A-Z Challenge B is for Her Majesty

It’s time to participate in the April A-Z Blog Challenge.  I will be blogging every day in April, with Sunday’s off. 
The topic for each day will begin with the designated letter of the alphabet.
Today’s letter is B.

I am a Jersey girl, born and bred.  So of course the beach, or as we refer to it, “down the shore” has always been a part of my life.
For us to go“ down the shore” we would have to travel at least an hour on the major state highway.  The Garden State Parkway, or more commonly known as just “the parkway”, was and still is a nightmare during the summer.  So that hour usually turned into two. 
But,  there has never been a summer that I have not “gone down the shore.”

They are feverishly working on the bridge.
I’m not quite sure what it is they are doing, though. 

About a dozen years ago, my husband (who by the way is that chauffeur I mentioned in yesterday’s post) and I moved to a town which is a mere 20 minutes from the beach. 
It’s just over the bridge.

And now we don’t have to wait until summer to go to the beach.  A benefit of living close to the ocean and of retirement.





The beach is not a place we go to relax like we did when we only had that one vacation from work week.   We can relax anytime.  
It’s now a place we go to reinvigorate.   It the place we go when there is a chill in the air to take in a deep breath of ocean.
We now have the freedom to get there early and leave before noon and have the whole beach to ourselves.
It has become the place where we go to reminisce  about little giggly voices,  wave chases and sand ballets.
And I am still in awe each and every time I bow before her Majesty. 

Why not check out some of the other 2033 participants in the April 2014 A-Z Blog Challenge.

A-Z Challenge A is for Who Are You?

It’s time to participate in the April A-Z Blog Challenge.  I will be blogging every day in April, with Sunday’s off.
The topic for each day will begin with the designated letter of the alphabet.
Today’s letter is A.

I often wonder if what I reveal about myself when I write would be recognizable to you if we were to meet face to face.   Do you think I have a small quiet voice?  Perhaps you imagine me to have a smokey gravely tone.
Do you think that if we shared an afternoon together we would get along famously or would there be far too many awkward silences?
I mean we each have a common interest, right?  Write.
Would I laugh at the antics of a clown? Or do you assume that subtle humor is what would make me giggle?
If we should meet for a movie or a play, would you guess that I would be more inclined towards a drama,  romantic comedy, or psychological thriller?
Do you suppose that I march to the tune of a different drummer, or do I fall in lock step with the crowd?

As I visit you during one of the 26 of these days, I will be forming of picture of you in my mind.   I will be reading between the lines to try and catch of glimpse of who you are.

And when you visit me I hope you get to know more “About Me.”

Bonus A -

About town photos.

My chauffeur, (that’s right I have one) drove me around town today.  Here’s what I found interesting.

Have I Told You Lately?

Along with being quiet and shy, I am not a demonstratively affectionate person.  I’m sure there are many hours of couch time analysis and nurture versus nature theories that would explain who and why I’m me.  But, that’s for another reflective consideration.
Of course, when my children were babies, toddlers and elementary school age,  I hugged, kissed, and cuddled them.
When they adolescentized, there were far fewer exoh’s, exoh’s .  A development, I understood that was part of an exploration and declaration of their independence.
Now that they have explored, declared and gained that independence, our expressions of love for one another are confined to a silent assumption.  Don’t misunderstand, though, the assumption that we care for one another and unconditionally love each other is genuine and runs deep.
But, our greetings are often a smile and quick hello.   Our partings are ”bye now” and a wave of the hand.
Oh sure, I suspect, just like a lot of other families, we depend on Hallmark, Carlton and now Blue Mountain to acknowledge how we feel.    I confess to many aww’s, sighs and sniffles after reading the sentiments found inside one of those cards.
In fact, those cards and the hand written notes which are often included are among my most treasured mementos.
My parents did not show affection easily.  It’s interesting to me, though,  that I miss the touch of my father.  I suppose the times that he did put his arm around me were special.  That may be why the physical separation is still painful, even after all of these years.
As my mom got older,  I did get into the habit of kissing her hello.  I can still sense the softness of her cheek.  I think I miss my mother’s voice the most.  I distinctly remember her tone and inflection when she would say, “I love you, Lynda.”
Although my grief over the loss of my son is constant, the intensity of the pain varies.  Joe was not a hugger, well not with me anyway.  But, a wave of yearning for his touch washes over me whenever I recall the times he would tolerate a hug from me.  One of my most poignant memories is sitting by his side, holding hands with him.   It is such a vivid and clear memory.  I particularly recall the way his hand felt in mind.  He was holding on to me, just as tightly as I was holding on to him.  
Since Joe passed away, I have become more aware of the importance of saying the words, “I love you.”  It was one of the last words Joe said to me.

I am happy to see that my children are open and comfortable with displays of affection with their kids.  And, they in turn, are sweetly affection children.  I believe that will continue throughout their lives.
One of the loveliest melodies I know I will ever hear is “I love you grandma!”

I recently received a notification from Face Book.  The note said that I was mentioned in a post.

This is the post:

Does your mom have the magical touch?

Mom to Jim: “Want a salad, Jim?”
The greens and veggies come from a secret store only moms shop.Actually, it’s the same store we shop.  But, when it’s time to check out, the check out computer asks only moms,  “Did you remember your magic touch today?”  She scans her soft hand. “Your magic touch has been accepted". This has to be the only way the lettuce tastes so crisp, the tomatoes explode with flavor, the olives are juicy as can be and the carrots have a shade of orange which is just right!
 It's gotta be MY moms magic touch right? The famous gravy? (Italians call red sauce gravy.)  Haven't figured that out yet. Nothing to do with magic I’m pretty sure, though. I have the "secret" recipe. Tried countless times to capture that taste of grandma’s house at Christmas time, never to succeed .
 It's gotta be MY moms magic touch right? The look my mom gave my first born son when meeting him for the first time was beyond magical and is branded in my heart. Takes my breath away every time I recall that moment. It's gotta be magic right? Then I stop and think. I think I do believe in magic. It’s spelled M O M.
Love you mom! Does your mom have the magical touch?

That was posted, right out in public, on Facebook, for all of his 200+ friends to see.
When I read it, I aww’ed, I sighed, I sniffled out loud.
For many reasons, it was and is a most special and meaningful present.  You know it was one of those gifts that come at just the right “I needed that!” moment.


Ross asks me a beautiful question every day.
  “Have I told you today that I love you?”  Well,  just in case I forgot to tell you, “I love you.”

So, just in case I forgot to tell you, I love you!
 exoh, exoh, exoh!