Coming to an understanding----

 A Dollar’s Worth

By Alisa Dollar       

          I worked for a research program housed in a regional VA facility. I ventured into a room to buy coffee and found not-friendly veterans. Eras and wars have distinct markings. Vietnam often wears disillusionment - like an old glove, one-size-fits-all, misshapen, frazzled, well worn-yet durable and still used. Eyes warily observed me. No hearty welcome while thoroughly examined. I turned to leave and noticed the dollhouse.

          Elegant and magnificently built, trimmed to perfection, brimming with exquisite furnishings, it perched on a pedestal-like table. Drawn to its beauty, I commented on its craftsmanship, immediately evoking animated conversation concerning its history. A man walked me in every room. Pride was evident and excitement contagious. I’d been too busy to create for the joy of accomplishment.

          Seeing multiple crafts in varying degrees of completion, awareness unfolded - I was in the craft room. Veterans weren’t too busy. They were rebuilding lives in a restorative manner with construction of this dollhouse.

All wars carry scars and emotional blemishes. Many left home innocents, joining to make a mark and came home changed - and forever labeled. Especially Vietnam.

          My own mark lay heavily within my soul, burdening my spirit.

          I’m not a veteran. I found myself to be a label maker. I strove for understanding.

          I’d sought in a quest for understanding of why some served without question while others balked to the point of denouncing the very citizenship and freedom others fought to maintain.

          It took getting lost in that craft room of the VA hospital for knowledge to come full circle. These veterans began to open doors. Faces brought names. I wanted what they sought – acceptance--to give back what I’d taken by labeling.

          The dollhouse became a symbol of what it’s about. Home. America. A right to be; to stand; to be beautiful; to be free.

          Finally, I understood.

          It is not a right.

          It is a privilege, often abused.

          In my case I simply didn’t look further than the end of my nose.  

          Thank you seems too trivial and comes out of mouths so easily. There’s no way for those of us who aren’t veterans to know what you’ve given and given up.

          Since then, I’ve verbally thanked every person I’ve seen in a cap or uniform with a “thank you for your service to America.”

          Our privileges are many and blessed because you served.

          Thank you cannot be said enough!

Quit sending me for plumbing supplies!!!!

A Dollar’s Worth

By Alisa Dollar

Early June marked my 67^th year to be in this wonderful and amazing world. After the weekend, I wasn’t sure if hubby was going to make it to his 68^th in August. I also realized, again, that we’d never make it in a mom-n-pop business.

It’s called plumbing.

We’re having a houseful of company over the next month and our townhouse is going to be covered over each square foot with adults, teenagers, a toddler and Max, the weenie dog.

The faucet leak in the guest bath needed repair.

What does husband do? He takes off to Western Swing world in Snyder. Fine with me, I can do a lot when he isn’t there to “help” but buying faucets is not my thing.

As much as I shop at Wal-Mart I was so sick of them by the time our project was finished I’m not sure but what they had greeters on the lookout for me to warn the faucet area.

I picked a faucet but forgot the hook-up hoses. I asked husband why he didn’t tell me about those.

He didn’t know I didn’t know.

Do I look like I would know?

After four hours of spewing water, wet towels, and words I can’t repeat, husband realized the faucet was at default.

Oh really? Clues?

He put the old one back and no spews at the hoses, still dripping. He was sure the faucet was the defect, or the hose, or me for picking both.

I’d bought tickets to The Flatlanders which was my birthday present to me.

We met friends for dinner before the concert and I very nearly ordered a bottle of Tequila, but settled on two margaritas. One at a time of course.

The Flatlanders were the best ever. However, lurking in the back of my mind was the leaky faucet.

I’m sure the return clerk at Wal-Mart wished she’d not asked “why” – because I told her.

At a large home improvement store, I never dreamed a bathroom faucet could be so competitive.

I remembered the hose and added putty stuff, a putty knife, WD-40 (that’s good for everything).

I did ask first and come to find out the hoses were wrong. I was reading the wrong end or something.  Good grief.

In less than an hour the sink’s completed. No leaks. No spews.

He will make it to 68 after all.

BIg Mac and Fries?

A Dollar’s Worth

By Alisa Dollar

Stephen King says of himself “I am the equivalent of a Big Mac and Fries.”

When I first read that I laughed because that man cries all the way to the bank, right?

I am fascinated by his works and when I really want to scare myself, I read one of his books.

Before I allow myself to be frightened, I wonder how this man created such horror. He is sorta scary looking but from all accounts he is relatively normal. Whatever "normal" might be.

He was asked once why he wrote such terrifying stories to which he replied “Why do you assume I have a choice?”

Being somewhat a writer I do understand “muses” and while mine generally just amuses me, I do wonder how he and other horror writers can see such intensity. I visualize every word I write and read.  In fact I am making a face as I type trying to see into their minds.

My favorite book by King is “The Stand” because it’s something I can actually imagine happening.

Once my dryer was on the blitz and I had taken all our clothes to the laundry and took up eight washers and five dryers.

During the wash and dry cycles I read The Stand.

When I read-- I’m in the book. When I’m at the movie-- I’m in the movie.

Stephen King is extremely descriptive. Lost in the book I was surrounded by rats and all alone because everyone had been eliminated. It was then I screamed bloody murder.

Some poor child had accidentally fallen into to me.

He cried. His mom immediately went into mama bear mode. I tried to grab my book which was flying through the air.

He’s really that good.

I see King more of a big bowl of Fritos with hot spicy chili pouring through the nooks and crannies with cheese melting between the two and a big plop of onions on the top.

You know, extremely appetizing but indigestion lurks slowly; you just don't know when it will strike.

It made me wonder what kind of writer I am.

I thought of a Whataburger with cheese. I love Whataburger,

Then I decided depending on the genre I could be Blue Bell Vanilla Bean with chocolate syrup melting down the sides into swirls of cream and caramel.

Or I could just be a writer.

Or better yet, just try to be.

Dancing With the Stars Wannabe. That's me.....

A Dollar’s Worth

By Alisa Dollar

I have always accused husband of selective hearing. I think I have it also.

A co-worker and I went to a business expo where vendors give pens and note pads to advertise their product.

I tend to get lost so co-worker became my “person.”

Person was talking to a nice looking, well dressed young man. I thought he was one of our students. As it turned out he was Person’s daughter’s boyfriend.

I really know how to make an impression. At least an impression which left him thankful Person was his girlfriend’s mom and not me.

He represented a dance studio in town. I told him husband and I dance, but husband was interested in only Western Swing and I didn’t know if I could get him to take ballroom dancing.

Dancer said that his studio taught many different types which included Western Swing, country and ballroom. He went on to say the ballroom dances were foxtrot, waltz, tango, Latin, quickstep and samba.

“Excuse me?”

“Yes?” He answered expectantly.

“Did you say lap dance?”

The very minute it came out of my mouth and I saw the look on Dancer’s and Person’s face I knew I’d not only misunderstood but probably insulted the Ballroom Society of the World, should there be such an organization.

“No ma’am.”

With that “ma’am” I immediately recognized I’d misspoken – just like politicians today, I had my foot in my mouth and I was feasting heartily on it while wondering where in the world I’d gotten lap dance.

“I said Latin dances.” Dancer replied and by this time he and Person were laughing and I was beet red with embarrassment. Hard to believe I was embarrassed, but I was mortified.

I’m not supposed to know what a lap dance is, right? I hadn’t even seen Magic Mike.

Yet.

After we laughed and Person explained to Dancer I was relatively harmless he decided to teach me the foxtrot.

Right there.

In the middle of the floor.

With people watching.

It was really fun, after I sort of got the hang of it.

As a Dancing With the Stars addict, for one fleeting moment I had myself on the show, dancing with Maks (only he had a shirt on), doing the foxtrot thinking I’d win the mirror ball trophy.

Dancer was very nice and told me I did a good job. Person was still laughing, so I’m not sure.

I really don’t have a place for that mirror ball trophy anyway.

Forgetting is not an option-----

A Dollar’s Worth

By Alisa Dollar

Have you thanked a military person today?

In many ways we thank our military men and women. They’re not always on foreign soil, but are ready for deployment. I can’t imagine a life of never knowing – especially in the world we live in today.

It is easier to thank those still walking amongst us as we know many who have family or friends in that “ready to go” mode or are already there.

Memorial Day is much more complicated…or it is to me.

How does one thank those who’ve died? Some many years ago in eras long gone and far removed, especially from today’s generation. I was born at the end of WWII. I’ve lived through everything that’s happened since and have an understanding through study, the ‘why’s and how’s’.

The realization finally hit me that studying and knowing is not the same as remembering and honoring.

Many of us have friends who’ve served through one or more wars. While I may readily thank them, I don’t understand what they experienced. They’re also still around. I tend to forget.

It’s with that reasoning I came to understand why Memorial Day should be a bigger deal than it is. We forget sometimes because these men and women are gone.

Abruptness of seeing those graves in stark white symmetry in D.C. visually reminded me these and so many more are buried across America and elsewhere.

Yesterday, a lady in church related a story of how her brother lost his life during WWII and was buried in Holland. She said there is a group there who have buried our men and women and through the years have handed down the honor of maintaining these sites because that is the only way they knew how to thank America for all they did for them during that time.

I sat with tears of shame. I love the military and all it stands for yet felt shamed because that country honors our dead every day and has for years done what we do one day out of a year.

Life is a blessing and often taken for granted. An extra blessing was given us in freedoms granted by service men and women who've served and laid down their own lives.

America is beautiful because of the fallen.

It remains so because of our present soldiers.

Never forget – then or now.

Technology is Wonderful!

Note: Last year's Mother's Day article!

A Dollar’s Worth

By Alisa Dollar

I hope every mother had a wonderful Mother’s Day. I had a particularly good one because I got to “see” my kids even though one is in Arizona and the other in Istanbul.

Granddaughter’s been after me to download Skype, a program to make video calls and it’s free.

Bree and Speedy visit their son in Brazil on Skype, but it took granddaughter wanting me to meet her boyfriend to get myself in gear and download it. She’s convincing.

The first person I “saw” was granddaughter and boyfriend. I have to hand it to him, he’s very brave to meet Nana and Pop via cyber airwaves; between the two of us we teased beyond what one should upon first meeting. He fielded all the probing questions well. I suspect he’s a keeper.

That evening daughter was on with granddaughter and once again we had fun talking and seeing each other.

What amazing technology.

On Mother’s Day, son and daughter-in-law in Istanbul visited via Skype and it was wonderful!

Why did did it take so long to download this wonderful program? We’ve kept up on Messenger and email, but not seeing them for a year made this Mother’s Day special for me and husband.

They are having their first child this summer. Already excited, the thought of seeing her when she is first born is beyond excitement! I’ll meet her in person come September when I travel to Istanbul. Content with that, I couldn’t help but be pre-excited about Pop and I seeing her earlier.

Her Auntie and family in Arizona are equally exited.

This new baby symbolizes all that encompasses Mother’s Day.

A new life brought into a family, on both sides; eager to nurture, teach and yes, spoil.

I’ve learned over the years, a child teaches me. Anyone who takes the time can hear and/or see happiness and sadly, distress.

By texting, I know when grandchildren are happy, sad, or angry. Technology allows me to converse and hopefully shield by offering love and support.

I’m thankful to be a mom.

Moms through adoption or foster care are a special favor upon children who are gifts from God.

Moms of special needs children are just special. 

Love comes with many tests and though some are tested greatly, a mother’s love is a blessing.

May all children be blessed by the nurturing love of a mother.

My Lyrical Mind......

A Dollar’s Worth

By Alisa Dollar

There’s a song by George Strait that is awesome. It was written by Hank Cochran who recently passed away. It’s called “The Chair” and basically George walks into a dance hall and starts crooning to to some woman by saying “Well excuse me but I think that's my chair.....”

I am a lyrics person. I rarely listen to George Strait although I do admire his Wrangler ads. The only reason I know who Mr. Cochran was is because after playing 20 questions the other day with husband, I learned he wrote one of my favorite songs which happens to be by George Strait.

When we lived in Temple and would drive anywhere, husband would stick his CDs in the car player (at that time he didn’t have an MP3 which I have since remedied for his ears only) this song came up. He asked me to listen. I was immediately drawn in as he knew I would be.

I had this guy's chair it seems. No I wasn’t with anyone, oh you either? Yes, I’d love to dance. You get the message of this song?

When it was over I was really quiet.

Husband asked “So, what do you think?”

“Who was that?”

“George Strait.”

“The guy in the Wranglers?”

He’s laughing by now but placated me and said yes.

I remained quiet. I mean how do you tell your husband that within the realm of what? Five or less minutes I was in a dance hall, apparently alone and this guy lumbers over to me and insists I’m sitting in his chair and we strike up a conversation, dance and then I let him take me home!

It took me awhile to figure out that George is the only one in the song that talks and “I” answered every question! What a clever song and sneaky way to entice a lyric person like me.

I remained quiet but he pressured me. I knew it was because he knew exactly what I’d done (in my mind) because he knows me so well and I write romance fiction!

I didn’t budge.

“So….what did you think about that song?” He just wouldn’t let it go.

I tried to decide how to let him how my overworked, over creative, crazy and visual mind works.

Finally I answered. 

 “So how much do you like George Strait?”

He laughed because he does know how my mind works!