Once in a while I walk by a mirror and am shocked by what I see. In my mind’s eye I still look like I did when I was eighteen—without wrinkles, gray hair peeping through the brown, or the extra pounds I’ve accumulated since then. So when my real eyes see what’s looking back in the mirror, it’s easy to be surprised. I actually don’t mind the look of aging because I feel it shows what I’ve accomplished so far in my life.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Mirror, mirror
Today's assignment from Travelin'Oma (all caught up!).
Conversation
I just love having these conversations with my grandchildren. Audrey, Matthew, and Elizabeth are asleep. It's just me and Austin. Here is how it went:
Austin said, "G'ma, I need some lip stuff. My lips are dry and bleeding."
I examine his lips. They are dry. Not bleeding. I think to myself - I don't really want to go all the way upstairs to get the lip stuff. I tell him to go look in the drawer in the kitchen and get the lip stuff by himself.
He just came downstairs with his hands holding the outside of his pants pocket. He says, "G'ma, I have something for tomorrow. A treat for tomorrow."
I'm instantly suspicious. I smile beguilingly and say, "Show me!
From inside his pants (not his pocket) he pulls out a popsicle. "It's for tomorrow," he says. He slides it back down in his pants.
I very carefully refrain from laughing. Instead I say, "It won't be very good by tomorrow." Then when his face falls, I say, "so, you'd better eat it right now."
Isn't that what it means to be a grandma?
Little Women by Louisa May Alcott
Assignment 3 from Travelinoma. You can bet I liked this one!
One day my daughter Beth came home from high school and said, “Mr. Miller was talking about the book Little Women in class today and I told him you’ve read it a hundred times. He said that must be a gross exaggeration.” I laughed and told Beth she should go back and tell Mr. Miller that it was only a very slight exaggeration. Then I tried to figure out how many times I’ve actually read that book. I first read it when I was eleven years old. Then I read it over and over again – probably five or six times a year for several years. I still love to pick it up and read it now. I even have the first line memorized: “’Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents’, grumbled Jo, lying on the rug.”
The first time I read the book I missed a few things, like the fact that Beth died. My mom asked me how I felt when Beth died. I said, “Beth died??” My mother then remarked that maybe I wasn’t mature enough to understand the book. That stung, and I started it all over again right then, determined not to miss a thing.
I wanted to be brave and outspoken like Jo. I wanted to wear long dresses, and put my long hair up in a net, just like the illustrations in my book. At first I was sad that Jo and Laurie did not get married, but as I got older and reread the book so many times, I knew it was right that they were just friends. It was a world I loved getting lost in. Or rather, a world I love finding myself in.
I own seven physical copies of Little Women and one copy on my Kindle– all of them treasures. One sadness in my life is that none of my three daughters likes the book at all. Where did I go wrong?
One day my daughter Beth came home from high school and said, “Mr. Miller was talking about the book Little Women in class today and I told him you’ve read it a hundred times. He said that must be a gross exaggeration.” I laughed and told Beth she should go back and tell Mr. Miller that it was only a very slight exaggeration. Then I tried to figure out how many times I’ve actually read that book. I first read it when I was eleven years old. Then I read it over and over again – probably five or six times a year for several years. I still love to pick it up and read it now. I even have the first line memorized: “’Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents’, grumbled Jo, lying on the rug.”
The first time I read the book I missed a few things, like the fact that Beth died. My mom asked me how I felt when Beth died. I said, “Beth died??” My mother then remarked that maybe I wasn’t mature enough to understand the book. That stung, and I started it all over again right then, determined not to miss a thing.
I wanted to be brave and outspoken like Jo. I wanted to wear long dresses, and put my long hair up in a net, just like the illustrations in my book. At first I was sad that Jo and Laurie did not get married, but as I got older and reread the book so many times, I knew it was right that they were just friends. It was a world I loved getting lost in. Or rather, a world I love finding myself in.
I own seven physical copies of Little Women and one copy on my Kindle– all of them treasures. One sadness in my life is that none of my three daughters likes the book at all. Where did I go wrong?
Honeymoon? or shelter scramble?
Here's assignment number 2 from Travelinoma. This one was more challenging for me.
February 14, 1980
February 14, 1980We were married on Valentine’s Day, in Los Angeles, in a torrential downpour with high winds. Only a few pictures were taken outside – our coats blowing, and hair flying. Valentine’s Day was a Thursday. The reception was Friday night.
The plan was to go to Big Bear on Friday for our honeymoon. My father-in-law had a friend that graciously offered the use of his cabin for the few days we had. Because of the weather, Big Bear was snowed in, and we couldn’t make it there. We were poorer than church mice, so this put a severe damper on our weekend.
Luckily Ray’s aunt had paid for the hotel for our wedding night. It was at the Ventura Holiday Inn, right on the beach. We were thrilled. We checked in about 1:00 p.m. At six we were starving. We wracked our brains. Where could we go? Ray remembered that his dad had a running tab at a pizza place about twenty minutes away. We showed up at the pizza place, ate dinner, and unashamedly put the bill on Dad’s account. The next morning we checked out of the hotel, and discovered our car had been broken into sometime during the night. The driver wing window (remember those?) of our VW was broken, but nothing else was damaged – just ransacked.
That night was our reception at my parents’ home. We traveled between Ray’s parents and my parents that day for meals, “coincidentally” showing up right when they were ready to eat. Big Bear was still closed so we stayed our second night at the Motel 6 in Camarillo. We thought we’d just drive back to BYU the next day, but the roads were closed because of flooding. Now we were in a real quandary – no money to pay for a place to stay and we didn’t really want to ask either of our parents to stay at their home. Another blessing came along. Ray’s grandparents went out of town and we were invited to stay at their house.
The next day my mom called to tell us the roads were temporarily open to get through to Utah, so we scampered around, packed up the car, and took off. Our car was a VW bug. It was packed to the gills. We even had a lampshade between us in the front seats. Ray is over six feet tall and the seats were both pushed up as far as they would go. It was going to be a long twelve hours on the road!
About midnight we stopped in Cedar City. We were so tired that we thought we’d pull over and sleep for a while. Not a chance in that cramped little car. We got back on the road. It began to rain. That’s when we discovered the windshield wipers were no longer working. It poured rain and sleeted once in a while. For a large portion of the remainder of the trip Ray had to hang his head out the window to see where he was going. We were so happy to pull up to our little apartment and climb in bed.
Fiasco? Perhaps. Great memory? Positively.
The plan was to go to Big Bear on Friday for our honeymoon. My father-in-law had a friend that graciously offered the use of his cabin for the few days we had. Because of the weather, Big Bear was snowed in, and we couldn’t make it there. We were poorer than church mice, so this put a severe damper on our weekend.
Luckily Ray’s aunt had paid for the hotel for our wedding night. It was at the Ventura Holiday Inn, right on the beach. We were thrilled. We checked in about 1:00 p.m. At six we were starving. We wracked our brains. Where could we go? Ray remembered that his dad had a running tab at a pizza place about twenty minutes away. We showed up at the pizza place, ate dinner, and unashamedly put the bill on Dad’s account. The next morning we checked out of the hotel, and discovered our car had been broken into sometime during the night. The driver wing window (remember those?) of our VW was broken, but nothing else was damaged – just ransacked.
That night was our reception at my parents’ home. We traveled between Ray’s parents and my parents that day for meals, “coincidentally” showing up right when they were ready to eat. Big Bear was still closed so we stayed our second night at the Motel 6 in Camarillo. We thought we’d just drive back to BYU the next day, but the roads were closed because of flooding. Now we were in a real quandary – no money to pay for a place to stay and we didn’t really want to ask either of our parents to stay at their home. Another blessing came along. Ray’s grandparents went out of town and we were invited to stay at their house.
The next day my mom called to tell us the roads were temporarily open to get through to Utah, so we scampered around, packed up the car, and took off. Our car was a VW bug. It was packed to the gills. We even had a lampshade between us in the front seats. Ray is over six feet tall and the seats were both pushed up as far as they would go. It was going to be a long twelve hours on the road!
About midnight we stopped in Cedar City. We were so tired that we thought we’d pull over and sleep for a while. Not a chance in that cramped little car. We got back on the road. It began to rain. That’s when we discovered the windshield wipers were no longer working. It poured rain and sleeted once in a while. For a large portion of the remainder of the trip Ray had to hang his head out the window to see where he was going. We were so happy to pull up to our little apartment and climb in bed.
Fiasco? Perhaps. Great memory? Positively.
Why do I blog?
For many, many years I've dreamed of going back to school. An opportunity has come up for me to do so! Travelinoma, one of my favorite bloggers, is offering a course in writing. So, I've put on my brave persona and I'm going to give it a try. I just got back from Seattle so I'm a little behind on assignments. I'll be posting three in a row today, and hopefully another one later.
Assignment 1:
Why do I have a blog?
For a long time I’ve kept a journal of the books I’ve read. Unfortunately, that’s about it for my keeping a journal. I thought if I kept a blog, I could record the books I read, and add a few more fun things to it as I go along—thus expanding my journal keeping.
I blog the books I read, and the quilts I make. I like to have pictures and stories of my family in there also. Occasionally I put in thoughts I have, which sound a little more distinguished if I call them musings. Mostly they’re just thoughts. One of my goals for this year is to scan the pictures I have of me growing up. I’d like to post a few, and write some memories those pictures invoke. (I should have done homework option one, and planned that out, but I felt myself going into shock at the idea.)
I write the blog for me, for my family, and any friends that want to drop in and visit the blog. It’s not a public forum where I hope the world will see what I have to offer. Mostly it’s therapy for me, and a boost to get myself doing a little writing and recording of my life.
Assignment 1:
Why do I have a blog?
For a long time I’ve kept a journal of the books I’ve read. Unfortunately, that’s about it for my keeping a journal. I thought if I kept a blog, I could record the books I read, and add a few more fun things to it as I go along—thus expanding my journal keeping.
I blog the books I read, and the quilts I make. I like to have pictures and stories of my family in there also. Occasionally I put in thoughts I have, which sound a little more distinguished if I call them musings. Mostly they’re just thoughts. One of my goals for this year is to scan the pictures I have of me growing up. I’d like to post a few, and write some memories those pictures invoke. (I should have done homework option one, and planned that out, but I felt myself going into shock at the idea.)
I write the blog for me, for my family, and any friends that want to drop in and visit the blog. It’s not a public forum where I hope the world will see what I have to offer. Mostly it’s therapy for me, and a boost to get myself doing a little writing and recording of my life.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
The Help by Kathryn Stockett
I found this book while I was meandering through Barnes & Noble. I took it along with me on my trip to Seattle last week (more on that later).This book is set in Jackson, Mississippi in the early 1960's. It is the story of black maids/white employers relationships. I liked the book a lot. The premise is good, and Stockett is a fine storyteller. I was sucked into the book from the very first paragraph, and didn't want to put the book down. Stockett manages to unfold the characters and their history continuously and seamlessly throughout.
Patterns in the Sand by Sally Goldenbaum
Another fun mystery by Sally Goldenbaum. I'll enjoy following this series.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Happy Birthday Dad!
Victor Ernest Orris, 1948I don't think there's anything my dad can't do. He's smart, gentle, kind, and handy. Here are a few of the things he's done over the years, in no particular order:
- He taught me how to sail a boat, and the rules of the road for sailing. He also used to crew for a friend of his for sailboat races.
- He got me through my math classes.
- He built our first color television (anyone remember Heathkit?)
- After he retired he took up pottery. He had his own pottery wheel and kiln. I have a pot he made where he used some lace from my wedding dress fabric to make the glaze.
- He taught me how to drive a stick shift. That may be when his hair started turning gray.
- He had a few jokes he told that we loved. He would repeat them cheerfully anytime we asked.
- Most importantly he taught me high moral values, and what it means to be a man of your word.
Here are two memories I have with my dad that I treasure:
1. I was probably four or five years old. I wasn't in school yet, and I didn't know how to tie my shoes. It was a Saturday, and my mom was gone. I woke up from a nap and wanted to go outside to see my dad, who was working in the yard. I knew I was supposed to wear my shoes outside, so I put them on.
Dilemma: They were tie shoes, and I didn't know how to tie them. And, I knew for sure if your shoelaces weren't tied, you were likely to trip and fall over them. So, I needed my dad to tie my shoes, but I had to have my shoes on to get to him. What to do??
Solution: I did know how to tie a double knot. So I proceeded to tie the laces of both shoes all the way to the tips of the laces in double knots.
I was so proud as I went outside, problem solved! I then went to my dad, and asked him to tie my shoes. I can still remember the look on his face as he gazed spellbound at my shoes. Then he sighed, rolled his eyes, and untied all those knots just so I could have my shoes tied in bows.
2. My mom used to tell us, "If you don't put that (insert personal possession here) away, I will throw it away!" When I was in high school I had an old pair of stinky, holey tennis shoes and I left them in the living room one day. Sure enough, Mom gave the usual line. I thought, okay, I don't want them anymore anyway. So I left them on the living room floor. She put them in my room. I put them in the living room, she put them in my room. Then it became a game - my dad would hide the shoes, then when I found them I would hide them. One time the shoes were tied to my steering wheel when I got in the car to go to an early band practice. One time they put them under my mattress (I am not a princess. It took me awhile to feel them.) I in turn put the shoes in various places. Once in the liquor cabinet tied to a bottle of booze. But the best place I ever hid them was in my dad's briefcase. He set it down one morning right before he left for work and I quickly stashed the shoes in there. Then when he got to work he went straight to a big meeting. He opened his briefcase to get his papers out, and there were my shoes. He said he had a grand time explaining that one!
Then I took the shoes for PE one day - I can't remember why - and they were stolen out of my locker. Otherwise we might still be hiding them from one another.
My dad is the greatest. I am so lucky to have him. Thanks for all you've done for me Dad.
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