Thursday, September 22, 2016

Little Linda and the Lorna Doone Lady

After my morning of the "dark nipple" lover conversation...the Mother Mafia had a meeting.  

Actually, it was a dinner party celebrating the start of school, but the conversation turned to, "how do  you raise strong women?"  Not the weight lifting kind of strong women but those girls who can say "have you lost your mind? I am not showing you my nipple and you are an ass" kind of strong women.

The conversation was all over the place, birth order, zodiac sign, age of the mother when the daughter is born, state they were conceived in (making that one up), seriously, it was all over the place.  

How do you raise strong women?
If my husband was ALPHA parent, Addie would be prancing around in bloomers, playing dolls until she was 16, then she would be allowed to go to school and study cooking.  She would never have a cut, an ailment and she would never meet anyone who didn't love her.  She would never have any conflict.  Her life would be like a game of CANDY LAND.  Her days would be filled with pink and purple and taffy and GUMDROPS.  How boring is that?

Instead, her ALPHA parent is me.  One of my favorite people on this planet and my former roommate, T-Redneck said to me one night, "you know, I have never seen a man offer to buy you a beer.  You are cold and unapproachable."'  Damn Right. 

It wasn't about the beer.  I can buy my own.  It was about the attitude.  I didn't come there to have a man buy me a beer, then you have to talk to them.  I came there to sit with my friends.  

But the question loomed in my head, "how to you raise strong women?"

I have been consumed by this.  I have researched it.  I have a conclusion.

You bear them and then you raise them.

When I was a child, I was surrounded by my great grandmother, Emma.  She was a character and she is a legend.

Then there was my Mamaw.  My favorite person of all time.  

My mom.  Linda.  Little Linda.  My dad always could her Little Linda, small and mighty.

And my Aunt Judy.  My mom's older sister.

I cannot imagine what this planet would have been like if they would have ruled it.

They didn't rule the planet, the world my world.

They still do.

I am 55 years old and if my mom tells me to send a card (even if I don't know the person) I send it. 

One Sunday in church, I told my brother to go through the hymnal and add "under the covers" to the end of the hymn title.  He starts giggling and Little Linda  grabs my shoulder and squeezes with all her might.  You read correctly, my shoulder.  I gave her that teenage, "what did I do?" look and she glared.  You know, the glare.  She glared.

After an hour of praise and grace, we get into the church parking lot and she whips her shoe off and clobbers me because I told him this.  

Even at 75 years old, if there was an Olympic Event for whipping your shoe off and clobbering your kid, my mom would be the most decorated Olympian of all time.

Bottom line, when Little Linda spoke, you listened and you moved.

One day, I had Little Linda and my Mamaw at a restaurant.  It was time to order.  Everytime one of us ordered, the poor waitress said, "we are out of that".

Seriously, it was breakfast.  Eggs, toast, oj and bacon.  Really?
Finally, when the waitress to my Mamaw, my grandma ordered and she said, "sorry, we are out of that too."

My Mamaw looked up at her and said, "Just what in the hell do you have?"

It is the question that is still repeated 45 years later.

I guess you just raise girls to be strong and then surround them with strong women.

My mom was one of those women in the 60's didn't wear a dress and run the sweeper with pearls.  She seldom wore shoes and when she did they were flip flops (so she could use them as a weapon) and she was fiercely independent.  She stayed at home with us and didn't work outside the home.

But it was what she did in the home that later mattered.
We got ourselves out of bed in the morning.  We made our own breakfasts, we walked to the bus stops, that were six miles away in the freezing Pittsburgh winters (kidding, 1/4 mile) and we did chores.  At ten years old,  I cleaned up the dinner dishes, emptied the dishwasher, folded all the laundry (which has scarred my for life...the folds had to be what you saw when you opened the closet), babysat, cleaned my room, changed my sheets and scrubbed the garage door.  

If you ever let it slip that you were bored, you immediately were scrubbing the garage door or cleaning out your drawers.

The point is, she taught us to survive.
Never would she have called someone for us. "You get on the phone and you ask.  You sure have a mouth at home.  Don't pull that shy thing now."

She made us go out and survive.  When I started babysitting, she said "Handle it."

I goofed on my schedule one time and accidentally scheduled a babysitting job on a home football game Saturday.  I asked her if I could go to the game,  while she babysat, then I would take over for  her after the game.  She said no.  I think this is what prompted me to write "I hate my mom, I hate my mom, I hate my mom" over 100 times in my diary.

Never made a scheduling mistake again.

I went away to college and was only allowed to call on Sundays.  Her theory, "You will just need to figure it out".  And I did.

I failed a few thousand times but I figured it out.

Shortly after college graduation, I was living at home with plans to move to California. Things changed abruptly and my heart was broken.  Later that evening, my brother asked me if I wanted to go with him and few buddies to a party.  

"Mom should I go?'

"Yes, your pity party ended here three hours ago.  Nobody came.  Life moves on.  Go live it."


It is not about being strong, it is not about not crying and not caring, it is about falling off the bike, getting back on and being smart enough to know that what you did before did not work.
And taking risks.

Having a strong mind doesn't mean you are a mouthy, opinionated know it all, it means you can think and process and then act.  

Being strong means that you have the courage to do things on your own.  It also means that you are smart enough to ask stronger folks their opinions and then actually listen to their wisdom.  Being strong means being comfortable in your own skin and liking it.  

And being strong means caring with courage and guts and protection those you love. 

One afternoon, I was about ten, my brother Todd was six, my mom and Mamaw took us to Three Rivers Stadium for a Pittsburgh Pirates double header.  We were sitting on the first base line and the sun was blazing in our faces.

My brother Todd sat there in his army green Health-tex shorts with a short-sleeve yellow shirt with an army green stripe around his collar and his navy blue PF Fliers.  He had two little match box bulldozers or tractors (who knows, he was never without those things) and he sat in his little stadium seat.

It was hot.  In between games, with plenty of seats to spare, a little old lady sat down, directly in front of my brother.  Right smack in front of him.  Tons of open seats and she sat directly in front of y six year old brother who never really ever sat still.

And, she had a sleeve of Lorna Doones.  It is Africa hot out and she is eating these dry Lorna Doones.  At a baseball game.  

Occassionally during the game, Todd would accidentally touch the back of her seat, put his hand on the back of her seat, maybe kick the back of her seat when he stood up to catch a foul ball but he was never intentional.

He was a six year old kid.

About the sixth inning, Todd jumped up to see a plane and when he did, his little navy blue PF Flier rubbed the back of her seat.

The little old lady jumps up, the stadium seat makes that funky noise and she turns around and puts her finger in Todd's face.

Okay, it is no secret in my family that Prince Todd is the chosen child.  That is a whole different blog post.  My mother adores her Prince and here is some old lady with her finger in his face.

The old lady, with her drapery arms flapping, finger pointing and shaking and says, "You need to sit down, behave and quit hitting my seat.  If you mother isn't going to discipline, I will."

I was only ten but even I knew these were fighting words.

I looked over at my mom, who was the same height as Lorna Doone Lady and she jumps out of her seat like a rabid Jack-in-the-Box.

My mamaw is gripping her seat and my mom leans over and snaps that lady's finger and says, "He is six years old.  There are 63,000 seats in here and you chose to sit in front of a six year old boy with two matchbox cars.  If he accidentally hits your seat three or four times, so be it.  You can move.  So turn around, and take your Lorna Doones with you."



I will never forget it. Never.  Wake me up at 3 am and ask me what sleeve of cookie the old lady had and I will say, without skipping a beat, Lorna Doone.

It was the first time I remember seeing me mom in action. She was awesome.

Being strong doesn't mean you cannot cry, it means that whining is not an option.

It means you are faced with a mess and you see it as an opportunity.
Being strong is an attitude.  

When Adeline was born, I just kept looking at her saying, "I cannot believe I had a girl.  And what am I going to do with her?"  I hope that when she looks back at her childhood, she will see a woman that was an independent thinker and was not afraid to live her life.  And that whining was not an option and I too would snap a finger from a geriatric.  

Two weeks ago, I announced that we needed to clean the garage (wonder where I got that from).  We started but I had to leave.  Adeline had a vision.  Walker did not see her vision. She said she had this and let her be.  Darn, that girl nailed it.  

You have no idea how proud she was of the work she accomplished.  Still talking about it.  If her dad would have been home, he wouldn't have made her help.  When she said she was willing, I said go for it.  Her inner strength grew that rainy Saturday.

I guess the recipe for raising strong women is this, let them try things they wouldn't normally try and don't hold their hand while doing it....Just them go.  And learn.  

And if they are hungry when they are done learning and doing, give them a Lorna Doone.  






Thursday, September 8, 2016

it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: Stand Tall.

it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: Stand Tall.: I don't eat lunch.  I hate taking the time, the calories, just the whole thing.  I avoid lunch dates. Two days ago, an email came acro...

Stand Tall.

I don't eat lunch.  I hate taking the time, the calories, just the whole thing.  I avoid lunch dates.

Two days ago, an email came across that was for a LUNCHEON at the New Bern Country Club.  I have no idea why I kept reading.  The luncheon was to celebrate and honor the Military Family of the Quarter.  I am surrounded by military bases, have a sweet nephew in the Marine Corp and have never been to this event.

 I was in.  I said yes to lunch, yes to the country club and yes to celebrating patriotism.

The couple that was being celebrated was a very young couple with a two year old.  They are not from this area.  The shy, soft spoken Marine stood up to say thank you and said, "my wife told me that where ever we go, we need to leave it a better place through our service."

What fabulous words to live by.

A retired Marine stood up and explained what this Honored Marine did for a living.  Please understand, when you are my age, everyone looks young. Seriously, this young man was a baby with a sweet baby face.  His wife, Kate Middleton looking, was equally as young.  Both were poised and so composed.  

Anyway, the young Marine is the wartime/battle field/ combat electronics and communications specialist.   Basically, he was the one that made sure all of the radios, headsets, anything used for communications, in combat,  always work, crystal clear and perfect.

Way to make a 55 year old female feel insignificant.

While I was sitting in this lovely setting...a few days away from the 15th anniversary of 9/11, I wondered if I could have done more for our country?

I don't like the way things are in our country.  I vote.  It is a Vote of HOPE.  I HOPE things change.  I love to debate with folks who don't have my same views; that is how I learn.  I am ALL about the first and  second amendments.  All about them.    Love them.

And I am all about freedom.  

I guess if I could do it all over, I wouldn't sit down, I would stand taller.  I would stand on a ladder to try an inspire others to reach higher heights.  I would stand taller and shout louder and lead by example.   If you have a shoe fetish (who doesn't), no big deal, get shoes to kids who need them.  If your passion is helping people with different skin tones make a better life, I would grab a few, put them under my wing and start teaching and mentoring.   I would encourage others to do the same...especially if I had seven months off.

I would find my passion, my spirit and I would stand taller and yell louder and I would get everyone who feels the same to join me in my cause of being part of the solution.  I would have the freedom to do so.  

I have an adopted child.  My oldest son is adopted.  He was not a baby when we adopted him.  He had more baggage than the baggage claim at LAX.  It didn't matter.  We loved him.  He mattered.  It didn't matter to me that how many fingers, what color skin or how much baggage, we loved him.  We still do.  Unconditionally.  And my love for my oldest child, (I don't like to refer to him as adopted, he is my son) is different than the love for my other two children.  Anybody can birth a child.  It takes special people to come together as a family unit, especially when you didn't start out that way.  What a story that is to tell to others.  If my family  can stand tall and tell it after everything that we have been through, so can other. Stand Tall or Stand Taller....just stand and tell it.  Love matters.  Love for one another matters. Even if you are not the same or came together in ways you didn't expect, if you listen to one another, you can work it out and work at it.   We have all been through some stuff, let's continue to love and get though it.  Work together.  Love and Listen.  Focus on the positive and walk forward.  Grab hands and walk forward.



I don't care how much money you make or how much you do not earn.   Typically, if you are a big time revenue king or queen, you hired well.  You hired a smart firm to negotiate your salary.  Good hire.  Ever see the movie, Jerry McGuire?  Your choice to hire and your choice to negotiate. It was your choice to master a skill or trade, go to college, join the military, live off an inheritance or marry a rich person.  Your choice.  You are free. 

Love the freedom that you can attend movies, football games, poetry readings or dance recitals.  Love the freedom that you can feel and fuel your passion.  Your passion.  Love that you don't become an athletic robot, stripped from your home and your family at a young age  to belong to your government to perform greatness.  Love that you can attend college, and master your skill or athleticism even more and then make a living from this.  

Love that we will celebrate 9/11 and all the lives that were lost and changed that very day.  Love that so many were going to work that day in the Pentagon to help keep our nation and many other nations safe.  Love that Americans said "oh hell no" and exercised freedoms and stormed the cockpit. They Stood Tall.  I don't love that Americans died that day...but they were free in their jobs, careers, they were business owners and some even chose to be late that day.  Freedom. 

Love that you can read to this blog and say "she is a crazy lady or worse"  and not read anymore.  You can close up this blog and listen to any type music you want or even play Candy Crush.  You are Free to do so.  You can even do it at work. 

Or, you can Stand Tall and use your voice and encourage others to use their talents too and perhaps with your passion, you can send a man to Mars.  People laughed about the man on the moon idea, didn't they?

My husband and I didn't plan for our son to become involved with drugs and the law.  We thought he was going to be a Marine.  It didn't happen.   Instead, I found something that stirred my soul, drug addiction and helping those in the addiction hell.    It totally sucks to stand in front of an auditorium filled with people and tell some of the truths I have to tell but I stand. My voice may crack  but I am still standing. 

I applaud those who draw attention to those things that need fixed.  Like my favorite boss always said, "no bitching if there is no pitching  to fix."  Love that expression. Live it.

This Sunday is 9/11.  Fifteen years ago on 9/11, I found out I was pregnant with my son Walker.  He was born that following May.  He weighed 9/11.  He is our sign of HOPE. LIFE is the greatest form of love.

On Sunday, celebrate Love, celebrate Freedom.  Celebrate our Country.  Celebrate those who went before us and even if you don't agree with what they stood for, celebrate their ultimate sacrifices and passions.  If that is too much for you....celebrate the fact that a group of folks got on a boat, skimmed on the supplies, over packed the beer and salted meat, forgot the fruit, brought  a lousy map and ended up in the coldest part of the East coast, right before winter.  This was just to  worship freely.  It really does seem like an overwhelming feat just to pray.  So, tip your glass to them and what they stood for.  What they did was way tougher than sitting down. 

This Sunday, take somebody to lunch.  When the hostess  asks if you want a booth or a table seat, say you want the counter and STAND.  Celebrate Freedom.  And sing if you want too, even if it is off key.