Wednesday, December 23, 2015

Silent Night



Yes, this is a "re-run" ...  

Shlomo's story appeared many years ago in an issue of Readers Digest that my mother photocopied and kept with her holiday cards and letters.   I hope it touches your heart as much as (it does) mine.



Wishing each of you a most blessed Christmas!




***


Of the narrow escapes my sister, Judith, and I had from discovery during our year in the orphanage, one stands out particularly. It was Christmas of 1944 -- a white Christmas, with snow falling outside, but warmth within from extra coal and larger food portions. We even had meat -- meat! A Christmas tree stood in the corner, and we children were seated on both sides of a long table nicely arranged with plates. We were singing Christmas carols, their simple and pleasant melodies totally out of context of the savage war that had been raging for six consecutive Christmases.



The pleasant feeling of food in our stomachs loosened our tongues, and contrary to the usual silence enforced during meals we were permitted by the sisters to converse quietly. Boys and girls were separated as usual, but Judith and I could see and smile at each other.



Then suddenly, the door opens and Mother Superior enters, accompanied by a German officer. Judging by his uniform he must be at least a general.

"Children," Mother Superior says, "the commander of the German garrison in Zilina is a devout Catholic, and he asked to spend the evening with you. He also brought you a nice present."

The present turns out to be a large chocolate cake. It is delicious, but I cannot escape an oppressive feeling. Even on this night must the Germans intrude on the tiny and shaky island of peace I have tried to carve out for myself? I notice, too, the tension on Judith's face as she eats her cake silently, her apprehensive eyes on Herr Commandant.

Again we sing some carols -- one of them "Silent Night, Holy Night," itself so close to a prayer.

When we finish there is a pause, and the commandant whispers something to Mother Superior. After a moment's hesitation she asks: "Is there anyone here who can sing 'Silent Night' in German? It will make our distinguished guest very happy."

Both Judith and I know some German; actually we had learned the German version of this song before the Slovak one. But should I now stand up and sing it for our enemy?

As I hesitate I see Judith slowly rise from her chair and walk toward the commandant. The decision has been made for me, so I stand beside her and we join our voices: "Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht ..." As we sing, the face above the medals becomes animated and involved in our performance -- the lips move together with our words.

Then suddenly Judith gasps and stops, terror in her eyes. She has suddenly realized what I, too, had feared: Why are we two the only children who know the German version? Where are the others? 

The answer is simple, and surely the German officer knows it. In this part of the land it is only Jews who understand German. 
The Commandant has trapped us -- he knows we are Jewish.

He motions to us to approach. It seems an eternity before he speaks. Then looking at us, he says softly: "Hab keine Angst, deine Mutter und Vater werden zuruck kommen" -- "Don't be afraid, your mother and father will come back."

For him, too, it was a silent night.

* * *




When I first shared Shlomo's story with Blogland in 2008, I had no idea if his was a first or last-name - or any other information about he and his sister.  Then, a few days ago I consulted Google and discovered this piece in a 1993 edition of the Chicago Tribune.




Sunday, December 20, 2015

Snapshots and Take-Aways



Home again, home again ... jiggedy jig!




In truth folks, my jiggedy's pooped.   While we crafted some lovely memories with the kiddos, I returned home with a nasty head cold and an eyelid infection that left me looking not so much the sophisticated traveler, but someone's half-witted elderly aunt.

Yes, I'm feeling lots better, but my mind's yet to fully engage. Rather than trying to weave a storyline, I thought I'd share a few pivotal moments -- to me, anyway.

For instance?

Only moments after take-off, I was startled by an announcement from the cockpit:  
"We've just passed through 10,000 feet.  Isn't that amazing?"

Several of us looked at one another -- Sweet baby Jesus, is there a 6th grader at the controls?


Thankfully, our initial flight was incident-free ... tho' late arriving at Dallas Love.   I was a bit amused - and really touched by the senior citizen seated behind us who -- obviously overhearing DH and I discussing the state of his hip and whether he'd be able to hustle-like-OJ to our connecting flight -- announced she was going to run on ahead.  Sure enough, a few minutes later here she's waiting by the gate waving her arms furiously and proclaiming, "I told them they must wait for my friends."  LOL :) Unfortunately, that flight was so packed full, we lost sight of one another and I never had a chance to say, "Thank you."


As many times I've flown into Birmingham you'd think I could find the correct route leading 'home away from home.'   Oh, nooooo.   First I had us going to someplace called Gadston; then to Atlanta.   Nearly apoplectic, DH convinced me to return to the airport.  Maybe it was my reddened eyes or the desperation in my voice, but the Ramada Inn's desk clerk abandoned his post and actually walked me out to the road to point out the correct course.  Yup, there's angels, everywhere.

Sure n' not all went according to Hoyle.  While I was expecting hoping for snow flurries, last Saturday's temp was 80 ... and there I'm standing at Wal-Mart's check-out, sweating putty balls in a hoodie.


(What on earth are you doing at Wal-Mart in Pike Road?)  Well, it seems a certain uber packer who shall remain nameless took leave of her senses and failed to include any 'unmentionables' in her suitcase. Souvenirs come in all shapes and sizes!

It may sound strange, coming from someone who doesn't put a lot of time or effort into cooking ... but a real highlight was having G'daughter #1 beside me, learning to make Great Grandma's banana nut bread for her dad's birthday.   Happily, son proclaimed it, 'great!'
Last year at Christmas I had my mom's hand-written recipe printed on linen towels 
for my DIL and both girls.  


A few favorites ...
#1 Grand and her sweet fiance, Daniel
Sarah's taking Grandpa Tom on a tour
Baby sister loves her some night mudding!
Morning after the Night Before!

No, there were no big shakes to be had.
But it was wonderfully comforting ... and Real.

Real, as in my DIL off-handedly asking, "So, when are you going to retire?"
(Normally that question - coming from anyone else - is likely to set my teeth a'griding:  "I-would-if-I-could-but-I-can't-so-I-won't.")

She followed, "Would you consider moving here?"
... and I surprised myself with a resounding, "Yes."

In the end, I guess it's as simple as that.

In spite of their home's footprint, I just can't envision us all living under one roof like the Ewing's.


Besides that nasty boss-hog rooster who lives out back behind the MIL area has it out for the backs of my legs!

Mebbe, one of those 'tiny houses' which have grown so in popularity?  (... or two, to house DH's musical equipment!)

We've lots to think about!


Son Troy, g'daughter Sarah, DH
... and Molly Jane, the wonder dog!
  

As always, thanks for pausing to take time from your busy lives to visit!

This is the part I'll normally wish each and every one of you a very, "Merry Christmas" ... but I've a very special share coming Wednesday eve.  
It never fails to move me, and I hope it will you, as well.


'Til then ...

Hugs from Phoenix,
Myra



   





Sunday, December 6, 2015

Desperately Seeking Claus



... or not?


OK, who's the wise guy that pushed the 'fast-forward' button?!  Before anyone suspects I've run off to the North Pole, I thought it prudent to step up to the plate.

(Actually, I've authored several posts -- epistles, if you will -- but promptly deleted them for sounding too inane ... or worse, snarky.)

So, last night I guilt-ed myself into asking DH to retrieve the tree from the garage.   You see, he's asked ever so nicely the last couple years if we might decorate, but I (a) pretended to be mute or (b) blamed the puppies for probable chaos.  

To be honest, I didn't especially want to see the darn thing again.   We called it Cara's tree: When she wasn't 'tending to business' or eating, she loved to abide under its branches.
  

What to do but pour a glass of wine, indulge in a good cry, put on my big-girl panties .... and deal with it.  After all, my dear mother put up her own tree for my son's behalf - only a few days after my father's passing - with a smile on her face.

"Stupid tree!"  
... That's me, trying to wrestle it's bulk into something resembling a stately spruce.  Unfortunately, both its shape and mine have shifted less than gracefully.     

Then (ca 2008)
... and now.
What?!  Don't go looking for a picture of the author!


Does anyone else out there struggle with feelings of melancholy this time of year?   I was never raised to believe in Santa Claus -- unheard of in the 1950's! -- but lately I've found myself searching for his spirit.  Some mornings I'll put down my car window - perchance to smell a memory.

While I'm busy searching, I thought (one or two) of you might enjoy these olden images.


... that would be 1950
Santa's expression never fails to crack me up!
(ca) 1956?  Lovin' my new Davy Crockett get-up!

I've heard it posed, "If you could witness one Christmas moment come to life again, what would that be?"   
For me, it's a toss-up:   

When I unpack the sleigh-bells worn by my grandfather's team of horses, I'll imagine my mother as little girl, bundled against the elements in the back of a sleigh-car, as her father guides his team towards town to observe Christmas eve with family.   There was only one gift to be had ... but she remembers cherishing it.

On the other hand ...
My father and his siblings never saw their Christmas tree until after his father's final church service on Christmas eve.   Returning to the parsonage, Pastor Willer would gather the children, then throw open his study doors to reveal "the most beautiful" tree.  Little else is known, but oh what I'd give to see those children's faces!

How little it took to make them happy!

I'm interesting in knowing, what Christmas moment would you most appreciate witnessing? 

Hugs from Phoenix!
Myra

PS - 
I may be off the grid for a few days, but will visit blogs as I'm able via my phone.   See, I've an important date with my son and his family over Alabama way.  (yay!)  
Of course, that means entrusting the TSA and pilots union to do what it is they do best -- but I'm nervous just the same.  Thanks for your prayers and well-wishes ... not just for DH and me, but all the travelers across this big old world.


Some of my favorite humans ...
a Favorite Memory (ca. '98) 

Saturday, November 14, 2015

My Week at a Glance



This isn't the post I had in mind.  In fact, my mind's all over the place.   Like so many others, I'm stunned and saddened by events in Paris ... asking questions whose answers don't exist. 

So, in an attempt to step away from the epicenter here's an inconsequential glance at my week.  (Key being, 'inconsequential' ... you've been warned.)

* * *

I discovered, an ordinary weekday can hold extraordinary blessings -- if I quit trying to CONTROL my own universe.   I don't much enjoy shopping-for-shopping's sake ... but the sad state of my closet mandated new dress slacks.   

'Twas a good thing DH elected to stay home ... for not half-way into the city I'd had ENOUGH of travelling 70+ mph and being passed by everything except a kid on a skateboard.   Exiting the 101, I remembered a boulevard whose circuitous route eventually turns to my destination.   
... and arrived feeling refreshed and oddly relaxed.

My fav consignment shop came through for me again!  Discovering the 'perfect' pair of slacks which actually sit at my natural waistline instead of those awful abdominal low-riders  ..... why, I was practically euphoric.  (By the way, whatever happened to those longer tops that fastened at the crotch?)

Then, I had to go and burst my own bubble.
See, I've not owned a pair of jeans since 2008(?), but this year's diet plan made me think I could find something not totally unbecoming. Lawdy, I must have tried on -- and turned down -- 20+ pair!  Not only did I discover 'normal' clothing sizes do not apply to denim, (but) odd sizes are not my friend.   (Oh sure.  If I were to take up exercise again, I might narrow the 11" difference between my waist and my hips.   On the other hand, I could buy a pair of suspenders and fully enjoy that porterhouse.  65 years avoiding unnecessary calisthenics should count for something, shouldn't it?)   

What else?   

Well, Wednesday eve we discovered our 5-mo. old Carrier air conditioner (Yes, I'm naming names, darn it!) wouldn't shut off.  
.... then the next morning all 7 of our smoke detectors began screaming in unison, traumatizing DH and the dogs alike.  Turns out whoever wired the house 11 years ago -- thank you (not!!!), Richmond American Homes -- mislabeled the fuse box.   When DH informed the incredulous 911 operator that no, we did NOT have the heat turned on, that yes, he'd already shut off the key marked "smoke detector" but they were all still screeching, I don't think she believed him. Turns out, one innocuously marked "General" was the culprit.

It was heartwarming to have some pretty incredible friends at my workplace.   Being party to my hand-wringing and lamentations, co-worker Brian informed me he was following me home with an 8-foot ladder and ("it's not negotiable, so shut up already") installed all new detectors.   Blessed, I tell ya!

Reality check?  I like to think I'm a pretty independent, common-sense sort of gal ... then realized if it were me home alone, I had no idea where to find the fuse box; that it would be preferable to load the dogs into my car and drive to the nearest fire station. Or a wine bar.  (Ignorance is not bliss.)


* * *

Well, I was really (really) hoping to attend my first-ever NASCAR race tomorrow, but a family birthday trumped my druthers.   
Still, it's kinda neat watching the Goodyear blimp floating in lazy circles practically over our back yard ... to watch the incredible footage on television and realize that yes, the desert southwest is awfully pretty this time of year.   


If you've a chance to tune in tomorrow I'll be standing a few miles northwest of that near hill and waving. :)  


Prayers for Paris ... hugs from Phoenix,Myra









    

Friday, October 30, 2015

Friday Letters, October 30 edition

















Dear Vermont Country Store,
Once upon a time, I loved my red rubber boots with the spooly button.  (Momma called them, 'rubbers.') 

Sadly, I presumed they went the way of the dinosaur.
...Until I found this on your Facebook page!
Are they available in 8-1/2B?



Dear Major Insurance Company,

Thank you for weighing in on the necessity of DH's scan.  
Unlike his oncologist, you decided that it wasn't necessary.  

I note you're a physician yourself ... yes, your signature line contains some pretty impressive credentials.  

But! Like one comedian posed, "Ever wonder where those medical students who graduate in the the bottom half of their class wind up?" 

Just my opinion, but I'm guessing they go to work for major insurance companies.   



Dear hubby,  

Normally, I'm so concerned annoyed by your not wearing your seat-belt, not using your turn signals ...
that I forget to acknowledge your sweet side. 

Yes, you know how I desperately dislike filling my own gas tank.

(... so much so, I'm inclined to put it off until the last-possible minute.)   

Having overheard warnings of an impending storm  -- knowing I'd be in a position to have to fill up before heading home -- you called, offering to come over (31 miles one way!) and take my car to the station before the storm hit.

Of course I didn't say 'yes', but your sentiments felt pretty darn nice!



Dear Mr. God,

I never considered you posting on Facebook ... 
(Then again, why not?) 
I think this looks like something you'd like us all to keep in mind.





Halloween hugs from Phoenix!

Myra







Saturday, October 24, 2015

Look Through any Window



Have you ever struggled to identify 
a scene from long-ago?  
Not a memory, exactly... more like an apparition.

 I'm thinking of a 1950's (televised) movie -- something akin to what we now call a Hallmark Classic:

Christmas eve, a poor boy shivers in his thin jacket.  On tip-toe, his bare fingers scrape a bit of frost from the window of a grand home.  Inside, his younger brothers and sisters are enjoying a festive holiday feast with their doting, newly-adoptive parents.

Unbenownst to the occupants, the brother raises one hand - then turns and slowly walks away in the snow.

At the time, I thought it the saddest story ever told.


Fast-forward a decade.  Or several ...

I'm not sure if it's human nature (or a character flaw!) but this time of year, when darkness dominates, I can't help but glance inside unshuttered windows along the way.

Don't get me wrong!  
I'm not one to lurk in the shadows.  
But, even a momentary glance leaves me feeling guilty.  What do I expect to see, anyway?





I recall another grand home that captured my fancy -- this on a fabled avenue in West Texas.  The 'silk stocking district', as my parents might say.
It seemed the home's occupants never cloistered themselves -- at least not their wonderfully-appointed formal living and dining rooms.

Dang, but my imagination used to run amok!  I visualized the family members, each looking as if he or she had been selected by a Madison Avenue maven.  It was only fitting.


What's odd?
For as long as I can remember, I've been all about closed drapes and sealed shutters.
I've mentioned this before, but have to chuckle at the irony of my father's admonition when he'd call home each eve:
"Are all the doors locked ... the curtains drawn?"
(This, in arguably the safest non-military township in the Nation!)   


Here's a pix of sis-in-law's den/sun room.
When we last visited it was all I could do to sit nicely watching TV after dark.
Finally, I couldn't stand it any longer.  "Aren't you concerned about someone on the other side of the glass, out there in the woods?"
I guess that hadn't occurred to her.  Theirs is, after all a gated community with 24-7 security patrols.

Still, it's not someplace you'd ever catch me in my ratty, mis-matched jammies!


Does being watched - even fleetingly - concern you?

Fright Night's looming ... stay safe, m'friends!


Hugs from Phoenix,
Myra







Sunday, October 18, 2015

Bosses and other frivolities


Hello friends, 
Has everyone enjoyed a nice weekend?

For some reason, I was feeling particularly nostalgic and weepy Friday: "Boss's Day."   Actually, I'd done my boss and myself  an enormous favor, and took the day off.  (*smile*)

Don't get me wrong!  
M's a nice enough person, but our working relationship isn't as pleasant as it could be.   
(Yes, I realize it takes two.) 

It's just, she's had some pretty stellar predecessors.  

45 years ..... 6 desks ..... 14 bosses.
My goodness, the amazing life lessons they showed me!


Larger-than-life, there was R.E. Kennedy, Vice President of West Texas Utilities.   I can close my eyes and still feel the absurdly-thick carpet beneath my feet, the maroon and mahogany appointments ... even the enormous portrait of his only child taken at her debutante ball.   
(Yes, even rural Abilene had a small but strong society.)  


The impeccably-dressed Mr. K taught me that the higher one's rank, the later one should appear in the workplace.  Isn't that a hoot?
Mostly, he taught me a measure of kindness.   Without fail, each Monday morning he'd bid me to come inside, sit down and "Tell me about your weekend." I chuckle now, wondering what in the world a person of his stature would find remotely interesting about his mousy, 21-year old secretary's life.      

There was Doyl, the countrified CPA -- first a mentor, then a friend; we became one another's confidante.   Looking back, sometimes I wonder what may have become of our relationship had I not met my husband and he, the witch who became his wife and later, broke his spirit.  

Frank ... and later, oh-so intimidating Jo Anne soon became more than my superiors  ... in large part because they never treated me as anything except their equal.   They elicit my ideas, my feelings.  Together we'd drink more than was wise and laugh louder than necessary.   
And you know what?   
Even today, I'd go to the wall for them.  In a heartbeat.
   
True, that!

* * *

On a cheerier note ...

I claimed not to be interested in attending another estate sale, but DH found one advertising WWII die-cast planes and asked if we might go.  In truth, most was picked over and what remained was ridiculously over-priced.

But! Over there, to the side was a cute farmhouse-style table and chairs in like-new condition!  
I was loathe to pay the $150 they were asking ... and even walked away when she dropped the price to $90.  (Idiot!)
Fortunately, we got a call early Saturday asking if we'd still like it for $77.50.  
Gotta tell you, DH and I beat feet up the 101 like the devil himself was on our heels!

Isn't it cute?

* * *


Best of all?
This morning I told my misgivings to take a hike and booked our December airfare to Alabama!

As we've all been reminded time and again, Life's awfully short.
Can't wait to hug this girl's young lady's neck and meet the chap who's stolen her heart!




As ever, thanks for pausing amid your busy lives to listen.
Take good care ... and please, don't forget to fasten your seatbelts. 


Hugs from Phoenix,
Myra

Friday, October 9, 2015

Friday Letters, October 9 Edition





Just call me 'Slug', folks.  
Why is it, I've all this brim n' bravado going on first thing each morning ... but let me stop for lunch, and not an hour later I'm sound asleep on the nearest upholstered something or another.

For the time being, I'm wide awake and wanted to stop to share a few letters.  (Gosh forbid, I do something useful after 5 on a Friday eve!)  


Dear Estate Sale facilitators,
'Not sure why, but I've never been to an estate sale before. Witnessing Kim's treasures, week after week, must have been gnawing at my subconscious, because when DH said we probably need new dining room chairs, I jumped.  Not only was he willing to drive, I learned he used to go estate sales all the time!

I was unreasonably excited this morning -- like an 8 year-old on her way to the State Fair.   Except this 'fair' was the area known as Sun City ... where golf carts regularly vie with autos for the right of way. 

Not long after entering Home #1, I was taken aback by an inexplicable sadness.   
I never came out and asked, but had a strong sense the home owners were deceased..... their survivors uninterested in what miscellany remained.  

And what an assortment of the everyday!   It was like the Mr. and Mrs. had stepped out to church or to the store and never returned. Except for food stuffs, everything else one could imagine was there for the taking.   Crazy, because I certainly didn't know the home's previous occupants ... but I felt odd touching the kitchen crockery, their personal bath effects.   Even the staggering amount of cleaning supplies at the ready seemed like an intrusion.  

No worries!   By Homes #3 and #4 I'd gotten over myself. Unfortunately, we didn't find any dinette chairs, and the 3 boxes I'd stowed in DH's truck remained empty.   

Pardon the photo bomber!

The sweet carpet runner I found for DH's bathroom looks perfect, but I don't think I'll be in a hurry to repeat the estate sale experience.


Dearest His n' Hers Offspring,
If some evening we shouldn't come home, please take what you will -- then run over the rest with the biggest, baddest truck you can find!  
I'm not especially fond of this house, but I can't bear the thought of strangers walking about and sharing their own perceptions.

Dear N.Y. Deli,
You really, really ought to put a disclaimer on your menu. Perhaps something akin to those warnings on driver's side mirrors: "Objects may be larger than what they appear." 
  
Pastrami and Pepperoni omelet


I can't wait for the weather to cool and return (time and again!) for your chicken matzah-ball soup.


Dear Bloggy friend,
I'm sooo excited meet you tomorrow night!   
(BTW, I'll be the one in the purple top, whose left cheek looks like I fell asleep with my head on the waffle iron.)


Have a wonderful weekend, everyone!

Hugs from Phoenix,
Myra


Sunday, October 4, 2015

A Helping of Randomness




Oops, I did it again.
Hubby (helping unpack my recent bounty from Super Target):  "Don't we already have a brand-new jar of ______?"



Me:  "Well, yes.  But I went to count the number of items in the cart, and there were 6.  So I had to grab something else."

Knowing there's little likelihood I'll be changing my spots anytime soon, he probably figured rolling his eyes wasn't worth the effort.

Really, I've never considered myself superstitious.
Except for the number 6.  Particularly in thrice.  
(... See, I can't bring myself to even type it here!)

Once I threw away a $2-off coupon because it's identifying redemption code began with a triple-six.  
Only the other day I noted someone at my workplace drives an (otherwise innocuous) sedan whose license tag bears three 6's.    I've considering lingering, to see to whom it might belong.
Then again, what would that accomplish?  It's not like I'm going to jump out and examine their scalp for miniature horns.  
Maybe.

Seriously, I wonder if some folks don't 'get' the significance.  Or probably, they don't give it a second thought.

It might be urban legend, but I recall hearing of an unlikely lottery winner in Florida.  Although she'd never before purchased a lottery ticket, when the cashier announced her total (yes, you guessed it) she panicked and blurted, "Give me a lottery ticket ... that number must change."

Personally I find him a little annoying, but mimicking ABC's John Quinones, "What would YOU do?"!

* * *


Speaking of the Lottery .....
Friend Jack at the Ship's Log told a cute story about a man beseeching the good Lord for favor. Whereupon the Lord looked down and said, "Help me out here ... buy a ticket!"

Like Jack, I love to daydream.   Except my fantasies have realigned themselves so often the Lord's probably just shaking His head.       


Because I've worked outside the home for so long now - and forgot to craft a life - the prospect of retirement is scary.   So, methinks I'd like to purchase a little business and continue working ... but the first thing on my must-have list would be a PRIVATE 'executive washroom.'   It's been over 20 years since I used to sub for the President's secretary at the TV station ... but I've not outgrown my awe at his private, black-marbled potty room.   
I guess, it's true what they say, Rank Hath Its Privilege.    
Or my favorite, Little Things Mean a Lot.  


* * *

Finally, another contribution to 
Ye Olde Generation Gap:

Helping facilitate another team-building exercise and armed with 'fun size' chocolate bars, I began to narrate "Who Said That?" -- random facts submitted by management and associates alike.   

Color me astonished.  
After reading Diana's card, "I once got a job as a Playboy bunny", folks began calling out names of their MALE co-workers.   
I don't think there was a soul in the room who knew what a Playboy bunny was!

Another slice of my youth gone by the by when I wasn't looking.
Don't blink!



Hugs from Phoenix,
Myra








Monday, September 21, 2015

The Reveal!



Thanks to all of you who shared your hunches on Friday's '4 Fibs' quiz!
As promised, now I'll 'fess up.


#5.   Really? No-one chose #5!?  

Would this snapshot change your mind?





Smart bloggers!

Yes, I was once a passenger aboard the ill-fated Yarmouth Castle -- except my parents and I had disembarked several weeks prior to that tragedy.



#4.  Sorry, no.   
After all these years, I've still an irrational  fear of flying.  The thought of actually jumping out of a plane on purpose gives me the heebie-jeebies!



#3.  Close ... but no cigar.
My family didn't arrive in Los Alamos until '52 ... 7 years after the Manhattan Project.
My dad worked for the former Atomic Energy Commission for near 30 years -- as a Security guard. I don't think he ever met Fermi.



#1.
I have to admit, it was really hard to type that poser with a straight face. 

While I've my own opinions of the Viet Nam war, I wholly support those men (and women) who served.

Boring, perhaps, but I've never felt strongly enough about anything to publicly protest.
(and thank God, I've never been arrested!)

 * * *


#2.  Ding, Ding, Ding!!! 
... congrats Betty and Rick!

November, 1991.  Valley Ranch, Irving, TX

In early 1991, one of my Florida co-workers accepted a job offer from the Dallas Cowboys organization.  John probably didn't expect anyone would actually take him up on his off-hand remark, "Come see me sometime."
... but that's exactly what R. and I did on our next visit to Dallas!

When we came to this area of their headquarters/practice facility - instead of taking a quick peek around the door - I strode right inside with R's grandson and his buddy so Mike might get his photo taken in front of Troy Aikman's locker.

Poor John was probably having kittens - imagining his new career waving 'bye-bye' before his very eyes.



On a somber note ...

I was remembering that visit a few days ago and thought it fun to look up John to see what he's up to.

Yes!  There was his image on Facebook!  

Except, I discovered it was a Foundation's profile... a memorial, if you will, to John Chang, Cowboys' Director of Broadcasting -- who'd passed away more than a decade ago from a cerebral hemorrhage.  He was but 38 years old.




Momma was right ... Every day is a gift. 





Hugs from Phoenix,

Myra 





Friday, September 18, 2015

This 'n that ... and a quiz



G'morning friends,

I hope your week's been pleasant?

Personally I'm over the moon, on account our temps haven't even reached 100* in the last 5 days!   

That, and I'm enjoying the start of several 4-day work weeks! 
Rueful smile:  This morning I'd planned to rise 'n shine and hit the antiquities mall with a purpose.  Instead - because I opted to don new 4" heels to yesterday's annual meeting - then stood at the back of the ballroom -  my feet feel as if I stuck them under an 18-wheeler.


Lately, I've been thinking about sharing  ..... about compromise.
Maybe, that's on account I'm trying to convince our litter-mates that sharing is a good thing; that one does not steal her little sister's toys.  
(Grace seems amicable, but so far Macie's not having any.)


Anyone care to guess who's who?


So recently I admitted to a blog friend, "Sure and I'll offer you some of my popcorn. But privately, I'm hoping you'll say,  'no.'"    

Probably, being an only child - and once, a spoiled spouse, I never had to share.   
Almost 40 years later, I'll never forget R. surprising me with the car of my dreams.  Not long after, he let his teenage son take it out for date night..... then couldn't understand why his new wife was so upset.  


'78 Fiat X-19

Come to find out, in his own growing-up years he and his siblings each owned their own vehicle: Whoever happened to be going out just grabbed keys to whichever car was at the end of the drive.

These days, DH's own daughter and son are grown so we've no rivalry issues.  Plus, Tom has no issue with sharing his bag of popcorn! I don't get it, but he's one of those amazing species who never even finishes every last kernel! 

Is sharing ever been an issue in your household?
We chuckle about it, but more often than not, DH acquiesces.  Blessed?  You betcha!

('Jus an aside:  We don't get to the movies more than once or twice a year, but I wanted to give "War Room" two thumb's up!  
Not a great movie, perhaps, but the actors -  mostly unknowns - were all wonderful and it was a thoroughly 'feel-good' 2 hours.)

* * *


Four Fibs and a Truth

I actually got this idea from a 'getting to know you' exercise at my workplace.   
Since a few of you know me pretty darn well, it's a challenge to lie convincingly.  Even a couple of those contain a morsel of truth!


1.  I met my first husband when we were arrested at an anti-war ralley in the Spring of '69.

2.  While the team was out on their practice field just a few yards away, I sneaked inside the Dallas Cowboys locker room at their Valley Ranch headquarters.

3.  My dad once worked as one of Enrico Fermi's 'corpsmen' on the Manhattan project in Los Alamos.

4.  Once on a dare, I called in sick to work and went sky-diving.

5.  I was a passenger on the S.S. Yarmouth Castle that caught fire and sank off the coast of Nassau in the fall of '65.


I'm sure interested to hear your guesses!
.... but I won't tell 'til next week!

  
Now, I'm off to soak my feet in some epsom salts.  
I hope you all enjoy the weekend you've been given!

Hugs from Phoenix,
Myra