Crossed Wires

The other night, Dad and I were outside walking towards the house. I heard him say something and turned to ask him what he said. He repeated it.

“Do you want me to scrape the house for the pancakes?” He asked.

“What?” I replied because I didn’t understand what he just said.

He repeated himself with more emphasis. “Do you want me to scrape the house for the pancakes?”

Again, I replied but with a little unbelief in my voice, “WHAT? Dad that doesn’t make any sense.”

He was getting angry now. “Oh, Goddammit,” he said with a raised voice.

“Sorry, Dad. I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.” I replied. I was thinking our wires must be crossed, as they say.


He repeated the same thing again, except this time he used hand motions to convey his message. “Do you want me to scrape (hands motioning like a window cleaner cleaning a window with a squeegee) the house for the pancakes (motioning his hands as if he was bouncing a ball)?

Now I was thinking does he have full-blown Alzheimer’s or is it me? Do I have dementia? Good grief!

About that time I woke up and thought to myself, thank the heavens it was just a dream!

The Silkworms

Many, many years ago I was a little girl in Kindergarten. I loved my teacher. She was young and pretty and her name was Mrs. Libby. I loved school. Mrs. Libby made it fun and exciting to learn and it was fun playing with the other kids.

One of our lessons was about silkworms. I don’t recall how we got so many silkworms for our classroom, but some of the kids in the class were given a little cup with 4 or 5 silkworms in it, but only if we wanted to do it. Of course, I did. We had been learning about silkworms all week so I knew how to care for them once I got them home. We had a huge mulberry tree in our backyard and that’s exactly what the little silkworms ate!


I was so happy and excited to take these tiny silkworms home to watch them eat, grow and morph into beautiful silk moths. My mother let the wind out of my sails as quickly as I got into the car when she arrived to pick me up from school. She flew into a rage and I thought she was going to throw those poor little moths out in the parking lot! Her complaint was that I hadn’t asked for permission to bring them home, nor did my beloved teacher. I was just 5 years old and I was devastated that she was so angry about the little silkworms! I was allowed to keep them, but I don’t recall much about how that came about except that it was my responsibility to feed them and keep them from getting loose in the house.

It was exciting to me still, even after my mother’s temper tantrum, but I kept it to myself. I kept the little silkworms in a shoebox in my bedroom and never spoke of them, except of course to my Dad. He helped me reach the leaves in the mulberry tree that were too high for me since I was so small. Honestly, I thought my mother had hoped I couldn’t get any leaves at all so the little silkworms would die!

One day, the little silkworms spun their little cocoons and I was amazed and curious about what they were doing inside that I couldn’t see! I checked on my little silkworms day and night. I sat by my bed just staring, looking, hoping that the little moths would come out while I watched.


I don’t recall when they actually emerged from their cocoons, but I was thrilled to see them but yet sad to let them go! I knew I had to get them outside before my mother found out. I didn’t want to risk another one of her fits of rage for no good reason. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t able to put my 5-year-old feelings into words as I just did, but I’m positive the feelings were still there.


I waited for my Dad to come home so he could see the little moths, and he helped me let them go outside. It was so sad for my 5-year-old self to have to say goodbye. They fluttered and flew, right to the mulberry tree and at that moment I knew they were happy.


Throwback Thursday

I haven’t done this in awhile…. Throwback from waaay back! This is my Dad on the left, his brother (my uncle) on the right. Dad was born in 1937. His brother was a little older, but I don’t recall the year he was born. Dad is 81 years old this year. Sadly, my uncle passed away about 2 years ago.

I cherish every day Dad is with me. He’s my comic relief! I think I would go mad if it weren’t for him. I love him to pieces, forever and always. Ok, now I’m getting sentimental and teary-eyed. I’ll just leave this right here…..


Father’s Day Is Every Day

My father has been my friend for almost as long as he has been my Dad. Does that sound silly?

When I was a little girl, I looked up to my Dad, as most all little girls do. But as I was growing up, my mother had me to believe that my dad was just awful. (She shouldn’t have ever talked bad about my Dad in front of me or my sisters.) She was very vocal. She had to let me know that my dad was a “know-it-all-son-of-a-bitch” and there were so many times she would tell me something secret or private and would instruct me NOT to tell Dad. (Like when she spent the $800 for rent on a new VCR.) When I first started shaving my legs, at around age 11, she told me NOT to tell Dad because he would get mad. There were many things like that, which were part of a young girl growing up that I was instructed NOT to tell Dad because he would get mad. 

When I hit high school and started thinking for myself, I realized that my Dad was a good guy. He wasn’t the asshole my mother made him out to be. He was kind and he had feelings. The first time I ever saw my Dad cry was at his baby sister’s funeral. It broke my heart. Dad was always good to us girls, and to my mother as well. There were times, he told me when I was grown, that he wanted to smack my mother upside the head, but he never did it. Why? Because he’s a genuinely good man. He would never hit a woman.

Dad made us laugh all the time. I remember when my sisters were little Dad would go outside and ride their tricycles. It was so funny to watch because he had such long legs and it had to have been difficult to ride a tricycle like that!

Dad helped us with our homework, because mom didn’t have more than an 8th grade education and if she tried to help us, she would just get mad at US because we knew “that’s not how you do it.” Anyway, Dad helped me…or rather DID my high school government paper I had to write on the Nuclear Arms Race. I was given a B on that paper and I remember being angry because Dad should have got an A on it!

Fast forward to my own kids being little and my Dad being a better Dad to them than their own father was. When it came time for me to leave, Dad helped me get my kids away from their father to start over. Dad continued to help, by being the best father figure to my kids as he could possibly be. My kids are grown and have lives of their own, away from us but my Dad continues to be here for them and for me. He is now 80 years old and has been my best friend for the past 30+ years!

So, as far as I’m concerned, EVERY STINKIN’ DAY is Father’s Day!

The Loves of My Life

I know I’ve told all the people in my life how much they mean to me. I hope they heard me. I’d hate to leave this world without them understanding the love and laughter they have brought to my life. I’d hate for them to leave this world and not know how truly loved and appreciated they are by me.

My Dad, who is also my best friend, taught me many things in my life. He taught me to never be late, to always have a sense of humor and to just be myself. He is very special to me. He’s always been there for me and helped me raise my children when their father opted to drop off the radar. He’s a good man, a bit on the silly side, but he’s MY Daddy and I love him.

S.R., my daughter and my oldest child, is a very complex person. She has a sensitive side but she hides it and she hides it well. I raised her to be strong and make her own decisions. I raised her to be kind and generous. I also raised her not to take any crap from anyone. And she doesn’t. I love her unconditionally even though we haven’t always seen eye to eye. She has made some bad choices in her life as we all have but that’s how we learn. I’m proud to call her my daughter, and I will always love her with every inch of my being.

My son, C.F., is a kick in the pants! He has a strange sense of humor and can be very warped at times. He is my baby and he doesn’t like it much when I call him that. After all he’s 20 years old. He is very sensitive, like his sister, but rarely shows it. I can see it in him, when others may not. He tries very hard to be a tough guy – he wears his hair long, has tattoos and piercings and people see him as a tough guy. Some of his co-workers are even afraid of him! I know him differently than they do. I raised him to be kind to animals and learn from them. I raised him to treat people with respect, unless of course they don’t respect him. I raised him to be strong and independent. I’m proud to be his mom. I love him with all of my heart and soul.

My grand children will always have a special place in my heart — forever. No question. They light up my days and make me feel young again, although at the end of the day I can really feel my age! They make me laugh, they make me cry and they can really get on my nerves! I love them dearly and wouldn’t trade my time with them for anything else in this world.

My younger sisters, who were royal pains in my ass when we were growing up, have become my dearest friends and I couldn’t have gotten through the last year without their love and support. They helped me to deal with things that no mother would ever want to have to deal with. They were my shoulder to cry on; although far away. They made me laugh when things were gray. They told me things will get better and they reassured me that I am a good mother, a good friend, sister and person. I cherish my sisters and I hope they know how much I love them.

A.B., who is not my child, but I think of her as my own. I’ve been calling her my “other daughter” for many years now. I love her and wish for her the very best things in life. I hope she knows that I am here for her when her family stabs her in the back again. She deserves better than that. No matter what the relationship between A.B. and my son, I will always think of her as my “other daughter,” and I’m proud to be part of her life.

These are the people who are the closest to my heart. Of course there are those who have passed on, like Mom, Granny, Nana and Papa, Aunt Helen, Cousins John M. and John D. and my great-great grandmother…..all of whom I think about often. There are close friends like Becky, Fawn, Terri, Teri, Andrew and more; I hope they realize how important they are to me. There are also the people who were my in-laws at one time. I doubt that I will ever have anything good to say about my ex ever again, but his family was my family. I’ve missed them a lot since we moved away.

So many people, so little time on this earth. I don’t think my job is done here.