Monthly Archives: February 2018

…a little sensitive


slice button this marchYes…people would say that I am a little bit sensitive, or maybe that I wear my heart on my sleeve and maybe sometimes…okay, quite often I over share.  The other day I was with my girls, they know me quite well and we were on a topic I don’t love- HAIR.

Hair always has been a such a problem, ever since my mom cut my bangs every two weeks as a child.  They were cut up high on my forehead and always at an angle.  Sometimes I got a frizzy Toni perm.  It’s a wonder my hair didn’t fall out, that chemical formula was lethal, I think.

I moved into my teenage years with lukewarm blonde hair, skimpy and straight and finally mom started letting me be a bit more independent.  I used Dippity Doo every night and tried to sleep on those horrible pink hard rollers.   Things started to improve with the blow dryer and then things really began to improve with experimentation with my girlfriends.  We perfected highlighting with the pull through  snug cap.  I could even do my own and when I married Dave he helped me pull from the back.  I never went to the beauty parlor, except for a trim, I’m a little cheap, kind of like my mom.

Fast forward quite a few years.  As I got older, my hair got better.  It had more heft to it. The person that cut my hair told me it was because of the grey coming in, which I really didn’t seem to notice.  It just kind of grew in pretty naturally with my highlighted hair, or so I thought.

Here is the conversation around my table of friends the other night.

Friend #1- I was thinking about getting my hair colored.  (She has snow white beautiful platinum natural hair.)

Friend #2 (hairdresser)-  Don’t do that, people pay for your color.  Some put purple streak in, it’s all the rage.

Me–  I need to do something with my hair, I’m bored with it.

Friend#3-  Nancy, you need a style!!!! (Okay, she might not have said it in such an intense matter but I also might have been a wee bit offended, because I’ve worn my hair the same way for so long and no one had ever said anything)

Me to Friend #2 (hairdresser friend)-  Do you think you could give me a style next week?

Next Tuesday I trot over to my friend’s for the style.

As she cuts she says.”You know how we were talking about Friend#1‘s beautiful grey hair?”

“Mmmhmmm,” I murmured thinking she would tell me how great my greys were.

“Your’s aren’t really the pretty kind.”

Well, (hmmph I thought.) I said,  ” Did you at least give me a style this week?”

“I think you look better than last week with the layers. But…”

“Next week…I hope you can help me out with the the other problem, the grey problem?”

“Anything for a friend, I’ve got your back, I mean, your hair.”





…sometimes I just


slice button this march

sometimes I just

miss it all, too much.

the rising early, coffee in one hand

my backpack in the other.

the sound of soft quiet

before the

precious ‘lights’ enter my classroom.

the hustle, the scurry, the plans,

the joy.

and sometimes I just

shake my head in disbelief.

that the unbelievable has just happened


that the innocent victims will never

have a chance,

to change our world and champion

love instead of hate,

giving instead of getting.

it is

so sad.

it is

so pathetic,

that the so-called adults in

the room seem

terribly insane about this issue.

But hopefully soon,

the children

will lead

us into

a better


their hope.

their ideas,

their perseverance,

will change hearts.

sometimes I just know.

…kelly’s gotcha story…again


Our story of getting our daughter Kelly has been told a million times.  It has been fourteen years now and beginning to sound like a fairy tale, a very true good and sometimes scary tale.  God and his goodness is very apparent in this yarn.  The dream of her heart has happened.  She is married to one of the best men I know. and has the sweetest baby boy ever!  I admire this dedicated mommy who loves so well!

slice button this march

This was unusual for Dave.  After a Sunday message at church he turned to me and said,”I don’t know what, but I think God is going to be asking us to do something big- that’s gonna change our lives.”

I do remember thinking that this is definitely out of character for my guy that makes sure that he is well researched before making any big decision at all.  He checks the money, he checks the mood, he consults his mother, he wants me to ask my father… yep, God must really be talking loudly today for him to even be telling me this.

The next week, he came home on Tuesday and told me that he found you sitting at a table in the Media Center at school.  You had wanted to let him know that you wouldn’t be able to play for him this season because they were placing you in another foster placement out of our school district. Dave knew instantly, this was it, this was the big thing and that no…Kelly Marie would be definitely living at our house instead.

The next week we got you set you up in Jeff’s old bedroom upstairs.  Dave told you that he would paint the room whatever way you wanted. You chose ‘Pepto’ pink with stripes down one side of the wall,  I didn’t like hot pink.  Dave just smiled and painted away.  Your clothes were moved in.  I noticed you were a ‘keeper’ like me…a trunk of cheap stuffed animals and all the dresses and dried flowers from important events.   You said, not to worry, that you wouldn’t get in our hair.  You said you’d be off to college soon and that you were a ferociously independent type of girl.

You hung your pictures back from Jr. High…friends and more friends of every nationality, every creed.

Dave wanted to be your dad, he even looked like you.  You called him ‘Papa’.  You called me ‘Nanc’.

You gave your story to us, it told of the day when you thought you were going on a fun mini-trip to a hotel.  You remember that you had your ‘swimmies’ on your arms when you were pulled away from your mother. You thought you were meeting a new friend in a giant building called ‘court’.

You’ve been waiting all this time to be back with your mommy.  It’s been years of waiting and now you are in another placement my family…and that dream still continues to pulse inside of you.

Don’t worry sweet Kelly, “You can call me Nanc. I know you have a mom.”

I want that dream to stay alive for her…but I’m fearful of all things big and little… realizing early that years in a group home and then in placements that hadn’t worked out had to have taken a toll.  One day I asked you if you had any pictures of your little girl self.

You said, “not a one…but you said you looked just the same only smaller.”

I tried to imagine but didn’t want to imagine, a little curly-headed girl with swimmies reaching out to a mom that was walking away.

I think we’ve come to the place eight years later that you are my girl and I am your Nanc , and I’m very happy about that.  Now you have a different dream that includes a vast array of friends and older folks that have fed into your life for many years…you hope and yearn for the day when you will be a mom, who will hold on tight and never let go….never let go…never let go.

PS because I like them…I am proud of my girl…tell your story…tell it to the world- a story of strength, of perseverance, loyalty, and love.

PSS because I just can’t resist…Kelly is realizing part of her dream in June.  Papa will be walking her down the aisle, to begin her new life with her best friend, Matthew. xo nanc  Papa and KB PSSS Oh, did I tell you Francis is smart, really smart…and affectionate… such a good combo I think! xo



…in my 20’s, 30’s,40’s,50’s, yikes 60’s


slice button this marchIn my 20’s I swam because I didn’t mind putting on my suit and cute leotards on for Jazzercize.  In my 30’s I did high impact aerobics, then low with my girlfriends and walked or ran on the Y’s quarter-mile outside track.  In my 40’s I tried to solve the chubbiness setting in with Jenny Craig and hiking in the woods.  In my 50’s I loved walking my dog, but after tripping quite often breaking multiple body parts I hung the leash up. I remember trying Zumba only once because some of my Latino girlfriends laughed the whole class away watching my comical ‘Swedish’ moves’.

Last week a new/old friend on the block said, “Nanc, I want you to be my special exercise friend.”

“I would be happy to be your new exercise friend,” I said even though my friend the elliptical. had me feeling quite content. “You know that I am in my 60’s now, don’t you?”

“Not to worry, I know I don’t look like it or act like it, but actually I’m in my  70’s.” my friend responded.

But what I didn’t expect was that last week my friend would pick me up every morning at 8:00 o’clock sharp.  Every day of the week we tried something different…Pilates, Yoga, Piloxing, Tableta, and Zumba, of course.  I left with his yearning for the days when we just called all of this stuff high aerobics and lifting weights.

After each session, I went up to each instructor,

“Thank you for the class.  I hope I didn’t distract you too much because every time you went left, I went right. And every time your arm was up mine went down.

All of the 20 something teachers smiled and said,

“Well when we are learning something new we always struggle.  After all, some of these people in this class have been doing this their whole life.”

A big inside sigh… ah yes, some of us have.

My new 70-year-old friend just looked at me and smiled.

“What will we try tomorrow?”

“Maybe a senior class?” I snarled.

“But we’re not… you know.”

“Not in our heads…but my knees are.” I quipped.

PS  This last week we have been exercising like it’s our job.  But on Friday after the free passes expired I decided to join. The rewards?  Friendship and strength I hope!