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A number of weeks ago, I issued a challenge to StoryBoat (at her urging) to blog her way through the alphabet. When she got through the B Blog, we took the challenge public via the NOTH Challenge Group with an eye toward revitalizing the blogs. Story was much more optimistic than me about bloggers joining the effort. I was sooooo wrong. I am happy to report today that we have SIX members who have taken up the gauntlet. This is not a competition. There is no time limit. The bloggers involved will go through the alphabet at their own pace. Those of us with less blogging ambition than these six intrepid souls might take a minute to post a comment on the individual blogs. As of right now, we can look forward to 156 new blogs. Our current alphabet warriors are: StoryBoat, Kiwibarb, Oppsgal, Yourchoice, Jayseahawk and Live2Love. Please offer your encouragement and if you are so inclined, please join the challenge.
Tags: A-ZChallenge AlphaChallenge
My youngest niece was born by appointment. We knew a month in advance when she would arrive, August 2, 1974. I was still living in Brooklyn, just a mile from my sister. My brother-in-law was color blind and therefore unable to drive. The arrangement was I would arrive at my sister's house at 5:30 AM to take her to the hospital where she was the Directress of Nursing to deliver our bundle of joy. August 1st was brutally hot. Temperature reached over 100 and stayed in the 90's through the night. I was in my first solo apartment and living paycheck to paycheck. The apartment was decorated in hand-me-downs and charity store finds. A friend gave me a big air conditioner which was a blessing, but it only fit in the kitchen window. In order to get a good night's sleep to deal with the events of the next day, I put my mattress on the floor just outside the kitchen to take advantage of the cool air. There was a picture on the wall just above my head. I didn't think about the fact that it was hung precariously on a thumb tack. It fell during the night and conked me in the head pretty hard. I put some ice on my head and stayed up the rest of the night. I showed up on time and delivered my sister and brother-in-law to the hospital. I kept the mishap to myself. Once my new niece was delivered, I visited the nursery, oohed and ahhed over our pretty little girl and then went to see my sister. I sat down in a chair to visit, but couldn't keep my eyes open. My sister asked repeatedly what was wrong and I avoided answering. All I wanted to do was sleep in that chair, so I finally confessed. One phone call from my sister had me whisked away in a wheel chair, diagnosed with a concussion and admitted to the hospital for observation. Finally, they let me sleep. I was released the next day and had one more day to recover before my sister and niece were released from the hospital. I provided transportation once again. So, today, August 2 is the 41st anniversary of my only concussion. It was a premonition of things to come. That little one caused many, many more headaches!
The following occurred on the 4th of July weekend, but it could have just as well be Canada Day or Anzac or any other holiday celebrated by any people of the world. Mom's and grown children are universal. I had no plans at all, but suddenly I'm about to have a house full of family. How does this happen? Is there a super sonic, sub-secret, rapid deployment texting app which indicates Mom's not busy?
Don't get me wrong, my kids and grandkids are always welcome. They can inhale everything in my cupboards, leave their stuff all over, trample my petunias, and whip the kitties into a frenzy but they cannot make me mess up the kitchen on short notice. Here's the deal dear offspring of mine, it's pre-roasted chickens from BJ's, store bought side dishes, bag-o-salad and bakery cupcakes on paper plates with plastic cutlery.
Yes, I will show you my garden. Yes, we can go to the playground. Yes, you can ride my bike. No, baby, I don't have a volley ball and net....or do I?
I have a "U" shaped hammock frame, mosquito netting and a beachball. I rigged up a homespun volley ball court which served the purposes of 5-7 year olds perfectly. The fact that my grandkids think I'm a genius got me invited to play for a while. Then my son joined in along with his girlfriend, my daughter and her husband were next. We had lots of exercise and hours of home-spun fun, some not-so-homemade food and a lot of picture taking. At the end of the day my son went to disassemble our volley ball court to a chorus of NO!!!! Uncle Jack...we need that the next time!!!!
It was a successful, memorable day. Sometimes planning is overrated.
PS...there's 2 pix in my gallery.
Now that spring has sprung here in New York I spend as much time as possible outdoors. Although I do have workman do some of the work on my property, there are things I do myself. I like using the power washer. It's an adult reason to get grubby and wet on a warm day. As a bonus, the outdoor furniture and the brickwork get clean. That's how I planned to spend today. Mother nature had other plans. Everytime I got started, yellow jackets (wasps) would start buzzing around too close for comfort. I would duck, bob and weave, flail my arms like a windmill, shout childishly for Momma, and finally complete the 20 yard dash to the front door. It was not pretty. I would sneak back out, avoiding the yellow jacket radar and continue the task, within a few minutes I would have to repeat my newly acquired skills...bob, weave, windmill, call Mommy and dash. It was feeling a lot like a workout at the gym not to mention a ridiculous display for anyone passing by.
I can hear everyone telling me that the yellow jackets are more afraid of me than I am of them. Ummm....nope. The other statement is if you don't bother them, they won't bother you. Once again, untrue. I've only been stung once, but I was at an outdoor service and had my hands folded in my lap when I was divebombed and stung on the back of my hand. I didn't get ill, but son of a gun that hurt like the devil for hours. My reaction is involuntary. I'm not entirely sure I can control my flight instinct and I'm not inclined to make the effort.
I'm not generally a scaredy-cat. I can handle most insects, including spiders. I don't even kill them. I pick them up on a piece of paper and remove them to the outdoors. Yellow jackets are my achilles heel. I called the pest control company. The bug-boys will be here on Thursday. Since the yellow jackets are pollinators, I will have the nests removed. Yellow jacket home-wrecking is okay, but pesticides are not.
In the meantime, I'm using this blogging time to avoid my tiny little nemeses but my cleaning job is only half done. I really have to go back outside and finish up, but I think I'll have a sandwich first, perhaps a cup of coffee, do a load of laundry, watch a game show, make dinner...who am I kidding? The yellow jackets win this round.
Due to circumstances beyond my control, I was at Shop Rite at 7:30 am. I climbed out of my car with a "let's get this over with" attitude in place. One parking line over, there was a well dressed guy, probably in his 40's, with a cart chock full of groceries, standing on the rung of his shopping cart. He was cart-surfing full speed through the parking lot smiling ear to ear. He was going fast enough that his tie was flying over his shoulder and his jacket was flapping in the wind. He leaped off his transport, threw his groceries in the trunk and drove off in a cool looking BMW. I either witnessed someone living life to its fullest, or one crazy sumbitch. Either way, in that one delerious moment, I knew I wanted to be him.
I was wearing sweats, he was wearing a jacket and tie. I was congratulating myself for arriving at the supermarket at 7:30. He was finished grocery shopping already. I was hoping to find a shopping cart with wheels that did not squeak. He was playing soap box derby on his. He appeared just as happy riding a shopping cart as he was driving his high end sports car.
I choose to believe he is very successful, full of adventure and overjoyed to be alive. I choose to believe he's a person who makes the best of every moment of the day. I choose to believe I saw a man so blessed he could not contain his joy.
His enthusiasm lifted my spirits. I didn't do any cart surfing, but I did adjust my grumpy attitude. When I got home I turned on some music and did the housework cha-cha. I am writing this so I keep my mental snap-shot of that carefree human being enjoying a mundane task. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to get back to my kitchen karaoke.
I saw some children entering church yesterday, two by two, dressed in their white First Communion finery. It was a procession of little angels. My sister needed an early morning babysitter a lot of years ago. I showed up about 7:00 am to help her three girls get off the school. They all wore uniforms, so there was no fuss over clothes choice. The two older girls were out the door on time without a hitch. The youngest one was 6. She was about two weeks from her first communion. Uniform or not, she was a dawdler and a bit contrary. No, not those socks....no, my other shoes...I want eggs not cereal...you get the picture. We were finally ready to leave the house. It was spring and the morning had a bit of a chill. I held out her sweater which she refused to put on. Cajoling and warning didn't work. We were running short on time, so I told her I was putting the sweater in her backpack...just in case. When we were leaving, I noticed she had taken the sweater out of her tote. I grabbed her hand and the sweater and went out the door.
As we waited for the elevator, I asked how her Communion lessons were going. She said they were fine. I asked if the lessons she learned included being a good little girl and doing what she was told. She said yes. I saw my opening and reintroduced the sweater. Nope...she still refused the sweater. I asked her if she was learning new prayers. She said yes. I told her she better pray very hard to be a good little girl. She said she does pray hard. With that, she folded her hands, rolled her eyes to the heavens, and said "Dear Jesus, please make her give up on the sweater." Jesus answered her prayer. I put the sweater into my own tote and didn't mention it again. I was no match for a six year old with God on her side, and I was too busy trying not to laugh out loud. Score: Katie 1, Auntie 0.
Julio's story of accidental survival put me in mind of my own much less spine chilling tale.
In 1972, three friends and I scored tickets to one of the hottest New Year's Eve events in the country known as The Miami Beach White Party. It is formal and requires attendees to wear only white. A month of non-stop shopping resulted in a white chameuse, floor length, halter dress with a short jacket trimmed with boa type feathers. It was fabulous.
Air travel around New Year's Eve was difficult. In 1972 there were many fewer flights than there are today. One of the group was a travel agent and arranged four seats on Eastern Airlines Flight 401 out of JFK on December 29th. We were all set.
A couple of days before Christmas that year I was feeling unwell. Since I am one of those people who never get sick, I was sure whatever bug it was would pass. However, by Christmas Eve I was seriously ill enough to be hauled to the Emergency Room by my sister, the nurse. My ear suddenly hurt beyond description. I needed an Ear, Nose & Throat doctor and none were available through the holiday. They sent me home with some painkillers. The morning after Christmas my sister arranged an appointment with the ENT Doc. Again, I was sure I was going to be okay because the pain had gone away. The only problem was I could not hear. It turned out the pain had subsided because infection behind my eardrum had broken through and my eardrum was torn. I was 25 and therefore invincible so I was still sure that I would be on my way to the White Party. You can imagine my disappointment when the Doc told me in no uncertain terms there would be no flying until I was cleared and I would not be cleared by 12/29. He was right, I was still quite ill and it was another two weeks before I was on my feet and three weeks before I returned to work.
I went home and let my friends know I would be unable to make the trip. Now, I was miserable, pouty, sorry for myself and sick. I was spending my days parked on the couch in front of a television I had a hard time hearing.
On December 30, I was out of bed and settled on the couch with a cup of tea while my sister prepared to go to work. My screaming brought her to my side. There was a picture of flight 401 crashed in the Florida Everglades. There was a crawl below the picture explaining it had crashed the night before and three quarters of the passengers were killed and they were attempting to rescue the survivors. I was very close to total hysteria when the phone rang. My sister held the phone to my good ear to hear my friends shouting....WE'RE OKAY...WE'RE OKAY! Because only three of them were traveling, our travel agent companion had managed to get the last seats on an earlier flight. The Good Lord does work in mysterious ways. My friends and I were spared because I was ill. The death toll was 101 and there were 69 survivors.
All in all I spent three weeks recovering. In the end I had only negligible hearing loss. To this day, it is the most sick I have ever been. I never wore my fabulous dress but it hung in my closet for years. After New Years my buddies came to visit me...still on the couch...with the intention of filling me in on what I'd missed. Instead, we spent about an hour crying. My heart still pounds when I think about that newscast. I have had one earache in my life...and I will be forever grateful for it. There is a reason for everything.
The other day and old friend was blessed with a grandson. When I asked Mom what the baby's name was, she replied "Albert, after my Dad." When I approached my friend with regard to the baby being named after him, he said "It was a surprise to me" without much enthusiasm. I asked him if he was upset for some reason. His response was..."I have always hated my name, and I resented the granddad I was named after. It was an old-fashioned name back in the 40's and now it's simply obsolete." (His opinion, not mine!) His distress was real. So, it raises the question...do you like your name?
I was named for my feisty grandma. She was Florence Regina but when asked she said she would prefer I be named Regina. (Re-jee-na as opposed to Reg-eye-na) I've always been grateful to not be named Florence. I don't think it would suit me. Prior to deciding the name me for Grandma Florence, my folks favored Johanna. I would have liked Johanna.
At one time, Regina was not a common name. I liked the fact that my name was a little odd in the early 50's. When I was very small, they called me Genie. When I was old enough to express my opinion and a little independence, I informed my family that my name was Regina, not Genie and definitely not Reggie. They laughed, agreed and helped me spread the word. I stuck by my guns through adulthood and expressed my preference for being called Regina.
As my career advanced and signing my name became a burden, as I had a long Scottish last name. My mentor advised I create and stick with a shortened signature. Since he had never steered me wrong, I created RMac with an extended squiggle. It was, I thought, individual and recognizable. The only downside, was people began to call me R-Mac. After all the years of being anti-nickname, I found I didn't mind it. I could identify with R-Mac. Quite often, it was shortened to Mac. R-Mac and Mac remained who I was for the balance of my working career. Of course, people expected to meet a man named Mac and I enjoyed their surprise.
My sister named her youngest Regina and I thought I would burst at the seams. My niece likes her name too and named her youngest Mia Regina. Again...there was some seam bursting. I was very sorry my friend didn't experience that pride. The little guy's name is Albert Colin Rodenberg. My friend's daughter then referred to her wriggling little bundle as A-Rod like Alex Rodriguez, one of the greatest Yankee players of all time. Suddenly my sullen friend brightened. A-Rod was okay! He could live with A-Rod. His smile spread and he puffed up like a rooster.
Names seem to cycle around. For a while the names were Brittany, Tiffany, Crystal. Then the names became more biblical Joshua, Sarah, Jonah. Recently I've heard some Celtic names. The question remains...do you like your name? Did you use a nick-name? Does a name make an impression? What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. I guess it would. However, would you pay as much for a creation by Erkel Smoot as you would for an Yves St. Laurent? Is it all marketing? Do names have power? Opinions, please.
Sometimes the stars align. I was gifted with the opportunity to get rid of junk, enjoy a day and give some money to charity without injuring my purse. I belong to the Moose Lodge which is a fraternal organization which is geared to helping the community and raising money for charity. It also serves as a great social organization. They ran an indoor tag sale. I purchased a table for $20.00. I spent a week or so finding "stuff" to sell. I ended up with four large boxes and a few trash bags full of things I would never miss. A good friend did the same and actually ended up with the table next to mine. Some other people's tables were full of commercial products such as Avon, flameless candles and Precious Moments doo dads. When the sale began the preference of the community was evident. People were four deep at our rummage-type tables. People purchased my very old (just old not antique) lamps, my husband's tuxedo shirt, a set of molds for making shot glasses out of ice, a tray to hold stuffed peppers, costume jewelry (some of which was pretty gruesome), a shopping cart, children's books, cookbooks, Christmas ornaments, a completely useless car seat for pets and a stove top pan for making baked potatoes.
At the end of the day Mary Jane and I had raised $500.00 for Young Adult Institute which is an organization which serves the needs of mentally challenged adults. Considering most of our items were priced between $1.00 and $3.00 that was quite a feat. The commercial vendors were grumbling about the lack of sales.
There was a little salesmanship involved. I was a little shocked at my own boldness. The tuxedo shirt which was beautifully pleated was a little large for the handsome man who purchased it. He was hemming and hawing. I told him to stop thinking of it as a tuxedo shirt and to throw it on with his best jeans and leave the too big collar open...it's sexier. SOLD! I was asking $2.00 for the stuffed pepper tray (brand new). The buyer was hesitating. I told her to think of it as disposable. Use it once and throw it away. She practicallly forced the money into my hand. My friend, Mary Jane, and I had so many laughs that although we ended up working pretty hard the day was completely enjoyable.
The last thing I did before I left the house was pull an old table cloth out of the linen closet. I thought it's deep blue would show off my wares to advantage. It did. However, I didn't realize my kitty had run into the closet and I shut the door. She ended up spending 12 hours nestled in my towels. My very fun exhausting day cost me a can of tuna for my fur baby and a 2:30 am half hour belly rub. That's the price of guilt.
All in all, however, it was a great day. The moral of the story is just because you're not rich doesn't mean you can't contribute and locking your cat in the closet will have you aplogizing and professing your love to your cat for days.
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