At the ripening age 65-plus, I have begun a new chapter of living. Incorporating daily doses of sunshine filled behaviors, activities and attitudes continue to entertain my mantra. It has occurred to me times over that living the alternative is not conducive to my being, sanity, or overall value of life. I am happier now than I have ever been. Just existing on the here and now with joyous contentment. 

With that said, new, uncharted social circle of acquaintances have become daily actions. Seldom is anything planned or pre-orchestrated in a methodical manner. No counseling. No drugs. Ce Sera, Ce Sera. I urge you, my loyal readers, to invite yourselves along for a short ride of positive travel. What will be, will be.

No matter the age, no matter the interest, I have seldom met a stranger. Close friends and family often chides, “You can talk to anyone.” Yes, that is a fact. I can make conversation with anyone.  An open-door policy of communication has provided many a lively chatter with young minds, youthful teens, and yes the sept and octo-genarians. In addition, door knobs and paper bags have also fallen prey!

First of many youth to fill my cup of sunshine would be the likes of Noah. Recently introduced to this handsome, rather gangly, cracked voice 13-year old, I was taken aback by his friendliness and mannered ways. We shook hands as we tentatively introduced ourselves. Noah smiled with caution as I was a new addition to his grandpa’s current circle of single living. 

Noah took to my casual ways with ease. First and foremost, an extensive tour of Grandpa’s home was in order. I was taken room to room to learn about the many facets of his relationship with Gramps.

“Ok, this here is Grandpa’s office. The guns and stuff in here are all his. You might want to know he is a champion sharp shooter and competed a lot. You know, bustin clays …sporting clays and skeet. He’s really good. He’s why I Love to hunt.” Early impression: I like this kid! 

As we continued the tour of introduction, Noah led me outside to the lower patio. Before us, a small, pristine lake painted a most calming scene. Quickly, however, I was taken aback. I could hardly contain myself while standing in a mire of fishing miscellaneous. 

“Wow, look at this collection!  “What is all this stuff? And it all belongs to Grandpa?” 

Hard to believe the assorted collection that surrounded me. Poles, lures, and tackle boxes added to the assortment and odors of emptied bait containers. 

Again, Noah took charge, “Ahh, ya, some of this stuff is his, but mostly it’s mine. I love to fish. All the time. I think you should try it.” He continued his tales of bonding with water, fish, and the like. Second impression: Really? Me?

“So, it looks like I’ve got about ten minutes here before Grandpa takes me home. I’m gonna fish and see what happens.” To the dock he strode, bait and pole in hand. Fishing for 10 minutes? It’s nearly 10 p.m.!

I returned to the cottage and shared my short Noah convo with Gramps. “Yup, he’s quite the kid. We have a great relationship and yes, he does like to fish…whenever and wherever he can. We’ve been buddies for a long time. I’m good for him and he’s good for me.” Third impression: Love is certain regardless of age!

Clomp, stomp, knock.  Noah was standing proudly on the deck with a large, squiggling bass in tow. “Look what I caught. He’s a good size for 10 minutes of fishing, don’tcha think?” His smile was contagious. 

Gramps and I could not believe Noah’s excitement and luck. As he proudly posed, I snapped a few pictures. “Can you hurry with the pictures? This bass is in stress and I want to throw him back in the lake.” Noah knew his fish. Last impression: Say “yes” to the mess…I would go fishing!

In the next few days I spent with Gramps, Noah was an active part. He invited me to go along with he and Grandpa fishing…..twice!  My minimal experiences had not deterred his open invitations. Baiting hooks, casting, and providing me the opportunity to reel in his first catch, Noah welcomed me into his world. Conversations were light, relevant, and engaging for us.  In our short, unplanned meet up, Noah had hooked my heart. No matter the age, no matter the interest, stranger/danger did not exist. Making new was just that easy.

All in all,  forward moving, forward thinking has provided me a wagon full of wonderful. Noah proved this with his energy and eagerness to allow me into his world. Youth and senior years effortlessly combined for a new, lasting friendship.

There you have it my fellow readers.  Choose to focus on the flaws and shortcomings of life or take the path of unknown adventures?  You ultimately make that decision. 

Zero in on all that is adored.  Challenge yourself to get on the wagon full of wonderful.  Choose to be happy. To be content. To be.

Lessons Learned

Fill your life with good, not with regret or guilt.  Some people never realize this need for positive stroking.  Life moves forward ever so dark and slow if we so choose. Good raises the light and races the heart and mind. 

There is no generation gap to happy. We cannot safely or predictably plan for tomorrow, however, happiness is a choice. Find those who offer happy, no matter the age, no matter the generation. You will find fulfillment, not disappointment.

Thanks for reading! 

MId-September, 1967, the day of exhaling had come. Long overdue, Momma and her eight chicklets were ready for yet another new chapter of life on the farm. Just a few short weeks prior, we faced a most tragic and unforgettable event; Daddy had unexpectedly left this earth, his prized farm and his ever-loving family. Upended, we were beyond a mess.

August and summer’s heat made for a most miserable scenario. No time for denial, anger, or grief. Animals to tend, crops to harvest, fences to repair. Our list grew daily. Momma had her brood to feed, clothe, and nurture. Time nor interest allowed for milking, managing, or mending. It was what it was.

Gathering at the dinner table early one evening, Momma provided a workable solution to our current slippery slope of demise.  The ultimate decision to sell all farm animals and equipment via an auction would be scheduled within weeks. As a result, we would drastically reduce work responsibilities, pay current bills and provide temporary financial stability to our fledgling family.

“We cannot go on to run this farm efficiently with your dad gone. With school starting, I see this auction as our only solution. Put your minds together and think of some ways you can help. Remember, we’re all in this together. God has always had our backs and he’s not about to forget us now.”

Momma had eased our worries as we all left the table. Readying for bed, a chatter of ideas rushed our ambitions. Once again, Momma had empowered her chicks.

One of the most creative endeavors prior to the auction was from twins Ang, Zen, brother Frankie, and myself. Early morning and we found ourselves in the tool shed rummaging for the assorted, often used, pails of paint. Allis-Chalmers Orange, Massey Ferguson Red, and John Deere Green sat dust covered and waiting. As Frankie located a stash of used wire and paint brushes, we were in business. 

Hay rakes, cultivators, drags, and other farm equipment had lined the side yard. Mud, peeling paint and rust had to go. The paint team of “Redo and Renew” had arrived. 

We popped the paint lids and began stirring the thick goo of orange, red, and green. Years of idleness had left them in dire need of usefulness. Anxious mixing eventually produced smooth glossy sheens. 

I scraped and hosed off encrusted mud from the well-worn machinery.  Frankie finished with a wire brush to remove any peeling paint. Ang and Zen took to the battered brushes as knowledgeable and experienced pros. Slap, dab, presto chango, we were most industrious! In one afternoon, we had made new of the equipment. Daddy was surely watching over us and would be proud of our efforts. 

Little brother Mikey hatched another genius idea to help. With neighbor friend Simon, these nine-year olds decided that the apple orchard would contribute to the family auction and profits as well. With an old cider press available and hundreds of shiney reds, the boys began to press out fresh, juicy goodness to offer thirsty bidders.

Gathering empty jugs, the ripest and most perfect fruits would be selected.  Ever so carefully they chose each apple with care. As a result, several hours of cautious efforts produced only ONE gallon of cider. Time for readjustment.

Mikey made a quick assessment. “Simon, you know some of these apples are small and a lot of them are wormy, but who’s gonna know. They aren’t that bad. We need more cider if our plan’s sposta work.”

Simon added with agreeable comfort, “ Ya, who’s gonna know what we did. We’re only usin’ the juice anyway. C’mon, we got work to do.” 

With a brotherhood of efforts, the press moved onward. By days end, the boys had four gallons of fresh, spiced cider for sale and consumption. They proudly placed their golden nectar in the tool shed to keep. No refrigeration needed as the days and nights of fall were cooling. 

One final plan for extra income was another mastermind of Frankie’s. Yes, he and Daddy were avid fans of local auctions as they often returned home with useless collections of assorted “things”. Little was spent and as a result, the grainery and tool shed had become collection pits of pails, pails, and pails of nails and whatnots. 

“We’re gonna load all these buckets of nails on the sale. For a quarter or two, people will buy them for sure.”  

With that, Frankie’s optimism was empowering. Several of us helped load up one of the farm wagons with the vast collection of miscellaneous. A plentiful assortment of hammers, saws, axes, shovels and hoes added to filling the wagon of wares. 

All in all, the sale was a momentous success!  As the newly painted equipment glistened in the morning sun, happy, hungry bidders paid two and three times the value of many pieces. Livestock prices matched accordingly. Happy buyers. Happy family. 

Mikey and Simon’s cider had upped itself from a tinge of spice to that of slight spikiness as it easily sold it for “donation” only. With a wink of an eye, neighbor and fellow farmer John inquired, “This is darn good cider, boys. Doesn’t have any worms in it does it?” A chorus of chuckles echoed as imbibers cheered their cups of Godly nectar. 

Popped eyes and side glances challenged the boys to add, “ Nah, we used only the good apples. The wormy ones were fed to the cows and pigs.” Nervous giggles followed as dollar bills and coins clinked into the money jar. 

As for the wagon filled with Daddy’s collection of assorted miscellaneous, profits climbed to the unbelievable. Buckets of new, used, rusty, and bent nails flew off to giving neighbors and friends. 

Our day of duty and survival had come to an end. Tears of relief and joy filled our hearts. Once again, God had our backs as countless bidders assisted in our family’s will to survive and move forward. Cracks in our hearts were beginning to heal. And yes, God was good. 

Lessons Learned:

The heart of any community is its people.  Daddy, our master planner of strength and stability would remain in our hearts thanks to the support of our ever giving community. Time and time again, they did not fail to help us move forward. 

Family first, family strong.  Ever and always, our family continued to survive. Unconditional strength and love overpowered pettiness and jealousy. 

Some people grow stronger in their broken places. That we did and that we continue today.

Thanks for reading!

Many of you know that Lucille Ball often resides in my soul and actions. Just when I think she is on to the afterlife, Sweet Lu plops into my environs and makes herself comfortable. Generally there is no warning. Lucy shows up. Others laugh. Others roll eyes. I blunder and bluff along. My life and foolishness become one with Lu. 

Often, my out of the ordinary mishaps occur with collaboration.  What better association for me but a partner in comedy. Right? I liken that collaborator to Lucy’s sweet, endearing, and naive friend, Miss Ethel! Yes, it becomes more palatable to accept my affable silliness with an Ethel of sorts. Three life-long friends have proudly shared their Ethel likeness with me. Ever-loving, joyful, and spirited friends, Deidre, Vickiejo, and Vivian have been just that. Today I introduce Miss Deidre, also known as, Ethel Number One. 

Deidre and I have been friends since our early teaching careers. Fresh out of college, newly married, we easily teamed up with our naivety. British and English Literature were Deidre’s expertise. In addition, she became a champion while working with my caseload of disabled students. I found her one classy, knowledgeable, cohort and true friend.

Years passed as we encouraged student achievement, attended endless workshops, chaperoned too many proms, all the while, raising our own children.  Through these years of teaming, students graduated, workshops enlightened, proms awed, and our children became college educated and employable. All soulfully good. 

Since retirement several years ago, Miss D. and I have continued to meet up once a month to share, sympathize, and smile over our many adventures in and out of the classroom. It never fails that we pay homage to our tried and true Lucy and Ethel moments. 

One unplanned fiasco took place late in our careers. It was late spring and students were anxiously counting the days until graduation and or summer break. On that particular day, Deidre asked that I watch over her class of seniors while she took a short restroom break. I slipped into her room to find several of the more popular athletes chatting amongst themselves. Prospective prom dates, playoffs, athletic banquets, just to name a few.

“Ethel” returned shortly and her lesson resumed. As I rose to leave, a few chuckles and whispers erupted. Thinking nothing of it, we continued our tasks at hand.  The bell rang, giggling students were dismissed and lunch was before us. 

Deidre raced into my room breathless as she quickly shut the door. “Lucy, this is a moment that we’ll never forget. I am horrified and don’t know if I can ever face those kids again! This is the biggest Lucy/Ethel moment of our lives!”

“What do you mean?”  I calmly asked. “Did you just pull an Ethel? How do I fit in here?” Oh boy, I had no clue where were we going on this latest predicament. 

Without hesitation, she blurted, “Well, when I returned from the bathroom, I did not realize there was a problem. I took to the chalkboard to list vocabulary terms for the students. Lots of chuckles. I asked what was the concern. No response but a few concealed snickers. That’s when I began to feel uneasy.”

Deidre was near panic as she continued, “ A few of the boys kept asking me to go over the vocabulary again as they could not clearly see the board. More cackles and snorts. I was losing my patience and then the bell rang. As they single filed out the door, one of the girls whispered, ‘You and Mrs. S. need to check your clothes.’”

While hurriedly exiting the bathroom, “Ethel” had unknowingly returned to her classroom somewhat disheveled.  Her calf-length, billowing skirt had gotten caught up in her pantyhose! “I see London, I see France, I see…”  loudly echoed in her mind! 

Immediately I took to hug and reassure Deidre that she would get through this unforgettable moment. 

“That’s only half of this debacle, Lucy! You were just as much of this too. Did you realize you’ve been wearing your dress backwards all day?  I believe those pockets belong on the front, not on the back of your jumper! The kids noticed that too! We’re the best of the worst fools out there!”

“Oh stop! You’ve got to be kidding?”  I was dumbfounded! There would be no excuses, no rationalizing our latest faux pas. Guilty as charged! All we could accomplish was to laugh so hard that we began to cry! Chalking up another ridiculous was the only way to survive this day. There was no other choice. This too, would pass. 

In summation, lives of absurdity often complimented our true dedication as educators. Laughter ensued. Admiration and support flourished. Forever friends. Forever Lucy and Ethel! 

Lessons Learned

Friends make you laugh a little louder, smile a little brighter and live a little better than before. Yes, just that. Nothing more.

Laughter is the best medicine. This has been my best antidote. I laugh often and I laugh deep. Giggles keep my life’s clock ticking!  

Thanks for reading! 

I love road trips and prefer to partner with my 2013  “Hi-Ho Silver”. That is, my trusty, less than rusty Toyota Camry. We have traversed miles of adventure and solitude together these last few years. My companions of late, however, have included Babs Streisand, Bette Midler, Tony Bennett and NPR. Not much on the wild side, but ageless companions. 

On a recent three-hour jaunt, I tuned to one of my favorite radio stations, K-Love. For the most part this is a Christian based production and most easy listening. One particular song by Mercy Me left me with inspiration and perfect thoughts for this particular blog. “Dear Younger Me” says it all. Enjoy one of my thought- provoking, less humorous pieces. 

…..”Where do I start *** If I could tell you everything I have learned so far *** Then you could be one step ahead of all the painful memories still running through my head *** I wonder how much different things would be *** Dear younger me.”

1954. Dear Younger Me.  I am, sandwiched between older sister Claudia and younger twins Ang and Zenia. All three of them are walking, babbling, and taller than myself. How is that so? I sit, I crawl, I wonder …will I ever grow? Will I ever walk and talk and keep up with these sisters? As Momma is once more with child. I’m so scared of being forgotten. 

There is no such thing as impossible. Big, small, comfortable and wrapped in love; my family had it all. I had nothing to fear. Nothing.

1967. Dear Younger Me. I am a proud member of eight siblings. Farm life is busy and we make do with old bikes, scooters, festive garden favorites, and assorted minor sibling rivalries.  A hot, most humid day in August and Daddy is no longer. A sudden massive stroke has left us speechless, empty and in severe denial. I am a mess. I cannot live a day without dread and anxiety. I am devastated, alone, and poor. I am once again scared of being forgotten. 

I will face my giants. God’s graces, extended family, generous neighbors, and comforting teachers come to my rescue.  Fearful, I slowly remember that there is no such thing as impossible. 

1973. Dear Younger Me. A college degree in education is nearly completed. Marriage plans hurried. With faith and courage, I am in anxious excitement. 

Fear of failure once again threatens as I embark on one remaining semester of student teaching. Married for a few short weeks, my husband-teacher faces an extended union strike. Extremely poor, I once again feel defeated, alone, and helpless. I will be forgotten as I foolishly make plans to forego my college education for any job available.

My giants once again are faced for battle. Faith in my ever-trusting God, a $50 loan, and a secure contract come to fruition. 

Fast forward 40-plus years. A loving, committed marriage, two most giving and gracious daughters, and a fulfilling career have blessed my soul. There is no such thing as impossible. I had it all. I had nothing to fear. Nothing.

2016. Dear Younger Me. Retired and enjoying the fruits of labor and love, I have successfully taught and mentored over 1,000 students to graduation.  Two most loved daughters I helped raise as they grew into able-bodied, smart women. Three precious and precarious grandchildren share my heart and provide endless memories. I have nothing to fear. My life is full beyond measure. 

A cold, blustery day of life in the Upper Peninsula. Most difficult challenges flood my thoughts and actions. Where did I fail? What more could I have done? I am alone, empty, and most worthless. Forty-two years as a commited, giving wife, D.I.V.O.R.C.E. has become real. 

Anxiety and loss supercede common sense. There is nothing I can say or do to make this easier. Forgotten. Empty. Lost. Alone. 

Again, my ever-encouraged faith, family, and friends come to wrap their love and comfort around me. There is no such thing as impossible. I will, I can, I have no choice. I must.

….”Dear younger me *** I cannot decide *** Do I give some speech about how to get the most out of life? *** Or do I go deep *** And try to change? *** The choices that I’ll make cuz they’re choices that made me *** Even though I love this crazy life *** Sometimes I wish it were a smoother ride *** Dear younger me *** Dear younger me.”

Over and over, I have carried out my deepest thoughts and anxieties with my higher power’s existence and graces. I faced my giants and discovered there was no such thing as impossible. When I saw broken beyond repair, I believed and acted with healing beyond belief. 

I’m where I need to be in this crazy story called life. Happier, content, and blessed beyond belief.

Go deep my friends. Cross the lines of vulnerability and challenge. You will surprise yourself and be better for it.  

Lessons Learned:

Death of any sort is an awful part of life. To survive and move forward, we must just put one foot ahead of the other until it’s over. “You can, you will, because you must.”

The sun will rise no matter how dark the night. I have carried this mantra throughout my many chapters of challenge and doubt. Rewards in self are direct results of courageous strength.

Thanks for reading!