Tag / friends

by Kelly Mattei

Turning 50

Next weekend, I’m going to a friend’s birthday party. She’s turning 50, quite a milestone birthday. I asked her recently if she is as excited about her 50th birthday as I was about mine, and she said she’s not sure how she feels about it.

I turned 50 last year. If you didn’t have to tolerate me then, I will tell you I was pretty obnoxious. I was almost as excited about turning 50 as I was about turning 21…almost. I’ve never been as excited about one of my own birthdays as I was about turning 21. Turning 50 was a close second, though.

When my friend, Nikki, said she wasn’t sure how she felt about fifty, I thought, “She’s got this.” She’s a young fifty. She lives life to the fullest and has a positive outlook on life. All those things point to being happy about a milestone birthday.

Maybe I’m weird, but I look at fifty as a positive.

Of course, I look for reasons to celebrate. Fifty was the perfect excuse for celebrating myself! Fifty deserves Champagne at lunch and anytime I want it! Trust me, almost anyone who has had lunch with me in the past year will tell you I love Champagne with lunch.

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Bellinis in some adorable stemless flutes my friends, Jenn and Neill, gave me.

When I turned fifty in May of last year, I took full advantage of the fact that I was having a big, important, milestone birthday. My husband had turned fifty the year before, and he wanted no fanfare. I honored that. He didn’t really even want it mentioned. He did, however, go to the beach with some friends one weekend near his birthday. Judging by the late night phone call I received, he had a good time.

I didn’t want “fanfare” in the way of my husband throwing a party. Some sweet friends did come together and surprise me with a small dinner party, and some other friends took me out to lunch and to see Smokey and the Bandit (its 40th anniversary) on the big screen. Both events were great fun, as we had fun at the dinner celebrating my birthday, and we lusted after a young Burt Reynolds in the movie theatre after lunch. I wore a “50 Looks Good On Me” sash and black feather boa at dinner and a Smokey and the Bandit homemade t-shirt at the movie. ***Note: black feather boas shed, and if you have any sweat on your chest, the loose feathers will stick, making it appear as though you have a hairy chest.***

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My sweet friends humoring me by wearing Smokey and the Bandit t-shirts at the movie

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Drinking Dr. Peppers my friend smuggled into Smokey and the Bandit

My husband gave me a gift I planned: a trip to Los Angeles with my daughter and one of her friends (taking the daughter and a friend gave me lots of time to do whatever I wanted)…staying at my favorite hotel, where we had a lovely suite with a beautiful, gigantic patio that I enjoyed every…single…day. I love outdoor spaces; the hotel gifted me with a glorious outdoor space unlike any other.

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On my glorious patio at the hotel, recreating Faye Dunaway’s pose the day after she won the Academy Award. She posed by the pool, but she was a young, tall, skinny Hollywood star. I posed on the private patio, because I’m not.

While we were there, I visited with a friend who had just turned 40, and we traded “war stories” over dinner while watching celebrities dine. I also had the chance to meet two hot gentlemen, Tony Romo and Chace Crawford, and pretend I was just meeting them so I could take a picture of my daughter and her friend with them.

I embraced turning fifty. I see it as the age of respect. I have knowledge I didn’t have at 20, 30, or 40. I have experiences I wouldn’t trade. As a result of those various experiences, I have wisdom. If you’re thirty and want to tell me about “real life,” be prepared to get, “Bless your heart. I’m 50. Let me tell you about real life.”

There’s also something relaxing about being fifty. When you’re twenty, you worry about what other people think. When you’re thirty, that becomes less of a worry. You understand that when you go to a party, other people don’t really care what you’re wearing…they’re more concerned with what they are wearing. In fact, I like to think that at 30, that all went out the window with me. Some people refer to 40 as their “kiss my a** age” (I heard someone say that on David Letterman’s show years ago), meaning they stopped letting other people influence them and stopped caring so much about what other people think, but I think mine was 30. Some people who knew me in my 20s might argue that it was earlier.

If my mother were here today, she would tell you I was the “classic strong-willed child.” I didn’t cause problems, but I was stubborn. I was known for it in my family. Daddy always talked about it and wondered aloud where I got that lovely trait. He would often say, “If she doesn’t want to do something, or if she doesn’t agree with something, she is not going to give in.” Generally speaking, I didn’t care what other people did, but I wasn’t going to do something I didn’t want to do, and I wasn’t going to be talked into changing my mind about something.

As life has gone on, I’ve become less rigid, more relaxed, and most of the time, I don’t sweat the small stuff. I like to think I quit sweating the small stuff when I was in college. My parents used to say, “She might have been ‘switched’ at college” (a reference to Switched at Birth), meaning a different person came back than the one they dropped off four years before. Whatever happened, I had gained wisdom in those four years, and I’ve gained even more since…I don’t care who is right and who is wrong…unless, of course, it negatively affects me, my child, or my family. Then…well, you already know about Mama Bear.

For me, with age has come peace. I have peace in knowing God is in charge. I truly have peace in knowing there are some things over which I have no control. I have peace in knowing that I, generally speaking, try to do the right thing. I will admit that I’m perfectly capable of being petty, but I try to do the right thing most of the time. I have peace in knowing I have a nice family and good friends. I have peace in knowing I’m trying to raise my daughter to take care of herself and others. I have peace in knowing a small act of kindness can mean a lot to someone. I have peace in knowing my brother and I will talk almost everyday, whether we have something to say or not. I have peace in knowing he is happy. I have peace.

So, to my friend, Nikki, and all my other friends who will be turning fifty in the next year or two, this is my gift to you: Embrace the 5-0! Tell everyone you see you are enjoying your 50th birthday! Enjoy it! And don’t just celebrate it for one day; celebrate the whole dang year! Find the peace you deserve at 50!

My 51st birthday is approaching one month from today, and I have called this past year The Year of Me, this year that I am 50.

Unfortunately, I lost my mother during this year, but she laughed and laughed last May at how I embraced turning 50. She had a great sense of humor, and she was happy I was celebrating life. She was glad I took some extra vacations (my favorite thing to do), and she was glad I was spending time with friends and family during the year. She encouraged me to enjoy every single day. As my parents used to tell me, “Life is not a dress rehearsal. Make it good the first time around.” I’m certainly trying.

Friends, enjoy every day. Be glad you’re turning fifty. It’s a milestone. Eat cake! Cake is for winners! (Nikki knows what that means.) It should be a celebration.

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Now, let’s pop the Champagne!

Cheers!

by Kelly Mattei

Mama Bear

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DISCLAIMER: I am not a mental health professional, but I am a mother. This post is written after being given the word “bear” as a prompt…I ran with it.

Everybody knows you don’t mess with a mama bear in the animal kingdom. Generally speaking, you don’t mess with a Mama Bear in the human world, either.

Mama Bears can be mamas, or they might be teachers fighting for their students, coaches fighting for their players, or any adult fighting for a child.

Let me start by saying I am a person who gives everyone the benefit of the doubt. I expect good things from people. I think most people are good. I think most people try. I want good things for other people. I also want good things for my child and other people’s children. Most of the time, I think everyone around me is doing everything they can for everybody.

And then there are the times I feel like I’ve been gut-punched, because my child feels like she has been gut-punched. We feel what they feel, but we have to try to approach it rationally. If you’re a mama, you’ve experienced it…that feeling you get when you feel the need to protect your child, or even your teen, from something. You feel the need to intercede. It’s an instinct that becomes part of who you are when you become a mother.

It might be you feel the need to keep them from going to a party. Maybe you feel the need to talk to a teacher. Maybe parents need to come together sometimes. MOST of the time, I try to encourage my child to work things out on her own. (She’s fourteen. Sometimes they need help navigating.) But Mama Bear is always in there…sometimes she’s hibernating, but she’s there.

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It’s an instinct that’s difficult to ignore. I know, because sometimes, I become Mama Bear.

Generally speaking, I don’t act on the Mama Bear instinct (and sometimes it’s painful to hold it in), unless I see what I perceive to be a real problem. Lots of times, I’ve had to vent to friends. Sometimes I ask for feedback about my instinct, but usually, I just want to vent. My friends know the difference. They know when I want feedback and when I want to vent. And some of them know when I need feedback, whether I want it or not.

I’m not a big complainer, and I’m a relatively reasonable person. Usually, if I run across a situation that I think needs to be mentioned, I sit on it for a while. I try to shelve it for a few days…a cooling off period, if you will. Often, I realize the “situation” was no big deal.

I have one child, a 14-yr-old daughter. What I have learned in her 14 years of life is something my mother always told me: Something might be a big deal to her, even if it doesn’t seem like a big deal to you. 

Remember when your child was a toddler? There were things that bothered him/her that seemed completely trivial to an adult. For my child, one of those things was collared shirts. She hated them. When I put a collared shirt on her and realized how it bothered her, I couldn’t get it off her fast enough…because it became painful listening to her! Whew! What was a big deal to her initially seemed small to me, but after much ado, it became very clear to me that it was a big deal all around!

All these teenage “big deals” should be taken into consideration too. And sometimes, I have to help her put things into perspective. Easier said than done, but I try. If she continues to act like it’s a big deal, then I try really hard to see things from her point of view.

One thing I do know is that middle school girls are not like everybody else. I remember being 14, and I remember an emotional rollercoaster…daily. I also remember that I didn’t feel like I had the power to take problems to higher-ups, i.e. adults. So I kept my mouth shut.

My own daughter tends to do the same thing, like lots of girls her age. She gets upset about something, but she doesn’t say anything to anyone…except me. I try to teach her that she needs to learn to handle these “situations” on her own, but sometimes, it’s just impossible. Maybe she’s afraid she won’t be heard. Maybe she’s afraid of repercussions.

Let me clarify that I have never complained about a teacher. In fact, I am usually the first one writing a complimentary letter for just about anyone…teachers, flight attendants, customer service personnel, waitstaff, salespeople, hotel employees. Truly, I know people work hard for a living, and I like to help people. My friends actually LAUGH at how much time I spend writing complimentary letters, but I appreciate a job well done. I can’t remember the last time I flew somewhere and didn’t write a complimentary letter for at least one airline employee. Same with hotel employees. I find something good in them. That’s my long way of saying I’m a positive person.

Here is something else I know: sometimes we have to intercede on our children’s behalf, because truly, they feel like they are being disrespectful if they question authority. It’s an interesting thing we teach our children in this country: We start with “respect your elders,” and then we change our tune to “handle it yourself.” That’s a pretty confusing message to lots of preteens and teens…including mine. We even teach girls not to call each other out! How many times do we talk about how polite they have to be, and how many times have we said, “Be nice.” Ugh. Yes, please be polite and nice, but don’t be a doormat. They have this fear that they will appear too sensitive. They have a fear of getting in trouble for being “mean” when they defend themselves. My child has actually said to me, when someone has been rude, that it would be “mean” if she defended herself. WHAT?!? But sometimes, people will be rude as long as you let it go on. I’ve spent countless hours trying to teach my daughter to stand up for herself and others.

Growing up is hard. It’s hard for the child/teen, and it’s hard for the parents too. It’s hard to see our teens lose confidence because of something an adult does. It’s hard to see our teens feeling sad.

Most kids learn to handle it, including mine. Most of the time when this Mama Bear flares up,  no one ever knows it.

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Usually, my flare-ups are about adults who act without considering the psyche of a 14-yr-old girl. Do people actually have that much difficulty remembering what it felt like to be that age? At 14, they are still part little girl and just taking one baby step into adulthood. They don’t know if they are little girls or big girls. They need guidance, and they need conversation, and they need someone to hear them.

Will a middle school girl speak up if she feels slighted? Maybe. Is it possible she will shut down if she feels slighted? Maybe.

And sometimes they internalize it…thus, the emotional rollercoaster.

Unfortunately, they often are afraid to speak up. That’s when Mama Bear has to step in. This Mama Bear always feels great pain about this. Generally speaking, I give people the benefit of the doubt, but problems arise when someone dealing with teens doesn’t take into consideration that they are still kids at heart. If someone doesn’t understand teens, they shouldn’t be in a position to deal with teens.

Their reality is different than the reality of adults. They can’t drive. They are trapped at school all day. They have to follow more rules. They’re distracted by social stuff. They’re distracted by almost anything. They’ve been told to be “nice” their whole lives, and dang it, most of them are.

I don’t profess to be a mental health professional, but I am a Mama Bear. I choose to be a Mama Bear who TRIES really hard to keep it to herself.

I give a mean “stink-eye,” though.

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Cheers to all the Mama Bears of the world!

by Kelly Mattei

Seeking Human Kindness

My friend, Neill, posted this on facebook yesterday: Helping one person might not change the world, but it could change the world for one person. 

That is an amazingly true statement.

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Photo by Matt Collamer on Unsplash

It makes me think of one of Oprah’s shows. Didn’t we all love to watch Oprah back in the day? Well, on one of her shows, her guest was a lady named Tish Hooker. Years before, when Oprah was an eight-yr-old little girl, Mrs. Hooker visited her church while campaigning for her husband in the gubernatorial race in the great state of Tennessee. While visiting, she stopped as she passed the 8-yr-old Oprah. Mrs. Hooker looked at Oprah and said to her, “Why, you’re as pretty as a speckled pup!”

Apparently, no one had ever told little Oprah she was pretty before that moment. So sad, because don’t we all think our own children are beautiful? You’d think she’d have heard it from a relative at some point, but no, she hadn’t. And to be told you’re as pretty as a speckled pup? Well, it’s a southern girl’s dream!

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On the show that day, Mrs. Hooker came out to the stage with no prior knowledge of why she had been invited to appear. Oprah told her the story about the church encounter, and of course, Mrs. Hooker had no recollection of it. But Oprah remembered it. She said it made her feel so good to hear those words that she never forgot it.

Mrs. Hooker had done something kind in passing and didn’t even realize what a profound effect she’d had on that child’s life, but because Oprah went on to fame and fortune, Mrs. Hooker got to find out!

Wouldn’t we all love to have the same effect on someone that Mrs. Hooker had on 8-yr-old Oprah? It’s possible you’ve had that same effect on someone and don’t even know it. Maybe you believed in someone when no one else did. You don’t have to be a gubernatorial candidate’s wife to have a big impact on someone. I don’t mean go around throwing out hollow, baseless compliments, but doing kind things or giving thoughtful compliments can change a person’s outlook…and it can improve your own mood too.

Just today, I was leaving the grocery store, and I was deep in thought about all the things I have to do. It had been an uneventful day, and I had spent the morning tying up some loose ends. I was pushing my cart (or buggy, to those of you in the Deep South) to my car when a smiling lady complimented me on my hair. “Your hair is so pretty!” It put a smile on my face immediately, and I thanked her, adding, “You just made my day!” We started talking, and I detected an accent that wasn’t Charlotte, so I did what I do. I asked where she was from.

She was from a small town outside Knoxville, Tennessee, which explained the accent. I told her I thought she might have been from Alabama. She is a Tennessee Vols fan, and of course, I’m a Bama fan, so we talked SEC football and Bear Bryant for a few minutes before hugging like old friends and going on our merry way.

She had no idea how much that one little compliment brightened my day.

And that’s what I mean.

The late, great Maya Angelou said, “At the end of the day, people won’t remember what you said or did. They will remember how you made them feel.” And that’s the truth.

It turns out Oprah remembered what Mrs. Hooker said, but she remembered it because of how it made her FEEL.

A few years ago, my friend, Angela, attended her 20th class reunion. (OK, so it was more than a “few” years ago.) At the reunion, a gentleman approached her and her then-husband. After introducing himself to her husband, he said, “I just want to tell you that your wife is something special.” He then went on to tell how, when he was a new student at the high school, he played football. After every game, the school’s spectators would rush the field and hug the players…important stuff to a teenage boy. The football player didn’t know many people at the school and didn’t have a lot of family in the area, so he could have felt lonely on that crowded field. However, after every single game, Angela made a point of finding him and giving him a hug…every…single…game. He remembered, because it made him feel special in a sea of new classmates. And guess what? By remembering it and telling her husband the story, he made her feel special 20 years later.

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My brother, Mr. Tough Guy, is good about performing random acts of kindness. Yes, I’m going to brag about him for a minute. He has always been good about helping stranded motorists in one way or another. Just last year, he was driving behind a truck on a country road. At some point, the truck pulled over to the shoulder. Brother (that’s what I call him) kept going, but after about a half mile, it occurred to him something might have been wrong. He turned around and went back. When he and the other driver stepped out of their trucks, it turned out to be someone he knew from high school but hadn’t seen in years! The old friend thought he might be running out of gas, so Brother followed him to the nearest gas station…just in case. That act of kindness turned into something positive for Brother too…seeing an old friend. He didn’t tell me the story to get “good deed points.” He told me the story, because it made HIM so happy to see his friend!

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My brother (on the right) sent me this selfie after running into his old friend.

Random acts of kindness…

If you find yourself feeling less than great, practice random acts of kindness. You might make someone else’s day, year, or even change their lives with one gesture! It’s probable you will benefit, as well. It gives me a little rush to think I’ve done something nice for someone. It’s not a “patting myself on the back” thing…it just makes me happier!

Next time you see your child’s teacher, tell them something nice instead of complaining. Treat a new friend to coffee. Stop by to meet a new neighbor. Pretty flowers growing in your yard? Cut some and take them to a friend. Greet your flight attendants with a warm, genuine “good morning” and a smile as you board the plane. Give a little extra tip to your server…or a big extra tip…especially if he/she is having a bad day. A generous tip could turn the day around for them. You never know when someone might need that extra cash. Donate needed items to a friend who collects things for the homeless in your area (remember, homeless people are somebody’s babies too). Check on someone’s elderly mama. I know I’m grateful to people who checked on and visited with my mother as she got older.
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My friend, Mary Ann, won’t take credit for this, but yesterday, she sent a message to the gentleman who organizes free mowing services for elderly people and veterans who need it. He has a country-wide network. Mary Ann wanted to help an elderly couple, both of whom are veterans, but they don’t have a lawn mower, and she couldn’t haul one in her automobile. She contacted the gentleman, and less than 24 hours later, he had someone going to mow the lawn. Mary Ann made it happen.

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My friends, Mary Ann and Neill, and my new friend from the grocery store (whose name I did not get) were my writing inspiration today. They’re all good eggs.  I’ll keep Mary Ann and Neill on my friends list, and next time I see my new friend from the grocery store, I’ll get her name.

So, make a conscious effort to practice random acts of kindness. The recipient will feel better and you will too.

Just think of it this way: Act like a Hooker…Tish Hooker, that is.

Why, you’re as pretty as a speckled pup!

XOXO,

Kelly

 

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by Kelly Mattei

School Trip

This week, my 14-yr-old daughter and the rest of the eighth graders from her school are going on a trip for two nights. They go to a conference center a few hours away.

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In fifth, sixth, and seventh grades, they visited camps. Well, most of them did. In fifth grade, my daughter went with them to a camp, but I think it was one night. It wasn’t her favorite night, and frankly, it wasn’t mine either. I was one of the overnight chaperones, along with another mom.

The kids weren’t allowed to take snacks, which can make for unhappy little girls. I will admit it: I took a few “not messy” snacks for them. I knew those girls weren’t going to eat the dinner they were served. Shhhh!

The cabin was fine. It was a cabin. The bathroom was even fine. The mattresses, however, were those thin mattresses covered in plastic. They make noise every time someone rolls over.

I woke up every single time someone rolled over that night. I could hear them every time. And every time, I thought someone was falling out of a bunk. So not only did I wake up, I woke up in a panic, thinking I needed to buffer someone’s fall. It made for a terrible night’s sleep. I was happy to leave the next morning before they started activities, and my daughter wanted to leave with me. I told her she had to stay for the day.

In sixth grade, they went to another camp for two nights. Of course, the night before, my daughter fell at soccer practice and injured her thumb. My husband brought her home around 9pm. Urgent Care was closed, and I needed to get her to a doctor before the field trip the next day, so we went to the emergency room. She got x-rays, but a radiologist wouldn’t see the x-ray till the next day. (The X-ray below is not her hand.)

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I did a stupid thing. I sent her on the trip with the thumb in the splint from the ER. While she was gone, I got the call from radiology that it was not broken, but I should have kept her home. She was miserable the whole time. I shouldn’t have made her go. I will always feel guilty about that.

When the seventh grade trip came around, she had a horrible looking spot on her knee. I took her to the doctor the day before the trip and found out it was a staph infection for which she needed to be taking antibiotics. This time, I made the right decision: I kept her home.

Now, it’s time for the eighth grade trip, and this is supposed to be the fun one. They can take snacks. They can take their phones. They can take stuff. They aren’t required to stay with their advisory group. Fingers crossed she stays healthy enough to go, because she is actually looking forward to it.

A friend said yesterday that she is going to miss her daughter while they’re gone. While I always enjoy time with my daughter, I am going to welcome the opportunity to be lazy. No school pickup. No practice pickup. No driving all over town.

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It is good for my daughter to have to fend for herself sometimes. This trip is a taste of that. Yes, she will be with friends and teachers, but they will be staying on their own. It’s good for them.

This summer, my daughter is going on a two-week trip to Iceland with a group of teenagers. I’m excited for her, and I’m a little jealous at the same time. Iceland looks beautiful in photos. My friends who have been there tell me it’s incredible and unlike anywhere else they’ve ever been. She will have the time of her life, I’m sure. She will be making memories that will last a lifetime.

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I was the same age when I went on my first big trip out of the country with other teenagers. She will be 3 1/2 months shy of her 15th birthday, and that’s almost exactly how old I was when we flew to Mexico City, then traveled on to Cuernavaca, Taxco, and Acapulco…back when you could go to Acapulco. I know we returned on March 6, 1982, the day after John Belushi died. Everyone was talking about it on the flight home.

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Taken right after we arrived in Mexico City, at the National Cathedral

That trip was an incredible learning experience for me and for my friends. I’m sure we came back with a mutual respect for each other and a respect for other cultures. We were exposed to more than we would have been exposed to as regular tourists. We learned a lot. We even learned how to haggle with vendors in the market in Mexico City…our first experience with that. That’s where we bought the sombreros pictured below. That haggling experience came in handy last summer when my friend, Jennifer, was purchasing something from a street vendor in Puerto Rico. He told her a price, and she was ready to pay when I stopped her and “haggled” with the vendor as best I could in Spanish. I’m sure he spoke English, but it was fun to try my hand at Spanish.

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This photo is from our hotel room in at the Hotel Reforma in Mexico City…wearing our new purchases

In addition to learning about each other and a different culture, we learned a lot about ourselves. We learned how to handle homesickness…cry it out, and then the tears turn into laughter. We learned about sharing a bathroom and mirror space with four other teenage girls. And we looked out for each other. I was actually physically ill for a good part of the trip…Montezuma’s Revenge and a terrible upper respiratory illness…coughing the whole time. My friends helped me. Among other things, they supplied the Pepto Bismol I had for breakfast the day I woke up with Montezuma’s Revenge.

The pictures below are also from our Mexico trip in 1982. The one on the left is our waiter at a pizza parlor in Acapulco. Note he is posing next to the beer menu…there was no drinking age in Mexico in 1982. We might have taken advantage of that. The photo on the right is the cute waiter at our hotel in Mexico City, Manuel. I thought he was adorable.

 

 

Our waiter at a pizza place in Acapulco. He posed next to the beer menu. Back then, there was no drinking age in Mexico.
Our cute waiter at the hotel in Mexico City. His name was Manuel.
The coughing was terrible and constant. The Montezuma’s Revenge was short-lived, thank goodness. But the memories are forever.

Anytime teens are away from their parents for more than a few hours, they learn something. Hopefully, while she is on her school trip this week, mine will learn something about keeping her own belongings separate from everyone else’s. This summer, in Iceland, I hope she learns something about getting those belongings together and being ready to move on at a moment’s notice. I hope she learns more about how strong she is…mentally and physically.

This week, while she is gone, I hope I take some time to be selfish…just for Wednesday. Just one day of total selfishness…doing what I want when I want. Thursday morning, I will be excited to host some friends at my home, and that afternoon, my “baby” will come home.

While I’m looking forward to a couple days to myself, I’m already looking forward to her return, and I hope to hear all about the fun school trip.

I guess I need to make a Target run to get some snacks for her to take!

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by Kelly Mattei

South of the Border

Anyone who has never traveled I-95 near the North Carolina/South Carolina border probably thinks I’m going to write about Mexico. They might think I’m going to write about immigration. Or maybe food…which is not a bad idea…but not what I’m writing about today.

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In North Carolina, and I presume South Carolina too, South of the Border has nothing to do with the great country of Mexico…well, a little, but not really.

If you’ve ever traveled I-95, especially at night, near the NC/SC border, you have seen the oasis that is South of the Border. Check out their website here. Starting as a roadside beer stand built by Mr. Alan Schafer in 1949, it is now much larger and a roadside attraction in itself…a brief respite from the boredom of interstate travels. Or if you’re traveling to the Carolina beaches, it’s a good place to stock up on some of the things you’ll need…especially Blenheim Ginger Ale…more on that later. It has a Mexican theme.

South of the Border. The first time I saw South of the Border, I was probably about 10 years old. I was traveling with my family up I-95. I think we were going to Wilmington, but not sure. It was nighttime, and as we traveled north, we started seeing signs that said, “Pedro says…” And those signs went on for miles and miles. They were advertisements for South of the Border. According to the website, those billboards were all designed by Mr. Schafer himself. They are iconic. There are about 175 billboards advertising South of the Border. The old billboards of the 70s used a sort of “Spanglish,” which many people found offensive, so they were changed. Even the Mexican Embassy got involved, according to Roadside America, asking Mr. Schafer to remove the offensive signage along I-95, to which he responded by suggesting the Mexican Embassy consider the $1.5 million in souvenirs he imports from Mexico each year. Nevertheless, the billboards were gradually changed to less broken English, but the advertisements are still plentiful.

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So, let’s say I was 10 years old. That means the year would have been 1977, so South of the Border was still in its heyday. In fact, according to people who work there (and have been there since 1965), people used to come in by the busloads to visit! It was a destination. There is a motor lodge that appears to have been kept in its original decor.

In 1977, as my family came upon the great neon oasis that is South of the Border, my daddy refused to stop. No amount of begging worked. Usually, he was pretty good about stopping at any roadside attraction, but apparently, it was late, and we needed to get to our hotel in Wilmington that night.

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I resolved, on that day, that I would one day visit South of the Border. And I never forgot.

When I first moved to Charlotte and would ask people about South of the Border (SOB), they would laugh and say they knew what I was talking about. Some had funny stories about a visit during college days, and some still had souvenirs they had purchased there when they were kids. Most of them had stopped there on the way to the beach once or twice when they were kids, but none had been in recent years.  And they certainly didn’t travel with SOB as their destination.

I spoke with my friend, Sara, who is from Pennsylvania, one day and learned she had never been either. We made a plan to visit.

On October 30, 2014, we loaded up in our Ford Expedition with my daughter, Sara’s two daughters, and a friend of her older daughter, and we set out for SOB.

I had plugged the address into the navigation in the truck. We were getting a late afternoon start, but we enjoyed the drive across North Carolina. We were traveling from Charlotte, so none of the drive was on the interstate highway, but it was mostly four-lane highway, with some two-lane travel here and there.

We drove through small towns and took detours.

We had been driving for a while, and the GPS said we had ten more miles to go, when we rounded a corner and saw the great neon oasis ahead! Somehow, our GPS wasn’t correct, but it didn’t matter at that point. Sara and I audibly gasped at the neon when we rounded the curve. We then laughed at ourselves.

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We arrived, and much like the Griswold’s arrival at Wally World, almost everything was closed. We didn’t care. There are all sorts of giant animal figurines around SOB, and we took advantage of the photo ops. A 97-feet-tall Pedro? Photo op! A giant sombrero tower? Photo op. We took lots of photos in the neon lights.

The only thing open was a small cafe called The Hot Tamale. It was late, and most of the place was deserted. It seemed a little sketchy with no one around, so I became the designated person to go in and ask what time all the other attractions would open the next day. The very nice lady inside told me everything would open at 10am, so we drove to our hotel in Florence, South Carolina, for the night. (Interestingly, Bill Cosby was slated to perform at the Convention Center near our hotel on November 4, but I think the sexual assault scandal probably caused the cancellation of the appearance.)

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Next morning, we ate a quick breakfast at the hotel and arrived at South of the Border at 10am. We were all excited to see what it would look like in the daytime, and of course, we took more photos.

 

Apparently, fall is not a busy time at SOB (South of the Border), because it seemed we were the only visitors that day. We actually visited the shops on Halloween, and Sara and I later joked that they would see a sharp increase in revenue for that day, since we bought so many souvenirs! The employees at one of the many souvenir shops told us summer is still busy with beach traffic and people traveling between the northeast and Florida.

There are souvenir shops aplenty…you could stay all day and still not see every single souvenir in the place. We stocked up on lots of SOB merchandise that day. I had to buy things, simply because I knew my 10-yr-old self would have loved to visit! In fact, I’m drinking my coffee from a SOB mug as I type.

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We also visited the Reptile Lagoon, which was actually quite intriguing. We saw rattlesnakes (every Alabama girl’s fear), alligators, other snakes, crocodiles, and turtles, up close and personal. It’s worth a visit.

We didn’t stay at the South of the Border Motor Inn, but we did check out one of the rooms. While it had the feel of the 1960s or 1970s, it was clean. Since it is a motor inn, guests can drive right up to the front door and park right outside their suite! We were surprised to find the room had a bidet, and we had to explain that to the kids. They’ve seen (and used) modern Japanese toilets, but they’d never seen a separate bidet. The motor inn also features a “pleasure dome” which houses an indoor pool.

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While we didn’t dine at any of the restaurants on site, I am told The Peddler Steakhouse, in a sombrero-shaped building,  is very good. Maybe we’ll dine there next time.

And when you visit, don’t forget to purchase some Blenheim Ginger Ale. You can purchase it by the case in some of the souvenir shops or by the bottle (and cold!) in the convenience store near the front of South of the Border. According to their website, Blenheim’s dates back to the 1800s. The original bottling plant opened in 1903, and the Schafer family that also owns SOB purchased it in 1993. It has a spicy ginger taste and is made with mineral water and fresh ginger. Lots of people believe it helps with stomach ailments. I highly recommend you try it! You can see their website here.

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We have returned for another visit since that original visit, in February 2016, and again, we had a great time. I’d say we are due for another weekend getaway.

It took me more than 35 years to get to visit South of the Border, but I’m telling you it is  definitely worth a road trip if you have an open weekend. It’s not luxurious. It’s kitschy. It’s fun. It’s cheesy. But you can make some fun memories and possibly pick up some fun souvenirs. It’s also worth a stop if you’re driving to Myrtle Beach or anywhere on I-95. Hopefully, the sombrero tower will be open when you visit! Take lots of photos! I hope it will be open for a long time, but you never know when something will disappear. Better make crazy memories while you can!

***If you enjoy reading Kelly Mattei’s Favorite Things, please invite your friends to like/follow the page!***

XOXO,

Kelly

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by Kelly Mattei

My New Favorite App

There are lots of good apps out there…apps that keep you organized, apps that keep you on time, apps that help you find your way…so many apps. Lots of good ones, and lots of bad ones.

Recently, I saw something on MSN about some people who had body shamed Selena Gomez after seeing her in a swimsuit. The article I read said her response was a homemade video set to one of her songs. I loved it. The video looked like an old home movie.

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Anyone who follows my personal Facebook page knows I was on vacation last week. They also know I made my own little “documentary” of the trip. My little family (plus two of my daughter’s friends) vacationed with my brother, his wife, and two of her sons. (FYI: I’m not one of those people who refers to my sis-in-law’s children as my brother’s too, because they have a daddy…I don’t want to step on toes. I know some people are cool with it, but I don’t want to overstep.) The two boys are delightful and as different as night and day, and we love them as if they are our own.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch….so we went on vacation together, and I had just read about the Selena Gomez video. I knew she had to have used an app, so I set out on a quest to find the perfect app for making simulated Super 8/8mm videos…just like the home movies we used to make and play on the projector.

I’m not much of a “techie.” You can teach an old dog new tricks, but this old dog doesn’t have the attention span for learning too much new techie stuff.

I did my research. I read articles online, and I read reviews of different apps. From what I could tell, there was one app that would be perfect for my use. There were some that were more complicated, but that scared me. There are some that offer more bells and whistles, but that scared me. This one is simple and very user friendly. It is called simply “8mm Vintage Camera.” I needed an easy app that would produce the 8mm effect without much thinking or work on my part, and that’s exactly what it is. There is a free version and a paid version…I think the paid version offers a few more options without requiring a lot of knowledge.

I decided to download the app before our vacation in the Bahamas, and I am so glad I did.

I documented our trip as well as I could. I also annoyed my brother with this app as much as I could, but he’s accustomed to that. I will add a snippet that shows the look on his face as I take yet another video of him (no sound on this one).

 

The app offers lot of options. You can record with sound or without. I prefer to record without sound, simply because it seems more authentic to me. I’m sure younger people will want to record with sound.

It also offers different filters for recording. I have only used two of the filters: one called “60s” and one called “Pela.” The “60s” filter produced a slightly gray hue, while the “Pela” filter seems to film with amber undertones.

This video has no sound:

 

Another great thing about the app is that you can add music from your iTunes library to your own videos. Apple Music songs won’t add, so you must purchase them in order to add them to your videos. I’ve added songs to all my videos, and I’ve noticed a good song can make a not-so-good video look better!

Since we returned home from vacation, I’ve had even more opportunity to use it. My friend, Wendy, came into town for Easter weekend and brought her two children. As you may have read before, back in the day, we had the best playgroup ever when our kids were young. As time has gone by, people have moved away, but we have all managed to stay in touch.

Some of you know Wendy is sick with leukemia. After arriving in town and spending some time with friends and family, she had to go into the hospital here. Because of that, the playgroup moms all rallied and had an old-school Easter Egg Hunt for all the playgroup kids…they’re almost all teenagers now, but they were up for a bit of nostalgia. Not one of them sulked through the egg hunt, and I’m sure it was because they were just so happy to be together.

Because Wendy couldn’t be there for the egg hunt, we all took photos to send her, and I made some videos with my new app. It was super easy, and I think they turned out great, if I do say so myself. I’m only including clips here, because I don’t want to share everything with the whole world, but you get the idea. The video below is brief but includes the song Sunshine On My Shoulders by John Denver.

 

And another brief video without music:

 

 

So, here’s the skinny: if I can operate 8mm Vintage Camera, anyone can. I am completely and utterly obsessed with it, so if you see me out and about, don’t be surprised if I ask you to wave while I point my smartphone at you.

You could be a star of a minor motion picture!

XOXO,

Kelly

by Kelly Mattei

Bloom Where You’re Planted

We always hear people say, “Follow your passion,” or “Follow your dreams.” I saw a video by Mike Rowe recently in which he questioned that, and I totally get it. See the video here.

If you watched the video, you heard him say lots of people have “passion” about something, but no talent for it. There are lots of people whose pursuit of their passion or dream failed, because they had not talent (or skills or knowledge).

My favorite part of the video is when he says, “Your happiness on the job has very little to do with the work itself.” And he’s correct. I really believe we can find happiness in places we never believed we could. I’m a big fan of “Love the one you’re with,” which I interpret as “find the good where you are.” I have a friend I’ve heard say, “Bloom where you’re planted,” which basically means the same thing to me.

Happiness is not always where we expect it. Haven’t we all firmly believed we wanted something, and when we got it, we realized it was all wrong? (“Be careful what you wish for.”) On the other hand, sometimes, we find ourselves somewhere we think isn’t a good fit…maybe a college or a position on a team…in reality, we often find it’s the best thing for us. Maybe we should, as Mike Rowe says, “Follow the opportunity.”

There are some people who possess passion, talent, knowledge, drive, plans, and more passion for what they want to do, and some of them can turn that into income.

As a child, in Spanish Fort, Alabama, I had a sweet, smart, adorable friend named Michelle Prouty. (She is now Michelle Prouty Johns.)

Unbeknownst to me at the time, she was immensely talented.

Michelle’s mother is a prolific gardener, and Michelle shares the same love of plants and gardening.

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MICHELLE PROUTY JOHNS

Michelle tells me she doesn’t remember a time that she wasn’t interested in gardening, “so it must have started at a very early age.”

Her dad owned a manufacturers’ rep agency in Mobile but decided, when Michelle was five, that he also wanted to be a part-time farmer. Purchasing ten acres, he moved the family, and started his vegetable farm. Her mother had flower beds and containers on the back deck, and Michelle helped with all of it. Michelle says they never had trouble getting her to help. Her exact words: “It wasn’t a chore to me.”

And there you have it. A passion was born.

Her mother taught her to plant seeds and propagate plants, and when the family left the farm and moved to my neighborhood, Spanish Fort Estates, her dad built a greenhouse, which she considered her “own private play house.” She says she loved going in there during the winter. “There was nothing better than being in there in the winter when it was full of my Mom’s plants, many of which bloomed through the winter.”

I remember going back to a community festival at Spanish Fort School in spring of 1978. There was Michelle, a fifth grader, with her own booth at the festival, selling her plants. It made quite an impression on me. She was tending that booth all day while other kids were doing whatever they wanted. But she was doing what she wanted…taking care of her plants, talking with folks about gardening, and selling the fruits of her labor.

Looking at all that hands-on gardening experience she had, one might think she would have pursued a Horticulture degree when she attended Auburn University, but she didn’t. She says, “I questioned my father many years ago on why they did not push me to look at horticulture as a career, and he said they didn’t know anyone who worked in the field, so it wasn’t really on their radar.” But…sometimes things work out the way they’re supposed to. She went on to get her Marketing and Statistics degrees, which have been helpful…as she pursues her dream.

And this is where it gets really good.

After working with her dad and working in outside sales for a company in Tampa, one year ago, Michelle opened her own retail garden center in Fairhope, Alabama. The perfect piece of land came available, and she seized the opportunity. She is the proud owner of Corner Copia Gardens Nursery and Garden Shoppe. You can see the Corner Copia Gardens Facebook page here and their Instagram page here. She opened the gardens in 2015 and opened the retail garden center in March 2017. Corner Copia Gardens Nursery and Garden Shoppe just celebrated its first anniversary.

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Michelle says her business goal is to carry a “unique variety” of plants that are difficult to find in “big box stores” and will do well in the area. She also wants to offer advice to local gardeners and is offering educational classes. Follow the Facebook page for Corner Copia Gardens to see which classes are being offered and when. (Again, the facebook page can be found here.)

 

 

Michelle named her business after some gift shops her mother had called The Corner Copia. According to Michelle, “While she did not sell plants, she carried many garden-themed gifts in her shops.” Michelle got her mother’s permission to use the name, adding “Gardens” and slightly modifying the logo.

Corner Copia Gardens is the realization of a dream.

Michelle says it has been her dream for at least 25 years…since soon after college.

It has not been without challenges. A particularly cold winter in Fairhope has been tougher than expected, but she says she has learned what it takes “to keep them (two 24′ x 100′ greenhouses) heated with 20 nights below freezing and down into the teens.”

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Another challenge has been the fact that business is seasonal, but Michelle made adjustments. Because business is seasonal, she needed to find a way to keep income flowing so her employees could work all year, so she added a small gift shop and is growing her live plant floral business, with hopes to begin making deliveries this spring. I’ve seen pictures on the facebook page of some of the gift shop offerings, and it’s exciting!

 

Easter Decor is arriving!
In the garden shop: airplant jellies!

The greatest thing about this, to me, is that Michelle found a way to channel all her life experiences into pursuing her dream. She knew it was something she wanted to do, but she did other things that gave her the ability and lots of valuable knowledge when the opportunity came along. She takes everything she has learned along the way from her parents, her career in business, her education, and her life as a mom (she and her husband have five children between them)…channeling it into her business, sharing her knowledge and passion along the way.

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Succulent head planters. I love these! I also think they would make lovely Easter gifts.

So, while Mike Rowe questions whether folks should follow their dreams, I know some should do just that…even if they have to get there by following opportunity first. Maybe I should say, “Follow opportunity to get to your dreams/passion.” That’s what Michelle did, and it’s working. She has always had a kind, engaging way about her, so I’m sure people love visiting her gardens and shop, and they love attending her classes. I can hardly wait to visit when I’m in Baldwin County!

If you are in Baldwin County, Alabama, stop in at Corner Copia Gardens. If you live in the area, stop in and see her…maybe take one of her classes. You’ll be glad you did. She would enjoy seeing you. She says her greatest joy is when customers come in and tell her how well their plants are doing or when someone sends her photos of arrangements they have made. As she says, “For me, it really isn’t work at all!”

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Now, if only I could find a way to make money by remembering birthdays, talking, connecting people, or harassing people into volunteering for stuff…

Kelly

FOR MORE INFORMATION ON CORNER COPIA GARDENS:

Corner Copia Gardens 

11983 E State Hwy 104

Fairhope, AL 36532

PHONE: 251-517-0453

 

In the garden shop: airplant jellies!
Succulent birdhouse (class offered)
by Kelly Mattei

Bluebird of Happiness

When I was cleaning out my mother’s house in January (she died December 30), I came across three little glass bluebirds…one was a little bigger than the other two…like a mother and two babies.

I realized those bluebirds had been on a side table in her living room for a long time, but I’d never asked her about them. You know how you see something a million times but never bother to find out about it?

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For the first time ever, I picked them up. I turned them over and there was a sticker on the larger one that said “Bluebird of Happiness” and the telephone number of an art studio. I knew they didn’t have any monetary value, but now that I couldn’t ask Mother, I was wondering what kind of sentimental value they had for her. Where did she get them? I felt sure someone had given them to her, so I put them in a little Ziploc bag and brought them home to Charlotte with me.

I placed them on top of a mirrored  box in my bathroom, so I’ve seen them every day for about a month, but earlier this week, I decided to investigate and find out who gave Mother the bluebirds.

The first text I sent was to an old family friend who lives in Florida. She and Mother became friends in 1961, when they were both working at Sunland Center in Marianna, Florida. Mother was a nurse, and this friend, Cynthia, worked in Activities, I believe. For whatever reason, they became great friends. In fact, Cynthia says Mother inspired her and encouraged her to become a nurse too. She did, and she continued her education to become a nurse anesthetist…and she gives Mother much of the credit.

Promptly, I received a text back from Cynthia telling me she had given mother the little bluebirds. She said she didn’t need them back but that she would like to have a memento to keep near Mother’s picture in her room. I texted back, “Let me mail them to you.” So they should be delivered to her right away. Now, every time she looks at the Bluebirds of Happiness, she will think of Mother.

When I was growing up, Cynthia was like a “cool aunt.” She was a little younger than my parents, and she always liked to have fun. My parents liked to have fun too, but Cynthia liked to have fun while driving a cute, little Triumph convertible. Parents didn’t drive Triumph convertibles. But Cynthia had one, and when she visited, I got to ride in it…with the top down!

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In fact, Cynthia was so trusted by my parents that she was our designated guardian if something had happened to them while we were minors. They knew she would love us as her own, and we would love her too. We have great family, but they all have children of their own. Cynthia didn’t have children.

Of course, now I want my own Bluebirds of Happiness, so I looked at the bottom of them again and got the telephone number for that art studio. As it turns out, it’s a studio called Terra Studios in Fayetteville, Arkansas, and according to their website, they are the “home of the Bluebirds of Happiness.” They also have the Pink Birds of Hope, Wise Owls, and Grace & Gratitude Angels…Mother would have loved those too.

Apparently, these sweet creations are quite popular, and the proceeds from the sale of the birds goes toward “using art to create a better world.” After looking at the website, I’d love to visit Terra Studios, where they have a coffee shop, glass demonstrations, American arts and crafts, and they are a popular Northwest Arkansas tourist attraction. Now, I’ll need to plan a trip.

So, Ive ordered some Bluebirds of Happiness…a mama and two babies for myself…and then I ordered more. According to the Terra Studios website, “the lovely, plump, sweet singing Bluebird has inspired more songs and poems than any other bird.” Terra Studios offers different sizes and variations of the Bluebirds of Happiness, the Pink Birds of Hope (offering hope to cancer survivors), Wise Owls, and Grace & Gratitude Angels…and the prices are right. I think they make lovely gifts. In fact, I think the bluebirds would make lovely hostess gifts. With Easter just around the corner, you might consider adding the bluebirds, pink bird, or angels to an Easter basket. The Wise Owls would make great little additions to graduation gifts or favors for a graduation tea. You can purchase the Bluebirds of Happiness with Amazon Prime free shipping here. Other items can be purchased directly from Terra Studios here.

Interestingly, on the same day I picked up the Bluebirds of Happiness at Mother’s, I was going through some papers and found a certificate naming my maternal grandfather a member of the North American Bluebird Society. Who knew? I had no idea there was such a society, and I certainly wouldn’t have thought my grandfather would be a member. I know he and my mother loved birds, but it never occurred to me he loved them enough to send in money. Having come through the Depression with some liquidity, he wasn’t free with his money. I love knowing he found bluebirds to be a worthy cause. I was so intrigued by his membership that I checked out their website and found it fascinating. If you’re interested in the North American Bluebird Society, you can see their websitehere.

So I guess bluebirds are a thing in my family. If you see me wearing a lot of blue in the next few months, you’ll know why. And if I see you and think you’re feeling “blue,” I may just give YOU a little Bluebird of Happiness to cheer you up.

As soon as my new Bluebirds of Happiness arrive, I will place them on the mirrored  box in my bathroom, so I can see them every single day and think of Mother and Cynthia. I’ll save the extras for  friends who need “a ray of light,” as mentioned in the song, Bluebird of Happiness.

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by Kelly Mattei

Why Write Now?

 

“I can shake off everything as I write; my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn.”

–Anne Frank

Yesterday, it occurred to me that it has been two months since my mother died. I remember when Daddy died, when things would happen, I would think, “And Daddy’s missing this.” Now I’m doing the same thing, “Mother’s missing this.”

I started my website/blog about a month ago…a month after Mother died. I find myself wondering what she would think. She loved to read blogs on Facebook…especially Sean of The South by Sean Deitrich. If you haven’t read his blog, you should. You can find it on facebook here.

Looking back at my posts, I know which ones she would have enjoyed. She’d have loved the one about Sunflowers, for sure, but she would be especially happy about My Favorite Rescue. Of course, that story could not have happened if she were still with us. I like to think she is smiling in Heaven about her dog’s homecoming. I know Sam (the dog) misses Mother, but she sure is happy to be home, and she loves living with my nephew. Thank goodness my brother agreed to bring her home.

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Mother loved stories, and she loved to laugh, so she would love any of my blog entries that made her laugh. Pee in my shoes during the kindergarten play? She would have remembered it, and she would have laughed out loud about it.

The story about the cute waiter in Boone would have made her smile. She always rooted for the underdog. We would have discussed that one a hundred times by now, as each of us made up different stories about what might have happened to Ricky. Did his day get better? Did he marry the out-of-his-league girl? Is he traveling the world, leaving great tips for servers everywhere he goes? The possibilities are endless.

What I find myself wondering, though, is WHY did I start my blog after Mother died?! WHY didn’t I start it sooner? She would have given me honest feedback, so why did I wait?! I had wanted to do a blog for a long time, but I was hesitant. Why now?

Maybe I was afraid of her honest feedback. Maybe that’s why I waited.

Well, here’s what I think: I used to talk to Mother every day…mostly in the car, because that was the only time I was alone and could actually converse without interruption
(except my husband has some sort of phone radar and ALWAYS calls when I’m on the phone…Mother and I used to laugh about it). I can’t talk with her anymore. I think this blog started as a coping mechanism. Writing, for whatever reason, helps me deal with grief. That’s what I think. I just realized that yesterday as I sat down in front of my laptop again. I’m channeling some of the conversations I would have had with Mother into this blog.

Daddy and Mother sitting outside on a chilly day in 2006.

When Daddy died in 2006, I didn’t cope well at all. I was younger, of course, and while I’d lost grandparents, losing Daddy was huge. Oh, I struggled. Thank God I had good friends and family around who helped me. My daughter was almost three when Daddy died, and I was 39. Fortunately for me, I had some great friends and family, near and far, and we had the very best playgroup ever. They were the people with whom I had daily interaction after coming home from Daddy’s funeral.

Our playgroup was full of kids about my daughter’s age, and all the moms were in their late 30s. We were a hodgepodge group from all over the country. Lots of states were represented: Alabama, South Carolina, Virginia, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Maryland…we were all different, but  we rallied around each other. In talking with my friend, Jenn, recently, we laughed about our playgroup, because it was really for the moms. The kids got to have REAL unstructured playtime, because for the most part, they were free ranging wherever we were. People talk about how kids don’t get to have unstructured playtime anymore; well, ours did. My daughter is an only child, so I feel like those friends in the early years of playgroup felt like siblings to her, so she experienced that to some extent.

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Most of the time, we were at Wendy’s house, because it was most kid-friendly, and frankly, Wendy can cook. Jenn can cook really well too, but back then, Wendy always had something on the stove or in the oven. Her mother is Italian…from the North End in Boston…real Italian…she can cook. So while our kids played, the moms gathered in the kitchen and talked and sampled dinner. Recently, Jenn and I laughed about just how unstructured the kids’ play was. Usually, they were in a playroom, while the moms were gathered in another room. If anything happened, one of the kids would come get us.

I think the loss of my daddy was one of the first big crises we had experienced together as a group of friends. My coping skills were less than great, but my friends rallied and got me through it. I remember being at Wendy’s house one day soon after he died. Jenn was there too. I’d had a headache for DAYS. They talked to me about the stress I was dealing with and sent me upstairs to bed…in Wendy’s house…before noon. They fed me and my family, and they helped ME.

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Playgroup moms, children, and a couple of aunts and grandparents gathered for Halloween Birthday Party for Wendy’s dad. I dressed as Hester Prynne.

We’ve been through a lot together. One mom suffered a late miscarriage before Daddy died. Several members of our group moved away. A few have survived divorces. One lost her mother to ALS. Some of their husbands lost their jobs during the financial crisis in 2008/2009. One almost died from an allergic reaction at lunch with me in California Pizza Kitchen. My husband had two brain surgeries. One studied for and passed the NC State Bar Exam. We got all our kids enrolled in school…some at public, some at private. Broken bones. Surgeries for children. Sleep issues. And one friend from our group has battled cancer for years, but she is one tough chick. She moved away years ago, but we wish she were in Charlotte, so we could help her. Fortunately, she has a very supportive family in Boston, but we miss all of them in Charlotte. We are all still friends, and those of us who remain in Charlotte still try to get together with the kids a few times a year, and every time, the kids are thrilled to be together.

I’m fortunate to have great friends in Charlotte and elsewhere…lots of friends who recently sent me cards, letters, and food when Mother died, and friends who called or visited. I have friends who have listened to me cry and tell story after story. I have friends who came to the hospital and sat with me and held my hand, and I have friends who honored Mother’s memory by placing her cup of Bailey’s and coffee on the bar when a group of us gathered. I have friends who know when to stop by for a cup of coffee. People are kind. Every single person and every single gesture has been a part of learning to face life without my Mother.

So maybe I’m writing to cope. I have a degree in journalism, and I’ve always enjoyed writing, but I haven’t been doing a lot of writing in the past few years. I know Mother would be proud that I’m doing something related to that degree she and Daddy financed.

If you enjoy the blog/website, please invite friends to read it. So far, I’ve loved sharing ideas for different things, and I’ve laughed (and cried!) while telling stories. Grief after Mother’s death led me here.

Mother would be proud that I’m writing and proud that I’m coping.

Thank you for helping me cope.

Kelly

NEXT POST, WEDNESDAY: Fun provisions for a stay-in weekend with a friend or friends.

Mother and I, probably 1974
My last photo with Mother, November 2017