Phew

We made it through.

It wasn’t fun, but we survived it with our love for one another intact and our inclination to laugh and tease undamaged. I won’t moan and cry. There are so many families that are suffering. We are blessed and we know it.

Isn’t it amazing how life can take you into a negative cycle? You think you are doing everything right and life decides to curve you into everything wrong. But you hold your breath, continue doing right, and sooner or later the cycle will break and you can start breathing again. This was the longest and hardest cycle that our family has ever had to go through, notwithstanding health matters.

We had some really hard bumps when it looked as if the stress had caused some very serious health concerns for my son. But he kept telling the doctors he wasn’t seriously ill, he was just seriously stressed. When the stress ended his good health returned. But the doctors still want to see him every Thursday for the next two months. I’m glad they do. I was seriously worried about his bodies stress reaction myself.

You will never know how much your thoughts and prayers have meant to my family and me. You have seen me through so much. I am so grateful to have all of you. Thank you from all of us.

Now on to something happier.

In the mid 90’s my son dated a woman that I’ll call M. At one point they talked of marriage, but things got complicated and the marriage talk turned to friends forever talk. I was a bit disappointed when the relationship turned to friendship, but that was their decision to make, not mine.

Sometimes the mother and the girl can forge a better relationship than the girl and the boy. She and I have developed a friendship that has only gotten stronger as the years have passed.

This past July, for my birthday, she sent me a card with a bookstore gift card in it. I called her to thank her and in doing so I told her that I had just put a book written by one of my favorite authors in my “Book Wish” notebook.

“Now I can get on the computer and order it. I’m so excited. I thought I was going to have to wait awhile before I’d be able to afford it. Thank you so much. You have really made my day. Day hell, you made my month!”

We both laughed and continued our chat about our families and kids.

I didn’t give the conversation much thought until after Christmas when I received a letter from her. She wrote, “You are the only person I know that actually writes down the books you hope to read someday in a notebook. You are the only person that I know that actually works to save the money to buy the books that you have written in that notebook. And lastly, you are the only person I know that actually buys and READS the books that you have written in that notebook. I got these for Christmas and I know that I won’t buy and read anything with anywhere near the pleasure that you will have choosing books to buy from your ’Wish’ notebook. Enjoy! Love, M.

And out fell $100.00 worth of bookstore gift cards.

You’ll never know how much joy I had going through my ‘Book Wish’ notebook and selecting the books I would buy. It was one of the greatest gifts I have been given in a long while. Is there any wonder why I love her so much?

Another Family Story -

My son and grandson did their usual weekend thing and got up at dawn and went to watch their British team play football. I took it from the bits of conversation that I overheard that it was an important game, and I knew the minute they walked into the house that it had not been a winning morning. These men were not walking they were slumping and shuffling.

My son came and sat down and said that he didn’t recognize himself. He has been into sports his whole life. He has played most of them and watched all of them, but he has never gotten so emotional about a team in his life. He said, “I actually get depressed when they lose. That’s a totally new reaction.”

So I started asking questions, trying harder to understand their love and dedication to this particular sport. He said that he got interested in British football when he started following the story of Didier Drogba. I don’t know that whole story well enough to write about it, but I do know that the two men in this house are passionately into Chelsea. They have bought shirts, jackets, and scarves on e-bay and every weekend they don their shirts and scarves and dressed for success take off for the pub that shows the games. I’ve also picked up that when a man is playing good he is ’on form’, and I’ve heard several of the songs that they sing while the team plays, and I’ve learned the name of several British breakfasts that they love; primarily a Crows Nest.

My son was so enthusiastic his best friend decided to go with him one weekend. A new fanatic fan was born. My grandson’s best friend was invited to go with them; another new fan was born.

My grandson’s best friend’s sister’s has a boyfriend that my grandson has never really cared for. The other day that boy that he doesn’t like came up to him and touched his Chelsea insignia on his shirt and said, “If I had known that you were into Chelsea we could have been friends all this time. I hear that you go to the pub to watch games every weekend. Do you think I could go with you next weekend? I love Chelsea.” My grandson came home with his head swimming.

There are several other incidents very similar that have happened when my grandson or son leaves the house with their Chelsea shirts on. I have watched this thing mushroom from just the two of them doing a father son thing into a caravan of men getting up at dawn to watch British football. It’s been fun to watch.

I also got told that no women are ever there ... None, never
The only woman is the one that serves them breakfast, but they really like her and tell some great stores about her.

Very Interesting!

My granddaughter has gotten an after school job at a local pizza shop. She is the only blonde that works there. When the owners young daughter came to the shop one afternoon she exclaimed, “Cinderella works for my daddy!”

It has been decided that my granddaughter will put on a Cinderella costume and entertain all the young ones that come into the shop for a day. For that she will receive a raise. Not bad for a girl that has only worked there for 2 weeks.

Her new job works real well for her father and brother. They love pizza. She comes home with free pizza a couple times a week, not to mention that she gets a great discount on any and all pizza that she or her family want to buy. Other than tacos, pizza is the number one taste treat in this house.

The men can gorge themselves on pizza when they come home depressed about a Chelsea loss.

I personally don’t like pizza, but I love the break from fixing dinner that her new job has given me.

Take care of yourselves friends.

Love, Pennie/Sandra

Yuck!

Please forgive my absense. My family has been in distress and I haven't wanted to get on here and write 'woe is me's'.

It has been one of the hardest times that I can ever remember. But then again I don't think we are unique. We are a nation of heart breaking stories at the moment. We have been going through one of those series of disasters that life hands out. It's just that I have never had so may disasters dumped on my house at one time. The lesson learned is how well one survives and the strength that is gained by that survival. I can't determine those things just yet because things haven't really settled down. It feels more like a bit of fresh air before the next hammer falls on our heads.

No need to fear. We will overcome our difficulties ... wouldn't it be great if we knew just when. My biggest problem is I am used to taking my problems and concerns to the beach and dumping them in the ocean. God and the sea are connected in my heart and head. Can you sit on the sand and watch the waves roll in and not believe in God's love. I find it impossible. The sand and sea have always helped me gain straight thinking and resolve. I cant drive anymore so getting to the beach for some solo comtemplation is impossible.

During several nights of wakeful worry I have heard my son retching in the bathroom. He feels he has the sole responsibility of everyone in the house and the stress has taken a toll on him. AND that is why I have not written .......

I hope everyone in my blog world is doing well and that life is treating you nicer. God Bless, Pennie

Isn't it Ironic

We had a long summer this year. The heat, as we know it, stayed until the beginning of November. With the October fires, some of the worst we have had, the Santa Ana winds blowing the ash and smoke, and the 90 degree heat wave the atmosphere was anything but pleasant and the air was heavy and dark.

Los Angeles area residents were told not to use any electrical appliances, such as washing machines, vacuums, dryers, air conditioning, and to ration all water usage. Long Beach has been on a water conservation program for over a year. The city council even encourages residents to ’report your neighbor’. I haven’t seen any suggestions that we talk to a neighbor. The local paper repeatedly says, “pick up the phone and report the violator to the city.” The city wants us to send the water police knocking on our neighbor’s doors. Depending on the misuse the water police can leave a ticket with a hefty fine. It sounds like a nasty opportunity to get revenge on the neighbor with the barking dog.

I fast got overheated with the weather, the fires, and the city. When my doctor asked me how I was handling the heat I answered that all I wanted to do was get out of this chair and run around naked in my backyard. I was being plagued with heat rash. Her sympathy extended to a prescription for an ointment and an “everyone I have seen today has heat rash” and a chuckle.

November finally arrived and brought with it some welcome fall weather. I’ll admit that I’m a spoiled native Californian. We don’t have, as John says, “real weather”. But I have lived my whole life with California’s non-weather and I suffer when it deviates from it‘s normal course. We are now waiting a northern storm. It is supposed to hit tonight. We desperately need the rain, but the powers are mourning the possibilities of mudslides. As for me, I’m happy once again. I’m cold, but I can deal with cold sitting in this movable chair. I can layer the clothes and still look stylish. I can put on several pairs of socks and still look presentable. I can throw the ointment away. The cold doesn’t cover me with a rash.

There is only one little problem, John. He claims that he was doing it for me, but I have serious doubts about his motive.

“I woke up chilly this morning. I turned on the heater. I have the house all warmed up for you. Come into the kitchen. It’s much warmer in there.”


My son and grandson get up at dawn on Saturday mornings to go to an English Pub to watch British football, or what is better known here as soccer, with a group of their friends. They were just getting home as John was finishing his tale of a toasty house.

My son walked in the door and before any of us could ask who won the soccer game I heard, “Who turned on the air conditioning?" “It‘s colder then hell in here.”

It may have seemed toasty to John, but he’s from the other coast where they have snowstorms and temperatures that fall way down on the thermometer. Anything above 40 is warm to him.

He now claims that we all over-reacted. “It was just a bit of cool air. In Buffalo it gets below 0.”

Cool air! My son’s nose was covered with icicles.

This little ‘good deed’ of John’s is very ironic. We couldn’t use the air conditioning when we were in a heat wave and the air was smoky and ashy, but it gets turned on when the temperature is in the low 40’s.

My granddaughter hasn’t had her tonsils removed as of yet. She had dozens of school reasons that she couldn’t take the time to get it done this past summer. She is now so sick the doctor is trying to get the surgery set up for Christmas vacation. He says it has become an emergency thing now. We got a letter from the school that she is ahead of her class and on course to graduate so she doesn’t have any school excuses left.

I think she has finally decided that the time has arrived. She is tired of being sick all the time, my son is tired of having to run home and take her to the doctor, I am tired of being a non-Jewish grandmother that has to make chicken soup all the time, and my grandson is tired of having to run her errands.

John must be tried of her being sick too. She came out of her bedroom barely able to talk to ask, “who decided to turn on the air conditioning?” “The vent is right over my bed and I was freezing with that icy air blowing on me.”

Merry Christmas from John.

The Stirred Pot

The phone rang at 9:00 a.m. just as I knew it would. I was trying to get the turkey in the oven before Scott called. He’s accustomed to doing the cooking himself and he is very, very particular about how, and for how long things should be prepared and readied for eating. But, and it’s a very big but, he has a gentle, giving heart and I knew that he would feel he should volunteer to help me in the kitchen. And he did!

It wasn’t cast in stone, but I had told everyone that dinner would be served sometime around 2:00 p.m. My family likes to eat early so they will have enough time to recover from the meal and eat again before they head to bed sated and satisfied. If truth be told, my grandson ate three times before he finally gave it up and groaned his way to his bedroom. This family of mine ‘loves’ turkey.

Scott generally spends the day with his daughter and her family, but she had been dealing with family illness all week and needed a day of rest and so it was decided. Scott would take us up on the invitation we issue every year. Our little group was very pleased.

He arrived about an hour after the phone call and instantly grabbed a spoon and started stirring whatever it was that I had on the stove. As we worked and chatted the idle members of the crew drifted through the kitchen inhaling aromas and complaining of eminent starvation. It was a fun way to cook a fancy meal for a special day.

My granddaughter believes that holiday meals absolutely have to have a blueberry pie. No one had made or even ordered one for her. Drama was building! How could we have done such a dastardly thing as to forget HER pie? About that time my son announced that he had to go out for a bit and she immediately had a brilliant solution to her pie problem. She would help him with whatever he had to do and he would help her find a blueberry pie-selling vendor. He didn’t look particularly excited, but she certainly did. The drama had turned to hope.

When they returned she walked into the house with a pie box in her hands and a smile on her face. Her father walked into the house with a sober face and something on his mind, until he saw Scott at the stove. Then he laughed so loud you could have heard it next door. “Well Scott, you finally found someone that would let you stir a pot on the stove. Good for you!” Then Scott and I joined in his laughter. To everyone else that didn’t understand our laughter we told this little story.

As I’ve told you before Scott is programmed to do the cooking. God bless him, he can’t see a pot on the stove or a human in the kitchen without grabbing a spoon or an oven door and making himself a part of the what is going on.

As I’ve also told you before, my mother was a fantastic cook. She never used a recipe or a measuring tool. She just knew what went with what and how much. The magic she performed in the kitchen is legendary. She had one rule set in concrete. Never touch anything in her kitchen when she was cooking unless you were invited, and she rarely invited.

We had warned Scott, we had cautioned him because we knew how he was when there was a meal being prepared; “Stay out of mom’s kitchen.” He had thrown caution to the wind once or twice before and been nicely told to disappear. My son and I would laugh and Scott would shrug his shoulders and drop whatever he had in his hand and head out the nearest exit real quickly. It got to be a giggle moment between the three of us.

Until! Mom was busy in the kitchen preparing one of her wonderful meals when we walked in the front door. My son and I knew better, we stopped walking short of the kitchen, but not Scott. Just like he had never been warned his legs kept moving. They walked him straight into the kitchen. He greeted my mother, walked over to the big spoon, grabbed it and instantly started stirring the pot on the stove. My son and I looked at one another. Scott was either very brave or very slow. He had just walked straight into the mouth of the lion. My mother turned to look at him. She watched him for half a minute and then the woman that I had never heard utter a four letter word in my life grabbed her wooden spoon, raised it into the air and said, “Will you get the hell out of my kitchen?” Scott had never heard her utter anything like that before either. He looked like a trapped mouse for a minute while he frantically tried to find the quickest route out.

My son was shocked that Scott had taken it upon himself to touch grandma’s simmering pot, and shocked that his grandmother seemed to be simmering too; “I‘ve never heard grandma use language like that." I was shocked because my mother was never intentionally cruel; “I tried to warn you Scott.” Scott was shocked because in his eagerness and naivety he truly believed; “I was only trying to help.”

It was my quiet father, with a sweet smile on his face that brought all of us back to sanity. He understood and wasn‘t particularly shocked. He had been married to her since he was in his early 20’s. He put his arm around Scott, calmed any hurt feelings, and reminded us all that that one little four-letter word was miniscule compared to the wonder of the feast that she would put on the table. That put the smile back on all our faces.

It was that little story that my son told his children. Now that I am a cooking grandmother I can understand my mother’s slip. She hadn’t intended to be cruel. She had intended to stress the importance of her words. Scott never again entered my mother’s kitchen when she was cooking. It was a lesson hard learned, but it was a memory that brought laughter to all our throats while Scott stirred the pot that was simmering on the stove and said, “I was only trying to help.”

And when the meal was served and we all sat at the table and held hands as my grandson gave the blessing I started to cry and said, “Dear God, please tell my mother how very much we miss her wonderful cooking. I’m not even up to standing in her shadow. None of us has eaten a piece of apple pie since she left us and I let Scott stir a pot on the stove.”

We had a wonderful day. I hope you did too.

This is not the memory that I had intended to share with you, but when I sat down here it just came tumbling out. My mother wasn’t perfect, but she was my best friend. I miss her so very much.

Happy Holidays, Pennie/Sandra

I'm Thankful It Wasn't Me

If things don't start improving I'm gonna become paranoid and think Blogger doesn't want me and my words. This is the second time that I have tried to write this memory and couldn't. I tried all day to be able to write a Thanksgiving entry. Nothing I did worked. I decided I didn't know HOW to write an entry in Blogger, but that didn't make a lot of sense. I had done it once before, albeit with soot and ash falling all over me but I was successful. I know very little about this new world and how to function in it, but I did manage to get my words printed.

The problem turned out to be a broken keyboard not a broken Pennie, which pleased me no end. But the day has disappeared and I have to go fix dinner for the gang which does not please me no end. I no longer have the time to write the entry that was swirling around in my head. Aw well, there'll be another day .......

I wanted to wish everyone a happy Thanksgiving and thank Lynn for giving me the Marie Antoinette Award. Lynn really honored me. I haven't been around much lately and I feel a bit isolated with my ignorance of the workings of Blogger. How very lovely to open an e-mail and read that she had chosen me as one of the journals to receive the award. What a wonderful boost that gave me Lynn, thank you so very much.

I don't know exactly how to put the logo and link on my blog, but tomorrow when everyone else is napping off their full bellies I will try to sneak down here and learn. I would have done it today if circumstances had allowed.

I hope you all have a wonderful day tomorrow. We are just going to have a quiet family day. I love those days!

Love, Pennie/Sandra

I sat down here to write a memory, but I am not going to be able to sit here for very long. Once again Southern California is on fire... Our computer is adjacent to the patio door. We have to keep the door open because it is also very hot (92 degrees in mid November) and the Santa Ana winds are dancing around causing havoc. As I sit here punching this keyboard ash is building on the desk, my lap, and my hands. I am sitting in a sea of black bits.

We are no fire danger, but the wind has brought us the smoke and the air is causing headaches, nausea, and the overall yuks. The beagle always goes where I go and when I sit at the computer he usually goes under my legs and naps until I am through. It is so hot he is laying halfway out the door trying to find a cool spot for his belly on the concrete of the patio. My beautiful gold and white dog is covered in black bits, but he seems totally unaware. He is napping and snoring to boot.

I feel dirty with soot and ash. I need to go wash my hands and face. I will come back with the memory I want to write when the air clears. Talk Later! Pennie

Adjustment

I needed to marshal all the resources I had to come to some sort of an adjustment to this new life that I am leading. I have had my freedom, my independence, my lifetime belief that I can do anything I want to do, and some of my internal joy tinkered with. I can no longer get in my car and go to the beach if I am heart sick, confused, or worried. I can no longer grab the beagle and disappear if I need to be gone for a bit of peace and quiet. I can no longer decide for myself where I will go and what I will do without consulting others. This has been the hardest adjustment I have ever had to accomplish. It has taken time, tears, laughter, gratitude, and love to be able to feel like the me that was me before the brain bleed.

But I think I have done it! I think I have achieved a sense of acceptance and calm. I think my smile means that I am really smiling again and I think I can once again share myself with my journal and my journal friends. Leave it to me to decide that my adjustment is adjusted about the same time that AOL decides to dump us. Now I’m stuck with another adjustment!

I tried over and over again to get my journal transferred. I begged my son, I harangued John, I cornered my granddaughter, I hit keys on this keyboard and I cussed at the mouse. Nothing worked. I was so frustrated that I started printing everything I had written so it wouldn’t be erased forever. Our printer was working like crazy for two days when the wizard, my grandson, came and stood beside me, put his arm around my shoulders and asked me what the heck I was so busy printing. He learned very quickly that he should have, as my son said, “Just kept walking.”

But God bless him he stayed and listened to my tale and said that he would do it for me. He stayed up most of the night, but the next morning he presented me with my very own Blogger site and on that site was everything I had ever written. Aren’t grandsons wonderful? And isn’t it wonderful that they know everything about computers. So here I am, but now I have to learn how to be here and what to do now that I am here. I hope my personal adjustment button still works. I’ve really given it an overload this past year.

Other than my personal anxiety about what is left of my dignity the biggest thing in my life has been the election. John, being a retired political journalist, watched every television program that tracked the movements and decisions of his candidate of choice, and then he would watch every television program that tracked the movements and decisions of his opponent. To round all that information out he would then go to another room and turn on his radio and repeat the process. If it was said John heard it. And so did everyone else in the house.

It’s not as if any of us were pulling for an opposing candidate. It was a collective choice. The problem was that was the only noise that vibrated throughout the rooms of this house. At one point my son brought something home that I love to eat and stood on the other side of the room and said that the only way he was going to let me have one of my favorites foods was if I could talk John into giving him 20 minutes of political free quiet. It took some talking on my part and some moaning and groaning on John’s part, but I finally talked him into reading one of his political history books instead of turning on the television/radio. So while John read about politics in the past I got to eat what my son brought me in the nice and quiet now.

Want to know what my son brought me? It was beef tongue. I love it. My mother served it a lot when we were growing up and I learned to love it with mustard. I am the only one in the house that will eat it so I knew that I would eventually get what he was bartering with, but it was fun badgering John to turn the politics off for a bit. The peace and quiet just made the tongue that more delectable.

And then there was election night. Everything in the house that roared was turned on. I have never seen John more nervous. If anyone in the house asked how our candidate was doing he would yell, “Not Yet!” Then he sat on the edge of his chair and detailed exactly when he would know who the winner was, and under his breath he would whisper one more state, one more state, one more state. When all of a sudden the phone rang.

It was Scott. He and I had debated all during the campaign. He tended toward the candidate that was the opposite of mine. We had long discussions about the pros and cons. He was calling to congratulate me on choosing the winning man. The problem was my candidate hadn’t yet won. He was just a tad bit early. In the background he could hear John saying, “Not yet, not yet.” Scott and I both giggled at John’s intensity, and said that we would talk in the morning.

In the meantime, my son wandered into the room and asked who had been on the phone and when I said that Scott had called to say that he was happy for me that Obama had won. My son answered, “Well, if that cracker says he won then he really must have won.” Scott laughed so hard when he heard that I thought he was going to choke.

In the background we could hear John yelling, “That’s it, that’s it, he won! he won!” And all of a sudden all of Johns nervous tension drained out of him and he sat back to enjoy the rest of the coverage.

The secret that Scott had kept from everyone but me was that that cracker from Georgia had voted for Obama too. It was a very interesting election. I oh so wish that my parents were alive. They were so intense about their political choices. I would love to know how they would have felt about this election and the change that has occurred in America.

But if my son thinks that John’s political viewing was over he had a big surprise coming. Now John has to listen to what everyone on television and radio says about Obama ... his win, and his movements. Life goes on for a retired political journalist.

It’s lovely feeling like I have the internal fortitude to adjust AND write again. Now I have to spend some time learning about Blogger and how to personalize my journal and connect with all of my friends. When my grandson first transferred my journal it felt so lonely. Then one morning I went to my journal and there were names and faces that I recognized. Neighbors had found me. It wasn’t lonely at all. It was just new.

I’m off to learn the new. Wish me luck, Pennie