D-I-V-O-R-C-E

 I think it was Tammy Wynette or Dolly Parton who sang D-I-V-O-R-C-E, a sad song about spelling the word so her son couldn't understand what was happening to his parents.  Most people I know who've gone through separation and/or divorce had a really difficult time with it.  Maybe I'm odd, but I didn't.  If anything, when it was finally final, I was relieved.  Married at 17, I didn't understand what I was getting into, and I should have- considering my parents' tumultuous marriage.  Somehow, I thought I'd have a Walton-esque family, where everyone always loved each another no matter what and went to bed at night with "Goodnight John-Boy," on his/her lips.  

Over the years, I've learned that everything we do has a purpose, and I learned a lot from my early marriage.  I grew up in ways I might not have if not for Robert and our life together.  I wanted children more than anything, and together we had three without whom I can't imagine my life.  I also grew in ways I had no idea I would.  I started college, and my eyes opened to good literature and interesting philosophy.  I began, probably for the first time, to think for myself, and in that new world, I grew away from my husband.  He didn't like the change in me, and the fighting eventually became unbearable.  When I finally took the kids and left, there was nothing left for us.  

I never went to court.  Robert took care of all of it. I signed the papers, not caring about any of the financial stuff because I wanted out and that was all that mattered to me.  Child support for all three kids together was a whole $210.00 a month, and since I was still in college, I received another $340 from Dad's VA benefit.  I worked part time at a daycare center for minimum wage.  That's what we lived on, with occasional help from family.  Times were tough, that's for sure; but I look back on it, and it really didn't seem terrible.  We ate a lot of peanut butter and Hamburger Helper, but we were ok.  I had great friends, too, who were there for me and the kids.

Robert soon moved out of state with the Air Force and really wasn't in our lives much or often, which was fine with me.  In so many ways, I was lucky.  I didn't have to fight for custody-it was always understood that the kids would go with me.  Once it was done, it was done, and I really didn't have to deal with my ex but very rarely.  I know it's not like that for most people.  I do wish we were all better at realizing some relationships aren't meant to last and to be wise enough to understand that.  I've read about some couples who are able to divorce and stay friends-even vacationing together with their new spouses and combined families.  I wish we all did a better job of putting our kids first.  And I've always said I never want to be one of those bitter old couples who stay together for various reasons and end up hating each other.  I'd rather be alone than have that kind of life.  

I think I felt like a failure for some time since I believe I was the first divorce in the family.  My "black sheep" status felt firmly engraved on my heart, but just like I don't regret the marriage, I don't regret the divorce either.  We played an important part in each other's lives, but we didn't belong together "till death do us part."  I wonder how many people do in this day and age when we live two or three lifetimes compared to a couple hundred years ago.  One of my friends has always said marriage should come with an expiration date.  After 10 years or so, couples should be able to choose to renew-or not.  She may be onto something.  

First Love

Thinking about the topic of "first love" takes me back to the angst that is teen life.  I would never, never want to relive those days--I think I was in a constant state of anxiety for 5 or 6 years! Oh, the nervousness, the second-guessing, the swooning and pining, the wishing and wondering, the ups and the downs.  My first big crush was in Germany in 8th grade--a boy named Walter.  He was smart, gorgeous, funny, friendly and nice to those of us who were not quite in his circle of beautiful people.  He was so cool that even a name like Walter could not hold him back.  Walter might be a cool name now, I am not sure, but it was decidedly uncool in 8th grade in the late 60s.  He sat in front of me in one of my classes and turned around to say a few words to me most days, smiling that beautiful smile of his. I was gaga for him but my role in jr. high and much of high school was to be the friend, not the girlfriend. I was small and undeveloped, had weird wavy/curly dark hair when all the hip girls had beautiful, very straight blonde hair.  I never had any fashion sense and typically made the wrong decisions about everything to do with boys.  I can't tell you how many guys said "she's like a little sister to me."

I also had a penchant for choosing boys who were interested in my friends and not me.  This was the way to experience heartache up close. What's worse than not having the boy you love?  Having to watch him with your best friend.

If Walter ever suspected I had a crush on him, he didn't show it.  He dated my friend Lys for awhile, the girl with thick, straight blonde hair and boobs--she knew I liked him but she went out with him anyway. I thought there was some sort of girlfriend code that you wouldn't do that, but wow, if I'd been in her place, I don't think I would have turned him down either. I don't remember much about their time together except once we were all three walking somewhere in the cold and he let both of us put our hands in his coat pockets, one on each side.  That was the closest I ever got to Walter.  I remember having a sweaty hand.

On to New Jersey and 9th grade.  I will not count the paperboy who took me to one movie, held my hand, and never asked me out again. I have no idea what went wrong. It was too awkward to talk about it, even though I saw him regularly when he came to collect for the newspaper for awhile. Thankfully, he moved away within a few months so I didn't have to continue feeling weird.  I will not count the beautiful southern boy who lived across the parking lot from me.  In his dreamy drawl, he managed to work his way into a make-out session that led to no ongoing attachment, to my humiliation. I could not stand him for awhile but eventually I forgave him and we became good friends. I was always confused about rules and expectations and had no idea how to relate to a guy. What did they want, anyway?!  Well, I guess we know the main thing they wanted, but I was just a naive little girl looking for someone to love me in the most romantic sense of the word.

My first love, if you count having an actual relationship,  was John.  When I met him, he was dating one of my good friends. Ooops.  Although I harbored wishes that they would break up and he would be mine, I kept my distance and pined away.  He was smart and funny (I have a thing for smart and funny), cute and a little bit shy.  When he and my friend were still together, we all went on a Teen Club trip to NYC. As we crossed a busy street near Central Park in the rain, he reached out and took both our hands, one on each side.  I have to laugh about both of these memories, Walter and the coat pockets, John and the two person hand holding. The cynical me thinks they were eating it up--"Look at me, I have two girls who want me!"  What an ego boost!  Or maybe they were just nice guys. What do you think??

Eventually John and my friend split and I was next up.  I think by then we had admitted an interest in one another, though no one wanted to hurt anyone else. I think she was tired of him, too, and moving on.  Or at least that's what I wanted to believe.  All these years later, I cannot really remember how long we were together but it was probably only a few months.  I was crazy for this boy, but it was also very strange and awkward because I had no idea how to be a girlfriend or what to do in a relationship.  Nobody TALKED about anything.  We were just fumbling along without a clue.  We were young, no driver's licenses so we couldn't do much but walk all over the Air Force base and hang out with our friends.  I mostly remember passing notes in school, laughing at who-knows-what silly things in study hall, and walking around holding hands. Since both our names started with J, we had a running list of boys' and girls' "J" names we'd use when we grew up and got married one day. We went to baseball games, Teen Club dances and movies, but mostly just kinda wandered around. I am sure we must have talked about something besides the names of our imaginary children but that's about all I can recollect.  I was inexperienced and not ready for sex; he was not pushy and seemed accepting. We were only 15, for goodness sakes!   As with Kathi's first love, mine came to an abrupt end when a friend of a friend came to visit for the summer and they quickly became an item behind my back. I didn't have the agony of walking in on anything, but somehow found out that they were having sex on a daily basis after he took me home. I confronted him after tracking him down at the swimming pool and he admitted everything.  He "cared about both" of us but I think he "cared" about the sex more.  LOL   I sat on a deck chair at the pool and cried my eyes out in front of everyone there. I am sure it was quite a sight but I didn't care who saw me; now I would be mortified, but teenaged hormones can't be beat, can they?

I guess most first loves end badly or they would be permanent loves, right? :)   I was devastated and felt terrible for the longest time--you know, that aching in the chest and the constant replaying of every thought and every sentence, the second guessing about what you did and didn't do.   But one good thing about growing up in a military family is that eventually you leave or everyone else leaves so you don't have to have a daily reminder of things gone wrong.  He moved that same summer and one day I received a sincere letter of apology in the mail, which I appreciated. I've heard about him from a mutual friend off and on over the years. His kids don't have "J" names. 

At My House

To my Grandchildren 

At my house,

I want you to get messy,

to be messy, to mess up.

I want you to paint with 

your fingers and your toes,

and I won't even get mad

if you get paint on the table

or the walls.

I want you to play outside

in the mud and 

track it through my house,

so we can slip and slide
on giant soapsuds

as we clean it up.

I want you to splash in puddles,

to blow bubbles in your drink

and hang spoons on your nose

just because it's fun.

I want you to remember

that laughing is the

best feeling ever,

especially the laughter

that comes with love.

When I am an Old Lady!

When I am an old lady I will wear purple, a fancy hat & long johns I hope people will notice me and comment on my hat & not on my "mind." I will talk to anyone who cares to listen. I will tell them about all the men in my life and how they made me happy. I will tell them about my successful children & my grandchildren. When I am an old lady, I will eat all the chocolate I want. If I get fatter, who really cares? I will have secrets & only my grandchildren will hear them. I will listen to the dreams of the little ones who visit. So, a toast to all these ladies in their prime years! May you always enjoy your life. May you enjoy health, laughter & good cheer! May your family surround you with love And, best of all “happiness!”

First Love

Aw, that would be Bobby B.  I was 13 years old, and we lived at McGuire AFB in New Jersey.  I don't remember exactly how we met.  A group of us hung out together in the neighborhood, and Bobby lived across the street with his large family.  He was one of 8 kids, and I  prided myself on being able to name them all.  Let me see, Janie, Bobby, Edward, Danny, Sylvia, hmmmm, that's about as far as I can go.   Janie was his older sister, but they were in the same grade because she had been held back at some point, and she and I were friends first.  Bobby had jet black hair, deep brown eyes  and dark skin.  I thought he was really cute, but I never imagined he would become my boyfriend.  I don't think I was really even thinking about having a boyfriend yet.  Our group consisted of my best friend, Kathy, who lived next door, Janie, David, and a boy named Joey, who both lived across from us, Bobbie, who lived on the other side of us, and probably a few others I've forgotten.  We'd all go to the movies together or gather outside.  The first time we were actually alone was at the movie-Psycho of all things.  I think I had my eyes covered for most of it, and to this day, I'm nervous about showers if I'm alone in the house. I hated that show,  but at some point, Bobby put his arm around me and after the movie asked me to "go steady."  Maybe the fact that he asked me after Psycho should have been my clue as to how that relationship would end up!  No, he didn't try to murder me in the bathroom, and things were actually fun and sort of wonderful for awhile.  He gave me an ID bracelet with his name on it, which back then meant I "belonged" to him.  ICK!  I remember other girls coming up to me and saying, "You're going steady with Bobby B.?  Why would he pick you of all people?"  Seriously, that's what they said, and truthfully, I wondered the same thing because I didn't feel worthy of such a stud muffin.  Haha- just kidding- he was not a stud muffin-just cute.  He was very sweet, and we were inseparable for about 3 months. He even went canoeing with our family.  There's a picture somewhere around here…

Bobby was my first kiss, too-well other than Bruce Lesko in Germany, who I played Spin the Bottle with once, but that didn't really count.  Bobby walked me home one night and at the door, he put his arms around me, pushed my hair off my shoulders and leaned in for a nice tightly closed lip maneuver.  I thought I'd pass out right there, but I managed to gather myself together and go into the house.  Bobby, though, like most boys, wanted more after awhile, and I just wasn't ready to go anywhere else.  

One afternoon after school, I knocked on Kathy's door because we watched "Dark Shadows" together most days.  One of her brothers, answered, and told me Kathy was upstairs and I should go on up.  When I got there, what did I see but Kathy and Bobby making out on the floor!  My heart shattered, I turned and ran.  She was supposed to be my best friend, dammit!  The funny thing is none of us ever talked about it.  Kathy and I didn't speak at all for the rest of the time we lived there, and Bobby moved not too long after that.  I made new friends-real friends, can you say "loyal friends"?  You know friends who didn't go around stealing boyfriends and boyfriends who didn't go around stealing best friends.  Am I bitter?  Haha.

Years later, Jane ran into Bobby in San Marcos where we were both going to SWTSU, and he recognized her and asked about me.  I met him one day at the Whataburger where he was working.  He must have weighed over 200 pounds and was missing a front tooth.  I was 8 months pregnant with Kristinn, and he hinted that he was going to be divorced soon.  I wasn't about to be his wife's Kathy Maloney, so I said, "Buh bye," and never saw him again.  :)  

Taking ALL the Roads

I like to say I don't have regrets, but I imagine we all do, whether we admit them or not. I often find myself daydreaming, "what if I had taken that job at Hyperion Books?" Or "what if I had moved to Europe right after college?" like I wanted to. And I'm surprised when people describe me as successful because I didn't follow any kind of straight line to arrive at where I am now, and I don't describe this as "it." Successful to me would be writing a bestseller.

I went to college to be a journalist after all, and I wound up getting a degree in English because I enjoyed those classes more. I feel like so many of the turns my career and my life have taken have been a result of where my emotions lay at the time. For many years, I stayed with the man who'd become my first husband because I thought he'd make me a stronger, less emotional person. It has taken a long time for me to realize I should embrace who I am and dwell in her.

Part of my catharsis and ever-changing outlook on life involved getting a tattoo on my back a couple of years ago. I had wanted it for years but kept saying I'd get it when I lost that last 10 pounds. Then I realized at 35, I was not going to lose that last 10 pounds, and couldn't I just love who I was physically once and for all? Someone said, "YOU have trouble with self-esteem?" when I was explaining why I chose the artwork that I did. The shock in her voice made me laugh, and made me think, "Yikes, man. Do I come off as arrogant or something?" I overanalyze everything to death, but that's me. That's who I am. And I need to learn to love me more than I do.

I'm always changing. Always dreaming. Always thinking about the next road. And the next. I'd like to spend more time looking ahead and less time analyzing choices I've already made or other people's reactions, especially if they're negative. To Hell with all the negative energy, I say. I want only positive energy in my life. Life is too short not to take ALL the happy roads! :)

The Road Taken

When I was in my 30s, one of my friends commented that she thought I led a "charmed life."  This took me by surprise because, as with most people, I'd had my complaints, my moments of dissatisfaction, my private tragedies.  After all, my family didn't have a lot growing up, my dad died when I was not quite 19, I was a busy mom to three little ones less than four years apart while their father worked at a job that kept him on 24 hour call.  I didn't always love my job and the stresses of dealing with people's problems day in and day out.  I felt over-scheduled, frantic,  and not necessarily like I was doing my best as a human being in all of my many roles.

But then I got it.  I come from a long line of optimists and while we might have our moments of self pity, we don't dwell on them. We don't let them define who we are or live our whole lives based on something bad that happened, a decision we wished we hadn't made, a perceived slight. We look at a situation and figure out how to make the best of it, how to use it in a positive way, how to learn from it and keep going.  We laugh a lot and see the humor in just about any circumstance. We can be inappropriate, even.  :)

Now,  I will not say that I have always been good at this. Especially when I was younger, I had my regrets and my envies.  I remember one single friend who was well educated, a professional with lots of money, a traveler who would send me postcards from all over the planet. My ex would get annoyed and ask "Is she just rubbing it in?"   Part of me thought, "Maybe so!" but I tried to be charitable and think she was making an effort to stay in touch and maybe it was easier away from the job when she was relaxing at another fabulous locale.  :)  But I was envious.  How come she got to spend money any time she wanted and travel to exotic places when we could barely pay the bills?  Should we have made different decisions about our careers, where we lived, how we lived?  What path should we have taken that would have made life easier or more fulfilling?  It wasn't just about money, but about freedom to decide and freedom to live the life we wanted, and the life we wanted to give our kids,  instead of running on that treadmill day after day.  You may say that love is all you need, but there are lots of pressures out there in the real world, aren't there?

But, you know, I realized that she probably didn't care if I was envious. She didn't even know that I was envious. Her life was only making me feel "less than" because I let it. It was one of those little a-ha moments when I decided there was no point in having regrets or thinking about what might have been or wishing for something different. (And as a side note, I later found out that her life was not so grand after all...you could see that coming, couldn't you?)  

Somewhere along the path, most of us realize that everything that happens in our lives, whether we perceive it as good or bad,  creates the person we are working on becoming.  At this point, I am grateful for the learning in all of it and I can't say that I wish I had taken any different road.  Truth be told, I have been fortunate enough to have done everything important that I wanted to do: I got a good education, raised three wonderful daughters, engaged in meaningful work (paid and otherwise), I have great relationships with my husband, family and friends, I experience the pure joy in having grandchildren, get to travel and have new and interesting experiences all the time.  There are many more things I want to do, and I hope I still have plenty of time to do them, but I am not frantic about any of it any more.

I've been graced with wise friends. In my younger years, another told me that the secret to her happiness was a little philosophy called "bloom where you're planted."  Now this was news to me.  What?  You could look around and see all the things you thought were "wrong" and still choose to be happy and productive and involved?  Amazing.   That philosophy saved me, though, again, I am not always good at it.  But what a shift in thinking.  Life will never be perfect, you will  never have everything you once wanted or thought you wanted, there will be mistakes and heartaches and downright awful things that happen sometimes, but you can still choose how you react to it,  decide to live through it, make good decisions, and come out of it okay.  And then others might describe your life as "charmed."  And maybe you will, too.

Robert Frost and Me

I memorized "The Road not Taken" back in the 60s along with two of his other poems. This one always reminds me of a friend who went in the convent right out of high school back in 1949. She chose the “one less traveled by” and stayed there for twenty years. I always wanted to be a teacher and even had ideas of going into the convent myself. You have to realize that I attended twelve years of Catholic school and it was a wonder that more of us didn’t go this route. Of two hundred twenty graduates, only seven went into that profession. Three of us almost went into the Navy…we liked the uniforms. When the time came, we begged off. I always admired classmates who knew exactly what they wanted to do in life but I didn’t have a clue. My sister, Adeline was accepted at Trenton State Teacher’s College with a Physical Education career and that fit her like a T. I had dreams of college and after high school went to work to save for it but that didn’t happen. I used the extra money to buy clothes and meet friends, etc. I often thought if my choices were the right ones and know they were. I married at twenty-one and started a family at twenty-three. I have wonderful children who all seem happy in their careers. I am blessed with many beautiful grandchildren along with their children. There’s a song entitled “If I had my life to live over, I do the same things again.” “I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one “more” traveled by, And that has made all the difference.”

A Road not Taken

The Road not Taken

A veterinarian?  A movie star?  Those are two of the paths I thought I'd take when I was a kid.  Animals were my first loves, and there were times when I thought our family dog, Louie, and later, my dog, Pepper, were the only ones who understood me.  Throughout much of my childhood, I was fearful.  I was afraid of the dark, afraid of being alone, afraid of my teachers, afraid to answer the telephone, afraid of sleeping.  I'd lie in bed at night and hear every noise, every breath my sister took (we shared a bed for several of our growing up years).  I'd start to doze and jerk myself awake because I knew if I slept, I would never wake up.  

I remember getting out of bed in the middle of the night and finding Louie, sitting with him and pouring out my heart.  He'd lick my face and I'd pet him until I had the courage to go back to bed.  When Pepper came along, she was my dog, and she slept with me, so my late night ventures ended.  We had other pets along the road, too:  Nibbles, the rabbit, Tuffy, my hamster, a turtle, Friskie the cat-to name a few.  I saved birds who had fallen out of nests and brought home strays.  I never met an animal I didn't love, even going as far as taking bugs out of the house, so nobody would step on them.  Animals helped me get over my debilitating shyness, and by junior high school, I began to find my sense of humor and along with it, freedom from the mostly self imposed box I'd been in up until then.

Before freshman year in high school, I knew veterinary medicine would be my future, but in an instant of horror, my road took a sudden turn.  Standing at the bus stop, my hands in some guy's pocket (I was freezing, and he had one of those big  jackets cowboys often wear with fur in the pockets), a dog ran in front of a car and got hit right there in front of us.  I can still see it.  At night sometimes, I  hear his surprised yelp and then…nothing.  Just like that, he is gone.  I go back in time and relive it in my dreams.  Why hadn't I noticed him before he ran into traffic?  I was too busy flirting with cowboy coat man, I suppose. I cried until I had no more tears, and when I finally stopped, I had a light bulb moment.  I knew then I could not be a veterinarian.  I could not deal with the pain of losing animals over and over again.  Years later, I realize I could have also saved many lives, but at the time, it was more than I could bear, so I gave up my dream.

Around the time I began college, a new dream took root-I had gotten the acting bug.  On stage, I could be anyone.  I could give up that shy, awkward girl who was me and become someone BIG with a big bad mouth and bigger hair.  I could change my walk, the way I talked-I could even suddenly sing with gusto-probably completely out of tune, but I COULD!   Already pregnant with my first child though,  I quickly figured out that Hollywood wasn't likely to come knocking on my door.  So I did the next best thing.  I became a teacher.  And even better, I became a mother.

As a teacher, I was able to use the gifts that I was given.  My compassion and love for non-human animals transferred easily to the classroom. I had a special affinity for the shy and the misfits, the "bad boys," and "alternative" kids.   I got to use the theatrical side of me regularly.  Being a teacher, I think, also made me a better mother, and being a mother made me a better teacher.  Both personas got to learn from the other's mistakes (and I made plenty) and successes.  Most of all, when I look back over the years, my hope is that all of those amazing souls who passed through my classroom knew they were/are loved.

I don't regret any of it.  In the end, the path I took became the right one for me. As Robert Frost wrote all those years ago,   "Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back…"  

I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be: a mother, grandmother, teacher, and a sometimes actor/singer just for the heck of it. And  still, I have miles to go- but that's another poem and maybe another writing prompt on down the road!

Stitches in Our Thread

My "real" name is Elizabeth Anne but my mother calls me Betty Anne. I was named after my two grandmothers, Elizabeth Pratt (who we later found out was Sarah Elizabeth)and Anna Plageman. I am the second child (1931) of Adeline & William Pratt. My sister, Adeline was born in 1929. Jeannette, in 1934 & William Jr. 11 1/2 years later. Times were hard in the 1930s. Dad worked at the Wilson Line, a steamship company that took tourists up and down the Delaware River. He was a clerk & did office work. And yes, he could write shorthand! He rode the trolley car to Philadelphia. During this time, we rented a home on Pocahontas Avenue in Hi Nella. Dad was a great story-teller and as we laid in bed at night, he would regal us with stories of animals (who talked) & poor little girls called Alice & Agnes. It was a special time for us. My mother kept us all together. I often think she could have been the author of "30 ways to cook ground beef." She was a "plain" cook but we always had desserts. My dad had a sweet tooth & so did I. Being of German descent, mom was strict but loving. When I was seven, we moved to Madison Avenue in Laurel Springs. We rented a house from my mother's cousin whose last name was D'Ouville. Dad was laid off from his job & worked with the W.P.A. until he got a job at the Sun Shipyard in Delaware. Moving right along, we finally bought a house on Trenton Avenue. The house belonged to my maternal grandparents who decided to rent an apartment near their church. The cost of the house was $4000. My parents lived here for the rest of their lives. You spoke of the traits of your grandparents which you inherited. I didn't have that. My grandmother Plageman was friendly but never loving nor my grandfather. They greeted us but never stopped to chat. My grandmother Pratt was more of the same. My grandfather Pratt would hide in the attic or the basement & ignore us. Dad had a sister, Bertha who was the nicest of all except when she gave us Old Lady purses for Christmas every year. Of course, we told her that we loved them. :) I learned from my mother to be strong & a good mom to my family. She also gave us a love for reading. She was creative & loved playing games. My dad was the Best! He was fun, listened to us & I think I've gotten my sense of humor from him. Interesting that you mentioned how I helped you in some fashion because I always thought you two helped me grow up when dad died

DNA

When I think about my grandparents, I can't help but compare: Grandpop was the fun one (and warrants his own post one day); Grandmom was more serious, more tough, more by the book, showing her love in more subtle ways: the smell of dinner drifting from the kitchen, the overflowing plates on the table and her admonition to "have a little more so it doesn't go to waste," the always-full cookie jar on the kitchen counter. She showed us how to take care of her African violets, rows and rows of plants lined up on glass shelves in the windows; we helped her hang laundry on the clothesline in the back yard, dumped seeds in the bird feeder, picked tomatoes from the garden. I don't think Grandmom would have ever called herself a feminist but she worked for Bell Telephone as a young woman and again when her eldest went off to college. This made an impression on me -- wow, women can have a career!

I was a little scared of Grandmom when she issued her orders: "Make your bed!" "Clean up your mess!" "Put those suitcases away!" She wasn't all business, though, and I remember her singing, playing the piano, acting out old-timey skits with her family members, and telling funny stories till she couldn't talk because she was laughing so hard. From Grandmom I learned that that nurturing is important whether it's people or plants or taking care of your home, that women can be strong and independent and yes, "in charge," that even if you are strong and responsible, there's time for fun, and that family is the center of our relationships.

As a young Air Force wife, my mom left her familiar little town in New Jersey and sailed to France to join my dad. By all accounts, she loved her time overseas and this set the tone for our many travels as a military family. On any assignment, there were some who complained about everything that was unfamiliar, but not my mom. By her example, I learned to be open minded, curious, interested in cultures other than my own, and to embrace new experiences. Mom also passed on her great love of reading to all of us kids, reading to us when we were very small and later encouraging us to enjoy reading on our own. We memorized poems and recited them to her, we wrote our own poems and stories, and we made a weekly trek to the library after church every Sunday. I can still picture myself with a huge stack of books in my arms; libraries and bookstores still give me a little thrill.

Widowed while barely in her 40's, Mom raised my two brothers on her own, went back to college for a Bachelor's degree and then a Master's, worked into her 70's and continues, at 82, to stay very busy with family, friends, travel and fun. She'll strike up a conversation with anyone, which makes me smile and think about all the times my kids would try to hurry me along when I talked too long with someone I'd just met or happened to run across while out and about. And, like Grandmom, Mom loves a good laugh, one that is so hearty that she can't talk and almost can't breathe.

My younger sister, bless her heart, often took the brunt of her bossy big sister's misadventures and shenanigans. While I was rebellious and a "handful," she was quiet, shy and obedient (or at least outwardly so!) As adults, though, we have forged a close sister/friend relationship and I have seen her become a strong advocate for the underdog, humans and animals alike. A recently retired school teacher, she was a tireless supporter of the strugglers, the troubled, the misunderstood. The mom of 6, she seems a paragon of patience and understanding, echoing our mother's words, "if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all." (On the other hand, I am not so sweet and never liked that directive very much). My sister sings, acts, writes, edits, takes up causes, and pursues her dreams with gusto. From her I've learned that it's never too late to develop a new skill, to take a chance, to branch out and do something you've always wanted to do. And that a funny story and a belly laugh are the best part of any time we have together.

Although Mom once noted that she and my dad were fearful that I would not "make it" to adulthood, I managed to grow up and become the mother of three lovely daughters myself. As a mom who worked outside the home, I learned to practice patience and choosing my battles--how much of this would really matter in the end? My daughters helped me see my inconsistencies and biases and helped me figure out where I stood, what was important and what was not. From my girls, I also learned to see the joy in simple pleasures, in time spent together, in turning difficulties into "just another little adventure," and the importance of letting them be themselves. I have a heart full of pride at the compassionate and loving women they've become--now all moms, too, who tell their own kids it's just another little adventure and love a huge laugh just like the rest of us.

Jokin’ About Bellies and Butts

Some of the women in our family thought it would be great fun to start an online blog where we can write and learn from each other. We threw out a theme for the first round -- what we've learned from the women in our family, but our intention is to have lots of different themes and to invite family and friends to join us, so we can all laugh and learn together.

Here's my first silly entry!

When the women in my family get together, watch out! Some serious giggling and cackling ensues. There’s always the threat of peeing in your pants because you’ll laugh too hard. The laughter is uproarious and ebbs and flows in waves of beautiful harmony– in tones that begin to sound alike. A sense of humor conquers all.

Mom taught me there is no such thing as boredom. “Boredom is a state of mind,” I hear her saying through my voice to my own children now. “If you’re bored, it’s because you choose to be bored.” If we had a headache, we could go lay down. You can do anything you set your mind to, and you’ll feel better if you do it with a smile. Smile at everyone; you just never know whose day you might brighten. Keep an open mind and don’t judge others; you don’t know what it’s like to walk in their shoes.

Granny taught me you don’t need a man. You just need a good book. Haha! Seriously though, all of the women in my family are wildly independent and seriously creative spirits. From reading to writing to acting and photography, they’ve done it all and they continue to do it with pizzazz and flair.

Aunt Jane taught me to make time for the things you want to do, and all three women have taught me that being a domestic goddess is highly overrated. It’s much more important to use your time to make yourself happy (and your family and everyone else happy) by choosing to do the things you find fulfilling, such as travelling and writing.

Perhaps most poignant for me is the lesson that true inner beauty – kindness, love, and mitzvah – shines through and is what makes a woman truly beautiful. The women in my family may joke about our bellies or our butts, but I’d venture a safe bet we all feel super confident and sexy, no matter what the scale happens to say. And I have learned that when you’re silly happy doing the things you love and you love yourself, others flock to you and love you too. And isn’t that what life’s all about? Learn and love as much as you can and enjoy the journey along the way.

The women in my family are well loved and with good reason. They are strong, intelligent, pee-in-your-pants funny, kind, thoughtful, talented, beautiful women with hearts so big and laughs so infectious, you’ll want to spend hours on end with them the same way I do. I hope they each live to be 120 years old, but if they don’t, I’m so grateful to Aunt Jane for giving me this opportunity to tell them how much I love them and appreciate them for what they have taught me. I could go on and on about all of the women in my family (particularly my sisters, sister-in-law, aunts and my cousins), but since it's a short blog, I thought I'd limit it to the 3 crazy awesome women who decided to start this blog. ;) Love y'all!

We are Woman

My grandmother, Adeline Pratt,  wore the pants in the family. When we visited as children, she reminded us to put our clothes away and our suitcases under the bed.  She could have easily been one of the military's top white glove inspectors. She also led by example.  Her house shone, but more importantly, so did her personality.  Grandmom was a doer. If she wasn't reading, she was knitting, taking care of plants, weeding the garden, playing games with us, telling stories, playing the piano, or-of course-cleaning. I don't think she knew how to stay still even into her 90's. She never missed Mass, but neither did she preach at us. She lived as a role model. And oh, how we would all laugh when we got together!  Grandmom would laugh so hard, she'd say, "Oh no, I'm going to wet my pants!"  We laughed until we cried, and we continue that "tradition" today, whenever two or more of us are together. Though my house will never look like hers--I somehow did NOT inherit the "tidy" gene--I did learn many lessons from Grandmom: integrity, tenacity, and the idea that laughter always makes everything better.

Elizabeth Rice, my mom, taught me to be colorblind. Even though when she was growing up, she wasn't allowed to date Italian boys (oh, my!), we were raised to believe we were all the same "on the inside," and that's what counted. Mom was our Girl Scout leader, and I remember very clearly her saying things like, "Go over there and invite the little girl with the pink ribbon to join your group." It wasn't, "Go invite the Hispanic girl or the  Black girl or the handicapped girl." Lifelong friendships were formed in that Girl Scout Troop. Mom also taught me that it's never too late to do something new. After our father died at 42, Mom went back to school, earning both her Bachelor's and Master's Degrees in Social Work. She took her can-do spirit and created a program for widows and widowers, a program that continues today, long after she retired. At 82 years young, she's still going strong.

My sister, Jane Bye,  taught me about independence and standing up for that which I believe. Sometimes I was afraid for her when she stood up to our iron fisted father, but I also admired that she would. She worked on George McGovern's campaign when she was in high school, and would come home excitedly talking about our next president. I remember how sad she was when he didn't win, but that began her lifelong involvement in politics and particularly in the Peace and Justice movement.

My daughters and daughter-in-law, Kristinn, Jordan, Alana, Rachel, and Vicki, have also taught me so much. They work hard and play hard. They are amazing mothers and aunts, who join me in loving all of my grandchildren fiercely. They've taught me that women can be anything they want to be, that age is irrelevant especially when it comes to clothes (for example, I shouldn't dress like an "old lady"), that I don't have to live in the shadow of any man, that joy surrounds me and should be embraced. So, I do. I embrace each day, encompassed by the love, joy and laughter that the women in my family bring. And boy, do they bring it!