Today Elvis would have been 75 years old. I cannot even imagine what he would be doing in the world today so many things have changed. Would we be following Elvis on Twitter?
He was one of my moms heartthrobs as a teen and therefore we listened to a lot of his music growing up. My brother would play air guitar on his plastic baseball bat with a towel tied around his neck as a cape and I would sing back. We knew ALL the words. We even used to "perform" for family and friends when my parents had dinner parties before we had to go to bed. We always thought we were the highlight of their parties and could only imagine they were bored to tears after we left. Oh my, those were the days. LOL!
Have you ever had one of his famed fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches? I haven't. Hmm... maybe I will this weekend.
Happy Birthday to the King of Rock! I imagine there's quite a party where he is right now and mom is sure to be front and center dancing along.
Showing posts with label remembering. Show all posts
Showing posts with label remembering. Show all posts
Friday, January 08, 2010
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
Giving (up)
That's the theme this month for NABLOPOMO. I'm not participating for the month but I am going to leach the topic.
There are a lot of ways this could go especially with that up in parenthesis. This being the season of Lent and all, may people are in the sacrificing mode. When I think of "Giving Up" I think of Sister Naomi. Poor Sister Naomi, now I feel for her. Then I just plain hated her. Yes, mother, I know hate is a strong word that should never be used. You always preferred when we disliked something/one a lot v. hating . But I plain hated Sister Naomi that Freshman year of high school. She's the whole reason I wasn't invited back! It had nothing to do with me, it was her and her nit-picky ways. But I'm over it. Really, I am. Sister Naomi taught is Fr. Religion, Spanish and was my dorm monitor. Honestly, I don't know how her red hair didn't turn white on our tour there. I know it was red because one night we caused such a ruckus she came running out of her room and her habit wasn't quite right and we saw her red hair - shocker, I know. What does this have to do with giving up!?
Sister Naomi would walk around and whenever she heard any of us fussing, fighting, or huffing about anything she would waive her hands at us up in the air and say "Give it up ladies! Give it up to save those poor souls!" You see, the ONLY thing I remember about Fr. Religion class was learning about all the poor souls of unbaptised babies sitting in purgatory waiting. Just waiting to get into heaven. These would be all the aborted babies and all the stillborn babies and all the babies that died because their mommas abandoned them. She would frightfully explain to us that it was to no fault of the children that they had to suffer so. It was all because of the parents' lack of faith. So, we had to offer up/give up all of our suffering for the repose of those babies souls so that through our suffering we take on their burdens and they could get into heaven.
Can you imagine? I was what, 13 years old picturing a waiting room the size of the heavens full of babies waiting to be let into heaven. Eventually, I thought about it and would question her to the point of exasperation Why would those children be punished so if it wasn't their fault and our God is all-loving and merciful. I didn't understand and have never been able to reconcile this concept. Even my mother would tease me about it when she wanted to push my buttons. She'd tell me to give it up for the babies and I would roll my eyes at her and we'd laugh. Even in the end when my mother was in the hospital dying. She told her best friend and I that she prayed everyday that God give her one more day of suffering this horrible disease in the hopes that it would spare a child from the same suffering. And I quipped back at her what about all those babies? We laughed until we cried and tried to explain it to her BF in between fits of tears and laughter.
Honestly, between Sister Naomi and the priest who later taught my religion class senior year, who told me that I was going to burn in hell for eternal damnation (I don't even remember his name!), I don't' know how I didn't convert to something else. Lazy, I guess, just didn't want to take the time to look into anything else. So, there you go Sister Naomi, I know we gave you h-e-double l that year. Sorry we put you through it. I'm sure you have long since passed on and are probably rolling over in your grave. Just give it up for the babies, Sister.
There are a lot of ways this could go especially with that up in parenthesis. This being the season of Lent and all, may people are in the sacrificing mode. When I think of "Giving Up" I think of Sister Naomi. Poor Sister Naomi, now I feel for her. Then I just plain hated her. Yes, mother, I know hate is a strong word that should never be used. You always preferred when we disliked something/one a lot v. hating . But I plain hated Sister Naomi that Freshman year of high school. She's the whole reason I wasn't invited back! It had nothing to do with me, it was her and her nit-picky ways. But I'm over it. Really, I am. Sister Naomi taught is Fr. Religion, Spanish and was my dorm monitor. Honestly, I don't know how her red hair didn't turn white on our tour there. I know it was red because one night we caused such a ruckus she came running out of her room and her habit wasn't quite right and we saw her red hair - shocker, I know. What does this have to do with giving up!?
Sister Naomi would walk around and whenever she heard any of us fussing, fighting, or huffing about anything she would waive her hands at us up in the air and say "Give it up ladies! Give it up to save those poor souls!" You see, the ONLY thing I remember about Fr. Religion class was learning about all the poor souls of unbaptised babies sitting in purgatory waiting. Just waiting to get into heaven. These would be all the aborted babies and all the stillborn babies and all the babies that died because their mommas abandoned them. She would frightfully explain to us that it was to no fault of the children that they had to suffer so. It was all because of the parents' lack of faith. So, we had to offer up/give up all of our suffering for the repose of those babies souls so that through our suffering we take on their burdens and they could get into heaven.
Can you imagine? I was what, 13 years old picturing a waiting room the size of the heavens full of babies waiting to be let into heaven. Eventually, I thought about it and would question her to the point of exasperation Why would those children be punished so if it wasn't their fault and our God is all-loving and merciful. I didn't understand and have never been able to reconcile this concept. Even my mother would tease me about it when she wanted to push my buttons. She'd tell me to give it up for the babies and I would roll my eyes at her and we'd laugh. Even in the end when my mother was in the hospital dying. She told her best friend and I that she prayed everyday that God give her one more day of suffering this horrible disease in the hopes that it would spare a child from the same suffering. And I quipped back at her what about all those babies? We laughed until we cried and tried to explain it to her BF in between fits of tears and laughter.
Honestly, between Sister Naomi and the priest who later taught my religion class senior year, who told me that I was going to burn in hell for eternal damnation (I don't even remember his name!), I don't' know how I didn't convert to something else. Lazy, I guess, just didn't want to take the time to look into anything else. So, there you go Sister Naomi, I know we gave you h-e-double l that year. Sorry we put you through it. I'm sure you have long since passed on and are probably rolling over in your grave. Just give it up for the babies, Sister.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Apple picking
I have been thinking a lot lately about the parents of my moms best friend in life. Honestly, I only saw these people maybe a couple of dozen times in my life but they made an impact. Thinking now I am sad to say that most of these people have passed on (my mom, her BFF & BFF's dad not sure about the mom, I have spoken to BFFs kids in a while.)
Anyway, he was one of those full of life people. He had such a zest for life it was contagious. He shared his laugh, smiles and verve with everyone around him especially his wife. She shall we say doesn't have the same zest for life that he did. She's not a warm and fuzzy one she has some rougher edges but you appreciate her too. She tends to complain a bit more than he did and she always has those little barbs that she tosses out all the time about everything that make you think she's not happy. But deep down I think she is, it's just her way. So, they were an interesting couple to watch in action; always counterbalancing each other. Almost as if she just couldn't handle his overbubbliness and had to be stick in the muddish. Like they were made for each other because he made her get out and go and enjoy and maybe her being they way she is made him all the bubblier. Who knows.
They lived in Tampa and I grew up in N. VA. I remember one fall when they were driving through to PA and stopped at out house for a couple of nights. They were probably in their mid 50s. Our house had 2 beautiful apple trees (one green and one red) on the side. The lawn was covered with apples and leaves of every color. It was really picturesque. He wanted a picture of them and the apple trees. Most people would just stand there, maybe put their arm around each other smile, say cheese and snap- there's your picture. Not good enough. Pretend we're picking apples! He yells out. She simply explains there are no apples they can reach, they are all rotting on the ground besides everyone will know that we didn't really pick them. As if he didn't hear her, like a little kid he exclaimed, We can reach these! as he picked one off the ground, dusted it off on the back of his pant leg, turned it so the bruised part wasn't showing, held it up to the branch as if it were hanging. With her hand in one hand and holding the apple in to the branch he yelled at me Take it Now! with the biggest smile you can imagine. After I took the picture he told us he picked the red apple because it was her favorite type. She said something about that it was old and dying. I remember him leaning over and giving her a peck on the cheek saying it was crabby just like her but he loved them both and he actually took a bite out of the 'clean' side of the apple! I screamed in shock that it was rotting and gross. He showed it to me and said it was fine. Things may look old and crabby on the outside but inside they are sweet and fine. I was dumbfounded as I followed them laughing inside.
I think of that moment a lot. It taught me a lot. We have to make our own fun, our own moments in life. We have to take the time to see the good stuff inside. There's always something we can appreciate and crabby people can help us appreciate the sweetness of life even more because we need to help them see it. Plus, you never know the impact any little thing can have on a person. I mean look at what snapping that picture some 27 years ago did for me.
I wonder where that picture is? I need to call his grandkids and keep in touch with them. I hope everyone's alright.
Anyway, he was one of those full of life people. He had such a zest for life it was contagious. He shared his laugh, smiles and verve with everyone around him especially his wife. She shall we say doesn't have the same zest for life that he did. She's not a warm and fuzzy one she has some rougher edges but you appreciate her too. She tends to complain a bit more than he did and she always has those little barbs that she tosses out all the time about everything that make you think she's not happy. But deep down I think she is, it's just her way. So, they were an interesting couple to watch in action; always counterbalancing each other. Almost as if she just couldn't handle his overbubbliness and had to be stick in the muddish. Like they were made for each other because he made her get out and go and enjoy and maybe her being they way she is made him all the bubblier. Who knows.
They lived in Tampa and I grew up in N. VA. I remember one fall when they were driving through to PA and stopped at out house for a couple of nights. They were probably in their mid 50s. Our house had 2 beautiful apple trees (one green and one red) on the side. The lawn was covered with apples and leaves of every color. It was really picturesque. He wanted a picture of them and the apple trees. Most people would just stand there, maybe put their arm around each other smile, say cheese and snap- there's your picture. Not good enough. Pretend we're picking apples! He yells out. She simply explains there are no apples they can reach, they are all rotting on the ground besides everyone will know that we didn't really pick them. As if he didn't hear her, like a little kid he exclaimed, We can reach these! as he picked one off the ground, dusted it off on the back of his pant leg, turned it so the bruised part wasn't showing, held it up to the branch as if it were hanging. With her hand in one hand and holding the apple in to the branch he yelled at me Take it Now! with the biggest smile you can imagine. After I took the picture he told us he picked the red apple because it was her favorite type. She said something about that it was old and dying. I remember him leaning over and giving her a peck on the cheek saying it was crabby just like her but he loved them both and he actually took a bite out of the 'clean' side of the apple! I screamed in shock that it was rotting and gross. He showed it to me and said it was fine. Things may look old and crabby on the outside but inside they are sweet and fine. I was dumbfounded as I followed them laughing inside.
I think of that moment a lot. It taught me a lot. We have to make our own fun, our own moments in life. We have to take the time to see the good stuff inside. There's always something we can appreciate and crabby people can help us appreciate the sweetness of life even more because we need to help them see it. Plus, you never know the impact any little thing can have on a person. I mean look at what snapping that picture some 27 years ago did for me.
I wonder where that picture is? I need to call his grandkids and keep in touch with them. I hope everyone's alright.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Rice Krispy Treats
15 doesn't eat well, or I should just say that he's a picky eater. The list of what he doesn't eat is longer than the one of what he does eat. I hope he falls in love with a girl who teaches him to eat but I digress.
One of his favorite snacks is Rice Krispy Treats. I have been making it a lot this summer. The recipe is on the side of the box but here it goes.
Melt 3 Tbsp of butter in a pot, melt 1 bag of marshmallows, remove from heat and add 6 cups of rice krispies. Mix thoroughly. Pour and press into a cake pan. Allow to cool and cut them up. Of course, we love to eat one warn and gooey. So, we don't wait for it to cool to dig in.
Obviously, you can make them as thick or thin as you want depending on the pan that you use.
Tip: I save the butter wrapper and use that to press the mixture into the pan. Since it's 'greased' the mix doesn't stick to it and keeps my fingers clean.
This one one of my mom's specialties, cooking was never her forte, so this one takes me back to happy memories.
One of his favorite snacks is Rice Krispy Treats. I have been making it a lot this summer. The recipe is on the side of the box but here it goes.
Melt 3 Tbsp of butter in a pot, melt 1 bag of marshmallows, remove from heat and add 6 cups of rice krispies. Mix thoroughly. Pour and press into a cake pan. Allow to cool and cut them up. Of course, we love to eat one warn and gooey. So, we don't wait for it to cool to dig in.
Obviously, you can make them as thick or thin as you want depending on the pan that you use.
Tip: I save the butter wrapper and use that to press the mixture into the pan. Since it's 'greased' the mix doesn't stick to it and keeps my fingers clean.
This one one of my mom's specialties, cooking was never her forte, so this one takes me back to happy memories.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Memorial Day
I know it's the day after but...
Did you think of all the fallen service men yesterday? Did you say a prayer of thanks? That is what Memorial Day is all about. On TV, I watched the changing of the guard at the tomb of the unknown soldier and talked about it with my boys. 18 saw it when he went to close-up and we all shared our thoughts. We also talked about the tour we took in Key West, we learned about it's connection to the various wars, it was a home to many a Navy, the base there, the statue of the sailor in the cemetery facing out to sea saluting all those who left and never returned. It was very interesting and fitting for Memorial Day weekend.
I again told the story of one of my best friends in high school who's brother was a marine who died in an embassy bombing in Beirut. It was the closest military death I have experienced. It was devastating to all of us at school. I pray for that family and many others.
Did you think of all the fallen service men yesterday? Did you say a prayer of thanks? That is what Memorial Day is all about. On TV, I watched the changing of the guard at the tomb of the unknown soldier and talked about it with my boys. 18 saw it when he went to close-up and we all shared our thoughts. We also talked about the tour we took in Key West, we learned about it's connection to the various wars, it was a home to many a Navy, the base there, the statue of the sailor in the cemetery facing out to sea saluting all those who left and never returned. It was very interesting and fitting for Memorial Day weekend.
I again told the story of one of my best friends in high school who's brother was a marine who died in an embassy bombing in Beirut. It was the closest military death I have experienced. It was devastating to all of us at school. I pray for that family and many others.
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