The Awesomeness of Blogging…

I started blogging last year as a means to let my voice be heard…mission accomplished.  And after six months, I’ve been very fortunate to receive inspiration, encouragement, and recognition from friends and my fellow bloggers. 

And along the way, I have been nominated for some awards.  Now that we’re well past the holiday season and my head is beginning to stop spinning, I have a lot of catching up to do and some Thank You messages to pass along. 

Every single one of these nominations are greatly appreciated.  Every single one of these nominators are a joy to read…I hope you will take time to stop and visit all of them.

My first Thank You goes to Prairie Wisdom for nominating me for the Versatile Blogger Award.    I have been awarded with this before and am again honored that Prairie Wisdom feels I am worthy of it. 

My second Thank You goes, again, to Prairie Wisdom and also to Annie at Year Stricken for nominating me for the 7 x 7 Award.    Annie is a must-read…she has the most off-the-wall sense of humor, will keep you in stitches and has some very thought-provoking posts .

My third Thank You goes to Elyse at fiftyfourandahalf for awarding me the Candle Lighter Award.    As I mention on my Blogs I Follow page, Elyse will keep you laughing with her knack for telling it like it is.

And, taa-daa, I have received the ABC (Awesome Blog Content) Award  from Elyse at fiftyfourandahalf and Meg Travels.  Thanks to both of you for the nomination. 

Now I have to admit that these all came at the same time, in the middle of the hectic holiday season, and at a time when my life has taken a wonderful turn.  My brain is in total over-load, and I’ve lost track of what I’m supposed to do.  I may have lost track of all I need to thank.  If so, please let me know…I would not wish  to slight  anybody. 

So…tell something about myself?  Pass them along?  I can’t remember.  My apologies for not following all the rules.  I’m just going to wing it from here and invent my own rules or ignore them all together, okay?

Hmmmm, tell something about myself?  What could I possibly tell you?  Only that I am at a point in my life where I am very, very happy…that’s all I can say! 

Thanks again to each and everyone who nominated me.  And to my readers, please check out the “Blogs I Follow” page…these are an awesome group of writers and artists.

Scratch Board

Since I was a child, I’ve been a wannabe artist.  I had no idea what I wanted to do in that field…I just knew I liked to draw.

I had no direction from my parents because they didn’t know…it wasn’t something I shared with them because I could see they were struggling just to get by.  Dad kept steering all of us to go into teaching…something he never had the chance to do because World War II came along.  And no high school counselor ever asked me or counseled me about my future.

However, in the year and a half I did attend the local community college, and over the next two decades, I managed to take every art class available that interested me.  Years later when I returned and received my Associate in Science degree, I also received my Art degree. 

Now, I know that this being just a community college, these degrees certainly aren’t as impressive as a Bachelor’s or Master’s degree in art…all the fancy stuff everyone seems to have nowadays.  But I did it for me, and that’s all that matters.

As I am now trying to get myself organized for 2012 and to simplify my life (in other words, get rid of the crap in my house), I came across a portfolio of my art work from over the years.  In it was this piece from one of the first classes I took.  It was my first attempt on scratch board, done from a magazine advertisement, and I now see a ton of flaws when I scan it to show here.  But I like it, and apparently the instructor liked it, too, because it’s got a nice “A” on the back.

Scratch Board by JSD

Do they even make scratch board anymore?  I’ll have to check.

That Big Dog

               Grandma primed the kitchen-sink hand pump, and then began filling the teakettle.  The afternoon sun was high in the sky, and she wanted a cup of tea before settling down for her afternoon nap.  As the water sputtered into the kettle, four-year-old Teacher sat quietly at the kitchen table and colored pictures in her coloring book while her older sister Surfer took her pencils and paper, drew pictures of animals, pictures of ballerinas, just scribbled with abandoned imagination.  Surfer had become bored with coloring within the lines and wanted to go beyond the restriction of someone else’s drawings.

                Grandma carried the teakettle across the room with her small quiet steps, settled it on the iron stove and added a few pieces of wood to the embers inside.  She knew the girls were tired after playing all morning, but wanted them to relax before lying down.  Having a child lie down while the adrenalin was still flowing full force was not conducive to afternoon naps.

                Surfer loved this old house.  The kitchen was heated with the wood-burning stove during the cold weather.  On this hot summer day, however, the oilcloth on the pink painted table was cold beneath her arms and felt good. The sink pump was fun to get flowing by pumping the long handle that she could barely reach.  The room was filled with sunlight from the afternoon sun and the thick smell of lilacs from the yard.  Even the scary cold ice cellar next to the cupboard was fun to enter as long as you didn’t step on a spider or walk into a spider web.  She never saw the ice man back home, but he pulled up to the farmhouse regularly with his horse-drawn wagon.  He would then take the large prongs, grab the huge ice block, carry it over his shoulder into the cellar and put it into the old white icebox.  Surfer always wondered where the ice went because every time he came, the old ice block was no longer there.  It was a mystery to this five-year-old.  

                The high-pitched scream from the teakettle brought Surfer back to her drawing.  As Grandma fixed and drank her tea, they talked about their adventures this morning.  Surfer and Teacher had been near the water pump by the barnyard.  The cobble stone pathway leading to the barnyard was just the right width for one pair of little feet to run along, so the girls always walked single file as they crossed the yard still wet from the morning dew.  They were picking currants from the bushes near the old water pump when, from around the barn, came a tall gangly woman who walked with a purpose. 

                As Surfer looked up at the approaching figure, a cold chill swept over her thin body.  It wasn’t the breeze coming from up the hill nor the cold stones beneath her bare feet.  The chill came from the terror seizing her body as she saw the biggest dog in the world bounding along side the lady.  This dog was as big as a horse…no, bigger than a horse.  It was as big as a house!  As Surfer quickly stood up, Teacher turned, saw the dog and was seized by the same terror.  The girls dropped the currants they had so delicately picked and ran screaming towards the house.  To their horror, the dog picked up speed and was coming right behind them.  They just knew that the dog was going to eat them alive, and their feet moved faster and faster across the wet grass until they were finally able to get in the kitchen door…screaming all the way.

                Peering out the kitchen window next to the sink, the girls watched as their tormentor ran around in circles, jumping up next to the tall lady, but not harming her.  The dog must have known that the lady was too much of a mouthful and, therefore, left her alone…only threatening her with the circles and jumps.  To their horror, Grandma went outside to greet her visitor.  Now Grandma was little, though not as little as Surfer and Teacher, and they expected the worst…she would be eaten alive!  Oh, no!!!  But the dog didn’t eat her up or jump on her or anything.  It was amazing.

                Grandma knew the girls had been afraid, so later she explained over tea that the tall lady was Mrs. Johnston, a neighbor of theirs, and her dog simply wanted to play.  That provided little comfort to them.  They were content for the rest of the day to stay in the house, play quietly and even take a nap without a protest.

The bottle…

                When we were young, it was normal for our milk and dairy products to be delivered to our home by the milkman.  The closest thing we see to milkmen today is the Schwann’s delivery truck, but they’re like a rolling store. 

                As most of us know, houses built in the  early to mid-1900s had a milk chute…a small opening near the side door of the house with a door on the outside and another door on the inside that opened in to the kitchen or the side door landing.  The milkman would put the milk, cottage cheese, etc., into the chute during his early morning delivery rounds allowing for easy access by the family.

                I remember that the milk came in quart-size glass bottles with a cardboard lid covered by a paper cap.  Originally, it was not homogenized with the cream separated and always at the top of the bottle.  It had to be shaken vigorously before it was opened so the cream and milk would mix thoroughly. 

                One evening we were sitting at the kitchen table for dinner when Mom took a quart of milk out of the refrigerator and started shaking it as she was standing to Dad’s left.  The bottle apparently had a defect in the bottom because as she was shaking it, the bottom of the bottle flew off and the milk flew out all over Dad.  That was probably his only milk bath.

                Eventually, the milk was homogenized and was also then delivered in gallon glass jugs.

                The last I remember having milk delivered was in the very early 1960s.  The only reason that it comes to mind is because of my little brother Fireman, who was in early elementary school at the time.  Mom was working by then, and Fireman would be the first of us kids to arrive home from school.  Our milk chute opened on the inside at the level of the kitchen counter near the kitchen sink.  Since the kitchen was three steps above the landing, the outside of the milk chute was set quite high from the level of the driveway outside…much too high for a child to reach.

                Well, actually not too high for Fireman because he found a way to get into the locked house through the milk chute.  He would open the chain-link driveway gate, set it into the proper position so that he could climb up, balance himself carefully to stand on the top of the gate and be within reach of the milk chute.  Then he would open the chute and carefully remove a gallon glass jug of milk, climb down the gate and set it on the ground.  He’d repeat that three or four times until all of the milk was removed…and he never fell or dropped a bottle of milk.

                Finally, he would climb up to the top of the gate one last time, pull himself up into and through the chute on to the kitchen counter.  Once in the house, he would unlock the side door, carefully carry each gallon of milk into the house and set it in the refrigerator, climb up the gate one last time to shut the chute door, close the gate, lock the door, and settle down in front of the television until the rest of us came home from school.

                I think this was an early indication of how well he has managed the bottle throughout his lifetime. 

 

Sandwich Generation

Not quite nine years ago, at the age of 57 and as I looked at my elderly parents, it finally hit me that I was getting ‘up in years.’  It was at that time in 2002 that I began writing…or journaling as some may call it.  This is an excerpt from the first piece I wrote.

                 It is said that our lives come full circle.  We begin our life as an infant needing diapers and caregivers.  As we get older, we learn to take care of ourselves and start exerting our independence.  We have children of our own who begin their own life cycle.  Our children grow up, move on, and we have our independence again and can live a full life.  Ultimately, we come to the point where we near death.  If we are fortunate, death will arrive quickly.  If we are not so fortunate, we end up in diapers again and with a caregiver…most often our spouse, if we are fortunate enough to still be married, or our children.

                I think the hardest part about being a parent is asking my children for help.  I have no trouble asking SonNo2 for financial advice because he has a good head on his shoulders and gives good advice.  But in other respects, I want to be independent and self-sufficient…to be able to do things for myself.  I do not want to be a burden on my children.  When I am unhappy or depressed, I try my best not to let them see me fall apart…there are things I just cannot share with them…and I don’t want to add to their worries.  I have two wonderful daughters-in-law, and I want to be as good a mother-in-law to them as I can.  I want to be a good example of a strong woman for my granddaughters.

                At age 57 and alone, I am just now realizing that I can’t do everything by myself.  I don’t always have the physical strength or agility that has kept me going until now…though that is something I will continue to work on maintaining.  I now find that I sometimes have a medical condition or event, which temporarily puts restrictions on me.  So I have to bite the bullet and ask for help…usually from the kids.

                On the other hand, at age 57 I am also experiencing the frustration of the child who has parents who want to maintain their own independence, who don’t want to be a burden, who don’t ask for help in a timely manner…enter my own parents, now 82 and 76 years old.  They are physically becoming very frail and emotionally becoming overwhelmed by their frailty and loss of independence.  They stubbornly refuse to acknowledge their own pain and limitations, therefore, making it difficult for us to be on top of their needs.  All of this, in the long run, ends up causing more work for us than if they asked for assistance from the beginning.  But I understand now why they do what they do…or don’t do.

                How in the world do we handle this?  I am fighting both fronts, and I am at a loss.

A lot has happened in the years since I wrote that piece.  My father has passed away, I have five more grandchildren and am semi-retired.  I’ve taken on more responsibility regarding my mother, who is now 85, on 12 medications, and will rarely ever participate in any social activities. 

I try to be as open as possible with my sons about what’s going on in my life and to let them know how I am handling it all.  I want them to know what I am actively doing to help myself.  I only hope that I can continue along this path for another 20 or 30 years.    

After all, I do have my Bucket List…or as some people prefer to call it, the Don’t Regret List.