Flashback Friday Blog Style

I still live in the dark ages and don't have a smart phone yet.  I'm still rockin' the slide phone fad, <<cough, cough, birthday in October, cough cough, Kevin, cough>>, and frankly I'm too lazy to scan and upload photos, but I always find it hilarious to see old pictures of friends on ye olde facebook.

I'm one of those people who actually truly enjoys looking at family photos.  Do you have a collection of 8mm films from your trip to Key West in the 1970s?   Let's pop some corn and have a crazy old night.

Loving old pictures really means I love stories, memories perfectly re-lived or slightly embellished.  That's the marrow I wanna get at.

So, without further adieu, I bring you, in no particular order, my first Friday Flashback. 

Do you remember Miss Cleo, the ambiguously West Indies "psychic" who couldn't really hold her accent and was born Youree Dell Harris?

 I could see right through that act.  So could my friend Merica Mucker*.  

She decided to give old Miss Cleo a call and catch her in her own trap, determined to shut. that. racket. down.

When the phone bill came, it didn't seem like such a good idea anymore.

*name changed to protect her identity.
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New Year's Eve was always a bang-up good time on Woodward Ave.  Our family tradition demanded that at the stroke of midnight we must burst forth into the icy night banging pots and pans and other miscellaneous kitchenware.  

Our neighbors really loved us.  

One hallowed year in the early oughts (2004????), it was a meeting of epic proportions.  All the greats were there.  Leah of Chamberg, Quinn of house Smith, Ladies Alicia and Danielle of Humphreyland, and Dame Erica Schmucker.  After many hours of cloying libations and bad celebrity interviews, the time for cacophony was near.

But that year, we upped the ante.

Though time has muddied the recollection, I believe we traipsed about in various dress-up clothes from our basement stash.  Not yet satisfied that we would do homage to such an important event, we sought out the perfect accoutrements to the crazy train.

And there, down the well-worn roads of Woodward Avenue, went 5 brave women in their glorious garb, one lone clown shoe, and a bowling ball named Linda to guide the way.
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Growing up, I had a speech impediment.  In fact, it still comes out now again when I try to say things like, "Rob Roy," which somehow sounds like "Wob Woy."  It may have been adorable if I didn't sport a pixie cut gone wrong.

One year we happened to be at the zoo for Mother's Day, because what else would a mother want for her day than to take her 5 small girls to an enclosed area with a bunch of wild animals in 90 degree heat?  

Our local news station decided on a cutesy Mother's Day verbal acronym.  Adorable, right?  Why not hit up the lady with a bunch of hooligans, and your job's half done?  My letter was M.  

So, what word did I choose?

Marvelous.  

Or, as butch-cut 8 year old Danielle would say, "Mahvahlous."   



Perfect.

Well, the little segment aired, and we had our 10 minutes of fame.  That is until Mr. Muszik decided to make it my tag line.  Mr. Muszik was our neighborhood old man who pretended to be a codger, with a sly wink and impish grin to the side.  

Without fail, for several years, he would yell from his screened-in porch, "How's your day?  Is it mahvahlous?  There she is, just mahvahlous."   

And that, my friends, is how you help a kid own. it.  
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In honor of the anniversary of Mother Teresa's death, I had to include some oldies from Ceci, who used to yell, "Mother Pisa, Mother Pisa" anytime she found a blue sheet.

And some rando pics to top it off---prayers for sweet Danielle Rose as she labors to bring her first wee one into the world!!!

Trudging

Yesterday, I understood.

I felt intensely the effort of being.

I understood the beauty/pain/exhaustion, the "it's all to much"ness dancing upon the string of losses/changes/transitions we've weathered these last weeks/months/years.

I lost not the will to live, but rather a will to move forward, to propel myself headlong into the coming day, put on my big girl panties, pull myself up by the bootstraps, or any other inspirational colloquialism.

I suppose it's all very un-American of me, to settle in to self-pity for the day, staring of into space, waiting for someone to tell me what to do next.  Where does this pile of folded laundry go?  Where do I put this form to fill out but we can't open our safe because the keys are missing?  How do I NOT think every snarky thing posted on social media is directed toward me?  How do I do the things?

Sometime it is just too much.  

And those are the days when you cry to your momma, call a friend, watch a string of <insert guilty pleasure show> episodes on Netflix, use those rosary beads, and go to bed at 8:00.

I thought perhaps my first post in almost a year should be effervescent, funny, full of pics and snazzerific Danielleisms. Well, those are there too, simmering in the background.  For now, this is the real deal. Not to be accused of inauthenticity, and prompted by my desire for connection, I decided now's as good a time as any to start 'er up again.

I'm so thankful for Christ, Our Lady, the saints, and all holy people who help shed light upon the way, assuring us that in a world striving to be unique and one-of-a-kind, we are not alone in our heavy-heartedness.  

Like my boy St. Ignatius of Loyola:

O Christ Jesus,
when all is darkness
and we feel our weakness and helplessness,
give us the sense of Your presence,
Your love, and Your strength.
Help us to have perfect trust
in Your protecting love
and strengthening power,
so that nothing may frighten or worry us,
for, living close to You,
we shall see Your hand,
Your purpose, Your will through all things.

And this:

"Have patience with all things, but chiefly have patience with yourself. Do not lose courage in considering your own imperfections but instantly set about remedying them -- every day begin the task anew."

Saint Francis de Sales

What do YOU do when you're having a storm on the sea of Galilee sort of day?
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P.S.  Now that we actually have a home, are getting settled, and not moving cross-country, the blog sputters back to life.  Please subscribe/comment/engage, so that we can have a hearty back-and-forth!