Gammy's Perspective

Old Soldiers Never Die. They Just Fade Away!

2008-07-04T09:28:00.001-04:00

What are the rules of engagement for matters of the heart and emotions? I’ve been told a number of times that I’m a warrior. I wonder exactly what that means. That I stand and face the battle and fight my way through? Or is it that I’m just too dumb to stay down once I’ve been knocked down? It would be nice if I could give my opponent, my adversary, a death blow. But that would only be winning the battle, not the war.

Ah yes, the war. The battle of the ages. Man –V- Woman. Heart –V- emotions. This one is ongoing. Sometimes as a soldier of the heart, I’d like to begin a Jihad against matters of the heart. Whenever love, or what I may think is love rears its head, just lop it off and go on. Love is an infidel against the mind, soul and spirit of a human. It attacks when you least expect it. It blindsides you. It cripples you. It makes you uncomfortable, needy and dependant. I’ve reached a point in this war where I no longer want to feel needy, uncomfortable or dependant. I’m too old, too tired. If I love someone, I don’t want to feel like a prisoner of war. I want to feel like a conquering hero. Someone who has captured the heart of another. I no longer want to feel as though my captor is my torturer as well.

I think it’s time for this soldier to retire. Let the battle to the younger ones. Those who have the strength and stamina to fight. I’m picking up the weapons of my warfare and going home. Home to my own heart. There’s a cinder still glowing in the hearth of my heart. When I get there I’ll stoke that little cinder until there is a blazing fire. A fire of my own making that will chase the cold chill of love away. A fire that will give enough light to my heart to chase the shadows of the past away. I will learn to love myself. To love me as I wanted my adversaries to love me. I lay the gauntlet of my heart down. I call a truce for the need to have someone love and care for me. I am me. I am a woman. I have stood and fought the fight of love far too long.

Home is where the heart is. I’m going home!

Dinosaur Love-

2008-01-27T07:40:00.000-05:00

Every Saturday morning it is my delightful task to take my little grandaughter to dance class. I am always welcomed with squeals of delight and the knowledge the day belongs to us. But this past Saturday was one of particular delight. It was the first day of her new car seat. She would no longer be in a "baby" seat, but now would be in a big kids booster seat and wear a grown-up seat belt. What a momentous day! As we started on our way to the studio, we reveled in this new phase of childhood rite of passage. What joy was in the car that day. She was a "big girl now". Then, with the quiet precociousness she so aptly has, she says, "Did I fix your broken heart?". It only took a second for the words to register in my brain. But in that second, the life of my broken dreams and loves flashed before me like lightening in a dark sky. I wasn't sure if I really heard her correctly. So I took a chance and answered the only way I could and told her my heart was fixed the day she was born.

However, her words washed over me bringing with them a torrent of emotions and memories. Those words, spoken so innocently, pierced the very core of my being. Every broken dream, every lost love, every failed attempt to find peace in a world of usery and hate, stood out in sharp contrast to my then and now life. I couldn't help but think what mythological creature had been at my birth to have cast a curse of always loving but never receiving love in return? What cruel twist of nature was this that couldn't be explained by a laboratory test? Better yet, what cruel joke was this? And why me? What had I done before birth to have caused such a weighty judgement having been passed on me? What and whose sins was I paying for with the price of my heart and my emotions?

There are some right now who would read this and think how dramatic. Why don't I just grow up, deal with it and get past it. Stop being such a drama queen. But then there are those, and you know who you are, who will read this and know this is not dramatics or literary embellishment. And there is one who will read this and know the facts are true and attest to their truthfulness.

So I leave you with these final words. Words that I pray you will think about and take to your own heart. For life is short and death long. None of us know the amount of time allotted to us. Use it wisely. Live life giving all the love you have. Take a chance on love, take a chance on reaching out for the unknown. Where would any of us be if those who have gone before us never took a chance at exploring new lands, new ideas. Explore what is inside of you. Soon people like me will be no more. The lovers of love in this world are truely a rare commodity. We are the people who make this world bearable. We are the ones who are willing to lay ourselves down on the altars of hate and intolerance in order for the balance of this world to remain so. Our tears fall unseen, our cries for love unheard, our need to feel the strong arms of someone's love around us go unfelt.

When the lovers of this world are gone, who will replenish you? Where will you turn to find the poems and songs and books written about love? Who will help you to express yourself? Not me. For I won't be here any more. I will have gone the way of the dinosaur.

Don't cry for me. Cry for you.

My Friend

2007-05-06T22:07:00.000-04:00

Thirty-one years ago in 1976 I was employed by the county at Children's Services. I held the lowly position of file clerk. My son was six years old and I was starting my life over as a single parent. The position was a temporary one but it got me back into the work force and paid the bills. It was there that I met the person who would become my best friend. I can't remember the day we met or what it was that brought us together. But friends we became and friends we remain to this day. Our friendship has endured the test of time. When nothing else remained the same our friendship has. If there was one thing I could always count on it was Evelyn.

When it comes to describing Eve (pronounced Ev) I fail to find the words that adequately portray who and what she is. How can I take what is in my heart and put it here in black and white. She has meant so much to me over the years that it would take volumes to relate it all. She, of all the people I have met through the years, has impacted my life the most. When no one else was there she was. We have laughed together and laughed at each other. There were times when our laughter was mixed with tears. And then there were times we just cried. She always sees the best in everyone. Always sees the potential someone can attain to and urges them on to meet that potential. She is one that doesn't give up easily. She is steady and dependable. She will do whatever it takes to lend a helping hand when needed. She will give the shirt off her back (literally) and then ask if you need shoes as well.

Her quick wit and sarcasm keeps all of us on our toes. In that department she is one to be reckoned with. Her intelligence and ability to communicate goes without saying. She loves music. Music of all kinds. And if there is one thing that I truely envy it is her ability to dance. She can be all things to all people. I've seen her go from entertaining my three year old grandaughter to relating fully and completely with my fourteen year old grandaugher and not miss a beat with either of them.

But there is still more to this woman named Evelyn. She is a complex yet simplistic creature. A woman whose heart is as big as all outdoors. Her faithfulness and forebearance is without measure. Her love unquestionable. She will never allow herself the folly of telling a lie just to make you feel better. She will tell the truth, even if it hurts, in order to save you from more hurt later on. When she sees you going in a direction that would be harmful she will do any and all she can to steer you in the right direction. But she will never be manipulative or controlling. She allows you to make your choices and will be there to help pick you up if and when it is needed.

So what more can I say about Evelyn? Not much I guess. My heart holds so much respect and admiration for her. But more then that my heart holds a tremendous love for her. She is my friend and confidant. For over a quarter of a century we have walked the road of life together. When life was spinning out of control we held onto our friendship and that steadied our careening worlds. When no one else understood us we understood each other. And that was all that mattered. I know that if I need her in the middle of the night she will answer the phone. I know that she is always there for me and I am there for her. Yes, our friendship has stood the test of time and will continue to do so. A friendship such as this is rare. And I know now more then ever what a rare treasure we have in each other. I thank G-d for you, Evelyn, and I know that I am a better person for having you in my life.

I love you Eve

Letter To My Grandaughter

2007-03-08T07:46:00.000-05:00

It only seems like yesterday that we brought you home from the hospital. A bundle of pink and white so tiny and helpless. Now here you are a young teenager growing toward adulthood. Where have the years gone? They seem to have flown by all too quickly. Years have passed and years remain yet to be experienced.

There was nothing easy about your birth. We knew from the onset that danger lay at every turn. But determination far outweighed any and all risks. From the moment I saw your tadpolelike body and the now beating heart on the Ultrasound, I knew I would move Heaven and Earth to keep you safe. Days flowed into weeks, weeks into months and finally the day arrived for you to make your grand entrance into this world. Here you were. All of two pounds and three ounces of life. I made the hospital attendants stop as they were wisking you away to the NICU so your daddy and I could at least take a glimpse of you. I remember the breath that caught in my throat as I looked on this small bundle of wrinkled flesh that carried my DNA. What an awesome feeling to know that my blood ran in your veins. Here was my grandaughter.

In the months that followed, NICU was not only your home but ours as well. Night after night we sat by your incubator watching and praying for your safety. Needles and tubes ran everywhere. I laugh at this now. But I couldn't help but compare you to a newly hatched chicken. Your skin seemed too large for your bone structure and hung in tiny wrinkles. You had the soft down of a duck and the tinest hands and feet I ever saw. But the greatest danger came from the fact that, due to early delivery because of your mother's health, your lungs were underdeveloped and therein lay the fight. But fight you did and soon you were breathing on your own. The day we were able to actually hold you in our arms was one of tremendous joy. No longer did we have to simply touch you through the small openings of your incubator. I remember holding you in my arms and tightly to my chest. It was at times like this I found myself secretely vowing within myself that no one and nothing would ever hurt you. I would always be there to guard and protect you. However.............

Little did I know that in time you would not only be taken from my arms but my life as well. The day you were gone from me I felt as though a part of me had been amputated. The pain I felt was unbearable. It was sad that it happened. And even though there had been short spurts of contact with you, I wasn't there to fulfill the vow I had made. I cried and prayed. Prayed and cried. There was a hole in my heart that only you, my precious first grandaughter, could fill. For over ten years I kept your car seat in my car right where it had been from the day I drove you home from the hospital. Time and again people would urge me to remove the seat. But I adamantly refused. That seat would remain where it was until you returned to me. It was my only point of contact with you.

Well my precious one, time has passed and here you are. God has graciously answered prayers prayed so long ago. How can I tell you how much I love you. How can I convey the overwhelming sense of awe I still feel about you. Oh yes, there are many years to catch up on. Lots of things to do, places to go to and people to see. Things we can experience together. I can hardly wait to impart to you the wisdom of my years and life. Things I hope will help mold you into the woman I know you can and will be.

In a few short weeks I will be turning 60. I can't help but know that with this birthday I'm facing my own mortality. But I know that as long as you live my memory will live as well. You are the one who will carry me into the next generation of this family. The bible says that sorrow will last the night but joy comes in the morning.

You are my morning, Tiana!

Requiem For The Past

2006-11-19T09:50:00.000-05:00

I'm writing this post without any thought to either proper or perfect literacy. At this point it is of no importance to me if puncuation is properly placed. Thoughts ordered precisely, concisely or conceptually has no room at this time. What is to follow is simply born out of the need to take something intangible from within to the tangibility of the written word.

You see, I'm one of those few people who believe that words are real. Words have a life of their own. To me they live, they breathe, they have power untold and untapped. Words can bring life or death. They will build up or tear down. They are a force that once spoken cannot be taken back. We may try to alter the meaning of them by explanation. But in the end what is said is said. That's as black and white, as absolute, as one can get in this world.

So, that being said I invite you to come with me as I attempt to purge myself of the past. To finally lay to rest what was, what never became and what never will be. And who knows. Maybe even some absolution.

Several days ago my phone rang at what I thought was an unusual time. Picking it up I heard a voice I couldn't recognize and thought I had been caught by the infamous telemarketer. The voice sounded unsure of itself and uncertain if it was speaking to the right person. I was just about ready to hang up when I finally asked who it was and who where they trying to reach. When the name was given I was left speachless. Here was a voice from my past. Twenty-five years of past at that. Here was a man I had dated for all of seven months. Here was the man I had an affair with. And, yes, he was married.

When we first met he was nervous and unsure of himself. He seemed to always be apologizing. But as time passed and we grew closer he relaxed and became more sure of who he was. He was affectionate and caring. With him I felt safe and protected. We were alike enough to be different and yet different enough to be alike. We balanced each other out in a way I have yet to see duplicated in my life with anyone else. If you would have asked me then if I believed in a soul mate I would have answered yes. Ask me that today and I'm not sure what my answer would be. All I know is the more he became a man the more I became a woman. Sound idyllic? Sorry, that's just the way it was. But with any situation such as this there came a time when decisions and choices had to be made. He chose to come to me. However, while packing to do this his then 16 year old son made a very viable threat to his father. He stayed where he needed to be and I spent a very long time healing.

Let me stop here for a moment and clear the air. I have never been proud of finding myself in a situation like this. I didn't look for it and I didn't ask for it. It happened and it surprised both of us. Neither one of us was prepared for what took place between us. But I know that a piece of paper does not a marriage make. You can be faithful in actions and unfaithful in mind and heart. He was a dutiful husband, father and son. He fulfilled his obligations. In this he was most admirable. He remained thus for a total of 44 years. His wife passed away this past June. Hence the phone call.

We met for coffee one evening and dinner another. I pray to God I never see him again. Sound cruel? Not really. Twenty-five years ago a man walked into my life. Sitting before me was a shell of that man. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. We had, obviously, both aged. But life has not been good to him. He looked old and drawn. Tired and beaten. His eyes, once so filled with laughter, was dull and almost lifeless. It broke my heart to see him like this. He walked with a slight limp because of knee problems and it seemed only an outward expression of what he was like on the inside. How could this have happened? I almost resented the fact that he contacted me. That I had to sit and look at the brokeness I was seeing before me. His sixteen year old son who so valiantly (or defiantly) stood before his father is now married, living in a new home, speaks to his father by phone and occassionally comes to see him or he to see his son. He has no life, no hope, no dreams, no aspirations. I've never seen such emptiness in bodily form.

I knew what was happening from the first phone call. I know it even moreso now. For the past twenty-five years he's been living in the past. It's what has held him together. I, on the other hand, have had to make a life for myself in the here and now. I can't and couldn't afford to live in a "what if" existence. What we had was good and true and, yes, even beautiful. But that was then and this is now. I've come to learn there are times when you can't go back. No matter how hard you try you cannot recapture what was. Time does takes its toll. I no longer have the strength to fight through a relationship. Let alone fight through the past to get to the future of one. I'm tired. I'm drained. I'm spent. He wanted to know why I wasn't married. Why someone like me with so much to give wasn't with someone. I did all I could not to laugh. That was the question I've been asking myself for years. He hasn't a clue to the number of times I've given my heart and emotions to others. Not just men but to situations that life has presented to me. What right did he have to try and walk back into my life after twenty-five years and think I could save him. Isn't that what he was really thinking? Now that his wife is gone that we could somehow start over? No! I can't and won't go back. There is no now that hasn't been birthed in a past. I'm not the same as I was then. I've grown in different ways and the path of my life has taken me on journeys with lots of twists and turns. And some day my path may still lead into a relationship full of love and passion in every area of life. I have enough left to give to that special someone. To nurture and care for them as I did for him. What I have left is not for him. What is done is done.

So how do I end something like this? I don't think there is an ending. But I can say this. While writing I've felt a lightness. I know that forgiveness came a long time ago. Now, however, I can forgive the situation. The dirge of the past can play its last chord and the musicians of the future can take center stage. A new act of my life is ready to begin. This is not.......

THE END

Going Somewhere?

2006-08-12T07:31:00.000-04:00

Life is a journey. From the moment we are born we begin the journey of destiny. Our feet are set on a pathway that takes us in many different directions. Some we choose freely and some chosen for us.

My road has been varied over the years. Sometimes the road has been like a smooth highway where I can just put myself on cruise control. Those are the times when life is quiet and unassuming. Then comes the road that takes me up a hill of hope and exhilaration. The assent up can be a gradual incline or rather steep and arduous. Depending on the situation, I can spend some time on that hill just looking around at my life and enjoying the view of the moment from the pinnacle of emotion. Then, sooner or later the descent must be made. So down I come. Now this is where it gets tricky. This is usually where the S curves and hairpin turns come in. This part of the journey must be made with focused attention and deftness of skill. One wrong move, one miscalculation, could prove to be disasterous. This is where most wrecked lives happen so one must proceed with caution. After navigating this part of the journey comes the inevitable fork in the road. This is where decesions are made. This is where it gets interesting. Which way to go, which way to turn.

I am at the fork in the road of my journey. I'm not sure which way I'lll go but I know that it will be good. How can I be so sure? Because I know me. I know that I'll make the right decision. I have years of experience to help me choose wisely. I have a life, I have a destiny, I have a purpose. I know that if I see the decision I made is not good I can always turn around. My road is wide enough to make U turns. No problem! And if along the way someone decides to join me on my journey my road is wide enough to handle more then just me. Would you like to join me on my journey?

Never Lose Sight

2006-08-05T18:02:00.000-04:00

A friend recently reminded me that I haven't posted in a long time. In spite of the fact that I've had a dozen trains of thoughts, I couldn't put one thought together that made any sense. For all my cries of individuality I found myself falling into the trap of comparison. I found myself thinking of what the readers would want rather then what I wanted to write about. I named this blog specifically so anyone stumbling upon it would know that I am a grandmother who just wanted a place to exercise her freedom of expression. Ahhhhh, that feels good already. Confession is good for the soul! However, I'm not sure what I just confessed expect that I lost interest in even myself and my thoughts.

I think the saddest thing that could happen to anyone of any age is to lose interest. Lose interest in what you might ask? Well, that could mean almost anything to anyone. Where has the excitement of life gone? Where has the anticipation of things yet to come gone? What about the hopes and dreams yet to be fulfilled? Come on guys. We all have them. Why do we let them just fall to the ground? Our hopes, our dreams, our "interests" are personal to us as indivduals. These are the things that keep us going. Things no one else can or should take from us. So why do we reach a part of life where we stop believing in what yet can be. Life becomes routine and bland and we wave the white flag of surrender over our desires. We throw up our hands and allow the enemies of our souls to capture our dreams. We walk into the prison of our minds and allow the ruts of life to define where we go. We hold ourselves captive with fear of the unknown.

So I'm going to step out into the unknown. I'm going to run for our town council. I've never done anything like this before and I may or may not win. But this is something I'm going to do. I'm going to step outside of my prison and recapture interest in my life and the life of the town I live in. If I win the ballot I will do all I can to legislate what is best for the town and its residents. If I lose I will have lost knowing that I at least tried.

In closing I have one last thing to say. It was told to me a long time ago that good friends are harder to find then good lovers. I laughed when I first heard that. But I now know how true that saying is. So to my friend who reminded me of my absence of blogging I say thank you. Thank you for reminding me of who and what I am. And thank you for just being you.

Learning!

2006-03-18T20:05:00.000-05:00

I think everyone who writes, in whatever capacity, would like to think what they write will somehow impact their readers to some degree. Maybe give some food for thought, change a perspective, evoke an emotion. It would be wonderful to know that what I have to say is worthwhile in anothers eyes. Sometimes I feel I'm far too serious or too introspective. But that's me and at this age it would be pretty hard to change. And let's face it....blogging is simply about sharing thoughts, experiences, ideas, etc. So let me share some of my thoughts with you. Some of the things I have learned in the past couple of months.

I have learned to keep my cell phone on at all times - especially during working hours.

I have learned to keep my briefcase, day timer, notebook and business cards together. Separation of these items can lead to a frustration level no woman should be made to endure.

I have learned in another's death that my life continues. That I am here and now and I can still make a future for myself. I still have a chance.

I have learned to accept the fact that I am a middleaged woman who no longer functions as a 20/30 year old. I am woman, hear me......creak.

I have learned that I cannot have everything I want or have it my way all the time. Ouch! That one left a bit of a mark.

I have learned two very important things about myself. And that is that I am too easily pleased and too eager to love. Both are emotionally loaded guns and must be handled with great care and respect. No wonder I was walking with a limp. I kept shooting myself in the foot. Go figure!

And last, but not least, I have learned to accept the woman I am. A woman who has a heart as big as all outdoors, an infectious personality and laugh to go with it. Who is smart enough to hold a conversation and ditzy enough to be funny without trying. A woman who wants nothing more then to grow old gracefully with dignity and character.

So my friends these are a few of the things I've learned since the beginning of the year. I wonder what lessons the rest of this year will bring......or not.

Heroines I Have Known

2006-01-21T20:19:00.000-05:00

On the journey of life it's inevitable the paths of others will intersect with ours. Passing through our lives it's impossible for them not to leave behind something of themselves. A deposit, so to speak, of things that help shape and mold who we are as individuals. I'd like to share some of my intersections with you.

First there is my maternal grandmother. It's no wonder I grew up loving coffee the way I do. I remember going into her kitchen on cold winter mornings with the smell of fresh perked coffee and warm buttered toast. She'd open a bottle of milk where the cream had coagulated at the top and pour it's rich thickness into a cut glass creamer. I can still see her cleaning with nothing more then a warm bucket of water and a bar of Fels Naptha soap. This was long before the Mr. Clean's of the world stocked our market shelves. I can still hear the whirr of the old foot pedalled Singer sewing machine as she sat mending the family's clothing. And the smell of laundry just taken down from the washline where the sun and wind had done what no bottled product could do. She ironed everything including sheets, pillowcases and even undershirts and boxer shorts.

Then there was Mr. and Mrs. Westerman who lived just across the street from my house. Here was another woman I stood in awe of. Not only did she do the things my grandmother did, but she also braided her own rugs, sewed her own clothes, crocheted and knitted as well as doing her own oil paintings. I spent hours with this precious woman who taught me to crochet on a small white whale bone hook that, much to my chagrin, has long since disappeared. Every stitch was counted and looked at carefully for any malformations before moving on to the next step. I sat enthralled with stories that were told to me by she and her husband of what it was like for them as children growing up at the turn of the century. The games they played and the toys they made for themselves. I remember most the Christmas she asked my mother for my favorite doll. For some reason I didn't even realize she was missing. But on Christmas morning I opened a box and there she was dressed in the most beautiful clothes I had ever seen. Every piece, including slip and panties with tiny lace, was lovingly handmade. There was a blue wool coat with matching hat and silk lining and beautiful dresses and nightgown. Each piece made to fit my doll perfectly.

I can't forget to mention my great grandmother after whom I was named. I can still see her walking down the street with her cane flailing from side to side as she scattered any child that might be in her way. I remember the stories of her younger years when she ran with gangsters and bootleggers. And the story of how our family store was started by her husband when he sold produce out of a pushcart. And my Aunt Jenny who, although married many years, never had children but could tell you how to raise yours. She was a great cook that made pie crust so flaky it would put a croissant to tears. The smell of that store and her wonders in the culinary arts are still with me today. Her baked candied ham was known far and wide as were her homemade meatloafs and roast beef so tender it would melt in your mouth. And come Fall she would make her own hand dipped candy apples and taffy patties wrapped in waxed paper. Although she always seemed annoyed with children she always had plenty of penny candy for them to choose from. It was at that counter I saw her lose her patience most often. Between customers she'd sit outside in nice weather and smoke unfiltered cigarettes and gossip with the neighbors. At night she'd relax with a bottle or two of beer.

Well, there you have it. Some of the women who have influenced my life. I wish I could have given more time to each one and how they affected me. I remember these women with great fondness. I look at them and remember how much I wanted to grow up and be just like them. A woman who took care of husband and house and whose greatest pleasure on earth was to raise a family. Is it any wonder I'm so old fashioned when I've had role models such as these. But I wouldn't trade them or the ideals they planted in me for anything. To me they were the epitome of womanhood. I know it doesn't fit into today's modern world. But nonetheless these are the women I admired whose legacies I wish could be carried on. These are my heroines.

Winter Wonderland

2005-12-26T17:45:00.000-05:00

Two weeks ago we received our second plowable snowfall in as many weeks. My only thought was how long a Winter this was going to be. The only redeemable thing about it was the fact that curling up on the sofa in a comforter with a good cup of coffee seemed more guilt free. In fact, it is a requirement of necessity in order to get through the biting cold. But sometimes there are surprises this type of weather brings besides the slipping and sliding and shoveling of mounds of snow.

The Sunday after the second mesasureable snowfall I was to meet a friend of mine. That morning as I stepped out my door, I couldn't help but notice the bright sunshine and blue sky. The air was crisp and cold and I could hardly wait to get into the car and start the heater. My journey would take me on country roads I had driven a thousand times over the years. I drove up the hill and around the hairpin S curve and crested the hill. The roads were clear and dry and I could relax and enjoy my time to just think and be introspective.

However, this was turning out to be a different drive then expected. Something had happened during the night. Something so beautiful and rare there seemed to be no words to describe what my eyes were seeing. I've seen winter scenery before, but nothing like this. Everything was covered in white. It almost looked like everything had been dipped in powdered sugar. Nothing was left untouched. Every house, every tree, every brush and shrub was coated. The fields looked like mounds of whipped cream. The deep green of the pine trees stood in stark contrast to the white froth that lay atop each limb. Mile after mile I drove and it was the same everywhere. I couldn't help but look at the beauty I seemed privileged to be seeing. I felt wrapped in a cacoon of white. Everything looked so pure, so clean, so virginal. It was amazing to behold. At one point I passed a weeping willow tree whose leaves were long gone. But even this was transformed. Every limb was coated and draped in such a way that it looked as though she were bowing to some unseen noble personage. As I rounded a curve there were horses in a field lazily eating what lay beneath the white snowy foam. For a moment they seemed surreal in their presence amidst the field of white. I don't know what happened overnight, but it was beautiful and I was glad to have seen it. I was awed at the splendor surrounding me.

That evening this phenomenon, this quirk of nature, was explained. The weatherman had taken note of it and said that it was a rare occurance of freezing fog. Well there you have it. Explanation given. Science had taken an indescribable scene, a once in a lifetime event, and explained it by simply being nothing more then freezing fog. I can't help but say that I was just a tad disappointed. I didn't want a scientific explanation. I wanted the fairytale allure of beauty unknown. Maybe it's the little girl in me. No matter. The beauty of what I saw that day went well beyond any words I could use here to describe what my eyes beheld. And the memory will be in my mind for a long time to come. I saw the hand of a Master Craftsman at work that morning and for that I am thankful.

Seasons

2005-12-24T14:27:00.000-05:00

The little leaf clung tenaciously to the branch of the old gnarled tree it had called home for so many months. The warm winds and gentle rains of the Spring and Summer were gone. In their place was a wind that was hard and cold. The rains that now came pelted its little leaf body as if it were being stoned for some unforgivable transgression. It looked around and saw so many empty places where its friends had hung for so long. One by one he saw them let go and flutter away to places unknown. Why didn't they hang on was the question so prevalent in his little leaf mind. A question that seemed to have no answer. He asked the old gnarled tree but the tree seemed to be in a deep sleep. The sap of the old tree that ran so plentiously feeding him and keeping him green and soft was now gone. He was hungry but there was nothing for him to partake of. His green color had been replaced with a dull brown. His soft flexible structure was now stiff and crackly. He was tired. He wanted so much to just sleep for a little while. Maybe a short nap would make him feel better, stronger. He closed his little leaf eyes and sighed with relief as sleep came immediately. A wind came by and the little leaf, in quiet repose, left his grip on the branch called home and fluttered to places unknown. He was at peace with no need to fight to hang on any longer.

But little did the leaf know that he would return again in the Spring when the warm winds blew and the soft rains would once again come to open the harden ground of Winter. The tree would again awaken from its deep slumber, the sap would again run plentiously and the buds of the tree's residents would again make their debut. The birds would again begin building their nests sheltered within the many leaves positioned on the branches of the old tree. Another cycle of life had happened.

And so it is with humans as well. Life comes with its cold winds and hard rains. We think that because it is a Winter of our lives that we will never see another Spring. But we too have our cycles of life. To have a Winter means we have had a Spring. To have a Spring means we have had a Winter. As natures has its seasons for a purpose so do we have seasons for a purpose. Let's look to our seasons and know they never last forever. Winter into Spring, Spring into Summer, Summer into Fall, Fall into Winter........yes, the cycle of life continues.

Things That Make Me Go Hmmmmm......

2005-12-18T01:04:00.000-05:00

Here are a couple of things I think about. I haven't figured out if this is food for thought or thoughts for food. In any event, welcome to my table.

Thought #1-
If I were you and you were me and we passed each other on the street would we recognize who we were?

Thought #2-
The whole world's gone crazy and I've suddenly gone sane.

Thought #3-
Normality is reality as you perceive it to be.

Thought #4-
Our very freedoms will one day be our very bondages.

Thought #5-
If a tree falls in the forest and there's no one around to hear it does it still make a sound? Okay, so when a heart is broken and no one gives a damn does it still hurt?

Thought #6-
If timing is everything why are all the clocks and watches set differently?

And last but not least-
If I march to the beat of a different drummer then why isn't everyone else out of step?

Hmmm.....I need to get a life!

Middle Age??

2005-12-10T01:51:00.000-05:00

I think it must be hard for anyone young reading these posts to know or understand some of what I write about. But for those of us who have passed our youth and are now entering into that time of life known as "middle age", it seems to be a time of quiet reflection and introspection. Yes, it happens to us all. It's that time of life when our bodies move a little differently then before and the law of gravity has taken things once up now down. Yes, the physical side says one thing. However, that part of us that keeps us young, that enabling part of us, is our hearts. That is where true youthfulness lives. And with it comes knowledge of things past which allows us to enter into this new phase of our lives with what is known as wisdom.

It seems that Mr. Webster defines wisdom as having or showing discernment and good judgement. Believe it or not this does happen as we get older. Like it or not it is a part of the circle of life. That which I once gave no thought to I now know and embrace. The folly and rash judgements of my youth are now laid aside. I take more time in my decisions and choices I make. Do I still make mistakes? Of course. We all do and will as long as we are mortals walking on this finite planet. However, they seem to be fewer and farther between. Does this mean I've lost my zest for life? Quite the contrary. I find it most liberating actually. I look for the time when I can share my life experiences with my grandaughter. Hopefully impart my wisdom to her in ways that only maturity can give.

But what about the heart you may ask. Isn't that where I said youthfulness lives? Yes, I absolutely said that and meant it. There is a verse in the Bible that states that out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks. Oh how I have found that to be true. Whatever is in our hearts will be spoken by our mouth. If we harbor bitterness and anger then our mouths will speak it. And not only that but it will show on our countenance. So my secret to staying young? Keep a pure heart. Guard it with everything you have inside of you. Speak kindly to yourself. Trust who you are, where you have been, decisions you have made and look forward to the rest of your life. Laugh with a heart filled with the knowledge that you are who you are. Unique to this world. You are the only you this world will ever see. Make it a good showing filled with love and laughter. And above all take the time to love.

Definition

2005-12-02T07:23:00.000-05:00

Being a newcomer to the world of blogging, I sometimes can't help but feel out of place and out of pace with the rest of those I share this new world with. So many varities of peope with so many varied opinions and so many topics. I couldn't help but wonder where my place in this place would be. And, quite frankly, would anyone care. What could I have to say that anyone would be interested in. Would what I write make a difference in anothers life. Ah, now there's the question to be answered.

The other day while cleaning I was thinking about this very thing. The thought of writing something stirring but nothing really to say. Thoughts rambling through my mind with no coherency whatsoever. Does anybody really visit? Does anybody really care when or what I write? But more importantly, how do I feel about this process. Now there was the question that needed to be answered.

I have to admit that I enjoy writing. I enjoy putting my thoughts and experiences here and allowing others into my world if even for a brief moment. I like writing about things I know and I guess I know me pretty well. Or at least I think I do. I don't want to have to worry about being witty and/or sagacious. I just want to be me. I am a mother, a grandmother, a daughter. I have a family that I love because of its diversity. We are not close knit, but we are close. We are there for each other and when the chips are down the fur will fly if needs be. I am not defined by the words I write but by the circumstances of my life and how I let them affect me. Circumstances can and will affect me. However, I will not allow them to "in"fect me.

So where do we go from here? How do I end this post? Heck if I know. I'm just writing. Or is this simply the ramblings of a "gammy" gone wild. You decide.

I Wonder.....

2005-11-12T20:00:00.000-05:00

I often wonder why houses are left to ruin. Even as a child I would look at abandoned houses and feel a sense of sadness for what once was. There was a house I would pass many times, both as a child and as an adult, that I can never remember ever seeing a light on in the windows or signs of life anywhere. But year by year I would watch the demise of this structure. There it stood with pealing paint, rotting wood, decaying mortar, windows broken either by vandalism or acts of nature and no one seemed to care. How I wanted to sing a requiem for the passing of this house that once was someone's home.

I wondered who may have lived there. How many meals were made in the kitchen and what aromas of homemade delicacies and fresh brewed coffee had been there drawing the inhabitants to its warmth. I wondered about the dining room and what holiday dinners were like and who was there to sample the turkey and hams and sweet potato pies with mounds of whipped cream. I wondered about the living room. Did it have a fireplace in it where corn would be popped on cold winder nights and stories would told to the children before going upstairs to bed. And what were the bedrooms like and how many was there. Did each child, if there were children, have their own rooms or did they need to share. Was there a sewing room for mom to make new clothes for the family and curtains for the windows. And, yes, there would be the master bedroom where mom and dad would have their private time to share and talk and explore the wonder of their love for each other. I wonder if that house knew the sound of laughter and feel the warmth of love. The way it stood in its darkness, who could tell the real story.

The years have passed and one day I saw something surrounding that house that I thought I would never see. It was the yellow caution tape of construction. My heart jumped to think that maybe someone had bought the property and would actually renovate it and restore it to its original charm. Little by little machinery began to remove dead trees. Weeds were removed giving a clear picture of what was under all the overgrowth of so many years. I almost thought I saw a lightness in its demeanor anticipating its renewal. I too was anxious to see what would happen. One day as I was driving past and looked to see what progress was being made I felt a cold chill. The house was gone! It was torn down. No trace of its ever having been there could be found. In its place was a prefabricated house with all the personality a cookie cutter home could muster. I didn't know which house I should feel more sadness for. Oh well, at least the weeds are gone.

Why write about this house? Because for me it was like a rite of passage. Something old was being torn down to make way for the new. As uncomfortable as the new may feel it is here to stay and the adjustment has to be made. I sense something old and familiar in me changing. Something is happening to make way for the new. I don't know what the new will be, but I will try to embrace it. One thing I do know for sure is that I will bring some of the old into the new. Past and future brought together to make a new thing of beauty and strength.

Will I sing a dirge of what was or what will be. Hmmmmm......

The Most Maligned Meat

2005-10-31T17:09:00.000-05:00

Liver! Oh the very sound of the word can cause shivers to run up and down your spine in some, in others the word can cause a cold sweat to occur, and in still others the very thought of the pungent meat will cause automatic gag reflexes to kick in.

Now don't get me wrong. It hasn't always been this way for me. Let's face it, when I was a child and my mother would make liver I couldn't understand what I had done to humanity that was so horrible that it would require punishment by liver. I wracked my brain trying to find out what unpardonable sin I had commited that would bring such wrath down on my head. She'd place the plate in front of me and immediately my mouth would begin to water, the room would begin to spin and I knew that I would pass out at any moment. No amount of ketchup could hide the awful taste of this shoe leather looking thing lying on my plate waiting for consumption. The look on my face evoked my mother to her duty of telling me how good it was for me and how it would make me healthy and grow up strong. Right, mom, go tell it to the kid next door and see if you can fool him into eating fried cardboard on the pretense of health. Sure!

If I may digress here for a moment, this is right up there with the turnip deception. Do grownups really think that children believe that turnips taste like potatoes let alone look like them. That's like being a badly dressed cross-dresser. Give the kids a break. We knew better. Turnips are not potatoes nor do they taste like them. Another insult to the child's intelligence.

Anyway, after getting married I one day found my self actually hungry for this obscene piece of animal innards. So off to the store I went. I picked the smallest amount up I could and went home feeling as though something wonderful was about to happen. I cooked that liver up like it was the most expensive piece of steak around. I tenderly seasoned it and slowly fried it adding bits of water from time to time. In a very short time it looked quite done and I slowly took a bite to see if I had succeeded in doing what my mother was unable to do. It was wonderful. Somehow I had learned the secret of making liver. You simply treat it with decency and respect in the pan and it will do you justice. I swear the hallalujah chorus broke out in my tiny kitchen that day as I fell to my knees and vowed to be the "liver advocate". I would be the redeemer of the liver. I would crusade for it to be "the other dark meat". People would swarm to the meat counter to buy this wonderful culinary delight as I taught them my secret of perfect liver making. Move over, Martha Stewart and Emeril, Anna was on the scene and I wasn't going to budge until liver was no longer demonized.

Well, time has passed and liver is still not on the top ten list of things you really want to eat. I wanted to be its redeemer. I wanted to loose it from its bonds of unjust hatred simply because people didn't respect the tenderness in which it needs to be treated. I now know it will never replace a good sirloin or roast, but I'll still try to tout its goodness to those who will be fearless enough to try "the other dark meat".

By the way, I like turnips now as well.

Win Some, Lose Some

2005-10-28T00:19:00.000-04:00

When my grandaughter entered my life it was like a million twinkling lights went off all at the same time. She's two years old now. And in the past two years she has woven herself into the fabric of my heart. She has joined the threads of two families weaving a new pattern into all of our lives. I look at her and see in her, as in all children, the embodiment of life and hope.

I have another grandaughter. She's thirteen now. Through a series of paranoid decisions, this little one has not been allowed to be a part of my life nor me hers. Without a doubt the loss of her presence in my life has left its mark.

There's one part of her story that I'd like to share simply because I have a need to do so. She really was a miracle baby. Her mother had many medical problems. The hospital had even advised her to abort in order to not put a strain on her own body. But the pregnancy was to go on and I stood ground with her. For the next nine months I spent all my time at the hospital. Seven of those months was just making sure the baby stayed where it was supposed to. Finally the decision had to be made that it was time for the baby to be born. The mother's body couldn't take any more strain. I remember the day my son and I stood outside of the operating room waiting anxiously for any sign to let us know what was happening. Suddenly the one nurse turned, gave the thumbs up and we heard a cry. She was here at last. The neonatal ICU crew came and in a few short moments had carried her away to their unit. She weighed in at 2 pounds 3 ounces. Wow! A pound of meat and a pound of cheese would never look the same to me again.

For the next two months I came to know the NICU inside and out. Every evening and weekends was spent sitting by her incubator. Just the fact I could reach in and touch her brought a thrill to me. I could hardly wait to hold her. But as we watched our own little one fighting for her life, I saw many others around her doing the same thing. Babies would be flown in by helicopter, others from within the hospital itself and still others brought in by ambulance. Some of the babies stayed for a couple of hours. Some stayed for a day or two. And then there were the "others". Each day I'd walk to the unit and stand at the sink scrubbing up like a doctor before I could put on a gown to see my precious bundle. I'd push the door open to the unit and wonder what child would still be there. I always held my breath to see which space was now empty and cleaned. Teddy bears and pictures decorated the incubators of the "regulars". I remember one mother who had a space near ours. Her little boy didn't have anything in his incubator. So the next day I brought him a teddy and the mother thanked me. We talked for a little bit, hugged and then went to our stations to watch and pray. The next day I came in and his bed was empty, the space cleaned and readied for the next crisis child to arrive. I cried for the loss of that little life and the mother that would never be able to hold her son again. Each time this happened I held my grandaughter a little closer, prayed a littler harder and whispered the secret things a grandmother does to her grandchild.

I saw life come and go in this unit. To me this was the war room of the hospital. Battles of life and death fought on a daily basis by the smallest of the human race. These, to me, were real troopers, real soldiers. They were brave without knowing it. I stood in awe of the care given by nurses and doctors who tirelessly stood by these little ones to help them take their next breath or to help them learn to suckle. Here they were still developing outside of the womb. Lungs were still developing, eyes were still being joined to the brain, intestines still forming for future work. What a wonder it all was.

The moral of my story? There isn't one. Just a need to bring to light the life of a little girl that I pray will one day be in my arms again. Some have asked if I would ever do it again. Of course I would. I'm a little older now and I'm not so sure the stamina is there. But I would do it again.

Follow Your Heart?

2005-10-06T18:51:00.000-04:00

I was channel surfing the other day. Next to shopping this is my favorite indoor sport. I came across the movie "The Bridges of Madison County". I read the book, it didn't impress me. I've seen the movie several times and that didn't impress me as well. I was given the book to read when it first came out and was told that I would cry. I didn't.

However, there was something that caught my attention this time and I sat enthralled as the characters roles were played out. With each scene I found myself more and more attuned to the situation they were in. Innocent at first. Then the slow building of attraction to each other with the culmination of unabated passsion.

Then it suddenly dawned on me. It was all so clear in one brief second. I knew what they were feeling. I had been there and done that. I knew what it was like to be torn between two worlds. The world of responsibility and commitment and the world of unbridled, passionate love. I have experienced both sides of what was being played out on the screen. The realization hit me full force. It was then I cried.

Yes, I've been on both sides of the fence. At one time I had packed my bags. It was my time. I was going to finally live for me. Then there was the time that I sat waiting for someone else to pack their bags. Responsibility and commitment won out.

Have I regretted my decision? Not really. I was young and life still held promise for me. There was still time I so foolishly told myself. But that time never came again. That door was closed forever. And still I wait for someone to take a chance with me in the lottery of life. I'll not be so cautious if there is a next time. I've grown too old for caution. I have nothing to lose at this stage of my life - or what's left of it.

Responsibility and commitment, to the best of my ability, will not stand in my way again. I will not make a second mistake. If that door is opened to me again, I will walk through with eyes wide open and my heart ready to love and be loved as never before. I will live, love and laugh with unbridled passion knowing I have been given a second chance at what once was.

I will follow my heart!

Live-Laugh-Hope!

2005-10-01T00:50:00.000-04:00

I've come to the conclusion that I need to write. I'm not a great writer with many words and wonderful phrases that would mesmerize the reader into awe and wonder at my prolific style and ability. No, I'm just a woman who has reached a stage in her life where I need to express who I think I am, where I think I'm going and how I think I'm going to get there.

My yesterdays have passed, today is now and the future is yet to reveal itself to me. I can look back on my past and glean from both the good and bad decisions I have made and make my future a little surer. Some would think that the future is too mysterious, too uncertain. But I feel that we are given our todays to look back and then turn toward our tomorrow. I will not allow my yesterdays to determine my tomorrows. And I will not allow my yesterdays to detract from my todays, my nows, my moments in time.

None of us know the amount of time that has been alloted to us. When I was young I never thought of getting older. That was something far ahead in the future. Well, my future has arrived. I am older. I have done things, met people, gone places. I have lived, loved, laughed and made some judgements that were absolutely absurd. I looked for love in all the wrong places, gave love to all the wrong people and I have survied to love another day. Each morning I awaken with hope springing forth that this would be the day my dreams, desires, wishes could come true. I, personally, need to know that I have hope. I will not allow anyone or anything to take my hope away. No matter what circumstances I may face I will not let my hope die. To do that would be like surrendering to the enemy of time. I will not surrender! I will stand and fight for my right to hope for a life and love that transcends even my wildest expectations.

So in conclusion I say this. I am a woman, a daugher, a mother, a grandmother. I have walked this road of life, for the most part, by myself. I have stumbled at times, fallen down when I lost my balance, but always got up and went on. I have some bumps, bruises and even scars from this walk of life. But I'd like to think of these scars as badges of courage from those times that life became more of a battle then a walk. I am a woman with much love to give. A laugh that is infectious and eyes that look not only into your eyes but your soul as well. I am a lover. I am a fighter. I am a woman. And I have hope.

Happy Birthday Dad!

2005-09-22T22:57:00.000-04:00

Today my dad would have been 81. I say would have because he passed away 16 years ago this past June. So why remember his birthday? Because he was my father, my friend, my hero. Yep, that was my dad.

I can remember growing up and walking down the street with him holding on to his little finger. He'd take me fishing with him on Saturday mornings and oh how patient he was with me. Mom would pack me a little lunch and when that was gone it was time for me to go home. I never had the patience to just sit and wait for something to happen. But dad did. He'd cast his line into the water and then wait for that little tug that told him something was going to happen. I'd watch his face as he watched that line and when the right moment came (I never knew how he knew the moment had arrived) he'd jerk the rod with a snap and he'd begin to reel in the fish. He was a quiet man. But when he and the fish did battle, he'd get a smile on his face that was mixed with determination and the pleasure of the hunt. Sometimes he'd bring me to the rod right before the fish would go for the bait. He'd take my hands in his and help me snap the rod and reel the fish in. All the time talking to me, telling me what to do and letting me know it was my catch, my fish.

After we were done fishing we'd begin our walk home. But before going home we'd have to stop at the club and have a celebatory drink. Dad would lift me up on the stool next to him and I'd have my Coke and he'd have his usual boiler maker. Sometimes he'd let me have the very last drop from his glass. He'd wink at me and say, "Now don't tell mom." Me tell mom??? Never!! Why I would have stood in front of a moving train to protect him.

I remember Sunday mornings when dad would do the Sunday News crossword puzzle. He'd lay on the livingroom floor or sit at the kitchen table. In between solving the puzzle and reading the news he'd be making dinner. He was a great cook. I'd always be close by trying to see how he made things. When he knew I was looking he'd take a taste of whatever it was he was making and with great gusto and a smile leave out this long sigh of contentment. I knew then dinner would be great. But then peanutbutter and jelly sandwiches became food fit for a king when he made them.

Dad always had time to talk to me. He never said much. But when he spoke I listened. I trusted him in every way. He never left me know that I was overweight or had hair that was too straight and fine. With him I was a princess.

Time passed and I grew up. Our relaltionship changed as I entered my teen years. But dad was always there for me. I was busy trying to find my way around this new world of raging hormones and discovering a new me......the woman me. He never complained when the record player was too loud or my moods were like a roller coaster. I guess in some ways he stabalized me.

Then came the time I was all grown up and married. After three years of marriage and trying to get pregnant, the time came when I was to be a mother. Back then we didn't have the ultrasounds to let us know anything in advance. It was a surprise. For the life of me I couldn't think of a girl's name. I didn't want a girl so why think of a name for one. If it was a boy there would be no discussion as to what his name would be. He would be named after my father. The day came and my son was born. I was on cloud nine. He was born at 9:05 PM on a Friday night. The next day when visiting hours came mom and dad arrived. We all walked down to the nursery to see this 8# 14 oz. bouncing baby boy I gave birth to. Dad looked at him and I looked at dad. I said, "Dad, I'm naming him Joseph Michael after you. It's the only way I can tell you how much I love you." He just looked at me and smiled.

Happy Birthday Dad!

Mothers and Daughters

2005-09-10T15:43:00.000-04:00

My mother says she doesn't understand me. I don't know why she would think that. To me I'm a pretty understandable person. Nothing hard or complicated about my personality whatsoever. Just the same, my mother says she doesn't know who I take after. And if it wasn't for the fact that I'm a spitting image of my father she'd think I had gotten switched at birth.

I have to admit that I'm just a tad bit of a rebel. Nothing real drastic. Just enough to let the world know that I'll not be conformed (at least totally). Take for instance when I turned 50. Now, for most women that would have been traumatic. Not for me. I looked 50 right in the eye and got my nose pierced. Since it was the big 5 0 I was celebrating I got the tiniest little diamond stud. It's so small you hardly know it's there till I turn a certain way and the light catches it. However, when I told my mother what I did her reaction was one of total horror and disbelief. You would have thought I had something the size of a door knocker hanging off my nose. For pity sake it's a diamond chip, not the Hope Diamond. Her reaction to my 50th birthday present to myself was totally inappropriate....in my estimation that is.

Then there was the time I got my first tattoo. If that didn't put her six feet down nothing would. Thank God she has a strong constitution. She just stood there giving me the hairy eyeball the way only a mother can, lowered her head ever so slightly and then just went "Hmph". Now you have to understand something about my mother. She has become a master of masters at non-verbal communication. She's always done her best disciplining with a look and a grunt that would send chills down my spine and cause the hair on my arms to stand at attention. As a child growing up under her gaze (no pun intended), I would often cry inside of myself at times of discipline, "For God's sake, mom, just hit me. It would hurt less then the hairy eyeball." By the way, I now have a total of three tattos all very discretely placed so as not to offend mother or anyone else.

I love my mother. She's good to me in more ways then I can count. I know I probably baffle her and she's learned to accept my little idiosyncracies over the years. We're always there for each other and I know that I can count on her and she can count on me. We're opposite in every way possible a mother and daughter could be. But in one way we are alike. And that is our love and respect for each other.

Oh, by the way. I don't think I'll tell her I just had my belly button pierced.

Martha Stewart I'm Not!

2005-09-04T11:24:00.000-04:00

When I was younger I had a place for everything and everything was in it's place. I was a clean freak to the max. This was my idenity, my mark, my badge of courage so to speak.....this was my lot in life. Isn't that what women do? Isn't that what makes a happy home? Isn't that the oil that keeps the wheels of life running smoothly? Yes, I'm laughing too. So, by all means enjoy yourself.

I'm 58 now. A little more wisdom under my belt, a few more hard knocks of life bruises and I've come to a different conclusion. I don't live in a house any longer but in a third floor flat that was once the attic of an old house. Storage is at a minimum so everything doesn't have it's own place and surpriseing enough the world hasn't been tipped from it axis because of it. Of course I still clean. But if it doesn't get done on a daily basis. I won't die because of it. I've found out that if dishes remain in the sink overnight they will still be there in the morning.....and maybe that night as well. It's just not a big deal. Life is way too short to worry about a speck of dust or a dirty window. Catch up with it later.

There's a lot more to life then making sure every nook and cranny is free from dust mites. Let's face it, they were here before us. Let 'em live in peace I say. They don't bother me, I don't bother them. I want to take part in life as it's happening. Right now, right here. I don't want it to pass me by any longer. I want to live, I want to love, I want to laugh and, yes, even cry. I want to take a walk at the start of a snowfall and come back inside to a warm home and warm arms to hold me. I want to take the time to enjoy a beautiful sunrise or sunset and just sit in silence as I watch nature turning the clock of day. I want to take the time to look at all the beautiful Fall colors that will soon be arriving. What designer could outdo nature when she takes out her pallet of colors and sweeps it across the trees. What an array of spendor each tree is adorned with.

I applaud the Marth Stewart's of this world. We need them I suppose. But for me???? It just ain't that important.

When Two Worlds Collide

2005-08-31T21:22:00.000-04:00

I am constantly amazed at the potpourri of emotions my little grandaughter evokes in me. When she wraps her little arms around my neck and plants a big kiss on my cheek (or anywhere it seems to find a landing spot) and I hear the words, "I wuv you Gammy", it's then our two worlds collide. I look at her and see a little one with years ahead of her to make wishes and dreams come true. I then look at myself and see my waning years and know that my time for making dreams and wishes come true has all but come to an end. The should've, could've, would'ves begin to spin around in my head and I know then and there that I will do all I can to help this little one make as many of her dreams and wishes come true as possible.

Being a grandparent is really a blessing. You get a second chance at parenthood without all the responsibility of nighttime feedings, diaper changing, nights spent on a rocking chair as you try to soothe a colicky tummy and then turn around and go to work the next day. Since I'm a "Gammy" now I find I have more patience then I had when raising my son. I'm less apt to be so strict. When walking with this little one I fit my pace to hers. No need to hurry. Time is on our side. And when this precious angle looks at me with her big brown eyes it's almost as though she can see into my soul and she knows the impact she has made on my life thus far. She asks nothing of me or from me. She trusts me and that is an awe inspiring feeling. And when I sing to her? She actually likes my deep alto voice and will look and listen with much more intensity then her 20 months would denote. We have a communication between the two of us. A communication that goes beyond words. She's just an innocent child as yet untouched by the world. She loves me unconditionally. No kiss or hug means more to me then hers. And one day when I am no longer here, I hope that I will have made a mark on this little ones life. That she will remember me as being a positive influence in her life. And may she pass that legacy on to her own grandchildren.

Sticks and Stones

2005-08-28T20:20:00.000-04:00

Sticks and stones can break my bones but names will never hurt me. Hogwash! What a crock of crap. I'd rather have a bone broken then my heart, my dreams, my ego, etc. by some insensitive sot feeling his need to exert his mouthhood on me. Words! I love them. To me words are precious and I value them as such. How often do we toss words about as though they were nothing. Let us not forget that words can so often make or break a situation, a person, a dream, an ego. One word spoken without thought to its import and impact on the person receiving it can alter a life to the better or hammer in the last nail in a coffin.

Harsh you might say. I say not harsh enough. We truely do not understand what an impact our words have on the ones around us. I feel very strongly (if you haven't already guessed) about using our language to build up and not tear down. Oh how I love to encourage people. To help push them to the next level. To see them walk one step closer to making a dream come true, even if it seems like the impossible dream.

I was once told that words are important to me. So important to me that I value them as money. I have to admit that this is true. I do value words. Words that I speak and words that are spoken to me. Words that heal and not kill; words that open up and not close; words that are filled with love and warmth and not hate and cold.

All that to say this. Why can't we be more in tune with what we speak. What we say is so powerful. I think we need to understand the power of our words and treat them with the same respect you would have when handling a loaded gun. We know what power is held within that gun when the trigger is pulled. Let's keep that same respect in mind when our tongues are loosed and off we go. And remember, sticks and stones can break your bones and names do hurt you.

What have I done now?

2005-08-28T09:47:00.000-04:00

If anyone would have told me that I would be doing this at my age I would have called them a liar and then smacked them simple even though I'm not a violent person. However, I've come to the conclusion that life is winding down for me and I don't want to pass this world by without having tried to leave my mark on it. So I've joined the world of blogging for better or for worse. So here I am and there you are and let's see what happens with the thoughts of a "Gammy" gone wild.