Blurred Lines....

I heard a story that resonated with me earlier this week.  

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“I hate the time of year around the holidays,” the sad-faced lady said.  

“Why?” my friend inquired. 

“I lost my son,” the woman replied.  

My friend was concerned.  “I am so sorry.  How long ago was that?”

“Twenty-five years ago, “ she stated.  

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Focussing on the present is a job that requires my concentration and commitment.  I’ve told you about the therapist who told me numerous times, "You can look back; you just can't stare, Erin.  You just can’t stare.”

This time of year makes me want to stare.  

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We’ve all got our sacks of rocks.  Some of our rocks are heavier than others but frankly, 

I think we all have our burdens.  

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BUT, we all have something else......we all have blessings.  

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In December, Sally was in the holiday program at the Frazier Center in Decalb High School.  My three year old granddaughter did......nothing.  She stood in that row of 2 year olds and looked at us while wearing her Christmas dress.  She didn’t smile, she didn’t sing, she didn’t shake her jingle bells....she just watched a roomful of strangers watching all of them.  I was so proud. 

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So after they got home and she was taking her bath, she told her mother that she had a great day.  Mommy, Daddy, Uncle Dan, Nana, and Sister had come to pick her up from school.  She thought it was just wonderful.   AND they got to eat cookies!  It was a great day!  Her perception became my reality!

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My blurred lines make me try to live.  My blurred lines make me want to remember our family like it was.  My blurred lines make me yearn for my granddaughters to know their Uncle Mike.  My blurred lines want to refocus my energies on living each day to the fullest.  My blurred lines make me know my blessings far outnumber my sorrows.  

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I need to remember Sally’s perception of the Christmas program was 180 degrees different than what we expected.  Mike’s 33 birthday was Monday.  Happy Birthday, Mike!  I love you.  I miss you.   

State Center, Iowa-- “Snow place like home for the holidays!”

I grew up in Lake Wobegon.  Yes, Garrison Keillor talks about his mystical Minnesota town of Lake Wobegon....but if you listen to that radio program, you're listening to a man describe the State Center, IOWA.  "Where all the men are good looking, the women are strong, and the children are above average.”  Daria Wilkening Chestnut and I read the book by the same name and agreed, Lake Wobegon was State Center-- we just didn’t have a lake!

Most of us that grew up in the 1950's and 1960's had it pretty good.  We had a small town where everyone knew everyone.  You had to get over any spat that you had with a classmate....there were only two sections of each class and most of us that started kindergarten together graduated from high school together.  If you held a grudge, you wouldn't have many friends in a short amount of time-- and you were probably related to them anyway!

There were “Sock Hops” at the community hall after most home football and basketball games.  There was snake dance after the pep rally that was held the Thursday night before the Homecoming football game.  We brought our clamp on roller skates to school and played “7-Up” with a large rubber ball during recess.  It was a time of Red Rover, Red Light Green Light and Freeze Tag.

State Center had approximate 1,000 inhabitants (counting the cats and dogs).  It was a town where I walked to school at 5 years old and walked home for lunch.  I was envious of the county kids who got to eat hot lunch.  So, why am I waxing poetic about my hometown?

State Center has most of their utilities underground and they have their own power plant.  (Unique, huh?)  I have heard today that they are expecting a BIG SNOW storm.  But they have electricity!  People are watching the snow blow, trying to get ahead of the next drift by getting out their snow blowers, and either loving or loathing the first large snow of the season.  I miss the snow!

An active group of adults (they're my around my age and younger) (I almost said young people....) came together with a dream and started to fix up the downtown.  It looks beautiful.  They see potential in each other and in our town.  It is a “can-do” community.

The concept of small town life is true in my heart.  I grew up with some wonderful people and we have really stayed in each other’s lives via social media.  We celebrate the good times and the not so good times.  Be it a classmate’s untimely death, the birth of a new grandchild, or a strange colored squirrel eating out of a bird feeder, Central Iowa is in my heart.

So, I am missing my momma, my brothers, my childhood, and the snow today.  Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all of you!  May the year 2016 bring you joy and peace!

Ready, Set, There She Is

The Miss America pageant is a night when I want to have thighs without cellulite.  Shoot, I’d love a waist, too, while I’m wishing for physical enhancements.  Molly and I had a wonderful evening watching the pageant last night-- we cheered at the television when Miss Georgia was announced as the winner.  What a night!

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The candidates have sparkly teeth, shiny hair, and a bounce to their step.  Really?  I love it.  I love it.  I love it.  Those girls are talented, pretty, and determined.  I once visited with a former contestant that said she had run seven miles per day, watched everything she ate, practiced her talent, and made the scholarship quest a full time job.  The day after she didn’t win, she slept late and ordered a pizza.  She said it was her own type of consolation prize.

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Hoo-ah

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I could answer some of the interview questions but I'd have to pass on strutting my stuff in high heels.  Gosh, talk about knees hurting!  I'd need a cane, a walker, or maybe a sherpa to carry me around the stage.

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And those flowing dresses!  I'd have to sit down and scoot down the steps on my bottom...high heels and long dresses just aren't meant for me to wear together.

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As the old Southern saying goes, “The higher the hair; the closer to God.”

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Swim wear?  I'd like to see them swim.  I'd like to see them swim in a lake and then prance around.  No heels, flip flops would be the finishing touch.   AND maybe they could carry three beach chairs and a cooler.  Now, that could garner some points.

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I love it.  I love it.  I love it.  I enjoy the glamour, the styles, the talent, and the entire production.  I loved the tape of Bert Parks singing "There she is...." even though he's dead.    I consider him synonymous with the program.

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Miss Georgia on Saturday....Miss America on Sunday.

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The point.  It's work to look that good.  Congratulations to Betty Cantrell!  I have heard nothing except positive facts about what a hard worker you are.   May you have an amazing year representing our country!

Teaching School is not for Sissies

MY RANT FOR THE SECOND WEEK OF SCHOOL

Teaching is one of the most rewarding careers in the world-- if you like children.  Teaching is so easy when it it going right....AND nothing is harder when it's going wrong.

I gag when people tell me how teachers should teach.  I have this little devil in me that would love to give the “Knowledgeable One” 25 first graders and see if they could get them lined up for lunch...bathroom, hands washed, lunch boxes picked up, lunch money if they need it....you teachers know the drill.  Most uninitiated folks would crumble in eight minutes or less.

There is nothing sweeter than watching Early Childhood teachers during the first weeks of school.  They are MAGICAL.  These are teachers who can open milk cartons, dry tears, teach procedures, get the kids to eat something and eat their own lunch SIMULTANEOUSLY.  Personally, they are my rock stars in the Woodstock of school. MAGICAL!  No Lie.

Really, I've been told numerous times, "I've been to school for (fill in the blank with number of years)
and I have never heard of this.”  That’s because the good old days might not have been so good.

Rambling Thoughts:
1.  We don’t use chalkboards because of the dust...computers don’t like dust.
2.  Supplies....it’s just like home....the pencils walk off when we aren’t looking.
3.  My child doesn’t have a textbook to bring home....that’s because we use more than one resource for teaching standards...we have a variety of materials for your child to use.  Drill and kill just doesn’t work.  In Georgia there are textbooks online.    
4.  Widipedia is not a good source to use in a reference paper.
5.  Learning how to learn is very important.
6.  Getting along with others is very important, too.

Teachers want to impart knowledge.  They want children to take school somewhat seriously.  They don't want to be called, "B*^&h."  Or, "B" or "Bee atch."  And then they sure don't want to hear a parent saying, "My child wouldn't say that.”  (Okay, I did really enjoy showing this hateful mother a video tape of her child doing exactly what the mother had told me he would never do.  In fact, I showed it to her twice.)

Do you really think that teachers want children to be disrespectful?  Common courtesy goes a long way in life.

Fighting with parents is not high on a teacher's lists of "things that I enjoy."  In fact, most teachers dread listening to a parent rant about their child.  Teachers want your children to hand in their homework, study, and do well.  I've met very few teachers who enjoyed putting an F on a report card.(Now, for the record, I do think my high school chemistry teacher liked it.  He put my F in red and stated that he had saved the world from me becoming a nurse.  That was low.  IN BRIGHT RED!)

So, listen to your children.....but listen to the teacher, too.

God gave us two ears, two eyes, and one mouth.  In old Erin’s little world that means:  1.  Listen twice as hard, 2.  Read the information twice, and then 3.  Only talk about half as much as we actually do.

And to my teacher friends out there:  Parents don’t keep the good kids at home.

And Let Perpetual Light Shine Upon All of Us

Mom’s urn was a metal.  I’d never really thought about urns until we were faced with the task of picking one out.  Brother Dan thought that this one would appeal to her.  As usual, he was right.

Now, back to the diggers.  After about ten minutes of digging, Brother Jim asked, “Is this deep enough?”

Dean shook his head, “No, only if I stand on her and push her down about a foot.”

I started writing this conversation down.  You never know when you might need this information.

“Erin, bring the urn over.  The hole is deep enough.”

“Wait a minute, I’m writing all this down.  I don’t want to forget anything.”

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Things I learned:

1.  A hole needs to be fairly deep....even for an urn.

2.  Packing tape works well for lowering an urn into the ground.  Take a big long piece, loop it around the urn, and it will act as a means of helping the urn descend into the grave in a sacred manner.  We didn’t do this.

3.  God loves fools and my family.

4.  Lay plywood down before digging a hole and put the dirt on the plywood.  Then when you fill in the hole, the ground around the grave doesn’t look nasty.  The finished grave will look much nicer.

5.  Sprinkle a little grass seed on the dirt to get the grave looking good.

6.  Mom and Dad did a good job with raising the three of us.  We knew that Mom was in heaven and that this burial could be a family story for the rest of our days.  We appreciated every minute of it!

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Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May they rest in peace. Amen.


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PS.  God, thank you for my parents.  They prepared me to live, love, and laugh....usually all at the same time!

My family in approximately 1958.

Part Two....I can dig it, He can dig it, She can dig it, We can dig It, They can dig it.....Can you dig it, Baby?

As Jim was walking towards a home near the cemetery, the nice man, Dean, who was in charge of getting the grave dug, drove up in his pick-up.

“Everything, okay?”  he asked.

“Say, we have a little problem,” stated brother Jim.  “The grave has been filled in....and we haven’t buried Mom yet.”

“Nah,” said Dean.

“No, we’ve got her right here, “ stated brother Dan.

Dean continued to shake his head from left to right.  At that point I knew we needed a visual aid.

I held up the urn.

The nice young man started beating his head on his steering wheel.  “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes, “ stated the entire group.

Immediately, Dean was on the phone with the young man who had filled in the grave.  We heard muffled parts of the conversation....”Didn’t I tell you to make sure the urn was in there?”  “Didn’t I tell you to feel the urn with your shovel before you started filling in the hole?”  “What were you thinking....no, I take that back....you weren’t thinking at all, were you?"

(I started really laughing.....really, really laughing.  That kind of laughing that is never good.  Never appropriate.  Never kind.  Never ceasing.)

“Do you have a shovel?” stated brother Dan.  “We can do this by hand."

Within minutes, plywood had been placed around the grave....and the three men, Jim, Dan, and Dean started redigging the grave together.  AND the guy who had filled in the grave by mistake,  well, he was critiquing the digging.

Me?  Well, I was taking pictures and laughing.

To Be Continued......Part Three....It takes a village!

What’s Wrong with this Picture? Part I

Don’t judge....and it’s nobody’s fault.  The stars were in alignment for a atypical, funny, wonderful burial.  Yep....laughter, love, joy, mud, dirt and my family.  I can’t imagine my life in any other way.  Look for the silver lining in any cloud-- you’ll see it and appreciate the wonders of our universe.  To piggyback on one of my favorite county songs, “God is great, Beer is good, and People are Crazy!”
and damn it, Momma’s burial fit right in with the crazy.

Mom passed away in January.  We knew then that we wanted a nice Iowa SUMMER day for the internment of her ashes.  My brothers and I spent the spring getting the gravestone reworked and we set a date of June 27 for her burial.  It was going to be simple.  Sweet.  Personal.  Mom and Dad would be together after 45 years apart.

The immediate family planned to meet in State Center for a 9 a.m. ceremony.  (That time was crazy in the first place--we were coming from various places and the logistics would have given Eisenhower a migraine.)  I didn’t get to State Center until 10 and I had Mom riding shotgun with me (Momma loved riding in the front seat of the 4-Runner.  Even at 90 years old, she could still hop right in.)  Jim’s clan wouldn’t be arriving until noonish so our plans were changing moment by moment.

But, we knew everything was cool.  Dan and Kim had visited the cemetery on their way into town that morning and had even taken pictures of the grave.  It was deep and very nicely dug.  We were
good to go.  Jim had fastened a macrame structure for lowering the urn into the ground.  On point!  We met at the family home and at noon we left for the burial.

Our small caravan drove to the cemetery in our birth order.  It was a beautiful Iowa day.  The wind was gently blowing.  The sun was shining brightly.  Flowers were blooming.  We were together for Mom’s send off.

As I drove into the cemetery, I marveled at the lot we had chosen when my dad had passed away in 1970.  You can see our home from that site.  It just made me feel good.  Everything was just perfect.  (Note:  Whenever this feeling passes your way, we afraid.  Be very afraid.)

I got out of the car, picked up the urn, and walked to the grave.

Oops.  No empty hole.  It had been filled in.

“Houston, we have a problem!”

As Dan, Kim, Jim, Jody, Erin, Charlie, and Annie walked towards the grave, I stated, “The hole has been filled in.”  Everyone doubted me....they all came, looked and stated, “The hole has been filled.”

One brother asked the group, “Anyone got a shovel?”

To Be Continued