Mom and Dad

Mom and Dad

I get my story-telling tendencies from my mom. She told me a story many years ago; it went something like this:

Mom hung out with a bunch of buddies she met after she graduated from business college and moved to Marion. One of those friends, Clara, introduced Betty/mom to her brother Ed.

Ed and mom dated some. Then one day she found out that Clara had announced her – mom’s – banns in the newspaper. The announcement informed the world (and mom) that Betty and Ed would be getting married in May.

Surprise! Mom had her heart set on becoming a nun (she went on to tell me) but those plans were changed abruptly when those banns of marriage appeared in the paper: She would marry Ed in a double wedding ceremony with Clara and her beau Don.

When mom told me this story – in a very serious tone of voice – I laughed. I laughed because by the time I heard this story, mom and dad had been married 33 years and had eight children together. Hullo!

All these years later – mom is 81 and daddio is 85 – mom is still not convinced that the marirage was meant to be!

But this blog entry is not about my mom; I was merely pointing out that I am not the only story-teller in the family . . . .

Fast forward to the present:. Dad took their only car to the golf course yesterday after dropping mom off at an event that I was also attending. The plan was for me to drop my carless mom off at home after the event was over.

So we pull into their driveway yesterday afternoon, and we notice the garage door is open and their car was in the garage . . . . . with the driver’s side door hanging open. Mom exclaimed that dad was home from golfing. Then she explained the open car door: Dad, it seems, often pulls into the garage when he gets home from somewhere, then opens the car door, puts the car seat back . . . . . and falls asleep.

Well, of course I had to see this for myself; I got out of my car and ran into their garage to investigate. And, sure enough, there sat daddio, reclined in the seat and fast asleep! I touched his wrist, then, and he awoke and smiled a wry smile . .. . . . . and then passed out again. I started to laugh and this woke him briefly once again; he smiled and went back to sleep.

My daddio! The man who almost didn’t become my dad! What a guy. Ed for president!

I could go on and on about Ed. He’s unique, to say the least. To say the most, he’s goofy. He once told me, for example, that he was the equivalent of the half-dad to his twin brother’s kids!

Oh, oh. One more story about Ed . . . .

Dad was very active in teaching all of his children how to drive. Then, after we got our licenses, we were allowed to take dad’s car whenever we wanted as long as he wasn’t using and we were safe and brought the car back in one piece. We were a one-car family, by the way . . . .

Well, one night I snagged dad’s car before any of my siblings could lay claim to it and I proceeded to go to an all-night party. The next morning, I drove (this still makes me shudder when I think about it) dad’s car into the driveway to see dad walking out the back door to go to work.

Most dads would have had a hissy fit at that point. But not Ed. While I brought the car to a stop, dad did not break stride. He walked at his usual pace, got into the car, turned it around and drove down the driveway. Not one word was spoken. No reprimand. No yelling or shouting. He just looked over, saw me driving the car toward him, kept going, waited till I removed myself from the car, got into the car and went to work.

There’s no moral to this story – and there’s no end to it either; I could go on and on. I just wanted to share.

Love always.


Published in: on April 19, 2009 at 3:27 pm  Comments (3)  

Plucking Something From the Whirlwind

My precious husband Bill

My precious husband Bill

My favorite all-time movie is The Wizard of Oz. It’s a well-made, thoughtful movie with memorable characters. And who can forget the tornado scenes in that movie? I know that special effects have come a long way since that movie was made, but I’ve never seen a movie that beats this movie when it comes to effects.

I once  had a dream in which I was in a whirlwind. As I looked around – in the dream – I noticed that the wind was blowing around the elements of my life. Odd, I thought. Then I realized that this dream – this whirlwind – was an analogy for my life: Sometimes I have gentle breezes . . . . and sometimes I have wind storms.

Still in the dream, I was encouraged to reach out and  grab hold of one of the things that swirled around me. Then I woke up.

The meaning of the dream was evident to me even before I awoke from it: When there are a million things swirling around me – thoughts, events, concerns, situations – and I can’t decide what to deal with first, I need to reach out and grab a hold of something from the whirlwind around me . .. . . . and deal with it.

That’s how I feel this morning. As I was pottering around, getting ready for my day, I was reminded that I haven’t written a blog entry in some time, and not for lack of ideas. No! Ideas are swirling around me all the time, and I need to just reach out and grab one of those ideas and write about it. So here I go.

Many, many years ago, when Bob and Allen were still young (1984) we lived in a duplex apartment in Lancaster, Ohio. We made a lot of memories during the short time we lived there. I would like to share with you one of those memories.

Bill and I both smoked cigarettes back then. We rolled our own cigarettes, actually; we could not afford to buy already-rolled cigarettes. Scratch that: We could have afforded them but we had other priorities, financially-speaking.

One day Bill got really upset with me about something. So he hid the can of tobacco that we shared. Not to worry, though, because I had separated out some tobacco, so I still had tobacco he didn’t know about.

Since I didn’t want Bill to know that I still had tobacco, I had to find a place to hide my stash. I knew if he found it, he’d abscond with it too. So I looked around the house for somewhere to hide my tobacco.

I looked and looked for a hiding place, a hiding  place where Bill would never think to look. I finally settled on a hiding place: Up in the ceiling in our bedroom, above the dropped-ceiling tiles.

Our bedroom was a large one. The ceiling was expansive. I picked a place in the middle of that large room, climbed up on a stool, and pushed one of the ceiling tiles up and reached in to hide that tobacco.

As I was reaching back beyond my view to a spot that was neither too far from nor too close to the edge of a tile, I felt something. Odd. I reached up further, to investigate this object I had encountered.  It seemed to be a round can of some sort. A thought flitted through  my mind, ‘Could it be?’

Long story short: Yes, it was. Yes, it could be. I had inadvertently found the can of tobacco that Bill had hidden.

Hey! I don’t make this stuff up. Who could ever make up such an unlikely story?

Love always, Susan

Published in: on April 18, 2009 at 10:45 am  Leave a Comment