Caramels and Pop Rocks with a Chaser of Tab Soda By: Karen Pilarski

It is amazing how certain food or objects from the past are stained with memories of yesterday. With just one whiff of a scent or tease of a taste suddenly takes a person back decades ago. For me it is Werther’s Original Caramels.

It was the 1980’s and I was on my way to my grandparent’s house. At the time there were seven of us kids bunched in the station wagon like sardines. As the years went by there would eventually be nine children. If my parents didn’t pack us in it would take two trips to go anywhere.

I could smell the summer sausage and pop rocks my brother downed in the car.  The crackling and hissing from the cherry candy fizzling in his mouth was grossing me out. Three of my siblings were crying they had to use the bathroom. I was on the hump in the back and the constant shifting and bumping wasn’t helping my full bladder. My family didn’t see my relatives much except during family gatherings. It was a big deal when we did visit with them.

Grandpa and Grandma Schmidt had a modest sized house. One of my favorite parts was the basement. There was a bar and a cool village my grandfather made that had a train go around it. The Christmas tree was up year round. The person who was the life of the party wasn’t a wild cousin or dare devil uncle. It was Grandma Anita! She was no pie making, tight bun wearing granny. She was sassy, cussed and smoked.  She had tight dark curls that she wore in short do.  I didn’t know at the time but Grandma was always ill. As I got older Grandma spent lots of time on the couch.

On the end table was this candy dish that had Werther’s Original Caramels in them.  My brothers and sisters would wait for a piece to be offered to us. The caramel would slowly dissolve on my tongue and sweeten the saliva in my mouth. The candy dish was amber tinted glass. There were geometrical shapes on it. Gently we were told to put the lid back on. The dish screamed 1970’s. When I opened the lid I could almost hear the whisper of someone saying ‘groovy.’ Grandma even though nontraditional wore fuzzy sweaters. The sweaters looked cozy. Grandma had long beautiful nails. She and Aunt Pauline would scratch my back or my arm as a sign of affection.  She had a pretty good array of perfume and nail polish.

In the distance my Grandpa “Bill” would have sports playing softly in the background. Even today the sound of golf or bowling makes my eyes glaze over. In their home nick-knacks were on a shelf in the living room. There was a waxed head with the nose tip chipped off. I wondered who chewed on the nose. Also there was a mini slot machine that my mom would mess with. My grandparents had family portraits all over. Particularly amusing to my sister and I was a family picture of my mom and her siblings. Mom was wearing a hideous shirt that I said looked like had coleslaw spattered on silk.  Aunt Pauline was turned in a way that looked like she was playing a piano. It was tradition to make fun of the picture when we would visit. Of course on the wall was my own family portrait. I had a bowl cut (thanks mom) and my baby brother John was screaming his head off in the picture. My older sister was chewing on her lip.

On the kitchen wall was a homemade family tree. It was made on wood and had a tree swing on it. Small red painted apples with names of family members were on the tree. I was told Grandma painted the names on it. In the backyard was a stump from where a tree was cut down. I loved sitting on that stump. One memory is of Uncle Butch asking me about my Cabbage Patch Kid and not pronouncing the name right. There was also a cool porch swing. On the deck was a big table for the family to sit around under the shade of the big umbrella. My sister would tease Aunt Pauline and call her ‘auntie big nose.’ My aunt would jump up and try to give her a ‘wedgie’.   On the table was Grandma’s chips and homemade dip. It was French dressing, onion, milk and cream cheese. Even in my thirties I enjoy this family party staple.

For some reason my grandparents thought offering us a soda was a treat. It wasn’t a coke or root beer. It was Tab soda. It didn’t taste right to us kids. Even my aunt offered it to us by her house. I think they thought we were strange for turning down soda. It tasted that rancid.

The funny thing is how my grandparent’s influenced my family and even today. My grandparents have long since passed.  My aunt Pauline and Uncle Butch have passed as well. Their legacy and personality still touches us in subtle ways.

I love nick-knacks and family pictures. I have the candy dish now in my house. On my wall in the hallway is that family tree I admired. I love fuzzy sweaters and the sound of a golf game on television is comforting. When I look at those things I still crave a caramel and the days past when I was squeezed in a hot car on the road to see the grandparents.

My ‘Not So Finest’ Moment By: Karen Pilarski

I thought about Gerard Butler’s recent snafu in judgment. He admitted to sleeping with a reality star Brandi Glanville and not remembering her full name. I could almost visualize the huge egg on his face. Though smiling the slime of the yoke dripped off his chiseled chin. It sounded as if Butler did this in retaliation for Glanville’s public kiss and tell. Butler eventually made amends. It is not just famous faces that do foolish things. While I’d like to think I’m always at my best. I am not. Everyone has their own ‘not so finest moment’.   

My husband and I were at my niece’s school concert. Little did we know but several grades were performing. The auditorium was packed with screaming kids and flustered parents gripping their cameras. There weren’t enough seats for everyone. My feet were sore from wearing my high heels all day. There I was crabby, sore and tired. Stupidly I didn’t change before the concert.  My husband and I were less than thrilled to be pushed to the back to stand and watch. Each grade as we found out sang five songs each. At one point we walked around the school. I heard my niece sing and took blurry pictures from waaaayyyy in the back. 

I thought the opportunity to leave would be after her class was done. Nope. Apparently a few more grades had to sing and then they would do an all school song.  During the all school song my niece didn’t even make it to the stage. She was in the aisle singing! We felt irritable and just wanted to go.

 I was staring off into space when I heard a commotion behind me. Some pushy lady was screaming at my husband! Apparently she told him to move and because it was so crowded he couldn’t. He explained there was no room and she was still ranting at him. I don’t know what came over me. Maybe it was the claustrophobia or I was just stressed. Whatever the reason was I glared at her and hissed “Who the hell do you think you are talking to my husband like that?!” She then started yelling at me saying he should have moved. My face became red hot as did my temper. She proceeded to yell at me and hurl insults so I gave it back to her. I called her a name and told her to be quiet. I was ready to take off my blasted high heel and fling it at her. However, we didn’t come to blows. Finally a parent next to me got between us and yelled at the lady to shut up and she should have more manners. Then she said the following to the ranting lunatic: “There are children here, I will pray for you.”  That right there made me feel very small and just dumb. I bet that is how many people feel when they make a bad choice. Just plain dumb. 

Embarrassed at my judgment I wanted to stick my head in the ground. We all have our limits as to how far we can be pushed. As adults we can act as juvenile as our children. In stores adults fight over toys during the Christmas season. At football games people yell at another parent’s kids that they stink at football. People yell at you to keep your kids quiet in church. Oh yeah, IN CHURCH. While it is important to set a good example it is also equally important to show that adults have bad days and bad choices. Luckily my snafu wasn’t noticed much over the crowd rushing to leave after the performance. I got out unscathed but in the rear view mirror in the car I detected a trace of egg on my own face.

It’s a Sad Day When Facebook is a Better Listener By: Karen Pilarski

Have you ever walked down a hall and someone passes you by and says “Hi, how are you?” They don’t stop to wait for the answer. In fact before lips part to make a sound the person is long gone. Another scenario is mumbling out a response such as “Ok, I guess.” The person responds with “That’s good” as they quickly vanish from sight. I wonder why people seem to care less now. Even Facebook is courteous and asks how I’m doing. It seems there are more responses coming from a white text box than an actual human being. What happened to the art of listening?

Listening requires more than just hearing words and nodding. It requires ‘listening’ to the other person’s non verbal cues. Is the person covering their face as if to say they want to hide from everyone? Is the breath full of long deep pauses? It is understandable each person’s world is full of commotion and noise. Constant beeping of phones and blinking messages in the email take up time. For that troubled soul, all that is needed is a sympathetic smile or just simply asking how they are and waiting for an answer. I would think a person could take the second to do this.

I went to the doctor today and it might as well been done over the phone or via email. The doctor didn’t ask what was new and just wanted to get the general exam done. I’ve been to this doctor for years! I mentioned I felt run down and tired and the doctor simply just mentioned “Oh, well I’ll check your blood tests.” There was no asking if I have been stressed or having lack of sleep. The doctor didn’t listen. The doctor just wanted to get through with exam quick and go to the next appointment.

When a person is constantly ignored they become upset and that built up frustration can explode. I was working in a job where people just cared about themselves and their own lives. They wanted people to ask how they were doing but the sentiment wasn’t reciprocated. When I would try to discuss a problem or issue it was swatted away like an annoying fly. One day I was feeling stressed and overwhelmed. I literally went into my boss’s office and said I quit. I wasn’t done, I proceeded to sob. Sob in my boss’s office. Major Oprah ugly cry. Half of my makeup ended up in streaks down my face. He didn’t have a tissue.  Luckily he closed the door and just let me vent. The flood gates were open and I told him about how badly my colleagues were treating me, how unappreciated I felt and that I felt no one cared about what was going on with me. He just stared and didn’t say a word. We talked and I took back my emotional resignation. I felt better because finally, someone didn’t just turn a cheek.

I think this is the allure of social media. It seems when you put yourself and your thoughts out there people give an immediate response. Yet it seems a bit fake and forced. When a status is ‘liked’ do you really know what the person is feeling? On Twitter, a link to an article is posted. What was the thinking behind posting it? Texting is the same way. I had a friend text and asked if I was okay after canceling our plans. I texted yes and she replied “Really?” I love her like a sister but call if you really want to know. Hearing my voice is a sure fire way to know if I’m really okay. Yes, I was really okay in case my readers or my bff are curious.

Before cell phones and instant messaging we had these cool things called phones. They were attached to a spiral cord. You had to sit in the house on the phone. The cord would become bunched up and twisted. Time was spent trying to solve the puzzle of undoing the tangled mess. I recall crying my heart out to sincere friends on the other line. If the beep of call waiting would sound, it was simply ignored. Of course you would hear about it from your angry mother or moody older sister. The punishment and nuisance was worth it to have someone really hear you and feel those emotions. Tomorrow when you pass a person in the hall give yourself a five second delay and listen to what comes after “How are you?”

The Shallow End by: Karen Pilarski

I remember the first time I took swim class in high school. Ugly black swimsuits recycled from decades past. It was 1995 not 1940. The hideous and tight swimming cap left a long red mark on my forehead. In the class period after there was always one smart ass who would ask if you had swim that day. If it wasn’t the imprint of the cap it was the repugnant smell of chlorine that lasted the rest of the day.  

I was a big baby about gym and swim. That first day I cautiously dipped my big toe in the lukewarm water.  Around me colorful swimming caps bobbed up and down in the pool. I noticed long arms of classmates stretching out making beautiful rhythmic waves. The swim coach yelled for me to get in the water. There I was clinging to the ladder and making my way into the watery abyss. My legs tensed up and arms flailing around like a fish out of water. As I gasped for breath I clutched the wall. Somehow I passed swim class with a C-. 

It is simple to stay in the shallow end of the pool. It is comfortable and protective. The bad part is all that is being missed by taking the easy way. While flopping around in water that barely goes up to the knees, others have the freedom to move. There are unlimited boundaries to see how fast it takes to make it to the other side. At times, I have clutched that wall and stayed in the shallow end. However, when I really want something I go full force like an Olympian going for the gold. It is hard to take risks and have a leap of faith when there is nothing stopping from dragging someone under the tide. Maybe this is where the saying ‘sink or swim’ comes from. The choice has to be made, should I try or just let myself give up and drown in effort? 

It is very hard to make the choice when it is a small fish in a big pond. Think of the job market and read a random job posting. There is always a requirement of a specific number of years experience. Others applicants are more experienced and skilled. Many are biting at the bait wanting that job. I’m educated and creative but the hook is I lack experience. How can a person make a splash if no one is willing to take a chance on the little fish? I often dream of writing and editing for a newspaper, magazine or news station. I do have my writing ‘sea legs.’ My work has been published. I just have to keep sticking my head out of the water to be noticed. The possibility of sinking is feasible but the opportunity to swim in the big pool is worth the dive.

My Step Son, Myself by:Karen Pilarski

I joked with a colleague today about how I'm slowly turning into my parents. At times I randomly fall asleep at the table or in a movie theater. Temper flares up like a flame and then is extinguished after counting to ten. Somehow I have inherited impatience, weird health aliments and the ability to ride a wave of emotional ups and downs. Why wasn't I born with art, crafts, and cooking skills? My father likes to learn different languages and culture. Open minded to it, sure. Yet no real drive to fully engage in doing it. My mom and brothers are talented artists. I'm the odd ball who loves to write. Although I have no biological children, I have a step children. I hope some of my attributes have imprinted into their souls.

 My step son Nathan is fourteen. Fourteen going on twenty. Conceited and entitled sense of being. How quickly one can go from fourteen to four in a blink of an eye. My husband as my in-laws tell me, was the exact same way. My step son is smart and a book worm like his dad. He has the same large nose and the same smile. He is actually a very handsome mini version of my husband. If the contemptuous attitude would disappear, Nathan would be an actual human being. I meander. Youngsters don't understand it is not what they say that hurts it is the feelings that singe others. Nathan told me last weekend that he no longer wanted to come over by me and his father's house. "I can't take three days in a row over there." He also told my husband that he wishes I never married his father. Some of the haste comes with the territory of being a step parent. It is a given the "you are not my mother" card would be shown.

Maya Angelou said “I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” I love her quote! I have had some good and bad times in my life. The strongest memories come from the feelings that attached to those fading visions. What I felt carries more weight than the words spoken. A lesson I wish Nathan would learn is that it doesn't matter what over the top and dramatic words he says. Nor does it matter the cuss words spewed out of his mouth. It barely registers with me the stomping and throwing fits. What matters is the sadness I feel when he takes out his trouble on others. Specifically his father. A sense of failure as a parent for letting this child spin so far out of control. People often trivialize Nathan's attitude as 'being a teen.' A friend of mine said she thinks Nathan should be shipped to a third world country in order to see real suffering and difficulties. Maybe the feelings of hopelessness of those who lived there would sear the icy exterior?

 I know with time Nathan will grow out of the immature thinking and take responsibility for his actions. As  memories of his youth drifts into years past, I imagine there will be lingering unpleasant feelings that spring back up at times. When he becomes a parent himself I hope he remembers not how he acted, but how he made those around him feel. Perhaps he will be a better parent and person for it. One day he will remember me and his dad as good parents and not the controlling monsters he claims all authority figures to be. In the distant future he will jokingly and lovingly remark how he is becoming his parents.

Regret and Reality by: Karen Pilarski

I wish I met you years before

Avoiding the thunder and heavy rain that poured

All before the grave mistakes

Unearthed from underneath the ground

Ugliness of choices and feelings now decomposing along the floor

Scratched and bruised from the chances I tried to take

Only to be left shivering and dying in it’s wake

Longing the caress of the hand discovering the softness of my face

Hunger to consume the sweetness of your taste

Distance of miles and life stretched on too far

Unable to travel to where you are

Perhaps in another time or place

Yet reminded the bed chosen can’t be unmade.

I hate Cupid by: Karen Pilarski

Red cellophane hearts stacked on shelves. Children pressing buttons on those furry stuffed animals that sing off key tunes. Red Hots spilled on the floor. Chocolate and cartoon kid cards litter the store. It is Valentine’s Day. The single person’s dreaded time of the year. If you the reader are single, I’ll let you in on a secret.  People in relationships hate this day too. 

Where is the actual courting? If the relationship is a few years old most people wait until the day before or morning of to get last minute Valentine’s Day gifts. I know someone who thinks the day was created from card industry and he would be ‘fake’ if he bought into it. However, let me point out when he was married to his first wife and even before that he seemed to buy into it. There is a story of finding a crystal rose he bought for an old girlfriend.  While I love romance and lovely gestures, I don’t want to make someone do something they don’t want to do. 

Despite the lack of gifts, where is the actual romance? Is it enough to take someone out to eat or to a movie? Then what? A few winks and drinks and then it is time to hit the sheets.

It would be simpler to eliminate the notion that romance has to be forced.  I would prefer someone to hide treats in my desk or write a message on a foggy mirror. There doesn’t have to be some gallant answer that involves a huge diamond and flower strewn paths. 

The daydreams and fantasies that are built up in our heads never live up to the hype.  The cute waitress might actually be a chain smoking crazy cat lady. The nerdy and bald guy you are crushing on may have a gambling addiction and a weird infection.  For some single people anything is better than nothing at all. To be frank, married and couples share the same belief.  

While I am married, I loathe Valentine’s Day. The card never really says how you feel. The chocolate gives you a stomach ache.  The card I would like to get says the following:

Dear hon,

You look sexy and thin in everything you wear. I’d rather watch the ‘Carrie Diaries’ than some dumb game. I cleaned the whole house and made you a candle light dinner. Low cal of course.

P.S. I told my mother she is not allowed over until next year.

With all my heart and soul,

Hubby

 So singles lets unite with married people and whip conversation hearts at those kissy faced jerks in the wooing stage of romance.