Floriduh

Writing this article I am sure to make two different groups of friends mad.

When I first moved to Florida, I hated it. Take into consideration that I was seven months pregnant and moving from a small town where I was surrounded by people who loved me. My hometown was a wonderful safe haven where I was fourth generation. My family had been around from the beginning and both Grandfathers were instrumental in the foundation when it was a small farm village.

I was 1200 miles from everyone I loved, in an apartment so small that I could cook up a hamburger on the stove in the kitchen while sitting on the sofa in the living room. My husband was a first year public accountant and worked 800 hours overtime in the first three and a half months of the year.

I was alone. I was 22 years old and had a new baby. I loved being a mom but I was so homesick and I took my unhappiness out on my location. Florida. I hated the heat, I hated the transient climate, (I made two friends and they both moved away within three months) and I hated the stupid palm trees. I told anyone I knew that I thought they looked like sticks with long stringy hair on top.

I missed my seasons. Seasons allow you to see time pass. Winter snow, sledding, skating; Spring rains, flowers blooming, trees blossoming; Summer sun, pool days, cookouts; Fall cool, football games, raking leaves, jeans and sweatshirts, hiking Old Man’s Cave.

But Florida was green all year round. The first year we actually went to the beach on Christmas Day. It was monotonous, the people flighty, the summers unbearable. (If I had a dollar for every person that said they moved to Florida to start over or get away from a bad situation, I’d be a rich woman.) I suppose it had to do with the fact that we lived in a small apartment complex and rarely meet any of the natives outside the concrete walls.

Then in late August, when we were about to have our first child, Hurricanes David and Fredrick struck within a week of each other. My doctor said, “Get to the hospital.” Something about barometric pressure. Let’s just say that the anxiety of two major storms coming a week before my due date put another nail in the coffin of Florida.

Two years into our Florida stay we were transferred back to Ohio. I was thrilled beyond belief. Home, where weather changes and family and friends were in abundance. And I mean abundance. The snow the year we moved home met an all time record. I shoveled snow and dressed, then undressed the kids for outdoor activities at a rate that would send the most brilliant time manager over the edge.

Then it happened. Three years in the cold, gray Ohio winters and a promotion sends us back to Florida. But this time we got a house. The kids started school and our group of friends grew. We started feeling the effects of the seasons. The first few years here we swam year round. Now we were putting on coats in the cold 60 degree winter.

But the turning point actually occurred when I went home seventeen years ago when my Father passed away. It was February and as I flew into Port Columbus I looked out over the grey landscape and missed my green. I’d come to count on the flowers blooming year round and the ability to grab the kids and head to the beach at a moment’s notice. I loved listening to the waves break on the shore and watching the pelicans and seagulls float on the air. I cherished my drives down to Marshall Wildlife Area where I could walk around the beginning of the everglades surrounded by the exotic wildlife.

I still don’t understand Palm Trees and I still consider Ohio home, but I don’t think I’d ever move back. I have come to love the warmth and the green, besides as my incredibly brilliant husband says, “you can always fly to the snow!”

Say What?

Last week I made a visit to my friend Mavis. I sat and talked for an hour, well actually 55 minutes. That’s all the time allotted for her clients. I’m not crazy, but once in awhile it’s nice to sit and talk to someone outside the family, outside that group of friends with whom you spend your time socializing.

I first visited her when my last child went off to college. Since I was more or less a stay home mom, I wondered where this new phase of my life would take me. I would pass the kids rooms and the made up beds, the clutter free spaces only reiterated the feelings of being alone.

My husband was great. He would sit and talk to me. We would go out to dinner, we tried everything. I put on the mother’s smile and pretended. But I cried at everything. I mean to say I cried more than usual, I’ve always been a crier. Now I would cry sitting at a stop light, walking through the aisles at the grocery store. I knew I needed to talk to someone, and I needed not to be judged.

I went to Mavis. She was a friend of a friend. We talked, about everything. Secrets even my family have no idea’s about. Nothing sinister or earth shattering, but we all have things in our past that we just don’t want out there in the light. Her office was my one place where I could find that bit of insight and serenity I desperately needed to get through that time.

The things she told me weren’t so different from anything anyone else had said. But she talked to me in a way that made me come up with the solutions. Maybe I should volunteer with a children’s charity. Find a part time job. Write. Take time to find out who Wendy is now that she’s not ______’s Mom.

This time the visit was about my own expectations. My Mom’s thinking of selling her home of 55 years and moving to a condo. She seems to be counting on me to help her with the decision. My kids all seem to be in flux in their lives, looking towards new jobs and new directions. More times than not the calls come to me. And as Mavis told me one of my biggest problems, as well as asset, is that I’m a fixer. When someone says they have a problem I will jump in with both feet to help them resolve the issue.

SO - now I am working on letting people solve their own problems. My first question will be, ”What do you think?” And when I hang up the phone I’ll put the problem away and go write or garden.

Yeah right!!!!

Anyway, I promised to try.

What Should I Say

I was talking to a friend the other day that had recently lost her mother. She kept saying, “It just feels weird, I can’t explain the feeling.”

I knew exactly what she was talking about. Sixteen years ago I lost my Dad. He was the hero you read about, the guy that stands up for injustice and believed in helping those less fortunate. He had a good time wherever he went and I felt pride when people would say, you look just like your mom but act just like your dad. He wasn’t perfect, he was human.

But when he died I remember walking around and the strangest feeling would come over me. Then one day I realized how it felt. It was as if something had been amputated. A limb had been snatched from somewhere deep in my being. I’d feel it there at brief moments, possibly like an amputee might still feel their missing appendage. But then it would be gone.

I tried to explain this feeling to my friend and a look of understanding crept across her face. “People,” she said, “kept telling me it was a blessing as Mother had Alzheimer’s. But losing her feels like anything but a blessing.”

Maybe it was because of all my years working at a Ronald McDonald type house. I sat with a Mother during organ donation procedure before taking her child off life support. I helped plan a funeral for an infant and sat with parents while we waited for oncology reports. People don’t want to hear, it was a blessing or that it was God’s plan. They want to hear that you’re sorry and understand, but mostly they want to tell you about their loved one, share experiences and memories.

So I sat with my friend as she reminisced. I told her you will always miss that part of your life. I talk to Dad every day, usually when I’m out in the yard or doing some home improvement activity. When I see something he would love, an incredible sunset or just beautiful wildflowers by the side of the road. It helps keep him in the special little place in my heart, tucked in safe and sound, protected from the pain. He’s my biggest fan and most brilliant critic. And he is always with me.

I Want It Now!!

Yesterday, the Bailey dog and I were walking through the neighborhood, stopping every few seconds to sniff and pee. The dog, not me. We have lived in the immediate area for twenty some years but because of the transient Florida phenomenon; most neighbors have come and gone. In fact I think there are only eight original owners.

So I was walking in the cul-de-sac a few houses down and ran into a neighbor who has also been here since the area was developed. She and her husband were older than most of the residents as they had retired to the area. There were balloons tied to the mailbox and she told me she had just celebrated her eightieth birthday.

In front of their yard, under a huge oak tree they had placed a bench so they could sit and watch the neighborhood kids playing. Bailey and I decided we could use a short respite from the walk. It was over ninety in the afternoon sun and the bench in the cool shade where the wind was just tickling the tree branches beckoned us over.

We sat and talked about the changes in the area, about not being able to watch the shuttle take off over the trees anymore, and about time passing.

“I think the thing that makes me saddest,” she said, “Is that everyone wants everything right now. There’s no joy in waiting for something.”

A story, I was interested.

“When I was a girl we would wait each week to listen to our shows on the radio. Then when we got a television, the family would get together weekly and watch our special programs. That was the payoff. Now we dvr, we use on demand. That’s what life is about now, on demand.”

I got what she was saying. My son who works retail said the same thing to me. Parents come in demanding to get an early copy of a video game, why should their kid have to wait. It’s because we are all use to instant gratification. We want it now and most of the time we can get it right now. But when we can’t, we don’t understand.

The apps on the phone give us instant info on the store you need to find, what movie’s playing where and even where you are at all times. (______ just checked in at Yard House). You want that top from Gap? Order it online and have it shipped, don’t want to wait the 3-5 business days? Overnight it!

And wait, you can’t afford it? You can get it instantly, just fill out this credit application and we will approve you in three minutes.

I spent a wonderful half hour talking to this lady. I understood her concerns. I too like the anticipation of waiting for good things to come. But I also enjoy the conveniences modern technology affords. Maybe there should be a happy medium. Soon, technology will be available where you just have to think about something and it will appear. We’ll never have to leave the house.

Thank God for Bailey dog. He makes me stop and appreciate the world one sniff at a time.

Yummmmmmmm Remember

There are certain foods that when I taste them bring up an overwhelming sense of nostalgia.

No Bake Cookies… No Bake Cookies were a rainy day treat. Days when you were stuck inside and your mom thought the best way to keep the youngsters busy was by spending time in the kitchen. Up on the chair we would go. Mom at the stove cooking the gooey chocolate base while teaching us lessons in fractions and measuring. Licking the peanut butter off the spoon. Watching as she cooked the gooey mixture on the stove then dropped those chewy, chocolaty, oatmeal morsels onto the counter. All the while four sets of eyes locked were on, waiting for the delicious cookie to cool and harden. A cold glass of milk and a couple cookies could make any day special

Every time I make the cookies the memories flood back.

You all know it, the smells and tastes that can set the memory part of your brain spinning out of control. My mother-in-law use to make this recipe with round steak smothered in green peppers, tomatoes and brown gravy. Every time I make it the house overflows with this amazing smell. At least one of the members of the family remark on Gram’s steak recipe as the aroma permeates the air.

But it’s not just the smells and tastes. When Kirk’s mother passed away no one wanted her iron skillets. I grabbed them up and every time I cook in them (so far) the meal has turned out wonderful. My Sheppard’s Pie tastes better, the pepper and steak smells better, and the feeling I get when I use the pan is like a soft cloud that settles down over my shoulder. It’s a fog like effect that allows me glimpses back through the years. Glimpses of moments when I remember seeing the pan in the oven with sweet potatoes for a Thanksgiving dinner or with the bottom covered with bacon grease waiting the frying of eggs for breakfast. It’s the wonderful memories and many incredible meals that are part of the simple piece of iron.

Memories in smells and tastes. Not pictures to look at, but moments treasured throughout a lifetime.

We Remember

I recently caught up with a friend from High School on Facebook, I’ll call him John. We have been chatting a little, catching up on where our lives have taken us. But tucked back in the recess of my mind is an incident where he made a huge difference in my life. I wonder sometimes if he remembers or if the event is just a small cliff note buried under the large amount of the events of a lifetime.

SO.. the story went like this. I was a sophomore in High School dating a senior; we’ll call him Steve (I never dated a Steve so this should be safe). My parents weren’t thrilled about it as Steve had a car and a lot more freedom than I.

It was a Friday night and we were at one of the keggers that took place in various corn fields throughout our rural hometown. Steve and his buddies were drinking as I sipped orange juice, pretending that the container held vodka as well. (I wasn’t a prude but I hated the taste of alcohol and my Dad had a knack for smelling beer, so the OJ).

It was getting late and Steve was getting ready to leave, slapping buddies on the back, tripping over the wood by the fire and basically being a typical loud and obnoxious drunken jerk.

We were walking towards the cars when John steps up and says, “Steve, man, you are in no condition to drive. How bout I take you and Wendy home? I’ll bring you back for the car tomorrow.”

“I’m fine, no really I can drive.” Steve grabbed my arm and pulled me towards the car.

“Come on Wendy I’ll take you home.” John reached out for my other arm.

“She’s fine.” By now drunken Steve was getting a little pissed and I had become a rope in a game of tug of war. “Wendy get in the car.”

John stepped up and put himself between Steve and me.

“I don’t think so. If you’re so stupid that you’ll take your own life in your hands then by all fucking means go ahead. But Wendy’s going home with me.”

Steve yelled at John. John yelled at Steve. In the end I road home with John. I was only fifteen.

Steve made it all the way to his house before putting the car in the ditch as he made the turn up his parents long winding drive. He was banged up and had some stitches on his forehead, but I always wondered what would have happened had he driven me home on the winding back roads.

The point of the story is that as you look back over your life, you remember those moments when someone stepped up and put your life in their hands. You remember those times when one small step in a different direction could be the difference between something good or bad happening.

John probably doesn’t even remember because he is just that type of guy. I’m sure he’s stepped in over the years to help others out, it’s just his way.

So to him and others that have made a difference in my life over the years, I say, Thank you.

I Know Where You Are (and what you’re doing, and…)

I realize that my last few blogs have been about technology and that I may come off sounding like that crazy uncle that is a conspiracy theorist. But I grew up in a time when Big Brother is Watching was coming to be a concern.

I went on Facebook today and over at the right it had ads for places I could go to fill the needs of the searches I had done earlier on the internet. It knew I needed a haircut, was looking at real estate in the area and was thinking of traveling to Hawaii.

Then up at the right were notifications about where my kids were. Brooke and Nick had checked in at Holy Smokes and Dan and Amanda were at Barnes and Noble in Boca. Lauren hasn’t checked in anywhere so I have no idea of her whereabouts, but neither does whoever is out there watching our every move. Good for her!!!!

I was writing a book about a woman who gets fed up with technology and decides to leave everything behind and start fresh. It wasn’t as easy as I thought. In the old days one would just get in a car and drive away. But now we have detectors on the turnpike recording your every move. Cameras mounted on street corners and outside businesses along with pictures taken at every ATM, convenience store, and gas station.

The cars are loaded with electronic data systems that allow your auto to be traced and don’t get me started on how the authorities can monitor you through your cell phone.

So unless you have a slew of cash, a car purchased before 1997 and know that you can have no contact through any phone with anyone from your past, you need to rethink trying to start anew. You can never use a driver’s license or social security number for any identification and you have to stay off all main highways and toll roads.

So I thought I had the scenario all laid out. My heroine could do this. She’d disappear from her life and start a new chapter in the back woods of Montana.

Then I remembered something that happened to me thirty years ago. My husband and I had moved to Ft. Lauderdale Florida from Columbus Ohio. 1200 miles away from home and on the first day there I ran into an upstairs neighbor with whom I had gone through high school. So apart from all the technology, the world itself has become such a small place. I wonder if anyone can get lost anymore.