Colorful Hearts

Dear Diary,
I sat next to her, a sugary sweet kindergartner.  We were coloring. 
She showed me her picture: two brightly dressed scribble people. I could tell they were girls from the long hair--one blonde, one brown. 
Colorful hearts surrounded them; green, purple, red. 

"Guess who this is," she smiled at me.
"Hmmm, who?" I asked, not wanting to assume.
"That's me and you!" she replied.
"Oh, I love the colorful hearts you made!"
"Yes!" she said, then added, "My daddy got 'trans'-ported to Mexico."

That was an eyebrow raiser. 
And a colorful heart breaker.
Just what does one say to that?

"Ooh, I am so sorry to hear that," I sympathetically replied.
"I am never, ever going to see him again," she continued, frowning.
Oh Lord, what do I say to this girl? I prayed.
"I bet you can write to him or talk to him on the phone," I replied feebly.
"Yes, I could!" she replied with a glimmer in her eyes.  "I could give my letter to mommy to mail."

Heavy stuff for a sweet little girl to bear.
The weight she carries will leave an impression on me for a long time.



courtesy layoutsparks.com

But her green, purple, and red hearts will always be part of her story, too.

<3  <3  <3LJ

A Very Big Girl Day

Dear Diary,
My oldest girl is growing up. 
She had a Very Big Girl Day today. 

Filling some big shoes 13 years ago.

She had the day off of school --the second day off to be precise, thanks to another polar bear vortex --and, being the tough Midwesterners we are, we decided it was an opportunity to head out the frosty door and take care of some Big Girl business.

First, she dropped off her first job application.  I sat on a hard bench in the elevator lobby and watched her head up to floor #3 of the office complex with application in hand.
Without me.
I knew if I went with I'd just meddle; I Really Wanted To Go Orchestrate Her Success Myself.

Next, with Certificate of Completion in hand, we went to the DMV for a new DL.  Yup.  Her first driver's license.
Trying hard to suppress flashbacks of my own failed first road test, I sat in a blue plastic chair nervously waiting for her return. 


I had given her permission to Fail.  Does that make me a bad mother? 
I prayed for her.  Any question about bad mothering was now redeemed.

She passed, of course.  The chain of road test failure going back one generation had been broken!
We admired her shiny plastic ticket-to-freedom.  Nice picture, too.

Next we hit the road again, this time to the local drug store for a valid passport photo.  My Big Girl is going to Europe this summer.  Without her mommy.  Who has never been overseas.
Rats.

Add the 23 letters from colleges and universities that she received within one week of her published PSAT scores, and have I painted a clear picture of my girl getting Soooo Big?

Yet somehow I get the feeling she wasn't the only one who put on her Big Girl Pants today.

Feelin' small and humble,
LJ

Are You Mexican?

Dear Diary,

I work in a bilingual school. 
The minorities are the majority here.
These dark haired children with varying degrees of beautiful, not-so-pale skin dominate the hallways and classrooms.  I am hard pressed to find any child of Anglo/European descent in the building.

Family and friends who are readers of this blog know what I look like. But in case a reader comes across this highly entertaining and thoughtful diary who has never heard of LJ, let me provide a sweeping generalization.

I am of Euro descent. Gazing upon my countenance one might guess I am German, which is partly correct; however, thanks to my maternal grandmother, I have more Bohemian in me than any other single nationality. So it is fair to say I am...well...fair!

This week I had the privilege of participating in this conversation in my kindergarten room. Names have been changed.

Niki (to her friend):  Katy, are you Mexican?  I'm Mexican.
Katy:  I'm Mexican-American.
Niki:  I will make you a bracelet that's Mexican! (Turns to other friend) Claire, are you Mexican?
Claire: No, I'm not from Mexico.
Niki (turning to me): Mrs. LJ, are you Mexican?

The absurdity of her question really made me laugh (inwardly of course) as I straight-faced answered her, "No. No I'm not Mexican."

But the really cool thing about that exchange was that it wasn't an absurd question to her.  At five years old, she has little notion about what being Mexican -- or any minority for that matter -- means. 
Thus she did not hesitate to ask her blond haired, blue eyed teacher, "Are you Mexican?".

We are approaching the birthday of Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. 
As part of his famous I Have A Dream speech, he said:

"I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character."

Dr. King, I just met your dream, and her name is Niki.

LJ

Keep Calm and ?

Dear Diary,
I am baking cookies today and while I wait for them to cool I decided it was a good time to share my new fridge mantra for the year. 

But before I did that, I needed to do some research on the "Keep Calm and Carry On" slogan that became so popular in the last couple of years.  I wondered about its origin.  I had heard it was from Britain, hence the crown, but other than that, as far as I knew it could have been the name of another boy band Simon Cowell had discovered.



Original poster from 1939.

I learned it was not a boy band but a slogan the British government was prepared to use prior to WWII to keep the public from freaking out about predicted air raids.  It never was publicized properly and so never caught on at the time, unlike the American slogan, "Loose lips sink ships" and Uncle Sam's "I want YOU" declaration.

I did my research because I wanted to share with you the napkin I pilfered from the home of my brother and sister-in-law over Christmas.  Many of my readers know how much I love cookies. And though I didn't know what I was going to do with it at the time, I just couldn't see using it and throwing it away! 

So I hang it on my fridge. 
And take pictures of it for my blog. 

I suppose you, too, can fill in the blank for how you could handle what comes your way in the year ahead:  Keep Calm and ____________
Pray?
Drink coffee/wine/both?
Hide under the covers?

I think my Snickerdoodles have cooled.  Care to join me?

LJ

Lies for 2014

Dear Diary,

This Christmas I found out I am pretty good at lying.

I had appointed myself Game Director for a gathering with my family.
The Ding-Dong Bell game we attempted didn't go over very well.
I could tell by the blank look on my brother's face. 
Or was that disdain?

Anyway.

We also played a game called Two Truths and a Lie.  A person tells three things about himself (for instance, three of his favorite movies) except a lie needs to be part of the answer, which others try to root out.

"Movies" was just the warm up. 
The Big Question was: What are your goals/What do you plan to accomplish in 2014? 

I made up the question, for Pete's sake, you'd think I could come up with three answers!

As we all paused a moment to ponder this question, here's how it played out in my head:
=======================
Okay, my lie will be that I want to run/walk my first 5K. 
That's actually believable since they know I am a walker anyway. 
Plus it is the trend these days--everywhere you turn there is a 5K fundraiser. 
Yeah that's a good one!  Believable, but sooo not gonna happen.

Now for the two truths. 
Hmmmmm.....goals for 2014.....
I know.
I will say I want to take a French cooking class....start a whole LJ & Julia bloggy kind of thing. 
Wait a minute. That's another lie. And it's been done before. I need to think of a truth.

Uhhhhh.
Okay. 
I will tell them I plan to audition for community theater. 
They know how much I enjoyed acting in my school years.
Drat. 
STOP THINKING UP GOOD LIES!!!  I need a truth.  A TRUTH!

I should change this game to Two Lies and a Truth.

What is something I do want to accomplish this year? 
Wow.  I'm blank.
This is embarrassing.
Maybe they won't notice if I just slip out of the room.
I'm suddenly very thirsty.
Okay maybe not thirsty exactly, but a drink would be really appropriate on so many levels right about now.
=======================
While I did enjoy the participation of others in this game, I ended up sitting this one out.

And, yeah, between sweet sips of wine, I did feel a little like a loser.
How could I not have any personal plans or goals for the year? 

Honestly (honestly!) I just want to have a good year --a blessed year-- being a mom/wife, caregiver and friend.

I guess that makes me a good liar (or just a poor game player).

And maybe walking a 5K this year will turn out to be a truth after all.....naaah.

Happy New Year!
LJ

Canine Elf - IHS Moment #8

Dear Diary,

I have made mention of him before, my Charlie. 

Our canine friends can be stinkers for sure (see Dissed by a Dog), so perhaps our little way of payback would be in the form of good natured ridicule.

(No dogs have been harmed in the making of this post.)

You've seen the pet shaming photos online:  guilt-faced dogs and a conviction notice in the foreground, toilet paper kerfuffle or exploding pillow innards in the background.

And here is another way in which we annoy our dogs: dressing them up.  And it sure puts a smile on my face!  Check out this one-minute, extremely professional video....

 

 

Ok, not extremely professional, but it is waaay better than dogs barking out the "Jingle Bells" song, which made some professional more money than they deserve. 

After all they put up with from us humans, don't let Santa forget your pets!

LJ

Why I Don't Drink Much Caffeine - IHS #7

Dear Diary,

I am having a love/hate relationship with my blog right now.

I love writing.
I hate that it is taking up so much of my mental time. 
I am neglecting my chores and my Christmas preparations, and am cheating my family of a Christmas spirit I desperately want to feel.

On December 9, I challenged myself to post a joy of my heart each day until Christmas.

I am reneging that challenge. 

It is no longer a joyful task.

Saturday's post did not get published.
I did write a post for Saturday, but the key idea was actually in a one-minute video I tried to upload.  And tried,
and tried,
and tried again. 
I wasted a lot of time. 
No Can Do. 

And I was more than a little irritated by it.

So, I need to have a reality check, stop obsessing and start living (and cleaning)!  I need to start organizing, wrapping, and panicking about my (lack of) Christmas card ideas.  I want to put joy back into my day, not just in one little gem I manage to pull out for these posts.

I need to chill.

So, while I will post more before Christmas, I am taking the pressure off of myself (which was soley put on by ME) to post every day.


So here is my IHS for today.  It comes full circle to my advent calendar I alluded to on the 9th.  It was homemade by church ladies, and it is adorable.  Felt people with googly eyes.  Hearkens me back to my childhood Sunday School days, with green felt boards and Bible story characters stiffly demonstrating the story at hand.

On this the 16th day of December, the procession of people and animals gathering to welcome the baby Jesus is getting quite large. 




Here is what I noticed this morning. 
Upon closer inspection, their googly eyes actually make them appear to have had a little waaaaaay too much coffee.



Yup. Wide awake.
I guess they don't want to miss Christ's coming.

Neither do I.  So I'll catchya later.

LJ

Pick Your Own IHS (#6)

This is my sixth installment of a series of posts describing an IHS moment leading up to Christmas. For those of you not keeping track, IHS means Inward Heart Swell, the antithesis of the IMG (Inward Mental Groan). It is my attempt to highlight the joy in the mundane, run-of-the-mill, or not-so-noticeable side of the Christmas season.

 

Dear Diary,

Today you can pick your own IHS. 
I could have searched online for fabulous photos of a palm tree, crystal waters, and white sandy beaches, as well as the deep blue and pure white of an Alaskan mountain range or glacier.

Instead I chose a scene I see every day 'cuz it is my reality.  I have cold weather friends and fair weather friends.  Anyone who knows me knows which weather friend I am!  So rather than hog this page with what I want to see, I thought I'd make it IHS friendly for all.

Which photo takes you to your happy place?

Photo #1

Photo #2

Come back and visit this page anytime you need a pick-me-up.

You're welcome,
LJ

 



 



Just Like Grandma Made - IHS Moment #5

This is my fifth installment of a series of posts describing an IHS moment leading up to Christmas. For those of you not keeping track (mom), IHS means Inward Heart Swell, the antithesis of  the IMG (Inward Mental Groan). It is my attempt to highlight the joy in the mundane, run-of-the-mill, or not-so-noticeable side of the Christmas season. 

Dear Diary,

Church cookbooks are the best.  The are full of tried and true recipes that blue and silver haired ladies have been making for ages, and which have pleased the palates of the generations they serve. Orange Cake, All Day Stew, Sauerkraut Relish, German Chocolate Pie all tantalize the senses.

I have several of these books, and--heaven help me--they aren't all Lutheran!

The Lutheran cookbook does have a leg up on the other denominations in one area especially: Jello.  Jello molds, salads, and desserts are a staple of the Lutheran cookbook, along with the Potluck chapter and - my favorite - the This & That chapter, for recipes so undefined and random they have no place in the regular sections of the book. (Wild Animal Milk, anyone?)

I am lucky enough have a recipe book from the churches of both my paternal and maternal grandmothers.  They are special because I can find and use the recipes tagged with their names.  They are (even more) special because my grandmothers have passed on to glory, leaving the need to cook and eat up to the rest of us waiting our turn to attend the heavenly feast already prepared for us.

Recently I had the privilege of making my grandmother's pie crust recipe. 

I admit, it has been a while since I bothered (thank you Pillsbury!). 
But really, my grandma's recipe is excellent -- and it makes about 5 crusts so I can freeze the extra, just like the dough boy's!

Who knew pie crust could give me such joy?  But every time I pull one out of the freezer, I really do have a heart-filled moment. 

Happy baking!
LJ

I'm No Scrooge!

Dear Diary,

"Whoever sows sparingly will reap sparingly, and whoever sows bountifully will also reap bountifully......You will be enriched in every way to be generous in every way, which...will produce thanksgiving to God."**

Generosity.

Ask me what it means and I originally would have answered something like "the unconditional giving of material things."  (Think Scrooge's attitude, after the visit from the three spirits!)

I could name several friends who have a propensity for generosity. Although they inspire me, I envy their ability to naturally do something I find a bit more difficult to do.

Then I realized,  Bah, humbug, I'm no Scrooge!

To be generous is selfless.

It is loving and compassionate.

And, yes, I think unconditional is also a part of being generous (except for maybe the small favor of a receipt for tax purposes.)

And it doesn't have to involve money or a material object.

A person can be generous with their time and talents as well as their treasures.

A generous heart is full heart and, therefore, is a heart full of potential IHS moments. 

God bless us, every one!
LJ

**This IHS moment for today was brought to you with the help of:
The Bible, 2 Corinthians chapter 9
Charles Dickens
and Walt Disney.

Suh-weet!

Dear Diary,

I need to give a shout out to my folks for the Whetstone's hot chocolate mix.  Whetstone and I have a friendship that goes way back into my childhood.

But I digress. 

As much as I love Whetstones and my parents (in no particular order, ahem) my heart and tummy warming IHS moment today is actually brought to you by a stranger named Bob.

He is the maker of Sweet Stripes, a product I bought on a whim (and for only a buck) at WalMart.

 

Look at those dandy edible barber pole peppermint sticks! 

Imagine what a person could do with these babies!

 

For today, they were great stirrers for our hot chocolate.  They are softer than a candy cane, making for quicker meltaway action.

 

This is an IHS experience you just can't duplicate in July.

 

Sweetly yours,

LJ

 

Feasting on Leroy

Dear Diary,
Hello! Here I am with my second IHS.  Hope I can keep this up!

The heart swelling Christmas joy I want to share today is courtesy of Leroy Anderson.

He is a talented American composer whose works include
The Typewriter,
                             Syncopated Clock,
                                                              and A Trumpeter's Lullaby.

But at this time of year I can't get enough of his......(drum roll)......... Sleigh Ride.
(Composed during a July 1948 heatwave in Connecticut btw!)

It is a feast for my ears. The percussion section has the spotlight in this tune. My timing is never quite right as I try to mimic the crack of the whip.  Syncopation is not my gift.

But listening to the romp of the trombone and the frolicking strings makes my heart delight in the buffet of sounds this song has to offer. All the pieces put together make one satisfying meal!

In case you want to take a couple of minutes to indulge, or just want a reminder of the song, take a listen to this recording from 2008.

Have a jolly day!
LJ

IHS Joys of Christmas

Dear Diary,

December 9th?  Really? 
Didn't I just put up the nativity scene advent calendar? 
Now
   1 rooster,
   1 donkey,
   1 camel,
   1 cow,
   1 angel,
   1 shepherd, and
   3 sheep later,
it is nine days into the month.  Time flies....

With 16 days left until the Big Day, I wanted to challenge myself with a little exercise. 
No, I don't mean literally exercise -- heh heh, that's a good one on your part!

I mean I want to find and name a joy each day.
Not the obvious joys like eating Christmas cookies, or attending parties, or eating Christmas cookies, or singing carols with your kids, or eating Chri..... oh, you get my meaning.

I want to bring to light something that gives me the opposite of an inward mental groan (IMG). 
I call it an IHS:  Inward Heart Swell. 

When my heart swells, it is with one of two things:  pride (not always good, except when it comes to my kids) and joy.  Soooo, swallowing my pride (and cookies) for the time being, I will post a joyous IHS every day until Christmas.  That is what I mean by a challenging exercise.

Here goes.
Today's IHS joy is this:

An ornament I've had since bk (before kids) and is so random!  What does a cute widdle bear sitting in a baby swing really have to do with Christmas?  Nothing!  And yet it is an ornament that is simply irresistible to me.  Look at that face!  It's just begging for a push!  Since my girls were little enough to help with the tree, they, too have been drawn to its random cuteness and have spent playtimes pushing him in his Christmas tree swing. 
I guess it's a "he." 
Maybe it's the red bowtie.

Would love to hear about your little IHSs of Christmas.  Just leave a comment!

Until tomorrow!
LJ

Attitude is Everything

Dear Diary,

I have been at my new grade school job for about six weeks now.  I work only a few hours a day and in only one or two classrooms so my knowledge of who's who on the staff is is very limited.

My first week as the new kid on the block I practically smiled my ears off at anyone taller than 5 feet in my desire to be accepted, to make a good impression, and just because I like to be nice.

That included the crossing guard.  Upon entering school grounds there is a four-way stop manned by a lone crossing guard wearing a yellow reflective vest and holding her stop sign.  I get a good look at her because I have to stop there anyway. 

At some point during my first week I instinctively smiled and waved through my car window-- after coming to a complete stop of course.

Now it is six weeks later. 
About two weeks ago as I approached the intersection manned by our guard, I admit I groaned inwardly (IMG).  Here were the thoughts that went through my head.

riversideca.gov

Do I have to wave at her every morning now?
Smiling and waving every morning at this woman is getting so old.
I don't wanna have to do this every day.  I don't even have a good smile.
Does she even care that I wave to her?  I don't even know her name.
What if I just blow her off and look straight ahead.
I could just pretend I was very interested in the empty road in front of me and drive on by -- after I stop of course.

Whooooooaaaaaa, LJ. 
S-T-O-P those thoughts.

Months ago I had the opportunity to be a morning car door opener at my daughter's school.  I enjoyed the brief "hello" and "have a good day" moments with people I didn't even know.  Why would this be any different?  Why wouldn't this lady look forward to someone smiling and waving at her every morning?

With new determination, and with cheek muscles twitching like a racehorse in the starting gate, I approached the intersection, made eye contact with the crossing guard, grinned and waved at her amiably.

And it felt good. 
Somehow my little pep talk genuinely changed my heart about the issue and I now look forward to our little exchange of civility every morning. 

I can only hope she isn't thinking as my little silver car approaches the stop line,

Do I have to wave at her every morning now?
Smiling and waving every morning at this woman is going to get old real fast.......

LJ

Is Vanilla So Bad?

Dear Diary,

It's true: we are our own harshest critic.  We are harder on ourselves than others.  I see this in my children.  When it comes to self-critique, they can be pretty hard on themselves. 

And I am not immune either.

There is a game going around Facebook, where a friend is assigned a number that represents the number of Little Known Facts that person needs to reveal about himself.  I have been enjoying reading these revelations from friends, but dare not "like" anything for fear I will be assigned a number. 

I don't want to face facts.

I am pretty much a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of gal.  I am afraid I wouldn't come up with anything remotely worth anyone's time to read. 

I would sit and sit and stare dumbly at my computer screen, trying to come up with half a dozen little known trivia about myself that would be of slightest interest to anyone, and end up -- to borrow a great expression from a friend -- crying all over the keyboard.

My fear is: my life is not interesting enough. 
       Mission trips and movie stardom have yet to be realized. 

My fear is: my talents aren't talented enough.
        I can juggle; two balls at a time.  It impresses the preschoolers, but not many others.

My fear is: my skills aren't good enough.
        I can flare my nostrils, but I can't wiggle my ears.

My fear is: I am too vanilla. 
        There are no exciting secrets with vanilla.  No occassional chocolate chunk or caramel swirl to liven things up.

So, I avoid the game.
("Avoidance" and I are on too familiar terms I think.)

I don't mind vanilla. 
However I wouldn't complain if someday I fell into a vat of dark chocolate chunks or rainbow sprinkles.

Then I wouldn't have the fear to face the questions, or to share my delicious little nuggets of charisma.

Now where's the ice cream scoop? I'm getting hungry.
LJ

Sweet Dreams!

"All our dreams can come true, if we have the courage to pursue them."   Walt Disney

Dear Diary,

I knew it would happen.

I ate two pieces of cake right before bedtime.

Moist, chocolate, single layer cake with no frosting, but baked with a few chocolate chips in the batter.

I figured eating two single pieces was like eating one double layer piece, right?

I think I was still digesting it this morning.

But more than that, I knew last night: My dreams would be very interesting!
And I did not disappoint.

In fact, I dreamt so much about folks from church and even a church service itself that when my alarm sounded, I thought it must be Sunday-- and why would I need to get up so early?

Then I chuckled this Tuesday morning and hit the snooze, remembering the crazy escapades of the night:

• people bouncing on trampoline-roofed minivans,
• a pastor preparing to preach a sermon entitled "Sweaters" while employing the high school youth to model Ugly Christmas Sweaters in the aisles as sermon illustrations.  Oh were they ugly!  (My alarm prevented me from hearing the sermon, so the Law/Gospel aspect is lost on me.)

I am a dreamer.  A night time dreamer.
And though Cinderella may croon "A dream is a wish your heart makes, when it's fast asleep," 
I really can't concur!

courtesy www.fanpop.com

I suppose in my wakeful, daytime hours, I could spend more time uncovering and pursuing some dreams of another kind.  I have been blessed to be living my dream for 16 years:  raising my daughters. But time has a way of growing them to be the independent teens and tween they are.

So, Walt, while I am so thankful that night time dreams are not a wish your heart makes but sometimes are a byproduct of too much chocolate cake, I will endeaver to courageously pursue my wakeful ones, once I figure out what they are.

Sweet dreams!
LJ

Seeds vs. Nails

Dear Diary,

When they are in my mouth, I can't tell the difference.

Sure, one is pleasantly salty while the other is, well, hopefully plain.

I'm talking about pumpkin seeds and fingernails.

Come on, we've all chewed off a nail or two. 

You know how those nails feel in your mouth?
When you look for the nearest tissue box or garbage can?

It is the same with my indigestible pumpkin seeds,

year
after
year.

Every year I try a new recipe, most which claim to be "tried and true."

I've gleaned, rinsed, dried/not dried.
I've seasoned, oiled, or buttered.
I've boiled, slow roasted, or flash baked.

They always turned out like fingernails. 
Only well seasoned with sea salt, and slightly more nutritious.

Admittedly, I've had some tasty batches, once cooled, right from of the oven. 

But to keep them longer than 12 hours means goodbye crispy, hello chewy.

Why, I asked myself this week, do I go through this painstaking, messy process every Halloween?

To pass on the nostalgia of unsuccessful pumpkin seed baking to my own kids?

Not a good enough reason.

Please remind me next year that it ain't worth it.

And pass me the Halloween candy.
LJ

My Monday Hurdle

Dear Diary,

I was almost barfed on today.

Good way to start a Monday morning.

The poor kindergartner did not have the words to tell me how he was feeling.  He just cried in my lap and then --- *urp*  ----- that initial sound of the stomach commencing its emergency backup plan.

Uh. Oh.

I looked around for the nearest garbage can and almost got him to it in time.  Almost.

At least it wasn't on me.  Just a skosh on the floor.

Sometimes Mondays are like that. 

Sometimes Fridays are like that. 

It is a moment where you hope you just sailed --or stumbled-- over your highest hurdle of the day.

And then you go home, pop a Halls Defense drop, disrobe, and throw your clothes in the washing machine.  Then shower or, at the very least, scrub surgically up to the elbows.

And see what the rest of Monday brings.

Happy Monday!
LJ

Does God's Waiting Room have A/C?

Dear Diary,

The weather is such a safe subject to discuss with friends or strangers. 
Lull in the conversation?  Talk about the weather. 
Meet a farmer?  Discuss the rain.
Got nothing to say to a three-year-old?  Talk about snow.
Need a blog topic?  Go no further!
It's the universal subject people can either complain about or revel in and not worry about being judged as a Lefty or a Righty.  (OK, perhaps I'd better keep Global Warming out of the conversation.)

As a warm weather-loving person, I still love my cool weather-loving friends.

My youngest, who is 10, is ready to move to Michigan. 
"Why?" I ask.
"There are no tornadoes or earthquakes, and there is a lot of snow," she immediately replies.  She has obviously thought this through.
Then I wonder if she was switched at birth because she is obviously not my child.

Once upon a time, long, long ago, I was fine with winter.
Slipping my stockinged feet into orange, Holsum bread bags before shoving them into not-so-water-proof Mickey Mouse boots was a normal part of winter play preparations.  That -- along with a double layer of pants (snow pants were not the norm at my house) -- was tolerated because when else could a girl dig a snow tunnel and make a snow fort?  I also remember my bright red stocking hat with a pom-pom the size of a baseball.  I loved it!

(Contrast this with almost every Florida vacation picture of me as a youngster...in August. 
Hair wild from humidity and sweat, skin red with angry sunburn,
my grouchy, grumpy, squinty-eyed face mirroring my every thought under that bright, relentless sun.)

Now, as an adult, not only do I mentally cringe at the change to a colder season, but my body rebels.
Scratchy, sore throat.
Sinus pressure.
Dry eyes and nose.
Watery eyes and nose.

Now I understand why the "older set" like to migrate to places like Florida and Arizona --
states which have been jokingly called God's Waiting Room.
Someday it will be my joy to hang out there.

As long as there is air conditioning.

LJ

Childish Thoughts

Dear Diary,

I knew I needed to take my walk this morning, but I also had to run an errand. So I combined the two needs and walked the 3 miles round trip, with the dog, to get the utility bill into the village drop box.  This took me exactly one hour.

Half of my walk was in a no-sidewalk industrial park.  So I was dodging work trucks, macks and semis.  That, along with a dog who likes to sniff/mark every tree, post, and shrub, certainly did nothing to improve my time. (I also may have stopped for 5 minutes to rest at the gazebo and stare at the geese in the pond on the way home.)

On the return route, I was getting thirsty.  Almost parched.  It was warmer than I expected and I had overdressed.  Though I took off a layer, I had not brought any water.  My mouth was dry.

I allowed my imagination to revert to childish thoughts.
I imagined I was in a desolate urban landscape, my dog and I the sole survivors of a devastating, futuristic war. 
We must find water. 
Maybe a crust of bread to save for later.
Ach, never mind the bread, we must seek water or succumb to death.
We can't... fail.....must.... survive...

Fifteen minutes after that thought I was home, running filtered water into my cup and planning lunch.

But that brief, childish thought got me thinking about games I played in childhood.  Often they were games of peril, but they were always powered by imagination.

Like the time I would pretend my bed was a sinking boat in a sea of sharks, and my only means of escaping their dangerous jaws was by stepping on randomly placed pillows and stuffed animals on my floor.  This scenario was played out in various forms of doom and demise, including red-hot volcanic lava or an alligator-filled swamp.

Or the time after the dinner hour, when the sun was setting, casting a golden trail between the close-set houses of my neighborhood.  Our front yards were bathed with light, but our backyards were dark save for the gold-paved "road" that led to our back fence. This was a scene just begging for me to link
arm-in-arm with my neighbor friend and belt out "Weeeeeee're OFF to see the wizard, the Wonderful Wizard of Oz!" while skipping down the "yellow brick road."

Or playing board games or hide-out in a blanketed fort or backyard tent. 

Or saving a big refrigerator box and turning it into a play store.  This was a great game considering that my neighbor's dad was an office supply salesman.  Plenty of envelopes, paper clips and rubber bands for our store shelves, complete with carbon-copy receipts to write on!

This is where my mind goes when I am thirsty during an arduous walk. 

I hope this inspires you to take your own journey into childhood.
Just don't forget your water bottle.

LJ