Many years ago I was reading some article or self help book (who knows? ) that said you have to visualize something to make it happen. That was the start of a crazy habit. Whenever I wanted something I could not afford I would rip the picture out of a magazine and put in on the refrigerator.
I think I did not want to anger the Visualization gods as I made sure I only had one dream picture at a time posted. In the last 13 years I had a picture of a dog, porch, a PT Cruiser, laminate floors, wood floors, an HHR, granite tops in my kitchen, a shore vacation picture and other wants not needs. Amazingly, all came to fruition.
I opted to not put a picture of a thinner me. I was too afraid I would jinx myself. But this last round of medication and lack of exercise has really packed the pounds on this 4”11” frame. My new shorter haircut makes me look & feel like Petunia Pig.
It is time to look for that realistic photo that would match my 59 years. I don’t want to lose the required 40 pounds to meet the Weight Watcher goal but 15 pounds would be nice. Diet starts today.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Traveling with Mom
“Where is my pocketbook?”
“Right here mom.”
“Where are the tissues?”
“Right here mom.”
“Mom, step up”
“Mom, step down.”
“No, mom it is not time for your pills.”
“No mom, no one came in and shook you.”
“I didn’t sleep all night.”
"Annie needs to put clothes on Ellerie."
“Where is my cane?”
“No mom, wrong car.”
“I changed my mind, I don’t want that.”
“Mom, that is the soap dispenser, not the hand dryer.”
“I didn’t sleep, it felt like Alaska.”
“Is it time for my pills?”
“Where is my pocketbook?”
“Right here mom.”
“There are two mens' room and no womens' room”
“Turn your head mom, you will see the W-O.”
“I lost my dollars for church.”
After twenty minutes selecting meal, every time my meal was delivered: “Oh, they had that, I would have ordered that.”
Last but not least, how is it that a person who you have to remind to change clothes, take a bath, wash hair will NOT sit down on toilet seat in a public restroom and has the wear-with-all to swipe hotel towels?
“Right here mom.”
“Where are the tissues?”
“Right here mom.”
“Mom, step up”
“Mom, step down.”
“No, mom it is not time for your pills.”
“No mom, no one came in and shook you.”
“I didn’t sleep all night.”
"Annie needs to put clothes on Ellerie."
“Where is my cane?”
“No mom, wrong car.”
“I changed my mind, I don’t want that.”
“Mom, that is the soap dispenser, not the hand dryer.”
“I didn’t sleep, it felt like Alaska.”
“Is it time for my pills?”
“Where is my pocketbook?”
“Right here mom.”
“There are two mens' room and no womens' room”
“Turn your head mom, you will see the W-O.”
“I lost my dollars for church.”
After twenty minutes selecting meal, every time my meal was delivered: “Oh, they had that, I would have ordered that.”
Last but not least, how is it that a person who you have to remind to change clothes, take a bath, wash hair will NOT sit down on toilet seat in a public restroom and has the wear-with-all to swipe hotel towels?
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Vacation blogs
Vacation and grandchildren give you a string of blog topics. I didn't want to waste any time during vacation so I have decided to reflect back on a few memorable moments.
Ten hours a day in a crowded car with the hot sun beating in.... decided to blog and reflect. No computer so I guess scrap paper will do.
A little over two weeks ago my angst was trying to find my husband who was MIA the day I started to pack the car. Why oh why do men procrastinate to do things they want to do? For example, Fred waited in line hours in the AAA office to get maps and trip tickets, a tradition I thought we would forgo this year. After all, I had the I phone with a GPS. He returned to the house with a bag filled with tour books of every state we would be driving through. (passing through not stopping) There was one odd size very big book and I inquired: “What’s that?”
Like a kid with a proud report card, Fred said: “That is a book that tells every dog friendly motel in the U.S. and it only costs $10.00.”
Are you kidding me? Flash forward to the trip home. We pack the car again and venture out with leftover food, beer, wine, souvenirs, extra clothes the grandkids left behind. We had to say goodbye to two beach chairs. They had served us well. I thought we were going to have to put my mother on a chair on the roof like “Chevy Chase did in the movie Vacation.” Off we went on the next leg of trip to Pennsylvania and a family reunion.
But the kicker is this. Remember the trip ticket? Fred decided he didn’t want to go the AAA route. He wanted to go HIS way. He thought his way would be faster. After many years, the landscape of the area did not look the same and he missed a turn, we lost an hour’s drive. My cell phone was dead with all the “R U????” texts from our children who left a few hours ahead of us. It was extremely frustrating.
Fred also waited until the last minute and could not get us a reservation so we had to invade his sister’s house and really put her out. Oh well at least we know they were pet friendly.
Ten hours a day in a crowded car with the hot sun beating in.... decided to blog and reflect. No computer so I guess scrap paper will do.
A little over two weeks ago my angst was trying to find my husband who was MIA the day I started to pack the car. Why oh why do men procrastinate to do things they want to do? For example, Fred waited in line hours in the AAA office to get maps and trip tickets, a tradition I thought we would forgo this year. After all, I had the I phone with a GPS. He returned to the house with a bag filled with tour books of every state we would be driving through. (passing through not stopping) There was one odd size very big book and I inquired: “What’s that?”
Like a kid with a proud report card, Fred said: “That is a book that tells every dog friendly motel in the U.S. and it only costs $10.00.”
Are you kidding me? Flash forward to the trip home. We pack the car again and venture out with leftover food, beer, wine, souvenirs, extra clothes the grandkids left behind. We had to say goodbye to two beach chairs. They had served us well. I thought we were going to have to put my mother on a chair on the roof like “Chevy Chase did in the movie Vacation.” Off we went on the next leg of trip to Pennsylvania and a family reunion.
But the kicker is this. Remember the trip ticket? Fred decided he didn’t want to go the AAA route. He wanted to go HIS way. He thought his way would be faster. After many years, the landscape of the area did not look the same and he missed a turn, we lost an hour’s drive. My cell phone was dead with all the “R U????” texts from our children who left a few hours ahead of us. It was extremely frustrating.
Fred also waited until the last minute and could not get us a reservation so we had to invade his sister’s house and really put her out. Oh well at least we know they were pet friendly.
Monday, June 21, 2010
"Moments to Remember"
Why do Grandparents just go goofy over the grandkids? This is an easy one to figure out for me. When they turn their sweet heads a certain way and look up into your eyes it is a blast from the past. It is like for one brief precious moment you get your little one back.
My grandkids are unique in their own way but wow do they possess some of the traits we loved. The precocious spirit of Jaime, Annie’s competitive nature and her sensitive side are just a few memories triggered these past two days; also, their ability to make us LAUGH.
Like last night, we were riding in the car and it was obvious there was a dead skunk in the immediate vicinity. Ellerie who is just two said, “ That was Grammy’s stinker”. It triggered the memory of a time when Jaime had a poopie diaper and I asker her what was that smell? She replied: “ That’s ollution mom”. Since we lived in the city of Cleveland and it was the 70’s I knew she meant pollution and I laughed and laughed.
My grandkids are unique in their own way but wow do they possess some of the traits we loved. The precocious spirit of Jaime, Annie’s competitive nature and her sensitive side are just a few memories triggered these past two days; also, their ability to make us LAUGH.
Like last night, we were riding in the car and it was obvious there was a dead skunk in the immediate vicinity. Ellerie who is just two said, “ That was Grammy’s stinker”. It triggered the memory of a time when Jaime had a poopie diaper and I asker her what was that smell? She replied: “ That’s ollution mom”. Since we lived in the city of Cleveland and it was the 70’s I knew she meant pollution and I laughed and laughed.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
To Pack or Not to Pack
Maybe it is because of a negative memory trigger that I start to pack for vacations early. The first little upset I had as a young married lady was over a packing incident. We were going to my in-laws for a visit and when we arrived Fred opened the suitcase and said, “Where are my clothes”? It never occurred to me that I was supposed to pack HIS clothes. Trust me his father and brothers never let him forget the story.
Anyway, he has packed his side of the suitcase for almost 39 years now. I say I set the standard long ago. Fred is a procrastinator for everything, house projects, tests, paper work such as taxes, Christmas shopping and of course packing. So at present, his side of the suitcase sits empty and I have my lists ready and waiting. You know the kind with the little boxes next to the item waiting to check off done. I know it will all get done. Fred seems to love packing the car; it is like an Olympic challenge.
When we were a younger couple the challenge packing the car was always baby stuff, toys, crayons, books and most important the crib mattress for the kids to sleep on (before mandatory car seats, yes they survived) and suitcases etc. We were like the bumbling dozen clowns piling in a Volkswagen or phone booth except our car was a Rambler Pacer.
As the girls grew older we had to remember game-boards, curling irons, journals, cameras, electric rollers, hair dryers, tapes, tape players, magazines, musical instruments, suitcases into a beloved Chevy Astro Van. That van was perfect but for the fact it had no air in the back (a whole other blog)
We have an HHR now and the challenge is far worse. With mom we are no longer a two suitcase empty nest couple. We have mom’s suitcase, our suitcases, our dog’s collapsed cage, two beach chairs, pillows, blankets, sheets, towels, hibachi grill, computers, and the bag of beach toys for grandkids, dog toys, game-boards, I pods, I phones, battery chargers, cameras, Disney DVD’s, coolers, snacks, breathing machines, blood pressure machine, glucose test kit, mom’s box meds, Fred’s meds, my meds, medical records for all including the dog. Listing them all makes you want to break into a vacation version of “Twelve Days of Christmas” “and a bed for their little dog too.” It is exhausting to say the least. But the trials and struggles of packing remind me of the name of my blog. Love Endures All Things.
Anyway, he has packed his side of the suitcase for almost 39 years now. I say I set the standard long ago. Fred is a procrastinator for everything, house projects, tests, paper work such as taxes, Christmas shopping and of course packing. So at present, his side of the suitcase sits empty and I have my lists ready and waiting. You know the kind with the little boxes next to the item waiting to check off done. I know it will all get done. Fred seems to love packing the car; it is like an Olympic challenge.
When we were a younger couple the challenge packing the car was always baby stuff, toys, crayons, books and most important the crib mattress for the kids to sleep on (before mandatory car seats, yes they survived) and suitcases etc. We were like the bumbling dozen clowns piling in a Volkswagen or phone booth except our car was a Rambler Pacer.
As the girls grew older we had to remember game-boards, curling irons, journals, cameras, electric rollers, hair dryers, tapes, tape players, magazines, musical instruments, suitcases into a beloved Chevy Astro Van. That van was perfect but for the fact it had no air in the back (a whole other blog)
We have an HHR now and the challenge is far worse. With mom we are no longer a two suitcase empty nest couple. We have mom’s suitcase, our suitcases, our dog’s collapsed cage, two beach chairs, pillows, blankets, sheets, towels, hibachi grill, computers, and the bag of beach toys for grandkids, dog toys, game-boards, I pods, I phones, battery chargers, cameras, Disney DVD’s, coolers, snacks, breathing machines, blood pressure machine, glucose test kit, mom’s box meds, Fred’s meds, my meds, medical records for all including the dog. Listing them all makes you want to break into a vacation version of “Twelve Days of Christmas” “and a bed for their little dog too.” It is exhausting to say the least. But the trials and struggles of packing remind me of the name of my blog. Love Endures All Things.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Can I Vent?
Now that summer vacation is here, can I vent?
What is the message a parent sends to their child when at the end of the year they give a very nice gift to the teacher whose class their child earned an “A”? Notice I said “earned” teachers do not give grades. It happens every year, there are times when I am the recipient, and there are times I am not. It is so wrong. They often include a little note that requires you “read between the lines” it may as well say: "Ms. So & So is a bitch... make sure you show her your gift."
Times are tough and if you spent on each teacher it can be costly. Why can’t parents teach the value of a thank you? Some of the treasures I keep are the heartfelt notes telling me about an animated dinner conversation where their child gave the family a history lesson on the Persian Wars or What if Spain's Armada was victorious?
I have come to the conclusion everything that is wrong with our profession comes down to one thing RESPECT or lack of respect in some cases.
It is not just the parents lack of respect either. I was at the mailboxes at school when a veteran teacher pulled out a paper with next year’s assignment. In one fell swoop she found out she is teaching another grade level, on another team and her room was changing. I have seen it happen over and over again. Administrators look at scores, and then move teachers around like they are playing checkers. Often the teachers with the best scores or strongest discipline get screwed because “someone” thinks they can fix anything. The first time I was selected Teacher of the Year twenty some years ago, the next year I was teaching the “At risk” students that we lovingly referred to as “sweat-hogs” or “rocket scientists” in those days.
When a teacher is not happy with their subject, grade level, team then they do the minimum. They no longer come in early or leave late. Extra work planning field trips, extra hours putting together shows... why should they? Work is not fun anymore. The morale can make or break a school.
Thank God for the new blood, the untainted who carry on and put together our shows, our luncheons, our bridal and baby showers. We love you. We remember who you are, we used to be you.
What is the message a parent sends to their child when at the end of the year they give a very nice gift to the teacher whose class their child earned an “A”? Notice I said “earned” teachers do not give grades. It happens every year, there are times when I am the recipient, and there are times I am not. It is so wrong. They often include a little note that requires you “read between the lines” it may as well say: "Ms. So & So is a bitch... make sure you show her your gift."
Times are tough and if you spent on each teacher it can be costly. Why can’t parents teach the value of a thank you? Some of the treasures I keep are the heartfelt notes telling me about an animated dinner conversation where their child gave the family a history lesson on the Persian Wars or What if Spain's Armada was victorious?
I have come to the conclusion everything that is wrong with our profession comes down to one thing RESPECT or lack of respect in some cases.
It is not just the parents lack of respect either. I was at the mailboxes at school when a veteran teacher pulled out a paper with next year’s assignment. In one fell swoop she found out she is teaching another grade level, on another team and her room was changing. I have seen it happen over and over again. Administrators look at scores, and then move teachers around like they are playing checkers. Often the teachers with the best scores or strongest discipline get screwed because “someone” thinks they can fix anything. The first time I was selected Teacher of the Year twenty some years ago, the next year I was teaching the “At risk” students that we lovingly referred to as “sweat-hogs” or “rocket scientists” in those days.
When a teacher is not happy with their subject, grade level, team then they do the minimum. They no longer come in early or leave late. Extra work planning field trips, extra hours putting together shows... why should they? Work is not fun anymore. The morale can make or break a school.
Thank God for the new blood, the untainted who carry on and put together our shows, our luncheons, our bridal and baby showers. We love you. We remember who you are, we used to be you.
Pity Party
“Pity Party”
This week I posted a short blog saying I was closing down my page only to have two faithful followers chastise me for having a pity party. My daughters Annie and Jaime are adamant that I need to continue because I love to write.
Secretly, they know if I rage on about trivial mundane things it might save them from the ranting later in the day when we speak on our daily phone call. So Ok, I shall plod forward and continue.
Or maybe, it was the Gag Award I won at school, “Most Likely to Write for Saturday Night Live”.
This week I posted a short blog saying I was closing down my page only to have two faithful followers chastise me for having a pity party. My daughters Annie and Jaime are adamant that I need to continue because I love to write.
Secretly, they know if I rage on about trivial mundane things it might save them from the ranting later in the day when we speak on our daily phone call. So Ok, I shall plod forward and continue.
Or maybe, it was the Gag Award I won at school, “Most Likely to Write for Saturday Night Live”.
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