We make wishes but they don’t always come into being. We hope to do something. It doesn’t happen. This morning I lay in bed wishing for sleep. Planning for sleep. Hoping for sleep. I found that, as usual, my thoughts continued to flow. “Just get up and write,” I said to myself. You are not going to sleep, right now. And, tomorrow is another day. You have no where to go and only the things on your list to be done.”
So, here I am at my computer. Thinking. Not sleeping. I was thinking about not being able to learn and/or achieve some of the things for which I had planned.
Riding a horse, for example. Yes, other than carousel horses, I was on a horse – once. I remember I was in Cañon City, Colorado, visiting my cousin and her mom and dad. One day, my cousin and I had an opportunity to ride a horse. I have no idea whose horse it was or why the opportunity came to us. The plan was for each of us to ride that horse separately. The person who owned the horse was not going to be on the horse with us, even though, I had never been on a real living horse before and didn’t know the first thing about what to do when astride the beast.
My turn came. I must have been helped up onto the horse by another person. I certainly didn’t know what to do, although I’d seen cowboys in movies get up onto horses. I firmly believe that a horse can tell when a novice is on its back. The horse began to move without any urging from me. It suddenly took off down the street at a very fast pace. How I stayed on the horse is a mystery to me. I knew that it was headed toward a major highway that pierced the town from east to west. Remember that this was years ago, long before highways were four, six, or more lanes.
Somehow, the horse knew that crossing the thoroughfare was dangerous, and it stopped. When the horse stopped, I remember turning it around (courtesy of the cowboy movies) and rode it back to the starting point – my aunt’s house. I never was on another horse, and that’s been at least seventy-six years ago.
Some folks swim like a fish. Not me. Not ever. That doesn’t mean that I didn’t give it my best shot. Several times. The first was as a Brownie Girl Scout. Summer camp included one day to go to the swimming pool. Everyone knows how to swim – NOT! There was a coach/guard who gave some instruction. Clearly, not enough for me. I didn’t learn anything that day. Not floating. Not putting my head under water. And, definitely, not swimming. The only think I learned was to be afraid of the water.
As a college student, I had occasion to talk about swimming with one of the dining hall cooks. I really did want to learn to swim. After all, most people did learn to swim. So, the cook and I went to the Juanita Hot Springs about thirty miles away from the college. Now, he did his best to teach me how to swim that day. How to not be afraid of the water. How to relax and just follow his instructions. Really?! Clearly, that was not going to happen.
That was my last attempt at learning to swim. It is entirely possible that writing this piece about my attempts to learn to swim could make me violently ill. Just thinking about it. Ugh! If there are several inches of water in a bathtub – say four – I can’t get into it. If I’m outside changing the water hose and it sprays on me, I lose my concentration and breath. Is it any wonder that I only take showers of warm water to bathe?
I did, however, learn to ride a motor cycle. On my fortieth birthday, I decided that everything I was learning was related to academia. And, I determined, I would learn something that was not. I debated whether it should be horseback riding or riding a motorcycle. Motorcycle won because: 1) You can keep a motorcycle in the garage; or parked outside, if necessary. 2) A motorcycle does not have to be boarded somewhere, fed, and cleaned up after. Yes, motorcycle won, hands down.
I made a good faith effort to learn to play musical instruments. Piano. Recorder. Zither. Dulcimer. As a child, and as an adult, I took lessons to learn to play the piano. And, although I could play some recognizable tunes, one would never say that I had any accomplishment with that instrument. The attempts on the recorder and the zither and the dulcimer were equally disastrous. I never really had anyone teaching me to play those three instruments. Even though Larry built a dulcimer, no one has ever played it.
Music just isn’t my thing. I don’t sing, either. Nobody wants to hear me sing – not even in church. So, I don’t. My children and grands all sing; daughters, son-in-law, and grands. They are all very accomplished musicians. Piano, guitar, violin, oboe, Indian flute, bassoon, organ, harp. So, my music comes to me vicariously. And, I am content with that.
Languages other than English elude me. I’ve tried. Really, I’ve tried. In high school, it was Latin and Spanish. Failed at both. As an adult, I tried French and German. Failed at those, as well. Now, I can parrot words when I hear them, but they have no meaning for me. It’s a good thing that I attended college before learning a foreign language was required to graduate. I would never have received a BA or an MA or been a doctoral student.
I’ve always said that the only foreign language I learned was shorthand. Remember shorthand? The quick way to record oral conversation by using written characters, unintelligible to most people. To learn shorthand, it really helped to be able to hear words phonetically. Shorthand was of great help when taking notes in college. Later, when teaching, the children were always impressed when I could write what they said and read it back to them.
When I think of my special abilities, I always think about sewing. I made my kids’ clothing, as well as some business suits for Larry when business attire could be the “leisure” suit. And, of course, I made my own clothing. I made my daughters’ white dresses that they wore for their church confirmation ceremonies. When I made the dress for Daughter #3, she had chosen a “Gibson Girl” pattern. High collar with a wrap-around shoulder collar, as well. Long skirt with a ten-inch ruffle and a sash. The sleeves were the “puff” sleeve on top with tight eight-inch cuffs and ten or so buttons to fasten them. And lace everywhere! I “built” that dress in my mind for days. Then came the Saturday that it was to be constructed. And, it happened. The result was one, long, Gibson-Girl dress. It had worked just fine. Close inspection, however, found that I had put ten buttons on one cuff and only nine on the other. I did not fix that error; I figured nobody was going to count the buttons.
I made the wedding dress for Daughter #3, as well as the dress for her bride’s maid – Daughter #1. We had gone to a special cloth store to purchase the materials. The lace that was to be used cost $40 a yard. $40! When we arrived home, Daughter #1 was showing her dad the materials. And, she told him how much the lace had cost. Being the “Dark Lutheran” that he was, he made one of his famous statements (bless him – he was prone to making these statements). He asked me, “What if you make a mistake?” First, I told him I didn’t plan to make a mistake. And, if I did, I’d go buy more lace. But, I didn’t make a mistake.
So, yes. I can sew. However, lately, with the macular degeneration, I cannot see well enough to thread the machine needle. So, I fear that my sewing days are over.
And, I can cook. Not that I do much of that any more. Cooking for one is no fun. So, mostly what I do is definitely not cooking. I love to cook for crowds. Give me ten, twenty, fifty people to cook for, and I’m happy. Time was when we would have a Fourth of July party in our back yard, every year. Invited friends and relatives would bring their favorite dishes to share. I would make a meat dish (sometimes, two) and some vegetables. Rolls and honey butter. It was fun. Everyone (except me) would leave at the appropriate time to see fireworks. I would stay at home, review the day, and think – it is fun to have given a party.
I never have driven a semi truck and trailer. Not that I really ever wanted to drive one. But, I have driven bookmobiles and school buses. Years ago, recycling was just coming into its own as a thing. We had an organization called ECO Cycle; I was pleased to be the president of our local unit. It was patterned after the original ECO Cycle out of Boulder. We would drive the city streets on a regular schedule and pick up items left on the curb for us to recycle – glass, aluminum, cans, paper, etc. We owned school buses with seats removed for the pick up.
One library where I worked bought a new bookmobile. On an International Harvester chassis, the Gerstenslager bookmobile was a beautiful thing to behold. It was, at that time, the largest, single-unit vehicle allowed on the road. And, it was fun to drive.
As I look back over the many years of living, I realize that there certainly have been things that I wished I could have learned and done. However, I do think that all of the “can do” things probably outweigh the “can’t do” things.
And, I am content.
Be Safe and Be Well
The Cranky Crone
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