Sunday Funday: Roller Skating!

The laughter.  The music.  The lights!  What could be more fun than roller skating at the skating rink?  What a way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

My dad loved roller skating.  He met my mom at the roller skating rink in Pomona, CA.  She wrote in her diary that she was so flattered that such a handsome fella would pay attention to her.  When my sister and I were old enough, he taught us to skate.  I was a scaredy cat but my sister would fly around the driveway like a Bay City Bomber!  

And remember those great skates with a skate key?  They were da bomb!  Best shoes were tie-up clunkers, but tennies worked too.  A few tightening turns and you could cruse around all afternoon on sidewalks--or in our farmlandish area case, that long driveway.

Today we have much safer skates with shoes attached.  And stopping thingies in the front.  Guess crashing into the walls or falling on the grass wasn't the safest thing,  But hey :)

 So what do you say?  Jump into a Funday Sunday by taking the kids, the grands, yourselves out to the rink for a bunch of fun!

And so it goes
peace~~~

A Riot That Changed Things

I used to have an essay question on the take-home final for my Intercultural Communication class that asked students to select an event in time that changed our culture--how it changed culture, how it changed communication between us, how it effected our relationships.  I gave them choices like Watergate, Vietnam War, Civil Rights Movement, Women's Movement, as well as events like the California grape fields strike in 1965 and the fall of the Berlin Wall.  Each choice had a major impact on our lives and how we see the world.

Very few events can be seen as a specific turning point in history.  More often the changes take time, rolling along together until TaDa!  Change!  But there are some events in our history that are the defining moments of change.  The Stonewall Riots is one such event.

In 1969, it was illegal to be outwardly gay.  It was illegal to dress in clothing that isn't appropriate for your gender.  It was illegal to gather together, dance together, kiss...it was illegal to be gay.  Stonewall Inn in Greenwich Village, NY was a bar and restaurant...a well known gay club.  Gay clubs and bars were places of refuge where people could express themselves openly and socialize without worry. However, the New York State Liquor Authority penalized and shut down establishments that served alcohol to known or suspected LGBT individuals, arguing that the mere gathering of homosexuals was “disorderly.” 

But the Stonewall Inn, as with many other gay clubs in Greenwich Village, was mafia-owned.  They tagged their bars as a "bottle bar" where people brought their own liquor; thus, no need to a liquor license.  Also, the owners bribed officers to ignore the activities within the club.

Without police interference, the crime family could cut costs how they saw fit: The club lacked a fire exit, running water behind the bar to wash glasses, clean toilets that didn’t routinely overflow, and palatable drinks that weren’t watered down beyond recognition.  Nonetheless, Stonewall Inn quickly became an important Greenwich Village institution. It was large and relatively cheap to enter. It welcomed drag queens, who received a bitter reception at other gay bars and clubs.

On June 28, 1969, NY City police raided Stonewall Inn.  This wasn't anything new.  It was raided often, even with corrupt officer payoffs and those officers would tip-off the owners that a raid was coming and the booze and other illegal activities could be hidden.  

But this raid was different.  There was no tip-off.  Armed with a warrant, police officers entered the club, roughed up patrons, and, finding bootlegged alcohol, arrested 13 people, including employees and people violating the state’s gender-appropriate clothing statute.

As people were being hit over the head with billy clubs and dragged off into paddy wagons, the crowd watching were shocked.  One woman, bleeding and beaten, yelled out to the crowd, "DO SOMETHING!"  The crowd begin throwing pennies, bottles, cobble stones, and other objects at the police.  Within minutes a full-blown riot involving hundreds of people began.

It lasted five days.  Just as it would start to settle down, another segment would flare up.  The Village Voice, first simply reporting the events of the riot, would inflame readers and the anger would bubble-up.

Following the riot, the media began to report events and issues surrounding LGBT people.  It changed our views, our way of seeing others.  It wasn't a start of the Gay Rights Movement, but it was a great force behind political action.  

The first Gay Pride Parade was held in 1970.  It wasn't a party like it is today, but a political movement.  Without Stonewall Riots, it may have taken many years longer to begin.

And so we go
peace~~~

Sunday Funday: Magic

Yes, yes I know.  "Sunday Funday" isn't about kid-fun but adult fun.  I looked it all up and everything.  There's drinking and partying and having the blast leftover from Saturday.  According to the Urban Dictionary,

By celebrating the "Sunday Funday" you can extend your weekend festivities just a little longer before hanging up your party pants. This day typically starts out with mimosas or bloody marys aka hair of the dog. It then typically continues throughout the day until you find yourself wasted by about 6:30ish. Since the "Funday" ends early enough, you can rest assured that you will go to bed aka pass out early enough to be perfectly refreshed for work on Monday morning.

Wellllll...I don't actually drink and my "party pants" look a lot like my Monday pants, Tuesday pants, Wedn...you get the idea.  So I decided that "Sunday Fundays" means kid-fun days!  And what's more fun than bubbles??
I remember the fun of going to J.J. Newberry--the best little five-and-dime where I used to walk to with a girlfriend, up at the outdoor mall we called "Sears."  And we'd spend a dime or a quarter (I don't remember which that far back.  A dime sound so little!) for a Coke at the fountain and a bit of photobooth fun.  I could afford to buy Christmas presents for $1 each for my sister, Mom, Dad and my two grammas.  One of the fun things we could pick up at the five-and-dime for almost nothing was a bottle of bubbles with a magic wand!  I loved them.  They are magic.

And who doesn't love bubbles? Think about when you are at the fair and a clown machine starts spitting out bubbles.  Doesn't that just make you laugh and try to catch them?  Mckenzie Baker's poem Bubbles begins, "I’d like to think there’s/something infinitely mystic about bubbles."

I always wanted to make those really large bubbles, but found you needed much larger wands to do that.  So I just happily settled for a bunch of smaller ones that floated around the yard.  I didn't know there was a science of how those bubbles were made, I just puffed and puffed and out came the bubbles!  They are magic.

Sundays weren't all that fun when I was young.  First there's church in nice clothes and then a family meal and then the rest of the day until Disney's Wonderful World of Color came on.  It wasn't like Saturdays which were the best.  But bubbles could have changed all that. So get out there and have your own Sunday Funday with some bubbles!  It's magic.

 
peace~~~

A fun video!  The Spangler Effect - The Science of Bubbles

Summer Rituals: Brain Freeze

Today is Summer solstice in my part of the world.  Summer is finally officially here.  Long days.  Picnics.  Barbecues.  Days at the river.  Hide and Seek after dark.  Games and playing and idling away the days.  Iced tea and lemonade.  While any time of the year is time for ice cream, summer it when ice cream is at it's best!  My favorite time of the year. Well, except for the brain freeze that follows those iced drinks and ice cream.

I think brain freeze is a rite of summer.  We are so happy to take a long gulp of that cold drink we forget our heads can suffer.  So what causes it?

Wake Forest Baptist Medical Center neuroscientist Dwayne Godwin, Ph.D., explains how it works. 

"Brain freeze is really a type of headache that is rapid in onset, but rapidly resolved as well," he said. "Our mouths are highly vascularized, including the tongue -- that's why we take our temperatures there. But drinking a cold beverage fast doesn't give the mouth time to absorb the cold very well."

 Okay, so we gulp down an iced drink or we eat our ice cream too fast and the back of our throats where all those feeling things tie together get really cold really fast.  Blood is racing to the brain.  Warning lights are going off.  And then the brain screams, "STOP IT, DAMMIT!" (you know how to brain hates change) and makes us suffer like badly scolded children by giving us a sudden really bad headache.

It doesn't last long (the longer ones are hell!) and then it just goes away.  In the meantime, we've actually stopped, just like the brain wanted us to do.  Temperature in the mouth goes back to normal and we all live happily ever after, but at a slower paced than before.

Getting rid of brain freeze is almost as easy as receiving it.  Try one of these: 

• Put your tongue to the roof of your mouth.  It will warm it all up and you can live happily ever after.
• Sip some warmish water.
• Live with it while you make faces and cringe.  I mean, it doesn't actually last long.  And remember you won't die from it.

Yeppers, Summer's here and our brain freeze is waiting!
peace~~~

It's a True Civil War

Hey watch your back!  *  Over here!  Need help over here!  *  I've got you, Brother!  I've got you!  *  You okay back there?  *  The shots, the rockets, the hell.  And it's all happening inside your body.  Your immune system has turned against your muscles or your skin or your joints.  No one knows why...no one knows who...trial and error to find how to make it stop.

Our immune system is a great thing.  It can tell the difference between a foreign invader and its own body.  It is is made up of a network of cells, tissues, and organs that work together to protect the body, ready to do battle with invading infections and diseases.  I always picture it with little suits of armor, sentinels standing ready for battle. 

As great as this system is for our health, it can sometimes turn against us.  It gets confused and starts battling our bodies.  This battle is an autoimmune disease.  Diabetes.  Arthritis.  Lyme Disease.  Multiple sclerosis.  Psoriasis.  Celiac disease.  Lupus.  There are hundreds more.  Nearly 25 million Americans suffer from an autoimmune condition, and the numbers are constantly rising.

No one truly understands what causes the immune system to turn on itself, but after years and years of studying they have finally recognized that all this it isn't "just in your head."  The closest scientists have come is to acknowledge that it is
likely a result from interactions between genetic and environmental factors. Studies show that certain genes can predispose a person to certain autoimmune diseases, and therefore many autoimmune diseases may be prevalent in one family. (site)  

Treatment is also spotty.  Some of the infections can be treated with steroids such as prednisone.  Most are trials and errors.  "Some people get relief using this."  And so the search goes on.  Some diseases are so common that the pharmaceutical companies have created specific drugs that can help.  Like for Crohn's disease or psoriasis.

We had never heard of polymyalgia rheumatica (PMR) until Doug was diagnosed this week.  He woke up one morning and his legs ached and he could hardly walk.  Stretching and heat from the shower helped.  Then after a few weeks, it started moving up his body until he could barely use his left arm because the pain was so severe.  I finally convinced him to see a doctor...polymyalgia rheumatica.  

• It comes on suddenly
• It happens to people mostly over 65--more women than men
• It affects the legs, hips, arms, chest, shoulder muscles
• Worse in the mornings
• Most common among white people whose ancestors were from Scandinavia or northern Europe.
• Can become worse: symptoms follow giant cell arteritis (GCA), which results in inflammation in the lining of the arteries, most often the arteries in the temples. Signs and symptoms include headaches, jaw pain, vision problems and scalp tenderness. If left untreated, this condition can lead to stroke or blindness.
• Best treatment is a low-level steroid; relapses are common

And thus the battle against the pain and immobility begins.  He is already gaining some relief from three days of
prednisone.  He will need to continue to use this for a long time to prevent relapse.  But relief has begun!

And so it goes.  
peace~~~

The Feral Ones...Revisited

By now everyone knows that shoes and socks go feral.  Shoes seems to jump out of the car unexpectedly and socks…socks are just sly. 

• They leave sometime after the washer but before the dryer.   
• Or they slip out as we take them out of the dryer.   
• Or they go free-range through the lint filter and air vent.  

We also know there are packs of shoes and of socks out there, roaming the streets together.  But the problem lies when once these feet coverers leave the pack.  It could be a falling out.  It could be that they were sadly left behind ("Save yourselves," the holey sock might whisper…).  They do not fully realize that once they have left the pack, they are not safe.  They are stranded along the side of the road, hoping to find a partner, hoping to find another like themselves…

Yes, we all know about these feral socks and shoes.  But I didn’t realize the same thing happens to orange and yellow safety cones.  It is so sad to see one out and away from any civilization, any real construction, leaning against the freeway retaining wall or laying crumpled in the emergency strip.

I can only imagine how down and out these cones can get on their own.  I would expect them to at least try, to hold signs that say, "Will secure for food" or something.  But there they are, face-down in the freeway gutters.

 

And so it goes…
peace~~~

Mama

My mother quietly passed away a few months ago.  It is always amazing to me when I make that statement, for Mom never did much "quietly".  She had a loud voice and as she aged, she used it often and with quite a cranky manner.  But the day after her 93rd birthday, she slipped quietly away.  I like to think of her now reunited with Dad, dancing--oh how they loved to dance!  They took lessons and would on impromptu swing those steps in the living room.  And her head would be back, smiling big as they whorled around.  And she is now laughing at all his corny jokes.  Back together again.  I had the honor of speaking at her funeral.
 

Things My Mama Taught Me

My sister and I thank you for coming out here to celebrate our mother’s life.  Many Smith family members are buried in Ontario, from my great grandparents to most my aunts and my uncle.  And my fathers mother and step-father are in LaVerne.  So why are we way the hell out here in horse country?  If you knew my dad, you’ll understand.  The man loved a good deal.  During the great gas wars of the sixties and early 70s, when gas was 23.9/gallon, he’d drive his motor home around town to find the best price, thus saving a penny a gallon. I’d say, "What a waste of time!"  But he would explain the motor home held a lot more gas than a car (which he would also drive around searching).  Figure out the math for him…he was ecstatic to save that, maybe, 30 cents!

So when a salesman came around sometime in the late 50s, early 60s, selling cemetery plots, dad knew a good deal when he saw one.  And here we are!

Some of you knew my Mom as Evelyn, but most of you knew her as Bette.  How did she come by this nickname?  When just a little girl, she was sick--just a cold or the flu, nothing serious.  Her mother asked her, “Are you all better now?” And she replied, “I all bette.”  She was called Bette thereafter.

Mom was a loving and giving woman.  She could also be a bit cranky and bossy.  As an older teen, I acutely felt the crankiness and bossiness in my life.  So when my first husband would tell me”you are just like your mother!” I knew to be ashamed.  But at some point in those seven married years, I grew up and remembered that she was a generous caring friend to anyone who needed her and I started turning his words around and saying, “Thank you!” And meant it (and the fact it pissed him off--bonus!).

My mother taught me many wonderful things that helped shape me into who I am.  She taught me how to laugh and seek joy, how to give and help others, and how to love.

Mom was born on her parents farm in Iowa and moved to Southern California at the age of five.  She didn’t remember very much about life on the farm, a vivid picture of a Victorian window perhaps.  But her best memory was this hill outside the house and rolling down that hill, laughing and playing.  She never lost that gleeful joy of such adventure. 

Washington D.C. Smithsonian

After dad died she and I spend many years traveling around. Up and down the pacific coast.  Holland.  The Grant Tetons. Yellowstone.  Washington DC.  She was always excited to experience the next glacier or museum.  Pure joy.

At her husband’s funeral, she decided to wear red.  She said she wanted her grandsons to see that sadness and grief didn’t have to mean black and gloom.  She loved her six grandchildren and their partners, her greatgrandies with all her heart and wanted to be that joyful role model.

She also joyfully loved to give to others.  When she gave, she gave wholeheartedly.  She was a wonderful yarn artist.  She spent evening TV watching with hours of knitting and crocheting.  Sweaters.  Granny-square vests.  Remember those gawd-awful crocheted vests?  Yep.  And afghans.  She made hundreds of blankets and gave them away to friends and charities.  Last evening at her viewing, everyone mentioned they had a blanket from her.  She loved the sweetness of a baby blanket.  She gave blankets to The House of Ruth so those families, so used to violence, had warmth and comfort. She gave blankets to Crossroads in Claremont so the women transitioning from prison to renewed life knew they were loved.  

But her donations and skills didn’t stop at blankets.  She was an excellent seamstress and loved to sit and watch football or baseball while she sewed. In my sister's senior year in high school, Pat was invited to the prom. Mom bought the satiny fabric of choice and whipped out this gorgeous gown for Pat. And then a few days later, had to quickly make one for me. She patiently taught me how to sew. My patience wasn’t so evident.  If I couldn’t finish the dress in a day, it never got finished.  I now make quilts and donate most of them to children in the hospital, the homeless, and to other charities throughout the Portland area, as well as give to my friends and family.

For over thirty years she volunteered her time and skills to Santa Claus, Inc in Ontario.  She made T-shirts and children’s clothing, helped sign-up for parents to receive toys and clothes, and then helped distribute it all.  As a fanatic about her books to be accurate to a penny (as opposed to my “close enough,”), she became treasurer for the organization.  She gathered fabric from stores that would donate, or find good prices.  She was a whirlwind of giving.

And we can’t forget her beautiful artistry using threads.  The two counted cross-stitch hangings we have on display are only a sample of the many pieces she has made and given away.  If I asked a show of hands right here of who has ever received a piece of her art—pieces of clothing, blankets, counted-cross, you would see how many she has given to the world.

And in her gift of joy, and her example of giving of herself, she taught me how to love.

Mom was a hugger.  Not just an everyday ho-hum hugger, but you knew she loved you hugger.  We who use social media, often write hugs when we want to show our care, but mom wasn’t of social media.  Even in her letters—oh gawd she love receiving letters!  Even in her letters she would draw her own form of emoticon of hugging.  You might not always be able to read what she wrote with her left handed scribble, but you always knew it was full of love.

She always said out loud to strangers passing how much she loved what they were wearing.  Beautiful fabric.  Cute top. Your shoes are so nice.  You have a beautiful smile.  Used to embarrass the heck out of me!  Now I embarrass my own kids doing the same thing.  She was warm and welcoming and immediately invited you into her life.

My mom taught me the important things of life.  She taught me the importance of life, not to be squandered but to lived fully.  The joy of a simple flower in the garden, the adventure waiting to happen.  The joy of giving of oneself to others, making sure they were comfortable.  She taught me how to love.  And I hopefully taught some of these things to my own sons as well as to my grandson.  Oh hell, she could certainly be cranky and full blown bossy.  On a really bad day in the nursing center, she would say, “I’m 90 years old!  I can be crabby if I want to!” And didn’t hold back.  But she was the most giving and loving woman and I am proud when someone says to me, “You are just like your mother.”

peace~~~