Fun Monday - Holiday Road

It's Monday again, and not just any Monday, but Fun Monday! It is also Memorial Day, kickoff holiday for the summer vacation season. That must have been where
RDH Mom's head was when she came up with this little challenge:

Vacations...this is the time of year when most of us go on vacations. Show us and/or tell us about your favorite vacation - where you went, what you did, etc. Pictures would be great. Let's all take a trip around a the world via our FM friends!!

At the ripe old age of 46, I've gone on a few vacations. I've been to England three times and traveled across the USA numerous times. I've had a couple of honeymoons, and trips for reunions and funerals. And I'm happy to say that MOST of these trips have been pleasurable in one way or another.

But when RDH Mom set forth this challenge, we had already been in the throes of vacation-deciding. Between work, a new roof, an unexpected car repair and soaring gas prices... our finances are a bit tight. Not much room for a real vacation. My son is nine now, and I want to give him a memory of vacations as he grew up - but so far, haven't really provided any.

All of which made me think back to vacations we took when I was child. My parents were usually in similar straits - plus they had five kids (at the time) to provide for. But somehow, they managed.

My Fun Monday vacation is the last real family vacation we took - before I left the immediate family and started my own life. It was 1977 and I was 15.

Because of the largeness of my family, most vacations started out on a beautiful country road in our trusty Volkswagon Bus. In those days, there was no law about restraining children. We had free run of the back seat and a playpen was set up where the middle seat used to be for whatever little kids needed to use it. On this trip, Matthew was really the only little kid. The rest of us were in various stages of older childhood.

One of the joys of traveling by car was the ability to STOP. We stopped a lot. Roadside Tables (which I don't think exist anymore), tomato stands, antique shops... anywhere there was something interesting to look at.

Our destination on this particular trip was Pine Mountain, Georgia and Callaway Gardens. FDR State Park rented campsites and cabins and that's where we always went when we vacationed here. Cabins for us - Mom wasn't into roughing it for too long with such a large bunch. After arriving and putting our stuff in the cabin, the first thing that happened was swinging!

Andy and Matthew adored these swings. We all did. Funny that it was always the first thing we did! That and we had to go say hello to the lake. It was just a glorified holding pond, but it had ducks and geese and was very peaceful.

No one went swimming there. There was a large community swimming pool a short hike through the woods for that. No trail actually existed, but trees were blazed with orange stripes so that you could find your way.

I have no pictures of the swimming pool, but I do have memories. Mostly of diving contests between my brother John and brother Jerry. Those contests were very good measures for the kind of men they turned out to be. John's dives were always spot-on perfect. He worked very hard on form and his dives were a work of art. Jerry was more... uh, freeform. They seemed to have no form at all - and yet, when they hit the water, John splashed and Jerry produced barely a ripple.

We got passes to Callaway Gardens and after the prerequisite tour of the gardens (which I didn't appreciate at the time), we got to go to the OTHER part. The part with the swimming lake, the pavillions with snackbars and concerts and the FSU Flying High Circus which summered there. You could go as many times as you wanted to - it was an all-inclusive pass. There were bike trails and waterski shows... children's paradise!

And HORSEBACK RIDING! Every girl's idea of heaven. Luckily, my dad indulged me in this from time to time. I've never had any formal training, but I loved to get on the back of a horse and go.

Our time there was OUR time. I have no idea how long we stayed when we went to Pine Mountain. But there was time for swinging, and playing, and telling stories. That was the summer Matthew was introduced to the story of the Three Billy Goats Gruff. The little bridge that crossed the creek was the perfect setting for this, but it did take him a while to feel comfortable crossing the bridge. We finally convinced him by showing him that no trolls lived under this bridge. At which point he rather gleefully decided that he would be the troll!

We played cards, played music, drew pictures. We overheard odd snippits of conversation from neighboring cabins, including "Mr. Beemish say you be stupid!", which has become one of those code phrases that families have. Apparently the recipient of this comment was about to be fired by Mr. Beemish!

And at night, we slept on the screened porch with a symphony of owls to sing us to sleep.

I can help!!!!

Nikki has been afflicted by a combo ear-worm. What she can't get out of her head is a rather bizarre combination of Monster Mash and Get Down Tonight. (I was working in the lab late one night When my eyes beheld an eerie sight.... Get down tonight. Get down tonight. For my monster from his slab began to rise And suddenly to my surprise. Do a little dance.....make a little love. They did the mash, the monster mash. Get down tonight. Awooooooooooooo!)

It must be awful.

Lucky for her, I have the cure.



You're welcome.

Diamonds and Mud

It rained today. The radar shots all looked intimidating and you could hear the occasional rumble of thunder. But tonight was the last ball game of the season and in this league, games didn't get called until you went out to the field.

Wipers slapped the raindrops away furiously as I drove out to the park north of town and I just knew we were wasting gas with this trip out. The downpour slowed to a light rain as I drove, and then individual drops as I circled the four fields to get to our field for the evening. Oh, it had rained, but not enough to call the game. And all but one of the boys actually showed up! We parents dubiously eyed the wet bleachers, and we that had them went and retrieved folding chairs from our trunks while the ill-prepared spent the game wearing damp bottoms.

Our boys took the first at bat - and what an inning it was! They batted through the order. Even the Alex got a hit and triumphantly planted his foot on first base, shoved his glasses back up his nose and awaited the next batter - ZBoy.

Batting is not his strong suit. He tries though. His swing is actually pretty good and if it ever actually connects with the bat solidly, it's a homerun waiting to happen. It connected enough though, and the ball hit the ground and rolled through the infield. ZBoy took off, arms pumping, legs pounding - but their infield players weren't bad and the first baseman caught the ball just a second before ZBoy arrived. And it was the third out. Alex stood rather forlornly on second for a moment before heading back to the dugout to collect his glove. Z wouldn't be batting him in this time.

I have to admit that it was with some trepidation that I agreed to let ZBoy play baseball. I'd heard the stories about crazed parents who screamed and yelled and cursed at the umpire. And about coaches that cared about winning more than teaching little boys how to be a team and play a game that was meant to be fun.

But it wasn't like that. Once all of us parents figured out who was who, we cheered for everyone and shouted words of encouragement when things didn't quite go right. Alex showed up at the last practice before the games started and you could swear he'd never even seen a baseball before much less knew what to do with one. But he was game and the boys urged him to do the best he could. And you know? In the last 8 games or so, he's gotten a hit in every one. He didn't always score and he wasn't the best runner ever so he got tagged out a lot, but by golly he became a regular little hitter. Zboy was nearly in the same boat when we started. His batting was awful, his catching nonexistant, and he ran like a slo-mo playback. But his uncle has a batting cage and Darling Man, having spent years playing, knew a thing or two to teach him...

Z and Alex were the most improved players. Next year, they will actually be GOOD. But that would never have happened if every at bat elicited groans from the crowd or hats slammed to the dirt by irritated coaches. The crowd was supportive and the coaches were wonderful. The assistant coach in particular was great with the kids.

Z will still be in this league next year. I really hope he gets to be on this team again, with these boys, these parents, these coaches. When the games are over, his eyes shine and he tells me he loves baseball.

Waiting for Tuesday

No big plans for the holiday weekend. Darling Man is working on Saturday and Monday, so it's gonna be quiet. I might finish pulling wallpaper off the wall and paint in ZBoy's bathroom. I'm kind of getting tired of looking at it everytime I go upstairs. It'll be a good laundry weekend too.

I plan to sleep in as much as possible.

Yeah, that's kind of odd for me. In fact, I've been feeling pretty tired in general lately. It's not the diabetes though. My numbers remain in good shape. I eat pretty well and am getting some exercise.

However, in the last month, I've been having this odd pain that was coming and going in my back on the right side under the ribcage. It kind of feels like when you sleep funny and you're sore all the way through. When I first felt it, I thought I'd pulled a muscle. And it went away the next day. But last night, as I gingerly lowered myself into a chair, I realized that it hasn't really gone away for the last week. It doesn't hurt much once I'm settled and not moving, but getting up, sitting down, laying down, bending over, reaching for anything - it hurts. Not sharp - just sore.

I mentioned this to Darling Man last night and he immediately thought lung cancer (yeah, it's in that general area). After all, I did smoke for 15 years. But there's no shortness of breath, no reduced function at all in that way. Somehow, I don't think so.

And this morning, when I called Mom, she asked a couple of questions and then asked if I'd had my gallbladder checked lately. It turns out that both my dad and my mom have had to have theirs removed due to stones and it's extremely likely that I may have the same problem.

Great.

Luckily, I already have a doctor's appointment for Tuesday morning, so I just have to hang in there until then.

Self-explanatory

You May Be a Bit Obsessive Compulsive...

Meticulous and detailed oriented, you have some irrational obsessions. Maybe it's your super neat closet or washing your hands a gazillion times. You probably know it's weird, but you just can't stop thinking about it. In fact, the more you think about your quirks, the more you have to do them.

What Personality Disorder Are You?

Graduation

This is a cross over post from my weightloss blog "Finding My Thinner, Inner Person". It's also my 701st post! I find that just as amazing as the fact that I got through the entire beginners' class!

Last night, we had our last Tai Chi Beginners class. We went through the entire set a couple of times, then reviewed some bits that most of the class was having trouble with.

It was nice that we could review some of the parts at the end - that our class timed out so that we would have a couple of sessions to work on it. Many classes end as soon as you get to the last few moves and there isn't time to work on them. The result is that most people who finish the class feel like they really didn't LEARN all of it.

When we had our tea break in the middle, we sat around on the floor in a big circle. Sue, our instructor, asked us, "What did you want or expect of this class when you signed up - and did you get what you wanted?" Then she turned to me - "Sayre, you start."

Gee. I love being put on the spot. I groped around for some thoughts and came up with these:

I came to Tai Chi after a year of practicing KenPo - a hard martial art (meaning contact). I started taking that because I was in serious need of stress relief. I figured that punching bags or people and working my body hard would relieve a lot of stress. What I discovered was that being slammed down onto a concrete floor repeatedly during the course of two hours per week was not relieving my stress (at which point the class started laughing).

Mostly, my mind just never stops. There are conversations and ideas and lists of things I need to do going on in there all the time. And I decided that what I really needed was to learn how to slow down. My mom took Tai Chi - how hard could it be? So I signed up for this beginners class.

When I started, I had high blood pressure. My doctor said I was a stroke on legs just waiting to happen. Three months in, my blood pressure was easily controlled with medication. Before, even with medication, it was on the high side.

And every week, my mind goes quiet. The slowness, the concentration - everything just disappears except what my body is doing. I think of it as a meditation for the body. The effect lasts for a couple of days - I don't feel as stressed and if I start getting wound up, I can even just sit at my desk and review some steps in my mind to relax.

So yes, I did get what I wanted out of this class.

Later, I was asked what my plans were now that we were essentially done with this class. Would I go to continuing classes? The answer to that is a resounding YES! As many as I can do in a week - plus I will come to the beginner class again. Once you have graduated, you can go to as many classes as you want to, whenever you want to. I don't want to lose this - and for me, that means LOTS of repetition. Lots.

So, last night was our last official class. Next Tuesday night, our class and the Sunday morning class are going to a special dinner prepared by one of the foremost Asian chefs in our area. She will close her restaurant to other customers and fix a special meal just for us.

And after that? I start all over again!

Fun Monday - Collections

This week's Fun Monday is all about stuff. Our host, Mariposa wants to know:
Collections... We all have them...and if you don't, you do....you just may not realize it. For some reason or another we all collect something and we collect it for reasons that will definitely make for good reading. So on Monday, I want to see your collection. If you don't have or don't want or CAN'T (wink) show us a picture, then tell us what the collection is in 10 words or less. Then tell us why you started collecting it.

Again, I thought this was easy. Then I started looking around.

Surely I collect something.

These?

Maybe. But when you collect something, it's rather open-ended, isn't it? I mean, has my mom ever said, "Gee. I think I have enough teapots."? Or has any museum decided that it had enough art? When collecting, it appears that enough is never enough. I have plenty of animals, and tempting as it is sometimes, I do believe I have enough.

Same with kids. I got the best one anyway, so who needs more?

There was serious casting around happening all week. I thought about it when I was walking the mall on Friday. What do I collect? Actually, it should have been obvious to me from the start.

I mean, for me, bookshelves are a major investment. And I needed a house big enough to contain my husband, my son, my animals - and my books.

Books aren't just on book shelves. They're on nightstands, the floor, stacked up in the garage, still hiding in boxes (no, they're not all unpacked yet).

A house is not a home without BOOKS.

I need these. My playground for my mind.

From one to ten...

You Are 4: The Individualist

You are sensitive and intuitive, with others and yourself. You are creative and dreamy... plus dramatic and unpredictable. You're emotionally honest, real, and easily hurt. Totally expressive, others always know exactly how you feel. At Your Best: You are inspired, artistic, and introspective. You know what you're thinking, and you can communicate it well. At Your Worst: You are melancholy, alienated, and withdrawn. Your Fixation: Envy Your Primary Fear: To have no identity Your Primary Desire: To find yourself Other Number 4's: Alanis Morisette, Johnny Depp, J.D. Salinger, Jim Morrison, and Anne Rice.

What Number Are You?

Yup. Totally me. Except the envy part. I don't really get that...

Unexpected morning

Yesterday, a new light lit up on my dashboard. Turns out I needed a new alternator. Great. $500 down the drain (well, nearly). After discovering this, I made an appointment to bring my car in this morning to get it replaced - I couldn't afford to be stranded somewhere this weekend since Darling Man was going to be otherwise engaged and unable to come rescue me.

The garage was across the street from the mall, so I decided to wait wandering the mall. If you know me at all, you know this is a strange decision for me. I hate malls. They always feel slightly seedy to me. But it was a rainy morning and the mall did have a bookstore, so I dropped my car off and set out in the drizzle for the bookstore.

Except it didn't open for another hour.

Seeing as the mall was practically empty, I decided to walk for that hour. I made a complete circuit, upstairs and down. There were quite a few empty storefronts. Lots of clothing stores (with pretty hideous clothes in them). A couple of interesting shops, and in the center, three high-end jewelry stores!

Making the rounds with me were older couples walking hand-in-hand and yuppie moms striding by, checking exercise off their list of things to do today. Taking it all in were the mannequins with their uncertain hands and heads lopped off just above the nose. Somehow, the mannequins with no heads at all were more comforting, crowded around the glass doors as if waiting to greet you at a party.

It was oddly peaceful walking around - until the music began at 9:23. "Mall Music" began playing, not-too-loud, but enough to be aware of it. And as the various shops got ready for their day, they added their own soundtracks until a veritable caucophany was pounding on my ears. At last, the grills began rolling up and the stores were open for business.

I went into the bookstore and began wandering the aisles of books, stopping to pull one off here and there and putting it back. I was looking at a book on discovering your inner strengths when a somewhat bedraggled-looking black man came down my aisle. I stepped back to let him pass. He passed me, then stopped and looked back at me. He said, "It's a shame the people where I just came from don't have time to read. They're too busy trying to survive."

I looked at him. "Where did you just come from?" I asked.

The man I was talking to had fairly recently returned from service in Iraq and Afghanistan. A career military man for the last 32 years, he was cruelly wounded on his last tour. Took a bullet to the gut, through his body armor. He pulled up his shirt and showed me a mostly-healed scar that covered most of his belly.

I asked him if he drank coffee. He said that he did, so I invited him to have a cup with me and we talked. He told me about his career in the military, the people he'd seen, the places he'd been. He served in Desert Storm and in Iraq and Afghanistan. Saw lots of amazing things - and lots of terrible things. He came home to his wife and three daughters, finally able to be with them, so proud of them. His oldest daughter has a 3.9 GPA and is heading off to study nursing next fall. She'd managed to land a scholarship. But the family itself was on hard times. He was going to counseling sessions three times a week and was having a hard time finding a job that would allow that much absenteeism.

Perhaps I'm a sucker. Perhaps not. I gave him $20 and thanked him for his service to our country. And wished him luck. He thanked me and shook my hand. He went his way and I went mine - but his story and the realization that he was not the only one in that boat was quite sobering. This war is different from the ones that have gone before. While we have a lot of casualties, we also have a lot of survivors - and what happens to them when they come home isn't always a happy ending. Some of them have very visible scars, and other have scars that aren't visible at all.

If you meet a soldier, thank him. Let him know that his sacrifice was not in vain.