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?"
Thursday, July 17, 2008
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.
The Weird Grandmother
Last week my granddaughter, sheepishly, told me that one of the girls in the camp told her that her grandmother is weird.
I ask my grand how did she answer her. "I told her that she was weird."
I told my grand the next time you tell her, "My grandmother is very proud to be weird, and she thanks you for the compliment. My grandmother said, she has really worked hard to be weird, and different, and free to be herself, and she has finally made it. She is so happy that some one has noticed."
Of course, my grand looked at me as though I had lost it. She said, "I would never say anything like that to her or any one."
Later she told me that she told the girl what I said. The little girl answered, "I don’t care."
I told my grand, Well, I would rather you turned it into a positive because I am not ashamed to be weird or whoever it is that some one decides what I am because I can only be me.
Besides, whatever any one says about me is none of my business. My mother always said that it took her all day to tend to her business and the other part to stay out of every one else’s. So, let’s stay out of other people’s business.
Today the hurtful antics that come out of some daycare settings are really demeaning on all levels. How is a child to grow with so much negative reinforcement that goes unchecked in those motherless holding pens. Right now, there are a couple of young workers working for us who were raised in those holding pens and their attitudes and work ethics are questionable. I fear for the children raised on the streets in so many war zones of the world. I pray our earth does not turn into the "hell holes depicted on the movie screens of the world." It is really spooky.....
I ask my grand how did she answer her. "I told her that she was weird."
I told my grand the next time you tell her, "My grandmother is very proud to be weird, and she thanks you for the compliment. My grandmother said, she has really worked hard to be weird, and different, and free to be herself, and she has finally made it. She is so happy that some one has noticed."
Of course, my grand looked at me as though I had lost it. She said, "I would never say anything like that to her or any one."
Later she told me that she told the girl what I said. The little girl answered, "I don’t care."
I told my grand, Well, I would rather you turned it into a positive because I am not ashamed to be weird or whoever it is that some one decides what I am because I can only be me.
Besides, whatever any one says about me is none of my business. My mother always said that it took her all day to tend to her business and the other part to stay out of every one else’s. So, let’s stay out of other people’s business.
Today the hurtful antics that come out of some daycare settings are really demeaning on all levels. How is a child to grow with so much negative reinforcement that goes unchecked in those motherless holding pens. Right now, there are a couple of young workers working for us who were raised in those holding pens and their attitudes and work ethics are questionable. I fear for the children raised on the streets in so many war zones of the world. I pray our earth does not turn into the "hell holes depicted on the movie screens of the world." It is really spooky.....
Granny Mule--Oops, Donkey
I guess when one has a full life, one’s life is really full.
It seems as though I have been so busy entertaining my 8 year old granddaughter that my brain has suffered a little from the over stimulation. Mind you, I love the over stimulation to a certain extent because I have not had uncontrollable stimulation in a long time. She has helped me to realize that I do not have too much control over too much. I never know when I will be prompted to wade through another tantrum abate they are fewer these days. I am not good with bribery, but I have resort to bribery just to get a little peace--faster with fewer words.
My daugher will probably scream because I once told her that my grandson was being bribed to do things at the youth club where he was a member. You see, he was given candy and other concessions to do things much as Pavlov’s dog was given a treat to go through the maze when prompted--behavorial reponses. I exclaimed that he is a human, and I thought it would behoove him to be prompted in other ways rather than with treats--sugery at that. Although at the time, I had no other suggestions. I still felt to bribe a child to do what is expected of anyone as unnatural; it was purely an unsound behavorial approach--pompous of me to say the least.
Fast Forward--15 years. This week I found myself "bribing" my granddaughter. The bribe: if she got up every morning without any fanfare, that I would buy her a "Webkinz" at the end of each week. Of course, we had to do the "pinky" swear and promise and all the excitement that goes with the "bribe." I must admit that I am ashamed of myself. I must admit that it would be easier to have the child in bed by 9:00 pm. I have put the child in camp and begged the counselors to wear the child out, but when I go to pick up the child the counselors are the only ones who are tuckered out...the children seem to be wired or winded up.
Consequently, I take my grand for a walk around the mall or to the grocery store or run an errand. We go home for a bite to eat, or we eat out or get take out. The only person who is tuckered out when we get home is me. I literally pass out. Now, I have a feral child who roams the condo looking for things to do...the computer for Webkinz and Nickturbo for music and games, the refrigerator is raided for milk which cost as much as a gallon of gas. The milk is consummed as though she runs on it, and the TV for more Nick-- no cartoons--I can’t stand them.
Mind you, I have tried my level best to out perform this little dynamo who keeps on running like that pink "EverReady" bunny. One of my problems is a lack of playmates for her if there were children in my 55+condo then it would be a no brainer, but there are no children--she said, "just old people just like you"--I can handle it. One of my colleagues suggested that I find playmates for her. I had to give it a little thought because that means that I would have to take my turn with the other child or children. That means I would have to entertain not one but maybe two or more "EverReady" bunnies. Then, I would look worse than the haggarded counselors, who thank me graciously for bringing her--if they only knew. I don’t want to go to that banquet table for even more children.
One thing is for certain I intend to survive this summer. I have begun to believe that God doesn’t give you any more than you can carry. My grandmother told me that one. She said, "Always remember the donkey if the load gets too heavy the donkey will simply sit down."
Smart donkey....huh?
It seems as though I have been so busy entertaining my 8 year old granddaughter that my brain has suffered a little from the over stimulation. Mind you, I love the over stimulation to a certain extent because I have not had uncontrollable stimulation in a long time. She has helped me to realize that I do not have too much control over too much. I never know when I will be prompted to wade through another tantrum abate they are fewer these days. I am not good with bribery, but I have resort to bribery just to get a little peace--faster with fewer words.
My daugher will probably scream because I once told her that my grandson was being bribed to do things at the youth club where he was a member. You see, he was given candy and other concessions to do things much as Pavlov’s dog was given a treat to go through the maze when prompted--behavorial reponses. I exclaimed that he is a human, and I thought it would behoove him to be prompted in other ways rather than with treats--sugery at that. Although at the time, I had no other suggestions. I still felt to bribe a child to do what is expected of anyone as unnatural; it was purely an unsound behavorial approach--pompous of me to say the least.
Fast Forward--15 years. This week I found myself "bribing" my granddaughter. The bribe: if she got up every morning without any fanfare, that I would buy her a "Webkinz" at the end of each week. Of course, we had to do the "pinky" swear and promise and all the excitement that goes with the "bribe." I must admit that I am ashamed of myself. I must admit that it would be easier to have the child in bed by 9:00 pm. I have put the child in camp and begged the counselors to wear the child out, but when I go to pick up the child the counselors are the only ones who are tuckered out...the children seem to be wired or winded up.
Consequently, I take my grand for a walk around the mall or to the grocery store or run an errand. We go home for a bite to eat, or we eat out or get take out. The only person who is tuckered out when we get home is me. I literally pass out. Now, I have a feral child who roams the condo looking for things to do...the computer for Webkinz and Nickturbo for music and games, the refrigerator is raided for milk which cost as much as a gallon of gas. The milk is consummed as though she runs on it, and the TV for more Nick-- no cartoons--I can’t stand them.
Mind you, I have tried my level best to out perform this little dynamo who keeps on running like that pink "EverReady" bunny. One of my problems is a lack of playmates for her if there were children in my 55+condo then it would be a no brainer, but there are no children--she said, "just old people just like you"--I can handle it. One of my colleagues suggested that I find playmates for her. I had to give it a little thought because that means that I would have to take my turn with the other child or children. That means I would have to entertain not one but maybe two or more "EverReady" bunnies. Then, I would look worse than the haggarded counselors, who thank me graciously for bringing her--if they only knew. I don’t want to go to that banquet table for even more children.
One thing is for certain I intend to survive this summer. I have begun to believe that God doesn’t give you any more than you can carry. My grandmother told me that one. She said, "Always remember the donkey if the load gets too heavy the donkey will simply sit down."
Smart donkey....huh?
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Ramble---July 10, 2008
Well... the week is rapidly coming to an end, and as I reflect back it has been a really productive week.
My grandson finally called me. He was overwhelmed with the care of a very pregnant fiancee who finally delivered a baby girl on Sunday. He moved into a new apartment almost alone without help, and he started a new job in an industry--mortgage--that he has been "talking" about for quite awhile. He sounded so tried but like an excited man who has accomplished some of his goals. He is even talking about buying his first house within the next three years. He is really concerned that his uncles and family are proud of him. I assured him that we are excited and proud of his accomplishments especially for a twenty three year old man. When I told him about his young cousin’s defense of his "busy--ness"and her demonstration of him assisting his fiancee through her labor... He had a little giggle.
He told me that they didn’t need anything for the apartment or the baby. I am really surprised because I was so destituted when I first started out that I needed everything. Then, I remembered; I had taught him how to manage his money when he stayed with me for two years. Of course, I am proud of him, and I told him so--I could see his smile over the phone.
Today my eight year old granddaughter went to the Miami Seaquarium. Her dad can’t wait to hear her account of the visit, and neither can I.
Right now, I am teaching a Reading 2 class, and I have been having a good time showing them how to time read for comprehension. I like the class, and they are doing quite well.
As the week comes to a close, I want to think of a way to entertain my grand for the weekend--cheaply. It is really hard with the summer thunder showers which come in every day at the same time. She told me, in earnest, that at camp the kids kneel on their knees in a circle and pray for the rain to stop so that they can go swimming. I don’t blame the counselors because to be stuck in a small building with 50 kids and videos and board games for entertainment and the possibility of "he looked at me" wars to start is a little too much for my imagination.
I look forward to the coming week and all the new possbilities and problems and for me to be more civil. I was really grouchy this week.
I am slowly coming down to Earth... watch out for the THUMP.
My grandson finally called me. He was overwhelmed with the care of a very pregnant fiancee who finally delivered a baby girl on Sunday. He moved into a new apartment almost alone without help, and he started a new job in an industry--mortgage--that he has been "talking" about for quite awhile. He sounded so tried but like an excited man who has accomplished some of his goals. He is even talking about buying his first house within the next three years. He is really concerned that his uncles and family are proud of him. I assured him that we are excited and proud of his accomplishments especially for a twenty three year old man. When I told him about his young cousin’s defense of his "busy--ness"and her demonstration of him assisting his fiancee through her labor... He had a little giggle.
He told me that they didn’t need anything for the apartment or the baby. I am really surprised because I was so destituted when I first started out that I needed everything. Then, I remembered; I had taught him how to manage his money when he stayed with me for two years. Of course, I am proud of him, and I told him so--I could see his smile over the phone.
Today my eight year old granddaughter went to the Miami Seaquarium. Her dad can’t wait to hear her account of the visit, and neither can I.
Right now, I am teaching a Reading 2 class, and I have been having a good time showing them how to time read for comprehension. I like the class, and they are doing quite well.
As the week comes to a close, I want to think of a way to entertain my grand for the weekend--cheaply. It is really hard with the summer thunder showers which come in every day at the same time. She told me, in earnest, that at camp the kids kneel on their knees in a circle and pray for the rain to stop so that they can go swimming. I don’t blame the counselors because to be stuck in a small building with 50 kids and videos and board games for entertainment and the possibility of "he looked at me" wars to start is a little too much for my imagination.
I look forward to the coming week and all the new possbilities and problems and for me to be more civil. I was really grouchy this week.
I am slowly coming down to Earth... watch out for the THUMP.
Comment to How to Search for a Soulmate
Within my lifetime, I have had 3 really bad experiences, the first one I met when we were young; back then, the man was the "boss" of the family because he made the money, and the mother of the children stayed home. She was "Susie Homemaker or Donna Reed." After the Vietnam War the "crazy’s set in, and the women’s movement allowed women to look between their legs with a mirror to see what was there "the lights came on." So, I went to school to get a degree, and I became the worst woman in the world--a "divorcee" which was still a nasty term. Long story short after sixteen years the end of a once blissful relationship, and 4 children to raise alone. Second, long term relationship a miserable failure not worth discussing; besides, I have forgotten his name. Third, short term relationship a very miserable mistake got out really fast--married 30 days-- still cost me a lot of money and grief; besides, it isn’t nice to talk about the dead.
I have tried all the above ways to identify a nice guy to date or develop a long term relationship, but I have found so many with agendas to suite their needs based on my portfolio, so it is usually a miss; especially, when I don’t meet their expectations--I don’t do what I am told. I have gone from making lists of what I would like in a man--Yes, I have read those books too, to what I don’t want in a man--my book. Simple, 1. a man without child support payments or alimony. 2. I don’t want to be the nurse or the purse--hard one to detect, 3. To..."do you have your $100 thou? I have mine"--I learned that one from my neighbors and that is why he doesn’t have anyone.
Once online, I met a man who told me that I was the best woman out of the 5 wives he had married and divorced, and that he didn’t need a mother for his nine children; he could take care of them himself. I told him that I know the size of a "package" when I see one--nine kids, five moma’s drama, and all the step’s and half’s and in and out law’s chaos. Talk about a fatal attraction he was harder to get rid of than bubble gum that had gotten stuck to the bottom of my shoe or an adult child who comes home for awhile--years.
Lately, I just like to enjoy the friendship of my male friends. There are no expectations, and we talk more about doing things and projects than actually doing them. Usually, health is in the way. I have been so busy the last five years like a squirrel storing up for a long winter--called retirement--that I have not taken the time to entertain a serious male relationship--it’s too much work, and I have to think too much. Besides, after cleaning my grandchildren’s underwear, I don’t want to be responsible for anyone else’s.
A real funny comes to mind... Not too long ago, I was in the grocery store and this nice looking gentleman comes up to me and asks. "I know you from somewhere, don’t I?" I said, "Probably, but where?" I wanted him to do the guessing because I get this question all the time. He mentioned an island--his hometown; he really wanted me to be from there. I said, "No, I am really from Pennsylvania." He looked at me like "kind of funny" then walked off.
I didn’t realize until afterwards that it was a "come on," I totally missed the boat, the ship, the plane, the train, the bus, and my sister said, "The entire day." I just don’t get it. I guess I am just destine to spend the rest of my life alone with sundry grandchildren and young friends waltzing in and out of my guest bedroom, and to think I wanted to put a big screen tv in there. They would never leave so that room gets the worst and smallest tv.
No pets...thank you very much. It is too much responsibility; besides, pet health insurance is too high.
I have tried all the above ways to identify a nice guy to date or develop a long term relationship, but I have found so many with agendas to suite their needs based on my portfolio, so it is usually a miss; especially, when I don’t meet their expectations--I don’t do what I am told. I have gone from making lists of what I would like in a man--Yes, I have read those books too, to what I don’t want in a man--my book. Simple, 1. a man without child support payments or alimony. 2. I don’t want to be the nurse or the purse--hard one to detect, 3. To..."do you have your $100 thou? I have mine"--I learned that one from my neighbors and that is why he doesn’t have anyone.
Once online, I met a man who told me that I was the best woman out of the 5 wives he had married and divorced, and that he didn’t need a mother for his nine children; he could take care of them himself. I told him that I know the size of a "package" when I see one--nine kids, five moma’s drama, and all the step’s and half’s and in and out law’s chaos. Talk about a fatal attraction he was harder to get rid of than bubble gum that had gotten stuck to the bottom of my shoe or an adult child who comes home for awhile--years.
Lately, I just like to enjoy the friendship of my male friends. There are no expectations, and we talk more about doing things and projects than actually doing them. Usually, health is in the way. I have been so busy the last five years like a squirrel storing up for a long winter--called retirement--that I have not taken the time to entertain a serious male relationship--it’s too much work, and I have to think too much. Besides, after cleaning my grandchildren’s underwear, I don’t want to be responsible for anyone else’s.
A real funny comes to mind... Not too long ago, I was in the grocery store and this nice looking gentleman comes up to me and asks. "I know you from somewhere, don’t I?" I said, "Probably, but where?" I wanted him to do the guessing because I get this question all the time. He mentioned an island--his hometown; he really wanted me to be from there. I said, "No, I am really from Pennsylvania." He looked at me like "kind of funny" then walked off.
I didn’t realize until afterwards that it was a "come on," I totally missed the boat, the ship, the plane, the train, the bus, and my sister said, "The entire day." I just don’t get it. I guess I am just destine to spend the rest of my life alone with sundry grandchildren and young friends waltzing in and out of my guest bedroom, and to think I wanted to put a big screen tv in there. They would never leave so that room gets the worst and smallest tv.
No pets...thank you very much. It is too much responsibility; besides, pet health insurance is too high.
And, the Bribe Goes On
Ooh!!! Now you know that my admitting to a charge of bribery is so beneath me on all levels--be it mother, grandmother, great grandmother, aunt, or sister, for I am almost ashamed to admit it. However, one way to feel redeemed on some level is to say it out loud. Much like a member of AA--Alcoholic’s Anonymous. You have to proclaim your guilt to the world. I am a "Bribe rous Person" I have become a "Briberholic." "I am a Briberholic." There now I said it. I have unabashedly proclaimed to bribery.
My 8 year old granddaughter is addicted to the Webkinz--little stuffed animals that one plays with online. She likes to beg for them. So, I decided that if she gets up in the mornings on her own without my prompting her, tickling her, sprinkling her with water, or calling her Dad to give her a wake up call that I would buy her a new Webkinz at the end of each week. And so, when I posed the offer to her, she jumped on it right away. To make the offer even juicer, we went on eBay to find one. We bidded on a "Pug" and a "Chihauhua" and won both of them. And so, we are expecting them this week. It is like expecting a child or something extra special to arrive. She is so excited she wants to know where I am going to hide them. It is just like Christmas. I told her a friend at work would guard over them, so my grand will not be able to redeem them until she has proven to keep up her end of the bargain. No "x’s" for an entire week. Well, maybe one or two we aren’t perfect.
When I was sharing our bargain with her camp counselor, Ms. P, she really likes our arrangment. I almost feel vindicated on some level.
This morning I called my grand on her phone to get her up. Because she didn’t get up on her own as she had promised. However, she was almost pleasant.... I know she is not a morning person because she would rather stay up all night. It really feels good to get this off my conscience.
I am a Bribe rous Person. I am a Briberyholic. I am a Briberholic. Well, if the shoe fits, wear it.
My 8 year old granddaughter is addicted to the Webkinz--little stuffed animals that one plays with online. She likes to beg for them. So, I decided that if she gets up in the mornings on her own without my prompting her, tickling her, sprinkling her with water, or calling her Dad to give her a wake up call that I would buy her a new Webkinz at the end of each week. And so, when I posed the offer to her, she jumped on it right away. To make the offer even juicer, we went on eBay to find one. We bidded on a "Pug" and a "Chihauhua" and won both of them. And so, we are expecting them this week. It is like expecting a child or something extra special to arrive. She is so excited she wants to know where I am going to hide them. It is just like Christmas. I told her a friend at work would guard over them, so my grand will not be able to redeem them until she has proven to keep up her end of the bargain. No "x’s" for an entire week. Well, maybe one or two we aren’t perfect.
When I was sharing our bargain with her camp counselor, Ms. P, she really likes our arrangment. I almost feel vindicated on some level.
This morning I called my grand on her phone to get her up. Because she didn’t get up on her own as she had promised. However, she was almost pleasant.... I know she is not a morning person because she would rather stay up all night. It really feels good to get this off my conscience.
I am a Bribe rous Person. I am a Briberyholic. I am a Briberholic. Well, if the shoe fits, wear it.
A Journal Entry--Ramble
The summer is flying by so quickly. Last week a lady hugged me too tightly and my neck went out again. I was so sick and overcome with a sense of being overwhelmed that I became the crankiest human on earth. However, with the help of a dear friend, I was able to put things into proper prospectus and to help the young people I am responsible for to understand their purpose in my life, and I in theirs. For you see, I was trying to man the ship alone, so they thought that was my position. Now that we are sharing on all levels, it is so much better for all of us, and we are enjoying and appreciating each other even more.
Yesterday, I finally went to the chiropractor for relief. I was welcomed and made to feel as though my life has meaning on this plane. When "my neck" is in such pain, I often have a sense of dread that this is the end. I don’t know why or what nerve is being pinched that prompts me to think that way, but I have a tendency to take that train of thought.
And so, today, after my treatment--a message from an expert who is a caring professional, who knows me and cares for me with so much love. A loving doctor who gave me a hug so that I know that I don’t have to run from a hugger. That there is such a thing as a gentle hug. I have such a love for the people who care for me that I keep them loaded in my prayers and within that part of my soul that holds all my love. Whenever I think of them, it makes me glow...I am beginning to appreciate the glow that love evokes when one is truly cared for.
I am so grateful and so appreciative to all the people who are in my life’s circle. It makes me feel as though I do have a purpose on this earth. Even if I think that I am not leading a "purposeful life" at the moment. My only desire is to be healthy so that I can do what ever I want after I come down to earth...or shall I say retire.
I have noticed that my ramblings and thoughts of my rambles have really helped me to stay mentally and emotionally healthy as well. I seem to be even more aware of what is happening in my world and the lives of others. I totally understand their needs even if some of it scares me. On some level, I know that all will be well.
Our country has gone through some very extraordinary economic challenges and natural disasters before, so I know that it too will be resolved. I guess it is the change that keeps us coming up with new ways to be supportive of each other. If nothing else, all families will have to be more supportive of each other, we will all have to come up to the yoke to help pull our families out of some of the nonsense that we fell victim to because of the way that properties soared out of reach, and the use of credit cards, and the debt that really served some else, so that the victim would pay interest for the rest of his/her life on so little, and the interest paid on savings accounts and mutual funds don’t amount to a hill of beans; however, if you try to spend your own money, you can’t touch it without an act of congress--you must be retired. It has all been nonsense or corruption. I just hope that when Marie Antionette’s head rolls that we will still be a some what loving and caring nation...
The "Icing on the Cake" my sister sent me an email with the closings of so many businesses. I emailed her back and said "Great, now it will give more Mom and Pop’s an opportunity to open small businesses that will not fail before they have paid off the mortgage, sent a couple of kids to college, or even developed a good financial retirement plan." Every thing must out live itself so that others have an opportunity to thrive... sort of like burning the brush before a strike of lightening causes a real forest fire.
End of ramble, now, I can go get a cup of coffee. Thanks for reading my "stuff."
Yesterday, I finally went to the chiropractor for relief. I was welcomed and made to feel as though my life has meaning on this plane. When "my neck" is in such pain, I often have a sense of dread that this is the end. I don’t know why or what nerve is being pinched that prompts me to think that way, but I have a tendency to take that train of thought.
And so, today, after my treatment--a message from an expert who is a caring professional, who knows me and cares for me with so much love. A loving doctor who gave me a hug so that I know that I don’t have to run from a hugger. That there is such a thing as a gentle hug. I have such a love for the people who care for me that I keep them loaded in my prayers and within that part of my soul that holds all my love. Whenever I think of them, it makes me glow...I am beginning to appreciate the glow that love evokes when one is truly cared for.
I am so grateful and so appreciative to all the people who are in my life’s circle. It makes me feel as though I do have a purpose on this earth. Even if I think that I am not leading a "purposeful life" at the moment. My only desire is to be healthy so that I can do what ever I want after I come down to earth...or shall I say retire.
I have noticed that my ramblings and thoughts of my rambles have really helped me to stay mentally and emotionally healthy as well. I seem to be even more aware of what is happening in my world and the lives of others. I totally understand their needs even if some of it scares me. On some level, I know that all will be well.
Our country has gone through some very extraordinary economic challenges and natural disasters before, so I know that it too will be resolved. I guess it is the change that keeps us coming up with new ways to be supportive of each other. If nothing else, all families will have to be more supportive of each other, we will all have to come up to the yoke to help pull our families out of some of the nonsense that we fell victim to because of the way that properties soared out of reach, and the use of credit cards, and the debt that really served some else, so that the victim would pay interest for the rest of his/her life on so little, and the interest paid on savings accounts and mutual funds don’t amount to a hill of beans; however, if you try to spend your own money, you can’t touch it without an act of congress--you must be retired. It has all been nonsense or corruption. I just hope that when Marie Antionette’s head rolls that we will still be a some what loving and caring nation...
The "Icing on the Cake" my sister sent me an email with the closings of so many businesses. I emailed her back and said "Great, now it will give more Mom and Pop’s an opportunity to open small businesses that will not fail before they have paid off the mortgage, sent a couple of kids to college, or even developed a good financial retirement plan." Every thing must out live itself so that others have an opportunity to thrive... sort of like burning the brush before a strike of lightening causes a real forest fire.
End of ramble, now, I can go get a cup of coffee. Thanks for reading my "stuff."
Friday, July 4, 2008
First Draft of How The Library Changed My Life
I was making an attempt to show one of the story tellers that I had worked on this essay. I was almost ready to submit it when the time ran out.
This is my first draft of the essay. It was too long for the essay contest. I could only write 2000 words. Thanks for allowing me to have so much fun. Karean
This is my first draft of the essay. It was too long for the essay contest. I could only write 2000 words. Thanks for allowing me to have so much fun. Karean
How the Library Changed My Life
I grew up in a small village in somewhat rural Western Pennsylvania called Woods Run just outside of Pittsburgh. Woods Run did not have a neighborhood grammar school, so all the children from the fourth to sixth grades had to walk about 2 miles to a little school called Halls Grove. During the spring and fall, the long walks to Halls Grove were so beautiful. During the spring the hillsides were filled with blooming forsythias, the bright yellow flowers swayed in the wind and looked as though a bright yellow flame had caught on to the blossoms. As we walked to school, the little posse would look for the new wildflowers-- the trillions and violets and awed at the colors of the variegated climbing ivy. In the fall, we would marvel at the trees as they turned to gold and flaming fuchsias.
At Halls Grove, Mrs. Fassel was the sixth grade homeroom teacher and librarian. She was a plump lady with blonde hair who smelled of cloves when she got close to you. She was a kindly lady who never seemed ruffled or out of sorts with the antics of the sixth graders. Mrs. Fassel seated the class in alphabetical order just like her books. Every morning with out fail she would call every one us by our last then first name. Needless to say, I did not like my last name, which is the color Brown. I can still hear her calling the student who sat next to me “Black, Ruth.” Now Ruth was as white as a sheet with long straight light yellow hair and eyes so light blue and clear they looked like tiny pools of clear water. When Mrs. Fassel called Ruth, Ruth never flinched, she just yelled, “Present.” I tried to hide behind my hands, as I got ready for my assault, “Brown, Karean.” It sounded so loud it felt as though everyone in Woods Run could hear her. “Present” I just wanted to duck under the table because I am indeed a brown person with dark brown eyes. I could hear the silent giggles from the students who knew I hated to be called a “Brown, Karean” which they taunted me with “careen around the corner” and “Mrs. Brown went to town with her britches upside down.” I have never outgrown the taunts.
One bright and sunny day, after Mrs. Fassel had drawn the large window shades down and the room took on a warm creamy amber hue Mrs. Fassel walked slowly to the bookshelves. She ran her fingers over the books as though looking for just the right one. She hummed quietly to herself when she happened upon it; she took the book from the stack then walked slowly back to her desk, leafing through the pages. She settled in to her chair almost as though she had a secret to tell us. We watched her with quiet anticipation. What she did next just about caused my mind to take off to another dimension. “Today,” she started, “I am going to read Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain.” After that afternoon, I never missed another day of school. I could not wait to get to school, lunch, recess and Tom Sawyer. My mind would float away to the sunny warm days of Missouri and the antics of Tom and Huck. I would dream about them when I slept. We—the posse--would talk about them as we walked to school. To make matters worse, when she finished Tom Sawyer, she started with Huckleberry Finn. Then, she started reading about the Norse mythology. She made the gods, Thor, Odin and Loki seem so big, real and alive that for years the sound of thunder and lightning scared me to death. I would imagine the gods were fighting with each other throwing bolts of lightning just to keep us earthlings humble. She took us to far places with Eric the Great—I think Ms. Fassel was Norwegian because we were always studying about Norway. But, she made sure to give us a dose of the Greek gods too.
Then, one day after she had gotten us addicted to her reading ways she stopped just like she started. It seems as though I was the only one who started to whine because I was so addicted to her voice and the stories she loved to read. She told me to get a book and start to read to myself. I simply stood in front of the bookcases and starred with my lip shot out in complete abandon, I was weaned to quickly from her reading ways. Finally, she put her hand on my shoulder and led me around in front of the stacks of books for a while then, “you might like this” she gave me a play to read. I don’t remember the play, but I was addicted to the images that played on the stage in my head. Laboriously, I read the first book “bang” I was hooked again. I could not put the plays down I read every one in her library and thirsted for more. After I finished a play, she would give me another then another. I could not get enough of the images that played in my head and did mighty things.
One day out of the blue, Mrs. Fassel said we are going for a walk. We started to walk toward my home, but just as we crossed Brighton Road there was a little dark yellow public library just next to the Rexall drug store. She and the other librarians gave each of the children a library card. I thought I had hit the “Irish Lottery” I was so proud of my library card. That day the little "Brown" girl from Woods Run life changed from a whiny, lonely, and meek child who grew up to become a well read adult. I am certain that without Mrs. Fassel’s introduction to the classics and the welcoming atmosphere of the little Woods Run Library—I tried to read every book in that little library too. I would never have aspired to the heights of my education today. Never would I, the little "Brown" girl from Woods Run, have dreamed of becoming a college professor who has the opportunity every day to spark a student’s attention that makes positive changes in the world.
I grew up in a small village in somewhat rural Western Pennsylvania called Woods Run just outside of Pittsburgh. Woods Run did not have a neighborhood grammar school, so all the children from the fourth to sixth grades had to walk about 2 miles to a little school called Halls Grove. During the spring and fall, the long walks to Halls Grove were so beautiful. During the spring the hillsides were filled with blooming forsythias, the bright yellow flowers swayed in the wind and looked as though a bright yellow flame had caught on to the blossoms. As we walked to school, the little posse would look for the new wildflowers-- the trillions and violets and awed at the colors of the variegated climbing ivy. In the fall, we would marvel at the trees as they turned to gold and flaming fuchsias.
At Halls Grove, Mrs. Fassel was the sixth grade homeroom teacher and librarian. She was a plump lady with blonde hair who smelled of cloves when she got close to you. She was a kindly lady who never seemed ruffled or out of sorts with the antics of the sixth graders. Mrs. Fassel seated the class in alphabetical order just like her books. Every morning with out fail she would call every one us by our last then first name. Needless to say, I did not like my last name, which is the color Brown. I can still hear her calling the student who sat next to me “Black, Ruth.” Now Ruth was as white as a sheet with long straight light yellow hair and eyes so light blue and clear they looked like tiny pools of clear water. When Mrs. Fassel called Ruth, Ruth never flinched, she just yelled, “Present.” I tried to hide behind my hands, as I got ready for my assault, “Brown, Karean.” It sounded so loud it felt as though everyone in Woods Run could hear her. “Present” I just wanted to duck under the table because I am indeed a brown person with dark brown eyes. I could hear the silent giggles from the students who knew I hated to be called a “Brown, Karean” which they taunted me with “careen around the corner” and “Mrs. Brown went to town with her britches upside down.” I have never outgrown the taunts.
One bright and sunny day, after Mrs. Fassel had drawn the large window shades down and the room took on a warm creamy amber hue Mrs. Fassel walked slowly to the bookshelves. She ran her fingers over the books as though looking for just the right one. She hummed quietly to herself when she happened upon it; she took the book from the stack then walked slowly back to her desk, leafing through the pages. She settled in to her chair almost as though she had a secret to tell us. We watched her with quiet anticipation. What she did next just about caused my mind to take off to another dimension. “Today,” she started, “I am going to read Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain.” After that afternoon, I never missed another day of school. I could not wait to get to school, lunch, recess and Tom Sawyer. My mind would float away to the sunny warm days of Missouri and the antics of Tom and Huck. I would dream about them when I slept. We—the posse--would talk about them as we walked to school. To make matters worse, when she finished Tom Sawyer, she started with Huckleberry Finn. Then, she started reading about the Norse mythology. She made the gods, Thor, Odin and Loki seem so big, real and alive that for years the sound of thunder and lightning scared me to death. I would imagine the gods were fighting with each other throwing bolts of lightning just to keep us earthlings humble. She took us to far places with Eric the Great—I think Ms. Fassel was Norwegian because we were always studying about Norway. But, she made sure to give us a dose of the Greek gods too.
Then, one day after she had gotten us addicted to her reading ways she stopped just like she started. It seems as though I was the only one who started to whine because I was so addicted to her voice and the stories she loved to read. She told me to get a book and start to read to myself. I simply stood in front of the bookcases and starred with my lip shot out in complete abandon, I was weaned to quickly from her reading ways. Finally, she put her hand on my shoulder and led me around in front of the stacks of books for a while then, “you might like this” she gave me a play to read. I don’t remember the play, but I was addicted to the images that played on the stage in my head. Laboriously, I read the first book “bang” I was hooked again. I could not put the plays down I read every one in her library and thirsted for more. After I finished a play, she would give me another then another. I could not get enough of the images that played in my head and did mighty things.
One day out of the blue, Mrs. Fassel said we are going for a walk. We started to walk toward my home, but just as we crossed Brighton Road there was a little dark yellow public library just next to the Rexall drug store. She and the other librarians gave each of the children a library card. I thought I had hit the “Irish Lottery” I was so proud of my library card. That day the little "Brown" girl from Woods Run life changed from a whiny, lonely, and meek child who grew up to become a well read adult. I am certain that without Mrs. Fassel’s introduction to the classics and the welcoming atmosphere of the little Woods Run Library—I tried to read every book in that little library too. I would never have aspired to the heights of my education today. Never would I, the little "Brown" girl from Woods Run, have dreamed of becoming a college professor who has the opportunity every day to spark a student’s attention that makes positive changes in the world.
How the Library Influenced Your Life
The Makings of an Obsessed Story Teller
By Karean Williams
In the early 1950s, when I was a six grader, Andrew Carnegie’s libraries were as prominent in the communities of Western Pennsylvania as the corner convenience stores are today. I grew up in a village called Woods Run. Because Woods Run Elementary only went to the third grade from the fourth to the sixth grade I had to walk almost two miles to Halls Grove Elementary which every one called Halls Grove. My homeroom teacher Mrs. Fassel a kindly lady, who never seemed ruffled by the antics of the sixth graders, was the school’s librarian too.
One afternoon after recess, as she hummed quietly to herself, she drew the shades at the large windows, the ambience of the room changed to a warm amber hue. Then, she slowly walked to the bookshelves. My eyes followed her as she ran her fingers over the books as though looking for just the right one. "Bingo!" -- When she happened upon the exact book; then, she removed it from the shelf. As she walked slowly back to her desk, she leafed through the pages. She settled in her chair, adjusted her eyeglasses, and seemed to prepare to tell us a secret. What she did next caused my young mind to take off to another dimension which released a sense of excitement that has never left me. "Today," she announced, "I am going to read Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain." After that afternoon, I never missed another day of school. I could not wait to get to school, lunch, recess, and Tom Sawyer. My mind would float away to the warm sunny days of Tom and Huck’s antics in Hannibal, Missouri. I would dream about them when I slept. And, if given a quiet moment, I would daydream about them too.
To make matters worse, when she finished the Mark Twain stories, she started to read Greek and Norse mythology. She made the gods Thor, Odin and Loki seem so big, real and alive. To this day the sound of thunder and lightning scares me to death. I still imagine the gods are fighting with each other as they throw bolts of ligtning just to keep us earthlings humble. Needless to say, I was totally obesssed with the stories and addicted to her ways of reading--weak to the knees.
Then one day, after she had gotten me addicted to her reading ways. She stopped just like she had started--abruptly. It seemed as though I was the only one who started to whine in the class because I was so addicted to her voice and the stories she loved to read. Bluntly, she told me, "Get a book and read quietly to yourself!" I simply stood in front of the bookcase, and starred at the books, and pouted in defiance; I was weaned to quickly. Finally, she put her hand on my shoulder and led me to the plays. Then, "You might like this," she mused as she handed me a play and purposefully walked away. She left me holding a book that felt so heavy, and it, along with my heavy dejected heart, caused my body to slump like Quasimodo’s. I don’t remember the play, but I was quickly addicted again, this time to the images that played on the stage in my head. At first, I read the book, laboriously. Then, Bang!-- I was hooked again. I could not put the plays down. I read every one in her library and thristed for more. I could not get enough of the images that played out their tales in my head. Lastly, she enticed me with Homer and the Greek tragedies I was totally smitten.
Then one day, Mrs. Fassel told the class, "Today, we are going for a walk." To my surprise, when we crossed Brighton Road and entered a little yellow brick building, it was the Woods Run Public Library. The librarians who worked there gave each of the kids an orange library card. Oh, I thought I had hit the "Irish Lottery." I could not believe that I could just flash my card and get a book--for free. I was so proud of my library card I would flash it every where as though I was the only one in the world with a orange library card--although every one I knew had one. I must have been really obnoxious because my mother had to tone down my library card enthusiasm.
Now I know that because of Mrs. Fassel’s reading ways, firm hand and sense of a child’s innate talents along with a host of librarians who have traipsed through my life. They have all inspired me to be the college teacher and story teller I am today. Karean
Summer Time and The Living Is Easy
"Summer time and the Living is Easy" is one of my mother’s favorite songs. As summer is approaching, I have started to think of the fun things I did as a child. What are some of the ways you enjoyed the summer.
In the early 1950s, we lived at Number 8 Monhagen Street, Woods Run, PA across the street, the wall furthest from the Ohio River, was the Western Pennsylvania State Penitentiary. Monhagen was sort of a dreary sort of dirt street with a row of 15 houses, no trees, no grass, no flowers, lots of sun. I use to know every family and how many children were in each family too. However, the penitentiary was very promenient in the lives of the people in the community. Mainly because we lived by the sounds of the whistles, the early one to get up for school and work, the noon whistle was for lunch, the five o’clock was for dinner, and the nine o’clock whistle to be at home or in bed depending on your age. If you were late for any of the whistles, believe me it meant trouble.
During the summers, we use to wait for the sun to go down behind the prison so that a shadow was casted over Monhagen; then, you could hear one of the kids screaming-- "BASEBALL, BASEBALL!" You knew that the kid had a ball of some sort--soft, hard, tennis, rubber. We couldn’t keep a ball too long because if it got popped over the prison wall, it was lost forever. Every once in a while a ball would come back, so we would do our little "boogie woogie" dance and yell our thank you’s as loud as we could. I really think it depended on which patrolman with a gun was walking the wall while we were playing.
The loud announcement --"BASEBALL, BASEBALL" was for any one who wanted to play ball. Kids would come from every where to play. Before we chose the team, we would size each other up to see if we had enough good players to put together a good game. Then, we would choose our teams I am a strong hitter, so I was pretty popular my nickname was "Candy Campinelli" after the famous ball player Roy Campinella. You know, I was proud of my distinction--"Heavy Hitter", but I have never been a fast runner, so we had to have someone on our team who was not a good hitter but could run fast. They usually would hit before me because if they got to first or second base I could hit and bring them home. We had a great time.
We would play for hours or until the first five oclock whistle blew; then, every one would pick up his or her belongings and run for home. You had to be at the dinner table by 5 o’clock before the last 5 o’clock whistle blew, or you just might miss dinner or not be allowed to sit at the table. Every one knew the rules.
After dinner we would gather together on some ones front or back steps and "shot the bull" or talk about our game. In the movie Dances with Wolves Kevin Costner got tired of the Native Americans telling the same story over and over again about the buffalo hunt, but I truly think all people do it. Because we would tell the same story over and over and embellish on it; then, "lie, lie, lie" about it, I would demonstrate my hit or how "Little Junior" caught the ball that made our team have the highest score. We didn’t keep records too well, I never knew how many innings we played in a game because we played as long as we could and relished every minute.
Once it seemed as though most of the kids were at camp or away at their grandparent’s house in the South for the summer, so the team’s pickings were really slim. As a result, we had a team where I was the captain and the other team’s captain picked all the strongest kids for his team. The argument was that I was the "Heavy Hitter," so the weak team would win any ways. I didn’t think it was fair, but I let my arrogance check in and took all the weakest players. I played so hard that it was the worst game I have ever played in my life; of course, we didn’t win. We all talked about the easy win for the team of strong players, who were usually the weakest ones, and I told them that I would never play a game like that again. The game was so boring and no fun at all. Needless to say, after that day we never had a game like that again. We learned that in order to have a good team a team must have weak and strong players, so that a weak player can have an opportunity to shine as well. We all need each other. In the scheme of things and in life, it was a lesson well worth learning, and it has served me well throughout my life. All because of a baseball game where all the weak players were put on one team, and all the strong players served on another---boring. "Summertime and the living is easy, so hush little baby don’t you cry." By Karean Williams
In the early 1950s, we lived at Number 8 Monhagen Street, Woods Run, PA across the street, the wall furthest from the Ohio River, was the Western Pennsylvania State Penitentiary. Monhagen was sort of a dreary sort of dirt street with a row of 15 houses, no trees, no grass, no flowers, lots of sun. I use to know every family and how many children were in each family too. However, the penitentiary was very promenient in the lives of the people in the community. Mainly because we lived by the sounds of the whistles, the early one to get up for school and work, the noon whistle was for lunch, the five o’clock was for dinner, and the nine o’clock whistle to be at home or in bed depending on your age. If you were late for any of the whistles, believe me it meant trouble.
During the summers, we use to wait for the sun to go down behind the prison so that a shadow was casted over Monhagen; then, you could hear one of the kids screaming-- "BASEBALL, BASEBALL!" You knew that the kid had a ball of some sort--soft, hard, tennis, rubber. We couldn’t keep a ball too long because if it got popped over the prison wall, it was lost forever. Every once in a while a ball would come back, so we would do our little "boogie woogie" dance and yell our thank you’s as loud as we could. I really think it depended on which patrolman with a gun was walking the wall while we were playing.
The loud announcement --"BASEBALL, BASEBALL" was for any one who wanted to play ball. Kids would come from every where to play. Before we chose the team, we would size each other up to see if we had enough good players to put together a good game. Then, we would choose our teams I am a strong hitter, so I was pretty popular my nickname was "Candy Campinelli" after the famous ball player Roy Campinella. You know, I was proud of my distinction--"Heavy Hitter", but I have never been a fast runner, so we had to have someone on our team who was not a good hitter but could run fast. They usually would hit before me because if they got to first or second base I could hit and bring them home. We had a great time.
We would play for hours or until the first five oclock whistle blew; then, every one would pick up his or her belongings and run for home. You had to be at the dinner table by 5 o’clock before the last 5 o’clock whistle blew, or you just might miss dinner or not be allowed to sit at the table. Every one knew the rules.
After dinner we would gather together on some ones front or back steps and "shot the bull" or talk about our game. In the movie Dances with Wolves Kevin Costner got tired of the Native Americans telling the same story over and over again about the buffalo hunt, but I truly think all people do it. Because we would tell the same story over and over and embellish on it; then, "lie, lie, lie" about it, I would demonstrate my hit or how "Little Junior" caught the ball that made our team have the highest score. We didn’t keep records too well, I never knew how many innings we played in a game because we played as long as we could and relished every minute.
Once it seemed as though most of the kids were at camp or away at their grandparent’s house in the South for the summer, so the team’s pickings were really slim. As a result, we had a team where I was the captain and the other team’s captain picked all the strongest kids for his team. The argument was that I was the "Heavy Hitter," so the weak team would win any ways. I didn’t think it was fair, but I let my arrogance check in and took all the weakest players. I played so hard that it was the worst game I have ever played in my life; of course, we didn’t win. We all talked about the easy win for the team of strong players, who were usually the weakest ones, and I told them that I would never play a game like that again. The game was so boring and no fun at all. Needless to say, after that day we never had a game like that again. We learned that in order to have a good team a team must have weak and strong players, so that a weak player can have an opportunity to shine as well. We all need each other. In the scheme of things and in life, it was a lesson well worth learning, and it has served me well throughout my life. All because of a baseball game where all the weak players were put on one team, and all the strong players served on another---boring. "Summertime and the living is easy, so hush little baby don’t you cry." By Karean Williams
The Games We Played as Children
When I was 15 years old our family moved from Woods Run to Kilbuck Township just north of Pittsburgh. We lived on Camp Horne Rd. Our house was in the hollow of this township. Since we no longer had a street to play baseball, our dad constructed a volleyball court for us in the side yard. We would play volleyball or madmitten until it was so dark we couldn't see.
Because of the isolation of our new country living, my five sisters and I had to resort to board and card games. That first summer we were all still at home. I don't know who or how we got started playing cards. Because we didn't have any real money, we used different color beans to stake our games. One day we were playing gin rummy, and we got in to a mean fight. We were making so much noise, and it must have sounded as though we were killing each other because my mom ran out on the front porch and yelled, "Stop, Stop this nonsense... you are not playing with money or for blood you are playing with beans, BEANS." "I swear you all are going to kill each other over BEANS." We all took a deep breath and started to really laugh. But, we still continued to play with the beans as though we were playing for blood. I guess that competitive spirit has served the family well over the years. Just a thought. By Karean Williams
Because of the isolation of our new country living, my five sisters and I had to resort to board and card games. That first summer we were all still at home. I don't know who or how we got started playing cards. Because we didn't have any real money, we used different color beans to stake our games. One day we were playing gin rummy, and we got in to a mean fight. We were making so much noise, and it must have sounded as though we were killing each other because my mom ran out on the front porch and yelled, "Stop, Stop this nonsense... you are not playing with money or for blood you are playing with beans, BEANS." "I swear you all are going to kill each other over BEANS." We all took a deep breath and started to really laugh. But, we still continued to play with the beans as though we were playing for blood. I guess that competitive spirit has served the family well over the years. Just a thought. By Karean Williams
My Bucket List
My Bucket List
by Karean Williams
This week I saw a couple of very slow movies that have left an impression on me. The first is "Evening" with Glenn Close, Meryl Streep, and Streep's daughter Mamie Gummer. It is about a wealthy lady who is dying and dreaming about her life as her two daughters watch and comfort her. The other movie is the "Bucket List" with actors Jack Nicholson as Edward Cole and Morgan Freeman as Carter Chambers. The story is about two terminally ill men who take off to have a fling at life with a list of things to do before they "kick the bucket." For some reason, the Bucklet List keeps ringing through my head.
What would I do if I had six months to live?
What would I put on my list?
As I contemplate my retirement, I too seem to be confronted with the same questions. The two items on the list that left the most impression on me are... Have you brought joy into others' lives? And, Has some one brought joy into your life? I found both these questions to be so thought provoking.
I don't think one knows if one ever brings any real joy into another's life. It seems as though while I am living in the forest, some how I can't see the trees; however, when I look back, I can see how an incident or a moment in time caused me to change the way I think or do things. For example, right now, a line in the movie "What happened the to last 45 years?" "They disappeared like smoke through a keyhole." In June, my oldest daughter turned 46 years old. When she was born in 1962, I was all of twenty years old, and I thought I was "old" stuff. Back then, you had to be 21 to do anything in Pennsylvania, for I was still too young to go to a bar, still too young to vote and still too young to rent a house. I could not buy anything without the signature of a man on the contract, especially, if I wanted to pay for it on the lay away. The years have slipped by so quickly. Now I can buy whatever I want without permission from any one. I don't want to buy anything anyways--just more junk to house.
One of my friends who owns a home in Italy has offered me a place to stay while I am in Europe. Another friend has offered me a place to stay and a good time in New York City. My cousin has offered me a place to stay in Atlanta, GA; of course, I will or can impose on any of my sisters, brothers, cousins, children, nieces, nephews or friends and now grandchildren, so I have the world at my finger tips and lots of well meaning invitations. I could almost freely travel the world. However, Edward Cole told Carter Chambers that Carter could stay at home and be waited on hand and foot while Carter helped every one to deal with Carter's dying. Or, Carter could hang with him--Cole-- and start to live and cross off the items on the list. So, do I want to visit all these folks and console them while I wait my impending death or sense of retirement to come to fore? Or, do I seek out a friend or foe or "cut buddy" who would willingly hang with me. I know I already have several takers--no need to ask.
More importantly, what do I really want to see or hear or touch or marvel at? What do I really want to put on my list? How do I want to be buried? Where do I want to be interred? Oh... I seem so full of questions and wonderings and musings.
What I have noticed is that I have aged, and I just didn't know it. I have reached a pinnacle in my life, and I had missed the turning point some how. Lately, I know the feelings that I have been experiencing are real, and I am not the first or only person in this world who has taken these same steps before. Once I noticed as I passed the mirror in the hallway an old lady who looked some what familiar to me looked back at me in a questioning manner as though she didn't know me. I, too, wondered when she had moved into the house with me because I couldn't remember inviting any one to move in, I had to do a double take because the old lady was me.
Well, It is just simply my turn to think about my list.
by Karean Williams
This week I saw a couple of very slow movies that have left an impression on me. The first is "Evening" with Glenn Close, Meryl Streep, and Streep's daughter Mamie Gummer. It is about a wealthy lady who is dying and dreaming about her life as her two daughters watch and comfort her. The other movie is the "Bucket List" with actors Jack Nicholson as Edward Cole and Morgan Freeman as Carter Chambers. The story is about two terminally ill men who take off to have a fling at life with a list of things to do before they "kick the bucket." For some reason, the Bucklet List keeps ringing through my head.
What would I do if I had six months to live?
What would I put on my list?
As I contemplate my retirement, I too seem to be confronted with the same questions. The two items on the list that left the most impression on me are... Have you brought joy into others' lives? And, Has some one brought joy into your life? I found both these questions to be so thought provoking.
I don't think one knows if one ever brings any real joy into another's life. It seems as though while I am living in the forest, some how I can't see the trees; however, when I look back, I can see how an incident or a moment in time caused me to change the way I think or do things. For example, right now, a line in the movie "What happened the to last 45 years?" "They disappeared like smoke through a keyhole." In June, my oldest daughter turned 46 years old. When she was born in 1962, I was all of twenty years old, and I thought I was "old" stuff. Back then, you had to be 21 to do anything in Pennsylvania, for I was still too young to go to a bar, still too young to vote and still too young to rent a house. I could not buy anything without the signature of a man on the contract, especially, if I wanted to pay for it on the lay away. The years have slipped by so quickly. Now I can buy whatever I want without permission from any one. I don't want to buy anything anyways--just more junk to house.
One of my friends who owns a home in Italy has offered me a place to stay while I am in Europe. Another friend has offered me a place to stay and a good time in New York City. My cousin has offered me a place to stay in Atlanta, GA; of course, I will or can impose on any of my sisters, brothers, cousins, children, nieces, nephews or friends and now grandchildren, so I have the world at my finger tips and lots of well meaning invitations. I could almost freely travel the world. However, Edward Cole told Carter Chambers that Carter could stay at home and be waited on hand and foot while Carter helped every one to deal with Carter's dying. Or, Carter could hang with him--Cole-- and start to live and cross off the items on the list. So, do I want to visit all these folks and console them while I wait my impending death or sense of retirement to come to fore? Or, do I seek out a friend or foe or "cut buddy" who would willingly hang with me. I know I already have several takers--no need to ask.
More importantly, what do I really want to see or hear or touch or marvel at? What do I really want to put on my list? How do I want to be buried? Where do I want to be interred? Oh... I seem so full of questions and wonderings and musings.
What I have noticed is that I have aged, and I just didn't know it. I have reached a pinnacle in my life, and I had missed the turning point some how. Lately, I know the feelings that I have been experiencing are real, and I am not the first or only person in this world who has taken these same steps before. Once I noticed as I passed the mirror in the hallway an old lady who looked some what familiar to me looked back at me in a questioning manner as though she didn't know me. I, too, wondered when she had moved into the house with me because I couldn't remember inviting any one to move in, I had to do a double take because the old lady was me.
Well, It is just simply my turn to think about my list.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Last Lunch
Today it is so stormy out, it looks like the makings 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.
A Good 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??
Sleep Deprivation
Day four,
You would think by day four that we would have a pattern of some sort down pat, but the saga continues.
Last night when I went to pick up my grand from camp there was a note on the door. "We are in building 9 and will return at 5:30 pm; however, you can pick up your child at buidling 9." You know, I had walked very fast from building 2 to building 3 which is on the other side a very large campus. Only to be disappointed by the sign on the door, for some unknown reason, I just sat on the bench for almost a half hour in the rain thinking about the walk to building 9. While I was there, I fielded many questions about the sign. Then, I decided I would walk to building 9 to retrieve my child and get the next bus at 5:30 pm.
When I got to the building 9, there was police festival of some sort going on. The children were wearing painted faces and having a grand time. I walked in quickly retrieved my child and started to walk to the other side of the campus to catch the 5:30 pm bus. Needless to say, my grand had to go to the restroom, had to wash the paint off her face because she said, "I look like a dorky clown," and chattered like the Mad Hatter the whole time. When we got on the bus, she tried to go to sleep. I told her that if she went to sleep that I would not make her oatmeal for dinner. We had to do some sort of ritual with the "pinky fingers" so that our deal was sealed. She stayed awake and talked to me about her "anti-drug" experience, and how she won her prizes.
The rain did not let up but continued its momentum then got worse the closer we got to home. Thankfully, the driver, who is one of my former students, let us off at the bus shelter that is in front of the condo. Because my grand had left her bag with her umbrella and other things, we had to share my umbrella. I taught her how two people link arms and walk closely together to stay as dry as possible under one umbrella. She giggled and had a good time.
When we got home, I made her oatmeal with cinnamon and blueberry syrup. She ate all of it. She played on the computer for about a half hour. I lay on the the bed and started to watch a black and white TCM movie with Sophia Loren. I didn’t think my grand would enjoy the movie, but she wanted to join me when she finished her allotted time on the computer. She got comfortable in the chaise. I heard her muse, "Oooh! my favorite chair." Within a few minutes, I heard soft snoring. I called her and told her to get in the AeroBed if she were going to sleep. I called her twice, she stomped out of the room and told me, "you didn’t have to holler at me." I don’t know how to holler, so I will ask her how does one do that trick.
By 9:00 pm, she was sound asleep on the AeroBed with all the lights in the house OFF. She was exhausted.
I, on the other hand, spent the entire night wide awake.
You would think by day four that we would have a pattern of some sort down pat, but the saga continues.
Last night when I went to pick up my grand from camp there was a note on the door. "We are in building 9 and will return at 5:30 pm; however, you can pick up your child at buidling 9." You know, I had walked very fast from building 2 to building 3 which is on the other side a very large campus. Only to be disappointed by the sign on the door, for some unknown reason, I just sat on the bench for almost a half hour in the rain thinking about the walk to building 9. While I was there, I fielded many questions about the sign. Then, I decided I would walk to building 9 to retrieve my child and get the next bus at 5:30 pm.
When I got to the building 9, there was police festival of some sort going on. The children were wearing painted faces and having a grand time. I walked in quickly retrieved my child and started to walk to the other side of the campus to catch the 5:30 pm bus. Needless to say, my grand had to go to the restroom, had to wash the paint off her face because she said, "I look like a dorky clown," and chattered like the Mad Hatter the whole time. When we got on the bus, she tried to go to sleep. I told her that if she went to sleep that I would not make her oatmeal for dinner. We had to do some sort of ritual with the "pinky fingers" so that our deal was sealed. She stayed awake and talked to me about her "anti-drug" experience, and how she won her prizes.
The rain did not let up but continued its momentum then got worse the closer we got to home. Thankfully, the driver, who is one of my former students, let us off at the bus shelter that is in front of the condo. Because my grand had left her bag with her umbrella and other things, we had to share my umbrella. I taught her how two people link arms and walk closely together to stay as dry as possible under one umbrella. She giggled and had a good time.
When we got home, I made her oatmeal with cinnamon and blueberry syrup. She ate all of it. She played on the computer for about a half hour. I lay on the the bed and started to watch a black and white TCM movie with Sophia Loren. I didn’t think my grand would enjoy the movie, but she wanted to join me when she finished her allotted time on the computer. She got comfortable in the chaise. I heard her muse, "Oooh! my favorite chair." Within a few minutes, I heard soft snoring. I called her and told her to get in the AeroBed if she were going to sleep. I called her twice, she stomped out of the room and told me, "you didn’t have to holler at me." I don’t know how to holler, so I will ask her how does one do that trick.
By 9:00 pm, she was sound asleep on the AeroBed with all the lights in the house OFF. She was exhausted.
I, on the other hand, spent the entire night wide awake.
An Old Fart--The Stinker
Day six
On Friday the alarm went off at 5:30am, I hit the snooze button, and lay in bed until 5:45 am. I was tried to the bone, but my body has a way of quickly reviving itself. I guess it is because of so many years of running on such a stressful schedule. About 5:45 am I took my shower and started to dress and mentally plan out the day. When I called the Grand at 6:00 am, she just grunted and went back to sleep. She did not do her usual sleep walk type of get up and get ready. She just did not want to move. She said, "I don’t want to go to camp." Well, I could appreciate her wanting to shut down. I considered what I really had to do at work that day. So, I told her we would take a day off. "Go back to sleep!" She looked at me with a disbelieving expression, "For real?" "Yes, go back to sleep." She slept until 11:00 am or later. The poor child is exhausted, too.
About 2:00 pm for lunch, it was her choice, we went to the all you can eat Chinese restaurant. She gorged herself with noodles. I would not buy a sugary soft drink for lunch or a pair of polka dot wedgy espadrilles from Payless, so I was high on her "dodo" list. Of course, you know I could care less.
Before we left home, I told her that we could "window shop," which means we would shop without spending money. We would just dream about the things we want. I committed a "no, no" because I picked up a trinket for my vestibule--which I thought I could use and the price was right. She wanted to know why I could spend money and not her. I told her she didn’t have enough money, espadrilles are not for an 8 yo, and I was the "bread winner." Well, you know the questions started to pour out of that "question bank" that most 8 year old have. She could not seem to understand that I work for my money, and I have a right to spend my money on whatever I wanted. She wanted to know where she fit into the scheme of this money thing. I know it was a teachable moment, but I blew it. She started to act really unreasonable, so I called her an "old fart." Boy, I thought the tantrum would be enough for me to go to jail. I thought, "What a salty child, I have." She told me about my calling her a name. I told her that is how you are acting. I would never have called a sweet child such an awful name if she weren’t acting the part.
The day was very wearing for me. I am so glad that I took the day off. That evening after she had another long nap; then, she couldn’t stop eating. Then, she bugged me about my date who did not show up because I think he forgot the day and time of one my best friends 50th birthday party.
Later, She cornered me in my bedroom and apologized profusely for her nastiness. She hugged and kissed me and just wanted to cuddle. I told her I can understand what is going on with her. I really appreciate what she has been doing to help her dad with his new executive position and me because I still have to work for a short while. I told her that life always has a way of thinning itself out. We have to ride life like a roller coaster some times the up’s and some times the down’s. It is just how we choose to react to the up’s and down’s that are important. If we try to stay balance during those trying times no matter what, the going doesn’t seem so rough in the end.
She just mused and started to ask for more concessions and more questions--I don’t think that "question bank" ever closes.
She is back to her old self "Sweetie."
On Friday the alarm went off at 5:30am, I hit the snooze button, and lay in bed until 5:45 am. I was tried to the bone, but my body has a way of quickly reviving itself. I guess it is because of so many years of running on such a stressful schedule. About 5:45 am I took my shower and started to dress and mentally plan out the day. When I called the Grand at 6:00 am, she just grunted and went back to sleep. She did not do her usual sleep walk type of get up and get ready. She just did not want to move. She said, "I don’t want to go to camp." Well, I could appreciate her wanting to shut down. I considered what I really had to do at work that day. So, I told her we would take a day off. "Go back to sleep!" She looked at me with a disbelieving expression, "For real?" "Yes, go back to sleep." She slept until 11:00 am or later. The poor child is exhausted, too.
About 2:00 pm for lunch, it was her choice, we went to the all you can eat Chinese restaurant. She gorged herself with noodles. I would not buy a sugary soft drink for lunch or a pair of polka dot wedgy espadrilles from Payless, so I was high on her "dodo" list. Of course, you know I could care less.
Before we left home, I told her that we could "window shop," which means we would shop without spending money. We would just dream about the things we want. I committed a "no, no" because I picked up a trinket for my vestibule--which I thought I could use and the price was right. She wanted to know why I could spend money and not her. I told her she didn’t have enough money, espadrilles are not for an 8 yo, and I was the "bread winner." Well, you know the questions started to pour out of that "question bank" that most 8 year old have. She could not seem to understand that I work for my money, and I have a right to spend my money on whatever I wanted. She wanted to know where she fit into the scheme of this money thing. I know it was a teachable moment, but I blew it. She started to act really unreasonable, so I called her an "old fart." Boy, I thought the tantrum would be enough for me to go to jail. I thought, "What a salty child, I have." She told me about my calling her a name. I told her that is how you are acting. I would never have called a sweet child such an awful name if she weren’t acting the part.
The day was very wearing for me. I am so glad that I took the day off. That evening after she had another long nap; then, she couldn’t stop eating. Then, she bugged me about my date who did not show up because I think he forgot the day and time of one my best friends 50th birthday party.
Later, She cornered me in my bedroom and apologized profusely for her nastiness. She hugged and kissed me and just wanted to cuddle. I told her I can understand what is going on with her. I really appreciate what she has been doing to help her dad with his new executive position and me because I still have to work for a short while. I told her that life always has a way of thinning itself out. We have to ride life like a roller coaster some times the up’s and some times the down’s. It is just how we choose to react to the up’s and down’s that are important. If we try to stay balance during those trying times no matter what, the going doesn’t seem so rough in the end.
She just mused and started to ask for more concessions and more questions--I don’t think that "question bank" ever closes.
She is back to her old self "Sweetie."
The Rambler
Today is Sunday, as usual I am up at 5:30 am no matter what. I enjoy the fact that I can come online and ramble.
Usually I ramble in a large journal ledger that I keep in bed with me. Many years ago, I found that it is comforting for me to just ramble in a journal. Once I went back, and really read some of the garbage that I had written that is why I call it "vomit" on paper. Whenever I would read some of my ramblings, I found that I would put down my dreams and my wonderings. I would come up with some of the one liners that I am famous for. For some reason. I can see the mundane, the obvious, and the obtuse. Beleive me, no real feat just an innate underpinning that is a necessary part of my being. In other words, I came equipped with it.
However, as I think back and as I listen to my children and grandchildren I think it is a gene because so many of us have it. Wherever we got it from, I want to thank the ancestor. I would like to see one of us really develop it. I don’t think it will happen during my lifetime because we are a funny bunch of coconuts. We have this innate gene to be free spirited, to be totally autonomous, to be free willed, and to be unpretentious with our undertakings, and to be quite forthright with our speech. We are a hard bunch to take and in a bunch we are a freewiling fun loving, crazy, wild, quick witted, and high energy bunch. I swear our energy alone could light the eastern seacoast for at least a week.
As I ramble along, the sun has started to cascade through the house. It rises just over Williams Island to the east of my condo and throws its beams down Skylake Lake. If I stood on my toes and looked to the east, I could see the ocean about three miles from here. On a good day I can even see forever.
I wish some one were in the kitchen "smelling the house up" with a great breakfast. I can just smell my mother’s pot of coffee wafting through out the house and waking up every one and every thing. Even the house plants seem to sense that she is up and soon will be talking to them and touching and loving them. Even the birds seem to sense that every one is slowing coming to. How I miss those cool mornings of cooking before the sun heats up the house. Sundays were the days when you could get a good meal anywhere. Every one cooked on Sunday. You might not have a great meal during the week after the leftovers were gone. But, on Sunday’s the family would be sure to be around the table. The day when all the gossip--community news-- was unleashed and a day to some what plan the week.
My grandmother had a problem with my planning and day dreaming. She use to tell me to stop always planning and day dreaming. Once I asked her why. She told me that tomorrow is a mystery we don’t know if we will be here. But, if we are here shouldn’t we have a plan? No, tomorrow will take care of itself.
Usually I ramble in a large journal ledger that I keep in bed with me. Many years ago, I found that it is comforting for me to just ramble in a journal. Once I went back, and really read some of the garbage that I had written that is why I call it "vomit" on paper. Whenever I would read some of my ramblings, I found that I would put down my dreams and my wonderings. I would come up with some of the one liners that I am famous for. For some reason. I can see the mundane, the obvious, and the obtuse. Beleive me, no real feat just an innate underpinning that is a necessary part of my being. In other words, I came equipped with it.
However, as I think back and as I listen to my children and grandchildren I think it is a gene because so many of us have it. Wherever we got it from, I want to thank the ancestor. I would like to see one of us really develop it. I don’t think it will happen during my lifetime because we are a funny bunch of coconuts. We have this innate gene to be free spirited, to be totally autonomous, to be free willed, and to be unpretentious with our undertakings, and to be quite forthright with our speech. We are a hard bunch to take and in a bunch we are a freewiling fun loving, crazy, wild, quick witted, and high energy bunch. I swear our energy alone could light the eastern seacoast for at least a week.
As I ramble along, the sun has started to cascade through the house. It rises just over Williams Island to the east of my condo and throws its beams down Skylake Lake. If I stood on my toes and looked to the east, I could see the ocean about three miles from here. On a good day I can even see forever.
I wish some one were in the kitchen "smelling the house up" with a great breakfast. I can just smell my mother’s pot of coffee wafting through out the house and waking up every one and every thing. Even the house plants seem to sense that she is up and soon will be talking to them and touching and loving them. Even the birds seem to sense that every one is slowing coming to. How I miss those cool mornings of cooking before the sun heats up the house. Sundays were the days when you could get a good meal anywhere. Every one cooked on Sunday. You might not have a great meal during the week after the leftovers were gone. But, on Sunday’s the family would be sure to be around the table. The day when all the gossip--community news-- was unleashed and a day to some what plan the week.
My grandmother had a problem with my planning and day dreaming. She use to tell me to stop always planning and day dreaming. Once I asked her why. She told me that tomorrow is a mystery we don’t know if we will be here. But, if we are here shouldn’t we have a plan? No, tomorrow will take care of itself.
Unsolicited Information
Today is another day in the neighborhood, and it is indeed a great day. On Wednesday, I go to HR to sign the exit papers for my impending retirement. I am very anxious about the date. Once I sign the papers, it will be like getting married or divorced again. I am so anxious for this new phase of my life.
I find that I am giving more unsolicited information than I need to. I remember when my grandmother was on her death bed. I had to go to the hospital to ask her how to cook "poke salad" for the life of me I couldn’t remember. When I got to her bed side, she slowly opened her eyes and told me. "Candygal, this really is the last time I will be able to tell you how to cook greens of any kind, so pay attention." She commenced to slowly tell me to make sure that I understood; then, she asked me to repeat the directions to her, which I did. She promptly went back into her getting ready to die, mindset. Before I left the room, she asked once more, "do you have the directions?" "You know; I will not be able to tell you again." Once again, I assured her that I would never forget. Needless to say, some things I have forgotten, and I do forget a lot of things, but I have never forgotten how to cook greens, especially, poke salad. However, I could not pick them out in a wild field because I don’t remember what they look like, but I could clean and cook a batch if they showed up on my door step.
So, I find that I am constantly giving unsolicited information because I won’t be able to tell you again. So, you have to remember. I will slowly slip into my retirement mind set--coast.
I find that I am giving more unsolicited information than I need to. I remember when my grandmother was on her death bed. I had to go to the hospital to ask her how to cook "poke salad" for the life of me I couldn’t remember. When I got to her bed side, she slowly opened her eyes and told me. "Candygal, this really is the last time I will be able to tell you how to cook greens of any kind, so pay attention." She commenced to slowly tell me to make sure that I understood; then, she asked me to repeat the directions to her, which I did. She promptly went back into her getting ready to die, mindset. Before I left the room, she asked once more, "do you have the directions?" "You know; I will not be able to tell you again." Once again, I assured her that I would never forget. Needless to say, some things I have forgotten, and I do forget a lot of things, but I have never forgotten how to cook greens, especially, poke salad. However, I could not pick them out in a wild field because I don’t remember what they look like, but I could clean and cook a batch if they showed up on my door step.
So, I find that I am constantly giving unsolicited information because I won’t be able to tell you again. So, you have to remember. I will slowly slip into my retirement mind set--coast.
Hit the Road Jack
Well, today is a good day. My granddaugher and I have reached the thinning out stage of our relationship. She said, "Mema you know when I am nasty, you are nastier, and when I am nice, you are nicer." "I really like it when you are nicer." Yesterday, I asked her, "How does your dad wake you up in the mornings?" "Mmm..." she mused, "he tickles me and promises me blueberry pancakes, especially, on the weekends when he has to work." I told her that I couldn't do pancakes in the morning, and she wouldn't eat them any ways. She agreed, so this morning I tickled her even more than usual.
And so, this morning we left for the bus stop earlier than usual because she got up and got ready without much prompting. Because Dunkin Donuts is in front of the bus stop, I decided to get a cup of coffee to share with her. I asked her if she would like a "sip" of my coffee. She got really excited because she has been craving for a "sip" of coffee. "Daddy always gives me a sip of his coffee."
Before we left, we made sure that the condo was secured, and I made sure that I had the keys and my sunglasses; then, I said "Let's Hit the Road... Jack." "Why do you keep calling me Jack and telling me to hit the road?" she vehmently exclaimed. I told her it's just a song, so I started to sing.
"Hit the Road Jack and don't you come back no more, no more, no more, no more. Hit the road Jack and don't you come back no more."
She gave me one of those you are really weird looks. I, of course, shrugged it off.
Flashback, when I was a little girl, my aunts use to sing "Sweet Georgia Brown" at me. You know the theme song for the basketball team the Harlem Globetrotters. Well, every time I heard that song I would cry. I thought the song and my aunts were talking about me and calling me skinny. One day, my grandmother sat me on her lap and asked me, "why do you cry so hard every time that song comes on the radio or the family starts to sing it." I told her how my aunts teased and laughed at me. As Gram and I were talking the song came on the radio, so she asked me to listen to the words. She quietly enunciated the words of the song as she sang along with it. After the song was over, she asked me if I heard my name mentioned at any time. Of course, I whimpered, "No." She said that song is not about "Little Karean Brown it's about Sweet Georgia Brown." And so, this morning I got a flashback of how a youngster can and will misinterpret a song.
After our Dunkin Donut breakfast, we went to the bus stop. We were there before one of our bus stop friends, "Ms. Carmen." I asked Carmen if she knew the song "Hit the road Jack." Carmen started to sing the song, and I joined in; we had a little giggle; then, my Grand started to sing the song with us. I noticed the you are really wierd look disappeared from her face as she joined in and enjoyed the antics of the two old ladies giggling and doing a little boogie woogie as they sang "Hit the road Jack."
And so, this morning we left for the bus stop earlier than usual because she got up and got ready without much prompting. Because Dunkin Donuts is in front of the bus stop, I decided to get a cup of coffee to share with her. I asked her if she would like a "sip" of my coffee. She got really excited because she has been craving for a "sip" of coffee. "Daddy always gives me a sip of his coffee."
Before we left, we made sure that the condo was secured, and I made sure that I had the keys and my sunglasses; then, I said "Let's Hit the Road... Jack." "Why do you keep calling me Jack and telling me to hit the road?" she vehmently exclaimed. I told her it's just a song, so I started to sing.
"Hit the Road Jack and don't you come back no more, no more, no more, no more. Hit the road Jack and don't you come back no more."
She gave me one of those you are really weird looks. I, of course, shrugged it off.
Flashback, when I was a little girl, my aunts use to sing "Sweet Georgia Brown" at me. You know the theme song for the basketball team the Harlem Globetrotters. Well, every time I heard that song I would cry. I thought the song and my aunts were talking about me and calling me skinny. One day, my grandmother sat me on her lap and asked me, "why do you cry so hard every time that song comes on the radio or the family starts to sing it." I told her how my aunts teased and laughed at me. As Gram and I were talking the song came on the radio, so she asked me to listen to the words. She quietly enunciated the words of the song as she sang along with it. After the song was over, she asked me if I heard my name mentioned at any time. Of course, I whimpered, "No." She said that song is not about "Little Karean Brown it's about Sweet Georgia Brown." And so, this morning I got a flashback of how a youngster can and will misinterpret a song.
After our Dunkin Donut breakfast, we went to the bus stop. We were there before one of our bus stop friends, "Ms. Carmen." I asked Carmen if she knew the song "Hit the road Jack." Carmen started to sing the song, and I joined in; we had a little giggle; then, my Grand started to sing the song with us. I noticed the you are really wierd look disappeared from her face as she joined in and enjoyed the antics of the two old ladies giggling and doing a little boogie woogie as they sang "Hit the road Jack."
Ramble
Last week my granddaughter, sheepishly, told me that one of the girls in the camp told her that her grandmother is weird.
I ask my grand how did she answer her. "I told her that she was weird."
I told my grand the next time you tell her, "My grandmother is very proud to be weird, and she thanks you for the compliment. My grandmother said, she has really worked hard to be weird, and different, and free to be herself, and she has finally made it. She is so happy that some one has noticed."
Of course, my grand looked at me as though I had lost it. She said, "I would never say anything like that to her or any one."
Later she told me that she told the girl what I said. The little girl answered, "I don’t care."
I told my grand, Well, I would rather you turned it into a positive because I am not ashamed to be weird or whoever it is that some one decides what I am because I can only be me.
Besides, whatever any one says about me is non of my business. My mother always said that it took her all day to tend to her business and the other part to stay out of every one else’s. So, let’s stay out of other people’s business.
Today the hurtful antics that come out of some daycare settings are really demeaning on all levels. How is a child to grow with so much negative reinforcement that goes unchecked in those motherless holding pens. Right now, there are a couple of young workers working for us who were raised in those holding pens and their attitudes and work ethics are questionable. I fear for the children raised on the streets in so many war zones of the world. I pray our earth does not turn into the "hell holes depicted on the movie screens of the world." It is really spooky.....
I ask my grand how did she answer her. "I told her that she was weird."
I told my grand the next time you tell her, "My grandmother is very proud to be weird, and she thanks you for the compliment. My grandmother said, she has really worked hard to be weird, and different, and free to be herself, and she has finally made it. She is so happy that some one has noticed."
Of course, my grand looked at me as though I had lost it. She said, "I would never say anything like that to her or any one."
Later she told me that she told the girl what I said. The little girl answered, "I don’t care."
I told my grand, Well, I would rather you turned it into a positive because I am not ashamed to be weird or whoever it is that some one decides what I am because I can only be me.
Besides, whatever any one says about me is non of my business. My mother always said that it took her all day to tend to her business and the other part to stay out of every one else’s. So, let’s stay out of other people’s business.
Today the hurtful antics that come out of some daycare settings are really demeaning on all levels. How is a child to grow with so much negative reinforcement that goes unchecked in those motherless holding pens. Right now, there are a couple of young workers working for us who were raised in those holding pens and their attitudes and work ethics are questionable. I fear for the children raised on the streets in so many war zones of the world. I pray our earth does not turn into the "hell holes depicted on the movie screens of the world." It is really spooky.....
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