memory associations: fitted sheets

Every time I fold a fitted bed sheet, I remember my cousin coming to my dorm to tell me how her first work study shift in the laundry went. She was glowing when she told me, "and [the boss] was so glad to have me there since I was the only one who actually knew how to fold a fitted sheet!" I didn't mention that I had no idea how to fold a fitted sheet, at the time...







curious? youtube link fitted sheet folding demo I found HERE

my own scarf full of hugs

Throughout the day lately, my daughter, seemingly out of the blue, will say to me, "I love you my mother." She says it cool, calm, serious, often while she's coloring or otherwise busy. But every time she says it, I feel like I just got a great big warm hug from her, and know that despite all the crazy hectic days and arguments over whether she'll eat her carrots or go to bed when it is bed time, there's a mother-daughter bond, love, that won't be broken, even when she thinks I'm a crazy old lady out of touch with "cool". I'm storing up all these hugs for remembering later... 

I used to send a scarf with her to kindergarten that was "full up with extra hugs for all day" while she was there and I was at work. I'm thinking I'll need my own scarf soon enough. There's an old song, about the uncertainties of the future, I don't remember all of it or if it's quoting something, but one line stays with me:  "I don't know what the future holds, but I know Who holds the future." 

not as old as i thought it was

I distinctly remember being three and four years old and looking up at my mom and thinking she was a grown-up, but never that she was "old." In one memory in particular, I can still see where we were in my old hometown, the sunlight streaming into our blue Ford Tempo from the west. Mom was singing along with the radio, quietly, and I told her she sounded so pretty, like the singer. She was my mom, wonderful at a lot of things, and a grown-up. I thought I'd never be a grown-up since it would take forever to get there. 

Old wasn't really a concept I had a full understanding of at the time, though I've given it more thought since then. Mom was my current age at the time I'm thinking of. That's the weird thing, now I'm that age. I find myself looking at my daughter and wondering what she's thinking. She made the off handed comment the other day that I'm so old. Sure, old compared to FIVE. I've lived more than five times her lifetime. OUCH. Let's not do the math comparing to my two year old. 

This morning really solidified the fact that I'm a grown-up now. We were in the car, and an tune I used to love came on the radio. I turned it up and excitedly told my daughter, "This is a great song! It was so cool when I was in high school!" DOH. I just don't feel old, or like what I thought being a grown-up would feel like. I'm relieved that I don't feel like a teenager anymore (whew!). I guess being a grown-up doesn't feel old after all, though sometimes life can make us feel old, no mater what age we are. Here's to all cheesy high school songs they'll be playing in the grocery store in the mornings in a few more years. BRING IT ON.

     

      Harvey Danger - Flagpole Sitta - Watch more Videos at Vodpod.

A moment of reminiscing allows for apprecition of previously unnoted goodness

Dear Professor,

I've been thinking of you, the classes and projects. Thank you for pointing out that a research paper is not the proper context for making up words. Also pointing out that that the average college student can't claim they "coined" a new word was a good thing. Thank goodness for the bloggosphere allowing the decimation of the English language and all the rules that we learned were only acceptable to break in certain ways back in the day. I will always remember that "a lot" is yes, shockingly, TWO WORDS.

I appreciate all the times when you put up with the opinions and vocalizations of people who hadn't lived long enough to experience the ramifications of their opinions with graciousness. You could have belittled, shot down or coldly dismissed. You were frank, you were blunt, you were thought provoking, but never cold hearted and superior.

You have my sympathy, that the campus is now "fresh air" only and you are presumably walking half a mile off campus for a little break from the insanity that is a place of learning. Remember the good old days when one could have an officemate puffing away at a big, fat, cheap cigar while you are trying to concentrate on your papers? Ahh the good old days. That is what started this little note of appreciation to you, it was an afternoon for reminiscing. Continue in all your eccentric goodness, live long, and prosper.

Sincerly,
Desilou Freebush

disclaimer: this was writen while listening to Damien Rice's "The Blower's Daugher"

I'm having a day that feels like everything is picking up on my mood and perpetuating it. I am reletively sure we create our own reality and I am doing it myself... yes, Data is seeing threes everywhere and reality suddenly makes sense.
Last night I dreamed an odd dream (what's new there?) but  through out the dream I was looking for something to drink. I was going through cupboards looking for coffee. I drank cranberry juice, went to the fridge to get some orange pineapple juice, was handed a glass of water, and saw someone making a pitcher (yes, plastic pitcher) of dark coffee with a layer of creamer on top. When it was poured, it gave up just the right amount of coffee and creamer and combined itself. Somewhere in there I realized that choosing to never drink anything would be a slow, painful way to die. I woke up.
My son got out of his pj's this morning. They were a sleeper that I had removed the feet from and cut a little v in the back of the collar so I could put them on him backwards - he'd still be comfy but wouldn't be able to take them off. Ha. Ha. Turns out the little v in the collar was just enough room for him to Houdini out of them and well... we've seen this mess before.
After he had a bath and was settled in the high chair with his breakfast, my (WONDERFUL) hubby cleaned up the crib while I took a shower. Somehow it wasn't as refreshing as I thought it would be, my coffee wasn't as good as I'd been craving in my dream, and my daughter was a grouch when I came back out. Never mind that, I should be in a good mood, or at least not a total grouch, so I got the kids settled, tidied up a bit and then started catching stuff up on the computer.
I'm a product of my noisy, technologically advanced society. I can hardly stand quiet. I love music. I had to have some tunes even if my kiddos were ensuring the house would in no uncertain terms be too quiet. Pandora Internet Radio? Me love it long time. I tuned in and it read my mind. I know that that's not one of the Pandora's creators claims. Yet somehow it read my mind, my mood, and started playing Damien Rice's The Blower's Daughter.... then David Grey, Other Side... then Coldplay, Fix You....
While I'm writing my mind is wandering back to things I usually avoid meditating on. My current thought is that one can learn from the past, mistakes or otherwise, chalk it all up to "experience" and do the best you can from there. What is the point in contemplating the what-ifs if it's beyond your power to actually change what happened? I've heard of people going back and changing a tiny detail of a memory to something better every time they think of it until one day, the memory is golden and comforting and happy and nothing near what really happened. Does this ease the soul? It must, if it's needed. Is there a time when this would be called for? Yes. Do I have anything that calls for that? No, unless I've already suppressed it, and have no idea. What if one needs a firm grip on reality one day in the future but lost it in all th flips and switches and imaginings of the past?