The Beach Boys - "Not to Old to Rock 'n' Roll"

That is the headline on the GMA website today.

My friends know that I love to watch GMA in the mornings. This morning the Summer Concert Series features the Beach Boys. They are singing songs off of their new album. I am sorry, but these men need to give it up. They really are too old to "Rock 'n' Roll." There were times when I actually had to cover my ears because it was so horrible.

I find it so sad sometimes when these older bands or solo singers from twenty or thirty years ago or more are trying to promote new songs and albums. I wouldn't mind if their voices were different, but often they are just shot, or gone. Then I have to sit and wonder if they are broke and are trying to make it until retirement.

I don't know why the Beach Boys have a new album, but they should have hired someone else to do the singing.

AHHHH they are trying to sing "Kokomo." I really think the way Mike Love is mumbling that he forgot some of the words.

At least the audience seem to be enjoying themselves. Maybe it sounds a lot better in person.

Saying all of that, I would still go see the Moody Blues in concert. (Of course, the concert would have to be within ten miles of my home and free.)

Today's Thoughts

I found out a couple of weeks ago that my dad was actually a year older than we thought. He said he was born in 1920, but we found his army I.D. and it said 1919. I then went and located his birth certificate and it said 1919. We have been trying to figure out why he said it was 1920, or if someone told him different at one time and he thought it was 1920. It really doesn't change anything, it is just another small mystery that cannot be solved.

My mom's memory was really not there today. Why is it worse on some days than others? How much longer can she live on her own?

Raymond had the most beautiful skin on his feet. Even up until the day he died. He never did anything special, but the skin was so soft and free of cracks or blisters. I was looking at my boys feet tonight as they were sitting around with them barefoot while we were playing a game. They have Raymond's feet. I'm so glad they didn't get mine. I always admired Raymond's feet.
I have noticed that parents that do not respect their children, do not get any respect back.

My oldest goes back to school in 11 days, and I am going to miss having him around.

The youngest goes back to school the end of August. I hate that. I do not want to go back to the school stuff. The meetings, the booster clubs, the constant irritation of things that go on during the school year. We lead such a peaceful existence when school is not in session.

I still miss Raymond so much. My life is so incomplete without him.

I'm mad at Raymond. He left letters for the boys. He did not write a letter to me. I needed a letter. Something to hold. I know he did not leave me a letter because he thought I'd remember all he told me, but I want a letter to hold. Something to hug to my heart.

My mom keeps talking to be about remarrying. I can't imagine that. She says she dreams all the time that I have remarried. My friend says she probably just doesn't want me to be alone. My mom was proposed to by two different men when my dad died. She never wanted to marry again. I don't know why she thinks I do.

We saw a very pretty Cumberland slider turtle at Petco tonight. He is still there. We decided 16 turtles are enough.

Just Taking a Minute to Look at my Priorities

I have so many unfinished projects. I want to strip and repaint my porch chairs. They look awful to me because there are rust spots, and the cushions are faded. I am embarrassed because I have had the stripper and paint for months, but I haven’t worked on them at all.

Monday, we had two families over to swim. The kids were in the pool and the adults sat on the breezeway catching up with each other and what was happening in the community. Not once did anyone say, “Gee, you really need to paint these chairs,” or “When are you going to buy new cushions?” What they did say was: “I had so much fun today; I hope we can start getting together more when school starts,” and “Thank you so much, I really enjoyed our day together.”

I want to make and paint new numbers for my mailbox. I have the wood, I have the paint, and I have a definite idea of how I want them to look. It is driving me nuts that I have not completed this project. Every time I walk by the supplies I mentally kick myself for not working on the new numbers, as it will probably only take 4 hours to complete and paint the new numbers.

The mailbox project is one I decided had to be done. I ran out and bought the supplies and that was as far as I managed to get. The mailman did not say “Gee, you need new numbers.” Emergency services have not contacted me to say “Your current numbers are in violation of the code.” No one has missed my house because they could not see the reflective numbers currently on the mailbox. This is simply something I wanted to do for myself and my family. I haven’t mentioned this project to very many of my friends, so they are not expecting anything new to appear on my mailbox, so why am I beating myself up over not having new numbers?

I have a birdbath to paint, I need to completely tear down my pond and start it over, I need to have the bigger pond installed, I need to organize all the kids awards into different books, I need to … the list goes on and on.

Who says I need to do any of the things listed above? Only me, no one else but me really cares if any of these projects are ever completed. Do I really need to complete the list of my projects, or do I just want to do these projects some day? Maybe I need to look at the list again, it could be I do not need to do some of them at all. Maybe I need to replace the word need on my list to the phrase "some day I would like," or, "it would be nice to have, but certainly not necessary." As in, "It would be nice to have new mailbox numbers, but it is certainly not necessary because the ones I have are just fine." Or, "Some day I would like to have new cushions for the patio chairs, but the old ones are still comfortable, and because they are faded I did't mind when the oldest accidentally painted the corner of one."

My kids do not care about the mailbox, the chairs, or anything else I have on my list. All they care about is whether or not I’m available to talk to when they have a problem, play a board game before bed at night, and drive them to their commitments. They have not put any demands on me to complete any projects.

My friends do not care about any of the projects I have not completed. They just want to know that I will be there if they need a shoulder to cry on, an ear to rant into, or a helping hand.

So in the end, I have to ask myself: Does it really matters if I paint the chairs this year, or next? Does it matter if the numbers on the mailbox are bought ready to apply at the store, or hand designed in my shop? Will the boys stop loving me because I have not placed all their certificates in chronological order? Will I lose all my friends just because I have a list of unfinished projects, or will my friends keep appreciating me for being me?

How do I want the boys to remember me? As a mom that was always ready to stop what she was doing to play a game or listen to what was happening with them, or as a mom that was always working on a project?

I would love to be remembered as the woman that did it all, but I know that I am not really capable of being a “super mom/woman.” It just took one time of telling my boys that I needed to finish something up instead of playing a game to realize I did not want to be that kind of mom. I realized I would rather spend four hours playing a game than working on numbers for my mailbox.

I was in the middle of a project the other day when a mom called and said she was having a problem with one of her kids and wasn’t sure how to handle it. I stopped what I was doing and spent two hours on the phone listening and talking about possible solutions, and when we finished the call we both felt better because we shared our concerns about our children. The project I was doing is still not done, but it will get done some day soon.

Just by taking the time to write this I realized that I need to stop berating myself for having so many projects in limbo. It is not healthy for my mental state. Sometimes I just need to take a minute or so and remind myself of my priorities. Perhaps, if I start taking that minute or so more often, I can end hours of mentally abusing myself for not having marked a project off my list.

I am not Prejudiced Because of the "Frito Bandito", but I am Prejudiced

I have been humming the “Frito Bandito” song all day. I loved that little guy. I had “Frito Bandito” erasers for the ends of my pencils and I would use them as puppets as I sang the song. The “Frito Bandito” was to me at the time just a cute little character with a catchy tune that loved Fritos. I never actually connected him to any particular race, or considered his song to be insulting to others. I just thought he wanted to steal Fritos from people because he loved his Fritos, like the rabbit that was always trying to steal Trix cereal from kids.

Of course, I really did not understand prejudice and stereotyping when I was growing up with the “Frito Bandito.” If that ad campaign was introduced today, I would be just as outraged as the groups that protested the “Frito Bandito” years ago because they felt the character stereotyped their race and culture.

I cannot say I don’t have prejudiced thoughts, I think everyone does. I can say that I really try very hard not to judge people by their race, color, religion, or disabilities, with the exception of certain Southern Baptists. My prejudices go more towards people making idiotic decisions, and people that seem to embrace being bigots.

One example of my prejudices was a comment I made tonight. My boys and I saw a truck in front of us as we drove into town. The truck had several bumper stickers on its back window. I found the bumper stickers offensive because they were represented prejudice against a certain race of people. He also had a bumper sticker that said “my dog is smarter than your honor student.” I made the comment to my boys that his dog was probably smarter than him if his other bumper stickers were any indication of his intelligence. That was bad enough, but when I decided to change lanes to lower my blood pressure from the anger I felt after reading his truck, I ended up next to him at a stop light. He looked over at us, and since I had already formed an opinion of him, I told the boys that not only did he show ignorance by his prejudiced bumper stickers but he had the look of someone who had had an anvil dropped upon his head. My oldest son laughed, and then told me we were all going to hell for having such thoughts about another person.

The “Frito Bandito” character did not make me believe that all men from Mexico were thieves. However, I do believe that people that display their prejudices proudly are ignorant. These ignorant people come from all regions of the world, they do not practice one particular religion, and they can have no education or have the highest education degree possible.

There are times when I find myself laughing at things that show prejudice in television shows or movies, but so often those are to show us how wrong it is. Sometimes, after I have been on the phone for over an hour trying to solve an issue with someone reading from a script because the company I am dealing with has outsourced their customer service to some other country where the person can barely understand my English, and I definitely cannot understand theirs, I have some thoughts that really stereotype that person, but I also realize that it is not their fault they have that job, they are probably just happy to have a job. The frustration I feel should go more towards the company that has put me in the situation where I am having so much trouble solving my complaint.

I would love to believe that some day prejudice will not exist in the world, but I don’t believe that will ever be possible. I do know that I have taught my boys it is wrong to be prejudiced, as did Raymond. I have seen examples of them not showing prejudice when we have been out in public. We have long talks that also make me to believe they are trying to not form prejudice beliefs. Of course, they both felt the same way I did tonight about the truck and the bumper stickers, so I guess I have not been entirely successful as they seem to be just as prejudiced against ignorance as I am.

Some People Have Wings on Earth

When the boys and I were out shopping tonight, we went to Petco. There was a parking spot right out front because it was so late. I looked through the window when I parked and there was a man that I consider to be an angel on earth. He was the friend that was here for us when Raymond went into hospice. He was the friend that was here when Raymond died.

I was so glad to see him. I really don't think I know a better man. Raymond was a good man, but this man is in a different class, even Raymond agreed with me.

We talked for a while and then we parted ways. I told the boys when we left that he deserved much more than he has received on earth.

I love him and his family and I will pray that things get better for them. They do so much for others, and never ask in return. Bless him and bless his family.

Rube In the City

I love local politics. It is like having a soap opera in my own back yard. I find Council meetings quite entertaining . It is an excellent opportunity for people observations and everyone that knows me knows I love to people watch.

I don't know if my regular readers have noticed that I have a new link I like called "Rube in the City." It is a "fictional" account of politics in a small Texas city. If you are not interested in small city politics you probably won't find the "Rube" blog interesting, but if you have any experience at all with city politics I bet you will recognize the behavior in the "fictional" city as close to those in your city.

My Earliest Memory

My earliest memory is being in a playpen in the front room of a house and seeing the front door open to allow a group of people to enter. They are noisy. There are two older women in the group. One of the women is wearing a fur looking hat, and she reaches into the playpen and lifts me into the air. That is the entire memory.

When I asked my brother and mom about it several years ago they were pretty sure that was when we lived in the house we lived in when I was born, and the woman was either Freda or Viola, my uncle’s aunts. I find that weird because I have no memory of ever living in a house before the one on Blueberry, but I know that the house in my memory is not the Blueberry house as the layout of the room is wrong. I also do not remember Freda and Viola, even though I have heard stories about them my whole life. I know they were at other parties throughout my life, but I cannot remember anything about how they looked or ever having had a conversation with them in my later years.

I have many memories from living in the Blueberry house, even though we moved from there when I was six. I may not remember what the front of the house looked like, but I certainly remember the back yard, the fence, the color scheme, the entire layout of the house and the furnishing in all of the rooms. I also remember a lot about the neighborhood. I remember what it felt like to walk down the sidewalk, as well as the games I used to play on the sidewalk.

As much as I remember about living on Blueberry, my memory is nothing like my brother’s. He can remember the address of every house we ever lived in. He remembers details of certain events that I vaguely remember happening. I am always amazed at his memory.

I often wonder why I have this memory of being lifted from the playpen over other memories. Maybe the hat scared me the memory into me. Maybe it was because my aunt and her family never entered a house without making their presence known. It could be I was almost asleep and noise of them entering the house startled the memory into me. I could understand having the memory if when I remembered it a certain emotion flashed through me as well as the memory, but that does not happen. It is an emotion free memory.

It bothers me that I have this memory, but memories of more recent events seem to be fading. I can’t remember my first roommates name in college, in fact, I can’t remember the name of most of the girls on my dorm wing, even though we spent hours together every day for two years. I have trouble recalling a lot of names these days.

Another thing that bothers me is I’m afraid my memories of Raymond will fade. He was always the one with the memory. He could remember where we went on certain dates, vacations, and all the little details about our life together that seemed to disappear from my mind after a couple of days. I don’t want to lose my memories of Raymond, especially his smile. It aggravates me that I can remember being picked up from my playpen but not the last real conversation Raymond and I had before he went into hospice.

The boys and I watched “50 First Dates” tonight, the movie where Drew Barrymore’s character has suffered a brain injury and can only remember things up until the day of her accident and she starts that day over and over again. Adam Sandler’s character has fallen in love with her and tries to get her attention day after day. That reminded me a lot of the weeks before Raymond died. There were many days when the drugs he was on kept him from remembering why he couldn’t get out of bed and into his wheelchair. He couldn’t remember he was dying, which is why I believe he was here with us for so many weeks after the final diagnosis of terminal, but he never forgot my name, or the boys, or his friends. He might forget what day they visited, but he never forgot that they had been there.

My earliest memory of Raymond is of him as a guy in my community college Freshman English Comp class that kept staring at me. I thought it was because I was always getting into arguments with the professor. That was in the fall of 1977. We got married in January, 1982. Not all of the years in between 1977 and 1982 are full of memories of Raymond. At first I wouldn’t date him, and then when I finally went out with him there was almost a year between our first and second date. I wish I could say that all the memories of our life together are really sweet ones, but we were married over 24 years so anyone that had ever been married that reads this would know that would be a lie. Fortunately, I can say that there are more sweet memories than bitter ones.

If I keep that early memory of being lifted from the playpen, I hope I can also keep the memory of the first time I told Raymond I loved him. I also would like to keep the memory of his smile, and how it felt to have his arms around me.

If I am destined to forget any of my memories of Raymond, then I pray that my boys will always have some memory of their father, if not what he looked like, then his courage, his morals, and his ability to love his family will all his heart, and may they pass those memories on to their children with not just their words, but their actions.