Category: Life

Life

Just A Trip to Walmart

Sally1 Comment

This post was originally written August 5, 2017 and has languished in my draft folder since then.

The father bellowing at the little boy in the Walmart parking lot was a bad start.

“JOHNNY,” he roared, “GIT YER A$$ OVER HERE.”

The open tailgate made me think that the father had been putting his purchases into the car. The boy skulking back from the cart corral looked to be about 8 or 9 years old. He was scowling. I would scowl, too, if someone spoke to me like that.

Walmart. I felt a snobbish “ugh” rising inside me.

Inside, the store was a disorderly mess.

“You can always tell when the students start coming back,” commented a woman looking at the same merchandise as me. “They trash the place.”

“It is a mess in here,” I agreed.

“I shop here every week,” she said. “Today is the worst I’ve seen it.”

I gathered my items and found the shortest line to check out.

The shortest line was not short.  When the elderly couple ahead of me finally got up to the register and the cashier was nearly finished scanning, their package of chicken needed a price-check.

“I’m sorry,” the man said, turning to me. I could barely see his eyes under the brim of Carhartt cap.

“No worries,” I said. “I’m not in a hurry.”

“Me and my wife got a carful of groceries already,” he said, nodding toward a hunched-over woman with blue-gray hair. “Frozen stuff prolly meltin’ in the car… but she forgot a few things so we come back in.”

A few things meant a cartful.

“I hope you aren’t far from home,” I said.

“Blenheim,” he said.

I knew that was about an hour away. In the middle of nowhere. Near Breakabeen.

“I’m sorry,” I told him.

The Walmart supervisor came to check on the chicken. She called on the radio to the meat department. “Anyone there gimme a price on some chicken?” she asked. I couldn’t hear the response because of her earpiece, but I didn’t need to — she announced it. “I gotta walk this over to the chicken department to get a price,” and off she walked.

I turned to the man behind me. “I’m sorry,” I said, even though I knew I had nothing to be sorry for.

“No problem,” he said. “I just moved here from Long Island. You should see the lines in their stores.”

So we waited.

“You could move over to a different line,” said the Carhartt man.

I looked at the line next to ours. It was moving faster, but I’m not one to jump ship. A burly man helped unload an elderly woman’s cart on the belt, but when he left with his bag, I realized they weren’t together. It was just a nice move.

The chicken department was on the far side of the store. I kept watching that direction to see if I saw the supervisor heading back.

The blue-haired wife mouthed “I’m sorry” to me. I smiled at her.

I made eye contact again with the man behind me. “I was in Europe this summer,” I told him. “Time doesn’t seem to matter as much there.”

“I know,” he said. “We could learn a lesson or two from them.”

The chicken was still MIA.

In the line next to me, a man holding a plant — his only purchase — was let ahead of a customer with a full cart. “Thank you SO much,” he said, enthusiastically. The woman who had let him pass just smiled.

I smiled, too.

There were nice people all around me.

In Walmart.

Finally chicken lady returned.

I told Long Island man, “Here she comes!”

“Hooray!” he said.

I felt like we should clap or something.

By the time I got to the parking lot, I had nearly forgot the unpleasant father-son interaction because I had seen and talked to so many nice people in the store that day.

 I could guess why I never posted this — too wordy. It’s a problem I have.

But the message to look for the nice people? Yes, I needed that today.

Be not conformed to the impatience and nastiness of the world, but be transformed by the goodness that’s right in front of you if you look for it. (a bastardization of Romans 12:2, but nonetheless true.)

Life · poetry

Tumbleweed

Sally2 Comments

Roll that dry weed across an empty road
Underscore my dry and empty feeling
So this, this is Wyoming, new abode
So far from home made this place appealing
I couldn’t speak about my need for healing
Although unbidden tears oft spoke for me
No one could understand my need to flee

Turning, turning, and running far away
How do I put this awful thing behind
I set my mind to one thing: learn to pray
So as to focus my intents and mind
To hold the world at arm’s length, yet be kind
Laudably said, “Wrong number!” when he called
Even as I hung up, shaking, I bawled

Tumbleweed, today’s RDP prompt, brings up one very specific memory — 1983 crossing the state border between Nebraska and Wyoming as my (then) husband and I moved there to start a new life.

This poem is a Rhyme Royal, which uses the scheme ababbcc, the lines having 10 syllables each i.e. (usually) iambic pentameter. Rhyme Royal is also sometimes known as the Troilus stanza.

The poem is also an acrostic for RUSSIAN THISTLE. Russian thistle (Salsola tragus or Salsola kali): The classic plant seen rolling in Western movies.

Alzheimer · Alzheimer's · dementia · elderly · family · Leaning In · Life · Writing

The Feeder’s Table

Sally2 Comments

This is a draft written February 6, 2015, pulled from the draft folder because of the RDP prompt word: tame

From across the room, I heard the man bellow, “NO!”

I had no clue what this was in reference to — he was across the room, after all, and I was attending to my mother in the midst of her ritual folding and unfolding of her mealtime protector (aka – bib) while waiting for the food to arrive.

A woman at his table shouted out, “SNOW!” It was snowing out.

She laughed at her rhyme, a dry cackle-y laugh, not because she was a witch, although it did make me think of one, but because she was very old and shriveled, and even her laugh bore witness to that.

“He said, ‘NO,’ and I said, ‘SNOW,'” she said gleefully, and it reminded me of the little “jokes” that first- or second-graders make, when the littlest thing sends them into gales of laughter.

However, the jokesters were across the room, while my mother sat at the feeder’s table, a table set aside for residents who need assistance with eating. She dines with five other ladies with dementia.

To my mother’s left is a dear lady that reminds me of a sparrow. Her voice is quiet and sing-songy. Sometimes she makes sense and sometimes she doesn’t, but I always have to listen very closely when she speaks. (Professor Trelawny)

Next to Sparrow is a woman with a chiseled angular face. (Professor McGonigle) She never speaks. She sits erect and stern, like a statue of a school matron staring across her desk at a wayward student.  However, I had met her many years before, when she was an OB nurse. She had come into my room after I had given birth to somebody because she wanted to tell me about my father.

“I remember your father’s first day at the hospital,” she said. “He came in toting a little black doctor’s bag. A little black bag!” She laughed when she told me the story, and her eyes twinkled with the delight of that memory. My father still has that black bag with its stethoscope, reflex hammer, otoscope, and other doctorly treasures.

To her left sits a white-haired lady whose dementia has a Dr. Jekyll-Mr. Hyde effect on her.  (Quirinius Quirrell) One minute she is sweet and the next she is spewing venom.

Next to Mrs. Hyde sits the newest diner at the feeder’s table. I’ll come back to her.

To Newby’s left is Mrs. Tiggywinkle, so designated because of her hedgehog hairdo.  Teens pay a lot of money and use a lot of product to get hair like hers, sticking straight up all over her head. My father has to repeatedly request that my mother’s hair get combed. Some of us are just stuck with wayward hair that no amount of combing can tame, and I suspect that’s the case with Mrs. Tiggywinkle.

The draft ended and I never finished it. I don’t remember who the person I called Newby is, so I can’t come back to her now. I don’t even remember the point of this story.

My mother died 9 months later.

Reading drafts and posts from that time in my life are interesting to me. I’m glad that I chronicled the journey.

Advice to anyone going through a stressful time: Write down what you see and hear and feel. It’s a gift to your future self.

gratitude · Life

20 Things I Love

Sally1 Comment

The RDP prompt was “cardinal” which led me to a post I had written in 2015: “Quick — 20 things you love.” That was over 11 years ago. Without studying the old list (although I posted it down below), I thought I would post the first 20 things that came to mind today.

  1. Flowers in the asteracea family — you know, the ones with petals, like daisies. My Shasta daisies are blooming in abundance. The purple coneflower is starting to bloom
  2. Stories — personal stories. Oral histories. I love when someone sits in my office and shares a sliver of their life.
  3. Melty vanilla ice cream
  4. Cold crisp Chardonnay
  5. Calls for no reason other than to say hi
  6. Books that make me think
  7. Travel to other countries where English is not the first language
  8. New sneakers — especially from Xero shoes whose zero-drop shoes gave me a new lease on walking
  9. Homemade cinnamon rolls
  10. Kneading bread dough
  11. Dinner out
  12. Photos of my grandkids — especially those that are spontaneously sent to me on my phone. They brighten my day.
  13. Blue skies — you need a few smoke-obscured skies to appreciate the blue ones.
  14. Getting rid of boxes of stuff — so satisfying
  15. Birdsong at dawn
  16. Coyotes howling in the middle of the night
  17. The smell of vanilla
  18. Simon & Garfunkel
  19. Jumping in the lake
  20. Going for a long walk

 Quick – 20 Things You Love

A friend posted this challenge: “Quick. Twenty things you love. (Not family, friends, or Jesus. We know that.)”

1. Going for a walk
2. My mother’s smile
3. Biscotti
4. A Military Tattoo — the kind with bagpipes, not ink on skin
5. Old stained glass windows
6. The smell of chlorine from a swimming pool
7. Days when I have nowhere to go
8. Bare trees of winter
9. Bare trees of winter with cardinals adding color
10. A good poem
11. A handmade quilt
12. Sunrise
13. Losing weight
14. A full tank of gas
15. Sleeping in my own bed when I’ve been away
16. Lilacs
17. Getting real mail
18. Warm feet
19. A free hour to spend in a used bookstore
20. A new song that catches my heart so I listen to it six times in a row.

Life

Song Lyric Sunday: Empowerment

Sally10 Comments

This is my second stab at the blogging challenge called Song Lyric Sunday. This week the theme is to find a song that carries a message of empowerment.

The first song that came to mind was Simon and Garfunkel’s The Boxer. I won’t post all the lyrics but would encourage you to listen to the song. It’s the story of young man leaving and essentially being beat up by the world, squandering what little he had, longing to go home. The final verse is this picture of hope:

In the clearing stands a boxer
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of every glove that laid him down
Or cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame
“I am leaving, I am leaving”
But the fighter still remains

The fighter still remains.

Perseverance. Grit. Sticktoittiveness. Tenacity. Call it what you want. It’s an empowering picture.

Honestly, I’m not a fan of boxing. It seems a poor way to settle anything. I found this photo of my father the other day, though, boxing with his brother at a summer camp where they worked. I’m throwing it in just because.

Life

Temptation

Sally3 Comments

This post was in the draft folder and dated: 2016/05/06 at 1:14 pm. It came up when I searched my Draft Folder for the word “timing” — RDP’s prompt today.

I got a phone call yesterday that has been rattling around inside.

In a good way.

Kind of also in a bad way.

“Hi, Sally,” the voice said, “Do you have a minute to talk?”

“Sure,” I said. I was just washing dishes. They could wait.

It was the AD (Athletic Director) at Greene. I knew him. I had worked for him before, and, at one point, lived two doors away.

“We’re looking for a varsity swim coach for both the boys and girls next year. Our contract requires that we do an internal search to fill coaching positions which we’ve done, but your name keeps coming up. We would love it if you would come back to coach,” he said.

He went on to do some salesmanship, telling me how they’ve updated the timing system, put in a new heating system, refurbished the diving boards. “We’d really like you to come back. You did a great job before, and we’d love to have you as part of our swim program again.”

Oh my goodness.

The dangling carrot was so appealing.

I love coaching. Oh, not every minute of it, as my children could tell you. But the overall reward of being involved with young people, especially of the teenage variety, is incredible.

Several years ago I wrote a post during a time when I thought I was done coaching called “MomSwimCoach.”  It’s now up at Laura Brown’s Makes You Mom site [no longer active], and is about a one of the greatest gifts I ever received — a quilt with squares made by one team of swimmers.

But this temptation — to have the whole swim program and run with it — so so tempting.

I knew the answer.

“Thank you so much for thinking of me,” I told the AD, “but my mother died in November and I’ve been taking care of my father since. I couldn’t commit to you the time needed.”

We finished our conversation with pleasantries, but, as I said, it rattled around.

I went for a walk, mulling it over.

Temptation comes when something

And there ends the draft.

If my draft had shoulders, I would grab hold of them and shake them. “When something WHAT?” I would demand.

It’s funny that the prompt word — timing — was triggered by my reference to timing systems for swim meets, but the bigger broader story has to do with the timing of an opportunity. I’m in the same boat today. I have an opportunity, and it’s a great opportunity — but I have to weigh it all out. The timing is questionable. I should write the details in a blog post and save it in the draft folder for 8 – 10 years.

For the record, I have zero regret about not pursuing the swim coach job. In fact, I had totally forgotten about it until this showed up after searching my draft folder. I made the right choice back then. Now for a repeat performance.

Life · swimming

Swimming Lessons

Sally4 Comments

This is a post that I started in 2018 and never finished. It’s a draft folder find when I searched “lane way” because LANEWAY is the RDP prompt word today.

M– drove me crazy.

He was always late to practice — through no fault of his own. He lived in the next town over, so his mother had a longer drive to the pool. Plus he was only eight years old with the short attention span so many boys that age have.

He usually walked out of the boys’ locker room twirling his goggles on one finger, carrying his cap in the other hand, and looking at the ceiling, or the other lanes, or out the window, while we were finishing up the warm-up in the lanes right in front of him.

“Whaddawedoin’?” he asked while pulling on his cap. Then he jumped right in the pool without waiting for an answer.

“I’m going first,” he said to one of the girls in his lane and planted his scrawny little body in front of hers.

“You need to warm up,” I said to him.

“Nah — I’m good,” he said.

“You need to warm up,” I said again, and thus began the first argument of practice.

M– argued with me about everything.

“Every time you push off the wall, I want you to get your arms up into a streamline position,” I told my group at every practice, demonstrating with my arms extended over my head, squeezing my head, my hands overlapping to form a tight point. Then I stood at the end and watched as each swimmer pushed over the wall.

Here endeth the draft.

I remember M– well. Unfortunately, I don’t remember where I was going with this story.

M– was bratty kid, but a talented swimmer. He went on to set records on the age group team and the high school — none of which had to do with my coaching. I actually tried to get him moved down to the beginner group until he could behave himself better, but I was overruled.

At the final meet that year, he swam fast, won races, set records, blah-blah-blah. He came to me and took me by the hand. “I want my picture with you,” he said. I dutifully smiled next to a scrawny kid on a starting block, but I still resented his disruptive ways.

The next year, he moved to the next group, and I stopped coaching to take care of my father.

Then there was a pandemic.

I didn’t lose sight of him. This is a small town, and the swimming community is even smaller.

I watched coaches pander to him and fuss over him. Team rules didn’t really apply to him. He was fast. Yes, he was fast.

Here’s where I get on my soapbox. There are things that are far more important than athletics. Being nice ranks pretty high for me. As does being thoughtful and listening. Respect, moral character, leadership — I could go on.

Hypothetically, if M– became an Olympic swimmer and got disqualified from an event at the Olympics, I would hope that he would take his lumps. If the disqualification call was a bad call, all the better. Those build even more character. The worse thing that could happen to him would be for the President of the United States to call the President of the Olympic International Committee to plead with them to reconsider — and then have the call reversed.

But that’s just me. There are things I value more than gold medals, World Cups, or bragging rights.

Life · poetry

The Pussy Willows

Sally8 Comments

Many years ago
During a very dark time
A shroud hung over my thoughts
Lost and confused   
I got into my car
And started to drive.

Like a horse that heads to the barn
When given free rein
My green VW bug drove me home
To Cooperstown.

My parents were away
The house was locked up
I knew where the key was hidden
If I had wanted to go inside
But I didn’t
Instead I walked across the street
Down through the pasture
Behind the barns

It was late April
Most of the field was brown
With the remnants of grass and current spring mud.
Fallen stalks of goldenrod
Broken by the heavy snows of winter
Criss-crossed in a mat beneath my feet

I can still feel that moment
Arriving at the pussy willows
In the spring of 1983.

Ah, pussy willows
Bare sticks with furry gray catkins attached
No spectacular color
No showy strength
Soft wet ground underneath

I absorbed their presence for the longest time
Reaching up
Stroking the catkins
Walking slowly through the little grove
Sighing
Pondering
Weeping

As the sun dipped lower
A chill settled over the field
I got back in my car
And drove back to Syracuse
Nothing had changed
Yet everything had
Thanks to a grove
Of pussy willows.


This poem is in response to this week’s prompt for W3:
When life becomes overwhelmingly busy, we often dream of having time to ourselves. … Have you ever experienced such a moment? …What did the quiet teach you? …What thoughts, memories, or emotions does it awaken in you?

family · Life

Hike to Star Field

Sally9 Comments

This was originally written in March 2016 but has sat in my draft file since then. The RDP word of the day is trail which led me back to this post.

Temperatures were in the high 30s to low 40s that January day. Winter has been funny this year.

The warm air beckoned, Come! Come outside and play!

My daughter heard the call.

“I’m going to go for a quick hike to Star Field,” she said as she headed out the door.

Star Field was our go-to hike when the kids were little. From where we parked, it was about a 1 mile hike over easy terrain to a field with a great view of Otsego Lake. The kids could dawdle in the woods and not get lost because the road/trail was wide and straight.

She called a few minutes later. “The road is closed,” she said. I had forgotten that it was a seasonal road. “I may park in that lot off Lake Road and hike up past Natty Bumpo’s cave.”

The alternate route to Star Field was significantly steeper. I hadn’t been that way in years.

At home, I was trying to figure out what to have for dinner. My father isn’t a big pasta fan. That cuts my choices of things-to-make-for-dinner-that-everyone-likes-to-eat in half.

The phone rang again. “Hi, Mom,” and I knew immediately that something was wrong. She sounded shaky and scared. “Ummm…. Ummm… I slipped. There’s ice under the leaves and stuff on the trail.”

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yeah… I’m a little shaken. The trail was icy and I slipped.”

The more she talked, the better she sounded. She hadn’t worn the right shoes. She hadn’t figured on the ice. She thought she could find her way out by going up. She talked and talked and developed a plan.

But then she sent me this picture:

IMG_5912

“It was a slow slide,” she said, “and this tree stopped me. See? I’m right by a drop-off. The tree saved my life.”

Now it was my turn to be shaken and scared.

“Don’t try to climb up,” I said. “Let me get help.”

“Who are you going to get?” she asked. “I’ll be fine. I’m pretty sure I can climb up to the trail.”

I stared at the picture on my iPod.

“Please stay where you are,” I begged. I wracked my brain for someone who might be able to help. I even called my outdoorsy son in British Columbia. Like he could help. He had some suggestions, but I was also watching the clock. We only had about another hour of daylight.

Here’s where the draft ended — but I’ll finish the story for you.

I went to the Adventure Department at the sports center where I now work. It was late in the day, but I had the photo that I showed the guys who were getting ready to go home.

One of them jumped up. “I’ll go get her,” he said enthusiastically. Within minutes, he emerged from a backroom with ropes and carabiners and all sorts of other gear slung over his shoulder. “Don’t you worry,” he said, as he headed out the door.

Of course I worried.

I couldn’t go with him because of other people who were depending on me.

It was an act of blind trust — but his exuberant confidence set my heart at ease.

And when my daughter walked through the door less than an hour later, I was thrilled.

Life · Music

You’ll Never Walk Alone

Sally1 Comment

Until this morning, I had no idea that this song had ties to the Liverpool Football Club. It shows how much professional football (soccer) I watch — although I truly believe soccer is one of the best sports ever. I loved watching my kids play soccer!

I always associated the song with the Rogers & Hammerstein musical Carousel. It is sung after Billy Bigelow dies to comfort his grieving widow and again at his daughter’s graduation which is the finale.

For Liverpool it has special meaning because of the Hillsborough tragedy there in 1989.

I’m posting a Gerry & the Pacemakers version rather than a Carousel version because I find it easier to listen to — plus all the lip-synching in this video is fun.

It’s the kind of song that good for grads and anyone facing difficulty. We are stronger than we know.

Lyrics:

When you walk through a storm
Keep your chin up high
And don’t be afraid of the dark.
At the end of the storm
Is a golden sky
And the sweet silver song of a lark.

Walk on through the wind,
Walk on through the rain,
Tho’ your dreams be tossed and blown.
Walk on, walk on
With hope in your heart
And you’ll never walk alone,
You’ll never walk alone.

This is my response to Song Lyric Sunday where the prompt was to find a song that relates to Dads and Grads.

Karl playing soccer 2014