Stories Retold

In this rush about, ever changing world, it's reassuring to experience occasional moments that give us a sense of continuity.  Change is a constant and remains one of the few things on which we can rely.

The arrival of grandchildren brings a nice touch of continuity to one's life.  My granddaughter is almost four and a half years old and lately I've been reading bedtime stories to her from one of the same books I read to my daughter.  This book has been around a very long time.  It was given to me by my Godmother when I was three; obviously, my mother read the stories to me.  Now this collection of little bedtime stories has found a new audience in a third generation listener.  I find this comforting and pleasantly familiar.

I enjoy reading out loud to a receptive audience.  Like everyone else, I've discovered many stories that appeal both to me and small children.  When my son was very young, a close friend of mine gave him a book I'd never heard of before.  The title alone was a kick:  "A Capital Ship" or " The Walloping Window-blind".  This is a poem written by Charles Edward Carryl.  http://theworld.com/~dduncan/poetry/capitalship.html  My son asked me to read this book to him constantly and got to the point where he could recite it in its entirety.  One day, I discovered that the phrasing of the words fit perfectly to the tune of the theme song from "Gilligan's Island".  This put a whole new spin on the book and made it even more entertaining.  My son is now a big, burly 16-year old but he still stops long enough sometimes to listen when I sing it to his little niece.

It's very gratifying to read the same stories you enjoyed as a child to a child or grandchild of your own.  It's been my experience that I still love the books and stories I read or had read to me when I was a little girl.  It's a simple, readily available, inexpensive way to carry on a fond memory and, hopefully, help instill the beginning glimmer of the concept of the joy of reading at an early age.

What are you reading?

Are You Ready for Football?

Football season is upon us once more.  It brings with it fun food, camaraderie and a party atmosphere.  We watch football at our house but it is with a laissez-faire attitude more often than not.  It hardly takes precedence over everything else going on at the time.  Sometimes it serves merely as a background to whatever else is happening.  There have been times when a game is on, the sound is muted and music is playing.  I enjoyed many blissful years of existence with a man whose one and only sport was--me!  Eventually, the day came when he, too, was bitten by the football bug and became interested in actually watching the game.  This has always been perfectly okay with me.

I grew up in a household where sports where not in the picture.  This must sound unbelievable to the multitude of rah-rah sports fans in America, I'm sure.  Not one of us played any sport during our school years nor did we ever have the desire to do so.  We had our friendly games of softball and badminton but for fun only, not with the must-win mentality that dominates the American psyche.  Somewhere along the line, probably in college, my brother started watching football and that was the spark which ignited the flame of interest in our home.

My dad began to check out a game here and there and very shortly, my scholarly father developed a passion for football!  He watched the games in his own particularly dear fashion.  My dad was a gentle man, a man not prone to yelling or screaming.  When he saw an excellent play executed on the field, he would clap his hands and say things like, "good play".  It was the funniest thing but so very like him to show his appreciation in this way.

For about two seasons I really tried to watch and make some kind of sense of the game.  Every game looked the same to me and I found the constant halting of them every few minutes extremely annoying.  I had always wondered for the longest time how on earth a one-hour game could go on for three hours!  Now I knew.  I learned names of many of the quarterbacks and could match them to the right team.  I began to recognize coaches.  I could never understand why the coach whose team was winning always looked as grim as the coach whose team wasn't.  I suppose their mindset is stuck in "it ain't over 'til it's over!"

I got pretty good at matching teams with the correct city.  I came to develop a small appreciation of helmet design and would, in fact, use this criteria to select my favorite team (totally non-interested-in-sports-female that I am).  For the record, my favorite helmets (and teams) have always been the Seattle Seahawks and the Cincinnati Bengals.  Awesome helmets; wouldn't you know the same person designed both teams' helmets?

I've long since given up trying to figure out the plays and positions of football.  Who cares?  I surely don't.  However, a comment from John Madden uttered several years ago gave me one of my best laughs.  The Dallas Cowboys were playing against whomever and John Madden said, in all seriousness, something to the effect of "if Dallas is going to come up from behind, they've got to start getting some penetration".  This struck me at the time as being very funny and I came to appreciate football commentary as a great source of amusement. 

 

 

Patrick's Saturday Six (Already?!)

1. Who is the last person you took a photograph of?

My granddaughter, playing in the sprinkler this summer ~ unlike about 98% of the people in Journal Land, I'm not big on taking pictures.

2. What decade do you hold the most dear and why?

The seventies, hands down!  This decade witnessed my courtship, marriage, move to California and birth of my first child.  It took me from the age of 17 to 26 and a lot happened.  Frequently, I will say 1970 (insert 1 to 9) when I mean to say 1980 or 1990 something.  I think this is more than a Freudian slip.

3. Take the quiz:  What mystical creature are you?

You're like an angel. As everyone knows, angels dwell in heaven. They were desribed as shining ones wearing white and the idea that they have wings is believed as well. Guardian angels are the ones that many people think are dead loved ones who try to protect the living friends or family they have on Earth. They usually had blonde hair and maybe brown with flawless appearance and sweet dispositions. They were cheerful, hopefull, selfless, loving, and kind. Angels are the one mystical creature that a majority of people truly believe in. Encounters with angels are poping up all over the world and reassuring people's beliefs in angels.

(I am truly surprised; this is Not the answer I was anticipating!)

4. What is your favorite alcoholic beverage?

Wine.  A good Zinfandel or Cabernet in the cool weather; a chilled white such as Johannesburg Reisling or Pinot Grisio when it's warm.  I'm not a stickler for matching the "proper" wine with the dish!

5. What do you normally wear to bed?

A smile; that's all.

6. READER'S CHOICE QUESTION #24 from Cherie:  What movie character do you most identify with?

It's a toss-up between Nora Charles (Myrna Loy) in any of the "Thin Man" movies and Jessica Rabbit (pen and ink) from "Who Framed Roger Rabbit?"

 

A Remembrance

This is a sad day for me.  I lost whom I consider to be the most influential person in my life on this day nine years ago.  Can it truly be nine years already?  My soul finds this difficult to believe.

My mother died September 21, 1995.  This was the day I came to dread as I got older yet knew the inevitable would occur.  When it happened I was certainly not prepared.  Are any of us ever prepared?  Is this possible?  There's no good, convenient time to die for anyone.  The passing years have softened the blow and eased the pain which is how things should be but those feelings are still there and shall be until the end of my life.  I felt so lost without her--the mere knowledge of her presence--for such a long time.

It was my mother's death that taught me that we do not weep and grieve for those who die; it is for ourselves that we feel such despair and misery.  I don't think I ever realized that before.  Nothing matters any longer to those who have passed on to the next phase of existence, whatever that may be.  It is those who are left behind, deprived of the company, joy, delight and wisdom of he or she who has died.  For the longest time, I sincerely believed that I couldn't or wouldn't want to continue to exist in this world without my beloved parent.  Thankfully, the passage of time works as a gentle healer and life does continue its normal progression.

Life continues because it must.  I wasn't a little child when my mother died, after all.  I was a grown, married woman of 42 with a husband and two children and a home of my own to tend.  I felt as if I'd been cut adrift and had lost the wisest counsel and comfortable mantle of unconditional love I'd ever known.  When my father died five months later, I often wondered if a person my age would be considered an orphan.  At times, I felt like one.  With the loss of one's parents, there is no longer a continually flowing fountain of wisdom to seek and derive solace from when life gets tough and the little dinghy in which you were cast adrift into the real world gets tossed about in a rough tempest. 

We had a private outdoor service with family and friends for my mother five days following her death.  Her obituary notice represented her very well:

...an R.N. from Montreal General Hospital and homemaker for over 56 years and a resident of __________ for over 19 years.  A lover of music and literature and was also a life-long avid gardener who enjoyed great success with hybrid bearded iris.  A woman of magnetic personality, independent spirit and great personal charm, wisdom, humor, strength and optimism and was a source of admiration and inspiration to all who were privileged to know her.  She is deeply mourned and sorely missed by her many loved ones.

It is said that as long as we retain the memory of someone who has died, they are still very much with us.  I suppose this small comfort is true.  My mother is very much alive within me.  I talk to her sometimes and while I don't expect an answer back, of course, it helps anyway.

My mother was a unique, great lady.  I wanted to let the world know how very much I miss her. 

Patrick's Saturday Six

1. If you could give your journal a content rating, which would you select:  G, PG, PG-13, R, or NC-17?

I have two journals.  One would be rated G; the other, PG

2. Are you left handed or right handed?  Do you wish you were the opposite?

I am right-handed and have never wished to be a lefty.

3. What is the last play you saw performed live in a theater?

The last play I saw was CATS, many years ago in San Francisco.

4. Your bank gives you the opportunity to send them a photo which they will make into personal checks for you?  What single photo would you most likely send?

I would send them a picture of a river otter, something like this:

5. What character from the original "Star Trek" do you most identify with?

I would have to pick Mr. Spock; not for his exceptional intelligence which I certainly don't possess but because of his logical nature.  I think of myself as being a logical woman.  Also, I had the most incredible crush on him even though I knew he was far too cerebral for me!

   6. READER'S CHOICE QUESTION #23 from Heather:  What secret urge do you have, but never act on?

One of my secret urges is to buy a box of expensive, excellent chocolates such as Godiva and spend an afternoon curled up on the couch working my way through its entire contents while watching a movie no one else would ever want to see except myself.

 

At Last!

Weekend Assignment #24: Tell us what the first song was at your wedding reception and why you chose that song. If you're not already married, tell us the song you would like to have played first at your wedding reception. Also, for the purposes of this assignment, those of you who have had commitment ceremonies can join in the fun (it's that whole "we're going to spend the rest of our lives together, and now we're going to dance" thing).

The music we had at our wedding reception was so forgettable that I had to think for quite some time about this assignment.

Our reception was held at a beautiful, well established historic inn which provided wonderful food and great ambiance.  This restaurant happened to be owned by my oldest sister's in-laws, no mere coincidence.  Her husband worked there for years and she was the dining room hostess for many years.  When the time came to plan my wedding reception, it was only logical that it be held at The King George Inn.

My parents and I sat down with the gentlemen who handled reservations for receptions and such and he recommended a band whose talent we could rent for the evening.  I couldn't tell you the name of this band if my life depended on it.  I faintly recall a group of musicians outfitted and seated much like something of the Glenn Miller Band genre.  (It wasn't this band; of that I'm certain!)

The majority of guests at our reception were extended family members and their families, a mature crowd.  The music provided was danceable and featured the classic band numbers.  This was fine with me.  Neither my new husband nor I were much into dancing at this point in our lives.  Most of the time whiled away at school dances was spent in some secluded area, talking.

We never had a particular song that became "our song".  Heaven knows we listened to enough music together but somehow no special song ever captured us.  My mother pointed out that we needed a song for our first dance as Mr. and Mrs. to play out to our beaming guests.  My parents had quite an extensive collection of 78 rpm records (antiques!).  This collection became the source that provided me with the perfect song for my evening of evening. 

The name of the song was, "At Last, At Last" sung by Tony Martin, pictured above, who had a wonderful voice.  I doubt anyone today recognizes the song or the artist.  It suited our need quite nicely, however.  The song was in waltz-time which was a major plus because we were a far cry from Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.  The only part of this song I can recall now is the beginning which goes:

     "At last, at last you're in my arms; you're in my arms where you belong".

This was, indeed, most appropriate because we felt we had waited an eternity to get married.  Looking back from here, it doesn't seem so terribly long but five years does seem like forever to the yearning, burning desires of two people who want nothing more than to be together till the end of their days.  Sadly, I have never heard this song played anywhere since that magical evening so long ago but I can recreate it inside my head whenever I wish.  That's a bit of magic as well.

 

 

Idle Chatter

As I sit at a red light waiting for the change  to green, I am astounded by the cavalcade that passes before me.  One car after another goes by; the driver looks steadfastly forward, hand upraised with cellphone pressed firmly against ear.  And they're talking, talking, talking.  About what??  It's almost as if they were born this way.

They're talking in their cars, in the supermarkets, on the street--everywhere.  What do these people have left to say when they actually see the person to whom they've been talking?  I'm a throwback, a dinosaur, to the age of cellphones.  The very idea of being available to someone--anyone--24/7 is so abhorrent to me that to be put in such a position would be something akin to a personal hell.  The telephone and I are not the best of friends.  We're necessary acquaintances at best.  I regard it as a necessary evil.

When I'm in my car, alone, I am in my own little sancuary where I wish to be available to no one.  I'm free to listen to whatever music I want and if I want to hear Tina belt out "What's Love Got To Do With It?" for the thousandth time, it's my choice.  My commute to and from work is fairly short and the very last thing I want or need is the aggravating ring (or summons) of a phone demanding my attention.  If there's something going on that's so important that I need to be told about it, the news will be there when I get to work.  Yes, I can wait ten or so minutes to learn that some crisis has befallen someone near and dear to me.  I think too much information too soon, instant knowledge of bad/sad news are a lot to blame for the rampant stress, depression and misery that so many people seem to have fallen victim to.

Sure, this is easy for me to spout about.  I was brought up with a not so subliminal sense of hatred for the telephone.  My mother hated Mr. Bell's invention; this may be the one disservice she passed along.  None of my siblings are overly fond of the telephone either.  Much as we love and adore each other and enjoy getting together, none of us ever gets on the phone simply to chat and ask, "how're ya doing?"  It never crosses our minds to do so.  Hmmmm...very strange, especially in this technological age.  My husband finds this a very strange thing indeed!

I find myself wondering how I, my mother and all the generations past managed to bring up and keep track of children without outfitting each child with a cellphone.  Pehaps life didn't have such a "spur of the moment" quality about it then.  When your child said they were going to so and so's house or to such and such a place, you knew when they'd get there, about how long they'd be and when to expect them home.  I was never expected to check in with my home every hour on the hour.  I didn't bring my children up to do this either.  I did instill in them the extreme importance of phoning home to let me know of a change of plans.  I've always assumed it's perfectly acceptablefor them to use the phone in the house where they are or a pay phone if they're out and about.  Have you noticed that there don't seem to be as many pay phones around these days?  I think the proliferation of cellphones is fazing them out. 

Sometimes I think everybody in the world has one except myself, my husband (who probably wouldn't mind having one), and my son (who could buy one for himself if he so chose.)  I'm sure my children think I should have one so that, if for no other reason, they could still get in touch with me when I'm using the computer.  I don't have call alert on my PC; don't plan on getting this feature any time soon.  I just don't want to be instantly connected to the world every minute of the day.  Am I a living, breathing anachronism?  It's okay with me.