Notes 2 Grow
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Notes 2 Grow
The Ride
Those who can laugh without cause have either found the true meaning of happiness or have gone stark raving mad. ~Norm Papernick
I convinced my out of town friends to ride on the newest roller coaster with me a few weeks ago. There were five of us who committed to the adventure. As we waited in line for the ride, everyone's true feelings came out about what we were about to do. Two in our party were a little hesitant to ride the roller coaster. All of us remembered fondly the days when we didn't think through such an action but would just do it.
It's funny when you become a parent. There comes a time when you either designate yourself as the riding parent or the waiting one. The riding parent runs off into the great unknown with the tall enough, brave enough, excited enough child while the waiting parent sits with the bags and the stroller and the not tall enough, not brave enough, dejected child. I'm not exactly sure when it happened, but I became the waiting parent.
The other two in the party realized that they had become the waiting parent. With children and spouses nowhere in sight, we were free to experience the ride like we did when we were kids. Run through the gates, weave through the maze, concentrating only on our own emotions of it all. It was exhilarating.
As we queued up in our respective lines, three in one line and two in another, the friend next to me warned, "I giggle when I'm nervous". The visiting Scottish man in our line took note of this. As we pulled down the harnesses and placed our loose items in a bin, my friend warned again, "I seriously giggle when I'm nervous". The Scottish man looked at me with worry. As the ride inverted us onto our bellies and prepared to take off, the giggling started. The Scottish man looked dismayed.
The ride took off, up the incline, around the bend, and up and down loops. The giggling was tremendous. Halfway through the ride, my Scottish neighbor asked if I thought my friend would ever stop giggling and we both decided that wasn't a possibility. The loops and the curves were accentuated by my friends giggles and an occasional, "I can't see through my hair". Somewhere after backward loop number two,our whole row broke into laughter. As we took our last twist, the Scottish man put to words what I was thinking, "That is really what life is about, isn't it? The true laughter of joy, the time with friends." When we pulled into the rides end, my stomach muscles and my face muscles ached. My friends wanted to ride the roller coaster again.We left the ride feeling 20 years younger, with tears of laughter running down our face.
There is no greater blessing than the company of friends.
Life is an incredible ride, one that definitely deserves to be shared!
I convinced my out of town friends to ride on the newest roller coaster with me a few weeks ago. There were five of us who committed to the adventure. As we waited in line for the ride, everyone's true feelings came out about what we were about to do. Two in our party were a little hesitant to ride the roller coaster. All of us remembered fondly the days when we didn't think through such an action but would just do it.
It's funny when you become a parent. There comes a time when you either designate yourself as the riding parent or the waiting one. The riding parent runs off into the great unknown with the tall enough, brave enough, excited enough child while the waiting parent sits with the bags and the stroller and the not tall enough, not brave enough, dejected child. I'm not exactly sure when it happened, but I became the waiting parent.
The other two in the party realized that they had become the waiting parent. With children and spouses nowhere in sight, we were free to experience the ride like we did when we were kids. Run through the gates, weave through the maze, concentrating only on our own emotions of it all. It was exhilarating.
As we queued up in our respective lines, three in one line and two in another, the friend next to me warned, "I giggle when I'm nervous". The visiting Scottish man in our line took note of this. As we pulled down the harnesses and placed our loose items in a bin, my friend warned again, "I seriously giggle when I'm nervous". The Scottish man looked at me with worry. As the ride inverted us onto our bellies and prepared to take off, the giggling started. The Scottish man looked dismayed.
The ride took off, up the incline, around the bend, and up and down loops. The giggling was tremendous. Halfway through the ride, my Scottish neighbor asked if I thought my friend would ever stop giggling and we both decided that wasn't a possibility. The loops and the curves were accentuated by my friends giggles and an occasional, "I can't see through my hair". Somewhere after backward loop number two,our whole row broke into laughter. As we took our last twist, the Scottish man put to words what I was thinking, "That is really what life is about, isn't it? The true laughter of joy, the time with friends." When we pulled into the rides end, my stomach muscles and my face muscles ached. My friends wanted to ride the roller coaster again.We left the ride feeling 20 years younger, with tears of laughter running down our face.
There is no greater blessing than the company of friends.
Life is an incredible ride, one that definitely deserves to be shared!
Harmony
"Happiness often sneaks in through a door you didn't know you left open." ~John Barrymore
I have a love hate relationship with Toby Keith's song, American Soldier. When it first debuted, Vic was on his way out the door for deployment number one and it was our rally the troops song. We blared it in the car, the kids knew all the words, the families of our service members did too. I have a distinct memory of it playing on the radio as I drove into the commissary parking lot wearing Vic's camo uniform in preparation for our GI Jane day of activities. When I stepped out of the car, and joined the rest of the wives, that song metered my steps.
When the second deployment came quickly, I came to hate that song. The kids would ask for the radio station to be changed. It was a constant reminder that Vic's service to our nation came with a very real price for our family. The tears would roll again, not from pride but from the stark pain of him being gone.
Last week, we were piled into the car yet again, on our way to picking Vic up from a month long school. The kids and I were excited to see him and to share all of the happenings and progress of our time apart. There was an energized chatter of all of the things we could finally do now that our family would be complete again. The radio station was tuned and quiet as I listened to the children. In the background I heard the familiar first notes of that Toby Keith song and I began to sing quietly. I didn't want to interrupt the children but it finally felt good again to sing those words.
One by one, the children began to sing along. "I'm just trying to be a father, raise a daughter and a son. Be a lover to their mother, everything to everyone. " ... the youngest asked that I turn up the radio..." Up and at em bright and early, all business in my suit. Yeah I'm dressed up for success from my head down to my boots." Before I knew it we were all singing loudly and proudly again, like we used to in the very beginning. There was peace in the children's voices and smiles on their faces. The song had finally returned to the anthem it once was.
The beautiful thing is that time does heal all wounds. With years and much discussion, the hurt and uncertainty of the second deployment has passed away.
We walked into the airport with purpose and determination. We were a family with pride who couldn't wait to reunite with our Soldier. Our American Soldier.
I have a love hate relationship with Toby Keith's song, American Soldier. When it first debuted, Vic was on his way out the door for deployment number one and it was our rally the troops song. We blared it in the car, the kids knew all the words, the families of our service members did too. I have a distinct memory of it playing on the radio as I drove into the commissary parking lot wearing Vic's camo uniform in preparation for our GI Jane day of activities. When I stepped out of the car, and joined the rest of the wives, that song metered my steps.
When the second deployment came quickly, I came to hate that song. The kids would ask for the radio station to be changed. It was a constant reminder that Vic's service to our nation came with a very real price for our family. The tears would roll again, not from pride but from the stark pain of him being gone.
Last week, we were piled into the car yet again, on our way to picking Vic up from a month long school. The kids and I were excited to see him and to share all of the happenings and progress of our time apart. There was an energized chatter of all of the things we could finally do now that our family would be complete again. The radio station was tuned and quiet as I listened to the children. In the background I heard the familiar first notes of that Toby Keith song and I began to sing quietly. I didn't want to interrupt the children but it finally felt good again to sing those words.
One by one, the children began to sing along. "I'm just trying to be a father, raise a daughter and a son. Be a lover to their mother, everything to everyone. " ... the youngest asked that I turn up the radio..." Up and at em bright and early, all business in my suit. Yeah I'm dressed up for success from my head down to my boots." Before I knew it we were all singing loudly and proudly again, like we used to in the very beginning. There was peace in the children's voices and smiles on their faces. The song had finally returned to the anthem it once was.
The beautiful thing is that time does heal all wounds. With years and much discussion, the hurt and uncertainty of the second deployment has passed away.
We walked into the airport with purpose and determination. We were a family with pride who couldn't wait to reunite with our Soldier. Our American Soldier.
Which Army Wife Are You?
"Persons with weight of character carry, like planets, their atmospheres along with them in their orbits." ~Thomas Hardy
I had an acquaintance who knows little about the military ask me a question the other day. We were at a meeting at the school and about to start when she approached me with a face full of wonder.
"I've been thinking about you a lot lately, do you watch that show Army Wives?" she asked. When I answered that I did, she continued, " I have to ask, I have an idea, but I want to know which one you are most like?"
I have to admit, I'm a big fan of the show. There are scenes in every episode that I have experienced to some degree and it is eerie at times how the feelings for it all come washing back. There are times when I wonder how they put scenarios on there without asking my permission, it feels that personal.
I answered my friend with something a little like this ~
I could never pretend to be Joan, I don't wear the uniform and I cannot imagine what it is like to be both a military member and a wife and mother. I have dear friends who have done this and I hold them in the highest esteem. If everything in my life is in balance, I embrace the days like Roxy does. I'd like to live a little more like Roxy with energy and spunk and fire. I'm a lot of Pamela, the type of person who will champion the cause of the families in the military. She says things the way I think them but I'm not as bold to publish them that way. Pamela calls things as she sees them and she is a woman of action. I can relate to Denise, especially wanting to pave her own way. It is easy to get overwhelmed by the culture of the military and being a military wife. She lost herself to being the wife of a Soldier and remembered after awhile that there was more to who she was. I've been there too. I've been told I'm Claudia Joy. I can only hope to have some of her great traits. Claudia Joy has grace and wisdom. Claudia Joy is calm and chooses her battles. Claudia Joy loves her husband and family and friends beyond measure.
The truth is they are characters on a tv show that have been based on real people. Their characters are appealing to us because we can watch them navigate the world we live in. For some who don't live this military life, it's a window in. It's a representation of things that might happen in a world they cannot imagine.
All military families are a window in to this different world. I'm so glad my friend asked me who I was. It gave me an opportunity to be a real face of the military family to someone who lives so far away from it.
I had an acquaintance who knows little about the military ask me a question the other day. We were at a meeting at the school and about to start when she approached me with a face full of wonder.
"I've been thinking about you a lot lately, do you watch that show Army Wives?" she asked. When I answered that I did, she continued, " I have to ask, I have an idea, but I want to know which one you are most like?"
I have to admit, I'm a big fan of the show. There are scenes in every episode that I have experienced to some degree and it is eerie at times how the feelings for it all come washing back. There are times when I wonder how they put scenarios on there without asking my permission, it feels that personal.
I answered my friend with something a little like this ~
I could never pretend to be Joan, I don't wear the uniform and I cannot imagine what it is like to be both a military member and a wife and mother. I have dear friends who have done this and I hold them in the highest esteem. If everything in my life is in balance, I embrace the days like Roxy does. I'd like to live a little more like Roxy with energy and spunk and fire. I'm a lot of Pamela, the type of person who will champion the cause of the families in the military. She says things the way I think them but I'm not as bold to publish them that way. Pamela calls things as she sees them and she is a woman of action. I can relate to Denise, especially wanting to pave her own way. It is easy to get overwhelmed by the culture of the military and being a military wife. She lost herself to being the wife of a Soldier and remembered after awhile that there was more to who she was. I've been there too. I've been told I'm Claudia Joy. I can only hope to have some of her great traits. Claudia Joy has grace and wisdom. Claudia Joy is calm and chooses her battles. Claudia Joy loves her husband and family and friends beyond measure.
The truth is they are characters on a tv show that have been based on real people. Their characters are appealing to us because we can watch them navigate the world we live in. For some who don't live this military life, it's a window in. It's a representation of things that might happen in a world they cannot imagine.
All military families are a window in to this different world. I'm so glad my friend asked me who I was. It gave me an opportunity to be a real face of the military family to someone who lives so far away from it.
Nudging Left
"If hunger is not the problem, then eating is not the solution." ~Author Unknown
I stepped on a bona fide scale yesterday to check my weight. I despise scales. At the doctors office, unless you are younger than 25, you can be sure that the scale will tell your story. For the past few years, the visit to the doctor, and the stepping on the scale, has been something I dread. You take off your shoes, you stand on the cold platform and then you wait for the weights to be moved. The heavier one, the 50 lb increment isn't too bad. Three clicks to the right, 150 lbs. I can live with that. It is the little pesky weight that really makes me angry. You can believe you are one weight, but that little bugger will tell the truth. There is nothing worse than putting it where you believe you weigh and then watching the pointer float to the top. That is when you have to nudge the single lb marker to the right until the pointer dips to the middle of the rectangle where it evens out to tell you your weight.
For the past several years, I've been nudging that weight to the right. I know that is bad, and yet I haven't been able to get it to stop. Blame it on age, blame it on injuries, blame it on stress, whatever the reason I was slowly moving out of a healthy weight.
It is amazing how quickly we can move away from center. Whether it is for work, or at home, with weight or finances, it is easy to slowly move away from where we know we need to be. The first late night at work when the rush of completing all your tasks lures you into forgetting your family, you find yourself nudging right. Grabbing the credit card for something frivolous and then buying into the belief that you deserve to have whatever you want, even if the budget cannot support it, you nudge right. Pouring that cold drink at the end of a stressful day and then another and another until you can't figure out where all of the alcohol is going, another nudge in the wrong direction. Whatever the scenario is, we have all done it.
The beautiful thing is when we figure it out and regain control. Life is a dress rehearsal where we are allowed to make mistakes. The only unforgivable mistake is the one where you don't learn a lesson from it. Sooner or later, you nudge right enough and you realize you have to get back on track. The clothes stop fitting, your family stomps their feet, your body cries "uncle", or the credit companies start calling.
I've finally begun stepping on a scale and nudging it left. It was a long time coming and it hasn't been easy, but I've begun to right myself in the fitness department. It feels really good. It feels good to recognize the woman in the mirror. It feels good to put on clothes that fit loosely. It feels good to sit at a table and say a definitive "no thank you" to that fantastic dessert.
The choice is mine to make, nudge right and move farther away from the woman I know I can be, or nudge left and return to my very own personal best. It's an easy choice to make.
I stepped on a bona fide scale yesterday to check my weight. I despise scales. At the doctors office, unless you are younger than 25, you can be sure that the scale will tell your story. For the past few years, the visit to the doctor, and the stepping on the scale, has been something I dread. You take off your shoes, you stand on the cold platform and then you wait for the weights to be moved. The heavier one, the 50 lb increment isn't too bad. Three clicks to the right, 150 lbs. I can live with that. It is the little pesky weight that really makes me angry. You can believe you are one weight, but that little bugger will tell the truth. There is nothing worse than putting it where you believe you weigh and then watching the pointer float to the top. That is when you have to nudge the single lb marker to the right until the pointer dips to the middle of the rectangle where it evens out to tell you your weight.
For the past several years, I've been nudging that weight to the right. I know that is bad, and yet I haven't been able to get it to stop. Blame it on age, blame it on injuries, blame it on stress, whatever the reason I was slowly moving out of a healthy weight.
It is amazing how quickly we can move away from center. Whether it is for work, or at home, with weight or finances, it is easy to slowly move away from where we know we need to be. The first late night at work when the rush of completing all your tasks lures you into forgetting your family, you find yourself nudging right. Grabbing the credit card for something frivolous and then buying into the belief that you deserve to have whatever you want, even if the budget cannot support it, you nudge right. Pouring that cold drink at the end of a stressful day and then another and another until you can't figure out where all of the alcohol is going, another nudge in the wrong direction. Whatever the scenario is, we have all done it.
The beautiful thing is when we figure it out and regain control. Life is a dress rehearsal where we are allowed to make mistakes. The only unforgivable mistake is the one where you don't learn a lesson from it. Sooner or later, you nudge right enough and you realize you have to get back on track. The clothes stop fitting, your family stomps their feet, your body cries "uncle", or the credit companies start calling.
I've finally begun stepping on a scale and nudging it left. It was a long time coming and it hasn't been easy, but I've begun to right myself in the fitness department. It feels really good. It feels good to recognize the woman in the mirror. It feels good to put on clothes that fit loosely. It feels good to sit at a table and say a definitive "no thank you" to that fantastic dessert.
The choice is mine to make, nudge right and move farther away from the woman I know I can be, or nudge left and return to my very own personal best. It's an easy choice to make.
The Ring
"In the game of life it's a good idea to have a few early losses, which relieves you of the pressure of trying to maintain an undefeated season." ~Bill Vaughan
Our baseball team won the League Championship last season which meant that this seasons opening series was full of hoopla and regalia. One of the neat ways that they commemorated the event was to give all of the fans in attendance to one game a replica Championship ring. These rings, encased in velvet bags, are humongous. They are adorned with imitation blue and white gems and they sparkle and shine. When my daughter saw the ring she was delighted. When I put the ring on I felt invincible. I felt like a winner.
It didn't take long for reality to set in. That very same night, our team lost a game and it felt like all of the wind was taken from my sails. On our walk to the car, Vic pointed something out to me. Holding up the ring, he said, "There are more than wins in this ring, there are also losses."
We are many games into the season and those words have reverberated in my mind. On the field and in life, the losses are just as important as the wins. There are days when it is easy to be a winner in life, those days that everything goes our way and it feels like the wind is on course for where we want to go. The days that don't go that way are the ones that truly define who we are.
We all have had those days, the ones where everything feels like it is an uphill climb. Those days when a break is nowhere in sight, we have had those days when nothing seems to go the way we planned.
There is another ring that reminds me of the same thing, my wedding band. The jewels seem to represent the times when it all falls together, when Vic and I have had an easy go of things. Those are precious moments that I never want to forget. The days, though, that really speak to the strength of our marriage and the character of who we have become are the days that things weren't easy. The days that we have fought to keep it together, or overcome obstacles ,those are like the precious metal that wraps around my finger, the part of it all that keeps the ring in place.
Life is an amazing mixture of sparkle and strength, a journey of good and bad days of losses and wins. Marriage and baseball are too, you have to take the good days with the bad days.
I wouldn't have it any other way.
Our baseball team won the League Championship last season which meant that this seasons opening series was full of hoopla and regalia. One of the neat ways that they commemorated the event was to give all of the fans in attendance to one game a replica Championship ring. These rings, encased in velvet bags, are humongous. They are adorned with imitation blue and white gems and they sparkle and shine. When my daughter saw the ring she was delighted. When I put the ring on I felt invincible. I felt like a winner.
It didn't take long for reality to set in. That very same night, our team lost a game and it felt like all of the wind was taken from my sails. On our walk to the car, Vic pointed something out to me. Holding up the ring, he said, "There are more than wins in this ring, there are also losses."
We are many games into the season and those words have reverberated in my mind. On the field and in life, the losses are just as important as the wins. There are days when it is easy to be a winner in life, those days that everything goes our way and it feels like the wind is on course for where we want to go. The days that don't go that way are the ones that truly define who we are.
We all have had those days, the ones where everything feels like it is an uphill climb. Those days when a break is nowhere in sight, we have had those days when nothing seems to go the way we planned.
There is another ring that reminds me of the same thing, my wedding band. The jewels seem to represent the times when it all falls together, when Vic and I have had an easy go of things. Those are precious moments that I never want to forget. The days, though, that really speak to the strength of our marriage and the character of who we have become are the days that things weren't easy. The days that we have fought to keep it together, or overcome obstacles ,those are like the precious metal that wraps around my finger, the part of it all that keeps the ring in place.
Life is an amazing mixture of sparkle and strength, a journey of good and bad days of losses and wins. Marriage and baseball are too, you have to take the good days with the bad days.
I wouldn't have it any other way.
The Tigers Tail
"The best thing about the future is that it comes only one day at a time." ~Abraham Lincoln
A really wise stranger and I took up a conversation a few months back and she told me something that has resonated loudly for me these past weeks. " Life is like holding onto a tiger by the tail. Some days he sleeps and some days it's a wild ride."
That analogy came alive for me three days ago. It started out a calm Wednesday, a day of the week where everything seemed to be going smoothly. I sipped my coffee and read the paper and thanked God for the sleeping tiger. These are the days when chaos is absent and when order seems to be the normal way of things. The children woke up and made their beds. They cleared their own dishes and finished their summer work and then went off to swim without needing any guidance or coaxing. It is important to enjoy these moments when the tiger sleeps. Rest up, take time for yourself, rejuvenate for the time ahead. I forgot to do that. I took the blessing of the day and packed it with my to do list. I burned my candle on both ends working to completely move into our new house and clear the clutter in my office. I tried to be super mom and bake brownies and swim with kids and play board games. I put my head on the pillow that night at 1am, so sure that the tiger would sleep the next day.
Silly Girl.
Storms overnight brought two out of three children into my bed at 3am. I should have recognized then that the tiger had awoken well rested. The days from then until now have been a blur. These are the days when you have no idea what is around the next corner. You are taking the garbage out and the door handle falls into your hands. It takes forty minutes to find the right screw driver and in the meantime you realize that there is a load of laundry that has been left in the washing machine. When you finally get back on track you are an hour late to feed everyone dinner and you have no plan as to what that might be. Collapsing into bed, you realize that the last pictures that were never hung take up one side of the bed, and the pile of dry, clean, wrinkled clothes that had to be moved for the wet load are on the other side of the bed. The wild ride days are what cause us to say, "What happened to the week/ weekend?". The wild ride days are what causes the gray hairs. The wild ride days are the ones you look back on and ask yourself how you ever made it through alive.
Today it appears that the tiger is tired. It's a good thing as I'm tired too. My to do list is calling, so are the children and the housework...... this time I'll take advantage of the peace and I'll rest as well. Tomorrow will come fast enough.
A really wise stranger and I took up a conversation a few months back and she told me something that has resonated loudly for me these past weeks. " Life is like holding onto a tiger by the tail. Some days he sleeps and some days it's a wild ride."
That analogy came alive for me three days ago. It started out a calm Wednesday, a day of the week where everything seemed to be going smoothly. I sipped my coffee and read the paper and thanked God for the sleeping tiger. These are the days when chaos is absent and when order seems to be the normal way of things. The children woke up and made their beds. They cleared their own dishes and finished their summer work and then went off to swim without needing any guidance or coaxing. It is important to enjoy these moments when the tiger sleeps. Rest up, take time for yourself, rejuvenate for the time ahead. I forgot to do that. I took the blessing of the day and packed it with my to do list. I burned my candle on both ends working to completely move into our new house and clear the clutter in my office. I tried to be super mom and bake brownies and swim with kids and play board games. I put my head on the pillow that night at 1am, so sure that the tiger would sleep the next day.
Silly Girl.
Storms overnight brought two out of three children into my bed at 3am. I should have recognized then that the tiger had awoken well rested. The days from then until now have been a blur. These are the days when you have no idea what is around the next corner. You are taking the garbage out and the door handle falls into your hands. It takes forty minutes to find the right screw driver and in the meantime you realize that there is a load of laundry that has been left in the washing machine. When you finally get back on track you are an hour late to feed everyone dinner and you have no plan as to what that might be. Collapsing into bed, you realize that the last pictures that were never hung take up one side of the bed, and the pile of dry, clean, wrinkled clothes that had to be moved for the wet load are on the other side of the bed. The wild ride days are what cause us to say, "What happened to the week/ weekend?". The wild ride days are what causes the gray hairs. The wild ride days are the ones you look back on and ask yourself how you ever made it through alive.
Today it appears that the tiger is tired. It's a good thing as I'm tired too. My to do list is calling, so are the children and the housework...... this time I'll take advantage of the peace and I'll rest as well. Tomorrow will come fast enough.
The Fish Have Died
"Be aware of wonder. Remember the little seed in the Styrofoam cup: the roots go down and the plant goes up and nobody really knows how or why, but we are all like that. Goldfish and hamsters and white mice and even the little seed in the Styrofoam cup - they all die. So do we." ~ Robert Fulgham
I love my husband, I really do. He is a great dad, a wonderful man, he brings great dimension to all of our lives and he is tremendously dependable.
This exemplary man, this great man, he has a fault. He doesn't think through all of the things that he does with the kids.
Let me give you the most recent example. He took a father son fishing trip with our youngest child. It would be a great time of bonding and it would be fun and he was sure they would make the most of their time together. True to form, the two men enjoyed themselves. They fished, they talked and they made memories the other Saturday morning. Driven by our youngest son's enjoyment of all things marine, Vic took him directly to the pet store. This is where things started to go downhill for me, only I didn't know it because I was at the movies with the rest of our children and my brother.
I can just see the scene, grown man and young man shopping diligently for the perfect fish tank. Both men choosing carefully which fish will bless our home, which fish will fit in with the rest of the inhabitants, which fish would bring joy to us all. Had I been there, I would have whispered a reminder that fish die. Had I been there, I would have been the voice of reason describing the fallout when the children wake up to the pretty fish upside down and eyes bulging out at the top of the bowl. I wasn't there.
Fast forward six days, if you will and add one small detail; wonderful husband has flown out for a month long school. Of course.
It was day two when I realized that the fish weren't calming down. They were racing in circles around the bowl as if trying to get out. The children believed that they were playing with each other, I found their behavior disturbing. In the back of my mind I thought that we may not be good for fish with all of the activity in this house. I can only imagine what the comings and goings of this house look like on the other side of magnified and distorted glass. Never mind the thought of seeing me first thing every morning.
It was day three when the yellow one died. First we thought he was doing tricks, then we realized that he was just caught in the current of the bubbles and the filter. Silence fell in our house. For a brief moment I thought I'd need to call one of the 1-800 numbers that military families have for crisis. Luckily, the kids found solace in the other fish and vowed to find him a friend first chance we got to return to the pet store.
Today, I awoke to the red fish lying dead in the rocks. I scooped him out and placed him in the ziploc bag that houses the yellow fish that is hiding in the fridge behind the egg carton. Apparently, to cash in on the 14 day refund on fish you have to return to the store with the corpses. You have to bring some water too so they can test to see where you went wrong when setting up the tank.
It took the kids a few hours to notice that the fish wasn't there anymore. I can understand this, the poor buggers never lived there too long. In fact, we had the fish tank empty for more days than it was inhabited. They were devastated. They were perplexed. They have survived it. I , on the other hand, am emotionally spent.
Since Vic's departure I have become a coroner, a crime scene investigator, a marine biologist, a liaison with the pet store, a seasoned murderer who has hid the bodies and a cover up artist. It hasn't even been a week.
The kids are all off playing with friends, it's time to take the baggie and the remains and find out what happened. There goes another perfectly normal Friday night for this military wife. I've heard those types of nights are overrated anyway.
Adventure Awaits
"It is only in adventure that some people succeed in knowing themselves - in finding themselves." ~André Gide
This summers movies are full of adventure ~ from saving the Smithsonian and flying with Amelia Earhart to launching a home with a million balloons in search of a forgotten world. In one of the movies, a character has an adventure scrapbook where she keeps items that she has collected. The pages are full of pictures and magazine clippings, movie tickets, bird feathers, and all sorts of things. Her scrapbook is a wish book full of places she wants to go and a memory book full of things she has already done.
As a child I used to do the same thing. I'd keep every ticket stub, every picture, every memento. I have a pair of unused chop sticks from a Chinese restaurant along with the fortunes we collected that night. You name it, it was important to me. I lived every day as if it were a continuous adventure and I cherished even the little things. My daughter has picked up where I left off, collecting shells and rocks from every bit of ground we stand on and begging to bring it all home. She has numerous places in her room where she is storing all of her treasure. I have been half tempted to clear it all out because there are days that it seems more like clutter and trash.
The movies have reminded me of the value of these little things. The mementos are testimony to a childhood of adventure. That half broken shell to me may very well be the imaginary home of the fabled golden crab. Those pieces of colored rock are probably gems in disguise to my adventurous daughter.
Last night I went with a friend to a baseball game. I love our baseball games but the continuous tickets have become a dilemma for me. As I dropped her off at home after the game, I noticed her taking her ticket and holding it with care. For a moment I was glimpsing a woman who was on an adventure, a woman who would put that memento in a place of importance to remember the night. I have been considering what to do with our tickets after they have been used, I've held most and tossed out a few, unsure if they needed to be placed somewhere. I know now where they must go ~ they'll fit perfectly next to the chopsticks and fortunes from adventures past.
The next time I take our daughter to a game, I'll definitely give the tickets to her. She'll know what to do with them......
This summers movies are full of adventure ~ from saving the Smithsonian and flying with Amelia Earhart to launching a home with a million balloons in search of a forgotten world. In one of the movies, a character has an adventure scrapbook where she keeps items that she has collected. The pages are full of pictures and magazine clippings, movie tickets, bird feathers, and all sorts of things. Her scrapbook is a wish book full of places she wants to go and a memory book full of things she has already done.
As a child I used to do the same thing. I'd keep every ticket stub, every picture, every memento. I have a pair of unused chop sticks from a Chinese restaurant along with the fortunes we collected that night. You name it, it was important to me. I lived every day as if it were a continuous adventure and I cherished even the little things. My daughter has picked up where I left off, collecting shells and rocks from every bit of ground we stand on and begging to bring it all home. She has numerous places in her room where she is storing all of her treasure. I have been half tempted to clear it all out because there are days that it seems more like clutter and trash.
The movies have reminded me of the value of these little things. The mementos are testimony to a childhood of adventure. That half broken shell to me may very well be the imaginary home of the fabled golden crab. Those pieces of colored rock are probably gems in disguise to my adventurous daughter.
Last night I went with a friend to a baseball game. I love our baseball games but the continuous tickets have become a dilemma for me. As I dropped her off at home after the game, I noticed her taking her ticket and holding it with care. For a moment I was glimpsing a woman who was on an adventure, a woman who would put that memento in a place of importance to remember the night. I have been considering what to do with our tickets after they have been used, I've held most and tossed out a few, unsure if they needed to be placed somewhere. I know now where they must go ~ they'll fit perfectly next to the chopsticks and fortunes from adventures past.
The next time I take our daughter to a game, I'll definitely give the tickets to her. She'll know what to do with them......
Stitches
"When life throws you scraps, make a quilt." ~Author Unknown
When we lived in Kansas, I joined a quilting club. Every first Saturday of the month we would meet at the quilt store and pick up the next pattern with the fabric already cut to complete the quilt square. After 12 months, I had made 12 squares and completed a quilt top. In order to earn the next square pattern and fabric, you had to come to the shop with the prior month's endeavor complete.
I loved making the quilt squares so much that I brought my mom with me on one Saturday. She too was caught up in the movement and decided that she wanted to make a quilt top, the problem was that we were ten months into the twelve month project. As we stood in the quilt shop thinking through our dilemma, the shop owner came up with a solution - she would give us all of the kits for the quilt and we could do them all at one time. My mom followed the quilt shop owner into the back room and emerged with 12 little baggies and a big smile. She had chosen the fabric she wanted for our project - a special assortment of greens and pinks that were designed to support Breast Cancer research. We not only had a project calling us, but a purpose.
The entire cold Kansas weekend was dedicated to that quilt top. She would sew, I would iron, I would iron and she would sew until that top was complete. We talked and reminisced. We laughed and cried. We completed our task. When we finished, we took our masterpiece back to the shop for the backing and batting so the quilt could be completed. We added the batting and a tender pattern of Cancer fabric to the back and then we signed it. "May 20, 2003 Remember, Thanks Pamela, love you" is what my mom wrote. " Mom, here is a lasting reminder of what beautiful things happen when we are together, I love you, Pamela"
That weekend I concentrated on the time with my mom as the stitches took care of themselves. Today, as I look over the stitches, as I run my fingers over every line, I remember with wonder that precious weekend. I didn't know then that I would hand stitch the last part of this quilt as I sit by my mom's bed in the hospital after surgery for lung cancer. I didn't know then that a short six years later I'd be mourning her passing and staring at this quilt. She chose the cancer fabric because she lost two friends to breast cancer. She never expected to be diagnosed with cancer herself.
Today, in our new house with so much of my life changed, I'll hang our quilt and remember. So much of life is uncharted for us as we pass through our days. Our minutes are like stitches on a quilt, our days and weeks and months like the fabric scraps. Our life, when it is done, should be a beautiful memory that folds out like a completed quilt onto the laps of those we love. A quilt of memories that keeps us warm.
When we lived in Kansas, I joined a quilting club. Every first Saturday of the month we would meet at the quilt store and pick up the next pattern with the fabric already cut to complete the quilt square. After 12 months, I had made 12 squares and completed a quilt top. In order to earn the next square pattern and fabric, you had to come to the shop with the prior month's endeavor complete.
I loved making the quilt squares so much that I brought my mom with me on one Saturday. She too was caught up in the movement and decided that she wanted to make a quilt top, the problem was that we were ten months into the twelve month project. As we stood in the quilt shop thinking through our dilemma, the shop owner came up with a solution - she would give us all of the kits for the quilt and we could do them all at one time. My mom followed the quilt shop owner into the back room and emerged with 12 little baggies and a big smile. She had chosen the fabric she wanted for our project - a special assortment of greens and pinks that were designed to support Breast Cancer research. We not only had a project calling us, but a purpose.
The entire cold Kansas weekend was dedicated to that quilt top. She would sew, I would iron, I would iron and she would sew until that top was complete. We talked and reminisced. We laughed and cried. We completed our task. When we finished, we took our masterpiece back to the shop for the backing and batting so the quilt could be completed. We added the batting and a tender pattern of Cancer fabric to the back and then we signed it. "May 20, 2003 Remember, Thanks Pamela, love you" is what my mom wrote. " Mom, here is a lasting reminder of what beautiful things happen when we are together, I love you, Pamela"
That weekend I concentrated on the time with my mom as the stitches took care of themselves. Today, as I look over the stitches, as I run my fingers over every line, I remember with wonder that precious weekend. I didn't know then that I would hand stitch the last part of this quilt as I sit by my mom's bed in the hospital after surgery for lung cancer. I didn't know then that a short six years later I'd be mourning her passing and staring at this quilt. She chose the cancer fabric because she lost two friends to breast cancer. She never expected to be diagnosed with cancer herself.
Today, in our new house with so much of my life changed, I'll hang our quilt and remember. So much of life is uncharted for us as we pass through our days. Our minutes are like stitches on a quilt, our days and weeks and months like the fabric scraps. Our life, when it is done, should be a beautiful memory that folds out like a completed quilt onto the laps of those we love. A quilt of memories that keeps us warm.
Plant a Tree....
"Trees are your best antiques." ~Alexander Smith
I have a friend who has served in the military and now serves in another capacity as the spouse of a service member. He has traveled, he has experienced, he has many stories to tell and now he is ready to settle down. He puts it so perfectly when he says, "I'm ready to plant a tree and watch it grow."
We have all planted our share of trees or annuals or plants and then had to uproot ourselves to never see those things again. For my family, there were the azalea bushes in North Carolina, the sunflowers in Virginia, the lilies and tulips in Germany. We had a season or two with each of those beautiful plants and then we had to leave them to the fate of whatever came behind us.
Last fall, the landscaper who cared for our community came after me as I walked our dog on the edge of the lake. He was carrying a voluntary oak tree that had started growing too close to one of the houses. It would not be good for the house if it stayed, or the tree, he told me. He asked me if I knew a place for the tree where it could be planted. I committed my father's yard for this new endeavor, and together the landscaper and myself placed the sapling into a large pot with good soil. I watered it and cared for it through the shock of being uprooted and then replanted.
On the next trip across our state we took the tree to my father's house. He planted it in his yard and cared for it through the shock of being replanted again. It thrived. As it grew it became evident that it would need more space in a different place. My father watched it and considered for months where the tree needed to be.
We recently purchased the home of our dreams, a waterfront home with a half acre of land and a pool. The yard is spectacular, with plants I still do not know the name of. When my father came to visit this last weekend he brought a housewarming gift, the growing oak tree. In a bigger pot, with beautiful branches starting to sprout, this transient tree will fit perfectly in our new yard. Having seen the house before we bought it, my dad knew that this tree belonged here.
In the coming weeks, when the time is right, we will replant the oak tree that has been uprooted more times than any tree should be. It has survived the shock of moving and thrived wherever it has been planted. We'll put it in the ground, dedicate it to all who have traveled and moved and celebrate it's resiliency. Most importantly, we'll plant a tree and watch it grow.
I have a friend who has served in the military and now serves in another capacity as the spouse of a service member. He has traveled, he has experienced, he has many stories to tell and now he is ready to settle down. He puts it so perfectly when he says, "I'm ready to plant a tree and watch it grow."
We have all planted our share of trees or annuals or plants and then had to uproot ourselves to never see those things again. For my family, there were the azalea bushes in North Carolina, the sunflowers in Virginia, the lilies and tulips in Germany. We had a season or two with each of those beautiful plants and then we had to leave them to the fate of whatever came behind us.
Last fall, the landscaper who cared for our community came after me as I walked our dog on the edge of the lake. He was carrying a voluntary oak tree that had started growing too close to one of the houses. It would not be good for the house if it stayed, or the tree, he told me. He asked me if I knew a place for the tree where it could be planted. I committed my father's yard for this new endeavor, and together the landscaper and myself placed the sapling into a large pot with good soil. I watered it and cared for it through the shock of being uprooted and then replanted.
On the next trip across our state we took the tree to my father's house. He planted it in his yard and cared for it through the shock of being replanted again. It thrived. As it grew it became evident that it would need more space in a different place. My father watched it and considered for months where the tree needed to be.
We recently purchased the home of our dreams, a waterfront home with a half acre of land and a pool. The yard is spectacular, with plants I still do not know the name of. When my father came to visit this last weekend he brought a housewarming gift, the growing oak tree. In a bigger pot, with beautiful branches starting to sprout, this transient tree will fit perfectly in our new yard. Having seen the house before we bought it, my dad knew that this tree belonged here.
In the coming weeks, when the time is right, we will replant the oak tree that has been uprooted more times than any tree should be. It has survived the shock of moving and thrived wherever it has been planted. We'll put it in the ground, dedicate it to all who have traveled and moved and celebrate it's resiliency. Most importantly, we'll plant a tree and watch it grow.
