Upside-down Sundays

There's something about Sunday afternoons. For as long as I can remember, they have been a source of anxiousness for me.

As a kid, I remember hanging upside-down on the couch and yelling at my mother.

"I'm bor-r-r-red," I whined. "What's for din-n-n-ner," I belted out repeatedly. "What can I do-o-o-o?" I cried upside-down.

I'm not sure what caused this unusual, restless behavior. 

Maybe it was the fact that Sunday wasn't a big play day in the neighborhood.

Perhaps, it was the fact that the television blared one football game after another.

Or, it could have been the realization that the weekend was coming to an end and the anxiety of returning to school was setting in.

I'm simply not sure.

Interesting thing is, I still get that restless, unsettled feeling on Sunday afternoons. 

Much like my childhood days, Sundays still tend to be relaxed, unplanned days and football plays throughout the day.

At least school is a distant memory.

I should welcome the carefree, easy going feeling of Sunday afternoon. I should kick back and read a book or watch a movie. 

Of course, there are plenty of things I could do.  I should do. That I need to do. Clean out a closet, a cabinet, even a drawer. 

I just don't want to.

Honestly, I'd rather just hang upside-down on the couch... and whine.

Feeling Sunday upside-down

. 

Positivity challenge but not a chain

My heart pounded when I found a chain letter addressed to me in the mailbox when I was about 10 years old. A chain letter for me!

I excitedly ran to the house ready to do my part.

After reading it carefully, I was to copy it, in handwriting, and send it on, by US Postal Service, to seven of my closest friends instructing them to do the same.

I'll also never forget my mother's reaction to my exciting chain letter.

"Absolutely not," she said. Seemed chain letters were the work of the devil in her eyes.

I never knew why she felt so strongly about a chain letter but the horrific feeling she instilled in me was everlasting.

A few days ago, I received a chain letter of sorts from a dear friend on Facebook.

I was invited to take part in a Positivity Challenge. I was to post three positive things for five days on Facebook and ask three friends to participate each day of the process by tagging them on their page.

That fateful chain letter day resonated in my head along with my mother's voice.

"Absolutely not," I could hear my mother say.

To this day, her influence runs deep in my veins. The memory of my mother's reaction paired with my fear of commitment, made me decline the invitation.

However, I loved the idea of being positive and appreciate my friend for stirring up positive thoughts and images in my mind ever since.

After days of pondering what is positive in my life, I realized many of my good thoughts come from the people I love and care for and what they are experiencing in their own lives.

*  My friend and her husband taking their beautiful newborn, baby boy home from the hospital

*  My friend enjoying a weekend visit from her son who now lives across the country
   
*  My father-in-law spending a month near his beloved Chesapeake Bay

*  My young friend who is like a daughter to me setting up her new kindergarten classroom

*  My nephew pastoring at his own church

Positive thoughts also flood into my mind when I think of the major moments in the lives of my family and the important times I have with family and friends.

*  My son on his first business trip

*  My daughter moving into her very own apartment

*  My upcoming weekend with my family of four

*  My weekends filled with good friends and good times

*  My monthly Bunco group with 11 treasured women

And, thanks to the little things in life, I see positivity around me from morning to night.

*  My cup of coffee every morning that greets me like a warm friend

*  A delicious cucumber from my neighbor's abundant garden

*  Looking up at the starry sky when I take the dog out at night

*  My dog's fast-wagging tail every time I look his way

*  My bag of bite-sized Dove dark chocolate squares with little messages in the wrappers

Fortunately, my list goes on and on. My cup runneth over.

I know my mother would approve of me recognizing all the positive thoughts in my life...
as long as it's not in a chain letter.

I love real mail delivered by the mailman too!
But, please, no chain letters.

No more tears

On my birthday, I often find myself singing the 1963 pop song, "It's my party and I'll cry if I want to."

Interestingly or should I say oddly, as a child, I actually did cry every year on my birthday. It seemed the tears came after the candles were blown out and we were eating cake.

Don't misunderstand, I didn't have big overwhelming parties like the ones I threw for my children with lots of kids, Disney themes and guest performers.

My parties consisted of my parents, three siblings, two cousins and my best friend Alice. We simply gathered to eat cake.

But, even that seemed too much for me to handle.

When I was about four or five, I had an unexplainable fear of having my picture taken. Every time someone snapped a photo of me, I cried. A lot.

I have proof in a old, family photo album. In a small, square photograph, I'm sitting in front of my birthday cake holding my hand out in front of my angry, red, tear-stained face shielding it from the focus of the camera.

This unusual "fear of the camera" stage still amuses my brother to this day.

When I was seven, my aunt carefully brushed my hair and clipped it up into a fun party hair style. Wearing my favorite, blue jumper with white polka dots and sporting my cute up-do, I was feeling rather fancy as I blew out my candles.

Unfortunately, someone made a comment about my hair while I was eating cake. This sent me reeling and running to my room where I cried hysterically and viciously ripped the barrette from my hair. The memory remains oddly fresh in my mind.

I guess I just didn't like the attention.

All that has changed.

These days, I have to admit, I love my birthday. I happily accept all the well-wishes and attention that come my way.

I look forward to my dear friend making a lemon pound cake for me like my mother used to make.

I  can't wait to see how my husband will surprise me each year.

I anxiously await the arrival of the annual box filled with fun gifts from my sister.

I treasure the cards and emails I get from my family, friends and yes, even the stores I frequent.

I simply embrace everything about the day even though it means I'm getting older by the minute.

This year, as I blow out my candles on my homemade lemon pound cake, I will smile as I think of all the support and encouragement I have received this past year from my dear friends and family.

Although I won't be wearing my hair pulled up in a clip, I will allow my picture to be taken. And, I think I will switch up my tune, "It's my birthday and I'll smile cause I want to!"

Happy Birthday to me! And my blog!

Today, I share my birthday with my blog, Musings, Morals & Bees. It is one-year-old.

Thank you all who have supported and encouraged me as I've shared my musings on everything from Barbies to fireflies. Your support is an ongoing birthday gift!

Hard-headed in the right direction

When my daughter was born, she had a head full of dark hair and olive skin. She didn't look a thing like me. She looked exactly like my husband.

A few years later, on July 23, the baby I had always envisioned came into my life when my son was born. He was blond and fair ... and looked like me.

I'll admit. I liked it.

As he grew up, I saw more similarities between us. I found myself repeating the phrases I had heard when I was a child.

"You're so hard-headed," I would say just as my grandmother had said to me.

"You won't take no for an answer," which were words straight from my mother's mouth.

He frustrated me.

But, if truth be told, I liked it. He made me laugh with his undying determination. He impressed me when he figured out how to get just about everything he wanted.

Over the years, however, what has impressed me more is how he is determined to help others.

If you are in search of something, he won't rest until he finds it for you.

If you don't understand how to work something, he will figure out how to fix it for you or will help you understand how to do it yourself.

If you have a problem, like a wise owl he is ready to disperse a few short lines of wisdom.

I am proud to be like him but even more proud of the ways he is different from me.

As he celebrates his birthday today, I hope he feels as special as he makes others feel. I hope he laughs the way he, and only he, can make me laugh. And, I hope his determination keeps getting him where he wants to go and blessing the rest of us.

Happy Birthday to my wise son!

Your cake!

It's as simple as looking up

When I traveled to Paris last year with my daughter, she repeated over and over again, "Look up." 

But looking up wasn't easily done as I tried to navigate down unfamiliar streets while constantly guarding my pocket book.

When I finally focused on raising my eyes as we walked through the city, I discovered all the amazing things the city had to offer. I saw the most beautiful doorways and rooftops, gargoyles and carvings, bridge views and breathtaking vistas. I now understand why they call Paris "The City of Light." 

I recently discovered that the practice of "looking up" is equally important at home as it is in a beautiful, foreign city. 

One of my favorite things about summer is seeing the first lightning bug.  I feel like a kid when I spy the little light flitting about the yard. 

Since I have been taking a dog out for the last 14 years, I have seen my share of lightning bugs. They never cease to delight me.  

Last week when I did my nightly dog duty, I saw the first lightning bug of the season. I smiled as I welcomed the first sign of summer. A few nights later, I saw at least 50 little lights blinking across the yard. I went to bed happy.

But then, a night later, I saw the most incredible sight. After years of nightly visits to the yard with a dog, I looked up.

In the trees lining our backyard, I saw the most spectacular light show. Thousands of lightning bugs twinkled like stars in the trees. 

I felt like Dorothy in "The Wizard of Oz." "If I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I won't look any further than my own back yard."

Well, I won't go quite that far. 

I appreciate seeing new parts of the world and I will always treasure the sight of the sparkling Eiffel Tower lighting up the night sky.

But for a magical, simple pleasure this summer, I'll just take the dog out... and look up.

I have my own city of light.

My city of light! What a gift.

Better than ruby slippers

My husband and I exchanged our wedding vows 30 years ago today. We repeated after the minister. For better for worse. Check. For richer or poorer. Check. In sickness and in health. Check again.

Little did I know that my husband had another vow in mind that he would check off from that day forward. If he had written it in, he would have said, "I will do my best to make all your wishes come true." It's almost as if I was granted the pair of ruby slippers I had always wanted. 

Over the years, he has taken me to places I've always wanted to see. He has given me the most heartfelt gifts. And, he has carefully looked out for me as we've navigated through life together.

When our daughter was born and suddenly I was at home all day with a brand new baby, he brought home a couple of cassette tapes. (Itunes had not yet been invented.) He thought I would enjoy the company of some new music. I loved his thoughtfulness.

I also loved the Gloria Estefan cassette tape he picked out. I sang along to "Don't Want to Lose You" and "Cuts Both Ways." I took the tape in the car, on trips and played it as background music when friends came over. But, somewhere along the way, the cassette disappeared. 

When Christmas rolled around, he asked me what I wanted. I'm sure I gave him quite a list but one thing I knew I wanted was the missing cassette tape by Gloria Estefan.

I wrote: Gloria Estefan tape, the one we had, the one we lost.

Christmas morning arrived. No doubt he had checked off my list. I figured I would find the cassette at the bottom of my stocking. But it wasn't there. He explained. 

He had searched several music stores for Gloria Estefan's, "The One We Had, The One We Lost."  On Christmas Eve, he headed to Tower Records, the largest music story in our area.

"I'm looking for Gloria Estefan's, 'The One We Had, The One We Lost,'" he said to the store clerk. 

She replied, "I've never heard of it."

Slightly irritated, he said, "You must have. We used to have it."

After exhausting all possibilities, she invited him to look through a big box filled with old cassettes they kept behind the counter. After riffling through the box to no avail, he finally gave up. 

Giving up was not an easy task for him since it's not in his nature and he wanted to give me exactly what I wanted.

After telling me the story of how he had searched all the music stores, how he had confronted the store clerk and how he had sat on the floor and dug through the big box of old cassettes, he asked, "Are you sure that's the name of the album?" 

That's when I had to tell him, "No. All I know is, it's the one we had, but we lost it."

I can't remember what his reaction was nor can I remember what I actually got for Christmas that year. However, I will always remember what he went through to give me exactly what I wanted.

In the end, his effort to make me happy was far better than any real gift he could have given me.

The story of the "One We Had, The One We Lost" has been told time and time again. And every time I tell it, I'm reminded of how my husband has spent the last 30 years trying his hardest to give me everything my heart desires. I guess I don't need ruby slippers after all.

With these slippers, I thee wed.

  

Eleven years of wonderful

I realize how much television and movies have influenced me when I try to describe my mother. Like Mary Poppins, she was "practically perfect in every way."

Other references  that come to mind ... the first line from the "Love Story" theme, "Everybody Loves Raymond" and a line spoken by Julia Roberts in the movie, "Steel Magnolias."

I can hear Andy Williams crooning, "Where do I begin?" I could belt it out myself.

Where do I begin to tell the story of how great a mom can be? It's impossible for me to explain all that made her wonderful. 

My mother had a knack for turning ordinary household items into the most magical play things. She knew how to make everything special. 

A jar of buttons in all shapes, sizes and colors poured onto a tray was one of my favorite past times. I loved comparing them, sorting them and picking out my favorite ones. I just wasn't good at sharing them.

A small paper bag filled with the rubber rings from Mason jar tops could keep me occupied for hours. The rings became my bracelets that painfully pinched the hairs on my arms as I pushed them up to my elbow. I loved to toss them, stack them and count them. Again, I just wasn't good at sharing them. 

My mother could fold a piece of white paper and make a few cuts and suddenly I had a string of paper dolls all holding hands. She cut the bottoms out of paper cups and behold,  I had a pair of sandals. She turned a bowl full of water and a bit of dish washing liquid into a giant mountain of bubbles with a few cranks from an old-fashioned hand-mixer. Before I knew it,  I had the most magnificent foamy drinks for my tiny tea sets. Pretend drinks, of course. 

Like Raymond, everybody loved my mother. My family, my cousins, my neighbors, even my classmates.

Every Easter, she would make candy bunnies for my class using pastel colored marshmallow eggs. She carefully cut pieces of marshmallows and stuck them on as long ears and bobbed tails. And, finished them off by meticulously painting eyes, a nose and whiskers.

Since she saved everything from my childhood, I still have the thank you notes addressed to her that were carefully printed from each student. They are in a box with all of my Valentines, report cards, birthday cards and art projects in my basement. 

I know it's a fire hazard but the boxes of keepsakes are my connection to my past...my connection to my mother.

Everything about her was special. And though I only had her for eleven years, I wouldn't trade my short time with her for a lifetime with any other mother.

In the words of Shelby in "Steel Magnolias," Julia Roberts says, "I would rather have thirty minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special."

Happy Mother's Day to my mother. A woman who created my most treasured memories, who was loved by everyone and who, quite simply, was wonderful.

Thank you for all of the wonderful!