"Unca" Dan

"Unca" Dan turns 90 on Christmas Day.  His birthday celebration is Wednesday, and I, regrettably will not be able to attend.  Thinking about his birthday has brought many memories to mind. 

I am a child of the '50s and '60s.  It was a good time to grow up, for while the '60s were a time of growing pains and turmoil in this country, I was protected from most of it.  We had a fairly insulated world of public school where most of our classmates were our neighbors, and the greatest diversity was found in which protestant church you attended regularly.  Some were financially better situated than others, meaning some had 2, or amazingly, 3 bathrooms and some of us only had one.

In the days of walking to and from school, riding bikes all over the neighborhood, and friends' parents correcting you when you misbehaved, I was blessed with "Unca" Dan and Aunt Sarah in my life.  Now, they were not called "Unca" and Aunt until I was grown because we called everyone older than ourselves Mr. or Mrs. Whomever.  As I became an adult, the Mr. and Mrs. Leech sounded so formal, but heaven knows, calling them Dan and Sarah would never work. That was just not propah! Thus, "Unca" Dan and Aunt Sarah were born. 

I met Mr. and Mrs. Leech through their daughter, Becky.  We met the first day of first grade, and became very good friends.  We had some adventures (Shelby Park Tennis CourtsJ).  Seldom, but sometimes we got crosswise with each other (the 1920's-tennis-skirt-styrofoam-cooler-on-the-head-falling incident - I still laugh when I think of it), but those did not last long.  Our parents had the good sense to stay out of it, and I always felt loved by the Leeches.  Becky had sisters.  I had brothers.  There is quite a difference. 

"Unca" Dan was a contractor, and so the Leech's actually had 2 bathrooms in their house, or 3 if you counted the one off the garage, which proved to be a welcome spot on a day of playing outside.  I was always a little afraid of that bathroom.  I was much more fascinated by the pocket door on the master bath.  I remember their house being huge, but I imagine if I walked in it now, it would not seem so.  In the den they had a "coffee" table made of a log.  It was known as "The Log!"  I learned at my mother's birthday party that it is still around, and there is some conversation as to what to do with it.  I think I heard talk of a Solomon solution; "cutting it in half." 

The Leeches had a big round table in their kitchen.  I shared meals with that family at that table on many occasions.  In the middle of it sat a little bottle of saccharin tablets.  I was always fascinated by that, and we were known from time to time to sneak some of Mr. Leech's little "sugar" tablets, and let them melt on our tongues.  I also remember high hilarity at that table, and when it got out of control, I was sent from the table just as if I were a Leech girl.  There is some chagrin and much comfort attached to such an event. 

Mr. Leech loved cars.  He bought Becky a red car that made a SmartCar look like a luxury sedan.   I do not remember what kind it was, but, if memory serves, we called it the Red Rooster.  A moderately strong teenage boy could have picked it up and carried it home.  I do not recall that it lasted long, but I do remember enjoying time spent in it.  There were other cars too.  Unlike my daddy, Mr. Leech bought vintage cars to fix up.  My daddy bought old cars that broke down.  Mr. Leech's cars were small and fashionable.  Daddy's were tanks!  Did I mention, I had brothers?  My daddy was a smart man!

The first time I saw the ocean as a teenager, I  was on a family trip with the Leech's.  It was at New Smyrna Beach.  It was amazingly fun.  I was with the Leech's when U.S. astronauts landed on the moon  I will never forget Mr. Leech insisting that we go to Cape Canaveral.  Seriously, we were at the beach.  Who goes on a sightseeing trip like that at the beach?  Can you fathom how stupid I was that I could not appreciate the fact that we were going to the very place from which the astronauts left earth to go to the moon?  Mr. Leech was not to be deterred, thank heaven.  I remember many things from that sightseeing adventure.  Above all, however, I remember how I felt at home.  I was not with my blood family, but I was with family nonetheless. 

I had a wonderful father and I have a wonderful mother.  I guess I did not need multiple sets of parents, or, perhaps I did.  Perhaps, we all do. 

So happy birthday to "Unca" Dan.  You are a lovely man, who just by being yourself have, along with the rest of your family, been a blessing in my life. 

For anyone reading this, I wish you an "Unca" Dan and an Aunt Sarah, and I wish you

blessings

A Maelstrom of Observations, Thoughts, and Feelings

Who to Trust:

Recently, on FB a picture was posted.  It was of a man and woman, who depending on your life filter, were either in an argument or a conversation.  Two different FB friends posted this, apparently in support of the article attached.  The paradox comes in the captions, and articles/video connected to the picture.  One caption read: "Christian Woman Praying to Christ Ejected From MUSLIM Prayers at National Cathedral."  The other caption (remember, same picture) read: " 'Christian' Verbally Assaults Muslims Gathered For Religious Unity to End Violence."  So, which is it?  I do not know, and I will never know because I was not there, and Heaven knows, I am not about to trust any one who might be reporting the incident...no one.  Without having the opportunity of knowing the people involved, I have no idea what motivations were driving the behavior.  Shoot, I often do not even know what motivations are driving my own behavior.  It just makes me wonder if any of the people reporting this event care one iota about a coming together to end violence, or are we all just so mired in our own belief system, we have no room for the other man's viewpoint?

Convictions:

I get all my news from FB and little snippets of the Today Show.  I really and truly despise the news.  I do not watch it, and I have begun to stop reading a lot of it on FB.  For example, the articles mentioned above, I did not read them, the captions were enough to let me know there would be great bias in the reporting.  I find that the news can depress me, or cause me to feel alarmed and afraid.  In addition, I cannot do a thing about it.  Instead, I read blogs.  Blogs by Patrick Mead that make me analyze my own approach to religion and spirituality.  These are things I can change.  I cannot change the violence in the world - or, perhaps, if we self-proclaimed Christians, of which I am one, would actually live our lives like the Jesus we claim to worship, the entire world would change.  Sometimes, I think we are so verbal and critical of other faiths and thoughts because we just are not totally convinced of our own.  If those people have anything right, then how can I be right?  Maybe it is not about being "right."  Maybe it is about embracing and loving and trying to understand all people regardless of race, nationality, beliefs, and lifestyles.  It is my belief that can be done without sacrificing one's own beliefs and convictions.  Really, is there anything more compelling than a person who lives out their convictions without talking about them and imposing them on others?

Expectations:

Recently, on FB (I know, a major time-suck in my life), a friend asked how an event went that he could not attend.  Someone responded, "about like you would have expected."  I literally (not the "literally" that the man on the radio meant when he said, "there were so many planes waiting to take off, it was literally a train.") put one forefinger on my nose, pointed the other one and yelled, "ding, ding, ding, ding, Bingo!"  I know that seems a bit dramatic, but were truer words ever spoken? Things generally go the way we expect them, because that is what we are looking for.  It would be foolish of me to project what that particular person meant by the comment.  Perhaps, he expected the event to go very well and he was quite pleased.  Perhaps, he thought it would be a fiasco, so it was.  Perhaps, he thought it would accomplish very little, and in his mind it did.  Expectations are very powerful!

Sexiest Man:

As if violence around the world, hungry children, people dying of Ebola, weather states of emergency, are not enough, the newscasters are all a buzz with the "sexiest man alive."  Not being personally acquainted with the recent awardee of such an outstanding honor, I cannot comment on his worthiness.  Perhaps it is my age, but give me a man who looks good in a suit, whose face lights up at the sight of his grandsons, who recognizes when a friend has no place to go for Thanksgiving and invites him to join us, who empties the dishwasher and cleans up the kitchen, who cooks the cornbread for Thanksgiving dressing, who gains much more pleasure by what he gives than receives, who has a kind and quiet spirit, who watches the tiny TV in the bedroom when The Voice is on, who has a hilarious sense of humor, who just might be blind to his wife's aging appearance, who has a servant's heart.  Now, that would be the sexiest man alive, and if one should happen to be acquainted with such a fellow, one should feel very grateful. 

Traditions:

This, I think, will be the first year that I am totally responsible for the turkey, dressing, and gravy for the 30 or so who will be here for Thanksgiving.  It is the general consensus that no one, and I mean no one, makes dressing as good as my mother's.  Of course, she has no recipe to follow, and a little of this and a little more of that is relative, and when added with a lighter or heavier hand, can produce a not-so-good result.  So, I have decided that I will not try to emulate my mother's dressing,  I will research, use a bit of common sense, and come up with my own concoction.  Unless it is just inedible, everyone will be kind, and Thanksgiving dinner will be enjoyed.  THAT is my expectation, and perhaps, a new tradition will be born. 

Of course, my mom will be here, but recovering from pneumonia at age 90 is a relatively slow process, and she has so many other events coming up that, for this year at least, she is passing the torch.  These things happen a little at a time.  The first year we had family Thanksgiving at our house was an accident.  Mom called that Thursday morning, and said her turkey had been in the oven for like 7 hours, but it wasn't done.  Did I think her oven was not working?  Yep, yep, that is what I think.  So, Mr. L and I went across town, gathered food, and dishes, and silver, flowers, and linens, brought them to our house, and Thanksgiving at the Switzers was born.  It was hard for her to give it up, but it hasn't diminished her enjoyment of the Thanksgiving gathering,  After all, isn't it about the people we are with, and not the food or the decorations or the location?

So, on this beautiful, cold November day, I wish you people you can trust, well-lived convictions, great expectations, an ever-evolving viewpoint on the "sexiest man," and I wish you a joyful and grateful heart as you create new Thanksgiving traditions or revel in the old, and, as always, I wish you

blessings

Random Musings

This blog is the result of a request.  Not a request because my writing is so brilliant, but because a friend stated that whenever she checks to see if I have posted a new blog what always comes up is "We Are All Bastards."  She is tired of seeing that.  I will interject here that she is always kind and complimentary about my blogs, so it was not a serious complaint.  Thus, this post is being birthed as I write. 

Saturday was a great day.  I spent it with my friend, Nancy, shopping, eating, and seeing a wonderful production of "Steel Magnolias," in which a friend played Ouiser.  She was excellent, as was the rest of the cast.  The set was so wonderfully pleasing to my eye.  I enjoyed the whole day. 

As we were leaving the restaurant where we had lunch, I heard, "Marilyn!"  It was a relatively new friend having lunch.  I went to introduce her to Nancy, and just drew a complete blank on her name.  She laughed, introduced herself, and made a funny comment about how she was my "reaaaaaaaaally" good friend.  I was mortified, but not really, because I knew I had not offended her.  She is just not a woman who walks around looking to be slighted and offended.  After a lesson on generosity at church yesterday, I sought out "Miss" Betty to tell her how much I appreciate her generosity of spirit.  You know what she said to me?  "You could not offend me, I love you too much."  And, there you have it. 

Later, Nancy and I ran into other friends of mine, one of whom I had not seen in a long time.  I introduced everyone.   The younger one said, "wow, you remembered my whole name."  I proceeded to tell them about the encounter with "Miss Betty."  I referred to Betty as a very good friend, to which one of them said, "as opposed to us, who are not your really good friends?"  She was teasing, but what I wish I had said to her was, "you are not just friends.  I love "Miss Betty," and she would do anything for me if I asked, but you, you people I have known for years, and you have done so much for me without my having ever asked."  That's what I wish I had said. 

Last week, my precious, adult lifelong friends (as opposed to Nancy who has been my friend since we were 5 years old - that's a looooooooooooooong time) Betsy, Dele and I had a small dinner party.  We invited some of the younger women at church who had expressed a bit of angst over getting to know people and finding their place.  It was a lovely evening.  There were precious young women here.  Betsy, Dele, and I simply tried to make some introductions, get to know some younger women ourselves, for they so enrich our lives, and possibly plant some seeds for future friendships.  Dele texted me yesterday, that two of those women, along with their families, were having lunch together.  Seed planted, and the watering has begun. 

Speaking of seeds (I warned this would be random), Simeon, Max, and I planted some jonquil bulbs yesterday.  Well, I dug the holes, they threw the bulbs in, I set them up straight so that they will actually grow, and I covered the holes with dirt and mulch while they played in the leaves with their Fizzy.  Hopefully, they will remember their "help" when spring comes and we have lovely flowers blooming.  If not, I will remind them.  Playing with Fizzy was the highlight of their day.

It is amazing to watch my adult children parent their children.  One set of parents is a bit stricter about diet than the other as they try to be sure that their son does not eat many sweets.  He did not go trick or treating, for he would not wear his costume, and they do not want him to eat the candy. What would have been the point? Besides, it was freezing!! The other grandson is allowed to eat candy on special occasions or as a special reward.  He did go trick or treating and loved wearing his costume, as well as his cousin's costume.  Everyone came to our house for dinner.  When the grandson who had been trick or treating arrived, he brought in his candy bucket, empty.  That did not go unnoticed.  His parents, in an effort to prevent causing his cousin sadness, encouraged him to leave his candy in the car.  There is so much right about that to me.  They certainly could have said, "just because he can't have candy doesn't mean you can't," or any number of "okay" things, but, instead they embraced a generosity of spirit, and put the other person first.  That is a life lesson far more valuable than most. 

The other grandson has a bear that he takes with him everywhere.  Big Brown Bear, is his name.  He loves that bear.  It is his special toy and friend.  He is encouraged, and often made to share toys, but Big Brown Bear is a special exception.  However, when his cousin becomes upset, I watch him walk over and hand him Big Brown Bear saying, "here,  Big Brown Bear will make you feel better."  You can see the difficulty it causes him to hand the bear over to his cousin, but his sweet spirit of generosity longs to console.  He is watching that, and learning that from his parents.  I relish those very special moments. 

So, random thoughts.  Nothing deep here.  Just thoughts from a wandering mind.  Now, off to work on Advent calendars for the little boys.  I love a good project. 

For today, I wish you spirits of generosity, and I wish you

blessings

"We're all bastards......

......but God loves us anyway."  When asked to describe the message in the Bible in ten words or less, this was Will Campbell's reply. Will Campbell, often described as a maverick, was a white man who fought for the black man during the Civil Rights movement.

I was reminded of this story early last Saturday morning in Montgomery, Alabama where I participated in a pilgrimage of sorts visiting important sites of the Civil Rights movement. As a friend and scholar stood at the Maya Lin Civil Rights Memorial, hand resting in the fountain on the name Thomas Coleman, I heard how Will Campbell was faced with the hard truth of his gospel, "we are all bastards, but God loves us anyway."  Thomas Coleman, a young, black seminary student was killed as he walked out of a store. He was killed by police officer, Jonathan Daniel.  Thomas Coleman was Will Campbell's friend. Thomas Coleman died because of the color of his skin, and the prejudice in Jonathan Daniel's life.

As Will Campbell angrily wept over his friend's death and the violence of the Civil Rights movement, and the hatred so many harbored in their hearts, he was asked the question, "which of these bastards did God love more?"  It was a question he neither wanted to face nor contemplate, yet, there it was.  After this event, Will Campbell left his work in the Civil Rights movement,and began to minister to members of the Ku Klux Klan. Even though he had preached, faithfully attended church, and  tried to live his life by Biblical teachings, he said only when he began to love and serve members of the KKK did he become a true Christian.  He courageously tried to change hatred with love, violence with non-violence.

As we traveled down the highway, a speech delivered in 1895 by Booker T. Washington, a most amazing man, was read to us. I was struck by a parable that Mr. Washington used in his speech. The story tells of a disabled ship that had been lost at sea for several days. It was spotted by another vessel, and the captain of the foundering boat shouted out, "water, water, we die of thirst," to which the reply came, "cast down your bucket where you are,". Again, the plea came, "water, water, we die of thirst."  The reply did not change; "cast down your bucket where you are."  After several more pleas with the same reply, the captain of the disabled vessel cast down his bucket, and brought out clear, fresh water to drink.

This world seems in a shambles. There is hatred, bigotry, and violence in Iraq, in Gaza, in Ukraine, in Ferguson, MO.  I must ask myself, "who does God love more?"  I must be very careful in assuming that God's mind is my mind.  If I believe Will Campbell's "we're all bastards but God loves us anyway," and I claim to follow Jesus, God in the flesh, what must I do?  If I follow the logic, then I must love "anyway."  While I will not be traveling to these places of unrest, if I will just "cast down my bucket where I am" I will not run out of opportunities.

For today, I wish you opportunities to cast down your bucket where you are and love anyway, and I wish you

Blessings,

No Explanations Needed

Favorite Quotes of the Day:

"Can I be naked?"  I counted.  This questions was asked 17 times in a row with no break. I promise!

"Don't say no."  Mellie was not the one who said this, either.

"It's my turn!"  Said over and over and over and over.

"Maxie!!! He's gonna give me a hug!"

"You may spit outside or in the bathtub. No.where.else."  Followed by puzzled looks, especially when placed in the bathtub fully clothed.

"That hurts."  This came after Mellie put both legs through on of the leg holes in his bathing suit.

"It's MINE!!"  Ad nauseum

"I'm being naughty."  No argument here.

"Do'Do'Do'Do'"

"Water bomb!!!"  Mellie had to change clothes.

"You can do it, Simmy."

"Hey, I sticked it on you, Mellie.  You're a magnet."

"That's not cereal. It's Cheerios."

Crying-"I don't like calm music. It is not my favorite. I need Mike Farris. "

Upon Nunny's arrival-"this is hilarious."

Mellie:  "where are your glasses?"  Child to remain unnamed to protect the guilty: "in the fireplace."  Sure enough they were.

"Yes ma'am, Mellie."

"I love you so much, Monie."

For today, I wish you marvelous quotes of the day, and I wish you,

Blessings

What's Working?

Well, now I know what What's Working means.  It is what we ask ourselves about everything - our writing, our relationships, our spiritual life - whatever!  How much better is that than asking what's not working?  If I learned nothing else from the workshop/retreat this weekend, I learned that.  What's working circumvents that negative talk we often give ourselves.

In spite of my fear and trembling, I had a great weekend at the retreat.  Minton Sparks who was the leader, teacher, director? is amazingly wonderful.  She is a tiny person that is a bundle of energy, enthusiasm, brilliance and hard work.  I do not aspire to be a performer as she is, well, maybe a little, but I do love that I learned many things from her that will help in any writing I may want to do, and in life. 

Probably, the greatest serendipity of the weekend is the people I met.  There were seven of us besides Minton, oh, and one other that I will mention later who was not in the workshop.  We were a very diverse group.  I had names for them, some of which changed as the weekend went along.

There was The Artist.  She was the most difficult for me to get to know.  She is the only one in the group that I sensed was not really being herself, whether because she does not know herself or she just did not wish to share herself.  Unlike others in the group, she seemed more interested in telling you about herself rather than asking about you.  Unfortunately, she had to miss the last session as her mother was ill, for I would have liked to have had another chance at getting to know her, because I could have totally misread that. 

The first person I met on Friday evening, as we sat in the announced but wrong location, was The Joyful.  This woman is just happy, and has taken a turn in her life.  She spent her time before retirement working in the corporate world of technology.  You never would have known that at the get-go.  I did not have to worry about conversation because she could carry her part and mine, and I mean that in a good way.  She told me one day that she woke up, asked herself, "is this all there is?" as she realized her life centered around work and a little family time.  She decided that it was up to her if that was all, and by golly, she decided that it was not, and began to pursue writing.  She is great at details in her writing, wonderful humor, and self-deprecation.  I liked her so much.

The Sweet One, became The Comedienne.  By the looks of it, I would say she was the oldest in the group.  She had this sweet, sweet smile which she used often.  She was hilarious in a subtle, gentle, kind way, and I loved everything she wrote and the way she delivered it.  She is working on a book.  She is an exceptional Two Truths and a Lie player.  The woman can spin a tale that you will believe like no other.  She just reels you in with that sweet smile, just enough detail to make it sound true, and a most innocent expression.  What marvelous traits for a writer.  Loved her!!

There was The Lawyer, who became The Amazing One.  She is 33 years old, a Harvard law school graduate (she did not tell me that, I googled her!), works for one of the big firms in town, humble, brilliant, a captain in the Marine Corp. for 5 years, she has lived all over the world, had varied and amazing experiences, a brilliant writer/performer, sort of bohemian, the glue that holds her family together ~ husband, 6 year old son, divorced mother who lives with her, dad who lives around the corner.  I started out misjudging her (that is what judgment does for you) in the brief session on Friday night, but oh, I am so fond of her and impressed by her.  She is truly amazing.

The Depressed One became The Paper Carrier became The Singer Songwriter Precious One.  When the workshop began, she did not look anyone in the eye.  Her writing that first night (we wrote about our names) overwhelmed me with a sadness.  I felt how truly unfair life is, and it is, but as I got to know her, I saw so many sides of that family in which she was raised, and this life she is making for herself here in Nashville.  She chose to eat pizza for dinner last night in order to eat with The Amazing One and me.  She really wanted sushi, but decided that the company was more important than the food.  I giggled at her when we asked about her song writing and performing and she said she was in a "band of introverts in the basement."  I thought what a great name for a band!  A classmate had asked her to bring her guitar and perform a song for her before we said our farewells.  Of course, we all wanted to hear her.  She was so wonderful, and this woman who could not look us in the eye on Friday night was hugging and high fiving us as we said goodbye on Sunday morning.  "Let's stay in touch," she said.  I plan to.  My life will be enriched for it.

The Contributor Seller became The Wanderer Full of Surprises.  This woman, how I wish each one of you could meet her, will blow our homeless stereotypes to kingdom come.  She was so incredibly intelligent.  I would say she was very well-educated, although I do not know that as a fact.  She, too, is working on a book.  She is a wanderer by her own definition.  She has lived all over.  She came to Tennessee from Kentucky because of the book she is writing.  She lives in a cinderblock room, sleeps on a bedroll.  This morning as she and I chatted while the rest of the class did yoga, I learned a lot about her.  She has a brother who is a doctor, another one who was a nurse but committed suicide.  We had a common bond right there.  She has 5 sons, one of which has died, and the other 4 live all around the country.  Her writing will make you weep, but not because of sadness, but because of the depth of emotion and self-awareness she conveys.  She made deep sacrifices to be in this workshop.  As she said, it meant everything to her to be able to participate.  If you are reading this, and you live in Nashville, go by 28th and Charlotte, buy a Contributor.  You may be able to say you knew the seller before she was famous. 

The last person I will mention is an exquisitely beautiful young woman who was our contact person and source of information for the workshop.  I will say her name, Maddison Grigsby, because she is a professional singer/song writer.  She performed for us on Saturday night, and her stunning physical beauty was matched by her pure, sweet voice and the lyrics of her heart. 

So, all in all, it was a most lovely weekend.  Some of the breathing and Zen-type things caused me to have to tamp down an ever ready giggle, just because that isn't me, but more power to those who find it helpful.  Perhaps, if I were not so buttoned up, I would benefit from it as well.  I learned a few things about myself along the way.  In later posts I might share a few things that I wrote over the three days. You will note that this is not formal writing so punctuation is sort of a vapor.  I will share a short one here written as a result of the writing prompt, "there was dancing involved:"

Mike Farris blasting from the Ipod - cain't no grave hold my body down. 

 The passerby glanced into the large picture window, and stopped as he watched two very young boys and one not-so-young grandmother dancing - with abandon. 

No one else in the word, just those 3.....and, Mike Farris.  The grandmother was young again. 

No prom, no sock hop, no New Years' Eve ball escort compares to the joy found in the presence of these two exuberant, laughing, tiny dancers. 

Well, not a complete thing, but it is a start.

For today, I wish you marvelous experiences, serendipitous moments, new people in your lives, and I wish you

blessings

Fear and Trembling

Tomorrow evening, I begin a workshop/retreat, that I paid lots of money to attend.  I find myself terrified.  It is a writing and performance retreat.  Well, I thought it was a "workshop" which conjures people in business casual, sitting at desks, taking notes in a neat and orderly fashion.  "Retreat" conjures wild-haired, maxi-skirted (1960's style), orthopedic sandaled, grannies, sitting on pillows on the floor.  They even told us to bring our own pillows if we want.  They are offering YOGA Sunday morning.  Yikes!!

My fear and trembling began when I received a questionnaire from the coordinator of said retreat, and I sensed a bit of touchy-feely-ness in the questions.  Mr. L saved me from a non-creative bio, by reminding me that the required "three lines" did not mean three sentences.  One can get a lot of information in three lines of eight-point type without having to use proper punctuation.  

The first question was: "what's your highest vision of yourself over this weekend?"  What does that even mean?  Are they expecting me to dig deep within myself?  I have spent sixty-two years trying to avoid such a thing.  I really enjoy life on the surface! 

How is this for a question:  "what's not working?"  Well, my dishwasher is making weird noises, I have to use a crowbar to open my front door, the faucet in the tub is leaking, the one in the sink does not bring forth hot water, there is no door on my mailbox, I think I have arthritis in the toes on my left foot ~ is that what they mean?  I don't think so, but what do they mean?

What about this one?  "What do you want your life to look like as a result of the training?"  Well, frankly, pretty much like it does now.  Even though I think the fee for the retreat was a bit steep, I was not expecting a complete life overhaul as a result.  Frankly, I find my life to be lovely most of the time.  I have a husband I love and enjoy, grown children who seem to tolerate me pretty well, grandsons who love me, one of which after breakfast most mornings announces he is ready to come to my house.  What more could a person want? 

So, it is with fear and trembling that I will arrive tomorrow night at 6:00 pm for my Writing and Performance Retreat.  What am I scared of?  SMALL TALK!!! Hate it.  I also do not look forward to any bit of deep group therapy-type stuff with fourteen people I do not know.  That is not going to happen.  Big talker - I'll be the one spilling my guts and weeping.  Can we not just stay on neutral, middle ground?

They are not feeding us meals, so we have to walk to restaurants nearby.  Oh, my goodness, it is ninth grade all over again having to walk by the senior boys' table in the cafeteria as they make jungle noises and nasty little remarks.  What if I have no one with which to eat?  What if I am the only one who does not already know someone in the group?  I have Mr. Lincoln on call Saturday night to go to dinner with me if that happens.  Lunch, I can do by myself, but a two hour dinner?  I don't think so.  Do I sound like an insecure, self-conscious 'tween?  Yes, yes, I do. 

One may ask why I signed up for this dreaded weekend.  I saw the director perform at Tokens.  She totally fascinated me.  Apparently, introvert that I am, I failed to understand the definition of "performance."  The writing part, at which I may or may not excel, is at least a solitary endeavor.  What was I thinking ~ performing?  In front of people I do not know?  Oh, if I could only tell the Andrew Jackson story.  Do you think if I just insert my name instead of ole Andy's  anyone would notice?  Yeah, probably so. 

I am not sure why I periodically feel compelled to step out of my comfort zone and do something that is hard.  I could have just stayed home this weekend, packed for my trip next week, hung out with Mr. L, gone to church, gone to bed by my normal 9:00 time, played with Simmy and Max, and been perfectly happy.  But, I will step out, and as Mr. L says, I will get every penny's worth of what he paid for me to attend.  Definitely, my life will be changed in some way, big or small if I will let it.  I will look for the serendipity in the weekend, perhaps improve in some of the many ways in which I need improvement, and hopefully, be a bit of a blessings to those around me. 

For today, I wish you courage in your fear and trembling, and I wish you

blessings