Day 6, three personality traits I am proud of. Well, first of all, of course, my humility....only kidding, it's a joke....you know, I am proud of my humility. Makes no sense.
I am not a fan of these self-interested prompts. But, as stated, I am trying to follow them as part of this challenge.
Okay, let me think...three personality traits I am proud of.....
1. I am an encourager, unless I am discouraging someone,which is always an accident caused by a clogged personal filter. I do try to be intentionally and genuinely encouraging.
2. Generally, I am not terribly fractious, unless I am. But, when I am feeling fractious, I do recognize it and can let everyone know to beware. Most of the time I am pretty content.
3. I am punctual. Is that a personality trait? I am not sure, but I can be counted on to be where I am supposed to be when I am supposed to be there.
Day 6 - three personality traits I am proud of - check
Thursday, December 31, 2015
Wednesday, December 30, 2015
My Guilty Pleasure
Day 5 challenge is my guilty pleasure. This is a hard one for me. There are a lot of options. My 5 malted milk balls I get almost every time I go to Kroger or Fresh Market. I truly do enjoy that first Diet Coke every morning. I gain great pleasure in a nightly bath, and how fresh my Dove body wash smells. I often buy myself flowers, just because I love fresh flowers. I do love a spin through the sale room at Anthropologie. Oh, and I would be remiss if I failed to mention my love of Hallmark movies; dorky, formulaic, mushy, awesome Hallmark movies. On vacation, I read Danielle Steele. In my head, I tell some people off. I am brilliant and articulate and their lives change for the better because of my efforts.
I realize as I move through these challenges that I am as ordinary and provincial as a person can be. Perhaps, the fact that I am content in that station is my greatest guilty pleasure.
Day 5 - my guilty pleasure- check.
I realize as I move through these challenges that I am as ordinary and provincial as a person can be. Perhaps, the fact that I am content in that station is my greatest guilty pleasure.
Day 5 - my guilty pleasure- check.
Tuesday, December 29, 2015
Meaning of my Business Name
Well, it seems i proved my lack of linear thinking by not.being.able.to.count! I do know that 3 comes before 4 but it was drawn to my attention that I goofed. So, today a twofer!!
My business name is "I'll Take Tennessee." It means: I = me! Marilyn Switzer, and hopefully as many 4th grade teachers, students, and parents I can entice to come on my tours. 'll= will, meaning to desire, choose, or consent.
Take = seize or capture, hmmmmmm
Tennessee = 16th state admitted to the United States; the place where I live.
So, the meaning seems to be, Marilyn Switzer desires to seize the 16th state of the Union.
Or, if you know someone who is studying Tennessee history, and they love a good narrative about people -what they felt, how they thought, what they did, then an I'll Take Tennessee tour might be for you.
Oh, and there is a website www.taketntours.com.
Day 3, what does your business name mean - check.
Riveting stuff, huh?
My business name is "I'll Take Tennessee." It means: I = me! Marilyn Switzer, and hopefully as many 4th grade teachers, students, and parents I can entice to come on my tours. 'll= will, meaning to desire, choose, or consent.
Take = seize or capture, hmmmmmm
Tennessee = 16th state admitted to the United States; the place where I live.
So, the meaning seems to be, Marilyn Switzer desires to seize the 16th state of the Union.
Or, if you know someone who is studying Tennessee history, and they love a good narrative about people -what they felt, how they thought, what they did, then an I'll Take Tennessee tour might be for you.
Oh, and there is a website www.taketntours.com.
Day 3, what does your business name mean - check.
Riveting stuff, huh?
Earliest Childhood Memory
Day 4 challenge is earliest childhood memory. I was four years old. My mom was something of a celebrity here. She was on The Noon Show with Judd Collins. She shared recipes and talked to people, and one time a hypnotist tried to put her "under" on air, but could not. He blamed it on her, saying she couldn't concentrate. Perhaps, my pinball machine mind is genetic?
Well, her TV work was the reason I had to go to daycare at MISS RUBY'S. Say MISS RUBY'S in your mind with a loud and menacing voice. I despised going to MISS RUBY'S. Truth be told, I do not remember anything specific about MISS RUBY, but I remember the hard dirt playground, the dirty little boys, and the lack of compassion shown by MISS RUBY and her minions. On the playground was a swing made from an oil drum, hanging on a frame by two ropes. One could swing straddling the drum, or we more lady-like girls in our dresses would sit daintily on the barrel and grasp the ropes. It was all quite idyllic in our minds. One day I asked someone to give me a push. When they obliged with great enthusiasm, I went flying off the back of the barrel, dress over my head, landing hard on my back in the dirt. When I cried, I was told, "you got what you asked for."
I rarely had to stay for rest time at MISS RUBY'S because my grandparents would pick me up. As much as I despised playtime at MISS RUBY'S it did not compare to my dislike of rest time. If one raised one's head from the cot and MISS RUBY saw it, she would snap her fingers and yell in a harsh voice, "put your head down right now!" She terrified me. I really only remember staying for rest time once. The memory still terrifies me.
I was never a squeaky wheel. Frankly, I am still not, really. For that reason my mother never knew how much I hated going to MISS RUBY'S until when I was 5. It was the first day of my second year at MISS RUBY'S, and Mom began to fix my hair, I began to cry. Great, gulping sobs. Mom was stunned. When she asked what was wrong, I poured my heart out about everything I could not bear to endure another year. She immediately called MISS RUBY, and told her that I would not be there. MISS RUBY had some unkind things to say, but she was no match for my mother. I spent my five-year-old year going to work at the television station with my mom. It was great!
Day 4 - earliest childhood memory - check
Well, her TV work was the reason I had to go to daycare at MISS RUBY'S. Say MISS RUBY'S in your mind with a loud and menacing voice. I despised going to MISS RUBY'S. Truth be told, I do not remember anything specific about MISS RUBY, but I remember the hard dirt playground, the dirty little boys, and the lack of compassion shown by MISS RUBY and her minions. On the playground was a swing made from an oil drum, hanging on a frame by two ropes. One could swing straddling the drum, or we more lady-like girls in our dresses would sit daintily on the barrel and grasp the ropes. It was all quite idyllic in our minds. One day I asked someone to give me a push. When they obliged with great enthusiasm, I went flying off the back of the barrel, dress over my head, landing hard on my back in the dirt. When I cried, I was told, "you got what you asked for."
I rarely had to stay for rest time at MISS RUBY'S because my grandparents would pick me up. As much as I despised playtime at MISS RUBY'S it did not compare to my dislike of rest time. If one raised one's head from the cot and MISS RUBY saw it, she would snap her fingers and yell in a harsh voice, "put your head down right now!" She terrified me. I really only remember staying for rest time once. The memory still terrifies me.
I was never a squeaky wheel. Frankly, I am still not, really. For that reason my mother never knew how much I hated going to MISS RUBY'S until when I was 5. It was the first day of my second year at MISS RUBY'S, and Mom began to fix my hair, I began to cry. Great, gulping sobs. Mom was stunned. When she asked what was wrong, I poured my heart out about everything I could not bear to endure another year. She immediately called MISS RUBY, and told her that I would not be there. MISS RUBY had some unkind things to say, but she was no match for my mother. I spent my five-year-old year going to work at the television station with my mom. It was great!
Day 4 - earliest childhood memory - check
Monday, December 28, 2015
20 Facts About Me
Well, this prompt is certainly an exercise in egotism. Who could possibly care to read 20 facts about me. I don't even want to read it. But, as I promised myself, I will try to follow the prompts faithfully.
20 things about me that you may not know.
1. Possibly I was the only cheerleader at Isaac Litton High School in all its years of existence who could not do a cartwheel...not even close.
2. When I am nervous, I type out words in my mind....and sometimes my fingers move too.
3. When I open kitchen cabinet doors, I never know what will fall out.
4. I once stuck my hand in a yellow jacket nest pretending I was Jeanette McDonald in a movie.
5. I am allergic to bee stings.
6. I am very prone to motion sickness.
7. My thought processes are like the inside of a pinball machine. I am not much of a linear thinker.
8. I once was stung in the throat (not on my neck) by a yellow jacket. A recurring theme?
9. I am not afraid of spiders.
10. I am afraid of mice and snakes.......and bees.
11. I was supposed to appear on TV with Eddie Arnold, but I fell on my neighbor's steps and pretty much demolished my face, thus losing my big chance at fame.
12. Sometimes I cheat on my FitBit as riotous rocking in a chair in my den will produce the effects of many steps, and sometimes I put it on one of my grandsons.
13. I think My Fitness Pal has some trust issues....well, if it doesn't, it should. I am pretty certain an entire carton of ice cream has more calories than the 47 I need to get to my daily 1200.
14. My vision is 20/200 without my glasses. That's not real good.
15. I am not proud, but I considered killing the grass in my neighbor's hard with salt spelling out the word "ass." I didn't do it, but I shocked myself when I realized how much I really wanted to.
16. I love flowers, but I have a brown thumb. So much so that my mother gave me an ornamental stone for my garden that says, "I tried, but it died."
17. I sometimes talk to Trigger and Marfa May, the scarecrows in my planter. Her Christmas poncho keeps blowing up over her head, and she needs to know that is immodest!
18. I once had a pink piano in my 80 square foot bedroom and I was convinced that all my stuffed animals who sat on it came alive at night. I talked to them too.
19. Sometimes I think inanimate objects have feelings.
20. I think, after reading items 1-19, I need to make an immediate appointment with a psychiatrist.
Day two, 20 things about me - check.
20 things about me that you may not know.
1. Possibly I was the only cheerleader at Isaac Litton High School in all its years of existence who could not do a cartwheel...not even close.
2. When I am nervous, I type out words in my mind....and sometimes my fingers move too.
3. When I open kitchen cabinet doors, I never know what will fall out.
4. I once stuck my hand in a yellow jacket nest pretending I was Jeanette McDonald in a movie.
5. I am allergic to bee stings.
6. I am very prone to motion sickness.
7. My thought processes are like the inside of a pinball machine. I am not much of a linear thinker.
8. I once was stung in the throat (not on my neck) by a yellow jacket. A recurring theme?
9. I am not afraid of spiders.
10. I am afraid of mice and snakes.......and bees.
11. I was supposed to appear on TV with Eddie Arnold, but I fell on my neighbor's steps and pretty much demolished my face, thus losing my big chance at fame.
12. Sometimes I cheat on my FitBit as riotous rocking in a chair in my den will produce the effects of many steps, and sometimes I put it on one of my grandsons.
13. I think My Fitness Pal has some trust issues....well, if it doesn't, it should. I am pretty certain an entire carton of ice cream has more calories than the 47 I need to get to my daily 1200.
14. My vision is 20/200 without my glasses. That's not real good.
15. I am not proud, but I considered killing the grass in my neighbor's hard with salt spelling out the word "ass." I didn't do it, but I shocked myself when I realized how much I really wanted to.
16. I love flowers, but I have a brown thumb. So much so that my mother gave me an ornamental stone for my garden that says, "I tried, but it died."
17. I sometimes talk to Trigger and Marfa May, the scarecrows in my planter. Her Christmas poncho keeps blowing up over her head, and she needs to know that is immodest!
18. I once had a pink piano in my 80 square foot bedroom and I was convinced that all my stuffed animals who sat on it came alive at night. I talked to them too.
19. Sometimes I think inanimate objects have feelings.
20. I think, after reading items 1-19, I need to make an immediate appointment with a psychiatrist.
Day two, 20 things about me - check.
Sunday, December 27, 2015
Then and Now
There are things I do too much of now that I used to not ever do; things like playing solitaire on the iPad or posting things on FB, or listening to my husband with one ear due to electronic distractions or texting someone instead of calling them or spending hours perusing Pinterest. Not all these things are bad, but I am feeling the need to make a few changes. Soon, oh, so soon, but not today, I am deleting solitaire and QuizUp and Trivia Crack from all devices. I am going to consciously pay attention to Mr. L even if he is discussing the price of gas or why that referee's signal was wrong. I will listen. There are those I will continue to text, it seems the only way to communicate with some people in my life, but I will try to actually talk to them from time to time as well. I will continue to look at FB. I love wishing people happy birthday, hearing about trips, seeing funny children and grumpy cats and your favorite YouTube videos. I love your pictures. I have already begun blocking those who are politically or religiously strident and unkind. That kind of negativity can start a day off or wind a day down poorly. Because I rationalize that I have not spent money on a magazine since I discovered Pinterest, I have made some stellar dishes from recipes found on that site, the boys and I have done countless crafts and projects, and I dearly love the creativity of people who post marvelous hints and ideas, I will not be giving up my Pinterest fascination, but I will try to limit new pins and wade through the bazillion I already have. In fact, this blog is the result of a Pin. It came in the form of a 31-day challenge to post a blog a day with prompts to spark a bit of creativity. We will see how dedicated I am.
There are things I used to do that I do not do as often now, like read books. I used to be a voracious reader, but I have allowed mindless electronic pursuits crowd out my joy of reading; well, that and my absolute inability to stay awake at night. I intend to read more this year. I used to take a photograph a day and keep them in a hard-copy journal with little tidbits of trivia about the picture and the day. I did that for 5 or 6 years, but recent starts and stops have sort of killed my enthusiasm. While I may not keep a daily journal, I do intend to take more photos of beautiful or odd things, and not just of my grandchildren, though I will not be slowing down on my picture taking of them. That
brings me too much pleasure. This year I bought myself an art journal of 44 pages of watercolor paper. I am going to try my hand at that. I enjoy watercolors more than other kinds of paint simply because I don't have to wear a hazmat suit while using them. With oils and acrylics, I make a huge mess. I do not excel at any of them, so I figure why not stick with the one I find most convenient. Well, and I do love watching what watercolors do.
So day one of 31 days of blogging prompts says make an introduction. The 5 of you who happen to read this blog know me already. This is my intro to the next 31 days of blogging-well, maybe I will make it 31 days, for self-discipline is another of those things I could use a bit more of. Probably I was supposed to start this January 1, but too many rules will ruin the experience.
Day one-introduction - check.
There are things I used to do that I do not do as often now, like read books. I used to be a voracious reader, but I have allowed mindless electronic pursuits crowd out my joy of reading; well, that and my absolute inability to stay awake at night. I intend to read more this year. I used to take a photograph a day and keep them in a hard-copy journal with little tidbits of trivia about the picture and the day. I did that for 5 or 6 years, but recent starts and stops have sort of killed my enthusiasm. While I may not keep a daily journal, I do intend to take more photos of beautiful or odd things, and not just of my grandchildren, though I will not be slowing down on my picture taking of them. That
brings me too much pleasure. This year I bought myself an art journal of 44 pages of watercolor paper. I am going to try my hand at that. I enjoy watercolors more than other kinds of paint simply because I don't have to wear a hazmat suit while using them. With oils and acrylics, I make a huge mess. I do not excel at any of them, so I figure why not stick with the one I find most convenient. Well, and I do love watching what watercolors do.
So day one of 31 days of blogging prompts says make an introduction. The 5 of you who happen to read this blog know me already. This is my intro to the next 31 days of blogging-well, maybe I will make it 31 days, for self-discipline is another of those things I could use a bit more of. Probably I was supposed to start this January 1, but too many rules will ruin the experience.
Day one-introduction - check.
Wednesday, December 16, 2015
I Miss Him
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| Love this man, and I actually thought this sweater was adorable...where is it when I need an ugly Christmas sweater? |
I miss him. This will be the 18th Christmas without him, my wonderful, handsome, kind, gentlemanly daddy. He would have had you believe that Christmas was a humbug. He loved playing the role of Scrooge, but he was no Scrooge. He was not a particularly good gifter nor receiver of gifts. I remember one year early in my marriage, I knitted Daddy a scarf. He opened it and said, "that's nice, but I will never wear it." Funny how that might have hurt my feelings coming from someone else, but that was "just Daddy," and I adored him. Even if he might have grumbled, he always helped Mom fashion elaborate wreaths for the front door. He always made sure the spotlight hit the wreath perfectly.He may not have been a shopper, but he wanted to be sure that we had what we needed and what we wanted. Mom was in charge of acquiring those gifts. What Daddy loved most about Christmas was being with family. He may have talked about too many kids, too many gifts or too many decorations, but he loved us all. I miss him.
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| Does this look like a Scrooge to you? |
I miss him, that beautiful, complicated, sensitive, wounded oldest brother of mine. This will be the tenth Christmas without him. Truth be told, our last few Christmases together were strained in many ways for many reasons. As time goes, if I am allowed to follow my own heart, those uncomfortable Christmases fade into the background while congenial ones become more vivid. Mr. L worked with my brother for several years. I remember a specific Christmas office dinner and gathering at my brother's home at which he made me feel most welcomed and loved. Probably, as long as I live I will be able to feel his hand gently resting on my shoulder as we gathered in his parlor (it is an old house and "living room" will not do-it was a proper parlor) and he thanked us all for being there. He was a great giver of gifts. He loved beautiful things, and loved giving beautiful things to others. He loved the decorations, the music, the fanfare of the holidays. I miss him.
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| A merry Christmas |
I miss him. This is our first Christmas without him, my straightforward, uncomplicated, big-hearted brother. His health was such last year that he could not join us for the family gatherings, but we all made sure to see him during the week of Christmas. I think I took the boys, and maybe some Christmas treat. He had the family sweet tooth. He loved my mother's boiled custard. My memories of him are loud and bright and span my entire lifetime. My childhood Christmas memories cannot be separated from him. He was a mischief maker. With his beautiful face and rosy cheeks, he looked like a really jolly Santa. While he required very little in the way of material goods, he wanted to be sure everyone else had what they needed. One year after playing Dirty Santa, my brother had relentlessly stolen what Mr. L. had opened. It was one of those foot spas for aching, tired feet. My sister-in-law teased my brother about taking that gift from the one person who actually needed such a thing because of all Mr. L's running. When we left my mom's that night, in the backseat of our car sat that foot spa. That is who he was. I miss him.
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| This was less during his Santa look alike days, and more his James Dean/Paul Newman days.
So, today, I wish you Christmas blessings
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Sunday, December 13, 2015
Guilty or Grateful
This world seems in a mess. Students of history would tell us that it has been worse. This is our mess, however, and there are times it feels as though it never will be any different.
In my heart I have great empathy for the Syrian refugees. I can only try to imagine what it must be like to live in such fear, or worse in such fear for one's children. I have no comprehension of living in camps with thousands of other refugees, depending on others for every necessity, and knowing that in many parts of the world you are despised simply because you are.
There are child soldiers in Congo and other areas who have been indoctrinated, threatened, and forced to kill their families.People die all over this world for lack of fresh water. They die of dehydration, kidney disease and other conditions simply because there is no local means of getting fresh water. Children live on dumps and die from starvation and the effects of sniffing glue in Kenya. Approximately 85 young people travel through this city every week being transported across state lines for the specific purpose of sexual slavery. Right here in the buckle of the Bible Belt there are homeless people sleeping in the rain and eating out of garbage cans. There are marriages falling apart or miserably staying together; where spouses derive no pleasure in each other's company. There are people languishing in the throes of addiction. There are people in prison who truly did not have any hope for much of anything else for no one told them it could be different.
Yes, it seems this world is in a mess. I contemplate these things as I walk in my quiet, safe neighborhood. I wonder about these matters when I get a drink of water or wash my dishes or take a leisurely bath. I think about these situations when I have the choice of what or where, not if, I will eat my next meal. It crosses my mind when I look at my kind and hilarious husband.
So, what do I do? Do I feel guilty because I walk peacefully in my neighborhood where people are better able to take care of their pets than some are able to care for their own children? Do I feel guilty when I take a long bath after a day that I consider tiring that someone from another part of the world would think was a cake walk? Do I feel guilty because when it rains I can come into a warm, cozy home and be dry? Do I feel guilty because most days I eat three meals, and I get to eat what I want? Do I feel guilty because after 41 years of marriage I still find my husband a joy to spend time
with?
I choose to not feel guilty. I choose to be grateful. Certainly, out of that gratitude I am compelled to help where I can with money and time and prayer. I want to choose to "bloom where I am planted." I want to meet needs where I can, and sometimes that means giving of my time and sometimes it means giving money and sometimes it means praying. Sometimes it means a kind word. Sometimes it means keeping my mouth shut. Sometimes it means caring for my family and sometimes it means reaching out beyond that. I will choose to be grateful and not feel guilty, trying to remain ever mindful of those hurting, for whatever reason. Pain is pain whether we bring it on ourselves or not.
I blame my FitBit for this blog. It is a persistent task master, and the time I spend seeking those 10,000 daily steps is the time I best hear the whisperings of the Spirit. I hear, "be grateful for life's beautiful gifts...don't feel guilty about the beautiful people and activities in your life....help every time and every place you can. It is arrogant to do otherwise."
For today, I wish you a grateful heart, a blessed Christmas, a new year with peace that passes all understanding of the mess it seems this world is in, and I wish you
Blessings
In my heart I have great empathy for the Syrian refugees. I can only try to imagine what it must be like to live in such fear, or worse in such fear for one's children. I have no comprehension of living in camps with thousands of other refugees, depending on others for every necessity, and knowing that in many parts of the world you are despised simply because you are.
There are child soldiers in Congo and other areas who have been indoctrinated, threatened, and forced to kill their families.People die all over this world for lack of fresh water. They die of dehydration, kidney disease and other conditions simply because there is no local means of getting fresh water. Children live on dumps and die from starvation and the effects of sniffing glue in Kenya. Approximately 85 young people travel through this city every week being transported across state lines for the specific purpose of sexual slavery. Right here in the buckle of the Bible Belt there are homeless people sleeping in the rain and eating out of garbage cans. There are marriages falling apart or miserably staying together; where spouses derive no pleasure in each other's company. There are people languishing in the throes of addiction. There are people in prison who truly did not have any hope for much of anything else for no one told them it could be different.
Yes, it seems this world is in a mess. I contemplate these things as I walk in my quiet, safe neighborhood. I wonder about these matters when I get a drink of water or wash my dishes or take a leisurely bath. I think about these situations when I have the choice of what or where, not if, I will eat my next meal. It crosses my mind when I look at my kind and hilarious husband.
So, what do I do? Do I feel guilty because I walk peacefully in my neighborhood where people are better able to take care of their pets than some are able to care for their own children? Do I feel guilty when I take a long bath after a day that I consider tiring that someone from another part of the world would think was a cake walk? Do I feel guilty because when it rains I can come into a warm, cozy home and be dry? Do I feel guilty because most days I eat three meals, and I get to eat what I want? Do I feel guilty because after 41 years of marriage I still find my husband a joy to spend time
with?
I choose to not feel guilty. I choose to be grateful. Certainly, out of that gratitude I am compelled to help where I can with money and time and prayer. I want to choose to "bloom where I am planted." I want to meet needs where I can, and sometimes that means giving of my time and sometimes it means giving money and sometimes it means praying. Sometimes it means a kind word. Sometimes it means keeping my mouth shut. Sometimes it means caring for my family and sometimes it means reaching out beyond that. I will choose to be grateful and not feel guilty, trying to remain ever mindful of those hurting, for whatever reason. Pain is pain whether we bring it on ourselves or not.
I blame my FitBit for this blog. It is a persistent task master, and the time I spend seeking those 10,000 daily steps is the time I best hear the whisperings of the Spirit. I hear, "be grateful for life's beautiful gifts...don't feel guilty about the beautiful people and activities in your life....help every time and every place you can. It is arrogant to do otherwise."
For today, I wish you a grateful heart, a blessed Christmas, a new year with peace that passes all understanding of the mess it seems this world is in, and I wish you
Blessings
Sunday, November 8, 2015
God, My Neighbor, and First Impressions
I have a neighbor. Admittedly, I do not know him well, and he is living with the truth of the adage, "first impressions are the most lasting." He does not know that he is living with the consequences of my first impression of him, and, frankly, I am fairly certain that it would be impossible for him to care any less if he did know. But, my first impression of him is why I devilishly am enjoying watching his futile efforts. Perhaps, if I knew him better, my impressions would change. My efforts, however, in being sociable have been met with absolutely no congeniality.
This man has a beautifully groomed yard. We learned of his devotion to his yard when a neighbor experienced sewerage backing up into his house caused by roots in the pipes on this gentleman's property. He was far less concerned by the neighbor's predicament than by the thought that a utility company may dig a hole in his yard. He was living under the misconception that by screaming at the utility company worker, dropping the "F-bomb," and all round acting the ass that he could somehow prevent them from coming on his property. Impressing all who learned the story, the utility worker did not lose his cool, and patiently explained that he did have the right to come on the property and dig where necessary. He also, kindly, explained that while excrement was not bubbling up in the gentleman's tubs, showers, and sinks now, it would eventually. That little tidbit can convince the most contrary soul that capitulation may be the wiser move.
Did I mention this man loves his yard? Did I mention that I, very unkindly, am enjoying watching his futile efforts? There are thirty-seven trees in this man's front yard. I counted them. Two of them are evergreens. Let me stress, this man LOVES his yard, and he works to keep it pristine, but he has thirty-five deciduous trees in his yard. Thirty-five big trees....with leaves....with leaves dropping every second...with leaves dropping every second for the past several days.
Now, the only question this man asked when he was approached about the pipe and roots and digging in his yard issue was, "do you know who I am?" That question is always loaded. Turns out, he is a director of music videos; like he's the only one of those living in Music City, USA. He is quite taken with his position, while his sewerage infected neighbors found the fact somewhat less than
impressive. They just wanted the poop (oh, how I would love to use a better descriptor here, but I will refrain) out of their pipes.
So, as I pass him on my walks (the FitBit is a tyrant, but that's for another blog) I watch him desperately trying to keep his yard in pristine condition, I whisper to myself, " yes, I know who you are. You are the man fighting a losing battle. You are the man who is going to require surgery to remove that leaf blower from your hand. You are the man who some day will learn (or not) that you have no control. Oh, man, you may be the man who after zillions of man-hours blowing and raking will learn that decaying leaves feed your lawn and are better left where they fall. You are the man who is living in fear; of what, I don't know. You are the man to whom I will continue to speak and try to know a bit better......"
I will end my enjoyment of his futility, and analyze my own wasted strivings. I will give 2nd and 3rd and 70 times 7 impressions a chance to change my lasting first impression.
Blessings
This man has a beautifully groomed yard. We learned of his devotion to his yard when a neighbor experienced sewerage backing up into his house caused by roots in the pipes on this gentleman's property. He was far less concerned by the neighbor's predicament than by the thought that a utility company may dig a hole in his yard. He was living under the misconception that by screaming at the utility company worker, dropping the "F-bomb," and all round acting the ass that he could somehow prevent them from coming on his property. Impressing all who learned the story, the utility worker did not lose his cool, and patiently explained that he did have the right to come on the property and dig where necessary. He also, kindly, explained that while excrement was not bubbling up in the gentleman's tubs, showers, and sinks now, it would eventually. That little tidbit can convince the most contrary soul that capitulation may be the wiser move.
Did I mention this man loves his yard? Did I mention that I, very unkindly, am enjoying watching his futile efforts? There are thirty-seven trees in this man's front yard. I counted them. Two of them are evergreens. Let me stress, this man LOVES his yard, and he works to keep it pristine, but he has thirty-five deciduous trees in his yard. Thirty-five big trees....with leaves....with leaves dropping every second...with leaves dropping every second for the past several days.
Now, the only question this man asked when he was approached about the pipe and roots and digging in his yard issue was, "do you know who I am?" That question is always loaded. Turns out, he is a director of music videos; like he's the only one of those living in Music City, USA. He is quite taken with his position, while his sewerage infected neighbors found the fact somewhat less than
impressive. They just wanted the poop (oh, how I would love to use a better descriptor here, but I will refrain) out of their pipes.
So, as I pass him on my walks (the FitBit is a tyrant, but that's for another blog) I watch him desperately trying to keep his yard in pristine condition, I whisper to myself, " yes, I know who you are. You are the man fighting a losing battle. You are the man who is going to require surgery to remove that leaf blower from your hand. You are the man who some day will learn (or not) that you have no control. Oh, man, you may be the man who after zillions of man-hours blowing and raking will learn that decaying leaves feed your lawn and are better left where they fall. You are the man who is living in fear; of what, I don't know. You are the man to whom I will continue to speak and try to know a bit better......"
I will end my enjoyment of his futility, and analyze my own wasted strivings. I will give 2nd and 3rd and 70 times 7 impressions a chance to change my lasting first impression.
Blessings
Saturday, October 17, 2015
For Want of Six Dollars
I met her on the street yesterday. Uncharacteristically, I am running a bit behind. She stops me and asks, haltingly, "is this the Presbyterian church?" I tell her it is, but that it is not open just yet; that I am about to go in to give a tour.
She says she needs an I.D. She has an interview for a job at Shoney's at 2:00, and she has to have an I.D. At that moment I have no idea what her need involves. I know the church helps people get I.D.'s, but how exactly, I am not sure. I tell her I will check if the office is open, and hurriedly make my way to the office door. She stands where she is; she does not follow me.
When I see the church is open, I wave to her to come with me. I ask her name. It is Jevon. She says it quickly, all three names, as a child does. She has a terrible keloid scar in the middle of her chest. It looks as though it could have been caused by a burn. It does not look like a precision-cut surgical scar. I wonder what caused it. I will not ask. The voice of my Bible class teacher echoes in my head, so I ask Jevon if she would allow me to pray with her. I do not pray an eloquent prayer, but I do ask God's mercies on Jevon, that the church helps her get her I.D., that she gets the job, and that she is blessed by the job and that Shoney's is blessed by hiring her. We hug, she thanks me, and we go inside
I introduce Jevon to the church secretary, a lovely man named Reggie, and tell him that Jevon is a new friend who needs help getting an I.D. Still, I am unaware of how exactly the church helps. I guess I am thinking they have their own little camera and laminating machine. Come get your illegal I.D. at the Presbyterian church!! Often I surprise myself with my lack of awareness.
Reggie tells Jevon he is sorry, that they only help with I.D.'s on certain days and certain times because that is when the minister is there and he is the only one who can write a check. A check? That is how they help? Jevon said, "I have $6.00, so I only need six more, not the whole twelve." What? Twelve dollars is what she needs for an I.D.?
There I stand with phone, epi pen, water bottle, and debit card, but no cash. I am far from my car where I do have cash, with no time to go back there. All I have to offer in my job is information and punctuality. I know I cannot leave teachers with 100 students and 30 parents standing on the sidewalk waiting for me. Six dollars! Why did I take that twenty dollar bill out of my pocket this morning? I would gladly give it to Jevon.
Reggie and I both apologize. He tells her to try the Methodist church right down the street. It is obvious that Jevon is no stranger to disappointment. As she leaves, I pray that the Methodist church is able to help, and that she gets her job, but I feel a lot like the person who prays, but offers no ready physical help. My prayer is that she encounters someone else who has been divinely appointed to help her in the next step.
I begin my tour with Jevon on my mind hoping that I am a stepping stone in a series of stepping stones that will help Jevon arrive at her desired destination of success. I pray that she will not fail for want of $6.00.
For today, I wish you new people to enter your lives, I wish you opportunities to serve, and I wish you
Blessings
She says she needs an I.D. She has an interview for a job at Shoney's at 2:00, and she has to have an I.D. At that moment I have no idea what her need involves. I know the church helps people get I.D.'s, but how exactly, I am not sure. I tell her I will check if the office is open, and hurriedly make my way to the office door. She stands where she is; she does not follow me.
When I see the church is open, I wave to her to come with me. I ask her name. It is Jevon. She says it quickly, all three names, as a child does. She has a terrible keloid scar in the middle of her chest. It looks as though it could have been caused by a burn. It does not look like a precision-cut surgical scar. I wonder what caused it. I will not ask. The voice of my Bible class teacher echoes in my head, so I ask Jevon if she would allow me to pray with her. I do not pray an eloquent prayer, but I do ask God's mercies on Jevon, that the church helps her get her I.D., that she gets the job, and that she is blessed by the job and that Shoney's is blessed by hiring her. We hug, she thanks me, and we go inside
I introduce Jevon to the church secretary, a lovely man named Reggie, and tell him that Jevon is a new friend who needs help getting an I.D. Still, I am unaware of how exactly the church helps. I guess I am thinking they have their own little camera and laminating machine. Come get your illegal I.D. at the Presbyterian church!! Often I surprise myself with my lack of awareness.
Reggie tells Jevon he is sorry, that they only help with I.D.'s on certain days and certain times because that is when the minister is there and he is the only one who can write a check. A check? That is how they help? Jevon said, "I have $6.00, so I only need six more, not the whole twelve." What? Twelve dollars is what she needs for an I.D.?
There I stand with phone, epi pen, water bottle, and debit card, but no cash. I am far from my car where I do have cash, with no time to go back there. All I have to offer in my job is information and punctuality. I know I cannot leave teachers with 100 students and 30 parents standing on the sidewalk waiting for me. Six dollars! Why did I take that twenty dollar bill out of my pocket this morning? I would gladly give it to Jevon.
Reggie and I both apologize. He tells her to try the Methodist church right down the street. It is obvious that Jevon is no stranger to disappointment. As she leaves, I pray that the Methodist church is able to help, and that she gets her job, but I feel a lot like the person who prays, but offers no ready physical help. My prayer is that she encounters someone else who has been divinely appointed to help her in the next step.
I begin my tour with Jevon on my mind hoping that I am a stepping stone in a series of stepping stones that will help Jevon arrive at her desired destination of success. I pray that she will not fail for want of $6.00.
For today, I wish you new people to enter your lives, I wish you opportunities to serve, and I wish you
Blessings
Sunday, September 27, 2015
45 Years Later
Last night was the 45th reunion of our high school graduating class. Just in case there is confusion, we were the class of 1970, graduated from Isaac Litton High School, and proud of it! Litton High Forever!
I know why we are so proud of being from Litton as it is a school of generations, and yet, in the not-too-distant future, there will be no more living graduates of this great school. The class of 1970 was the next-to-last class to graduate with a Litton diploma. For this reason, we have a sense of urgency in preserving our history and maintaining our connections. Many of my classmates can claim parents or grandparents who were also graduated from Litton, a family legacy. The continuation of the legacy ended in 1971.
Last night we celebrated high school days; the days when freedom was gained with a driver's license, when first serious kisses were had, when lifelong friendships were forged, when lessons were learned at the feet of excellent teachers, when hearts swelled at the opening strains of Malaguena, when teams were cheered to victory and teammates were celebrated even in defeat, when awkward adolescents morphed into poised teens, when we crossed the threshold into adulthood.
So, I share some pictures from a most lovely night. Notice the joy on faces that have changed with time, yet somehow remain so dearly familiar.
Coach Forehand ~ yes folks one of our teachers
one of our favorite teachers
not sure where he is hiding that fountain of youth
from which he must be imbibing
The Queen of the Evening,
Our fearless leader and planner
Thank you Melinda
That fellow in the middle officiated at these two's wedding
He does good work, for they are one of the great couples.
Proof that mixed marriages do work.
Imagine a Stratford boy and a Litton girl living happily ever after.
For today, I wish you lifelong friendships, great memories, bonded hearts, and I wish you
blessings
Friday, September 25, 2015
Redeemed
Whoever came up with this new craze of people shouting out a welcome as one walks into a business establishment is certainly not an introvert trying to avoid being the center of attention at all costs. That shouted out welcome is most disconcerting to me, and I find myself cringing for myself and the poor soul who is required to extend the greeting. I can barely make myself walk into Regions Bank for this reason.
Sunday, Mr. L and I went to the CVS in Green Hills to pick up a few things. I was focusing on my short list as we walked in and the young girl behind the counter shouted "welcome to CVS, can I help you find something?" This asking to help me find something was a new twist on the mortifying greeting, and so I, in my just-came-from-church-clothes, replied, "no," and possibly waved my hand in a dismissive way. Still focusing on my list, I was blissfully unaware of what a snobbish demeanor I had displayed.
Checking out, I made an uncharacteristically (I hope) attention -getting display of trying to decide which candy bar I wanted by reading the calorie count and exclaiming that I really should not get the king sized Cookies and Cream bar that I wanted. Mr. L encouraged me to hurry along so I really had no choice but to get the king sized bar and consume the whole thing on the way home. Something else I am not particularly proud of in a day of charmless behavior.
Mr. L said to me in the car that the cashier really did not like me. As he puts it, she just didn't like the "cut of my jib." In all innocence at that moment, I exclaimed my dismay at the thought, and why on earth would she not like me. What's not to like? Mr. L gave me that Switzer I-will-look-puzzled-even-though-I-am-not-puzzled look as if to say, "you figure it out."
I pondered on the CVS visit and realized how rude and dismissive I had been to a young girl, working on a Sunday, having to greet snooty church folk like myself. I was mortified! It has eaten away at me ever since.
Today, I was back at CVS getting my second antibiotic for an ear infection. Seriously, how does a 63 year old get an ear infection that won't clear up? Seriously? Well, as I walked in, there was the young girl. I walked up to her and asked, "were you working Sunday?" She said she was, and I told her that she may not remember me but that I was rude and dismissive to her and that I deeply regretted it, and I was very sorry. She smiled kindly, graciously accepted my apology without letting me off the hook (good for her), and I feel ever so much better. Redeemed, how I love to proclaim it!
For today I wish you moments of redemption, forgiveness, and someone to speak truth in your life, however subtle, if you ever act the ass, and I wish you
Blessings
Sunday, Mr. L and I went to the CVS in Green Hills to pick up a few things. I was focusing on my short list as we walked in and the young girl behind the counter shouted "welcome to CVS, can I help you find something?" This asking to help me find something was a new twist on the mortifying greeting, and so I, in my just-came-from-church-clothes, replied, "no," and possibly waved my hand in a dismissive way. Still focusing on my list, I was blissfully unaware of what a snobbish demeanor I had displayed.
Checking out, I made an uncharacteristically (I hope) attention -getting display of trying to decide which candy bar I wanted by reading the calorie count and exclaiming that I really should not get the king sized Cookies and Cream bar that I wanted. Mr. L encouraged me to hurry along so I really had no choice but to get the king sized bar and consume the whole thing on the way home. Something else I am not particularly proud of in a day of charmless behavior.
Mr. L said to me in the car that the cashier really did not like me. As he puts it, she just didn't like the "cut of my jib." In all innocence at that moment, I exclaimed my dismay at the thought, and why on earth would she not like me. What's not to like? Mr. L gave me that Switzer I-will-look-puzzled-even-though-I-am-not-puzzled look as if to say, "you figure it out."
I pondered on the CVS visit and realized how rude and dismissive I had been to a young girl, working on a Sunday, having to greet snooty church folk like myself. I was mortified! It has eaten away at me ever since.
Today, I was back at CVS getting my second antibiotic for an ear infection. Seriously, how does a 63 year old get an ear infection that won't clear up? Seriously? Well, as I walked in, there was the young girl. I walked up to her and asked, "were you working Sunday?" She said she was, and I told her that she may not remember me but that I was rude and dismissive to her and that I deeply regretted it, and I was very sorry. She smiled kindly, graciously accepted my apology without letting me off the hook (good for her), and I feel ever so much better. Redeemed, how I love to proclaim it!
For today I wish you moments of redemption, forgiveness, and someone to speak truth in your life, however subtle, if you ever act the ass, and I wish you
Blessings
Friday, September 11, 2015
Lessons From History
Mr. L and I are watching the Showtime series, "The Tudors," on Netflix. If you need to judge, please do, as there is nudity, violence, and some language, though it seems the English royalty had a bit more decorum when it came to foul language than with foul behavior. Mr. L and I, both history majors, found ourselves a bit skeptical at what we perceived to be Hollywood's version of Tudor England, so we bought books of English history. As would be appropriate, Mr. L's purchase is entitled The Story of Britain From the Romans to the Present, and mine is entitled Great Tales from English History.
From reading these histories, it is apparent that Hollywood could not possibly exaggerate the debauchery and violence that occurred, especially during Henry VIII's reign and that of his daughter, Mary. Of course, I know enough history to have been acquainted with his beheading of two wives, but, oh there is so much more. I do know that Hollywood took some liberties in their presentation of Henry's appearance for instead of his being a rotund man lacking in pleasing appearance, he has a six pack, beautiful eyes, and straight, white teeth. I was terribly dismayed last night during my reading to learn that the-beautiful-on-the-show Duke of Suffolk was an unattractive corpulent man himself, and this fact might explain the close relationship he had with the king. Hollywood's liberties have certainly made the show more pleasing to the eye.
It is truly a story of privilege and no self-restraint. The Church of England was established by Henry simply so he could get a divorce from his first wife. The pope and the counsel of cardinals was not buying his convoluted arguments as to why the marriage was not legal. No problem, he just declares his position as king having been divinely appointed, starts the Church of England, beheads those who will not comply (think Sir Thomas Moore) and goes his merry way. And let me just say, his behavior barely compares to those of some of the religious authorities. If the head religious guy in season four (cannot remember his name) is beheaded, or hanged, or drawn and quartered, or burned at the stake (seriously, there is no end to the terrible things they did) it will be the only execution that I will actually watch. He is amazingly despicable. I spend a lot of time with a blanket over my head, fingers in my ears, humming Count Your Many Blessings, periodically asking Mr. L, "is it over yet?"
Mary, Henry's daughter by Katherine of Aragon, became known as Bloody Mary. She, like her mother, was a devout Catholic. When her brother, Edward VI, died at the age of 16, she became queen. Pretty much, her reign was all about getting rid of the "pestilence" known as Protestantism. She despised Lutherans. Over a period of 45 months, she burned in the fires at Smithfield 227 men and 56 women for their faith. The one that created a PR nightmare for her was the execution of Thomas Cranmer, who numerous times under duress (more than a slight understatement) recanted his his faith in the Protestant reformation, only to be executed anyway because Mary was determined that he would be. He was the architect of her father's divorce from her mother. He also is given credit for having written The Book of Common Prayer. Even those of her own faith saw the wrongness in his execution.
This is not a blog on English history. It is a blog on undesired results. Historians credit Bloody Mary for the fact that England Protestant. She died in 1558, and still England is considered a Protestant country because of her stubborn, pious, dogmatic, efforts to force Catholicism on those around her. There has to be a lesson in there somewhere for us today.
Blessings
From reading these histories, it is apparent that Hollywood could not possibly exaggerate the debauchery and violence that occurred, especially during Henry VIII's reign and that of his daughter, Mary. Of course, I know enough history to have been acquainted with his beheading of two wives, but, oh there is so much more. I do know that Hollywood took some liberties in their presentation of Henry's appearance for instead of his being a rotund man lacking in pleasing appearance, he has a six pack, beautiful eyes, and straight, white teeth. I was terribly dismayed last night during my reading to learn that the-beautiful-on-the-show Duke of Suffolk was an unattractive corpulent man himself, and this fact might explain the close relationship he had with the king. Hollywood's liberties have certainly made the show more pleasing to the eye.
It is truly a story of privilege and no self-restraint. The Church of England was established by Henry simply so he could get a divorce from his first wife. The pope and the counsel of cardinals was not buying his convoluted arguments as to why the marriage was not legal. No problem, he just declares his position as king having been divinely appointed, starts the Church of England, beheads those who will not comply (think Sir Thomas Moore) and goes his merry way. And let me just say, his behavior barely compares to those of some of the religious authorities. If the head religious guy in season four (cannot remember his name) is beheaded, or hanged, or drawn and quartered, or burned at the stake (seriously, there is no end to the terrible things they did) it will be the only execution that I will actually watch. He is amazingly despicable. I spend a lot of time with a blanket over my head, fingers in my ears, humming Count Your Many Blessings, periodically asking Mr. L, "is it over yet?"
Mary, Henry's daughter by Katherine of Aragon, became known as Bloody Mary. She, like her mother, was a devout Catholic. When her brother, Edward VI, died at the age of 16, she became queen. Pretty much, her reign was all about getting rid of the "pestilence" known as Protestantism. She despised Lutherans. Over a period of 45 months, she burned in the fires at Smithfield 227 men and 56 women for their faith. The one that created a PR nightmare for her was the execution of Thomas Cranmer, who numerous times under duress (more than a slight understatement) recanted his his faith in the Protestant reformation, only to be executed anyway because Mary was determined that he would be. He was the architect of her father's divorce from her mother. He also is given credit for having written The Book of Common Prayer. Even those of her own faith saw the wrongness in his execution.
This is not a blog on English history. It is a blog on undesired results. Historians credit Bloody Mary for the fact that England Protestant. She died in 1558, and still England is considered a Protestant country because of her stubborn, pious, dogmatic, efforts to force Catholicism on those around her. There has to be a lesson in there somewhere for us today.
Blessings
Friday, August 21, 2015
The Purple Cow
Sadly, it looks like the ending of an era. Perhaps, something can be done to stop the changes, perhaps not. I have read the letter that the Forest Hills powers-that-be sent to the community. I don't really get it, but, I guess business is business, and to paraphrase a quote from a most famous movie, "I don't know nothing about no business." It makes me sad that The Purple Cow may no longer be. Oh, they say that another convenience store will be there, but it won't be The Purple Cow.
Across Otter Creek Road from The Cow is a building. I attended church in that building for years, but just as that building is not my church, so The Granny White Market will no longer be The Purple Cow, because Dan and Debra ARE The Purple Cow.
Dan knows the names of all his customers. He not only knows their names, he knows their stories.....and he remembers them. I cannot count how many times over the years I have been there to buy gas, often saying, "Mr. L will be by later to pay." If he owes you seven cents in change and has no pennies, he will give you a dime. Plenty of times I walked in there without my purse and was a bit short in funds, and Dan would say, "you can bring it later."
I love Sugar Daddy suckers. I mean there was a time when I bought one at The Purple Cow every Sunday and other days as well. Dan made sure he had them. One year he ordered a whole box for Mr. L to give me as a Christmas present. Dan also remembers that I like Bit-o-Honeys, but is always a bit puzzled when I buy those instead of the favored Sugar Daddy.
School children from many schools have for years stopped at The Purple Cow before school for breakfast and after school for a treat. It was a daily occurrence when my children were in pre-school. It has been for many youngsters, now adults, who take their own children there. I know Max will miss "his bench" where he and Fizzy sometimes sit to enjoy an Icee before Max goes home from his Sunday "play date" at our house; a sweet tradition that will not be the same. My Minnesota girls always go by to see Mr. Dan when they visit. They will be profoundly disappointed by his absence, as will many of us.
So many memories of Debra's beautiful face as she greets patrons. We have had many conversations, especially about back pain and surgeries. We have mutual friends. She has a kindness that radiates from her lovely countenance. If the deed is done, and The Purple Cow is no more, I will miss her. We will remain friends on FB and I will keep up with her beloved pets, and her compassion for all living beings. Still, it is not the same as seeing her in the store.
I do not frequent The Cow as often as I once did. Life, it seems, has been taking me in other directions. One thing I know for sure, I will be going there more often in the upcoming weeks. I will eat more Sugar Daddies. I will try to convey to Dan and Debra how they make a difference in the neighborhood, how their place in this big city exudes small-town community. This world could use a whole lot more Purple Cows and Dans and Debras.
If, and I continue to say "if" for I am the eternal optimist, but, if The Purple Cow is taken over by some other store and Dan and Debra are not the proprietors, it may be "convenient" but it will not be our Purple Cow.
For today, I wish you a place of memory-making, a delicious Sugar Daddy, people like Dan and Debra in your lives, and I wish you
Blessings
Across Otter Creek Road from The Cow is a building. I attended church in that building for years, but just as that building is not my church, so The Granny White Market will no longer be The Purple Cow, because Dan and Debra ARE The Purple Cow.
Dan knows the names of all his customers. He not only knows their names, he knows their stories.....and he remembers them. I cannot count how many times over the years I have been there to buy gas, often saying, "Mr. L will be by later to pay." If he owes you seven cents in change and has no pennies, he will give you a dime. Plenty of times I walked in there without my purse and was a bit short in funds, and Dan would say, "you can bring it later."
I love Sugar Daddy suckers. I mean there was a time when I bought one at The Purple Cow every Sunday and other days as well. Dan made sure he had them. One year he ordered a whole box for Mr. L to give me as a Christmas present. Dan also remembers that I like Bit-o-Honeys, but is always a bit puzzled when I buy those instead of the favored Sugar Daddy.
School children from many schools have for years stopped at The Purple Cow before school for breakfast and after school for a treat. It was a daily occurrence when my children were in pre-school. It has been for many youngsters, now adults, who take their own children there. I know Max will miss "his bench" where he and Fizzy sometimes sit to enjoy an Icee before Max goes home from his Sunday "play date" at our house; a sweet tradition that will not be the same. My Minnesota girls always go by to see Mr. Dan when they visit. They will be profoundly disappointed by his absence, as will many of us.
So many memories of Debra's beautiful face as she greets patrons. We have had many conversations, especially about back pain and surgeries. We have mutual friends. She has a kindness that radiates from her lovely countenance. If the deed is done, and The Purple Cow is no more, I will miss her. We will remain friends on FB and I will keep up with her beloved pets, and her compassion for all living beings. Still, it is not the same as seeing her in the store.
I do not frequent The Cow as often as I once did. Life, it seems, has been taking me in other directions. One thing I know for sure, I will be going there more often in the upcoming weeks. I will eat more Sugar Daddies. I will try to convey to Dan and Debra how they make a difference in the neighborhood, how their place in this big city exudes small-town community. This world could use a whole lot more Purple Cows and Dans and Debras.
If, and I continue to say "if" for I am the eternal optimist, but, if The Purple Cow is taken over by some other store and Dan and Debra are not the proprietors, it may be "convenient" but it will not be our Purple Cow.
For today, I wish you a place of memory-making, a delicious Sugar Daddy, people like Dan and Debra in your lives, and I wish you
Blessings
Wednesday, August 19, 2015
Unsung Hero
"Unsung hero;" that is what she called me. I looked up the actual definition: "A person who makes a substantive yet unrecognized contribution". Sweet, you say? Following is the rest of the story. You decide.
During a conversation with someone who had not scored as well on the ACT as he had wished, I explained that some of the smartest people I know do not excel on standardized tests. Putting so much emphasis on test scores is one of the most frequent complaints we hear from educators as well as students. It seems there are so many other, more dependable, avenues available to determine someone's aptitude and potential for success.
This reliance on tests is not particularly new as in 1974, I took a test. It was called the Civil Service Test, given by the U.S. Government to determine who is cut out to do government work. Please do not think CIA or FBI, but rather jobs a bit more mundane. Mr. L and I were newlyweds, he was about to start law school in a town where we knew no one, and neither of us had jobs. I had a degree in history with an education minor (that's how they did it in those days) with an emphasis in secondary education (think middle and high school). I did actually gain an interview with the school system, but did not get hired. There is no mystery as to why I was not hired. The interviewee, after attempts to put me at ease, said, "I have three questions I would like for you to answer," followed by his stating them. As soon as it was my turn to answer them, well, let's just say, I could not remember even one of them. Probably the only way I could have made a worse impression would have been to vomit on his shoes, which in the moment felt like a very real possibility.
The old adage, "we can live off love," neither pays rent nor buys food, so one of us needed to become gainfully employed. Since Mr. L was going to be in school, it was up to me; thus, I found myself in a big room taking a long Civil Service Test with lots of other employee wannabes.
In all my spatial deficiencies, I can really take standardized tests. I cannot figure out how to get from here to there twice in a row, but I am an ace at telling which box comes next in a sequence; a life skill that I only get to use when taking FB IQ tests. It just doesn't come up all that often in my day to day life. My score on the test was excellent. It was so stellar that I was offered an immediate position.
Friday night, I was telling this story in the car as we were driving home. With great enthusiasm I told the occupants of the car that I was offered an immediate and high paying position as an air traffic controller in Texas. "Oklahoma," Mr. L countered. "Ah, what's the difference?"
That is when she called me an unsung hero. "Think of all the lives you saved by not taking that job!"
Blessings
During a conversation with someone who had not scored as well on the ACT as he had wished, I explained that some of the smartest people I know do not excel on standardized tests. Putting so much emphasis on test scores is one of the most frequent complaints we hear from educators as well as students. It seems there are so many other, more dependable, avenues available to determine someone's aptitude and potential for success.
This reliance on tests is not particularly new as in 1974, I took a test. It was called the Civil Service Test, given by the U.S. Government to determine who is cut out to do government work. Please do not think CIA or FBI, but rather jobs a bit more mundane. Mr. L and I were newlyweds, he was about to start law school in a town where we knew no one, and neither of us had jobs. I had a degree in history with an education minor (that's how they did it in those days) with an emphasis in secondary education (think middle and high school). I did actually gain an interview with the school system, but did not get hired. There is no mystery as to why I was not hired. The interviewee, after attempts to put me at ease, said, "I have three questions I would like for you to answer," followed by his stating them. As soon as it was my turn to answer them, well, let's just say, I could not remember even one of them. Probably the only way I could have made a worse impression would have been to vomit on his shoes, which in the moment felt like a very real possibility.
The old adage, "we can live off love," neither pays rent nor buys food, so one of us needed to become gainfully employed. Since Mr. L was going to be in school, it was up to me; thus, I found myself in a big room taking a long Civil Service Test with lots of other employee wannabes.
In all my spatial deficiencies, I can really take standardized tests. I cannot figure out how to get from here to there twice in a row, but I am an ace at telling which box comes next in a sequence; a life skill that I only get to use when taking FB IQ tests. It just doesn't come up all that often in my day to day life. My score on the test was excellent. It was so stellar that I was offered an immediate position.
Friday night, I was telling this story in the car as we were driving home. With great enthusiasm I told the occupants of the car that I was offered an immediate and high paying position as an air traffic controller in Texas. "Oklahoma," Mr. L countered. "Ah, what's the difference?"
That is when she called me an unsung hero. "Think of all the lives you saved by not taking that job!"
Blessings
Friday, July 31, 2015
A Full and Broken Heart
Two nights ago, I am doing my last check on FB before going to sleep, and there is her beautiful face. She is young in the picture, possibly newlywed or in college. Accompanying the picture is her obituary. As pleased as I am for her release from an ailing body and devastated mind, my heart is broken.
Phyllis and Charles Trevathan are possibly the best people to have happened to Mr. L's and my marriage. We were just two of the young people they loved and mentored. We only lived in the same town and attended the same church with them for three years, but those were very important years. I loved them, and they dearly loved my family and me. They devotedly loved all who came into their paths, and they had the ability to make everyone feel as though they were the "favorite." I have beautiful memories of time spent in their presence.
I am unable to attend either of her memorial services. I will be in Minnesota. She would understand. There is nothing I would love more, however, than to hug her daughters, and spend time with them reminiscing. They will be surrounded by those who loved their mother and those who love them. So, this morning, I am indulging myself with a lone journey down a path of sweet memories.
We met them at Bardstown Road church of Christ. We were newlyweds, and had only known each other a year. Mr. L was in law school, we lived in a tiny apartment, and were in a town where we knew absolutely no one. So, we looked for a church, and we found forever friends. My first memory of them was the telling of tales about a recent family trip to Disney World. I am fairly certain that the three beautiful dark haired little girls enjoyed the trip, but nobody enjoyed anything as much as Charles Trevathan. Thus, began the blossoming of my love for this family.
Two very important lessons stick in my mind that I learned at their feet. Charles once said that death was the final great adventure. He did not fear it. He actually looked forward to the thrill of it. He did for sure want to die "with his boots on." He and God orchestrated it perfectly, for he died in his office after having taught class at ACU. It was a great loss to us here, but I think he must have been one of God's most satisfying creations, for he had an enthusiasm and appreciation for all life had to offer. He was a rabble rouser, too, but always in an effort to be better than himself and to make those around him better than themselves.
Phyllis is the person who taught me that if you only had money to buy ham and beans, you eat the beans and give the ham to someone in need. I sincerely doubt that during her healthy years not one week went by that she did not feed someone in addition to her family. I know for about three years there, she fed two poor newlyweds at least once a week. Sunday afternoon dinner was a tradition. She made the most delicious meals in a tiny kitchen, feeding lots of folks. She had a dishwasher in that kitchen which did not work, so she kept her plastic wrap and aluminum foil in it. She did not complain, she just laughed about it.
These people had the practice of hospitality perfected. After Mr. L and I moved from Louisville, we would go back to spend weekends with Charles and Phyllis. They booted girls from their room so we would have a place to stay. She cooked our favorite meals. They took us to Lakeside (?) to swim, Phyllis packing a picnic lunch of homemade fried chicken and all the fixings-not your typical tuna sandwich and chips. I was pregnant on one of those trips to the pool. I horrified and terrified Charles and Phyllis by going down the giant slide there. When I realized how truly concerned she was, I did not go down again. One time when Marshall was little, we went to the zoo. Charles showed him all the animals, and carried him on his shoulders all day. They had the knack for making people feel as though they thought them perfect. One never felt inadequate when with Charles and Phyllis. That is a true spiritual gift.
Snow was a constant one winter we lived in Louisville. We went sledding at a golf course. Phyllis stayed home making homemade chili to warm us up upon our return. Toward the end of this great fun day, Charles, Mr. L and I decided to go down one last time. We stacked ourselves on that little wooden sled; Charles on the bottom, Mr. L in the middle, and me on top. We flew down that hill, when we hit a bump, got a bit of air, and landed hard the sled broke. Charles, who was never one to complain, said very little about the pain caused by his cracked sternum.
Charles was all movement and fidgeting energy. He could be sound asleep in his chair, and immediately upon waking he was on his feet ready to dash out for a late night run to White Castle. Phyllis had a more serene demeanor. They complemented each other well.
I have many precious memories of these people. There is much that has become part of my DNA, absorbed by simply being with them and witnessing them doing life. I will hold those moments close in my heart. I will live with gratitude that part of my earthly journey was spent traveling with them. I will look forward to being greeted by them when I move on to the next leg of this eternal voyage. I am certain that Charles will greet me with great enthusiasm over all there is to see and do, and Phyllis will present me with a plate of chocolate chip cookies.
So, my heart is full, and, yes, a little bit broken today. I regret that I cannot hug Phyllis's girls, and laugh and cry with them. I pray for them great memories of their daddy who left them ten years ago, and now their mama who departed this realm earlier this week. I do not know what happens after we leave this place, but I love imagining them back together. Perhaps, Charles is showing Phyllis all the best restaurants in heaven.
On this day I wish you full hearts capable of being broken at the loss of those with whom you have been privileged to journey and share love, and I wish you
Blessings
Phyllis and Charles Trevathan are possibly the best people to have happened to Mr. L's and my marriage. We were just two of the young people they loved and mentored. We only lived in the same town and attended the same church with them for three years, but those were very important years. I loved them, and they dearly loved my family and me. They devotedly loved all who came into their paths, and they had the ability to make everyone feel as though they were the "favorite." I have beautiful memories of time spent in their presence.
I am unable to attend either of her memorial services. I will be in Minnesota. She would understand. There is nothing I would love more, however, than to hug her daughters, and spend time with them reminiscing. They will be surrounded by those who loved their mother and those who love them. So, this morning, I am indulging myself with a lone journey down a path of sweet memories.
We met them at Bardstown Road church of Christ. We were newlyweds, and had only known each other a year. Mr. L was in law school, we lived in a tiny apartment, and were in a town where we knew absolutely no one. So, we looked for a church, and we found forever friends. My first memory of them was the telling of tales about a recent family trip to Disney World. I am fairly certain that the three beautiful dark haired little girls enjoyed the trip, but nobody enjoyed anything as much as Charles Trevathan. Thus, began the blossoming of my love for this family.
Two very important lessons stick in my mind that I learned at their feet. Charles once said that death was the final great adventure. He did not fear it. He actually looked forward to the thrill of it. He did for sure want to die "with his boots on." He and God orchestrated it perfectly, for he died in his office after having taught class at ACU. It was a great loss to us here, but I think he must have been one of God's most satisfying creations, for he had an enthusiasm and appreciation for all life had to offer. He was a rabble rouser, too, but always in an effort to be better than himself and to make those around him better than themselves.
Phyllis is the person who taught me that if you only had money to buy ham and beans, you eat the beans and give the ham to someone in need. I sincerely doubt that during her healthy years not one week went by that she did not feed someone in addition to her family. I know for about three years there, she fed two poor newlyweds at least once a week. Sunday afternoon dinner was a tradition. She made the most delicious meals in a tiny kitchen, feeding lots of folks. She had a dishwasher in that kitchen which did not work, so she kept her plastic wrap and aluminum foil in it. She did not complain, she just laughed about it.
These people had the practice of hospitality perfected. After Mr. L and I moved from Louisville, we would go back to spend weekends with Charles and Phyllis. They booted girls from their room so we would have a place to stay. She cooked our favorite meals. They took us to Lakeside (?) to swim, Phyllis packing a picnic lunch of homemade fried chicken and all the fixings-not your typical tuna sandwich and chips. I was pregnant on one of those trips to the pool. I horrified and terrified Charles and Phyllis by going down the giant slide there. When I realized how truly concerned she was, I did not go down again. One time when Marshall was little, we went to the zoo. Charles showed him all the animals, and carried him on his shoulders all day. They had the knack for making people feel as though they thought them perfect. One never felt inadequate when with Charles and Phyllis. That is a true spiritual gift.
Snow was a constant one winter we lived in Louisville. We went sledding at a golf course. Phyllis stayed home making homemade chili to warm us up upon our return. Toward the end of this great fun day, Charles, Mr. L and I decided to go down one last time. We stacked ourselves on that little wooden sled; Charles on the bottom, Mr. L in the middle, and me on top. We flew down that hill, when we hit a bump, got a bit of air, and landed hard the sled broke. Charles, who was never one to complain, said very little about the pain caused by his cracked sternum.
Charles was all movement and fidgeting energy. He could be sound asleep in his chair, and immediately upon waking he was on his feet ready to dash out for a late night run to White Castle. Phyllis had a more serene demeanor. They complemented each other well.
I have many precious memories of these people. There is much that has become part of my DNA, absorbed by simply being with them and witnessing them doing life. I will hold those moments close in my heart. I will live with gratitude that part of my earthly journey was spent traveling with them. I will look forward to being greeted by them when I move on to the next leg of this eternal voyage. I am certain that Charles will greet me with great enthusiasm over all there is to see and do, and Phyllis will present me with a plate of chocolate chip cookies.
So, my heart is full, and, yes, a little bit broken today. I regret that I cannot hug Phyllis's girls, and laugh and cry with them. I pray for them great memories of their daddy who left them ten years ago, and now their mama who departed this realm earlier this week. I do not know what happens after we leave this place, but I love imagining them back together. Perhaps, Charles is showing Phyllis all the best restaurants in heaven.
On this day I wish you full hearts capable of being broken at the loss of those with whom you have been privileged to journey and share love, and I wish you
Blessings
Tuesday, July 28, 2015
......And, we grieve again
There is a scene in The Thornbirds where people walk over a hill to the cemetery, yet, again, to bury a loved-one. Our family at Otter Creek will be making that trek again. We have lost another beloved member.
I did not know her well. There are many who did, and they loved her dearly. From the age of fourteen, she suffered with multiple physical maladies. When I consider her life, I think of a saying that has become a t-shirt icon: "though she be but little, she is fierce." Possibly, this originally referred to baby girls, but it is perfectly descriptive of this amazingly determined, yes, fierce woman.
She fought to live her life with purpose and dignity. She gave birth to a beautiful daughter; a daughter that conventional medical wisdom would have said was impossible. She knew better. She found in her devoted husband, a best friend.
Last week she grew weary of the fight. Make no mistake; she did not give up. She made the courageous choice to live her faith. She knew she could move peacefully on to the next phase of her eternal journey when family reassured her that she had served them well, and because of this, they will be fine.
This family, and her friends are weighing on my heart today. I think back twenty years ago when I, too, lost a good friend much too soon. She left a husband and three children. We survived the loss because we prayed and grieved, and remembered together. These who presently grieve will do likewise.
Life can be very painful as part of a church that cares and hurts so deeply. My life would be greatly diminished if I were not.
So, I am sad, yet grateful today. Grateful for having known, if only a little, Tracey Moore, and profoundly saddened for Kevin, Grace, and other family and friends.
I wish you, on this day,
Blessings
I did not know her well. There are many who did, and they loved her dearly. From the age of fourteen, she suffered with multiple physical maladies. When I consider her life, I think of a saying that has become a t-shirt icon: "though she be but little, she is fierce." Possibly, this originally referred to baby girls, but it is perfectly descriptive of this amazingly determined, yes, fierce woman.
She fought to live her life with purpose and dignity. She gave birth to a beautiful daughter; a daughter that conventional medical wisdom would have said was impossible. She knew better. She found in her devoted husband, a best friend.
Last week she grew weary of the fight. Make no mistake; she did not give up. She made the courageous choice to live her faith. She knew she could move peacefully on to the next phase of her eternal journey when family reassured her that she had served them well, and because of this, they will be fine.
This family, and her friends are weighing on my heart today. I think back twenty years ago when I, too, lost a good friend much too soon. She left a husband and three children. We survived the loss because we prayed and grieved, and remembered together. These who presently grieve will do likewise.
Life can be very painful as part of a church that cares and hurts so deeply. My life would be greatly diminished if I were not.
So, I am sad, yet grateful today. Grateful for having known, if only a little, Tracey Moore, and profoundly saddened for Kevin, Grace, and other family and friends.
I wish you, on this day,
Blessings
Monday, July 20, 2015
Rooted
I sat in church yesterday, and as we sang songs of hope and belief in God's eternal presence and provision, I looked around the room. I wiped tears away with a handkerchief that once belonged to one of my beloved friends and mentors. I looked around that room and was strengthened as I watched a young woman sing, "oh, no, you never let go through the calm and through the storm..." knowing that she is in the storm of a lifetime with a precious child battling a rare condition, and still she sings.
I watched a husband place his arm around his wife as they sang together, "I can see a light that is coming for the heart that holds on, and there will be an end to these troubles but until that day comes, still I will praise you..."knowing their son had his last chemo treatment for cancer on Monday, and still they raise holy hands to God, and they sing.
I saw a mother sing, "I will rise up, rise up, and bow down, and lay my crown at His wounded feet," knowing her heart is broken over a son's pain and struggle and it feels there was no beginning and there will be no end to the pain, and still she sings.
A precious woman, slowly fading from us because of that wicked disease, Alzheimer's sits with her devoted husband singing, "as the mountains surround Jerusalem, so The Lord surrounds His people....surround us oh, Lord...we need to be in your presence." They know not what the future holds. She will eventually not know of her past, and still they sing.
A young couple I love so dearly, and pray for daily. The longing of their hearts is eluding them. They could rail and toss it all in, but instead, hand in hand they sing, "My Jesus, as thou wilt, oh, may thy will be mine....Through sorrow, or through joy.....help me still to say, "my Lord, Thy will be done." They know not what the future may hold, and still they sing.
I see two women sitting together, one recently widowed, one divorced through no choice of her own. They find solace as they sing, "all shall be well with for me; each changing future scene I gladly trust with thee; straight to my home above I travel calmly on...." Their lives are not as they dreamed. They have, and continue to, live with the sadness of great and unexpected loss, and still they sing.
Rooted. Rooted in faith. Rooted in a church family. A church family that is trying, with all the messiness of family to live out that faith. I have a most grateful heart for this group of wounded, fatigued, messed up, hopeful, joyful warriors, of which I am only one, who remain deeply rooted.
For today, I wish you deep roots, the ability to sing in spite of the pain, and I wish you
Blessings
Saturday, July 18, 2015
Home
In my effort to appease my Fitbit by getting in 10,000 steps a day, I have come to appreciate my home more. I despise the summer heat. I cannot overstate my bordering-on-hatred dislike of heat and humidity. So, to get my 10,000 daily steps, I walk laps around my house. It is exactly 30 steps through the kitchen, dining room, living room and den. That is 333 1/3 laps. That many passes-by makes that which is so familiar seem new.
Our house was built in 1960, so it is old, but not that charming Victorian-Era-gingerbread-work-laden -porch kind of old, but more in that 1960's Ranch-they-all-look-alike kind of old. When I think of its construction, my mind often wanders to the childhood VBS song, "The Wise Man Built His House Upon the Rock." The problem is, I fear that our builder was a bit like the foolish man in the song. We live on shifting sand, or alluvial soil; something less dependable than rock. This creates interesting changes in the interior. Cracks open and close depending on how dry the weather is. We have to use a crowbar to open the front door which is quite convenient when solicitors happen by for I can truthfully tell them that I cannot open the door. Interior doors sometimes will stay closed, in fact there have been occasions when one bathroom door would stay closed so well that it could not be opened from inside the room, which is not terribly convenient, especially for guests. It is only moderately more convenient for them when we tell them if they prefer not taking a chance that some one might walk in on them, it would be wise for them to pull out the top drawer in the vanity to prevent any unwanted entrances.
As I walk my laps, I do not really focus on those things. Instead, I see things like all the windows that go to the floor and the rainbows dancing across the walls and furniture created by prisms hanging in those windows. I see these rainbows in a different, fuller way because of my friend Joan who taught her children that they were "prism people," casting rainbows over all they meet.
I love the little vignette in the foyer; a grand word for a rather tiny space right inside the front door,
but, which of course cannot be accessed by said door. There is a small round metal chippy table with 2 of the most uncomfortable metal chairs known to man. MP gave me that set as a thank you after she, Josh, and Simeon lived with us for a period of time before moving into their home. Hanging over that is a Paula Frizbe painting of a cake. I look at the painting and am reminded of a Christmas when
Mr. L and I agreed that we would not exchange gifts. There was no money for such. After the children had opened their packages, there was one left, hidden behind the tree. Mr. L. acted as though he was quite surprised at its presence. My name was on it. Puzzled, I opened it, and there was that painting; a painting that I had admired in my friend's home, and she secretly gave it to Mr. L. to give me. There is an old shutter in the corner with a pedestal in front of it. On the pedestal sits and ange, a gift from my mom. The walls are painted in bold yellow and aqua horizontal stripes. It brings me pleasure to enjoy the colors as I walk my laps.
In the living room there is a pillow that says, "Mellie and Fizzy-Established 2012; a gift from Marshall, Sheri, and Max. Because I cherish that position of Mellie, I dearly love that pillow. The
white sofa where the boys jump while I cheer, "pork chop, pork chop, greasy, greasy; we're gonna
jump up easy easy;" or "two bits, four bits, six bits a dollar, all for Sim and Max stand up and holler...yay!!!" On the main wall is an antique headboard and footboard. They were supposed to be crafted into a unique bench, but truth be told, if it was a bench then there would not be room for all the tables and chairs needed to accommodate the family and friends who decorate this home on Thanksgiving. There is the most exquisite chessboard designed and built by our son, and sitting on it are the figures brought back from Africa by our daughter. A yellow cabinet sporting a collection of Blue Mountain houses, most given to me by my dear Nancy. All these items and many others of o much value to me. If sold, they would not make me wealthy, but they make my life rich beyond measure.
The dining room wall, painted as if one was on a Victorian-Era-gingerbread work-laden porch brings me pleasure. My mind goes on a fanciful flight of that summer when my friend, Julie, became our Eldon as in the Murphy Brown series. She painted, we watched Rosie O'Donnell, we ate, and we looked at houses (found one) for her and her husband. It was a lovely time. As long as I live, I will
never paint over those walls. In the corner sits Paloma, a huge lamp that I turned into a candelabra. It belonged to the in-laws of a good friend, and when they moved to a nursing home, I was given the beautiful Italian woman lamp. I love her because I love my friend.
My kitchen is a plethora of color -red, aqua, lime green. There are shelves filled with salt and pepper shakers, collected over years. Many I bought myself, and many have been given to me. My sweet niece, Maclellan, has added so many charming sets to the collection. There is the T.P. Williams sign
that sat atop the mailbox where I lived from age 3 to age 22, when I married. Just that sign can conjure up memories of sledding, running down the hill to meet my daddy as he got off the bus coming home from work, the beautiful Mimosa trees on the corners of the front yard, my brother pogo-sticking up and down the street, all the dogs we had and loved, the decorations for every holiday that my mother meticulously arranged, and countless other memories.
The next, and last, room is the den. It too has a lot of color, prisms, rainbows. There is lots of red and yellow and green and aqua. Photographs of people and places I love cover the walls. The mantel was built by our son, the painting above it painted by our daughter, the fire screen made by Marshall of old barn wood adorned by a piece of architecture given to me by our son-in-law. On the wall above the sofa are plates painted by friends at my surprise 50th birthday party. A monogram picture of SWITZER with each letter a picture of some special thing in Sanibel that Sheri made. D.S., the sock monkey Mr. L. would not let me return when I discovered dirt on his face because he was afraid the stuffed monkey would be euthanized, sits in a child's rocking chair. At last, my hideous burgundy chairs are beautifully slipcovered in a lovely shade of red. There are always toys and books strewn willy nilly, and that bit of disorder brings me comfort and joy.
So, you see, it may look like I am simply walking laps around my house. Some might wonder how I stand the boredom of the sameness. What I am really doing, is strolling down memory lane, remembering-remembering places I have been, people I love, moments of great joy, some moments of deep sorrow. I walk with gratitude, knowing this is not my "dream" home, but also knowing that this is where many dreams have been dreamed, and where many dreams have come true. Every lap transforms the familiar into something new.
For today, I wish you joy in your home, 10,000 steps, and a break from the tyranny of 10,000 steps every now and then, and I wish you
Blessings
Please excuse typos, grammatical errors, weird soakings, and misspellings. I wrote this on my laptop, and it does not let me proofread easily.
Our house was built in 1960, so it is old, but not that charming Victorian-Era-gingerbread-work-laden -porch kind of old, but more in that 1960's Ranch-they-all-look-alike kind of old. When I think of its construction, my mind often wanders to the childhood VBS song, "The Wise Man Built His House Upon the Rock." The problem is, I fear that our builder was a bit like the foolish man in the song. We live on shifting sand, or alluvial soil; something less dependable than rock. This creates interesting changes in the interior. Cracks open and close depending on how dry the weather is. We have to use a crowbar to open the front door which is quite convenient when solicitors happen by for I can truthfully tell them that I cannot open the door. Interior doors sometimes will stay closed, in fact there have been occasions when one bathroom door would stay closed so well that it could not be opened from inside the room, which is not terribly convenient, especially for guests. It is only moderately more convenient for them when we tell them if they prefer not taking a chance that some one might walk in on them, it would be wise for them to pull out the top drawer in the vanity to prevent any unwanted entrances.
As I walk my laps, I do not really focus on those things. Instead, I see things like all the windows that go to the floor and the rainbows dancing across the walls and furniture created by prisms hanging in those windows. I see these rainbows in a different, fuller way because of my friend Joan who taught her children that they were "prism people," casting rainbows over all they meet.
I love the little vignette in the foyer; a grand word for a rather tiny space right inside the front door,
but, which of course cannot be accessed by said door. There is a small round metal chippy table with 2 of the most uncomfortable metal chairs known to man. MP gave me that set as a thank you after she, Josh, and Simeon lived with us for a period of time before moving into their home. Hanging over that is a Paula Frizbe painting of a cake. I look at the painting and am reminded of a Christmas when
Mr. L and I agreed that we would not exchange gifts. There was no money for such. After the children had opened their packages, there was one left, hidden behind the tree. Mr. L. acted as though he was quite surprised at its presence. My name was on it. Puzzled, I opened it, and there was that painting; a painting that I had admired in my friend's home, and she secretly gave it to Mr. L. to give me. There is an old shutter in the corner with a pedestal in front of it. On the pedestal sits and ange, a gift from my mom. The walls are painted in bold yellow and aqua horizontal stripes. It brings me pleasure to enjoy the colors as I walk my laps.
In the living room there is a pillow that says, "Mellie and Fizzy-Established 2012; a gift from Marshall, Sheri, and Max. Because I cherish that position of Mellie, I dearly love that pillow. The
white sofa where the boys jump while I cheer, "pork chop, pork chop, greasy, greasy; we're gonna
jump up easy easy;" or "two bits, four bits, six bits a dollar, all for Sim and Max stand up and holler...yay!!!" On the main wall is an antique headboard and footboard. They were supposed to be crafted into a unique bench, but truth be told, if it was a bench then there would not be room for all the tables and chairs needed to accommodate the family and friends who decorate this home on Thanksgiving. There is the most exquisite chessboard designed and built by our son, and sitting on it are the figures brought back from Africa by our daughter. A yellow cabinet sporting a collection of Blue Mountain houses, most given to me by my dear Nancy. All these items and many others of o much value to me. If sold, they would not make me wealthy, but they make my life rich beyond measure.
The dining room wall, painted as if one was on a Victorian-Era-gingerbread work-laden porch brings me pleasure. My mind goes on a fanciful flight of that summer when my friend, Julie, became our Eldon as in the Murphy Brown series. She painted, we watched Rosie O'Donnell, we ate, and we looked at houses (found one) for her and her husband. It was a lovely time. As long as I live, I will
never paint over those walls. In the corner sits Paloma, a huge lamp that I turned into a candelabra. It belonged to the in-laws of a good friend, and when they moved to a nursing home, I was given the beautiful Italian woman lamp. I love her because I love my friend.
My kitchen is a plethora of color -red, aqua, lime green. There are shelves filled with salt and pepper shakers, collected over years. Many I bought myself, and many have been given to me. My sweet niece, Maclellan, has added so many charming sets to the collection. There is the T.P. Williams sign
that sat atop the mailbox where I lived from age 3 to age 22, when I married. Just that sign can conjure up memories of sledding, running down the hill to meet my daddy as he got off the bus coming home from work, the beautiful Mimosa trees on the corners of the front yard, my brother pogo-sticking up and down the street, all the dogs we had and loved, the decorations for every holiday that my mother meticulously arranged, and countless other memories.
The next, and last, room is the den. It too has a lot of color, prisms, rainbows. There is lots of red and yellow and green and aqua. Photographs of people and places I love cover the walls. The mantel was built by our son, the painting above it painted by our daughter, the fire screen made by Marshall of old barn wood adorned by a piece of architecture given to me by our son-in-law. On the wall above the sofa are plates painted by friends at my surprise 50th birthday party. A monogram picture of SWITZER with each letter a picture of some special thing in Sanibel that Sheri made. D.S., the sock monkey Mr. L. would not let me return when I discovered dirt on his face because he was afraid the stuffed monkey would be euthanized, sits in a child's rocking chair. At last, my hideous burgundy chairs are beautifully slipcovered in a lovely shade of red. There are always toys and books strewn willy nilly, and that bit of disorder brings me comfort and joy.
So, you see, it may look like I am simply walking laps around my house. Some might wonder how I stand the boredom of the sameness. What I am really doing, is strolling down memory lane, remembering-remembering places I have been, people I love, moments of great joy, some moments of deep sorrow. I walk with gratitude, knowing this is not my "dream" home, but also knowing that this is where many dreams have been dreamed, and where many dreams have come true. Every lap transforms the familiar into something new.
For today, I wish you joy in your home, 10,000 steps, and a break from the tyranny of 10,000 steps every now and then, and I wish you
Blessings
Please excuse typos, grammatical errors, weird soakings, and misspellings. I wrote this on my laptop, and it does not let me proofread easily.
Monday, July 6, 2015
41 Years of Lessons
Today, I celebrate 41 years of marriage to Mr. Lincoln. How in the world the time has flown so quickly is beyond me. We are both quite different people now than we were then. Many lessons have been learned. We have weathered 3 miscarriages, the deaths of both our fathers, job loss,estrangement from extended family, financial strains, the typical and not so typical struggles of raising children, deaths of many other relatives including two of my four siblings, not to mention the day in and day out tedium of life. Most of those days have been rallying together rather than not, but certainly there have been days when throwing in the towel sounded quite enticing. I will say right here, that Mr. L is a better husband than I am a wife. He has a much more ready servant heart than I. Please, don't comment to the contrary; I know of that which I speak. So, I have been thinking of lessons I have learned and am still learning. It is a list for my particular life; it may be totally inappropriate for you. It is neither exhaustive nor accomplished.
1. There is no THING that is worth making one's spouse feel inadequate - no house, no car, no new dress, no cooked meal, no clean carpet - NOTHING!!
2. Nagging is a total and complete waste of time, especially if one is married to a Switzer. Nag, and the exact opposite of what you desire will be accomplished. We will not do that which we really want to do if someone is nagging us.
3. If you need something, ASK! Seriously, I could be walking in the house with a refrigerator on my back and if Mr. L inquires as to my need for help, and I, in my martyrdom reply "I'm fine," I can be assured that I will be carrying the refrigerator the rest of the way. This makes perfect sense to me. I know women who feel they should not have to ask for help, but, in my family you ask.
4. The response to "nevermind" is always "okay." Always! The response to "nothing" is always "okay". Always! It should be. We are all adults here.
5. Never say, "surprise me" when asked what sort of treat you want at a filling station rest stop. You will get pink coconut snow balls. Who eats those things?
6. Automatically assume stupidity over ill-intent, but never ever call your spouse stupid.
7. Husbands, when in doubt, always buy a size smaller rather than a size larger. Wives, if he blows it, see number 6.
8. Mr. L enjoys a good rant from me as long as he is not the object, which he never is.
9. Apologize, quickly and often. Last week I snapped at Mr. L. It was purely a function of stress for which he had no responsibility. He did not deserve it. He knew he did not deserve it but he let me come to that on my own. I apologized, and truly, if he is reading this, he is wondering to what I refer, which leads me to number 10:
10. Cultivate a very short memory about lots of things.
11. When you ask an opinion and it is not the one you want, accept it rather than try to change it. That is insulting, and, again, around here, it is counter-productive.
12. If it won't matter in 5 years, it doesn't matter now.
13. Be reliable. Be on time. Do what you say you are going to do. When you don't, your unintended message is " you don't matter."
14. Have shared interests, but have friends and interests of your own. Spending every moment
together is exhausting. Everyone needs time away, and time alone.
15. If it works for your marriage and you are both content with it, outside opinions are superfluous.
16. Think before you speak. In 41 years I have said many bone-headed, insensitive, unaware
things. Usually, Mr. L let's me figure it out on my own. With all the practice I have had, I am getting better at recognizing it, but when I fail, he will tell me.
17. Laugh, laugh, and laugh some more. That is part of the beauty of a long marriage-shared jokes, shared funny experiences.
18. Do not fall into the trap of answering the question, "where do you want to go eat?"
19. After a period of time, grant freedom from attending high school reunion events, otherwise, someone might talk about Naked Wednesdays.
20. If your spouse has weird ideas like running 60 miles on his 60th birthday or planting a door in the front yard, encourage them and cheer them on.
21. Have the good sense to marry a truly lovely, sweet man who loves God and family; a man of integrity, selflessness, humility, and humor. That is what I did.
Happy 41st Anniversary to Mr. L. and me.
Blessings
1. There is no THING that is worth making one's spouse feel inadequate - no house, no car, no new dress, no cooked meal, no clean carpet - NOTHING!!
2. Nagging is a total and complete waste of time, especially if one is married to a Switzer. Nag, and the exact opposite of what you desire will be accomplished. We will not do that which we really want to do if someone is nagging us.
3. If you need something, ASK! Seriously, I could be walking in the house with a refrigerator on my back and if Mr. L inquires as to my need for help, and I, in my martyrdom reply "I'm fine," I can be assured that I will be carrying the refrigerator the rest of the way. This makes perfect sense to me. I know women who feel they should not have to ask for help, but, in my family you ask.
4. The response to "nevermind" is always "okay." Always! The response to "nothing" is always "okay". Always! It should be. We are all adults here.
5. Never say, "surprise me" when asked what sort of treat you want at a filling station rest stop. You will get pink coconut snow balls. Who eats those things?
6. Automatically assume stupidity over ill-intent, but never ever call your spouse stupid.
7. Husbands, when in doubt, always buy a size smaller rather than a size larger. Wives, if he blows it, see number 6.
8. Mr. L enjoys a good rant from me as long as he is not the object, which he never is.
9. Apologize, quickly and often. Last week I snapped at Mr. L. It was purely a function of stress for which he had no responsibility. He did not deserve it. He knew he did not deserve it but he let me come to that on my own. I apologized, and truly, if he is reading this, he is wondering to what I refer, which leads me to number 10:
10. Cultivate a very short memory about lots of things.
11. When you ask an opinion and it is not the one you want, accept it rather than try to change it. That is insulting, and, again, around here, it is counter-productive.
12. If it won't matter in 5 years, it doesn't matter now.
13. Be reliable. Be on time. Do what you say you are going to do. When you don't, your unintended message is " you don't matter."
14. Have shared interests, but have friends and interests of your own. Spending every moment
together is exhausting. Everyone needs time away, and time alone.
15. If it works for your marriage and you are both content with it, outside opinions are superfluous.
16. Think before you speak. In 41 years I have said many bone-headed, insensitive, unaware
things. Usually, Mr. L let's me figure it out on my own. With all the practice I have had, I am getting better at recognizing it, but when I fail, he will tell me.
17. Laugh, laugh, and laugh some more. That is part of the beauty of a long marriage-shared jokes, shared funny experiences.
18. Do not fall into the trap of answering the question, "where do you want to go eat?"
19. After a period of time, grant freedom from attending high school reunion events, otherwise, someone might talk about Naked Wednesdays.
20. If your spouse has weird ideas like running 60 miles on his 60th birthday or planting a door in the front yard, encourage them and cheer them on.
21. Have the good sense to marry a truly lovely, sweet man who loves God and family; a man of integrity, selflessness, humility, and humor. That is what I did.
Happy 41st Anniversary to Mr. L. and me.
Blessings
Thursday, June 25, 2015
Wonderings
I wish I could avoid the news. I really would love to bury my head, put on my Pollyanna persona, and ignorantly float along in the shallow waters. Frankly, I do not care for being challenged to think outside my box; to revisit my already made up mind. Sometimes, things come along that are really hard to avoid.
Being part of a church family that I dearly love, I am particularly struck by the tragedy and loss at the Emanuel A.M.E. Church. Our congregation has lost three members since the first of the year, and it is hard. To lose nine members in one evening at the hands of a violent man, is unthinkable, and yet it happened. As a person striving to follow Jesus, this event raises a lot of questions in my mind. I wonder if, perhaps, it may just confirm what non-believers already think.
Certainly, had I been writing a movie script of that evening, Goodness would have prevailed, and Dylann Roof's heart would have been touched by the kindnesses shown him, moved by the scriptures read, and his soul and their lives would have been saved. But, life is not a movie script with people's thoughts and actions being manipulated by some puppet master. We are given the freedom to make our choices.
I have heard a lot said about Dylann Roof. Many are offended by statements declaring him mentally ill. I do not claim to know what was going on in his head. I will say that, I do believe that it takes a measure of mental illness to do what he did. I also agree, that there was evil at play. He admitted, himself that he killed those people because of their race. I do not know what indoctrination he had that caused him to hate people because of their color. I do not know why he thought killing was going to improve or solve anything. I do not know why violence was his action of choice. But, what I do know is that I had better be very careful in my condemnation of him, because, I believe everyone of us, given the right circumstances, is capable of heinous acts.
There have been a lot of knee-jerk responses to these events. There are those who believe all guns should be banned. I hate guns. I am not comfortable around them. I think there are many people who have been killed either by accident or in the heat of the moment who might still be alive had a gun not been so readily available. Yet, I cannot say that banning all guns is the answer. We cannot get rid of all things that could, if used incorrectly, harm us. I have no answers.
There is a great cry for the banning of the Confederate battle flag and for the removal of all things associated with Nathan Bedford Forrest. Yes, that cartoonish statue of him on I-65 is hideous. I cringe on my tours when a student, sitting on Capitol Hill by Andrew Jackson's statue says that there is a statue "just like that" on the interstate. No, please, one is art and one is, well, not. But, even in its prominent spot, it is on private property. What little I know of the late Mr. Kershaw who commissioned the statue, he seemed a bit of a nut. But, I am not ready to say that the government has the right to keep me from putting poor art on my own property, and heaven knows, I do not want legislature banning nuttiness.
That flag and Nathan Bedford Forrest are part of our history. Granted, it is a very dark and troubling time of our history, but it is equally fascinating. Depending on the source, the KKK was begun, possibly, by Nathan Bedford Forrest. Sources I read do not agree. Some say it was begun to continue the comraderie among soldiers that was forged on the battlefields. Some say it was started to protect the widows and orphans of fallen Confederate soldiers from ill treatment by reconstructionists. Some say it was begun to intimidate and control Blacks. For whatever purpose it was conceived, certainly it evolved into a hideous organization of bigotry and hatred. Is our best move to demonize Forrest, and remove his bust from the Capitol? I do not know. I do believe that if we choose to be rid of all those in our history who at times behaved poorly and who perpetrated violence, certainly Andrew Jackson's statue needs to go. His treatment of Native Americans was abhorrent. What about Harry Truman for dropping the atomic bomb on Hiroshima? If we wipe clean the slate of those in our past whose behavior displeases us now, how will we remember and learn and avoid?
I grew up in the 50's and 60's. There were some turbulent times. This may be hard to believe, but I was told by trusted people that Martin Luther King Jr. was a Communist. His call for equality among all people was a frightening thought in that day and time to many good people. As the saying goes, "hindsight is 20/20." Yes, the KKK is an evil, wicked organization. Yes, The Trail of Tears representing the displacement and death of thousands of Native Americans is a blight on our country's history. Was Hiroshima necessary to save lives? I do not know, but I sure would have a hard time defending it to those whose lives were destroyed. I wonder, without my having been faced with the dilemmas of those living in the times, if I am wise to pass judgment. Maybe, I would be better served to study, try to understand the times, and then commit to doing better.
I have no answers. I am no scholar. I just wonder sometimes.
Blessings
Being part of a church family that I dearly love, I am particularly struck by the tragedy and loss at the Emanuel A.M.E. Church. Our congregation has lost three members since the first of the year, and it is hard. To lose nine members in one evening at the hands of a violent man, is unthinkable, and yet it happened. As a person striving to follow Jesus, this event raises a lot of questions in my mind. I wonder if, perhaps, it may just confirm what non-believers already think.
Certainly, had I been writing a movie script of that evening, Goodness would have prevailed, and Dylann Roof's heart would have been touched by the kindnesses shown him, moved by the scriptures read, and his soul and their lives would have been saved. But, life is not a movie script with people's thoughts and actions being manipulated by some puppet master. We are given the freedom to make our choices.
I have heard a lot said about Dylann Roof. Many are offended by statements declaring him mentally ill. I do not claim to know what was going on in his head. I will say that, I do believe that it takes a measure of mental illness to do what he did. I also agree, that there was evil at play. He admitted, himself that he killed those people because of their race. I do not know what indoctrination he had that caused him to hate people because of their color. I do not know why he thought killing was going to improve or solve anything. I do not know why violence was his action of choice. But, what I do know is that I had better be very careful in my condemnation of him, because, I believe everyone of us, given the right circumstances, is capable of heinous acts.
There have been a lot of knee-jerk responses to these events. There are those who believe all guns should be banned. I hate guns. I am not comfortable around them. I think there are many people who have been killed either by accident or in the heat of the moment who might still be alive had a gun not been so readily available. Yet, I cannot say that banning all guns is the answer. We cannot get rid of all things that could, if used incorrectly, harm us. I have no answers.
There is a great cry for the banning of the Confederate battle flag and for the removal of all things associated with Nathan Bedford Forrest. Yes, that cartoonish statue of him on I-65 is hideous. I cringe on my tours when a student, sitting on Capitol Hill by Andrew Jackson's statue says that there is a statue "just like that" on the interstate. No, please, one is art and one is, well, not. But, even in its prominent spot, it is on private property. What little I know of the late Mr. Kershaw who commissioned the statue, he seemed a bit of a nut. But, I am not ready to say that the government has the right to keep me from putting poor art on my own property, and heaven knows, I do not want legislature banning nuttiness.
That flag and Nathan Bedford Forrest are part of our history. Granted, it is a very dark and troubling time of our history, but it is equally fascinating. Depending on the source, the KKK was begun, possibly, by Nathan Bedford Forrest. Sources I read do not agree. Some say it was begun to continue the comraderie among soldiers that was forged on the battlefields. Some say it was started to protect the widows and orphans of fallen Confederate soldiers from ill treatment by reconstructionists. Some say it was begun to intimidate and control Blacks. For whatever purpose it was conceived, certainly it evolved into a hideous organization of bigotry and hatred. Is our best move to demonize Forrest, and remove his bust from the Capitol? I do not know. I do believe that if we choose to be rid of all those in our history who at times behaved poorly and who perpetrated violence, certainly Andrew Jackson's statue needs to go. His treatment of Native Americans was abhorrent. What about Harry Truman for dropping the atomic bomb on Hiroshima? If we wipe clean the slate of those in our past whose behavior displeases us now, how will we remember and learn and avoid?
I grew up in the 50's and 60's. There were some turbulent times. This may be hard to believe, but I was told by trusted people that Martin Luther King Jr. was a Communist. His call for equality among all people was a frightening thought in that day and time to many good people. As the saying goes, "hindsight is 20/20." Yes, the KKK is an evil, wicked organization. Yes, The Trail of Tears representing the displacement and death of thousands of Native Americans is a blight on our country's history. Was Hiroshima necessary to save lives? I do not know, but I sure would have a hard time defending it to those whose lives were destroyed. I wonder, without my having been faced with the dilemmas of those living in the times, if I am wise to pass judgment. Maybe, I would be better served to study, try to understand the times, and then commit to doing better.
I have no answers. I am no scholar. I just wonder sometimes.
Blessings
Friday, June 19, 2015
There's a Churning Deep Within Me
We sing a song at church; There's a Stirring Deep Within Me. After reading comments on FB this morning, that song came to mind, except the word "stirring" was changed to "churning." It was not consciously changed, my mind just kept repeating the words, "there's a churning deep within me." A second song entered my mind; Another One Bites the Dust.
There was a post on FB saying that a local church, a church many people I love attend, would be introducing an instrumental worship service to their Sunday morning offerings. I could not believe some of the comments made on FB. I am not sure why I could not believe them, because many of the same remarks were directed at my own congregation when a similar announcement was made. Some of the same people made the same hateful remarks in regard to both churches.
First of all, let me say that I appreciate people's convictions. Our own church family lost a couple whom I dearly love and with whom I have served in many capacities because the tradition of acapella is just too important. Our church family will never be quite the same, but we will thrive as will they in their new church family. We will continue to fellowship and work together to serve in spite of our differences of opinion on this one issue. We agree on the larger issue, that The Lord is worthy of our service and we will strive to serve him by serving our fellowman as He sends and equips us.
Several people in in the FB comments expressed sadness over the decision that this church has extended an opportunity for its members to use their God given musical talents to worship Him and to serve their fellow members. I am sorry they are sad. I may not sound it here, but I am truly sorry they are sad, but I think that sadness is misplaced. We might be better served if we were all a little sadder over the fact that we have homelessness in this most wealthy of nations, or that drug-crazed young adults have access to guns and kill people in schools, in churches, in the streets, or that there are literally thousands of people across the world who daily die for a lack of access to clean water, or there are thousands upon thousands incarcerated people languishing in prison with no hope of a
changed life, and, sadly, many of us so-called Christians respond to that fact with a glib, "they got what they deserved."
Yes, there is a churning deep within me, and, honestly, my own often lackadaisical approach to my
faith breaks my heart and contributes to the churning. There is a world watching. There is a hurting world watching how we followers of Christ are going to conduct ourselves, and Lord help us, we often, rather than enhancing His reputation, are conducting ourselves in ways that the only response we can expect is, "I don't want any of that." We say we believe that Jesus saved the world, that God loves us without restraint. We pray "thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven." Seriously, do we really believe there is some great debate going on in heaven as to whether songs that mention faith and God can be sung accompanied by musical instruments or not? Seriously? Some of us take way
too much responsibility for deciding just exactly who Jesus saved on that cross and who God truly loves.
I happen to know that this most recent church, another one to bite the dust (insert sarcasm font), just this week has sent two mission teams, one to Honduras, and one to Scotland to serve those who are in need. I bet those folks they are serving could not care less about instrumental music. I imagine they will glimpse a little bit of Jesus in the hearts of those who have come, and as God always works, those who came to serve with be even more greatly blessed.
And, I am sorry (a little) for this parting shot, but if you are going to pass judgment, please learn how to spell it.
For today, I wish us all the grace to be so busy serving that there is no room for judging, and I wish you
Blessings
There was a post on FB saying that a local church, a church many people I love attend, would be introducing an instrumental worship service to their Sunday morning offerings. I could not believe some of the comments made on FB. I am not sure why I could not believe them, because many of the same remarks were directed at my own congregation when a similar announcement was made. Some of the same people made the same hateful remarks in regard to both churches.
First of all, let me say that I appreciate people's convictions. Our own church family lost a couple whom I dearly love and with whom I have served in many capacities because the tradition of acapella is just too important. Our church family will never be quite the same, but we will thrive as will they in their new church family. We will continue to fellowship and work together to serve in spite of our differences of opinion on this one issue. We agree on the larger issue, that The Lord is worthy of our service and we will strive to serve him by serving our fellowman as He sends and equips us.
Several people in in the FB comments expressed sadness over the decision that this church has extended an opportunity for its members to use their God given musical talents to worship Him and to serve their fellow members. I am sorry they are sad. I may not sound it here, but I am truly sorry they are sad, but I think that sadness is misplaced. We might be better served if we were all a little sadder over the fact that we have homelessness in this most wealthy of nations, or that drug-crazed young adults have access to guns and kill people in schools, in churches, in the streets, or that there are literally thousands of people across the world who daily die for a lack of access to clean water, or there are thousands upon thousands incarcerated people languishing in prison with no hope of a
changed life, and, sadly, many of us so-called Christians respond to that fact with a glib, "they got what they deserved."
Yes, there is a churning deep within me, and, honestly, my own often lackadaisical approach to my
faith breaks my heart and contributes to the churning. There is a world watching. There is a hurting world watching how we followers of Christ are going to conduct ourselves, and Lord help us, we often, rather than enhancing His reputation, are conducting ourselves in ways that the only response we can expect is, "I don't want any of that." We say we believe that Jesus saved the world, that God loves us without restraint. We pray "thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven." Seriously, do we really believe there is some great debate going on in heaven as to whether songs that mention faith and God can be sung accompanied by musical instruments or not? Seriously? Some of us take way
too much responsibility for deciding just exactly who Jesus saved on that cross and who God truly loves.
I happen to know that this most recent church, another one to bite the dust (insert sarcasm font), just this week has sent two mission teams, one to Honduras, and one to Scotland to serve those who are in need. I bet those folks they are serving could not care less about instrumental music. I imagine they will glimpse a little bit of Jesus in the hearts of those who have come, and as God always works, those who came to serve with be even more greatly blessed.
And, I am sorry (a little) for this parting shot, but if you are going to pass judgment, please learn how to spell it.
For today, I wish us all the grace to be so busy serving that there is no room for judging, and I wish you
Blessings
Thursday, June 11, 2015
Seriously?
So, it has been an interesting morning. I have been in the tech Bermuda Triangle. No device is working properly. Even when I called my insurance company to snail mail me something that I tried to print out here, their phones went out, and when I bought a pair of shoes, the computers at the store were down. Who knew it took so much technology to accept a cash payment? Impressive that my bad tech touch has such a far reach.
When it is decided that I would first try the Apple store for help with my phone, I felt good about the decision. Better there than the Verizon store which has 2 stars out of five for customer service. My plan is to be at the Apple store when they open at 10:00 on the dot. That would have worked brilliantly had I not hit that parked car in the garage. Great! I check for damage. There is some, but I cannot imagine that I created that much damage in that particular spot, but, perhaps I did. I must leave a note. Rummaging around in my purse for a pen, I find my epi-pen, a toothbrush, lip sunscreen, a tide to go pen, but no writing pen. I have a box of plastic forks spread all over the floor, a diet coke spewing its contents in the cup holder, several Sonic sacks, a fake silver tray, a 3/4 eaten grilled cheese sandwich, but, no pen. So, I check the glove box. Yes, a pen. Now, for some paper. I opt for tearing a strip off the front page of one of the Contributors on the floor. I leave a note with my name and cell number, assuring the person that I do have insurance. I notice their license plate says they are from Wisconsin. Welcome to Nashville, Home of the Savvy Drivers. I then text Mr. L to let him know what has happened, and he responds, "Who is this?" Funny guy.
So, having taken care of that, I stroll into a busy Apple store where a twelve year old asks several questions, and gives me an appointment to be met in approximately thirty minutes. I thank him, go outside and call my insurance agent to let her know about my little mishap in the garage. She is very nice.
After about 45 minutes, I get a text saying that they are ready for me at the store. I am then directed to the back table on the left where I am told that someone will be with me shortly. A fellow walked up with not-real-clean hair almost to his waist and a six inch gap between the bottom of his shirt and the top of his jeans. He is told that I am his next customer, to which he replies, "let me go wipe the snot off my face." I kid you not. It must have been a copious amount of snot (hate that word...my mama taught me to say mucous) for he was gone about ten minutes.
As I nauseously wait for his return, hoping he washes his hands after the snot removal, I people watch. I wait and I people watch. Oh, wait, if I had only worn my green spandex sundress with the V down to my navel and my black push up bra, perhaps I would not be waiting here for my customer service rep to wipe the snot off his face, but rather would have numerous reps thinking they could be of service to me, as they seemed to feel compelled to help the little lady in the green dress. When did women start going out with their bras hanging (among other things) out of their dresses. We were taught if your bra strap showed you were a wanton hussy.
Well, it turns out in spite of his unkempt appearance and his questionable health status, he was able to help me. I return to my car. The Wisconsin car is still there. Bless. I decide to go grab a bite to eat at Pei Wei, then get a small dessert at Whole Foods. Walking back to my car, I go into a panic. "Where are the shoes I just bought? Did I leave them in the restaurant, or at the cash register where I picked up a little gift, or Whole Foods? Where are this shoes? Oh, wait. They are in the car. I drove over here between buying them and eating lunch." I seriously need to get home!!
Tomorrow, I am going on a little staycation with two friends. We are meeting for lunch, checking into a hotel in Franklin, attending a play, having supper, spending the night, having breakfast, shopping, lunch, maybe hit a movie, maybe have dinner before we go our separate ways home. I am looking forward to it. I hope they do not mind looking after me, for it is obvious that I need a keeper.
For today, I wish you good friends, minor inconveniences, and I wish you
Blessings
When it is decided that I would first try the Apple store for help with my phone, I felt good about the decision. Better there than the Verizon store which has 2 stars out of five for customer service. My plan is to be at the Apple store when they open at 10:00 on the dot. That would have worked brilliantly had I not hit that parked car in the garage. Great! I check for damage. There is some, but I cannot imagine that I created that much damage in that particular spot, but, perhaps I did. I must leave a note. Rummaging around in my purse for a pen, I find my epi-pen, a toothbrush, lip sunscreen, a tide to go pen, but no writing pen. I have a box of plastic forks spread all over the floor, a diet coke spewing its contents in the cup holder, several Sonic sacks, a fake silver tray, a 3/4 eaten grilled cheese sandwich, but, no pen. So, I check the glove box. Yes, a pen. Now, for some paper. I opt for tearing a strip off the front page of one of the Contributors on the floor. I leave a note with my name and cell number, assuring the person that I do have insurance. I notice their license plate says they are from Wisconsin. Welcome to Nashville, Home of the Savvy Drivers. I then text Mr. L to let him know what has happened, and he responds, "Who is this?" Funny guy.
So, having taken care of that, I stroll into a busy Apple store where a twelve year old asks several questions, and gives me an appointment to be met in approximately thirty minutes. I thank him, go outside and call my insurance agent to let her know about my little mishap in the garage. She is very nice.
After about 45 minutes, I get a text saying that they are ready for me at the store. I am then directed to the back table on the left where I am told that someone will be with me shortly. A fellow walked up with not-real-clean hair almost to his waist and a six inch gap between the bottom of his shirt and the top of his jeans. He is told that I am his next customer, to which he replies, "let me go wipe the snot off my face." I kid you not. It must have been a copious amount of snot (hate that word...my mama taught me to say mucous) for he was gone about ten minutes.
As I nauseously wait for his return, hoping he washes his hands after the snot removal, I people watch. I wait and I people watch. Oh, wait, if I had only worn my green spandex sundress with the V down to my navel and my black push up bra, perhaps I would not be waiting here for my customer service rep to wipe the snot off his face, but rather would have numerous reps thinking they could be of service to me, as they seemed to feel compelled to help the little lady in the green dress. When did women start going out with their bras hanging (among other things) out of their dresses. We were taught if your bra strap showed you were a wanton hussy.
Well, it turns out in spite of his unkempt appearance and his questionable health status, he was able to help me. I return to my car. The Wisconsin car is still there. Bless. I decide to go grab a bite to eat at Pei Wei, then get a small dessert at Whole Foods. Walking back to my car, I go into a panic. "Where are the shoes I just bought? Did I leave them in the restaurant, or at the cash register where I picked up a little gift, or Whole Foods? Where are this shoes? Oh, wait. They are in the car. I drove over here between buying them and eating lunch." I seriously need to get home!!
Tomorrow, I am going on a little staycation with two friends. We are meeting for lunch, checking into a hotel in Franklin, attending a play, having supper, spending the night, having breakfast, shopping, lunch, maybe hit a movie, maybe have dinner before we go our separate ways home. I am looking forward to it. I hope they do not mind looking after me, for it is obvious that I need a keeper.
For today, I wish you good friends, minor inconveniences, and I wish you
Blessings
Monday, June 8, 2015
Heroes ~ Possibly an Ill-Advised Blog~ But, Oh, Well
FB has been rife with definitions of heroes lately. Some see Bruce Jenner as a hero, others do not. I guess it depends, as do most things, on one's own life experiences. I assume those who have struggled with gender confusion are grateful for what they see as his courage. Those who have not faced that particular challenge possibly find him a freak. Life's struggles seem to color how we view most every action of others.
Many arguments have been made by those who claim Christ. Again, personal filters determine if these people indeed should be called followers of Christ; if any of us should Just the mere mention that someone claims to be a believer causes others to immediately discount what is being said. They find belief in a higher being to be superstition and the folly of an ignorant mind. Often those who believe find non-believers evil and people to be avoided. I wonder what would happen if we all just loved.
The most frustrating argument I have seen for why Bruce Jenner is not a hero and is someone who should be shunned, is the comment "God doesn't make mistakes." I believe the comment, but as an argument for why Bruce Jenner was born a man and that is that, it is ludicrous, in my opinion. As always, my opinion is all I have here. My daughter is a PCICU nurse. If you do not know what that means, it is a Pediatric Cardiac Intensive Care Unit; children with heart problems not caused by choices they have made. The mere fact that we need PCICUs is evidence enough for me that people are not born as they should be; that God does not orchestrate those events. Stuff happens. Babies being born with half a heart, suffering untold pain and multiple surgeries to only die before their first birthdays, is not of God. It is not. If you think it is, you and I believe in very different Gods.
Pictures have been posted on FB of wounded soldiers with artificial limbs, or carrying a fellow soldier off the battlefield as the example of true heroes. I agree. These are heroes. I cannot imagine the courage of marching into the hell of war. Yes, they are heroes. I long for the day when those kinds of heroes are not necessary. Will there be a day when world leaders heroically find the courage of another way; a way other than young people witnessing and doing what no human should have to witness or do? That would be a hero.
I was gratified to see pictures posted of Mother Teresa as a hero. Truly, she had a heroic spirit. I saw another picture of a fireman carrying a baby from a burning building. Again, this is courage that I cannot fathom.
Heroes come in all shapes and sizes. They accomplish many things. People who work to care for their families, who put their own needs aside to care for those around them, who get up every morning in pain from disease or injury and serve someone else, who do their jobs to the best of their abilities and give a day's work for a day's pay, who sit up nights rocking sick babies, who arrive where they say they will when they say they will, who stand up for the kid being bullied at school, who shut their mouths; heroes all. My friend, Darrel, whose memorial service we attended yesterday, often said to his family, "real men show up."
Heroes show up, in countless ways. There is not one way to be a hero. Others do not define who my heroes are. I just want to try to be a hero to those in my little corner of the world, so that when I leave, it will be a little bit better than when I arrived.
So, today I wish you to be heroic in whatever arena you find yourself, I wish you heroes in your life, and I wish you
blessings
Many arguments have been made by those who claim Christ. Again, personal filters determine if these people indeed should be called followers of Christ; if any of us should Just the mere mention that someone claims to be a believer causes others to immediately discount what is being said. They find belief in a higher being to be superstition and the folly of an ignorant mind. Often those who believe find non-believers evil and people to be avoided. I wonder what would happen if we all just loved.
The most frustrating argument I have seen for why Bruce Jenner is not a hero and is someone who should be shunned, is the comment "God doesn't make mistakes." I believe the comment, but as an argument for why Bruce Jenner was born a man and that is that, it is ludicrous, in my opinion. As always, my opinion is all I have here. My daughter is a PCICU nurse. If you do not know what that means, it is a Pediatric Cardiac Intensive Care Unit; children with heart problems not caused by choices they have made. The mere fact that we need PCICUs is evidence enough for me that people are not born as they should be; that God does not orchestrate those events. Stuff happens. Babies being born with half a heart, suffering untold pain and multiple surgeries to only die before their first birthdays, is not of God. It is not. If you think it is, you and I believe in very different Gods.
Pictures have been posted on FB of wounded soldiers with artificial limbs, or carrying a fellow soldier off the battlefield as the example of true heroes. I agree. These are heroes. I cannot imagine the courage of marching into the hell of war. Yes, they are heroes. I long for the day when those kinds of heroes are not necessary. Will there be a day when world leaders heroically find the courage of another way; a way other than young people witnessing and doing what no human should have to witness or do? That would be a hero.
I was gratified to see pictures posted of Mother Teresa as a hero. Truly, she had a heroic spirit. I saw another picture of a fireman carrying a baby from a burning building. Again, this is courage that I cannot fathom.
Heroes come in all shapes and sizes. They accomplish many things. People who work to care for their families, who put their own needs aside to care for those around them, who get up every morning in pain from disease or injury and serve someone else, who do their jobs to the best of their abilities and give a day's work for a day's pay, who sit up nights rocking sick babies, who arrive where they say they will when they say they will, who stand up for the kid being bullied at school, who shut their mouths; heroes all. My friend, Darrel, whose memorial service we attended yesterday, often said to his family, "real men show up."
Heroes show up, in countless ways. There is not one way to be a hero. Others do not define who my heroes are. I just want to try to be a hero to those in my little corner of the world, so that when I leave, it will be a little bit better than when I arrived.
So, today I wish you to be heroic in whatever arena you find yourself, I wish you heroes in your life, and I wish you
blessings
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