“Sugar and Spice and everything nice. That’s what little girls are made of.” Do you remember that rhyme from your childhood? Do children even learn these rhymes anymore? My reading indicated that sugar and spice is characterizing girls as being sweet and friendly. I would like to provide an alternate line of thinking on the spice reference. That spice description might be a nod to us sassy girls. Maybe spicey girls grow up to be sassy women. Sassy women bring a bit more oomph to the table. You never know what they might say or how they might react, but I can assure you there’s a brain behind that mouth, and if you’re really lucky, a great sense of humor. They have a tendency to verbalize what others are thinking, but won’t say out loud. Let’s talk about the making and substance of a sassy woman.
I can attribute my earliest memory of hearing the word sassy to my Grandmama. She came from the generation where you did not question or talk back to adults. I believe she was the first person to ever tell me I had a sassy mouth. My response at the time was “I am not sassy. I just know what I am talking about.” I did not consider myself being disrespectful, but the need to ask questions and express my thoughts were like breathing to me. I definitely do not have a passive personality. I heard someone describe themself as a skeptic the other day. Looking back, I think I was a skeptic with a side of sass way back. I didn’t just take what people told me at face value. I had questions, and I had my own thoughts on the world around me. So….characteristic number one…..a sassy woman is a thinking woman.
Sass is not the same for every woman or little girl. It can manifest in different ways. Sassy women tend to dress with a little more flair at times. They might go along with the trends or they might go their own way, and create their own style. For me, it’s cowgirl boots. As I’ve written before, I love westerns. My red cowgirl boots are one of my prized possessions, and when paired with the right outfit, you know my sassy persona is on the scene. And…you better watch out for those girls wearing animal print. Of course, on the weekend, I love to wear my jeans, a short sleeve wrangler shirt, and my hat. It might be a straw hat for when I go out to the farm or an oilskin hat that I ordered from Outback Trading Post. That hat is currently my favorite. For other sassy women, it might be high heels and an on point hair do. It varies from woman to woman, but sass is the common denominator. For those of you from Generation X on back, you might remember Flo from the tv show Mel’s Dinner. Now she was the epitome of sass. You mostly only saw her in her diner uniform on the show, but that head of big styled red hair gave you a warning. She would tell you “kiss my grits” in a heartbeat. So…characteristic number two…..sass presents in different ways.
Do men want a woman that goes along with everything they say, and a woman that doesn’t voice her opinion? My husband might say yes. I am sure he has thought his life would be calmer had he chosen a more docile woman. Good fortune shone down on him though. He got a woman that can be fiery and passionate. I am not talking about the lust kind of passionate, but a woman that is passionate about life and her family. She will have your back, but will also let you know when you are not towing the line. A man with a sassy woman, if he’s truly tuned in, will always know where he stands with her. Brad Paisley best summed up this kind of woman in his song “She’s Everything.” “She’s a fighter when she’s mad And she’s a lover when she’s loving.” The character, Blanche Devereaux, on the 80’s tv sitcom The Golden Girls was just that. A lover and a fighter when the situation called for it. So….characteristic number three….a sassy woman can be a great wife for the right man.
I started out as a sweet little girl with budding signs of sass. Life has thrown curve balls at me over the years, and the sass faltered at times. Experience, life events, and the passing of time will hone that sass like nothing else. Know that with a sassy woman you will at some point know what she’s thinking. If she’s quiet, give her time. She might be getting ready to unleash the beast on you, and more than likely, give you an earful. Conversations with these types of people are the best. The cadence and banter of sassy and fun loving people will brighten your day. Just so you know…men can be sassy and cheeky as well. I believe we all start out as sweet. At least, most of us do. Some people though, at times, I question if they even have a pulse. Sass might be considered an undesirable attribute in a little girl, but don’t completely subdue it. Don’t kill that spark. That sass will serve that girl well as she grows into a woman. She will think for herself. Stand up for herself and others. That sass will see her through the good and bad times. This post is dedicated to all the sassy women out there. May we continue to take life head on and push forward with, as the French say, a joie de vivre.
One more thing….for added emphasis when speaking, make sure you put that hand on your hip.
I was reading an article when I woke up one morning earlier this week. Something I do most mornings in an effort to ease into the day. My sweet disposition has to percolate and come to fruition like my morning coffee. My reading that morning referenced middle aged people. It got me to thinking…what age is considered middle aged? Well….let me tell you. Middle age covers the ages from 45-65. It was a light bulb moment for me! I’ve been middle aged for five years, and didn’t know it!! That might explain some things. Some changes in my body, my mind, my taste, and my attitude. Recently, my husband and I were sitting on the couch one evening after work talking. I made some remark. His reply was “you’ve gotten a little bit salty.” I guess he was talking about my sassiness which is more prevalent these days. I later told a friend close to my age what my husband had said. Her response was…”well, if I see a Salt Life sticker on the back of your SUV, it’s safe to assume it’s not about your love of the beach.” We both laughed. So with all that said, let’s talk about what these middle years bring to the table now that I’m apparently five years deep into this chapter of my life.
The focus always seems to be on the Big 50, but now I am thinking the emphasis needs to be placed on the Big 45. Attention…you have now entered the Middle Years of your life! There’s a newsflash that would have gotten my attention. Sure, I’ve been feeling my age. Hearing the snap crackle pops when I get up in the morning. Don’t get me started on the gray hair. The last few years I’ve gone through phases of accepting it’s arrival to… it’s time to cover that mess up. Don’t even mention my eyesight. I recently thought to myself…I need to put a magnifying glass in my kitchen to read medicine bottles, recipes, and instructions on that box of brownie mix. My eye doctor asked me last year if I was ready to transition to bifocals. I thought to myself…”have you lost your mind man?!” You’re talking to a person who was in denial at the age of 30 when I was told I needed glasses. Giving no thought to the fact that both my parents and all of my grandparents wore glasses. I even teased my husband when the AARP junk mail started showing up when he turned 50 a couple of years ago. I was oblivious that 50 was sneaking up on me, and middle age completely sneaked (snunk sounds better down South) up on me, and had been flying really low on my radar. This new, at least to me, revelation got me to thinking. What has happened in my life the past five years to the point that I completely missed the memo that I was now “officially” middle aged.
A few major events did happen in 2016. My husband and I sold our “dream” house that we had built 12 years earlier. It had taken us three years to sell. Maybe subconsciously, we sensed change was in the air. Middle age was approaching, and our dreams were changing. Dreams, hope, and goals are what have carried my husband and I through thirty plus years of marriage. Our dreams may change, but our commitment to pushing forward never diminishes. I remember the conversation between my husband and I. We loved our neighborhood, but decided we were not neighborhood people. It had been a great neighborhood to raise our boys in, but we were ready for some wide open spaces. My husband loves animals and working in the yard. We lived in a small trailer in a trailer park when we first got married. No..we were not trailer trash, and if we were, we were classy trailer trash. Making our way in the world. No mama and daddy money. We didn’t have much, but I guarantee you we had the best yard in the park, and our yard has been that way everywhere we have ever lived since. We also thought a move to the country would be good for our boys. Fishing, hunting, and dirt road living. I know it’s not for everyone, but it is for us. So here we are still working on making that dream a reality. We will hopefully build the home that will carry us into our Senior years (say what?!) in the near future. In 2017, my mother went through a rough medical patch. To the point that my sister and I were looking at personal care homes for her. My sister and I were having to help our mother with grocery shopping, doctor visits, paying bills, etc. Thankfully, our mom bounced back, but I still help her as needed. Then came a major blow in 2018 as I have discussed in my previous blog posts. My sister was diagnosed with colon cancer at the age of 42. That turned our world upside down. Funny how things can really go sideways in a very unexpected way. As a family, we are still coming to terms with her loss this past November. You might say I was too distracted by life to even realize this new juncture of life had crept up on me. We have lost family and friends that we loved dearly. These life events change you. They shape you. I was busy living and surviving.
So where are you at 50? Did middle age sneak up on you? By 50, you should have enough life experience under your belt to know what truly brings you joy and contentment. That doesn’t mean that you will not continue to grow and evolve as a person, but you should have a better understanding of yourself. It won’t be like your teens and 20’s where you were floundering around trying to find your way. I look back on some of my decisions wondering what in the world was I thinking?! I tell myself.. “You were doing the best you knew how.” I was still in training. I’m sure we can all say we are not the same people we once were. By this time in life most of us have given marriage a go at least once. More for some people. You have a better idea of what you will and will not tolerate in a relationship and life in general. I know it took years for my husband and I to fine tune the marriage we have now, and I can honestly say it’s been worth it. Most of us at this age have children. I have two sons. My boys are older, and don’t need me as much as they used to. However, they are quick to ask me to cook their favorite meal or dessert. Gotta feed the beasts. Some of my peers even have grandchildren. I’m not rushing that one for the time being. A lot of us have parents that are older, and now require help from us. So…there is a constant pull from family, children, our parents, and work. It is always about finding balance. Keeping all the balls that you’re juggling in the air.
At this age, I find myself withdrawing from the rat race. I don’t feel the need to impress anyone, and I am not impressed by much. However, I am very impressed by well-mannered and courteous people with a work ethic. Something in short supply these days. I thoroughly enjoy my morning commute once I have dropped my youngest son and his friend off at school. Time for me. Time to pull myself together and brace myself for the crazy demanding work day ahead. Time for coffee and a tidbit of a podcast. Podcasts? That is a fairly new favorite way to pass time for me. Lunch time? No fanfare for me. When I do go to lunch with a friend or two in my core group, we are truly engaged in discussing what is going on in each other’s lives. I could care less about their new shoes or pocketbook (or is it purse?). We discuss our children, our jobs, our frustrations, and our joys. Most days you can find me in solitude on my lunch break. Sitting in my car, eating my lunch, and maybe watching a Cooking with Brenda Gantt video. It doesn’t bother me one bit to sit right there in my car by myself. I would call this “me” time. Time to veg out, but it’s really not. It’s me tuning into what I really want. Taking time to soothe my sometimes weary soul. This age brings about a better understanding of yourself and those you choose to surround yourself with because face it, we don’t have time or patience for anything else.
Fifty…the BIG 50. The first quarter of my middle years are done. I know where I’ve been, and I have a better sense of where I am going. Even with that, I also know that our paths can diverge or divert to another route at a moment’s notice. As the saying goes..”Life happens.” It’s in the happening that you should find your balance. Your equilibrium. Even though times may be uncertain, you’ve been in uncharted waters before, but you now have the knowledge and experience to guide you through. Some might call it getting a little long in the tooth. I’ll take that. I’ve earned it. Choppy waters are not unknown to me. I do know I have always come out on the other side. Maybe a little worse for wear, but I made it. I bounce back stronger than ever. I have survived every bad day and event that has happened in my life thus far. I’m going to hit this 6th decade of my life head on. Embrace it and keep moving forward. There’s no going back.
I woke up different that day. I had received a call in the early morning hours, and then cried myself back to sleep. It was a call I had known for a while that would come. No matter how prepared you think you are, you will never be ready for that call. I got up knowing what needed to be done. I had an hour’s drive ahead of me. A conversation that would have to take place. Plans that would need to be made. I got ready while in a state of shock and disbelief. I could not wrap my head around what my loved ones and I had been through, and what the next few days would bring for all of us. All I wanted to do was get back in bed, and pull the covers over my head. As the lyrics to Ray Price’s song now rang so true …..”Make the world go away.”
I have always been partial to traveling rural highways as opposed to the ever busy interstate. The slow and steady pace is more my speed. Slowly driving along to take the countryside in. Maybe stop at a roadside stand selling farm fresh tomatoes, and buying some boiled peanuts for the road. Watching the farmers till the land that would put food on our tables. Looking at all the old farm homesteads. Beautiful old houses that had been filled with loving and hardworking families so many years ago. Now just faded memories filled those walls. My grandfather had been the one to teach me how to drive. He always put me behind the wheel whether driving on the interstate or on the slower paced back roads. I didn’t know it at the time, but so many of the things he taught me was to prepare me for a world I would live in when he was gone. People driving on the interstate are always in such a rush to get where they are going. I was in no rush that day. I had traveled these roads so many times growing up and as an adult. I could probably make the trip in my sleep. I drove along. Playing all my favorite old country songs. Merle Haggard…”Going Where the Lonely Go.” I drove along as if in a time warp. Time stood still. The drive I had made so many times seemed to go on forever. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind I wished it would. Forever stuck in that moment, and not having to confront what lay ahead.
A little more than halfway to my destination, on the outskirts of a small country town, I spotted the two graves that I always take notice of when traveling this rural road. So close to the side of this rural highway. I have often thought to stop, look at the dates and names of the two individuals that are resting there in peace. At least, I hope in peace. So near the side of the road. What were the circumstances of their death? Did their loved ones feel the immense void at their death that I now felt? Why were they buried on the side of the road? Mental note to research how long this rural highway had been in use, and possibly dig up the story behind the demise of these two souls. I’m curious like that.
I remember being almost to where I was going when I saw the most beautiful field of sunflowers. It was almost the middle of November, but it did not strike me as odd for sunflowers to be in full bloom that time of year. Seeing those sunflowers standing tall gave me inspiration that I had been looking for. My sister had always loved sunflowers. She would have loved seeing this field full of her favorite flower.
I drove on. Ever nearing my final destination. My time on the highway time warp was coming to an end. I pulled up at my mother’s home. Got out of my car. My legs felt like concrete. It was all I could do to sit down on the sofa. Trying to figure out how to say what I was there to say. Of course, my preference is to always be direct and straightforward. No need to sugar coat the cold hard heartbreaking truth. I was there to tell my mother that her youngest daughter and my only sister was dead. I sat there trying to be strong. Hold it all together. I wanted to scream my head off. Punch a hole in the wall. Raw grief that can only subside with time. But….I had to hold it together for my mother. I had to be strong because I was in no shape to deal with her. For over two years, I had been by my sister’s side as she fought cancer. I had been filling the gap for our mother while first and foremost being there as her sister. There are people that hit life head on. Take what life throws at them. Push through the hard times. People that do the heavy lifting that this world demands, and there are those that rely on those types of people. Our mother is not one of the heavy lifter types, and I have come to terms with that. That is a story for another time. I would have been by my sister’s side regardless. I had watched how cancer, multiple surgeries, numerous hospitalizations, and chemotherapy slowly ate away at her body and strength. However, cancer never stole her spirit, tenacity, and love of life. My beautiful and full of life baby sister.
Circling back to the field of sunflowers I saw on the way to my mother’s house. When I went into my mother’s house, and sat on the sofa, the first thing I really noticed was a ceramic vase with sunflowers on her table. That was my moment of confirmation. I had my answer. My brother-in-law had called me again sometime in the early morning once I was on the road to the town my mother and sister lived in. He had given me a run down of what we needed to do that day. One thing he had said was that he wanted my mom and I to pick out the spray for my sister’s casket. At the moment, I was still numb, and could not even believe that we were having this conversation. I remember thinking at the time that roses were beautiful, but really would not do justice to the beautiful vibrant woman my sister had been. Her spray would have sunflowers, day lilies, and greenery with butterflies inserted. She loved butterflies and sunflowers. Ladybugs and day lilies were my favorites.
I had known this day was inevitable. I remember being so angry with my mother when she had called me one day on my lunch break from work a few months before my sister passed to tell me we needed to start thinking about what we would wear to my sister’s funeral. I had had the same thoughts, but never in a million years would I have verbalized them. To verbalize was to make this nightmare a reality. An inevitable part of my sister’s cancer journey. Yet here my mom and I were, my sister barely cold, and we were having to find appropriate clothes because that’s just what you do. Thankfully, most funerals are not as formal as they once were. Men in full suits. Ladies in black dresses and black shoes with stockings. My sister and I were never ones to wear dresses. You will be hard to find many pictures with us wearing dresses as grown women. Now…the two of us as little girls with a grandmother that loved to dress us up is another story. Eventually, my mother and I found outfits that we were satisfied with. I knew the next day would involve taking my husband and our two sons shopping. I would make sure they would be dressed to make my sister proud. They would end up wearing khakis, white dress shirts, and matching purple ties. I wore a purple blouse. Purple was one of my sister’s favorite colors. Until that afternoon at the funeral home, I had not even thought about what my sister would wear. Thankfully, one of her friends had picked out an outfit that was perfect. My brain was on auto-pilot, but yet in a fog. I know my sister’s husband and sons were the same way. To have people step in, and help means the world.
My brother-in-law called me when their preacher stopped by the house to discuss Mendy’s funeral. He wanted to speak to her family. To hear our memories. To make my sister real at her funeral. To tell of the love she had for her family, friends, and fur babies. We all stood in the kitchen. Some seated. I was standing. Trying to hold it together. That preacher did not have enough time for me to tell him of the memories I had of my sister. Forty-four years as my baby sister. How do you condense that down to a few words that would ever do justice to her? How I, as a five year old, playing on our front porch with all my Little Golden Books spread out on the porch (my love of books started at a very early age), and I remember praying to God. “Please send me a little sister.” And..he did. She would be my only sibling. Would this preacher be able to comprehend the bond that my sister and I had? We had been through so many trying times together. So many shared experiences and memories. We were different, but yet so much alike. Would this preacher be able to convey what a wonderful wife, mother, sister, daughter, aunt, and friend she was? He would be able to say in all honesty that my sister had left a legacy of love.
We all somehow made it through visitation. Now the funeral. I got up that morning. Ironed the clothes that me and my guys (my husband and sons) would wear. I had been so busy the past few days. Just doing what had to be done. I remember feeling like I had been hit by a ton of bricks. I was in the kitchen, and had a picture of my sister, mom, and I in my hand. I told my husband that I needed to take some pictures with me to the funeral. I don’t know if I thought I would display them or what. I felt the tenuous binds holding me together coming undone. I remember breaking down. Screaming that my sister was gone. How could this have happened?! My little sister was gone. No more daily phone calls. Talking about our boys. She also has two sons. She was going to miss her youngest son’s high school graduation. She would miss seeing grandbabies. She loved children. Talking about our husbands. Sharing the latest shenanigans that our mother was up to. Planning a road trip that we would take when she was well. We had always been in the same book, same chapter, and in the same sentence. All of it was gone. I pulled myself together. As I have always done. I needed to be strong for our mom, my guys, and Mendy’s guys.
Mendy’s funeral was beautiful. The flowers, her in her casket with the beautiful spray, and the video which showed the life she had built with love and happiness. Family and friends gathered to say one final goodbye to her. Butterflies, another favorite of hers, were released at her graveside service.
The road of life we all travel has many hills, valleys, curves, and rough patches. Sometimes the road can have a pure blow out. There can be the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. Along the way, if we’re lucky we also experience immense love. The part of my life’s journey that had me walking with my sister during her cancer battle brought sadness, desperation, frustration, fear, hope, denial, acceptance, and ultimately a truer understanding of how fleeting life can be. You’ve got to love hard because in the end love is all you have.
I woke up contrary to any way I had ever known the day my sister died. My vision of the world had been dimmed, and only time would slowly bring color back into my world. Robert Frost’s poem “Nothing Gold Can Stay” truly speaks to me. My sister was solid gold.
The Good Stuff with Stella Elaine 