Candy Cane? Who came up with that?!

Recently when we decorated our Christmas tree my nine year old son began to complain that we didn't have any candy canes. Apparently you cannot have Christmas without candy canes. :) So, what do you think I do, I load in my car at the first opportunity and drive my happy self to the store to get some. You know, when I was a kid (many years ago) I can only remember ever having red and white candy canes that tasted like peppermint. Now a days there is such a variety that you could have a candy cane for each day in December and still not taste them all. Made me wonder who came up with the idea of the candy cane in the first place. So, with a little bit of typing through Google, here is an article that I found. Enjoy the holiday season and don't forget your Candy Canes!

The symbol of the shepherds’ crook is an ancient one, representing the humble shepherds who were the first to worship the newborn Christ. Its counterpart is our candy cane – so old as a symbol that we have nearly forgotten its humble origin.

Legend has it that in 1670, the choirmaster at the Cologne Cathedral handed out sugar sticks among his young singers to keep them quiet during the long Living Creche ceremony. In honor of the occasion, he had the candies bent into shepherds’ crooks. In 1847, a German-Swedish immigrant named August Imgard of Wooster, Ohio, decorated a small blue spruce with paper ornaments and candy canes.

It wasn’t until the turn of the century that the red and white stripes and peppermint flavors became the norm. The body of the cane is white, representing the life that is pure. The broad red stripe is symbolic of the Lord’s sacrifice for man.
In the 1920s, Bob McCormack began making candy canes as special Christmas treats for his children, friends and local shopkeepers in Albany, Georgia. It was a laborious process – pulling, twisting, cutting and bending the candy by hand. It could only be done on a local scale.

In the 1950s, Bob’s brother-in-law, Gregory Keller, a Catholic priest, invented a machine to automate candy cane production. Packaging innovations by the younger McCormacks made it possible to transport the delicate canes on a scale that transformed Bobs Candies, Inc. into the largest producer of candy canes in the world.

Although modern technology has made candy canes accessible and plentiful, they’ve not lost their purity and simplicity as a traditional holiday food and symbol of the humble roots of Christianity.
(copied from www.ideafinder.com)

Using what I have...

Have you ever been given, or "left" with an item that you just can't figure out how it can ever work in your own household. While you are worrying about that you are also stressing yourself out because no matter what, you cannot get rid of this useless thing. Maybe it is the wrong color, wrong style, or just plain ugly. Well this is what happened to me. When my grandmother passed away I felt the need to take her chair. It was the chair that she had always sat in. She always said it was the most comfortable and I felt that if I could keep it then I would keep a little piece of her with me. I know, I'm being all sentimental, but it is true. So, here I am with this comfortable, ugly green swivel chair. It doesn't exactly fit with any of my decor and if I leave it with my boys it will be destroyed within a year and I just can't let that happen. So, I get to thinking. I can buy a slip cover to put over the chair since I don't have the money or the know how to re-cover the chair myself. The problem is this, I don't have the money for a slip cover right now. What to do, what to do. Then as I sit there pondering my choices I think about all the spare linens that I have in a closet. Surely there but be something there of interest. Upon rummaging through the closet I find a cream colored dust ruffle, a white blanket and some of my old teddy beards. I begin by putting the white blanket over the chair to hide the green color. I concentrate on the front and sides as no one should be able to see the back. I then put the dust ruffle over the blanket and begin to smooth and tuck the material around the chair. I did have to pull two of the sides to the back and I tied them in a knot to keep them in place. After adding a pillow and the teddy bears I think I have a fairly shabby shic start to a chair. It's all about using what I have within my home to make an older piece of furniture fit my transitional style.

Old with the New

I have never been one to decorate everything for Christmas, but this year is different. This year has been a year of change and I have tapped into my inner Martha Stewart. :) I have always loved antiques and putting old with the new is just the way things should be. My table is an old teak farm table that I found at a local store. The buffet was bought for $40 at an antique shop. It was originally priced at $98 so this was a great buy. The Christmas tree is in an old lard bucket and is sitting atop a crate that I bought for $10 at a yard sale. In the center of the table I put a basket, bought for $4, and to fill the basket I put a colorful dish towel. Under the dish towel I put paper for fill. I then put some pinecombs and a few Christmas ornaments around a lovely flower that a friend gave to me. I think the overall effect is adorable. Just goes to show that the saying "One mans junk is another mans treasure" is so true.

Hmm, let's get organized...

This is one thing that I have to do for me. The biggest question I have asked myself is how exactly do I do this? If you google organization you get a variety of topics and trying to sort through all of them can seem a bit daunting, but you may get lucky like myself and hit upon a good idea. A home management notebook. Sounds like an interesting idea doesn't it? I love this idea. It sounds great and the only problem I have noticed is that my life just doesn't seem to fit into the notebooks that other people have made for their families. Every family is different and my family is no exception. My family consist of three children, a dog, a guinea pig, a Marine who deploys often and myself. I work full time and am finishing up my degree in Social Psychology. I have yet to read any two blogs that are the same in every aspect. For this reason I have decided to make notebook that will fit my life and will appeal to me visually. Let's face it, if it isn't cute, then I don't want it. :) I have pulled out my scrapbooking tools (for which I have never used) and have made a trip to Staples to purchase a notebook and dividers that I think will work for me. (I purchased a 1 1/2 binder with a clear view front, side and back.) I have sheet protectors in stock and have printed off enough ideas to hopefully get my entire notebook started. So, I am off and running and can't wait to see how it turns out! I'll keep you posted and upload pics if I can figure out how to do it on this computer. ;p

Wow, how time flys....

Have you ever awoken to a new day, only to realize that it is the end of May rather than April. Wow, where did the time go? For many days during my husbands deployment I was trying so hard to simply keep my head above water that I didn't have the time to consider how much time was going by. My husband is now home and rather than enjoy each and every day I find that I am still trying to keep my head above the water. Just when I think that things are beginning to slow down I realize that beyond my OCD there is a bit of procrastination. I am OCD when it comes to keeping things clean, but I procrastinate when it comes to time. Does that make sense? Anyone have any suggestions for time management?

Becoming who I was meant to be...

Over the past year there have been many changes in my life. Friends have moved away, I have started a full time job, my hubby deployed and on top of everything else the "friends" who were local turned their backs on me.

How can anyone live like this and still keep their sanity?! For any military spouse a deployment is a hard life to live and to have your closest friend move away and everyone else turn against you can send you over the edge very quickly.

Needless to say this deployment was probably the hardest I have ever had to endure. I can still remember the day Chris left for Iraq. Standing on the tarmac with only my children and trying to be strong for them was one of my lowest points. Normally following any deployment I try and stay away from my house. Going home makes it a reality and I am not usually up for facing reality once the plane has left. This time I had no choice. There was no where for me to go. I called Michelle that morning and through my tears told her she wasn't suppose to be in Texas, but here with me.

Michelle had been my support through many deployments and vice versa. Whenever our husbands would deploy we would load the kids in the car and take a trip. Anywhere but home was our goal. I can't begin to tell you the amount of times we packed everyone into her Suburban: Her, me, Hannah, Cody, Colton, Cheyenne, Savannah, and depending on where we were going, Megan (and when we had more children: Taylor, Ashley, and Zylee). Needless to say we were packed to the gills. Ahh, the good ole days. :) But I am getting off track...

Back to the point of my post, through everything it was a matter of taking stock of who I was and who I was suppose to be. There were some days that I would feel as if I had to put on the armor of God to simply be able to walk into the Welcome Center. Satan wanted me to feel the discontent that came from some of the staff there, and I knew that only God could protect me.

While I will admit that I am not perfect, and I tend to stress out over the little things, I am taking the scripture to heart. "Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." Matthew 6:34. God can see us through anything if only we will allow him. For this reason, I am trusting him to see me through this new unpredictable life.

If people choose not to like me or say things against me, then that is on them. I am refusing to worry about their perceptions of me. God will take care of that. If I concentrate on me and doing what God would have me do, then God will take care of the rest. The worry and the dislike is of Satan and I refuse to allow him any control in my life. Now is the time for me to concentrate on becoming who I was meant to be.

Emotional Flooding

Sometimes a memory can cause as much pain and anguish as an actual event.

I have recently started a creative writing seminar and I told them that I didn't know if I would emotionally be able to write about a particular experience. Sally refers to this as emotional flooding and I can understand why.

When I first sit down to write about an event in my life I honestly don't know where to start. How do you take an event that had such an effect on you and put it into words? It usually takes me a few minutes, if not longer, to really get to writing. Suddenly everything begins to flow and before I know it it seems as if I am transported back in time to the day the event occured.

My sense of smell is heightened and even the smell of a particular shampoo can bring back the pain that I felt at that time in my life. To this day I refuse to purchase Herbal Essence shampoo. Even something that is similar in smell will trigger the emotions and I still have a hard time dealing with them.

Not only is my sense of smell heightened, but my memory is clear and precise. I can remember everything that happened to include how the breeze was blowing through the trees and the sound of the television downstairs. A pain that I have struggled to overcome is once again screaming through my memory. I hate the way these memories make me feel. Desperate, alone, anguish, loss.

As I continue to write the tears begin to flow. Reliving any sorrowful event can be hard, but I continue to push through. I eventually have to stop because my body is wracked with emotion and I can no longer see the paper in front of me. The what if's and why's are running through my mind and I am struggling to get a grip on reality. When I am finally calm I have to remind myself that the event is in the past and that I am ok now. I have survived.

I have often wondered about writing a book about my life experience. How God helped me to overcome the troubles that I have been faced with. Years ago I even thought of a title for my book, but that will stay my secret for now. For now I am taking baby steps and learning to write my story is the only way to keep my sanity in check.

After each memoir is written I learn that while the emotions were hard to face, writing is a form of healing for me. To write the memoir is one thing, to sit in front of a group of people and read your emotions aloud is all together different.

The last seminar I wrote for I thought I would get through the memoir without any crying. Wrong. Somehow reading my emotions out loud was just as hard as writing them, but I am glad I did it.

He's coming home and I need to relax...

It's been nearly six months since my Marine walked away from me to begin his deployment to Al Asad and now it's time to prepare for his homecoming. For many spouses this is a time of excitement and anticipation, but for me it is a time of stress. Stress because there were so many things that I needed to do while he was deployed and somehow they have yet to get done. Now I am trying to schedule everything within the next few weeks and keep a tab on my regular schedule. Aargh! I am such a procrastinator!

I have been telling myself that my car will be parked in the garage when he comes home, yet when the door is raised I still have to make a path through the toys. I don't remember purchasing these additional toys, yet somehow they are in my garage. The swimming pool and slide were a great price when purchased from a yard sale, but I don't think I truly thought about where I would put them. (How could I have passed up such a good deal?!) The closets have yet to be straightened and the green grass and nice landscaping that my hubby worked so hard on is now brown dirt/sand. Hmm, it's not my fault that I don't have a green thumb.

Oh well, if it all gets done then good for me. My husband knows that I am not a neat freak so for me to stress out because I am trying to get everything done is just crazy! I don't understand this "need" for perfection when he comes home. After all, the first thing he is going to do is drop his socks on the floor, leave the seat to the toilet up so that when I wake up and have to go potty my butt will hit the water and not the seat, and when he shaves I am sure to find his stubble sitting in my sink. Ahh, he's coming home and everything will once again become normal. :-)

My first story

Goodbye
By
Monica C. Greer


I can hear the alarm clock in the distance, but to open my eyes would be to welcome the day that I have been dreading for the past nine months. With the country currently in the midst of determining a president, I am dealing with the fear of my loved one deploying to fight in Operation Iraqi Freedom. Once awake, my fear would become a reality.
As the alarm clock continues to encourage me to wake up, I roll over and look at the place where my husband would normally be. He's not there, having risen earlier to be at the squadron by the designated time prior to their departure. Over the years we had gotten used to the early arrival time for the Marines, even though the actual departure time could be five hours later. With departures scheduled before daylight, we always made the decision for him to go first, with the kids and me arriving later to say good-bye.
Today would only be slightly different than past good-byes. Our two boys had made the decision to leave early with Dad. Our oldest, Cody, felt that at the ripe age of eleven he needed to be there when Dad was issued his service rifle. I think he was trying to show how he could handle the responsibility of being the man of the house while Dad was gone. Our middle child, Colton, was still naive to the fact that Dad was leaving and simply said that he wanted to go "because I ain't ever been up that early, except to go huntin with Dad."
Anyone who has been around the Marine Corps knows that that their motto is "Hurry up and wait." It always seemed that there was some reason for the Marines to be delayed. Either the plane would be late, they would have to refuel or something as silly as the plane having to wait on the arrival of toilet paper. Departures just never seemed to go as planned, but today could be the day. This deployment could go just as scheduled. Today could be the day that they would actually leave on time.
Suddenly wide awake, I rush to get dressed then wake our two year old daughter, Taylor, and tell her that we have to go and see Daddy get on the plane. Making sure to grab my camera, to capture the moments, I quickly usher Taylor out the door and into the car. Once buckled into our seats I pause to take a deep breath. I can do this. Everything will be just fine. I still have a couple of hours before he leaves and he will be gone only seven months. With the thought of making it on my own for seven months, I start the car and begin the ten minute trip to the Air Station, all the time wondering how twelve weeks became seven months.

My life changed forever with the words, "Baby, I joined the Marine Corps." In stunned silence I turned from washing dishes to look at my husband. Who was this man standing before me? "You did what?" I said.
"Instead of going to the unemployment office today, I went to see a recruiter. I signed the papers and the only thing left to do is for you to sign some paper saying you can financially make it without me for 12 weeks. The recruiter is coming over tomorrow night to go over the paperwork. I should leave for boot camp in about four months." This was the only explanation my husband gave.
Was he kidding me? I knew that in our town, with the Steel Plant going bankrupt, a job would be hard to come by. But to join the Marine Corps? I don't know what shocked me the most, the fact that he had done something without discussing it with me or the fact that he had signed his life over to Uncle Sam for the next four years. We had just built a new house, I had just earned a promotion at work, I had finally found some good friends to talk to, and now he had joined the Marine Corps. Not to mention the fact that he was 27 years old. Did they allow people that old to join the Marine Corps?
The next night my husband and I sat on the sofa listening as the recruiter spoke of the benefits of being a Marine and the pride of wearing the uniform. In all honesty, it didn't sound that bad. We would have a steady paycheck, insurance and housing. Moving from duty station to duty station would allow us to see different parts of the country, and the schools on base that our kids would be attending were some of the best. Not to mention the people I would meet and the family environment that I would become part of. Listening to the recruiter speak, I began to understand some of the reasons why my husband wanted to join. Who wouldn't want these things for their family?
When handed a pen, I knew that the final decision would be mine. I could support my husband and join the Marine Corps Family the recruiter had talked about, or I could refuse and my husband would have to find another way to help support us. I quickly signed on the dotted line.
Never once did I think about the time that I would have to spend raising our children on my own. After all, the recruiter only spoke of the twelve weeks we would be separated while my husband trained at boot camp and I was naïve enough not to think to ask about future separations.
That weekend we began to discuss what we were going to do. What needed to be done to put the house on the market? Should we take a quick trip with the kids as a special family outing? What job would he go to school for? Where would we be stationed? How were we going to explain to the boys that daddy was leaving? How would we tell his parents, and mine, about the decision we had made? We were excited for the future and just assumed it would all work out. We had four months to get everything in order, and we would use every chance we had to do something special with the boys.
Little did I know that one phone call would quickly show me the reality of not only being a Marine, but also of being a Marine Corps spouse. Six weeks after we had signed the papers for my husband to join the Marine Corps, I arrived home from work and was met at the door by my husband.
“The recruiter called.” He said.
"What did he want?"
"A spot opened and I’m leaving tonight for boot camp."
By now, he was searching through the washer for the jeans he had just washed.
I simply stood there looking at him. So many thoughts ran through my mind—
I thought he wasn't leaving for at least another two months! The house was not even on the market yet.
What about our boys? At ages three and six, how would we explain to them that Daddy was suddenly leaving?
What did he mean he was leaving tonight? Why not tomorrow? What could he possibly do over the weekend?
Had he told his mother? What about his dad? When will he say good-bye to them?
What are you taking with you? We are so unprepared for this!
Eventually, my mind wrapped around the fact that he didn't have a choice. Rather than whine and cry, I chose to be supportive of the decision we had made. After all, the final decision had been mine. Without my signature, he would never have been able to join. As he packed his bag and made phone calls, I sat on our bed stunned. Finally with a nod of disbelief I thought, "Welcome to the Marine Corps."

Five years later, as I prepare to walk into the hangar, where our squadron is located, I wonder if I will ever get used to saying good-bye. My husband leaving early for boot camp was just the beginning of our good-byes. Over the past years I have had to say it often, not only to him, but also to friends and family. Looking now at my two year old daughter, who is wide awake and jabbering to anyone who will listen, I smile to myself at the thought of being as carefree as she, and opened the door to yet another good-bye.
When first walking into the hangar, I can't help but feel overwhelmed by the activity around me. My first priority is to find my Marine, but to find him I must make my way through a sea of people. Everywhere I look, a different scene seems to be taking place.
To my left is the Commanding Officers jet. The Marines have parked the jet in the hangar to allow families to take pictures of it, because this is a symbol of who they are. Our squadron is VMFA-122, the Werewolves, and they are excited to be able to go into a war zone, for the first time in many years, and do what they were trained to do. This tactical fighter aircraft, which is only one of many within the squadron, has a fierce picture of a werewolf painted on the tail and will soon be in a country flying missions specific to Operation Iraqi Freedom. Our Marines will be the ones maintaining the squadron’s jets, flying the jets and when needed, helping to destroy those who oppose them. The pictures the families are taking show something of beauty, but in reality, this is a force to be reckoned with. I wonder to myself if the smiling families realize what it is they are standing before. If not, then I hope they at least understand the pride that our Marines will feel when they launch our jets into battle.
Directly in front of me are chairs for families to sit together before their Marine leaves. So many emotions dance over the faces of the people around me. Some of these emotions I can relate to, others I can only imagine. A wife sits weeping while her Marine kneels before her comforting her, as best he can. A mother stands beside her husband as they watch their son talk with a fellow Marine, all the while keeping a hand on the service rifle slung across his breast. A Marine sits holding her infant son, knowing that by the time she returns from war she will have missed his first steps.
For the emotions on their faces, I can only imagine what they must be thinking.
The wife I can sympathize with. I've been there and am facing the same situation again today.
The mother I can only feel for. How do you send off your son to a land where you cannot touch him if he is hurt, hold him if he is scared?
The Marine who is a mother, how do you leave your child to go and do what you are trained to do? With my emotions close to the surface I acknowledge that this is the reason I am not a Marine.
Then there are those who are smiling and laughing. It’s not that they are happy about the deployment it’s just that these are the Marine Corps Family members that my husband’s recruiter had spoken of. These are the friends who come to support someone whose Marine is deploying and they are here to make us smile. They are here to help take our minds off what is about to happen. They are here to be a shoulder for us to lean on when our Marines have left. These are the close friends that we have made and the people who are now our family sharing in our good-byes. Just seeing them makes me smile and lightens my mood. With this final thought I wipe the tears from my cheek and continue my search for my Marine.
To my right are the activities that will catch the attention of my boys. The squadron wanted to help keep the children occupied, so at 5:00 am there are bounce houses, music, nachos and snow cones already in place. Occupied and hyper is what the kids would be later, but I am thankful for the distraction they will offer.
As I walk to the bounce houses I side step around the marines who are fast asleep on the floor with only their backpacks as a pillow. Only a Marine can fall asleep on a cement floor. I assume that this is yet another skill that is taught during boot camp.
Finally I catch a glimpse of my boys, but still no husband. Where can he be? I am feeling a little nervous about the fact that I can't find him. The time for the departure is drawing closer. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I quickly punch in his number and wait for his answer.
"Hello?"
"Where are you at?" I ask, and try to keep my tears from falling yet again.
"I'm right here next to the bleachers."
"Where? I don't see you."
"I'm right here in front of you. Don't you see me?" he calmly replies.
"No, I can't find you."
"Dummy, look right in front of you. I'm right here."
My eyes lock onto him smiling and my rising hysteria slowly diminishes. I quickly put my phone away and we meet each other half way. Before I can do more than touch him, Taylor is jumping into her Daddy’s arms and I am blocked from holding him by the service rifle slung across his breast.
"I couldn't find you and I was getting worried," I tell him.
"Yeah. Things are crazy."
At this point his attention is captured by our two-year-old calling for her Bubba and Coco, the nicknames given to her brothers, Cody and Colton. Of course, the boys are being entertained by Tux the Clown and the wonderful balloon swords he is creating for them.
As my husband and daughter start toward the boys, I look out the hangar doors and catch a glimpse of the commercial aircraft sitting on the tarmac. It sits there waiting to take our Marines away from us. The aircraft represents another good-bye, and once said I will have to endure the next seven months alone. The time for good-bye will come, but for the moment I want to enjoy the time we have together. Turning toward my family, I put a smile on my face and turn my back on the good-bye.

Learning to write my life...

I have always had a desire to write. If not write, then to at least tell a story. How interesting that story would be was usually determined by a dream that I had written about. Sometimes the dreams would just be an idea while other times they would be complete scenes. Never more and never less, but how does one begin to write a story from a simply thought. I'm not exactly sure I can explain how, but what I do know is that the best way to begin is to write about what you know. For me, my life is what I know best. Once you allow yourself to really think about it you will find that a simple day in your life can be the spring board with which to launch a compelling story.

The first real story I ever wrote was based on the day my husband was deploying to fight in Operation Iraqi Freedom. From the moment I awoke to find him gone, to my arriving at the hangar as the Marines prepared to leave. What I saw, what I felt, how I got to that point and my perceptions of that day were just the beginning. From the moment I wrote about my experience a fire of desire was lit.

Each and every day following this I had to find out more. How do you get published? What are the rules? Is my story any good? These are some of the questions that I have and as the weeks go on I will post what I am learning. Just remember that I am not a professional and for this reason my answers may not meet your needs. Always look for the answer that is right for you and when you find that answer, share it with others.