First Memory

A friend forwarded a short article her brother-in-law wrote about his memories of the Kennedy assassination.  It got me to wool gathering.  First of all, it is almost unfathomable that I am old enough to remember something that happened 50 years ago.  How can that be, when on lots of days I do not feel much older than I was the day the event occurred?  Well, maybe a bit older, just to avoid those terribly awkward years as opposed to my present moderately awkward self. 

So, some randomly to-the-best-of-my-ability-to-remember gathered thoughts. 

I was eleven years old in the sixth grade.  Mrs. Simpson was my teacher.  It was my second year to have her.  When in 5th grade, I was in a split grade with 6th graders.  I think, academically, a split grade was advantageous to the lower grade, and not so much for the higher one.  I learned lattice multiplication in the 5th grade as Mrs. Simpson explained it to the 6th graders.  No doubt, I was supposed to be studying something assigned to us lowly 5th graders.

I remember three distinct times that I got into trouble in elementary school.  The first time was in first grade when I talked during devotional, was asked if I wanted to go to the cloak room, thought I was told to, and spent quite some time there wondering if Mrs. McPherson had forgotten me.  She had.  Nancy saved me when Mrs. McPherson called on me to answer a question and realized I was not there.  The second time was in 5th grade when I was talking as Mrs. Simpson worked a math problem on the board.  She asked who was talking, and 3 of us were honest (stupid) enough to admit to our sin.  She called us to the board, gave us a math problem to work as she walked behind us keeping up a constant monologue of chatter.  This was to show us how difficult it was to work a problem in front of a class of disrespectful chattering students.  She then sent us to our seats and began to work the very problem she had given us errant students.  I turned to whomever was sitting next to me and said, "if she gets the same answer I got...." at which time Mrs. Simpson spun around and asked who was talking.  I reluctantly raised my hand.  The terrible embarrassment of that moment has blurred what came next.  I still get that down-in-a-barrel, red-faced feeling when I think of it. 

The third time was in sixth grade, the day John Kennedy was assassinated.  When I was told that the president had been shot, I was in the workroom of the library cleaning up a mess I had left.  My housekeeping skills have been fairly consistent throughout my life - pitiful!  Apparently, when asked who had left the craft sticks in the giant jar of paste, I was the only one who confessed.  Personally, I am fairly certain that even I did not leave that many sticks in the paste, but there I was cleaning the mess up when Mrs. Melin, the librarian, told me to go back to class.  The TV's were on as we watched the breaking news of the president having been shot.  If I recall correctly, school was let out early.  It did not take an act of congress or God for schools to be dismissed 50 years ago. 

There was nothing on the TV but coverage of the assassination.  News came in about an arrest of a man named Lee Harvey Oswald.  All sorts of information about him was being aired.   We watched the swearing in of Lyndon Johnson as president.  We caught glimpses of Mrs. Kennedy, still in the pink suit.  We heard the doctor announce the time of death.  It was like watching a train wreck.  That was Friday.  Saturday came.  There was only this national event in any of the news.  I learned much later that C.S. Lewis, a great man and favorite author of Christians around the world, also died November 22, 1963.  On Sunday, I stayed home from church with my dad as I was sick with a cold.  Daddy was in the kitchen as I watched, live on TV, Jack Ruby step out and shoot Lee Harvey Oswald.  I shouted out what had happened and Daddy came running.  It was only later that I understood that I saw live, in real time, a man being shot to death. 

The world was going mad.  The age of innocence for citizens of the United States was rapidly coming to a close.  We did not know it that weekend, but trust for our government was in a downward spiral.  The Warren Commission Report, for many, was one of the first nails in that coffin.  Political officials from every level have been hammering nails into the coffin of governmental trust and ethics ever since.  The funeral, even for an eleven-year-old (especially for an eleven-year-old) was a paradox of horror and pomp and circumstance.  But, even the death of the president of the United States does not halt the rising and setting of the sun. 

The day after the funeral, school commenced.  It was the first event of national consequence that I hold in my conscious memory.  Mr. Lincoln remembers well the Cuban Missile Crisis, but my only memory of it was a night of extreme disquiet, crying, asking my dad if the world was about to be destroyed by war.  He assured me that it would not.  I trusted him. 

Later, in high school, I visited President Kennedy's grave in Arlington National Cemetery.  I was a junior in high school, and neither appreciated nor understood the significance of all that I saw on that class trip to Washington D.C.  I did grasp the reasons for the solemnity at that grave.  Years later, I visited Dealy Plaza in Dallas.  I went to the book depository.  I looked out that window.  I have read several books on these events.  I once told Mr. Lincoln that when I got to heaven I was going to ask God who shot JFK.  Mr. Lincoln assured me that it would not matter then.  I am certain he is right. 

So, on this, the almost eve of the 50th anniversary of the assassination of John F. Kennedy, I wish you a moment to reflect, and I wish you

blessings

How Mysterious

On some level, I hesitate to write this blog for fear that the emphasis will be misplaced.  This is not a blog about me.  This is a blog about the mysterious way it seems (to me) that God moves in this world.  It is such a trivial thing about which I blog, but I am convinced that it was not coincidence.  I certainly have no idea whatsoever what the point is or what it means.  Riveting, huh?

After spending part of the morning with MP and Simeon at Hobby Lobby not getting the 50% off the items I purchased, I returned home facing dirty dishes, dirty clothes, floors that need to be vacuumed, a dining room table that needs clearing and cleaning, and possibly, just possibly, some dinner that needs to be at least considered.  So, I did what seemed reasonable to me, I left home to go look for a birthday present for MP.  She will be 33 tomorrow.  What?  How did that happen???

My intention was to get to the store where I wanted to shop before the really awful Green Hills lunch traffic commenced.  I had a small window of opportunity to accomplish that, but it looked as though I was going to be successful.  As I waited to turn left, on the right side of the street stood a young man with a small cardboard sign.  I could not read it from my car, but I was fairly certain it did not say something as simple has "have a nice day." 

Thus, began the all-to-familiar dialogue with the Holy Spirit.  It went something like this:

H.S. - You are going to have to get closer to read the sign...if you must, for I am fairly certain you have an idea what the sign says.

Me - Do you remember last week when I sat in really awful Green Hills lunch traffic....forever?

H.S. - You call that forever?  Ha!  Go read the sign. 

Me - I'm in the wrong lane.

H.S  - Do you see any traffic coming in the other lane?   Who do you think arranged that?  Go read the sign.

Me - OKAY!!  (The sign said - "Homeless.  Anything will help.")

I pulled over into the astonishingly empty right lane, rolled my window down and asked if the young man needed lunch.  He said he would definitely be glad to have some lunch.  I told him to wait, and I would be back as quickly as possible to bring him some food. 

I hurried to Kroger and bought a hot lunch - pot roast, mashed potatoes, green beans, caramel cake, an apple, and 2 cartons of milk, one plain one chocolate.  I wasted no time in getting back to the corner where I left the young man.  What? 

Me - He's gone.  The boy is gone.  Really, he could not wait 15 minutes for lunch.  I don't want this lunch.  Seriously, what was this little exercise about?

H.S. - Look around.  Pay attention. 

I look around and then I see the Contributor Seller who sells on the corner opposite the one where the boy was standing.  He is in a wheel chair.  He is missing one leg from the knee down. 

H.S. - Think he might like lunch?

Me - I don't want to insult him.  People think they don't have jobs, but standing/sitting on the sidewalk all day selling papers is a job...and a hard one.  I don't want to insult him.

H.S. - How will you know if you don't ask?

Me - OKAY! 

So, I walk over to the Contributor Seller and asked if he would allow me to give him lunch.  He looked startled and asked me to repeat my question.  I asked again if he would allow me to give him lunch.  He was thrilled. Thanked me profusely.  Wished God's blessings on me. 

I did not explain that in some strange way, God had just sent me on a blessed wild goose chase.  I have no idea where the young man went.  Certainly, he could have believed that I would not come back.  He does not know me.  I suspect he has been disappointed by people on numerous occasions.  My prayer is that someone bolder and braver than I came by, picked him up, took him to lunch, and then found him shelter with one of the organizations set up to aid those in his situation.  I hope that is what happened.  Most likely, I will never know. 

I left, went to the store that was my original destination, got a gift, ate salted caramel yogurt with Heath Crunch for lunch, came home and did a bit of laundry and a few dishes.  I have much left to do this day.  It might get done.  It might not. 

Now, I know there are those who will read this blog and think it a bunch of hogwash.  They will be gracious enough to not say it, however.  I get that lots of people think that it is absurd for me to believe that God's Holy Spirit has time to converse with the likes of me, or for me to even believe in that spirit at all.  I know it makes me sound like a ding-a-ling to some.  I get that.  I sort of sound like a nut job to myself, but I still believe it.  I do.  And, I might be so naïve, or childish, or imbecilic as to believe that really good parking space I got in the midst of really awful Green Hills lunch traffic was not a coincidence either. 

Today, I wish you love and

blessings

The World Outside My Living Room Window

As I lay on the sofa resting before a party I am helping to host tonight, I ponder the changes outside my living room window.  I spend a lot of time on that sofa, gazing out the window.  When Simeon is here, in my lap, on that sofa is the only place he will sleep.  I call myself the Fluffo.  During those three or four hour naps, I have some time to contemplate the world outside that big picture window. 

I watch the seasons change.  Today, the wind is blowing.  The brilliant yellow leaves are trying desperately to hang on, but they are dropping rapidly.  I watch the leaves from my neighbor's house racing across the street into my yard.  I do not care.  Max will have even more leaves to walk through and kick up into the air tomorrow.  It seems just yesterday that silvery green leaves were holding on tightly as they cast welcome shade on our "elfin al fresco dining spot."  We will be seeking sunshine tomorrow as we, perhaps, have our morning snack there.  If we are lucky, sometime before new leaves begin to bud, we will see a blanket of snow covering those branches. 

Sometimes, as I sit on that sofa, gazing out that window, I see a little boy and his daddy walking down the street.  That little one will be talking in his little boy voice...earnestly talking about running, running, running, or pointing out the mailbox, leaves, grass, rocks and sticks as though DaDa needed the lesson.  I like to just sit and watch them. 

There are those days when I see Sheri driving up the street in George, turning into the driveway either delivering or picking up Max.  On rarer occasions I see Marshall in his truck pulling in the drive, possibly dropping his much loved son off to spend the day.  Both sets of parents, living with small children, are grateful for a respite.  As the parent of adults, I am grateful to be in their presence, whenever I have the opportunity. 

Probably, my two favorite sights out that window are when Mr. Lincoln comes home, and when he is out walking with the boys, holding a tiny hand in each of his.  I know he is happy.  I know they are happy, and while the boys will not remember those specific occasions, their lives are being shaped by those moments with their Fizzie as he gives them undivided attention - carving pumpkins, picking up sticks, throwing leaves into the air, discussing the complexities of life, walking around the block. 

In the next week or so, that big window (and all the others) will have to be washed in anticipation of the 35 or so folks coming for Thanksgiving.  Mr. Lincoln and I do that together ~ twice a year.  Every time it takes about 4 windows before we get the rhythm down, but we work side by side, mainly without talking, to get the job done.  There are no curtains on my windows.  I dearly love to see out.  It is a quiet street.  If more than 3 cars come by within an hour or so, I know there is a problem on Harding. 

Life is not idyllic.  We have problems.  We have hurts.  We have pettiness.  We have pain.  We "act the fool" from time to time.  But, today, on this sunny, cold, fall afternoon, outside my living room window, life seems pretty fine. 

For today, I wish you beautiful sights outside your window, and I wish you

blessings

Hauntings of Halloweens Past

I am loving this day. The weather is threatening to get wicked, but for now, it is Halloween perfect. It makes me think of many of the October 31's I have enjoyed.

Random memories in no particular order...isn't that what random means?

Marshall's first-he is 10 days old. I took a picture of him with a giant skeleton's arm around his shoulders.

Mr. Lincoln never participated in Trick or Treating. He said it was because every year his mother threw a sheet over his head, cut two holes out for eyes, and he was a ghost, yet again.  Enthusiasm for the holiday did not run high in his home.

My mom decorated lavishly every year. At age 89, she still does. I remember once my dad jumping up from the kitchen table and running into the dining room during dinner. We thought he had lost his mind, but, no, he had noticed a fire reflected in the kitchen window. A papier mâché jack-o-lantern was flaming in the dining room.

Ooh, do I ever remember when my brother held a gun with a firecracker hanging out of the barrel a bit too closely to a burning candle. The deafening explosion sent my mother into conniptions, and caused Mike and his friend to be banned from the house.  

When Sam was a baby, my friend, Becky, and I decorated his stroller and took him door to door to collect candy....for us. Our bags were loaded when a neighborhood dog began to eagerly bark and chase us.  Becky screamed, threw her bag, candy flying everywhere, as she took off running. I struggled behind her, just as scared, but it would have been difficult to explain to Mom why I had left Sam behind. If I recall, correctly, I saved both Sam and my candy.

Costumes I remember...me as a rather heavy, old lady....actually, I did that twice. The first time was without a mask. No one knew who I was except for my most observant friend, Bernie, who said she recognized my eyes. The second time, my own daddy did not recognize me. Great disguise!!  MP as Raggedy Ann, oh, my stars she was precious. Marshall wearing Mr. Lincoln's shoes all day in "Miss" Eva's two-year-old class. He was one cute clown. The kids as headless people, Marshall as the queen, MP as a ghost, and in one snapshot, she looked translucent. That picture still gives me the willies. My parents dressed as little kids from the backcountry with missing teeth. They were a hoot. Mr. Lincoln as a gorilla. He played the part well. Me as a clown that had a frightening resemblance to John Wayne Gacy. Between that and my mother's witch costume, Doree's neighbor children ran out of her house wailing. I felt pretty badly about that one. Oh, and, of course, the cutest little dragon and elephant ever this year.

Times change. My first Halloweens were spent at 1920 Moran. Chili or maybe spaghetti on the menu. Always we had ginger snaps and apple cider. When my children were very young, we continued to go to Mom's. by this point, it was a bit too dangerous to go to just anyone's door so we always saw the Leeches, the Murphy's, and the Kornmeyer's.  Rarely did we miss visiting Mr. Roy Acuff 's house. They gave great treats.  As my children grew, the Halloween celebration was moved to our house. From here we always went to Mz. Bernie's and Mr. Bud's. wherever else we might have gone, we never missed their house. Then our Halloweens moved to Doree's and Stewart's who lived in the best neighborhoods for trick or treating. I can still see Cole dressed as some sort of specter seemingly floating above ground from house to house.  Chili remained on the menu. We rode in the bed of Stewart's pick up truck.

This year, we are back at our house. We will have no trick or treaters....well, I hope not because our front porch is missing. Taco salad is our dinner fare. Max will not be here, but we got to spend Sunday evening with him at Trunk or Treat, which seems the trend these days. Simeon will be here. Channie and Cole have parties to attend. It will not be a rowdy evening, unless the weather takes that wicked turn. It will not be just Halloween 2013 for me.  It will be a windswept stroll down Memory Lane.

An Unintentional Revelation

The parents and grandparents arrived early today.  It was a cold morning, so as they arrived I invited them to wait inside in the warmth. One of the early ones looked older than the others. He explained that he was a grandfather. I figured as much. I told him, as I am wont to do, that I was relatively new to this grand-parenting thing with two one-year-old grandsons. He said, "I have seven and they really keep me busy."

He explained how he is doing something all the time with one or the other grandchild. Tomorrow, he will be going to a pumpkin patch with one of them. I fear he may be even colder tomorrow than he was today.  "All my grandchildren live in Murfreesboro, and I live in Nashville," he explained. "I really do not like that drive."  Now, I haven't earned the moniker "Mellie Mend It" for nothing, so I offered that perhaps he might consider moving to Murfreesboro himself.  "We'll, I can't right now.  My wife's mother is still living. She lives about three minutes from us, so as long as she is living, we will stay in Nashville."

This man was merely making conversation as we awaited the arrival of the group. I sensed neither braggadocio nor serious complaint. He was just idly chatting. He unintentionally revealed much about himself.  I suspect he was a father who lovingly served his children. He is probably a very hard worker. He continues to serve his children by loving and tending to his grandchildren.  He understands the importance of children having someone involved in their lives, chaperoning field trips. He honors his wife by serving her mother.  He radiated kindness and joy. He seeks neither fame nor fortune. He is satisfied to serve. He is the best sort of man.

I wonder what my unintentional revelations say about me.

For today, I wish you unexpected meetings of lovely people, uplifting unintentional revelations for others, and I wish you

Blessings

What to Call How I'm Feeling

Today, I am feeling blessed.  That term bothers people I know and love.  Some really resent being wished a blessed day, or blessings on their day.  On some level that makes sense.  We think of blessings as coming from God, and when the disparity of blessings, or lack thereof, is witnessed, it makes God seem unfair, arbitrary, and capricious....or nonexistent.  This inequity of blessings is one reason some atheists are atheists.  Well, it is probably not THE reason anyone embraces atheism, but the imbalance of blessings is one more nail in the coffin of incredulousness a non-believer experiences.  It would be foolish to try to minimize that.  It would be foolish to try to explain.  I have no explanation.

But, today, as most days, I am feeling blessed.  Certainly, it is not because of anything I have done to earn this sense of blessedness.  In a way, it has very little to do with externals today.  My neck hurts.  I can barely turn my head.  I do not know why.  Perhaps, it is those 3 ruptured disks.  The Advil I have taken for the pain makes my stomach hurt.  My grandsons are not here.  One is in Florida, one is at home being loved on and cared for by his other grandmother, a lovely, lovely woman.  I miss them.  The morning started off with some stress; the cause of which I have to just tell myself will not matter in five years.  I have accomplished pretty much nothing today besides eating, including opening a 4 pound bag of chocolate chips and eating a handful of those. I suppose I should feel fortunate that I have not eaten all 4 pounds.   It is after 1:00, and I don't think I have even brushed my teeth yet.  Not a productive day, to say the least.

But, I am feeling blessed today.  I am not sure why.  I am not sure if "blessed" is the right word to use.  I do not feel giddy, or particularly "happy."  I am not sure if contented is even a good word.  Maybe, I feel lucky, or fortunate, or, I do not know.  Maybe grateful is right. 

I am grateful for Simeon and Max, for my children, for their spouses, for this dreary, cool fall day, for a husband I love and like and enjoy spending time with but can be apart from, for my mother, for this house that has cracks and doors that won't work and a suspicious musty odor when it rains, for the memories of my family of origin, for those of that family with whom I still can spend time, for a brother who moved home giving us the opportunity to know and love each other, for the love I feel especially from 2 or 3 friends in particular (you know who you are), for texts from a niece in Arkansas who saw a car like mine and was disappointed it was not me, for another niece who shows great character and determination, for a nephew whose kindness and sweetness touch my heart, for a neck that hurts so when it doesn't I will appreciate the lack of pain, for a car that runs, for food to eat, for a church family I love, for gracious emails from a friend from high school, for equally gracious emails from a young man I greatly admire, for a phone call from someone with whom I had lost contact and plans for lunch have been made, for the thoughtfulness of a father whose child participated in a tour yesterday, for the physical ability to walk and talk in order to conduct those tours, for holidays approaching, for a precious family of 4 in Minnesota who I love from the bottom of my heart, for all the people who have come and gone in my life, for those who have come and stayed, and for so many more things I am most grateful. 

Am I blessed?  I believe so.  I do not know why.  How do I handle these blessings?   It depends.  Some days I refuse to see them, and focus totally on what I think I do not have.  Some days I take them for granted, as though they were owed me.  Some days, just some days, I recognize some of them.  On my best days, I share them. 

For today, I wish you a "best day" of sharing your

blessings

Peace, a Valuable Commodity

Very few things in life are as valuable as peace of mind.  That has been illuminated for me  as I watch myself and others longing for and often failing to capture a peaceful heart. 

Really, how can one be peaceful in this world?  So much is on Facebook about the government shut down, the president, and congress.  People are riled.  Jobs are being lost.  Insurances changed.  Premiums rising.  Taxes assessed.  It is enough to make a person feel churned up inside.  Some actually believe the photoshopped picture of Mt. Rushmore being covered by a tarp.   I will say my favorite FB post was the one that said: "the Washington Redskins are changing their name.  Because of the hatred, violence and rancor caused by the name, they will from now on be known simply as the Redskins."  LOVE THAT!  Just a little levity in the midst of a lot of anxiety. 

Peace is hard to find when loved ones feel terrorized.  Just this week I have talked to someone waiting for news from medical tests that will either leave her with some time to coast, or cause her to have to make some really tough decisions.  Another friend, waiting in the hospital for a heart transplant, learned this week that he has a cancerous nodule on his thyroid which removed him from the transplant list.  Another friend anxious over a pregnancy; another whose adult son is very ill.  I talked with someone whose marriage is in a shambles..."we just don't get along."  I know others who are burdened with financial strain. One told me of her mother in the nursing home who is just not right in her head making her very difficult. We hear stories of war torn countries, hurricanes bearing down on innocent people, child abuse, and murder.  One friend told me of an acquaintance who is dying of a brain tumor, and her nine year old son is being physically and violently bullied at school.  Peace?  Where can peace be found in the midst of this turmoil?

For me, a believer in Jesus, certainly I am told that peace can be found in Him.  I believe that, but sometimes it is so very elusive.  He is not elusive, but my ability to tap into His peace is. 

Oftentimes, peace is an "inside job."  Finding what brings peace to our spirits is probably about as varied as there are people.  Exercise, meditation, yoga, prayer, Candy Crush (nah), Bible study, Hallmark movies, just lying on the sofa and being quiet, self-talk, spending time with friends, not spending time with friends, not watching the news or reading the paper, watching the news and reading the paper.  Whatever it is, we each need a source of peace.  Finding peace in our circumstances does not mean that we are unaware of our circumstances.  It just means we have made a choice.

I found some peace in my heart today spending it in companionable conversation on a beautiful day during a short road trip with Nancy.  We talked and laughed and commiserated and encouraged each other.  I feel peaceful this afternoon.  Nothing that was robbing me of my peace has been removed from my life.  But with some time away, I am able to see it a bit better.  I find peace when Mr. Lincoln gives me a good long hug.  It is home.  Peace for me is a stroll through Radnor (not with 2 babies and no stroller, that's just stupid) or Cheekwood.  Peace for me is my house to myself for a few hours.  I find peace making up my mind to see my surroundings as I wish them to be and not as they are...what potholes in the driveway?  If I cannot fix it, for whatever reason, I choose not to let it rob me of my peace....most of the time.  Sometimes I just cave in a become a screaming maniac...in my head...rarely do I really scream where others can hear me.  I am searching for peace...always searching for peace. 

So for today, I wish you peace and I wish you

blessings