Bloomin’ gorgeous!

Just remember in the winter
Far beneath the bitter snow
Lies the seed that with the sun's love,

In the spring becomes the rose.

—“The Rose” lyrics by Amanda McBroom

My front, side and back yards are ablaze in color. Hydrangeas, lilies, azaleas, lilacs and, most surprisingly, roses. Why is this surprising? Because I don’t do a doggone thing to help them thrive. Now, granted, there are a few spots and brown areas, but when you focus on the big picture… WOW!

Maybe part of the credit goes to the wet spring we’re having here in the Midwest. My hydrangeas are in botany heaven—never ever have they been so resplendent. Can’t find any info on it, but I think they earned their name because they love to be hydrated. While researching that point, however, I discovered that I must have alkaline soil.

The exact color often mirrors the pH of the soil; acidic soils produce blue flowers,
neutral soils produce very pale cream petals, and alkaline soils results in pink or purple.
—Wikipedia

Kind of wish my soil was more neutral—the creamy are dreamy! But I’m not complaining. Every morning as I sit at the kitchen table sipping coffee, I gaze out the windows at the beauty that surrounds me and say a little prayer of thanks.

Oh Happy Day…

FIRST FAMILY PORTRAIT: Two-day-old Ryan with his proud daddy and exhausted-but-beaming mommy.


“Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.” —Anonymous

Wednesday, June 9, 1982 at 7:41 pm at Scripps Memorial Hospital in La Jolla, CA:

“It’s a boy!” Dr. VandenBurg heartily announced. After 23 hours of labor, he had a bluish cast and a head that may have been the inspiration for a future SNL skit—but he was pure perfection in my eyes (still is). In keeping with tradition, the doctor immediately placed a wiggly, sputtery 8 lb., 2 oz. miracle on my chest and took a Polaroid shot. When Ryan was about four, I showed him his first-ever photo. “Wow! That’s me?” He exclaimed. “Who’s that lady I’m with?” Hey, what can I say? I’d never worked so hard, and it showed (but nothing could wipe that ear-to-ear smile off my face).

At one of Ryan’s well-baby visits, Dr. Balch confided that he thought I may have given birth to “Super Baby.” I’d have to concur. Ryan began walking at eight months and it was full-speed-ahead from there. He’s accomplished more in 28 years than many do in a lifetime. With his bigger-than-life personality and heart to match, my years as Ryan’s mom have been an adventure of the most wondrous kind and I treasure every moment (though some of the college frat shenanigans are iffy). Ryan’s birthday is always a day for celebration—as happy for me as it hopefully is for him.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010 at 7:41 pm on Summit Street in Shawnee, KS:

New post entered and “Submit!”

Show and Tell

One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.
—popular idiom

Generally, I’ve found that “one man’s trash” has the same value to me. I’m not big on garage sales or second-hand stores. One evening I came home from work and an old-fashioned, garish mantel clock was sitting on the kitchen counter. In response to my quizzical expression, Tom explained that he passed by an estate sale and had some extra time on his hands, so went on in. “What a deal, huh? It was only $20!” Yeah, right. No matter where I set it, it stuck out like a sore thumb. That old clock, which surprisingly still keeps perfect time, finally found a home in the sitting room off our master bedroom. Its tick-tick-ticking often lulls me to sleep at night.

That said, I couldn’t resist going to an estate sale yesterday. The VP of my department is a renowned interior decorator and has impeccable taste (he even has a can’t-miss-it design column in SPACES Magazine). He recently sold his beautiful home in historic Hyde Park to relocate to a condo he’s refurbishing near the Country Club Plaza. Well, all the contents of his home couldn’t fit into the condo…thus, the estate sale.

I missed the first day which I hear was a tremendous success, but the second day offered the few things left at half-price. It was a little discouraging finding item after item that I’d love to take home with a “sold” sticker or a note stating that it was to remain in the home. Finally my eyes landed on a set of round bamboo platters—one jumbo, two large and five small (bet there were once a half dozen). I liked how they looked and thought the large one would display nicely on a recessed shelf in my entry. Breaking up the set was a “no-no,” but another shopper and I agreed to split it. So I took home one of the large ones and the smaller set of five. As you can see in photo on the far right, the large platter on a stand makes a lovely monochromatic statement with my Devonshire* walls (doing my best to talk design-ey here), and as shown in the other photo, the small platters work beautifully as chargers.

Lesson to this story: one person's castaway truly might be another's treasure. And, for the record, the clock has definitely grown on me.


* A Ralph Lauren interior paint color.

What a relief!

Good works are links that form a chain of love.
—Mother Teresa

It all began in Olathe, Kansas—about 15 minutes from my home. Back in 1992, Dr. Gary Morsch traveled to Russia and witnessed a healthcare system on the brink of collapse. He then took it upon himself to organize local collection drives and major pharmaceutical companies to donate much-needed products. Even the government volunteered an Air Force cargo plane, and desperately needed medical aid was distributed. Thanks to hundreds of volunteers and caring corporate partners, the Heart to Heart Airlift was a success and Heart to Heart International (www.hearttoheart.org) was born.

Eighteen years later this relief organization continues to build a healthier world by helping people in need, doing it efficiently (FEMA should take note) and letting everyone serve—like me and some of my favorite coworkers. On Monday, May 24, we gathered at the Heart to Heart Warehouse and Distribution Center. After an inspiring video and tour of the massive facility lined with flags of the nations that have benefited from Heart to Heart relief, we proceeded to pack individual personal care packets. We filled each bag with donated personal hygiene necessities including soap, towels, hair products and more (by the way, there’s a tremendous need for toothpaste if you’d like to help out). On this particular day, we made a difference in 1,200 individual lives who will receive these necessities allowing each a semblance of dignity and hope at a most desperate and frightening time. That’s a good feeling!

Extra, Extra, Read All About It!

May you grow up to be righteous
May you grow up to be true
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you
May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
May you stay forever young
— Bob Dylan

Sunday morning, May 16: there they were in full-color on page 33 of the Kansas City Star magazine. My handsome, brilliant, highly accomplished son with his beautiful fiancée. Gotta admit, I’ve got a stack of copies—but if you haven’t seen it yet, log onto http://www.legacy.com/kansascity/Celebrations.asp and click on the “Engagement” button. It’s a very exciting time and I’m sure there will be a number of future entries about the upcoming event.

Why the lyrics from “Forever Young,” you wonder? That’s the song I’ve selected for the Mother/Son dance—the only one I’ll ever have. Words straight from my heart (thank you, Bob…and thank you, Ryan).

Take a shortcut…

How can I control my life when I can’t control my hair? —Author Unknown

“Nancy, help me!” I pleaded with my stylist. “No matter how much styling gel and super-hold hairspray I use, I still get the Betty Rubble flip! Is there anything you can do?”

“There’s one thing we can do,” she replied with a hope-you’re-up-for-this smile.

Problem solved! I’m now sporting a short, kinda trendy cut—and I kinda like it. I’ve actually received quite a few compliments. Goodbye, Betty—don’t think I’m going to be seeing you anytime soon.

Brag Alert!

When you live for a strong purpose, then hard work isn’t an option. It’s a necessity.
—Steve Pavlin

My daughter Meghan just finished her first year in med school—an accomplishment in itself. The other day she received her grades on her finals: four As and a B. How can anyone so beautiful, fun, kind and wise be this smart, too?!

Sunny days are here again…

Having a little difficulty organizing these photos...

(Lower Left) The shaggy grass after the spring rain.

(Upper Left) Ahhh... much better—check out those lines!

(Upper Right) Gato, the coolest cat in the world, likes to watch the mowing action through the screen door.


“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under Heaven.” —Ecclesiastes 3:1
(and Pete Seeger, too)

The sun is out, it’s 73 degrees, and I’m doing a little happy dance. As a native southern Californian transplanted to the Midwest, I miss the beach—but more than that, I miss year-round sunshine. Granted, it wasn’t sunny every day back in OC, but I’m quite sure my vitamin D level never took a dive. Now don’t get me wrong, the Wizard of Oz effect of watching the world go from black-and-white to Technicolor as winter turns to spring is something I’d never experienced in my pre-KC days—and, after fourteen years, it still amazes me. The first winter we lived here I was positive the wooded area behind our house had suffered some kind of horrible blight and each of the trees had seen its last green leaf. Watching that forest come back to life as March gave way to April, filled me with childlike wonder, hope and anticipation. I felt a closeness to and appreciation of nature that I never had before. And it happens every year.

Yep, I miss those sunny warm California days when winter casts its frigid pall over the heartland, but I know if I were to return to the west coast I’d miss the changing of the seasons even more. I was inspired to write this because we’ve just endured seemingly endless days of springtime rain. Now? Time to go home and mow that way-too-long-because-it-was-too-wet-to-cut lawn.

Read it and weep…

"Reading is everything. Reading makes me feel like I've accomplished something, learned something, become a better person. Reading makes me smarter. Reading gives me something to talk about later on. Reading is the unbelievably healthy way my attention deficit disorder medicates itself. Reading is grist. Reading is bliss."
— Nora Ephron

Amen, Ms. Ephron! And thank you, E.B. White. My addiction began almost 47 years ago while bawling my little pony-tailed head off at the demise of a spider. Yes, I’m a reader—and proud of it! In fact I get a little agitated when I’m not in the middle of a good page-turner. Oh, how I wish I felt the same way about jogging—I’d be able to eat Mocha Almond Concretes to my heart’s content! Back in my teaching days it always amazed me when the kids would ask how many pages they had to read for homework. “Why would you want to stop reading?” I’d ask. “Would you watch a great movie like that? Ten minutes today, then ten tomorrow, then ten the next day…?” But, alas, in response to questioning saucer-eyes, I’d give a chapter assignment. Last night I finished a fabulous novel by one of my favorite authors, “Every Last One” by Anna Quindlen. I’m not going to give a review here, but it’s a plot that hits unimaginably hard at a mother’s heart. Next up? “South of Broad” by Pat Conroy (Charleston, here I come!).

Forgive me Waylon and Willie, but I’m going to take a little liberty with that ol’ country hit of yours and urge, “Mamas, make sure your babies grow up to be readers.”

Okay, here goes…

"It's good to do uncomfortable things. It's weight training for life."
— Anne Lamott

A blog? Me? A blog is so personal—it’s kind of like letting someone read your private journal (you know, that journal I always start and don’t keep up). Of course, knowing that it’s going to be out in the open may be just the kick in the butt I need to keep on writing. Hopefully, you’ll be a little entertained, periodically informed and not too enraged at an occasional rant.

So, “Confessions of a Fifty-Something — Life in the Middle Ages” begins today.

And, since I am unable to format line breaks in the "About Me" section, I've placed it here...

I’m an ENFP.
Careers? I’ve had three.
Size 10 to a tee.
And I live in Shawnee
(Kansas, that is).

This eloquent poem doesn’t reveal everything about me, however you’ll probably learn more than you’d ever want to know as you continue to read (check in often).