Is Anybody Dead?

It has been a stressful few days.  Stress relief came in a most unusual way this evening. Mr. Lincoln, lovely man that he is, drives MP to Vanderbilt most Saturday and Sunday mornings. I might add that he always stops at McDonald's and gets me a large Diet Coke. He does not approve of my beverage of choice, but he buys one for me anyway. This morning was no exception. Did I mention that she goes to work at 5:45?  It is a Switzer thing to leave home an hour and fifteen minutes before one has to be at work some fifteen minutes from home.  He returned home, ran for about two hours, helped babysit both boys, went to the office downtown and worked three or more hours, returned home to drive me to Stallworth to visit my mother so that I would not have to walk very far as I am dealing with issues from the hamstring pull I accomplished during the infamous reindeer antler retrieval event, drove home, watched a little football before returning to Vanderbilt to pick me up and wait for MP's text that she was headed down at which time he departs his holding spot to time the pick up perfectly. What a man!!!

Things went a bit awry, however. MP's text "I'm headed down" came in so we pulled out to drive the two blocks to meet her. At the light at 25th and Children's Way, a CSO (Community Service Officer) was stopped.  We could tell that he was either texting or surfing the web on his phone. When the light turned green, Mr. CSO #972 did not move. Mr. Lincoln did what anyone would do in the circumstance; he gently tapped his horn to make the distracted officer aware that the light had changed.  There was no response, so Mr. L. tapped again, then again, a bit more forcefully, then again. At this time, the officer got out of his car, walked back in a semi-menacing demeanor demanding, "what's the problem?"

 "I am trying to get by so that I can pick up my daughter and you are just sitting there."

"Go around!"

So, Mr. L. backed up to get around the CSO (we were thinking perhaps he flunked out of CSI school) and promptly hit the car behind us. The lady driving said car was most displeased. We are not sure why because prior to this fender bender, the front grill of her car was dangling, there was about an 18 inch section missing, and a long scratch down the side that never came in contact with Mr. L's vehicle. We figured that she was no stranger to minor accidents. Her upset seemed a bit extreme so Mr. Lincoln asked, "is anyone dead?"  She was not amused and demanded an "inspection."

The police officer who was called to the scene of the accident commented that the CSO was the whole cause of the accident, and tried to convince the lady to just forget the whole thing.  She was having none of it, so the officer asked, "did this damage happen just now?"  "No."  "Did this?"  "No." "Or this?"  "No."  "Then what is the problem."  "I think I see a scratch."

So all information was exchanged. In the meantime on the sidewalk the intoxicated gentleman who had just jumped into the CSO's truck was waving his arms, trying to stand on one foot, and seemingly explaining something of great consequence.

Finally, the traffic officer returned Mr. L's insurance card and license asking him to pull on up so the lady with the banged up car did not back into him. The CSO began to back up coming at a rate of speed that caused the traffic officer to exclaim, "holy #%$x, that guy is giving me a heart attack."

Laughter ensued. Stress relieved.

So for today, I wish you non injurious moments of hilarity, and I wish you

Blessings

We Knew This Day Was Coming

My heart is not here today.  I have much to do to prepare for the 35 or so coming for Thanksgiving and for a rather large party on the 8th, so my body is in Nashville, but my heart is in Martin.  This is a day I have known was coming for quite some time.  It has been kept quiet so as not to draw attention.  It is a day that for most will seem "so what," but it is very significant in my dear Mr. Lincoln's life.  You see, today is the last day he will stand on a football field as a college football official.  It is the end of an era.  He chose the date, and once it was chosen, there was no going back.  He is leaving officiating on his own terms.

Mr. Lincoln will be emotional.  Those of you who know him best will not be surprised by this.  He is just an old softy.  He is wise, and so he will soak in every bit of this day.  I think he told his crew last night that next year they will have another leader.  Perhaps, they had already caught wind of his retirement, and have waited for him to make it official.  Perhaps, they were surprised.  Whichever, they are going to miss him. 

He has put so much energy and effort into being the best football official that he could be.  He knows those rules forward and backward.  His crew has to be one of the best prepared that ever hit a field.  There was never danger that Mr. Lincoln would embarrass his organization by acting the fool in any shape or form.  One of his fellow officials, who understands the significance of this day, sent him a lovely email yesterday.  He said that Mr. Lincoln had always conducted himself as a "man of God" on the field and off.  What more can anyone say of a person's influence? 

I think of Marshall's last football game in high school, how as he walked off the field, he turned and looked back to soak it all in.  He was etching that moment in his memory.  It was such a poignant moment.  Mr. Lincoln was crying then too.  I know he will follow his son's example this afternoon and turn to look back and etch the moment in his mind. 

My heart is not here.  You may wonder why that is true while my body is in Nashville.  Mr. Lincoln said, "do not show up at the ballgame.  If I look up in the stands and see you, I will lose it."  So, I will be here, cooking and cleaning and decorating and ironing, but my heart won't be in it, for my heart is with Mr. Lincoln today. 

For today, I wish you the ability to mark life's special events, be they sad, happy, frustrating or poignant.  I wish you someone to love, and I wish you

blessings

Sometimes, the Thing is not the Thing

Recently, I heard the story of a grandmother whose two teenage grandsons dropped by, spur of the moment, to ask her to go to dinner.  She said she had already eaten.  She did not go.  That story got me to thinking about how often what seems to be the main thing is not the thing at all.  Those boys stopping by to invite their grandmother to dinner had nothing to do with food.  It had everything to do with being together.  My first instinct was to be angry at her.  My second, was to feel badly for her.  She missed a wonderful opportunity to spend time in the presence of young people...young people who were seeking her out.  I wonder if she regretted her decision after they left.  I do not wish her regrets, but I do wish her to revisit that decision.  I hope next time she will go, and make a sweet memory for her grandsons and herself.  And, I hope she pays for dinner. 

That got me to thinking about a time when a man I know planned a trip for his dad to Chicago to see the Cubs play.  Now, this dad was a huge Cubs fan, and had passed that insanity on to his son.  The father was aging.  He was not ill, but he was aging, and the son felt the need to do something nice for his dad, and to spend time with him.  The son planned everything.  He was paying for it all - travel, lodging, food, tickets to the game at Wrigley Field.  Everything was set.  A couple days before the grand adventure, the father called his son to say that the weather forecast predicted rain in Chicago, and the game would probably be rained out so he was not going to go.  You see, the thing was not the game.  The thing was spending time with a son who planned a trip around his father's interests.  That was the thing.  As it turned out, it was a beautiful day in Chicago, the game did not get rained out, the Cubs won (a red letter day any way you look at it), and those tickets went unused.  That father is gone now.  He missed his opportunity.  I wonder if he ever regretted his decision. 

If you read this blog, you are aware that I often travel to the beach with two friends.  We go different times of the year.  I have had people say, "aren't you afraid it will be cold in November" or "the weather might not be good" or "it rains a lot there in August."  My reply is always, "we don't care."  While we all love the beach, the thing is not the beach.  The thing is being in each other's company.  Nice weather is great, but one of our most fun trips was when tropical storm Isabelle (I think) hit Gulf Shores.  It was awesome, and I mean that not in the present day vernacular but in the Webster definition of "inspiring a mixed feeling of reverence and fear."  Awesome!!!

Well, let me say, I have certainly been guilty many times in my life of thinking the thing was the thing when indeed it was not.  As I age, however, I try to pay attention, and see, what I learned in mediation classes, is "below the line."  Below the line is where you will find the thing that is the thing. 

A note to Simeon and Max - do not ever come by my house and invite me to do anything or go anywhere if you do not want me.  If I ever say to you, "I have already eaten," immediately call 911 for I am very, very ill. 

For today, I wish you the wisdom to recognize that thing that is the thing, and I wish you

blessings

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.