My second child came over to see me the other day. Whenever my sons call it causes me great joy. When they call in order to set a time to come visit, the joy is increased one million fold. There is usually some reason my boys want to make the short trip home. Maybe they need to retrieve some old router or motor or other obscure piece of technology. Possibly the boys want a decent home cooked meal or a slice of some comforting baked good. Or, by chance, these sons of mine might be desirous of a haircut.
Haircuts in the kitchen or on the back patio have been a long-standing tradition in the Stephas household. Being a frugal mom, and stubborn and vain, I never saw a reason to take my kids to the run of the mill hair places to get the standard issue coif of the time. I believed I could give a basic cut as well as anyone getting paid the measly rate of twelve dollars per. Arrogant, I know!
I have cut many people’s hair. This fall I gave lovely cuts to two of my students who did not have the time or wherewithal to have it done by a professional. I have cut the hair of my son’s friends and the hair of my sons. I have cut my husband’s hair for years and have even cut my own hair in times of desperation. In my own addled mind I believe that qualifies me to create some pretty serious stylin’ dos.
I am going on record right now saying that I like men to have short, short hair. If, by chance, a man wears his hair long it is because he has absolutely fabulous, think, shining locks. That is it. We all have our preferences; the short, short do is mine. So, you can imagine that, over the years, my boys and I have had our disagreements about the do of the day. Both of my sons have a tendency to wear their hair longer than I would like, one son, much longer than I would like. So the call for the haircut visit is a joy seriously-multiplied type of call.
It was Kevin who called for the haircut visit this time. He worked the cut in with a real aplomb. He took me over to Cosi´ for a nice quiet lunch. He shared some authentic conversation with me. He even stayed to chat after the cut was done. It was rather wonderful sitting in the kitchen gabbing away as his hair dropped all over the chair and the floor and me.
There was a moment during this cut when I was stricken with an overwhelming sense of love. It was painful. It was a love so deep it hurt. It was a love that was made up of countless haircuts from countless months of the past. It was a love that brought up every haircut argument and every haircut request of the twenty two years of Kevin’s life. It was a love that made me feel as if I were cutting the downy soft hair of my two-year old little Kevbo. It was palpable. As I touched his hair I could feel it in my veins. I was transported. I wanted to grab my baby son and hold him and never let him go. But…I didn’t. I soaked the moment in and said not a word. I held back my tears and continued with my task.
The simple haircut did not take much time. I trimmed up the sides and clippered around the ears. Kevin checked it in the mirror. He thought it looked fine. We cleaned up the kitchen, continued our conversation for a few minutes, and then it was time for him to go. I was stalwart and stoic. I did not so much as mention my feelings of love. I hugged him goodbye and let him walk away. He felt it though. I know he did. It is just too scary to discuss. So, we let it go.
I will never forget that moment. Even in the midst of my medically induced stupor of late, I will remember it. It is tattooed on my heart and written on my soul. What a gift! Thankfully, hair grows. I can’t wait for next month. And now I know why I like the boys’ hair so short! Ah, it’s just a haircut.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Write On!
I have been doing a lot of work on the computer lately. I have spent hours putting together lesson plans, worksheets, blog posts, diaries, etc. To say that I have been writing any of these documents would feel strange as I have not touched a pen or pencil to paper. So, I have this collection of “documents” that I have never held or touched.
I am working on my lap top each day because I seem to be melded into the cozy corner of my couch. This computer doesn’t have a printer attached to it. Therefore, the collection of files that have not yet become hard copies grows by the hour. I am sending each of these to my email and Google docs because I sit in grave fear of losing all of this diligent work to what I imagine is the computer land abyss.
Even though I have taken extra precautions, I feel panicked over the fact that I could open my computer at any time and find my precious creations missing. This is the trial of the OCD person. I guarantee that I have hit the save function twenty times for each document. After I close one, I immediately open it back up to see if it is still there. The stress this causes me is not pleasant.
I miss the days of filling notebook after notebook with written work. I love the feel paper pages have after they have been written on, the way the lines take on the indentation of the words and thoughts. I find so enjoyable the way the notebook grows in depth after it has been well used. The evidence of work is so clear and so real. Even the task of sharpening the pencil as it wears gives witness to the work being achieved.
I am not sure what the world will come to with the loss of good old fashioned writing. I do know that I never doodle when composing on the computer. There is not one swirly flower in the margin. I haven’t retraced my name or circled a single thing in all of my recent pages. That cannot be good for me. What is the chance my mind will have an opportunity to wander if I must remained focus on the need to save every other second? I feel my creativity being stifled with just the thought of it!
It might be a good idea to do a little writing today. Compose a love letter, a chore list, or a workout routine. Write a card of thanks or a little note, just because. Draw a little doodle; give your mind a moment to wander. Day dream and then pen an ode of joy. Give it a try...write on! Annie
I am working on my lap top each day because I seem to be melded into the cozy corner of my couch. This computer doesn’t have a printer attached to it. Therefore, the collection of files that have not yet become hard copies grows by the hour. I am sending each of these to my email and Google docs because I sit in grave fear of losing all of this diligent work to what I imagine is the computer land abyss.
Even though I have taken extra precautions, I feel panicked over the fact that I could open my computer at any time and find my precious creations missing. This is the trial of the OCD person. I guarantee that I have hit the save function twenty times for each document. After I close one, I immediately open it back up to see if it is still there. The stress this causes me is not pleasant.
I miss the days of filling notebook after notebook with written work. I love the feel paper pages have after they have been written on, the way the lines take on the indentation of the words and thoughts. I find so enjoyable the way the notebook grows in depth after it has been well used. The evidence of work is so clear and so real. Even the task of sharpening the pencil as it wears gives witness to the work being achieved.
I am not sure what the world will come to with the loss of good old fashioned writing. I do know that I never doodle when composing on the computer. There is not one swirly flower in the margin. I haven’t retraced my name or circled a single thing in all of my recent pages. That cannot be good for me. What is the chance my mind will have an opportunity to wander if I must remained focus on the need to save every other second? I feel my creativity being stifled with just the thought of it!
It might be a good idea to do a little writing today. Compose a love letter, a chore list, or a workout routine. Write a card of thanks or a little note, just because. Draw a little doodle; give your mind a moment to wander. Day dream and then pen an ode of joy. Give it a try...write on! Annie
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
You Get What You Wish For
As I have a lovely case of shingles, I have rarely been out of the house lately. However, on the occasion of my baby’s 18th birthday, I stepped out to dinner with my wonderful family at a nice quaint Italian restaurant. I was nervous before dinner because I have been having a little more than normal anxiety due to some medicine I now take. I was so pleasantly surprised with how it all went. My family and some close friends gathered together around a long thin table. We shared some delicious meals. We drank some delightful wines. We laughed and reminisced and planned for the future. We shared heartfelt wishes and gestures of true affection. Some of us shed tears. Okay, just me, but there were tears. In total, it was a perfect night. After reviewing the evening and my circumstance of late, I have decided that I just may be the luckiest person alive.
The dinner for my daughter Bridget last Saturday night, in my estimation, was an encapsulation of all that is my life over the last four years. It has been about my children becoming adults and growing into the men and women they are going to be. It has been about family bonds strengthening and friendships blooming. It has been about goals being met and a few risks being taken. It has been about accomplishment and elation mixed with just a little bit of sadness and defeat. Suffice it to say, these last four years have been about a whole lot of life happening around and to me.
I wish you could have looked around that table with me last Saturday night. I wish you could have resided in my heart for just a minute to feel the truest and deepest of loves. I wish you could have touched and toasted and tuned into the complete satisfaction I felt that night. It was a feeling of joy. There is no other way to describe it. I felt whole, simply complete.
I have had my dreams come true. How many people can actually say that at my age or any age? I have a loving marriage. I have three incredible children who are genuinely good smart people. I have supportive friends. I have a job that keeps me thinking and active. I have a warm home and a bit of health. I am privileged enough to enjoy great food and fine wine. I have the ability to pay for luxuries like manicures and pedicures. I spend weeks at the beach each year soaking in the sun. What’s more, I can see how exquisite my life is. I realize how superb my life is right now, in the moment. I saw it all before my eyes on Saturday night! I am so lucky.
My children will say that of late I cry a lot. They are correct. The tears, though, are not of sadness. They are tears that spill out because I cannot contain within me all of the love that has been granted to and experienced by me over these last forty-nine years. I hold inside such big, huge feelings. It looks like those feelings are coming out in tears. I don’t think that’s a bad thing. Although it does not do wonders for my looks, it does wonders for my heart. On their way out, the tears remind me of the love they represent. It is true, love hurts. But that’s okay. I am so lucky to have loved enough to have the chance to feel that profoundly. So, I guess it’s true what they say. You do get what you’ve wished for. I wished for love!
The dinner for my daughter Bridget last Saturday night, in my estimation, was an encapsulation of all that is my life over the last four years. It has been about my children becoming adults and growing into the men and women they are going to be. It has been about family bonds strengthening and friendships blooming. It has been about goals being met and a few risks being taken. It has been about accomplishment and elation mixed with just a little bit of sadness and defeat. Suffice it to say, these last four years have been about a whole lot of life happening around and to me.
I wish you could have looked around that table with me last Saturday night. I wish you could have resided in my heart for just a minute to feel the truest and deepest of loves. I wish you could have touched and toasted and tuned into the complete satisfaction I felt that night. It was a feeling of joy. There is no other way to describe it. I felt whole, simply complete.
I have had my dreams come true. How many people can actually say that at my age or any age? I have a loving marriage. I have three incredible children who are genuinely good smart people. I have supportive friends. I have a job that keeps me thinking and active. I have a warm home and a bit of health. I am privileged enough to enjoy great food and fine wine. I have the ability to pay for luxuries like manicures and pedicures. I spend weeks at the beach each year soaking in the sun. What’s more, I can see how exquisite my life is. I realize how superb my life is right now, in the moment. I saw it all before my eyes on Saturday night! I am so lucky.
My children will say that of late I cry a lot. They are correct. The tears, though, are not of sadness. They are tears that spill out because I cannot contain within me all of the love that has been granted to and experienced by me over these last forty-nine years. I hold inside such big, huge feelings. It looks like those feelings are coming out in tears. I don’t think that’s a bad thing. Although it does not do wonders for my looks, it does wonders for my heart. On their way out, the tears remind me of the love they represent. It is true, love hurts. But that’s okay. I am so lucky to have loved enough to have the chance to feel that profoundly. So, I guess it’s true what they say. You do get what you’ve wished for. I wished for love!
Friday, March 9, 2012
Mind Games
I have decided today what I will do in order to keep my mind nimble in the wrinkle-multiplying years to come. I have read and seen many techniques touted for brain health from swinging my arms while walking to doing crossword puzzles and brain teasers every day. I am going to forget all of those things I have seen before. Some take time and others take money and they all add just one more thing to that list of crud I must do just to feel like a worthwhile human being each day. No more jumbles for me! No more cross-body exercise routines! I am heading off to the grocery store. That is where I will be found when I am completing my mental acuity exercises.
What brought me to this epiphany, you ask? A quick sortie to the local market was the impetus. My husband escorted me to Target the other evening. We had a short list to complete and a limited amount of time. The last of the items on the list was toilet paper. No problem, I thought. We'll just grab it and be done in no time. I was sorely mistaken in my thinking. My husband and I spent no less than fifteen minutes trying to figure out which blessed toilet paper to buy. We must have looked like absolute idiots, each of us presenting our well-crafted sides of the toilet paper debate. I am still not sure exactly what kind of toilet paper we now own. It was all too stressful and I may have a bit of P.T.S.D. There are simply way too many kinds of toilet paper in the aisle.
There are also far too many types of toothpaste, deodorant, shampoo, sugar, tissues, pasta, cheese, etc. Remember when you could go into the grocery and the only difficult choice you had was Colgate or Crest? Really discerning people may have had the Hunts vs. Heinz decision facing them. I don't know if others may have lingered in the canned fruit aisle on occasion considering a switch to Mott's from Musselman's. None the less, the choice of one out of two is something I can generally handle on a trip to the Kroger store. Figuring out if I need plaque control or breath freshener mixed with whitener in my toothpaste is too much to cope with at 5:30 p.m. after a long day of teaching. All I want to know is where I can find the Prell.
Instead of heading down the path of rampant frustration and defeat, I have decided to use the marketers' obnoxious strategies to my own advantage. I will actually try to examine and determine what products are the ones I actually want to use in my home and on my face. I will study the labels and attempt to discern what I am buying before I head to the register to shell out inordinate amounts of cash for something I am going to put down a toilet. At his point I am not sure if the cream I am using for my eyes is really for my calluses. This plan will not only test my brain, it will test my patience. Both are things that need to be increased during these trying days of on-coming old age.
If you are getting up there in years and desirous of a youthful brain, join me. We can start a club. I will make t-shirts--I'll have my daughter design them-- and we'll wear them when we shop. When we see each other floundering in the aisles, we will reach out to one another. These chance meetings could lead to nice chats over coffee. Those little chats may lead to new friendships or or even, for those single folks, love interests. Chatting and love, I am told, are also good for keeping our brains young. So, there we have it. A simple trip to the store is the answer for us all. See you at Walgreen's.
What brought me to this epiphany, you ask? A quick sortie to the local market was the impetus. My husband escorted me to Target the other evening. We had a short list to complete and a limited amount of time. The last of the items on the list was toilet paper. No problem, I thought. We'll just grab it and be done in no time. I was sorely mistaken in my thinking. My husband and I spent no less than fifteen minutes trying to figure out which blessed toilet paper to buy. We must have looked like absolute idiots, each of us presenting our well-crafted sides of the toilet paper debate. I am still not sure exactly what kind of toilet paper we now own. It was all too stressful and I may have a bit of P.T.S.D. There are simply way too many kinds of toilet paper in the aisle.
There are also far too many types of toothpaste, deodorant, shampoo, sugar, tissues, pasta, cheese, etc. Remember when you could go into the grocery and the only difficult choice you had was Colgate or Crest? Really discerning people may have had the Hunts vs. Heinz decision facing them. I don't know if others may have lingered in the canned fruit aisle on occasion considering a switch to Mott's from Musselman's. None the less, the choice of one out of two is something I can generally handle on a trip to the Kroger store. Figuring out if I need plaque control or breath freshener mixed with whitener in my toothpaste is too much to cope with at 5:30 p.m. after a long day of teaching. All I want to know is where I can find the Prell.
Instead of heading down the path of rampant frustration and defeat, I have decided to use the marketers' obnoxious strategies to my own advantage. I will actually try to examine and determine what products are the ones I actually want to use in my home and on my face. I will study the labels and attempt to discern what I am buying before I head to the register to shell out inordinate amounts of cash for something I am going to put down a toilet. At his point I am not sure if the cream I am using for my eyes is really for my calluses. This plan will not only test my brain, it will test my patience. Both are things that need to be increased during these trying days of on-coming old age.
If you are getting up there in years and desirous of a youthful brain, join me. We can start a club. I will make t-shirts--I'll have my daughter design them-- and we'll wear them when we shop. When we see each other floundering in the aisles, we will reach out to one another. These chance meetings could lead to nice chats over coffee. Those little chats may lead to new friendships or or even, for those single folks, love interests. Chatting and love, I am told, are also good for keeping our brains young. So, there we have it. A simple trip to the store is the answer for us all. See you at Walgreen's.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
What's in a name?
I just hung up the phone with the florist. When I was placing my order she asked me my name. I proceeded to tell her it was Patti Stephas. The florist asked me how I spell that. I said s-t-e-p-h-a-s. She said, "No, how do you spell Patti? I or Y?"
I started to laugh. No offense, but why would I care if the order slip had my name spelled with an i or a y. This is not a court document. It does not matter. Patti is not my legal name anyway. However, person after person will ask me how to spell Patti. It amuses me. And, it reminds me each time of how much I have always hated my name. I do not feel like a Patti.
I am certain that many people share my distaste for their names. I hear people say occasionally that they don't enjoy being called by their full name or this nickname or that. Well, I don't like being called Patti. I really don't like being called Pat. And, I also do not maintain any fondness for the name Patricia. I want to go by my middle name: Annie.
I have already decided that if I move to a different city or even a different job that I am going to begin introducing myself as Annie. Changing what people call me will be simple. I have an agreement with my husband to join me in my madness. He will call me nothing but Annie from the minute we step foot into our new home. When people from my former life call me by Patti, I will tell my new friends that only people from my childhood call me by that name. There, done.
For now, I will just imagine how great the future me will be. I suppose I could encounter the problem of people asking me about my new name, whether I spell it with a y or i or ie. I don't care. It will be worth it. I will be new and feel new and probably leap tall buildings in a single bound with my new name. So, in this blog, I will be Annie. It will be good practice. I will let it settle in and see how it feels. Annie. I like it. Welcome.
I started to laugh. No offense, but why would I care if the order slip had my name spelled with an i or a y. This is not a court document. It does not matter. Patti is not my legal name anyway. However, person after person will ask me how to spell Patti. It amuses me. And, it reminds me each time of how much I have always hated my name. I do not feel like a Patti.
I am certain that many people share my distaste for their names. I hear people say occasionally that they don't enjoy being called by their full name or this nickname or that. Well, I don't like being called Patti. I really don't like being called Pat. And, I also do not maintain any fondness for the name Patricia. I want to go by my middle name: Annie.
I have already decided that if I move to a different city or even a different job that I am going to begin introducing myself as Annie. Changing what people call me will be simple. I have an agreement with my husband to join me in my madness. He will call me nothing but Annie from the minute we step foot into our new home. When people from my former life call me by Patti, I will tell my new friends that only people from my childhood call me by that name. There, done.
For now, I will just imagine how great the future me will be. I suppose I could encounter the problem of people asking me about my new name, whether I spell it with a y or i or ie. I don't care. It will be worth it. I will be new and feel new and probably leap tall buildings in a single bound with my new name. So, in this blog, I will be Annie. It will be good practice. I will let it settle in and see how it feels. Annie. I like it. Welcome.
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