Being Free, What A Glorious Feeling!

On this Memorial Day in 2015, take a minute or two and contemplate the notion of being 'free.' Whenever I hear the word, I automatically image being on the wings of an eagle, soaring high above the earth. The air is so pure up here, the view is absolutely amazing so much so that it takes my breath away. While gliding from cloud to cloud, I think I hear the melodic voices of angels. There are million of spirits that have been released from their bodies passing by. Their weighless abandon is refreshing. I find myself wishing that I, too, could be set free from my bodily constraints.

Then returning home from my 'freedom flight,' my thoughts turn to the men and women who fought so valiantly for our country, and gave their lives to let 'freedom ring.'  These folks were firm believers in that what they were doing mattered, not just for the resolution of the war-at-hand, but for the years and years of peace that would follow, allowing not only their families, but all families in the U.S. to live without threat or fear of retaliation. Their sacrifice made it possible for all of us to grow and prosper. Because they gave their lives, we continue to be free to get an education, secure a meaningful career, start a family, choose when to retire, and live in peace and harmony until our own spirts are set free.

About five years ago, the husband of a dear friend of mine died. Gene had served in Vietnam. Many of his wartime buddies attended his funeral. As we gathered at the burial place to say one last good-bye, the veterans stood in the back of the group, with heads lowered and tears in their eyes. After placing a rose on the coffin, my legs guided me to the line of service men. My heart was filled with such admiration for warriors I'd never met, yet felt bound to with unbreakable ties. As I thanked them for their unselfish heroics, each one looked at me but said nothing. No words were needed because their faces conveyed that no matter how much they suffered, they fought so that you and I could be free. The only thing I managed was to hug these brave souls and cry with them.

We owe our veterans of war everything, not just a yearly parade or a flag placed at their gravesites. To those who are still with us, they are entitled to the respect and admiration of a nation. They deserve the best medical care available, a comfortable place to call home, and a job worthy of their time and talent. To those who have passed, they are also entitled to our respect and admiration. They deserve to be interred in a place of honor, their families provided for, and their memory never forgotten.

We are free, able to soar, able to experience that which leaves us breathless, able to hear the voices of angels, able to look forward to the day our spirits will be set free.

What a glorious feeling, being free! Show your gratitude today and everyday to those who made our freedom possible.

With Plants and Newborns, There Are No Guarantees!

The planting season is in full swing, and I've definitely hitched my wagon to it again.  The three hostas my sister-in-law gave me are now enjoying the rick soil under the plum tree. The petunias, geraniums, and those spiky things are bordering the shrubs in front of the house. Since two of my heather bushes were severely damaged over the winter, they need to be replaced. I haven't decided whether to subplant them with dwarf hydrangeas or mimi shrubs. Most likely it will be the hydrangeas, but I could change my mind at the last minute.

The thing about planting is that although your heart is in the right place, you never know exactly what the outcome will be. Digging the hole twice the size of the base, filling it with water, adding nutritional soil, and making sure the plant is lowered to the specified mark should result in lush growth, an abundance of healthy greenery, and a cascade of beautiful flowers. Right?

Well, over the last forty years, my outcomes have been varied to say the least. Many times, after fulfilling all the requirements, I've been rewarded with lush growth, healthy greenery, and beautiful flowers. But, more than I care to admit, after having done everything that is outlined on the planting instructions card, my efforts have resulted in straggly growth, yellowish leaves, and a few deformed buds.

Why I ask myself that if I've followed procedures to the T each and every time, are the end results so uncertain? I know there are many factors that are out of my control. For instance, BUGS! One of my hydrangea bushes was absolutely gorgeous last spring, while the other's leaves began curling as soon as they appeared. By the time I noticed what was happening, most of the foliage had been destroyed. My husband decided spraying vinegar on it would revive its growth, but only served to add to the poor plant's health problems. In the end, flowers of pink adorned the first bush, while brown, brittle lifeless leaves withered on the second one and produced nada in the way of floral beauties.

Another deciding factor of how well plants do is the amount of water they receive on a weekly basis. Most instructions call for watering every other day. It is usually advised that application should be at the base of the plant rather than on its leaves. Whatever the specifics are, I'm on it. Yet when the plants fail to thrive, I'm told that either I watered too much, or too little. Sometimes you just can't win no matter what you do!

Success in raising plants is comparable to raising children. You can read all the books in the world, take care of yourself throughout your pregnancy, give birth in a fine facility at the hands of a well-qualified obstetrician, prepare a nursery fit for a king or queen, breast feed or bottle feed with the best available formula, and devise a schedule resulting in long naps and a full night's sleep.

You would think that with all that preparation, your baby would be a dream come true from the get-go. Well think again! Some infants will be exactly that, an absolute pleasure. But, for most of them, their nights will be days and their days will be nights. Feeding will be spotty at best since your baby will fall asleep at exactly the same time the nipple or bottle is presented. The moment you head for the nursery to place him or her in the crib, their eyes and mouth will pop open at the same time. You will repeat this process again and again hoping for a positive outcome, but nine times out of ten, you'll be disappointed. The schedule you've carefully devised may as well be burned at the stake since that's about all it's good for right now.

Will this unruly being ever become the healthy, flowering human you've planned for? In time you'll begin to see promising buds indicative of growth and development. Don't get me wrong though, there will be times when his or her strides will be short-lived, regressing to former negative behavior. Their adherence to schedule will be spotty. Showering them with all the hugs and kisses in the world might have little to no effect on them for a while.

But there is no need for despair. As months pass, as long as you've checked for bugs, and made sure your hubby didn't accidental fill the bottles with vinegar instead of formula, your new addition to the family will become the most beautiful rose in your garden. I promise!

Dreams Really Do Come True!

In 1954 when I was ten years old, I asked my mother if I could play the trumpet. Mom let out a resounding 'no' because back then 'girls didn't play the trumpet' according to her. But I loved the sounds of the brass horn, and the way I felt when hearing its strong, piercing, pleading voice. In the end, I chose the accordion, but dropped it after a year. The 'squeeze box' was no match for the trumpet as far as I was concerned.

My one and only granddaughter, Brenna, is a third grader at a private school in Cleveland, Ohio. In fourth grade, every student is required to choose an instrument and play it for two years. Afterwards they can elect to pick another one, join the choir, or opt out of the music program altogether. About a month ago, Brenna called to say she'd made her choice for next year, it was the trumpet. And when she begins her lessons, she'll be ten! Funny how what goes around comes around, wouldn't you say?

Yesterday was Mother's Day. Since I was visiting two of my children and their families in the South last week, I was gifted with dinner, flowers, and great company early. So naturally I wasn't expecting much on the actual day, but boy was I surprised! Hubby and I went to eleven o'clock Mass, sat in our usual back seat and visited with the folks that have also claimed the back seat as their own, and awaited the beginning of the service. As the priest and servers paraded down the aisle, the amazing sound of trumpets filled the church. Two teenage girls proudly stood to the side of the altar, calling all in attendance to celebrate the Eucharist. My heart leapt for joy realizing that girls do play the trumpet, and eloquently I might add.

The sisters (I found out) accompanied the choir in every song throughout the service, and just when I didn't think things could get any better, it did! Towards the end of Mass as we sat in meditation, one of the girls stepped to the front and again raised the brass horn to her lips. The entire congregation was mesmerized as 'Ave Maria' floated over, around, and through us. I'd never heard my favorite religious song done on my favorite musical instrument before. It was a magical moment for me, one I will never forget for so many reasons. As tears filled my eyes, I returned to the day I'd pleaded with my mother for a chance to play the trumpet and whispered, 'yes, mom, girls do play the trumpet!' It wasn't that I wanted to be right, because in those days a girl playing a brass instrument was rare, but I was celebrating the fact that we'd come such a long way since then. Having these two teens masterfully sounding the trumpet gave testament to the power of change no matter how many years go by before that change happens.

Perhaps this experience can be trumped, pun intended, when my one and only granddaughter, Brenna, will be standing tall in front of the altar, playing Ave Maria on the trumpet with her Grammy in the back seat beaming with pride and knowing sometimes it takes a while, but dreams really do come true!

PURPOSE AND POSITIVE ATTITUDE

Reading the local newspaper every morning of my adult life has had its benefits. I've scanned countless articles about keeping fit, both physically and mentally. I've seen a gazillion ads on weight loss. I understand a lot of people have been cured of devastating illnesses by simply using laughter as a daily medicine.

At my age, fitness and weight loss are not easily attained, and, if by the grace of God they are, maintaining these milestones are next to impossible. I try my best, but when a person's knees won't cooperate, and her desire for ice cream has never abated since childhood, reaching certain goals most-likely won't ever happen now. 

But because I have a glorious, and oftentimes weird sense of humor, my chances of warding off life-threatening illnessses are pretty good. My ability to see the 'funny side' in even the worst of conditions helps my body and mind tremendously. By choosing to not take everything so seriously, myself included, the weight of the world is less burdensome.

Today I read a study done in Sweden and Finland regarding positive attitude in the elderly. It showed that people over 85 who remained busy and had purpose in their lives lived more than five years longer than their sedintary, sour counterparts. Hey, at this point I'll do whatever is necessary for extra minutes on this wonderul earth!

Positive attitude is a choice! We all have aches and pains, we all experience devastation and loss. We all could very easily give in to the woes of the world and surrender. But choosing to be positive amid the many negatives we face every day, gives us the opportunity one more time to celebrate the little things we usually take for granted.

I find waking up every morning a huge accomplishment at age 70. What's even more astounding is that I can walk down the steps, take my dog out, fetch the paper (I do the fetching), brew the coffee, and then settle down for an hour of quiet alone time. 

Since I started my writing career only 3 years ago, I'm busier than ever before. In the beginning, on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays, from nine o'clock until about noon, I pounded away on my computer keyboard, formulating hilarious tales for my seven grandchildren. Once I completed a book for each of them, I turned my cites to writing chapter books for tweens and teens. These stories are based upon growing up in the Fifties, and depict actual events in the lives of me and my brother, Dan.

A host of family characters are included with my Baba's house being the center of our existence. Recalling those times and typing them out for others to appreciate is such a rewarding experience. 

I'm always eager to get started, and can easily spend six to eight hours at it before needing a break.

Talk about having a purpose! You betcha!

Along with my writing, I look forward to visiting my children and their families, two in the Carolinas, and one in Ohio. What gives me great pleasure is that they are very happy to see, hubby, me and our twelve year old dog, Shadow, and welcome us with open arms. We are always on the go when visiting, so much so that busy doesn't even begin to describe it. Going to parks, ballgames, hockey rinks, swimming pools, festivals, and church are only a few of the activities lined up when we're with them. They never take into account that we're older now, and simply expect our participation. And because the see us as capable, functioning people, we act accordingly.

Purpose and positive attitude, yep, the last time I looked, I've got a ton of both of them. If that study has any validity at all, I'm sure to make 100!

Oklahoma City Bombing

I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing on April 19, 1995,when I heard about the horrific devastation in Oklahoma. I was in my office talking on the phone when one of my staff informed me that a building out West had exploded in which a daycare was housed. Facts were scarce, but it was believed that a number of children had died in the blast.

As director of a bustling preschool twenty minutes outside of Pittsburgh, the news was extremely personal. After saying a prayer for those who had perished, all I could think of was what if such a catastrophe ever happened here? If I were to be spared, what immediate actions would I undertake to save as many lives as I could? Where would I start?

My first inclination would be to dial 911, but what if the lines were inoperable? I know getting the children and staff out would be my top priority, but since I'd never devised an evacuation plan other than posting an escape route in each classroom, would that be possible?

Hearing the screams and crys of the little ones entrusted to my care would be unbearable, yet I would need to provide my charges with a soothing environment, and assurance that everything would be all right. How would I accomplish this objective and sincerely mean it?

Having required everybody employed at the school to have CPR training, would we as a group jump into action, utilizing our skills on whomever was in distress? Would we remember the techniques? Would we have the courage to even initiate them if we did indeed remember them?

And what about the severely injured? Would we have the know-how to deal with uncontrollable bleeding, head truama, limb amputation, and crushed organs? Unless there were medical professionals available, my answer would be a definite 'no.'  We would do what common sense would dictate, but unfortunately our efforts would  result in few positive outcomes.

Thankfully during my tenure, nothing like the Oklahoma tragedy ever happened at our beloved preschool. Our children and staff enjoyed a safe, happy environment where learning to share and a few scraped knees were the only emergencies we faced on a daily basis.

After the inexplicable actions of Timothy McVeigh and Terry Nichols on that sorrowful day, my view of a preschool director's responsibilities drastically changed. If it could happen in Oklahoma, it could happen anywhere. I no longer walked through our facility with the same care-free spirit I'd had before April 19th. Over the next five years, there always lurked a nagging fear in the back of my mind, that things weren't exactly as they appeared. Previously I had embraced a false sense of security, but now I knew better. We are only as safe as the people that come into our lives are morally grounded and mentally sane.

Yesterday I prayed for the victims and families impacted by the Oklahoma City bombing, and again realized that we are all potential targets of similar devastation. We can simply hope that we will be spared such pain throughout our lifetime, and be strong enough to live each day with happiness in our hearts and a zest for living that nobody can rob us of, even when they inflict the most hideous of brutalization.

WHEN GRAMMY GOES AWAY

WHEN GRAMMY GOES AWAY,by Flo Barnett, a pre-school director & kindergarten teacher, deals with loss of a loved one in a sensitive, age-appropriate manner.

Young children need to be able to express themselves during such difficult times no matter how atypical their behavior may be. They need to be allowed to ask questions and receive answers they can understand.

WHEN GRAMMY GOES AWAY is based on my personal experince of losing my dad when I was only three years old. In 1948, children were expected to be seen and not heard. I never knew why my father left for work one day and never came back. No one ever took the time to explain what had happened because I'm sure they thought I wouldn't understand. I was exposed to the crying and anger which normally accompanies loss, but had no idea why my family was acting that way. As a result, I became fearful and anxious. Although it's been 67 years, my dad's death has had an extreme effect on my life. Had WHEN GRAMMY GOES AWAY been written then, I believe it would have made a great impact on how I looked at loss over these many years. Do yourself and your children a huge favor, and have my book on hand for the difficult times in your lives.

 tinyurl.com/lxb2pns ‪#‎loss‬ ‪#‎children‬ ‪#‎Parents‬‪#‎Teachers‬ ‪#‎mgtab‬

Hurray 4 Opening Day!

I know my post is extremely late for the #MondayBlogs, but I really do have good reason to be delinquent. Today was the Pittsburgh Pirates' Opening Day at PNC Park and I couldn't express my views until the final score was in the books. At approximately 4:15p.m., the Pirates (3-4) beat the Detroit Tigers (6-1) 5-4! Go, Bucs!

I wasn't at the ball park, but did watch most of the game on T.V. In the bottom of the first inning, Josh Harrison, our amazing third baseman, smashed one over the wall in center field, hitting a homerun on pitch #1 of the Home Opener. What a way to start the season, JHay!

Gerrit Cole was on the mound for the Pirates today holding the Tigers scoreless through six and two-thirds innings. Cole was superb, striking out at least 8 batters that I witnessed. However in the seventh, with his team leading 2-0, he allowed a single and two walks which loaded the bases with no outs. Clint Hurdle relieved Cole with Jared Hughes who with his first pitch, forced the runners into a double play. Now the score was 2-1. The next pitch Hughes threw was hit and caught for the third out.

Now up comes Alvarez in the bottom of the seventh. He slams one into center field which adds to the Pirates lead. Cervelli, our new catcher, gets on with a single, and Corey Hart, a pinch hitter socks one out of the park to make the score 5-1.

Game's in the bag, right? Not so fast! In the top of the eighth,Marc Melancon came in to face the Tigers; they hit two doubles and a homer, causing Pirate fans to bite their nails and clench their fists thinking that their beloved team could suffer a loss on Opening Day.

The Pirates went down in the bottom of the eighth without much of a fight. Fortunately for Melancon, his team, and the almost forty thousand fans in the seats, the Tigers faltered in the ninth, without so much as a whimper much less a growl!

Hurray 4 Opening Day!  We won!  Let's Go Bucs!

The Home Opener in Pittsburgh is considered an unofficial holiday. Dads schedule a vacation day months in advance, moms pack up the toddlers, and kids feign illness in order to be at the ballpark for this momentous occasion. Everybody plays hooky from their responsibilities to witness the rebirth of America's favorite pasttime. It happens every spring. It's been happening since I was a kid and way before that when my elders were just youngins'. I know Opening Day will remain an icon long after I've gone to that great ballfield in the sky. And you can bet that when I have that bird's eye view, I'll be cheering on the Pirates just as I did today!

BTW, Playing Hooky is the title of the first book in my When We Were Kids series. It has nothing to do with baseball, but takes place in the Fifties and focuses on family life, growing up, losing a loved one, and dealing with the consequences of our choices. Although Playing Hooky is slotted in the tweens/teens age group, parents, grandparents, teachers, and other adults are raving about it because of the many memories being conjured up throughout its pages. If you'd like to know more about this engaging book, visit Amazon.com/FloBarnett.