Fairy Tales And The Older Woman

"The musicians played old tunes, very excellently even though it was now over a hundred years since they had touched their instruments. When supper was over they were married in the chapel of the castle, and though the bride was one hundred years older than the groom nobody would ever have guessed it.

A few days later the Prince took his bride to live with him in his own palace, and the enchanted castle and wood vanished, never to be seen again."

Ahhhhhhh....

(shaking head slightly to return to reality)

Safely standing on the bottom shelf of Mam-Maw's very polished book case stood the prized, bright red book filled with stories that captivated my wildest imaginations. Each weekend during our visit to my grandparent's home, one of my aunts would take the time to read to me for hours from The Worlds Best Fairy Tales.

I thought this book was one of the best books ever written and always treated it special.





Opening the pages now, I realize that none of them are crumpled, bent or stained. Obviously, I was a neat, clean and dainty little girl.

It wasn't hard for me to become completely engrossed in the stories and I especially loved the romantic ones. You know the type - boy meets girl, solves a problem, falls in love and lives happily ever after.






"I cannot remember the books I've read
any more than the meals I have eaten;
even so, they have made me."― Ralph Waldo Emerson


Why isn't life as easy as the fairy tales found in the bright red book? Have I been completely disillusioned by the characters and stories?

Hmmm....

No, I do not believe I have been disillusioned.

I still believe that if a man really loves a woman, he is willing to slay the dragon, climb the thorn covered tower and kiss her sleeping lips to awaken her from a deep sleep.

Romantic?

Yes.

Realistic?

Definitely!

My grandfather was a prince and treated my grandmother like a princess all the time. I remember all the flowers he picked for her, the sweet kisses and the gentle hugs. I even realize now that those funny raised eyebrow looks he flashed in her direction that melted her into a giggling girl were actually quite sexy!

The fairy tales had a hand in molding me into the romantic person I am today and that's a good thing. So I'm hanging onto the book and the dreams too.

Excuse me, but I have to go unlock the front door.

Why?

Well, the princes around my age usually are running out of steam by the time they get half way up the tower. So if they get past the dragon, I will just let them run through the front door.

What can I say?! I'm a realistic princess!

Well, I need to go read about a Big Bad Wolf and some chick named Little Red Riding Hood, so I must bid you adieu for now. I wonder what food there is in the basket. Do you think the story will have the recipes?

(wink)

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Bathing 500 Miles Away From Home

The tiny drops of water flowing from the shower head wake me up each morning and in the evening they wash away the struggles of the day. I prefer the shower, but it hasn't always been that way.

I don't know why, but for the past couple of days, my childhood memories have tugged at my heart. One of the wonderful memories are of me taking baths in the tub and singing, "500 Miles" at the top of my lungs over and over again.

My parents eardrums suffered because I used to and still sing like a dying cow.

I know I spent many hours singing the same song too many times, but it was my favorite song. Since I only knew the chorus, it really must have been close to Chinese water torture.

There was a window above the tub and since we didn't have air conditioning back then, it remained open a lot of the time. My parents would go in the backyard and could hear me singing through the open window. It wasn't until recently that Mom told me that they both got a chuckle from listening to me.

The past couple days of memories have been tough, so after getting home from work, I decided to take a bubble bath to help me relax.

I lit the candles...



used a pretty bar of soap...



and played with the bubbles...



just like when I was a little girl.

I didn't sing or figure out why I missed the "good old days," but I did relax and I guess that really was the point of the whole adventure tonight.

Dad, I still miss you and can't believe you've been gone over a year. It is still very sad.

Mom, I miss you too even though you live just ten minutes down the road because tonight it feels like I'm 500 miles away from home.

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Curlers In Your Hair, Shame On You

Whether it is straight as a ruler or curly as a pigs tail, most women are not satisfied with their hair. It seems that those with straight want curly and those with curly want straight hair along with all variations in between. Don't even throw in the color aspect or we could be here until next year trying to figure out the combinations.

I was a prissy little girl, but around the time I started noticing there was a difference between boys and girls, I turned into a prissy tomboy. Truly an oxymoron or maybe a freak of nature considering the flaming locks upon my head.

My mother spent far too many hours putting pink curlers on a head of hair that was naturally curly and really didn't need them. She was also obsessed with making sure that I was mannerly and always acted "like a lady." Tomboys do not act like ladies all the time, a fact that she eventually figured out.

"Mom, can I go outside and play?"

"Yes, but make sure you act like a lady and don't play with those boys," Mom would say in her do-what-I-say voice.

So out I would go to the playground to play. Often the only other kids to hang around with were boys and they always wanted to play football. I played tag football at school all the time and was quite good at it, but these boys liked to play tackle-and-smoosh-your-face-in-the-ground-so-you-don't-forget-about-it football.

Mom's voice would echo in my head, "...and don't play with those boys."

She knew all too well that "those boys" were older and her skinny, pale, flames-shooting-off-her-head daughter was not a match for their shenanigans.

I was oblivious to all the accidents-waiting-to-happen if I played rough football with the boys. All I knew was that they were playing and I wanted to play too. With one glance back to make sure that Mom wasn't watching, I ran over yelling, "I want to play!"

The biggest boy, who also happened to be my friend, welcomed me to his team and told everyone to be careful when they tackled me.

Hmph. No one was going to get the chance to tackle me, I thought as I bent down at the end of the line.

"Hike!" he screamed and I took off running towards the bushes which doubled as the goal line. I ran as fast as my long legs could carry me and when I turned around to look for the ball, it was falling into my hands. I knew all I had to do was take a few more steps and then I leap over the two foot high hedge which is exactly what happened.

Touchdown!

For hours the same scenario played over and over. Not once did I get tackled until it was almost time to go in for dinner. I was getting rather tired and so was everyone else, but all the boys were older than me and I guess they just had more energy or maybe it was just that they were energetic boys. I knew I would have to really put all my energy into this last sprint.

By now, dripping with sweat from the top of my curly red locks to the ends of my toes, I leaned down for the last play.

"Hut one," he screamed and then paused to try and get someone to step over the line early.

"Hut two," and then quickly he yelled, "Hike!"

I sprinted like there was a tiger after me and just as I turned to catch the perfectly thrown ball, I saw my mother out of the corner of my eye. For a split second I paused and that is all it took forthe boys from the opposite team to catch up with me.

I felt a hard thud as my body hit the ground and I was tackled.

There was a blood curdling scream coming from my mother's direction and all the boys leaped off of me as if I had leprosy.

Mom was running towards me with that funny way she runs. I always say it is a sissy girl run with her hands flying like she is trying to catch butterflies. Regardless of how she ran, I knew she was headed straight for me and I was going to be in so much trouble!

I jumped up and started brushing all the grass off of me as the boys stood transfixed in my mother's glare.

"Are you okay?" she asked and then looking around at the boys with the Cruella DeVille face and a shaky voice she said, "She is just a little girl and you are big boys! You can't tackle her like that or you are going to break her bones! Don't you ever do that again!!!"

You would think after that incident the boys would not only never speak to me again, but they would definitely not let me play again. However, that isn't what happened. Instead, the team that got me on their side was guaranteed to win because no one was allowed to tackle the "girl." I suddenly went from undesirable bouffant girl to "I want her on my team!"

Mom continued for many years to do the pink curler torture and would sing a popular song of that time period. Do you remember the Clairol Hot Curler commercial that started around 1969 advertising Kindness Curlers? Well, it didn't matter that we had the old fashioned pink curlers because Mom always sang the song from the commercial as she put them in my hair. Well, that and constantly saying, "Please be still. I'm almost done," even though she had just put in the first curler.

Curlers on your head
Shame on you
Curlers in your bed
Shame on you
Curlers in the store
Shame on you
Curlers at the store
Shame on you
Curlers
Curlers
Curlers
Shame on you

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Flowers For Mother

When I was a little girl, I always took my mother flowers that I picked from the yard even if the flowers were in reality, weeds. I would invariably give her flowers with stems that were an inch long with a jagged edge where I yanked it from the bush. I even remember giving her flowers that fell apart as I passed it to her because the stem was non-existent and there was nothing to hold the petals together. Mom was overjoyed and thanked me profusely every time, seemingly oblivious to the short to non-existent stem. Then, putting the flowers in a little cup filled with water, she would continue with the accolades. Mom had a way of conveying that she thought I was special and everything I did was wonderful.

Flowers last longer if they are cut at a slant with a sharp, unserrated knife and immediately placed in water unlike those I gave my mother as a child. By cutting the stems at a slant, more of the surface is exposed and more water can travel into the flower quickly. Also, removing all the leaves that would otherwise be under the water helps to extend the life of the flower. Mom didn't have to worry about leaves because I don't think I ever had a stem long enough to be accompanied by leaves or I had preplucked them off.

Every little child I have known acted the same including my daughter, Alyssa. On the flip side, I acted the same way my mother did whenever Alyssa presented her gift of flowers to me. I oooohhh'd, aaaaahhh'd and thanked her profusely, totally ignoring the fact that my flowers were basically stemless. Her little face would beam and her smile always melted my heart as much then as they do now.

The other day I was sitting at the computer when Alyssa, then 16 and now 17 years old, came in and presented me with a beautiful Dogwood blossom. There she stood like a little girl waiting for the oooohhhing and aaaahhhing over her flower gift. I was more than happy to accommodate and immediately put it in a glass filled with water. Alyssa's beaming smile was joy to my eyes and heart.

Later that evening as I sat staring at my little Dogwood blossom floating in the glass, I had to chuckle because some things just don't change. The stem on the flower is about half an inch long just like the flowers I used to give my mother. I guess stem length really doesn't matter after all because the Dogwood flower remained perfectly beautiful for ten days!



"Earth laughs in flowers."~Ralph Waldo Emerson~

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Buttercups In Summer

Holding the Buttercup flower under her mother's chin, the little redheaded girl once again asks her, "Guess what?"

"What?"

With the same exuberant enthusiasm as the first time she learned this little childhood fancy, she says, "Mommy, you like butter!"

That was a repeated scenario every time I found a Buttercup flower. I really believed that if you held the flower under the person's chin that a yellow reflection meant the person liked butter.




Did you know because I had no idea that buttercups were poisonous?

Animals can suffer from buttercup poisoning, but it is most commonly found in cows. When cows are sent to fields that have less grazing vegetation and an abundance of buttercups, they eat the flowers even though the taste is horrible and causes them to be poisoned. Desperate cows do desperate things!

On a more positive note, I can't help but feel the happy tone of this cute song...

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