Exactly when does getting older... get old?

Life the grand illusion.... or is it delusion.

As a child you long for birthdays. My daughter is so looking forward to her next... the big 10. It’s double digits for the rest of her life - that is, unless she makes it to 100. (She, herself, points this out.)

The only problem she has with getting older, is that every adult she has a conversation with about age, tells her how they wish they were younger. Every reason, memory, ailment as to why... is summed up for my cherub child.

Left with thoughts to weigh her mind, she now is not so sure about the joy associated with her pending birthdays.

“I was so excited about getting older. About growing up. I don’t understand?! Why does everybody want to be younger?!!”

My motherly advice... “Live for now. Right NOW. Enjoy who you are today. Every minute that goes by is done. If you stop wishing to be older, and adults stopped wishing to be younger... and everyone was just thankful for the place in time they have right at this moment, no-one would miss a second because they were too busy wishing for what was or what will be.”

She soaked in the words, relieved at the notion that right now is perfect! Though there is something to be said for anticipation.... Alex wants to get older so he can drive. Charlee wants to get older to obtain some of those physical changes a girl gets when womanhood takes hold. (I am duly bracing for both!)

We all have our hopes and aspirations... Mine is to - really working on this! - live in the now. After all, as the song goes, “These are the good ol’ days...”

I don’t want to rush a second. These moments with my beloved children will soon be a mere memory... a sober fate for us all. I do long for the days of old, not because I want to be young again, but because I want to go back and be fully in the moment. To really soak in my time with loved ones.... knowing all to well that once they are gone, there is no more. Those are the thoughts that weigh my mind.

No going back.... so I do the next best thing. I work at being in the moment. Enjoy every second. Cherish my cherub and my ever growing man-child.

Someday I will be looking back, wishing for this very day.... might as well be in it and enjoy.

A moment that hangs on... a clothes line?

My morning walks are always accented by the ‘Hansel and Gretel’ house.

I often wonder if people know the subtle impact they have. Many a times I have walked past this house and smiled at the mere act of the owner hanging her laundry on the line. This a ‘chore’ I love to do. Don’t ask me why.... I just love hanging laundry out on a clothes line. The sun shining on my skin, the birds chirping and flitting around, the wind making the clothes dance to their taunts. And since no one wants to get caught having to help me... it proves to be a quiet, zen like moment for Mommy.

This being said, Mrs. ‘Hansel and Gretel’ does it so much better. She wears a cute brimmed hat, her linens are soft pastels and somehow seem to float more gracefully on the slightest breeze. She smiles as I pass, offering a warm ‘Hello.’ Sadly not the norm these days. I welcome her hospitality and mirror her greeting with one of my own. Her yard is chock full of flowers. Every color is accounted for. She must prune her yard routinely, for I’ve yet to see a wilting blemish to her obvious showcase.

Toots loves this part of our walk. I slow down to let her sniff her senses away. Of course, she thinks it’s for her... let her. The reality is, it’s for me. I want to enjoy this... drag it out... linger in my heartfelt moment.

What's in a cup of tea?

My memory of my childhood includes one that just passed.
So sad how the pages of life just keep turning. There is no time to catch your breath.

Joan, my girlfriends mother, was a gentle soul. Strong, quiet, smiling and welcoming.
I remember many a cup of tea upon any visit.

Joan had a unique knack for reading tea leaves, so having a cup of tea was an entirely new adventure. I had to contain myself from rushing thru my relaxing beverage.

There we all sat as she turned the mug over. Inspecting and scrutinizing with great care to discover what was there.

These were wonderful times. Warm, home style memories to hold dear to my heart.

Tea will never be the same..... Joan, you are missed!


I ask you, What’s in a cup of tea?
Tell me, is there something you see?

My dear friend Joan.
It’s you I am so happy to have known.

In better days, vibrant and bright,
these are the memories I keep thru the night.

You opened your heart,
with a mere kettle tea pot.

Multitudes would visit,
and still you’d find room to sit us.

We waited for the steamy whistle to blow,
our ready tea cups all lined in a row.

Why couldn’t we know how special the time?,
where we friends met and would so divinely pine.

We steeped our brew and aroma filled the air.
I, for one, am so happy I was there.

The cup’s are no longer full, our stories have been told.
They’re turned over in their saucers, and waiting to unfold.

I ask you again, What’s in a cup of tea?More than you’ll ever know... for me.

The pending Attack... Me verses The Mat.

I think I am going to have a heart attack! Or a panic attack... or some kind of attack. I don’t know which attack it will be, but I know it’s coming.

I went to see Alex, my 12 year old no longer little baby, at his wrestling meet. I missed the first one due to overlapping schedules. Charlee is now in Theater Group and I was not able to leave her there alone. This day the schedule still overlapped, but leaving her was now an option.

I raced over to the OMS in the hopes of getting a glimpse of Alex in his meet. The parking lot was full, my first indicator that this might be a big thing. When I opened the school doors, a wave of noise streamed into my face. People were yelling, shouting, cheering.... Bells were ringing, hands were clapping, feet were stomping. My heart started to pound in unison. I ran to the noise, hoping it was not Alex’s turn I was missing.

In the middle of the large gymnasium were two bodies dressed in blue wrestling uniforms. Their suits were similar, other than white/yellow or red trim. They had helmets on to protect their ears, as well as mouth pieces. I am sure mouth pieces... lest these boys need serious orthodontic care.... I could not see if one of these boys was my son. I navigated around to try to get a better facial view... they were in the midst of wrestling ‘moves’ and duly struggling into the next position. The referee was close. At times he himself on the floor. All of a sudden the boys were now standing, still wrestling but standing. The crowd roared. My heart was racing. I still couldn’t tell if this was Alex? Looking at them wasn’t working. I couldn’t imaging my little cute son behaving like these boys were... I started looking into the stands. There was a sea of blue outfits to sort through. Deciphering by means of merely the opposing white, yellow, or red trim was impossible... and I never realized how many people had brown hair?! No Alex?!

Then the crowd sounds surged, I looked back to the entangled boys. One grabbed the other and twirled and twisted, up around over, and with a loud - painful - plunk, the other landed on his back. If there wasn’t so much screaming I am sure we could have heard the wind being knocked out of him. But he didn’t give up. My heart almost did.... but not him. He wriggled out of his compromising position to the delight of the audience. All I could think was ‘That BETTER NOT be my son!?!’ Here started my panic... I do not know how I am going to survive my son being on the mat!

Alex saw me from the stands. He ran to greet me. "Alex! I was looking for you. Did you go already?" I was relieved to see him and hoped, for my sake, he already fought. I did my motherly scan: he was still breathing... no blood, able to walk, nothing broken... This is good! Please say you went already, so I could listen to your story intently and not have to endure the agony of the slowing clock of a wrestling match.... waiting for a bell or a chest pain..... please....

‘No. I didn’t go.’ He was disappointed, I didn’t know what I was.

I asked, thru the lump in my throat, when his turn was? He didn’t know. Another boy was set to hit the mat. Yes, in the literal term! The coach met with him on the side for ‘the pep talk.’ Their heads were close to combat the noise level. A few ‘moves’ were gone over, a ‘get going’ slap, and the team member was in position. Now a second set of boys flailed around on the mat. Alex smiled at me knowingly. He knew I was a bit overwhelmed by what was happening.
I had no idea that this sport was so extreme. Stupid woman! And I pushed my son to join?!

"Alex, honey this is intense! I didn’t realize how involved it was. I don’t know how I am going to sit here and watch you do that?!" Directing my gaze to the boy now thudding to the mat, after just flying threw the air... Alex nodded his head seeing my dilemma. He smile that of a man. You know the smile, the confident, smirky, he will survive against the odds smile. I smiled back. Behold... my son was stepping into manhood before my eyes.

"I guess I can’t go out on the mat, huh?" He laughed and rolled his eyes. Then in all seriousness looked me in the face "NO! You can’t!" My son’s warning was noted. I can’t make a scene. No going on the mat for any ‘You touched my son? I am going to kick your ass!’ moments.... Apparently I am going to have to live through it.

Good Lord!

The bell sounded and the exhausted boys shook hands. Alex ran off to see when he was up. I stood there duly kicking myself for suggesting wrestling...

Another ‘pep talk,’ and another set of boys scuffled... the audience cheered and gasped. All I could think was there was not enough ‘talk’ or ‘pep’ from any man, to get my being out on that mat!! Well maybe a fearful tear from my son.... but that doesn’t seem to be happening....

I gasped again when Alex returned and told me ‘I won’t be wrestling today. I do not have a weight match.’ Only this gasp was that of utter relief!! He was disappointed!

Thank you God! Now maybe my senses can calm down. Maybe we can even move to Tonga before the next meet! Apparently I’ve got till Thursday... hmmmm.... surely enough time? With the amount of adrenaline racing through my veins, I see no problem making it happen.

Nancy's mental gymnastics

Words, thoughts, scattered oughts...
All tornadoing in my mind.

Those fleeting momentary expressions ...dared forever lost,
or possibly of those that cement and bind?

I have to get them out.
Lest they continue and whirl about.

My brain burns with activity...
as my fingers, on the keyboard, struggle to keep up.

Sort, organize, rid, forget, let go...
to right myself, I must write.

I’m real,
not to be ignored

Here lies the stored me, for all to see.
Do you need to read between the lines?!

I see clearer, the pattern is down...
The emotion is no longer in me, but on the paper I am holding.

Here my words have settled,
and so, too, the corners of my brain.

For now I close this chapter, that is... till the next presents...
The words keep coming... is this all in vain?

Or could this be the way it 'just is'...
The way to ‘me?’ Is this My Write of Passage?

Mom's mental gymnastics... she started it!

Every day at this darn computer I sit,
trying to put together words that fit.

Words that create a picture or a story true,
not only enjoyed by me, but also by others too.

Until my bleary eyes and fogged mind become a part
of the many written words I struggle to with clarity impart.

So if between a comma or period or a written word
you see a little figure trying to scream to rightly be heard.

It is just me, the author, in her script so engrossed
that life outside those pages is lost almost.

Until some little child or human comes with life's gentle knock,
bringing me out of my word maze with a reality shock.

So I have to reluctantly cut the creative word-mind cord,
knowing other parts of my life should not be ignored.

But how I love my time with each large or small word I finally write,
able a picture to draw, a story to share or to give or gain insight.

written by my Mom a.k.a Janice Adele Bowers

Get ready to consume the coffee... then the day.

It is 3:34 a.m. I am jolted awake by a smell. It seemed so real... a smell of gasoline. I shook my head violently to get away from it, even in my sleep. Of course, now I was no longer asleep. I lifted my head to get a better smell. Wasn’t sure if I needed to get up and wake the sleeping household... but the smell went away.

My father immediately came to mind. Was this you? Did you come for a visit in my dreams? The stink of gas, or any other car fluids, was synonymous with my Dad. I made a lame attempt at going back to sleep.

As I laid there, I realized it snowed. Not because of the message the school left on our machine last night... the one telling us that school will be closed due to the weather. I didn’t have much faith in any forecasts, since they have all been wrong so far.

I could tell it snowed by the quiet. The stillness. The brightness. My window shades were closed, and yet they glowed with whiteness. The reflection of the snow was too much for them to contend with. They gave heed to the radiance laid upon our neighborhood and glowed.

The roof, the windows, the porch... I could feel the weight enveloping the house. Like a giant hug, as though being swaddled in a frosty cloak. The boiler kicked on, combating the outside world. A hum replaced the silence.

Soon the snow plow joined the hum. The scraping on the asphalt cut the quiet, as did the beeping alarm... signaling the plow was now going in reverse. I listened to the scrape, then the beep, then more scraping, and yes, more beeping....

I laid in bed for an hour trying to go back to sleep. It was so peaceful... was....

Now came the noise that I could not ignore... those of the words twirling around in my head. I had to get up to write. To enjoy the tranquility. Soon it would be over. The kids will wake and see the blanket Mother Earth has laid down. I see lots of wet clothes, snow boots and hot chocolate in my future.

Toots should find this an interesting event as well. It's going to be hard to keep up with her. I can make the kids take their boots off at the door... they only have two feet. Toots doesn’t take boots off, she eats them. And its not two feet, it’s four... four furry, wet, over excitable feet to wipe... and fur! Soak up every possible wetness fur - everywhere - after each potty break.... each I want to go out to frolic break.... I am not looking forward to that part of the day. Bah Humbug.

What if I don’t give her much to drink? What if I close all the shades and not let anyone look outside? Scratch that! I am losing it. Still stuck in my ‘does it ever get any easier?’ mode... looking for the break. You know, the one where I don’t have to clean the same area over and over and over... The one where someone cooks for me, does my laundry, helps me with my ‘home’ work. I’ll snap out of it as soon as I have my coffee, which by the smell of it is almost ready.

I confirmed what I already knew by looking outside. There it was. Snow. Lots of it. The trees and bushes are all hanging low from the weight on their limbs. The wind whistled thru them, evident by the streaking dust trails left in its wake. Edges and angles of roofs only offer another artistic medium for the gusting wind. Only these trails were more like mini, glistening, frosty-white tornados. Cars lining the streets no longer had identities. No distinguishable colors or shapes, all just mounds of whiteness. Each a bit taller, transformed by the accumulation.

My coffee, now in hand, is perfectly hot and begging for me to consume. So too is this morning... I’m signing off to enjoy.