Turkey Day is fast approaching. Once the bird's been stuffed, lathered with oils and herbs, and either deep-fried or roasted, the waiting begins. To take their minds off the impending feast, the kids run around outside tossing football while the "big kids," their dads, and uncles slouch on the couch glued to whatever game is being televised.
The women are in the kitchen busily preparing traditional sides. Of course somebody is peeling potatoes that will be boiled, buttered, salted, and mashed. Grammy is toasting bread for the stuffing while daughter #1 sautés the onions and peppers. Two of the in-laws argue over what sweet potato recipe should be used this year. The one last year didn't go over so well. And the green bean casserole is being assembled by daughter #2 without controversy.
Non-traditional dishes are on the menu as well. Those being prepared include squash with creamed cabbage, succotash with sun-dried tomatoes and cranberry-date and walnut muffins. Although none of these have been a Thanksgiving staple, at least the adults are willing to give them a shot. If liked, they'll be granted a repeat performance. If not, they'll be tossed in the can never to be heard or spoken of again. I'm totally sure the first two will be in the latter category. As far as the muffins go, even without a taste, they definitely have my vote to be invited back next year and every year thereafter.
The other Nana and Papa arrive carrying freshly baked pies and dessert. Nana heads for the kitchen; Papa, to the couch. Nana complains that her pecan pie isn't up to par. Her daughter-in-law just rolls her eyes. Grammy pokes her and assures Nana that it looks and smells delicious. Nana puts on her apron and offers to do whatever needs doing. She is directed to the sink where pots and pans, mixing bowls and spoons need rinsed and loaded into the dishwasher. One might think such a job beneath her; Nana just enjoys being included in the hustle and bustle of the holiday meal's preparation.
Little Billy shoots through the back door screaming his head off. The older kids keep tackling him and rubbing his face in the grass. His dad tells him to be quiet; the men can't hear the play-by-play announcer. Little Billy goes crying into the kitchen. His mother wipes his nose and tells him to stop with all the noise. Grammy pats him on the head, gives him a buttered roll and tells him to go in the living room and sit on Grampa's lap. Relative peace among the brethren is temporarily restored.
Taking a well-deserved breather, the women fill their cups with dark-roasted coffee and lots of fat-free caramel macchiato creamer and head for the patio. They talk and laugh about their men, their children, their neighbors, their jobs, their lives.
Now the kids are playing freeze tag. The older kids are picking on Cindy Lou since Billy is in the house. Cindy Lou doesn't go screaming her head off; she simply scrapes off anything her agitators throw at her. She definitely has earned their respect. They not only leave her alone, but make her an honorary member of their elite group.
The women go inside and set the holiday table with festive paper plates and matching napkins. Using the wedding gift china isn't a possibility. First of all, there are way too many people and not nearly enough fine plates and secondly, nobody in their right mind would use such elegant tableware for this rowdy bunch of hooligans.
A plethora of delicious aromas float throughout the house. Growling stomachs signal that it's time for the Thanksgiving meal kick-off. Grammy insists that everybody use the bathroom to wash up and do whatever else is necessary.
As the family is seated, they join hands and offer a prayer of thanks. Not one bit of food with the exception of Billy's buttered roll has been tasted, yet for everybody here and for everything that has occurred before actually partaking of the traditional feast, we are very blessed and truly full of thanks!
Monday, November 18, 2013
Monday, November 11, 2013
Veterans Day Is Personal
Today is Veterans Day. Perhaps one of the most infamous battles ever fought in World War II was on June 6, 1944 on the beaches of Normandy. These men crossed the English Channel to lend support to our European allies. As the soldiers disembarked from their ships, the Germans opened fire killing and maiming thousands before they ever had a chance to set foot on land.
Those that survived the horrors of D-Day probably never thought of themselves as anything more than ordinary people doing their jobs. They've lived with terrible memories they'd witnessed; most often they've lived in silence unwilling or unable to recount their terrors to anyone. Many have since passed taking their post-war pain and suffering with them to their graves.
On June 6, 1944, I was living in my mother's body unaware that my freedom was so gallantly being contested. I was enveloped in the warmth and security of my mother's womb. I wasn't listed on any population census count as yet. Most would agree, for all practical purposes, I was a non-entity at that point.
Yet there were countless men and women fighting and dying for my right to live free, to exist in peace, and have a chance to realize my full potential. They didn't know I would be born on September 9, 1944. They had no idea that because of their sacrifices, I would enjoy the benefits of their actions for the next 69 years and beyond. They were unaware that I would have opportunity to receive an education, become a teacher, an administrator, and a life-long child advocate. They couldn't have imagined that I would marry, have three beautiful children of my own, and in time, be a grammy to seven healthy, happy grandchildren born into the embracing arms of freedom and peace.
I didn't personally know any of these heroes. Why they fought so hard for someone like me who wasn't even born at that time, I can only speculate. I believe there are many, many people in our world who step out of their own comfort zones because they care deeply for the rights of others. And because of their concern, they are compelled to take action, to go the distance, to give of themselves beyond the call of duty. To even die for what they so ardently hold to be true.
Today and every day of our lives we need to be grateful for the sacrifices that were made during World War II as well as the many other conflicts our United States have engaged in over the years.
Because of the men and women who gave and still give everything they have so that coming generations would be free, we need to support our veterans in every way possible. Getting my hair cut to call attention to our continuing obligation to the soldiers returning home from conflict wouldn't have much of an effect. I'm not famous and don't have nearly as much hair on my head that I once had. But, celebrities like Troy Polamalu of the Pittsburgh Steelers who is famous for his lustrous locks, is offering his hair, albeit only three inches, as a way of showing his personal support of all military veterans
Veterans Day is personal for Troy and his family. Veterans Day is personal for me. Veterans Day is personal for everybody who enjoys the freedom we received from the heroic men and women who have fought and died, and will continue to fight and die so that we might live in the warmth and security of our nation's womb. Take it personally; support our veterans!
Those that survived the horrors of D-Day probably never thought of themselves as anything more than ordinary people doing their jobs. They've lived with terrible memories they'd witnessed; most often they've lived in silence unwilling or unable to recount their terrors to anyone. Many have since passed taking their post-war pain and suffering with them to their graves.
On June 6, 1944, I was living in my mother's body unaware that my freedom was so gallantly being contested. I was enveloped in the warmth and security of my mother's womb. I wasn't listed on any population census count as yet. Most would agree, for all practical purposes, I was a non-entity at that point.
Yet there were countless men and women fighting and dying for my right to live free, to exist in peace, and have a chance to realize my full potential. They didn't know I would be born on September 9, 1944. They had no idea that because of their sacrifices, I would enjoy the benefits of their actions for the next 69 years and beyond. They were unaware that I would have opportunity to receive an education, become a teacher, an administrator, and a life-long child advocate. They couldn't have imagined that I would marry, have three beautiful children of my own, and in time, be a grammy to seven healthy, happy grandchildren born into the embracing arms of freedom and peace.
I didn't personally know any of these heroes. Why they fought so hard for someone like me who wasn't even born at that time, I can only speculate. I believe there are many, many people in our world who step out of their own comfort zones because they care deeply for the rights of others. And because of their concern, they are compelled to take action, to go the distance, to give of themselves beyond the call of duty. To even die for what they so ardently hold to be true.
Today and every day of our lives we need to be grateful for the sacrifices that were made during World War II as well as the many other conflicts our United States have engaged in over the years.
Because of the men and women who gave and still give everything they have so that coming generations would be free, we need to support our veterans in every way possible. Getting my hair cut to call attention to our continuing obligation to the soldiers returning home from conflict wouldn't have much of an effect. I'm not famous and don't have nearly as much hair on my head that I once had. But, celebrities like Troy Polamalu of the Pittsburgh Steelers who is famous for his lustrous locks, is offering his hair, albeit only three inches, as a way of showing his personal support of all military veterans
Veterans Day is personal for Troy and his family. Veterans Day is personal for me. Veterans Day is personal for everybody who enjoys the freedom we received from the heroic men and women who have fought and died, and will continue to fight and die so that we might live in the warmth and security of our nation's womb. Take it personally; support our veterans!
Monday, November 4, 2013
Holiday's Toys, RIDICULOUS!
In this Sunday's no less than twelve separate ad fliers, there were pictured no less than a gazillion "toys" every child from birth to manhood MUST HAVE this holiday. I promised myself I wouldn't name specific items for rebuke; to do so, in my humble opinion, would exclude all the others that certainly needed to be bad-mouthed as well.
So, although I'll be speaking in generalities, I think you'll get my drift. Prices, oh, yes, let's definitely start there. In the birth to pre-school sections, I couldn't find a toy for less than $9.99. Of course the very few at that low price were nothing a young child could possibly be hoping for under their family's beautifully lit fir tree this year.
The $20. to $50 range offered toys that were somewhat more substantial in make and size, but again they were things that wouldn't keep a child's attention for very long. It was only when the prices climbed to $100.00 and way beyond did the toys have some educational and/or developmentally-appropriate and creative value. Perhaps the one toy youngsters would love to see on Christmas morning would be a motorized riding vehicle. I've seen children in my neighborhood dashing around their driveways in these, using their imaginations to role-play, invent different life scenarios, and truly invest a lot of time actually utilizing them. But, at the cost of anywhere from $199.99 to a whopping $499 for these presents, I doubt most "Santas" could deliver. Please don't think I'm advocating for parents to purchase such an item because I'm certainly not. I'm simply citing the experience I've had observing children at play where motorized vehicles were used.
For children six to sixty-six the "toys," although strangely similar for those of the younger set, skyrocketed in price. If you have more than one child, a hefty loan would be in order to obtain only the bare essentials to satisfy a brood of two or three.
My biggest gripe for the offering in this age category was the kind of toys for sale. Monstrous creatures whose only intent is to ravage the "good guys," weapons such as guns, swords, laser beams, and the like are more than plentiful, and the gaming systems selling for an all-time outrageous price, present kids with thousands of ways to annihilate and mane while having a blast! Never mind, the fact that while sitting for countless hours engaging in these horrid activities, our young people are getting zero exercise and growing fatter by the minute.
Don't get me wrong. I love the holidays and am guilty of giving probably more to my grandchildren than they truly need. But, when I remember myself as a child and the gifts that made me happy, I don't want to short change the ones I hold dearest to my heart. The presents I received then almost always involved encouraging creativity, skills development, and physicality. They were few in number but I held each in great esteem and spent many hours using them. They didn't cost an arm and a leg but I valued them as if they did.
For my own grandchildren, under my beautifully lit fir tree this year, will be gifts similar to the ones I received at least in number, intent, and cost. They deserve nothing less. How about your children?
Think before you fall victim to popular acclaim, before you believe the hype found in those ad fliers, before you buy gifts your children will discard in no time at all even though they just "had" to have them!
Happy holidays!
So, although I'll be speaking in generalities, I think you'll get my drift. Prices, oh, yes, let's definitely start there. In the birth to pre-school sections, I couldn't find a toy for less than $9.99. Of course the very few at that low price were nothing a young child could possibly be hoping for under their family's beautifully lit fir tree this year.
The $20. to $50 range offered toys that were somewhat more substantial in make and size, but again they were things that wouldn't keep a child's attention for very long. It was only when the prices climbed to $100.00 and way beyond did the toys have some educational and/or developmentally-appropriate and creative value. Perhaps the one toy youngsters would love to see on Christmas morning would be a motorized riding vehicle. I've seen children in my neighborhood dashing around their driveways in these, using their imaginations to role-play, invent different life scenarios, and truly invest a lot of time actually utilizing them. But, at the cost of anywhere from $199.99 to a whopping $499 for these presents, I doubt most "Santas" could deliver. Please don't think I'm advocating for parents to purchase such an item because I'm certainly not. I'm simply citing the experience I've had observing children at play where motorized vehicles were used.
For children six to sixty-six the "toys," although strangely similar for those of the younger set, skyrocketed in price. If you have more than one child, a hefty loan would be in order to obtain only the bare essentials to satisfy a brood of two or three.
My biggest gripe for the offering in this age category was the kind of toys for sale. Monstrous creatures whose only intent is to ravage the "good guys," weapons such as guns, swords, laser beams, and the like are more than plentiful, and the gaming systems selling for an all-time outrageous price, present kids with thousands of ways to annihilate and mane while having a blast! Never mind, the fact that while sitting for countless hours engaging in these horrid activities, our young people are getting zero exercise and growing fatter by the minute.
Don't get me wrong. I love the holidays and am guilty of giving probably more to my grandchildren than they truly need. But, when I remember myself as a child and the gifts that made me happy, I don't want to short change the ones I hold dearest to my heart. The presents I received then almost always involved encouraging creativity, skills development, and physicality. They were few in number but I held each in great esteem and spent many hours using them. They didn't cost an arm and a leg but I valued them as if they did.
For my own grandchildren, under my beautifully lit fir tree this year, will be gifts similar to the ones I received at least in number, intent, and cost. They deserve nothing less. How about your children?
Think before you fall victim to popular acclaim, before you believe the hype found in those ad fliers, before you buy gifts your children will discard in no time at all even though they just "had" to have them!
Happy holidays!
Monday, October 28, 2013
1,000 Piece Puzzle
Bill, my brother-in-law, gave my husband a 1,000 piece puzzle for us to do when we were bored or finding ourselves with a ton of free time on our hands. Bored? We personally don't know the meaning of the word. Free time? Although we have a fairly accurate understanding of this concept, we actually have little of it in our daily lives.
But, out of curiosity, we decided to take a stab at the 1,000 piece puzzle of doors. Doors? If for no other reason perhaps we could get a handle on the true meaning of being "bored" by doing a 1000 piece puzzle of doors!
So we started out by dumping all the pieces on the kitchen table. Next we began investing some of our precious "free time" in separating the straight-edged pieces from the irregular ones. We probably spent an hour or so before taking our dog for a walk became the priority.
Upon returning, without consulting each other, we both sat down at the table and continued puzzling. And, in fact, it was puzzling to both of us for being so drawn to puzzling! Again we continued at this task for another 2 or 3 hours.
The next day was Saturday. Instead of my husband gluing himself to the college football games, he was stuck in the kitchen trying to find matches for the blues, browns, greens, reds, organges, etc. You get the picture. Of course I was right beside him in the search competing for bragging rights when one of the matches was found.
Without any conscious awareness of the amount of time that had passed, we were making great strides in formulating an actual image reproduction. Taking bathroom breaks for ourselves or the dog or ourselves and the dog eating something out of the fridge were the only two necessities that took us away from the puzzle. Daylight gave way to darkness. We were surprised at the amount of "free time" we had spent on what we originally deemed to be a "boring" waste of time.
As our success continued, we continued to work obsessively now towards finishing the puzzle in less than the time it took brother Bill and his wife to complete. It took them a full week, seven whole days. We were determined to beat their time no matter what.
On Sunday morning we were faced with a dilemma, go to Mass or stay home and puzzle. Being the good Christians that we profess to be, we attended Mass, stopped for a quick breakfast, and then raced home to do the real work of the day. We changed into jeans and a tee and took our respective spots at the table now covered with doors of various design and color.
At four o'clock our Pittsburgh Steelers were playing the Oakland Raiders. We missed the kick-off; we watched the Raiders score first, and then migrated back to the kitchen never returning to what was the most important thing in our lives for the last 40 years, Pittsburgh Steeler football!
At ten o'clock , feeling extremely proud of how close we were to finishing the 1,000 piece puzzle of doors in only 2 and a half days, we called it a night. But first we checked to see what we had already believed was the case, the Oakland Raiders beat the Pittsburgh Steelers, 21-18.
Today is Monday and the first thing I did when I awoke was to turn on the coffee pot, grab a yogurt and sit down at the table. I found 4 matches in less time than it took to drink my coffee and eat my yogurt. My hubby reluctantly went to the gym, but only stayed an hour. As we speak, we are both madly searching for the remaining pieces. We plan to have the puzzle finished by late afternoon which would make our time 3 days from beginning to end. I'd say we soundly crushed team Bill&Irene!
What perplexes us about this whole puzzle thing is how we found all this "free time" for an activity that we initially thought would be "boring." What surprised us about this whole puzzle thing is how much fun we had and how the time just simply seemed to fly by! We plan to puzzle all winter.
Our advice to all of you is to start puzzling. You won't be bored and you will have all the time in the world to finish what you start. Only we're sure you won't beat team Barry&Flo. We won't let you!
But, out of curiosity, we decided to take a stab at the 1,000 piece puzzle of doors. Doors? If for no other reason perhaps we could get a handle on the true meaning of being "bored" by doing a 1000 piece puzzle of doors!
So we started out by dumping all the pieces on the kitchen table. Next we began investing some of our precious "free time" in separating the straight-edged pieces from the irregular ones. We probably spent an hour or so before taking our dog for a walk became the priority.
Upon returning, without consulting each other, we both sat down at the table and continued puzzling. And, in fact, it was puzzling to both of us for being so drawn to puzzling! Again we continued at this task for another 2 or 3 hours.
The next day was Saturday. Instead of my husband gluing himself to the college football games, he was stuck in the kitchen trying to find matches for the blues, browns, greens, reds, organges, etc. You get the picture. Of course I was right beside him in the search competing for bragging rights when one of the matches was found.
Without any conscious awareness of the amount of time that had passed, we were making great strides in formulating an actual image reproduction. Taking bathroom breaks for ourselves or the dog or ourselves and the dog eating something out of the fridge were the only two necessities that took us away from the puzzle. Daylight gave way to darkness. We were surprised at the amount of "free time" we had spent on what we originally deemed to be a "boring" waste of time.
As our success continued, we continued to work obsessively now towards finishing the puzzle in less than the time it took brother Bill and his wife to complete. It took them a full week, seven whole days. We were determined to beat their time no matter what.
On Sunday morning we were faced with a dilemma, go to Mass or stay home and puzzle. Being the good Christians that we profess to be, we attended Mass, stopped for a quick breakfast, and then raced home to do the real work of the day. We changed into jeans and a tee and took our respective spots at the table now covered with doors of various design and color.
At four o'clock our Pittsburgh Steelers were playing the Oakland Raiders. We missed the kick-off; we watched the Raiders score first, and then migrated back to the kitchen never returning to what was the most important thing in our lives for the last 40 years, Pittsburgh Steeler football!
At ten o'clock , feeling extremely proud of how close we were to finishing the 1,000 piece puzzle of doors in only 2 and a half days, we called it a night. But first we checked to see what we had already believed was the case, the Oakland Raiders beat the Pittsburgh Steelers, 21-18.
Today is Monday and the first thing I did when I awoke was to turn on the coffee pot, grab a yogurt and sit down at the table. I found 4 matches in less time than it took to drink my coffee and eat my yogurt. My hubby reluctantly went to the gym, but only stayed an hour. As we speak, we are both madly searching for the remaining pieces. We plan to have the puzzle finished by late afternoon which would make our time 3 days from beginning to end. I'd say we soundly crushed team Bill&Irene!
What perplexes us about this whole puzzle thing is how we found all this "free time" for an activity that we initially thought would be "boring." What surprised us about this whole puzzle thing is how much fun we had and how the time just simply seemed to fly by! We plan to puzzle all winter.
Our advice to all of you is to start puzzling. You won't be bored and you will have all the time in the world to finish what you start. Only we're sure you won't beat team Barry&Flo. We won't let you!
Monday, October 21, 2013
Renewing the Face of the Earth One Babe at a Time
My nephew's wife stopped by with their 6wk. old baby girl for a visit this morning. I call Katalina my "bbf 'birthday buddy forever'" because she was born on my birthday. How cool is that!
As Monica and I talked about how to get the baby to sleep better especially during the night, I rocked the infant and snuggled her close to my bosom. Occasionally I'd look down at her cherub face and my heart would be filled with extreme joy. It was during those moments that I realized that I was holding one that had great potential to renew the face of the earth. And, I thought, much like the Babe born in a manger all those many years ago, this child, too, could be a savior for the terrible troubles the world finds itself in today.
And then, another idea occurred to me. I don't know how many infants are born each and every day, but if we could harness all the potential they possess, we could conceivably renew the face of earth in less than a century from now. How cool is that!
The 90 minutes we spent together today lifted my spirits beyond measure. I'm getting older; I want so much more for the generations to come. I want children to be born into a world of peace and love. I want families to live together in harmony. I want neighbors to work and play together for the good of everyone. I want religion to embrace their believers as well as all others who profess different beliefs. I want education to advocate independent thinking as opposed to conformity for its own sake.
I want government to be of the people, by the people, and for the people.
And I know all of this and so much more can happen because I looked into the face of an angel today
and realized that she, along with all of the babies being born as we speak, can and will renew the face of the earth. How cool is that!
As Monica and I talked about how to get the baby to sleep better especially during the night, I rocked the infant and snuggled her close to my bosom. Occasionally I'd look down at her cherub face and my heart would be filled with extreme joy. It was during those moments that I realized that I was holding one that had great potential to renew the face of the earth. And, I thought, much like the Babe born in a manger all those many years ago, this child, too, could be a savior for the terrible troubles the world finds itself in today.
And then, another idea occurred to me. I don't know how many infants are born each and every day, but if we could harness all the potential they possess, we could conceivably renew the face of earth in less than a century from now. How cool is that!
The 90 minutes we spent together today lifted my spirits beyond measure. I'm getting older; I want so much more for the generations to come. I want children to be born into a world of peace and love. I want families to live together in harmony. I want neighbors to work and play together for the good of everyone. I want religion to embrace their believers as well as all others who profess different beliefs. I want education to advocate independent thinking as opposed to conformity for its own sake.
I want government to be of the people, by the people, and for the people.
And I know all of this and so much more can happen because I looked into the face of an angel today
and realized that she, along with all of the babies being born as we speak, can and will renew the face of the earth. How cool is that!
Monday, October 14, 2013
The Autumn of My Life
At 69, I find myself in the autumn of my life. Since autumn has always been my favorite time of year, I'm happy to be here. For me the beauty of this season is without parallel. The air, the colors, the smells, the holidays are just a few of the many glorious gifts autumn bestows.
Now retired, I have plenty of time to take long walks with my hubby and dog, Shadow. The crisp air fills my lungs with pure freshness. Sometimes, if a neighbor is burning leaves, that smoky fragrance curling into my nose conjures up memories of my youth, raking, romping through, and finally incinerating piles and piles of dry, crackling leaves.
And the colors, oh, the colors! Living in Pennsylvania in autumn is akin to being in one of Norman Rockwell's picturesque paintings. Gorgeous reds, yellows, oranges, purples, and greens are splashed across the hillsides resembling a heaping bowl of Trix cereal without the marshmallows, of course. In my autumn years, I've become more colorful, too. My thoughts are more vibrant, my words, more intense, and my actions, well I'm doing things I would never have considered in my younger days and don't care a lick about what anybody else thinks! Including you, my dear bloggers!
Cinnamon and vanilla are the two smells I most associate with autumn. Apple Crisp, fresh-baked cinnamon rolls, and tapioca pudding were constant Saturday fare in my baba's kitchen. I loved to sit in her rocking chair and just smell. As soon as the rolls were out of the oven, I'd con her into giving me one or two; this way I could let her know if they were up to her usual standards. Now I drink cinnamon lattes and wear vanilla-scented body lotion! Hey, the yuppie generation has nothing on this ole gal!
And, as a kid, my favorite holiday was Halloween. We didn't have store-bought costumes. Instead we spent tons of time thinking of what we wanted to be. Then we'd dig through the house to find all the stuff needed to become that being. Once I was a hobo, another time, a clown, and still another time, a "Charleston" chick.
Halloween undoubtedly remains the best holiday in my book. In the third season of my life, I continue to bum around, act the fool, and kick up my heels on the dance floor when I get the opportunity. The only difference is my kicks are not quite as high! Who cares, I can cut a rug just as good as anyone I've seen on Dancing with the Stars lately.
Ah-huh, I'm in the autumn of my life and loving it. I celebrate each day with a smile and a healthy zest for living and learning. It's beautiful here in autumn; everything is beautiful at this time of year.
And, I'm having the time of my life!
Now retired, I have plenty of time to take long walks with my hubby and dog, Shadow. The crisp air fills my lungs with pure freshness. Sometimes, if a neighbor is burning leaves, that smoky fragrance curling into my nose conjures up memories of my youth, raking, romping through, and finally incinerating piles and piles of dry, crackling leaves.
And the colors, oh, the colors! Living in Pennsylvania in autumn is akin to being in one of Norman Rockwell's picturesque paintings. Gorgeous reds, yellows, oranges, purples, and greens are splashed across the hillsides resembling a heaping bowl of Trix cereal without the marshmallows, of course. In my autumn years, I've become more colorful, too. My thoughts are more vibrant, my words, more intense, and my actions, well I'm doing things I would never have considered in my younger days and don't care a lick about what anybody else thinks! Including you, my dear bloggers!
Cinnamon and vanilla are the two smells I most associate with autumn. Apple Crisp, fresh-baked cinnamon rolls, and tapioca pudding were constant Saturday fare in my baba's kitchen. I loved to sit in her rocking chair and just smell. As soon as the rolls were out of the oven, I'd con her into giving me one or two; this way I could let her know if they were up to her usual standards. Now I drink cinnamon lattes and wear vanilla-scented body lotion! Hey, the yuppie generation has nothing on this ole gal!
And, as a kid, my favorite holiday was Halloween. We didn't have store-bought costumes. Instead we spent tons of time thinking of what we wanted to be. Then we'd dig through the house to find all the stuff needed to become that being. Once I was a hobo, another time, a clown, and still another time, a "Charleston" chick.
Halloween undoubtedly remains the best holiday in my book. In the third season of my life, I continue to bum around, act the fool, and kick up my heels on the dance floor when I get the opportunity. The only difference is my kicks are not quite as high! Who cares, I can cut a rug just as good as anyone I've seen on Dancing with the Stars lately.
Ah-huh, I'm in the autumn of my life and loving it. I celebrate each day with a smile and a healthy zest for living and learning. It's beautiful here in autumn; everything is beautiful at this time of year.
And, I'm having the time of my life!
Monday, October 7, 2013
Children Suffer From Depression, Too
This Thursday, October 10, is National Depression Screening Day. The number of adults suffering from depression in our country is staggering. Fortunately what was considered to be a taboo topic of discussion years ago has now been declared a national concern.
And now that this crippling disease has finally been outted, how to effectively educate folks on the symptoms and treatment for depression has taken center stage. Diagnosing adult depression is relatively easy to pinpoint. Feelings of prolonged sadness, debilitating lethargy, disinterest in social activities, work absences, changes in eating habits, and dramatic increase or decrease in weight are among the most significant earmarks that one is depressed. Seeking medical attention early on can certainly ease if not totally eradicated most or all of these symptoms. With proper treatment, the depressed person can return to a feeling of good health and be productive and happy.
However, young children can suffer from depression, too. But depression in children is sometimes extremely difficult to diagnose, and can go unnoticed for many years. First, we must all be aware that children as young as two can be clinically depressed. Usually these tots are being raised in a very dysfunctional home, and have been subjected to physical and emotional mistreatment. If not recognized, their suffering can last a lifetime.
Not all depressed youngsters however come from dysfunctional homes where they experienced daily abuse. Sometimes it takes just one traumatic event that can cause a child to spiral into the depths of deep depression. And, unfortunately, because they are so young and the adults around them simply believe that they don't understand what has happened, these children begin to act out inappropriately and are many times labeled difficult and unruly.
I was that child. I believe I became extremely depressed after my dad was killed in a work-related accident in 1948. I was three years old. Although I clearly remember his viewing, his funeral, and his interment, I don't remember anyone ever asking me how I felt or even attempted to talk to me about my dad's passing. My childhood pictures from the time of his death showed me as a serious-faced tot whose eyes never danced with the light of true happiness. I never talked much and went from a skinny kid to an overweight 6 year old. I feared authority because of the power they had; after all, look what happened to my dad and he was my strong, invincible hero. If "they" could end his life, doing me in would be a piece of cake.
I carried my suffering around for many, many years. At the age of 39 I was afflicted with a neurological condition that few specialists had ever seen in their practices. For two years I bounced from doctor to doctor without being properly diagnosed. Finally, in 1983, I found a physician who, although he wasn't able to identify my ailment, sent me to a prominent psychologist. During my sessions with him, we not only pinpointed what I had, but determined I was depressed and probably had been since the age of three. With continued counseling and further treatment, the dark fog of this insidious disease gradually lifted. I could look in the mirror and finally see the light shining from my eyes the way it did when my dad and I were together.
To say that I was cured and never would deal with depression again would be false. But, now I know the symptoms, know where to go and what to do to curtail its duration, and can return to normal in a very short amount of time. I believe that what happened to me at the age of three is the foundation of my entire life and is what has led me to my passion for the health and welfare of young children.
Children can and do suffer from depression. Please keep your eyes, minds, and hearts open, talk to your children about serious issues that arise even though they may be very young, let them express their feelings freely, and, above all, take them for proper treatment early if you only suspect that their sadness and change in behavior just might be signs of depression. Better safe than sorry, I always say!
And now that this crippling disease has finally been outted, how to effectively educate folks on the symptoms and treatment for depression has taken center stage. Diagnosing adult depression is relatively easy to pinpoint. Feelings of prolonged sadness, debilitating lethargy, disinterest in social activities, work absences, changes in eating habits, and dramatic increase or decrease in weight are among the most significant earmarks that one is depressed. Seeking medical attention early on can certainly ease if not totally eradicated most or all of these symptoms. With proper treatment, the depressed person can return to a feeling of good health and be productive and happy.
However, young children can suffer from depression, too. But depression in children is sometimes extremely difficult to diagnose, and can go unnoticed for many years. First, we must all be aware that children as young as two can be clinically depressed. Usually these tots are being raised in a very dysfunctional home, and have been subjected to physical and emotional mistreatment. If not recognized, their suffering can last a lifetime.
Not all depressed youngsters however come from dysfunctional homes where they experienced daily abuse. Sometimes it takes just one traumatic event that can cause a child to spiral into the depths of deep depression. And, unfortunately, because they are so young and the adults around them simply believe that they don't understand what has happened, these children begin to act out inappropriately and are many times labeled difficult and unruly.
I was that child. I believe I became extremely depressed after my dad was killed in a work-related accident in 1948. I was three years old. Although I clearly remember his viewing, his funeral, and his interment, I don't remember anyone ever asking me how I felt or even attempted to talk to me about my dad's passing. My childhood pictures from the time of his death showed me as a serious-faced tot whose eyes never danced with the light of true happiness. I never talked much and went from a skinny kid to an overweight 6 year old. I feared authority because of the power they had; after all, look what happened to my dad and he was my strong, invincible hero. If "they" could end his life, doing me in would be a piece of cake.
I carried my suffering around for many, many years. At the age of 39 I was afflicted with a neurological condition that few specialists had ever seen in their practices. For two years I bounced from doctor to doctor without being properly diagnosed. Finally, in 1983, I found a physician who, although he wasn't able to identify my ailment, sent me to a prominent psychologist. During my sessions with him, we not only pinpointed what I had, but determined I was depressed and probably had been since the age of three. With continued counseling and further treatment, the dark fog of this insidious disease gradually lifted. I could look in the mirror and finally see the light shining from my eyes the way it did when my dad and I were together.
To say that I was cured and never would deal with depression again would be false. But, now I know the symptoms, know where to go and what to do to curtail its duration, and can return to normal in a very short amount of time. I believe that what happened to me at the age of three is the foundation of my entire life and is what has led me to my passion for the health and welfare of young children.
Children can and do suffer from depression. Please keep your eyes, minds, and hearts open, talk to your children about serious issues that arise even though they may be very young, let them express their feelings freely, and, above all, take them for proper treatment early if you only suspect that their sadness and change in behavior just might be signs of depression. Better safe than sorry, I always say!
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)