Is there anything more precious
Than those first coos and goos
Those ten tiny toes
Before they can wear shoes?
Is there anything more precious
Than those tiny peals of laughter
So much like tinkling bells
I’ll remember forever after?
Is there anything more precious
Then that unspoken look of trust
So deep they see right thru you
And care for them you must?
Can anyone imagine
something silkier than
The soft downy fuzz upon that little neck
For this – a million miles
You’d trek
Or something warmer than
a baby’s breath upon my check?
Your grasp so sure and firm
The day you found your mouth
That sweet sucking sound
As you fed about the breast
Those silvery tiny lashes
The brows furrowed in wonder
Your tiny hand upon my neck
so fragile; so content
Asleep in granny’s arm
Now permanently bent
Lord, I’d no idea
What a gift you had in store
Once mine passed thru the rapids
(of the teen age years)
And landed safely ashore
And married and had babies
For me to now adore.
Some laugh and say the wonder
Is to send them home at night
But oh how much I miss them
Once they’re out of sight
Lord I’d no idea
What a precious treasure was
Take anything you want from me
Save these tiny few
Is they anything more precious
Then their face when they were new?
And now he comes bouncing in
With yet another question tonight
His preface?
Grandma, you know everything, right?
No.
But I do know that I love you - more than anything!
Sunday, June 21, 2015
Saturday, June 20, 2015
Today I Met the Boy I'm Going to Marry
School had just gotten out for the summer and I was glad it was over. My sophomore year had been my first year in high school, junior high was 7th – 9th grades back in the day, and the transition had been traumatic. Although my junior high was big, nothing could prepare you for a class of over 1,000 kids. I had been swallowed up, and it was good to be at the beach with a couple of close friends, just soaking up the sun.
We didn’t though. My friends and I were not into glamour that much and so we spent lots of time in the water not worrying about getting our hair wet or mussing our mascara.
I remember the black two piece swimsuit I was wearing that by today’s standards would be considered very conservative. And as this was just the beginning of the “Itsy Bitsy Yellow Polka Dot Bikini” days, it was fairly conservative even by the standards of the early sixties.
The year was 1963 and I wasn’t old enough to get a driver’s license yet, so my friends and I had taken the bus. I think it was a little less than 15 miles, but the bus didn’t go to the “cool” beaches of Orange County. Rather, it dropped us off in downtown Long Beach near the old Pike amusement park and we had quite a walk to Linden Beach. But there was sand and surf and that’s really all I cared about.
I hated to see folks carry their entire patios to the beach, so we came with sparse supplies: a beach towel, some coco butter, and a couple of dollars to get something to eat.
And we never brought bottled water, but I don’t remember ever being thirsty. Still can’t figure that out. Is it in the air?
Anyhow, I was laying on my back, eyes closed when someone said, “Hello.” I opened my eyes to see quite a good-looking boy standing next to me. I glanced about and saw a couple of his buddies taking it the exchange. My friends were probably also watching, but I didn’t look in their direction. Rather I met his eyes, which were a brilliant blue, and said, “Hello.”
Mind you, I was not the flirty type. I’d only been on a couple of dates and those were to chaperoned school dances. And though I had a mad crush on a boy who lived across the street, he only saw me as one of the kids who played hide and seek until the street lights came on. Besides, as a senior, he would never have given me a second thought. I did dream, however.
Still, I was new at this, but before long, the young man with the gorgeous blue eyes sat down beside me and we talked for a while, but it must have been close to the time we needed to leave because I don’t remember our going in the water again. And, soon, we were headed back to the bus stop.
On our way, we would pass the Pine Street Café, a typical 50s style diner, and my friends and I would usually stop in for something. So, we all went in. I ordered a piece of coconut cream pie. He didn’t order anything, and I’m pretty sure I paid my bill after sharing my pie with him. That should have told me something, I think, but I chose to ignore it. Besides, it may have given me the wrong message because, as it turns out, John was, if anything, a good provider.
We finished up and went to the bus stop. He and his friends waited for us until we got on the bus. They had driven down, and may have offered to drive us home, but we knew it wouldn’t be right to accept a ride from virtual strangers.
My friends and I lived in Lakewood while he and his friends lived in Norwalk. I googled it recently and found out that it’s only about 15 minutes by car. But, back then, without a car and without a license, it seemed like an impossibly long distance.
When I got home, I told my mother that I’d met the boy I was going to marry. And I think I sang along with Darlene Love and her song of a similar name from then on.
Although I don’t remember, I must have given John my phone number because this began the anxious waiting-for-the-phone-to-ring agony for the first time in my life. I cringe every time I watch the movie, “He’s Just Not That Into You” because I was crazy obsessive about him. Why?
To this day, I have no idea. Why do we obsess? Why did I obsess? I was 15 years old. What was I worried about?
Perhaps it doesn’t matter. We grew up a bit. Got married. Had a family. And lived, well, maybe not happily ever after, but we had a good life. And I will always remember June 20th.
We didn’t though. My friends and I were not into glamour that much and so we spent lots of time in the water not worrying about getting our hair wet or mussing our mascara.
I remember the black two piece swimsuit I was wearing that by today’s standards would be considered very conservative. And as this was just the beginning of the “Itsy Bitsy Yellow Polka Dot Bikini” days, it was fairly conservative even by the standards of the early sixties.
The year was 1963 and I wasn’t old enough to get a driver’s license yet, so my friends and I had taken the bus. I think it was a little less than 15 miles, but the bus didn’t go to the “cool” beaches of Orange County. Rather, it dropped us off in downtown Long Beach near the old Pike amusement park and we had quite a walk to Linden Beach. But there was sand and surf and that’s really all I cared about.
I hated to see folks carry their entire patios to the beach, so we came with sparse supplies: a beach towel, some coco butter, and a couple of dollars to get something to eat.
And we never brought bottled water, but I don’t remember ever being thirsty. Still can’t figure that out. Is it in the air?
Anyhow, I was laying on my back, eyes closed when someone said, “Hello.” I opened my eyes to see quite a good-looking boy standing next to me. I glanced about and saw a couple of his buddies taking it the exchange. My friends were probably also watching, but I didn’t look in their direction. Rather I met his eyes, which were a brilliant blue, and said, “Hello.”
Mind you, I was not the flirty type. I’d only been on a couple of dates and those were to chaperoned school dances. And though I had a mad crush on a boy who lived across the street, he only saw me as one of the kids who played hide and seek until the street lights came on. Besides, as a senior, he would never have given me a second thought. I did dream, however.
Still, I was new at this, but before long, the young man with the gorgeous blue eyes sat down beside me and we talked for a while, but it must have been close to the time we needed to leave because I don’t remember our going in the water again. And, soon, we were headed back to the bus stop.
On our way, we would pass the Pine Street Café, a typical 50s style diner, and my friends and I would usually stop in for something. So, we all went in. I ordered a piece of coconut cream pie. He didn’t order anything, and I’m pretty sure I paid my bill after sharing my pie with him. That should have told me something, I think, but I chose to ignore it. Besides, it may have given me the wrong message because, as it turns out, John was, if anything, a good provider.
We finished up and went to the bus stop. He and his friends waited for us until we got on the bus. They had driven down, and may have offered to drive us home, but we knew it wouldn’t be right to accept a ride from virtual strangers.
My friends and I lived in Lakewood while he and his friends lived in Norwalk. I googled it recently and found out that it’s only about 15 minutes by car. But, back then, without a car and without a license, it seemed like an impossibly long distance.
When I got home, I told my mother that I’d met the boy I was going to marry. And I think I sang along with Darlene Love and her song of a similar name from then on.
Although I don’t remember, I must have given John my phone number because this began the anxious waiting-for-the-phone-to-ring agony for the first time in my life. I cringe every time I watch the movie, “He’s Just Not That Into You” because I was crazy obsessive about him. Why?
To this day, I have no idea. Why do we obsess? Why did I obsess? I was 15 years old. What was I worried about?
Perhaps it doesn’t matter. We grew up a bit. Got married. Had a family. And lived, well, maybe not happily ever after, but we had a good life. And I will always remember June 20th.
Wednesday, June 3, 2015
Plan A
As the melody of Pomp and Circumstance comes to a close, as the last graduate walks across the platform, and after the mortars are thrown into the air, your education comes to an end and your “real” life begins. This same new beginning also happens when the echo of Here Comes the Bride quietly ends, and the bridal party leaves the church, and after your dad makes a toast. And it may also happen when your newborn’s cry welcomes you to parenthood. Graduations, weddings, births – all of these mean new beginnings and the end of what is familiar. Change can be both exciting and scary.
If you’re finishing high school, you may be going on to college. Are you starting at the local community college? Do you know where you’ll transfer? Or did you choose a four year university? Do you know what you’re going to major in? After you get a bachelor’s degree, will you go on for a master’s? In what? So many questions. So many answers. But none that haven’t been considered by every generation before yours. And none that yours won’t find answers to.
I graduated from high school 50 years ago this month. It’s so hard to believe. Our mantra was, “Never trust anyone over 30.” And here I am in my late 60s. Those were heady days of hippies and pot and the Beatles. And it was John Lennon who said, "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans.” I was soon to discover how right he was - as perhaps you are just now discovering.
There weren’t many career opportunities for women when I finished high school. Basically, you could be a secretary or a teacher or a nurse. If you didn’t want to go to school any more, you’d probably opt to become a secretary, although you still needed some training. Most secretaries needed to be pretty good typists and many took a night course in stenography at least. Stenography was an abbreviated spelling system that allowed people to write down information that was dictated to them – before tape recorders. Anyway, as I wasn’t much good at typing, I was down to two choices. And as I couldn’t even imagine four or five more years of school, I didn’t consider teaching. So, I headed for nursing.
At the time, nurses were trained in what was a three year basically on the job program at a hospital, but a new avenue was just beginning. The community college had just started offering a degree in nursing that took only two years. In order to prepare for that one had to take a bunch of science and math courses in high school which I’d done. And then I’d applied for the new program at the local community college. I had a plan.
For my high school graduation, I’d given myself a trip to the east coast to visit my boyfriend who was in the Navy and stationed just outside of Boston. My Godparents lived on Martha’s Vineyard and would be doing the chaperoning. Things were different then, you know. After visiting with him, I’d planned on seeing my two older sisters. One lived in Chicago and the other in Fort Madison, Iowa. I was going to be gone a month.
While I was gone on my trip, the college called my home to tell me to come in for an interview. My mother called me in Massachusetts. I asked her to call the school back and reschedule my interview. I’d scraped and saved for nearly a year to pay for this trip; I wasn’t going to cut it short.
When I got home and the time came for my rescheduled interview, the woman in charge told me that the nursing program was closed for that year and though I was well qualified, I would have to wait until the following autumn when a new class would begin. It was as if someone had hit me in the stomach – hard.
At 17, being told to wait a year was like being told to wait 10. Years did not fly by then as they do now. Now I would surely realize that a year is not such a long time, but then it sounded like forever.
I’d taken biology and physiology. I’d taken enough math classes to be an engineer. I had it all planned. I’d finish my nursing courses in two years just when my boyfriend would be getting out of the service. Then we’d get married and I’d get a job at a hospital and… That was my plan and it did not include waiting around for a year to get into school.
The woman who’d given me the bad news suggested that I take some of the general education classes that I would have to take anyway, so I enrolled for a few classes. My heart was not in it though and I dropped out after a few weeks. I hadn’t realized there was a “drop” procedure when I left school. A couple of my teachers took pity on me and gave me a W, but my English teacher gave me a D. Why she didn’t just give me an F, I have no idea, but I still have that darn D on my transcript. What next?
But life doesn’t wait for you to make up your mind. And my mom and I got into it about something, so I decided to leave home. I got a roommate and an apartment. We couldn’t even get a phone because neither of us was 18 and, therefore, couldn’t sign a contract. But it was fun and scary.
In order to rent an apartment I needed a full time job, so I quit my part time retail gig and got a full time job at the bank where my roommate worked. Before becoming a teller and then working my way up to the position of GL bookkeeper, I’d started out as a switchboard operator. And while there are still tellers in banks today, the telephone operators gave way to touchtone phones. As a bookkeeper, I used a huge machine called a nine out machine to do my daily calculations. It was a kind of adding machine, these being the days before calculators. It wasn’t long before the bookkeeping jobs were taken over by computers.
My boyfriend did get out of the service in two years, but I’d settled in at the bank and never did go to nursing school. And life has thrown me many a curve ball since that summer of ’65. As it will you. In fact, you can count on it. Just about the time you get settled or comfortable, something will happen to shake up your world.
One of my favorite old sayings is Desiderata which says that the world is no doubt unfolding as it should. It also says that you are a child of the universe, no less than the trees or the stars! Be gentle with yourself.
If you’re finishing high school, you may be going on to college. Are you starting at the local community college? Do you know where you’ll transfer? Or did you choose a four year university? Do you know what you’re going to major in? After you get a bachelor’s degree, will you go on for a master’s? In what? So many questions. So many answers. But none that haven’t been considered by every generation before yours. And none that yours won’t find answers to.
I graduated from high school 50 years ago this month. It’s so hard to believe. Our mantra was, “Never trust anyone over 30.” And here I am in my late 60s. Those were heady days of hippies and pot and the Beatles. And it was John Lennon who said, "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans.” I was soon to discover how right he was - as perhaps you are just now discovering.
There weren’t many career opportunities for women when I finished high school. Basically, you could be a secretary or a teacher or a nurse. If you didn’t want to go to school any more, you’d probably opt to become a secretary, although you still needed some training. Most secretaries needed to be pretty good typists and many took a night course in stenography at least. Stenography was an abbreviated spelling system that allowed people to write down information that was dictated to them – before tape recorders. Anyway, as I wasn’t much good at typing, I was down to two choices. And as I couldn’t even imagine four or five more years of school, I didn’t consider teaching. So, I headed for nursing.
At the time, nurses were trained in what was a three year basically on the job program at a hospital, but a new avenue was just beginning. The community college had just started offering a degree in nursing that took only two years. In order to prepare for that one had to take a bunch of science and math courses in high school which I’d done. And then I’d applied for the new program at the local community college. I had a plan.
For my high school graduation, I’d given myself a trip to the east coast to visit my boyfriend who was in the Navy and stationed just outside of Boston. My Godparents lived on Martha’s Vineyard and would be doing the chaperoning. Things were different then, you know. After visiting with him, I’d planned on seeing my two older sisters. One lived in Chicago and the other in Fort Madison, Iowa. I was going to be gone a month.
While I was gone on my trip, the college called my home to tell me to come in for an interview. My mother called me in Massachusetts. I asked her to call the school back and reschedule my interview. I’d scraped and saved for nearly a year to pay for this trip; I wasn’t going to cut it short.
When I got home and the time came for my rescheduled interview, the woman in charge told me that the nursing program was closed for that year and though I was well qualified, I would have to wait until the following autumn when a new class would begin. It was as if someone had hit me in the stomach – hard.
At 17, being told to wait a year was like being told to wait 10. Years did not fly by then as they do now. Now I would surely realize that a year is not such a long time, but then it sounded like forever.
I’d taken biology and physiology. I’d taken enough math classes to be an engineer. I had it all planned. I’d finish my nursing courses in two years just when my boyfriend would be getting out of the service. Then we’d get married and I’d get a job at a hospital and… That was my plan and it did not include waiting around for a year to get into school.
The woman who’d given me the bad news suggested that I take some of the general education classes that I would have to take anyway, so I enrolled for a few classes. My heart was not in it though and I dropped out after a few weeks. I hadn’t realized there was a “drop” procedure when I left school. A couple of my teachers took pity on me and gave me a W, but my English teacher gave me a D. Why she didn’t just give me an F, I have no idea, but I still have that darn D on my transcript. What next?
But life doesn’t wait for you to make up your mind. And my mom and I got into it about something, so I decided to leave home. I got a roommate and an apartment. We couldn’t even get a phone because neither of us was 18 and, therefore, couldn’t sign a contract. But it was fun and scary.
In order to rent an apartment I needed a full time job, so I quit my part time retail gig and got a full time job at the bank where my roommate worked. Before becoming a teller and then working my way up to the position of GL bookkeeper, I’d started out as a switchboard operator. And while there are still tellers in banks today, the telephone operators gave way to touchtone phones. As a bookkeeper, I used a huge machine called a nine out machine to do my daily calculations. It was a kind of adding machine, these being the days before calculators. It wasn’t long before the bookkeeping jobs were taken over by computers.
My boyfriend did get out of the service in two years, but I’d settled in at the bank and never did go to nursing school. And life has thrown me many a curve ball since that summer of ’65. As it will you. In fact, you can count on it. Just about the time you get settled or comfortable, something will happen to shake up your world.
One of my favorite old sayings is Desiderata which says that the world is no doubt unfolding as it should. It also says that you are a child of the universe, no less than the trees or the stars! Be gentle with yourself.
Turtle Dumb
A few years ago my adult daughter acquired three water turtles. I don’t remember where she got them, just that they appeared as the latest addition to her menagerie which includes cows and horses and chickens besides the dogs and cats that call her house home.
Anyone who knows Sarah knows that she loves animals. Anyone who knows me knows that I don’t. I have loved pets that I’ve owned, but that’s on a one-at-a-time basis. Sarah likes all creatures all of the time. Thus it was not surprising for 3 turtles to become part of her life.
Their home was in a plastic children’s wading pool and they loved it. They’d climb up on the rocks placed there for them and lie in the sun for hours. They didn’t seem to mind if I watched them, but if I got too close they would jump into the water and hide as they do from prey in the wild. They seemed to enjoy each other’s company and they grew and thrived as they paddled about their watery home.
A couple of years ago, like the rest of the gang, they made the move back to Fallbrook with the family. And their home was quickly relocated to a spot in the year near the steps to the house that provided both sun and shade. And they seemed happy enough. Until one day.
One day, the first person outside noticed that there were only two turtles in the pool. And a frantic search ensued. I wondered if one of the cats had finally made a catch. They used to sit nearby and tease the turtles, but I’d never imagined that they’d hurt one of them. But what other answer. The dogs ignored them. And the turtles had seemed contended enough. Why would one take off?
We pondered this for a few months before a second one also decided to explore the great outdoors or became catnip. I still wonder about that. And the one who remained seemed sad to me swimming around in what was now a big area without his two buddies.
Not long after the second turtle went missing, my grandson, who’d been staying with me for a season, decided that he wanted a pet. And so he bought a tank and a tank-sized rock and a filter and set the lone turtle up in his new home in my living room in my tiny condo where he seems happy enough. He still lets me watch him, but will hit the water the minute I get to close or make a loud noise. But we understand each other. I feed him. And he tolerates me.
As it is almost always chilly in Oceanside, John rigged up a lamp and the turtle’s greatest pleasure is to lie on the rock just inches from the light bulb and bask in the warmth of it as if he were in the desert where I suspect he’d be happier. Except for the lack of water. He and I agree about that. We can’t be far from the water although I prefer the salt water of the ocean while he enjoys the fresh water from the tap.
And all has been well for many months now until the other day when Sarah’s youngest was outside playing with a water gun and aimed it at a rock looking thing only to realize it was a turtle. Now we don’t know if it is escapee number one or wanderer number two, but he’s back. And, of course, nothing else would do except to bring him to my house to reunite him with his buddy. And that seemed to be working okay until a few minutes ago when I noticed that the new arrival had apparently climbed up on the rock and when the former sole surviving turtle spied his old friend on the one and only rock, he proceeded to climb up on top of him.
I got a great picture before they heard me and plunged back into the depths of their tank. Perhaps, I need to explain the concept of a selfie to them as I’m sure they can see their reflection in the glass.
Anyone who knows Sarah knows that she loves animals. Anyone who knows me knows that I don’t. I have loved pets that I’ve owned, but that’s on a one-at-a-time basis. Sarah likes all creatures all of the time. Thus it was not surprising for 3 turtles to become part of her life.
Their home was in a plastic children’s wading pool and they loved it. They’d climb up on the rocks placed there for them and lie in the sun for hours. They didn’t seem to mind if I watched them, but if I got too close they would jump into the water and hide as they do from prey in the wild. They seemed to enjoy each other’s company and they grew and thrived as they paddled about their watery home.
A couple of years ago, like the rest of the gang, they made the move back to Fallbrook with the family. And their home was quickly relocated to a spot in the year near the steps to the house that provided both sun and shade. And they seemed happy enough. Until one day.
One day, the first person outside noticed that there were only two turtles in the pool. And a frantic search ensued. I wondered if one of the cats had finally made a catch. They used to sit nearby and tease the turtles, but I’d never imagined that they’d hurt one of them. But what other answer. The dogs ignored them. And the turtles had seemed contended enough. Why would one take off?
We pondered this for a few months before a second one also decided to explore the great outdoors or became catnip. I still wonder about that. And the one who remained seemed sad to me swimming around in what was now a big area without his two buddies.
Not long after the second turtle went missing, my grandson, who’d been staying with me for a season, decided that he wanted a pet. And so he bought a tank and a tank-sized rock and a filter and set the lone turtle up in his new home in my living room in my tiny condo where he seems happy enough. He still lets me watch him, but will hit the water the minute I get to close or make a loud noise. But we understand each other. I feed him. And he tolerates me.
As it is almost always chilly in Oceanside, John rigged up a lamp and the turtle’s greatest pleasure is to lie on the rock just inches from the light bulb and bask in the warmth of it as if he were in the desert where I suspect he’d be happier. Except for the lack of water. He and I agree about that. We can’t be far from the water although I prefer the salt water of the ocean while he enjoys the fresh water from the tap.
And all has been well for many months now until the other day when Sarah’s youngest was outside playing with a water gun and aimed it at a rock looking thing only to realize it was a turtle. Now we don’t know if it is escapee number one or wanderer number two, but he’s back. And, of course, nothing else would do except to bring him to my house to reunite him with his buddy. And that seemed to be working okay until a few minutes ago when I noticed that the new arrival had apparently climbed up on the rock and when the former sole surviving turtle spied his old friend on the one and only rock, he proceeded to climb up on top of him.
I got a great picture before they heard me and plunged back into the depths of their tank. Perhaps, I need to explain the concept of a selfie to them as I’m sure they can see their reflection in the glass.
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