I Can See Clearly Now...

  I recently took my 11 year-old and 8 year-old sons to the Optometrist.  Unbeknownst to me this type of doctor appointment should have been routine since they were six months old.  I was to be enlightened on this topic during this visit.  After the pre-screening we were ushered to the exam room where it was pretty clear my boys were closing out a busy day for this particular office.  The doctor was shifting lenses while asking the standard "Which is clearer, one...or two...two...or one?"  for the umpteenth time that day.  Appearing rather unenthused, she was able to look away while screwing in long distance vision cards to the machine- a sign she could do this in her sleep.  I actually began to feel bad as I observed her standing and shifting during the exam, concluding she was trying to inject some motion into what had obviously become a monotonous routine. 

  My older son asked the doctor what she could see as she shined the light in his younger brother's eye.  "Oh, all kinds of things- veins, capillaries, and even the brain stem that will show up as white."  I was surprised and uttered, "you're kidding me?"  "Oh yes" the kind doctor responded...and then elaborated by telling me she can detect all kinds of significant health problems by dilating the eyes.  "I can see hardening of the arteries, high blood pressure, multiple sclerosis, and cancer among other things.  I get so frustrated because a baby can't even leave the hospital after birth until they've had their hearing checked because it could affect their development."  Then she asked with more than a hint of exasperation, "Don't you think their development would be affected if they can't see?"  Clearly we had hit a hot-button for this woman and her passion for eye health rose to the occasion.  Her whole demeanor shifted to a warmer, more engaged gear and she began to ask my boys what they like to do.  We laughed over the similarities with her son's interest in football and use of imagination.  "That's great," she smiled at my sons enthusiasm for playing outdoors and having neighborhood throw-together games then added, "Kids don't typically like to do that these days."  We were now on common ground.  The excitement level rose in the room as she announced there was no-one scheduled after us and invited the boys to look into each others eyes.  My younger son held the flashlight and steadied himself, as instructed, by placing his arm on his brother's shoulder.  He then lowered the flashlight, gave his brother a grimace and said with a head shake, "You're not going to make it..."  A huge guffaw burst from us all in unison.  We kept the humor going while being simultaneously amazed at what you really can see in a dilated eye.  I even got a chance to look and saw the illuminated brain stem- which prompted the doctor to point out, "Hey, you really do have a brain in there!"  It was an unexpected delight, this appointment that morphed into a classroom as we broke through the sterile purpose of intent and actually interacted therefore bringing out the best in each other.

  We left feeling uplifted and educated, even in the department that my younger son had a surprising sense of humor.  What a great encounter.  I thought of the doctor and how she seemed refreshed as she became intent on digging through under-counter boxes to offer the boys prizes of flashlights and delight them with their black, plastic sunglasses to shield their sensitive, dilated eyes.  Their imaginative play took them from roles of playing the blind brothers to good cop/bad cop as we headed to the car.  Sometimes it just takes someone showing a bit of interest to lift the dusty, mundane lid off a passion and give greater purpose to what others offer day in and day out, letting them know they are making a difference.  Ironically, while filling out papers in the waiting room before being called back, I had asked my older son if he ever thought about what he might want to do when he grew up.  Who knows?  Perhaps this fun experience broadened my son's range of vision, offering a new perception and greater insight into the field of Optometry.  (SEE what I did there?)  ;)

I LOVE this Town!

  I LOVE my town, Erie, PA!  I can't help it-- the thought bursts through me every single time I walk the Peninsula.  I started my strolls there back in August and the beauty is mesmerizing no matter the day's weather or season.

   This summer, my daughters and I were captivated by the varying reactions from fellow walkers, runners and bike-riders.  We revisit these responses regularly...mostly while convulsed in giggles. 

   If you've walked Presque Isle on any sunny day during the warm months you'd already realize that the Karl Boyes multipurpose trail is exactly that, multi-purpose.  This is a shared path, with equal privilege given to all.  There is a courtesy reminder painted on the walk every so often asking all to KEEP RIGHT.  For those who travel...well, faster than I (ie, bike riders, roller bladers, skate boarders, and anyone jogging even at a snails pace,) the word seems to have secretly spread that you are to say, "ON YOUR LEFT," to let me know you are approaching behind me.  There's an element of excitement that is inherent in the fact that I will be run over if I don't move.  I truly appreciate the relish with which some announce this phrase, a sort of giddy power that I have no problem respecting.  This "On your left" is not posted anywhere to my knowledge-  therefore, a huge Congratulations to the verbal trendsetter who made it wildly popular!

 I've also noticed a genuine joy emanating from those bike riders who like to use their bell to alert us that we are about to be speed bumps if we choose to not share the path.  My teen-aged daughter and I delighted in the bikers who were prepped and ready to ring the bell with the lever in position, fingers quivering with anticipation to let it RIIIING...when we hear them coming and move over before their arrival.  The let-down of the moment is announced in the deflated "ting" as they depress the lever and utter a sad and unnecessary, "on your left" as if we'd just stolen their glorious, metallic punch-line.  

  Then there are the wonderfully gleeful "Good morning!,"  "Beautiful day today," and "Hello"'s  that highlight what a pleasant microcosm of our town's friendliest folks I am sharing the walk with.  Of course these greetings have offered their share of mirth based on the level of exertion said greeter is in whilst exercising.  A+ for effort to the perspiring runner who tried extending a "Good morning" which morphed into a breathy, croaked out "Meeahh" with a two fingers raised in a tired salutation.  I could only giggle because my level of breathing was barely challenged at my slowpoke pace. 

   There is a sense of comradery, civility, and kindness that seems to be inspired by the beautiful environment.  And it's no wonder, the panoramic view of Erie's skyline is stretched along views of an ever changing Bay.  At times I'm energized by the stark white clouds that invade the bluest of skies over top choppy waters that reach up to tempt birds that dare fly so low.  In contrast there have been moments that seem to have read my mood and offer serenity in the mist that hovers over tranquil waters which lap the low stones in a soothing effort to offer compassion.  With all this beauty in one tiny corner of this place I call home- I recognize how blessed I am to have been raised here and returned years later to raise a family.  I LOVE my town <3


 
 

 

Who Ate My Tomatoes??

  Ok-- it's official...we own a pig.  A tomato-eating, pig-dog.  My husband and I keep asking the question that will never be answered, "WHY?"  "Why would Millie eat THAT?

  Why would our two-year old Chocolate Lab eat the garden's freshest produce?  Is it because it's displayed tantalizingly on our counter?  I mean, this dog is let out to do her "business" several times throughout the day and doesn't make a point to graze about in the garden, munching on tomatoes.  Does she have a vitamin C deficiency?  That's probably as likely as a complex-chemical deficiency that prompted her to feast upon the red, plastic ball-pit orbs.  This past Christmas she devoured the full-on Crayola crayons 64 pack.  I figured she had an artistic flair...which, turned out to be true when the dog-doo was arrayed in sierra red, peacock blue, and sunburst yellow...I actually began to look forward to the Spring thaw to uncover Millie's rare First Editions.  I will be forever grateful that she left the sharpener alone, a fact that did nothing to calm our eight year-old son's distress that his future in art was usurped by his pig-dog.


  While I am constantly perplexed by the "WHY's" of this entire sordid business...my husband has moved to guerrilla-like warfare tactics in attempting to stop the How's.  Unfortunately, the ground chili pepper on peanut butter toast did nothing to stop her hankering for his peanut butter and jelly sandwiches but rather divulged her taste for Cajun foods.  I won't go into the gory details that brought about the lecture to our 15 year-old son why it is not a good idea to go frogging and leave the entrails in the garden.  Yes, I guess boys still do go frogging...but that's a story for another day. 

  If I could figure out technology I'd post a video of her tail disappearing around the top of the stairs as she places herself in time-out.  Yes, she doesn't even have to hear "MILLIE!!!!" before she races upstairs and disappears.  She knew she'd been busted after hearing ours shocked gasps whilst surveying a large, vine-ripened horror that resembled a shark bit vegetable surrounded with oozing seeds scattered about the crime scene in the kitchen.  Our second eldest daughter felt oddly justified in her teenaged "MmmmHmmm" since she had been blamed for taking the last three tomatoes the day before.  Seriously, why weren't we suspicious that she would eat three?  Most parents would be proud of the vegetable consumption...but our produce was disappearing at an alarming rate.

  Oddly, we have ghost peppers lining the counter's edge...still no takers.  I guess pig-dogs are smart...or picky.

 



 

Don't Be Stingy!

If we but sit in silence we shall take in and breathe out what we are meant to offer the world.  For the world needs our perspective.  The things taken in have been viewed for millennium...but it is in the filtering that fresh perspectives are breathed out and the ancient becomes new.

  Could it be your civic duty to breathe new life into the mundane that has become antiquated due to lack of curiosity and/or mindfulness?  Unique perspectives could change the world for the better if those called to slow down and notice SHARED insight and therefore offered hope.  Be brave. Find YOUR voice.  Perhaps it resonates a deeper voice that longs to speak Hope, Peace, Courage, and Wisdom to this world.

 Why not you? 

Creative Spaces

  Up here in my little wooden room I have a view on the "goings on" in my yard.  It might not be the hustle and bustle of a New York City street that parades under my window but I'm very much at peace with that.

  This was a hard earned view.  When we first moved in to our house eight years ago, this room was "my space."  I was thrilled to be able to set up a creative haven in the very room I used to sleep in while visiting my grandparents as a young girl.  The whole full-circle thing added a cool vibe to the room that was already unique in design.  And better yet...it was to be mine...all mine.  This lasted until sibling rivalry, cramped quarters, and a son's desires for a space to be "his...all his" moved me to the open landing at the top of the stairs.  Beautiful white vases chock full of paint brushes, artist pads, and sharpie markers that once were confined behind a coded lock now beckoned the creativity of all who passed by...probably even the visiting neighborhood kids.  It appeared no-one could resist the call.  It was only a matter of time until a play room was needed for the kids and I headed for the first floor to share an office space with my husband, which was wonderful in theory not so much in reality.  That freshly painted, eclectically decorated space was to exist as an artists den for a nano-second anyway.  The son who needed his own space apparently needed more than a hallway to separate him from the clattering of youngsters and headed to the first floor to kick off his teenage independence from early bedtimes, night-time stories, and little kid stuff.  So, I was back to the second floor and life in full swing.  I don't even think I unpacked fully, just kind of kept dumping more on the surfaces until the coolest thing upstairs was the obstacle course comprised of Mom's junk, bins of Lego's, flowy dress-up costumes, Nerf swords, and boxes of papers that found a home there each time company was coming.

  When we decided it was time to actually finish the drywall upstairs I was like a restless nomad, wandering until, against better judgement, I moved my beloved articles to the laundry room in the basement.  Yes, these inspirational novels, paints, sketchpads, journals, and pictures which once whispered creative sweet-nothings to me now rebelled in silence covered in one layer of dust, a hint of cobwebs and a fine sheen of dryer lint.

  Funny how life brings out a simple truth that less is best.  I learned to create at the kitchen table and journal in bed before falling asleep, or scrawl in whichever half-used spiral notebook was closest at hand .  My Grandmother, who lived in this very house had a saying that brings it all home, "It is what it is."  True that.  I learned this truth in time to witness my oldest son grow up and follow his heart to yet another space that would be his...all his; an apartment in a neighboring town.  I'm glad we could give him the space he needed while it was needed.  My love of stringing words together doesn't need it's own space -- though it's GREATLY appreciated.  And truth be told, I can doodle on a t.v. tray if need be. 

  The night our eldest moved out, his first-floor room was occupied by the second eldest who had been rooming in this wooden space I am writing from.  Though I had to kick his roommates out to get this space I am BACK!!  I'm now allowing those roomies; two stuffed bears, a glassy eyed buck, a turkey in full flight, a fluffy fox-squirrel, and a beady-eyed black squirrel wander like nomads.  And here's some good news- I've only developed a SLIGHT eye twitch since the eldest daughter casually sized up my space and dropped several non-subtle hints about the unfairness in which her brothers had been able to have their own rooms and she was sharing with two sisters. 

twitch...twitch...twitch