From Head to Toe........

...Or should I say, "From Adam's Apple to Just Below My Navel"?  Let me explain...

I know this photo doesn't mean anything to you.  In fact, it's ugly.  I took it yesterday because I wanted to tell you a story. Our master bathroom walls were in desperate need of a face lift. The towel rack was falling off, and needed to be secured every time a towel was hung on it.  A cover to an exhaust fan had adhered to the ceiling, and when it was time to pull that cover off, part of the outer layer of the drywall came with it.  The baseboards had separated from the walls.  In order to paint the bathroom walls, the medicine cabinet needed to be removed and this photo represents what was behind it.  Of course, the set of hardware on top held it in place.  The set of holes underneath are what makes the story retell worthy.  You see, twenty-five or so years ago, when I hung the medicine cabinet in the first place, I deduced that the best place to hang the mirrored knickknack was directly between the sink below and the light fixture above.  So I handily measured the area, marked where the holes needed to be drilled, inserted the anchors, hung our new treasure, and prepared to admire myself in our new mirror. Unfortunately, the only way a mirror that hung midway between the sink and the light fixture would work is if I wanted to groom that area of my body between my Adam's apple and just below my navel.  Talk about disappointment! I remember calming down, removing the piece, and starting the process all over again.  The result was a stepping stone in my becoming a little handier than I was the day before, which wasn't very handy. This go around, though, I only had to take the medicine cabinet down, paint, and put it back up.  The whole project began when two full quarts of paint leftover from the living room project of the late eighties resurfaced in the basement, a revelation fitting for a cheap frugal handyman such as myself.  It's not the color you-know-who would have picked, but hey, it was free!  By now, I know to have the Advil ready and waiting, so with this project, there was no pain!  It's blessing counting time again...... 

SAVING HOOPS.......

THIS IS A SILLY LITTLE BLURB ABOUT HOW IN JULY, A STUPID INCIDENT NEARLY DOOMED OUR BASKETBALL HOOP.....AND HOW THE SMILE OF A CHILD AND THE WISE WORDS OF FRIENDS SAVED IT............

My kids are grown. Most times I'm an empty nester. I live on a corner, and have had a basketball hoop originally intended for my children on the side street. The base was secured by sand inside and flagstones outside, and has been in place, surviving the elements, for years and years. Many neighborhood youngsters still use the hoop. A high school aged neighbor practices his basketball skills there. Some smaller kids politely ring the doorbell to ask if they can use it. I've never said 'No', I just smilingly warn 'Okay but be careful in the street'. Many little familiar faces from the school where I work don't ask, but play joyfully, and when they see me come out of the house, they wave and smile and I wave and smile back. This weekend some disrespectful folks removed the flagstones and pushed the hoop on its side, possibly damaging the backboard. I know it's probably just a harmless little prank, but I find the lack of respect for people and property everywhere I go disheartening. It may not take a lot of effort to restore the basketball equipment to a usable position. I just want respect.....and I feel frustrated.  

I don't know why this incident has bothered me so much. I was very tempted to, and it would have been very easy to just throw the whole mess away. In the moment of hopelessness, I did something I try often not to do...I posted the details of the incident and my feelings toward it as a Facebook status.  I feel that when statuses are posted in times of anger, there can be regret and embarrassment, yet I felt the need to share my sadness... 

Fortunately, the day was spent away from home.  It was set tear down day for a production my son was in this summer, and it proved to be a perfect diversion from the situation.  When I returned to my Facebook page in the late afternoon, the advice from friends was unanimous, and confirmed what my instinct told me, but what my stubborn psyche wouldn't let me do until now.....accept the pranks of punks as just that, and fix the problem for the little ones.

Tonight I went outside and was able to lift the equipment back into place and reposition the flagstones. Within five minutes I heard a basketball bouncing again. I went out the front door, and lo and behold, one of the twins from school had returned to play. He saw me, smiled, and waved. We exchanged only a couple of words, but he was happy his play place was returned to him. The backboard and hoop may have been slightly misshapen, but he didn't care. His expressions; the wise words and the support of friends; and the fact that I can still lift that pole, backboard, and flagstones have made it a better day.

My Space

My Space

Isn't it funny how one photo can open the floodgates and let the memories burst from my brain and onto a page.  

I remember my little sister Lisa coming into the world late in 1960, and Mom and Dad 'raising the roof' literally when space became an issue for their family of six.  The thought of having four children, and having three of them be girls, must have accelerated the 'We either have to move or make the house bigger' thoughts that seemed to dominate conversations at the time.  The construction was done in 1962 when I was five. I remember being fascinated when I got to hang out with the contractor, whose name was Rudy, and watch from a distance as he ripped the attic and roof off the house and many weeks later had created a bedroom spanning the width of the house, as well as a second bathroom, and a new attic and roof.

Initially, the room was occupied by my two older sisters: Janet, who was a teenager at the time, and Stephanie, who was a few years younger.  As time marched on, various combinations of sisters occupied the penthouse, and by 1975, after Janet and Stephanie were both married and living on their own, the palace was mine!  I instantly made it my own.

This is half of the room.  The half you can't see had a bed, dresser, closets...normal bedroom stuff.  This half, though, was my lifeline for the last eight years give or take a year that I lived in my parents' house.  It was my space.

My Space

No CD's!  No IPod!  Just a record player sitting on that old metal stand, and those are records filling the slots underneath.  The corner desk set was made by my Dad just for me, with a set of drawers to the right of it.  No touch screen selection of tunes on top of that furniture! Just a record album flip file...something I haven't seen in thirty years.  The album cover on the front of the flip file was Carole King's Writer.  No portable media with headphones! No Docking Station!  Just old fashioned stereo separation with speakers like the one atop the desk playing my tunes. No wall in my lair would be complete without a poster of The Beatles...and that other group to their right.  Can you guess who is on the poster to the right of the Beatles?  Neither could I.  I searched my house for a magnifying glass to view the photo more closely, found one, studied the poster, and still couldn't guess...or see the poster any better.  Google, the knower of all things, came to my rescue as I searched for images of posters of any group whose albums I might have been listening to at the time, and after just minutes of searching, I was reminded that this poster was included in the album Golden Bisquits by Three Dog Night, a personal favorite of the era! Mystery solved!  

No computer!  No monitor!  No easy-touch keyboard!  Just an old fashioned manual typewriter on the Dad-made typewriter table to the left of the corner desk.

No Flatscreen!  No Widescreen!  No High Definition!  No Color! No Surround Sound!  The television in the photo was a thirteen inch set with a black and white picture, and good old monaural sound.  No Cable!  No Remote Control! It boasted seven channels when the rabbit ear antennae were positioned correctly.

No digital photography!  No computer to store my pictures on!  Just a bulletin board on my desk with my favorite snapshots, that were taken with my Kodak Instamatic camera, tacked on!  I remember that metal Charlie Brown trash can from my early childhood, and the target for the Velcro balls hanging above the bulletin board.  I remember a good friend who was a talented craftsman building me a partition between the bedroom side and the leisure side.

Kodak Instamatic Camera

No recessed track lighting!  That's a hand me down floor-to-ceiling pole lamp donated to my space by my Mom, along with the triangular coffee table on the right, and a black leather sofa (not pictured).  The sign above the window reads "It's 11 P.M., Does your Mother know you're here?"   Long after the room was no longer my space, and my own kids visited their Grandmom and Grandpop in that house, and played in my former space, that sign remained in the room for them to enjoy.

The house belongs to another family now.  My space will never be the same, but I hope good memories are still being created there.  I loved my space; learned in my space; laughed and cried in my space; grew and grieved in my space; and when it was time, left my space.

For nothing would I trade the memories of my space.....

The "Banana" Family

A couple hours of sorting in the basement revealed this gem created by my girl Karen.  We figured it was created around 2002.  Represented as bananas are Mom and Dad, Kevin the Trekker, John the Star Wars junkie, Karen the soccer player, and Brian the scooter rider, as well as all the pets:  the cockatiels named Prisky and Woody, the guinea pig named Frodo, the iguana named Duncan, and the beta named Beta.  Finding gems like this among the rubble makes the endless project seem worth it!  My how things change in just a little over a decade.........

Ode to Grandpa's Girl

JUNE that day a year ago
WAITING heat, and time moved slow
LIGHT the world as she arrived
WARNING none and not contrived
VIBES of all those years that passed
GROWN babes, nieces, nephews, fast
RENEWED adored like none before
TIMELINE beams of light once more
EYES of blue and curls of blonde
THRIVE that Grandgirl-Grandpa bond
YEARS come, go, in just a minute
PRECIOUS life when Angel's in it