I WANT TO GO BACK TO MAYBERRY

It's been quite a week.

I'm not just talking about the pain.

Both personally and in our nation.

First of all, what do you say about the shootings of innocent children in Connecticut? I cannot imagine what those parents and families are going through right now. Also, the survivors....what those children witnessed......it's horrific and there are no words that will comfort those parents. Their dear, dear children's lives were cut short and they must be inconsolable with pain and grief.

Also, I got word that a former co-worker passed away. She was young. She was 51 and didn't feel well. She took a nap and when they went to check on her.....well, it was already too late. Her daughter was her best friend and she's still quite young. She graduated high school in 2011 and was away at college. 

I've had to learn the lesson of mortality at an early age as well. I can tell you that isn't a lesson that should be learned early. It changes you. It gives you the feeling that all relationships are on shaky ground because they can disappear at a moments notice. Closeness becomes scary.

Then, to add a tiara to the week, with all these things happening, it's cold and raining. That means the pain has spiraled once again. 

If it isn't one thing it's another.

I'm not trying to minimize the happenings or compare them to the pain that has attacked my body once again. I'm just adding it to the list of events of the week. There is nothing that can compare to that kind of loss. Then compound that loss with the addition of senseless violence and what can be said?

I hate these kind of life lessons.

I hate the change that life lessons bring; the innocence of life that is lost and the realization that the people you love most can be taken away from you in the blink of an eye. Parents should never have to bury their children and little children should not know loss. They should be safe and secure in the knowledge that their parents will be there. Parents should not know the all-consuming grief and pain that their beautiful little sweethearts are gone.

What is wrong with this world?

What will inevitably happen is that the issue of gun control will come up again. It will be debated and debated but nothing ever seems to get done. I truly believe on the one hand that if guns are outlawed then only the outlaws will have guns. The war on alcohol during Prohibition, the war on drugs, the war on terror and now the war on guns.....to what end? They are all still alive and well despite the efforts to rid our world of them. I do believe that we need stricter laws and background checks before anyone can purchase them. I think online sales should be banned. I think certain types of guns should not be in the hand of private citizens. Military weapons are just that...military weapons. You need an assault rife to kill a deer??

I think it's our culture that is sick and in need of help.
You can ban all types of weapons but you just can't ban evil.

I think it's time we get rid of our culture of certain kinds of tolerance. You cannot teach children that everything they do wrong is someone elses fault or that something else is to blame. We need to bring back consequences for actions. We've become a society that doesn't want to hurt that little inner child. We equate discipline with abuse. When did it become acceptable for manners to go out the window? When did "please" and "thank-you" get deleted from our vocabulary? When did we decide that just because children grow up less fortunate they should be given a pass? We have done that in our educational system and look what the effect of that has been. I've seen what so-called high school graduates have learned and it's appalling. We need to crank our curriculum up about 7 notches so we can start raising children who will be capable of working in this global economy.

If I sound like I want to take our culture back about 40 years......well, I do and I don't. In some respects.....I do. I look at what children can see on TV during prime time and I honestly don't know how I'd answer the questions that would arise. The innocence that should be childhood has been wiped away. Growing up too soon is all over the news and it's "cool." Am I the only one who sees something wrong with this?

I don't think I'm old fashioned. I'm not trying to be an old grandma but I see society heading in a direction that isn't good.....

Enough.....

I'm off my soapbox.

But...........

I hope that everyone hugs those they love a little tighter tonight.

PASSING THE TORCH

They tried to kill us.

We won.

Let's eat.

I have so many childhood memories tied up in this time of year. My mother used to make me sit by her while she made Passover dinner for more than 40 people. She did this two nights in a row. She would explain the right way to prepare the food and how to set the table. It was truly a hands on approach. Although it made me crazy back then, I'm now very glad that she made me sit there and pay attention. During those times I gained a love of cooking that has stayed with me. Preparing the food for this holiday brings back memories of love and security and also a great amount of respect for the amount of work that she tackled with perfection.

I really don't know how she did it.

Everything was planned weeks in advance. Food was delivered and when I say food, I mean tons of it. For example, I went through 60 eggs for just one evening. I can't even imagine what she went through. I don't know how much those dinners must have cost but I know it was a bundle. The tables were set with china and beautiful stemware. She took pride in the details. Everyone loved to come to our house and they loved her cooking. 

We did that every year along with every other holiday that was out there. We had the home where everyone would gather. When my parents passed away it just never seemed the same. The family kind of scattered and the dinners faded away. When I got married we started up again and all that love of preparation that I gained by osmosis came pouring out again.

And I wanted to give that all to my daughter.

We haven't had a Passover in over ten years and that one doesn't really count. The reason I say that is my niece wanted me to prepare the food for a Seder that her church was having. It was for over a hundred people. We peeled onions, garlic and apples. Enough to fill a wheelbarrow. By the time the week was over I was a real loony tune. It took me over ten years to want to repeat the experience. Now, our dinner was for only thirty and it shouldn't have been any big deal after cooking for one hundred but I didn't have Fibromyalgia then either.

Note to self: If you try to prepare a Passover dinner with Fibromyalgia prepare to be in for a doozy of a flare.

I spent two days cooking. Normally, that would be a piece of cake (and yes, I made those too) but by the time Friday morning hit the pain was out of control. I slugged down the pain medication and kept on. I loved watching my daughter through this process. She has the same love of preparation and cooking that her grandmother had and her execution is just fabulous.

Anyway, I managed to get through the dinner without crying but by the time I got home it was ugly. Real ugly. I've been in bed ever since. The pain went from out of control to excruciating and it has remained at that level. I can't seem to get it back under control. Every bone in my body is wracked with pain. Every time I move, I want to cry. I took a hot shower and the water hitting my back hurt. I tried to make some eggs but it hurt to move the spatula. I wanted a diet coke but it hurt to lift the glass. I don't want to see anyone or talk to anyone. I just want the pain to go away.

Whine, bitch, moan and complain.

Pain brings out the real pleasant part of your personality.

But my daughter has taken the reins with the same fervor that her grandmother possessed.

The torch has been passed.

THE SWEATER QUEEN

My cousin got me into a whole lot of trouble. 

I was 17 years old and it was summer vacation! I was feeling a little restless so what to do.........what to do????? My cousin called and said we could get a job at Sweater Queen. Oh boy! I thought to myself, "this could be kind of cool." Wow, a job! I could make some money and with the money I got from my dad shopping would be a lot of fun.

Now, Sweater Queen was a little boutique shop on Fremont Street in downtown Las Vegas that, of course, sold sweaters. It was owned by a couple named Sonny and Kitty Rapue. They ran a tight little business and they gave us a job as a favor to our parents. They probably talk about that experience to this day.

Ok, so we're supposed to be at work at 9:00 in the morning. That sounded fine until I actually had to do it. As I recall, my girlfriend and I went out the night before cruised Fremont and stayed out late. That was probably my second mistake. The first mistake? Saying I 'd work there in the first place. My dad tried....he really did. He asked me why I wanted to do this and I remember saying I wanted to work so I wouldn't have to ask him for money all the time. He just patted my hand and said, "I love you, honey." I kissed him on the cheek and skipped off to my room, turned on the stereo and got on the phone with my girlfriend. 

The alarm went off at 6:00. Time to wake up...............oh, no! My first thought was if I should call my cousin and tell her to see if we could start the following day. All of a sudden the magnitude of this decision was hitting me. I was not looking forward to this but I had to be strong so I picked up my cousin and we went to breakfast. I mean, we had to eat SOMETHING before we went to work and I knew I'd feel better with something in my stomach. 

You know, the first day on the job it isn't wise to show up late. We cruised in about 9:15. No prob. We had to find a place to park and we ran a little late. No big deal. 

Right?

Wrong.

I have to say that Sonny was a very nice man. He very gently reminded us that this was a favor to our parents and we needed to be responsible. Kitty was not so kind. It was obvious she didn't like this arrangement and set out to make this the day from hell. It was only fair that we returned the favor. 


We were shown how to fold the sweaters and sort them by size and color. We had fun with that except we messed them up and tipped over a huge display. We fell over in hysterics and we threw a few sweaters at each other. We were the keystone cops let loose in their sweater store. We got the look, the lecture and finally the scream.  She must have seen the disinterested look on my face so she put my cousin on the cash register and sent me marching right to the back of the store to unpack stock and steam the sweaters. 


AND SHE DIDN'T LEAVE MY SIDE.


This was NOT what I thought this job would be like. I thought we'd get to see some cool sweaters, talk to people, hang out and get paid for it. This was manual labor and the steamer messed up my makeup and frizzed my hair. It was also really hot in that back room. I didn't like it at all and I really didn't like her. I asked if I could turn the air conditioner down because I was too hot.  That was a huge mistake. She gave me a nasty look and told me to get back to work.  After I'd done a few sweaters I casually asked her when we could take lunch. Geez, you'd have thought I'd cut her legs off. I was just trying to find something to make the day go a little bit faster. I don't think she got my sense of humor.


Needless to say the job didn't last for the summer. It didn't even last for the week. That was fine with me. I forgot that I didn't want to ask my dad for money and decided that I would much rather sleep in and enjoy the summer rather than spend it steaming sweaters. 


I don't think they missed me at all. 

FROM THE MIDWEST TO THE WEST

I grew up in Omaha, Nebraska. It was a wonderful place for a child to remain a child and grow up with typical mid-western "values". I get emails that detail a time past where we could disappear and go outside and play, ride bikes up and down the street, where you went out and found friends and if you got hurt at a neighbor's house you didn't sue them for all they were worth. It sounds hokey but that was truly my upbringing. 

My brother's took me down the street and I think I was about 5ish? anyway, I had to see the cat in the window. Being my graceful self I tripped and hit the wrought iron chair and tore my lip and nose apart. 

Screaming, crying and blood everywhere. 

Thank goodness there was a doctor that lived close by.  I still have the scar for that little adventure. Then there was the infamous potato chip bowl fiasco. I was carrying a glass bowl filled with potato chips into the family room. Of course, I tripped and went face first into the bowl. 

Screaming, crying and blood everywhere.

From what I hear I wanted to be taken to a mirror so I could "see me bleed." No one was sure if the glass had gotten in my eyes and it was chaos everywhere. They ran and got the doctor from across the street and he stitched me up right there on the table. 

My dad owned a drive-in restaurant in Omaha, Nebraska. It was called Tiner's which was a combination of the two partners names; Fred "Tiny" Barnes and Einer Abramson, my father. They also had a restaurant in Council Bluffs, Iowa. It was the "in" place for teens to cruise but all I remember out of the deal was the best curly-q fries that I've ever tasted.  I actually think that started my quest for the perfect french fry. I still love them and can scarf them down waaay  before I get them home. Actually an extra large can be wolfed down in 1 minute or less. There were also Basket Burgers and Chicken Treats. I even remember the phone number.....556-4664. Weird, the things we remember, isn't it?  When I meet people from Omaha in my age group they all remember with fondness Tiner's Drive In. Quite a few of them worked there but all of them cruised there.  

My family moved to Las Vegas in 1963. The move was hard. This was all I'd ever known. My friends were there and I was moving to a place where I didn't know anyone and I hated it. I was in junior high and everything was changing. To top it off I was starting after the beginning of the school year so I was very visible. Being visible wasn't comfortable for a girl who wanted to be invisible. What a difference between Omaha and Las Vegas! The girls were wearing nylons and shaved their legs! Wow!  I was still in bobby sox and loafers. I wore socks and they got to wear nylons? They shaved their legs??? They shaved above the knee????  Needless to say, I didn't look cool on my first day of school and, boy, did I have a fight with my mother over that one! 

Fortunately, the girl who wanted to be invisible met another girl who was also trying to fade into the background. She was 6 feet tall and fading didn't come easy. To her, she was this big, huge log and to me she was statuesque and beautiful. To me, I was a short little thing with chipmunk cheeks and to her I was a cute little imp. We blended perfectly. For many years we didn't know that we secretly wanted to be the other. We were two injured souls that were drawn to each other and limped through the body image years together. Some things don't change, we still hate the way we look. We've become more accepting but we still have issues. Thank goodness, I met her. We were more than friends; we were sisters and kindred souls.

To get around my mother, who was ADAMANT that I wasn't going to shave my legs until I was 16, my best friend gave me a shaver for a birthday present. We thought we were so slick. No one had though of that one and, of course, our parents wouldn't guess what we'd done. Yeah, right. It takes becoming a parent to see right through that one. Anyway, it wouldn't be right that I didn't use it after they bought it for me. Finally after my friends mother talked with my mother she finally gave in and allowed me to shave my legs. One caveat however; not above the knee. Oh, come on, can you see no hair on the bottom part of your legs and black hair starting at your knee upward? 

Well, let me tell you that shaver slipped more than I can tell you! Hey, not my fault that I slipped and I would have to even it up so it didn't look ridiculous. That worked once and then after that it was a fight. We fought with each other like crazy through my junior high and high school years. I was a tad strong willed and I figured it was going to be my way. My parents, however, had other ideas. I'll have to give it to them. I had no idea how much they had to put up with until I had my own daughter who was just as strong willed as I.

I will tell you this; the curse works. Remember when they tell you, "Wait until you have children. I hope you have one just like you?"

 I did.