Good Night Irene

  This weekend I couldn't make myself stop watching the hurricane coverage. I had other things to do, but I just couldn't concentrate. Right now I'm thinking maybe I should check to see if there is something on the news about the aftermath. I prayed for Katy in Virginia, and I prayed for Callie and Rich as Irene passed over Puerto Rico. However, I was secretly glad it was never downgraded to a tropical storm. Don't be angry with me. Your stories will be much more interesting now,than if you had to say "we were almost in a hurricane".
  What evil lurks, making me see such mayhem as pure entertainment? I believe it's the same thing that makes me love that drummer for Foo Fighters or when the dugouts empty and a brawl ensues. Power and human emotion.
 I don't want to see anyone get hurt. I don't care for violent movies and I hate reality TV, especially when it involves drunk girls slapping and calling each other the B word. I'm really not into human suffering, but the awesomeness of nature is ....well, awesome. To see so much power in the ocean and wind is just overwhelming. It's like God says, "Remember me? I'm still here."

School Days

 When I was a child, kindergarten was not a requirement. It was just for rich kids, and there weren't any in my neighborhood. There was no pre-k or head start program or Mother's Day Out. We stayed home with our mothers until we turned 6 years old, at which time we started first grade at Seth Ward Elementary.
Seth Ward school was a beautiful old red brick one story structure, that only held first through third grade. The principal, Miss Windwehein, was also the third grade teacher and she taught me, as well as my seven older siblings. Needless to say, she became well acquainted with my parents. Miss Windwehein liked some of my brothers well enough, she "red shirted" them and kept them an extra year.
 I remember thinking she must be a hundred years old, but when she died, at the age of 91, I did the math and realized when I was in her class, she was only 57. Even though I was a little afraid of her, I know she was a good teacher. She had no quotas to meet or politicians to please. Her only concern was teaching children.
 I also recall, all three teachers had an American flag in their classroom, but Miss Windwehein's had only 48 stars. She didn't see any reason to waste money on a new one just because Alaska and Hawaii had joined the Union.

The windows of my first grade classroom looked out on the playground, with it's 8 foot slide, tall swings and two jagged metal merry- go- rounds. Those things, along with the splintering wooden seats of the seesaws, would be considered a death trap by today's overly cautious parents.
 I watched the leaves swirl and fall on that playground in the Autumn of my first school year. I saw the windows plastered with black cats and jack-o-lanterns, only to be replaced by turkeys and Pilgrims. I was sitting by that window when my teacher tearfully announced our president had been shot and killed.

 I watched as the sky grew dark and heavy with the Spring storms rolling in. When I think of these things now, I can still hear the hollow clanging of the flag pole and Old Glory flapping in  the wind.

They tore the old school down while no one was looking. I went by there one day and it was gone. I imagined myself chained to the doors in protest, but it was too late.The red brick school house was just a memory now.

For Melissa, Leanne & Callie

 Last night I went to a wedding. My brother, Danny, who was widowed two years ago, got married. We had a great time, and to think, I considered not going. It was a four hour drive and I was feeling a little tired, but I'm so glad I went. This family has gotten together for far too many funerals, it was time to celebrate something new.
 I always enjoy being with Danny's family, and I see them so rarely. Plus, I got to see some cousins and a favorite aunt. This was one of those gatherings, where if you stand still long enough, someone will hand you a baby. And what precious babies they were. It was so sweet to see sisters taking care of each others children, passing bottles and sippie cups over ornate dinner tables. And fathers correcting little boys for doing what little boys do, while little girls in long dresses and bare feet danced around with roses in their hands. I hope God gave their grandmothers a glimpse from heaven of those children on the dance floor doing the chicken dance.

 I know, for some, it was hard to see Danny moving on. When Lauren died, I was hurt just hearing the university had gotten a new twirler. How could life go on without her?  But it does go on. And we might as well be happy, because there are babies being born and children laughing and I don't want to miss it.

More Current Events

   That loud crashing noise you hear may be the Dow dropping or my nerves shattering and Jon's heart breaking. It's just Monday, but it doesn't look like a good news week, so far. Jon said he considered the Tea Party, but he doesn't have a tea pot to p---s in. He's so crude.
   Of all the weirdness in the world the news story that struck me as the strangest is, the three siblings on a crime spree, robbing banks and such. Have you ever known three brothers and sisters who could get along, long enough to rob a bank?  I tried to imagine my own kids doing this and this is how it went.
 Eric: " If we were XMEN we could just walk through these walls to the vault"
 Sarah: "This is not a Graphic Novel, so let's try to stick to reality. We can't walk through walls or teleport through the universe."
  Eric: "Actually, they have perfected teleporting , but the government doesn't want us to know about it"
  Lauren: "Shut up. If you guys screw this up, I'm not going back to jail. I've still got that Pink Buffalo conviction hanging over my head."
  Sarah: "These mask are stupid. I don't want to be Barbie! Why should I be Barbie?"
  Lauren: "Shut up, Barbie. Put your lipstick on and you'll feel better."
  Eric: "Actually, that's true. The government puts Valium in lipstick because all women over 25 are crazy."
   Lauren: " Shut up and put your tights on Spiderman."
 Of course, I am making all this up. My children could never have gotten this far in a plan before someone (Sarah) tattled.  We always called her the Informant.

To Look Good Or To See Good hmmm....

  The sweet young girl who rips the hair from my face in an attempt to keep me from morphing into a generic human being, otherwise known as a man, kind of scolded me the other day. She said "Now, if you can leave your eyebrows alone for a month, I think next time we can shape them up and they will look real nice." Suddenly I felt like a five year old who just got caught cutting her own bangs.
 It's funny how, here at blah blah years old, I can be shot down so easily. I know I should leave my eyebrows alone as well as my bangs, but the rebel in me still wants control. I want to show up for work in flip flops and I don't care if it is a bank. I don't care if I have a turkey neck and arms like a flying squirrel, I want to wear a halter.
 To be a rebel or to live in bondage, I don't know whats worse. Do I put my glasses on a chain where I can find them, or wear those contacts that feel like two small pekingeses in my eyes.

The Best Things In Life Are Only A Memory Away

 I was listening to my new favorite CD, the newest Gillian Welch, and she was singing the words, "I spent my childhood walking the wild wood". It sounded like something my mother would have said.
 By today's standards, my mother's childhood was not an easy one, but her stories captivated me like a Jane Austin novel. She could make hoeing cotton sound romantic.
 Story telling is an art form many of the older folks in my family possessed. I used to love to hear my Uncle Dorsey recite family history. He had done a lot of research and hard work to get the facts, but the best stories were the ones handed down to him from my grandfather.
 I also loved listening to my father and his brothers reminisce. I remember a story about the three of them walking home from some job they had done. They were just little boys, but their father died, and they had to provide for their family. The boys took what was supposed to be a shortcut and got lost in the piny woods. Suddenly it started to rain, making it even harder to see where they were. When the rain became a down pour, the water rose so high, Daddy's brothers were carrying him to keep his head above water. They reached a clearing in the woods, just as the rain subsided, and turned to see a man staring at them. Daddy said he had a mean look and was holding an ax. Then they noticed the steel and realized he was warning them not to tell anyone about that place. They ran the rest of the way home.

 I was on the edge of my seat as I listened, even knowing they, obviously survived the ordeal.
  I also enjoy hearing my brothers reminisce and I have a few stories of my own now. But I'd like to hear what our children remember about their times together. That's my son in the blue and red coat, and these are his cousins. I want to know where that pile of dirt came from, (is there anything more fun for a kid than a pile of dirt) and what's the story with the dead flowers Chelsea is holding. I hope they can remember this day, because it seems like they had fun.

Fried Potatoe Memories

  A friend at work was telling me, yesterday, that when her family first came to this country and her brother was learning English, he tried to order some french fries at McDonald's. He kept saying potatoes and the girl kept telling him they did not serve potatoes. I could just see my friend's family sitting around telling that story and laughing. But when I thought about it, I wondered if that girl understood french fries were made from potatoes. Or most are, I'm not sure about McDonald's, although they are the best french fries in the world.
 When I was growing up, my mother made fried potatoes. They were different from french fries as they were still recognizable as potatoes. I was talking about this with my brother, Jerry, once. He was saying it was important to soak the potatoes in salt water before frying them. When Mom heard this, she laughed and said, the only reason she had soaked them in salt water was, because she was cooking for 10 people. This was the best way to keep the potatoes from turning brown before she could finish peeling and slicing them.
 Mom was an excellent fry cook, and we all have the arteries to prove it. She always used a large cast iron skillet and Crisco. We would likely all be dead by now, had she not discovered vegetable oil some time in the late 60's. But I think her magic was in that cast iron skillet. One of my ex-sisters in law used to call it her cauldron. She was not implying that Mom was a mean witch, this was one of my nicer ex-sisters in-law, but suggesting she was spooky in other ways. She dreamed things before they happened and always knew what her kids were up to. I think when God gives a woman that many children, He may also give her a heads up about whats going on. It's only fair.
 Fried potatoes are one of the many things I try to avoid these days. I'm not even sure where my iron skillet is, but it does sound good.

 Once, we were having one of those family get together things, and I was thinking about how everyone buys their chicken already fried. So I bought enough chicken thighs and legs to feed the whole tribe and fried them my self. After the first hour of standing over a hot stove, I remembered why I love KFC so much. The sad thing is, no one seemed all that impressed. It was just fried chicken. They ate it without ever realizing the love, devotion and hard work that went into it. Kind of like we were with Mom.