Seems like only yesterday, but it has been years.  As previously posted, I was reared on a small, 160 acre farm in the Midwest. Being a family of ten, my parents, Francis and Catherine, became strong guides, mentors, and safety nets for their eight love pups. Strong love. Strong selves.  A dedicated, true team.

Stifling. Humid. It was an average August day of my 15th year.  A lightning bolt struck with a fierceness that has never faded from memory. My pops had suffered a massive stroke while driving his loving Massey Ferguson. Little could be done and his life was dissolved just like that. Hopeless and helpless became our family’s focus.

Left behind was a momma aged 34, eight siblings ranging in age from 16 to seven, heads of cattle, flocks of chickens, a sty of pigs, and assorted crops needing care. I could not fathom what was about to happen in this fairytale life. Little House on the Prairie was about to be challenged.

Momma quickly rounded us up at the kitchen table and matter-of-factly announced, “We all need to pull up our bootstraps and make Daddy proud. God never gives us more than we can handle. We are all in this together and will survive.” Strong words secured with love. To this day, I am not certain Mom or any of my sibs ever took the time to grieve.

Neighbors and relatives quickly came to our rescue. Help, food, and money kept us moving forward. After six weeks of labor, our neighbors began to tire, fences broke and little money was coming in to raise our empty tummies and hearts.

An auction sale was successfully planned and executed. Momma paid the most urgent of bills. She had no other choice but to apply and receive food stamps and Social Security for us nine survivors. Embarrassed and awkward, we held our heads high and looked only to another day. Within a few short weeks, by the grace of God, she received a phone call from the high school principal. He offered her a job as a hot lunch cook. Life was beginning to normalize in a sense.

I became an overnight mess.  Intense anxiety replaced my comfortable life. Emptiness and fears replaced rational thoughts. Tears and panic. Panic and tears. Sleepless nights.  My grades plummeted and friendships began to wane. The only course of action was a trip to the emergency room and a script for anxiety medication. I was given half day sessions of school and regular visits to my high school counselor Mr. G. He became my saving grace.

Mr. G., calm and collected. He was the one shining star to my dim hopes. Helping me to believe in myself, I will always remember his very simple words,   “You are smart, you are likable and you will be alright. There’s a play and a musical coming up, have you thought about getting involved? You might find that fun and it will give you other things to think about. We can’t bring your dad back, but we can work on giving you something better to do with your life.”  

As a result of Mr. G’s guidance, I became the junior make up artist for “Oklahoma.” As a senior, I auditioned and got a part in “Sound of Music!”  Of all characters, the crabby pants nun, Sr. Berthe was mine! Confidence and happiness strengthened me further. Grades improved. By my senior year, I had made membership to the Honor Society, earning the minimum grade point necessary!  Brag on me! The healing had begun!

My personal accomplishments from that point on have been many. They became the ingredients that have helped make me whole. Who would have thought such a devastating event could turn to joyous blessings? More about this in future writings.

Lessons Learned

God never gives you more than what you can handle. Just as Momma often reminded me, I would get through this. Trust, believe, and God will take care of the rest.

Never be afraid to admit your difficulties and or weaknesses. We all have hurdles to overcome. Some greater than others. Never be afraid to seek out help. Do things in life that help, not hinder your growth.

Thanks for reading!

As mentioned in previous blog entries, I hail from a family of seven hearty siblings. Remote farm living, no television, lots of love. This so describe Mom and Pops. Momma was married at 18 and had her eight kiddos in a nine year span. Yes, by the time she was 27, Momma had called it quits to enlarging her brood any further.  

First and foremost was baby number one, Miss Claudia. Born in February 1951, she would lead the pack. Proud and independent, Claudia would serve her attributes well. Walked early, talked early, a true first child.

Twelve short months later, six pounds of love entered the world.  Curly locks, saucer brown eyes, I had arrived! Not certain there would be a son, I was graciously named after Pops. Christened as Francine Anne, Francie would be my pet name for life.

Two sweet daughters and dozens of diapers. No time for breastfeeding. Momma relied on cow’s milk sweetened with a little maple syrup to nourish her girls.  Whether or not that was a common formula for babies, it became our staple nutrition.

Not surprising, by June 1952, Momma and Pops proudly accepted a third child to be born the following February! Three babes, three years. Momma could only imagine more diapers.  Daddy envisioned future help for the farm. Life was in full bloom so to speak.

Mid December, Momma was readying the house for Christmas. Baked goods, new nighties for her girls, dollies, and the tree. A whirlwind of activity. Suddenly a tinge warned her something was amiss.  Labor had begun and nothing could be done to stop it. Pops quickly rounded up a sitter, readied the car and rushed Momma to the hospital.

Baby girl number three easily made her entrance two months early. Angela weighed in at a hefty “premie” weight of seven pounds, three ounces!  In addition, baby girl number four was shortly behind! Beautiful Zenia graced the scales at an even seven pounds. Everyone was taken by surprise as tests were not available to determine Momma was expecting twins. Overwhelmed, but joyous, Mom and Pops were now the proud parents of four beautiful, healthy daughters in just 2 years!  Diapers, diapers, bottles, and more! “Help, Help, Help”, they screamed! Life in the fold was ever increasing.

To the rescue family and friends came to support our growing household. Within weeks, home had become a walk-in nursery. Clotheslines traversed the living room and hallway. Diapers and sleepers filled them daily. Formula and bottles cluttered the kitchen.  Mayhem became the norm.

Newlywed neighbors, John and Lizzie, visited often to offer loving arms and help as needed. Lizzie had taken a special interest in one of the girls. She had a nest of curly locks and was so very tiny in stature. Her big, brown, begging eyes, made for easy loving. She and John were naturals and their hearts were available.

That lucky and blessed girl was ME! Sandwiched between Claudia and the twins, I must have looked the neediest soul. Not yet walking, potty trained or talking, John and sweet Lizzie became instant parents. I was taken into their childless home and given the love and cuddles of which Momma and Pops had short supply. Two families, twice the love! Lucky me!

Weekends found me sleeping between them in love and warmth. She and John often reminisce about the missing “pacifier”.  A standard nighttime solace was a nipple securely attached to my finger. Several times during the night it came up missing and my cries could not be soothed. Lights on, bedding dismantled,  as they searched in vain for my comfort. They provided and I readily I absorbed their love.

Off and on I stayed with them to help relieve Momma of her overwhelming duties. I visited relatives far away. I slept in crib-like drawers. Life was full for the three of us. Over the years, their family grew and I continued to be a large part of their clan.

Reflecting on this unconditional support, Lizzie often remembers that loving me was easy. To this day she reinforces that I was happy, easy to cuddle, easy to please and just a delight. I feel so blessed that they were such a sustaining part of my early years. Ever grateful, I am ever thankful for Lizzie and John.

Lessons Learned

The middle is often the best!  Lizzie and John provided unconditional love, during my “in between” life of four sisters under the age of two. I continue to keep them dear to my thoughts and prayers. I am very blessed indeed! God Bless Lizzie and John forever and always.

Love is the greatest gift of all. Nothing more needs to be written.

Thanks again for reading!

B

Antics on the farm were aplenty. It did not matter your sibling in crime, there was always a cooperative companion.  With two lively brothers and five sassy sisters, adventures awaited every waking day. Being a sister to this loving brood, I was seldom alone or lonely.

One such summer day I remember well. Momma had recently remarried after the untimely death of Daddy. Floyd was a loving man who would do anything to appease his new wife and her collection of eight lovebugs. He was a gentle spirit who was somewhat a jack of all trades. Bartering was a common method of payment for work done. As a result, we had our collection of used bikes, cars, and whatnots to last a lifetime.

A crazy trade with our neighbors, the Oakes’, we became the proud owners of a 1957 Cushman Eagle Motorcycle. Black, chromed, tasseled hand grips, cushy seat, and ready for smooth ridin! No one was too short or weak to either ride or maneuver this jewel. Rock, Paper, Scissors took only minutes to line us up for the chance to rev and ride.  With no license plates or driving permits, we took turns cruising the beast up and down our puddled, bumpy driveway. Heaven on earth as the wind blew in our faces.

With a little acceleration and release of the clutch, I was off on my maiden trek. The most difficult moment was slowing to a stop without throwing myself or anyone off. In addition, there was the usual balancing act of keeping this ebon monster stable. This bike was just too big, however, I would not cede adventure for safety.

Our day of activity had almost ended when I had a brilliant idea.  I want to ride a little longer and farther than the driveway. All I needed was an able-bodied soul. Ang and I quickly made a pact of camaraderie and unity.  We agreed to finish our chores, gather a few coins, and ride the jolly Cushman to a nearby small town for a soda. A mere five miles away, countryside driving. Easy peasy.

I would drive, she would ride. When it came time to stop, we would count to three and put our feet to the ground to balance the beast. One must remember, I was likely 16 years of age and Ang was fifteen. We both tipped the scales at barely 100 pounds and were just over five feet tall. Again, adventure was overridden by common sense and safety.

Within a half mile of the small berg of Melwin, Ang nudged my back. “Slow down, Francie. There’s a car coming behind us. Let them pass us.” I eased up on the gas and we began to slow. If I steered the bike to the road side, the vehicle would easily pass.

“Francie! Stop! Now!” yelled Ang. “It’s a policeman! His red lights are on! “One! Two! Three! Oh geez!  We’re going to jail! Stop Francie!”

My heart went into overdrive as I eased the Cushman to the roadside. The balancing act brought us to a safe stop. “Just breathe Ang. We are not going to jail. We have a lot of explaining to do. We need to be calm.”

“Hello ladies, and how are the both of you today?” quipped the officer. “Having a little ride I see.”

Ang was shaking and breathless, “Um, um, sir don’t ask us to turn off the scooter. We don’t know how to start it.  Umhh, it’s really hard to start again, and my brother isn’t here to help. Thank you sir.” Her wide glassy eyes begged mercy.

I nervously added, “We’re fine sir. We were just out riding our new scooter our stepdad got us. Just practicing until we get our license. Oh, and we don’t have any papers or plates because my stepdad traded it for some repair work he did for the neighbors. Sir, we’re not in trouble are we?”  Panting and heart racing, I knew I had said too much. More was better I assumed.

After obtaining minimal personal information, the officer kindly responded, “Ah, ladies you realize what you are doing is illegal and your scooter is also illegal.  I suggest you turn it around and head for home. I’m not giving any tickets, but you need to know the laws for driving on Michigan roads. Can you do that girls?” He then handed us a state issued booklet, Michigan Motorcycle Operation Manual. We nodded and nervously accepted his advice.

Ang and I took a deep breath, turned the black monster around and slowly headed home. There was no way to keep this failed adventure from Momma. Angels had been watching over us. No tickets. No arrests. No jail. And no sodas!

Lessons Learned

Honesty is the best policy.  Regardless the predicament, honesty is the best card to play. Innocence, truth, and luck proved themselves.

If you think something is wrong, it is. No common sense played into these antics. Momma was right once again!  

Another adventure, another happy memory.  Thanks for reading!

B

During 36 years of teaching disabled teenagers, a number of comical situations stick in my memory. Whether it was a result of personal “Lucille Ball” behaviors or the innocent, naive students themselves, I have a fond collection. Andy was one such student.  As one of my favorites, he spent four years under my charge.

Andy’s affable personality gave adults and peers reasons to like and accept him. He was a well-built, handsome lad, majoring in athletics and girls. As a freshman, he earned varsity status on the football and wrestling teams. With my academic support, Andy met the required grades to actively participate in these sports. However…….

Into his junior year, Andy had once again enrolled in Life Science. This ninth grade course became his nemesis and passing was impossible. Andy had taken this in stride and often came to my office to complete assignments.

One such day had arrived. I was occupied with three freshman girls that were completing a Shakespeare assignment. A light knock on the door and who should appear but Mr. Personality himself. Dressed in his varsity sweater and new jeans, Andy entered with his infectious smile, loving brown eyes and curly locks. He sauntered his way in and swooned, “Well, Hello ladies. How are all of you this fine day?” The girls blushed and giggled lightly.  “I dropped by to get this assignment done for Science. Mrs. Soandso, maybe you and the ladies can help me.” His Cheshire Cat smile and wink had the girls in awe.

I smiled, rolled my eyes and added, “Now Andy, this is your responsibility, not ours. The terms are here, the definitions are in the glossary. Just look them up, write them down, and you’ll be done in no time.” Again, the girls giggled as Andy offered them a nod. All returned to task.

“Mrs. Soandso, can I ask you a personal question? It’s not real personal, just kinda.” quipped a smiling Andy.

Looking at the girls, I agreed to his inquiry.

“So I need to know, are you Italian by any chance?” he asked.

“Ah, Andy, no I am not.”

“Then are you Greek or Jewish?” he added.

“Ah, no Andy. And why do you need to know?” I responded.

“Well, with your dark hair and all, I wondered when you were going to shave that moustache out from under your nose!” Andy roared with laughter.

Not a sound came from the girls. Their eyes popped. My eyes popped. “Andy, was that comment necessary?” I barked.

“Oh I was just tryin’ to be a little funny. You know to lighten up your room and make you laugh. Everyone in here is just so serious.”  Andy did not win the girls’ approval or mine. Back to work. Back on task.

Later that year, Andy had come to my office ghostly white and panting.

“Hey, what’s up big guy?” I asked.

“I just need a little fresh air and to sit here for a bit” he mumbled.

The truth squeaked. Andy had been in Life Science. Mrs. March had assured the students that the movie they were about to see might be difficult for some. It was optional and if they chose to leave, a pass to the library was in order. Repeating this class for the third time, Andy felt he had the “maturity” to handle anything. After all, this was just a movie about “Live Birds.” He had casually taken his seat and assured his freshman classmates that the movie was nothing to be stressed. As he relaxed, the movie began.

“Whoa! Mrs. Soandso it was not what I expected! The movie was right to the point. It was not about “live birds” at all. It was a LIVE BIRTH! I saw everything close up! It was gross! I just about passed out in there! I can’t believe that’s what really happens to a woman havin a baby!”  Asked to be excused to my office, Andy avoided embarrassment and preserved his manliness.

After his third attempt, Andy passed Life Science.  Having to watch “Live Birth” as a senior was enough to assure he would not repeat the course. Andy graduated on time, with his class. He left me with several comical, typical boy tales and a warm place in my heart. God bless charming Andy.

Lessons Learned

Roll with the punches.  Teens, particularly boys, will try your patience and gullibility. To survive, one must be ever present and lighthearted.

To get respect, one must give respect.   We all deserve respect, but must earn it. Showing my trust and heart, others return loyalty and respect. This statement continues to serve me well.

Thanks for reading and sharing a giggle or two!

Thirty-six years is a long time. Day in and day out. Whether in the employment rat race, marriage promises , or family rearing, it is a long time. I’ve been there for all.

Education beyond high school was a far fetch. Living on a small dairy farm with a family of ten, it was apparent we were not a family of means. Love and food on the table were our financial payloads. With the encouragement of a most positive guidance counselor, I attended university and achieved a Bachelor’s degree. The Kennedy Administration guaranteed that all children regardless of ability, would receive an education. As a result, I earned a teaching certificate and was certified to educate students identified as Mentally Impaired.

As federal legislation became the impetus for educating individuals with disabilities, my employment was guaranteed for the fall of 1974. Pre-teaching experiences were eye-opening and joyous adventures. I centered my talents with early and mid elementary students. A degree. A respectful job. The beginning of a new life as a teacher and wife.

Interviews had taken place and quite frankly, I could choose any district and grade level. My options were as open as a new box of chocolates. Rather than play it safe in an elementary setting, however, I chose a high school position as a Resource Room teacher. Students of various disabilities would be my charge as programming was beginning to take shape. Let the sweet love begin!

Not knowing this district or having experience with teenagers, I set the stage for anxiety and doubt. What had come of my rational decision making? What about my comfort and safety with elementary children? I had chosen the odd chocolate and now was the time to taste and experience.

With my ever present energy and knowledge, I welcomed this new challenge. Administration gave me full reign in developing curriculum that would prepare these teens for a high school diploma and the “world of work.” Having a summer to prepare, I planned curriculum, lessons, field trips and the like.

The day had arrived, Tuesday following Labor Day. Equipped with solid lessons, treats, felt markers and Kleenex, I entered my new confines with a smile and positive attitude. Bulletin boards up, check. Student roster in the record book, check. Treats in the jar, check. Ready and willing, check. I opened the door, smiled and eagerly waited to greet my new caseload of sweets.

Backpacks, squeaky shoes and bell bottoms arrived and took their seats. As the late bell rang, I closed the door and greeted, “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Mrs. Soandso and I’m going to be your teacher this year.” Eighteen dull, unsmiling faces greeted me. Fourteen boys, four girls, grades ten through twelve. Not a great start, but I was not deterred. “So, let’s get acquainted,” I chirped. Not a sound or movement.

The slow-moving train continued to chug and sputter. My 18 charges had entered the new school year without schedules! Six hours a day would be spent in my room. The only breaks were a 25 minute lunch and five minutes of passing time between classes. Thinking fast, lesson plans were immediately changed up to meet and greet sessions. We spent time in small groups sharing ourselves and cooperatively learning to get along. The candy in the jar and box were quickly disappearing.

For my own sanity, I came to school an hour early for the next two weeks. With the help of each student and his/her counselor, we developed a workable schedule that provided academic choices that were of interest and achievable. Slowly, I ensured myself a planning period and class sizes would be tolerable. Baby steps to success.

Coursework was practical in nature as I attempted to add food and fun. Students were taught basic sewing and cooking skills, personal grooming strategies, and the usual reading, writing and mathematical skills necessary for basic survival. Attendance was above average and I was taking a liking to these sweet misfits.

We survived the year with minimal academic materials. Writing to companies such as Avon, Proctor and Gamble, and General Mills I requested educational and or free materials. They responded with kind hearts and loads of samples and lessons. Students improved basic letter writing skills by composing Thank Yous to favorite food companies. Surprisingly, they received personal responses and coupons for free products! Spontaneous ideas. Positive results.

All in all, this first year was not a nice, neat box of chocolates, however, the tastes and flavors added to my adventure. There were students identified as Emotionally Impaired that did not want any part of this “retarded” class. Others had minimal disabilities and joined in the frenzy of disagreement. As a result, some students were with me for one hour a day, while others with serious needs saw me for all academic classes. I simply gave respect and expected the same in return.

Yes, 36 years is a long time. I continued to teach at the same high school with the special needs population for the duration of my career. The personal rewards were endless. I never looked back to returning to an elementary classroom. When anyone would ask how I could work in this environment for so many years, I can honestly say it was a love for these teens. They all have the same basic needs as littles, to be accepted and respected. They are just a little taller, that is all.

Lesson Learned:

Do what you love and love what you do. I so loved working with young adults. To help form positive life-long behaviors and see the good in each of them was reward in itself. Many continue as friends today.

Thanks for reading!

My momma, God love her, was a sane and sensible woman. She had emotional strength and reserve like no other. Being a widow at 34 years of age while tending to a small farm and eight growing children, Momma had to be resourceful, smart, and CALM. Yes, these three attributes described her to a T. The following facts about her attest to her strength and durability as a survivor. God had her back.

Resourceful. Momma always found a way for her kiddos to get out of her hair and keep busy. Something on the farm often needed tending. One memory involved the many buckets of old, useless nails my dad was forever bringing home from auctions. “You kids get outside now and get a bucket of those nails in the tool shed. Find a hammer and straighten out any crooked ones so your dad can use them again.” Great return on that nickel bucket!

Another fond memory was having to run to the garden to fetch an armload of various vegetables and always a head of cabbage. Returning to the house, Momma gathered our gems, rinsed off the dirt, chopped away and put all those vitamins in a huge pot. She added tomato juice and ground beef. With homemade bread, we ate like kings. Best hamburger soup ever!

Lastly, Momma found secondary uses for everything. Not only did hairpins curl, but they also served as great pimple poppers and ear wax removal tools! Just when you thought Momma was going to pin curl your hair for church, a quick check of the face and ears was in order!

Smart. Momma could sew! Every holiday, she made new curtains for the kitchen windows. Always festive, we cheaply celebrated Easter, Halloween and Christmas. Cut from newspaper, she patterned several jumpers, skirts and nighties for the girls. Snip, stitch, and shazam…..we headed for school in style. Halloween costumes were most inventive that she created from scraps and remnants. One such recall, she dyed a few old bath towels brown, made another newspaper pattern, and Presto Chango, brother Frankie had a monkey costume! Thanks Momma!

Calm. Likely her greatest asset, Momma knew how to discipline without popping her cork. Eight kiddos in a nine year span. No room for petty arguments or drama. Her methods resulted in no physical force, no swearing, and genius mentality. One such event I will never forget involved brother Frankie and myself. We were watching cartoons, sharing Daddy’s big overstuffed chair. At commercial break, we began to argue with its untruths. We got the better of Momma who was in the kitchen cutting up a chicken for dinner. With towel over her shoulder and a butcher knife in hand, she silently marched into the living room, retrieved the television cord and cut it from the socket! She unplugged the short end of the cord, placed it in her apron pocket and firmly stated, “There, now you won’t argue. It will be awhile before you watch tv again. Now get outside to play, and don’t come in until I call you for dinner.” Yikes, she meant business! I’m still puzzled why she never was electrocuted.

Another hot, sultry day in summer saw all eight misfits at the kitchen table eating lunch. Spatting back and forth, we denied it was out turn for dishes or cleaning up. Mom quickly intervened and told us not to worry and to get outside to play. We should have known she was up to something greater than us.

Called to dinner, we rushed to the house to wash hands and head for the table. Yum! Goulash, fresh green beans and homemade bread with butter. There were no plates or silverware! Momma had provided a most healthy, lovely dinner on WAX PAPER! “In the name of the Father, Son….Amen” she led us in prayer. Not a giggle or word was heard as we nibbled in silence.

As we continued in the quiet, Momma stood near one of the cupboards, opened the door and pointed. “See this list? It includes all of the jobs that have to be done every day. Each of your names is here with the job you have for the day. It’s how we operate as a family. Are there any questions?”

Silently we nodded in agreement. From that point on, seldom was there a complaint. Oh Momma, you knew how to parent!

Lastly, she always seemed to keep God in our thoughts and actions. After a bickering session with twin sissies Ang and Zen, Momma had had enough. “You three, head upstairs to your bedroom right now. Get out your rosaries, kneel, and start your prayers. Make sure I can hear you and God can too. As you pray, think about your petty actions.”

Once again, few words, big action, peace in the family. No physical force, no belittling, no threats……just common calm and Godly grace. God bless Momma!

Lessons learned: Always trust Momma. She was a survivor and true champion for her children. She gave us more than love. When God’s got your back, anything is possible! Enough said! Thanks for reading!

Circa, on or about Friday, December 3, 1965.  School had been called off because an intense ice storm had blanketed mid-Michigan.  Glass-like crystals adorned the trees and blades of remaining summer flowers and grasses. The dirt road was an endless path of slippery, sloping shine.

Momma would not have us sleep in any later than 8:00 a.m. Chores were quickly completed, oatmeal consumed, and the day was ours, ALL DAY LONG!

Every December, Pops had always made a special day for tree hunting. He’d gas up his loving Massey Ferguson, loosen the old wooden logging sled from the overgrown grasses, situate his eight younguns in place, and head for the woods. Brrrrrr.  Sweet, smiling memories. This year, however, would be different.

Early the previous August, Daddy suffered a massive stroke. Just like that, he was gone from us forever. We would not and could not forget his love for his farm and family.  As a result of our misfortune, brother Frankie, sister Suzie Q., and I decided this ice-filled day would be spent traversing the woods in search of the perfect holiday tree!  Equipped with a rope, coping saw and our galoshes, we headed for the woods.

Not having Dad’s expertise in proper height or dimensions of the perfect tree, we continued to hunt, and hunt, and hunt. “That one’s too tall!” I barked.

“That one has a hole in the side and we can’t cut it down. It’s got a bird nest in there too,” chirped Suzie Q. Frankie hatched a new plan.

“Since we can’t find one here, how about we sneak down to the Daniels’  farm. They’ve got that big field that they don’t use. I see the perfect tree every time the school bus drives past it.  I’m tellin ya, it’s the perfect size. Old Man Daniels won’t care. No one will see us!”

I should have known not to trust Frankie. He was always getting into trouble for senseless antics.  Today would be no different as Suz and I battled the sleet and maneuvered the glassy road.

This solitary fir was like no other. From the road it appeared the ideal size and shape. Momma would be proud of our efforts and the Christmas spirit was beginning to have a warm feel.

Negotiating a rusty fence, we made way to the perfect find. We quickly worked to cut the tree and return home. As Frankie cut, who should drive by but “the boys”, Tom, Dick, and Harry Harrison. Three brothers out hunting for whatever varmints sat waiting for their untimely death. They slowed the truck as Tom yelled,

“What you kids doin’? Coppin’ a tree? Your place not good enough? Ha, looks like you got a beaut there! Merry Christmas!” Off they slid.

Scared and shaken, I whispered, “Oh geez, now we’re dead! I just knew somebody would see us stealin’. Do you think they’ll call the police?”

Frankie, the confident know all, added, “Nah, they won’t call. Didn’t ya see ‘em laughin’? There’s nothin’ to worry about. Come on, let’s get home. It’s gettin’ dark and this sleet is gettin’ cold.”

Quickly, we roped up the fallen pine and headed back on the ice.  One mile, one hour, one prized tree. We would be heroes to the family.

Slippin’ and slidin’ were challenging enough for us. Half way back, neighbors Bonnie and Ben slowed to a stop to greet us. “You kids got a nice tree there. How about we get that in the trunk and get you in this warm car. We’ll have you home in no time.”

Soaked and shivering, Suzi Q. stood wide-eyed and added, “Ahh, no thank you. We will walk. Momma would be mad if we didn’t get home on our own. Merry Christmas Mr. and Mrs. Gray.”

Darkness had arrived as we made our way up the drive. We leaned the tree against the house and entered jubilantly. “Momma, we got a tree for Christmas. It’s covered with ice, but it’s real nice,” Frankie added.

Dinner, a hot bath, and off to bed. Our day had been successfully completed, until……..

Momma began serving chicken and dumplings as she inquired, “So where did that tree come from? If you say the woods, I know better. The Grays called and said they saw you on the Daniels’ farm with that tree. Is that true?”

Her voice meant only one thing: TROUBLE. Sheepishly I replied, “Yes, Momma that’s true. Frankie thought it would be perfect for us. Anyway, it stood all alone in the field, right Frankie?”

Momma was never more serious.  “You know what you did was wrong. Trespassing, and stealing a tree. Well, now you need to make things right with the Danielses. You all need to gather whatever monies you have, march yourselves back down to the neighbors, apologize and give the money you have for that crazy tree. Since it’s dark, you will complete the deed early tomorrow morning. Is that clear?”  All nodding in agreement, we three felons sat glassy eyed and pathetic.

Apologies made. Total paid, $3.82. And that tree? It leaned, it was too tall, it was UGLY!  Momma managed to make it work as she secured it to the wall with baling twine and nails! Thanks for reading and Merry Christmas!

Lessons learned:  “Life” is not always greener on the other side of the fence.  Be happy and satisfied where you are. If you think something is wrong, it probably is! One way or the other, make good choices. Paybacks can be miserable.

Welcome to my blog of lightheartedness, life lessons, and maybe a little advice.  These three facets have helped to contribute to my sanity or otherwise during my 60+years on this earth. If you find worth in reading, I’m in love. If you find less I will be in like!  Feel free to advise me regarding improvements etcetera. Here goes………

Where to start, how about my meager beginnings?  I was raised with seven brothers and sisters on a small farm in the Midwest. According to parental facts, there was no television, little money, country living, and lots of love. As a result, Mom and Pops were blessed with eight lively lovebugs in nine years! I fell in at #2, with twin sisters arriving just 9 months later!  Overwhelmed and diaper laden, Momma and Pops had some decisions to make regarding feedings, sleeping arrangements and raising four girls all under the age of two!

Those twin girls, Angela and Zenia, surpassed me in so many ways. They walked before I did, wore a bra first, had boyfriends, and celebrated womanhood just to name a few. My devoted nickname became “Puny.” My defenses were few and I had to think fast if I was going to make it with my seven competitors.  HUMOR and SMARTS! If I couldn’t join them, I had to fight them. Humor and bookishness became my strengths.

Braless and flat chested, I entered junior high with these sure assets and a small dose of nerdiness. My grades were above average, and I often giggled with many friends from various circles.

Seventh grade was rather uneventful. Eighth grade began with heightened excitement. I was still braless and could only hope the two fried eggs on my chest would begin to surface. As I walked in to the first day of World Geography, I took a seat at the front circle of desks.  Who should appear but three of the most popular pubescent, studs. They took their seats and my heart just fluttered. OMGoodness, how did I get so lucky to have them sit so near? Had I gotten cuter over the summer? Must be my new outfit. Must be the tan. Had my time come?

Michael, the most handsome in my opinion, placed his arm around me, rubbing my back and inquired about my summer. OMGosh, HE’S TALKING TO ME!  Paul, the dreamboat, added that I did look a little different as he flipped my curly locks. Brian just smiled his lazy, crazy self and I was thrice in like!

All of a sudden, as Michael continued to rub my back, he cockingly declared, “Nope, guys, nothing has changed. She still doesn’t. Not a bra yet.”  The chuckles ensued.

Not to be embarrassed or outdone, I quickly fibbed, “Well guys, if you must know, the bra is in my locker. A snap broke in gym class and I can’t wear it right now. I hope you’re done touching me, because I’m done enjoying it.”

Again, chuckles surrounded us and I was a part of the laughter. It became my saving grace from that point.

Whether I needed to or not, from that day forward, I began wearing a bra.  It did not fit correctly until after I got to school. How’s that, you say?

Momma always made us wear white JCPenney anklets. When I arrived to school, my empty bra was quickly filled with those lovely foot covers. I had only to remember two things: a) not to forward run into anyone, and b) dress fast for gym class so no one would take notice! In my own mind, I became the best looking 32AA in eighth grade!

Lessons learned:  Think quick and laugh! Keep one step ahead of anyone who thinks you can be outsmarted.

Laugh and the world laughs with you. A good sense of humor goes a long way.  The ability to laugh at my social awkwardness and essentially all fumbles throughout life have endeared me to others.

Thanks for chuckling with me!

Welcome to this blog of lightheartedness, learning, and love.  Story-telling and writing have long been passions of mine. Being reared in a large family on a small farm provided plenty of subject matter.  Regardless of the situation, regardless of the sibling competition, God has been a main dish for my 60+ years of strength and positive memories. His endless patience and love continue to sustain me.

My outlook on life has always been on the positive swing, hence, you are cordially invited to partake and share in the many “foods” that have been on my life’s table!

Cheers and Bon Appetit’!