On November 8, 2008, our daughter, Tara and her love, Shawn Hanna, became husband and wife. This year, on their 2nd anniversary, they can look back at the whirlwind the past 24 months of their marriage has been.
When they married, they became a blended family, as Piper became part of not only the Hanna family, but an extended family that includes most, if not all of the good citizens of Arthur, NE. The small town with the huge heart that became her new home. Five days before they celebrated their 1st anniversary, their son, Sage Dean, made his entrance, 6 weeks early. Tiny, beautiful, feisty and strong, by his arrival, this little man closed the circle between the Hanna and deBeauclair families, making us one.
Not that having a newborn and a 7 year old, while learning the ropes of being a ranch family wasn't enough excitement for them, they soon learned that another little boy was on the way and would be here before Sage was even a year old. He would become the big brother at age 11 months. Brannon Garnet made his debut, a strong and healthy little guy, on September 21st and Tara and Shawn declared their family complete.
So, today, as they look back on the first 2 years of their marriage, if they even have time to look back, they should be proud of all they've accomplished and how far they've come. Their inner family circle is complete with their 3 children. They not only work together as parents, but are partners in the working of the cattle ranch which is their livelihood.
Donn and I couldn't be more proud of them. We can look at our daughter, Tara, and know that we did it right. She has become everything we hoped for her. Strong, independent, hard-working, loving, compassionate, funny, and generous with her time, energy, heart and soul. Shawn is an exemplary man, with an unmatched work ethic, and a devotion to his family that is unquestioning. Everyday, he gives his all to take care of those he loves. Tara,Shawn, Piper, Sage and Brannon are the definition of the word "family".
Happy Anniversary, kids. We can't wait to see what the coming years are going to be like for you and yours.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Monday, August 9, 2010
Why We Do What We Do
Recently, our grown children seem to wonder why Donn and I do some of the things we have been doing. From the colors we chose for painting our house, our decision to revisit the dog show circuit with our smooth collie, Bella, and our discussions about possibly becoming RV folks who travel from place to place, towing all our worldly belongings in a trailer, hooked to a truck.
We both find it interesting that, as parents, we tried to give our kids enough room to make some pretty important decisions for themselves. They did come to us for guidance; we were confident that we'd given them a strong moral foundation and, they then went down whatever path they chose. Of course, they knew that, no matter the outcome of their decisions, good or bad, happy or sad, we would be there for them. When they triumphed, we cheered. If they crumbled, we picked up the pieces. If the results of their endeavors were somewhere in between, then we laughed and cried all at the same time, standing firmly by their sides.
You hear about the role reversal that occurs as parents become older and unable to make sound decisions for themselves. Children have to step in and assume responsibility for the needs of their parents. Donn and I sense that our children are starting to become very protective of us. Not that we're ready to have them plan what assisted living facility we're going to end up in or any other decisions remotely close to that topic. It's rather sweet, honestly, that they now feel how we've felt about them throughout their lives. Keeping a watchful eye on us should we stray someplace we'd rather not be.
But, to the question of why we do what we do, the answer is simply this...it gives us a sense of belonging. We spent so many years where every decision we made was weighed against what was best for our children, first and foremost. What Donn and I wanted or needed never came into play if their needs/wants were greater. Then, all of a sudden, they are grown-ups, with careers, families, responsibiliites, and places of their own. We are no longer the Duke and Duchess of Parent Involvement.
Showing Bella has allowed us to reconnect with our very first mentor and friend, Maureen. Twenty-five years ago, we brought home our first collie, Merlyn, from one of Maureen's breedings. That began the journey into obedience and conformation dog shows, breeding and training collies, and the making of memories that will last forever in our hearts and the hearts of Tara and Troy. It's also opened the door to new friends, today, who share our love of the breed and we're having a ball being part of something again. We're looked upon as mentors, with knowledge and experiences to learn from. On the flip side, Donn and I enjoy being able to learn, from our younger friends, all those things that have changed since our heyday, if you will.
The RV thing? Well, there were discussions. Albeit they were brief, but there was an open dialogue between Donn and I. Did we come to an agreement? Only that I would entertain the thought of kind of sorta being able to spend some time traveling and living as a gypsy, as long as I had a home to go to at the end of our adventures. A home that my children, grandchildren, family and friends could call Mom and Dad's/Mimi and Papa's/Shari and Donn's home.
As to the decisions about the colors chosen for the remodeling of our house, well, those decisions are all mine. Donn is self-admittedly color blind and has deferred to me on all things. I've put a lot of thought into the choices I've made, weighed the alternatives, sought the advice of property professionals, threw my instincts into the mix and, unafraid, gone forward. That's been the best feeling. Not the decisions; the going forward. The being involved in something new, challenging, and exciting. It's a renewal, reconnection, and the beginning of something special. That's why we do what we do.
We both find it interesting that, as parents, we tried to give our kids enough room to make some pretty important decisions for themselves. They did come to us for guidance; we were confident that we'd given them a strong moral foundation and, they then went down whatever path they chose. Of course, they knew that, no matter the outcome of their decisions, good or bad, happy or sad, we would be there for them. When they triumphed, we cheered. If they crumbled, we picked up the pieces. If the results of their endeavors were somewhere in between, then we laughed and cried all at the same time, standing firmly by their sides.
You hear about the role reversal that occurs as parents become older and unable to make sound decisions for themselves. Children have to step in and assume responsibility for the needs of their parents. Donn and I sense that our children are starting to become very protective of us. Not that we're ready to have them plan what assisted living facility we're going to end up in or any other decisions remotely close to that topic. It's rather sweet, honestly, that they now feel how we've felt about them throughout their lives. Keeping a watchful eye on us should we stray someplace we'd rather not be.
But, to the question of why we do what we do, the answer is simply this...it gives us a sense of belonging. We spent so many years where every decision we made was weighed against what was best for our children, first and foremost. What Donn and I wanted or needed never came into play if their needs/wants were greater. Then, all of a sudden, they are grown-ups, with careers, families, responsibiliites, and places of their own. We are no longer the Duke and Duchess of Parent Involvement.
Showing Bella has allowed us to reconnect with our very first mentor and friend, Maureen. Twenty-five years ago, we brought home our first collie, Merlyn, from one of Maureen's breedings. That began the journey into obedience and conformation dog shows, breeding and training collies, and the making of memories that will last forever in our hearts and the hearts of Tara and Troy. It's also opened the door to new friends, today, who share our love of the breed and we're having a ball being part of something again. We're looked upon as mentors, with knowledge and experiences to learn from. On the flip side, Donn and I enjoy being able to learn, from our younger friends, all those things that have changed since our heyday, if you will.
The RV thing? Well, there were discussions. Albeit they were brief, but there was an open dialogue between Donn and I. Did we come to an agreement? Only that I would entertain the thought of kind of sorta being able to spend some time traveling and living as a gypsy, as long as I had a home to go to at the end of our adventures. A home that my children, grandchildren, family and friends could call Mom and Dad's/Mimi and Papa's/Shari and Donn's home.
As to the decisions about the colors chosen for the remodeling of our house, well, those decisions are all mine. Donn is self-admittedly color blind and has deferred to me on all things. I've put a lot of thought into the choices I've made, weighed the alternatives, sought the advice of property professionals, threw my instincts into the mix and, unafraid, gone forward. That's been the best feeling. Not the decisions; the going forward. The being involved in something new, challenging, and exciting. It's a renewal, reconnection, and the beginning of something special. That's why we do what we do.
Enough is Enough
Who would have ever thought that, living in Michigan, anyone would say that we've had too much summer? Well, you're hearing it now, from me. The record books are reporting that May, June and July, 2010 have been the warmest months on record since they've been keeping track of the temperatures. Day after day, 89 degrees plus; humidy 80% plus; putting the heat index somewhere in the mid to high 90's.
I'm wondering if there's a study of how much weight people gain when the weather is too hot to cook? Let's be honest, here. I think a lot of us agree that it's easier to order pizza and breadsticks or, perhaps, drive through KFC and pick up a bucket and sides, take that home for the fam, as opposed to going home and preparing dinner. Even if you're going to grill outside, it still takes some prepping of the meat, sides and salad.
Sure, when we're buried in snow and ice in less than 90 days, we'll look back on these very warm temps and wish for just a few of them back. I'm thinking, I won't be overly anxious for fall, winter and the spring of 2011 to come and go. Until the leaves fall and the cold winds blow, I'm going to do what I've done everyday since May. Go through the bare minimum requirements of getting ready for work while in my house, then finishing up hair and makeup in my car in the driveway, with the air conditioning on. The dog days of summer are ruff, ruff.
I'm wondering if there's a study of how much weight people gain when the weather is too hot to cook? Let's be honest, here. I think a lot of us agree that it's easier to order pizza and breadsticks or, perhaps, drive through KFC and pick up a bucket and sides, take that home for the fam, as opposed to going home and preparing dinner. Even if you're going to grill outside, it still takes some prepping of the meat, sides and salad.
Sure, when we're buried in snow and ice in less than 90 days, we'll look back on these very warm temps and wish for just a few of them back. I'm thinking, I won't be overly anxious for fall, winter and the spring of 2011 to come and go. Until the leaves fall and the cold winds blow, I'm going to do what I've done everyday since May. Go through the bare minimum requirements of getting ready for work while in my house, then finishing up hair and makeup in my car in the driveway, with the air conditioning on. The dog days of summer are ruff, ruff.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
For Those Who Serve, Home and Away
The following poems were written by my father, Russ Morrow. Because of his profession as a plumber, his country called him to serve in World War II, in the Pacific. He joined the "Fighting Sea Bees", as they were proudly referred to. He was a sailor, a husband, father of 5 at the time, separated from his family, doing his duty. I believe his thoughts have been on countless lips of soldiers through the years. The theaters of war have changed, but not the hearts and minds of those who serve.
GI Dew (c)
Twas in the month of February, the year, 1945.
A 1A classification was mailed to a father of five.
Now, he didn't take the Army, as you can plainly see.
He joined the working Sea Bees instead of the infantry.
Now they shipped him far away from home, to the Pacific Coast,
to work and drill almost alone, much too far from the ones he loved the most.
So, stop crying right away and sigh. I'l dry my tears like others do.
A lonesome sailor never cries, we only call it GI dew.
For Katherine (c)
If I remember right, a few years ago, I was 21, that's not old, you know.
I met a very pretty girl who was like a dream.
She was small, 5 feet tall, and sweet 18.
As I stood by the door, as young men sometimes do,
She looked to me like someone I'd always knew.
It was that lovely evening, when I first learned about romance,
as I boldly walked across the floor and asked her for a dance.
I'll never forget that special night;
her curling black hair and big brown eyes so bright.
Right then, I knew I was in love, with a sweet little girl from heaven above.
Now, it won't be heaven, again, for quite awhile, until this task is done.
So, cheer up now, let's see a smile. This war will soon be won.
Now, a GI's ife, without his wife and children is quite alone.
It's they who dream of a happier life, when their Daddy comes back home.
I'm not to blame, as some people say; it's not me who started this war.
And the others who are here, if they had their way, sure wouldn't be here anymore.
So, 5 foot tall and sweet 31, you're as brave as brave can be.
It won't be long until your battle is won, for you are fighting this war too, you see.
So, good-bye, my sweet, I love you so much, and our children by your side.
Our life will be guided by a Spritual touch, with Sweet Jesus as ur Guide.
The Dreamer (for Bobby) (c)
There's a sweet little boy, who wants to sleep. Come rest your head upon my cheek.
Now dream away, as a dreamer can, and Daddy will be your old Sand Man.
I know your dreams are like the other boys; ice cream, candy and lots of toys.
I wonder, sometimes, when you dream alone, if you sometimes wish your Daddy was home.
Oh, you're so young, you are only five. Quite a man, at that, for your size.
You're also a lover who never misses, cause you're my boy who delivers my kisses.
I'm also young and have dreams, too, and most of my dreams are about you.
Quite often, I dream of one or the other; sometimes of you, sometimes of your Mother.
So never wake my baby when he's fast asleep. He may be dreaming of something sweet.
Or, perhaps, he's dreaming of someone alone,
and probably wishing his Daddy was home.
So continue to dream, my little lover and pass your dreams on to your sister and brothers.
You're a pal of mine who never misses, and you're the one who delivers my kisses.
Go, wake him now, Mother, he's finished hisnap and tell him this story from your lap.
He'll listen to you, while you cuddle him close.
I bet he'll say "I love Daddy the most."
Sweet Jesus, above, don't make this war last.
Please guide them now as You have done in the past.
There's a little angel who dreams, though not alone.
He's dreaming that his Daddy will soon come home.
You gave him to us and soon we were parted.
Sometimes I wonder if he is broken hearted.
Please answer his prayers, like only You can do.
Then he'll always be happy, and I'll be happy, too.
A Salute to the Unknown Heroines (c)
(Mothers and Wives Who Work Alone)
If you could only be with me.
Your lovely face I yearn to see.
I see it now, as I look into space.
The features of your pretty face.
I suppose I'm selfish, when I'm blue, to ask a wife as true as you--
for you're sweet to me, it's plain to see, but I love you. Do you love me?
Forgive me, now, and don't you fret. Your loved one, here, will no forget.
Oh, I'm not crying just alone.
Others, too, have loved ones and are far from home.
When I took you, my little wife,
there was no war to mar our life.
You're a sweet little mother; I love you a lot.
I'm a lonesome sailor that hasn't forgot.
There's the baby, too, and his angel blows Taps,
as he dreams of sleeping in his Daddy's lap.
Oh, there's a lot more things that I cannot mention,
but, for now, dear one, Good Night, I must stand at attention.
When the war ended, my Dad returned to his family. He continued to serve in the Michigan National Guard, as a drill sergeant. I was born in 1950. His sons followed his lead; all 4 served in the military. Jim, in the Navy; Larry, Mick and Bob became Marines. Daddy passed away in 1992 and this year, on August 5th, we celebrate what would have been his 100th birthday.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
I Remember
We all have mothers, past or present, otherwise we wouldn't be here. The influence they have on us is undeniable, be it positive, negative or somewhere in between. They are from all corners of the earth, every size, shape, color and age. So many different words of love, admiration, anger, indifference, joy, sadness describe them and, on any given day, all of the above in the same sentence.
My mother loved me, of that I am very sure, and I loved her. She passed away when she was 82 and I was 46 and, during those years, she nurtured, frustrated, mentored, mystified, encouraged, baffled, humored, angered me and it all began on the day she brought me into this world.
Always, she remembered me. I was never forgotten or an after-thought. Maybe all the attention paid to me began when she discovered she was pregnant and the anticipation of what I would be started. But, it's the remembering I hold on to, now that she is gone. She was there for every step taken, word said, song sung, dance danced, smile smiled, tear shed, and she remembered it all. The days, the seasons, the minutes, the moments and all the ups and downs in between. I'm certain no one will ever do that for me, the way she did in this life.
Mom and I shared so much and it saddens me that we were never able to share the woman I've become since she passed away. She never saw me as I worked through the unexpected surprises life threw my way courtesy of my children. She didn't see the look on my face as I held my newborn granddaughter for the first time; the tears of joy shed as I watched my husband walk our beautiful daughter down the aisle to begin her new life as a wife and mother; the pride on my face as my son walked across the stage to accept his diploma as a college graduate; the broken hearted helpless feelings experienced when my sister and brother passed away. I do believe, though, that wherever Mom is, on some level of spiritual connection, she knows of my life as I live it, day in and day out. I feel that she watches over me and my children and grandchildren.
I remember Katherine "Katie" Morrow today and every day. Without her, I wouldn't be here living and loving, and loving the life I live. I remember and will never forget.
My mother loved me, of that I am very sure, and I loved her. She passed away when she was 82 and I was 46 and, during those years, she nurtured, frustrated, mentored, mystified, encouraged, baffled, humored, angered me and it all began on the day she brought me into this world.
Always, she remembered me. I was never forgotten or an after-thought. Maybe all the attention paid to me began when she discovered she was pregnant and the anticipation of what I would be started. But, it's the remembering I hold on to, now that she is gone. She was there for every step taken, word said, song sung, dance danced, smile smiled, tear shed, and she remembered it all. The days, the seasons, the minutes, the moments and all the ups and downs in between. I'm certain no one will ever do that for me, the way she did in this life.
Mom and I shared so much and it saddens me that we were never able to share the woman I've become since she passed away. She never saw me as I worked through the unexpected surprises life threw my way courtesy of my children. She didn't see the look on my face as I held my newborn granddaughter for the first time; the tears of joy shed as I watched my husband walk our beautiful daughter down the aisle to begin her new life as a wife and mother; the pride on my face as my son walked across the stage to accept his diploma as a college graduate; the broken hearted helpless feelings experienced when my sister and brother passed away. I do believe, though, that wherever Mom is, on some level of spiritual connection, she knows of my life as I live it, day in and day out. I feel that she watches over me and my children and grandchildren.
I remember Katherine "Katie" Morrow today and every day. Without her, I wouldn't be here living and loving, and loving the life I live. I remember and will never forget.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Where Have My Choices Gone?
The past year has been rough on me, emotionally. I've had to deal with, essentially having all my choices taken away from me. I wanted/needed to work at least one more year at Dow Chemical to have a retirement that would be significant. The decision was made for me, via corporate down-sizing and, therefore, I have to make do with what I was given. The same thing happened to Donn and, so the choices and plans we had for our retirement were cruelly rearranged to be, not what we wanted, but what we were left with.
What sent me into a tail-spin today? I had to give Donn a haircut. We've sliced our budget to the bone and one of the things he opted out of for himself was going to Master Cuts for his hair and beard trims. This isn't the first trim I've given him. It was actually #3 and, contrary to popular opinion, the 3rd time was not the charm. His hair is a little more thin, OK, a lot thinner, behind his right ear than it is on his left. He's fine with it. Donn has so little ego it scares me sometimes but, in cases like this, I'm thankful for it. He won't even use a mirror to look at the back of his hair and, besides, it grows fast.
So, why the tears? It's because I think after you've worked your whole life in your career, did all the things you were supposed to do, followed the plan, to the letter, you shouldn't have to be in a position where your wife gives you haircuts so you look neat for your job at Walmart.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
I Thawt I Taw A Puddy-Tat
I should preface this blog with some logistical information. My husband and I live in the NE corner of the mid-Michigan area. To my family who live downstate, I live in Northern Michigan. To my friends who live up North, I'm a down-stater. Anyway, I digress. We have almost 4 acres in a very wooded area, with the Kawkawlin river as the western edge of our property, and that runs around the south edge of our land, also. I mention this because if you know anything about animals in the wild, they tend to gather and follow rivers, streams, etc. In the past 19 years we've lived here, it's very common for deer, wild turkeys, coyotes, and every other kind of small game you can image, to call our "woods" home. Actually, it was about 8-10 years ago, we had bear scat on our property and a few days after we discovered it, the DNR captured a 3 year old black bear and relocated him to Indian River, where he'd be with the rest of his very large friends.
So, now to the newest inhabitant in our neighborhood. It appears there is not only one, but a "few" bobcats on our land and the land of our neighbors. It totally unnerves me, but doesn't surprise me. Four weeks ago, when we brought home our new puppy, Bella, both Donn and I started to notice something out of sorts in our environment. Because Bella was so small and we have very large owls and hawks in our trees, we started going out with her, lest she get picked up as small game and carried off. One night, Donn asked if I'd seen a pair of eyes looking into the yard from the creek that runs along side the garage and the barn. Of course I hadn't but, since his mention of it, I began to feel very uneasy in the evenings when I take Bella out for her potty breaks.
A few days ago, our 3 year old collie, Skye, who barks at anything that moves, began pacing up and down the fence line and barking in a most menacing tone. If you know anything about collies, they are very gentle dogs, but protective of their "flock". As their family, we constitute her flock. The change in her attitude and posture in the yard was a warning signal. Again, I kept getting the feeling that something was watching me. I need to digress at this point. About 4 weeks ago, we had a significant snowfall with much drifting. It was about 2-3 feet deep between the fence and the garage area, going back to the barn. Both Donn and I commented on the tracks we saw on the top of the snow. They were large like a dogs, but not canine-shaped....cat tracks, but too big for a domestic cat. Each time I looked at them, I was unnerved.
Now, back to last evening. Bella, now 4 months old, was whining to go out but each time I got her to the back door, she refused to go through it. I had to coax her out with treats. She, quickly, ran to the edge of the grass, did her thing, and bolted back to the door. Simultaneously, Skye is aggressively running the fence line, barking furiously. I "treat" her back into the house and try to relax with a cup of tea. Then I hear the back door slam, as if someone has opened and shut it. Oh, oh...this isn't good. I'm home alone and I know I'd thrown the dead-bolt when I came in because I was so spooked. Gathering my courage and the only weapon I trusted myself with, a very long barbecue skewer, I made my way downstairs to the inner door that separates the dog room from the rest of the house. That door was shut and secure which could only mean that the noise I heard came from the door in the dog room that opens to the fenced in yard. So, I open the inner door and move into the dog room and can see that the dead-bolt is still in place and the door secure. So what did I hear? Did something of a good size jump up against the back door? At about 10 p.m., safe and secure in my living room, surrounded by my trusty dogs and, now, 2 barbecue skewers, I hear an eerie sound. The kind you hear on the Discovery Channel programs...you know, the ones about the big cats. That kind of screech/scream that panthers and cougars make. Donn's on his way home from work, at about this time, and I'm headed to the kitchen to hit the wine!!!! I tell him about the events of the evening but there's nothing we can do about it.
Then, this morning, our neighbor, Betty, calls and asks if we heard the very strange screeching/screaming sound that came from the woods around 4:30 this morning? No, we hadn't, but we then started comparing events of the past few days, and she offers that the neighbor on the other side of her, Ethel, had an up close and personal encounter with a bobcat about 3 weeks ago, as she went to put her dogs out. It was standing right at the corner of her house. She must not have had barbecue skewers handy because her weapon of choice was a broom.
Now, my question is why didn't that neighbor call Betty or I? That's something you might want to share with your neighbors. That a bobcat is not only in the area, but it's in our yards. Now, Betty's husband is Jerry and Jerry is a hunter. My Donn also hunts and, between the two of them, let's just say we are well-armed. Donn went out right away and checked our barn for any sign of a predator and found no trace. Jerry's going to keep his eyes open. Meanwhile, I go out to the DNR website, enter the search term "bobcats" and get a whole page about how bobcats, cougars and lynx are being tracked. The DNR wants all sightings reported. I print off the materials and give them to Donn who takes them down to Ethel's. When he comes back, he's learned that there have been other sightings, about a mile from here and it was more than one bobcat...more like a few.
You can bet I'm not going to rest easy until they predators are dealt with. I know cats jump fences and so it stands to reason that big cats can jump big fences. I don't want to be out in the yard and come face to face with one. Now I know how Tweety Bird felt every time he looked out from his cage and saw Sylvester lurking, licking his chops. Just like Tweety, I'm saying "I Thawt I Taw A Puddy-Tat..a big Puddy-Tat".
I should preface this blog with some logistical information. My husband and I live in the NE corner of the mid-Michigan area. To my family who live downstate, I live in Northern Michigan. To my friends who live up North, I'm a down-stater. Anyway, I digress. We have almost 4 acres in a very wooded area, with the Kawkawlin river as the western edge of our property, and that runs around the south edge of our land, also. I mention this because if you know anything about animals in the wild, they tend to gather and follow rivers, streams, etc. In the past 19 years we've lived here, it's very common for deer, wild turkeys, coyotes, and every other kind of small game you can image, to call our "woods" home. Actually, it was about 8-10 years ago, we had bear scat on our property and a few days after we discovered it, the DNR captured a 3 year old black bear and relocated him to Indian River, where he'd be with the rest of his very large friends.
So, now to the newest inhabitant in our neighborhood. It appears there is not only one, but a "few" bobcats on our land and the land of our neighbors. It totally unnerves me, but doesn't surprise me. Four weeks ago, when we brought home our new puppy, Bella, both Donn and I started to notice something out of sorts in our environment. Because Bella was so small and we have very large owls and hawks in our trees, we started going out with her, lest she get picked up as small game and carried off. One night, Donn asked if I'd seen a pair of eyes looking into the yard from the creek that runs along side the garage and the barn. Of course I hadn't but, since his mention of it, I began to feel very uneasy in the evenings when I take Bella out for her potty breaks.
A few days ago, our 3 year old collie, Skye, who barks at anything that moves, began pacing up and down the fence line and barking in a most menacing tone. If you know anything about collies, they are very gentle dogs, but protective of their "flock". As their family, we constitute her flock. The change in her attitude and posture in the yard was a warning signal. Again, I kept getting the feeling that something was watching me. I need to digress at this point. About 4 weeks ago, we had a significant snowfall with much drifting. It was about 2-3 feet deep between the fence and the garage area, going back to the barn. Both Donn and I commented on the tracks we saw on the top of the snow. They were large like a dogs, but not canine-shaped....cat tracks, but too big for a domestic cat. Each time I looked at them, I was unnerved.
Now, back to last evening. Bella, now 4 months old, was whining to go out but each time I got her to the back door, she refused to go through it. I had to coax her out with treats. She, quickly, ran to the edge of the grass, did her thing, and bolted back to the door. Simultaneously, Skye is aggressively running the fence line, barking furiously. I "treat" her back into the house and try to relax with a cup of tea. Then I hear the back door slam, as if someone has opened and shut it. Oh, oh...this isn't good. I'm home alone and I know I'd thrown the dead-bolt when I came in because I was so spooked. Gathering my courage and the only weapon I trusted myself with, a very long barbecue skewer, I made my way downstairs to the inner door that separates the dog room from the rest of the house. That door was shut and secure which could only mean that the noise I heard came from the door in the dog room that opens to the fenced in yard. So, I open the inner door and move into the dog room and can see that the dead-bolt is still in place and the door secure. So what did I hear? Did something of a good size jump up against the back door? At about 10 p.m., safe and secure in my living room, surrounded by my trusty dogs and, now, 2 barbecue skewers, I hear an eerie sound. The kind you hear on the Discovery Channel programs...you know, the ones about the big cats. That kind of screech/scream that panthers and cougars make. Donn's on his way home from work, at about this time, and I'm headed to the kitchen to hit the wine!!!! I tell him about the events of the evening but there's nothing we can do about it.
Then, this morning, our neighbor, Betty, calls and asks if we heard the very strange screeching/screaming sound that came from the woods around 4:30 this morning? No, we hadn't, but we then started comparing events of the past few days, and she offers that the neighbor on the other side of her, Ethel, had an up close and personal encounter with a bobcat about 3 weeks ago, as she went to put her dogs out. It was standing right at the corner of her house. She must not have had barbecue skewers handy because her weapon of choice was a broom.
Now, my question is why didn't that neighbor call Betty or I? That's something you might want to share with your neighbors. That a bobcat is not only in the area, but it's in our yards. Now, Betty's husband is Jerry and Jerry is a hunter. My Donn also hunts and, between the two of them, let's just say we are well-armed. Donn went out right away and checked our barn for any sign of a predator and found no trace. Jerry's going to keep his eyes open. Meanwhile, I go out to the DNR website, enter the search term "bobcats" and get a whole page about how bobcats, cougars and lynx are being tracked. The DNR wants all sightings reported. I print off the materials and give them to Donn who takes them down to Ethel's. When he comes back, he's learned that there have been other sightings, about a mile from here and it was more than one bobcat...more like a few.
You can bet I'm not going to rest easy until they predators are dealt with. I know cats jump fences and so it stands to reason that big cats can jump big fences. I don't want to be out in the yard and come face to face with one. Now I know how Tweety Bird felt every time he looked out from his cage and saw Sylvester lurking, licking his chops. Just like Tweety, I'm saying "I Thawt I Taw A Puddy-Tat..a big Puddy-Tat".
Thursday, January 21, 2010
I Can't Say the "F" Word
Are there some words you can't bring yourself to say? I have several that I try to avoid just because it makes me squeamish to say them. You know the ones, they don't exactly roll off your tongue. I bet you think you know the one that is the subject of this blog. Well, guess what? You're wrong. I've said the 4-letter word you're thinking of on occasion, albeit rare occasions. Then what is the "F" word that turns me inside out and upside down? F-A-T. That's the one.
My mother had rules about words you could and couldn't say. It was pretty a interesting list. Words like shut-up, stupid, piss (yuck), boobs, ass, hate and, of course, fat, are the ones I remember most. She struggled most of her married life with her weight. Her 5'2", 110 lb form changed drastically after 8 pregnancies, raising a family through the depression, World War II and the turbulent 50's and 60's. Katie, as she was known to her friends, was an amazing cook, homemaker, baker, and gardener. She was also incredibly beautiful, whether she weighed 110 or 220. Her rule was that, if you saw a person of generous proportions, you could describe them as chubby, pleasingly plump, generously figured, rounded, but you never, never, never called them fat. They can say what they want about the 50's and 60's, but it was a kinder, gentler time to grow up in than what our children are subjected to today. People had manners and it meant something if you said a kind word and spared someone's feelings by keeping your opinions to yourself.
The first time I ever felt self conscious about my figure was my senior year in high school. First of all you have to know that I went to a private Catholic school where we wore uniforms. When you're 5'2", gently rounded, and you have to wear a blue/grey plaid vest with matching box pleated skirt every day, there's no way you're going to look good. The only girls who did look somewhat attractive in that garb were the cheerleaders that were, each and everyone, no bigger than the proverbial minute. Anyway, our yearbook had a prophecy page, where the soon to be graduates had the opportunity to predict the future of their fellow classmates. At an assembly, our class officers did a reading so that all could enjoy how clever some of our "friends" were. There was a prediction about me that made everyone laugh out loud. Can you imagine sitting in an assembly while someone reads "Shari Morrow will be a star on Broadway singing I'm a Little Teapot, Short and Stout". I stayed put, wearing the happy face I was known for and never let on the hurt and embarrassment I felt at that moment. All the happiness and joy I'd experienced in high school went away in that heart-beat. Had they been laughing at me for 4 years? I'd never been unkind to anyone in my life, was naive enough to think that others were the just the same as I. I grew up a little bit that day.
Shortly after, graduation, I shed the weight and kept it off. I threw myself into my avocation of performing in musical theater and singing at local clubs. I took dance class 3-4 times a weeks and for 7 years went from one gig to another, never pausing in between, all the while working a full time job as a legal assistant. I figured I'd beaten the "F" gene. It merely couldn't find me because I didn't stand still long enough for any unused calories to have time to land on my hips or thighs. Then, like my Mom, I got married and started to have children. I gained a great deal of weight while pregnant for Tara who was my first child, but my 2nd pregnancy. I was so scared of having another miscarriage, I stopped all activity and enjoyed being pregnant. I had the best intentions to get the weight off, however, I found myself pregnant for my son, Troy, shortly after Tara was born. Still, I always had it at the top of my list to get my dancer's body back. I kept my belly dancing costume front and center in my closet with my performance gowns, knowing it would be just a matter of time before I was back into them. Kept track of all the auditions scheduled in the area, knowing that I wasn't in the right shape to try out for that show or that part yet but, soon, I'd be able to get back on the boards. I could still sing for my supper. I had an associates in broadcast journalism and even if I didn't have the body for TV, I had the voice for radio and commercials. Size didn't matter there.
I can honestly say that it never occurred to me that I was one of the "f*&" people. I was heavy, more than pleasingly plump, certainly full figured and one of the BBW (Big Beautiful Women). The first time I was ever described in the term that shall remain unsaid, ironically, from the sweet lips of my little man, Troy. He was in the 1st grade and came home from school one day, very sad. He climbed into my lap and said "I love you, Mommy, even though you're bad." Bad, I said, why would he think his Mommy was bad. Without pausing to take a breath he said "because in school today we learned all the things that are bad for you and fat is bad for us and you're fat so you must be bad, but I love you no matter what." I knew a mother's heartbreak for the first time in my life.
I'm still a BBW. I've lost 50 lbs over the past 2 years. Not exactly burning up the weight loss charts but I've learned a lot about myself and the things I do that aren't good for me. I will continue on the weight loss journey, certainly, for the rest of my life. I have a new friend who is a few months younger than I. We have a lot in common, including our commitment to be as healthy as we can be, which includes losing weight. Ironically this friend is approximately the weight I would like to be when I reach my goal. So, the other day, she posted on a weight loss competition board we both are part of, that she "was a fat grandma". I don't know why, but her comments about herself made me very sad. I am bigger than she is but I refuse to label myself the way she did. I am a daughter, wife, mother, grandmother, sister, aunt and friend who will turn 60 very soon. I'm silver haired, short, round, practically perfect (according to my kids), successful, happy, talented, funny, unique, romantic, in love with my husband and with the life I live. What I will never, ever, ever be is F-A-T.
My mother had rules about words you could and couldn't say. It was pretty a interesting list. Words like shut-up, stupid, piss (yuck), boobs, ass, hate and, of course, fat, are the ones I remember most. She struggled most of her married life with her weight. Her 5'2", 110 lb form changed drastically after 8 pregnancies, raising a family through the depression, World War II and the turbulent 50's and 60's. Katie, as she was known to her friends, was an amazing cook, homemaker, baker, and gardener. She was also incredibly beautiful, whether she weighed 110 or 220. Her rule was that, if you saw a person of generous proportions, you could describe them as chubby, pleasingly plump, generously figured, rounded, but you never, never, never called them fat. They can say what they want about the 50's and 60's, but it was a kinder, gentler time to grow up in than what our children are subjected to today. People had manners and it meant something if you said a kind word and spared someone's feelings by keeping your opinions to yourself.
The first time I ever felt self conscious about my figure was my senior year in high school. First of all you have to know that I went to a private Catholic school where we wore uniforms. When you're 5'2", gently rounded, and you have to wear a blue/grey plaid vest with matching box pleated skirt every day, there's no way you're going to look good. The only girls who did look somewhat attractive in that garb were the cheerleaders that were, each and everyone, no bigger than the proverbial minute. Anyway, our yearbook had a prophecy page, where the soon to be graduates had the opportunity to predict the future of their fellow classmates. At an assembly, our class officers did a reading so that all could enjoy how clever some of our "friends" were. There was a prediction about me that made everyone laugh out loud. Can you imagine sitting in an assembly while someone reads "Shari Morrow will be a star on Broadway singing I'm a Little Teapot, Short and Stout". I stayed put, wearing the happy face I was known for and never let on the hurt and embarrassment I felt at that moment. All the happiness and joy I'd experienced in high school went away in that heart-beat. Had they been laughing at me for 4 years? I'd never been unkind to anyone in my life, was naive enough to think that others were the just the same as I. I grew up a little bit that day.
Shortly after, graduation, I shed the weight and kept it off. I threw myself into my avocation of performing in musical theater and singing at local clubs. I took dance class 3-4 times a weeks and for 7 years went from one gig to another, never pausing in between, all the while working a full time job as a legal assistant. I figured I'd beaten the "F" gene. It merely couldn't find me because I didn't stand still long enough for any unused calories to have time to land on my hips or thighs. Then, like my Mom, I got married and started to have children. I gained a great deal of weight while pregnant for Tara who was my first child, but my 2nd pregnancy. I was so scared of having another miscarriage, I stopped all activity and enjoyed being pregnant. I had the best intentions to get the weight off, however, I found myself pregnant for my son, Troy, shortly after Tara was born. Still, I always had it at the top of my list to get my dancer's body back. I kept my belly dancing costume front and center in my closet with my performance gowns, knowing it would be just a matter of time before I was back into them. Kept track of all the auditions scheduled in the area, knowing that I wasn't in the right shape to try out for that show or that part yet but, soon, I'd be able to get back on the boards. I could still sing for my supper. I had an associates in broadcast journalism and even if I didn't have the body for TV, I had the voice for radio and commercials. Size didn't matter there.
I can honestly say that it never occurred to me that I was one of the "f*&" people. I was heavy, more than pleasingly plump, certainly full figured and one of the BBW (Big Beautiful Women). The first time I was ever described in the term that shall remain unsaid, ironically, from the sweet lips of my little man, Troy. He was in the 1st grade and came home from school one day, very sad. He climbed into my lap and said "I love you, Mommy, even though you're bad." Bad, I said, why would he think his Mommy was bad. Without pausing to take a breath he said "because in school today we learned all the things that are bad for you and fat is bad for us and you're fat so you must be bad, but I love you no matter what." I knew a mother's heartbreak for the first time in my life.
I'm still a BBW. I've lost 50 lbs over the past 2 years. Not exactly burning up the weight loss charts but I've learned a lot about myself and the things I do that aren't good for me. I will continue on the weight loss journey, certainly, for the rest of my life. I have a new friend who is a few months younger than I. We have a lot in common, including our commitment to be as healthy as we can be, which includes losing weight. Ironically this friend is approximately the weight I would like to be when I reach my goal. So, the other day, she posted on a weight loss competition board we both are part of, that she "was a fat grandma". I don't know why, but her comments about herself made me very sad. I am bigger than she is but I refuse to label myself the way she did. I am a daughter, wife, mother, grandmother, sister, aunt and friend who will turn 60 very soon. I'm silver haired, short, round, practically perfect (according to my kids), successful, happy, talented, funny, unique, romantic, in love with my husband and with the life I live. What I will never, ever, ever be is F-A-T.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
A Near Miss?
By now, the whole world knows of the failed attempt to bring down a NWA jet on its way to Detroit (DTW) from Amsterdam on Christmas Day. As luck would have it, one week later, on New Years Day, Donn and I were flying out of DTW, with Piper, on our trip to Denver and then on to Nebraska where Piper makes her home with our daughter, Tara, her husband and their 2 month old son, Sage.
That being said, I'm not a good traveler. I don't like placing my life or the lives of my loved ones in the hands of the flight crew. I know they are seasoned professionals and want to end each flight knowing they brought their passengers and fellow crew members safely to their destinations. But now, we have an additional monkey wrench in the plans, with the threat of people getting on plans who have other intentions. Their goal has nothing to do with landing safely, let alone landing at all. You can bet my "radar" was on full alert as we waited 2 hours at our gate for boarding. I was OK; feeling the TSA had done their job pretty well, when he came in to our area and sat down directly across from Donn, Piper and I.
I would be the last one to profile a person, based on their appearance and native language. I'm 1/2 Syrian and 1/2 Native American and, appearance-wise, could pass for any nationality where dark hair, dark eyes, and olive complexion is the norm. With that in mind, when this young man in his mid-20's, with the features I described for myself sat across from us, why did I get a sudden chill and become fearful. Paranoia, hysteria, or were my instincts on alert and I sensed something wasn't right? After an hour of observing his sullen expressions, overhearing his end of several cell phone conversations in a dialect from the Middle East, and noting that he never looked anyone in the eye, I opted to trust my instincts to watch his every move. Keep in mind that New Years Day is a day of Bowl Games. The televisions in the boarding areas were all on and most everyone was paying some kind of attention to the game results as they came in. Not this young man. The only time his head turned to watch TV was during the news breaks, which were focusing on the failed Christmas Day attack over Detroit. He watched every single news break that dealt with terrorism, Al Quaeda, the alleged DTW bomber, and, when those reports ended, went back to keeping his head down and taking phone calls. Now, I was scared.
As I was taking Piper for a walk to stretch her legs before we boarded our plane, the Detroit City Police bike patrol went through our area. I thought great, they'll certainly see this guy and stop for a chat. When that didn't happen, I seriously thought about stopping them and asking them to swing through our boarding area and "check him out". But I didn't do that and do you know why? Because I didn't want to profile him. Perhaps put an innocent young man through undue scrutiny just because I felt he was a suspicious person. After all, when my son, Troy, chooses to fly unshaven with a cap pulled over his dark hair, he could be profiled simply based on his appearance. I also took heart in the fact that there was a plane boarding in the area right next to us, headed for New York City and, if this person was a terrorist with the intent of doing harm, he'd make more of an impact if it happened somewhere between Detroit and New York, than from Detroit to Denver. Not that I wished harm on the NY passengers but it isn't called survival of the fittest for nothing! I just didn't want him on our plane.
Guess what, he didn't get on the plane bound for New York. Rats, he got on our plane. Yikes. Then it occurred to me that we were in row 19, the row the alleged terrorist sat in on Christmas Day. I was quickly running out of happy thoughts. I said more Hail Mary's during that flight than I ever have and, as we approached our final descent into Denver, figured we'd made it safely and began to breath a sigh of relief. I went about the business of helping Piper gather up her books and things so that when it came time to disembark the plane, we'd have left nothing behind, except my paranoia and fear of flying. I never witnessed what followed.
Donn, of course, knew of my fears and suspicions and, as always, he's my rock. He would be the passenger who would throw himself on a bomb if it meant saving not just my life, but the life of anyone on the plane. So, it wasn't until after we got off the plane, walking through the terminal, when Donn said "you know that young guy who made you nervous? Did you know he was sitting right behind you?" "No", I said. He had my attention, now. Then Donn says, "then you didn't see what he did as we were in our final approach to Denver?" I just looked at Donn and asked about what I'd missed. After the pilot announced that all passengers remain buckled in their seats for the final approach; that the flight crew should prepare for landing, the young man got out of his seat, walked up to the front of the plane, stopped, and then turned back and returned to his seat. A chill ran through me. The same one I got when I first saw the young man who sat across from me in the boarding area. Were my instincts right? Did he intend to do harm but thought better of it? Was carrying out his plan on a plane full of families with young children, traveling to their homes, too much for his conscience to bear? Is that why he stopped near the front of the plane, turned around and went back to his seat? Was that our near miss?
That being said, I'm not a good traveler. I don't like placing my life or the lives of my loved ones in the hands of the flight crew. I know they are seasoned professionals and want to end each flight knowing they brought their passengers and fellow crew members safely to their destinations. But now, we have an additional monkey wrench in the plans, with the threat of people getting on plans who have other intentions. Their goal has nothing to do with landing safely, let alone landing at all. You can bet my "radar" was on full alert as we waited 2 hours at our gate for boarding. I was OK; feeling the TSA had done their job pretty well, when he came in to our area and sat down directly across from Donn, Piper and I.
I would be the last one to profile a person, based on their appearance and native language. I'm 1/2 Syrian and 1/2 Native American and, appearance-wise, could pass for any nationality where dark hair, dark eyes, and olive complexion is the norm. With that in mind, when this young man in his mid-20's, with the features I described for myself sat across from us, why did I get a sudden chill and become fearful. Paranoia, hysteria, or were my instincts on alert and I sensed something wasn't right? After an hour of observing his sullen expressions, overhearing his end of several cell phone conversations in a dialect from the Middle East, and noting that he never looked anyone in the eye, I opted to trust my instincts to watch his every move. Keep in mind that New Years Day is a day of Bowl Games. The televisions in the boarding areas were all on and most everyone was paying some kind of attention to the game results as they came in. Not this young man. The only time his head turned to watch TV was during the news breaks, which were focusing on the failed Christmas Day attack over Detroit. He watched every single news break that dealt with terrorism, Al Quaeda, the alleged DTW bomber, and, when those reports ended, went back to keeping his head down and taking phone calls. Now, I was scared.
As I was taking Piper for a walk to stretch her legs before we boarded our plane, the Detroit City Police bike patrol went through our area. I thought great, they'll certainly see this guy and stop for a chat. When that didn't happen, I seriously thought about stopping them and asking them to swing through our boarding area and "check him out". But I didn't do that and do you know why? Because I didn't want to profile him. Perhaps put an innocent young man through undue scrutiny just because I felt he was a suspicious person. After all, when my son, Troy, chooses to fly unshaven with a cap pulled over his dark hair, he could be profiled simply based on his appearance. I also took heart in the fact that there was a plane boarding in the area right next to us, headed for New York City and, if this person was a terrorist with the intent of doing harm, he'd make more of an impact if it happened somewhere between Detroit and New York, than from Detroit to Denver. Not that I wished harm on the NY passengers but it isn't called survival of the fittest for nothing! I just didn't want him on our plane.
Guess what, he didn't get on the plane bound for New York. Rats, he got on our plane. Yikes. Then it occurred to me that we were in row 19, the row the alleged terrorist sat in on Christmas Day. I was quickly running out of happy thoughts. I said more Hail Mary's during that flight than I ever have and, as we approached our final descent into Denver, figured we'd made it safely and began to breath a sigh of relief. I went about the business of helping Piper gather up her books and things so that when it came time to disembark the plane, we'd have left nothing behind, except my paranoia and fear of flying. I never witnessed what followed.
Donn, of course, knew of my fears and suspicions and, as always, he's my rock. He would be the passenger who would throw himself on a bomb if it meant saving not just my life, but the life of anyone on the plane. So, it wasn't until after we got off the plane, walking through the terminal, when Donn said "you know that young guy who made you nervous? Did you know he was sitting right behind you?" "No", I said. He had my attention, now. Then Donn says, "then you didn't see what he did as we were in our final approach to Denver?" I just looked at Donn and asked about what I'd missed. After the pilot announced that all passengers remain buckled in their seats for the final approach; that the flight crew should prepare for landing, the young man got out of his seat, walked up to the front of the plane, stopped, and then turned back and returned to his seat. A chill ran through me. The same one I got when I first saw the young man who sat across from me in the boarding area. Were my instincts right? Did he intend to do harm but thought better of it? Was carrying out his plan on a plane full of families with young children, traveling to their homes, too much for his conscience to bear? Is that why he stopped near the front of the plane, turned around and went back to his seat? Was that our near miss?
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