Grandma's a Little Cra-Cra

Grandson Dane challenged hubby and I to do the 'Winter Challenge.' For the uninitiated...the Winter Challenge is a dare to run into freezing cold water; and then, in turn, to challenge others to do the same. Grandpa and I were up for the challenge. After much deliberation we chose Lake Whatcom for the big event. Even though it's mountain fed, it's not as frigid as the freezing waters of the Puget Sound. And though it was tempting, we opted against some local ponds that would be warmer, but brackish and slimy.

 To get to Lake Whatcom you must drive over gi-normous Alabama Hill. As we proceeded up the hill; I began having serious misgivings. All the way up (and over) that hill I was contemplating chickening-out. Should a 58-year-old grandmother of 13 really plunge headlong into a chilly lake? It was only 42 degrees outside. Would I get hypothermia? Would this be too a great shock for my pampered, heat-loving system? I tell you; I was really in a dither by the time we arrived at the lake.

Hubby went first while I video'd him. Seeing him come out of the water without turning blue gave me the courage I needed to take the plunge. I did it; folks; I really did it! Here's the link for proof!

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=10201956673174587&l=4740014364935713972

How would I describe the experience?

Exhilarating!

 

Sometimes even Grandmas need to do something a little cra-cray!

***

Have I Got 'The Bighead?'

Geesh! I'm so flattered by all of the kind comments on Becky's blog about my poem!

 If Mom were still alive she'd give me a look and say, "Now don't be gettin' the bighead!"

Nope. My mom was never one to dole out needless praise or flattery. I'll never forget the time she and I went to hear the Crazy Crooners down in the reception hall at Merrill Gardens assisted living facility where she lived. They weren't really called the Crazy Crooners. I can't remember what they called themselves. It was a country-western group comprised of three old fellows and a lady. I don't think they practiced much. If they did...their short-term memories were shot because they kept getting the lyrics mixed up. One person would be singing the first verse while the other would be singing the second verse... like they just threw all of the lyrics into meat grinder and served up whatever came out! Musical Hash, that's what is was! Fortunately for them, they were hard of hearing, so it didn't phase them at all. And while I can't be absolutely certain--I'm pretty sure that the woman singer was tone-deaf. Ever heard cats mating? Given a choice, I'd go with the cats.  I 'm pretty sure I saw some of the folks in the audience remove their hearing-aids about half way through this musical extravaganza. After listening to them for an hour I started praying for a temporary case of tone-deafness!

The performance was finally over after a rousing finale of "You Are My Sunshine." (Dear Lord, how can you mess this one up? By golly, they did! Tell me, can you really make someone gray when skies are happy?) The residents who were still there (and still awake) all applauded appreciatively as they fumbled to re-insert their hearing aids. All, that is, except my Mom. She just sat there with a thin smile glued onto her face, hands clasped tightly in her lap, staring at them coldly.

"Mom, aren't you gonna clap for them?" I asked, thinking maybe she was lost in thought or something.

"No I am NOT." she retorted.

"Why not?"

"Because they were terrible. I may be old, but I am not deaf. I will not encourage them by clapping. They need to be stopped."

Well alrighty then. We didn't stick around for cookies and Sanka. We headed right back to her little apartment and channel-surfed for Lawrence Welk. She wanted to hear Norma Zimmer sing some champagne music...maybe a little Myron Florn on the accordion.

So I don't think I've got the bighead yet...but all of that flattery has got me to thinkin' that maybe I should post a few more poems. This is what you all get for encouraging me... a little literary hash I wrote for a poetry class some years ago. Maybe you should take off your glasses; it might sound better that way...

 

ON WRITING GARBAGE

 

Roll out the wheelbarrow and don your neoprene barn boots with

the red stripe around the top,

slip on your Playtex gloves and stick

a clothespin on your nose because...

 

I've been given permission

 to write garbage.

Lots of it.

 

I write

bad poems that don't rhyme,

not because they shouldn't--

but because

 I just can't think

of a single word

to rhyme

with paradox.

 

Pages and pages of nothingness,

like a Seinfeld sitcom

 I write on...

Stinking, horrible putrid stuff

about myself.

I sift through the tragedy and comedy of my life,

what's the word for that--

traumedy?

 

Looking for a glimmer of ...

well something

inspirational,

sad,

even cute would do;

but it's all garbage.

 

Not that there's anything wrong

with writing trash.

Heaven knows I've read my share

of trashy dime-store novels,

and tabloids of 3-headed babies of rock-stars-turned politician.

Why those guys get paid evades me...

(The writers, I mean,

 not the politicians.

Well them too,

 now that I think of it!)

 

My stuff, on the other hand,

is like a cardboard box

of  dusty broken what-nots

abandoned by the curb...

yard sale rejects.

"Don't bring it back into the house," I yell.

"If you try to lift the box

the bottom will fall out.

Leave it there--

  the garbage man;

will take it on his Monday run.

It's nothing but

 garbage."

 

But I'm undaunted by this mediocrity;

 'cause my teacher's given me

 the big 'thumbs up' 

which as I recall

 didn't turn out so well

when I waterskied.

I help up my thumb

and suddenly

I was being dragged through water

at 60 knots...

afraid to let go,

I bounced across the waves

like skipping stones on a pond.

 

When my instructor reads this piece

she'll probably feel like that.

But...

she'll take a metered breath

and smile,

 and choose her words with utmost care.

"Perhaps you could

 edit this...or that?"

 

So Thursday evening after work

I'll be there,

sorting through my rotten verse

and stories with

 contrived characters

whose substance is like

a straw man in a windstorm.

I'll share unsupported ideas and

unsubstantiated claims

and make grammatical faux paus

of every kind.

 

Looking for a nugget--

which; if we should find...

we'll wipe it off and hold it to the light.

Does it reflect ANYTHING at all?

 

Why yes, I think it does...

in a quirky sort of way!

I'm not really sure just what it is...

but it isn't garbage.

 

Yeah, it isn't garbage!

My Cup Runneth Over



We been taking advantage of the beautiful weather during Heather's visit home with the grandkids. Here we are at Boulevard Park.
Beginning at left: Jordynn, Isabella, me, Sofia, and Junior.





Beautiful Grandchildren!

 


Beautiful daughter, Heather, with Junior and Isabella




Jordynn is my oldest grandchild. She's becoming a lovely young woman.




Sofie, the youngest of all of my grandchildren. She's growing up so fast!

These days and hours are precious to me.
 My cup runneth over!
***



Getting Ready for Company

I've been buzzing around the house like a bumblebee. Washing cupboards, doin' laundry, cleaning the oven...getting ready for special company!

Hanging laundry on a summer day is calming to me. Like taking a pleasant walk.

This is nice stuff; Trader Joe's laundry detergent. It's green. It smells like lavender.

My guests arrive on Friday and are staying for a week...I'm so excited!

Grand-daughter Ana...

and her brother Dane!

When they get here with their mom and dad, Grandma Debbie is folding up her apron and putting away her broom. We are gonna have fun for a whole week! Here's a list of possible activities...

Birch Bay

Mount Baker

Waterslides

White Rock

Kayaking

Picnic at the Park

Ice Cream in Fairhaven

Playing Chinese Checkers

Reading Stories

Golfing

Walks

I can hardly wait!!!

My Silly, Nosy Family

These are some of my grandchildren, nieces, and nephews. There's a strong family resemblance...don't you think?

 Everybody wears the nose...from the youngest to the oldest, from the most serious of us to the zaniest!

It  started at Kelly's 40th birthday party. I bought some fake

noses. We put them on; we snickered, we chortled, we guffawed and hooted til our sides ached.  Soon we were taking the noses everywhere... birthdays, weddings, even to church. Our family now has a box of about 100 noses. You can't have too many noses.

A laugh is a smile that bursts. ~Mary H. Waldrip

***

Jammin' in Lynden





Every year about this time, the Raspberry Festival is celebrated in my hometown, Lynden. It's with good reason they we celebrate raspberries. Our little county supplies two-thirds of all of the raspberries in the United States! That's a lot of berries. One of the main events in the festival is the annual 3-on-3 hoop jam. Main Street is closed and basketball hoops line the town for several blocks. Teams come from all over to compete in the 3-on-3 competition.

 There are categories for all ages. And the competition is fierce. I'm especially proud to report that there were several girls teams entered...and they rocked!  Take the shot girlie...you're wide open!

Where's your help, buddy? Your team-mates need to give some assistance over there!  OK, I admit it; I spent years sitting on the bench watching my kids play hoops. I remember one time, when the coach was sick, getting exasperated at a practice with the lack of offensive skills. So I came down off the bleachers and showed the boys how to set a decent screen. Sometimes a mom's gotta do what a mom's gotta do!

Just so you're warned...don't come to Lynden unless you've got game, girls. Our Dutch girls are tall, athletic, and agressive. The same advice goes for the boys. I'm just sayin...

Not all the jammin' was done beneath the hoops. Bellingham High sent their Jazz Band to do some jammin' of their own.

Doesn't every self respecting festival have booths with tie-dyed shirts? Of course there was kettle corn, artwork,  jewelry,  cotton-candy, hot-dogs, and of course...raspberry sundaes! Did I mention the 5-k Fun Run through the streets of our fair town?

Antique cars galore at the Razz N Shine Car Show. Hmmm, so that's an antique. Mom and Dad drove a very similar car when I was a girl. So if that's an antique; that means I'm...well, let's just say I'm aging nicely.

Lovin the woody with the surf-board on top. But where's the beach...where's the sun???

I did some jamming of my own this week. Note the Sure-Jell pectin. I am very irritated with the Ball pectin people. They're now marketing classic and quick pectins in jars and little packages; not the old 'gelatin-size' boxes. I went ahead and bought a jar of Ball's classic pectin-only to find that there are NO directions for making freezer jam on it. Apparently, they want me to buy the quick pectin for freezer jam. But there is NO quick Ball pectin to be had in all of Lynden.  After trying repeatedly to call the Ball people to see if I could indeed use my classic pectin in freezer jam, and being subjected to their hokey phone system, I threw in the towel. Went down to the local Safeway, opened a box of Sure-Jell, and read the directions. Glory be! Directions for BOTH canned and freezer jam! Thank-you, Sure-Jell, for keeping it simple. I bought several boxes, just in case I get into a 'jam' again. And Ball Company, I'm shaking my wooden spoon at you for your shameless attempt to scam more money out of us!    Rant over.

Mmmmm! When it's all cold and wintery outside, my raspberry jam will taste wonderful on some baking powder biscuits or some home-made scones. By the way, did you notice the plate in my last photo? It's my favorite. I fantasize about living there, in a farmhouse by the sea. Reminds me of the beaches on the Oregon Coast--somewhere near Tillamook. 

Well, our next big event in Lynden is the Northwest Washington Fair. (Locals call it the Lynden Fair but I suppose we can share it with the rest of Northwestern Washington.) They say that we have 5 seasons in Lynden; fall, winter, spring, summer, and fair week. Maybe I'll enter my home-made jam this year- or some of my blog photos. I know for sure that some of you, my, talented blogger friends should enter your photos!

I'm Keeping My Hair...at Least for Now



Do you remember Truvy's Beauty Shop
from Steel Magnolias?

This winter I caught a bad case of frumpiness. You know. Slogging around in sweats and old flannel shirts. Looking like something the cat dragged in (maybe it's drug, but Mom always said dragged.) Hubby hinted that I was starting to look like a Huxley-chick. For non-locals; Huxley is the Environmental Studies arm of Western Washington University.  Some of the more mature students there tend to be a bit granola-ish. Not the hip Seattle-Portland kind of granola. I mean the 'I've been down with the flu for 2 weeks' kind of granola. I think he's scared I'm going to go gray, grow out my hair (including leg hair), and start wearing tie-dyed shirts.
     So I gathered my frumpy self together and headed for the beauty salon. Not to my usual $14.95 haircut-with-no-style salon... but to a chic, expensive salon. There I met Vika, a cosmopolitan Russian beauty who transformed my gray roots and Lady Clairol ends to a really pretty light brown with blonde highlights and a nice cut. All for only $150.00. Plus tip. Gulp. But now I'm hooked. How can I have anyone but the lovely Vika do my hair? Besides, look at my life list...it says "find the perfect hair-do." This is as close to perfect as I'm gonna get!
     When I broke the news to hubby, I said," I don't have enough mad money to do this every 8 weeks. We need to build my hair appointments into our budget, right under the food expenses."
     He liked the hair, so he offered to pay for my next visit. Which was yesterday. This one was only a partial color so he got off cheap...$92.00. Without the tip. I paid for it on our credit card with the agreement that hubby would pay it off. So today he calls from the bank and quips, "Just called to let you to know, you can keep your hair... I've paid off the Visa card."
     "Thank-you dear, I'm so relieved. I'll look good for another two months".
     This whole thing reminds of an incident involving my Mom and my brother-in-law, Allen. As Mom got older, her hair got thinner and thinner. No matter what she did you could see her scalp. So she bought a couple of wigs. They looked pretty good as long as she was wearing her glasses when she arranged them on her head. Without glasses, it was pretty hilarious. Instead of wearing a hair-net under her wig, my oh-so-frugal Mom would cut up her old nylons and put them on her head like a skull-cap. Occasionally the nylon 'cap' would roll down onto her forehead, right over her eyebrow. And from time to time her wig would be a bit askew; making her look like her head was cocked to one side-like she was curious about something. But usually she looked very nice-she had  very few wrinkles, dressed smartly, and always looked 10-15 years younger than her true age.
     Well, one evening she donned her best wig and got all dressed up to go to dinner with my sister and her husband. After dinner, Allen drove her home. She was just getting out of his car when a strong wind came up. It caught her wig just right-and I guess she didn't have it pinned down well enough, because it flew right off of her head! There she stood in the assisted-living parking lot in her nylon 'skull cap'. Allen was a real gentleman. He chased that wig all over the parking lot. He said it was rolling around that lot like a tumbleweed. When it finally rolled under a parked car, he dove to the ground, tackled it, and returned it to Mom. She shoved the wig back on, squared her shoulders, and strolled proudly into the building, cane in one hand and holding her hair down with the other.
      So thanks to Allen, Mom got to keep her hair too!

Outwitted; the Sequel

by Cassius Marcellus Coolidge

Jojo suggested that I search Koda's 'pawrse' for my missing $20 bill. I found my money, a few poker chips, and this photograph. She claims that the money was for a pedicure; but I'm afraid she's getting mixed up with the wrong crowd...

What's Your Idea of Fun?

A couple of years ago my daughter, 3 of her 4 children and I spent a few days at the beach. We roasted wieners and made smores as the sun was setting. For me, this was as fun as it gets!

I've been reading a blog called the Happiness Project. (You can find the link in my 'Creative Friends blogroll.) Gretchen Rubin, the author, suggests that we must learn to have fun again. And to do this, you need to define what is fun to you. Not what is fun to your spouse-or sounds fun but you're not really sure-or what you think would be fun for the kids and family...what is fun to you? I suspect that we mothers often forget what is fun because we spend so much time sacrificing for our families. So can you answer these 2 simple questions? Please send me your comments; I'd love to hear what you think is fun.

1.   What is fun for you?

2.  When was the last time you really had fun?

With these questions answered; there's just one thing left to do; go out and have fun!

P.S
Here's my answer:
1. Reading, Travelling and exploring new places,  Campfires with friends and family, Going to concerts, Blogging,  Taking 'artsy' classes, Any and every beach related activity or inactivity!
2. I read daily. Haven't travelled in a while. It's been a couple of years since I roasted marshmallows with my grandkids. I bet it's been 5 or more years since I attended a concert. Blog all the time. Haven't taken a fun artsy class for about 8 years. I was last at the beach in September, I think.