Month: June 2018

Always Be Celebrating

Last week I received a beautiful card in the mail for my birthday. The sender recognized my affinity for nature and knew my favorite colors. The card meant a lot to me. Each year, as my birthday draws nearer, I tend to reminisce a little about past birthdays.

When I was a child I didn’t like the fact that I was born in June. Usually school was out for the summer.  My school friends were often away on vacation. Sometimes my family would be on vacation as well. Even so, one birthday memory stands out from all the rest.

My tenth birthday was celebrated at a campground in the Smoky Mountains. As a family, we  were busy living the camp life and I thought my birthday would be ignored. Boy was I surprised when out of nowhere my mom presented me with a cake. We were miles from a store or a bakery, and she had no oven in our little trailer.

Children always look forward to their birthdays with excitement. They feel as they grow older, each year brings new freedoms. Their parents might consider them old enough to care for a pet, date, drive, or eventually move out.

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All of us keep birthday traditions. Our celebrations include a cake with candles, the song, “Happy Birthday,” and making a secret wish before blowing out the candles. If we don’t blow out all the candles with one breath, our wish will not come true.

But how many of us remember all the wishes we’ve made? I guess if we did, we wouldn’t tell anyone about it. After all they were all secret wishes.

As the years roll on.. birthdays are no longer a rite of passage. And by the time we enter our retirement years we would rather slow life down instead of speeding it up.

Women especially, go through a lot of inner turmoil about growing older. We experience a season of not wanting anyone to know our age. When I hit sixty I didn’t care anymore. On good days I feel proud that I can still do many of the things I’ve always done. At other times I use my age as a reason to excuse myself from activities I’d rather not do. I no longer feel a burning desire to spend a whole day at a theme park.

Last year I wrote a poem about turning 64, entitled…

“Wishful Thinking”

hot pink candles

drip wax on swirls of chocolate frosting

everyone smiles as

the usual off key voices

sing the last note of the classic melody

panic stricken

what to wish?

For an encore allowing more time to think?

Or perhaps more years to live?

I inhale until the pressure forces me

to let go

 

 

What do birthdays mean to you? Do you have a special birthday memory? Leave a comment. You might be interested in two other age related posts: Now I’m Sixty-Four and Redefining Age With Valerie Ramsey.

 

 

 

Have You Abandoned Cursive?

On Father’s Day my family had an interesting discussion about cursive handwriting.  My husband said he practiced cursive with a fountain pen.  This laborious method involved dipping the pen in a bottle of ink. He continued to write in cursive throughout grade school. Now his handwriting is practically illegible. He tells me, “I can read it right after I write it, but if it sits there awhile I can’t understand it.”

As a parent, I forced my son to practice cursive every day for a whole summer, yet none of those exercises improved his penmanship. I remember being embarrassed during a parent teacher conference. A middle school teacher described his handwriting as primitive. Today he’s a successful attorney who signs documents electronically with an x.

Prior to the adoption of Common Core Standards, cursive was a large part of the third grade curriculum. My featured photo is from a worksheet I distributed every year to my third graders. Prior to retiring in 2013, I loved teaching cursive. Most of the children were excited about learning it. I remember spending hours grading their handwriting. I proudly displayed their excellent work on a bulletin board. Today I wonder if any of them still write in cursive.

For most schools, cursive is out and keyboarding is in. My husband and son think cursive should not be taught and view it as a waste of time. I can’t imagine living without cursive. I journal, take notes, make grocery lists, and sign my name in cursive. I think of it as a more efficient way to write.

My mom, age 85, joined our discussion. “What about people’s signatures? Isn’t that important?”

“Not anymore, Grandma,” my son responded. “Who writes checks? I pay all my bills online.”

Grandma shook her head. “Not me.”

In the distant past, cursive was considered a trademark of literacy. Mastering this skill meant you could not only write, but read other’s cursive. If cursive is no longer taught, future generations won’t be able to read historical documents. Journals and letters written by family members who’ve passed on will not be understood by their children. I imagine technology already exists to scan cursive and turn it into print. And the reverse, creating script from print. This seems so impersonal. A person’s handwriting used to say a lot about themselves.

What will become of people who analyze handwriting? According to graphologist, Kathi McKnight, cursive gives a good indication of our personalities. She asks people to write a simple sentence in cursive. A right slant means you’re open to others and like to socialize. A left slant means you like to work alone. No slant at all indicates you tend to be logical and practical.

I guess graphologists will be out of a job. Too bad, Kathi.

I’m afraid cursive has become an ancient artform. Its continuation now relegated for parents to teach at home. By the way, Amazon sells workbooks for adults and children. But what child wants to spend their summer vacation practicing cursive? Ask my son. It didn’t work for him.

Have you abandoned cursive? Do you think teaching it in school is a waste of time? Leave a comment. I’d love to hear from you. I’m growing my audience and would love to have you as one of my followers.

 

 

The Blue Spring Experience

Salutations! It’s me, the poet on blueberry street.  I ‘ve upgraded to a new domain. All part of growing as a writer, I’m told. To those of you who have been following me, thanks. You’re in the right place.

Welcome back to part two of our camping season finale. In last week’s post, I shared how Herb, Buddy, and I arrived at Blue Spring State Park after driving three hundred miles out of our way. I have to say Buddy, our beagle, did very well in the car. He’s a good traveler. IMG_3707

Our campsite was dry, but not level. The fire ring looked like it was sliding off into a ditch. Herb did the best he could with the leveling jacks on the Viking, but when I sat at the dinette to eat, I felt like I was sliding off my seat. Oh well, we thought, at least we can sit outside without swarms of mosquitos buzzing around our ears.

We like to hike in the mornings when we’re on a campout. At Blue Spring we walked the Pine Island Trail with Buddy. The trail coursed through a beautiful shady hammock into an open field. When we returned to the campsite, we sat down to enjoy our second cup of coffee and discuss our plans for the day.

“How about renting a canoe?” I asked. Herb thought that sounded like a good idea. When I changed into my swimsuit, I noticed a tick on my leg. “OH NO!” I panicked.

Herb tried to get the tick out with tweezers. Unfortunately part of its body was still attached to my leg. I felt upset with myself.  I realized I’d let my guard down regarding hiking in Florida in the summer.

I wasn’t wearing clothes sprayed with Permethrin.

I didn’t spray my legs with insect repellant.

I didn’t check myself right away when we returned from the hike.

I didn’t take a picture of the tick.

I was a bad hiker.

So where did all those mistakes lead me? To the ranger station, of course. I walked up to the window and told a ranger about my problem. “You better get medical attention,” he said, “You could get an infection if the rest of the tick isn’t removed. We’re also seeing something new in the southeast now. People are getting the meat allergy disease from ticks.” He directed me to a walk-in clinic in the area.

Herb and Buddy waited in the car while I sought out help at the clinic. Can you believe it was my first day on Medicare? Luckily I had my card with me. I signed in at the desk and told the receptionist about the tick. “Glad you came in,” she said. “Have you heard of the meat allergy? It might not be all bad, you could become a vegetarian, and be hip.”

I liked her humor, but I didn’t laugh. I filled out the forms and waited. Two hours later the rest of the tick was finally removed. No, it didn’t cost me an arm or a leg in the process, thanks to Medicare. The nurse practitioner prescribed an antibiotic. So far I’m still eating hamburgers with no adverse reactions. Follow this link for more information about ticks. This trip was not our first experience with ticks. The pests tend to be more active during the Florida rainy season.

It’s not really fair to only write about ticks without sharing the beauty of Blue Spring. The campground is a five minute walk from the spring. One morning we saw a manatee. Campers have access to the area before the park opens to daytime visitors. Our last day in the park I rose early. When I arrived at the water’s edge the sun was beginning to light up the scene. The water changed to a brilliant emerald color.  Every time a fish surfaced ripples radiated through the still water. All was quiet except for the call of a great egret on a limb.  This sight helped me forget all  of the bugs, heat, and humidity of the past few days.

IMG_3786I can’t leave without sharing the photo of the egret.

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I’d love to hear from you. If you enjoy nature, or want to share any tips about ticks, leave a comment.

Our Season Finale in Florida State Parks

With the onset of summer, Florida campers face new challenges. Mainly, how to stay dry. If you’re not wet from the rain, you’re soaked with sweat. And you stay that way until October. Summer came early this year.

I joined my husband Herb, and our dog, Buddy, for our last scheduled trip of the season. In case you’ve just started following my blog, we’re a retired couple who aim to camp in every Florida State Park.  On May 30 we embarked for Little Talbot Island State Park, located north of Jacksonville.

While we were driving I called my mom. “I know rain is in the forecast, but don’t worry about us,” I boasted. “We’re professional campers now. After all, this is our fourteenth trip in the Viking.”

“I hope you have rain gear,” she responded. Mothers are always mothers, even if their children are sixty.  The funny thing is…many times they are right.

We arrived at our Little Talbot campsite in the pouring rain. Suddenly I had an ominous feeling. I felt like we were making a mistake. I slipped on my rain jacket, and stepped out of the car. Mosquitos swarmed around my head and hands. Yikes! It was only two in the afternoon. What would these blood suckers be like in the evening?

After dousing ourselves with bug spray, we decided to walk Buddy around the campground for his initial inspection. Maybe we would find a site with less vegetation, more open to the light…maybe there would be some place with less mosquitos.

We came upon a site that looked better. One side had no trees. I took a closer look. What’s out there? I wondered. “Oh, it’s wetland. Great, we’d be right next to where the mosquitos breed. A literal ground zero.”

After our ten minute walk with Buddy, we returned to our trailer to reassess our situation. We were shocked to see water rising around the Viking. While were away, two inches of rain had accumulated. Time to set sail, just like the Vikings in days of old.  This was our adventure to unknown parts. Fortunately we had not yet dropped anchor–the Viking was still hitched to the car.

We drove over to the ranger station and informed the ranger of our decision to leave. He kindly refunded our money. By this time it was after three. What should we do now? Drive all the way back to Orlando? The reality of unpacking everything wasn’t very appealing. Herb suggested camping at Anastasia near St. Augustine. I agreed. We could make it to Anastasia by four-thirty.

But Anastasia had it’s own drawback. I thought about our recent trip in April.  “Remember our friends, Donna and Geren? They had a terrible time with raccoons. We’ll need to keep a close watch on Buddy.”

I called Anastasia to see if they had any sites available. A lady answered the phone, “I wouldn’t recommend coming here,” she said. “A lot of our sites are flooded.”

A wave of dread washed over me. I regretted my boasting.  I no longer felt like such a professional. We had already been driving since ten this morning and had no where to go.

“What about Blue Spring?” I asked Herb. “Can I at least call them?”

At this point Herb was ready to head home, but he relented. “OK.”

After a short conversation with the ranger at Blue Spring, we learned they did have sites, and none were flooded. However, we must arrive before the park office closed at eight.

We made it at seven fifteen. We had driven over 350 miles to get to a state park located forty miles from our home. Was it worth it? A picture is worth a thousand words.

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This is part one of a two part series. Stay tuned for the Blue Spring experience. Until next time…