The Strength Behind a Book Club

     Update on the tattoo fiasco from the last Blog: There is no update. My poor co-worker is so mad at her son and daughter in law for putting blank memorials on their bodies that indicate that she needs to die in order to be finished, that, we are not allowed to talk about it.


     Back on the home front, my kids are still too young to get tattoos, so, they are mostly in my good graces. We are dealing with another issue though. George has become something of a picker. A hoarder. A whatever it is you call people who bring home large quantities of stuff that no one else seems to want.
     George has always been a wanderer. He's always off visiting someone somewhere, and it is this side of impossible to keep the child home. Apparently in his daily travels, he became aware of "curb stuff". The things that people put out at the curb for free, on non garbage days. Mostly because it isn't enough to have a garage sale, and no one has the energy to list it on line and then deal with fourteen thousand in box messages asking lots of questions about what is essentially going to end up staying on that curb until garbage day unless someone picks it up.
     It began with the concrete column. He was so proud of his superior strength as he lugged it home. Followed by a large concrete planter, two hanging baskets, a large shelf, a box of purple hangers, and whatever else came home that first day. My kid became addicted and, has spent the entire summer bringing home treasures of every kind. If I had a place to store it all, I imagine he could have enough things to completely furnish and decorate an entire house, indoors and out by the time he turns twelve.
     Since then, he has brought home, sometimes with the help of Joe:

• Three lawn chairs
• A canvas lawn chair that seats two
• A weed whacker
• I mentioned I needed a frame for a picture, and one appeared within 24 hours
• A glass turtle tea light holder
• A HUGE outdoor Christmas wreath
• Half of a very large and very heavy entertainment center
• a fire pit

I know there are more things. I just cannot recall them. Lexi was able to measure the dimensions of the entertainment center, and lo and behold it will make a lovely headboard, so, I just need to catch the Bearded Man in a good mood, so we can haul it up the stairs and wrestle it over her bed.
     The neighbor that had put the weed whacker out came over to ask if George would like a TV big enough to fit inside the humungous  entertainment center. I declined before my kid could accept it. Seriously. He's 7. He does not need a 48" TV. The line needs to be drawn somewhere here. As it is, I expect I will have some explaining to do, should there be a weed whacker incident, and I have to lug him to the ER. He now owns a pair of safety goggles and is not allowed to use it unless he has sneakers on and at least one parent is home. Thankfully the weed whacker is electric, so, he can only go so far with it. My front lawn was used for practice and really took a beating. The neighbor who had left it at the road came over and George happily told him that the weed whacker was working beautifully, and that his Daddy was able to fix it. The neighbor smiled indulgently and told him that, while it worked sometimes, but, sometimes it doesn't work. And George cheerily replied that it was all fixed now, and working just fine every time. At which the neighbor, who had just spent a fortune on a new one, turned around and went back home.




     On to other things. Yesterday, I read an online article about a semi-local farm that grows sunflowers, that  is having a terrible time with people who are stopping and picking their sunflowers. The farmers have asked very nicely that people please stop doing this, as, this is their livelihood. The farmers even put up a sign, pleasantly allowing pictures, but asking that no one pick the sunflowers. The farmers have even pointed out that people need to drive up a private driveway, in order to even see the sunflowers. The problem persists. The farmers have just about had it. Anyhow, this weekend, a young lady and, apparently at least one friend, went to the field at night. In the dark, they picked a sunflower, and proceeded to pose in front of the "Please Don't Pick the Sunflowers" sign, take a picture of the girl holding  it, and then post it on social media with some obnoxious comment.
     I could not believe how many people defended the girl in question. Many said that maybe the sunflower (looking all not wilted) had broken off on it's own, and fallen, and maybe the girl didn't even pick it. Maybe she put it back after the picture. Maybe we don't all know the entire story, and who are people to judge? How dare people have a problem with this!!!! The outrage on behalf of the girl and not for the farmers was amazing to me. (meanwhile, this was in the middle of the night on a private driveway...)
     I read another story about an intruder breaking into a house in Texas at the height of the recent hurricane, and subsequently getting shot. I was rather shocked at the staunch defense of the intruder, rather than the concern of the safety of the family whose home was broken into. The online outrage toward the homeowner was shocking. When on earth did we become a society full of people who are allowed to do whatever it is they want to do? And when did this become okay? Why on earth are we defending terrible behavior, and chastising people that have a problem with it?
     Anyhow. I was thinking about all of these things yesterday. I was thinking about the terrible things we hear every single day, and the all around desensitization to it, as well as the overall acceptance anymore that "people are just terrible." and no one argues it anymore, because, it seems to be true. I thought about my kids getting ready to go back to school, and my hesitation to let them ever out of the house again, in the face of the daily news, both near and far.
     And then, I headed out to the monthly Book Club meeting. I mentioned the Book Club a few months ago, as I grudgingly read a book that I hated every page of - mostly because it made me think about things I would rather not think about. I find that I look forward to the Book Club meetings more and more each month. They are relaxed and attended by women who appreciate the uninterrupted break from life in general.
     Every month, whoever attends the meeting donates a small amount, and we choose a charity to give it to. We have found that the books that have been chosen have struck chords with us in one way or another, and, we have been able to apply them to our local lives in general. I find myself thinking about the books and the meetings and the different opinions of the books for days afterward, usually.
     Last evening, with the weight of horrible human nature weighing heavily on my shoulders, I went to the meeting. The last book was a true story and touched on the life of a young boy who lived in terrible home conditions, hunger, lack of necessities, his entire family drug dealers and users, and of one woman who just happened to stop and ended up befriending him. We talked a long time - not necessarily about the book, but, because of the book - about similar issues in our own areas. To listen to stories from these book club women, about how they have helped when they could, when faced with similar situations. About teachers who have made sure kids were fed, and school staff who made sure there were clothes, about neighbors who helped kids that were from families facing difficulties. Local men who made sure every kid was included in sports, whether they had the money or transportation or not, and who went out of their way to find these kids. Families that assisted with soup kitchens, families that donated, local women who all seemed to go the extra mile for kids that need to know that at least one other person  cared about them and thinks they are worth the effort.
     The resounding message in our book this month was, that one person who stopped and cared, probably saved the child in our book's life. Without her kindness, he likely would have not had the same happy outcome.
     We all wondered "What can we do?" "Do we do enough?" and then we sat and talked about story after story after story about how everyone HAD helped. But, in speaking about it, no one seemed to think it was anything big, but, the frustration that it wasn't more. And, the question kept coming back to "Would we stop and help a child in the street?"
     I went home and thought about it. I sat on the porch and thought and thought about it. I thought about it some more. I can never seem to put into words verbally, what I am able to do behind a keyboard. But, I thought last night, that every single person there, or who was spoken positively about, HAD stopped. In our tiny town, often ridiculed for it's remote location and for it's habitants in general, more than several people have quietly gone out of their way to make a difference. So many people were there to help in any small way, people who needed that extra person to lean on. All of the amazing, strong, wonderful women that come to the book club, and so many that don't come to the book club, have made such a difference, and really never knew it. From raising children that are shown by example that we care for others, to, helping those kids who need it, to, being the shoulder to lean on for other women who need it. No matter what the job position any of these women hold, they all made a big difference.
     Honestly, it was humbling, to know that our tiny little town is so full of such strong amazing women who have no idea that they are!!!!  They are just being decent human beings, and doing what they can to help. Without the fanfare and without needing to garner social media attention for it.
     We wrapped up the meeting, held in a pavilion next to our beloved Case Lake, and walked to our vehicles in the near dark, all of us, I think, feeling a little recharged, but, maybe some of us wondering if we do enough. We had already decided to donate this month's money to the local food pantry. I paused and chatted with one of my friends before we left, as we had both been a little concerned about another friend. She had provided the much needed shoulder to our other friend, and, probably helped out more than she realized.
     I realized in the drive home that, nothing really derogatory or negative had been said about people - just an acknowledgement that there were issues, and that there had certainly been people who had quietly done what they could to help. No one thought that what they had done had been uncommonly special or helpful, and everyone kept saying "Would we stop, like the writer of our book did, to help a homeless or hungry child?" and no one seemed to realize they all essentially had in their own way.


     I thought about this. And I thought about our recent explosion of rocks. Someone in our town began "Franklinville NY Rocks" In which, lots of people paint rocks and hide them around town. Kids and families and adults are finding happy little rocks everywhere they look! There is an entire page on Facebook dedicated to it. And, for the most part, it is probably the least negative page on my social media. People have happily began painting and hiding rocks. So many kids and families have become involved. It was remarked upon at our meeting that it was such a nice non negative all inclusive thing. When people find the rocks, they can snap a picture and tag the Franklinville NY Rocks Facebook page, and then re-hide the rocks.


     The conclusion I came to, as I sat on my porch thinking about the entire day, beginning with the miserable news stories, and wondering about humanity in general, and ending with spending a few chilly hours at dusk by the lake was: There is certainly hope. There are so many more nice people out there than we hear about. There are wonderful, kind, helpful people who quietly do what they need to do, often without a second thought, to make the world a little better. To make other lives a little better. There is more kindness out there than any media seems to report about. There are nice people, good people, decent people and amazing people out there. Our little town is really just a speck in the middle of nowhere, and, we certainly have the same issues as most other towns. But, I think the smallness of it really makes for fuller appreciation of good people in the face of what appears to be so many bad people. And, our good people seem pretty determined to overcome the misery and negativity caused by the bad people. I sat on the porch and thought about the rotten things I have seen even in our town since we've lived there. And then I thought about all the conversations during the meeting, full of the positivity and kindness of others. I thought about how it all just outweighed the badness. Possibly it's easier to pick up on these tiny nuances in a small town vs a large area. Possibly we are remote enough that we really need to put the chin up and make a difference, because that's the only way it will happen.
     Anyhow. I really thought I wanted to write this. It's not the usual run of the mill Blog, but, I just thought that maybe people needed to hear that there is certainly goodness in the world. Most of the book club has no idea of the existence of this Blog, but, it certainly should be acknowledged that I am so very impressed by the strength and kindness and the decency of the women in my town. (And, of course, so very many outside of it!) In the face of such overwhelming badness around us, I felt a little better about my kids' futures, knowing there are so many wonderful people still - we just don't hear about them.


     Alright. Off the soapbox now, and back to work for me!

    

Tattoo Memorials for People Who Aren't Dead Yet

     A co worker came into work today all  upset. (I've mentioned her before. She's approximately 4 feet tall, pushing 60, a grandmother, drives a full sized pick up truck decked out in pink camo, and, I am absolutely positive she could best me in any street fight or hike.)
     Anyhow. She was pretty upset today. It seems her son and daughter in law have decided to get (more) tattoos. Her daughter in law has decided to get a dream catcher on her knee, with feathers dangling down her leg. The feathers will each be dedicated to her own and her husband's parents and grandparents who have passed, while leaving feathers blank (for fill in in the future) for my coworker and her husband.
     My coworker's son is getting tombstones with his grandparent's and his father's names on them, with blank spots for my coworker and her current husband, when they get around to  not being around anymore.


     "Wait. What? So, every time you look at your kid and his wife, you will get to see a blank spot just waiting for you to die?"


     "YES!"


     "Well. That's kind of creepy. How does that even work? I mean, your ex husband that died already - will  you be next to his feather, or, will  your current husband be there? Do you want to be between them, or, would that irritate your current husband?"


     "Moriah!"


     "Seriously! This is permanent! You need to pick a feather now, so that either you or your current husband don't end up next to your LAST husband!"


     "I hadn't thought of that...."


     "And, your kid will have a tombstone that is blank in wait for you on his body? Does this mean he likes you enough to take care of you when you're elderly, or, is this his contribution?"


     "Ummmmm."




     "These are some pretty valid concerns! Are you even allowed to pick the color of your feather???"


     "Pick the color?"


     "You need to call him RIGHT NOW, and do these things! They are getting the tattoos today. You need to clarify colors and locations before it's permanent! If they are going to have your names inked onto their bodies for all eternity, then, you need to get this decided now."


      "I was so upset about this, but, this has made my entire day. I am going to call him and demand a camo feather right this minute!"


     "You're welcome."


     I don't know how I would feel, looking at my kid if they had decided to call me and inform me they were getting a tattoo on their body for the specific purpose of putting my name on it after I died. I am lucky enough to not make enough money to encourage my children to do away with me before I am ready to go. There really is nothing in it for them.


     Speaking of kids taking care of elderly parents - Joe has decided he might like to look into online college classes. Someone posted a recent link to college course materials/lectures/quizzes online, and he can't wait to check them out. He would really like to spend his middle and high school years working on college courses so that he is closer to his Doctorate. He is determined to work at Berkley some day, and really has no patience for the aggravation of going to middle school. I figure Joe is my best chance at getting put in a decent nursing home some day. In considering this, I should probably step up my cooking game, to ensure my continued favor with the child.


     Also, while we are on the subject of skin - poor Kaila has had photosynthesis sensitivity for years now (She's allergic to the sun. No lie.) This usually manifests itself in hives around her hands and wrists. While we were in Black Lake though, the poor kid broke out all over in hives everywhere the sun touched. Since we've been back: if she isn't in the shade, my poor pale daughter starts to break out in hives again. Lexi, in her obligatory Little Sister role cheerfully announced "Well, I would say that this is evidence that she really is a vampire - she's pale enough! But, I happen to know that vampires can't see their reflections, and Kaila spends a lot of time looking at herself in the mirror. So, she's not." Had we been closer to the lake at that announcement, I am sure Kaila would have pushed Lexi in. Hopefully this is something she outgrows soon.

    Last night we took the kids to a county fair. George decided we needed to check out the horses. He informed every single one of them that he loved them, and they all seemed to appreciate the sentiment. If that child grows up to work indoors in an office of any kind, I may cry. He needs to be in the outdoors. His passion for all animals and wildlife and the absolute inability to keep him indoors or at home almost demands a career of some sort in the great outdoors. (I write this in my office with no windows, by the way...) Ah well. He's seven years old. I suppose a lot can change in the next ten or so years.


     Alright. Break's over - back to work!

"My Mom is the Craziest"

     Last week was the 3rd Annual Dick family Vacation to Black Lake NY. It has become tradition, and, we are already reserved for the exact same thing next year.


     I think Bearded Man was there. I know this, because, he drove us there. I recall him parking near our camp and wandering off to carry his fishing supplies to the boat, while the kids and I unloaded the van.  That was pretty much the last time I saw him, until he drove us all home again. I think he was fishing most of the time. If not with the boat we rented, then, in someone else's boat. If he wasn't fishing, then, he was wandering around the campground, visiting with other people. He was up and out of the cabin before we woke up, and didn't really come back until we all were asleep. One day, he hopped into the fishing boat of the "Camp Creepy Guy" (Camp Creepy Guy was voted over the nightly bonfire on the beach, because he was just weird.) Everyone remarked upon it, when Jasin and Camp Creepy Guy still hadn't come back after dark. Looking at me questioningly, the other campers remarked that there was a pretty decent possibility that he was fish bait now.
     With a sigh, I explained "No, we're used to it. If an ax murderer wandered into our house some night, Jasin would probably go downstairs and inspect the ax, offer to sharpen it for him, demonstrate the best way to swing the ax, tell him where to find better axes, ask him if he had a back up ax, offer him a beer, and  tag along for support. It's just how he is."
     Eventually they putted back into the dock area via flashlight, safe and sound.


     The kids had a great time, and played hard from the time they woke up, until the time they went to bed at night. There were 13 kids on our side of the camp, ranging from ages 16 to 2 and they all rolled around and played together like a huge pack of puppies. George forgot his swim trunks, so, every time he was in the water, it caused another clothing change. I spent a lot of time doing laundry last week. To do laundry meant hauling it down a steep hill, across a wooden bridge, up another hill, and across the campground, to the laundry area. Which consists of one small coin operated washer, and one small coin operated dryer. Every year, it's like the Hunger Games for grown ups, because, if  you sleep past 6:00 am, and don't get your laundry in, then, plan on staying there doing laundry until at least mid-afternoon. By Friday, it had gone from a friendly "Oh, it's no problem! I will come back later!" banter between myself and one another woman, to, barely suppressed civility, as we tried to get our laundry done before it ate up an entire day. Seriously. I spent a lot of time playing solitaire and reading books - four and a half books total, actually - while waiting for the many many loads of laundry I had to do every day. Sometimes I could wrangle an offspring to go switch it over from washer to drier, or, haul it back to our camp for me which was nice, because, every time I hiked to the laundry area, I was followed with "Oh, that poor thing!" "You poor lady!" "MORE laundry???" "Are you doing the wash again today?" "Oh, poor thing!" Well. It was either do the laundry, or, have naked children running about. Honestly, a real vacation at this point, would be to a hotel/spa by myself, with daily massages, a private hot tub, and room service.


    
   Before we left for vacation, I was approached by someone who was a relative of another kid that Joe went to Boy Scout Camp with. The relative informed me that one of the kids Joe had camped with had told her that Joe had been swearing quite badly at camp. I nodded in understanding, thinking she was referring to one of the two OTHER Joe's that were there. No, she was definitely talking about my Joe. I was actually shocked at this statement. I agreed to talk to Joe about it, but, I could see that the person talking to me was not happy with my kid, and alleged that the child who had told her this, had also taken the blame for a lot of bad language. I assured her I would look into it.
     I called Bearded Man. "Jasin? When you picked Joe up from Scout Camp, was anything mentioned about bad behavior or swearing?"
     "No. I know there was some issues with a few other kids, who did nothing but fight the entire time, and the camp counselors needed to get involved a few times, it was that bad. Why?"
     "I was just informed that Joe was apparently swearing like a sailor, and that another kid took the blame for it."
     "What???"
     "I don't know. I mean, I know Kaila has the absolute ability to swear up a blue streak, and I have heard Lexi mumble things under her breath, and, George could make a trucker blush with the language I am fully aware he is capable of (disclaimer: just because they CAN rattle off filthy language, does NOT mean they are allowed to....) but, Joe? Have you ever even heard him swear?"
     "No, I really haven't."
      "Does he even know HOW to swear?"
     "I don't know."
     "I mean, if this was George, I might believe it, but, honestly, Joe usually prefers to put people down with big words and condescending comments. I don't know if he would lower himself to swearing, actually."
      "It doesn't sound right" agreed Bearded Man
     "Okay. Well. I suppose I will talk to him about it."


     A call to Joseph was placed. "Joe? I was just talking to so and so's relative. She was pretty upset, and told me that so and so told her that you were swearing pretty badly at camp, and that so and so took all the blame for it....Joseph. You know better."
      "I. DID. NOT." Joe bit out curtly.
      "I mean, I know kids swear sometimes, but, honestly, it's not appropriate, and, if another kid was getting in trouble for it, then, that makes it even worse,  Joe."
      "I do not swear! I know much better words, so, I don't have to swear. I never swear, I didn't swear, and I do not know why they are saying I did. Mostly, when everyone was being bad, I ignored it. I didn't want to deal with the drama."
      "Well, Joe. I can't say for sure if you did or didn't. But, if you DID, then, you know better, and you better not do it again. If you didn't, then, I expect that you continue to keep your language appropriate."
      "Mom. I need to get back to my book." he said impatiently.


     Hanging up the phone, I thought about it, and wondered if he had or hadn't been swearing. There wasn't too much more I could do about it. I wasn't going to punish him for something I wasn't entirely convinced he had done, but, I felt badly that another boy may have gotten in trouble for something my son had allegedly said. Fast forward to last evening - immediately after work, I had to take Joe to the school for 7th grade orientation. (I cannot believe that three out of four of my kids will now be in the "big" school! How did this happen??)
     Anyhow, the child in question happened to sit at the same table as Joe and I. Determined to get to the bottom of things, and, apologize to the poor kid if necessary, I brought the subject up. "Oh yeah!" the kid said, "Joe was swearing!"
     "I was NOT swearing!" Joe insisted.
     "Yes you were!"
     "I did not."
     "I am so sorry you took the blame for it." I interrupted.
     "He did not take the blame for ANYTHING, because I did NOT swear!" bit out Joe.
     "You said the "C" word!" burst out the other boy. At which I am nearly positive I paled considerably. Getting ready to haul my kid out of the school by his collar, I said "WHAT "C" WORD?????" as the other boy's mother looked on in horror.
     "You know. THE "C" word! C-R-A-P!"
     Falling back in relief, I said "That is really not a swear word."
      "It is in MY house!" the child said cheerfully. "We aren't allowed to say it. OH CRAP! I just dropped my hot dog."
     At which his mother told him "We don't say that word."


     Thankful that we had gotten to the bottom of it, we continued with the 7th grade orientation. During which I over heard Joe say: "There are probably a lot of crazy people in my family, but, I'm pretty sure my mom is one of the craziest." In a tolerant acceptance tone of voice.


     Into the auditorium we trooped, where the principal began the usual power point presentation. Since I have sat through many many many power point presentations given by the principal there, I can only conclude she gets paid by the power point. The highlight of the evening for me, however, was during the introduction of the new teachers joining our staff this year. The new 7th grade Spanish teacher popped up and waved when her name was called, and I honestly burst out "Oh my God! She looks EXACTLY like the Magic School Bus teacher!!!!" Seriously. She is Ms. Frizzle in real life form.
    
     Last thing to note: I now have a child in 7th grade, and a child in 8th grade. This means that they both get to sell: Mums, poinsettias, geraniums and impatiens throughout the year, to pay for their 8th grade trip to Washington DC and Gettysburg. Shameless plug here, but, these flowers are the BEST. When I no longer have children in these grades, I will be shaking down my friend's children for these flowers. That being said - you need flowers? Come see us. Mums will be available for ordering soon!


     Okay. Back to work for me!