Reflections

The fastest way to cure the blues is a large caramel frozen custard. Works every time.

The shortest distance between two points passes the refrigerator.

Never eat snow off the metal merry-go-round.

The best green apples are always at the top of the tree.

When the neighborhood kids get in a brawl, after they've "kissed and made up," why is it all the Moms are still upset?

Smashing our tin cans and putting them out by the curb for pick-up made us kids feel like we were helping win the war (WWII).

There was something about taking large bouquets of lilacs to school to be distributed to the VA Hospitals on "Lilac Day" that still brings memories that, somehow, we shared God's love and brought comfort to the wounded soldiers.

When sleeping in the attic as kids, we always knew it had snowed during the night, even before looking out the window, because everything was so quiet . . . until Katy, the Snowplow came by.

When Dad whistled on a warm summer night to signal it was time for us to come home, why is it that no matter how far away we were or how hard we tried to ignore it, his whistle penetrated the air and we knew we'd better head for home?

Even now the melodic sounds of "Beyond the Sunset" bring fond memories of WMBI in Chicago.

Remember "Beulah"?

Then there was the night Dad brought home a real live TV !! Black and white, of course.

Dad's Saturday morning ritual of adjusting the TV by way of the "circle" on the screen provided by each network. If the circle was round, the people would be in proportion. Sometimes that ol' TV just wouldn't adjust.

Dad often brought work home from the office. I'd sit next to him to watch, and he'd say, "Someday, kiddo, when you're a secretary, you'll . . . .", and he'd share a bit of advice. When my "someday" came, I was a secretary and I have often reflected on Dad's sound words.

He'd also pour over house plans, and more than once he said, "Someday, kiddo, I'm going to build a house." And he did, outside of Eureka Springs, Arkansas, somewhere back off of Hog Scald Hollow Road. He designed it and built it. He was the architect, the contractor, the builder. He had help now and then from Ernie and Paul and Dan . . . but mostly, he built the house he dreamed of building. I'd like to own that house, now that I'm retired.

Ever try to get three loads of laundry off the line before the thunderstorm hit? Mom was pretty good at it . . . except one time as she ran up the back steps, her foot missed a step and she sprained her ankle. I think that's one of the few times I saw her cry. But I think she often cried silently in her heart.

My little girl called me the other day. She's not little anymore though. She's a Mom with three little girls of her own. But I love it when she calls. Then, quite circumstantially, a bit later, my son called. He's a Dad with three of his own. He didn't call to say "I love you, Mom" or anything mushy like that. He had a question. But you know what? His question told me he loved me. I love it when he calls.

Aren't reflections fun?