The Crab Chronicles

Working Women

The older I get the more I realize that there is a serious issue with what young people today know and what they should know. In these days of Google, so often nothing is learned and retained. Many folks under 30 don't know the capitol cities of their states, the name of the Vice President, what countries fought in the American Revolution, or basic science like the fact nobody can visit the sun. Watch this video and you will be horrified.

Most Generation Z's have no idea how hard women have worked, historically.They cannot envision a world without microwave ovens and dinners delivered to you at home, and going without meat because it wasn't affordable. If you say the word "feminism" to them they don't even understand what that is, because they don't live in a world where women have very limited choices. They can choose what career they want. They can get a bank account or credit card in their name without a husband or father's approval. They don't automatically make less money than their male coworkers.

 

My mother chose to stay home because she grew up with a working mom and she was often scared or lonely at home by herself. She wanted her kids to have a mother who was around most of the time.

Her staying at home was a financial sacrifice and a personal sacrifice. She was very smart, yet working women often put her down for staying at home. The implication was that she was privileged or lazy but that was far from the truth.

Like generations before her, Mom worked non-stop. She fixed 2 or 3 complete meals every day, for 4 people. She didn't give us TV dinners or takeout food. My father expected meals fixed from scratch, every day.

I asked my mother once about my great grandmother, Granny Butler, who grew up in a prosperous home with servants and who married a wealthy man. I pictured Granny as a lady of leisure. My mother gave me a withering look. "Granny always said even with servants there was a lot of work to run her household and raise twelve children."

She went on to point out some facts I had never realized. For instance, most clothes when I was a kid were cotton and had to be ironed. We didn't have a dryer until I was in elementary school so wet clothes had to be hung on a clothes line, dried, and then brought in and ironed.

We were lucky, she said. We didn't have to churn butter, or kill chickens, or can vegetables for the winter. We had running water and indoor toilets.

Buying food and preparing meals was complicated and tiresome when I was a kid. Mom had a strict food budget and it didn't include eating out. She had to buy meat, vegetables, fruit, foods for school lunches, etc. My brother didn't like to eat breakfast so she was constantly trying to find foods he would willingly eat. I was super picky and refused to eat most veggies except lettuce and green beans. Dad had high cholesterol so she had to use vegetable oil and margarine and trim the fat off of meats. She had a number of food allergies so that was another factor.

Schedules were fun. My brother was on sports teams. I was taking piano lessons and going to church activities. She belonged to organizations like AAUW and taught Sunday School for years. Before my brother learned to drive she had to be really organized to get everyone everywhere. Dad usually didn't get home until 6 and couldn't help.

Maybe once a week we would get to go to a cafeteria like S&S and eat, or we would have Krispy Kreme donuts for breakfast. All other meals were on Mom.

I made my bed every day and helped her around the house but my brother created more work. His room was always a disaster and he hated being made to take his turn doing dishes, or vacuuming.

My father grew up during the Depression and he ruled the checking account. Mom had to beg him for money to buy school clothes for me and my brother, or a new dress for herself. He saw no reason for us to have extensive wardrobes. I wore dresses homemade by my grandmother for years, or hand-me-downs from my cousins.

Dad never wanted Mom to call a plumber or handyman to do anything at our house. So she saved back a little money from her household budget to quietly pay the plumber to fix Dad's screwups. As soon as he was big enough to work a screwdriver my brother was drafted to help around the house.

I remember Mom and Dad buying furniture at yard sales that we would then refinish or paint. The desk I have my computer on was once a garage sale find and I remember refinishing it, as a little kid.

When we bought our little cabin at Douglas Lake I was 8 years old. I helped Dad with the cleaning, the painting, and putting down linoleum in the main room. There was no air conditioning in the cabin.

My parents bought me a new notebook and some pencils every September before school started. My father would have pitched a fit if he had been given a lengthy list and forced to come up with $100-$300 worth of school supplies. (I was in sticker shock the first time I had to do that, for my daughter.)

Dad liked to entertain and throughout their marriage he would announce to Mom "We're throwing a party!" -- usually giving her a few days' notice, or maybe a week if she was lucky. He often invited 10-50 people, and he didn't want to hire a caterer, so she had to prepare all the foods, on a limited budget. Sometimes he would just bring work colleagues home and she would have 30 minutes to ensure each guest had adequate and delicious food.

My mother worked VERY hard.

Mom also couldn't have a credit card in her name until the mid 1970's. Sometimes salesmen would only deal with Dad. Dad himself never told her how much money they had and he never let her write a check without his okay.

Even if she had wanted to work, babysitters would have taken most of her check because there was no other option. One time my mother did substitute teaching but the money was so bad she didn't do it for long.

Young women today have no idea how hard life was for a woman before they came along.

To Know the Place

It has taken many years, but I am finally learning how to really see and feel the glories of this beautiful place, earth. The journey was worth it.

When I was 8 years old and my family moved to Knoxville, Tennessee, we started spending most Sunday afternoons in the car. Mom liked to “go to ride” on Sundays, after church and after Sunday’s big lunch, we would typically go to ride and stay gone all afternoon, exploring beautiful East Tennessee. The mountains were everywhere, even at home. Knoxville is in the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains and you could stand at the back windows on the second floor of our house and see the foothills in the distance.

I hated going on Sunday drives. I was always bored. My parents couldn’t figure out why I didn’t appreciate the beauty of the mountains.

[left, me in 5th grade]

Soon after we got settled in, Mom and Dad realized there was a terrific little town an easy drive from home. We often drove to Gatlinburg, which in the early 70’s was not the congested tourist mecca it is now. I loved to go to the candy kitchen and watch the mesmerizing machine that makes taffy, or go to Ripley’s Believe It Or Not Museum, or the tacky gift shop known as Rebel’s Corner. Even before we got to Gatlinburg there were fun places to explore. On the way to Gatlinburg we went through Pigeon Forge, which had a restaurant in an old train car, a mill that still milled cornmeal, and a little family-owned restaurant where you could get a wonderful meat n’three -- of course that was years before Dollywood. I found places where I could put my face close to what I was seeing far more fascinating then the hulking shapes of the mountains.

In fourth grade, I failed the eye exam given to all the kids. The ophthalmologist discovered I was quite nearsighted, and I got glasses. Suddenly, the mountains were not just a blur. Mom told me later she felt terrible because she and Dad hadn’t realized that my vision was impaired and that’s why I found the Sunday drives so boring. Of course, I was a kid -- and sitting in the car staring out the window was boring even with my glasses, I reassured her.

I could never understand, until the last ten years or so, why anyone would want to just sit and stare at mountains or anything else in nature. I found sitting and staring at anything [other than a book or movie] incredibly boring.

My dad used to come home from work [he was a bank VP] and fix himself a drink, and go out into the backyard and just stare, and sip. He was usually out there at least half an hour before he would be ready to come in for dinner. I had no idea why he did that. Of course, as an adult I understood the importance of unwinding after a busy day. Mom usually joined him, and I know she liked being outside in the quiet, too. Her life as a SAHM was stressful but just different from Dad’s life, of course.

I realize now that those middle years of life, roughly from ages 20-50, are the busiest times for most of us.

Now, having sold my house in 2021 and living in an apartment since then, I realize that the lovely backyard of my house, with it’s trees and flowers, was a haven. Why didn’t I stay out there more, staring at the yard, the creek, the hydrangeas, the great magnolia tree, the squirrels and cardinals that lived there? Why didn’t I enjoy that peaceful place more?

[right, the blooming apple tree in my yard]

There are several lessons here. Really seeing nature is a great gift. I have friends and cousin/friends who literally crave getting outside and away from their busy lives. They feel a pull, a longing, to see mountains up close, to see flowing water and huge trees up close, to feel the sunshine on their faces while they hear only bird songs and insects drone. I wish that I could easily slip away to bask in the places where I feel most peaceful.

The folks of my mom’s generation are almost all gone now. I don’t have the luxury of staring down the road and seeing scads of time left to calm down and appreciate this amazing world God designed for us.

As the years have passed, I’ve slowed down a good bit. I am far less of an energetic dervish like my dad and far more able to sit and just be still in nature, without constantly checking my watch or worrying about getting insect bites. Now, I am not so impatient. I pay attention to blooming things, to birds, to the subtleties of nature and the peace that’s found by water.

One day my ashes will go back into the soil and water of this place, of North Georgia, where I will join the crowds of my ancestors that worked hard all their lives before finally being able to rest. The thought doesn’t frighten me in the least. I welcome it, in fact.

“We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.” T.S. Eliot

Labels for Children

As a child, I was a female nerd, long before I ever heard that word. I was also a tomboy, a bookworm, Miss Priss [Mama's nickname for me], The Dee Dee [Dad's nickname for me], Doll [my grandfather's nickname for me] and An Early Bloomer. My mother and my memaw were constantly on my case about being a Little Lady, but eventually they gave up on that. I preferred playing in the dirt to being ladylike, any day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We love to label children. My teachers told Mom and Dad I was precocious, conscientious, creative, and sometimes my attention wandered. Newsflash: my wandering attention was a result of me not being challenged in school. (I learned by 4th grade to always take a book to school so when I finished my classwork I could just read.)

I was also a bedwetter, for many years. It was embarrassing, especially when visiting someone else's house. At my own house, I woke up wet, got up and cleaned myself off and put on a fresh gown, and got in bed with my parents. I was reminded of that reading Sean Dietrich's column, Sleepless in Nashville.

I had stopped wetting the bed around age 11 but I was very sympathetic to the child who wrote Sean. It's super embarrassing. It's also, though, an instant barometer of the adults around you. Mothers tend to be sympathetic and kind, but fathers aren't always so nice, at least in my observation.

I wet the bed for the last time at age 15, while trying to sleep in a hotel room with both parents, who snored like crazy. Thank goodness I was on a cot.

Being a bedwetter also, I am convinced, makes for a more compassionate adult. If you are a bedwetter you feel intensely sympathetic to the child who is nerdy, or who wets the bed, or the little bookworm who hates being the last chosen for a sports team.

I always felt self-conscious and freakish in elementary and middle school. I could never feel good about myself except in the spelling bee or sometimes when onstage singing or doing plays. I grew fast and was taller than all my classmates until 8th grade. Then some of the boys started sprouting, so I didn't feel like She-Hulk by the time I got to high school. 

Parents, if your child wets the bed, trying to make them feel ashamed does.not.work! Set an alarm and get the child up to tinkle in the night. Or restrict liquids before bed. or whatever works. Children need to feel empowered and safe in their worlds. Shame and humiliation don't work.

Being a kid is tough, but being a nerdy kid, a bedwetter, a giant -- those make childhood a real trial by fire. I was also chubby so I got those labels too, which hurt.Try to always speak to your child with Love -- that's the quickest was to effect change.

Feel Good About Aging, Ladies

I used to have an argument with my mother all the time that went something like this:

Elva: "Dee you need to wear some makeup and fix your hair."

Dee: "I hate makeup and I'm not going to wear any."

Elva: "At least wear some lipstick, then."

In my mother's opinion, no woman should leave her house with natural looking lips. She wore a bright red lipstick called Love That Red and I could always tell when she didn't feel well because she would fail to put on lipstick and eyebrow color.

My mother felt like she truly was unattractive without makeup. She colored her hair for years, but then got tired of it, cut her hair short and let it go gray. I liked her gray hair a lot better because it looked natural.

She didn't budge on the makeup question, though. She felt like wearing makeup made a woman feel better about herself. It certainly worked for her. 

I spent years carefully planning what I would wear to work each day, fixing my long hair, and carefully applying my makeup. I was trying to catch a husband. I had to bait the hook, if I wanted to catch one. [above, a photo of me next to Mom, in full hunting gear]

When I adopted my daughter, though, I was 41 years old and I decided the Great Husband Hunt was OVER. My family was almost complete. I didn't feel the need to impress anyone. I started wearing stretchy pants, big comfy tops, and Crocs. I quit wearing makeup.

My mother lived with me and was appalled.

I could never get her to understand that for me, giving up all the fuss was a HUGE relief.

I tried to explain to Mom once that in her life, she had been conditioned to feel that if she looked natural -- without makeup, without a hair "DO" and wearing comfortable clothes [not a girdle and stockings/pantyhose] -- that she looked BAD. Furthermore, she was taught that once she had caught a man she still had to keep him. She kept a little basket of makeup, including a comb and perfume, right near the front door. When she saw Dad's car turn in the driveway she would run comb her hair and freshen her makeup so she could greet him at the door with a smile.

Maybe she had the right idea. She was married 40 years. Most of the women of her generation didn't get divorced. Books and magazine articles in the 1950's advised women that if they let a man come home to a messy house and a wife without makeup they would probably wind up divorced.

What sparked this blog was this article about how wonderful Cher looked at a recent event. She is 76. She has always had her own individual style and always flown in the face of critics and anyone who thought she should look conventional. I've always admired her outspokenness and independence. I remember watching her variety show when I was a kid. However, seeing her clearly trying to look much younger, with the long dyed hair and the face that has clearly had every plastic surgery procedure one can have, makes me feel sorry for her. She is trying so hard to fight natural aging. She looks very unnatural and fake. She's also dating a guy 40 years her junior -- so technically young enough to be her grandson, which is super creepy. [I would say that about a man dating someone 40 years younger, too.]

Now, before you compose your hateful comment, know this: I fully support women doing whatever they want to do in terms of makeup, hair, who they date, etc. We still live in a free country and everyone should look whatever way they want to look. Wouldn't it be great if all women were happy to look their age, though?

I just feel like the media is constantly glorifying women who "defy" age and as a result, women spend a huge amount of time and money to look younger. How often do you see the media celebrate the beauty of an older woman who has gray hair and wrinkles and doesn't turn herself inside out trying to look a lot younger? Not too often.

At left, Jamie Lee Curtis. She is 63, so more than ten years younger than Cher. Jamie looks normal, though. She is still attractive but you don't see her dressing like a biker chick and hanging all over a man young enough to be her grandson. Of course, Cher is still trying to attract lovers and Jamie has been happily married for more than twenty years. If she were divorced, would she be trying to "defy" aging? I don't know. Hopefully not.

I also feel like women in Hollywood get celebrated for looking younger, and held up as examples all women should follow, and that's completely unfair. I cannot afford multiple plastic surgeries. I don't want to inject poison in my face (aka Botox). I cannot afford fashionable clothes. I cannot afford a cook, or a personal trainer, or to eat seafood every night. So there's literally no possibility that I can hope to look like Halle Berry or Jennifer Anniston.

That's okay. I'm not crying about that. I am happily single and likely to remain that way. I have always been very independent.

As a society, we need to un-do all the media pressure to look younger. The emphasis should be on looking and feeling healthy.

Celebs like Demi Moore, who say there's nothing wrong with aging, also say things I find quite disturbing. Moore has designed a new line of swimsuits that no normal woman over 50 will look good in! It "...includes bikinis, one-pieces with deep V-necklines, and high-waisted two-pieces inspired by vintage designs. "We don't want to look matronly or not feel sexy." She says her own grandmother at 60 "seemed resigned to being old." Uh, that's called accepting reality. What's wrong with looking matronly, Demi? You're reinforcing the idea that women have to starve themselves, dye their hair, and try to compete with younger women for male attention. Shame on you. The next thing you will see is Demi dating some guy 10, 20, 30 years younger. In Hollyweird that is celebrated. And they wonder why so many of us in the flyover states do not admire them.

In researching this blog I found a lot of articles quoting celebs like Demi and Gwyneth Paltrow and Andi McDowell, etc. saying how wonderful it is that women can look their age, and yet every one of them looks carefully sculpted and groomed to look younger. They clearly don't understand the hypocrisy inherent in their bizarre mixed messages.

The bottom line here, as I see it, is this: I cared way too much about looks when I was younger. Now my only real concern is being clean and wearing clean clothes. No amount of makeup or hair dye will make me look ten or twenty years younger and that's fine. I'm comfortable in my own skin. I'm not worried about catching a man. I want to feel well and one day have enough energy to play with my [future] grandchildren.

I am so much less concerned with what anybody thinks of me, now. I don't let minor stuff upset me. I get a lot of pleasure out of simple things like a nice meal, a wonderful song, a great movie. I tell people I love how I feel, without fear. I cherish my friends. I like me.

I hope and pray future generations of women will stop feeling so much pressure to "defy aging." It's inevitable and we should embrace it.

#womenshouldembraceaging, #wrinklesarebeutiful, #celebsshouldshutupaboutaging, #agingisnormal, #embraceoldage, #loveyourselfatanyage, #grayhairisbeautiful, #stoptryingtolookyoung

It's Out of My Control

One of the blessings (or perhaps it's a curse) of being me is that I always look for patterns in my life, and I always find patterns.Most of us rock along in our own individual patterns in our lives and we don't even realize what they are or why we cling to them.

I just realized yesterday that of my 5 novels -- four published and I am still working on the 5th -- 4 of them center around death and inheritance. My first novel [Ghosts in the Garden City] is about a young woman whose father dies, and she inherits an old suitcase. The contents of that old suitcase cause her to start trying to solve a mystery involving her paternal grandmother, and while doing so she unravels a dark family secret. My second novel [Leaf Season] is about a man who inherits a house when his uncle dies, and the house holds a mysterious trunk in the basement. My third novel [Heart of My Own Heart] is about a woman who travels through time to help her descendants understand the gifts that she has passed down to them. The novel I am still working on involves the search for a missing beneficiary after a wealthy man dies.

[right, me and my father, about 1988]

So why am I obsessed with death and luggage and missing or mysterious things?

My dad was a trust banker. Most people have no idea what that means. Dad was head of the Trust Department of several different banks during his career. "A bank trust department is a specialized group within a bank that focuses on investing and administrating assets left in a trust fund."

I recently wrote a short blog post about what a Living Trust is and why it's a good way to leave assets to your descendants. It basically puts the control over assets [money, real estate, a stock portfolio] in the hands of a trustee, who makes distributions according to the terms of the trust. It's a smart thing to do because it prevents someone from just inheriting a bunch of money and blowing it all.

Dad often had to tell trust beneficiaries "No, I'm sorry you've spent your allowance for the month, but I cannot legally give you any more money." He used to get calls late at night, early in the morning, when we were on vacation, etc. from people frustrated because Dad wouldn't violate the terms of the trust and just hand over a bunch of money to them. One guy called Dad in the middle of the night and said he was in Las Vegas and he owed money to the mob and they were going to kill him if he didn't pay them what he owed them. Dad said I'm sorry but you spent your monthly allowance already. The guy was a cokehead and Dad knew he was being played. Dad was really good at not giving in to those kinds of demands.

Anyway, I sort of digressed from my point. Control is something most of us crave and we panic if we don't have it, but control is often not a good thing.

In my own life, I have noticed that when I let go of trying to control a situation, good things always happen. It's hard to let go, but that feeling of truly getting out of my own way and turning over a situation to God always results in a solution presenting itself to me. I wrestle with really "turning it over to God" however. I love the feeling of being in control of a situation. I relish it.

Why do humans always crave the feeling that WE are in control?

Simple. We feel powerful and strong if WE are in control. There's an arrogance to it.

"By releasing control over circumstances, you gain more control over your life." - Kyle Maynard

At the end of the movie Cast Away, Tom Hanks' character gives a wonderful speech about control [LINK]. "I knew, somehow, that I had to stay alive. Somehow, I had to keep breathing, even though there was no reason to hope. All my logic said that I would never see this place again. So that's what I did. I stayed alive. I kept breathing. Then one day that logic was proven all wrong because the tide came in and gave me a sail. Now I'm back..."

I love that movie. It's about a man obsessed with time and with control and he has to learn a huge life lesson about letting go.

If living through a pandemic for the last few years has taught us anything, as a country, it's that this notion of us being able to control the narrative is a delusion. All WE can control is how we react to things that happen to us, like covid, or high prices, or employment, or even love.

I have two friends I love dearly who choose life alone. I think that they choose to live that way because being in a relationship means giving up control. When you love someone, really love them with your whole heart, you have to relinquish some of the control in your life. You have to compromise, and often do things you don't really want to do. The payoff is that you are loved and cherished and [usually] not lonely. I pray often that my friends will unlock their hearts and allow someone to get in and fill their hearts with love, because in my humble opinion

Love = Magic

Sometimes I write blogs to remind myself of things, and this has been one of those blogs. Trying to control everything in my life has always led to negative and painful situations. I have to let go of the illusion of control. I have to open the doors and windows of my heart and let in light and air. I have to concede that by letting God [or The Universe or simply Love] control my life I am not giving up or giving in, but I am embracing the change that needs to happen. I have to not freak out if that change is scary or it makes me uncomfortable. Faith in God helps tremendously. Maybe letting go means accepting some pain, but it's only when we experience pain that we experience growth.

Here endeth the lesson...

 

Count Blessings

I asked my mother once how she was able to get to sleep when it was a tough night and it seemed like insomnia was going to win. She didn't have to think about it a long time. She said "I review, in my mind, all my happy memories. I go through each one, and relive the happiness." I asked her if any of those memories involved me, and she smiled. "Many of my memories include my children." That made me feel good.

I have had a difficult life in some ways and I've led a charmed life in some ways. When I get down, I try to remember the many times in my life when people have gone out of their way to be nice, and I try to focus on those memories and let go of the ones where people chose to be mean to me.

When I was ten years old we went to our cabin at Douglas Lake for the weekend. I felt like it was a really special birthday. I was a decade old! I was very impressed with myself. I had some gifts to open, but no cake. My mother usually bought us a Baskin Robbins ice cream cake for birthdays, which was a big treat, or she made a cake. That year she hadn't gotten it done. However, that was a really hard summer for Mom because just about 5 weeks before my birthday Mom's father, Papa Hasty, had died. Mother was devastated. Some days she didn't get out of bed until right before Dad came home because she was so depressed. So it should not have come as a surprise that she just forgot to get me a cake or take the ingredients to the lake to make me a cake. (The little fishing cabin was not air-conditioned so cooking a lot was a sweaty business.) I remember seeing the neighbor's wife outside that morning and telling her it was my birthday. Her name was IvaLee. I told her that my Mom forgot my cake, and how upset I was. Late that afternoon IvaLee walked over to our cabin with a homemade cake, with candles and everything, and we all had birthday cake. That sweet lady knew about Mom's grief and decided to help out. I have never forgotten that. 

Skip ahead to 2004, and my adoption of my daughter from Russia. I was supposed to get home on a Friday in early December but I had bronchitis and I came home a couple of days early, miserably sick. I had to try and find someone to go to the airport on a Wednesday night around 9 and pick up me, my daughter, and a lot of luggage. I was exhausted about a 10 hour flight from Moscow. I had no cash for a taxi. I had emailed my friend Maria from Moscow, not knowing if it got through and asked if she could pick us up. She was a single mom too, and it was a school night. Nonetheless, she showed up at the airport with her son and got us and all our luggage. She took us out to dinner at Waffle House. Alesia could see photos of food and just point at what she wanted. Maria and her son were very welcoming, and after our late dinner they took us home and helped get all that luggage up the stairs, which was quite a chore. I was so exhausted I went to bed and slept for 12 hours without moving. Maria and her son were a godsend.

In 2015 I was trying to establish a freelance writing career. I had been blogging since 2005 but there weren't many articles on the internet with my name on them. My fri end David Moore who was then head of the Historic Oakland Foundation, let me interview him for the Blue Mountain Review. [You can see the issue here, but you need to go to page 103] Oakland Cemetery is a public park and a wonderful time capsule of Atlanta history. David and I drove all over the grounds on a golf cart and David told me many fascinating stories about the folks buried there, including golfer Bobby Jones and author Margaret Mitchell. A week or so later I sent my son Michael down to take photos and David took Michael all around so he could make photos for my article.  I was so delighted with how the article turned out, and it was so kind of David to take the time to take both me and my son all over that huge cemetery. I will always be thankful to him for that.

My friend Dana took a day off of work in 2001 and took me to have my wisdom teeth removed, then drove me home and stayed with me until my brother could get there. That was undoubtedly a very boring day for her, but I was so thankful for her help.

I am not a rich person but I am rich in having wonderful friends.

When I was a caretaker for my mom from about 2015 to 2020 there were many times when my friends Bronwyn and Lesleigh came to my rescue. When I had my hysterectomy in 2013, Lesleigh spent the night with me at the hospital. On other occasions, she spent the night with my mom at the hospital, so I could be with my kids. My beautiful friend Bronwyn came many times and stayed with Elva for me so I could have a break.

Next time you are feeling down, remember the many times in your life that you have been blessed by kindnesses from others.

How to Get A Good Night's Sleep

For most of my adult life I had to battle insomnia. Then I discovered Melatonin. Now, when friends post on Facebook about sleep issues I advise them to at least try Melatonin. I started researching it in 1995, back in the dark ages before the internet. I actually went to the library! Then I went to Oxford Books here in Atlanta and bought an entire book about Melatonin. I didn't find anything disturbing, so I started taking it.

I have now been taking it for 27 years, and it's a miracle drug, for me. Except it's not a drug, it's herbal.

Now, the good thing is that it's not a sedative, so if the house catches on fire you will most likely get out on time. (I only say "most likely" because I have not actually faced that scenario.) When I was a caretaker for my mom, from about 2012-2020, if Mom called out for me in the night I would hear her and go help her. Melatonin also doesn't have the terrible side effects of Ambien -- no shopping online in the middle of the night, no sleepwalking, no late night crazy calls. Ambien is pure evil, IMHO. It's caused bankruptcies and terrible car crashes. It should be banned.

Sorry, didn't mean to meander off down a side rant road there...

Anyway, over the years, even with taking Melatonin, I don't always have an easy time falling asleep, so I wanted to offer some other suggestions.

The best advice I can offer it to get a routine going, and stick to it. The routine signals your body that hey, we're getting ready to go to sleep now. For me, I put on my gown, sit in front of the computer and check messages, and listen to at least a couple of mellow songs. Nothing lively or up tempo. I take my Melatonin, 5 mg. It takes about 30 minutes to work. After 30 minutes I shut off the computer and brush my teeth and tinkle. Then I get into bed.

Once in bed, I close my eyes and go through my mental checklist. I pray for the health and safety of my children and my friends and loved ones. I ask God to let me have a good day tomorrow. Sometimes I add special prayers for friends or acquaintances. Next, I start a self-hypnosis process. I mentally picture myself in a beautiful home, my dream home, and I go through each room arranging furniture and decorating. Usually I fall asleep within a few minutes. You can choose any mental task that's pleasant. When I was in my 20's and 30's I mentally planned my wedding. You could mentally plan a party, or build a sandcastle, or eat a piece of cake -- whatever task is pleasurable for you.

Conscious breathing also helps. I concentrate on breathing in slowly through my nose and slowly exhaling through my mouth. I try to block out all distraction and focus on breathing. It also helps when I am tense or anxious.

MORE TIPS

Make sure that you don't read, eat, or watch TV in bed. Use it only for sleeping. 

When you are ready to sleep, make sure the room is very dark. 

Go to bed at the same time every night. 

Turn off your phone!

Don't workout or exercise within 3 hours of going to sleep.

Skip taking naps!

If you eat dinner early and go to bed late, an empty stomach can sometimes keep you from sleeping. Eat a little snack before bed.

Don't drink alcohol less than an hour before bed because it interferes with your sleep cycle.

If you drink a lot of sodas [Coke, Dr. Pepper, etc.] they have caffeine and that may be what's keeping you awake.

For years, my routine included taking off my makeup and taking out my contacts. I couldn't sleep if I felt dirty.

Try to not get into arguments or do stressful things like balance your checking account right before bed. Try to wind things down mentally, and relax. The more relaxed you are, the easier it is to sleep.

If none of my techniques work, try a small amount of Melatonin. I only buy it from GNC, not the cheap brands. I order it off Amazon. Start with 2 or 3 mg. at first. Some people also find good results with Valerian, but it gave me a headache.

Good luck with good sleep!

#sleeptips, #dealingwithinsomnia, #sleepissues, #howtofallasleepfaster, #melatoninbenefits

Dads Defining Beautiful

If you are the father of daughters, I want to tell you something really important: tell your daughter she is beautiful, often. Say it with feeling. It is so critical to her emotional well-being.

I grew up hearing a lot of conflicting voices about myself and what I looked like, and it's only been in the past few years that I have been able to process what I heard and put it all into perspective. As a child, I was a sponge. I had no perspective. I just always felt inferior.

My grandmother told me many times that I looked like Princess Grace. I had no idea who that was or why I supposedly looked like her, but I figured if she was a princess, that she must be beautiful. Mom told me I was beautiful too, on occasion.

I don't remember paying any attention whatsoever to my looks until about first grade, when I realized that I didn't look like all the other little girls. I was taller than everyone else. I looked like a third grader amongst my smaller classmates. It's bad enough feeling like you don't fit in, but feeling like everyone else is pretty and you aren't is pretty devastating to a little girl. Kids at school made me feel awful about my looks.

I don't remember my dad ever telling me I was beautiful. He likely did. I just don't recall the words ever coming out of his mouth unless Mom was standing there goading him, saying things like "Tell Dee how nice she looks!" -- usually after I was dressed for church, or some special occasion.

Meanwhile, my brother told me very often that I was ugly. Little boys at school told me I was ugly and fat. There were very many male voices telling me that I was ugly -- a sea of voices -- and there was no counterbalance telling me I wasn't.

It seemed to me like beautiful girls looked very different than me. They had long hair that their mamas would fix up with hair ribbons. My hair was always short because Mom decided she didn't have the patience to fix my hair every morning before school, so it was cut short, in a pixie cut, until I was old enough to fix my own hair.

Little girls on TV and in movies didn't look like me. They weren't freakishly tall. They didn't wear their cousins' or brother's hand-me-down clothes that didn't quite fit right. I always had skinned knees. My hair was usually a mess. I hated wearing shoes and had to be threatened with spanking to get me to wear shoes when it was warm outside.

I was pretty shy and quiet at school, but at home I was loud and rambunctious and completely different.

My dad appreciated pretty females and was not shy about complimenting a woman and telling her she looked beautiful. He said it to friends, relatives, neighbors, work colleagues, you name it. I don't recall him saying it to my mother very often, however.

To be fair, Dad grew up in a family with two brothers, and a mother who didn't believe in expressing strong emotions in front of her children. She told my mother that she always went in a closet and shut the door when she had to cry. So all three of her sons were freaked out when they got married and saw that their wives would occasionally get overwhelmed and cry. Mom and her two sisters-in-law had to try and educate their husbands that women just cry sometimes, and the best response was not to tell them they were being overly emotional or crazy.

I grew up feeling ugly. No little girl should grow up feeling like that.

Dads, tell your girls they are beautiful. Tell them daily. Say it with feeling, meaningfully. Tell them what makes a girl or a woman beautiful has nothing to do with her looks and everything to do with the look in her eyes, and her smile, and how she treats others. Help your daughter to understand that it's best to ignore what the world says is beautiful, because most often they will always feel inferior if that's their measurement.

Point out examples of beauty that defy convention. Make sure they see you admiring females who are not conventionally beautiful, like an older woman, or a heavy woman. Point out beauty elsewhere in the world too -- a beautifully ripe melon, a beautifully polished piece of wood, a beautiful sky after a storm, a beautiful piece of music.

Dads, you are your daughter's North Star. She will always look to you for guidance. Help her to understand  and be confident in a standard of beauty that's real and healthy.

The Female Conundrum

"I applied for the management training program at Sears and was told despite all my experience I would never be chosen for it because after I was trained I'd just get married and they would have wasted all that time and money training me." - Elva Hasty Thompson

My mother told me a lot of stories the last 15 years of her life because we lived together and she loved to reminisce. I loved to hear the stories. She didn't realize that some of her stories fueled my anger at how unfairly women were treated in the working world for a long time. I was always angry at how she was treated. The quote above is just one of many provocative things she said over the years.

She thought seriously about law school but her Uncle Harry, who was a lawyer, told her it would be a waste of time because she would just get married and quit, and would never work as a lawyer. [He was probably right, as Ruth Bader Ginsberg faced that issue herself, and wound up teaching law rather than practicing.]

When she got pregnant with my brother Mom was teaching school and she was forced to quit because in South Carolina visibly pregnant teachers were routinely kicked out of their jobs. Mom told me she cried for months when that happened because she loved teaching.

I was watching a story on CBS Sunday Morning about a new documentary about Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward and Woodward was quoted as saying when she was home with her kids she felt like she should be working and when she was working she felt like she should be at home working as a Mom.

That is the conundrum all working moms face.I know it well.

Most young women today have no idea the terrible "choice" women of my mother's generation were forced to make: career or family. Not both. You had to choose. Even Hollywood actresses faced the terrible choice. Many actresses, like Katharine Hepburn, chose career, and forever after had to endure questions about why they didn't have children. Jennifer Anniston gets the same treatment today. Men don't get grilled like that. They aren't considered pariahs if they choose career and decide not to be dads. 

I am not going to say whether any woman should choose career or should choose motherhood. Every woman has to make that choice, or choose to do both in a way she can live with, whether it's hiring a nanny or getting help from babysitters or family members.

I asked Mom once why she didn't purse a singing career -- she had an incredible voice and sang professionally before marriage. She said she was told she simply couldn't have a music career and be a mother. I pointed out that it wasn't true. She wasn't strong enough as a young woman to swim against the tide though. She didn't have the self-confidence, which she understood later.

My mother always said she was glad she chose to be a mother. She didn't regret that.

My parents worked out a system of parenting that was pretty unconventional for the 1960's. I had no idea about until just a few years ago, and I was flabbergasted when Mom told me about it. Dad worked a full time job as a banker. Mom stayed home. However, when Dad got home at night he was in charge, not Mom. On weekends, he was in charge, not Mom. That meant Dad came home from work, changed clothes, and immediately stepped into Dad mode. He would give baths, change diapers, read stories, etc. Mom was then free to cook dinner. [We did go to bed very early, 7:30 or 8 for many years] On weekends [unless he was working, which sometimes happened] he was in charge. Mom was around, but other than preparing meals she was able to do what she wanted -- usually reading a book or gardening, or possibly church activities or visits with friends. Weekends were her time to regroup and have what today we'd call "me time."

The funny consequence of that policy is that because I spent all weekend hanging out with Daddy, I went to many many shows: gun shows, boat shows, RV shows, etc. I helped Dad with yard work. I went to the hardware store [in those pre Home Depot days]. I watched Dad play tennis or shoot skeet.I knew my father pretty well and that's as it should be. I loved dressing up and playing with dolls but I was totally comfortable with "boy stuff" also.

Dad stopped playing golf because it took too much time away from us on weekends.

Now, many men would have balked at that. They wouldn't have wanted to give their wives breaks like that. Dad was smart enough to realize Mom needed that break, though. She was a brilliant woman. She needed intellectual stimulation. She needed time with friends.

Dad always regretted that from 1959 until 1971 although he was a very present weekend father there were many times when his job demanded he work until late in the evening or on a weekend. He knew Mom had the biggest burden of caring for us. One Christmas Day, Mom had the flu and was really sick. Christmas dinner was canned Campbell's soup. We survived, and laughed about it later.

I was lucky to have two actual co-parents at a time when that was not typical.

I wish Mom had been given the choice to raise a family and have a career. I know she would have been an phenomenal singer/actress.

Celebrate Courage

As you celebrate July 4th tomorrow, take a moment sometime during the day and be grateful that your ancestors thought it was worth risking death to become an American. Be grateful that in 1776 there were men willing to sacrifice everything to be free from the tyranny of Great Britain.

One of my ancestors, Major John McConnell, came close to being hanged for treason by the British. I wrote about him here.

The men who signed the Declaration of Independence risked EVERYTHING for a concept. The idea of people ruling themselves was unheard-of at that time. It was considered bizarre and radical and dangerous. It had never been done before.If the colonists had lost the war, those men would have been hanged for treason. During the course of the Revolutionary War many of the signers endured hardships like the loss of homes, and the deaths of family members. (for more, see here.)

Great Britain was a powerful nation. Their soldiers were highly skilled, well-trained. When Great Britain claimed a country as its own, they were usually met with little or no resistance.

Our troops didn't have great food or supplies. When I visited Valley Forge PA some years ago and went to the museum in the Visitors Center I was fascinated and saddened to see what our men went through. Illness killed many men. They were starving some of the time. They didn't always get paid. The sacrifices made by those men and their families were enormous and terrible.

But they thought it was worth it, to be free.

It makes me sad to know that our country is deeply divided right now. But think about this: we can have differences of opinion without killing each other. We can take to the streets in protest. We can observe patriotic displays or not. We can choose what to do tomorrow.

We have choices, and we have information. Elsewhere in the world that isn't true.People in China who didn't quarantine during Covid were taken from their homes and beaten, and they didn't care what the world thought. (LINK) That's what it looks like to live in an oppressive society where the individual is not free. People in North Korea live at the mercy of a dictator and they don't even know about the outside world. People in Russia are being told the war in Ukraine is the result of fascism in Ukraine.

When I sing the national anthem I don't think about how America is today a troubled place. I take the long view, and think about the sacrifices made by those who have fought and died in every war since the American Revolution. Three of my four uncles risked death in WWII. My grandfather Thompson fought in France in World War I. My brother went to Iraq but he came home. Other families were not so lucky.

Despite the divisions and the issues I still think America is the greatest country on earth and I am proud to be American. God Bless our great nation!