Pumpkin Cookie

It's a B.D. story!  (before David)

I have told this story a million times, but I don't believe I have blogged it.  A patient came in today and asked if someone was buried next door, thus the story crept back into my head.  Let me 'splain.

My office building is located between an empty bakery (East End Bakery) and an empty lot, which was the site of Palmer's Barber Shop, where my brother Jerry would always get his hair cut, and shellacked when we were kids.  I don't know what kind of of goop Mr. Palmer used, but it stunk to high heaven.  At the edge of the sidewalk there is a foot stone. Wait, let me show you.  (ah technology)

Apparently Mr. Palmer was known as the "Mayor of East End", and no, he isn't buried there.

So let us return to the good ol' seventies.  I'm going to guess it was '75 because I wasn't in school full time yet, and I know it was fall because of the cookie later in the story.  I would have just turned five.  It was an Indian summer afternoon, and conditions were very dry.  Dry enough for a train to start a wildfire on the other side of the big highway, and that's where the trouble began.

Oh, and I guess it's important to know that I was in no way, shape, or form allowed to be next to, let alone cross highway two.  Period.

I was playing down the block at Vicki's house, and her older sister Paula (Vicki's Mom was at work.)  wanted to take the two of us across the highway to see the fire. I guess in my five year old mind it was alright to go along, because Paula was older and was with us.  Then again, my Mom was home, I should have asked her, but I knew she'd say no, so......la di da.   

On this particular day my brother Jerry was going to Palmer's for a hair cut, then we were picking up Dad from work. Way back in the day we were a one car house, like most folks, so if Mom had things to do we would all have to bring Dad to work and pick him up.  I will assume I was supposed to be home at a particular time, and when I didn't show up my Mom would have had to go looking.  Some neighbor must have seen us cross the highway, because she found me.  (insert scary music)

I have no memory of crossing the street.  I recall the smell of fire, but not the fire itself.  I was more interested in the frogs hopping away from it, and dancing around in the tall grass. It was very windy out, and there I was with my lil freckled face, dancing and twirling, pony tails bouncing, and I VIVIDLY remember whirling around to see the car pull up, and my Mother getting out.  Things are a little sketchy after that.  I'm fairly certain I got a swat.  We went to the haircut, then to the bakery and each got a cookie.  It's the cookie that always stands out for me, and usually triggers my memory of the story.  It was a hard, pumpkin shaped sugar cookie, that had those big sugar granules (orange) on it, with a raised outline of the triangle eyes, nose, and mouth. Then off to get Dad, and I'm sure we discussed it the whole way home, while I ate my cookie, which is probably why seeing those cookies always unnerves me a little. :)

You can imagine how peeved my Mother was.  First I wasn't home on time, then I disobeyed, crossed a dangerous highway, to go to see a fire...... lets just say that Tater comes by some of her ways honestly. 

When my Mother would talk about the incident she would say "Paula got spanked, Joanie got grounded for two weeks, and I got Vicki, because her Mother felt bad."  I didn't get off the hook because I was five and led astray,  I knew the rules, the end.  Ah, life with a Mother who was a former nun. 

Choo-Choo

One of the words that CeCe will communicate is train.  Ok, she doesn't say "train"  she does the arm motion of pulling the whistle and says "Woo-Woo".  It's cute, and even more so because you know that she understands exactly what that is. She does it when she sees them, or hears them.  Her Dad is a railroad engineer, and kind of a train enthusiast  nut. 

Yesterday morning I had to come in from the country to do a few things at home before heading out to a different part of the country to Tater and Ashlyn's birthday party.  I kept hemming and hawing over how much time I needed, and I finally just decided to go early so I could handle everything. (crabbily I might add....again, not a fan of things to do on a Sunday)

The drive was uneventful, until I reached the railroad crossing right outside of Superior.  Cars were stopped for two blocks already from a long train that was slowing down.  It comes to a stop and I shut off my car, obviously I wouldn't be going anywhere for a little bit.  Ten minutes later the train was still at a dead stop, but there were some whistles blown so I thought we would have progress.  Suddenly I hear a train.....but "my" train isn't moving.  Ohhhhh it's another train, and "mine" must have had to stop and let it by before it could switch onto that track.

Then my brain started thinking.  "Hmmmmmm  don't they know when and where these trains are?  Couldn't someone have stopped "my" train before it hit this crossing??  I posed this question to CeCe's father, who answered that "Yep, they could, but the person who handles that is located in Texas."  Now that doesn't seem real safe to me....... but what do I know?  Does it seem logical that the person handling the trains running up here doesn't even know the area, or what he/she are blocking off?  What if there's a computer problem? 

All in all I sat for twenty some minutes, for a total of ten cars that were actually blocking the track.  The people up front would have been there more than a half hour.  In the realm of reasonable, that is pushing it.  So I didn't get a jump start on the things I needed to do, and was about a half hour late to the party.

On the last leg of my journey toward the party I got stuck on another country highway by another train!  This time it was a reasonable ten minutes, but it struck me that maybe the universe was trying to tell me something.  Something like, slow down sister!  Enjoy the moments and the people in your life, early or late, what does it matter, really?

An older couple that I've known for years, and actually bought a home from once, lost their nine year old Grandson on Saturday.  He was hit by lightening.  I can't even imagine the devastation that family is going through.  Take your time, appreciate your loved ones, don't auto pilot through life, embrace it, and enjoy the beauty of a summer morning when you are unexpectedly stopped by a train!  

Inspiration

A few blogs ago I mentioned talking with an older lady, she was probably ninety at the time, about figuring out the mysteries of life.  That lady is Grandma Ann Landin, and she worked with the Foster Grandparent program here in Superior for at least twenty years, and the last ten of those were with me at the Y.  She retired when she was ninety-two, and until today I hadn't seen her in probably a year and a half.  Honestly, until about a month ago I didn't even know if she was still with us.  I really didn't realize she had turned niney-five already!

Her eyesight isn't what it used to be, and she willingly uses her walker now.......not whipping it around or leaving it behind all together like she used to, but other than that, she was absolutely unchanged.  She knew who I was, asked after Sandy Hughitt by her real name, and wanted to know "how that guy is."  That would be Teacher Tom.  She was fiesty, loud, and laughing about this and that.  We fell right back into the old banter that both of us enjoyed for the better part of ten years. 

I mentioned on facebook that I had seen her, as a lot of my friends know her too.  The comments made me remember so many things, her singing, dancing, and making up names for people, because she couldn't always remember the assistants names. (suzabella coopenheimer is my favorite) She never knicknamed me though, I was always her Teacher Joanie, and she was/is my Grandma.  When we parted ways this afternoon and I went to hug her someone said "Look out now, you're in my territory." I looked at him and said "Back off buddy, she's MY Grandma."

When I am an old lady I am going to be just like her.  I will be soft enough to be a comfort to others, but snappy enough to make people mind me.  I will dance and sing and make up names, because I already do these things, and I enjoy them.  I will take joy in the simple pleasures life has to offer, give back to this world, and I will keep my mind and my body busy, just like she does.  Heck, up until she was just about ninety she still enjoyed a cold beer every afternoon.  She still drove up until about that time too........probably not the best idea.  No matter what you needed, Grandma had it in the trunk of her car.  I used to joke with her that if she looked hard enough Jimmy Hoffa was probably in there. 

She told me that we don't really ever figure out life........ but I think that maybe she has, and she just doesn't know it. 

When she was walking away I heard her say to the gal who helps her out, "This was my lucky day!  I've thought about her so much."  No Grandma, I'm the lucky one.  We are shaped by the women who raise us, and even though I was an adult, you definitely had a strong hand in shaping me into the woman I am today. ♥

33

A friend of mine had a post on Facebook this past week, about a study that claims the "happiest" age is thirty-three.  It went on to state that you were finished making big mistakes, and knew more about life.

Yep, I felt like that when I was thirty-three.  I really did.  I had everything figured out and was sure my days would be error free.  Then my late thirties came along, punched me in the gut for a few years, and sent me out the other side broken, but much happier.  Happier in the knowledge that I don't know shit.  Happier that I can accept that I will make mistakes, but also knowing that I've made so many I will recognize the wrong path sometimes and catch myself before it happens.

I may have mentioned this before, but it bears repeating.  I once asked a ninety year old lady to please tell me that at some point we figure "it" all out.  You aren't going to like the answer she gave me.  I didn't like the answer she gave me.  "No honey, no.  Some things you do, but for the most part, no."  I asked her why she couldn't have just lied. :) 

So last night some of us (most of them are around the magic age of thirty-three) were discussing this, and as the "crone" (for you smart asses out there that means wise) of the group  I pointed out to their smiling "yes we have it all figured out" faces, that there is no magic age where we are happiest.  That will differ for everyone, and how can you know what it is until your final, or later days? 

For me, thirty-three was alright.  I was a smarty pants, but not terribly happy.  I am much happier now, that's for sure.  Will I look back and say that forty-two was the happiest year of my life?  Well, so far no, but I'm always hopeful.  I like to think that my happiest years are still ahead of me. What my Mom used to say, "Life is what you make it." is about the only knowledge I have to impart.  She was right. 

Who knows?  Maybe someday I will be sitting in a rocker on my front porch looking back on this being the happiest time of my life.  Maybe I wont be rocking alone, and THAT will be the happiest time of my life.  I'm not going to worry about it, I'm just going to enjoy the journey.