Memories

I love the "TED Talk Radio Hour" podcast because it gives you a taste of actual TED talks along with interviews with the speakers and all revolve around a theme.  I have heard great ones about courage and learning and surviving in the past couple of months. But last week's stuck with me...about memory and how memories work with our brains Memory Games.  One speaker spoke about how our experiences become our memories and I very much believe this to be true.

I sometimes think my memory is faulty.  I wonder why I don't remember more about my past, or why the memories I tend to have come out more negatively than I'd like them to.  I wish I could see or even hear myself as a kid, having a conversation with my family, in the voices that we had, not the voices that we have now. But I really want my kids' memories to be better, happier, clearer.  I feel like with things like digital media, or even video, attempts at scrapbooks and millions of photos of them and their childhoods, they will have many of their actual memories there at the push of a button.  Certainly with social media taking off toward the beginning of their teen years, many of their memories are not only on their walls for their own consumption, but for that of any of their friends, followers, or whoever. But is that the same as what's in our brains?

A couple of years ago, I saw an idea on Pinterest that we decided to adapt. It was to make a memory jar of our year. It's hard to start a new tradition with a family of teen boys, but that's just what we did.  We just finished our second year doing this, and while my husband and I are the primary fillers of the jar (well, the only fillers of the jar so far), the time spent together reading the slips of paper tonight was time well spent.  We noticed definite themes:  My oldest graduated from high school and started college....his brother has worked hard at his music, his schoolwork and his swimming.  Lots of things to be proud of and happy about.

When we finished reading and the boys had been excused from the table, my husband asked me what surprised me when we'd read through the jar.   And I think for me, it came back to how our experiences become our memory.  So I need to backtrack for a second.  My husband had a big milestone birthday last year, and for at least the last few months, I've been thinking that I didn't do enough for him on his birthday.  He'd never said anything of the sort and would say I'd done plenty...this was all me and my brain.  What I remembered was how I'd made him a special throwback photo and worked very hard at it even though it kind of flopped, and I think that's where my memory ended.  But when we were reading the slips tonight, there was the one about his birthday and how I'd had stone crabs delivered from a restaurant in Florida.  I had completely forgotten about that.  Our experiences influence our memories...indeed they do. 

So I am going to list the biggies from the jar before I toss the slips (and the actual written memories) away:

• Bittersweet memories of seeing my son play basketball for his school for the last time...seeing him walk through the hallway at school for his last time as a student!
• Graduation!
• Started College!
• Took time off IM!
• Took time off breast...won race at Pheiffer College meet!
• Both boys worked hard at school this year!
• Birthdays!
• Special birthdays and special trips:  Atlanta to meet our great nephew, Cooper (and eat at my beloved Sweet Tomatoes); surprise trip to Savannah last week and visiting as a tourist
• Visits to college, visits home 
• Worth mentioning, but didn't make it into the jar:  Cleveland trip last summer: Indians game, Cedar Point, Skyline Chili, Football Hall of Fame.

We are very fortunate to be able to say that 2014 was a good year for our family, we have our health and happiness and know not to take it for granted.  Now, if I can just remember it the way it happened, that would be something.

Life Goes On

I know I've said it before, but I am really not a great blogger.  I'm not even sure I feel right calling myself one.  I just have a site that I occasionally write on when I feel the need to write.  I read blogs of people who are true bloggers.  I'm not sure if I am able to open myself up in that way, either online or even in a journal, because the truth is, the way I have kept this blog is pretty much exactly the way I have journaled in my lifetime. And the funny thing is that I am a) a decent enough writer and b) reflective enough that I have enough to say. So I'm not sure why I don't write more often.

And what brought me back to my blog this week (for the first time since 2011) is the amount of reflecting I have been doing this monumental week of my older son's high school graduation.  The rational part of me says that the milestone that comes with your graduating child is exactly as life should be.  We were never meant to have our kids with us forever. We had kids in order for them to grow up and go out and follow their live's paths.  But it's really hard to be rational, isn't it?  I long for the days where I was begging my son to go off and play on his own (because I was worried that he was too dependent on me).  If those days were here, I promise I'd play with him and let him boss me around and tell me what to do. If those days were here, I'd read the Truck Book...AGAIN!  and I'd do it without a rolled eye or sigh.  If those days were here, I'd play Uncle Wiggly and not get mad at him for being too competitive.  I would do it all and I'd do it without complaint.

We are full of advice for graduating seniors.  I wrote my son a letter full of important words of wisdom and the words that I hadn't told him but needed him to hear from me and gave it to him on Graduation Day. But where is the advice for the mom of the graduating senior?  How to enjoy the time you have left before they leave.  How to not spend all your time worrying because they aren't home as much since they want to be with their friends and you just want to know they are home and safe in their bed at night.  How to be really excited for this next leg of their lives' journeys and mean it.   How to not argue with them and their sloppy ways or how to just be and prepare for moving onto this next phase of their lives. Or even how to figure out what your (and your husband's) path is when he (and in a few years his brother) are both out of the house and onto their adult lives. These are the things we moms need to know and I'm hopeful that since I know many who are in the same boat with me right now, we will figure them out together.

Personal Record Breaking Blog Post

It is New Year's Eve.  By posting tonight, I will break my annual blogging record by 1 post for the year.  Yes!  I didn't intend to write a blog post tonight, but as I think about it, I have much I could write about.  I can write about how fortunate I feel to live the life that I live.  I can write about the holidays.  I can write about my plans, dreams and hopes for 2012.  Ah...I think we have a winner!

I am not one for making resolutions.  I make them.  I break them.  What's the point?  I'm sure it's really just semantics, but I prefer to set goals for the year and with that, if I don't accomplish them, it doesn't actually feel the same as breaking a resolution.  It's just something I didn't accomplish.

So, without further ado, and in no particular order, here is a list of goals I would like to work on for the coming year:

Work on being better organized

Move more (get exercise)

Eat healthier/lose a few (10ish) pounds

Read more/Learn more

Have more fun/Laugh more

Enjoy more family time and really enjoy my kids as they move ever so much closer to being grown (After all those years of warnings, "They grow so fast...enjoy them while they're young..." I get it).

Cook more

Say "no" once in awhile

Blog more than 4 times in a year

I think these are reasonable and attainable goals.  And am hopeful that 2012 is a great year for myself, my family and friends and the world.

Holy Matrimony, Batman!

It's hard to believe, but 20 years ago tonight, I was sitting in my room at the Grand Bay Hotel in Coconut Grove waiting for the next day, which would be our wedding day. We had gone out that night and then everyone left and the last thing I could actually do, was sleep. So I started writing a letter to my radio friend, Dr. Don Carpenter and his wife, Kay. I wrote pages and for hours. To this day, I really wish I had a clue as to what I wrote to them!

The wedding was lovely, the past 20 years lovelier. Marriage has its ups & downs, that's for sure, but one thing I've never questioned is whether my husband loves me. He shows it in lots of ways and I hope that I have shown him that I love him, too.

I am so proud to have met him and built the family and life we have built together and am looking forward to another 20 years and another 20 after that.

Going to the Park

When my kids were little, we spent much of our time at the neighborhood playground. It was a strong dose of sanity for me as a new stay at home mom to allow me to have other new stay at home moms to connect with. It also allowed me to recognize my mommy shortcomings. It never crossed my mind to bring snacks, for instance, and when my son would get cranky, we'd pack it in and go home. Or, the good moms would have bags full of Cheerios, Goldfish or pretzels that they would whip out of their diaper bags to share with all. Eventually, of course, I caught on.

Conversation at the playground centered primarily on our kids: What their latest accomplishments were, how many words they had, how close they were to being potty trained, etc.

I truly loved the playground and the park and the time we spent there, particularly when my boys were younger and even into elementary school, when a large group of us would meet at the nearby park after school for the kids to play and us to chat.

Then, the kids got older and time at the park became more scarce. It was less of an event and generally, one kid played at the playground while the other one had a ballgame on a field within shouting and eye distance of the game.

I admit I've kind of missed those times. That is, until this summer, when we discovered a new park. The dog park! That's right. A playground just for Elvis! It's a few miles away and the first time we went, no one else was there and he had no idea what to do. My son tried to get him to run by running back and forth a few times (in the 95 degree mid afternoon heat of an NC summer) and Elvis just looked at him as if to say, "Are you kidding me? It's really hot out here!" So after a few minutes, we got back into our air conditioned car and went back home.

That night, my husband and I tried again after dinner and there were more people and dogs there. He still really didn't quite know what to do, but it was fun watching the other dogs play. One time, one of the other guys ran and Elvis must have thought that was cool because he did it, too.

So we have made "going to the park" a new part of our weekend routine. There are two sides to the dog park, the over 20 pound side and the under 20 pound side. We usually stay on the under 20 pound side, but sometimes looks longingly at the over 20 pound side, certain I'm sure, that the dogs on that side have way more fun that the ones on his side. But I an happy to say that Elvis has made many new friends: Jetson, Dublin, Pumpkin (there are actually two Pumpkins that go regularly), Tiki and Teddy and others.

When we get to the park, all the dogs come running to greet us, as if Elvis was Norm from "Cheers." "ELVIS!" they all wag their tails in excitement. Then they smell each others' butts for a few minutes, Pumpkin and one of the other dogs bite on each others' necks, someone humps someone else and occasionally one of them gets the idea to run furiously across the length of the fence and the others think, "Ooh! I must follow!" and all run in a line behind the first one.

The dog park moms and dads are really not unlike the playground moms and dads from when my kids were little, either. The conversation is pretty much centered on the dogs. What they like to eat at home, what they play with, how much they sleep, how well they are doing on the potty training. And when the bad dog mom (me) doesn't think to bring any snacks for her dog? That's okay. Because the good dog mom (not me) not only has a bag with treats for her pooch, she has enough to share with all that are there and they gather around her, showing her how well they can sit and look pitiful until she finally relents and puts the treasured piece of liver snap (or whatever it is) into their mouths.

It's the weekend again. Elvis spent the day at the doggie day spa today and I'm sure he's dreaming right now of Sunday morning when we get in the car for a ride and he can show his buddies his fancy new 'doo!

Made it!

I went to Florida to spend the weekend with the ladies of my husband's family for a bridal shower for our niece. Fun times and in a 1-1/2 day trip, I managed to get in 3 trips to the beach, a sunburn and good laughs, too.

My flight back to NC was scheduled for 5:15 on Saturday; a car came to pick me up at 3:15 and off to the airport I went!

The plane was a small one. I said so as we boarded. "It's not a small plane," the flight attendant corrected me, "It's a skinny one." No difference, it was small and tight and somehow my row had nothing but wall where the window was supposed to go. Oh, and my overhead light didn't work, either.

We took off and had an uneventful flight, with an expected landing time of around 6:20. At 6:30, the pilot came on and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, you might have noticed that we have been turning left, then right, then left again." I hadn't. He went on, "On account of the storms in Charlotte, we have been circling the airport for the past 10 minutes and will continue to do so until we have clearance to land.

And so we did that for the next 15 minutes, until he came on again and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, there is no end to these storms in sight and since we don't have enough gas to keep circling, we will be diverted to Myrtle Beach, where we will land, get gas and wait." So we did.

When the plane landed in MB, I turned on my phone to find a text from my husband saying, "Am at the bottom of the escalator at Concourse C. Where r u?" So I answered, "Myrtle Beach." He thought I was joking. I wasn't.

Naturally, as soon as we landed and I realized I didn't know if they'd let us up or off, I instantly had to go to the bathroom and noticed that I was starving. Thankfully, they did let us off. I left my book and my bags (as they'd asked) on the plane and we got off, down stairs, onto tarmac, up stairs, through a jetway, into the fabulous Myrtle Beach airport, where there are two restaurants and a store. Not many options, but figuring the long line at Subway (where they make each sub while you wait) would take too long, I went with Pizza Hut. After my first bite, I remembered how I have never liked that weird green peppery taste of Pizza Hut pizzas. There was also a Caribou Coffee, I got a mocha and really was in good, jolly spirits for our wait.

I entertained my many Facebook friends with frequent status updates. I fretted about my book being on the plane and my charger, too. And finally gave in and went and bought a new book at the one store in the airport. From time to time, they would have us line up as if we were going to board our plane and leave, and then (while they didn't say it, the "Psyche!" was implied), we'd be sent out of line again.

As the storm approached Myrtle Beach, they decided it was time for us to finally board the plane and take off. So, with lightning flashing and heavy rain swirling around us, we all ran down metal stairs, onto the tarmac and up more metal stairs to board our (not little, but skinny) plane.

They were booking it, hustling us in, sitting us down and readying us for take off. They announced often that we would hit turbulence, which we did. I knew it would be a rough go when the flight attendant walked down the aisle carrying a fresh stack of throw up bags, for just in case. I looked at the woman sitting next to me and informed her that I would very likely have a panic attack during the flight and I was sorry in advance. But I didn't.

And then we made it home and that was that.

Funny thing...my whole reasoning for booking the flight for Saturday night rather than Sunday morning was just in case something like that happened, I would still be able to make it back in time for my son's play at school. And it turns out that it happened, but I did make it in time.

OMG...is that Tricia Yearwood?

Once upon a time, I was uninhibited and liked to perform. I begged for the right to sing on the morning announcements in elementary school and wowed my classmates with songs like "If," "Yesterday" and "Cats in the Cradle." Somewhere along the way, though, that went away. I always played guitar and played flute and other instruments through my school years, though hated things like solo competition because I ALWAYS messed up in some way (fly in my face, a friend's curious dad popping in during my time, nervous because my grandfather was accompanying me live). I even applied to and was accepted to college as a music major, but fear of an audition had me change majors before I ever started.

All that to say that there's a performer in me that never really got out. A couple of summers ago, I bought myself a few guitar lessons at the local music store so I could get better. I went in and told the guy that I knew how to play, I just wanted to sound like James Taylor...could he help me out? I think having an older woman who already knew how to play kind of threw him off and he really didn't know what to do with me. So for 3 weeks, I paid my $20 and he and I played and hung out together. He told me he thought I had a closet need to play publicly and I should find some open mike nights to play. "Yeah, right," I scoffed at him.

But the idea did take hold. At a restaurant in Weaverville, near my parents' & sister, they have Open Mike nights on Wednesdays. The night before Thanksgiving is a Wednesday, the only likely Wednesday we could be there. Last year, I planned to do it, but as we left for dinner, I "accidentally" forgot my guitar at the house. This year, nobody let me do that.

My son wanted to play piano, too, which I was fine with, though there was no way I'd follow him. I mean, really...44-11/12-year-old woman vs. cute, talented 12-year-old boy? I don't think so.

So we lugged in all our gear. We were signed up to go 1st and 2nd, which really meant 2nd and 3rd because the host had to warm up the crowd with 7 or 8 songs. Then it was my turn.

And you know what? It was fun! I've been playing and singing at school events for the past few years, and that still makes me a bit nervous. But last night? Yes, I was scared before...I couldn't decide if I should do the songs I'd planned or not. But as I got started, I didn't even feel any of the anxiety I normally feel before playing. Other than giving up on my Indigo Girls song after the first verse & chorus, I just played on.

I thought it would be weird and even intimidating to play with my family staring at me, but it actually was fun and I could feel their encouragement as I played.

My husband later told me that as I got up on the little stage, a guy at the bar behind him said, "Oh my G-d...is that Tricia Yearwood?" How funny is that?

So... yay me!


(here's video of some of our songs...feel free to watch some, all, or none if you prefer!)