EXPLAININ’

One thing I’ve disliked about moving to a new area was explainin’ myself to new neighbors. The things I’ve always been interested in never seemed to be the norm for others. For instance, the first thing I always asked was where is the library? In an area of new homes you’d be surprised how many people don’t know. I would ask about the local theaters or where I might find a singing group. To their credit, they would give me information about schools and garbage collections, which are important.

My furniture has always been different and so is my artwork. A friend asked me onetime why I had all those pillows. One thing I learned when moving is that you have to fit the things you have into your new home, so I’ve always bought new pillows or covered old ones with new material. Some people buy new furniture, especially when moving to Florida, we didn’t. My friend also told me that you’d finally feel at home when in the grocery store you’d run into someone you knew. I’ve always found that to be true.

One of the reasons I wanted to move from our last home after seven years was because the neighbors never did “get me”. For instance, when I had my paintings on display in our local library, not one remarked on them and when there was a big article in the newspaper about me, not one of them commented on it. When I wanted to show them my new paintings, I was told they had already seen them. These were supposedly good friends I would see virtually every day. When I complimented one of those neighbors on some cushions she had made, saying I didn’t know she sewed, her reply was “other people can do things too!” I eventually came to the conclusion I didn’t want to be around them anymore.

Now I have a lot of new friends and neighbors who I really think do “get me” for the most part. So now I don’t have to worry about those that don’t.

SANSON IS VIDICATED

“Damn the Law! It’s Full Speed Ahead!” seems to be the new motto for the ethically challenged and morally corrupt Florida Republican Legislators as well as our new Governor. Unfortunately, the voters of this state don’t seem listen to the news, read the newspaper or pay attention to what is happening in Tallahassee. If they had they might realize that these politicians care only themselves and their own political future.

I’ve noted that some newly elected state officials are already positioning themselves for runs at bigger jobs with more status after being in office only a few months. Talk about political opportunism. Isn’t it strange how they’ve managed to join the Tea Party movement and still managed to distance themselves from it at the same time?

LEARNIN’

When I attended college (let me rephrase that) When I acted in a play at the University as the only townie, I learned an awful lot about stuff I didn’t want to know. I was in my early fifties and sitting in the dressing room listening to the various cast members talking. One person whom I had known previously started talking about drinking too much and being in embarrassing situations. Soon they all started playing “Can You Top This?” But the story she told was really the worst. Can you imagine waking up in bed with your fiancé’s brother? Though she was now married, she still told this to everyone. It was no surprise when a year later I heard she had gotten divorced.

MOVIN’

People would ask if it bothered me to move so much. I always replied that after living in a house for seven years it became dirty so it was easier to adjust to moving. Now, I never left a house dirty for the new owners, as a matter of fact one new homeowner told me the house was so clean that the woman she hired to clean it couldn’t find anything to do.

The best part of packing up was going through everything you own and throwing out what you don’t want, finding something you forgot about and reorganizing your kitchen drawers and being able to start anew. That was the reason I preferred to pack everything myself and not rely on a moving company to do it for me.

We’ve now lived in our current home for seven years and it’s become dirty but we probably won’t be moving soon or ever again so I’ve got to do something about it. But it’s so hard to get my butt in gear, organizing and making decisions about a lot of totally unnecessary items that I can easily do without.

Maybe I’ll do what I did several years ago and arrange a family garage sale with no money exchanging hands. Everyone gets a number and forms a line to choose from the treasures. Now that I remembered that, I think that’s what I’ll do. Hallelujah!

THE CONCEPT

While staying in a beautiful resort, a few of us went to checkout a restaurant situated in a small town alongside a river that would be suitable for ten adults and 6 children. As we checked out the ambience, my nearly thirteen year old granddaughter laughed when she looked into a separate room in the front and saw a group of Red Hatters. She understood the concept but thought it strange for them to be there in the middle of nowhere. They must have driven from somewhere else because the restaurant was on a two-lane highway far from any major highway and although it sat beside a river there was not much to see out the rear windows. The food might have been their reason for visiting the area, but their salad-bar looked totally pedestrian. (I love to use that word) We decided it had no atmosphere, no view and the prices were too high.

Upon leaving I discussed the Red Hat concept with my granddaughter. (When I’m old I’ll wear a purple dress and have on a red hat) I always thought that was a great concept in that when you got old you could be totally different and do what you want and not care what other people thought and be non-conforming. So what’s non-conforming about a large group of women all wearing ugly red hats?

THE PASTOR

On Sunday in our church the parishioners had a choice of the eight or ten o’clock Masses. In order to receive communion you had to attend at eight o’clock. The priest never offered it at the later Mass, but visitors from out of town who didn’t know any better would approach the altar. I remember thinking “boy, are they going to get into trouble” so I was surprised when he served them.

Ten o’clock Mass was always, always followed by Benediction.  At the end of Mass, our priest would turn to face the congregation with his perpetual sneer daring anyone to leave.  Making sure no one did, he spouted some Latin and in the midst of his incantations he sang “bring it out” which was the clue to the alter boy to carry out his ornate cape and place it on his shoulders. I always listened for those words and wondered why the altar boys always had to be told when to “bring it out”.  Father was a short stout man, imagine Dick Cheney garbed in a heavy white robe embroidered with gold and wearing his own famous snarl and you can picture what we all saw on Sundays.

I know that the Priest had been a classmate and friend of the Bishop which may account for his longevity in our church. In those days people didn’t complain, they just accepted what went on because they felt they didn’t have any say in the matter. You couldn’t criticize or complain because “you would bring scandal to the Church”. When a priest got into trouble he was sent to that secret place for wayward priests. Such a place was always spoken about in whispers.

During the Second World War, theaters started opening on Sundays and showing movie matinees. We kids never went because across the street stood our priest watching to see if any of his parishioners dared to go in.  One thing I know is he never intimidated the older boys because they weren’t frightened of him.

SOMETHING YOU’ll REMEMBER THE REST OF YOUR LIVES

We left Troy, Ohio on a sunny spring day. I was driving the five children and myself to our new home in Pittsburgh. I had wanted to stay to finish cleaning the house after the movers had left, but my Mother said to please leave, she would see to everything that needed to be done.

An hour or two later in Columbus we encountered a blizzard but continued on until the weather cleared.  The rest of the trip was fine until we got to Upper St. Clair where a heavy snow started falling and the roads had became covered. It was dusk by that time and the car was sliding a bit on the steep hills. My seven year old son became petrified having lived all his life in Ohio where we had no hills to speak of. He cried saying we were going to fall off the road.

I told them all we were almost to our home and that things would be fine. Dad would be waiting for us with food and blankets for us to sleep on and that would be exciting.

I didn’t tell them my big concern was I wouldn’t be able to find our house.  I’d only seen it once several months before and the development had winding streets, up and down hills and a lot of dead ends and they were now covered in snow.

I said to the five kids “this is something you’ll remember the rest of your lives”.