Tuesday, September 2, 2014

First Day of School



"If you bungle raising your children, I don't
think whatever else you do well matters
very much."   Jackie Onassis






Dear Mom,

They're so small when they're born.

In your eyes they're not that

much bigger when you send them off

 that first day.




Tiny and pretty much untainted.

If only they could stay that way.



But today you're both facing reality,

and on many levels that's a good thing.

Face it, you're ready for some ALONE time.

Even if you have more wee ones at home,

this is one less.






If this is the last of the brood to go, you

are now in for GENUINE alone time.

If it's for half-day kindergarten, a few

precious hours are yours.

The rest of you now have this luxury of

All Day.





Is that why you're crying?

Because you don't know what you're going

to do with all that time?

Or are you crying for your little one, or

crying because he is and you are used to 

doing everything together?




Maybe this child is fifteen,

and your tears are tears of freedom! and joy.

I don't blame you.

In fact, I used to call that first day of school

Thanksgiving.  And I gave monumental thanks.





This is what children are born to do.

Be torn from your maternal side 

and thrust onto the bus that carries them

a hundred miles away to a place that 

literally schools them in life.

Home will come new words, new phrases,
(some they even they don't know the meaning of-- just ask me)

and a brand new cold that is affectionately given to you.







You could say school is a lot like travel.

It broadens their horizons and makes 

them yearn for more.



As for you, it gives you a chance to think about

WHO you were before they came howling into your life.

This is a chance to reclaim that you and improve upon it.


So Mom, I say cry all you want.

And then rejoice.

Because now the entire world gets to experience

your bundle of joy and become

a better place because of it!





Here's to the first day of school,

Mary

All images via Pinterest



Friday, August 29, 2014

Getting Schooled






They say the formative years are

from one to five.



Sorry, can't agree with this one.

With the first five years come things like

breathing, crawling, walking, talking,

eating and potty training.

Throw in some bonuses like reading,

singing, and unloading the dishwasher.



But if you want 

 the biggest bang for your buck,

nothing impacts a child more than

HIGH SCHOOL.




High school.  That microcosm of all

that is cruel in the world in one campus

of hallowed halls.

Things are seen, heard, and said in high

school that you'll never forget.




You know what I mean.  The cutest

boy in your class calls you "Four Eyes"
(At least he had the decency for capitalize the title)

Or the time Tom Frick 

turns around to you in science class and asks,

"Is that a radio in your chest?"

You STUPIDLY reply "No."

"Then what are those two knobs for?" he

says, laughing.

See?  It's been a LONG time and I still remember!



Image mine

My Boyfriend got his High School class reunion

booklet in the mail today.

He didn't attend this year, but this powerful

little booklet contained the names of everyone in

his class and bits of information known about them.




As I watched him peruse the pages in

front of him, I could see the memories return.

A slight smile, a grin with a nod, and an

occasional "Oh  wow!" came forth.




People he hadn't thought about for years, and

hadn't seen in fifty came flooding back to his thinking.

Colors and smells, sounds and textures.

Clothes, movies, cars, hair cream, dates, and

first kisses. 

Cigarettes and beer (gasp!)

It's all enveloping and all consuming.




He read through every name.  Some with only

a telephone number, some deceased.



I had my reunion this year and didn't attend

for the shallowest of reasons which is the

heart and soul of high school.

There was no one there who I had been close to,

plus I'm feeling chunky and unattractive right now.




How's that for high school thinking?

But that's how it is.  Other years I've gone back,

eager to show my classmates that I am a new and improved

version of who I was.



I have to admit it.  Even though I know I'm an 

intelligent, thoughtful, kind, and fun person, they don't.

 Most people don't become their

real selves until after high school.

Going back to the microcosm fifty years later

yields the same fear it did then.



Who knows, maybe in five more years I'll be ready.

Or maybe not.



Here's looking at you, kid,

Mary

Most images via Pinterest




Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Tuesday, August 26, 2014

Hugs...





Give one.





























































Get one.






Affectionately,

Mary

All images via Pinterest







Monday, August 25, 2014

Loving the Outmoded






The clock had slowed down its ticking.

She just knew it.

Why today of all days, when yesterday had

been such a disappointment?

The sun too, seemed to be moving too slowly

across the horizon.

Or was it standing still?




Then, the faint hum of a motor

came to her hearing and her spirit immediately lifted.

Yes, here it was, on time as always.

No need to doubt and worry.




This folks, is my life many days.

Sounds rather charming doesn't it?

Oh, that motor whose sound came from

a distance?


The mail truck of course.

There are lots of days when for one

reason or another I don't venture forth from my house.
(I do paint and work at home.  I'm not a recluse)

Then there is winter, and I won't  go into the

reasoning behind staying at home then.





Next to the first cup of coffee in the morning,

the arrival of the post is the highlight of my day.


Boring you say.

Not so fast, I say.

My post of two days ago covered the topic

of my love for real vs. cyber books.

I wrote that many of my books come 

via the mail from Amazon.com.

So do a whole range of other products

from Amazon.com, from clothing

and cosmetics to toys and gifts.




What a thrill to walk to the mailbox 

and not be quite sure what will be waiting for me there.


Then there is Fedex and UPS.

Different sounding engines, but exciting just the same.




Once in a while I will find a hand written

note that says hello or thank you.

Even for me, gone are the long newsy

pages of the written word telling

tales of the past week or month.

I miss the heft of quality stationery,

and the papery sound of tearing open the envelope.







Inside is a  work of art.

Penmanship is the writer's own look

that no one else has.

The paper takes the words and holds them

for posterity.  That's why people save letters.

They can be read over and over, bringing

distant memories back to the present.




Some are even fragranced for a romantic touch.


Do you still get real mail at your house?

Do you still write real notes and letters?

Do you have real letters fragranced with

the passage of time and stored in that secret place?






May I encourage you with something?

This week write a short note telling

someone how much you appreciate them.

Even written on plain paper, this real letter

will give them more pleasure than a sterile

email.



Here's to quality communication,

Mary