Keeper of the Memories...

I have a memory room.

No, it’s not the space in my head where each remembrance is filed away under categories titled brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews or friends and occasions.

Rather it is the modest area in our bonus room where I construct and create the stories of my family’s years since the birth of Nicholas. I feel it’s vital for him to have recollections of the persons who are intricately woven through the cloth of life.

However, since arriving home from Ohio where I inherited six crates of aged slides, photographs and newspaper articles that belonged to my Grandmother, at present I am the keeper of memories. I take this responsibility seriously-as did my Grandma. 

Grandma was born in 1900 and it was a rare occurrence to witness her without a camera, presumably an old Kodak would be my guess. Every family happening and episode was chronicled through photos and slides and now each is in my possession.

Although Grandma died in 1986 leaving behind a bitter divisive family –consequences of greed and selfishness; the multitude of snapshots account for every person in my childhood devoid of experiences of divorce, death, or disconnect.

Therefore I am immersed in my past which belies a surplus of sentiments-many blogs in the making I presume. It commenced with a drive by of the farmhouse in December where my Grandparents settled and stumbled upon much of my upbringing as it was the hideaway from the cruel part of my early days.

the farm house on Hepler Road

the side of the house

For those moments I breathed the fragrance of the hay and envisioned soaring down the hill on a sled with my siblings landing in the icy chilly creek below. I surveyed the patch under the buckeye trees where my cousins and I could acquire 25 cents a grocery bag for the nuts. I inspected the porches where the dogs Yippy, Queenie and Rover rested on any given warm summer day.

Entangled in my head are the memories...so if you are looking for me, I'm in my room with an old fashioned slide projector reuniting the people of my past.

 “The things which the child loves remain in the domain of the heart until old age. The most beautiful thing in life is that our souls remaining over the places where we once enjoyed ourselves.”

by Kahlil Gibran

Tiffin Times...

“Forgiveness does not change the past, but it does enlarge the future.”

By Paul Boese

As I made the drive from Columbus to Tiffin for the next stop on my book signing for Life through the Eyes of a Hurricane: Doggie-Dog! my insides twirled and twisted with anticipation and apprehension.

Tiffin, Ohio is my place of origin, my growing up location- the space where I learned to walk and talk as well as ride a bike and drive a car. I was cultured to maneuver the back roads shared by tractors and combines and sought comfort in the fragrance of cow manure and the harvest of corn or soy beans. I knew the calm and reassurance of attending a one building school, Hopewell-Loudon therefore I graduated with most folks I shared Kindergarten memories.

On the other hand, it was also the scene of torment and distress throughout childhood and where as an adult I envisioned the face of my abuser/s ‘round every corner. Anxiety and uneasiness were part of every encounter as hyper-vigilance served as armor.

I’ve acknowledged shrill and valiantly; however that forgiveness is a powerful gesture. As a result of those actions toward once despised individuals, I embarked upon this event with affection, acceptance and approval preparing the homecoming proper for a queen.

Paper and Ink was host to the book signing equipped with a reporter from the local newspaper, the Advertiser Tribune. Being surrounded by family, childhood and college friends I possessed a protective covering although unnecessary as I have learned to embrace my past with the awareness it has made me the human being I am today. So I applaud all those people; good, bad or indifferent and extend a hand of thanks since my life is filled with magnificence and joy.

“What you need to know about the past is that no matter what has happened, it has all worked together to bring you to this very moment. And this is the moment you can choose to make everything new. Right now!”

By Anonymous

Hey, did you miss me?

"Truly great friends are hard to find, difficult to leave, and impossible to forget."

By Unknown~

Hi…did you miss me?

Well, regardless if you did or did not, I’m thankful to broadcast we made a safe return to North Carolina on Sunday after a grand and glorious eight days in Ohio. The moments in time spent with cherished friends and family will be forever etched in my mind as well as engraved in my heart.

The abundant events and gatherings with loved ones will provide rich recollections of laughter, tears, joy and genuine hugs with by no means, a deficiency on ‘I love you’s’; an expression I’m no longer embarrassed to vocalize and did so freely.

I’ve deliberately avoided this blog since I am finding it surprisingly complicated to arrange the various experiences and emotions into orderly definitive categories; no one experience or person rises above another.

However, the sentiment that I can label as being prevalent was the affection and cordial support by all; former students and parents, childhood and high school friends, blog and church camp connections, previous teachers and co-workers and treasured sorority sisters including both my big and little sis as well as those individuals I met along the journey.

How blessed I was to be acknowledged and recognized by these deep attachments in my life as well as my family. The look of pride and pleasure in sharing the momentous occasions of a book signing was beyond any language I possess.

Words and feelings shared during those days, hours, and minutes certainly closed the  absence from these links to my past, but it truly remained clear that what I experienced could only be sensed from within.

"The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt with the heart."

- Helen Keller

Happy Thanksgiving?

So upon us is yet another Thanksgiving Day...and I can't resist posting this story of such a memorable blessed day. Sorry Mom!

"The human spirit is stronger than anything that happens to it."

---Unknown

I recognize you are most likely reading the above quote and thinking what does that have to do with Thanksgiving. Well, I’ll tell you. Growing up we had a house full of family for the Thanksgiving feast; aunts, uncles, cousins, Grandma…you name ‘em and they were gathered in our small ranch home.

The ceremonial dinner was planned for noon as always and my mom took immense pride in preparing the turkey dressed in its finest! The night before rituals commenced with the production of the homemade dressing and shoving it inside that colossal bird enough to feed near thirty people. She enclosed that fowl and placed the roaster within the oven and set it to activate at 4:00am. Swollen with pride and pleased with her labor we went to bed in anticipation for the gathering of our family the subsequent day.

The next morning I awoke and got a whiff of that brilliant smell of turkey roasting and beamed proudly as I made a momentary look toward the clock: 7:00am. I rose out of bed and meandered into the kitchen and was shocked at the words gracing my ears; the words were coming out of my mother’s mouth, a staunch Christian woman. ‘God-damn son of a b----, well sh—‘ words I am most certain I had never even heard before!

The smell of the bird had truly been in my mind from year’s past. The oven failed had to turn on! My mom skittered around the kitchen slamming cupboards and the oven door, throwing pot holders and anything else she could get her hands on. She was swearing at the oven as if that would miraculously make it turn on or say, ‘Gosh, I’m sorry. Let’s try that again!

Meanwhile my sister and I took shelter. It was a wonder that raw bird and all that was stuffed up in it didn’t go flying through the kitchen, living room and any other room of the house…tears, curse words and flurry filled that humble abode and we were taking cover!

Well, no harm no ‘fowl’; hee hee! We may have had our Thanksgiving feast later than planned but it certainly made for amusement for the day and every gathering since. Each year following began with a ‘Ummm, that turkey sure smells good! Did you turn the oven on?’

So on this blessed day, may your oven turn on and everything go planned accordingly!



"C" is for Celebration....

A to Z Challenge:

ABC's of My Life~

Celebrating the life of my boy…

At 8:12am on Easter Sunday, 4-4-99 our little Easter bunny came into the world via emergency C-section; aka-Nicholas Scott Spaine. He weighed 7 lbs. and 7 oz. and was 19.5 in. long. If  numerology intrigues you, doubles abound! When he turns 21 years of age, perhaps we’ll all go to Vegas to commemorate :)


However, we applaud the caring and compassionate companion. He is considerate of others within his world and even those outside his realm of everyday connections. He continually gives of himself in his words, actions and material belongings. He cries at sad commercials and horrendous news displayed on the television; he pleads for reason and offers prayers to those in need.

In my search for his baby picture I spotted a photo of Nicholas at three years of age designing stadiums on the kitchen floor; he’s clings tight to that dream of being an architect as he creates elaborate golf courses, detailed sports arenas and cityscapes. He’s creative beyond imagination.

He is comical, charismatic and courteous. He is calm, capable and fiercely competitive as well as communicative . . . did I ever tell you he continually talked as a toddler to keep himself awake-and still does-sleep is finally upon us when our world has become quiet and still; ahhhh….

Nicholas is all of these qualities and more, wrapped into one cute twelve year old child both inside and out who is truly a gift from God that both his parents cherish deeply!

The things which the child loves remain in the domain of the heart until old age. The most beautiful thing in life is that our souls remain over the places where we once enjoyed ourselves.

By Kahlil Gibran

My sister...and an update on Ethan~

My sister, Dawn who is two years older wrote an e-mail today stating that she was ready for another blog entry. She evidently likes my writing, which is a good thing, and of course I wanted to indulge her. What? Garsh Darn-it, here we are just on the precipice of mid-life and she is STILL telling me what to do! And the worst part is I STILL do what she says!

So here I am writing a blog entry because my sister said so…as a result it got me thinking about all the things I had to do as a youngster because ‘my sister said so’.


Oh boy, there were so many instances; you see she took it upon herself to be MY boss! She would probably claim she was being a ‘caretaker’ …same thing; just a euphemism, but being the youngest of five, EVERYONE seemed to be my boss! Further I felt I could never escape it or her…but don’t worry, she’d tell you the same thing herself so I’m not revealing any deep dark secret here.

I have committed to memory the occasion I was in third or fourth grade and I had ‘on purpose’ forgotten my school book since I hadn’t done my homework. Therefore while we were standing in the kitchen and the bus was blaring its horn she yelled at me to go get my math book with the incomplete work tucked inside. I emphatically said ‘NO!’ so she pushed me toward my curtailed job and I hit my forehead on the corner of the table and needed stitches…the good part? I didn’t have to go to school without my unfinished homework!

Another time we were amusing ourselves with our baby dolls on the back patio and I wanted to rock mine to sleep and being the baby sister, Dawnie’s child sized rocking chair was there for the taking. I sat down and started swaying and singing to my baby, and she told me to ‘Get Up!’ Well, my baby wasn’t quite asleep yet, so I stayed put and kept on serenading my young one. Well, I could tell in the tone of my sister’s voice she wasn’t going to say, ‘oh gosh then, I’ll just wait until you are done…’ No, that wasn’t in her so she demanded again with her hands on her hips and her brow furrowed as her lips pursed together puckered out, shouting, ‘GET UP!’ and I repeatedly told her I wanted to sing my baby to sleep.

To this day I have no idea what bravery crawled into me, but I remember picking up that rocking chair and dashing around the back yard as fast as my little legs could carry me rushing from her as she was shaking her fist at me. Unfortunately, I was running with the furniture and my baby doll so I was definitely at a disadvantage therefore I made a cut to the right and when I couldn’t escape her wrath, I put the chair down and bounded over it; or at least I attempted to leap over it and landed on my arm. Of course, I cried and blamed her because it was ALWAYS her fault (I’m no dummy!) and spent the next six months in a cast up to my shoulder. (Picture below to prove it!)

Seriously, a sliver of examples, BUT a true depiction of our growing up, I love my sister, and what’s more I admire her. She has an incredible heart of kindness and would give the shirt off her back for those less fortunate. She has adopted four children as a single parent and continues to give when she has nothing left to offer. I want to shake her at times because she sticks her neck out repeatedly and then gets hurt so deeply and I end up aching for her, although she keeps plugging away when I would have thrown in the towel a long time ago.

My sister is a teacher who is extremely smart in the area of life, knows what she likes and doesn’t like and says what is on her mind. She doesn’t let people get the best of her, well, most of the time and her unbelievable strength carries her through distressed times only to do it all over again. So yeah, I continue to be the little sister whose big sister still can tell her what to do, but whom else would I have to tell me what to do? Never mind, don’t answer that! ...the line starts here!

I love you, Dawnie!

*******

 

I received a message from my sister and Ethan was sent home, although she says she doesn't know why because he's still a very sick little boy. However, he was without a fever for 12 hours; ummmm.  He has a Dr. appointment today and she said she wouldn't be surprised if he was put back into the hospital. Thank you all so much for your continual prayers.

You all mean the world to me!

Pages of my Life...

When anxious, uneasy and bad thoughts come, I go to the sea, and the sea drowns them out with its great wide sounds, cleanses me with its noise and imposes a rhythm upon everything in me that is bewildered and confused.

It's been a very pleasurable weekend as I spent some time scrapbooking and living vicariously through memories of our moments spent at our favorite vacation spot: Emerald Isle. So for your viewing pleasure, please find below sprinklings  of well, 'Beachin' it!' although I took the photo with the spread backwards. Oh well...you get the picture!

No Hurricane in sight~a lovely day!



Beach Bocce Ball...



Playing...

At the fishing pier~

Shark!!! ..thank God it wasn't a big one, but big enough!

Sights and Sounds of the Sea...

Speed Racer...


Rejoice with your family in the beautiful land of life!



to C.A.R.A~

Hi,
It's me, Angel-Kitty.  The orphange where I use to live sent NeeNee and Dad a note asking about  how I was doing. Since they've been so busy and hadn't gotten around to it I decided to take matters into my own hands.

Dear CARA,


Mom said you all had written to ask how I was doing, but golly gee, my new family has kept me so busy I have not been able to get a moment on the computer to send off a short note. At last, it’s my turn on the box; Hurray!

So, let me tell you about family. There’s my Mom and Dad. Mom or Nee Nee as we all call her; and don’t ask me why, we just do! But she is a writer and so whenever she sits at the computer to write, well, I acquire the best seat in the house; her lap! Yessiree, I curl up in a slight ball and settle in for my best nap. From time to time Hurricane, my brother will put his snout into my face to get my attention but I just tell him, ‘HEY, don’t bother me now, can’t you see I’m getting my beauty rest?’ Well, one smack with the paw and imagine that, he leaves me alone!

Speaking of my doggie brother; I have to inform you that he gets the finest food in the house. Whenever he’s presented with his breakfast or dinner, I slide immediately in front of his bowl and begin licking the savory juice. That is such a treat! Hah, he can’t chase me away because my two legged people declare, ‘Hurricane! Leave her alone!’ so I nonchalantly glance back and gaze just long enough for him to catch the smirk on my face.

I feel such strong affection for my human brother Nicholas. His room is decorated in a tiger theme; are you familiar with the fact that I am part of the cat family? Oh, how I desire to grow up and roar like the Queen of the jungle. I am, you know, the princess, so it won’t be long now! Anyway, I sleep most every night on Nicholas’ bed and it sure is warm and cozy.

Oh my Dad, he’s funny and calls me ‘Kitty Cat’ or ‘Little Cat’ which I really don’t mind because it’s kind of a pet name just between the two of us. When I was at the shelter my formal name was Angelina Jolie, which turned into Angelina or Angel-Kitty, and now, well thanks to Dad, I have all kinds of name. When I want to be left alone, well, I ignore all of those surnames!

But Dad gets up early and works in the feeding room on his lap top or reads the newspaper and this is our time to play. I like to plop right down on his box and watch that little line move across the screen. I just don’t understand why I can’t grab it? I also like to take hold of the pencil or pen he’s using to complete his crossword puzzle and sometimes I even bat it to the floor and swipe it across the hardwood. That’s fun!

Anyway, I just wanted to fill you in on some recent happenings here. Truly, it’s never a dull moment! I’m doing great and adore my family, although my four legged brother can be such a pain at times!

I do miss you all but gosh, there’s nothing like having my own family! I pray all the kitties and doggies there at C.A.R.A get a home of their own real soon.

Meow,

Angel-Kitty



Happy New Year!

While I refuse to make resolutions for the reason that they only set me up for failure I do voice these sentiments to all of you, my family which I’ve always professed encompasses friends and fellow bloggers as each of you along with your words and actions reside within me.

May you be blessed with richness in family and friends.
May you find wealth in ordinary opportunities.
May you find strength to overcome everyday obstacles and challenges,
and power in those that seem insurmountable.
May you find wisdom to triumph over situations that refute logic.
May you find understanding in circumstances that harbor resentment.
May you find tolerance and forgiveness within your heart
to prevail the deceit of others.
May you find honesty to look in the mirror at your shortcomings, and
May you look at others with patience, empathy and compassion, and
in each daily commonplace happening
May you be surrounded by joy, love and laughter.

Welcome 2011~



Our New Baby....

Since the incident two years ago this Christmas that stole from us our lovely cat Ginger, we've closed and locked our hearts unwilling to get emotionally involved with another kitty. (Read about it here) This created a dilemma for me since I grew up with cats and can't imagine a life without one, however, the tragedy of Ginger-Roozer kept our desire at a distance.


I was prepared months ago but my husband was still and continues to be heart-broken so I unfaltering added a kitty to my Christmas list; in fact a kitty was the ONLY thing on my list! My husband at last gave his blessing~

Today my son and I traveled to Petsmart where kitties are on display from the Carolina Animal Rescue and Adoption. Nicholas and I instantly set eyes our on ’Angelina Jolie’ and it was love at first sight! We held and cuddled her in our arms and when we posed the question as to why she hadn’t been adopted, the store clerk said she hadn’t cuddled with anyone for the two months of her viewing so few people weren’t attracted to her.

I presume she knew what she was waiting for and things happen for a reason because she nestled right into our laps and purred away as if to say ‘finally!’

We brought our new baby home last night and set in motion the process of acclimating ‘her’ into our lives; mostly Hurricane. She has no name yet other than her given name and that just doesn’t do her justice; perhaps, ‘Angel-Kitty’ or ‘Noel’? What do you think of Torie, short for Tornado so we could have a Hurricane and a Tornado? Sophie, Molly or Gabby? How about Zora or Black Ice?

Whatever her name, she’s found a place in our hearts.

Happy Thanksgiving?

"The human spirit is stronger than anything that happens to it."

---Unknown

I recognize you are most likely reading the above quote and thinking what does that have to do with Thanksgiving. Well, I’ll tell you. Growing up we had a house full of family for the Thanksgiving feast; aunts, uncles, cousins, Grandma…you name ‘em and they were gathered in our small ranch home.


The ceremonial dinner was planned for noon as always and my mom took immense pride in preparing the turkey dressed in its finest! The night before rituals commenced with the production of the homemade dressing and shoving it inside that colossal bird enough to feed near thirty people. She enclosed that fowl and placed the roaster within the oven and set it to activate at 4:00am. Swollen with pride and pleased with her labor we went to bed in anticipation for the gathering of our family the subsequent day.


The next morning I awoke and got a whiff of that brilliant smell of turkey roasting and grinned as I made a momentary look toward the clock: 7:00am. I rose out of bed and meandered into the kitchen and was shocked at the words gracing my ears, coming out of my mother’s mouth, a staunch Christian woman. ‘God-damn son of a b----, well sh—‘ words I am most certain I had never even heard before!


The smell of the bird had truly been in my year’s past mind. The oven failed had to turn on! My mom skittered around the kitchen slamming cupboards and the oven door, throwing pot holders and anything else she could get her hands on. She was swearing at the oven as if that would miraculously make it turn on or say, ‘Gosh, I’m sorry. Let’s try that again!


Meanwhile my sister and I took shelter. It was a wonder that raw bird and all that was stuffed up in it didn’t go flying through the kitchen, living room and any other room of the house…tears, curse words and flurry filled that humble abode and we were taking cover!


Well, no harm no ‘fowl’; hee hee! We may have had our Thanksgiving feast later than planned but it certainly made for amusement for the day and every gathering since. Each year following began with a ‘Ummm, that turkey sure smells good! Did you turn the oven on?’


So on this blessed day, may your oven turn on and everything go planned accordingly!

A moment of clarity...

Did you ever have one of those moments of crystal-clear clarity? Thanks to a quote placed on Kenju’s blog, http://imagineomit.blogspot.com/ I was blessed this morning with one of those precise moments in time that was inititated with the appraisal of these words:

 “We are not the same persons this year as last; nor are those we love. It is a happy chance if we, changing, continue to love a changed person.”

Yesterday my family, whom I have not seen in two and a half years met halfway between Ohio and North Carolina in Beckley, West Virginia to exchange Nicholas so he could spend time with his family in Ohio.  Time, distance and busy lives keep us apart physically but emotionally I had forever perceived myself as the stranger.  There are a plethora of reasons but basically my mother and sister for whatever reasons needed each other more than they needed me.

 I was the youngest of five children and my mother was the product of a gentle soul and a fragile psyche compounded by three husbands who used her as their punching bag in every sense of the word. The domestic violence she encountered occurred behind slammed doors unlike today where it appears commonplace in the media.

However, at a young age the realization that I was on my own led me to reach out to the first of many surrogate mothers such as my PE teacher and Coach, Mrs. Stephenson, or Mrs. Houck my music and choir teacher. My cluster of friends in athletics, choir, yearbook and the overabundance of activities to keep me away from home became my sisters; titles none was aware they held.

Life happened, as life often does. I went searching for my purpose of being out of the state of Ohio; Florida and North Carolina and experienced my share of personal moments of trauma, growth and understanding independent of my family. I was blessed with a wonderful husband and an adoring son while meanwhile, my sister Dawn became a Mama Bear fiercely protecting her cubs at all costs and trudging through a day to day existence as a teacher giving of herself to others.

My mom is eighty-two and continues to golf, read, volunteer and work; awarded top employee of the year. She travels and is active in her church. She has a heart of gold and is filled with compassion. I believe she has made amends with her choices in life and finally realizes she did the best she knew how to do enduring the circumstances she was subjected to; I’m proud of the person she has become.

I’m a true believer that things happen for a reason and the planets line up specifically with one purpose in mind, basically God presents circumstances in our lives for us to continue to learn and grow. My mother and sister are NOT the same people they were when I was growing up; just as I’m not the same person. But it is with this love and empathy we continue to love the changed people in our lives.

I’m not only extremely joyful my sister and my mom are my family, but I’ve learned to love them; with all their perceived flaws and alleged faults because I’ve learned to love me—with all my short-comings and imperfections.



William Somerset Maugham, writer (1874-1965)

Now what?

Now What?
It appears I’ve just given birth to my second child. No, not literally, but literary is more like it.

This past weekend I went over my manuscript for My Life as a Dog…with a fine tooth comb scrutinizing every single word, syllable, conglomeration of words and phrases to make sure it was perfect! Hah, not sure what perfect means in this case or even if I can strive to have it but the attempt was there nonetheless.

So this morning, while I made a few changes and added some additional details noting that even if I went back to it, I’d probably make even more changes. It’s just the way the process is. But then I wondered…what next? I’d become one-dimensional… it seems my entire world has been wrapped up in completing this book and now that it is ready to be sent away, now what?

It IS like giving birth metaphorically. I nurtured, prepared, fostered and developed the words in preparation for a final product and it has arrived! I am giddy with the prospects! However, at the same time, the apprehension resonates with future possibilities, the success or failure of what has already been accomplished and anything less than the first child, so to speak, will not be adequate.

I think I’ll take my son golfing and fully enjoy his company once again since my mind is no longer consumed (hah! Yeah, right!) with the pages of my book. Perhaps I’ll even add a dimension or two to my daily existence and re-connect with my first born!

My Life as a Dog....and Bath Day!

UH-OH!!! I knew I was in a dilemma when my family lured me into the lavatory with a biscuit and then proceeded to fasten the door; click… UGH, there was no escape! Big D. turned on the shower; doomed, I say. At least they afforded me the courtesy to allow me to finish my biscuit before they shoved me in that plastic box with the water that streams out of a metal tube. I tried to sneak my way out by going behind Nee Nee and laying up against her as if to say, ‘Please Nee Nee, don’t make me take a bath today….perhaps tomorrow!’

But Nee Nee threw me under the bus and detached herself so I was left unprotected. Betrayed, I sneaked to Little D and gazed pleadingly into his eyes, ‘I’ll take a bath later Little D…isn’t that what you always say to get out of something? …or was it, in a few minutes?’ He looked at me straight in the eyes and informed me I smelled so it had to be today. I SMELL??? Well, no one told me that. I SMELL?? I have a stench???? OH MY, I am so embarrassed, how could they not tell me? Really? Did all my friends that I greeted on my walk this morning think that? But I used my Doggie Deoderant, I promise...Oh Lord, how will I ever face them again?

As self-conscious as I was I tried the ‘sad puppy dog’ look, which really wasn’t far from the truth so I plopped down on the bathroom floor amidst all their echoes of demands and encouragement and put my head between my outstretched paws. I peeked at them. I raised one eyebrow to try as best as I could to give the impression of being pathetic, which I think I was being pretty successful because Big D approached, parked himself beside me and started stroking my ears…SUCKER! Then he calmly said, ‘Come on Hurricane, you won’t be so itchy after you’ve had your bath!’ well, he did have a point, I have been Mr. Itchy Scratchy lately. Okay…

So I summoned the courage to toddle pathetically toward the shower box with my head hung low and averted the gazes of my family, trying to invite all the sympathy I could muster. I know, I know, I love the ocean waters and enter quite readily, but that IS on my terms, understand? I longingly want to pretend I possess a tad bit of control here. Big D pushes me toward the spraying water by shoving me in the rump. Geez, have a little compassion for a guy. So I take the plunge so to speak and step into the synthetic room. Big D sprays me with the tepid water and we continue through the process of getting ‘the stink’ out of me and although it really does feel refreshing, I don’t want to let on that I feel like a million bucks.

Ahhh, I really love this toweling off…yeah, Big D. don’t forget the belly…oooohhhh. I perform a first-class shake and everyone takes cover: ‘Hurricane!’ they yell. Well, what do you expect! Then the bathroom door  releases and I sprint like a banshee through the house and each person steers clear until I exhaustedly settle on the bed with my family. ‘That wasn’t so bad, was it Hurricane?’ And it truly wasn’t, especially when we all end up on the bed together. They whisper sweet nothings to me and caress my sodden coat, anything to comfort my ego…

Ahhhh, I love this life….

My Life as a Dog...and a New Toy!

YIPPPEEEE!!! I got a package in the mail on Saturday~ …well, okay; it wasn’t for me but for my boy, Little Daddy. Yet I have this firm belief that EVERYTHING in this house is mine! At any rate, he came racing into the house saying he got a present from BarbPat…OHHHH, I like presents! I never heard of BarbPat but if it makes him thrilled then it’s okay by me!


‘BarbPat were our neighbors when we lived in Ohio’ Little D advised me. BarbPat? I created this quizzical look on my mug and cocked my cranium to one side. This generally tells my family I’m perplexed which seems to happen a lot…these two-legged humans sure know how to muddle very simple things. In any case, BarbPat is actually two people; Barb AND Pat, he was explaining but when he was a little tyke he shoved the words together and just called them both by one name; BarbPat… whatever! Works for me if it works for him!

So as I was saying, they sent this parcel to Little D and he was as blissful as a dog peeing on a post. He spied an opening and ripped until the contents splattered out onto the table. I sniffed it before my eyes caught a glimpse of my treasure. WOW! For me? BarbPat don’t even know me and they mailed me a toy? How cool is that?


I am crazy about my toys…I love to tug, shake and squeak every single one of them; so much amusement! But my latest toy was ‘da bomb! It was a crimson nylon sculpted bone packed with fluff and a squeaker; those are preferred! I find it irresistible to sink my teeth into my playthings so I can listen to that reverberating peep. …PEEEP!!! An added trendy article; attached to one end was a knotted braid of scarlet, white and black rope so Little D could grasp onto one end and I could heave with the other. I raise my hind quarters into the air and unfalteringly dig my toenails into the mushroom colored floor covering and give it all my muscle; PUUULLLLL! Whenever we do that I haul him across the room. I love the sound of Little D’s laughter! That’s one of the finest parts of being a dog, I say.


My best part is EVERY part, but Little D considers the most excellent element to be the Ohio State University insignia monogrammed on the bone and words that describe me perfectly… ‘GUARD DOG!’ YEP! Yep, that’s me… I ALWAYS guard and protect my family!


I love this life…AND new toys! Come on, Little D, let’s play!

My Sister...

My sister, Dawn who is two years older wrote an e-mail today stating that she was ready for another blog entry. She evidently likes my writing, which is a good thing, and of course I wanted to indulge her. What? Garsh Darn-it, here we are just on the precipice of mid-life and she is STILL telling me what to do! And the worst part is I STILL do what she says! So here I am writing a blog entry because my sister said so…as a result it got me thinking about all the things I had to do as a youngster because ‘my sister said so’.

Oh boy, there were so many instances; you see she took it upon herself to be MY boss! She would probably claim she was being a ‘caretaker’ …same thing; just a euphemism, but being the youngest of five, EVERYONE seemed to be my boss! Further I felt I could never escape it or her…but don’t worry, she’d tell you the same thing herself so I’m not revealing any deep dark secret here. I have committed to memory the occasion I was in third or fourth grade and I had ‘on purpose’ forgotten my school book since I hadn’t done my homework. Therefore while we were standing in the kitchen and the bus was blaring its horn she yelled at me to go get my math book with the incomplete work tucked inside. I emphatically said ‘NO!’ so she pushed me toward my curtailed job and I hit my forehead on the corner of the table and needed stitches…the good part? I didn’t have to go to school without my unfinished homework!

Another time we were amusing ourselves with our baby dolls on the back patio and I wanted to rock mine to sleep and being the baby sister, Dawnie’s child sized rocking chair was there for the taking. I sat down and started swaying and singing to my baby, and she told me to ‘Get Up!’ Well, my baby wasn’t quite asleep yet, so I stayed put and kept on serenading my young one. Well, I could tell in the tone of my sister’s voice she wasn’t going to say, ‘oh gosh then, I’ll just wait until you are done…’ No, that wasn’t in her so she demanded again with her hands on her hips and her brow furrowed as her lips pursed together puckered out, shouting, ‘GET UP!’ and I repeatedly told her I wanted to sing my baby to sleep. To this day I have no idea what bravery crawled into me, but I remember picking up that rocking chair and dashing around the back yard as fast as my little legs could carry me rushing from her as she was shaking her fist at me. Unfortunately, I was running with the furniture and my baby doll so I was definitely at a disadvantage therefore I made a cut to the right and when I couldn’t escape her wrath, I put the chair down and bounded over it; or at least I attempted to leap over it and landed on my arm. Of course, I cried and blamed her because it was ALWAYS her fault (I’m no dummy!) and spent the next six months in a cast up to my shoulder. (Picture below to prove it!)

Seriously, a sliver of examples, BUT a true depiction of our growing up, I love my sister, and what’s more I admire her. She has an incredible heart of kindness and would give the shirt off her back for those less fortunate. She has adopted four children as a single parent and continues to give when she has nothing left to offer. I want to shake her at times because she sticks her neck out repeatedly and then gets hurt so deeply and I end up aching for her, although she keeps plugging away when I would have thrown in the towel a long time ago.

My sister is a teacher who is extremely smart in the area of life, knows what she likes and doesn’t like and says what is on her mind. She doesn’t let people get the best of her, well, most of the time and her unbelievable strength carries her through distressed times only to do it all over again. So yeah, I continue to be the little sister whose big sister still can tell her what to do, but whom else would I have to tell me what to do? Never mind, don’t answer that! ...the line starts here!

My Life as a Dog!

No, it’s not very original but what would you expect from me, as I’m only a dog. I am a Golden Retriever, whatever that is because all I know is I’m a dog! But whenever I take walks in the ‘hood, people pat me and tell me what a beautiful dog I am. Anyway, I was born October 23, 2008 in Chapel Hill, NC which must be good because my family loves this school called UNC and I guess it’s in Chapel Hill? My owners, Big Daddy, Little Daddy and Nee Nee sometimes say they’d like to trade places with me but I really don’t know why, but maybe you can tell me after I tell you stories from my life. Maybe I can sneak on here from time to time and tell stories of my place in this family!

Yesterday Big Daddy was running this machine across the carpets and I don’t know what it is for but it has a light on the front and when he rolls it toward me and the loud noise it makes, ‘VROOM, VROOOOM…’ scares me half to death so I bark at it a lot to tell it to stay away. He says, ‘Hurricane!’ …that’s my name by the way. ‘It’s not going to hurt you!’ … but I run at it and try to bite it anyway because I can’t be too sure!’ Anyway, all of a sudden, it stopped! Big D. leaned down and flipped a switch and jiggled at something in the wall but it wouldn’t come back on…dead! I’m so glad I finally killed it-for my family’s sake! He sat on the floor which is always my invitation to sit in his lap. I’ve been doing that since I was a puppy and I get patted on my belly, around my ears, on top of my head…ohhh, it feels so good. I never want him to stop. When he does I put my nose under his hand and swing it back up so he’ll keep going. AHHHAHHHH!! I could do this all day long! But this time, he just said, ‘Hurricane, outta my way!’ ...OUCH, that hurts! So I lay my head on the floor and give him my sad puppy dog look where I raise my eyebrows ever so slightly and stare at them….it gets them every time. Big D. stoked my ears for a few seconds. I guess it is better than nothing!

Okay, so back to the contraption with the glow on the front….Big D started taking it apart and oh my gosh, all my hair started coming out of it! When did my beautiful butterscotch hair come out? Big D kept saying over and over with each new bunch, ‘Hurricane, this is all your hair!’ I tell you, we sat there for 25 minutes while he pulled tufts of my fur out of every nook and cranny in that device and he put it all in a trash...boy, do I sure feel naked!*

Well, I hear Nee Nee coming down the stairs so I better end this for now, but this isn’t the last from me… I think I like this life!

Tiny Treasures~

Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines tiny as diminutive and a treasure to be any thing or person greatly valued or highly prized.

As I meandered along the beach welcoming the sunbeams and gathering shells on our latest retreat to Emerald Isle it occurred to me that my focus from past walks had been altered. I was no longer probing for the largest, most perfect shells I could find, but the smallest of treasures the sand and sea had to offer. Would this thought transcend into further parts of my life? While it is human nature to want the best and be the best, I’ve tried to avoid the temptation of comparing lives and wishing for what I don’t have especially since I am extremely blessed with a high-quality life.

So my mind went to the simplicities of my life; inventory of tiny treasures we often see as insignificant as we simply take them for granted until further observation only to realize those are the most significant of all. After being unemployed for four months the love of my life now has a job where he already feels validated. I have a healthy wonderful son who is kind, sensitive, loving, and smart; he is more than I ever could have imagined my son to be. I have friends synonymous with family that bless me with gifts of a smile, laughter and kind words. I am sanctified with freedoms to believe, think and act in a manner that corroborate my being. Not only do I recognize the beating of my heart as momentous, I am revered with health and well-being.

I was forced to stand back and take inventory as a result of tragedies and heart-break in the lives of people in my world: a friend who has a second bout with breast cancer, a 22 year old girl who babysat Nicholas was recently was diagnosed with thyroid cancer and today I learned of a friend who’s son died suddenly from complications from seizures. Then there is shoulder surgery, divorce, job loss, foreclosure, a knee replacement that act as reminders to me that life is fragile; life is short. I say a quick prayer of thanks and a reminder that life is filled with tiny treasures.

Happy Father's Day!

Happy Father’s Day!

Throughout my life, Happy and Father are an oxymoron. I’ve never liked Father’s Day; imagine trying to make a choice for a card because it’s an obligatory deed, not really liking your father yet wanting to. Thrust upon us are ideals of the ‘perfect’ father spending quality time with their kid, guiding them through instrumental decisions in their life, ‘Daddy’s little girl’ however, my father was less a positive in my life and more like I’ll never do that to my child. Even the relationship with my step-father and his demonic acts drove me into therapy; I continue to be a cynic of any relationship between a father and a child, including the Heavenly Father. Numerous years have been spent resolving issues with God because of the common affectation; how can any father claim to feel affection for their child and shield from harm, yet damage and obliterate?

So in the present day, I look to that relationship with my father, having re-connected prior to his passing I thrash about the proposal of ‘what would I say if I could talk to him now?’ As the adult I am, I would call him on the phone and wish him a ‘Happy Father’s Day!’ but as a child I might have said, ‘Daddy, do you love me?’ Either sentiment presented will contain a retort of silence, which leaves me nowadays with solitary wonder.

Sacrifice and Truths...

I’m uncomfortable to say that today is Memorial Day and while I am not prolific in my words to encompass the importance of this holiday, it did however make me think of my brothers; each of whom served in the military. They were the brave souls that fought for our freedom and allowed us to wave a flag in pride that we are American citizens. Nevertheless, they were considerably older than me so I don’t have firsthand knowledge of their journey, nor can I offer ways in which their lives were affected by or even if they did ‘go off to war’. But I do know they served their country and for that I am swollen with pride for each one and want to thank Mike, Tom, and David for all their sacrifice and dedication to the United States of America.

Ironically, I do have personal awareness of what ‘going off to war’ meant for my father so I’d like to share a piece of writing I previously had written that does indicate dire consequences of what that ultimate sacrifice encompasses. My personal knowledge comes from being the daughter of a man who gave up his dreams to serve his country so allow me to share.

I’m not quite sure that my father would be considered an ancestor. Isn’t an ancestor one who comes before us many centuries ago? If so, then perhaps my Dad was a modern day ancestor? Regardless, he is the individual who came to mind when given this assignment in writing class and I believe that things happen for a reason, so it must be my mission to write about him. I don’t know much about my Dad and what I do know I acquired in the days following his death as a result of cleaning out his apartment, so my knowledge is scant and somewhat shallow, I must say. But, nonetheless, he is my father. The glaring facts are that he was an abusive alcoholic who beat my mother frequently and rode the proverbial revolving door in and out of our lives. When he wasn’t making us wait for hours on end for his presence for the ‘weekly visitations’, he happened to take my sister and I to some fun places; the lake for boating and fishing expeditions, the Silver Tavern Bar for hamburgers and greasy French fries in a plastic yellow basket, while the grownups drank Pabst Blue Ribbon beer, and who could forget visiting Orville, Ohio, my Dad’s childhood home in addition to the place where the infamous coach Bobby Knight was an old friend.



Again, I say, he is my father and yes, an ancestor, but aren’t we to gain some infinite wisdom from our ancestors? Don’t we have lessons to be learned from those that came before us? That being said, I search for meaning and answers to my father’s existence which takes me back to his death. Just as he lived his life alone, he also died alone. He was found in his darkened apartment by the city police when no one had seen or heard from him in days. He was slumped in his worn reclining chair one foot from his big screen TV given that his eyesight had failed him and blaring from the box was ESPN, a direct result of hearing gone bad. His false teeth were located beneath the chair side table that held his magnifying glass and an old photo of my sister and I of all things. A path to the door was vacant of all furniture and remnants that clearly were swept aside as the goal of the medical examiner was to recover the body of what was once my Dad.


Days later when plans were executed according to his will there was nothing else to do but peruse through what was deemed to be treasures of his life. My sister and I hesitantly opened cabinets and drawers at an arm’s length to create distance from what, I’m not sure. As each carton was opened, a flood of memories descended upon us taking us through tears and laughter in a single moment. We filtered through faded pictures of family members both known and unknown.


These artifacts were suddenly the ashes of the burnt out dreams scattered to the wind of my father’s life including a write up in the sports section of the Fostoria Tribune that announced Robert Currier to be one of only two four-year varsity lettermen football players in the history of Fostoria High School, and interestingly enough, to this day there are only seven such individuals with this distinct honor. He was a shining star in his own right that led to a college scholarship to Ohio University to play the sport he loved. He was deserving of the accolades placed at his feet although those were severed two years short by his draft into the Korean War.


We analyzed the dull and dingy trinkets such as his Varsity ‘O’ pin and the carefully engraved diamond cuff links welcoming him to the Ohio University football program, plus odds and ends that would become the puzzle pieces to his life which would lead to an understanding of my own.


Instead of living his dream of that of a shining football celebrity, my Father went off to war and came back a broken man with shattered ideals disguised in a bottle with the anger of an iron fist and razor-sharp words. What was directed toward his family was really anger at the world beyond his control. No, that doesn’t excuse his actions nor does it make the events orchestrated by him right, but it’s justification of the fight in me labeled competitiveness and why athletics come easy for me. It’s validation for me why I no longer need to hold onto the self-blame I instigated trying to make my dad happy if only I would have been a more perfect daughter. What's more, it does provide me with understanding to the window of a man’s soul who wanted more from his life, but received much less.