on your research paper.  I'd be happy to volunteer to be the first one...long skirt, glasses and all.

It would be an inviting place to go.  A place you wanted to spend your time.  The more time you spend there, the more books you read.  The more books you read, the more time you spend there.  It's a great idea!  We'd get more people with the coffee, the right atmospheres for the different functions of a library and we might even get a few extra guys who are looking for the librarians.  How could we lose?

Does anyone want to help me out with this?  We'll need more librarians...

making the rainbow connection

I was finally able to watch The Muppets last night.  You know, the new(ish) movie starring Kermit, Miss Piggy, Fozzie, and the whole Muppet gang.  I'd been waiting to see this ever since the first word of it was published.  Conditions never really came together to make it happen until last night.

It was wonderful seeing new Muppet adventures.  I loved the nostalgia.  I loved seeing the Muppet Show recreated.  I loved how happy it made me feel.



But at the same time, something was missing.  It was like it was too much.  It was more cheesy than heartfelt.  Don't get me wrong - I could completely tell that the people who made this did it out of love.  The happiness was just a little over the top.  Something that you didn't see in the original movies.

Because we look back at the movies and shows that we watched for the first time as kids, we do so with the emotions that we felt back then.  We were young and lived in our perfect(ish) childhood bubbles and they made us smile and laugh and think and it was pure.  We didn't get the hidden meanings of the things that our parents did.  We didn't understand all of the satire and commentary and double entendres that made our parents love the show just as much as we did.  It was fun.  Pure and simple.  We liked the songs they sang, the jokes made us laugh, we knew some of the special guests that would be on the show or in the movies, and that was all we needed.  We were happy and carefree and everything was perfect.  Much like what the world was like in the new movie...singing and dancing and "Life's A Happy Song."  Aha!  That's where it came from.

Finally when I saw the cast come together to sing "Rainbow Connection" it came to me.  The one thing that was missing.  It was the one thing that could never possibly be added...

Jim Henson

The spark, the heart of it all was missing.  It was still fun and entertaining and nostalgic, but without him at the helm...it seemed almost empty.

I doubt I'll ever be able to watch any new Muppet shows/movies without feeling like they're not quite right, but at the same time a new generation of kids will be able to watch them and have that same feeling of bliss and escape that we felt back in the day.  They have a new voice...just like Kermit.  They will be able to laugh and learn and feel like anything is possible too.  And that is all a fan of Jim Henson could ever want.

boo to bullies

(Forgive the blah-ness of this post.  I started it when I was in a very left-brained frame of mind and no matter how much tweaking I try to do to it today, it's still very dry.  Please read on and don't hold it against me.  It's too important of a topic for me to leave in my draft folder.)

I think almost all of us were bullied at some point in our childhoods.  Whether it be name-calling in grade school, pushing in middle school, or getting beat up in high school, most of us have been there.  If you weren't bullied at some point, there's a good chance you were the one doing the bullying.

Me - well, I was mainly picked on in middle school.  Face it, middle school sucks for everyone.  Hormones, puberty, new people to deal with, trying to figure out who you are and who you want to be.  It's rough!  There were only a couple of people who picked on me, but it was frequent...and predictable.  One of the popular girls in our class would always come up with some way to make fun of whatever clothing I was wearing that day.  I'd hear a new nickname for each new outfit.  (Sorry, my parents couldn't afford the Guess jeans and t-shirts (remember the Guess nerd?) that were popular at the time.  I didn't care, but apparently she did...go figure.)  I remember wearing a sweatshirt with a zebra on it one day (I was into animals and the safari look was in at the time), getting in line to play four square, and there she was...all decked out in her Guess, perfect hair, makeup to the hilt, and her attitude.  I sighed.  I knew what was coming.  As soon as she saw me, she started, "Oh look - here comes..." and then I interrupted her.

..."Zebra girl, right?" 

She didn't know what to say at first and then giggled.  "You're so lame."  It's exactly what she was going to say - what she had just called lame was what was going to come out of her mouth.

The outright name-calling stopped after that, but her tactics changed.  She enlisted help in the strangest of places.  In 7th grade, I joined the basketball team.  I was pretty good at it, was great at defense, started in almost every game.  It was the practices that I despised.  Not only was miss popular on the team, but the coach - our PE teacher - had a habit of laughing at me.  The popular chick would make some comment about me and the coach would back her up on it.  I distinctly remember the two of them standing there, the girl's arm around the shoulder of the coach, laughing at some greatly exaggerated thing that I had supposedly done.  It continued into 8th grade when I decided to be the manager instead of playing.  Nothing I did was right.  Unfortunately, I was happy for the season to be over.

Now my son is in middle school.  He's going through the same sorts of things, but a bit harsher.  Kids these days are harsher.  (My gosh, it's amazing how many kids his age are being expelled these days!)  He gets called names, has been pushed a couple of times.  Nothing terribly extreme, but it wears on a kid.  And he's had it.  Now, the kid doesn't have a very thick skin, that comes with time and maturity.  He's eleven.  Not there yet.  Mind you, he's one step away from being a black belt in Tae Kwon Do, but he won't use it.  Not unless he absolutely has to. 

Why does he get picked on?  Because he's an introvert the same way that I was?  He wears clothes from Wal-Mart and Old Navy?  He wears glasses?  He likes to draw and play the trumpet?  He doesn't hang out with a big clique?  Any of these could be the reasons, but who knows how a bully picks his/her target.

He's not just sitting and taking it though. He's reported incidents to his teachers and his guidance counsellor.  Fortunately the school that he attends, the same one that I went to, is now very aware of bullying issues and basically has a no-tolerance policy towards it.  Whenever anything comes up, I am contacted as well as the parents of the kids who are doing the bullying.  I sometimes fear that my son will be known as a tattle-tale and weak, but his teachers and counsellor applaud him for having the strength and courage to actually say something as so few kids do. I know I never did. (A small part of me hopes that some day he will just snap and kick a little butt, but there's no way I'd say that to him.)  They're hoping he joins the anti-bullying group and peer facilitators next year.  Hopefully his experiences will help other kids going through the same issues. 

Bullying has really become a hot topic in recent years.  I suppose it's because of the extremes that some kids have taken when they get to that breaking point.  School shootings, suicides.  Where we had anti-drug groups in middle school, they now have anti-bullying groups.  Songs written, videos all over YouTube.  Kids certainly shouldn't feel alone in their pain any more.  That's a very helpful thing. 


This is my son's new favorite song.  I'm not fond of the line, "No one's gonna crie on the very day you die" as I think many kids who were bullies at one point grow out of it with maturity, but nonetheless...

A movie is just about to be released nationwide called Bully.  This looks like an amazing documentary that could really do some good if kids are allowed to see it, but unfortunately the MPAA has slapped it with an "R" rating because of language.  (Really?  Have you seen what they can get away with in PG-13 movies these days?)  They're in the process of appealing the decision.  Hopefully kids all over will be able to see this and learn from it.  Watch the trailer for the movie below.



I have to say, the only issue I have with the recent movement is how centered it is on the gay and lesbian kids who get picked on.  Now, I know that they get terribly picked on and I'm not trying to diminish the pain they go through, but they're not the only ones.  Let's not forget those kids who are just the unfortunate targets of bullies just because they don't fit into some mold that the person thinks is the "norm."

Looking back on the bullying from an adult perspective, I know that it made me a bit stronger in some respects, but it also gave me extremely low self-esteem for a long time.  I'm hoping that because my son and others like him are able to voice their feelings, they won't be as hurt by it all in the long run. In the meantime, it's hard to be a parent watching it all and not being able to do anything but encourage and support him for who he is. 

Do you have any strategies on how to deal with bullies?  Are you still bullied as an adult?  Do you have a bully at work that you have to deal with?  What ever happened to the people who bullied you as a kid? What's your story?  

filling internet space with a whole lotte nuthin'

Hello friends!  I apologize for the delay in posting anything.  I've started a few posts that never really went anywhere.  One was a little poetic verse about the full moon we just had.  (Never finished it.  Couldn't put the right words together.)  Another was an ode to eye candy and how it doesn't make you fat.  (Nice pictures to look at, but not much else.)  The last was about something that happened to me twenty years ago that for some reason popped into my head and really shook me up.  I started writing about it on here, but then decided that it probably shouldn't be out there on the interweb and decided to use good old fashioned pen and paper instead.  We can discuss after a few drinks sometime.

So here the blog sits with nothing new to report.  I suppose I could go on about how we're finally getting our first snow of the season and people are making it sound like it's the end of the world.  Even that is cliche.  I've got nothing.  It's kind of sad.  I need inspiration!

I guess all I can do for now is post one of the pictures that was meant for the eye candy post.  Don't say I never gave you anything.


Why can't football players play dressed like this? 
Imagine how the ratings would skyrocket with the rise in female viewers!
(Or even a different demographic of male viewers.)



Or maybe this picture instead:



I seem to see some sort of long blond hair trend here. 
Crap.
I hate being trendy.



Okay - let's break that mold.



Hello Hamm!

 Okay, I'm done now.    Have a good day and hopefully I'll be back with something more entertaining later.

the passing of a great woman

I said I was going to write about the woman I considered my 3rd grandmother, so here it goes.  Sure it's mostly for me, but I'd love to introduce people to a woman who made quite an impression on me. 
I'm trying to figure out how to condense this into a readable blog size, but it's a little difficult.  I've actually tried writing this over and over again, but there's just too much to write.  I'll have to do it informally - kind of like taking notes on whatever pops into my brain, so forgive how it jumps around and the different formats, but for the sake of your reading time, you'll thank me for it.  It's still kind of long, but then, so was her life.

Third grandmother, you ask?  Yes, I reply.  How is that?  Well, she was part of my dad's family before he was even born.  She began living with my grandparents sometime in the late 1940's.  I think it had something to do with living expenses, but she became a vital part of the family.


History
She was born on a farm in Kansas.  Farmgirl through and through.  No electricity, not much income, deep family ties.  Then, she left home at the ripe old age of 17 to make it in the big city - Kansas City.  She worked at Hallmark when they first opened and printed and folded the cards by hand.  She was fired when she got a paper cut and bled on one of the cards. Not long after that, in the early to mid-40's she moved to New York, interviewed with Howard Hughes (part of her interview consisted of walking from one end of his office to the other and in a circle so he could see her...qualifications), and began working with Transcontinental & Western Air (later known as TWA) in their Times Square office.

Somehow, and nobody ever really learned the reason, she ended up in Chicago and that's where she met my family.  There, in 1947, she opened her own business - an employment agency for office help.  Yes, that's right, a woman opened and successfully ran her own business before the days of women's lib.  In a city, no less!  This chick had moxie!  Though her business changed with the times, changing names and locations a couple of times, it survived until about 4 years ago when she finally retired...in her 80's.


Her Character:
Another grandmother, but just not called grandma.  She wouldn't have it that way.  She never wanted to take away from our biological grandmothers.  It wasn't until my father's mother passed away that we all learned exactly how much she did for our family.  There were things she didn't mention to anyone until then.  When my grandfather passed away when my dad was 15, my grandmother somehow couldn't cope with life with two boys (there were three, but the oldest brother had just gone to college), they began having serious problems at school, missed quite a bit of it, and the state wanted to take them out of the home, split them up and put them in foster homes.  She stepped in and became their legal guardian so she could take care of them.   They never knew this.  She didn't want them to think of her as "mom" or think any less of their real mother.  Life went on, it improved, but they didn't know why.

She also cared for her father when he was dying, my father's grandmother, her own mother for years, and my biological grandmother after she had had some serious heart attacks.  She did as much as she could for them until it was time for them to have constant professional assistance.  Even after that, she would visit them as often as possible.  She never complained, never hemmed and hawed over it - it's just what was done.

Everything she had, she shared with others.  When she moved out of her home, she always sent money back to the farm to help support the family.  When her business was successful, she would send family members on vacations that they couldn't afford themselves.  She sent my parents on their honeymoon, and sent all of us to Disney World and Hawaii.  She also helped pay the way for many people to get through college, helping them to find jobs afterwards, and even took in a pregnant teenager (when shunned by her family) and helped her find an adoptive family for the baby.

She was an amazing Christian.  (And I say this as a non-Christian.)  Everything she did was rooted in faith, she was one of the first female deacons of her church - a long time ago, she loved working with youth and teen programs, she rarely missed a service, and she lived by the words of Jesus in the New Testament.  She also accepted everyone, met them without judgement, and never uttered a harsh word about anyone.  If all Christians lived the way that she did, I would have more faith in the religion as a whole.

Memories:
Apparently at some point in my childhood, I had given her a chain that was probably a pen chain and told her that I wanted her to wear it to my wedding.  You know how little girls are.  On my wedding day, she came up to me before the ceremony and asked if I remembered that day.  I didn't, but then she showed me the chain that I had given her that day that she was wearing around her neck - as promised.  I wanted to sob, but controlled myself so my makeup wouldn't be ruined for the occasion, but my maid of honor sobbed for me.  Little but grand things like that were part of who she was.

Going to visit her at the office in the 1980's.  I always remembered the blue carpeting and white furniture in her office, and the picture on her wall of the Earth from the Moon.  Every time I saw a picture like that, I'd be whisked back to her office.  If she had some work to catch up on, she'd give me some paper and let me type on one of the typewriters in there.  I thought it was one of the greatest things in the world - I always felt so grown-up.  I guess that's how I got my start in being an administrative assistant.  I'll never have my own business like hers, but I do have her painting (I never realized it was a painting) taken from this picture.

 It's something I'll always treasure.









Visiting her house with my parents and playing all of her music boxes.  In fact, that's the one thing my son remembers about her - she was the nice old lady with all of the music boxes.  They were always a great idea for a gift for her, so we were constantly adding to her collection.  If she ever got sick of them, she never complained.  She opened every one like it was the greatest gift on earth.

Interesting Tidbits of Knowledge
She was fascinated by the space program and was able to attend the launch of Apollo 17 in 1972.   She used to have groups of people over to her house to watch the launches on television.  She also died only days after the final space shuttle launch - I hope she was able to watch it.

She was invited to the inauguration of Ronald Reagan (not sure which one), but found it silly that she was and didn't go.

She wrote a book about the history of Sunday School.  It's still available on Amazon.com, if anyone's interested. 

Things I'll miss:
Her amazing ability to doze off on any floor, any time, for 5-10 minutes, waking up completely refreshed
How things were HI-larious
Her sticky buns - you know, homemade cinnamon rolls.  Simply to die for.
Her steady diet of Dannon yogurt.  I swear that's all she ever ate unless she went out for a meal or had company.

The Finale
She was diagnosed with Alzheimer's not long after she retired.  It's like she was done taking care of people, so her body decided it was time for her to go.  She lived in a senior living home the last few times that I saw her, and when the effects of the dementia became worse and she had fallen a couple of times, they moved her into the assisted living section of the facility. One of the last times she spoke with my mom on the phone, before she was in the assisted living section, she'd begin talking about one subject and then begin talking about something from her childhood, but realize it and say, "Well where did that come from?"   Her sharp wit and amazing intelligence were fading fast.  When she did remember and ask about me, I was still the little girl from the 1980's, yet she'd also ask about my son (who she considered her great-grandson).  Amazing how the brain works.

Last year, on top of the Alzheimer's, she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer.  I hate to say it, but we considered it a blessing for her.  We knew that she would not want to see herself the way that she was.  It had to be so incredibly frustrating for her.  She was underlining verses in her Bible along the lines of , "Save me, oh Lord!" and "Make me whole again." She wanted to be herself again.  She was never told about her cancer as she wouldn't understand it and wouldn't remember it, and it was left untreated as the family understood is the way she would want it to be.  Being where it was, she was never in any pain, and for that I'm thankful. 

It was the cancer that she died from on July 11th - just a few weeks shy of her 91st birthday.  She went peacefully early in the morning.  I was sad that my husband and son never got to know her well.  I was sad that the world lost an amazing woman who would be a perfect role model for any girl out there.  I was sad that if she ever had any words that she wanted to say to friends and family before she passed, she wouldn't have remembered them...or us.  But she was finally at peace - whatever your belief system, she was finally without suffering in this life.  How could I be sad about that?

I am so thankful to have had her in my life and though I don't think I'll ever be the woman she was, I hope I can be at least half. 

I started a team for our local Walk to End Alzheimer's this September 17th.  My family and I will be walking in her honor.  If you would like to join our team or make a donation, or like any other information, please click on the link below.