I know I said these blogs would be random...but can one consider two months since the last one random? I guess when you are about to turn 50 in 4 days you can take as much time as you want. It's been busy the past few months with my son, Griffin, graduating from high school. Our schedules were extremely hectic. Add to that moving our daughter back to school where she plans on living for the summer in her first "place of her own"...if living with five other girls is "a place of your own". I guess my husband and I are now considered empty nesters...technically that will be August, but he's never home anyways!
The countdown is on and I it's starting to hit me that I will be 50 years old in a mere 4 days. I guess I'm suffering a "mid-life" crisis with all the changes, so my husband has agreed to purchase a second home at the beach to make the transition easier. I am looking forward to finally having a place of our own to get away to. I am however NOT having fun negotiating with the bank on a place that we found. I guess I was confused going into this process. I thought that it was a buyer's market. Apparently the realtor on the selling end hasn't read the news. The property we found is a Bank Owned townhouse. A lovely second home just a three minute walk to the white sands of Santa Rosa Beach. It's never been lived in and has been on the market for a year. You'd think the bank would want it "off their books". Wrong again. When originally listed you could have actually purchased the entire complex, so the bank had quite a few to sell. Slowly but surely they have been selling them one by one.
I've come to the conclusion that most bankers at one point in time were or wanted to be professional poker players. They "lay their cards on the table" and then it's your move. They're waiting to see if your bluffing and what card you're going to play next. Are we "all in" or are we going to "fold". Only time will tell. The way I see it. I'm holding a better hand right now. I don't "have to" purchase a vacation home. I already have a lovely home. The second home is just the icing on the cake. They have a home that's been vacant for a year. Bringing in no income. Hmmmmm. I think for now I'm going to hold and call their bluff. I'll keep you posted on the outcome.
Another random blog from an "almost" 50 year old.
Vicki
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Memories of Grandma
As I continue this blogging thing, I can't help but be reminded of my grandmother. My grandmother journaled. If she were alive today, I'm pretty sure she'd be a blogger. The big difference between her journals and blogging would be the privacy thing. My blogs are out there for everyone to read. Hers were private. I knew she journaled but never read one of hers until well after she had passed. Most of journals were gone. She'd burned them shortly after the death of her husband. I learned that from one of the two journals that remained in my mother's possession. A few years ago, my mother shared one with me. I immediately took it to the quick print shop and made a copy. Many times since copying it, I've sat down and read passages. Fascinating the things I learned and never knew about her. She didn't need a fancy journal. She wrote on standard ruled paper and saved them in three ring binders. Her hand writing never changed. She would write about just about anything. She wrote passages from books she'd read, quotes from magazines, recipes she came across, stories about her family, words she had learned, jokes she'd heard. Her writing was, yes, very random and sometimes awkward.
More than a few times, I've been compared to my grandmother. A compliment, I guess. Gizzella Ethel, that was actually her name, was a bit, as one might say, eccentric. Thank goodness my mother didn't decide to name me after her. Had I been, I'm pretty certain it wouldn't have been shortened to Elle whereby I could have gone on to New York and become a super model. The "smart one" assuredly would have called me Gizzy and lord knows where I'd be! Back to dear old granny, let's just say Gizzella "marched to the beat of her own drum." She grew poison ivy because she "liked the way it looked." Rescued wild animals, including a rabid raccoon. Lacked in the domestic department, often having one of her granddaughters clean her whole house for $5...I later learned the "smart one" got $10 and the "pretty one" got paid but didn't clean. She was artistic and loved to draw horses, probably because she spent so much time at the track betting on them. Not that any of here grandchildren minded because we all tagged along at one time or another. She was colorful. Her kitchen was papered in bright yellow and neon orange floral wallpaper. In fact, I think she had an outfit that matched. She could walk to the field in her backyard and gather what were mostly weeds and transform them into a beautiful bouquet. Her epileptic dog, Pepé, was a constant companion. She admitted wanting to try smoking pot (pretty sure she probably did). She cared about people, but didn't care what people thought. Writing about her makes me realize maybe people were right. The apple hasn't fallen far from the tree, even if there is a generation in between.
"Think of your journal as a psychoanalyst's couch, a confession. Lie down and talk, talk, talk, talk. Ramble on about irrelevances or else list in order your sins. Repeat over and over as you peel away each layer of onion skin to the core. Explore your depths, dreams, fantasies, truths." —written in Gizzella's journal, author unknown.
Random thoughts from a 50 year old.
Vicki
More than a few times, I've been compared to my grandmother. A compliment, I guess. Gizzella Ethel, that was actually her name, was a bit, as one might say, eccentric. Thank goodness my mother didn't decide to name me after her. Had I been, I'm pretty certain it wouldn't have been shortened to Elle whereby I could have gone on to New York and become a super model. The "smart one" assuredly would have called me Gizzy and lord knows where I'd be! Back to dear old granny, let's just say Gizzella "marched to the beat of her own drum." She grew poison ivy because she "liked the way it looked." Rescued wild animals, including a rabid raccoon. Lacked in the domestic department, often having one of her granddaughters clean her whole house for $5...I later learned the "smart one" got $10 and the "pretty one" got paid but didn't clean. She was artistic and loved to draw horses, probably because she spent so much time at the track betting on them. Not that any of here grandchildren minded because we all tagged along at one time or another. She was colorful. Her kitchen was papered in bright yellow and neon orange floral wallpaper. In fact, I think she had an outfit that matched. She could walk to the field in her backyard and gather what were mostly weeds and transform them into a beautiful bouquet. Her epileptic dog, Pepé, was a constant companion. She admitted wanting to try smoking pot (pretty sure she probably did). She cared about people, but didn't care what people thought. Writing about her makes me realize maybe people were right. The apple hasn't fallen far from the tree, even if there is a generation in between.
"Think of your journal as a psychoanalyst's couch, a confession. Lie down and talk, talk, talk, talk. Ramble on about irrelevances or else list in order your sins. Repeat over and over as you peel away each layer of onion skin to the core. Explore your depths, dreams, fantasies, truths." —written in Gizzella's journal, author unknown.
Random thoughts from a 50 year old.
Vicki
Monday, April 2, 2012
Equal and Fair
I recently attended a parent planning meeting for Senior Night at our high school. The evening is held on the last day of school for the graduates. A slide show is shown, senior superlatives are announced, and door prizes are awarded. Our meeting was to discuss and go about collecting door prizes. Seems in past years, every student went home with a prize. Some prizes were as small as a $5 gift card, while a couple lucky students went home with something as grand as a television. There were a few people at the meeting who thought we should make the prizes EQUAL. Everyone's prize was the same value. After a bit of discussion we helped them realize that everyone's name was put in the drawing once, so they each had an EQUAL chance of winning. My question to the group, "Why do we have to give every student a prize?" "Can't we just choose a couple grand prize winners?" The answers to my questions were "It's a tradition. Does the class of 2012 want to be the first not to give everyone a prize? Besides, if you don't give everyone a prize they won't come." "Good" I thought, then the ones that do will have a better chance of winning a prize. Needless to say I was overruled so everyone will be going home with a prize.
I guess I shouldn't be shocked. As parents, we've trained our kids that just showing up is reason enough and they therefore deserve a prize. Growing up, I never had a birthday party. A cake made by my mom (except the one year she forgot...I've never been the same!) and a trip to Toyland in Painesville for a gift. (Note that was singular!) Ahhh, I remember it vividly. Riding in the backseat of the car, without my seatbelt, sucking on a penny, which I proceeded to swallow, admiring my one gift...Gumby. Today kids are entitled to a party every year with 30+ of their closest friends attending. As if a giant inflatable and petty zoo aren't enough, we then provide a gift for each and every party guest. Wait, is it their birthday too? Why do they get a gift?
When it comes to sporting events, two hours is way to long for a ten year old to go without a drink and snack. After what is usually a disastrous season—because the kids are too distracted choosing which flavor juice bag they want and nibbling on cupcakes adorned with a ball—that they have no clue what is happening in the game. They then lose every game, not that they know, because we're usually trying to be FAIR so we don't keep score. Who cares if your team didn't win and the league trophy went to the other team who managed to score in between sips. Your parents have bought you each a trophy to display next to your "certificate of participation" and "good effort medal" in your room.
My mother always claims that she parented us all equally. Really mom? The "pretty one" didn't need a little stroking now and then? "Oh honey it's all right your hair will grow back. I know you just wanted to make it look prettier." The "smart one" didn't deserve a little praise now and then? "Wonderful who would have thought you'd get all A's again!" Don't get me wrong I'm not jealous (I've been to therapy!) I'm just making a point. I don't think you should parent your children equally. They're each unique.
Mom also tried to be fair. Take Christmas, each year she'd go to extreme measures to make sure that each of her six children had the same number of gifts. We'd take turns one year the youngest would start the gift opening process, followed by the next oldest, on up in age, each opening one gift before starting back at the youngest for next gift. The next year, just to be fair, we'd start with the oldest and go in reverse. Great idea. Only problem, it sucked for me, being the middle child since in her attempt to be fair, my mom would usually give us the each same gift. Surprise!
My children have obviously been aware of my stance on EQUAL and FAIR for quite some time. All you have to do is look at Griffin's second grade Mother's Day gift that he made at school, an "All About My Mom" book, to see where I stand. When he answered the question "What my mom always says", his answer was "Life's not fair!" Guilty as charged. I don't think life has to be fair or for that matter equal.
"Believe it or not…life is not fair. Occasionally the bad guy wins, people do play favorites, some good people die young, some people will let you down and not everyone is honest. While we can accept this, it shouldn’t stop us from dreaming big, working hard and doing what is right." —Cory Wells
Random thoughts!
Vicki
I guess I shouldn't be shocked. As parents, we've trained our kids that just showing up is reason enough and they therefore deserve a prize. Growing up, I never had a birthday party. A cake made by my mom (except the one year she forgot...I've never been the same!) and a trip to Toyland in Painesville for a gift. (Note that was singular!) Ahhh, I remember it vividly. Riding in the backseat of the car, without my seatbelt, sucking on a penny, which I proceeded to swallow, admiring my one gift...Gumby. Today kids are entitled to a party every year with 30+ of their closest friends attending. As if a giant inflatable and petty zoo aren't enough, we then provide a gift for each and every party guest. Wait, is it their birthday too? Why do they get a gift?
When it comes to sporting events, two hours is way to long for a ten year old to go without a drink and snack. After what is usually a disastrous season—because the kids are too distracted choosing which flavor juice bag they want and nibbling on cupcakes adorned with a ball—that they have no clue what is happening in the game. They then lose every game, not that they know, because we're usually trying to be FAIR so we don't keep score. Who cares if your team didn't win and the league trophy went to the other team who managed to score in between sips. Your parents have bought you each a trophy to display next to your "certificate of participation" and "good effort medal" in your room.
My mother always claims that she parented us all equally. Really mom? The "pretty one" didn't need a little stroking now and then? "Oh honey it's all right your hair will grow back. I know you just wanted to make it look prettier." The "smart one" didn't deserve a little praise now and then? "Wonderful who would have thought you'd get all A's again!" Don't get me wrong I'm not jealous (I've been to therapy!) I'm just making a point. I don't think you should parent your children equally. They're each unique.
Mom also tried to be fair. Take Christmas, each year she'd go to extreme measures to make sure that each of her six children had the same number of gifts. We'd take turns one year the youngest would start the gift opening process, followed by the next oldest, on up in age, each opening one gift before starting back at the youngest for next gift. The next year, just to be fair, we'd start with the oldest and go in reverse. Great idea. Only problem, it sucked for me, being the middle child since in her attempt to be fair, my mom would usually give us the each same gift. Surprise!
My children have obviously been aware of my stance on EQUAL and FAIR for quite some time. All you have to do is look at Griffin's second grade Mother's Day gift that he made at school, an "All About My Mom" book, to see where I stand. When he answered the question "What my mom always says", his answer was "Life's not fair!" Guilty as charged. I don't think life has to be fair or for that matter equal.
"Believe it or not…life is not fair. Occasionally the bad guy wins, people do play favorites, some good people die young, some people will let you down and not everyone is honest. While we can accept this, it shouldn’t stop us from dreaming big, working hard and doing what is right." —Cory Wells
Random thoughts!
Vicki
Friday, March 30, 2012
So Random
I can honestly say, I don't ever remember using the words random or awkward when I was growing up. While visiting my dear friend Kathy Resetar Schwab in Iowa this weekend her sweet six year old, Chloe, used them both. They're more of a response "Awkward!", "Random!" then a word you'd actually use in a sentence. Then again, I'm pretty sure I've never heard either of my children say something was "bogus" or "rad". Can you say "generation gap" or do they call that something else now too? I don't know, it just seems to me that calling something or somebody random is well, random. And saying a situation is awkward just makes the situation, well, awkward. Call me old. Did I mention I'm turning fifty? Is fifty old?
Since I'll be turning fifty and becoming an empty nester in the same year, I've been wrestling with the questions in my head and the hormones apparently that are no longer in my body—more about that in a future blog. Questions including "Now what?", "What ever will we talk about?", "What am I going to do when there's no one to pick up after?"—ok so the last one is a stretch since 80% of the mess is probably mine! All that leads me to what I'm doing right now blogging. Not entirely sure, much like Twitter, if I'm actually doing this right, but I figured what the heck you've always been creative give it a try. Keep in mind I said creative, I never said grammatically correct nor do I know if I just spelled that word right. Autocorrect might have changed it to "grandmas panties", so bear with me. In between wrestling questions, I thought to my self, If nothing else since most days the only conversation I'll have once both kids fly the coop is with Leila—and I think she gets tired of hearing me rant—why not branch out, vent, write down my thoughts. I'll share my 50 years of wisdom in a blog! Let me start my blogging adventure by being blatantly (is that spelled right?) honest. There will be more venting and thoughts than wisdom! Not to mention enough grammar and puctuation mistakes to have most people wondering if I made it past third grade English. The answer is yes. However back 40 years ago, my teacher was bogus and doodling on my paper bag book cover was rad!
That leads me back to Random and Awkward, you already know where the 50 comes in. When I googled "how to create a blog" and then followed the instructions, yes I needed instructions! (But hey at least I know how to Google. I'm sure there are more than a few people my age, yes im turning 50, who struggle with that concept!) it asked the basic question "Blog Title?". Great one more question to wrestle with in my already cluttered mind. Hmmmmm what would I be writing about. I'm not a fashionista so writing about clothing daily was out of the question. Besides Sparkle and Swoon was already taken by my daughter. My children are grown so I'm pretty sure besides the occasional vent, there wouldnt be much to say about parenting. I read, usually when I travel, limiting my blogs to maybe 3 times a year. When it comes to writing, I liken myself to Dr. Seuss but that only happens at Christmas so unless I would be blogging annually that wasn't going to work either. What exactly is it that I feel the need to share now that I've almost reached fifty? I needed a place for random vents about my life...menopause, midlife, empty nesting, and a plethora of other lets just say awkward rants from a 50 year old mind.
As I start this process I'm am going to be upfront, family and friends who decide to read my blog please don't be offended if I write about you in a blog. I wouldn't want you to completely stop calling—hold on is that my cell phone ringing, nope I forgot you all have those phones where you can only receive calls not make them. I think I'm funny and hope what I write might evoke a chuckle. Obviously mom thought I was amusing too. Why else would she have labeled me the "funny one."—there might be more than one answer to that so keep your posts to that question to yourself. I'm sure I'll be including the "smart one" and the "pretty one" in future blogs so I'm warning you before you get hooked, you might get slightly agitated by what I have to say—I think she called me the "instigator" too. As an authority on funny—it's a gift—I'm the one who when asked a number of years back by his co-worker at the time if Dan O'Shannon was funny in high school responded "he thought he was"—my attempt at being funny. Dan later shared with my brother in law Greg that he was offended by my remark. Obviously he doesn't get funny. For those of you who haven't heard of Dan he's gone on to win three prime time Emmys for his work on Cheers and Modern Family. If he didn't get get my sense of humor why would you? I guess I'll have let my personal assistant go. Whatever will she do now that she doesn't have to screen your calls.
I look forward to more awkward posts.
Random thoughts from a fifty year old,
Vicki
Since I'll be turning fifty and becoming an empty nester in the same year, I've been wrestling with the questions in my head and the hormones apparently that are no longer in my body—more about that in a future blog. Questions including "Now what?", "What ever will we talk about?", "What am I going to do when there's no one to pick up after?"—ok so the last one is a stretch since 80% of the mess is probably mine! All that leads me to what I'm doing right now blogging. Not entirely sure, much like Twitter, if I'm actually doing this right, but I figured what the heck you've always been creative give it a try. Keep in mind I said creative, I never said grammatically correct nor do I know if I just spelled that word right. Autocorrect might have changed it to "grandmas panties", so bear with me. In between wrestling questions, I thought to my self, If nothing else since most days the only conversation I'll have once both kids fly the coop is with Leila—and I think she gets tired of hearing me rant—why not branch out, vent, write down my thoughts. I'll share my 50 years of wisdom in a blog! Let me start my blogging adventure by being blatantly (is that spelled right?) honest. There will be more venting and thoughts than wisdom! Not to mention enough grammar and puctuation mistakes to have most people wondering if I made it past third grade English. The answer is yes. However back 40 years ago, my teacher was bogus and doodling on my paper bag book cover was rad!
That leads me back to Random and Awkward, you already know where the 50 comes in. When I googled "how to create a blog" and then followed the instructions, yes I needed instructions! (But hey at least I know how to Google. I'm sure there are more than a few people my age, yes im turning 50, who struggle with that concept!) it asked the basic question "Blog Title?". Great one more question to wrestle with in my already cluttered mind. Hmmmmm what would I be writing about. I'm not a fashionista so writing about clothing daily was out of the question. Besides Sparkle and Swoon was already taken by my daughter. My children are grown so I'm pretty sure besides the occasional vent, there wouldnt be much to say about parenting. I read, usually when I travel, limiting my blogs to maybe 3 times a year. When it comes to writing, I liken myself to Dr. Seuss but that only happens at Christmas so unless I would be blogging annually that wasn't going to work either. What exactly is it that I feel the need to share now that I've almost reached fifty? I needed a place for random vents about my life...menopause, midlife, empty nesting, and a plethora of other lets just say awkward rants from a 50 year old mind.
As I start this process I'm am going to be upfront, family and friends who decide to read my blog please don't be offended if I write about you in a blog. I wouldn't want you to completely stop calling—hold on is that my cell phone ringing, nope I forgot you all have those phones where you can only receive calls not make them. I think I'm funny and hope what I write might evoke a chuckle. Obviously mom thought I was amusing too. Why else would she have labeled me the "funny one."—there might be more than one answer to that so keep your posts to that question to yourself. I'm sure I'll be including the "smart one" and the "pretty one" in future blogs so I'm warning you before you get hooked, you might get slightly agitated by what I have to say—I think she called me the "instigator" too. As an authority on funny—it's a gift—I'm the one who when asked a number of years back by his co-worker at the time if Dan O'Shannon was funny in high school responded "he thought he was"—my attempt at being funny. Dan later shared with my brother in law Greg that he was offended by my remark. Obviously he doesn't get funny. For those of you who haven't heard of Dan he's gone on to win three prime time Emmys for his work on Cheers and Modern Family. If he didn't get get my sense of humor why would you? I guess I'll have let my personal assistant go. Whatever will she do now that she doesn't have to screen your calls.
I look forward to more awkward posts.
Random thoughts from a fifty year old,
Vicki
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