Thursday, July 26, 2007

Dear diary (or not)

I've hit a dry spell. Sitting here, looking at the screen, trying to think of a clever or witty topic to write about. Oh, I have been tagged recently for two memes. I cut and pasted the info and still am not ready to write six or seven random thoughts. Maybe that's because I can't think of six or seven things in my life that I want to share publicly, eh?

I probably could reveal that I overcook broccoli and occasionally dream of my high-school boyfriend. Hmm, that's two out of seven already.

And I have more books on my shelf than I'll ever finish reading. Wow, only four more to go ...

I squeeze peaches in the supermarket.

I could play Flight of the BumbleBee on the accordion when I was 14 years old, but my real show stopper was Malaguena.

I never learned to drive stick-shift, kept stalling the darn car.

I have been driving (automatic) since age 16. It was more fun than playing Flight of the BumbleBee on the accordion. My first car was my dad's 1960 aqua T-Bird. It is still my favorite car of all times.

I went to several proms in a '57 Chevy driven by the high-school boyfriend I still dream about.

I had my first crush on a boy in third grade and kissed him in the Tunnel of Love boat ride at a school picnic. Sophie tells me that she's already got her eyes on someone in first grade.

I kept a diary all through high-school and one year beyond. I still have it.

I just did a re-count and I'm over the limit. Maybe I can do this after all.

I can't tag fellow bloggers, though, because most of them have already been through this exercise.

I have just used the pronoun "I" over 20 times in this post. My psyche is imploding. I must return to "we", "you" and "they" to re-balance.

Hannah and Sophie wrote on-line diary entries with my help. They dictated; I typed.

Babci to Hannah (who was sitting on her lap): "So what would you like to say in your diary?"

Hannah (after some quiet reflection): "Babci, you're special."

I may overcook broccoli but I know how to raise grandkids.


Birchsprite said...

I think you are special too!

slouching mom said...

You're a funny lady, Mater.

And I never thought about it in precisely that way, but yes, you are 'raising' grandkids at the same time as your daughter is raising kids.


kirsty said...

You are SO special that I can forgive you for destroying good broccoli!!
I am grateful that I don't dream about my highschool boyfriends *shudder* Yours must have been a good one, huh?

Terry said...

See, not so hard. I KNEW you would have interesting things to reveal. I used to dream about my old boyfriend, who, by the way, also drove a '57 Chevy--so cool. Then he called, we had lunch. He's a lawyer, a multi-times married blowhard, with a young trophy wife. The thrill is gone.

And yes, you are raising beautiful and loving grandchildren. The best.

The Mater said...

Thanks, guys. Your comments are always such fun to read!

Terry, LOL, I love that your old boyfriend called you and, aside from sweet memories of the '57 Chevy, you found out that the dreams are better than real life. "The thrill is gone". Best to settle it once and for all, eh?

Hmm, my guy is "happily married" with four grown sons and two knee replacements. Yet, what would happen if I dared to write him a note or a birthday card?

This is blog fodder for sure. You've given me a new topic to consider - old boyfriends, first-time loves.

Jennifer said...

Oh, I can just see you in that T-bird! (And I might have to, uh, *borrow* your way of responding to memes.)

Patti McCracken said...

Is this the guy who gave you the bowling ball?

I don't think about my high school boyfriend (there wasn't one!!!) but I do think about my first "boyfriend"--the first boy I ever kissed. Scott Harrison from Windsor Oaks Elementary School. I wonder where he is?
Just when my parents announced they were divorcing, but before my dad actually moved out (THAT wasn't confusing AT ALL!!), I stayed up late into the night making a Valentine's card for Scott. I'd written a poem for him and I was trying to make hearts and things to make it look nice.
My father told me it was time to go to bed, that it was enough already.
In the morning, I discovered that my father had finished making the card for me--something utterly uncharacteristic of him.

Thanks for making me think of this again! I wish I had dry spells like yours!!!

The Mater said...

Patti, wow ... thanks for sharing such a personal note. Bittersweet memories for sure.

And, yes, this is the guy who gave me the bowling ball. And, yes, I wrote and sent him a birthday card.

Auld lang syne :>)

Jennifer said...

I heard once that 90% of success is just showing up. I've been trying to remind myself of that daily. I think you've proven it here. Great entry. Thanks again for being here.