Tag: about me

Sometimes Things Change

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I see some ducks diving deep, popping up half a pond away, while others are skimming their feet on the surface as they fly across the water. Bullfrogs are croaking and leopard frogs are clucking along the shores. It seems as if all remains the same for them, and still, sometimes things change.

They change for the students in the prime of their life. With their remaining school years on hold or completely shut down, proms, plays, trips, and graduations have been taken away. As a result, many students, especially seniors, are alternating between angst and anger, disconnect and depression. All the life experiences and high school highlights that they have been promised have been stolen from them. We want to reassure them that all will be well, but we understand their pain. No, it is NOT fair, but, sadly, sometimes things change.

Meanwhile, trees are changing to chartreuse with burgeoning buds. Flowers are waking from their winter sleep, poking their colorful heads out of the formerly frozen earth. As it has done for thousands of years, spring is springing, and still, sometimes things change.

It has changed for the young athletes from college to preschool who cannot gather together and have fun. Junior and senior high school students, vying for the chance to be noticed by college coaches and maybe earn athletic scholarships, cannot compete: no RBIs, no shut-outs, no distances thrown or jumped, no heights cleared, and no FATS recorded. These students are worried about their futures. Will their dreams to compete collegiately be dashed because there are no times for their 400m dash? We try to reassure them that all will work out in the end, but the words sound hollow, even to us. In the end, all we have is, sometimes things change.

Outside, warm winds are wafting. The grass is growing greener, and birds are busy building their nests. Even though everything remains the same for nature, we humans know that sometimes things change.

Great hardships befall humanity as a whole or people as individuals: Lives are uprooted, schedules are shifted, social connections are limited, and people are suffering. And when it all seems as if it is too much to bear, just breathe and remember, sometimes things change.

Matriarchal Me

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I am one of 28 first cousins on my paternal side. (Yes, I said 28.) Of these two dozen-plus people, I am the oldest.

My father is one of ten siblings. He had five children—I am the first-born.

On my mother’s side, from four siblings, there are six surviving first cousins. And you know what? I am the eldest.

Also on my maternal line, I am the senior second cousin.  (So you see what I am getting at here?)

My siblings (bless their little hearts) revel in reminding me of my age. (Yep, I got it: I am the old one. Nuff said…)

Lately, this insatiable need to acknowledge my ancientness seems to be afflicting my extended family, as well. At a recent family event, one of my much younger cousins informed me that I am the matriarch of our generation. Matriarch? (Where are my orthopedic shoes and support hose?)

At first, I was taken aback to be dubbed a matriarch. (Really, I’m not THAT old, am I?) But then, I really started to think about it. And the more I thought about it, the more I will admit that my younger cousin might, just might, be onto something.

It is true: I am the eldest of our generation. It is also correct that I am the current keeper of the family’s history.

Considering that a matriarch is defined as: “A mother, an older woman who is respected or venerated within a family, the female leader in the family”, being a matriarch doesn’t sound too bad. In fact, it sounds sort of like a compliment. (Although, I still don’t like the “older” part…not at all.)

So, for now, I think I’ll just be a matriarch-in-training. How does that sound? Many, many moons from now, I promise that I will embrace my matriarchal persona. (Bring on the gray hair and laugh lines…. well, maybe NOT!) Until then, I will just keep calm, and matriarch on.

Originally published on 13 February 2016, Matriarchal Me

Singsongs in Summer Swelter

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Sunny summer days of my yesteryears lumbered and lulled. Hours hung heavy in the humid air.

To occupy those drawn-out dog days, I dangled my tiny toes in trickling streams, carved crooked creatures in cracking mud, climbed creaking limbs of ancient oaks, and imagined dragons cavorting in cotton ball clouds.

Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee.

Continue reading “Singsongs in Summer Swelter” →

Genealogical Guffaw

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Some of my family members and friends just don’t comprehend my fascination with genealogy. I am pretty sure a few are convinced that I am just plain boring, while others call me cuckoo. Others label my passion as an out-and-out obsession. (Okay, that might be closer to the truth…)

When I start telling some people a family story or revealing a “new” discovery, their eyes just glaze over. Seriously, I have to prod them to see if they are still breathing. I get it. Some people would rather have a tooth extracted than listen to family history.

I remember one time when I was relaying a funny family finding with one of my relatives. I giggled as I told the humorous parts, whereas she acted as if her funny bone had been extracted. No smile, no smirk…zip, zero, zilch… So, I asked: “Do you believe that our ancestors never did or said or thought anything the least bit interesting? Do you think they existed without living?”

For those of you who contend that there is nothing remotely amusing about genealogy, I would beg to differ. (Of course, I have a blog dedicated to dead kin, so I might be an itsy-bitsy biased.) Anyways, here goes:

One day, a little girl asked her mother, “How did the human race appear?” Her mother answered, “God made Adam and Eve. They had children. From them, all of humanity was made.” Two days later, the girl asked her father the same question, to which her father replied, “Many years ago, the human race evolved from apes.” Confused, the little girl returned to her mother and said, “Mom, why did you tell me that people were created by God, and Dad said they descended from apes?” Her mother smiled before responding, “Well, dear, it is very simple. I told you about my side of the family, and your father told you about his.”

“I don’t care who ya are: That’s funny right there!” Oh man, I was just unfriended by an in-law! Okay, before I lose any more family or friends, here is my disclaimer: “In no way is the author contending that her spouse’s family is non-human. So please, no hate mail or divorce decries.”

Although, I have to admit, at times my children do swing from the rafters like orangutans, so…. Oh crap, another relative just unfriended me. Guess I better wrap this up before I am blackballed from family reunions…

Originally published 23 April 2014, Genealogical Guffaw

I am a writer.

Posted in Rants, RevelationsTagged , , , , , , 2 Comments

I am a writer… that’s “writer” with a lowercase “w.” I do not have the time, energy, or that special something to be a Writer with a capital letter.

I am too busy wiping snotty noses and dirty faces, scrubbing sticky floors and stinky toilets, and washing crusty dishes and smelly clothes.

My brain is too drained from constantly reminding kids to close the front door, pick up your shoes, do your homework, eat your food, hang up your clothes, turn off the television, brush your teeth, get in the shower, get out of the shower, go to sleep, get out of that damn bed, and put on some @#$! pants!

Maybe someday I might become an uppercase Writer. But until then, I am just a plain-old, worn-out writer. Please pass me the pen… and the Pinesol.

Not Good Enough

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Some kids want to be superheroes, while others want to be professional athletes. Some want to be movie stars, while others want to be trapeze artists. But for me… I just wanted to be good enough.

I knew that I wasn’t good enough when my father admitted that he always wanted a son (I was a girl), or questioned why I got a B in math instead of an A, or berated me just because, or boycotted my graduations and wedding.

I knew I wasn’t good enough when my longtime first love went off to college and left me behind, or that he forgot Valentine’s Day (which was also our anniversary), or that his roommate was the one to tell me that my sweetie was sleeping around.

I know I am not good enough when my mother only inquires about my spouse and family but never about me, or when she changes the subject when I try to reminisce about the past, or when she constantly confuses my tastes with my siblings’ preferences.

I know that I am not good enough when I have applied to hundreds of jobs but only interviewed for dozens. And that no matter how many interviews I have, I am never hired, even though I have an abundance of experience and education.

And I know that I am not good enough when my spouse wonders why dinner is not ready yet, or inquires why I did not have time to weed the garden or scrub the floor, or when my kids roll their eyes when I talk to them.

When, oh when will I be good enough?