Author: authordianemhow

Crazy Family Traditions: A Dime a Dozen or a Dozen Dimes?

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Over the years I’ve heard many stories about pennies from Heaven or a penny for your thought.  I’ve heard Don’t take any wooden nickels on more than one occasion.  In our family, the coin of choice seems to be a dime.

Who knows how it started, but my grandfather, who had a delightful sense of humor and seemed to always find a way to make a buck, would tell anyone who asked to use the bathroom to leave a dime, followed by one of his hearty chuckles.  I don’t remember ever seeing a dime on the commode, perhaps because back in the fifties, 10 cents could actually buy a bottle of coke or some other necessity. (yes, a bottle of Coke is a necessity when the temperatures exceed 100 degrees for more than a week!)

Sometime this past year, a family member decided to dust off my grandfather’s urging and take it to another level.  I began finding the small shiny coins accumulating whenever the culprit visited.  Others decided to join in the fun.  It wasn’t long before a pile formed.  It became a nuisance to clean around them, but I didn’t feel right putting them in my purse and spending them.

While I appreciated the humor and generous donations, I needed to find a way to dispense of the silly deed before it became a new tradition.  I decided to post a little ditty on the wall above the dimes.  It goes like this:

We’ll always remember that our Grandpa once said

Please leave a donation if you’re using the head

But traditions have changed along with the times

You’re no longer required to leave a few dimes

Now here’s the dilemma, there’s been overflow

Someone too generous and not in the know

Please take back your donation; now don’t make me frown

And remember the seat should always be down

Thanks, The Establishment

So does your family have any silly family traditions that have gotten out of hand?  I’d love to hear about them.

Should Matriarchs drink red wine?

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A few years ago my sister-in-law startled me when she announced that I was the Matriarch of the family now that my mother had passed.  The role, bestowed upon me as the oldest daughter, sounded foreign when in fact, I had stepped into the position quietly without much thought.

Preparing for a family gathering usually begins a few days in advance with shopping, cooking and cleaning.  Our modest-size home becomes a gathering place for twenty to thirty loving, laughing and sometimes messy guests.  Those who aren’t standing in the kitchen flow into the dining and living rooms.  After that they spill out onto the deck or downstairs into the den.

Hosting the events brings much joy to me and my husband, but by the time the last one is ushered out the door, I must admit, exhaustion sets in and I appreciate the next few hours of quiet solitude.  When every counter has been wiped and crumb vacuumed up, I love to indulge myself by uncorking a bottle of my favorite red wine.

That is exactly what I did last year after a summer barbeque.  I caressed the half-filled glass of Merlot and gently placed it on the end table next to the couch.  After filling a small bowl with a few left-over strawberries, I sat down on the sofa and reached for the goblet in anticipation of the succulent reward.  The delicate glass tipped forward and touched the ceramic lamp, shattering and sending shards of glass and crimson liquid in every direction.

Wine dripped through the slate squares of the table onto the beige carpet.  I quickly removed the lamp and pulled the table into the nearby kitchen where it proceeded to drip across the tiled floor.  The sticky fluid trailed down the wall much like tears that streamed down my face.  The few ounces of joy poured in anticipation of relaxation seemed to multiply like biblical bread.

My husband appeared on the scene within seconds, not so much for support, but to scream “What the heck did you do that for?”

“Because you hadn’t screamed at me for a while!” I replied in frustration.

It took every last ounce of cleaner and energy we had to eradicate the disaster without any permanent damage.  The fear of experiencing that nightmare again won’t keep me from fulfilling my role as Matriarch, but it has made me seriously contemplate becoming a Chardonnay junky or maybe I’ll invest in a Sippy cup and stick to my dry reds.

There’s No Place Like Home

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Like a cobra that refuses to relinquish its grip, unrelenting heat waves are squeezing the breath from folks across the United States.  My escapes outside are limited to essential missions.  I find myself planted in front of the computer, browsing through blogs, dreaming of faraway places that I long to visit.

Going Dutch, by Malou, http://malouprestado.files.wordpress.com offers the reader to escape to picturesque fields of tulips and poppies.  Recently, she shared stunningly beautiful pictures from a family vacation in Tuscany.  The breathtaking photos captivated me and made me long to journey to such romantic places.

It is a dream for another day and while I lingered a little longer than I had anticipated, the time spent was not wasted.  It inspired me to write about the delightful opportunities that are offered here in Missouri.  For the next few weeks, I will revisit some of my most favorite locations and invite readers to ponder the possibilities of vacationing in Missouri.

The historic downtown St. Charles is one of my favorite places to spend the day.  The 16 acre Frontier Park boarders the Missouri River and hosts many events throughout the year.  The Festival of the Little Hills, to be held August 17-19, 2012, attracts 300,000 visitors each year and provides a stage front for the 300 craft booths, food, live music and entertainment that line the streets of the Historic St. Charles Downtown District.  The great thing about this event is that I can get an early start on my Christmas shopping then grab a funnel cake or roasted ear of corn and sit a while in the park listening to the wide variety of music.

Speaking of music, Music on Mainstreet fills the Jaycee’s Stage on the third Wednesday from May through September at 5:00 p.m.  The St. Charles Municipal Band Free Concerts invite everyone to bring their lawn chairs on Thursdays June through August at 8:00 p.m. to tap their toes in the grass.  Some of my fondest memories came from watching my mother’s face light up when she recognized a song from her era.  Somehow, the music transcended her from the struggles of Alzheimer’s disease to another time.  She knew every word and sang along softly, all the while keeping a beat with her frail hands.

History buffs will enjoy the wonderful statues found throughout the park and along Main Street.  The Lewis and Clark Boat House and Nature Center is a great place to start.  The county was established in 1812 and played a significant role in the westward expansion of our country when the Lewis and Clark Expedition departed from the banks of St. Charles.

Wear comfortable shoes because there is much to see and do.  The 240-mile Katy Trail, a paved biking and hiking path borders the park along with the MKT Depot.  If this peaks your interest, check out the website at http://www.stcharlescountywebsite.com

The quaint shops and delectable restaurants provide for a leisurely stroll down Main Street.  If you make it all the way to the end, you can visit the Foundry Art Center and some of the pubs that offer reprieve to summer’s strain.

My journey will continue through other delightful parks and attractions.  I hope you join along and share a story or two with me about your home town vacation.

A Special Day for Special People

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To father a child is not the same as to serve the role of a Dad.   My respect for the love, caring and extraordinary effort that it takes to perform the duties of a Dad grows each day.

My own father rose early every morning and labored hard to bring home enough pay to keep food on the table for a large family.  When not at his place of employment, he struggled to keep our car functioning, often with what seemed like bubble gum and bandaids.  In the silence of his mind, he worried about unpaid bills, the rearing of his many offsprings and the health of his aging parents and in-laws.

There was no time to dwell upon unfulfilled dreams.  A few dollars left at the end of a paycheck meant he could buy a bag of apples or watermelon from a produce stand.  Life was not easy for my dad.  He did the best he could.  He taught his children to respect others, to be polite and gracious, to be thankful for every gift and not complain.  For this, I will always be grateful.  I miss my Dad.

My husband also is a Dad, a very good Dad.  He was not priviledged to have a Dad when he was a child.  Yet, somehow, he learned the importance of the role.  For forty years, he has been present and active in his daughter’s life.  I measure the success of his efforts by the person Laura has become.  He taught her to believe in herself and have the confidence to succeed in whatever she chooses to pursue.  They spend many hours a week staying connected and sharing the joys and frustrations of life.

So I take this opportunity to remember my father fondly for the years of caring and guiding me into adulthood.  I thank my husband for the commitment he’s made to being a wonderful Dad.

I extend a round of applause to my brothers, Rob, Larry and Craig, and nephews, Robby, Jeff, David and Kyle.  It makes me proud every day as I watch you shine in this significant and challenging role with your own children.  We are blessed that you have taken your role to heart and make such a difference in our world.  Hope I didn’t forget someone, but remember, I’m over sixty now and there is that senior moment thing 🙂

Do you have a memory or special story to share about your Dad?  I’d love to hear about him.

Take Five

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The gentle taps against the weathered deck are as calming as a lullaby.

The rhythm so slow I nearly count the beats.

Joyous melodies chirp in the distance, grateful creatures anxious to reap rewards.

Swaying branches reach for drops of nectar to replenish their richness.

Blades of grass clap in exhalation.

The unexpected pleasure of a tender spring rain brings joy to my soul .

I pause briefly to appreciate the moment.

Burden or Blessing

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Burden or Blessing

It’s easy to know Him when our troubles are few

To find hope in a sunrise when each dawn breaks new

To feel all His glory and have faith in His word

So easy to know Him when not facing the sword

But when troubles surround you and take hold of your heart

When the struggles with reason drive you further apart

Know that He loves you, for this He has shown

The miracles performed were for the weak and the worn

The blind man had vision; the lame He made walk

The deaf-mute who trusted could suddenly talk

To the least of our brothers He’s provided the best

Just give Him your troubles; He’ll do all the rest

And rejoice in the moment when you feel that great weight

It’s a sign that He’s near you and delivering your fate

For He’ll never abandon or forsake one in need

He hears your requests in the prayers that you plead

by Diane M How

Brain Power

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The human mind amazes me.  As more gray hair finds it way onto my scalp, my brain continues to function in high gear with few failures and occasionally, almost by accident, I get a little wiser.

Before I retired two years ago, my ability to multi-task surprised even me.  I supervised an office staff of sixteen, prepared reports, served as Safety and Logistics Officer, resolved every personnel issue and equipment malfunction imaginable, and still found time to be a wife, caretaker, and volunteer facilitator.

Now that I am a woman of leisure, I often have to force myself to stifle my need to perform numerous functions at one time.  Take writing, for example.  I have four different projects open on the computer as I draft this blog.  I toggle back and forth frequently as needed.  My upcoming novel, Burning Embers, remains open on my laptop at all times as I work diligently on the rewrites.  At the rate I’m going, it should be completed by 2015.

In the past ten minutes, besides beginning this piece, I emptied the dishwasher, filled it again, prepared the coffee pot for the next brew, went outside and picked up the mail, began preparing lunch and referenced my thesaurus (which resides permanently next to my computer).  Mind you, I realize they are all unimportant, menial tasks, yet, not bad for a sixty-year old mind in a short period of time.

I once challenged myself to see if I could function with a solitary thought for more than five minutes.  The longest attempt neared forty-five seconds

In full disclosure, one of the items is not a writing assignment.  It is a game called FreeCell.  My husband and daughter think I am addicted to it.  I tell them I am trying to keep my brain cells active, which I am.  That appeases them briefly, but does not change their assumption.

This card game challenges the player to unscramble the order of the cards before running out of moves.  I am embarrassed to mention how many of these games I have played, but it has been two years and whenever I am bored or watching television, I am competing to raise my success score, which has been stuck at 65%.

I have proof that this hobby stimulates my brain.

One of the options on the game allows the player to undo the last move and try another.  I recently realized that if I utilize that function and repeat it multiple times, I can win nearly every game.  Once I opened my mind to the possibility, it changed my entire perspective about the game.  Instead of hitting the button that says, start a new game when I get stuck, I challenge myself to stick with each session until I succeed.  I have won all but one of the last twenty-five games.

One of the courses I facilitated for years included a poster that said CYA (check your assumptions).  I assumed that losing was a normal outcome of the game.  I wonder how many times in my life I have limited my success without realizing it.

Have any of you ever found that by changing their belief about something, it opened up new possibilities.  I’d love to hear from you about your challenge or Aha moment.

A Treasured Gift

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The Treasured Gift

            I put little value on material things.  I am a terrible shopper and find no enjoyment in browsing the racks of a clothing store.  Other than my wedding and engagement rings and a simple watch, my jewelry collection consists of a few necklaces given to me by my husband and daughter.

Early in my marriage, I began buying a spoon from each state I visited.  They, hang in a shadow box on the wall of our dining room.  I look at them occasionally when I dust the case.  Family and friends have given me other items that are displayed in a curio cabinet in the living room.  The sentiment far outweighs the monetary value of my earthly possessions.

I prefer to give gifts rather than receive them.  For me, it is the thought that counts.  I enjoy watching someone’s eyes light up when they open an unexpected package.  That brings me joy more than anything else.

The office where I worked participated in a secret Santa gift exchange one Christmas.  About three weeks before the holiday party, each person wrote down their name and three inexpensive items he or she desired.  I seldom came prepared with a well-thought out selection.  Often I ended up with a gift card or a pair of gloves.  I will never forget the enjoyment of opening a gift that I knew I would always treasure.

I carefully picked up the eight-by-ten, simply-wrapped package trying to anticipate its contents.  As I peeled the paper back, I saw a plain black plastic case wrapped in cellophane.  I struggled to remove the clear cover, more puzzled than ever.

I could not imagine what would come in such an unusual container.  My eyes widened in delight at the contents.  A professional assortment of writing pens made me grin like a child.  Not only were there six pens, including a fountain pen with cartridges, there were many refills for each.  It was a gift that someone selected with thought and love.  I knew immediately who my secret Santa had been.  My friend and co-worker, Joyce Richard, recognized the perfect gift for a writer.

I spend many hours on my laptop, working on my novel, but there is nothing that can replace a smooth writing pen and a blank piece of paper.  I have written many thoughts on scraps of discarded paper, tissues, on the corners of a newspaper and even the palm of my hand.  I can’t imagine having all these thoughts in my mind and not being able to write them down.

Until recent years, you couldn’t stuff a computer in your pocket or the bottom of your purse, ready to support you whenever the need arises.  Maybe someday I’ll catch up with the progress made in electronics.  Until then (and probably after), I’ll continue to cherish the wonderful selection of pens and the comfort they bring me when I fill my pages with thoughts.

Laissez Faire

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Our spirit’s born the chill of dawn

When dew clings helpless to the vine

Before the din of structured man

Disguises Mother Nature’s charm

 

The ever present offer waits

It beckons weary souls to prowl

Beyond the confines of chaotic cells

To sojourns of the unrestrained

 

Where endless canvas drifts aloft

Granting turbulence a brief repose

Where breeze directs the music’s dance

Of sheltered forests’ songs of gold

By Diane How

Joy, joy, joy

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Sometimes joy spills over from one day to the next, like a baseball winning streak.  I love when that happens.

The abundance of springtime pleasures, like sunny skies, luscious green lawns and trees that are cloaked with leaves, helps to keep my mood elevated.

Thursday evening my husband and I had dinner with my daughter, her boyfriend and his three members of his family, who were visiting from South Carolina.  We tried a new barbeque place that came highly recommended.  It turned out to be a shack, literally.  Fortunately, everyone accepted the accommodations without complaint.  Good food and good company made for a pleasant evening.

Friday, the plans were to visit the Botanical Gardens in St. Louis with the visiting family.  Storms rolled in from the west and we cancelled those plans.  Instead, we all met at a large nearby nursery where we spent an hour or two enjoying the abundance of flowers and plants.  The pleasant substitution fulfilled my urge to see mother natures’ bountiful display and to purchase a few additions for our garden.

Saturday morning I sat at the computer, frustrated that I had not found words to fill the pages of the document on the screen.  For three weeks, I tried to compose a poem to present to my brother-in-law at his eightieth birthday party.  Suddenly, my fingers began pecking at the keyboard and words appeared, as they often do.  I have found that I just need to receive them when God is ready to send them my way.

In the afternoon we attended a wonderful outdoor party for the octogenarian.  The temperatures neared 100 degrees and the humidity left everyone drenched, yet visiting with extended family on such a joyous occasion made the conditions bearable and well worth the brow wiping.

When I returned home Saturday night, I delighted in reading a post on Facebook announcing the husband of a dear friend received a phone call for a life-saving liver transplant that he desperately needed for months.

An email from my brother informed me that another relative had made significant advances in recovering from a debilitating illness.  I believe it is a sign that prayers are being answered, even if the message came with a cautiously optimistic warning.

By the time I attended church on Sunday, my cup overflowed with blessings.

I hurried home from church anxious to get an update on the condition of the liver transplant recipient.  Much to my dismay, our internet service did not work.

Computers are my nemesis.  I have a love/hate relationship with them.  My ignorance consumes many frustrating hours when something goes amiss.

I don’t really understand the difference between a router and a modem; much less know how to make them function properly after a glitch occurs.

After trying the standard options of disconnecting and restarting the pc and laptop, I turned to my husband for help.  Understanding that he shares the same limited knowledge, I watched as he completed all the familiar procedures that I performed.

He successfully restored the internet access on his personal computer.  Relieved that I could get an update on the condition of my friend’s husband, I could sleep peacefully and tackle the rest of the problem on Monday.

Unfortunately, the wireless access continued to elude my laptop.  Rain dripped down from the cloudy skies, threatening to dampen my spirits, but I am not one to lose my patience easily.

My frustration level did not rise until I realized that I could not print from my laptop without the internet connection.  On my umpteenth try, I decided to move a few wires to another port and managed to restore the connection.

After cheering and exchanging a high-five with my husband, I tried to contain the feeling of superiority that overcame me momentarily.

Life regained momentum in a positive direction.  Now, if the clouds part long enough to get a walk in, I’ll continue the winning streak.