I learned a lot from mine about a lot of things, and I think that’s also most likely where the ancestral sarcastic form of humor emanated from as I passed it on to my son, the master of snarky, biting, brilliantly accurate commentary,
DNA is strong here…always a daddy’s girl.
He’s the one who first started calling me “Rosebud”. The addition of “Princess” seemed to make a lot of sense, especially when he did things like giving me HIS birthday so I’d be able to have another day of celebration (and presents).
I’m sorry he never got to meet the original Angel Boy; they could have talked for hours about literature and life.
At the time my dad was college age, he was prohibited from pursuing a medical career all because of Jewish quotas, the barriers Ivy League universities erected to limit the number of Jewish students.
He would have been so proud of Angel Boy’s Yale doctorate. where they previously practiced overt and rampant anti-Semitic and racist policies.
According to Dan Oren’s book, Joining the Club — A History of Jews and Yale, Yale University’s informal admissions policy to restrict the school’s Jewish student body to around ten percent ended in the early 1960s.
That’s pretty disgusting part of America’s history, don’t you agree?
Anyway, after a little detour to protest racism, I hope everyone has a happy Sunday!
We had been playing house with her dolls and I styled their hair with braids or headbands and even a sparkly tiara, when Angel Girl said,
“Grandma, take your hair down.”
“Why?”
Those giant eyes scrutinized me with piercing discernment.
(This not-quite-four-year-old is actually quite judgy and has no problem letting me know if I’m wearing the right clothes or if my shoes are tied properly. Definitely some of my DNA, haha.)
“I don’t like it up in a scrunchie, I want to brush your hair.”
Uh oh, I thought to myself. I remember another little girl who used to love to brush my hair and it always turned out to be an exquisite disaster.
When hair is as curly as mine, it’s next to impossible to brush. The only time I can attempt it is when it’s freshly washed and I comb in product.
But will I say no? Not on your life.
“OK, I replied, “but PLEASE be as gentle as I am with your hair and T’s hair. You know it hurts to pull.”
Eye roll. “OK, Grandma. Sit down and turn around.”
Yes, ma’am! These are definitely two bossy boots angel kids.
For the next few minutes, while the angel stands behind me, all is silent as her brush unsuccessfully attempts to glide its way through my hair. She was intensely concentrating on arranging my hair into a semblance of “style.”
I feel her little hands twisting and pulling and puffing up certain areas. I’m afraid to look.
“What are you doing back there? Can I look?”
“Not yet. Grandma, hand me your scrunchie.”
“Here you go.”
Somehow the scrunchie is now imbedded in all of that twisting and spiraling and brushed out tangled up curly bird’s nest of her creative endeavors.
I know it’s going to be a long hard road to untangle the knots, but when she finally tells me she’s done and I can look, the pride (and love) in her eyes was totally worth every bit of it.
“Am I beautiful now?”
“Yes, you ARE beautiful now, Grandma.”
In her eyes, I am, and that’s all that matters.
Later, after the kids were tucked away in bed, I slathered conditioner on my hair, took my wide tooth comb and spent a good half hour or so untangling the knots, and fell asleep with a smile on my face.
These are the rare moments that weave a tapestry of joyful memories. However, I wouldn’t dare share a photo of my medusa-like hair catastrophe!
The Angels love to look through the photos on my phone, especially all the ones I’ve taken of them, of course.
When we clicked on this rose, I told them it was a selfie of ME cos I’m Princess Rosebud. They thought that was funny but being their dad’s kids, they just HAD to disagree…
“Grandma, you are so annoying! You aren’t a REAL princess!”
“Yes, I am.” I replied. “And you are Princess Charlotte and Prince Theodore.”
“Dad, Grandma’s being annoying again!”
OMG did they just tattle about me to my original Angel Boy? That’s too funny.
From the other room, I hear him say, “Mom, stop being annoying.”
I guess that’s going to be my legacy…however, we’re all royalty around here, so I thought I’d share this little joke to start the week.
This particular rose smells as good as she looks. Spicy and sweet, just like me.
I think a backstory needed to explain the origin of being called “annoying”, thanks to my new friend, wonderfully talented author Debbie Russell. I should have explained it in more detail and to be fair to the Angels.
I first began to reference myself that way when I bothered them as they were busy doing things (just to be funny) like standing in front of the TV during a show they were watching and I’d say, “Aren’t I the most annoying Grandma?” and they’d say “Yes, you are! Stop it!” And I’d stop, of course. Also for example, when I’d read a book to them, a book I’d literally read a thousand times before, to make it more interesting for ME, I’d change the names or spice up the story a bit differently, mainly to see if they were paying attention (which they were) and then they’d say, “Read the exact words, Grandma!” which I thought was pretty cute. And then I’d say, “Do you find it annoying when I do that?” The answer was always yes.
The Angels weren’t being disrespectful. Grandma was!
I walked to the beach during a May gray morning and sat on top of my usual picnic table to overlook the Pacific Ocean, hoping to see a whale or some dolphins.
I didn’t get lucky this time, but there was a crowded lineup of surfers out there and I couldn’t figure out why ‘cos the waves weren’t all that big.
As I took off my hat, unbraided my hair and shook it free from its constraints to feel the salty breeze, I turned around because I could feel someone standing behind me.
It was a man I often see at the beach; I’m not sure if he’s exactly unsheltered or not, but he stays there for hours, working on a crossword puzzle or reading. I’ve chatted with him a dozen times as he’s a fixture on the boardwalk and he’s very friendly, not at all like the the other guy who wanted to write on me and claim ownership!
He said, “Excuse me for saying so, but you have no idea the unmitigated joy you gave me as I watched you liberate your hair. You have the most beautiful curls, and I wanted to say thank you! That made me very happy.”
His language and phrasing was delightful; old worldly elegant, courtly, very much the gentleman.
I was caught off guard by his lovely comment and thanked him profusely. It made my day even more joyful, that’s for sure.
Before I walked home, I stopped at the restroom. Look at what I found written on the wall! So inspirational!
It’s a manta and an affirmation to love oneself and I couldn’t resist snapping a photo.
PS WordPress is so weird. I didn’t publish this until today, the 15th, but it appears as if I published it the 14th, which I did not. WP is strange…
Join me as I raise a very happy glass of champs to all moms and May birthday girls.
I’m grateful that I had a mom who not only taught me to appreciate Chanel, beautiful flowers and diamonds, how to bake the world’s best cinnamon rolls and apple pie, but also how to make a bed with hospital corners, debride a wound, and nurse a sick loved one back to health. It’s all about balance, teehee. Miss you, Mommy!
This photo is my definition of motherhood; five goslings closely following mom (and dad), learning to eat and swim. And survive.
For me, that’s part of what makes a good mom; unconditional and protective love combined with teaching essential life skills.
In my case, I was often referred to as the “smother mother“, but it’s a label I wear with pride. I’m not a helicopter mom, but even better…I’m (still) a DRONE mom. I’m the same with the grandkids; laser-focused on them at all times.
Every seven years, my birthday falls on Mother’s Day. As my mom often said, I was the perfect Mother’s Day gift for her, and as my son tells me, I wouldn’t have anything to celebrate without HIM, so he’s the one who actually deserves the gifts and accolades. He’s a funny guy.
In my opinion, tomorrow’s the perfect enchanted day to double my joy and celebrate ME. .
How could this day be halfway over and I forgot to observe National Mermaid Day?
Mermaid Day is observed every year on March 29. It’s for lovers of the fabled creature who appear in literature, mythology, music, films, and pop culture.
Gazing at me while I write…
Maybe mermaids ARE real; at least that’s what I want to believe as I see the world through my rose-colored glasses.
Mermaids Believe in magic. Play in the waves. Know how to weather a storm. See life’s beauty. Dive for their soul. Ride the tides of life. Know there are treasures in the deep. -Unknown
I share my world with coyotes, bobcats, raccoons, skunks, possums, lots of bunnies, even more rats, and an assortment of birds including scrub jays, mockingbirds, hummingbirds, hawks, egrets, and herons.
And owls.
Late at night I’m lucky to hear the hoots of a mating pair of Great Horned Owls in the tallest eucalyptus trees. It’s a soothing sound as I fall asleep, the hooting of owls in the distance.
Last night was different. I was awakened at 2:30 a.m. with the sound of that distinctive hoo-hoo-hoo only MUCH closer. Even through a closed window, it was LOUD, and so was the answering call.
This back and forth conversation didn’t stop for an hour and it was impossible to get back to sleep.
I learned that owls lay eggs in March, so maybe that’s what the chat was all about. My around the corner neighbor has an owl box, so that’s a logical thought.
Hopefully, they took turns hunting all the rats and mice around here, too.
Symbolically, hearing owls at night provides protective energy. The spiritual meaning of hearing an owl could be that it’s important to establish energetic boundaries.
Owls use their excellent hearing, keen eyesight, and silent wings to hunt and keep safe. So when our vision fails us in life, the owl’s call at night symbolizes protection and guidance. Hearing an owl at night can represent gaining a new direction in life.
Owls use their calls to claim their territory, to signal that there’s a predator nearby or to communicate with their partner.
The meaning of hearing two owls is related to spiritual enlightenment. An owl is the ultimate symbol of wisdom and maturity.
Two owls hooting is a sign that you’re in the middle of strong spiritual energies and you need to let them lead you into the changes your soul is going through.
It’s a reminder to open your heart and embrace the changes.
Higher forces have recognized it, so they’re sending you owls, as a dose of additional energy to move forward.
Owls are always carriers of important messages. If you’re wondering what it means to hear two owls late at night, the answer lies in the way you observe things around yourself.
Owls want you to change your perspective about recent events and try to discover why they really happened. There’s a hidden message behind it and you need to discover it.
If you hear an owl hooting near your house and wonder: “What does it mean when an owl hoots outside your house?”, the answer will cheer you up: an owl outside your house is considered to be a signal of good luck.
Owls are observed as highly spiritual animals and their hooting can only bring positive vibes to you.
Although different cultures have different interpretations of owl symbolism, almost every culture treats owls as a symbol of good luck and prosperity. joyceelliot.com
I’m tired today, but always find joy and gratitude in my wild friends.
It’s almost time for the March full moon and the night sky is clear and bright.
After all this time, after all my injuries, once again I accurately diagnosed a medical issue.
Last March I did a deep weighted squat and felt something pop in my right knee. My stubborn self chose to overlook the subsequent discomfort and stoically carry on.
We need a backstory here...This is the same knee that was injured when I carelessly pulled a full and very topheavy garden waste trash can to the street, blithely ignoring the fact that the wheels were tangled up in fruit tree netting.
I mean, for a split second the thought crossed my mind that I should probably untangle it before I rolled it down the hilly driveway but I did not.
So…as you can probably guess, my feet became entwined in the netting which then pulled the heavy can down on me, twisting my leg and knee beneath it.
I know, I know. I’m not bright, also extremely impatient.
Once I deduced that my knee/leg wasn’t broken, I iced it for a while and endured the pain on the lateral side of my knee. A few months later, I had some physical therapy which actually seemed to help and I was back to normal movement.
And that’s how I ended up doing a weighted squat. Again, I iced it and figured it would take a while to heal, whatever it was, but this time there was no specific pain location. I wore a brace and compression sleeve and that didn’t really help.
Finally, I was able to pinpoint the pain, did my research and thought it was a medial meniscus tear along with an inflamed bursa, right below the knee.
I waited a really long time before telling my doctor (too stubborn to admit defeat), but when the pain wouldn’t subside, I did. She ordered an x-ray and when the results were unremarkable, she ordered an MRI, the appropriate course of action.
That was my first ever MRI. For me, it was a pleasant experience, probably because only my legs were in the machine.
The results came back as I had predicted:
There is a complex meniscal tear involving the posterior horn of the medial meniscus.
Severe chondromalacia involving the lateral patellar facet (also known as Runner’s Knee)
Mild joint effusion. (I believe it’s the pes anserine bursa.)
Now I have an appointment with the same orthopedic office where I’ve often visited for other dumb accidental broken bones and torn ligaments.
SIGH.
Just call me Doctor Rosebud BUT don’t be like me and wait months suffering before seeing a professional!
Enchanted Seashells | Princess Rosebud 