And I'll Gladly Stand Up!

I remember growing-up, and sitting down to eat a meal with any one of my girlfriend’s and their families, that it was automatic that everyone bowed their heads and said grace. The only mystery that ever took place was what kind of grace that would be said: a traditional grace, a spur-of-the-moment made-up grace (the best kind in my opinion), or one that sounded somewhat traditional, but like none I had ever heard before.

I also remember every day before school would start, that saying the Pledge of Allegiance was just a given. For years, most of us would recite those words not truly realizing or understanding the depth of the words being spoken. We said them, because that’s just what you did.

Today when you sit down at table to break bread with people, many times, you have no idea the religious affiliation of the person sitting next to you, their beliefs, or if even they believe at all. So “blessings” seem to fall to the wayside under the scrutiny of being unsure and not offending anyone.

Groups that gather and recite The Pledge of Allegiance are now under attack as well, and freedom of choice and speech has plopped itself dead in the center of that controversy.

I don’t know what the “right” answer is, nor do I know if there is a “right” answer. Growing-up, I was raised to think independently and make-up my own mind about how I chose to believe and live life. I was of course guided in certain directions, but I always understood those choices were mine to make.

In turn, I raised my children the very same way. Maybe even a little more so in the “speak your mind” department, but just the same, they were raised to have minds of their own based on their own formed opinions throughout their lives.

As it often happens, even though they were raised in the same house, with the same values and the same ideals, my children are very different people, but they are also very alike people. Sounds confusing I know, but that’s the perfect way to describe them.

I don’t pretend to understand the how’s or the why’s of the people who are born here, raised here, or have enjoyed the freedom’s and liberties of living here – how they cannot honor the flag and the independence and freedom it represents by standing at attention, with their hand over their heart while it waves in all its glory.

It does, in my heart of hearts, make me want to scream out, “Go somewhere else, where the living is hard, there are no true freedoms, and choices are not yours to make”. But that’s not my place – nor is it anyone elses - because we do have those freedoms of speech and choice. That was decided for all of us many years ago, and so it was written for all of us to follow.

So I end this today by shouting God Bless America – because that is MY right to freedom of speech, choice and religion – all wrapped up in one. 

Hurricane Hermine

The first time I ever experienced hurricane-like events was the first year I moved to Quincy, Florida, in late September 1998. It’s absolutely true that unless you live in a place where such events are real and have happened, you just have no idea what to expect, nor have you really ever been aware before, how those happenings effect other people.  

It was cloudy, stormy-looking and the humidity was at an all-time high that morning. I went to work, left my children at home together, ages 12 and 3 years old.  My job was 10 minutes from my home and there was power when I left for work.

As the morning progressed the sky grew darker, the wind blew harder and by 11am we were closing down and everyone was headed home. I was given all kinds of advice and instructions:
 1. Take all your chairs off your front porch - they’ll fly through your windows.
 2. Take your wind chimes down and into the house (mostly because they sound creepy when the wind      is whipping them around).
 3. Make sure you have things to eat that you don’t have to cook.
 4. Have both candles and flashlights on stand-by.

I went home, did everything everybody said, and me and my boys were ready to wait it out. We lived in an old farm house – the windows were heavy and solid. But that night, in the dark, when that wind started picking-up speed, it sounded like they were all going to burst into shatters as they rattled and creaked through the force of the storm.

As we all three sat in the middle of my bed, we talked about anything and everything trying to keep our minds off of what was happening. We still had power, so nothing is quite as scary with the power of light. But I knew at any minute that could change, so I tried to keep the level of calmness even, and the level of distraction high.

We would all end up falling asleep together, snuggled-up close and tight, and we wouldn’t know until morning that at some point, the power had been taken out, and we would wake-up to darkness, no television, or updates.

It was still pouring rain, but most of the crazy winds had stopped and that in itself was a relief. It wouldn’t be but another few hours and the power would be restored; but in the meantime, we were all relieved to be able to say, we had just made it through our first hurricane.

Today the feelings of anxiousness are much the same, but much more experienced. I left early for the grocery store, got all the staple items we needed, and a roast and fixings so that we would have cooked food for a couple of days.

The generator is ready, and all the gas tanks are full, in cans and vehicles alike; and all the other preparations are now old-school, habit and complete.

Signing off with hopes and blessings that this time next week finds us all still safe, with no residual after-effects from Hurricane Hermine.

Welcome Relief

The once green leaves are beginning to turn yellow. Their edges are no longer soft to the eyes, but instead ruffled and crispy. They are beginning to lose their strength, therefore the ground is holding as many of them as the limbs themselves.

Though autumn is not officially here, the evening breeziness is beginning to gather speed and the straw from the pines is free-falling into the streets, the bushes, and lawns everywhere.

All of my Lantana beds are beginning to look tired and worn out. The colors are fading and the legs holding the blooms are weakening and no longer seem willing to stand-up at attention for all to see.

My Gerber Daisies have long since laid-down as well, and my marigolds are not far behind them. The box that holds them is still full, but the blooms are fewer now, and they, too, look weary and ready for summer to be over.  

And I think both my husband and myself are ready for the chore of watering the ferns and plants every day to be over for a while. The shine from last spring has worn-off and standing in the heat every evening is no longer enjoyable.  

The butterflies seem scarcer and maybe it’s just my imagination, but they all seem to be fluttering more slowly as if they too, know the season of their lives is just about over.

The birds are eating more sparingly, the food seems to stay in the feeders much longer now. When spring first arrives my yard is full of cardinals galore, but now, it’s a hit and miss to catch more than one at the time perched and eating.

As I stand on my front porch and look-out over my yard, I realize with the descriptions that I have just given to you, that everything looks like I feel. I am tired. Tired of being hot, weary of standing/walking in the heat day after day, and my nerves are crisp from it all and ready for some relief.

I’m ready just like my lantana beds, to be done for the season. For the coolness to come, and for someone to cover-me-up with a straw blanket for warmth and comfort until next spring.

I’m ready for cooler mornings with less humidity. Mornings that my glasses don’t fog-up when I walk out of my house to my vehicle.

I’m ready for cooler nights so that I can sit on my front porch glider with a glass of sweet tea and have slow and easy conversations with my family without mosquito’s eating us alive.

I’m ready to enjoy grilling outside again like we did this weekend. Other than when my son grilled steaks the weekend before, I couldn’t have told you when the last time was that the grill was fired-up to cook anything. Lord, just to stand next to it felt like you were on fire yourself!

Yes I am sure ready for fall to be officially here. And I promise, you will never hear me say “I sure will be glad when it’s warm again”. Not once.

Danger Zone

There are just some places people like me, with my kind of addictions can’t go. It’s horrible because I can’t control myself, the urges, the tugging need to have what I want when I want it – almost to the extreme of harming myself.

And this time of the year, oh my grand, it’s so much worse. You’re absolutely surrounded by it, no matter where you go; you can spot that special gleam in other people’s eyes. All of them enjoying themselves, and it makes me think to myself, “Why not me? Why should I be left out of all the fun? I think if I really try, I can control myself.”

Well let me tell you all something – I CAN NOT. I cannot control myself. And they mean for you not to be able to control yourself. Right when you walk in the door, it’s all right there, rushing to greet you. 

Pumpkins of every shape and size, every color, and every styled/carved face imaginable. Door 

decorations, house decorations, table decorations; you name it and they have it on display.

Hobby Lobby is the worst/best! Every aroma of fall smell you can think of wrapped up in a candle, in a potpourri bag, or in a scented decoration. Fifteen styles of table napkins for your Thanksgiving table – which is exactly why I have about 4 full packages all in different designs in my holiday decoration’s right now. I get blind, deaf and dumb once all those sights hit me and I can’t remember what I have and what I don’t, and I buy it again, just in case.

Today I went to Pier One in Tallahassee. I was only supposed to be returning an item. A lamp I ordered on-line finally arrived but it was broken. I thought I would have to ship it back, and then wait for it to be received before I would regain that money into my checking account. Imagine my surprise (but mostly ecstatic delight) when the lady over the phone said “No ma’m, you can just return it to the nearest store and receive your refund immediately!”

Oh yes! Right then, the bells started dinging and a ’whistling, because I KNEW how exciting that trip had the potential to be.

So my husband and I (or rather he did) lugged that big, cumbersome box all the way to Tallahassee earlier today. I could barely contain my excitement of what was yet to come, and you know you can’t let on about those things ahead of time or you won’t be going at all, let alone with your husband’s accompaniment. Those kind of places are the LAST places my husband wants to be.

And it happened. I could see it all through the window before I even opened the door. Autumn extravaganza galore! Oh it was a sight for the holiday-homesick eyes to behold.

I am proud to say I returned my item and ALL I bought were some new holiday placemats. BUT – I did scope out the place so I’ll be ready for my next visit – ALONE. SOON. REAL SOON.

RIO!

I’ve been actively watching the Olympics since 1976 which would have made me 13 years old; one year younger than one of the most impressive gymnasts of my lifetime – Nadia Comaneci. That year she became the first woman to ever score a perfect 10 in an Olympic Gymnastic event. I was absolutely enthralled with that Russian fireball-force who would not only take over the stage floor, but she would also take over our hearts.

I can distinctly remember watching it on television at our neighbor’s house for a couple of nights. I have no real memory as to why we were watching it from there but either way, it was quite the experience, watching it like that with other people – everyone who was just as excited as I was.

From that year forward I have been one of the biggest fans of watching the greatest of the great performing their hearts out every four years – to prove they are the best at what they do, in the world.

Fast forward to the year 1996 and I was in Phoenix Arizona for the week, traveling with my job. I was staying at a hotel in downtown Phoenix when the Olympic torch runners came through – and as I looked out the window – I realized I was a part of history. Had I known earlier that where I was would be one of the points of attraction, I would have been front and center. But as it was a surprise, I watched from my window on the fourth floor in total amazement to that which I was bearing witness to.

That same summer, weeks later, I would find out that their run would also bring them through our little hometown of Leesburg Georgia! I cannot even tell you how excited I was to know they would be right at my finger-tips – even if the time schedule turned out to be 5:00am.

I got up EXTREMELY early that morning and put my 1 year old in a stroller, and me and my baby and my 10 year old walked up to the main highway that dumped into my neighborhood, and waited with the rest of the crowds that lined the main street into our little town.  It was still dark of course, so it was a magical moment in time when they came running down the road, with side cars flashing lights for their protection, and that one lone person in front carrying the lit torch.

That same summer the Olympics final destination was Atlanta, Georgia, but even just our little parlay of participation would make it such a memorable experience.

Today ends the first week of two weeks total and I’ve already stayed-up WAY past my bedtime every night just trying to cram in all the watching I possibly can.

To watch the jubilation and the tears as they compete gives you a window into lives that strive for true excellence with every breath they take. It’s certainly a privilege to be able to see all of that – I hope you’ve been watching with me.  GO USA!!!

Uncanny Reflections

There comes a time in life when you are walking along, carrying on conversations, discussing serious subjects with people, seemingly feeling pretty confident about your thought processes and your point of views; and then, it just takes one person to put you back into your place. Make you think a little harder about something you said, and very possibly, just possibly, admit you could have been wrong.

This election year has people disenchanted, disappointed, unbelievably angry, and some, ready to physically fight. It has been one of the most volatile and downright rude and outspoken elections I have personally been witness to yet.

But it has also been one of the most passionate, bare-bones loyal, and in-it-to-win-it elections that I have ever seen as well. The young people that have been inspired to come out, to march, to vote, to carry signs, and stand there and cry – as their prospective elective is beaten and out-numbered – is a truly inspiring sight to witness.

I made the mistake of sorts on a Face Book post a week or two ago. I have truly tried not to put myself and my particular opinions out there, because number one, nobody really cares, and number two, it always seems to lead to a free-for-all before it’s over with.

At any rate, during the Democratic National Convention (and I watched both conventions – I like to be informed) I watched as everyone waited with bated breath to see if Bernie Sanders would truly graciously concede, and I also watched as groups of his supporters threatened to not go down as easily should he do just that.

Many were saying that they refused to shift and vote for Hillary Clinton, and I made the statement that if they were true Democrats, they needed to get on board. Quit thinking about voting for the Green Party, or worse, no party at all, because every “stray” vote is a vote toward the Republican Party, and in my mind that was the last thing they wanted to happen.

Well you know, I was quickly set-straight by some very young and passionate moral compasses about why their “stray” votes were not to be considered as wasted votes. I was reminded very quickly, just how fresh-minded and liberating 20 something year old’s can be. I was reminded of when I was 21 years old and I believed we could change the world, could make a difference, and that any vote for a decent human being was a vote in the name of justice and all that was good.

My hope is that these Millennial’s can show us all a thing or two about discrimination, love for all, the real meaning of Black Lives Matter, that every Muslim is not a terrorist, and that this world cannot survive within the sheath of hate that seems to be covering us now.

My hope is that they are all right, and that there is hope left in this world. And I hope, truly hope, that I am just old, disillusioned, tired, worried, and wrong. I really, really want to be wrong.

It's Still Hard to Grow-Up

I remember the first few times that I went back to my parent’s house, the house that I grew-up in from ages 7 years to 21 years old, and I can clearly remember the feeling of disconnect and loss as I stood looking in a bedroom that no longer belonged to me.

I also have a strong memory of years later, when they moved from that home, my whole-life-of-memories home, into another home across town that had never belonged to me at all. A part of me no longer just felt disconnected and lonely for what I had always known, but now, I would also feel amputated from my childhood and the feelings that came with each room in the other house.

The kitchen where I learned to make chocolate pudding and homemade French fries, the den where we all watched television and laughed as a family, and my bedroom, my yellow and orange bedroom that felt like sunshine, happiness and warmth.

Today I invited my son and his girlfriend over for a big Sunday lunch. I made some of his favorites, baked some cookies afterward and we all enjoyed ourselves as we talked about one thing after another.

But before anyone set down to dinner, I came back into the living room from the kitchen and noticed that he was missing.  And as I glanced up, the light to his old room was on.

As I started up the hallway I don’t think I was quite prepared for what I saw. There he stood, in the middle of the room, not moving, just staring. Now that room still isn’t decorated, there are no pictures hung, but the bed is now made, and the mule dresser has some odd and end things already sitting on it.

Zach has never been one to show much emotion, but in that instant, I saw on his face the feelings that I felt all those years ago. That feeling of how different everything looked now, how quickly we were able to make that change as if he were never there at all, and how if even just a little bit, he was missing everything that room used to mean to him.

Well, truth be told, that’s the number one reason I made the decision not to move into his room when he left. It’s obviously the bigger of our two bedrooms as it was once two rooms, but now made into one, but I just couldn’t see myself in there – being comfortable trying to sleep in that room – as if it had never belonged to him.

I was sure I’d still be imagining his hunting gear lying everywhere, boys paying Xbox on his couch, sleep-overs with sneaking-out friends, stinking football gear strewn across the floor, and the laughter, my gosh at the hooting laughter that went on in that room. How would I ever sleep – still seeing and hearing that going on all around me? Plus, I’m still feeling disconnected and a little lost myself.

And besides, nothing in this world gets rid of that permeating “boy” smell. Not even peach potpourri.