wisdom for a Wednesday...

I want my SMILE!

A normal part of my daily routine is to tune into Smile FM radio station. 88.7. Michigan's postive hits!

Literally, when I first shuffle down stairs in the darkness, I go right to the radio and turn it on. My station is there waiting for me. When I hop in the car, there it is again! Right there waiting for me! I literally think that station plays in my house all the waking hours of our day. The kids know almost all the songs. They are truly positive messages!

Well, then today happened! I turned the radio on, bright and early, and all I got in return was silence! The volume was cranked and the radio WAS plugged in. But, nothing! What in the world is going on, I thought!
When I got into the car to drive daughter to school I was presented with same quiet station. Grrrr!

I went to their website and saw that they didn't suddenly change station channels on me! They were still 88.7. I decided to call the radio station (I LOVE it THAT much!) and spoke with the man on the other end. He told me that there were outages in my area (really? ONLY THAT station, I thought to myself?!)

So here I am, in a quiet house and no radio on! It prompted me to go on youtube and find a song that I WOULD be listening to and share it here.

 

The group is Building 429 and the song is Where I Belong (which I am pretty sure is not in a QUIET house with no radio on! ) But any way, the song is awesome and it speaks to me everytime I hear it ON THE RADIO!!! Lol...



 

 

"Where I Belong"

Sometimes it feels like I'm watching from the outside
Sometimes it feels like I'm breathing but am I alive
I won't keep searching for answers that aren't here to find

All I know is I'm not home yet
This is not where I belong
Take this world and give me Jesus
This is not where I belong

So when the walls come falling down on me
And when I'm lost in the current of a raging sea
I have this blessed assurance holding me.

All I know is I'm not home yet
This is not where I belong
Take this world and give me Jesus
This is not where I belong

When the earth shakes I wanna be found in You
When the lights fade I wanna be found in You

All I know is I'm not home yet
This is not where I belong
Take this world and give me Jesus
This is not where I belong
[x2]

Where I belong, where I belong
Where I belong, where I belong

between the pages...

"Why do I read?
I just can't help myself.
I read to learn and to grow, to laugh
and to be motivated.
I read to understand things I've never
been exposed to.
I read when I'm crabby, when I've just
said monumentally dumb things to the
people I love.
I read for strength to help me when I
feel broken, discouraged, and afraid.
I read when I'm angry at the whole
world.
I read when everything is going right.
I read to find hope.
I read because I'm made up not just of
skin and bones, of sights, feelings,
and a deep need for chocolate, but I'm
also made up of words.
Words describe my thoughts and what's
hidden in my heart.
Words are alive--when I've found a
story that I love, I read it again and
again, like playing a favorite song
over and over.
Reading isn't passive--I enter the
story with the characters, breathe
their air, feel their frustrations,
scream at them to stop when they're
about to do something stupid, cry with
them, laugh with them.
Reading for me, is spending time with a
friend.
A book is a friend.
You can never have too many.”
― Gary Paulsen, Shelf Life: Stories by the Book

My son was never a big reader. Getting him to sit down and read was always a constant struggle with him. One day, though, everything changed!
A friend of his introduced him to the world of Gary Paulsen. You see, my son is a true lover of the outdoors, and he finally met his match, through an author who shares that same love. There is the saying that goes, "do what you love and the money will follow."  Well, I also now believe, "read what you love and the books will follow!"

The first book that my son read of Gary's was Hatchett:
Brian Robeson, a thirteen year old boy traveling in a small airplane to Canada to spend the summer with his father, is involved in a plane crash in an uninhabited part of the Canadian woods after the pilot dies of a heart attack. Brian then must find a way to survive and in the process, discovers much about himself and becomes a man. The motif within this story is a bildungsroman, or a young boy’s coming of age.

After that one book he was hooked! I soon found Gary Paulsen books at rummage and garage sales. Now my sons shelf is lined with a slew of them.
This led to other books by other authors. Jean Craighead George is one of them. A list of her books can be found here. My son is currently reading My Side of the Mountain by George.

“If books could have more, give more, be more, show more, they would still need readers who bring to them sound and smell and light and all the rest that can’t be in books.
The book needs you.”
― Gary Paulsen, The Winter Room

a random thought...

...food for thought (fft)

food for thought...

...deep in the ♥ of Texas

The stars at night,

Are big and bright,

Deep in the heart of Texas,

The prairie sky

Is wide and high,

Deep in the heart of Texas.

The sage in bloom

Is like perfume,

Deep in the heart of Texas,

Reminds me of,

The one I love,

Deep in the heart of Texas.

I got a call yesterday from my Mom. She told me that her sister (my Auntie Marie) is in the hospital and her health is failing. Although the call came to me as a shock, a part of me knew that someday soon this call would come. You see, my aunt has lived a full life; a VERY full life; and now in her mid-90's her time is only that much more brief.
 
My Auntie Marie was married, yet never had children of her own. Her "children" were us nephew and nieces. She was married to my Uncle Otto.
Back in the mid-1980's, she and Uncle Otto packed up there things and moved from their home Chicago and headed down to Texas...to a warmer-retired life.
They settled in the small charming German town of New Braunfels and modestly they lived in a modular home community.
They became heavily involved in their Catholic church. They had many friends that were near-and-dear.
Uncle Otto died in the mid-90's, yet my aunts strong faith continued.
A child of the depression-era, she was a "saver". Nothing went to waste; everything could be re-used, at least one or two more times.
What I remember most about my Auntie Marie is her unwavering faith. She had many adversities in her life, yet she was always a pillar of strength. She was always healthy and always happy. Right until the last time I saw her, which was last summer, her zest for life was still the same.
 
In these last few days, although I am not able to be with her in person, I will re-live those dear and happy memories that I share with her. I will always have etched in my mind her special laugh, the unique smell of her home, and the time she showed me (when I was a little girl) how to make  proper pancakes. As my Godmother, she showed me a love of cooking, life and God.
 
 She was such a giving and caring individual: and  I will give that back to those around me I encounter...always!
 
I ♥ you, Auntie Marie...



 
 

the Iditarod...

The Iditarod. I know this won't come as any great interest to many of you. But, for some reason it does for me, as well as my family.

 Known as "the last great race", the Iditarod 2012 began in Willow, Alaska last Saturday, March 3rd. Over 60 mushers with their dog teams set out; hoping to finish to the end.
 The race's history is an interesting one, at best. Each year, in early March, mushers and their dogs embark on an 1,049 mile journey, through excruciating conditions, from Anchorage Alaska all the way to Nome.

The race can go on for almost 2 weeks! Along the way the mushers make sure that the dogs are well taken care of. Those dogs just LOVE to run...

I have always had a great fascination with all-things Alaska,the Iditarod being no exception.

When me and the family had the awesome pleasure of visiting Alaska last summer, (see here and here) we stopped in Wasilla (yes, Sarah Palins home-turf.) Wasilla is home to the Iditarod Trial Race Headquarters.

Inside, it contains ALL things Iditarod. It was a fascinating place to visit.

[Joe Redington Sr. - Father of the Iditarod]





[our less than 1 minute dog sled ride...those dogs were FAST!]

                                                         [paw mits from previous sled dogs]               

Later on our trip, at our stop in Denali we learned even more about the power and necessity of these hard working dogs. Our tour guide, Jamie, explained all about how necessary these dogs actually are in the Denali National Park, as well as surrounding areas. No vehicles of any kind are allowed in the park in the winter; yet there are park rangers, field guides and other naturalists that still work and live there over the winter. The only way for supplies/food/ and other items to be delivered into the park and the several miles to where they need to be is with the help of the sled dogs. Without the hard work of these dogs there would be no way to get this job done.

You may or may not have heard the name Balto before? Well, he was the dog that became famous for traveling hundreds of miles to deliver a serum that would help stop the deadly diphtheria epidemic in Alaska. His heroic efforts are still near-and-dear to many people, even to this day.

                                          

A great book: The Great Serum Race by Debbie S. Miller.

                                                                                  

                                                                  

me and my shadow...

I still hear you humming, Mama. The color of your song calls me home.

The color of your words saying, "Let her be.

She got a right to be different.

She gonna stumble on herself one of these days.

 Just let the child be."

 And I be, Mama.

~Sonia Sanchez

I had the great joy of spending the entire afternoon, yesterday, with just my oldest daughter.

 Just me and her - her and me.

 A rather rare treat - by why?

Why don't we do this more often - I thought, as the beautiful-sunny-February afternoon swept us away. We need to!

We are!

You see, my daughter is growing up. Her wings are starting to spread.

The time we spend together is important - vital!

I love her so much.

 ...my beautiful daughter of mine.

daddy's hands...

Rummaging through the basement book shelves unearthed some long-lost, forgotten, treasures of my past. I came across 3 small notebooks that carried my thoughts, writings and other vital words, from long, long ago- from when I was a young girl. I paged through one of those notebooks and found this short essay I had written, at an un-known date. As I sit here, coffee in hand, I felt a need to share. It seems so long ago....

I scribbled the title of Daddy's Big Hands, on the top of the page...

All grown up now, looking back to when I was a girl. I can still picture Daddy's big hands. So strong.. So worn from car oil from the "other" new (old) car in the driveway. Blistered and cracked from pounding nail after nail into the new addition to our house. Red and raw from unsuccessful scrubbing and washing, after working hour after hour after hour.... I can still see the black oil residue in his cuticles and underneath his short jagged nails.

Those big hands were the hands that tucked me into my soft bed night after night. What a simple pleasure for a man.
Every so often when I glance down at my own hands, the shape of each finger, I see my Dad's hand. If only for a moment.
But one day those big, strong hands could not work on the old Chevette in the driveway. They could no longer pound nails, painstakingly, over and over again. Those hands can no longer do their job at the factory, day after day. No longer- as they had for over 40 years.

I can still remember when mom and dad came back from the doctor and my Mom told me that Dad had cancer- and only 9 months he is expected to live. What an earful for a girl about to turn 21.
A girl who needs her father to watch her become a woman!
As the months passed, so did his ability of those two strong hands.

When Dad was laid to Rest- I can still picture in my mind how my Dad's strong, big hands looked as they clasped his rosary for ever- for the last time.
I thought of the past and of the future. Then I looked again at his hands.
Those hands won't ever hold my future babies soft delicate bodies- brush the hair of our family dogs-hold my hand as I walk down the aisle.

I feel that a person can tell a lot about someone from just looking at their hands. A story could be revealed in a matter of seconds.

Dad has been gone now for man years. He may be gone physically, but I will always remember Daddy's strong hands.

The Road Not Taken

by Robert Frost

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,



And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

the Advent virus...

The Advent Virus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Anonymous via email

WARNING……WARNING: ADVENT VIRUSBe on the alert for symptoms of inner Hope, Peace, Joy and Love. The hearts of a great many have already been exposed to this virus and it is possible that people everywhere could come down with it in epidemic proportions. This could pose a serious threat to what has, up to now, been a fairly stable condition of conflict in the world.Some signs and symptoms of The Advent Virus:-A tendency to think and act spontaneously rather than on fears based on past experiences.
-An unmistakable ability to enjoy each moment.
-A loss of interest in judging other people.
-A loss of interest in interpreting the actions of others.
-A loss of interest in conflict.
-A loss of the ability to worry. (This is a very serious symptom.)
-Frequent, overwhelming episodes of appreciation.
-Contented feelings of connectedness with others and nature.
-Frequent attacks of smiling.
-An increasing tendency to let things happen rather than make them happen.
-An increased susceptibility to the love extended by others as well as the uncontrollable urge to extend it.

Please send this warning out to all your friends. This virus can and has affected many systems. Some systems have been completely cleaned out because of it.

Happy Advent!

domácí sladké domácí

Every time we visit the Chicagoland area, my family is instantly gravitated to Vesecky's bakery in Berwyn Illinois.

6634 Cermak Rd
(between Clarence Ave & Riverside Dr)
Berwyn, IL 60402

Growing up, I have very fond memories of this place! My Aunt Marie and Uncle Otto used to live in Berwyn some 20 something years ago. Back then, the town was predominately Czech (Bohemian). All along Cermak Road one could find a whole slew of Czech establishments. Restaurants, butcher shops, and gift shops dotted the heavily populated street. The locals were fluent in the Czech language and at times "I" felt like the foreigner!

Auntie Marie would take us kids by the hand and stroll us down Cermak until we arrived at Vesecky's. I can still remember the long lines of eager customers (mainly seniorly, in age) waiting, with number ticket in hand, to pick out with tasty treats to bring on home.

It was always a tough decison, even today! Huge piles of kolache's in an assortment of flavors fill the glass-fronted display cases. Freshly made rolls and buns, poppy coffee cakes, pies, rye breads, and bountiful cookies fill the air with the smell of pure love! Ah! I can still smell it!

The ladies behind the counter wait on one customer at a time and don't in the slightest bit feel the "rushness" of all the other customers eagerly waiting in line. Their pace is slow and precise. And, they NEVER forget to offer the kids (and the parents) a tasty sample of the cookie of their choice!

So, the next time you are anywhere near the Berwyn area, make a pit stop at Vesecky's. You won't be zklamaný!

pretty in pink

The other day my husband and I were talking, and the subject of home economics class, in school, came up. I have absolutely NO idea as to how we came to this topic. I find it rather odd now, but it prompted several memories (some better than others!) Suddenly I was taken back to Albright Middle School in the mid 1980's, and a very pink, and a very LARGE, sweatshirt popped into my mind!

When I entered middle school I had to welcome home economics (home ec.) class into my schedule. I didn't think much of it. It was simply the class known for baking cookies, sewing toss pillows, and all those things related to preparing oneself for the harsh reality of the world of "real life!" For the obvious reasons the girls got more giddy about home ec. than the boys did. There were a few exceptions though. The world of home ec. opened my eyes to how to bake, prepare a meal for my teacher, hand-sew, a rather groovy, patch-work toss pillow, and... AND...the dreaded pink sweatshirt! Let me just dive into the sorted details.

The class assignment was learning the "basics" on the sewing machine. Our job was to go out and purchase a pattern for a sweatshirt, buy fabric, bring it all back and get to work on it. Well, I purchased a pattern for a common crew neck sweatshirt. One important key detail that I seemed to overlook, however, was the size! I managed to get a very-off size, leaning heavily on the large size. Next mission, find fabric. After much debate, a nice bubble gum pink was settled on. Mission complete, I brought it all back to school and the process began. Yards of pink thread, several broken needles, and a whole heck of anxiety thrown in, a sweatshirt was produced. The finished product was a nice, bubble gum pink, sweatshirt dress that exceeded the length of my hands and pushed the limits, almost touching my knees! The other children surfaced withe basic gray, white, and blue sweatshirts that were "normal" sized and able to be proudly worn. No. Not me. My sweatshirt stood out about as badly as Chuck Shnerfiels blaze orange job. Luckily the teacher did not grade on correct size (she must have felt really bad for me as well). I got a decent grade and was able to tug along those bubble gum memories even to this day!



While on the subject of home ec., do schools still offer this very worthwhile class anymore? Do schools still dabble with plugging in those irons, revving up those sewing machines, and cranking up the oven temperatures? If not, why? Sure my kids learn some of those skills at our home, but many kids are not as fortunate to. Sure it is important too know how to divide fractions and properly form a sentence. But, in REAL life ( the one you and I are currently living in) it also requires one to know how to cook a simple egg, mend a fallen off button on that dress shirt, and learn that an iron is REALLY hot!!

If I thinking back, really hard, I can still smell those burnt brownies and feel the endless pin-pricks from those darn straight pins as I pinned my "quilt pillow" (which I still have, by the way!)
My gi-normous bubble gum sweatshirt may have drifted off to never-never land, but those skills and real "life lessons" that I acquired along with all the pink thread, have seen me through my entire life.

an old friend

"Old friends are best" ~ John Selden

It recently occured to me that I currently own a pair of very old, very holey, very tired looking slippers. Most anyone else probably would have tossed them with yesterdays news. I, on the other hand, still feel their comfort and have decided to hang on to them, at least for one more day. Don't get me wrong! I "know" I need a new pair! I have tried looking for a perfect replacement. Somehow, though, they just don't fit the same way. The don't hug my feet like my old ones do. They somehow feel foreign. I admit it! My slippers have become my "woobies" (for those of you that have not seen the 1980's movie Mr. Mom, you wouldn't understand!!)

Don't we all have our own "woobie" in our own lives though? Come on! I know you do. Whether it be a favorite concert t-shirt from high school that brings back such wonderful memories that it would be a crime to throw out. Or, maybe that pair of Levi's that have more holes than fabric left? Some of you may have that childhood blanket or stuffed teddy that still manages to surface magically every now and again. We all have them, whether we care to admit it or not.

Winter is quickly coming. The holes in my toe portion of my "woobies" are barely hanging on. My tootsies will be cold! I know I will have to find a replacement pair, and soon. In the meantime, though, I will happily slip on my "old reliables" and shuffle along as I savor my good old friends...one last day.

coincidence?

A coincidence is a small miracle in which God chooses to remain anonymous ~ unknown

Have you ever had one of those days? When random things happen that you just can't find an explanation for. Today, I had one of those days. Early this morning I phoned a friend to ask a favor. Actually, it was a favor that my husband needed her husband to do. No one was home, so I left a message. I went about my day running errands. I was headed into the post office and who should I run into?! Well, it was "the husband" that we needed the favor from! Coincidence??

Things like that seem to happen to me quite frequently. Chances are they probably happen to you as well. Whether it be you are thinking of someone and "suddenly" you run into them somewhere. Or, being at the right place at exactly the right time! It is almost like the pieces to life's puzzle fall into place exactly when needed. It is a special thing when this happens!

There are no coincidences with God!

spring forward

I can hardly believe that it is daylight saving time (DST) again. So soon! It always seems to take my brain a few days to catch up with the new change. My body dragging behind it. As I was growing up I never fully understood the meaning behind "changing the clocks." I can just recall what a hassle it was to run around the entire house and adjust all the clocks. Also, how upset I would be on school day to have to get up an entire hour earlier! But, my mom always reminded me that we would get out of school an entire hour earlier, as well. Somehow it smoothed things over.

What is DST? Why do we have it? Well, the name kind of puts it right out there- daylight "saving". We are saving daylight. To me, saving daylight produces a whole slew of advantages. For one, we use less energy (electricity, gas) with the sunlight being seen longer. I don't have to flip my lights on in the evening as much. With the sun out longer, I am able to be outside longer and less in front of my TV! I can work in the yard and grow food with my extra hours of sunshine. I can spend more time with my family, riding bikes or going on long walks. I am able to stroll for beach glass by the lake or gather the family and watch a spectacular sunset. My longer days are filled with events and activities that are made possible by the sun staying awake longer, for me!

There is a long history behind DST. There is even a book written about it. The date changed from early April to the second Sunday in March, back in 2007, due to the Energy Policy Act. This also made DST end the first weekend in November, rather the last weekend in October. (Maybe to give trick-or-treaters a safer time?)
Whatever the case, history, or reason for DST, I am just going to "spring forward" myself. This unusually warm March has already sprung forward a nice amount of surprises: my flower bulbs are sprouting, the grass is greening, and the birds are waking me up before my alarm does. It came in like a lamb and hopefully will leave just the same. I look forward to what these longer "saving daylight" days will hold for me. I am eagerly anticipating the warmer weather and the bright sunshine beaming on my face. Happy (almost) Spring, everybody!!

"Anyone who says sunshine brings happiness has never danced in the rain."

My youngest daughter had a sick day yesterday. This usually requires a comfy spot on the couch, hugs from mom, and a remote in close distance!
One of the shows we watched yesterday was Sesame Street. The SS of today is waaaay cooler than it was back in my day! As we were watching, though, I had an "a ha" moment. The theme of the day was "the seasons"- spring, summer, fall, and winter. A clip came on with a girl getting ready to go outside. She was getting all of her rain gear on- jacket, hat, and boots. She was all excited to be heading out in the rain! She was not frightened by the "wetness" of it. She was not "pushed" to go outside (well, at least it didn't appear that way) by her mom. She was happily getting dressed and eagerly anticipating the rain. This is when I started to think. What do my kids want to do on a rain day? What do I want to do when it is raining out?? When I was a young kid I used to frolic in the puddles, stomp through the wet grass, and delight in the feel of cool rain drops on my face. I was not "ewwed" by it, nor did I feel that I would melt! I had fun in it. Today, my kids don't even own rain boots. Nor a rain hat. We do have umbrella's though!
I began to think. When did good-old-fashioned playing in the rain become so," boring"? Why have I not encouraged it more? What am I going to do about it now?! Well, that small girl on Sesame Street re-taught me that playing in the rain is essential fun for kids. It truly is genuine fun. Who cares if the clothes get wet! Who cares if the floor gets muddy!! Kids need to get wet and dirty. Those video games will have to wait. The TV will be shut off. By golly, we have some puddles to dance in!

thumbs UP

Before you buy, check out which stuff is made/assembled in the USA!

Go to: usstuff.com

my 3rd grader teacher

A funny thing happened the other day. I was on Facebook, scanning over one of my friends pages when I saw something interesting. I noticed that my friend had a familiar person, a blast from my past, as one of his friends. Mr. Latoria. As in, my former third grade teacher!

When I think back to my school days I am instantly brought back to my year in third grade. It was such a great year! It was the year of math baseball, for one! The class would stand in two lines and the "batter" would be asked a math question. If they got it right, they could advance to the next base. If they got it wrong they would be a strike. The whole class would look forward to math baseball day! It was fair and it was FUN! Now I can see it is not always what you teach, but how you teach it that is the bigger impact.

Third grade was such a good year in many ways, but all come right down to the teacher. Mr. Frank Latoria! He was a happy man. He loved to teach. He loved his students and it showed! A few years back I was going through some old papers in the basement. I came across an old report card from school. It was my third grade report card. In the comment section, Mr. Latoria wrote that I was a good student and he wished me a happy life! Upon reading this, a few tears came to my eyes. For I now know that this teacher really meant those words. He lived to teach! Not teach to live.

Over the years I have had some OK teachers. A handful of good teachers, but only one of two great teachers. Ones that really stand out. Ones that broke from the mold and taught with their hearts. Ones that kept each child individual and unique.

I received a note, via Facebook, from Mr. Latoria today! In it he told me how he did remember me as his student. He struggled with a decision whether to pursue teaching or going into the family business some time ago. Recently, though, he went back into teaching and was not sure if he made the right decision. He said that after he read my note he feels in his heart that he did make the right decision! He can see how his love of teaching has impacted his fellow students. He thanked me!!



'They may forget what you said but they will never forget how you made them feel."- Carol Buchner