On Being Shy

About age 9-10 Elementary School
Yarn - wasn't just for knitting!

I grew up painfully shy - so shy in fact, that I embarrassed my parents each time they introduced me to someone & I would turn my back to that person. When I was in Girl Scouts as a child, I had no friends to hang out with, because I was just too embarrassed to talk to anyone. I remember how at Girl Scout Camp, a scout leader asked me my name. I told her my name was Carol, which was my actual name (instead of Cari, that I go by now), but I said it so softly, that she thought I said Karen. I was Karen for the duration of my time at camp, & I lacked the courage to speak up & tell people otherwise. It's a terrible thing to be shy. You feel trapped in a prison of your own making, yet despite the fact that you have the power to unlock the door, you don't know how to do so.

My Pepsy

Me, Pepsy (in front), & my sister's sweet dog Frosty. 
I've obscured my friend's image behind me, out of 
respect for her privacy.  

I'll never forget my birthday in 1972. I was eleven years old. My parents had surprised me with a tiny, brownish-black, squirming bundle of cute. I remember the delight I had when that little puppy entered my world. I loved drinking soda back then...still do. Although I am a Coke drinker now, the cola brand that graced our refrigerator shelves when I was growing up, was Pepsi. Not being quite sure what to name my new puppy, somehow, the color of her fluffy fur reminded me of the color of the Pepsi in our fridge. Of course I didn't want to spell my puppy's name the same way that the cola was spelled, so her name became Pepsy instead.  

Perfect Breeze

The perfect breeze, neither warm nor cold
On an early autumn day
Carries with it, thoughts of old
And memories of yesterday.

It primes the heart to think of
Those we love, we miss, we mourn,
And in its gentle softness,
It will hug, remind or warn.

On Being the Mother of a Soldier: Part 3

My father in his Marine uniform
during WWII, with my grandmother

Mothers have been doing this since almost the beginning of time. They have been saying goodbye to their children, as they head off to war, not knowing if they'd ever return. I am no different. The methods of warfare may have changed through the centuries, but the emotions a mother (or a father) feels remain the same.  Let me just start this post by emphatically stating that there is no way that I could possibly have any clue what it is like to be a soldier or a member of any military branch for that matter.