Today, for some reason I just want to talk to Pamela Thelwell. Pam was an interesting woman, but she was more intense than I. She wanted every one to be perfect just like her. If some one did some thing for her or she appreciated some thing, she felt it deserved a note of thanks. A handwritten note of thanks just like people use to do when I was a youngster. People now longer do these things.
She wanted friends to be to her what she was to them. I don't know what that meant because she was always complaining about some one or some thing. In a way Pam was sort of funny because she was some what paranoid. It seemed as though folks were out to get her. As a matter of fact, the last conversation we had she was really angry at every one where ever she had worked in the last few years. Now her legs were hurting her so bad that she was angry because no one came to help her. I told Pam that she should call and ask for help because no on knows what is going on in her life. She got huffy which is her nature and said the every one should call her. Mind you, Pam's telephone was a miserable sort of phone. If it took messages you never knew it, or if she bothered to even listen to them or if the phone worked properly which it didn't most of time. On the otherhand, it was hard to know her schedule; for some reason she thought every one just knew.
Pam got to the point where she was wearing large blotches of rouge on her cheeks sort of like Betty Boop. Sure I was worried about Pam, but she could change a subject and brush you off so fast that oftentimes you just didn't get the to "I am worried about you Pam." When I got the news that Pam was killed while crossing the street, I could only remember our last conversation....which was a call for help rather then her usual diatribes about the people we know, and I mistook for her usual paranoia.
Pam was a really nice lady and a lot of fun in her own way, but too intense for me. I am intense enough even though my cardio doctor calls it a funny sense of calm that I exude.
I don't know what I want to say to Pam, but I wish her well wherever she is: and I hope she is with her beloved husband who died in an unexpected car accident when she and her boys were very young. She loved that man so much and talked about him so much that I had to remember at times that he was dead, and has been for more than forty years. I can only imagine that they are together and having a grand time picking up where they left off many years ago. I envision only love and laughter and peaceful moments drinking wine from beatiful glasses with her beloved husband who is still very young.
I have no regrets for many of my friends are making their transitions long before their time in my mind, but God needs them more than we. And so, I end this prayer for my dear beautiful intense friend with her loud resounding laughter and vibrant energy force "Bon Voyage Dear Pam"
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Ramble...Insight
Growing, growing constantly growing.
I have been searching for a companion on the online dating sites. I have spent a lot of money, done a lot of profiles, and have even been a couple of dates; however, I have been thorougly disappointed with many of the responses and encounters.
It seems that men in their 60s and 70s still think like many men in their early 20s or 40s... they think like "Fantasy Island." Or, perhaps I have a misconstrued idea of what dating is suppose to be for folks in their 60s and 70s.
For one, I never thought I would grow up to find myself "in search" of a companion in my 60s. I spent so much of my time in my 50s and early 60s preparing for my retirement--I wanted independence in my old age. I worked long hours and dated or socialized very little because of time constraints. For some reason or other, I just thought that every one would wait for me. But, it didn't happen.
Although there seems to be a large supply of men on some of the services; on the other hand, there seems to be none. Whenever a young man in his late 40s or early 50s would try to "woo" me, I would put up my shield because I don't want to work with any one to build a life. I have already done my do or paid my dues. I don't want to work to build a business or a home or even to raise some one else's small children or to put any more children through college or to put up with the "rebel without a cause" teenagers or even help pay for hidden child support. What happened while I was out preparing for retirement? The world changed so much I can hardly identify with it....did some one move the planet, and I missed the space ship?
One day as I was walking to the drug store which is across the street from my condo, an elderly gentleman, dressed in one of those old plaid polyester Leisure suits of the 60s or 70s, was anxiously walking up and down the sidewalk mumbling some thing to himself. He asked me about the address. I told him; he was standing in the right place. He said that he was to meet a young lady there, but she was late. He commenced to tell me that he was 90 yo, was a retired lawyer who had completed all 12 classes to attain his law degree--no timeline. Puzzled, I asked, "all you had to take was 12 classes?" He looked at me like I was crazy and said, "yes." Then, he said "well I guess she isn't coming I guess I had better leave." He pulled out a set of car keys, and I asked him. "Are you driving?" He said, "sure, the cars, nowadays, drive themselves." He got into a small blue car and as he left the parking lot, he made his wheels squeal as he rounded the corner. I was left in shock. Here a 90 yo man was waiting for his date who evidently stood him up, or he or she had the wrong address or corner to meet on. It was hard for me at that time to reconcile the fact that this man was dating in his 90s. BTW he did say she was "a kid" in her 50s.
I am still puzzled about what this dating idea is suppose to be because when my 24 yo grandson tells me how I am to conduct myself on a date it is not what I invision a mature woman like myself who is use to the old traditional dating styles of the 50s and 60s is suppose to conduct herself. I, too, think that a mature gentleman would expect a women of my culture and ilk to conduct herself in like manner and decorum. I just don't know what to do. So, I will simply stay the way I am because if I am to have a meaningful and fulfilling companion in my latter years it will happen or not. I am not going to perplex over it. Just very concerned about the "so called" rules for dating in ones 60s and 70s. Is there a book yet? Or, is it my turn to write one? Just a thought.
I have been searching for a companion on the online dating sites. I have spent a lot of money, done a lot of profiles, and have even been a couple of dates; however, I have been thorougly disappointed with many of the responses and encounters.
It seems that men in their 60s and 70s still think like many men in their early 20s or 40s... they think like "Fantasy Island." Or, perhaps I have a misconstrued idea of what dating is suppose to be for folks in their 60s and 70s.
For one, I never thought I would grow up to find myself "in search" of a companion in my 60s. I spent so much of my time in my 50s and early 60s preparing for my retirement--I wanted independence in my old age. I worked long hours and dated or socialized very little because of time constraints. For some reason or other, I just thought that every one would wait for me. But, it didn't happen.
Although there seems to be a large supply of men on some of the services; on the other hand, there seems to be none. Whenever a young man in his late 40s or early 50s would try to "woo" me, I would put up my shield because I don't want to work with any one to build a life. I have already done my do or paid my dues. I don't want to work to build a business or a home or even to raise some one else's small children or to put any more children through college or to put up with the "rebel without a cause" teenagers or even help pay for hidden child support. What happened while I was out preparing for retirement? The world changed so much I can hardly identify with it....did some one move the planet, and I missed the space ship?
One day as I was walking to the drug store which is across the street from my condo, an elderly gentleman, dressed in one of those old plaid polyester Leisure suits of the 60s or 70s, was anxiously walking up and down the sidewalk mumbling some thing to himself. He asked me about the address. I told him; he was standing in the right place. He said that he was to meet a young lady there, but she was late. He commenced to tell me that he was 90 yo, was a retired lawyer who had completed all 12 classes to attain his law degree--no timeline. Puzzled, I asked, "all you had to take was 12 classes?" He looked at me like I was crazy and said, "yes." Then, he said "well I guess she isn't coming I guess I had better leave." He pulled out a set of car keys, and I asked him. "Are you driving?" He said, "sure, the cars, nowadays, drive themselves." He got into a small blue car and as he left the parking lot, he made his wheels squeal as he rounded the corner. I was left in shock. Here a 90 yo man was waiting for his date who evidently stood him up, or he or she had the wrong address or corner to meet on. It was hard for me at that time to reconcile the fact that this man was dating in his 90s. BTW he did say she was "a kid" in her 50s.
I am still puzzled about what this dating idea is suppose to be because when my 24 yo grandson tells me how I am to conduct myself on a date it is not what I invision a mature woman like myself who is use to the old traditional dating styles of the 50s and 60s is suppose to conduct herself. I, too, think that a mature gentleman would expect a women of my culture and ilk to conduct herself in like manner and decorum. I just don't know what to do. So, I will simply stay the way I am because if I am to have a meaningful and fulfilling companion in my latter years it will happen or not. I am not going to perplex over it. Just very concerned about the "so called" rules for dating in ones 60s and 70s. Is there a book yet? Or, is it my turn to write one? Just a thought.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Ramble...On and on
It has been a really crazy summer for me. Now as we approach the "Dog's Days" of summer, I always feel as though this is the last of summer for within a few weeks it will be time for school to start again, and I would be back in the classroom.
This is my first summer of retirement, and I thought it would be filled with grandchildren. They called it "Camp Granny." It started as soon as school was out in June, and I was to transport them home by train in August just before school. However, when my son showed up with the girls (6 and 8 yo), the plan was for him to clean and repair my windows as well as some other chores on my "Honey Do" list. For the entire of June, I had a great time cooking fun receipes and "oatmeal"--an all time favorite, and taking the girls on long walks to Greynolds Park, and thrifting at thrift stores, and they really enjoyed church. During one of my workouts, I sprained my shoulder again, so I began to slow down from the pain. I suggested to my son that he take the girls home because I didn't think I would be able to properly care for them. He said he was waiting for me to make the suggestion.
Before they left, I had started to develop a slight cough; then, it turned into a really nasty cough; then, before I knew it, I was really sick. I didn't call the doctor, but my children from Lakeland, FL, Houston, TX and Pittsburgh, PA called me almost every day to check on me. They bugged me to go to the doctor, but I kept assuring them that I was OK. I just had a bad cold.
One night I ventured out to get Alka Seltzer and a large bottle of Vitamin C so that I could medicate myself. Needless to say, whenever I took the concotion, I felt so much better. I slept for about two weeks; then. I would walk to Publix's for more food or tea or whatever I needed. I waited until dark so that I didn't have the objection of the sun to contend with, but the cool evenings and breeze from the ocean, which is three miles away, was so delicious. As I began to feel better, I began to venture out a little more and contact friends who thought I was away on a vacation. For three weeks, I laid alone in my home sick. If I were working my work friends would have been to the house called a million times and bugged me to go to the doctor, but since I am no longer showing up every day, there is no one to notice my absences...spooky thought. So, when does one know to call 911 or it is time to secure medical attention when one is rattling around in ones own head? I have started to develop another support system to help me through these "under the weather" times.
During my imposed recluse or incluse, I started to watch movies on Netflix from my computer. I thought nothing of watching up to 3 or 4 movies a day. It has become an addiction because my day plan is to simply look at my Queue and "pick a movie"....you know like "pick a color" at the manicurist. By now, I have watched hundreds of movies.
My next dilemma is how to get out of the house. My friends have been inviting me to lunch and shopping trips, and the pastor has invited me to movie night at her house, but as soon as I get back to my cave I am mentally stuck there. I even went on Craigslist and found a gentleman who wants a companion to simply ride to Boston with him. He planned to be gone for 10 days in August. We talked for a hot minute; then, I decided that I didn't want to ride in a car for a couple of days to see museums and other attractions. I know it would have been fun, and I would have benefitted from the stimulation. However, I would have rathered taken a plane rented a car and enjoyed the Boston. I no longer care for long road trips. When I first retired, I would drive for four hours to take the grands out to lunch once a month, but it got old really fast. My grandson misses me, so I have to schedule a date in August before school starts again just to keep the peace and let every one know that I am OK.
I pulled out my Richard Simmon's "Sweatin to the Oldies" DVDs and I have started to dance with them. I cleaned off my Pilates machine so that I can stretch, and I put the Rebounder up so that I can bounce on it when I pass it. I got some really nice vitamins, and I have started to gain my strength back. I am still eating TV dinners because I don't have an inclination to cook a meal for myself. I just make sure I pile on stir fryed veggies to round out my meal. I just can't wait until I get passionate about something again. My bud's keep telling me I will find my niche. I sure hope it isn't watching so many movies and working out alone because I sure love it.
Mostly, I appreciated the fact that I could rest and really convalesce without worry about my work or commitments. As I heal, my muscle pain and shoulder has begun to feel better as well. Right now, I am really singing the praises of rest and good food and good books and well a few good movies.
An aside, as I proof my journal entry, I almost forgot that my heart is still a little heavy because my cousin (53) was shot in the chest and killed. No one wanted to tell his mother, so when my cousin's sister told her mother. She simply thanked them. After my aunt visited with the family without much consequence, she said she was tired, so she went to her bed to rest. It seems, when her great granddaughter went to check on her and she found her dead. She simply went to sleep. So, in July we had to bury a mother and son a couple of days a part. Needless to say, my heart is so heavy, for I have lost a cousin and an aunt the only solace is that they have gone home, and that they will save a place for us. We always say "I'll see you when you come home."
This is my first summer of retirement, and I thought it would be filled with grandchildren. They called it "Camp Granny." It started as soon as school was out in June, and I was to transport them home by train in August just before school. However, when my son showed up with the girls (6 and 8 yo), the plan was for him to clean and repair my windows as well as some other chores on my "Honey Do" list. For the entire of June, I had a great time cooking fun receipes and "oatmeal"--an all time favorite, and taking the girls on long walks to Greynolds Park, and thrifting at thrift stores, and they really enjoyed church. During one of my workouts, I sprained my shoulder again, so I began to slow down from the pain. I suggested to my son that he take the girls home because I didn't think I would be able to properly care for them. He said he was waiting for me to make the suggestion.
Before they left, I had started to develop a slight cough; then, it turned into a really nasty cough; then, before I knew it, I was really sick. I didn't call the doctor, but my children from Lakeland, FL, Houston, TX and Pittsburgh, PA called me almost every day to check on me. They bugged me to go to the doctor, but I kept assuring them that I was OK. I just had a bad cold.
One night I ventured out to get Alka Seltzer and a large bottle of Vitamin C so that I could medicate myself. Needless to say, whenever I took the concotion, I felt so much better. I slept for about two weeks; then. I would walk to Publix's for more food or tea or whatever I needed. I waited until dark so that I didn't have the objection of the sun to contend with, but the cool evenings and breeze from the ocean, which is three miles away, was so delicious. As I began to feel better, I began to venture out a little more and contact friends who thought I was away on a vacation. For three weeks, I laid alone in my home sick. If I were working my work friends would have been to the house called a million times and bugged me to go to the doctor, but since I am no longer showing up every day, there is no one to notice my absences...spooky thought. So, when does one know to call 911 or it is time to secure medical attention when one is rattling around in ones own head? I have started to develop another support system to help me through these "under the weather" times.
During my imposed recluse or incluse, I started to watch movies on Netflix from my computer. I thought nothing of watching up to 3 or 4 movies a day. It has become an addiction because my day plan is to simply look at my Queue and "pick a movie"....you know like "pick a color" at the manicurist. By now, I have watched hundreds of movies.
My next dilemma is how to get out of the house. My friends have been inviting me to lunch and shopping trips, and the pastor has invited me to movie night at her house, but as soon as I get back to my cave I am mentally stuck there. I even went on Craigslist and found a gentleman who wants a companion to simply ride to Boston with him. He planned to be gone for 10 days in August. We talked for a hot minute; then, I decided that I didn't want to ride in a car for a couple of days to see museums and other attractions. I know it would have been fun, and I would have benefitted from the stimulation. However, I would have rathered taken a plane rented a car and enjoyed the Boston. I no longer care for long road trips. When I first retired, I would drive for four hours to take the grands out to lunch once a month, but it got old really fast. My grandson misses me, so I have to schedule a date in August before school starts again just to keep the peace and let every one know that I am OK.
I pulled out my Richard Simmon's "Sweatin to the Oldies" DVDs and I have started to dance with them. I cleaned off my Pilates machine so that I can stretch, and I put the Rebounder up so that I can bounce on it when I pass it. I got some really nice vitamins, and I have started to gain my strength back. I am still eating TV dinners because I don't have an inclination to cook a meal for myself. I just make sure I pile on stir fryed veggies to round out my meal. I just can't wait until I get passionate about something again. My bud's keep telling me I will find my niche. I sure hope it isn't watching so many movies and working out alone because I sure love it.
Mostly, I appreciated the fact that I could rest and really convalesce without worry about my work or commitments. As I heal, my muscle pain and shoulder has begun to feel better as well. Right now, I am really singing the praises of rest and good food and good books and well a few good movies.
An aside, as I proof my journal entry, I almost forgot that my heart is still a little heavy because my cousin (53) was shot in the chest and killed. No one wanted to tell his mother, so when my cousin's sister told her mother. She simply thanked them. After my aunt visited with the family without much consequence, she said she was tired, so she went to her bed to rest. It seems, when her great granddaughter went to check on her and she found her dead. She simply went to sleep. So, in July we had to bury a mother and son a couple of days a part. Needless to say, my heart is so heavy, for I have lost a cousin and an aunt the only solace is that they have gone home, and that they will save a place for us. We always say "I'll see you when you come home."
Thursday, July 17, 2008
"How Dear Muddah, How Dear Fadduh?"
Today, I have to shift into my lighten up mode.
It has been a long time since I have committed to taking care of a young child.
I forgot that one has to repeat things more than twice. Re-do things or demonstrate at least three to four times or more. That do on throw clothes on the floor has to be repeated at least a thousand times. Do not jump on the bed has a strange sound to it because it is not heard nor understood by 8 year olds. Young children who are homesick and miss their bed start to look for a substitute nest to sleep in, I would too. There are now four possible places for my young granddaughter to sleep. I would like to say that sleeping with me is not an option because once I woke up with the heel of her little foot in my mouth.
Last night was a brutal night, she started in the sleeping room on the balcony, moved to the sofa in the living room; then, she dragged every blanket and pillow known to man to the chaise in my bedroom; finally, about 1:00 am I convinced her to sleep on the queen size AreoBed in the living room with the light on.
We only slept for a few hours because the alarm goes off at 5:30 am. I am so tried this morning. To top it all off, last night I did not do any of the night things I usually do. As I snoozed from exhaustion like a drunken derelict, I do remember saying to my granddaughter to sleep any where you want. She begged me to fix her lunch for today. I do remember saying, "make your own lunch." I do remember she asked, "Where are the lunch bags?" I answered, "in the pantry." Of course you know the next question, "Where in the pantry?’
"Mema you promised to go for a swim every evening after work." "When are we going?" Mema, "You lied." Through my now drunken like red eyes that must have looked like "cherries swimming in buttermilk." I said, "I tried, but I lied." I was so exhausted I could not even move. I even think I went to sleep with my clothes on. This little person kept asking me questions that I could not honestly answer. I don’t know what she said.
When I relunctantly got up at 5:30 am--still tried to the bone, all I could remember was Allen Sherman’s Camp Letter "Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh here I am at Camp Grenada." As it rang through my head, I realized that I have only had this child for two days. I have two more months to go. "How Dear Muddah, How Dear Fadduh am I going to survive this?"
It has been a long time since I have committed to taking care of a young child.
I forgot that one has to repeat things more than twice. Re-do things or demonstrate at least three to four times or more. That do on throw clothes on the floor has to be repeated at least a thousand times. Do not jump on the bed has a strange sound to it because it is not heard nor understood by 8 year olds. Young children who are homesick and miss their bed start to look for a substitute nest to sleep in, I would too. There are now four possible places for my young granddaughter to sleep. I would like to say that sleeping with me is not an option because once I woke up with the heel of her little foot in my mouth.
Last night was a brutal night, she started in the sleeping room on the balcony, moved to the sofa in the living room; then, she dragged every blanket and pillow known to man to the chaise in my bedroom; finally, about 1:00 am I convinced her to sleep on the queen size AreoBed in the living room with the light on.
We only slept for a few hours because the alarm goes off at 5:30 am. I am so tried this morning. To top it all off, last night I did not do any of the night things I usually do. As I snoozed from exhaustion like a drunken derelict, I do remember saying to my granddaughter to sleep any where you want. She begged me to fix her lunch for today. I do remember saying, "make your own lunch." I do remember she asked, "Where are the lunch bags?" I answered, "in the pantry." Of course you know the next question, "Where in the pantry?’
"Mema you promised to go for a swim every evening after work." "When are we going?" Mema, "You lied." Through my now drunken like red eyes that must have looked like "cherries swimming in buttermilk." I said, "I tried, but I lied." I was so exhausted I could not even move. I even think I went to sleep with my clothes on. This little person kept asking me questions that I could not honestly answer. I don’t know what she said.
When I relunctantly got up at 5:30 am--still tried to the bone, all I could remember was Allen Sherman’s Camp Letter "Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh here I am at Camp Grenada." As it rang through my head, I realized that I have only had this child for two days. I have two more months to go. "How Dear Muddah, How Dear Fadduh am I going to survive this?"
A Closing Statement
Day three
I want to begin by saying the underpinning mantra of my 8 year old granddaughter is "I want to go home." Today, I told her that it was between her father and her. I wanted to say "between her father, her and the mule" I left that comment for the left side of my brain. It has been so long since I have seriously suffered from sleep deprivation that my poor body is shaking and my mind is coming up with notions I would normally never be privy too. I know, I know you want examples.
Last night, when I picked up my grand, of course, she wasn’t ready as planned. She knows we have to run a half block to get the bus. When we got on the bus she was so happy. It seems there is another 8 yo in camp who is her crony---thank goodness! So, my grand can’t wait to get to camp. However, this morning was a different story.
Last night, at 8:00pm we were walking to Publix’s for milk. I don’t go any where in the dark let alone to Publix’s for milk. I had her to write a list of what we needed before we left. It turned out to be a nice evening for a walk. When we got back, I told her that I would like for her to be in bed by 9:30pm at least. Now, at 9:30 pm I had to wash a load of clothes because she wears the same shirt every day. Yesterday, I did not wash the shirt, and we had a wicked conversation about two small stains on her shirt. Of course, I could not see them. I considered "spitting on the stains to wash them out" but that would have "grossed" her out--that is that left brain thing. I live in a condo, so I have to share the washer and dryer with 65 other people and walk to the middle of the building to use them. By 11:00pm I have finished washing and drying our one load of stuff. I lay on the AeroBed with her to talk a little about how nice it is and how she could see the sky from the large windows and the lamp was on, but she wanted to lay on the chaise in my room. However, she sleeps with the house lite up like a Christmas tree, and I need complete darkness, so her in the chaise notion was not an option.
I had to start to remember how to close a sale because I had to sell her on the AeroBed in the middle of the livingroom. I don’t remember the closer, but she slept on that AeroBed, and I finally got to sleep in my bed; then, that 5:30 am alarm went off. I couldn’t beleive it. What happened to the night?
When I called my grand, she ignored me and went back to sleep. Needless to say, she didn’t want a shower, she didn’t want breakfast, she didn’t want to dress, nor did she want to leave the house. Today, I told her that I had to turn in my grades, so I have to go to work, and you have to go to camp. And, no she could not use my office because my office mate is completing an important project, and she needs a place with complete quiet and no interruptions. I’m getting really good with these closers. If cars were selling, I could use this experience to sell used cars. I think I have the closer a little closer to a real close.
As I was taking her to the door of "Kidscene Day Camp" she whined, "I want to go home." My right brain said out loud, "That is between you and your father." My left brain said within my soul, "We just need a date and a ticket for the next Amtrak leaving Miami."
Believe me, I am working it. Of course, my son keeps saying, "Mom, I love you." Good Closing, Huh??
I want to begin by saying the underpinning mantra of my 8 year old granddaughter is "I want to go home." Today, I told her that it was between her father and her. I wanted to say "between her father, her and the mule" I left that comment for the left side of my brain. It has been so long since I have seriously suffered from sleep deprivation that my poor body is shaking and my mind is coming up with notions I would normally never be privy too. I know, I know you want examples.
Last night, when I picked up my grand, of course, she wasn’t ready as planned. She knows we have to run a half block to get the bus. When we got on the bus she was so happy. It seems there is another 8 yo in camp who is her crony---thank goodness! So, my grand can’t wait to get to camp. However, this morning was a different story.
Last night, at 8:00pm we were walking to Publix’s for milk. I don’t go any where in the dark let alone to Publix’s for milk. I had her to write a list of what we needed before we left. It turned out to be a nice evening for a walk. When we got back, I told her that I would like for her to be in bed by 9:30pm at least. Now, at 9:30 pm I had to wash a load of clothes because she wears the same shirt every day. Yesterday, I did not wash the shirt, and we had a wicked conversation about two small stains on her shirt. Of course, I could not see them. I considered "spitting on the stains to wash them out" but that would have "grossed" her out--that is that left brain thing. I live in a condo, so I have to share the washer and dryer with 65 other people and walk to the middle of the building to use them. By 11:00pm I have finished washing and drying our one load of stuff. I lay on the AeroBed with her to talk a little about how nice it is and how she could see the sky from the large windows and the lamp was on, but she wanted to lay on the chaise in my room. However, she sleeps with the house lite up like a Christmas tree, and I need complete darkness, so her in the chaise notion was not an option.
I had to start to remember how to close a sale because I had to sell her on the AeroBed in the middle of the livingroom. I don’t remember the closer, but she slept on that AeroBed, and I finally got to sleep in my bed; then, that 5:30 am alarm went off. I couldn’t beleive it. What happened to the night?
When I called my grand, she ignored me and went back to sleep. Needless to say, she didn’t want a shower, she didn’t want breakfast, she didn’t want to dress, nor did she want to leave the house. Today, I told her that I had to turn in my grades, so I have to go to work, and you have to go to camp. And, no she could not use my office because my office mate is completing an important project, and she needs a place with complete quiet and no interruptions. I’m getting really good with these closers. If cars were selling, I could use this experience to sell used cars. I think I have the closer a little closer to a real close.
As I was taking her to the door of "Kidscene Day Camp" she whined, "I want to go home." My right brain said out loud, "That is between you and your father." My left brain said within my soul, "We just need a date and a ticket for the next Amtrak leaving Miami."
Believe me, I am working it. Of course, my son keeps saying, "Mom, I love you." Good Closing, Huh??
Last Lunch
Today it is so stormy out, it looks like the making of a hurricane or a good tropical storm.
However, I am going to lunch with a long time colleague who is retiring on Friday. My heart is so heavy. I feel as though I am losing a part of my soul. It has been such a pleasure to have been his friend for so long. He is one of those person’s who is always thinking about the little souls in the world.
For example, when the first soldier to die in the Iraq War was disclosed. He thought to design and build a monument to this young man who came to America from Mexico just to be a part of the US army. This young man with a gallant spirit wanted to be a part of the American experience to serve as a soldier in the war. And so, he admired that dedication to spirit and a cause. He and his students dedicated the memorial to this young man by erecting a shrine among the trees with beautiful wind chimes.
The shrine was so beautiful. One could sit among the wind chimes and listen to them and the birds that flew among the trees in this quiet area of the college campus.
Then, some years ago, he was instructed to dismantle the wind chime shrine, but by now most of his students who had placed the wind chimes were gone, so he had to dismantle it almost single handedly. It really hurt him to his heart because it had a significant meaning to all the fallen soldiers.
Over the years, on Veteran's Day he and his students would read the names of the fallen soldiers aloud. One year it took hours, as they began to run out of readers, I jumped in and read about a hundred or more names. I asked him afterwards, how many names had he collected at that time he said three thousand. There must have been at least hundred or more on my list. The line for the readers was long, but he was determined to have each and every name on the list read even if he had to read each and every one on his own. Believe me, he and a couple of his students stayed at that memorial until every name was read.
When he decided to retire sooner than later because he wants to do some projects that he has been dreaming and talking about for years. After the death of a dear friend, he felt it was time to finish his heartfelt projects. Like many of us retired folks, one begins to appreciate ones mortality as one starts to lose those who are close to us.
Because of his decision, I, too, felt it was time to move on and to pursue a couple of projects I want to complete in my life. So, today at lunch we had a great conversation about where we are going from here. I really felt better after our conversation; knowing that he has great plans and interests to pursue. Now, I really feel that the decision I made to leave is right for my heart and health. After all, this is not a dress rehearsal it is our life.
I truly think that this popular professor will be surely missed.
However, I am going to lunch with a long time colleague who is retiring on Friday. My heart is so heavy. I feel as though I am losing a part of my soul. It has been such a pleasure to have been his friend for so long. He is one of those person’s who is always thinking about the little souls in the world.
For example, when the first soldier to die in the Iraq War was disclosed. He thought to design and build a monument to this young man who came to America from Mexico just to be a part of the US army. This young man with a gallant spirit wanted to be a part of the American experience to serve as a soldier in the war. And so, he admired that dedication to spirit and a cause. He and his students dedicated the memorial to this young man by erecting a shrine among the trees with beautiful wind chimes.
The shrine was so beautiful. One could sit among the wind chimes and listen to them and the birds that flew among the trees in this quiet area of the college campus.
Then, some years ago, he was instructed to dismantle the wind chime shrine, but by now most of his students who had placed the wind chimes were gone, so he had to dismantle it almost single handedly. It really hurt him to his heart because it had a significant meaning to all the fallen soldiers.
Over the years, on Veteran's Day he and his students would read the names of the fallen soldiers aloud. One year it took hours, as they began to run out of readers, I jumped in and read about a hundred or more names. I asked him afterwards, how many names had he collected at that time he said three thousand. There must have been at least hundred or more on my list. The line for the readers was long, but he was determined to have each and every name on the list read even if he had to read each and every one on his own. Believe me, he and a couple of his students stayed at that memorial until every name was read.
When he decided to retire sooner than later because he wants to do some projects that he has been dreaming and talking about for years. After the death of a dear friend, he felt it was time to finish his heartfelt projects. Like many of us retired folks, one begins to appreciate ones mortality as one starts to lose those who are close to us.
Because of his decision, I, too, felt it was time to move on and to pursue a couple of projects I want to complete in my life. So, today at lunch we had a great conversation about where we are going from here. I really felt better after our conversation; knowing that he has great plans and interests to pursue. Now, I really feel that the decision I made to leave is right for my heart and health. After all, this is not a dress rehearsal it is our life.
I truly think that this popular professor will be surely missed.
"Talking Online"
You know, I just realized that one has to type to write or "talk" online. I think that being able to "talk" online is really a necessary means of communication. However, it is a skill that must be developed.
In the middle 50’s, I remember when I was in high school. My mother was only concerned that I could type and take Greg shorthand. She didn’t care if I made D’s in math because she wasn’t a math person. However, I had to make A’s in English, or I would be in big trouble. Of course, I made A’s in PhysEd. However, when I was in the 10th grade mother made sure that I got the classes I needed to be a secretary. She wanted me to be able to get a job when I graduated from high school. The family didn’t care about college because I wasn’t bright enough any ways. And, a family of girls would only go to college to become a home economics teacher or a nurse, so my stepfather wasn’t wasting his money on a bunch of girls who were only going to get pregnant any ways. So, my saving grace has always been that I took those keyboard and Greg short hand classes--so, I take copious notes.
I noticed that my oldest granddaughter was impressed because when I type I can’t look at the keyboard. I told her when I took typing the keys were on a large poster that covered the entire wall near the ceiling in the front of the classroom, so you had to look up to see where the keys are. The keys on the typewriter were blank only the home keys had a dimple on them. If you missed your place, all you had to do was search for the dimples on the F left hand and J right hand keys,so even if it is dark, you can still find the keys. On the old typewriters, every time you reached the margin on the right side you would have to raise your hand and slide a roll that propelled the keys back to the other side of the paper... now, it is the enter key which you use very seldom because of the "wrap" feature of the computer keybaoard. When the electric typewriters came out, only the good typist were allowed to use them. I wasn’t a good typist, so I never got the privilege to use the newest invention.
However, my teacher would stand at the front of the room and tap a pointer--stick-- on her desk. Every time she tapped you would type a letter that she called out. You could only look at the poster above her head and search for the dimpled keys; then, type the keys that she called out. I always wanted to type fast, but I was slow because we didn’t have a typewriter to practice on at home. Believe me, I am still slow.
My sisters’ and I started to beg the folks for a Corona typewriter, but my mom told us if we quit smoking she would buy us a typewriter for Christmas. Now, my sisters’ and I really worked at hiding our little smoking habit, so how did she know that we smoked. Any ways we did not argue because we had already lost, so we consented to stop smoking. When we got that Corona typewriter, we thought we were big stuff. Mind you, this was in the 50’s.
Nowadays, I might add that one can take keyboarding classes online for free. Just know that it takes a lot of practice, but the rewards of expressing oneself with a keyboard are unsurmountable. To be able to "talk" is a sheer joy.
I just wanted to say that I am so grateful to my mother for prodding me to take typing classes in high school. My typing and writing skills have been the stalwart of my life.
In the middle 50’s, I remember when I was in high school. My mother was only concerned that I could type and take Greg shorthand. She didn’t care if I made D’s in math because she wasn’t a math person. However, I had to make A’s in English, or I would be in big trouble. Of course, I made A’s in PhysEd. However, when I was in the 10th grade mother made sure that I got the classes I needed to be a secretary. She wanted me to be able to get a job when I graduated from high school. The family didn’t care about college because I wasn’t bright enough any ways. And, a family of girls would only go to college to become a home economics teacher or a nurse, so my stepfather wasn’t wasting his money on a bunch of girls who were only going to get pregnant any ways. So, my saving grace has always been that I took those keyboard and Greg short hand classes--so, I take copious notes.
I noticed that my oldest granddaughter was impressed because when I type I can’t look at the keyboard. I told her when I took typing the keys were on a large poster that covered the entire wall near the ceiling in the front of the classroom, so you had to look up to see where the keys are. The keys on the typewriter were blank only the home keys had a dimple on them. If you missed your place, all you had to do was search for the dimples on the F left hand and J right hand keys,so even if it is dark, you can still find the keys. On the old typewriters, every time you reached the margin on the right side you would have to raise your hand and slide a roll that propelled the keys back to the other side of the paper... now, it is the enter key which you use very seldom because of the "wrap" feature of the computer keybaoard. When the electric typewriters came out, only the good typist were allowed to use them. I wasn’t a good typist, so I never got the privilege to use the newest invention.
However, my teacher would stand at the front of the room and tap a pointer--stick-- on her desk. Every time she tapped you would type a letter that she called out. You could only look at the poster above her head and search for the dimpled keys; then, type the keys that she called out. I always wanted to type fast, but I was slow because we didn’t have a typewriter to practice on at home. Believe me, I am still slow.
My sisters’ and I started to beg the folks for a Corona typewriter, but my mom told us if we quit smoking she would buy us a typewriter for Christmas. Now, my sisters’ and I really worked at hiding our little smoking habit, so how did she know that we smoked. Any ways we did not argue because we had already lost, so we consented to stop smoking. When we got that Corona typewriter, we thought we were big stuff. Mind you, this was in the 50’s.
Nowadays, I might add that one can take keyboarding classes online for free. Just know that it takes a lot of practice, but the rewards of expressing oneself with a keyboard are unsurmountable. To be able to "talk" is a sheer joy.
I just wanted to say that I am so grateful to my mother for prodding me to take typing classes in high school. My typing and writing skills have been the stalwart of my life.
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