I'm a worker. I love it. I was selling painted rocks as a child, moved into babysitting and by the time I was 15-years old, I was working as many hours as they would give me -- first in the jewelry stand and then in the drug store. (When I accomplished the pharmacy tech training and got to wear the white coat, I thought I was very cool.)
Eventually, I moved to the corporate world. I accomplished some things and I messed up some things. No time clock was involved. If I decided to take a walk at 2:00 PM, no one noticed or cared.
Everything comes full circle. Now I work from home and you would think my time is my own. Hah! I've reverted to the 15-year old person who works in retail and wants to know, "When is my break?"
Showing posts with label childhood memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label childhood memories. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Saturday, November 3, 2007
Running Away
Even though I love to poke fun at my parents or tell revealing stories about the early years, I must admit that my childhood was bliss. I was loved and protected. We always had the essentials and if there were things missing, they weren't important. We didn't go to Europe on vacation. We didn't belong to a country club. I didn't notice; I didn't care. The laughter to tears ratio was 95:5. My parents are extremely funny people. That's part of their magic.
I was not one of those children who ran away from home. It never occurred to me. I ran TO home.
There's this television spot that's running nationwide right now for The Invisible Fence Company. It's haunting and more than one girlfriend has mentioned that it gives her nightmares. It's about your dog running away because you don't have an invisible fence. What the commercial doesn't tell you is the line is buried about 1/2 inch under ground and the likelihood of it being cut when you mow your yard or edge your lawn or shovel snow is pretty large. Then you get to pay a big fat bill to have it repaired.
Now I have a wireless system. It works and the only thing that can destroy it is a power outage. So, I don't think the dog will run away from home any time soon. Actually, she's a little like me, she runs TO home.
The oldies have been running away from home in the past couple of days. I think she's trying to make a point: We're not infirm; We're very busy people! I suspect this has something to do with conversations with Big Daddy but I'm not asking.
I never ran away as a child. Every once in a while, I consider it now. But, I'm taking the dog and Big Daddy with me.
I was not one of those children who ran away from home. It never occurred to me. I ran TO home.
There's this television spot that's running nationwide right now for The Invisible Fence Company. It's haunting and more than one girlfriend has mentioned that it gives her nightmares. It's about your dog running away because you don't have an invisible fence. What the commercial doesn't tell you is the line is buried about 1/2 inch under ground and the likelihood of it being cut when you mow your yard or edge your lawn or shovel snow is pretty large. Then you get to pay a big fat bill to have it repaired.
Now I have a wireless system. It works and the only thing that can destroy it is a power outage. So, I don't think the dog will run away from home any time soon. Actually, she's a little like me, she runs TO home.
The oldies have been running away from home in the past couple of days. I think she's trying to make a point: We're not infirm; We're very busy people! I suspect this has something to do with conversations with Big Daddy but I'm not asking.
I never ran away as a child. Every once in a while, I consider it now. But, I'm taking the dog and Big Daddy with me.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
That Thick Head of Yours
Last night, the husband and I ended up on a triple date. It was great fun. Witty conversation, plus catching up on their oldies and our oldies, all of our children and their grandchildren. New jokes were shared and old ones were repeated. They're still funny. People interrupt each other and then feel free to say, "Well, I didn't think you were ever going to stop talking."
I've noticed that several of my friends are starting to refer to their husbands as "Big Daddy."
Well, in the spirit of the moment -- we were talking about childhood things -- I told a story about my mother thumping me on the head. I was a stubborn and saucy child. Occasionally, I could push her to the limits. In that rare instance, she would thump my head and say, "When am I going to get through that thick head of yours?" Not abuse; just trying to get my attention.
Big Daddy was over the moon with this story. He belly laughed. Then, he spent the entire evening pretending to thump me on the head and repeat the mantra. Oh, what have I done? I experienced it in my childhood and now I will face it again at my age. Probably for the rest of my life. Like a dog with a bone, the husband will not let this one go. When we went to bed last night, I tried to grab the remote. He thumped my head and said, "When am I going to get through that thick head of yours?"
I don't think the oldies thump each other on the head but I should recommend it. I might take the cue (because it does get your attention) and start doing my own thumping. Imagine the business meeting... I've made a presentation and everyone is pondering. I could walk around the room, thumping people on their heads and say, "When am I going to get through that thick head of yours?"
I'll either get a lot of new business or I'll go to prison.
I've noticed that several of my friends are starting to refer to their husbands as "Big Daddy."
Well, in the spirit of the moment -- we were talking about childhood things -- I told a story about my mother thumping me on the head. I was a stubborn and saucy child. Occasionally, I could push her to the limits. In that rare instance, she would thump my head and say, "When am I going to get through that thick head of yours?" Not abuse; just trying to get my attention.
Big Daddy was over the moon with this story. He belly laughed. Then, he spent the entire evening pretending to thump me on the head and repeat the mantra. Oh, what have I done? I experienced it in my childhood and now I will face it again at my age. Probably for the rest of my life. Like a dog with a bone, the husband will not let this one go. When we went to bed last night, I tried to grab the remote. He thumped my head and said, "When am I going to get through that thick head of yours?"
I don't think the oldies thump each other on the head but I should recommend it. I might take the cue (because it does get your attention) and start doing my own thumping. Imagine the business meeting... I've made a presentation and everyone is pondering. I could walk around the room, thumping people on their heads and say, "When am I going to get through that thick head of yours?"
I'll either get a lot of new business or I'll go to prison.
Monday, September 3, 2007
An Anniversary
Today is an important anniversary. Three years ago, an amazing man moved out of this life and on to the next. That man was my Uncle Ken.
The bulk of his professional life was spent as a Methodist minister. Before that, he worked for Yardley. My mother tells me he was the third top salesman in the nation. (I still have numerous Yardley products that he gave me.) Sometimes I try to imagine the look on his wife's face when he announced that he needed to leave this lucrative position and go into the seminary.
He loved babies. His wife had four and said, "Enough!" As most minister's families will tell you, his heart may be at home but his days and nights belong to the parishoners. I suspect being a minister's wife (or child) is a noble, yet lonely calling. He lived to enjoy most of his grandchildren. Wouldn't he be thrilled to know another is on the way?
When the husband and I were married, our official ceremony was performed by a Justice of the Peace. (We'd both been married before.) Yet, I had a problem that we had not made a commitment with God involved. Less than a week after our legal marriage, Uncle Ken and Aunt Cess came to town. He let us take our vows again and he added God to our union. I needed it.
When I was a little girl, I didn't see them very often but each visit is ingrained in my mind. He was also my "go-to" person. If I had a question about the bible or some puzzling nibble about evolution versus creation, I would ask Uncle Ken.
His works spanned the world. Still do. When his fluke of an illness caused his kidneys to fail, he just added that to his prayer list. He spent countless hours (years!) in dialysis. Beyond comforting the other patients, he went through his prayer list. Sometimes he would tell me that he was praying for me, my family, my dog. This always struck me as so him -- "You're sitting in dialysis and you're praying for my dog?!"
He was a shopper and a collector, much to his wife's chagrin. Someone has to be the saver and someone has to be the spender in each marriage. Ying and Yang.
He had the nerve to die during one of Florida's worst hurricane seasons. Three in a row -- no relief in sight. My parents and I flew in. The devastation we saw from the air only scratched the surface of the devastation in our hearts.
Uncle Ken didn't live life with blinders on. Instead, he took the blinders off and jumped in to help. I think he wanted all of us to take them off. So, I try.
The bulk of his professional life was spent as a Methodist minister. Before that, he worked for Yardley. My mother tells me he was the third top salesman in the nation. (I still have numerous Yardley products that he gave me.) Sometimes I try to imagine the look on his wife's face when he announced that he needed to leave this lucrative position and go into the seminary.
He loved babies. His wife had four and said, "Enough!" As most minister's families will tell you, his heart may be at home but his days and nights belong to the parishoners. I suspect being a minister's wife (or child) is a noble, yet lonely calling. He lived to enjoy most of his grandchildren. Wouldn't he be thrilled to know another is on the way?
When the husband and I were married, our official ceremony was performed by a Justice of the Peace. (We'd both been married before.) Yet, I had a problem that we had not made a commitment with God involved. Less than a week after our legal marriage, Uncle Ken and Aunt Cess came to town. He let us take our vows again and he added God to our union. I needed it.
When I was a little girl, I didn't see them very often but each visit is ingrained in my mind. He was also my "go-to" person. If I had a question about the bible or some puzzling nibble about evolution versus creation, I would ask Uncle Ken.
His works spanned the world. Still do. When his fluke of an illness caused his kidneys to fail, he just added that to his prayer list. He spent countless hours (years!) in dialysis. Beyond comforting the other patients, he went through his prayer list. Sometimes he would tell me that he was praying for me, my family, my dog. This always struck me as so him -- "You're sitting in dialysis and you're praying for my dog?!"
He was a shopper and a collector, much to his wife's chagrin. Someone has to be the saver and someone has to be the spender in each marriage. Ying and Yang.
He had the nerve to die during one of Florida's worst hurricane seasons. Three in a row -- no relief in sight. My parents and I flew in. The devastation we saw from the air only scratched the surface of the devastation in our hearts.
Uncle Ken didn't live life with blinders on. Instead, he took the blinders off and jumped in to help. I think he wanted all of us to take them off. So, I try.
Monday, July 16, 2007
The Kids Across the Street
I was moving some stuff around for the oldies and found old photos. An excuse to traipse down memory lane.
Our neighborhood was filled with kids. I spent most of my time with the kids across the street. If memory serves -- if not, someone will correct me -- I was 4 or 5-years old when we moved in. The oldest son was a year older, the younger son was my age and the daughter was a year younger than me. Our parents were great friends and they still are to this day.
Babysitters used to throw us in the tub together. We dared each other and we knew to take the dare. The oldest child used to have asthma attacks. The babysitters never knew what to do but we kids did. We handled it. We could be super mean to each other. The middle child punched me in the stomach once. It hurt. We played games in the basement and ran around the neighborhood. The daughter and I competed in numerous things. Of course, I always thought I won.
I run into them occasionally. The last time was my goddaughter's graduation party. I watched her with her husband and three little boys. I had a flashback to the year we both got married. She's still married to him; I am married to someone else.
She won.
Our neighborhood was filled with kids. I spent most of my time with the kids across the street. If memory serves -- if not, someone will correct me -- I was 4 or 5-years old when we moved in. The oldest son was a year older, the younger son was my age and the daughter was a year younger than me. Our parents were great friends and they still are to this day.
Babysitters used to throw us in the tub together. We dared each other and we knew to take the dare. The oldest child used to have asthma attacks. The babysitters never knew what to do but we kids did. We handled it. We could be super mean to each other. The middle child punched me in the stomach once. It hurt. We played games in the basement and ran around the neighborhood. The daughter and I competed in numerous things. Of course, I always thought I won.
I run into them occasionally. The last time was my goddaughter's graduation party. I watched her with her husband and three little boys. I had a flashback to the year we both got married. She's still married to him; I am married to someone else.
She won.
Friday, June 15, 2007
The Neighborhood
I grew up in a magical time. I know it's normal to be nostalgic for your childhood, but I'm telling the truth.
Our neighborhood had tons of kids. We all went to school together; we all got in trouble together. In the row of bungalow homes, the parents crossed the lawn or the street and chatted through the magic sunset hour. As children, we ran, climbed trees, played tag, played four-square, and later played spin the bottle. We painted rocks with nail polish and tried to sell them to the neighbors. Some kind neighbors actually purchased them.
We would do anything on a dare. (I'm still living that one down. I will apologize to Mrs. Bradley for that little episode for the rest of my life.)
Front porch lights flashed when it was time to come in. We ignored them. There was no cable or video games. We didn't want to go in. They always tracked us down.
Occasionally, someone broke a limb. Occasionally, someone got punched. For the most part, we all got along. There's nothing like seeing someone after 20 or 30 years and saying, "Do you remember ...?"
Our neighborhood had tons of kids. We all went to school together; we all got in trouble together. In the row of bungalow homes, the parents crossed the lawn or the street and chatted through the magic sunset hour. As children, we ran, climbed trees, played tag, played four-square, and later played spin the bottle. We painted rocks with nail polish and tried to sell them to the neighbors. Some kind neighbors actually purchased them.
We would do anything on a dare. (I'm still living that one down. I will apologize to Mrs. Bradley for that little episode for the rest of my life.)
Front porch lights flashed when it was time to come in. We ignored them. There was no cable or video games. We didn't want to go in. They always tracked us down.
Occasionally, someone broke a limb. Occasionally, someone got punched. For the most part, we all got along. There's nothing like seeing someone after 20 or 30 years and saying, "Do you remember ...?"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
