adoptedwriter

I didn’t get enough votes in the last round of Idol. I barely got by with enough votes the 1st round. I don’t think I have ever gone down in round 2 in all the years I have played, so that feels weird. Oh well.

This week’s prompt is the word ‘ecco’. I’m sorta glad I don’t have to officially post for this one, but being the “Wordie” I am, I still wanted to discuss it. Plus I am off school for the summer and I actually have the down time.

I’m a Spanish major, (or was when I was in college.) In Spanish we have a similar word “hay”, pronounced like “eye”. It means there is or there are. Ecco and hay are cool and useful little words because they can be both singular and plural. You can’t mess up number and gender with this term. Ecco / Hay is also what I tell students is a “fake verb” in that every complete sentence has to have a verb, but this is one you never have to conjugate in order to make subjects and nouns agree. That’s another plus. So for once, learners have a nice, simple word that’s easy to use and also hard to mess up.

Ecco (tm) is also a Danish shoe and leather goods company. Their products are high quality, functional yet still attractive. Karl Toosbuy, the Danish man who created the company in the 1960s came up with the name by modifying a Latin phrase , “ex corde ad corde” meaning “from the heart.” He felt it went well with his company’s philosophy of manufacturing goods made of quality and integrity. Ecco footwear is also considered orthotic-friendly. Foot pain can be a real issue for many people, especially for those who work long hours on their feet. Ecco is not a cheap brand, but if it’s any consolation, the quality and effectiveness of the product hopefully makes up for the price.

Hmmm…Quality, week 1’s topic.
Consolation…Week 2’s topic.

Well, “there it is!”

https://therealljidol.dreamwidth.org/

https://therealljidol.dreamwidth.org/1187056

Two days after Christmas he was born. Flawless and beautiful. All was calm; all was bright.

Two days after that, his parents and big sister brought him home. He looked like Papaw. Maybe it was just the bald head, but he sure was cute in that red plaid zip-up onesie that made him look like a miniature, hairless mountain man with big eyes and tiny, pink feet.

Two weeks later he looked like his mom, especially when he turned his head to one side and blinked during “Tummy-time.” He also had het chunky little forearms; “Popeye arms”, as we used to say.

At two months he was holding his head up and looking around. He liked the feel of a kitty brushing up against his skin and the warm, comfortable feeling in his belly after a six-ounce bottle of “baby drink.” Time both crept slowly during those sleep-interrupted days and nights but also flew by in a blur of diapers, baths, well-baby checkups and outfit changes.

Today he is two-and-a-half. How did he go from rolling and army crawling across the carpet to mastering playground climbers and slides? How did he go from coos and gurgles to “I wanna pah-sick-o, peeze” as he leads me to the freezer door? He doesn’t toddle; he struts. He sports his Bass Pro Shops ball cap and his little camo Crocs like his dad wears, but still wants night kisses and his stuffed dog and bull dozer blanket for sleeps. He loves his orange “ba-kee-ball” and dancing to Jimmy Buffet’s Volcano song.

When he sees me he says, “Hey broh!” and gigges. He’s a funny little man.

My youngest grandchild is growing up fast. We are building memories and taking photos and videos to preserve all the moments. He may be the last baby in the (immediate) family for a long time, but for now he is still our cuddle-bug-buddy-boy with big blue eyes and a bowl haircut. If he falls down and cries, I console him. When he’s learning his colors, I celebrate him. If he needs a random hug, I embrace him.

I love this kid!

Today would be my parents’ 70th wedding anniversary had things worked out differently. I feel a little fcked up now. Maybe not. Mexican food helps.
The Mothership has a serious bone infection in her left foot. Its not good, but as my daughter, Fuzzy1, says, “She's bulletproof “. Who knows? This night just be another situation and nothing more but again, maybe not. Ahhh… life in the Land of What If? (What TF If?)

Yesterday, while so many people I know were out there protesting, (which I think is awesome and something I would have liked to have done), I was getting dressed for and attending a three-hour celebration of life for a neighbor. (Technically the 37-year old daughter of a neighbor, but a “kid” who lived near us until her college time.) My daughter, MermaidFan, was a friend of her sister’s, and all these girls began their early years in the same day care center before advancing on to K-12 school together. In other words, we all go way back.

The gathering was amazing. The afternoon was filled with beauty, magic, warm hugs, a few laughs, music and excellent eulogy-type speeches. A quartet of singers, opened the celebration with a lovely rendition of Sting’s “Fields of Gold”, (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KLVq0IAzh1A), and eight presenters, including the deceased’s mom, dad, sister, aunt and three friends spoke. One friend shared memories from their childhoods. One reflected on their college years and the third basically gave tribute to the whole family and their overall kindness without judgement toward anyone who needed something.

What impressed me most of all was the fact that once you became a friend of this family, and especially the deceased sister, you became a forever friend. You became a 100%, all-the-time, important person in her eyes and that would never change. Even though I personally didn’t know “M” as well as I knew the younger sister and their mom, I lament the fact that this family is no longer complete. It happened too soon. It’s one of those, “I can’t even” things. After losing one of my own sisters in April, this hits harder than I expected.

“M” was only 37, but she’d led a full life of learning, reading, diverse friendships, fine food, fandoms, travel, career success and love. Her time was too short, but she lived her life well.

You can’t do better than that.

yes, please!

(waves “Hi” to all)

It’s not good. Not good at all. Just not good. Just sayin’. Not sure how the next week or two will play out. it’s that bad.

on the upside, the Hub and I have otherwise had a nice weekend road tripping and going to Winterfest, so there is that

Current Mood: distressed

GOOD:

Books, kitties, tacos and tortilla soup. Also coffee, wine and Diet Mt. Dew
2 “easy” work days in a row!
Abbott Elementary on TV. Its hilarious, especially if you work in education.
Got my December manicure/ acrylic nails yesterday.
The sun is out and temps are supposed to rise for the weekend. Yay.
Xmas food treats all week and a pretty drink cup from the PTO at school.

MEDIUM:

Super cold weather and never feeling unthawed. Its that time of the year. Sigh.
Due to the cold temperatures the transformers blew at the nursing home. Back up generator power was all they had for 12 hours. At least they had that.

BAD:

My sister (one of the local-to-me ones) started “emergency “ radiation yesterday. I'm not sure how many treatment sessions she will have. It buys her time. Her latest scans were worse than expected. How many Hail Marys does my sister have left?
The Mothership is having rough days physically. Currently a UTI and $hitty (literally), side effects from the antibiotics.
Politics and assholes in general

Hub has surgery tomorrow. It is outpatient and possibly robotic, (least invasive of all), but they won't know that till they get in there. I have the day off work. Yay? I have books to read while I wait. When it's back to work on Friday it is an early dismissal day, so there is that, so Yay! No grand-people this weekend, (I love them but, whew!) and hopefully I can get to Writers group on Sunday, at last!

My kitties take turns laying against my arm/shoulder area at night. It's precious and so nice!

I picked up a new tutoring client and started w her on Monday. Seems like a nice kid and nice parents.

And fracturing my left shoulder. Agh! saw the regular doc on Friday and now the orthopaedic doc this AM. He says I may be able to dodge the surgery bullet if I improve by next week. I’ve already improved since Thursday when it happened. No need for narcs. Ice packs are amazing. I’m even cleared for Zumba as long as I keep my left arm slinged. Glad it wasn’t my dominant arm/hand. New X-rays next Monday.

I’m injured. Broken shoulder. 4-6 weeks in a sling + referral to orthopaedic surgeon. Happened at work due to nobody’s fault. Just too many things happening at the same time. Kids doing their usual after lunch and recess stampede, trying to keep up the pace w my One-Child/Island kid and the Mothership’s nursing home calling. If all goes ok it’s 4-6 weeks in a sling plus PT. If not surgery. Ugh. Pain isn’t too awful. I don’t need narcs but the doc prescribed some. guess I have a “journey” to go on.

Iris the Iguana

Iris was a carefree, curious and cordial iguana. She spent her days joyfully slinking and roaming around the small village, occasionally stopping by the pond to hang out and drink water with her other iguana friends. Iris had dark green stripes across her back, strong legs for crawling and climbing and a long, slender but magnificent tail for swooshing and swirling.

Iris wasn’t like the other iguanas though. She had a special ability for changing colors in a unique way, but none of her friends would believe her. Sure, she could adjust from the usual dull green to brownish when she moved between the grass to a tree trunk, but Iris’ talent went beyond the typical skill-set. Iguanas’ bodies can change color to blend in with nature, but Iris could do much more. For example, while she remained green for most of the summer days, when it rained she became aqua. Once during a heat wave, she became as red as a radish. In the autumn, when the other iguanas began to migrate to warmer parts of the country, Iris generally alternated between shades of orange, gold and brown. She realized that during the winter on snowy days, she turned white! None of her reptile friends seemed to ever be around when Iris turned a new hue because they all wanted to be in more comfortable places, but Iris liked the changing seasons and, being the warm-hearted individual she was, learned how to acclimate.

Not only could Iris change colors to match the climate, she discovered that she could adapt to the sounds of certain forms of music as well. One day in early spring, while her iguana pals were finally returning to their warmer weather home by the pond, she was happily frolicking and batting with her tail at a tennis ball she’d found in the shrubs beside a house. She was scurrying to and fro chasing the ball when she suddenly noticed musical sounds coming from inside the house. Iris felt curious and managed to find a cracked open window where she could peer inside. She saw a lady jumping, turning and stepping while watching another lady on a big box who was also jumping, turning and stepping while shouting out commands like: “Four steps to the left; now right!”, “now six squats”, “You got this! Now ten jacks!” The music coming from the box was rhythmic and lively. Iris quickly discovered that the stripes on her back were turning neon pink, yellow and blue! She loved that look and quickly dashed off to show off her new image to her iguana buddies lazing down by the water. By the time she made it to the banks of the watering hole, her color had retuned to ho-hum, basic green again. Iris sighed. No one would see proof of her talent.

Another time when Iris was roaming by the amphitheater, she happened upon a band playing called The Evil Emo Eels. Again, Iris was curious and crawled in closer to see the show. The singers seemed to be practically screaming to very loud, almost scary sounding songs about how ugly and miserable their girlfriends and boyfriends were. Iris gasped in terror when she realized that her entire body had turned completely black except for her toenails which were now blood-red. She bolted back to the pond as fast as she could, but, alas, she’d turned back to her usual shade of green, and her fellow iguanas all had a grand laugh when she tried to explain what had happened.

It was Memorial Day which was pretty exciting because a bunch of fire trucks and cars with lights and big horns and people waving flags and wearing funny shirts with stars and stripes all showed up. Iris hid shyly in the bushes, but still, she wondered what was going to happen with all these people and vehicles. Then! The music came! Marching bands rounded the corner playing John Phillips Sousa music. Drummers banged on base drums with large mallets, horn players honked, pipers piped and flautists fluted. The music was very exciting and gave Iris such a happy feeling. She looked down and saw her color transform to red, white and blue.

A couple of weeks later, another parade took place in the vey same area. This time the bands and marchers were loudly and proudly blasting Y.M.C.A., Born This Way and also Dancing Queen. It made Iris want to jump out from the security of the lush landscaping and dance too! So she did, and from snout to tail she became every color of the rainbow! She spun, she dipped, she skipped, she stomped she leapt through the air. The parade meandered all the way down to the little pond where all the other iguanas were roaming about, sipping water and rooting for snacks. They looked up when they heard the sounds from the procession off in the distance. The marchers drew closer, and there she was in all her glory! Iris the iguana! The beautiful, colorful, elated iguana, was dancing and loving every minute of it. At last her pond pals believed and understood what Iris had been struggling to tell them for years. Instead of laughing at her, this time they joined in the fun and followed the parade. Iris’ outlook improved and her fellow iguana pond mates found a new appreciation for their colorful, joyful neighbor.

https://therealljidol.dreamwidth.org/1162278.html

This is the link to the poll.

I don’t have a huge “fan base” most of my friends here are also participants in this writing event if I get in the Top 20 it’s a personal best for me.

Yesterday we babysat the HoneyB and the Tie-Breaker. my SIL and his bro had to go help their grandpa who has been recovering from a broken foot and can’t do all physical activities involving care for his property yet . Today was more of a get $h!t done day: laundry, yard care, house sitting neighbour's yard care, exercise, vacuuming, cleaning bathrooms. A mirror broke in our exercise/treadmill area. we don’t know how that happened so there was a clean up job we never expected. The Mothership is sluggish and dopey but okish. It’s part of the progressive CHF. I bought her Skyline Chili for dinner, which she actually ate. Now watching the Cincy/KC game.

back to work tomorrow.

Our 45th high school class reunion is coming up in a month. (That sounds like such an old people's number, doesn't it?) My husband and I were runners-up for being the "Class Couple". (The football star and his cheerleader honey got 1st place; go figure.) However, the Hub and I are the only pair who has stayed together all this time. The other couple has never been to one class reunion either together or with other partners. They must've gone to "Whatever Happened to So-and-So Land". Technically, the Hub and I have been together for 46 years as a couple and will have our 40th wedding anniversary also in October. The reunion often feels like we're attending a built-in anniversary party, since it always hits in the fall.

Together the Hub and I, in spite of all of our differences, have weathered a lot but definitely have more wins than losses among our stats. While neither of us have earned advanced degrees nor been graced with grandiose awards for our glorious professional achievements, we've had, and continue to have, successful careers. He works diligently in software engineering, and I am in education. We love our work, (most of the time).

Neither of us has affiliations or closeness with celebrity-status people, but we have excellent relationships with our friends and family members, (aside from our respective brothers, but that's another story for another day). The thing is, we carved our own way in the world. Nobody got us "in". We know that getting along at home or in the office/ classroom takes hard work some days plus lots of time. Neither of us is afraid of hard work, and we are happy to share some time.

We are not mega-rich (financially), but our bills are paid. Everything we've acquired has come from perseverance and integrity. We probably deserve more, but why would we want it? We are happy with where we live, what we drive and who we are.

When crises have slapped us hard, like health issues, job losses, kid problems, our parents' struggles, we pool our respective skill sets and make plans.Then we make Plan Bs because, ...well,... life. He can solve conundrums with his technology and power tools. I grab the first aid box or use my communication superpowers to talk you down, talk you up, talk you through, (or give you a talking-to if necessary).

It feels like we're always either kicking ass and taking names, getting $h!t done or on watch duty for the next blob of blazing BS that needs a beating, but that's okay. It's called married life. It's what we do, and I couldn't imagine all that he and I have lived through and accomplished with any other human being. We have two amazing kids, three beautiful grandkids and four cuddly, spoiled rotten kitties, (who refuse to be eaten!)

So on October 11th, when Hub and I walk into that 45th class reunion, we are going to hold our heads high, have a blast partying with old schoolmates from decades ago, laugh, eat, drink and be merry, as the saying goes. No bragging necessary.
This is who we are.
This is how we live.
I am grateful every day.

Week 7: Hikikomori

Locked away

hidden in plain sight

not her choice

being alone in a crowd

filled with

chatter, squeaky sneakers, slamming lockers, morning announcements, laughter, hugs, high-fives, and “How was your summers?”

No one knows what she

wants,

likes,

needs,

notices

or hopes for.

She’s alone

in her head,

and that’s nobody’s fault,

except Mother Nature’s

because she was given a 47th chromosome;

isolating her,

confusing her,

overwhelming her,

creating a one-child island.

We have pictures,

flash cards,

a talk box,

support staff

and above all

hope.

Hope for giving this sweet, yet befuddled 12-year-old

clarity and confidence,

bravery and balance,

comity and communication,

affability and accord

positivity

and

peace.

This year,

and possibly more,

she is one of mine

to nurture, teach and assist

so that she can live her best life

and find connections

have choices

and grow strong.

She doesn’t have to exist alone.

Advice for my HoneyB

What will you do?

What will you know?

How will you get along?

How will you grow?

A new chapter in life;

a fresh path to take;

wonders, creations,

and new friends to make.

Read all you can.

Do your best every time.

Be helpful and honest.

You will do fine.

Some tasks may seem hard.

Not all will play fair.

At times it’s not interesting.

But never despair.

You have talent and charm.

You know right from wrong.

You’ll always have people

with whom you belong.

You’re loving and kind,

savvy and smart.

Always remember to

follow your heart.

Love,

Granny

Oubaitori

I have always been compared to my brother

by others.

I have always compared myself to him

as well.

It’s human nature to compare;

right or wrong.

But comparing can be toxic.

I never felt good enough

until lately.

He was the outgoing one.

I was the reserved one.

He was is the boisterous one.

I was the shy, reserved one.

He was the go-getter.

He was going to grow up and be a rich doctor or a lawyer.

I would grow up, be pretty and someone’s wife.

With comparisons like that, why would I ever think I could be an achiever?

As things turned out,

He got straight As all through school.

(Notice how I did not use the word “earned”.)

I had mostly B’s and Cs, except in math when I had D-minuses

because in spite of my failing scores,

I was a nice girl who did not make trouble and at least showed up for class.

He excelled at music and theater.

Senior year he had the male lead in Hello Dolly!

I was an extra once freshman year in some obscure play no one has ever heard of.

I won ten dollars in an art contest one time that the assistant principal ran to show how students need to clean up better in the cafeteria.

Only two people ended up submitting posters, but I came in first.

I never told my parents because it wasn’t much of a competition.

When Gigi died

I sobbed for weeks,

or was it months?

He said,

“Yeah, but we still have Mamaw”.

He and I saw the world in vastly different ways.

As much as I dearly loved Mamaw,

something about that outlook didn’t seem right.
He made Mamaw sound like a spare.

Not everything or everyone is replaceable.

He’s had three marriages.

I have had one for almost 40 years.

As an adult, he has lived in a dozen or more homes.

I have lived in one.

He has burned through relationships with colleagues and friends over the years.

I still have my friends from grade school, and I am loyal to my workplace.

He’s been in some big trouble and taken many risks.

Not all have ended well.

I won’t even go there.

Our lives and beliefs are opposites.

We’re so obverse we don’t even mirror one another.

The only thing we do agree on is this:

When Dad died 28 years ago,

we made a promise to him
on his deathbed
to always take care of Mom.

And this is what we do.

Closet doors creak open.

It’s dark and looming in there.
Like a dark chasm
of mystery.

I sneeze

three times.

Dust bunnies abound.

My nose tingles.

Two more sneezes.

Damned California closets.

They aren’t as amazing as they once seemed

back in the 90s.

One-by-one I dump the contents

of drawers, racks and cubbies.

piling clothing and accessories on the floor

to sort through,

and papers.

I had no idea of the paper accumulation.

Memories flood past my itchy eyes and sinuses.

A pack of 1990 Cincinnati Reds World Series baseball cards

still unopened.

Those are worth something.

Keep.

A torn paper sack with nothing in it.

Trash.

My Princess Diana Beanie Baby bear

in it’s plexiglass box.

I will always remember where I was when I heard that news.

In my car driving home from a bar mitzvah weekend

with my best friend.

Keep.

The red beret I bought at the France pavilion at Epcot.

Oh, keep that.

My Banner House purse…

The wooden handle is still in good shape.

That’s something I wanted badly but was ashamed to ask for at Christmas

because those purses were expensive.

My future mother-in-law bought it for me as a gift in 1983.

She never knew I wanted one, but opening that box was like

JACKPOT!

Keeping it!

A drawing my youngest daughter did of an outline of her hand and a pair of lips,

because she loved the story called The Kissing Hand

when she was in kindergarten.

“I love Mommy” is written under her illustrations.

Definitely keep.

An old photo in an envelope of me nursing my baby.

I was modest and didn’t want anyone to see the picture,

because of my boob,

so I hid it away in the closet

but I would never destroy it

because that’s one of the earliest moments

with me and my first-born baby girl.

Absolutely keep.

Next is an old belt

with a huge cloisonné buckle.

It’s red

and I loved it,

but it’s time to go in the donation bag.

Vintage blue Adidas with white stripes on the side.

The last gift my grandma ever bought for me.

They still fit.

If I ever get invited to a retro party or if we have “Vintage Dress Day” at school…

I am never giving these up.

Never.

(clutches pair of shoes close to my heart)

Random Morbid thought:

I don’t want my kids in the future to have to clean out this closet and find dumb shit I should have tossed.

Artifacts from an era long gone.

Did it even happen?

Were those times even real?

I did work retail

in high-end shops

and acquired way too many purses, shirts, skirts and sequined hair scrunchies

on discount.

I used to live and dress by the Rule of Thirds and the Eight-Point Rule

back in the day,

but nobody does that now;

At least nobody in my circle.

Bye-bye hair scrunchies.

Bye-bye shirts with ruffles.

The only skirts I keep have to at least have pockets.

Bye-Bye pocketless anything.

What’s this?

(unfolds crinkled up notebook paper)

A love letter/poem from my boyfriend/husband.

It’s super-corny.

Bad, mushy writing,

but it’s sincere.

Keep!

How did these times go by so fast?

40 years of memories

in a bedroom closet.

Life has been good.

For reference for the younger readers:

The Kissing Hand book: https://www.amazon.com/s?k=the+kissing+hand+book&crid=3FX2304X3REAR&sprefix=The+Kissing+Hand%2Caps%2C122&ref=nb_sb_ss_pltr-data-refreshed_2_16

Cloisonneé: https://www.amazon.com/cloisonne-jewelry/s?k=cloisonne+jewelry

Adidas shoes: https://www.ebay.com/itm/186425241086?itmmeta=01J43B7CPJH027T2T3ZHZSDKHP&hash=item2b67cf6dfe:g:aCAAAOSwmk5kdthW&itmprp=enc%3AAQAJAAAA8EY2oPnIny3EZQj0qwk8OaAFEcuV0%2BqIw3fyCi%2FLMFefMZYMPZHt0ApciuYwTeDyr3Vn3Sj3grG34lv9KM71ZjSFJHpHIHUiQORFOKG%2B47SwZfgwtirRRR7ElYQkt%2Fys90wlzr0V606xDod9E49PN1O96RiDxoBET4IDmtYRhYOjEbhEmeS9sUz8qQ1NIkUATY5H%2FN%2FW%2FNRscBZ7XidqItEIWE0d%2FwYKYkb29PBiR6DscBAdtY0ZpL0Z%2Bt7HV9EJcAPwaz01VMOami3lNunJkrGumTPIe6rzY%2FVekADZPaI%2FY%2BAQtKWXaMwzd%2Bo%2FOuiElw%3D%3D%7Ctkp%3ABFBM7sud66Bk

Banner House Purse: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/vintage-banner-house-bermuda-bag-wooden-handles--72479875222698352/

Current Mood: accomplished
Current Location: home

Without You

I sleep independently.

I work independently.

I shop,

walk,

drive

and bathe

all by myself.

I bought a car and a house

on my own,

birthed & raised my children,

and I worked two jobs.

Growing up,

my fears frustrated you.

I wasn't the kid you'd expected.

I was afraid to swim.

I dreaded falling off a bike.

It felt impossible to catch a ball

without being beamed in the eye.

I couldn't hold a pencil right.

I was klutzy and knocked over things.

No social graces.

I was hard to teach.

I rebelled and was sometimes unladylike.

Still,

you taught me a love for animals,

drove me around when I needed rides.

took me on trips,

encouraged my education,

saw that I graduated high school & college,

taught me thriftiness & money managemt,

showed me how to do laundry,

& how to make a bed.

Like Mary Poppins,

you made tasks look easy, even if they weren't.

You looked after me if I was sick,

& gave me an appreciation for the arts like drawing, painting and writing.

You passed on your love of gardens,

& you documented our lives with countless Kodak slides,

So that we could always remember the most important things in life.

You’ve been my mom for 63 years.

You've been helpful but at times a handful,

Optimistic yet pragmatic,

Both conservative yet progressive

& oh, so determined.

Now,

I face my fears instead of crying & running.

I'm learning complicated life lessons.

I have willpower because of you.

But,

what am I going to do

one day

without you?

Current Mood: worried
Current Location: Motel room

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