Day Ten of Lent-The Bunny

My girls and I were painting the other day. Not the walls with rollers kind of painting but the small brushes and canvas kind. Given my love for animals I decided to paint one of our former pets who is now buried in our back yard. Horatio 'Spafford' Wright~ aka, Hairy. He was a satin angora bunny with a ton of spunk and attitude. He lived 2 years longer than his breeds average and got along smashingly with our 90lb chocolate lab and our chocolate point Siamese.

After our painting day was over I posted pictures on FaceBook of our finished products. My mom happened to comment that the painting looked like the bunny she made me get rid of when I was younger. Wait a minute?? I don't remember ever having a bunny that my mom made me get rid of. Instantly I picked up the phone and called her requesting she fill me in on this rabbit mystery. As she relayed the information to me all the memories came flooding back. Ohhh, that rabbit!

What I had told my parents is that my boyfriend had given me the french lop eared rabbit as a gift. It came with everything it needed including a cage, food and a book about rabbits. I even had a box that precious thing had come in that looked like someone had gone to great lengths to wrap with great love. My parents weren't buying the story and promptly made me return the rabbit to whomever supposedly gave it to me.

The real story? My friend Lisa and I were at Thomas Mall~oh that dreaded Mall again. The Pet Pad had just gotten in the most adorable little French lop eared rabbits. You guessed it...I took my hard earned babysitting money and plunked down enough of it for the rabbit, cage, food and book. I can't remember how much it set me back but I'm sure anything purchased from the Pet Pad was an exorbitant amount compared to buying one from a breeder. Once again, I found a cardboard box big enough to put my purchases within and attempted to make it look like UPS had delivered it. I'm pretty sure my artistic skills were lacking in that day and age, so my art work probably looked mighty pathetic.

I don't remember what I did with the rabbit to this day. Perhaps I tried to return it to the Pet Pad with a sob story about how my parents wouldn't let me keep it. I may not have had my artistic skills mastered but drama, now that is a whole other story...for another day.

Day Nine of Lent-Video Games

The girls went out tonight...Zoe: babysitting and Shoshanah: girls night out with our adopted daughter, Hannah. So, Tim and I fired up the Wii and were playing Mario Kart. Video games have changed by leaps and bounds from the 80's. It got me thinking about all the times we played video games when we were younger.

Early on our family didn't have an Atari but I can remember playing at friends' homes that did. One such example was a night at Kadi Valva's house. We played Space Invaders until we thought our thumbs were going to fall off. At 3:00 a.m we took a nap, but were back up by 7:00 am. We set out hunting down a tube of BENGAY in order to even be able to carry on with our obsession. Honestly, as a mother there is no way I'm going to let my girls play video games into the wee hours of the night. Certainly her mother was unaware—I'm sure she would have vetoed such an activity.

In seventh grade I would go to the Montgomery's house to babysit. Once Victor and I were able to get Vanessa to bed we would fire up their game station. I think my favorite game was one called Jailbreak. There was this little dude dressed in his prison garb that had to catch bombs being dropped along the top of the screen before they hit the bottom. Why the game fascinated me I have no clue. Victor was so good at the game, however, that I hardly ever got a turn as the second player. When it was my turn I was so inept I usually missed one of the bombs within a few minutes and then handed the controller over to Victor. During the time he played I was able to wash dishes, vacuum the house, fold laundry (just kidding but seriously, the kid wouldn't lose).

When we were in high school my great uncle Arnold gave us a full size arcade game for our game room. It was a driving game. If my parents would have ever seen how badly I drove on the racetrack they undoubtedly would have never let me get my drivers license. I probably would have taken the car out anyway...perhaps I actually did take the car out without my license, but, that is a story for another day.

Day Eight of Lent-getting my parents a puppy

For those of you who know me well you know that I love animals. When we lived in Illinois my dad brought home a turtle that he'd found crossing the road on the highway. My mom made me take it to the park and let it go. Truly this was a better place for the turtle but as a youngster I was only disheartened by the fact Yertle was no longer going to be living with me. No amount of convincing led me to believe I'd actually be able to find him again at a later date at the park where his new abode would now be located.

I also had a mouse named Marshmallow. A Siamese cat we named Cleo (after Cleopatra). A dog named Brutus-until his untimely death attempting to cross McArthur Blvd. About the time I became a freshman in high school I decided I'd like to have a dog. So, I checked myself out of class, went home, perused the newspaper, located a woman giving away puppies for free and set about to task figuring out how I was going to get this dog home. Not wanting to forge ahead with this task alone I went over to the school my little brother, Nathan, was attending and checked him out for the day, as well. He was elated and rather giddy I'd enlisted him to help me with my endeavor. We grabbed a backpack, some change for bus fare and got on the express bus headed for the 'west' side of town...a mere 100 blocks from where we lived.

When we arrived at the ladies house she seemed a bit perplexed why one of my parents hadn't brought us but I gave a convincing performance of how it was completely okay with my parents that we get the dog and off we were to catch the bus back home in order to arrive before my mother got home from work.

First problem we had to overcome~no dogs allowed on the bus. I had thought through that issue and had brought along the backpack to remedy the problem. We slipped the dog we were now calling Heidi into the bag and boarded the bus. Heidi did amazingly well and we got home with time to spare.

Second problem we had to overcome~we didn't exactly have my parents permission to get the dog. Well, I had thought through that issue as well and found an old cardboard box for my next project. It just happens that is was February...a few days before Valentine's Day...so Nathan and I painted the box a pretty red with white hearts and placed the dog inside just as my parents were arriving home from work. Viola. We had the perfect gift for my parents for Valentine's Day!

They weren't convinced but like so many things in life growing up what Samantha wanted Samantha usually got so Heidi was allowed to stay. The down side of the story is that Heidi was also the dog from Hell. I couldn't even begin to count the amount of times she ripped out the screens from the Arcadia doors on our back patio. Eventually, my dad had had enough and Heidi got to go on a long ride 'to camp.' I guess considering I surprised my parents bringing her home my dad figured it was okay to surprise me by letting her go to 'camp', indefinitely.

I never did find out what exactly happened to Heidi. My dad said he gave her to a nice family. I'm not so sure that is exactly what happened but in all honesty, I'm not sure I really want to know. Heidi came with Nathan and I on plenty of our hikes on Camelback Mountain. I have some great memories of us washing my car together (yes, she actually made it long enough at our house for me to eventually get my drivers license.)

I still love animals—but I don't just spring them on my hubby or even give them as gifts. I often wonder what I would do if my kids ever brought home such a gift for me. I hope I get to keep wonder ing for the next 5 years until my youngest leaves for college.

P.S. I am taking proactive steps – our family (by mutual consent) is getting a dog next month.

Day Seven of Lent-the broken nose

I told Tim I didn't know what to write about today. He said I should write about a time I have gotten hurt. Broken an arm or something. I told him I've never broken my arm or leg. But, my mom did break my nose. Tim chimed in, “well, then you should write about what your mom and I have in common.” I'd forgotten Tim had also broken my nose....

In high school I had come home late from somewhere and missed dinner. My mom was pretty torqued with me for being late as well as not calling to let her know I'd be late. Remember, this is long before cell phones. I would have actually had to take time to not only find a pay phone but to find a quarter to call her. It was simply easier to be late. I was sitting on a chair. She was yelling. I was being flippant in my response. One thing led to another and as I bent over to pick my keys up off the floor she decided it she'd had enough of my back talking and smacked me across the face...except my face was in the process of moving so she managed to whack my nose rather than my cheek.

When Tim and I started dating we would do activities to keep ourselves out of 'trouble'. Scrabble. Hiking. Racquetball. We played racquetball at the local high school. I didn't realize how competitive Tim is until we got the rackets out and started banging the ball back and forth. Apparently, since it was Tim's turn to hit and ball he was going to hit it whether I was in the way or not. Before I knew it I was watching stars turn about above my head like in the cartoons. He'd clocked me a good one right across the bridge of my nose with his racket. I had NO idea I was supposed to move out of the way so he could get the ball. I thought it was good strategy on my part to stay in the way so he couldn't get the ball so I would get the point. I was wrong. Amazingly, I still married the man. Probably because he was so remorseful and took such good care of me while my nose gushed blood everywhere.

I guess the moral of the story is...just because someone breaks your nose doesn't mean they don't love you. It just means they're are passionate people.

Day Six of Lent-A trip down memory lane--literally

Shoshanah and I were in our old neighborhood today. The changes are astonishing. I commented to my daughter that the neighborhood I was currently driving through was not the neighborhood I grew up in. For one, the canal on 48^th street is now completely covered over with a greenbelt and sidewalk. What we kids wouldn't have given to be able to have that shortcut and not have had to walk all the way down to Thomas in order to get to the mall entrance and library that were closer to Cambridge. Many of the stores are no longer there but one of the biggest differences is the absence of Thomas Mall. How many weekends did we spend as kids roaming that pathetic mall just wishing our parents would agree to hop in the car and drive us all the way out to the brand new Paradise Valley Mall. Now that would have been an awesome mall outing. But, no, we were stuck with Thomas Mall. The big department store that was there to draw the crowds? Montgomery Wards. Can we all say yay together?

The library was one of the places I spent more time at than any normal child would. Lisa Ebert and I would go each Saturday and get a stack of books we could hardly carry. We would celebrate the successful hunt at the library by moseying across the street to Bob's Big Boy. We would order a large plate of fries to share and we'd each get our own milkshake. Lisa~ vanilla. Me~ chocolate. The most fascinating part I remember is that Lisa liked to put her salt directly in the ketchup rather than sprinkling it on the fries. To this day I have never met anyone who had the same habit.

The library didn't have a policy of making sure the books we were checking out were appropriate for our age. Surely as an eight grader I shouldn't have been allowed to check out Judy Blume's Forever. For goodness sake, she used the F-bomb in the book. But, alas, I had absolutely no problem using my library card to borrow the book. About this time I also started wondering about the 3 letter word...you know, S.E.X. So, not wanting to be embarrassed checking out a book that taught about such things I simply stole the book-- well, truthfully, I returned it to the library when I was done looking through it. The Joy of Sex was far too complicated for my 8^th grade mind. Why would anyone use their big toe for....well, never mind. Your local library may have a copy and you can just go read it for yourself.

It was fun to take a trip down memory lane with my 2 weeks away from 17 year old daughter. To show her where I spent my days when I was her age. Mostly, I avoided stories about going with boys to the Cemetery on weekends...because, those are really for, well, another life.

Day Five of Lent-The Tree

I was sitting with the window open today as a slight breeze ventured inside and brought the sweet smell of spring as well as a memory back to me.

We lived 2 blocks from St. Theresa school and therefore many a day I found myself over playing on the playground by myself. There was this giant tree in the back corner where the kindergartners would play. Somehow I figured out to climb ¾ of the way to the top. Back then, it seemed the tree was 20 stories high... I'm sure it was probably closer to 20 feet. I loved when kids saw me up in the tree and wondered how on earth I'd gotten up there. It was a place for me to go that no one else could. A place to go where I could forget about the worries in my life and just daydream. It was a place I could be myself and no one would judge me.

There were two people in life I showed how to maneuver climbing the tree so they could join me in my private paradise. My brother, Nathan, was one of the people. He's been gone for 12 years this June. I wonder if he ever thought how we would talk for hours sandwiched in between forked branches so that we wouldn't fall. I don't remember what we talked about but looking back I find it ironic that the one place I felt safe in life was a place that could have been so dangerous. They say if a person falls twice their height there will likely be broken bones. I was definitely over the limit.

As an adult I am trying to figure out where I go for my safe and happy place. I know I must have a place because I still get hurt feelings when people misjudge me. I still need time to think about life~what I want to do with the time I have left and how I desire to make an impact on those around me—I know today one of the happy places I found today was having our 2 week old puppy fall asleep on my chest while rubbing the ears of her momma while she nursed the rest of the gang. Tomorrow will be welcoming and holding my baby girl when she comes home after being in DC for a week. Perhaps each day holds it's own safe moments confirming the statement that home is where the heart is.

Day Four of Lent-Ms. Biros

This morning as we were leaving the restaurant, I grabbed a few packets of raw sugar off our table. Then I grabbed a few off the table next to us. Then, as I started to grab a few off the third table Tim grabbed my arm and suggested maybe I do have a problem with kleptomania and asked if stealing sugar packets would be my story for today.

I decided to refrain from sharing another story of my failures and instead turn a corner in my road of reminiscing to sharing about one of my favorite teachers at St. Theresa school: Ms. Rosalee Biros. Ms. Biros was an amazing woman who played the ukulele in class while singing such songs as Tiny Bubbles or Lord of the Dance. As we all insisted she couldn't possibly have gray hair she admitted to us she used Lady Clairol to help her stay younger looking!

Ms. Biros always had an encouraging word for anyone she met. I never once heard her raise her voice and believe you me, she had ample opportunity with us 6^th graders. When she enveloped you in a hug you got lost in her embrace. Not just because she was a rather large woman but mainly because she was larger than life in personality.

Several years ago I stumbled upon her obituary. Call it fate or call it God sending me a message I was just so grateful I was able to see the announcement and able to attend her memorial service. I wasn't the only student of hers that loved her dearly. May we all live in a way this next week that would emulate the life of Ms. Biros~bringing joy and encouragement to those around us in life we come into contact with.