It’s the end of the school year. A busy time of year.

Still have one more year with my youngest. But it sort of hit me this last month or so. Only one more year before she leaves.

I am sure it will be difficult. Especially if I am still overseas and she attends college back home.

One of my friends is now teaching her daughter how to prepare certain meals.

That’s practical.

Me, on the other hand, literally forced my daughter to watch “Rocky.” She had never seen it.

I have a list in my head of things she needs to read, see and learn before we send her off next year.

Because we will have to let her go. That is a fact.

I remember when our eldest was taking the car out on her own for the very first time. She was heading to her job at a strawberry farm. Couple of towns away.

Beautiful weather so rain wouldn’t be a problem. Lovely roads so that also wouldn’t be a cause for concern.

Her Dad and I were still a bit nervous once she left the house.

Finally, he says, “I’m going to follow her to make sure she’s okay.”

I was like, “Yes, please do!”

Half an hour later he comes back. I asked him how it went.

He smiled and said, “Great! And she was so glad to see me. She was waving at me.”

We both felt so relieved.

When she arrived home later in the day I asked her about the driving. Also mentioned that she was waving at her father.

She told me she was actually waving him away. That she was doing perfectly fine on her own.

I laughed out loud.

That’s a very good thing. She was prepared to drive on her own. We had ensured that this was the case.

Sure, we still worried.

But the best thing we can do for our children is to make sure that they are ready to go.

Then we will know that we have done our job properly.

Even if it hurts. Even if we worry.

 

 

Prom

girls

It’s the prom season.

I don’t want to be the happy sucker.

But.

Prom is a just a snapshot in time.

Sure, it should be a happy occasion.

But that is all it should be. A joyous time.

High school occasions are important but not a foretelling of anyone’s future.

No life decisions made at this moment.

This is a prom photo of me and my gal pals. Kristen L, Linda Mc., me and Jodie B.

Not a one of us with our prom dates. In the photo.

Or now. More than thirty years later.

Telling, isn’t it?

Enjoy the moment. But the moment might just be a moment. And that’s okay.

 

Truth

I was at a luncheon today. Not always fun when it’s a good-bye gathering.

Talking to a woman I know.

She says, “From what I hear you’ve been very busy. With the refugee stuff and school things. You really are a good person.”

I say, “Nah. Just doing what I can.”

Lady continues, “No, really!  Because I spend most of my time thinking about me.”

LOL. I almost spewed out the contents of my mouth.

Because I appreciated the honesty of her words.

Sad as it might be.

She was being honest. Totally honest.

 

East of Eden

I love books. Some more than others.

I remember reading John Steinbeck’s “East of Eden” and not being able to put it down once I got past the the first chapter or two.

It was supposedly based on his family’s history.

Loosely or not, I do not know.

But it was a fascinating story. Started on the East Coast. Ended on the West Coast.

There were so many times when I thought, “Oh, this person will marry that person.”

Or, “This is likely to happen.”

No, it didn’t work that way.

Maybe because it was based on a family history. And if we look at our own family history it’s not always all nicely tied up with a bow.

Life just happens.

I suppose that is one of the reasons I liked the book.

It gave me a snapshot of American history.  A family. Immigration. Westward migration.

Also a reality check.

When it comes to families nothing comes neatly packaged.

The girl from the neighboring farm does not always marry the boy from next door.

Lots of times, yes.

But not always.

Life is not predictable.

Sometimes it can be.

Other times it is not.

I loved that Steinbeck kept me guessing and always wanting more with each chapter.

If you haven’t read it I suggest you do. Makes you really think.

 

Dirty and Nasty

Well, it looks like the new president of the Philippines will be Duterte.

Of course, the U.S. will be cautious. There are concerns about his foreign policy.

I am concerned that he was actually elected in the first place.

Because my first thought was,”If he could be elected then is there also the possibility that Trump could be the next U.S. president?

Duterte is appealing to the people who want and need to see change.

Playing on people’s fears and taking the tough guy stance.

He has promised to dump the corpses of 100,000 gangsters into the Bay. Some talk of vigilante killings.

People seemed to really like this type of talk. Dirty Harry is his nickname.

Nothing like referencing an old American vigilante film to get people’s juices flowing.

He has also called the Pope the son of a whore.

This current Pope. The one most people like!

I sort of chuckled when I read an article saying he was going to the Vatican to apologize.

I thought, “Well, he (Pope) is probably the only person in the world that would forgive him for talking ’bout someone’s Mama.”

Because I certainly wouldn’t.

But the reason I am really concerned about him is that he says anything he wants and the response seems to fuel him. The crazies keep him going and his crazy lets them.

Just like Mr. Trump.

In 1989, Jacqueline Hamill, a thirty-six year old Australian missionary, was working in a Filipino jail.

Ms. Hamill was taken hostage (along with fifteen others) then brutally gang raped by the prisoners. And murdered.

Horrific.

Duterte’s remarks on his campaign trail about this could make anyone shiver.

According to Filthy, I mean, Dirty, his comments were said out of anger and not meant as a joke.

Although if you listen to it on “youtube” the audience’s response was filled with laughs, chuckles and whoo-hees. And he didn’t look angry.

This is what he recounted about the hostage situation when he was the mayor. 

All the women were raped so during the first assault, because they retreated, the bodies they used as a cover, one of them was the corpse of the Australian woman lay minister. Tsk, this is a problem. When the bodies were brought out, they were wrapped. I looked at her face, son of a bitch, she looks like a beautiful American actress. Son of a bitch, what a waste. What came to mind was, they raped her, they lined up. I was angry because she was raped, that’s one thing. But she was so beautiful, the mayor should have been first. What a waste.

This is their new president. He should have been first.

Here  he is not willing to apologize.

What???????????????????

Then there was this guy back in 2013 vying for a Supreme Court position in Indonesia.

You do not get to joke about rape and victims liking it. NEVER! About a woman being violated in the worst possible, disgusting manner. This is unacceptable.

Maybe makes Donald Trump pale in comparison. 

But. Still.

Mr. Trump has said his fair share of nasty things against women.

Just google “Trump” along with “Sexist Comments” and you’ll get a mother lode of information.

Here’s one link.

Here’s another.

One more….

And the worst. “If I weren’t happily married and she wasn’t my daughter…”

There is absolutely no place for a man like this in the role of a U.S. president.

Sorry.

Not really.

Any woman, daughter, mother, niece, aunt, sister or grandmother will tell you that.

You do not have the right to govern a country filled with women.

And in case you’ve forgotten?

Women do have the right to vote and there is not a sane woman out there that would vote for you.

Because we are not just a sorry piece of A$$ or a sorry piece of S%&T.

No matter what you think.

Sorry.

Not really.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Moments

I was sifting through Facebook today and saw a notification. On a page I created for AT&T folks that worked in Providence.

Someone posted that a former colleague had died.

Fifty-five years old. That might seem old to a teenager. To most of us? Not so much. Doesn’t seem old to me at the ripe old age of fifty-one.

I was shocked. It seems like he just posted on Facebook a few days ago.

He did.

His name was John. I met him when we were in training at AT&T many moons ago.

I remember our training sessions and the following days and months. Dropping him off at his home that he shared with his wife at the time.

We reconnected in 2010. He was happy. Divorced. No kids. Living the life in New Hampshire.

Was even helping me try to find employment for my brother at Nokia some years ago.

Had a horrible year in which he lost his dad and sister. He inherited a lake house in New Hampshire and knew that is where he wanted to be.

I’m sharing a correspondence with him because I think it’s important.

Commuted from Bethlehem, PA and absolutly hated it. I lost my Dad in June 08 and my Sister in Aug 08 (horrible year) and inherited my familys Lake House on Ossipee Lake in NH. So I decided last summer while sitting on the porch overlooking that georgous site (the lake) that I could not just do two weeks a year there. I decided I was going to try to get back to New England

Sometimes we are sitting on a porch overlooking a gorgeous sight or site. But it might be something different that triggers a life change.

Hopefully, we know what we hate. And more importantly what we love.

John’s postings (once he figured it out) only proved that he made the right decision. He loved life in New Hampshire and his summers on the lake. Always positive postings.

Just a reminder that none of us know the moment we leave this world.

He died of a massive heart attack. With no warning or chance to say goodbye.

Those of us who are fortunate enough to be reading this should realize we have moments and opportunities that many others do not.

The opportunity to change our lives. The moments to extend love and appreciation. And to say goodbye.

 

 

 

 

 

Make It Better

Yesterday’s blog posting was about how I needed my mother’s comfort and she so readily provided it.

And I also said I don’t know why I cried. That’s not entirely true.

Most likely a couple of things.

Yes, hormones might have had something to do with it.

It’s not that I am unemotional. I just wasn’t a big crier back then or held hostage by hormones. At least, not before childbirth.

Hormones might have had some play in it but might not have been the only reason.

We were leaving the hospital with our brand new baby girl.

My husband, happy as a lark, was saying goodbye to all the nurses and thanking them.

He was holding sweet little Norah in his arms. I was beside him walking at a gingerly pace.

I was also thanking the nurses and saying goodbye.

An older nurse came up to us just as we were about to get on the elevator and said, “Why isn’t she holding the baby?”

My husband, taken aback, looked at her with surprise and replied, “She just had a C-Section.”

The nurse said, “So what? I had five of them.”

He said, “So what? That’s you.”

We stepped on the elevator.

I felt awful. Like I committed an unspeakable crime. Like I was a terrible mother already. And my eyes filled up with tears.

My husband was like, “Oh, Mary, please don’t let her bother you at all.”

Another reason I knew he was a keeper.:) Not only was he protective of me but this would also extend to any children we would have together.

But back to Mom.

I suppose I knew that day when I saw my mother waiting for us that there was one woman in the world who could always make it better.

That’s why I cried.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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