something I learned from her

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There are things that stay with us. Words that matter and have meaning far beyond the moment they are spoken.

I was always a little intimidated by her quick wit; the ability and forthrightness as she said what was on her mind. In awe of her intelligence. In another sphere she could have been a doctor, lawyer, an author. As a cherished Grandmother and lover of Christmas, her days were full.

She let me know that contrary to what I was taught, it is ok to drink beer from a bottle. It’s ok to sit on the beach with the wind blowing our hair and laugh and drink beer as we sat huddled in down jackets determined to enjoy the frigid day at the beach.

She hugged me tight the last time I saw her and said “…we had a good run, Susie.  We had a good run”.

She taught me to look at things I can’t change and be able to say “….we had a good run” while I step into tomorrow.

 

 

overheard in the toilet seat aisle

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Searching out a new laundry basket, I was in close proximity to the toilet seat aisle. Like all those housey-type things are bunched together for convenience  in our shopping. It can’t be for the impulse  factor like end-of-aisle placement with these items that are less than dreamy.

I hear snickering and laughing and “toilet seat man? ya gotta be kidding” and I thought to myself we’re all just a little bit goofy about toilets and such no matter how  sophisticated we pretend to be.

Why, I feel like I’ve truly arrived in a new workplace when I discover the pooping bathroom.  You all know what I mean; the secluded bathroom away from the shared stalls where you can hunker down in a comfortable squat with the quiet of your own thoughts.

With chosen laundry basket in hand I walked around the end of the aisle and saw two young guys dressed in slouchy, baggy pants, faces sporting piercings and interesting tattoos pretty much everywhere.  Strikingly sculptured, shaved and coloured hair completed the look.  And I heard one guy say “yeah, I was at my Gramma’s last night and her fu**in’  toilet seat is cracked.  Pinched my ass! I’m gonna surprise her and buy this and put it on when I go over tomorrow”. The response from his buddy was “yeah, that’s a fu**in’ nice thing to do.”

And I smiled and thought it sure is.

 

 

 

the cedar chest

 

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I’ve always just called it the cedar chest but I think it was meant to be a hope chest. The place where a woman gathers her linens and household items in preparation for marriage. Later to become the repository of baby books, dried faded roses and a maribou feather stole worn to prom some fifty years ago. Continue reading

in the middle of moving

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“In the middle of moving” is how the email note started that was from my friend this week.  I’m not sure where the move is to but I am sure that he’ll look up when he lands and steps into lifestyle changes and he’ll find fierce inspiration in all he does. ‘Cause that’s just how he rolls.  Continue reading

a little blue kitchen aide

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I believe the friendships we are gifted with kind of show up when we need them most for our souls.  This sounds all lofty, but think about it…… think about the friendships beyond Facebook friends; the friendship that is there for you alone that isn’t measured by likes. The friendship this little blue bird has with Tanya.  Continue reading

before you know it – you’re vintage cool

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Well, maybe I’m not vintage cool, but my sewing machine certainly is! As I took it out to hem the chopped off sleeves of a shirt, I was thinking about the forty years I’ve had this little Genie.  Continue reading

my Mom’s dreams

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As we hit our teenage years, our Mom is around sometimes like an unwanted appendage weighing us down and sometimes like a crutch holding us up.  We’ve all been there; “ohhhhh Mom, really??” and the phone calls “Mom……..it’s me…”.

It’s a hard transition from being a needy child to being a teenager and then to a young parent ourselves doing it our own way.  And all along the way our Mom is there trying to fit into our ever changing outlook on what she should be for us.  This isn’t a bad thing; it’s a natural progression. Maybe it’s also a natural progression to soften the edges and embrace her with respect and a  deep connection as we age along with her, and to long for missed opportunities after it’s too late to take them.

I look at this picture of my Mom from very long ago and wonder what dreams she had. I never asked her. I never knew since we didn’t have much of a relationship beyond my childhood, and then not anywhere close to knowing what she dreamed of. I feel sad for that.

Ask your Mom what she dreams of.   Then love her for her dreams.