Vanity Fall

Vanity Fall

May 11, 2009

                As I lazed all comfy under my bed covers, browsing through my newspaper, my morning coffee on the nightstand beside me, a notice under things To do caught my eye.

                Piano classes for beginners and intermediates were being held at Buhl Recreation Center.  Needing some motivation to return to my piano, I thought "Why not?"  I made the call, gave my name and phone number and signed up for the intermediate session.  On the appointed evening, I drove to the class, which I assumed was at the part rec center.  No one was there-lights were out.  Luckily, I had the article with me and called the phone number.

                "I'm sitting outside the building at the park and no one is here for the piano class."

                "Oh, it's at the Buhl Club."

                Since I am always painfully early for everything, I had plenty of time to drive to the Buhl Club, about two miles away.  I pulled the car into a spot in the parking lot, gathered my notebook and favorite pen, and excitedly walked inside the door and up to the desk.

                "I'm here for the piano class," I smiled.

                The receptionist looked at me rather surprised and after a minute quietly said, "That class is for ages 5 to 18."

                I had seen nothing in the article about an age limit.  All I could do was pull out my pride and walk out to my car.

                That episode reminded me of another experience I had years ago.  I was about seven months pregnant with my third child.  While shopping, I noticed a sign on the store counter advertising a contest that expectant mothers could enter.  I wrote my name and address on the ticket and dropped it in the box.  Several weeks later I got a call from the store notifying me I had won and they would deliver the prize that afternoon.  I don't remember what the prize was, but it didn't matter - I had won something!

                When the doorbell rang that afternoon, I was prepared and waddled to the door, my two small children beside me.  I smiled at the gentleman with the big package as I opened the door.  He hesitated a minute, looking at my two children.

                "Is this your first baby," he asked.

                "No, my third," I proudly answered.

                There was a moment of silence.

                "I'm so sorry.  This contest was for women expecting their first baby."

                "Oh you mean you won't give it to me?"

                "I'm so sorry."

                I watched as he turned and slowly walked down the front steps with the big package and on to his car.

                I believe my often-offended vanity seems to sometimes help keep me humble.

Joanne Murray is my cousin.  She sent me a book her son made for her 75th Birthday.  It contained essays that Joanne had written.  In the interest of bias, I am definitely biased so let's get that out of the way.  But once you and I get passed my bias you come to realize as I have that these essays are something very special especially to her family and THAT IS THE POINT.  As I read them the one of many thoughts that crept into my mind was "why haven't I been doing this?"  Why indeed!  These are thoughts of a daughter, a granddaughter, a mother, a wife, a cousin (like in my case), an aunt etc.  Most who will read these essays have that in common with Joanne.  There are people you know who might enjoy knowing what you think and what experiences you have been exposed to.  Wouldn't it be nice if you let them know by writing them down as my cousin Joanne has done.  It's never too late to get started.  I will be posting them here about one a week and do so with Joanne's permission.  Hope you keep coming back.  Leave your comments below.    Jim "Gymbeaux" Brown

Free Me From Clutter

FREE ME FROM CLUTTER

January 17, 2007

                I am cleaning.  Finally my mood is such that my arms agree with my mind and allow me to toss out unnecessary items I no longer need.  At least that is what I tell myself.

                I shred my late husband's return prescription labels to the VA, along with his chest x-ray from the hospital, and put his extra shoestrings for his favorite tennis shoes in the Goodwill bag.  I keep his favorite robe and the gray/black sport coat he looked so handsome in, plus some special mementos.

                Our den is filled with small metal cars and moving toys he loved.  There is a plaster cast of his hand showing his knuckle ball form, which an artist had made at an art show we attended years ago.  Several small airplanes hang from the ceiling.  When I mentioned I was going to take some of his toys down, my children quickly reprimanded me.  They like to see them where they are and jokingly tell me they have placed their names on the bottoms of their favorites.  I suspect they are not joking.

                From my closet I toss out twelve belts in various colors.  They will no longer embrace my waistline, so why should I dream?  I almost place my green sweatshirt in the bag, but no, when it's cold outside I sometimes slide it over my nightgown and wear it to bed.  Doesn't matter that I have eight others, I part with one of my good winter coats when I realize it was purchased when my 14-year-old grandson was born.  To me it is my new coat, even though I have several newer ones in my closet.

                I attempt to place my rose-colored Lands' End sweater in the bag.  It must be twenty years old.  But it is an unusual color, fits well and I still like it.  Lands' end sweaters are my favorites-they never pill up and last forever, as proven by me.  There are eleven of them in my drawer.  I ignore the fact that when a new addition is made to your wardrobe another should e permanently removed.

                My mother's elegant cream-colored rayon tablecloth goes back in my linen drawer.  It was large enough to cover her mahogany drop leaf table with three leaves inserted.  Years ago she had washed it and hung it outside to dry.  A neighborhood dog decided it looked pretty inviting and put his teeth in several places, making small holes.  My mother darned it with delicate interwoven threads, making it more unique.  Only I remember this.  Really, who will want it?  It stays.

                I eliminate some knickknacks from my basement storage room.  Vases go to a friend who does crafts.  My mothers' assortment of sherbet, wine, brandy, parfait glasses are brought up to decorate my already full china closet.

                There is a large box of picture frames under a table in the basement, plus two drawers full in my bureau upstairs.  I do counted cross-stitch and occasionally need a frame for my needlework.  But I haven't picked up my needle for crochet or embroidery for four years.

                Finding a shoe box of old candles, I intend to keep only the ones I use.  Definitely most of them need to go.  I sort them by color.  Looking at them in that order, I decided I will just get a larger box.  The empty brass wood box by the fireplace is perfect.  Out of sight.  I'll keep them all.

                Who will know that the delicate Royal Winton dish that is glued together in three-places held candy called chicken bones and sat on my grandmother's coffee table when I was little?  I know.

                I really am trying

Joanne Murray is my cousin.  She sent me a book her son made for her 75th Birthday.  It contained essays that Joanne had written.  In the interest of bias, I am definitely biased so let's get that out of the way.  But once you and I get passed my bias you come to realize as I have that these essays are something very special especially to her family and THAT IS THE POINT.  As I read them the one of many thoughts that crept into my mind was "why haven't I been doing this?"  Why indeed!  These are thoughts of a daughter, a granddaughter, a mother, a wife, a cousin (like in my case), an aunt etc.  Most who will read these essays have that in common with Joanne.  There are people you know who might enjoy knowing what you think and what experiences you have been exposed to.  Wouldn't it be nice if you let them know by writing them down as my cousin Joanne has done.  It's never too late to get started.  I will be posting them here about one a week and do so with Joanne's permission.  Hope you keep coming back.  Leave your comments below.    Jim "Gymbeaux" Brown

Home Town

HOME TOWN

June 8, 2009

            I love my small little town.  Almost everyone is your friend and knows your secrets-or think they do.  If not, they might make up and embellish the rest.  A recent incident in our post office might indicate our mentality.  A friend of mine, Ed, needed a passport.  He was told to get one at the post office.  He made an appointment.  He arrived at 1:45 thinking his appointment was at 2:00. He noticed there were no customers as he approached the counter.  The woman behind the counter informed him his appointment was at 3:00.  He noted the empty lobby, but did as he was told and returned at 3:00.  He had previously filled out the paperwork and handed it to her.  She asked for his drivers' license.  He lifted it out of his wallet and handed it to her.  She made a copy of it, asked him a few questions.  He paid the fee.  "Am I done?"

            "Yep, that's it."  This procedure took all of 5 minutes.  Good thing he had an appointment.  As he was leaving, a gentleman entered the lobby seeking information.  He said he and his wife were here from Germany and looking for a relative living in this area.  The postman said he didn't recognize the name.  Ed said, "I worked with a man by that name.  Come on out to my care.  I have a phone book there and I'll look it up for you."  They walked out to the car; Ed found the name and address.  He offered his cell phone to the man so he could call the number.  Ed was telling him how to get to the address and then said, "Look, follow me.  It will be easier."

            The other day I needed postage stamps.  I drove to the post office.

            "I need a book of stamps, please."

The postal clerk pulled out a sheet of stamps and handed it to me.  As he was scanning them and ringing them up, I glanced down at the stamps.  They were Homer Simpson stamps.  I started to say I wanted something else, but he was almost done and I decided "Oh well."  I got in my car and realized I had a sympathy card and a get well card to mail.  Homer Simpson seemed definitely not appropriate.  The next day I marched into the post office and exchanged them.  They were replaced with Forever stamps.

            I look forward to my next adventure in my small town.

Joanne Murray is my cousin.  She sent me a book her son made for her 75th Birthday.  It contained essays that Joanne had written.  In the interest of bias, I am definitely biased so let's get that out of the way.  But once you and I get passed my bias you come to realize as I have that these essays are something very special especially to her family and THAT IS THE POINT.  As I read them the one of many thoughts that crept into my mind was "why haven't I been doing this?"  Why indeed!  These are thoughts of a daughter, a granddaughter, a mother, a wife, a cousin (like in my case), an aunt etc.  Most who will read these essays have that in common with Joanne.  There are people you know who might enjoy knowing what you think and what experiences you have been exposed to.  Wouldn't it be nice if you let them know by writing them down as my cousin Joanne has done.  It's never too late to get started.  I will be posting them here about one a week and do so with Joanne's permission.  Hope you keep coming back.  Leave your comments below.    Jim "Gymbeaux" Brown

The Proof is in the Picture

THE PROOF IS IN THE PICTURE

June 1, 2009

            Something was missing from the wall.  I sensed this as I walked through my laundry area.  A bare space had replaced a small black and white snapshot of my mother and father taken on their wedding day.  It showed my mother in her soft, dainty white gown and lovely floppy ruffle-brimmed hat.  My father wore white trousers and a dark jacket.  she had her arm slid through his, her hand relaxing on his arm.  Her other arm held a huge bouquet of flowers.  They were both smiling happily.

            Originally, the picture had been forgotten in my mother's photo album.  She preferred to keep it out of sight.  They were divorced several years after I was born.  He came to see us at our apartment when I was about five years old.  That is my only memory of him.

            Years later, I gradually asked questions about him.  My mother was always slow to respond, and I sensed anger inside her.  That is why their wedding picture was just part of a hidden page in her album.  But he was my father, and I needed to know more about him.

            After she passed away, I removed the snapshot from her album and pinned it on the wall of my laundry room along with some favorite family pictures.  I often stared at it and wondered why he was never a part of my life.  Why did he never seem to care about me?

            When I discovered the bare spot on the wall, I searched the area thoroughly, thinking it had fallen down.  No luck.  I remembered another copy somewhere in her loose photo box.  Happily, I found it, along with several other old photos.  One was my father holding me and smiling down at the baby in his arms.  I placed these in a little pile on my buffet, planning to frame them later.  When I showed them to a friend, the wedding picture was missing.  I know my mother was playing tricks on me.  I can hear her voice, "I told you to leave well enough alone."

            Meanwhile, I shall search for those two precious pictures, tenderly scold my mother and wonder about a part of my past that is forever lost to me.  But the pictures remain proof to me that I did have a father.

Joanne Murray is my cousin.  She sent me a book her son made for her 75th Birthday.  It contained essays that Joanne had written.  In the interest of bias, I am definitely biased so let's get that out of the way.  But once you and I get passed my bias you come to realize as I have that these essays are something very special especially to her family and THAT IS THE POINT.  As I read them the one of many thoughts that crept into my mind was "why haven't I been doing this?"  Why indeed!  These are thoughts of a daughter, a granddaughter, a mother, a wife, a cousin (like in my case), an aunt etc.  Most who will read these essays have that in common with Joanne.  There are people you know who might enjoy knowing what you think and what experiences you have been exposed to.  Wouldn't it be nice if you let them know by writing them down as my cousin Joanne has done.  It's never too late to get started.  I will be posting them here about one a week and do so with Joanne's permission.  Hope you keep coming back.  Leave your comments below.    Jim "Gymbeaux" Brown

Mirror Image

Mirror Image

March 17, 2008

            His red tank top partially covered the sweaty brown body hair curling on his back.    He wore beltless jean shorts and brown leather sandals.  His wife's white t-shirt carelessly hung over her navy shorts.  Her sandals were white.  They sat before me dressed for a day at the beach.  We were not at the beach.  We were in church.

            A trip to an airport recently proved that, as my husband would often say, some people's homes seem to be a mirror deprived.  I stood in the line with a young woman wearing her flannel pajama bottoms, which I noted seems to be quite common wearing apparel.  Her companion had on baggy sweats and dirty white tennis shoes.  Total comfort seems to override good taste.  Dress has a moral effect upon the conduct of mankind.  It is the table of your contents.

            Several years ago I prepared to attend my granddaughter's graduation from medical school.  I carefully selected an appropriate dress and shoes for this special occasion.  Not to worry.  The ladies in front of me wore jeans.  Ultra casual dress seems to be the common rule.

            While working in a doctor's office some time ago, I was impressed with an elderly woman who came for her appointment accompanied by her daughter.  It was obvious that the mother had taken great care to wear one of her better dresses and stockings.  She completed her outfit with a matching little hat.  She probably dressed with just as much care even going to the grocery store.  It was proper to her.

            I have read that dressing is an art, a means of self-expression.  It is a reflection of the respect you have for your body.  A simple necklace gives the impression that a person cares.  When one is neatly dressed, self-confidence seems to be boosted and good behavior follows naturally.

            Fetch me a mirror.

Joanne Murray is my cousin.  She sent me a book her son made for her 75th Birthday.  It contained essays that Joanne had written.  In the interest of bias, I am definitely biased so let's get that out of the way.  But once you and I get passed my bias you come to realize as I have that these essays are something very special especially to her family and THAT IS THE POINT.  As I read them the one of many thoughts that crept into my mind was "why haven't I been doing this?"  Why indeed!  These are thoughts of a daughter, a granddaughter, a mother, a wife, a cousin (like in my case), an aunt etc.  Most who will read these essays have that in common with Joanne.  There are people you know who might enjoy knowing what you think and what experiences you have been exposed to.  Wouldn't it be nice if you let them know by writing them down as my cousin Joanne has done.  It's never too late to get started.  I will be posting them here about one a week and do so with Joanne's permission.  Hope you keep coming back.  Leave your comments below.    Jim "Gymbeaux" Brown

Happiness

HAPPINESS

January 16, 2006

I woke up happy and for several seconds felt healthy and carefree.  In the lives of the saddest of us there are bright days when we feel we could take the world in our arms.  That was my feeling.  Then I felt guilt-how could I be happy?  I'm not ready.  I'm still mourning but the feeling stayed a while, and I knew my day would be good.

            What is happiness?  I shared my euphoric feeling with my son Kevin.  He believes happiness is what you feel when you are very young-before you have a thought process and are able to put words together.  It is a natural feeling and how you are supposed to feel.

            A baby cannot think in sentences and doesn't know true unhappiness.  He develops that as he ages.  Kevin gave as an example his one-year-old granddaughter, Emma.  He and his wife, Ellen, love to take her out to eat-they know she is the cutest baby in the restaurant.  He tells me her huge blue eyes evoke smiles and doting from all the waitresses (so they tell me).  Emma loves to look around at people and tries to get their attention.  She is especially drawn to other children and stares at them, smiles and makes little screaming noises until they look at her.

            Lately she has learned to look at them, say hi, raise her little hand and curl her fingers in a wave.  She is truly happy.  But as she gets older she will learn that she must face adversity to learn how to be happy.

            Happiness has many definitions-joy, delight, contentment and well-being.  Sometimes we have to look hard to find it.  Our park has a large white gazebo built on top of a small hill amid a field of grass.  The area surrounding the field is edged with trees donated in memory of departed loved ones.  A small bronze plaque noting the deceased's name is placed in front of each tree.  A beautiful rainbow of flowers circles the gazebo where walking stones form a random path.  As you step inside and turn, the overwhelming view seems to fly across the city of Sharon into the horizon beyond.  One day, my husband and I packed some sandwiches and sat in the gazebo in contended silence as we appreciated the solace of this quiet heaven.  Sometimes things are so beautiful you want to share them with everyone.

            Pieces of happiness are all around us.  We only need to open our eyes.

            (An aside-if I walked around with a cell phone I would miss many moments of happiness.)

Joanne Murray is my cousin.  She sent me a book her son made for her 75th Birthday.  It contained essays that Joanne had written.  In the interest of bias, I am definitely biased so let's get that out of the way.  But once you and I get passed my bias you come to realize as I have that these essays are something very special especially to her family and THAT IS THE POINT.  As I read them the one of many thoughts that crept into my mind was "why haven't I been doing this?"  Why indeed!  These are thoughts of a daughter, a granddaughter, a mother, a wife, a cousin (like in my case), an aunt etc.  Most who will read these essays have that in common with Joanne.  There are people you know who might enjoy knowing what you think and what experiences you have been exposed to.  Wouldn't it be nice if you let them know by writing them down as my cousin Joanne has done.  It's never too late to get started.  I will be posting them here about one a week and do so with Joanne's permission.  Hope you keep coming back.  Leave your comments below.    Jim "Gymbeaux" Brown

A Little Thing

A LITTLE THING

(No date)

            He is a pro water skier.  His sponsor has sent him all over the world for tournaments.  He has endured many successes and some heartbreaking disappointments in his competitions.  But he knows this comes with the choice he has made in his life.  He is my grandson Billy.

            This time, he and his mother traveled to a tournament about three hours from his home.  The areas by the lakes are always filled with parents, friends and many fans.  Also, a food stand, plus kiosk to purchase promotional t-shirts and other small items related to water-skiing.

            He waited in the water behind the boat, stretches his trademark white headband over his hair and waits for his signal.  He has a good start but falls early in the run and therefore doesn't qualify for a last pass.  When this happens, his mother has learned to quietly wait in the car for him and not say anything.  There is nothing that will soothe him; he just has to suffer through the disappointed feeling and move on.  Usually, after an hour, the mod gently lifts, and he slowly berated himself.  He forgets the times he has been so successful.

            But now his head is up and he hops into the car beside her with a slight smile on his face.  She waits for him to speak.  He talks a little about the tournament.  He hesitates a minute then says, "I was getting out of the water and feeling so embarrassed and disappointed at how badly I did, and this little boy was waiting for me with a pen in his hand.  He asked me for my autograph and headband.  When I signed his paper and gave him my headband, he was so happy.  I thought, why should I complain.  I am doing what I love.  How can I be so selfish? "  Another minute passed and he quietly said, "I wish I had been nicer to him."

            That boy will never know how much he did for Billy that day.  Tremendous consequences come from little things - a chance word, a tap on the shoulder or a smile prove "there are no little things."

Gymbeaux Note:  It was from this one essay that I had the impulse to name this blog, "No Little Things".

Joanne Murray is my cousin.  She sent me a book her son made for her 75th Birthday.  It contained essays that Joanne had written.  In the interest of bias, I am definitely biased so let's get that out of the way.  But once you and I get passed my bias you come to realize as I have that these essays are something very special especially to her family and THAT IS THE POINT.  As I read them the one of many thoughts that crept into my mind was "why haven't I been doing this?"  Why indeed!  These are thoughts of a daughter, a granddaughter, a mother, a wife, a cousin (like in my case), an aunt etc.  Most who will read these essays have that in common with Joanne.  There are people you know who might enjoy knowing what you think and what experiences you have been exposed to.  Wouldn't it be nice if you let them know by writing them down as my cousin Joanne has done.  It's never too late to get started.  I will be posting them here about one a week and do so with Joanne's permission.  Hope you keep coming back.  Leave your comments below.    Jim "Gymbeaux" Brown