Punk ass kids?

I am going to tell you about an incident that happened to me recently. Usually, I like to end my blog posts with something positive or upbeat but, not in this case because I am still at a loss for words about what happened. I wanted to write about it, though, just to get it out of my mind. Tell me what you think.

A few weeks ago my grandson and I were returning home from a hockey game. It was nearly 10:30 PM. We were both still giddy from our team's epic win and continued our revery by rolling a hockey puck and playing with it soccer style on the sidewalk leading to our apartment. Next to our building there is a large decorative landscape boulder where folks often sit and visit. This evening was no exception. There were two teenage boys, a teenage girl and a few younger children on and near the boulder. As my grandson and I continued our game I could hear the kids talking. At first it didn't seem like they were addressing us then it became apparent that they were, in fact, talking to us. Well, that's putting it nicely.

"Hey, who told you you could play on my sidewalk? This ain't no playground! I'm talkin' to you! Bitch, you better listen or I'ma whip yo ass!" Fortunately, my grandson had been so immersed in our game that he didn't pay attention to what was being said. We came to the end of the sidewalk where it turns toward our building, we stopped and I reached down to pick up the puck . When I did I also stepped into the light and looked right at these kids; the youngest about ten and the teenagers between thirteen and fifteen. Upon seeing that I wasn't a kid the youngest looking child (a little girl) said "Oh, my bad, mam. I thought you was a kid. I didn't mean what I said." The older kids were snickering and giggling. I sent my grandson ahead  before I asked her if this is how she talks to complete strangers that are minding their own business. She apologized and repeated that she thought I was just another kid.   As I walked up the stairs she called out one more time "I'm sorry, mam. I really thought you was a kid!" Extra points for at least feeling remorse and apologizing but, what if I was just "another kid"? Then what? Would I have been harassed some more and possibly had my ass whipped?

I was content to let it go at that, to shake my head in bewilderment that a small child would think it was okay to verbally bully complete strangers. Although I wondered if she had made the decision to do it on her own or was she encouraged by the older kids to mouth off  like that? I don't know. Either way it was bothersome to me. 

BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE! About fifteen minutes later I came back out to walk my dog and let her attend to her doggy business. (My dog is an eight pound mixed breed rescue pup.) All the kids were gone except for the two teenage boys. They were standing on the downstairs apartment doorstep nearest to the landscape boulder.  (That apartment is vacant, although furnished and used as the model.) As I was walking by the boys starting making small talk about my dog. I answered a few questions and kept walking because this is not unusual, my neighbors, especially the children, always have questions about my dog. They continued to walk in the same direction, as well. One of the boys then asked if they could come up and hang out in my apartment for about twenty minutes. I said sorry but no. He asked why not. I told him I wasn't in the habit of letting complete strangers hang out in my apartment. They both began saying things like they were cold (it wasn't) and did I want them to freeze? I told them to go to warm up in their own apartment, they said they didn't live here. I told them they should go home then. All this time they had been trailing me but, at this point they split up and got on either side of me. Even though I could tell these boys were no more than thirteen or fourteen years old they were both close to six feet tall. I stopped walking. One of the boys said "Well, what you gonna do if we just go to your apartment anyway?"  At first I was shocked by his audacity then I remember thinking he should work on trying to sound more menacing if he really wanted to scare me because he had a high Michael Jackson kind of voice. I said, "Well, I guess I'll call my son and have him ready to greet you boys like all other unwelcome visitors, with a few whacks from a taped up baseball bat to the face." and I pulled my phone from my pants pocket. "Or better yet, maybe I'll just call 911." They looked at each other and one said with a nervous laugh, "Is this bitch for real?"  As I dialed I called out the numbers in a loud voice, "9-1-1!" At the same time my dog, Chewy got into the act. Sensing the young man's aggression she began to growl and bare her teeth and lunged at him. The boy screamed and jumped about two feet in the air! This all happened so quickly that before I could even think of pressing send they took off running. It took all my strength to restrain Chewy from going after these wannabe thugs. Afterward I just stood there in shocked amusement for a bit. Another neighbor lady, about forty years old came sauntering around the corner just then, leisurely smoking her cigarette. Blowing out a puff of smoke she muttered "Punk ass kids." and kept walking.

I don't know what to think about this. Someone asked me if I was scared. Yes, a little bit, more after the fact, though. I think I was more shocked than anything else. Were these boys just trying to act tough? Have they done this kind of thing before? What is going to become of these young men? I wish I knew.

I was not procrastinating. Oh, wait a minute...

It has been a while since I last blogged even though I am constantly writing blog snippets in my mind. Seriously, I've started at least six different drafts in the past few months that I've partially committed to print and scores more that are floating aimlessly in my mind. I have several on the back burner like my thoughts on pajama people, jaywalkers and whether Halloween is dead, to name a few. 

And the reason? The reason for the lag? Well, I feel like I have been pressed for time and I have been tired. Real tired. Really tired. Rrrreeeaaalllyyy tired. But, in retrospect perhaps I've mistaken being tired for being lazy. Real lazy. Really lazy. Rrrreeeaaalllyyy lazy. Maybe it's a little of both. Tizy? In any case, I've reprimanded myself and given me a good talking-to. I am committing myself to write at least one blog per month. That being said, maybe I need you to help keep me accountable for that commitment. Gentle reminders are welcome. Feel free to email, text and/or PM me on Facebook if you are so inclined.

And thank you for reading this blog. All five of you. You know who you are.

New blog name! Sound the alarms! New blog name!

I was so excited to start this blog that I did so without giving it a proper name. I wanted the name to be meaningful to me, yet represent my existence, my purpose, personality and thought process. Some friends and relatives were kind enough to offer suggestions that ranged from funny to serious and everything in-between, but in the end I settled on a name that I feel "speaks" to me on many different levels and is a metaphor for my life. The name I have chosen for my blog is..."I walk in lucky shoes".

I have loved that phrase since the moment I heard it. The person who said it was a woman by the name of Phyllis Greene. Phyllis Greene became a bestselling author in her eighties and started blogging in her nineties! (http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/8999217.stm) She wrote mostly about her life as an aged woman and hospice patient, but by no means were her blogs what you might think. In fact, her writing was smart, witty, current and positive despite the subject matter. (http://wedeb90.blogspot.com/) She had an amazing life, one that she savored, valued and truly lived as you can tell by this excerpt from her obituary: 

"Mrs. Greene was a graduate of the Columbus School for Girls and a Phi Beta Kappa graduate of Wellesley College. She was a founder of the Columbus Metropolitan Club; chairperson of the Women's Auxiliaries Council of Children's Hospital, United Community Council, Volunteer Action Center, Community Information and Referral Services, the Columbus Airport and Aviation Commission, and the Franklin University Board of Trustees; and president of the Bexley Board of Education. She was the recipient of the Columbus Metropolitan Library's Julian Sinclair Smith Lifelong Learning Award, and was twice named the Columbus Citizen-Journal's Woman of the Year. At the age of 82 she became a nationally bestselling author with her first book, "It Must Have Been Moonglow: Reflections on the First Years of Widowhood," and followed it with two more, "Shedding Years" and, with her daughter, "Designated Daughter: The Bonus Years with Mom." In her final months, even though confined to her bed, she inspired people around the world when the BBC television network came to Columbus to feature her in a documentary about remaining vital and involved in old age; she received letters of gratitude and admiration from viewers in 51 countries." 

Phyllis Greene also gave birth to and raised my SSFL (Soul Sister For Life), DG Fulford. (My inspiration for writing, period!) And, I believe, it was in the book they co-authored, Designated Daughter: The Bonus Years With Mom, that she said "I walk in lucky shoes". When I read that, it felt like one of those Oprah Winfrey "ah ha" moments. 

And, I do. More than just the name of my blog, I walk in lucky shoes, indeed. Despite a less than ideal childhood and some traumatic life experience, I'm still here. Like Elton John said, "I'm still standing!" (yeah yeah yeah) I have been fortunate enough (lucky, even?) to have learned some hard life lessons, that have built my character and given me the tools to survive. Yes, survive, as in to keep on living. Not that my entire life has been doom and gloom, mind you. But, there have been enough low points to make a difference. Oh, and what a difference they have made! So much so that I feel lucky in almost countless ways every day of my life. Now.

Looking back, I see where I could have let the darkness surround me (forever), succumb to depression and wallow in my despair. I delight in the fact that my progress from back then to now is so tangible, palpable, concrete, real. I'll be honest, there were times when I didn't think I'd make it to the next day, nor did I care to. That kind of darkness is a sneaky bastard. It sidles up next to you, insinuates itself and, pretty soon, you don't remember life without it. It was tough to shake. Like an alcoholic trying to get sober, I had to make a conscious decision to try and get happy. If you think you can just wake up one morning and decide to be happy, I'm here to say, you're delusional and full of crap. (You are, believe me.) That isn't how it works. You have to earn it. You have to want something better for yourself, then you have to put in the work to make things start happening. I fell off that wagon more times than I care to admit.

Things started to change when I realized that I was responsible for my own happiness. Let me tell you, it isn't always easy or fun and some days are just plain shitty. But, the struggle is worth it in the end.

I had to learn to walk in these lucky shoes, and I walked thousands of miles before I felt even remotely lucky! I stumbled, I tripped, I fell. I got up...reluctantly...slowly, but kept walking. My lucky shoes have taken tentative baby steps, as well as colossal missteps, been too tight at times and too big to fill at others, they have given me blisters and been scratched and scuffed with soles full of holes. They have also hopped, skipped and jumped for joy, taken huge leaps of faith and landed safely, followed the bliss-the heart-the love, supported more than just my arches and happily danced all night.

I walk in lucky shoes. I can't think of a better name for my blog or term to describe my life today. It's not perfect and I guess there is always room for improvement, but I can't complain. I feel lucky! And thankful! Thankful to be alive. Thankful to God and all my angels disguised as friends, relatives, therapists and thoughtful strangers who helped me get here.

I hope you walk in lucky shoes, too. If not, try some on for size. I guarantee, once you break them in, the path gets a little easier to walk, and before you know it, you begin to notice a little spring in your step, then  waa-laa!, you're walking in lucky shoes! Just like me.

Has it really been twenty years?

Today it has been twenty years since Clay's death. (For those of you who may not know, Clay was my husband and he was killed in an automobile accident in 1993.) I had a completely different post written about it. It was all about the horrible day it happened. But then, I got to thinking about it and decided that twenty years later I don't want to dwell in the past. I don't want to relive that awful day for the millionth time. Instead, I'd like to remember Clay for what he was; a brilliant mind, a kind generous and tender-hearted man who loved God and his family, a gentle soul, an extremely happy spirit, a helper, a teacher, a builder, a champion of the underdog, blood donor extraordinaire, witty, strong, faithful, funny, sympathetic, empathetic, patient, serious, silly and the most positive person ever.

Even twenty years after his death people still have the nicest things to say about him. I think most of us would be lucky to even be remembered vaguely a few years after dying, let alone twenty years later. That is his legacy, though. He made such an impression in his short time on earth. The day of his funeral an older rather frail looking man came up to me. He was pretty shaky and walked with a cane. He wanted to tell me how much Clay's help and visits meant to him over the past few years especially in the few months before his death. This guy told me about Clay visiting him several times a month, buying him groceries, calling to check on him and making sure he was okay. I did not have a clue who this guy was. Turns out he was an engineer who had worked closely with Clay's dad, Leroy. He was an old timer that had been sort of forced out of the company he and Leroy worked for. (The same company Clay would work for, as well, although many years later.) Clay never mentioned his good-deed-doing for this old guy, although I do remember him talking about a friend of his dad's that wasn't doing well. However, that isn't an isolated story. But it is typical of how Clay lived his life; always doing something good usually for someone else.

Clay English sure changed my life. Everything I have learned about loving and sharing my heart was taught to me through his example. He loved me even when I made it difficult for him to do so. He never gave up on me. I always had a hard time believing someone as wonderful as Clay could love someone like me so unconditionally. I saw myself as flawed, damaged, unlovable and told him so. He told me I wasn't the lump of coal I thought I was and that if I looked closer I would surely see what he saw-a brilliant diamond. I am laughing at this memory just as I laughed then. The very thought of myself as "a brilliant diamond" is  hilariously ridiculous in my mind's eye. But then, that was one of those little things he did that I really wanted to believe, whether I want to admit it or not.

I am lucky and blessed for having known Clay English. I am humbled that such a rare soul choose me to love and be his wife and mother of his children. It has been twenty long years without him though hardly a day has passed without thinking of him or being reminded of him in one way or another. I see him in his children and his grandchildren, too. His name lives on through his namesake grandson, Jon Clayton English (Baby Clay). Like a friend of his said to me "It's about time there was another Clay English". He is remembered with tremendous fondness and love by his friends and family. What a beautiful, beautiful legacy.

Drum roll, please...

Several people, lately, have asked about my next blog post. Here it is! Sorry it took so long. It doesn't seem like it's been two months since I started this. What the hell have I been doing for the last sixty days? I have actually written tons for this blog...in my mind. I've written about pajama people, jaywalkers, my neighbors and the male manicurist who got all slap-happy on my legs. And I promise, those subjects are coming soon. But first...

Thanks to all who choose to read this little blog. I got a lot of feedback on my last post. The bombing at the Boston Marathon was horrific. And the reasoning behind it, so senseless. I'll admit it really threw me into a bit of a funk. It was difficult to remain upbeat and positive. I even felt that it wouldn't be right to share events that were good and made me happy because so many others had suffered so horribly. But after thinking about it at length I came to the conclusion that just because bad things happen ( bombs, shootings in school, etc.) it shouldn't prevent us from sharing our joy and I should write about happy things if I was so inclined.

We can't allow the doom and gloom in the headlines to get us down. Just as much as evil and sadness exist so do happiness and joy. Of course, the stain of this tragedy will mark us all for a long time, possibly forever. I can't imagine that anyone who lost a loved one or was a victim themselves will ever be the same.  But we can't allow the bad guys to win. Although our hearts may harden a little we shouldn't let them turn to stone. It's probably easier said than done, but I'm still going to try.

The loss of life and the injuries caused by the bombings were horrific. But, just as horrid as the grim details so have there been incredible instances of selflessness and heroism. First responders trained to spring into action and ordinary citizens with empathetic hearts and souls coming together without a moments notice to help in any way possible amid the carnage and chaos. The guy in the cowboy hat, the Asian woman pushing the wheelchair, the woman in the midst of the commotion on her knees praying and looking skyward with such anguish.

The after-stories of the victims have been inspiring. The ballroom dancer who lost her left foot vows not only to dance again but to run in next years marathon! I believe she will and I can't wait to cheer her on. In the meantime I'll take some advice from Anne Frank, “Think of all the beauty still left in the world and be happy.”

Everything was Hunky Dory until...

So, I finally decided on a name for my blog. I was very excited that after years of procrastination I had FINALLY started my very own blog. I really got into trying to find the perfect name for it. I thought and thought, I asked friends and co-workers, I pondered suggestions until I settled on a most excellent name. Then a couple of guys decided to set off bombs in Boston and naming my blog was no longer a big deal.

Today's world is very different from the one I grew up in.  Oh, we feared the "bomb" alright. That bomb would be dropped by the "enemy" and we took precautions. We were prepared for that bomb. If and when it happened it would be dropped from the sky from a plane, probably, and as elementary school children we had regular bomb drills. Much like fire drills today only we hid beneath our school desks and covered our heads with our arms.  Seems silly now, doesn't it? But, the point is we were prepared! We knew where to line up when the "all clear" signal was given, we knew the names of our classmates who should be in line on either side of us and we knew to report to an adult if any of our "flank pals" were missing. The "bomb" was a real threat and like I said, we knew who our "enemy" was. Today...not so much.

It isn't so black and white anymore. The enemy in my child's mind was a bad guy in a military uniform who wanted to destroy America, "the strongest nation in the world". It wasn't a couple of brothers wearing ball caps, carrying backpacks and strolling through the crowd. How do we defend ourselves against an enemy we can't even recognize? An enemy we don't even know is our enemy, hiding in plain sight. Your neighbor, your classmate, the guy with the backpack. How do you know?


My grandson is the same age as the little boy who was killed by the bomb. I can only imagine the depth of  his grandmother's grief. We shouldn't have to worry that the lives of our loved ones will be sacrificed in the name of some extremist's god when they go out to enjoy the day. Our streets should not be considered battlefields.

In light of the tragedy in Boston I will save the happy news of my blog's new name for another post. In the meantime my thoughts and prayers are with Boston. 

Name my blog...continued.

Okay, so I've been trying to choose a permanent name for my blog. A few people think I should keep the temporary name-This Is My Blog. Naw, unimaginative, not feeling it. I've had several suggestions for names that I like but nothing has WOWED me so far. My friend, Julie thinks I should call it "Smells Like Old Lady". That might be a little too close for comfort. I sorta wanted something mysterious or serene sounding but, when I repeated the names I liked out loud they seemed lame and contrived. There is a song by Joan Armatrading that I love called "This Charming Life", hmm.... On second thought, does my life need to be a bit more charming before I use that title? I don't know I don't know I don't know!

I think I will take all the suggestions I like and the names I've come up with and put them in a hat. I will draw one at random and bam, new blog name. Wish me luck.

My Blog...finally!

I've been meaning to write a blog for ages now. So, after years of procrastination here I go.




Hmmm...what should I write? It's not like I haven't thought about it, I have. But, I think before I actually write anything of substance (In my mind, at least!) I should christen my blog with a name worthy of it's contents. When I mentioned this to a friend she promptly asked if I'd be calling my blog "CRAP". Ha ha, funny joke. (Insert appropriate emoticon here. Probably the one with the bored sideways slash mouth.)

But now I find myself in a conundrum. I'd like to enlist the help of the followers of my blog to help name it BUT...I don't have any followers. Yet. Soon, maybe? (I hope.) So, I'll just put this out there in the real world, the universe, the world wide web and hope a few of you buy this snake oil and give it a try. Now, step right up and help me name this blog!
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