My beautiful boy in his Nutcracker bunny suit at age three.
I’ll never forget being in a community production of Nutcracker with my son. He was the infamous bunny (it’s a Balanchine thing.) I had two roles: party guest and rodent.
I would take my son to my ballet class and he would play with another three-year-old named Katherine Bottoms. Her father is actor Joseph Bottoms and her mother was an amazing dancer who had danced with New York City Ballet.
While we moms took class, the children played together.
One day, I spotted my son lying on the floor in the dance studio. Katherine had tackled him and was on top of him.
“Promise that you’ll marry me!” she told him. It sounded more like a threat! Finally, he agreed and she got off his chest. I’m not sure if she kissed him. Of course, he ended up marrying another Catherine, who goes by Buff.
I remember having a young love. I was also three. My neighbor Victor was four and my brother was five. (Photo is me with my brother.)
One day the doorbell rang. My mom answered and Victor was standing on the steps.
“I’m sorry, Victor, Bobby is at school,” My mom explained. My brother had started kindergarten that week.
“I’m here to ask if Elizabeth can come out to play.”
“Oh!” my mom answered surprised. I do remember this happening, but I also remember my mom’s retelling it to the neighborhood coffee klatch with lots of laughter.
Victor and I played together most days. Victor ended up moving. When I was in the third or fourth grade, he came back for a visit. We were at an event with music and dancing. Maybe it was a wedding or a church social?
Without a word, he immediately grabbed my hands and twirled me around the dance floor until it was time to leave.
What memories do you have of young love or early friendships?
Olive hanging out on the guest bed. The bedding was my daughter’s growing up.
Yesterday was my son’s birthday. I was going to repost my son’s birthday story, where he asked to have 50 kids for his second grade birthday party. We had adopted Angus, our yellow lab, from Guide Dogs of the Desert the year before. I wrote about his birthday party in honor of Angus where our son asked for donations to Guide Dogs instead of presents. He raised $1,600. You can read the story HERE.
I remember our family driving to Guide Dogs to meet Angus. I was nervous about the dog and after we had him in the car, I ran back into the office to ask if I could bring him back — if he didn’t work out. The woman looked at me like I was crazy.
Then she said, “Here are his medical records.” I looked at the paperwork and noticed Angus shared the same birthday with my son. I realized that was it. There was no going back.
We loved Angus until after my son went off to college. My daughter was a junior in high school when we had to say good-bye.
When I looked at my posts from last year, I discovered I had COVID this week in 2023. I had traveled to Washington state to spread my mom’s ashes on her birthday and got sick.
Last week, I got sick after my trip to Santa Barbara which I planned for my mom’s birthday. I’m very stuffed up, have a low-grade fever and I’m achy. I can’t stand being sick and this is my second bug since Christmas. Strange that every time I travel, I seem to get sick.
This current bug was because a woman who was on our tour by shuttle bus sneezed and coughed on us. Why she didn’t bow out of activities and stay in the gorgeous hotel was beyond me. I would have.
Actually, I never got sick traveling to Mexico by car. It’s only when I fly somewhere. In Puerto Penasco, our beach get away four hours south, we eat meals outdoors, we stay in a condo and we’re apart from other people. However, I read that last week they found seven bodies outside of town all shot. They were all men, wearing military gear and our government identified them as cartel members. So, no Mexico for me right now.
Do you get sick after traveling? Or is it just me?
What do you think of people who won’t stay home when they’re sick?
Clips I saved in a scrapbook from my journalism internship as a student at the University of Washington in Seattle.
Thanks to fellow blogger from Writing from the Heart with Brian for his post about “The Elements of Style” by Strunk and White. It brought back memories of my first encounter with the powerful little book that has been by my side since my internship as a “stringer” for a Washington state newspaper.
The Elements of Style was listed as one of the 100 best and most influential books written in English since 1923 by Time in its 2011 list.
I haven’t thought about those days “like forever.”
Our professor, who was an intimidating former editor/publisher of a Northwest paper before he retired to “professoring,” selected 12 students to move to Olympia, Wash., our state Capitol. He assigned each student a newspaper where he believed they’d fit.
For example, a single mom who was older than the rest of us, got the Seattle Times, the biggest newspaper in the state. I was assigned to The Daily Chronicle and covered news for Centralia and Chehalis — the midpoint between Seattle and Portland, Ore.
I was surprised to be one of the chosen. In fact, I was scared to death having no interest or knowledge about government and politics. How was I going to write about it?
I looked up to — or rather worshipped my older brother at the time. He was the golden boy who was smart, good looking and could do no wrong in my eyes as well as my parents.
We got together so he could go over the basics of government with me. I was going to get a crash course in politics.
“What’s a Gop?” I asked pronouncing the word so it rhymed with cop. I was referring to the GOP or Grand Old Party.
“Is it too late to get out of this?” my brother asked. “Please, do not go!”
I was so afraid to go, that I procrastinated and showed up to the state Capitol several days late. My excuse was my part-time job at a restaurant. I was comfortable in my apartment with my roomie, watching General Hosptial and eating Kraft Mac-n-Cheese. I liked working with career waiters and waitresses. It was so less threatening than the unknown I faced.
I missed orientation, meeting the other students, but finally mustered up courage and made my appearance. My professor gave me a one-on-one tour. My best friend’s dad was a lobbyist for Weyerhauser and invited me to his office for my second crash course — this one about the timber industry. His wife was a big wig in the department of Natural Resources and they took an interest in me.
They helped me get off my feet and I busied myself with my first article, writing it longhand on a legal pad.
“I never would have selected you if I knew you wrote longhand,” the professor said stopping at my desk. “I can usually tell. Put down the pen and use the typewriter from now on.”
The 12 students, including me, shared one big room with our desks in two rows. The professor had a private office and critiqued our stories. He made us rewrite them before sending them via wire or snail mail to our newspapers. If there was a tight deadline, I’d call my editor at the paper and read the story to him as he transcribed it.
One of the students put up a picture of a cowboy and named him Bill. Then he posted all our headlines that included the word “bill.” Bill would to this. Bill would do that. Bill would do all sorts of things.
I turned in my first article to my professor. He called me into his office. It was marked with lots of red ink. He told me it was a great puff piece for Weyerhaeuser, but instructed me to get both sides of the story. He gave me names of several people to call who were in government or lobbied against the timber giant. He also showed me how to cut and paste my article so the most important facts were up on top.
Yes, back then we cut and paste with scissors and glue!
The article above about RIF by lottery above was from a bill that a Senator in my newspaper’s district proposed. My editor asked me to write about it. The bill and the article was supposed to be tongue-in-cheek. I got a call from a congressman reading me the riot act over it.
“You must feel so powerful!” he yelled at me.
I guess he missed the joke — even though I have the word “joked” in the article. Sheesh!
What memories do you have of an internship or first job? What did you learn?
My daughter on a Utah Utes women’s swim meet poster
Every morning my husband and I get ready for our walk around 5 a.m. to avoid the heat. We don’t make it out the door for at least 30 minutes, needing clothes, clean teeth and coffee!
Consistently, we see one other couple out early. We say “Good morning!” “What a beautiful day,” and usually walk on.
During the weekend, my husband stopped to ask about their granddaughters who are swimmers. They told us their oldest signed with Northwestern and their youngest is getting calls across the country at top colleges. They talked about how they did at CIF (California Interscholastic Federation) where swimmers compete for their high school teams and how they were top finalists.
“Our daughter was a multiple CIF Champion,” my husband mentioned. Yes, she was. That’s a memory I’ll look back on with pride.
Our neighbors talked about a meet they just returned from in Northern California, the George Haines International Swim Meet. Yes, we’ve been to that meet, too. It’s filled with top swimmers including Olympians from the USA, Europe and Mexico.
Here’s a video I took of warm up from the George Haines International meet in 2017:
The conversation with our neighbors brought back so many memories from the days our kids swam. Busy days traveling to meets, staying in hotels, sitting with favorite parents on the stands. Each morning we wondered what the day would bring.
I felt a little sad and melancholy after talking to our neighbors. I’m glad we were a swim family. But there’s no going back to those days. On a sad note, the team our kids swam with from kindergarten through high school folded a few weeks ago after more than 50 years. I couldn’t count the hours we spent volunteering and supporting our team.
My daughter celebrating with her relay team at the end of a swim meet.
What memories from days past do you think about in a happy or melancholy way?
“With her widower’s help, a splendid new documentary explores Mary Tyler Moore’s private side,” is an article from the Los Angeles Times by television critic Robert Lloyd. Here’s an excerpt:
“Who can turn the world on with her smile?” It’s Mary Tyler Moore, of course, and you should know it.
To be precise, it’s Mary Richards, a person Moore played. But the smile was her own, and it worked magic across two situation comedies that described their time in a way that some might have regarded as ahead of their time. Although Moore proved herself as an actress of depth and range and peerless comic timing again and again, on the small and big screen and onstage, “The Dick Van Dyke Show” and “The Mary Tyler Moore Show” made her a star, and incidentally a cultural figurehead, and are the reason we have a splendid new documentary, “Being Mary Tyler Moore,” premiering Friday on HBO. Were it titled simply “Being Mary,” there’d be little doubt who was meant.
My daughter called to tell me about a documentary I had to watch called “Being Mary Tyler Moore.” If you’re wondering why someone born at the tail end of the millennial generation would watch a documentary about Mary Tyler Moore, you have me to thank.
I loved the Mary Tyler Moore show with great characters like Lou Grant, Rhoda Morgenstern and Phyllis Lindstrom. My family watched the show religiously in the 1970s. Not only was it a ground-breaking show, it was one of the first sitcoms to employ women writers. The original writers (who were men) realized they had no clue what was in a woman’s purse, so they hired women writers to make the show authentic. Not only was the writing fabulous, the actors were, too.
I have faint memories when I was very young of Mary Tyler Moore as Laura Petrie in the Dick Van Dick show and Van Dyke tripping over their ottoman. That show propelled Mary Tyler Moore to become a full-fledged Emmy-award winning star.
When my kids were growing up, I believed they were missing great shows that were no longer on the air. I bought the entire Mary Tyler Moore, I Love Lucy and Seinfeld TV series on DVD. My daughter loved them. One of the things she like best about Mary Tyler Moore was the fashions.
I took my daughter’s advice and watched the documentary over the weekend. I found out many details about Mary’s life and how she changed how women were presented on TV forever.
Do you remember Mary Tyler Moore in the 1960s and 70s? What shows were your favorites when you were growing up?
I wrote this post when my daughter graduated high school. With graduation season here, I decided to repost my thoughts from not quite ten years ago:
Today my little girl graduates high school. What a joy she has been to raise, teach and hang out with. I remember her kindergarten interview when she had to be tested for one of the coveted spots at St. Theresa’s. She had fun buns on her head and ankle high “Britney Boots,” marketed for little girls dreaming of becoming Britney Spears. She boldly entered the kindergarten class and announced to the world that she was “Robert’s little sister.”
Today, I have a tall, wise-cracking young lady with a big smile and sparkle in her eye. If I could tell my daughter three things she needs to know for her next adventure called college, what would it be?
First…
“To thine own self be true.” Don’t worry about what other people think. Do what you know is right. This famous quote is from Polonius to his son Laertes, before Laertes boards a boat to Paris in Shakespeare’s Hamlet. Even though it’s pretty old, it still resonates today.
Second…
Happiness is not having a boyfriend or being thin. My mom would tell me the worst things when I was my daughter’s age — mainly focused on the need to “have a man” — or that “a man would make me happy.” This must be a throwback to my mother’s generation, where a woman’s identity and self-worth were wrapped up in a spouse. Instead, I will tell my daughter that happiness is found within yourself — by doing something that you love. Once you find happiness in yourself, only then can you share it with others.
Last…
Don’t worry about what your career or major will be. You will figure it out. Don’t feel pressure about it. Most people going into college that have a major, change their minds anyway. Get your basic requirements out of the way and then after taking different classes, you will discover what you don’t like and what you do like.
And most importantly, not even on the list — I love you.
What three things would you tell your son or daughter on graduation night?
Our yellow lab Angus (RIP) on our chaise-and-a-half lounge.
I finally let go of our chaise lounges. We moved them from Palm Springs at my insistence. My husband wanted to leave them behind.
I recently wrote about my mom’s unnatural attachment to her flute and her reluctance to let it go HERE. Then I realized I was doing the exact same thing with two chaise lounges we’ve owned since the kids were little. For sentimental reasons, or for what those chaises represented, I couldn’t let go.
The chaise lounges in our Palm Springs backyard.
For the two-and-a-half years we’ve lived in Arizona, we’ve never once sat on our chaise lounges. They’ve been sitting under waterproof covers. Their fabric was deteriorating. But someday I was going to do something about that.
I watched as a chipmunk made trips across our patio, back and forth, with something white and fluffy in its mouth. I finally figured it out. I lifted the cover to a chaise lounge and there was a one-foot hole in the cushion. The chipmunk was using our chaise lounge to “feather his nest.”
Because of harsh desert weather, I’ve had the chaises recovered several times through the years. One of my best friends has an upholstery and sewing business. She recovered them for me at her cost. We used to live close enough to drive them to her.
I shopped online and the chaise-and-a-half cushion is not a standard size. I’d have to have them made to order and now it’s no longer the fabric, but the stuffing is ruined too. For a little more than the cost of new custom cushions, I ordered two standard-size chaises from Costco. We’ll even be able to lounge on them!
What did the chaises represent to me? Why couldn’t I let go? We got the oversized lounges so our young children, dripping wet from the pool, could snuggle in next to us. Angus our lab would spend evenings laying by my side as we watched the sunset. That was one of his favorite things to do. Mine too.
Those years are gone and nothing will bring them back. Not even holding onto chaise lounges that hold my dear memories.
It is bulk trash pickup week. I finally let go and my husband took the chaises to the curb.
The chaises were picked up from our curb — before the bulk pick up truck made it to our neighborhood! I hope they found a nice home and the new family enjoys them as much as we did!
Have you ever been attached to a physical object for sentimental reasons? Was it clothing, art, chaise lounges or something else?
