Endings and Beginnings

Although summer doesn't officially start for another week, it arrived for children in our town on Friday with the last day of school. Mothers posted on Facebook Last Day of School pictures side by side with the First Day last fall. We all marveled at how much the kids had grown. End of the school year brings relief to kids and teachers (I remember that time well).

Yesterday, we attended our granddaughter’s dance recital, the culmination of another year of classes. From the tiny (two-year-olds) kids to the most experienced, they showed off their talent. I love watched g-daughter dance. She may not be the best dancer, but she has the biggest smile. Dancing gives her so much joy.

Around neighborhoods like ours, graduation parties proliferate. Tents sprout like spring flowers. Not for fear of rain this year, but for shade because of the heat wave spreading across the country. Pictures and memorabilia show how much the graduate has accomplished and changed through the years. Families interrogate her/him on plans for the future. (Friends already know. LOL)

What’s next?

As a part of their lives ends, another begins. University, community college, trade school, job. Graduates are thrilled to be finished with school and anxiously anticipate this next phase. Younger kids look forward to a whole summer of nothing to do. Hah! Summer camp—science, math, sports—day care, library reading challenges, scheduled events.

Each year around this time, my daughter asks her kids what they want to do during the summer then writes the list on poster paper, and tapes it in a visible place. As they do each item, they check it off. Last year, my grandson went to a local college for two week-long science camps. He had so much fun I asked him if he was going to do it again. He said no. He didn’t want to do anything. My son said that one summer, but he was a bit older.

There’s a lot to be said about over-scheduling kids. Somehow, parents have to find a balance. Kids need breaks from the regimentation of school, to hang out with their friends, to have quiet time, to do nothing. I was raised with the mentality that “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.” My dad left chore lists each day. We had a large vegetable garden that needed constant weeding. All I wanted to do was find a shady spot and read.

With every ending, there’s a new beginning. Like weddings. The end of single life and the beginning of a shared life. My youngest niece will be married next month. I love those times when families get together and celebrate.

On a side note, last Friday I had an anniversary of sorts—the day I met my husband. If you’ve been a reader of this blog or my books, you know that we met as a result of a blind date. When he called to set up the date, we talked for over an hour, discovering mutual interests and that we lived in the same apartment complex. That first date happened forty-five years ago. As I write in all my books, how glad I am that our friends fixed us up on that blind date.

Tomorrow is my turn over at Paranormal Romantics. I hope you pop in and see what I talk about.

The Wedding

When I started this blog three years ago, I didn't know what I was doing. Not sure I'm doing it right. Not sure that that matters. I wanted a place where I could write whatever I wanted. Musing on a variety of topics. I've shared bits and pieces of my life, my family, my writing. And you, my readers, haven't complained--or are too polite to. LOL So pardon me as I mus on a recent event that overshadows my health issues, what's happening in the world, and sports event. It is the best thing that happened this year for my family.

I'm sorry for not posting last Monday as promised. After my company left, instead of writing a post about my son’s wedding I took a nap. All afternoon. It seems that preparing for a wedding, the event itself, and the post-wedding activities are more exhausting than I expected. Then add in house guests for a week along with late night conversations and I was one tired puppy. Also a bit brain dead.

photo credit: Kameren Scott

As you can see, the wedding was lovely. The weather spectacular. My son looked handsome (I’m not prejudiced, of course) and his bride was beautiful. They looked so happy. I hope as life throws them curves (it always does) they recall how happy they were a week ago Friday. That should get them through anything.

The only flaw in having a beach wedding is the sand. I’m still finding sand in my sandals, which I’d left at the top of the dune before walking barefoot to the site. Sand shifts, throwing off my balance, and I prayed that I wouldn't fall on my butt. Good thing I had my son on one side and Hubs on the other. Even better were the two groomsmen who helped me back up afterwards. They were so sweet.

Speaking of sweet guys... With the exception of the bestman and my son-in-law, I haven’t seen the groomsmen since they graduated high school about twenty years ago. Wow. What a difference. My son’s crazy friends who made the movie “Julius Caesar in the Hood” in my front yard for an English assignment—complete with the theme from Chariots of Fire blaring from a car radio in the finale—have grown into handsome, responsible, charming men. How great it was to see them again. How special that my son has kept in touch with them all these years.

I was so touched by the bestman’s toast. He’s known my son all his life. (His mother and I have been best friends since before Hubs and I met.) The boys grew up together, were roommates in college, and consider themselves brothers. He related stories that really captured my son’s essence and his heartfelt toast had many of us surreptitiously wiping away a tear.

My grandkiddies performed their duties as flower girl and ring “master” admirably. Imagine a 4 y/o twenty feet from Lake Michigan and being told he couldn’t wade in until after the pictures were taken. He bore up well. LOL His sister looked so much older than seven with her “updo” like the bride’s. An old pro (this was her third time), she reminded me of the time I was a flower girl, also at seven. Good memories. And for the first time, I danced with my son. An event I'll always hold dear.

I looked so forward to my son’s wedding for months, talked about it incessantly (or so it must have seemed to my friends and readers), and now it’s over. The letdown is tremendous. I figured a good night’s sleep, maybe an afternoon nap, and I’d be back to normal. Didn’t happen. Maybe my son and new daughter going back to Arizona has something to do with it. I won’t see them again for months.


Friends and family are posting pictures on Facebook and I’m reliving the wedding each day. Despite being tired for a week, I wouldn't trade the time for anything. It was wonderful seeing my son with the woman he loves marry the woman who loves him. Besides, sleep is vastly overrated. LOL

I’ve managed to prolong the good feelings about the wedding by blogging about it—first on the Roses of Prose last Tuesday and then on Friday on Facebook’s Fiction Fanatics Feud. After today, I think I’ll give this topic a rest even though it’s so precious to me.

Or maybe I’ll use the event in a book someday. Imagine the scenarios.

Highs and Lows

Last week was one of highs and lows. My family lost another uncle. He was my dad’s brother, the one closest to him in age, the quiet one. Because he was quiet and unassuming, I didn’t know much about him until after I was married. Hubs is a listener. At family gatherings (that could be overwhelming) he would quietly engage my uncle in conversation. From Hubs, I learned more about all my uncles and especially about the one who just passed. It seems appropriate on this Veterans’ Day to mention my uncle’s military service during WWII. He served in the Aleutians, Marshall Islands, and the Southern Philippines and received two Bronze Stars. Four years ago, his daughter gathered family members for his ninetieth birthday. How great it was to see the five (of seven) siblings together. Now only two are left. I know it’s to be expected considering their age. Still, it’s difficult to lose a family member.

In contrast, on Saturday our family gained three new members. My cousin’s son married a woman with two children. I was so impressed with the way the minister included the children in the ceremony. Along with witnessing a happy event, I got to connect with cousins I’ve only seen at funerals lately. Sure, some of us connect through Facebook, but not all. So we caught up with what we’re doing now, sharing stories of our children and grandchildren. And, for a change, we were together for a very happy event.

Isn’t life like that—full of highs and lows? Maybe not in the same week, though. Usually, our lives are pretty mundane. Whether we’re still working or retired, each day is pretty much like the one before. We get complacent until Life smacks us up the side of the head. Sometimes it’s for a happy event, like a wedding or a birth (btw, two weeks ago, my nephew and his wife welcomed a son into their family), a promotion, or a retirement. And other times Life pulls us up short with a disappointment, a job loss, or a death. We celebrate the highs and ride out the lows.

In honor of my uncle, my dad, and all who have served our country, I'd like to express my thanks for your service.

 

Traditions

At this time of year, it's common to write about what we're thankful for. Instead, I'd like to tell you about a tradition in my family. It didn't start out that way. Like most traditions, this one happened once because of circumstances. The second time, circumstances again. The third and fourth times, it was a deliberate choice. I'm talking about weddings.

When my grandmother planned her wedding, she chose Thanksgiving Day because it was the only time my grandfather could leave his job. He was a milkman. For those of you too young to remember, bottles of milk used to be delivered to your doorstep every morning. I remember the Twin Pines milkman coming to our house when I was a child in his white truck with two green trees on its side. Grandpa drove a horse-drawn truck for a dairy in Cairo, Illinois.

My parents met at a roller rink in St. Louis. He was stationed at a near-by Army Air Force base and she was a teenager out with her girlfriends. Mom chose Thanksgiving Day for her wedding because my dad could get a four-day pass. It was wartime and those passes were difficult to come by. Even a one-day pass could be revoked, as happened with one of the groomsmen who was shipped out the day before the wedding. My mom's childhood friend (their mothers were best friends) happened to be home on leave and took the missing man's place. My folks' wedding picture looks a little odd with a sailor in the midst of all the Army guys. An interesting sidenote to this story is that the sailor married the bridesmaid he was paired with, my dad's sister.

Through the conniving of two dear friends, I went on a blind date and found the love of my life. After becoming engaged, talk turned to when we would get married. I mentioned that my mom and  her mother were married on Thanksgiving. He didn't mind. He said that would make it easy to remember our anniversary. (Such a kidder.) He worked in a steel mill and getting vacation time wasn't difficult. I was a teacher so I had the four-day weekend. Since our wedding was at noon, one of my students said he'd think about me at kickoff time of the Lions football game.

As mentioned above, this didn't start out to be a tradition. Without any encouragement from me, my daughter chose to carry on the tradition. Now, she's the most organized woman I know. She had everything in place—the church, the hall for the reception, cake, flowers—all well in advance. She had to. They wanted to get married in Kalamazoo where they met and fell in love. Her fiancé had just started medical school in Detroit and she was teaching there. To complicate things a little, her father and I were living in Chicago. With her superb planning, though, everything should have gone off without a hitch. That September, she got a letter from the owner of the reception hall saying he had retired and the hall was going to be torn down—before the wedding. After some long-distance panic and a little scrambling, her wedding was wonderful. It even made the eleven o'clock news as a unique way of celebrating Thanksgiving. (Too bad they didn't know she was the fourth woman in our family to do so.)

Will my granddaughter carry this into the fifth generation? In a way, I hope not. I don't want to even imagine the pressure. Not pressure from her mother or me but pressure she might put on herself to carry on what has become a family tradition. (Can you imagine the press that would get, though?) Since she is only four, she has a long time before planning her wedding—although, she does play "getting married" with her imaginary friend. Now for the reception, she could have turkey and dressing and... (Just kidding!)

When our family gets together on Thursday, we have a lot to be thankful for. Each other, good health, jobs, freedom. And one more thing. We'll thank God we found the wonderful men we married. Men who were willing to give up Lions football to walk down the aisle.

 

PS  I'm thankful, too, for wonderful friends who are helping celebrate the re-launch of my novel, Switched, in its revised and electronic form. If you haven't already, check out Nancy Gideon's blog  Last Friday, she showcased me and my book. Thanks, Nancy.