Did you know there is a national park in south central Oklahoma? Well there is! Chickasaw National Recreation Area.
We decided to take a little four day camping trip to this park, sight unseen, no idea what to expect. Sense of adventure kicked in while googling Chickasaw National Recreation Area. Our trip was delayed one year because our initial reservation was in March of 2020. Need I say more? ‘Rona ruined that plan.
Fast forward to 2021 and life is kind of good-ish again. Things are opening up, so we rebooked some campsites and hit the road with my sister and brother-in-law.
Continue reading “Traveling south; Gene, Blake, and Olive Ann”
1963. If you were alive and above the age of 4 or so in 1963 you undoubtedly recall the day in November.
In February of last year we visited the 6th Floor Museum in Dallas. Dallas is huge, 7 million people live in the metro area. There are many buildings with six floors. But only one building houses the location where a gunman shot and killed President John Kennedy from a window on the sixth floor.
While walking through the museum and listening to the audio headphones tell the story I was taken back to that day in November. My 3rd grade classroom in Minneapolis Grade School. We listened to the news over the loudspeaker while our teacher, Mrs. Warren, wept. The only sound was the voice on the speaker and the weeping of our teacher. While a room full of eight year olds tried to process what was happening.
Continue reading “Significance”
Are you a hugger? I wasn’t as a child. It wasn’t our family’s “thing”. That’s okay, I suppose. Pretty sure all you non-huggers are tolerating the COVID-19 restriction policies better than us huggers. Though I’ve grown into being a hugger (with a few limits), during these pandemic days I truly treasure all the human interaction I can get. Smiles (that you can actually see on an unmasked face), hugs, elbow bumps, conversation. Anything, I tell ya. Growl at me even.
Continue reading “Embracing embraces. And the number 28.”
If you’ve read many of my blog posts you know that I was one of those surprise package bonuses for my folks. They were in their forties when I was born and my three sisters were all teenagers.
Life is just weird for us surprise packages. A good weird, a difficult weird, hard to explain.
Continue reading “Wait for it”
Fifteen years ago I became a grandmother.
About eleven years ago, I bought my first ever Lego set for the boy who made me a grandma.
About eleven years and one minute ago, I became just a little obsessed with the delightfulness of Legos. So did said grandboy. We spent many hours building one thing after another, as the coins rapidly left our bank account.
Continue reading “Let go of my Legos”
(Originally posted back in 2017….needed the recipe contained in this so I republished it. )
It’s been a week of education for Simply B in the fine art of using Ebay to purchase stuff. I’m a relative newby, just mainly buying stuff outright and not bidding on it. But this week I decided to bid on Castillian plates to add to the 2 that were given to me from my mom’s kitchen. And I learned a vital lesson. Once you place a bid on an Ebay item, you may well win that bid. And once you win that bid….well….you pay for the item and it’s yours. It’s a contract of sorts. I guess I thought I’d win the bid then be able to decide if I really wanted them. So far I have 10 Castillian plates. There may be more on the way, who knows. I kind of got carried away once the bidding started. Wow. No biggie. I guess. Haven’t checked our bank account balance. Perhaps I should. 😅 Continue reading “Ebay lessons and Cabbage.”
Small town America loves their school activities. That was certainly the case in my very small hometown high school during the 60’s and 70’s. Friday night football and Tues/Friday basketball would bring every loyal citizen who could still breathe and walk out to watch “their kids” play.
And for students, even if you weren’t part of the team, you were still part of the team. Some were in marching band. Some were cheerleaders. Some took turns working the concession stands. Some dressed up as the Lion Mascot. And the rest of us? Well we were part of the team too. Thanks to Pep Club.
Continue reading “Pep And Petrol”
Wedding bells in 1935. For my parents. Well, not really any bells. Or white dress, or flowers, or wedding party, or church. Two people who loved each other, in front of a judge.
Continue reading “Every Last Dollar”
Percival and Augusta**. Long ago they lived across the street from my family in a small super-modest old home with peeling paint and many many many cats. And one little dog. There was a front porch. There was a back porch. There’s no trace left of where Percival and Augusta spent their sad life. But my mind will never lose the image of that home and the couple who lived there. Continue reading “The rest of the story….”
I was the last chance.
My folks were the parents of three teenage daughters when, out of the blue (or pink?) I came along. Another stinking girl. I have mental pictures of my dad, age 47, going from the hope of hearing “it’s a boy!!” to “oh, well”.
I was the last chance for him to have a boy to hang out with and enjoy time together. A son, a kindred spirit, a little Benton. He had three teenage girls. Just wrap your brain around that fact for one moment. At least once a month you KNOW my dad wished he had sons.
Continue reading “Through”
My collection of numbers has become pretty large. Too many birthdays has added a ton of numbers to my age. And I seem to have an uncanny ability to add numbers to my weight. Though it’s tempting to blame COVID19 and the whole stay-at-home scene on the weight dealio, that would be a lie.
All these numbers have resulted in gravitational effects and odd changes to my already unfortunate configuration of body parts.
Continue reading “Rising numbers. Rrrrrrip.”
My breath was taken away and tears came to my eyes. Not gonna lie, they even rolled down my cheeks.
A friend of mine shared a photo with me. She’d found it in an old yearbook of her mom’s.
Me. Age fifteen. The one school picture that never made it to a frame on the top of the piano with the other pictures of me and my sisters. I had totally forgotten about this particular photograph. I doubt there are prints of it anywhere, except of course the old yearbook.
Continue reading “Dear Younger Me”
Let me just preface this post with this statement: I love animals. Yes, I do. Now just plant that fact in your brain while you read the rest of this.
Our oldest daughter went off to college many years ago at Kansas State University and began dorm life. Our youngest daughter was four years younger, just a high school sophomore at the time.
Continue reading “Bunny, Bird, and Boo”
Got some time on my hands. You too? I refuse to use the C word or the P word though. If you’re reading this in say, 2030, and you have no clue what C and P words are, then you indeed are most fortunate. Be deeply thankful. And just go ahead and search for “historic events in the year 2020” if curiosity has the best of ya.
So while roaming about the house during the past week or so, organizing, cleaning, avoiding stir craziness, I came across a few items with stories to tell.
Continue reading “Mixed values; unexpected ho-hums”
If you’re my age, and if you’re a girl (well, OLD girl), you probably once loved listening to the smooth voice of Karen Carpenter. The Carpenters. One of their most popular songs was Rainy Days and Mondays. “Talking to myself and feeling old” “Sometimes I’d like to quit, nothing ever seems to fit”. Such upbeat lyrics. NOT. Sadly, the line about “nothing ever seems to fit, like to quit” ? Karen died from anorexia at a young age.
I talk to myself and you probably do, too. Please tell me you do. 🙂
Continue reading “Talking to myself and feeling (fill in the blank)”
“Don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone.” That’s one line from an old song written in 1970. And like a lot of songs, it’s the only line I remember.
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This one line brings one person in particular to my mind. My mother.
On Christmas in the year 1970 my dad had just returned home from a one week stay at the hospital following his diagnosis of leukemia. He was dismissed Christmas Eve. Christmas morning was not the typical Christmas, as you might imagine. Not a lot of jolly old St Nicholas. But we were genuinely glad to be together. Just the four of us, Mom and Dad, Sharon and myself. We didn’t know what the future held but we sure loved having Daddy there with us on that day.
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Recently I read a story that pulled the curtains back from a window into the life of a mom and her difficulties with her young son. His behavior is so poor that kids avoid him. Classmates say their parents forbid them from playing with him anymore. He comes home from school and says he was told he is “bad.” He has been removed from that kindergarten now. His mom and dad are struggling to help him.
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South of Manhattan Kansas on Manhattan Ave there is a bridge over Wildcat Creek. Cross the bridge and you have arrived on what is commonly referred to as Hunter’s Island. Wildcat Creek and the Kansas river border this land. Some of the most fertile ground around can be found on Hunter’s Island. The hubby tells me it’s only a true island when it is surrounded by flooding. Which happens a lot.
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How well I recall the day I learned my family was poor. The news didn’t come from my parents. I often heard them having lively conversations about finances early in the morning while they were eating breakfast. While I was exercising my sloth-like tendency to sleep late. I heard them, but it was never serious enough to fully awaken me.
No, reality hit one day in the third floor library of the junior high building in my hometown. Probably my eighth grade year, during study hall. Continue reading “The beauty of enough”