Tag: Life

Writing

Football

Sally3 Comments

Just to be clear, this post has nothing to do with altruism.

Altruism is the prompt for JusJoJan.

True story: I don’t follow American football. Not even a little. Honestly, I’ve never really understood the game. It looks like one people-pile after another. They talk about downs, which are different from people-piles, although it sure does look like a lot of people go down in a people-pile. Then there’s the whole scoring thing: some things earn 6 points, other things earn 3, and still others earn 1, or is it 2. I don’t know.

I coached swimming. The first person to touch the wall won.

My kids played soccer. If they kicked the ball in the goal, they got one point.

Easy and straight-forward, right?

I knew my son and his family were watching some Buffalo Bills game on Saturday night, so I half-watched about 5 minutes of it. Some guy caught the ball, but another guy ripped the ball right out of his arms. The whole thing didn’t look fair. I later told my brother about it, saying (again) that I really don’t understand football and wondered why people watch it.

“You need to watch this,” he said, and he directed me to a video of a guy running back-back-back, pushed by a bunch of guys from the other team, and he throws the ball — a long long pass to a guy waiting in the endzone and they scored.

Running backwards AND throwing accurately impresses me.

All this goes to show that an impressive bit of athleticism impresses me.

Is it altruistic?

No. The fact that I can’t easily find a video that shows this shows how UNaltruistic American sports are.

It’s all about the money, right?

These things happen in a vacuum accesible only to those who sell their souls to something.

I did. I watched some inane advertisement to see that video.

So now the fact remains that I am NOT a football fan, and it has nothing to do with understanding the sport. It has more to do with the $$-wall around the whole thing.

family · Writing

A Large Family

Sally9 Comments

Don’t get me started.

Family size is a personal decision.

I can’t tell you the number of rude things that have been said to me because of the number of children I have. I have eight.

“When are you going to stop?” — said to me by a woman at church when I was pregnant with #4. She later said to me after that baby was born — a daughter after three sons, “You got your girl, thank God. You can stop now.”

Another woman told me, “You have too many children.” This was when I had, I think, six. I responded by asking, “Which one should I get rid of?” I received no answer.

I haven’t gone to high school reunions, in large part because I didn’t want to spend my evening answering questions about my family size. That — plus the fact that while my classmates went on to pursue careers, I chose to be a stay-at-home mom. I didn’t really want to spend an evening at reunion answering the question, “What do you do?”

I chose to be a mom.

And it was, without a doubt, the right choice for me. It shaped me. It allowed me to be creative and loving and strong. I developed patience. I learned that I LOVE taking care of people.

So much so that I took care of my parents, too.

Did I resent doing that? Never. Not even for half a second.

Now, while my age-cohort is retiring, I’m just a few years into my first full-time job since 1984.

I have an office where I work. People stop in a lot to say hi, to talk, to complain, to suggest. I have an open door. Just the other day I was telling someone how being a mom prepared me for the constant interruptions of having an open-door policy in my office. When you’re a mom, you learn that your interruptions ARE your work. The same is true for me today.

A man stopped in my office yesterday. He often pokes his head in to say hello. He was a caregiver for his disabled wife the last few years of her life. He used to bring her to the gym and wheel her around in her wheelchair so she could have contact with other people.

Then she died.

And it turns that by coming to the gym he was building his own support system. He comes every day — not to work out so much as to visit with people. He makes the rounds, and I’m on them.

Anyway, he poked his head in, chatted about nothing, and then asked about my necklace. My youngest daughter gave it to me and I always wear it.

It has three discs: one that’s a tree, and two progressively larger ones with the names of my children around the edge. When you have a large family, you have to be creative about mother’s jewelry.

I explained the necklace to him.

“You have eight children,” he said incredulously.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Did you adopt some?”

“No.”

“Did you have twins or triplets?”

“No,” I told, “they were born one at a time.”

I turned around to grab the photo I have of them on my bulletin board.

“There’re all adults now,” I said, showing him the photo.

“You have eight children?!”

“Yes, this is them,” I said.

He was shaking his head. “You have eight children?!?!”

“Yes –”

He was backing out of the doorway. I was feeling rattled and small and angry and sad.

“You have eight children?” he said again. “I need to process this.”

“I’m still the same person you’ve been talking to for a year,” I called after him, but I don’t think he heard me.

Don’t get me started.

There are so many things that can define a person. Mistakes made while young. How they invested their life over the past four decades. What they are doing today.

I have eight children. They are amazing people and I’m so proud of them.

Really. Don’t get me started.

This overly-wordy post is my response to the Stream-of-Consciousness prompt: don’t get me started.

Linda Hill got me started on a rant.

Blather · Life

Before HIPAA

Sally3 Comments

I’ll admit — it’s a semi-irrational fear that I have of getting a fishhook stuck through my skin.

It may date back to the days when my father’s office was just off the Emergency Room. HIPAA hadn’t been born yet. I would cut through the Emergency Room to get to his office.

Which was a trailer.

Yes, it’s what you picture — the kind of structure that fills trailer parks.

When I got into the trailer, his office was on the left, opposite his secretary’s desk. Sometimes she was transcribing his dictated notes and would let me listen to his voice on the transcription machine as he said things like, “The patient was a white female, age 47, who presented with…”

Clearly another HIPAA violation. But HIPAA wasn’t a thing then. And I wasn’t paying attention to the words as much as his voice.

True story: These days I recognize people by their voices. More than once I would have walked right past my high school boyfriend had he not greeted me by name.

The other day, another person that I knew years ago walked past me and said, “Hey, Sal!”

The words got my attention, but the voice identified the speaker. I immediately knew him.

I mean, seriously, most men over the age of 70 look remarkably similar to me: gray hair or balding, scruffy beard, blue jeans, etc. Add a baseball cap and I’m sunk — until I hear their voice.

But I digress. I guess that’s how it is with stream-of-consciousness writing.

So, as a kid, I would cut through the Emergency Room on a daily basis. My pattern was to swim at the gym after school and walk to the hospital for my ride home. I would wait for my father to finish his day and we would walk together to his vehicle which was ALWAYS parked in the farthest spot available.

“It’s good exercise,” he would say as I complained about walking to the car.

One time, I saw one of my classmates in the ER. He had stabbed a pitchfork through his foot. Actually, through his work boot, and his foot, and out the other side. He was crying and cursing, obviously not having a good day.

I remember his name — but I won’t say it here. HIPAA and all that, you know.

The fishhook thing must date from those days. I think I saw someone in the ER with a fishhook in their cheek.

My father said, “They’ll just push it through and cut the barb.”

He made it sound easy.

But then, he didn’t have a fishhook in his cheek.

I remember my father explaining to me how the manure pitchfork through the foot presented a particular problem because of the risk of infection. Should they just pull it out? Cut the tip and pull it out? I think that’s what they did.

It doesn’t matter. The prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday wasn’t pitchfork. It was hook.

I can’t decide if I like stream-of-consciousness writing or not. It feels like a bunch of blather.

What do you think?

gratitude

TToT — June 30

Sally7 Comments

I looked back and saw that I haven’t done one of these (Ten Things of Thankful) since March! Yikes! Here we are on the brink of July!

I won’t bore you with my excuses. I’ll just tell you ten things (in no special order) for which I am thankful.

I got a new hip!1 I think I’ve mentioned it elsewhere in posts, but not in a thankfulness post. I am truly thankful for the wonders of medicine. I reported for surgery at 6 AM on May 21, was taken into surgery at 8 AM, have very fuzzy memories of them getting me up to walk on my new hip at I-don’t-know-what time, and was home by 2 PM. Tomorrow I have my 6 week check-up. It’s all so amazing.

I have a new granddaughter!2 Little Polly was born a little over two weeks ago. She’s pretty wonderful. She is more wonderful than a new hip, and that’s saying a lot. Parents, sister, and Polly are all doing great.

My sister came to visit!3 She stayed ten days to help me sort and organize stuff in this house. It was really nice to spend time with her. We talked. We drank wine. We went to visit some of my kids and all my grandkids (Polly included). We drank wine. We ate at favorite local restaurants. We drank mimosas. We got together with our brothers. We drank wine. We also sorted and organized stuff. I am so so so thankful for her visit.

I went to a Celtic Fling. Wait, wait — let me back up. I went to a graduation.4 My last child in college graduated back in May. I’m so proud.

Now I have 8 children who have all graduated from college AND are working in their chosen field, which leads me to…

    I went to a Celtic Fling.5 The lovely graduate pictured above was a theater major in college. She got a job at the Pennsylvania Renaissance Faire working in production. I went to see her this weekend where she was managing one of the stages. First, I LOVE Celtic Music and sat through three sets at her stage. Second, I loved seeing my daughter at work.

    The college graduation was pre-hip surgery. I was so worried about driving to Virginia on my own — but my oldest daughter offered for me to ride6 with them. A fair amount of that ride was spent in the back seat with my granddaughter, Willow.

    Willow was so much fun. It turns out that she loves the song, “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.” When she got antsy in her car seat, we would sing and she would be happy.

    Also, during this interim of TToT posts, I witnessed Willow’s first visit with the Easter Bunny.7 I think it says a lot that she was not even remotely intimidated by a 6 foot tall rabbit.

    I’m thankful for the birds8 whose songs I hear every morning. Mr. Robin tends to dominate the chorus.

    I’m thankful for blogging challenges9 like the Unicorn Challenge or W3 which usually get me to write at least twice a week. Such nice people. Such talented bloggers and poets. So much encouragement.

    Lastly, I am thankful to you, dear readers10, especially when you post comments. I don’t always respond because I feel so overwhelmed with… hmmm… gratitude? Undeservedness? Bashful humility? I don’t know what to call it, but I know that it leaves me speechless.

    So, thank you.

    fiction

    Riding the Bus

    Sally5 Comments

    I climbed onto the bus and smiled. We don’t have buses like this where I come from. As a newby traveller, I was determined to make my way places using public transport.

    I only spoke English. “Should I learn their language?” I asked my friends from home.

    “Nah, everyone speaks English,” more than one person had said.

    It turns out that not everyone speaks English, especially in the smaller, more isolated cities.

    The bus was mostly empty. I rested my head against the window and closed my eyes listening to the rumble-hum of the bus, the psssssshh of the airbrakes at each stop, and the murmur of words I couldn’t understand.

    Suddenly I recognized words whispered in English.

    “Your job is to grab the old lady and tie her up,” said a male voice in a gravelly whisper.

    “Hush,” replied another male whisperer.

    “She’s the only one in earshot,” said the first voice, “and I doubt she speaks English. Besides she’s sleeping.”

    As they reviewed their plans to rob a rich woman in her home, I listened in horror.

    Quickly I came up with my own plan.

    The bus stopped in a crowded market area. The men behind me got off. I followed.

    “Excuse me,” I called. They turned, and I snapped a photo of them on my phone.

    “I’m scheduling a ‘send’ of this photo to the police. Meet me here tomorrow at this time with my cut and I will cancel the send,” I said, and slipped away.

    This is my contribution to the Unicorn Challenge. The rules are easy: 1. Use the photo for inspiration, and 2. No more than 250 words.

    Sometimes Most of the time my ideas are bigger than 250 words. That’s the hardest thing. I don’t think I did this idea justice, but I did bring it in at 250 words!

    Life · people · Writing

    Essay on Lessons from an Angry Stranger

    Sally5 Comments

    It’s Writer Blocks Day. Here’s my roll: Essay, Lessons, Angry, Stranger.

    Forgive me if I’ve told this story before.

    Remember the days of COVID when businesses shut down and then slowly reopened with new rules and regulations. Masks. Social distancing. Hand sanitizer. Who could have imagined it all?

    Cooperation was palpable in those early days. We looked for ways to make it all work. Hand-sewn masks were made and distributed because manufactured masks weren’t available. Restaurants developed take-out menus. Zoom changed its meaning; it became a way to meet and connect, rather than something a car did on the highway.

    When the sports facility where I worked reopened, we required everyone to wear masks. In the pool, where masking wasn’t possible, we implemented social distancing rules. Every other lane was left vacant and swimmers had to sign up to reserve their lane.

    Over time, the restrictions were slowly lifted. The mask rule remained, however, long after other businesses in town had removed it.

    One morning, A.M. (Angry Man) came in the front door. “WHAT THE #@*!$# DO I HAVE TO WEAR THIS FOR?” he yelled across the foyer to me.

    I started to answer, but he continued cursing and yelling. “I DON’T HAVE TO WEAR IT ANYMORE. THE STATE LIFTED THAT REGULATION.”

    I wanted to say that I understand. I wanted to tell him that I’m sorry; I don’t make the rules. I wanted to remind him that we are privately owned and run; we have to wait for The Foundation to lift the rule.

    But he was yelling and other members were coming in, wearing masks, checking in at the front desk.

    As one woman scanned her membership card, she said to me, “This is how Hitler got started, you know,” and she pointed at her mask.

    A.M. was still yelling, F-ing this and F-ing that. I swear, the Hitler woman was smirking at me behind her mask. Other people were staring — at me, at A.M., at the mask sign on the front desk. I turned and walked away.

    I walked into the back office where my supervisor worked. She wasn’t there. I walked down the long hallway to the Director’s office and knocked on the door. I interrupted a meeting.

    “I don’t get paid enough to be compared to Hitler,” I said, and I told her the whole story.

    When I finished talking, I saw A.M. coming down that long hallway. He reached me and went down on his knees.

    “I’m so sorry,” he said. “Please forgive me. I’m so sorry for the way I spoke to you.”

    “Of course, I forgive you,” I said. “Thank you for apologizing.”

    We had a brief conversation and I went back to work. I think he stayed to talk with the Director.

    Just the other day he was in my office.

    “You know I have opinions,” he said.

    I smiled. “Yes, you do, but this is a nicer way to handle them.”

    He shared with me a concern/complaint/suggestion. I listened and thanked him.

    That first angry interaction did not define our relationship and he is no longer a stranger. I think there’s a lesson or two in there somewhere.

    gratitude

    Starting #TToT

    Sally3 Comments

    One of the other bloggers who participates in The Unicorn Challenge, Clark from The Wakefield Doctrine, posts Ten Things of Thankful (TToT) every Saturday. He actually mentioned ME a time or two — when he liked the piece I had written for The Unicorn Challenge — which took me by surprise, but also got me scanning the list each week.

    Looking ahead to 2025, I want to be more thankful. Life has been hard and pity parties are so easy to attend. I have other resolutions that I’ll post in a few days, but I’m going to start to today with this one: Post Ten Things of Thankful (#TToT) on Saturdays as a look-back on specific moments in my week.

    My Ten Things of Thankful will NOT be things like FAMILY — even though I’m incredibly thankful for my incredible family — or MY JOB — even though I am mostly thankful for both my jobs. No — I’ll give you specific moments for which I am thankful.

    1. The 96 Chair Debacle — When an order for 24 chairs showed up as 24 BOXES of chairs (4 chairs in each box), I felt slightly panicked. They had been ordered for the senior program and I wasn’t sure where the error was. In the meantime, 24 boxes of chairs filled the lobby space. A little bit of problem solving and we all laughed. I am thankful for laughter. And an excess of chairs.
    2. Ready to crawl — I saw my newest granddaughter on Christmas Day on all fours, rocking, and smiling up at me when I went to retrieve her from a nap. Very cute.
    3. Woodstoves — I house/cat sat for a friend who has a woodstove. What a cozy source of heat! I love sitting by the stove and reading.
    4. Paid vacation — Do you remember the first time you were able to take paid vacation? I do. Forty-some years later it has not lost its luster. I took Monday off as a vacation day, then had Tuesday-Wednesday as paid holidays. With the weekend preceding those three days, it meant that I had FIVE days off in a row, three of which were paid. Heaven.
    5. Christmas dinner — On Christmas Day, my oldest daughter hosted the dinner. It’s always a joy to sit down to eat with family — four of my children, one spouse, one grandhcild, my brother, and one close family friend.
    6. Rum balls — Those rum balls given to me by a member/friend (I mentioned them in my Christmas 2024 post) have been AMAZING. He should add that much rum every time.
    7. A dead mouse — Yes, you read that right. I walked into my bedroom the other night and there was that distinctive “dead” smell. I was still house/cat sitting at that point, so I didn’t have to sleep in the room (yet), but I got out a flashlight and searched for the culprit. No luck. The next few nights I stayed in one of the other bedrooms and searched when I could. Today I cleaned. And cleaned. And cleaned. I still can’t find it. But I AM thankful for a much cleaner room!
    8. Swimming — only another swimmer would probably understand that Zen-feeling of swimming laps. I started swimming again because my hip is hurting, but it provides mental health as much as hip relief. Thankful for the pool, the ability to swim, and an aching hip that drove me back to the water.
    9. Brooks Chicken — I love Brooks Chicken! It’s a local barbecue chicken place. One of my co-workers retired and it was the chosen fare for his retirement party this past week. I was thrilled. If you’re ever in upstate New York, I highly recommend checking it out.
    10. Bowling — My 5 year old granddaughter came to where I work and went bowling yesterday. It was SO nice to see her and the whole family!
    Bowling with a 5 year old

    family · Life

    Life Choices

    Sally11 Comments

    “There’s an awful lot of sighing going on over there,” said my pew-mate at church yesterday.

    She was right.

    I carry my cares in my shoulders and my breathing. Multiple times during the worship service I had realized my shoulders were tight and that I was holding my breath. I would force my shoulders down in faux-relaxation and exhale slowly. Apparently it didn’t go unnoticed.

    We talked for a few minutes afterwards and her words were so helpful. To have the right person with the right words show up at the right moment is truly a gift.

    Then I made a great life choice — carve pumpkins with my granddaughter.

    Sometimes a life choice is something big — where to go to college, who to spend my life with, where to settle down and live.

    More often it’s something small — what do I do this month, this week, this day, this moment.

    Carving pumpkins, eating roasted pumpkins — sometimes that is the very best life choice.

    Life

    The Bachelor Party

    Sally4 Comments

    The other day five men came into the sports center together, one of them spinning a shiny new Spalding basketball between his hands.

    “Is anyone playing basketball right now?” he asked.

    “The gym is available,” I said. “I don’t know if anyone is playing basketball right now though.”

    “I think there’s one guy shooting hoops,” my co-worker said.

    The guys looked at each other. They looked at what they could see of the facility from the front desk.

    Where I work

    “You’ve got a rock wall? Can we climb?” one asked.

    “Yep,” I said. “It opens in half an hour.”

    “How much does it cost?” another asked.

    I explained our day pass system and the two different passes they could purchase — $10 for the facility or $15 to include our fitness center.

    “Huddle!” one of them said, and they huddled. Right there in the lobby.

    “Okay, we’re going to do it,” they said when they broke their huddle.

    “Ten dollars or fifteen?” I asked.

    “Fifteen. We’re going to do it all,” said the spokesman.

    As they stood at the counter filling out the obligatory paperwork — emergency contact information, waiver forms, etc — I learned a little about them. They were all mid-30s. The five of them had lived together in college. This was a bachelor party.

    “Let me tell you about what’s available here,” I said as I collected their papers and their money.

    I launched into my spiel. “Our fitness center has two levels. The main floor is traditional equipment, free weights, ellipticals, steppers, treadmills. The upper level has things like kettlebells, ropes, those weight bags that people run up and down stairs with, and other machines. We have the rock wall you can see and a bouldering wall in the gym. There are three pools but you probably don’t have your swim suits with you. There’s racquetball, squash –“

    One interrupted — “Do you have racquets we can use?”

    “Yes, right outside the courts,” I said, and continued, “There are bowling alleys downstairs –“

    “Bowling!” I saw a few high fives. “And that’s open?”

    “Yes,” I said, laughing. I loved their excitement.

    They headed for the gym first and played a little basketball. Over the next few hours, though, we heard shouts, hurrahs, and bursts of uproarious laughter coming from various parts of the building. We watched them try the rock wall before heading into the fitness center.

    When they left before closing, I asked how their day had been.

    “Great! Best $15 I’ve ever spent one!” one said.

    “We did it all,” said another. “Basketball, bowling, ping-pong –“

    “Oh! I forgot to tell you about ping-pong!” I said.

    “It’s okay. We found it,” he said.

    “And had a great time,” another added.

    Their delight became my delight. I still smile when I think about that group of men playing, laughing, having fun, enjoying the time spent together.

    I’ve reflected back on this many times. Why did I find it so gratifying? I think it’s because the world has become a meaner place over the last few years. Our laughter is usually at someone else’s expense. Camaraderie tends to devolve into bickering. We don’t listen. We don’t enjoy time together. Everything feels like jockeying for position.

    So when two Olympic high jumpers agreed to tie for Gold, it’s an anomaly.

    And when five guys, from different places and different walks of life, enjoy each other’s company for a full afternoon, it fills my cup.

    Uncategorized

    Leaning Into Me

    Sally3 Comments
    1979

    Fifteen months ago, I started seeing a therapist.

    I remember at Hutchmoot, in one of those first years, a musician/artist talked about his therapist and then said, “Everyone needs a therapist.” There was a smattering of laughter, so he said, “I really mean it. It’s one of the best things I ever did.”

    Once, when someone told me they had started therapy, I asked, “What’s it like?”

    “It’s like having a paid friend. One that you can say anything to,” was the response.

    That’s a pretty apt description.

    My therapist’s name is Rachel.

    I apologize a lot to her. “I’m sorry that I blather so much,” I say.

    “It’s okay,” she replies.

    “I forgot where I was going with this,” I say. “I ramble too much, don’t I?”

    “Tell me more,” she replies.

    One day, she said, “What would you say to young Sally?”

    I stopped blathering and rambling and tried to think. Later that evening, I wrote a poem — and promptly forgot about it. That’s how I am these days — scattered and forgetful.

    But each morning, I get up and try again. I begin the day with reading. It’s funny how the themes circle around. The same thoughts emerge from vastly different places.

    I began the year pondering a quote by Howard Thurman:

    I see you where you are, striving and struggling,
    and in the light of the highest possibility of personality,
    I deal with you there.

    This morning, I read this in J. Phillip Newell’s Christ of the Celts:

    “Alexander Scott, the nineteenth century Celtic teacher, uses the analogy of a plant suffering from blight. If such a plant were shown to botanists, even if the botanists had never seen that type of plant before, they would define it in terms of its essential life features. They would identify the plant with reference to its healthy properties of height and color and scent. They would not define it in terms of its blight. Rather they would say that the blight is foreign to the plant, that it is attacking the plant.”

    I am so blighted. So very blighted.

    Who am I in the light of the highest possibility of my personality? Who am I in my healthiest sense of my existence?

    I went back and re-read that poem I wrote.

    What would I say to young Sally? I would tell her that she is seen — and that even the blights can shape us.

    Here’s my poem. Sorry for my blathering. I forgot where I was going with this.

    I see you.
    I see the dreams you’ve set aside
    Over and over
    For better dreams
    No — for better realities

    Because who could have imagined
    You would be happy spending
    So many years of
    Reading
    Aloud

    And singing silly songs
    Not just With Larry
    But with Philipowensamhelenjacobkarlmary
    (I don’t think Laurel liked to sing
    Or read, for that matter)

    Of listening
    And probing
    For children’s dreams
    So they might become the realities
    That I missed

    Once upon a time
    I wanted to be a veterinarian
    Because dogs and horses
    Were so much safer
    Than people

    Then I wanted to make music
    -al instruments
    Because everyone knows
    You can’t make a living making music

    And linguistics –
    To study languages
    And understand their structures
    “Anatomy of Language”
    Sounds fascinating to me

    But is that even a class?
    Human anatomy is a much easier
    Class to find
    And I would have taken it
    In my last dream of being
    A physical therapist

    But I married
    And became a mom

    Yes, 
    I see that young woman
    Who couldn’t stand on her own
    And didn’t have someone to say,
    Follow
    Pursue
    Be

    Instead I had someone who said, “Come.”

    And I went

    I see you, and the dreams you’ve set aside
    I see the rich reality you’ve lived
    I see it all and, yes, I feel some pride —
    For what is Christ but to give and give

    Up dreams for something better, something good