Category: Family

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The Right Wrong Number | Prickly Pear

I’ve heard it said that waiting for something to happen is sometimes more about how long we feel is necessary rather how long it really takes. I was pondering this idea one morning as I walked through our neighborhood.

What if we don’t have to wait two years for our hacienda? What if it could happen sooner than 2020? Am I prolonging it because I think two years is somehow required?

And then the fear of the unknown, loan approvals, inspections, closing costs, and leases overtook me, so I turned it off and admired a beautify palm tree, the blue sky and the white ocean waves.

A few days later I sat on the sofa deeply engulfed in a project when the phone rang. I glanced down and saw it was a local number and felt the need to answer.

“Hello, this is Jeannie.”  (long pause – callers always mistake me for a recorded message.)

“Oh, hello,” the voice replied. “My name is Lauri, I’m a local realtor and I’m calling to see if you have considered selling your home?”

“No, I’m sorry, we are currently renters.”

“Well, have you considered buying…”

Lauri continued to tell me about the current market and how she could assist us in finding a new home. Her voice faded in the background as two other conversations began playing in my head. Sometimes we stand in the way because we have predetermined our own timeline and Lady you have the wrong number!

Then the phone went quiet and I realized Lauri had finished and it was time for me to say something. Get out of the way – maybe this could lead somewhere – go ahead and tell her about the Hacienda dream – Really? You want a realtor calling you every other day to check up on you….it’s way too soon…

“Well actually,” I heard myself say, “we have a plan, but we are really early in it and we won’t be ready for two years…” I told Lauri of our hacienda dream, how it would be three families and we all needed separate living space. How we really hadn’t even begun looking…cause, did I mention, we were still two years away.

“Let’s just get some information and I’ll start sending you listings and if anything looks interesting, you can call me.” So we did and she took the info about pricing, size, bedrooms etc.

“And your last name is Hardy?” she continued.

I laughed and said, “No, that not my last name.” At that moment I think we both realized that this may have been the strangest conversation of the day. Wrong address. Wrong last name and a Chicago phone number – what a were the odds?

Fast forward four weeks…

…I’m shaking Lauri’s hand for the first time as we are stand outside a big blue ranch house on top a hill with a view to die for. One week later six of us are signing paperwork in the kitchen of that house and putting in an offer on a dream.

Is it possible that we do stand in the way of wonderful things happening to us? 

Perhaps time is only defined by us, not the universe.

Have we’ve been waiting for things to happen and we really don’t have to?

Maybe wrong numbers are really right numbers and miss-information is exactly the information  needed.

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Prickly Pear

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I’ve been saying it for years, Someday, we’re going to have a hacienda…lots of rooms and California style outside living spaces where we can live, dream and create.

My great excitement was usually met with blank stares, wrinkled noses and a few rolled eyes. You see, my loving family are more of the dream busters type than the dream makers.

In 2018 I changed my approach. Someday we’re going to have a little ranch where we can all live in separate houses (this is very important to dream busters, they don’t like co-habitating). We’ll have a goat, chickens, a cow and we can develop the land….

To my delight and amazement the eyes stopped rolling and I actually got a few nods. One of those dream busters said, “This is the first time it sounds interesting.”

I’m not sure what it was, the goat or cow or chickens, but we all began to talk about our new dream.  We said things like;

  • Just 2 miles in that direction where it’s a little warmer in the summer.
  • Maybe not a cow, it would be hard to eat old Bessey after raising her.
  • We can have lots of gardens…
  • 2 years, in 2020 we’ll all be ready…two years…

Something magical happens when a group of people start believing in a dream. When they start seeing an idea as a possibility, their worlds begin to shift.

It’s the end of January of 2019 and less than two short weeks ago we made an appointment to see the first property that looked like it may have potential. A large ugly blue ranch home on 2.9 acres sitting on top of a hill just 2 miles in that direction.

Tomorrow is February 1st, the day our loan will be approved, notices will be given, packing will begin and this family of dream busters will prepare to begin a new adventure of creating our very own California Hacienda.

Hidden amongst the overgrowth of scrubs and weeds that cover the hillside on our new property is a large cluster of the cactus with giant rubbery leaves that appear to be stuck together making each a unique shape. This intriguing cactus is called Prickly Pear.

What a great name! The sweetness of a pear combined with the prickliness of a cactus. What a great description for a group of individuals beginning a new adventure that will undoubtedly stick us together in unique ways.

So here we go, three separate families endeavoring to make a new way of life on top of a hill… just 2 miles in that direction!!

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Let’s Pretend

Author Jeannie Bruenning

I love watching kids play. It’s like watching mini adults without all their protective shields.

This weekend our three youngest grandchildren were at our house.  They may only be one year a part in age but in personalities – they aren’t on the same sphere. 

Liam, our lego engineer had designed a lego RC (remote control so I’ve been informed) robot. Elin, who has big plans of becoming a SuperStar, enjoys her barbie dolls. And Emery, who prefers being surrounded with a zillion buddies, (stuffed animals) while watching Pokemon or playing the Wii – and scowls at the thought of playing with dolls – had found a way to join in.

They had created a movie set complete with movie stars, a full kitchen to use on their cooking show, and of course, a RC robot to help with the set design.

That evening these same three were sitting in a circle on the floor. Elin was swinging her barbie around making it’s long hair twirl around in the air. “Let’s pretend that our mother is dead,” she began…

You know when the TV has been ignored for a bit and those beautiful screen savor images begin to appear? A while back, I started seeing if I could make up a memory or short description of each image. Some become vacation spots or family estates in far off lands, others are romantic adventures or scenes from our own Hollywood lifestyle. One day, our future SuperStar grand-daughter was in the room when the images appeared and she willingly joined in the fun. It didn’t take long to realize that Elin’s imagination has a lot of death in it. Each images was where she had fallen and broken her neck or mangled her body. Others were where she had fallen and simply died. So, when pretending that their mom had died was the opening line to this new game, it wasn’t surprising. 

However, Liam, the lego king interjected. “No, let’s pretend that she has cancer and has been taken to a facility for treatment…”

Really? We’ve moved from death to cancer and treatment facilities? What happened to Christopher Robins and Winnie the Pooh? When did Curious George and Little Bear turn into As the World Turns?

Liam continued, “She has to stay there forever now and can’t come home to take care of us.” I watched as a dark heaviness blanketed these three grade school kids as they considered the possible of a dead mom, cancer facilities and treatments. 

Without a seconds hesitation, Emery, our Pokemon, Wii, and you can never have enough buddies in bed with you, confidently proclaimed, “Well then, I guess we’ll just have to figure out how to do this ourselves!” She’s a no-nonsense kind of a girl.

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Hey Mom, I’m Just Like You!

My mom and I share a common trait. It is refer to as white coat syndrome. This is when you go to the doctor and the people in white coats, which really doesn’t exist anymore, takes your blood pressure and everyone get concerned because you are a few seconds away from a stroke or perhaps even your death.

Last week I had a follow-up appointment to make sure my pneumonia was all gone. I had put this off since there isn’t any sign it’s still around. However, I did have soreness by my rib cage and I wanted someone else to tell me that I had bruised a rib during one of the thousand coughing spells I lived through and that it wasn’t something more serious. The soreness had grown to a pain over the past few days and was poking me in the side, which prompted me to make the appointment.

After arriving 10 minutes early, filling out minimal paperwork, I sat down to wait for my name. Breathe, I kept repeating to myself. Relax. The door opened and I was invited to enter. Once through the open door I was directed to the scale which clearly said being sick the months of November and December had taken it’s toll.

“You can sit here,” she instructed.

“It’s going to be high,” I instructed. “It always is when you take it.”

She put the cuff on and the air began to fill. The machine stopped as if taking another breath and kept going. The pressure was enormous and I thought my eyes were going to pop out of my head.

“Is it going to stop?” she said quietly. I laughed, closing my eyelids to hold them in.

It finally did and I waited as the pressure slowly released. “Wow.” she said.

“How high it is?” I asked.

“200 / 100,” she replied.

“Wow! It’s never been that high.” I think 200 / 100 is close to death… glad I lived!

Five minutes later she took it again and it had dropped, not to the You’re one healthy chick! level, but it did drop.

“I’ll take it again after you see the doctor,” she said. I was a little concerned they wouldn’t let me leave until it was safe.

The doctor entered, pulled over a small cart and spread my file out. He check my heart, my lungs and all was well. Then he felt my ribs. “You’ve injured them,” he confirmed. “It will take a while to heal.” I nodded and smiled.

“Your blood pressure is high,” he said.

“It’s really high!” I said “But it does that in the office.” I explained that I have had times where I had been borderline but with diet and exercise I had brought it down to safe levels. “I’d like to try again before you put me on medication.”

“Make an appointment in 6 weeks,” he instructed in his doctorly tone. “Take your blood pressure 3 times a day and record it.”

“I will I promised.” Three times, I thought, I’ve never had to take it three times.

Just before I left, they checked one more time, it had dropped again.

I left defeated. “I’ve been here before, why am I here again. When am I going to figure out the importance of diet and exercise. I fell asleep dreading the next day and starting yet another time, a diet.

In the morning the light had made a difference, as it usually does. This is the first time in my life that I don’t have to change my lifestyle cause it’s too stressful! I thought. I’ve eliminated all of that and I think I’ve learn to keep it at bay. This is now a new lifestyle that I will have until I die. (I’m planning on 40 more fun filled years!)

Fast forward one week. Right eating, daily exercise and all readings are well within the safe zone and going down.

I’ve had a few reminders and discoveries since that doctors appointment.

Two weeks prior Jeff and I were reading about one of our favorite actresses who had lost 100+ pounds. She simply said, “There is no magic pill. You have to eat right and walk more.”

I was reminded that one week prior I had asked God to help me with diet since I couldn’t seem to find the key. He always answers pray and sometimes (most of the time) it’s in very creative and humorous ways.

The soreness in my ribs that forced me to the doctor in the first place almost vanished the next day. If we listen, our bodies find ways to get our attention when something is wrong. For me it was as if it was poking me in the side, telling me to make an appointment. Not that my rib was an issue but it brought me to a place that shined a light on a real problem.

What so amazes me is that well before I knew there was an issue, the solution was making it’s self know. I love how life works when we listen.

Eating right and daily exercising is no long something I have to remember to do, it’s what I do. It’s not because my life is stressful. It’s not because I’m not disciplined. It’s simply because my Mom, who turns 90 this year, and I share a few common traits…

Excited about a new venture – check out LIVING UNSTUCK. 

Living Unstuck

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She’ll only risk the chance…

My mother grew up in Chicago and in our childhood instilled the love for the Chicago she knew. There is, and always has been, one magical place that we too share her love for. That is the city block building with green majestic clocks on each corner that was once known as Marshall Fields on State Street.

Eight stories of every lovely thing you could ever want to own. On the seventh floor of this magnificent place was the fabulous Walnut Room. This is where you lunched! A giant dinning room lined with dark, rich, walnut panels. Servers who worn black. Linens on the table and white linen napkins so large you could use as a bath towel.

Every Christmas, the Fields Christmas Tree sat in the middle of the room. This was no ordinary tree! It was at least two stories tall and so wide that a dozen tables encircled it. Nothing said Christmas more than lunching in the Walnut Room, gazing at the tree, and watching the ice skaters across the street from seven stories up.

Marshall Fields also offered a delicacy that makes my mouth water just thinking about, they are called Frango Mints. Small cubes of chocolate and mint, sitting in white paper wrappers, and lined perfectly in the long, green, rectangle box. We don’t lunch in the Walnut Room anymore, but those green boxes still arrive every Christmas thanks to my mom.

A few years ago our grandson Liam discovered Frangos. After our box of chocolates seemed to vanish, I asked mom to send him his own. The next year she did. His very own personal size box. It was wonderful to be able to hide ours away to savor well into the year.

This year our granddaughter Emery discovered Frangos. Unfortunately, she didn’t have her own box and I had to share.

Last week Liam was standing on a stool looking in the cabinet of my kitchen for snacks. I watched as he reached far into the corner and retrieved a rectangular box still wrapped in christmas paper. “Can we open it?” he asked grinning with delight. His little sister took no time to be at his side ready to assist. I gave them my approval.

As the final wrapping was removed and tossed on the floor, I reached for the box. I removed the cover and the aroma of chocolate and mint filled the kitchen. “Nothing smells like Frangos,” I said to my audience. I sat the box on the counter as each kid took their position on either side of me. Reaching in, I set one in front of Liam and one in front of Emery.

“One at a time please. I don’t want to see two, (looking at Liam) or three of them in your mouth at once (not that it’s ever happened…did I mention these are really good!) “Frangos are to be savored.”

A minute or so later I looked down at the box and five empty white wrappers looked up at me. So did four big eyes and two sets of chocolate covered lips. It was a scene from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. “Who ate all those?” I shouted.

“I had two,” Emery admitted.

“You had three?” I said looking at Liam. He nodded and gave me a chocolaty toothless grin.

“What am I going to do with you?”

Without looking up, Emery said, “You could hide them way up high where we can’t find them.”

Liam shook his head. Reaching for another delight responded, “She’ll only risk the chance that I’ll get hurt crawling up to get them.”

Need I say more….

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Paddle boards, muscles, and memories

I got on a paddle board for the first time just about a year ago. It was thrilling. Something I’ve wanted to do since the first time I saw it. With my daughter and husband along side we headed out, kneeling in the middle of our boards, paddles in hand.

I watched as my daughter successfully made the transition from kneeling to standing. I watched in amazement as my husband did the same. With all the courage I could muster, I leaned forward, squatted, and stood. Instantly, my legs became Slinky legs and the board trembled. After a few short minutes of watching the board vibrate in the water, I knelt back down and decided that kneeling was just as good as standing.

On my second time out, I mentioned to the young woman who was setting us up that I couldn’t stand – but that kneeling was just as much fun.

“No,” she sweetly said, “that won’t do. Tell me again how it felt.”

I told her of the Slinky legs and the tremors. “But kneeling is great! I’m OK with it.”

“No,” she said again. “The reason your legs are doing that is because they’ve never done this  before. You don’t have any muscle memory.”

I leaned in, trusting that she was going to tell me how to create muscle memory for something I’ve never done. After all, kneeling was fun, but it wasn’t paddle boarding.

“Here’s what we’re going to do.” (Yes! Please! Let’s do something!!!) “I’m going to give you the widest board we have. When you get out, away from the rocks, I want you to stand up, kneel down, stand up, kneel down, stand up, kneel down; at least 5 times. By that fifth time, you’re muscles will remember what they are to do.”

It worked. The Slinky legs became rubber legs that became stick legs and finally paddle boarding legs. I had created muscle memory and I was a paddle boarder.

These past two days, I accompanied my daughter to LA for a few doctor appointments for my grand daughter. There have been many, too many, doctor appointments in Emery’s short six years in this world. We have lots of memories; and I’m sorry to say, many are not pleasant.

“It’s time to make new memories,” I told my daughter when I offered to accompany them.  “We’re going to make this a girls night out in LA!”

I’ll admit, as we started out, my level of excitement was less than explosive. The four hour drive was uneventful.  Entering LA Children’s Hospital took courage. “Muscle memory,” I kept repeating. “All those old memories can leave, this is a new day, a new experience.” I repeated those words as I walked to the front desk. With my visitor sticker in place, I walked toward Imaging, taking deep breaths and exhaling bad memories, sad memories, hopeless memories. They left my body like billows of black smoke.

An hour later and the Slinky legs became rubber legs that became stick legs, and finally we were having a girls night out in LA!! – that just happened to start at the Children’s Hospital. Another appointment.  Tossing the Kush Ball in the courtyard. McDonald’s play ground which was full of water, but that didn’t stop the fun. Dinner with an good friend. Jumping on the kingsize bed in the hotel. Watching the Micky Mouse Clubhouse in our nighties. Eating pancakes. Walking on the pier. Driving to the next appointment. Reading the Eye Chart and having lunch two blocks off the beach.

We made new memories, good memories. We had to kneel down and stand up many times but eventually we were paddle boarding.

After all, kneeling might be ok for some, but it’s just not good enough anymore.

 

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