Carol - A Woman of a Certain Age

I LOVE BOOKS!!

2014-01-24T19:15:00.000-08:00

I would rather spend money on books than just about anything. Consequently, we have hundreds of books in our house – biographies, novels, romances, sci-fi, educational, science, historical, foreign language, scriptural, dictionaries, encyclopedias – a little bit of everything.

As a child, my family was very poor, but Mama always made sure there was something around the house to read. My very first book, bought from a Book Mobile at school, was a Barbie based story called “The Best Dressed Girl” or something like that. Even though I never had a Barbie myself, I thoroughly enjoyed reading about her and her friends! We did not have very many books, but those that we did have were read over and over again. Two of the books that I recall reading numerous times were “The Little Lame Prince” and “To Dance, to Dream”.

This week I re-read “The Little Lame Prince” for the first time in over forty years. While I recalled very little of the story line, I vividly remembered how he traveled on a flying cloak. As a child, I used to imagine that I could travel the world like that, too. How wondrous!

From “To Dance, to Dream” I learned about famous dancers like Maria Tall Chief and Isadora Duncan. I adored them and wanted to be a dancer … too bad I have such very little rhythm. That, and the church I attended as a very young child would have disciplined me for dancing.

Mama used to buy weekly romance magazines like “True Romance” … I grew up on a steady diet of those. To this day I adore a good romance, especially those based in the Regency era. Historical novels are also a big favorite.

My favorite book of all time is Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice”. I re-read it almost every year and have collected several movies based on her lovely book. Jane’s characters are so well-drawn and her prose so wonderfully written … I just get lost in her words and in her world.

I don’t recall Mama reading to me, but my children definitely grew up with the blessing of a read-aloud mother. We devoured Boxcar Children books, Amelia Bedelia stories, the Little House series, Anne of Green Gables, the Animorph books, Harry Potter, and many other wonderful works. One of their favorites was a Sesame Street story, “The Monster at the End of This Book”. Of course, I always had to liven things up by using different voices and lots of sound effects!

These days I mostly read books on my Kindle (recommended by my chiropractor because I had neck issues), but the feel and smell of a real book is a pleasure that will never get old.

Holiday Blues

2013-01-22T18:43:00.001-08:00

Yes, I know the major holidays are over, but for weeks I have felt prompted to put my thoughts out there so someone -- perhaps my children, perhaps others -- can benefit somehow from my experiences.

You see, I deal with seasonal depression each year beginning around Thanksgiving and usually lasting till after the New Year. When it starts I feel a heaviness of heart, emotionally I spiral downward, and a gloomy darkness seems to gather round me. If I allowed it to happen, I could drown in that darkness. Many days all I want to do is climb back in bed, curl into a tight ball, and cry my eyes out. But I can’t. I have people who depend on me, so every day I force myself out of bed and go through the motions of life. During those few weeks if you ask me how I’m doing, I’ll plaster a smile on my face and tell you I’m just peachy. And I’ll probably be lying.

It began in 1990, the year our little Seth died, and only got worse five years later when Daddy died on Christmas Eve. (I had a serious talk with Daddy about that.) Seth was born on December 30, so I always associate Christmas time with his birth. I don’t even remember the exact date of his death … isn’t that odd? I know it was toward the end of February. I just prefer to think of his birth and each December I wonder what he would have been like that year, had he lived. This year he would have turned 24. Would he be a college graduate? Would he be married? Possibly have had a child?

For several years, especially after Daddy’s death, I just couldn’t deal with Christmas. I used to love sending out cards and creating an annual Christmas letter. I would bake cookies, do fun things with the kids. For my children’s sake I still did things, but my heart just wasn’t in it. I recall one December when Natalie, then about 6 years old, found me crying and wanted to know what was wrong. How do you tell a young child that you just can’t stand Christmas anymore?

Sometimes I still don’t “do” Christmas very well, but the depression has gotten better over time. I am aware when it starts and I work hard to distract myself and keep busy. But the sadness and pain is always there, lurking in the background. Even now, just thinking about it, my heart feels heavy. I’m not sure why … I believe the promises of God when He tells me I will see my loved ones again. Of that I have no doubt, yet the sadness remains.

This year I tried something different: I talked about my depression. In early December Kelden and I were on our way to a Christmas activity when I commented, “I wonder if there will ever come a year when I don't get depressed at Christmas time?” Bless his heart … until that moment my good husband had no idea that I had been battling depression for over 20 years. That’s how good I was at hiding it. The following week I mentioned my holiday depression to a couple of friends and an amazing thing happened … my burden was lifted! Just talking about the depression somehow made it easier to keep the darkness at bay. In fact, this year was one of the best, most peaceful Christmases I have experienced in years.

Do you know a loved one who has experienced loss or depression? Try to get him or her to TALK about it. If you suffer from depression, extreme sadness, or loneliness ... PLEASE find a trusted family member or friend and talk about it. Giving voice to those feelings really can help.

Next year I plan to talk about my depression again. If you ask me how I’m doing, I will put a smile on my face and tell you I’m just peachy … And I’ll probably be telling the truth!

Lessons from My Children

2012-05-10T11:02:00.000-07:00

This year for Mothers’ Day, I decided to honor those who helped me to become the mother I am today: my seven children. Although I’m pretty sure I have taught my children a lot of things over the years (be polite, pick up after yourself, give to others, brush your teeth, etc), they have taught me so much in return.

Elena, our firstborn, taught me how important it is to find your passion in life and be passionate about it. My passion is genealogy, hers is social causes. We may be poles apart politically, but I am so very proud of her activism, her enthusiasm, her willingness to put herself out there to help the Underdog.

Alex has shown me how important it is to Be There for your friends. Time and time again Alex has given of himself to help his friends, whether it was loaning them money (even a young boy), offering a place to stay (yep, even as a boy), offering a shoulder to cry on or a hand to uplift. He has become the one his friends turn to for advice.

Seth, even though he was with us for such a short time, taught me one of the most important lessons of all, and that is simply to Love Everyone. Somehow, that little boy understood the supreme importance of smiles and hugs and willingly offered them to everyone he met, even total strangers.

Natalie, who has the kindest of heart of anyone I know, taught me the importance of Forgiveness. She has been deeply hurt numerous times over the years by “friends”, whether done deliberately or inadvertently. But Natalie understands that relationships are more important than holding grudges and that people sometimes do dumb things, so she freely forgives and works to keep her relationships with friends and family intact.

Andrew has shown me the magic of loving to Learn. He loves to read anything he can get his hands on, whether for school or just because he wants to learn something new – science, philosophy, religion, nature, music. If he could afford it, I’m sure Andrew would be a professional student, always adding to his arsenal of knowledge.

Ben taught me that when you commit yourself to do something you should put your whole self into it. In his case that has sometimes led to broken teeth or bones, but rarely does he do anything half-heartedly. That attitude helped him create a sports team at his school that is still active and help organize the “Rose Prom to beat all Rose Proms” that people still talk about two years later.

And finally, there is Hope who showed me how to find joy in little things. As a toddler, she would laugh delightedly at something as simple as a bird flitting around the yard, fireflies, pretty colors, flowers. As a young teen, she still delights in the beauties of nature, the antics of her cat, and other commonplace things I might overlook.

Being a mother for more than thirty years, I have developed a lot of patience and tolerance, but I have also learned from my children how to be a better person. My thanks to them for blessing and enriching my life.

If It's Good Enough for Grandma ....

2012-04-10T07:04:00.001-07:00

We humans are such creatures of habit … we do things because that’s the way it’s always been done. For example, when I started shaving my legs I used soap on my legs because that’s all we had and that’s what Mama did. It wasn’t until years and years later when one of my daughters said, “guys use shaving cream, why don’t we?” that I realized there was another (better) way.

That reminds me of a story I once read: A young man was watching as his new bride prepared a pot roast for dinner. She very carefully sliced off a bit of both ends of the roast before placing it in the pan. When he asked why she did that, she said that’s how she learned from her mom. Later while visiting the in-laws, he asked his mother-in-law why she cut off the ends of the roast. She told him that was the way her mom always did it. Finally, he asked the grandmother why she cut of the ends. Her reply? “Because it was too large to fit in my pan!”

How many things to we do because that is the way it is “always” done? How many new and exciting things are we missing out on because it does not occur to us that we can do things differently?

As a children, one my brothers’ and sisters’ favorite snacks was banana sandwiches – no, not the deep fried kind that Elvis enjoyed – but very tasty, nonetheless. First, you take a couple of slices of bread (we used Sunbeam) and spread them with mayo or salad dressing (I’m partial to Miracle Whip), then you slice a banana into small circles, place them on one slice of the prepared bread, top with the other slice, and Enjoy!

Hey, don’t knock it … a banana sandwich with a glass of milk? Doesn’t get much better than that!

For years I prepared sandwiches this way and enjoyed my delicious treat even as I got aggravated by those sweet slippery little circles that kept sliding out of my sandwich. One day while making sandwiches for my children, I dared to try something different – first, I cut the banana in half, then sliced those halves lengthwise. Voila! No more small circles sliding out. (This is how my children now prepare theirs, because that’s how their mama taught them.)

Sometime later I was visiting my sister and watched as she sliced a banana into circles for her sandwich. Without saying a word, I proceeded to make mine the “new improved” way, feeling quite smug in my superior knowledge. I’m pretty sure she makes hers “my” way these days.

There is another area where I’ve been slow to learn. When bathing, we always use soap and a washcloth, right? That's what my mama did and what my grandma did. My daughters, though, tend to be a bit more forward thinking, so as teenagers they started buying sponges and body wash. Such a silly extravagance, I thought. Why would I want to scrub my body with a scratchy chunk of nylon? And why isn’t plain old-fashioned soap good enough? It’s like that “old time religion” – if it’s good enough for Grandma, it’s good enough for me!

A few weeks ago I found a bottle of Cherry Blossom/Bamboo Oil body wash on sale for a couple of bucks. It sounded interesting, so I figured why not? Then I splurged on a pink nylon sponge. (I was sure Grandma must be rolling over in her grave!) I was anxious to learn what all the fuss was about regarding body washes and sponges.

Oh. My. Goodness! My skin felt so rejuvenated and tingly and baby soft …. Why had I been denying myself??

Now I’m wondering what other fascinating things I’ve been missing out on because I have been too stuck in the “old” ways. What else can I try or do? I look forward to finding out!

Mama Mia!

2012-02-22T19:30:00.000-08:00

My mother was a real character – stubborn, muleheaded, quick to get her “Irish” up, long to hold a grudge, hardworking, creative, feisty, and utterly devoted to her children. She was adept at reading people and understanding their motives and possessed a devilish sense of humor.

Take Mama’s name, for instance … she was born Mary Lou Cary in November 1930 in the small town of Norrisville, Georgia, the first child of Ellis Irvin Cary and Georgia Belle Coleman. She liked her name until some kids from school started teasing her about it. It seems that there were two women of, umm, ill repute, who lived nearby – a woman named Mary and her daughter Lou. After being laughed at and told repeatedly that she was named after them, Mama decided to change her name somehow. She figured there wasn’t much she could do about “Mary” but she could change the spelling of “Lou”, so ever after she became Mary LUE.

It took Mama three years to finish 1^st grade. Not that she was dumb or anything, mind you; she was simply a sickly child and missed a lot of school. Finally her parents sent her to town to live with her grandparents during the week to attend school and she returned home on weekends. And that is how she wound up graduating in 1949 with her sister Nora who was two years younger.

Mama married John Riner Jr right out of high school and their first child, Jo Ann, arrived a mere 9 ½ months later. More children quickly followed and by their 12^th anniversary, Jr and Mary Lue were the proud, but struggling, parents of six children. Their oldest son Daniel Allen "Buddy" had died three years earlier at the age of five. The untimely death of their first son threw Jr into a mental and emotional tailspin that eventually resulted in his being institutionalized, a situation that continued on and off for years.

Mama had spent the first twelve years of her marriage taking care of young children, cooking, cleaning, sewing, canning, and gardening. Suddenly, and with no preparation, she was forced to become the family breadwinner. She prepared herself by taking a bookkeeping class at night. While she never got a job as a bookkeeper, the class did give her the confidence to seek a full time job and she was soon hired as a clerk at Darling’s 5&10. While there she discovered a talent for flower arranging and window dressing. Until her retirement decades later, Mama continued to work at various local stores in the floral and greeting cards departments.

Mama had never learned to drive (Daddy didn’t approve), but with him gone, she was forced to learn and tried to teach herself. One day she nervously got into our big old Buick and began to drive in big circles round and round the side yard of our house. My brothers, sisters, and I all gathered at the big picture window in the living room to watch and laugh at her. Mama had driven several erratic circles when she looked up and saw us. Her concentration gone, she promptly lost control, drove through the wire fence surrounding the yard, and plowed right into our house! After that incident, Jo Ann and her husband Richard decided they had better teach her the basics.

We never could figure out how Mama passed the driving test; we think they gave her a license because they figured Miss Mary Lue would be driving anyway, so they might as well make her legal. Mama was never what you would call a good, safe driver. I recall riding with her one day when she had a coughing fit, ran a red light, and got pulled over. When the officer commented on her running the light, Mama replied, “I didn’t run it … I crawled it.” He just shook his head, gave her a warning, and sent us on our way.

Mama believed getting a good education was the best way for her children to have a better life, so she even though some family members had urged her to take the older children out of school so they could work, Mama insisted that we all finish high school and go on to get more schooling. She always pushed us and never seemed satisfied unless we got things perfectly right. We could bring home a 95 average and Mama would say, “Couldn’t you do better?” I suppose she meant that to be encouraging; we just found it annoying and frustrating. Thanks to her influence, though, all four of Mama’s surviving children sought further education: Jo Ann went into nursing, Ammy became a computer programmer, and John followed Daddy into the heating and air business. And while I never finished college, I did attend 2 ½ years. That legacy continues: to date, Mary Lue's grandchildren include six college graduates and others who are continuing their education in one way or another.

One of the most important things Mama taught us is that a mother should Be There for her children. No matter what was going on in our lives – school nights, Cub Scout/Boy Scout/Girl Scout events, concerts, plays, church youth programs, sports – Mama was there to watch and support us. Because of her example, my children, as well as my nieces and nephews, have grown up with mothers who Are There for them, too.

For some reason Mama was incapable of telling us that she was proud of us or that she loved us, although freely she told other people that she did. I guess that was something Mama never heard herself while growing up, so she didn't feel comfortable voicing such feelings. And that is another lesson we learned from Mama, in reverse ... my siblings and I have worked hard to make sure our children know how much we love them and how proud we are of their efforts and accomplishments.

More to follow ….

Make a Joyful Noise!

2012-01-22T20:06:00.001-08:00

I LOVE congregational singing!

My first memory of congregational singing was watching my grandpa, John Riner, stand at the front of our little one-room country church, leading the hymns with gusto, with his sweet mouth twisted a bit to the side. There was no piano accompaniment, but little need for it when you sang from the heart like Grandpa always did.

My daddy, John Jr, loved hymn singing as much as his pa, but for reasons known only to him, Daddy never officially joined his family church. However, he always maintained a deep, abiding love for God and Jesus and each Sunday evening that rolled around would find him tuning in his old tabletop radio to hear some good ole time gospel music. “How Great Thou Art”, “Just as I Am”, “The Old Rugged Cross”, and “Rock of Ages” were among his favorites.

Shortly before Daddy died he went into respiratory failure and was put on a ventilator. I drove up from Florida to visit him in the hospital for a few days and since it was December, I took along my Christmas cards to address while sitting with him. I also took along a church hymnal so I could sing those gospel songs that he so loved so well to my daddy. And sing I did, hour after hour until my throat was raw.

I was with Daddy as they took him off the ventilator and watched anxiously as he slowly started breathing again on his own. In gratitude, I began another hymn. My sweet Daddy then turned toward me and rasped, “Honey, that’s enough singin’.”

Good thing I have a sense of humor! I returned to quietly addressing envelopes until about half an hour later when he opened his eyes and said, “Okay, honey, you can sing again.” And so I did, gladly.

Years ago a family vacationing in Florida came to our church meeting and sat in the pew in front of my family. One of their sons had Down’s Syndrome; when the opening hymn began, that young man began to sing … quite loudly. He didn’t know the words and his singing was totally off key, but I’ve rarely seen or heard anything as beautiful as that young boy praising God in song with his whole heart and soul. I wept, grateful that I was there to witness it. Recalling that sweet moment still brings me to tears.

All of my children have sung in choirs both in school and at church. It is a gift I’ve been delighted to share with them. My good husband, on the other hand, is one who absolutely cannot sing on key, but he still has a great appreciation for good music. Like the boy with Down’s Syndrome, my husband’s inability to carry a tune has never stopped him from singing in church with his whole heart. I’ve always appreciated that about him.

After all, the Psalmist didn’t say, “Sing in perfect harmony unto the Lord”; he said, “Make a joyful noise unto the Lord!” This is just what that young boy and my husband do.

What Ya Got a-Cookin', part 2

2012-01-17T19:17:00.000-08:00

I truly wish I had paid more attention to Mama’s cooking when I was younger. She was one of those kitchen maestros who could just toss in a bit of this and a pinch of that to make something supremely yummy. Me? I need details, man; give me a fully annotated step-by-step recipe to follow.

My big sister JoAnn is the only one of us to pick up on Mama’s cooking skills (she told me to say that) and she is an excellent cook in her own right, with lasagna and quiche as her specialties (she didn't tell me to say that). Thank goodness JoAnn moved beyond the ghoulish goulash she used to make every Saturday when were younger. She had learned to make that in home ec and was quite pleased with her ability to feed her younger (and often ungrateful) siblings. In later years when she and Mama cooked together, our taste buds were always in for a treat.

For years I badgered JoAnn to write up Mama’s recipe for Brunswick Stew so I could attempt it. Thankfully, just a few months before Mama died, she and JoAnn spent a day cooking together. While Mama created her legendary stew, JoAnn measured and wrote. Here is what they came up with. I hope you enjoy it as much as we have!

Mary Lue’s Brunswick Stew

3 lbs Boston Butt, roasted or cooked slowly in crockpot until tender

3 lbs Stew Beef, cooked; save broth

3 cans stewed tomatoes

4 large potatoes, diced

1 large onion, diced

1 can cream corn

2 cans whole corn

1 can tomato sauce

1 bottle ketchup (use ½ to 1 bottle)

2 tble Tobasco sauce

Salt, Pepper, Garlic & Hot Sauce to taste

Mix all ingredients except corn in a big pot. Simmer about 2 hours until done.

Add seasonings to taste.

Add corn the last 30-45 minutes of cooking to prevent sticking.

Have extra beef broth on hand if you need to thin the stew.

Stir frequently to prevent sticking.

This should make about 2 gallons of wonderfully delicious stew.

Note: We use frozen veggies because they have less sodium. We also like to add Lima Beans. You can also add more onions, potatoes, or tomatoes to taste, as desired.

Hey Good Lookin', What Ya Got a-Cookin'?

2012-01-13T11:13:00.000-08:00

Mama was a very accomplished Southern Cook. Sadly, those skills did not pass down to me because I was too busy doing “important” things like after school activities, Girl Scouts, drama, or student government to do something as mundane as cooking.

Like a lot of Southern cooks, Mama would fry or boil everything to within an inch of its life, then smother it in butter and/or gravy. Not so good for the arteries maybe, but oh so tasty! And, boy howdy, could my Mama cook up a yummy pot of Brunswick Stew!

I recall helping her make Brunswick Stew once when I was about 8 or 10 years old. She brought home a hog’s head for the stew (yeah, a “real” hog’s head … it was the only meat we could afford at the time) that she boiled up with a bunch of onions and seasonings. When it was cooled, my task was to pluck all the meat off the head. Come to think of it, that experience probably added a lot to my early aversion to cooking.

Years and years ago when my soon-to-be Fiancé flew out to meet my family, he was astounded by the variety and amount of food Mama served. Shucks, a good Southern meal ain’t hardly worth fixin’ unless you’ve got at least 2 or 3 meats, half-a-dozen different vegetables, and 3 or 4 splendid desserts!

My husband was raised out west where “peas” are those round mushy green things that come in cans, so the variety of peas we have in the South amazed him. After more than two decades of Southern living, he has come to appreciate the tasty goodness of black-eyed peas, crowders, lady fingers, purple hulls, even butter beans.

He has also developed a liking for grits … after all, Grits Is Groceries! In fact, one of our favorite light evening meals is grits & eggs with bacon or sausage and muffins or biscuits. Mmm, mmm … it doesn't get much better than that. Oh, and no self-respecting Southerner would ever put sugar on their grits! The proper seasonings are butter with salt and pepper, topped with red-eye gravy, if you have it. If not, try mixing your helping of grits with scrambled eggs and crumbled bacon or sausage. Major yum!

Alas, my lack of culinary skills - or more accurately, my disinterest in cooking – has passed on to my daughters. My apologies to my sons-in-law! Fortunately for them, both of my married daughters have husbands who enjoy cooking, so my failure hasn’t totally ruined their lives. Oh, my family never went hungry … thirty-plus years of marriage and raising a passel of kids will force such skills on you, however much you may resist it. I can cook a decent meal, but I will never match Mama’s talent for good down-home cooking and it will never be one of my favorite things to do.

A couple of years ago my husband started working from home and gradually has assumed more of the cooking chores, especially since I now work five days a week. Hallelujah!! I gladly relinquish the kitchen to him as he is a much more creative cook than I am and is no coward when it comes to using spices. If he wants to continue cooking for the next thirty years, I will gladly wash the dishes!

So, hey good lookin’ … watch you got a-cookin’ tonight?

Hand Me Down Rose

2012-01-10T12:18:00.000-08:00

Growing up the youngest of three daughters in a dirt poor family, I frequently wore my sisters’ hand-me-downs. Since Mama’s family was one of our church’s “charity cases”, we frequently received bags and boxes of clothing. The happy result was that even though we were poor, we didn’t always look poor. Usually we received the clothing with gladness, but I vividly recall a day when my proud 15-year-old self was not quite so grateful.

It was a Saturday and Mama and I were assisting with a church-run rummage sale. One of the kind older ladies from church came over carrying a suit that she was sure would be just perfect for me to wear on Sundays. She handed me the most hideous outfit I had ever seen: an icky hued orange knit skirt with matching 3-quarter-length sleeved jacket that looked like something someone’s old maid aunt would wear. Reluctantly, I tried the thing on and looked in the mirror to find a frump staring back at me. No way was I ever going to wear that in public! The suit fitted me just fine, but I told a bald-faced lie to that sweet church lady and said it didn’t. Decades later I still recall the shame of lying to that good woman.

I continue to wear hand-me-downs. In fact, today I’m wearing black slacks that used to be my sister’s and a black sweater set that belonged to a dear friend. They both have better taste than me, so I don’t mind their castoffs at all, especially since my sister relinquished the title of “Polyester Queen” several years ago. About once a year my sister cleans out her closet and Voila … I’ve got a spiffy new wardrobe!

Our children have learned to value second-hand clothes, as well. As they were growing up, their dad and I told them we would pay the cost of a basic pair of jeans or shoes for them, but if they wanted to wear a designer label on their behinds or on their feet, then they would have to make up the difference in cost themselves. It didn’t take long for them to discover that for the price of one piece of designer duds, they could almost buy an entire wardrobe of “regular” clothes. If they just “had” to have a certain brand, they learned to shop at Goodwill or Plato’s Closet or other clothing re-sell shops and nobody knew the difference. It delights me to know that to this day none of our grown children crave designer clothing, especially now that they are paying for their own stuff.

I recall a line from a long ago song: “Don’t give me no hand-me-down clothes; I’ve got some already.” My response? “Bring ‘em on!”

Hair, Long Beautiful Hair

2012-01-06T15:42:00.000-08:00

In my mind’s eye I see myself as tall and svelte (hey, a girl can dream, can’t she?) with long flowing tresses. (stop snickering!)

I have to admit my hair is my one point of vanity … it is longish, thick, wavy, and healthy. But it was not always thus - when I was in grade school, Grandma Riner once accused me of having a horse’s tail attached to my head. Isn’t it amazing what a decent conditioner can do?

Throughout high school and college I wore my hair very short – short and sassy like me. But then I met a nice young man who liked long hair (on women) so now, after more than 30 years together, I still keep my hair longer for him. (Oh, the things we women do to please our men. Like stiletto heels. Really?!?)

I’m not a vain person so when a few gray hairs cropped up, I welcomed them. My niece Joanna kept trying to convince me that I needed to color my hair and get rid of the grays. “You’ll feel so much better about yourself,” said she. “Hey,” I replied, “I feel just fine about myself, thanks. Besides, I worked hard for those grays … I Earned them!” My two older sisters, who had been coloring their own hair for years, didn’t like the fact that their little sister looked older than them (or so they told me). But, I held firm and my hair got grayer.

Then in 2007 that beloved niece lost her battle with breast cancer, a mere 6 days before what would have been her 33^rd birthday. To honor her, my sister Ammy and I drove down to southern Florida to spend Joanna’s birthday with her mom, JoAnn. We went out for breakfast at one of Joanna’s favorite restaurants then enjoyed a homemade Spa Day, pampering ourselves with mani-pedis and massages.

JoAnn and Ammy had long tried to convince me to get rid of my gray, so when they started in on me this time, I caved in … again, to honor my dear niece. At first, though, they tried to turn me blonde. Yikes! Fortunately, it didn’t take because I have neither the coloring nor the Attitude to be a Blonde. Next came a nice soft brown with reddish tints and wouldn’t you know … I loved it! So now, nearly five years later, I’m still covering those grays.

Who knew that Lady Clairol and I would become such good friends?

Back to the long hair … I always wondered why women of a Certain Age (about MY age, as a matter of fact) suddenly went from having long hair to short. Was there some Unwritten Rule no one told me about that declares “older” women can’t have long hair? If so, my husband would be disappointed.

Well, now that I am of a “Certain Age” myself, I have finally discovered the terrible truth and I’ll let you in on the secret: long hair + hot flashes? Not a good combination. Taking a B Complex and Black Cohosh and using strategically placed deodorant at night have helped a lot, but one of these days I’m going to come home with short hair again. And when I do, my good husband will just have to understand.

I'm a Blogger!

2012-01-03T19:21:00.000-08:00

Why become a Blogger??

Years ago while living in Florida we took our children to the quintessential Florida attractions: Disney World and Epcot Center. At Epcot our kids were captivated by what they called the "giant golf ball" ride. I'm not sure what it is today, but back then it was a roller coaster adventure depicting the history of communication. As we turned and twisted uphill and down, we passed a series of vignettes from caveman times to the (then) present showing how the ability to communicate with others had advanced. As the ride continued it occurred to me that the figures in those scenes represented Real People ... real FORGOTTEN people. And I began to cry.

(Okay, okay, I know it's silly - a grown woman crying on a Disney ride - but what can I say? I freely admit ... I'm a soft-hearted sap. I cry during TV commercials and tear up when people win game shows because I'm happy for them. And don't even get me started on sappy books and movies!)

Anyway, that got me to thinking about my own ancestors. Who were they? What were their lives like? What were their talents/skills/abilities? Who did I get my love of singing from? Did they like corn-on-the-cob and chocolate and grapes as much as I do? Were they short like me? I wanted to get to know them and thus was born my love of family history. It all started on a Disney roller coaster.

Next came the thought: What about me? I don't want to be forgotten, either! Hence, this Blog. Someday my descendants (should my married offspring ever decide to give me some grandchildren!) may want to know what their Grandma Carol was like. If so, somewhere floating around in the ether will be my thoughts and observations as recorded in this Blog.

Some of my posts will be silly or trivial, some thought-provoking, some funny, some sad ... just like my life. I hope they will enjoy getting to know me.