This is the thought of the day; actually since last night. Feel like smashing, kicking, throwing, or hitting something (and/or someone) so writing this blog seems to be a much smarter thing to do. Besides, it’s good therapy and lets me vent, but do apologize to my few unfortunate readers who will have to put up with these few paragraphs of acute frustration.
So, three guesses. Mom says I shouldn’t write about everything, and this time she might be right. The job that was the be-all and end-all to my existence. Even had a few calls for interviews from companies I previously submitted applications to which were promptly turned down because of this great job I just landed. (Opportunities I needed many months ago when the job hunt was producing zero results.) This job--not so grand after all. Delayed in starting. Business down. Hours cut. A discombobulated mess. A dog that seems to run the show. Who brings a pet to work anyway? It may be all the rage (at least in that area) but doesn’t work for me. Don’t get me wrong, I love animals, but not in a place of business that has nothing to do with the zoological field. (If my boss were to read this now--“To the unemployment line for you, Babe!”)
Although the owner/boss is very nice, it’s not worth going 21 miles for only 20 hours a week, in the hopes of being full time down the road (which I doubt will ever happen). Hate the commute and the wear and tear of the motor vehicle. And right now it is necessary for me to stay close to my parents. So, tomorrow, here I go again. “Sorry, but…..” and will stay until she gets somebody else.
But I do know things could be much worse, and this seems to keep me motivated and not to give up.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
VIRTUOSO
Sensation. Genius. Consummate. Masterful. Superstar. What great words to describe someone with musical talent. Wish those words could describe my musical flair. Although having dabbled with a musical instrument for 40 years, the words used would be more like inept, amateur, unskilled, rookie, neophyte, benchwarmer, loser, second-stringer, untrained, and greenhorn (never heard this one before, but sounds cool). Had I known how much fun music could be, might have strived for greatness on a keyboard and play at functions or become part of a band or even discover my own prodigy.
My parents bought an organ when I was about 10. Took lessons for a couple of years until my brother and I decided we didn’t want to take them anymore (or maybe we just didn’t like to practice). Have difficulty remembering a lot of specific details about the past which Mom contributes to my car accident over 20 years ago. Really have no recollection why my parents would buy an organ. Why an organ over a piano or some other “normal” musical instrument? All I remember is that when I went to my friends’ houses, they had pianos, and I wanted to sit down and play. Mom said she encouraged the organ because she liked the sound and my brother and I had no preference. Also, you didn’t have to be able to play very well to actually sound good. (You don’t suppose she was trying to avoid hours of excruciating pain listening to us practice?)
Even though my brother and I were no longer taking lessons, my parents kept the organ mainly for looks. Imagine many people have a baby grand in their living room and never tinkle the ivories. I decided to keep playing but never did understand the reason for sharps or flats and if chords were fancier than a C7, forget it. I’d find a familiar chord that sounded on pitch, although still knowing it was wrong. When we took lessons, had to play music from my parents’ generation (ugh) so I bought music books with the current pop songs, specifically 1972 and 1975 and played them as written. Thought playing straight chords was juvenile and not very challenging. Bought some other sheet music and my goal was to learn to play as written (and sound as good as) Simon & Garfunkel’s “Bridge Over Troubled Water.” I’ve yet to attain that goal. Now, if I could play all of Elton John’s and Lionel Richie’s hits and sound as good…..WHAT A FEAT!!!!
The organ became my possession when I got married and since it was never maintained, the keys and pedals eventually started wearing out. The organ followed us in all our moves until we left Austin and it found its way back into my parents’ living room. The organ was very heavy and it cost extra to transport so my parents decided to sell it after they sold their house in Oceanside and move to Long Beach. Keyboards are the trend and a lot less cumbersome.
This past summer I really missed playing and someone recommended going to Guitar Center. (Now, who do you suppose that could have been?) I purchased a Yamaha keyboard and checked out a book from the library. Not only did I learn the mechanics of music, it actually made sense (so that’s how you decipher sharps and flats) and was able to read the notes much easier (not perfect though by any means). The only drawback was going from two keyboards down to one. If only I had done this 40 years ago, who knows what could have been. There also is a claim that playing a musical instrument is good therapy, and heaven knows I could use a dose of that at any time.
As I mentioned in my previous blog, I was asked by one of the illustrious Praise Band members to rehearse and play keyboard during April’s Sunday Celebration. My dad’s unfortunate trip to the ER cancelled the first rehearsal but Greg, Steve and I practiced for a while Saturday night. They said I played well which was a relief and made me feel good but still felt somewhat skeptical. But, hey, they’re church people, and you know church people don’t lie.
This past week I practiced several hours a day and probably played more in a week’s time than I’ve played since purchasing my keyboard last summer. On Friday, I got to play in another setting and could crank up the sound of the CD player and keyboard. Except for lunch and an occasional stretch break, I played for about 6-½ hours. What a blast!! Even practiced my signing on some of the songs I didn’t yet have the lead sheets for. Don’t remember having so much fun and could have kept going, but you can only have so much of a good thing (and my fingers, neck, and back were getting stiff). Since the start of my new job is delayed for another week, I’ll spend the time practicing and it won’t have to be in a boxed up studio apartment with the volume down to barely audible.
Still have a couple of weeks to practice and about three rehearsals before the big event--my debut….my coming out….. Will be nervous. Will be anxious. Will wear my pinkie ring. Will be glad when it’s over (just kidding). More than likely, it will be in my blood and will have to start my own band (yeah, when you know what freezes over).
When things calm down, when time permits, and when I save up a little money, might utilize the services of a music teacher to help me accomplish my goal and set a deadline--By the end of this year, I’ll play “Bridge Over Troubled Water” as written.
I’ll keep you posted on the trials and tribulations of Debbie’s musical aspirations.
My parents bought an organ when I was about 10. Took lessons for a couple of years until my brother and I decided we didn’t want to take them anymore (or maybe we just didn’t like to practice). Have difficulty remembering a lot of specific details about the past which Mom contributes to my car accident over 20 years ago. Really have no recollection why my parents would buy an organ. Why an organ over a piano or some other “normal” musical instrument? All I remember is that when I went to my friends’ houses, they had pianos, and I wanted to sit down and play. Mom said she encouraged the organ because she liked the sound and my brother and I had no preference. Also, you didn’t have to be able to play very well to actually sound good. (You don’t suppose she was trying to avoid hours of excruciating pain listening to us practice?)
Even though my brother and I were no longer taking lessons, my parents kept the organ mainly for looks. Imagine many people have a baby grand in their living room and never tinkle the ivories. I decided to keep playing but never did understand the reason for sharps or flats and if chords were fancier than a C7, forget it. I’d find a familiar chord that sounded on pitch, although still knowing it was wrong. When we took lessons, had to play music from my parents’ generation (ugh) so I bought music books with the current pop songs, specifically 1972 and 1975 and played them as written. Thought playing straight chords was juvenile and not very challenging. Bought some other sheet music and my goal was to learn to play as written (and sound as good as) Simon & Garfunkel’s “Bridge Over Troubled Water.” I’ve yet to attain that goal. Now, if I could play all of Elton John’s and Lionel Richie’s hits and sound as good…..WHAT A FEAT!!!!
The organ became my possession when I got married and since it was never maintained, the keys and pedals eventually started wearing out. The organ followed us in all our moves until we left Austin and it found its way back into my parents’ living room. The organ was very heavy and it cost extra to transport so my parents decided to sell it after they sold their house in Oceanside and move to Long Beach. Keyboards are the trend and a lot less cumbersome.
This past summer I really missed playing and someone recommended going to Guitar Center. (Now, who do you suppose that could have been?) I purchased a Yamaha keyboard and checked out a book from the library. Not only did I learn the mechanics of music, it actually made sense (so that’s how you decipher sharps and flats) and was able to read the notes much easier (not perfect though by any means). The only drawback was going from two keyboards down to one. If only I had done this 40 years ago, who knows what could have been. There also is a claim that playing a musical instrument is good therapy, and heaven knows I could use a dose of that at any time.
As I mentioned in my previous blog, I was asked by one of the illustrious Praise Band members to rehearse and play keyboard during April’s Sunday Celebration. My dad’s unfortunate trip to the ER cancelled the first rehearsal but Greg, Steve and I practiced for a while Saturday night. They said I played well which was a relief and made me feel good but still felt somewhat skeptical. But, hey, they’re church people, and you know church people don’t lie.
This past week I practiced several hours a day and probably played more in a week’s time than I’ve played since purchasing my keyboard last summer. On Friday, I got to play in another setting and could crank up the sound of the CD player and keyboard. Except for lunch and an occasional stretch break, I played for about 6-½ hours. What a blast!! Even practiced my signing on some of the songs I didn’t yet have the lead sheets for. Don’t remember having so much fun and could have kept going, but you can only have so much of a good thing (and my fingers, neck, and back were getting stiff). Since the start of my new job is delayed for another week, I’ll spend the time practicing and it won’t have to be in a boxed up studio apartment with the volume down to barely audible.
Still have a couple of weeks to practice and about three rehearsals before the big event--my debut….my coming out….. Will be nervous. Will be anxious. Will wear my pinkie ring. Will be glad when it’s over (just kidding). More than likely, it will be in my blood and will have to start my own band (yeah, when you know what freezes over).
When things calm down, when time permits, and when I save up a little money, might utilize the services of a music teacher to help me accomplish my goal and set a deadline--By the end of this year, I’ll play “Bridge Over Troubled Water” as written.
I’ll keep you posted on the trials and tribulations of Debbie’s musical aspirations.
Monday, April 2, 2007
LIFE CHANGES - THE SEQUEL
It still amazes me how one’s life can change so suddenly, whether it be in a split second or a few days. I have experienced both, the former being as recent as yesterday. Wonder why we can’t experience these changes only once in life? But I guess that wouldn’t be life.
It would be a typical Sunday--well almost. Walk four miles, play tennis, eat breakfast, go to church, and eat lunch with Mom and Dad. Usually have a blank social calendar but this afternoon I would be rehearsing with the Praise Band and possibly play keyboard on a couple of songs for April’s Sunday Celebration. I was very apprehensive but also very excited. Never have played before anyone but family and never with a band. There was a pinky ring I used to wear as a good luck charm when I interpreted and hadn’t worn it since. Today seemed to be an appropriate time to wear it once again.
As I sat waiting for Bible Class to start, Mom and Dad walked in. For several weeks Dad has been having trouble just walking a short distance from the retirement facility to church without getting winded and stopping numerous times. Today was no exception and Mom said Dad felt dizzy and more confused than usual. I didn’t think Dad’s coloring looked good. Mom was concerned and asked Dad if he wanted to go. Thought she meant home but she meant hospital. A debate ensued whether I should take Dad or call the ambulance. Greg called 9-1-1 and waited outside to guide the paramedics. They arrived within five minutes but, hey, they come to the retirement and assistant living facilities next door almost on a daily basis. Imagine they were somewhat surprised that the emergency was at church. Dad got very emotional, a not too familiar sight from the man who is constantly cracking jokes and making others laugh. He looked scared and was having trouble catching his breath. Many in class seemed to be stunned and as the paramedics attended to Dad, I could hear Chuck in the background offering up words of prayer. When circumstances close to home occur, they seem so surreal, like you’re watching from the inside out. I used to get visibly and verbally upset during these times, but the years with Carl taught me to be calm and collected in crisis situations.
When the paramedics took Dad, I drove Mom down to the ER. (It’s nice being so close to the hospital.) Joe, a member at church who is a cardiac nurse came down and sat with us. Not only was it a comfort having a friend with medical knowledge there, it also was gratifying for all of us to get to know each other better. The wait was long as is typical in the ER and family members took turns to go see Dad. Dad was completing the preparation stages to have a bypass soon and this incident led us to believe Dad would be getting that bypass sooner than anticipated. Greg, Janice, Steve, and Laura dropped by to check on Dad. Everyone seemed quite surprised that Dad would probably be released. Bruce came by just before Dad walked out. Yes, I said walked out. (Always thought hospitals had policies about patients leaving in a wheelchair.) When I drove my parents home, Dad got out and opened the car door for my mom. Typical Dad; always the gentleman. When I crossed the church parking lot, Chuck drove up. He had been to the hospital and was surprised that Dad was gone.
We’re blessed to have such loving and caring friends as we do at Long Beach.
It would be a typical Sunday--well almost. Walk four miles, play tennis, eat breakfast, go to church, and eat lunch with Mom and Dad. Usually have a blank social calendar but this afternoon I would be rehearsing with the Praise Band and possibly play keyboard on a couple of songs for April’s Sunday Celebration. I was very apprehensive but also very excited. Never have played before anyone but family and never with a band. There was a pinky ring I used to wear as a good luck charm when I interpreted and hadn’t worn it since. Today seemed to be an appropriate time to wear it once again.
As I sat waiting for Bible Class to start, Mom and Dad walked in. For several weeks Dad has been having trouble just walking a short distance from the retirement facility to church without getting winded and stopping numerous times. Today was no exception and Mom said Dad felt dizzy and more confused than usual. I didn’t think Dad’s coloring looked good. Mom was concerned and asked Dad if he wanted to go. Thought she meant home but she meant hospital. A debate ensued whether I should take Dad or call the ambulance. Greg called 9-1-1 and waited outside to guide the paramedics. They arrived within five minutes but, hey, they come to the retirement and assistant living facilities next door almost on a daily basis. Imagine they were somewhat surprised that the emergency was at church. Dad got very emotional, a not too familiar sight from the man who is constantly cracking jokes and making others laugh. He looked scared and was having trouble catching his breath. Many in class seemed to be stunned and as the paramedics attended to Dad, I could hear Chuck in the background offering up words of prayer. When circumstances close to home occur, they seem so surreal, like you’re watching from the inside out. I used to get visibly and verbally upset during these times, but the years with Carl taught me to be calm and collected in crisis situations.
When the paramedics took Dad, I drove Mom down to the ER. (It’s nice being so close to the hospital.) Joe, a member at church who is a cardiac nurse came down and sat with us. Not only was it a comfort having a friend with medical knowledge there, it also was gratifying for all of us to get to know each other better. The wait was long as is typical in the ER and family members took turns to go see Dad. Dad was completing the preparation stages to have a bypass soon and this incident led us to believe Dad would be getting that bypass sooner than anticipated. Greg, Janice, Steve, and Laura dropped by to check on Dad. Everyone seemed quite surprised that Dad would probably be released. Bruce came by just before Dad walked out. Yes, I said walked out. (Always thought hospitals had policies about patients leaving in a wheelchair.) When I drove my parents home, Dad got out and opened the car door for my mom. Typical Dad; always the gentleman. When I crossed the church parking lot, Chuck drove up. He had been to the hospital and was surprised that Dad was gone.
We’re blessed to have such loving and caring friends as we do at Long Beach.
Sunday, April 1, 2007
HUCKLEBERRY PIE
H U Huckle
B U Buckle
T U Tuckle Y
H U Huckle
B U Buckle
Huckleberry Pie.
That little ditty is the first thing that comes to mind when thinking about my grandmother. That was her version and she recited it often. I absolutely adored my grandmother. No "Nana" or "Grams;" just "Grandmother." My favorite relative to visit. My favorite relative to be around. Grandmother just made me feel good. She was feisty. She was spunky. She had a mind of her own. She was a stubborn cuss. Dad said Mom, Grandmother, and I were three peas in a pod. I always resented that statement, and Dad said it a lot, but now... Na, I'm honored to be compared to her.
Most of our summer trips were spent visiting relatives in Oklahoma and Missouri. My grandparents lived in a mobile home, and I always enjoyed spending time with them. Grandmother was a great cook and we ate well. Grandmother also took the time to play games and one of our favorites was caroom. This game was played on a square board with four netted pockets on each side. You use a cue stick to hit a round, white playing piece into a pile of shiny, round red and green pieces and try to get your designated color into one of the pockets. Grandmother didn't use the cue stick. She smacked that sucker around like a marble with thumb and middle finger. Of course, I had to lose the cue stick as well and the only thing I ever came away with were sore nails. Yes, Grandmother was tough.
Mom's brother had a stroke when he was 44 and moved in with my grandparents six years later. After Granddad died, the burden was all upon my grandmother's shoulders, and she did it for 18 years.
Grandmother's favorite place was the yard and flower bed--well, at least that's where she spent a lot of her time. She mowed the lawn, trimmed and edged, and knelt down in the flower beds to weed until she was 89 years old. Unfortunately, Grandmother's mowing days ended once the mower threw a rod which ruined the motor. It was as if she had lost her best friend.
Grandmother took aspirin and pain pills and developed bleeding ulcers--huge holes in the lining of her stomach with profuse bleeding. She was admitted to the ICU and Grandmother became confused and didn’t even believe she was in the hospital. She even palmed her meds and believed the nurses were trying to kill her. To ensure her safety, Grandmother had to be strapped down to the bed. Every time anyone came into her room, Grandmother pointed to the straps and asked, “Do you have a knife or a pair of scissors?” Later she had a stroke and was never the same.
Toward the end Grandmother was transported down from Houston to Austin into a nursing home to be closer to us. It was difficult going to see her and tears rolled down my face as I caught just a slight glimpse. Grandmother was asleep. She looked so weak and so fragile. Not the vibrant, gutsy lady that brightened up my days. The main thing I noticed was the sunken mouth and on the nightstand lay her set of false teeth. It's odd how the facial structure changes when one's teeth are gone. Visiting with Grandmother would have to wait for another day.
When we went back the next morning, the tears started falling before I could even get out of the car. I knew the end was near, and I didn't want to lose the person who made me smile and made me laugh. Grandmother was my role model…my rock…my heart. As I walked in her room, our eyes met. Although she could not speak, her eyes lit up--I knew she recognized me and believed it gave her comfort. That would be my last memory.
Grandmother died in 1999, two months short of her 95th birthday. Mom has always said Grandmother would have gotten the biggest kick knowing she died on April Fool's Day.
Whether it was true or not, I always thought I was her favorite. Although never really telling her the depth of my love, I'm sure Grandmother knew, possibly when our eyes met on that final day.
B U Buckle
T U Tuckle Y
H U Huckle
B U Buckle
Huckleberry Pie.
That little ditty is the first thing that comes to mind when thinking about my grandmother. That was her version and she recited it often. I absolutely adored my grandmother. No "Nana" or "Grams;" just "Grandmother." My favorite relative to visit. My favorite relative to be around. Grandmother just made me feel good. She was feisty. She was spunky. She had a mind of her own. She was a stubborn cuss. Dad said Mom, Grandmother, and I were three peas in a pod. I always resented that statement, and Dad said it a lot, but now... Na, I'm honored to be compared to her.
Most of our summer trips were spent visiting relatives in Oklahoma and Missouri. My grandparents lived in a mobile home, and I always enjoyed spending time with them. Grandmother was a great cook and we ate well. Grandmother also took the time to play games and one of our favorites was caroom. This game was played on a square board with four netted pockets on each side. You use a cue stick to hit a round, white playing piece into a pile of shiny, round red and green pieces and try to get your designated color into one of the pockets. Grandmother didn't use the cue stick. She smacked that sucker around like a marble with thumb and middle finger. Of course, I had to lose the cue stick as well and the only thing I ever came away with were sore nails. Yes, Grandmother was tough.
Mom's brother had a stroke when he was 44 and moved in with my grandparents six years later. After Granddad died, the burden was all upon my grandmother's shoulders, and she did it for 18 years.
Grandmother's favorite place was the yard and flower bed--well, at least that's where she spent a lot of her time. She mowed the lawn, trimmed and edged, and knelt down in the flower beds to weed until she was 89 years old. Unfortunately, Grandmother's mowing days ended once the mower threw a rod which ruined the motor. It was as if she had lost her best friend.
Grandmother took aspirin and pain pills and developed bleeding ulcers--huge holes in the lining of her stomach with profuse bleeding. She was admitted to the ICU and Grandmother became confused and didn’t even believe she was in the hospital. She even palmed her meds and believed the nurses were trying to kill her. To ensure her safety, Grandmother had to be strapped down to the bed. Every time anyone came into her room, Grandmother pointed to the straps and asked, “Do you have a knife or a pair of scissors?” Later she had a stroke and was never the same.
Toward the end Grandmother was transported down from Houston to Austin into a nursing home to be closer to us. It was difficult going to see her and tears rolled down my face as I caught just a slight glimpse. Grandmother was asleep. She looked so weak and so fragile. Not the vibrant, gutsy lady that brightened up my days. The main thing I noticed was the sunken mouth and on the nightstand lay her set of false teeth. It's odd how the facial structure changes when one's teeth are gone. Visiting with Grandmother would have to wait for another day.
When we went back the next morning, the tears started falling before I could even get out of the car. I knew the end was near, and I didn't want to lose the person who made me smile and made me laugh. Grandmother was my role model…my rock…my heart. As I walked in her room, our eyes met. Although she could not speak, her eyes lit up--I knew she recognized me and believed it gave her comfort. That would be my last memory.
Grandmother died in 1999, two months short of her 95th birthday. Mom has always said Grandmother would have gotten the biggest kick knowing she died on April Fool's Day.
Whether it was true or not, I always thought I was her favorite. Although never really telling her the depth of my love, I'm sure Grandmother knew, possibly when our eyes met on that final day.
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