Was My Face Red

This time of year, I often think back to the days when I bundled up my children in their warm winters coats to head to the mall to see Santa.

Back then, I thought I would remember every conversation they had with the old man in red but all I can recall is the sight of their hair standing on end from the static of their puffy hoods.

Except, that's not true.

I remember one.

That year, I knew exactly what my two-and-half year old son would request from Santa.

To him, as long as a toy talked, walked or did something mechanical, he wanted it.

Most all of the toys he already had either talked, walked or did something mechanical.

Except, they didn't.

They all required batteries and I never had them.

He would come to me time and time again holding up a toy hoping I could make it work and I'd repeatedly say, "Oh, it needs batteries."

As he sat on Santa's lap this memorable year, he asked for a bird (his word for the red, talking parrot he ran to see every time we passed KB Toys at the mall).

He marveled at the "bird" who repeated everything he said as it frantically flapped its wings up and down.

And, as I predicted, he asked for a Mister Bucket.

Whenever the commercial came on, he delighted in the children running and laughing as they desperately tried to toss balls into the whirling bucket.

But, what he asked for next I didn't see coming.

At first, I didn't understand.

Neither did Santa.

"Ba-rees," he said.

Santa looked to me for help.

My son repeated much like the talking bird, "Ba-rees.  Ba-rees."

Was my face red when I finally got it and had to explain to Santa...

Batteries.

The year Santa got off easy.

Respect the title

I've had enough.

Every time I turn on the television, someone new is imitating him.

The impressions make him look like an idiot.

So far, I've seen actors, comedians and even a country music singer take a crack at him.

You know who I mean.

Colonel Sanders.

Just when I thought I had seen it all, the daytime soap opera, General Hospital, proved me wrong.

Let me explain.

I don't actually watch General Hospital.  I simply use it to take a little cat nap in the afternoon.

Here's my method.

Since I've always wondered what the English language sounds like to non-English speakers, I turn the TV volume down real low and focus on the sounds, not the words.

Before I know it, my unique technique puts me right to sleep.

But not on this day.

As I was ready to close my eyes, I saw the over-tanned, "extra crispy," actor George Hamilton posing as Colonel Sanders in some ridiculous story line.

My afternoon respite was ruined.

Don't get me wrong.

I had a crush on the handsome, tan, "Ryder Smith," I mean George Hamilton, when I was a kid and saw him in the teen movie, "Where the Boys Are."

(Obviously he started working on his tan back on the beach in Fort Lauderdale that faithful spring break.)

Back the late 60s, around the same time I was dreaming that Ryder Smith was my boyfriend, I imagined the Colonel was my grandfather.

(My television relationships ran deep.)

In his thick southern accent, Grandpa Sanders, I mean the Colonel, told me how he cooked his famous chicken, in commercials of course.

He felt like family with his kind, gentle demeanor.

He even wore glasses like my dad's.

I craved his finger lickin' chicken cooked with eleven secret herbs and spices.

And on a lucky day, after some serious begging, I'd ride along with my mother to our local KFC and bring home the red and white striped bucket of chicken and hunt for the legs.

Unlike Ryder, however, Colonel Sanders was a real man.

Ok, not a real Colonel.

He was given the honorary title by the Governor of Kentucky for his service to the community, state and nation!

For this, the man deserves respect.

Colonel Sanders had a hard life filled with failures.

"One has to remember that every failure can be a stepping stone to something better," the Colonel once said.

Interestingly, he didn't succeed in business until well into his sixties proving that hard work and perseverance pays off.

And once he made his fortune, he gave it away.

"There's no reason to be the richest man in the cemetery.  You can't do any business from there," he said.

Take that Ryder Smith.

I mean George Hamilton.

Oh yea, and Reba McIntyre.

Leave my grandpa alone!  I mean the Colonel!

Happy National Etch A Sketch Day!

When I saw the book, A Separate Peace, on one of the front tables at Barnes and Nobles today, my heart sank.

I remember the misery of being a not-so-good student and trying to write a book report on it in middle school.

Snapping a quick picture of the cover, I sent it to my sister with the comment, "Oh dear."

Thank goodness she helped me put my thoughts into words for that assignment. It's a shared memory that we can laugh at now.

Sorta.

Writing was never my strong suit.

I still don't consider myself a writer.

But give me the floor and I'll tell you a story.

A dear friend texted me today to say, "Happy National Etch A Sketch Day!"

Hearing about this special day, I felt compelled to write to thank you all, my friends and family, who support me as I tell my stories through, "Musings, Morals & Bees."

Your comments have made me feel like a writer and a professional Etch A Sketcher.

But mostly, I've felt the love from friends old and new and near and far.

It's an incredible feeling.

I feel a bit like George Bailey in, "It's a Wonderful Life," really.

I'm the richest gal in town!

Happy National Etch A Sketch Day!

Treasures can be found in unlikely places

Years ago, I saw a sign that read, "One man's trash is another man's treasure."

That saying doesn't apply to me.

I have my own saying.

"My trash is my treasure."

As I cleaned out the bathroom closet today, I found a tupperware container filled with the most random items.

A charger for something that is most likely obsolete, the toy paint brush from my son's Little Tikes workshop that has a rough handle tip from where our beloved old dog chewed it, a scoop of pretend chocolate ice cream with a cherry on top that came with my daughter's play food collection, a big dice or a die if you're stickler for grammar, a hair clip and some dental floss.

Oh yea, and a piece of velcro. Both sides.

Honestly, I have no idea how these things landed in a bowl in my bathroom closet or how long they've been there.

Most people would have chunked the entire bowl into the trash clearing up valuable real estate on the closet shelf.

Not me.  I felt each item needed close attention.

Since I had cleverly labeled a section of the closet, "dental," I added the floss to the collection of floss boxes, extra tooth brushes and toothpaste.

The hair clip joined all of my other hair clips that I don't actually wear in one of my drawers.

But, as for the other items, I simply left them in the tupperware.

Maybe later I will take the paint brush and put it with the workshop that still sits in my basement.

My son loved his workshop.  And the evidence that our little dog chewed the handle makes the paint brush even more special.

And I will happily put the little scoop of ice cream in the big tupperware of play food I keep as well.

Not so sure about the die.

The fact is, these little items remind me of my children.

For some people, these random toys would be trash.

To me, they are treasured memories of a time gone by.

As for the charger, I suppose I can toss it into the trash but that will take some doing.

But I'm definitely keeping the velcro.

I might need it.

Treasures behind the closet door. 

What's behind yours?

A total eclipse and a blog

While millions of people waited with their special glasses to watch the total eclipse of the sun today, I sat on my back porch thinking about one of my favorite childhood TV shows, "Family Affair."

To be specific, the Tidal Wave episode.

Uncle Bill sits on the couch with his twin niece and nephew, Buffy and Jody, waiting for a rumored tidal wave to hit New York City.

The young twins are scared that the tidal wave will hit their New York apartment building and wash them away to sea. 

(Via the Hudson River?  I never understood that part.  Also, note to self.  Remind my kids who live in NYC of potential tidal waves.)

Back to the story.

Suddenly, the wind rattles the windows and glass breaks.

It's no big deal.  Just Mr French, the butler, who accidentally breaks a glass in the kitchen.

As my husband and I anxiously awaited the total eclipse, I felt a lot like Buffy and Jody. (Except I don't have a butler and an eclipse isn't devastating like a tidal wave)

But supposedly, odd things would happen causing some angst.

The temperature would drop, my dog would act oddly and birds and other wildlife would think night time was approaching and respond accordingly.  

Since we failed to buy special viewing glasses, we could only participate from the covered porch.

Excitedly, we headed out around 1:15 pm to sit and wait.

We put the dog inside to ensure he didn't get spooked and run away or accidentally look up at the sun.

Scratch that, the dog went inside on his own accord because it was hot and he doesn't like the heat. 

The dog had the right idea.  I found myself waiting for the moon to cool me off.  

The birds were chirping but it sounded like their typical daytime song. 

I couldn't wait to hear the change to their evening song but wondered if I would actually notice the difference.  

At 1:40 pm, still no changes not even with the heat.

(My mind drifted back to the tidal wave episode.  Why wasn't big sister Sissy home during such a bad storm.  These are the details that plagued me as a child and oddly still do.)

Before I knew it, an hour had passed and so had the moon.

We didn't see Bailey's Beads.  We didn't see the snakes dancing on the ground.  We didn't even hear the birds change their tune.

In my backyard, the eclipse simply made a sunny day turn cloudy while the temperature remained as hot as ever.

Again, I felt a bit like Buffy and Jody since nothing ever happened.

I've already marveled at the pictures shared by my friends who experienced it and I watched daylight turn to darkness via the news coverage down south.

I would have loved to have seen it.

On a brighter note, I found myself writing on "Musings, Morals and Bees."

Interestingly, today was not only the total eclipse of the sun, the day marks one full year since I've written a blog.

A full year.  A total eclipse. Seems cosmic.

If only I could tie it all together with an episode of "Family Affair."

But all I can think of is when Buffy lost Mrs Beasley, her doll that looked like an old lady. (Which they sold in the stores but I never wanted.  I only wanted young, pretty dolls.)

I guess I "lost" motivation to write for a year.

At least Buffy found Mrs Beasley in a matter of days.

Hopefully I won't wait until April 8, 2024 to write again.

But, if I do and I'm motivated by an eclipse, I hope I will have found the special viewing glasses by then.

August 21, 2017: A total eclipse of the sun and a blog.
Thanks to my happy friend Heidi for the amazing personalized Etch-A-Sketch! I love it!

Choose amazing

I have a problem.

When it's extremely hot outside, I become a repeater.

The phrasing may vary from "It's hot," "It's so hot out here," to "I'm hot," but one thing's for sure, it's always repeated.

Last weekend the temperatures soared.  With the heat index, at times it felt like 105 degrees.

Even our friends who were visiting from South Carolina thought it was hot and that's saying something when you're from South Carolina.

Unfortunately, I couldn't stop myself from complaining and repeating since we spent most of the weekend outdoors.

I had to be annoying our guests.  I know I was annoying myself. And then, I remembered a story.

Recently, I noticed a friend wearing a "hair tie" on his wrist.

Since he has more of a buzz cut than enough hair for a man bun, I figured he was holding on to it for his wife.

Later he explained that the coated rubber band served a purpose.

Every time he has a negative thought, he pops the band against his wrist to "snap out of it."

As the blistering sun beat on my face, I considered putting a hair tie around my wrist to snap myself every time I moaned, "It's hot."

But, I quickly realized my wrists would become raw and bloody. And when it comes to pain, I'm also a repeater and no one would have wanted to hear about that.

So I devised a new plan focusing on positivity.

Every time I said something about the heat, I replaced the word "hot" with "amazing."

Suddenly, I was repeating, "It's an amazing day!" "It's amazing out here." "What an amazing day."

Before I knew it, my outlook changed.

Just using the word "amazing" made me smile.

Even though I continued to repeat myself, at least I sounded positive.

From now on, I will try to remind myself that anything can be amazing... sitting in traffic, a long line at the grocery store, bad service at a restaurant and any extreme weather.

I've read that the east coast will be colder than usual this winter.

Surely, my new found coping method will come in handy when it arrives.

I guess I can say, I'm looking forward to one amazing winter and I repeat... amazing.

What an amazing day at the baseball game! Only 105 degrees!

Same time, same feeling

I wonder when the sight of them won't make me sad.

This time of year, I run into them often and every time I do, my heart drops.

Today, I watched the two of them smiling and laughing together as they walked through the shopping center parking lot.

After they put their purchases in her trunk, she gave him a hug goodbye since they had arrived in separate cars.

The hug was something I hadn't seen before.

As I passed them, I couldn't resist letting them know how I felt.

I rolled down my window and said, "You two have to stop breaking my heart."

"I'm sneaking in hugs while I can," she said.

I certainly understood that.

Although I didn't actually know them, I knew exactly who they were.

A mother and her son preparing for him to leave for college.

Their purchases gave them away, a collegiate comforter, a bed topper and a trash can shaped like a basketball hoop.

My son and I had bought similar things when we were doing the same thing.

As I drove away, I felt a lump in my throat.

Six years after college shopping with my son, I'm crying at the stoplight.

When my son graduated two years ago, he moved to New York City.

After 23 years, our house was permanently child free.

Even though I've adjusted to the so-called "empty nest" and love my life with my husband, I still miss my children.

Of course, they come home to visit for long weekends and holidays.

But that's just it.

It's a visit.

When they're home, life as we knew it returns.

Coffee on the back porch, dinner around the kitchen table, chocolate chip cookies made from a refrigerated roll, lounging around the family room.

Just "breathing each other's oxygen," I like to joke.

For a few days, I get my old job back. I am a mom taking care of my children.

I sleep soundly through the night knowing my family is under one roof.

It never lasts long enough.

Maybe one day I will look at a mother and son shopping for college and think, I'm glad that's not me.

But not yet.

Maybe not ever.

Quite honestly, I love the memory despite the tears.

I love all of the memories.

To my children I say, thank you for coming home when you can and for warmly welcoming us when we visit.

To my husband I say, isn't it great we have the dog!

Those were the days