The Ring

Two years ago my phone rang.

My dad's phone number showed up on the caller I.D. 

With a slight amount of fear, I stared at the phone while it rang for a fourth time. 

"Don't answer it" was my first thought. "He's calling to tell you Grandma is gone" 

Grandma was 97 years old and each year we still had her was a blessing. 

"Hello?" I asked quietly and with caution.

"Hi Honey, this is Dad"

"Why are you calling me?"  I asked in an almost accusing voice. 

My dad hardly ever calls. We talk on birthdays or Christmas. I usually call him, so when I saw that caller I.D. I thought the worst.

My dad wasn't calling with the sad news I know is coming one day, he was calling to ask if I had received the package he mailed me a week prior. 

I had, in fact, received it that day. I just hadn't had a chance to call and thank him.

Several years ago, (25 to be exact), I asked my dad if I could have his high school class ring if he ever decided to get rid of it.

He shrugged it off and said, "Oh, that thing isn't worth anything. I'll probably just take it and get what little bit of money the gold is worth".

I told him I really hoped he would consider giving it to me for the sentimental value. 

A few years later, I asked him, again, about the ring. He said he wasn't even sure where "the damn thing" was. I told him again, I'd like to have it if he finds it one day. He didn't seem to worry that it might mean something to me.

Over the next few years, I asked, (well, badgered him, I suppose), a few more times about that ring and finally figured I should shut-up about it.

Neither of us mentioned it again. 

No Biggie.

My dad doesn't show much in the way of emotion. He doesn't reminisce much. He doesn't seem to be sentimental and he doesn't let too many things bother him. 

I call it "The Butterfield Way". 

Really... it's something about that family. My sister is the same way. So is Grandma (even though she's a Stott and Butterfield is her married name).

On the day of that phone call, 2 years ago, I opened the mailbox and inside, on top of the junk mail, was a small manila envelope. 

The envelope was from my dad. 

Now, mind you, he doesn't send much in the way of correspondence, so this was a nice surprise.

I had no idea what might be in it, but I didn't wait to get back to the house before I tore open that envelope. 

Inside was a ring box and inside that ring box was Daddy's class ring. 

Of course, now, after all the years of bugging him about it, I felt a little silly as I took the ring out of that little box and slipped it on my middle finger. 

Tears welled in my eyes as I looked at the ring and remembered how, as a child, it looked so big on my dad's finger. Now, as an adult, it looked small and fit my finger perfectly. 

The edges of the ring had smoothed over the years.

The gold felt soft and, in a strange way, warm. 

After scolding him for calling me (because he hardly ever did) and scaring the crap out of me: "You know, Daddy, one of these days, I am going to get that call", 

I thanked him. 

I thanked him for remembering I wanted the ring. 

I thanked him for setting it aside.

I thanked him for sending it to me.

Of course, in his "Butterfield Way" he just said, "Oh, I decided it was time to clean out some things and get rid of them and when I came across the ring, I remembered you wanted it."

He went on to tell me after the first time I asked about the ring, he put it away for me, and forgot about it. 

Since that day, I look at my dad a little differently.

I think he's more sentimental than I thought before. 

I also think his heart is softer than he wants to show. 

I know he does things his way and when he wants to.

I'm the same way. 

(and, Grandma will be 99 next month)

My memories. My emotions

I think, probably, most of us have things we hold on to just for the emotions and memories they bring us.

I can tell you, I certainly do.

One particular item is a jewelry box my mom bought me for Christmas when I was around 7 years old.

Blue, rain stained (while in high school, it was sitting on a shelf in my room while our roof was being replaced and was drenched with  unexpected rain), satin and crushed velvet lined, a gold snap-clasp and the letter "D" monogrammed on the lid.

Inside, there are random items. Each with a memory or emotion that belongs to me. Me.

Each with an explanation only I can give. Each with an explanation only I care about.

With many things I share with my husband or kids or friends, I want them to understand the memory or emotion.

With this jewelry box, for some reason, I don't need that. When opened, it brings to me, an almost calming affect.

My memories. My emotions.

Inside, a small, yellowed, rough edged newspaper clipping about a tragedy that happened  in our family when I was 7. I still remember my step-mom keeping me in from retrieving the newspaper, then telling me about what happened. I remember crying as she hugged me and I picked at the little lint balls on her sweater.

There are a couple of fortunes removed from cookies long ago, 3 cute little pins (a chicken, a parrot and Jiminy Cricket) my step-mom bought me at the dime store, a pin my Grandma Butterfield bought me for Christmas one year. One gold hoop earring my mom gave me (her second husband gave them to her. I lost one). A watch my dad bought me for Christmas when i was in 3rd grade. It doesn't work, but how can I get rid of it? The bottom half of a mini jewelry box. I don't know where it came from, but I've had it forever.

Laying on the bottom of the box is 4 Mardi Gras coins from 1974 and a zodiac charm from a boyfriend in high school. I don't keep these because he was so "special" (believe me, he wasn't ).... they've just been in there so long, it seems strange to remove them. There are 2 rings from my CampFire Girls days. A blue bird pin from my Blue Bird days (pre-CampFire Girls) and a tiny lapel pin from The American Legion. A strand of purple wooden beads from CampFire Girls and 2 half dollars from my mom, each wrapped in tissue, with the name of my kids on them. I don't know the significance of these coins. I'm sure she told me at one time, but I have forgotten.

There is a silver plated name bracelet my dad and step-mom got me for some occasion. A pair of antique, yellow earrings and a resin necklace that belonged to my Grandma Clemence. A little necklace that belongs to my daughter, 2 sets of plastic airline wings (one pair from the first time my daughter, Shanel flew) and a black zipper-pull that belongs to Shanel. And a Turtle pendant from high school. My art teacher called me "Turtle" ... maybe someone bought me that because of the nickname.

A few things have been removed over the years. A "black diamond" from my Uncle Tony. I think my mom said he brought it back from Alaska. I don't know.... it's just what I remember. A second newspaper clipping about the family tragedy. I don't know where that one went. Doesn't matter. A gold cross with the diamond in it from my mom's wedding ring from her marriage to my dad... I've given this to Shanel for Jada.

This box, open and inviting, sitting next to me on the couch, once again has that calming effect. I don't even try to understand how. I just enjoy it. 

I pick up each item, move it around and nestle it back into the spot where it belongs.

I know, besides the items that belong to the kids, nothing in this box would mean anything to anyone else.

I know the memories and emotions I have with this box are mine.

I don't need anyone to share these feelings. I'm content owning them.

My memories. My emotions.

I've Earned it

I have earned many things in my life.

Wages, friends, enemies, points, etc... the usual in most of our lives. 

I have also earned many other things. 

Recently, while visiting with my life-long friend, Cindy, we cried, laughed, frowned, hugged and smiled together while discussing all the things we've been through in our lives. 

Having been friends since 2nd grade, she and I have witnessed the comings and goings in each others' lives. YES, since we were 7 years old ! 

We decided many of the things we now do, at our mature age, have been "earned".

...I am no longer going to dye my hair. I earned this right, just as I earned each and every one of these grey hairs I have decided I will not cover up. They are my badges. 

...We both wear capri pants. No, maybe they're not the most fashionable-looking on us, being alittle overweight and over 50 years in age. We earned this, ... many years prior trying to look our best and keep up with what we thought we were supposed to keep up with. Phew... that made me tired just writing it.

...I cry at the drop of a hat. Or while singing "Happy Birthday". Or while the American Flag passes by at a parade. Or while looking at pictures. Or reminiscing with an old friend. 

Sad, happy, melancholy, wishing, relief, etc, you name it, I cry. Not always, not everytime, but I could if I allowed myself. I earned this, too. So many years of being tough. I'm not a stoic person. I like to show my emotions. Most people who know me know that about me.

...I've learned to let things go.... YES, I said it... Let things go. For most of my life, I had to prove a point, hold a person accountable, make sure someone knew when someone else hurt a person, make things fair all around. I've earned being able to let things go. My stress level told me so. LOL. 

There are many things I've earned. I think mostly we earn these things by giving ourselves a break and realizing some of the things we worry about, aren't worth it. 

If it doesn't directly affect what we're doing at the time, get over it. Let it go.

So,  look around. What have you earned? 

Find it, recognize it and embrace it. 

You've earned it.

Re-Do's of my 3 year old daughter

Her little tiny 3 year old  fingers look like her momma's. 

When she reaches to pick that little flower, I can't help but remember watching her mom doing the same thing.

Sissy-like, don't get dirt on my hands-like, eww there's a bug-like, reaching with just her thumb and forefinger to avoid any of those undesirable additions to picking just the right little daisy weed.

The shape of her thumb, the little hang-nail she obsesses about, the leftover pink of the immediately peeled fingernail polish and, Heaven forbid, just a touch of dirt under the nail.

Her momma in Re-Do. 

Re-Do's... we ask for them often when we mess up, or we just want to re-live an "oh so joyful" memory.

I'm enjoying the Re-Do's of my daughter as a 3 year old. 

Her daughter is a "mini-me" of her momma. But, not so much at first glance. 

Her momma has beautiful, slick-straight, thick black hair. Dark features and big brown eyes that melt you when you look in them. She has a easily-given, friendly smile.

She, on the other hand, is fair skinned, has striking, vibrant blue eyes, and thin, wavy, alittle messy blond hair. She shares her smile only when she feels like it. You have to earn it.

But it's the little not-so-obvious things she and her momma share. The little things most wouldn't notice. 

An expression, the shape of her hands, those crooked little toes (like her brother and I, also have). 

The bit of obsessiveness... her mom had to have everything lined up and in its' place. She does the same thing when she's playing. All the cars in a line... perfect line. Tupperware lined up end to end from room to room, all the little ponys in their places. I love it.

One little spill? Oh My! It must be cleaned up immediately or it bothers her until it is. 

Sticky fingers, a drip on her shirt, a crumb on the table next to her plate, a bug, a hair, a speck of dust... she'll let you know it's bothering her. Fix it, clean it, get it out of here.

I learned to not even notice this with her momma. Rolled my eyes at most of it. Just the everyday stuff when raising a 3 year old. Figuring she'd grow out of it one day.

I embrace it all with this little one. Funny how our eyes open when the next generation comes along.

Re-Do's... chances to capture those moments and memories again, but only if our eyes and minds and hearts are open and ready to do so. 

Mine are.

No, I don't want a damn kitten!

Do you really think every time you bring an "oh so cute" little kitten in to work and show my husband, he'll be able to talk me in to taking it? 

NO... been there, done that.

He even described the little black kitten to me. "It's a manx"  "When it meows, it sounds like a donkey"

OhhhhKayyy.....

I know if I just said the word, he'd take it home. Sorry... not gonna say the word.

I'm so past falling for these adorable little creatures that grow up to be annoying, flea-carrying, flowerbed- destroying, walking-all-over-the-hood-of-my-brand-new-car, CATS.

Just this morning I had to spray off the car because of the neighborhood cats who decided to have a middle of the night party on the hood of my car.

Lovely, just lovely.

I'm scared to dig in certain areas of our flowerbed because of something I'll find that I know for a fact, I didn't plant there.

So, no, I don't want a damn kitten... I even told my husband to tell his co-worker those exact words. She laughed. 

But good try, good try.

And no, the grandkids don't need one, either.