Things That Go "Bump" in the Night

         I’ve never been much for scary things. While I’ve seen the “light” on the train tracks and walked past the Witch’s House when in Kindergarten, that’s pretty much it.  

             The thing in the sky with a red tail was not Rudolph, so I hid until Daddy made me come outside to see what scientists called “sputnik.” Who in their right mind would knowingly go outside and search for something hovering in the sky, just overhead, something with a red tail that glowed. Seriously?

          Sputnik came on the heels of Miss Maud’s vanishing act, probable murder, with her remains most likely in my closet or under my friend’s bed.  We were sure of it.  That, or it was an abduction. 

           Walter Akins took Suzanne and me to a space invader movie at the Rialto and, in confession, I have not been the same since.

         My Halloween costumes never resembled anything frightful.  I have been a Gypsy (with gobs of Mother’s costume jewelry draped all around) and a little Indian maiden, complete with a feather in my hair and a fringed brown skirt. No store-bought costumes and not much door-to-door candy gathering, either. Fun was the school carnival at Cleveland Avenue School where I once won a cake at the Cake Walk.

          Another good part about Halloween is, of course, the candy. Giving “the good stuff” is important in a neighborhood. You don’t want to be remembered as the house that gives little boxes of cereal, or Band-Aids.

         Funny thing about Halloween,though.  Now, it’s as much of a grown-up holiday as any other, perhaps more.  Adults use any excuse to bring tricks to work or fill the break room with treats.

         Still the wimp when it comes to creepy things, I’d just as soon get the candy straight from the bag.

          Things that go bump in the night would be me and whatever gets in my way as I exit any version of a Haunted House, especially one where Boo Radley might have lived.

Good-bye Boutique, Hello Chico!

It’s been years since it dawned on me that I had been hammered with UKS.  I realized that Ugly Knees Syndrome is inherited, dreaded, and forever. That and PFA.  Plague of the Fat Ankle.

Regardless of how skinny my upper portion might become, for every inch of upper body I lose, UKS and PFA roll on and on and on.

I would so love to wear leggings, skinny jeans, or tights with a tunic top. Peeking from the hemline of the tunic top would be UK, ugly covered in leggings, skinny jeans, or tights.  No cover can make them pretty, or slim, or non-existent.

Boots help.  The tall ones with tall heels.  Ankles and tree trunk legs can be disguised in boots, but sometimes the PFA is squeezed northward and the fat squirts out over the top of the boot, contributing to even more unattractiveness.  There is no win.

I live with the ongoing dread of being photographed and posted on People of Wal-Mart, with my Ugly – as in “U-G-L-Y, You Ain’t Got No Alibi, You Ugly!” Knees hanging out from under a darling dress designed for someone half my age.

It does not help that between my ears, I think I’m 24. I’ve been 24 most of my life.  To say I’m shocked when I glance in the mirror would be an understatement.  After years of seeing my mother peering back at me, you’d think I would have gotten the message.

Sometimes I think I’ll just buy a larger size, as in a Size L top to cover the bulges.  Wrong!  I look like someone walking around in a circus tent. Better to wear something more form fitting, but not too tight, as in “the correct size.”  That varies from store to store and style to style. 

I refuse to buy anything with an X in it.  Since Mother tried to clothe me in a 6x in my younger years, I have known what X represents. X = Not Good.  X=X-Lax.  X=wrong answer.  X=Do Not Enter –Crime Scene.

                                                                                                                                                                  I have not worn any skirt that hits well-below my knees since a less-than-tactful son told me I looked like a Pilgrim. He had in mind the somber ladies who fed the Indians and stoked the campfire. Fashion in Black, White, and Dull.

With the Thanksgiving holiday approaching, I have to be very careful in wardrobe selection. I tend to keep wardrobe from the ancient of days. Fashion Rule: If it's been in 3 closets, it's time to discard, let someone else enjoy its elegance.

So, what’s a girl to do when overwhelmed by UKS and PFA? I cannot bring myself to wear what’s hot, regardless, as I see so often in women who stroll the aisles of the grocery store, the retail giant, or enjoy dinner at the local restaurant.    

I’ll continue my search for fashion forward outfits.  No orthopedic shoes and no QEII handbags. No Pilgrim labels, either. 

I’ll search out fashion designed with a nod toward age-disguise and not disgrace.

A Walk in October

Friday is still a favorite day of the week, regardless of retirement status.  Years of working relentlessly gave me such a perspective.  Friday: a day for reflection on the week, preparation for the next, and an evening of relaxation.  It used to mean no cooking.

On my morning walk, during which I practice my dance-team moves to my favorite Walking Songs on the IPod, I ponder things past, present, and future.  If I’m lucky, I’ll remember my plans when I stroll into the driveway.

This morning, as I do each morning, I whispered first a prayer of Thanksgiving. Bottom line: a prayer of joy in thanks to God for breathing, walking, loving, and living. I think of the brave woman, Cathy Frye, who survived in the Big Bend Ranch State Park. The last lines of her story told in series and final Reflection this week (Arkansas Democrat-Gazette): “Love and Faith brought me out of the desert.  Love and Faith brought me home.  I thanked God for giving me more time to be their (her children) mother.”

And I pray for my family in supplication for their health and safety.  And so it goes as I walk.

The sun sifts sparkling through the tree branches.  Festive fall decorations greet me at each turn and I smile.  All the while, the IPod is pumping out quick paced walking rhythms and I obey.

Soon, several pops-classical tunes fill my ears and heart.  It’s "Rhapsody in Blue" and I drift into making plans for the day and the week and the month. Stopped short,  I thank God, again, for the opportunity to share my life with family and friends. The opportunity to plan anything.

And thus, with a heart and soul filled with wonder and thanksgiving, I hurry to put my thoughts on paper to share with those of you who might relate to my story for today.

Campfire Sentiment

I was a Girl Scout Drop–out, but I did learn a few things.

I treasure the sentiment in one particular campfire song.

Make New Friends But Keep the Old

One is Silver the Other Gold.

Both friend-categories shine with value.

While new friends will never recall the memories of countless years past or remember the depth of shared experiences, they are quite valuable in this life.

New friends know that life is too short to be petty, too sweet not to be shared.

New friends are quick to embrace a friendship because everyone has learned the positive value found in shared lives.

I’m so very fortunate to have friends that are "old" with memories like mine.

And friends who are new- ready to embrace the day and willing to include me in it.

Hometowns

           Memory and sentiment wrap me in a hand-stitched quilt. 

I sigh in remembrance of the warmth I find there. 

Like most memories, images play against a grand backdrop elevated by fancy. 

Yet, the feelings of security and peace are real. 

          It’s best to leave those memories to their swirling fancy and let reality keep to itself. 

Time is a thief that robs the past of its glow, introducing reverie to the glare of clarity. 

The beautiful memories are recollections, made lovelier through dreams.

A Visit to the War House

My dad played with my children. Maybe because they were active, fun-loving, outside-playing boys. David ran and ruled at The Pond and as King of the Dirt Pile out back. Daddy would drive Mother and David to El Dorado to get a Wendy's kid's meal. Whoever heard of a town Not Having a Wendy's...or a McDonalds.


Forward 8 years and McDonald's is in Camden and Daddy has retired.  Now, both he and Rich are playing in the dirt with trucks. Richard helps drive Poppy's truck on adventures to The Pond. They wave to the little blonde-haired girl on the back of the school bus. They also play war games at the War House. Rich was fascinated with the cannon, cannonballs,and The Civil War history and legend.



 Today, I visited the War House and had a short conversation with college classmate and sorority sister Kathy Kesterson Boyette. She's the President for the Ouachita County Historical Society, Big plans are underway for Fort Lookout where the 1966 Conifer staff and Ben Bracken photographed students depicting scenes such as "High above the winding river..." I picked up a copy of Goodbye, Camden High School, old District 35, (the old beautiful building) Historical Quarterly. A historical listing of businesses in downtown Camden during the 1950's is included.

On our drive south to El Dorado,we saw a sign indicating that future I-69 would pass to the south of Camden, but still in Ouachita County. I'm surprised. I wonder if Camden is pleased? We did not take time to see the Goat Woman's circus car at the Oil Museum.  Marvin knows about the Goat Woman and what it's like to have a bad hair day(Goat Lady Hair).  I explained it all to him.

The McCullom-Chidester House was built in 1857 and has long been on the National Register. Also on site is the Ingham Library building, which was the first library I visited as a young girl in the early 1950's.

Camden, indeed, is Where History Lives...along with my growing-up memories and those of my sons, also. My sons carry memories of Camden, associated with their Poppy and Nana.