Grandma

This is my grandma.

My mom took this picture at Easter and Grandma was so annoyed because she didn't want her picture taken.  This is the closest we could get to a smile and she wouldn't look at the camera.

This is her real smile:

She has at least a million stories.  She loves animals and the color pink.  I think she looks especially wonderful in blue.  Here is another picture of her at my sister's wedding.  

See what I mean about the blue?  She drinks her coffee black but she loves her "special coffee" which is the International Delight hazelnut instant coffee.  She and my grandfather hand picked the wood paneling in their house that she now lives in with my parents.  They kept it up for her when they remodeled.

She grew up in Maryland.  She collects clocks, dolls, plates and spoons.  She clipped out every article about the new baby elephant at the zoo.  She used to make jello with fruit in it.  She knows I don't like jello with fruit in it so she would always make a separate dish of plain jello for me.

She reads the newspaper cover to cover and watches the news from 5 to 7pm, even though it just keeps repeating.  She can't stand George W. Bush and will tell you exactly why.  She loves to tell the story of my brother sitting in the tree in her backyard and so wrapped up in whatever he was thinking about he didn't know it was raining.  I've never seen her bed unmade.

She's gone to the same church for...ever.  She always had Tic Tacs in her purse and was delighted when a child at church called her the Tic Tac Lady.  She also always had Chiclets.  She has a special knack for growing African Violets.  

She is stubborn, has a heart of gold, and an amazing memory.  I'm very proud to be her granddaughter.

To blog, or not to blog? Who really cares?

About two weeks ago I wrote a post that I was really proud of but I decided I wasn't quite ready to publish.  It wasn't particularly thought-provoking and it certainly wasn't funny.  It was actually quite the bummer of a post.  I saved the post and decided to wait a couple of days to see if I still wanted to post it. 

A couple of days later I reread what I'd written and decided it wasn't that I wasn't ready to post it, it was that I was scared to post.  I wrote it while I was feeling very sad and I was afraid that through the post, I would reveal too much.  Would make people feel bad.  Would make people uncomfortable. I always worry about what other people think so again, I decided that I would wait a little longer to publish my post.  

And now, two weeks later, I am still conflicted.  I'm sure you are wondering, "What in the world could cause so much conflict?  Just post already!"  That is when I wonder if fellow bloggers ever feel as I do about posting what we actually feel.  Do people (and by people, in theory I mean the world) really want to know?

The conflict isn't about how I feel and if it is justified.  People experience all kinds of emotions and there certainly isn't a rule book that states what you are supposed to feel in any given situation.  I'm not worried that readers will question my feelings but rather they will finish reading and say, "Wow.  I really didn't need all THAT during my happy blog-reading time."  My concern is in the blogging rule book, which I have yet to see.  Do you protect your readers from yourself?  Is a blog for the blogger or the reader?  

If the blog is for the blogger, a true web log, then the answer is post away!  If the blog is for the reader, it becomes much more complicated.  Personally, I assume that the people who read my blog are mostly friends and family, who care about me, and would want to know how I'm feeling, even if it is lousy or sad.  At the same time, how impersonal is it to let your friends and family know you are feeling down in the dumps by posting it to the universe?  BUT, I often compose my thoughts much better when I write them down.  (Scary I know, considering some of my other posts!)

So which direction shall I go?  Do I stick with mostly light topics, rants and raves and anecdotes, or do I let a little (or a lot!) of the personal side in sometimes?  

Ode to Daffodils

My favorite flower of all time is the daffodil.  Everything about the daffodil is lovely and happy. First and foremost, daffodils are yellow.  If yellow wasn't such an impractical color, I would choose it for just about everything.  Clothing, paint, furniture.  Unfortunately too much yellow can be a bad thing.  But never for flowers.  Driving down the freeway a couple of weeks ago I saw bunches of daffodils growing cheerfully along the shoulder.  As if to say, Hey gray freeway, we're here to add a splash of color!  

Daffodils just have a smiley name.  I dare you to say daffodil without showing some teeth!  And for those of you that are made of stone, perhaps you are more impressed by the other, more sophisticated name of the daffodil - jonquil.  I love the way it rolls of your tongue!  When I was a counselor at outdoor school I chose the name Daffodil.  Maybe it is because it is so close to Daffy (as in Duck) that the word evokes a feeling of glee.  

At the beginning of March, when the cold and the rain has settled deep into your bones and each gust of wind makes you begin to wonder if the sun will ever show itself again, sweet specks of yellow begin to emerge from the hard ground.  Their cheerful, bright heads are just what you need to hang on a few more weeks till Spring truly begins to show.  It is as if their trumpets all sound together and beckon the sun from hiding.  I always know we're almost there the day I first notice my friendly daffodils those lingering days of winter.

I only have one lonely daffodil in my yard (which I keep saying will change but I can never remember when you're supposed to plant bulbs until the window has passed) and I envy the displays in the yards around the neighborhood.  So today at the store, when I noticed them for sale, I bought two bunches.  They weren't nearly as happy in the store, all bunched up with their heads tightly closed, but I brought them home, put them in a vase and set them on the window sill.  Not even 5 minutes later my little champions of Spring and happiness started to perk up and stretch out in the sunshine.  Every time I glance at them in their sunbeam, I'm cheered. 

While Portland is going absolutely crazy enjoying the sunshine this April day, I pause to thank my friend the daffodil.  Thank you for giving us a little bit of hope weeks ago that yes, this day would come.  

Fine Print

Have you ever stopped to read the fine print?  For the most part, just the words "fine print" stimulate your "uh oh" meter.  "Don't forget to read the fine print!"  We're warned to pay attention when signing paperwork at the doctor's office or hospital and when we rent a car. Anything important requiring signatures usually come with fine print.  Some people choose to ignore it and we usually see them on episodes of "People's Court."  There is a reason why it isn't in bold print.  Large, bold, fluorescent, underlined print catches people's attention without too much difficulty.  Spoiler alert!!  Paperwork that comes with fine print has information they don't want you to read!  If they wanted you to read it, they wouldn't make it super tiny.  

So that means that fine print is often bad.  At the hospital, the fine print pretty much says that if you should die or come out of surgery with a limb missing, it isn't their fault.  At the doctor, the fine print says that if your insurance doesn't pay for a really expensive lab, you still have to pay for it.  No one really knows what the fine print says on your retirement account because there is so much fine print they have to send you a phone book sized addendum and no human being has ever bothered to read it all.  

Fine print on advertisements is usually bad too.  "Buy our product!  Use our service!  It is so amazing!"  The fine print tells you a different story.   Our medicine is great!  Except is causes nausea and headache.  I lost 79 pounds!  Results not typical.  6 days, 7 nights of sun-filled paradise!  Travel available only during monsoon season.  The information in the bold, sparkly writing is usually what makes you want to buy the product.  The information in the fine print is what makes you change your mind.

But sometimes, on a few rare occasions, the fine print is the ultimate in hilarity.  Tonight, while watching TV, I saw a commercial for Excedrin.  Excedrin is usually my headache medicine of choice, so I watched with interest as they marketed the new formula which claimed to deliver the medicine at an accelerated speed.  Excedrin Express Gels promised to relieve a headache in only 15 minutes.  Excedrin Extra Strength Express Gels.  I just love the alliteration.  It was a great commercial, too.  They turned the pill into a rocket and sent it flying through the air. It continues around the room with a trail of smoke behind it so you understand just how fast this medicine will work.  I even thought, "Wow!  I already like Excedrin but something that can work in 15 minutes?  Even better!"  Then came the fine print.  Dramatization.  And at that moment, I changed my mind.  Just like that, I no longer wanted the product. 

But maybe it is for the best.  I mean, what if Excedrin left out the fine print, and I went ahead and purchased Excedrin Express Gels?  What if I took those pills home, opened the bottle, and after waiting several minutes, realized that the commercial had dramatized their advertising? That in fact, the little pill mutating into a rocket ship and flying around with a trail of smoke was not actually real but merely a dramatization?  

So I encourage you to read all fine print.  Not just for your well-being and safety, but for your amusement.  It will knock your socks off!  Dramatization.  No socks actually blown off while reading fine print.

Daredevil in high heels

To the lady walking across the street last night:

I was very happy to stop while you crossed the street even though it wasn't a designated crosswalk.  I also understood that you needed to take your time going across the street because it was dark and starting to rain.

I even understood that you were slowed down a little more by the 4 inch spike heeled boots you were wearing.  I probably would have had to stand on tip toe and bunny hop across the street in heels like that, so I'm impressed that you were even ambulatory.

What I fail to understand is that while you were leisurely crossing the street illegally, in the dark, while it was raining, in your super tall boots, you also felt the need to continue TEXT MESSAGING.  

Perhaps you can explain why that text message was so important that you were willing to risk getting smashed by a car to finish punching the keys.  Were you so distracted that you didn't even have a little hesitancy in your choice to pick your way across a street in your precarious footwear?  Maybe you didn't realize you were crossing the street.  Perhaps in your boots you couldn't sense that the sidewalk had changed to asphalt.  

I'm wondering who I would have to be texting that would be so urgent that I would put myself in that perilous situation.

Or why I needed to cross the street at that moment.  That mid-text and step I would say to myself, "Self, we just have to plow through," and then take a breath and step off the curb.

It isn't safe, kids.  It's just not safe.