A Speckled Trout

On Wednesday night, I attended an awards ceremony for the graduating seniors.  These are students who are recognized for their brains, their involvement, their leadership and their success over the past four years. 

Each department gives an award to the outstanding student in their subject, and there are other awards that run the gamut from athletics to art to merit scholars.  One of the last awards given was the Principal’s Award which goes to four students who have demonstrated leadership amongst their peers.

Though Mallie Bee didn’t win any of the special awards, one of her friends did.  Her friend whose mother died of ovarian cancer when she was in the 8th grade, who had some very tough years before her and her brother settled into their motherless lives and who has never blamed anyone for the lousy hand she was dealt.

She strode across that stage with the confidence of somebody twice her age and I couldn’t have been happier, for her mother was one of the dearest people in my life.  Six years earlier, I sat next to Vicki in the elementary school gym when the 6th grade choir sang and she cried the entire time.  When they finished, she laughed at herself and wondered how emotional she’d be if her daughter actually did something big.

Well, my friend, she did do something big.  Very big.  She got through lonely days, upheaval and uncertainty, and stayed true to everything you valued in life.  When the principal handed her that award………I cried for you.

People ask me all the time how I feel about our impending empty nest.  I have mixed feelings.  Some days I can’t wait to not have to put the brakes on my day at 2:30 and hightail it home, and other times I look at The Big Daddy and think………hmmmm.  You and me have some catching up to do.

These days have brought about a lot of reflection on this child-rearing gig that I’ve been doing for the past 25 years and most of what I remember is the good, the barf, and the school projects.

When The Teacher Girl was in 1st grade, the kids had to do The Bug Project.  It came with a sheet of construction paper that the bug had to fit on, and it could be anything your child you dreamed up as long as it fit on the paper you were given.  Like every instruction sheet I’ve ever been given, I skimmed it, thus not fully understanding the significance of the endeavor.  We helped with the drawing of it as far as advice, and might have put a few sequins on it but it was most definitely a 1st grade effort.  All the bugs were put on display in the hallway so the kids chould show off their work their parents work.

We had no idea what we were in for.

Bugs that lit up, bugs that had moving parts, bugs with their favorite food coming out of their mouth and a bug made entirely of mink because Sarah’s mom owned a fur shop.

Sitting on a piece of construction paper in the back was The Fisher Family Bug that looked like it took a long, slow crawl from the trailer park and had been run over a few times in the process.

We learned our lesson and when it was The Boy Child’s turn, we stepped up our participation.  I made many trips to the craft store and his bug looked significantly better than his sister’s.  Alas, in The Land of The Overachievers and The Overindulged, it wasn’t a show stopper.

When it was Mallie Bee’s turn, The Big Daddy said, “Don’t worry.  I’ve got this covered.”  For a week he toiled at the workbench in the basement working with plaster of paris, paper mache and paint.  When he emerged he was carrying a cricket that weighed as much as The Beester and announced to the family…………..

“That school will remember the last Fisher bug.”

They did, too, for it was a menacing black cricket so pumped up on steroids that it scared the bejeezits out of kids and adults alike.  When it came home from The Big Show it spooked Mallie Bee so much that we shoved it in the closet with the other scary monsters and called it quits……….

………….which is what we are looking forward to after all these years.

Mallie Bee and I spend a lot of time together.  She does not drive.  Yet.  She has been slow to get her license due to a busy schedule and her parents continued apathy.  At the moment, she is not the least bit happy about this situation.

I took her to school and we were talking about making each other nuts.  Sometimes, she said……I make myself nuts.

Explain away.

Well, I overthink everything.  Somebody will say something to me and I’ll think……what did she mean by that?  Is she mad at me?  I wonder what I did to make her mad?  But I hardly see her so how could I have made her mad?  Then I’ll think……..maybe she’s not anything.  Maybe I’m reading into things that aren’t there.

You have learned from the master.

When a sparkly, beautiful, smart girl says those things it sounds more like teenage angst then a neurosis.

All in due time my little pretty.

This is my windowbox.  We paid a whole lot of $$$$$ for this piece of crap.  It came with a lifetime warranty.  Sure it did. 

We babied it last year and made it work, but this year the entire top was rotting and it no workie.  I went to Lowe’s and geez as in Louise, they put something in the garden department and jack up the price like we’re all crazy enough to pull out our Visa.  So I roamed the home improvement store looking for an alternative.

I ended up getting some hanging willow baskets for $7.00, but with the weight of the flowers that hanger thing would break in no time.  And join the above-mentioned piece o’ crap.

Thinking, thinking.

I came home and went to my project pile and found two boards to put on the brackets.  I picked these up from a pile behind Mallie Bee’s dance studio.  She was mortified.  They were there forever which means nobody needed them.  Then I had them here forever which means……….nothing.

It needed some Purse-O-Nality so I added the white border fence that I picked up from the curb.  I’ve got a stack of those I haven’t used but can’t throw them away.  Me and patina……….we go steady.

Then I stuck a chipped up gold frame in there because you must add a little class to a little junk.  This calls for a party.  With candles on my shelf.

First, I’ve got to paint that not painted shingle.  And then the whole house.  That thing hanging on the corner is a piece of metal that was a dollar.  Nobody knew what it was.  Me either but I bought it and stuck it there.

I love metal.  Don’t tell patina.

……….and when I get to be creative and plant, I feel planted.

I was taking Mallie Bee to dance and she was telling me there’s been some crack-a-lackin going on at ballet.  Her teachers are a husband and wife team who were professional ballet dancers, and they do not suffer slackers.  You’d better pay attention and work harder than you’ve ever worked in their classes or you will not survive.  While she was giving me the deets, I made some lame joke that I thought was hilariously funny.

This is what you do, Mom.  You crack YOURSELF up and nobody else, she said.  Do you just laugh all day at your own jokes?

Sometimes.  Which at that moment seemed loserish.

Part of the attire requirements for the girls is to have a red ribbon tied around their perfect little bun.  In these highly disciplined days of late, if you show up for class without the ribbon in your hair you’ll have to sit out.

Oh, that’s ridiculous. 

I know, Mallie Bee said, but they mean it. 

I dropped her off and told her to hang in there and tell ’em I said NOBODY PUTS BABY IN THE CORNER.

Which I thought was hilariously funny.

For the rest of the night and part of the following day.

I’ve written about my thrifty ways enough for you to probably think I am a cheapskate.  I am not.  I spend more than I should and have a frequent chat with myself about wants vs. needs.

I started working retail when the kids were little because the schedule was flexible.  While employed at small businesses, I always saw the cost of an item from the manufacturer on the purchase order.  Typically, if it came in at $20.00 it would get doubled plus a margin of $10.00 – $12.00.  That’s why even when something is marked half off there is still some money being made.  Not much, and no business can survive on that, but hopefully enough is being sold at full price to make up for the markdowns.

The Mayor of Crazy Town took that formula and threw it out the window, buying denim jackets for $15.00 and selling them for $89.00.  Cotton warm-up jackets came in at less than five dollars.  Cheap goods marked incredibly high, and because it was a boutique customers thought they were something special.

They were not.

You cannot buy the material to make a jacket for $4.50 let alone pay someone else to do it and ship it across the world.  And therein lies the problem, as this is likely coming from a sweat shop and participating in that has become a constant moral dilemma for me.

I fail frequently.  I pass a rack of shirts at Target and throw one in my cart.  Do I need it?  Where did it come from?  What did the earth choke up in resources to get it to me?  But if it’s only $19.99 how can I pass it up?

I’m trying and listening to my conscience……….which has become very loud this last year. 

You may remember reading about my Irish friend here.  He has Alzheimers and I sometimes see him on my morning walk.  He says things to me like “Top of the morning” and “That’s a mighty fine dog you’ve got there.”

He starts my day with a pitter-pat.

I was out walking and he was standing on the porch of a home a few doors down from his own.  Knocking.  Waiting for them to answer.  I walked up to see if I could help.

He showed me a set of keys and the fob had an engraving of a German Shepard on it.  These folks lost these, he said, and I need to return them.   I’ve raised a few of these myself.  Good dogs.  They’re going to be pretty upset to find out this is missing.

Can I see?

On the back side was an address.  His address.

Well, they don’t seem to be home.  Maybe we should walk back to your house.

O.k., he said, but I’m going to come back later before they start to worry about this dog.

We walked to his house and stood in front, and he looked at it like it was the first time he’d seen it.

Maybe you should go inside and have another cup of coffee.

Yes.  Yes.  That’s a good idea.

You can try later.  Maybe they’ll be home by then.

Yes.  You know, my wife and I raised eight kids in this little house.

I know.

You never know, he chuckled, maybe I have another eight somewhere else.  Well, it was good visiting with you.  Top of the morning.

Eight somewhere else????

Before we parted, he remembered that he was funny and when that comes to an end me and my mighty fine dog will mourn the day.