# 4 - Less is more

The Top 10 Things I've Learned in My 50 years on this planet...

# 10 - Don't sweat the small stuff

#   9 - Being mean blows chunks

#   8 - You can't reason with the unreasonable

#   7 - I need quiet

#   6 - Life is unpredictable; change is constant

#   5 - Giving is good; receiving is hard

#   4 - Less is more

 

I'm not sure that my parents would have ever agreed with my # 4.  Maybe that's because they grew up in The Depression of the 1930's.  They were keepers.  I'm not saying that's a bad thing necessarily.  But I am saying that I do better with keeping less.

 

I have more time when I have less stuff to clean, dust, organize, store, pack away, or "save for someday."

 

I have more freedom when I have less stuff to admire, shine or have repaired - note I did not say "repair" since I don't ever repair things...no repair skills here.

 

I have more space when I have less stuff to take up space.  I know; brilliant statement, right?

 

I remember one time when I was giving away clothes to Goodwill.  They were nice clothes that simply did not fit me any more.  My parents saw the pile and couldn't believe I was giving them away.  My reply was something along the lines of "less is more."

 

We have a way of getting and collecting stuff.  I'm not a collector, and I don't usually shop for the "fun" of it.  Maybe I am too responsible...too much of a mother...think too often in terms of needs vs. wants...but I just rarely buy things that are wants rather than needs / things I will use regularly or use up.  Part of that is due to my # 4 - I really do believe less is more.  I grant you that today's retailers and marketers wouldn't ever want to use that phrase in their advertising, but it's what I have found to be true.

 

Ya know...that could be an interesting advertising campaign slogan sometime...a bit tricky...getting people to buy more of somethings while telling them less is more.  Intriguing...

 

Anyway, that's my # 4.  I'll keep it short and simple...because less is more. 

# 5 - Giving is good; receiving is hard

The Top 10 Things I've Learned in My 50 years on this planet...

# 10 - Don't sweat the small stuff

#   9 - Being mean blows chunks

#   8 - You can't reason with the unreasonable

#   7 - I need quiet

#   6 - Life is unpredictable; change is constant

#   5- Giving is good; receiving is hard

 

That first part is a pretty simple truth, I know.  That second part maybe not so much.  Few people actually articulate that receiving is hard.  I want to talk about the second part first and then the first part.  Cause I want to end this post on an extravagantly positive note.  Just wait...

 

I have experience with receiving being hard.  I'm not talking about receiving Christmas gifts or birthday presents or wedding gifts.  That sort of receiving is easy and fun, celebrating life and joyous occasions. 

 

I'm talking about receiving when you need to receive - when you really don't have another choice but to receive as a result of asking for help or because someone sees the need in your life and gives. 

 

It could be tangible gifts like money or food or paying a bill. 

 

It could also be intangible gifts like a listening ear or a well-timed bit of humor.

 

Or giving you rides when your eyesight is failing.  Such is the case for my ex-mother-in-law.  She has wet macular degeneration in both eyes, and is no longer able to drive.  She has loving friends who are happy to pick her up to go to church or to have her hair done or go out to eat.  But it's still hard for her to be in a position of receiving. 

 

I get that.  As a single mother of 4 children with no child support from their father, I have had lots of experience swallowing my pride and receiving.  And it's hard. 

 

But it's also good.  For both the giver and the receiver.  For truth be told, we all need help from time to time.  Some more than others due to various life circumstances, but the bottom line is that none of us is beyond needing help.  We may not always recognize the need, but we all need help.  So learning how to receive, though hard, is a good thing.

 

Now for that first part.  Giving is good.  Giving is fun!  Giving can be easy.  Giving is one of the truest expressions of love.  You can give without love, but I dare you to love without giving.  If you try to do it, you'll inevitably kill the love.  And that's just sad.  And a waste of a good dare.  Just embrace it and give!

 

Like this lady.  I am about to show you a picture of one of the wedding gifts given to my daugher last month. I don't have a good camera, so it's not going to begin to do this gift justice, but I share it, because it is just about the ultimate in extravagant giving.  Are you ready?  Here is a pic of the whole.  As good as this is, just wait...keep reading...it gets better...

Pretty amazing, huh? If you have ever quilted or known anyone who has you have a sense of the time it took to do this. 

But that's not all.  Here's a shot of some of the details.

This lady's got skills.  Mad skills.  My sister quilts, but even she looked at the giver and asked if her mother could give her lessons.  Did you catch that?  The giver was not the maker.  The giver was my daughter's roommate in college, so they had spent lots of time together.  But the maker was her mother.  She may have spent a total of a mere few hours with my daughter, but she invested 10 times that amount at least, making every detail right.  Even down to small touches of orange, since S used to be into orange when she was in college.

Talk about extravagant!  Talk about giving!  This is the kind of giving that inspires me.  I want to give like this when I grow up! 

 

Because giving is good.  Especially giving like this - from a heart of love and joy and sheer excellence.  Giving the best that you are and have to another.  Wow.  That's just about as cool as it gets.

Launching the bucket list

My 50th birthday is 6 days away.  6.  6 days.  6 days.  6. 

And I've said for years that I would launch my bucket list on my 50th birthday.  I will post my bucket list on here someday, but for now I will simply tell you about how I'm launching the bucket list.

I'm jumping out of a plane. 

Yes, I will have a parachute.  And I'll even be strapped to some handsome young buck in addition to that parachute.  Although when I made the appointment yesterday and told the guy on the phone that, he said something about if I keep flirting with him he might be my instructor - and he isn't so young, but he said that he was handsome!  And obviously humble.

But back to my story.  I made appointments for me and my friend, P, for 10:30am next Saturday to jump out of a plane leaving the Vandalia Municipal Airport in Vandalia, IL.  Anyone want to come watch?  I need someone(s) with a camera to come with, cause I didn't pop for the extra $79 each to have a pic made...any takers?  Anyone?

The Big 5-0 is my launch since my kids are now raised - if I die or become incapacitated from pursuing any activity on my bucket list, it won't matter.  Ok, so it will matter, but not like when they were little.  Cool?

I'm excited!  I was in the bank yesterday and the teller noticed that my birthday was close, so she asked what I was doing.  I told her jumping out of a plane, and she loved it so much, she pretty much told the rest of the bank! 

Oh, and the sisterhood is throwing me a party that night!  Woo-hoo!!  One sister even keeps insisting that it's my party...I should have whatever I want!  How cool crazy is that?!  Happy 50 to me!!!!

# 6 - Life is unpredictable; change is constant

The Top 10 Things I've Learned in My 50 years on this planet...

# 10 - Don't sweat the small stuff

#   9 - Being mean blows chunks

#   8 - You can't reason with the unreasonable

#   7 - I need quiet

#   6 - Life is unpredictable; change is constant

 

I have a very good friend who doesn't like change.  She will openly admit that she has to plan her spotenaity.

 

I love this lady to death, but I honestly have trouble relating to her feelings.  I actually like change.  I'm one of those people that they call "change agents" at work.  Now mind you, I'm not up for change just for the sake of change.  I am more of a purposeful change sort of agent. 

 

Cause see, as much as I like change, I hate stuck in stupid.  Our current CEO at work says that we have stupid buckets at work, and I tend to agree.  Which motivates me all the more in my "change agent-ness".

 

Am I getting off track here?  Maybe but not really.  Cause my point in this post - in this # 6 thing I've learned in my 50 years on this planet - is this: life is unpredictable; change is constant.  It just is.  As much as some people want things to stay the same, they don't.  Period.  They change.  In unpredictable ways.

 

And that's not all bad.  One of my all-time most hated phrases of all is "We've always done it that way."  Really?  That's the best you've got?  You don't know why you're doing it that way, but your default position is "we've always done it that way."  I'll shut up - if I keep going I could be violating my # 8.

 

But hopefully you get my point.  We all do stupid things.  Every last one of us.  But the smart ones around recognize it as stupid and stop to ask "what do I need to CHANGE so that I don't get/stay stuck in stupid?"

 

Or we all encounter toxic people or relationships from time to time.  But the healthy among us recognize it as toxic and ask "what do I need to CHANGE to get/stay healthy?"

 

Or things at work change.  Mergers happen.  Leadership changes.  Often unpredictable events to the "rank and file" employees.  But the trick is learning how to respond.  Am I going to fight the change?  Or will I do the healthy thing and ask "what do I need to CHANGE in me to help make this a success for all?"

 

I haven't gotten into the bigger ways life is unpredictable - accidents with catastrophic consequences, planes flying into buildings, choices made by loved ones intent on killing pain or hurting themselves - but it's all there in life.  Many of us want to control everything in our lives - and it's just not possible.  For anyone.  Maybe # 6 is a hard truth for some.  But it's a truth nonetheless. 

 

Life is a gift - and a fragile gift at that.  The more I can do to learn and relearn # 6 and not fight against it, the closer I can come to embracing living and the unpredictable changes that come with it instead of hoping they will go away so I can crawl back into my illusion of control.

 

Ok, climbing off of my soapbox now.  Perhaps I should have done the Top 10 things I've learned first and then posted the Top 10 funniest/best moments....I'm starting to think that I'm getting preachy....hmmmm....I will try to cut that out... 

# 7 - I need quiet

The Top 10 Things I've Learned in My 50 years on this planet...

# 10 - Don't sweat the small stuff

#   9 - Being mean blows chunks

#   8 - You can't reason with the unreasonable

#   7 - I need quiet

 

Oh, good, I'm glad that this one came up today.  This is one of those days when I really need quiet.  AND I am even getting it!  Yes!!! 

 

This shouldn't be a long post.  It's really pretty self-explanatory.  Maybe not everyone feels the need for quiet, but I am one who knows I need it - naps, prayer, meditation, reading, etc. - and if I don't get it, trust me, you don't want to be around me. 

 

But hopefully after today, folks who have to be around me tomorrow will be able to living happily with me.  Unless, of course, something happens to interrupt my quiet today.  In which case, all bets are off. 

 

And just for the record, if you think I'm too grumpy, you can always feel free to tell me to go take a nap.  I probably won't tell you no.  Since it's for our mutual good and all.  

 

I just give til it hurts. 

 

Signed,

Jus' Deb Martyr

# 8 - You can't reason with the unreasonable

The Top 10 Things I've Learned in My 50 years on this planet...

# 10 - Don't sweat the small stuff

#   9 - Being mean blows chunks

#   8 - You can't reason with the unreasonable

 

I've missed posting the last couple of days, so I'll try to make up for lost time today.  And # 8 is true in so many different situations.  I have lived it at home.  I have lived it at work.  I have lived it at church.  I have observed it in politics.  And I have lived it in just general community settings.   

 

See I tend to be one of those people that believes strongly in being able to reason with others.  And most of the time I have encountered reasonable people - and we are able to reach consensus and mutually agreeable solutions even if we start out from very different positions.

 

But sometimes - not often so much for me any more - but sometimes - I find myself trying to reason with an unreasonable person. It isn't obvious at first.  At first it just appears as though they are angry or prideful or caught up in the emotion of their position.  But after a while it becomes evident that this isn't just those things in a temporary way....but those things in a more permanent way...as in a personality or character trait that is deeply entrenched....leading to unreasonable.  They may appear to be reasonable - or even couch their lack of willingness to reason in nice sounding words - but the fact of the matter is, they are unwilling to budge or have a closed mind about new ideas or changing.

 

Two ancient proverbs come to mind along these lines - and I try to remind myself of them each time I come up against this situation.  They both helped me when I was living through the last few years of my marriage.  I haven't talked much about when I was married, but let me put it this way.  A friend I used to work with calls her first/ex-husband "The Village Idiot."  And I think we were both married to the same man.  Pay no attention to the fact that we lived in different parts of the country at that time.  It was the same man. I'm sure of it.

 

Anyway, back to those two proverbs.  The first one goes like this: "a fool gives full vent to his anger, but a wise man keeps himself under control."  When people are being unreasonable, 9.76 times out of 10, they are also being a fool.  

 

And the other one goes a bit further to caution about how easily we can get sucked into another's foolish behavior and unreasonable approach:  "do not make friends with a hot-tempered man, do not associate with one easily angered, or you may learn his ways and get yourself ensnared."  Oh yea...been there, done that. 

 

If I had a picture of my ex-husband, I could post that as a thumbnail for this one.  But I could also post a few other pics - and that just wouldn't be good for anyone, so I won't.  Instead I'll simply remind myself to take a deep breath, smile and recognize those times when I'm trying to reason with the unreasonable.

 

And when that happens, then it's a matter of deciding whether it's a fight or flight situation.  But that's for another post someday...

#9 - Being mean blows chunks

The Top 10 Things I've Learned in My 50 years on this planet...

# 10 - Don't sweat the small stuff

#   9 - Being mean blows chunks

 

Am I too old and sophisticated to say that?  I hope not, cause I really mean it.  Jeff Dunham's character Walter notwithstanding, being mean blows chunks.  Walter is endearing in his grumpiness, but on the whole mean people suck as the saying goes.

 

I remember one year for Halloween a group of folks from work dressed up as Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, and they needed their Grumpy.  I dressed up as Grumpy and since I'm me, and I love a good stage, and since all the world's a stage, I acted the part, too.  By 10am, I couldn't stand myself.  How do grumpy people do it?

 

Yea...I know, there's technically a difference between mean and grumpy, but it's not a wide difference in my book.  Both can be falsely charming and both can even wear a smile, but when it comes right down to it, both are real downers for everyone around them - even for themselves, in my opinion.

 

I remember a lady I used to work with.  She was just about the epitome of mean and bitter.  It was such a pleasure working with her.  Really.  I promise.  I decided to respond to her with smiles as often as I could but I mainly decided that she was in my life to show me where I didn't want to go - where I didn't want to end up someday.  We worked together while I was going thru my divorce, so I could have easily let the bitterness and resentment and meanness settle in, but thankfully A was there to remind me who I could become in 20 years if I did so.  Yuck.  Thanks, but no thanks.

 

That's all.  I'll make this one a short DD, since most people already know # 9 is true.  But a little reminder every now and again can't hurt.  Cause when it comes right down to it - mean is easy; grumpy doesn't take any work.  We all slip into them from time to time.  But they both blow chunks. 

 

And I'm just old enough these days that I think about how I'll be remembered.  And I really hope it's not as Grumpy the Dwarf. 

 

#10 - Don't sweat the small stuff

The Top 10 Things I've Learned in My 50 years on this planet...

# 10 - Don't sweat the small stuff

 

I never promised you that the top 10 things I've learned would be profound or deep or brilliant.  All I ever said was that they would be the things I've learned.  And this happens to be # 10.  And I'm still definitely learning it.

The trick to this one is knowing what is small.  For example, when working on a software project at work with lots of "small" pieces of master data that add up to TONS of master data, each of those data pieces are not actually small, especially when combined with the whole.  So ya gotta sweat that stuff.  It matters.

Or when tipping a waitress and you realize later that you didn't calculate it right - you tipped her too little - so you call back later to have it rectified.  My friend did that one time on a business trip and shocked the manager the next day.  But that isn't small stuff.  It matters.

Or when making a gift for someone and you take the time to get the details right.  That isn't small stuff.  It matters.

Or when picking up just a hint that you've hurt someone's feelings so you take a moment to check with them and make it right.  That isn't small stuff.  It matters.

But life is definitely full of small stuff.  Like when I get cut off on the road.  If I am still alive and healthy enough to be ticked off by it, then it's small stuff.  Don't sweat it.  It doesn't matter.

Or when someone has "offended" me by what they've said or how they said it.  If I'm really hurt, I'll know it, and I'll take it to that person to reconcile.  Otherwise, it's small stuff.  It doesn't matter.  (This is one I'm still learning....)

Or when your kid wants to die her hair pink.  Or when your kid only wants to eat white foods.  Or when your kid wants to sleep on blankets but not sheets.  Or when the dishwasher isn't loaded exactly right.  Or when the laundry isn't folded yet and dinner isn't ready but the baby is nursing and wants your full attention. 

The list goes on and on.  It's the stuff of life.  But much of it is small stuff.  The trick is just knowing what is small and what isn't.  And learning not to sweat the small stuff.

# 1 - Am I dressed yet?

The Top 10 Funniest/Best Memories of My 50 years...

# 1 - Am I dressed yet?

So here it is...the # 1 printable funniest/best memory of my 50 years.  After this one, I will start on the Top 10 things I've learned in my 50 years on this planet.  I am only 11 days away from turning 50.  Crazy.

And if the only posts someone had ever read were my last one and this one, they could come to the conclusion that I have problems dressing myself.  They wouldn't be too far from the truth...hmm.....

This story happened about 9 or 10 years ago.  I don't remember exactly when, but S had her license, so I know it wasn't any more than 10 years ago, and it was before her pink hair, so it wasn't any less than 8 years ago.  The dr. wanted me to have a colonoscopy to check for some stuff.  No, that isn't so much the funny part of the story - or even a best memory.  Anyone who has had one can understand what I mean.  The prep ain't fun, and the whole idea of the thing is even worse.

No, this is more the story of me waking up from the anesthesia after the colonoscopy.  It goes something like this.  Anything you can do to add a drunken slur to my voice as you read below will add to your overall enjoyment of the reading and its authenticity.

I am aware of being awake, and I remember seeing the lovely pics that they show you after the procedure when they tell you it all looks good.  I know S is next to me, waiting for me to be released, and I remember that B also came with us that day to the hospital.  I'm laying on a gurney with a sheet over me.

"Am I dressed yet?" I ask as I lift the sheet up and look down.  "Oh, no, I guess not."

"No, they haven't said that you could get dressed yet, Mom," S replies.

"Where's B?" I ask.

"She went to the bathroom," S patiently replies.

"Where is the bathroom?"

"Right down the hall," S answers.

"And she knows her way back?" 

"Yes, Mom, she knows her way back."

"Am I dressed yet?" I ask as I lift the sheet up and look down.  "Oh, no, I guess not."

"No, you're not dressed yet," S replies, this time with more of a smile on her face.

"Where's B?  Is B ok?" I ask as I frantically look around the room.

"Yes, Mom, B, is ok.  She went to the bathroom."

"Where is the bathroom?"

"Right down the hall," S again answers.

"And she knows her way back?"

"Yes, she knows her way back."  For some reason, S is getting a bit exasperated with me.  I can't imagine why.

I lift the sheet up and look down.  "Am I dressed yet?  Oh, no, I guess not."

This time S laughs out loud for some reason and says something about me not being dressed yet.

"Where is B?  Is B ok?"

Again S laughs out loud as she tells me that B is in the bathroom down the hall.

"Does she know how to get back?"

"Yes, she knows how to get back."

Finally B shows up, and so I rest easier.  "Am I dressed yet?" as I lift the sheet again.  "Oh, no, I'm not yet."

By now, S is laughing a lot and letting B in on the joke.  I am only barely aware of what is so funny. 

The next thing I recall we are in the car.  To this day I couldn't tell you whether I dressed myself, S dressed me or a nurse.  And I think I'd just plain rather not know and keep it that way.  But back to the car.  We had left the hospital and S was driving us home.  I was snoozing against the passenger window when all of a sudden I pop up and say in my best drunken wisdom, "It's a good thing they said I shouldn't drive home."

"Yes, Mom, it's a good thing you're not driving home," S replies as she pats me back down into the seat.

And then there's laughter in the car from both girls.  I can't imagine why. 

S does quite the good imitation of of me in this scene.  You should try to catch one of her shows sometime.  The price of tickets is quite reasonable.

# 2 - Dressing up

The Top 10 Funniest/Best Memories of My 50 years...

 

# 2 Dressing up.

This story comes with a Deb Disclaimer.  All of the events described here are true, and the initials have not been changed to protect the innocent.  While some may find the subject matter too personal or perhaps crossing the line into TMI, my hope is that you see the overarching humor in the telling rather than get hung up on the inclusion of certain words.  If you are easily offended by talk of a woman's intimate apparel, then I suggest that you stop reading now.

I had been invited to a Chrismas party with a friend who happened to be a boy - as in that DTR (define the relationship) distinction between a boy friend and a boyfriend.  I accepted and as only chicks can get, I

got all excited and nervous about what to wear.  I had "nothing," so I enlisted the help of W (back before we were ever sisters in the sisterhood) to take me shopping.  We went over a lunch break at work and settled on a somewhat sexy black number (back before brown was the new black and all that).  She had to talk me into the dress, but I have to admit, it made me feel pretty. 

And if my sons are reading, I apologize for making you cringe while I talk about a "somewhat sexy black number."  You're right.  Mothers shouldn't ever talk like that.  Don't worry.  This story only gets worse...

Because of the cut of the dress, I had to get a different sort of bra to wear with it.  So yes, this is where the story takes a "bad" turn.  But let me let you in on a few secrets.  Are you ready?

1. I am a woman.  See other blog profile information for background on this secret.
2. As such, I belong to the approximately 50% of the population who need bras.  While not all of that 50% actually wear said undergarments, I have watched enough "What Not to Wear" shows to know that Stacy and Clinton agree that women should do so most of the time.
3. Despite the fact that mothers no longer officially need the body parts that bras are designed to cover once they are done nursing their babies, we do still keep them.  And therefore need bras.  Again with apologies to my sons and their delicate, sensitive ears...er...I mean eyes...
4. Reread the above Deb Disclaimer for any further questions.

I found something called a Nubra Ultralite.  If I took a picture of the box it would explain it better than I can, but then I really could be stepping over the line into TMI or soft porn.  Instead I will quote one line from the box that should help describe it sufficiently - at least for the women reading this post. 

• Foam bra cups with adhesive inside cups plus front closure for cleavage and lift

The is a direct quote from the box, bullet point included.  I hope you get the idea.  This thing has no straps of any kind to worry about showing.  Which makes it new and different for me - something a woman will seek out the help of another woman to understand.  So I head to C's apartment to discuss.

Not the best choice of women to assist with this particular question.  Not because she was offended by it, but because she, like me, didn't really have any first-hand experience with such a bra. 

But have no fear.  This bra comes with instructions!  And being the resourceful, intelligent women that we are, we start to read.  Instruction 1 was all about cleaning. Yea...yea...whatever.

Instruction 2 is where it gets interesting.  Again quoting from the box, and assuming that these things are still on the market, anyone could read this on the outside of the box in any good department store, so it's not like I bought this at one of them seedy lingerie shops with darkened windows. 

• PLACE ONE SIDE ON AT A TIME:  Stand in front of the mirror.  Flip the cup outward while holding the bra cup by the edges with both hands (see photo [not included on post]).  Position the cup to your desired breast angle and gently smooth the cup edges firmly to the breast with your fingertips.  Repeat the same application on your other breast, being sure both sides are equal in height (see suggestions).

I won't go into the suggestions, but did you catch that one phrase?  The "desired breast angle" phrase?  C & I caught it.  We most certainly did.  We went 20 minutes of standup on that very phrase.  Part humor but lots part curiosity.  What is Deb's desired breast angle?  What should it be?  If I have a particular breast angle in mind - which I did not yet at the time - how do I know if it's right or not? 

Can you see our dilemma?  Are we the only 2 woman in America who are still to this day stumped by what the desired breast angle should be?

But we haven't even gotten to the best part yet.  See, my daughter, B, was with me at C's apartment.  B was at just the perfect age to be listening in on this whole discussion.  You know, about 10 years old - just the right age to be absolutely and totalling embarassed by her mother and her mother's friend going on and on about desired breast angles.  I'm sure she wondered where she got off of the world and into this alternate universe and was she ever going to get back.

Somehow I wore the dress and whether the angle I created was the desired one or something else entirely it is hard to say.  But I am still not sure how to answer the box's implied question: do you know your desired breast angle?  Maybe someday I'll learn.

# 3 Hide and Seek

The Top 10 Funniest/Best Memories of My 50 years...

# 3 Hide and Seek

This story was written over 10 years ago and many of my friends have already read it, but it's still a good story for any who haven't heard it before.  It centers around my youngest daughter, B, when she was about 8 years old, give or take.  It may be a bit of an understatement to say that she is a selective eater.  (How PC does that sound?  Aren't we all glad I didn't say that she was a picky eater?  Don't we all feel better?  I thought so.)  When she was much younger we would kid her by saying she only ate white foods - mashed potatoes, ice cream, milk, ramen noodles, pasta, etc.  We don't say it very often any more, but we did when she was little.  She loved it.  Well...ok...maybe "love" is a bit of an overstatement...but only a bit...I promise. 

So without further ado...I give you the Hide and Seek story aka B likes Oreos...

B likes Oreos.  Yes, I know, she's a white food eater, and Oreos are black and white, but what can I say? She ventures out every so often.  And Oreos are a firmly, placed "like" in the "not-so-white" food column.

Knowing this, her Grandma N gave her a bag of Oreos and a pottery-like, Oreo cookie jar as one of her Christmas presents one year.  This jar is shaped like an old-fashioned milk can that they used to use on dairy farms decades ago.  It has the Oreo logo on the outside, and the lid is shaped like an Oreo. 

After she'd eaten a few Oreos, I placed the rest in the jar and took the jar to her room, placing it on one of the lower shelves.

She never noticed it.

Until one weekend a few weeks later.  At which point, she decided that she didn't want the cookie jar in her room, so she walked it into the kitchen with the announcement that it belonged there.  "I don't want a cookie jar in my room!"

"But it's your cookie jar," I said.  "Grandma gave it to you, not us."

"I don't care," she said.  And walked out, thinking that the question was closed.

It wasn't.  On a lark, when she wasn't around, I walked the jar back into her room, and put it on that same shelf.  A day or so later, she saw it, and walked it back into the kitchen.  This went on a couple of times back and forth, each of us walking it into the opposite room when the other wasn't looking to see how long it would take for the other one to notice.  And each one would laugh when they found it back in the "wrong" room!

Then one night, I come home from work to find the cookie jar in the kitchen again.

"And don't move it back into my room!" B exclaimed.

"Oh, I will.  Only this time, I’ll put it in a different place. I’ll hide it, so you can't find it," I told her.

"You better not!" she again exclaimed.

I left the cookie jar in the kitchen that night.  The next morning I was putting school lunches together, and got ready to pack a couple of Oreos into B's lunch.  Lo, and behold, the cookie jar wasn't in the kitchen! 

I looked on the shelf in B’s room where I had been putting it, and it wasn't there either.  Was I wrong?  Was it in the kitchen and I missed it the first time?  Nope, it wasn't there.  So I went and asked my son, D, if he had decided that he wanted the Oreo cookie jar for himself.

Um, yeah, suffice it to say that he looked at me like I had lost all my marbles.

And that's when I heard it.  A little "tee-hee" coming from the back bedroom.  B’s room.

"You didn't!" I said.  "Did you hide the cookie jar on me?"

More laughter.  That sneaky, "tiny-little-woman," as she likes to call herself.  Well, I showed her.  She got vanilla wafers in her lunch!

But I couldn't find it.  I looked in my room.  I looked inside cabinets.  I looked in the pantry.  I couldn't find it.  I even looked in the basement.  No cookie jar.  And the whole time that I am looking, I’m thinking...

"I’m playing hide and seek with a girl who is legally blind.  AND SHE'S WINNING."

Epilogue...I did find it eventually.  Here is proof that I found it...

And every once in a while I (not so much we) play this game again.  Just for old times' sake...

# 4 - I'm looking for my niece

The Top 10 Funniest/Best Memories of My 50 years...

# 4 I'm looking for my niece...

The year was 2003. 

The look was pink.

Pink doesn't happen by accident.  It is intentional.  And you don't just add pink to your natural color.  You dye your hair white first before the pink is added.  It's a process.  It represents commitment.  As far as pink hair goes, the beautician did a great job, and my girl pulled it off well.

This post is NOT about me thinking that S's pink hair was a funniest moment.  I promise you that.

But the pink hair is a vital part of this story.  And believe it or not, this may officially be a DD, but it's short!

We were all in Salt Lake City for my niece's graduation.  It was our first family vacation in I don't know how long.  We'd done the touristy things, and we'd hiked in the Wasatch canyons surrounding Salt Lake.  We'd formed snow balls in June.  And we were there to watch L graduate from high school. 

L's graduation took place in a large auditorium near downtown Salt Lake.  As is often the case after larger graduations, scores of people pour out of the building.  My brother-in-law, G, had gone to find L while the rest of us all headed outside to wait for the two of them.  G is rather tall - one of those folks that can scan over the top of a crowd to find people.  (I have no idea what that is like but it sounds amazing!)

Anyway it was a large crowd, so he is scanning when he says to a nearby lady, "I'm looking for my niece."  

"Does she have pink hair?" responds this lady without G providing any sort of description of S.

"Why, yes, she does!" replies G with surprise.

"She's over there," and points directly to where we are waiting.

I just love that story!  It makes me smile every time I think of it!   

# 5 - Every tat has a story

The Top 10 Funniest/Best Memories of My 50 years...

# 5 Every tat has a story...

I'm old enough to remember when tattoos were only seen on old sailors.  Does anybody else remember those days?  When I was little, tattoos weren't really thought of as body art but more like drunken sailor mistakes.  Or am I just repeating what my father thought?  Hmmm...

Anyway somewhere long about the 80's - the decade when I was having babies - tattoos became main stream hip - body art, something the cool kids all had.  I'm not a cool kid.  This isn't a post about my secret trip to Iron Age late one night to get some ink that noone has ever seen.

A good friend once said that tattoos are guaranteed until 6 months after death.  And have I mentioned that I'm almost 50?  I have images of tattoos on sagging skin when I'm being wiped down by the employees of whatever nursing home my children choose for me.  All of those things are part of why getting ink is not one of the things on my bucket list.  I'm not actually anti-tattoo, you understand.  I just don't feel the need to be a cool kid with a tat.

No, this post is really more about the fact that every tat has a story.  The story may be good - like my son's tattoo, intentionally chosen as a symbol of his faith - his ancient faith - boldly displayed on his forearm for all to see.  The story may be bad - like when people ink a person's name but it's spelled wrong or that person then leaves them by choice.  I don't remember knowing anyone personally with that particular story, but we all know that there are multiple websites devoted to ugly and bad tattoos, so those stories are numerous and I cannot add anything to them.

But I can tell you my two favorite tattoo stories.  Anyone who knows me well can stop reading now, cause they've heard me repeat these stories multiple times - like old people are often accused of doing.  But they are at least short!

The first one came from a couple of good friends.  Their daughter had a rose tattooed on her upper breast when she was in her 20's.  You know - that glorious time in a woman's life when things are firm and perky and gravity is only a subject for science class.  While I've never seen this tattoo, my friends tell me that as time has moved on, the rose has changed somewhat...becoming more of a long-stemmed rose. 

I just love that story!

The other one is closer to home.  Here is a pic of this tattoo on my daughter.  S has 3 others, and they each have a story for her, but it's only this one that is one of my two favorite tattoo stories.

It is an African symbol for faith and grace.  It has an official name, but I can't ever remember it.  Let's just call it Abungu.  It's a good solid African name!  Anyway when S got this tattoo, it was at a time when she was a nanny for an adorable two-year old boy that we'll call Jake.  Jake loved S, and S loved Jake.  I still miss Jake stories.  When she showed up at his house the next day he saw her new tattoo and immediately said "Chwistmas twee!"  S did her best to correct him and tell him that it was Abungu, but he didn't believe her.  Can you imagine?  When his mama came home, he enjoyed telling his mommy about "S's Chwistmas twee on S!"  I just love that!  Two-year olds are awesome!!! 

What's your tattoo story?  I enjoy collecting stories.  Who knows, maybe your tat story will become one of my new two favorite tat stories!  Happy tatting!!!

# 6 - I now pronounce you...

The Top 10 Funniest/Best Memories of My 50 years...

# 6 I now pronounce you....

Marriage.  It's a wonderful thing.  I really mean that.  That isn't sarcasm.  I have observed some wonderful marriages.  Take my sister and her husband, for example.  They have been married since 1969 (I was their flower girl!) and despite significant difficulties during those 42 years since, including grief, multiple moves and lots of long hours and hard work, they are still in love.  Truly.  They still like each other.  A lot even.  Like it still surprises me how often they talk on the phone when they are apart.  Cause they want to, not cause they are supposed to or have to.

Or take my good friends, J&B.  He is the pharmacist I made the cake for a few weeks ago.  They've been married 55 years, raised 4 kids, kept track of many more grandkids (some of whom now have spouses of their own) which tends to bring about great grandkids, and have had their fair share of hardships, because life happens.  But he still looks at her with love and tenderness and joy in his eyes every time I see them together.  Like he is thinking, "I am the most blessed man in the world, for this woman is my bride." 

I know - I hear ya.  It's just crazy talk.  But it's all true.

And couples like this inspire me.  Perhaps an old divorced person like me can learn a thing or two - or 47 - from observing and talking to couples like this if the opportunity ever presents itself for me someday.

Which is not to say that I'm not married today.  For I am.  It's true.  The romance leaves something to be desired - ok, a lot to be desired.  But I do reap some benefits, even so. 

My engagement ring, you ask?  Oh, it's lovely.  It "sparkles" with little blue and turquoise lights, telling me of its happiness.  It can spell "facets" perfectly with my help.  It doesn't exactly fit on one finger so much, but it is still quite portable.  I take it with me almost everywhere I go.  And it's been replaced a couple of times in the last 4 years.  Mac lovers and evangelists would say this is because I'm running Windows.  For you see, my engagement ring is a work-issued laptop.  I received it in the Fall of 2007 ready to move to my current job on the SAP project/support team.  You don't need to know any further details at this point; suffice it to say that I make my living as a geek.  (And just for the record, I could have told quite a few stories from that project time in these Top 10 Funniest moments, but they had to be scratched, for they would have fit in that category of "potentially too embarassing or damaging to others to publish."  I would have had to change the names...er...initials of many people to protect the innocent and all that.) 

But back to our story.  My husband has issued many engagement rings to people.  My daughter is engaged to my husband as well, for she works for the same company.  And works off hours or while on the road at times - hence, the need for a laptop. 

But she isn't married to my husband.  No, there is another group of us who share this husband.  We all have a wedding ring, too.  While many of the engagement rings look very similar the wedding rings vary widely in style and color.  These wedding rings can do way much more than the mere engagement rings.  They are far more portable, albeit they still don't fit on one finger, but could be balanced on one finger.  At least it can be on my pointer finger, but my ring finger is a little too weak to balance it well.  Its sparkle comes from a touch screen that takes me to email (Outlook, Yahoo and Gmail), Facebook, a camera, a picture gallery, books, a bubble level,(which I don't use on cakes!) an egg timer, a dictionary, music, news and weather, games and - get this - even a phone directory!  For you see, it even makes phone calls and sends texts. 

Yep, my wedding ring is my work-issued phone, so that I can be reached 24/7. 

While my husband issued it to me rather unceremoniously - no wedding, no reception, not even a "you may now kiss the bride" - my former departement coworkers knew how much this moment meant to me, knew how sentimental I am, so they arranged a full-up St. Louis wedding reception for me during my last week in that department.  If you're not from St. Louis, then you may not know what we mean by this phrase, but it isn't a true St. Louis reception unless there's mostaccioli, fried chicken, italian salad and wedding cake.

And that is exactly what they did!  It was truly a wonderful, fun surprise for me.  They called me into the lunch room and surprised me with this reception.  It was so cool and so fun.  So story # 6 counts as a best moment in my 50 years....

...uh...but it also counts as a funniest...for the wedding cake has its own separate story.  Because I've made so many cakes and brought them into work - even a little tiered wedding cake one time for a couple who both worked for this company at the time and had eloped in Las Vegas - they knew that they had to make me a good, respectable wedding cake for this auspicious occasion.  My then boss and good friend, P, was put in charge of the cake.

She had visions of a 2-layer, 6" square cake stacked on top of a 2-layer, 9" square cake.  How hard could this be, right?  She had a couple of 9" square cake pans, so this should be a snap.  Just trim a few inches off of the sides of two of the layers, and you've got yourself two 6" cakes, ready to frost and stack.  This should be easy enough.  It may not have all of the curly-cues and fancy schmancy flowers and do-dads on it like a Deb cake, but it would be close.  It couldn't be that hard.

So after work, the night before the reception, P stops off at the grocery store for the ingredients.  She sees all of the boxes of cake mix, complete with pictures of frosted cakes on them.  You know the picture I'm talking about.  They all have that same slice of a two-layer cake with frosting between and on the top and sides.  So it seems only logical to think that the box of cake mix includes frosting, too, right?  Absolutely.

Ok, so maybe not, once P opens the boxes of cake mix.  Oh well, she'll "think about that later."  (Extra points given for naming the movie reference for that line.)  But let's get these cakes in the oven.  And out of the oven - only to discover when taking two of the layers out of the pan that they aren't quite baked in the center.  Ok, that shouldn't matter.  These two layers will just be part of the 6" tier.

Fast forward to the next morning.  P has meetings most of the morning, and cakes are still not frosted, much less cut or stacked.  She dashes into a store and picks up 2 tubs of icing.  On her way into the office, she calls one of our coworkers in on the plan and says to go get another one and both of them meet her in a conference room.  J and K are at the ready when P arrives.  She hands off the cakes and icing to them and asks them to finish it off.  It's hard to say whether she communicated her full vision to them of 6" on top of 9" or not, for that isn't exactly the result that came from all of this rush of activity, but J and K spread those two tubs of icing as far as they could across those 4 layers. 

But not to worry.  P had a gift bag at the ready with a beautifully decorated, tiered wedding cake on both sides to set up next to the real cake.  I looked for that bag this morning in my collection of gifts bags to take a pic of it to post here, but to no avail.  It's hard for me to believe that I used that bag to house an actual wedding gift to give away since it was a big bag, and I'm just not that extravagant when it comes to giving wedding gifts, but maybe P took it back home?  Anyway the point is, THAT is what the cake looked like.  By the time J and K were done with those 4 layers and 2 tubs of icing, it looked just like that picture on the gift bag.  Minus the curly-cues and fancy schmancy flowers and do-dads.  Or the difference in sizes between the tiers.  Or the lots of icing.  But otherwise, it was the same.  Just the same.  Almost the same.  Really.  I promise. 

And it's like I told S&K before they got married.  No matter what else happens at the reception or to the cakes, in spite of all of the plans and preparation, in the end you both get married.  As long as you hear the words "I now pronounce you husband and wife" that's the whole point.

And I definitely heard those words.  And I like to believe I've been a faithful spouse.  For even as I type these words, while laying on the loveseat, my wedding ring is resting quietly on my chest, ready to alert me to anything requiring my attention.  And if that isn't love, I don't know what is.

# 7 - Where are the cake scraps?

The Top 10 Funniest/Best Memories of My 50 years...

# 7 Where are the cake scraps?

This moment didn't really include me when it occured.  At least not in person.  Only by inference.

My daughter, S, was away at college across the state and working.  It was the end of the school year, but she was staying nearby school for her job.  Her birthday is in May, and she was staying with a friend's family on that day.  S didn't know it, but the family had baked her a little birthday cake that afternoon to have with dinner.

She walked into the kitchen ready for supper that night, and they were excited about the cake that they had baked as a surprise for her birthday.

S thanks them and then wthout even thinking, she asks, "Where are the cake scraps?"

"The what?"  Apparently looking at her like she had 3 heads...cause remember, I wasn't there, at least not in person.

You know about cake scraps.  Right?  You don't?  Then maybe you can understand this family's response.

"You know, the cake scraps," S asks once more, thinking that they just haven't understood what she said. 

Again, "the what?"  Their use of the English language is broader than only these 2 words.  It's just a function of their confusion at the moment.

"You know, the part of the cake you cut off so it's level across the top," S innocently answers them.

Let me explain.  Here is a layer of cake as it comes from the pan.  Note the dome...

Now here are two views of that same layer of cake after the "cake scraps" have been removed and set aside in a plate nearby for kids to come along and enjoy. 

The scraps are the best part of the cake in B's opinion.  In fact she may not even bother to eat the "real" cake, only the scraps.

And now back to our story...

"We don't cut off the top of the cake.  We've never heard of that," and with that they show her the frosted cake, which - if you have guessed where this story is going - wasn't so much level.

Or up to the appearances that she was used to.  I'm sure she did a great job of not looking disappointed, and I know that she was genuinely appreciative but S became instantly aware that not all families do cakes the same.

Or level.

Like the cakes S had grown up with all her life.  Because if you're going to write on a cake and decorate it, much less stack it with other cakes, it must be level.  And because a level cake looks more finished.  And because "presentation matters" since people eat with their eyes first.

Try not to blame S.  The fault is all mine.  See, my name is Deb, and I raised cake snobs.  I've been looking for a 12-step group for this particular "disease" for a long time now.

Of course the first step to getting help is recognizing that you have a problem.  And I'm still in denial.  I even perpetuate the madness and encourage others to be snobs.  Like K.  He started out saying things like, "We Lemay folks are happy with our humpy cakes."  And now he says things like, "There were 2 cakes brought in to work today.  The chocolate wasn't that good, but the lemon was really worth eating!" 

Or like W.  Those pics above came from her house today, because we did Cake Decorating 101 - and created quite the respectable plate of cake scraps.  I was so proud.

"Hello, my name is Deb, and I raised cake snobs."  I'm practicing in case I ever find the right group. 

# 8 - Squirrel!

#8 of the Top 10 Funniest/Best Memories of My 50 Years - Squirrel!

If two certain individuals are reading this post, they have probably already started to smile, for they are the two lovely ladies who have kept this story alive.  But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I like to hike.  I like to walk, but I'm not a power walker much less a runner or jogger. Oh occasionally I get a spurt of sprint energy, but on the whole I like to walk for the sake of catching up with friends or releasing tension and stress.  I enjoy the fact that it counts as "exercise," but for those who are walking to gain speed or long-term endurance, I'm probably not your gal.  And I'm definitely not a treadmill sort of gal.  I need visual stimulation.  Which is part of why I really like to hike - that sense of taking a walk to see what there is to see - wild flowers, birds, trees, animals, water, rocks and the like.  I'm not a genius like my friend, Father Time, or my friend, "James" Bond Sr. (not to be confused with 007), at naming all of these wonderful things - and correctly to boot! - but that doesn't keep me from enjoying them.  If the hike can be with good friends and take us past water running over rocks or include rocks for climbing and exploring or cute animals to see, so much the better.

Well this was a lovely early summer Sunday afternoon - still felt a little more like spring- partly sunny, partly cloudy - in general a nice day for a hike with friends.  My friends knew of a place relatively close by where we could hike.  I was never one to know where "those places" were, but these folks were always in the loop on that scoop.  There were 5 of us plus 1 dog, if I remember right.  I'm sure about the 5 people - it's the dog that I'm a bit foggy on.  Was Shayne (the dog) with us?  I think so, but my friend, M, would remember for sure.  Someday I want to go to Austria with M and sing all of the songs from Sound of Music with her.  We would rock Salzburg.  Oh yea...

Anyway, as is often the case, pretty soon the guys (and the dog, if she was there) were ahead of us, and we girls were taking our sweet time.  There's no need to rush through a good hike, after all.  It was a Sunday afternoon, which means time for relaxing.  Besides we were enjoying seeing what there was to see.

Like a cute squirrel that we saw "sitting" at the top of a tree trunk that had been topped about 20 feet up by a strong wind at one time.  He (or she) was perched at the top in a rather odd, but cute angle.  At a glance, it looked to me like a squirrel who had been playing and stopped to rest for a moment.  We walked past rather quickly, but I made a casual mention of seeing the squirrel at the top of this tree trunk and thinking that he (or she) looked funny.

We kept walking and talking and making fun of the guys in front of us.  We got nice and caught up as only gals can.  After a while we had looped back to this same spot with the topped tree trunk.  And sure enough that squirrel is still there.

However this time we look a bit closer.  And yea...he (or she) hasn't moved.  Not even a bit.  And we've been out hiking for well over an hour. 

Can you tell where this is going?

Um...yea...we came to the conclusion that this squirrel was dead.  As in apparently punctured by one the sharp points where the wind had ripped off the tree top without regard for smoothing the edges, which wind can be want to do from time to time.  Or picked up by an owl or a hawk or an eagle and dropped again.

Which means that I thought a dead squirrel was funny.  (Please don't report me to PETA.  Let's keep this secret just between us, ok?)

And, of course, it follows that my two friends break out into song because that's just how these 2 gals roll. 

"Debbie thinks a dead squirrel is funny!  Debbie thinks a dead squirrel is funny!'  It sort of goes like that for a while before resolving with a bridge and a final "Debbie thinks a dead....squirrel....is...fu----nnyyyyyyyy!" 

The CD will be out soon.  It's a little hard to pin down the genre, but some might call it alternative.  Look for it on itunes soon.  It's the next big thing.  I promise.

Debbie thinks a dead squirrel is funny...la-la-la-la-la...

# 8 - Cause I am one observant nature type chicka.  You know it.

# 9 - Here Comes the Baby Land Punkin' Rose

This is the one.  This is the one that will either make my kids cringe or melt their hearts.  # 9 on the Top 10 Funniest/Best Moments of My 50 Years - Here Comes the Baby Land Punkin' Rose.  I decided to post it now, so everyone will forget about it by the time we get to my birthday in a few weeks.

See if my kids read this, they will know immediately that this isn't really the right title.  The right title would be too long to count as a title.  This is an abbreviated version of the title.  In case you can't tell, this memory is all about when my kids were little - little enough that we had regular bedtime routines that included bedtime stories and songs.  So this isn't so much a funny memory but a best memory.  And it's not a specific moment but more a collection of moments.

We would read books for bedtime each night - classics like Good Night Moon, gentle books like Harold and the Purple Crayon, silly books like I Hate Lima Beans, "educational" books like Sesame Street's series with titles I don't even remember.  I remember doing the voices of The Count and Grover and Oscar the Grouch and even Snuffleupagus (yes, that spelling is correct!), but I never did a good Big Bird for some reason.

After books, I'd sing lullabies.  Each of my kids had their favorite lullaby for bedtime.  My oldest would rest easier after hearing the song "Here Comes the Sandman."  You may not have ever heard of it.  I haven't ever known anyone outside of my own family who knew the song, but it was one my mother sang to me, so I sang it to my children.  Here is a view of the sheet music that has been around over 100 years.  But we never sang the 2nd verse.  I didn't even know that there was a 2nd verse until just a year or so ago when I found this link!
http://www.gruntle.com/lotus/sites/staging.gruntle.com/filebrowser/files/sandman.pdf

Keep in mind that this was when my son, S, was a little guy - only about 5 or so when this routine was still going on.  He may be all cool and hip and grown up these days, but there was a time when he was a little guy who enjoyed the sound of his mama's voice singing him to sleep.

My daughter, S, the new bride, would know that her day was coming to an end if she heard the song, "How Many Miles to Baby Land?"  It may be another one you're unfamiliar with since again I haven't heard it sung outside of our family.  Such is the nature of lullabies, I suppose, with the exception of a few.  My mother never liked to sing the more popular Top 40 Rock-a-Bye-Baby one to us.  Or if she did, she'd change the words so the baby didn't fall out of the tree.  Babies aren't supposed to fall out of trees, with bows breaking and cradles falling to the ground!  We were also never big on the Hush Little Baby one.  I always got the mockingbird mixed up with the looking glass mixed up with the billy goat on that one, too.  I needed songs that sort of told a story like the Sandman one above or the Baby Land one.  I could keep track of how the verses built on each other, even at the end of a long day of mothering young children.  You can hear it by clicking on this link - well you can hear the tune anyway that you can hopefully match up with the words...
http://www.kididdles.com/lyrics/h058.html

Now, while both of these were favorites of my first two, my next child, my son, D?  Yea...he HATED both of those songs.  His hatred for the baby land song was only exceeded by his hatred of the sandman one.  How do I know that he hated both of these?  He would scream.  Yes, that's right.  He would cry and wail and carry on like we were torturing him to listen to such horrible songs!  His favorite was "Go To Sleep Now My Pumpkin" that I always sang as "punkin'".  I can't find the music or even exactly the right lyrics for this one, but this link is close.  Maybe D liked the idea of turning into a rose as he went to sleep each night...
http://www.rainbowsongs.com/lyrics-database/go-to-sleep-now-my-pumpkin.html

As for my youngest, her song wasn't really so much of a lullaby, but a version of the "Where is Thumpkin" song - one that she learned at Delta Gamma where she went for vision therapy until she was 3 years old.  I remember times when we'd be in the van, driving the older kids between various activities, and she would be upset in her car seat, but if we sang this song to her, she'd calm down.  In fact, by the time she was only about 6 months old, she was singing it to herself.  You may find that hard to believe.  I couldn't even believe it myself when I first heard it.  But she was singing - tune and words.  She wasn't talking, but she was singing.  My mother used to tell me that my sister, J, could sing before she could talk - singing "Jesus Loves Me" before she could talk.  I didn't understand that whenever she told me...so God gave me B.  And now I get it.

This is getting to be a really extra long DD, so I'll stop.  I hope I haven't embarassed my kiddos - my now all adult "kids" - too much by sharing special memories from their young childhood. 

Because these are all moments that I cherish and hold dear.  Priceless.  I wouldn't trade them for anything.  And they are all part of celebrating 50 years of me living on this planet.

# 10 - I like the word...

The Top 10 Funniest/Best Memories of My 50 years on this planet...

# 10 I like the word...

We'll get to the end of that phrase shortly.  But first the Deb Disclaimer.  These aren't necessarily the 10 absolute funniest memories of my 50 years.  And I decided to take out the Twilight Zone weird funny memories to save for another time. 

Therefore I changed the title to the Top 10 Funniest/Best Memories of My 50 years to include one memory that my kids will either cringe at when they read it or their hearts will melt. 

This means that:
a) Deb hasn't had a very funny life.
b) Deb has too many memories that are funny but that may embarrass others.
c) Deb is sappy and wants to include memories that aren't funny ha-ha but make her smile.
d) Deb's best memories involve her own children.
e) all of the above.
f) B, C and D.

So far the Top 10 Things I've Learned in My 50 Years hasn't changed.  But this is me.  Anything's possible.  As I said at the beginning of this blog, I'm learning this whole blog world, and this isn't an English paper that I am turning in for a grade.

So on to # 10.  This story is fairly recent and involves my friend, P, my daughter, S, and my new son-in-law, K, only before he was my son-in-law.

We had gone to a movie.  If I remember right we had gone to see the Adam Sandler movie "Grown Ups."  P had fixed the popcorn.  Which, if you've never had P's movie popcorn, you need to invite her to go to a movie with you one time just for the popcorn.  The woman has a gift with popcorn - that is if you like to eat really good popcorn with lots of "butter" and salt.  If you are one of those health nuts who eats your popcorn bald and bland, well, don't bother wasting a good movie theater popcorn trip with P on yourself.  Save them for those of us who appreciate good popcorn.  I think, but I'm not sure, that P was whisked out to Niagra to join S&K for one night on their honeymoon just to fix the movie theater popcorn.  It's that good.

The movie hadn't started.  We hadn't even gotten to previews yet.  I, for one, love previews, by the way.  I am one of those who hates to get to a movie late and miss the previews.  I'm silly that way.  Anway, we are snacking (read: scarfing) on P's yummy movie theater popcorn and somehow we start talking about words.  We often start to talk about words.  It's a hazard of being word geeks.  I say "we" but it was really only us chicks - P, S and myself.  Only not in that order.  It was P, then me, then S and then K.  But us girls get to saying that we like the word "rogue" - that it's one of those words that sounds like what it means.  It was probably prompted by something we saw on the screen that is the previews' previews - those ads and stills that they now show on the screen between movies.  And maybe it was the popcorn, or maybe it was just how cool and hip and funny we girls are, but we are feeling pretty hip in our assessment about how great the word "rogue" is.

And if I recall right, K, is sitting on the end, eating his popcorn pile and texting on his phone with his military / train / car buddies.  We think that this is another one of those moments when girls believe guys aren't paying any attention.  You know what I'm talking about.  We do it all the time - because often times they aren't listening.  They are too busy texting on their phones with their military / train / car / sports buddies, right?

Well, ladies, we were wrong this time.  K was listening.  Unbeknownst to us, K was getting ready to join the conversation.

"I like the word 'bookkeeper,'" says K. 

Now maybe you had to be there, maybe you needed to have just been enjoying P's Nirvana movie theater popcorn, but we cracked up over his statement!

But being the Random K that he is; he is totally serious.  He really likes the word "bookkeeper." 

"Double O, double K, double E, all in a row."  Which made us laugh even more.  But ya gotta respect a guy who recognizes his triple double letters.  Random or no.

And now, I like the word "bookkeeper," too. 

I feel rich when...

...I have herbs growing in my garden.  I feel rich every time I step outside to cut some rosemary or basil or sage to use in cooking.  The possibilities!  Almost endless!

...I get to share those herbs with young children.  The first Sunday that our little flower girl was in town, she and I spent some time exploring the herb garden...naming them and cutting them and scratching them to release the oils and smelling them.  Lots of smelling them.  And cutting.  Lots and lots of cutting.

...I have bread dough rising on the counter.  If that "bread" dough happens to be croissant dough resting in the fridge, I'm a king!  Er...well...queen.

...I have ideas of things I want to create AND everything I need to make them become a reality.

...I have ideas of things I want to create and a plan for a time to do them.  Such as the cake that I'm making for a Kaizan event at work next week.  Or the toasted raviolis the sisters plan to make.  Or even the cake decorating lesson planned with one of the sisters.  Ok, well, she really just wants to learn how to frost a cake without crumbs, but that's like Cake Decorating 101, so it counts in my book.

...I have homemade toffee and/or peanut brittle on hand.  Which I don't today, and it's too cloudy today to change that situation, but I do have a few store bought toffee bits on hand - which is totally not the same, but I have snacked the occasional handful from time to time over the last few days.  Confession - it's good for the soul.

...I have memories and I'm concious of them.  Which I am today.  See, I have this birthday coming up.  It's one of them milestone birthdays.  As in The. Big. 5. 0. 

That's right.  Fiddy.  Fiddy.  Fifty years.  If you were able to read the inscription on the Something Old spoon for S a couple posts back, you would see that I was born in 1961. 

1961. 

Just look at that number.  It even looks old.  As in "you know you're old when you are on a website that is asking for your birthdate, and you have to scroll DOWN in the list of years that pops up to find yours."

But I digress.  This post is about feeling rich.  And being aware of good memories is definitely akin to riches.

I am working on two new blog post series in preparation for said birthday coming up.  I love me a good Top 10 list every now and again.  And I will be posting two such lists:

• The Top 10 Things I've Learned From My 50 Years on This Planet
• The Top 10 Funniest Memories From My 50 Years on This Planet

The Top 10 Things I've Learned may remind some people of the book All I Ever Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten but it really isn't.

And the Top 10 Funniest Memories may not actually be the very funniest of my whole life, but I want to only share the ones that hopefully don't embarass anyone.  And there's also a Deb Disclaimer that comes along with this one:  sometimes funny does not mean funny hah-hah but can mean funny bizarre - like sometimes I look for the camera wondering if I'm part of a Twilight Zone episode. 

Both of those lists should start in the next few days, since we are now 27 days away....

There is one other thing that I plan to post about between now and then.  I have said for years that I would be launching the bucket list with this birthday.  Stay tuned...

So to close, I feel rich when I remember to appreciate.  Simple things, like herbs and bread and ideas and memories.  And yes, even birthdays.  For therein is a celebration of life.  And that's rich.

At least 9 wonderful people

First off, I seem to be in love with the word "wonderful" of late.  I have over-used it in the last few posts.  I can't quite explain this affection for the word, but I can either embrace it and continue to over-use it to the point of causing you, the reader, to vomit in your mouth every time your eyes skip over it or I can change and commit to not using it at all for the next 5 posts.  Yes, that's what I'll do.

Wonderful.  That's decided. 

I mentioned a few days ago about some people that allowed me to spend a few special moments with my daughter, the bride, right before the wedding - being just that, her mother, but in a good way.  Helping her with her dress and her accessories and taking pictures of her.  I'd like to tell you about these people. 

These wonderful people.

I'll begin with family members who helped make this gift possible.  Both of my sons strung white Christmas lights on the railings at the Transportation museum that line the platforms.  My oldest son's girlfriend, A, also helped with this task (and I'm including her here because we already think of her as family!)  This may not sound like much, but we're talking 4 railings, each about 50 feet long, plus we asked for black tulle to lay over the lights.  The net effect (ooo, did you catch the pun?  tulle...net...get it?!) was to draw the upper portions of the platform where the bar and the cakes were to the lower portions of the platform where the buffet was set up and the wedding took place.  I wish I had a picture of how this looked, but alas, I forgot to do that.  I was just plain too busy smiling at the lights every time I walked by. 

Then came my sister, J, and her husband, G.  J&G live in Indiana and drove over for the wedding.  And I had the audacity to put them both to work just about immediately!  And they did it!  Joyfully even!  Setting up the table for the programs, settings up the altar, fighting against the wind with the foamboard picture of S&K where the escort cards were attached using glue dots, eventually having to attach it with zip ties pursuant to the genius idea of another person that I'll get to later. 

Now I'll move to the friends.  My friend, C, a different C than helped with the cakes, came over and sat at the house, letting P and C in to pick things up and drive them to the wedding site.  C will tell you that she has to plan her spontaneity, and I didn't give her much notice when I asked her to do this, but she did it anyway.  She even found a couple of things I forgot to set out for P to pick up plus called me with updates since she knew I'd be wondering about what was happening back at the house! 

I've talked about C with the cakes before, but I can't say enough how much she did to make these cakes a success.  Have you ever driven a cake across town?  Much less 4 cakes?  Have you ever driven a cake that is about 2 feet long across town?  It can be a nerve-racking experience, but C did it.  Successfully.  When I get upset with drivers who are "too slow" or "too cautious", I try to remind myself that they might be driving a cake somewhere...

Now I'll talk about P.  She has an SUV who a) cleaned it out so there would be room to take all of our stuff to the wedding; b) found every one of the things that I had on our list; c) picked up every one of those things and drove them across town; d) unloaded those things and set them up; e) came up with the genius idea to zip tie the foamboard pic to the easel AND magically poofed a glue gun out of thin air to glue said zip ties; f) cleaned herself up for the wedding; g) helped tear everything down; and h) drove it all back to our house on Sunday! 

Since I don't really have many pics for this post, I'll include a pic of P here, so you can see an example of the decorations, which leads to my next wonderful person.  (P is the 2nd one from the left.  Doesn't she clean up good?!  PS - she is single, too!)

I don't have any pics of the decorations, but this is a pretty good example.  See the table name sitting in the white box table name holder?  See the centerpiece?  See the placecards?  See the little favor box?  See the jewels hanging from the centerpiece?  See the white roses at the base of the centerpiece?  All of those are there because of our friend, J, and her team.  Pretty wonderful, right?

So that is 9 people.  9 people who made it possible for me to spend a few precious moments with my baby on her wedding day - a day like no other that will never be repeated again.  And this list of people is by no means exhaustive.  I could tell you about more who helped make this weekend work for us.  Like the lady in the pic above who is sitting to the left of P.  She came over and ran my kitchen for the post-wedding brunch on Sunday morning for the wedding party.  Or B, the maid of honor, who helped put together S's something old (my baby spoon that was hidden in S's bouquet)...

...and her something borrowed (an ankle bracelet given to her on her wedding day) and the real something blue (a turquoise ribbon from her wedding) plus S's fun something blue shown in the pic below.  I have told S for years that she should decorate her "Christmas tree" tattoo for the holidays every year, but for some reason she never does...Hmmm...I wonder why...

I've thought about making a list of the 10 top things I've learned as the MOTB, and while I haven't thought of all 10 of those things, I'm pretty certain that the # 1 thing I've learned as the MOTB is that I need friends.  And family.  And help. 

And I'm grateful that there are wonderful people who step up and give me the gifts of their time and talents and joy and help.  I am blessed. 
J'Deb

Getting back to "normal"

My heart is still so full from our wedding weekend.  I was off work again today for some MOTB recovery.  I did not get to use the spa treatment yet that my daughter has made available to me, but I'm sure I will indulge myself with that soon. 

But today has been evidence of getting back to life post wedding.  S&K are on their honeymoon in Niagra and have unplugged from the rest of the world for a few days.  She called to say that their hotel room has a wonderful view of the falls, which is just so wonderful.  Out of town guests have all arrived home safely, and my son, D, flew back to California this afternoon, so my daughter, B, has returned to take rightful ownership back of her room!  We returned the rental bridal back drop today.  And I've written most of my thank you notes, but not all, and done quite a bit of laundry.  I still haven't completely changed over and organized "Wedding Central" into "Post Wedding Central," but I'm sure that will come with time. 

So the house is quiet again.  After weeks of activities every night and checking off to-do lists, I'm thinking of to-done lists and remembering special people and special moments.  I'm remembering all of the time S and I spent working on creating the program fans and tying ribbons on them.  I'm thinking about how B came out of her shell some to help S with favor boxes and cake boxes and organizing the escort cards with the table names and the placecards.  I'm cherishing once-in-a-lifetime moments, working on centerpieces or making bows for the flower girl basket that we found for $3 at a Goodwill store.  I'm thinking about all of the meals we shared together in these last couple of weeks leading up to the wedding.  And I tear up - not because I want to take those moments all back and relive them, but because I'm so grateful that I had them.  I know that not everyone gets them.  But we did.  And I'm grateful. 

And speaking of tears, I will share a few of my special, emotional moments from the wedding itself.  I was fine all the way up to the point right before the wedding was set to begin.  All of the guests had arrived, and the wedding party was lined up, ready to go in.  I turned around to look, and that's when I see my daughter at the back of the line, waiting for her escort.  And it became so real to me, and she was so beautiful and strong and confident in that moment, I couldn't help but feel the tears come.

And then her escort leads her in - her older brother.  I don't want to deter from the beauty of these moments too much by going into our history, but suffice it to say, that my children's father has been out of their lives for well over 10 years.  But that has not stopped them from growing and maturing and laughing and LIVING and becoming all that God intends them to be.  And that was noticably true in this picture - oldest brother, walking his sister down the aisle and handing her off to her future.  How could I not be proud or shed a tear or two at the beauty and redemption of it all?

The only other time I got emotional was during the vows.  Most of the time K, was joking, probably to keep himself from crying.  In fact, I have titled this pic, "Do you take this woman?"  He made quite the show of looking S up and down, appraising whether he would indeed take her to be his wife or not...I am so glad one of our friends caught that very moment on film.

Now that I've shed more tears just writing this down, I should probably stop before I get a full-blown tears headache!  Thanks for reading, and I hope you've enjoyed hearing a bit more about our wedding adventure together.  Most of all I hope you are grateful for the moments of love and tears and laughter in your own lives.  God bless, J'Deb