Catch my interview with Jeff Rivera, http://jeffrivera.com/interview-with-author-flo-barnett/
to get a glimpse of Grammy exposed!
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Monday, February 18, 2013
Four year old Becomes Mom!
Boy, if a 4 year old became a mom today it would be an over-night news sensation! Every reporter across the globe would be in hot pursuit to get the first interview and every film maker a signed contract for movie rights. But after my dad's tragic death, I indeed became a mom to my six year old brother minus labor pains of course.
Our mother was given $1000. and a job in maintenance as compensation for her loss. In 1948 that was considered very generous to a grieving widow and her young family. She would walk out the door for work at 5:30a.m. leaving her two children to fend for themselves until her 4:00p.m.return. Even though we lived in my baba and zedo's house, waking up, dressing, getting breakfast and going to school were our responsibilities. Rather they were my duties since my brother was totally dependent on me for everything. I made sure he was up and stayed up. I buttoned his shirt and tied his shoes. I got breakfast for both of us. And got him out the door so he would make it to school on time.
When I entered first grade, the job of mother doubled. Now, not only did I handle my brother's every need, but had to make sure I was ready for the school day as well. He and I left the house at 7:00a.m. and walked the half mile to school everyday rain or shine. Of course we goofed around so a normally 15 minute jaunt would take an additional half hour. Upon reaching St. Michael's we'd go to morning Mass as any good little Catholic kids were expected to do.
School started at 9:00a.m. From that moment until 3:00p.m. when the dismissal bell rang, I was just a first grader learning to read "Dick and Jane" and master the art of the Palmer's Writing method. I recessed with my peers and momentarily left all my cares behind.
But at 3:01p.m. I, like Wonder Woman, was transformed once again into the mom of, by this time, an eight year old clueless boy. He looked to me for every need to be met, and I was there for him.
If a reporter had interviewed me then, I'm sure my overall response would have been, "Hey, he's not heavy, he's my brother!"
Our mother was given $1000. and a job in maintenance as compensation for her loss. In 1948 that was considered very generous to a grieving widow and her young family. She would walk out the door for work at 5:30a.m. leaving her two children to fend for themselves until her 4:00p.m.return. Even though we lived in my baba and zedo's house, waking up, dressing, getting breakfast and going to school were our responsibilities. Rather they were my duties since my brother was totally dependent on me for everything. I made sure he was up and stayed up. I buttoned his shirt and tied his shoes. I got breakfast for both of us. And got him out the door so he would make it to school on time.
When I entered first grade, the job of mother doubled. Now, not only did I handle my brother's every need, but had to make sure I was ready for the school day as well. He and I left the house at 7:00a.m. and walked the half mile to school everyday rain or shine. Of course we goofed around so a normally 15 minute jaunt would take an additional half hour. Upon reaching St. Michael's we'd go to morning Mass as any good little Catholic kids were expected to do.
School started at 9:00a.m. From that moment until 3:00p.m. when the dismissal bell rang, I was just a first grader learning to read "Dick and Jane" and master the art of the Palmer's Writing method. I recessed with my peers and momentarily left all my cares behind.
But at 3:01p.m. I, like Wonder Woman, was transformed once again into the mom of, by this time, an eight year old clueless boy. He looked to me for every need to be met, and I was there for him.
If a reporter had interviewed me then, I'm sure my overall response would have been, "Hey, he's not heavy, he's my brother!"
Monday, February 11, 2013
Grammy Bares A Little More!
A few weeks ago, Jeff Rivera, a bestselling author, asked me for an interview about my "Grammy's Gang" series. http://jeffrivera.com/interview-with-author-flo-barnett/
Of course I said yes and was very honored for the opportunity. But I started to wonder why it took 68 years for someone to think that I was interview-worthy. It caused me to think about my life and whether or not any of it mattered.
I was born at the tail-end of World War II, September 9, 1944 just eleven months before the atomic bombing of Hiroshima, Japan by the U.S. I made my way into this world in the usual manner traveling traumatically down the birth canal and then being yanked out of my mother by a strange man I had never met. Since I was born at home, my baba handled the afterbirth duties. She whisked me off to the kitchen, filled a bowl with warm water, and scrubbed allthat placenta gunk off me. When hearing what she thought was respiratory congestion, she smeared Vicks vaporub under my nose causing me to turn blue and to stop breathing. Her quick action of slapping me on the back and ass assuredly saved my life. I think interviewing me at this time would have definitely been in order!
Three and a half years later, one of the most tragic events in my short life happened. My dad, then a young man of 38 years, was killed in a work-related accident. He was employed by USSteel as a property supervisor. While inspecting a 30ft.improperly installed blast furnace door, the hinges gave way and the entire structure crashed to the ground. Unfortunately my dad couldn't run fast enough and was completed pulverized from the waist down. He died two days later. In those days the dead were oftentimes laid out at home. For three days my dad was viewed by hundreds of family members, fellow workers, friends, and a few noseys just wanting to catch a glimpse of a smashed millworker.The wailing and breast-pounding was much more frightening to me than my dad's body lying in the coffin. Yet nobody tried to explain what had happened and what would happen now let alone ask how I was feeling, or offer some kind of comfort. Certainly I would have welcomed an interview then from some caring soul if even to just have somebody to talk to.
Well, enough for now. This Grammy can only bare her soul a little at one time. But hey, please take the time to read Jeff Rivera's interview concerning my "Grammy's Gang" series. You'll get an idea of why and how I started a new career at the ripe young age of 68!
Monday, February 4, 2013
Grandparents Not As Important Today
My eye caught a "Dear Annie" letter last week that absolutely floored me! Grandma was lamenting the fact that one of her college-aged grandchildren was ignoring all of her efforts to keep communications opened between them. Letters, emails, phone calls and a number of carefullly selected gifts, although received, were never acknowledged in any way. When grandma brought this ignorant behavior to the attention of her daughter, the ingrate's mother, grandma was told that "grandparents are not as important today as they were in the past." REALLY?
When a grandchild is born, who is it that comes to the aid of the young parents? Who drops whatever she's doing and spends countless hours changing diapers, preparing formula and bottles, attending to the mother's needs, and most of all walking the floors at all hours of the day and night trying to soothe a colicky baby? Who buys the most beautiful crib where the first-born's sweet dreams take flight?
And as each grandchild grows, who's there either in body or spirit beaming with pride as each grandchild accomplishes their greatest as well as smallest of goals?
Who is it that will pick up an ailing child from daycare because both parents are working just so they can have all the material junk their peers already have? After all, keeping up with the "Joneses" is more important than spending quality time each day with the children God so graciously blessed them with.
And speaking of dreams, who defers their own retirement plans to embrace the infant that was unfortunate enough to be brought into this world by a irresponsible, selfish crackhead and her equally immature, derelict of a partner? Who spends their Social Security check on shoes and clothes for the grandchildren instead of medicine and other necessities for themselves?
Grandparents are not as important today as they were in the past? REALLY?
When a grandchild is born, who is it that comes to the aid of the young parents? Who drops whatever she's doing and spends countless hours changing diapers, preparing formula and bottles, attending to the mother's needs, and most of all walking the floors at all hours of the day and night trying to soothe a colicky baby? Who buys the most beautiful crib where the first-born's sweet dreams take flight?
And as each grandchild grows, who's there either in body or spirit beaming with pride as each grandchild accomplishes their greatest as well as smallest of goals?
Who is it that will pick up an ailing child from daycare because both parents are working just so they can have all the material junk their peers already have? After all, keeping up with the "Joneses" is more important than spending quality time each day with the children God so graciously blessed them with.
And speaking of dreams, who defers their own retirement plans to embrace the infant that was unfortunate enough to be brought into this world by a irresponsible, selfish crackhead and her equally immature, derelict of a partner? Who spends their Social Security check on shoes and clothes for the grandchildren instead of medicine and other necessities for themselves?
Grandparents are not as important today as they were in the past? REALLY?
Monday, January 28, 2013
WWII Vet Steals My Thunder
So I'm reading the morning paper when this casual headline, "Vet gets whopper of a send-off" catches my eye. But just because he up and died on January 20 of this year, David Klime Jr., 88 of York County had no right to steal one of my most cherished last wishes.
In the article it states that Klime "lived by his own rules." Big deal, I not only live by my own rules but insist that everybody around me embrace them as well. This guy loved the Burger King whopper, ate one every chance he got and considered the lettuce to be his daily allowance of vegetable intake.
Taco Bell's chili bean burrito is my idea of gourmet cuisine. And besides, I'm getting everything Klime gets without all the bun carbs. After all, a girl always has to be counting those nasty hip-hugger carbs.
So what does his family do? They direct the hearse and the rest of the procession to the drive-thru at Burger King for one last sandwich before heading to the cemetery's awaiting black dark hole. Everybody gets one including Klime who was known to the BK manager by face and order.
Well people, let me tell you that their idea is not original! Ten years ago when riding in a funeral procession of some beloved relative I loudly announced to my fellow mourners that when my time came I wanted the hearse to go by Taco Bell's drive-thru, order chili bean burritos for everyone and then hand the driver of the last car the bill! And I wanted them to make certain that the last car in line was one of my brother-in-laws whose wallet squeals when forcibly opened. He knows who he is.
That would be the happiest day of my life, or in this case the happiest day of my demise.
Although David Klime Jr. stole my thunder,I think my idea is much more laughable, and in the end, I get the last laugh! And for me that means everything!
In the article it states that Klime "lived by his own rules." Big deal, I not only live by my own rules but insist that everybody around me embrace them as well. This guy loved the Burger King whopper, ate one every chance he got and considered the lettuce to be his daily allowance of vegetable intake.
Taco Bell's chili bean burrito is my idea of gourmet cuisine. And besides, I'm getting everything Klime gets without all the bun carbs. After all, a girl always has to be counting those nasty hip-hugger carbs.
So what does his family do? They direct the hearse and the rest of the procession to the drive-thru at Burger King for one last sandwich before heading to the cemetery's awaiting black dark hole. Everybody gets one including Klime who was known to the BK manager by face and order.
Well people, let me tell you that their idea is not original! Ten years ago when riding in a funeral procession of some beloved relative I loudly announced to my fellow mourners that when my time came I wanted the hearse to go by Taco Bell's drive-thru, order chili bean burritos for everyone and then hand the driver of the last car the bill! And I wanted them to make certain that the last car in line was one of my brother-in-laws whose wallet squeals when forcibly opened. He knows who he is.
That would be the happiest day of my life, or in this case the happiest day of my demise.
Although David Klime Jr. stole my thunder,I think my idea is much more laughable, and in the end, I get the last laugh! And for me that means everything!
Monday, January 21, 2013
Take a whiff!
If you want to know what someone does just ask them to remove a shoe, hand it to you and permit you take a big fat whiff! If it smells musty and stale, you can be pretty sure this person is a frumpy college prof who spends a great deal of his time in a dimly-lit library, or is a caregiver at an assisted-living facility.
If, after inhaling deeply you recognize a dank, moldy odor, it's fair to say that he or she spends a lot of time in a basement that repeatedly floods every time it rains, or is a janitor who has the unenviable job of cleaning the football team's locker room.
And, if you smell the strong aroma of something floral, chances are this person is an obssessive-compulsive who is constantly spraying every nook-and-cranny of himself to make doubly sure that he doesn't stink, or is a pale-skinned, formally-dressed funeral director.
I could go on and on, but I think you get the gist of my Monday morning blog. But alas, if you would indulge me, I have just one more observation to share.
If the insole of this person's shoe reeks of cow dung and horse manure, you've come face-to-face with a Washington, D.C. politician or someone who works at any of the States Capitol buildings. I can't think of another profession that emits a repulsive stench of that magnitude. Can you?
My advice to you is to keep your nose clean and keep it out of peoples' shoes!!!!!!!!!!!!!
If, after inhaling deeply you recognize a dank, moldy odor, it's fair to say that he or she spends a lot of time in a basement that repeatedly floods every time it rains, or is a janitor who has the unenviable job of cleaning the football team's locker room.
And, if you smell the strong aroma of something floral, chances are this person is an obssessive-compulsive who is constantly spraying every nook-and-cranny of himself to make doubly sure that he doesn't stink, or is a pale-skinned, formally-dressed funeral director.
I could go on and on, but I think you get the gist of my Monday morning blog. But alas, if you would indulge me, I have just one more observation to share.
If the insole of this person's shoe reeks of cow dung and horse manure, you've come face-to-face with a Washington, D.C. politician or someone who works at any of the States Capitol buildings. I can't think of another profession that emits a repulsive stench of that magnitude. Can you?
My advice to you is to keep your nose clean and keep it out of peoples' shoes!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Flu shot or not?
Over the Christmas holiday, we had 14 people staying at our house. The ages ranged from 17mos. to 76 years. Nine of these folks had the flu shot; five did not. Yet only three did not contract any flu symptoms. Two of the three had the shot while one did not.
So, the question remains. Do you get the flu shot or not? Since I was one in the no-shot category, and probably had the most severe case one would conclude that the wise thing would be was to have been innoculated. But wait, my husband, who is in the shot category, was no doubt a second as far as flu severity goes.
Ironically, just a week before Christmas I read an article about this year's batch of vaccine being the best in years since it covered such a wide range of flu strains. I truly believed I had a better than average chance of not coming down with the flu because of this.
I'm beginning to think the yearly flu shot campaign is just another scare tactic to dupe the public into paying for something that works minimally at best. Our health system is more interested in profit-making than in being concerned about our physical well-being.
I'm sick of going to doctors who have no answers to the health problems we present them with. No matter what the complaint might be, you bet your bippie they will prescribe useless tests that you already know will be inconclusive. They prescribe medicines that have so many adverse side effects, it's a wonder more of us don't die after taking the first dose.
Our medical professionals need to get off their high horses and listen to their patients because we certainly know our bodies better than they ever could. Together we could find the best way of handling our current symptoms and avoid ineffective treatments.
Flu shot or not? That's for you and your doctor to decide.
So, the question remains. Do you get the flu shot or not? Since I was one in the no-shot category, and probably had the most severe case one would conclude that the wise thing would be was to have been innoculated. But wait, my husband, who is in the shot category, was no doubt a second as far as flu severity goes.
Ironically, just a week before Christmas I read an article about this year's batch of vaccine being the best in years since it covered such a wide range of flu strains. I truly believed I had a better than average chance of not coming down with the flu because of this.
I'm beginning to think the yearly flu shot campaign is just another scare tactic to dupe the public into paying for something that works minimally at best. Our health system is more interested in profit-making than in being concerned about our physical well-being.
I'm sick of going to doctors who have no answers to the health problems we present them with. No matter what the complaint might be, you bet your bippie they will prescribe useless tests that you already know will be inconclusive. They prescribe medicines that have so many adverse side effects, it's a wonder more of us don't die after taking the first dose.
Our medical professionals need to get off their high horses and listen to their patients because we certainly know our bodies better than they ever could. Together we could find the best way of handling our current symptoms and avoid ineffective treatments.
Flu shot or not? That's for you and your doctor to decide.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)