More Teaching To Do

It was a ritual, of sorts. Shower before bed. Clean t-shirt. Jeans over the footboard. Sneakers pointing toward the door.

A phone, ringing in the dark. Sometimes,  a general surgeon. “The Saturday night knife and gun club is back in business.” More often, the nursing supervisor. A section for failure to progress. Or fetal distress. Moms 12 or 13 years old. Really.

Not one of them ready to be there.

Farther back.

First year in college. Mid ’70’s. A gym teacher. Extra credit for women students who had a GYN exam and brought a signature from the doc. (I suspect she had a story of her own.)

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Happy New Year!

Ok. True confession time. I’ve never been a huge fan of the whole New Year’s celebration thing. Loud parties are not so much my thing. Nor, football. (Well, a couple of college teams, maybe.) Resolutions strike me as being fairly close to regrets of things I haven’t done yet. If it weren’t for black-eyed peas and my delight that HGTV didn’t show 24 hours straight of the Rose Bowl parade this year, I’d probably be very nearly neutral on the whole deal.

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’tis the season for meta-narratives!

Bill and I were out for lunch. A nice change from the ongoing Furniture Yahtzee game. Also, warm and dry, which was definitely not true outside.

As we left, we passed a sign a lot like the one above. I wanted to stop and take a photo but the traffic (on a six lane road) was terrible. It was very grey and still raining. So, I decided to make my own. I’ll need your help, though. The actual sign had garlands of gold tinsel all across the top. If you’d just imagine them into picture, that would be great.


Now, I suspect that many of you are wondering why this sign? Why now? And perhaps, WTF??? I hear you.

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Miracles of Modern Holidays!

Today, I am bowled over by the miracles of modern science. Or, specifically, modern publishing!

Let me start by admitting that I’m one of those odd folks who exists, nicely, without a microwave oven. I’m fine with slow-cooked food. Pots and pans. And an actual stove.

No judgment, here. Just what works for me.

Today, however, I am in awe. The UPS guy–the one who isn’t afraid of the dogs–brought the proof for the paperback version of  Grandmothers Are In Charge Of Hope in the bright, shiny, new 2nd edition. A couple of clicks on the website and a fast call to the CreateSpace help people later and the 1st edition is retired. The 2nd edition is available on Amazon, all updated and expanded.

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Life is for learning!

At least that’s what Mom says. If she’s right, I must be doing a good job!

Oh, sorry!  You don’t know me, yet. I’m Phoebe. Sarah is my sister. She says I’ll be good at blogging like she is. I’m supposed to start by telling you my story.

I’ve been here about eight weeks. Here is really good. I was in a couple of places for just a little while on my way here and they helped me, too. I guess I needed a lot of help.

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And one more parade…

It’s been a big holiday for parades! On Thanksgiving morning, my girls and I snuggled up and watched the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. It was the 90th anniversary of one of my clearest holiday memories from childhood. The same no matter where we moved.

Of course the parade, itself, was not the same as I remembered. Lots of singing and dancing. New huge balloons unheard of in my childhood. Bullwinkle nowhere in sight. But, still, the excitement of the crowds. Time with people I love. And Santa. All in that mythical, magical place called New York.

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We Gather Together!

I was blessed to grow up with the love of two grandmothers. On my mom’s side of the family, Mary Elizabeth Blandford Algren. Granny. On my dad’s, Elsie Hannah Royce Boardman. Gramma. Occasionally, Gramma Board.

Each of them, in the current vernacular, badasses.

Granny was a wife, mom, and grandmother who worked outside the home in the late 1940’s and 50’s. She looked like a model. Almost like a pin-up girl. She loved dancing and card games and Jeopardy. 

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Sue Boardman, Certified Intentional Creativity®
Color of Woman Teacher & Coach