They're all in there. If I look over my left shoulder, I can see them now as I sit here at the computer. About 30 minutes ago, I came into a state of wakefulness - eyes closed, snuggled under a quilt with Crackhouse Puppy (whose new name is Cinderblock because he weighs a ton!) asleep on my lap. I had napped so hard, on this - the First day of Daylight Savings Time, that it took me a few minutes to gather myself. We had slept so long that the T.V. had even shut itself off, due to inactivity. In the quiet of my dark little den, as I lay stretched out in the recliner, I listened for the sounds I love above all others - sounds that alerted me to the location of my loved ones. There was a stretchy, moany sound - Baby Girl must be sleeping on the sofa. Next came a chuffing kind of sound - Babiest girl was in the recliner next to mine. After a moment, I heard the sound that is so often missing here lately.....the thick sleepy throat clearing of College Boy. This was the catalyst that made my eyes open....we were all out of surfaces by my reckoning - sofa, and both recliners full of the Kennedy women. I released the lever on the LaZBoy, shoved the puppy off of my lap and sat up, thinking to find College Boy sitting in the kitchen - on the computer or some such. Just as I stood (no easy chore, since my feet were tangled in quilt and puppy), I heard it again - the same throat clearing that he has made in his sleep since before he could talk in complete sentences. Lo and behold - there he was....wrapped in the green afghan my Sister crocheted me for a wedding present - almost 25 years ago. College Boy was sleeping on the floor in front of the sofa - at the feet of Baby Girl.
That sight took me back to the days when child rearing was a full contact sport, and a nap was an unheard of thing. The time when my exhaustion was blinding, and the days ran together in their fullness. The days when the three Kennedy children would go at full speed - from the time their little feet hit the floor (and Lord knows they were all obscenely early risers), until they had each been wrestled into their respective beds for the umpteenth time. Every now and then, as a treat, they were allowed to sleep in the den on a pallet. Blanket piled on top of blanket, pillows from every room in the house - their nest was sumptuous and cozy. On these nights, they were eager to go to bed. There, on the floor of the den they would snuggle and whisper, giggle and dream out loud, until sleep came over them by surprise. They would lay like a tangle of puppies - arms and legs draped over each other - with no clear definition of where one body stopped and the other began. Sometime in the night, each time -I would come out of my bedroom, turn on the light in the kitchen and steal into the den. I would sit in a chair and watch them sleep, in the crack of light that spilled in from the kitchen. I would listen to their sleeping sounds, memorize their faces, and store those memories away for such a time as I might need them....like when they were off to college and driving and babysitting and other such big kid pursuits.
But today, I do not need that memory - because they are all in there, making their sleeping sounds, wearing the sleepy faces, and needing to be awakened - otherwise, they will never sleep tonight. John will be home from work soon, and we will all sit down to breakfast for supper - a Sunday night favorite. The girls will play hookey from Youth, and we will go to the dollar movie - The Life of Pi, I think. I give thanks for Spring Break - for the week that we have before us to once again be a family of five. I give thanks that my growndy up Boy will still sleep at his sister's feet, that my children love each other. I give thanks for the guitars leaning up against the cabinets, and the myriad shoes strewn hither and yon, upstairs and down. I give thanks for the clementine peels that are piled on the kitchen counter, and the open door letting in the clean air that smells of sunshine and the promise of spring. I give thanks for the memory in the making, in my darkened den, dirty dishes and all...........now, if I could just have that hour back.......
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Saturday, February 23, 2013
Tweaking the starter.....
My bread won't rise. I've tried heating the oven on low and putting the dough in to rest....I've put a pan of boiling water alongside the dough in the oven - none of my little tricks are working. I hope this doesn't mean my starter has died....maybe it's just the damp cold....maybe the barometric pressure is wonky. I've decided I am going to separate the dough anyway, put it in the loaf pans and try a second rise....the thing about it is - I kind of feel like my dough - I just can't be bothered to rise. Maybe it's this nasty cold I've got .....maybe it's the season of my life....maybe it's all of the changes in the past months, but I sure am ready for a "second rise" - praying that my starter hasn't died.
Here's the thing about living in the same small town you grew up in - you are always running into someone from your past - a friend, a boyfriend, someone you didn't like, parents of your friends.....Yesterday, I was happy to run into the Mother of one of my favorite friends from High School. He grew up and away - living a life of excitement and importance as a Doctor specializing in Infectious Disease - he's been to Africa to research AIDS and new treatment methods, he's worked in major cities all over the U.S....his has been a life of service and difference making, and I have been so proud of him - watching from afar. Yesterday, standing in the cold rain at the entrance to the Teeter, his Mom told me that he has started a new career - left the practice of Medicine for a job in research - she laughed and said that he felt if he was ever going to branch out, it might as well be now. I answered that he was young enough to have a long and successful second career. We said our goodbyes, I turned to take up my grocery bags and was pole axed. I said it....out of my own mouth - "he is young enough to have a long and successful second career".....He. Is. My. Age. I think I faced it for the first time yesterday......I. am. not. old....I just feel old.....like my life is over.....yet my dear friend is young enough to have a successful second career.
His starter appears to be in good working order....mine obviously needs a little nudge.....an oven set to warm, or a pan of boiling water tucked up next to me....but where to find it? How to tweak it, so I rise....not sit in a doughy clump at the bottom of the bowl? The painful truth is - I am old of my own making. Not chronologically....I think of my friend as young enough to start over.....where, then...where am I old? In my thinking? In my heart? In my spirit?
In bread making terms, it is obviously time to feed the starter.......So I turn to you, my friends...how have you done it? Have you ever found yourselves in need of an overhaul? Have you been successful in lifting yourselves up...in tweaking your starter? Do you mind sharing the recipe.....it just so happens I seem to be in need of a new one.
Here's the thing about living in the same small town you grew up in - you are always running into someone from your past - a friend, a boyfriend, someone you didn't like, parents of your friends.....Yesterday, I was happy to run into the Mother of one of my favorite friends from High School. He grew up and away - living a life of excitement and importance as a Doctor specializing in Infectious Disease - he's been to Africa to research AIDS and new treatment methods, he's worked in major cities all over the U.S....his has been a life of service and difference making, and I have been so proud of him - watching from afar. Yesterday, standing in the cold rain at the entrance to the Teeter, his Mom told me that he has started a new career - left the practice of Medicine for a job in research - she laughed and said that he felt if he was ever going to branch out, it might as well be now. I answered that he was young enough to have a long and successful second career. We said our goodbyes, I turned to take up my grocery bags and was pole axed. I said it....out of my own mouth - "he is young enough to have a long and successful second career".....He. Is. My. Age. I think I faced it for the first time yesterday......I. am. not. old....I just feel old.....like my life is over.....yet my dear friend is young enough to have a successful second career.
His starter appears to be in good working order....mine obviously needs a little nudge.....an oven set to warm, or a pan of boiling water tucked up next to me....but where to find it? How to tweak it, so I rise....not sit in a doughy clump at the bottom of the bowl? The painful truth is - I am old of my own making. Not chronologically....I think of my friend as young enough to start over.....where, then...where am I old? In my thinking? In my heart? In my spirit?
In bread making terms, it is obviously time to feed the starter.......So I turn to you, my friends...how have you done it? Have you ever found yourselves in need of an overhaul? Have you been successful in lifting yourselves up...in tweaking your starter? Do you mind sharing the recipe.....it just so happens I seem to be in need of a new one.
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Sciatic Shuffle
One should never do the extended version of the Cha-Cha Slide when their Sciatic nerve is on the fritz.....I'd like to think that I sat down at the computer in the kitchen to write tonight because of my burning need to express myself...but it could just as easily be because of the burning in my shoulder and hip, and my need to rest before attempting the steps that lead to my bed! You see....we had a dance tonight....at the Church....that's right....at the Baptist Church. Young people....old people....and all kinds of in between people. A Valentines Dinner/Dance, with beautiful decorations, Steak, and a most excellent play list for the dancing - beach music, Moves Like Jagger music, Twist music, fun line dancing music, and of course - a little bit of Romantic Music....it is almost Valentines, after all. I wish I could download my memory - so that you could see the pictures I am seeing, as I sit here - sciatic nerve in my hip throbbing - foot slightly numb....But I'll do my best to describe it - because it really was quite a night. Our new Youth Minister is a dancing machine - he's my Hero, because he did the unthinkable...he made the dancing seem cool and fun - and before you knew it, Middle School boys were dancing with Middle School girls - high school girls were dancing with each other...the High School Boys....well...you can't win 'em all! Fathers were dancing with Daughters, Mothers were dancing with Sons (I sure did miss College Boy), Teens dancing with the "old folks", and the four and five year olds were dancing with helium balloons that had once been centerpieces! "Pillars" of the community were ripping off their bow ties, swinging them over their heads Gagnum Style, and having a blast. A beloved Gentleman who is slowly forgetting himself and those around him, cut quite a figure as his sense memory guided him as he danced - a beautiful slow dance.
I love to dance - always have, always will - and it was fun to teach a 13 year old how to dance to Beach Music, nice to slow dance with my sweetie, and worth every minute of Sciatic agony I will experience tonight - to Cha-Cha Slide, do the YMCA, the Macarena, the Cupid Shuffle, the Twist....The familiarity of our Fellowship, the joy we felt from laughing and playing together turned the ordinary into the extraordinary. In the grand scheme of Society, our Valentines Dance was a little thing - hardly worth notice, really....except, to my way of thinking, it was so much more. It was 1st Graders in Beautiful dresses....2 little guys enthralled with pink and red helium balloons, and using them as dance partners....a celebration of a 61st Anniversary.....it was a gaggle of teen-aged girls gathered around the handsome exchange student....it was a team of men, adorned with Aprons, cooking for a multitude......it was a time for splitting the last piece of pie...a time for thoughtful teens, bringing coffee to their elders....a time for laughter and family and kinship........it was a celebration of a young widow and widower - how they found each other and blended their children into one big beautiful new family.... a time to forget the aches and pains that make days a chore.... it was a simple pleasure of togetherness, baked potatoes, and heart paper chains....the best of Life - for this Mid Life Wife.
I love to dance - always have, always will - and it was fun to teach a 13 year old how to dance to Beach Music, nice to slow dance with my sweetie, and worth every minute of Sciatic agony I will experience tonight - to Cha-Cha Slide, do the YMCA, the Macarena, the Cupid Shuffle, the Twist....The familiarity of our Fellowship, the joy we felt from laughing and playing together turned the ordinary into the extraordinary. In the grand scheme of Society, our Valentines Dance was a little thing - hardly worth notice, really....except, to my way of thinking, it was so much more. It was 1st Graders in Beautiful dresses....2 little guys enthralled with pink and red helium balloons, and using them as dance partners....a celebration of a 61st Anniversary.....it was a gaggle of teen-aged girls gathered around the handsome exchange student....it was a team of men, adorned with Aprons, cooking for a multitude......it was a time for splitting the last piece of pie...a time for thoughtful teens, bringing coffee to their elders....a time for laughter and family and kinship........it was a celebration of a young widow and widower - how they found each other and blended their children into one big beautiful new family.... a time to forget the aches and pains that make days a chore.... it was a simple pleasure of togetherness, baked potatoes, and heart paper chains....the best of Life - for this Mid Life Wife.
Monday, February 4, 2013
Talons, and Wings, and Beaks.....Good-bye....
I have washed my last egg. No more will I see my sweet babiest girl, cheeks pink with the cold, run into the kitchen carrying 3 warm eggs in her bucket. The Girl Scout Silver Award project is complete, and our beautiful chickens are safely ensconced in their new home - giving the residents of a halfway house a new sense of responsibility, and quite possibly the best source of an omelet within the city limits. You might recall that I was slightly discombobulated by their birdlike qualities, when the chickens first came to our house to live...but I made my peace with their beaks and talons (so achieved by never entering the coop enclosure), and grew to love their constant presence. At first, my eyes found the peachy orange of their chicken coop jarring (babiest girl and her partner did a primo job painting the coop), but I soon came to love the cheery contrast it made nestled among the brown bark of the pines in the backyard - and found it to be downright homey, next to the deep red of our storage barn. If you stood in the back yard and called "chickens" - letting your voice raise by at least a 5th on the second syllable, they would answer with a soothing, heart warming clucking. On pretty days, I would go up and wedge my sizeable backside into one of the swings on the kids old playset and sit there swinging - watching the girls go about their business.....scratching in the dirt, ruffling their feathers, drinking their water, pecking at the fencing...as I swung back and forth, my shoulders relaxed, and my blood pressure lessened.
The back yard feels empty - no bright orange coop, no scratching or clucking...and perhaps, most saddening of all...no more fresh eggs! The girls were good layers, and we were amazed to discover that each chicken had a signature shell to her eggs. Abigail's were very pale brown, with a pink tinge, and they were the smallest of all. Kesha's eggs bore the cutest freckles, and Falcon's eggs were deep brown - the largest of all. (All of the eggs came with the byproduct of their origin - hence the washing!) When you cracked them, the yolks were the deepest gold, and the whites were thick and clear. Having free, home farmed, fresh eggs to feed my family everyday was an amazing thing - somewhat akin to nursing my babies. I remember feeling this magnificent power - knowing that I had the ability to produce food capable of keeping another human alive....It's the same with baking my bread - every time I bake my loaves, I am reminded that I - by my own two hands - can produce food capable of sustaining those I love.
We are already working on Mr. Kennedy....reminding him of how much he loves two fresh eggs - sunnyside up....how little work it was, taking care of the chickens....how happy their gentle clucking made all of us...what a great value we received from the few dollars of scratch and feed we purchased. He, thus far, seems unmoved - unswayed by our desire to have a permanent Kennedy flock.....It might be time to throw in a snippet about how we might possibly survive a zombie apocalypse..... with a few eggs and a loaf of sourdough bread.
The back yard feels empty - no bright orange coop, no scratching or clucking...and perhaps, most saddening of all...no more fresh eggs! The girls were good layers, and we were amazed to discover that each chicken had a signature shell to her eggs. Abigail's were very pale brown, with a pink tinge, and they were the smallest of all. Kesha's eggs bore the cutest freckles, and Falcon's eggs were deep brown - the largest of all. (All of the eggs came with the byproduct of their origin - hence the washing!) When you cracked them, the yolks were the deepest gold, and the whites were thick and clear. Having free, home farmed, fresh eggs to feed my family everyday was an amazing thing - somewhat akin to nursing my babies. I remember feeling this magnificent power - knowing that I had the ability to produce food capable of keeping another human alive....It's the same with baking my bread - every time I bake my loaves, I am reminded that I - by my own two hands - can produce food capable of sustaining those I love.
We are already working on Mr. Kennedy....reminding him of how much he loves two fresh eggs - sunnyside up....how little work it was, taking care of the chickens....how happy their gentle clucking made all of us...what a great value we received from the few dollars of scratch and feed we purchased. He, thus far, seems unmoved - unswayed by our desire to have a permanent Kennedy flock.....It might be time to throw in a snippet about how we might possibly survive a zombie apocalypse..... with a few eggs and a loaf of sourdough bread.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Forever Young....
The cover of the magazine almost did me in....there they stood - I had to look twice, and blink once - for the names were right, but the faces....they didn't exactly fit.....Luke and Laura. Think back....for me, it was the summer before I started College - the TRUE wedding of the century.....Soap Opera Drama at it's finest....Romance, Angst, Conflict, Gorgeous Wedding Dress.....She was beautiful (But a terrible actress). He was dangerous....the kind of man your Mother warned you about. Together they represented a fairy tale (albeit a dark one) come true, and eternal youth. Which may explain why my brain refused to accept the photographic evidence right in front of me...on the cover of Soap Opera Digest...on the rack by the Cash Register....at the Teeter.....where I was recently offered the Senior Citizen Discount.....
"Luke and Laura - Reunited", the headline proclaimed. Tony Geary (Luke), never your typical handsome man, has not aged well....he looks a little like your standard Creepy Old Man next door. Genie Frances (Laura), looked like somebody's Middle Aged Mom...jowlish jaw line and all. I've been noticing it alot lately...how folks around me - my contemporaries - are suddenly looking their age...the face that stares out at me from the mirror may or may not be looking a little beyond it's age.....but Luke and Laura?! That's just adding insult to injury.
It's been a long few days.....nothing earth shattering - just the reality that is mine. Extreme Penny Pinching (my best sport) grows wearisome from time to time, and there are days when it weighs heavily on my spirit. I have had to tell the girls "No", one too many times this week....they ask for so little, and it hurts me....how how rarely the word "Yes" can fall from my lips. I miss College Boy so much today that it is a physical ache....I think that this latest bought of separation sadness was brought on by this past weekend's ice storm. The girls and I were snuggled in the Den - I was watching the clock as the streets were getting more treacherous by the minute - John was late getting in from work, and I was starting to worry. As I heard his key in the back door, I breathed a sigh of relief and thought - "Thank God - now we are all safe, here in the house".....and then it struck me that I was thinking in terms of "Us" as four people, instead of five.....thereby admitting that College Boy is making his own life....as it should be. Which is cause for celebration.....and sadness.
As I left the house this morning, I popped Joan Baez into the CD player in the car....I got it from the Library over the weekend - her Greatest Hits Album....I had it on Cassette AND 8 track, back in the day, and it was often the soundtrack to my young life.....the best tracks (to my way of thinking) were the ones that dealt with lost love. Forever Young was another favorite - an anthem of empowerment to those of us who were 21 - and surely would remain so in perpetuity. It has been many years since I last heard this song, and as I listened to it this morning I realized it was NOT an anthem dedicated to the 21 year olds.....It is a prayer - for those trudging along in the trenches of life. It speaks, not to the Newly Wed Luke and Laura....but to the Luke and Laura on the cover of the Soap Opera Digest.....the ones that look a little ragged ...the ones that inevitably wear life's mileage on their faces.....and that very mileage....the mileage that causes our backs to hurt, our knees to crack, our foreheads to furrow, our hair to grey- also causes our spirits to grow heavy....causes our tempers to grow sullen, our hope to run short.....causes us to grow old.
Children have such depth of spirit.....they are eager and open - they thirst for knowledge, and view the world as a place of wonder. They love with abandon, and express that love without reservation. They forgive easily, and start each day in anticipation of a possible adventure....More than flawless skin, luminous hair, and a 26 inch waist....THIS is what we loose as we age...THIS is the youth Joan Baez wished for us, when she sang her prayer...the prayer I say for myself tonight.....the prayer I say for you, too....
"May God Bless and keep you always, may your wishes all come true. May you always do for others, and let others do for you. May you build a ladder to the stars, and climb on every rung.....and may you stay forever young. May you grow up to be righteous, may you grow up to be true, may you always know the truth and see the light surrounding you. May you always be courageous, stand upright and be strong...and may you stay forever young. May your hands always be busy, may your feet always be swift, may you have a strong foundation when the winds of changes shift. May your heart always be joyful, may your song always be sung.....and may you stay......Forever Young."
"Luke and Laura - Reunited", the headline proclaimed. Tony Geary (Luke), never your typical handsome man, has not aged well....he looks a little like your standard Creepy Old Man next door. Genie Frances (Laura), looked like somebody's Middle Aged Mom...jowlish jaw line and all. I've been noticing it alot lately...how folks around me - my contemporaries - are suddenly looking their age...the face that stares out at me from the mirror may or may not be looking a little beyond it's age.....but Luke and Laura?! That's just adding insult to injury.
It's been a long few days.....nothing earth shattering - just the reality that is mine. Extreme Penny Pinching (my best sport) grows wearisome from time to time, and there are days when it weighs heavily on my spirit. I have had to tell the girls "No", one too many times this week....they ask for so little, and it hurts me....how how rarely the word "Yes" can fall from my lips. I miss College Boy so much today that it is a physical ache....I think that this latest bought of separation sadness was brought on by this past weekend's ice storm. The girls and I were snuggled in the Den - I was watching the clock as the streets were getting more treacherous by the minute - John was late getting in from work, and I was starting to worry. As I heard his key in the back door, I breathed a sigh of relief and thought - "Thank God - now we are all safe, here in the house".....and then it struck me that I was thinking in terms of "Us" as four people, instead of five.....thereby admitting that College Boy is making his own life....as it should be. Which is cause for celebration.....and sadness.
As I left the house this morning, I popped Joan Baez into the CD player in the car....I got it from the Library over the weekend - her Greatest Hits Album....I had it on Cassette AND 8 track, back in the day, and it was often the soundtrack to my young life.....the best tracks (to my way of thinking) were the ones that dealt with lost love. Forever Young was another favorite - an anthem of empowerment to those of us who were 21 - and surely would remain so in perpetuity. It has been many years since I last heard this song, and as I listened to it this morning I realized it was NOT an anthem dedicated to the 21 year olds.....It is a prayer - for those trudging along in the trenches of life. It speaks, not to the Newly Wed Luke and Laura....but to the Luke and Laura on the cover of the Soap Opera Digest.....the ones that look a little ragged ...the ones that inevitably wear life's mileage on their faces.....and that very mileage....the mileage that causes our backs to hurt, our knees to crack, our foreheads to furrow, our hair to grey- also causes our spirits to grow heavy....causes our tempers to grow sullen, our hope to run short.....causes us to grow old.
Children have such depth of spirit.....they are eager and open - they thirst for knowledge, and view the world as a place of wonder. They love with abandon, and express that love without reservation. They forgive easily, and start each day in anticipation of a possible adventure....More than flawless skin, luminous hair, and a 26 inch waist....THIS is what we loose as we age...THIS is the youth Joan Baez wished for us, when she sang her prayer...the prayer I say for myself tonight.....the prayer I say for you, too....
"May God Bless and keep you always, may your wishes all come true. May you always do for others, and let others do for you. May you build a ladder to the stars, and climb on every rung.....and may you stay forever young. May you grow up to be righteous, may you grow up to be true, may you always know the truth and see the light surrounding you. May you always be courageous, stand upright and be strong...and may you stay forever young. May your hands always be busy, may your feet always be swift, may you have a strong foundation when the winds of changes shift. May your heart always be joyful, may your song always be sung.....and may you stay......Forever Young."
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Thus endeth the lesson....
Here's the thing.....when you work with kids, your life is Never Dull! As a Children's Minister, I am privy to a wealth of the precious, the funny, and the downright unbelievable words that fall from the mouths of babes! Take the Sunday, several months ago. I always peak in to each classroom at the beginning of the Sunday School hour, and then again, right before I go to warm up for choir. On this particular day, I went into the Pre School room and read a story. Afterwards, I was in the robing room, putting on my choir robe (my WHITE choir robe), when I remembered that I had left my keys on the counter, so on my way to the choir room, I went back to the Pre School room to retrieve them. As I entered, I heard a gasp,then a squeal, and suddenly there was a three year old hugging me around the knees, and saying in a hushed voice...."Miss Kelley - I always knew you were an angel!"
Tonight.....not so much. Tonight, we were overflowing with kids of varying school ages, a couple of whom were new. To get everybody focused, I suggested we go around the room and say name, age, and grade in school. Once that was done, as a segue to our lesson, I asked who the youngest child in the room was - then the oldest (we figured this out by birth dates, as we had several of each age). As I was reeling them in to the lesson, one little friend piped up - "wait a minute.....thus and so isn't the oldest (name changed to protect the innocent).....Miss Kelley is the oldest!" Suddenly the room was filled with a cacophony of agreement....."That's right"....."Oh yeah (Said with a laugh), Miss Kelley is OLD"......."She's the oldest, she IS!"......you get the general idea - in one fell swoop, just like that, I lost control of the room. Control was soon gained by a 5 year old who exclaimed "At least Miss Kelley is not as old as GOD........" "That's right", said her 6 year old compadre, "God is the OLDEST of the Old!"......."Yeah", said another friend, "but what does that make Miss Kelley?!" Several thoughts were then bandied about (None of which were in agreement to MY suggestion that we get back to the lesson at hand!). The pitch of the room was escalating, with each child trying to outdo the other with their passionate opinions in regards to my antiquity. I feared that a riot was eminent...and then, one of the little darlings, with elbows on the table, put her head in her hands and said "Let's face it......Miss Kelley is Older than Old".........So let it be written......so let it be done.....thus endeth the lesson!
Tonight.....not so much. Tonight, we were overflowing with kids of varying school ages, a couple of whom were new. To get everybody focused, I suggested we go around the room and say name, age, and grade in school. Once that was done, as a segue to our lesson, I asked who the youngest child in the room was - then the oldest (we figured this out by birth dates, as we had several of each age). As I was reeling them in to the lesson, one little friend piped up - "wait a minute.....thus and so isn't the oldest (name changed to protect the innocent).....Miss Kelley is the oldest!" Suddenly the room was filled with a cacophony of agreement....."That's right"....."Oh yeah (Said with a laugh), Miss Kelley is OLD"......."She's the oldest, she IS!"......you get the general idea - in one fell swoop, just like that, I lost control of the room. Control was soon gained by a 5 year old who exclaimed "At least Miss Kelley is not as old as GOD........" "That's right", said her 6 year old compadre, "God is the OLDEST of the Old!"......."Yeah", said another friend, "but what does that make Miss Kelley?!" Several thoughts were then bandied about (None of which were in agreement to MY suggestion that we get back to the lesson at hand!). The pitch of the room was escalating, with each child trying to outdo the other with their passionate opinions in regards to my antiquity. I feared that a riot was eminent...and then, one of the little darlings, with elbows on the table, put her head in her hands and said "Let's face it......Miss Kelley is Older than Old".........So let it be written......so let it be done.....thus endeth the lesson!
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Not enough Hand Sanitizer in. the. WORLD!
Here I am, a day late and a dollar short...as usual. I missed Tirade Tuesday by just one day. Can you have Tirade Tuesday on Wednesday?...No?...OK - how about Whiny Wednesday....yeah - let's go with that. I know that it might just be possible that I have an inordinate amount of things that annoy me - that aggravate me....like men wearing ball caps indoors, or bad grammar....chewing with one's mouth open - and here's a biggie......cars that go the wrong way in parking lots that have clearly designated "up" aisles and "down" aisles.
It bothers me to see lovely young women going about their business, out in public, wearing pajamas. (Lord help Baby Girl and Babiest Girl if I ever catch wind of them doing so....). And of course, Trouser waistbands that ride the mid buttock/ upper thigh region, move me to lower the car window and scream to the offender "Pull up your Pants!!!" (Much to the dismay of my offspring!) I am annoyed by restaurants that serve Pepsi products, and I really can't stand it if someone chews near my ear. Seeing kitchen cabinet doors left open works my last nerve, and upity, elitist folks send me over the edge. I hate it when Green lifesavers that I assume are Lime, turn out to be Watermelon.....and although I am a child of the 70's - it annoys me when people don't dress appropriately.....jeans and tennis shoes are just not meant to be worn to "dress your best" events. But today.....today, I may have reached a new high (or low, depending how you look at it....), when it comes to things that make me crazy........
It was a simple thing - I held out my money, to be taken by the cashier. The first thing I noticed, as she reached out to take my payment, were her hands.....great, giant, beefy hands (Remember the Seinfeld episode re: Man Hands?!) Then, she took my money with both of those beefy hands.... in so doing, both of her hands grasped mine, and pulsated up my hand, from wrist to fingertip, almost as if she were wiping off something nasty, while adding a slight caress ....her hands were warm, and horribly damp....no, not damp.....moist......For a split second, I saw spots in front of my eyes and calculated just how much change I had coming, and if it was worth it to stand there for one more instant. I took a deep breath, girded my loins, and held my hand out for the change.....flat palmed, like they tell you to feed animals, so they don't accidentally bite your hand.
I was giving myself a quick pep talk....this won't be so bad....
she'll just drop the change in your hand......
BLERG!!
It was worse!....She gave me the change in reverse fashion. Both of her hands grasping mine, fingering down the length of my hand to the wrist, and then back up. Her moist fingertips lingering on mine. I could no longer rely on my home training....I could not be polite one second longer. I jerked my hand away and fled. It is not for nothing that I am known in my family as The Hand. Washing. Nazi. I could actually see the dampness that had been transferred from her hands to mine. I caught up to my crawling skin about half way to the bathroom, where I commenced scrubbing to a fair thee well, because people....let me tell you - there is not enough hand sanitizer in the World, for THAT kind of public interaction.
It bothers me to see lovely young women going about their business, out in public, wearing pajamas. (Lord help Baby Girl and Babiest Girl if I ever catch wind of them doing so....). And of course, Trouser waistbands that ride the mid buttock/ upper thigh region, move me to lower the car window and scream to the offender "Pull up your Pants!!!" (Much to the dismay of my offspring!) I am annoyed by restaurants that serve Pepsi products, and I really can't stand it if someone chews near my ear. Seeing kitchen cabinet doors left open works my last nerve, and upity, elitist folks send me over the edge. I hate it when Green lifesavers that I assume are Lime, turn out to be Watermelon.....and although I am a child of the 70's - it annoys me when people don't dress appropriately.....jeans and tennis shoes are just not meant to be worn to "dress your best" events. But today.....today, I may have reached a new high (or low, depending how you look at it....), when it comes to things that make me crazy........
It was a simple thing - I held out my money, to be taken by the cashier. The first thing I noticed, as she reached out to take my payment, were her hands.....great, giant, beefy hands (Remember the Seinfeld episode re: Man Hands?!) Then, she took my money with both of those beefy hands.... in so doing, both of her hands grasped mine, and pulsated up my hand, from wrist to fingertip, almost as if she were wiping off something nasty, while adding a slight caress ....her hands were warm, and horribly damp....no, not damp.....moist......For a split second, I saw spots in front of my eyes and calculated just how much change I had coming, and if it was worth it to stand there for one more instant. I took a deep breath, girded my loins, and held my hand out for the change.....flat palmed, like they tell you to feed animals, so they don't accidentally bite your hand.
I was giving myself a quick pep talk....this won't be so bad....
she'll just drop the change in your hand......
BLERG!!
It was worse!....She gave me the change in reverse fashion. Both of her hands grasping mine, fingering down the length of my hand to the wrist, and then back up. Her moist fingertips lingering on mine. I could no longer rely on my home training....I could not be polite one second longer. I jerked my hand away and fled. It is not for nothing that I am known in my family as The Hand. Washing. Nazi. I could actually see the dampness that had been transferred from her hands to mine. I caught up to my crawling skin about half way to the bathroom, where I commenced scrubbing to a fair thee well, because people....let me tell you - there is not enough hand sanitizer in the World, for THAT kind of public interaction.
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