Happy Birthday to me!
Happy Birthday to me!
Wow another year.
Where does the time go?
I can’t believe the clock
I just feel like
I was 22 yesterday
How old am I today
I am not going to give my age
But it is creeping up there
You know, I’m hoping I live to be a happy, healthy centurion
But only God knows how long I will be here
I am just learning to stay in the moment
And not race ahead
But all these moments seem to be going by so fast, so quick
A four letter word
Opps it’s a five letter word
Boy am I stressed out
I don’t know how
One thing at a time
I’m cooking, paying bills and watching tv all at the same time
Hurry I'm late
I forget my appointment
My appointed is cancelled
I’m already there
always messes me up
I forget where I am going
I forget how to get there
Why do I always get company when my house is a mess
I thought I said the right thing
I say the wrong thing
There’s nothing like doing nothing.
I feel liberated, carefree, as if all responsibility is paused, and I am placed in a state of open wonder, able to just be.
Some may find it totally boring, perhaps a waste of time – not me!
My imagination is piqued, and ideas appear, as if clearing away everything that was blocking them. My senses are more, well, “sensitive,” magnified. So, I see and hear beauty around me more easily.
We have a huge Chinese rug in the living room, 10 feet by 15 feet, 1 inch thick.
It is truly gorgeous. The colors and design are out of this world.
Sky-blue borders, decorated with flowers, all against a crème background. And it feels wonderful under your bare feet.
Who made this carpet I so enjoy? I feel I know him, or her, or them. I appreciate the sheer scale of its beauty and its masterful craftmanship.
Was the design handed down generation to generation, perhaps on rice paper? Or was it kept “in-mind” and shown only when needed?
Grandpa always wore a three piece suit with a white Oxford shirt. In the heat of summer, he removed the vest. In the winter, when he went on his daily walks, he added a topcoat and a fedora to his outfit.
Two blocks from his house was a small grocery store where my brother Mike worked as a manager.
Every day, grandpa, in his late eighties, walked to the store to visit Mike and to pick up an item or two.
Two four year old girls in my nursery school class were the best of friends. When one entered the room, the other would run to give her a big, welcoming hug. They managed to sit side-by-side throughout all activities and held hands when they walked around the room.
These girls were bright, creative and mature beyond their years. Every so often, something of interest would happen at home and they would turn this idea into a little two girl play.
These plays delighted me so much I’d stop what I was supposed to be doing and watch (from afar, of course).
When Bruce and I were first married, we discovered Jones’ Family Farm, and started a tradition.
Each October we’d go to the farm and pick out a huge pumpkin. Then we’d bring it home, and work all weekend to make pies (usually 9) and loaves (usually 6).
Sometimes, we’d make pumpkin cookies or pumpkin pancakes (not a big hit). We’d cook the seeds. Then we’d distribute the pies to my parents and my brother Mike, Bruce’s parents, aunties, neighbors, etc.
I’d always bring some in for the teacher’s lounge at Second Hill Lane School.
One of our favorite summer days was blueberry day.
We’d put on old clothes, our straw hats, then gather our baskets and make our way to the Jones’ Family Farm in Shelton. We’d hitch a ride on the “berry ferry”, and be driven out to the blueberry bushes.
Blueberries are easy to pick and practically popped into our small baskets. When our small baskets were filled, we’d dump them all into the big basket and fill that up. The camera was always on hand.
After the picking, we’d drive to Huntington Center and have lunch and dessert at Sassafras Restaurant.
Grandpa and grandma came to the USA when they were in their very early twenties.
They came with little money, so they had to rent a place to live. Grandpa was a wise man and a great observer.
In Italy he trained as a shoemaker, but here that job would not provide adequate income. So he found a factory job for steady income, but he also found wealthy clients who could pay richly for handmade shoes.
Grandpa marveled at the public transportation system. With one coin you could ride, then “transfer to anyplace you want to go.” He never spent money on owning a car.
We live on a quiet street. Each house is surrounded by a wooded acre. Our only excitement is watching small wild animals frolic in our yards.
On the first Saturday in December all that changes. The Community Center holds “The Jingle Bell Run.” The first year of the run, about thirty people participated and they were probably the committee members.
This year hundreds participated.
On the morning of the event, everyone registers at the Community Center and gets a number and a necklace of bells.