About the Pearl Necklace

Terri-wedding-dayWhile planning my wedding day, 30 years ago, my mother showed me a strand of freshwater pearls. She wore them on her wedding day. They belonged to my grandmother. “Don’t feel obligated,” she said, “I wore these on my wedding day. I don’t know if they are real but you can wear them if you want to.”

I’m pretty sure they aren’t real and they are kinda… well, ugly (sorry grandma.) But I took one look at those yellowed pearls and just knew they would be the perfect accessory to go with my $69 dress.

 wedding-pink-fun-fur

And my thrift shop pink fun fur. (Just right for doing the chicken dance during an unseasonably cold, rainy September day.)

wedding-pig-mask

 

 

 

 

 

 

And my guests wearing pig masks. (Thanks Patty Cornelius!)

 

The pearls are now in our safe. When the time comes, I’ll ask my daughters if they want to wear them. I’ll say, “I wore these on my wedding day. I don’t know if they are real but you can wear them if you want to.”

jim-and-terri-1987

My parents marriage lasted over 50 years until my Dad passed away at the age of 92.

Today is my 30th wedding anniversary. Just like my parent’s marriage, my marriage to Jim has had it’s ups and downs.

We’ve had our share of difficult times but I can honestly say that I would wear those yellowed pearls again. My sister and my sister-in-law said “no thanks” to wearing the pearls. Neither marriage lasted more than a few years.

To me, the pearls are a symbol of what’s important. It isn’t about “the day,” “the dress,” “the jewelry,” or a hundred other little things that we stress about. It’s about the journey and the way we choose to live our lives.

I wish I kept the pink fun fur.

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As I look through my wedding album, I am stuck by how many we have lost in the last 30 years. Some lived long, happy lives. Others died tragically young. RIP family and friends. May the rest of us live well and love more.

pop-1987florence-1987Eddie-lagoNicoleandrewrob-silbersteingrandma-lagogary-hesspasteruncle-rudyAunt-Maryuncle-willecarl-plattalicegregmikepuff

The Mysteries in Life

blog-meaning-of-lifeI have so many questions. Not the obvious ones… What is the meaning of life? Why can’t there be peace on earth? What happened to the other sock? These are all good questions, but I know the answers are beyond what most of us will ever understand.

My questions are not that deep. But yet, there seems to be no simple answers.

For example, what do you do with the tags on throw pillow? You can’t leave them. If you do, they end up sticking out and ruining the ambiance of your room. You can’t cut them because you can never cut close enough without leaving that strip of white. You can’t tear them off . The whole side of the pillow ends up opening up. I just don’t get it. I have seen many decorating shows, yet I have never seen a throw pillow with a tag on it in any of them.

Another mystery… what do you do with the clothes that you wear once, but they don’t need to be laundered yet? My daughter leaves them on the floor until she feels it is “safe” to repeat. Hmmm, not sure that is the best idea. My husband, wears them again the next day. Not sure that works for me either. When I hang back up a blouse or fold up a pair of jeans and put them back in my drawer, my husband tells me it is gross to mix clean clothes with “dirty” clothes.  He’s kinda right. So what do you do?

There are many more:

Why do grown women with muffin tops wear belly shirts?

Why don’t old guy trim their nose hairs?

Why do I eat when I’m not hungry?

Why can’t I back up a car?

Why does my husband find it so funny that I can’t back up a car?

 

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Six Years Later

In  2009, I was told to start a blog to help search engine rankings for my website. (The cool people call it SEO.) So I bought this really hip domain name and set out to entertain bored internet surfers around the world with my quick wit and engaging stories. It didn’t last long. Apparently quick wit is too much work for me and I really don’t have that many engaging stories.

For my first blog, I planned to introduce my 14 year old daughter Jamie so I got all painted up to take a selfie of us. (Back in that day we called them “pictures of ourselves”.) After many shots, I finally got just the right angle to make me look beautiful. Unfortunately for Jamie, it was not her best shot. In my defense, she was going through that awkward stage AND really didn’t care that I was starting a blog and wanted a nice photo of us. “That is so loosery Mom”. So I felt justified in not consulting her about the photo choice.

Me and Jamie (Because "Jamie & I" sounds rediculous)Paybacks are a bitch.

Six years later and Jamie is beautiful in even her worst shots. For me, it has become almost impossible to get just that right angle. Jamie says not to worry. “I have mad skills in Photoshop Mom.” Good thing because I hate my neck.

 

Never buy a bathing suit that comes with instructions.

The tag said that I would look 10 lbs thinner instantly! All I had to do was follow the instructions. Instructions? For a bathing suit? Ok, this couldn’t be too hard.

“Bunch the suit as if you would a pair of pantyhose.”
OK, so far, so good.

“Step into the suit and ease the bottom portion up to your waist”
Got it.

“Bend over and place your arms into the arm holes and over your shoulders.”
This was a bit tricky getting the puppies into their allocated area. But doable.

“Stand up”
Oh, look at that. Maybe 10 lbs thinner. Certainly is snug.

What they don’t say on the instructions is…”
“Be aware that you will have to pee in the pool since there is no way to repeat this process once the suit is wet.”

How long did I struggle in that bathroom? It felt like hours.

A Christmas Story

My daughter was three years old. It was her first year of Sunday School and Christmas was on its way. I picked her up from class and she asked, “You know all about Kristen, right Mom?’

“Who’s Kristen, Honey?”

“You know, from Sunday School.”

“A girl in your class?”

“No, the one who makes leaves and sticks. She lives at the North Pole… or South America. I forget. She has a lot of houses. Her birthday is Christmas.”

“Do you mean Jesus?”

“That’s it — Jesus. Her last name is God, right?’

No more Ms. Nice Guy.

My previous blogs have been safe. I haven’t been political or politically incorrect. I haven’t hurt any feelings or felt bad about anything that I wrote. I’ve been cute, clever and kind. 

Not any more. It’s time to make some enemies. I’m going to start with Academia. For a bunch of smart people, they really have some stupid ideas. In today’s regional Sunday newspaper, there is a three-page article about universities reshaping their mission so the graduates are ready for the work force. 

Really? This is a new idea?

Yup, here’s a quote: “We are determined to provide a relevant education to all students and we’re making sure that we offer programs that are seen as leading more directly to jobs. 

But not everyone agrees. Here’s another quote: “What good is a professional education that trains you for your first job but not for the ones after that.” Hey Einstein, if you can get the first job, you gain real experience and that trains you for the future jobs. If you don’t get that first job there are no future jobs.

 The Princeton Review surveyed students and found that 55% went to college for jobs and income potential. The other 45% just wanted to get an education. Hmm. I sure hope those Moms and Dads have no plans of retiring and moving to a smaller house. There are limited positions for future Academicians.

R.I.P. Oreo

Oreo 2001-2009

My beloved Oreo died suddenly 5 months ago.  It’s been a difficult loss. Losing a pet is never easy. The depth of this grief surprised me. The following is excerpt from Geneen Roth’s blog. Thank you, Geneen. The healing has begun.

http://blog.geneenroth.com

“Do not grieve for me. I am in a place where tuna fish juice flows like water, where I can jump like the wind and every place is soft and sunny. If you must, grieve for what you won’t allow yourself to have. Grieve for all the ways you separate yourself from this radiance: from laying down in a patch of sun at two o’ clock on any old day, from knowing you are beloved on the earth.” — Geneen Roth

The Chicken Story

The Chicken

When my daughter was seven years old, she and my husband went to Florida to stay at my in-laws for a week. It was not a good visit. My in-laws had no interest in varying their routine and my daughter was not comfortable in their house and had no idea how to occupy herself. My dear husband was clueless.

Jamie called me many times a day in distress. Food was the main problem. There was never enough or there was food she was not familiar with. One conversation went like this:

“Mom, we’re having something disgusting for dinner. Do I have to eat it?”

“What is it?” (My MIL is an old-school hard-core Italian cook. I’m thinking tripe or pig’s knuckles)

“I don’t know but it’s kinda white with bumps all over it and it’s the grossest thing I have ever seen”

“Put your father on”

“What’s up?” He asks (clueless, as usual, that there is a crisis).

“Jamie is tramatized about the dinner food.”

“The chicken?”

“Chicken?”

“Yeah, Grandma’s making roasted chicken.”

“Put Jamie on.”

“So I don’t have to eat it, right Mom?”

“Jamie, it’s roasted chicken just like we eat all the time.”

“But your’s isn’t disgusting like that.”

“Honey, mom buys it already cooked from the deli. Grandma is going to cook it herself.”

“Yuck, that’s what it looks like before they cook it? I’m never eating chicken again.”

The New Princess Movie

princessfrog

I hear the rumblings. African-American women are upset. They finally get a black princess and she spends most of her time as a frog. To make the situation even worse, she ends up with a white prince.

I get it. Really I do. But come on ladies. The more important question? Does she have a mother? A dead mother? Does the mother die during the movie? Or is she simply non-existant? I haven’t seen the movie but I’m just *dieing* to know.

The last movie I took my daughter to see was Finding Nemo. I think she was nine at the time. Not only does the mother die on screen but there was some sort of brutal attack by a gang of killer fish. My daughter is scarred for life. She has never been to the movies since. Oh sure, she says its because she hates sitting still for so long but I know the truth. The image of that dead mother fish is burned into her brain. Being in the movie theater brings back the traumatic feelings.

Does anyone know if this new movie is safe for sensitive teens?

We didn’t see Little Mermaid 3 but I understand they go back in time just so we can find about the brutal crushing death of Ariel’s mother.

And Bambi? Was that movie really rated G? Rugrats is rated PG because there are poop jokes. Really? Poop jokes need parental guidance?

I wore pink to the Biker Expo.

biker 

Not sure what I was thinking. Guess I wasn’t. There I was… standing amidst a sea of black and chrome and suddenly it occurred to me… pink was a strange color choice to wear to the biker expo.

I expected to be the only one without a tattoo. I even expected to be the only with blond highlights but it never occurred to me that I would be the only one not wearing black. Could have gotten away with navy or brown but nooo… I decide to wear pink. There was one other person there in pink… my daughter.

As we walked proudly past the Hell’s Angels’ recruitment table, I thought to myself, “That’s right, you wear your colors and we’ll wear ours.”

I am such a rebel.