To anyone who has been in office, currently in office, thinking of being in office, I have a message for you.

For those elected officials who collect a paycheck, we need to chat.

I am a working, 63-year-old mother of three, married woman. I have a career that I receive compensation for but my biggest role (that I do not get paid for) is a mom.  Let me explain to you what that means...

My daughter just celebrated her 21st birthday.  She was born 14 months after her brother.  I purchased maternity underwear when I was pregnant with her brother.  Every two weeks, for 21 years, when I got paid, I stashed money to go replace the pregnancy underwear.  Every year, for 21 years, before I get could new underwear, somebody ran over a nail in the car, somebody had a cavity, broke an I phone, or left an important paper in a backpack and the day that $100 for cheerleading hair bow was due, I was informed.  

As a mom, I quickly learned that there are the most birthdays in September. (holiday season). I had to stash money always for the rough birthday month of birthday parties.  

When I went to the grocery store, I always had an amount (in my head) that I could spend.  I cut coupons, downloaded apps, researched recipes, everything I could do to balance my food budget.  I always bought something for each family membe liked.  Always.  I never (ok, maybe twice) did I purchase something for me. I didn't want to go over the "mental budget". 

I would have been a double showcase winner almost ever grocery trip.  I could get my purchase within a certain amount, without going over, every time!

During cheerleading or wrestling season, I could organize a state championship fundraiser and plan over my cell phone, in a dreaded group text, while driving in a carpool.  And it never failed. Some team would win one game or competition and in 48 hours we were at states and we needed cash, hotel rooms, carpools, etc and we made it happen on a group text.

Some months I was great balancing our family budget, some months I sucked.  But guess what? When things were tight, I didn't spend.  Don't care if it is the third day eating chicken, be thankful.  Roots need done but cannot afford it now.  No stress relief massage this month, we can do without. 

Over the years in my career, I was always on commission.  Meaning, I never really knew what I was getting paid...so I had to stash on the good months and make sure I had us covered during the bad months.  My income stayed pretty much the same the last 13 years...some years better, some not.  

Why do I tell you this...several reasons.

I did whatever I could for my family with whatever I had.  If I had to give something up, to provide for my family, I did.  Monthly.  Weekly.  Daily.

If I couldn't afford it, I did without. We did without.  

I mentioned the month of September because not only are there more birthdays in the month of September, but it is also Hurricane month.  You need cash if you live in a Hurricane zone.  There are a million things you need to spend your money on before a Hurricane, but you need cash because if there is not power, you cannot use debit or credit cards.  You need cash. So, I stashed money to prepare.  If we didn't get a Hurricane in September, it went into the Christmas fund.

Why? Because my family is the most important thing to me.

Where do you Pennsylvania Avenue folks come in?

September is Hurricane month although the season is June 1-November 30.  The United States typically has at least one Hurricane per season and one Forest Fire during the season. 

Did you stash money for those months? You know, here in America?

Let me explain.

Our national is debt is the greatest it has ever been in the history of the United States.  Our debt is greater than our military expenses.  This is the first time in history.  Why?  If we don't have it, why are we spending?  This is not about what party pushed the debt, it is about who has to pay for it.  I didn't push the debt by my monies help clean up a mess I didn't make.  And you know what else, did you spend it on your family?  You know, Americans?

Well, let's look at this:

$24,400,000,000 to Ukraine

$11,300,000,000 to Israel

$1,950,000,000 to Ethiopia

$1,600,000,000 to Jordan

I am going to stop and not bother listing anything else.

$770 Million dollars has been allocated for 2024 by FEMA for emergencies.

FEMA spent $640 million dollars on illegal immigrants/newcomers/whatever term you chose. 

$42 million dollars was allocated by the government to give people wifi/web access.  Zero dollars have been spent in 2024.  

Today, in my state of North Carolina, it was announced that anybody affected by Hurricane Helena would receive $750.  But and this is a big one, ONLY if you qualify.  You have to go one line and download the application.  If you do not have a charged phone because you have no electricity or you have been hanging in a tree for six days waiting to be rescued, doubt you can download anything.  If you do not qualify, you are screwed.  You get nothing.  Zero.  Look at the dollar amount above.  If you were not an elected official, you would gag at this amount.  I promise you.

My husband lost everything in Hurricane Andrew.  He had one garbage bag when he left the state of Florida.  He moved in with his parents in Waynesville, NC with two teenage daughters.

Thankfully, his parents provided a roof and love.

After it was announced that these victims would be receiving $750 if they qualified, another prominent politician said, "you folks are going to help these victims out".

I live in Carteret County, NC, a county that was hammered in 2018.  Since last Saturday, I have seen no less than 125 drop off locations, 500 social media posts about where to drop off and who is leaving when with what.  Schools, Boy Scout Troops, Youth Groups, Businesses, nail salons, you name it, we are on it.  One local businessman has already dropped off and is on his way back.  "Mr. Very Important Person in DC", you didn't need to give us permission or tell us that we needed to help, we, the American people, we are on it.

Americans are innately generous people.  We give.  Ask any Boy Scout Troop, Girl Scout Troop or the beneficiary of any pancake breakfast of marathon.  We are givers.

We give and give plenty, but we are not fond of those who take and do not give. And we are certainly not fond of those who give nothing, take lives of Americans but still receive funds and housing.  You know what I mean by this.

We raise our children to be kind and include all.  And we teach our children not to name call.  Do not call us names anymore and quit name calling one another.  It is not nice.  And quit saying that just because I vote one way that I am a pink curler wearing, uneducated, TV dinner eating type of person.  You know nothing about me or why I vote the way I do.  Stop.  I am a person.  I mean something in this country.  I pay my taxes and give back.  Stop.

Stick up for us.  We pay your salaries; we pay the bills.  You overspend and you think it is ok.  Do without.  Be like us.  If you cannot afford steak, then eat chicken. Be like us.

Stop bullshitting us for a vote.  I only have one vote; you only have one vote.  Stop the madness.   

When you show up at these emergency events, do something.  I don't want to hear you talk.  I want to see you bending over, sweating, lifting, treating Linemen who have been stung by yellow jackets, do something.  We don't care what you say, we only care what you do.

Organize help like you are a working mom with a group text, a deadline and a plan.  Get it done. Organize.  Don't talk, do. And do it with" mom like efficiency."

Under promise.  Over deliver.  

And if you do nothing on the above, know this, we are worth more than $750.  You cannot even get a tent and sleeping bag for the winter in WNC with $750 even if you qualify.  

Where did the $750 come from? Who determined this amount and based on what? What year was this, 1776?  

Do you really think that when you do not have a car, a house, no more clothes, nothing but what is on your back, what do really think that $750 is going to accomplish?  Did anybody think to have a senate hearing about this? Have you EVER taken the time to talk to Hurricane Victims, Forest Fire Victims, Flood Victims?  An old-fashioned conversation from those folks may help you understand.

I saw a video of a woman who lost her seven-year-old son and her parents when the roof they were on, detached from the house.  She literally lost everything, everything, including her sanity and her soul and she gets $750.  No doubt she doesn't care about the money, but I am certain she will need grief counseling in her future.  Seven hundred and fifty dollars and only if you qualify.

Come on DC, we deserve more.  We are worth more.  We are smart people.  Where is the respect? 

Why do you get take, but not give?

Your job is to budget monies for emergencies.  You know that Hurricane season is happening annually.  It is not like Leap Year.  Don't spend on others if you cannot take care of your family.  We don't have enough money to get through Hurricane season.  Are you kidding?

Find the money, find it.  Stop spending on something else and find the money to take care of Americans.  Today.  Get out the cell phone, organize the group text, I will make myself available, but get it done.  

I can tell you now, if any of us, us boring tax paying citizens, would go to our boss and say, "Hey, I know it is October 3 and we still have roughly two months of Hurricane season, but we are out of money because I gave all this money to other people", do you really think I would still have a job?  Maybe, because my boss would say, "find it Waldo, find the money for Americans" and if it means you give your money, so be it".  

Get it together Pennsylvania Avenue.

I would also like to suggest, next election season, for the debates, scrub the broadcast commentators.  Let the taxpayers ask the questions.  We have earned it. 

Want to know the first question I would ask, "how are you and the rest of DC going to lower the deficit...and you must answer the question.  If you don't, we borrowed the set from Willy Wonka, and you will go down the tunnel and be done". And short little men with painted faces will sing.  Answer the question. You owe it to us, let's all we get for paying your salary.

Finally, I love the United States. We love the United States.  Act like you love the United States.  Be better.  Fight as hard as those soldiers did when they fought for our freedom.

Without us, there is no need for you. Remember this.

Respect Lady Liberty.  Let her replace that maternity underwear.

 

There is no place like home, well maybe

 Last week, my daughter drove me to pick up my car so I could travel north, back home, 45th High School Reunion.

 I was so glad that we had this time, alone in car together.  It had been a while.  She was leaving on Sunday to go back to Knoxville for her senior year.  She had not been home in two summers.  

  We reflected about the summer.  It was fun.  It went by quickly.  "I just needed to be home mom."   I understood.  " I just wanted to be in my room, in my bed.  And with you in dad in our house."  I got it.  She revealed that she did regret not going back to the ranch and being home for the summer was different.  Most of her friends were gone and she was the "master of the double shift".

  And when I got back from Pittsburgh, she would be in Knoxville, Tennessee.  I felt sad.  It had all gone by too quickly.

  So, I hopped in my car and headed north.  First stop, pick up my reunion date, my brother.  I am certain people think it is strange that I take my brother, but reunions are not Franklin's thing, and my brother knows a ton of people in my class, the advantage of a small town with a big neighborhood.  

My brother and made it to our destination with a few minutes to spare so, we went through our neighborhood.  We moved from one neighborhood, to the next one over, just in time for me to start first grade in Bel Aire Manor.

 As we pulled into the neighborhood, the trees were huge, every empty space now had a home on it, the dump (where we rode bikes, looked at Playboy magazines and played with tadpoles) was a street filled with new homes and they were all so close together.  As we started up the hill, that I swear was steeper when I was a kid, I could see the backside of our house.  Trees were gone, the wall no longer, the split rail fence absent and the siding painted.  The front of the house was barely recognizable. 

The sidewalk was concrete, no stones, the shutters an ugly color and the front porch was so small.  The birch tree on the side of the house the brushed against my bedroom window, gone.  

Talk about a letdown.  This was not the way to start the weekend.  The neighborhood looked rundown and old.  As drove up the hill, the neighbors, they had passed away, moved away or we had no idea who lived there now.  

It was one of the saddest moments in my life and I will never forget it. My brother said, "I am never going by here again."

I spent the entire weekend living in the past, old friends, old classmates, old times. Old neighborhoods

After I dropped my brother off on Sunday morning, I just kept thinking about the old "hood" and summertime in the hood.  And my daughter driving nine hours from the NC coast to Knoxville for the first time.  I was a wreck.  

And I kept thinking about Addie saying that she just wanted to be home for the summer in her own bed.

When we were young and not allowed to ride our bikes out of the driveway, (seriously, we had our driving permits before we were allowed to leave the driveway on our bikes) we played, "Village".  "Village" meant you had a job in the village.  I had an easy bake oven so I had a bakery.  My mom would save all of the old Christmas jimmies and sprinkles and I would bake and bake.  

Donnie M was the owner of the gas station.  He would take the baseball cards and my mom's clothespins and secure those baseball cards so when we took off, they stayed and made that click, click sound.  

Lisa taught school under the infamous giraffe sliding board (only infamous because about nine kids broke their arms from falling off this sliding board).

Todd really only played on the sand with his Tonka trucks, and he was obsessed with Tonkas.

The Twins were police.  Lisa worked at the police station.  

There was only one business...each kid owned the business.  The new kids in the hood, they were the citizens.  

My dad called it Communist Russia, we called it Village.

One hot days, my mom would come down with her invention, frozen Tang in the ice cube trays...wrapped in a napkin that stuck to the ice cube...we sucked and sucked those things.  I can still hear my mom saying, "and pick up your napkins, don't want to see any in the yard."

When my mom was in a really good mood, she would pull out the old bedspreads and clothespins and let us pin them around the trees like little yurts or forts.  We would sit in there sweating our little asses off but we loved bedspread tents.

Then, we grew up and sold the Village and moved to the front porch.  Girls and Barbies at one end, boys and GI Joe at the other end.

Daily, Barbie would visit GI Joe in her car, they would lay down on the bed, then we stuck Kleenex up Barbie's dress, and she was pregnant and the next day she would lay on her bed and push out a baby while GIJoe watched.

He was the father after all.

My mamaw came one day and saw us sitting, playing Barbie on the cool cement and told us that we were going to get hemorrhoids from sitting on the cement.  My behind never touched that cool cement again.  I had seen the commercials for Preparation H and wanted no parts of "roids."

It was about this time when my aunt and uncle, who lived a quarter mile away, put an inground pool, with diving board and slide, in their backyard.  We got up, did chores and then we swam.  We dove.  We had relay races, my mamaw tried to see if we knew how to smoke (only my brother at age nine) and we only stopped swimming if there was a mean game of Red Rover going down.  There were backyard picnics on a regular basis with my Uncle Bernard starring as the Grill Master.  He stood at the grill with an emerald green glass with a white G on it (we were never allowed to drink out of that glass) and he would slice hotdogs and place a Kraft single in the opening, cut them up and serve with toothpicks as an appetizer.  Many nights, my mom went home and let us stay in the pool with my aunt or uncle, and she would later appear, carrying a piece of her Tupperware collection, with macaroni salad or Texas Sheet cake for the picnic.  We lived for that pool and in that pool.

Annually, the Sanders Family would host the Jerry Lewis Backyard Carnival to fight MS.  We would walk up to the Sanders House, Scott, Marcie and Mark, with our quarters and dimes to retrieve gifts in the sandpile or pie throwing contest.  It was the "big" summer event.  

Shortly after this stage, we discovered dodge ball.  We played on the streets.  In the evenings, the parents would join.  We made up our own rules...if you were knocked out, and you made it for 10 throws, you got to come back in.  We played for hours.

After dodgeball, our parents would let us play Hide-N-Seek passed the streetlight coming on.  Imagine this!  We didn't have central air, so they could hear us, and about an hour later, the yell out the front door game and the game was over.  

The next summer, something strange happened, puberty.  I didn't want to walk across the street to help my dad in the garden, but I would walk to White Valley School Playground on the trail, in the hot summer sun in weeds, for summer rec.  (I still cannot believe my mom let us walk on the trail...about five miles alone.  Cannot believe it).  We walked to play kickball with boys.  Insane.  I had a Happy Days T-shirt (I scored in Florida with my Aunt Judy and cousins) that I wore every day to summer rec.  I was pretty sure it made me look skinny. We played kickball like we were Olympians.

The next year, I saved my babysitting money to buy painter's pants to wear to the St. John's Catholic Church Summer Festival.  I swear, going to that fair, and being allowed to walk around "with just my friends" in the parking lot, was like being Tinkerbell at Disneyworld.  When my grandfather, Bill Ball, saw me wearing painter's pants and earth shoes, he lost it.  I will never forget him coming up to me and saying, "what in the hell are you wearing?".

The next summer, summer rec, kickball, painter's pants, all went away.  "We all worked.  We worked hard for the money" as my Donna Summer LP album said.  I worked at the Snack bar at Meadow Wink Swim Club.  I will never forget the day, a little guy with a crew cut, a bit of a sunburnt nose, pounded his quarter on the counter to get my attention.  I turned around and he said, "I would like a male Hershey Bar, please".  "A male Hershey bar?"  "Yes, one with nuts."

 He giggled and giggled and giggled.  I was sixteen when I waited on the little guy, and I still remember him and the Male Hershy bar.

Basically, my summer fun was over.  I was saving for Calvin Klein Jeans and the Fleetwood Mac Rumors album.  

About this time in my thought process, I talked to one of my classmates who had been there since kindergarten.  We talked about how our little town always was represented well at the reunion.  I told her about a picture my mom had of all of us one summer, before first grade, when we all learned to ride our bikes without training wheels.  Some of us didn't have any front teeth.  All the girls had braids and the boys summer crew cuts.  We moved right after that picture was taken my mom told me.  

Before my brother and I left for Maryland, we stopped by Twin Valley Cemetary to see my mom.  I whipped around that cemetery road and pulled up under the big oak tree.  We got out, I said "mom, we are here and there isn't any bird shit on your marker (her big fear was that her marker would be covered with bird shit being under that tree, but she wanted some protection from the sun.  I am not making this up.)  Todd looked down, looked up and said, "I am never coming back here again."

We got back into the car, and we left.  Total time at Twin Valley Cemetary, about 45 seconds, give or take. 

We drove out of town by our old grocery store, (the one you drove to daily after you got your license for mom), our Church, our Elementary School and onto the highway headed home.

The past behind, the future in front.  

After I dropped my brother, and got back in the car, heading south, the passenger seat was empty and nobody was coaching me on my driving, it occurred to me, we probably needed to make that trip together, back home.  It might be the only time that ever happens.  

When I opened up the photo album to find these pictures, I swear they were just taken yesterday.  I looked at some of the pictures in my album and I can remember them being taken like it was yesterday.  And bam, 63 years later...

I thought back to my daughter, would she be disappointed in  years to come if she drives by her childhood home?  Would she remember those hours of Manhunt, the pool and Halloween nights?  Would she remember her summer fondly as she drove down Shoreline and tell her husband or maybe be her brothers and say, "remember Pat and George?"  "Remember the big swing set in the back or Ruthie and Willie are buried over there with the blueberry bushes?

And would she drive away sad?  Sad because her parents were gone or because it seemed like yesterday her bedroom was on the far right where the sun came in?

In the days that followed, I started processing the weekend, old friends, old home, new friends, new life...you know all of it. Here is what I know for certain, my brother and my cousins and all of the hood kids, lived the best possible lives from ages 6-18.  No doubt. And it was very impressionable and memorable when raising our children.  And there is no place like home.

Even if it is just in your memories. 

* house 1970

   house 1968

   broken arm 1972

   hood pictures 1974

   mom on porch 1979

 

My Collegiate Hangover

 I am not going to lie; I have had some whopper hangovers.  But this hangover is the worst ever.

My head hurts, I am so tired.  I think I have regrets, I am anxious, no appetite.  This has been the worst hangover I have ever had; it has lasted almost a week, and it is not because I drank too much.  

It is because my son graduated from college.  

I arrived on the campus of West Virginia University in September of 1979.  Tower one, floor 4, room 15 on Evansdale Campus.  My roommate, Annie, my friend since kindergarten, arrived with our black and white cat sheets, the ones with the red collars (we still have no idea why we picked those) and we became college freshmen. I chose WVU because you didn't need SAT scores (I have zero math skills) and could get in.  Annie was going there, and she talked me into it.

I had never been to the campus before but any campus represented independence and at 73 Bel Aire Road, "my house, my rules" did not focus on independence.

In hours, the two small town girls had met enough people to host a big party.  We came to play and came to win.  We spoke to everyone, about everything.  We thrived.  We didn't go to class much, but we thrived socially.

I absolutely loved all four years in Morgantown.  

On graduation day, there was a ceremony for all students in the coliseum.  I was not going to go.  My other friend said, "you are going, bring champagne and not your parents." I went.   I cried.  I cried because at that point, it was the saddest day of my life.  It was over.

At the school of journalism graduation, my grandparents attended along with my parents and best friend.  There was cake.

I packed up my belongings and headed back to the tiny town of Delmont with my WVU memories secured tightly in my heart.  "Take me home country roads, to the place I belong, West Virginia, mountain mamma, take me home country roads."  I sang this song over and over again once I got pack home.  It was not the same.

Fast forward 41 years to the day, my son Walker walked the stage in the coliseum.  His parents were present, but he didn't have champagne. He did not want to walk.  

The final moments of graduation, were about 2500 kids, arms locked, tasseled turned, singing loudly, drowning out John Denver," to the place I belong, West Virginia...Mountain mama, take me home country roads."  I saw parents with misty eyes.

For four years, I thought about that moment.  I thought about my son, all garbed up, swaying, arm in arm, singing loudly and proudly when the moment came.  And when it came, I just dropped one tear.

It had been a whirlwind.  Addie flying in, being delayed, Walker retrieving her in Pittsburgh, Frankin and I left long after we had planned because of work, of course we had to have one of those knock down car fights and I never checked the weather. WE didn't have the proper clothing. The weekend was off to a great start. (insert sarcasm)

First up, the party we were co-hosting with Walker's friend.  Honestly, I didn't think there would be many folks showing up.  I was so wrong.  The party was a smashing success.

After the party, we dragged ourselves to the hotel to get some sleep and left Walker with instructions for the next day.

Saturday, I got up at the crack of dawn and drove back to Delmont to visit my mom at the Twin Valley Cemetary for Mother's Day.  

This plan looked good on paper, it really did.  Nothing prepared me for seeing my mother's name on the headstone.  I sat and talked to her for a while. I had plenty to catch her up on and then I told her I had to get back to get ready for brunch.  As I was leaving, I said, out loud to her, "don't move, I will be back".  The most ridiculous thing I have ever said, and I know she was cracking up.

I decided to go visit the best uncle ever and my grandparents in the Mausoleum. Spoke to them, stuck some flowers in a vase for my mamaw and told them all, I wish we could just have one more day on the front porch on Vine Street, or the cottage.  

I went back to say goodbye to my mom, and she listened, she didn't move, she was still there.  

I got back in the car, and the little town that I lived in for a very small portion of my life, was so warm and cozy in my heart, I was overwhelmed.  I zipped through that town and waved at the Boy Scout Troop selling Mother's Day flowers at the light where Mook's hardware used to be and shook my head.  Didn't my brother and I just march down the street in the Delmont Halloween Parade as the Jolly Green Giant and Little Sprout?  Seriously?

I drove back to Morgantown in record time to get ready for brunch.

Everything was so fresh in my mind, like I was still 18 or 19.  It was so crazy. It was Twilight Zone like. 

Fabulous brunch and not so fabulous moving out of the frat house followed by dinner where I cried my mascara off because I was laughing so hard.

Sunday morning was the day.  Up and at them, finish cleaning, meet for lunch and get to graduation.  

When we were sitting at Marios eating lunch and opening graduation cards and gifts along with some Mother's Day gifts, it occurred to me that this would be the last time I would ever be in this eatery.  Marios was a regular stop for me over the years.  I most likely owned at least a chair in the place.  And I guess my chair would belong to someone else.

The big graduation ceremony happened in all of its glory.

We got back to our cars and went either home, back to a frat house or to check into a new hotel.

Walker had been, pretty much, most of the day, a jerk.  Tired, moody, edgy and not very nice and very "what is the big deal?"

I thought we would be spending our last night together eating dinner, but he announced that he was going to hang out with "his friends" one last time. 

I asked for one last picture over the bridge and after biting my head off, I dropped it.

He went his way, we went ours.  I got down to the hotel restaurant/bar and I sat there in silence and looked around at families with grandparents and kids and smiled.  I ordered a "country roads" beer and just sat there.  In silence.  And I was so glad.  I was just taking this all in.

My husband joined me with his new WVU pullover.  He sat down and ordered a drink and exhaled.  It was a "he did it, cannot believe it is over, no child support went with the student loans, he is growing up, and only one more to launch" exhale. 

My phone went off and I looked at the text "I am on a roller coaster of emotions, as we all are.  I will be back with high spirits and thinking we could order dinner. Love you momma" He was on his way. 

"A roller coaster of emotions"...that was my diagnosis.  I was also suffering from a roller coaster of emotions.  

I never cared where my kids went to college, just as long as they had a secondary education plan.  As long as they were comfortable with the plan, I knew we would be.  Was I happy that Walker went to WVU?  Sure. I never encouraged it, it was not a must, and it would have been okay if he didn't hang out on High Street.  It was his journey, not mine. 

But as I sat there, drinking a Country Roads, I knew, that I most likely would never be back to "the place I belonged".  It was time to find new places and new experiences.  And
the trips back to my hometown would most likely be limited to class reunions and funerals now that my mom had passed.  All of this broke my heart.

During lunch, when Walker opened up his graduation cards, there was a Dr. Suess one from a neighbor.  "Oh, the places you will go" card.  Walker commented that ever since he was in preschool, he has received this card.  "I was getting nervous that I was not going to get one here at the last chapter."  

I think it was the words "last chapter" that hit me.

It was definitely not his last chapter, but I am pretty sure, at 63 years old, my chapters were limited.

He joined us, we ate, laughed, talked about the day, the weekend and the next day. We also talked about what he "heard" at commencement and what he thought about the ceremony.

He was so glad to be done...with all of it.  He called it the "fuckery".  Noise, sliding trays, filth, parties, papers being due, conflict resolution."  He was done.  Done with all of it.  

But he admitted that he was so glad he walked across that stage, and he didn't realize how hard it would be to say goodbye and he knew that friendships he coveted would be different.

He apologized for his lousy attitude most of the day. "There were just so many emotions that I did not expect".

Monday, Walker and Franklin were driving to Grant, Colorado, where Walker would spend who knows how long as a cowboy at a ranch.

Rise and shine came quickly.  I showered, got my car unpacked and packed, drove to the front of the hotel to say goodbye to my boys.

And as I went to hug my son, I felt "it" from the toes up, and "it" consumed me.  I am honestly not sure what" it" really was, but it was there.  My kids never held on to my legs and hid in social setting and always ran into preschool, camps or school but this time "it" was different.  "It" was different because it was.  

I held on to my son like it was the last time I would ever see him and surprisingly, I cried. No idea why.  Not like a tear, but the kind of cry when you don't breathe and then you gasp, and you cannot control yourself. 

I got in my car and headed south.  No ceremonial lap around town, I headed south.

All day, as I traveled, my mind was like a spir-o-graph.  Remember those?  My mind within a boundary but all over the place.

This was not about the fact that my son graduated.  It was not about him going west for the summer and possibly longer, it was that he could.  It was over. He was going forward but he was going without us, or I mean me.

And that was ok.  Really, it was.  It should be this way.

It just happened so quickly.  He just graduated from preschool.  I was so busy raising the kids, doing laundry, putting money on lunch accounts and getting them to and fro, that I felt like I missed "it".  "It" being his mother. I mean I was always going to be his mother, but the daily, incidentals, the buying toothpaste and the "how was your day?" was over.  "It" was over.

And the following days, it filled my head.  It made my head hurt.  It made me not be able to sleep and it filled me with angst.  I kept thinking about all of the things I missed because I was worried about dirt on the kitchen floors or folding laundry. I thought about the night I yelled at him because he accidentally sat on the pumpkin sheet cake that I made for Boy Scouts that night.  I thought about how he told me that while we sat and watched Addie do horseback riding lessons, he wanted them too but was afraid to ask.  Is this why he wanted to go to the ranch?  Why didn't he speak up? Or did I miss the signal?

And of course, I threw in the "I have one foot in the grave and what are my kids going to remember about me?

Regrets, I had a few regrets.  Things I did, things I didn't do as a mom.  More things I wish I would have done.

I was being a very harsh judge, judging myself. 

And then, I got the call.  From my son.  He too was having a bit of a meltdown.

Had he made the right decision?  Was going to the ranch the right thing to do?  Should he come home?  "Jeez, this has been a lot mom".

It took my son to say, "mom, it has been a roller coaster."

I responded, "understatement.  It is all going to be ok".

And guess what, it is going to be. Looking back, we should have just chilled on Monday, slept and took a minute. 

My friend, her son also graduated last weekend.  He too had a meltdown.

Maybe there needs to be a class taught about what happens after you walk across the stage for the moms and the children.

I put his things away. Unsubscribed from WVU things, and took Morgantown out of my weather app.  I replaced it with Grant, Colorado.  

I went through his clothes, tossed some and folded some.

It made me feel better. The task I despise, folding laundry, made me feel better.  Ironic.

I went out on the porch to throw the dog a new ball and my neighbor went by and said, "Mountain Mamma, how did it go?"  (Notice the "it" again)

I laughed and said, "I am no longer, a mountain mamma"

To which he responded, "you are will always be the mountain mamma".

 

I Am Woman

When I was about 12 years old, I wanted to join the Columbia House Record Club.  I knew I had to ask my mom and prove that I had enough money for the next three records for her to give me the okay.  Much to my surprise, she was all about it.  We joined.  We both loved music.

Our long-playing albums would arrive, and we were so happy.

Then, I got an eight track, portable player that would operate with batteries or electricity.  I have never been "techy" but damn, I thought that player was the coolest thing ever!  

During our Columbia House membership, we start choosing the eight tracks because my dad put one in our car.  So, my mom and I agreed on Helen Reddy...I am Woman.

Like most woman of the 70's, we put in the eight tracks, roll the windows down and jam to "I AM WOMAN".  It was awesome.  Way before Taylor, Helen Reddy united women everywhere.

Fast forward about thirty-five years...

 Twenty years ago, when I was a mother of three children, my Marine neighbor stopped me outside and said, "heard you are getting new neighbors across the street from you...Know them...retired Colonel in the Marine Corp... tough...and another Marine....you have your work cut out for you".

Intrigued.  Why did I have my work cut out for me?  The warning man was also a Colonel in the Marine Corp, why did he say this?  I mean my kids were spirited but two were little and the "button" was only 10, what could he possible mean?

The "ladies" moved in.  One a retired Marine Corp Colonel and one an enlisted Marine (didn't know her rank...only knew about the Colonel).  Turns out, they each had homes, no children and sold homes and moved in together because family members were few and far away.

My first encounter is when they invited us to a Home Blessing.  I had never been to a Home Blessing, and I was curious and thinking what a nice gesture the invitation was to us.

As we walked across the street, two small children in tow, I realized that there were Priests and many guests.  I was a bit nervous.  I had toddlers.  I decided to keep them outside...safer and just listen to the Priests as they spoke from the outside.

In the backyard, there was a full-blown Carolina BBQ catering job going down.  The ribs did smell great.

As the Preist said the final AMEN, little Walker said, during that moment when nobody else was speaking or moving, "Do you all smell that good food they have cooking?"

I can still see him in his navy and white seersucker overalls and little white T-Shirt with his blonde hair looking at the crowd for acknowledgement while my other neighbors laughed.  They knew I was mortified.

As Walker and Addie ate two bowls of Banana Pudding, I said my goodbyes and walked across the street, toddlers in tow again.

This was the beginning of a friendship that was a little unlikely and lasted twenty years.

Two very structured women with no children and very used to quiet and calm were my neighbors.  My neighbor should have warned them, not me.

Casual waves, weather chats, Ruthie (our kitten/cat) chats, (she sunned on their porch) and gardening discussions were the glue.  

And the random discussions became more frequent.

In one discussion, they told me they had no plans for Thanksgiving, so, without hesitation, I invited them to Thanksgiving dinner.  They told me they would let me know.  When I told Franklin, he laughed.  

"They are not coming.  They didn't want to hurt your feelings". 

"Why are they not coming?"

"Who would give up peace quiet at Thanksgiving to come to this crazy place?"

They got back to me and told me they were graciously accepting out invite.

They attended Thanksgiving at our home for many years after.  I loved having them.  Their presence made me step up my game...always when company comes.

And those two women became adopted by our family.  They attended Easter parties, Christmas Eve and sometimes Christmas Dinner, sporting events and cheerleading events, they were an extended part of our family. 

The Colonel was always sure to tell our daughter, at any time, "keep your shit together and do not let a man screw it up for you."  I loved it when she told her this.  

One of the most fun evenings we ever had involved several ladies on my back porch, several bottles of wine and a 4:30am confession from the Colonel, "at my funeral, I want "I am Women" played at my funeral.  When that casket comes rolling down the aisle, I want it blaring."

The years went by then the aging process stepped in.  At first it was just a "step" and then it became more of a "leap" and the decision was made for my friends to move to Tennessee to assisted living.

I understood the need and the decision, I just didn't want it to happen. 

About 30 days after my friends made it back it to the Colonel's home state of Tennessee, she passed.

While it was not a surprise, my heart was broken.

Last Monday, I attended her celebration of life in a tiny country church in Tennessee.  Sadly, I have attended several Celebrations of Life lately, but I am not sure if I ever have or ever will again experience what did in that humble country Church.

There were several women in attendance, mostly retired Colonels from the US Marine Corp, a Marine Corp Chaplain, elderly people who traveled over eight hours and dear old friends.

It was explained that my friend, during her tenure as Colonel, was a teacher, who instructed other females on how to become Colonels.  I listened to these stories about how these women were intimidated by my friend and they were scared of her, until they met her.  

I wondered if "in this class, there were ever questions like, "does this uniform make my hips look big" or "what color lipstick should I wear?"

Every one of these women explained that while they were initially intimidated by her, not only was she a fabulous leader, mentor, teacher, ground breaker but most importantly, a friend.

They smiled when they spoke about her, these women spoke with conviction about friendship, they spoke with strength about the importance of women in the Marine Corp, the Marine Corp and the bond they all have.  It was inspirational.  They may not have had friendship bracelets from the ERAS tour, they had ranks.

Finally, at the gravesite, a lady read a poem, it moved me.  The poem was about not just about being a Marine, but being a Lady Marine...filled with dignity, grace and friendship.

There is nothing stronger than the bond of friendship...girlfriends, sisters, mothers and grandmothers.  I cannot imagine the bond these ladies have.  Not had, have.  It will always have. 

As we ate the best green beans ever and other homemade southern cooking, the CD was turned on and Helen Reddy serenaded us, "yes I'm wise, but it's wisdom born of pain, yes I paid the price, but look how much I've gained, If I have to, I can do anything...I am strong, I am invincible, I am woman. " 

Here's to girlfriends, even if they are unlikely and here's to Helen and the Colonel.

 

Three hundred and sixty five days of learning...Life after your mom passes.

 Three hundred, sixty-five days today, my mom passed away after a heroic, vicious battle with ALS. 

 I was in the car, driving back to Florida to be with her when I got a text..."she passed."

And just like that, life changed.  I called my brother from the car and then had my moment.  Or maybe two moments. 

Days before, I squeezed her little hand and told her thank you for being our mom. It was sunrise and there was this warm glow in the room.  It was quiet and peaceful  I squeezed but she could not squeeze back.  

As I squeezed her hand and rubbed her head, I prayed God would free her from pain and this monster called ALS. 

When she was diagnosed on July 12, 2021, none of us were prepared for the beast, ALS.

When I got on the plane that morning, I rested my head on the window of the plane and silent tears fell.  I prayed some more.  I wanted my mom to be free.  And at peace.

Now she was.

I turned my car around in a church parking lot. I called my husband.  

Then, I called the funeral home.  Ironically, they told me that my mom would be flying back to Pennsylvania on an Amazon plane, filled with Christmas presents.  You will never know how fitting that was for her.  

 I cried in my car.   I looked at the sky and turned the car ignition back on. 

I was going back home and my daughter would be there.  I was sucking it up.  I had not seen my daughter in months and I wanted her to have a great homecoming. 

I promised myself that day in the car, that I would mentally spend at least five minutes daily with my mom. And reflect.

My mom, like every mother on this planet said often and with venom, "You are going to appreciate me when I am gone."

In those 365 days of daily reflection, here is what I learned or had reinforced.  (in no particular order)

1.  Spend your money on good shoes, good sheets, bras and frying pans.  Period.  These are the things you cannot skimp on.  My bras cost me more than a set of tires and they are worth it. My mom loved a "good set of sheets".  She turned her nose up at the hospital bed sheets and it made me laugh.  I knew exactly what she was thinking. 

2.  Call somebody.  Don't text.  Call.  Talk.  My mom was nonverbal for over a year.  God does have a sense of humor but what I wouldn't do for one more conversation with my mom.  So, make the call.  It does matter. Tonality changes everything. 

3.  Whenever my brother or I would have a "moment" when we were feeling sorry for ourselves for whatever reason, regardless of our ages...my mom would say in a real mom like voice, "Are we having a pity party, are people coming over, should I bake cookies, appetizers?  Let me know how many people to expect." 

 We hated that so much. Her anit-pity party attitude had a huge affect on me and my brother.

I was a senior in high school, days away from the senior prom, where people went with people, never stag, and I didn't have a date.  Worse than that, my bestie did not have a date and I knew she was prom queen because I helped to count the votes.  I had to call and tell her mom to get her a date, which she did...but...still no date for me.  I was sitting in my mom's "chair" while she was on the phone with a girlfriend...and she says so I can hear, "I have to get off the phone...My daughter is dateless for the Senior Prom and i have to get ready for her Pity party today".  Oh, I wanted step on her foot so very hard at that moment.  She comes over and says, "Get over it.  It will work out or it will not.  Either way, you will be okay.  It will be okay.  This is not the worst thing that will ever happen to you, although it does seem " Two days later, my friend came up to me and said/asked "since you do not have a date, and I do not have a date, let's go to the prom together."  We had a blast.  Best Prom Date ever.  My mom was correct. 

I have looked at her situation with ALS, nonverbal, immobile, could not eat or swallow, these three things for a year.  She didn't feel sorry for herself. She was pissed but she never had a pity party.   Nobody comes anyway. 

About six months before my mom passed, a few friends came to visit her.  Remember, my mom was nonverbal.  These friends commented on "how pleasant my mom was".  After they left, I commented to my mom about how her friends thought she was so pleasant.  My mom reached for the pad and wrote, "I am only nice cause I cannot talk.  If I could talk they would know how pissed off I was that I had ALS".  I laughed.  I laughed so hard. She never complained.  We never had the pity party.

3.  Send cards.  Birthday cards, 'No real reason cards", anniversary cards.  Just send the darn cards.  Let people know you care.  Send cards.  They are the only good things that come in the mail.  Won't be hard to spread sunshine.

So funny, mom loved sending and receiving Christmas cards.  When she could no longer use her arms, she was not going to send the Christmas cards.  I told her "No way.  If you don't send a card, folks will think you died, not knowing she had been diagnosed.  I will write a letter for you to insert inside your card."  She did it.  At her celebration, a lady came up to me and told me that she always loved getting a card from her at Christmas.  She said, if she had not received the card, she would have known something was seriously wrong.  When she read the letter, she knew it would be the last card she ever got from her.  The card made her step up as a friend.  

4.  Write down recipes.  Don't text them or email them, write them down.  The value is immeasurable.   I have a box of recipes, all hand written, from my great grandmother, mamaw, Aunt Judy, Mona and my mom.  There is batter splattered on some, my mamaw drew pictures on one and my great grandmother just wrote "throw in salt, add a couple eggs and add more sugar if you want".  I laugh every time I make those recipes.  I "feel" them. 

5.  Wrap gifts.  Forget the bags whenever possible.  Wrap the gifts.  Use real ribbon whenever possible.  The presentation sells the gift. 

6.  Even though your family is flawed, love your family.  You are also flawed.  Love them.  We all have a nut job in the family, make them "your little nut job."  And laugh with them.  Love your family and stand up for them when they need you too.  

7.  Sometimes you have to do things you do not want to, do not like and hope you never have to do again, but you do them because it brings someone joy.  Suck it up and do it if it is going to give someone joy.

8.  You never know when the time will come that it will be the last time you can do something.  So, whatever it is you love, find the time, make the time and enjoy the time.  My mom said her biggest regret was not knowing that the last time she played golf, she didn't know it was her last time. Enjoy it whatever it is, like it is your last time.

9. Just because you cannot speak, your eyes can usually tell what you are thinking. 

10.  My mom always told me, "If you ever have a son, or a husband (she was convinced neither would ever happen for me) and they start talking about their feelings, shut up.  For Goodness' sake, let them talk...and listen.  They usually will talk when the lights are off.  Let them talk, do not talk and listen."  My mom and I had great talks the last year.  She could not say anything, she just listened and she would write on word comments for me to take with me..."Ridiculous", "non-productive" and "idiot" were my favorite take aways.  She listened.  

11.  When just about everything else has been taken away, let someone have their dignity.  Make it about them. 

12.  Cookies matter.  Perfectly baked cookies matter. Especially when they are inside a Christmas tin.

13.  I have tried to live my life with "what would Jesus do?".  Now, it is more like "what would Jesus do? and what would my mom think?".  I was faced with situation shortly after mom passed, a situation I never thought I would find myself in and all I could think of was "what would she want me to do?".  When I was certain that I knew, I acted with confidence.  I knew if I had called her and explained the situation to her, she would have known exactly what to do and how to do it.  So crazy, I could hear her telling me what to say, when to say it and nudged me to put my hand on my hip for extra drama.

15.  And finally, my mom always said "I am so proud as a mother that you and your brother have such a great relationship.  It is the thing I am most proud."  My relationship with my brother, I am certain was always based on, "he's a nut job but he is our little nut job".  Now, it means something so different to me.  I am always sad when siblings "don't gel" or "haven't spoken to them for years".  Sad.  And now when I look or hear my brother's voice, I realize this is it...one of us is next...and the "Bahneman, family of 4" will be done.  It is different now.  We have always had a great relationship but now it is different.  It is just us.  I cannot explain it, it is just different.  In a good way but in a finale sort of way.

Like just about everyone I know, I lost a mom.  What I gained by having her as my mom, will always be immeasurable.  I have changed as a mom.  I am a better person.  She would be proud.

And now, the year is up.  I can hear my mom, "did anyone come to that pity party? No.  Get off your ass and move.  Life is too short.  Don't waste time on feeling sorry for yourself, nobody else is."  Damn, still hate hearing this, but I know it is correct.

So, here's to you mom and  to all the other mom's we have lost.  I am up and moving, thinking of you hourly and being the best version of myself (most of the time).

 Thank you for everything mom.

The Monday after Thanksgiving...Bitchy Betty redeems herself

Total transparency, my previous post about Thanksgiving should have been Part One of a Three-part series, inspired by my friend, Joyce/  I forgot to mention this in the previous post.  

Because I didn't paint "Bitchy Betty" in a very positive light in the last post, I decided I would tell something good about her.  

In Western Pennsylvania, the Monday after Thanksgiving is one of the biggest days of the year.  It is opening day of Deer season.  Schools are closed.  Greatest day of absenteeism in the workplace too.  I am not kidding.

Seriously, one of the best days of the year.  Truly, it is the only time of the year that men actually participate in "planning".  Who knew they could decide in menus, departure times, who needs to bring what, etc.  

In our household, my dad left the day after Thanksgiving to go "Deer Hunting".  He left with his dad, a couple hunting buddies, years later, my brother joined the caravan.  These four or five days were celebrated all over by wives in the Commonwealth.

Besides picking out good jigsaw puzzled, "Bitchy Betty" introduced us to Downtown, the Monday after Thanksgiving.

Downtown, meaning Downtown Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.  Us meaning me, my mom and brother, my Aunt Judy and my first cousins, Stephen, Jennifer and Janet.

"Bitchy Betty" organized a day for us "Downtown".  In Western Pennsylvania, we use the word "downtown" to describe going into the city or town or village.  We go "downtown."

So, the kids got word that we were going "downtown" not really knowing what that meant but we were excited nonetheless.  Something new.  And Betty B organized it.  Odd because Betty did not like kids.  At all.  She was one of those people who never should have had kids.  Thank goodness she didn't.  Being a mom was not an innate thing with her. And being a grandmother was not at all her thing.  This was the only time she took the initiative to do anything with us.  So unlike my mamaw (my mom's mom).

My Aunt Judy picked us up, and off we went.  We were dressed up, like really dressed up. Stephen had a sports jacket, the girls in nice skirts and sweaters (adorned with holiday pins, presents with red ribbons) and our hair looked amazing.  We picked "BB" up and off we went, downtown.

I distinctly remember going and parking the car and taking the bus Downtown.

We got off the bus in front of Kaufmann's Department store and the holiday windows.  Now please understand, Kaufmann's was almost a verb.  "I need to Kaufmann" or translation, "I need to get to Kaufmanns."  Kaufmanns was the most gorgeous store ever, with a great restaurant inside, The Tick Tock.  If you counted the hours I spent in Kaufmann's s as a kid or young adult, i bet it would be decades.  My mom had a love affair with Kaufmann's, and we only shopped at the Monroeville store (or later Westmoreland Mall store).  To be "downtown" in the mothership was awe inspiring.  We should have checked her pulse and my Aunt Judy's too.

 To this very day, we still open Christmas gifts in Kaufmann's boxes.  We covet them.

Kaufmanns "downtown" was famous for its clock on the corner of the outside of the store.

  

At the Kaufmann's window, KDKA Radio was broadcasting live, the annual Children's

Hospital Drive.  I can still see Jack Bogut in the window, huge headphones, the call letters on the microphone, the clocks, it was amazing. I honestly think it was the trip that made me want

to work at a radio station. We watched in amazement.  The radio station we listened to in the morning was right there in front of us.  We stayed long enough to hear the " Start your heart, eat a Farkleberry tart and tear the world apart, Farkleberry, Farkleberry".  If you purchased a farkleberry tart, proceeds went to the hospital.  My dad thought this little jingle as amazing. You could purchase the little tarts and then they came out with the turkey.  My dad was all about the turkey.  Standing there in front of the window, watching and listening was no doubt the coolest thing that had happened in my nine-year-old life. 

We listened to KDKA all day, every day.  We laid in bed as a family listening intently to hear our school district called for snow delays and closings. We listened to Pittsburgh Pirate games, and we could sing the jingle, K-D-K-A Pittsburgh, 1020...can still hear it coming from the radio above my parents' bed.  Seeing what we heard come to life was so cool.

Until we walked INSIDE of Kaufmann's. Inside this department store, it was a cross between Disney, Stephen Spielberg and Willy Wonka magic. The store smelled like Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory, the chandeliers look like something from Disney and the escalator floated. It was all magical.  

On the first floor, there were two things I remember, the makeup/perfume department and on the other side, this confectionary department.  They had the most beautiful chocolate covered apples and pretzels and orange slices.  Everything was lovely.

 We went up the escalator to the restaurant.  We stood in line, and they called our name.  We entered this huge restaurant with enormous chandeliers, round tables with centerpieces and tablecloths.

At your place setting, there was a paper placemat, which also served as the menu.  The menu was list as Rudolph, Dasher, Dancer, Donner, Blitzen, Prancer, Vixen, Comet and Cupid.

Each Reindeer name was a different item.  

I remember the very first time the waitress asked me, I sat up straight, perfect posture, and said "I will have the Rudolph" like I was somebody.  I was.  I had a gold holiday pin on my sweater, my hair looked great, my legs were together under the table, and I was having the Rudolph in a grand ballroom.  It did like the ballroom from the movie Titantic.

We ate our lunch and went to another floor.

What happened on whatever floor it was, was the coolest. We walked in and there was this giant Christmas tree, perfectly and precisely decorated. But this Christmas tree, she spoke to you.  She asked your name, what you wanted from Santa, where we were from, a whole conversation.  Amazing. We were all enthralled.

After speaking to the Christmas tree, we left and took a streetcar to either Gimbels or Hornes Department store.  I am not sure which one. Gimbels was famous for the outside Christmas Tree on the corner of the store.  Again, we looked at all of the store windows that told a story.  I do remember the 12 Days of Christmas group of windows that were amazing.

Inside the store, a Holiday Sophistication that was something five young kids from Delmont, Pennsylvania had never experienced.

Up the elevator we went to the "Christmas Floor".  As the elevator opened, it was a black room with white amusements, like a Ferris wheel that was white, puffy clouds hanging from the ceiling, an amazing Santa Claus and everyone involved was dressed like the most adorable elf.  We rode the amusements, sat on the lap of the perfect Santa Claus and then we entered the "shopping hall".

Inside the shopping hall, you decided whom you were purchasing for, it checked on a paper ticket, your cash went into the envelope, it was all pinned on you with your name, and we (the three oldest) were allowed to go into a room BY OURSELVES AND SHOP!  Glorious!  We shopped by ourselves!  We bought for aunts and uncles and learned that giving was fun.  

The younger kids had to have "helpers" aka elves but not us...after we purchased our gifts, we took them to the wrapping center, and they wrapped our gifts.  While we waited, we had hot chocolate...like we were at happy hour without our folks.  It was so cool.  We loved it.

And finally, we made the trip to the last remaining department store, with our shopping bags filled with treasures we had picked out.

The last windows were amazing too.  They entertained us and we were starting to drag.

We got on the bus and made our way back to our car.

There were so many things about being Downtown that day.  Everything was huge, lovely and perfect.  It was so sophisticated, so festive and so magical.

We did this trip a few times.  The first one is always the best.  I never ordered anything from the menu besides the Rudolph.  My cousin Stephen opted out for hunting, Todd soon went hunting too and the trip fizzled out.

What didn't fizzle out was the magic of opening day of deer season.  My mom and I would carry their bags through 12 feet of snow, barefooted, if we had too, to get them to leave.

Not hating on men, but there is something just as magical as a chandelier, when the men leave for a few days.  My mom and I ate Lady Borden's Bing Cherry Ice-cream for dinner one night.  You know why?  "Because we can".  That's what my mom said.  I slept in bed with her.  The house stayed clean, and we "ripped" (shopped, we called shopping, ripping) and had the best, laid back time. 

When I think back on those days, I smile.  Honestly, that was shopping.  It was the best.  Makes me sad that boxes are delivered to your door, and you retrieve them in your bathrobe. As I am writing this, my daughter texts me her Christmas list, via Amazon.  Gag me.  So tired of looking at Jeff Bezo's girlfriend on his yacht, all toned in the two piece.   

And her is her Christmas list, you click it and add it to the cart, and it comes to your door. 

Oh Addie, we could have had the Rudolph together.