During my 20 minute lunch break today, I found myself staring at a Fendi purse in an "antique" shop, behind a glass case. I'm not sure what it was that intrigued me about it... it was a simple design, probably from the 60's and most certainly, the woman that had owned it, was long gone. But, that was it, she was long gone, and here I was surrounded by things from people long gone.
Here in this collection of odds and ends, of ancient wedding photos, and signed autographs of celebrities people of my generation have never heard of -- here, in the world of ancient typewriters with keys missing and fragile stemware, that was probably held up in celebration or mourning, here, my fellow scavengers and I, were looking at what once was touched by life.
I'm sure if I could have picked one object, a discarded saddle, end table, no longer in vogue crystal lamp and asked it to tell me, what it had seen or heard, what stories of success or failures, personal pain and triumphs, my heart would have spilled on the table. But instead, it would not confess of its owner, alive or dead, in good health or wasting away in a nursing home somewhere, with not a family member or memory to recall.
We've often heard that we can not take the things we have with us, and this place is most certainly a testament to that. I, myself, am guilty of having a few coveted items I can don so that, when necessary I can appear among the elite, appropriately configured. But, what does it mean, really? At the end of my life, they will sit here amongst the other relics of the once living. Which of course, often makes me pause, as to why we bother -- why do we spend so much time with the things of the world.
My desire to find a "low price" buffet is what brought me there, to that odd requiem of material things. But what I left with, was a love of my own, little space. My own little world, where you might trip over a sad matchbox car made in China or find way too many pieces of paper with a child's scribbles on a table, or a stack of newspapers that need to be recycled. Most importantly, what you find in my home, are two beautiful small children and a loving husband-- and granted, a lot of destroyed and scratched up things. But, each of these things, in this tiny home, tells a good story of love and mostly giggles, and are not treasured enough to end in a requiem of memories for others to pilfer. And for that, I am glad.
Monday, March 16, 2015
Thursday, February 26, 2015
Confessions of a size 6
Truth be told, I never really had a weight problem. I was one of those unusual people that didn't really gain much weight. I'm on the tall side for a girl, and for the most part had no idea what I weighed. If the clothes fit me, I was happy. Well into my 20's, I was still wearing the pants I wore in high school (fashion sense aside.)
But, then a funny thing happened... my 30's. During my 30's I discovered that the odd size 0/2, I had been for a majority of my life, would now give way to a solid size 4. This was fine by me, as some of those high school clothes were starting to fall apart and well, let's face it, it was time to upgrade a little. Insert better living and some feelings of "power of self" and I was doing ok. Throw in some kids in the mix (two lovely boys actually) and some stretching from pregnancies, but you know, I was alright. It was the ONE thing, I felt good about. While, I wasn't blonde, big boobed, or one of those "lovely" personality people most folks wanted to hang out with---I was thin. That was my "thing"--besides being incredibly funny.
But, what no one prepared me for, was my 40's. During this decade, I've discovered the "flat tire." That lovely thing that happens almost overnight, where your pants no longer close in the front and an unbelievable band of "fat" wraps itself around your waist. The commercials of my youth with the tag line, "Can you pinch an inch?" referring to the amount of fat around your middle with the prescription to eat Kellogg's Special K cereal--kept flooding back. As memory serves, there were even print ads with stickers you could use to put on the calendar to determine how many times you replaced a meal with the cereal. And to add insult to injury, the 10lbs that seemingly will NOT leave and continue to creep back, have now sent me into the solid size 6 category.
As a result, I've become one of those. You know those annoying thin people that complain about their weight. Those people that when you see eating a salad you want to reach across the table and scream, "Eat some real damn food! You ridiculous rabbit!" Yes, those people.
I even started reading anything and everything that I could on safely and effectively loosing weight. I know, the answer is always better exercise and diet, but after chasing after two little kids all day, managing house hold and eating the healthy stuff, I try to get the kids to eat, I'm not quite sure what I'm supposed to change here either. And although, I almost bought the "stress releasing hormone" argument, I think that life is as stressful as you make it, so I can't lay blame there.
So, the bottom line is this--I'm a size 6 and I have new clothes to prove it. In my 50's (assuming the same trending) I'm going to be a size 8. And so, on and so forth. I suppose this is part of the aging process we're all supposed to gracefully embrace. But, I'll tell you one thing, if my hair all of a sudden starts turning gray-- I'm going to freak.
But, then a funny thing happened... my 30's. During my 30's I discovered that the odd size 0/2, I had been for a majority of my life, would now give way to a solid size 4. This was fine by me, as some of those high school clothes were starting to fall apart and well, let's face it, it was time to upgrade a little. Insert better living and some feelings of "power of self" and I was doing ok. Throw in some kids in the mix (two lovely boys actually) and some stretching from pregnancies, but you know, I was alright. It was the ONE thing, I felt good about. While, I wasn't blonde, big boobed, or one of those "lovely" personality people most folks wanted to hang out with---I was thin. That was my "thing"--besides being incredibly funny.
But, what no one prepared me for, was my 40's. During this decade, I've discovered the "flat tire." That lovely thing that happens almost overnight, where your pants no longer close in the front and an unbelievable band of "fat" wraps itself around your waist. The commercials of my youth with the tag line, "Can you pinch an inch?" referring to the amount of fat around your middle with the prescription to eat Kellogg's Special K cereal--kept flooding back. As memory serves, there were even print ads with stickers you could use to put on the calendar to determine how many times you replaced a meal with the cereal. And to add insult to injury, the 10lbs that seemingly will NOT leave and continue to creep back, have now sent me into the solid size 6 category.
As a result, I've become one of those. You know those annoying thin people that complain about their weight. Those people that when you see eating a salad you want to reach across the table and scream, "Eat some real damn food! You ridiculous rabbit!" Yes, those people.
I even started reading anything and everything that I could on safely and effectively loosing weight. I know, the answer is always better exercise and diet, but after chasing after two little kids all day, managing house hold and eating the healthy stuff, I try to get the kids to eat, I'm not quite sure what I'm supposed to change here either. And although, I almost bought the "stress releasing hormone" argument, I think that life is as stressful as you make it, so I can't lay blame there.
So, the bottom line is this--I'm a size 6 and I have new clothes to prove it. In my 50's (assuming the same trending) I'm going to be a size 8. And so, on and so forth. I suppose this is part of the aging process we're all supposed to gracefully embrace. But, I'll tell you one thing, if my hair all of a sudden starts turning gray-- I'm going to freak.
Friday, January 9, 2015
Time can be shorter than you think
Earlier last night, a good friend of mine lost his Dad. He passed away in the evening, and although I knew he was ill, I most certainly didn't expect him to die yesterday. Why, it was just Monday, that I made a little comment on Facebook for him to let me know when he might be up for a visit after the standard Happy New Year wishes. And even on my desk calendar, I had made a notation to make a point of calling my friend next week to catch up and perhaps get his father's number. His father only lived in the next town over, for goodness sakes! I admonished myself that all this time had passed and how we often take people and things for granted and such. By next week, with children appropriately settled into routines, and me back to my work schedule, I should have been able to spend some time with his father. It had been YEARS.
But, that's the funny thing about life. The fates don't exactly ask us, and in most occasions, don't really care, about what we write on our calendars and how exactly we intend to spend our time. Because, ultimately, time is much shorter than we think. I have yet to hear of a person, that has said at whatever age they were, that they wanted less time. All of us, want more. Just that extra second, minute, hour... But, what we all fail to realize, more often than not, is we're not the dictators of time. And if we flash through the moments we were given, how often we find a hard remark, a flipped finger at a jerk driver, and some unbelievable astonishment of the complete moronic complexity of any particular human being.
Tonight, I will hug my husband, just a little longer when he walks in the door. Tonight, I won't yell at my kids for playing in the sink or the inevitable mess they will make in my office 10 minutes before it's time for bed. Tonight, I'll spend the extra 10 minutes listening to my sister. And tonight, (although, I'm sure my mother will say something that will annoy me), I will tell my parents that I love them. Because tonight, my friend will not have his Dad. And, ultimately, I do not have a guarantee that I will wake up tomorrow.
Rest in peace, my friend's Dad.
But, that's the funny thing about life. The fates don't exactly ask us, and in most occasions, don't really care, about what we write on our calendars and how exactly we intend to spend our time. Because, ultimately, time is much shorter than we think. I have yet to hear of a person, that has said at whatever age they were, that they wanted less time. All of us, want more. Just that extra second, minute, hour... But, what we all fail to realize, more often than not, is we're not the dictators of time. And if we flash through the moments we were given, how often we find a hard remark, a flipped finger at a jerk driver, and some unbelievable astonishment of the complete moronic complexity of any particular human being.
Tonight, I will hug my husband, just a little longer when he walks in the door. Tonight, I won't yell at my kids for playing in the sink or the inevitable mess they will make in my office 10 minutes before it's time for bed. Tonight, I'll spend the extra 10 minutes listening to my sister. And tonight, (although, I'm sure my mother will say something that will annoy me), I will tell my parents that I love them. Because tonight, my friend will not have his Dad. And, ultimately, I do not have a guarantee that I will wake up tomorrow.
Rest in peace, my friend's Dad.
Monday, September 30, 2013
Ah, the wandering flower lady
There's an odd lady that I see wandering about the neighborhood. She's an elderly woman that's relatively clean, but dresses like something out of The African Queen and resembles Katharine Hepburn. She wears an odd flowered hat and always seems to have a trash bag and some bouquet of flowers as she wanders about.
I don't find her particularly disturbing. She appears to be clean and her clothes, although an odd fashion statement, seem to have been laundered. I really don't know what her routine or mission is in a given day, but she seems quite happy to do whatever it is she's doing with that trash bag and bouquet of flowers.
I must confess that I find her comforting in a way. A reminder that life is often experienced in a way that we build for ourselves. For her, it is this random routine of wandering about picking wild flowers that she finds on the roadside. It makes me wonder how many people drive passed and find her a "nuisance" or a "crazy person" or "someone who's bringing down property values." But to me, she's just a reminder that life is short. And there is a beautiful simplicity to her task.
We often hear the expression, "Stop and smell the roses." Well, my wandering Katharine Hepburn does. And I think today, I will go out to my garden and stop and smell my roses and wonder if there will be a point in my elder years, where I will be this person, wandering about picking wild flowers from the side of the road, wearing an odd hat. I do have a nice collection of hats.
Friday, May 10, 2013
Why Do We Need All That Stuff?
I have a friend of mine that pointed out a family member once commented that people have too many things--the point of view being--who's going to clean out their houses when their dead. When I first heard this, I took a moment and paused. "What an odd thing to say", I thought to myself. But then I started to think a little more about "stuff" and I thought to myself, gosh, this person has something there!
The truth is, we all have way too many things. I personally spend hours of whatever free time I have, trying to make my very small home appear bigger. I rack my brain with storage solutions and read anything that has the concept of storage in it. I search through web pages after web pages for anything that resembles the term "apartment size furniture" and for the life of me, still can't figure out how in the world the front room of my house was considered a "dining room/living room". I don't think they make the lilliputian furniture that could bring that vision into a reality.
The truth is, we really only need 1/10 of what we have in our homes. We probably don't need the 10 versions of the same color shoe, or the 15 suit jackets that would be better donated. We probably don't need whatever is in that storage box that we can't recall that we put in the basement or in my case, crawl space. We probably will never use that second iron, second coffee pot or 3rd chess set or whatever it is that we have more than one version of---but we keep it for reasons that I guess we feel that we'll need it someday.
So, why do we spend all our money on buying more things or getting bigger houses to put more things in? Maybe we all need a moment to take stock of our surroundings and think about that. After all, we can't take it with us.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Cats and children
Someone recently gave me some interesting advice. She said, “Make sure that you don’t have toys all over your house. Just let the kids play in one area only and the rest is adult rooms.” I found this funny from a woman who had cats.
Clearly, I did not follow the advice, for if you walk any and every room in my house there will be some form of child paraphernalia. Yes, even the bathroom has bath toys and even the kitchen has been known to host a figurine of some form in a bowl or drawer somewhere. To me, this isn’t a huge issue, simply because if you asked me, my children are the center of my home. They are the reason I now have a family versus just a couple living in a house being able to afford lavish vacations, remodeling and expensive vehicles and bizarre hobbies…sky diving anyone? Instead, I will pay way too much for diapers, freak out about paying for college and making sure that the boys have an appropriate balance of interesting things to do, as well as intelligent things to do.
Perhaps it’s just my version of being a mom, where some messes are allowed (as much as my poor husband stares at me thinking I’m nuts while he suffers through it) and clean up is expected. Hey, if you’re going to make a mess you can at least help me clean it up even if you are two. But, I think at the end of the day, when my children grow up, they won’t be telling stories of how objects and room where more important than they were. Plastic couch covers, anyone? I mean, yes, we don’t destroy things, and yes, we do try to keep order, but will there be the occasional jumping on the bed while supervised? Sure. And will there be the occasional running across the couch even though, you’re not supposed to and you could fall? Yep. And if that makes me a mom not to that person’s expectation, and if she comes to my house some day and gawks at the sheer child presence, then so be it. We can compare how well adjusted my children are to her cats in about 18 years.
Clearly, I did not follow the advice, for if you walk any and every room in my house there will be some form of child paraphernalia. Yes, even the bathroom has bath toys and even the kitchen has been known to host a figurine of some form in a bowl or drawer somewhere. To me, this isn’t a huge issue, simply because if you asked me, my children are the center of my home. They are the reason I now have a family versus just a couple living in a house being able to afford lavish vacations, remodeling and expensive vehicles and bizarre hobbies…sky diving anyone? Instead, I will pay way too much for diapers, freak out about paying for college and making sure that the boys have an appropriate balance of interesting things to do, as well as intelligent things to do.
Perhaps it’s just my version of being a mom, where some messes are allowed (as much as my poor husband stares at me thinking I’m nuts while he suffers through it) and clean up is expected. Hey, if you’re going to make a mess you can at least help me clean it up even if you are two. But, I think at the end of the day, when my children grow up, they won’t be telling stories of how objects and room where more important than they were. Plastic couch covers, anyone? I mean, yes, we don’t destroy things, and yes, we do try to keep order, but will there be the occasional jumping on the bed while supervised? Sure. And will there be the occasional running across the couch even though, you’re not supposed to and you could fall? Yep. And if that makes me a mom not to that person’s expectation, and if she comes to my house some day and gawks at the sheer child presence, then so be it. We can compare how well adjusted my children are to her cats in about 18 years.
Friday, January 7, 2011
And now for 2011
As I contemplate what's in store in 2011, I'm constantly coming across people that I would best describe in this scenario-if they won lotto, they'd be angry at the taxes they'd have to pay...
I don't know about you, but I'm all for some optimism in 2011. I mean...how much more depressing can it possibly get? As I think of new year "resolutions" I'm not wasting my time with the ones I made every year that simply won't come to pass...you know, the typical: eat better and excercise more. Instead, I'm trying to focus on things that will make me a better person. Nothing wrong with personal growth, right? Simply things, like...don't yell. (Which you know is the staple of any Mom who wants to get a point across.) And, take a breath before you tell someone what you really think. (Which is a challenge for me, since I have no internal dialog). Simply my life. (Which includes throwing out papers I've been saving for the last 10 years....do I REALLY need the cell phone bill from 1999?) Decluttering my house. (Ok. Seriously, I'm just going to throw out ALL my clothes and start again, after I have the new baby. I'm just NOT fitting into them....end of story.) Eliminating negativity. (Which will includes limiting my exposure to the people angry about lotto.)
The way I figure, if someone is willing to give me a million dollars that I didn't have before...the tax man can take whatever he wants. Glass half full people! And happy 2011.
I don't know about you, but I'm all for some optimism in 2011. I mean...how much more depressing can it possibly get? As I think of new year "resolutions" I'm not wasting my time with the ones I made every year that simply won't come to pass...you know, the typical: eat better and excercise more. Instead, I'm trying to focus on things that will make me a better person. Nothing wrong with personal growth, right? Simply things, like...don't yell. (Which you know is the staple of any Mom who wants to get a point across.) And, take a breath before you tell someone what you really think. (Which is a challenge for me, since I have no internal dialog). Simply my life. (Which includes throwing out papers I've been saving for the last 10 years....do I REALLY need the cell phone bill from 1999?) Decluttering my house. (Ok. Seriously, I'm just going to throw out ALL my clothes and start again, after I have the new baby. I'm just NOT fitting into them....end of story.) Eliminating negativity. (Which will includes limiting my exposure to the people angry about lotto.)
The way I figure, if someone is willing to give me a million dollars that I didn't have before...the tax man can take whatever he wants. Glass half full people! And happy 2011.
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