Encyclopedia of Me: C

Encyclopedia of Me based on Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life by Amy Krause Rosenthall. My version.

Volume C:

Camera: I have loved taking pictures since I was 10 and had my first camera.  My last camera was a digital that I was satisfied with, until I realized what kind of pictures I could get with a better camera. Then I began to covet the cameras I saw with others.
       Several years ago, as a Mother's Day gift, Mark surprised me with a treasure hunt. Each clue led to a lens or battery or strap. The last clue led to my Cannon Rebel T3i -- the camera I had researched and really wanted, but knew we could not afford. His response was, "I wanted you to have it, while you still had something to take pictures of."
        This camera has let me take pictures of whole family Christmases, Mother's Days, and random moments of my kids at play. Because of this camera I got our son's graduation and will get our other son's graduation in June. I got the look of surprise on my in- laws faces when we surprised them for their 50th wedding anniversary. And this camera took the last photo of my parents together and coherent. It truly is a gift.

Cats: I am more of a cat person. They aren't as needy as dogs. They can be left alone. They are more self sufficient.
     And we never owned a cat growing up. We had dogs, and my dad hated them and were mean to them. So, I have to say cats are the animal for me.

Change: I used to be a Child Care and Camp Director. I know how to make plans. I also know plans get screwed up. Weather moves activities indoors. Someone else schedules an activity in one of your rooms. An employee doesn't show up. Change happens. But, just because I can handle change, doesn't mean I like it.

Coffee: My parents drank coffee all the time. Mom had hers black, Dad took his with sugar and cream. We were told we couldn't have coffee until we were twelve. "It will stunt your growth." So, of course we'd sneak drinks -- from Dad's (black coffee is nasty.)
       When I actually turned 12, I wanted nothing to do with coffee. All of it actually tastes nasty.
        At camp, during college, coffee got me through. I am not a fan of institutional breakfasts, no matter the skill of the cook. So, instead of pancakes or waffles that had been kept warm in the warmer, I had coffee -- just like Dad used to drink.  It was a "camp only" survival tactic.
        I have "coffee" every morning now. But, the coffee I have is International Foods Suisse Mocha. It is more hot chocolate with a hint of coffee. I've tried Mocha Lattes from coffee places and they are too coffee-y. Real coffee drinkers may disagree, but for me Suisse Mocha is the coffee I drink.

Cold: I used to think I was allergic to cold. La Porte is in Northwestern Indiana and gets a lot of snow. I would play outside and break out in hives.
      When I would get cold, I would break out in hives.
      Mom decided I was allergic to cold and would put me in a tub of hot water and the spots would go away, which only further proved her theory.
        The surprise turned out to be I almost never broke out in hives when we lived in Alaska. This started me thinking.
         I got hives when we lived at the apartments on the river in Lafayette when we were at Purdue. Why not Alaska?
         Then we lived in Delaware, the hives came back. Delaware has a low water table.
          Long story short, I decided my allergy is to mold. The house I grew up in had a dirt floor basement and no door leading down to it. I think all that time my "allergy to cold" was just a reaction to potential mold in the basement. Considering I use my asthma inhaler when mold counts are high now, and I haven't had hives in forever, seems to indicate I am right.
          Good thing too, since Northeastern Indiana is still Indiana.

Colored Hair:  I tried Sun In once as a teenager. It turned my brown hair a weird orangish color.
          Living in Joliet, cutting my hair was too expensive, let alone coloring it.
            But when we moved here, I decided I needed it. Mentally needed the change. Here it was actually affordable. I started adding blond highlights. It changed my opinion of my self and my outlook. I started doing it every couple of months.
              I've since gotten braver. Now I am playing with color. I'm not ready to go with mermaid colors or anything, but in the end, it's only hair. I can always change it back. 
       

Encyclopedia of Me: Volume B

Encyclopedia of Me Volume B

Bells: I have started collecting bells. We go to a place in Fort Wayne called The Wood Shack. It is an architectural salvage place. I love the old doors, and wooden chests, and old cabinets, but we don't have the room for any those things in our current house. Last year there was a beautiful cast iron bell, the kind that you would hang outside and ring to call the  kids in to dinner. That we had room for. Since then I have added 4 other bells. The latest is like the kind a teacher would ring at a one room school house. I don't think new bells would have the same allure and I don't know how long this phase will last. But for right now, Bells goes on my list for "B".

Books: Our family has an addiction. My husband and I have been the dealers for our kids. We started them as infants. We put board books in their cribs. I read to them every night until they were in 6th and 8th grade, when homework took over. Scholastic books, once they started school, furthered our dependence. When we go to Barnes and Noble and they ask if we have a members card, we laugh and hand them our member card and our Barnes and Noble credit card that gives us 1% cash back on every purchase. Our library has grown to over 4000 books combined between the 4 of us. We just can't get enough.

Boys: I am from a family of 6-- 5 of whom are girls. (see also brother) The neighborhood I grew up in was all girls. Even my cousins are mostly girls. So, when we found out we were pregnant, I was hoping for a girl. I knew how to do girls. But we had a boy. And I realized I loved having a boy. He was happy and curious and precious. When we got pregnant a  year later, I hoped it would be a boy, because now I knew how to do boys. And we were blessed once again with a boy. Now that they are 18 and 20, I don't know if I really know how to raise a boy, but I think we've done OK. And when I hear friends with girls talk, I know I wouldn't know how to raise a girl.

Brother:   I have one brother and he is 13 years older than I am. He left for college when I started Kindergarten. I don't know what it is like to have a brother, not really. I have snatches of memory.

My brother is 6'4. I am currently 5'3", but obviously when I was starting kindergarten, I was much smaller. I vividly remember walking with my brother, him on the sidewalk, me walking along the wall next to him.

 I remember him coming home and lifting me to the ceiling.

 I remember him informing us that "roof" had the "oo" sound like what an owl says, and that coupon did not start with the "q" sound. To this day it is a pet peeve when people say "roof" like a dog barking, or pronounce coupon with a "q" at the beginning.

 And I especially remember the time he came home from college... I was with my mom on the back porch where she was doing laundry. Ricky said something smart-alecy and my 5'4" stocky mother told him, "You're not so big, I can't take you over my knee and spank your butt!"  I decided then and there to be good. If she could take down my giant brother (theoretically) that I didn't stand a chance.

Rick and his wife took my husband and I to shows at Purdue -- where we attended and they were alumni.
 Rick paid for my drivers ed because my parents didn't have the money.

He is an engineer and the father of two beautiful daughters and 3 grandchildren. He's still more of and uncle because of the distance in age,  but he is my big brother and I love him.

Encyclopedia of Me A edition

This may be a cop out, but I'd like to think of it as killing two birds with one stone.

I've been planning on making an Encyclopedia of Me of my own for a couple of years now, but haven't gotten around to it. If I use it as blog posts, I'll at least have the journaling done in a short amount of time.

For A:

Ancestry-  I became interested in my family history in 2012 when I started preparing for my parents 50th anniversary. I realized at that point my time with them wasn't going to be forever and I needed to get the stories I could. My mom had a typical middle class life and had good memories to share. My dad grew up poor and had few stories to share that didn't include working hard. Those stories led to a subscription to Ancestry.com and my search for stories.

Dad died ten years later-- 7 months before what would have been their 60th anniversary. Mom died two years after that. They didn't know the stories I had discovered. I continue to search for more. I hope to be able to share the stories I've discovered with my siblings soon.

Anxiety:  I "suffer" from anxiety or depression. I had postpartum depression after my kids were born. I recognized it after watching Marie Osmond talking about hers on Oprah. Everything she said was me. I asked my doctor and he asked, "Is that not normal for you?"

He is an amazing doctor and I wished he could have moved with us when we moved away, but that question threw me. In a 3 year span of time I had had 2 children, found our first born might be legally blind, moved to a new house, I'd left my job that I loved, and become a stay at home mom. I didn't know what normal for me was. So, I let it go.

I became afraid of going out, being in public, being alone...

We moved here and things didn't get better. I asked our new doctor and she put me on a medication. It has helped...immensely.

I still get anxious about crowds. I still work on not getting bogged down. I still think...hard...about everything. So Anxiety is definitely under A for me.

Autumn:  Autumn is my favorite season. I chose Autumn for my camp name. My husband says it is the perfect description of me. Stormy, changing, colorful. My birthday is in Autumn. I met my husband in Autumn. Autumn is sunshine and sweatshirts. If they made a candle that smelled like burning leaves, I'd have a collection.

Procrastination Gets You in the End

It seemed OK to procrastinate. I mean, it took so long to scan, and there were so many that, "I'll do it later," seemed like a good idea.

It wasn't.

I am working on our family history. Everyone's history -- Mom, Dad, Mom-in-law, Dad-in-law and back and back.

I've acquired my mom's photos, gotten photos from in-laws, from Aunts and Uncles, from Mom's cousin, and from Ancestry.

I've located documents from old newspapers, from the courthouse, and from Ancestry.

Obituaries, gravestones, photos of people and places.... and many of them have numbers 0015723, 2963812... not actual identification.

Oh, and copies of some of these too.

Thousands of items I now need to go through one by one.

But first I need to think of a system that will make sense to me when I need to find something next time.

I'm the only one who can do it. No professional organizer or outside person knows these people (I don't even know all of them.) Me -I have to do it.

Think of the stories I'll be able to tell when I get it all together.

No more procrastination.

Home

We will be putting our house up for sale after Youngest graduates in June.

This week makes 13 years in this house.

When we chose this house, I was a bit cautious. We are in the country with well and septic. I didn't know that was an option because I was an in town girl.

 Our old condo in Illinois was less than 1000 square feet. This house is around 1600 sq. ft.  It seemed like a palace, which made it feel like the kids were so far away when we put them to bed.

Our yard was huge. At the condo, I had a small purple plastic pool and a wheel barrow full of sand for playing in the yard, because it was shared space.

 It was all so overwhelming.

13 years later, we are still "not from here", because that is the kind of town we live in, but this house is home. It is where the Easter Bunny visited, leaving footprints behind. It is where Santa ate Maple Creams instead of cookies. It is where we learned pipes freeze when it gets to be 25 below zero windchill for several days in a row. And we learned you can prevent that, by leaving cabinets open and a trickle of water flowing from the faucet.

The garden tub was a zone of relaxation for me, and, when they were little, a swimming pool for the boys.

 The laundry room door has the marks of height from every first day of school.

I can still see in my mind, the epic Rescue Hero/ Transformer battles the boys set up -- like armies advancing-- stuffed cats set up as announcers. And I can see the cardboard ships they created from old boxes and duct tape.

The really cool sand box hubby built in the back yard, combined with the swing set when they got older, to become a sort of treeless tree house with turrets.

Husband has built tons of bookshelves to house our families addiction to books.

Oldest learned to make cookies and youngest has perfected homemade spaghetti sauce in our kitchen. Breakfast conversations have occurred at the kitchen counter.

All of these memories now need to be packed up.

Now we need to find a new place to call home.

First on my criteria list ...
                is a house in the country.

Faith and a License

"He will probably never drive a car. He may need braille. He may need a seeing eye dog." The doctor listed off the "cover your butt" list of possibilities for her diagnosis of albinism.

As we drove away, the tears slid down my cheeks. I was envisioning the life our 5 month old, first born, son would lead.

My husband, driving, reached for my hand and reminded me the doctor had to give the worst case scenario to avoid the possibility of law suits if they didn't prepare their patients. "Besides," he added, " at least we know he'll get scholarships for college."

At two our guy pointed out a double rainbow to us. At that point, we decided we would never tell him he couldn't do something because of his vision.

The more we learned about albinism from the albinism community we found on line, and watched our child grow, the more we realized the only thing we would need to keep an eye on was making sure he wore sunscreen.

He is a voracious reader but he reads normal print books. He just holds them closer to his face. He sat in the front row in school and had permission to get up if he needed to, to see the board. The district's vision teacher helped him learn to use a telescope to see distance if needed and advocated for him when the Project Lead the Way teacher for his engineering class tried to shrink 4 pages to fit on one two sided paper. Our guy graduated 9th in his class of about 280. He got scholarships based on academics, not because he is visually impaired. He was on the High School archery team and scored high enough that his score helped his team earn their way to state all 4 years.

However, driving was always the elephant in the room. We found out around 16 that his vision was good enough to learn to drive with bi-optics. Because of the time involved, he didn't start with the training until this January. He has been working with an instructor trained in teaching bi-optic driving for the past 3 months.

A couple weeks ago, his instructor came for an evening session to see if night driving would be a possibility. He came back about a half hour after leaving.

"Not going to happen," he said. "The lights are too bright coming at me."

I could hear the disappointment in his voice, but he tried not to be bothered by it. He also informed me he would be taking the driving test for day driving at the DMV soon.

Well, "soon" turned out to be today.

At 1, when I knew his test should be starting, I sent out one more prayer that he pass.

I had told him to let me know because I couldn't wait until I got home. At 2:15 I sent him a  text that read, "???"

While waiting for kids at bus duty I quickly checked my phone and read his text, "I passed!  Just took a while for the paperwork."

Relief, joy, euphoria...not sure how to describe the gift from God this is. He is a 20 year old young man who has been given, not only a license to drive a car, but a license to live a life that is as independent as he wants it to be.

When we found out all those years ago, I prayed not that it not be true, but that God grant me the acceptance of what it is and to help our son live his best life possible.

I've felt every day that God is good. Today his Grace fills my soul.

Thank you God for this most wonderful gift.

Snow day

For the month of February, I am alternating between gripes and grins. Today is an even day, so today is positive.

Growing up in La Porte, if they predicted snow... you got snow. However, that wasn't always a cancellation for everyone. Back then, we went school by school, and those of us in town-- who walked-- usually had to go regardless. Bus kids got more cancellations. I remember listening to WLOI/WCOE as the list of schools was read off, "Critchfield...Kingsbury...LINCOLN!!!!" celebration time.  A snow day was a day of playing outside in our snow suits and sometimes Mom would make us snowcream. That my childhood included the blizzards of '78 and '79 is just  bonus.

When I was a Child Care Director, school cancellations meant making sure I had enough staff for the kids whose parents worked and activities to occupy the kids until the parents could pick them up. Snow days were not a cause of excitement.

When the boys were young and up until about 3 years ago, snow days were much the same as my childhood, except the whole district closed and days were made up at the end of the year. (We didn't make up days when I was young.)

The last three years, our district has taken advantage of 1:1 technology, and when school is cancelled, the kids have e-learning. We avoid tacking on days to the end of the year this way.

Now I realize this is not a positive for all my friends who are teachers and have to provide those lessons for e-learning and also have to have "office hours" and virtual Professional Development.

Nor is it fun and games for those children who actually do their e-learning.

But, even though I lose money every time school is cancelled because I am an hourly employee, I feel like cancellations are a gift. I have around 60 unused sick days over the last 12 years because I don't get sick. I rarely use the 2 personal days I have every year. A cancellation is like God is saying, "Take a break."

The kids at school have been squirrelly lately. A blue blob approached across the radar last night and we had a day at home today.

The Weather Channel app says we are under a weather advisory from 1am until 10am tomorrow. I wonder if I need another break. 😎

Only time will tell.

Someone Needs to Write a Book

The Tylonel murders that led to safety packaging happened while I was still of trick or treating age.

Adam Walsh went missing and turned out to have been murdered when I was of babysitting age.

Two students from school went camping at a local campground and were murdered when I was in High School.

My best friend and I were followed to school several days by a man in a truck who told police he "just wanted to look at the pretty girls."

Columbine happened when I was pregnant with our second child. I watched it unfold on TV while our oldest was napping.

The world is not any more or less safe today than it was 40 years ago.

So why, when I drop our 17 year old at the theater, do I worry as though the worst will happen if I just leave him there?

Elizabeth Stone said, "To have a child is to forever have your heart go walking around outside of your body."

There needs to be a What to Expect the Teenage and College Years because this angst was not covered in the baby books.

I've always thought Love You Forever was creepy and my husband says the mom in that book is a stalker. But, I'm starting to understand where the mom is coming from...

But both my guys have nixed my idea of hubby and me buying an RV and splitting time between the homes they will have with their families.

Darn. :-)

Perspective

In photography it is important to shift perspective. If you shoot a picture from above you diminish the power of the subject. If you shoot a photo from below you give the subject power. Shooting from an angle gives a subject energy.

Distance in time changes your perspective. I spent the last two days in my home town looking at it from the perspective of a visitor. My youngest and I went to the library. The library was my favorite location in town. It is a Carnegie library, and they just finished a year long renovation, so of course the inside is different. But the steps leading up to it seemed different as well. They looked the same but I remember the climb being taller. Somehow they've shrunk over the years.

We drove around trying to find locations of old relatives gleamed from census records and photos. I was trying to find connections to photos where people are posing outside houses but I don't know for sure where they are. I wanted to connect locations to people and to their place in time. In the process of looking for the houses, we drove the path I used to walk to get to my elementary school.

Back then, I had to cross 3 highways to get there. One had a stop light. One wasn't that busy. And one had a crossing guard. And the streets around the school were manned by 6th grade crossing guards with orange vests. (Those interested took turns).  I swear I didn't use to be able to see all the way to that 3rd highway from the stoplight at the first. And I swear it was a much longer walk than just 6 blocks. The parking lot at the Catholic church along the way had at snow hills at least a mile long in the winter all on it's own, so there is no way I only had a measly 6 block walk.

And driving around I noticed the homes in town are much shabbier and smaller than I remember. My yard growing up was a huge oasis of dandelions and the bees who liked to rest on them while I ran barefoot from the back door to the alley. Why did the new owners move the alley closer to the back door?

Perspective also changes dependent on how close you are to events. I was trying to locate houses and taking pictures -- freaking out youngest because I had off handedly mentioned I hoped I wouldn't get picked up for terrorist activity because I was taking pictures of random buildings. One home was only a block from my house and across the street and down three houses from one belonging to my mom's maiden aunts. I knew about the maiden aunts house, but the other one belonged to my mom's great aunt and her husband. Did mom know about that? It was a house I always liked and it still has charm.

We went to a cemetery to find the graves of distant relatives I've grown attached to. I've looked for them before, but without luck. Today we found them. This family, in early November of 1879 had 10 members including 8 children. At the end of December 1879, 5 of those children had died of diptheria. I can not imagine the pain of losing a child, 5 Is beyond comprehension. Apparently Diptheria is a virus of sorts where your lungs fill with fluid and you essentially drown. There was no antibiotic at that time to cure the disease and the tracheotomy that could have enabled breathing to occur until the symptoms passed, had not yet been tried. Finding them today and seeing that all their names were on the big tombstone was satisfying. Seeing they each had a little headstone with their initials carved on top gave me peace. Two stones had fallen over. Little Anna's had been lying down so long it was starting to sink into the earth. I picked them both up and tried to smooth the dirt around them. I brushed the moss off of the big tombstone where it was starting to eat away the etchings. I imagined a moment how it must have felt to bury your children one by one. Impossible.

We went to the museum, because my mother-in-law knows someone who said they might be able to answer my questions about some of the photos I had. I barely had the words, "I was wondering..." as I started to pull out a photo, before the woman taking my money quickly informed me she had no idea about anything,  because she had only lived there for a couple of years. She then added the other person in the windowed office hadn't lived there long either. AND she further injected that the nearly 90 year old resident historian was in, but that she researched for money. She then walked me back to the research room and asked what files I was interested in. She brought the files out and deposited them on the table. She showed the photos I had of an old school, to the historian who said (from her office) the newer version of the  school had been built on the location of the one in my photos. They asked if they could make a copy. They never asked the name of who was in the photos.

And that is when I started to think of the subject of this post. How can you work in a museum that is all about town history and not know anything about the town? There were 4 (probably volunteer) workers sitting and talking as we left. If you know nothing about the very thing you are representing, wouldn't you use your time to find out? No one checked on us in the research room. No one asked if we needed anything else. And we'd had to pay to get in. Very different from the Museum in Warsaw. They only ask for donations and are very friendly and helpful.

So, my thinking is that perspective is a complex issue.

When photographing, I think about what I want to convey with the image I am composing. Looking at the cliches that "time heals all wounds" and "distance makes the heart grow fonder" I take them to simply mean that opinions and memories are shaped by the significance certain events held in your life. Maybe La Porte was always a teeny, tiny, shabby, little place and I just didn't know it because at the time it was THE big wide world? Maybe it isn't the town that has changed. Maybe I am the one who changed; physically and emotionally

And maybe those people at the museum don't care about the history of La Porte because it was never their world. Maybe the people who care for the cemetery didn't notice Anna's stone had fallen over because she doesn't belong to them. There isn't anyone around she belongs to, or who know she belongs to them.

In the broader scheme of things perspective is everything. We can't truly fight for what we believe until we know what we believe and why. People who fight for one current event or another based on how they think-- the people they think  will be affected--  will actually be affected... Unless you can speak from personal experience --either yourself or someone you actually know-- then you don't know. We shouldn't jump on bandwagons just because we like the conductor or the song being played.

We need to look at issues from all angles. If we look up at issues, they will seem more powerful and problematic than if we stand over them. Looking at issues square stagnates them and freezes us to inaction. Where as looking at issues from all angles can give them movement and energy.

Perspective {changes} everything.

A Drive Through Amish Country

Indiana is not all in the same time zone. Here in the North-Eastern part we are on East Coast time. In the Northwestern part, where I am from, they are on Central time. Because of this, as I travelled on Saturday, the light on the farm fields was amazing.

I left at 8 so the sun was up but at that perfect angle that makes the photographer in me drool. As it is generally frowned upon to do digital SLR photography while driving, I had to be content with just enjoying the moments.

I had the new Ed Sheeran on the WiFi jack.  I love his music so much. This album is so personal and autobiographical my thoughts kept wandering to personal thoughts of my own.

 I was going to see a relative of my mom's who had old photos that she wanted help identifying.  I thought of my mom and dad, and the fact that the  anniversaries of their deaths are coming up. Dad's will be five years tomorrow. Mom's will be 3 years next week. I found parallels in the songs. Stories Ed Sheeran told that I wished I could do as succinctly played on the radio as the stories I wished I could tell played in my head.

I had to pass through Amish country to get to my destination. Passing buggies and people riding bikes with the sun bathing the fields in golden light made me think of my ancestors who settled in my hometown. German ancestors who rode in buggies and farmed fields by hand and hung laundry out to dry on lines are who I am from. I wondered if anyone else driving was in awe of the beauty all around. Do the Amish notice anymore since it is what they live every day?

As I drove, I thought about the fact that I was driving a vehicle and waiting for the part of the drive where I could go 65/70 miles an hour. A van that could comfortably hold 7 and that had heat.  I was listening to music I transferred from my google account to my phone that I then cast it to the WiFi jack, because the CD player is not working. All the while passing people who have no idea who Ed Sheeran is and have chosen a life that seems so much harder than the one the rest of have chosen.

The dichotomy really struck me.

Coming home, the sun was once again behind me and was starting to set all golden again. The relative had a portrait on the wall of my grandfather's family where he is between 12 and 15. I took photos of it. She had albums of my mom's side of the family that she gave me. There are photos of my grandfather as a young man before my grandmother or my mom. There are photos of family gatherings where everyone is in a big group. I had no idea there were photos of people at the beach or posing by the DANGER Railroad crossing sign in the 19teens and 20s.  I thought everything then was still formal and posed by professionals.  Every picture I see makes me want more. Is there someone somewhere who has a photo of my great-great grandparents? What about the other sides of the family? Where are those photos?

 I should be satisfied.  I know this. 5 years ago I had no idea the pictures I would now have. I am grateful.

Grateful but I want more connections. I want to see me in those faces. I want to see my children in the childhood faces of my ancestors. I want to know their stories. Are any of them the same as my story?

Grandpa is between his mom and dad -- the youngest in the family --born in 1897.  What stories could he tell if he were alive today?

I looked it up and the Amish do not believe in posing for photos. Perhaps the connection they have to the past through community is enough to satiate the need for knowledge of what came before.

I want more.

It's amazing what a little music, while driving through Amish country bathed in golden light, can bring to mind.

Music in the Dark

Darkness allows you to focus on the words
on the beat
on the emotion.

At a dance or club
when they turn the lights down
for a slow dance

Driving down the road
heading home
or away
Street lights and head lights
keeping  rhythm with
heart beats
Moving pictures of
the mind

Music surrounds
connects
embraces

And music always remembers

Tarzan Couldn't Stand This Kind of Hot

Heat advisories for several days have me grateful for air conditioning. 

I'll admit it... I'm spoiled. 

Growing up in Northern Indiana, we did not have air conditioning. 

We had a huge exhaust fan upstairs that supposedly drew heat out of the house. 

We had a box fan in the living room to circulate air. 

We had windows that stayed open unless it rained. 

And we had our very own, "slammin' screen door. 

Even if we had been allowed to be in the house, we would have gone outside. 

Outside we had a hose and the water was cold. 

Outside you could feel the wind on your face as you rode your bike.

Outside the streets flooded every time it rained and cars would drive by and splash us sometimes if we asked them to.

Outside is where we ate Popsicles. 

Outside is where our neighborhood friends were because they too were kicked out of their houses. 

Outside is where the beach was and where every now and then, Mom would take us after dinner. The smell of vinyl from the blow-up raft, the squeals of "Ouch, Ouch, Ouch" as bare feet skip hopped across a hot parking lot and burning sand, and finally the feel of tepid water warmed by a day of sun made this the best outside of all. 

Today we have air.

And we have ceiling fans. 

We live in the country on a highway so bike rides are not as easily achieved.

The lake in this town is a home to geese and, though people do swim in it, we do not. 

The hose is not as fun, when it is just you and your brother. 

Now that I think about it, I must rephrase my opening statement...

I admit it... I was a spoiled child. 

Mean Parents

My parents were mean when I was growing up.

At 6, in Kindergarten I walked to school with the older neighborhood kids. We were at the edge of the district line so we had to walk 6 blocks including 3 highways. Ok. One had a traffic light and another had a crossing guard and the other one wasn't really a highway in town but they are in fact highways. Then I had to walk home -- by myself!

After kindergarten I walked home with those also going home. We walked! And if it rained? Well that is what umbrellas were for.

Jr. High was 3 blocks away and High School was 9 blocks. In those ancient days (30 years ago) snow days were determined by school. Busses couldn't get out, so county kids got to stay home. In town kids were not always so lucky. And did we get rides? I can probably count on one hand the number of times parents picked us up from school -- k-12. That's what feet were for.

Then.
Then, if we wanted to go to the mall or the movies we walked or rode our bikes. In fact we practiced looking cool riding our bikes -- no handed-thank-you-very-much.

But it wasn't just my parents who were mean. Nope. The neighbor's friends were mean. My friends' parents were mean. These parents said they had better things to do than drive us around. So we found a way. Feet or bike--that was our only choice.

As I drive 7 miles to the track so I can walk 4 miles or put on my yoga pants to walk on the treadmill in order to get enough "steps" for the day, I think about how mean my parents were.

And I look up and say, "Thanks guys."