Spirits

Before I start this entry, I feel I should add a disclaimer. Some people might find this weird. Well, more weird than anything else I do!

My mom's parents are both deceased. Grandpa passed away in February, 2000; and Grandma followed in October, 2008. I know they are still with me, and I feel their presence all the time. Some days, it seems I feel them more than others. Today was one of those days.

I believe that a part of each grandparent lives on in the form of a bird. Maybe this goes back to our Native American roots. Maybe I'm just a goofball. But I really believe this. The day before my Grandfather died, I saw the most beautiful male cardinal outside my apartment. It was singing, and really trying to make sure I noticed it. The next day, the same cardinal was outside my window all day. Cardinals were my grandfather's favorite bird. I felt a sense of peace seeing this striking creature. Since Grandpa passed, I have had cardinals in my yard daily. Here at the Goofy Grape, we are up to about 10 pair of cardinals that live in our yard. They are at our feeder daily. Male cardinals tend to be territorial, but not the ones in my yard. Each one is prettier than the previous one. My mom often tells me she's never seen so many cardinals.

When I'm having a rough day, or going through a particularly tough time, a male cardinal will appear. Maybe he flutters beside me as I walk from my car to the office, or he sits outside my kitchen or bedroom window and sings all day. It always gives me a sense of peace. As if Grandpa is telling me, "it's going to be ok". Sometimes, I don't know what the message is supposed to be, but before long it will be revealed to me.

Grandma's favorite bird was the blue jay. Bossy, but beautiful. Before Gram passed away, we had the occasional blue jay at our feeder or in our yard. The day after she passed, this big blue jay sat at our feeder. It sat there almost all day. I could see this bird from the kitchen, the dining room, and both bathrooms. Now, I have four blue jays that live in our yard. They fly through the yard, their big wings spread as they glide from tree to tree. They play in the yard, chasing each other. And they yell. They will sit in the trees and yell at each other. Blue jays have a very distinct sound. I can't really describe it, but I know it when I hear it.

The blue jays have the same effect on me that the cardinals do; they soothe me. I feel that my Grandparents are close by, watching over me. Tonight, I came home and heard a jay. I looked out, and on our patio fence was a blue jay. It sat there, yelling, hopping up and down with every yell. I stood there for a few minutes, then went into the kitchen. I saw a flash of red swoop past the kitchen window, and I snuck back into the dining room. Just outside the window was a male cardinal. It was eating peanuts I had put out for the birds. He sat on the other side of the window and just looked at me. Every time he looked at me, I felt like I was looking at my Grandfather. As I stood there, sharing this moment with the cardinal, I saw something to my left. And there, on the fence, just a foot or two away from the cardinal was a blue jay. The two aren't often in the same place together. Then I knew there was a message. I don't yet know what the message is, but I'm pretty sure God has a message for me. It will be revealed in time. But I know not to fear, everything is going to be ok. He sent my Grandparents to tell me.

Change

I didn't intend to be one of those adults who talks about the olden days. The five mile walk to school, uphill both ways, through twelve feet of snow, even in August. Perhaps it's inevitable though. Every time I hear 'there's an app for that', I cringe. I remember when we didn't have apps, didn't know what an 'app' was. An application was a piece of paper you filled out. There were employment applications, college applications, and loan applications (I am probably forgetting some). Cell phones were something you had in case of an emergency. Mom got me a cell phone when I started driving. It looked like a regular phone, except the buttons were on the back of the handset- so that you could dial while you were driving. It had a cradle, just like the phones at home. It was in a zippered bag, so that you could easily carry it with you (because of course, cell phones in 1992 did NOT fit in your purse). It was there in case I needed it, even though most of the places I traveled in our valley did not have cell service (and still do not, even in 2010-although they are working to improve that).

The latest incarnation of my cell phone fits into an inside pocket of my purse. In fact, if I do not put it back in that pocket, it gets lost in the depths of my purse; causing me to pull all the contents out of my purse when I need it. I have two pair of glasses to wear thanks to an astigmatism, so I have a deep purse. It's called a 'hobo'. Definitely bigger than most women my age would carry, but those cute little purses just don't cut it. On the plus side, I can hide a bottle of water in it, or my camera.

But even my tiny phone is pretty basic. I don't have an IPhone, or a Droid. I don't see the need for one. Yes, I'm a facebook addict, and there are times- such as the unexpected hour long wait to get my allergy shot today, when it would have been nice to play around on facebook; but I think there are times I need to disconnect. Sit back and knit, or listen to my music, or just veg. I don't feel I need to be connected to other people 24 hours a day. So my phone has no 'apps'. And I like it that way.

Music has changed a lot too. When I bought my Rav4 four years ago, it came with an MP3 hookup. Great! I didn't have an MP3 player, but a few months later I did. (No it's not an ipod either. It's just a generic MP3 player). It is about the size of a business card. During one of my recent trips home, my Aunt saw it and asked what it was. I was explaining it to her, and she couldn't understand how I had 16 hours of music on this little thing. We used to make fun of my parents for listening to records, and before that 8 tracks. Sydney doesn't know how to operate a boom box. I don't know that she's ever seen a cassette tape. Cassette tapes were the soundtrack of my childhood. The other night we were watching an old Jeff Foxworthy special, and we realized how old it was as he talked about always losing cassette tape holders. We started switching to CDs when I was in high school. I remember how expensive they were at first, and you had to have the special CD player. So now it wasn't enough to have a boom box with a dual tape deck and detachable speakers. It had to have a built-in CD player too. About ten years ago, the cool thing was to use Napster. Before all the licensing issues, Napster was free. I don't know if Napster is even still around. It was incredible that you could find any type of music from your computer. I still have CD's full of music I downloaded. I have then 'ripped' this music from the CDs onto my MP3. Another generation won't know what a CD is. And in another couple of generations, MP3 players will go the way of Walkmans and jukeboxes.

When I think of how technology has changed our world, I think of my Grandma Wager. Mom & her sister both worked in banks- mom in NY, and Aunt Arlene in FL. The two different banks they worked for were some of the first to issue ATM cards, and then that advanced to Debit Cards. I've had a Debit Card since I was about 16; when I went to college they were still a novelty and we went to a couple of banks before we found one that offered them. The banks would often let their employees test new things first, so mom & her sister had ATM cards before most people. I remember we were visiting Grandma & Grandpa in Florida, and Mom had to get money out of her account. In the past, this meant writing a check to either Grandma or my Aunt, and then they would cash it and give mom the money. Mom told Grandma to just pull up to the ATM. Grandma didn't understand how a brick wall could give you money. At the time we thought Grandma was so out of it. But the older I get, the more out of it I feel.

The Power of a Call

I came home from work feeling pretty run down. Mondays are always rough for us at the office. We have to do marketing, which is a big job. It is also done in another part of the office, which is extremely hot. I don't do heat (hmm... another friend blogged about that same topic earlier this week). It's not just that I don't like it. I get physically ill. When I get too hot, my stomach gets upset. I get weak, and well, it's just not a great way to spend a day. So I had been dealing with that today, going on too little sleep because I had a lot of problems breathing last night (darn Hazy, Hot, Humid weather), working my tail off. I came home and just wanted to collapse on the couch. Erich & I decided we would just fend for ourselves for dinner. I didn't have the energy to even make dinner until almost 7pm. I was ready for bed, and trying to figure out how to stay awake a few hours more, so that I can go to bed at a decent time, not the time that 3 year olds go to bed.

Then Erich came downstairs, and said he had been on the phone and another call buzzed in, but he didn't get to it. He said it was 'Private Caller', so it must have been one of our sisters. He figured it was probably mine. I called Laura, and she said 'Peanut wants to talk to you'. Peanut is what she calls Sydney. This instantly made my night- I love talking to Sydney!

Sydney got on the phone and said 'Hi Aunt Amy'. I asked her what was up, and she said "I wanna come to your house". I told her that we had talked about it, and when she could leave her mommy & daddy she could come. She said "I'm going to come with MeMe and PopPop when Santa comes". It is my year to have my folks for Christmas, although they will come out after Christmas so they can have Christmas Day with Sydney & her brother. I told her she was welcome to come, and I'm sure MeMe would bring her. She told me that yes, MeMe would bring her. And then I thought, 'has she told her mother about this?'. So I told her she can come if her Mommy says it's ok. Sydney assured me it was, and told me she would come and see me and my 'eagles'. (She knows how to say 'beagle', but she has started calling them 'eagles'. She says it's the 'same thing'). Then, her mission accomplished, she said 'Bye, Aunt Amy!'. I told her that I love her, and she said 'I love you' then she was gone.

My sister got back on the phone then. She & Andy are ok with Syd coming to visit. She said we can't buy her everything she wants, and I said that's fine. I can keep her Christmas presents out here, so she'll get to have two Christmases. We talked about some of the logistics. I mentioned that Syd told me in June she keeps wishing and wishing to come to my house, but it hasn't happened. Laura said that each night, Syd goes to her window and looks out and says "I wish I could go to Aunt Amy's house to see her and her eagles". Mom told me tonight that Syd does it at their house too, and when Mom says 'Don't you mean Aunt Amy's beagles?" Syd says 'Yes, it's the same thing'.

So it looks like my little Sydie bear will be coming to visit! I am so excited. I could dance around the house, except my body is quite sore from the day. I want so shout from the rooftops, tell everyone I know. So I'll do the next best thing and blog. I have a lot of work to do. I need to clean out the bear room for one, and make it habitable for a little girl. We are not used to having children around the house, so I'm sure it will need to be childproofed. I hope she will be ok away from her mom for a few days, but we'll cross that bridge when we get there. Mom said we will make it an adventure for her, and when she misses her Mommy she can call her. My poor eagles won't know what hit them, sorry guys!

That little girl just made my year!

I Love Being an Aunt

My family lives in NY- my parents, my sister and her family, my cousins. I get to see them a couple of times a year. When my sister had Sydney, I was concerned that she wouldn't know me. Little kids don't really have a concept of time; and to see someone just a couple days a year: well, it was frightening to me. I feared I would be a stranger to her, and not a big part of her life.

From the time Sydney was an infant, I have talked to her on the phone. My sister would put the phone next to her in the crib and I would talk to her, so she could hear my voice. I found a stuffed Tigger, which also is a picture frame. We had family pictures done when Sydney was 3 1/2 months old. I had a picture done of just Sydney and I; and we put that in the picture frame and put it in her room. My parents and my sister have done an incredible job telling Sydney about me. The result is that I have a terrific relationship with this adorable little girl.

My mom frequently tells me that Sydney talks about Aunt Amy. She said Syd will talk about me, and then she will say 'I love her so much!'. She looks at pictures of me and talks about Aunt Amy. It tugs at my heart to hear this. She doesn't talk to me so much on the phone anymore- she has to be in the mood. But she has this little play phone that she talks to me on all the time. She got it as a Christmas present at the Primeau family party last year, and she immediately sat down and called Aunt Amy. So it's ok that we don't talk on the real phone a lot, I know she talks to me on her phone and probably doesn't have anything else to say when I'm on the real phone. I just hope someday I'm not expected to remember our pretend conversations.

When it's getting close to one of my trips home, mom will talk to her. Sydney will tell everyone she sees that her Aunt Amy is coming on an airplane. Of course, when she sees me at first, she wants to have nothing to do with me, but she is getting better. It's only taking her a few minutes to warm up, rather than a few hours or even a day. And once she does warm up to me, she won't let me out of her sight.

Last week mom told her I will be home in the fall, and asked what she would like to do. Sydney told her "It doesn't matter as long as I have my Aunt Amy. I love her so much!" I cried when Mom told me that. I never would have imagined that such a little person could have such an incredible effect on me. I love her so much too! And I hope she will pass this onto her brother, and that my nephew will love me just as much as Sydney does. I also hope that we will continue to have a great relationship, even as this precious little one grows into an obnoxious teenager!

Peaches

Last night I meant to post a pleasant, happy memory; but the story that flowed was a sad one. So I'll try again.

When we would drive down to Florida with my grandparents, we usually took the road less traveled. While Dad preferred to go down I95; Grandma & Grandpa preferred to meander down the east coast. We took back roads, or roads that used to be the highway before the interstate system.

In Georgia, we would stop at any one of the roadside farm stands and get peaches. My friend Patricia, now a resident of South Carolina, would like to point out that South Carolina produces more peaches than Georgia. That may be, but we always stopped in Georgia. Maybe because it was closer to Florida, so the peaches would be fresher when we got to Gram's. Grandma would buy a big basket full of peaches, and they'd make the rest of the voyage with us.

When we got to her house, she would cut up the peaches, and put them in a big bowl. Then she scooped vanilla ice cream over the peaches, and left it to melt. When the ice cream melted, we had peaches and cream. That was dessert that night. I loved the combination of the fresh peaches and the cool smooth ice cream. There were never leftovers; we ate it all that night.

I don't really care for peaches, but I love peaches and cream. Several times a summer I find myself fixing it, just for me as Erich doesn't seem to care for peaches either. This summer I've had a hard time finding great peaches. But I keep trying, and am trying again tonight. And when I take that first bite of the cool cream against the soft peach; I will be transported back to the summers of my childhood, sitting at Grandma's big dining room table drinking from the red cups. I am so tan my skin is a deep brown, and young enough to not care if I'm running around in just my underwear. Grandma & Grandpa are sitting there, and I haven't a care in the world.

A Summer to Forget

My Grandma & Grandpa Wager moved to Florida a couple of weeks before my fourth birthday. Before that, they lived a couple houses away from us. If it were a city, the distance would probably be measured in blocks, in which case it would have been about a block to their house.

Mom went back to work once my sister was in school. Mom worked at the bank in town. In the summer, we would go to Florida to stay with Grandma and Grandpa. They would drive up in their big Mercury. Sometimes they drove all the way to NY, sometimes Mom & Dad drove down to Virginia to meet them. I don't remember when we left; but I remember being home for the 4th of July parade, so we must have gone to Florida after that. We usually stayed until the end of August; when we'd either drive back to Virginia to meet Mom & Dad, or our Aunt would fly us home to NY. I remember spending every summer of my childhood in Florida, but in reality, there were only a couple of summers that we did this, because once Grandpa started getting sick we didn't go down anymore. One summer, our trip was cut short.

It was a Wednesday. I remember this, even more than 20 years later. I was 8 or 9, I think. I know it was a Wednesday, because the memory that is stuck in my mind is of my sister and I in the bathtub in the middle of the afternoon. On Wednesdays we went to the Farmer's Market, then we went to the beach. On the way home from the beach, we would stop for lunch at Hardy's. Our routine never varied. Farmer's Market, Beach, Hardy's. We would carefully pump ketchup into the paper thimble sized cups at Hardy's. I don't know that I've eaten at Hardy's at any other time in my life; but for a few summers I ate there every Wednesday. When we got back to Grandma's house, Laura and I were ushered into the bathtub to wash the sand off us. Grandpa usually hosed down the car (and sometimes vacuumed it). And so, this is how I know our world turned upside down on a Wednesday.

We were playing in the bathtub, and the phone rang. It was Grandpa's doctor, and he wanted to see Grandma & Grandpa at his office right away. My Aunt wouldn't be home from work for a couple of hours. Grandma got us out of the tub, and asked their neighbor Jean to come sit with us. She didn't really have time to tell Jean what was going on, and she didn't have time to call my Aunt. We sat in the Florida room watching TV with Jean. Aunt Arlene came home and didn't see Grandma's car, so she was surprised to walk in and hear noises in the house. Shortly after she came home, Mom called. I remember there was a great deal of confusion because no one really knew what was going on.

I don't remember all the specifics. Grandpa was sick. That is what we were told. Somewhere I heard the word 'Cancer'. I didn't know what it was, but the way it had all the adults panicked, I knew it wasn't something good. Grandpa went straight to the hospital that day. Mom & Dad loaded up their car and made the long emergency trip to Florida. When they got there, we opened the trunk to unload their suitcases, and it was full of shoes. Mom was so upset, she threw in every pair of shoes she could find- including boots. We all laughed at that-it was a break in the solemnness we were experiencing. Laura & I went home with Mom & Dad. I don't remember what we did the rest of the summer; I know we had only been in Florida maybe a month. That was the last summer we spent in Florida. Grandpa would live another 15 or so years; but after this summer his health was always more fragile.

When I started this post, I intended it to be a happy memory; not a sad one. But I think this is the story that had to be told today.

Bear Friends

I have always loved Teddy Bears. They are so comforting, so cuddly. Maybe it's the kid in me who refuses to grow up. But Teddy Bears have always held a special place in my life. When we were growing up, one of our neighbor's made Teddy Bears. Her husband was the Baptist minister. Their sons were adults, and Elaine was one of the most fun people you would ever meet. I was amazed when I found out she made teddy bears. Her bears were beautiful, yet simple. I bought one at a craft fair, it had blond fur and jointed arms, legs, and head. He wore a lace collar with a blue bow.

For my sixteenth birthday, my parents bought me another bear. She was a sweet bear wearing a teal dress. She had a bow on her ear and pearl earrings. She looked very grown up; appealing to the fearless 16 year old on the verge of adulthood, and the child my parents wished to hold onto a little longer.

In high school, one of my friends, Mandi; also liked Teddy Bears. One day in the summer we went up to the Teddy Bear Factory in Vermont. It was, at the time, the biggest place I had ever seen that was devoted to Teddy Bears. It was a lot of fun, and I had to restrain myself from buying all the bears!

In 1998, my sister was visiting me in Madison, IN. We went into a store that sold Boyds Bears. I had heard people talking about them, and knew people who collected them. She bought me two little bears that day; but she started my collection. Soon the bears became a big part of my life. One of the couches in my apartment was devoted to my growing bear collection. My parents started buying them for me. Everyone knew they could get me a bear. When I moved to this house, Erich let me have the master bedroom, and the smallest of the remaining three bedrooms. He took the two bedrooms that were mid-sized. I turned the small room into the Bear Room. My collection continued to grow; filling the room. I have the angel bears flying from fishing wire on the ceiling. I've run out of wall space; and even the floor is full. I have over 400 bears; but I don't know the exact amount. I should post pictures of my bear room; but it is in a state of disarray right now. For a couple of years, I have been planning to get some order in the room. I stopped collecting the bears a few years ago. I realized that having to tiptoe through the room meant I had too many. The bears also started to look alike to me, and the quality had changed. And I may have been influenced by the realization of how much money had been spent in bears over the years! My goal is to rotate the bears seasonally. Put out the Christmas bears at Christmas, then the Winter ones, etc. Doing this would hopefully make the bedroom usable as, oh, say a bedroom? When my parents come to visit, I let them sleep in my room and I sleep in the living room. Sydney wants to come visit, and right now I don't have a place for her. I would like to get at least a twin bed in the bear room, and then I would have some place for guests to stay. But going through the bears, and packing them up, is a huge task. So I have closed the door and keep thinking to myself 'I will get to it'.

Several years ago, maybe 6 or 7, maybe even more, Erich found this site on the Web for me. It was a "Boyd's Bears Bulletin Board". He thought I would enjoy talking to other collectors. What I found is a diverse group of people, mostly women, who have become very dear friends. We share the love of the bears, (and my collection is NOT the largest!) but we also have other things in common. Some of us are history buffs. Many of us enjoy reading. Others enjoy knitting. A couple were even NASCAR fans. We are sports enthusiasts, crafters, cooks, and travellers. We share so many interests, not just the bears.

Most of us have stopped, or at least seriously cut back, on our collecting. But the friendships we have formed go beyond the bears. I consider many of these women my closest friends, and yet, some of them I have not had the pleasure of meeting in person. I feel like I've known them forever though. We exchange cards for birthdays and Christmas; we reach out across the wires when another needs a friend. We have grieved together over the loss of loved ones, rejoiced when new babies are born into our various families. We are the BnB Buddies. And my Buddies are a big part of my life.

I've had the chance to meet several of my friends. And there are so many more that I want to meet. Most of these women are older than I am, but I have always made friends with women who are more mom's age. Age never seems to matter. Some of my bear friends are grandmothers of college aged grandchildren, and some are my age. The bears brought us together, and then we found the other things we share which strengthened our bond. Facebook has helped us get closer. My Facebook friends are broken into groups, so I can remember which part of my life a particular person is from. I have several 'Amandas' on my list, and several Patricias. Some days my mind wanders, so I like being able to remember who I'm speaking with. It is no surprise that the largest group is 'Bear Buddies'. They are the people I seem to have the most interaction with. They have become very dear friends, and I love each of them. My life is so much better for knowing each and every Bear Buddy.

Status, please

The question of my marital status comes up frequently. People who know me know the situation, and don't ask. It is the people in my life who are on the peripheral that tend to ask. Old friends I'm reconnecting with, people at the salon, my allergy nurse. If complete strangers came up to me, I probably wouldn't answer their question. But I feel compelled to answer the question for the people I know.

Maybe people ask because I'm a woman in my mid-30's. I have tons of jewelry, but rarely wear it anymore. So my fingers are usually naked. I know there are people who feel you must be married with children. My grandmother is one of those. She was married two weeks after her 18th birthday, 11 months later she was a mother. She believes a woman's purpose is to have children. Those of us in our 30's who are not married, get questioned about when we will get married. Those who are married and do not yet have children, get questioned about when they will have children. If they have one child, they get questioned when they will have another. If we're 30, or over, and single; we are not a success. Yet those who have more children then they can care for, they get praise. It's not fair, but that's how she is.

Of course, I don't really know how to answer the 'are you married' question either. Because I consider myself single, but the truth is that I'm divorced. It's not a great big secret. Most of my friends know it. I got married right out of college, and it only lasted a year. It was an abusive relationship, and I am thankful every day that I got out. At the time, I worked with several older women who had been in abusive marriages. They were stuck for 30 years, and then left by their husbands. I didn't want that to be me. I know that God put these women in my life at that time because I needed them.

After the divorce, I worked to put that part of my life behind me. I was embarrassed to have been in that situation. People have asked me if he was violent before the marriage. The answer is yes, he was, to other people. I also get asked what I saw in him (if you knew him, you'd understand why I get asked that). He was the first guy who treated me as something more than a friend. I had a lot of guys friends in high school. And even when I got to college; the guys I thought were so cute just saw me as a friend.

Following the divorce, I got right back into the dating scene. After all, I was only 23. And met a few more frogs on the way. I even got engaged to another frog. He seemed like a prince at the time, and then his personality really changed. So we broke up on the way home from a vacation with my family. Later one of his friends told me he'd been dating another girl the entire time he'd been seeing me.

So my track record with guys was not so great. I decided I needed to take some time for me. I needed to know who I was, and what I wanted before I could get into a relationship. Erich and I had already been sharing a house for about three years at this point. We have been sharing a house since October, 2000. It was supposed to be temporary, to help me get back on my feet after the divorce. I hated living alone. I like having someone to talk to (even if he doesn't always listen), and cooking for two is a lot easier than cooking for one. Now it's been a decade, but neither of us seems to mind. I don't see either of us moving.

Erich and I dated; that's how our relationship started. But we realized we were better as friends than boyfriend/girlfriend. So we are friends. Have been for 10 years. I'm sure Erich would rather that we are friends with benefits. I consider him possibly my best friend. He sees me at my worst; the days that the fibro or other health problems ravages my body and leaves me in bed all day. The days that PMS makes me a raging bitch and I snap over everything. (This is a new experience for all of us, as up until about six months ago, modern medicine helped me prevent this occurrence). He puts up with me on the days that I'm in such a good mood I chatter about everything. He has been there as I've grieved the loss of both of my grandparents; worried about my dad recovering from a life altering injury; and shared the latest cute thing Sydie bear did. He might be the person who has the best idea of my political beliefs, as I keep that very close and do not share it with others. He might possibly know me better than anyone else; or at least as well as my mom and my sister do.

I am very blessed to have Erich in my life. He is possibly the most caring person I've ever met. He takes care of me on the bad days and if he thinks I need to be picked up, he brings flowers. He buys my favorite snack foods- which might not be the best for me, as I could stand to lose some weight. We do things together on weekends: shopping, restaurants, exploring different places. It's kind of like we have a built in date. We take care of each other. It is not all just one way. I do nice things for him, buy him clothes when he needs them, fix dinner, take care of the house. My brother in law says I talk about Erich as if he were my husband, and other people have said we act like an old married couple. We have a great friendship. I think we possibly get along better than some married couples.

I feel a great affection for Erich. It isn't any kind of earth moving passion. But I don't know that I would feel that for anyone at this point in my life anyway. I am not afraid of marriage. I know some people might think that one bad marriage turned me against it. That's not the case. I still believe people can be happily married. My parents are going on 36 years. My sister and brother in law are working on 9. My Grandparents have been married for 62 1/2 years. I have friends who found love the second time around and have great relationships. So I haven't given up on it. And I'm not saying Erich isn't the one. A few years ago, if people said 'you'll probably end up with Erich', I would have laughed. I no longer think it's the most ridiculous thing. I do know, however, that Erich doesn't really see the point of marriage. Although we have joked that if he were to get a job with great health insurance, it might be a possibility.

I feel this tenderness towards him. You can't live with someone for 10 years and not feel something. Yes, I suppose it is a form of love, but as I said, it's not passion. I feel a need to take care of him, and I worry about his health. I know I would miss him terribly, and my life would be lonely without him. I suspect he still carries a torch for me. I have always felt badly that I did not return his feelings. But, give me another 10 years and who knows! :)

We are certain that we do not want children. Erich doesn't want them, and I know that I am better being an aunt than a mother. I have my furbabies, and that is enough. I don't feel that maternal instinct that so many women my age feel. Some days, I have all I can do to take care of myself, I know I would not be able to take care of children. We have the dogs. To the dogs, I am Mommy and he is Daddy. When people tell me 'you should have kids, because you'd be a great mom!', I am flattered, but I will only be a great mom to dogs. I told my mom sorry to disappoint her, but she will only have furry grandchildren from me. She said she's fine with that, she wouldn't want me to have children if I didn't want them.

So how do I answer the question when people ask 'Are you married?' or 'Who's Erich?'. I guess I can just leave it at 'Erich is my housemate'. Or 'I share a house with a friend'. Skip the explanation, and let people think what they want. It's really none of their business. It might be weird to them, but this works for us.

Overused

Last night I wrote about the under use of 'Thank You'. Some words get used to much. When I was in high school, it was 'like' and 'ya know'.

"I, like ya know, called him and like, his mom answered and was like ya know he's not here right now."

I know my English teacher friends are grinding their teeth! I hate to admit, but I do use 'like' as a filler. Not as much as say, a Valley Girl, but I know I use it more frequently than I should. I also tend to use 'awesome' a lot. Sometimes I have found it is the best word to describe what I'm feeling, or the best response. I guess it's a generational thing.

Lately, I have noticed absolutely being used a lot. To the point of over use. I cringe every time I hear it. Sometimes it is when I call members or prospects at work. If the person I'm trying to reach isn't available, and I ask to leave a message, the secretary or assistant says 'Absolutely!'. It is always said with a lift at the end, as if the person speaking were jumping up in the air. (Remember the old Toyota commercials where people jumped up into the air? That's what I imagine these people doing.) Just once I'd like to hear someone say 'Not a chance in ****'. Ya know?

I noticed this word being used a lot on the news too. I come home for lunch, and I watch the noon news on the Cincinnati ABC affiliate. The noon news does not have as much 'hard' news as the 6:00pm news. It has more lifestyle type stories. It is actually two shows, the '9 News at Noon' and the '9 News at 12:30'. In the course of each half hour, the anchor may have 1 or 2 different people (or groups of people) in the studio that they are interviewing over a little table. "Tell me about your event, yada yada" , "How can we get tickets?" You get the idea. The person being interviewed will answer with "Absolutely...." Again, with the lifting of the last syllable. Maybe they sat on a tack? I wonder if some Producer is schooling them (Maybe my friend Mitzi, who is a TV Producer could weigh in). It's odd that everyone is using this word suddenly.

What happened to sure, of course, or even certainly? Why is everyone saying absolutely? It makes me want to scream, or to hand them a thesaurus. At the very least I would like to know I don't live in a world of mindless drones saying 'Absolutely' to every thing.

Thank You

People don't say "Thank you" enough any more. Some people don't say it at all. I really think that is a shame. I was raised to say "Thank you". Mom made us write thank you notes after our birthdays and Christmas. We also had to write them if someone had done something nice, or given us something, for no reason. We would sit at the table and write meaningful notes. You should mention the gift, and perhaps something about it. For example: "Thank you for the beautiful sweater. It is my favorite shade of blue." You do not have to ramble for several pages, but your note should be heartfelt. The receiver of the note (who is also the gift giver or thoughtful person) should be able to tell how much it meant to you.

To help us, Mom always bought stationery for us for Christmas. Sometimes it was note cards with our initial on it, maybe another time it was sheets of paper with our full name in a fancy script. As we got older, Mom would let us pick out our own stationery. I always enjoyed this part. The only time it was a bad idea is when I ordered monogrammed stationery. I had a new electronic typewriter, so I picked out stationery that could be used in the typewriter. I chose a pale blue, with a darker blue monogram at the top. Except I forgot that when you do a monogram, the last initial goes in the middle. I had 200 sheets of paper that said APE at the top!

Anyway, Mom encouraged us to write thank you notes. She told us even if you didn't really like the gift, you should say something nice. You wouldn't write 'Thank you for the hideous skirt'. It wasn't just about the notes. When we went to a friend's house, we thanked her parents for having us over. If you are invited to someone's for dinner, you thank them. If you go out to dinner with someone, you thank them. Mom and Dad made sure we had good manners.

I still write thank you notes. I try to thank the people in my life. I thank my coworkers when they help with a project, I thank my stylist and massage therapist for their services. I thank my parents for all they do for me. I try to thank my friends when they have been there. I even thank men when they hold a door open for me. I know there are probably times I forget, but I do try to let everyone know how much I appreciate them.

Yet in today's world, people don't show appreciation. They just expect you to do things for them. They don't care how much it cost, or how much time you put into it, or what you gave up to do it. They don't say "Thank you". I am sure most people's parents taught them manners, but they've stopped using them. We're so wrapped up in our own lives, or so busy, that we just don't bother. That really makes me sad. I think the world could be a little better if we said 'Thank you' and remembered the manners we were taught as young children. Or the manners we are teaching our children. Why teach them if you aren't going to set the example?

It also makes me angry. I try to be thoughtful and generous, doing things for others. I like to make people happy and to do things to help them. But it is nice to know that my efforts are appreciated. Not that I do it for the 'reward'. I do, however, like to know that what I did mattered to the recipient. When your actions are met with no reaction, it is hard to want to do it again. I feel a little part of my heart turn colder. I care a little less.

Maybe this is why the world is in such a miserable state. Why we have so much crime. People stopped taking the time to say 'Thank you', and this caused others to stop caring. Suddenly, no one worries about anyone else. We become so involved in our own lives, we don't reach out to others. That is truly a sad state. I don't want to turn into that. I just want people to say "Thank you".

And to my loved ones, I say 'Thank you'. For picking me up, holding me up, believing in me, laughing with me, laughing at me, accepting me, and for loving me. I am truly grateful, and hope that I tell you enough.

Dinner and an Apology

After reading yesterday's post, a dear friend of mine told me that truly confident women wear what they want. I liked the idea of being confident. There was a time in my life that confident would not have been a word you used to describe me. I was extremely insecure. That time of my life from elementary school to adulthood. I don't know what age I was, but there comes a point when you start to realize the differences between you and others. This is particularly true if you aren't popular. I never wanted to be popular, I have always preferred to be in the background. I think I would have just liked to be a little less UNpopular.

I have always been tall. Until the boys caught up in high school, I was taller than most of the boys. That was awkward. I always slouched, so that I would not be as tall. As a result, I have horrible posture. I am 5'9" when I stand straight up, but most people don't believe I am that tall. As we hit our teens, I had more curves than some of the other girls. I have never been a stick. There were girls who had more curves than I did, but they also had these big, outgoing personalities. I have always been painfully shy. My own family terrified me. Seriously! We would go to my Grandmother's for Thanksgiving, with dad's 7 siblings and their families (I have 13 first cousins); and I would sit on one couch in the back corner of the living room and just try to blend into the fabric. I would take books and needlepoint to keep me occupied. I am sure people thought I was a snob, but in truth, it was just bashfulness. Meeting new people still upsets my stomach. On top of all this, I was smart and a bookworm. I have never been athletic. I am, in fact, a klutz. All of these led to a huge period of my life where my self-esteem was extremely low.

It has only been in the past decade or so that I have really emerged from that shell. I have realized it is ok to be me- the tall, klutzy bookworm. I am a lot more confident. I wear what I want. I don't worry about my makeup. I figure people either like me or not, and I'm not going to waste a lot of energy or time worrying about it.

But I realized last night that I am still insecure in my cooking. I don't know why. I don't hang out with gourmet chefs. Some of my friends might be; but the people who come to my house for dinner are not gourmet chefs, they are not vying for a spot on the food network. And yet, I still doubt my abilities. We had Erich's parents over for dinner last night. The menu was simple: steaks on the grill, cheesy mashed potatoes, cucumber salad, corn on the grill, dinner rolls, and for dessert a raspberry cheesecake. When I made the mashed potatoes, I accidentally put too much milk in it. They were runny. I tried adding more cheese, I tried cooking it more so it would stiffen up. I just could not get them to firm up. I did stress for a while, and then when I realized there was no chance, I just ladled the potatoes into a serving bowl, passed out bowls to everyone, and told them the mashed potatoes had become potato soup. I was apologizing, and Erich's mom said 'You should have just told us it was potato soup, we wouldn't have known'. They were very kind, and I was the only one not to have two bowls of the 'soup'. When I put the cucumber salad on the table, I explained what it was and said 'if you don't like it, you won't hurt my feelings. It's something my mom always made'. I had tried to make a chocolate sauce for the cheesecake, and it turned out to be more of a paste, so I apologized for that too. I didn't even realize I was doing it during dinner, until afterwards. I need to work on that. After all, every chef has some failures in the kitchen.

Erich's dad called this morning and asked for the recipe for the cucumber salad. I felt so much better about the whole evening! I guess it is a successful event if they want your recipe. Next time, I will try to serve up a few less apologies. :)

Fashionista? Not likely.

I have never been much of a fashionista. Nor was I a fashion plate, which is the term we used when I was growing up. Should you doubt this, I only need to point you to my senior year of high school; when I chose to wear jeans and cowboy boots every single day (when listening to Country Music got you picked on). I preferred long skirts or dresses to the minis everyone else was wearing. The most recognizable name in my closet is still Lee. As in Lee Jeans. I have never felt the need to buy outrageously expensive things in the name of fashion. I prefer comfort. Always have. So fashionista is never a name that has been used to describe me.

I used to watch the show What Not to Wear. Until they went after a woman for wearing holiday sweaters. Then I was afraid they'd come after me. I like to dress in a festive manner. I have a lot of Christmas sweaters. Actually, I can wear one a day each work day between Thanksgiving and Christmas, and never repeat. Then there's the long sleeve tops too. Most of my Christmas sweaters are several years old, but they still look like new because I only wear them once, or at most twice, a year.

I have spring themed sweaters, in spring colors with pretty flowers on them. I have fall sweaters with leaves. Of course, I have sweaters with dogs. And I have red,white, & blue tops & sweaters to wear on Memorial Day, Flag Day, 4th of July, Labor Day, September 11, and Veterans Day. And any other day I feel like wearing red, white, & blue.

Now that my hair is long again, I can extend the festive outfit to my hair. I had ponytail holders with red, green, and gold in them for Christmas. A couple even had jingle bells. For the 4th of July, I found a holder that looks like red, blue, and silver fireworks. I found another one that is red, white, & blue- it is bits of material glued together. I can't buy the barrettes, because my hair is too thick. So I'm limited to the ponytail holders, but that's ok, because I end up wearing my hair in a ponytail more often than not. To find these treasures, I have to go to Claires. Probably not a store many 34 year old women go into, but the sales girls are always sweet. Of course, maybe they are thinking 'she should be on What Not to Wear'. If Target or Kohls would carry such things, it would be so much better. I can't be the only person who likes to wear something festive!

Happy 4th of July!

Today is the 4th of July. It is the celebration of America's independence. 4th of July is possibly, after Christmas, my favorite holiday. I know, it's odd- because I am not a summer person. But I love 4th of July. I like band music- trumpets, trombones, all the brass. Yet I played a woodwind. haha! But I just think the brass instruments are sexy, and nothing sets the tone for a good time like marching music (althoough I detested being in marching band!).

Berlin has a parade every year (now it is the only 4th of July parade in Rensselaer County). It was always longer than the Memorial Day parade, and included floats. Different churches and organizations would create a float that went with the theme for that year's parade. One of the older citizens would be the 'grand marshall'. One guy in town has a lot of old cars, from a 1921 Model T to cars from the 1960s. They would all be in the parade, driven by different family members. People on the floats threw candy to the kids standing on the road. The Seagroatt's float threw roses because they grew roses. The Memorial Day parade just goes down Main Street and up to one Cemetery; but the 4th of July parade makes a loop through town. After the parade, people would come back to mom's for a party. It may have only been hot dogs & hamburgers, but mom would have the tables done up with red, white, or blue tablecloths. The paper plates, cups, napkins, and even the plastic silverware all color coordinated. Flags of different sizes decorated the yard, the house, the garage. Some times it was a small gathering, other years, such as in 2006; it was a huge blowout party. In 2006, Berlin was celebrating its 200th anniversary. The 4th of July weekend held most of the events for the year long celebration. This sleepy little hamlet came alive. The hills were rocking! The parade was the biggest one anyone could ever remember. There were picnics, trolley rides through town as you listened to the history, and fireworks. It was a bit of a homecoming; so many people came back to Berlin to see it. I was there. My sister was 7 months pregnant with Sydney, and we had her baby shower the same weekend. We had Laura's baby shower on Sunday, and on Tuesday, we had a huge 4th of July party, which was also a celebration of my 30th birthday. Mom & Dad had rented a tent and tables and chairs. Mom told everyone to come- I have no idea how many people came; but all day long we had family, friends, and townspeople coming in and out. It was glorious. My mother has always thrown the best parties, and this was no exception. People who were there for both parties were amazed at how we transformed things. On Sunday, the tables were covered in lilac & pale green; everything had a Winnie the Pooh theme, and it was cute and sweet. Two days later, everything was red, white, & blue. Everything had a lively feel to it. It was amazing.

I, like every other child born in the USA in 1976, am a bicentennial baby. The year we were born, America celebrated 200 years. For something that was an experiment in democracy, 200 years is quite an achievement! So maybe I was destined to love the 4th of July. Mom's due date was Memorial Day, but I kept everyone waiting for another week or so, making my entrance on June 6. She said my first public outing was the July 4th parade in Berlin. And I am quite sure she had me in a red,white, & blue outfit. Blue may be mom's favorite color, but she likes red too. She really likes red, white & blue. I do not like red; but I love red, white, & blue. It is my favorite color combination.

There is something so majestic about red, white, & blue. So regal. The more I study history, the more the red, white, & blue means to me. It used to mean summer. No homework, staying up a little later, having water balloon fights in the yard, and sitting on my bedroom floor, my head propped on my hands, watching the fireflies dance in the back yard through my screen window. Now, it means freedom. I see the generations of men and women who have fought for us and that freedom. I think of the struggles of the pilgrims, of the pioneers, and even of people today. I think what the country must have been like when my ancestors came here.

My great-great grandfather, Peter Budesheim came to the US from Germany in 1883. His sister, Kate, had already come to the states and was married to an American. Peter came with $30 in his pocket. By today's standards, it would not be very much. It seems like a pittance, even for 1883, to embark with to a new world.

Some of the ancestors on mom's side had been here for 200 or more years when Peter Budesheim set foot on Ellis Island. I really can't imagine what life was like when they arrived. A vast wilderness that had to be cleared. I can't imagine leaving your family, and everything that you knew, to forge a new life. Well, I can imagine it; but I can't imagine doing it knowing you likely will never see them again.

When I decided to go to college in Indiana, I knew no one there. It was my own 'new world'. I met lots of great people, and made friends. But it was hard. Sometimes, it seemed like a foreign land. Indiana at that time, did not observe daylight savings time. So in the summer months, we were an hour behind my family in the East. Hoosiers referred to it as 'Slow Time'. Anytime my family called, they would ask 'what time is it there?' I remember when I was working, and they said we were having a 'pitch-in'. A what?? When it was explained to me that everyone would bring a dish to share, I translated it to a 'covered dish supper'. The first time someone offered me a 'pop', I thought perhaps I was about to get into a fist-fight. Imagine my surprise when they handed me a Coke. Of all my adventures in this new world, the scariest were the sirens that sounded in the spring. Tornado sirens! The first time, I followed my friends to the dorm basement. I was frantic. My only knowledge of tornadoes were The Wizard of Oz, and what I had seen on the news, where whole towns were wiped out.

Like generations of family before me, over the years I have assimilated into my new world. Maybe not completely. I try not to end sentences with prepositions. Sometimes I might fail. I still refer to that drink in a red can as soda, not pop. But I do say ya'll, so I should get some credit for that. However, no matter how strange my new world was, my family back east was just a phone call or a plane ride away. And now, in the age of the internet, mom & dad are an email away. My sister is on Facebook. My mom, sister, & I email each other through the day at work. So it doesn't feel like I'm in this foreign world. I have an even greater appreciation for my ancestors who gave up everything to come to America for a better life. I am thankful for those ancestors who fought to preserve that better life, for themselves and for future generations.

Happy 4th of July!!

Bored with this Recession

Lately I have been feeling a bit bored. Not just the withdrawal I've felt in the past couple of weeks while the Yankees were on a west coast swing (and therefore on too late at night for me to watch). It's not any particular moment- it's just an overall general feeling. My life is boring.

I usually talk to my parents on Sunday nights (as well as other times during the week). My mom always asks what I did that weekend. And for several months, my answer has been the same. It varies if, for instance, I had a hair appointment and had the color screwed up so that I left the salon with hair that was three colors. Otherwise, it is pretty much 'nothing interesting'. While sometimes I am able to blame the fibro, most of the time we haven't done anything on the weekend. Anything outside the house/yard that is.

I realized just how dull my life has become this past week. When talking to mom, the highlight of my weekend had been cleaning out the refrigerator! I finally told my mom that my life is pretty dull because money is tight in the house, so we don't go out.

Our household income has been cut by at least 50% in the past eighteen months. Possibly more than that. So we have had to cut back. Not that we were out partying all weekend before this! Before the recession, we led what others might consider dull lives. Neither of us are party animals. We each prefer the quiet and comfort of our own house to a crowded bar or restaurant. We don't go to amusement parks. I was the only one who travelled. Erich likes to see different places, but doesn't like to endure the travel part. The movies had already gotten so expensive that we were only going maybe once a year.

But we did things. Probably our biggest attraction was a book store. We are both book worms, and we can spend an afternoon in a book store. We would go at least once a month. When Books & Co had their semi-annual sale, we would mark the calendar and plan a day of it. Lunch out, the bookstore, maybe other shopping. Last week, we received the post card for this years sale, and we looked at it wistfully, and then threw it away. There was no discussion about going. We knew we couldn't.

We used to eat out a lot. I don't like cooking. I only cook to survive, as I may have mentioned in a previous post or two. Thursday night was always takeout night. We are lucky in Middletown- we have a lot of restaurants. Applebees, Olive Garden, Bob Evans, etc. Thursdays are the roughest days for me- I get through three days of work and by Thursday, I am dragging myself out the door, giving myself a pep talk to get through til lunch, and then to survive the afternoon until quitting time. (Today was no different, I was giving myself motivating talks all morning). So Thursday was always take out night. If there were other nights we didn't feel like cooking, or I hadn't taken anything out of the freezer, we'd just do take-out. Whenever we went shopping on the weekend, even grocery shopping, we had lunch (or an early dinner) out.

Eating out was one of the first things we cut. First we made a conscious decision to cut back to only doing take out or eating out once a week. Then we started cutting back when we were out. Why stop and get a sub when we have cold cuts at home? Things like that. Now we are down to maybe eating out or doing take out just a couple of times a month, and sometimes not even that. If we can't agree on what to fix for dinner, or I didn't take anything out, we scrounge. Which for me means fixing a cheese quesidilla, or a grilled cheese. Erich will eat canned soup or beans.

We have said we would like to go explore a couple of neighboring towns. They have quaint old areas with terrific architecture and neat little shops. And we will do that, but not when it's hot, as I don't function well in the heat. We can window shop if nothing else.

I don't really look at the newspaper any more to find things happening that weekend. We look for inexpensive things that we enjoy. Sitting by the fire on our patio. It's free thanks to Hurricane Ike which destroyed our cherry tree in 2008, and left us with a supply of wood that will last for years. It is relaxing too.

We both read. A lot. I'm knitting more and more, because I have extra time. In a couple of weeks we will go to the Balloon Festival, weather permitting. It is $5 per car to park, and you can take in your own food and watch the balloons. It's one of the neat things about living in Middletown. I want to go to the Cincinnati Zoo to see the Komodo Dragon. It is now a permanent exhibit, so we know if we don't get there this year, it will wait.

I am grateful it is just our entertainment we have had to cut. We still have a roof over our head, food in the freezers and pantry, and the utilities haven't been shut off. So things are not dire. But they are the worst they have been for Erich and I in the 10 years we've lived here. It's hard to stay upbeat. Erich gets more down about it than I do, but then again it is primarily his salary that has taken the hit. I just get a little blue when I think of another weekend of doing nothing other than laundry, watching tv, and knitting. It has become routine. I feel like those old married couples who never do anything fun any more. I know quiet weekends are great, but I feel like every weekend of my life lately is a quiet weekend. I long for SOMETHING. Not the excitement of having purple, orange, and brown hair; but something different.