…from today’s point of view

(Quest to write posts with numbers in the title to ten.)

Wonder-full World

I often talk think to myself, what a wonderful world. Honestly, I do. I saw an actual rainbow on the drive home from my beach vacation. A rain shower had begun as I drove around a bend; suddenly, red, orange, yellow, green, blue, & purple.

Although at this late stage of the game in life I do know how a rainbow occurs, it is still a magnificent wonder. I almost felt it had been placed there in front of me for a reason unknown. As I continued to drive, I said a little prayer which found me thanking not only God but both of my parents and sister ( I assume all are in Heaven together) for having just experienced a fabulous full vacation with my husband and “framily”.

Reading Wonder

More a book intended for ‘tweens, I highly recommend.

My first experiences with reading as a child were much like having a tooth drilled without a painkiller. I wrote a whole post on becoming a reader several years ago, but I won’t bore you with the details. ( if curious Summer, 1977) The above book is required reading for my 4th/5th-grade students. Its message and theme could easily be stated as “Choose Kindness”.

Today, I ponder the many who read the written headline, article, op-ed, news story, Facebook post, email chains, & so on that proclaim some sort of negativity toward others or the reader deems offensive to self. Once read or in many cases sometimes half read; the reader becomes enraged. So much so, he/she then writes, finds or creates a meme to post, or tweets to the world another bitter feeling. I do not discount another person’s feelings for I walk only in my shoes, but I’m frequently in awe…

Not quite how I looked on my recent beach trip, but the expression on her face speaks volumes to my mood under my beach umbrella.

Wonder vs. Worry

Although my Son-sters are well into their twenties (one will be 30 this year) and living on their own, I do still wonder about their well-being. The truth is I should replace the word wonder with worry. I do my best to hide the worry (if they are reading this, cue the rolling their eyes and mumbling “baloney sandwiches” under their breath because they know I would tell them to watch their language). More than anything, it is my hope Hubster and I have prepared them to be men who care for others, are kind, respectful, responsible, and of course, watch their credit scores & mind their health care benefits.

Sometimes I still wish, this was us.

They are in the stage of their life where friends often take precedence over family. They don’t need me as much I need to still hear about their lives. They try to ease my worry and I try to believe…

Wonder Bread

I was a thin child and up until about 10 years ago never thought very much about my weight as my clothing size only changed during pregnancy and bounced right back afterward.

Proof of thinness:

Thanks for indulging my proof.

Today, when my yearly doctor’s appointment rolls around, I find myself trying not to eat too much in the days leading up and indulging in plenty of fiber to remove all the extra food living in my body. I don’t like it when my doctor, in her subtle tone of condemnation, states, “You really want to be about 15 to 20 pounds lighter.”

Wonder Bread was a staple of childhood. It was inexpensive to eat toast for breakfast or to enjoy as the base for a sandwich. Fortunately, as evidenced by my very younger self in photos, it didn’t stick to my bones. In addition, by the time I was about 11 or 12, my mother had switched to a healthier version of wheat or rye loaves of bread as there weren’t as many mouths to feed, although it probably cost more. My metabolism was keeping me thin, while my Milkman father’s conversion of food intake was expanding his waistline and my mother recognized his growth spurt. He came home every day at about 2- 3 pm, after delivering milk beginning in the pre-dawn hours. Supper was a few hours away so he made himself a peanut butter and banana (PB&B) sandwich. I can still smell the combination and feel the warmth of the sunlight as it shone through the kitchen window when he offered to make one for me.

I am the newborn. Exhaustion was the current trend in family photography. My father in his trim state.

The early 1980s, a wider version of the Milkman, although a healthier glow & disposition.

He lived to be 84 years old, with challenging health difficulties beginning at age 59. I’m sure the PB&B was not the sole fault in the health of his heart, but as I approach (many years from now) his age, I wonder will I inherit the same fate. He was not a smoker, only a social drinker (while many men in the neighborhood went to the local stag bar, my father was at home helping us with homework), and very faithful toward Catholicism. He arrived at marriage and family life having lived a childhood with Dickensian undertones, so I am certain stress contributed to the recipe in PB&B’s. I am hopeful that the happy life provided to me by my parents and the one I have been afforded since marriage to Mr. Wonderful (aka Hubster) has kept some of the heartaches away from the four chambers that make-up the beats that keep me dancing.

Stevie Wonder

Although I know many of my tens of readers know my real name, I still enjoy the slight anonymity this blog brings to my ability to write as freely as legally possible. I know the First Amendment states I have certain rights to speech, but I still need to maintain employment, keep confidential those who may not wish to have their lives all of the pages of A  Milkman’s Daughter (AMD), and honestly, I find great joy in creating the persona of others through the names I employ to protect those innocents mentioned here at AMD. As a matter of fact, frequent readers and those who become content, often want their own naming rights. (My blog, I choose your name.)

My first real job out of college was in human resources. I was newly married. There were no cell phones or email to distract me from my job. On the rare occasions when Hubster tried to reach me at work, he had to call through a switchboard. My company of about 100 full-time employees and thousands of temporary employees had to call through this switchboard if they were out of the building. Joy (her real name because it is so fitting) was our switchboard operator. She was on-time every day, friendly & professional on the phone and exact at messaging, especially from clients. If I happened to be away from my desk when Hubster would call, Joy wrote a message from him on her pink message pad and left it on my desk. Joy always thought it sweet when Hubster called, probably because he authored a book on cordial, kind, & flirtatious phone etiquette (unless you’re a telemarketer, then the book starts and finishes much differently). Although Hubster, was all those things on the phone, I know it was Joy who translated his message of just touching base with me to a sweeter version of…

A play on his “real” name. She thought him wonderful and I still do.

One Pit Wonders

The avocado, peach, and plum …three of my favorite one pit wonders. I will let these photos from Pinterest speak for themselves.

Wonder Years

The truth is…

• I know where my car is parked because I write it in the notes of my phone, just in case.

• I do my best to never silence my phone so it can be called if I misplace (usually under a pile of graded papers).

• My glasses are typically worn as a hair accessory if not on my face.

• I only wonder what day it is in the summer because during the school year I always know exactly how many days until the next weekend.

Wonder no more, this post is finally done.

8, 9, & 10 still to come,