My Friend, Sam

Posted on April 29, 2012 by

Today, my friend Sam turns 60. It’s a momentous day, isn’t it? And yet, the most important thing about it is — Sam is timeless. Priceless.

Sam and I have been friends since — we’re not sure when. My family moved into the neighborhood where hers lived during the summer when we were both three.  We attended the same kindergarten, but I went mornings, and she went afternoons.  We began first grade together. We played in the same backyards, swung on the same “Tarzan” ropes,” climbed the same trees. I remember the first time — I think it was the first — I was at her house. Her younger brother threw his shoe up the stair steps, & it came straight into Sam’s bedroom, and crashed into the side of my face & glasses – breaking the frame.  I think we were probably about 10 or 11. Broken glasses were kind of a big deal then. I felt bad for him. His Mom yelled at him.  Sam beat the crap out of him.

But I think we really bonded most around age 13. We survived parochial grade school together, and then the transition to the: Ta-Da! Sound of trumpets: public high school. We walked across town to school together. We talked a lot on those walks. We discovered boys together. Having gone to parochial grade school, boys had been just kids that Sam beat up — until we were in high school.  We realized they were kind of cute then.

Sam fell in love. Just as importantly, the boy she fell in love with fell right back in love with her. That was back in about 1969… They’re still together. Married more than forty years, three children, three grandchildren later. Still in love. More in love than ever.

After high school, after Sam & The Boyfriend’s wedding, I moved away.  Then I moved farther away.  The distance never mattered.  The time apart never mattered.  I can say anything I want to Sam.  We can sit in silence for hours.  I would trust Sam with my life.  I hope she knows she could trust me with hers — and I’m 99.9% sure she knows that.

Sam is the kind of friend that everybody should have. I’m really not sure everyone is as lucky as I am. Sam is unique, special, crotchety in the funniest way possible, caring, funny, tough, strong, sensitive, and a great cheerleader.  She also doesn’t hesitate to tell me when I’m not acting my best.  I love her for that just as much as I love her for listening, for being there, and for making me laugh so hard I pee my pants.

Back in those parochial grade school days, I remember one scene vividly. There we were on the playground — just a black-topped area, with no playground equipment or toys. The girls in the sixth grade or so stood together in a group at recess. One girl, a tough girl, confrontational, a stir-the-pot-girl, with a glint in her eye, said to Sam, “Your family is POOR!” Silence. Sam didn’t hesitate. She didn’t look sad, or embarrassed. She was strong. She said, so matter of fact, “So was Jesus.”

I could tell you so many more great stories about Sam, and her wonderful family, but are more really needed?

Sam. Strong. Smart. Clever. Wise. Witty. Friend.

I am so blessed.

Happy Birthday, Sam. I love you.

Posted in Family, Neighborhoods, Small Towns | Tagged , , , , | 7 Comments

Don’t Forget to be Awesome Today!

Posted on March 28, 2012 by

I had planned to give her a call, but the time never seemed “right.”   I was going to send a note in a Thanksgiving card… then a Christmas card… but didn’t get it done. A Valentine, I thought – that will be a sweet surprise! But, no, that didn’t happen.  More recently, I thought, “I know, a lovely note in an Easter card.”

She married young, had three children, was Granny to six, and now there are great-grandchildren.  Her family was her life.

I never saw her without a twinkle in her eye. She always had a smile for me. When we talked, I felt I’d known her all my life, and the comfortable feeling she gave me was warm and wonderful.  I sat at her kitchen table one day, and her conversation was so comfy, so warm, so down-to-earth, that I felt I had sat there with her time after time, for years.  That’s all it took with her… just once.  She was special.  She was a lady.

She was an old-fashioned homemaker, and loved it that way. She was independent, but loved to take care of others. She spoke her mind, but so matter-of-factly that it was just fine.

Her name, in both Gaelic and in French, meant “beautiful.”  And she was beautiful – inside and out.   She cared about people.  She took care of her family, and her home.  She took care of herself – because you know, that is the ultimate compliment to those we love — to take good care of ourselves so we can be at our best for them.

She had the kind of sense of humor that made you laugh right out loud. Once, seeing a bruise on her arm, her grandson asked “Granny, what happened?!” She motioned to her daughter beside her and said “She hit me.”

I was going to send her a note, give her a call, perhaps go to visit her.  But I didn’t.

I never told her how she touched my heart, how I wished I’d been her next-door neighbor, or her daughter, or niece…  I never told her.  Do you think she ever knew?  I hope so.

Today, I went to her memorial service.   At 87, nearly 88, she had a good long life.  When is “long” really long enough?

Those closets will be there tomorrow, those weeds won’t be gone from your life. Forget the “to do” list, forget the “I need to.”  Do the “I want to.” Never put off until tomorrow the messages of caring.

The sun has come out.  It’s shining for her today, I just know it.

This morning a friend posted “Don’t forget to be awesome today!”

Yep.  That’s it.  Make every day awesome.  Say “I love you.”  Make that call.  Give that hug, that smile, that little squeeze of the hand.  Write that note.  Send that card.  Today is the only day we are given to be awesome.

Don’t forget to be awesome today…

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Above My Paygrade

Posted on March 9, 2012 by

Wine Before Five

Because Life is Good.  And Sweet.  And Short.

Not long ago, an old friend commented on his Facebook wall that when people ask what his twenty-something son (who was one of my favorite Cub Scouts) does professionally, he responds that he doesn’t know, because it’s above his pay grade.

I sympathize.

A couple of years ago, trying to stay involved in my adult children’s lives (whether they like it or not) I first explored my son’s employer’s website, and then subscribed to the company newsletter.

I’ve learned things from this newsletter that have never been uttered to me by Walter’s mouth, such as that this group has been named the # 1 Manufacturer in its home city for 2011.  Why would you want to bother your mother with something so insignificant?

I do know Walter has had tremendous travel opportunities, and his graduate work is being funded by this model employer.  (I’m hoping they don’t know he was a pre-school drop- out, or that he first did engineering experiments on his younger sister.) A nice bonus is that Walter likes the people he works with.

However, what does this company do?  What does Walter do?  Well, let’s see, when I read the newsletter – and I’m certain it is written in English -  the words look like this:

Xygo&wmt  qntle9sbhwrmm?   Mqprbh93hsap4jcdu  and   qnta8rtn4.

After reading that much, my mind drifts, and says  “…I need to go switch the laundry… Where are the dogs?  Hmmm… what’s for dinner?  I wonder who’s posted on Facebook lately?  …  Oh, yeah, the newsletter…”

Xgyotgnhm qrupbmr…    Yeah, that’s what I thought.  The company does stuff, and Walter does stuff, and he gets a paycheck, and things are going well.  College paid off.

Above my pay grade.  That’s okay.  I still love Walter.

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Dad The Rooster & Christopher Columbus…

Posted on February 6, 2012 by

 

Dad & Christopher Columbus…

Oh, give yourself a morning smile & read this well-written post by The Minnesota Farm Woman!

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Dogs in Small Towns

Posted on February 5, 2012 by

Wine Before Five

Because Life is Good.  And Sweet.  And Short. 

On January 2, 2012,  THEMNFARMWOMAN posted Mistaken Identity.

Her share reminded me of the story of our dear, sweet, cranky old Springer Spaniel, Kassie. About fifteen minutes after letting her out in the yard to play one morning, a police officer came to the door. Because we live in a small town, it was, of course, my niece’s father-in-law. He had Kassie on a leash & his police car sat in my driveway. ???

“Hi Emma Ann. The kids down at the elementary school said this is your dog. She was standing in the cross walk beside the crossing guard, playing with the kids as they crossed the street.”  He expressed his concern that, having walked the half block to the school alone, Kassie could have been injured by a car — but pointed out that luckily, being so near the school at arrival time, all the traffic was moving slowly.  Extra slowly, because Kassie was helping direct.

We had no children in the elementary school at the time;  they were in Middle and High School.   Who knew our dog so well? Apparently, the kids at the elementary school. And, of course, taking their word, Officer Father-in-Law of My Niece just put her in the back seat of the cruiser and drove her home.  A common sense solution.

Kassie was the only dog in our family who came close to being arrested, or who got to ride in a police cruiser. As far as I know, she is also the only one to visit the elementary school.  She wasn’t taken to a dog pound, and I didn’t receive a citation for my dog being off-leash.  The problem was simply taken care of.

I love small towns.

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People Say the Darndest Things. But it’s Okay, ‘Cause I’ve Got Ilk

Posted on January 29, 2012 by

Wine Before Five
Because Life is Good. And Sweet. And Short

Art Linkletter was right, kids do say the darndest things, but he might have enjoyed interviewing some adults, too. Not nearly as cute and adorable, but some comments can sure make your eyes flutter wide open.  Here are a few that have stuck in my mind.  Yes, my mildly sometimes-snarky mind that never forgets a snob.

*As our moving van was being unloaded one sunny day, a new next-door neighbor stopped by. How thoughtful! No, not really – the kids were running around, the dog was running around, the husband was nowhere around, the moving guys were running around — putting things hither and yon — and this lady thought it was a good time for a thirty minute chat in the concrete driveway at 3 PM in the humid heat that you can only find on an August afternoon in south Florida. After what she clearly thought was surreptitiously inventorying our furniture and boxed possessions, Mrs. Nosey Neighbor looked me square in the eye and said “You’re not going to put up some big gaudy and awful light display on the front lawn for Christmas are you?!!!”  Quite honestly, that was the furthest thing from my mind, and I hadn’t planned to, but now that she’d mentioned it, I was seriously reconsidering. Go home, woman.

*After planning a holiday party for Wilma’s classroom at the request of her teacher, I received a call from another mother asking for the details. “How nice!” I thought.  I shared that I’d sewn cute felt reindeer face treat bags, painted little wooden heart ornaments & personalized them with each child’s name & the year on one side & the name of the school on the other, filled the reindeer bags with candy treats, planned several games… “OH!” she gasped. “Oh NO!” ??? No? She ended the call. Two days later, Mrs. Shocked Mother called back to say, “Well, your party plans will be all right. I talked to some people and found out you’re not from here, so you just didn’t know how to plan a party.” Really? She’d polled others about me? And now I was being given some sort of conditional pass – because of my serious shortcoming of “not being from here?” Games, treats, favors… What had I missed for early elementary school kids? Coloring books. Silly me! I hadn’t bought coloring books. Took the lazy way out, just sewing and painting and – oh, never mind. It worked out: Mrs. Shocked Mother Who-Was-From-Here brought coloring books to the party. I’ll admit: I did quietly smile when some of the kids left them behind at the end of the day, but they all took their ornaments and treat bags. :)

*Having volunteered to plan a classroom party in a state where we lived before the Coloring Book State, I received a call from a mom who was also on the committee. I invited her to come to my house for lunch one day so we could plan. “Well,” she responded (I could tell something really big was coming)  “my husband is a chiropractor, so of course we live in Feathertree, so you should come here instead.” Ok, then, Mrs. Feathertree, I’ll be there at the appointed time. (She didn’t invite me for lunch.  In fact, she didn’t even ask if my husband was a chiropractor.)  We both lived in a planned community, where all the neighborhoods ran together and pretty much looked alike to me. The inside of her house looked just like mine, too. But I’ll admit: Wilt is not a chiropractor, and we didn’t live in Feathertree, so I have no doubt that party planning really did proceed much better at Mrs. Feathertree’s house. The party itself was not terribly impressive: I don’t remember a thing about it.  (Maybe there should have been coloring books?)

*More than once we lived in a community where everybody was “from somewhere else.” Those places are great when you do a lot of corporate moves; usually they provide a genuine equalizing feeling of camaraderie. There’s one in every crowd, though. A neighbor and I were discussing our previous locations. I said “Yes, I really do miss my family and in fact, the Midwest in general.” “You?!!!”  her eyes flew wide open in shock. Well, there wasn’t anyone else there except my dog, so yes, me. “I am from New York City. I went to Broadway plays, to restaurants, to things that truly matter!” Oh, well, then, sure, I guess you win – but what was the game again? Oh, yes, I know: “What About ME?!” That’s right. Great game. Stupid game.

*My favorite: While house hunting in southern Connecticut  with a  very personable realtor, I came across an ad for a place that looked lovely and sounded perfect. I asked Mrs. Nice Real Estate Agent about it. “OH!” She recoiled in horror. “Oh my dear, people of your ilk do not live on Maple Street!”  It was clear she was complimenting me so I didn’t take offense about my ilk.   There are days, though — and it’s twenty-four years later — when I wonder exactly what it is about my ilk that doesn’t qualify me to live on Maple Street.

I actually do not put up gaudy & awful Christmas light displays, I do not associate coloring books with kids’ classroom parties, I do not even want to live in Feathertree, I have never lived – nor ever will live – in New York City, but no matter what anyone says or thinks, I know I’ve got Ilk.  It’s a comfort.

Posted in Neighborhoods, People are Crazy | Tagged , , | 6 Comments

Cabin Fever, or All Cooped Up

Posted on January 27, 2012 by

Wine Before Five
Because Life is Good. And Sweet. And Short.

Here we are, entering that point of the Midwest winter when so many begin to feel what we like to call “Cabin Fever.” You know, you just can’t get outside much, you sorta feel, well, just “all cooped up.”
That phrase has some other meanings, though. The first that always comes to mind is the story of a distant relative-in-law who had to be locked in the corncrib on the day of a family wedding – so he would stay sober for the ceremony. Ingenious plan, I thought.
The second story, though, is one shared recently by a friend. She’s graciously allowed me to post it here. The names have been deleted or changed to protect the innocent – and the guilty, as well, — as you will see as you near the close of her tale. This all played out early, early on a bitterly cold winter morning. If you have chickens, you will like this. If you have a beagle, a lab, a shepherd, and/or a husband, you will fully understand all the bit players in this scenario.
(Although this is being printed on my wordpress.com blog under my copyright, the original author retains all rights to this story, which unfolds here in her own words.)

“Well……my husband has the chickens’ door rigged so all I have to do is pull a rope and hook it over a nail…..then the chickens can go in and out of the coop without me going into the coop to open the door. Nice idea! BUT….this morning the door was stuck. So there I am with 5 dogs (one on a leash because she is a typical Beagle and will run away.) I can’t let the dogs in with me……they would have chicken for breakfast! I looked for a place to tie her up so she could not escape while I ran into the coop real quick to unjam the door.

So….it is hard to explain, but Hubby has a latch on the door that goes into the ground. So I lifted the latch and placed Miss Beagle’s leash in between the two eyes that hold the L-shaped peg in place. I knew with the leash in between the two eyes she could not escape. BUT… I had to make sure the door did not close all the way or the peg would drop back into the ground and I would be locked in. So, I cracked the door just enough that the chickens could not get out, and the dogs could not get in. I figured the worse thing that could happen is Miss Beagle would pull on her leash and the door would open. I was only going to run in and run out real fast. I didn’t think a chicken could escape.
Well, our Black Lab decided to paw at the door because she wanted in. YEP!!! When she pawed at the door, her weight caused the door to close…..the latch dropped into the ground — and I was locked in!!!
I banged and pushed….no way was that door going to open!!!
Hubby put a small window in the coop…..bigger than the chicken’s entrance and exit. BUT…..once again…..he installed it backwards, so you can only open the window from the outside!!!!
I eyed up the chickens’ entrance and thought to myself…..”Can I squeeze through there?” Down in to all the chicken poop I went. Poked my head through the hole, then my breast……(Remember it was in the 20′s this morning. I had on my pj’s, heavy robe, and coat). Nope, breast isn’t going! Now I’m beginning to panic!!!
Pushed on the door more…….dogs all barking at me. Eyed up the window again……should I break it? Hubby will kill me!! Poked my head back out the chicken door. By now the dogs are going crazy outside the coop barking at me….they thought I was playing with them.
Then….I see the neighbor coming out of the woods from hunting this morning! I start yelling, “Sam! Sammm! SAMMMMMMM!” The dogs are barking: he can’t hear me. He goes into his house!
Okay…nobody is going to know where I am. I’m stuck here until Hubby gets home.
The dogs were busy barking at me (laughing…I’m sure). The chickens thought I was in contention with them for the exit of the coop. Our little terrier mix was so busy chasing the pheasants back and forth he didn’t even know I was in trouble.
Gather your wits!!!!
So, I took my coat off and laid it by the chickens’ door. Took off my robe and laid it on top of my coat. Popped my head out the door. Popped my breast out the door. Now for the rear! Also…..mind you…..the chickens are trying to get in and out…..they were all over me!!!! Squawking….tracking crap all over me!!! Geez! Popped my rear out (What a vacuum that created!)
And I was out of the coop! Pulled my robe through the door….pulled my coat through the door. Man!!!! Thank goodness the exit was not any smaller!”
But wait:
NOW I had to figure how to get out of the fenced-in area! Three feet high….wired in on all sides – including the top to keep out predators. I shimmied up along the side of the coop between the coop and the mesh. I threw my robe and coat out on to the grass. Lifted my leg over the fence — but could not get the other leg over. I called over our Australian Shepherd……held onto her — and she pulled me over!
Miss Beagle was right where I put her.
The first thing my husband said when I called him at work and told him what had happened, was…………………”And where was Miss Beagle?!” I said, “She was right where I put her!” Then he said, “Oh….You didn’t bend the fence did you, so the chickens can get out…Did you?”
All true! My 5 dogs, 40 hens, 2 roosters and 2 pheasants will vouch for me!”
The End.
But oh, yes: my friend’s husband is still alive. They’ve celebrated a wedding anniversary together since this happened.
So, the next time you feel that you might have Cabin Fever, please… stop and think how much worse it could be to truly be All Cooped Up.

Posted in Sometimes we all need a smile... | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment