it's hammer time...

...or more like panic time. 

I can't believe I lost my blog, for over a week it went missing.  Was unable to sign in, couldn't find it in any searches, and Google didn't have a clue as to who I am.   Now normally that would be cause for concern but add it to the absolute misery moving has proved to be and I just about lost my little mind.  Finally, finally I shut things down, waited a few days, came back and it was as if nothing had happened.  I wonder if I dreamed it!

Not my dogs but I wish they were.  Still missing my buddy, especially now.  I just can't possibly understand why, and why now.  Planning on getting another after we move but quite honestly I just don't have it in me.  I can't imagine my life without a dog but I also can't imagine my life with a different dog.  I know time will soften the blow but for now I'm just not ready.  Everytime we leave the house we have to stop at the shelter and 'check' just in case our buddy is there.  Hubby is really having trouble...they were besties.

 Going through boxes and packing the house has been dreadful but finding little treasures like this makes things easier and brings a smile to my heart.  This is a letter to me for Mother's Day waaaay back when my little girl was six.  She liked me then...

I'm pretty sure I posted this before but this is our punky Maude, she's exhausted from helping granna pack.  She marked the boxes kitchen stuff, weird stuff, and junk.  I can hardly wait to see what's in those boxes.

We closed on both houses today which was really convenient.  Now all we have to do it finish packing...Oh Lordy, there is still so much to do.  I found out something about my hubby during all of this...he is a hoarder.  He has his own walk-in closet, an office and garage that I steer clear of, he also has boxes from the last time we moved twenty years ago that he never unpacked.  He needs an intervention!  When our daughter was here she had no problem getting rid of things she thought I didn't need (she lacks the sentimental gene)  so I think she needs to stop by and have a look at that closet!  and the garage!  and the office!

I've really been struggling with this move.  We've been here twenty years and really had no plans to move or downsize again but we really have no choice with hubby seeking early retirement.  Not real excited by the place we are moving but praying it will be exactly where we need to be.  The kids keep telling me to think of it as a new chapter in our lives but honesly it feel like the last chapter, and that makes me sad.

Will check in when I can.  Take care lovelies, shine.

the haunting of sweet joanna...

...I recently posted about a box that I found in my closet.  It had been there for at least fifteen years, collecting dust, holding memories, unknown to me.  I must have picked it up while cleaning out my parents house and simultaneously moving into our new house.  I don't remember.

When I first opened the box it felt like I had found hidden treasure (and in many ways I did.)  I wasn't sure if the letters, etc. were of importance or just some old bills and clippings that my dad had put away for safe keeping.  I don't know.  I wondered if I intentionally took the box from the house knowing what was inside and even if my siblings knew about the letters.  They don't.

I have been haunted day and night about the things I've read.  All of it very sweet and loving and an amazing glimpse into everyday life in the '40's.  These are not the people that I knew years later when I made my appearance, they were so changed by then.  I feel like I have been caught with my hand in the cookie jar so to say.  This doesn't feel right, it's too personal, and it's just killing me.   I don't know what to do with the letters.  I want them saved but I don't want to share them with certain people. (that is possibly the ugliest thing I have ever written.)

I don't know how to preserve them for eternity.  A scrapbook, a book with some photos (like having your blog published) or to put the box away and let the next generation find it.

I am reaching out to you, my friends.  If you have any ideas please leave me a comment.  I am literally 'sick' with this.  Something this joyful should not feel this bad.    Thank you ;j

Savouring the moment...

...as I put the finishing touches on my dining room make-over, yay, and return my mother's tea cups, all clean and sparkly, to the China cabinet which belonged to her I am transported to another place in time.   A time when she was here and I was young and life seemed so easy.

My mother was English and Irish and loved her tea.  As far as I know it was what she sipped with every meal growing up and before bed.  They rarely had milk delivery so she probably had a dash of cream and a little sugar in it.  The English way.  As a child I remember drinking tea every morning.  There were other things to choose from but I always, every day, had toast and tea.  Tea with cream and sugar.  The English/Irish in me.  As I grew older I continued the toast and tea tradition but drank other beverages during the day such as milk.  Then came the days of diet soda, specifically Tab.  Oh my, I drank Tab as if the world was about to end but always kept my morning routine of toast and tea.   As time moved on for my mother she gave up her precious tea for coffee.  Instant coffee.  I guess the need for a jolt of coffee outweighed the need for a cuppa.

When I left home for college and marriage my tea drinking waned in favour of espresso coffee.  Much easier to grab a jolt during studying or work than to savour a cup of tea.  Soon it became relegated to the 'sick room.'  Have a cold?  a headache?  a stomach-ache?  what you need then is a nice cup of hot tea, with cream and sugar.  Eventually I went through an organic phase and the sugar was replaced by honey.  But I never really gave up the need for a cup of hot tea.  (never iced. never)  My mother on the other hand found that warm milk at bedtime could do wonderful things for a restful sleep, she rarely had tea again.

I've always desired to take my mother out for "High Tea," and made plans to do so when we traveled to New York for my brother's wedding.  We never went, no traveling, no visiting, no tea-party...as I lost her just days before.  Two years ago I found a place in our little town that serves High Tea and decided that I would take my daughter.  I tried to tell her how important it was to me, how much I had hoped to do this with my mother, how very special it was to share with her.  It was wonderful, and beautiful and especially fancy with tiny tea cakes and sweet treats, and of course TEA.  with cream and honey.  It was lovely and I hope that one day she will understand what it meant to me.

So here I stand, holding the cups my mother drank from and collected, holding her memory tight in my hand and my heart.   Missing her more than mere words can say.  And as my mind floats to another place I will put the kettle on, brew myself a nice cuppa hot tea, with cream and honey.  I will find a nice cozy place to sit by the window and as I sit and sip my cuppa I will watch the rain and my tears softly falling to the ground.

black friday in days gone by...

...long ago and oh so very, very far away and now only living in my memories, my parents used to participate in the black Friday shenanigans.  Money was tight in those days and the only way they could shop for Christmas gifts was due to the fact they joined the 'Christmas Club' at the bank.  I think the bank would withhold 5-10 $ each payday starting in January and then would pay it out the day before Thanksgiving.  My parents with their cash in hand, coupons if any, and the ad circulars would head out bright and early while leaving me to watch over the younger children at home.  They had a day together which was rare, had lunch out also rare, and came home exhausted but without any packages (wink, wink).  They always seemed happy and relieved, obviously black Friday was not the mad house, craziness that it is today.

Years later I started out my illustrious career in retail by working during the holidays.  My first black Friday that I was scheduled to work I was over an hour late clocking in.  It's not that I was truly late the problem was that I could not find a parking space IN THE ENTIRE MALL.  I drove round and round, followed people to their cars, only failing to find an open slot.  Finally parked across a busy four lane road and hiked back to the mall.  Oh yeah, just the beginning of the excitement.  I was quite naive and thought better of humanity so I was shocked at people's behaviour.  The shouting, pushing, the swearing (from me mostly!) was enough to put a damper on any holiday celebrations.  This was easily put aside though as Christmas was a short few weeks away and I had young children then, to keep me grounded and remind me that this was a special time of year.

Fast forward a few more years to find me working in the Customer Service department, still at the mall.  Now let me just say that no one NO ONE comes to Customer Service to wait in line for twenty or so minutes to tell you they've just had a wonderful shopping experience.  No, customer service is the place of last resort for the truly unhappy, unfulfilled, complainers in the store.  Give them an extra twenty minutes to stew and they could be down right frightening.  More than once the words 'security' came out of my mouth, and once when I had a customer's hands around my throat it seemed that someone else yelled 'security.'  But I digress.  It was Christmastime and the spirit was slowly draining out of me.  Much to my delight (sarcasm) I was also assigned to the gift wrap counter.  I loved gift wrapping, at least for my family, but take some cranky people who feel your attempts have gone awry and it will suck the ever living daylights out of you.  To this day I get no joy from wrapping a gift and either stick it in a gift bag or beg my hubby to do it.  He doesn't mind!

Then, I finished school (college) and started a new career working in a hospital.  The most rewarding experiences of my life, even at Holiday time and my faith in humanity was restored.  Now days I would not go out on a Black Friday for anything, no matter the cost, for the cost of my humanity is not for sale anymore and especially at $8 hour.  My sympathies to those of you who 'had' to go out and work in this madness, and for those of you out there shopping, shame on you if you mistreated anyone to get that special sale.

Happy weekend friends.

of long walks, wet noses and belly rubs...

...I didn't want to love her,
knowing one day it would come to this.

we had a rocky start
she and I,
always preferring to spend time
with her male human.

watching out the window
for his return from work everyday,
waiting for him to ask
"want to go?" and
grabbing the leash
leading her to the great outdoors.

sometimes she would sneak away,
running through the woods
to the trails that led to the river.
stopping only long enough to let
us catch up with her then
running on ahead.

we had a rocky start
she and I,
not wanting to give my heart away
so soon after having it shredded.

I didn't want to love her
but I did, and I do and now
once again
my heart is aching for her loss.

good-bye sweet Graciella
good-bye.

a heart full...

...of gratitude.  Thank you for the kindness, the grace, the concern, the compassion, the hope, the strength that you have shown us and particularly my hubby and our dear Gracie.  It is overwhelming to have such a source of friendship and fellowship.  Your words have been a balm to our weary souls.

Winner of the My Memories Suite will be announced tomorrow.  G'nite all.

the one where I have a give-away...

...when I was growing up my mother was the keeper of all things.  If it was lost, she knew where it was or how to find it.  If a cousin or aunt or friend had an accident, an operation, a wedding or baby (in that order of course) she knew about it.  She could predict the weather and recite to us who in the extended family was going on vacation, when and where.  She knew every one's birthday, anniversary or special occasion.  She was the keeper of all things, and she did this incredible feat with the use of a land line and letter writing.  Imagine!  Our family lived thousands of miles from the rest of our relatives and yet we never missed an important event in their lives. 

She was also a picture taker.  Not a photographer as in those days you had little handy-dandy cameras that took pictures.  We always kid our youngest sister that we can tell when she came into the world.  Not because there are so many pictures of her (there really are) but because the wonderful world of colour pictures came out about the same time.

When my parents passed on I, being the oldest, eldest? daughter, inherited boxes and boxes of slides and photographs.  Boxes and boxes of letters and cards.  All of them going back in time to when the camera became a household item perhaps even further back as many of them are 'posed' photos of young children in Tupperware bowl haircuts, staring aimlessly off into the distance without a hint of emotion on their faces.  Who were these people?  I will never know.  Nor will I know just who most of the slides and black and white photos are of.  Our penchant for not writing info on the back of the picture goes way back.

As a young family we took pictures everywhere we went be it on vacation, a picnic, or playing in the yard.  Holidays, birthdays, anydays were made for using the camera.  Never anything fancy.  And like most families we probably still have undeveloped rolls of film laying around the house.  We also have boxes and boxes of pictures most of which are undocumented but at least I know who these people are.  I may not remember where we were though and that's a whole dilemma in itself. 

I always had the best intentions of organizing these photos but it never really happened.  Then scrap booking came along and my kids were out of the house by now and it just didn't seem to appeal to me.  But I was going to change that when my daughter got married.  I bought all the supplies, and the most beautiful scrapbook (several in fact), I kept all the bits and bobs from her bridal shower and her wedding and reception and kept them all safely in a pretty box.  Then my son got married and I did the same thing, all saved in a pretty box.  Where it sits to this day.

When I became a grandma I decided this was going to change.  I would document her life. period.  So I took all kinds of pictures of her mamma and daddy while they were expecting.  And tons more when she was born and many hundreds more since.  And guess what?  They are not sitting in a box somewhere...NO...they are all on my computer. 

Are you like me??  Do you have boxes of memories that you need to corral and finally get to one place, organized and presentable, not only for yourself but for the next generation?   Then you must come back tomorrow and let me show you what I did.  It's fast, it's fun, it's easy to use, and I love it so much that I am going to give one to you.    Meet me back here....

the bitter and the sweet...

...while this is a re-post from a couple years ago, and though I am not literally walking down these lovely Fall roads, the sentiment remains the same.

November's lonely roads...

...it was a cool, crisp, clear Autumn day here today so we got out of the house and took a little walk to the river.                      

I welcome  every other month of the year with joy and anticipation of what will come.  Not so, with November.  I feel nothing less than trepidation wrapped up in it's thirty days.

November holds days of incredible joy, family celebrations and anniversaries.  November  holds a day of unspeakable, unbearable, heart-wrenching, soul-bleeding grief.  The day my life as I knew it...stopped.  A day that holds a child's death. My firstborn son.

I know what to expect these next few weeks, I have been doing it far too long now.  I know the days will feel long, and the darkness will be heavy and deep.  I know the sadness and the searing anger will be burdensome.  But in the end, I know, there will be light and a baby's cry for his mama in my heart.

Wishing you sunshine for your soul, laughter for your heart, and peaceful November days...

The Santa Claus...

...I was three when we left Brooklyn and all of our extended families and moved across the country.  We had a car, our clothes and a small (tiny) u-haul trailer with our meager possessions.  In my arms was a girls best friend, her teddy bear, and in a box...Santa.

Poor Teddy was lost or left-behind in a hotel in El Paso, Que the quirky country song.  Something that broke my little three year old heart.  But, Santa survived.  He survived another eleven moves, and when my parents were still alive, he was the only thing us four children wanted in the will.  He has since spent the last ten years traveling from each of our houses to the next and spending the holidays with all of us.

 By the third Christmas that my parents had spent together, they were living in a new house with a brand new baby boy, born seven weeks premature.  There were mortgages to pay, hospitals to pay, and Christmas on it's way.  So my dad worked two part-time temporary jobs in addition to his regular job. 

 One of those jobs was at Milton-Bradley and, I was always sad when I heard that story because I thought if we had not moved from NY, I could have had every game and toy that they had ever made! 

The other job was at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel.  He would set up and break down banquet rooms for company Christmas parties.  At one such party they had these Santa's as the table centerpiece.  After the party was over and the tables broken down to be readied for the next party my dad found this last and lonely Santa.  All the others had been taken home by party guests.   My dad's boss, knowing he had a baby at home, offered it to him.  At first pop refused but as he walked out to the car he had second thoughts and went back for him.  He has been a treasured part of our family ever since.

He's aged a little over the years but is really no worse for wear.  I'm afraid now that if I tried to clean his beard that it would just fall out, or shrink, so I just let it be.  He is carefully unpacked every year for a short few weeks and then lovingly repacked until the next year, or the next move.  He carries with him all the wonderful memories of our Christmas past and as we move forward to our Christmas future I know he will always be safe and carry our special childhood secrets.

Long ago and oh so far away...

Soggy, foggy and bibity, bobity, boo...

...it's been a very soggy day here today, interrupting my plans to get outside and finish up some yard-work and take some pictures of the many, many Maple trees we have.  Whose idea was it to plant a dozen Maple trees across the back yard (?), I wonder.  

We've also been having a good deal of fog here in the mornings.  It's so eerie to see it hovering over the empty fields this time of year.  Living in a valley, it seems that the foggy days and night run into each other.  With the exception of Halloween this is not a welcome sight.  It also reminds me that when the fog season is over that the cold-rainy season will be upon us...those dark winter days are tough on this old girl.

I've been feeling rather soggy/foggy myself the past week or so.  The ginger-ale-soda-cracker type of blah.  I'm sure I caught it in the doctors office.  If you spend enough time hanging out in the doctor office you will eventually get sick, even if you were there for something else.  Doing better now, had some yogurt today but I think it might possibly be why I over-reacted to the comments the other day.  Yeah, there was more than one.   Moving on...

When I was a young 'un some of my favorite memories are of Halloween.  Having to rummage through the closet and use our imaginations to come up with a costume.  Those were the days before store bought and plastic or rubber masks.  A simpler time indeed.  I can remember walking through the neighborhood, without parents tagging along, and ringing doorbells.  There were some 'old' codgers who would actually make us do some sort of trick, like a somersault or hand-stand, before we could get the treat.  I remember going into stranger's houses and bobbing for apples.  Such were the times that it was not necessary to scare us kids with real monsters.  Certainly, simpler easier times.

When my children were growing up they hated Halloween.  I think it frightened them, the scarier costumes, the loudness.  It seemed so strange to me.  I wanted so badly for them to enjoy it the way we did even though they were trying to hide whenever the doorbell rang, and could have cared less about dressing up.  Even the candy was not enticing to them and often I would find it in the bottom of their closets months weeks later and throw it away.  We convinced them a few times to go to parties, neighbors we knew, friends, and grandparents but to this day they still want nothing to do with it. 

What happened to those innocent days?  We had so much fun, in a mostly clean and respectful manner, and we looked forward to it each and every Fall.  Back to school meant Halloween was just around the corner.  I understand that many people feel strongly about the message it sends but to a little child (most of them) it's just a fun day to dress up and freely eat candy.  Church, school, lessons, chores...all of them would be waiting.  What happened to our sense of tradition and charity?

The hubs and I will be manning the front door tonight and giving out treats to all the little ghouls and goblins.  We practically push each other out of the way to get to the door and hand out the goods.  We are still those children of long ago...doing hand-stands and somersaults for a little treat or an apple.

Happy Halloween and be safe y'all.

stealing memories...

...I was barely nine years old when we moved to Seattle.  It wasn't the first move for our family nor would it be the last but, something about this time felt different.  My dad had been transferred here for his job and had come a few weeks early to find a house and get things in order.  I remember him coming 'home' and all of us piling into the station wagon to make the trip...2500 miles.

It is at this point that I remember everything going forward in my life.  Before age eight most of the memories are scattered pictures in my mind with no real cohesiveness.  It's like a memory puzzle.

Last weekend we went to the big city to visit my son and see his new home.  It is an older home in a well established neighborhood, that has been recently renovated to reflect the current times.  Very nice, with some of the original features that makes it seem quaint. 

As we were leaving we drove in the opposite direction of the way we came.  We lazily drove up and down the streets in the area, looking at the older homes, the view of the water and mountains, the changing of the seasons and the smell of fireplaces being lit.  As we were watching the sun slowly setting for the day I began to have a feeling of contentment.  A familiar warmth, a hug of sorts, and I realized that I had been to this place before.  I recognized the streets, the hill that I used to ride my bike down (and walk my bike up), the school on the corner, the church down the street...I had stumbled upon my childhood home.  The place we lived when we first moved here.

We stopped and I took some pictures to share with my family, wondering if my brother remembered this place.  As I sat in the car I could see the home the way it was so many years ago.   My dad out working in the yard and my mother sitting on the stairs watching us play and heavy with child.  I see her there in her white sleeveless blouse and blue capri pants (she called them pedal-pushers)...I was mesmerised.

It was a feeling of coming full circle, something I can't describe very well or understand but it felt like a beginning and an end.  I haven't been able to get that picture out of my mind.  And I don't think I want to...

Sick day Luuuucy...

...I was born and raised in a strict Catholic family. We went to catechism on Wednesday, ate fish on Friday, and went to Mass on Sunday. We also went to the social after Mass and ate donuts and drank fruit punch. We woke every morning to our mother singing "rise and shine," and we wanted to scream. We shopped twice a year for clothes and shoes and wore saddle shoes to school. We ate cottage cheese and brown sugar sandwiches and loved it. We played card games and board games and always kept track of who had won last. We bowled. We went on vacation every year and didn't have a clue how lucky we were. I took baton lessons. We went out for Hamburgers once a month on payday. We did chores every Saturday morning. We spent hours at the library. We lined up according to height every Christmas morning and the shortest person always got to go first. The shortest person was always the youngest person...we were seventeen years apart. I never went first. We played "Queen for the Day," and got new pajamas every birthday. We prayed at every meal, at bedtime, and in every natural disaster. We prayed and cried when the President was shot. We rode our bicycles until dark only stopping to dodge tumble weeds. We ran around the yard with sparklers when there were days of celebrations. We ate three squares a day and had desert on Sunday. We watched "Laugh In" and the "Friday Night Fights." We drank Tab. We lined up on Saturday mornings to have our hair washed in the big sink. We had a dog named Queenie. And on sick days from school we made a fort in the living room, ate dry toast and drank hot tea, and watched "I Love Lucy".......



May you find the Blessing of ordinary miracles today...xo

Long distance operator...

after I lost my mother I put a note by the telephone to remind me that I could no longer call her. Good, bad, happy or sad, she was gone and I could not share with her in the same way. I still have the note. love and miss you every day mama.

dancing in heaven 13 years.

Sick day Lucy...

I was born and raised in a strict Catholic family. We went to catechism on Wednesday, ate fish on Friday, and went to Mass on Sunday. We also went to the social after Mass and ate donuts and drank fruit punch. We woke every morning to our mother singing "rise and shine," and we wanted to scream. We shopped twice a year for clothes and shoes and wore saddle shoes to school. We ate cottage cheese and brown sugar sandwiches and loved it. We played card games and board games and always kept track of who had won last. We bowled. We went on vacation every year and didn't have a clue how lucky we were. I took baton lessons. We went out for Hamburgers once a month on payday. We did chores every Saturday morning. We spent hours at the library. We lined up according to height every Christmas morning and the shortest person always got to go first. The shortest person was always the youngest person...we were seventeen years apart. I never went first. We played "Queen for the Day," and got new pajamas every birthday. We prayed at every meal, at bedtime, and in every natural disaster. We prayed and cried when the President was shot. We rode our bicycles until dark only stopping to dodge tumble weeds. We ran around the yard with sparklers when there were days of celebrations. We ate three squares a day and had desert on Sunday. We watched "Laugh In" and the "Friday Nite Fights." We drank Tab. We lined up on Saturday mornings to have our hair washed in the big sink. We had a dog named Queenie. And on sick days from school we made a fort in the living room, ate dry toast and drank hot tea, and watched "I Love Lucy".......

Kristy P.

I've been wrapped in thought, this past week or so, wondering if I should post something here or not. Is this the right time? The right place? After all this is a very complex issue wrought with emotion. Mostly angry emotion on my part, being removed from the situation as I am. But it is my understanding that anger is the last thing wanted or needed here. Just compassion and forgiveness for something that seems so unforgivable. It certainly takes a bigger person than I will ever be.

I remember a little girl, the same age as my own, happily running through the neighborhood singing. Later on in life her beautiful voice would lead and comfort many people. She is always a girl in my mind, feisty, energetic, unafraid to speak her mind, back down, or settle for less. I remember thinking she was growing up too fast and wasn't sure I wanted my girl to spend so much time with her. She was into make up and boys long before I wanted mine to notice those things. She came by these things honestly, growing up surrounded by brothers. Her faith, family and friends were the light of her life and as I understand now, she was the light in theirs too, and many, many others. I lost track of her and her family when we moved to another town but my daughter kept up with her throughout the years.

That all ended last week, with several gunshots, in the church parking lot, by the man she chose to love, honor, and cherish all the days of her life. Didn't he make that same promise? Peace and love to you K.P., and may the Grace of all that is good and loving, and forgiving and compassionate rest with you and dwell in your little boys hearts.