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! 

On a daily basis, days of past that seemed so challenging yet inevitable flow into my thoughts and ideas for writing. I often get asked, “How can you remember so much? Did this really happen?  I wish I had your memory.” Well, my kind and engaged readers, I firmly believe this memory and writing is a gift of living for me. Because of these experiences, my life is rich, doable, and yes, comical. Enjoy yet another titter of challenge and traversing my crazy path called forward.

It was late spring of 1972. Love was in the air as this college sophomore had fallen deeply in like with a most handsome chap readying for a degree in education. Soon to graduate and secure a teaching position, Brian began the application and interview frenzy. Being a most supportive friend, I too, shared in his excitement. 

Initial interviews held on campus seemed promising. Greenville, Fruitport, Midland, and Davison just to name a few. Being a male with stellar experiences, Brian appeared a solid prospect for an upper elementary position. It wasn’t long before he secured a second interview with Davison Schools. Openings in fifth and sixth grade were available. Pressed suit and tie, resume in hand, and a Michigan map further prepared Brian for his most promising opportunity. 

Between the two of us, I had the only running vehicle, a 1962 cherry red, Chevrolet Corvair. Complete with bucket seats and a “four on the floor” (stick shift) we took to the road with giddy anxiousness. A tank full of gas and $20, secured our unknown fears. Regardless of its many imperfections, this treasured auto became our ride into a promising future. 

Ahhhhh, the spring air was fresh with new life and color as we headed to a most unfamiliar city. Easily navigating the highways and small towns, we approached Davison with anxious confidence. We rehearsed numerous scenarios for Brian’s interview.  Arriving 30 minutes early, we quickly we hugged for the final sendoff. I would remain in the car with study materials at hand. 

Entering the administration offices was comfortable and easy. Genuine handshakes were exchanged and positive results ensued. Ready or not, Brian’s secured future had begun. Navigating questions regarding curriculum, discipline, and the like, Brian was offered a fifth grade position in one of eight elementary schools. Broad smiles exited the administration office as Brian and the assistant superintendent made way to visit his new found assignment. 

I was immediately introduced as we readied ourselves for Wolcott Elementary. Easy street was in our midst. A brief struggle met up with the key as I turned on the Corvair. Hmmm, must be some water in the gas line as it rolled over and over before making a connected start. A little blue exhaust, a few nervous giggles, and we were ready to follow Mr. Greene to Wolcott.

The school was about five miles from the city. The fresh air beckoned us once again as we traveled Davison’s countryside. Nearing the school, we made a stop at a crossroad. Mr. Greene continued the necessary left turn. The cherry red gem had stalled. A quick restart would keep us within eye distance of Mr. Greene. The Corvair would not budge.

What seemed like forever, but likely less than five minutes, Mr. Greene returned to find us. 

“Ah, a little hiccup here? What seems to be the problem, folks?” Mr. Greene was most gentle.

Brian had little to add as I popped out, “Oh I think we have some bad gas in here. All my car needs is a little push start. Then I can just pop the clutch….. If you could……..” What had I done?  Yammer and giggle, I must have let Lucy out of the bag. So much for Brian’s solid interview and job offer!

To my surprise, Mr. Greene let out a most welcome laugh. “Well, certainly that can be done! I must say, this is the most unusual interview followup I have ever witnessed! Thanks for the chuckle, now let’s get you two kids on your way.” With a push, a pop of the clutch, Lil Red was on her way.

Needless to say, this interview was the stepping stone to Brian’s rewarding career as a teacher of young minds. Upon my graduation two years later, we married and made our home and family a solid part of the Davison community. My treasured Corvair, however, endured a most shortened life. This jewel was a sweet ride, however, replacement parts were non-existent, 13-inch tires a rarity, and general maintenance became a house payment. Sweet dreams my cherry red. May you find happiness in Chevrolet Heaven! 

Lessons Learned:

Life is much easier with a sense of humor. This tale of my cherry red could well have resulted in a personal failure of epic proportions. However, a quick wit proved enough for a most successful outcome. Bless you Brian, Mr. Green, and Davison Schools!

The road to success is not easy to navigate but with hard work, anything is possible. As a married couple, teaching was a long and rewarding profession. Many joyful experiences followed the long nights of lesson planning and desires to meet student needs for personal success. 

Thanks for reading!

I do not recall any lazy days of summer on the farm.  Always busy-ness with a little adventurous fun sprinkled in. Pick any late July to mid-August day from the 1960’s.  Likely a hot and most humid one. Without pause, Momma’s poppin yet another, all inclusive plan for her kiddles. Imagine and join me if you will. 

Just as we wrapped up morning chores and breakfast, Momma kindly ordered us to find any long sleeved, leg-covered clothing that was available. No worry for appropriateness in size, color, or style.  Fashion on this day had no requirements. Yes, our time had arrived. Blackberry picking! We envisioned berries bigger than our thumbs, homemade ice cream, pies, and jam! Momma likely imagined free labor, desserts, and fruit for winter.

We all knew the drill. No warning, no choices. Get dressed and ready to go.  “Claudia, get the small water pails from the barn. Francie, your job is to get an armful of baling twines from the grainery. And Frankie, you take the twins, these four empty coffee cans, and make ‘em into pails for the young ones.” As usual, Coach Momma in unquestionable control of her team. 

Donned with flannel shirts and jeans of any sort we secured our ankles with baling twine. “Best way to keep out the bees and skeeters”, Momma cautioned. 

With a bucket tied to our waists, we quickly took our places on the tailgate of the ‘54 Chevy truck. A turn of the key as Momma had us headed for the woods. Her dutiful brood making the best of teamwork, and that was that!

Likely it was no later than 9:00 a.m. on this sultry day.  Slowly we creeped the two-track path to a sea of black shine. Berries blinked and glistened from the morning dew. Likely the size of our thumbs, our wide eyes envisioned buckets and buckets of sweet delights. 

Parking the truck, Momma mosied out and directed her troop to all directions. “Pick as fast as you can and don’t pick any that are red or green, they are not ripe. If they fall off easily, they’re the best ones.  And don’t be eating any. If you eat one, you won’t stop and your bucket will never get full. Let’s see who can pick the most.” 

In the silence of this bright, warming day one could hear several plunk, plunk, plunks, as luscious berries made their way into our buckets. We would pick, pick, pick until our containers were filled or if 12 noon had arrived. Momma was in control of the watch as her eyes kept tidy track of her wandering chicks. 

“MOMMA!!! COME HELP ME! M-O-M-AAAAA!” Sister Ang was in agony. Screaming and running, something was amiss. 

As so often the case, when one toiled to task, we all toiled. When one voiced danger, we all responded with wide eyes and affection. Moaning Ang had made her way to the truck’s tailgate. Seven sweaty sibs surrounded her as Momma arrived with her calm, composed self. “So Ang, what’s up? Breathe deep, you’re going to be fine.”

Tears flowed freely as Ang anxiously ripped off her shoes and socks. Breathless, she began to explain. “I stepped on a big bee’s nest that was under that bush over there! I think I have a hundred bites!” 

YOW! She had bites on her ankles, bites on her hands, and a few dotted her sweaty cheeks. A few lone bees continued to buzz about as we all had the sweet, blackberry juices on our hands and faces. 

“Okay kids, let’s get this show on the road. Load up, it’s time to get Ang fixed up and get these berries home. No swatting these bees, we don’t want to make them mad.” Once again, Momma Hen provided adequate comfort and direction to her chicklets.

We consolidated our pickings, took to the tailgate, and Momma took to the wheel. Ang continued to moan and sob with sibs providing what comfort they could. Within minutes we were back home. 

Ang was provided Momma’s go to for first aid:  cool cloths, one aspirin, and the couch. The rest of us were kept outside to shed our clothes in exchange for a cool rinse off with the water hose. Time slowly crept to the lunch hour. 

In exchange for our labors, we spent the afternoon under the large maple tree churning out homemade blackberry ice cream.  Claudia and I helped Momma prepare as many pies as the berries would supply. Two for dinner, one for the neighbor, and the remaining eight were freezer bound. 

Just a quick note about those pies. As per usual, Momma never had a recipe. I so remember several coffee cup measurements of flour, a hand full of sugar, a few pinches of salt and simple lard.  Presto! Pie crust for at least a dozen as she lined the tins on the table.

She then filled a dishpan with those fresh-picked berries. A few handfuls of flour, and sugar stirred in as she carefully placed the mix in each shell.  My job was to top each with a few butter pats while Claudia had the pleasure of decorating each crust top with artful slits and holes. 

Preheat the oven at 400 degrees, top the pies with cream and a sprinkle of sugar. Lastly, Momma had ripped apart a tattered bed sheet. With small strips of cloth, she saturated them in the cream and carefully wrapped each pie’s outer edge. “To keep in the juices,” she taught us. 

Simple rewards that seemed epic at the time. I’d give anything to return to that pleasurable toil, teamwork and love!

Lessons Learned:

Busy hands are happy hands. Momma always seemed to sense this about her family. Yes, there was always work, however, she never forgot to slip in slices of enjoyment and fun. And oh……. home churned blackberry ice cream was the perfect reward for yet another family task accomplished! 

Thanks for reading!

I am the proud owner and operator of a most coveted role: Gramma. My three lovely cherubs inhabit Philadelphia, Pennsylvania while I tend to daily tasks of my Michigan home. Seldom do I refuse any reason to travel east to love on my bunnies. One trip in 2011, however, continues to be a most memorable one. I firmly believe lucky Lucy was with my soul and spirit on this most unusual adventure.

Daughter Ruthie had called to secure a week’s worth of my love and presence with her family. With no hesitation, my bag was packed as I made the plan to drive solo for this 10 to 12 hour trip. Nothing unusual. Leave by 6:00 a.m. and arrive in Philly by dinner. Love fest, here comes Gamma!

The date was late summer, likely after Labor Day. Weather patterns had begun to inch toward fall with increased rains that stretched from the Midwest to the East coast. Lower temperatures had made their presence as leaves were losing their greens in exchange for the new fashion of reds, browns, and rich golds. With a pleasant respite from the last few days of rain, I took off with sunny skies and a chill in the air. 

By 2:00 p.m., I had been making steady progress. If I continued this smooth sail, ETA in Philly would have Gamma on time for dinner.  Traveling at the base of the scenic Pocono Mountains, traffic began to slow on Interstate 80. Just as I peaked at the top of a large incline all traffic stopped. Before me were hundreds of idled vehicles. Travelers, truckers, busses, and an intense presence of the United States National Guard! Who, What, Where, and Whys popped in my head. 

With no time or opportunity to inquire, I was soldier directed to exit the off ramp. Deeply inhaling, I simply followed the car ahead of me. A dead cell phone became useless as I parked in a yellowed bed of grass and expired flowers. 

Inching cautiously out of the car, I greeted my new comrades,  Mr. and Mrs. 40-something Newlywed. “Ah, Hello. It looks like we might be here a while. Any idea what might be going on?” 

Mrs. smiled and quipped, “Um, we’re on our way home to New York City. We’ve been on our honeymoon.” Her face softly reddened as she demurely smiled.

Hubby ended his call and added,  “They say the Susquehanna River is ready to peak later tonight and right now it’s three feet above flood stage. There’s nowhere to go but sit here and wait it out. I’ve got a hotel reservation up the road a few miles.  If you want the last room, follow us.” Without hesitation, I tailed the Big Apple loves to peaceful chaos. 

The 30 minute trip into Perkinstown was uneventful. The Susquehanna River was overflowing as it moved ever so swiftly through this small burg.  Large branches, and oddities made the trek southward as a few hundred locals gathered to witness this newsworthy event. Anxiously, we secured a place of rest at the only hotel in town,  Perkins Inn.

Owned and operated by the same family for over 150 years, I felt a sense of comfort. Bucky and Sylvia greeted us with open arms. Upon securing our rooms, Mr. and Mrs. Love and I made a date for dinner. Charge my phone, call the kiddos with my change of plans, and ready myself for a night of relaxation. 

As the elevator creaked and crawled upward, I could only appreciate my newfound friends. The key slid into place as I opened my safe haven for the night. What a most glorious surprise. The last room for me was the Honeymoon Suite! Sweet was what it so attempted.

Luxurious but well-worn red, black, and silver laced shag carpet welcomed me. Oh my! To my right was an area walled out and fashioned with French doors. Mirrors appeared everywhere as a most conspicuous oversized hot tub was waiting with assorted bubble and bath amenities. Completing the final touch for this nest of love was the universal wall hanging of velvet.  Ah yes, the bloodhounds were bellied up to the bar while enjoying drinks and cigars! Ceiling mirrors completed the nest. Love and ingenuity. What a throwback!

A clash of yellow roses and vines intertwined on the brocade spread of my double bed. Above the headboard was a most inappropriate painting, “Washington Crossing the Delaware”! My, my, how could this room invite intimacy? Alas, not to be outdone, I opened the bed to find satin sheets. 

All in all, this adventure to Perkinstown did not disappoint. I enjoyed laughter and love with my cupid couple. Inn owners Bucky and Sylvia were genuine and most gracious. . With a light dinner, comfortable bed, and a safe haven, peaceful chaos did not happen. I was most thankful. 

Phone charged. Calls made. A restful night with Washington and the bloodhounds. Waters receded as we bid goodbyes to this sleepy, vintage town. A few hours delayed,  Philly and family greeted Gamma. And the lovefest began.  

Lessons Learned

Trust, it will all work out.  Strangers in a strange place. If I didn’t want to sleep in my car for the night, I had to secure my trust and faith in others. I did, and it all worked out. Trust.

Misfortunes are adventures in disguise. Holding on to this mantra has contributed to my well-being time and again. Live, love, laugh…..you cannot go wrong!

Thanks for reading!

Okay, I’m coming clean. This game has gone on far too long. Over and over, I cause others to laugh at and with my many foibles. Over and over, I continue to apologize. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls the truth be known. Lucille Ball lives in me! We are one in the same.

Those of you who know me well can attest as Lucy being alive and well in my body, soul, and spirit. Lighthearted, and yes, often simply silly, my gene pool resembles that of Miss Lucy. For the most part I am of her mind and body minus red hair.  Gene pool or otherwise, Lucy-like behaviors have served me well surviving childhood, the workforce, and that as spouse and momma. I share these truths. 

Childhood:  In my mind, this is likely my birth of young Lucy. First grade. Catholic school. Recess. Picture old wooden desks that attached to one another in a row. Folding seats and inkwells. We had a few on the playground for whatever reason. 

The whistle had been blown by Sister Adolpha and it was time to return to class. All kidlets ran to the door and entered the classroom in silent order.  I was not in that angelic line. Sister A. called for me in the hallway. Nada. She searched the bathroom. Nope. 

In a rather stern mood, she returned to the playground to find me alone and crying. I was seated in one of the desks and could not get out. The seat had folded as skinny, curly haired, bug eyed me was stuck with feet dangling! As she carefully removed me, Sister A. did not think my predicament was the least bit comical.  I was terrified of punishment and pondered penance for my sins. Today, however, I reminisce and conclude, “Hello world, welcome to the Lucy life!” No harm, no foul.

Employee:  Waitress days were aplenty in my teen and college years. While working in a local family restaurant I was challenged to wait a table of nine family members. As luck would have it, everyone was served correctly and efficiently. Then came dessert. This particular establishment had prided itself in homemade everything sweet. All nine had ordered sundaes, pies, and such. 

Order in. Order out. All in a timely fashion. From the kitchen I came to dish out the luscious homemades. Nine assorted sweets topped with whipped cream, cherries, and the like. Off the shoulder and onto the table, I carefully balanced the tray of yumminess.  Pappa of the family offered to assist in serving his loved ones. 

Just as I began to disregard his offer, he took a serving of coconut cream pie. Crash! The unbalanced tray of remaining desserts tumbled in his lap! Lucy aptly appeared as I quipped, “Wow, now that’s surely a way to get upside down pie!”  

Thankfully, everyone laughed at my waitress blunder. A substantial tip resulted with my Lucy validation! God bless these innocent victims and my Lucy genes!

Spouse:  Yes, I had so lovingly married my “Ricky”. For the most part he was patient, kind, and lighthearted regarding my countless errors in judgement and common sense. However, there were those times and circumstances that tried his will.  As a result, impatience, frustration, and rolled eyes ensued. One such incident involved testing our newly purchased paddle boat on a small lake in the middle of nowhere…..the Upper Peninsula! 

 I am most fearful of swimming and therefore, donned a life jacket for protection. Making our maiden voyage across this pristine lake, the two-person pontoon was a perfect fit. As we headed toward the dock, I agreed to “jump” the boat for the dock with tie down in hand. 

One leg made the dock successfully as the paddle boat moved ever so gently…. Away. Rather than make the leap, I chose to embrace my ability to do the splits! You can well imagine my predicament.

It was quick….. A big plunge below the water followed by a bob to the top. With a repeat performance and intense fear of drowning, I grabbed the dock. Soaked, but saved, I was a mess!  Frightfully laughing, Lucy and Ricky had survived another day! 

Momma:  Daughter Ruthie was bringing home a new friend, Dario, for introductions and such. My ever-so-know-it-all mentality had instructed spouse and young sissy, Eva that we must properly pronounce our guest as , “Dario” and not “Daria”…as that was the correct Spanish version.  NO “A” on the name…. Just an “O”.

Enter, the likeables. Smiling and ready to greet one another,  I eagerly stepped forward with open hand. Innocently, Lucy emerged, “ So nice to meet you, Mario!”  Oh my, what did I say!?

Dario reached out to shake my hand and retorted, “Ah, you so funny. You think I am like Mario Brothers game on internet? You very funny.”

I was appalled at my nervousness and stupidity. Eyes rolled from both daughters. A placid smile secured spouse’s feelings. I was sure Ricky would emerge, “Lucy, you got some ‘splainin to do”, but it didn’t happen. Lucy’s genes had come alive once again.

All in all, if I had to be somebody else, I would choose to be none other than MYSELF!  Silly, self-assured, and loving. Doses of Lucy and a love for life! There you have it! Lucy lives in me! 

Lessons Learned:

Lucille Ball lived a life of laughter and love from her countless fans and family. My thoughts and behaviors so often parallel her life. Here are a few of her favorite quotes that I so believe.

“Love yourself and everything else will fall in place.”

“One of the things I learned the hard way that it doesn’t pay to get discouraged. Keeping busy and making optimism a way of life can restore your faith in yourself.”

“I am not funny. What I am is brave.”

And the best for last………

“The secret to staying young is to live honestly, eat slowly, and lie about your age.”

Thanks for reading!

Summer was always a time of festive family, food, and fun.  It seemed our brood of crazies were entertaining neighbors, friends and hoards of relatives on a daily basis.  With eight kiddos, 160 open acres, animals of many sorts, adventures were left to our imaginations. And that we did. 

One such summer, Hungarian relatives made the trek from South Bend, Indiana to feast and enjoy the fresh air of country living.  Uncle Julius, Aunt Sophie, and their extended family arrived for one such visit. Six wide-eyed souls had come to make lifelong memories. Cleaned,  pressed white shirts, shorts and new oxfords were the fashion statement of cousins Stanley and little Juju. We anxiously greeted them in our bare feet pigtails, and smudgy faces. 

Brother Frankie was always the brave soul.  “Let’s take the cousins out for a while and show them what farm is all about.”  I knew this spelled T-R-O-U-B-L-E as Frankie giggled and nudged me. 

First things first. Uncle Julius wanted to taste the fresh whole milk from the morning’s chores. Momma poured everyone a glass of goodness, cream and all. They gulped and slurped. “Ahhhh, that is the best, Catherine. No wonder your children look so healthy.” smiled Uncle Julius. Belching had now become the norm as they all shared their white moustaches in agreement.

“Can we see the cows, Daddy? Can we?” begged Stanley.

Frankie interrupted, “Just follow us. We’ll take you.”  Rushing and giggling with excitement, we headed for the barnyard.

Taking our spots on the fence rail, we sat and identified all the cattle by name. Juju and Stanley were in awe. “Wow, they all have a name.  Do they have last names too?” inquired Juju. 

“Ah, not so much. We just stick with a first name.” I added.

“So why does that one cow have only one udder?” chirped Stanley. 

Brother Frankie didn’t miss an opportunity for some light humor, “Ah, that’s the cow that gives only chocolate milk. If you don’t believe me, cross the fence and check for yourself.”  Stanley made the jump and proceeded to check the facts.

“HEY, Stanley! Get away from there! That’s a bull, silly! Not a cow! I was just kiddin ya!” yelled Frankie. We all giggled under our breath as Stanley embarrassingly ran back with new shoes laden with mud and assorted barnyard doo.           

Farm kids 1. City dwellers 0.

Before long, we were hiking to the woods. Juju and Stanley were free birds taken by the fresh air and green. As we skipped along, Frankie added his usual nonsense.

“Hey Stanley, see that wire over there? It’s a fence even though it’s just one wire. The animals stay away from it because we have trained them to know what a fence is for.” Frankie, where is this leading?  I wondered.

“Me and my friends pee on the fence! Whoever hits it first wins! Wanna try Stanley?” 

As luck would have it, Stanley, Frankie, and little brother Mike took to the task. Frankie and Mike knew the trick. Pretend to pee, and see that Stanley wins.  Hook, line and sinker, Stanley hit the fence first, and got a jolt that sent him screaming! Electric fences will do that! 

Farm kids 2. City dwellers 0.

One last gullible moment with our Hunkie cousins involved the barn cats. Frankie, ever so informed, told them that when cats jump, no matter how far, will always land on their feet. To prove the point, we retrieved handkerchiefs from Daddy’s drawer, found some string and a few loose bolts.  Fashioning somewhat of a parachute, we stuffed one

of the cats into the contraption.

“Hey, Stanley, wanna drop a cat?  You need to climb the silo and when you get high enough, we’ll give you the cat to drop.” Confident Stanley took to the task. He scaled the outside wall about 20 feet as brother Frankie handed off the readied cat. Passing it to Stanley, the cat quickly jumped and would have nothing of the moment. The parachute had failed to open, Stanley gasped in fright, and the cat took off running. Whether it landed on its feet did not matter. Stanley was shaken as he lowered himself to safety.

Farm kids 3.  City dwellers 0.

Enough excitement for these cousins on the farm. Momma had made a feast for all to enjoy.  Chicken Paprikash, baked rice, fresh green beans, cucumbers with sour cream, homemade bread with butter, and lots of cold whole milk.  Dessert was not amiss as we licked our plates clean of wild blackberry pie and hand churned ice cream. 

Another sun-filled, fun-filled afternoon entertaining guests to our crazy farm living.

Innocent pranks, lots of laughter, loads of love. It’s some of what I remember best.

Lessons learned:

Don’t believe everything you hear.  Frankie was an expert of untruths. He kept everyone on their toes with his antics and innocent fibbing. God love Frankie.

Gullibility comes in all shapes and sizes. Cousins Stanley and Juju loved the farm.  Many summers we became their highlight vacation spot and haven for gullibility. Thanks to the eight crazies, Juju and Stanley have memories too.

Thanks for reading! 

Two weeks ago, Delightfully Honest appeared for your reading pleasure. I shared a few experiences regarding my dear forever wedded friends Ralph and Mary. Keeping a love connection for over 60 years, they continue to amaze and humor me with their timely advice, knowledge and honesty.  I keep in touch as we often celebrate lunch and meaningful conversation. Most of the time, that is……..

Recently we shared a day out by running errands and finishing up with lunch at a local Mom and Pop. Ralph was sure to don his well-worn “Korea Veteran” cap. “I served, you know. This hat here has given me lots of conversation with strangers, but better yet, I sometimes get my meal paid for! Can’t beat that!”  Oh Ralph, you are such a clever chap! Thank you for your service.

Sara, a lovely hostess seated us. She thanked Ralph for his service and further explained that her grandpa had also served in Korea. Ralph was in conversation heaven as he blossomed. While the bragging commenced, Mary provided her complimentary wink and smile. Now that’s true love!

Orders were taken as we sipped our beverages. Mary and I were discussing upcoming Fourth of July plans. Ralph had taken a short pause in conversation. It appeared he was supporting the back of his eyelids every so serenely. As salads arrived, Ralph awoke with a start and did not miss a beat.

There was a young man from Ionia, * Who said to her, “I’ll phone ya”, * But when he did call, * There was no answer at all, * For she had died of old age in Caledonia.”

“How’s that for ya, Francie? Did you like it? You know I make up limericks all the time. I like using cities in MIchigan. “

I shook my head and chuckled, “Well, Ralph that is quite the creative talent you have. How do you remember all these limericks?”

Ralph continued to beam with delight. “What do you think of this one?”

There was a priest of Grand Rapids, * Who had some peculiar habits. * He drank half a beer, * By using his one ear, * And gave the rest to the rabbits. *

With his Walter Mitty persona, Ralph quickly added,  “I know this doesn’t really rhyme, but I’m just paraphrasing here right now. I don’t see the Limerick Police anywhere, so I should be alright.” More chuckles and winks as we paused for lunch.

Continuing to enjoy our eats with a dash of trivial conversation, Ralph added a pun or three for good measure. Mary simply smiled as she searched her food for the best morsels. Waitress Winnie topped our coffees and placed the bill on the table with one last smile. Ralph gently touched her arm and smiled, “One last limerick before I leave. I saved the best for last.”

A famed poet of Kalamazoo * Was paid to write an ad in Haiku. * ‘Tho he wore out his pencil, * His writing utensil, * A limerick was all he could do. *

Winnie, Mary, and I all smiled at Ralph’s last creation.  Once again I was awed. “Mary, how does he do this? His talents are just so spontaneous and witty. Mary, Ralph, you never cease to amaze me.”  

Mary simply raised her eyes from her coffee, topping with a wink. “It’s a deep love Francie. His love is deep in his belly and heart. It’s always there. Yes, it’s just love.” She patted Ralph’s arm, turned to her forever half and gently laid her head on his shoulder.

These two. Always a story, pun, joke, or toast. Now limericks. I am so entertained by these love doves. Nothing is more grand when these two intertwine and grow as one on the vine of life. I hope you realize that I too, love you just as you are:  Mr. and Mrs. Happily Ever After.

Lessons Learned

Love is the greatest gift of all. Despite the trivial bickering now and then, Ralph and Mary are devoted partners for life. They are the gift of hope and endurance.

Thanks for reading!