In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Adult Visions.”
As a kid, you must have imagined what it was like to be an adult. Now that you’re a grownup (or becoming one), how far off was your idea of adult life?
At best, it was grossly inaccurate. I couldn’t wait to grow up, to reach that pivotal 18 year mark and be my own boss, do my own thing, make my own decisions. How many times since have I said, “If only I’d known then what I know now”.
Oh the joys of being provided for, loved unconditionally and yes, even the guidance and direction given to help me navigate the treacherous passages of youth. At the time, all I desired was more freedom from my parents; these older folks who surely had never experienced anything quite like I was going through. If they had, they had forgotten it by now. They just didn’t get it. Just wait until I was in charge!
Words of wisdom went in one bejeweled ear and out the other. Advice was received with a nod of the head a smile, with a closed heart and mind. You see, I already knew everything; well actually more than they did, or so I thought.
I don’t think I really “got it” until I was married and even more so after my first child. Being a wife, mom and productive member of society was more difficult than I had anticipated. The bills kept coming, emergencies happened, life didn’t go at all like I planned. Even in my twenties, I was still making some bad choices, feeling like I had forever and I was invincible.
In my thirties, I lost my mom and found myself dialing her number for months after she was gone, craving words of wisdom, spoken from a heart of love. I wanted her to help me make decisions, to tell me what to do and she was gone.
At fifty, I can tell you from years of experience, that I was wrong about being an adult. I thought it meant all fun, frivolity, and doing what I wanted to, with no interference. Although I have had my share of fun and I love my family dearly, I can tell you that being an adult isn’t all fun and games. I love the wisdom that comes with being older, but the sheer reality of life is hard sometimes. I didn’t realize the responsibilities of being a parent, that your love and devotion would continue to grow, even as your influence waned. I didn’t know that my choices would all have consequences, some of them life long. I couldn’t have imagined the joys of parenting, nor could I have anticipated the fear of getting it all wrong.
Yes, I was most definitely wrong about what I thought adulthood would be, but I am still happy I am here and glad that I am open to learning from those wiser than me. I am blessed to have had so much great influence in my life and pray I can be a good example of an “elder” to others as long as I have breath.
Daily Prompt: Adult Visions
Come Autumn and especially October
Great Smoky Mountains
Those who know me well know that fall is my favorite time of the year. I prematurely long for October beginning in June or July. In this, my 50th fall season, I endeavored to determine why. After all, every season holds the promise of something new. It’s as if God knew our fickle natures would tire and need a change.
As I pondered my preference for all things autumn, I mentally made a list of all of the possibilities for why this season holds such charm.
For one thing, this month is the month of my birth. Granted, that isn’t nearly as exciting as in years gone by but perhaps in my formative years, it was one reason I developed a strong preference for the beginning of autumn and for the month of October.
It also holds the promise of the rapidly approaching holiday season and cooler temperatures. Although I am a Florida native, I’ve always favored the chillier weather, and I am grateful that I travel a lot and get to partake of it more often. The drop in temperature means that even we Florida girls will get to wear boots!
If all of that wasn’t enough to help me understand my love for fall, I was reminded of something else just this morning.
I live in what I would describe as a small fishing village. One of the livelihoods is stone crabbing and if you are a local, it is very likely that someone in your family is or was in the stone crabbing business or benefits from it in some way. My dad was a stone crabber and my husband added a crab boat to our business just last year. You may be wondering what crabbing has to do with my October love.
Well, you see October 15th is the first day the crabbers can begin pulling stone crab traps and bringing in their catch. Today signifies the start of a more lucrative season for crabbers.
When I was a child, after a long penny pinching summer, it was exciting to wait at the docks and see how many pounds of crabs daddy had caught that day. Even as a child you felt that fiscal tension ease up quite a bit within a couple of weeks after crab season started (as long as it was a good season). The question of how many pounds was often a precursor to what kind of Christmas you were going to have.
So this morning, around 4:00am, when I began to hear the sounds of those diesel engines as the crab boats headed out, I smiled and reminisced for a while and then said a prayer for a bountiful harvest and safety for all.
Now, if I could just get the days to slow down, so I can thoroughly enjoy every moment of my October.
Hold on a minute
Mossy phone booth; Olympic National Park
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Going Obsolete.”
Of all the technologies that have gone extinct in your lifetime, which one do you miss the most?
Initially, I struggled with this. Why would I miss cassette tapes that I had to rewind with a pencil, or a television without a remote, or a 7 lb boombox? The more I thought about it, I realized it’s not the technology I miss, but the time period it represented. It’s not even just the memories, but the way things just seemed slower and people seemed to have more time for one another.
There are the memories of standing in front of a television, physically removing my little brothers hand off the knob as he tried to change the channel to Creature Feature which I abhorred; the days of listening to the Top 40 so that I could record those favorite tunes; my aunt and uncle recording my little cousin’s voice and sending the tapes in the mail to my grandparents, and who could forget “film strips” in school?
I miss a landline telephone that emitted a busy signal when people were actually tied up. Imagine a world where the person you were speaking to and your conversation with them was actually important enough where interruption was denied. How many times in our current culture do you hear “hold on” a minute, at precisely the wrong time?
Then, there is the written word; from the notes sneakily passed in class to the newsy letters received from a pen pal, stamped from a foreign country (mine was from Sweden). As I looked through a table of books yesterday and my husband asked, “I thought you had a kindle, why do you need to buy those?”, I said, “I love these too.” I didn’t bother to explain that I love the feel and the smell and the sound of the pages turning because he wouldn’t understand. He isn’t a lover of reading. I don’t think books will ever become completely obsolete, but I fear the generations to come might not appreciate them as much as we do.
So, in closing, I miss those days, the slower ones, but at the same time I am grateful for some of the new inventions and discoveries. I’ve always lamented jokingly that I was born in the wrong generation. Maybe the older we get, we all think that? As we age, the memories accumulate and (hopefully) the wisdom and knowledge increase and we realize what’s really important.
Summarizing summer
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “In the Summertime.”
Summer only began on June 21, which was a week ago last Sunday. I was shocked when I saw someone say something about it being the first day of summer, as I thought we were already deep in the midst of it judging by the temperatures and humidity. But, I do live in South Florida, so it’s not like I am not fully aware of my lot every year after the winter-less winter and a day or two of Spring. This year though, the heat is really bothering me. So much so, that if I had the money, I would have a house somewhere up north and retreat there until at least October.
I remember a time when I lived for summer; my favorite place was on the beach; multi colored towel spread in the sand, radio blasting. Smelling like Hawaiian Tropic I baked in the sun damaging my young, tender, spot free, wrinkle free, skin. Ah, didn’t I just write a post about unheeded advice? These days, after several non-benign skin cancer removals, I’m not as likely to be found sunbathing.
When you are school age, summer is synonymous with “no-school” so of course it’s your favorite season. There is staying up late followed by sleeping in, vacation, summer camp, and many adventures with friends. Then you grow older and while your children are still in school, you have mixed emotions about summer. At first, it’s great and you are excitedly planning trips and activities. Your precious pumpkins will be home with you and you anticipate lots of quality time, family fun and long talks. Near the end of July however, you are counting down the days until you don’t have to hear “I’m bored” anymore. That lasts until they don their new school clothes and backpack and head up the walk the first day, and you turn into a puddle of tears because you know you will miss them.
At my age (we will call it the young grandmother age), with no one at home except myself and my love, I am free to pick a season as my favorite for other reasons. Mine, for as long as I can remember has been fall. I love all seasons and they signify different seasons of life and I thank my Creator for each and every one of them. Most of the time, I am content and can put on my Pollyanna hat and find all the goodness about summer. Today is not one of those days.
So, here I am, enjoying my beautiful, blossoming plants and green grass as I sit sweating in a lawn chair in the shade, swatting mosquitoes…..waiting for fall.
Fiddler crabs and tomato gravy
Good afternoon, friends. I would like your help with something. The following is an excerpt from what I hope might possibly become my first novel. Can you take a peek and share your thoughts, please? If you read below, would you want to read more?
Susie’s bare feet sunk into the soft, cool mud, as she chased the fiddler crab back into the hole she had watched it emerge from. Her footprints made her think of the plaque on Granny’s wall. Granny said the plaque reminded her that when things got tough, Jesus carried her. Susie smiled as she thought of Jesus carrying Granny.
Granny was standing in the mud a few feet away from her, the hem of her pleated skirt damp from their adventure. Her silver hair was still tucked neatly in a bun and she was patiently watching Susie chase the crabs, as she dabbed at her face with her hanky. That’s what granny called her embroidered handkerchiefs and she always had one in her pocket or her bible.
Granny never rushed Susie the way some grown ups did. Most of the time, when Granny wasn’t “carrying a burden”, she acted just like one of the kids. She was always willing to play games, dance, draw, sing or go on treasure hunts and she always made it fun and encouraged imagination. Granny could turn her rocking chair into a pirate ship and Susie and her brother and sister would walk the plank on books with throw pillows masquerading as sharks waiting in the deep, murky water.
When it was nearly 5:00pm, it was time to get dinner ready. Papa like to eat early, go to bed early and rise early. Tonight, Granny was cooking pork chops and tomato gravy. She had made a fruit salad earlier and left it in the fridge to chill. Susie liked the sound of pork chops and fruit salad, but she would have to make sure she didn’t get a very big serving of the rice and tomato gravy. She liked the taste, but the big chunks of the tomato were just too much. She wished granny had made brown gravy instead.
Granny and Papa didn’t mind what you ate, but they sure didn’t like wasting. Susie thought that in their book, a wasteful person must be as bad as a thief. Mom said it was because they had lived during the Great Depression. That was when banks closed and no one had much money, so they were very careful. Mom and Dad didn’t like waste either, but it didn’t seem to bother them as much as it did Gran and Papa.
Susie didn’t care though; she just tried very hard not to waste. She loved to be at Granny’s more than anywhere else in the world, although she felt a little guilty about that sometimes and would never have told her mom and dad. There was a peacefulness at Granny’s that she just didn’t always feel anywhere else.
Daily Prompt: Smell you Later
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Smell You Later.”
Humans have very strong scent memory. Tell us about a smell that transports you.
In the late 70s, Cinnabar was a very popular scent and one of my mom’s favorites. It was strong, spicy scent, with a woodsy, cinnamon smell. It lingered. Thankfully, my nose was more tolerant back then and I enjoyed the smell. Allergies began to assault me in my late 20s and now my finicky nose can only tolerate the lightest scents.
My mom, my sister and I, and my aunt and two of my cousins all wore Cinnabar at some point during the late 70s and early 80s and I will never smell it without being whisked away to my teenage years.
We would spray it on before any of our frequent outings to the movies, roller skating or dinner. I would imagine that when we were all together, as we often were, that we unknowingly wreaked havoc on many poor unsuspecting noses.
I don’t smell it often, but when I do it brings a smile to my face and the realization of how blessed I was to have all of them in my life. I knew it then, but not in the way I know it now. Sometimes I think I will order a bottle so I can sniff it at will, but then that would take away the fun of my chance meetings with the lovely Cinnabar.
Things that happen in small towns with good people
This afternoon I don’t have too much on the agenda; trying to write and getting sides ready for dinner. My husband will be cooking hamburgers and corn on the cob on the grill, so I’m just responsible for the potatoes. He came in to ask me if we had buns and I looked up wondering how he could have forgotten that he ate the last ones a few days ago. I just assumed we were having sans buns or using regular bread. He promptly left to go to the local supermarket to get buns and run another errand and I took a call from my eldest who was excited to tell me some news about some of her own writing and blogging.
I heard a knock on my door and opened it, phone still to my ear, and three of my favorite people were outside. When your kids have busy schedules and live hundreds of miles away, it’s hard to hang up early when they call. One of them said, “We brought you buns”. Now, this particular woman is so incredible, I figured that somehow she just knew my needs this afternoon. But lo and behold, they had passed my husband and stopped to talk to him. When he told them where he was going and why, they explained they had just purchased the last package of buns at the market. What to do when you live 30 miles from a regular grocery store? Well, my hubby said, “you need to give me two of those”. So they, being the selfless, giving people that they are, did just that. Since he had another errand to run, they delivered the buns right to my front door. This did not surprise me at all out of this family. They are all kind, gracious and supportive and always ready with a smile to help make your day better.
As they stood on my steps fighting mosquitoes, I did invite them in, but they declined. They chose to go walk out back and look at the water instead, seeing that I was on the phone. I came back in, killed a deer fly with my kitchen towel and sat down and smiled (yes, the towel is now in the laundry). I feel bad that I wasn’t more insistent on them coming in, especially after they delivered buns!
I asked my daughter if she caught all of the conversation. She laughed and I filled her in on the rest of the details. She said, “well that was a cute and interesting story”, so I figured if she thought so, you might too 🙂
And to the Lewis family, I love you all and you are amazing and I hope you had enough buns left for yourselves!!
A night owl but not by choice
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “To Sleep, Perchance to Dream.”
Sleep is one-third of our lives: write a post about it. Do you love naps? Have trouble falling alseep? Wish you could remember your dreams? Remember something especially vivid? Snuggle under a blanket, or throw the windows wide open? Meditate on sleep.
Ahh, sleep. Something I think about many times a day, as I yawn (and I just made myself yawn by thinking about it). A self-confessed morning person, sleeping in for me means 6:30 or 7:00 am at the very latest. This is great, I love the morning; the coffee, the sun rise, the dew on the ground. Now, if my body would just cooperate on the sleeping part, things would be great.
I have good intentions; I try to go to bed before ten; you know, the actual lying down part. Since my alarm goes off at 5:30 on most mornings, 9:30 should be the goal for slumber, providing I am aiming for a full 8 hours. There are times when I can fall asleep pretty fast, but if my husband comes to bed later, or is watching t.v., I will wake up. I am a very light sleeper; always have been. Often, I wake up when a coconut falls and hits our dock outside, or if the neighbor’s dog barks or if a helicopter flies over (which creeps me out anyway at night).
On a good night after being awakened, I can fall back to sleep in about an hour. Well, I could if it weren’t for the other problem. My husband is out like a light and can sleep through a hurricane, but all the while, he is snoring. Yes, I know I can get up and go to another room but then I’m looking at another hour to get settled. Since I have written about snoring before; a fictional story in That’s absurd and the real deal in Sleeping with the Enemy I won’t elaborate further about that struggle here.
I tell myself that the one nap a week I allow myself, on Sunday afternoons, somehow makes up for it, but I know that isn’t true. The only other time I nap is if I’m sick.
Tonight, as I turn down the thermostat and snuggle under the covers, I will dream (while I’m awake) of a full night’s sleep; the kind where you close your eyes and they don’t open again until morning, the kind I don’t remember ever having, although I’m sure I did in my younger days. For now, it’s time to start watching the clock and attempting once again to “go to bed earlier”, a plan I’ve been working towards for months now.
And yes, I do have dreams too, but the ones I remember are few and far between and often feature snakes so we won’t go there. Sweet dreams!
What to wear?!?
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Clothes (May) Make the (Wo)man.”
How important are clothes to you? Describe your style, if you have one, and tell us how appearance impacts how you feel about yourself.
To think of when I first developed a love for clothes I have to flashback to mid-1970’s and think about wine colored gauchos, a leather shoulder bag and a mood ring. I was just a kid, but I remember feeling “put together” and a general sense of well being when I was dressed nicely, as opposed to my “play clothes”.
Unfortunately, I went through middle and high school and my younger adult years putting way too much emphasis on how I looked and what I had on. I was influenced, like most of us, by my peers and the current trend in Glamour magazine. Oh, how I wish I could make young girls and women understand that their heart and what’s inside is so much more important. And that most of what they try to live up to in a magazine isn’t even real.
I even failed my own girls sometimes when they were younger, by spending so much time in front of the mirror second guessing an outfit, or lamenting about a zit or perceived weight gain. I didn’t fully realize the impact that my self-absorption and self-consciousness could have had on them.
It’s important to instill confidence in our daughters but it should come from who they are, who God created them to be, not how they look or what they wear. I tried, but I don’t think I hammered this point in all the way.
My current style would have to be classic/feminine. I’ve never been bullied by current trends. If I don’t like it, I’m not wearing it. I wasn’t pleased at all to see high waist-ed pants come back and I’ll never have wings again, wear crocs or spend a lot of money on fake nails. I’m not interested in advertising for Coach or any of the other logo-ridden accessories, but if I truly love it, I’ll buy it. Again, it’s motive. In the past, I would buy something expensive just to flaunt it; now I see the error of my ways.
Modesty is important to me as I want to be remembered as a reflection of Christ and not someone who is overly consumed with themselves. Do I always succeed in that quest? No, but I’m learning.
I still love to buy clothes and I try to always look nice but my heart’s motives are different now. Of course, I am courting 50, and with that comes a strength and wisdom I just didn’t have at 20 (or 30). As long as I honor God and my husband is happy, no other opinion really matters to me.
Macaroni noodles and boo-boos
Thank you mom for all that you taught me and all of the things you did to show your love.
Thank you for wearing necklaces lovingly crafted from macaroni noodles; for hanging countless masterpieces on the fridge, for making me believe I was gifted, talented, beautiful and brilliant, for all the boo-boo’s you made better (and yes that DID sting);for watching all the “plays” and dance routines and listening to the unending songs I made up as I went and never once making me feel stupid.
I thank you for your smile, you know, the one that told me I was your world. I thank you for your long nails that gently scratched my itches, even when I was dirty. I thank you for the soft, gentle voice that read to me and explained life to me. I thank you for all of the meals you crafted and I apologize for the many times I stubbornly refused to eat something “gross”.
Thank you for never leaving my side when I needed you, for all the coddling when I was sick, for wiping my nose countless times before I could do it myself, for all the diapering, wiping and cleaning duties, which I know you did the majority of.
I thank you for the dresses you made, the many times you baked after everyone else was asleep, so that my class would have cupcakes for a party, for the way you knew how to stretch a dollar in lean times to feed and clothe all three of us. Thanks for lying across my bed with me when I was a teenager and making me feel comfortable to tell you the truth, knowing that even if there were repercussions, they would be fair.
Thank you for never forgetting a birthday, an important event or to tell me you loved me. Thank you for your prayers and for teaching me about God, and for teaching your children morals and values.
Most of all, I thank you for being you; the wonderful, beautiful woman I called Mother. I miss you!
Long walks and dark chocolate 