How I Learned to Be Careful With Cash or Nonna Strikes Again!

How I Learned to Be Careful With Cash

Or 

Nonna Strikes Again!

One day when I was fifteen years old, I walked into my bedroom and confronted a frightening sight. My normally messy desk had been cleared. I chased down my sisters and accused them of getting into my personal stuff. They were loudly denying any part in this crime when my grandmother, Nonna, strolled into the room. 

She stopped our argument with a simple, “They didn’t touch your desk. I did. Your desk was messy so I straightened it up.” 

“What did you do with the envelopes on top?” I asked.

“I threw them away,” Nonna answered.

“But they had my birthday money in them!” I wailed.

“Well,” she said, “you should have been more careful with them then.”

I couldn’t believe how callous Nonna was! How could she so lightly dismiss my loss? I searched the trash to no avail. I took my case to my parents who (Can you believe this?) sided with Nonna. If I had something valuable, it was my job to keep it safe. 

It took me years to get over this. All of us kids knew that Nonna was a human vacuum cleaner. She followed along behind all ten of us (six kids, two parents, our cat and our dog) and put things away. 

My brother maintained that Nonna was a practical joker. You would leave something --like shoes, books, or a jacket -- lying around just where you knew you would find it and, at the most inconvenient moment, when friends were at the door or the school bus was on the corner, you’d go back to find it gone. After a frantic search, we’d always find it where we never thought to look – where it belonged. Once fixing my hair, I stopped to answer the phone. I returned in seconds to find my brushes and barrettes neatly put away. Nonna had struck again!

I never got my money back but I learned a valuable lesson that day -- actually two. First, I learned to take better care of my valuables. While I still might find the occasional dollar in the wash, I usually know exactly where all of my treasures are kept. Second, I learned that Nonna and my parents wanted me to be responsible. I can just imagine this scene today. Teenager carelessly leaves cash lying around. Grandmother cleans up. Teen screams. Grandmother and parents scramble to replace the cash, sorting through the recycling bag or pulling it from their own pockets. What kind of a lesson will these kids learn?

Nonna struck many more times after that. We were slow studies; it took us a long time to learn to put things away. We were blessed to have Nonna with us for many years. We learned to keep our valuables safe, but more importantly, we learned that Nonna and the lessons she taught us were our most priceless treasures. 

Today, when I pick up a dropped sock or put some change in my wallet I think, “Lesson learned, Nonna. Thanks!”

Perception

Perception

The way I see it, anytime you can remove your own clothing at the hospital, you are ahead of the game. Let me explain.

Several years ago, my dear little sister had a job delivering pizza. One evening, I got a call telling me that she had been in an accident and that I needed to get to the hospital STAT. I jumped in the car and raced to the hospital. When I arrived, they told me that my sister was in intensive care. They handed me a bag of her belongings. Inside were the clothes they had cut off of her when she was taken in. My sister recovered but I never forgot that bag of shredded clothes.

Recently, I was admitted to the hospital. I was told to remove all of my clothes and put them in a bag which they then handed to my husband for safe-keeping. I felt very vulnerable waiting in that oh-so-fashionable hospital gown, but I was glad that I had walked in on my own two feet, and was reasonably sure, that I would walk out the same way. I did.

One never knows when life will throw us a curve. We may find ourselves in circumstances over which we have no control.  Someday, we might have our clothes figuratively cut off. We will not be given a choice. So while we still have choices, we should remember to be grateful.

When I was young, my brother and I were goofing around in the family room. My grandmother, Nana, was caring for us while my parents were out of town, and we were giving her a run for her money. My brother was jumping on the couch. I started to tattle, when my brother, to shut me up, gave me a shove. I fell, seemingly in slow motion, across the room and banged my head into the wall. I howled. Nana came running.

Nana took one look at the situation and reacted as all grandmothers did back then, -- she grabbed the nearest thing she could, in this case her slipper, and started whaling on my brother. I ran into the kitchen, hands on my head and bent over in “agony” while reveling in my brother’s so-well-deserved comeuppance. 

I didn’t really feel hurt but was putting on a good show, when I thought to myself, “Why does my hand feel so sticky?” I pulled it off my head to find it covered in blood. Then I really began to howl. Nana raced into the kitchen to call a neighbor to take me to the hospital, exclaiming, “Thank God I washed your hair last night!” 

That day, I walked in and out of the hospital. I’ve done that many times since. I don’t want to do it again, but I am going to remember when I do, that walking in raises my chances of walking out. Removing my own clothing, as small as that move may seem, is a measure of the control I have over my own health. And if the time comes when I lose that control, I pray that my family will be there to hold my clothes – support me with their love – and walk with me wherever I go.