As long as I can remember, humor has been a staple to my existence. Whether it be laughing with others or at my own foibles, funny has come easy.  Seldom have I gotten in trouble. On the contrary, a quick wit has often been my shield for staying out of it! 

In previous writings I have made strong association with the “Grand Dame of Humor”, Miss Lucille Ball.  A true comedian, Lucy entertained audiences for over 50 years with foolish antics. Minus her carrot-orange hair, I have easily held and survived on Lucy’s crazy persona for nearly the same time.  

Lucy often found innocent sidekicks with her many hairbrained, naive, ideas. One such gal pal was long-loved, sweet, sassy, Ethel. Through the thick and thin of their relationship, these two friends remained loyal and true, no matter the circumstances. I have shared the likes of Ethel in the workplace, social circles, and yes, my family.  No one, however, compared to my dear, dear professional friend, Dee-lightful Ethel. It is with true joy and love, I honor Miss Dee. 

It wasn’t until my last eight years teaching did I have the support of a full time aide. Dee was a paraprofessional to a freshman student on my caseload. He was legally blind and required a full time assistant to provide support for accommodations and brailling.  She had served this teen since early elementary and would follow him through graduation. A desk, bookcase, a few shelves, and space were all she needed to move into my room. Easy to like, we became quick friends and comrades. 

As stated earlier, humor played a vital role to my being and survival. Working with teens certainly challenged my wit and patience. Along with professional duties, it became apparent that Dee had the necessary humor to survive.  As a result, she easily became an aider and abettor to all things funny. 

Readily acquiring Ethel-like qualities, we were in business. Several Lucy/Ethel scenarios consistently kept teamwork on the lighthearted side. One particular incident continues to top all blunders. 

Early June had arrived. Stressors of completing projects, exam preps, and locker cleaning were among the frenzied activities of most students. Yes, locker cleaning was the ultimate in crazy behaviors. 

In an effort to sense the need to purge and finish the year, students threw away EVERYTHING! Unused notebooks, paper, pens, pencils, calculators and anything else that could get stuffed in a locker and forgotten. The good, the bad, and ugly found cozy  in oversized trash cans that peppered the hallways. Valuables had become worthless.

Lucy and Ethel would benefit from this foolish behavior. When school had ended for the day, we made the decision to “casually” glean these overflowing cans for any and all materials we could use for the next school year. Worthless had become valuables once again.

As you can imagine, our casual gleaning easily led to quasi-dumpster diving.  It took little for us to lose apprehension and gain courage. Our mission to recycle and save was paramount. Dumb-founded at what students tossed, the more we dug, the more worth the wares!

“Lucy, can you believe I’ve got three new calculators from this trash can?  Oh my gosh, these folders have never been used!” Ethel was in her glory of finds.

I had found refuge in one particular bin of goods. Retrieving rulers, markers, and unopened boxes of tissue, I continued to dig deeper and blurted, “ Ethel, you can’t believe all that is here. Come over and help me, please!”

With that said, I heard nothing. I pleaded once again with no response. Raising up with my overflowing arms, who should appear but the district’s Superintendent!  With popped eyes and gaped mouth, we were both speechless. Before my fellow abettor could speak, Mr. Boss, smiled with a nod, “ Ladies.”  And just like that, off he walked.

“Just getting a few things ready for next fall, Mr. Bates,” I quickly added. 

Ethel chimed in, “Yes, Mr. Bates, these kids throw away the darndest things.” 

Regardless of what we clucked, our fiasco ended as abruptly as it had started. Mr. Bates silently continued down the hall as we stood, arms tangled, in dopey astonishment. A Lucy and Ethel classic had come true!

All in all, Dee and I had an over abundance of fun in our daily duties. Along with wit and crazy, we became each other’s professional comrade and partner. Consistent in discipline and praise, we survived the most stressful of days. 

Not having the professional title of educator, Dee was an outstanding and supportive mentor to these needy teens. She often reminded me, “I’m a mom before anything else. I’m not a screamer, but I have a firm voice.” And that she did. We paired perfectly, as she easily took responsibility with little effort. 

Respect, kindheartedness, and a firm voice. Thank you Dee-lightful Ethel for your unselfish deeds and heart.  My life-long friend. No truer friend, No matter what! 

Lessons Learned: 

There is a fine line between creative and chaos. As much as I’d like to think our teaching days were creative, Dee and I experienced our share of chaos… organized, loving, chaos! 

When life gets tough, the tough get moving. Often the scenario, Dee and I made the best of difficult situations. Most times that are the toughest are on roads that are the narrowest, where gates are the smallest, and we must get through. And that we did! 

Thanks for reading!

Has the season of scary taken over the holiday of snow, sleighs, and Santa? Of recent it seems, I’ve seen an excess of Halloween. Lively, gigantic animated yard decorations and lights are appearing on more homes, lawns, and storefronts than ever before.  “Out of Business” stores are now pop up, temporary, Halloween specialty markets. Countless haunted houses, barns, and trails can be found within a few miles of home. Spooky has become big business!

Add to that, costuming. No sign of cheap plastic masks and chintzy dress up suits. Rather, it’s the elaborate and expensive. Movie, political, animal and whatever figures are realistic and downright frightening. Colorful creations aren’t just for kids as adults are often encouraged to dress up for work or be a part of a weekend bar bash. And yes, family pets are donning crazy, yet adorable outfits while enjoying parties at dog parks! 

Whatever happened to the fun of hand made costumes, a grocery bag, and running through the neighborhood? Well my loyal readers, I devote today’s write to such memories. Halloween 1967, to be exact. Enjoy a trip down trick or treat lane… 

Our favorite holiday had finally arrived. This would not be the usual celebration however. Daddy had recently passed and would not be the transporter of his tribe into town for treats. Never to disappoint, Momma had a new and exciting adventure planned for her eight goblins. 

Together with neighbors John, Lizzie and their three kiddos, it was agreed that a hayride into town for both families would be the perfect celebration of scary. Weeks prior, we eagerly planned costumes, decorated grocery bags for treats, and dreamed of endless candy.

John had taken one of our hay wagons and wired it for lights. Making the connection complete, he hooked up with the trusted Massey Ferguson. Loaded with bales of straw and burlap bags for warmth, we were ready for a night of treating. 

No commercial costumes or masks had been purchased. We sibs simply traded our daily chore wear with each other and etched our faces in all the wrong places with Momma’s tried and true lipstick; Avon’s Cherry Red.  A most spooky bunch, having the likes of today’s “Walking Dead” characters, we rocked in our own minds. 

By late afternoon the sun was quickly setting as coolness in the light breeze began teasing.  Anxiously we loaded on the wagon for the five mile trip into town. Sitting tightly while bumping along, giggles and chatter kept us warm. 

Momma and Lizzie had each whipped up a large thermos of hot cocoa. In addition, two bottles of adult beverage to the likes of Mogan David and Christian Brothers added to the libations. Three adults and eleven assorted whatnots would have this night to weave tales. 

Our small town blinked of porch lights and sparse Halloween decor. Colorful, fallen leaves scurried across yards and streets. A few ghosts and witches scampered as they yelled the familiar, “Trick or Treat”.  John pulled up to a string of homes. Out we jumped and off we ran! 

House to house until we reached the end of block. Crossing the street, we tricked and treated our way back to the wagon.  Momma had the cocoa at the ready as John and Lizzie loaded us on the traveling taxi. A few special stops and home would be calling.

O’Malley’s Funeral Home was a stop we couldn’t refuse. A unique two story estate, with its custom wrap around porch greeted us. Stumbling up the door, Frankie rang the bell as we joined in chorus, “Trick or Treat, Give us something good to eat!” 

Inside, Mr. O’Malley opened the door with a big smile, “Well, what do we have here? I think we might know you hooligans. Come on in. You’ll each need to show us a trick if you want a treat.”

Our first challenge of the night to earn goodies. Frankie got right into action with his ever-famous monkey imitation. Easily the O’Malleys clapped and roared with laughter. The remaining ten of us performed assorted summer saults, face gestures and finger shadows. Rewarded with grins and full sized Slo-Pokes, we exited with thank yous and hungry eyes. 

Last stop of the night took us to Gramma Giel’s home. Everyone called her Gramma, however, no one was related to this generous lady. Halloween by far, was her favored holiday. 

Her home was a well-faded, paint-worn, two story clapboard house. Surrounded by stately trees and overgrown shrubs, the place was not welcoming.  Windows were aged with layers of dust as dim light tried to escape from the inside. Located off a darkened street, ominous was evident.

Why would we seek this forboding site you might ask? Gramma G. was not only known for her kind and gentle ways, but her sweet creations were undeniably the best. 

Slowly we climbed the front porch. Unlit and creaky, we crept with caution. Frankie knocked as we chanted the usual banter of the night. A weakened, frail voice returned our pleas, “Come in boys and girls and get your treats.”

Tugging on the screen door, it creaked and squeaked. One dim light shown over the large dining table. What a sight to be seen! Our bulging eyes immediately lost their fear and trepidation. 

Waiting before us were shiny, freshly made caramel apples, plates of monster sugar and molasses cookies, and pulled taffy that had been carefully wrapped. The room was sweating with aromas of butter, caramel, and popcorn. Gramma G. was readying popcorn balls for wax paper wraps. “Now you children take whatever you please. It’s getting late and I think you are my last visitors.”

We were in Halloween Heaven! Taking one of each treat, we thanked and thanked. Gram was by far, the best stop of the night. 

All in all, this was the best Halloween ever.  Lots of treats. A few tricks. A little sip of vin for the cold ride home. Everyone had warm tummies and hearts. Momma, Lizzie, and John had exceptionally warm smiles. 

Momma combined all of our treats into several large jars and hid them away for safekeeping. That’s what we thought at the time, anyway. Everyday for a very long time, one treat showed up in our lunch and one was allowed after night chores. Quality memories for our farm-filled,  family of fun. 

Lessons Learned:

Halloween does not have to be expensive or elaborate.  Trading out old clothes provided authentic scarecrows, hobos, old ladies and clowns.  Shabby-Simple was the style of the day.

Neighbors were family.  Social times together were common among those nearby. Sharing meals, kids, pots of coffee, and baseball were neighborly things to do. “Love thy Neighbor” rang true.

Thanks for reading!

Living in various areas of the Mitten has provided me an assortment of living styles and cultural enhancements. Farm life with seven siblings was an early life blessing. Crazy busy, crazy fun. A teaching career of nearly 40 years introduced and raised my family in a large union town of blue collar. Eye opening, yet most rewarding, with additional manic challenges. Retirement gave me yet another taste of culture, its people, and environs. The Upper Peninsula, aka, Yooper Land became my life and living for six short (or long, depending upon one’s assessment) years. Yet more inane adventures and good humor. Seldom dull, a life plate of change, challenge, and choice has been served. 

Yes, six short years as a foster-Yooper was nothing short of gaga undertakings. Agreeing to this retirement option of residence came rather easily. Both daughters had graduated from college, married, and moved to opposite ends of the states. Land was reasonable, peaceful living was at hand, thus, one with nature called our names. 

I dove into yard love, designing and maintaining three perennial gardens. Long walks, journaling, canning and bread-making became second nature. Quilting, knitting, and crocheting turned into love creations. The “Ahhhh” moments certainly outweighed the “Oh boy, what was I thinking.”  

Taking odd jobs became countless experiences of wonder and joy.  Cleaning summer cottages, working part time at a gift shop, and that of a bartender provided ample adventures and a little pocket change. Although short in time, my bartending was by far, the most unbalanced and unexpected love. 

Located just off highway, U.S. 2, the “First Chance/Last Chance” Bar became my summer of 2012 employment.  Depending on which direction one was traveling, this beverage spot gave thirsty travelers the urge to pause for their cause. Heading east the sign read, “ Last Chance for the next 11 miles. Best food and dancing.”  In contrast, traveling westward advertised, “First Chance for the next 31 miles. Live music and dancing.” 

The tavern itself functioned on a shoestring. FC/LC had been freshly painted with a free five-gallon bucket of something sky blue. Trimming out the door and windows with assorted whites and off reds completed the tavern’s new, somewhat, patriotic look. Used, inverted truck tire planters adorned the front of the building. Colorful petunias completed the fresh look.  In addition, new carpeting had been donated and laid by a few of the local flies. Disregard the fluorescent, geometric design of this unmatched shag; the decorum improved with a scent of new and look of happy.  

Seating for about 30 patrons, FC/LC was open six days a week and needed one, yes, one Bartender/waitress/bouncer/cook/bottle-washer. What did I have to lose by offering to employ for a few days a week? Hours from 5:00 p.m. until close around ten, a  little pocket change in exchange for services rendered had me in the door. I would keep busy, entertained, and educated further in Yooper living and loving.

No menu existed, as an over-used, yellowed, message board approved the dishes for the day. As profits often appeared minimal, one never knew what meal options were available.  State health codes were vague, thus, the responsibility of preparing burgers, coneys, and fries were assumed, not taught. Easy enough. 

Liquid varieties of cheap beer and boxed wine were local favorites. Pabst, Milwaukee’s Best, Busch, and Budweiser were top sellers. Drafts at a dollar, cans and bottles at $1.50, and wine at two bucks made tabs easy to maintain. Hard liquor was available, however, it was best kept dusty and unopened on the back wall. 

Adding local flavor, a dozen or so usual flies composed the daily happy hour.  Milwaukee’s Best was often the liquid of choice. The blue can was cheap, reliable, and available. Of the couples that often appeared, at least one in the partnerships was an alcoholic. A gentle, well-oiled, seasoned alcoholic that often traveled side roads using cruise control.  

Tenacious, hard-living ways showed the true spirit of Yooper survival. Day in and day out, what appeared to be their ordinary, was in actuality, their extraordinary. They never ceased to awaken my imagination and awe. 

Small conversations regarding turtle trapping, bear baiting, and dysfunctional offspring were common topics. Recipes of pickled eggs, sucker patties, and venison jerky were sampled and shared. What I thought mundane and ordinary, they embellished into the magnificent and extraordinary. This was no time for correction or clarification. Enjoy the half truths while serving up the barley pops, weak vin, and chuckles. 

Throughout the summer, times and conversations of the like continued at the First Chance/Last Chance. Simple living, extraordinary from the ordinary, sudsed by cheap beer and boxed wine. A little pocket change in exchange for conversation and writing fodder. I wouldn’t change this chapter of experiences for anything. There’s nothing like a true Yooper!

Lessons Learned

Ordinary can be anyone’s extraordinary. Yooper life proved this over and over for me. Simple for one can be complex for another. Drama and priorities comes in all shapes and sizes.

Bears love bacon grease and sweets. A license to hunt bears is not easy to obtain, however if one is awarded, baiting becomes a priority.  One can purchase 50 gallon drums containing the likes of outdated granola and circus peanuts Yes, those soft, yummy orange candies are a bear’s sweet dream. Laced with bacon grease and they’ve got YUM! 

Suckers can be speared or netted with a laundry basket. Whether legal or not, survival of the fittest and most efficient is the signature of a true yooper fisherman! 

Thanks for reading! 

As stated earlier, ever busy, ever available, my life of fullness and energy seldom wane.  It often seems so easy to take on “just one more” thing, whether it be a job, volunteer effort, or simply helping neighbors run errands. I have succeeded in this juggling act for years. People, places, promises, and passion have won out over deep breathing and declining graciously. As a result, the spread on my table has become so full and overflowing that I often forget to enjoy the finer foods of loafing and bon bons. 

Reflecting this last week has driven me to pause and question, “Why do I do this to myself? I know better. What am I trying to accomplish?”  Overstuffing myself with busy will only bring misery and nourish minimal comfort. I know that! Yet, I continue to do. And do. And do. With deep and deliberate thought, I have made a few conclusions to soothe my validation for this normal crazy. 

First and foremost,  I have spent the last three years redesigning and reinventing a better me. A forty-plus year marriage had dissolved and I was alone, empty, and unfocused. Ridding self-doubts and worth would not be easy. Much to think, plan, fill time, and face independence. Stuck and miserable or proceed forward became my dilemma.

My years of positive influence on students echoed in my brain. Time to heed my own mantra of advice to others. Forward was the only alternative. Throw caution to the wind and forget there’s a speed limit!

Moving to a new city with few material possessions gave me initial strength. Unfamiliar space, people, and logistics could hold me back, or be my reinvention. Choosing the latter, I would have no regrets. 

I joined a church and felt immediate comfort. Volunteering there, along with three other venues, filled my time and focus. I met new people, learned to maneuver the city, and began the process of healing my heart and giving myself purpose. My life’s table was slowly, yet abundantly, getting served. Nourishing my soul fed the snowball of frenzy and overdoing. Guilty as charged.

Secondly, I am not alone in this business of having to be busy.  More people than not are givers, not takers. Giving of themselves and to others are common traits to those who want a life that is full and rich. To serve and give results in getting back so much more. We spin, spin, spin that wheel of life for a fortune of self-worth, appreciation, and gratitude. I love this spirit of giving and doing. Once again, guilty as charged.

As a result, time has come to refocus. Friends and family cannot do this for me. I must find and make use of that caution light. Follow my own advice and stay within a safe speed limit. It’s long overdue to give myself permission to SLOW DOWN. I do not have to be everything to everyone. Momma always said, “It’s difficult to say ‘No’ for the first time. After that, it gets easier and easier.”  She knew all along. 

It is my firm belief we all fall prey to these busy behaviors from time to time. Easy to carry forth, but much more difficult to slow down, take caution, and choose another direction. Yes, choose another direction and set new priorities. To kindly say, “No”. To find a calm. 

Yes, my readership, the week to gather my thoughts in a collective sense has given me respite to reset my table. Once again, the pleasure of dining on chill out with a good helping of ho-hum, is becoming ever so joyful.  A sense of normalcy has again greeted my daily tasks. 

Thank you, to my family and several dear, dear, friends who have encouraged me to “Relax and just breathe.”  I welcome this new diet of sanity and semblance. I am making cozy in my life. My servings of frenzy and crazy normal will be dished up at a future potluck. Oh, and by the way, I will decline the invitation! 

Lessons Learned

A caution light and speed limit are valuable assets.  These personal attributes are easily denied by the busy. Making them a part of life can only add inner peace and calm.

We must give ourselves permission to decline. Setting new priorities to focus on quiet and self by saying “no” is not a weakness. It becomes our strength. 

And as always, thanks for reading! 

All in life appears in place as normalcy greets our daily tasks. Ho-hum becomes our mantra. As mundane we may find this living, it does provide for sanity and calm. 

Every once in a while, however, a few blips interrupt the flow. That moment has arrived for me.

Call it a fumble, or possibly a curve ball.  I have been “Verlandered” so to speak. Whatever the fault, put me in the penalty box. I need a Time Out called!

Yes, as is normalcy for me, I have put too many items on my plate of life. Juggling activities, promises, and people. A buffet of mixed actions with little order. UGHHH!

My Lucy mind has arrived once again.

Admitting this weakness I own is not easy. Ever busy, ever available, I love my life of fullness and energy. Calm, however, has come knocking on my door. Time to take a break. Time to reflect and reassess my energy.

As a result of my crazy zest for spirit and aliveness, I ask that you, my reading audience, understand and accept my need to breathe this week. Rest, refocus, and reflect. 

I’ll be back next week and the table will once again be set for your reading pleasure. Thank you all for the experiences I have shared on a weekly basis.  

During my many tales of a lively childhood, it seemed there was a constant battle vying for “favorite” status. Momma and Daddy’s affections were always on the auction block in our minds and actions. Petty challenges on a daily basis battled for their affections. I, for one, had my ideas of who was the most favored of eight siblings. 

Claudia was the oldest and champion “Miss Knows it All”.  In my eyes, she often got the “first” of everything. Trike, bike, and new clothes. First child status will do that to you. 

Then again, twins, Ang and Zen showed the hardest work ethic of all. I couldn’t disregard that fact they were always off and running to get chores done. Daddy’s favorites for sure.

Wait a minute, Frankie was in competition as the oldest boy. Certainly a pet as he often accompanied Daddy on trips to town or on the tractor while cropping fields. Yup, he was chosen for sure.

But then there’s sweet Suzi Q. She was the cutest half-pint with her saucer-shaped brown eyes, curly locks and demure smile. Never out of line and a sure bet. A favored front-runner, on charm alone. 

For certain, I cannot forget little Mikey.  Often sickly and requiring lots of lovin and reassurance, he had secured Momma’s vote without campaigning!  Affectionate, complying, and too young to get into trouble, Mikey had the favored crown. 

Lastly, baby Sylvia had everyone’s eye. She was a darling of dimples and delight not only from Momma and Pops, but from her seven siblings. A constant in someone’s arms, Sylvie never lacked for kisses, hugs, or pampering. A living doll no one could resist. 

As you can see, my idea of favored sibling was complicated. It appeared everyone had the ability to earn angelic status with little effort. Where did I fall into this competition? 

I seldom saw myself as the best child. Rather puny and nerdy-bookish, it seemed I did not possess anything of unique quality or quantity.  Not believing I stood out in any favored way, my quiet calm kept me under the radar of sibling comparison. Seldom one to start an argument or bully, I saw myself as the peacemaker among the chicklets. That role bode me well. 

In actuality, there could not be a most-liked child.  Momma and Daddy would not play the favorites game. Eight munchkins within a few years of each other resulted in more similarities than differences. It was evident they had a plan of love and favor in a collective sense, possibly without realizing. 

One of the most memorable proofs of Daddy’s balanced love and attention was his simple act of being present. As the sole breadwinner of our family, his time was most consumed with tending crops, animals, and repairs to machinery. In addition, he often held part time jobs outside of farming.  A jack of all trades, he seldom had free time for leisure or family. 

As small spurts of Daddy’s attention sprinkled our lives sparingly, his heart was always generous and full. Whenever he had to run errands into town, the grain elevator, or a livestock auction, two or three of us got to ride along. It was a race to Daddy’s truck in securing a favorite spot; either by his side or the passenger window. Giddy, innocent, and simple excitement. His momentary favorites. 

Happily, we’d join him as he proudly introduced us to owners, clerks and auctioneers. A few pennies or a single nickel would be our treat as we enjoyed the likes of Payday bars, Slo-Pokes, Beeman’s gum, Jaw breakers, or chilled sodas. During the ride home, we had to promise not to mention these treats. It took years to realize Daddy repeated this same love fest with all of his kiddles. No favorites. All loved and treated fairly. 

Momma had her heart and attention stretched just as thin.  Although she ran the coop in an orderly fashion, her brood of chicks recognized her unfailing love through her many selfless actions. Fact is, I’m not certain she ever slept! 

She was the Queen of Creation! Late into the night, while her babes slept she would enjoy the solitude by sewing…anything without a pattern. Measure here, cut there. Stitch with confidence, the fit was perfect. 

One particular night of her artful creating resulted in five jumpers of assorted solid colors and five accompanying blouses. Each sister had her very own outfit while Momma had stitched me a trendy wrap around skirt! 

Another such action was her celebration of our birthdays. Meals were healthy, hearty, and balanced. Dessert was an added staple. Whatever our choosing,  Momma never failed to produce cakes, pies, and the like, from scratch. The favorites? German Chocolate Cake, Lemon Meringue, Blackberry, or Cherry pie, Strawberry shortcake, and endless flavors of hand churned ice cream. Our birthday.  Our choice. 

Much as we fussed and quibbled, no one sibling was favored by Mom or Pops.  Evenly, we were iced with love and flavor, not favor. Today we jokingly continue to lightly banter of past “favored” who’s who. The sibling  bond we continue to share is living proof that we ALL were best-loved! Thanks Momma and Daddy for finding a place in your hearts for each chicklet. We are truly grateful. 

Lessons Learned:

We all strive to be a “favorite” something.  As a child, everyone wants to be a parent’s favored. How about “teacher’s pet”?  In actuality, acceptance, validation, and self-worth are the keys to true value.

Love, is love, is love. My family may have been financially poor, however, we were rich and equally favored in love, trust, and respect. 

Thanks for reading! 

Wednesday, September 11, 2019 would not be a quiet, subdued, repose of a day. The alarm softly woke me from a sound sleep. There was no mistake in its early reminder that 2:45 a.m. had come. No time to roll over, push the snooze, and get in another nine minutes of shut eye. I rose from bed, gave thanks to my God for the upcoming day to remember and honor others.  

Patriots Day. A national day of remembrance, service, and prayer in tribute to over 3,000 individuals lost or injured in the 2001 terrorist attack on America. Memories of 18 short years ago would be relived again on this day. A day to serve. A day to act. A day to selflessly volunteer.

By 3:30 a.m. I had arrived at Versiti. Formerly known as Michigan Blood, this non-profit organization gathers blood from generous donors to meet the life-saving needs of patients. With a dozen or so staff and volunteers, we boarded a large van for a donation day like no other. Silence replaced enthusiasm as we moved along the desolate, dark highway for our two-hour journey. 

Michigan International Speedway in Brooklyn Michigan was our destination. Primarily for NASCAR events, the raceway on this day would serve as a base camp of Versiti’s largest blood drive of the year. The Seventh Annual “Spirit of America” Blood Drive was the place to be.

Arriving by 6:00 a.m., the speedway was abuzz with activity. The brightly lit track and enormous event tent greeted us. A large contention of Versiti vans lined the parking lot.  Dozens of staff had arrived much earlier to set up registration centers, stations for blood draws, and a sufficient after-care area. Blood donations would promptly commence at 7:00 a.m. The “Spirit of America” was receiving its final touches. 

BOOM! 6:15 a.m. and all electronics and lights ceased!  Electricity was restored within minutes followed by recurrent failures. Donors began to show up for scheduled appointments. Lights returned, however, computers would not reboot. A day of service would be shortened and disappointing to hundreds of staff, volunteers, and donors. 

Knowing first hand how to handle emergency situations, Versiti immediately took action. A platoon of authority and responsibility replaced quiet chaos. No disappointment. No cutting back. Paper copies for donor registration had previously been prepared. With patient teamwork, donors were not interrupted by this possible disaster. Off to a slow but continuous start, the blood drive moved forward in business-like style. 

Throughout the day, I witnessed a number of heavy, heartfelt, actions. At significant times, someone would interrupt the blood drive by reporting the tragedies of that fateful day in 2001. Hundreds of voices lulled as they were reminded of plane crashes into the North and South towers of the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and an open field in Shanksville, Pennsylvania. A minute of silence for each of these significant attacks. Soft sobs, hand holding, and prayers whispered. A true sense of patriotic duty. My heart was heavy as it filled with sorrowful respect.

Another earnest moment was the presence of a tremendously large banner carrying the names of those lives lost in this senseless act. As donors registered, they were given a red star, photo, name, and personal information regarding one of the victims. 

A former student from the high school where I taught was among them.  Young, vital, Eric Bennett had just landed a vice president’s position with Alliance Consulting Group at the World Trade Center.  He was a most energetic, spirited, and well-liked student. A good life needlessly shortened. As a donor completed his giving unit, the bright red star was placed beside Eric’s name. A day served. A man remembered.

All in all, the “Spirit of America” Blood Drive was a huge success. In total, 627 individuals registered with 574 successful donors. Over 630 units were processed with 1896 potential lives being saved! These numbers were the highest ever achieved in the seven years of its being. 

Most impressive, however, were the 227 first time donors. A majority of these initials were teens from area vocational/technical centers. These dedicated givers were in training for such careers as fire and emergency responders, nursing, and the like. Youth serving and giving. Another smile on my heavy heart.

Promptly at 3:00 p.m., our day was done. A second shift of workers had arrived, fresh and ready for duty and service. As we exited the speedway, the lazy summer sun sat in the cloudless sky. In a large field of grassy green stood a huge American flag at half mast. Surrounding the flag were rows and rows of perfectly placed flags.  Flying ever so gently, nearly 3,000 would stoically represent the lives surrendered on that fateful day, September 11, 2001. 

A somber day indeed, however, filled with great joy and pride. Pride in being witness to living Americans doing for others. To give the Gift of Life – their blood. 

Lessons Learned

Need is vital. Blood, organs, tissue and bone marrow are just a few challenges for Michigan hospitals and their many patients in need. One donation can save up to three other lives.

The spirit of America is strong.  This giving opportunity resulted in the biggest collection of blood to date.  An epic event that left me proud and honored to serve. 

What you give, you get back. Donating one unit of “liquid life” is effortless. What you receive in return is gratitude. Gratitude that YOU made a difference in another’s life.

Thanks for reading.

Along life’s path we all make friends, acquaintances, and the like. Experiences and adventures entertain, educate, and yes, provide wonder in our lives. One such adventure involved dear comrade and supporter, Vickie Jo.  We have been teacher friends for years, having each married educators, bore two children, and became recently divorced. Sharing these commonalities have provided joyous moments and solace as we often meet up for honest chats, good eats, and adventurous road trips.

Mid-summer of 2017, I found myself newly single and uncertain of a permanent living space. As a result, I took to a summer opportunity to live in Philadelphia for six weeks. My oldest daughter and family welcomed me to their home and a third story hideout was all mine. In addition, she had secured me a 10 day stay at their neighbor’s home to parent two wild and crazy cats. Extended time for reading, relaxing, and planning my single future. Felines and I would become one, peaceful, love nest. 

After 3 days of stifling heat and humidity, I was determined to discover a little fun. One can only read, relax, and ponder in air conditioned comfort so long. Within a few moments, my phone rang. From afar, friend and ally, Miss Vickie Jo was in need of company and purpose. Summer was calling more than a good book and beach time. 

“Oh Vick, come on out to Philly! What else have you got to do? There’s plenty of room and we can invent a little fun!”  No responsibilities other than the felines, I easily persuaded her to make the trip east. 

“I’m on my way!”, Vickie Jo rattled. “I’ve got five days of nothin’ goin’ on, girl! Ever been to Cape May? It’s not far from Philly and it would be a great one-day road trip!” My adventure genes were beginning to fester. Ready and willing, I began to plan.

Within 24 hours, Vick landed in the City of Brotherly Love. At dinner that evening, it was settled. Tomorrow  we would take to the road for a day’s visit of beautiful Cape May, New Jersey. A most historical place on the shores of the Atlantic Ocean. Less than two hours away, we would leave mid-morning and have a day of ocean breezes, sightseeing, and fresh seafood. 

Ninety-three miles said Mapquest. One hour, 57 minutes. A few bridges, a small toll, sunshine. The perfect combo for a day trip to this seaside resort. Vickie Jo and I eagerly hopped in the air conditioned car, snacks and beach wear in tow.  Scheduled to arrive a little after lunch, we’d have an afternoon of picturesque pleasure.

About an hour into travel, we decided it was time for the usual female “water” break. With map in lap, I took a scan at our location. Not by careful, deliberate planning did we ready ourselves. As VJ returned to the car with diet sodas, I gazed at her with disbelief. 

“Vick, do you realize we’ve been on the road for an hour and have gone only 17 miles! How’d that happen? I think Lucy and Ethel have shown up for this road show!”

Vickie Jo began to heave with laughter. “Whaaaat? I don’t believe what you’re sayin’!  Lemme look at that map!”

Between laughs it was decided that we had no idea how we could have traveled just a few miles to nowhere! Mapquest, paper maps, past memories. None of that mattered. Lucy Ricardo and Ethel Mertz had rewritten another episode of crazy chaos. With that, we returned to the road, gassed up the car and asked for directions. 

By mid-afternoon we had arrived at scenic, quaint, Cape May. Exhausted and hungry, it was decided a courtesy bus trip through town was just what we needed to gather our thoughts and plans for the remaining afternoon. The air was refreshingly salty as we boarded the bus.

Known for its charm and wealth, we eyed dozens of stately, perfectly refurbished, multi-colored, Victorian homes. Yards and flowers added to the palette of the calendar-like scenery. Delaware Bay was breathtaking with its stoic lighthouse. With oohs and aahs, Vickie Jo added, “This is why people come here. A small town on the ocean that has kept history alive. Pristine, wouldn’t you say?”  I was awed. 

As the bus rolled along and made quick stops, our nerves and giggles had subsided. The views were postcard friendly and welcoming. The driver asked where we were headed. Hmmm, rather unusual I thought. “Ahh, we’re just riding to see the sights. No place special,” I added. 

Not paying much attention, the driver simply chuckled, “You ladies are riding the hotel shuttle bus. Nothin’ fancy. But if you think this is a tour, that’s ok with me.” 

All in all, our day trip to beautiful Cape May was eventful. We took the “tour” bus around the town three times! Each loop provided a different view of this lovely oceanside resort as the driver continued to be humored. Harry’s Ocean Bar and Grille treated us to wonderful seafood and spirits. The trip was a Lucy and Ethel success. 

As usual we made this trip one of unforgettable.  Vickie Jo and I continue our life’s experiences with carefree thoughts and endless humor. Good times, great friends, unexpected fun. Life at its finest!

Lessons Learned

Maps are always accurate. It’s the eyes of the interpreter that are in question. 

Make the most of your life.  Over and over I maintain a life filled with friends, fun, and adventure. It’s too short for any other alternatives! 

With another school year underway, I once again reminisce and ponder how I ever sustained a teaching career for over 35 years. Working with teenagers with varying degrees of intellectual, emotional, and physical abilities, my days were often long and stressful.  A vast array of whatnots. So many memories. A most mismatched set of ingredients for a recipe of success. 

It was the fall of 1974. Federal legislation had recently been enacted that all individuals with disabilities would be given a free and appropriate education. I took to this challenge of teaching with naive gusto and endless energy. No room for misery or personal regret. Time to mix, stir, and prepare my meal for a healthy, hearty career. 

Ingredients: My first batch of kiddos included 19 adolescents of assorted and varied academic ability and readiness. Mentally Imparied, Emotionally, Learning and Hearing disabled teens made for a most festive smorgasbord of ingredients. Tenth graders awkwardly blended in with upperclassmen.  

Assorted academic and emotional needs would challenge us to mix and work  together for the betterment of each. With 19 sets of anxious, empty, and glazed eyes, this greenhorn was about to spread learning and love like icing on a favorite cake! Thus, the directions of my college education were ready for the challenge. 

The mixing bowl:  One of the most comical moments, not at the time, however, occurred during this first year. I was placed in a large classroom with 12, well-worn, individual desks, 3 cafeteria-type tables, an empty 4-drawer file cabinet, teacher’s desk, and a smorgasbord of metal, wooden, and upholstered chairs. Shiney, waxed linoleum and freshly painted cinder block walls offered a quiet welcome.  

Hoping the closet was organized and filled with academic supplies, I was taken aback by its contents. A hand hewn game board of Aggravation with six marbles taped to the back and 300 plus egg cartons awaited me. Clearly, the ingredients in this closet were not adequate or appropriate for learning. 

Luckily, I had experienced teacher friends and a most creative sixth grade teacher spouse. They readily  provided me with assorted “busy” activities and worksheets. In addition, I had collected a few teen magazines, word search books, puzzles, decks of cards, old textbooks, and a plethora of colored pencils and markers. Not a great start, however, I was too young and inexperienced to question. No time for panic, blame or crying.

Fold in:  All 19 able-bodied souls were accounted for and entered my domain with cautious hesitation. Five gals, 14 fellas.  Not one, yes I stated, NOT ONE, had a schedule of courses beyond my classroom! Nineteen certified, needy beings hesitantly waiting to spend six hours a day in my class with no break for them or me!  Ahh, I think not…

Without pause or intimidation, I immediately took action to secure contacts with four dedicated counselor comrades. Together, in the course of 10 days, we mixed and stirred combinations of classes. As a result, each student fed on a secure, workable and achievable schedule. 

Those with marginal academic abilities would be educated in my confines. I located simple, introductory ice breaker activities and gleaned elementary workbooks to develop math, reading and simple science lessons. With minimal state guidelines for curriculum, learning would be practical and based on daily living activities. Busy hands, busy minds. Little time for idleness. A simple recipe for achievement. 

Flavor and seasoning:  One of the most flavored students of my first year was authentic, reliable Archie. Standing nearly six foot and 250-plus pounds, Mr. A. sported a blond, too long and too curly afro to accompany his pop-bottle thick, black framed glasses. Scuffed, steel toe boots complimented his standard bib overalls and dingy shirts. Most often clumsy, sweaty, and acutely honest, Archie grabbed my heart in a hurry.

In awe of his personal life, I inquired, “So Archie, is it true you come from a family of 18 children? Jeepers, your Mom and Dad must have been busy keeping track of everyone! Where do you fall in line?”

Giving it a little thought, Arch pushed up his sliding specs and instantly replied, “Well, I’m number 17 in the line up. I really think of my older sisters and brothers as aunts and uncles cuz I really don’t know them. Yup, we sure do have lots of kids.”

Rising from his desk, Archie approached mine and confidently winked, “ I think my mom just laid there (with one palm open) and my dad did this, ‘Clap, clap, clap’ just like that.” 

While explaining, Archie slapped his hands together. One, two, three! My eyes popped! With his matter of fact honesty, Archie had flavored my daily recipe for survival! 

Serving the dish: Yes, my days were full. In short, we often bonded as friends and siblings. Inroom spats were quickly resolved as friendships grew. Learning took place. Passing grades led to course credit. Diplomas resulted in the finished dish served at their table of success. 

All in all, naive thoughts and actions continued to season my yearly concoctions of educational casseroles. Thirty-five to be exact. These hodge podge mixtures became the main dishes to our table of cooperative learning. I too, learned and relearned so much. Together, we became a most yummy collection of healthy. A true recipe for success with flavors of mayhem and crazy. 

Lessons Learned

Recipes are not always followed. Each year I taught, lessons were tweaked, relearned and combined to meet individual needs. With a dash or two of mayhem, flavor was seldom missing. No matter the combination, one full serving was almost always produced: An achieving and productive graduate!

Do what you love and love what you do.  This statement has served me well for a lifetime. My plate has been ever full. My table complete. Yummy love!

Thanks for reading! 

Love is love, is love, is love, is love.  I cannot describe my life any more succinctly, but with this simple truth. Family, friends, old and new acquaintances, and an almighty spiritual mentor keep my vessels of love ever-filled. Today’s piece is dedicated solely to three of the most important, energy-filled, groovy cool babes in my life of love: Sage, Lior, and Isabella. These three grand kidlets are my heart over and over. 

This past week I took an opportunity to travel east to the City of Brotherly Love. For one week, my heart would beat a little faster and boom a little louder. Giggles would be at maximum capacity while sleep existed at a bare minimum. Board and video games, cards, playing house, burping, gassing, and lots of laundry consumed much of my time.  Saturated with love and hugs, Sage, Lio, and sweet Bella made certain of that.

My love fest consisted of countless memories of laughable moments weaved together with literal philosophies. Get comfortable my loyal readers. Grab a Pop-Tart, cold taco, or anything oddly edible from the fridge or pantry. Enjoy a few of these moments of affection flavored heart snacks. 

Sage, at the mature age of 13, is my oldest of three grands. He came into this world a wee cherub six weeks early. Tiny, fragile, and a fighter, he continued to make his mark. Today as a most tender, kind-hearted teen, he often keeps his thoughts and actions in confidence. Smart and mature beyond his years,  I admire his strengths. 

On a previous visit, Sage and I had an opportunity to visit a game cafe and play a few board games while enjoying light competition, camaraderie, and snacks. 

“You know, Gramma,  I think you’d be good at Magic the Gathering. Lio and I play it all the time with our friends. Maybe you should get some cards and learn the game. We wouldn’t be embarrassed if you joined us for an afternoon. You seem pretty smart. I think you would like it.” 

Pretty smart? Wow, that’s all the ego stroke I needed! Escorting Sage to my car, I opened the trunk. His dazed blue eyes popped as hundreds, if not, thousands of used Magic cards sat waiting his eager hands. 

“Gramma, you are the best! I can’t wait to look these over! Did you learn to play?”

Hugs and kisses ensued. “No, I haven’t learned to play, but you could certainly teach me, right? I think I could learn this enough not to embarass you.” 

“Well, we’ll see. We have a lot of time to spend together and that’s what I love most.”  Sage continued not to disappoint as he tugged my heartstrings. 

As pride and dignity have it, I did not embarrass Master Sage. Time flew as we mastered Jeopardy, the card game, “Spit”,  and a great dinner out with quality conversation. He is a quiet lover of all things living. Thank you for saving that large grasshopper from the rooftop deck. I realize, yes, he could have died an early death if he had jumped three stories to the ground below…God bless you my man of kindness and love. 

Second in lineage to this trio is my gene pool look alike, Lior. At the ripe age of 10, this young lad with his saucer-like brown eyes, is likely most conscious of right and wrong. A favorite among teachers, Lio seldom misses an opportunity to point out inappropriate behaviors in and out of the classroom. Often a teacher’s pet, he, too, captures my heart incessantly. I liken him to a young Alex Trebek with a sense of humor. 

This week’s visit consisted of charming L. taking me to task with his most favorite card game, “Spit.” Similar to “War” and “Slap-Jack,” my competitive spirit was challenged. Mr. Rule Enforcer made certain victory was not mine. I so love rules and how they often become altered in the presence of young minds. Win or lose, Lio, my love, makes certain there’s a hug and offer to play again. 

As the endless entrepreneur , Lior does not miss an opportunity to make quick cash. At present, he mows three yards, walks dogs, earns his allowance without hesitation and more. 

“I know you’re gonna like this massage Gramma. So much that you’ll probably pay me at least $5.00? I am saving my money you know.” Thanks, MoneyMaker,  my feet and neck have never felt better for a mere five spot! 

My philosophical pundit had this to say before departing. “Gramma, life is like this: Life sucks, but everything is better with a curly, rainbow wig.” I love his wit, his compassion for life and his never-ending need to make others happy. Keep sporting that rainbow wig as you spread happiness and smiles. God bless you, my young man of power and influence! 

Lastly, is my energy powerhouse, Miss B.  Adopted at 16 days, Isabella Amaiyah Joy-Rose easily captures the hearts of all who she meets. Simply put, SHE LOVES LIFE! Together, we shoot hoops in her bedroom, sing Beyonce’ tunes, play house, practice cartwheels anywhere, and cuddle as she reads to me. 

At the young age of six, Bella continues to assure me she aspires to be Michael Jordan when she grows up. “Yeah, Gramma, I want to play basketball when I get older, but if I get hurt, I will be a nurse so I can work with Mom everyday.”  She gives me endless affection sprinkled with bits of chaos.

Last evening at a light dinner with about 15 friends, 3 dogs, and one non-committal cat, Miss B. was at the top of her game. Flitting about the dining area, she informed everyone that she had recently perfected a cartwheel. Without goading or hesitation, she took to the open floor. This spirited soul did not use any caution light as she readily went into her stunt. One, two, three! 

OOPS! She slipped to the serving table. Right foot into the Spinach salad as she ended with her Olympic feat accomplished.  Arms in the air, hands open, Miss B. produced her infectious smile. Laughter. Applause. Little disruption with minimal eye-rolling.  God bless Bella, my Wonder girl!

One last philosophical tidbit from Miss B. before I left Philadelphia. “Gramma, you have to remember this, ‘You get what you get and you don’t get upset. I learned that at school with cupcakes. You might get chocolate, you might not, but don’t get upset.”’ What a lesson we all need to take to task. Simple. Truth. Enough.  God bless my Bella Boo. 

All in all, this week-long lovefest was far too short. I am ever grateful for these precious lives to be so active in my life. I come. I bring love. I get so much more. As they all agreed, “Gramma, love with your whole heart.”  They get it. I get it. Sage, Lio, and Belle, you have my heart forever. 

Lessons Learned:

Kids say the darndest things. Way back when, Art Linkletter, host of “House Party” knew he had a good thing going. We all want humor in our lives. Kids produce that more for us with their literal thoughts and actions. Happy brings happy. Love that my grands give that to me.

Love is love is love. So easily said. So easily taken. Love cannot be killed or swept aside. Take it in and give it out fully, freely, and honestly. It does a mind and soul good! 

Thanks for reading!