Then: 30 Heading For 60

Now: Doing 60 in a 30 Zone

Age is just a state of mind, right?  Take it from these women - they know how to live.

http://www.powderroomgraffiti.com/live-it/doing-sixty-in-a-thirty-zone.html

With aging parents sometimes...

 Shit Happens that we can't control.  But laughing through the situation, often makes it better.

   http://www.powderroomgraffiti.com/feel-it/poop-funnyside-up.html

Then: Yesterday's Leftovers

Now: Today's Memories

Just yesterday I was a thirty-two year old mom with a year old daughter and toddling nieces and nephews.  Going to Grandma's house meant packing up the car on a Sunday with dirty laundry and excited kids for day a at my mother's house.  Treasures awaited my daughter inside her grandma's peach colored walls.  Napkin drawers and jewelry drawers.  Drawers with old make up, drawers full of boxes of colored scarves.  Drawers of old playing cards.  And that very special drawer.  The one with the Tupperware.  

Today, going to Grandma's house means coming to my house, a concept I'm still trying to get my mind around.  But it's one that my heart's been wrapped around ever since the day my daughter told me she was pregnant.

From that moment I couldn't wait to meet my grandchild.
Now, when my sixteen-month-old granddaughter runs up my driveway, shouting out something which I'm sure means Grandma, holding out her tiny arms, and smiling at me with eyes as big as silver dollars, nothing else in the world matters.  Nothing.

And inside my house there is a napkin drawer, a make-up drawer, cupboards full of boxes with crackers and cookies, and that all important drawer—the one with the Tupperware.
These containers, big and small, round and square, tall and short, are just waiting for her tiny hands to carry them to the center of the living room, to the center of her imagination.

She giggles.  And with that giggle she unlocks my imagination.

The living room becomes a planet faraway in another galaxy.  The hallway is the road twisting around the moon.  The laundry basket is a washing machine ride, just the right size for a small child.

The bed is a gigantic elephant lumbering through the jungle.  And the Tupperware bowls, well, they are funny round animals or the walls of a castle or odd shaped shoes taking us from Zanzazu to Appazoid.

They are vehicles taking us into the sixth dimension- into a place where there is no time, where there are no boundaries, no limits.  To look at us, we are a grandma and granddaughter playing with everyday plastic containers.  To be us, we are so much more.

Her energy carries me through the afternoon.  And then all too soon, it is time for her to leave.

As she toddles out my door, she takes a part of me into her future.  And I collapse on the couch, still smelling her sweet, clean promising scent—already missing her, already eager for her next visit.

As I relax, memories rush at me. I see my daughter playing with her grandmother and now I understand that look I would see on my mother's face.  It was more than a smile.  Her whole body was singing.

As mine is now.

And that bodysong stays with me as I pick up the space ship bowls. Put the washing machine away.  Scoop up the magic planets.  Stack the jungle lions one on top of the other.
Lastly and reluctantly, I close the Tupperware drawer.  Because I know, as does my mother, that a Tupperware container's primary use is not for storing leftover food.

It's for keeping memories.

Help!

 How can I control this animal?

  http://www.powderroomgraffiti.com/live-it/the-boxer-me-round-one.html

Thanks,
Janie

Then: Socially Insecure

Now: Social Security

Back in grade school, there were many times when I felt I didn't fit in, especially where boys were concerned.  At my first boy-girl party, I hid in the bathroom for several hours wishing the party would end so that I could escape to the comfort of my own home.  To this day, I wonder if anyone knew that I was missing.  Probably not.  I was pretty invisible to most people.

The proof of my invisibility was documented on the playground when I was always the last one chosen for any team sport.  And on Valentine's Day when the bag on the back of my chair received only one or two Valentine's cards, and one was always from the teacher.  

In high school, I had great ideas, but never raised my hand.  I had secret crushes that brought hours of joy when the object of my desire, merely looked in my direction.

Things I wanted to say came out all backwards.  Fitting in was not my forte.  

The only time I felt secure was during those hours spent with my BFF.  (Perhaps that's why she's still my BFF today.)

But as the years passed, I realized that most people shook hands with "social insecurity" at one time or another in their teenage and early adult years.  We were all just trying to find our place in the world.    

Decades passed.  I grew into my skin.  I fit in.    

And now once again I'm approaching a phase in my life which at times feels slippery.  I want to embrace "retirement" but unfortunately my financial situation isn't giving me the hugs I need.  

But then of course there is Social Security.  

According to Wikipedia, Social Security is a program providing protection against "recognized conditions, including poverty, old age, disability, unemployment and others."  Doesn't sound like any program I want to join.  

Once one opts to receive Social Security benefits that is the amount they will receive for the rest of their life, providing the money is still available.

Wherein lies my dilemma.  I don't want to collect this money now, but will the program still exist when I really do need it?  There are dozens of financial gurus willing to help me.  All for a small sum of my savings.        

As far as I can tell, there's nothing "social" about this club and for the "security" part, I might as well be back on that playground.

Then: Coloring between the lines

Now: Lip Liner

Our children grow up way too fast.  One day they are trying to color between the lines, the next they are using lipstick liner.  One day they are struggling, learning to read and the next day they are carrying a book around with them everywhere.  One minute they are madly in love with someone that we know is going to break their heart.  The next second, they say, "What did I ever see in that jerk?"

So often, we say to ourselves.  Where did the time go?

Well, I asked myself that question just the other day when my daughter called me up in a state of panic.

She had lost something valuable in the wash.  Well, actually, her husband had washed and dried her jeans without checking the pockets.  Now why this precious item was in her pockets in the first place was beyond me.  But, hey, her husband of only six months was doing the laundry. So, no complaints in that department.  

She was taking the dryer apart and needed a socket.
I don't even know what a socket is, I explained.  "Oh, Mom, please," she groaned.  "Nevermind."  I imagined her rolling her eyes as she hung up the phone.

She called back a few minutes later, this time in need of a flashlight.  That I could handle.

A half hour later, I showed up at her house to find her in the garage, covered with grease.  She had retrieved her invaluable item and was reassembling the dryer.

On her command, I handed her one screw after another, watching her use that socket thing.  In no time at all, the dryer panel was back in place.

"How in the world do you know what you're doing?" I asked, thinking back to when she played with Barbie.  Even Ken didn't have the skills for what she was now doing.

"I just do," she answered.  Her exasperated sigh could be heard throughout the neighborhood.  "Now shine the light inside the dryer."  

I did and while she connected yet another part, a light went off inside my head.  She must have been paying attention to her father in those days when he still possessed his "Mr. Fix-It Abilities."  

As I watched, I took note of who she had become.  She's a good cook, enhancing almost every recipe with her own special touch.  I'm not.  I don't know the difference between paprika and saffron, except that the latter is more expensive.  She had to have gotten her kitchen talents from her father.

She reads directions, from the first word to the last before putting together toys, computers or whatever needs assembling.  I don't.  I rush full speed ahead and wonder why the hell things fall apart.  Another trait inherited from her father.

Hmm?deep down, I know she's still her mother's daughter.  What special traits have I given her?

After about an hour, she stood up, brushed her hair out of her eyes and smiled.  She had succeeded at her task.  Persistence.  That is something I know all too well.

Looking at her, an attractive young women, I suggested she advertise around the neighborhood as "Handy Panties R Us."  She has the body for it and times are tough these days.  She might get lots of business.

"Oh, Mom," she said.  But for one split second the design of a Handy Pantie Poster flashed through her mind.  I could tell.  Because I have those 'aha' moments, too.

Oh, and there is one other very important thing she inherited from me.  Those sparkling diamond earrings which she had just retrieved from the depths of the dryer and were now back in her ears.

Next time they needed to be cleaned I suggested she leave them on and take a long, hot shower.