Roses rambling

Tue, 01 Jul 2008 01:46:25 GMT

SPELL EMBARRASS

Mon, 30 Jun 2008 00:56:58 GMT

Embarrass is just one of many words that I am never

quite sure if I have put too many letters in or not enough.

However, I know that to be embarrassed is a very

uncomfortable feeling. I was somewhat shy as a child and

was often embarrassed for no apparent reasons but as

I grew older, there were often enough reasons to be embar-

rassed about, my own goofy mistakes.

Recently, in a patio conversation, my familly and

I were recounting some of our most embarrassing moments.

My daughter was certain that her most embarrassing moment

occured when she was crossing a parking lot to her car,

wearing a filmy little skirt that was secured by only one small

button at the waist. When the button came off, the little skirt

slithered to her ankles. With hardly a pause, she reached

down, got the skirt and hastened to her car, which was

fortunately near.

Son would not contribute his most embarrassing moment

but we reminded him about one time he embarrassed us when

he was between 2 years old and three. We were in Sears

picking up an order at the counter along with several other

customers. I had dropped Son's hand momentarily. Well,

he had always loved the feel of ribbon or nylons. When my

husband came from the back of the store, he nudged me

and said, "Your son is rubbing that lady's legs that's beside

you." I looked and sure enough he was stroking her nylon

clad legs. There was more than one red face among us as

I apologized for his behavior. The lady was very gracious and

smiled sweetly. When we left the store with my son, his

Dad whispered to me, "Like Father, like son."

Son had to come back with one on me. He reminded

me of the time that our family had gone to a baseball game

(a farm club in a nearby town). Son was excited when two

or three balls came into our section and were caught by the

fans. I knew how badly Son wanted one to get autographed

by his favorite player later, but as the game progressed, he

looked so disappointed that when a ball hit the chain link

fence in front of me, and stuck in the links, I stood up and

tried to pry it out, in true Lucy Ricardo fashion. I looked up

in surprise when a hush fell over the crowd. Apparently, they

stopped the game while some nut tried to get a baseball

from the fence, in fear of another hitting her. I was so

mortified because I fet the hundreds of eyes upon me in

that most embarrassing moment.

They also reminded me of the time I had got a slight\

sunburn our very first day at the beach. The next day , they

wanted to walk on the beach to the pavilion, and I insisted

on carrying an umbrella. Needless to say, I performed some

antics because of the gusting wind and apparently, I had

been a source of embarrassment for them. I never told them

about being out in the surf later and the neckstring coming loose.

I don't think anyone knew but me, but they would have had

cause to be embarrassed if my top had been swept away.

Things like this happens to people all the time, but when

they happen to you, they seem so horrible you feel sure that

you won't be able to show your face again. Most of my mistakes

occur when I allow a whim of the moment to overcome my better

judjment. Later, I have no choice but to laugh about it and go on.

I'm just glad my family hasn't submitted some of them to "America's

funniest videos."

MORE OF THE SAME

Fri, 27 Jun 2008 20:28:07 GMT

Just in case anyone is interested, the cook-out was a big success! It looked

like it was going to be a complete wash-out one hour before the party. I haven't

seen it rain that hard in a very long time. Some guests that came an hours drive

away, said they came through "hail and high water" to get there. Miraculously,

it cleared and the sun even peeked out again. Luckily everything was under the

patio roof and we could have gone ahead anyway, but it was lots nicer without

the downpour.

Everything turned out really good, the steaks were grilled to perfection.

when I explained about calling the string beans "Obama beans" I got a chuckle

but my daughter whispered an aside to me, "No, Mom, I'm calling my baked

cowboy beans (4types of beans) that I put the coctail weiners in, Obama beans.

When I said, "Why?", she told me , "Cause they're full of baloney!" She knows

how it feels to be a minority at our gatherings, but she can debate with the best

of them.

I think my son was very pleased with the fuss we made over him. We got

our wires crossed and he wound up with two big birthday cakes. One was eaten

and I still have lots of the other one left to tempt me. I was pleased because my

grandson (one of the twins) who will be shipping out for Iraq next month, his

second tour there, was able to be home and came to our cook-out. Such a nice

young man if I do say so, and I do say so often.

Well it is storming again as I write this and I need to get off the computer so I wil

cut this short. Happy weekend to all and to all a good-night. (Sounds like Santa)

OBAMA BEANS

Thu, 26 Jun 2008 17:47:36 GMT

Yesterday was my beloved son's birthday (his 38th, but don't tell him I told)

and we are having a cook-out this evening to celebrate. We had planned it for

last evening, but the girlfriend wanted a romantic dinner with just the two of them

last night, so we set the cook-out up a day. She's coming to it also, but I guess

she deserved her romantic dinner after nine years of devotion. Besides, we had

ordered the steaks and needed an extra day for delivery. Yep, T-Bones on the

grill. My sweetie is an excellent grill chef and he has prepared as many as 24

before, which would fluster me to no end, but he likes to do it, so I let him ,

gladly. On the menu are big baked potatoes with the trimmings, corn-on-the

cob (roasting ears), KFC coleslaw, strawberry pie, cloverleaf rolls, and

birthday cake. Oh, yeah, and Obama beans! I call them that because my

sweetie persists in calling my fresh stringbeans, HALF-WHITE RUNNERS.

No matter how many times I have corrected him that they were white half-

runners, he has a lifelong habit of calling them incorrectly, so I gave up and

now I am calling them "OBAMA BEANS", prepared for all the Democrats

I will be feeding this evening. My daughter and son-in-law are outnumbered,

but for their sake, maybe politcs won't be the main topic of conversation.

Yesterday, I spent the whole day reminiscing. Isn't that the way with

special days? The same way I know the exact spot where I was when I heard

about JFK assasination, Bay of Pigs invasion, Twin Towers attack, etc, I

know exactly where I was thirty-eight years ago and the explosion of feelings

that I experienced at the birth of my first and only son. No joy can compare to

the birth of a healthy baby and the love is so overwhelming that it defies

description. Both my children have been the light of my life. I thank God

every day for blessing my life with them.

Well, enough sentimentality. I'm sure they know I love them . So,

I gotta go now and check on the Obamabeans. Don't want them to burn.

NEW TENANTS

Wed, 25 Jun 2008 16:59:51 GMT

First of all, let me say how very touched I was with the comments to

my last entry. WOW! I've thrown parties before where even the majority

of the invited guests did not show up, but the response to my PITY PARTY

exceeded my wildest expectations. I was prepared to sulk about a non-

eventful homecoming all alone, and then my online friends began to show

up with welcomes and hugs. So now I feel much loved again. Thank You,

my friends. (Throwing kisses to the winds, sending to you.)

Imagine my surprise to find that new tenants had moved into a spot

out back without my permission. I had just settled into my wonderful swing

with a new Adriana Trigani novel, and a citrus Green Tea, when I saw the

little Mama go in. I tiptoed over to the fence to get a better look but she

saw me and retreated to a nearby tree, where she proceeded to watch me.

Yes, a small brown wren had taken up residence in an empty flowerpot

that I had hung on the chain-link fence, planning to fill with petunias. I

peered inside at the small round nest she had made. Much to my surprise,

there was three small speckled eggs AND.............one newly hatched birdie!

It was the tiniest thing I ever saw, all mouth, a marble-sized "nekkid" body,

and legs no bigger than twine. I retreated immediately to the swing and

waited until the mama bird came back to her nest. Each day that followed

added a fledgling to the nest until she now has four tiny mouths to feed. She

visits my feeder, little used since spring, and also pecks in the grass. She

does not seem to mind my presence unless I come too close. It really is not

a good location, in bright sun and unprotected from rain. I have tomato plants

in a bed beneath the nest and I have to water them sometimes, but I am

careful now that I know the babies are there. I shared my Daddy's love of

birdwatching. He found it so relaxing and so do I. My new neighbors are

a welcome addition to my backyard. My Mom always made sugar water

for the hummingbird feeders. She loved to watch them.

My daughter loves hummingbirds too, and she had a feeder outside her

kitchen window that she and my toddler grandson loved to watch. (This was

many years ago, he is fourteen now.) He was one of those babies who LOVE

their pacifier. While it soothed him, she began to worry when he reached two

that it might damage his teeth, and she was ready to give up the major hunts for

lost pacifiers to quiet a disgruntled child. (To ease in hunting, she had bought

several. He became so frantically attached to them, that he could sometimes

be seen with more than one in his mouth at the same time.) She determined to

break the habit by hiding them, but he was so distraught she gave in. But she

was still determined to break the habit. He would scream, "Binky, Mom ,

Binky!" till she was at wit's end. He loved watching the "Hummies" out the

window. One day, when he couldn't find "Binky", she casually said, "I guess

the Hummies got Binky, don't you?" He looked astonished and kept repeating

it sadly, "Hummies got Binky", but she could tell that she had hit on something

he might accept so when she rocked him to sleep she told a story of the brightly

colored birds whose little ones needed a "Binky"in order to go to sleep. He

decided that he was a big enough boy to let them have it and though he primped

to cry when he told Nana about it , I could see my little grandson grow before

my eyes. ( and his soft spot for all animals has continued to grow as well.) I chided

my daughter about traumatizing her son with a bird phobia but that did not happen,

and I can remember her saying with a sigh, "As a mother, we do what we have

to do." She was learning, too. Every time I see a hummingbird in the years since

then, I wonder where the "Binkies" are.

Tags: tenants, birdwatching, grandson, pacifier

PITY PARTY

Tue, 24 Jun 2008 18:36:20 GMT

Pat is feeling pensive. I have been away a few days and

I am beginning to feel so un-necessary. I once had such an

active part in my family. I guess I thought I was the glue that

held our family together. Even glue gets old and does not

hold as well in time, I suppose. I can't help feeling that

instead of an integral part of this family that I am becoming

merely a bystander, an observer of the dramas that unfold

before me. I don't know what I imagined for myself, maybe

the role of beloved matriarch, whose advise was sought and

highly prized by the younger generations. Ha! Not for me

the role of Queen Bee! More like the Old Fogey! Am I not

young at heart, in mind and spirit?

Can I not sit through six sets of Guitar Hero songs?

Without blinking an eye or clapping hands over my ears?

Can I not accept warm, wet Golden Retriever kisses from

a hundred pound dog whos paws are on my shoulders while

kissing my face? Can I not rejoice when my grandsons

become taller than I ? Yes, I can and I do. Then why

did they prefer going to their friends today instead of

staying with me?

When I rushed home to be with my sick baby, did

I disregard the fact that his 38th birthday is coming up?

Did I rush in to cook for him, commenting all the while

about how much weight he had lost, only to find he had

already prepared a delicious supper. (bowtie pasta

alfredo, with sun-dried tomatoes, red and yellow peppers

and a wonderful salad. ) He also had his laundry in the

washer. I guess that he can survive without me.

It is nice to be needed. Just not all the time. The

goal I have achieved is preparing my children to be self-

sufficient. I know they have their ownlives to lead. I may

as well get on with mine. Well, I was going to have me

a pity party and sulk and pout, but I have talked myself

right out of it. I'm not worried. They'll be back, when

they need me. Won't they?

Home again, home again!

Tue, 24 Jun 2008 17:50:41 GMT

How long, how long

have I been gone?

Did you miss me?

Did you wish me

here, or shed a tear

at my empty space?

Did you sigh or cry

that I said no good-bye?

No welcome sign

to greet my eye,

no welcoming hug,

or a floral surprise.

I walk in, all alone.

Did you even know

that I was gone?

Hello,

I feel like I have been gone such a long time,

and it is so good to be back.

Type your journal entry here.

A MAY DAY

Thu, 12 Jun 2008 15:24:49 GMT

A MAY DAY

What can I give you, Sister,

to show you that I care,

and that I'm thinking often

of things we two can share?

I wish that I was wealthy,

then my gifts would be so rare,

the finest silks and silver,

priceless gems beyond compare.

But, alas, I am not wealthy,

though a pauper I am not,

for I am rich a-plenty

in the friends that I have got.

As I walked the lane this morning,

I thought of what I'd give to you.

I'd paint a picture of its beauty,

so that you could see it, too.

I'd show the dogwood in its glory,

the redbud's brilliant bloom,

the gentle brook that is flowing, and

the butterfly in its cocoon.

I would strew the fields with daisies,

wild violets and buttercups of gold.

I would fill your arms with fragrance,

all the flowers that you could hold.

Use my words to draw the picture

from the memories in your mind.

Use spring's richest radiant colours to

pattern all with bright sunshine.

For, alas, I am no artist

and I cannot paint this scene

but my God, in Nature's glories

painted well this masterpiece.

Now, dear Sister, there's the picture

that I thought I'd give to you,

as I strolled the lane this morning

while the grass was wet with dew.

Though I know you cannot hang it

on the wall for all to view,

still I hope you like the picture that,

with love, I send to you !

Please do not reproduce in any form without the written consent of krmprm@aol.com

Tags: May, wealthy, Nature's glories, artist, masterpiece

PICKING UP PENNIES

Mon, 19 May 2008 19:56:26 GMT

Before you read any farther, I would like to say that the poem below was

written in jest, not in malice. I am merely fretting that I have not done

any major things in my lifetime that I set out to do. I retired from a job

that I loved and was gratifying to return to a life of small chores. My son

and daughter and grandchildren are my pride and joy. They are worth

any sacrifice I may have made. My son works two full-time jobs and

takes care of his aging, ding-bat mother, also. I bridled at him asking if

I had been on the computer all day (Moi?) and wrote the following poem .

My son and daughter are both wonderful and if I never achieve other great

things , they are more than enough to make me happy. They understand

my quirky sense of humor, so I do not think they will take offense where

none is intended. If I can help them, even in little things, I am more than

glad to do so. Heck, I am spoiling the tartness of the poem by being

"so-o-o sweet".

YOU HAVE THE NERVE TO SAY ''WHAT DO YOU DO ALL DAY?

I pick up pennies,                    I water the plants,

I put them in a pan.                  I trap the mice.

I pour out the soda                   I change the beds.

left in a can.                              make them nice.



I'm picking up                            I put lids back on

after my little man.                     so things don't spill.

I'm trying to help                         I gather up cups

him anyway I can.                       from the windowsill.

I find his keys,                             Papers here and

I find his shoes                            papers there and

He's in a hurry,                            in the bathroom,

no time to lose.                           is dirty underwear.

I gather the news,                         So, when you ask

and turn off the light.                      what I do all day,

He's having a guest                       I sigh and say, Oh,

next Friday night.                           Not much today.

I search the cleaning                       I picked up pennies

for any loose cash.                          and put them in a pan,

I gather receipts                               I try to help you out

and take out the trash.                     Just any way I can.

One sock here,                                P.S. Not to mention

another sock there,                          sweeping up popcorn!

his night-time snack

is left by the chair.

I know he's busy,

no time to tarry, but

no meals to cook

or groceries to carry.

I fall over hangers

left on the floor,

pick up a necktie,

hang it on the door.

Throw away a bag

brought from a store,

pull out some pants

and hang with more.

I empty an ashtray

left by the chair

and clean the tub

clogged with hair.

I don't like Q-tips

or beard in the sink.

After all this time

you'd surely think....

DE-TAILS

Mon, 19 May 2008 17:36:20 GMT

I'm tired. I'm sick and tired of handling de-tails. I have handled details

all my life and I am no longer a detail person. I want to handle de-heads

for a change. De-tails are usually hooked to the hind end of a donkey.

For all my married life, I have been handed the little things as my

lot in life. I relieved my whole family from the minor things, the things

that are so annoying and yet so necessary. I made excuses for them,

and they accepted my detail work as if it were my duty to complete

things for them. Well, why wouldn't they? I didn't complain, I only

sank lower and lower into the quicksand of my own making. I do

enjoy my martyrdom, that is until I reach the boiling point and rebel.

They know me well enough to read the signs of rebellion and back

off. Well, this is one of those times. Time for petulance.

I always felt good about freeing members of my family to pursue

higher callings than mine. My husband worked two jobs and still

made time for family activities, so who was I to complain about doing

the little things around the house? I would have felt like a dog if I hadn't.

Education was so important to me that , as a good mother, all that my

children had to say was ,"Oh, Mom, I can't. I have to study!" Or " Can you

help me with this paper? I have so much homework (or a test, or a game

or.......blah, blah, blah) and I'll love you forever if you can do this ." LOL!

I'm not throwing up the times I made special costumes or altered uniforms

on short notice, until the wee hours of the morning. No, most mothers

feel honored to do those things for their children. I am talking about the

thankless jobs that never get noticed until they suddenly aren't done for

a while.

For example, I had pneumonia for the month of April. At first , I said

it was just a chest cold or bronchitis caused by allergies. But the cough

worsened with pain under the shoulder blade and in the chest. I finally

had x-rays which showed congestion in both lungs and bronchial tubes.

No wonder I could not breathe. If I slept, I awoke gasping for breath.

Mainly, I had no energy. It dropped out the bottom and I spent most

of April on the couch. Instead of spring cleaning, (much needed, I may

add), everything went to pot. And I was too sick to care. My son was

very concerned, hauling me back and forth to the doctor, but it was a

busy time for him at work, also. No complaints from him about making

do with light meals, take-out food and little housework. Not until I got

better. (He knew I was better because he treated me to a shopping

day as a Mother's Day gift.) The thing is, I got spoiled. I saw that

life could go on without me trailing around completing tasks. I could

shut my eyes lying on the couch and not see the dust bunnies and the

winter weary walls. I realized that I could make my life simpler and

enjoy what is left of it. I think I relished the shocked look in his eyes

when he said he was having guests and I told him he'd have to

prepare for them. (He not only prepared for it , he cooked a wonderful

meal, also.) He is also helping me with some heavy cleaning.

What I am wondering is this: Did I do my family a favor by being

available to do menial tasks for them or would they have managed just

fine without me? Did I cheat them early in life by not forcing them to do

simple chores and complete tasks so that they could form habits of

everday living that they would do by rote later in life? Did they depend on

me that much or did I just want to feel needed that much? These are

all questions that I may never answer. I probably will not change, so

why should they? I know as well as they do, that after my pouting spell

is over, I will insist on returning to MY OLD WAYS, unfortunately for me.

However, I wrote this poem while I was still seething in self-loathing and

guilt. I can just see him if he ever had a chance to read it (which I hope

he doesn't ). He would pat me on the head and say, "Oh, my little Mommy,

let's have you a pity party. Okay, where do we want to go on vacation?"

How can I stay peeved at him when he is such a good son? I guess it

is better to be in charge of details after all. Think I can be bought?

Since I used up so much space venting my frustrations, I will put the

poem in the next entry, which I will finish after lunch. Just keep this one

in mind when you read the poem, and you will understand, I hope. Pat