Freebies for the Thrifty-Minded

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Enjoy, and have a blessed day.

P.S. I'll be posting more to let you know about all my fabulous freebies and bargains I've received thus far, in only a few short weeks!

Your Kingdom for a Gallon of Gas

Most of you who know me know that I am only in my early-50's. I've worked hard to get here, and I am glad to be the age that I am. It comes with certain scars, but also with some degree of wisdom, experience, and grace borne simply from having maneuvered the seasons of my life thus far.

That being said, I am not anxious to rapidly advance in age; time moves all too quickly as it is. I'll patiently work with it and wait it out, even though there are still some perks ahead it seems. Well, I've already joined AARP, as its qualifying age was lowered to 50 many years ago, and one need not even be retired to join. Some restaurants offer senior discounts, most of which start at age 55 or 60, so this looms in my not-so-far-off future.

Many grocery stores, too, offer senior discounts. Kroger, for instance, offers seniors age 60 or older a 5% discount off their grocery bills every Wednesday. No ID required; no verification requested. None of the red tape in which I would assume one becomes entangled when applying for, say, Medicare. A happy event to be afforded an additional 5% off your grocery bill . . . unless you are without question or the raising of an eyebrow mistaken for 60.

Needless to say, I was a bit taken aback when I saw the senior discount ring up on my register receipt this morning. I am so far from 60! I didn't know whether to be insulted or grateful for the additional $4.14 discount. Obviously, the young man behind the register must have granted the discount to my husband who accompanied me on the shopping trip, and not to myself, for I have been told I don't look a day over 45.

Yes, I estimated, the discount was for my poor dh (who is 2 years my junior); he is surely the one who looks 60. I, therefore, accepted it without comment and with the poise of a barely early-50's woman. And although dh didn't mind the affront too much, he likened the aging of humanity to save a dollar to the trading one's kingdom for a gallon of gas!

Have a blessed day!

Babies Don't Keep

Well, here I am "retired," 20 years too late, and now that I could do whatever I want with no time schedule, I find there is nothing to do, yet still so much to do. If this were 20 years ago, my dreams would have come true. I would be a stay-at-home mom, I would be there for my two young sons, they would be the priority of my life as it should be, I would see their first steps, hear their first words, watch their first everythings. Instead, I missed it all, left it to the hands and hearts and eyes and ears of strangers. Not because I wanted to; not because I was out there climbing some insignificant corporate ladder; not because I was trying to keep up with the Joneses, but because I had to. My circumstances forced me to.

So now, here I am, semi-retired, no schedule, no deadlines, no walls, no bosses, but it's all too little, too late. Nevertheless, I'll log my days, my hours, my unevents; maybe I'll see a pattern, maybe something good will develop, even though nothing could ever take the place of, make up for, all the time I've missed and all the time my boys have missed with me. I'll never get over it, I'll never get it back, I'll never replace it, I'll never forgive it, myself, my circumstances.

Most people look forward to retirement. Perhaps they don't have regrets. Perhaps they feel as though they've done their part, they've earned it. Perhaps retirement means more when you can move to Boca Raton, take a cruise, buy a condo, fly to Paris, I don't know. I still have too much to figure out. Too many things I wish I'd done differently, too many years I wish I could rewind and relive.

There's a timeless poem that reminds us "babies don't keep." I heard it many years ago, and it's been the lament of my soul since my children were small. The mother in this poem is not worried about the appearance of her home, her undone dishes, her unmade bed, laundry half-done; she has more important tasks at hand. She knows that in an instant her children will be gone--her boys, men; her daughters, grown. Her job is eternal, and her tenure fleeting.

Oh, how my heart ached every day I had to go out to some office somewhere and leave my children behind. At night, I cried; not from the sheer exhaustion of it all, but because I had to do it over again the next day, drop my little boys off at some daycare center at what seemed like first light, not being able to pick them up again until dusk. It didn't seem fair.

They grew so fast. Now they are men, gone their separate ways, and the days I missed and the days they missed cannot be recovered. All the jobs I've ever had sooner or later went on without me, I never got richer, or more important, or more renowned, never got a bigger house, finer things, yet it's 20 years later and I'm left wondering where all the time went and what it was all for.

Because I had to work, I had no choice. I wonder.

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth

empty the dustpan, poison the moth,

hang out the washing and butter the bread,

sew on a button and make up a bed.

Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?

She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I've grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue

(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

Dishes are waiting and bills are past due

(pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).

The shopping's not done and there's nothing for stew

and out in the yard there's a hullabaloo

but I'm playing Kanga and this is my Roo.

Look! Aren't her eyes the most wonderful hue?

(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,

for children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.

So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.

I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.

by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton

Have a blessed day.

Theresa Lillian Matthai

Just realized that my cousin Cathy submitted a new comment on a previous blog entry of mine which I wrote this past birthday. Noticing that I had referred to my mother as Theresa Lillian Matthai, Cathy stated she never knew her name was Theresa and asked why she had always been called "Lilly." My Uncle George, Cathy's father and my mother's brother, had also mentioned to me sometime back that he would like to see me write more about my mother since he felt he hardly knew her, at least in those early years of our lives as he was away in the Navy and she was so much older than he. It also occurred to me that perhaps Uncle George did not know my mother's first name was actually Theresa, so let me explain.

Indeed, mom had always been called Lil or Lilly, and for most of her life believed her first name to be Lillian and her middle name to be Theresa. That is what she had always been told and, of course, had no reason to doubt it. The story went, as she related it, that my grandmother loved the name "Lillian," but my grandfather, Karl, wanted mom to be named after his mother, Teresa, still in Germany. They couldn't agree so, mom was told, settled on the name "Lillian Theresa" (spelled with the "h").

Mom had always hated the name "Lillian;" and, in fact, while growing up and particularly in high school and her early adult years, refused to be called Lillian at all. She went by her "middle" name and all of her friends called her "Terry," short for Theresa, but not nearly as pretty. Somewhere along the way, she dropped the "Terry," and went back to Lillian, as I do not ever remember my father, grandmother, or aunt or uncle calling her anything but Lil or Lilly. Perhaps she outgrew the novelty of it all. (In my youth, I changed the spelling of my name from R-o-b-i-n to R-o-b-y-n because I thought it was cuter.....but, I digress.)

So, mom was Lillian to most of us and certainly to Grandma. Here's the twist: After Grandma passed away in 1977, mom found her own original birth certifiate among other of Grandma's important papers and personal effects. Apparently, mom had never had occasion to look at her birth certificate before because she was certainly surprised to find that her name was listed as "Theresa Lillian Matthai" on the birth certificate, not vice versa. It seems Grandpa Karl had had his way after all! Mom was a bit perturbed to say the least, as she spent all those years remaking herself into "Terry" when she was "Terry" all along.

I personally can't picture her as "Terry," or "Theresa" for that matter. She just seems like a Lillian to me. I miss her.

As an aside....did you know that Aunt Loraine was always adamant that her name was misspelled as well? I believe her name is "Lorraine Roselle Matthai." She always insisted that "Loraine" should be spelled "Lorain" (one (1) "r;" no "e"), but to compromise, she kept the "e" at the end of her name, although she refused to keep the two (2) "r's." Uncle George, did you happen to find HER birth certificate among all the paperwork you recently had to sort through?????????

Have a blessed day.

This Week's Fabulous Finds...

This is a new weekly article I am going to post on my blog to--well--promote myself, and of course, my fabulous finds.

Look at these gorgeous handcrafted and mouth-blown exotic glass fish from Fitz & Floyd's "Glass Menagerie" Collection. They were very difficult to find as, I believe, they are all retired. They come in their original burgundy oval box.

They're just so pretty. You can find them in my Ebay store, The Whatsoever Shoppe, here:

http://tinyurl.com/67gno6

Enjoy, and have a blessed day.

When the Bee Stings....

When the dog bites,

when the bee stings,

when I’m feeling sad,

I simply remember my favorite things,

and then I don’t feel so bad.

This song was written for such a day as yesterday! Alas, Julie Andrews, or rather Maria VonTrapp, I am not; so I just cried.

I woke up feeling quite ill, and the nausea lasted for at least an hour. Managing to pull myself together and walk out the door at 8:30 a.m., already half an hour late for work, I picked up my very large traveling coffee mug by the lid--which to my dismay was not screwed on--and was splattered with 20 ounces of hot coffee, as was carpet. On to change....

At work, I am currently doing a large scanning project to close out our year-end files. Shortly into the day's scanning, a jam somehow caused the scanner drivers to disappear from my computer. The restore disk didn't work--oh NO! Some time-consuming web research finally led to a download link for new drivers. So, by 11:00 a.m., I was at last able to resume my work.

At least my husband picked me up on time. Unfortunately, though, unbeknownst to us, there was a large bee (or giant killer vampire wasp) in the van. I suddenly felt a little prick on my neck, then some severe itching, but saw nothing but a little red welt. Hmmm, where did that come from? As I brushed my hand against my neck, I was struck! The big, killer, vampire wasp of a bee stung my finger and sent flames of fire through my fingertips. DH stopped the van so I could jump out, and there it was--sitting on my shoulder. Quick as a fox he brushed it off and crushed it beneath his boot. Thank Heaven for steel-toed work boots! Oh, the pain....

A little benzocaine and a few tears, and the trauma subsided. I needed a rest.

I think I'll join my cousin Cathy in Australia.

http://lifetimelearning.blogspot.com/2008/07/junosmoms-no-good-very-bad-night.html

Have a blessed day!

I Remember

I just now read the story my Uncle George wrote about "the olden days" called "How Many Remember This" (see his blog at http://gematthai.blogspot.com/2008/03/how-many-remember-this.html). I wish I'd read it sooner. It seemed to center on shopping in downtown Cincinnati and touched on the stores, the modes of transportation, where we ate, all fondly remembered by George, and many of us who read the article as well. I too remember most of the people, places, and things he mentioned, although I am quite a bit older than his daughter, Cathy, my cousin, who commented that she could recall such sites and experiences as well.

I particularly remember going downtown with grandma (Nora), and it was always an all-day excursion on the bus and back. We always went to Woolworth's and Neisner's and Shillitos. I do not remember elevators with elevator men (I assume they were all men), but I do remember what George mentioned last in his article, escalators. In those days they were very, very narrow and steep, a bit frightening to a little girl who thought she might get caught if she didn't jump off just right!

We always ate at the lunch counter at Woolworth's, one thing I dearly miss and recall very distinctly. We always sat in a booth as well. (I think Grandma was too short to sit on the bar stool.) I also remember the basement; we always went there as it was called the "bargain basement." Since Woolworth's and other such stores in those days were called "dime stores," I don't know how much more of a bargain there could possibly have been found there. I suppose they were akin to today's "dollar stores."

Stroll down Memory Lane for more history and pictures of Woolworth's at this blog:


http://expolounge.blogspot.com/2007/01/woolworths-lunch-counter.html

An egg sandwich was $.30. Imagine that!

Cathy, I, too, remember the candy counter: we often were treated with candy necklaces--little candy "jewels" on elastic string--or candy strips--those wide pieces of paper with about 4 "dots" of colored candies neatly spaced in row upon row; or my brother's favorite, tiny wax "Coke" bottles, 4 to a tiny carton, with juice inside. One just had to bite off the top--and spit it out :) -- to take a drink. And what about the candy "cigarettes?" Sticks of pure sugar with a red-painted tip; we surely looked grown-up with those hanging out of our mouths!

Get it all here at Nostalgic Candy.com http://www.nostalgiccandy.com/index.asp



I was always most impressed, though, by the Tyler Davidson Fountain in Fountain Square. I know it's changed so much over the years, both the fountain and The Square, but it always stood out as a most amazing site! (Photo courtesy of HelloCincinnati.com)



There was no air conditioning on the buses (do they have air conditioning today?), and the windows were always open in the summer. They only went down half-way as I recall; perhaps a safety feature? The buses were loud and hot and crowded, and they stopped at every block. We couldn't wait to pull the string when we were nearing our stop and always bickered over whose turn it was.

I still can't really say, "Those were the days," but there will always remain some fond memories. Thanks for the story, Uncle George!

Have a blessed day!