'Miss Talent'

I was the 4th of 5 children, and it seems I was shy from the start. I can remember just trying to blend in, and in doing so, often times stood out as completely awkward. I loved my cousins, and looked forward to visits, but it took me hours to warm up to where I was able to join in. As you can imagine, this made it difficult to make friends as I started school. My first friends came to me when they moved in next door and my older sister met them first. I saw them sitting outside at our picnic table with Carol and my great idea was to hold my pretty doll out the screen door to entice them to want to play with me. I'm not sure when we first played together, but they became my first best friends. From the earliest school memories, I remember that spelling was all I had. It was my thing, the one thing that made me feel confident. The earliest of these contests was to write the words on little blackboards and hold them up, negating the need to have to speak in front of anyone. Looking back, I'm so thankful to whoever came up with that plan. As time went on, the tests were always written. I didn't win every time. There may have been a couple times that I came in second. I don't know if the accomplishment of being a good speller has anything to do with my wanting to be a good writer, but it seems like a likely combination. I'm still working on it. The shyness didn't disappear in the higher grades, but having an extrovert best friend from third grade on guaranteed me a place among my peers. Sometimes I was forced out of my comfort zone. In 7th grade my friend coerced me in to trying out for cheerleader. I was not good, but I was a cheerleader in 8th grade - and never again. There is evidence of this awkwardness in one particular photo where it is evident I could not hold a straight pose. My sophomore year I was again coerced, this time in to trying out for Miss Wilbur. Apparently the Pope twins said they would only do it if I would, but I suspect they were told the same thing in an effort to get more girls into the pageant. I got through it the only way I could, in costumes! For my talent I chose a pantomime, with face paint and all. Unfortunately, spelling would not have gotten me the talent award. I was not a princess or the queen, but my dad liked to say I stole the show. My junior year, still suffering with my 'affliction', I was excused from speech class, or at least the part of it that required the speaking. I'm not sure they did me any favors with that one. I probably would have benefitted from being pushed a little bit more during those years. Sometimes I am not sure how I ever went out into the workforce and found a job. I was a even a manager at one time, supervising people. I became a Diversity Facilitator, which was a really wonderful time in my life. I was given the opportunity to write stories and book reviews that were published in the paper. These are still the things I consider my biggest accomplishments outside of raising my children. You might think that I overcame the shyness, but I don't think introverts ever really overcome their introversion. And, should they? I think people learn ways of coping and find methods for getting through; and often for succeeding, without having to change the core of who they are. I still believe it's good to be encouraged to move beyond your familiar territory. Remember, you are not alone. I read that the majority of people aren't either, introvert or extrovert. They are actually somewhere in the middle (ambiverts). So I guess that means almost everyone can relate to you on some level. If you prefer quiet times at home - it's okay.

Aren't we all a little broken?

I've been writing again - mostly politics and Oz thoughts. After I finished my most recent post this morning, I was still deep in thought about the stories I told about my Oz collection and it took me somewhere different. I have always been introspective - often accused of thinking too much, worrying too much. I've had therapy about things that cause me anxiety, things I've shared in this blog before. I realized today, as I wrote about broken figurines, and the tears I shed over them, even as I glued them back together to try to salvage - something - anything, that this is more about life than it is about Auntie Em's lost head, or a shattered winged monkey. This is about knowing we can't control things, and that is not always easy to accept. As I wrote about turning my room into an Oz room after my divorce, I realized it was not about showing off the Oz collection, but about taking a space for myself, creating a place I could call all my own. It's always been about being able to manage and keep things close. When I write about my mom, my grandma, aunts, uncles, children and grandchildren, it is about keeping them near - even after they're gone. It's about trying to control the feelings of loss, as they move far away and I get older. Maybe this is all I have to say about this right now.

Oz Collection of Memories

It has been established in previous posts that I love the Wizard of Oz. Over the past two days I spent a good portion of each day at a local museum creating a display with my Wizard of Oz collection. When I first agreed to do this, I was not sure I could even fill the shelves. I also wasn’t sure that my incomplete collections of things, old and new wouldn’t look rag tag and shabby. The chosen theme for the exhibit is "There’s no place like home for the holidays". Having a holiday theme really helped to turn the display around. I left there yesterday feeling satisfied that it looks beautiful and engaging. I think people will enjoy seeing it. After I got home, I admit I had some separation anxiety. I know they are just things, but they do mean a lot to me. This is the first time I have ever seen all of my Wizard of Oz treasures in one place. It really makes me happy. I told my husband I wish we had room for that entire display in our house! Digging my pieces out from their hiding places, dusty boxes in the garage and old suitcases and bringing them all together was really fulfilling. As I was putting them on the shelves, I found myself talking to them as if they were old friends, and many of them are. I have dolls that have been with me for more than 40 years and some books longer than that. There was no shortage of memories while going through this process. My Franklin Mint figurine collection reminded me of the day I was dusting and knocked the entire display over. There were heads, arms, wands and broomsticks flying around as everything fell off of my china cabinet. I did shed a few tears that day. There were some casualties so my collection is not complete and subsequently there is a bit of glue involved in what remains. I sent the display case to Goodwill several years ago in frustration- another regret. I have wonderful pictures that my mom lovingly cross-stitched for me. One of them is in a frame that was made from an old decorative piece of wood I found on the farm where she was born. These are irreplaceable. The collection includes the little Dorothy costume I made for my daughter when she was a four-year-old which she proudly wore in the Wild Goose Bill Days parade in my hometown. Also included are wind-up toys snd erasers that I bought when I worked at the Enchanted Toy Shop back in the 1980s, the baby quilt I made for my granddaughter, a little cup that she used as a toddler and puzzles that have been touched by many family members as we put them together. After my divorce in 1995 I decided I would have an Oz room in my house, and whatever I had amassed at that time was pulled out of the closets and shed. I decorated and invited an Oz-loving co-worker to eat lunch in my room. The Wizard of Oz helped heal me during that difficult time. Much of my collection is without original packaging, and has been gently loved by myself or others. I don’t wear white gloves to handle the things I value. I remember collecting the little Madame Alexander McDonald's dolls while I was working at the Tri-City Herald in 2008. I would head to McDonald’s on my lunch to buy a Happy Meal and then ask if I could buy an additional toy. I was not successful in getting them all, until a coworker who worked on that account was able to get them for me! I was so excited to receive them, including the duplicates which I treasure! When I got remarried in 2010 I decided I needed to wear ruby slippers. Of course I walked down the aisle while Somewhere Over the Rainbow was being played by my daughter and her friend on cello and harp, respectively. It was beautiful! Our wedding decor included little birds, and if I’d thought of it soon enough I would have had a yellow brick road aisle runner. Sometimes the best ideas come too late! Once we were pronounced married, we turned and walked out of the church to the much peppier version of Over the Rainbow by the late Israel Kamakawiwoʻole I am not kidding when I say that the Wizard of Oz is a part of who I am. My husband knew this when he married me. I frequently get messages from friends, some who i haven’t even seen in several years telling me they saw something Oz related and thought of me. I laugh and tell them they’re not alone. Today I will be going with friends to see the new Wicked movie. I am beyond excited, because I know it’s going to be amazing. I can imagine little girls sitting down to watch the movie over and over again throughout their lives. The author of Wicked, Gregory Maguire and the creators of both Broadway show and the new movie are creating little collectors - generations of Oz lovers, if you will. I for one will. My granddaughter’s Christmas gifts will include something Wicked, as well as many of the gifts I will give to friends this year. If you haven’t found the joy of knowing what’s over the rainbow for you, or realizing that there really is no place like home, I hope you will consider visiting the museum at Keewaydin this Christmas season. I hope viewing my collection will make you smile.

There's No Place Like Home to Watch my Favorite Movie

I grew up loving The Wizard of Oz, primarily the 1939 movie. I remember watching it on our small black and white television as a young child, and every year thereafter as I grew to an adult. Even in high school I can recall staying home from basketball games because The Wizard of Oz was airing that night. By then, we had a color television, and I loved when Dorothy peeked out the old farmhouse door to see all the colors of Munchkin Land. I know that my love of this movie and all that it encompasses will never end. Even as an adult, I have often dressed as Dorothy, Glinda or a bad witch on Halloween.(I always wanted the actual witch costume, and finally this year I bought an Elphaba costume at Walmart.) I sewed my daughter a Dorothy costume when she was little, and bought my granddaughters Oz fabric dresses, a Dorothy in the box and books. This year I was so excited when more than one little Dorothy came to my door! 

I hear lots of people saying that as children, they were afraid of the witch, the flying monkeys, or the apple trees - and I have to say that I don’t have any memories of ever being afraid of anything Oz. This really says something about me, as I refuse to watch scary movies and have still never watched even the most popular horror films.  I was afraid just knowing that Dark Shadows was on when my sisters were watching it! But my favorite, The Wizard of Oz, never made me fearful. I have been known to say, when experiencing negativity in my life, that you could not appreciate the beauty and wonder of Oz if not having first experienced the dreary sepia of Kansas. This has been one way I cope with hard times, realizing there is almost always something better ahead - even if it's just taking a break to watch your favorite movie. (Which I am actually doing right at this moment.)

I’m not sure when the collecting started, but I would guess it coincided with one of the many anniversaries of the film, and when marketing merchandise associated with movies became so much more prevalent.  Most of the things I have were gifts from my sweet Mom. Through the years, I’ve regrettably also gotten rid of things that I thought I no longer needed. I blame the most recent purges on Marie Kondo. I said “thank you for the joy” out loud to my Hamilton dolls, framed movie poster, wooden collector shelf and highly collectable tee-shirt as I sent them to Goodwill.

Recently I took an accounting of my collection and realized I have much more than I knew. These things have been in boxes in the garage, in the toy cupboard, on the game shelf, mixed in with other prizes in drawers in my house and of course, hanging in my closet. This year marks the 85^th Anniversary of the beloved film, which brought with it too many more items to tempt me. I will admit to going down that road (yellow brick?) and buying some things I probably don’t need. Several times I've stated out loud that I am done, no more collectibles, new or vintage, but then I see the next great deal and I can't seem to help myself. My husband says he loves to see my smile when I open a package containing an Oz treasure, but I’m sure he’d rather I saved the money instead of adding to the clutter.

I'm getting really excited about the upcoming release of the Wicked movie. I read the book back in the 90s when it first came out and I enjoyed it, but not the same way I love The Wizard of Oz.  Now I am a huge fan. I love that Wicked is going to help keep Oz alive for more generations to enjoy. I was extremely lucky that my sister-in-law invited me to the Broadway version when it was in Spokane a few years ago. I loved seeing the characters come to life, and the music, well, it's beautiful. Now is where I must tell you about all the merchandise coming out because of the movie. There are too many items to mention, but a few I have indulged in; singing Mattel dolls, Aerie sweatshirts, Bombas socks, Golden books, one Lego set and some makeup, nail polish and lotions. I keep reminding myself I am almost 65 years old, at risk of becoming a hoarder - and looking to save money for retirement. Additionally, what will my kids do with all these things when I am no longer here? I admit it’s easy to get sucked into the hype and convince myself I need pink and green luggage, designer bags, Stanley cups, and more.

The other morning, I was thinking about Oz as I was getting ready for work, which is not unusual. It occurred to me that a better ending for the movie might have been that when Dorothy opened her eyes upon her return to Kansas, everything was in color. She learned on her journey that there was no place like home, so maybe Kansas could now be as beautiful as Oz had been. But then I remembered that L. Frank Baum very pointedly wrote that Kansas was vast, dark, gloomy and full of tornados. In the book, Dorothy told her companions, "No matter how dreary and gray our homes are, we people of flesh and blood would rather live there than in any other country, be it ever so beautiful. There is no place like home." The lesson is that home is home, without the vibrant colors, talking trees and good witches floating down in bubbles to solve our problems. Wherever we are, we long for home at some point along the way, whether home is a physical place, or a state or mind, or simply, the person you are with.

 Found this sitting in my blog unpublished. Publishing now.

I’ve been watching the videos of the officers being beaten, smashed and attacked by the so-called patriots at the Capitol last week. In some cases, the Blue Lives flag is in the same frame as the beatings. I don’t see how any moral person can watch this and see it for anything other than what it is, domestic terrorism, insurrection, attempts to murder and start civil war  – for one man.

I need to say something about blue lives. I care about them and have been guilty of not saying this loudly enough. I have family members and friends who are police officers, and I love them and want them to be safe. That does not negate my passion for the Black Lives Matter movement and I see these as two separate things. There are good cops and bad cops, good people and bad people. I did not speak out with anger or outrage after the marches last summer, and, I have been criticized for that – as if I have no right to be appalled at the insurrection due to not voicing any concern over previous riots. That is ludicrous, as they are in no way even close to the same thing. I do acknowledge that some BLM marches became violent; however, I believe much of this is due to the way they were treated, as well as other groups starting violence. No group is completely innocent - I know this. I do not ever think looting, arson and violence are the answer. Black Lives Matter is asking for what all people are entitled to - equality, fairness and to stop being killed by police. The group of insurgents at the Capitol was there to hang Mike Pence, "fight" to stop the "steal" - they were there to threaten our democracy and overturn our government. They did not care about what the majority of the country wanted.

What happened on January 6, 2021 can’t be compared to any of the marches that have taken place in the past 4 years. Why? Motivation. The motivation of the women’s march was valid, the motivation of Black Lives Matter marches are valid. The motivation for the attack on the Capitol on Wednesday was purely selfish and evil – and based on lies. People who are willing to murder their fellow Americans, police officers, politicians who were elected BY THE PEOPLE to serve-  purely for their misguided belief in a stolen election – these people are nothing more than immoral thugs.

Dammit, dammit, dammit

Momma brought her dammit doll to our house for Election Day. I naively didn’t think she would need it. At 92, she’s seen a few elections- and, as she loves to say, “ when you’re this old, you can say and do whatever you want.” She demonstrates that right frequently. As I said, she seen a few elections and has always exercised her right to vote. She’s kind, intelligent, inquisitive, delightfully funny, sharp as a tack, and, I dare to say - she’s right. She could not shake or hit that dammit doll enough to turn the outcome of this election, but I love her for the example she has set for me my entire life. I don’t remember discussions about politics while I was growing up. I don’t even remember talking about equality and fairness. Somehow, growing up in a small mostly conservative, farm community - who I became is just inherent. Nothing will change me, just like I know I can’t change others.

My Blue Wave Turned an Awful Shade of Orange-Red

Early this morning I posted this on Facebook. I know it might cause some friends to unfollow, unfriend or just think differently of me. My mom is here and said she doesn't care what anyone thinks. I wish I could be like that, but it's not who I am. Maybe when/if I reach the age of 92 I will be like her. Do my own detriment, I care what people think, even when we are separated by our own beliefs.

Here I am, posting on social media, the very thing that I feel has contributed in a large part to where we’re at as a country right now. And it’s not good. Throughout this election cycle, I have tried very hard to keep quiet on social media. I learned in 2020 that my opinions would not change others. I learned that I would lose friends for sharing my feelings and thoughts. I learned that I could become extremely angry, that I could feel ostracized, that I could feel alone on a platform even with so many friends and family around me.

Now that this election is over, if the opportunity arises where I feel my voice will make a difference, you will hear me loudly. I did what I could do this time in my own quiet way; encouraging people to vote, seeking to understand others viewpoints by asking polite questions. I found I rarely got answers. Shockingly, some of my Trump supporting friends could not really articulate why they were supporting him. In some cases, I could conclude that possibly they are ashamed of the reasons why they support him.

It is difficult for me to understand how we can see and hear the same things, but come away with completely different feelings about it.

Even as I write those words, I realize that it is due to the algorithms of social media. I recognize that my Trump supporting friends and family are not seeing the same feeds that I am seeing. They are not reading the same articles, they are not getting the same news. And I have known this for a while, so I go off of Facebook and search for my answers.

I come away believing that Donald Trump is a fascist, believing he is a racist and a misogynist. I believe that he will destroy our nation, tear down our constitution and divide us further and further. The saddest thing for me is also believing that his supporters already know this and don’t care. This is not patriotism. I am just so sad and disappointed this morning and worried for my children and my grandchildren. I am concerned that our plans to possibly retire in the next year or two could be ruined.For now, we still wake up every day and put one foot in front of the other - and breathe. I know life will go on and we will weather this storm. I know as a country, we will face this and get through it, and hopefully come out stronger, eventually. Whether my lifespan will be long enough for me to see it is a sad question to contemplate. I know I’m not alone in how I’m feeling today and that gives me strength.

I can also admit that it might not get as bad as I think it will. Project 2025 could turn out to be a hoax, Trump may not give cabinet positions to Elon Musk and RFK Junior. But the fact that he likely will and that it doesn’t seem to bother his supporters is mind shattering to me.

I am not a political genius, so those who know me well know that I do not engage in debates. I’m an introvert who likes to internalize my thoughts, and generally, I only share them with my closest, dearest friends.

I may start to share more things that I feel are important. If you love and respect me, maybe you’ll read them. If not, maybe you will scroll past them and just forgive me. Knowing that we are not all seeing the same things makes it even more important for us to share the things that we do see, the things that we do believe, and the things that we feel are important.



Today, of all days, I will not be complicit by silence.