Cherry Chapstick

Kinda a weird thing happened yesterday.  It is not the first time something like this has happened to me but it is the first time I am sharing it (except with my favorite guy) and it had a little different flavor (!) to it as well. 

I was just done with work and by done, I don't mean finished, I mean DONE!  I had sat at my desk long enough and if I didn't walk away someone's life could be in immediate danger.  So, I walked away.  Like 3 feet.  To my couch.  (Side note:  this is either a tremendous blessing in my life that I work at home or the greatest tragedy, I'm not really sure which; it changes every day.)  I sat down, because my gosh, I haven't sat near enough today!  I reached for my knitting project and before I turned on the television and just after I turned off my radio, there was complete silence.  Maggie wasn't near, so I could not hear her snoring.  Trent was at work.  Natalie was at work.  I was alone.  (Another side note:  A few years ago, I would have had total panic at this; being alone.)  I kinda of marveled in it.  I just sat there, knitting on my lap, breathing deep (thank you yoga), and just not even thinking.  There was not one thought in my head. 

I felt a swoosh of air behind me, I am even pretty sure I felt my hair moved in the breeze.  I looked behind me, but not the startled kind of look like, "Oh my gosh, who is here?!?" but more the curious look around.  There was no one there.  But, for the briefest of moments, not even a second, I smelled Cherry Chapstick.  It was so slight and it happened so fast that I was unsure if it indeed had happened.  I smiled...I knew it had happened. 

I have felt presences previously -- like a brush on my leg or a tap on my shoulder or even just a feeling of knowing someone was there.  This was the first time, however, that I had actually smelled the presence.  Cherry Chapstick. 

I smile now as I sit and type this.  How I miss my daddy putting on his Cherry Chapstick, always in his pocket.  Taking it out every so often to moisten his lips; usually offering a little to me.  The Chapstick container was nearly worn down to nothing.  There was no lettering on it, just a white tube.  I don't know how long he had the same tube, but always in his pocket.  I think, but not entirely sure, always Cherry.  But, even if not always Cherry, Chapstick has a distinct fragrance, a smell that is only associated with Chapstick.  A smell that I associate with my daddy, though I didn't know this until yesterday.  When I felt him and when I could smell his Cherry Chapstick. 

One month from today it will be 4 years that I lost my daddy, unexpectedly and very fast.  I can't hardly believe it has been that long yet it feels like forever since he left us.  I miss him almost every day.  I think about him and of him a lot.  I wonder what he would say about certain situations.  I laugh when I KNOW what he would say! I know that that is the way it is supposed to be; you bury your parents.  But, that does not mean, under any circumstances, that it is an easy thing to do. 

I think I will go buy some Cherry Chapstick. 

XOXO

I licked that!

When I was growing up, my mom had like two or three different shapes of silverware in her drawer.  They were mismatched, but there was a lot of them.  If  I really would have wanted to, when I set the dinner table, I could have given everyone a complete set of one type -- but I chose not to.  I am not really sure why, just being ornery I guess.  The only person who got a complete set of silverware, all the same set, was me.  (I believe this is probably where my OCD started!!)  No one really cared what silverware they got, as long as they had a set by their plate.  Well, all except for my little brother, Vernon.  I, of course, would always have the pretty set with a very pretty design at the bottom, all matching.  Everyone else, just got whatever I pulled out of the drawer.  If I had another complete set in my hand, I would still mismatch everyone's at the table; therefore, no one, but myself, having a complete set, and not only a complete set of the same silverware, but a complete set of the fanciest silverware. 

This just irritated the crap out of Vernon.  He would see that he had the crappiest silverware and he had like all three designs, nothing matching.  He would try to steal mine; the complete, pretty set.  It would anger me  to no end when I would sit down, after working very hard on setting the table (with no help), to see he had switched his silverware for mine. 

This brought out the big guns!  I started licking my silverware!!   Yes, I would take my knife and my fork and my spoon and I would lick it!  I would make sure that Vernon saw me do it.  I started doing it with my plate and my cup as well.  Bite me!  I was setting the table, I deserved the best of everything.  

This escalated to licking everything!  I would lick the best potato, the best piece of bread, the biggest ear of corn.  If it was the best, I would lick it.  This only seemed to bother  Vernon.  My mother and father would take whatever the hell they wanted, whether I had licked it or not.  Sometimes, I would tell my parents that I had licked it and my dad would give me that look of disbelief and my mom would maybe backhand me.   So, I started only telling Vernon which were mine! 

If Vernon ever did this back, I had no idea.  So, it has been 26 years since I lived at home and to this day, I believe I never ate anything or ate from anything that Vernon licked, I am sure he cannot say the same! 

This perfect plan of, "I licked that!" stopped working with my husband and children.  They didn't care.  How could you possibly not care that someone licked something?  It is disgusting to KNOW someone has licked something and yet you take it anyway.  I lost the desire to lick anything.  

My husband and kids even will drink from the same cup or bottle or straw -- gross.  If I am sharing a bottle of water, I get the first drink (usually an extra long gulp) and then you can have the rest.  If you want me to taste something from your plate, I will use MY fork and touch a piece of meal that has not been contaminated with your fork.   If you stick your fork in my plate and grab yourself a bite (Mike Lacey!!) I will simple eat around your bite and leave a safe distance of bad food/good food ratio.  If we share a dessert, I will simple eat on my little corner, again leaving a safe distance of bad food/good food.  Forget ever sharing a fork or a straw -- that will never happen. 

If we are ever at the dinner table and you see me licking something, just assume it is the best at the table and it's MINE!  Don't touch it; don't even look at it.  And, by all means, don't take it, it has been licked.

XOXO

It's the little things

The other day I was on my way to my doctor's appointment and I noticed there was a carnival in a parking lot.  Not a big fancy, fair-like carnival, but one of those little dumpy ones that you wonder if the machines have all the bolts put in them.  All of a sudden, my heart skipped a beat.  I was really excited that there was a carnival!  I wanted to stop and ride the ferris wheel, but I didn't (mostly because I am scared of ferris wheels (heights), secondly because I had little time, and thirdly because of the missing bolt theory).  I kinda smiled and let myself go back to my childhood.  My parents didn't take me to a lot of carnivals, we would hit the fair on occasion, but when they did, I had such a great time!  I love riding the rides and feeling carefree and the wind in my hair and screaming and laughing and, of course, having a corn dog, cotton candy, and a caramel apple. 

I was kinda happy as I drove home and wondered about other things that made me happy as a child that still tickle me a bit.  Here is what I came up with:
     *  Seeing the first star in the darkening sky and making a wish.
     *  Waking up and seeing snow on the ground.
     *  Watching a puppy being born. 
     *  Seeing the birthday candles on my cake and making a wish as I blow them out.
     *  Looking up at the sky and "seeing" something in the clouds. 
     *  Seeing someone that you love deeply after a long absence. 
     *  Christmas morning.
     *  Swinging (on swings, perverts).
     *  Driving with the windows down.
     *  Accomplishing something that you were told you could not. 
     *  Going to a scary movie.
     *  Lazy Saturdays lying in bed watching movies. 

I am sure there are a hundred more, these are just the first ones that popped up in my head.  It really is the little things.  Yes, a million dollars would make me extremely happy, but so does coming down the stairs on Christmas morning and seeing the tree lit and the presents sparkling.  Or hearing a song that takes you to a different place, a different time.  Or being held as you cry.  Those are things that even a million dollars can't buy. 

Maybe next time, I will be brave enough to stop my car and take a spin the ol' ferris wheel. 

XOXO
Velvet

A single thought ...

I am a shy person.  Or, I guess I used to be.  Not so much anymore and I cannot figure out why not! Here are a couple of examples of my not-so-shyness:

Today, I was at my doctor's office and I had brought my knitting with me.  I usually always have a mobile project that I can take in the car or to an appointment or someplace where I know I will be sitting for a while.  I knew this appointment was going to be extra long because I had to get x-rays.  So, I am sitting there in the x-ray waiting room knitting away and a woman sitting a few chairs down asked about my project.  I showed the picture of the scarf I am knitting and we chatted about knitting and crocheting a while.  She said that she learned how to crochet while in Juvenile Hall!!  They told her she needed something to keep her out of trouble.  We laughed.  I told her that I started knitting when I was about to become an empty nester because I needed something to fill my evenings where I would have spent at a ball game or a concert or whatever school activity I needed to attend.  She said that I had inspired her to get out her needles and start at it again. 

Same office visit, but now I am at my ortho's office waiting to be seen.  The nurse comes out to get me and waits until I finish a row before he says he is there to take me back.  He said he did not want to disturb me!  We talked a bit about knitting and how calming and relaxing it is.  My blood pressure was 118/65 and he told me I should teach a class on knitting and stress control!  I apparently had the lowest blood pressure he had seen in a while!  As I was leaving, he told me to "Keep knittin', Girlfriend!"  Thank you nurse, I shall!

On Thursday, I went shopping with Michellie and Nattie Jo.  I had purchased Maggie a stocking and with stocking stuffers.  Whilst in the checkout line, the lady in front of me, was looking at my doggie stocking and started asking questions about it and told me how she needed to get one for her doggie.  She was in a scooter and had to back up because she got too far ahead, and she apologized stating that she was a new driver. We laughed.  She wished me a Merry Christmas and left.

Trent and I went out to dinner.  I had my stupid boot on.  We were leaving and passed by this couple waiting for a table and the man asked me if my husband had hurt my footie!  I laughed and I told him I hurt it when I had to kick him back into shape!  His wife said I needed to aim at some of the softer more delicate parts of his body *wink*.  We laughed.

A few months ago I was in Joann's with my daughter and a very nice lady started a conversation about pink yarn.  We ended up having a very long conversation.  She offered to help me learn to crochet.   We became facebook friends and we are going out for coffee next week!! 

It seems like where ever I go, I start up a conversation with people.  Natalie told me the other day that she finds it a bit disturbing!  So unlike me, she said!   Who am I, she asked!

It seems like the older I get,  the more people talk to me.  Maybe I lost that snobby attitude I once had (apparently).  Or, maybe, I have that "grandmotherly" look to me and people want to talk to me!  Maybe I look sweeter than I really am!  I don't know, but I find it rather odd!  But, I kinda like it!

XOXO

How now brown cow

When I was a very little girl, not very long ago actually (!), I was learning how to talk.  And walk, but let's stick with the talking for now.  My mother (1/4 Polish, 1/4 Portuguese, 1/4 French, 1/4 Spanish) had decided that along with English she would teach me Spanish as well.  She was bilingual as her grandmother, my great-grandmother, spoke very little English.  This was such a great idea! 

Or was it??

Apparently, in the midst of learning two languages, my brain was thinking faster than my mouth could keep up (anyone that knows me personally, no comments necessary).  This, as was later determined, was not entirely the case.  But back in the late 1960s/early 1970s, no one really knew for sure what caused stuttering, but because I was being taught two languages simultaneously,  my mother was told that this was my problem.  Thus, my Spanish lessons were ceased.

This did not cure my stuttering, in fact, as I grew older (I was probably about 4 now), it had gotten worse.  Much, much worse.  I remember (one of my first very clear memories of my childhood) my grandpapa holding me by the shoulders, tightly, looking at me straight in the eye and telling me to slow down.  I then again asked for another c-c-c-c-c-c-cookie.  He shook me and told me again to slow down.  I again, as predicted, asked for a c-c-c-c-c-c-cookie.  He walked away and I felt that I had probably let him down.  But, as anyone who stutters or knows a stutterer knows, I could not help it.

My stuttering was the classic stutter with the eyes opening and closing with the head nod and, of course, the uncontrollable ability to spit out a word or two without a stammer.  People would watch me in stores and, I am almost positive, thought I was stupid.  My shyness, undoubtedly, was generated from these early years.  Other things later on contributed, but it started there.

I was going to start kindergarten at 5 and my parents wanted to make sure the stutter was, if not cured, at least slowed down.   Speech therapy -- Here I c-c-c-c-c-c-come!

This was in the early 1970s, there were no HMOs or PPOs and I doubt very much that my "therapist" had much formal training (my mom might be able to clear this up for me,but I don't think so).  If I recall correctly, and I am sure I do, I went to a house to learn my speech therapy.  I don't really remember a lot of what I was taught there or what I was asked to do or how long I even went there.  But the one thing I do remember is being told that I needed to look into a mirror and repeat the phrase, "how now brown cow" over and over and over until I could say it without there being multiple c-c-c-c-c-c-cows.  We  advanced to "she sells sea shells by the seashore" to "rubber baby buggy bumpers" to "Peter picked a peck of pickled peppers" to "six sleek swans swam swiftly southwards."   Eventually, we moved on to reading books, of course, always in front of the mirror. 

If you know me, you know that I talk rather well now.  There is no audible stutter (certainly no visible stutter) that a normal person could pick up on.  If you listen carefully when I am frustrated or tired or nervous or very mad, you may pick up on a slight stammer.  In fact, if I have something very important to tell someone, I might practice before and this might be in the mirror (though not very often).  Most times, I repeat it over and over in my head before I even try to spit it out.  I have learned in the 40 years since therapy how to cover it up and how to not let on about my stutter. 

I regret not knowing Spanish.  Had I been born a few decades later, perhaps my mother would have been told that leaning two languages was not the cause of my stutter and to continue with it. 

XOXO