A Budding Blog…

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Well, it is with a fair amount of fear and trepidation that I’d like to make an announcement.
Before your mind starts to wander too far, I am not pregnant. That would cause mind-boggling fear and trepidation, and would, in fact, be a miracle.
This is “Not That Big a Deal” which is also the name of my new blog. Yes, friends I have “bitten the bullet, jumped in with both feet, leaped into the breach” and it scares the crumbs out of me. But, I enjoy making people smile and laugh and forget, even if just for a little while, their troubles. I think it’s something we all need now and then. I really do believe that “a good laugh and a long sleep are the two best cures for anything.” So, here I go…
My blog link will be posted on facebook and twitter tomorrow and, hopefully, every Friday after that. I hope it does its job. I hope it makes you smile. 

 

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The Week That Was…

You know that kid?  The one who is never quite paying attention to things. The daydreamer in school. The one that’s told to go to the kitchen and get the salt at dinner and they comes back with a glass of water? You know the type. Well, it may or may not surprise you  to know that I was that kid. I am grateful to say, I’m not quite that bad anymore, the Lord made sure I married a practical man; one that I love with all my heart, who truly is my saving grace. But, before he came along there was a week, “the week”.  Continue reading

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When Recliners Attack…

My parents moved from New Jersey to Florida in October of 2001. Mom remembers because it was right after 9-11. Dad had been having some trouble with his back and we were ‘investigating’ exactly what was going on. Initially, they said it was his back but they soon discovered it was his hip. His right hip was replaced in 2007, followed by his left shoulder and then his right shoulder. Making my little old Italian Dad something akin to the “Bionic Man”. Continue reading

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A Rachel Story…

Our Rachel is sandwiched between our son, Eric, and our youngest daughter, Autumn; making her our ‘middle’ child. I remember when I got pregnant for the third time…a pleasant surprise…I was upset thinking that my little Rach would have “middle child syndrome”. We were going to the pediatrician and he asked me what was bothering me. When I told him, he just smiled.  Continue reading

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Fairy Blog Mother Wants to Know…”What’s In Your Wallet?”

As I’ve told you before I have been blessed with, not one, but two Fairy Blog Mothers. Today, I am on vacation with my family. Continue reading

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“Though She Be But Little…”

In case you don’t know, and you may not, I am short. Not short enough to be considered a “little person” as categorized today, which is 4’10” and under; but I only beat that mark by 4″ so, it is safe to say that I am short. There are times I’ve pointed out what I consider to be a very short person and then realized they were taller than me. On the rare occasion that I walk by someone shorter than me, I confess, I pull myself up to my full stature and look down on them as I pass. It’s not nice.

My earliest memory of kindergarten was standing with my head tilted far back so I could see my fellow kindergartner’s faces.  I was always in the front row for school pictures and never had to worry about guys being shorter than me, even in middle school.  I have heard all of the jokes. My husband loves to comment that a “midget was driving his car”. Once while entertaining a couple of 5’9″ lady-friends for lunch, I was asked if I was even 5 feet tall. In my own kitchen no less!

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True, being short does have its disadvantages, there are very few couches and chairs that I can sit comfortably on, even in my own living room. I do sometimes climb on my kitchen counters to reach things. I almost always have to climb on shelves in the grocery store. And, once when the back of our van was parked near a slight depression in the ground and I’d opened the trunk I couldn’t reach the handle to close it. Petite clothing is usually more expensive for less material, which still makes no sense to me. But still, overall, it’s not that bad and there are quite a few perks to being vertically challenged. Such as…

I can pretty much nap anywhere. People used to think I’m the youngest of my siblings because I’m the shortest, although I think my age is catching up with me now. I am never taller than people when I wear heels. Almost nobody can see up my nose. I almost never have to duck for anything. I was always very good at hide and seek. I’m a very good climber. I can hide behind people when it’s windy or cold. I have incredible calf muscles, which I attribute to years of standing on my tiptoes. My feet never stick out at the end of the bed and blankets are never too short. Low hotel room shower heads are never a problem, neither are teeny shower stalls. I have tiny feet, which means I can fit in kid size shoes, which are a lot cheaper. Finally, where flying first class isn’t  very comfortable, my feet don’t reach the ground in the seats; flying coach is perfect in any seat, window, middle, or aisle.

I have a tee shirt that says it best…

“God only allows things to grow until they are perfect. Some of us didn’t take as long as others.”

But it is, literally, not that big a deal.

 

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“Killing Me Softly With This Thong…”

Any men reading this may, once again, want to avert their eyes. If not, well…

I recently read an article that stated, “The thong is dead.” Evidently, women are falling in love with bigger backsides and wearing a thong just doesn’t “fit” the image anymore. Good news on all counts!

Continue reading

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59 Years and Counting…

Today’s blog is a story of tribute and triumph. A story of two unlikely people that came together out of need and love and created a family, a legacy that will survive long after they’ve gone. Today’s blog is for and about my parents…

My Dad is Rocco Sicurello. The son of Italian immigrants, he was born and raised in Newark, New Jersey. His mother passed away when he was ten, his dad seven years later. When he was 18 he met my Mom.

Mom is Charlotte Moon. Her dad’s family can be traced back to Edward Winslow on the Mayflower and even further to King Edward I. (Don’t be too impressed. Edward I was also known as “Long Shanks”. He was not a nice king. He killed William Wallace, a.k.a. Braveheart.) Her mom was born and raised in Canada and worked hard to become a U.S. citizen. Mom was born in Scranton, Pennsylvania. She is of Irish descent with just enough German to keep it interesting. Her parents divorced when she was five. Mom lived in Newark for most of the year, spending her summers in Pennsylvania.

Dad was born in March of 1935, in the middle of the Great Depression. Eleven months after Mom was born the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor and we entered World War II. Trying times, but ones that would create a foundation of strength for them both.

They first laid eyes on each other when my Dad would drive his 1939 Buick past her apartment on his way to work. They waved to each other. She was a fair-skinned, blue-eyed, redhead. Dad was olive-skinned, or as he likes to refer to himself, ‘gladiator bronzed‘, brown-eyed, and dark haired. She was a Protestant. He was a Catholic. In most ways they were total opposites, but there was something that drew them to each other.

One day he stopped and asked her to go out with him. He got my grandmother’s permission and they took the bus to New York City to see a movie, The Robe, at the Roxy theater. Then they had dinner. It was October 13, 1953. Mom says even then they knew they would one day be married.

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Soon after their first date, Dad joined the Navy and they wrote to each other.

On January 10, 1959, they married. Dad was 23, Mom would be 18 the following day. People said it wouldn’t last. They didn’t know my parents.

Ten months after they were married, I was born. I was followed by two sisters and one brother. As you can imagine, an Italian, Irish, and German household with four kids and three adults; my grandmother lived with us, was not a quiet one. What was a normal tone of voice for us, was yelling for anyone else. But, we were raised well, and we were taught to do right, and we were loved.

Life was not easy for my parents, both had come from broken homes at a time when that was not the norm and in many ways they grew up as they raised us. They are both strong-willed and determined; that, too, would serve them well. Dad’s way of showing his love was to work hard and provide for his family, which he did. Mom’s was to stay at home and provide for and raise their children, which she did.

In 1975, Mom became a Christian. Each of her children followed her lead. Dad, too, though quietly and in his own time. This month, on January 10th, they will celebrate 59 years together, years of tragedy and triumph, adversity and blessing, work and joy. Years that their Savior drew them together and held them close.  Years that they’ve held tightly to His hand.

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A legacy that they’ve passed on to us all.

 

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They are a very big deal…

 

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