It’s Okay if You Want to Celebrate her Birthday Twice This Month

          I’m not really sure why I was the privileged one put on the mailing list for Alpine Ridge.  Perhaps I had made the request – but it would have been over four months ago.

          I received a letter last month informing me that I would have the opportunity to meet with a director and nurse if I had any questions concerning mom.  I assumed that my three sibs would be getting the same letter.  They never did.

          And just the other day, I received a calendar schedule for this month – first one that has come in the mail since January when we took mom there to live.  Really?  I remember asking about them back in March – but I never received a hard copy of one.  I did find one on the web and have looked at it and will still refer to it as I sometimes misplace my hard copy – but I am still puzzled at why I would receive these things and not my sibs. Surely they have that information for my brothers.

          I may have given my address to the director back in December – before we had even moved mom in.  Though I don’t remember having provided them with it.  But still.  That was six months ago!

          Anyway, the calendar has my mom’s birthday marked on the calendar for yesterday – but really it isn’t until the end of this month. I mentioned it to the activities director – just in case there was a mix up on her paper work.  Right now I don’t guess it really matters much when her birthday is celebrated or if celebrated at all. 

          Last month mom told me that she decided she was 62.

          “Oh, you decided that?”

          “Yes.  That is how old I am”

          Great.  That means she gave birth to me when I was only eleven.

          Yesterday she informed me that she is 174.  That is the same age at Harold.

perhaps you could say it like you mean it . . .

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If the school should call while school is still in session, I’ll answer ASAP but if the school calls after school hours, I usually just let it ring until it goes to voice mail.  There have been a few times I’ve answered, but had wished I would have had the voice mail recording so that I could listen to the message again.  Usually it is either the principal or her secretary who leave the message.  Both have made announcements as though they mean it.  But yesterday I got the final message of this season. 

            The voice was less than enthusiastic.  Somewhat monotone and robotic sounding. It sounded like a school marm who had just been dismissed from teaching and at the last second had been asked, “Oh, could you do one final announcement before you go?” 

 

It also had the feel of a spliced recording made from the 60’s on one of those old reel-to-reels. These are the words of the message: “Vantana Elementary reminds parents that Thursday is the last day of school this year.  school will dismiss ay 1:05 tomorrow.  As a reminder if your child owes lunch money, please send it tomorrow.  We hope everybody has a fun and safe summer.”

            The voice seemed to say a different thing however.  “Vantana Elementary reminds parents that Thursday is the last day of the school year.  Wish it was the last day permanently.  The school will dismiss at 1:05 tomorrow – so be certain you pick up your little brats. As a reminder, if your child owes lunch money, please send it tomorrow – or preferably instead of the child.  We hope everybody has a fun and safe summer – I personally don’t care if they do or not.

            Yesterday there was a program and awards ceremony.  Every child in the third grade was given something. Jenna’s award was for best classroom helper.   She is sad to see the school year come to an end.  She’ll be entering the forth grade on August 21^st.  It doesn’t seem that far away – but I suppose the heat will add to how long it feels.

Reflecting on Horton and Pinky

As a child, I was pretty much on the gullible side – or perhaps just wanted so much to believe in the unreal that I tried to make it real.

I recall an Easter when my Aunt Alice purchased two white bunnies.  She gave the bunnies to the children of her two brothers.  Patrick and I called ours “Pinky” (though Patrick himself most likely didn’t have anything to do with the naming; it sounds like I came up with the name and forced him to go along) and Kevin and Michelle named their rabbit “Greenfeet” or so I believed.

I was fascinated by both Dr. Seuss “Horton” stories – in the latter, the egg hatched at the end of the story and out came a bird that had Horton’s head.  How fascinating.  I wondered if it would work on rabbits as well.  It doesn’t.

Never mind that Pinky was only three or four weeks, totally uncooperative and wouldn’t sit on the egg unless I was holding her on top of it (or him.  I don’t think I really knew if Pinky was male or female.  I don’t really guess I thought about it one way or the other.  I never thought of Horton as male or female.  I was not all that bright) but I had taken the egg from the refrigerator.  Placed it outside near a bush in our backyard (Pinky was usually in a cage on the inside of the house) but I didn’t want my mom to find out what I was doing.  

I don’t recall how many weeks went by before a rotten odor was detected coming from the direction of that bush.  Not only was I not getting a half bird/half bunny.  I had wasted (and forgotten about) the egg.

Pinky and Greenfeet both died within the first three months.  I think they were “loved” to death. All that I have left now is this story.  I don’t even know if Pinky's bones remain in my mom’s former backyard.  Probably.

Two More Poems

Whenever the Wind Blows

When I fall asleep

I sleep quite hard

Whenever the wind blows

Slumber invites me

Into worlds beyond this one

When I fall asleep

My eyelids become heavy

My thoughts are put on hold

Whenever the wind blows

My husband can’t believe

How quickly I drift off
When I fall asleep

How the trees dance

And leaves often fall

Whenever the wind blows

There’s a calm cool breeze

That surrounds me but I miss it

When I fall asleep

Whenever the wind blows

                       

                                                                   

                                                            kfralc

Assisted Living

Harold

Bent over

Kissing

June

June

Kissing

Bent over

Harold

                                                            kfralc

  

Thank You Rob Buyea

I mention my discovery of Mr. Terupt in this post.  Rob Buyea makes reference to several books throughout the two books that I’ve read and I have made my journey into some of those books. So here are my reviews on “Belle Teal” by Ann M. Martin and “Belle Prater’s son” by Ruth White

“Belle Teal” is told in first person by a girl who’s been named after her grandma – Belle Teal.  The story takes place roughly 1961 – 1962 I’m guessing in Virginia. Two things stand out for me.  One is that Belle’s grandmother has Alzheimer’s or another form dementia.  It isn’t explained.  Even back then – there wasn’t the same understanding that we have now – and are still trying to explain.

The other is/was the relationship between her classmates.  One is a black student who has just transferred into an all white school.  Another is a high and mighty princess, also a first timer for that particular school. The other is the son of an abusive drunkard parent. They had formed a friendship in a previous grade. 

I absolutely love the way Belle Teal handles herself and tries hard to make friends and tries hard to add harmony to classmates and to situations that occur.  I also like her enthusiasm with her writing and her creativity.  She reminds me a little bit of my own Jenna.

“Belle Prater’s Son” also takes place in Virginia – but about ten years earlier.  It is told in first person – which I enjoy.  I always have an easier time getting into books that are told in first person.

Gypsy is Belle Prater’s niece, who tells the story mostly about her relationship with her cousin Woodrow, who moves in next door shortly after his mom disappears. There is a bit of mystery involved, tall tales, and finding self esteem.  The message I took from this story was that looks are not important and we needn’t treat one another in a way that focus on outward appearance.  I love how the characters are willing to accept themselves and grow.  I also like how Woodrow appreciates the simple things and what Gypsy has taken advantage of for some time become new again.

I Know I'm Alive, For There is Much Pain

When we first moved into the ward, our ward had been assigned to clean the building the last four months during the year.  It was finally changed to every third month – which is what I thought should be done all along.  But who am I?

Before we left the house, I took something for my allergies, as I knew we’d be going to the garden, which would probably make my sneezing act out even more. Usually our family is there at least three or four Saturdays to assist.  When we arrived yesterday, I figured it was the Elder’s Quorum that was in charge, as there were doughnuts, juice and chocolate milk to reward the cleaners afterwards. 

Jenna handed me a vacuum cleaner and told me that “we” were going to vacuum. “I” started out with the Relief Society room and then worked my way to the nursery and then the primary room.  I didn’t have to get any of the rooms on the other side of the chapel as I was told somebody else took care of that.

The vacuum cleaner isn’t that heavy.  But I am out of shape. I felt like I was going to die.

After doughnuts, we made our way to the community garden.  The sun was beating down on us – though few seemed to notice.  I don’t understand how they could not notice.

We raked up many of the weeds that had developed over the last two weeks. They were short enough that I could actually tell them apart from the plants.  But after bending down in the hot sun, I felt like I was going to die.

Came home to change so that we could attend a baptism (Roland was conducting) it’s all I could do to stay awake.  When the baptism was over we went home.  I took a three-hour nap.

We still had our own garden.  Waited for the sun and Roland decided to start on another project.  We could have tackled that after I got up.  Still not done with “his” projects.  And I still feel like I’m going to die.

Softball season has started

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The school that Jaime attends is surrounded by three ball fields – one to the south, one to the west and one to the north west.  In the center is a parking lot where many parents will drop off and pick up their children.  For the most part the lot remains empty during the school season.  But on the last week or two the parking lot is filled with more cars than parking spaces.

I told Jenna to come and look for me in the Church parking lot – which I learned has become the overflow parking for the softball fans.  I called out her name last night, for I could see her searching the Vantana parking lot.  I’m certain she’ll remember to look for the car in the Church parking lot for the remainder of school.

Yesterday morning I had Highness as the sun made its way over the horizon and could take him for a walk without getting caught in the rain.  We left the house at 7:30 but school doesn’t start until 8:40.

As I passed Vantana Jenna called me – believing I wasn’t paying attention.  I also passed the church parking lot.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to park over there,” I said as I pointed towards the kiddy /pavilion/and walking path park.  I figured we had plenty of time.  We walked a neighborhood street and continued our walk around and toward the school.  Jenna didn’t want to be late.  I don’t know why she thinks if I don’t have her there just one second before 8:00 that she will be late for school.  Silly girl.