The 2011 Imaginary Family Project – Week 51

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https://oregonsurgicalwellness.com/bras-for-cause/ Gary Ireland was born in a small, isolated town in western Oklahoma of about 1,000 people.  His formative years included World War II when all the resources of the United States were dedicated to the war effort and the subsequent boom years when the men and women involved in the war came home.  His world consisted almost entirely of the events and experiences in his hometown and he experienced both austerity and plenty.  This was a good time and place for a young boy to grow up.

Eszopiclone Lunesta Buy Online Gary was smaller than most of the other children his age, but he made up for his size with an incredible amount of energy and speed.  His short legs were a blur as he ran around town with his friends, spending most of his free time on the sidewalks, streets, alleys, and vacant lots of his hometown.

see url Today, this would not seem like a good, or safe, way to grow up.  But, in reality, the children were free to learn and experience things that would stay with them their whole lives.  They created their own forms of entertainment and solutions to problems as they worked it out with each other.  More importantly, every man and woman in town acted as surrogate fathers and mothers as the children ran around and experienced the delights and freedom of their childhood.  Adults observed what happened and they either dealt with any sign of a misdeed or quickly brought it to the attention of the appropriate parents.  Gary’s parents were always among the first to know, as they ran the grocery store on Main Street.  The African proverb, “it takes a village to raise a child” was at work in western Oklahoma.

Order Tramadol Overnight One particular group of older men spent most of the day observing the events in town.  They were known as the “spit and whittle club”, a less-than-complimentary term used by the rest of the town to describe what seemed to be their only activities, chewing tobacco and carving wooden trinkets with their pocketknives.  Their daily schedule was to follow the shade or the sun around town, depending on the season, and to watch and discuss the events around them.  They also had their favorite dry or protected spots when it rained or the north wind howled.  One of their favorite winter expressions was “there’s nothing between us and the North pole, except a barbed-wire fence and it’s been blown down”.

Order Soma Online Actually, the spit and whittle club spent their time observing and discussing the human condition, politics, religion, philosophy, sociology, and the weather.  The weather may not seem to fit in that list, but these men were survivors of the Great Depression, the worst of the Dust Bowl, and were located in the middle of Tornado Alley.  One of the deadliest tornadoes in history had happened in 1947 just up the road in Woodward. Continue reading The 2011 Imaginary Family Project – Week 51

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The Gift of…Falling in Love With Hubby 3 Times In One Day: A Christmas Post

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https://www.admoday.com/event-schedule-2/ I sat in the cab, listening to Hubby and the woodcutter talk while they loaded a semi-green rick into the truck bed. Clunk, talk about football. Clunk, clunk, talk about cattle. Clunk, talk about pecan wood and its redeeming qualities for smoking meat.

I heard Hubby say at least twice, “…my wife…” and each time I heard that phrase my heart did a little super-growth spurt, like the Grinch’s pinnacle moment. MY Hubby had called me HIS Wife and it made me fall in love.

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It was barely over 30 degrees outside.  The wind was damp and blew directly into our faces.  I stood by my Hubby in a gas station parking lot while we counted out fifty dollars cash.  I would run in and pre-pay, and he would fill up the car.  I came back to find that the gas pump was not working correctly.  He needed the attendant to reset the pump.  I ran back inside to deliver the message.  Again, no go. The second time I delivered the message that we “were going to try again,” Hubby must have seen my teeth chatter.

“Kelly, go sit in the car. It’s cold out here.  I’ll take care of this.  See you soon.”

And I feel in love with him again.

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At 7:30 p.m. we left WalMart and crossed the parking lot.  We were parked at what can only be described as one of the furthest spaces from the front door.  In the cold air, it felt like miles.  We reached the car and Hubby said, “If you’ll start the car and pop the trunk, I’ll load the groceries.  I can get this.”

I turned on the heated seats, thanking the ever-lovin’ Farfegnugen for what we were about to receive on our back sides.  Continue reading The Gift of…Falling in Love With Hubby 3 Times In One Day: A Christmas Post

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The Gift of “Na-ka-ta-ka Miewing” ~ A Christmas Post

One summer day in 1994 my two and one-half year old daughter went streaking. Hyped up on that exhilarated toddler “clean and wanting to be free” feeling, she wriggled out of my arms as I was toweling her off after a mid afternoon bath.

I was on my knees when this happened and by the time I’d made it to my feet in an effort to chase her down, I heard the front screen door open.

I was at least 25-30 feet behind her so the door was swinging back toward me by the time she had made it across the porch and lept into the front yard. I quickly pushed the door back open, towel in my hand and a surge of adrenaline aidEd my mommy-alert status as I followed her.

As I neared the edge of the porch I stopped, hesitated, then took in a scene that if shown in a movie would be a slo-mo moment.  Hubby was standing in the next door neighbor’s yard, talking to two other dads from our ‘hood. Rylee saw him, sped up her already fast pace, long wet ringlets flowing behind her naked body and threw her arms open wide for the upcoming bear hug she expected to receive when she met him.

“EEEEEEeeeeeeeeEEEE!!!” She threw her head back and screamed, glee shooting from every cell in her body. Grass clippings covered more square inches of her wet skin with every step.

The startled man-group saw her, burst into laughter, but right before she lept into her father’s arms I scooped up her wriggling body, wrapped the towel around her and said the only thing I could think of at that moment. “Rylee, naked bathtime bodies are not for public viewing!”

I said it through my giggles, and the men parroted my message. “She’s right, Ry…not for public viewing!”

We said goodbye to the man-group, I hauled her, tow-sack style, back into the house and started bath number two for my little girl.

A few weeks later, Hubby announced that he was taking the girls with him while going grocery shopping so I could have a break. As soon as they were out of the house, I ran a bath, grabbed a book and sank into bubble-heaven.

I must have lost track of time because I was half-way through drying off when I heard the patter of little steps coming into the bathroom. I hadn’t bothered to close or lock the door because the grocery list was quite long. Evidently, Hubby was a quick shopper.

I spun around and grabbed a towel. Before I could even get it around my body the first time, Rylee pointed at me and said, “Na-KA-Ta-KA-Meewwwiiinng!”

“What baby?” I had no idea what she was saying. Continue reading The Gift of “Na-ka-ta-ka Miewing” ~ A Christmas Post

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A Christmas Story… gone wrong?

Christmas 1962 - I was in the first grade

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December, 1962 – It was cold, but we played outside anyway. Playing indoors seemed like punishment. We had a routine; we under estimated the cold and over estimated our fortitude. Running, climbing, and making up games was the good life — right up until our ears and fingers hurt too much to play on. My little brother and I would reach our breaking point and go back inside, but not to stay. Mom would rub our fingers and put her warm hands on our ears. Then she gave us another layer and let us go right back outside.

In December of 1962 I was six years old and don’t remember a whole lot. But the memories I do have are quite vivid. My dad was in a job transition. He was attending Barber College in downtown Oklahoma City. He had moved us from the oil fields of west Texas through a short layover in Kingman, Kansas. Dad, Mom, my little brother Darren and an 8 month old sister, Danyne and I all lived in a tiny duplex around 50th and Lincoln. The little place had one bedroom and that’s where we all slept. My Uncle Bob, a gregarious, 6’5″ 20 year old, slept on the couch. The small, temporary home might have had 750 sq. ft. of space. That’s a stretch.

We ate beans a lot, I liked red beans. Still do. Mom or Uncle Bob could make cornbread and we often had fried potatoes. I loved my life. My whole family got to stay together in one room and the most entertaining person I had ever met was out on the couch. My world was perfect. Continue reading A Christmas Story… gone wrong?

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Lessons From A Bad Gift Giver

As much as I love Christmastime for the religious significance, decorations, music, and good cheer, I dread the everywhere-you-look (and listen) emphasis on gifts. I am not opposed to giving or receiving gifts, but the hustle and bustle is a constant reminder that I am a “bad” gift giver. You see, I believe the entire population can be divided into two categories – good or bad gift givers. A REALLY bad gift giver – the one who hastily selects their gifts from the shelves of 7-Eleven on Christmas Eve –  is on the list of the most repugnant holiday offenders along with the one who brings fruitcake to the party, the one who wears ugly Christmas sweaters (not in jest), and the mall Santa who cannot even grow a real beard. My self-given label of bad gift giver does not mean I give undesirable gifts, it just means I do not enjoy the shopping experience and I rarely feel like I have accomplished something meaningful with my resources.

While money is sometimes a factor in determining what constitutes “good” and “bad” where gifts are concerned, I would argue that being a great gift giver has less to do with financial means than a general confidence in the process of developing “outside the box” ideas. Further, a great gift giver has the endurance to shop until they’ve met their uncompromised shopping goals. These are the people who set their alarm clocks for an indecently early hour on the Friday after Thanksgiving, put on their most comfortable outfit, gather their supplies (two bottles of water, Band-Aids, Advil, and a 5-Hour Energy shot) and head out to finish their Christmas shopping while it’s still dark outside. These people are highly admirable and just as highly annoying.

I have neither great ideas, nor shopping endurance. Sure I can ask people I care for what they would like, go out and purchase these items, and call it a day. No sweat. These purchases, and the gift presentations that follow, however, lack the element of surprise good gift givers take for granted. I end up feeling like I should have handed over a wad of bills and let my loved ones shop their own lists. Why not cut out the middle man?

Surely there’s far more to being a good gift giver than the ability to neurotically circle parking lots for the closest space or grab the last limited edition Mario Brothers Wii game (or whatever is this year’s premium gift). I would argue that some of the best gifts are comprised of words and deeds. For me, the gift of my time, talents, compassion, or encouragement is a way to share something far more meaningful than anything that can be purchased or wrapped.

While improving my tangible gift-giving skills is likely a lost cause, I’ve made a personal commitment over the last year to become better at attending to the needs of others. That said, I’ve learned that desire to do something does not always lead to definitive or completely selfless action. Sometimes I look at my calendar on Thursdays and think about all the ways I would rather spend my time than reading with my reading buddies at Edwards Elementary. Continue reading Lessons From A Bad Gift Giver

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