Sappy Saturday Stories - Licking the Cow to get the Calf

As a teenager I didn't think my mother was particularly pretty.  In fact I thought she was rather plain.  My mother was not vain like me.  I start each morning washing and moisturizing my face followed by makeup hoping to achieve the "healthy glow" advertised.  My mother had no self-esteem problems.  What you saw is what you got and as I look back she looked pretty darn good just the way she was, short bobbed grey hair, freshly washed face, a wonderful personality and loved by all.  Mostly by my father, her husband until her death January 10, 1980.

My mother and father met one fall evening while on a hayride.  Mom and Dad both told me one look at each other surrounded by noisy friends riding along on a horse pulled trailer covered in scratchy hay.  Mom said she leaned over to her girlfriend and pointed him out to her saying she just knew he was the one for her. 

Dad thought Mom was the most beautiful girl in the world and from looking at her high school pictures I have to agree.  (I may be a wee bit prejudice.)  She was quite a looker.  When Dad was in the army during the Korean War he entered a picture of her in a beauty contest.  She did not win.  She didn't even get an honorable mention.  My father was furious that the judges could be so blind to her beauty and swore the judges must have been bribed or coerced in some manner.  My mother laughed when she told me the story and had a starry look in her eyes as she thought back upon his reaction.  I loved that look.  It told volumes about their love for one another.

Dad would have done anything to win the hand of his beloved and that is saying something because Mom always said he was very romantic.  (But she was.  She kept all his love letters to her while he was in the army tied up with string in an old cedar chest.  I wonder what ever happened to those letters after she died.)  One evening before taking my mother out on a date, gave my grandmother a small wrapped package.  On opening the package my grandmother found a little wooden plague with a hand carved wooden bird attached to it.  Grandma Nina laughingly said "licking the cow to get the calf".  That plague was always displayed proudly in my grandmothers home.  After he death it found a new home in my parent's house and after my mother's death it once again found a new home in my little Magic Cottage.  I realize that little plague probably has no value in the real world but if I were to take an inventory of every object in my home, Licking The Cow To Get The Calf, as it is now fondly called, would be right there on top of the list of valuables.

Declutter

A popular theme for blogs, books, essays, even newspaper articles is about simplifying our lives.  After years of singing "Material Girl" with Madonna at the top of our lungs we now find the average American deep in debt with lots of "stuff" they don't need now and probably never needed.  We just had to keep up with the Jones.  I've never made enough money to keep up with the Jones but I am a collector.  I collect tea cups, tea pots, vintage hats, baskets, books and family mementos.  I wouldn't say I hoard but I find it difficult to throw out old magazines, pieces of lace, craft items, sewing materials, comfortable old clothes and shoes and just about anything that I might find a use for one of these days.

The time has come for change.  Not big change because I find an immense joy in some of my "stuff" but my house is small so I need to declutter if for no other reason than to find storage space for new "stuff".  I started my declutter and simplifying process in my living room.  It is not going as well as planned.  My living room looks worse than when I started and I have only found two tea cups and one tea pot that I am willing to put in my daughter-in-law's yard sale.  Perhaps if I start washing and dusting all those tea cups, tea pots, nick knacks, pictures, books and hats adorning every nook and cranny of my living room I will have a change of heart.

Probably my biggest obstacle of decluttering my home is the fear of regret.  I have so much junk that I'm afraid to get rid of because I think it will be useful or valuable someday.  Many of the items I should get rid of were things given to me by Les.  Quite a few of these items I never liked.  I have kept them because they were gifts from him.  I fear I will regret not having these items down the road.  Since he is dead, there is no way he can ever give me some silly little thing to replace that which I gave away.  Silly, I know.  I have my memories and I don't need clutter to remember the gifts he gave me.  He gave them to me, not because of their value but to let me know I was on his mind while we were apart.

So this is the plan: keep the items that matter to me (possessions that I use and/or that I treasure and get rid of the things that don't matter.  Owning things require space for storage, as well as money and time to maintain and manage those items. The fewer things that I own, the fewer things I have to clean (and all my friends and family know I hate cleaning) and store and keep track of and worry about protecting.  That doesn't mean I will depersonalize my home.  I love displaying pretty things around my home.  I just will not have as many.

That is the plan.  Now let's see if I can carry out the plan!

The stories go on

Long before computers - much much longer - long before the invention of the printing press - before the written word; the job of the elders was to keep the dead alive by telling their stories.  So many young people today just don't get it.  They tire quickly of listening to the elderly tell their stories not realizing that if they are lucky and live that long, one day it will be their turn to tell the stories.  This lack of attention by the youth is not new.  It has been that way for the past 50 years.  We used to respect our elders.  Their knowledge was a valuable commodity, but no longer.  How sad and regrettable.

Shortly before my mother died she began her journey as the elder story teller.  She was in the process of writing a book for family members telling the many stories of those she loved who had long ago left the physical temple that houses their souls to join the spirits of their dearly departed.  She had gone as far as to find a publisher who for a small fee would print 100 books.  Her heart was not strong enough for her to complete the book.  When her doctor gave her the news that she had a short 3 months to live she quickly threw together some of her stories for her children.

Over the next year I plan to take my place among the elders and tell the stories of those who have gone before me.  Every Saturday I will write a story (Sappy Story Saturday- kind of catchy, huh?) about someone I love or have loved.  I don't believe the elders would want me to only tell the stories of those who have gone before me.  After all, done of us are going to get out of this place alive.

My memory is not good.  I no longer remember the details of some of the stories my parents and grandparents have imparted to me.  Still I think this is an important job and I am determined to follow those before me and tell the stories.  That means I will have to start interviewing my father, He Who Remembers.

Wow, it's hot! (AGAIN)

Is it just me or has this been an unusual year - weather wise?  As a child I remember years like this; bitterly cold snowy days followed quickly by blistering hot summer (and no A/C back then).  The weather didn't seem to go to such extremes when I was raising my children or it that just the way I remember it?

I had always heard older people complain that they no longer could tolerate the cold but I had never thought too much about it until I started feeling the effects of cold and heat on my now senior body.  One of Les' favorite quotes was "I don't like temperatures below my age."  I now say I don't like temperatures below my age or above my father's age (Dad is 85).  Picky? Yes, I guess I am.

Children appear to cope better with the extreme temperature changes.  My mother believed fresh air was good for children so my siblings and I were kicked out in the snow and the hot sun no matter what the temp.  (My twin and I are the eldest of a tribe of six wild Indians so my mother may have had ulterior motives for us to be outside other than our health but she was the boss and we never questioned her.)

No use in complaining.  Weather is one of those things we cannot change unless we have the time and money to travel to faraway exotic lands where the weather is always pleasant.  Today the weatherman has promised another sweltering hot day with the temperature once again in the triple digits. (I love the way he said that as if the temperature would reach 200 or 300 degrees.)  One hundred degrees or not I still plan to mow my grass.  It will probably take me all day.  I'll mow a few minutes then drag my sweat covered body inside to the A/C and a tall refreshing glass of ice tea with lots and lots of ice.  James Dent describes a perfect summer day as "the sun is shining, the breeze is blowing, the birds are singing, and the lawn mower is broken."  That describes this lovely summer day to the T except my lawn mower is not broken.  Darn the luck.

Cousin Lynette

What a truly wonderful weekend!! My cousin Lynette had been on a road trip from her home in Springfield, MO to Iowa where her sister resides.  She stopped here and there spreading cheer every where she went including a quick overnight visit with me in my Magical Cottage.  Her trip was initiated to help her fight a bout of depression she has been struggling with for the past couple of years.  The trip must have done her a world of good or she is an excellent actress because she looked wonderful.

I was raised in a traditional American family where the father worked 5 or 6, 8 to 12 hour days a week to feed and clothe his children while the mother stayed home to cook, clean and care for their children.  My father and Lynette's father were handsome curly haired brothers.  Other than that they were nothing alike.  Lynette's father was a womanizer who seemed to be attracted only to bad women.  His five children bear the emotional scars left from a childhood filled with abuse.

Of the five children, Lynette was always my favorite; possibly because she was only one year younger than me but also because she was an adventurous tomboy with a vivid and creative imagination much like my twin sister and myself.  It has been over 40 yeas since we were childhood playmates spending summers together while visiting our great aunt and grandparents.  She was a lovely child with dark curls, bright blue eyes, freckles and a dazzling smile who grew into a gorgeous American beauty.  I always thought with her beauty and infectious smile she could succeed at anything she tried her hand at.  Yet she never ventured out much in the world of business, probably because she had too many demons from her childhood keeping her self esteem low.  Not to say she has not been successful because that isn't the case at all.  She found her niche in the service of her savior, Jesus Christ doing mission work.

She reminds me of pictures I have seen of the glamorous actress Audrey Hepburn who gave up her acting career to do mission work caring for children in Africa.  At 60 my cousin is still beautiful even though she does not dye her hair to cover the few white hairs sprinkled throughout her still beautiful dark curls, nor does she wear makeup to camouflage the light lines on her forehead and around her eyes.

This week she was not the missionary.  This week she was a loving sister who renewed her relationship with her siblings who she rarely sees; a friend visiting old high school buddies she has not seen in years, and a cousin laughing and reliving the fun adventures of childhood on the family farm.  I am so thankful she found the time to drive 50 or more miles out of her way to spend a few precious hours with me. 

Dreams of Travel

We all have childhood dreams.  Dreams of achieving greatness in the field of our passion whatever that may be.  Those dreams change as we age.  Greatness comes in many categories: sports, science, the arts, business and some people just dream of making lots of money.  Obviously, money was never one of my dreams.  I am not rich and that does not bother me.  Yes, I am a dreamer so my list of dreams from childhood to now goes on and go and continues.

Sweet dreams!  The real world hit me smack dab in the face and halted all my dreams late summer 1970.  That is when I found myself in a difficult spot, not married and pregnant.  The father of the baby stepped up to the base and took full responsibilty; we were married that fall.  However I was unable to keep up with my college studies and dropped out of school to become a full time mother and housewife.  I had had some pretty rough first years in grade school and had dreamed of becoming the best grade school teacher the USA had ever seen.  Gone were those dreams.  Working, caring for children and running the household took all my energies. 

In those early years I continued to dream.  I have always been an avid reader so it was only natural that I dreamed of one day writing a best seller.  As I sat at the sewing machine making the children's clothes I dreamed of the children's clothing designs I would market.  When my mother owned a craft store I made many a craft item to sell at her shop and dreamed of selling items all over the country. I cannot say these dreams were never persued, because they were.  It is just that I never seemed to have the time to do them up right so they never were big time hits.  I never tried to write a book until now.  I did make and designed many of my children's clothes and several of my craft items were sold outside of my mother's shop.  I had potential but not the stamina and motivation to make it to the big times.

Then my marriage went sour and for a time I simply quit dreaming.  I continued to work at a job I did not enjoy and cared for my family and home.  The spark of life was gone and when there is no spark, life is dull and flat and there are no more dreams.  For a time I could not remember the dreams that had been all consuming. 

But that is in the past.  My dreams are wild, bigger than life and of course in technocolor.  Lately I have been spending a lot of time browsing through travel magazines to fulfill my wanderlust dreams.  I am so excited!  My dreams are becoming reality.  Over the next six months my calendar is full of travel plans.  September, Darrell and I will be going to Paducah, Kentucky with friends of the Looking Glass Corvette Club.  October, we will be going to Eureka Springs, Arkansas once again with the corvette club and then extend our stay to visit with some of Darrell's family.  Furthermore my brothers and sisters are planning to go white water rafting sometime in October. Darrell and I will be traveling to Spain with friends for Valentine's Day for two weeks.  We also plan to fit a Carribean cruise in there some time.  

I talked with a girlfriend last night who is making plans for the two of us to fly out to California to try out for the Price is Right show.  I still plan to take a road trip along the Mississippi River to explore the many river towns that grew up due to the river traffic many years ago. And I just bought a book called 50 Best Girlfriends Getaways in North America.  I had often heard the phrase "all good things come to those who wait."  I believe it!.  I've waited until I am old and grey but it is not to late.  Life is like the big juicy peaches Darrell and I bought in Brussells and I am taking a big bite out of it.  Life is so good!

Senior Sexuality

When I was growing up sex was one of those unmentionable topics.  Mom did venture to explain "the facts of life" to Sue and me when we were 11 or 12.  Mom summoned my sister and I into the tiny bathroom, closed and locked the door, sat down on the toilet seat and began telling us stories about putting things up inside of us, saving ourselves for the right man because no decent man would marry a girl if her cherry had been popped before marriage and he would know.  I don't know how some man would know when Sue and I had no idea where "inside" was or what this "cherry" was that was going to be popped.  Anyway, how do you "pop a cherry"? She then handed us a beginner's menstruation kit and showed us how to use it.  We left the bathroom in a daze yet feeling somehow special because we had monopolized the small bathroom with our mother for this special talk.  I don't remember Mom acting as if she was being rushed but then perhaps she was because my brother was beating on the door saying he had to go.  Rushed or not, Sue and I didn't quite get the gist of the topic until years later when we had boyfriends who got a little too friendly.

After Les died I had resigned myself to the notion that I would never have a sexual partner again.  After all I was 59 years old.  I hadn't even considered dating again.  Who would be interested in a middle aged woman rapidly approaching the senior citizen status?  I have been blessed with many wonderful girlfriends and I thought they could fill the void left in my life when Les died.  Yet I had been noticing that I was missing male contact.

Then I got the phone call.  A man wanting to take me out to dinner.  He had been a friend of Les' and I had met him a couple of times when we were out to dinner.  He seemed like a nice man so why not give it a try.  We dated several times and always had a good time but after each date he would try to kiss me.  I just wasn't ready for intimacy and I was scared.  Then one evening we were watching an old western on television at his house and he kissed me.  I found myself responding in ways I thought would never happen again.  Poor man, I don't believe he was prepared for the sex starved woman to attack him.  My actions actually surprised me.  Wow, my life was not over after all.

I remember my mother telling me a story about my father beckoning to her for a little afternoon delight shortly before she died.  (My mother was 57 when she passed away)  I was surprised because my father always seemed like such a prude. 

At one of my nephew's wedding reception I overheard the young bride say to a friend "do you think his parent's still do it?"  My brother and sister-in-law were not quite 40 at the time.  I found it amusing to think this young woman thought intimacy ended once a couple were no longer at the child bearing age.

My father told me stories about his grandfather's adventures in the nursing home where he resided until his death at the ripe old age of 90.  It seems Great Grandpa was quite a ladies man.  One of his favorite past times was flirting with the female residents.  The ladies took his attention quite seriously and many a fight broke out between his suitors over who his true affections belonged to.

I find it reassuring to know that there can be intimacy between consenting adults in the golden years of life.  As human beings we live through so much tragedy, especially as we approach our golden years.  This world is a wild and woolly place and you'd have to be slightly crazy not to be occasionally afraid.  I have been told I am crazy quite often but I am sane enough to get afraid of what my future holds.  How nice to know that we can go through life's storms holding the hand of someone who cares for us no matter how old we are.