On My Bedside Table

I have been neglecting this blog. 

This happens from time to time with me. 

I feel that I have nothing to say. 

Or I feel that no one reads it so why bother writing. 

People don't want to hear about ducks over and over again. 

I can't quite get over the fact that I'm a sharer, though. 

And I have been reading. 

So here's a post about books I've read recently. 

I usually only read once I get into bed at night. 

Once the day's obligations have been met. 

A few chapters each night and then I turn off my bedside lamp and doze right off. 

The Widow by Fiona Barton. 

My friend Ron in Chicago recommended this book to me. 

Ron and I used to be in a book club when I lived in Chicago. 

I think he was the person who told me to read Gone Girl and we both loved that (didn't everyone?!), so he thought of me when he read The Widow. 

The storyline involves a missing little girl, a man who's been singled out as her abductor, and his wife. 

There are twists. 

We see the story through the wife's eyes. 

The detective working on the case offers his viewpoint. 

The man accused tells his side. 

It's a puzzle and a mystery to discover who's telling the truth. 

I'm currently reading An Undisturbed Peace by Mary Glickman. 

This book had me really excited when I saw it at the library. 

It involves the mass removal of the Cherokee people from the southeastern  United States in the late 1770s. 

My maternal grandfather's side of the family hail from the Cherokee tribe that were relocated to Oklahoma. 

We are officially recognized, because our ancestor's name is on the Dawes List. 

The federally official list of native Cherokee. 

My mother is a member of the Cherokee tribe. 

The story told in An Undisturbed Peace involves three main characters. 

A young Jewish salesman named Abe who is making his life in America. 

A slave who has a storied past and who now lives in isolation. 

And a female Cherokee named Dark Waters. 

There's a strong female dominance within the Cherokee tribal family. 

I wasn't aware that women had such a powerful role in the Cherokee society. 

All three characters are intertwined in each other's lives and all must fight their own demons. 

I'm halfway through this story, which is one of my favorite genres, historical fiction. 

Historical speaking, President Jefferson declared that the native tribes people in the southeastern United States must be moved west to make room for those new to the lands, essentially immigrants. 

For their own safety and survival. 

It was the Indian Removal Act of 1776-1779. 

It's a harrowing piece of American history and so far, Mary Glickman has me hooked as she brings three people from this time period to life. 

Sometimes I'll get two books when I check out material at the library.

Just in case one book doesn't grab me I can have another book on backup. 

When I grabbed An Undisturbed Peace, I also grabbed The Storied Life Of A.J. Fikry. 

I must admit the cover and title alone pulled me in. 

A book store owner who rediscovers himself. 

A story of redemption. 

I'll start reading it once I finish the Cherokee novel. 

I haven't read too much from the last post I did about the novels I've been reading. 

Chad and I discovered the Wallander DVD series from The BBC One Drama folks. 

There are five seasons so far and we have watched 1-3 and are hooked!

The girls really like it as well. 

It's set in Sweden and stars the amazing Kenneth Branagh as Detective Kurt Wallander. 

He's a very flawed man, but, by golly, he can solve a murder!

The series is based on the novels by Swedish author Henning Mankell. 

I learned about this show when I caught an episode last month on PBS and the sets and outdoor scenes really pulled me in. 

Thankfully our local library carries the series. 

The Tooth

The girl has cemented teeth. 

We think her chocolate milk obsession has NOT helped in the "losing teeth" department. 

So much calcium in her bones and teeth that they aren't willing to part with one another. 

And it brings the girl to tears. 

Big, fat, rolling down her cheeks tears. 

Gigi has only lost two teeth and those fell from the bottom of her gumline last year. 

She's had a few other teeth in the "kinda loose" arena, but they seem to suck themselves back into her gums. 

She wiggles them and has her fingers in her mouth so often I think she's now become immune to all of the nasty germs she's depositing in there on her grubby 7 year old fingers. 

She's been eating apples for the last few days. 

Trying desperately to get that somewhat loose top incisor tooth out of her head. 

My children were very slow to get teeth as babies.

So slow that we were wondering if they were born without teeth in their little heads at all. 

All we could picture were gummy 10 year olds and visits to the denture doctor in their futures. 

Our dentist and pediatrician have both told us that kids who are slow to get teeth are also slow to lose those teeth. 

Gigi has been hoping for missing teeth since preschool. 

She used to come home and tell me about her 3 and 4 year old pals who had already lost teeth. 

She didn't seem to care when her father and I told her 3 and 4 year olds shouldn't be loosing teeth yet. 

These kids didn't have a proper diet, too much sugar and too little calcium. 

Time and patience would have to be our daughters' best friends. 

My kids hate those "friends."

And I think time and patience are now Gigi's #1 enemies. 

Yesterday, Gigi got off of the bus and came to find me emerging from the barn in the back yard. 

She had a napkin over her mouth and was walking towards me. 

I thought to myself, "oh, please tell me you have that napkin over your mouth because your tooth has fallen out and you're containing the blood that's oozing out, please, please, please, please." 

We connected on the path to the barn and she took the napkin from her mouth and started bawling. 

"EVERYONE at school is loosing their teeth and my tooth is NEVER EVER going to come out!!"

"Did someone lose a tooth today in class?" I asked. 

"YES! Cami did!" she howled. 

Oh crap. 

Crap, crap, crap. 

Cami is one of her besties. 

How DARE she do this to Gigi. 

Ugh. 

I spent the next few minutes reassuring her that her tooth would fall out soon. 

It would, it just needed more time. 

She couldn't hear me over her despair. 

She went inside and ate an apple. 

At dinner last night her sister did the unthinkable. 

She pulled out her own tooth, a premolar, that had been loose for a few weeks. 

And the howling and bawling and giant tears flowed from her sister right at the dinner table. 

And the dinner table happened to be out in public. 

Where we were eating bacon cheeseburgers and fries and now we had blood and a tooth in the palm of Zoe's hand. 

Great timing Zoe. 

I need time and patience to get through this, too. 

And I need to restock the apple supply in the kitchen. 

Books I've Read

I wanted to share what I've been reading at home. 

Other than books about duck care, because we now own six ducks. 

I'll write a post about the ducks soon. 

I've been busy with them and seem to have neglected this blog. 

Anyway, I've discovered the author Alice Hoffman. 

I'm sure some of you are saying "have you been living under a rock?!"

Well, maybe I have. 

But I've dug my way out and "Hey look!  Alice Hoffman novels!  They are really good!"

It started with this novel. 

I saw it at the library in their new fiction section. 

I'm drawn to covers. 

And there was something about the woman on the cover that drew me towards her. 

When I read the synopsis on the inside cover I was hooked when I read "island life, Paris, painters, love"

I'm a HUGE fan of historical fiction. 

I've read all of Philippa Gregory's historical fiction novels about the Tudors. 

Historical fiction takes a moment out of real history (as in Gregory's books about British royalty from the 15th, 16th, and 17th centuries) and fictionalizes conversations between these real historical figures. 

In The Marriage of Opposites, Alice Hoffman focuses her story on the parents of the Danish-French Impressionist painter Camille Pissarro in the 1800s. 

That's the history part. 

They all live on the island of St Thomas and you follow his parents love story and their interactions with others on this hot, fragrant, colorful, and tantalizing isle. 

The story eventually turns to Paris, France and it's just as tantalizing and colorful in Paris as it was back on St Thomas. 

It was a great read. 

So, I went to the library and found another Alice Hoffman novel. 

This peeked my interest. 

Again, it was the cover. 

And the synopsis told me I would be reading about the Triangle Shirtwaist Fire in NYC in 1911, Coney Island freak shows, photography, and love. 

History and fiction melded together quite well in this book. 

I was as hooked while reading this story as I was in The Marriage of Opposites. 

So, I went to the library again and found my way to the HOF adult fiction section and perused the Alice Hoffman section once more. 

I saw Practical Magic.

Was this made into a movie?

I couldn't quite remember, but the story sounded interesting to me. 

Two sisters, witches, love. 

Hmmm, no historical fiction. 

But, I gave it a go. 

I didn't care for it as much as the others. 

It seemed too fluffy to me.

I missed the historical aspect of the other novels. 

This book focused on instant sexual attraction, the need to have a man more than needing yourself, and like I said...fluff. 

I did finish it and took it back to the library yesterday. 

I saw this on the shelf of books that needed to be reshelved (have you found that shelf at your library yet?!)

Judy Blume, the author who wrote all of those teen novels that were so taboo when they were written in the 1970s because she spoken about *gasp* sex. 

I've seen Judy Blume talking about this newest novel on TV recently and it's about history so I snatched it up. 

Three airplanes fell from the sky in New Jersey in the early 1950s. 

This is Judy Blume's historical aspect of her new novel. 

She lived in New Jersey when these planes fell from the sky, so she's also fictionalizing her own history a bit. 

So far, so good. 

Crying over Cheap Trick

I was watching the band Cheap Trick perform on national television a few mornings ago. 

And I began to cry. 

Not big slobbery tears. 

Just enough tearing in the eyeball cavities to blur the screen out. 

And I thought to myself, why in the hell am I crying?!

Then I remembered that I got the watery eyeball thing the day before when I was watching a 30 second online video of a dog and a duck who are friends. 

More moments started popping into my mind of me crying over things.

A video of a older man who visited the bench he dedicated to his deceased wife at the park. 

A photo of a man giving a homeless man a new pair of sneakers.

The Facebook video of my friend Kelly walking down Main Street at Disney World after having a stroke 10 months prior.

Tears. 

But they were all happy tears. 

I've found that I don't normally cry at life events that, I guess, I should me crying at.

Funerals. 

Nope. 

Dog died.

Nope. 

Daughter diagnosed with cancer. 

Nope. 

On that last one I got mad. 

As I began to think about the teary episodes that occur in my life, it seems that happiness makes my eyes wet. 

Maybe peri-menopause is happening. 

Maybe I just need to be reminded that happiness still occurs in this world full of terrorism, poverty, war, tornadoes, and childhood cancer deaths.

Maybe my soul aches for joy and inspiration, triumph over adversity, love over hate. 

I don't know what's happening really. 

I do know I've always had a hard exterior. 

And that that hard exterior has started to harden my insides a bit, too. 

As I've gotten older my insides are melting a bit I guess. 

I'm sure my outsides will stay tough.

Cheap Trick is being inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame this year.  

I'm no die hard Cheap Trick fan by any means. 

But the joy the crowd had for these aged rockers was great to see. 

Rockers who still sounded amazing, who were blessed with amazing talents, and who still love what they do. 

That was happiness.  

People clapping and singing and smiling for music. 

It made me happy. 

It made me cry. 

This tough gal cried over Cheap Trick. 

I hope no one shows me a video of a cow rescued from a barn fire and it's now blind and is lead around by a seeing-eye dog. 

I'll be a hot mess!

A Girl Goes To The Doctor...

I went to a doctor appointment on Monday.

And the fact that I even called to make an appointment is a pretty big deal for me. 

I don't like going to the doctor.

But that's another story. 

I haven't been in many years. 

I'll be 45 next month. 

Egads!

Sigh. 

Well, like I said, I went to a doctor appointment on Monday.

Chad and I had a doctor a while back. 

Then Zoe got sick. 

And we had other things on our minds. 

When your kid has cancer, all of your energies goes into making that child better. 

All of you. 

And then the doctor we had seen retired. 

And our kid was still sick. 

And we just didn't think about going to the doctor ourselves. 

Finding a new physician is a hassle. 

We are just fine, I said this often to reassure myself that I didn't need a doctor. 

We eat pretty good. 

Chad rides his bike to work when it's warm outside. 

But then, I tried exercising. 

My friend Dawn goes to the Athletic Club in town. 

She is really fun and if I went to The Club, too, I could hang out with her on a more regular basis. 

She has a very busy work schedule so meeting at The Club would be great. 

So, I got a free week pass last year. 

And she and I met for spin class. 

I had never done spin class, but I figured I could do it as I did know how to ride a bike. 

It can't be that hard, right?

And she said the teacher turned the lights down in the class which made me feel a lot better. 

So, I went. 

And we spun. 

And I managed to not fall off of the bike nor did I fall over when I got off of the bike. 

It was a win-win for me. 

I felt good!

I felt energized!

I told her I would see her the next day!

At The Club!

Chad was hesitant about me going back to The Club so soon. 

"Give it a day, rest your body, dear" he said. 

"I'll be fine" I replied. 

Dawn had us signed up for a core, interval, strength something or other class the next day. 

She told me "you can do it!  There are 60 year old ladies in the class! We'll modify the moves!"

So I went. 

And we modified. 

And boy, that was some class!

I felt good afterwards. 

Then I got in the car. 

And felt really hot. 

And I couldn't catch my breath. 

I had to go to work at the school playground. 

I'll be fine. 

I just need some water. 

I got to the playground and managed to get through kindergarten and first grade recess. 

But, I felt like I needed to throw up. 

I went into the office and told them I didn't feel well and needed to leave. 

(The school principal later told me that I did look horrible and after I left she thought she should have driven me home!)

Once I got home I barfed. 

And called my mom to ask her to pick up the girls from school because I was sick and needed to sleep. 

Which I did. 

When Chad got home from work he scolded me for going to that class at The Club. 

"You never listen to me" he chided.

"Yes dear. I'm sorry dear."

Gigi told me that exercise just wasn't my thing. 

Many months after that class I came down with a horrible cough. 

I annoyed everyone for months with my TB-style hacking. 

My friend Mark is still regretting inviting me along on that road trip to Omaha. 

I never seemed to be able to catch my breath. 

But, I never did go to the doctor. 

So, Monday I went to my appointment. 

Chad went last Thursday. 

The new doctor we saw just happens to be Zoe's school friend Matt's dad. 

I was just at their house last month talking to Matt's mom about Disney World. 

She was picking my brain about our past trip as they are going in October. 

"Hey, are you taking new patients?" I asked her husband as he sat in his living room recliner. 

So, Monday I went in and got my weight checked. 

My blood pressure measured. 

Things were tested and numbers jotted down. 

And was told I may have allergies or a slight bit of asthma. 

My heart sounded great, as did my lungs. 

My husband was told during his appointment that he has the heart rate of a 20 year old athlete. 

Show off. 

I came out learning that I've shrunk a half inch and I'm officially chubby. 

And that I should probably get a tetanus shot. 

Tomorrow, Chad and I are getting our blood drawn to see what's lurking within. 

Off goes "short and fat" and "the show off" to get our red stuff analyzed. 

Things better not be all goofy with my red stuff. 

Because that's really going to put me off from visiting the good doctor again. 

Stay tuned...

Being Simple

I listened to an NPR story while driving my car down a country highway the other day.

It was a story about simplifying your life. 

Minimalism. 

It's an idea we have tried to incorporate into our lives for a few years now. 

Really, since Zoe's cancer diagnosis jolted us awake. 

It jolted us into a consciousness of what's important and what's not important. 

And stuff isn't really that important anymore. 

Sure, I give my kids "stuff" for birthdays and Christmas. 

But, it's certainly way toned down. 

Because I want my girls to have experiences rather than a toy they won't play with more than two times. 

I'll spend money on dance classes and birthday party excursions with friends instead of expensive jeans or new PlayStation machines. 

It can be so hard though. 

I do Iike new purses. 

And new shoes. 

But I'm trying to follow the lead of this "simplified" way of living. 

And it's much easier doing the simple life in the country. 

As opposed to living in the city like we used to. 

The buzz is intense in the city. 

Dining out. 

Being seen. 

Looking good. 

We hope to show our kids more amazing things in this world instead of giving them stuff to do while sitting at home. 

And, to be completely honest with you, we don't have the money to be better than we are. 

We just don't have the income that enables other to splurge. 

With enormous television sets and new cars with all of the technology that's available.

Are they happy with their stuff?

Those that can afford it ALL?

Some don't find happiness with stuff. 

I have a friend from college whose family has tried the "less is more" attitude to their life. 

They've done lots of traveling and plan to do more. 

Their income is considerably more than ours. 

They could choose stuff or to see life's marvels. 

They choose adventure.  

It's a hard line...having and not having. 

Choosing to have or turning your back on it. 

So, 

We drink water, not soda or gin. 

We drive one old car. 

We don't use credit cards. 

We cancelled cable television. 

We use the library. 

"Sale" is my favorite word. 

We don't eat out often. 

We plan to put in a better garden this year. 

One that grows more than cilantro and tomatoes. 

We strive to be better than to have better. 

Maybe a person’s time would be as well spent raising food as raising money to buy food. ~Frank A. Clark

The goal of life: simple but not empty. ~Terri Guillemets

Fight Like A Cat

I have always had a very strong personality. 

I was a stubborn and loud child. 

I now have a stubborn and loud child. 

I don't like it when people say things to mothers such as "I hope you have a daughter who turns out just like you."

It's never meant in a caring, loving way. 

It's always a dig. 

It's always meant to hurt. 

I'm sure it's been said to me. 

I'm opinionated. 

I'm not afraid to voice that opinion. 

And yes, I have a daughter who is just like me. 

One of my daughters looks like me, but has her father's quiet demeanor. 

The other daughter looks like...I don't know who she looks like...but she acts like I do. 

And that's just fine with me. 

My stubborn ways and fierce voice have helped our family get through some harrowing days. 

I'm in no way perfect. 

Far from it. 

I can sometimes think too quickly and then spew garbage from my mouth.  

I am sometimes too honest. 

You know, those things you think about later and say to yourself "wow, I sure shouldn't have said THAT!"

But, I see these flaws and I'm working on them. 

When Zoe was diagnosed with cancer, I didn't cry. 

I got mad. 

Wildcat mad. 

How dare this interrupt my daughter's young life?

She was brand new. 

She had only been on the earth for five years. 

She had just started full day school two weeks prior. 

I was determined, from the first minute of knowing she had leukemia, that she would not go down. 

And that I would go through this with her as if my healthy body could somehow find its way into her body. 

My energy would be her energy. 

My positivity would be her positivity. 

We did let her cry. 

We did let her ask "why is this happening to me?"

But we didn't let her stay there too long. 

Despair doesn't heal. 

Light heals. 

Love heals. 

I was always present during procedures. 

I would help hold her arms or legs when she would get a spinal tap. 

I wasn't going to let a nurse speak quietly into her ear as the doctor inserted a needle into her spine. 

She would hear my voice. 

I would penetrate through the sedation drugs. 

I firmly believed that my voice would override the pain or discomfort. 

If she couldn't eat before a sedation, I wouldn't eat. 

It was only when she was wheeled off to surgery or the spinal tap was completed, would I then take a bite of an apple. 

When she was fit for her radiation face mask, her father and I stood behind a wall in the room she was in. 

The radiation face mask fitting was, by and large, the most terrifying thing that she went through. 

As soon as the fitting was over I swooped from behind the wall, telling her we would go get some Dunkin Donuts in the hospital lobby. 

I was yearning for control. 

Needing to feel control in a situation that, in all reality, I had no control over anything that was happening at all. 

Either the medicine would work. 

Or it wouldn't. 

Either she would live. 

Or the cancer in her blood would live. 

Killing her in the process. 

Her sister was only two. 

She was only five. 

This isn't what was supposed to happen. 

This wasn't the storyline I had signed up for. 

My husband and I had decided to have children. 

They were planned. 

How dare cancer try to take away a member of our tribe. 

I'm not a tiger mother. 

I'm more of a serval mother. 

And this cat wasn't going to let her kitten go down without a loud, opinionated, stubborn fight. 

My daughter's school principal told me today that a friend's daughter was just diagnosed with cancer. 

She's only 12 years old. 

She asked me for some advice. 

I told her to tell her friend to ask many questions, to the point that she may think she's asking too many questions. 

To become stubbornly loud. 

Because her daughter can't fight this kind of fight herself. 

She needs a serval mother. 

Linterbelle, The Laundry Fairy

Well, it's happened again. 

A button fairy made it's way into my home. 

The last time a fairy's handiwork was seen, it had fluttered it's fairy wings into my minivan. 

Autozena worked her magic by putting a magic button in my car to open the windows in the last row of seats. 

This time, a laundry fairy (probably the rarely seen Linterbelle) found her way into the room my washer and dryer share with our cats. 

Linterbelle probably snuck in through a crack in our chimney. 

The chimney swifts are talkers, they surely told her where to get in.

I was putting a load of clothes into the washing machine we've had for maybe 3 or so years. 

It's a large capacity, top loading, no middle agitator thingy, Whirlpool machine. 

Over the years I've washed tiny toddler underwear, sneakers, dog blankets, a horse's fly mask, bed comforters. 

You name it, it's probably been in my washing machine. 

The big Whirlpool has used liquid laundry soap.

Laundry soap in those squishy square pods. 

And for a while, I was even making my own laundry soap using a mixture of borax, washing soda, and some grated bar of soap called Fels Naptha. 

But yesterday. 

Yesterday when I was putting in a load of towels, towels I needed to wash because I had noticed my bath towel was being used by grubby children BEFORE they washed their hands, I saw something I hadn't seen before. 

I saw the word sheets. 

Right there between casual and delicate. 

I use casual for mostly all of my regular clothes washing duties. 

And delicates for my bras and those crazy shirts that say, handwash only. 

Yeah right, like I'm going to handwash something. 

My name isn't Gigi and I don't have a washboard. 

Puh-leeze. 

But there was the word sheets. 

There's a sheets button?

I keep saying button, but there's nothing to push. 

I turn a knob to get to the desired washing cycle. 

But I'm going to call it a button anyway. 

So, a sheets button?

I have a sheets button?

Since when?

I'm going to wash some sheets next just to use it!

Wait!

My eyes glanced over to the right, to see if another new button had appeared over on that side of the big shiny dial.

And lo and behold, there was another new button!

This one said whites.

Whites?!

I have some whites to wash, too!

Thank you Linterbelle!

But I am a tinge disappointed in the laundry fairy, though. 

She left all of these empty soap bottles on the dryer. 

Maybe one of the cats swatted at her and she had to skedaddle. 

I hope she comes back for them because it's getting very crowded up there...

Santa Shop

I walked into the small classroom ready to take on my assigned task. 

The school children had been given envelopes the week prior explaining Santa Shop. 

They could bring in a list of family and friends to buy for with their money. 

Their money that was taped up into the envelope they now had in their little hands. 

They could buy a pen that said MOM on it for fifty cents. 

Or a wooden back scratcher for grandpa that cost two dollars. 

I was assigned to stand behind the tables and if someone wanted that MOM pen, I could retrieve it for them from the large stock behind me. 

I was already at my station when she showed up. 

She being my neighbor. 

I don't really have neighbors where I live. 

We are surrounded by a wooded area and a cornfield. 

But the house that I can see from my side yard, the house down the road, is what I consider my neighbor. 

A few of the neighbor's dogs have wandered down into our yard in the past. 

The wife has a best friend. 

Who just happens to be the mother of one of my daughter's friends. 

They have a horse. 

We have a horse.

The husband told me once that his wife would be jealous that we have goats, since she wants goats. 

And the husband has picked up horse manure from us a few times since his side business was lawn and garden maintenance. 

I know things they probably wouldn't think I would know. 

We've chatted at Rural King a few times. 

They have two children. 

Two boys. 

Right in between the ages of my children. 

Once she was having a yard sale. 

I don't like yard sales. 

I have too much crap myself so I don't need to buy other people's crap. 

But I stopped and introduced myself as her neighbor. 

And my kids asked if they could play in her yard while we talked. 

I think her children were in the house sleeping. 

I remember thinking that it was a warm summer day and her kids were not outside. 

And I found that to be odd. 

They are seldom seen in their yard. 

Here's the thing. 

I know them. 

I know them simply because they live in the closest house to mine. 

But when she walked into that small classroom to help with the Santa Shop, she didn't seem to have any idea who I was. 

I went over to her, since she had made zero attempt to come over by me, and said  what came naturally. 

"Hello, how are you?  I'm your neighbor."

Silence. 

Stares and silence. 

"I live next to the horse trail."

Stares. 

So I join in with the stares. 

She finally spoke. 

"Umm, the horse trail?"

(My house is the ONLY house next to the horse trail)

"Yes, the horse trail" I replied. 

Waiting, I'm waiting. 

"Oh...oh...oh...uh...yes. I know you. My neighbor". 

You don't know me. 

It became evident that very moment. 

Either that or she's just very dull. 

In this modern age we now live in, it hit my like a brick thrown to my head...she didn't want to know her neighbor. 

How is it possible that I know you, yet you don't seem to know me. 

I've had similar situations arise with other parents at school. 

We have a small district. 

Each class has 60-85 kids in it. 

We've been in the district since our children were of age to attend school. 

And, through our childhood cancer advocacy, we've been on local television and in local newspapers since 2011. 

We aren't hermits. 

Yet, you don't seem to see me. 

I can look at you and know...that's Cleo's mom or that's Gavin's dad. 

Just because I have seen you at registration. 

Or a school assembly. 

I see things. 

My eyes are constantly scanning a room. 

Taking mental notes. 

Not quite as detailed as Sherlock Holmes, but I would be a good eyewitness if tragedy struck. 

I see details. 

In people. 

In places. 

In situations. 

I don't often miss a beat. 

I can pick out the gay guy in a room of men. 

I can find the couple who are having marital issues. 

But since I'm always "on" I see my own disappointment. 

I see people not seeing me. 

And then I'm put into situations like Santa Shop. 

Where my neighbor doesn't seem to know me. 

I often think about this particular circumstance. 

Did she really know me and just didn't want to acknowledge the fact because she didn't like me?

But, how could she not like me when she didn't seem to know me?

There was another mom in the Santa Shop that day who has a son in my daughter's class. 

We've known one another since the children were three years old. 

I'll never forget her because she slammed the school's front door on me one day as I was running up to it. 

It was a very cold day. 

My daughter was with me and we were heading into the building for afternoon preschool. 

You must be buzzed into the school. 

She saw us running for the stairs. 

She, with her toddler son's hand firmly grasped in her own. 

She opened the door (after being buzzed in) and just as we got to the first step, she did it. 

She closed the door on us. 

Pulled it shut tight. 

I just stood there. 

Looking into the building through the small window at my eye level. 

She wouldn't turn around.  

Wouldn't open the door for us. 

So I had to push the button to get buzzed in. 

When I finally entered so barely looked at me.

She mumbled something about "everyone needs to be buzzed in...I wasn't sure if you were coming in the door" 

All things that made no sense and I have never forgotten it. 

I spoke not one word to her that afternoon. 

But, she too, was working Santa Shop with me. 

Someone else who didn't seem to know me. 

But, I did what other adults should do with one another when placed into a group volunteer setting. 

I said "hello, how is Michael enjoying third grade?"

She seemed to know me on this day. 

And mumbled a few pleasantries in my direction. 

I am cordial even when I shouldn't be. 

I got right into my work. 

Passing out gifts that the children were buying their loved ones. 

It was the last Santa Shop I've volunteered at. 

The neighbor's children are in my care during recess now. 

And my children ride the bus home from school with them. 

I've introduced myself to them as they ask me for a basketball on the playground. 

And my children have sat next to them on the bus. 

They don't seem to know us either. 

My own children have said just this to me. 

"Mom, they won't talk to us on the bus...it's as if they don't know us."

Sigh...here we go again...

Just Whistle

If you got caught stealing an ice cream bar, my Great Uncle Dale would stop you in your tracks. 

And talk to you until your pocket became a soggy mess. 

Talk to you until that ice cream bar you thought you were getting for free became nothing but a puddle in you pocket. 

If you skipped school, like my cousin Bill did, you had to work extra hours sweeping the floors. 

The smell of fresh meat being butchered wafted through the store. 

Rows of staples like flour and canned beans were within easy reach. 

Candy was situated by the checkout girl. 

Gneckows Grocery store. 

The grocery store that my Great Uncle Howard and his brother Harvey owned after buying it from a fellow named Emery Gneckow. 

A grocery store that was never visited by me. 

Gneckows Grocery has become a shop of memories for me. 

Memories that were told to me by my dad and his family. 

My dad worked in Uncle Howard's store as a kid. 

Uncle Howard was a butcher. 

By the time that I came around, Uncle Howard was a butcher elsewhere. 

Because Gneckows had closed. 

Harvey dropped dead in the store. 

And that was the end of it all. 

I remember going to see him at the new market. 

He wore a long white apron and, as I sit here typing this, I can see him standing behind the meat counter. 

Tall, slim, and white haired with the biggest grin on his face. 

Always the big grin. 

And always doing that thing butchers do with their hands. 

Wiping the fronts and backs of his tools onto his apron. 

His tools being his hands that held the knives that dissected the animal into something you would take home to eat. 

In my memories as a child, there were only small groceries in town. 

Where everyone knew you when you walked in. 

People said hello to one another and there were only six aisles to go down. 

Standing at the big meat counter. 

The counter that soared over my head. 

But one that had a large clear viewing window. 

I could press my face against it and listen as my grandmother ordered chuck roasts, pork chops, and pounds of beef from her brother in law. 

And I would get some candy at the checkout counter. 

The days of the family grocery store are over for my family. 

But I have a piece of it in my house. 

Whistle Orange Soda was made by the Vess Soda Co in the late 1900s. 

Produced first in St Louis, then distributed in other Midwest towns. 

This clock used to reside in Gneckows Grocery. 

Telling mothers how much time they had before the kids got home from school. 

Better hurry up with your purchase, the Whistle clock says its 2:45. 

My dad got this clock from his Uncle Howard. 

And it hung in his garage for many years. 

I don't remember if it was plugged in while resting in my dad's garage. 

But I took it and used it as a source of both nostalgia and as a time piece in my apartment in Chicago after college. 

And it was working well until maybe ten years ago. 

Then it went backwards. 

The dials started turning counter clockwise. 

Was the clock was trying to go back?

Trying to go back to the past when it was vibrantly colored and full of new life. 

Was Whistle remembering its own past when it hung over the chubby checkout lady who was shoving money from the register into her pockets?

Was it remembering how useful it had been and now it just sat in a young couple's apartment collecting dust?

We unplugged it. 

But it's always moved with us. 

Around to different Chicago apartments. 

To the suburbs. 

And finally back to it's hometown.

Once my husband and I found a Whistle soda bottle at an antique fair. 

What a thrill that was.

We have since found two other bottles to add to our collection. 

I think Uncle Howard would be tickled to see Just Whistle hanging in our home. 

The home his wife, my Great Aunt Marie, grew up in. 

The home that Uncle Dale grew up in.

The home that helped raise my dad, Bobby Dale.  

The home that has stayed while everything else has gone. 

Nothing exists where Gneckows Grocery once stood. 

An alley is still there, but an empty lot surrounded by derelict homes is all that remains. 

My dad has his memories. 

His memories of stocking shelves and sweeping floors for Uncle Howard.

I'll get Just Whistle moving again. 

I'll find a clock repair shop. 

I hope. 

Those may be as hard to come by these days as are smiles from the checkout lady at the super mega grocery store. 

Idiot Parents And Their Car

Autozena, the Goddess of Automobiles, is an oft underrated figure. 

She often helps to make your day by tossing a quarter out at you. 

In between the seats, usually. 

You look down to put your seat belt on and see a shiny quarter on the floor.

And you're like "wow!  a quarter!"

And Autozena smiles. 

Having worked her magic she moves onto the next vehicle on her schedule. 

She may snap you out of your driving coma so that you don't rear end the guy in front of you who has decided to turn.

You know about driving coma, right?

You head out to, say the store, and you get there and think "huh?  I don't remember that drive at all."

Driving coma. 

Or Autozena may be helping you keep calm when you sit in the passenger seat as your "teenager/elderly mother/husband who learned to drive at 35" sit behind the wheel. 

Reminding you to breathe deeply and to help you muffle your scream as your "teenager/elderly mother/husband who learned to drive at 35" takes that off ramp a bit too quickly and you actually feel the car riding on two wheels only. 

Autozena. 

What a goddess she is. 

We were blessed to have a visit by Autozena just the other day. 

She worked some very special magic in our minivan. 

I think it's her biggest feat yet. 

You see, we have these windows in the rear of our minivan. 

Way back there in the third row of seats. 

There's a hinge on them. 

Last year my husband and I tried opening them. 

They looked like they would just pop out. 

We pushed. 

Tried to pop them open. 

Pushed some more. 

Nothing. 

I was bummed. 

I swore that I had seen other minivans like ours and those third row windows were popped out. 

Maybe our minivan was the one minivan made that year whose windows weren't going to pop. 

We have had this minivan for about 5 years. 

We got it when our daughter was diagnosed with cancer.

The car that we had, a fabulous mauve Honda Civic, was not going to be capable of driving our sick girl back and forth to the hospital, that was 45 minutes away, during the winter. 

So, it was late 2010 when we bought a 2008 Toyota Sienna.

And, after driving it for about 4 years, we finally thought about those rear seat windows. 

Yes. 

We are slow that way.

To say that we are NOT car people is an understatement. 

Well, we were all bummed when those windows wouldn't open. 

Poor, sad us. 

Then Autozena blessed us. 

Came down from her coupe in the sky to do something amazing for us.

I was getting into our now 7 year old minivan yesterday when I saw it. 

A button to the left of my hand as it sat on the steering wheel. 

This button. 

Huh. 

Where did that button come from?

It was just sitting there. 

Next to the side mirror button. 

Which I have used many times. 

But REAR VENT?

I wonder what that button does?

So, pushed it. 

I heard something, but still wondered what was happening?

I pushed the top of the button. 

Then the bottom of the button. 

Then the top again. 

Then the bottom. 

Hmm. 

I pushed the top once more and looked into the rearview mirror. 

And the windows. 

In the third row. 

Were OPEN!

Thank you Autozena!

I immediately called my husband. 

Who responded by saying "what button?"

"A magic button" I said, "It must have been installed overnight!"

When my kids got home from school I had them go out to the garage. 

I told them to sit in their seats. 

And then to turn their heads to the back windows. 

And I pushed the magic button. 

They squealed "the windows open!"

My oldest and wisest daughter questioned me and asked "but how?"

I told her how Autozena came in while we slept warm and cozy in our beds and installed it overnight. 

Right there next to the side mirror adjuster. 

She looked at me, rolled her eyes in that pre-teen way, and said "wow, you and dad are idiots."

Yes. 

Yes we are daughter. 

Yes we are...  

Map Time

The license plate game. 

Didn't we all play this as a child when we went on long road trips with our family?

When everyone piled into the car. 

The car that may or may not have had working A/C. 

DVDs and streaming movies did not exist in my childhood. 

We didn't even have computers that could print off coloring pages or lists of things. 

Coloring books, pads of blank papers, and my mom's handwritten lists got us there in a remotely sane fashion. 

When we drove to Florida from Illinois my brother and I had our imaginations to get us there without driving our parents bonkers. 

Which may not have worked when, as soon as we got to the ocean, my dad locked the keys in the car. 

He had driven right onto the sand and we all hopped out in true Griswold family stye and he forgot about his keys in the ignition. 

At least he had it in Park. 

But, my mom did try to keep us occupied on long road excursions. 

She would make lists of things for us to look for and mark off of the paper she had handed us at mile marker 57. 

So, I would fashion a blanket around my side of the backseat and over my head. 

I would briefly roll the window down to tuck the end in. 

Briefly, because if the window was down too long my mom would yell "roll that window up!  My hair is flying all over my face!"

I would have my backseat tent area all set up. 

And my brother better not get into my space because I wasn't afraid to scream. 

I would have my list in my lap looking for...

red barn

cow

truck pulling boat

blue motorcycle 

school

cloud shaped like a tv...

And when that game was over, my mom would whip out her list of states. 

We were to look for their license plates as my dad rolled along the interstate. 

In this 21st century world my kids get to grow up in, they don't understand hours of boredom. 

They have car DVD players. 

An iPad and portable DS game players to keep them thoroughly occupied when traveling across the great U.S. of A. 

But, I do want them to look out the car windows. 

To see America's landscapes. 

To see the giant roadside stand called Boomland. 

Where you can buy fireworks, snacks, AND home decor. 

To see bridges and cotton growing in the field. 

To see the mighty and marvelous Mississippi River and the churning Gulf Coast. 

I was pumped when I caught a Today Show segment pre-summer for a website called Mr Printables.

They had a map of our country with the names of the states and so I decided on a revamped version of the license plate game for our summer adventures. 

We traveled to all over Illinois, Southern Michigan, Northern Indiana, Western Tennessee, and Eastern Missouri. 

Each time we saw a license plate from another state we colored it in with a purple crayon. 

Traveling in Indiana afforded us the opportunity to see many plates from Canada. 

The highway that travels through Northern Indiana and on to Detroit leads right to Canada. 

So we got to color in the top of our map which, for us, represented another country. 

We found 40 states during our summer travels. 

We even saw a Washington DC plate, which I've never seen on the road that I can recall. 

We had friends visit our farm from Vermont, but they had a rental car with Ohio plates. 

Go figure. 

We never saw Massachusetts

New Hampshire 

Vermont

Montana

Wyoming

South Dakota 

Utah

Nebraska 

do western staters ever leave home?

Or Alaska and Hawaii. 

I don't think I've ever seen a Hawaii license plate on the mainland, but I was certain we would see Alaska. 

Darn it. 

Maybe next summer. 

Swimming Into My Last Post

It's the last day of August. 

My kids go to school in 8 days. 

We are going to have a very hot last week of summer. 

We haven't been in our pool lately because the weather has been cooler. 

It's as if Mother Nature has decided that the Pramuk girls need one last hurrah before they start their jobs. 

We have told our kids that school is their job while young. 

And we expect their 100% effort and participation. 

So, as it's the last week of summer here, before the big Labor Day holiday this weekend, we swam today. 

And, as always, mama had her camera out. 

Thanks for reading my month of posts. 

I did miss a few days, but got most of my thoughts covered. 

I have found that when I do a challenge like this, I do write more. 

It's never as hard as it seems. 

Bone Collectors

Since our home is surrounded by the woods, we have an abundance of wildlife existing near us. 

White tailed deer. 

Raccoons. 

Oppossum. 

Mink. 

Fox. 

Coyotes. 

Brown squirrels. 

And with each mammal that traverses through our woodland backyard, death comes. 

And my kids always seem to find the remains. 

Well, sometimes my husband and I find them and yell out "Oh my gosh, I just found an awesome skull!"

And the kids coming running to collect the find. 

We have quite a stockpile. 

Most of the bones are kept outside. 

But a few small ones are in the house. 

Some rodent-like skull resides in my dining room next to a humongous deer antler. 

And something's hips. 

So weird. 

The garage has a wire basket full of bones. 

My friend from high school, Julie, has two boys who are just as in love with bones as my two girls are. 

We have given them specimens from our collection in the past. 

You would have thought we had given them a new iPad from the excitement that came from them when they took their skulls home. 

We have teeth...

The random tibia and femur. 

This one kind of looks human. 

Let's hope it ain't. 

I tell you though, I'll take bones any day over a rotting carcass. 

We had to endure the stench of a dead deer a few years ago. 

It was in the woods to the right of our driveway and we had to pass the smell everyday when we went to get the mail. 

And then the damn dogs decided to bring the rotting head to us one HOT summer day when we were splashing in the pool. 

The stink and the screams are embedded into my senses and brain for an eternity. 

Thanks dogs.