I have to wait my turn to pee

ghosts

In my house there were two adults and four children, all on the same floor, all sharing the same bathroom. Those were the days right? One person in the shower, one brushing his teeth and one having to pee; everyone minding their own business and keeping on schedule….nothing to see here, just keep moving.

My bedroom was only three short steps away from the bathroom but during the night it seemed like a dark wooded scene from Sleepy Hollow with miles before I found a place to assist me in my quest for relief.

As I stood in my doorway, I could feel the fear of anxiety fill me. Darkness. Who knows what lurks in the darkness. It can’t be seen and the thought of the unknown is usually more stressful.  I had little to say in the matter for Nature was calling but hated to leave the safety of my bedroom. So as I stood there contemplating my situation, I would picture ghosts passing in front of me like cars and I was the pedestrian waiting for the crosswalk sign to light up indicating my turn; only then would I take those quick steps into the bathroom. True story.

I think that was my coping device to handle my fear of the dark. If I had to wait for the coast to clear the ghosts would abide and let me into the lane when I got the green light without incident; that’s how the adults typically do it when they drive anyway….

In reply to the Daily Post nudge… #5 your childhood fear

(photo: theguardian.com)

King of the Kasbah

crown

It was Morocco, 2006(ish), and the trip was in full schedule mode; A trip to the southern coast of Spain and all its side trips were added to the agenda.  How could I possibly pass up a quick day trip over to Morocco when you can practically see the coast of Africa from where we would be staying! Warnings from family and close friends not to take the side trip, along with the U.S. government travel website, were not heeded as who knows when I would ever have the opportunity (and bragging rights) to visit in the future!

Decision made, and with my Goose (daughter) in tow… off we go. We joined a bus group to take us to the port in Spain to catch the high speed ferry to Tangier. While filling out the typical paperwork for customs, one young lady, thinking she is the Don Rickles of her generation, says loudly enough for all to hear, “occupation… let’s put terrorist” – (white trash family laughter, nonfamily members-crickets) yes that is hysterical. Please do not quit your day job and shut your trap you are going to get us all killed, moron.

Disembarking from the bus and running away from the Chuckle Hut as quickly as possible to disassociate ourselves, we board the high speed ferry to whisk us away to a new adventure. Goose hears a man saying he wants to get his passport stamped – a great reminder of travels past! Wrapped up in the thought of visiting Morocco (and yes, a bit naïve) we jump on board that suggestion – “would you mind doing ours too?!” (as we blindly handed over our passports to a complete stranger for a .25 rubber ink stamp and about to enter a country we were told to stay out of…not one of my finer moments.) Thankfully, he was as upstanding as we had hoped and returned with an armful of passports all stamped (yes!).

First stop, camel ride on the beach. Although we did not take advantage of this (because Goose made the excellent call not to smell like camel for the rest of the day) we did get some really cool pics. We were told that the camels are treated very well because they have excellent memories and will not cooperate with a heavy-handed owner (animal cruelty is always a concern of mine).

Our guide was amazing and walked us through all the back alleys of the Kasbah filling our minds with so much history, culture, and levels of knowledge it is difficult to remember all the details. There were snake charmers, sellers of spices, local fruits and flowers, and the like, all tugging at our sleeves and bags to get us to stop and buy their wares. Luckily, Goose came to the rescue and spoke to them in French (their second language) letting them know we were not interested but thank you very much anyway. They seemed to welcome abiding by our wishes in their own language much better than others as the American speaking visitors were still being followed and taunted.

Last stop before the bus departed was the carpet store. Traditional locally-handmade Berber rugs filled the room in all sizes, shapes, designs, and colors you would probably not see elsewhere in the world. After the host gave us the history of the Berber rugs, Goose and I were taken aside, and felt a little uncomfortable as we were being corralled to an area surrounded by rugs to the ceiling and no other workers or visitors in sight. (I thought we would never come back from that one-maybe the warnings were right!) But with a little bit of haggling, we seemed to get an affordable price and off we were to get back on the bus.

Of course no story ends that simply when Goose and I travel. In exchange for my beloved Life is Good® baseball cap I was offered several different kinds of jewelry, to which I said no every time. However, the winner of that much treasured hat was the most persistent and leaned in through the door with one last plea just before it closed. I tossed it in his direction and waved good bye. He held it up as if it was a crown and placed it on his head – the new King of the Kasbah.

In response to the Daily Post Question: Use It or Lose It  – Write about anything you’d like, but make sure the post includes this sentence:

“I thought we’d never come back from that one.”

(crown photo: animal-kid.com)

Love is in the air and in your soul

loveheart“For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul.” – Judy Garland

After all it is Valentine’s Day so why not throw a little love out there. Even if you are not in a relationship at the moment, some point in your life you probably could relate to what Ms. Garland had to say.

That moment…that fleeting moment of a whisper or kiss truly does stir in your core and not even Father Time can erase that feeling. All you have to do is close your eyes and it comes flooding back to you, it may even propel you into another dimension (at least it seems that way) it is just that powerful.

There are so many layers to love it cannot be broken down, sorted out, or analyzed.

Maybe that is why it never leaves us, even when our heart is broken, there is still a sliver of it left behind.

 

(picture credit: http://flikie.s3.amazonaws.com/ImageStorage/d8/d86d6070173f46edab259e790120da28.jpg)

Who makes it happen? YOU make it happen…

Who makes it happen? YOU make it happen.

Guilty pleasure: The movie Working Girl is set in the 80’s, big hair, nylons-ankle-socks-sneakers, very heavy on the eye makeup, thick NY accent, and chunky jewelry. It doesn’t get much tackier but for some reason I fell in love with this movie. A very young cast of Melanie Griffith, Harrison Ford, Sigourney Weaver (and a small part for  the up and coming Alec Baldwin!)

Anyway, the gist of the movie is that a young woman is a secretary with great ideas but because of the man’s world that she lives in, no one will take her ideas seriously so she bends the rules in order to advance her career.

It is always a good reminder to be told that ‘YOU make it happen’.

Example A. Prince Charming is not going to get a flat tire in front of your house, knock on your door to call AAA, and fall madly in love with you.  It didn’t happen back in the day and it won’t happen now; he has a cell phone to make the call.

Example B. You will not be in a club holding some stranger’s ponytail while she ‘sings’ into the ceramic bowl, only to find out she is a multi-millionaire and wants to hand you a check because you saved her from an embarrassing situation.

Example C. Chances of you sitting in the rail station swearing at your computer only to have Bill Gates approach you to fix the issue and offer you a job for six figures anyway is less than zero. (can I state a negative number here?)

You get the idea. YOU make it happen. Stop making excuses! Take a chance! Be uncomfortable and step out of that box. Whatever it is in this life, you have to take steps to make it materialize. A seed does not grow without water and sunlight… what makes you think you can sit back and just exist until someone decides to come along and water you? (figure of speech….stay with me…)

You have to network and go after that job, put yourself out there to find a date to share all the memories with, sign up at the local college and get that degree that has been put off for 15 years… YOU have to take that first step and make it happen. It doesn’t fall into your lap, no wishing or praying will make it magically appear, it is all up to you. You have more strength inside of you than you think.

No one said it would be easy, but easy is boring.. and no one likes boring.

In response to the Daily Prompt: Silver Screen

Take a quote from your favorite movie — there’s the title of your post. Now, write!

Toxic fumes, tetanus shots, and the Big Wheel

While on FB I came across a little dittie that reminded me of the fearless generation from whence I came: the 70’s. If you were born a bit before then, the 70’s were just the right age when the stars aligned and curiosity, fearlessness, and determination joined forces and nothing stopped you.

Kids didn’t use seatbelts, let alone have their own car seat. Your seatbelt was your mom throwing her arm across you to keep you from smashing your tiny flexible skull against the dashboard (which only worked 20% of the time). There were lapbelts but, admit it, pretty lame. And pick-up trucks with an open bed – well now we are talking changing a three-seater into a jamb-as-many-friends-in-the-back-seater! The cargo area of a station wagon? Nope this was actually used as a free for all play pen for the kids. Wrestling, laying down for naps, having a picnic, all while dad tried not to lose his shit driving in beach traffic so you and your brother can eat a sand-wich; literally sandwich filled with sand from your sticky fingers (crunch crunch).

Creepy Crawlers… yes please let me inhale toxic fumes, I didn’t want to ace those bubble tests in third grade anyway. And the plastic glob of goo at the end of the straw that magically turned into a huge balloon? Inhale and residue on my fingers which will inevitably go into my mouth at some point, SCORE! Whoops forgot about the lead paint toys too. Back in the day there was no other way to adhere paint to toys to lead was added and those cute little wooden blocks that were used as a teething device was now dropping the SAT scores by the minute. Ivy League schools are overrated anyway.

Sunscreen was called baby oil back in the day. If you weren’t rocking a golden tan or peeling from a summer’s worth of sunburns you were lame and had the worst summer ever. And if you dared show up with Noxema on your nose to lessen the pain, you got your shoulders slapped to remind you of your burn there as well…. good times.

Games: lawn darts were made of razor sharp blades about 6 inches long and you tossed them 10 yards back and forth at one another with the hopes it will land in the  hoolahoop on the ground for points. The company had to completely revamp its design with soft edges because people where getting hurt. Who got hurt with this game? Fess up!  You have to be kidding.  You didn’t know that when that 6 inch blade came even remotely in your direction that you wouldn’t move out of the way?! That was part of the fun – playing chicken with a javelin! Way to ruin it for everyone.

Helmets and elbow pads are for losers. Learning to ride a bike, roller skate (and later on a skateboard) takes balance. If you don’t get hurt falling off, the learning process takes so much longer. Plus the scars are really cool. Who didn’t ride on the handlebars or on the seat holding on to the driver’s butt (which was in your face and hoping he was a real friend and wasn’t going to blast you with a fart) as balance?  There was nowhere to put your feet so your legs dangled and your friend had a bike and you had to walk like a dork so ride-sharing was the norm. Plus there is plenty of room for two on a one-seater, you just have to be creative.

Toss in the Big Wheel (and for you Evil Kineval types the wooden jump plank leaning on a concrete block) and now we are talking some adrenalin. Your friend Sully did it yesterday and you will be damned if he is going to show off that scab alone. Determination supersedes wisdom when you are young.

The adventurous play ground. The days of climbing up inside the ‘metal rocket’ with all its sharp edges, uncovered steel screw tops and nails exposed made for tetanus shots only a doctor’s office can dream of. Don’t forget the 200 degree metal slide against the back of your legs; it’s a beautiful day and that slide has been just soaking in the sunshine for several hours – go metal burn yes! But it didn’t stop you, you shook it off and kept going back up anyway because it was fun.

The special hideaway. Either you had one or your best friend did. It was in a tree house, sitting on a tree limb 20 feet high, under the porch, in a leanto, just some secret place for you to escape the tyranny of your parents or the unbridled beatings of your older siblings. Hiding away for hours was the norm; the police were not called if you were an hour late for supper, you just got grounded. And not the ‘fun’ grounded these kids have these days… TV, xbox, cell phone, all in the room to keep you entertained? Unheard of…you had the old school, sit in your room and stare out of the window at all your friends having fun playing tag or hide and seek while you were missing it. Lesson learned.

There are of course many more… the drinking from a hose and not bottled water, your baseball team losing and not getting the pizza party because “you tried really hard”, the walking to school (in the blizzard uphill both ways) because there weren’t school buses and your family only had one car that dad took to work….

It goes on and on and it was fun. It was a great generation and we learned so much. Please share any ‘good times’ that I may have overlooked.

Tell me, teach me, involve me

Tell me and I forget. Teach me and I remember. Involve me and I learn” – Benjamin Franklin

Well Ben, you and I are on the same page. I love to learn. I ask tons of questions to the point of being annoying but it is because I want to know, I h.a.v.e. to know and although having someone explain it is nice, I want the hands-on-full-immersion-experience!

I want my hands in the dirt planting, the water in my face while swimming, the air in my hair on the highest swing so I can feel like I am flying…

I want to be drenched in the excitement, in the moment, to the point of almost drowning from the knowledge and information…soaking up all that is out there to encounter…more… there is always more….

Artsy-fartsy I am not

birchtrees

I have never been able to comfortably embrace my artistic side; plain and simply I have none.

My mother was a brilliant artist in the true sense of the word. She could dance, sing (although she more often than not forgot the words which was always the joke between the family), played the piano (self taught), and kicked butt playing tennis against any single or doubles team that dare take her on… but her piece de résistance would easily be her painting. Pastels, charcoal, and rice paper, nothing caused a bump in her ability to capture the moment. Some day I will post her painting to share with the world and have her legacy live on forever but right now this is about me….

I am the last in the line of boys, and being the only other female in the family, her immense talent is a lot to aspire to. There should be some mom-daughter connection no?

Early on I learned I did not have the talent, nor did I have the patience. I have all of my father’s analytical genes (and also am my own worst critic). The highly organized (put it back where you found it and how you found it so you can find it again next time), the strict control of time (we don’t have time to stop we have a schedule to keep) and the deductive reasoning (if its not the air filter, the sparks or the timing, it is probably a gunky gas filter)… all very useful and practical in the world so I am not knocking it.

So why is it I still strive to be artsy-fartsy like my mom? I have taken to using a Groupon for ‘fun’ artistic afternoons with my daughter and do something different (none of this bowling or mini golf crap). The use of quotation in the word -fun- is there because I typically stress out more trying to complete the task rather than enjoy it’s process. Don’t get me wrong, it does not take away from the time spent with my daughter. We still laugh and crack jokes even if we are the only ones laughing, but the pressure to make it perfect, to get what I see in my head out through my hands, is close to impossible and extremely-extremely frustrating (did I mention it is extreme?!)

So the birch trees you see are another attempt at my striving to bond with my mother.  After all, don’t we secretly wish that our children will take something special from us and pass it along to future generations? Maybe that is it; I disappointed her in that sense and am still striving to keep a piece of her alive while failing miserably. (Hmm Fraud where are you now?)

I am sure it will not be the last time but sooner or later I will get the hint; I am just not artsy-fartsy.

MMM smell that earth

I remember distinctly while growing up, my mother making sure I had enough fresh air, no matter what the weather. She also taught me to appreciate nature around me.

In the autumn, the leaves that had fallen to the ground always smelled warm and smoky; even before being thrown into a brush fire pit.

The winter brought sledding outside down whatever small hill would lend itself to us. Traveling down the hill at what felt like the speed of light and the thrill of hitting a bump, tossed into the air, and the laughter of being covered from head to toe in the glistening white powder.  Sometimes you would inadvertently hit a tree no matter how hard you tried to steer away from it (and if you were on a small plastic saucer you didn’t have a prayer to not something), and then BAM, thrown off the sled into a bush (if you were lucky) or onto hardened snow, ouchies.  No one wants cold boogers frozen to your face, so the tears would have to just wait.  All in all, the cold fresh air made us feel alive and the scars are always a conversation piece.

In the summer when the sun shone through the windows, it is a no brainer…who wants to stay indoors on a beautiful sunny day? We have such a short summer season as it is so get out there and enjoy it. (Plus it is always better than doing house choirs like dusting!) The blue sky, cotton ball clouds, and leaves so green they hummed with life, blew in every gentle breeze. Even on rainy summer days, I could be found outside, cartoon character umbrella above me, in the gutter of the street, trying to build a dam or floating a few pieces of grass in a race, and then looking skyward for the rainbow.

But the spring, well now, this is a very special season at my home. The new arrived robins who would sing songs of their travels and birth of their young yet to come would resonate throughout the morning. The hundreds of flowers my father painstakingly spent all winter to cultivate the previous year, from cellar and then to small, but adequate, flower hut would begin to rise through the earth frozen in time by the longer winter past.

It is this freshly opened soil that, when soaked with the springs rains, smelled the most beautiful earthly smell you could ever imagine.

From the Daily Post question: home, soil, rain