dream

RememberRED-Change



It's a change we're never prepared for, one that is so difficult to adjust. It can invade your dreams but helps us process grief while sleeping. When my kids died I had difficulty with change; who wouldn't right? 


I decided to use this prompt to share one of my what I call         "change dreams."

My panic rises when I realize I'm alone. The street is dark and the weather snowy.

There is somewhere I need to be but I don't know where; my hearts beating loudly.

I feel a heaviness; a weight on me, Is is a backpack or is it a burden, I don't know for sure?

My body moves forward, the need is overwhelming;  as I push against the wind the snow pelts against my face stinging my skin until it is numb.

Every step takes every bit of energy I have in my body.

Tears mixed with snow covers my face; I brush them away then dip my head into the wind and push on with purpose.

My muscles screamed out with each motion my body heavy, exhausted but I HAVE to move forward.

I'm blinded in this storm, where am I going?

loyalty

Write a post that either starts or ends with the words "Lesson learned." 

From my place behind the bar I could see him as he stepped out of his unmarked police car. His jacket snagged on the seat-belt the gun he carried on his hip exposed ever so briefly before he buttoned his jacket and turned in my direction. A different man approached me on this day different than the one I'd come to know so well off duty. This man was sober which meant only one thing, he was on duty and this visit was official.

"Hi Jennifer, can we talk at the end of the bar?"

"Sure" breathed deeply I turned and made my way to a quiet place at the end of the bar.

"Have you seen Eddie today?" "I need to ask him some questions about the Social Security check he reported stolen"

"He's in trouble?” I asked. “Because if he is, you're gonna have to find out where he is from someone else."

"Hey" he replied a bit defensively "it’s just a few questions that's all."

Long ago, days playing with his kids touched my memory; replaced by a much harsher reality of Eddie, who had fallen on hard times and of whom I felt protective.

"I'm sorry but Eddie's a neighbor and a friend. “ I'm sure you understand if there's any chance he'll be arrested."  

"Ya sure it's just questions?"

I felt put on the spot, and he must have sensed it.

"Don't worry it will be fine" he replied.

"I give up, he's at Jimmy & Mikes Place."

Then I hoped I wouldn't come to regret those words.

I pushed that encounter to the back of my mind and got back to my tasks.  As the beach empties, the bar fills, the jukebox plays, beers and cocktails lined up three deep on the glistening bar as I tend to the masses. Conversations drift through the air and laughter hangs like wisps of smoke then disappears only to be replaced by more. 

Unaware that my father entered the bar, he catches my attention with a wave.

"Did you hear the news?" "Eddie's been arrested."  "It's alleged he falsely claimed his Social Security check was stolen then after being issued a new one he cashed it."

I recounted my earlier conversation with the detective to my Dad.

"I feel somewhat responsible Dad."

"So what do you want to do?"

I grabbed the wad of bills from my tip cup and dumped them in front of my father on the bar.

"Bail him out please?"

"I promise he'll be out before you get to work tomorrow."

"So this has been some day for you hasn't it?" he asked.

"Lesson learned honey?"

"You bet Daddy."

This really happened to me. I have taken some poetic license with some of the dialog to for the purposes fulfilling the prompt and to improve the flow of the piece.

teacher- learn your lesson

Write a memoir post about a memorable school trip.

Two by two the 'like' children walked towards the school bus and I thought to myself with a bit of sick humor 'kinda like the Ark', but oh how this is such a different story. And as I took my seat with my grandson and his buddy I couldn't help but reflect on how I had  came to be on that bus.


"Oh you'll love this teacher, she looks like the old women in the shoe," my daughter said describing my grandsons teacher.

All sorts of images popped in my mind, my daughter was recruiting me for a school trip to the pumpkin farm with a my middle grandson . She and my son in law were working so I gladly stepped up to the task; I just love hay rides; certainly not as much as love being with the grandchildren however.

"I'll be there, can't wait," I told Heather. 

I showed up at Emmanuel's classroom at the appointed time and the classroom was abuzz with excitement. All the children milling around full of energy ready to get on the road. I introduced myself to the teacher and  found out all the other chaperons were moms and dads I was the only grandma in the bunch, but hey that was fine by me!

The teacher proceeded to break the kids into groups; two children with each adult, their own child and one other child.  She paired the white kids with white kids, Hispanic children with Hispanic children, and children of color with children of color. The only exception was ours the group that gave her no choice; you see my grandson is bi-racial my daughters husband is African American and we're white and she assigned me an African American child.


I was troubled by the racial pairing. It wasn't my child it wasn't my place to ask but why didn't she mix the races? If I were a parent I would have asked. I was troubled, if he were mine.

When we arrived at the farm we went about our day enjoying the festivities and it was clear that the children had their own ideas about who they were going to pair up with. Kids are amazing even at the youngest ages, they know who their friends are and who they want to play with. Friendship has no color it surly is blind. It was good to see that there was a patchwork of girls and boys of different ethnic origins rearranging the teachers pairings with the chaperons changing places with one another so that they could be with their friends. 


Teacher learn your lesson, these children can teach you a thing or two about race and friendship.... were you paying attention?

breathing in freedom

This week we asked you to write a prompt inspired by this sentence:


The first time I ________-ed after _________-ing.

It was in a different part of town, the east end on the bay side. I had always lived in the west end on the beach side. But it was perfect for me, met all my needs; the downstairs apartment of a private house. A small bedroom, living space, kitchen and bathroom. 


I was both afraid and excited as my parents toured what I had hoped would be my new apartment and give me their blessing. After all I was working making more than enough income to afford my own place, even at nineteen years old. And I think the fact that I worked for my fathers business didn't hurt, he'd see me every day, their house was a few minutes away.


Once I was all moved in I sat on the small couch in the living room in my own apartment for the first time. Breathing in freedom not realizing fully yet all the responsibility that freedom entailed; that would come later. I unpacked my things and set up my place the way I wanted it. It was small and a bit dark but it was mine. Then I set out to the grocery store to do my first grocery shopping. I picked and chose all the things that I wanted and checked out and headed home. 


As I walked down the driveway to the side entrance of the house a smiling face popped out the door of the neighbors house. She yelled to me, " Hi I'm Pat put those groceries away and come over for a beer so you can meet the family." "It looks like we're gonna be neighbors we may as well get to know one another." 


Boy what a relief to be greeted by such a friendly person. 


We became friends and her family were wonderful people. Her husband Artie, her two young children Jimmy and Lisa were adorable kids. Her tenants were undercover police officers that also became my friends; very cool guys. 


It was an amazing place for me to spread my wings and begin to grow up; surrounded by strangers who became like a second family; part protectors to this half girl half woman the first time she moved into her own apartment.

I longed for a hug

Affection.

Choose a time when either the abundance or lack of affection (either by you or someone else) stands out, and show us.  Bring us to that time.  Help us feel what you felt.

I picked up the phone on the third ring, it was my Mom. She's getting on in age; in a fragile voice shaking with emotion she said to me “the doctors office just called they told me I have colon cancer."  “I’ll be right over." I replied. I hung up the phone but not before the tears came.

My husband rushed into the kitchen I slipped into his arms the place I know so well, my safe place. The place I went to time and time again after the kids died; the familiar hands that held me as I cried, as we cried and talked about our loss. From the shelter of his arms I mumbled, “how can they tell her that over the phone, it just seems so cold doesn't it?"  The familiar feeling of dread crept into my senses again it was my constant companion after the death of our son and daughter. I took a deep breath and said, "Honey we better get over there she shouldn't be alone." 

We didn't even dress we just filled our coffee cups and crossed the short stretch of wet grass to Mom's house, we arrived within minutes. We held hands gaining strength in that connection; two always stronger than one we walked up to the door. The door flew open and before I can even kiss or hug her she exclaimed. "I have cancer the least you could do is bring me a freekin cup of coffee," then she turned and walked into the kitchen. My heart just sank and my stomach twisted into a knot. I had imagined walking in and embracing my Mother comforting her but that didn't happen of course; so I made her the coffee she desired. 

When all was discussed and Mom had calmed some she walked us to the door.  I put my arms around her, her spine went rigid, and her arms remained stiff at her side. I told her that she would be OK that we loved her that we'd take care of her no matter what. I was surprised by the powerful feelings of rejection I was experiencing. I would have done anything for her to hug me back; I longed for that connection to her especially now that she was sick. As I released her I could feel the tears stinging at the back of my eyes; the thought of losing my mother so soon after my children was too much to bear. Then quietly my husband and I slipped out the door.  

Determined to do whatever I could for Mom, I got back to my house and put a call in to the doctor’s office and made inquiries about what they told her on the phone that very morning. As it turns out they wanted her see a specialist to have a screening test for colon cancer; she didn't have colon cancer! I exhaled a deep sigh of relief; I must have been holding my breath; then I walked into my husbands arms.

girls and indians

We want to know what, from your childhood, do you still know by heart? Is it a story? A jump-roping song? The number of rungs on the ladder to your tree house? How much money you had to save to buy something you really wanted?

Mary and I giggled as we crouched down and peeked to see the goings on in the yard across the street. We had a bird's eye view from the second floor porch of my parent's house at the beach. As we popped our heads over the edge of the porch we could see over the fence where Francis, Michael and Patrick were playing cowboys and Indians with their nanny, she was the lone cowboy. 


I had this feeling in the pit of my stomach that I was about to witness something naughty; and I was right. The nanny complied as the boys tied her to the flag pole in the middle of the yard. We really wanted to yell out to her," Margaret, don't let them do it," but we didn't want to give away our hiding place on the porch overlooking the yard. 

Then one of the boys ran into the house and returned to the yard with a pair of scissors. To our horror we watched as they cut off her long pony tail; snip! Then they attached her hair to another much smaller pole waving it wildly whooping and hollering as they danced Indian style around her. 


"Do you believe what we just saw?" "I can't believe they just did that," we exclaimed to one another. We hid behind the concrete wall of that porch and covered our faces as the feeling of disbelief washed over us.


What was going to happen if the grown-ups found out we didn't stop them, we were older after all; maybe we should have told. Then self-preservation set in; we shared a knowing look then we bolted down the stairs as fast as our tanned legs could carry us away from the scene of the crime.

Running was easier then telling at least in the minds of two twelve year old girls.


Mary and I have been friends for 45 years, her brother Steve my brother Gerard and Francis (the oldest Indian) are still great friends as well. When we all are together we tell this story; it is part of our repertoire of our childhood antics stories. 


And Margaret? She went back to Ireland and was replaced by Mary a more seasoned Nanny who was better equipped to deal with the Indians boys!

tag you're it

    

This week's prompt is- Let's Play your  memories for games you played when you were young.

My summers were filled with glorious days filled with sun, sand, family- the sweetest memories of of our family home at the beach on Long Island. My parents, Aunt & Uncle, brothers, cousins; oh the fun we had.

But just as sweet were the kids on the block...

Oh the games we played! Long days on the beach playing football, playing 'keep away' with a pink pency pinky's (pink rubber ball) in the water until our lips turned blue and our mothers would make us come out of the water. Then we'd stand there on the hard sand with strait faces shivering with blue lips saying" I'mmm noottt ccooolldddd," as they wrapped us in fresh beach towels and made us sit in the sun to warm our cold bodies.

After gobbling down dinner it was back outside to choose sides for whatever game of tag, freeze, ringalevio, T.V tag, hospital tag. ONE- TWO-THREE...... whoever was "it" would call out as the rest of us hid in our favorite hiding places. We scraped more knees then I could count, jumped more fences the I could count, hid in the smallest places I could imagine, played more games of tag the I could count, cried more tears of laughter then I could count.  

Seeing my friends daily, the innocence of being so carefree. I think of those days more than I can count and I miss them more the anyone could imagine.

my unusual wedding favor

This post is inspired by a prompt by The Red Dress Club.

What is my first memory that comes to mind when I see the 

picture.....

I got dressed for the wedding and although it was rainy I was hopeful that the old wives tale was true and that meant good luck for the bride and groom.

They were longtime friends of my husbands. They had lived together for many years and finally decided to make it official. I were shocked and delighted when we received the invitation. Apparently the priest felt the same way because he even commented about it during Mass to the delight and surprise of the many guests

The reception was amazing, music dancers in costumes, drinking merrily; it was all that I had imagined. The food was endless, and without question one of the finest and generous selections of food I have ever seen.  However even then I wished for two things, I could enjoy a few drinks and two that I could get out on that dance floor; but alas I was pregnant and my ankles had other ideas.

 And when it was time for us to say our goodbyes the groom said to me," did you steal an ash tray?"  "No of course not" I replied, "I don't smoke you know that."He then did the funniest thing; he opened my purse and stuck an ashtray from one of the tables deep within it. When we got out to the car I took it out of my purse and looked to see what was so special about it. Turning on the overhead light I inspected it; what I saw was a glass ashtray and at its base in blue writing it said ' Stolen from Tony and Dee's wedding May 20th 1984.’