Every now and then, a blogger asks odd things. Here, a blogger wanted other bloggers to write 10 unknown things about themselves. So, here you go:
1.I really enjoy reading children’s books, all types and ages. The art and the language thrill me. 2.“Doctor Who” has been a favorite series, from way back. I lost touch with my Who roots in 1985, and recently have returned to the TARDIS.
3.I yearn to live in a place where the predominant nature color is green. We moved from Ireland to So. California, where green tends to be faded most of the year.
4.
I am playing the piano again. Oh, not with a performance goal, but to
hear the music, and feel it. Then I had to have surgery on both hands. Soon, piano, Soon. God has given
music back to me, and I play for Him and me.
5Seeing a baby renders me incapable of logical thought. I melt.
6. People amaze me. Knowing that every car on the freeway holds a family with thoughts and dreams like me—well, that is
just amazing.
7.
I am not confrontational. Over my teaching years, there were
situations where I had to go toe-to-toe with some aggressive (sometimes
abusive) parents. It took everything in me, but it was God’s words that
came out.
8.I realize that my years ahead are probably countable using one hand of my digits. 9. I miss my mother more than words can say.
Nothing is no more honest and forthright than a child's view of Christmas. Forget about Santa Claus--they nailed Rudolph with the red nose and the Grinch, having seen displayed Christmas with toys, trees, and stockings since August. But, what do children know about Christmas, aside from the commercial presentations? Well, they know a lot and can tell all in their own simple words.
We never see snow at all, so this was such a treat. We left the next day, for LAX California
The year I was born: 1951. The day was: 4th And on December 4, 2016, I turned 65 (sixty-five, yup). It was the best birthday of my life. Our son John married Arlette Foy, and we rejoiced in a big way. Chicago sparkled all on its own. This was a truly joyous day, just can't tell you how much.
John and Arlette Foy Kane
In the pass way
John and John, son and father
Lily and Clara, our granddaughters
Cemetery across the road from our hotel
Our hotel looked out on a cemetery
Catching the snow coming down
On the balcony of the hotel
Flying in to LAX
And then...
John and Arlette with Flynn, born May 6, 2018
Grandpa and Grandma
July 2018
Today is my 67th birthday. I look good, a few wrinkles or more, surrounded by those whom I love, my husband of 46 years, and a field of happiness around us.
Holding a newborn after so many years was such tingling
experience. Such a precious little man, Sean…so precious. Family gathered around him, loving him.
Grandchildren had gone from baby to teens and these grandparents hadn't held a new grandson for years. Sean was the beginning of another
set of babies. Sweet boy...such a precious sweet boy.
Sean could hit the baseball hard, could stretch out his glove, and
catch anything hit his way. Then his
parents noticed that he wasn’t using his left hand.
Doctor visit, then Pediatric Neurologist, then an MRI, and
then on the fourth day Sean’s parents heard the news of a brain tumor. Surgery
would happen in seven days.
The first surgery was done by one of only two Pediatric Neurosurgeons in the entire country. The tumor was wrapping around the brain stem; if the surgery had not been done, he would have died in two months. Sean was nine then.
A new MRI, and then a second surgery. The first surgery had been brutal, but the second was indescribable. So much trauma, so much of who he was, taken away. Sean was ten. Then radiation. Then this…that…this…
Now…Sean is 22 years old.
Now, even after such horrible surgeries which left severe disabilities,
Sean is graduating from University.
There will be rejoicing and tears for this young man, this
precious man, this precious young man. Of all the A to Z posts written this year, this one was the hardest. No words seemed to fit or relay this. My nephew is amazing.
Last year I missed the London 2012 Olympics. All of it, if you don't count the BBC commentators giving their summary of the day's events.
My sweet grandson Benjamin was 6 weeks old then (Have I ever mentioned him?) and I was in Switzerland for almost three weeks during the Olympic time. The balance of the day was spent with the new parents and their new baby.
But, when twilight came, I took the #10 bus back to an apartment my daughter had arranged for me. (Why didn't you just stay there? At their house?) Their own apartment was the size of a kitchen drawer and I might have had to throw up a tent on their tiny balcony.
When I finally settled down for some Swiss-German TV, the choices were limited and so was my understanding. It wasn't until I returned to my own home, after the flame had been extinguished and the flags carried out of the stadium.
My daughter Mary, husband Richard, and baby Benjamin
Like many bloggers over the summer, I am going on vacation.My daughter gave birth to Benjamin Thomas on June 24, 2012 in Switzerland.
Like any grandmother, my arms ache to hold this baby and cover his face with kisses.So, I will be gone from July 24 through August 9.My posts will actually “re-Posts”.
The Chronicles of Samuel will be up August 1, 3, 6, and 9th.August 7th will be a post in honor and memory of my father.
Since computers will be unavailable, I won’t be responding to comments.I hope you enjoy some of Samuel’s adventures.
I was a bud when I heard a baby’s first word. Her mother was below me, pushing the stroller. “Bah!” It was a great word.
I was almost leafed out when the boy on a red bike slid into my tree. He scraped his arm and knee; he ran inside crying. The red bike lay below me for a while. I don’t know its thoughts, but I am certain it hurt much more than the boy.
In bright summer, I danced in the warm breezes. The young lady with yellow hair strolled beneath me with the young man in military uniform. They leaned against my tree, whispering promises, planning the future, and kissing lightly.
As the air cooled at night, I felt my color seeping back into the tree. I tried to stop it, but it didn’t hear me. My edges became golden, and along my spine, burgundy red appeared.
The boy on the red bike rode under me to start school. I watched the baby taking her first steps; she stopped to pat my tree. The young lady with yellow hair ambled along while reading a letter; she was laughing and crying, then laughing.
Daytime changed from cool to cold, and I let go of my tree, falling to the ground with the other leaves. Next year, another leaf will watch for my friends. Will it love them as much as I?
We were on the road the day after school ended. For months we had talked about this. I had been reading about the great shows we could see, while my husband was calculating the expense. By the time the day arrived, he had turned in months of soda cans and bottles for recycling, coming home with $100. Vegas, baby.
Excalibur Hotel was brand new, and we were in awe, like the true tourists we were. I went to the nickel slots; soon lights were flashing and ringing. I made $40. My husband took to the quarter slots, and broke even.
courtesy of Bing.com
Exhausted after a four hour drive and hitting jackpots, we went up to the room to change and go see a show. I had three great ones circled with the ticket cost. It was going to take all my nickel winnings, and cut into the recycling money, but hey…Vegas! I showed the paper to my beloved, hoping to make a great choice.
He's an original.
I searched his face, and realized that he wasn’t interested in seeing a live show. He turned the paper to another page where “Terminator” was showing in a movie theater off the Strip.
We came to Vegas, and he wanted to see “Terminator”.
I caved and went on the drive off the bright flashy streets to some dimly lit, grungy theater. It was easy to find. It was between cruddy bars, with a pawn store across the street, and liquor store next to that. The streets were lined with big motorcycles and prostitutes. We, a modest grade school teacher and geeky high school algebra teacher, were like two fireflies in a sky filled with bug-eating bats.
The show started in a theater filled with bikers and biker chicks, pimps and prostitutes, drug dealers and users, and two school teachers. As the plot developed, the theater roared its approval with colorful metaphors and heartfelt profanity. Swearing wasn’t unexpected, but never with such sincerity and verve. As the movie came to a rip roaring conclusion, the guttural howls nearly ripped the grime off the floor.
1959
We walked out toward our car very aware of our vulnerability. A few steps ahead were a pimp with two of his girls. Oh, it was very clear who and what, because the car was a white decked out Cadillac, and he was wearing a white suit, with white fur cape, and gold jewelry on every digit. The girls were also dressed for their profession. We kept close to them, figuring no one would mug two stupid school teachers within close proximity of the Cadillac. The pimp wouldn’t want blood on his car, right?
We were parked behind him in our little Toyota Tercel. We took off with all the speed it could give us. I didn’t talk to my husband for the entire trip back to the hotel. When we were in our room, we looked at each other, waiting. First there was one giggle, and then a chuckle. Then we burst into relief-filled laughter, amazed that we had done such a thing, and nothing happened to us.
To this day, when we consider Las Vegas and its lights, all we think about is that one night, that one movie, and that white Cadillac. Vegas can never beat any of that.
I didn’t know for sure that I was pregnant, although I had purchased two home pregnancy testing kits. The first one said “NO”.
I was saving the second test for another week. Back then those tests were not as refined, as precise.
But, I was alone. My husband and two children were visiting his brother and family. There was to be a ham dinner, and we were there when I became sick with what I thought was the flu.
John brought me home, left me there, and went back to his brother’s house. I didn’t see any need for him to stay home with me.
I had stretched out on the sofa, with a ‘throw-up’ bowl just in case. The cramps in my abdomen would come and go.
I know what you’re thinking: why didn’t I recognize the cramps as contractions.
Both of my children had been delivered by C-section.
After a few hours, I was in such pain, and headed to the bathroom.
You know what came next. Male or female, no descriptions need to be given.
After all was done, I crept into my bed with a heating pad to home against my empty womb.
I was two minds about the miscarriage. I started mourning for the baby I would never get to hold. Yet, I was also glad I wasn’t pregnant, because my son was only 10 months old.
Most of all, I was broken hearted.
I curled up in a ball with the heating pad and a box of tissues.
