Happy Thanksgiving, my friends!! I've been saving this clip especially for this day, I'm so excited to share it with you!
This one's from the movie, Holiday Inn, starring Bing Crosby and Fred Astaire. The film features the amazing music of Irving Berlin. In fact, it was this movie that premiered Berlin's classic, "White Christmas." Can you imagine sitting in a movie theater and hearing that song sung by Bing for the FIRST time? Heavenly!
But I've chosen another song from the movie for today, the one that appears in the Thanksgiving segment. It's called "Plenty to be Thankful For," and I just love it, particularly when it's sung the incomparable Bing.
The artist who compiled this video uses several clips from the movie, along with photos of Bing's brother, Bob Crosby and his big band. Apparently, Bob's orchestra performed the accompaniment for this number, so he's given his due praise as well!
Anyway, I think the pictures are terrific, including those of Bing's pretty love interest in the movie, Marjorie Reynolds. Is it just me, or does she remind you a little of Katherine Heigl in these photos? See what you think!
I'll warn you before you listen, though, this tune is CATCHY! I DARE you not to be humming it while you enjoy your turkey and mashed potatoes today!! Enjoy!
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And Other Weird Things My Dad Used To Say...
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Special Delivery!
I'm not someone who could ever be accused of having OCD. Dirt doesn't bother me in the least, dust collects on my furniture for weeks before I finally break down, pull out the Pledge, and get to work.
I must confess, though, that there is one area in which I can become tremendously obsessed: Christmas cards!
Each year, I take excruciating care choosing the perfect cards, stationery on which we'll print our yearly letter (yeah, I'm one of THOSE people who writes an "update" letter!), and return address labels. I even make sure the stamps are festive! Most years, I've even subjected poor Alan and Trixie to donning our Christmas finery, setting the timer on our camera, and taking a photo, which I also include in the envelope!
After I've acquired all the supplies, I hit "shuffle" on the Ipod Christmas playlist, then sit down to write a personal note in each card. It's usually just a few lines, telling my friends and family how much I miss them, and wishing them a happy holiday season. It takes a while, I have a long list of names. But I honestly enjoy it, because it makes me think of each one of my cherished loved ones as I hand write their names and the names of their children on the inside of each one.
Here's where the OCD comes in: I make sure I have ALL of this done and in the mail the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. Why? Because that means my Christmas card will arrive in the mailboxes of my friends and family on the day after Thanksgiving, the FIRST official day of the Christmas season! Seriously, I NEVER miss! And my loved ones know it, too! One year, we decided to save money and skip the card sending. Just about EVERY card I received that season said something like, "We didn't get your card the day after Thanksgiving! Are you guys OK?" Like I said, it's a sickness!
I guess I put so much effort into my cards each year because I enjoy RECEIVING them so much. I LOVE the beautiful wintery scenes on the front, and the enclosed pictures of growing children in pretty velvet dresses and small bow ties! I LOVE the enclosed letters, telling me what everyone's accomplished over the year, and the plans for the year ahead.
Which leads me to a small pet peeve I've had for a while. Would you mind if I rant for a moment? Have you ever gotten that card in the mail that has the family's names already printed on them? They look beautiful, no doubt. But I've received so many that have no handwriting in them at all, not even our names listed at the top. This means the card went directly from the box to the envelope. The envelope, by the way, has a computer printed stick-on label with my address on the front. This means the sender of this card thought of me for exactly two seconds, when they peeled the label off the sheet and placed it on the envelope.
I know most people are MUCH busier than me during the Christmas season. I don't have children's school holiday programs to attend, or dozens of family members coming to my home for Christmas dinner. I really do understand that sometimes, pre-printed cards and peel-and-stick labels are all some can manage. But I genuinely believe that it's a waste of a stamp.
Christmas cards, in my opinion, are supposed to say, "Hey! I was thinking of you! Maybe I don't get to communicate with you all year, but I wanted you to know that I love you, I cherish your friendship, and I want you and your family to have a merry, merry Christmas!" When you stick an address label on an envelope and enclose an impersonal, pre-printed card, you're saying, "Hey, at least I put forth an effort."
What do YOU think? Am I being ridiculously old fashioned? Do YOU still send holiday cards each year? How do YOU do it? I'd love to hear your opinion! Well, I've got to run. Those envelopes don't address themselves, you know...
Thanks for Reading!!
I must confess, though, that there is one area in which I can become tremendously obsessed: Christmas cards!
Each year, I take excruciating care choosing the perfect cards, stationery on which we'll print our yearly letter (yeah, I'm one of THOSE people who writes an "update" letter!), and return address labels. I even make sure the stamps are festive! Most years, I've even subjected poor Alan and Trixie to donning our Christmas finery, setting the timer on our camera, and taking a photo, which I also include in the envelope!
After I've acquired all the supplies, I hit "shuffle" on the Ipod Christmas playlist, then sit down to write a personal note in each card. It's usually just a few lines, telling my friends and family how much I miss them, and wishing them a happy holiday season. It takes a while, I have a long list of names. But I honestly enjoy it, because it makes me think of each one of my cherished loved ones as I hand write their names and the names of their children on the inside of each one.
Here's where the OCD comes in: I make sure I have ALL of this done and in the mail the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. Why? Because that means my Christmas card will arrive in the mailboxes of my friends and family on the day after Thanksgiving, the FIRST official day of the Christmas season! Seriously, I NEVER miss! And my loved ones know it, too! One year, we decided to save money and skip the card sending. Just about EVERY card I received that season said something like, "We didn't get your card the day after Thanksgiving! Are you guys OK?" Like I said, it's a sickness!
I guess I put so much effort into my cards each year because I enjoy RECEIVING them so much. I LOVE the beautiful wintery scenes on the front, and the enclosed pictures of growing children in pretty velvet dresses and small bow ties! I LOVE the enclosed letters, telling me what everyone's accomplished over the year, and the plans for the year ahead.
Which leads me to a small pet peeve I've had for a while. Would you mind if I rant for a moment? Have you ever gotten that card in the mail that has the family's names already printed on them? They look beautiful, no doubt. But I've received so many that have no handwriting in them at all, not even our names listed at the top. This means the card went directly from the box to the envelope. The envelope, by the way, has a computer printed stick-on label with my address on the front. This means the sender of this card thought of me for exactly two seconds, when they peeled the label off the sheet and placed it on the envelope.
I know most people are MUCH busier than me during the Christmas season. I don't have children's school holiday programs to attend, or dozens of family members coming to my home for Christmas dinner. I really do understand that sometimes, pre-printed cards and peel-and-stick labels are all some can manage. But I genuinely believe that it's a waste of a stamp.
Christmas cards, in my opinion, are supposed to say, "Hey! I was thinking of you! Maybe I don't get to communicate with you all year, but I wanted you to know that I love you, I cherish your friendship, and I want you and your family to have a merry, merry Christmas!" When you stick an address label on an envelope and enclose an impersonal, pre-printed card, you're saying, "Hey, at least I put forth an effort."
What do YOU think? Am I being ridiculously old fashioned? Do YOU still send holiday cards each year? How do YOU do it? I'd love to hear your opinion! Well, I've got to run. Those envelopes don't address themselves, you know...
Thanks for Reading!!
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Working Proud
Right or wrong, my Dad often judged a man by his work ethic. If you worked like a dog, weren't afraid of getting your hands dirty, and never watched the clock, Dad had a very high opinion of you, indeed.
In fact, when I reunited with my high school sweetheart, Alan, ten years after we graduated, Dad was not pleased. He was remembering the smart-alecky, black concert t-shirt wearing, long hair sporting seventeen year old that I had dated a decade before. I wasn't concerned, however, because I knew JUST what to do to change Dad's mind about Alan.
I wrote Dad a letter and told him I understood his concern, but that he needed to know about all the things that Alan had accomplished since we last saw him. Then I wrote about Alan's four years in the Marine Corps, followed by the four years that he worked a full time job as a waiter so he could pay his way and attend college, full time, at the same time. I mentioned that he worked so hard, he didn't have to take out any student loans. He made the money that was needed each semester in pure sweat by busting his hump. Guess what? Dad was convinced. He welcomed Alan into his home, and eventually walked me down the aisle to meet him on our wedding day!
But there was another area of the job that Dad always talked about: pride in your work. He taught us that any job we were performing, no matter how big or small, should be done with an enormous amount of care and pride. He led by example in this area. In the summers when school was out, he had a carpentry business doing remodeling work. He did it all, kitchen cabinets, back decks, even hand crafted frames for paintings. His small business ad in our local paper simply displayed his name and phone number, along with one quote: "No Job Too Small."
His clients were often stunned when he'd tell them the date in which he'd begin his work, then actually SHOW UP on that day, ON TIME! This was unheard of in the construction business. Except, of course, in my Dad's business. Because Dad took pride in his work, and it showed. More than one stranger came up to me at his wake, took my hand, and said, "Your Dad remodeled my kitchen! He did a terrific job!" Amazing, right?
That being said, my Dad would have loved my new nail technician, Tommy! As you know, we've just moved to our new home near Nashville, TN, and that means starting all over with doctors, vets, hair stylists, and of course, nail techs. I decided to check out the salon closest to our house, especially because it had a huge sign over its front door reading, "New Management! 20% Off All Services!" When I walked through the entrance, a smiling, short Asian man approached me and shook my hand.
"Hello!" he chirped, "I'm Tommy! I'm the new owner of this salon! What can I do for you?"
I explained that I was new to the area and needed a fill. He grabbed my hand and looked at my nails, running his thumb over the surface of my index finger. "Oh, yes! I'd be happy to!" he said, "I can make these look BEAUTIFUL! Come, have a seat!"
Still holding my hand, Tommy led me to his work table, pulled out my chair, and walked around to the other side. But before he sat, he asked, "Would you like something to drink?" He then listed several beverages, including water, soda, and wine. After I declined, he sat down and got to work.
Tommy asked me a few questions about moving here and how I liked living in Tennessee, and I answered them all. But I was really curious about this energetic, nice man, so soon I was the one asking questions. Tommy answered them all, that enormous smile never leaving his face. He told me he had been a nail tech for over ten years, always working in the shops owned by his cousins and other relatives. He'd work for one until the business was up and running, then he'd move on to the next one to help with THAT opening. About two years ago, the opportunity arose to own a shop of his own, and Tommy considered it. But in the end, he said, he felt he still had a lot to learn about running a business, and decided to wait a while longer before taking the big step.
Two years later, when the shop in which we were currently sitting became available, Tommy decreed that it was time, and took the big plunge! The next thirty minutes were filled with Tommy's exited explanations of all he was planning for his brand new salon (he had only owned it one short week!).
He pointed out the walls he had painted ("That red was too harsh, the light brown is much more relaxing for my customers!"), the new pedicure stations he inserted ("It was more expensive for the glass foot bowls, but they look MUCH nicer!"), and the brand of nail acrylic he insisted on using. He said it was more costly than the kind the other salons carried, but that it looked nicer on his clients, and would last longer, so that's ALL he was going to use. Tommy talked and talked, and I began to say a silent prayer as he worked, asking God to bless this awesome man and this business that he clearly cherished so much.
I'll soon be rejoining the work force here in Nashville. I have a BFA in Musical Theater and am ridiculously unqualified for just about everything but performing onstage. I'll also be looking for a job during the worst period of unemployment in our country's history since the Great Depression. But as I set out in my business suit and pumps, briefcase in hand, I'm going to try to remember Dad and Tommy. I'm going to try to convince my potential employer that if they hire me, they'll be getting someone who will show up on time, will work extremely hard, and will take enormous pride in each aspect of her duties (even if that involves flipping burgers!).
I've been back to Tommy's salon three times since that first day, and on each visit I've noticed that it's always much busier than the time before. Dad wouldn't have been surprised. He knows that if you take pride in what you're doing and give it everything you've got, success is sure to follow. In fact, after that first encounter with Tommy, if you had asked Dad, "Do you think this guy's business will succeed?" Without hesitation, his reply would have been Classic Dad: "Is the Pope Catholic?"
Thanks for Reading!!
In fact, when I reunited with my high school sweetheart, Alan, ten years after we graduated, Dad was not pleased. He was remembering the smart-alecky, black concert t-shirt wearing, long hair sporting seventeen year old that I had dated a decade before. I wasn't concerned, however, because I knew JUST what to do to change Dad's mind about Alan.
I wrote Dad a letter and told him I understood his concern, but that he needed to know about all the things that Alan had accomplished since we last saw him. Then I wrote about Alan's four years in the Marine Corps, followed by the four years that he worked a full time job as a waiter so he could pay his way and attend college, full time, at the same time. I mentioned that he worked so hard, he didn't have to take out any student loans. He made the money that was needed each semester in pure sweat by busting his hump. Guess what? Dad was convinced. He welcomed Alan into his home, and eventually walked me down the aisle to meet him on our wedding day!
But there was another area of the job that Dad always talked about: pride in your work. He taught us that any job we were performing, no matter how big or small, should be done with an enormous amount of care and pride. He led by example in this area. In the summers when school was out, he had a carpentry business doing remodeling work. He did it all, kitchen cabinets, back decks, even hand crafted frames for paintings. His small business ad in our local paper simply displayed his name and phone number, along with one quote: "No Job Too Small."
His clients were often stunned when he'd tell them the date in which he'd begin his work, then actually SHOW UP on that day, ON TIME! This was unheard of in the construction business. Except, of course, in my Dad's business. Because Dad took pride in his work, and it showed. More than one stranger came up to me at his wake, took my hand, and said, "Your Dad remodeled my kitchen! He did a terrific job!" Amazing, right?
That being said, my Dad would have loved my new nail technician, Tommy! As you know, we've just moved to our new home near Nashville, TN, and that means starting all over with doctors, vets, hair stylists, and of course, nail techs. I decided to check out the salon closest to our house, especially because it had a huge sign over its front door reading, "New Management! 20% Off All Services!" When I walked through the entrance, a smiling, short Asian man approached me and shook my hand.
"Hello!" he chirped, "I'm Tommy! I'm the new owner of this salon! What can I do for you?"
I explained that I was new to the area and needed a fill. He grabbed my hand and looked at my nails, running his thumb over the surface of my index finger. "Oh, yes! I'd be happy to!" he said, "I can make these look BEAUTIFUL! Come, have a seat!"
Still holding my hand, Tommy led me to his work table, pulled out my chair, and walked around to the other side. But before he sat, he asked, "Would you like something to drink?" He then listed several beverages, including water, soda, and wine. After I declined, he sat down and got to work.
Tommy asked me a few questions about moving here and how I liked living in Tennessee, and I answered them all. But I was really curious about this energetic, nice man, so soon I was the one asking questions. Tommy answered them all, that enormous smile never leaving his face. He told me he had been a nail tech for over ten years, always working in the shops owned by his cousins and other relatives. He'd work for one until the business was up and running, then he'd move on to the next one to help with THAT opening. About two years ago, the opportunity arose to own a shop of his own, and Tommy considered it. But in the end, he said, he felt he still had a lot to learn about running a business, and decided to wait a while longer before taking the big step.
Two years later, when the shop in which we were currently sitting became available, Tommy decreed that it was time, and took the big plunge! The next thirty minutes were filled with Tommy's exited explanations of all he was planning for his brand new salon (he had only owned it one short week!).
He pointed out the walls he had painted ("That red was too harsh, the light brown is much more relaxing for my customers!"), the new pedicure stations he inserted ("It was more expensive for the glass foot bowls, but they look MUCH nicer!"), and the brand of nail acrylic he insisted on using. He said it was more costly than the kind the other salons carried, but that it looked nicer on his clients, and would last longer, so that's ALL he was going to use. Tommy talked and talked, and I began to say a silent prayer as he worked, asking God to bless this awesome man and this business that he clearly cherished so much.
I'll soon be rejoining the work force here in Nashville. I have a BFA in Musical Theater and am ridiculously unqualified for just about everything but performing onstage. I'll also be looking for a job during the worst period of unemployment in our country's history since the Great Depression. But as I set out in my business suit and pumps, briefcase in hand, I'm going to try to remember Dad and Tommy. I'm going to try to convince my potential employer that if they hire me, they'll be getting someone who will show up on time, will work extremely hard, and will take enormous pride in each aspect of her duties (even if that involves flipping burgers!).
I've been back to Tommy's salon three times since that first day, and on each visit I've noticed that it's always much busier than the time before. Dad wouldn't have been surprised. He knows that if you take pride in what you're doing and give it everything you've got, success is sure to follow. In fact, after that first encounter with Tommy, if you had asked Dad, "Do you think this guy's business will succeed?" Without hesitation, his reply would have been Classic Dad: "Is the Pope Catholic?"
Thanks for Reading!!
Friday, October 29, 2010
Happy Halloween!
Don't you just love this time of year? Time for hot apple cider, The Great Pumpkin on TV, pumpkin spice lattes, and my very favorite: cute, costumed children ringing my doorbell and demanding candy! LOVE IT!!
Now I have a new reason to love Halloween! You may remember that in an earlier entry, I posted a video made by the acapella singing group "The Blanks," featured on the TV show, "Scrubs." They're my friends from college, and I just couldn't be more proud of them!
Well, my awesome, talented friends have just released a new video, just in time for Halloween! It's wonderfully silly, just like them! Grab some apple cider, sit down, push "play," and enjoy!!
Now I have a new reason to love Halloween! You may remember that in an earlier entry, I posted a video made by the acapella singing group "The Blanks," featured on the TV show, "Scrubs." They're my friends from college, and I just couldn't be more proud of them!
Well, my awesome, talented friends have just released a new video, just in time for Halloween! It's wonderfully silly, just like them! Grab some apple cider, sit down, push "play," and enjoy!!
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Dad's Key to Joy
Every June, at the conclusion of the school year, my Dad and several of his fellow teacher buddies would load their cars with fishing poles, burgers, buns, beer (Pepsi for Dad), and flannel shirts. They'd hitch up their boats and caravan for ten hours, through Erie, Pennsylvania and Buffalo, New York, over the Peace Bridge to a small marina located on the Key River in Ontario, Canada.
There they'd park their cars, jump in their boats and ride seven more miles down the bendy, gorgeous waterway to a small cabin owned by one of the teachers, Mr. Barrett. They'd spend a week fishing, eating, singing oldies around the kitchen table, fishing, laughing, pulling pranks on each other, and fishing some more. It was a wonderful tradition, and one they kept up for several years. They even made t-shirts emblazoned with their self-appointed name: The June Crew.
Dad anticipated that week all year long, and always returned home from the trip relaxed and happy. Mr. Barrett was generous enough to invite our entire family up to the cabin each August, so we got a chance to see this magical place for ourselves. We have many, many happy memories of fishing and swimming along the rocky shore of that glorious Key River, and I'll never forget them. But deep down, I think I always knew that Dad had MUCH more fun when he was there with The June Crew at the close of every school year.
So you can imagine my delight when my sister Laura sent each of her siblings a DVD last week, copied from a video she found when going through Dad's things. It was titled "June Crew. June 8th, 1990." I popped in the disc and held my breath as the image of happy, smiling men loading their boat at the Key River Marina appeared. I recognized them all immediately as my Dad's dear friends and fellow educators.
Two things became apparent immediately. The first was you never saw my Dad. He was constantly behind the camera, talking to whomever he was taping at the time. The second was that you could hear my Dad's voice distinctly, and I've never heard him sound so happy. He laughed constantly, even appearing to giggle in some places.
It's important to remind you here that my father was a constant worrier. From the days of his youth when he was forced to pick up the slack for his alcoholic father, to his adult years raising his own large family, Dad fretted about EVERYTHING. He worried about money and about the safety and purity of his children. He was constantly imagining he "smelled smoke" in the house and kept all the doors locked at all times, even though we lived in the middle of nowhere on a quiet cul de sac. He was always, always tense. Except for that one week in June.
As he followed the men loading their boats and mugging for the camera, the anticipation in Dad's voice is unmistakable. He asks them dumb, silly questions, like, "Are we gonna catch a lot of fish on this trip?" When the inevitable reply was, "You betcha!" he'd laugh and yell back, "Atta boy!"
As I watched the DVD from start to finish, wiping a tear away at some particularly sweet moments, a thought occurred to me. I don't know if I've ever been as happy as my Dad sounded on that tape. I've been in some great places with gorgeous scenery, with awesome company, but I'm not sure if my voice has ever sounded as exuberant and giddy as Dad's did as he rode on his friend's boat down that Key River. I'm so grateful he had that week every year.
How about you? Do you have a place that makes you deliriously joyful? Do you have a yearly gathering with friends or family that you anticipate, and never disappoints? Oh, I hope so! Everyone, at some point, should sound like Dad did on that tape. It's my wish for you today. I hope you find a place that you can share with the people you love the most in this world. A place that makes you relax and smile, but also invigorates and inspires you!
If you've already found that place, will you tell me about it now? I'd LOVE to hear about it! And as always,
Thanks for Reading!!
There they'd park their cars, jump in their boats and ride seven more miles down the bendy, gorgeous waterway to a small cabin owned by one of the teachers, Mr. Barrett. They'd spend a week fishing, eating, singing oldies around the kitchen table, fishing, laughing, pulling pranks on each other, and fishing some more. It was a wonderful tradition, and one they kept up for several years. They even made t-shirts emblazoned with their self-appointed name: The June Crew.
Dad anticipated that week all year long, and always returned home from the trip relaxed and happy. Mr. Barrett was generous enough to invite our entire family up to the cabin each August, so we got a chance to see this magical place for ourselves. We have many, many happy memories of fishing and swimming along the rocky shore of that glorious Key River, and I'll never forget them. But deep down, I think I always knew that Dad had MUCH more fun when he was there with The June Crew at the close of every school year.
So you can imagine my delight when my sister Laura sent each of her siblings a DVD last week, copied from a video she found when going through Dad's things. It was titled "June Crew. June 8th, 1990." I popped in the disc and held my breath as the image of happy, smiling men loading their boat at the Key River Marina appeared. I recognized them all immediately as my Dad's dear friends and fellow educators.
Two things became apparent immediately. The first was you never saw my Dad. He was constantly behind the camera, talking to whomever he was taping at the time. The second was that you could hear my Dad's voice distinctly, and I've never heard him sound so happy. He laughed constantly, even appearing to giggle in some places.
It's important to remind you here that my father was a constant worrier. From the days of his youth when he was forced to pick up the slack for his alcoholic father, to his adult years raising his own large family, Dad fretted about EVERYTHING. He worried about money and about the safety and purity of his children. He was constantly imagining he "smelled smoke" in the house and kept all the doors locked at all times, even though we lived in the middle of nowhere on a quiet cul de sac. He was always, always tense. Except for that one week in June.
As he followed the men loading their boats and mugging for the camera, the anticipation in Dad's voice is unmistakable. He asks them dumb, silly questions, like, "Are we gonna catch a lot of fish on this trip?" When the inevitable reply was, "You betcha!" he'd laugh and yell back, "Atta boy!"
As I watched the DVD from start to finish, wiping a tear away at some particularly sweet moments, a thought occurred to me. I don't know if I've ever been as happy as my Dad sounded on that tape. I've been in some great places with gorgeous scenery, with awesome company, but I'm not sure if my voice has ever sounded as exuberant and giddy as Dad's did as he rode on his friend's boat down that Key River. I'm so grateful he had that week every year.
How about you? Do you have a place that makes you deliriously joyful? Do you have a yearly gathering with friends or family that you anticipate, and never disappoints? Oh, I hope so! Everyone, at some point, should sound like Dad did on that tape. It's my wish for you today. I hope you find a place that you can share with the people you love the most in this world. A place that makes you relax and smile, but also invigorates and inspires you!
If you've already found that place, will you tell me about it now? I'd LOVE to hear about it! And as always,
Thanks for Reading!!
Monday, September 20, 2010
Time to Celebrate!!
I passed a bit of a milestone a few weeks back: On September 1st, 2009, I officially started this blog! My husband had been encouraging me to exercise my writing skills, and assured me that this would be a great way to start. So, nervously, I did!!
I thought I'd post that very first entry today, as a belated anniversary celebration. I must tell you, I was TERRIFIED! I figured no one would care about my silly stories, and I felt so vulnerable sending them out into the blogosphere! I was so sure I'd get nothing but negative feedback, I initially disabled the comments option.
What I found, instead, was this lovely, encouraging blogging community that has been so wonderfully supportive through every step of the way! Thanks to ALL of you! I really, really appreciate it!
So much has changed in just one short year since I started this blog. A year ago, I had just moved to York, PA, and my Dad was relatively healthy, living a happy life of retirement with my Mom in Florida. Today, I live in Nashville, TN, and my Dad has passed away. I'm so grateful I was able to record some of the wonderful memories of Dad on this blog, for all eternity. Although he never read any of my stories, I'm certain he'd be proud of the words I've written here.
So, here it is, my first entry, from one year ago. Can't you just HEAR my knees knocking?...

So, I've decided to join the ranks of Those-Who-Think-They-Can-Write-And-Who-Also-Think-That-Others-May-Even-Want-To-Read-Their-Stuff! Thanks to my husband Alan's gentle urging and reassurance that my technologically-challenged brain can actually maneuver this baby, I officially throw my hat into the literary ring.
I thought I'd post that very first entry today, as a belated anniversary celebration. I must tell you, I was TERRIFIED! I figured no one would care about my silly stories, and I felt so vulnerable sending them out into the blogosphere! I was so sure I'd get nothing but negative feedback, I initially disabled the comments option.
What I found, instead, was this lovely, encouraging blogging community that has been so wonderfully supportive through every step of the way! Thanks to ALL of you! I really, really appreciate it!
So much has changed in just one short year since I started this blog. A year ago, I had just moved to York, PA, and my Dad was relatively healthy, living a happy life of retirement with my Mom in Florida. Today, I live in Nashville, TN, and my Dad has passed away. I'm so grateful I was able to record some of the wonderful memories of Dad on this blog, for all eternity. Although he never read any of my stories, I'm certain he'd be proud of the words I've written here.
So, here it is, my first entry, from one year ago. Can't you just HEAR my knees knocking?...
In The Beginning...
So, I've decided to join the ranks of Those-Who-Think-They-Can-Write-And-Who-Also-Think-That-Others-May-Even-Want-To-Read-Their-Stuff! Thanks to my husband Alan's gentle urging and reassurance that my technologically-challenged brain can actually maneuver this baby, I officially throw my hat into the literary ring.
So, here's my story: I'm a 45 year old white female, raised in the suburbs of Cleveland, Ohio. It was in school there that I received my first creative writing assignments and discovered that I really enjoyed completing them. In seventh grade, my english teacher read one of my fiction essays out loud to the class. I was both mortified and completely jazzed. My mom bought me a thesaurus for my birthday. I was going to be the next Ernest Hemingway.
Then I was cast as the lead in Nordonia High School's musical production of "Anything Goes." That was it. My thesaurus never stood a chance. I became a musical theater major at Syracuse University, graduated, and began my quest for the great Broadway Stage. What I didn't figure on was how miserable I'd be living in New York City. I hated it. I gave it a few good years, did a few decent shows and somehow ended-up moving to Orlando, Florida. I spent sixteen years there, thirteen of them doing the Terminator 2/3D show at Universal Studios. It was a fantastic, awesome gig, and I loved every minute of it.
But, my stud of a husband (you'll hear more about him in later entries) got promoted, which brings us here to our new current residence in York, PA. So, with the lights of the theater fading behind me now, I keep spotting that old worn thesaurus out of the corner of my eye. It beckons me to give my first love a try. I decided to listen.
The name of my blog is a nostalgic nod to something my grumpy, old, Irish dad used to say. He had a lot of sayings: "Hit the Bricks!" (Get Out of Here!), "Tough Tarantula!" (Sucks to Be You!), or "Not too shabby!" (You did good, kid. I am proud of you!). When he was fishing off the deck of his beloved boat, a can of Pepsi in hand on a sunny afternoon, he'd lean back in his chair and say, "I wonder what the poor people are doing today!" But my favorite Jack Donnelly quote growing up was the classic, "Anything Fits a Naked Man." Simple, but true, no? Hard to complain when you're in need!
It is with that quote in mind that I undertake this new adventure. I'm just going to test the creative writing waters once again, naked as I am! Hope you enjoy...
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Showing Up
This won't be a long post today. I just wanted to drop in and thank all of you for your kind, supportive words regarding my Dad's death.
To all my dear friends and acquaintances from out of town who called, e-mailed, facebooked, and sent lovely hand-written notes, thank you. I can't tell you how much it means to me.
You should've seen Dad's wake. There wasn't an empty parking space at the funeral home, because so many people came to pay their respects to this brother, uncle, friend, colleague, and teacher they knew and loved.
Dad's former students were the ones that touched me the most. You may remember from an earlier post that Dad was a high school shop teacher for several years (although he hated that term, and insisted we call it "Industrial Arts."). His students were often not the most academically gifted in the school, but Dad's class offered them a chance to excel at something else; working with their hands and creating something to be proud of.
Imagine how much it meant to my siblings and I to have these grown men approach us as we stood next to Dad's casket, and tell us how profoundly Dad affected their lives. They could have bought a sympathy card at the grocery store, signed their names at the bottom, and mailed it to the house. But they didn't. They showed up. And I'll never forget it.
They put on suits and uncomfortable shoes, combed their hair and drove a few towns away, just to pay their respects in person. They grabbed our hands and looked into our eyes and told us how much they appreciated our father. And I'll never forget it.
There were others who showed up, too. Like the now grown-up boys who lived next door to us thirty years ago. They used to make Dad crazy because they mowed the lawn in their bare feet (safety hazard) and yelled loudly at each other during spirited games of whiffle ball played in their backyard. We hadn't seen any of them in years. Yet, there they were, to grab our hands and gently say, "So sorry to hear about your Dad." They showed up. And I'll never forget it.
Then there were my friends. Not friends of Dad's, mind you (although there were plenty of those, too), MY friends. High school friends who didn't know Dad that well, but came to comfort ME. They showed up with warm hugs, handing me their phone numbers written on slips of paper for "if you just need to talk, or get away for awhile." Gay, my childhood friend, and her parents, whom I haven't seen in over two decades, showed up. And I'll never forget it.
Many of the people I've mentioned above don't read this blog, and will probably never get this message, but I hope you'll indulge me as I send it anyway:
From the bottom of my heart, thank you. Not only were you a tremendous comfort, you taught me an invaluable lesson. Showing up means much more than I ever imagined. Before that evening, if my childhood next door neighbor had passed away and I learned about the funeral, I may have penned a quick note to their children and dropped it in the mail, feeling really good that I "reached out." But now all that has changed.
I will show up. I will curl my hair, put on makeup, hose, and a dress, and I will be there. I will wrap my arms around you, and remind you how loved you are. You have my word. Because based on my experience, it's the absolute best thing I can do.
Thanks for Reading.
To all my dear friends and acquaintances from out of town who called, e-mailed, facebooked, and sent lovely hand-written notes, thank you. I can't tell you how much it means to me.
You should've seen Dad's wake. There wasn't an empty parking space at the funeral home, because so many people came to pay their respects to this brother, uncle, friend, colleague, and teacher they knew and loved.
Dad's former students were the ones that touched me the most. You may remember from an earlier post that Dad was a high school shop teacher for several years (although he hated that term, and insisted we call it "Industrial Arts."). His students were often not the most academically gifted in the school, but Dad's class offered them a chance to excel at something else; working with their hands and creating something to be proud of.
Imagine how much it meant to my siblings and I to have these grown men approach us as we stood next to Dad's casket, and tell us how profoundly Dad affected their lives. They could have bought a sympathy card at the grocery store, signed their names at the bottom, and mailed it to the house. But they didn't. They showed up. And I'll never forget it.
They put on suits and uncomfortable shoes, combed their hair and drove a few towns away, just to pay their respects in person. They grabbed our hands and looked into our eyes and told us how much they appreciated our father. And I'll never forget it.
There were others who showed up, too. Like the now grown-up boys who lived next door to us thirty years ago. They used to make Dad crazy because they mowed the lawn in their bare feet (safety hazard) and yelled loudly at each other during spirited games of whiffle ball played in their backyard. We hadn't seen any of them in years. Yet, there they were, to grab our hands and gently say, "So sorry to hear about your Dad." They showed up. And I'll never forget it.
Then there were my friends. Not friends of Dad's, mind you (although there were plenty of those, too), MY friends. High school friends who didn't know Dad that well, but came to comfort ME. They showed up with warm hugs, handing me their phone numbers written on slips of paper for "if you just need to talk, or get away for awhile." Gay, my childhood friend, and her parents, whom I haven't seen in over two decades, showed up. And I'll never forget it.
Many of the people I've mentioned above don't read this blog, and will probably never get this message, but I hope you'll indulge me as I send it anyway:
From the bottom of my heart, thank you. Not only were you a tremendous comfort, you taught me an invaluable lesson. Showing up means much more than I ever imagined. Before that evening, if my childhood next door neighbor had passed away and I learned about the funeral, I may have penned a quick note to their children and dropped it in the mail, feeling really good that I "reached out." But now all that has changed.
I will show up. I will curl my hair, put on makeup, hose, and a dress, and I will be there. I will wrap my arms around you, and remind you how loved you are. You have my word. Because based on my experience, it's the absolute best thing I can do.
Thanks for Reading.
About Me
- Anything Fits A Naked Man
- Nashville, TN, United States
- Welcome to my blog! I'm Joan, a former actress attempting to reconnect with my first love of writing. Join me as I ponder my Irish dad, sweet grandma, GPS dependency, hatred of the Hallmark channel, and other insightful topics that make you go, "Hmmm..."
























