Spirited Woman Blogger Team

Making A Memory

At times we go to great trouble to create those moments that we hope will last a life time in our memories.  It often seems, the more time and trouble put into making a memory, the less likely the memory will linger.  It’s the little moments, or the ones that come completely by accident that are the ones that we savor be it good or bad - they tend to have the longest staying power.

Think of all the holiday meals where every care and thought was put into the presentation - in hopes of capturing that text book image of how a holiday should look, feel and smell. Now think back to what you truly remember. For me…it is definitely the time my poor great aunt lost her dentures at the dining room table. 

She was a bit of an oddity to my cousins and siblings as we only saw her a couple of times a year and she never learned to speak a word of English. We knew just enough Italian to get by to make pleasantries with her but she still frightened us. Not so much that she couldn’t speak English as her smile spoke a universal language letting us know that she truly enjoyed being in our company.  She however had this painful habit of having to pinch our cheeks while speaking to us in Italian and shaking our gentle little faces with every syllable of her excitement. We would line up, fighting over who should be first because we didn’t want to be in her claw like grip. Our grandmother would kindly remind her, “Rachel, it hurts the children when you pinch their cheeks,” but apparently our chubby cheeks were far too appealing to her to accept our grandmother’s plea. We would walk away with reddened faces and the ‘mark of Aunt Rachel’ as we referred to it.

Do You Yaya?

I am extremely fortunate to be known as a Yaya. It started in a very unexpected way. In my past life I was a decorator. In my career I had the opportunity to participate in numerous conventions or seminars around the country. I became fairly well known in my area and when seasoned veterans were coming to my neck of the woods, I was always invited to participate in their programs. Little by little I got to meet new women joining the rank of decorators.

Over time I kept in touch with these women and would often times speak of them to others from around the country. I watched them take their creative talents and step forth as entrepreneurs. I was fortunate in finding a handful of women who were very much like me.

At one convention I finally got the opportunity to meet many of them face to face. I had developed long distance relationships with them while introducing them to one another. So we plotted our meet up. I will never forget it as it took place in San Antonio, Texas along what is known as The River Walk. Wanting to duck out from the numerous speakers at the convention, I headed for the hotel balcony and soon found my new friends joining me as they wondered where I had wandered off to. By that evening, we were inseparable. That was the start of "The Yayas." 

I will admit that too much laughter and too much wine fuzz altered my memory a bit, but at some point that evening we had decided that we would become The Yayas…women who would support, encourage and share with one another so that we would not be on this journey alone. In our original group there were eight of us. We lived in six different states and one in Canada. We returned home from that conference charged by our new found friendship and the desire to be of assistance to one another.

Birds of a Feather

My children enjoy teasing me over my fascination with bird watching. I wouldn’t exactly refer to it as an obsession, but I will admit I do enjoy the daily interactions with our winged visitors to our back yard. It started somewhat innocently. One day while sitting on the patio I took notice of a bird building a nest in our tree out back. I became somewhat curious to the process of watching her and her mate busily go about choosing the finest straw and fallen leaves to build their new home. When the eggs were visible in the nest, I watched and waited in anticipation like a proud and expectant grandma of their hatching. Once born, I watched with awe at the level of work and tireless commitment the momma bird showed in keeping those hungry babes well fed while maintaining a constant vigilance against predators.

This led to my purchasing our first back yard bird feeder and my nightly ritual of having to refill the seed.  When I noticed the number of birds who were then using our dog’s water bowl as their own personal water supply or warm water bathing facility; I asked my husband if we could install a full size bird bath. This of course really got my  children razzing me that I was indeed showing signs of old age and asking me if I would like a gift certificate to Bird Watcher’s supply for Mother’s day that year. I took their razzing with a grain of salt as I realized that I probably behaved the same way with my mother and my grandmother who were both easily amused and distracted by the daily visits from their winged friends outside their kitchen windows as they washed the dinner dishes.

Recently I will confess to becoming a bit obsessed with two different internet video sites that are live web cams of birds and their nests. I haven’t shared this with my children as they would surely see this as the first steps necessary to searching out just the right resting home for me…one preferably with a bird watching window. Tuning in to the video casts daily to see if the eggs have hatched and literally having a “bird’s eye view” of a miracle of nature rarely seen is both fascinating and educational. I did share this with some close girlfriends who share my enthusiasm and who also wish to remain anonymous bird watchers so as not to entice the same commentary from their own offspring.

Spring Cleaning…One Woman’s Journey

I will admit to being one of those women who truly enjoys cleaning. I don’t have a cleaning service nor would I really want one. Oh sure, the thought of walking into a freshly cleaned house without having to have lifted a finger or a dust rag occasionally enters a day dream, but for the most part I prefer things the way they are. 

Most of my friends can’t understand my love affair with cleaning. To me there is a very simple explanation in the fact that it is instant gratification. Too many things that we do in life require a lengthy time frame to see the end result. Cleaning is one of those things that allows me to quickly revel in triumph over loads of laundry or dirty dishes. In a matter of minutes I can go from chaos to clarity and it feels good. It is my zen experience if you will.

It is with this same mindset and enthusiasm that I jump in to my early spring cleaning. Like a climber who prepares himself for the goal of conquering a mountain, I too, gather up all my necessary supplies and mentally get ready for the challenge that lies ahead. I map my journey while estimating the amount of ground I wish to cover during a particular amount of day light. I pace myself knowing that there will be some unchartered territories that may slow me down due to unexpected harsh terrain such as my son’s bathroom. 

One never knows what lurks behind the shower curtain or is hidden in the deep dark caverns known as their vanity drawers. I also prepare for the discovery of some unknown inhabitant who may surprise or startle me the further I trench forward. Having raised three children who did not seem to inherit my cleaning gene, I have had my share of run ins with mystical creatures who defy definition. I keep the rubber gloves close at reach for such circumstances.

A Love Affair with Shoes - Put on Your Big Girl Shoes and Heel Thyself

Not too long ago I read an interesting story speaking of a recent study that concluded women treasure their shoes more than their romantic relationships. I wasn’t quite certain I could buy in to that, and yet, I wrote down those words so I could ponder them when I had more time to think about it. I am sure it comes as no secret that the majority of women LOVE shoes.

I have a feeling that the love affair starts as young as our first pair of patent leather shoes. I know I can certainly recall the happy times in patent leather as they almost always marked a special occasion. A holiday gathering of some type where Sunday best dress meant ruffled socks, white gloves and perhaps a pretty hat. I can also recall my very first pair of white go go boots; a present from my grandfather. I can still picture him in my mind’s eye as he proudly escorted his three granddaughters in to church wearing our brand new boots and matching white fur coats.

I don’t know that I treasure my shoes more than any romantic relationships I have had, but I can agree that my memory of treasured shoes is probably clearer than the name of my third grade crush and numerous others that followed along the years. Come to think of it, I probably had an easier time saying goodbye to some of those Romeos while holding on to shoes longer than I should have due to fit, style or comfort.

I had the pleasure of seeing a one woman play not too long ago starring Tina Sloan-McPherson. Some of you may know her from her role on The Guiding Light. She played Nurse Lillian Raines for 26 years. Her play Changing Shoes is her true story of searching for the meaning of life in a closet full of shoes. This woman of television fame and fortune shares her darkest moments and confessions of finding herself in bunny slippers. It was with sincere honesty and raw openness that she confessed a period in her life where she realized she had achieved her dreams and was watching them fade away while clinging to a pair of bunny slippers and a pint of ice cream. She was feeling invisible and no longer wanting to greet the world with the same enthusiasm she once felt. Yet, she reinvents herself and gets back in to the game with of all things, a NEW pair of shoes.

Spring It To Me!

I would like to brag that I have a green thumb, but in fact in the gardening department I have inherited my mother’s inability to grow much of anything. When we were kids we would tease her that she could kill an air fern. I used to have plenty of luck with my garden in Florida and often times I was the envy of many of my neighbors. For some reason of which I cannot fully explain, I must have left my green thumb behind in our move to Georgia some time ago.

Two years ago I decided that we needed to have a vegetable garden. I could tell by the looks on my family members faces that they somehow knew in advance that this too would suffer at my less than capable hands. They managed to fake enthusiasm and pretended to support me in my endeavors. I reasoned that with the high cost of produce, wouldn't it be wonderful if we could eat off of the “fruits of our labors?”

I watched with the excitement of an expectant mother over my tiny crop. Day after day, I watered; I weeded and talked thoughts of inspiration to my new baby plants. I scanned recipe books and web sites in preparation for all of the ways I was going to be able to prepare my forthcoming bounty. I prepared the neighbors for what would soon be weekly deliveries of fresh grown tomatoes to make up for the fact that my family would only be able to consume so many. I waited and waited and waited. Then one day it happened…I walked out back and caught the site of what would be the first of many Big Boy tomatoes.  Every day I checked on its progress. It got to be the size of a quarter when it burst into a beautiful bright orange red and I realized it was done growing. That’s okay I reasoned. This one was an overachiever and the others would do better. 

My Sons - The Bunnies - Melt Hearts

How many mothers get to brag about their child the bunny? I have had the distinct privilege twice in my life. Years ago, my oldest son was coerced into playing the Easter Bunny at our neighborhood annual event known as Eggstravaganza. Every year we host our very own Easter Egg hunt for the children of our neighborhood with a whopping 12,000 plus Easter Eggs. It is quite a site to find the town green all aglow in the pastel colors of spring.

My oldest son Ryan was a less than enthusiastic participant in his role as the bunny of the hour. I can’t really say I blame him as it was an unseasonably warm weekend and the suit is very heavy and hot. His greater reluctance I’m sure came from the fact that he was a typical teenager concerned with all of the typical teenage peer pressure and popularity issues. A giant white suit with a bright pink belly is not exactly the epitome of coolness. I assured him that no one would have to know it was him behind those giant eyes and oh so cute pink bunny nose. I’m sure I must have had to promise him something spectacular for volunteering his services, but this many years later I can’t recall what that might have been. I can however remember with the utmost of clarity the change of heart he experienced.

Within moments of bringing him out on to the town green he was the center of attention and a hero in the wide eye vision of every child who approached him. Hugging him and shaking hands; he was a dream come true and a celebrity in the eyes of his young adoring fans. He was especially loved by a young handicapped girl with an angelic face who just couldn’t get enough of him. As the day wore on and it was time for him to say his goodbyes, that little girl appeared one last time and handed him a picture she had drawn for him, complete with the words "I love you" scribbled in crayon across the top. I can’t know with certainty, and I’m sure he would never admit it, but I do believe behind those cartoonish eyes of the costume were the tear filled eyes of my son touched beyond anything he had ever experienced. It was all he could talk about for days.

Nothing Trivial About It

It started innocently quite some years ago. A little pub just outside my neighborhood started advertising trivia nights. It sounded like fun so I called a girlfriend and asked her if she would like to meet me there and give it a try. That girlfriend then called another girlfriend and so it grew until we had a group of six women who would gather weekly to partake in what is known as Trivial Abuse.

Needing a formal name for our team, I suggested we call ourselves the Estrogems. It is the perfect name for a group of very spirited women who together share an amazing amount of wisdom. Okay…sometimes it’s not so amazing, but that doesn’t stop us from attempting to do our best week after week. Rain, snow or sleet, nothing keeps Team Estrogem from fulfilling our weekly ritual and our pursuit of the grand prize of $30.

Over the years, we have had some members leave the group, but the core group remains intact and somewhere along the way we even picked up a man whom we affectionately refer to as our Lone Estrogent. Believe me; he has taken a lot of ribbing over the years for being an Estrogem, but remains secure in his manhood and his ability to be the one we all turn to when we are faced with a sporting question.

We have been playing together for so long that we have come to identify ourselves by our strongest trivia categories. Trasey is the one we turn to for the puzzle type questions, Pat is our resident geography expert, Stacie is the queen of all things movie related and myself…well apparently I excel in cartoons and TV theme songs. We have also been together for so long that we have come to know an entire trivia community. The same teams who gather week after week as well and who desire the same outcome we do. We’ve played the game of playing the game for so long that of course it involves lots of spirited bantering amongst teams, but all in the name of having fun.

How My Nana Came Back Through Her Charm Bracelet

"When Irish Eyes are smiling. Sure, 'tis like the morn in the Spring. In the lilt of Irish laughter, You can hear the angels sing."

I couldn't help but recall these beautiful lyrics the other day as I set out to create my St. Patrick’s Day tree. Some of you may recall that I have taken on the task of keeping up a Christmas tree year long while changing the décor monthly to represent the changing seasons or celebrate one of the monthly holidays. For the full story you can read my blog titled A Year in the Life of a Christmas Tree - One Woman's Idea to Live Out Loud.

I was feeling less than inspired to get started on this month’s tree and was beginning to question why I had even committed myself to such a task. I took to writing about it and in doing so found myself thinking about my Nana. Nana was the original Irish Rose in our family of Italians. My mind quickly began to overflow with memories of my beautiful, spirited grandmother. It had been a long time since I spent time in thought of my Nana who was taken from my life too early. With each click of the keyboard I found encouragement and excitement in the thought of decorating the tree in honor of her.

With my new found enthusiasm, each added decoration to the tree seemed to spark a long lost memory of her. I was her third grandchild, and her first granddaughter. There was no hiding her enthusiasm of that fact in that she referred to me as "The Queen." Upon entering her home she would burst out in a chorus of, “Here she is, Miss America.” I can still recall the smell of her perfume and the way her bright colored lips always left a kiss stained mark on my cheek. Her hair was always neatly pulled back and held with bobby pins and her attire was always a bright floral dress. She never wore a pair of pants and in fact, I don't think she ever owned any.

My Life Coach - My Mother

I must admit that the first time I heard the term "life coach" I was intrigued. Upon further explanation my immediate response was, you mean you pay someone to tell you how to manage your life? Wow! My mother’s been doing that for years and NEVER made a dime.

I am amazed on a daily basis the level of coaching services that come forth. No longer are coaches resigned to the side lines of a playing field, but there are coaches for everything imaginable. We have fitness coaches, lifestyle coaches, business coaches, dog training coaches and even dating coaches to name a few. Luckily my mother had her degree in all those arenas. No subject was out of her grasp or knowledge base. My mother could tell you with no uncertainty how to live your life regardless of the circumstances. As a newly married woman I once remember over hearing her tell someone that she always allowed her children to have their own opinions. Yeah…and as long as they aligned with hers, peace reigned supreme in our house.

Another fairly new field is those who are intuitive. My Mother was well before her time. The woman had a 6th sense squared. She could hear you mumble beneath your breath from a mile away. She obviously had the power to see through walls as inevitably she would say, "And don’t you roll your eyes at me," just as you were in the process of doing so. Her memory skills were legendary amongst my siblings and I. If she said just wait until you get home, it didn’t matter if it was 15 minutes or 6 hours later, she remembered.