Daddy's Car

One of the last remaining hallmarks of my father’s life has been sold. Daddy passed over two years ago and my mother decided to sell his very old VW Jetta.  My brothers and I agreed, me very reluctantly. 

Keeping this car in the driveway at my mother’s house was a way of keeping Daddy’s memory physically in residence.  He kept that car going.   He repaired it himself as he had countless other cars, until his hands would no longer cooperate.  He had mounted volt meters on the dash so he could tell what the electrical system was doing if anything went wrong.  Truth be told it looked horrible, inside and out.  He refused to wash it, “It will rust faster and besides it’s a waste of water”.  The air conditioner was disconnected, “gets better gas mileage this way”.  He was frugal to fault.  

We made countless trips to Topsail Island in that hot car every summer, all the windows rolled down.  It was no use turning on the radio; you could hear nothing with the wind rushing in your ears; the other half of the family traveling faster with air conditioning in another car. There was something special about getting to make that long trip to Topsail in Daddy’s car.  Maybe it was just being with Daddy.

He taught three of my children to drive a manual transmission in that car.  It’s a memory I know they will treasure and remember always.  Spending countless hours with their Grandpa in a vacant parking lot on campus learning the finer points of exactly where the front tires were.  You MUST learn this.  How you ask?

You take an empty plastic drink bottle place it in front of the car, 10 or so feet.  Get back in the car and slowly drive forward till you think you have come as close to the bottle as possible without running over it.  In our family we have a rather derogatory term for this that I won’t use as it would offend many. Needless to say, All of us who passed my father’s driving school know exactly where our tires are in any car, can drive a straight transmission and our bodies are conditioned to forego air conditioning as needed.

I realize that the car was not the embodiment of Daddy. It was just a car. We, people, attach so many memories to the strangest objects.  Think about how many times while cleaning out a junk drawer or searching a closet for a lost glove you come across an oddly placed object that brings a memory rushing back.  Memories bonded to those items strike like lightening in quick bright flashes and just as quickly we tuck them away for another day, another search.

Obviously my loving memories and those of my children will live on without the car. It won’t be sitting in Mom’s driveway collecting spider webs.   We will keep our memories of Daddy and the adventures in that silly car forever in our hearts.

What’s your flash memory for the day?

Roadblocks to success

Roadblocks to Success
Yeah yeah yeah.  I'm trying to write an article that I hope to get published.  Published where? I don’t know?  Maybe in one of journals that I don't dare pick up when I'm in the Oncologist office. It's full of sob stories right? Or not.  Maybe it is a story of inspiration.  "Kicked Cancers A%%" That’s what we all want to read right?
Anyway it's a project. In the beginning You have the vision, the dream.  And you see the finished product.  The problem arises when trying to put the two ends together.  The middle!  What goes in the middle?

1981:  Journalism Class, I was taught the rules: Who what where when and how.  Professor What-was-his-name (Pretty Sure he is still teaching) I see him around campus; maybe I should stop him and ask for advice. Nah.
Maybe Creative Writing class, Technical Writing?.. I wrote directions from the airport 38 miles away.  I am pretty sure anyone following those directions was totally lost. You see my dilemma with this journal article?  I’m lost.  I need a sense of direction.  It needs to flow like a lazy summer stream, not like a flooded fall river.
My friend and I once called this article the Oprah article, then she (Oprah) canceled her show without notifying us, imagine! I mentioned this to my Mom and suggested that it now be called the Today Show Article.
I know I will get to “how” I just don’t know how.   Do you know how you will get to your vision, your success?  Work on it.
NEPB

Dream-scape Calling

Dream- scape Calling.

I plopped down in a pew, joining a group already there, arms relaxed and hanging over the back suggesting an informal gathering. Laughter continued from the conversation as I took stock of the company I had joined.  Familiar faces: the organist, choir members, Polly…. Polly? Here? Smiling and entertaining the small group.  I turned, faced front and then turned back again, as if seeing things incorrectly. Polly had passed away early the last month from Metastatic Breast Cancer at an early age.  How was this possible?  She looked happy, serene, the Polly we all kne and loved.  I was speechless.  I sat quietly, confused.

Time passed and a woman came and stood off to the side of our small group. Polly went to her and spoke quietly.  Just as quietly Polly walked over to me and handed me a piece of sheet music.   It was the music I had been searching for. I laid my head against her arm, rubbed her hand and sobbed quietly. I felt her warmth and compassion, her loving spirit, all things Polly.

I woke up.

We had a family celebration at my mother’s yesterday. I spent time enjoying the piano something I also go to church and do when I get a free hour. It is quiet, relaxing, soul filling.  I’ve told the Pastor, it’s my therapy.  But lately I have been searching for a particular piece of music, I can’t remember the name, can hum the tune, but the name escapes me.  I so want to put myself to task on the pipe organ playing it.  I searched my music inventory at my mother’s house every spare minute yesterday, irritating my grown children, talking out loud to myself.  I’m sure I have even said it out loud in the Sanctuary that “I really want to find that piece of music, what IS it called and where IS it?”   I’m on the verge of giving up.

Now I have to wonder?  Is Polly urging me on?  “Don’t let this one little goal fall by the wayside.”

I have been setting many goals for myself lately, some small, some not so small.

What’s your goal?  Don’t let it go.

Is it ever a good idea?

It must have been the late walk. My daughters abandoned me and the Significant Other{SO} (don't necessarily like this definition) early from the street festival yesterday evening. I found myself without  a ride home, my SO not having brought an extra motor cycle helmet , I convinced him I could walk the mile home. Sure! No problem!  I had done it before.  After all every Saturday morning my two youngest children and I ride our bikes downtown to our charming farmers market.  I've walked it before, I could do it again.

Once home, feeling exhausted, all children settled, Saturday schedules confirmed, I set about my evening routine: email, bills, online news check, remembering to Google information a friend told me about (okay- this may have stressed me a little).Then remembering the busy family gathering the next day, a few chores shouted for my attention. Normally by this time of night I'm fading fast but I'm trying  not to be so forgetful. I wrote a previous blog about Swiss Cheese Syndrome-never being able to remember to do things. I did those chores.
 After getting ready for bed, I found myself doing more chores.  Why I asked myself, you will pay dearly for this tomorrow.
Why do we get in these modes where we feel the need to do everything all at once when we have let things go for weeks.  The giant pile of laundry I carried downstairs at midnight had been there all week.  I'm pretty sure it will be sitting right wear I left it for the next 24 hours.
Good idea gone bad?

Recylcling Cure for the Dog

Note: I have a small collie mutt who loves to help crush, chew and destroy anything plastic in an effort to help
with the amount of plastic disposables used in this household.

What an exciting life I have!   I was up on the stool in the kitchen this evening digging through the cabinets looking for something my oldest daughter requested. A bottle fell out. I paid no attention and went on with the search.  I have no idea how much time past, I was more concerned that my son's football
practice was running late and I was going to be picking up him at midnight.
  I walked out to the living room and found O'Keeffe, the perpetual puppy, chewing an open bottle of Mucinex, two pills laying in front of her.  I immediately questioned my 7 year old, where did the dog get that, who gave that to her? She of course had no idea.  Finally I figured out what had happened.  Then my son walked in from football practice.With a look of shock on my face, I explained the situation to him in a string of incoherent mumblings. This is all about 8:30, near by drug stores close at 9. My mind was  racing.  I was pacing around reading the bottle not knowing what to do, so I called my oldest child, the expert on everything.  She of course laughed herself silly for a bit.  I'm so entertaining right?   She must hit google first thing whenever I call, she always has an answer 20 seconds into any conversation.  She told me I could give the dog 10ml of Hydrogen peroxide to well, make her well .....  you know ... barf!  So out the door I raced , off to the drug store to buy a baby medicine syringe and hydrogen peroxide. 
My son held the dog and we gave it to her.  It didn't even take 10 minutes and the "cure" worked.  We don't know if she swallowed any of the pills.  The cure worked so good it emptied the entire contents of her stomach. We were not about to do an examination to check for pills.   Poor little thing didn't even know what hit her.  And to think she was just trying to help, crushing another plastic container down to size.
No more excitement of that nature for me please.