RIP – Chuck Yeager. There are a lot of pilots in my family and Chuck was always a great hero to all of them.
Chuck was raised in West Virginia and he took great pride from being from West Virginia, his entire life. I have travelled through West Virginia many, many times in my life. I was raised in western Pennsylvania. Many people from my high school’s graduating class attended West Virginia University. West Virginia gets a bad rap. It is wildly beautiful, mountainous, and free. You feel an awesome respect for what a tiny, fragile speck of nature, you really are, when you drive through the windy, treacherous, mountain roads of West Virginia, with the breath-taking spectacular views, everywhere you look. There is a reason why “Take Me Home, Country Roads” is one of John Denver’s most loved songs. It was written and sung with such heartfelt devotion:
“Almost heaven, West Virginia Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River Life is old there, older than the trees Younger than the mountains, growin’ like a breeze”
People like to make fun of West Virginians for being “backwards” and “under-developed.” But I scoff at that, just as they do. The people who I know, whose roots are West Virginian, are strong, faithful, brave, salt of the earth, prideful, authentic and courageous – very much like Chuck Yeager. They don’t give one hoot what the rest of us think about West Virginia, or its people. Like Chuck, they fly under the radar, beyond the speed of sound, because they know that they live in a multi-faceted, untouched, gorgeous jewel- a hidden gem tucked in the corner of our country’s jewel box. And they don’t feel the need to prove that fact to anybody.
I hope everyone had a nice weekend. I was reflecting on one of those “coming into my age” moments. Last week, I was having a Zoom meeting with my mentee, who is in the 4th grade. She made a reference comparing me to her grandparents.
“Oh,” I said, trying to hide the horror and shock I was feeling, in my voice. “So, you think that I’m about the age of your grandparents?” I looked off to the side, trying to look casual and only mildly interested.
“Oh, no, no,” she said, not so convincingly.
But then I thought about it more. Her mother is in her twenties. I have a son who is 24 years old. If her grandmother also had her mother in her young twenties, there is even a chance that her grandparents are younger than I am. Things That Make You Go, Hmmmmm.
Good morning, friends and readers. It is Christmas decorating day, here at my household, so I wrote a poem about it. My regular readers know that Sunday is devoted to poetry here at Adulting- Second Half. I consider Sunday to be a “poetry workshop space”, like Santa’s workshop, but we work with words here. Be like a poetry elf, and add your own additions to my Comments section, if you please. Today’s poem that I wrote is more “tongue in cheek” that my usual offerings. It’s just my mood today.
The Day Has Come
Why does decorating for Christmas change every year?
Sometimes it is something that I do, which I love and adore,
Sometimes it is nothing but a big, fat, ugly chore,
Sometimes I question if that ratty angel is starting to look like a whore,
Sometimes I only decorate, so to not seem like a grinch or a bore,
Sometimes the nostalgia rips me apart, right at my very core,
Sometimes I close a box and remind myself that “less is more”,
Sometimes the lights don’t work again, and we have to go to the store,
Sometimes I get competitive, as if our decorations get assigned a score,
Sometimes decorating gets precarious, and I have to yell “Fore!”
When it seems like the tree could fall over, and make a mess on the floor.
But in the end, when complete, the decorations make me revel in AMORE,
For, the feeling of hope and wonder is something that always stays the same.
“Beautiful things don’t ask for attention.” – Sean Penn, quote from The Secret Life of Walter Mitty
A friend of mine recently asked me why I never write about Josie, our collie. Do you still have her? Yes, of course, she still lives with us. Josie is a gem. I never write about Josie, because she is perfect. We never write about the perfect things in our lives, do we? The perfect things, we totally and completely, take for granted.
Josie is stunningly beautiful. Her coloring is succinctly divine. Sometimes people gasp when they see her. She’s that pretty. Recently, we were walking the three pups and two sisters passed us. (I know that they were sisters because they had the exact same face, just different hair.) The seemingly more outgoing sister exclaimed, “Oh my God! That collie is GORGEOUS!!”
The less outgoing, and probably more people-pleasing sister quickly blurted in, “They’re all beautiful. All of the puppies are beautiful!” She said this frantically, as if Ralph and Trip could understand the words, and had their feelings hurt.
Josie prances as she walks, and her tail swishes back and forth, with its perfect little white tip, so engagingly and tantalizingly perfect. Not to be weird, but her tail swishing is kind of alluring and sexy, in a way. If she weren’t spayed, she would drive male dogs mad with desire. Josie crosses her front paws when she lays down, ladylike and coy. Her white mane looks like a ravishing fur stole. Josie is Audrey Hepburn in dog form.
We got Josie when she was eight months old. She was raised by a young man with Down Syndrome. I suppose that must have had a huge influence on her beautiful, kind, gentle and calm nature. We never had to train Josie. She never messed in the house. She walks on a lead like a dream. Josie, always sweetly, lets strange children come up to kiss her on her long, elegant collie nose, without a flinch. She guards Ralphie ferociously, as he swims in the pool and she licks Trip clean of the spray from Ralphie’s water shakes. Josie’s maternal instinct runs deep in her bones and it shows. She doesn’t like squirrels and she probably barks too much at them, but that’s okay. I don’t like squirrels either. Our dog trainer said that there is no doubt that Josie is the lead dog in our house. She is queen bee in a stealth way. She only raises her voice when she (barks) at squirrels. Yet, supposedly, she rules the roost. Trip and Ralphie, obviously revere her and adore her in equal measure. (much like the rest of us)
We named Josie after a beloved, bonding family trip to Yosemite National Park. Yosemite turned into an easier to say, “Josie”. I honestly was pretty hesitant to give Josie my full heart. Her predecessor was Lacey, the first collie who stole my heart and who will own a piece of my devoted heart forever. Lacey is/was a legend in our family lore. Still, Josie has wormed her way into my vein of utter devotion. And she never tried to force her way in. Josie just wakes up every morning, ever loving, ever joyful, ever elegant, and yet ever uninhibited. And I thank God every day for her absolute divine presence. I don’t write about Josie, because I don’t want to jinx anything. Josie is almost too good to be true. Josie is perfect.
The holidays are upon us. Around these parts, the Christmas decorations in people’s yards seem to have gone up extra early, many even before Thanksgiving. I’m not sure if this is people wanting to fast forward everything to the end of 2020, or people just being in dire need of extra cheer. My guess is that it is a little bit of a mix of both things. Anyway, we’ll be putting our decorations up this weekend, which is on par with our typical schedule every year (creatures of habit, I suppose). Happy Friday, friends!!! My regular readers know that Fridays are devoted to “the stuff” in life. On Friday, I discuss three favorite things, or websites, or books, or beauty products, etc. that have made my life more interesting and fun. Welcome to Favorite Things Friday!! Please check out previous Friday listings for more of my favorites and please add your favorites to my Comments section. Here are my favorites for today:
Nature Made CholestOff – I have given blood three times this year. This is more often than most years, truthfully, because I have been monitoring my coronavirus antibodies, but still, giving blood is a good thing to do for yourself and for others, for a myriad of reasons. While I have been disappointed, after each session with my antibody results (negative so far), more alarmingly, my cholesterol readings were a tad scary, from my first two results, from giving blood. I am always loathe to recommend supplements to anyone. Of course, you should always discuss supplements with your doctor before taking them. That being said, I have been taking this supplement for the last few months, without changing my eating habits too much. I was happy to see that my cholesterol reading was the lowest that it has been this year, after this last session of giving blood. And that was from blood given a few days after our Thanksgiving feast. (butter, sausage stuffing, turkey, gravy – in other words, “Cholestafest!”)
Zuke’s Mini Naturals – It turns out (as per our dog trainer) that we have been way too generous with our giant dog treats for minimum good behavior from our fur friends. We have a lot of lessons to teach our canine trio, and we don’t want them to get fat in the process. Zuke’s treats have 3 calories each and those little crumbs must pack a lot of flavor, because our dogs are willing to do their “whole bag of tricks” for one little morsel. I order my bags of Zuke’s on Amazon.
Marco Poloapp – This is a fun app. I didn’t think I would like it, but a teacher friend was raving about it, and I am a curious person. Basically, it is an app that allows you to send out recorded video messages to each other, without having to be available at the same time. I don’t like being on video. I don’t like watching videos. (I’m always looking for the written transcript.) Yet, I still had a lot of fun with this yesterday. I sent my friend a few videos of me, all masked up, in the hair salon. She was patient with my learning curve, and like the excellent teacher who she is, she encouraged my effort and told me that she was proud of me. (I hope that she saw that I was beaming under my mask)
Have a wonderful, comforting, restful, hopeful, brightly lit weekend, my friends!!!!
My daughter and I were in the car the other day, and an indicator lit up on my dashboard. My heart lurched. I felt kind of panicky and uneasy. It turned out to be my low fuel indicator. I needed to get gas. I hadn’t seen that indicator in so long, it alarmed me. Just another crazy thing about this pandemic situation, I suppose. My response did make me laugh out loud, so that is a good thing.
We were driving home from giving blood. We were hoping that we each had miraculous coronavirus antibodies, but alas, the test results came back today, and we didn’t. However, I did get smacked upside the head with the reality of my pandemic pork out. I’ve let calories be my units of comfort. I realize that I have needed too much “comforting” this past year. I tried to avert my eyes from the scale, but it lit up like my dashboard indicator. “Wake up and smell the coffee, lady” seems to be the message all of the way around.
I saw this on a sign the other day:
“We are responsible for everything that goes into our mouths and everything that comes out of them.”
I think that sign was tailor made for me. I need to be more cognizant on both accounts. I suppose it is good to enter the holidays, with a good reality check. Watch what goes into my mouth and what comes out of it, keep up my oil changes (in both my car and in my body- by regularly giving blood), and recognize when I am low on fuel and running on fumes, before the brightly lit indicators start happening. These are good things to recognize before the thrust of the holidays is upon us and the warning indicators get lost in the jumble of brightly colored twinkle lights.
We were shelling on the beach over the weekend. The shells that had landed on the beach were unbelievably beautiful and varied. It had been a long, long time since there had been such an unbelievable array of colorful and unusual shells for the taking. It turns out that times around the full moon are supposed to be the best times to find truly unique shells on any particular beach. We found large conch shells, and clam shells that were so brightly yellow and orange, you would have assumed they had been painted. There were piles of pearly snail shells which were so neatly arranged that my daughter wondered if someone had collected them and put them there, but it turns out, these piles were all over the beach, like leopard spots. I got excited and inspired enough by the experience, to order a book about the different varieties of shells on Amazon. It felt like a brand new, interesting experience, even though I have been shelling on beaches since I was a little girl. I got excited and reacquainted with the treasure hunt feel of it all, all over again.
Friends, this year has been an incredibly difficult and somewhat disillusioning year. A lot of things that make us energized and excited have gone dormant under layers of worry and concern and fatigue. But those things which arouse and delight us, are still there, underneath it all. Like finding a long lost piece of jewelry or another treasured thing, long considered gone forever, the experiences which make us feel moved and aflame, will happen again. We will surprise ourselves with the remembered feelings of delight and aliveness which these dormant experiences will bring us, when life starts to feel lighter again.
The beautiful shells that appeared on the beach, were always there. Some of them are hundreds, maybe even thousands of years old. It’s just that they got covered up by heavy sand and high tides from storms and winds and tossing seas. But on a calm, cloudless day, the sun shown its light on the glistening shells, and the moon smiled her blessing on the banquet of abundant gifts which she had bequeathed to the beach combers. And as the beach combers picked up their perfectly lovely gifts, to examine them closer and to hold them gently in their hands, near to their peaceful hearts, the shellers remembered how perfectly, naturally loved they were, and how perfectly and naturally loved, they have always, always been.
Hi friends! Don’t be offended. It’s Monday-Funday. I honestly love seeing kids in the neighborhood, and there isn’t snow in these parts where I live, but I couldn’t help but laugh at this meme. I grew up in Pennsylvania where there was plenty of snow. Our bus stop was at the corner lot and we would all gather on the neighbor’s tiny front porch to stay warm until the bus came. Every early morning during the winter, we would all be huddled up on those sweet people’s front porch, until one of us would dare to leave the porch and start a snowball fight. And they never said a peep about it. These neighbors were older. They didn’t have young children. I don’t even know if I knew their names, but here I am writing about their kindness, over forty years later. Kindness counts. Have a great day!
Good morning, dear friends and readers. On Sundays, I devote this blog to poetry. I either write a poem, or I share a poem, and I strongly encourage you to share your poems in my Comments section. Poems have a way of broadening thought and deepening emotion, like no other form of writing can do. Today, I share two poems written by other people. The first poem, “Cranky Old Man”, is attributed to an Australian man, named David Griffith. David was living in a nursing home and this poem was found by his nurses, in his things, after he died. It has since been shared widely around the world. Thank you, to my dear friend, who shared it with me this week. The second poem, I found on Twitter. I am at the age when a lot of people who I know, are on their second marriages, and I thought that the poem was sweet and romantic and hopeful, for those relationships, especially. Have a restful, rejuvenating, reinvigorating, and restorative end of your weekend, as we enter into the holiday season. See you, tomorrow, my dear friends and readers.
Pat (Our “Elf on the Shelf” – on an aside, Pat is named Pat because Pat is gender fluid. Some years Pat is a girl elf and some years Pat is a boy elf. It all depends if Pat wears the skirt or not, on any particular year. Also, sometimes Pat wears a skirt when Pat is a boy elf and that is perfectly okay, too.)
Pat – So, we need to talk about my retirement options.
Me – (under my breath) – Oh thank you, God.
Pat – Your kids are aging out of this little tradition of ours. In fact, I’d say they aged out a few years ago, but I get it, the youngest kids hang on to their childhoods for dear life. They think that their parents may fall apart if they don’t. That’s a heavy weight for the youngest children to bear. And let’s be honest, you’ve been a tad lackadaisical with your part of the bargain, lady, the last few years. Last Christmastime, I think that you moved me twice, the whole damn season, and the second time that you moved me, was only to put me into my box, so I that could fry up in the attic, like a pathetic little chicken nugget, for whole other year. I need a change of scenery, ya know? I need a cool off period.
Me – (giddy underneath my cool exterior) Pat, I understand. I totally appreciate what you have brought to our holiday fun, but everything has its season. Pat, truly I understand, and I support your decision, 100 percent. I mean that, Pat, from the very depths of my heart. I REALLY mean it.
Pat – You know, lady, I don’t think that you did fully appreciate me and my efforts, all of these years. You constantly cursed about me. You’d wake up in a panic, in the middle of the night, grab me roughly and then you would just throw me awkwardly in some other space. Sometimes I’d end up on one of the dogs’ jaws of death, wondering if that smelly, gross, nasty dog toy basket, was going to be my next home, along with the legless, earless bunny (probably a former Easter Bunny, but we’ll never know).
Me – (with some forced effort) Oh come on, Pat, we had a lot of fun. Pat! Now Pat, we got really creative with some of your “spots.” You had some great photo opportunity poses over the years. We even took you on some of our trips.
Pat – (ignoring me, eyes gazing into the distant horizon) I’m one of the originals, you know. I was born in 2004, the same year which your wonderful daughter was born. We grew up together. We spent every Christmas together and she prided herself in looking for me, and finding me, before she even sat down to her bowl of Lucky Charms, every single December morning, year after year after year.
Me – I know, Pat. It was definitely cute to watch. She would get so excited to find you. Even the older boys would get in on the fun. It really did add a little extra magic (extra work and stress, too, let’s not forget, or try to sugar coat the situation), but you definitely did add some extra magic to the holiday season. Thank you, Pat, really.
Pat – Okay, well, I already live in Florida, so we’ve got the retirement place to live already figured out. I’ll take my pension in candy canes. I like those Sour Patch Kid flavored ones.
Me – (thinking to myself, hmmm, so that explains where all of the Sour Patch candy canes went) Okay, Pat. So this will be your last year then, with the family? Then you will be moving on, for good?
Pat – WTF?! No, lady. I’m talking NOW. Sayonara. This has been a stressful year as it is – I don’t think that I could take another year of work, precariously dangling from your chandelier, by a thread (literally) and then, practically melting my precious little plastic face, from the heat. I’m not into artificial lighting anymore. I’m headed to the beach.
Me – (feeling a little queasy and dare I say, sad?! in my tummy) – Oh, um, well, Pat, this is a little short notice. Don’t you think? I mean, I, I mean, my daughter (or course, not me, ha ha ha), obviously needs some time to adjust to this news and to this change. I think losing you, Pat, needs some explaining and some contemplation time and some slow acceptance that everyone’s getting older and that traditions change, – you know, all for my daughter, of course (not for me ha ha ha ha ha). Plus, Pat, the virus . . . .
Pat – Don’t pretend like you like me, lady. Don’t pretend like you care. You’re always talking about simplifying your life. Here’s your chance, lady. One more little elf, off of the Christmas to-do list. I’ll tell you what, why don’t you just put out the wreath, and call it a day.
Me – Pat, I do like you. I really like you. I really think that you need to stay on for just ONE more year. For my daughter, of course. One more year, Pat, that’s it.
Pat – I don’t know. The NorthPolicare health benefits are available to me now.
Me – Okay, Pat, enough of this BS. What’s it going to take, Pat? What’s it going to take for you to stay just one more year?!? Have a heart, Pat. Please! Pat, it’s Christmas!
Pat – I don’t know. If stay around, you may never let me leave. I might end up having to entertain your future grandchildren, for Pete’s sake.
Me – Oh, come on, Pat. You know that I don’t like you that much (sometimes, I hardly like you at all). Will a few extra boxes of Sour Patch Kid candy canes help to seal the deal?!
Pat– (sighs dramatically) I suppose so. But only for your daughter’s sake.
Me – Thank you, Pat, thank you! (Also thinking to myself – OMG, what just happened?!? Did I just beg that damn Elf on the Shelf to stay?!? Have I completely lost my mind for good? That stupid Pat sure knows how to play the heart strings, that’s for sure. It must be Christmas magic. I’d better put candy canes on the shopping list, so I don’t forget. Pat’s acting a little bit like an angry South Pole elf. Hmmm, South Pole elves must be real . . . . )
