Archives for category: Reflections

I’ve been a kid and I’ve been a parent and now I’m a grandparent.  How does that happen so quickly when I’m still so young?

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Anyway, I have four kids and eight grandkids, so I’ve got a little bit of experience.  I’m not saying I’m an expert because each one is different and presents you with an infinite variety of happiness, challenges, pride, fear, disgust, amusement, moodiness, anger, tears, laughter and every other emotion…sometimes all in the same day.  You never know everything about them because it changes all the time.  Mine are all pretty good kids, not perfect, but pretty great all the same.

This week, I’ve had two of my grandsons for several days while their parents are out of town.  It’s been quite awhile since I had the day to day routine of a 15 and 11 year old, so it’s brought back a lot of memories.  They’ve been pretty terrific, so I’m not really getting the first-hand experience their parents get to have.  They get up and get ready without a fuss, say Thank You for every little thing I do, don’t fight, and are cute as can be.  Isn’t that what they’re like at home?  I know better.

Their parents warned me that the older one might retreat to text and not talk much.  Well, duh!  I don’t think I came out of my room during high school except to run to get the phone, which was in the hall.  Then I stayed on it for hours or went back to my room to read, study or…what the heck did I do?  I just didn’t find it that fun to sit with my family all evening long.  They called me the “mole in her hole.”  Which was annoying.  I can hardly criticize any teenager since I was one myself and so were my friends.  Even good kids do some stupid, idiotic things.  All we can hope is that they don’t get hurt.

I’m also rediscovering how they go through food, have homework and endless activities, and, in general, take a lot of time to raise.  No slacking off in this job.  Glad I’m still up to the required energy level.  I also get to share their day and spend some time with them.  Pretty special!

There is a reason that we usually have our children while we are young.  The best reason is to watch them grow up and have their own children and watch this wondrous cycle continue.  I loved Lady Violet’s comment on Downtown Abbey, “People forget about parenthood.  It’s the on and on-ness of it.”  When you hear that as a parent, you sigh.  When you hear it as a grandparent, you sigh…and then you smile!

Yesterday was an interesting juxtaposition of years of my life.  I was working on my 50th high school reunion in the morning and received emails out of the blue from the guy who was our senior class president and another who was Mr. Edison that year.  It’s Edison Week, the week Thomas A. Edison High School in Tulsa, Oklahoma celebrates the namesake’s birthday with a week of celebrations, culminating today in the awarding of the next Mr. and Miss Edison, along with class superlatives.

Yesterday afternoon, I was at Edison for several hours to watch one of my grandsons in guy cheerleading, a fun tradition of Edison Week.  I hadn’t thought about any of this until last night while I was watching videos of the day with him.  When I go in the doors of Edison, I immediately feel at home.  The halls look smaller, but I can go back and picture the kids, in their various cliques, grouped around the front hall, waiting for the bell to ring, as they were back in my day.  The outside has some changes structurally and there aren’t motorcycles out front as much as cars, which is a change.  We didn’t have too many kids with cars back in my day.  The girls aren’t wearing hoop skirts either!

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We didn’t have drugs, but we had the smoke hole.  We had more dances and they may have been more fun since kids don’t really date or dance the way we did.  There were downsides to that, too, for those who didn’t have dates.  Today’s kids are more group oriented when they go out, but that can be a good thing.  How can they possibly afford to take someone to a movie or out to dinner?  Nobody goes on Coke dates anymore.  There are dance classes, but few take them.  They can learn the latest from YouTube.

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But, when I started really looking back, there are so many things that are basically the same.  We decorated the halls of the school…

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…just as they do today.  This picture is a great illustration of the teenage boy’s brain as he improvises a way to hang a banner by balancing on a 2 inch brick when standing on a chair on a table didn’t work.  There were ladders close by, by the way.

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The school has fewer students today, but they have more cheerleaders.  Here are the cheerleaders in 1963…

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Today, they do intricate routines, way beyond 2-4-6-8, who do we appreciate.  The gymnastics are incredible.

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Face it.  The kids are much more fit than we were, especially the girls.  It’s a different kind of training, different kind of body toning than we knew.  Even our biggest, strongest athletes couldn’t match the bodies I saw yesterday.  Or the jumps, leaps and throws.  I’m not sure that girls today could even relate to the quaint, which is a kind word for those hideous outfits we purchased at Sears and had our names monogrammed on, gym suits we wore.  Jumping jacks and sit ups were pretty much our exercises, although we did get to do some modern dancing, play a few basketball and softball games, and swim.  Swimming was awful because we didn’t have blow dryers and you had to walk around all day with your hair in a scarf.  I guess you could wear rollers to class – ha!

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Edison Week really hasn’t changed much.  We had a gridiron show and I found pictures of our version of guy cheerleaders, 50 years ago.  These were the football players and the other jocks.  The guys have gotten more creative through the years with intricate routines that are SO teen age boy in their enthusiasm and silliness.  I have film of my son’s guy cheerleading group.

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Here is my grandson’s sophomore class guy cheerleading group…

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One of my sons-in-law was Mr. Edison, way back in 1990.  It’s a shock to my kids that Nostalgia Day this year was a look back at the 90s, with the kids wearing the styles of that era.  My kids are cringing and I’m smiling and trying to remember what they wore.  What the heck did I wear way back then, by the way?  It’s so far back…  Yesterday was Luau Day with all the school dressed for the islands.  We had some Hawaiian skits and my kids had luaus, too.  It’s always a good party theme.

One of the nice things about living where you grew up is seeing the continuity of life and viewing the changes through different generations.  My parents were from other places, so I felt no connection with where they went to school.  My kids and grandkids are walking the same halls in high school that their father (for part of junior high) and I did.  Yesterday, I got to share in their youth and it was refreshing to be surrounded by all that energy and excitement.  I loved the cheers and screams and laughter…mostly, I loved that I got to breathe in some of that rarified air that goes with all that can be good with teenagers.

I watched with pride as the kids said the Pledge of Allegiance and sang the National Anthem.  That hasn’t changed.

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Mostly, I guess that what I wish for the next generation is that they continue the traditions, making them their own.  I do wish they had sung “Hail, Hail to Edison” for me.  Just for old times sake…but, yesterday wasn’t about me…it was about them.  My past and our future!

 

 

 

 

These quiet winter months have given me a chance to read more and I’ve met some interesting people between the pages – including electronic as well as paper pages.  I’ve been reading biographies the last few weeks and, as always happens in my case, I start looking for more information on the subjects I’ve met.  By coincidence, I’ve been reading about men and found that the women who shared their lives are every bit as fascinating, maybe more so.  You hear about the women behind the men, but I’ve learned that these women almost always are right there beside them, often through thick or thin in the every interpretation of that phrase from their wedding vows.

The first biography I finished was Steve Jobs.  Using his incredible creations made me more interested in the man with all the quirkiness and brilliance we have heard about.  I didn’t even know he was married, which was my ignorance but also due to his desire to keep his personal life private.  Laurene Powell Jobs is a remarkable woman who totally understood her husband.  He must have been hell to live with, but she accepted all sides of who he was and together they raised a lovely family.  She was also the philanthropic member of the family, giving her time and resources to educational interests of hers.  No matter what conclusion I had come to about them as a couple, the most touching thing I read was a description of the last meeting of Steve Jobs and Bill Gates, when Jobs knew he was dying.  One of their topics was how lucky they both were to find wives that understood them so well.  Thanks that they recognize it!  I don’t think there are biographies of Laurene, but all who marvel over Jobs and his Apple products in our lives should also be thanking the stars for this beautiful, strong woman who stood right beside him.  They were a unique and modern love story.

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The second biography I read was The Hearsts, which I had purchased right after visiting Hearst Castle last summer.  While touring that incredible home, I was as intrigued by William Randolph Hearst’s parents as I was by him.  George Hearst was an uneducated genius at mining who lived in the right time and was in the right place – much as Steve Jobs was.  He became one of the richest men in the world through common sense and hard work.  One of his greatest decisions, at the age of 41, was to return to his hometown in Missouri to find a wife and come back with 19 year old Phoebe Apperson, a girl of some education and some teaching background.  Maybe his skills at mining taught him to spot something valuable in this young girl or maybe he just got lucky.  Her accomplishments influence us today as much as either her husband or her only son and her influence on both of them made them the men they became.  She did it all through the ups and downs of health and wealth.  We should all know her story without thinking as she helped bring us kindergartens and the PTA.  She was instrumental in helping the University of California develop and grow, and marched for women’s votes when she was seventy.  Essentially also a private person, she lived a large public life in a marriage that was based on love and respect, if not too many shared interests.  Who would have ever suspected all that this midwestern girl would become?  Another unconventional love story for the ages.

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The next book I read was The Aviator’s Wife, a novel about Anne Morrow Lindbergh.  I’ve read many of Anne’s books and diaries and consider A Gift from the Sea to be a must read for all women.  Once again, the husband was a man larger than life and the wife was a young girl who loved her privacy.  If we think that the media hounds political or other public celebrities today, we have to look at the horror that was the life of Charles Lindbergh and his family as they dodged the press.  The handsome aviator was a rigid, demanding man who could not be wrong and that is the worst to live with.  Fortunately, Anne also loved him and was willing to meet the challenging demands he made of her.  She became the first woman to receive a first class glider pilot’s license and learned to navigate for her husband on their world wide flights.  Nobody could imagine what the kidnapping and murder of their first child would do to the world’s most glamorous couple.  It contributed to making him colder and more withdrawn and her stronger, for sure.  They persevered and held together, with Anne truly into her own when she wrote A Gift from the Sea and became a recognized author, all while raising their five children.  This was not an easy man to be married to, but Anne stood beside him to the end, becoming truer to her own dreams.  I’m not sure his star would still have shined as brightly to the end, even with his accomplishments, without her.  Even with his hidden families, I do believe he knew she was always there.

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After reading these books, I was also remembering Mary Montgomery Borglum, the wife of Gutzon Borglum, sculptor of Mt. Rushmore.  I saw a horrible show on him on the History Channel this week which only skimmed the information I had learned from a stack of books I read about them after visiting Mt. Rushmore.  Once again, this quiet wife stood beside this giant genius man and kept life sane in his larger than life quest for his art.  There are days I’m very glad I wasn’t married to a creative genius!  Hugs to these women who stick with that life.

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There are so many of these women, some standing beside men who wish they would step back, while others were proud to have them there.  The message of the stories of the famous should be to look around us at the women we know who do the same.  I know women have come a long way, but most of us still take our responsibilities as wives and mothers seriously.  Most of us give little thought to prioritizing our lives with family first.  What I’ve found, like the women in these stories, is that having that as a priority often brings us knowledge and opportunities that we use to become even stronger women than we would have without that husband and children.

The joy of discovery is that one inquisitive thought leads to a discovery that uncovers new information which leads to new insights.  Thank you to all the women I continually discover who have inspired me throughout my life.  Today, I salute Laurene, Phoebe, Anne and Mary!  There are so many more…

One of the books I got from my mother was her 1946 book of household information.  My mother threw herself into being a housewife when she got married in 1945.  When I open this book, I like to think of her reading it intently and picking the hints she would use.

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I love these old books for their everyday wisdom, the simple illustrations, and to see how far we’ve come.  I also learn a lot of useful tips even for today.

Obviously, this book will be used in other blogs because it’s too funny and interesting not to share.  Today, I picked two tips that stood out.

The first is timely since we are still in cold and flu season.  I absolutely never thought of making pockets for my sheets.  Maybe because I hate to sew and don’t have scraps of old sheets around to use like my grandmother did.  I don’t feel guilty because I do send my old sheets to Goodwill where they probably ship them off to Africa for re-use there.  Also, I don’t sleep as neatly as this person must have.

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The second tip is for sleeve protectors when you are doing housework.  This one blows me away.  Obviously, these women were dressed in long sleeved blouses or dresses, but couldn’t they just push up the sleeves?  The “gay sleeve protector” is made from colorful fabric, once again found around the house, with snaps sewn on so you could wind it around your arm.  This was the fancy version.  I’m trying to envision this one and the trouble they went to making it work.

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When I’m trying to explain to my kids that I ran a house without an answering machine, computer, or cell phone, I have to remember that I grew up in a time when we didn’t have clothes dryers, barely a washing machine (my grandmother had a wringer washer), dishwashers, electric vacuums, much less television.  By the time I was married, we had all of those things.

My huge respect for the women in my family who preceded me continues to grow.  I remember hanging out the clothes with my mother and grandmother, using the push sweeper, and washing the dishes (which I’m actually doing now since my dishwasher isn’t working).  None of those things was horrible, looking back.  But, we love our progress that lets us spend less time cleaning and more time….doing what?  I think we trade one set of chores for another as women.

It’s definitely been a winter for the records, at least the records since I’ve been around.  It’s been drier and warmer with only a hint of snow that barely counted.  Global warming, indeed.

Today, it was 49 degrees, feeling like 40 due to the wind, so I took a walk.  I’d been walking a lot, but quit after surgery and a bad cold.  As I told my doctor, it’s amazing how fast we deteriorate, or I do anyway.  Don’t say it’s my age – I’m sure someone will tell me once again that it’s a factor.  But I have a lot of stamina – for my age – and it’s coming back.  So there!

Anyway, I walked because I need to get out when the sky looks like this…

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and this…

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How can that not make you feel better?  Even if you feel good.

When I got back home, I walked around the yard to see what was happening.  Spring is trying to get here, even though I know and you know that we sometimes have our worst weather in February and March here in Oklahoma.  The first thing I noticed was the grass.  The green coming up isn’t grass…just spring weeds.  Dang.  I should do something about that but I’m not enough of a grass fanatic.  Maybe…

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Then there were these little ones…

Daffodils…I have lots of kinds of these…

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Maple tree…not a clear image because the clouds came in and the wind came up…but there are buds…

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Something flowering (I just enjoy them – can’t remember all the names)…

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Lilac…

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What the heck is the name of this big bush?  I planted it myself about 9 years ago…it’ll come to me…not that I care, but I hate to forget…

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Dogwood…

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Oak Leaf Hydrangea…love these!

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I’m not sure what Mother Nature has in store for us as I sit in front of the fire on a day when it’s supposed to drop down to 16 degrees tonight and then jump up to 55 degrees tomorrow.  But she’s not asking me, so I’ll just enjoy.

 

 

It’s raining in Tulsa, Oklahoma today!

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It’s raining…a nice, steady rain with a rare clap of thunder.  It’s been so long since we had a good rain here that we almost don’t know what to do.  It’s been the driest year in ever so long, taking us back to Dust Bowl days, although I hate to compare to that since we are not living in the same times or with the same knowledge.

The trouble with the weather here is that it’s true what Will Rogers said, “If you don’t like the weather in Oklahoma, wait a minute and it’ll change.”  We’ve had other dry years and everyone was praying and begging for rain and we got it…in deluges, floods.  Be careful what you wish for.

There were wistful comments about our lack of a winter since we had very warm temperatures and just a scant flurry of snow.  I love the snow, too, but not so much the ice storms.  Again, be careful what you wish for.

We wish for the cold in the scorching days of summer and the heat in the freezing days of winter.  We don’t ever seem to be satisfied with what we have around here.

I’ve been in states where the seasons are pretty much the same and it’s great, but I grew up with all of them and am pretty much a four season girl.  It’s not like we don’t have heaters and air conditioning for the extremes here in the city, so we’re not actually living out in the elements.

The best I can do is say that I like the following:

Snow in winter if I’m home with plenty of supplies and a fire in the fireplace – it’s stunningly quiet and beautiful

Rainy days when I don’t have to get in and out of the car – love the sounds of rain on the rooftop and thunder and lightning shows in the far sky

The fresh greens of spring with new flowers and color coming to brighten up winter’s gray

The cleanness of spring with warm temperatures that make you want to get outside and play or plant or start something new

The first days of summer on the golf course and at the pool or lake

Summer flowers and the richness of the flowers and plants and trees with their canopies of leaves to shade us

The crisp feel of cold in the air in the fall and the change of the colors in the leaves

The sound of the leaves crunching under your feet as you rake them into piles

The trees in the winter, stripped bare and forming lacy patterns against the sky

It’s all beautiful if you’re comfortable, spoiled people that we are.  Today, I’m just enjoying listening to raindrops falling around me and watching all the living things outside drink them up!  Getting ready for the next season.

When I got married, everyone decorated their first home in “early family.”  There was no style since you were just glad to have furniture of any kind.  My mother thought you should have accessories, so she helped us get some extra pieces to make it more than just a series of bare rooms.  The rest of our place was things we picked up in thrift stores –  we “antiqued” some pieces, the going thing at the time.  It was cute to have my mother’s first coffee table that I painted and a headboard that we covered in gold burlap and a paper lamp from Pier 1.  Young, funky and fun.

Through the years, we upgraded to furniture we liked and purchased mixed with more hand-me-downs from our families.  I got the desk that had been my maternal great-grandmother’s refinished by my paternal grandfather that had been in my room as a girl.  And I would find something on sale.  Or I would find an antique I liked at a shop or auction, mostly with my mother teaching me how to bid.  And I would buy paintings on a trip.  This didn’t happen overnight, but it was a never-ending accumulation.  When I down-sized, I gave away various items to my kids, but I replaced them with my mother’s things when she died.  And more things I found.

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Somewhere in this mix through the years, I think my basic hoarding inclination took over.  It’s not that I mean to hoard furnishings, but I do hoard memories.

Anyone who comes in my house sees a lot of stuff.  I see a memory on every table, wall, available space.  There are paintings by artist friends, a couple by my mother, others from galleries and my parents.  There are photographs that need no explanation.  There are contemporary furnishings mixed with American, English and French antiques, Western and Greek sculptures mixed with carved wood bears.

Accessories include my great-grandmother’s coffee grinder, my grandmother’s cookie jar, my other grandmother’s little syrup jar, wooden elephants that my father brought back from Africa in World War II along with this statue of a man with a frog on his head that scared me to death when I was little.

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I have clay heads my son made in high school and clay figures my grandkids made.  There is the huge Oklahoma map that was behind my father’s desk at work when I was a little girl.  On the shelf over my desk is one of my son’s lunch boxes from his collection and a mug we got at The Ugly Mug coffee house in Seattle.  There’s a collection of Edgar Allen Poe’s works that I used to read at my grandparents’ along with my father’s copy of “The Emerald City of Oz.”  And more books.

It goes on and on throughout the house.  I am beyond eclectic in style.  I can’t say “early family” anymore since I’m at the old end of that chain.  There is a memory that I need to shift every time I get ready to let go of something.  Some things aren’t so easy because I remember when I got them, who I was with, why I liked it.  It’s not that I never part with anything…I just tend to hang on.  And I’m not apologizing. I love everything I have around me or I would get rid of it.  I definitely live surrounded by warm memories.

And, I still need to clean out some things.  I’ve just learned there are still memories to come and I need to make room.

I guess my decorating style defies a professional decorating definition.  Let’s just say it’s personal.

Watching the world on a 24/7 news cycle, reality shows and documentaries and the internet sprinkled into the mix, we have a unique view of the behavior of people around the world.  You begin to search for the nice stories, the feel-good realities that restore your hope for mankind.  Otherwise, it’s pretty horrifying to watch what people say to each other, do to each other.

Listening to people justify guns and violence, hate and hurt, I have to go back to the most basic lesson of all…the Golden Rule.  It’s so simple and so basic that we tend to forget its power.

A couple of years ago, I found this little book…

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It contains versions of the Golden Rule from all religions and cultures, going back thousands of years.  It’s so simple that every group of people on the planet has it in their beliefs or literature.  There are versions from Confucius, Native Americans, African tribes, the Dead Sea Scrolls, the Torah, Babylonia, Plato, St. Thomas Aquinas, Muhammad, Martin Luther, Matthew, Luke and others.  Pick your prophet or your spokesman – they all have the same message.

I gave a copy of this book to my eight grandchildren for Christmas one year.  It’s small enough to carry with them through life.

The way things are going, I’m going to order some more copies and send to some of our leaders.  Please…it’s so simple.

Rarely do I want to discuss politics online because I have a wonderfully diverse bunch of friends and relatives who represent all the extremes and everything in between.  I like hearing all their views…well, until they go on rants for weeks and weeks…and I like trying to understand where each is coming from to reach their conclusions, whether I agree or not.  I don’t like people who bombard me with hate messages and full blown vitrolic views assuming that just because I know them means I agree with them.

I’ve seriously voted since I was could, voting for some winners and some losers.  Many times my candidates have turned out to be huge disappointments and the ones I opposed have pleasantly surprised me.  And I studied them before I voted – not like I just checked a box next to a party.

I’ve worked for candidates who lost and understand that disappointment.  You believe that they are going to make the changes you want and then you’re left with wondering what will happen now.

I voted for candidates from both parties through the years, believing that parties don’t define the best candidates.  Four years ago, I left the two parties and became an independent and have found that an interesting position to take.  I was frustrated with the Democrats and the Republicans and haven’t seen much to draw me back to either one of them.  That’s just the nature of the party structure in this day and age.  You’re either all in or else, no room for moderation.

Mostly, I understand that we have winners and losers and that people need to concede with grace.  I always listen to the inaugural speeches with hope.  I want our leaders to be all that they can be.  The Presidents and Governors and Mayors and Senators and Representatives and Council Members may not be my first choice, but they won and I want them to do well.

Living in our age of violence, our age of constant media coverage, our age of access to the most extreme of views, I am grateful that good people want to run for office and I thank them for it.  I pray for their safety and hope that they can surmount the obstacles that lie in their way.  I want the future to be better for my descendants.  I want the best for our country and our planet.

Bless these politicians.  Heaven help them today and every day.  May we all become listeners and responders rather than reactors.

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It’s one of the coldest days in a too warm winter and all I can think about is ice cream.  That’s another one of those foods I’d have to have on a desert island…probably the one that would make me happiest.

I wish I could write something really brilliant about ice creams or compare different gourmet brands or do something worthwhile with this rambling, but I’m just thinking about ice cream. I’m not too particular about brands, although I know the cheapest kinds sometimes aren’t so good.  I love homemade and Braum’s and Blue Bell and all the expensive kinds and I like different flavors, although I tend to go with basics.  You still can’t beat a vanilla cone.  I even like the soft kind from McDonalds or Sonic and the best is still Dairy Queen…in fact, a chocolate dip cone is pretty much the ultimate.

The best I’ve ever had is Tillamook out of Oregon.  It’s creamy and tastes like the Tillamook co-op folks just milked the cows.  The Huckleberry is awesome.  Wish we had it here.  Maybe not…I’d be there all the time, I’m afraid.

What’s there to say?  It’s delicious and fun and makes you feel good.  Ice cream is an experience that cools the body and warms the heart.  It’s fun if you’re alone or if it’s shared.  It screams party and festivity.  Nothing is better than ice cream when you’re traveling because I just guarantee that there are no calories in it when you’re out of town.  It’s got to be true.

Nothing strips away the years and takes you back to being a kid like an ice cream cone.  You can’t eat it with grace.  You have to become young again, although most of us do acquire the skill to eat it without wearing it.  If you’re down, ice cream will bring out a smile.  If someone is glum, give them ice cream.  My cure for what ills you.

I scream.  You scream.  We all scream for ice cream.  Says it all.