Memories

Yesterday was Memorial Day, and that had me thinking. I know that for much of the country Memorial Day is time to remember all of those who have died to give us the freedoms we now enjoy and it is for me too, but it’s also more.

I take the word Memorial Day literally. I remember; those I’ve lost, those I’ve loved, my childhood home, all the changes that have taken place in my life. Memorial Day is a very important time for me, always has been. It is a day to take stock. If I’ve lost touch with friends –Is it time to call them? If I’m not the mother I dreamt I would be- Is it time to pray for patience with my kids? If I’ve forgotten something about my Poppy or Nana- Is it time that I sat back and made a conscious effort at remembering?  

What from your personal history have you forgotten? What needs to be remembered?

History does repeat itself. So here’s to purposefully remembering the past, to repeat the good stuff and leave the rest behind.

Contentment

The sun is shining today. I don’t know what the weather is like where all of you live, but here it is warm and bright.

I am going to write today about contentment. 

Right now I am sitting on a lovely smallish couch that I admired for years at a friend’s house and when they remodeled, they gave it to me.  There is a table that my husband made from an old treddle sewing machine right in front of me on which is a perfectly sized notebook computer.  I am sipping on a cool cup of Chai tea, sweetened with vanilla bean ice cream (you have to try this, it is wonderful).  My couch is angled towards a window where a large rose bush will produce lovely pink roses all summer. I am listening to Pie Jesu by Lloyd Webber on my IPod and feeling utterly content.  That is why I am ashamed to admit that just last night I was pointing out to my husband the little Victorian cottage that I want him to build for me next year for my writing space. In my defense it is no bigger than a large shed, but still. When is enough, enough?

FIrst Loves Blogfest

First book love

The first full length novel I have ever read was LITTLE HOUSE IN THE BIG WOODS by Laura Ingalls Wilder. It was handed to me by my second grade teacher Mrs. Thompkins with the promise that if I finished it I would be given a candy bar, a big one. Several weeks later I had a full size Hershey milk chocolate bar in my hand (sad that I still remember the kind) and eight more books to read. Lovely, lovely Mrs. Thompkins.

First movie love

The first move I ever saw at a drive-in was Return of the Jedi. My parents loaded us up, all in our footie pajamas (standard drive-in attire) into the back of our station wagon. They had the seats down before we left the house so we spent the drive rolling from one side of the car to the other. Once we got there my dad brought out a big greasy paper bag full of the buttered popcorn he’d spent the afternoon making. I don’t remember much about the movie, but I do remember having a wonderful time. I take my own kids to the drive-in now, and they wear footie pajamas, and I make a big brown paper bag full of buttered popcorn. I don’t pull down the back seat until we get there, though. Some of the seat belt laws have changed since the 1980s.

First kiss love

I had my first kiss when I was thirteen. My parents dropped me off at the movie with my sister. At least that’s what they thought they were doing. In actuality we were meeting two boys there. I didn’t even watch the movie. I was too busy wondering when “it” was going to happen. My sister had spent the entire time with her lips locked with the guy to my right; but me? Nothing. By the time the credits were rolling down the screen I was desperate. I turned to him and said, and I quote, “Are you going to make out with me or what?” He looked surprised, but did it. And it wasn’t half bad. But it wasn’t the romantic thing I’d hoped it would be. That might have had something to do with me, though.

First real love

My first real love was my husband. I know that sounds trite, and safe, but really he was. I was fifteen when I met him. He was twenty-one. I can still remember what he was wearing (a white tank top and black shorts). My husband has always been physically fit, but never so much as he was then, when he was fresh in the army, and worked out almost every day. I don’t know if it was love at first sight or not, but it was most definitely lust. My fifteen year old heart didn’t see anything wrong with the six year age difference. My parents? Not so much. But thankfully they saw past his physical side and saw the wonderful person he was, and still is.

That’s it, my Four First Loves. I can’t wait to read some of yours. I am counting on some serious literary inspiration.

Summer Expectations

For the last five years I have worked every weekend. Until January when my husband and I decided enough was enough.

 I know working every weekend sounds horrible, but it was actually a really good thing for us, for our family.  My husband works Monday through Friday, so it let us always have someone home with the kids. It was a hard decision to make because even though I only worked 24 hours a week (12 hour shifts on Saturday and Sunday) I was still considered full time and was paid that way. Only in nursing. Anyway, I digress. We decided it was time for us to have our weekends to spend together as a family. I went down to only one day a week, which in my case meant a substantial cut in pay.

Strangely enough we’re doing fine, actually better than fine. I didn’t realize how much I was missing out on all those years. I can’t wait for this summer to go to the local park and cook some hamburgers and throw the Frisbee around with my kids. Simple things, but important.

As it turns out, you can’t decide you want to go camping for Memorial Day weekend three weeks beforehand and still expect to get a campsite somewhere.

I guess I’ve just been out of the loop for too long, but I’ll know better for next year.