Boyhood Education

In a previously rare event, today I had my mom and dad and son all in the car with me. We were driving Dad home from the hospital. Dad was up front with me, Mom in the backseat with ZBoy.

Mid-sentence, I reached around behind me and tapped Z's leg - "GREEN PUNCH-BUGGY!"

"Aw, man...." he responded.

Dad looked at me quizzically and I had to explain: Usually, ZBoy sits up front with me. The kids these days apparently have a car game called "Punch-Buggy" which entails spotting Volkswagon Bugs (new or old), punching your sibling and simultaneously yelling "(color of bug) Punch-Buggy!" triumphantly.

At which point, I reached around again - "RED PUNCH-BUGGY!" Mom giggled. Dad chuckled. ZBoy groused, "It's like she's got radar. I used to win all the time, but then she started seeing them everywhere!..."

And I tapped his leg again, "CREAM PUNCH-BUGGY!"

Z mis-understood, and when that same car pulled up next to us at the light, he tapped my shoulder and said, "WHITE PUNCH-BUGGY!"

"Ooooo... are we playing by European rules?" asked Dad. "Because if we are, I think Z just earned a noogie."

"What? Why?" asked ZBoy.

"Because your mom already called that one."

"She said "green punch-buggy!""

"No... she said cream, as in off-white. If you call the same punch-buggy, you get a noogie. If you do it again, you get a wedgie," Dad explained patiently.

"An atomic wedgie?" asked Z.

"Oh no!" I said, "You do NOT want one of those! That's where they pull the back of your underwear over your head!"

As ZBoy's head swirled with all this new information, Mom asked, "Does anyone ever do Indian burns anymore?"

"Indian burns? What are THOSE?"

I told him I would show him sometime. He said that was okay, he didn't need to know that badly.

Dad laughed. "Your mama can be a mean one, boy. Just ask your Uncle John... She finally quit beating him up when she was about 11. When he tried to retaliate, she told him that you can't hit a lady..."

I couldn't turn around and look, but I imagine ZBoy's eyes were big as saucers. He's only known his Uncle John as a big, strong guy - and me as a short, soft mommy.

The things you can learn during a car ride...

Wordless Wednesday - Heart Mended

Takes a lickin' and keeps on tickin'...

Heart Broken

I have a son and a granddaughter. I also have in-laws who are in their 80s and parents in their 70s. Up until recently, I've been lucky... nothing really big or traumatic has happened with any of those people.

But today... Today, my mom called me to say that Dad was in the emergency room. He'd been feeling a bit out of breath and not well that morning, and finally decided to go to the doctor to get checked out. They put him on an EKG and took his pulse. And sent him immediately to the hospital.

They took him in right away. His pulse was 30 beats per minute and his blood pressure was rising. At one point, his pulse dropped to 23 beats per minute and he was surrounded by medical personnel amazed that he was even conscious.

The decision was made to put in a pacemaker, as the bottom half of his heart just wasn't working.

I left work and went out to collect Mom. I fed the chickens, made sure all the doors were locked. We drove to the hospital and found Dad, still waiting his turn on the table. An emergency had come up and he'd been bumped back (being relatively stable at this point).

He was scared. Really, really scared. It was, in fact, a rather dire situation. Thank goodness he went to the doctor when he did. I'm glad I got Mom there so that he could see her before he went into surgery. I think it made a huge difference.

They wheeled him out and down the hall, leaving us in a suddenly vast, empty room. Mom sat in a recliner and put her aching feet up. We watched "Cheers". Dad's friend Blan showed up and we talked for the long half-hour that was left until Dad was wheeled back to us.

He was awake and chatty. His color had pinked up considerably from the rather gray shade he'd been when he left. After a bit more poking, prodding and squeezing, the nurses brought him dinner. Two small pork chops, greens, yams and chocolate pudding for dessert. He ate it all.

Tomorrow morning, he'll have an ultrasound done on his heart and a chemical stress test. And if everything looks okay, he gets to go home. Isn't that amazing?

I knew the day would come when a parent got seriously ill. I'm good in a crisis. I can take care of everyone else and make sure stuff gets done. I don't cry or collapse. But when it's all over and I get to be alone, the tears come. They wash away the residual stress and fear.

I knew this day would come. I just didn't think it would be so soon.

Fun Monday - Getting to Know You (and Me)

Mariposa is hosting Fun Monday this week, and wants answers!!!!

(1) Share something which you wish your readers would know about you. It could be something you feel you might need to clarify/ share, etc.

I think SayreSmiles is a pretty open book... Pretty much anything worth knowing about me can be found here. I come from a big family. I've been married twice - the first time much too young and the second for good. I waited until I was 37 to have a child, who is the light of my life and my reason for living. That said, he does not run my life; he's just the reason I want to stick around as long as possible. At 47, I have an older body and an older mindset, but a younger spirit. I'm still trying to decide what I want to do when I grow up. And somehow, my mind does not accept the limitations of time.

(2) Ask three questions to your readers, and I mean all readers, whether participants of Fun Monday or not. The questions should be generic so that all your readers can answer them and that it will help you get to know your readers more.

Question #1: What would you say was the BEST part of your teenaged years?

Question #2: What do you hope for in the next decade?

Question #3: Would you retire if you could - and what would you do with your time?

Go visit Mariposa to find other questions and answers!

Seasons of Passion

Today, I took my son (and husband and MIL and FIL) to see the Tallahassee Symphony Youth Orchestra. It was not hugely publicized, and the only reason I knew about it was because a friend and co-worker is in the orchestra and has been avidly following ZBoy's interest in the violin.

The performance began with the least experienced group - the one Z would be in after a year of Strings instruction, should he choose to pursue a spot in the orchestra. I cried. They weren't perfect, but you could hear the work that went into that performance. It was achingly beautiful.

As the concert continued, each group would play three or four selections before making way for the next group, getting more polished and professional with each level. Z sat between his father and his grandmother, alternately rapt and 10 year-old fidgety. He enjoys music, but he is a do-er. He can only sit and listen for so long before he wants to do it himself.

Me? I am fascinated with the mechanics of it all. How each part, each instrument works together to create a place for my mind to visit, how the violin parts make my soul soar as the cello and bass keep my feet on the ground. I have always loved orchestral music for that reason. I don't know pieces or composers, what they are called, who they are. But I know what I like.

I've been thinking ever since about Passion. Capital P Passion. Not love for your man or your family, or even your country, but the kind of passion that springs from within you and takes you out of yourself into something bigger.

My friend E is in the Youth Orchestra - even though she is somewhat less than my age. But in the world of music, she is a child, learning the violin with 6 and 7 year-olds from the ground up. Her children are, in fact, ahead of her in playing, prodigious in their talent - but it woke up something in her too, it seems. I am insanely jealous of this yearning to learn, then hone a skill or talent. I wish I felt this.

I have felt it in the past. There was a time when writing was all I could think of doing. I wanted to write the Great American Novel. I have participated in a yearly writing challenge called NaNoWriMo (National Novel-Writing Month) for the last three years. I have three novels in various stages of completion gathering dust somewhere in my house.

I'm not participating this year. Not only is November an insanely busy time of the year for me... but I also seem to have lost my spark. My mind is a blank. There are ideas, but no words follow them. This is known as Writer's Block. And I have it.

It's not the only block I have though. I've been working on getting healthy, wanting to have a fit body that will stick with me for another, oh, forty years or so. I accepted a challenge from a friend to run a marathon in May of 2011. I have about a year and a half to get ready for it.

Which brings me to this question: Can you choose your passion, or does it choose you? Like a tone-deaf singer, can I be passionate about something I'm not good at? That practice may or may not improve? I really WANT to run. I have felt the urge before. But when the moment comes to step out my door, I am so reluctant in body and soul. I am plagued with "what if I can't?" which then becomes I don't. Will I learn to love it if I just do it over and over again?

Perhaps there is a season for Passion. A time to write. A time to run. A time to be quiet. A time to think. Life is a cycle. With the passing of Halloween, the changing of the clock, the beginning of fall, the northern hemisphere begins its season of darkness. The days get shorter, the nights colder. For some, this is the time to begin hibernation. For me, it is the beginning of coming to life. Perhaps soon my season for my passions will come again.