Showing posts from May, 2016

Remembering Viet Nam

My husband’s cousin and his wife visited a few weeks ago.  The guys play down their war experiences yet the topic of Viet Nam pops up in conversation. 
Remember that war?
The rebellion of the 1960’s tells many stories.  I felt unrest as a teenager in that decade.
·Young people trampled on traditional values and hippies emerged. ·Street artists drew daisy flowers on everything. ·Girls wore miniskirts and boys grew long hair. ·Ugly politics surfaced. ·Many smoked marijuana and experimented with LSD. ·Folk singers and rock musicians wrote anti war songs. ·Rallies beckoned many to protest the Viet Nam War.
Not all rebelled.
My husband and his cousin enlisted in the military.  We say “thank you” on these patriotic holidays and sometimes they respond “No big deal.”

Truth is, it is a big deal.  Ask their wives.  We wives are the ones who live with these brave men.  We know and can speak of the days our gallant husbands cope with depression and some suffer with PTSD.  We experience the health issues…

The Older Woman

I whipped around the roundabout in Sedona and took the exit that turns off into the nursing home where my friend, Betty, lives.  She and I laugh together about everyday life.  Betty has an engaging way of tilting her head to the side and smiling as we discuss baseball, family and purses.  Betty loves my purses.  She especially likes the ones that are colorful and have sequins.  I like to brighten her day with samples of homemade sweets and greeting cards.  Recently I designed a card for her with hopes to tickle her funny bone.
Betty showed me her new CD player during my visit.  It sits next to her recliner chair and oxygen machine.  She turned it on and set the volume high as we listened to Cracklin Rosie by Neil Diamond.  “Isn’t he wonderful, honey?”  Betty asked.
I told her he’s one of my favorites too.  “What does that mean ‘store bought woman’?” Betty asked. 
I explained to Betty he’s singing about a bottle of wine that he spent the night with…his store bought woman. 
“Oh, o.k. . . .…

The Promised Land of Cabo

The world of sales reminds me of fishing.  Salesmen live on the adrenaline of reeling in a sale.  When they get enough of them, they earn a reward or a plaque or a trip or all three!
After check-in at the posh Phoenix resort, I attended the first event on my agenda.  The noisy hospitality room erupted with cheerful conversations.  I collected happy hugs from co-workers from the company’s numerous locations.  Off to the ballroom, we enjoyed an elegant dinner along with a presentation of sales awards. 
The company thanked us for our talent and enthusiasm in selling their homes.  A new year of sales competition began and a reward would dangle in our midst like a lure at the end of a fishing line.
 “Who wants to go to Cabo San Lucas?  The Vice President asked a room full of cheering, intoxicated men and women.
I slept well in the luxurious resort that night.  The hotel catered a breakfast buffet for our group the next morning.  Rested and full, we left for the conference room eager for the …

The Final Chapter

Are you like me when you join a new group of people? Do you navigate the crowd wondering where you fit in the best?  I felt insecure when I joined Word Weavers, a Christian writing group in our town.  Liz and Tony welcomed me with their accepting smiles.  It meant a lot.

I sat with Liz in a small critique group one week.  I leaned in close so we could share a writer’s paper together.  She mentioned she would passively kick back and listen because she felt sick that day.  Tony kept his eye on her walking over with a plate of cookies and a hug for his wife.  But Liz did not eat.

Last week, Liz passed away.  I attended the memorial service where I learned that Liz was a dreamer and fought for her dreams up to the very end!  Liz’s dream, her third book Jamie, came true.  The publisher approved her manuscript and moved heaven and earth to get the story printed in book form and delivered to Liz.  Encouraging family and friends surrounded the bedside and watched Liz clutch her book to her brea…

Mama's Lipstick

I always wished I could do things with my mom like shop in the mall, share makeup secrets or go to the movies and watch romantic comedies.  My wish never materialized.My mama behaved like a tomboy.She loved baseball and pitched with a strong right arm.She could care less about the latest fashion or the latest movies featured on the big screen.She never polished her fingernails.

One day after elementary school, I walked into the house to find my mom all dolled up in front of the bathroom mirror, foundation crème, powder, eyebrow pencil and rouge all over the counter sink.  “Who are you?” I asked, thrilled to see my mama putting on the Ritz.  Makeup in place and blotted, she immediately took it off.  “I don’t like the way it feels,” she exclaimed.

She retired in Arizona and protected her dry lips with a light rose lipstick, the color of natural lips, a step above ChapStick.  She wore it a few times experimenting once again with makeup.   I visited and she showed me her new tube.  “I want …