Do not allow your beginning define who you become.  How you define yourself determines the goals or lack of goals you set for yourself.  Retirement gives you a chance to look back but do not allow the past define where you are going.  We all start each year by making resolutions pledges to improve something.  Make a resolution to define yourself as the bright twinkle of a star.  We are all headed for stardom... retirement allows us the time to shine.

I survived my birth mother's attempt to abort me. When I was a few hours old she wrapped me in newspaper, went down an alley, and pushed me deep into a trash can. My big brother who was 4 followed her. He fished me out of the trash and took me to a neighbor's house.

We children lived mostly under the house for protection. We were not bathed because the bruises would show. My big brother & sister took care of me and then when I was 2 my little sister was born and I cared for her. When our little brother was born less than a year later I took care of him too. Our mother did her best she could to protect us. She was beaten many times trying to protect us.  Getting caught meant getting thrown against the wall until we were unconscious.  Crying made it worse.

My mother was in trouble for trying to abandon me. The state took us away from my parents because of it.  She was trying to save me. I forgave her years ago. She did not tell the state that her husband, my birth father was a pedophile. His abuse was extreme. Eventually, I also forgave him because he was sick.  I did not know any better than to love what I hated.  I feared him and loved him. My big sister had to have a hysterectomy at the age of 5. I had to have my colon rebuilt when I was 4. My little sister had been protected by me, my big sister and my big brother so never had to endure to his cruelty.

I developed a curvature of the spine because of living under the house. Many times we ate bugs because we did not dare come out to eat. I laugh now as I remember apologizing to each bug before I ate it.  I was 2 before I tried to stand all the way up the first time. The state kept giving us back to our parents and we went back to an orphanage with each new birth. Finally, when I was 4, my little sister was 2, and the youngest boy was almost a year old when we went to the orphanage for good. There were 5 kids in all by then. My big sister was 5 and my big brother was almost 7.

I celebrate surviving.  I believe the rebel in me was born under that house. My overwhelming urge to protect those I love was nurtured under that house. My intolerance to cruelty grew under that house and has served me throughout my life. My stubbornness and pure determination to stand straight and tall crawled out from under that house. I had remembered over hearing one of the attendance at the orphanage talking about me.  She called me a trash baby and seemed to think the curve in my spine and not being able to stand up would mark me as a "trash baby" all my life.  That woman will never know how much she hurt me that day nor how much she helped me.  I may not have known much at that age but I knew what trash was.  I cried myself to sleep that night knowing others saw me as trash.

I started standing in door ways and pushing myself up to straighten my spine.  The pain was horrible but I was determined to be straight.  I would lay flat in my bed and not use a pillow.  I stretched and forced myself to pull my shoulders back and push past the curve in my back so it was straight.  It became an obsession for me to stand straight.  It worked. I remember telling my new grandmother (after the adoption) about what the woman had said.  She helped me with exercises and modified a girdle to use as a back brace for me.  

I have to think back on how many times I was told I had wonderful posture for one so young. I started out modeling children's clothes at the Apparel Mart in Dallas.  My mother had a small dress shop and I went with her to buy inventory. I eventually talked my parents into letting me model.   My wonderful foster father would take me to each modeling gig.  I loved the work because I got to keep the pretty clothes.  I was a runway model during my teen years because my back was so straight and I moved with such grace.  I tell you about my beginning only to help you understand why I do not accept defeat and why standing straight and tall are so important to me. I did not let my beginning or a label define me.  I know from experience you define yourself.  Do not let anyone else do it for you.

If it is to be it is up to me.  Ten, two letter words, state my case.  No one can change their beginning.  You either like where you are or you are taking steps to change it.  One or the other.  Our ending is up to us to change. Stand up, celebrate life, and share the wisdom you collect along the way.

My little sister and I were adopted by a very loving family. I never saw my other siblings again.

After adoption, my grandmother became my best friend. I pass along memories of growing up with her in my little stories. I encourage others to pass along their memories as well. Together maybe we can bring a smile to someone's face or leave a little wisdom behind.

This website allows us to do just that.  Celebrate surviving long enough to retire.  Tell your story and maybe someone will gleam some wisdom they need or at least find a giggle they can put in their pocket for when they need one.

I was telling this memory to a group at a nursing home about ten days ago.  It seemed to inspire them to start celebrating the time they had left.  They all started telling each other about growing up and different experiences they had.  It was not a poor me or whining about "bad luck" or listing excuses to do nothing.  Instead they were helping each other, some started just walking around the facility everyday.  The administrator said it was as if they came to life.  Your story could do that for someone else.  Share it.  Even bad experiences can be teachers if we share what it taught us or we celebrate surviving it.

It took me a long time to pull together enough courage to tell anyone my story and I hope it has given the reader a reason to celebrate their own life. Now, share it.

Tags: Self Improvement Memories Life

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My quiet night at home ended with an invitation to play bingo. I met 9 women named Jane. After the introductions, we all sat at the same table. We chatted about how each of them had gotten the name Jane. It is an old name in these parts and once the vote was counted, it was unanimous; all of us really like our names. We all related stories about our names. This was mine.

 While I was at the orphanage, I was called Cotton-top because my hair was snow white. My little sister, however, called me Mommy. I was five and she was three when we were adopted. The big, kind man’s name was Daddy. The pretty lady’s name was sometimes Jane and sometimes Sweetheart.

The problem came when my foster mother told me she was Mommy.  I immediately thought about Tricia (who I called baby) and the need to protect her. Tricia knew I was Mommy, I knew I was Mommy; I could not see how that could ever change. I cried and refused to accept it. They had named my sister Tricia. Tricia had always called me Mommy and I saw no reason to change it. Without knowing it, I was breaking my mom's heart. This went on for over a year. I answered only to the name Mommy. I called my mom Jane just like Daddy did. Tricia mimicked me and called her Jane too.

The first year had passed with me spending a lot time in my room to think about it. Our first year had presented us with many firsts. My first time to hold a salt shaker ended with salt everywhere. Our first time to see nail polish resulted in my mom’s discovery of my artistic talents all over the top of the night table, while “we” ware taking a nap. My mom was beautiful and I was growing to love her very much. She was kind and gave me lots of hugs.

 We had learned about the concept of presents. I loved the idea and found myself painting sticks, drawing hearts on paper, anything to give Jane a present. I had learned to love her very much.

I had never heard about Santa Clause. When he came to see us at Christmas time I was so overwhelmed by all the things he had left, I ran from the room and screamed, “Send them all back.” Once again I had broken Jane’s heart without knowing it. I ran to my room and curled up on the bed and cried into my pillow. When Daddy came in he cradled me in his big arms.  He asked why I didn’t like all the presents. I looked up at his round face and proceeded to explain. If I played with one toy before I played with another Santa would think I did not love each one as much as the other. If Daddy could just send them back to Santa and then let Santa give them to Tricia and I one at a time, it would be better. Then we could play with each one and introduce them to the others. It would be much better. Daddy seemed to understand.

In a little while all the toys were gone except one big doll. I was delighted. Tricia had gotten a doll just like mine so we introduced our new playmates to each other and played the rest of the day. Jane explained that Santa would be sending another toy each day for a while until every one of them had been introduced. Another milestone had been crossed.

We were also very excited to learn that after Christmas we were going to go see our grandmother while Daddy was off to visit with Santa. Then the day came, Daddy had gone (on a business trip) to see Santa.

We had arrived at Grandmother’s house late at night. Jane, Tricia and I were going to get to spend the night and have homemade cookies. While we were having cookies my grandmother started to take away the stuffed bear she had given Tricia that morning. I told her she could not do it. I explained that once you give someone something, it is not yours anymore and you cannot take it back. This was a rule we had learned at the orphanage.

Grandmother went on to explain she was not taking the bear back, but was going to let it take a nap with mine while we had our cookies. I agreed and let her take the bear. In a few minutes she asked my mom to join her in the bedroom. Tricia and I had cookies while they chatted in the other room. A few minutes later, Jane called me into the bedroom. She sat on the bed and gently pulled me towards her so we were facing each other eye to eye. Then she said in a very calm, loving tone, "I have a present for you."

I was very excited and started glancing all around the room for a pretty box. "This a very special present that does not come in a box. I want to give you my name. My name is Jane." she said.  I looked at her for several minutes with a grin across my face. What a wonderful present. My heart was so full and I was so happy.

Then all of a sudden, I started to cry. She instantly pulled me gently into her lap and asked me what was wrong. I simply explained, if I she gave me her name she could not have it any more. What would I call her? Then she whispered, with her eyes welling up, "You could give me your name." I could tell she was holding her breath and trembling a little too. The idea brought an instant smile across my face. I was so full of joy over this idea.  This would help me give her a present too.

 I said, "You can have my name and I can have yours. You are now Mommy and I am Jane." I hear her give a big sigh as she started to smile. I looked at her now very wet cheeks. I gently patted her face. “Please don’t be sad, it is a good name, I promise you will like it.” She gave me a big, big hug.

I was so excited over my present, I instantly ran to tell Tricia and Grandmother. When I ran out to tell my grandmother and Tricia, my mom followed behind me and I saw my grandmother give her a wink. We all hugged together.

 Mother often talked about the anguish she and Daddy had gone through trying to make me accept her as Mommy. Grandmother had gotten the idea that it could not be done with force. She knew how much I loved my mom and how happy Tricia and I had been since the adoption had been finalized. She also told my mom there was a little rebel in me that could only be tamed with love. I remember Mommy and Grandmother hugging and my grandmother said, “Sometimes, Mommies need their Mommy.”  Many tears of joy were shed that evening.

When my dad came through the door we were all watching TV. As he came through the door, as usual, he said, "Jane, I'm home." I jumped up and said, “That’s me.” I ran to hug him. When he scooped me up in his arms, I explained that I was Jane and that (pointing at my mom) was Mommy. He stood there, with his mouth open and his eyes had grown very big and wide. He asks, “How did we do that?” Then he started to cry and hold me even tighter. Mommy came over, putting her arms around both of us, and said “With a lot of love and a little help from my mommy.”

Tags: Memories Life Adoption

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The TV remote control is a necessary evil nowadays. When I was working; I watched the news in the morning and at night then finished the evening with a sitcom or two. The remote (after my last husband died) was always in the same place.

That all changed when I retired.

I have found it in the kitchen, the bathroom, and of course under every piece of furniture in the house.

You see… as a retired person… who lives alone… somewhat alone…there are fur people in the house.

I eat when I want and sleep… when I want. I finally broke myself of the habit of carrying it into other rooms. But I could not seem to stop it from traveling when I was asleep. I did not have to be asleep long before it made it’s way to remote heaven… I thought. The sleep walking remote started suddenly and lasted for about ten days before I found out how it was traveling.

I ordered new ones each time, on line. Then one day… my DVR wore out and the cable guy had to bring me a new one… with a new remote.

The nice young man rolled his eyes when he saw I had my remote control tethered to my TV tray in front of the sofa. I started to explain and he just waved me off and said, I know some of you seniors do crazy things with remote controls.

He had already met Baby Girl, Sweetie Pie, and Fredie. Fredie, a pit bull, was dancing a jig at both ends trying to get the guy’s attention. Sweetie Pie was trying to kiss him. Every time he bent down to connect a cable into the new DVR she licked him on the cheek. He wiped his face and said "geeese". Sweetie Pie is a 150 pound gray hound who must have been a photographer in her previous life. Every time someone says “cheese”, she smiles at them. When she smiles she looks like she is getting ready for a snack. It frightens most people. Very few offer their hands to be kissed. Baby Girl is (a big yellow dog, barking her head off, behind me. When she sees him holding a remote-- she got very quiet.

I told the young man that my dog was a remote thief. He laughed at me, and said, “Sure Lady.”

Kids who think they know it all, bug me no end. I told him to finish programming the new remote and then just sit in the chair and be very quiet. He started to argue and I gave him my “I’m not kidding” look and he did as I asked.

I quietly put the remote on the TV tray, and stretched out on the sofa and closed my eyes. Baby Girl very quietly stepped over me, snatched the remote, and ran to the back bed room. The guy started laughing. I went and got my new remote and he watched as I tethered it to the TV tray in front of me.

It all started when I made the mistake of playing with the dogs as I was crawling all over the floor looking for the first remote that had slipped out of my hand while I was napping. I had also given Baby Girl a treat for picking it up for me when I dropped it on the floor. It did not take her long to associate treats and attention with taking the remote for a walk, resulting in yes, "a traveling remote". I found her “remote heaven” after I had bought four remotes, and purchased several “remote finders” that did not work, and gone looking for something else in the back bed room.

When I was working there was no problem. I have been a widow more than once. My husbands all had their own little quirks about the remote. But when I retired, living alone with fur people the remote is the last thing I expected to lose?

I was so glad when I found them buried with a few other things I had been missing… I gave Baby Girl a treat and some attention when I found them… Why? So, she will continue to put the things she takes in the same place. It is working so far.

How many times have you lost your remote since you retired?

Baby Girl is gone now. Fredie is gone too. I have Precious and still have Sweetie Pie. I have not lost my remote since I moved to Hawkins. Some how knowing where it is can be comforting but it brings back memories of when it traveled.

Tags: Home Retirement Pets

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It was Idabell’s wedding day.  Last minute preparations were being made.  Her adopted mom could not have done more for her.  Idabell’s  aunt, her mom’s sister, had made the wedding gown her mom had designed.  She was going to wear a wreath of baby’s breath holding a small veil to cover her head.

Now, everyone knew that Idabell’s mom and her aunt were very close sister’s (and not just because they lived next door to each other) and loved each other very much… they argued about almost everything.  Today was no different.  The arguments had started early while they were on the phone.  Idabell’s mom hung up the phone and was mumbling something about more bows on the gown.  Idabell had just gotten out of her perfumed bubble bath when she heard a loud crash.  I left Idabell with a towel and ran to the hall.

My mother, Idabell’s mom, had fallen in the hall and hit her head.  I noticed she was unconscious.  I immediately called 911 and went back to her.  I was so scared.  My mom was 82 and her sister was 86.  These two retired ladies had been looking forward to this day for a very long time.

I called next door and let my cousin, Tina, know what had happened.  When the ambulance got there they worked on mom for just a minute or two before she regained consciousness.  She kept saying she was fine.  Her age and the fact that she had hit her head made it imperative she go to the hospital.  I followed the ambulance in my car.

My aunt and cousin both arrived a few minutes later.  The ER team had ushered Mom into an exam room.  We waited and waited.  No one could tell us anything.   Three hours went by and I finally decided to demand to know something. n  Finally a doctor came out.  He apologized for making us wait.

He then proceeded to inform us that Mother had suffered some brain trauma.  The hit on the head had brought on some dementia and he wanted to send her to a nursing home and put her under the care of a psychiatrist.  I could not believe what I was hearing.  I asked if we could see her.  He said what he wanted was for us to sit in his outer office and listen to his conversation with her.  Maybe you can shed some light on her delisions.

We all followed him into the outer office.  He put his figure to his lips as if to tell us to be silent.  He went inside and left the door slightly ajar.

“Now, when can I get out of here?”  My mother asked in a very impatient voice.  “I have a wedding this afternoon.”

 “Ms. Jane,” the doctor said in a soft, patient, patronizing voice, Tell me more about Idabell.”

“Idabell, dear doctor, as I have explained fifty times is a pig.”

 Again in the soft voice the doctor responded, “And she is getting married today?  And this happened when she was in her bubble bath?  Are you upset because she to put more bows on her dress?  Tell me, Miss Jane, have you and your sister always argued?”  He ask with a very determined voice, "Have you always called your sister a pig or do you call her other names?  Does she call you names?"

“Idabell is getting married, my sister made the wedding dress.  I designed it and she made it.  I was arguing about putting more white satin bows on it when I got frustrated.  I went down the hall and did not pay attention to water that had gotten on the floor when Idabell got out of her bubble bath.  That is why I fell, Doctor.”  My sister is dress maker.  Now my mother was shouting.  My sister and I fight all the time.  I repeat, Idabell is a pig."

“Please, Miss Jane,…

“You may call me Mrs. Walker or Jane, but don’t call me Miss Jane again like I’m some sort of throwback from the eighteen hundreds.”

“Please, Mrs. Walker,” the doctor continued, “Can you tell me why you think your sister is a pig?”

“Boy, have you got it all wrong.  Idabell is a pig.”

“It is Idabell you do not like?  She is the bride and you don't like her?”

“Doctor, read my lips, Idabell is a pig.”

I could not stand it any longer.  I entered the room.  My aunt, cousin, and I had been laughing our heads off.  I quietly handed the doctor an invitation to the wedding.

“Doctor, there is nothing wrong with my mother.  The wedding is scheduled for 3pm this afternoon at this nursing home.  Idabell gets married twice a week to Hamlet.  They are two very well trained pot bellied pigs.”

My mother rose from her chair, picked up her hand bag, and patted the doctor on the shoulder.  “You should get out more Doc.”

 The wedding went off without a hitch.  The doctor showed up and shook his head in disbelief.   Idabell and Hamlet had been performing the same wedding ceremony for nursing homes across East Texas for almost a year.  My mother and aunt had found a new excitement in their retirement as wedding planners.

Special Note:  You can see the happy couple in my gallery.  Loading pictures to my blog is far to complicated.  One of Hamlet and Idabells pictures is in my Gallery.

Tags: Retirement Memories Animals

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Learning to laugh at yourself is a valuable lesson. It will serve you well through any age. My grandmother's older sister had given her a Cuckoo clock for Christmas. I was fascinated by it. The little bird would come out every hour and tweet the hours. I loved watching it. I had learned in preschool one day that eggs come from chickens. Now, at the age of 6 that was exciting news. You really do not think about where your food comes from at that age. Someone had brought some baby chicks to the school. I loved watching them and they tweeted too... just like the cuckoo clocks did.

I had a brilliant idea ...in the middle of the night. I was so excited about it. I just knew everyone would be so proud of me. You see I had not yet reasoned out how it all worked. I knew cats had kittens but could not understand chickens having chicks. Chickens had eggs. I gave no thought about where the chicks themselves came from. I ate eggs. I ate chicken. I did not put the two together. However, there was a bird in that clock. I did not reason it would take two birds for babies.

I got up. Sneaked into the hallway where the clock was hanging. I got up on a six foot ladder and waited. Finally, the little bird came out. I snatched it off its perch and put it in a shoe box. I went out to the back yard, and cut grass with a pair of scissors to help build the proper nest. I had decided I would have to wait until morning to find worms for the bird to eat. I had seen a cartoon and knew that is what birds eat. I scooped up some of the bird seed in the bird feeders so the little bird would not be hungry until I could get the worms.

Now, you must understand. All the grown ups in the house were asleep. I was very quiet and focused on my mission. I decided the thimble in Grandmother sewing kit would be perfect for a water bowl. I even got the heating pad ready. Grandmother had used it on me when I was sick once so I knew it would work to keep my new pet warm.

I built the nest. Propped up two thimbles; one for seed and one for water. I put the little bird in the nest, put the lid on the box, and put it on top of the heating pad and slid it under my bed.

I then proceeded to close and put away the ladder. That was hard task for a six year old. I then made sure the back door was closed and latched after making sure the bird feeder was closed up. I was very excited about my new pet.

Morning came. I had been up late... so I slept in. Squeals and shouting woke me up. Grandmother and Mommy were running around looking everywhere for something. It finally dawned on me what the problem was. They were looking for the bird in clock.

I was so proud of my surprise I ran and got the shoe box from under the bed.

I grinned from ear to ear as I proudly took the lid off and showed them how I had fixed up the little fellow with his own nest.

I announced... I am going to raise Koo Koo clocks. I could not believe the laughter that suddenly exploded from both of them. My mother and grandmother looked at all the things I had done in building the nest. They took the box and put the little bird back in the clock. I started to cry. They kept hugging me and giggling.

Grandmother explained to me that the little bird could only sing if he was inside the clock. Then she helped me understand this was a Rooster or boy bird. Only mommy birds could have babies. She also helped me understand that cats had kittens and birds had little birds. I was so disappointed that I was not going to be able to raise clocks. Learning new things can drive a kid just a little Koo Koo.  None of it made much sense until Grandmother explained that Koo Koo clock birds could only tweet the time.  They knew only how to tell time not how to build a clock.  That made sense to me.  I asked her if I was soupid, (my word for stupid) she gave me a hug and said no, I was just being six.

I did not get into trouble until they realized I had used the ladder, the sewing scissors, and the shoe box from Mommy's new shoes. We were doing just find until we got to the ladder... I did not know it was dangerous to play with a ladder. I hated going out to pick out that switch. I was glad I got hugs and kisses before and after the little smack on my bottom. Mother and Grandmother both took pictures and told everyone that would listen about my adventure. They even saved the nest to show the other relatives. That was when I learned to laugh at myself. I guess that was the best lesson of all.

Tags: Memories

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