January Blog

The past couple years, I have done a sort of blog challenge. I used prompts from Pinterest, and tried a blog a day. I don't think I actually blogged 31 straight days in January either year. That is pretty par for the course for me when it comes to that sort of thing. Of course, if by blogging thirty-one consecutive days I could create world peace or find the cure for cancer, I would be a bit more diligent. Since absolutely nothing whatsoever hangs in the balance, let me just say that I hope to write a blog entry several days this month.

Prompts from Pinterest and other sources have failed to inspire me this January. I may use some random prompts, subjects that catch my fancy, but most of what I will write will be a sort of stream of consciousness prompted by my own observations.

A post on FB caused me to think about the discrepancies we all have between our public selves and our private selves. I know a few folks whose private selves would shock and stun those who only know them in a public way. Their sweetness in public belies their bitter dispositions exhibited at home. I am most grateful that my husband and offspring are not among that group. Mr. L and my children, in particular, present to the world what  they exhibit within their four walls. Of the four of us, I would be the one most guilty of artifice. My private self cusses more than my public self. My private self can go on a bit of a rant about politics, or other issues, but I meticulously avoid going there in public. There is enough hot air out there without my adding to it. Both my public and private selves try to be meticulously honest, so if I compliment someone, I sincerely mean it. I might, however, say something along the lines of, "I've never seen anything quite like it," when someone asks my opinion of  something they think is quite beautiful and that I find perfectly hideous. I consider that being polite. Others might see dishonesty.

So, a bit more of the private me might present itself this month. Streams of consciousness can do that.  Don't be anticipating, if anyone is anticipating anything here, lots of foul language or brilliant political commentary. It's just the ramblings of a Medicare eligible grandmother on her annual pilgrimage to the beach.

Sometimes Things Work Out

Car troubles can be a pain.  I dropped quite a bit of money buying myself a catalytic converter this week.  Merry Christmas to Fizzy and me.  And, seriously, a catalytic converter really does nothing for the performance of my car, as I understand it.  I just need it to get the engine light off so I can get my car emission-tested so I can spend another bit of money to get a one inch by one inch sticker to put on my license plate.  I seriously considered taking a black Sharpie and outlining the engine light on the glass to obscure it, but then I figured that just was not the right thing to do.  Besides, it probably would not have worked anyway and I could not deal with the embarrassment of "getting caught."

While my car was in the shop, MP became my Uber driver.  Now, it is true, that we spend quite a bit of time together during normal times, but I got even more time with her and Violet during those few days of not having a car.  Apparently, not only are catalytic converters (I just love saying that ~ exquisite alliteration) expensive, they take a bit of time to find and acquire.  But, my car was ready in time for me to take Mom to the beauty shop yesterday, so I had it by the time I needed it. Mr. L was in Utah over the weekend so I used his car then. And, did I mention, time with my daughter and granddaughter?  It worked out beautifully.

Yesterday morning, I got a call from Marshall saying his truck was broken and he had left it at the shop, walked to Chick - Fil -A and was waiting for Sheri to pick him up and bring him to my house.  He asked if I minded his hanging out with me.  Seriously, did I mind?  I loved the thought.  It turned out that MP was actually right down the street from where Marshall was, so she picked him up and brought him here.  He went with me to take Nunny to the beauty shop, so she had the opportunity to see him as well.  It worked out beautifully.  I took Marsh to get his truck.  It was a simple fix and a beautiful morning.

Oops, his truck was not fixed.  He called me this morning a little before 6:00 and, in a cheerful voice, said, "what are you doing this morning?"  Turns out he was on his way to work when the battery light came on again.  He turned around and headed for the car repair place.  His truck died in the road in front of the place; he got it started long enough to limp it into the parking lot, where he waited for me to pick him up.  Talk about working out perfectly.

He is working in Franklin the next couple of weeks, so we drove there, enjoying our time together.  Because he was not driving and was observing the route he told me to take, he realized that he had been going a really strange  way to get to the job site.  He figured out a way to get there that will be much more direct and quicker.  This would not have happened had his truck not failed him this morning.  Future drives to the jobsite will be much more efficient.  Well, that worked out rather well.

We got to his job, I dropped him off and left.  As is typical, I took a wrong turn.  I was in great fear that I would end up in Columbia, like I did back in the summer when I took a similar wrong turn.  I don't think of myself as a stupid person, but directions stymie me....every time.  I was talking to Mr. L when I realized that I was lost.  He was trying to figure out what direction I was headed and when I called myself an idiot about directions, he said, "well, when it comes to directions, you're not bright."  That was such a lovely and gracious understatement of fact.  After I hung up from him, I realized where I was.  Certainly, I had gone quite a bit out of my way, but I was back on track and feeling very puffed up by my success.  Soon, Marshall's phone begins to ring.  He had left it in my car.  It's been a hectic morning for him.  It was where I could not reach it and so I turned into the next street.  Lo' and behold, it was the street where I was supposed to be.  Now, I've been driving about 10 minutes and I was right back where I started.  Of course, I realized that Marshall needed his phone, so I drove straight back, straight back, people, to where I had left him to deliver his phone.  He asked if I had had to go too far out of my way and I could honestly say, "nope, I was just around the corner."  Getting lost made it all work out perfectly.

So far, the rest of my morning has been excellent as well, spent with MP, Simeon (he's sick), and Violet, buying Krispy Kreme doughnuts for Nunny.  That's about the only thing I have heard her say that she has a hankering for.  So, all the "inconveniences" and car trouble and direction challenges worked together to give me greatly enjoyed time with my adult children.  I don't like spending  money on car repairs.  It feels like there is nothing to show for it.  Something beautiful would be much more fun.  But, I still have a place to live and I will still eat (too much), and I still have clothes to wear.  In the words of Mr. L, "the money won't matter in five years," it won't matter next week.  But, what will matter next week and in five years is the time I get to spend with those I love.  Not all things work out like we would like.  Often, we can't see when things work out.  But, in this week, with our inconveniences, it worked out beautifully, and I am grateful on so many levels.  

I Hate This

I warn you, this is not my usual type blog. My general demeanor is Pollyanna, everything will be fine, nothing is as bad as it seems.  I find myself angry and frustrated this afternoon.

For 34 years, I have done walking tours, sharing Nashville and Tennessee history with school children.  I love my job.  I think understanding our past is very important.  Having said that, I know that history is not an exact science and that most every "fact" has a bias attached to it.  I get that.  I do.  

This is the first year that I have started my tour with an apologetic, if you will, for what I do.  This push in our country to blot out parts of history that we don't like, or that make us uncomfortable is ludicrous.  Absolutely, there are things that have happened that should offend every thinking human.  But, that is not all there is.  We have not only offended, we have defended.  We have not merely been destructive, we have been constructive. Neither should be forgotten. Both need to be studied so the one can be avoided and the other can be emulated.  Nor, is it fair to judge 18th and 19th century motives with 21st century hindsight. Yes, by all means, recognize the results, but it is cheap and unfair (hate that word) to judge motives.  The Lord God in heaven knows that this generation is going to be judged by the outcomes of decisions, and I am pretty sure we are going to come up lacking.  

Having said that, here is one thing I hate about the atmosphere in this country right now and for which this generation should be maligned .  Today, as I stood in front of the Sam Davis statue talking to a precious group of 4th graders, a man came walking down the hill and stepped right up to the edge of my group.  His hands were in his pockets.  I hate that my first thought was to wonder if he had a gun hidden there.  And, I was not the only adult there who wondered.  As I told Sam's story, I also wondered if I should edge myself closer to the man so that I would be between him and the children.  I figured that might buy some time when he began firing.  How sick is that?  How possible is that? This was probably somebody's sweet grandpa who was just roaming around downtown Nashville visiting the sites.  I kept talking, watching him, observing parents growing more and more uncomfortable.  As I talked, the teacher, a tiny little spitfire, walked over to the man and kindly asked what he was doing.  I don't know if she explained that it was a private tour or exactly what she said, but shortly afterward the man walked away.  I hate that I looked at that man with suspicion.  

Over the years, I have had many people come and try to join our group.  Sometimes it is a homeless person, or a person who is suffering some mental malady who wishes to tag along.  In all these years, I have only had one homeless person try to snatch an umbrella from one of the students.  We are talking hundreds of tours and thousands of students.  I have never felt afraid until today.  I realize that the shooting in Texas is fresh on my mind, and so my fear meter is very delicate.  But, I hate it.  I would like to say that in a few days, while I will still grieve with the country over the loss of lives in that tiny church in that tiny town, I will no longer have an underlying fear, but who knows when the next mass shooting will occur?  Where will it be next time?  

This is not meant to be political.  I hate politics too, while I am on the subject of hating.  I get that people want guns to hunt.  If you need a handgun to make yourself feel safe, you should have it, I guess. But, why does any private citizen need a semi-automatic gun?  Why?  Why would anyone be opposed to background checks or a waiting period (obviously, I am not clear on gun-buying procedures) before a person could purchase a gun?  I sincerely do not understand.  I am not trying to spark some asinine political diatribe.  Frankly, unless you can give me a reasonable explanation why anyone, beside someone presently in the military, needs a semi-automatic weapon, I don't want to hear your dumb arguments that this is not a gun problem, but rather a "heart problem."  No joke it's a heart problem and a head problem and, in my not-so-humble opinion, an entitled problem.  But, it is also a gun problem when any mentally deranged, or mean, or drunk, or stupid, or angry person can walk into a store, spend some money and walk out with a gun. I sincerely do not believe those who wrote the 2nd amendment could have ever anticipated the efficiency with which these semi-automatic weapons can kill.  I wonder if those who argue the right to own how many of whatever kind of gun anyone wants would change if it was their 5 year old child who was shot 5 times on a Sunday morning as he sat in church.  

Can you tell that Pollyanna has left the building?  She'll make her way back, but, this afternoon, I am so (insert your own adverb here) angry!!!!

Ramblings of a Diffused Focus

It has been an interesting week, well, actually, that may remain to be seen.  Little tidbits here and there are bouncing around in my head, which is what most thoughts do in my head ~ bounce around.

Violet ~ I had the opportunity to spend time with her on Sunday and Monday.  I dressed her for church, and it seemed impossible that 35+ years have passed since I was dressing her mama for church, with bows in her hair and just the right socks and diaper cover.  Monday, I had even more time to spend with her while her mom was on a field trip with her brother.  We had lunch at Whole Foods, where she ate like a champ and danced in her seat to the music.  She then napped in my lap. Those times, with babies asleep in my lap, are when the veil is thinnest between this realm and the next.

Walking tours ~ On three different days this week, I had boys on my tours who were on the autism spectrum.  I hope I worded that correctly and not in an offensive manner.  The first boy was on Wednesday and he was a beautiful child.  I, frankly, would have thought he had Tourette's Syndrome because of the involuntary motions of his arms and hands and his uncontrollable giggling.  The teacher told me that he was autistic and you could tell how she loved him.  He was able to sit among his friends and have his picture made.  Although, I was a bit distracted by his giggling at the beginning, I was heartened to see what a lovely day he had.

Thursday, there was another boy who also deals with autism.  Teachers are good to let me know which children need extra leniency from my simple, but stringent rules.  I always feel that they let me know so that for the child's sake I don't come down on them, but also for my own, so I don't beat myself up all day for correcting a child who is truly doing his very best.  This boy did not make any noises, particularly, he just had great difficulty in paying attention.  His aide worked hard to see to it that he was sitting where he could get up without disrupting everyone else should that be necessary. She also worked hard to have him sit with the group.  I witnessed infinite patience on her part, and a genuine interest in his succeeding.

The boy on Friday broke my heart.  Because, I have to talk loudly for 200 people to hear me on the streets of Nashville, I felt like I was tormenting this precious child.  He groaned and moaned, crawled inside his jacket as far as he could, and laid his head in his aide's lap.  She was an older lady, like me.  She had gray hair, like me.  You know, not the chic dyed gray hair, but the I-earned-every-strand-of-this gray hair.  She held his hand, spoke softly and kindly to him, did not let him separate from the group.  She must go home exhausted, but firm in the knowledge that she makes a difference.

Paulino ~ Paulino is my buddy at the church where I begin my tours. It has taken about 17 years for us to become buddies.  I asked him on Tuesday if he had a nice weekend.  At first he could not remember, then he said he had been in the hospital over the weekend.  He had an upper respiratory infection and on Tuesday, he was suffering terribly with his back. Yep, he had been in the hospital 2 days prior, was in terrible pain, but he was at work.  That is Paulino.  Last week, when I saw him on Tuesday, he had this funny look on his face.  He grabbed my arm and told me to come, he wanted to show me something.  Part of the iron fence that borders the church property had been cut away.  I asked who did that and why. Turns out, the fire department had done it.  Seems an intoxicated gentleman, while walking to his car after the Titans game, engaged in some tomfoolery and impaled himself on one of the spikes.  He would have bled to death had they removed it from his body, so they cut the iron fence and transported him to Vanderbilt Hospital with it still in him.  Paulino had already called the hospital to see if he could get the piece back, but, alas, the hospital had thrown it away.  I am happy to report that the man will be fine.  I am very glad of that so I don't have to feel terribly guilty about my fascination at such an event.

Almost a Big Oops! ~ Friday, while waiting for a light to turn to lead my 190 or so folks across the street, a very heavy man in a wheelchair was trying to make his way diagonally across the intersection at 5th and Church.  This is a dicey intersection because of construction and impatient drivers.  The gentleman was moving at a snail's pace and straining with every inch.  I dropped my water bottle and asked if I could help him.  I am always reluctant to ask ever since I was vehemently wished to drop dead after offering my assistance to someone struggling up the hill in a wheel chair.  He was very grateful for my help and thanked me profusely.  When we got to the sidewalk, I hit the curb a little hard and almost dumped the poor fellow right out onto his face.  He was quite insistent when he told me that he could get it from there.  Later I saw him asleep, out of the wind, sheltered by the small covered area of a bus stop.

Heaters and Coats ~ It is hard, at the church where I begin my tours.  They are in transition.  They have ceased feeding the urban poor on Wednesdays.  Money is one issue.  Fights breaking out among those being fed is another.  Paulino has to clean up after the homeless every morning.  They leave cardboard that served as their bed for the night, water bottles, food and bodily fluids on the front steps.  Understandably, he grows weary.  It seems many of the homeless just cannot do any better. Whether they can or cannot, Paulino's job is still frustrating.  The church has basically run out of money for the moment to help.  For as long as I can remember, it has been a place where people could come to get help getting medicine, IDs, food and other necessities.  Now, when I am asked, it breaks my heart to say there is nothing there for the needy at the moment.  One day this week, someone left two boxes.  On one box was written "free heaters" and on the other, "free coats."  Paulino left those boxes there on his morning cleanup.  Soon, they are going to lock the gates around the building so that people cannot get in the courtyard or on the steps. It is sad.  It is overwhelming.  It can be depressing if one ponders too long on how little actual help one person can offer.  I just cling to the belief that if we will all help a little, it will make a difference.

Steve ~  Steve with his top hat and tails, infectious grin and courtly manners has been missing from my daily route.  I hesitated and hesitated to ask anyone for fear I would hear that something terrible had happened to him.  Finally, I asked and braced myself for the horrendous news.  Turns out, Steve is fine.  He is just at another hotel working.  I miss him.  I hope he's happy at the new place.  I am certain that his new co-workers love him.

Wednesday Camp Fires ~ Autumn is here.  I love it!!  Wednesday was a beautiful cool afternoon.  When I picked the boys up, I told them that they would be playing outside when we got to my house.  My stars, you would think I was putting them in a concrete cell for all the whining that followed.  I stood firm.  There are lots of things in my yard with which to play.  As they ran about, I had a "genius" idea.  "Let's build a fire," I said.  And, we did.  And, it was marvelous.  We had amazing teamwork.  One boy was assigned to make newspaper logs while the other collected sticks in the yard.  We had ourselves a rousing Wednesday afternoon camp fire.  We loved it...all of us.  Max did not like smoke in his eyes so he eventually went to play on the swing while Simmy and I ate cheese crackers and sat by the fire.  If you haven't had a fireside chat with a five-year-old lately, I highly recommend it.

Thursday Night Sleepover ~  Max and Marshall spent the night with us Thursday night.  The lady of their house was off to a wedding in Arkansas.  Simmy stayed for a while and helped his mom carve their jack-o-lantern.  She did a brilliant job.  When they went home, we grilled steaks and hot dogs.  They were all delicious.  Max made sweet cards, telling us that he loves us.  He made one for Aunt P and convinced Fizzy to walk with him to deliver it.  Max and Marshall carved their pumpkin and we put fairy lights in it, set it on top of our elevated dance floor (treehouse in progress) and it looked like it was floating in air.  It was a lovely evening.

Well, perhaps, not as interesting as I thought, but I thank you for indulging me in my stroll through the week.  Now, off to run a few more Saturday afternoon errands before I flop on the sofa to watch Hallmark Christmas movies.

Wisdom ~ Part 2

Below is a question asked that covers quite a bit of ground.  Again, some of these answers come from folks who are no longer with us; sort of voices from our great cloud of witnesses.  Hope you enjoy and learn, as I have.

What factors or pressures i.e. societal, locale, family, church etc.. influenced major life decisions?

1.  Most of our major life decisions regarding where we lived were primarily influenced by my husband's job opportunities.  For many years I simply followed his and his mother's wishes as to which church we attended...which was not always fulfilling for me or our children.  Our  two families greatly influenced how we did our Christmas holidays, because we always traveled to Nashville to be with all the family beginning Christmas Eve.  Our children had Santa at home before we left.  I am not sure that we were really wise in doing this because we never established our own traditions with our children.  Now that they are grown, this is even harder, although we try not to pressure them

2.  When my grandfather heard about my new girlfriend, all he said to me was, “I hear you’re dating a Baptist girl.” I answered with a hesitating “Yes.” He responded with a disapproving grunt. As long as I dated that girl, he would always manage to work something into our conversations on the general topic of “What’s Wrong with the Baptist Church.” He never drew any connection to my girlfriend and never told me I was making a mistake. He just made his comments and let me draw my own conclusions. After I broke up with that girl, I decided to look for girls at the Church of Christ’s Christian Student Center on campus. I didn’t go there in search of spiritual fulfillment or for the quiet devotional times. I went there to look for girls. And I found one. A good Church of Christ girl. My grandfather approved. I married her. That was 39 years ago. She’s still my best friend. Marrying her was the best decision I ever made

3.  My life decisions were focused on my spiritual convictions and spending as much time as possible with my wife and our 3 children.

4. Family and church had a huge influence on major decisions.

Wisdom ~ Part 1

Several years ago I became "in charge" of a newly developing Senior Ministry at church.  I put "in charge" in quotation marks, because one is never in charge of a group of senior citizens.  They have lived enough life to pretty much know where they stand and what they want to do.  The wise ones of them, however, are always open to new notions and challenges to their thoughts and ideas.  I say "them," but I should say "us;' a fact that is hard for me to accept.

In an effort to create worthwhile activities, I ran across a book entitled (I think) The Elder Wisdom Project. It was an exchange between younger folk and seniors.  All sorts of questions were asked and answered, always anonymously so that both sides could be honest and candid.  I thought it a brilliant idea and had the lofty notion that I would publish a book of wisdom from our seniors at Otter Creek.  As happens, I allowed life to prevent my seeing this to fruition.

Until this morning, I had pretty much forgotten all about the questions and answers from that project.  MP and Violet dropped by while I cleaned out my refrigerator.  As I collected two big trash bags of detritus from my fridge, some of which was totally unrecognizable, MP began to ask me questions about my dad's family.  When she left, my senior wisdom project came to mind.  Being the eternal optimist, I saved the few questions and answers I received in an online folder.  Astonishingly, I even was able to find them.

Even as the eternal optimist, I feel doubtful that a book will ever come of this, but this blog could be an avenue for sharing some of the wisdom of my fellow seniors at Otter Creek.  There are answers here from people still at Otter Creek, some who have moved to other churches, some who have passed away.  The questions also come from such a varied demographic.  Only time will tell how consistently I will post these, because of  life...you know.

I was raised to NOT express anger in a marriage, by example.  As I grew older, my mom told me that they didn't want to scare us, so my parents deliberately decided not to argue in front of us.  As you might guess, this cripples me now in my relationship with my husband.

 

I need to know how to express intense anger when it comes up, which it does ALL THE TIME!!  I recently told him, while the kids were gone, that he really pisses me off all the time.  He replied that he didn't know I was EVER angry at him.

 

The thing is, "piss me off" really hits the nail on the head.  However, I don't want my kids to use that word...I've taken to saying "PO 456!!" or some sort of number after PO, to disguise it.  He has asked what this means and I've told him

1.  My home was just the opposite.  My father never held back any anger, and my mother tried to respond to his angry outbursts.  After many years, my mother learned to ignore his outbursts.  He wanted an argument, but she refused to engage in them.  My parents were married for 55 years and my mother taught me most about commitment.  When I got married 40 years ago, I also had a quick temper that I knew would be trouble if I let it control me.  I knew that I didn't want the kind of marriage my parents had.  It took nearly 20 years for me to finally learn patience.  I prayed for it but it did not come easily.  The biggest help to my having a better marriage was when God got my attention through a Bible study I was in. 

Proverbs 15:1  "A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger."     

 

I posted this verse on my refrigerator that day and the change in our home was immediate.  I believe it's OK to tell your husband when you are upset, or hurt by something, but pick the right time.  "Count to ten" is a good rule because it gives us time to calm down and not say things we will regret later.   I've also heard through marriage seminars " He doesn't MAKE me angry, I CHOOSE to let myself become angry.  Marriage is a lot of work (just like parenting), but it's worth the effort!

2.  My husband and I believe that one of the best ways to make children feel loved and secure is for them to see how much their mom and dad love each other.  However, disagreements and differences of opinion do happen, so that is when we've had "discussions" in front of the kids.  But never, never name-calling or disrespectful behavior.  My husband grew up with parents and family having terrible, awful arguments and we've been determined not to have our kids go through that. They do, though, need to have a safe environment to express feelings in a healthy way.

3.  We’re very sorry that you’re having to deal with this problem, but you are doing the right thing by asking for help. It is very important that you find a way to discuss your concerns with your husband. Otherwise, they will eat you up inside. They will grow and intensify. Putting off the discussion only makes it worse. Ultimately, you will come to despise your husband.

First, pray for your husband every day. Ask God to bless him. That’s all you need to ask. It’s hard to stay angry with someone that you’ve asked God to bless. And… you’ll be amazed at the ways God will bless both you and your husband.

Second, when you express your anger to your husband, direct the anger at your husband's behavior, not your husband, and try not to assign motives to his behavior. If your husband did something that hurt you or caused problems for you, it may very well have been an oversight or a mistaken assumption on his part. There have been countless times in our relationship when one of us made a decision on the ASSUMPTION that the other one KNEW something that he/she DID NOT know. It took us years to come to the understanding that we are on the same team, that we’re working toward the same goals and not competing AGAINST each other. Generally, when one of us makes a mistake that hurts the other, it is just that… a mistake.

Third, once you’ve discussed an issue with your husband, set it aside. It’s a burden you don’t need to carry anymore. This is a tough one, but it’s important to try. We’ve walked with many close friends through tough times in their marriage relationships. When they’ve talked about their marriage problems, some couples would start with something like, “She’s always been this way. Why, on our honeymoon…” They would talk about events that happened years ago and recite long lists of arguments that dated back 20 or 25 years. Basically, they’d been having the same argument year after year.

Fourth, this seems trite, but count your blessings. Concentrate on the positive attributes of your husband. Focus on the behaviors you like. Every man has flaws. But, every man has good points, too. Said another way, be careful what you look for because that’s exactly what you’ll find. If you look for reasons to be angry with your husband, you’ll find plenty of them. If you look for reasons to love him more deeply, you'll find those, too.

Fifth, look for ways to avoid or neutralize conflict. Example: We once met a couple at a bed and breakfast. They'd been married 65 years. Every time there was a decision to be made, they would run through this cute little routine. The wife would ask the husband, "What do you want to do, Honey? Would you rather eat breakfast in the dining room on or the porch?" His reply was always the same. "Oh, I don't care, Dear. Whatever you want is fine with me." They went through this routine on every little decision--what time to go to dinner, which restaurant to choose, which activities to participate in. Their routine was always the same. It seemed silly... until we realized that it was a conflict avoidance mechanism they had developed over their years together. The wife was offering the husband the opportunity to make the decision. He was handing the decision back to her. In doing so, he forfeited his right to complain about her decision later because he COULD have made a different one. (We suppose he expressed an opinion when he had one. We just never saw it happen.)

Another example: If he keeps forgetting to take the garbage out to the curb on pick-up day, you could shake a finger in his face and demand, “Will you PLEASE take out the stupid garbage!” Or, you can just make an off-hand comment like, “Gosh, I’ll bet we have a lot of garbage this week.” Either approach gets your point across, but the second one does it with a lot less stress all the way around. (We know what you’re thinking… men don’t always handle subtlety very well, but you probably know him well enough to know which subtleties will work and which won’t.)

Finally, don’t be too hard on your parents. They did what they thought was best for you—just as you try to do what’s best for your children. All parents make mistakes. Ours did. We have. The important question is, “How do I respond now that I know my parents made a mistake?” You are responding appropriately by asking for help and trying to learn to deal with the situation.

A Horror Tale

Yesterday, the boys, Violet and I starred in a real live tale of horror.  Anyone who thinks I exaggerate was not there, and, also, possibly doesn't understand sarcasm.

After picking the boys up from school, I bring them home for a snack.  They are a bit sassy and loud, so I banish them to the outdoors.  They do not want to put on my insect repellant spray so decide to play in the driveway with sidewalk chalk, pavers painted to look like a road, and toy tanks and jeeps.  Violet and I stay inside to watch.  She is not being sassy and loud.

As we sit in the rocker watching the boys, all of a sudden, I hear loud screeching.  There is a big difference in the mad yell and the terrified and in pain yell.  They come running through the back gate, crying and screaming as a swarm of yellow jackets follows.  Max has at least 7 stuck on his shirt.  2 truths, no 3 truths about yellow jackets.  1. They will sting you through your clothes.  2. They, unlike honey bees, can sting multiple times and do not die after stinging.  3.  They hurt like a ~  fill in your own blankity, blank, blank here.

As the boys run toward me, screaming my name, I immediately see what is happening.  I quickly jerk Simmy's shirt off and get him in the house.  Trying to avoid getting yellow jackets in the house, I am using a towel nearby on the patio to brush the beasts off Max's shirt even as I am trying to get his shirt off.  One of the little buggers attaches himself to my hand and begins to sting me.  I figure this is to remind me that all the screaming and crying the boys are doing is not an exaggeration of the pain of the experience.  I use my other hand to pick him off, jerk Max's shirt off, throw it on the ground, push him into the house, scoop up Violet and herd everyone into my bathroom where I begin to fill the tub up with tepid water, hoping this will help the stinging.  Unbeknownst to me, a yellow jacket has followed us into the bathroom.  It does not take long for Simeon (Mr. Observant) to notice it, and as impossible as it seems, the yelling becomes even louder.

I plop Violet into my laundry basket, give her some dirty clothes to play with as I go about trying to kill the one tenacious, persistent yellow jacket flying about the room.  Finally, I take my sock off, grab him off the window sill, smash him and flush him down the toilet.  Never have I felt such vengeful satisfaction.  I remember that MP had ordered pizza earlier in the day to be delivered for our dinner around 4:30 or so.  It is now 4:45 and I am wondering if the pizza deliverer is here, for Heaven knows, I would not have heard him above the screaming.  I tell the boys to just soak in the tub, grab  Violet, run to the front window where I see the pizza deliverer's truck.  I rush to the patio, find him on the phone talking to my son-in-law whose phone number is connected to the pizza order, cram  $7 into his hand, apologize for his having to wait, ask him to just set the pizza in the kitchen, and run back to the bathroom, hoping he is not a mass-murderer.

Violet is unceremoniously set back in the laundry basket, Simmy is begging to get out of the tub.  He is freezing because he has no extra insulation on his bones.  I get him out, wrap him in a towel, rock him as I sit on my broken toilet seat, which numerous times creaks with threats of dumping Simmy and me onto the floor.  Finally, Simmy wants to sit on my bed, but not put any clothes on.  He's hungry.  In the meantime, all of Max, except for his nostrils, is covered by water.  He is crying and scratching, but in typical Max fashion, raises his head just enough to ask, "Mellie, did Violet get stung?"    I also figure out later as he was screaming, "Mellie, get Violet out of here," he was worried that she might get stung, rather than being concerned that she might see him naked, which is what I thought he was worried about.  Seriously, the boy is such an empath.

I wrap Simmy back up in a towel, set him on my bed, pull the feather comforter up around him, grab a beach towel to put across his lap, grab him a piece of pizza, and he enjoys sitting in bed, eating as if he was a king sending his minion to fetch what he needed.  He's a funny guy, and as Marshall said later, both boys are very dramatic, but Simmy has a Shakespearean air about his performances.

Early on in this saga, I text (talk to text ~ never a good idea), the parents of these two wounded boys.  What I meant to say to their parents was that I felt I should let them know that the boys had been stung multiple times.  I just felt they should know that because we had no reference as to whether they are allergic or not.  I have an epi-pen for just such an occasion, which I did not use yesterday, because as MP said, I probably had more adrenaline coursing through my body than any epi-pen could deliver.  My talk to text actually ended up saying that I needed directions because the boys had been stung and that I had gotten into a cold bath tub.  I'm sure their confidence in my ability to take care of their children took a hit with that text.

MP is in a mandatory class for work and can not leave. She is texting and sending me signs to look for to indicate a sever allergic reaction.  Marshall leaves where he is immediately, stops and buys children's Tylenol  and Benadryl.  Josh hurries over from real estate business in East Nashville and Sheri leaves work as soon as possible.  The boys are picked up.  I take Tylenol, Advil and Benadryl and go to bed around 8:00.  This morning, all of us seem to be doing exceptionally well, I am happy to report.  Violet is bound to grow up to be and ER Doc, because she is most calm in a storm.  Never did she even whimper.

I am beyond thankful that neither boy had  anaphylaxis and that Violet was not stung.  If we had added a ride in the back of an ambulance to the hospital, my calm may have departed.  Now, what we have is just another story the boys can tell of their days together at Fizzy's and Mellie's.  I am somewhat shocked that a neighbor did not call the police.  It was obvious that something terrible was happening at my house.  I am grateful that the pizza deliverer was not a mass murderer.  I am grateful that Advil, Tylenol and Benadryl exist.

A New Challenge

In February, I issued a challenge. It was a challenge to post on Facebook, every day for a month, a photo with a short (or long) explanation. There are several purposes for taking up the challenge. It helps us look and see the beauty in expected and unexpected places. For me, it is an exercise in self-discipline. To complete a task for thirty days in a row is a good exercise for someone with "diffused focus." One result of the March challenge was unearthed memories I did not realize were buried. It also helps create FB posts that relate to something lovely and not politics, which I, personally, find to be quite unlovely.

The Etheridge brothers met the March challenge. I learned a lot about them as dads, as granddads, as husbands to the wives of their youth, as vagabonds who travel often together, and as fine, honorable men. All in all, I cannot think of one negative result from the meeting of the challenge.

The rules are simple as well as a bit nebulous. Post on FB, one (or more) picture every day (or not, if life gets too hectic).  Use the camera on your phone or one more fancy. If you don't like the prompt, make up one for yourself, however, it is more fun if we all do the same thing.  It is meant to be fun and not just one more thing that has to be done. 

Lots of my FB friends are extremely marvelous picture-takers. So, please, if you want to, join me in the challenge. Let's bring some beauty and joy to FB in September.  

Below is the list. Happy snapping!!

1. Shoot through something
2.  Water
3.  Motion
4.  Let shadows tell the story
5.  Reflection
6.  Frame your subject
7.  Black and White
8.  In Full Sun
9.  Three
10. The Everyday
11. A Child
12. A favorite spot in your city
13. Sky
14. New
15. Pattern
16. Weather
17. Flare
18. A street scene
19. Details
20. Red, green and blue
21. At night
22. Duo
23. Same thing 3 angles
24. Bell
25. Sunset
26. Same subject, different light
27. In your room
28. Outside a window
29. Close up
30. Bridge

Multilingual

Yesterday, on FB, someone posted that folks use the word "awesome" a lot.  We say, "these are awesome French fries," "your hair looks really awesome," "he's an awesome athlete."  I have very little problem with people using the word.  It is a whole lot better than people going around saying everything is awful.  That same person stated that yesterday, during the eclipse, the word "awesome" was absolutely appropriate. Awesome was certainly the best word I could find, and I felt, like most everyone, "awesome" was awesomely inadequate.

I offered to make eclipse food and suggested that we  just stay at our house to watch the spectacle rather than going to one of the many venues in town offering eclipse activities.  What we witnessed was far more spectacle than any of us expected.  How this could be so is a puzzle, because the hype leading up to the event was immense.  It turns out that there could not have been too much hype.  It was certainly an event that had to be seen, for words would never be adequate in describing it.

Eclipse pizzas, eclipse oranges as the sun and blueberries as the moon, Sunkist, eclipse cookies and Eclipse gum were on the menu.  Around noon, we looked up, with our glasses on, of course, and saw that the event had begun.  Some of our group had to leave, but the rest of us camped out on the front lawn to await totality.  Fizzy even ran home from the Downtown Y so he could be with us to see it. You do realize when I say "ran" I mean literally, not figuratively.  

Most of our crowd, being committed introverts, could not have been happier.  Quietly sitting side by side, listening to the sounds of nature, pondering our smallness and the vastness of the universe was absolute perfection.  No music was blaring.  Mainly, the only words spoken were words of awe.  I think Sheri said "way to go God!"  I cried.

It occurred to me that this was an event that spoke so completely to both believers in an omniscient and omnipresent God and those whose belief lies more in the truth of science. I, personally, do not believe these two things are mutually exclusive, for God is multilingual.  One of his many languages is the language of science.  He is the author of science.  This is why it is hard to understand pushback against the idea of evolution.  A creator who makes animals and plants and humans who evolve over time, rather than just staying as is for always, is unspeakably creative. God spoke to me yesterday.  Science astounded me. The perfect timing of sun and moon aligned and scientists being able to tell us the exact minute it would occur in every area where it would be seen is amazing. Yesterday, God spoke loudly and clearly in his language of science and it was AWESOME!

And, Now for the Good News

Thursday night, a night following a week of division and anger and violence and political diatribes and "the-world-is-going-to-hell-in-a-handbaskets," I witnessed good news.  Some 220 people gathered to learn of the efforts of one ministry, The Living Water Project, to bring clean water to places who need and do not have it.  Really, it is a misstatement to say "bring" clean water, for it is there, placed by God, Himself, and He is affording The Living Water Project, and other such ministries, the opportunities to capture or unearth it.  Those who support The Living Water Project are taking advantage of those opportunities.

There were reports made of joyful celebrations as new wells in remote villages brought forth clean, cool water.  That is a life changer.  I am not good at remembering statistics, and a lot were given at the dinner, but I do grasp the significance.  The percentage of people in extreme poverty is rapidly decreasing around the world.  The percentage of people without access to clean water is decreasing rapidly.  The percentage of people dying of kidney disease caused by dehydration due to the unavailability of clean water is decreasing rapidly.  The number of people dying of water-borne diseases is decreasing rapidly.  That is good news! And, I hope, as I just put in wash load 18 of tablecloths from the dinner, that the number of women having to wash clothes beating them on a rock in a dirty stream is decreasing.  Now, that is really good news.

It is astounding how little, relatively speaking,  money it takes to dig wells or build catch systems.  Yes, don't get me wrong, it takes money, but Living Water gets a lot of bang for its buck. 

There is a house for sale around the corner from me.  The first asking price was $2,000,000.00.  The present asking price is $1,600,000.00.  The reason for this decrease in  price is, I do not live in a $2,000,000.00 house neighborhood.  I have no problem with anyone who spends that on a house.  Two million to them might be the equivalent of two thousand to me, so do not hear me judging that, but when I think of that amount of money spent to make a home for one family versus that amount of money spent in water-starved areas around the world and how many people would be affected, it gives me pause.

So, yes, there is good news in spite of what the media would have us know.  Please know, that while I am a bit of a Pollyanna, I am aware that racism, terrorists" attacks, threats of war and all other manner of darkness are present in this world.  I just invite you, on this Saturday morning, to celebrate some good news with me.

If you would like to know more about The Living Water Project, check it out on FB where you will also find links with more information.

Have a beautiful day, and when you take a drink of water or wash yet another load of clothes, just think about those who cannot do those simple acts, and do not feel guilty because they can't, feel grateful that you can.

Good in the World

Mr. L is out of town.  We talk a couple times a day so I can hear about his running 10 miles in the Orlando heat and humidity and he can hear about my getting my 10,000 steps walking laps in my air-conditioned house.  We all do life differently.  We also discuss those most amazing creatures known as grandchildren. I think he got a bit teary when I sent him pictures of our grandsons receiving their kindergarten Bibles in church yesterday.

Shortly after one conversation, he called and asked if I had heard about one of my dearest friends.  I said that I had not. He briefly explained what had happened. He sent me the email he had received which had a fuller explanation.  I was stunned.

As the wife of one of the leaders at my church, I have a rule I try to follow.  If I learn something through any source other than a church wide email, I keep it to myself.  That way, I avoid the very appearance of gossip.  Upon reading this email about my friend, I immediately broke my rule and called another precious friend and explained. We both agreed, this was not gossip.  We shared our dismay and agreed to call one another if we heard any more.

So, what happened?  My friend was car-jacked, in a parking lot at the school where she teaches, at 11:00 pm.  I try to tell her that nothing good happens after dark, but she's a night owl, not a morning person.  She had been working on a bulletin board for her classroom with the moniker, "believe there is good in the world." In her words, quite ironic.  As she got in her car, she received a text from her daughter and pulled over to text that she was going to be driving and could no longer text. She heard a tapping on her window and looked up to see a young man with "a big grin" on his face and a gun in his hand.  He told her to get out of the car.  She reached over to get her purse off the passenger seat, when a second young man with a gun told her she would not be taking her purse with her.  She did, however, apparently take a mug with her that was in the car. Go figure.  A third fellow walked up and they told her, "run, lady, run."  She did.

As she explained all this to me, she said, "I am so glad they did not kill me.  It would have ruined their lives."  Folks, that is good in the world.  That is empathy for the plight of misguided young men without the sense to know what far-reaching consequences their actions can have.  Oh, they robbed my friend of her money and her car and her credit cards and her keys, but they did not take anything of real value from her.  They did not touch her spirit or kindness or empathy or concern.  They claimed a victim of sorts, but they have no idea what they have wrought, for they now have a fierce believer, fervently praying for them.  I sense lives are about to be changed.

Today I wish you feelings of gratitude for that which could have been but is not.  I know that I am very grateful that my friend, Betsy is safe. Pray with me that three boys come to understand that they chose the right person to rob.  They don't know it yet, but they have a prayer warrior dogging their every move.  I hope they are caught.  I hope they get the opportunity to look her in the eye, and be moved by the mercy they will see there.  It is a day to celebrate. Truly, there is good in the world.

Happiness Rediscovered

His wife died.  She was not just his wife.  She was his childhood sweetheart, his sister's best friend, another daughter to his mother.  She died in childbirth.  Her first child, a girl.  Instead of a joyful homecoming and a life together as mother and father, he came home as a single dad with a fragile baby girl.

His sister moved in with him.  Her heart was broken, but she set herself aside and became aunt and mom to that sweet baby girl.  We barely knew them.  When I heard, I asked my church family to pray...to pray and cook. That's what we church folks do; we pray and we cook. I remember taking more food than his freezer would hold; some sort of sustenance for the body as his spirit was starving for the lost dream.  

I met his mom for lunch a couple times, and his sister.  Beautiful women, both heartsick for their own loss, which was compounded by pain for their son and brother; extreme anguish for their granddaughter and niece.  But, his sister's life could not stay on hold.  She married and had children of her own.

As life will have it, that baby is no longer a baby.  She is around 9 or 10 now, I think.  A precious girl as seen in FB posts.  He learned how to fix hair and cook and create joyful occasions for his daughter.  His life devoted to her and to his work, for he is an extremely creative man who needs to create.

FB has its problems, but sometimes it brings wonderful welcome news.  News that would not have been sent to me, personally.  I am so far on the periphery of these lives, but I care deeply about them and love to see their pictures and hear their stories.

Today, I learned he is getting married to a beautiful woman; one his family loves dearly.  The smile on his face in the pictures brought me such delight.

I pray they will be happy.  I pray that if they want children they are given that gift, and that they, together, get to raise them along with that precious little girl.  I would never call her motherless, for she has a mother; one that could not be present from day to day, but one whose very life gave her life and personality and looks.  Now, she has two mothers, one present and one who will always be part of her.

I love when those who have been in the deepest of grief rediscover pure happiness.

Congratulations, David

A Cruel Master

Sunday, my story for the 3rd and 4th graders at church was Daniel in the Lions' Den.  It is a well-known story, but as happens when reading the Bible, I find myself filtering the story through my present lens.

Daniel found himself in the lions' den because of others' jealousy.  The description of the other satraps, prefects, and government officials who were threatened by Daniel's hard work, honesty, and recognition is heartbreaking.  They were so busy trying to dig up dirt on Daniel that they could not concentrate on their own responsibilities.  So, they lied, they connived, they tricked the King with flattery, they found themselves "looking through the window" to catch Daniel breaking the law, they tattled, and they ended up devoured.  Jealousy is a cruel master.

It seems that jealous people sometimes have an invested interest in the failure of others.  Those people who are closest to them are the ones most often targeted.  Instead of getting up and striving to improve their own situations, if they are not happy, they devise ways to bring down others.  Sometimes, like Daniel's nemeses, those who seek to bring down others do it with intention.  It is a well-devised plan.  More often, however, I believe, if confronted, a jealous person would be stunned that you thought them so.

We all know people like this.  We all are people like this in certain situations.  You know who I mean; those who quietly sabotage someone who is working hard to lose weight, or quit drinking, or exercise more, or study hard to pass a test, or remove sugar from diets, or excel at their jobs, etc.  The list is endless.  What does it say about me if my old running buddies grow up and change their lives and I don't?

There is a song by Rascal Flatts that was very popular several years ago.  It is entitled "I'm Moving On."  One stanza speaks of this to me: "I've lived in this place and I know all the faces.  Each one is different but they're always the same.  They mean no harm but it's time that I face it, They'll never allow me to change...."  Those who refuse to allow others to change are devoured in their own misery.  I have such admiration for those, and I know several, who refuse to allow those who would hold them back to....well, hold them back.  They are moving on, living the lives they were intended, regardless of who would have it otherwise.

I started this blog a few days ago.  Each morning I receive a quote, more like a devotional, from The Frederick Buechner Center.  A passage from yesterday says, "Your life and my life flow into each other as wave flows into wave, and unless there is peace and joy and freedom for you, there can be no real peace or joy or freedom for me."  I love that.  I believe it to be true.  I do not want to be "looking through the window" hoping to trip others up.  I want to be in the room cheering them on.

Wishing you a day rejoicing in the good fortune of all those with whom you might compare yourself. Let us not be devoured by jealousy, that cruelest of all masters.

'Til Death Do Us Part

She has Alzheimer's.  He takes care of her.  She knows she has Alzheimer's and is sometimes apologetic for that which she cannot remember.  Sometimes I forget and ask if she has plans for the day; for Mother's Day or Easter. She will seem puzzled, eyes looking up and left as if somewhere up there is the answer to my question.  After a moment or two, she will flash her beautiful, sweet smile and say, "I don't know." Sometimes, she will forget where she laid her purse or will seem a bit lost looking for him.

They have hard days at times.  I know this because he is honest and admits it.  I cannot imagine the sadness of watching the recognition of all that which is familiar leaving the eyes of a person one loves so dearly.  How difficult it must be to lose the sharing of memories.

She dresses beautifully.  She has a red sequined top that sparkles in the sunlight.  I always tell her that I like it because I do, but mainly because I see it as a symbol of her sparkling personality.  Often, she can be seen wearing a necklace that has a beautiful rendering of her grandchildren on it.  It is reminiscent of antique, hand-painted broaches.  Will there be a day that she looks at that necklace and wonders just who those children are?

He is quick to laugh, and unmercifully teases me when I am, yet again, sitting on the pew in front of him on Birthday Sunday taking pictures of my grandchildren.  I grew up with teasing brothers, and I consider it a sign of great affection when someone is comfortable enough to good-naturedly tease another.

They are always early to church.  They are always together.

This past week, they were greeting at a side door which made it necessary for them to come in after the service had begun.  They walked down the aisle, side-by-side, to the front as the congregation sang a beautiful song.  Both of them tall with majestic bearing.  The passing of time has not obscured the handsome groom and the beautiful bride who walked together down a different aisle many years ago.  They had no way of knowing, none of us does, what "'til death do us part" meant in that moment of young love and youthful optimism.  It is so inspiring, in this world of me and mine and doing what feels good and grasping for everything that can be grasped, to watch this quiet, loving keeping of vows; 'til death do us part.

People Along My Way

I work in Downtown Nashville; the "it" city. It is crowded. Construction sites are everywhere. Unfamiliar faces abound. But, then there are those oh, so familiar faces that I see every day.

Reggie is a favorite. He is from New York. He wears beautiful suits complete with colorful pocket squares with flip flops. He is fast to laugh and when he is really tickled, he puts his fist up to his mouth. He is married and calls his wife "Upper Management."  He says it with humor, and I am always interested on Monday mornings to hear what Upper Management has required of him over the weekend. Every morning he searches me out to give me a hug and gallantly asks, "how's m'lady this morning?"  The fragrance of his cologne lingers when he leaves. He is my son's age. He is in school getting a degree in accounting. He has two daughters, one grown, one at Harpeth Hall. Reggie is taking a new job. After May 23, I won't be seeing him. I will miss him.

Paulino is an enigma. Some mornings he just grunts at me. Some mornings, he will come sit and chat while I wait for my tour group to arrive. There was a time when about every fourth or fifth word he said was the "F" word, but I have noticed that he has tempered that. He is from Guatemala. He is a hard worker with myriad skills. He always has on an LSU sweatshirt in cooler weather months. I have never seen him in a hurry. His wife has a big job; his children are brilliant and accomplished, and he is very proud of them. He comes across as a grumpy guy, but he has a heart of gold. The other day he handed me a rubber band....for no apparent reason. Reggie laughed, and I jokingly told Paulino that I would cherish it. In a way, it wasn't a joke. Oh, I don't still have the rubber band, but I have the memory of Paulino joking around with me. It was the rare occasion when he did not seem burdened with the day ahead of him. He still gets upset with me because I don't tell the children that the "Yankees came down here and stole our women and our land."  I think I won't get historical information from Paulino. He told me not too long ago that he was going to retire. I will miss him.

Chad is The Contributor seller I see every morning. He is always faithfully at his spot, eager to share with me any new stories in the paper, especially if they pertain to celebrities who have been interviewed. Often when I ask how he is doing, he will reply, "I am really tired."  I don't think he gets good rest at The Mission or the other places he goes for the night. One day this week, he asked if I like chocolate. Of course, I told him yes. He had a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup that a rep of the candy company had given him. According to Chad, this particular version of the candy is not sold in stores yet. Chad handed me the candy bar that had been tucked inside his shirt. He suggested that I open it and take one of the cups. I asked if he was sure he wanted to share it or would he rather save it for himself later. He sincerely wanted me to have it and it occurred to me that in his economic situation, he probably has very little opportunity to give something to another. So, I took it, I ate it. Later, I found Chad and encouraged him to tell the candy rep that those Reese's Cups definitely need to be in the stores. It had tiny chocolate chips in it. I like to see Chad selling papers to his regular customers, on his corner, sharing his pride in the paper that he sells.

Steve is the doorman at The Hermitage Hotel. Never have I seen anyone more perfectly suited for his job. First of all, Steve looks like he was born to wear a top hat and tails. He has the kindest smile which never leaves his face even as he is trying to cram 3 suitcases in the trunk of someone's tiny sportscar. Every morning as I walk by, he gives me a small bow, asks how I am doing and greets the children as they walk by. This morning, he told me he had just figured out who my mom is. She is a sort of crowned princess of the Hermitage Hotel, and everyone there loves her. Steve called her "a force of nature."  I had 200 people walking behind me, so I could not ask how he made the connection.  He did say that he could see the family resemblance. I really know nothing about Steve's life, but he certainly seems the loveliest sort of man.

So, these are some of my favorite people I see along the way. I consider myself a very fortunate person to do the job I do. I live a very non-glamorous and, in many ways, a very simple life blessed by the comings and goings of many interesting folks.

Miss Eba (not a typo)

Our church family lost another of our great matriarchs this week. Miss Eba, as my children and I called her. We knew she was the celebrity in her family when the children all called her husband, John, "Brother Miss Eva."  Of course she was famous; she taught the two-year-old class at the nursery school for years. The children loved her, but their parents loved her more. There was no one with whom we wanted our children to be more than Miss Eva and Miss Sharon.

I learned a lot from Miss Eva. I learned a valuable lesson in grace from her when my child (name withheld to protect the guilty) was in her class. It seems my precious child went to school and informed the class that Daddy had learned a new word. Miss Eva was thrilled that we, good parents that we were, worked on increasing our child's vocabulary. So she asked what the new word was, expecting some legal term like writ of habeas corpus, or heretofore or plaintiff since the daddy in this family was a lawyer. Oh, if only. Instead, our child sweetly told Miss Eva the word was "son of a b#*+?."  Nice. When Miss Eva called to graciously remind us that little ears hear things, I racked my brain to figure out what in the world. Mr. L does not talk like that, and then, I remembered. He had told a joke in the car with the children in the back seat, and the new vocabulary word was the punchline. Miss Eva probably never said that word in her life, but she treated a new mom with grace and kindness, without judgment. I always felt like Mr. L was a favorite of hers after that.

One of the greatest lessons I learned from Miss Eva she shared on parent night. In regards to two-year-olds she said, "I expect nothing from them, so anything I get is a bonus."  I think she was sort of kidding, but I think that's a great motto in regard to just people in general.

Miss Eva loved The Pineapple Room at Cheekwood and The Puffy Muffin. She could always be found treating for lunch some woman who was struggling in some way. She took me to lunch a lot! Seems I was always struggling with something. My OC baby shower for my son was at Miss Eva's house.  She was an extraordinarily gracious hostess, and I remember many a meal and party in her home.

Miss Eva was a refined, classy lady who could be found wearing UT bloomers, festive sweaters with jewelry to match for every holiday or some perfectly put together ensemble. She did not lack for opinions nor the motivation to express them. She abhorred crassness of any sort. She was a worthy mentor and friend.

When Miss Eva moved to assisted living, there was an estate sale at her house. I bought a glass spooner that I think is Flint glass. I use it a lot. I also bought several of her vintage handkerchiefs. I will keep one of those close beside me Sunday during her memorial service.

I loved Miss Eva. I know she loved my family and me. She has been gone from church services for a long time. She, as I understand, had been mindfully absent from her surroundings for quite some time as well. Her legacy lives on in her children, her grandchildren and now her great grandchildren. Miss Eva, like many others, is intricately woven in the Otter Creek tapestry.

Time Travelers

If you were here, right this moment, you would say it is Friday, March 3 and that I am at home, cleaning a little, cooking a little, blogging a little, nursing the crud, listening to Pandora, painting birthday cards. You would be wrong. I am living in next Tuesday. I am in an operating room.  I am one of many residing there....in our hearts and minds. We are there for our lovely friend and sister. And, as we are there, we are also at the feet of Jesus entreating Him to carry our pleas to the Father.

This is Church. We travel together. We hold each other up. We stand in the gap. This world throws out a lot of hard stuff, really hard stuff.  I know those who would consider me weak, and, Lord knows I am, but I cannot imagine doing life without my Church. I have mentioned this friend in an earlier blog, "The Reluctant Celebrity."  Please, when you read this post, stop for just a moment and travel to Tuesday with me, to an operating room, and raise a prayer.

Much gratitude

A Challenge

Recently, a friend challenged his FB friends to post a piece of art. The point was to flood FB with posts more pleasant than all the political diatribes. It was lovely. I became acquainted with some female artists from the 19th century that were new to me. I saw some beautiful artwork, and it was nice, however brief.

For several years, a few years back, I kept a daily photo journal. Generally, it was one picture a day with a brief description. It was a bit of a challenge, but it helped me look at the world around me more closely. Also, I am a firm believer that our creative natures are of God and that everyone is creative in his or her own unique way.

I have lots of friends on FB who are beautiful photographers, whether they do it professionally or are hackers like I am. It is so joyful to see a photo of something lovely taken at an unusual angle by someone I know.

So, here is the challenge. Below is a list of pictures to take (prompt found on Pinterest),  one a day, during the month of March and post it on your timeline. Being a 9 on the Enneagram, it matters not to me if you wait until March 1 to begin, if you post one picture or 100 a day (people are more likely to actually look at 1 rather than 100), if you use the prompts below or not (I wish you would because I think it would be fascinating to see everyone's different interpretation of the prompts), or if you pick and choose. You can use your phone or your big, fancy camera.

The point is not to put pressure on ourselves or have one more thing to do in our already busy lives. It is just to tap into our own creativity, be presently aware of the beauty around us, flood FB with our own special viewpoints, and share with others.  Anybody in?   I will love you whether you participate or not, but I think it could be great fun, but then, I live a pretty quiet life.

1. Flower.                      11. Nose.                   21. Elbow
2. Window.                    12. Building.             22. Wood
3. Clock.                        13. Road.                   23. Glass
4. Tree.                           14. Bag.                    24. Cloth
5. Jewelry.                       15. Can.                    25. Fence
6. Paper                           16. Cup.                   26. Ball
7.  Animal.                      17. Bowl.                 27. Face
8.  Water.                         18. Book.                 28. Plate
9.  Eyes.                          19. Grass.                 29. Hair
10. Table                          20. Dirt.                   30. Door
     

Perfect

I took one of those Facebook tests. You know the ones. "What one word describes your life?"  You hit the link and the answer comes up, supposedly arrived at by analyzing your FB posts and pictures. A FB friend had taken the test and shared the results. I liked her word, so I wanted to know mine.

The word, according to this test, that describes my life was "perfect."  I was appalled and dismayed. What ridiculousness must I be posting?  Of course, my life is far from perfect. I am a mess.....a lot! I am a mess in myriad ways. I am a literal mess. Just this morning I dropped a pizza box causing pizza crusts, clementine peels, and garlic butter to scatter across a rug in the kitchen. The rug is there because the refrigerator leaked years ago and rotted part of the floor and I am trying to imperfectly cover that up. I am a mess in virtual ways. My mind is often unkind and snarky and judgmental. Sunday, I had a moment of déjà vu when my daughter and I walked into Michaels and I said to her, "people are morons!"  It dawned on me that I said those exact words the last time we walked into Michaels together. Are those the words of someone living a "perfect" life?

It is ironic that "perfect" would be my word because I am a firm believer there is no such thing. My heart aches for those people who are perfectionists. It is my opinion that they are on a never-ending, impossible quest because they are chasing an illusion.  Consequently, they get far less done than those who are not bent toward perfectionism. There is no perfection in this world, other than, I do believe we are perfectly made in the image of God, but, we are great in misrepresenting our origins. So, if I have been dishonest in my FB posts to cause some electronic analyst to arrive at the word "perfect" to describe my life, I apologize. It is true, I am a most fortunate person, and often ask, "God, why do you let me know these wonderful people who are in my life?"  I am extremely grateful for this most imperfect life.

Oh, and I took two more of those tests this morning. I answered 10 questions which caused the electronic analyst to come to the conclusion that I am a 27 year old male, and my three most "liked" FB pictures are of two people I do not know. Go figure.

Wishing you a perfectly wonderful day

The Reluctant Celebrity

She is literally present in one of our minds every waking moment of every day. She is woven in our hearts, and we show it in many different ways. Some express their love and concern in an outpouring of emotion that can not be contained. Some have more private, but no less heartfelt, ways of getting their love across.

She is young. She is a mother, a wife, a daughter. She has a wealth of friends from every corner of the world. She is servant-hearted. She radiates faith and joy. She cannot walk into a room without her presence being, not only recognized, but announced. She graciously smiles and accepts her celebrity status, all the while, I imagine, longing to not be the center of attention. 

It is her own fault, this celebrity she endures. She could be fighting less; fighting this damnable cancer that has invaded her body. She could have cried out, "why me," instead of "lead me, Father." She could have rent her clothes and put on sack cloth and ashes and thrown herself an amazing pity party. Everyone would have understood. But, no. She brings tidings and gifts to those who are ill and smiles and puts those around her at ease. She says with a bold and unwavering voice, " please pray for big surgery, lots of pain, and a long recovery for those are the things necessary for moving forward in treatment. (If you a praying person, please pray for her. If you are a "good thoughts" person, please send them her way. God and the Good Thought Police will know for whom you send them). 

I admire her more than I can say, this woman of strength and faith and hope. This is not the road she would have chosen. She has no doubt where the next leg of her eternal journey will take her, but she fights on for those she loves and who love her. I, along with everyone else who know her, will remain on our faces at the Father's feet on her behalf. We look forward to the day that she sits among us, ordinary, without the trappings of unwanted celebrity. 

Odd Girls Out (or in)

Last night, I enjoyed the company of a random group of ladies. Well, not totally random, but the guest list happened organically, as is the popular term. When I sent out a reminder about dinner, I realized that there were four of the nine whose names were good alliteration. This morning, it dawned on me that, if using maiden names, seven of the nine names make good use of that literary device. That leaves two of us odd girl out....or is it odder to have an alliterative name?  I am not sure, and I am pretty sure it doesn't matter 😊.

To Dele Dillon, Marlene Mason, Betsy Buterbaugh (sp?), Melissa Mobley, Megan Munson, Sharon Shaub, and (drum roll please) Hailey Holshouser Hiett (show off 😉),thank you for gracing my table with your presence. And, to my fellow non-alliterative buddy, Sarah Williamson, many thanks to you as well.

So, if you are part of the OC ladies, I encourage you to have folks over for an elaborate formal meal, a simple casual meal, or a bring your own dinner gathering. I promise you will be blessed. 

Thoughts

Not being one who enjoys controversy or conflict, I have let this post rest in my mind a while. In a lot of ways, I have no standing to speak on such a subject (when has that stopped me), but I am hoping something here will resonate.

I have never been raped. I have never been an unwed teenager whose family has disowned me. I have never been diagnosed with a disease while pregnant for which the treatment is incompatible with maintaining life for my unborn child. I have never been told that the baby I am carrying has a chromosomal abnormality which will result in his or her death within hours or days of delivery. I have never had an unwanted pregnancy.

I know people, however who have had such situations. I am not saying that I know OF people, I am saying I know the people. I have a relatively new friend. I do not see him often. His wife learned that she had cancer about the same day she learned she was pregnant with her second child. She chose to postpone her treatments and carry that child to term. She died around his 2nd birthday. Some would say she made the wrong choice. Whoever would say that definitely has not met that ray-of-sunshine precious child. We, as parents, say things like, "I would die for my child!" We mean it. For most of us, however, at least in this country, the likelihood of that being necessary is remote. Here is a woman who did just that.

I am well-acquainted with other young women who learned that their babies would not survive long after birth due to a fluke chromosomal abnormality.  Each of them was offered the option to terminate the pregnancy. Each chose to make a place in her body, in her heart, in her life, and in her memories for those babies.

All these women shed untold number of tears. All of their hearts were broken, and remain a bit fractured because of their experience. All of them, if given the power, would have delivered healthy babies. It was not to be. All of them can look in those fractured places and know they did all they could do for their child. I admire their courage more than I can say.

This brings me to the subject of abortion and those mothers who make that decision. I am one who does not believe that a woman who chooses that route should have to go in a dirty back alley to a butcher. I am also one who believes that abortions end a life.  I wonder, if on some level, abortions end two lives. It is my belief that any woman who chooses to terminate a pregnancy, especially for convenience, never ever recovers emotionally. So rather than demonizing women who feel, for whatever reason, that their only option is abortion, I feel profound sadness. I do not think our maternal hearts were designed for such grief.

Day 30 - End of the Line

I am feeling quite puffed up that I actually made 30 blogs in 30 days. To all of you who read and commented, thank you. It was nice not writing in a total vacuum.

Last spring, I went to an Enneagram conference. If you are unfamiliar with the Enneagram, it is an enlightening experience. It helped me know myself a bit better. It also helps to aid in efforts to understand others, and, if one is paying attention, it speaks volumes of God's creativity and loving nature. I know some people who were there and could not figure out their number. I had no problem. I am a straight up 9.

Each number has healthy and unhealthy traits. It was astounding to me as they read out characteristics of nines how I felt like the leaders of the conference had been following me around. There were two particular statements that struck me about being a nine. The first was that nines are not prone to peer pressure, so they would not jump off the proverbial bridge, but the desire to avoid conflict will cause them not to stop someone who is about to jump.

The other trait of nines is they don't believe their presence matters. This sounds real pitiful, maybe, but I don't think it is. Maybe I don't think it's pitiful because that's pretty much how I feel. It is not an Eyore, "nobody cares if I am there or not" sort of thing. It is a, "I know I am not indispensable" sort of thing. Of course there are those whose lives would be changed if I was no longer present in them, but those lives would not end. The sun would still rise and set, they would still eat and talk and laugh and live life. When one thinks about it, that is really quite freeing. It befuddles me when people get upset and leave a church and hope it is diminished without their presence. I have a friend who lives in another state who goes to a church where a group left because they got crosswise with the pastor. They stated and seemingly believed their absence would cause a certain charitable event sponsored by the church to fail without them. That would never cross a nine's mind.

So, this is the last of the 30 day challenge. I live under no illusions that any of you just won't be able to go on. It has been fun and challenging. Thanks again, kind readers.

Day 30 - The End!

Oh, and if you are interested in the Enneagram, check out The Road Back to You by Ian Cron and Suzanne Stabile. There is another conference this spring. You can get information at www.ottercreek.org, and, no, I do not get paid for plugging the book or conference.

Day 29 - TV Shows You Watched as a Child

Day 29

There were several shows that I watched as a child, which is quite astounding since we only had three channels, and insult of all insults, we actually had to get up to change them.  The enjoyment I had in most of the shows probably had less to do with the writing and acting, but rather with the people with whom I watched. To this day, I do not really enjoy watching a funny show without Mr. L here. The best part is watching him laugh.

I Love Lucy was definitely a favorite. Specifically, I remember watching it at my grandparents' house. My grandmother would laugh and laugh. Often, I would be rocking in the old rocker in which my grandmother rocked her babies, my mom rocked hers and I rocked mine. I have that rocker now. It has a very distinctive creak.  It is a sweet sound, connected in my memory to I Love Lucy. My favorite episode was when Lucy baked the loaf of bread. When it came out of the oven, it knocked her across the kitchen. I am a sucker for physical comedy. Of course the " vitameatavegimen" episode was a classic, as well as the one where Lucy and Ethel worked on the candy assembly line. Oh, what great memories.

I connect The Andy Williams Show to being in my dad's presence. Everytime I hear the song "Moon River" I think about my daddy. He also loved Perry Como and Lawrence Welk. I was not as big a fan of The Lawrence Welk Show as the other two. I might possibly, in my childhood innocence, have had a crush on Mr. Como, and probably thought Mr. Williams was related to me. I did enjoy Topo Gigio and was quite fascinated by the polka on Lawrence Welk. The polka was a dance at which I did not excel in my social dance PE course at MTSU. Come to think of it, I am not sure one could say that I excelled at any of the social dances. As an aside, the Cha Cha was my favorite. I also remember watching Flip Wilson (the devil made me do it) with daddy, but the hardest I ever heard him laugh at something on TV was the skit on The Carol Burnette Show where Tim Conway played the dentist. Again, physical comedy that was truly hilarious.

Cartoons on Saturday mornings were a tradition growing up, and I find great comfort in a good tradition. I can transport myself to the livingroom in the Moran Drive house and hear my brother, Mike, laughing at Huckleberry Hounddog.  He loved that cartoon.  He also liked The Road Runner and Wile E. Cyote, but I a truly believe that old Huckleberry was his favorite. Mike had a great laugh.

Sky King, Lassie, Roy Rogers, Andy Griffith, Leave it to Beaver, Father Knows Best, Romper Room,  Captain Kangaroo, and The Lone Ranger were favorites as well.

We went to church 3 times a week....Sunday morning, Sunday and Wednesday nights. Illness, major current events of historic significance (JFK assassination, Cuban Missle Crisis), and the annual presentation of The Wizard of Oz were really the only things that kept us home. I LOVED the Wizard of Oz. It always aired on a Sunday night. I have not the words to express the emotions I feel when I think of The Wizard of Oz. Certainly a show about tornadoes, wicked witches and flying monkies should not invoke feelings of warmth, comfort, and safety, but that is exactly how it makes me feel. I am in a big wingback chair, head on one arm, knees on the other, feet dangling. I am all cozied up under a warm afghan, a snack in my lap. Oh, the sweet joy of special events in a happy childhood.

Day 29 - TV Shows I Watched as a Child - check

Day - 28 - A Day With the Girls (a break from generic blog prompts)

Day 28

For Christmas, my sister and I gave our mom a day....a trip around Nashville and the world. We wrote a poem telling her the plan. Breakfast was to be in France, lunch in Mexico, and dinner in Italy. In between meals, we would shop and possibly see a movie. As always, our plans were fluid. My sister-in-law joined us too, which definitely added to the fun of the day.

The plan was to meet at Mom's at 8:30 am. An early start is necessary if three restaurants are to be frequented in the same day. My sister-in-law arrived, having driven from Smyrna, a little before 8:30. Mom met her at the door in her robe. I arrived at 8:30 and chatted with Vickie while Mom got ready. My sister called at 8:40 to say that the battery in her car was dead. I was feeling mighty grateful for the powdered peanut butter and Diet Coke I ate before leaving home, anticipating a possible late start. By this point, I had been awake about three hours. My daughter and granddaughter also were joining us for breakfast.

Around 9:00, we were all gathered, ready to head to Belle Meade for our French breakfast at Le Peep. Our server was somewhat less than thrilled to be at work, but our food was quite good, especially the concoction of butter, brown sugar, cinnamon, and almonds toasted on an English muffin. After breakfast, we headed to The French Shoppe to buy nothing.

Off to Brentwood to visit Maxie B, the store owned by a childhood friend. It is just the most cheerful store ever. We, especially Mom, were greeted with great enthusiasm. Vickie bought a couple things, Doree, Mom and I got caught up with Kakki as we browsed her beautiful store. A visit to church to see the treehouse and tree puppet theater that Phi Construction (my son and his cohort, Dustin) is building followed by shopping at Peartree Avenue where Mom bought a jacket and Dor' bought a dress and jacket.

Our visit to Mexico was at Uncle Julio's where our waiter was adorable and seemingly happy to be at work. The food was a treat as well. I could live off their fresh fruit and that sweet cream that comes with it. We checked the time for the movie. Mom had already seen and wanted to see again La La Land. I had been wanting to see it ever since I first saw previews for it. Vickie was graciously ambivalent, and Doree encouraged other options. La La Land won!  I loved it!!  Doree hated it. Vickie kindly said, "well, it wasn't my kind of movie." Mom said she liked it better the second time. Did I mention that I loved it?!?

Going to Italy (Mangia in Berry Hill) just did not seem to be in the cards. Everyone seemed to still be stuffed from lunch, so we went to Cheesecake Factory and ate bread and butter and about nine gazillion calories of cheesecake. Our day had come to a sweet end. Well, I had to come home and walk 100 laps around my house to get my last 3,000 steps to appease the FitBit god.

Stuff is fine. Time with the ones you love is better. So, Merry Christmas, Mom.

Day - 27 - Ten Things You Can't Leave Home Without

Day 27

Ten things is a lot of things to keep up with!  I have like five things that I have with me most any time I am away from my house. My (1) FitBit, of course is most important unless, for some unknown reason, I am being pushed around in a wheelchair. Actually, I probably would wear my FitBit anyway and swing my arm back and fort as I ride along. It's amazing how many steps one can rack up that way....so I have been told. 

Usually, I have my (2) phone with me. If  Mr. L and I go somewhere together and he has his phone, I leave mine behind. I do not want to be that person who is constantly checking her phone when in the presence of others. 

In my phone case I keep my (3) drivers' license, which, of course, it is wise to have if I am driving. I have, on an occasion or two, been stopped without my license, and police officers tend to frown on that sort of thing. I also have my (4) insurance card in my phone case because one never knows when that might be needed. You really just never know when you are going to have a head-on collision  trying to pass a construction truck in.the.middle.of.the.road, or when a bumble bee might sting and the ol' epi-pen is not on the list of things I can't leave home without. So, yes, my insurance card is always with me. 

My (5) debit card is important in case I need a Hershey bar and/or a Diet Coke. I never have cash, well, unless parents on a walking tour pay in cash, and then I have lots of dollar bills that I jokingly call my "stripper money," as if anyone would be interested in giving money to a geriatric stripper. And, last but not least, I have my (6) Target card because, well because it is my TARGET card where I can buy anything from snacks to shampoo to dishes to toys and get 5% off. It's Target, people. 

Day 27 - Ten (six) Things You Can't Leave Home Without - check

Day 26 - If You Could Change Lives With Someone Who Would it Be?

Day 26 - If You Could Change Lives With Someone Who Would it Be?

Well, first of all I wouldn't. In this crazy, mixed up, messy life, I find myself mainly joyful. If at anytime you sense my trying to present myself or my life as perfect, please call me out. Without just dumping everything on FB, I do try to be honest. So, I wouldn't change lives with anyone, and yet, this is sort of fun to think about. So, I would do life again with all the same characters; the setting would just be different.

All names are compliments of road signs on I75 S in Georgia.

In another life, Mr. L and I would live in a small coastal village in Florida called Locust Grove. We would be the proprietors of a mid-century vintage motel called The Sunsweet Siesta. It would be cheerfully painted in carousel pink, moon yellow, sea breeze, wild orchid, and calypso blue. People would know, as they drove in the palm- lined drive that they are most welcome.

Every afternoon we would serve afternoon tea in the courtyard; a welcome repast of homemade muffins, fresh fruit, and hibiscus tea. Only vintage glass plates, thin porcelain china cups, and white linen napkins would be used. Nary a bug would be about.

There would be regular guests. The Dooly family, Unadilla, Larry Walker, and their daughter, Vienna would visit every summer.  We would watch a romance bloom between Cecil and Lenox Rountree's son, Kinard, and Vienna. They would actually have their wedding in the Sunsweet Siesta courtyard.

The Sparks/Southwell annual family reunion would be every May. Ashburn and Arabi Sparks with their three boys, Albany, Amboy, and Turner would always be the first to arrive. They would impatiently wait for the Southwell relatives. Eldorado and Omega Southwell just could not get their girls, Moultrie and Hahira to get packed and on the road in a timely fashion. Mr. L and I would try to smooth the Sparks' ruffled feathers by serving homemade peach ice cream as soon as the Southwells got settled in.

Regulars, like the Valdosta twins, Savannah and Juliette, would stay the same two weeks every year. Most folks would not be able to tell the two gals apart, but Mr. L and I would know that Juliette was a bit more pigeon-toed than Savannah.

Montezuma Hawkinsville and his longtime sweetheart, Wenona Sylvester, would always spend Christmas with us. Having never married, they had no family so we would always include them as though they were our family. Old Mr. Clyatville Moody, a widower who lived in a nursing home down on Rumble Road would always bring a fruitcake dense enough to use as a doorstop. Roberta Smarr, who also lived on Rumble Road, would help Mr. Moody chop up the fruit. She, her husband, Butts (bless his heart), and their son, Zebulon, would also join the Christmas festivities at Sunsweet Siesta.

A whole host of folks would come into our lives, leaving memories like stamps on a passport. McDonough Macon with the Irish lilt in his voice. Lamar and Monroe Johnstonville, whom we would try to matchmake with the Valdosta twins, to no avail. Cordele Pitts who would always have the shiniest dress shoes that he would wear with black socks and his multi-colored striped Speedo. There would be many others, but I fear there are those reading this flight of fancy as they contemplate my need for serious psychiatric help.

Yes, it would be a lovely, interesting, quiet, life filled with a marvelous cast of characters, at the Sunsweet Siesta Motel in Locust Grove, FL; Fizzy and Mellie Switzer, proprietors.

Day - 26 - check.