Catch you on the flip side

Back in the days of vinyl records, a radio disc jockey might say, "Catch you on the flip side!" indicating the next selection played would actually be both sides of the record without interruption. Listeners were pleased to have more music. The disc jockey was probably pleased to have extra off mike time for a health break or to set up things in the studio for the rest of the show.

My mother used to say, "The Lord was with me," when she found a good parking spot. She did not, however, believe the flip side of that experience. That is, she did not believe that she was being punished or was unworthy when she didn't find a close by space. What she was really doing was acknowledging a blessing.

The 'catch you on the flip side' phrase came to mind as I prepare to take a break from these Monday musings for probably a month. I was reminded of the second the other day when I found myself thinking the same thing in the Costco parking lot. A moment of reflection led me to the flip side realization about my mother. That is how these musings come together. One thing makes me think of another and I see an interesting connection. The process often starts with a phrase. 

While I'm off playing both sides of the record for a few weeks, I challenge you to shoot me a reply (text, email, etc.) when a phrase that intrigues you runs through your mind or crosses your path. Help me plant a garden for future musings. 

It has been rare of late for me to express my gratitude for faithful readers. You are the flip side of why I write and I am so grateful you are there. It is one thing to pen an idea, string thoughts together and find the result rewarding. It is another to hope that what I crafted might mean something to another person. There is a moment of anxiety every week when I press the publish button on the screen, putting my words out in the universe. Then someone says thanks or shares a similar story or is grateful for a reminder of something from their past. So thanks for being my flip side all these years.

Meanwhile, take good care. See you later, alligator!

Marilyn

The pockets of my life

In 7th grade, while the boys constructed birdhouses in Shop, all the girls made themselves a skirt in Home Ec. The skirt was an A-line design that closed down the front with five or six large buttons. One homework assignment was shopping for the material and notions. In class, we cut the pattern, sewed the seams and button holes. The last step before hemming was the pockets. My skirt was red and I wanted candy-striped bric brac around the pocket edges and to position the pockets at an angle, but that did not follow the pattern. I stifled my creativity for a decent grade.

Fast forward a couple of years and our skirts got shorter while the guys' jeans got tighter and you could see the outline of everything in their back pockets. Romantic dancing (when we weren't doing the twist or the mashed potato) was when we put our hands in those very pockets. A classmate with a pocket protector automatically was put in the nerd category, even if he wore those tight jeans.

Where I grew up we called a purse or handbag a pocketbook, but whatever you name it, it really is a catchall for the necessities. The list of necessities grows or shrinks with popular trends and one's stage of life. My car keys remain in my coat pocket and lip balm in my pants pocket. Speaking of pants, why do they make pants without pockets? Even in my workout attire I need a place for the locker key.

We've all known someone who keeps their hands in their pockets and jiggles the keys or pennies. Perhaps you've been a member of the day-before-payday club, searching through pockets for that forgotten five or ten dollar bill or someone who does the same on laundry day in search of quarters. I'm sure you've done what I've done and left a tissue in a pocket which is so much fun at the end of the wash cycle.

There are inside pockets or ones that zip for security to hinder the pickpockets of the world. Men once needed a special space for their pocket watches. Now there are pita pockets, weather pockets, pocket knives and a pocket app to store important stuff. Deep pockets, whether literal or figurative, provide a lot of room for storage or a lot of support, be that a good or bad thing. Shallow pockets leave little space, so one had better be certain how to maximize what's there. Pockets get lined and the better the garment, the better the lining material. Pockets get lined and the more corrupt the person or the issue, the worse for the rest of us.

Just like at low points in our own lives, in this unprecedented road to the presidency, collectively we need a pocketful of miracles. Perhaps we need to individually become the magician who pulls a long colorful scarf out of their breast pocket by getting more involved in the process.

Marilyn