Come oh come ye tea-thirsty restless ones -- the kettle boils, bubbles and sings, musically. ~ Rabindranath Tagore
When you get to my age, all kinds of expected and unexpected things happen. I can't mention my age. Not because I'm vain. I'm absolutely not. But because people always laugh when the number is mentioned, and I can't wait until March when I'll turn 70. Okay, back to changes. The one I'm enjoying, and find amusing, is that when there is no outside stimulus, like TV or reading diaries, I begin remembering little happenings that make up my life. It's interesting to me how detailed the memories are, considering that I've recently had some difficulty with short-term memory. Like why I opened the refrigerator. But, that's okay, because my short roommates can't laugh.
Some of my stories are funny. Some are touching. Some show my crazy, hippie, activist self. They're not necessarily profound, although might be. My hope is that they will be an impetus for discussion, as everyone has life experiences. And they require absolutely no research. I spend at least a quarter of my time on the internets doing some kind of research. Remember when, before the internets, something arose that you didn't completely understand, but it was way too much trouble to run to the library, so you let it pass? Now nothing has to just pass. I know nothing about html code or why the hell one needs an app, but I've become quite adept at finding information. To me, that's the new technology. And it makes me very happy.
Tonight's story is short and kinda sweet. It's indicative of my love of children, and the understanding that they have no power, and are, therefore, so very vulnerable. I believe that we, as adults, whether we had something to do with their existence or not, have an absolute obligation to love them and protect them.
When my daughter was 11 months old we bought a house on a cul-de-sac. We thought it was the perfect place to raise a child. We were right. Lots of children filled the 12 houses that comprise our little cul-de-sac. Most of the children were close enough in age to always have someone to play with.
One afternoon, the kids were playing next door in the backyard. Outside of the gate, there was a little girl crying. I went over to find out why. The little girl who lived next door was just enough older than the rest to be a leader. She was always coming up with rules. That day the rule was to create a club, and the little girl who was crying was not invited to join. I calmed the little girl and I went home, made a pitcher of KoolAid, and invited all the children to come over to have a little talk. We sat on the driveway in a circle. I explained to them that they were all friends. That they always enjoyed each other's company. And that it hurts people's feelings when they are excluded. I went around the circle and asked each child to try to describe how it feels when someone doesn't want to play with them. They all agreed that it wasn't a good idea to hurt people's feelings. They finished their KoolAid, and were on their way.
The woman who lived on the other side of us wasn't impressed. She just said, "Kids will be kids (oh, how I hate that expression). Let them work things out for themselves."
And that woman is totally responsible for all the pie fights that go on around here.
Enjoy the discussion. Relax. And be glad that KTK is pie fight free.
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Kitchen Table Kibitzing is a community series for those who wish to share part of the evening around a virtual kitchen table with kossacks who are caring and supportive of one another. So bring your stories, jokes, photos, funny pics, music, and interesting videos, as well as links—including quotations—to diaries, news stories, and books that you think this community would appreciate. Readers may notice that most who post diaries and comments in this series already know one another to some degree, but newcomers should not feel excluded. We welcome guests at our kitchen table, and hope to make some new friends as well.
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