Somewhere Out There

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Out there, somewhere, in all the documents, papers, and stories of humanity, is information concerning one Thomas Napoleon Vandenburg, born in 1814 in either Germany or Holland, and died – according to lore – in 1864 in an insane asylum in Tennessee. We know he married a woman named Elizabeth, had three sons, all of which are easily documented, and the descendants of those three sons are scattered world wide. That’s it, that is all we have about this man who is my direct descendant.

Oh, I know, he is long dead, and that the stories about him died with his children or grandchildren. No one who knew him still walks the earth. But it bothers me that a man who was a father, husband, and no doubt, friend is simply erased as if he was unimportant in the formation of our family line. To me, he isn’t just a name and date on a piece of paper, he is part of who I am from the smallest part of DNA to, perhaps, how I look and act. It is a connection that becomes more important the longer I can’t find an answer.

As most genealogy enthusiasts know, there is always the one brick wall that makes us keep on pounding away. So many things can cause a brick wall. A name change, a spelling change, someone just decides to drop out of sight and moves on with a new life. All of that was much easier the further back one goes in history in the United States and other wilderness areas that became dumping grounds for criminals and religious fanatics. That very combination of rebelliousness was ripe for anarchy. Wars added to the losses, and sometimes, the soldier joined up using a fake name and disappeared into the chaos of history ending in a nameless grave somewhere on a nameless piece of land.

Disease, insanity, grueling hard scrabble lives, starvation, and wanderlust added their share of ghosts and lost men and women who became vague names in some old Bible or land document. There are thousands of ways a man could die in the past that would be cured with a simple pill today. The greed for gold alone took thousands of men from their families into the gold fields of California. A multitude of them were never heard from again. Some simply slipped away, some died horrific deaths, some drank themselves to death, and some managed to make it home, or bring their families to them to start a new life.

Today, it is rare that someone can simply disappear. We have documentation from the second we are born until the day we are buried or cremated at the end of our lives. Millions of tons of paper and ink are outlaid on each person born in a modern society. And now, with social media, computer hackers, and everything available electronically, we are even less likely to be able to disappear. Eventually, someone, somewhere, will recognize the missing person or discover when and where he or she died. I abhor the modern world of constant surveillance and intrusion, yet still wish that our ancestors had been a bit more organized and determined to keep records straight.

However, as I beat against that brick wall that is Thomas Napoleon Vandenburg’s history, I know in my heart that he is happy that someone cares enough to search for him from so far in the future. One day I will find him, and when I do I will do my Happy Dance and know that all the late nights, road trips, digging around in ragged paperwork and frustration was worth it. His story will be written again, and we will be able to move on to the men and women who brought him into this world. I know he’s out there, somewhere. Hang on Thomas, I am searching as hard as I can.

Brown Eyed Boy

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arron_6yrs“Well, hello little man,” The new mother said when she first held her baby boy. He looked at her with his big brown eyes and cried. She cuddled him close and told him not to cry because she would always hold her brown eyed boy in her arms.

“Look at you, you’re walking!” The mommy said as her brown eyed boy took his first steps across the room on his own. He looked at her and smiled a drooling smile as he took his first steps away from her.

“Hurry! We’re late! You don’t want to miss the bus on the first day of school” she said, as she rushed him out the door and down the street to the bus stop. The big yellow bus pulled up and he climbed on with all the other children in his neighborhood. His mommy stood on the curb and smiled at him as the bus moved away. He didn’t see her cry as her brown eyed boy took his first ride away from her.

“Here’s your uniform, you need to change so we can get to the meeting on time. Tonight, you get to move up from a Bear Cub to Webelos in scouting” his mother said, as she rushed from one task to another. When he walked across that bridge to move up to his next rank, she applauded and smiled while he grinned with pride at his accomplishment. He didn’t see her cry as her brown eyed boy took one more step toward the future.

“What have you done!” The mother whispered in a quiet voice, as he was rolled into the emergency room. “We won!” He shouted as they gave him medicine so they could set his collar bone. He didn’t see her cry as he drifted off. But he knew she was right there by his side. She prayed for her brown eyed boy.

“Where have you been!” His mother shouted at him when he stumbled in at daybreak. He knew she had been waiting up for him all night, afraid he wouldn’t come home, afraid he was hurt. “Mom, we were out night fishing. Don’t worry, I’m almost a teenager I can take care of myself. Then he wandered off to bed. He didn’t see his mom cry in relief he was fine, and in sorrow that her brown eyed was one step further away.

“What is this?” His mother asked. He knew she knew what it was as he tried to think of an excuse or a reason he had it in his room. “It’s just pot mom. It isn’t going to hurt me.” He said it with a tone of contempt for her. She threw it away, and he was punished, but it didn’t bother him ’cause he knew where to get more. She knew he knew, and when he left she cried at the dullness and sullenness in the brown eyes of her boy.

“Get Out!” His mother shouted in anger and frustration. “Live by our rules, or live somewhere else.” He grabbed his pack, threw on his boots, and stomped out of the house. He was tired of being treated like a kid, and he would show her that he didn’t need her at all. He didn’t hear the painful sobbing of his mother as her brown eyed boy walked away in rage.

“Mom! It’s a girl.” He sang down the phone in joy when his baby was born. He was overjoyed and so was she. When she got to the hospital, he hugged his mommy tight and whispered, “I never knew, I never knew, how much a parent loves their child until now.” He had tears in his eyes as he held his daughter in his arms. “Well, hello there, little angel baby.” She looked at him with wise brown eyes, and sighed with content.

“Hey Mom! Merry Christmas!” he shouted over the popping phone line! He was, he said, doing great. He had a great woman, a beautiful daughter, a good job, and that is really all a man needed to be happy. “Mom….. Mom…. I’m losing you. I love you,” he shouted just before the line dropped the call. He didn’t hear her say “I love you, too, or see her cry because he missed it, and she deeply missed her brown eyed boy.

“He’s dead! He’s dead!” came over the phone in the deepest part of the night. His mother and father rushed back home to find it was true. It was… it was – inexplicably painful, horrific in every moment of pain. She went to the morgue to identify him. When she started to leave him, she turned back, and gently closed his eyes. He didn’t see her cry as she walked away from him, knowing she wouldn’t see her brown eyed boy until she joined him on the other side one day.

“Nana, can I play my daddy video again?” Her little voice asked. “Of course,” and she put the video on.” She didn’t she her Nana cry as she walked down the hall, knowing her brown eyed girl was getting to know her daddy the only way she could. She didn’t see her smile as her Nana stood still and listened – remembering her brown eyed boy.

Ambiguity and Toddlers

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Ambiguity is not something a toddler understands. Addie and I were playing with one of her toys that has a lot of gizmos that whizz, turn, and make noise. One of them is a lion whose nose turns around like an old rotary dial telephone (for those under 55, go look it up). She thought it was hilarious. “Nose go ‘ound.” “Yes.” I said, “it does.” “Does your nose go around?” She gave me a serious look that meant she was thinking it over. She then stood up and turned in a complete circle, then sat back down. You know what, her nose did go around.

We both laughed, but probably for different reasons. She was quite chuffed with herself for coming up with the answer. I laughed, because she made me look downright silly. I didn’t qualify my question with a phrase that asked if her nose turned around like the lion. Had I done that, perhaps she wouldn’t have figured out how to make her nose go around, because, like most early language speakers, she is quite literal in her concepts of communication. I know the understood ambiguity doesn’t kick in until they are a bit older than toddler age. However, in today’s world, ambiguity is fast becoming the premier communication form.

I am not bashing technology, but as a retired English teacher, I find it bizarre that we have a whole generation that communicates with one letter words, anachronisms, and emoticons. They text each other, and due to short hand communication, they must be able to make a leap from three letters, LOL, to three words, laughing out loud. I know that each generation tends to have their own slang, most of which drove their parents crazy, but we had whole word slang. When I was a kid, for a while, the phrase “super-coolie-mojoe” was popular (it meant something was extraordinary or very good). Today, it would be shortened to SCM, LOL. And the thing is, the folks who use social media and cell phones would know exactly what it meant. How the heck did that happen?

Language changes, words change meaning and their placement in the sentence structure. Not just English, but every language goes through a constant reinvention. Those who spoke English in the days of Queen Elizabeth I, would have a hard time understanding much of anything someone in the days of Queen Elizabeth II would say – and vice versa. Today one world can be a noun, verb, participle, adverb, and adjective depending on its placement in the sentence structure and intonation derived from those placements. I really think I would rather speak Old English rather than modern text speak.

I know most of the world loathes diagramming sentences. I quite like it, because it gives order to my thoughts. Can you imagine trying to diagram a sentence written in text speak? “R U LOL at Joe’s new cut? Interrogative. Hummm. R is not a word. U is not a word. LOL is not a phrase, and Joe’s new cut is an incomplete sentence because the writer does not say what kind of cut. It could be a hair cut, an insult, decapitation, self harm, ditching class, or any number of things that go with the word cut.

Speaking of incomplete sentences, social media (the new buzz word for communication with friends and family) has brought the use of them to a high art. Or to a new low, depending on your point of view. I keep waiting for the rest of the sentence when I see something like, “Just sayin’.” You are just saying, WHAT? It isn’t even short hand speak, it is an incomplete sentence! One has to make that mental leap to modern slang and from there to what the topic is about, in one fell swoop. And one can
still get it all wrong if they make the wrong intuitive leap.

I thought it was awful when my boys would use words like “rad” and “bad” for things that were good or extraordinary when they were kids. Today people use English words in combinations that make absolutely no sense if the sentence is broken down. There is, of course, a whole new lexicon of words that didn’t exist until the advent of the age of technology. Although, that lexicon is in constant flux because of the ever changing nature of technology and science. I over heard a young man say to his friend, “You should YouTube that dude.” If you came from a place that didn’t have the computer site, YouTube, would you understand what he said? Oh, and the “dude” was a girl. In my day, “dude” meant a male who though he was the gift of the gods to the world. In my grandparent’s day, the word “dude” was applied to an effeminate male or what we would call a metrosexual guy today. While in my son’s world, “dude” was a male friend or person who generally sounded like he was a surfer dude who had one too many tokes from the blunt that was passed around at school.

I love the old time colloquialisms and “sayings” that my grandparents and writers of old used. Like Aesop’s Fables, a story could be told and a lesson learned in a few sentences. “Keep crossing your eyes like that, and they will get stuck.” always made me wonder why that would happen, leading all sorts of bizarre scenarios in my mind. (I know, weird, get past it.) I wonder what my, many times, great grandchildren will have as wise sayings from their grandparents. “Yo, Dude, not cool to dis your old lady. Ain’t gonna get no love dat way.” I think, “Son, treat a woman with respect, it is the only way you will ever get one to marry you,” is clearer and any English speaker ought to be able to understand the meaning of the sentence and sentiment therein.

Toddlers do not deal with ambiguity in their world of words. It is going to be interesting to watch our Addie learn to communicate in the world she will inherit. I am thinking, however, that she will have a more varied vocabulary than most kids her age.

Modern English is going to evolve into a homogeneous glob of single letters, anachronisms, and grunts. And one day the pendulum will swing back and one day, our progeny will look back on this era and laugh out loud as they say, “Doest thou believeth the language of thine fathers?” Or, they could just as easily be speaking Alpha Centarian too.

Forever Young

Posted on Posted in Children, Choices, Family, Friendship, Grandchildren, Habits, History, Military, Parenting, Politics, ReligionLeave a comment

On September 11, 2014, my first born will be 40 years old. For many people that requires a birthday party with black balloons and silly “Over The Hill” banners. It has been almost 19 years since he moved on, and still we miss him every day. But my son, you see, is forever young. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9E6-AYce-_M

If he were here, physically, he would be a proud father of his baby girl, and an even more proud grandfather to her baby girl. He would hug his girl, and spoil her girl, and still be a strong man to lean on when they needed him the most.

I don’t know what he would be doing as a profession, but I know it would be something outdoors. He hated being cooped up inside, no matter the weather. If it was hot, he would be off somewhere playing or fishing in the water. If it was cold, he would get up to all manner of things that required slipping, sliding, and general mayhem, with a bit of danger mixed in for spice.

I don’t know what his political bent would be, but I expect it would be about as conservative and his parents and brother tend to be. I don’t know if he would be religious, but I know he would be spiritual. I don’t know if he would like all the modern gizmos and technology, but I know he could master all of them quickly. I don’t know what kind of vehicle he would drive, but I know he would own a Harley.

But, I don’t need to know, because my son, you see, is forever young.

He would still like boxing, and loud music. Music that ranged from classical to heavy metal met his approval. He would still like reading and learning on his own, in his own way. He would still love to sit and talk with the elderly and people who captured his interest. He would still love to tinker with motors, even if they frustrated him every time he worked on one. He would still love his family, his friends, and impress strangers with his knowledge about all sorts of things. He would still give you the shirt off his back if you needed it, and make sure that you had something to eat if you were hungry. He would still support the Viet Nam Veterans, and give them all the honor they deserve. He would still want to hang out with his brother, and probably torment him as only a big brother can. He would still be our Arron. Because he knew that growing up didn’t mean becoming someone else, it just meant being more who you are. He was philosophical that way.

He would still get into fist fights, but maybe not as much. He would still stand up for the underdog, but he might not lose his temper over misjustice so easily. He would still protect his mother, wife, daughter, niece, or any other female in his life, but he wouldn’t put up with drama trauma from any female. Like most guys, it either made him uncomfortable, annoyed, or confused. He would still love his beer on a hot day, and his whisky on a cold night, and he would still sneak bites of dinner as it is being cooked.

He would still like to go shirtless while working outdoors, and he would still wear those motorcycle boots, no matter how hot it was. He would still wear 501 button down Levi jeans, Harley shirts, and the occasional button down with the sleeves torn out of it. He would still have his silver front teeth instead of changing the caps out for something like everyone else. And he would still have long hair, a beard, and wear an ear ring, even though he knows it bugs me.

He would still have his cheeky, wicked grin that told me he was up to something he shouldn’t be. He would still make me laugh at his irreverent humor, tell me that I looked like a dumpling, and tease me about everything I do, just to get me riled. He would still walk to the beat of his own drummer, follow his dreams, and fly his kite just the way he wanted to.

Yes, he would do those things, and he probably is doing just that where he is. Because, you see, my son is forever twenty-one.

Happy Birthday Arron. Welcome to the old fart club. I love you. Mom.

Forever Young. Arron Glen Combs September 1974 - Jan 1996.
Forever Young. Arron Glen Combs September 1974 – Jan 1996.

 

Kiss My Grits, GOP

Posted on Posted in Choices, Habits, History, Law, PoliticsLeave a comment

paki's_flag_bearI received THIS in my email today:

Karron,

I hate to bug you — but our records show you haven’t made a donation to the RNC.

Can you chip in $5 today?

There is a first time for everything.

Right now is the perfect time to make your first donation. A group of donors has recognized how critical these next few weeks are for the 2014 elections and has agreed to match every dollar you donate. So today, your $5 donation will count as $10 on our records.

Chip in $5 and double your impact today.

Thanks,

My Reply:

There is absolutely no argument you can give me that will ever cause me to donate to the Republican party again. I was on the fence about being a Tea Party Independent voter because I have always voted as a Republican. After the dirty tricks and downright voter fraud that Thad Cockerun committed when the Republicans in Mississippi voted the RINO out of office, I have no desire to be attached to an organization as crooked as the Republican party. Oh, I will keep my registration, mainly so I can vote out any incumbent who is as dirty as that old lizard. Thad should have retired ages ago, but he is hooked on the power, privileges, and money that he has accrued over the past 50 years. He has long since forgotten he is a PUBLIC SERVANT to the people who put him in office in the first place. Instead, he has become the Plantation Overseer, whipping the slaves into doing what he wants, even if the plantation owners, AKA the voters, are unwilling to support his behavior any longer.

He will still lose in November, because I can guarantee that every single democrat who voted for him (multiple times) in the Primary Run-Off will vote for the Democratic contender. All his machinations, lies, and promises to them make him no more than their yes man. He will have to jump when they say, and do as they want, even if he did somehow cheat his way back into office. So, I am going to write in the name of Chris McDaniel, like almost every other person who voted for him in the Primary. He WON the primary, and he won the run-off, via the Republican and Independent voters. The only what that creepy, moronic, lizard won was because he lied, cheated, and sold his soul to the evil that is the democratic (Socialist/Communist) party of the United States. If I couldn’t write in McDaniel’s name, I would rather vote for a democrat than someone as rotten as Thad. At least he would be a known enemy and not stab voters in the back like The Lizard Overseer did.

And you know what disgusts me the most? YOU LET HIM DO IT! In fact, he had to have your blessing in the GOP, or it would never have been sanctioned. Are you really so afraid of the pot head in chief and his minion, dope smoking, terrorist chums? Disgusting. Just down right disgusting. Take my name off your list, do not email or contact me again in ANY way, because I am now a Tea Party Independent – even if I do keep my affiliation with your crooked, lying, anti-American, Anti-Constitution party. Like I said, I am only doing so, because I want to vote out every single rotten career politician in what USED to be a party that believed in, and supported, the constitution as I do. And you have the unmitigated arrogance a for money to support a criminal. Words I want to use are the ones that would get my mouth washed out with soap, so I will simply say, “No, I will NOT send you five dollars. Your buddy Thad, and the GOP, can rot in hell for all I care. Go away. Leave me alone.

Karron Combs

Yeah, I am totally ticked off at the GOP. Independent leaning toward Libertarian is now my affiliation. Feeling very betrayed, and angry.

Finding A Way Home

Posted on Posted in Choices, Driving, Habits, History, loss, MilitaryTagged Leave a comment

 

Finding A Way Home

 

There is a homeless Vet who sits at the off ramp from I240 and Getwell. He is there everyday, rain or shine. I don’t normally stop and give money to homeless people (I do a lot of donating to shelters etc.) especially if I am alone. But one day I was prompted to do so by that annoying little voice that always expects me to do the right thing. All I had on me was a ten dollar bill.

 

I prevaricated, then motioned him over before the light turned green and handed it to him. He looked down, saw the amount, and tried to give it back! I just shook my head and told him to share what he could with those that had less and pay it forward. I still see him every time I am down that way, and if I have some cash, I will give it to him. But even if all I do is wave, he waves back.

 

Some days he looks like he is doing better, cleaned up, not so hungry, not drunk, some days he looks like he hasn’t slept in a week or two and needs some TLC. The point is, none of us know when that might be us sitting at that corner. Most of us are only a few paychecks away from being homeless in today’s financial quagmire. All we can do is work hard, pray hard, stay focused, love those who love us, and do our best.

 

Sometimes the hardest things seem beyond our best coping skills, but later, on down the road, you will wonder how you managed to overcome and move forward. One day, that Vet won’t be at his corner ever again. He will either find a way to fix himself, or he will give up and become one of the millions who die of sorrow every year. Either way, until he disappears, I will continue to offer what spare cash I have, and at the very least, acknowledge him as another human soul who simply wants to find a way home.

 

Seniors are not equal to others. A RANT.

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To the CEO of Malco Theaters: Today, Saturday, April 12, 2014, my husband and I went to the Olive Branch, Mississippi theater to see Rio 2. We were there 20 minutes early so we could find a seat that would be comfortable for my husband as he just had surgery on his leg. Shortly before the movie started, a family sat down behind us. The theater was far from full, they could have sat anywhere else. However, as soon as they sat down, the boy started talking in a normal loud tone of voice as the preview for other movies came on.

I turned at looked at him and his mother got snippy and said, “I know you weren’t look at my child like that.” I said, “I was. I just wanted to know if you taught him to be quiet during the movie yet.” She stormed out and went to the manager. A woman with short blond hair, and I suppose her assistant manager, came into the theater just as the movie started. The woman said to me, as I once more looked back at her son who was still talking loudly, that the manager was watching me. So I went to the manager and told her that the kid was being loud and I simply wanted to be able to hear the movie. But, that the mother wouldn’t make him be quiet. She asked me to step out into the hall, so I did, knowing I would miss part of the movie.

When I explained to her what was going on, she said, “It is a child’s movie and children can be expected to talk and make noise.” I nearly went incandescent with shock! Since when is it ACCEPTABLE for other people to be rude and disrespectful in a theater by talking? Then the manager told me that we should move our seats, or we should go to a later movie when children wouldn’t be there. WHAT?! I did NOTHING wrong, I was there LONG before that obnoxious family, and my husband needed to sit in a place where he could stretch his leg out in front of him. The rest of the front row was full. Why should WE have to move because someone else was obnoxious?

The manager said straight out that she couldn’t do anything about the family, because SHE didn’t hear the kid talking. Of course not she was over by the entry, we were half way across the theater from the door. But, her attitude was that we were the problem and we had to leave or move. We left. My husband got a special pass to see the movie later, but hell will freeze over before I go back to that theater. I expect, at the very least, an abject apology from the manager, and from you, Mr. or Ms. CEO. I also think you need to train your managers to understand that NO ONE has the right to be rude and disrespectful to other patrons by talking out loud in the movie.All that child learned today was that his helicopter mother, and ineffectual father, will make sure he can do whatever he wants, no matter how badly behaved he is.

And I learned something too, older people are treated like criminals because we KNOW good manners when we see them and proper theater etiquette. How can anyone say it is EXPECTED for children to talk throughout a move? Since when has that sort of behaviour become acceptable to people who supposedly run theaters for the entertainment of all races, ages, and people? Obviously, those of us who expect manners and to be treated with respect when we have done NOTHING wrong are not equal to the rest of the people who are inept at parenting. Oh, yes, the manager made it clear she wasn’t there to parent other people’s children. But, I bet if I had been talking out loud, or chatting on my phone, that I would have been told off by the manager. Double standards really annoy me.

I expect an apology from YOU, Mr. or Ms. CEO, and I will expect to hear from that manager as well. If not, well, the internet is a great tool for making my thoughts known to many, many people in a very short time. After all, other seniors should know that we aren’t treated equally to other patrons. The manager said I had an attitude, but the mother didn’t. Well, I was being insulted by the manager and the ignorant mother was being proactive and accusing me of being. . . you know, I have NO idea what her accusation was. I just know, I was the one who had to be “punished” while that little prince was allowed to be as annoying as he wanted to be. I honestly wonder if that mother and the manager aren’t friends outside the theater.

Karron Combs

No New Year Resolutions.

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I have no New Year Resolutions, not a one. I stopped torturing myself with those things ages ago. Every year I would start out with a list of things I wanted to do. Most were self serving, like losing weight, and some were grandstanding, like I will not let others tell me what to do. Of course, they were destined to fail, leaving me feeling like an idiot. I mean, how can one be so stupid as to always let themselves down, every year, on a regular basis?

After failing so many years in a row, I finally realized that I was simply setting myself up to feel like a loser. I hurt my own feelings, and made myself mad at ME, all for some stupid non-tradition that is encouraged by popular demand. Why? I don’t know, maybe it was just a desperate attempt to fit in, to succeed, to find something worthwhile about myself. But it always worked just the opposite from what I planned.

So, a few years ago, I decided that I wasn’t going to give in and make impossible resolutions about my life. Because, you see, life doesn’t stick to a plan. It has a way of making its own path, and we are pretty much along for the ride. I can’t control life around me, only myself. Most of the time, life around me is on a whole different page than I am at any given moment! How can we resolve to accomplish anything in a measurable way when it comes to feelings and thoughts? If it is something concrete, for instance, completing a course at school, going to the gym, or getting a promotion, perhaps we can make a plan. However, you might get sick, and miss a lot of school. You might be too tired, busy, or bored to go to the gym after a week or so. You might be downsized at your company and have to start your own business to survive. There is no getting around it, no matter your resolve, life just keeps happening while you plan. And it almost always throws a spanner into the works to muck everything up.

Now that can be a good thing, making you move outside the box and do something different and new. But, it means that you will have to forsake your resolutions – again – and if you are emotionally tied to those resolutions, it can make you pretty miserable. Or not. Depends on how much you have invested yourself in the process and plan. I suppose, one should be flexible with resolutions.

I know many folks out there in the world managed to stick with a resolution come hell or high water. No matter what life throws at them, they stick to the plan. But, have you ever wondered what would have happened if you went out to your friends dinner party instead of going to the gym? Maybe you would have met the love of your life, or, if already with the love of your life, maybe you would fall into romance all over again. You see, your choices always have a possibility of at least two outcomes. If you stick to the plan, you know exactly what will happen. You will be tired, smelly, and sore from a workout. But, maybe the second or tenth outcome, well, it might be magical enough to change your life forever.

Now, in my crazy life, I no longer set myself up to fail. Because I have finally figured out what a New Year means. It isn’t a do over, remake, new start, or second chance. It means that you get to change course, learn from last year, and make a choice to be flexible in all that you do. All the New Year does is to make it easy to switch paths, change gears, explore something new, or simply stop always doing and just be. A New Year is a date on the calendar. Nothing will be any different on the first of January than it was on the thirty-first of December. All your problems will still be there, the difference being, that after the holidays, time with family and friends, maybe you have a clearer vision of your life.

No New Years Resolution means I am not locked into a plan. I can do what needs to be done, when it needs to be done, and with that flexibility, I cannot fail. I can only move forward, just like the path in front of me encourages me to do. Happy New Year everyone, I hope you find it magical.

No Tech Christmas

Posted on Posted in Children, Choices, Family, Grandchildren, Habits, ParentingTagged , , , , , , , Leave a comment

It occurred to me, oh, several months ago, as I was organizing my Christmas list, that I wanted to give my grandchildren vintage toys. Well, remakes of vintage toys, the originals are far too pricey. I wanted them to have a Christmas where nothing they received from my husband and I needed a battery, cable, or plug in. It seems that we have overwhelmed our kids with things that beep, flash, talk, and require constant attention. It was time to get back to basics.

For my nine year old grandson, there were a set of stilts, modern and better made, but stilts, nonetheless. A honest to goodness wooden yoyo along with a trick book just like they had in the 1950’s, along with crazy straws, paddle balls, a board game, several joke books, and the Dangerous Book for Boys. I added a science project about gross things, and treats. Not one thing required any sort of power except boy power. He loved everything, and was working to master the yoyo when they went home.

For my six year old granddaughter, we got an art set. A real, honest to goodness set with everything from paints to pencils and everything to go with it. She is really into drawing and such. Several coloring books joined the set, along with lots and lots of paper. She also go the crazy straws and paddle balls, but girl stuff too, like a pair of shoes and an out fit. She got the Daring Book for Girls, that matched Nick’s for boys. And hair pretties along with a grooming kit. Nothing needed power other than the power of a girl. She was over the moon, and spent hours drawing.

And our little Addie? Her favorite toys is a small felt dolly I picked up for a buck at the dollar store. Who would have though!? We also got her a tent to play in, and to help corral her when we need to have our hands free for something. She loves that too, along with the drum, and soft toys she got. She was really having more fun with with the paper and boxes than anything.

It is easy to go on line and pick out things that beep and buzz for kids. It is much harder to think of the way their minds work and come up with innovative ways to entertain them. It is easy to let a machine entertain them, but it is, in my opinion, to encourage them to explore, invent, create, and study the world around them. Making them the center of the play, not the machine, will stretch their minds, help them create, and encourage exploration in all manners of topics.

Next year is going to be a challenge, but I am already doing research, and I expect something will come to mind. Like Jax and a jump rope for Bella, and some sort of cool science experiment for Nick. I’m thinking mad scientist, cool stuff. Addie will be easy, everything from toys to clothes . . . and boxes and paper.

I love being a Nana.

Really?

Posted on Posted in Choices, conversation, Women

The shopping frenzy is escalating exponentially as we get closer to Christmas Day. Stress is starting to show amid those who are still trying to buy, build, make, get, gifts ready for the big day. I realize how difficult it is not to stress out, but why do people feel they have to take it out on the person who happens to be manning the cash register?

In line at Wally World today, a woman in the next check out lane started complaining loud and long about how stupid it was that they didn’t have more lanes open, and that it was annoying how slow the checkers were. One of the people directing traffic to different lanes told her that the self check was available and that there was no waiting. To my dismay she turned on that woman and told her, “I EXPECT to be waited on when I come into a store. I EXPECT that someone will check my items, and I will pay a PERSON not a machine!”

Wow! Nice, not! Merry Christmas to you too, you hateful cow!

The woman kept her cool, and apologized that the cow had to wait, but that there was nothing she could do, as people were checked out on a first come, first serve basis unless they used the self check out. This was a busy time and the next few days would be crowded in most stores. The cow still huffed and puffed, complaining under her breath.

All those around me, including me, just stared at her in disbelief. Making eye contact with one another, we all seemed to be thinking, “Really?” Shaking our heads and trying to ignore the oozing anger around the woman, most everyone got on with their business. Finally, the woman was at the register and ready to pay. She said to the girl at the register, “I would wish you a Merry Christmas, but I really don’t care if you have one or not.” The poor girl nearly cried, but she just wished the woman a good day.

Say what you will about low payed employees, but the women at Wally World were gracious even in the face of insults and mistreatment by the very person they served. At the end of the day, that hateful cow will have a miserable Christmas, while each of those she abused will be blessed in one way or another for turning the other cheek.

I admire that, I really do, I simply do not have the kindness gene in my DNA. It took all I had not to tell that woman off, but it wasn’t my place to do so. Besides, I didn’t want to end up in trouble right before my son and grandchildren got here. So, I let it go, but you know, it really bothers me. So from now on, I will do my level best to be polite to all those who serve me in any way, even the surly cashier at the local gas station.