I Accidently Summoned a Lemon!

 

I grew up in a house with parents who tended to be Passive-Aggressive. For example, they never told me what I did wrong; I had to guess. Dammit! There were too many choices! Since I was a dumb kid, I frequently didn't know that I had actually done something wrong, so my response was, "I didn't do anything!"  And their response was, "That's the problem!" I still don't know what that means.

One day I was visiting my sister and I accidentally shut a kitchen cupboard a bit too hard. She came into the kitchen and asked me if I was upset. I looked at her, trying to think what I did to be asked...aha! The cupboard door! And started to laugh. I told her at what I was laughing--Mom would never tell she was mad but slammed cupboard doors. Sis started laughing as well. Like Pavlov's dogs...there we were.

I majored in Communication in college. It was there I learned about double-binds and passive-aggressive communication. Recognizing this as behavior I had witnessed growing up and was actually practicing, I worked hard on how to respond in a positive manner rather than the same-ole-same-ole. Instead of trying to guess when Mom or someone would give a vague request that sounded like a loaded question, I learned to ask what was wanted. That way I could decide if I wanted to follow-through. Instead of having people guess what I was REALLY saying, I said what I was really saying. (and yet, how many men told me what I really meant. And I'd tell them if I had meant that, I'd have said that.  Some learned....)

And I learned how to calmly and responsibly argue with someone. I learned to take responsibility for how I feel and state it as such--instead of saying "you make me feel/angry/crazy," I'd say, "When you do this (describe the behavior), I feel this way," (describe how I respond). Now this was a great way to disagree as I am taking responsibility for how I am feeling and describing the behavior of the other. Hopefully this can help them not feel attacked and we can talk about the behaviors and the feelings. 

Okay, the truth about the best part of arguing was that I smoked.  Yes, it know it's a stinky horrible habit, but it was great when arguing.  I could think before speaking because I could take a puff or two before responding. And then the response could now be a thoughtful calm statement.

Yes, that was when I was a smoker. [un]Fortunately I quit smoking on March 24, 2001. And suddenly I had no filter! OMG! Everything that entered my head flew out of my mouth. I found I was terrible at the behaviors of staying calm and responding respectively!

I thought about taking up smoking again so I could get back to my good discussion behavior. But naw...that had been too much work quitting. So instead I started to try to practice calmness. 

Do you realize that when someone is calm while another is angry and frantic that this makes them more angry and frantic? Yeah I didn't either. Communication research says that we will match each others communication behavior...but either I'm suppose to get angry and frantic or I'm suppose to walk away because being calm never calms the other down. *sigh*

Well, there is a reason we are simply "practicing communication".  We all want to be understood; how we achieve that is often a mystery. I hope I can get this right at least a day before I die. 

Nirvana

and so it goes~~~
peace

Finding the Perfect Ratio

As kids, my sister and I ate cereal every morning for breakfast. We loved cereal. Mom would allow us to select our own cereal. For many years, our selections had to be non-sugar-coated selections. Dad loved Wheaties. Mom loved Grape Nuts. Kix was good choice for us.

Pat and I always ate breakfast together. The story we heard from our parents is that one morning when we were very young, Patty came into our parents bedroom on a lazy Saturday morning. "Moke," she said to the sleepyheads. "Make moke go way." Yeppers, they jumped up and ran into the dining room to see the toaster on fire. My sweet big sister was making the two of us breakfast of cereal and toast. The bread caught in the toaster and set the dining room on Smoke. The burnt spot under the cabinet was still there when Mom sold the house in the late 1990s.

Yes, breakfast was a sister-together project.

As we grew a bit older, we would read while we slurped our cereal. It started by reading the cereal boxes. The backs of the boxes had reading and crafty stuff. There were adventures. There were advertisements. There were things to cut out and make. Heck, they even had records on some of them. Very entertaining, these cereal boxes. And when Mom allowed us to select certain sugar-coated cereals, life just got better and better. Sugar and wheat and box-backs! Pat's favorite was Sugar Crisps and Sugar Pops. I loved Alpha Bits. Oh and when they arrived in 1958, I loooooved Coco Krispies.

Now there was always a problem with the balance of milk-to-cereal ratio. Often when the cereal was gone, there was too much milk left. So we would need to pour a bit more cereal into the bowl. You know, to keep the ratio correct. And perhaps a bit too much cereal was poured into the bowl; therefore, we needed to add more milk. This might go on for a few times before we achieved the best ratio. We went through many boxes of cereal that way. Coco Krispies was very difficult to find that ratio ;)

So we read, kept our eye on the perfect ratio, and enjoyed breakfast. We moved from the back of the boxes to bringing books to the table. And there we'd sit, slurping cereal, reading our books.

As we grew older, cereal became a true comfort food for me. As an adult, I couldn't buy it because I would eat too much too fast. It didn't matter what I'd buy. I even tried Wheat Puffs, but to make them palatable, I needed about a cup of sugar.  So I changed my breakfast to eggs and toast, or simply a drink of something--maybe milk or juice. Now I make myself a Iced Chai Tea Latte every morning. I still read while I eat breakfast. Breakfast is for reading.

My sister never left behind cereal for breakfast. She has it every morning and happily goes about her day. Whine she was here nursing me back from knee surgery, as with every visit, there was a box of cereal for her. She would make my breakfast of eggs and toast and latte, but rarely ate anything but cereal. When she left (thank you so much for helping me!), Doug made my breakfast for me. 

When I could stand for a bit longer, I began to make my own breakfast. I found that pouring a bowl of cereal was much faster than making eggs and toast. I started by eating the remainder of Pat's cereal instead of cooking something. Then, with my bowl and little plate, I'd hobble back to The Chair and settle in. Instead of reading, I started watching old episodes of Perry Mason. Why Perry? Well sure...because he is Perry Mason.

And now, thanks to my sister, I have cereal again every morning. As an older adult, I no longer buy Coco Krispies (I still can't control myself!) but eat Raisin Bran Crunch every morning. Milk is poured just right so that there is a bit left over to slurp from the bowl. 

Who wants to cook eggs when you can simply pour and slurp?

And so it goes...it's all my sister's fault that I must have a bowl of cereal every morning. That's just the way it goes.
peace~~~

The Art of Aging...Well

As the pandemic hit in 2020, many of us baby boomers were shocked we were considered "elderly." No, we weren't elderly; we were the "New Pepsi Generation!" We were the youth of the 60s and would live forever. Elderly? No way we were elderly. Our PARENTS were elderly.

When my grandmother was in her 80s, she was on the phone with a doctor's office receptionist, who asked, "Are you elderly?" Gramma answered with bewilderment, "Well, I'm not yet 90...."

And yet here were are, hitting our 70s, thinking we will live to be 150 years old as we are still "middle aged." Seems there should be something between 50s and 90s--between middle-aged and elderly--to describe the current baby boomer generation.  But no. We are aging hippies and aging business people and aging grand parents...you know. Aging.

We get called "Boomers," a pejorative term implying that our opinions are out of touch and outdated. Outdated! We created this world. I mean, we have danced using transistor radios, boom boxes, 4- and 8-track players, CD players, MP3s and streaming music. We've watched black and white televisions, color televisions, remote control televisions, rabbit-eared televisions, streaming television. We created the Internet! We swung from trees, drank from hoses, and rode our bikes all over without parental tracking. And here we are "Booming."

Some people are just laying around, being old. Some people are running around jumping out of airplanes and dead-lifting at the gym. Some people are getting face lifts, arm lifts, boob lifts, butt lifts. Some people are letting all those wrinkles and cottage-cheese skin bumps come along for the ride. Some of us are forgetting we are aging and continue being whatever we are being. 

We are trying to figure out how to live with the aches and the pains that can come with growing older. We are trying to not be our parents--they were always out of touch, weren't they? But as we grew older, they grew smarter, didn't they?

I don't have the answer of how to lose my slot in the New Pepsi Generation, the best way to move through this middle-part before I, like Gramma, turn 90; therefore, elderly. So I guess I will simply continue to be that sometimes weird aging-hippie flower child who takes some ibuprofen every day in order to move around better, watches old episodes of Perry Mason, and enjoys life best I can. Yeah, guess that'll do for now.

and so it goes
peace~~~

The Adventures of Nellie and Doris: All the Rest and Yet So Many More

 

When I was almost 24, we moved to Portland. We rented a small two-bedroom house that sat on a corner. The property sort of blended into the streets because there were no sidewalks--those didn't arrive for several years. We had plenty of yard because the landlord also owned the empty lot next door. Adding to the yard, our house sat back from the street. We had a line of trees along one street and a lovely blooming cherry tree in front of the house. Of course, all those trees went away when the county put in sidewalks.

Our house was small and a bit drafty. This was because at one time a former tenant's car was parked too close to the house and slid under it. Without rugs, wind rushed through the flooring. Under the house was actually an unfinished basement, if you’d call it that.  Besides mud and bricks and other debris from the side of the house, that’s where the water heater hung out. And the opossum and feral cats, and so on. But the rent was only $130 a month, which the landlord never raised in the 15 years my sons and I lived there, so what did one expect?

Nellie lived across the street in a nice three-bedroom mid-century modern house that she and Bobby bought a few years before we moved there. Nellie was about 28 when we moved into the neighborhood. In a sense, we grew up together with our kids the same ages and we were pretty close in age as well. 

She was the best friend I could ever have. That woman never said no to any of my crazy ideas. 

     *Hey! Let’s walk up to Mt Scott Park and roller skate!

     *Hey! Let’s walk to Dairy Queen for exercise and treat ourselves with a Peanut Buster Parfait!

     *Hey! Why don’t we go get those special donuts and eat them while hiding from the kids!

And I could always count on Nellie for great adventures.

There was the time she noticed someone in my house when no one was home. And then helped me deal with the police. Or the time she saw movement in the house, called Big Earnie, a state trooper, to go check it out…only to have him escort my son to school. 

The time someone stole my car and she was shocked when I yelled out, “Where’s my car!?!”  She had watched it drive away, thinking it was me in the drivers seat.

And let’s not forget the time the neighborhood kids filled my car with crumpled newspapers and put a “Just Married” sign on the car. 😁

How about the times she and our neighbor Shirley would see me get out a ladder in order to get something off the roof and come running over to make sure I never went up that ladder just in case my clumsy self didn’t fall.

And the talking. And laughing. And crying. And did I mention laughing?

All the attempts to lose weight—we tried TOPS and that chocolate candy that hinders appetite. Dang those chocolates were not very good but better than nothing.  One before meals was recommended but a bit more of the chocolate couldn’t hurt…. Weight Watchers was our most frequent attempt. Measuring, weighing, eating.

 

 And, of course, the store. The neighborhood Kwik Mart. I’d visit her while she worked. She’d visit me while I worked. We’d both clean up the shelves, or “face” the products together while the store wasn’t busy. Heck, we’d both face the shelves at Tradewell up the street when we’d shop there. Habit 😂

 

We didn’t see as much of each other after I moved up north of town, but we kept in touch.  When her nephew Winston died and she was afraid I was also gone, I rushed to her. And there we were, laughing and crying and talking. When she had a stroke, I rushed to the hospital to be with her. And there we were, laughing and crying and talking.

Her diagnosis of pancreatic cancer was a shock to us all. I spent time with her when she was back in hospital, twice driving through the ice and snow. Her sister, Mary, and Nellie and I would be laughing and talking. I’d save my crying for the drive home.

Nellie hung in there at home for many many months on Hospice Care after she stopped chemotherapy, often surrounded by her children, grandkids, great grandees. I would call every few days and ask if she wanted company. She often did and I’d come over and chatter, bringing our memories together to the surface. I was fortunate to be with her earlier on the day she died. One more adventure, this time without me.

While it’s impossible to write every adventure we ever had—so many forgotten, so many memories lost—my sweetest times with this remarkable woman were just every day every way every moment. 

And now I have these simple words to remember my friend. We did grow old together, just not old enough.

and so it goes~~~

peace

The Adventures of Nellie and Doris: The One About Nights

Recently Missy reminded me of how Nellie and the kids ate dinner with their dad. Bobby worked nights while Nellie tended to the family or worked at the store during the day. The kids had little opportunity to see their dad as they were in school while he was sleeping in the daytime.

So, Nellie would cook dinner, pack it up, and then toss the kids into the back of their camper-shelled truck. They had made a bit of a camper in the back, including a table, chairs, and a bitty sink area. Then they would drive out to Bobby's work and all together they would have dinner. Every night they drove the 10+ miles up to Swan Island in North Portland. Brilliant!

Now, I am a person who needs to write about or talk out problems and issues in order to work them out. Since I was going to school days and working nights, I had little time to chat with anyone. Nellie would often come over to the store for a visit (and sometimes give me a potty break), but the neighborhood store was often too busy to really talk. So, I would call her many nights for these chats.

Nellie was a great listener. I'd call after she had gone to bed--Nellie was a very early riser. She had to get up in time to make Bobby's breakfast and then get the kids off to school, right? Therefore, she was an early bedder. I'd usually call when I went to bed and she would answer and let me talk. She would put in an occasional "Uh Huh" so I could know she was listening. And I'd talk about that guy who fathered my sons, or the guy who broke my heart. Or the guy I was falling for. You know...issues!

Now here's the real adventure.... 

Probably everyone in the world knew that Nellie slept in the nude. I mean she wasn't secret about it, so we just figured she had cover-ups when she went into the rest of the house. She didn't flaunt it, but we *wink wink* knew. What I never realized was that the house had only one phone--on the kitchen wall. None in her bedroom. So when I called--after everyone had gone to bed--she'd come out of the bedroom into the hall, out into the living room, and sit naked on the couch while I chattered, lamented, complained. For long periods of time. 

Now I wonder if she had at least a blanket during the cold nights...

Nellie was such a great person. She never complained that I called and she had to jump out of bed to sleepily sit starkers on that couch with a phone glued to her ear. For long periods of time. 

No, she was my friend, a wonderful star. No complaints from her. 

None from me when she needed to take a nap after she got off work weekends at 3:00p--I mean there were often about 500 people living and staying at her house--as I just started my shift. So, she would come to my house when my sons were gone, visiting their father, to take a nice long nap on my water bed. 

No complaints when I would go to her house to visit after the kids headed off to school when we should have been doing housework. 

No complaints when her dog, Sunkist, would come sleep at my house (you know...those 500 people across the street) while I studied or dusted or something.

We never complained about one another because we loved one another. We were all about laughter and adventures and teasing and raising kids and bitching about family people. 

No complaints.
Always love.

and so it goes...
peace~~~