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Strawberry Fields…
“Let me take you down
‘Cause I’m going to
Strawberry Fields
Nothing is real
And nothing to get hung about
Strawberry Fields forever”
~ The Beatles
I love strawberries with fresh cream. I love my kids too. They do not necessarily love the same things I do.
It was the first weekend in June, last summer.
Even though I met with a fair amount of objections, I managed to persuade my kids that this outing would be fun. As we approached the annual Strawberry Festival at the waterfront by the train station in a neighboring town, we came upon a young police officer diverting traffic away from the train station parking area which was full. Ten minutes later we finally found a spot. This diversion along with a blazing, hot sun, hastened the regression of both of my kids to those early toddler-tantrum days. The sweltering heat which hovered in the mid-nineties that day didn’t help. It caused my kids to moan, groan, rebel and resist as we embarked on the half-mile decent from the very tippy-top of a winding hill. By the time we reached the entrance-way to the festival, my kids were toast; hot, sweaty and agitated to a point-of- no-return. That happens with teenagers sometimes and it was clear, no one was going to have a good time. I all but gave up trying to convince them they would. We decided to abort this mission and just leave.
Before making the steamy ascent back up to the car however, I needed to use one of the several port-a-potties lined up at the start of the festival.
Ugh! Gross! And Yuck!
I’ll be right out. I explained.
Three times in two minutes, someone attempted to enter the stall I was in, even though I’d made it clear that someone was inside. I left flummoxed and aggravated. When we were all finally back in the car my motherly instincts to try and salvage the afternoon kicked in and I declared that we would stop for ice-cream before heading home.
I can’t think of too many things that would be more embarrassing for an 11-year old girl and a 13-year old boy than for their mom to force bring them into a sit-down ice-cream parlor, chat-it-up with the new owner and then discover she had no money or credit card with her to pay for the three sundaes they just enjoyed when presented with the bill. That’s right, nothing. Not-one-penny did I have, despite the fact that I distinctly remembered putting cash, a credit card and my license into the back pocket of my jean shorts. ‘Gone’ I thought in a panic and Oh. My. God. there was only one place they could be.
We left with an I-OWE-YOU and headed back to the port-a-potty at the Strawberry Festival from hell.
This time when meeting up with the young officer directing traffic to the tippy-top of the hill half-a-mile away from the festival, I gave him that get-out-of-my-way-and-let-me-pass look that only a mother in distress, who means business can give. If you’
re a mom, you know the one. You know exactly what I am talking about. It’s the same kind of aura you emit when your child is in danger and the strength to lift a vehicle or move mountains automatically fills you.
With my son in the passenger seat and my daughter in the back, I rolled down my window smiling that no-nonsense-smile and before he could get a word in, I said,
I’m going down there with my car to get my wallet, drivers license and credit cards.
Without hesitation, he stepped aside and waved me through.
Of course, there was no available parking in the lot by the entrance to the festival where the port-a-potties were, so I did what any other good, mortified mom in this desperate situation would do: I drove to the end of the lot and parked head-on at the wall, blocking in at least four parked cars, two on either side of me. Then of course, I did what I’m sure every other mother in my sad and sorry situation would do: I left my car running with my two kids in it. The temperature after all was in the nineties.
Don’t move. I’ll be right back! I bellowed to the blank stares looking back at me.
Of course, I was not, right back.
How many embarrassing moments can happen in the span of one hour?
There was nothing to be found in the port-a-potty that three people walked in on me, in the span of 2-minutes nearly an hour earlier, so I did some inquiring and sprinted over to the “Lost & Found” booth at the far end of the park. In the middle of the park a stage had been setup for bands. One was getting ready to play. The pleasant woman at the Lost & Found table said nothing was brought over but,
We can make an announcement, she said. Come with me.
Unwittingly, I followed, passing all the luscious booths selling the strawberries and cream and shortcake in a variety of mouth-watering versions that I had come for but would not have that day. Instead, I found myself standing in the center of the stage where the band was setting up. The woman I followed stepped over to the microphone and in a very matter-of-fact motion removed it from its resting place and handed it to me. I stood bewildered until she snapped her head toward me in a, “go ahead” nod of affirmation. Startled and stunned, I stumbled over my words as feedback from the microphone penetrated the park and the hustle and bustle of the festival’s activities came to a screeching halt. All eyes curiously gazed upon me. I have no idea what I said. All I remember is that my mouth moved and words came out. When I was done, I bolted toward the parking lot where my kids were waiting in the running car.
Could there be any more embarrassment?
Of course there could. Indeed, there was a not-so-happy man trapped in his car as a result of where mine was.
Oh, my God, Mom! I heard as I jumped into the driver seat and proceeded to back my way out. That man is so frustrated. He kept coming up and asking us when you were coming back!
Uh-huh. That’s right. I left my kids in a running car where they were approached by a strange (aggravated) man more than once.
They were mortified. So was I.
The ride home was a quiet one. I kept trying to tell myself it could be worse, it was only money and a credit card and my license, all things that could be replaced. Once inside I retreated to my bedroom. Now, I was toast and needed to change into something more comfortable. When I opened up my closet door there was a pair of jean shorts laying on the floor, ‘right,’ I thought, the ones I had on first this morning and Oh. My. God.
…. the ones with the cash, credit card and license in the back pocket.
Life has a way of throwing a wrench in even the simplest of plans. As parents we try our best without a lot of training. For me, finding the humor is key. Thankfully, hindsight is a wonderful gift and today my kids and I laugh a lot and out loud about the calamities of that day.
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Silly Sightings In A Single Swoop
Life takes it’s toll in one way or another.
When the opportunity arises for you to stop and smile, do it!
Ever take the same route over and over again so many times you could do it in your sleep? Not that it would be advisable that you do it in your sleep of course but you feel fairly confident you could, if you had to?
For me, it’s the morning school route with one carpool stop.
E-v-e-r-y-d-a-y.
A few weeks ago, as I set out on this everyday journey and slowed at the first traffic light, something that’s normally not in my peripheral vision at this point caught the corner of my eye.
Once a year a neighboring town hosts a Hot-Air Balloon Festival but that’s not until July.
This was a little out-of-the-ordinary.
As I rounded the corner at yet another traffic light along this established route of travel, I came upon an extra-large cup of Dunkin Donuts coffee — on two legs — waving to me.
This does not happen every day.
And when I got to our morning carpool, this fella was waiting in the driveway to greet us. ‘Nope, it’s not Turkey Season’, I thought. Heck, it’s not even November. Like the balloon, the walking cup of coffee and the rain-shower that came out of nowhere just before we got there, this occurrence was random.
But, not as random as seeing this scene or rather, this scenery, being pulled along the main street of our fare city as I continued on my way to work, after dropping the kids off at school.
When was the last time you saw something like this on your regular route?
All of this randomness in such a short period of time, didn’t feel so random all of sudden and it made me stop and smile.
(This smile was not random. It’s not even mine but it was spontaneous, taken on that same day and it seems to fit here nicely.)
Maybe the universe was trying to send me a message. At times it seems as though life is taking it’s toll, daily.
Maybe these silly sightings in a single swoop on a morning that began with clear skies that quickly turned cloudy and even rainy before returning to sunshine within the span of 4o-minutes, were meant to be the gentle reminder of that which I already know but often forget:
The only certain thing about life, is that nothing is certain.
You never know what may present itself to you at any given moment, in any given day. You never know who will enter your life or who will leave it. It is however, worth appreciating here and now, as it is, before it changes because for certain, it will.
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My Rose
Just remember in the Winter
Far beneath the bitter snow
Lies the seed that with the sun’s love
In the Spring becomes the rose.
~ “The Rose”/Lyrics Amanda McBroom
The season has changed and Spring has finally found us. The promise of renewal, rebirth and hopeful thoughts surro
und us. The sun is shining warm again. Seedlings that were planted falls-ago have taken root over the winter’s long days and new life is emerging. Vibrant bursts of color are popping up daily. The unexpected is happening. Everywhere. Be alert with eyes wide open or be jarred, as I was the other day; halted by beauty; startled in an unanticipated moment, forced to pause and see the sweet rose that shot up before me.
How did this happen right before my eyes without me seeing it?
Parenting is busy, worrisome work. It’s constant, at times, all-consuming. It’s a life-long learning adventure. Like most things I become immersed in, the deeper I’m in it, often times, the harder it is for me to step out and back and linger in the minutes of the milestones and accomplishments of our ever-changing, day-to-day lives. Hours become days. Days extend into weeks which turn into months that become years. Even though I’ve been there all the while, the details are clouded and what seems like, in the blink of an eye, the bud becames a blossom and I’ve been caught completely off guard.
That sweet seedling that was just laughing-it-up in the park yesterday...
…has grown into a flower, more beautiful than I could ever have imagined…
… and is laughing-it-up on her way into the Spring Dance today, in concert with these other lovelies who are flourishing in their own beautiful gardens.
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George
In the new storefront a man stood in front of the huge glass window watching people, including us, walk by his establishment. My eyes met his as we passed and then I couldn’t help but notice the two, large, empty chairs that sat in front of mirrors behind him. There was a quiet look of discontent on his face. I felt bad for him. This poor man I thought, wondering how he could have chosen this location.
Doesn’t he know?
We had an appointment two doors down from the empty store where there was a bustle of activity. It was busy here and even though we had called in advance, there were three people ahead of us, waiting patiently, for his time. He glanced up stopping what he was doing, only for a moment as we entered and offered a substitute, as he usually does.
As usual, we thanked him and respectfully declined.
It will be a while, he said.
It’s Okay. We’ll wait.
You can’t be in a rush when you come to see this man. You don’t want to be in a rush.
Finally, he beckoned us over. I took my place, off to the side. Shortly after, the discussions began. I listened intently, chiming in occasionally as they spoke of worldly things like the flu epidemic and how dangerous it can be for sick people to be in the hospital. Margaret Thatcher’s passing was brought up and he talked about her great personal achievements and the contributions she made to the advancement of women and our political world.
Then his thoughts turned to North Korea.
What do you think of this guy, Kim Jong Un? Do you think he’s being influenced by the men that used to rule with his father? How do you think the US will respond if he fires a nuclear missile?
He was genuinely interested in my son’s response and in the 30-minutes that the job took, there was a lively exchange of meaningful topics. Solutions to some of the world’s biggest problems were flirted. It’s always interesting to hear his views but fascinating to watch this man’s skill, as all the while, he continues laboring, never missing a beat, meticulously working his craft like the artist that he is, coming back several times to the same spot until it looks or feels just right. He’s consistent and a constant. He’s reliable; a friend and the only person we’ve ever trusted with this task. And despite the seriousness of his work and the broadness of the topics he covers, it always begins with the same question, prompting the same response.
April 2013
What number will it be today, Noah?…
…is the question.
Number two….
…is the answer.
April 2013
At least it has been, for the last 14 years.
Noah’s first haircut with George ~ December 1999
Photo Credit #1 Google Images
Photo Credit #2 -#3 Karen Szczuka Teich & Takingtheworldonwithasmile.com
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The Best-Laid Plans Are Tentative at Best
I had really good intentions this week. Maybe that’s why we ended up in hell for a while.
The saying is right up there with Steinbeck’s….
“The best-laid schemes plans of mice and men often go awry.”
And so it was this week. There were good intentions and best-laid plans. Heck, the table was practically set!
Heading into the week thoughts were on the baking and making of good food, the joining of good friends, a long weekend in the good woods, some good puzzling, and a good, old-fashioned, awesome egg hunt around a great pond!
Who needs the White House lawn when you have this?
Instead, our intentions and plans were ransacked by reality. Spring Break was anything but a break and I had to remind myself (more than once) why I named this blog what I did, when we ended up with this…..
…..a trip to the ER Thursday night that lasted well into the wee-hours of Friday morning.
De-hy-dration. Not eating a full meal for nearly a week, having fever and losing body fluids from every possible body-crevice will put your girl on a fast-track to needing nutrients from an IV bag for sure but it was the nosebleed that just-would-not-stop that sealed the deal and sent us to the hospital.
Damn you this year’s flu!
Both A & B strains have descended upon our house for the third time this season even though we’ve all been inoculated.
“Go back to the science lab!” I say to the medical team that concocted this most ineffectual vaccine!
“You missed the mark — completely!”
The second time we visited our doctor this week, she advised us that this year’s flu shot was approximately, only, 10% effective.
Taking the world on with a smile. I needed to remind myself. Did I mention in-between doctor visits, the diagnosis of flu and bronchitis and just before our jaunt to the hospital that it was my girl’s birthday this week also?
“Roll with it.” I kept telling myself. Take it all, on with a smile.”
When you have kids, some days just get like this and sometimes those days turn into weeks. Patience and flexibility are key. Plan B is always helpful. Life after all, is full of surprises, the good and the not so good.
As a parent you accept that the best-laid plans are well, tentative at best.
So, I’m taking the world– my world — on with a smile. And even though it’s mostly just on the outside for now, I know, as sure as the sun will rise tomorrow, this too shall pass.
Happy Easter!~ Happy Passover!~ Happy Birthday!~ Happy Holidays!
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Common Threads
About a week ago, I spoke on a Victim’s Impact Panel.
Somehow I ended up speaking last. For the past two and a half years, each time before this time, I spoke first. Not that it matters what order we go in. It’s just how it’s been. And even though going first was the same experience before, there’s always a different kind of vibe to being in front of this room-full of offenders. The first time was scary, kind of like having an out-of-body experience. Surreal. I was fixated and fascinated by the men and women who sat before me. I knew I was speaking but I couldn’t really hear myself. Six months later, the numbness had worn off. My wounds resurfaced and there was anger in my words. The anger stayed with me for the third time as well. Time I have discovered does indeed heal wounds but it does not take them away, completely.
After that, I realized in having their undivided, mandatory attention, if I could manage to get over myself and my hurt, maybe I could seize the opportunity and convey a message. One that might say something like…
“Hey, you had no right to do what you did!” with composure and conviction instead of anger.
So that’s what I did.
There’s a certain kind of pressure that comes with going first though that leaves you wishing you had said ‘this or that’ by the time it’s over but this time, I spoke last.
This time, I began with the words “I’m blessed”, because I am. In so many ways.
Being the last to speak gave me the opportunity to really hear the others’ stories in a way that I hadn’t before, even though I had.
After hearing the other women panelists’ speak, I realized in comparison, how truly blessed I was to be in the company of such courage. I also realized how truly blessed my family is. We did not suffer physical assault. We were not beaten like the two brothers that were jumped for their iPods on their way home from school and ended up in the hospital. There was no loss of limb like the carpenter whose thumb was taken from him by a machetes-wielding, teenage boy who pushed his way into his home looking for his daughter. There was no rape; no loss of life. For us there was a repeated home-invasion over a period of several months, there was, the not knowing who or why for so long, but our obvious losses were only material ones.
This time despite how different our stories are I set aside the details and through all of our anguish, heard the common threads.
Fear. Stress. Anger.
We are bonded by these common threads that continue to reappear in our lives as a result of the actions of another human being. We are all still trying to pick up and put together some of the broken pieces of our lives.
So, yes,“I am blessed” I said,
BUT…
“…the tentacles of your crimes extend further than you can see. Further than you can imagine. Further than I ever imagined they would continue to go even after you were arrested.”
And still, they reach.
No matter how far we move away, or how much we move on, no matter how long it’s been or how incredibly, fiercely, strong we have become, the domino effects of what you did lingers in the lives we live today.
Fractured families.
We all have them, now. Once, we were whole, in a way; in our own livable way but what you did served to sever that. We became unraveled. All of us have children that were affected. All of us felt helpless when it came to protecting them. This is the saddest common thread of all. All of our families are fractured now. Alcoholism. Separation. Divorce. Suicide. Everyone copes differently with any given circumstance. When a tragic event occurs, some of us find the strength to keep moving forward. Some of us get stuck and can’t move forward. Some of us never will.
My message this time was that your actions affect other people – hugely—in ways you can’t even begin to imagine.
Think.
At that moment in time, when you did what you did, you couldn’t possibly have thought ahead, to what your behavior then, might bring two or three or five years down the road. There is no way you considered how many lives; children, families would be negatively effected by your deeds. If you had stopped and thought about it, even just a little, maybe, oh, just maybe, you would not have done what you did.
©2013 Karen Szczuka Teich & Takingtheworldonwithasmile.com
©2013 Karen Szczuka Teich & Takingtheworldonwithasmile.com
©2013 Karen Szczuka Teich & Takingtheworldonwithasmile.com
I’m blessed it’s true, to be bonded to these women who continue to be a power of example to me, who continue to help me move forward in gratitude.
Related Posts: My Edward, Life’s Terms – Not Mine, Unsolicited Journey
Photo Credits #1 & 2 Google Images
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100 Days!
This week elementary children all over the country celebrated 100 days of school. Teachers asked students to show them what 100 looks like by bringing in 100 of something. 100 is a big number and it’s a big task for a 5, 6 or 7-year old. They spend a lot of time preparing; thinking, plotting and reminding their parents to help them find, make or buy 100 of something to show off to their teachers and classmates. In some cases like the school I work at (and the one my kids went to up until the 5th grade) exhibits are set up showcasing the creative way students bring 100 to the classroom. Always excited to see what they come up with, this year’s exhibit met the bar with such items as 100 colorful ribbons hanging from a branch, 100 Cheerios strung together on a necklace string, 100 pieces of macaroni spelling out a child’s name, 100 different Hot Wheels cars, beautiful buttons and gorgeous gems to name a few. It brought back memories for me from when my kids were at this school. That evening when I was telling my now 6th grader about the exhibits, it brought back memories for her too.
Do you remember what you gave me to bring in for my 100th day in Kindergarten? She asked.
Um, y-e-a-h. I said, like a peacock fanning it’s plume. “In fact”, I went on, “I think I still have that Tupperware lid that says 100 Kisses on it. I couldn’t help by pause to give myself a little mental pat on the mother-of-the-year-award back for the clever pun of sending 100 Kisses into her class. Hershey Kisses of course!
Those were the days when all I ever thought about was how to be the best-est mother ev-ah! Lost in my moment of motherhood glory I almost missed the scowl on her face.
What? Was that not the best 100 Days ever? Come on, I said. 100 Hershey Kisses! How clever?
Um, Mom, I don’t mean to ruffle your (peacock pluming) feathers but that was not my 100 days. That was Noah’s.
Don’t you remember what you did for mine?
I thought I had. Confusion set in. She was right though, that was for Noah and I was drawing a blank. I’m lucky if I can remember where I set my car keys down when I come home from work these days. Surely it must’ve been great, if not greater than the Hershey Kisses I quickly convinced myself and then a vague, blurred memory began to clear in my head.
Yes, I remember. “Cupcakes! I made 100 cupcakes for the whole school!” I said, beaming.
Mom! I was 5, so excited and that morning you must have forgotten. When I asked you about it, you went to the cupboard and took out cupcake holders. You gave me cupcake holders! You told me ‘No other kid will have these.’
Now it was all coming back to me — like a bad dream.
“That wasn’t even the worst part”, she went on. “I brought them into class and when Susan (the teacher) saw them, she told me to count them.”
There was only 54!
Okay, cupcake holders for the 100th day of school are lame and math was never my forte. I guess I wasn’t the super-clever-mom my mind’s eye seemed to remember me to be either — that time.
What can I say? Parents try their best – always. Sometimes, we come up short.
Like, 46 cupcake holders short.
Sorry, Han.
Do you have a coming-up-short parenting moment you can share?
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This Dark And Quiet Night
It’s dark outside. It’s late and the snow is softly falling. My son is watching basketball and my daughter has a friend sleeping over. Giggles echo up from the furthest corners of the house; one of my all-time, favorite sounds. Life is good, even though the week was fickle and unsettling. Actually, it was me that was unsettled it seemed, at some point, every day. Things just never quite fell into place. The flow of the week’s current pulled in unfamiliar, unsteady directions. Our usual groove was littered with bumps and unexpected twists. My patience seemed to wear thinner and thinner as each day passed. By week’s end I felt a slight rumbling within, leaving me with an unwanted feeling of restlessness.
Usually I have some kind of a thought or an “aha!” moment during the week that presents itself as the topic for what I’m going to write about in my once-a-week post. That never came. All week I had nothing but a blank page surrounded by frustration in my head. You can’t force words to paper. They come when they’re ready. And for me, they’re not always what I expect them to be. By Saturday afternoon my page was still empty and my thoughts too scattered. I couldn’t string together a sentence let alone a few paragraphs even though I felt the gnawing. Too persistent to ignore, something was there, tugging at me. I just couldn’t find it.
Maybe I didn’t want to.
Not until I sat down this evening, at this late hour watching the snow fall quietly and steadily leaving behind a fresh, clean coat of white; beautiful, untouched white, did it occur to me….
Two weeks ago Diane, the parole officer assigned to our case called asking if I would speak on her Impact Panel again this March. Yes, I said. Ever since she started the panel two years ago and every time she’s assembled it since then I’ve said yes.
I always say yes.
How could I say no? I owe it to her, to them, to my kids, to me. To me.
It helps me continue to put things into perspective, a little better, each time.
Yes Diane, of course I’ll speak.
When I hung up, I did what I do and I buried the call. Deep. I Sent it to the very back of my head and tucked it away. I went back to work, too busy to think about all that stuff, again. Besides, I’ve moved and moved on. Haven’t I? I let it sit and stew until today, until it began to wrestle its way to the surface while I tried to squelch it down with my scattered thoughts and blank page.
Now here I am at the eleventh hour thinking about it, writing about it, as it breaks free demanding to be heard on this dark and quiet night.
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Fish Out of Water!
Caution: Some of the images contained in this post may be considered disturbing.
Ever find yourself in a situation where you feel like a “fish out of water?”
Ever wake up in the morning to find your fish – out – of- water?
As a mother, my nature is to nurture. Once you have a child and start taking care of it, something happens within you and you start taking care of EVERYTHING that comes into your life or crosses your path; extended family members, friends, other people’s kids, pets and plants included. You can’t help it. Unfortunately for me, while taking care of my children and other human beings has always come easily & naturally, the taking care of plants and animals, not-so-much. Last winter however, when we moved into our new place, a neighbor welcomed us with a beautiful poinsettia plant that regardless of any amount of neglect I seamlessly bestowed upon it, it not only thrived but has managed to survive, to this very day. It’s even budding new red leaves.
Astonishing!
So, when my daughter won two gold-fish at the County Fair last August, thrilled with both her achievement and the notion of finally having a pet, I had hope and thought, why not? Maybe like the rest of my life, I’m headed in a different direction here. We’ll give it a try and see what happens I told her. Being reasonably skeptical however, we hesitated to name them, referring to them only as “Fish 1” and “Fish 2” (just-in-case ) and never quite knowing exactly which fish was which. Not surprisingly, about a month later we woke up to find a pair of floaters in the fishbowl. As I set about the business of transferring Fish 1 and Fish 2 to their final flushing resting bowl, I caught a faint fin-wiggle out of the corner of my eye. Upon closer examination I could see Fish 1 was actually still alive! Sure enough, after being put into a small holding tank and fed, he began to perk up and swim again.
Interesting. I thought.
Sometime in December however, again, I woke to find a barely breathing “Fish” (which is what we were now lovingly referring to him as), struggling to stay alive. Oddly, again, I put him in our small holding tank, fed him and voila! He was back to his perky self in no time and carefully transferred back into his fishbowl.
If cats have nine lives, how many lives do fish have?
Strange. I thought.
Alas, a few weeks ago, I woke to find an empty fish bowl. Gone, he was. Indeed, Fish, it turned out was out of water! Seriously, sometime during the night, Fish had somehow jumped out of his fishbowl and landed in the kitchen sink! (I know, EW!)
True story. And dead he was. Truly.
Or so I thought.
I left Fish in the sink. This was something I thought Hannah had to see for herself. A few hours later, when she got up and after delivering the sad news, in ceremonious fashion, I awkwardly scooped up Fish in his little net and quickly tossed him into the big bowl that would ultimately carry him to fish-heaven, if you will.
Is there anything you want to say before we flush him Hannah? I asked.
She is after all, such a dramatic sensitive child.
She nodded negatively, peered into the big bowl, put her hand on the lever and SCREAMED…
Mom! Quick! Get the food I think he’s still alive!
Disturbing Image #1 ~ Fish & food in the big bowl.
Instead of full-on-mouth-to-mouth, I did what she recommended and sprinkled some food into the bowl. Why? I have no idea but she was right and there was movement. You could see the ever-so-slightly wiggle (again) of our Fish’s fin and his teeny, tiny black eyes peering up from the big bowl.
Indeed, Fish was alive! Again.
Disturbing Image #2 ~ Indeed, Fish is alive.
For a third time, Fish had been snatched from the jaws of death, quite possibly even the jaws of JAWS, not to mention a fatal flush. And once again, we placed him into the now, “magical holding tank of LIFE”…..
Disturbing Image #3 ~ Putting the net in the toilet to retrieve Fish. Ugh!
….where amazingly, Fish instantly, began to swim! Again.
Good God! I thought, I couldn’t kill this fish if I tried!
Somewhat Disturbing Image #4 ~ Fish alive again!
I consider myself to be more of a spiritual rather than a religious person. Clearly, there is a greater power at work here.
Early on in motherhood, you quickly learn not to question certain things. Count your blessings and be grateful. You take the inexplicable and otherwise bizarre happenings in stride and simply say,
Yep, that seems about right.
Bizarre & Disturbing Image #5 ~ Fish, alive, yet-again and back in his fishbowl.
Good night, Fish.
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Namaste’ Nemo!
Namaste’ whose origins come from India is a word and gesture exchanged in salutation when meeting and departing, usually said with a smile, pressing one’s hands together and giving a slight bow signifying reverence and respect.
Schools closed Friday in anticipation of his coming and folks prepared ahead of time; buying batteries for weather radios and filling bathtubs with water. We hunkered down with necessary supplies; food, water, flashlights, charged cell phones, blankets, a good book to read. Then, much like with the coming of Sandy, we waited, some of us more anxiously than others. With each passing hour we wondered just how fierce he would be, whether we’d lose power and if so, for how long. It’s a humbling predicament to be held captive in one’s own home by the uncertainty of what the weather will bring. There is no greater force than that of Mother Nature and her wrath, should she choose to unleash it. The only thing you can truly rely on, is that nature will do what nature will do. At 8:30am Friday morning, the flakes began to fall. At first in the form of sporadic showers but by1:30pm, the snow was steady. By evening-fall, we had settled into the knowing that the storm was upon us.
With all due respect, Namaste’ Nemo!
An inch of snow an hour quickly turned to two and up to five inches per hour fell mercilessly in parts of Connecticut overnight. With him came hurricane-force winds. Major roadways in two states were closed. Curfews and car bans were instituted. Nemo had been unleashed in the Northeast only 100-days after and hardly enough time to recover from Sandy’s visit. In one night, Nemo left up to 3-feet of snow in parts of New York, Connecticut, Rhode Island, Massachusetts and New Hampshire. Over 650,000 homes were left without electricity.
Namaste’ Nemo!
Come Saturday morning, the sweet, steady hum of a snow-blower spewing its contents high above its handler filled the air. The scraping sounds of metal hitting asphalt could be heard too, for the many hours it took to shovel driveways and pathways freeing residents from Mother Nature’s captivity. Nemo was here and he left a thick, sparkling blanket of white as far as the eye could see in his wake.
There is an oft-repeated phrase in A Game of Thrones, the series I’m reading, that gives the reader a sense of impending doom. Unlike the pleasant prediction that Punxsutawney Phil gave last week that Spring is coming, the repeated phrase in the books is that
Winter is coming…..
A chill runs down my spine, every time I read it. Winter, I am reminded, has not yet left us, which brings me to what lies ahead. Orko.
Last week, Phil said Spring was coming. This week Nemo said, not just yet.
Next week, Orko looms.
Oy!
Namaste’ Orko!
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Phil Said So
Have you heard? Spring is coming.
Phil said so.
I love mankind. We’re obsessed with advancing. We’ve figured out how to send folks to the moon. We can see our friends and family in other states and countries while we speak to them through our computers. We can send instant messages across the world by email and clean our floors with a small round mechanical orb without ever getting our fingers dirty. Yet, when it comes to identifying the natural progression of one season to the next (on the East Coast anyway) we regress to ancient German folklore and the belief that groundhogs have the ability to prognosticate the upcoming weather. That’s right, instead of using the latest in weather-related technology, we gather en mass and in celebration, since 1886 in fact, to rely on the prediction of an over-grown, over-weight, hairy rodent who’s been pulled out of his hole every February 2nd at Gobbler’s Knob in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania for the last 127 years. Did I mention this animal doesn’t hiss, purr, bark, snort, speak or text? Indeed, whether we hang on to our woolies or break out our shorts all depends on what he, Punxsutawney Phil does. It’s six more weeks of winter if he sees his shadow, Spring if he doesn’t! And, it’s all done rather cryptically, in the blink of an eye, in front of 20,000 live spectators and a few million television viewers.
Mysterious looking men, members of the Inner Circle, wearing black top hats and long coats gather before a swelling crowd. It’s said that Phil talks to the president of the Inner Circle through Groundhogese. A Leader in the Circle then translates to the crowd. I watched it unfold myself, the whole 4-minutes of it. One minute no groundhog. The next, he was being pulled out of Gobbler’s Knob. A minute later an old scroll was unfurled, the Leader began to read and voila:
“There is no shadow to see. An early spring for you and me!”
Winter is over.
It’s true. He said so. Phil, the groundhog. In Punxsutawney. I didn’t hear him say it but they said he did. Even though the thermometer read 19° while he was not seeing his shadow and the forecast for tonight is snow, Spring is coming.
Phil said so. 🙂
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Do Over Again
Life is a series of starting over.
Do overs.
From the time we’re kids to the time we have kids, we reevaluate our situations and begin again.
When my kids were little and any situation would elevate emotions to a height of no return, I’d reach back into my own childhood and do what me and my friends did when we couldn’t agree on whose turn it was or who won. Admittedly, it was one of the last hopes I’d pull from my parenting bag of tricks but thankfully, it always seemed to work. I’d raise my hands up between them and say,
“Okay, let’s just stop and start over.”
A new beginning.
Every January the opportunity presents itself, again. It’s the month of reflection, a time when most adults, start over. Millions of people ponder the previous year’s failings and contemplate what they want from the next year. We promise ourselves to do. Do this. Do that. Do more. Do better. Come next January, we’ll chide ourselves for what we didn’t do and once again the cycle and promise to do will repeat.
This year I’ve decided to throw caution to the wind, go against the grain, mix things up a little and concentrate on things I don’t want to do. I’m taking a cue from a good friend of mine and a recent post she made over at SWM where her RES-O-LU-TION really resonated with me. Instead of bemoaning what I failed to accomplish last year or belaboring over what I want to do this year, I’m saving myself some grief, keeping it simple and picking three things to focus on that I don’t want to do:
- I don’t want… to fall into the same old traps. It’s a vicious, hurtful cycle, thinking maybe this time he or she or things will be different. No one is perfect we all deserve a second chance but chances are, after giving someone or something three or four, they’re not going to change. If you’re honest, true to your word and don’t treat people badly, you deserve the same. Life after all, is hard for everyone.
- I don’t want… to say “no” to opportunity because I’m afraid of what lies ahead. Yes. Okay. I’ll try it! Whatever it is. We are, to a large degree the creators of our own destiny and need to be responsible for the actions we take or don’t take to get us there. If you hide behind fear of the unknown, you will never know. I don’t want to not know.
- I don’t want… to be unkind. Brazen is wonderful but to be kind is key. In keeping with my promise to commit acts of kindness and because life as I said is hard for everyone and everyone could use a little more kindness in their life, I don’t want to be unkind.
It’s do over time again. Only this year I’m not going to concentrate on what I want to do.
Happy New Year to all!
What are your New Year resolutions?
Photo Credit #1 & 2: Google Images
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Kids These Days!
Mama’s Crystal Ball
Every parent strives to do better than the previous generation, providing for their children that which they lacked or missed out on in their own childhood.
Nowadays, the reviews are mixed.
Kids these days have it too easy! They’re spoiled with less required physical activity and way too much couch-potato-encouraging technology that keeps them inside exercising their thumbs rather than outside, exercising their whole bodies and minds.
~ Any Random Adult
It’s an on-going challenge for parents trying to strike the balance for their children; keeping abreast of what’s current, necessary and useful and making sure they don’t lose sight of what’s important for them to know how to do.
Despite the difficulties, I LOVE being a mom. Always have. For many years I enjoyed being a stay-at-home-mom, eagerly performing what others might consider mundane tasks for my kids, like painstakingly working out ketchup stains from their favorite dress or shirt, making sure the same favorite dress or shirt (or batman costume) was constantly clean so it could be worn several days in a row or making extra portions of a home-made dinner so I could freeze them for my son who refused to eat a cold lunch at school up until the 5th grade. I didn’t mind the endless task of picking up their toys and returning them to places they could easily be found the next day during their pre-arranged play-dates and I’d spend many hours searching and experimenting with new recipes I thought they might like to try. Even though my daughter is in 6th grade now, I still enjoy making her lunch for school every day.
These and so much more were—are, to me still, labors of love.
The eyes in the back of my head are blue. What color are yours?
As my kids enter their tween and teenage years however, the tasks are changing and I’m starting to focus more seriously on the notion that it’s my duty to prepare them the best I can, for (real) LIFE.
Parenting is unique to each unique child.
Babies don’t leave the womb with a ‘here’s how I specifically operate and what I’ll need to know, mom’ guide and even though the long-held myths about moms having eyes in the back-of-their-heads and a-future-seeing-crystal-ball hidden in their bedroom closets are absolutely TRUE, our eyes and crystal balls are often clouded and not exactly all-seeing. I’m not always quite sure, how to make sure, my kids have the life-skills and tools they’ll need to become high-functioning, productive, kind and considerate citizens of our future communities.
In short, much of what we put forth is a bit of a crap shoot, flung from instinct.
For example, myself and four other mothers of my 14-year old son’s basketball-playing school mates recently hired a culinary chef who has a school in New York City to give our teenage boys some professional training in the kitchen. Sure, they know how to boil water for Ramen Noodles but what do they know about using a knife or picking fresh produce, making their own salad dressing, gravy or apple-crisp? Not much and my crystal ball predicts the women they’ll eventually end up with 10-years or so from now will not be as interested in devoting the same amount of kitchen and laundry time me or my mom did while raising a family.
It’s a new era and they’ll be out forging new paths and making lives of their own.
Easy access to information.
Our boys need to know how to cook and keep house.
Now that he’s been schooled, will he happily whip up a roasted chicken dinner complete with a fresh vegetable side and dessert when his future significant other informs him she’ll be coming home late from the office? I have no idea. BUT I continue to have faith and blindly put forth my efforts and babble, babble, babble on, hoping that somewhere in their premature brains my kids are processing what I say or make them do and will be able to pull out what they need, when they need it, like a magician pulls a rabbit from his hat.
Still, I can’t help but wonder how my kids will act or react when they get caught in a jam or circumstance that really requires them to step-up and take responsibility.
Thankfully, every once in a while however, the gods are good and toss out a bone, giving us insight as to whether or not we’re on the right track and we get a glimpse of what kind of an adult our child is going to be.
A few weeks before Christmas, I very suddenly and unexpectedly came down with pneumonia. I’ve never had pneumonia before. In fact, I rarely get sick. For the most part, I’m a Type A personality, leaving little time and patience for illness that would keep me from doing, let alone out of work. It’s not in my make up but this was out of my control. I had no choice but to succumb and was completely laid out for nearly two full weeks. With the help of a few family members and friends however, I was checked-in on, and my kids managed to get fed and brought to where they needed to be, including school each morning while I lay incapacitated in my third floor bedroom.
For days, I was completely unawares of the goings-on below and could barely hear my daughter moving about in the evenings.
What’s this? A note?
I finally passed through the fever-delirium period and made it to the tolerating side of a hacking cough that cut like a knife in my chest. As much as I love my secluded bedroom, I desperately needed to make my way downstairs, if for nothing else but to reassure myself that I could still walk. It was sometime mid-morning on a weekday, when I took the last step down and rounded myself toward the kitchen for the first time in several days.
I saw a small piece of white paper taped face-down to the counter.
Reaching out, I flipped it over and this is what it said….
The gods are good.
Yes, the first word in the fourth item on my 11-year old daughter’s List after ‘work on gifts’ (because she hand-makes Christmas gifts for each member of our extended family every year) is sew and even though I don’t, apparently she does.
It’s the second to last item however, that stopped me cold in my slipper-laden tracks.
Take care of mom
Thank you, good gods.
And as if that wasn’t enough to bring an already weepy mom to tears, on my way back up to Never-Never-Land, I glanced down the short flight of stairs to the front door. One of the last statements and only instructions I recall making from my sick-bed to my daughter before literally entering the Twilight Zone in the first 24-hours of being laid out was …
You’ll have to buy lunch at school.
BUT like many other kids these days, she had her own ideas about lunch and apparently, made it herself.
Every day.
Even reminded herself, not to forget it from the fridge before leaving in the morning.
Kids these days.
They’re pretty awesome!
Photo Credit #1-3 Google Images
Photo Credit #4-6 KarenSzczukaTeich&www.takingtheworldonwithasmile.com
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Striving to live life on life's terms while taking the world on with a smile.
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