The Glass is Half-Full

When I was in junior high school, I staged a sit-in and learned about 'ten year'. This will come as a total surprise to most of you readers - I was not a perfectly well behaved child. I know, I know - you're shocked, amazed, in wonder how I could have turned out to be so well-behaved despite the oats sown in my youth.  And the sit-in is a perfect example of how I marched to the beat of my own drummer. Miss Brown was an English teacher - and not a very popular one. She would invoke the yardstick on wayward student's hands and scowl the moment we walked into the classroom. We weren't very kind to Miss Brown but then she wasn't very kind to us, either. Personally, the hardest part of having Miss Brown as an English teacher is that she nearly ruined my love of my favorite topic in school. It was the year we were to learn grammar (have I ever mentioned that as a writer I detest grammar?). I think some new way of teaching English was introduced and in all likeli

One of my favorite memories of growing up was when my sister Kelli and I got to fly, by ourselves, from our home in Milwaukee to visit our grandparents in Champaign Illinois. We were dressed similarly - in matching suits of different colors. I believe we were 9 and 8 and so proud that our parents were letting us on this big adventure. It also meant changing planes at O'Hare airport! We were instructed on how to get help looking for our gate and reminded just how large O'Hare was. We felt grown up! Our father travelled a lot for business, so he gave us valuable information about that monstrous airport (that it had seven 'fingers' was one tidbit I still remember - he was referring to the terminals). It shouldn't have surprised either Kelli or I that upon landing, our Dad would just happen to be at O'Hare too. He claimed that he too was there to change flights and since we had a little bit of time, wouldn't it be great to have lunch together. So the three

I have put pride aside and taken up my cane. Every time I leave the house or car, I now use a cane for walking. It sounds so easy, writing about using a cane - but it's one of those life passages that's far more difficult than it sounds. It is taking a whole lot of humility to be reliant on my cane. I try not to let the looks of curiosity or, even worse, pity bother me. But they do. I try not to let the comments suggesting I'm older than I am, bother me.(Maureen, you know what I'm talking about!) But they do. I try not to let the comments of empathy or pity bother me. But they do. And I realize the reason it bothers me is that not only am I schlepping the cane I'm still carrying my pride. Wounded pride, but pride nonetheless. I'm trying to leave it at home or just to throw it away all together. After all, it's a lot of baggage to lug around while holding onto a cane. I'm trying not to care about looks or comments or senior discounts. Trying a litt

I am in the midst of a 'peri-empty nest syndrome'. Don't bother wondering where that syndrome came from - I just made it up. It's a combination of perimenopause and something else I can't quite remember right now. But that something I forgot was some sort of syndrome. My nest is slowly emptying. Michael is away at college and comes home on breaks; though he may get an internship this summer and not be home at all. Matthew as a junior is looking at colleges and is busy with a myriad of activities and friends and is home between the two (activities and friends). Delaney is busy with rehearsals, practices and friends in Holland - her new high school is there. And I am the mama bird at home in the nest that still needs to be cared for watching her birdies fly away or on test runs for the big fly-off. It is a strange feeling. Everyone I know that's an empty nester says it's great after the initial shock wears off (the dads say it takes about 30 minutes, the