Holiday Edition 2021
Screamin Mamas
TM
The Voice of Everyday Moms
SPOOKY GAME Diane DeAnda
POETRY
Sally Jadlow Loralie Kay Marcella Kumer Patricia Lynne Sara Sarna Paula Timpson
WAYS TO GIVE
Karla DeSimone
Giving it Back to Kids
SHORT STORIES
Alixx Black Gloria Jean Hansen Jerilyn Kaufman Carole Christman Koch Lynda Schomer Mecoli Rose Stewart Kelly Sullivan Anne Hunley Trisler Jen Waldron
YUMMY RECIPES Paula Timpson
Our Cover Mom, Darlene Pistocchi, Editor and Founder of ScreaminMamas. Photo by Raquel Pistocchi
PRE-CHRISTMAS REVERIE House quiet. All five children asleep, at last. Christmas wrap piled in corner beside unwrapped gifts. Naked Barbie, lone Lego, broken ruler, discarded video tape, Happy Meal toy, scattered about awaiting rest in toy box. Vacuum standing at attention longing to be asked to waltz over crushed crackers, broken cookies, bits of paper, snippets of ribbon and tape. As for me, I think I’ll sit and enjoy the quiet– imagine some good fairy to arrive before morning making a clean sweep of it all. Sweet dreams, my friends!
Sally Jadlow
Sally Jadlow is mama to four, grandma to fourteen, and great grandma of two. She writes poetry, historical fiction based on fact, and inspirational items. Her thirteen books are available on Amazon.
SCREAMINMAMAS HOLIDAY EDITION 2021
Painting Painting by by Patricia Patricia Lynne. Lynne. Read Read her her poem poem Annie Annie on on page page 35. 31.
EDITORIAL/ADMINISTRATION DARLENE PISTOCCHI Editor-In-Chief DENISE WEATHERBY The Listener DEANNA WOLVERTON Whipping Post BLOGGERS/POETS/CONTRIBUTORS The Life Blood of our Social and Mental Existence - Thank You, Ladies!! JENNIFER BONN - Living Well/Mom Vlogs LISA CUMMINGS - Guest/Special Needs MARCELLA KUMER -Poetry/Stories RUTH LEE - Whimsical /Poetry PATRICIA LYNNE - Poetry/Stories DEBBIE MURPHY - English Mum/Lil Red PAULA TIMPSON - Poetic Thoughts ANITA STAFFORD - Recipes CONTRIBUTORS/WRITERS ALIXX BLACK - Humor/Features DIANA DEANDA - Features/Short Stories GLORIA J HANSEN - Humor/Nostaligia CAROLE CHRISTMAN KOCH - Nostalgia ROSELYN STEWART - Stories/Poetry KELLY SULLIVAN - Short Stories/Network JEN WALDRON -Humor/Short Stories FEATURED WRITERS/POETS - HOLIDAY Karla DeSimone ◆ Sally Jadlow Jeri Kaufman◆ Loralei Kay ◆ Lynda Schomer Mecoli ◆ Sara Sarna ◆ Anne Hunley Trisler CONTACT/CONNECT
EMAIL: ScreaminMamas@gmail.com MAIN WEBSITE: ScreaminMamas.com BLOGS: ScreaminMamas.Blogspot.com ScreaminMamas.wordpress.com Facebook: ScreaminMamas Twitter:@ScreaminMama YouTube.com/c/ScreaminMama Pinterest.com/harmonipro/ screaminmamas Instagram.com/ScreaminMamas Tumblr: ScreaminMama.Tumblr.com
C O N T E N T S
Page 4-5 Page 6 Page 6-7 Page 8 Page 9 Page 10-11 Page 12-14 Page 15 Page 16 Page 17 Page 18-22 Page 23 Page 24 Page 25 Page 26-27 Page 28-29 Page 30 Page 31 Page 32-33 Page 34-35 Back Cover
Why I Hurt - Gloria Jean Hansen - Short Story Letter from the Editor - Darlene Pistocchi The Search - Anne Hunley Trisler - Short Story Letter of the Week - Jen Waldron - Short Story Nola - Paula Timpson - Poetry Full Throttle - Rose Stewart - Nostalgia Of Terrible Teens. . . - Alixx Black - Short Story Home - Sara Sarna - Poetry Kentucky - Kelly Sullivan - Short Story The Wishing Braid - Loralie Kay - Poetry Giving it Back to Kids - Karla DeSimone - Feature Recipes - Paula Timpson - Food A Lesson To Learn - Marcella Kumer Where is the Dark - Marcella Kumer - Poetry The Snoop - Jerilyn Kaufman - Short Story Halloween Party - Diane DeAnda - Featured Game! The Disney Trip . . . - Lynda Schomer Mecoli - Poetry Annie - Patricia Lynne - Poetry Sisterhood - Carole Christman Koch - Nostalgia On Writing - Jen Waldron - Short Story Giving It Back To Kids - Karla DeSimone
Disclaimer: As a grassroots group of Moms, our publication dates vary. We work around the kids, the chores, the dogs, the dishes, the laundry, the bills... but, through the grace of God, and everyone’s continued faithfulness and patience, it gets done. Very thankfully. You may submit on our website or email: screaminmamas@gmail.com. All work published remains that of the author/artist. Layout and Design remains that of ScreaminMamas. Photos & artwork either from contributor, clipart, Adobe Spark or Public Domain. No part of this may be reproduced without express permission. All rights reserved 2013-2021.
WHY I HURT
These legs have carried me across rooms, through fields, up and down stairs and to some places I won’t mention for more than 26,000 days. These arms have welcomed, lifted, rocked and patted my own four babies, and their babies babies.. .. ..
IIKnow KnowWhy WhyIIHurt Hurt......IIdid didthe themath math Gloria Jean Hansen Illustration by: Edvard Munch Ashes 1895
Food
for the Soul Most days, something on me hurts. If not the weather, then overuse of certain limbs, genes or disease are at issue. No bloody wonder! I’ve been living and loving on God’s green Earth for half a century. Plus a decade. Or two. And forty-five days and four hours. Roughly. Who’s counting? These legs have carried me across rooms, through fields, up and down stairs and to some places I won’t mention for more than 26,000 days. These arms have welcomed, lifted, rocked and patted my own four babies, and their babies, not to mention the couple thousand I have watched come into this world during my career in healthcare. I grabbed a calculator and came up with a few logical reasons this poor body might hurt each morning on arising: I have smiled a million times and cried at least half as many times. I have driven over a million miles and gotten in and out of a vehicle double that. I have walked perhaps 10,000 miles and gone cross-country skiing a few thousand more. I have milked cows by hand about 5,000 times and fed pigs, calves and chickens in as many instances. Since childhood I have crawled up into and down from haylofts, trees, old buildings and hay wagons, and chased animals and siblings more times than the calculator could calculate. I think I have picked close to 500 baskets of blueberries, raspberries, blackberries, tomatoes, and strawberries. I have also pulled countless chokecherries, pin cherries, cranberries, currants, plums and apples off trees, bushes
and thorny vines. I have planted spring gardens at least 30 times and picked a few hundred bags of potatoes, carrots, turnips and cabbage over the years. I have gone fishing and swimming at least 2,500 times and likely hauled in good-sized fish as often. I have wrestled with but enjoyed stiff stick shifts, snow machines, exercise machines, boats, canoes, kids, dogs and horses enough to know they were hard on my arms. I have changed baby diapers both at home and at work more than 11.000 times with safety pins and maybe half as many disposable diapers, and bathed babies a good 10,000 times. I have kissed or been kissed about 50,000 times, with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Add many thousands of hearty hugs to that mix. I have played a musical instrument every day of my life, starting with a baby rattle, except for hours I was either in labor or otherwise occupied. Hours of musical activity would far exceed 20,000 times. I have cooked about 30,000 meals in my lifetime and washed the resultant dishes as often. I have done laundry both with a wringer washing or in more modern washers (never with a washboard or scrubbed over a rock lol) once a week sometimes more over a span of 2.500 weeks. Half of those clothes were hung out on a clothesline, winter and summer. So now I know why I hurt today. . . I did the math! ◆ ◆ ◆
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Letter from from the the Editor Editor Letter
The Search Search The By Anne Hunley Trisler
Hello Fabulous Mamas & Contributors! Yes, it has taken awhile, (uh-gain!) but here we are. Thankfully, through the Grace of God. I do believe this work is a ministry, a calling to share your words with the world, because I tell you, it’s nothing short of Fantabulous!! Your work always floors me.
How fast change can happen. At first our children are sweet and new, their mistakes golden opportunities for us to test out sugar-spun words of discipline. Then— suddenly, it seems--the sass and insolence arrive, the disgusted looks replacing the adoring ones they wore as babies.
Each and every story, poem, letter, piece of fiction, whimsy, even photo, is filled with all the joys and fears of being a mom - sharing our failures, our triumphs, our dreams, our goals, our most vulnerable, heartfelt, truest moments. No judgment. No shaming. Just the real deal for everyday moms. God, how blessed am I to have this honor? Thank you for allowing me this opportunity. You are all truly strong, gifted women who deserve a beautiful, dedicated platform.
I am a seeker of the good, both in other people and in my own children. I have often said, “Most people are good,” and I honestly believe that. In my own children, I have searched for the best things in them and looked for ways to develop those. At certain ages it has been easy work, returning baby kisses, praising preschoolers who help with dishes and sweeping, acknowledging the second-grader’s kindness to a new classmate, and commending the ten-year-old for telling the truth when it wasn’t easy. Overall, it has been a delight to see the spirit in my children emerge, the light of goodness guiding them to compassionate acts.
I pray that I am always able to continue and am able to re-establish a more productive timeline. I know it will happen in God’s time, but until then, know that I will not give up! I would like to give a special shout to Alixx Black, Jennifer Bonn, Diane deAnda, Patricia Lynne, Janet Sobczyk and Jen Waldron, for meeting with me on Zoom calls to keep this circle going and help keep my motivation lit. I love you Ladies and thank you from the bottom of my heart for all your support and encouragement. And yes, I finally made the cover!! So now, after a good dose of Soul Food from Gloria Jean Hansen, let us enjoy this edition, starting with a very “real” account of motherhood by Anne Hunley Trisler. Grab some tea or coffee and enjoy!! Lots of Love, Your Faithful Editor
I must admit, though, that at times I overlooked things I should not have. Selfish? At least he can voice what he wants. Aggressive? Well, courageous, really. Assertive! Wishful thinking, perhaps, but the alternative realization—that our children go through stages during which there is less positive to be found—can be a scary one for parents.
“So when there was nothing nice
to say I waited until there was. I watched for that perfect instant, when his thin little arm reached toward his little sister to help her up. Quick. Now! Before the same arm swings to hit her in the next moment, say, “I like what you did for your sister.” continued . . .
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Recently, when adolescence began its onslaught, it got more challenging to find the good in my oldest son’s behavior, so mixed in it became with the stormy surliness. As I continued the search, I came to think of it a lot like digging. Not the pleasant sunny garden kind, but the frustrating kind, where spade clanks rock every other half an inch. More and more, as the hormones surge, it has become the desperate, frenzied kind, the “Oh, no, where did it go” kind. It is the kind of digging that flings tears because you’ve lost something so important, something you loved, something you were proud of. And didn’t you just have it a moment ago? Didn’t you even earn it, given how you worked so hard for it, like the way I raised this challenging child, with all that energy I poured into him? My painstaking care of him stemmed from my love of him, certainly, but, still, it was work. Grueling work, at times, and unending work at that. I have spent so many ticking seconds on his growth, health, and care. All that nursing, the total abandonment to the firstborn life that is both a novel pleasure and a bewildering sacrifice, all those years of holding and lifting— at first the featherweight baby, later the squirming toddler, then the stout preschooler. The hours of washing, cleaning and scouring—surfaces, floors, toys, clothes, mountains of towels. Many, many patience-testing screams. And, goodness, the food, with all the accompanying preparation and trips to the grocery store! Sandwich after sandwich on whole wheat bread, hundreds of gleaming green apples, and those boiled eggs he has always loved, so many boiling bubbles, the heavy lifting of all the pots, the agonizing bit by bit peeling of each tiny shell piece, making sure it was just right for him. Something as simple as an egg went into his care, but how many eggs and so much more. Each past instant of the last twelve years, whether forgotten or remembered, have been filled with the elements of being a mother, caring for children. Surely such an investment ought to be worth the continued prize of my best
‘Mommin’ For Real
efforts realized in my children’s kindness, generosity, and smiles. It is only fair! Yet it is now, after all these years, when the searching gets the hardest. Now that he chooses to slam his door instead of throw it open and run to me. After all my doing, now the mean blue rolling eyes, now the smirk. However, I know, even grudgingly, that the time to give up is never when you feel most like giving up. We mothers learn that lesson often, beginning with the intense labor that precedes the very birth of our babies. Sometimes we must go back there, in memory, to strengthen our resolve. We must remember that there is an end to hardship, and that often the end is something we could not have conceived the beauty of, and that in fact we actually needed the difficulty to fully appreciate what comes next. I look back on every challenging stage, and I remember that every single one of them has come to an end. I can even laugh about many. I have seen the love inside this child. I know how much good is in him; the key is keeping us both in touch with it during the tornado-like adolescent season. Thankfully, I am strong-willed too, like him. I have never been one to give up the hunt, so I search for what I know is still there. I look down into him, and it is similar to gazing from above the murky sea and wishing it were still a swimming pool. Even once I spot it, I know I won’t attain it without effort. It will be like plucking something up from the lake bed, something stuck fast. And when I grab it, pull it out and, underneath the sun, hold it to that dependable light, watch the dark water drip away, it will not be the same old pretty crystal, just a simple brown stone, weathered and cool in my hand, hugged by my fist.
I will kiss it, kiss it again when I realize I do not need it to sparkle. I need it only to be.
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Letter of the Week Jen Waldron
“… roses are red, and dirt is brown... if you weren’t my mommy, I would frown…” Love, Kevin When my three sons were reasonably young, I started a tradition known as ‘the letter of the week.’ Each week they were to handwrite one letter to someone. It never mattered who or why, but it needed thought, effort, and to fill most of a page. My boys could secretly have been born to the resistance. “This is so ridiculous,” Matt would grumble. “Seriously, I don’t have time for more work,” my oldest Josh would say with emphasis on the word work. Kevin would chime. “I’m the only kid on the planet doing this.” “Guess what? I’m your mother, and I’m not worried about what every other kid is doing. Make time for others, and you’ll thank me someday.” Of course, eyes rolled a lot initially, but eventually, they did it willingly. They wrote to friends and family. They wrote to their teachers and coaches. There was a letter to a President which received a reply. There were critical letters to the tooth fairy and Santa, and they wrote to me. Years have passed, and I still have those letters. Some are in my purse with me wherever I go, wrapped in an old string and a stretched-out hair tie. Some are in a Bible, and some stored under my bed in a covered decorative box. I have them everywhere in cubbies and nooks; they are prized possessions. “……. roses are red, and dirt is
“…. I’m glad we had this summer together. Thank you for being there for me my whole life. I appreciate all your sacrifices. As I head off to college, I’ll miss you. Just know you’ve done a great job….” Your son, Josh “…. hope you are having a good day mom. I love you. Maybe this weekend we could watch Snow Dogs together. Thanks for the treats. Sorry, this letter is short, but we talk a lot….” Matt
These precious letters had come in very handy when my three little angels told me that I was the strictest mother in the world. When doors slammed, or hands were placed over ears as I spoke, and even, the heavens forbid, being called a jerk, I always had the words they truly meant. Handwritten treasures. I know through the years the boys all continue to write and think of others and maybe in some secret way the tradition has passed down.
“…. I’m glad we had this summer together.
Thank you for being there for me my whole life. I appreciate all your sacrifices. As I head off to college, I’ll miss you. Just know you’ve done a great job….” Your son, Josh
brown. If you weren’t my mommy, I would frown….” Love, Kevin 8 - ScreaminMamas - 2021 Holiday
“…I love coming to your house for Thanksgiving. You make the best food Grammy….” Love, Blake Letters are a gift forever, and I have a lot of gifts. I have them from my husband and my children, and friends and family no longer with us. I save them to hear the voices of encouragement and thoughtfulness and to remind myself to take the time to give a forever gift.◆◆◆
Nola
Nola is a girl full of love and light. Her eyes dance dreams and miracles. Nola’s Nolas heart heart believes believes in in today today tomorrow and everyday. Luv, Paula
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!! s y a e d h t e r e w e os h T a i g l a N o st
Photos & Story By Rose Stewart
FULL THROTTLE “Off we went, racing up the hill, my house dress flying over my head. I hung on for my life, with only ballerina slippers on my feet. . .”
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W
hen I was twenty, in the early sixties and the mother of a baby girl named Leah, we attended a family picnic at Lake Nagawicka. It was the gathering of my first husband’s family. We were unpacking when a thunderous roar rent the air. Fifteen motor cycles clamored down the hill leading to the lake. When they had entered the parking lot, my husband, John, headed into the center of the group. It was then I spotted Terri McGallister. He lived behind my mother’s house on 68th Street and he was my brother’s friend. His family had been active in the underground railroad in the 1800s. There is a lake named after his family on the outskirts of Milwaukee. John, cigarette between his lips, greeted Terri. Terri wanted to sell his cycle. It was a Norton, the fastest bike on the road from 0-60 mph in a snap. Terri got off and John got on. I handed my daghter to my mother-in-law and ran for the bike, jumping on the back as I ran. Off we went, racing up the hill, my house dress flying over my head. I hung on for my life, with only ballerina slippers on my feet, it was difficult. When we reached the top of the hill and the highway stretched out before us, John really opened up the throttle. He had never driven a bike before, so he tried wheelies and other moves that left us swirling in the gravel at the side of the road. All I could do, heart beating fast in my chest, was to hang on. John had the bike for a week to see if he wanted to buy it. Our friend, Bill, an ace mechanic, checked out the bike and discovered bits of metal in the oil pan, John knew then he wasn’t going to keep the bike. He did, however, continue to risk his life racing around town on the back of that Norton. He finally gave it back to Terri and said he was afraid he would kill himself. All I could do was say thanks to the powers that be! ◆ ◆ ◆
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Of Terrible Terrible Of Teens and and Teens Tough Times Times Tough By Alixx Black
A MomReckoning . . . “A young mother wipes her brow dry of sweat after chasing her toddler around, only free to breathe because her little bundle of joy passed out cold midway through unpacking all of the building blocks again. A knock on the door pulls her attention away from the cherished moment of silence, and she twists around to put on her best face. Her mother is smiling, bubbly and free from the late nights and temper tantrums. She welcomes her mother in and apologizes for the mess with agitation clear in her tone. Mother dearest knows best, though, and coos a sugary sweet reply. “Someday you’ll miss this, when they wanted to help with everything and play with you all the time. You think that the twos are terrible? Wait for the teen years, darling.” But she has a hard time believing anything could be worse than this...” continued . . . 12 - ScreaminMamas - 2021 Holiday
How many times have you been told I never hear anything fun or positive people that I know my own age. I ‘someday the twos won’t seem so terrible’ or something to that effect? How often has someone told you that the teen years are the worst? I don’t think I’ve personally ever met a person that was excited for their kids to be teenagers. Hormones, puberty, unpredictable emotions, and being second-rate to the newest BFF on the block - what about that sounds appealing? But I have a question. Why doesn’t anyone talk about the positive aspects of raising teenagers? The way they make cheeky jokes at the dinner table or how they actually understand what you mean when you say that you’re disappointed. Oh! What about when they ask to watch one of those “old” movies that they know is one of your favorites? Don’t even get me started on when they start to like some of the same music as you do. I’m guilty. I’ve made those jokes too. I’ve even written articles about it! The teen years are tough times beyond a reasonable doubt. Sometimes it feels like a crime to consider raising a teenager to be anything but difficult, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be equally as delightful too. Does it? I guess I couldn’t possibly know since
about this stage of my life - raising a teenage boy.
don’t want anyone else shaking in their boots. Now that my kid is a teenager I’m absolutely thrilled, and I On the topic of “terrible teens” and want others to know that they should “tough times,” I want to throw that be excited for this stage of parenting. idea out of the window. Fear and ill-wishing has haunted me as my Hear me out! We love board games, child edged closer and closer to his video games, Let’s Play videos, and thirteenth birthday. Sometimes it the Internet. “We” being my huswas in the phrase of “You’ll miss band, myself, and my son. We all these young years,” or “I hope that three enjoy these things, and we all he’s as terrible as you were.” In other three enjoy the same types of games and videos. During random conversations, we might not necessarily seem like we are very close knit because we take digs at each other and make it a point to make fun of each other for being on our phones. The reality is that we very rarely do things without one another. Every television show, video game, board game, dinner out, and errand is done as a group whenever reasonable.
ways people made their jokes about the upcoming woes of young love and teen dating concerns. These tiny things built up over the years, and it had me wondering what was up. I didn’t feel as scared as everything seemed to indicate I should have been. We’re many months past his thirteenth now and he is so much more fun to hang out with than most
Everything that we do in our lives is as a team, even if it’s an individual pursuit. The boys have their things they do just the two of them, and I have things I do just with my son, as all people do. They like Magic the Gathering and I like art YouTube. Our son is a passionate soccer player, even though Dad and I much prefer the sideline. Our investments in each other are the foundation of our life right now, but the future we’ll have as a family when he’s an adult too. continued . . .
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continued . . . Until that inevitable future, we’re going to enjoy those car rides when he wants to listen to the same bands or podcasts that we do because he’s old enough and mature enough to keep up with the spooky stories and suspenseful mysteries. Being so much on the same page as parents with our teenage is brilliant and cathartic in all the ways nobody ever told us it would be - which very well might be the best surprise of my adult life ever. Having all of these things in common makes every day a positive one. And that’s kind of the point of parenting, isn’t it? If I’m being honest, there are days when the best part is not toting around a diaper bag and worrying about late night crying that drags me out of bed. There’s no more worrying about which restroom has the changing table or whether or not there’s enough activities for a toddler when we go on trips as a family. There’s no more planning out where to stop for restroom breaks and keeping track of a packand-play. I’m so glad I’ll never hear “are we there yet” again! There are few things that have been clearer to me than the joy of watching my son become a young man. He is a person that I will soon have the pleasure to stand beside rather than behind as he lays the groundwork for his future. We’re already talking about colleges, getting a job, and driving. Gone are the days where we made decisions for him and now are the 14 - ScreaminMamas - 2021 Holiday
times when he tells us what he wants his work ethic.” to accomplish so we can support him in making it happen. “He is really smart and all of this just comes naturally to him. He really Whether we’re walking off the soccer loves school!” pitch after a hard fought game, or rotting our brains in front of the televi- “He’s there when I need him to be.” sion trying to get one more achievement before bed, I know these will Whenever I tell him that someone be the days I cherish most when I’m said something nice about him, he old and gray. The memories we make shrugs his shoulders. I guess he gets from here on out will be the whispers that from me. Accepting compliments never was something I could do well. Instead of prompting him to say ‘thank you’ or express something kind back, I always ask - how does that make you feel? He always says he feels good, but he also always says that he is doing the right thing. I will always love that little boy playing with his action figures underneath a makeshift blanket fort. Still, being able to be the mom and the best friend during these last of the man he will become. And it’s five years of his youth is going to be not just me seeing it happen. amazing. It’ll be fast too. Some days “He kind of does whatever he wants, will be good; some days will be bad. but he does it in a silly way that makes Would we really be human if it were people laugh.” any other way? I know that there are parents that will continue to say that “He’s the only one that doesn’t bully teenagers are basically a whole differme and say mean things. He just in- ent species... cluded me anyway.” But maybe that’s an article for sea“He plays the game hard from start to soned veteran? ◆ ◆ ◆ finish. He never fails to impress with
Home For the Love of Sons
When he stops coming home to visit and you have to go to him He doesn’t love you less but you’ve done your job and he is independent and building his own life. As small as the world has become the physical distance between you feels like earth to the moon There will always be a place for him to land, exhale but he has the same ties as you now to a job and a place and a person everything but the dog and that will come. Sara Sarna
About the Author: “I grew up in a military family and only in adult life understood the pleasure of putting down roots, which I did in southeastern Wisconsin. I work in healthcare but will always prefer the work of mother, actor and poet. My work has appeared previously in Screamin Mamas as well as The Avocet, Bards Against Hunger 5th Anniversary Anthology and the subsequent Wisconsin edition, and others.” 2021 Holiday Edition - ScreaminMamas - 15
Kentucky
I
traveled through Kentucky with my son Cody on our way back from South Carolina. The day we were traveling happened to be my birthday and Cody wanted to stop at Cumberland Falls Kentucky to celebrate with me. Just a short drive off the highway and we were there.
The weather was cold and dreary on the late afternoon in January. One trail was closed. However, the trail that was open provided us a wonderful view of the falls. We walked the trail and watched the rushing water and came to a stop when we got to a great view of the falls. To me it looked like the last time I had traveled there at 17 with my father. I snapped a photo and tried to get the same shot. The last time I had been there was about three months before my father passed away. I had not planned on returning, but my son insisted.
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Story & Photo By: Kelly sullivan
We were looking at the beautiful site and my memories faded, and I knew I was making new ones with my son. I knew I was so happy celebrating with him at the beautiful waterfall. We stopped at the gift shop and bought a few souvenirs. He bought me a birthday present and I took a few photos of him on the trail. Afterward, I was so happy that every time I used to think about Cumberland Falls, I used to think about and be sad that it was the last time I was there with my dad. But, now, thanks to my son, I have new happy memories to think about. It has turned into being something so special, and a place we plan to go on another vacation to remember those same special memories and continue to make news ones. ◆ ◆ ◆
The Wishing Wishing Braid Braid The For the Love of Daughters
By Loralei Kay
Mother-daughter morning ritual, giggles and wiggles, as I comb through her long dark hair, dividing locks into three strands, while gripping and tugging at her bobbing head. First strand over— How I love this little girl! Second strand over— I hope she’ll grow tall, happy and strong. Third strand over— Yet how I wish she’d always stay small! Braiding strands together Love—hope—wish. Love—hope— wish. Love—hope—wish. Nearing the end of the braid, I pull all three lines taut like my heart strings and push down on her head. “Please don’t grow up,” I whisper as I fasten the bow. But she did. ◆ ◆ ◆
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Meet Karla Giving it Back to Kids
And the crowds asked Jesus, “What then shall we do?” And Jesus answered them, “Whoever has two tunics is to share with him who has none, and whoever has food is to do likewise.” Luke 3:10-11 Several years ago I read this bible verse. It was so simple and surely spoke to my heart. I have many different roles in my life. I was a daughter to my parents and granddaughter to my grandparents. I am a sister to my three sisters and two brothers. I am a cousin, daughter-in-law and sister-in-law. I am an employee to my employer. I am a wife to my wonderful husband of 38 years and I have the honor of being the mother to my two grown sons. My life is blessed with many friends who have taught me and shaped me into the woman I have become. None perhaps more prominent than Robert, and his late wife Dorothea Kalatschan, founders of Giving it Back to Kids (www.givingitbacktokids.org). My Mom always told me that I was that kid that stood up for those in need and those being marginalized. That includes animals, as well as people. I do remember writing to the President of the United States many times before my 10th birthday. I would sign up for walk-a-thons to raise money for children with health issues by walking as many miles as I could, earning money for every mile I walked. I’d do the same riding my bike. None of my siblings joined me, but I didn’t seem to care. My husband and I met Dorothea and Robert in the early 90’s. We became friends from church. I was a Christian, but I could sense they were much more mature Christians than me. We were there when Dorothea and Robert adopted their son Thomas; and I will never forget when Robert and Dorothea went to pick up their daughter Kristina in Vietnam. Robert would write updates to his friends back in the USA and I would read Robert’s journals with voracity, all the while thinking, “I could never go to Vietnam”. I didn’t think I was brave or strong enough or had anything worthy to share.
continued . . . 2021 Holiday Edition - ScreaminMamas - 19
20 - ScreaminMamas 20 - ScreaminMamas - 2019 - 2021 Edition Holiday
And now here I am writing to you after returning from my 8th trip to Vietnam and Cambodia, and you may wonder what changed? Each time I would see Robert and Dorothea they would gently say to me, “Come to Vietnam”. I would decline. But the very next time I would see them, they would gently ask me again, “When are you coming to Vietnam”? What I learned is that we all have the power to be doers for Christ. But the manner in which we approach doing God’s work is one that is best presented with the spirit of gentility and acceptance. My desire has always been to help those in need, but my transformation as a person came when I put my comfort and fears aside and allowed God to lead me in His true purpose in my life. A life of service. What I think about is how many people I know, like myself, who never accepted the challenge. How do we make change come to fruition if we don’t make the first step forward? It is because of the gentleness and transparency of God’s servants, Robert and Dorothea Kalatschan, that my life is truly transformed. My relationships are stronger. My reason for working took a change from making money to being the best steward I could with the money God entrusted me with. My pastor in California used to say, “That God doesn’t call the equipped, he equips the called”. Now I want to be a witness, with the same level of humility and gentleness of the Kalatschan’s to lead others to achieve their full God given potential. continued . . . 2021 Holiday Edition - ScreaminMamas - 21
All Photos courtesy Karla DeSimone I’d like to invite you to learn more about the amazing organization I have the privilege and honor of serving with; Giving it Back to Kids. If you have time, please click on one of the links below to some journals posted on the Giving it Back to Kids website. Thank you for reading.
LINKS to Website • Dorothea’s Project Legacies • All Started With A Soccer Ball (Part I) • All Started With A Soccer Ball (Part II) • The Wedding • Note From Karla
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RRECIPES ECIPES FFOR OR TTH THE HE HHOLIDAYS O L I D AY S
OR OR ANY ANY TIME TIME OF OF YEAR!!! YEAR!!! Courtesy Paula Timpson
FLAN
Flan is a delicious, creamy Mexican desert. Ingredients • 3 egg yolks • 1/4 cup plus 2 tbsp sugar • 1 cup heavy cream, or use milk and butter make your own • 1/2 cup milk • 1/2 tsp vanilla • Use 6 silicone cup cake holders
KEFIR BISCUITS
Kefir is wqonderful! It helped heal my tummy after surgery and I’d love to share this fun and delicious recipe with you all!! They go wonderfully with eggs for a sweet breakfast or a dinner treat! INGREDIENTS • 2 cups flour • 2 tsp baking powder • 1/2 tsp baking soda • 3/4 tsp salt • 9 tbsp chilled butter, divided • 1 cup plain lowfat Kefir
Directions • Preheat oven to 300 • Put egg yolks in bowl, whisk • Place sugar, milk and cream in a bowl • Microwave 30 seconds • Stir in vanilla • Add to yolks • Stir, pour evenly into silicone cupcake holders • Bake 40 minutes • Cool in fridge a couple hours • Then Enjoy this yumptious desert!!
DIRECTIONS • Preheat oven to 450 • Mix dry ingredients together • Cube the butter, mix it into dry ingredients • Mix until crumbly • Mix in 1 cup cold Kefir, just until moistened • Shape into small biscuits • Bake 15 minutes • Time to eat! • Yummy!
2021 Holiday Edition - ScreaminMamas - 23
A Lesson to Learn By Marcella Kumer
My name is Star Dust. I was born in New York, 1962. I was named after a falling star that my father, Moon Dust, observed during my birth. That wasn’t the only thing that happened. On that same day I came into the world, my sweet mother went to heaven, making my father my exclusive caregiver.
the dumpster. He then began yelling out to them. A crowd formed outside the theater as people watched my father herd ten dogs into our car.
When I was little I thought my father was the best a girl could have. Yet, I felt sorry for him. He was always alone. Father’s only friends were dogs. (I also adored them.) When I was 15, he packed up our old run-down car and we headed to Oregon. He told me bedtime stories every night about Oregon, and places he had always hoped to return to.
But the crowd cheered as the dogs bounced into our old jalopy. At first I thought they were laughing, but as I checked out the crowd more closely, I realized they weren’t laughing at all; they were thrilled my father was saving the starving dogs and then it hit me, he wasn’t insane at all.
So the car was crowded with our four dogs - Blacky, Star, Pluto and Star Light. My father’s stories and our dogs were the reasons I tolerated his insanity when I was little. It wasn’t so easy as a teenager. ◆◆◆ One afternoon I brought a friend home after school to do homework. My father had the whole house filled with dogs of all shapes, sizes and colors. Some were eating at the table, while others ran helter skelter through the rooms. Arrgghhh!! I couldn’t help but yell. “Dad what are you doing? You are ruining this house!” He just turned and smiled at me and my friend. I wanted to die. I grabbed my friend’s arm and ran out. I hated him at that moment, promising myself I would never bring a friend home again.
My father, the crazy man. I was so ashamed.
All through my life I had been ashamed that he did these outrageous things. I should have been proud. As we were driving, it dawned on me that one of my first memories of my father was him hand-feeding a litter of puppies. As the years floated by I had forgotten this affection and tenderness he had towards dogs and now I realized that this was his calling. His dream had always been to open a refuge for lost and hurt dogs. Inheriting money recently from his Uncle Pluto would make his dream come true. The inheritance was a gift for both of us, a new life. ◆◆◆ We arrived in Oregon. The countryside was so gorgeous and a small cabin appeared in the distance. The sun slipped peacefully down the Oregon sky. I stood like a statue-child holding my father’s hand. A tear slipped slowly down his cheek. He turned toward me, smiling and I knew we were home. ◆ ◆ ◆
The next day at school the story about my father’s dogs spread. All eyes were on to me - the daughter of the crazy man - as I walked through the hallways. All through my teens my father continued to do ‘off-the-wall’ things. Then one day when I was 17, we were leaving the local theater when my father spied a pack of dogs near a dumpster. I tried to get him in the car, but I should have known that his insanity when it came to dogs would take over. He opened the car door and scattered dog treats from the car right to 24 - ScreaminMamas - 2021 Holiday
A Tribute to Dads
Where is the Dark By Marcella Kumer
Clouds float float unattached unattached in in the the unrealistic unrealistic Clouds sky. sky. The sky sky stays stays quiet. quiet. The Snowflakes floating floating down down to to earth earth silently. silently. Snowflakes The sky sky stays stays quiet, quiet, The Cold breeze breeze plays plays lightly lightly across across your your face. face. Cold Felt relief relief as as the the dark dark took took over over the the light. light. Felt Been inside inside the the darkness darkness Been To think think there there would would never never be be light. light. To pray with with heart heart and and soul,for soul,for light. light. II pray In the the dark, dark, tears tears stain stain your your face. face. In Your eyes eyes reveal reveal aa sad sad heart. heart. Your your mask mask the the thing thing you you see? see? IsIs your Or isis your your face face the the mask mask you you seek? seek? Or Which mask mask do do you you show? show? Which A mystery mystery more more than than you you will will know. know. A 2021 Holiday Edition - ScreaminMamas - 25
The The SNOOP SNOOP
By Jerilyn “Jeri” Kaufman
“How about that,” Claire said with a laugh. “Maybe our family isn’t so boring after all.”
The occupation listed on my income taxes reads “professional genealogist.” I like to think of myself as a detective. Then, there are some people who call me a liar. For me it’s pretty routine, but I’ve had a few surprises not so much for me, but for my clients. Often I help people who have done their own research but have hit a dead end. One client, Claire, searched and searched for her great-grandfather.
death cerificates. There, I’m trying to read handwriting that’s blurred and almost illegible. Or, I’m deciphering foreign languages -thanks, to foreign language dictionaries.
Consequently, most days I’m sitting in libraries blinding myself reading fuzzy microfilm. Or, I’m in dusty courthouse basements rummaging through ancient boxes filled with yellowing, crumbling marriage, birth, and
Other clients want to join a lineage society and must prove that one of their ancestors participated in a historical event such as the American Revolutionary War. My most recent client was certain she was a descendent
Another client, busy with work, family and volunteering, wanted to learn more about his side of the family. So I went to work investigating his family’s roots. I just have to be patient.. After I completed the family tree The family story was he abandoned his wife and their charts showing date of birth, date of marriage and rethree young children. End of story. But, not so. I found sulting children of that union and their birth dates, I him eventually. He had moved to another neighbor- handed the paperwork to the client. hood in the late 1800’s and married. Without the benefit of a divorce. When I told Claire my findings, she He called me a week later, saying “I think there’s a misexclaimed, “You mean he was a bigamist?” take here on Uncle Charlie’s chart. According to this, Charlie’s two kids were born before he and Aunt Tillie “Looks like it,” I told her. “I couldn’t find any divorce were married. That can’t be right. I remember Uncle records. But, I did find an interesting newspaper arti- Charlie as such a straight-laced kind of guy.” cle. He told a reporter when he was in court on charges for bigamy, he never got a divorce because his church “Oh, it’s right. I checked all the records twice. But doesn’t allow divorce.” back then marriage taxes were really high and people couldn’t afford to be married too soon.” “How about that,” Claire said with a laugh. “Maybe our family isn’t sobering after all.” “For crying out loud, Uncle Charlie and Tillie got together way before they were married. I never would I research ancestries for others who are too busy to do have thought that.” He chuckles and says, “You rascal, it themselves so I have to start from scratch. Uncle Charlie.”
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of George Washington’s. “I’ve heard that all my life,” she told me with a smug smile. “I’ll check it out,” I said. “You’ve given me some basic information that will help in my search. I’ll get back to you.” Six weeks later I was ready to give her my information. As I entered her home, I couldn’t help but notice many family portraits painted generations ago. “Please, sit down. I’m sure you have some exciting news for me,’ she said. “Well, I think it’s exciting. I’m interested in what you think,” I said. “Like you thought, you had a relative with the last name of Washington.” My client almost jumped out of her chair. “I just knew it. My family goes all the way back to the Revolutionary War. Now I can join the Daughters of the American Revolutionary.” “Well, not so fast,” I cautioned her. “Your grandfather, ten times removed, was named Jeremy Washington. He escaped from prison in 1770 and was never heard from again. As far as I know, he never was in the Revolutionary War. My client sputtered and stammered. Ashen faced, she jumped from her chair, placed her fists on her hips, and said through clinched teeth, “I’m sure you’re mistaken. You’re nothing but a fraud. Get out of my house now.”
A
l S ‘ y r e V
’ y h eut
ry o t S
I was so happy I collected my fee ahead of time. ◆ ◆ ◆
2021 Holiday Edition - ScreaminMamas - 27
Halloween party exercise fun! “Even though this holiday revolves around candy, Halloween can still be a healthy holiday. How? By adding fun games that give everyone plenty of exercise at your Halloween Party and can be enjoyed any time of year!!! Here are some ideas. “ ~ Diane de Anda
1. Halloween Snake Relay What you need: Two rubber snakes. How to play: 1) Form two lines at one end of the yard or room. 2) Have one kid from each team stand on the opposite side of the yard or room. 3) Give the first kids in each line a rubber snake to hang across their necks. 4) On "go," the kids with the snakes run and transfer the snake to their teammates across the yard. 5) The kids with the snakes run back to the kids who are now at the front of the line, put the snake on their necks, and then move out of the way. 6) Now the kids with the snakes run across the yard and transfer the snake. 7) Everyone keeps running back and forth transferring the snakes until there is no one left. The first team to have their last player run across the yard with the snake wins!
2. Hot Pumpkin (or Hot Monster) What you need: 1) A small to medium sized pumpkin you can toss or any rubber monster toy you can toss, such as a rubber Godzilla. 2) A cd player or anything that plays music that you can stop and and start. The person controlling the music and the children should not be able to see each other.
How to play: 1) Sit and form a circle with about one and a half to two feet between kids (more space if older). 2) Give the pumpkin or monster to one of the kids. 3) When the music starts, the kid with the pumpkin tosses it to the kid to the left (or right). Keep passing the pumpkin around the circle as quickly as possible. Pretend it's hot so no one can hold it for very long. 4) When the music stops, the kid who has the pumpkin is out. The last one left is the winner.
3. Halloween Hop What you need: 1) Halloween balloons blown up and tied. 2) Two laundry baskets or other large containers. 3) A watch or a timer.
How to play: 1) This can be done one player at a time or two, each with a separate laundry basket. 2) Put the air filled balloons on one side of the room and the laundry basket or baskets on the other side. 3) On "go," the players put the balloon between their knees and hop across the room to the basket. They cannot touch the balloon with their hands to keep it in place, but can pick it up and put it between their knees again if it slips out. 4) When the players reach the basket, they remove the balloon with their hands and put it in the basket. 5) Then they run back across the room and get another balloon and hop across again 6) Yell "stop" when one minute has passed. The winner is the player who puts the most balloons in the basket in one minute.
4. Dodge the Ghosts What you need: 1) several bags of regular size marshmallows. 2) markers 3) small, lunch size paper bags How to play: 1) Give each kid one paper bag, 10 marshmallows, and a marker. 2) The kids turn the marshmallows into little ghosts by giving them dots for eyes and a mouth. They can draw on their bags too. 3) Choose two teams and have the teams face each other across the yard. 4) The game is played like dodge ball,
⇦ ⇦ ⇦ S po o k y Ga m e ⇨ ⇨ ⇨
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Little late, late, but but too too much much fun!!! fun!!! AA Little but with marshmallow ghosts instead of balls. Each team takes turn dodging, while the other tries to tag them with their ghosts. Anyone tagged by a ghost is out. 5) The team with the most players who escaped the ghosts wins. 6) Everyone now gets exercise picking up the marshmallow ghosts and putting them in the wastebasket. Make sure little children and your dog don't eat them!
How to Play: 1) Form 2 or 3 teams, one for each skeleton. 2) Place skeleton at one end of the room or yard and baskets at the other. 3) One or two team members at a time on each team run to the basket then return to the skeleton and put on one piece of clothing. 4) The first team to empty the basket and completely dress the skeleton wins.
TIPS FOR TREATS & PRIZES
5. Over and Under Severed Head
You can give out candies as prizes, larg-
er ones for the winning team and smaller ones for the other. I prefer having a treasure chest with inexpensive toys (e.g. from catalog companies) and giving two tickets to the winning team members and one ticket to each member of the other teams. (Make sure team members change for each game.) All the children get to choose prizes from the treasure chest, taking turns based upon the number of tickets he/she has, from the highest to the lowest.
What you need: Skull, zombie head or any other ghoulish head How to play: 1) Form two or three teams in separate lines, one kid behind another. 2) Give a severed head to the kid at the beginning of each line. 3) Yell “go” and have the first kids pass the head over their own heads to the kids behind them. 4) The second kids pass the head between their legs to the kids behind them. 5) The next kids pass the heads over their own heads. 6) Keep passing the heads over their heads and between their legs until they get to the last person in line. 7) The kids at the end of the line run with the head to the front of the line and start all over again. 8) The team wins when the kid who was first in line is back at the front of the line again. 6. Dress the Skeleton What you need: 1) 2 or 3 large inflated or plastic skeletons 2) a basket for each skeleton filled with the same number of clothes: a pair of socks, a shirt, a pair of pants, a cap, a scarf or tie, a jacket, sunglasses, etc.
the donkey. Give each player one set of fangs, blindfold them, spin them around three times and have them walk and try to stick the fangs on Dracula's mouth. 3) The fangs that are closest to Dracula's mouth wins.
The games can end with a piňata filled with candy, but with rules which encourage sharing rather than greedy competition and wrestling for candy. Each child is given a bag and told that the bags are going to be emptied into a common basket. The kids then take turns removing one candy from the basket and placing it in their bags until all the candies are gone. (Have extras to make sure everyone gets the same amount.) 7. Stick the Fangs on Dracula (Play as a rest from all the exercise games.) What you need: 1) One cardboard vampire face 2) A pack of yellow post-its 3) A blindfold How to play: 1) Make vampire fangs ahead of time using post-its. Cut them with the sticky part of the post-it on top. 2) Play the game like pin the tail on
Our Halloween parties (we had 16 over the years) were legend and even gave my husband some exercise. Being a good sport, he would dress up in a mask and plastic cape and run back and forth across the lawn as the children, standing behind a line marked by a rope on the grass, threw water balloons at him. Fortunately, October is usually warm in California. ◆ ◆ ◆
Courtesy Diane de Anda
2021 Holiday Edition - ScreaminMamas - 29
by Lynda Schomer Mecoli
The Disney Trip that Never Was Friday, February 24, 2006
and you must go to E.N.T. to pin- He says to the clerk, “I just want to point the problem. Suggests going to know, will the people in #1055 be the emergency room. there again tonight?!” Lynda inter12:30 PM rupts and says, “They won’t be there We picked up (four-year-old) Kaytonight.” He says, “How do you know la early from Solel preschool. Gabe 9:00 AM jokingly mentioned to Hailey’s mom No Disney World today, we better that, did you hear it too?!” “Yeah… It that he hopes we don’t hear through go home. I said, “Let’s do Downtown was us, I’m really sorry.” Disney at least.” Gabe says, “We’ll the hotel walls. play it by ear.” No pun intended. I explained about the earache, and we’re missing going to Disney World. 3:00 PM He said he missed a business breakDuring the car ride Kayla keeps fast. I said, “It was around 1 AM, wiggling in her car seat. Too right?” He said, “No, it was from much antibiotics? We stop 12:30 to 2 AM, the crying at Publix and get her yowent on and on!” I apolgurt. ogized again. The hotel clerk said they’d give him 5:00 PM money off his hotel rate We checked into hoand free breakfasts. tel. “Ramada” now turned into “Reedy So, we were worried about Creek Inn.” We’re not the thin walls and as it thrilled, being on the turned out, we were the culfirst of two floors, right prits! ◆ ◆ ◆ in front of parking lot. The room leaves much to be desired. Saturday, February 25, 2006 12:30 AM Kayla starts screaming and crying with a terrible earache. Thank God I brought the ear drops for pain, but it took a long while to kick in. She had her first ever earache on December 9, only for one hour until she went on antibiotics from the doctor.
Kayla’s feeling great, playing in hotel room, and says “I dare not go to Disney World!”
10:00 AM Lynda checks out of hotel (Room #1055), a day earlier than planned, while Gabe and Kayla wait in the car. The man in front of her says to the hotel clerk that he wants some kind of compensation. Says he was in Loud crying, wouldn’t stop! Rrrrr- Room #1054 and the baby in #1055 ring! Rrrrrring! Hotel clerk says he was crying all night! Lynda just lisgot two complaints. He’s very em- tens, laughing to herself. pathetic. Says he’s had bad earaches, 30 - ScreaminMamas - 2021 Holiday
AnAnnie
By By Patricia Patricia Lynne Lynne
For the Love of Our Pets
Being treated unfairly by humans Is as old as Cain and Abel
Her life ‘til now in a cold cage Being rescued has turned the page Tiny black-haired body Thin with lanky little legs Her glowing dark eyes shine Through a crate greet mine Everything is new to her Grass, sunshine, going for a ride Food to eat, toys for play Still nervous “can I stay?”
Sleeping on a cushioned chair Snuggled next to my side This gorgeous grateful pup So glad she didn’t give up Learn to trust a great chore Abuse and sadness in her core She runs to me when I open the door Jumps into my arms from carpeted floor Annie has found her forever home filled with love, affection, kind care One pink rose on her collar shows Love can change one’s scissored soul.
2021 Holiday Edition - ScreaminMamas - 31
Sisterhood Carole Christman Koch
Reprint - 2015 local Berks Mont News Sisterhood! It’s supposed to be fun! My sister, Gladys, was two years older then me. As far back as I can remember, I had this love-hate relationship with her. When I complained about Gladys to my older sisters, they’d always tell me, “We all fought with the sister, that was closest in age, when we were kids. You’ll love each other again, once your grown, married and have your own children. From the beginning of my life, I’ve had to share a bedroom---at least until the two older girls married and left home---with Gladys. The bedroom we shared is where one of my first love-hate episodes started with her. Gladys said, “Carole, if you brush my hair with the hair brush, I’ll do yours too.” “Hey, that’s a neat idea,” I said. Gladys quickly responded, “Me first.” “OK,” I complied, grabbing the brush on the dresser. I gently brushed her hair. After five minutes, I tired, “You’re turn.” “Oh, just five minutes more,” Gladys pleaded. “OK,” I said and again brushed her hair five more minutes. “You’re turn,” I repeated. Gladys then brushed my hair. What a neat feeling. But, after five minutes, she announced, “Times up.” “No, it isn’t,” I declared. “Yes, it is,” she laughed as she placed the brush back on the table. “I’m never going to brush your hair again!” I screamed. All I heard from her were giggles. I couldn’t be32 - ScreaminMamas - 2021 Holiday
gin to tell you how many times I succumbed, to her whines and promises, of allotting me the same time with brushing hair, during our younger days. She never kept her word. I’ll admit there were times my sister and I both were the trouble makers. Mom, Gladys, and I often went to bed early, while Pop retired a bit later. Often, after Pop had gone to bed, upon hearing Gladys and my tickling, giggling or screeching, he’d yell, “You two be quiet or I’m coming over there!” As kids would do, we continued our noisiness, which brought Pop to our darkened room (he never turned the light on) shouting, “This is it! I’ve had it with you two!.” With that he’d strap the bed covers with his belt. I slept on the side you got out of bed, while Gladys slept on the side of the bed that was pushed against the wall. Both Gladys and I screeched and yelled, “Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! We’ll be quiet.” What Pop didn’t know was that I was getting a couple stings from the belt in my prone position, while Gladys pretended she was being whipped in her upright position while plastered against the wall. Thus, it was that my love-hate relationship with Gladys continued. I didn’t smack Gladys back as often as I’d have liked when we had fights. As young as I was, I had always felt she was a bit stronger than I was and she’d probably win. There were times though that I had my own sweet revenge. I think our family was one of the first families in our neighborhood to have a TV. Mom and Pop had gone visiting. Gladys and I were home alone. I was watching
continued . . .
A Tribute to Sisters
“Frontier Playhouse” when she came into the living room and politely switched the channel. I screeched as loud as my young voice could, “You brat you! I hate you! You always get your way. I’m going to run away!” I ran out of the house and up the road intent on running away, when the idea came to me: make her suffer. If Mom and Pop come home and I can’t be found, she’ll really be in trouble. I then hid behind a shed, keeping constant vigil for my parents’ return. I was hidden one hour before I heard Gladys yell from the front porch, “Carole. Carole, where are you?” I didn’t answer. All I could think of was suffer, suffer, suffer. Another hour went by until Mom and Pop came home and entered the house. Once they arrived, I stealthily crept around the shed, across the street and crawled up the front porch steps to the screen door. What I heard from Gladys’ mouth was like eating ten ice cream cones in one day. Through sobs, I could hear, “Carole and I had a fight. She said she was going to run away. I haven’t seen her for two hours. I think she really ran away.” I was elated. My sister really and truly loved me, I thought. It was a revelation. Beaming like a proud peacock that just spread its plumage, I bounded in the house, “I’m home!” By the time I reached 7th grade and Gladys 9th, I was sick and tired of sharing a bedroom with such a messy sister. My clothes were always hung up neatly or folded in the dresser drawers. Not Gladys. Her clothes were strewn haphazardly on the floor, dressers, and even the chair we could never sit on. One day I decided I was going to fix her but good. I piled every one of her strewn clothes on the chair. The pile was so high you couldn’t even see the back of the chair. I was anxious to see her face. Upon hearing her footsteps bound the stairs, I quickly crawled under the bed. She walked over to the clothes ridden chair, stood a few seconds, laughed uproariously, and flung her clothes on the floor and left. Since I couldn’t stand clothe pathways, I ended up picking up the clothes and placing them where they belonged. It was probably when Gladys matured---I mean breast wise and figure wise---that I became jealous of
her. My brother, David, was now in the service and often brought his buddies home on leave. At fourteen, I had become jealous when Gladys was invited out for rides with David’s buddies. They paid no attention to me, except for a ping pong game on our kitchen table. Eventually, Gladys and I married and raised children, divorced, and singly raised some children. I got over my love-hate feelings and started to like, even love her again. I think she loved me too. My brothers and sisters and I, now range in ages 60 to 80. Recently, my brother, David’s wife, Millie, invited the siblings for David’s birthday. We decided to tell the stories about the pranks we did to each other, growing up. After the first prank story was told, Lester suggested, “You know, I think its time the perpetuator of the prank tells the other, I’m sorry.” We all agreed. One by one, after each story, the prankster apologized. Mary Alice was the last to tell her story: “I was a working girl, still living at home. I had just purchased a gorgeous white, cashmere sweater. That Saturday, I planned to wear it on a date. When I was about to pull the sweater over my head, I noticed makeup around the collar. I knew who the culprit was that wore this sweater before I had. I ran down the steps into the kitchen. I grabbed Gladys by the front of her blouse, shook her, and screamed, “You wore my sweater to school before I even had a chance to wear it!” I was about to pull her hair when Mom came between us, ‘Mary Alice, let her go. I’ll punish her myself. Let go.’ At the end of the story, Mary Alice looked Gladys in the eye, “OK, now you can apologize, Gladys.” Gladys grinned as wide as a clown mouth, as she looked Mary Alice straight in the eye and said, “I’m not sorry! It was fun.” You know, my older sisters were right when they told me, as a kid, “You’ll love her once again when your married and have children.” As a married adult, I do love and appreciate this impish sister of mine. She’s right. You don’t have to be sorry for everything. Some things are just plain fun! ◆ ◆ ◆
2021 Holiday Edition - ScreaminMamas - 33
Jen Waldron
On Writing Every writer, struggling or not, should watch Nim's Island at least once. While I don't eat soup from a can (you have to see the movie), I hate spiders, and I need solitude to write, sometimes a seemingly impossible task. I'm talking about privacy, not the writing. I have sat, pen in hand, blank paper, eating way more cinnamon sugar pita chips than Weight Watchers allows. I also have a secret stash of bittersweet chocolate for inspiration. Apparently, not-so-secret since Christmas gift tags were labeled 'Mrs. Chocolate, aka Mom, Jen, Grammy'.
No, my silent voice says, it's really tough. Everyone won't love what you write, ideas won't always come, money can be tight. Stay with the Biology major. Surgery on mice will be easier. Of course, I say none of this! What God-fearing mother, who has been through this twice already, dare advise. "I realize I'm happy when I write, and I don't want to work in a biology lab." "What changed your mind?"
“Writing is natural for some; we share stories, memories and create people and places larger than life. Suddenly, along comes writer’s block, and it’s hard to get the words flowing. Maybe it’s because your husband interrupts your deep thoughts to ask if ‘we have a vacuum cleaner.’ Not where is it, but do we have one? Honestly, how do you recover from biting your lip and avoiding the incredulous stare? You don’t. Not right away.”
"Craig, the vacuum is in the closet." "Which closet?" Oh my goodness! Stay calm. Breathe. "The hall closet." "Upstairs or down?" Are you kidding me? We don't even have a hall downstairs. "Up." "Thanks." I make a mental note and a physical one. I will write about him another time. The man who cannot find almond milk in the fridge but miraculously digs out a pair of 90's jeans from the donate pile and slips them on as if none of us will notice. Back to writing...almost. Here comes my college-bound son asking if I'm busy. Like all good mothers, I lie. "Not at all. What's up?" "I think I'm going to change my major. I want to do it now before I get there." "Change to what?" "Communications, specialty in writing." 34 - ScreaminMamas - 2021 Holiday
"Been thinking a lot lately (something writers often do), and I realize it isn't about money. I need to enjoy what I do." The conversation waddles a bit, and I give him my full support. I have two other sons already through college, neither working in their degreed fields, but besides the vacation home I could've bought with their education costs, they are both happy and doing well. "Sounds good. I love you and support your decision." I know I sound like I read some self-help book on appropriate responses, but actually, it's true. Writing is about passion and the way we tell things. Our voices are all so unique, and he's a good writer. Deep down, I see him writing. He's been correcting everyone's grammar since the fourth grade. Read Hemmingway to Austen to Gladwell. Writes his own music and poetry. His friend Em and him exchange calligraphy written letters via an imaginary pigeon aptly named Figment. He'll be an excellent writer. On the other hand, my husband could use a career change, perhaps try exploration, right inside the house. I have a list of objects he's not been able to find that are all exactly where they should be.. continued . . .
L I ST F O R H U B BY • Vacuum Cleaner (closet) • Aluminum Foil (drawer with all other baggies and wraps) • Almond Milk(fridge) • Ice Cream Scoop (we have three) • TV Remote (same bin it's been in for 5 years) • Peanut Butter (he ate it all...again) • Wallet (hit the Tile tracker you received as a gift) I forgot what I sat down to write about today because that is what happens sometimes. We're not just writers. We're mothers, spouses, counselors extraordinaire, a myriad of things. Every now and then, we have a story to tell. ◆◆◆
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