I Never Raised Me No Boys!

I spend a lot of time talking about my granddaughter, but I also have a grandson.  He doesn't always get equal time in my writings.  Why is that?

I never raised a son.  I had a baby brother and a stepson, but I wasn't responsible for their raising.  For a time, I helped out with my grandson, as all grandparents do, but I always felt that I fell short with him.  My excuse was, "I never raised me no boy."  But you know, I did work with boys in school every day of my working life.  To be absolutely honest, most of the successes I felt came from the boys who were the most challenging, and I don't know why!  I was the goody-two-shoes as a kid.  I never broke rules.  I never did anything close to what some of my students were doing in my classrooms, so how was I able to connect with the troubled kids?  I wish I knew.  I only know that I talked to them as adults, appreciating them as human beings, and trying to help them see that what they were doing wasn't helping them.  I respected them, for the most part, and desperately tried to be fair to them even when they were causing me no end of problems in the classroom.  But they were young men.  I don't think like a guy.  In fact, as a kid, I would come home from school or Sunday school asking my mother why guys acted the way they did.  They made no sense to me because, well, there is a disconnect between the way guys and girls think.  They were guys.  I was a girl.  That's why it's still a mystery to me how I could get along with many of the worst of them as a teacher.

When my grandson was born, I fell in love with him in the same way that I fell in love with his older sister.  He came out of the hopper looking like the spitting image of his Great-Grandpa Tague (on his father's side).  He had what I called yellow chick-down on his head--my little blondie.  And as he grew, he OUTgrew his earlier looks to resemble...well...himself.  Honestly, he was the cutest kid on the planet, and I have the pictures to prove it!

What else was there to love about our little guy?
1.  He was/is charming.  His mother told him once when he was very young that he would be a hit with the ladies.  His response was, "Yeah, I hit the ladies".

Once, when he was about 3 or 4-years-old, his mother was negotiating, as a newly-single mother, with a local car dealership for a used minivan.  The salesperson was female.  The vehicle had $11,000 on the sticker.  My daughter had $7,000 from a grant.  Ryan (my grandson) was with his mother, Megan, through the negotiations at the dealership  In the usual social banter, the sales gal told Ryan, "Your mother is very pretty."  He replied, "Yes, she is pretty, but not as pretty as you."  Guess who got the vehicle for $7k???

Right after he graduated from pre-school, his father's eldest sister Rhoda came to Indiana from California for a visit.  She brought him a tiny little teddy bear with a graduation cap on it.  We all went to Culver's, at one point, to get ice cream.  Someone asked him if he was happy.  He got a dreamy look on his face and said, "I'm in Rhoda Heaven!"  You don't think that would melt his aunt's heart?  Think again!

2.  He was/is sharp as a tack.  I can't even do justice to this with this post.

Ryan started talking earlier than his sister did, and used big words.  I mean, he didn't always use words correctly, but he knew how to change nouns into adjectives and use prefixes and suffixes to change meaning at a very early age.

When he was 2 y.o., he told me that I needed to buy new jelly because what I had was "misgusting".

When I was visiting one time, maybe before he was even two, I was at the breakfast table with crazy "bed hair".  When I asked him what he thought about my hair.  He looked and said, "Noodly"!  Gray hair going every which way resembled noodles to him, but he knew how to make noodles into an adjective.  (It was through watching his language development that I came to understand how much magic there is in learning how to speak a language.)

When two-ish, he was "helping" his father with a project and was sent into the house to get a screwdriver.  He came in the house asking for a "goofdryer".  Close!

On a visit to my house one time when he was a barely-walking toddler, Ryan managed successfully to step down the small step from my back door to the patio without help.  The look of victory on his face was priceless.  Aha!  I can do this all by myself!  Thereafter, I sat on the patio and watched him do it over and over again, as if to perfect the move.  (It was also a bit annoying because he couldn't open the door, either coming or going.  I think I finally propped it open so I wouldn't have to do door-duty while he practiced.)  What fascinated me in all of this was that it was so obviously deliberate.  He was delighted that he had conquered a barrier to his independence.  After that, I knew that we adults don't give enough credit to early-learning experiences.  They aren't by accident.  They happen due to efforts from the child.  (I have also come to believe that we humans have never truly understood the animal brain.  Our pets are like our non-verbal children.  They have feelings, but we don't understand.)  My grandson has taught me a lot!

3.  Ryan can't lie.  In his earlier years, he tried a time or two, but his face gives him away every time.
I think he has given up the attempts, and I really respect that.  Still, there is guilt for things that may or may not be in his control.  When I go out to Washington to visit, I think he feels guilty if he is not at the airport to greet me or send me off.  Several times, I have had to tell him and his sister that my feelings will not be hurt if they aren't there.  Still, I always appreciate the effort when it is made.  I am one of those weirdos that would rather hear the truth than for people to tell me what they think I want to hear with no follow-up.

4.  Ryan has passions.  Not too long ago, he got interested in "cubing" competitions.  (Solving Rubic's Cubes in record time.)  Then internet computer gaming.  Actually, ANY game becomes a competitive challenge for him.  It's frustrating for me because he's so darned good at it that I simply can't ever win with him.  (I have a Rubic's Cube that he gave me.  I've tried endlessly but have never been able to solve one of those.  I think his best time for a 3x3 is something like 19 seconds.  Really?  Really!)

Ry has told me a time or two that everything he does becomes a competition.  I worry about that.  While he sits in his room and plays internet games, he is not eating properly, getting any exercise, seeing the beauty of the world just outside his door, or understanding that the rest of life will be on freeze-frame until he gets ready to meet it.  He's not paying attention, and no amount of scolding from either set of parents will affect that.  (Hope Grandpa Joe is reading this.  You cannot "inspire" from a place of non-understanding.)

My grandson is a bundle of contradictions.  He's "only" 16--not seeing beyond his big feet--but testing, checking, arguing, evaluating the boundaries, risks, and value of life.  Make no mistake, this young man is going to catch wind and fly.  I have a bond that tells me that he and I connect, in part, because I love him to pieces.  I never raised me no boys, but I sure do love this one!!

My Little Bird

Once upon a time, when my daughter got married, she and her husband announced to me that they decided not to have children.  Less than a month later, they were sitting on my couch announcing that they were expecting.  I wasn't quite sure how to respond.  At first, I think I said something like "holy cow".   As the whole concept sank in, my brain shifted into another gear.  Time to plan for a baby!

Honestly, I'm not a "baby" person.  Didn't really play with dolls as a kid and wasn't always impressed with little ones as a teenager.  I had a baby brother who was a pain in the neck to my sensibilities...but..this time was different.  This child--THIS CHILD--was my firstborn grandkid.  I adored her from the moment she was born.  Things are different with grandchildren.

She is way too young to remember now all that we did together and all I that I felt as her grandmother.  We went to parks to play on the equipment.  I put a toy chest in my living room for her.  I invested in videos for her entertainment.  I put a baby swing on my patio and an inflatable swimming pool in my yard.  Every picture of her adorned my desk at school and brightened my day.  When my daughter brought her to school, at age 3 months, dressed in a elephant costume for Halloween, I was ecstatic.  I was so totally in luuuv that I would have died for this child.  (Still would!)

So many special moments!  At first, they all lived on a golf course a mere six miles from me.  I had obtained a Little Tykes climbing thing for her plus a sandbox in the shape of a boat from friends in Elk Grove Village, IL.  Had help carting the whole bunch back to Central IN, just for one toddler who loved it.  One day, a tornado went through the property, taking down a barn and at least 125 trees, one of which missed the house by inches.  The boat sandbox was impaled to the ground by a tree branch attached to a big ol' tree in the back yard (the one that just barely missed the house).  The jungle gym climber thing was nowhere to be found...carried off by the winds.  A couple of days later, her father found the climber thingie blown into the center of a pile of rocks.   He dragged it out, while she followed him, clapping all the way.  "Yay, yay, yay!"  She was no more than 2 years old but her joy was contagious!

Through the years, so many, many things have happened--some sad and some enriching.  My feelings for my little bird haven't changed in the least, but she doesn't remember our earlier days.  For now, I'm just a dinosaur.  Perhaps the day will come that she will understand that asking me to bend to modern ways without much respect for the way of my own raising will dawn on her as it did to me when I felt that my very own mother just wasn't up to date on issues of my world, and realizing that we just weren't on the same planet in that regard, and it wasn't her fault.  Nor mine.  (Ok, Boomer!)

My baby Robin is a bundle of contradictions.  She is somewhat afraid of the potential violence in today's world, and yet she is an activist.  Her causes of choice are all about racism, feminism, climate change, and gender issues.  I am SO PROUD that she is willing to take these causes on, and yet it scares the daylights out of me that these very issues can put her directly in the line of fire for aggression from those who don't agree with her.  If anything horrible happened to my grandchildren (two in number), I would fade into the universe with no more reason to live.  It's that serious, folks.  As bad as it sounds, I define myself first as a mother, then grandmother...then teacher.  For almost 40 years, my life has been driven by my daughter, my grandchildren, and my students.  It's the most noble cause I can think of.  I may not be a good mother, grandmother, or teacher, but I've done my damnedest to try!

Power in "Prayer"

I've been thinking about this quite a bit lately.
Most Christians seem to believe that there is some magic in praying for themselves and others, as if praying to their God will change an outcome.  But what if you aren't a Christian?  What if you don't believe there is a God?  Does that mean that you can't or shouldn't pray?  Is any positive outcome for you, then, just coincidence--or is it God's grace?  And what if one prays fervently only to have a desired outcome not happen?

Jesus taught his disciples that they/we should pray in private.  He suggested that they go into a closet "in secret" and pray to God who is also in secret.  (I wish someone could convince the Bible-pounders of this.  They want to put prayer back in school, publicly.  It never left.  Any child can pray at any time, silently, as Jesus taught.  They just can't be led in any kind of prayer as a group activity on site, unless voluntarily.  But that's another issue.)

The whole "thoughts and prayers" thing that has gone on with all of the mass shootings in our country began to disgust me.  It was/is as if thinking and praying is enough to change things when it has not.  Even Dr. Phil says, "If you are in a sinking boat, pray to God, but row for the shore."  Prayer has actions implied.  Prayer isn't always enough.  Sometimes ya gotta do something, ya know?

Once upon a time, when she was quite young and in a Catholic school (long story), my beloved granddaughter expressed worry about people who didn't know Jesus, or something like that.  I said we would pray for them.  Many hours later, she said, "We didn't do it."  What?  What didn't we do?  "We didn't pray for people."  And that's the brute fact, isn't it?  How many who claim that they will pray for others never do?  My darling Robin had pure intentions.  She expected me to lead her. I just felt like a total fraud in that moment.  And I was!

Robin has now moved on to be very active in her non-denominational church--Unitarian Universalist.  She has more wisdom in her little finger than many adults have in their whole bodies.  I am extremely proud of her.  I long ago gave up the notion that she "should" be Christian because, with the current crap going on in our nation, I'm not sure even I should be.  But that's another topic.

It occurs to me that just about every religion on the planet promotes meditation.  I think that's implied in Jesus' admonition for people to pray in secret.  To me, meditation--and prayer--means FOCUS.  If one is praying or meditating, one is focusing on a desired outcome.  It doesn't necessarily mean that one is hoping for a magical outcome.

Every successful athlete on the planet will tell you that they do "imaging".  They focus on where they want the ball to go; what their follow-thru should be: how to stand, throw, swing, catch, etc.  "Keep your eye on the ball" isn't advice for failure!  I think it's the same for prayer.  If you don't believe in God, are not a Christian, don't believe that we are anything more than worm food after we die, you can still focus for good.  Pray, meditate, focus...whatever you call it.  Just do it!

   

Finding Humor in Grief

I am a frequent "lurker" on Reddit.com, which means I read but don't post.  I'm afraid to.  Those people can be ruthless.  I'm afraid they would chew me up and spit me out in little pieces.  Then, too, I have seen that, if I read far enough, someone else will say whatever little bit of wisdom I am burning to contribute.  That saves me from potential humiliation!

One of the Reddit topic threads (called "sub-Reddits") I was reading this morning, had to do with someone regretting that they hadn't gone through Grandpa's belongings when Grandpa was still alive and could tell the history of some of his things.  I've run into this in my own life.  The only people who could have given life to some of the family treasures and family questions are long gone.  It's also one of the reasons that I write this blog.  (Yes, folks, I'm not just doing this to hear myself think!)  So much is lost in just two generations.  It helps to write things down.

Along with that expression of regret came the contributions of others who were paying tribute to how the "characters" in their families had responded to the death of a loved one.  And, you know, EVERY family has its characters.
One contributor laughed that his/her surviving grandmother was glad that Grandpa had died first so he wouldn't be on top of her for all eternity.  (He was 400 lbs.)
Another Redditor contributed that her grandmother was sitting at the table doing her taxes after Grandpa had died.  She declared that it would probably be the last year she would ever have to do taxes again, thinking she would die soon.  The next year, the person who witnessed this made sure that another family member did Grandma's taxes for her...and every year after that...so Grandma's desire would come true without her having to die to make it happen.  Eight years and counting.

As strange as it seems, there really is momentary humor to be found in grief situations.  They are few and far between, but they do happen.  In my own experience, I can think of a couple:

1.  My grandmother, the Grande Dame of the family, was dying.  She had been very ill for quite awhile, and the family just decided it was time to let her go.  (This was my mother's mother whom my father adopted as lovingly as if she were his own since the very beginning.)  The grandparents lived on a farm that had been in the family for centuries.  My parents were present at the farm for a short vigil that would end in my grandmother's passing.  She and my grandfather had been together for 50+ years, raising three kids through the Great Depression, a fire that burned the family homestead to the ground, World War II, and the accidental death of a beloved grandchild on their watch.  They were strong people because they had to be.

The night my grandmother died, Mom and Popo (my granddad) were at the hospital keeping watch, while my dad stayed at the house.  (This was 1975, before cell phones.  Popo would have been 79 years old then.)  Baba (my grandmother) passed in the wee hours of the night.  I think my mother called home to tell Dad that Baba had passed and they would be home soon.

When Dad heard the garage door go up, he met Mom and Popo at the back door.  He hugged his father-in-law of 46 years and wept with him.  And as they did, Popo's pants fell to the floor.  Suddenly, they were crying and laughing at the same time.  What a classic moment in time that must have been--so sad, yet funny!

2.   My mother died, suddenly and unexpectedly, in 1986.  She'd had a stroke but was doing well in rehab when things went south, the day after Thanksgiving that year.  We were all numb.  Visitation and funeral arrangements were made--blah, blah--so we all knew what we had to do, and did it, even flying in shock.  I honestly don't remember much about it all.  I just needed to get through it with some semblance of sanity.  When it came time to go to the funeral visitation, my brother was nowhere to be found.  We were all going to go together, but no Doug.  We waited and waited.  Eventually, he appeared so we could leave.  Where was he?  He had gone to town to buy fabric to create a mourning band to wear on his arm, then he had to sew it.  Wait...what?

At the time, it wasn't funny, but it is now.  Our brother held up the whole funeral party so he could find a way to wear a visible sign that he was in mourning.  Well, duh!  Weren't we all??  Perhaps you have heard the expression that someone who is always on his/her own schedule will be late to his/her own funeral?  I adapted that for Brother Doug to say, "He will be late to his own mother's funeral."  And he was!

            

Old Memory Brought to LIght

I was having an online "conversation" with one of my cousins today when she triggered a long-ago memory.  I don't think I've ever written about it, so here goes.

When I was married the first time, my husband's name was Tom.  Spring break came along about 1971-73--honestly can't remember--and Tom and I arranged a trip to DC.  The purpose was to visit sites and my favorite uncle and wife, who lived in Potomac, MD.  In trying to remember details, I come up surprisingly short.

My uncle was a Lt. Colonel in the US Army, and extremely respected in those circles.  His then-wife was Secretary to the President of Catholic University in DC.  (I say "then-wife" because the mother of his two girls, his first wife, died of pancreatic cancer when my cousins were in their early-to-mid -teens, as was I.)  Tom and I were considering a trip to the D.C. area and contacted Uncle Bud to see if they could put us up for a couple of days.  They could!

On the way from IL to DC, we stopped at the Gettysburg battle site.  History on the hoof.  Then on to Potomac, MD, to my uncle's.  He and Aunt Rita were exquisite hosts.  And here is where my memory gets fuzzy.  I mean, that was a LOOOONG time ago--early 1970s.  Richard Nixon was President.  We were still steeped in the Vietnam Conflict.  We drove to D.C. and somehow managed to get from one place to another, but I no longer remember how!  One of Aunt Rita's five children was still a minor living at home with them.  They had a spaniel named Freckles.  And this is what I remember:

1.  When we arrived, I had dust on my shoes from Gettysburg.  U. Bud said it was "Little Round Top" --a Gettysburg battlefield--dust.  Thereafter, I didn't want to clean my shoes!

2.  We all had dinner together, including one of A. Rita's older sons, who was quizzing me about my missions in life as a teacher.  Noting that he was searching for something, I answered something like, "Well...it's a job."  Rita later gave me an advisory that they had been trying to send the young man in another direction, and my response to his question didn't help their cause.  Who knew?

3.  One evening after dinner, U. Bud and A. Rita took us to the Great Falls of the Potomac.  I remember walking alongside what seemed like a canal, then observing the falls.  It was great!

4.  Somehow, prior to our trip east, we were in receipt of a Congressional Invitation for a tour of the White House.  (I have no recollection of how that happened, but I think it was the original reason for the trip.)  On the day of the tour, we set off on our own.  I have zero memory of how we got there, but we did.  We toured the parts of the W. H. that were for public view.  I felt special, even though we were in a group that was sizeable.  I do remember being impressed by the fact that I was there, more than by the facility itself.  As a souvenir, we were given an 8 X 10 glossy photo of Richard and Pat Nixon.  (Still have it in my archives.)  I wasn't a fan of Mr. Nixon but was certainly happy to have the picture!

5.  U. Bud had given us a house key to get in if we got home before they did.  We used the key and were met by Freckles who was baring her teeth but let us in.  Scary!  When I mentioned it later, Michelle (the kid still living at home) told us that was just a smile from the dog.  She said, "Smile, Freckles!  Smile!"...and the teeth came out.  Wow...

6.  One day when we were to be in D.C., U. Bud told us to go to a particular restaurant for lunch because his brother-in-law from his first marriage, Jorge, worked there.  Not sure if Jorge was maitre-d, owner, or what, but we went there and met the man who treated us very well.  Good food.  Excellent service.  Memorable because I felt special.  We were such newbies from the Midwest with no clue how to act in D.C.!!

7.  And this is a biggie.  As Sec. to the Pres. of Catholic U. in DC, Aunt Rita was able to snag four tickets to an event called Prelude to Taps.  I had no clue what it was.  What it was, was a military pageant, complete with fife and drum corps, gun drill teams, patriotic music and pageantry the likes of which I had never seen before, even as a military brat.  It was all performed by the Third Infantry, otherwise known as the Old Guard.  These are the people who do White House duty.  They are the cream of the military crop.  These are the people who "performed" at President Kennedy's funeral.  These are the people who are hand-picked because they are good at what they do.  These are the people who make me cry from pride and admiration--but I didn't know that then.  All I knew then was that I was going to see something special in our nation's capital.

As we waited for the event to start, there was a rumor that President Nixon would be attending.  (He didn't.)  The instant the program began, I was enthralled.  No one else needed to be there with me.  I was in my own world, watching all of the pageantry like a sponge soaking up water.  It was so impressive...so fantastic...I am simply at a loss to express what it meant to me.

At the end of the program, we were outside waiting for the crowd to siphon off so we could depart.  I found myself standing next to General William Westmoreland, who was the Army Chief of Staff during the Vietnam War.  He was waiting for his ride.  He was elbow-to-elbow with me.  I was impressed!

To this day, I don't know if Prelude to Taps was a one-and-done program, or something that is produced every year.  I only know that I was privileged to see it at a nasty time in our national life.
I will never, ever forget it.  (If you look it up on YouTube, you will find a video of it filmed in 1973, with Lorne Green as narrator.  It doesn't do justice to what I saw, even though it might very well be what I saw because I can't exactly remember the year we were there!)

And so it goes.

Our Thug Quotient

Every American kid that attended public school has, at some point, been tested to determine his/her IQ.  IQ = Intelligence Quotient, i.e. the potential ability to learn, and at what level.  Over the years, research has challenged the validity of IQ scores.  Research has also determined that IQ goes down over time.   I believe the latter!  The older I get, the stupider people get.  Or is it just me?  I wish I knew!

The advent of the Internet in our collective lives has created an avenue for instant "news", and not all of it is truthful.  It also has hugely promoted the notion that we have Freedom of Speech, so everyone's contributions on opinion-driven truth should be respected--unless, of course, it differs from our own.  Most articles found on the Internet have comment sections where common folk can chime in with their God-Given right to their opinions.  I rarely ever comment, but I do read, and I've noticed that it takes (on average) about three comments before attitudes get dark and name-calling starts.  People say things to one another in print that they would never do face-to-face.  The anonymity of it all has created the American Thug.   This person is a bully who is smarter than you, holier than you, is a spokesperson for what God wants, and doesn't care what your issues are.  The Thug's world is black and white.  Nothing gray.  Everything is pocketbook-initiated yet not reasoned out to the bigger picture.  Knee-jerk stuff.  Thus, I consider that everyone has a Thug Quotient, i.e. the potential to be something online that they are not in real life.

What is your TQ?  What do you do when no one can identify you?
Do you throw a lit cigarette out of a moving car window because no one is behind you to see it?
Do you just drive away when you bump/scrape another car with yours, leaving damage behind?
Do you pick your nose when no one is watching?
Do you leave nasty anonymous notes on other vehicle windshields when you don't approve of their parking?
Do you go back to the store when you realize that they didn't charge you for something you bought?
Do you comment when people don't return their shopping carts to the corral without knowing the situation?
Do you assume that someone on food stamps is bilking the system because they left in a fancy car?
Do you tell obese people that they shouldn't be eating what they ordered?
Do you comment on people's appearance in public?
Do you assume that panhandlers will only use donations to buy alcohol or drugs?
Do you not volunteer or donate or give back because it's easier to let someone else do it?
The questions go on...

Politics is a very rich soil on which to cast your TQ.  Posted on Reddit.com yesterday was a picture of a vehicle that had "Vote Trump" all over it, with extra news written on the rear window that used the n-word and showed the rest of us how some people feel protected for their Thugism by our Commander-in-Chief.  This is not the picture I had of our nation.  This is not how I live.  I'm old and disabled, but I'm definitely not ready to let America give in to the Nazi mentality of Thugism.

Think about it.  Spread the word.

More On the Seattle Trip

I think I have mentioned before how many times the Alexa functions in my daughter's household have caused problems for me.  This time was no different.

I have a place to be in what would be considered a living room in their house.  Bed, TV, fan, place to put my computer and my nebulizer, as well as a place to put my luggage.  Also a laundry basket to put my dirties in.

Alexa is in voice control of the TV.  The remote has a circle to accept my voice commands.  She and I just need to speak the same language--which we normally do--but I get flummoxed when I think things should work but don't.  One day, the non-vocal remote could turn the TV off/on and would change the volume.  The next day, it wouldn't...and Alexa told me so.  After some consternation, I asked the Master of the House (our Denis) if, perhaps, the remote needed new batteries.  Yup!  That fixed it!  At last, something I could understand!!!

On Christmas Eve, granddaughter Robin was to sing in the Woodinville UU Church choir's candlelight service.  All but grandson attended.  It was nice.  Later in the evening, the family agreed to be up to open presents by 10:00 AM.  (Can you believe that?????)  In any case, I was the first up.  My son-in-law soon followed.  I was out on the porch observing the day when the doorbell told me it was time to come in because everyone had gathered.  Seriously.  The doorbell.  I don't have a doorbell at my house in Indiana, but if I did, it would probably say "ding-dong" instead of "time to come in because everyone has gathered".  Live and learn!

Santa brought me a Kindle Fire tablet.  My daughter had gotten it ahead of time, loaded it with what she thought I needed, and sent it my way.  What a blessing!  The Kindle has an Alexa function.  I noticed one day that when my daughter asked Alexa to announce to the whole household that dinner was ready, it came through my tablet.  Fast forward to Dec. 31st when I am back home in Indiana...and out of nowhere (via Kindle) I hear my daughter's voice announce that Dinner Is Served.  Whoa!!  I have no clue how Alexa can cross 2k miles, but she sure did!

My son-in-law surprised the family with a small Airstream travel trailer.  The adults decided to take it on a shakedown run without violating the fact that it was winterized.  I stayed home with the cat and the kids.  While they were gone, I took it upon myself to FINALLY clean up the kitchen at home.  (We had messed up every big pot, pan, and cookie sheet in the household!  It took THREE loads to get it done, but I managed.)  And then it was time for me to clean the quartz counters.  I grabbed a spray bottle from under the sink and washed away.  The kitchen looked spiffy...but I noticed that the underarm of my right sleeve looked like I had dragged it over chocolate powder.  It only took one look at the spray cleaner bottle to notice that it was cleaner WITH BLEACH.  Yikes!  Lesson learned!

I am a member of a closed Facebook page for Bothell, WA.  They like me there.  It's scary, really.  I will be back in their environs in March, and again in May.  They think I'm special, so I have to perform!  I'm just me.  Help!

The Seattle Christmas Trip, 2019

I'm late to the party!  Normally, I would already have posted about my Seattle Christmas trip by now.  This trip was shorter than usual--December 22nd-30th--but it was a really nice one.  Can't quite put my finger on just why.
*Maybe it was nice simply because it was short.
*Or maybe it was nice because there were no cross words between any of us the whole time I was there.
*Or perhaps because I only had to spiff up to leave the house three times--once to go to Fred Meyer to pick up last-minute items; once to go to church for their candlelight service on Christmas Eve; and once to go "down the hill" to meet the family's new Airstream travel trailer before it was taken to storage.
*Maybe it was because I could contribute just a little to the flow of things in the house.
*Or because my daughter requested that I cook a meal and some treats that she misses from when she was a kid, living at home (which, btw, she is totally capable of doing herself, but how much better when Mom does it)!
*It could also be because I was luxuriously/overly fed, slept well--and, this is a big deal, the swelling in my feet/legs went down to almost normal, and stayed there throughout my whole visit.  Yay!

The saying is that it takes a village to raise a child.  It also takes a village to get Grandma from Indianapolis to Seattle, and back again.  I am disabled with mobility problems due to a degenerating spine, plus breathing issues.  I simply could not visit my family were it not for this cast of characters:
     Transportation to the airport.  Traditionally, I rely on neighbors and friends to get me to Indy International, a mere ten minutes from my front door.  This trip, I relied on my housekeeper's son to take me to the airport.  He was on time, loaded my stuff in his buggy, and was polite in conversation along the way.  He even helped take my bags into the airport to the Alaska Airlines desk because AA doesn't have a curbside check-in at Indy.
     Wheelchair pushers.  What would I do without the pushers??  The service is free, but I tip them handsomely.  The ones at departure have to get me through Security.  The ones at arrival have to get me to the baggage claim to get my luggage, then help me find my transportation out of there.  (On the Seattle end, getting "out of there" is always provided by my family.  On the Indy end, I take a cab home--my choice--rather than ask friends to sit in the Cell Phone Lot, in case of delays, etc.)
     Cabbies.  When I arrive at Indy International and find my baggage, the pusher takes me outside, presses a button on a post for a cab, then loads me into the cab that shows up quite quickly.  The drivers have been, so far, 100% foreign, trying to eke out a living in America.  Some are talkative.  Some are not.  The trip to my house takes them somewhat out of their territory, but the fare is around $22, give or take a few cents.  Plus tip.  These guys have it rough.  I think Uber has cut into their business.  Most airport taxi drivers have complained about not being busy enough, which is why I tip them well.  This trip, when we arrived in my driveway, the fare was $22.something.  I gave the cabbie $25 for the fare and another $10 tip.  He was so happy that he gave me his name and cab number and told me to ask for him next time.  Not sure how to do that, but I am happy to have made his day in the same way that he made mine by getting me home safely and bringing my bags into the house for me.  Yay!  To Abraham in cab # 961, thank you!
     So many others--from the flight attendants who notice I don't walk well and can't put my own carry-on bag in the overhead bin, to the check-in people who can see that I am suffering from standing and bring a wheelchair immediately to help me out.  I love them all!

So many other things to write!  Will continue this later.
Meanwhile, I already have TWO more flight tickets to return to my family, to cat-sit and attend my granddaughter's graduation.  God, please grant me the days to accomplish all of this!

Oh...btw...I'm back on my diet.  The pounds have crept back on.  I know what to do.  I'm just gonna do it!