Slimy Worms & My Love for Grandpa

Today's confession consists of me admitting that I am at least 75 percent vegetarian. I don't think I could go completely without eggs and cheese, but I have currently gone twelve or thirteen years without red meat. If you are really interested, I do eat chicken, turkey and I just can't give up bacon!  As for red meat, I just don't like it. I don't like the texture of it and I can do without the flavor of it. Just as T did, I grew up eating hamburger, steak, venison, jerky and fish we had caught...That was the rule you know, any fish you had caught and didn't throw back you had to eat.

While my family and I were camping about five years ago, I thought a "real" hamburger sounded good. Usually I would've had a turkey burger instead. I ate one right along with everyone else and it was so good I ate a second one. Boy, did I pay for it later. I had the worst stomachache! I decided at that point red meat just wasn't worth it for me..

My interest in fishing dropped off way earlier than T's. Besides, I couldn't bring myself to push the hook through a slimy worm. Our Grandpa had to do that part for me...However I did enjoy being outdoors with the fresh air, and the outdoor noises and adventures. During my childhood, I went on very few road hunting trips with Grandpa, probably because I talked too much and I would scare the deer away! As a teenager on the other hand, I would wake up early to go road hunting with my boyfriend. This was an excuse to hang out with him, we'd drive for hours on the old logging roads looking for deer, and we never did shoot any. But I was always amazed how much beautiful countryside was "out there".

Our Grandpa was such a jovial old guy and I often times wish he was still around to share some of the experiences we had growing up with our children. Thinking back, he was a Redneck Renaissance Man if there is such a thing, and I loved him. He worked in the woods for years as a Loader Operator, he was a true hunter and fisherman, he had amazing dog training skills, and he tended to a breathtaking garden every year.  One of the best things about that garden besides going and picking fresh fruits and vegetables were the pumpkins he planted for all of the grandchildren. It was so exciting to go to grandpa and grandmas house to choose your pumpkin every October.

Grandpa was a cute little guy of Swedish decent, with pink cheeks, a round belly and he always had a joke to tell or a smile on his face. A favorite memory for me was each summer, when we planned a camping trip to Standish-hickey campground and then up to Eureka to go to the zoo. It wasn't much of a zoo, but if we caught a glimpse of the prairie dogs we were happy. There were also chimpanzees to the right of the entrance, and our grandpa would make these noises that would entice the chimps to wing their poop at you. Ahh, the things we find amusing as children. We would head back to camp and have roasted hot dogs and whatever other treats he brought along. He was a great cook, something about what he made, it always tasted good.

I looked forward to going to Grandma and Grandpas house too,  because it meant we got to play outdoors. We had the freedom to ride our bikes, hide in the tree fort, or run up and down their road until dark. All of the residents on our grandparents road were retired except for maybe one. I can honestly say that I learned something from each and every one of them, and I think being around them as a child made me respect the friendships and knowledge an older person can carry. They've been there, and done that.

If we arrived and Grandma and Grandpas house and they weren't home, it meant they were "down" at their friends house having a highball. For those of you unaware of what a highball is, it's a cocktail. They'd be visiting their friends who had come over from "the valley" to get out of the heat, and it's funny to think we now go to the Coast to "escape the heat".

Another fond memory of both of our grandparents that I have, is at Christmas-time. We would make our lists for Santa, and they would usually buy us something together off of our lists.  But one of the best gifts we received was from Grandpa, every year he would get each grandchild his own gift.  It was consistently a can of beef jerky. That was the best! Since we are discussing his jerky, I will say he also had a little "smoker" in his garage that he would make his own jerky and night fish in...If my memory serves me right, everything that came out of that little thing was the bomb!  You always looked forward to Grandpa handing you a little ziplock baggie of his famous peppered jerky to take home.

How did we arrive talking about our Grandpa instead of me becoming almost a vegetarian? I guess I was reflecting on T's stories about hunting and fishing and it brought up my fond memories of a really special guy. Hanging out with him, even if you had to put a slimy worm on the fishing hook, was all worth it for the memories.   I hope that every child has an opportunity to experience the love and knowledge that our Grandpa shared with us. Those road hunting trips, eating venison from a buck Grandpa caught, and picking my own pumpkin out of his garden all had something to do with the person I am today, and I'm grateful. 

Embrace Your Sparkle,

B Pin It

For All the George's, Bambi Dads, & 'More for You' I've loved before..

Here B & I are doing the My Fitness Pal, well most of the time I am.  I haven’t logged in for a couple of days to be honest.  There’s no excuse, but to find an excuse.  The dog hasn’t eaten my homework.  My sister hasn’t ripped up my phone.  I haven’t lost it because I was walking up hill both ways, both home and then back to work, with flip flops (it would be a bigger fib if I said barefooted).  I haven’t got a sprained texting finger, or anything of the sort…I just plain haven’t done it.  It hurting no one but myself.  Today I will reinvent my super powers of logging in, and take hold of this fitness craze that I’d like to be wrapped in.  Really, I don’t know why I haven’t-because I even did crunches.  I felt something in my abdomen area, they might be muscles that have been lost and were thankful that I thought to look for them again?  I did the elliptical and paid attention to my intake of food.  I just haven’t logged it all in.  I just cleared my throat and felt those old abdomen reminders again.  Deal, I will log in today.

Speaking of food, I thought of how we ate as children.  It is quite the picture in my mind to remember how we ate.  The 70’s and 80’s were a transitioning period in the culture of America, and food.  There were Fry-Daddy’s, Shake n Bake, TV Dinners, Hamburger Helper,  Hostess anything, Pringles, New Sizzlean, Parkay, Velveeta, Idaho Potato Sticks, Tab & Mr. Pibb, Freshen-Up Gum, and don’t forget about “Hey! Kool-Aid!”.  We were kids who grew up in the transition of our mothers going into the work force, and our generation was becoming latch-key kids.  B & I were fortunate enough that for a long while our Mother was home with us, and I went home to she and my sister after school.  But, as times changed, we too were a part of the transition in a Women’s Lib world.  Such controversy, still does exist in today’s society with opinions of the need of socialization of our children outside of the home, to the misnomer  of wealth on the basis of a stay at home mother vs. a mother who ‘works’ outside of the home.  I would venture to guess that the majority of families where the mother stays at home have figured the finances down to a science, allowing them the ability to stay home with their babies.  There are some women who want to return to work due to the fulfillment that they receive at their position in the outside work world or the education they hold to bring them there, and that is what makes them a better mother.  What an idea, accepting all of the different forms of mothering and not passing judgment on another for their choices, as we do not walk in another’s shoes.  When it comes to the age old saying of ‘Always eat dinner together as a family,” that is a tradition that I still stand by, from when I was allowed the opportunity to be a ‘stay at home Mom’, to that of today, as a ‘working Mother’.  (Please Note:  My belief is that all Mothers are working mothers-period.)   Around the dinner table these days we experience the differences in ways of cooking, style, health consciousness,  to swiftness.  We pack our days and nights with activities, boy scouts, softball, awards, FFA, conferences, IEP’s, and the works.  Yet try to be as close to 100% at the dinner table together.  As a child, we had the same tradition, but the food was very different.  I think to no fault of my Mother’s cooking abilities, it feels that most all was fried.  It was fried steak, chicken, potatoes, you name it-it could be fried.  We did eat a lot of BBQ, also.  But, most remarkably in my memory was that of the freezer and the meats that were wrapped in white butcher paper.  Yes, we lived off the land as much as possible, in a civilized way. 

If you recall I spent as much time at my Grandparents and would ride the bus ‘out’ there and make my candy run down the private drive to each house (each homeowner was retired or near retirement & home), reporting how my school day was and sit straight up, and hands folded in my lap to then be asked, “Would you like a piece of candy?”  “ME? Oh! Sure! Thank you.”  When in reality, my sweet report of the school day was simply my ploy to get a sweet!  On some of these after school, or weekend adventures to my Grandparents I would be introduced to an array of animals, mostly I speak of cattle.  I would be happy to climb carefully on the barbed wire fencing to climb up and see them out in the pasture.  I would figure out a good name for them, and skip down the road to collect my sweets.  Later on to sit and eat dinner with my Grandparents and, discuss the new addition to the pasture.  During that discussion, I’d let him know of the perfect name I had chosen, and hoped he’d pick the name I said rather than one of my cousins… “I think that George is so cute, I like his brownish red and white spots.”  My Grandpa would with a stern voice, simply reply “Don’t name ‘em.’ I was a kid and every pet needed a name.  Time would pass, and carrots and sweet grass would be fed to ‘George’ whenever I got the chance.  ‘George’ would know all of my problems, which boys I had a crush on, and if my cousins were mean and didn’t share I’d tell ‘George’, he’d always listen and look so intent.  Over and over my innocence over-ruled Grandpa’s wisdom, and my perpetual experiences of loss.  As over the dinner table, the meal would be served and my Grandpa would ask how I liked my burger?  It was good, he cooked differently than my Mom.  I don’t know what it was but, it was different.  He would then say, “How’s George taste?”  I thought I would DIE!  I would cry…to this day I don’t know why I’m not a vegetarian.  But, the meat in white butcher paper experiences didn’t stop at the George’s in my life…the rural town we grew up in , there are a lot of hunters and fishermen.  Fishing was a main industry ‘back in the days of or town’s history.’  We experienced it all, and at face value.  When it was hunting season, I would practically beg to go with my Grandpa.  Most of the time, the travel was silent.  There was an occasional AM radio station on, until we got to our destination on the back roads.  It was there, that I had to keep an eye out for a buck.  I was very keen when ‘road hunting’, I could see better than my Grandpa, and could always point them out, in the distance AND count how many points.  His successes were partly from a little girl who would have done anything to go on those quiet trips.  I loved the jerky!  But, one time we weren’t ‘road hunting’ we were on foot, we walked, and hiked, and traveled some distance…and came around a corner where we had been tracking prints, and there was a huge buck.  There was a bluff on the other side of the buck, and if you don’t know-deer are the best hikers and can pretty much go anywhere in steep ravines, and hillsides…But, for some reason this guy either thought he was a bad ass or didn’t think that he could descend the bluff to get away.  Pokey, Grandpa’s other side kick in hunting was barking and growling at this buck that was a bazillion times bigger than the dog…and the buck reared up and did this cartoonish rendition of what I imagine Bambi’s Dad would have done when in a pickle with a human….and then started to bolt towards us.  I froze!  My Grandpa was ahead of me and got into position and aimed right at Bambi’s Dad…and KABOOM!  I watched for the first time, the first step to my jerky I loved so much.  I burst into tears and fell to the ground.  My Grandpa thought I had gotten hurt by something…and I had.  I hadn’t really seen this before, I knew that he killed them…but, really didn’t think past the racks and racks of racks (antlers) that were on display in his garage…I was sobbing, and he said something to the effect that I was a baby and had to be strong, and he couldn’t carry me and the buck back on the hike to the truck.  He tagged it, Pokey and he were just so happy.  I’m sure when I reflect now, that the story he told to the fellas was that of the buck challenging him and running towards him…rather than having to shoot it and have to try to climb down or up to drag Bambi’s Dad out of the brush getting ticks and poison oak…this one delivered himself to him.  I bet he left out the fact that I was a wreck, and that I continued to sob the entire way back to the truck.  I’m also certain that it was around an hour to the truck…we were deep in the thicket!  Grandpa slung the deer over his shoulder and packed it, I was to follow.  At first I looked eye to eye, as the lifeless body was dangling over my Grandpas shoulder.  For a moment, I thought how strong he must be to carry the heavy buck…then that thought quickly left my mind, as his BIG BROWN eyes stared right back into MY BIG BROWN TEARY EYES, he never blinked.  I tried to squeeze the vision from my mind, but had to follow, and keep up with my Grandpa…Be tough.  Be strong. No crying. Don’t be a baby.  I don’t think I like jerky anymore, I thought.  I never really did like venison anyhow.  Now, I really don’t like it.  I survived and was silent the rest of the way home.  He dropped me off, and told my Mom what happened in an elated version, with the part about me crying.  My Mom asked me if I was okay…I was, I was home.  I don’t know how long I had nightmares; it feels like it was forever.  But, I don’t think it was.  Because the next time my Grandpa called to see if I wanted to go, I went.  I never had that type of experience again, there was nearly never a year he went without using all of his tags.  I would pray at night that he wouldn’t get one, but then point them out to him anyhow.  I think it’s funny how we just keep on keeping on with what we experience. 

Fishing as I mentioned was another childhood experience, and one that I cherish to this day.  Also a quiet experience, that left a lovely impression on my memory.  I love and loved the cold waters of the rivers, the lakes, and the ocean.  I loved the challenge of getting the fish to bite…mastering the cast and being more patient than my cousins…and we always had a competition.  It was whoever caught the most fish, the biggest fish, and first fish.  Whoever got the most out of these three categories won.  We didn’t win anything, just were the winner until the next fishing trip!  For my birthday I would get new tackle, tackle box, fishing license, and then get to go fishing with my Grandpa.  It became a tradition.  I loved that he was predictable that way.  I caught my first Steelhead with him, many Rainbow, a few Brown’s, Red Tail Perch off of the beach, Cod, Rock Fish, and one’s I don’t even remember the names of…We went surf fishing, night fishing, and loved every single experience.  Admittedly so, I don’t like to eat anything from the water, because we ate a lot of it when I was a kid.  I didn’t like the taste or texture of it then, and unfortunately still don’t like it today.  I’ve always thought that, this means more salmon for you, more abalone for you, more fish-n-chips etc.  Doesn’t it?  I’m dabbling in it these days, and it’s still a difficult thing to get over…

There was a ranch we would go to that was a family members named Auntie Em, and they raised sheep.  I also liked going there as a child.  There was always something interesting and rustic going on, that didn’t happen in town.  Sheep look so sweet.  But, when in the pen with them, they were always so scared and would herd together…the baby lambs that didn’t take to their mother would be in the laundry room, and we could bottle feed them.  I loved that.  I loved going there because Auntie Em  ALWAYS had sugar cereal, like Frosted Flakes-Tony Tiger kind, we didn’t have that at home.  She also had a piano, and I wanted to learn to play and one of her grandchildren would always plop down and play, it was so beautiful sounding.  I would dream of learning to play some day.  We spent most of the time outdoors there and I saw a lot there, I watched the men when they’d sheer, or castrate the sheep.  The sheep would scream, and I’d cover my ears, but it was still too loud.  So, I’d run back across the road to go into the laundry room with the babies, or out to the pen with the Billy goats and sheep already sheered.  They looked so naked, and I didn’t understand why they had to do that!  It was so awful! I didn’t know what the castration was and knew enough when it was slaughter to leave and go to the furthest place I was allowed to go in the fields.   I quickly recognized the smell of the meat and would nearly refuse to eat it, for as long as I could at the dinner table-because of the vision I would get.  But, it was a way of life, it’s what we did, it’s what we had.  Each time, I returned and experienced the good with the bad…and cherish the good to this day.

I think food is interesting.  I think we don’t really pay attention to what we put into our mouths.  There was a time when preservatives weren’t the big deal that they are today.  There was a time when hormones weren’t used to the capacity and the reasoning behind their use in today’s standards… My Fitness Pal is a start to reminding myself to pay attention.

The garden was a HUGE part of my childhood.  My Grandparents had an absolutely beautiful garden.  They had corn, pumpkins, tomatoes, kohlrabi, cabbage, beets, radish,   peas, swiss chard, and variations of anything and everything.  They had fruit trees and canned, made jelly, made preserves, dried fruits and nuts…made soap…truly lived off of their land.  I wish we could do that.  I wish my children had been able to have these experiences.  I wish that I could today go to the freezer in the garage, and get meat wrapped in white butcher paper, or have a piece of jerky.  I’ll still share the foods from the water, like salmon, abalone, crab or any other slimy, yucky fishy item…and still stand behind the ‘more for you’ theory.  I’d like to think that the preparation I’d use with my Foreman Grill, or BBQ, or steamed, or baked might help me like Bambi’s Dad, or George…then again, I think I’ll take it the way I get it…I don’t know what their names are, or if they were bad ass before their demise. 

No trades, no take backs, I love the experiences above…and even though many of you know I’m a cry baby anyhow…now you know I’ve also cried over my dinner plate’s content.  Don’t even get me started on chicken!  I really would like to know how they raise those chickens boneless, skinless these days. (Insert wink!)

Love Deeply, Live out Loud & Live your Dash,

T

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Wine Coolers, Axels, & Daily Grind

Indeed, there is something that screams "You live in a safety net!" when you live in a town like we grew up in. Even if our growing up style changed once we left the City Limits, the growing up we did do while there can't be beat anywhere else. I can guarantee that if you had asked us if we liked it then, we didn't. But, as B said in retrospect, it was a beautiful way of 'growing' period. I even use some of the same tactics that were used against me, although explained to me then 'to protect, and help me' these days with my own children. I know when one of my children has purchased jerky from the gas station at lunch time, when one likes someone else and hasn't yet disclosed it to a family member, and if one was off school grounds in a hidden location when they were supposed to be at school. What I now consider a benefit, then I thought was a prison sentence.

Oldest, Curfew Sitation, Wine Coolers
Being the oldest, wisest, brightest, and most sarcastic of we sisters, (Ok, maybe only two out of those four are true) I didn't get into trouble like B. Oh! Wait! Neither of us got into trouble, but she should have! I did go to dances, and to be home right following the dance was the rule. I followed the rule, I didn't waiver or stray from the rules. It didn't help that we lived not far from the school, and our parents and their hawk like senses, listened for the traffic leaving, after a school dance. (I scoff at that word in our lil town, traffic was tourists during tourist season, and High Schoolers leaving a dance. Oooo!) So, if I were later than say, 10-15 minutes past the time the dance was over, I was grounded. Which meant that I couldn't talk on the phone, and pull it 30 ft. away from the wall, and secretly talk to a boy, or go anywhere unless it consisted of school, or sporting event that I was involved in. Mom says she never held to the grounding, but I beg to differ with her on that one. B on the other hand, I think the words were spoken that she was grounded, but the definition seemed to change over the six year difference between us. I have vowed to my children to be as mean to the first child all the way to the sixth child. (It's tough work!) I can remember going back 'home' as an adult and seeing that B was doing things I wasn't allowed to do, or doing them without permission, and calling her out on it. She would laugh and walk out the door! I would make my best pleas to convince my Mom that she should punish her, but she didn't! We won't even talk about our little bro...He's a boy AND is the youngest of the trio. He had a totally different set of rules, they were his own. I kid about it, because I can, it's in the rules of being an older sibling. You gotta get something out of this deal. In a nut shell, I broke the parents in for them. I was so good, that they let the reigns out a little with each of the children following my lead...Truthfully, my Mom would probably say, "You never asked." Uh, you're right, I was afraid for my life to ask. I did get into trouble, my record was not squeaky clean. I got a curfew situation, for sitting in a truck in front of one of the places kids hung out, to talk and flirt, or make plans for these party's that B speaks of...I was out passed the curfew of the City, which was 10 pm. My girl friend was irritated that the officer was questioning us. She mouthed off to him, and asked him why he was bothering us when he could be getting a burglar or something. Great! That's all I needed was to have my parents get a call from jail! BESIDES the fact that, that night she had me sneak out some wine coolers from the garage to the truck...She had a brilliant idea to pour the coolers into these ice cream containers she had cleaned out. While walking through her dark garage, arms full of these coolers, somewhat against my will-even though I was carrying them myself. I dropped a 4 pack on the floor. Her dad flung open the door, and grumpily said "You'd better clean those up before morning, they're going to smell." My friend wasn't in the garage when I did this, and came running back in, I was ready to go back in the house and call it a night. I told her what her Dad had said, she said "Oh, we'll get it in the morning-Let's go have some fun." You see she was the youngest of her siblings...I was the oldest of mine remember...Proof of the totally different rules for younger siblings do exist! We went outside and she did her switch of the wine coolers into the new containers...I mention this because we could have had a minor in possession that night, but when the cop flashed his flashlight into the truck, he saw the ice cream containers...and didn't think anything. What teenagers cruise with ice cream? I don't know...he must not have been from around there?...It's cold even in the summer time there...But, oh well we'll go with it. The officer had dispatch call our parents to get permission to go home. I wasn't in trouble, but I didn't know this. When I woke up I cleaned up the mess in the garage, and stalled going home. I knew I was in trouble...for certain! The Police Department notified our parents that that our probation officer would call. My what? Great! I've got a record now! I'll stay away from home as long as I could, cause if I'm not in county jail, I will be jailed at home once I get there. My Mom was more mad because I hadn't checked in that morning, than for my curfew citation. I bet she would have been pissed, if she knew I had the wine coolers in the truck too. (So, Mom are you mad? I know you're reading this...)

My parents did allow for me to go to a couples party once, since parents were there. We 'watched' movies, and sat all cozied up with our boyfriends. We ate snacks, held hands, kissed, and then some couples made plans for after the party, for a real party. I had to go home. So, there Mom I did ask to do something and I give you credit for allowing me to attend. Dang it! Why didn't I push the limits! I could have been having a Red Solo Cup experience, or tire burning, or some other type of excitement stored in my memory bank, like B! I guess it allows for me to make up for the times I didn't, and I can take risks now...Look out world-I'm here!

Cruising Main
I too had an experience that involved my boyfriends vehicle, me driving it, and my parents. Well, my parents issue that they would like to be known a "a concern" was that they didn't want me to drive his truck. I didn't find the 'concern' to be, well as concerning. I drove it anyhow, it was 'cool' to drive it, and I felt special in some sort of High School girl dating a boy kinda way. Well, we were out 'tooling around' or 'cruising', I believe it there were two girlfriends and myself in the cab of the truck. My boyfriend was out of town at a football game, and he had left the keys with me so that I could take it. We were listening to music, and giggling like girls and talking about boys...and going from one end of town to the other end, and repeat-several times that night. We were ironically in front of the Auto Wreckers of town and something happened. Metal was scraping, and the axle ended up on the ground, at the front of the vehicle rather than the rear...we were dead in the middle of Main...well a smidgen off to the side. I hadn't hit anything? I have no idea what had happened. But, we all looked at one another, and didn't know what to do. If you knew our town, there isn't the hustle and bustle of people on foot. But, for some reason, a man was walking with a brief case near where we were. I'm sure as we were inspecting Main and the debris of bolts, and shards of metal, and pieces of the truck that were in the road...bent over like non mechanics trying to put it together in our minds...we were a sight to see. Remember, this was before cell phones. So, the man came over to us, and bent down with us...looked and said, "Looks like the axle fell out at the transfer case, there must have been a crack or something. Here's my card, if you need more help." I remember thinking who the heck is this, and why would I need your card? I'm not only busted by my friggin parents, but my boyfriend is going to kill me. Some high school boys helped us push it to the side of the road, and then we got a ride to the High School parking lot, because as the bus would return the football players to the school-Someones truck wouldn't be there. I left a note on another boys truck that his truck broke down, and was in front of the Auto Wreckers. Then I proceeded to go home and face the first wrath, the parents. I walked in and they were on the couch watching a movie. I was home earlier than was expected. My Mom made a comment about me being home early, and asked if I wanted to watch the movie with them. I sat down, waiting an eternity (3 minutes or so), then I broke it to them. I asked if I could talk to them, and my Dad sighed the 'sigh' and gave the 'look'. I then told them that I know I wasn't supposed to, but I drove my boyfriends truck and then it broke down, and I left him a note on someone else's truck. I got a lecture on the reasons of their 'concern' had now come to fruition, and that they didn't have the money to pay for the truck's repair, and so on and so on. I was grounded. I went to my room, and cried, at some point I fell asleep. I awoke with my eyes glued shut from the tears, and eyes so puffy I had to feel my way out of my room, because the slits that I did have, wouldn't allow enough vision to make it based on sight. I used the restroom, and was committed to get back to my room for my self sequestering of the remaining High School Years...before I made it back to my room. The phone rang, and it was my boyfriend, my Mom had answered, and she said I needed to talk to him. I reluctantly got on the phone, and he then proceeded to tell me that he had anticipated that, the transfer case was going to crack at some point, and that it wasn't a big deal. WHAT! NOT A BIG DEAL! I didn't know if I should feel relieved or upset he hadn't told me of the possibilities...and probability that it could happen while I was driving-Thus I'd have made the decision to not drive it-Right! Wrong, who would I be fooling? I would have driven it anyhow...flowers were delivered to my house that afternoon, and an apology...I only wonder what my Dad and Mom thought. It wasn't discussed ever again.

Dances, Teenage Years, & the Bump & Daily Grind of Parenting
School dances were fun, and I have been going back to remember how much fun I had, as I watch my own children who have attended, or are attending dances in their school careers. I have even chaperoned a dance or two in my parenthood lifetime. I remember that the most explicit things to worry about during my school dance experience was that of lyrics that implied about the act of sex, or kissing, or women. Or that the common 'boner' was active during a slow dance, and at times petrifying. If you can picture in your head, I'd be slow dancing from the waist up...and dancing with enough space to allow for the growing problem from the waist down. Don't forget a quick prayer in my head would be said, that the song would end-any-time-SOON! I used to wonder what it would be like to be raised in the 50's with sock hops and somehow doubt that kids these days wish they were raised in the 80's like their parents. I can't for once imagine the kids that I see dancing these days, they put Dirty Dancing to shame, allow for a moment the thought of dancing like their prehistoric parents of the 80's. When did that all change? Where was I for that? I must have missed something. I didn't get the memo. I feel like I might repeat some of the phrases that my parents, or grandparents used...Holy Buckets! I think that it's more applicable 'these days'! I've caught a few kids having intercourse on the dance floor, that's sex people with two boys and a girl. They grind, and I'm not talking about coffee. The boundaries of my slow dancing days are long gone, and I'm saddened that there's 'no boner'. Their innocence is lost, there aren't any lines drawn in their heads, to respect themselves. It is definitely difficult to raise children, and teach, guide, and set some boundaries for them the respect of themselves...as they are up against challenges that in general terms today's society allows by what is considered acceptable. I know that I'm doing my best and that what I do instill in my own- is to respect themselves and others, always. There is no exception. So far, keeping the open communication between them and myself has paid off. But, with the topics of dances and attire that young ladies choose, 'in my day' a hooker would have worn. I believe that it's we as parents who initially set the guidelines and show them that beauty is much further than the length of their legs, or the sex appeal that a 14 or 15 year old can project, or how much cleavage is exposed. I guess I am dating myself...but, to what era? We set ourselves up for disappointment, failure, and unnecessary pain for ourselves and more importantly our children if we choose to turn the other cheek. I have definitely been one who has called another parent, spoke to them in person, or sat in a room with another's child to talk about a serious subject matter with a set of parents because their child was too afraid to talk to them alone. The difficult subject matters that sometimes parents turn the other cheek, rather than talk to their child makes for it to continue. I have had talks about 'a' pubic hair Yes, that's a single hair. A teen was excited at a study group I held for a group of boys. A week or so earlier I had talked to them about hygiene-deodorant, the changes in their body, and girls. I guess he felt compelled to share that 'it happened', he got one hair. Try to keep your composure on that one, somehow I did. I've explained 'blow' jobs. I have explained, that you don't 'just blow with air' on 'it'. You laugh, but I've been in these situations. I will never, lie, cheat, or steal for anyone...and all of the kids that I know, are aware of this...and because of that, I have had to deal with some serious, silly, whole hearted, and teen challenges of today's world. I wouldn't have it any other way, they have to have someone to go to. I'd rather they know the truth, than try to figure it out on their own, or create their own definition. I do let them know that I would help them speak to their parents, and have done so. Difficult, very difficult-But, worth it all in the end. Parenthood, nothing prepares you for it, and it's ever evolving. Let me text you next time to explain. No, I'll facebook you. Facetime is always an option...I'm sure glad there's no Youtube video of either B, nor my driving the boyfriends vehicle, and going viral. I think it's tough to be a teen these days with all of the social networking. If I could say one thing, it would be to stay connected without social networking with our children. Connection and communication is becoming a lost art, and it is so important. I guess it gives the 'boner' option a whole new meaning?


Love Deeply, Live out Loud & Live your Dash,
T Pin It

Red Solo Cups

T and I grew up in a small town, lets call it FB.  When I say small, I mean population maybe around 5000 people when we were kids. You learn a lot of life's lessons differently in a small town than say someone who grew up in a big city.  Now I'm not saying one is better than another, but what I can say is that I am glad to be a part of the community we call "home."  However, as a teenager, I may have begged to differ with you. 

If you didn't know what you were up to, someone else most likely did.  One of the side notes of growing up in FB, is that some residents had little to do in their personal lives and made it their mission to meddle and share what "Sam Smith was doing last night."  I think that the gossip may have had it's advantages as well as disadvantages.  Our Mom was a school bus driver and knew a lot of the school aged kids, their siblings, their parents, their grandparents...which meant she almost always knew before we did, what we were up to.

The Senior Ball was coming up, when I was 16.  Underclassmen could attend and I was looking forward to it.  My boyfriend (who is now my husband) and I were planning on going to the dance for a short time and then "head out" to a friends house afterwards for a party. Our friends lived North of town about ten miles.  If you haven't been to a high school party in FB, you may have missed out.  A party usually consisted of lots of lifted trucks, a pallet or tire fire, beer in red Solo cups, and people of all ages.  They would be at a persons house, or most often held at places called "Top of the World", "Sherwood", or "The Bark Dumps."  At these parties, commonly you had the high schoolers, the just out of high schoolers, the few siblings of high schoolers that may have been in middle school, and don't forget the dogs that hitched a ride in the back of someones truck. These parties included locals with nicknames that referenced fruit, bodily functions, and others.  It was a sight to be seen and you were bummed if you missed a Saturday party "Out Sherwood." 

Back to my story, and the party...So I asked my parents if I could stay the night at our friends house.  I purposefully left out the part about my boyfriend going to stay out there too.  Somehow, some way, my Mom knew better and allowed me to go "out" to the friends house but definitely not stay the night.  My guess is that she had heard somewhere that there were going to be more than just girls staying out there.  I will never know, but most likely it was one of her "sources".  I did go out there after the dance, and we hung out, the guys drove their trucks through a mud bog and there was a tire fire, good times!  Looking back, the enviromentalists would have keeled over if they knew how much smog the high school kids were causing with their weekend parties!

I didn't get my drivers license until I was 18.  My take on it was that I didn't have a car anyway and between my boyfriend and best friend I always had a ride so why bother?  Well to set the scene, my boyfriend always drove lifted trucks, that usually had a stereo you could hear from three blocks away at least.  One of my friends had ridden somewhere with us at one point, and said she felt like she was getting a "back massage" from the booming speakers behind the seat.  At this particular time, he was driving a bright yellow lifted 1978 Ford.  He had taught me how to drive it, and I had convinced him that I could take it to school after lunch and bring it back afterwards.  A few of my friends and I were loaded up in his truck, deemed "the yellow banana", and headed back to the high school.  As we were driving onto one of the side streets..who do we see!?  My parents!  Man, I was busted.  You couldn't miss his bright yellow truck for anything.  I just waved and continued driving to the high school as quickly as possible.  When I got home, I slinked in with my head down and waited for the reeming of a lifetime.  My Dad said, "What's your problem??"  I told him I knew that they had seen me at lunch.  His response was, "I don't care, just get your license!!"  Now tell me, if you lived in a big city, what would the chances be that you would see your unlicensed teenage daughter driving anywhere?

As an adult I recognize the numerous benefits of raising our children in a small town.  Besides knowing what your children are doing "most of the time" by networking with other locals, you also make close friends that you have for life, you learn the values of creativity, and using your imagination when growing up and playing outside.  You appreciate the simple things.  If I said I didn't love visiting the city I'd be lying.   I love the hustle and bustle, the many restaurants, music, and shopping.  But when it comes down to it, I would prefer that we raise our son and daughter in a similar environment that we grew up in.  If they experience a few tire fires in the woods, and drink out of a few red Solo cups we will have to learn how to take each situation as they come.  But I wouldn't trade the advantages over the disadvantages for anything.

Embrace Your Sparkle,

B Pin It

T, The Guardian Angel

Those of you who truly know T, know that she is a lady with a huge heart.  She is always one to go above & beyond to help others and to make sure that those in her presence are taken care of.  You may not know, but she has personally taken on tasks that make others feel special or to let them know that someone is thinking of them.  She's done fundraisers, walks, meals on wheels (her own version), brought neighbors goodies, helped friends come up with business ideas and executed them, the list goes on and on... She's one of a kind!!   I can personally guarantee she has been more than just Dons guardian angel. (Reference: Lies, Broom Handles and Guardian Angels)  She isn't someone who does this to add it to her resume.  She does it because she truly cares.  For example, I didn't even know that she had seen Don again years later.  I didn't even know his name was Don.  I knew the story otherwise of her helping him while she worked at that particular job, but that's it.  That's how she is.  Helps and does not expect anything in return.  We should all take her lead.

I cannot even begin to share an experience to the capacity of  "Lies, Broom Handles and Guardian Angels".  But I too, do my best to bring a smile to another persons face whenever I can.   One example I can give of helping others is when I moved to Santa Rosa.  I worked at Home Base in customer service. It was a fun job, and it paid the bills, barely.  The Home Base was located in a shopping center with Food for Less, Taco Bell, Burger King...You get the picture.  One day when I was driving out of the parking lot from work, I realized there was what appeared to be a homeless man on the corner, holding a sign asking for help. 

A few days passed, and I saw the man was still standing on the corner again as I went into the parking lot.  I had to do some grocery shopping after work, and decided to purchase a four pack of Top Ramen for him.  I slowed down on my way by and tossed it out the window towards him.  He went and picked it up as I drove off.  You see, I didn't have the balls like my sister to actually go up and befriend the person but I knew I wanted to help.  Ironically, that day I was on my way to her house for a visit.  Proud of myself, I burst through her front door like little sisters do, and told her the story about helping the person in need.  She laughed in a big sister kind of way, and said "How are they going to cook it?".  I didn't even think of that!!  (Although I secretly knew she was proud of me.)

The next day I decided I was going to "one up" myself. When I went through Taco Bell for my lunch, I requested and paid for an extra bean burrito.  As I drove passed the man, I slowed down, and tossed the burrito bag out of the window of my car.  A little more careful than the Top Ramen though...Satisified, I continued on with my daily tasks. 

There were several different men and women who stood on that very same corner with signs asking for help during my run at Home Base.  I would buy things or give them change whenever I could.  But I actually had one person tell me they didn't want the food, they were trying to get beer money.  That crushed me, and slowed down my good deeds for a while.  But does it really matter if they are there because they truly need the help or do they need beer money?  I think what really matters is that they are putting their pride on the line asking for help because they can't work, won't work, or any other reason.  It is not our job to judge and try to determine by looking at them if they "really" need it.  That's between them and God.

Another way that I try to help others is by a simple smile or by "Paying it Forward".  I have been known to make my order at Starbucks, and when I get around to the window, I pay for the persons behind me.  All I know is that I wanted to brighten someones day, and well if it didn't, I will never know.

I believe it's all about giving what you can, because you always have more than someone else.  Share the wealth.  Whether it's an 89 cent bean burrito or $5.00.  Do what you can to make this world a better place.  Smile at a person you're passing by, a smile is free, and it makes you warm and fuzzy inside when someone smiles back. Take T's lead and run with it.  Do what you personally are capable of and don't expect anything in return.   We only have this one life, so make it a good one!

Embrace Your Sparkle,

B Pin It

Lies, Broom Handles, & Guardian Angels

Another great part of growing up is innocence.  I love the innocence and honesty of a child, and found that there was a time that innocence was a huge portion of my life also!  I think it was a partly of the era I was raised, where I was raised, how I was raised, and that I was interested in all parts of life - As long as it wouldn't get me into trouble. 

Liar, Liar, I Wish your Pants were On Fire!
I had graduated High School and moved away from everything that I knew and our little community of trust.  Similar to the circle of trust that is on Meet the Parents...Our little town held the circle of trust, but it was probably more like an octagon of trust.  You knew everyone, what they did, what their parents did for work, if they had affairs, if they left their house open, or car keys in the ignition...Definitely more of an octagon than a circle.  Moving to the big city was a treat.  It was almost like you could reinvent yourself, yet be the same person, but with no history.  Like every 18 year old, I was ready for anything!  Nobody could stop me, today was my canvass & it mattered how I would color my own world for the day to set myself for the following day and days to follow that...So, I went to school at a Junior College and was taking it all in.  One day I drove my car to the grocery store.  I saw a man walking through the parking lot asking for money.  I'd like to think that I was observant with a flair of small town naivety. I got prepared and put the change from my ashtray into my pocket and was so proud of myself.  I got out of my car, and walked towards the door of the grocery store.  I was shortly approached by the man I had seen earlier.  He handed me a card, said nothing.  I looked at the card, and read something like this:  "I'm a deaf, mute, going to college, and it's difficult for me to find work. Could you help me out with whatever you can, in trade the sign language A-Z alphabet is on the reverse side of this card."  Oh, my heart just fluttered, I'm in college too!  Poor guy!  I proudly prepared gave him what was in my pocket.  He smiled and kept walking.  My heart still feeling badly for the guy, I ran back to my car and found more change.  He was some ways away from me, and I called out to him.  "HEY! Excuse me!!  I found some more change."  He I remind you was literally 50 yards from me, he turned around.  I ran over to him, and gave him a handful of quarters, I was saving for the laundromat.  He smiled again, and said "Thank you."  I turned around and started walking to the store, pleased as punch.  It took me nearly half the rest of the parking lot to stop in my tracks..."Wait, he didn't speak to me before, and his card said "deaf, mute" and when he spoke there wasn't difficulty in speaking, AND he heard me when he was 50 yards away.  My heart sank, what a dummy!  That man was a liar, liar, and I wish his pants were on fire!  Really?!?  Little Miss I'm Prepared...and not only that you went back and gave him MORE money!  Well, I guess I learned that there could be times where you give and what you receive is a lesson that there are bad people out there who take advantage of others...Man I was mad at myself...and mad that I couldn't do my laundry until I got paid!  But, I did have on hand a constant reminder in my ashtray-the card of the A-Z sign language alphabet. 

When Broom handles Don't work-Face the Music
I lived in an apartment when I turned 19.  I had moved out of my Grandmothers, and then my Godmothers who had both taken me under their wings to help me get kick started in the big world.  I was ready- So I thought, to live in an apartment.  How exciting!  It seemed as if I was the youngest person in the complex, and that didn't seem to bother me.  It was a lower level apartment and dealing with the footsteps of the neighbor above seemed to be the least of my worries.  I would have rather heard that than what I did hear on a constant, daily basis!  Sometimes it happened, several times a day and into the night!  Fighting!  It was summer time, and I could hear exactly what she and her husband said, and the slapping, and the slamming up against the wall, floor, you name it.  I could only handle it for so long, and I'd take the broom handle and bang it up to the ceiling to remind them, that people could hear, and yell out the slider "Knock it Off!" or "Stop!" 
I'd see her the next day as we both went to our cars for work, she looked sad to me and a complete wreck!  Her clothes were just hanging off of her, and I wanted to so badly to talk to her and help her...see if she wanted me to take her to get help.  She was not approachable!  She gave me a mean side glare, and marched to her car...off we went for the day.  One weekend, I just couldn't take it.  I was watching a movie and it started again.  She was screaming, "Stop! (I could hear the sounds of slapping!)  Don't!!" Other sounds I can't find ways to type and then the thunking, and what sounded like a head slammed up against the wall!  I yelled out the slider, like usual.   This normally would stop them or they'd close their slider and not thunk around anymore.  But, this time it got worse.  That's it!  I'm going to go up there!  I stormed up there, and I was ready to take her somewhere else and help her out, and deal with the wrath of the guy-the fall out-the after math...Knock-Knock on the door, she flings the door open and is buck naked and sweaty!  She says to me, all pissed off, "You know you can really ruin a persons sex life!  Can you just leave us alone?"  Then he comes to the door, standing behind her, naked and sweaty...and nods his big head (the one on top of his neck people!).  Boy oh boy!  I was speechless!  I didn't know what to say.  Well, I never!  I went back to my apartment and sat there for a few minutes...then got up and went to the manager's office to request an apartment change.  To this day, I laugh...I wonder if he was slapping her batootie?  I learned it takes all kinds, and no wonder she looked at me with a side glare...Did she think I knew what was really going on in there?

Guardian Angels
At one of the places of my places of employment, the surrounding area was not in a good part of town.  Actually it was a very bad part of town.  Across the street was the Senior Center, which I always worried about the people coming and going, and made sure I paid attention to my surroundings.  Each morning I would get to work and after a while, I noticed that the people who were leaving the Senior Center were not Seniors...rather all walks of life.  I listened and observed for a few days and realized that it was people attending AA & NA meetings.  Having had an intimate experience as a child with a family member going through 'the program', I was very sensitive with this subject.  The weather changed, and the rain came.  I noticed that there was a car that remained in the same parking spot for some time, it may move slightly forward, or slightly back, but never far.  One day I saw a man go to this car, and put a pamphlet inside, lock the door and walk away.  Maybe he worked nearby?  I don't know. But, I was paying attention.  There became a time, when our paths crossed and I said hello or good morning, and he never responded.  I thought, well maybe he couldn't hear very well.  So, I'll say it louder the next day, not like yelling, just louder by volume.  I said it louder the next chance I got, and he looked at me as if something was wrong with me, and replied with the appropriate answer, just accompanied with a quizzical look, "Good Morning."  I was pleased.  At the end of the day, I saw him for the first time.  He was going to his car again.  He got into it, and didn't drive away.  Oh no! Maybe he lived in his car?  No, that couldn't be...I became a naive detective in a bad neighborhood, and came to work early the next day.  I parked down the street, and walked by inconspicuous and everything, and looked in the windows of his car.  There were boxes and books, crossword puzzles, and a thermos.  Not a lot to someone, but the world to him.  My mind was whirling!  I needed to help him.  I needed to get him blankets and a pillow!  I went home directly from work, and ripped apart my house.  I lived with my boyfriend, and so, I went through his closet and found items he no longer needed, or used any more.  You know Pendletons, jackets, and guy stuff.  Oh, he might beg to differ with you that he needed these things, but he wasn't homeless.  I went through the linen closet, and got him blankets, and a pillow.  I went through the bookcase and found crosswords, and books, and things of interest that didn't take a source of energy like as in batteries or electricity.  I went through the pantry and bagged cans and a can opener.  I piled it all in my car and could sleep, knowing that tomorrow, I was going to give these items to my new friend who could now hear me.  My boyfriend, was ready to kill me, and I laugh because we didn't have food to eat-We actually ate the sausage that you get at Christmas from Pepperidge Farms or something...the one's you never eat...and I made some goulash that lasted until the next pay period.  My boyfriend wasn't exactly pleased as punch like myself.  So, I went in to work like Santa and his sleigh.  My Honda was piled to the top and overflowing.  I couldn't even carry all of the bags that I had stuffed for him.  I got there early and filled my arms, billowing with the goods.  I was walking up to him and had a smile on my face from ear to ear.  He motioned to move out of my way as I approached him with my oodles of bags.  I said, "Good morning." in a regular volume sort of way.  He replied, "Good morning."  I followed by sayings, "Um, Hi, I'm T and I was going through some things and I thought maybe you might know of someone who could use these things?"  He simply said, "No." and shook his head.  I felt like I was punched in the stomach, and that if I were a sailboat, the wind was knocked out of my sails.  In a squeaky voice I then said, "Ok."  I turned and probably looked absolutely pathetic, tail between my legs, I walked back to my car, which still had things in it to share, and started to put the stuff in there. Punched in the gut of goodness...Before I put the last bag in, the man approached me and said, "I might know someone who could use that blanket and pillow."  I turned embarrassed with my tear stained cheeks, smiled and told him sure.  But, he could only take it if he could find someone else who could use the other items too.  He stretched out his hand and said, "I'm Don, it's nice to meet you T.  I don't know why you're doing this, but thank you."  I helped him carry the goods to his home.  We stuffed it all in there, and I went off to work.  I didn't see him the next couple of days, but when I did, he waved at me before I even got up to greet him verbally.  I never did get one single item returned to me.  He must have found a friend to use them.  Over the next couple of years I got to know Don, and he watched as I got engaged, married, and had my first child.  We talked nearly every single morning, he watched over me in the bad neighborhood, and was my guardian angel.  I remember one night we had leftovers, we had had a BBQ and I told my husband that I would be right back.  If I told him that I was going to the bad neighborhood at 8:30 at night, he would tell me I couldn't go, it wasn't safe.  So, I packed a plate, and went to Don's house.  He wasn't in there.  I put the plate on the windshield and didn't leave a note.  I went to work the next day and he met me at my car.  "You may not come down here at night, it's not safe! That BBQ'd chicken was the best!  Thank you my dear."  I don't think I heard him, he should have knocked it up in volume like I had, cause I didn't stop.  I brought him many dinners from that point on, my husband caught on and scolded me from time to time...but, he knew that I wasn't going to stop, my friend needed help. I became pregnant with my first child, and I can remember telling Don.  He was so excited.  It was then that he told me a little of his story.  He told me that he was a Vietnam Vet and that before the war, he was married with two children.  He spoke with pride as he talked about his son and daughter.  While away in the service and in active duty, he received a letter.  A 'dear John' letter.  His wife was divorcing him, and she was remarrying.  Upon his arrival to the US, he tried to reconnect with his children, but they were connected to his ex-wife's new husband, and he didn't want to 'mess them up' anymore.  But, he longed for them, I could tell.  I asked if he was ever able to see them?  He said his son owned a restaurant and was local, he was able to talk with him once or twice a year.  But, he was too embarrassed because he had become an alcoholic and drug abuser with all of his challenges of the war and loss of his family.  It was easier to escape.  Don and I were connected.  I saw him at a Longs Drugs, one day after work.  I didn't want him to know I saw him, so I crept through the store and followed him, again using my detective skills (I think I missed my calling) and every single item he picked up, I put in my basket.  Yes, every single item he examined, touched, looked at practically...I put in my basket.  I had forgotten why I was even there.  I went through the check stand, and I recall it was $85 dollars worth of goods.  I didn't have an extra $85 dollars but, Don needed this.  I came out with my bags of surprise stuff, and I couldn't find Don.  He must have hopped a bus.  I needed to get home, and knew I'd be in trouble for spending the PG&E money, and so I went to the bad neighborhood and did what any girl in trouble would...I shoved it under his driver door, so that either someone would have to stand in the traffic to steal it, or he'd get it when he opened his car door.  I went home with my tail between my legs AGAIN and had to tell my husband what I now done.  I was in trouble.  The next day I went into work and he met with me at my car door.  He was mad.  What are you doing?  You can't spend this money, AND HOW IN THE HELL did you know what I looked at?  I laughed and said that I saw him at the store and wanted to surprise him.  He wanted me to take it all back to the store and get my money back.  I refused, and said don't make me late for work.  He sighed and shrugged.  A little later on, the gal at the front desk at work, announced that the creepy weird guy was coming to the front door.  I hopped up and ran to the door to greet him, so that he wouldn't feel weird with the rude people at work.  We walked outside, he handed me some money, it was like $3 and some change.  He said, this is all that I have and I'm going to figure out how to pay you back.  I pushed his hands back to him and said, you will hurt me if you don't accept my gift.  He held my hands.  I don't know what he gave to me, but he was true, sincere, and wanted nothing from me.  We went on for about nearly 5 years, and yes he lived in his 'house' that entire time.  I left my job and still brought things to him.  Time passed and he wasn't there anymore, I asked the people I knew if they heard where he went, and I went to the AA & NA and not a soul knew.  I was saddened.  But, life goes on.  It was about ten years later, I was going through my divorce.  It was a day I was to meet my soon to be ex in a public place.  We were walking, and a man passed us.  I knew his face, but I couldn't place it.  I was searching my brain index and I turned and yelled, "DON?"  The man turned, it was Don!  I went back and met him.  He and I exchanged a hug.  He was cleaned up, shaven, and older.  I had so many questions! He told me that he had his own apartment, and a running car, and a job, and most of all he wanted to share that he had rekindled his relationship with his children.  HE HAD GRANDCHILDREN!  He then turned to my ex and said, "I know that I put you both through hell at times, and that I put you out.  But, your wife was my guardian angel.  There were times that I wanted to die.  Times that I didn't want to think anymore, and she was there with a smile, or a word, OR MANY WORDS, and she reminded me that it was all worth it.  You treat her with respect, I owe her my life."  We again parted, and tears were streaming down my face...for he did not know what I was going through, and all I could do was share photos of the the two oldest children and tell him that I had adopted as well.  When we left the impression that he left on me I cannot describe.  So, people you are some one's guardian angel, and someone is yours...and all you need to remember is time heals everything.  Hold on to those dearest to you for tomorrow is another journey and you don't know loss until you truly loose someone you love.  So, here's to my Guardian Angel Don, I will never forget you.

Love Deeply, Live Outloud & Live your Dash-
T Pin It

B and her Ruby Slippers

To try to describe my sister and not include shoes would make the definition incomplete.  As B mentioned, her love for shoes has been for an eternity.  The funny thing is that she probably would be the one to notice me in the store after leaving the stall(see previous blog referenced in:  Bodily Functions-A read for women, more than likely for a recap).  Not to mention she has worn shoes that were too big, too small, ugly, uncomfortable, cute, stylish, colorful, flats, platforms (just checking to see if you’re paying attention)too narrow, too wide, at the wrong times, and all in all-It never fails, she has the biggest smile on her face-all from shoes!  There are some people who can’t leave the house without makeup.  My sister?  She can’t leave the house without reasonable shoes to make the outfit. (Reasonable of course defined by B.)

 

B received the glitzy and glamorous gene, while I got the jeans gene.  Don’t get me wrong, I like to ‘dress up’ and look beautifully sparkly from time to time…But, my sister sparkles all of the time.  Believe me, if her mood isn’t sparkly, than she is wearing something that is sparkling.  I wish I had learned that while growing up and sharing a room with her, I’d of stuck a pair of shoes on her feet before I had to wake the grizzly bear from slumber.   It must be that sisters were made so that you knew you are beautiful even if you didn’t feel so, every moment of the day, or when you’re in doubt.  Because my sister always reminds me of the beauty she sees in me, and I do the same with her.  We can see past the shoes, past the glitz, past the sparkles and be a constant reminder of who we each are to one another, our families, and the world. 

Shoes.  You name the brand, the style, the height, and B knows the shoe.  She knows how much they cost, if she wants a pair, who the designer is, who shouldn’t wear them and who should…I would consider her a shoe connoisseur of sorts, layman’s terms a shoe horse.  There was a time in our lives shortly after her move to Santa Rosa, where she had storage units of shoes.  I always think while watching that show ‘Storage Wars’, oh my gosh what they would have done, if they had gotten one of my sisters units, and what would be said. 

B would walk in the door and be disgusted with the shoes I was wearing and she’d try to help me.  We have very different tastes in a lot of things…I’d like to think that I for the most part wear a more practical shoe more often than B.  I guess I just don’t want to have my feet waffle, blister, and hurt.  But, if she experiences waffle, blister, hurt feet it’s as if she just been given a medal for making it a whole day with some amazing shoes.  It’s like she’s in the Shoe Olympics and she is standing on the platform-Heck she doesn’t need a platform to receive her medal, the heels are high enough to stand above the rest.  She can crack me up on her fascination, her love, her desires for a shoe.  The really nice thing over the years other than her ability to get me to wear something other than a brown shoe, is that of hand me down shoes.  Yes, as I stated she on more than several occasions has purchased a shoe because they were fabulous and they’re my size, not hers.  She usually walks in with her head hung down in disappointment, slowly with reluctance hands a pair over to me-Like I’m going to mistreat them or something…Here you can have them.  I wore them once…But, they’re really too small for me.  But, I had to have them for this one outfit.  Glory be B!  Score!  Momma’s got a new pair of shoes!  I could practically jump up and click my heels in happiness.   There are benefits that have helped the less fortunate shoe wearers of the world, like myself…where she will give up a pair, every now and again. 

B’s obsession doesn’t end with shoes it just starts there.  She’s been a glamour girl since she was around earthling age.  (4 years old).  She had those dangly earrings, and had every single color, to match her every single color of leggings.  She then grew into every other fashion fad through her teen years…and now mingles through the entertainment magazines and websites to make sure she’s got all of the lingo down…She should start her own fashion line, I swear! (Mom, I really do swear from time to time.  It would be a lie if I told you I didn’t. I learned from the Tune Raccoon incident.)  She’s  always sporting something new from a line of clothing that I’ve not heard of before.  The kids and I always like to find the animal print before the other…cause animal print is somewhere…on her person when she comes to visit-incorporated into her daily wardrobe, no doubt. 

Truth is, even though we are different in style of clothing and obsessions…our hearts are in the same spot.  Our families come first.  Our friends are a constant.  We love and try to remain positive.  We lean on one another in times of need.  We will always survive, cause we have one another.  Any time you need me B...click your heels three times and say...

Love Deeply, Live out Loud & Live your Dash,

T

PS:  Hey B-I haven’t gotten any hand me down shoes lately…hint-hint.

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J'aime Les Chausseres!

Why do I love shoes so much you ask?  I've ALWAYS had a passion for shoes, and it began when I was a small child.  I would enjoy going to Payless Shoe Source, and I insisted on to trying on shoes that were impractical.  I remember coming home from school clothes shopping one year and my Dad saying, "Be careful in those things you are going to hurt yourself."  I was willing to take the risk.  A fabulous pair of shoes made me feel special, made me feel like my whole outfit was complete, and more confident.  They still do.  If I am rockin' a hot pair of stilettos or even a pair of Frye cowboy boots, it can change my whole attitude for the day.  I feel like the right pair of shoes can, "Make the Outfit."

Growing up in a small town, there weren't too many options for shoe stores.  There were times I would be so desperate for my shoe fix, I would walk down to the local Rite Aid store (at the time it was called Payless, to date myself) to try on what semi-fashionable pairs they had on the shelf.  Shoes were like my drug, my addiction, the one thing I looked forward to for an "instant euphoria." 

*For those of you who don't realize how limited our shoe store selections were, we had one family shoe store, one upscale shoe store located 10 minutes away, a Western store, and then we had Rite Aid.  The closest Payless Shoe Source or Mervyns was an hour away, and the closest mall was 2 hours.

When I turned 18 I couldn't wait to move out of our rural town and see what the world had to offer.  New people, new experiences, and more places to shop!  With much persistance from my parents, I moved to Eureka to attend a junior college there.  I was to live in the dorms.  The first semester I roomed with another student that I did not get along with at all.  She was from Southern California. You know, the Nor Cal vs. So. Cal thing?  She also smoked, and all the way around was a complete opposite of me.  Luckily, my second semester we were able to choose, and I became roomies with someone who shared my passion for shoes! 

When we were officially moved in, our dorm room was a combination of mauve, baby blue, and floral on one side & burgundy, dark green, and plaid on the other...Sounds completely crazy looking back, but it didn't matter.  We had a very important thing in common!  My friend, my roomie, my compadre, had waaay more pairs than I did and I couldn't wait to see what her closet had to offer.  We were the same size after all.  She had pink, blue and red Reebok tennis shoes.  I had never even seen them in person, let alone owned a pair.  You know the high top Reeboks that had the rounded toe and two strips of velcro at the top that wrapped around your ankle?  Yep, she had them...The closest thing I had was a white pair of Avia high tops.  Laughable I know.  She also introduced me to Dansko clogs.  At first I scoffed at them, but after a while I gave in and purchased my first pair.  A few years later, I even wrote a story to Dansko themselves. I won a free pair of their shoes for pouring my heart about how I strongly disliked them at first and how I was reformed lover of them.  A dream, I was able to choose any pair of shoes on their website!

For the record, I don't care what the fashion critics or Joan Rivers says, I love Uggs.  I got my first pair of Uggs almost 20 years ago and I still own them.  I can't bear to part with them.  Do I wear them? No.  Do I try them on occasionally?  Of course.  They bring me back to the memories of the times that I wore them. For some people it's a song that brings them back, for me it's shoes.   There's something magical about those fur lined sheepskin boots.  Once you slip your tootsies into a pair, you are hooked!  They can be worn around the house as slippers, to the grocery store, or one of my favorites..as a relief after wearing a pair of 4 inch heels that are killing your feet.  Put your favorite pair of Uggs on, and "Ahhhh".

Shoes are glorious, sparkly, leather, satin, crocodile, high heeled, athletic, flats, etc.  I don't care, I love them all!  Our daughter is one year old and has quite the shoe collection already.  She has outgrown several pairs already, and I can't make myself part with them.  They are just so cute, so feminine, so fashionable.  With bows, hearts, pink, purple, and metallics...I think I might save them in a rubbermaid tub for when she is an adult.  I feel bad for my husband, who just rolls his eyes, but he will be the first to say he likes her cute new kicks when she's sporting them.  I think secretly he just knew it would be like this when we were told we were having a girl...She already has her first pair of Danskos, in orchid patent leather.  I can't wait until she fits into them!

Now don't feel bad for our son.  He also has quite the shoe collection.  But don't be mistaken, his shoes are "cool".  Not "cute".  He has a selection of Skater shoes, Athletic shoes, Hiking boots, and most recently Heelys.  When we has a little guy, I would get away with whatever unique and cute shoes I could.  He had this one pair I remember vividly that were brown and orange leather, with flames.  At this age I have to be more selective when building his shoe wardrobe but I still "help" him choose what shoes to wear for the day whenever I can.

Obsessed you say, yes I will agree.  When I was 19, I moved to Santa Rosa.  I loved having the ability to go shopping at a real mall whenever I had the time.  Which sometimes was on my lunch from work, or after work, or the weekends, or all of the above...One of my favorite places to shop for shoes is Macys.  I love their selections and their sales.  I used to frequent the Macys so often that I had a favorite "shoe lady", who loved me and knew me by name...I'd walk in the door, and as soon as she would see me she would say, "Bridgette!  Size 9?"  She would proceed to help me select what new shoes were in and bring me many choices to choose from.  I'm sure she recognized an addict when she saw one.  I bought one pair, two, and sometimes three at a time.  She is still working there.  Believe it or not, she still remembers my name and shoe size.  Is that a good sign, probably not, but talk about service!

A sad day for this shoe lover was about six years ago.  I loved Carrie Bradshaw on Sex in the City, she was in New York.  The mecca of shopping and amazing shoes.  Carrie is who first introduced me to Mr. Manolo Blahnik.  Well, my fabulous husband decided to purchase a pair for me for Christmas as a surprise.  He even consulted with one of my friends, who helped him choose a pair that I would adore.  Christmas came, and I opened the package.  Inside, was my very own pair of Manolo's!  I was completely shocked!  I instantly took off my socks and slipped my feet into them.  Well I tried.  Ouch.  Too small.  You see, they were a black pump with a pointy toe.  My gigantuan feet were prohibiting me from my Cinderella moment.  Darn it!!  It was the highest of highs and the lowest of lows when I realized my beloveds didn't fit.  No problem, just exchange them right?  Soon after the holidays were over, what I refer to as "Mom Guilt" set in, and I decided to return them and not do the exchange.  I still vow someday to have at least one pair in my shoe wardobe!

During both of my pregnancies, my love for shoes expanded right along with my waistline.  I relied on my shoes to help me feel beautiful.  You know what, shoes always fit!  Picture it:  you can go shopping for the day looking for a new pair of jeans.  You've taken several pairs into the dressing room determined to find a pair that makes your muffin top dissappear, your bootie look perky, and your thighs slim.  You strike out.  You head straight to the shoe department after you leave the dressing room, deflated.  Not one pair of jeans stood up to your expectations.  You find several pairs of shoes to try on, and at least one pair fits!  You know what, they also do wonders for your figure!  A good pair of heels will make your legs look longer, your bootie look tighter and distract from that muffin top...Don't believe me?  Try it!

What does "J'aime les Chausseres" mean?  It means I love shoes!  You may think my shoe love is frivolous, silly, and that my fashion budget could be spent somewhere else.  You're absolutely right.  But we all have our vices and it could be worse...

Embrace Your Sparkle,

B Pin It

A Word From the Birthday Cake Stealer, aka Earthling

My name is B and I am a Birthday & Birthday Cake Stealer.  To follow up on T's blog titled "Birthday Cake Stealer & Alien", I will agree that I owe my sister cake pops at the very least.  To bring you up to speed, I was born on her 6th Birthday.  Yes, that's right.  We both were born on May 13th but six years apart.  From that day on, we forever share the bond of being sisters.  We also share the Taurus astrological sign.  We also share our love of mint chocolate chip ice cream, and laughing.  There are alot of things that I enjoy sharing in the sisterhood, but until I got older I didn't appreciate sharing the day with my sister.

As a child, you feel as if your Birthday is the one day a year to look forward to as being "all yours".  I used to look at it like I had to share and I didn't have my "own" special day.  I had to share a cake, and the attention, etc...

One year, we were each allowed to have a slumber party for our Birthday, and each on different weekends.  Our parents gave us each a seperate weekend to give us special time with our friends.
I don't remember everything from my childhood but there are several things that have left a positive imprint on my memory and these parties are one of them. 

The weekend T had her party, I remember her friends coming over and they seemed so cool.  Like suddenly our home was filled with these celebrity types who were going to discuss things like boys, softball, and school.  I wanted to be everywhere they were.  It probably drove them nuts but I couldn't help it.  Who wanted to play with Barbies and hang with Mom when these cool, older girls were in the house?

The weekend of my party came.  I was so excited to have my friends come over to hang out, and have cake.  It was our turn to talk about boys, school, My Little Ponies, and softball.  I'm not sure if we discussed softball, but maybe.  My friends started arriving one by one.  Once everyone had arrived we were busily going up and down the ladder to the attic (where everyone was going to "camp out") and going in and out of the house.  Eventually the party went on, and some of my friends started following my sister.  Suddenly T had a whole new group of "Earthlings" bothering her.  I couldn't help it, the Taurus jealousy came out.  I was so upset that my friends wanted to hang out with her.  My older sister.  Thinking back I realize that she was outside trying to get away from us, but the group was drawn to her and her coolness.  Finally, I think our Mom stepped in and distracted us to give T a break and to calm me down.

When I was sixteen, I started dating the man who would someday be my husband.  Unbelievably, his father shared the same Birthday as us too!  I took it as one of the "signs" that we were meant to be together...Surely this must be the planets aligning to tell us something.  I look back now, and feel greatful that I made a wise choice for my husband at such a young age.  You don't always look ahead at the big picture when you are so young, but luckily we've managed to grow up and make a good life together.

Fast forward eleven years from my 16th Birthday, to my 27th.  We are married and pregnant with our first child.  We are finishing up a house we had been building in preparation for our new addition.  We were packing and preparing as much as possible for the hospital, our son was to be born that next day.  You see, our son was a scheduled C-Section and we had a small window of days to choose from for his Birthday.  We chose for his special day to be May 14th, one day passed ours.  I felt as if it were important to give him his own "special" day, so he wouldn't feel slighted in the least as a child.  He would have his own day to celebrate, and when he is older he can decide how he wants to celebrate- with us or without us.  So until then, he gets his own cake :-)

As you grow up, Birthdays don't hold as much sparkle and luster as they did when you were say, 5.  I do realize they are still your special day, and should be treated as such...Some of my friends hold their husbands and families to "Birthday Months."  However, as an adult, I appreciate and look forward to sharing this one day a year with my sister.  Someone who will never forget your Birthday, who will share your cake, and who will make sure you get a Birthday card in the mail...and you will make sure to return the favor.

Now you might say it's a weird coincidence that our parents, my husbands grandparents, and my husband & I all got "busy" around the same time of year.  I think it is a pretty cool one, and I couldn't imagine it any other way.  I can't imagine NOT sharing the day with T, and with my father in law..and one handsome boy who's Birthday falls on the following day.  Coincidence, I think not.

Embrace Your Sparkle!

B Pin It

Birthday Cake Stealer & Alien

What is it like to grow up in a rural town, nearly a million miles from civilization?  Frankly, it’s a daily test of patience and the skills learned are immeasurable until you leave and then secretly wish you could go back.  Back in time, back to raise your own children, back to a more simpler life. 

We grew up on the coast and I might describe it as a little Napoleon Dynamitish,  a little bit country, with the rock n roll that came weeks after the rest of civilization receives the top 40 hits.  When they say top 40 hit wonders.  I think they were talking about the kids who grew up with us…we ‘wondered’ what the top 40 was.  Don’t worry they did start receiving the music before moss grew on a rolling stone, but it didn’t all start out that way.

Part of our upbringing comes from being raised in the 70’s and 80’s, and part of it comes from living in a rural community.   We lived in a small town, and lived by the ‘duck’ pond in our first house.  The duck pond house definitely holds a lot of memories for me. It’s where the beginning of lessons in life and love started.  I loved playing outside with my best friend, and we had the time of our lives.  I fell in love from afar with a unicycle rider with blue eyes.  I remember I shared this with my best friend, and she told my Mom.  My Mom razzed me a lot about it.  I tried to pretend I didn’t like him so that the razzing would end.  But, his mad unicycle skills keep me interested.  Did I mention I was 5, and I think he was 14?  What?!!  It could have been true love.  I also found that I adored being at my Grandparents any chance I got.   We’d go fishing, hunting, learn about the garden, or eat Doritos.  I rode my bike ‘out’ there, they lived ‘out’ of town.  I eventually rode a dirt bike, tried riding horses-only to be bucked right off.  I used my imagination and played cops and robbers, cowboys and Indians.  It’s hard to calculate the amount of people I slaughtered with these experiences.  I mean I was a badass cop and cowboy…no rest for those robbers or Indians.  In today’s standards I’d be suspended, have no friends, or just be considered a mean child.  Thank God for being raised ‘back’ then.  At the ‘duck’ pond house I was an only child.  I don’t remember much about the only child syndrome effect on me…I’m sure people could weigh in on that topic who knew me Pre-B.  But, the ‘duck’ pond house is where I learned I’d have a sibling.  I thought it was cool.  I wasn’t upset.  I was too busy being a kid to sweat the small stuff.  Baby showers happened, I was allowed to attend, and thought the gifts were so cute.  Little did I know exactly what was going to follow shortly was a terrible, horrible, crying, fussy, loud, cute, sister.  Even more disastrous was that for some ungodly reason, as if she had the ‘super’ power to hold the baby in…My Mom to this day says she did it on purpose, my little sister was born on my 6^th Birthday.  The thing about it was that I didn’t get a cake.  I got birthday cake shafted, over my sister being born.  What was up with that?  Thinking about it right now makes me want to make a request that every time I see B, that she should indefinitely provide me with a birthday cake.  That sounds like we could be even once we’re say both in our 80’s?  All in all that day ended up being one of the best days of my life, without me even knowing.  I carried her around whenever I had the chance, I picked her up when she cried…she baffled me.  She was just so pretty and smiling, and happy…it wasn’t until later on when she started to toddle around that she got under my skin. 

 

We moved shortly after the birth of the Birthday Stealer’s birth.  We moved to the Chestnut Street house, where we all lived out our childhood years under the wrath of our parents.  As the years passed by, I noticed Birthday Cake Stealer was more like the hair particles of that game we played where you had to pull, drag, and position the tiny metal pieces with a ‘wand’ that had a magnet at the end to put the hair, mustache, beard or whatever on that picture of the bald man…anyone know what I’m talking about?  Anyhow, she was like that…I resisted and wanted her to leave me alone-she kept at bay, lingering, taking my stuff, and wanting to talk with me (She was a talker! Whoo boy!) .  There was this one day in particular where we were out in the yard and she was following me-everywhere.  It didn’t matter where I went, even if it wasn’t where she was allowed to go.  I would remind her that she wasn’t welcome, nor was she allowed by our parents to go some of these places with me, cause I was bigger and wiser of course. You question the wisdom at this point in time, I was six years older than she.  I believe she was 4 years old which would make me 10.  I didn’t want to bring her along, she would cramp all of my ten years of style.  But, she just wouldn’t listen.  So, I ran…she followed.  I hid…she found me.  It then dawned on me to climb a tree.  She can’t climb very well, and she’s too scared even if she went up in the lower branches to climb as high as I can.  So, I sprinted to the group of pines in the far corner of the yard.  I looked over my shoulder and she was hot on my tail, I’d better book.  I made it to the trees, picked the one with the highest branches and climbed as high as I could….I could hear her and her pleas for assistance.  I ignored her.  Perched high above the ground I sat, and looked down at her.  Pleased as punch with myself, I sat there for what seemed like eternity.  I found that it wasn’t really any fun and her persistence was quite annoying.  (Yes, I know this was mean.  I was 10, I don’t do this any longer-gosh!  I actually beg my sister for visits these days!)  So, I decided she might leave me alone if she couldn’t understand me any longer.  How can I confuse her?  I started to speak alien.  In a alien voice (use your imagination here people,) I said “Ooooo loooooook at the earrrrrrthling. She is weirrrrrd.  I hOpe she goes awaaaay reeeeeal soooooon.”  Let me tell you from this as firsthand experience, this didn’t work.  She kept pleading and trying to lift her leg up, and I found that being in the tree wasn’t all that fun anyhow…my Alien voice didn’t even get her to leave.  I climbed down, still ignoring her….and ran for the porch.  I got there and you guessed it-she pursued her mean older alien sister to that location.  I again used my skills of climbing and found that if I climbed on the banister there was no room for both of us up there as well as she hadn’t mastered her climbing skills…she’d leave after some time right?  She didn’t.  She stayed there talking, and talking, and talking, and talking…and pushing the extremities of her ‘tune raccoon’.  What is a tune raccoon you ask?  It was some toy that she drug around everywhere as an inspiring musician.  Each part of the body of the raccoon played a different note.  She had a music book, color coordinated to the colored dots on the raccoons arms, legs, tummy…and played twinkle, twinkle little star as a four year old would…delayed notes…and talking and talking, and talking.  I grabbed that thing and whacked her with it like I was playing whack a mole!  I hit her with all of my might!  Truth is, if felt super bad immediately following this reaction of rage.  The blood curdling scream that followed probably was heard in the neighboring county.  Instantly an egg grew on her forehead, something like what we would have watched on Saturday morning cartoons/Looney Tunes where Wiley Coyote gets that egg that grows after the Road Runner does something crazy to him.  The front door flung wide open, the eyes of my father were piercing through my body, the veins were sticking out of his neck…as he came to the aid of my bellowing, injured, sister.  He asked her what had happened, she didn’t tell him that I had been followed by her for the last however long it was, it seemed like at least a good couple of hours (really it was probably 30 minutes). She didn’t tell him that I asked her nicely to ‘go away’.  Nooooo rather she says, “T hit me, very hard and it hurts bad!!!”  He stood up from listening to my sister whom I tormented and then caused this excruciating pain to her noggin… asked me, “Is this true.”  For what seemed like another good couple of hours of time standing still, face to face (I was still on the banister,) I tried my best to look him in the eyes and said timidly…in a non alien voice… “No”…I thought that my father was going to ‘send me into next week’. Instead, he with-held the violence of a spanking…and sent me to my room.  He cared for my sister, and left me to rot in my room, with my thoughts of how I could make it up to her. How I hurt her so badly, and needed to care for her for at least the next 4 years of her life.  How if she needed her ‘tune raccoon’, I’d go get it for her and not only that, but I’d like the tune of ‘twinkle, twinkle, little star’ if she were to play it in her version…as darkness fell.  She came in.  I didn’t know what to say.  She came to me and just started talking, and talking, and talking….I apologized and as she is absolutely beautiful today…she was not scared either by a mark on her noggin, nor by the incident that I have cemented in my brain…I can’t even think of a time that I have had the need to speak alien again…I don't recall if I could get a word in edge wise, with her talking, and talking...and talking.  So, if I didn't - I'm sorry B for this violent act.  I guess we shouldn't play cops and robbers or cowboys and indians after all...

Sibs, sisters…Oh what we do to one another!  I watch my own children, and guide them and NEVER speak alien to them when I try to parent them into loving one another…but the truth is- they love one another anyhow…When your sibs, there’s just something magical that happens…even if they’re the stealer of your birthday cake.

Love you B!  I pledge to never speak alien again to you, or hit you in the head with a ‘tune raccoon’. Deal? …and you can talk, and talk, and talk to me any chance we get.  But, can I ask one thing?  Birthday cake? Will you make me birthday cake pops? Dang it!  I’ve got to add them to My Fitness Pal!  Oooh! Never mind.  I’ll love you forever!

Love Deeply, Live out Loud & Live your Dash-

T

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