Whatcha' Doin' Mr. Herman

The first noise I heard this morning sounded like the tap-tap-tapping of hammers on nails you hear when one of your neighbors is having a new roof installed. But my initial thought was, I knew it! Someone’s building an ark!

Why wouldn’t that be my first thought?

It’s rained off and on for days. The ground is saturated and there’s still no sunshine. Oh, we’ve been teased with a few rays here and there, but they only stay long enough to get us excited and then disappear again. I’m bored with it!

When I said, “Is someone getting a new roof or building an ark?” Mr. H., accustomed to my inane sense of humor, said, “Neither. It’s those teenagers a few houses over playing their drums outside on their driveway.”

With no pressing reason to get up, I lay there listening to the beat - beat - beat - of the drums and drifted back in time. Mr. H. had owned a heating and air conditioning business. He stayed busy summer and winter. Most of his work came from home builders who contracted him to install heating and air conditioning units in the new homes they built. But he also did service work on existing homes and had many calls to replace old units as well.

He met a lot of people and had many stories to tell. One of my favorites was about a little boy, about four, who lived at a home where he was doing a replacement job. The first day on the job, Steven was curious about what was going on and stayed nearby to inspect the tools and equipment that were being brought into his house. His mother introduced him to my husband. “Steven, this is Mr. Horton. You need to stay out of his way so he can work."

The next morning, Steven greeted my husband at the door, “Hi, Mr. Herman,” he said. My husband laughed, unable to hide his amusement with the mispronunciation of his name, and said, “Good morning, Steven.”

Each morning, the little boy appeared soon after my husband arrived. He watched everything he did. My husband was afraid he’d get hurt and gently urged him to keep his distance. But Steven was too inquisitive.

“What’re you doin’ now, Mr. Herman?” he'd inquire. My husband had the patience of Job and tried to explain to this four-year-old exactly what he was doing, but then Steven would say, “Why are you doin’ that, Mr. Herman?” It was never-ending!

Although it seemed to take longer than usual, the job was eventually completed.

My husband had, of course, related Steven’s antics to me and our children every evening at dinner and, by the time the work was finished, the whole family was calling him Mr. Herman. Sometimes we still do.

 ~

Realizing I couldn’t lie there daydreaming all day, I sat up and lowered my feet to the floor. “I’ve been thinking about Steven and Mr. Herman,” I said. A smile that warmed my heart slowly crept over my husband’s face.

Isn’t it wonderful that one pleasant memory from long ago can bring sunshine back to a cloudy day and change our whole attitude?

And the entire day.

You Can Do Anything You Want

“I’m tired of being me," I say. "I’d like to be someone else for a while.”

My husband says, “Who do you want to be?”

“I don’t know. Someone different.”

“Aren’t you happy?” he asks.

“Yes... basically. It’s just that I’m not doing anything worthwhile. I'd like to leave something important behind when I die.”

“What about the kids? And grandkids? Aren’t they important?”

“Sure, of course they are, but you know – something super important – like a cure for cancer or a piece of music that'll be enjoyed forever. Maybe a book that'll be required reading in schools for generations to come.”

“Well, you don’t have to be somebody else to do something super important. You can do that being you.”

“No I can’t!” I whine.

“What makes you think you can’t?” says Mr. H.

“What makes you think I can?” I say, hands on hips.

“I’ve lived with you for a lot of years and I know you can do anything you want when you set your mind to it.”

“It’s nice of you to say that, but I'm not so sure. I might still like to trade lives with someone else.”

“Don't be ridiculous," he says. "You can't trade lives with someone else!"

“You just contradicted yourself,” I tell him. “You said I can do anything I set my mind to do. Did you mean it or not?”

He looks toward the ceiling, mutters something inaudible and leaves the room.

Men... poor things! They get so confused sometimes.

~~~

Women get the last word in every argument. Anything a man says after that is the beginning of a new argument. ~Author Unknown
 

The Merry Month of May

Well, here we are on the fifth day of the fifth month of the year. How time flies! It seems only yesterday we were celebrating the New Year.

Some think May is the most beautiful month of the year, but I'm not one of them. October holds that distinction in my book! However, May has its merits. My mother was born in May. We also have a grandchild born in this lovely spring month.

Wild flowers are blooming, and the trees and grasses have turned green. Wild flowers that bloom in different parts of America are forsythia, dogwood, violets, and jack-in-the-box. Many birds have built their nests, and mother birds are sitting on the eggs, which will soon hatch.

We observe several special days in May. Mother’s Day is celebrated in honor of Mothers on the second Sunday of May.

Armed Forces Day is celebrated the third Saturday of May. The United States honors the men and women of the military services.

The Kentucky Derby takes place on the first Saturday in May at Churchill Downs, Louisville, Kentucky. It is the most famous horse race in the United States.

Many Mexican Americans celebrate what they call Cinco De Mayo, on May 5th. It is the anniversary of the Mexican victory over the French at Puebla in 1862. It is a national holiday in Mexico.

  • Emerald is the birthstone for May.

  • Hawthorn and Lily of the Valley are the flowers for the month of May.

 
 
 
 
 

I suppose the best thing about May in our part of the country is the mild weather. It's sunny most days, but rains a lot, too, which is good for the grass and the multitudes of flowers yet to come. Those who like to garden are in Heaven during this month.

Enjoy!
 

A Sacred Promise Broken

I once went to a concert with a friend, and, while we were standing in one of two lines leading inside, I spotted a good friend whom I hadn't seen in years, in the other line. I was stunned to see him showing shameless affection for the attractive woman beside him.

When he saw me, he looked like a deer caught in the headlights. I smiled. He got out of line and came over, leaving his friend behind. After our greeting, I asked, “Is Linda with you?” Linda was his wife of twenty-five years. We had once been neighbors. Obviously a little uncomfortable, he said simply, “No.”

He and Linda were pillars of the community. Good people. He owned a profitable neighborhood business while she kept a lovely home and grew beautiful flowers in her yard. They attended church every Sunday and were admired by all who knew them. They had no children.

After politely inquiring about my family, he said, “It was nice seeing you,” and hurried back to his line, never looking back. Once we were inside, I lost track of them.

I never felt quite the same about this friend after that.

A few years later, we had occasion to be with him and Linda at a birthday party for a mutual friend. His concern was evident. I’m sure he feared I’d mention seeing him at the concert. But, of course I wouldn’t do that; it would hurt Linda and she didn’t deserve to be hurt.

Why do loving couples stand before a minister or a judge and promise “Till death do us part,” and then break that sacred promise?

Many men and women cheat on their spouse at one time or another. When found out – and they always are – everyone involved is hurt, but invariably, the injured partner forgives the wanderer and life goes on. Why? Because it’s easier than starting over.

Consider this Thomas Merton quote: “The biggest human temptation is to settle for too little.”

I think that’s what people do when they take back a deceiving spouse as if nothing ever happened. Most never feel the same about their companion again. They settle. But unfortunately, settling for too little lowers self-esteem.

Everybody loses.

Opposites Make The Best Friends

You and I might never have met if you and Patty Smyth hadn’t been playing Old Maid on her front porch the day my mom sent me to deliver some beautiful pink roses to her mom, who'd been ill.

Fate. That’s what they call it. Destiny. Providence.

It was meant to be.

“Hi,” I said when Patty timidly stated, “This is Karen. She lives next door.” You smiled and asked, “You wanna play?” Shaking my head, I said, “I have to get home. My mom told me to hurry back.” But that would not be our last meeting.

Your family owned property on the street where I lived. The next summer, your father had a nice house built, and you and your family moved into it. My mom often sent me to the small grocery store about two blocks away. I had to pass your house. When I'd go by and see you playing in your yard I'd shyly say, “Hi,” and keep going. But one day, I was riding my bike past your house and you came outside to get yours from the garage. You soon caught up with me and said, “Where ya’ goin’?”

“Nowhere,” I said. “Just riding.” We rode together for a few blocks and then stopped to rest. We sat on the cool grass beside the Methodist church and got acquainted. You said you’d be going into second grade when school started; I was going into the fourth – ahead of most kids my age because I skipped a grade. In those days, that was allowed; I don’t think it is anymore.

That afternoon was just the beginning. We spent almost every day of that summer together. We took walks or rode bikes or just sat on one of our porches talking. Sometimes we sat on the banks of the river watching paddle boats go by. A lifelong friendship was born.

I was seven. You were six and a half. My hair was brown, yours, blonde. I had green eyes and olive skin; you were fair-skinned and blue-eyed; I was tall and thin; you were short and chunky... and hated it! Urged on by your younger brother, boys teased you about being fat. I thought you were cute. I almost envied your thick, naturally curly hair; mine was stick-straight and so baby-fine it wouldn’t hold curl. I felt skinny and awkward beside you. You secretly longed to look like me.

We had a mutual admiration thingy going on from the beginning.

After school started in the fall, we didn’t see each all day, and we had other friends, but when we got home to 96th Street around three p.m., we couldn’t wait to get together again.

And so it went. We grew up together, surviving the ups and downs of childhood, teenage years, boyfriends, proms, springs, summers, falls, winters. I can’t even think of a time in my life when you weren’t in it. We both married young, had children, and you moved away – far away – but we've stayed in touch. I always know when it’s time for us to talk – and so do you. It’s just a matter of who dials whose number first. We literally read each other’s thoughts.

Now in the autumn of our years, we both have grandchildren; your husband passed away, but you’ve found another “love.” You always take life as it comes—bloom where you’re planted.

That’s one of the things I admire most about you. I fight change and am miserable when it’s forced upon me, but you welcome it and become a happier person. It was never just the color of our hair, eyes and complexion – or stature that made us different. We are opposite in many ways. But it didn’t seem to matter. We’ve been the best of friends for more than half a century!

Last week, you sent me a birthday card. Inside it read: “We’ll always be good for each other.”

You signed it, “Love you!”

My heart answered, “Ditto.”

I'm sure you heard it.

When All The Land Is Wet

Today is the kind of day that gives me the blahs! Dreary. Rainy. Boring.

Song lyrics come to mind: Some April when all the land is wet. That line has been living in my head for years and often surfaces on a day such as this. Although I like the poetic ring, it’s a gloomy thought.

The fact that I’m on the brink of another birthday isn’t helping my mood either. I think this is the first time I’ve ever been troubled by a birthday. I always look forward to celebrating them with my family; it’s a fun occasion. But, this year – to be honest – I’m starting to feel... older.

How quickly the years have passed! At a mere seventeen years old, fresh out of high school, with my whole life ahead of me, I married the love of my life, and promised, “Until death do us part.” Many years have passed; we’ve reared children, enjoyed grandchildren, and shared a multitude of life’s experiences. There were ups and there were downs – more ups, I think.

We’ve been richly blessed! And we're thankful!

But I don’t believe I’m alone in noting that after our parents are gone, and we become the next in line to face mortality, we begin to think differently. We start getting our affairs in order, considering things we never thought about before. We accept that the time is getting closer for the older generation to move on and let the younger one take over. It’s the natural cycle of life.

We're at that time in our lives when we don’t fight the process anymore. It saddens us, but we’ve lived – hopefully, well.  We’re weary.

Ready to pass the torch.

Who Are You?

Does anyone like dealing with the DMV? 

Most of us have heard so many horror stories about how rude they are that it puts fear in our hearts and minds every time we have to go there.

As you know, every five years, during our birthday month, we have to get our driver’s license renewed. In order to get it, we must have a long list of official documents: One to verify that we were born, another to prove who we used to be, yet another to certify who we became along the way and most important, a current document or documents to confirm who we are today! Wouldn’t you think that handing them the driver’s license you got just five years ago with your picture on it would be enough to prove you’re still that person? ‘Fraid not!

Hubby and I spent two hours this afternoon getting this little chore done for me. For weeks, we’ve read and re-read the application they sent in the mail and gathered up everything we thought I’d need to accomplish the task without any hang-ups. I had my birth certificate, old driver’s license, voter’s registration card, social security card, and a tax receipt. Was that enough? Absolutely not! Because my birth certificate had my maiden name on it, and my current SS card had my married name, I needed my marriage license – a certified one! Good grief! And if you’re divorced, which I'm not, you have to have your divorce papers, too! What a hassle just to get a driver’s license!

And so... our plans nipped in the bud, we stood outside the DMV office trying to decide what to do. We weren’t sure we even had the certified marriage certificate, but in some secluded corner of my mind, there lived a vague memory of having acquired one at some point. Since I had some shopping to do in a store close by, my sweet husband suggested that he go home (15 miles) and get the certificate while I do my shopping. He’d rush back with it and we’d finish what we started. Today. Sounded like a plan!

I told him where to look and, in about thirty minutes, my cell phone rang. He said, “I’ve got it!” We were so happy. Otherwise, we would have had to go through a lot of red tape – and waiting – to get a marriage certificate sent from Indiana where we were married.

By the time he got back, I had my shopping done and we returned to the DMV. My big worry this time was that I’d have to take the eye exam again. I had passed it the first time, but it was – shall I say – shaky. I almost shouted when the lady said I didn’t have to re-take it and we hurried back to the same window as before. Everything was concluded in just a few minutes. I posed for the picture that always looks a little like a mug shot and the dreaded deed was done for another five years! All in all, it wasn’t that bad. Could have been worse.

I could have failed the eye exam!  (Easily)