Last night, I had the privilege of working with, and watching work, a group of young women as they went about organizing a consignment sale of monumental proportions. Let me just say, Congress could learn a thing or two from these women. They are efficient, hard-working (a gross understatement), organized, and deeply committed to running the best consignment sale possible in the most consignor, volunteer, shopper friendly way. This is the 12th sale, and all proceeds go to supporting various charities that benefit children. That could not be more appropriate, for all they sell are children's items.....lots and lots and lots of children's items.
These women are wise enough to adjust and readjust procedures in order to improve the sale each and every time. Hey, Congress, are you listening? In past sales, I have been the "bouncer." The "bouncer" ties a ribbon on strollers and other conveyances shoppers bring with them to hold their purchases. We do not want to make someone pay for a stroller they brought with them. Upon the shoppers' departure, the bouncer then checks to be sure that they have only the number of items for which they paid. Let me just say, if I was a bouncer at a bar, a lot of underage people would get served. I am not very forceful.
I thought bouncing took nerves of steel. Last night I was one of several "screeners." Thank heaven for that little feisty redhead who commandeered that area. She was the one who had to break the news to the consignors that certain items were in the reject pile. That sounds so harsh, but they cannot be putting out clothes with stains, missing buttons, signs of excessive wear, or inappropriate slogans. The screeners were told to be very picky. Those who know me best know that pickiness is not really in my repetoire, but I had a co-worker who trained me well. I was tossing things right and left. Nevermind that I had to go through my co-worker's things. Before it had really dawned on me (I'm not the swiftest) that these were my co-worker's items, I asked for advice from the head honchos about a T-shirt for a little boy that said "My Mom is Hot." As we pondered the appropriateness of the slogan, it dawned on me that it was my preacher's sons who owned that shirt, and probably he is the one who bought it. Determining the 'hotness" of the preacher's wife is not my bailiwick, but I will say that she is one of the most delightful people with which to spend time. "My Mom is Hot" did not make it to the reject pile, so hopefully, some other little boy with a "hot" mom will be found wearing that shirt in the near future.
Some people are more gracious than others about their rejects. I heard one woman say, "two things rejected, that's not so bad." I happen to know that our little feisty redhead was berated by one consignor over something I had rejected. It was seriously dirty. I watched as another screener dealt with a consignor questioning every item she rejected. The screener never quit smiling, explained her reasoning for each and every item she rejected, and quietly set it aside. I was taking a little rest as I heard that consignor tell her child that "some people are just overly picky while there are others who will help you out." She also told her child that screeners let things pass when they belong to the screener's friend, but if they don't know you, they will just toss your stuff out. I am pretty certain there were no screeners there last night with some vendetta against certain consignors.
This was a spring consigment sale. The powers that be are very specific about clothes being seasonally appropriate. Sometimes it takes 2 screeners, a "floor" person, and a little feisty redhead to explain "that really a Curious George costume is not appropriate for spring. Please, bring it back in the fall when we have a costume section. You know, like for that FALL holiday known as Halloween." Makes sense to me.
Then you have the floor people. Bless their hearts. While screeners stand in one spot for hours, floor people walk miles in that same amount of time. Their job is to place everything that has been screened out onto the floor in the appropriate area. Good grief. How to decide where to put the toys had to be a very stressful event. Supposedly, the toys are sorted by age-appropriateness, and, I suppose, other important criteria. There were hundreds of toys to be placed. I heard someone ask where sippy cups go, and the reply was, "in the sippy cup section." Seriously, there is a sippy cup section. Did I mention this is a consignment sale of monumental proportions?
I loved watching the consignors as they brought in their items. Some had theirs arranged by gender and size. I mean they had this pile of clothes they had to sort, wash, pin to hangers properly, tag, price, put in their car, transport to the sale, and still they were in order. Unbelieveable. But, as amazing as that was, the consignors that brought toys, toys with tiny parts, and the parts were ALL there. I commented to one mom who had umpteen toys with all the extra parts in baggies neatly labeled, how impressed I was with her organization. She said her children were OCD and always kept everything together. I am fairly certain that this family has the spices in their cabinet organized in alphabetical order. I doubt seriously they decide which spice to use according to what falls out when the cabinet door is opened, like I do.
I related better to, although did not appreciate as much as the abovementioned consignors, those who brought their items in an array of confusion and hodgepodgeness (is that a word?). There would be some clothes, then a toy or two, a couple pair of shoes, some books, some more clothes etc. These people I understand. They were the ones who came expecting to have rejects, and who did not take that rejection personally. You've just gotta love folks like that. They laugh at themselves. They understand the concept of flavoring dinner with what falls out of the cabinet.
It was a privilege to work last night. The women who run this consignment sale have college degrees in various fields, diverse careers, children of all ages, gifts and talents extraordinaire. They are frun and bright and talented and organized and direct and pretty no-nonsense when it comes to this job. They have servant hearts. They ask no recognition for themselves. They have donated at least a couple hundred thousand dollars to missions, and playgrounds and inner city day cares and other things that help young people. I admire them more than I can say. Many of them will be back today, and tomorrow, and the next day and the next and the next and the next. They will put in countless hours to insure this sale succeeds. Their husbands are at home taking care of things so that they can serve in this manner. It takes a village. I am humbled and blessed to be part of this village. So, I'll go take my Advil for my swollen knee, aching plantar, and sore back, but, Lord, willing, I will be back in the fall to screen again.
So for today, I wish you the opportunity to serve, the participation in life bigger than yourself, and I wish you
blessings
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Saturday, February 25, 2012
What Right Do We Have?
When I go into schools and speak, sometimes I tell the story of Angus McGruffy. Angus was a bully who picked on Davy Crockett when they were children. Go figure...a one-room schoolhouse, one teacher, and still there was a bully. I tell the children that, like all bullies, Angus was stupid. My definition of stupid here is not unintelligent, but rather "lacking in understanding." I am quite certain that bullies lack the understanding of the harm they cause, the extraordinarily poor light they cast on themselves, and the peace they could have in their own lives if they would just stop their bullying. Perhaps, stupid is not the right word to use, but kids get that word, and I only have a few minutes to make the points I want to make. If I can get just one child to stop and think, then maybe those few minutes have been well-spent. What right did Angus have to pick on the younger students? None, of course. He just did it because he could. Maybe he was being bullied at home. I do not really know.
I recently heard a story about a young girl who swallowed too much medicine just in an effort to have a day of peace away from those who bullied her at school She was not trying to kill herself, she wanted one day of peace. What right does anyone have to rob the peace of another? Can you imagine? I suspect a lot of us can imagine. We have all seen bullies in action ~ parents, teachers, spouses, siblings, classmates, acquaintances. Probably, we have all been a bully at some time or another. Bullies come in all sorts of genres.
Several years ago, I was speaking at a school when a teacher, in the most inappropriate way in my opinion, called out two boys. She belittled them in front of their classmates. She embarrassed them. She set them apart from the rest of the children, and they really were not doing anything that annoying nor that disruptive. I had the sense that they were often the objects of her disdain. The truth be told, she was the inappropriate, annoying and disruptive one. She bullied them, and in my eyes, she did not make them anything but sympathetic characters. She made me want to bop her on the head. I never did enjoy time spent with that teacher. I don't know her life story. Perhaps, she had an abusive husband at home, or maybe she was raised by an abusive father, and it was what she knew. Is there a time when adults learn to overcome? Could she not have asked herself, "what right do I have to treat these students this way?"
We are probably all aware of people who bully others with their money. They make a contribution to a charity, and they think that gives them the right to demand that certain things be done their way. Or someone who threatens to "pick up their ball and go home" because things are not going their way. That is a form of bullying. Or the person, like Howard Wolowitz's mother who feigns illness when she tries to control him. That is bullying.
Some of the worst bullies I know are highly intelligent. They love to verbally bully. They can get you so addled that you couldn't spell your own name if your life depended on it. What right do they have? I read a book by a man whose father was an alcoholic, and highly intelligent. He was a terrible bully. He made everyone in the house tiptoe. He would rage if anyone made too much noise. What right did he have? Get up and go to another room, for heaven's sake. I guess he got a pass because he suffered from an addiction, and I know that has to be so very difficult to overcome, but does there come a time when we need to stop constantly thinking about ourselves, and realize what we are doing to the people around us? Is that preachy and judgmental?
I am not sure where bullying comes from. I am a person who does not really believe in conceit. I think people who come across as thinking themselves superior, are scared to death. I think people who refuse to set their own egos aside for the good of the group or the couple or the family are so insecure they have to keep their behavior going so nobody catches on. People who are confident in their abilities and in their place in this world have no need to convince anybody of anything. They have nothing to prove. They have no need to prove their superior intellect (which they may have), their vast wealth (which they may have), their extreme generosity (which they may have), their exceptional talent (which they may have), their great success (which they may have achieved),or anything else of consequence they may have. They are comfortable in their own skin. They have no need to call anyone else names. They do not need to put others down to elevate themselves.
How do we raise people to live within their own space, only reaching out to care for and love others, never reaching out to cause injury and hurt? I do not know. I do not want to be a bully, nor do I want to be the target of a bully. Mr. Lincoln is not a bully.
I recently heard a story about a young girl who swallowed too much medicine just in an effort to have a day of peace away from those who bullied her at school She was not trying to kill herself, she wanted one day of peace. What right does anyone have to rob the peace of another? Can you imagine? I suspect a lot of us can imagine. We have all seen bullies in action ~ parents, teachers, spouses, siblings, classmates, acquaintances. Probably, we have all been a bully at some time or another. Bullies come in all sorts of genres.
Several years ago, I was speaking at a school when a teacher, in the most inappropriate way in my opinion, called out two boys. She belittled them in front of their classmates. She embarrassed them. She set them apart from the rest of the children, and they really were not doing anything that annoying nor that disruptive. I had the sense that they were often the objects of her disdain. The truth be told, she was the inappropriate, annoying and disruptive one. She bullied them, and in my eyes, she did not make them anything but sympathetic characters. She made me want to bop her on the head. I never did enjoy time spent with that teacher. I don't know her life story. Perhaps, she had an abusive husband at home, or maybe she was raised by an abusive father, and it was what she knew. Is there a time when adults learn to overcome? Could she not have asked herself, "what right do I have to treat these students this way?"
We are probably all aware of people who bully others with their money. They make a contribution to a charity, and they think that gives them the right to demand that certain things be done their way. Or someone who threatens to "pick up their ball and go home" because things are not going their way. That is a form of bullying. Or the person, like Howard Wolowitz's mother who feigns illness when she tries to control him. That is bullying.
Some of the worst bullies I know are highly intelligent. They love to verbally bully. They can get you so addled that you couldn't spell your own name if your life depended on it. What right do they have? I read a book by a man whose father was an alcoholic, and highly intelligent. He was a terrible bully. He made everyone in the house tiptoe. He would rage if anyone made too much noise. What right did he have? Get up and go to another room, for heaven's sake. I guess he got a pass because he suffered from an addiction, and I know that has to be so very difficult to overcome, but does there come a time when we need to stop constantly thinking about ourselves, and realize what we are doing to the people around us? Is that preachy and judgmental?
I am not sure where bullying comes from. I am a person who does not really believe in conceit. I think people who come across as thinking themselves superior, are scared to death. I think people who refuse to set their own egos aside for the good of the group or the couple or the family are so insecure they have to keep their behavior going so nobody catches on. People who are confident in their abilities and in their place in this world have no need to convince anybody of anything. They have nothing to prove. They have no need to prove their superior intellect (which they may have), their vast wealth (which they may have), their extreme generosity (which they may have), their exceptional talent (which they may have), their great success (which they may have achieved),or anything else of consequence they may have. They are comfortable in their own skin. They have no need to call anyone else names. They do not need to put others down to elevate themselves.
How do we raise people to live within their own space, only reaching out to care for and love others, never reaching out to cause injury and hurt? I do not know. I do not want to be a bully, nor do I want to be the target of a bully. Mr. Lincoln is not a bully.
This past Saturday he and I started out on a lovely little adventure....breakfast at Puckett's with a gift card Marshall and Sheri gave us for Christmas. I took my camera in order to get some good pictures. Puckett's was crowded, so Mr. Lincoln waited at the restaurant while I walked around and took some photos. Turns out that I did not get any shots because my SD card was not in the camera, and apparently this new camera does not have internal memory. We had a lovely breakfast, and then he agreed to go with me to the antique mall so that I could buy a wedding present. This man does not like to go to antique malls, but he neither balked nor complained. In fact he made quite the funny joke about some walking cane he saw, saying it was used to darn Paul Bunyan's socks. Guess you had to be there, huh? I found a gift, and we headed home.
Coming through Brentwood, we were stopped by the police. What in the world? We were not speeding. We did not run a stoplight. What in the world? Well, our tags were expired on the car. Did I mention that we were in my car? They expired in December. Oops. When the officer asked to see Mr. Lincoln's driver's license, low and behold, it was not in his wallet. Oh, my goodness, this is not good. When the officer asked about my insurance card, the most recent one I found expired in '08. This just gets better and better. The officer was lovely, and only gave us a ticket for the expired tags and not for driving without a license, nor for the lack of an insurance card. My point here, is that Mr. Lincoln possibly had the right to rail against my inefficiency and failure to take care of things. He could have been legitimately angry, and let it boil over into bullying. But, he did not. Because he does not. Because he most always asks himself in such instances, "will this matter in 5 years?" Of course, it won't matter in 5 years. It doesn't matter today. He had my car tested Saturday afternoon, I got my tags yesterday, and it just doesn't matter. He did not need to call me names, belittle me, nor try to make me feel stupid. He could have. Possibly, he had a right to, but, no, he did not have a right to. I made a mistake. He got that. He may have known that if he had really pitched a fit that I would have told him it was all his fault for paying for me to be in Florida for the month of January. Could that logic be any more askew?
This has just been on my mind. In the few mediations I have done, almost always a bully can be identified in domestic assault cases. These are usually physical bullies, but physical harm often times is not nearly as damaging as emotional harm. Even though bullies are stupid, the most intelligent ones are the most harmful.
So for today, I wish you the confidence to realize that you are fearfully and wonderfully made, the confidence to know that all those with whom you come in contact are also fearfully and wonderfully made...in the image of God, Himself, and I wish you
blessings
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Sighs of Relief, Shouts of Thanksgiving
For a month, my sister has been dealing with the scare of breast cancer. She had a mammogram, because she had found some sort of lump. While she was in Florida, hanging out with my mom and me, a letter came to her house saying that she needed to follow up. Fortunately, her husband failed to tell her of the letter while she was away, so, definitely, ignorance was bliss. There was certainly nothing that could have been done while she was in Florida, and I am fairly certain that she would not have been inclined toward coming home early if she had known. I am grateful that he spared us that worry.
Upon her return home, she made an appointment for a compression mammogram (what do they think the other kind is ~ that's my question) and an ultrasound. As a result, they wanted her to have a needle biopsy. She went for the needle biopsy at which time they did another ultrasound and the word "tentacles" was brought into the conversation. Do not google, "can a breast lump with tentacles be benign?" Nothing much good comes from that little search. They decided not to do the needle biopsy because this thing with the tentacles would have to come out anyway. Also, came the unwelcome news that the surgeon was out of town for the next two weeks.
So, here we all are waiting to hear from this "golf ball sized tumor with tentacles." You would not think that something the size of a golf ball could wield so much power over so many people. We all began to solicit prayers on her behalf as we waited and tried not to fret. Dozens, if not hundreds, of people were praying for her. I certainly uttered many a day...every time I mentioned my future grandchildren and their parents...so trust me, that is a lot of times a day. As I mentioned in a previous blog, I believe in just coming out and asking, "Lord, please do not let her have cancer."
Last Friday was the day for the lumpectomy. We waited to hear, hoping that in some way by its appearance, this thing would reveal its true nature. It did not. The best we got was, "if it is malignant, we caught it very early." There was great comfort in that, but being the older sister by 15 years, I just did not want to have to watch her and her family go through this trial known as cancer. I have many friends, young women, who have had to live through that. They are all doing well, now, it seems, but the struggle was mighty; the physical and emotional pain extreme. Sometimes (really all the time), you just would like for those you love to be spared.
So, the weekend proved to be a waiting game. Through it all, she was the one who seemed most at peace. I felt quite unglued, even though I tried not to show it to her. I know my mother was extremely anxious. Meals were cooked for the family. My precious niece came home from college for the weekend with two friends. She knows her mama well, and knew that the excitement of house guests would keep minds occupied and spirits elevated.
My sister was very sore from the surgery. The golf ball thing with tentacles was described by one as "a small, round, knot" and by another, "a peach-pit sort of thing." She has a tendency to sit and suffer without taking Advil or Tylenol. I'm not sure why. She walked a dog, after being told not to, and was certain that she had popped a stitch. Again, I do not know why, exactly, but that is just my sister. She was insistent that she was going by herself today to get the results of the pathology. I had to work, but my mother was more insistent that she would not go by herself. Her husband went.
The morning found me driving to Unionville to speak. It found my sister's two younger children home from school, sick, and my mother going to tend to them. Actually, they tend to her, because they are precious young people, and she kept them occupied as we waited. I finished my talk at Community Elementary School. As I was driving home, I received a text from my son asking when the results were to be revealed. I waited as long as I could before I called my mom, thinking for some reason they had failed to call me with the results. She had not heard a word.
A little after noon, I received a phone call from my mother, "no cancer present." "Praise God," I said, not too loudly as I was standing in line to get the tags for my car, ignoring the "turn off cell phones" sign on the door. Sorry Mr. County Court Clerk, but today, it will have to stay on vibrate. What I should have done was shout "Praise God," because I was in that line. I texted my kids and my friend Nancy. Within about 10 seconds they had all texted me back with "Woo Hoo!!! Prayers have been answered," "Great!," "PTL Such good news!,""yay!!," and from my son-in-law, "PRAISE GOD! SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO GLAD!" They were most sincere and heartfelt hallelujahs. Elaine Benes would have been proud of all those exclamation points.
So, I raise a voice of thanksgiving for good news. I remain without explanation why we received such wonderful news, and others I know and love have received the most dreaded words. I figure it is not for me to understand.
So, I celebrate with my sister and her family...with a haircut and a Cadbury Chocolate Caramel Egg. Many of you reading this blog were aware of this situation, and you offered petitions on our behalf. Many of you offered such words of concern and interest as we waited in high anxiety for the word. I thank you.
For today, I wish you abundant blessings,
Upon her return home, she made an appointment for a compression mammogram (what do they think the other kind is ~ that's my question) and an ultrasound. As a result, they wanted her to have a needle biopsy. She went for the needle biopsy at which time they did another ultrasound and the word "tentacles" was brought into the conversation. Do not google, "can a breast lump with tentacles be benign?" Nothing much good comes from that little search. They decided not to do the needle biopsy because this thing with the tentacles would have to come out anyway. Also, came the unwelcome news that the surgeon was out of town for the next two weeks.
So, here we all are waiting to hear from this "golf ball sized tumor with tentacles." You would not think that something the size of a golf ball could wield so much power over so many people. We all began to solicit prayers on her behalf as we waited and tried not to fret. Dozens, if not hundreds, of people were praying for her. I certainly uttered many a day...every time I mentioned my future grandchildren and their parents...so trust me, that is a lot of times a day. As I mentioned in a previous blog, I believe in just coming out and asking, "Lord, please do not let her have cancer."
Last Friday was the day for the lumpectomy. We waited to hear, hoping that in some way by its appearance, this thing would reveal its true nature. It did not. The best we got was, "if it is malignant, we caught it very early." There was great comfort in that, but being the older sister by 15 years, I just did not want to have to watch her and her family go through this trial known as cancer. I have many friends, young women, who have had to live through that. They are all doing well, now, it seems, but the struggle was mighty; the physical and emotional pain extreme. Sometimes (really all the time), you just would like for those you love to be spared.
So, the weekend proved to be a waiting game. Through it all, she was the one who seemed most at peace. I felt quite unglued, even though I tried not to show it to her. I know my mother was extremely anxious. Meals were cooked for the family. My precious niece came home from college for the weekend with two friends. She knows her mama well, and knew that the excitement of house guests would keep minds occupied and spirits elevated.
My sister was very sore from the surgery. The golf ball thing with tentacles was described by one as "a small, round, knot" and by another, "a peach-pit sort of thing." She has a tendency to sit and suffer without taking Advil or Tylenol. I'm not sure why. She walked a dog, after being told not to, and was certain that she had popped a stitch. Again, I do not know why, exactly, but that is just my sister. She was insistent that she was going by herself today to get the results of the pathology. I had to work, but my mother was more insistent that she would not go by herself. Her husband went.
The morning found me driving to Unionville to speak. It found my sister's two younger children home from school, sick, and my mother going to tend to them. Actually, they tend to her, because they are precious young people, and she kept them occupied as we waited. I finished my talk at Community Elementary School. As I was driving home, I received a text from my son asking when the results were to be revealed. I waited as long as I could before I called my mom, thinking for some reason they had failed to call me with the results. She had not heard a word.
A little after noon, I received a phone call from my mother, "no cancer present." "Praise God," I said, not too loudly as I was standing in line to get the tags for my car, ignoring the "turn off cell phones" sign on the door. Sorry Mr. County Court Clerk, but today, it will have to stay on vibrate. What I should have done was shout "Praise God," because I was in that line. I texted my kids and my friend Nancy. Within about 10 seconds they had all texted me back with "Woo Hoo!!! Prayers have been answered," "Great!," "PTL Such good news!,""yay!!," and from my son-in-law, "PRAISE GOD! SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO GLAD!" They were most sincere and heartfelt hallelujahs. Elaine Benes would have been proud of all those exclamation points.
So, I raise a voice of thanksgiving for good news. I remain without explanation why we received such wonderful news, and others I know and love have received the most dreaded words. I figure it is not for me to understand.
So, I celebrate with my sister and her family...with a haircut and a Cadbury Chocolate Caramel Egg. Many of you reading this blog were aware of this situation, and you offered petitions on our behalf. Many of you offered such words of concern and interest as we waited in high anxiety for the word. I thank you.
For today, I wish you abundant blessings,
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Legislated Love
Mr. Lincoln does not like Valentine's Day. When we were younger, we had arguments galore as the "day of love" approached. He always called it Legislated Love, and let me say, he is very much against legislated love....well, legislated anything, really. I would get my feelings all in a wad and rev my quiet hostility into high gear. It was most enjoyable (a sarcasm font would be appropriate here).
I tried lots of things. I would drop hints as the day approached about little things that would make nice gifts. That sort of thing never works with him. I tried the most despised passive-aggressive course of action by telling him of the lovely gifts my friends' husbands had given them in the past. Okay, that worked not at all. I tried tears. I do not cry much. Crying for the purpose of getting something I want is almost impossible for me. Tears lose their effectiveness when the weeper is poking herself in the eye just to squeeze a few tears out. Mr. Lincoln is a smart man, so my forced tears did not move his heart. I tried just being angry and semi-yelling. I yell about as much as I cry, but I do find it easier to work up a good hollering fit than a crying jag. He is not a fan of the yelling, and in fact, on the few occasions that I have yelled at him in anger or frustration, he has let me know that he is not listening because he does not deserve to be spoken to in that manner, and, he's right. For about 10 years of our marriage the specter of Valentine's Day haunted us...well, truthfully, it only haunted me.
Somewhere around our 10th or 11th Valentine's Day together, it struck me that I had used poor reasoning in thinking that the responsibility for the romance of the day sat solely on Mr. Linconln's shoulders. Oh, I always got him a card, but truth be told, I did it mainly to make him feel somewhat ashamed that he had failed to get me a gift. This worked a little, but where is there pleasure in causing someone you love to feel badly because they have failed to live up to the expectations of a day? That proved to be a hollow victory.
I began to think of Valentine's Day like a toilet seat. Where in the Book of Life does it say that a man is inconsiderate and thoughtless if he does not put the toilet seat down for his wife? Why isn't she inconsiderate and thoughtless if she does not put the seat up for him? Well, Valentine's Day became a symbol of the toilet seat for me. I decided that instead of waiting for Mr. Lincoln to take charge of the Valentine romantic reins that I would do it. Why it took me ten years to figure this out is quite the conundrum. Let us just say that I am a slow learner.
I began to formulate a plan. This was about the time I was thinking of starting my walking tour business, and I needed some legal advice to work out the particulars. Who better than my attorney husband? I made an appointment to meet Mr. Lincoln at his office to discuss the matter at hand. We talked, and he was most encouraging and helpful. When the business discussion was over, I threw a key to a hotel room on his desk, smiled sweetly, and said, "Happy Valentine's Day!" I had made reservations at a restaurant for dinner as well, and to the best of my memory, I think I even paid for it from tour guide money. It was the first time that Mr. Lincoln did not mind legislated love.
I have received lots of little and big gifts on this day of romance since that year. This year is a bit different in that Mr. Lincoln is in trial preparation, and he is totally preoccupied. His first words to me this morning were, "happy Valentine's day," to which I replied, "same to you." As he was leaving, I wished him a good day, and told him that I would have dinner ready here tonight. He began to comtemplate what exactly we could have, and I quickly let him know that I was not taking orders and that I had no intention of spending the whole day cooking. I mean, there has to be some limit to my largesse.
After 38 years of marriage, I still think it is lovely to remember Valentine's Day. A card or flowers is still gratefully and joyfully received, but I have learned that it is all those other days that matter more to me....all those days that Mr. Lincoln has encouraged, overlooked faults, planned special events, loaded or unloaded the dishwasher, filled my car with gas, told me he loves me, worked to provide for our family, understood my desire for something new to wear, tended to our children, graciously gone the extra mile for me and for others....all those days where the love is willingly displayed, not legislated. Those are the days that matter most.
So, if I do not receive a card or flowers or a lovely sweater from Anthropologie (is that too specific?), I will not be quietly hostile, I will not cry, I will not pout, I will not yell, I will not regale him with stories of the lovely gifts my friends have received. What I will do is be grateful that God has allowed me to live my life beside Mr. Lincoln lo' these many years. I will feel honored to cook him a special Valentine's dinner. Nah, that last sentence is overkill. Maybe I'll just put the toilet seat up.
So for today, I wish you a happy Valentine's day with the ones you love, and I wish you
blessings
I tried lots of things. I would drop hints as the day approached about little things that would make nice gifts. That sort of thing never works with him. I tried the most despised passive-aggressive course of action by telling him of the lovely gifts my friends' husbands had given them in the past. Okay, that worked not at all. I tried tears. I do not cry much. Crying for the purpose of getting something I want is almost impossible for me. Tears lose their effectiveness when the weeper is poking herself in the eye just to squeeze a few tears out. Mr. Lincoln is a smart man, so my forced tears did not move his heart. I tried just being angry and semi-yelling. I yell about as much as I cry, but I do find it easier to work up a good hollering fit than a crying jag. He is not a fan of the yelling, and in fact, on the few occasions that I have yelled at him in anger or frustration, he has let me know that he is not listening because he does not deserve to be spoken to in that manner, and, he's right. For about 10 years of our marriage the specter of Valentine's Day haunted us...well, truthfully, it only haunted me.
Somewhere around our 10th or 11th Valentine's Day together, it struck me that I had used poor reasoning in thinking that the responsibility for the romance of the day sat solely on Mr. Linconln's shoulders. Oh, I always got him a card, but truth be told, I did it mainly to make him feel somewhat ashamed that he had failed to get me a gift. This worked a little, but where is there pleasure in causing someone you love to feel badly because they have failed to live up to the expectations of a day? That proved to be a hollow victory.
I began to think of Valentine's Day like a toilet seat. Where in the Book of Life does it say that a man is inconsiderate and thoughtless if he does not put the toilet seat down for his wife? Why isn't she inconsiderate and thoughtless if she does not put the seat up for him? Well, Valentine's Day became a symbol of the toilet seat for me. I decided that instead of waiting for Mr. Lincoln to take charge of the Valentine romantic reins that I would do it. Why it took me ten years to figure this out is quite the conundrum. Let us just say that I am a slow learner.
I began to formulate a plan. This was about the time I was thinking of starting my walking tour business, and I needed some legal advice to work out the particulars. Who better than my attorney husband? I made an appointment to meet Mr. Lincoln at his office to discuss the matter at hand. We talked, and he was most encouraging and helpful. When the business discussion was over, I threw a key to a hotel room on his desk, smiled sweetly, and said, "Happy Valentine's Day!" I had made reservations at a restaurant for dinner as well, and to the best of my memory, I think I even paid for it from tour guide money. It was the first time that Mr. Lincoln did not mind legislated love.
I have received lots of little and big gifts on this day of romance since that year. This year is a bit different in that Mr. Lincoln is in trial preparation, and he is totally preoccupied. His first words to me this morning were, "happy Valentine's day," to which I replied, "same to you." As he was leaving, I wished him a good day, and told him that I would have dinner ready here tonight. He began to comtemplate what exactly we could have, and I quickly let him know that I was not taking orders and that I had no intention of spending the whole day cooking. I mean, there has to be some limit to my largesse.
After 38 years of marriage, I still think it is lovely to remember Valentine's Day. A card or flowers is still gratefully and joyfully received, but I have learned that it is all those other days that matter more to me....all those days that Mr. Lincoln has encouraged, overlooked faults, planned special events, loaded or unloaded the dishwasher, filled my car with gas, told me he loves me, worked to provide for our family, understood my desire for something new to wear, tended to our children, graciously gone the extra mile for me and for others....all those days where the love is willingly displayed, not legislated. Those are the days that matter most.
So, if I do not receive a card or flowers or a lovely sweater from Anthropologie (is that too specific?), I will not be quietly hostile, I will not cry, I will not pout, I will not yell, I will not regale him with stories of the lovely gifts my friends have received. What I will do is be grateful that God has allowed me to live my life beside Mr. Lincoln lo' these many years. I will feel honored to cook him a special Valentine's dinner. Nah, that last sentence is overkill. Maybe I'll just put the toilet seat up.
So for today, I wish you a happy Valentine's day with the ones you love, and I wish you
blessings
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Prayer
I believe in the power of prayer. I believe in the power of community prayer. I believe in the power of individual prayer.
I was asked once how praying to God was any different than praying to a door knob. It was suggested that one asks the door knob for something, and when it happens the door knob is gratefully thanked. If one asks the door knob for something and the request is denied, then it is decided that the door knob knows best. I was asked how praying to the door knob was any different than praying to God. It was further expounded upon that I can at least see and touch the door knob which is not true of God. My answer is pitifully inadequate. All I can say is I believe in the power of prayer. I don't know why I believe it. I get the analogy of God and the door knob. I am fairly certain (not that I want to act as if I know the mind of God) that God gets the analogy, and totally gets the person who made it. All I can say is, I believe in the power of prayer.
I have had many prayers answered. Was the outcome going to be the same whether I prayed or not? I believe not, but I cannot prove it. I have had many prayers go unanswered for a long time. I have had prayers that it seems were never addressed. People say that God answers all prayers. Sometimes he says "yes," sometimes he says "no," and sometimes he says "wait." I do not know if that is true. I believe God hears all prayers. I guess he answers them all. I do not know. It does not matter to me. I believe in the power of prayer.
We have prayer warriors at our church. I picture countless women as well as our elders, sitting at their computers praying on the spot for people on the prayer warrior list. We pray for people we know and love. We pray for people that we do not know but love. We pray for family and friends and strangers. I believe God, Himself, hears those prayers. I do. My being will not let me believe otherwise. My belief in prayer, in a lot of ways, has nothing to do with me. Does that make any sense? Probably, it does not, but I simply mean that I am not really sure why I have that belief and total faith in the power of prayer. I have been disappointed on many occasions when my prayers felt unanswered. But, I still believe in the power of prayer.
I have asked for prayers these past few days. I have asked for prayers for my brother who has had pneumonia. He has serious respiratory issues. Pneumonia is really very dangerous for him. Many people have been praying for him this week. His wife, an avid prayer warrior, herself, expressed great appreciation for prayers offered on his behalf. I deeply appreciate them myself. He is supposed to come home from the hospital today. I am sincerely grateful as I believe in the power of prayer.
I think that I do not pray for myself much, but I realize that oftentimes my prayers for others are for myself as well. When I pray for the well-being of my children and future grandchildren, I know that is a prayer for myself as well. Some would say it should not be so, but my children's health and happiness directly affect my own. I cannot be completely content or happy when my children are not. So, when I pray for them, I am praying for myself. When I pray for my husband, for his job, for his safety, for his health, those are prayers for myself as well for I believe in the power of prayer.
My sister is having a medical procedure done on Friday. I have prayed many times and continue to pray that it will go well, and that it will result in a good report. I am praying for my sister, but it is a selfish prayer as well. I want her to be well. I want her life to be healthy. It is painful for me when she suffers. Of course, my pain is insignificant, but when I pray for her, I am praying for myself because I believe in the power of prayer.
I do not want to be the person that our teaching minister sees as using God as some sort of "cosmic vending machine." Sometimes, I think I do try to use God as an almighty Santa Claus. That is not my intention, and yet, I know I am guilty of it. But, I also do not want to be a person who does not ask. I think God wants to hear from us. I know I really want to hear from my children. I just want to touch base. I believe God rejoices when we just "touch base," whether it is asking for something or just pouring our hearts out in gratitude for what we have, for I believe in the power of prayer.
I know a person who will not ask God for anything other than the strength to get through what life brings her way. Not me. I ask, at times even beg, that certain griefs and hurts of this world pass me by. There are pains I just do not want to experience, and I ask God to spare me. I ask God to spare the people I love certain pains and losses. I ask because I do not want them to experience that hurt. I admit, too, that I ask because I do not want to watch the people I love suffer. And, so I ask, and if the time comes that my prayer is either not answered or is answered with a "no," then I will ask for the strength to cope, Lord willing, with my faith intact still believing in the power of prayer.
I keep a daily photo journal. One year I decided to write a poem each day to go with the picture. The poems lasted until March. They were all terrible. I mean really pitifully terrible. This year, I decided to put a scripture with each picture as well as a brief description of the day. January 30 included the following scripture and a picture reminiscent of the one shown here:
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I was asked once how praying to God was any different than praying to a door knob. It was suggested that one asks the door knob for something, and when it happens the door knob is gratefully thanked. If one asks the door knob for something and the request is denied, then it is decided that the door knob knows best. I was asked how praying to the door knob was any different than praying to God. It was further expounded upon that I can at least see and touch the door knob which is not true of God. My answer is pitifully inadequate. All I can say is I believe in the power of prayer. I don't know why I believe it. I get the analogy of God and the door knob. I am fairly certain (not that I want to act as if I know the mind of God) that God gets the analogy, and totally gets the person who made it. All I can say is, I believe in the power of prayer.
I have had many prayers answered. Was the outcome going to be the same whether I prayed or not? I believe not, but I cannot prove it. I have had many prayers go unanswered for a long time. I have had prayers that it seems were never addressed. People say that God answers all prayers. Sometimes he says "yes," sometimes he says "no," and sometimes he says "wait." I do not know if that is true. I believe God hears all prayers. I guess he answers them all. I do not know. It does not matter to me. I believe in the power of prayer.
We have prayer warriors at our church. I picture countless women as well as our elders, sitting at their computers praying on the spot for people on the prayer warrior list. We pray for people we know and love. We pray for people that we do not know but love. We pray for family and friends and strangers. I believe God, Himself, hears those prayers. I do. My being will not let me believe otherwise. My belief in prayer, in a lot of ways, has nothing to do with me. Does that make any sense? Probably, it does not, but I simply mean that I am not really sure why I have that belief and total faith in the power of prayer. I have been disappointed on many occasions when my prayers felt unanswered. But, I still believe in the power of prayer.
I have asked for prayers these past few days. I have asked for prayers for my brother who has had pneumonia. He has serious respiratory issues. Pneumonia is really very dangerous for him. Many people have been praying for him this week. His wife, an avid prayer warrior, herself, expressed great appreciation for prayers offered on his behalf. I deeply appreciate them myself. He is supposed to come home from the hospital today. I am sincerely grateful as I believe in the power of prayer.
I think that I do not pray for myself much, but I realize that oftentimes my prayers for others are for myself as well. When I pray for the well-being of my children and future grandchildren, I know that is a prayer for myself as well. Some would say it should not be so, but my children's health and happiness directly affect my own. I cannot be completely content or happy when my children are not. So, when I pray for them, I am praying for myself. When I pray for my husband, for his job, for his safety, for his health, those are prayers for myself as well for I believe in the power of prayer.
My sister is having a medical procedure done on Friday. I have prayed many times and continue to pray that it will go well, and that it will result in a good report. I am praying for my sister, but it is a selfish prayer as well. I want her to be well. I want her life to be healthy. It is painful for me when she suffers. Of course, my pain is insignificant, but when I pray for her, I am praying for myself because I believe in the power of prayer.
I do not want to be the person that our teaching minister sees as using God as some sort of "cosmic vending machine." Sometimes, I think I do try to use God as an almighty Santa Claus. That is not my intention, and yet, I know I am guilty of it. But, I also do not want to be a person who does not ask. I think God wants to hear from us. I know I really want to hear from my children. I just want to touch base. I believe God rejoices when we just "touch base," whether it is asking for something or just pouring our hearts out in gratitude for what we have, for I believe in the power of prayer.
I know a person who will not ask God for anything other than the strength to get through what life brings her way. Not me. I ask, at times even beg, that certain griefs and hurts of this world pass me by. There are pains I just do not want to experience, and I ask God to spare me. I ask God to spare the people I love certain pains and losses. I ask because I do not want them to experience that hurt. I admit, too, that I ask because I do not want to watch the people I love suffer. And, so I ask, and if the time comes that my prayer is either not answered or is answered with a "no," then I will ask for the strength to cope, Lord willing, with my faith intact still believing in the power of prayer.
I keep a daily photo journal. One year I decided to write a poem each day to go with the picture. The poems lasted until March. They were all terrible. I mean really pitifully terrible. This year, I decided to put a scripture with each picture as well as a brief description of the day. January 30 included the following scripture and a picture reminiscent of the one shown here:
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"In the morning, O Lord, you hear my voice; in the morning I lay my requests before you and wait in expectation." Psalm 5:3
So, this afternoon, I wish you faith in prayer and I wish you
blessings
Talking with Monkeys
Our family has a fascination with monkeys. Mr. Lincoln has often said that he would like to get a chimpanzee, dress him up, and take him to church. He just wants to see what the children's ministers would say. Frankly, I do not think that would be a hard thing to figure out. I suspect, "no monkeys allowed," would become "policy" at children's church. Not being one big on "policies" at church, still, I would definitely support a "no monkeys" directive.
Jenny, the precious one who now lives in Minnesota, loves monkeys. Her favorite was her Monkey George, known to most of the world as Curious George. She carried her Monkey George everywhere she went. In an effort to not have to carry a big stuffed animal everywhere, her mom gave her a Baby George. Actually, she has several Georges, with a Boots thrown in for good luck. I once took her to TPAC to see Curious George Live!! Two Monkey Georges attended with us; they did not require tickets. We enjoyed the first half, but at intermission Jenny asked if we could go home. Being the sensitive hostess that I was, I informed her that we would not be leaving until the show was over. I certainly wanted to be sure that I got my money's worth. I think she ended up enjoying the second half of the show. I mean, we had to find out if the Man in the Yellow Hat found George in Italy. Spoiler alert....he did.
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Jenny, the precious one who now lives in Minnesota, loves monkeys. Her favorite was her Monkey George, known to most of the world as Curious George. She carried her Monkey George everywhere she went. In an effort to not have to carry a big stuffed animal everywhere, her mom gave her a Baby George. Actually, she has several Georges, with a Boots thrown in for good luck. I once took her to TPAC to see Curious George Live!! Two Monkey Georges attended with us; they did not require tickets. We enjoyed the first half, but at intermission Jenny asked if we could go home. Being the sensitive hostess that I was, I informed her that we would not be leaving until the show was over. I certainly wanted to be sure that I got my money's worth. I think she ended up enjoying the second half of the show. I mean, we had to find out if the Man in the Yellow Hat found George in Italy. Spoiler alert....he did.
When Jenny and her family moved to Minnesota I wrote her letters every Wednesday. Sadly, this did not last but a few months, but during that time, I bought a monkey, named her Matilda, and encouraged her to write letters to the Davis Monkeys. When Jenny, at age 5, received the first letter from Matilda she asked her mother, "who does that?" Matilda began to take on a life of her own. She traveled with me, sort of like a Flat Stanley, and sent postcards or pictures to the Davis Monkeys from her "many" travels.
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Matilda attended the World's Longest Yard Sale the first year Sheri, MP and I went. Bathrooms are scarce (plenty of port-a-potties ~ only in dire emergencies, please) so the girls and I stopped at the Beaumont Inn in Harrodsburg, KY for a brief respite. Matilda asked if she could play the piano, and of course, I got a pic to send to Jenny. One of the many things I love about Jenny is that she realizes the ridiculousness of these activities, yet she just plays right along. I am never quite sure if she does it for her own enjoyment or for mine. Jenny replied to one of the earlier letters Matilda sent. She wrote: DEAR MATiLDA i SHER WANT TO MEET YOU i LiKe YoR RED BOW AND NiSE UMBRELLA. I had told her that it was hot here and that Matilda was seeking shelter under the gourd leaves...gourds that came from Jenny's yard. She decided on her own to call it an umbrella.
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When I came home from Minnesota after having surgery, my brother, Sam came by to visit. He brought me a little gift...something to eat, but I cannot remember exactly what, and, you guessed it ~ a monkey. Matilda now has a friend with which to interact when they are home alone.
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Unless you think this blog and our family's activities cannot get even more ridiculous, just wait. MP decided that she wanted her baby to have a 3 1/2 foot sock monkey. What better way over the days, weeks, and months to tell how the baby is growing than to take his or her picture by a huge sock monkey? 3 1/2 foot sock monkeys are not cheap. $80 was the best price I could find for the one she wanted. His name is Sammy. The company names them all. So, I bought Sammy from Amazon and had him shipped to my house. He was uncomfortably crammed into a box with his feet up over his head. When I unpacked him, Sammy had a dirty spot on his face. Now, I cannot give a dirty-faced monkey to my grandchild. I told Mr. Lincoln that I would have to send Sammy back. He was incredulous. "How can we send him back? If he's dirty and won't come clean, then the company won't be able to sell him, and probably they will euthanize him. Do you want that on your conscience?" Well, no, I did not, so I tried to clean Sammy up, but no matter what I tried I could not get the spot off his face. What to do? What to do?
There was only one option. We had to buy another Sammy. MP wants one for her baby. We cannot give her a dirty one. So, I purchased another 3 1/2 foot red sock monkey. Now we have 7 feet of sock monkeys. In an effort to keep Sammy a secret from MP, as she is often at our house, we put the 2 Sammies in the top of a closet facing each other so that they could communicate, and not feel lonely. Seriously, we are educated people, but as my friend Martha would say, "we just ain't rite!" Finally, the day arrived for the Sammies to come out of the closet. Clean Sammy to be wrapped to be given at MP's baby shower. Dirty Sammy ~ can you call a baby's stuffed toy Dirty Sammy ~ nope, he's known as DS now, is now resting peacefully in the crib until Baby Henderson needs it. He was huge help to me yesterday as I put the crib together. I could prop one side rail on his head as I attached the other end. Such a helpful little monkey.
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blessings
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
What?
It has been a strange morning. 3:00 am the phone rings. Now, I have gotten those wee-hours-of-the-morning phone calls, and rarely have they ever been good news. I am in the dream state of sleep. The dream was rather odd, a male member of the family wearing a green plaid flannel shirt with the waistband of his khakis pulled up under his arm pits held up by a lovely decorative belt, walking around with an open gallon jar of gasoline as he observes the artwork of another family member. Weird! So, I am not my most alert when I answer the phone.
With fear and trembling I say, "hello?" A heavily accented young man is speaking, and all I hear are "ambulance" and "hospital." Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I am wondering why someone from Pakistan is calling me to tell me that one of my children has gone to the hospital in an ambulance. Is a baby coming, but, again, why have they asked a Pakistani to call? So I proceed to speak loudly to the young man until finally I hear "Mrs. Sweeeeeeeeeetzer." Oh, Mr. Lincoln's mom has gone to the hospital in an ambulance. "Hang on a second, " I say, and hand the phone to Mr. Lincoln. I hear his conversation, he gets the hospital's number, and is actually able to talk to his mother. She is having another spell, similar to several she has had in recent months. Her blood pressure is 200/99, and so in fine Paducah medical tradition, the doctors decide she has inner ear problems and send her home.
Several weeks ago, I bought a crib for the 2 grandbabies on the way. I really got it free with credit card bonus points. I only had to charge thousands of dollars over several years to have enough points to get a $200.00 crib, but, still, it felt free. It has been standing up in a closet in the packing crate for about two months. Yesterday, I decided to buy a mattress and sheets and put the bed together. Following the directions, I laid out all the parts...footboard, headboard, 2 side rails, 4 casters, set of springs, 1 stabilizing bar...1 stabilizing bar? No way. It's not here. Really?
I call the company who manufactures the bed, and explained my situation. Perhaps, the young woman with whom I spoke is related to the gentleman who called me this morning. I get that my inability to understand accents is my problem, and so I try always, almost always (there was that time I told a company that I could not conduct business with them until I could communicate with someone who spoke English...I'm not proud of that) to be extremely kind. She told me to email all the information to her. I had to wonder, does she not have a pen and paper? But, I did as asked and thanked them profusely for attending to my problem. Today, they call back and tell me that it will be $10 for them to mail me the stabilizing bar that they failed to put in the packing. She said that all companies that carry their product pay for that sort of thing. How do they get Babies R Us to pay shipping for a part they failed to include? I have no idea. I did inquire, but quickly capitulated, and gave her my credit card number to charge the $10. Hey, it's ten more dollars toward my next set of bonus points.
My day is dedicated to cleaning my house before the woman who cleans my house comes tomorrow. This is a concept that Mr. Lincoln just cannot quite grasp. "Do we not pay her to clean? Why must we do the pre-clean?" To which I reply, "we don't want her to know what slobs we really are. She wouldn't come back! Duh." Actually, I am not really cleaning, I am just putting things away. Well what I am really doing is playing sporcle, eating, blogging, facebooking, and reading as I contemplate putting things away. This is why I have someone clean my house. I am way too easily distracted. Well, that and my back problems of recent years. Actually, my back is quite healed, but Mr. Lincoln does not really need to know all those particulars. I think he finds me much more pleasant to be around when I am not the chief of clean up.
In the midst of the great flurry of putting things away, I decide that I must get some Comet for my kitchen sink. No, I do not provide the cleaning supplies for the woman who cleans for me, but I mean that sink is really dirty, and I would be embarrassed for her to see it. Also, I am in need of a Diet Coke although I have proclaimed that I am going to stop drinking them. I hear that Aspertame is not good for one's memory, and heaven knows, I do not need anything to impede my ability to remember things. But, not being a fan of the "cold turkey" method of breaking a habit, I feel that a trip to the grocery is in order ~ for Comet and a Diet Coke.
I find myself distracted at the store. I figured I could pick up a Valentine Card for my son-in-law. I have already bought cards for the other 3 "children" in the family, but a Valentine Card for a son-in-law is a bit more difficult. The cards are either terribly inappropriately mushy or ridiculously juvenile. As I searched, I was reminded of a card that a young family member bought for a middle-aged woman that he did not know very well. On the card, was the drawing of a rather plump (fat) woman in a ruffled bathing suit. The sentiment inside said, "I think the skirt makes all the difference, don't you." Thank heaven he ran it by more socially astute members of the family before he sent it. Another trip to the card store was in order. I still laugh when I think of that card. Eventually, I find a card with a true heartfelt, appropriate sentiment...oh, look at all the beautiful flowers. Perhaps, I need some flowers. Maybe, I'll check out the magazines...oh, look, New York Times bestsellers 25% off...oh, I've really been wanting to read this book.....now, that is a cute red bowl with a white heart on it, what could I make to put in that to give someone for Valentine's...you get the picture. $138.00 later, I leave Kroger with my Diet Coke, book, lots of other stuff...seriously, I forgot the Comet? I have got to reduce my intake of Aspertame!!
So, for today, I wish you non-interrupted sleep, the perfect card, a good memory, and I wish you
blessings
With fear and trembling I say, "hello?" A heavily accented young man is speaking, and all I hear are "ambulance" and "hospital." Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I am wondering why someone from Pakistan is calling me to tell me that one of my children has gone to the hospital in an ambulance. Is a baby coming, but, again, why have they asked a Pakistani to call? So I proceed to speak loudly to the young man until finally I hear "Mrs. Sweeeeeeeeeetzer." Oh, Mr. Lincoln's mom has gone to the hospital in an ambulance. "Hang on a second, " I say, and hand the phone to Mr. Lincoln. I hear his conversation, he gets the hospital's number, and is actually able to talk to his mother. She is having another spell, similar to several she has had in recent months. Her blood pressure is 200/99, and so in fine Paducah medical tradition, the doctors decide she has inner ear problems and send her home.
Several weeks ago, I bought a crib for the 2 grandbabies on the way. I really got it free with credit card bonus points. I only had to charge thousands of dollars over several years to have enough points to get a $200.00 crib, but, still, it felt free. It has been standing up in a closet in the packing crate for about two months. Yesterday, I decided to buy a mattress and sheets and put the bed together. Following the directions, I laid out all the parts...footboard, headboard, 2 side rails, 4 casters, set of springs, 1 stabilizing bar...1 stabilizing bar? No way. It's not here. Really?
I call the company who manufactures the bed, and explained my situation. Perhaps, the young woman with whom I spoke is related to the gentleman who called me this morning. I get that my inability to understand accents is my problem, and so I try always, almost always (there was that time I told a company that I could not conduct business with them until I could communicate with someone who spoke English...I'm not proud of that) to be extremely kind. She told me to email all the information to her. I had to wonder, does she not have a pen and paper? But, I did as asked and thanked them profusely for attending to my problem. Today, they call back and tell me that it will be $10 for them to mail me the stabilizing bar that they failed to put in the packing. She said that all companies that carry their product pay for that sort of thing. How do they get Babies R Us to pay shipping for a part they failed to include? I have no idea. I did inquire, but quickly capitulated, and gave her my credit card number to charge the $10. Hey, it's ten more dollars toward my next set of bonus points.
My day is dedicated to cleaning my house before the woman who cleans my house comes tomorrow. This is a concept that Mr. Lincoln just cannot quite grasp. "Do we not pay her to clean? Why must we do the pre-clean?" To which I reply, "we don't want her to know what slobs we really are. She wouldn't come back! Duh." Actually, I am not really cleaning, I am just putting things away. Well what I am really doing is playing sporcle, eating, blogging, facebooking, and reading as I contemplate putting things away. This is why I have someone clean my house. I am way too easily distracted. Well, that and my back problems of recent years. Actually, my back is quite healed, but Mr. Lincoln does not really need to know all those particulars. I think he finds me much more pleasant to be around when I am not the chief of clean up.
In the midst of the great flurry of putting things away, I decide that I must get some Comet for my kitchen sink. No, I do not provide the cleaning supplies for the woman who cleans for me, but I mean that sink is really dirty, and I would be embarrassed for her to see it. Also, I am in need of a Diet Coke although I have proclaimed that I am going to stop drinking them. I hear that Aspertame is not good for one's memory, and heaven knows, I do not need anything to impede my ability to remember things. But, not being a fan of the "cold turkey" method of breaking a habit, I feel that a trip to the grocery is in order ~ for Comet and a Diet Coke.
I find myself distracted at the store. I figured I could pick up a Valentine Card for my son-in-law. I have already bought cards for the other 3 "children" in the family, but a Valentine Card for a son-in-law is a bit more difficult. The cards are either terribly inappropriately mushy or ridiculously juvenile. As I searched, I was reminded of a card that a young family member bought for a middle-aged woman that he did not know very well. On the card, was the drawing of a rather plump (fat) woman in a ruffled bathing suit. The sentiment inside said, "I think the skirt makes all the difference, don't you." Thank heaven he ran it by more socially astute members of the family before he sent it. Another trip to the card store was in order. I still laugh when I think of that card. Eventually, I find a card with a true heartfelt, appropriate sentiment...oh, look at all the beautiful flowers. Perhaps, I need some flowers. Maybe, I'll check out the magazines...oh, look, New York Times bestsellers 25% off...oh, I've really been wanting to read this book.....now, that is a cute red bowl with a white heart on it, what could I make to put in that to give someone for Valentine's...you get the picture. $138.00 later, I leave Kroger with my Diet Coke, book, lots of other stuff...seriously, I forgot the Comet? I have got to reduce my intake of Aspertame!!
So, for today, I wish you non-interrupted sleep, the perfect card, a good memory, and I wish you
blessings
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Small World
Facebook has some drawbacks. Sometimes I tend to communicate there instead of in person. I'm fairly certain that FB communication is a shadow of human communication. But, sometimes, I have the opportunity to communicate on FB with people I have neither seen nor heard from in years...yes, even decades. Without FB, I might never have had the opportunity to "talk" with them again.
Most of the people I am friends with on FB are people I see on a pretty regular basis. Some are teachers that I have taken on tours, and who have retired or moved to another grade which prevents our annual get-together. I learn when their children marry, or when they become grandparents. I love knowing that about them. There is one teacher in particular from Benton County (I love Benton County students - they are so awed by Downtown Nashville, and so precious) for which I have a special affinity. Maybe it is because we are about the same age. I think more than that, it is that I sense in her a value system similar to mine. Without FB I would not know that she has a new grandchild, that her grandmother just turned 100 or that her husband had surgery back in the summer, and is doing quite well. We communicate through FB, even though I might only hit the "like" button in response to a post.
Some of the people I am now in touch with through FB are from the "old" neighborhood. They have moved to far-flung places, and without FB I would have no idea of their lives. One girl (woman) whose family lived next door to mine some 57 years ago, found me on FB through her sister, who is a FB friend. Through FB, I learned that her sister had a good friend who committed suicide. I could sympathize with her as my life has been touched by suicide as well. My mother was a good friend to their mother. In the last years of their mother's life, Mom did not forget about her. Several months ago, the sister in Florida messaged me. She was coming to town and wanted to see Mom. It worked out, and the two of them had a lovely afternoon together. I wonder if she felt closer to her mother for the time spent with mine. Without FB, that connection would not have been made.
One friend from the "old" neighborhood just became a FB friend this week. I have been friends with his brother on FB for some time. And, let me say, his brother certainly must have a joyful spirit and a zest for enjoying life. His posts just make me smile. Growing up, I was friends with both brothers, but better friends with the younger one. Through FB and Mr. I-Love-Life, I learned that my friend has 4 children, where he lives, what his job is, that their father passed away after suffering severe dementia, and that their dearly loved mother is alive and doing beautifully at age 88. I was so glad to hear that. I remember her well, as a lovely woman who loved her family and lived a life of service.
I imagine you are thinking that I have forgotten the title of this text, but I have not. Over the weekend, I had asked the older brother if he would mind if I did a painting of a photograph that he had posted. Certainly, if I do paint it, it will not look much like the photo, but I wanted him to know how beautiful I found the picture to be. So, we communicated back and forth 3 or 4 times. On Sunday, at church, I looked up and saw a man who I thought might be my friend, the younger brother. But, how could that be? I just figured that I had that family on my mind and my eyes were playing tricks on me. Being the shy and sometimes socially awkward person I am, I could never have made myself walk up and ask, " are you so and so?" Not in my realm of activity.
After I got home, though, I could not get it out of my mind that maybe that was my friend. The last time I saw him was at Opryland at the Tin Lizzie waiting for my children to end their sporadic, side-banging trek around the track. He and I talked for just a few minutes, but he had children of his own to which he needed to attend. So, thanks to FB, I thought I would just see if I could track him down and inquire. Well, it was him. His daughter has been visiting our services for a while. He is friends, with mutual friends. He has been to services there on several occasions over the years. As we continued to "chat" I learned that he has another daughter who lives close by and whose children go to a local private school that I take on my tour every year. I was explaining to him about my job and about a 4th grade teacher at that school who is just one of my very favorite people ever, and lo and behold, his grandson is in her class. Can you say...SMALL WORLD?
I do not want to make Facebook my only form of communication, but I am most grateful for those serendipitous "reunions" that it makes possible.
So, for today, I wish you reconnection with old friends, enjoyment in the shrinking world around us, and
blessings
Most of the people I am friends with on FB are people I see on a pretty regular basis. Some are teachers that I have taken on tours, and who have retired or moved to another grade which prevents our annual get-together. I learn when their children marry, or when they become grandparents. I love knowing that about them. There is one teacher in particular from Benton County (I love Benton County students - they are so awed by Downtown Nashville, and so precious) for which I have a special affinity. Maybe it is because we are about the same age. I think more than that, it is that I sense in her a value system similar to mine. Without FB I would not know that she has a new grandchild, that her grandmother just turned 100 or that her husband had surgery back in the summer, and is doing quite well. We communicate through FB, even though I might only hit the "like" button in response to a post.
Some of the people I am now in touch with through FB are from the "old" neighborhood. They have moved to far-flung places, and without FB I would have no idea of their lives. One girl (woman) whose family lived next door to mine some 57 years ago, found me on FB through her sister, who is a FB friend. Through FB, I learned that her sister had a good friend who committed suicide. I could sympathize with her as my life has been touched by suicide as well. My mother was a good friend to their mother. In the last years of their mother's life, Mom did not forget about her. Several months ago, the sister in Florida messaged me. She was coming to town and wanted to see Mom. It worked out, and the two of them had a lovely afternoon together. I wonder if she felt closer to her mother for the time spent with mine. Without FB, that connection would not have been made.
One friend from the "old" neighborhood just became a FB friend this week. I have been friends with his brother on FB for some time. And, let me say, his brother certainly must have a joyful spirit and a zest for enjoying life. His posts just make me smile. Growing up, I was friends with both brothers, but better friends with the younger one. Through FB and Mr. I-Love-Life, I learned that my friend has 4 children, where he lives, what his job is, that their father passed away after suffering severe dementia, and that their dearly loved mother is alive and doing beautifully at age 88. I was so glad to hear that. I remember her well, as a lovely woman who loved her family and lived a life of service.
I imagine you are thinking that I have forgotten the title of this text, but I have not. Over the weekend, I had asked the older brother if he would mind if I did a painting of a photograph that he had posted. Certainly, if I do paint it, it will not look much like the photo, but I wanted him to know how beautiful I found the picture to be. So, we communicated back and forth 3 or 4 times. On Sunday, at church, I looked up and saw a man who I thought might be my friend, the younger brother. But, how could that be? I just figured that I had that family on my mind and my eyes were playing tricks on me. Being the shy and sometimes socially awkward person I am, I could never have made myself walk up and ask, " are you so and so?" Not in my realm of activity.
After I got home, though, I could not get it out of my mind that maybe that was my friend. The last time I saw him was at Opryland at the Tin Lizzie waiting for my children to end their sporadic, side-banging trek around the track. He and I talked for just a few minutes, but he had children of his own to which he needed to attend. So, thanks to FB, I thought I would just see if I could track him down and inquire. Well, it was him. His daughter has been visiting our services for a while. He is friends, with mutual friends. He has been to services there on several occasions over the years. As we continued to "chat" I learned that he has another daughter who lives close by and whose children go to a local private school that I take on my tour every year. I was explaining to him about my job and about a 4th grade teacher at that school who is just one of my very favorite people ever, and lo and behold, his grandson is in her class. Can you say...SMALL WORLD?
I do not want to make Facebook my only form of communication, but I am most grateful for those serendipitous "reunions" that it makes possible.
So, for today, I wish you reconnection with old friends, enjoyment in the shrinking world around us, and
blessings
Thursday, February 2, 2012
31 Days
By the numbers:
31 ~ Days on Sanibel Island ~ we actually stole the 31st day ~ we didn't realize that we were supposed to check out on the 31st not November 1, but they let us have that night for free.
60 ~ How many birthdays Mr. Lincoln has had. How disappointing it would have been for him if they had not given us that 31st night as he would have been driving home for 13 hours on his actual birthday. Thank you Sandalfoot staff!!
17 ~ Books I read. Some of them were excellent, and some of them were typical mindless beach reads, like the one with the woman who could read people's pasts and thoughts if she touched them with her hands. Deep, really deep.
15 ~ Episodes of Dexter we watched. I am not necessarily recommending the show to anyone. It is gritty, raw, vulgar, foul, dark, and totally addictive.
30 or so ~ Episodes of Modern Family we watched. LOVE that show. Again, I am not necessarily recommending it, but it is hilarious.
3 ~ New curse words/expressions learned from Phil Dunfey....Good Lorna Doone!!! Sweet and Sour Chicken!! Sacagawea!! Phil is so much more creative with his expletives than Barb and Doaks on Dexter.
7 ~ Times I had breakfast at the Lighthouse Cafe. They have the best bacon ever, and I love their grilled croissant with homemade strawberry preserves.
2 ~ Loaves of bread Mr. Lincoln ate made into French toast. The man loves French toast.
10 ~ Pounds of butter Mr. Lincoln ate on the above mentioned French toast.
5 ~ Bicycle trips Mr. Lincoln made to Captiva.
4 ~ Times Kyle was my waiter at the Island Cow. He's not all that efficient, but he's adorable.
29 ~ Beautiful, uncloudy sunrises.
1569 ~ Photos I took.
5 ~ Trips to the airport. I learned that I am overly excited when people arrive, and deeply melancholy for about 24 hours after people leave. Nevermind that I am going to see them again soon, and that we all live in the same town.
1 ~ Canoe trip in the bay, through a lagoon, down a mangrove alley. So FUN!!! Mr. Lincoln and I were informed by a passing kayaker that we were having way too much fun.
2 ~ Dinners at the Old Captive House. Delicious food with the added bonus of a perfect view of the sunset right outside the door. Lovely.
30 ~ Days I planned on riding a bike.
0 ~ Days I rode a bike.
1 ~ Perfect Sunday morning breakfast at 'Tween Waters with my mom in her pajamas and no make-up. If you know her, you know that will probably be the 1 and ONLY time that will happen.
35 (about) ~ Hours spent on the beach with my mother and sister.
1 ~ Fender bender in the CVS parking lot.
1 ~ Trip to the police station.
2 ~ Total times I had been in the CVS parking lot before this year.
8 ~ Trips to CVS just the week Mom and Doree were with me.
Googolplexian: The worlds largest number with a name ~ Prayers offered in thanksgiving for the blessing of the trip, for safe travels for my family, for the beauty surrounding me, for the talent of the musicians I listened to on my IPod, for the sounds and the smells (well, most of them) and the sights and the love and the coming home with the anticipation of next year's trip with the addition of 2 little ones.
So for today, I wish you time with your family, an awareness of the beauty around you, and joyfulness in returning home, and
blessings.
An aside ~ it was brought to my attention recently that at times my blogs are "preachy and judgmental." If I have at any time made you feel that way, I sincerely apologize. It is easy on FB and in a blog to come across as though one has all the answers and that one's life is "perfect." I am part of a family of eccentrics, and we have our share of failings and problems. I do not always share those because, well, because I don't.
31 ~ Days on Sanibel Island ~ we actually stole the 31st day ~ we didn't realize that we were supposed to check out on the 31st not November 1, but they let us have that night for free.
60 ~ How many birthdays Mr. Lincoln has had. How disappointing it would have been for him if they had not given us that 31st night as he would have been driving home for 13 hours on his actual birthday. Thank you Sandalfoot staff!!
17 ~ Books I read. Some of them were excellent, and some of them were typical mindless beach reads, like the one with the woman who could read people's pasts and thoughts if she touched them with her hands. Deep, really deep.
15 ~ Episodes of Dexter we watched. I am not necessarily recommending the show to anyone. It is gritty, raw, vulgar, foul, dark, and totally addictive.
30 or so ~ Episodes of Modern Family we watched. LOVE that show. Again, I am not necessarily recommending it, but it is hilarious.
3 ~ New curse words/expressions learned from Phil Dunfey....Good Lorna Doone!!! Sweet and Sour Chicken!! Sacagawea!! Phil is so much more creative with his expletives than Barb and Doaks on Dexter.
7 ~ Times I had breakfast at the Lighthouse Cafe. They have the best bacon ever, and I love their grilled croissant with homemade strawberry preserves.
2 ~ Loaves of bread Mr. Lincoln ate made into French toast. The man loves French toast.
10 ~ Pounds of butter Mr. Lincoln ate on the above mentioned French toast.
5 ~ Bicycle trips Mr. Lincoln made to Captiva.
4 ~ Times Kyle was my waiter at the Island Cow. He's not all that efficient, but he's adorable.
29 ~ Beautiful, uncloudy sunrises.
1569 ~ Photos I took.
5 ~ Trips to the airport. I learned that I am overly excited when people arrive, and deeply melancholy for about 24 hours after people leave. Nevermind that I am going to see them again soon, and that we all live in the same town.
1 ~ Canoe trip in the bay, through a lagoon, down a mangrove alley. So FUN!!! Mr. Lincoln and I were informed by a passing kayaker that we were having way too much fun.
2 ~ Dinners at the Old Captive House. Delicious food with the added bonus of a perfect view of the sunset right outside the door. Lovely.
30 ~ Days I planned on riding a bike.
0 ~ Days I rode a bike.
1 ~ Perfect Sunday morning breakfast at 'Tween Waters with my mom in her pajamas and no make-up. If you know her, you know that will probably be the 1 and ONLY time that will happen.
35 (about) ~ Hours spent on the beach with my mother and sister.
1 ~ Fender bender in the CVS parking lot.
1 ~ Trip to the police station.
2 ~ Total times I had been in the CVS parking lot before this year.
8 ~ Trips to CVS just the week Mom and Doree were with me.
Googolplexian: The worlds largest number with a name ~ Prayers offered in thanksgiving for the blessing of the trip, for safe travels for my family, for the beauty surrounding me, for the talent of the musicians I listened to on my IPod, for the sounds and the smells (well, most of them) and the sights and the love and the coming home with the anticipation of next year's trip with the addition of 2 little ones.
So for today, I wish you time with your family, an awareness of the beauty around you, and joyfulness in returning home, and
blessings.
An aside ~ it was brought to my attention recently that at times my blogs are "preachy and judgmental." If I have at any time made you feel that way, I sincerely apologize. It is easy on FB and in a blog to come across as though one has all the answers and that one's life is "perfect." I am part of a family of eccentrics, and we have our share of failings and problems. I do not always share those because, well, because I don't.
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