If you live in the South, you have to know how to make iced tea. If you live in the South, you also have to know how to make friends, right? Many times the process of making friends starts by entertaining them in your southern home. You know how it is and likely have seen it portrayed perfectly in the movies--the exquisite southern gentlewoman entertaining ladies who have "come calling." Usually they are served a tall glass of fresh iced tea with mint and perhaps a petit four. Classic Southern Hospitality!
Yes, Southern hospitality is a way of life--not just a saying. It has been documented in literature and newspapers throughout the years. "Some characteristics of southern hospitality were described as early as 1835, when Jacob Abbott
attributed the poor quality of taverns in the south to the lack of need
for them, given the willingness of southerners to provide for
strangers." (Wikipedia)
Abbott continues by saying, "Conversation flows cheeringly, for the southern gentleman has a
particular tact in making a guest happy. After dinner you are urged to
pass the afternoon and night...Such is the character of southern hospitality." If a man successfully covered the definition for "southern gentlemen," then you know that the women automatically would take the whole concept of Southern hospitality to a whole new level.
Now I'm not saying I am a Southern gentlewoman by any means, but I do have characteristics of that Southern hospitality as described by Abbott. I love having guests over (after I spend a day cleaning, rearranging, and most likely panicking to a degree). I have been taught the skills of being a hostess. Although I would never try to make "petit fours," I am willing to say that I can make iced tea (even though these days I tend to buy the ready-made gallons of the sweet variety in the refrigerated section of the grocery stores).
So having iced tea and ladies in my home is not an unusual event, but becoming fast friends because of my iced tea was a most unusual (thankfully) event.
Let me explain...
When we bought a house in Little Rock, we had one little girl and were expecting another one. Before long, we were expecting our third girl. So I was basically a stay-at-home-mother for awhile.
Fortunately for me, there were some other young mothers in the neighborhood who weren't working. It so happened that these moms all had little girls around the same ages as mine. So immediately we bonded and would gather at each others' houses for visits while the girls played. The adult conversations were always a welcomed change from continuous interaction with preschoolers. Although I'm sure our conversations were frequently interrupted to settle squabbles ("You can't come to my birthday party" or "She said she won't be my friend") and sometimes to simply check on them when things got too quiet.
It was through one of these gatherings that I met the newest neighbor at the time. We really meshed early on and I invited her to come to my house one afternoon with her little girl in tow. Of course, as always when I have guest over, I did my rushed straightening-up-job and certainly had prepared some iced tea for the occasion.
We got the girls involved in playing with an assortment of dolls and then we sat down at the kitchen table to begin our visit. Trying to be that gracious hostess, I offered some iced tea to my new neighbor. While we chatted, I got the glasses out of the cabinet; I filled them with ice. I put the lid to the pitcher on, getting it ready to pour. Then it happened! No, I didn't spill the ice out of the glasses or knock off the glasses and break them. No, the lid to the tea pitcher didn't fall off. And, no, I didn't spill any tea. It was worse, much worse than any of those goofs (although any of them could have easily happened).
When I was pouring the freshly steeped tea from the pitcher, not only did the tea come out of the pitcher but a DISHCLOTH almost made it out! Yes, you read it correctly. (Thank goodness I had remembered to put the lid on the pitcher.) But somehow, someway, sometime when I wasn't looking a dishcloth had surreptitiously fallen into the pitcher. (It was a clean one, though.) Evidently, it had fallen into the pitcher at some point when I had opened the cabinet where I kept dishcloths. (Uh, okay...maybe I had thrown them up in the cabinet haphazardly in my usual "company's coming rush" to "clean" the kitchen--I don't know. I just know that now one was now floating at the edge of the pitcher.)
We both looked at each other. Although she had a wry grin on her face, I'm sure she was a little shocked and wondered what kind of southerner serves iced tea à la dishcloth. A true Southern gentlewoman might have swooned and fanned away from her embarrassment, but even though I was definitely embarrassed, I was also undone with laughter. As soon as it actually dawned on me what it was, I started laughing uproariously. She joined in with equal enthusiasm.
I did tell her I would make a new pitcher of tea. However, she replied with something like, "Why bother. It looks fine to me." So we enjoyed that pitcher of tea that afternoon and a long, long friendship which has continued to this day.
We don't see each other very often anymore because she has moved out of the south--"bless her heart!" (See, I told you I was a Southerner!) But when she does make it back to this city, we take up right where we left off from the last visit--maybe not with my special tea, but we do enjoy our times together.
It was just this week that we got together again and the tea story came up. It doesn't come up every time we visit but I never mind it when it does. It was funny then and it is still funny. We both learned a lot about each other in a split second, and I think we both liked what we learned. It certainly moved our friendship forward very quickly and all pretenses were dismissed as we drank our sweet tea that afternoon. To this day, we still know who we are and have an appreciation for each others' quirkiness.
That pitcher of sweet tea is long gone, but the friendship is still sweet which simply proves that the quote by Elbert Hubbard is all too true--"A friend is one who knows you and loves you just the same." I'm glad for that. Thanks, my friend, for knowing me and still being my friend!
Sunday, December 7, 2014
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
And the Truth Will Set Me Free?
Being truthful is a good thing. We've been taught that; we teach our children that. But honestly, is it really?
I've had three truthful statements that have innocently been said to me in the last 24 hours. They are very funny but I've decided that I, personally, can only handle so much truth.
First of all, yesterday when the grandson and I were about to read some books, I found my spot on the sofa in his room. I sat all perched ready for him to present to me the books he wanted me to read to him. Then it happened!
He came over to me and patted my stomach and asked, "Do you have a baby in there?" Being very aware that I have gained some weight and it all landed in my middle, I laughed and replied, "No. There's no baby in there, but it does look like it, doesn't it?" Well, that wasn't the end of it. He started kneading my tummy saying, "Yes, there's a baby in there. I can feel it." At that point, I grabbed a book.
Good thing he is only three and as his expecting mother explained, "Oh, don't take it personally, he does that to himself, too." Easy for her to say--she is 5 months pregnant and I just look like I am.
Okay, I can handle it. It was funny. However, I did pass on the cinnamon rolls while ago when I went through Sonic for some tea (unsweetened, of course).
A three year old can get away with saying things, but how do I explain this next "misspeak." I had lunch with two of my friends that I hadn't seen in awhile. One just celebrated her 50th birthday yesterday and was in town on business. The other friend I worked with in my preschool era.
As usual, the "how-are-you-doing" comments started up and the general inquiries of work, retirement, quickly followed with the "oh-you-look-great" comments that we all are so good at saying. Honestly, what are you going to say, "My goodness, you have really aged."
But then, in the conversation about work, retirement, grandchildren, my work friend threw into the conversation, "I am older than Leta" at which my younger friend replied without skipping a beat (and obviously without thinking), "You're kidding. Really?" Once again, I started laughing and she then realized what she had said. "Oh, I didn't say that right, did I? You both look great!" Too late!
Okay, a three year old can get away with saying things because of his age, but a 50 year old? Oh, now that I think about it, maybe a 50 year old is in the same boat. Remember, when we were 50? Mere children.
This would be an excellent time for the husband, or a friend, or anyone to pipe in a compliment to help boost me back up. Too bad no one was around, but wait...I just remembered--when I left to go to meet my friends for lunch dressed in my skinny jeans, cute jacket, tall boots with heels, no less, and with make-up on, the Mexican yard man did say, "You look pretty today." SO THERE!
I feel better now. And it's a good thing because this morning I got another one of those compliments that leave you wondering and laughing. I had an 8:30 eye appointment--a recheck for my recent cataract surgery which is quite ironic now after telling you the previous story. Nevertheless, a cute and young little nurse or aid or helper of some kind, called my name, "LEEETA," and I rose to go back to the examining room.
As I was crossing the reception area of the office, she paid me a compliment--Yay! Smile, smile. She said, "I like your jacket." I replied sweetly, "Why, thank you" (feeling good). Then she continued, "I used to have jackets like that but I gave them all away when they went out of style. I wish I had kept them!" I kid you not. Those were the words that came out of her mouth.
Of course, I laughed and replied, "When you get old and you have kept all your cute jackets, then you can wear them again when they come back." Weak, I know, but what can you say. I know I have had this jacket awhile, but now I'm in a quandary--do I put this jacket in the Goodwill box or hang it back in my closet? After all, there are no holes in it and it is evidently coming back in style.
It will probably go back in the closet with all the other cute jackets. Or maybe I should just have a huge yard sale for all those clothes that have been in my closet for awhile (like years).
Yes, then with all the money I make (haha), I will get a tummy tuck and a face lift. Better schedule that yard sale quickly, or maybe you guys can send donations--I don't know if my self-esteem can handle much more TRUTH!
I've had three truthful statements that have innocently been said to me in the last 24 hours. They are very funny but I've decided that I, personally, can only handle so much truth.
First of all, yesterday when the grandson and I were about to read some books, I found my spot on the sofa in his room. I sat all perched ready for him to present to me the books he wanted me to read to him. Then it happened!
He came over to me and patted my stomach and asked, "Do you have a baby in there?" Being very aware that I have gained some weight and it all landed in my middle, I laughed and replied, "No. There's no baby in there, but it does look like it, doesn't it?" Well, that wasn't the end of it. He started kneading my tummy saying, "Yes, there's a baby in there. I can feel it." At that point, I grabbed a book.
Good thing he is only three and as his expecting mother explained, "Oh, don't take it personally, he does that to himself, too." Easy for her to say--she is 5 months pregnant and I just look like I am.
Okay, I can handle it. It was funny. However, I did pass on the cinnamon rolls while ago when I went through Sonic for some tea (unsweetened, of course).
A three year old can get away with saying things, but how do I explain this next "misspeak." I had lunch with two of my friends that I hadn't seen in awhile. One just celebrated her 50th birthday yesterday and was in town on business. The other friend I worked with in my preschool era.
As usual, the "how-are-you-doing" comments started up and the general inquiries of work, retirement, quickly followed with the "oh-you-look-great" comments that we all are so good at saying. Honestly, what are you going to say, "My goodness, you have really aged."
But then, in the conversation about work, retirement, grandchildren, my work friend threw into the conversation, "I am older than Leta" at which my younger friend replied without skipping a beat (and obviously without thinking), "You're kidding. Really?" Once again, I started laughing and she then realized what she had said. "Oh, I didn't say that right, did I? You both look great!" Too late!
Okay, a three year old can get away with saying things because of his age, but a 50 year old? Oh, now that I think about it, maybe a 50 year old is in the same boat. Remember, when we were 50? Mere children.
This would be an excellent time for the husband, or a friend, or anyone to pipe in a compliment to help boost me back up. Too bad no one was around, but wait...I just remembered--when I left to go to meet my friends for lunch dressed in my skinny jeans, cute jacket, tall boots with heels, no less, and with make-up on, the Mexican yard man did say, "You look pretty today." SO THERE!
I feel better now. And it's a good thing because this morning I got another one of those compliments that leave you wondering and laughing. I had an 8:30 eye appointment--a recheck for my recent cataract surgery which is quite ironic now after telling you the previous story. Nevertheless, a cute and young little nurse or aid or helper of some kind, called my name, "LEEETA," and I rose to go back to the examining room.
As I was crossing the reception area of the office, she paid me a compliment--Yay! Smile, smile. She said, "I like your jacket." I replied sweetly, "Why, thank you" (feeling good). Then she continued, "I used to have jackets like that but I gave them all away when they went out of style. I wish I had kept them!" I kid you not. Those were the words that came out of her mouth.
Of course, I laughed and replied, "When you get old and you have kept all your cute jackets, then you can wear them again when they come back." Weak, I know, but what can you say. I know I have had this jacket awhile, but now I'm in a quandary--do I put this jacket in the Goodwill box or hang it back in my closet? After all, there are no holes in it and it is evidently coming back in style.
It will probably go back in the closet with all the other cute jackets. Or maybe I should just have a huge yard sale for all those clothes that have been in my closet for awhile (like years).
Yes, then with all the money I make (haha), I will get a tummy tuck and a face lift. Better schedule that yard sale quickly, or maybe you guys can send donations--I don't know if my self-esteem can handle much more TRUTH!
Monday, November 3, 2014
Treasuring Our Delusions
On my trip to see my sister in Northwest Arkansas this weekend, I started listening to a fiction book by Anna Quindlen, one of my favorite authors. I like to listen to books while I drive. It keeps me alert and it seems to shorten the trip. When we lived in Fort Worth, I was able to "read" lots of books simply by driving to work which was about a 30-45 minute drive depending on traffic.
It is amazing, though, how many books you can finish in a bunch of those 30 minute time frames. So this weekend I really got into this new book that I checked out from the library.
Sometimes when reading or listening you run across a phrase that resonates with you. The way in which an author uses language can be gripping. The problem in listening to such a book is when you hear a beautifully written sentence, you can't highlight it or reread it. You are forced to try to just remember it. I try really hard to remember such sentences. But half the time while I am repeating that beautifully written sentence to myself, I miss the next sentence or even sometimes paragraphs.
One book that particularly comes to mind in that regard was Thirteen Moons by Charles Frazier. My brilliant brother-in-law had recommended it and had expressed how rich the language was in it. Larry is a wonderful wordsmith himself. So I "read" it while making a few round trips between Fort Worth and Little Rock and was captivated by the beautiful prose.
Of course, I can't even begin to tell you now any of those sentences or phrases that I thought were so rich and eloquently written. Actually, I probably couldn't recite them minutes after I heard them. But I will always remember that Thirteen Moons was beautifully written as well as an excellent story.
Nevertheless, I got back to Little Rock last night right at the most intense moment of this current book. I have sat in the car and listened a little longer in such cases but not last night. I came in, sat down at the computer, and ordered the book for my Kindle. I did this for two reasons--I simply had to know what happened and there was a phrase that had really made me think when I heard it. I wanted to find that exact sentence again and ponder it.
So I bought the book, finished reading the book, and then went back through the book to find the sentence I was intrigued with and highlighted it. Here is the sentence that I paid good money to find!
Does that make you stop and think like it does me? Often "delusions" are referred to in the media when something happens to someone who is "not in his right mind." But I wanted to see the official definition. So I highlighted the word "delusion" and waited for the Kindle to go directly to the dictionary. (Ain't technology great?) I found the definition to be exactly as I thought--"a false belief or opinion."
Okay, but the sentence speaks of "treasuring our delusions." Hmmm. Do I?
I think back to me as a young twenty-three year old about to get married and with plenty of delusions. I had been a single teacher for a couple of years and I was so excited to be "finally" getting married. I had been in my older siblings weddings and had served in different capacities for some of my friends' weddings. In the 60's and 70's being a bride was up at the top of most girls' "To Do" lists. I know for some girls getting their "M.R.S." degree was more important than a "B.A." or "B.S.E" degree. It was why some went to college in the first place.
Now I wasn't like that. Although all my siblings had married while in college, and I didn't (not because I was too into my studies to be bothered by such, but because I was a "late bloomer." which means I didn't date much. But at least I did graduate in three years even though it was without the M.R.S. degree!) My delusion at that time in my life was that I, too, would get married in college like my siblings and many of my friends.
I must say that I wanted to do just like they did and find a wonderful husband. That's how it worked, right? Go to college, find the love of your life, get "pinned," get engaged, and finally get married. Then life would be perfect, complete; happiness would surround me. I would be an English teacher, have a family, and live happily ever after, right? I think I shared and treasured that delusion like many people did back then.
Oh my! Am I saying that I didn't have any happiness and didn't find a wonderful husband? No, not at all! It just happened differently from my "delusion," but I am thankful for the way reality set in.
Even though the timing of my marriage was not part of my original delusion, I think I still believed that everything would be easier being married. But, honestly, marriage, children, life--it is all hard--harder than anyone ever told me. At least, quite a bit harder than those delusional family sitcoms we watched on TV back then.
But wasn't it fun to think about "living happily ever after?"
I know now that those thoughts were delusions; but I treasured them at the time. I still have delusions that I treasure. I don't like to think of them really as "delusions," but they are.
For instance, I always dream that our family get-togethers (i.e. Christmas, other holidays, birthdays, vacations) will be perfect. Everyone would come decorate the Christmas tree with carols playing in the background, a fire crackling in the fireplace. Joy would be oozing out of everything we did.
Everyone would be so happy to see each other; no one would take offense at some joke or misspoken words. There would be plenty of sweet laughter. The food would be perfect. The house would stay clean. Everyone would want to stay at our house and visit family--not friends. Who would want to leave such sweet family fellowship? And Santa Claus actually comes down the chimney with everyone's most desired gifts, right?
But in reality it doesn't happen that way in our family. I'm not saying that we don't have wonderful, lovely times together; we do, but we are not "The Waltons" as in "Goodnight, Johnboy."
Then there is this other delusion that I have treasured--when my daughters grow up (and they have), I will be that wise and wonderful mother for whom my daughters come to and ask for advice. PLUS, (here's the best delusion ever) I will have the wisest answers for them filled with enough facts to fit the need, the down-home kind of truth that the wise women in stories can come up with instantaneously, a dash of humor to lighten the seriousness of this wonderful advice, and an abundance of love. They then go away a little in awe, thanking me and thinking how they hope they will somehow someday have even a small sprinkling of the wisdom that I have. Ahhh, yes. I'm getting a little teary-eyed thinking about it.
But the reality is that when they ask me a question or advice, I'm like, "Well, I don't remember exactly" or "Uh, let me think...Hmmm. Well, I just don't know, sweetie." They give me that sympathetic (or pathetic) look and go ask their friends.
It is unfortunate, I guess, that reality absolutely destroys delusions--these fairy-tale dreams. Or maybe that's not bad. Fairy tales can be scary too and fairly predictable after awhile.
Fairy tales usually have a princess or a queen. But being a princess or queen in these fairy tales has its problems as well, doesn't it? Crowns can get heavy and give you a headache. You might have to actually kiss frogs or sleep forever waiting for a kiss to wake you up, or live in a tower with long, long hair, or clean up after your mean family (oh, I do that--but they aren't mean though), or live with seven little men, who whistle all the time.
If these dreams or delusions actually happened, first of all, they wouldn't be "delusions," but more importantly you would miss all the fun and satisfaction of dealing with reality--like when you solve a problem at work, or figure out how to be in relationships, or how to make a living, or start to be thankful for those dateless nights which actually enabled you to build good girlfriend relationships and prove that you are okay by yourself, or knowing that you don't have to be perfect to be loved and adored, or being able to say, "Bye. Now go have fun with your friends. I'm going to bed."
So delusions are not real but maybe they have a real place in our lives. Maybe it is fine to treasure these unreal expectations, these delusions, for awhile. Maybe that is why we keep trying in our real lives--keep trying to have that idyllic Christmas, keep trying to improve, keep trying to have that satisfying relationship, keep hoping to become wise as we age.
I really don't know the answer, but I do know that delusions as well as reality help make us who we are. Now, I want to be the person who doesn't choose to treasure the delusions but rather to treasure my realities, no matter how difficult or pleasant they may be--that is my goal.
Is that just another delusion??? Hmmm.
It is amazing, though, how many books you can finish in a bunch of those 30 minute time frames. So this weekend I really got into this new book that I checked out from the library.
Sometimes when reading or listening you run across a phrase that resonates with you. The way in which an author uses language can be gripping. The problem in listening to such a book is when you hear a beautifully written sentence, you can't highlight it or reread it. You are forced to try to just remember it. I try really hard to remember such sentences. But half the time while I am repeating that beautifully written sentence to myself, I miss the next sentence or even sometimes paragraphs.
One book that particularly comes to mind in that regard was Thirteen Moons by Charles Frazier. My brilliant brother-in-law had recommended it and had expressed how rich the language was in it. Larry is a wonderful wordsmith himself. So I "read" it while making a few round trips between Fort Worth and Little Rock and was captivated by the beautiful prose.
Of course, I can't even begin to tell you now any of those sentences or phrases that I thought were so rich and eloquently written. Actually, I probably couldn't recite them minutes after I heard them. But I will always remember that Thirteen Moons was beautifully written as well as an excellent story.
Nevertheless, I got back to Little Rock last night right at the most intense moment of this current book. I have sat in the car and listened a little longer in such cases but not last night. I came in, sat down at the computer, and ordered the book for my Kindle. I did this for two reasons--I simply had to know what happened and there was a phrase that had really made me think when I heard it. I wanted to find that exact sentence again and ponder it.
So I bought the book, finished reading the book, and then went back through the book to find the sentence I was intrigued with and highlighted it. Here is the sentence that I paid good money to find!
"It's only before the realities set in that we can treasure our delusions."
Does that make you stop and think like it does me? Often "delusions" are referred to in the media when something happens to someone who is "not in his right mind." But I wanted to see the official definition. So I highlighted the word "delusion" and waited for the Kindle to go directly to the dictionary. (Ain't technology great?) I found the definition to be exactly as I thought--"a false belief or opinion."
Okay, but the sentence speaks of "treasuring our delusions." Hmmm. Do I?
I think back to me as a young twenty-three year old about to get married and with plenty of delusions. I had been a single teacher for a couple of years and I was so excited to be "finally" getting married. I had been in my older siblings weddings and had served in different capacities for some of my friends' weddings. In the 60's and 70's being a bride was up at the top of most girls' "To Do" lists. I know for some girls getting their "M.R.S." degree was more important than a "B.A." or "B.S.E" degree. It was why some went to college in the first place.
Now I wasn't like that. Although all my siblings had married while in college, and I didn't (not because I was too into my studies to be bothered by such, but because I was a "late bloomer." which means I didn't date much. But at least I did graduate in three years even though it was without the M.R.S. degree!) My delusion at that time in my life was that I, too, would get married in college like my siblings and many of my friends.
I must say that I wanted to do just like they did and find a wonderful husband. That's how it worked, right? Go to college, find the love of your life, get "pinned," get engaged, and finally get married. Then life would be perfect, complete; happiness would surround me. I would be an English teacher, have a family, and live happily ever after, right? I think I shared and treasured that delusion like many people did back then.
Oh my! Am I saying that I didn't have any happiness and didn't find a wonderful husband? No, not at all! It just happened differently from my "delusion," but I am thankful for the way reality set in.
Even though the timing of my marriage was not part of my original delusion, I think I still believed that everything would be easier being married. But, honestly, marriage, children, life--it is all hard--harder than anyone ever told me. At least, quite a bit harder than those delusional family sitcoms we watched on TV back then.
But wasn't it fun to think about "living happily ever after?"
I know now that those thoughts were delusions; but I treasured them at the time. I still have delusions that I treasure. I don't like to think of them really as "delusions," but they are.
For instance, I always dream that our family get-togethers (i.e. Christmas, other holidays, birthdays, vacations) will be perfect. Everyone would come decorate the Christmas tree with carols playing in the background, a fire crackling in the fireplace. Joy would be oozing out of everything we did.
Everyone would be so happy to see each other; no one would take offense at some joke or misspoken words. There would be plenty of sweet laughter. The food would be perfect. The house would stay clean. Everyone would want to stay at our house and visit family--not friends. Who would want to leave such sweet family fellowship? And Santa Claus actually comes down the chimney with everyone's most desired gifts, right?
But in reality it doesn't happen that way in our family. I'm not saying that we don't have wonderful, lovely times together; we do, but we are not "The Waltons" as in "Goodnight, Johnboy."
Then there is this other delusion that I have treasured--when my daughters grow up (and they have), I will be that wise and wonderful mother for whom my daughters come to and ask for advice. PLUS, (here's the best delusion ever) I will have the wisest answers for them filled with enough facts to fit the need, the down-home kind of truth that the wise women in stories can come up with instantaneously, a dash of humor to lighten the seriousness of this wonderful advice, and an abundance of love. They then go away a little in awe, thanking me and thinking how they hope they will somehow someday have even a small sprinkling of the wisdom that I have. Ahhh, yes. I'm getting a little teary-eyed thinking about it.
But the reality is that when they ask me a question or advice, I'm like, "Well, I don't remember exactly" or "Uh, let me think...Hmmm. Well, I just don't know, sweetie." They give me that sympathetic (or pathetic) look and go ask their friends.
It is unfortunate, I guess, that reality absolutely destroys delusions--these fairy-tale dreams. Or maybe that's not bad. Fairy tales can be scary too and fairly predictable after awhile.
Fairy tales usually have a princess or a queen. But being a princess or queen in these fairy tales has its problems as well, doesn't it? Crowns can get heavy and give you a headache. You might have to actually kiss frogs or sleep forever waiting for a kiss to wake you up, or live in a tower with long, long hair, or clean up after your mean family (oh, I do that--but they aren't mean though), or live with seven little men, who whistle all the time.
If these dreams or delusions actually happened, first of all, they wouldn't be "delusions," but more importantly you would miss all the fun and satisfaction of dealing with reality--like when you solve a problem at work, or figure out how to be in relationships, or how to make a living, or start to be thankful for those dateless nights which actually enabled you to build good girlfriend relationships and prove that you are okay by yourself, or knowing that you don't have to be perfect to be loved and adored, or being able to say, "Bye. Now go have fun with your friends. I'm going to bed."
So delusions are not real but maybe they have a real place in our lives. Maybe it is fine to treasure these unreal expectations, these delusions, for awhile. Maybe that is why we keep trying in our real lives--keep trying to have that idyllic Christmas, keep trying to improve, keep trying to have that satisfying relationship, keep hoping to become wise as we age.
I really don't know the answer, but I do know that delusions as well as reality help make us who we are. Now, I want to be the person who doesn't choose to treasure the delusions but rather to treasure my realities, no matter how difficult or pleasant they may be--that is my goal.
Is that just another delusion??? Hmmm.
Monday, October 27, 2014
The Thorn in My Side(Walk)
I've been thinking a lot lately about self-improvements. I've read articles; I've bought books; I've actually started working on a few things. But I am having difficulty getting my head around all of these self-improvement goals of mine. You see, I am a waverer.
Some days I waver between "Oh, heck, I am what I am" and "I have to do better in this area!" "This" can mean a number of things--getting into shape, getting more organized, getting more spiritual...you name it. I'm sure there is nothing wrong with trying to improve oneself at the age of sixty-four even though some people might say, "Too late" while others might say, "About time." (I waver on those opinions, too.)
So this morning I was in the "I have to do better" mode and decided to attack two of my present self-improvement goals. I was going to walk and "be spiritual." I figured that the walking part would be natural and easy. After all, for much of my adult life, I was a runner. I easily ran anywhere from 10-15 miles a week, sometimes more--not a marathon but hey...So walking should be a breeze.
Since walking wouldn't be a problem, then it shouldn't be difficult to pray and talk to God while I was walking. Surely, I can walk and talk, right? So off I went, and at a good pace as well. I was getting in the zone both physically and spiritually. I was thanking God for the beauty of the morning. I was expressing how I know He doesn't ever leave us; we are the ones who distance ourselves from Him. I vowed to make myself do the things to draw me closer to God--to make me always aware of Him.
I don't know about you, but sometimes I get busy in my own busyness and leave God alone. After all, I am sure He is very busy Himself. But you must know that when I really, really need Him (as in "HELP!"), I definitely expect Him to be with me and He is. Now, I know that is not very spiritually mature and I admitted that to God this morning. (I'm pretty sure He already knew it though.)
Trying to grow spiritually, I remembered that our Sunday School teacher told us that we not only need to pray but we also need to listen--listen for God's voice; listen for His guidance. So, after awhile this morning, I quit talking to God and started trying to listen. (I really wish He would talk louder.) I wasn't sure that He talked to me at all though because it sounded a lot like me talking to me.
Maybe I just didn't give Him enough time. But I was really interested and determined to hear Him--I was there with an open heart, an open mind and a respectable walking pace. I was aware of my surroundings (and focusing on God). Being aware of my surroundings is especially important since the sidewalks are typical of old neighborhoods--sometimes they're broken making a stumble possible if you are not paying attention. But I was paying attention--thank goodness. I have taken a tumble before on walks. Not today though.
But being so aware, so focused on God, I didn't foresee another mishap seconds from happening. Out of the blue and all of a sudden something fiercely slapped into my hand and legs. I didn't know what it was, but I immediately felt the pain from it. Then quick as a wink out from my mouth came the loudest and worst
I looked down to find that I was stuck with thorns (BIG thorns) across my legs and in my hand. Where, oh where, had that come from (the branch not the expletive--I knew where the words had come from, unfortunately!) Then I saw the overgrown bush with one branch, so innocuously-looking from a few feet away, reaching across the sidewalk waiting to attack me.
I immediately recognized the irony of the situation as I was picking out the thorns. How can a person go from so reverent to so profane so instantaneously. I guess God understands and, thank goodness, His love is unconditional, but honestly--it was just a split second!
Realizing how abrupt my change of focus and attitude occurred, it was definitely a disappointment to me--after all, I was really trying. But those thorns stuck in my legs and hand took my immediate attention. They were ridiculously painful.
However, as I continued my walk (yes, I continued), I thought about thorns in general and I thought specifically about the crown of thorns that Christ was made to wear. What pain He had to endure. A few were dreadful to me but a crown of them? Oh my!
So, I admit--I definitely have a ways to go on my spiritual journey. But maybe my walk did my body and spirituality some good today!
I think I actually learned a few things:
Some days I waver between "Oh, heck, I am what I am" and "I have to do better in this area!" "This" can mean a number of things--getting into shape, getting more organized, getting more spiritual...you name it. I'm sure there is nothing wrong with trying to improve oneself at the age of sixty-four even though some people might say, "Too late" while others might say, "About time." (I waver on those opinions, too.)
So this morning I was in the "I have to do better" mode and decided to attack two of my present self-improvement goals. I was going to walk and "be spiritual." I figured that the walking part would be natural and easy. After all, for much of my adult life, I was a runner. I easily ran anywhere from 10-15 miles a week, sometimes more--not a marathon but hey...So walking should be a breeze.
Since walking wouldn't be a problem, then it shouldn't be difficult to pray and talk to God while I was walking. Surely, I can walk and talk, right? So off I went, and at a good pace as well. I was getting in the zone both physically and spiritually. I was thanking God for the beauty of the morning. I was expressing how I know He doesn't ever leave us; we are the ones who distance ourselves from Him. I vowed to make myself do the things to draw me closer to God--to make me always aware of Him.
I don't know about you, but sometimes I get busy in my own busyness and leave God alone. After all, I am sure He is very busy Himself. But you must know that when I really, really need Him (as in "HELP!"), I definitely expect Him to be with me and He is. Now, I know that is not very spiritually mature and I admitted that to God this morning. (I'm pretty sure He already knew it though.)
Trying to grow spiritually, I remembered that our Sunday School teacher told us that we not only need to pray but we also need to listen--listen for God's voice; listen for His guidance. So, after awhile this morning, I quit talking to God and started trying to listen. (I really wish He would talk louder.) I wasn't sure that He talked to me at all though because it sounded a lot like me talking to me.
Maybe I just didn't give Him enough time. But I was really interested and determined to hear Him--I was there with an open heart, an open mind and a respectable walking pace. I was aware of my surroundings (and focusing on God). Being aware of my surroundings is especially important since the sidewalks are typical of old neighborhoods--sometimes they're broken making a stumble possible if you are not paying attention. But I was paying attention--thank goodness. I have taken a tumble before on walks. Not today though.
But being so aware, so focused on God, I didn't foresee another mishap seconds from happening. Out of the blue and all of a sudden something fiercely slapped into my hand and legs. I didn't know what it was, but I immediately felt the pain from it. Then quick as a wink out from my mouth came the loudest and worst
#$@&%*! ever! I looked down to find that I was stuck with thorns (BIG thorns) across my legs and in my hand. Where, oh where, had that come from (the branch not the expletive--I knew where the words had come from, unfortunately!) Then I saw the overgrown bush with one branch, so innocuously-looking from a few feet away, reaching across the sidewalk waiting to attack me.I immediately recognized the irony of the situation as I was picking out the thorns. How can a person go from so reverent to so profane so instantaneously. I guess God understands and, thank goodness, His love is unconditional, but honestly--it was just a split second!
Realizing how abrupt my change of focus and attitude occurred, it was definitely a disappointment to me--after all, I was really trying. But those thorns stuck in my legs and hand took my immediate attention. They were ridiculously painful.
However, as I continued my walk (yes, I continued), I thought about thorns in general and I thought specifically about the crown of thorns that Christ was made to wear. What pain He had to endure. A few were dreadful to me but a crown of them? Oh my!
So, I admit--I definitely have a ways to go on my spiritual journey. But maybe my walk did my body and spirituality some good today!
I think I actually learned a few things:
- It is terribly easy for me to "stumble."
- When I stumble, literally or figuratively, I usually say things I wish I hadn't.
- Christ never stumbled but still suffered; the depth of suffering that Christ endured for us all was more than I have ever physically endured.
- There are pitfalls (thorns) everywhere and no matter how often you talk and listen to God or how close you feel to Him, you can still experience a "thorn."
- Those people whose lives seem extraordinarily smooth and spiritually rich likely have a few unexpected thorns show up along their paths as well.
Saturday, October 11, 2014
Thinking Small
I've been trying to think small lately. "No, you have it wrong," you say. "Think BIG." Isn't that the idea our society wants us to adopt. Bigger dreams, bigger houses, bigger bank accounts, bigger number of followers on Facebook--everything and anything that is big is supposed to be better.
Truthfully, I've always liked big. I've totally bought into the concept of big is good, more is better. If you are in my house, you know it. And, if you are in my attic, you would actually see it. Our attic just got a lot more crowded when I was preparing for company recently. I used it to store things from the house which couldn't be hidden in the microwave or under the bed or in the car. Doing that led me to see how much better (and bigger) my house looked. See, I told you I bought into the BIG idea.
So it's obvious that I really need to get rid of things. (Not the first time I've had this thought. Really it happens each change of season, each time I clean my house, each time I go to the attic.) But this thought process has also been instigated by a book I recently bought (and rediscovered while removing piles). It is called The Big Tiny by Dee Williams. It is about a young woman who after some health problems decided to sell her big house, which was consuming her time and money in repairs as well as maintenance, and build herself tiny house.
Now she is not the only one that has had this idea. The tiny house concept has become quite popular. This movement is almost a decade old now. I'm sure you have heard of it. There is even a television series called "Tiny House Nation." Some of these "tiny houses" are as big as 300 square feet. Dee Williams house is only 86 square feet and cost her $10,000.
In her memoir she states, “The best part of living in a little house is discovering that I can now work part time. There’s no hefty mortgage or utility bills, no credit card debt tied to fixing the furnace or purchasing a new couch to fill the void in the living room…there is no void in the living room. Now I’ve got time to hang out with my friends, and to go for a long walk in the middle of the day. I have time to hang out with my neighbor’s four year old, and show him how to plant sunflower seeds in the garden. It’s the gift of time; that’s the best part of the deal.”
Anyway, all of this has me thinking--hypothetically, what would I have to have in a tiny house? Obviously, just personal necessities. The tiny houses are built with amazingly cute multipurpose spaces--like the kitchen island that is also a dog crate or the book case that is also a Murphy bed. Or the kitchen table that makes into a lovely guest bed. (Oh, I just made some of that up, but I'm sure it would be possible in the tiny house world of thinking.)
No matter how creative the design is, there is just so much space. To fit in a tiny house, no matter who you are, you will have to purge.
I think about all the stuff I now own--clothes, jewelry, shoes, books, art stuff, furniture, dishes, knick-knacks, wall decor/pictures, family pictures, toys for the grandson, linens, blankets, tablecloths, keepsakes, grooming aids and appliances, hair products and makeup, children's possessions (will you keep this for me for awhile, mom?), yard stuff, cleaning equipment. And that doesn't even include the attic.
So let's say I am moving to a tiny house. Help me think this through...I would need a bathtub for when I get jumpy legs--okay, I promise to take my meds on time and forego the space for a tub. I could probably just have a microwave and a fridge. Kinda want a dishwasher though. And those 2 burner stove tops would be handy. Of course a washer and dryer--probably the kind that is one unit but does both things.
Since the essentials are built-in, all I have to do now is decide what personal items I would need. How many clothes and shoes and books, and jewelry are mandatory? This is going to be hard.
Let's start there--with my wardrobe. Thinking about closet space, how about if I would take 2 pair of jeans and 5 casual tops (remember now Dee and I only "have to work part time"), pair of nice black pants, 4 nice tops, a blazer-type jacket, a cardigan sweater, and a coat--can't be too big though but we don't have all that many really really cold days. Then there would be a pair casual shoes, pair of tennis shoes, a pair of boots, gloves, sock hat.
I'd take a set of sheets, a blanket, 2 towels and 4 washcloths (I don't know why 4 washcloths but only 2 towels), 2 kitchen towels and again 4 dishcloths.
I'd take my Samsung Galaxy and iPhone for reading material, plus my Bible. (Can't take all those books, for heaven's sake.) Of course, the computer--have to get a laptop replacement. Yes, I would have to have a TV, but that could be built in over the dining table/guest bed/dog crate/fireplace. No problem.
What else? Kitchen things--my coffee maker, 4 plates, 4 cups, 1 pot, 1 skillet, spatula, wooden spoon, can opener (manual), 4 place settings of silver ware. Oh, I also will need a mixing bowl and 2 or 3 serving dishes for when company comes over. (You will come over, won't you?)
Well, I guess I have figured it out. I would just pack one suitcase and really not even need a "carry-on" and drive on over to my new tiny house. No need for a moving van. Unpacking and arranging won't take long.
I guess I'd better meet my new neighbors and hang out with their children and plant some sunflower seeds. Uh-oh, I didn't bring my gardening tools. Hmmm. Well, forget that. We'll read a book. Nope, no books. We can make cookies--yikes! No oven. We will go for a long walk--hope it's not too hot or too cold cause I don't have any shorts or a really big coat.
Maybe a tiny house is not for me, but at least, I have a clearer idea of what is really important and necessary and what is not. And not surprisingly, lots of my things would fall under the "not necessary" side of the tally sheet which is probably true for all of us.
I have convinced myself to do a purging in this house and attic. I am goingto try to reduce the clutter, clothes, decorations, papers, books, toys, and all those other extras.
I am going to think smaller--less is more. Yes? (we'll see....)
Truthfully, I've always liked big. I've totally bought into the concept of big is good, more is better. If you are in my house, you know it. And, if you are in my attic, you would actually see it. Our attic just got a lot more crowded when I was preparing for company recently. I used it to store things from the house which couldn't be hidden in the microwave or under the bed or in the car. Doing that led me to see how much better (and bigger) my house looked. See, I told you I bought into the BIG idea.
So it's obvious that I really need to get rid of things. (Not the first time I've had this thought. Really it happens each change of season, each time I clean my house, each time I go to the attic.) But this thought process has also been instigated by a book I recently bought (and rediscovered while removing piles). It is called The Big Tiny by Dee Williams. It is about a young woman who after some health problems decided to sell her big house, which was consuming her time and money in repairs as well as maintenance, and build herself tiny house.
Now she is not the only one that has had this idea. The tiny house concept has become quite popular. This movement is almost a decade old now. I'm sure you have heard of it. There is even a television series called "Tiny House Nation." Some of these "tiny houses" are as big as 300 square feet. Dee Williams house is only 86 square feet and cost her $10,000.
In her memoir she states, “The best part of living in a little house is discovering that I can now work part time. There’s no hefty mortgage or utility bills, no credit card debt tied to fixing the furnace or purchasing a new couch to fill the void in the living room…there is no void in the living room. Now I’ve got time to hang out with my friends, and to go for a long walk in the middle of the day. I have time to hang out with my neighbor’s four year old, and show him how to plant sunflower seeds in the garden. It’s the gift of time; that’s the best part of the deal.”
Anyway, all of this has me thinking--hypothetically, what would I have to have in a tiny house? Obviously, just personal necessities. The tiny houses are built with amazingly cute multipurpose spaces--like the kitchen island that is also a dog crate or the book case that is also a Murphy bed. Or the kitchen table that makes into a lovely guest bed. (Oh, I just made some of that up, but I'm sure it would be possible in the tiny house world of thinking.)
No matter how creative the design is, there is just so much space. To fit in a tiny house, no matter who you are, you will have to purge.
I think about all the stuff I now own--clothes, jewelry, shoes, books, art stuff, furniture, dishes, knick-knacks, wall decor/pictures, family pictures, toys for the grandson, linens, blankets, tablecloths, keepsakes, grooming aids and appliances, hair products and makeup, children's possessions (will you keep this for me for awhile, mom?), yard stuff, cleaning equipment. And that doesn't even include the attic.
So let's say I am moving to a tiny house. Help me think this through...I would need a bathtub for when I get jumpy legs--okay, I promise to take my meds on time and forego the space for a tub. I could probably just have a microwave and a fridge. Kinda want a dishwasher though. And those 2 burner stove tops would be handy. Of course a washer and dryer--probably the kind that is one unit but does both things.
Since the essentials are built-in, all I have to do now is decide what personal items I would need. How many clothes and shoes and books, and jewelry are mandatory? This is going to be hard.
Let's start there--with my wardrobe. Thinking about closet space, how about if I would take 2 pair of jeans and 5 casual tops (remember now Dee and I only "have to work part time"), pair of nice black pants, 4 nice tops, a blazer-type jacket, a cardigan sweater, and a coat--can't be too big though but we don't have all that many really really cold days. Then there would be a pair casual shoes, pair of tennis shoes, a pair of boots, gloves, sock hat.
I'd take a set of sheets, a blanket, 2 towels and 4 washcloths (I don't know why 4 washcloths but only 2 towels), 2 kitchen towels and again 4 dishcloths.
I'd take my Samsung Galaxy and iPhone for reading material, plus my Bible. (Can't take all those books, for heaven's sake.) Of course, the computer--have to get a laptop replacement. Yes, I would have to have a TV, but that could be built in over the dining table/guest bed/dog crate/fireplace. No problem.
What else? Kitchen things--my coffee maker, 4 plates, 4 cups, 1 pot, 1 skillet, spatula, wooden spoon, can opener (manual), 4 place settings of silver ware. Oh, I also will need a mixing bowl and 2 or 3 serving dishes for when company comes over. (You will come over, won't you?)
Well, I guess I have figured it out. I would just pack one suitcase and really not even need a "carry-on" and drive on over to my new tiny house. No need for a moving van. Unpacking and arranging won't take long.
I guess I'd better meet my new neighbors and hang out with their children and plant some sunflower seeds. Uh-oh, I didn't bring my gardening tools. Hmmm. Well, forget that. We'll read a book. Nope, no books. We can make cookies--yikes! No oven. We will go for a long walk--hope it's not too hot or too cold cause I don't have any shorts or a really big coat.
Maybe a tiny house is not for me, but at least, I have a clearer idea of what is really important and necessary and what is not. And not surprisingly, lots of my things would fall under the "not necessary" side of the tally sheet which is probably true for all of us.
I have convinced myself to do a purging in this house and attic. I am going
I am going to think smaller--less is more. Yes? (we'll see....)
Sunday, August 24, 2014
Spirited and Spiritual
But I must admit I have been less than faithful in church attendance the last few years. I guess if we still had to fill out the offering envelopes like we were given each week back then, I would not be getting 100% these days.
You remember those envelopes. They had the little boxes in which you checked the categories that you did that week. The boxes were labeled something like "Present," "On Time," "Daily Bible Reading," "Contacts," "Offering," and maybe some other categories. As I remember, they all had a percentage attached to each box. I'm not sure which ones ranked higher in the percentages, but somehow they all equaled up to a 100%. I guess that meant if you could check them all then you were a 100% Christian at least for that week.
I was diligent back then. I wanted to be a 100% Christian, so I tried my best to be able to complete each category. The hardest category was the "Daily Bible Readings." Naturally, that would be the hardest--there wasn't a question of being "Present" or "On Time" although now I wonder how Mom did that with four children. I don't think I was ever on time to church (or practically anywhere else) with my three young children. And the older they got, the later we got there.
The "Offering" was a given too. Mom would give us our money to put in. So that was done. And as for the "Contacts," my sister and I were always checking with each other or our friends from church to see if they were going to church. I'm pretty positive that it was more a matter of making sure we had someone to sit with than their spiritual health. Plus then we could check the "Contacts" box! Important.
But that pesky "Daily Bible Reading" took the most discipline. (It's kinda like taking your make-up off now. You feel guilty if you skip it even if you are too tired to do another thing. Nevertheless, you drag yourself to the bathroom and clean your face--feeling quite righteous afterwards.) I remember a few times (okay, many times) thinking I was too tired to read all those verses--in the King James Version, no less. However, knowing come Sunday I would have to fill out my envelope, I would drag the Bible and quarterly to the bed and "read" it. (This too creates that "righteous" feeling--at least back then...well, maybe now a little too!)
Actually, I remember my sister and I sometimes would take turns reading aloud so one person could do the work and two could get the credit. We were both good readers, so it wouldn't take long to say the words. I can't say I was always really reading the words or listening too much to the words, but the Bible was opened and the scheduled readings were duly completed for the day; therefore, even that box could be checked.
So, with such strong and worthwhile habits instilled in me while growing up, you would think it would be a given that I still had these habits. My thoughts exactly. But I have unfortunately learned that bad habits are way easier to keep than good habits. So the fact that I have been returning to my good habit of being "Present" at Sunday School and Church feels right (and maybe, once again, a little righteous!)
But it has also made me wonder about things like "Spirituality." (I wonder if "Spiritual" was one of the boxes that I may have forgotten? Maybe it would be one now if they still had those envelopes.) I know these days more and more people, young and old, have given to being "Home Churched" rather than going to Church--they are "Spiritual" rather than "Religious."
I'm sure there are lots of "official" explanations for this trend. But I am looking for my own personal answer. I guess I am wondering how I can be spiritual, religious, church-going, a 100% Christian each week yet still be me--spirited yet growing in spirituality.
Maybe I'll resort back to the checklist--revisited and revised. This will be my own little church envelope:
 |
| Present |
|
| Bible Reading |
|
| SS/Church |
|
| Offerings |
|
| Spiritual Growth |
Well, it's a start! Obviously, I won't be turning this in each Sunday, but, hopefully, the accountability will be here with this post. I'll let you know. Plus, I really like these cute little pink squares!
Leta
Saturday, July 5, 2014
Mr. McVeeBee
I wish I had been Andy Taylor, Sheriff Taylor, that is, when my children were growing up. Oh, heck, I wish I were him now. I'm sure he would have been as good a grandparent as he was a parent--a single parent at that.
Here's why--in case you have forgotten the gentle sheriff or if you haven't watched "The Andy Griffith Show" recently. (Why you should watch this delightful show is for a whole other post!)
But this morning I joined the husband while he was watching some old "Andy Griffith"--the early black and white series with little Opie, Aunt Bee, Barney, and, of course, the oh-so-wise and patient Sheriff Taylor. In this episode, Opie got himself in trouble (at least with Barney) about his imagination.
At first it was the black horse that he galloped around on and then, when called into breakfast, he tied the horse to the hitching post outside the back door. Literal Barney totally bought into the black horse story and of course was puffed up and indignant when he realized it was a "play-like" black horse.
Then Opie, while roaming around in the woods, discovered a telephone lineman working high in the trees. Mr. McVeeBee and Opie became friends at once. (Remember this was in the 50's--in the time that kids could play outside, walk around in the town or woods, visit with strangers, and go home in time for supper.)
The conflict is this episode was whether to believe Opie or not when he claimed to have met Mr. McVeeBee.
In an online summary of the show, it says, "Opie talks excitedly about his new friend, Mr. McVeeBee, and describes him in fantastical terms (he walks in the treetops, wears a silver hat, has twelve extra hands, blows smoke from his ears, etc.). At first Andy and Barney accept this as childhood make-believe, but when Opie starts coming home with a series of gifts (including an Indian hatchet) supposedly from Mr. McVeeBee, Andy is forced to call the fantasizing to a halt. Meanwhile, we are made privy to the fact that Mr. McVeeBee is indeed real and that his whimsical quirks all have a rational explanation. Andy tells Opie he will not punish him if he denies Mr. McVeeBee's existence."
Although Opie tries to deny Mr. McVeeBee's existence to stay out of a punishment, he can't. Nor can Andy punish him for his determined belief. Does one have to see Mr. McVeeBee to believe he exists? What a choice: reason or faith?
Even though that series is old, the parable that it illustrates is still relevant, impressive and thought-provoking today. What an impact that had on me.
But I also was touched once again by the gentleness, kindness, and patience that Andy had with little Opie. Of course, that was fiction; that constantly calm, rational, and soft-spoken parent really doesn't exist, right?
Let me say, they do exist. The way Andy handled this situation with Opie in today's show reminds me of how my daughter and her husband deal with my grandson. Never raising their voices; always removing him from a situation when he is having a problem or a disagreeable moment, and then talking to him gently, not losing their cool, using logic--not threats. Yes, it exists. It exists in my sweet daughter and son-in-law's home. Oh my, they are so good with that little "Opie" of theirs. I am so proud of them.
Like I said, I wish I had been that "Andy Taylor-wise" while my own children were growing up. Maybe if I just spend the day watching more of him, it will rub off on me. I'm suggesting that simply to learn, you know, not to put off my chores. Hmmm, now how would Andy handle that?
Okay, off to work I go..........maybe! But if you don't have chores, tune in to Andy!
Leta
Here's why--in case you have forgotten the gentle sheriff or if you haven't watched "The Andy Griffith Show" recently. (Why you should watch this delightful show is for a whole other post!)
But this morning I joined the husband while he was watching some old "Andy Griffith"--the early black and white series with little Opie, Aunt Bee, Barney, and, of course, the oh-so-wise and patient Sheriff Taylor. In this episode, Opie got himself in trouble (at least with Barney) about his imagination.
At first it was the black horse that he galloped around on and then, when called into breakfast, he tied the horse to the hitching post outside the back door. Literal Barney totally bought into the black horse story and of course was puffed up and indignant when he realized it was a "play-like" black horse.
Then Opie, while roaming around in the woods, discovered a telephone lineman working high in the trees. Mr. McVeeBee and Opie became friends at once. (Remember this was in the 50's--in the time that kids could play outside, walk around in the town or woods, visit with strangers, and go home in time for supper.)
The conflict is this episode was whether to believe Opie or not when he claimed to have met Mr. McVeeBee.
In an online summary of the show, it says, "Opie talks excitedly about his new friend, Mr. McVeeBee, and describes him in fantastical terms (he walks in the treetops, wears a silver hat, has twelve extra hands, blows smoke from his ears, etc.). At first Andy and Barney accept this as childhood make-believe, but when Opie starts coming home with a series of gifts (including an Indian hatchet) supposedly from Mr. McVeeBee, Andy is forced to call the fantasizing to a halt. Meanwhile, we are made privy to the fact that Mr. McVeeBee is indeed real and that his whimsical quirks all have a rational explanation. Andy tells Opie he will not punish him if he denies Mr. McVeeBee's existence."
Although Opie tries to deny Mr. McVeeBee's existence to stay out of a punishment, he can't. Nor can Andy punish him for his determined belief. Does one have to see Mr. McVeeBee to believe he exists? What a choice: reason or faith?
Even though that series is old, the parable that it illustrates is still relevant, impressive and thought-provoking today. What an impact that had on me.
But I also was touched once again by the gentleness, kindness, and patience that Andy had with little Opie. Of course, that was fiction; that constantly calm, rational, and soft-spoken parent really doesn't exist, right?
Let me say, they do exist. The way Andy handled this situation with Opie in today's show reminds me of how my daughter and her husband deal with my grandson. Never raising their voices; always removing him from a situation when he is having a problem or a disagreeable moment, and then talking to him gently, not losing their cool, using logic--not threats. Yes, it exists. It exists in my sweet daughter and son-in-law's home. Oh my, they are so good with that little "Opie" of theirs. I am so proud of them.
Like I said, I wish I had been that "Andy Taylor-wise" while my own children were growing up. Maybe if I just spend the day watching more of him, it will rub off on me. I'm suggesting that simply to learn, you know, not to put off my chores. Hmmm, now how would Andy handle that?
Okay, off to work I go..........maybe! But if you don't have chores, tune in to Andy!
Leta
Friday, July 4, 2014
Judging
Judging: 1. a balanced viewpoint through careful weighing of evidence; discernment
2. criticism
I looked up this word even though I "know" what it means. You, too, know what it means, right? We do it all the time although we may not use the actual word. In fact, we may not even use the first definition. The second one is so much easier.
How easy it is to "judge" other people by criticizing them (of course when they can't hear us). What an abundant amount of material there is to "judge" them by. We may judge a person by the way she dresses, talks, where he lives, what they do. So I guess unfortunately all my "judging" fits the second definition. But look at that first one--"a balanced viewpoint through careful weighing of evidence." My! Who has time to carefully weigh evidence when you are judging! I say that with sarcasm but I think it may be truer than I would want it to be.
In a courtroom I expect a "balanced viewpoint." The judge will look at all the sides of the evidence before announcing an opinion. But out of the courtroom, we all too often become "judges" but not necessarily with care or balance or discernment. We, or I, go directly to the criticism definition.
We've been taught that it is wrong to judge. It's in the Bible; it is part of parents' and teachers' instructions to their kids. So why do we do it?
Maybe we don't think we are doing it; maybe we have done it so much that it really doesn't phase us anymore. Nevertheless, why am I thinking about it today?
I guess it started when my son-in-law who lives nearby asked if he could borrow my paints. I said, "Of course, but I have to find them." I knew they were in my room, but that night my room was a mess. (Don't judge me!)
He followed me to the room and I looked in all the places I thought they might be in. Well, it was really a little more complicated than that because I had to step over piles all around my unmade bed to do so. (I have excuses if you want to hear them.) Nevertheless, I finally found them.
I also found that I was exceedingly embarrassed about the state of the room--enough so that I attacked the room the very next day and put it in perfect order. I was quite pleased with myself and decided to send Shaun a picture of it. I wanted him to see for himself that the room was clean and is most of the time (okay--some of the time).
So I sent him the picture of a very clean, organized, neat room with a message that stated something like, "See, I can clean it up." He sent back this message: "I won't judge you if you won't judge me!"
Wow! What an amazing young man. And the truth of it is that he means it. I know how easy it is to say the right thing but it is hard to always mean it. This guy is so genuine and sensible and nonjudgmental. He taught me something that day and I have thought of that comment many times since.
Judging--at least the second part of the definition, criticism--is so a part of our culture. We see in politics the constant judging and criticizing. In churches, the ministers are the first to be judged. Even in small groups of friends, we judge. We may like to call it discussing (gossip?), but in doing so, do we "achieve a balanced viewpoint?" Or do we just point out how someone is different from us (generally meaning they are wrong or not as good as we are)?
Judging others is not the only way of judging. I see it frequently as a personal thing. I judge myself often and I must say rather harshly. I think I ought to be as organized as so-and-so. Or enjoy cooking as much as that person. Or have a perfect marriage like "those" people. When expressing these shortcomings of mine, a very wise person said these words to me: "Do not judge others' outsides by your insides."
Wow again! I must admit I have done that. Those people living in those big, beautiful houses must have it made. That couple is always holding hands; they must have a great marriage. That top dog executive has it all! What a life. The Life looks so good from the outside. However, we really don't know their stories; we don't know what all goes on the inside of that house or that person. Their real stories may make us grateful for ours.
Okay, so all this judging, criticizing, or discerning--whatever you call it--happens. We deal with it. We resolve not to be so judgmental. We try to have a more balanced viewpoint. We fail and we try again.
I doubt that judging others or ourselves will stop; maybe reading this and thinking about judging will help. Maybe Shaun's comment will stick in your mind as it has mine.
But in case I have become too didactic, let me close with the quote:
Judging not,
Leta
Tuesday, June 3, 2014
Is Free Too Expensive?
Lately, I have become quite engaged with finding treasures, getting them practically free, and trying my hand at reselling them in my booth at an antique mall. I call it "my hobby." Hobbies are good, right? Well, for me this "hobby" has started having some definite down sides.
Sometimes I wonder if the neighbors are looking out their windows at all the junk I take into the house and all the junk I bring back out. Now, I'm not being paranoid. I know they don't watch or care what I do, so maybe I am just wondering myself why all this junk is being brought in and out of the house; maybe I am questioning the value of my "hobby."
The obvious reason for the transferring of all this junk is to fill my booth and become rich! Well, at least, to make enough to support my hobby. It has been a break-even endeavor for awhile. In fact, I did well enough to have two booths for a few months. Now for some reason I haven't even made my rent on one so I decided I would stop for awhile.
 |
| Booth I now share with Susie! |
Today was the day to totally close my booth and move stuff to hers. In the process, I had to move many of my treasures (junk?) home again. I have just finished unloading the trunk by putting it on the porch to expedite the process of getting stuff out of the trunk in the rain.
Then I dragged the stuff into the house to decide what will go back to the trunk to take to Goodwill. And while I'm at Goodwill, I might as well cruise through the shop and see if there are some good things at good prices (practically free) to take back home and eventually to the booth.
That's why the image of the neighbors slyly peering out their windows, clucking in disapproval, texting their neighbors to watch the fiasco, and writing down some of the items that were littered around the porch to be sure to discuss at their next neighborhood get-together came into my mind. (It probably happened on "Desperate Housewives.")
This parade, of course, starts when I buy the "whatevers," unload them out of the trunk, and bring them into the house. Then the scenario continues when I clean the stuff up, paint it, or simply get the price tags off (not an easy project) and lug it back to the trunk to go to the booth.
So you can imagine why I am wondering about all of this today after once again carting these "treasures" in and out of the car, the house, and the car again.
However, to make this all seem a little more worthwhile, I should tell you that I have learned some things from this experience. I have grown. I am probably a better person because of it. Let's see if I can verbalize it so you can totally see how much smarter I am about this business and life in general than when I started a year and a half ago.
1. If you don't leave something in the booth long enough, it won't sell.
2. If you leave something in the booth too long, it won't sell.
3. If it is priced too low, it won't sell.
4. If it is priced too high, it won't sell.
So, you see, I have it all figured out, don't I? Okay, I am being a little jaded. This is a tricky business though. You get something you think will sell the next day, and it takes weeks (if at all) to sell. Then some things are gone the next day. Yay! But it is pretty trendy. My problem is that I really like trends, but I'm usually into the last trend not the latest trend.
So you may be actually wondering, like I imagine my neighbors are--if they cared, why I am doing this, the answer is, "I don't know!" I'm trying to figure it out. It is fun, but time-consuming. It is costing me more money than I would like. It is cluttering up my house (at least my attic) and my mind. It is leaving too little time for other things I want and need to do.
Hmmm. Maybe I am figuring it out after all; it is dawning on me that this "hobby" and/or obsession is becoming too expensive and not just financially. The quest, the parade, the trade, and all the rest may need to be minimized in my life. In fact, it may need a complete break. I know! I know! What will the neighbors do without having a parade to watch???
I guess it is true: "What you get free costs too much." (Jean Anouilh)
Friday, May 30, 2014
An Honest to the Core Man
My Dad popped into my mind this morning. Maybe because one of my
uncles, Dad's youngest brother, is terribly sick. Maybe because I was
getting some tape off something I just painted and thinking about how
Dad would do it. He was always so meticulous. Or maybe it was because
of the lemon and avocado I got yesterday from the grocery store.
Oh, I think of Dad quite often actually. It is interesting to me to see what triggers my memories of him and Mom. But this morning, I think it was all of those things, but the lemon and avocado are the point of this story. (Yes, there is a point!)
Late yesterday afternoon I bought groceries while waiting to get my prescriptions filled in the in-store pharmacy. I bought the usual essentials and grabbed the avocado and lemon as I passed the produce table and threw them in the purse part of the shopping cart--that is what that little seat thingy in the cart is for, right?
My effort to pick up just a few things ended up totaling $92.00. It was just a few things, but of course, anymore a "few things" generally totals about $100.00. That makes me think of Dad, too. He used to say that no matter what you went into a big store for--even if it was just one thing--you could count on spending at least $20.00--a "cover charge," he explained. In his estimate you could not get out of the store for less than $20 a bag. Now I think it is even more than that.
Nevertheless, after cringing a tad at my "mid-week-grab-a-few-things" grocery stop, I had to repeat the expense when I picked up my prescriptions. Criminey!
Then to the car, I trudged, contemplating the amount of money I spent in such a short time and how tiring it was to wander around the grocery/big box store. While throwing the sacks into the car, I saw them. Right under my purse in the "purse thing" of the cart were the lemon and avocado. Darn it, I thought, or words to the effect.
I looked back at the store miles and miles away from where I parked and decided that the next time I was in the store (which likely would be the next day) I would tell them to add the price of a lemon and avocado to my bill. That assuaged my immediate guilt and I went home.
So
that brings me to this morning and Dad. I remember this story so
clearly because it was so Dad. One time Mom got home from grocery
shopping at her local big box store and was examining her receipt which
she did frequently. However, this time she noticed that the clerk had
not charged her for the cokes. As she also frequently did, she asked my
dad about it--what should she do? It amounted to probably $2 or $3.
Well, Dad, being the most ethical person ever, answered her by asking her, "What would you do if they had overcharged you?" That was all Mom needed to hear. She got back in her car and drove to the store and paid for the cokes.
That was Dad. He was honest to the core; he really didn't believe in those wonderful gray areas that we--or at least I--sometimes like to live in--where things can be justified to fit one's immediate need. He lived without rationalizing--"well, that store makes plenty of money" or "they sure are making a profit on those meds so what's a couple of dollars? They won't miss it."
But in Dad's head it was wrong. I agree it is wrong. But it was a gray-sorta day. And I was very, very tired--I had been on my feet doing art with the preschool kids for a couple of hours (that's a good thing, right, God?) and I had spent an hour or so before that wandering around a couple of other stores and Keith was home and hungry. See, how good I am at rationalizing! So I went home without paying for the lemon and avocado.
Hmmmm. I guess I'd better get my store clothes on and go back to the store and pay up!
Thanks, Dad. I feel better already!
Oh, I think of Dad quite often actually. It is interesting to me to see what triggers my memories of him and Mom. But this morning, I think it was all of those things, but the lemon and avocado are the point of this story. (Yes, there is a point!)
Late yesterday afternoon I bought groceries while waiting to get my prescriptions filled in the in-store pharmacy. I bought the usual essentials and grabbed the avocado and lemon as I passed the produce table and threw them in the purse part of the shopping cart--that is what that little seat thingy in the cart is for, right?
My effort to pick up just a few things ended up totaling $92.00. It was just a few things, but of course, anymore a "few things" generally totals about $100.00. That makes me think of Dad, too. He used to say that no matter what you went into a big store for--even if it was just one thing--you could count on spending at least $20.00--a "cover charge," he explained. In his estimate you could not get out of the store for less than $20 a bag. Now I think it is even more than that.
Nevertheless, after cringing a tad at my "mid-week-grab-a-few-things" grocery stop, I had to repeat the expense when I picked up my prescriptions. Criminey!
Then to the car, I trudged, contemplating the amount of money I spent in such a short time and how tiring it was to wander around the grocery/big box store. While throwing the sacks into the car, I saw them. Right under my purse in the "purse thing" of the cart were the lemon and avocado. Darn it, I thought, or words to the effect.
I looked back at the store miles and miles away from where I parked and decided that the next time I was in the store (which likely would be the next day) I would tell them to add the price of a lemon and avocado to my bill. That assuaged my immediate guilt and I went home.
So
that brings me to this morning and Dad. I remember this story so
clearly because it was so Dad. One time Mom got home from grocery
shopping at her local big box store and was examining her receipt which
she did frequently. However, this time she noticed that the clerk had
not charged her for the cokes. As she also frequently did, she asked my
dad about it--what should she do? It amounted to probably $2 or $3.Well, Dad, being the most ethical person ever, answered her by asking her, "What would you do if they had overcharged you?" That was all Mom needed to hear. She got back in her car and drove to the store and paid for the cokes.
That was Dad. He was honest to the core; he really didn't believe in those wonderful gray areas that we--or at least I--sometimes like to live in--where things can be justified to fit one's immediate need. He lived without rationalizing--"well, that store makes plenty of money" or "they sure are making a profit on those meds so what's a couple of dollars? They won't miss it."
But in Dad's head it was wrong. I agree it is wrong. But it was a gray-sorta day. And I was very, very tired--I had been on my feet doing art with the preschool kids for a couple of hours (that's a good thing, right, God?) and I had spent an hour or so before that wandering around a couple of other stores and Keith was home and hungry. See, how good I am at rationalizing! So I went home without paying for the lemon and avocado.
Hmmmm. I guess I'd better get my store clothes on and go back to the store and pay up!
Thanks, Dad. I feel better already!
Tuesday, May 6, 2014
May is for Mother
I think about my mother almost daily. I would guess that I probably think about her more now than when she was alive. Oh, I wasn't inattentive to my mom at all; I guess I just took her for granted. But I can't help but focus on her even more when May rolls around. May was Mom's month. She was born in May, 1922; we honored her every Mother's Day in May; and she died in May. That fits her. She lived a full cycle and she tidied it up before she left on the last day of May, 2006.
I use the word "tidied" because Mom was tidy--her house, her wardrobe, her make-up, her hair. She insisted on tidiness. Rarely would she leave the house without every bed made, every dish washed, every thing in the house in place and everything on her as well. Like I stated, she was tidy.
Now, I must say she didn't chose to leave this world on that last day of May. But it happened. And just as she left her house tidy and then some, she left this earth at a time that was tidily wrapped--like a period at the end of a sentence; or maybe an exclamation point.
To me her life was an exclamation point. She was one talented woman and mother. With her abilities, had she been born later, one would not have been surprised to see her as an executive of a large company. She had the skills to lead; she had the skills to get cooperation; she had the skills to multi-task; and she had the skills to get to know people and get them to do things.
However, she was born in a time when women's roles were to hold the fort down, to raise a family, to do the things necessary to keep the home running smoothly. Yet, even then, she had the personality to use the skills she had and run our household of 6 plus a dog with great ability.
She, along with my dad, started out their adult lives with little, but they had the desire and drive to better themselves. Reaching their goals was hard--they both worked long hours and taught us by example to be successful. There was a competitive side to them that they used to light the fire of achievement in themselves. And we kids all caught that competitive spirit. Because of them and their example, we didn't mind putting in the labor to achieve our own successes. Or maybe we didn't realize that there was another way to approach life, family, careers. Working long hours was what one did to do a good job.
Her long hours of work did not stop her from making us feel the unconditional love she had for us. Although she was a busy mom, she loved us and showed it through words and actions. I'm not sure how many times my sister and I went to bed at night leaving Mom sewing in the den. Then miraculously when we woke up a new skirt or dress, perfectly made, hung proudly on a door, crisply ironed, and ready for us to wear that morning. Amazing with that exclamation point!
She has been gone since May 31, 2006 and even eight years later, I still miss her. I miss hearing her call "Leta" with a definite pronunciation of the letter T in my name. Most people, including me, will soften that T into more like a D sound. When I say it or hear it said with that T sound, I think of her.
I miss her frequent phone calls to check on my family. I miss her encouragement. I miss going to see her. I miss her funny stories and questions--"Leta, how do you dust with all these things displayed on your furniture." Actually, I even miss her calling us to the kitchen to help.
Like I said, she was a multi-task maniac. She never missed a beat to get us involved in the many tasks of keeping a tidy house. For example, many Saturday nights when I was young and my oldest two siblings were out, my other sister and I would gather around the television after supper to watch Saturday Night at the Movies on our black and white TV. Mom would be at her sewing machine a few feet away, busy sewing or mending or cutting out a pattern. Then when a commercial came on, she would have us jump up and run to the kitchen (a few steps away) with her leading the way to wash and dry the dishes--by hand of course. It might have taken a few commercials to get it all done, but it did get done and rather painlessly, although I'm sure I protested at the time.
We have laughed many times when we talk about how Mom would get us all up on a Saturday morning. She would come through our rooms announcing, "10 (plus or minus a few) wagon loads of day have already gone by." Or "You're burning daylight" meaning get up out of bed--now. So, you say, "What's the matter with that?" I'll tell you--it was usually before 8:00 a.m. when she made her rounds. She, I'm sure, had been up since at least 6:00 and when you are up, I guess you think everyone is up or at least should be. No need to tell you what we did then, but I will. We got UP!
But, to her, there were things that needed to be done at our house! There were things to do, places to go, and people to see (but not until the chores were done!)
The funny part of this is, although a teenager at the time, I don't know that my siblings and I questioned it. Well, maybe we did question it but it was the way things were. But whenever I spent the night with a girl friend on a Friday night, I was always amazed that when we woke up, it might be as late as 11:00 or maybe even noon! Hmmm. I guess not every household was "burning daylight." But with Mom, the longer you sleep, the less time you have to do what needs to be done or what you want to do. That was what she did; so that's what we did.
It was done, however, in love. She was training us to meet our responsibilities by love and example. This love for us was unconditional which of course did not mean there were no rules, no discipline, no boundaries. We had those. Mother saw to that. There were high expectations in that house. Of course, it was showered with love.
A quote I found from Erich Fromm says, "The mother-child relationship is paradoxical...It requires the most intense love on the mother's side, yet this very love must help the child grow away from the mother, to become fully independent." How true. As a mother, I was so enamored with the beauty of my own little babies, the perfection of their bodies, and the joy of each stage they went through. I loved those babies so much it hurt. I'm sure you can relate. It is intense. But that is the job of parents--to love them and to guide them toward independence. I believe my mother achieved that. She loved us fiercely and she guided us to that independence that was necessary to become not just independent adults but also successful as well. She did all that while instilling us with high standards and high hopes and supplying plenty of love.
So May was all about Mom. Her having a birthday in May plus our celebrating Mother's Day made May a very special month. Then when Mom was 55 years old, she became a grandmother for the 7th time but for the first time for me making May a special time for another reason as well--my first daughter was also born. In fact, she was born just the day before my mom's birthday. That's been a few years for sure, but it is one I will never forget, as you mothers well know. Actually, fathers, too, but in a different way. I remember after that sweet baby girl finally got here, my mom and my sister-in-law came to visit us at the hospital the next day--Mom's birthday. (We didn't go to the hospital, have a baby, and the next day go home in 1977. By 1981, we did.) Nevertheless, they were there to visit me and see the baby. Maybe they were going to go eat lunch for her birthday; I don't remember.
One thing I do remember is telling my mom happy birthday and telling her how I wished that Holly had been born on her birthday. Then I quickly added--"I mean, I wish your birthday had been the day before because I wouldn't want to think about going through that again!" Well, of course, I did go through that again. In fact, two more times, but not the next day. Way too soon to think about "birthing a baby!"
But likely our relationship changed somewhat on that occasion, maybe it deepened. I had joined the sorority of moms and gave her baby a baby! (Mom was the baby of her family as was I.) Having a child creates a bond no doubt but it also equalizes the mother/daughter equation somewhat. By the time I had become a mother, Mom was well acquainted with the ways relationships change. She was also well aware that her children may or may not use the same techniques as she did to raise their own children. The adage "Imitation is the best form of flattery" and its antithesis may have been very personal to her.
My generation and the younger ones now realize that child-rearing is an ever-changing phenomenon. New authorities pop up; new books are written proclaiming the latest and best way to deal with children; and attitudes and parental actions change. But, you know, that adage packs a powerful punch. Honestly, who isn't at least a little bit flattered if someone does something in the manner you do because you do it.
I think insecurity enhances that feeling in me and maybe Mom. She was a very young mother, and likely a little insecure about certain things. She was only 18 when she had her first child. But like they say about a building, she had good bones. Her "bones" consisted of good common sense as well as a sharp brain. So as she grew into an adult, she grew significantly in her viewpoints and attitudes. She was always willing to learn. In fact, she kept a dictionary under her kitchen table in case there was a word she didn't know in the morning newspaper. She believed in education and made sure to instill in her four kids the necessity of graduating from college.
The fact that all four of us graduated and took post graduate hours proves that we bought into her belief. In fact, even all of her grandchildren earned a college degree. Ten out of ten is pretty darn good. And those ten grandchildren loved her. There was a special bond between them. Mom could always relate to young adults. So naturally as my children grew, so did their love and adoration of her. She was so supportive and positive to all of them.
In spite of all this love she gave and received, I think she wished she had done some things differently. (Don't we all?) But the fact is, she was an amazing mother. I knew that; my siblings knew that. But I'm not sure she always knew that. Some of us frequently second guess ourselves and I know she did. On occassion, she would confide in me telling me that I was a much better parent than she was. No, I wasn't; I wish I were more like her in many ways. I am thrilled when someone says I'm like her in this way or that. Oh, I wish I truly were.
My wonderful and sweet mom had so much love and so many talents and she never stopped sharing them. Even in her 80s she would make her famous bread and give it to neighbors, friends, or anyone who may have needed a lift. (It was that good!) She continued to mend and sew if one of us (especially her grandkids) needed something made or repaired. She continued to be interested and concerned about us, her friends, and the world. She could have fun--lots of fun, and be fun; she could laugh; she could tell some good stories; she was kind; she was loving; she was tidy.
I miss her.
I use the word "tidied" because Mom was tidy--her house, her wardrobe, her make-up, her hair. She insisted on tidiness. Rarely would she leave the house without every bed made, every dish washed, every thing in the house in place and everything on her as well. Like I stated, she was tidy.
Now, I must say she didn't chose to leave this world on that last day of May. But it happened. And just as she left her house tidy and then some, she left this earth at a time that was tidily wrapped--like a period at the end of a sentence; or maybe an exclamation point.
To me her life was an exclamation point. She was one talented woman and mother. With her abilities, had she been born later, one would not have been surprised to see her as an executive of a large company. She had the skills to lead; she had the skills to get cooperation; she had the skills to multi-task; and she had the skills to get to know people and get them to do things.
However, she was born in a time when women's roles were to hold the fort down, to raise a family, to do the things necessary to keep the home running smoothly. Yet, even then, she had the personality to use the skills she had and run our household of 6 plus a dog with great ability.
She, along with my dad, started out their adult lives with little, but they had the desire and drive to better themselves. Reaching their goals was hard--they both worked long hours and taught us by example to be successful. There was a competitive side to them that they used to light the fire of achievement in themselves. And we kids all caught that competitive spirit. Because of them and their example, we didn't mind putting in the labor to achieve our own successes. Or maybe we didn't realize that there was another way to approach life, family, careers. Working long hours was what one did to do a good job.
Her long hours of work did not stop her from making us feel the unconditional love she had for us. Although she was a busy mom, she loved us and showed it through words and actions. I'm not sure how many times my sister and I went to bed at night leaving Mom sewing in the den. Then miraculously when we woke up a new skirt or dress, perfectly made, hung proudly on a door, crisply ironed, and ready for us to wear that morning. Amazing with that exclamation point!
She has been gone since May 31, 2006 and even eight years later, I still miss her. I miss hearing her call "Leta" with a definite pronunciation of the letter T in my name. Most people, including me, will soften that T into more like a D sound. When I say it or hear it said with that T sound, I think of her.
I miss her frequent phone calls to check on my family. I miss her encouragement. I miss going to see her. I miss her funny stories and questions--"Leta, how do you dust with all these things displayed on your furniture." Actually, I even miss her calling us to the kitchen to help.
Like I said, she was a multi-task maniac. She never missed a beat to get us involved in the many tasks of keeping a tidy house. For example, many Saturday nights when I was young and my oldest two siblings were out, my other sister and I would gather around the television after supper to watch Saturday Night at the Movies on our black and white TV. Mom would be at her sewing machine a few feet away, busy sewing or mending or cutting out a pattern. Then when a commercial came on, she would have us jump up and run to the kitchen (a few steps away) with her leading the way to wash and dry the dishes--by hand of course. It might have taken a few commercials to get it all done, but it did get done and rather painlessly, although I'm sure I protested at the time.
We have laughed many times when we talk about how Mom would get us all up on a Saturday morning. She would come through our rooms announcing, "10 (plus or minus a few) wagon loads of day have already gone by." Or "You're burning daylight" meaning get up out of bed--now. So, you say, "What's the matter with that?" I'll tell you--it was usually before 8:00 a.m. when she made her rounds. She, I'm sure, had been up since at least 6:00 and when you are up, I guess you think everyone is up or at least should be. No need to tell you what we did then, but I will. We got UP!
But, to her, there were things that needed to be done at our house! There were things to do, places to go, and people to see (but not until the chores were done!)
The funny part of this is, although a teenager at the time, I don't know that my siblings and I questioned it. Well, maybe we did question it but it was the way things were. But whenever I spent the night with a girl friend on a Friday night, I was always amazed that when we woke up, it might be as late as 11:00 or maybe even noon! Hmmm. I guess not every household was "burning daylight." But with Mom, the longer you sleep, the less time you have to do what needs to be done or what you want to do. That was what she did; so that's what we did.
It was done, however, in love. She was training us to meet our responsibilities by love and example. This love for us was unconditional which of course did not mean there were no rules, no discipline, no boundaries. We had those. Mother saw to that. There were high expectations in that house. Of course, it was showered with love.
A quote I found from Erich Fromm says, "The mother-child relationship is paradoxical...It requires the most intense love on the mother's side, yet this very love must help the child grow away from the mother, to become fully independent." How true. As a mother, I was so enamored with the beauty of my own little babies, the perfection of their bodies, and the joy of each stage they went through. I loved those babies so much it hurt. I'm sure you can relate. It is intense. But that is the job of parents--to love them and to guide them toward independence. I believe my mother achieved that. She loved us fiercely and she guided us to that independence that was necessary to become not just independent adults but also successful as well. She did all that while instilling us with high standards and high hopes and supplying plenty of love.
So May was all about Mom. Her having a birthday in May plus our celebrating Mother's Day made May a very special month. Then when Mom was 55 years old, she became a grandmother for the 7th time but for the first time for me making May a special time for another reason as well--my first daughter was also born. In fact, she was born just the day before my mom's birthday. That's been a few years for sure, but it is one I will never forget, as you mothers well know. Actually, fathers, too, but in a different way. I remember after that sweet baby girl finally got here, my mom and my sister-in-law came to visit us at the hospital the next day--Mom's birthday. (We didn't go to the hospital, have a baby, and the next day go home in 1977. By 1981, we did.) Nevertheless, they were there to visit me and see the baby. Maybe they were going to go eat lunch for her birthday; I don't remember.
One thing I do remember is telling my mom happy birthday and telling her how I wished that Holly had been born on her birthday. Then I quickly added--"I mean, I wish your birthday had been the day before because I wouldn't want to think about going through that again!" Well, of course, I did go through that again. In fact, two more times, but not the next day. Way too soon to think about "birthing a baby!"
But likely our relationship changed somewhat on that occasion, maybe it deepened. I had joined the sorority of moms and gave her baby a baby! (Mom was the baby of her family as was I.) Having a child creates a bond no doubt but it also equalizes the mother/daughter equation somewhat. By the time I had become a mother, Mom was well acquainted with the ways relationships change. She was also well aware that her children may or may not use the same techniques as she did to raise their own children. The adage "Imitation is the best form of flattery" and its antithesis may have been very personal to her.
My generation and the younger ones now realize that child-rearing is an ever-changing phenomenon. New authorities pop up; new books are written proclaiming the latest and best way to deal with children; and attitudes and parental actions change. But, you know, that adage packs a powerful punch. Honestly, who isn't at least a little bit flattered if someone does something in the manner you do because you do it.
I think insecurity enhances that feeling in me and maybe Mom. She was a very young mother, and likely a little insecure about certain things. She was only 18 when she had her first child. But like they say about a building, she had good bones. Her "bones" consisted of good common sense as well as a sharp brain. So as she grew into an adult, she grew significantly in her viewpoints and attitudes. She was always willing to learn. In fact, she kept a dictionary under her kitchen table in case there was a word she didn't know in the morning newspaper. She believed in education and made sure to instill in her four kids the necessity of graduating from college.
The fact that all four of us graduated and took post graduate hours proves that we bought into her belief. In fact, even all of her grandchildren earned a college degree. Ten out of ten is pretty darn good. And those ten grandchildren loved her. There was a special bond between them. Mom could always relate to young adults. So naturally as my children grew, so did their love and adoration of her. She was so supportive and positive to all of them.
In spite of all this love she gave and received, I think she wished she had done some things differently. (Don't we all?) But the fact is, she was an amazing mother. I knew that; my siblings knew that. But I'm not sure she always knew that. Some of us frequently second guess ourselves and I know she did. On occassion, she would confide in me telling me that I was a much better parent than she was. No, I wasn't; I wish I were more like her in many ways. I am thrilled when someone says I'm like her in this way or that. Oh, I wish I truly were.
My wonderful and sweet mom had so much love and so many talents and she never stopped sharing them. Even in her 80s she would make her famous bread and give it to neighbors, friends, or anyone who may have needed a lift. (It was that good!) She continued to mend and sew if one of us (especially her grandkids) needed something made or repaired. She continued to be interested and concerned about us, her friends, and the world. She could have fun--lots of fun, and be fun; she could laugh; she could tell some good stories; she was kind; she was loving; she was tidy.
I miss her.
mother-child relationship is paradoxical and, in a sense, tragic. It
requires the most intense love on the mother's side, yet this very love
must help the child grow away from the mother, and to become fully
independent.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/mother_2.html#zl0gKJCPBT0VLHec.99
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/mother_2.html#zl0gKJCPBT0VLHec.99
The
mother-child relationship is paradoxical and, in a sense, tragic. It
requires the most intense love on the mother's side, yet this very love
must help the child grow away from the mother, and to become fully
independent.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/mother_2.html#zl0gKJCPBT0VLHec.99
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/mother_2.html#zl0gKJCPBT0VLHec.99
The
mother-child relationship is paradoxical and, in a sense, tragic. It
requires the most intense love on the mother's side, yet this very love
must help the child grow away from the mother, and to become fully
independent.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/mother_2.html#zl0gKJCPBT0VLHec.99
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/mother_2.html#zl0gKJCPBT0VLHec.99
The
mother-child relationship is paradoxical and, in a sense, tragic. It
requires the most intense love on the mother's side, yet this very love
must help the child grow away from the mother, and to become fully
independent.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/mother_2.html#zl0gKJCPBT0VLHec.99
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/mother_2.html#zl0gKJCPBT0VLHec.99
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
My Sisters!
I've written a few posts about some of my favorite people--some of my friends, my brother, my mother-in-law, various other family members. But I haven't written about two very important people in my life--my sisters.
They each deserve pages and pages written about them; they are so wonderful. But I couldn't decide which one to start with. Therefore, I am writing today about both of them. They are truly here for me all the time.
I know not everyone is as lucky as I am to have such wonderful friends who are also supportive sisters. If I could give anyone the best gift they could ever imagine, it would be to have sisters as superb as I have. I actually feel bad for those people who don't have a good relationship with their sisters or if they don't have a sister at all. I am lucky. I am blessed.
I think God knew I needed these two special people--these two sisters. He knew I needed them from the get-go. You see, I was the last of four kids. So I was lucky enough to have them and my brother from day one. And I am still lucky to have them.
They all have influenced me so much. Most of my childhood memories include my siblings especially Lana. She is the sister who is the other part of "the little girls' (the way we were collectively referred to growing up). She is only 19 months older than I am. So really, I pushed her out of the baby bed and baby position in the family. I was the baby then (and forever more--Baby Sue!)
Oh, but what a wonderful companion I had growing up. Sure, we fought a bunch. But we also played a lot--a built in playmate until she had to go to school, for heavens sake. That left me playing alone--so I took up playing with the wooden spools Mom would give me when they were emptied from her sewing machine. They were fun, but I missed my sister/playmate.
As typical girls, we played a lot with dolls. We had Toni dolls. We didn't have Barbies though. But the Toni dolls were wonderful--complete with dresses and some accessories. Not quite like the American Girl Dolls which my girls had. Of course, my girls only had one doll each, the book that went with the doll, and the outfit that came with her. Now I think you can spend a small fortune on those dolls and their accessories.
But we loved playing with our Toni dolls as well as our baby dolls. Oh, the hours we played together. We played so well with each other--until we didn't. Then one of us would holler, "Mama, she did ....." I'm not sure how Mama settled all those fights but she did and we would forgive, forget, and play again. When things were good, we would willingly share our dolls and toys; when things went foul, we became selfish and possessive--like I said, we were typical kids.
But sharing was basically mandatory for us--sharing clothes, sharing a bedroom, sharing the double bed, sharing the back seat on trips. Once again, when it was good, it was very good. And then not so much. Imaginary lines were drawn separating our spaces in the bed and the car. And not so imaginary complaints were made to the chief referee, Mom, and if she weren't readily available, we took our grievances to Lynda.
Nevertheless, we grew out of the daily fights and into a close grown-up relationship. I admire her so much. She not only is smart, kind, and giving, she is also a picture of stylish perfection. She is always impeccably dressed from head to toe. And here is the astonishing part--her toes even have pedicures in the WINTER!
Yes, she is absolutely the epitome of style. Classic and beautiful. But that's not all--it goes inward as well.
Plus, she still shares--she shares her advice, her make-up tips, her clothing tips. But most importantly she shares her support of me. She is there when I'm upset, discouraged, overwhelmed, lonesome, or happy. She is always there for me. Man, she is wonderful.
And so is my other sister, Lynda. I am doubly blessed and I know it.
Lynda wasn't my playmate, but she was my idol. As I was growing up, she was far enough ahead of me that I knew her in a different way from Lana. When I was entering first grade, she was entering 9th grade. Interest levels at that time were a little different to say the least.
But I was so in awe of her (and I still am). She was and is so kind, loving, and supportive even during those teen-age years (hers and mine!) Actually, she helped raise me. She apologetically says she was bossy. I disagree--she was helpful and loving.
She helped me with growing up which was more than just "helping raise" me; I could ask her questions and she would kindly answer. She continues to help me grow as I continue to ask her questions. She has always been so wise in her counsel to me and surely I have bent her ear for hours yet she continues to be attentive and caring. She weighs her words carefully and so beautifully encourages me as I need it. She sees the best in me and makes me want to believe her belief in me. Does that make sense?
She makes life sensible--the aches, the pains, the happy times. It's almost like I can throw to her a bunch of numbers and she can make the formula. She can sort it out. I love the way she can interpret things--whether it is my issues, or political, religious, or social issues. She can think it out and put it into logical sentences. She is brilliant.
I'm not sure how she came to the decision to go to Ouachita for college, but because of her brilliance and high respect in our family, she unknowingly set the standard for all of us. And I must say that her standard was high, thankfully. She majored in French and English; she was a beauty queen; she taught school; she married a most wonderful man; she continued her studies and earned a doctorate degree in French no less and she became a college professor. What an example. She did all this while being a wonderful mother and pastor's wife.
I followed her lead and went to Ouachita; I majored in English and took a lot of French; I taught school; and I married a wonderful man. Well, that's as far as I got. I wasn't a beauty queen and I didn't earn an advanced degree. But I have always been so proud of her accomplishments which she got through hard work and persistence. She was never one who shirked hard work.
What we might have lacked in actual closeness while I was a small child, we have more than made up for it now. We have grown so close as adults. We are best of friends and what a gift it has been for me. Her husband has referred to us as "bookends." My husband has often referred to us and some of our similar behaviors as "genetics." We talk and talk. We laugh and laugh. It doesn't take too long in any conversation--either in person or on the phone--to hear the hearty sound of infectious laughter coming from our direction. It makes me smile just thinking about it.
She makes me smile thinking about her any time. Tomorrow is her birthday--that really makes me smile and it really makes me thank God for her tomorrow and everyday! She is a jewel.
See what I mean? I am indeed lucky to have these two as my best friends and sisters.
Lucky and blessed.
They each deserve pages and pages written about them; they are so wonderful. But I couldn't decide which one to start with. Therefore, I am writing today about both of them. They are truly here for me all the time.
I know not everyone is as lucky as I am to have such wonderful friends who are also supportive sisters. If I could give anyone the best gift they could ever imagine, it would be to have sisters as superb as I have. I actually feel bad for those people who don't have a good relationship with their sisters or if they don't have a sister at all. I am lucky. I am blessed.
I think God knew I needed these two special people--these two sisters. He knew I needed them from the get-go. You see, I was the last of four kids. So I was lucky enough to have them and my brother from day one. And I am still lucky to have them.
They all have influenced me so much. Most of my childhood memories include my siblings especially Lana. She is the sister who is the other part of "the little girls' (the way we were collectively referred to growing up). She is only 19 months older than I am. So really, I pushed her out of the baby bed and baby position in the family. I was the baby then (and forever more--Baby Sue!)
Oh, but what a wonderful companion I had growing up. Sure, we fought a bunch. But we also played a lot--a built in playmate until she had to go to school, for heavens sake. That left me playing alone--so I took up playing with the wooden spools Mom would give me when they were emptied from her sewing machine. They were fun, but I missed my sister/playmate.
As typical girls, we played a lot with dolls. We had Toni dolls. We didn't have Barbies though. But the Toni dolls were wonderful--complete with dresses and some accessories. Not quite like the American Girl Dolls which my girls had. Of course, my girls only had one doll each, the book that went with the doll, and the outfit that came with her. Now I think you can spend a small fortune on those dolls and their accessories.
But we loved playing with our Toni dolls as well as our baby dolls. Oh, the hours we played together. We played so well with each other--until we didn't. Then one of us would holler, "Mama, she did ....." I'm not sure how Mama settled all those fights but she did and we would forgive, forget, and play again. When things were good, we would willingly share our dolls and toys; when things went foul, we became selfish and possessive--like I said, we were typical kids.
But sharing was basically mandatory for us--sharing clothes, sharing a bedroom, sharing the double bed, sharing the back seat on trips. Once again, when it was good, it was very good. And then not so much. Imaginary lines were drawn separating our spaces in the bed and the car. And not so imaginary complaints were made to the chief referee, Mom, and if she weren't readily available, we took our grievances to Lynda.
Nevertheless, we grew out of the daily fights and into a close grown-up relationship. I admire her so much. She not only is smart, kind, and giving, she is also a picture of stylish perfection. She is always impeccably dressed from head to toe. And here is the astonishing part--her toes even have pedicures in the WINTER!
Yes, she is absolutely the epitome of style. Classic and beautiful. But that's not all--it goes inward as well.
Plus, she still shares--she shares her advice, her make-up tips, her clothing tips. But most importantly she shares her support of me. She is there when I'm upset, discouraged, overwhelmed, lonesome, or happy. She is always there for me. Man, she is wonderful.
And so is my other sister, Lynda. I am doubly blessed and I know it.
Lynda wasn't my playmate, but she was my idol. As I was growing up, she was far enough ahead of me that I knew her in a different way from Lana. When I was entering first grade, she was entering 9th grade. Interest levels at that time were a little different to say the least.
But I was so in awe of her (and I still am). She was and is so kind, loving, and supportive even during those teen-age years (hers and mine!) Actually, she helped raise me. She apologetically says she was bossy. I disagree--she was helpful and loving.
She helped me with growing up which was more than just "helping raise" me; I could ask her questions and she would kindly answer. She continues to help me grow as I continue to ask her questions. She has always been so wise in her counsel to me and surely I have bent her ear for hours yet she continues to be attentive and caring. She weighs her words carefully and so beautifully encourages me as I need it. She sees the best in me and makes me want to believe her belief in me. Does that make sense?
She makes life sensible--the aches, the pains, the happy times. It's almost like I can throw to her a bunch of numbers and she can make the formula. She can sort it out. I love the way she can interpret things--whether it is my issues, or political, religious, or social issues. She can think it out and put it into logical sentences. She is brilliant.
I'm not sure how she came to the decision to go to Ouachita for college, but because of her brilliance and high respect in our family, she unknowingly set the standard for all of us. And I must say that her standard was high, thankfully. She majored in French and English; she was a beauty queen; she taught school; she married a most wonderful man; she continued her studies and earned a doctorate degree in French no less and she became a college professor. What an example. She did all this while being a wonderful mother and pastor's wife.
I followed her lead and went to Ouachita; I majored in English and took a lot of French; I taught school; and I married a wonderful man. Well, that's as far as I got. I wasn't a beauty queen and I didn't earn an advanced degree. But I have always been so proud of her accomplishments which she got through hard work and persistence. She was never one who shirked hard work.
What we might have lacked in actual closeness while I was a small child, we have more than made up for it now. We have grown so close as adults. We are best of friends and what a gift it has been for me. Her husband has referred to us as "bookends." My husband has often referred to us and some of our similar behaviors as "genetics." We talk and talk. We laugh and laugh. It doesn't take too long in any conversation--either in person or on the phone--to hear the hearty sound of infectious laughter coming from our direction. It makes me smile just thinking about it.
She makes me smile thinking about her any time. Tomorrow is her birthday--that really makes me smile and it really makes me thank God for her tomorrow and everyday! She is a jewel.
See what I mean? I am indeed lucky to have these two as my best friends and sisters.
Lucky and blessed.
Thursday, March 6, 2014
Thinking on My Feet with Kids
This morning was my Music and Movement Time with the three and four year olds at the Dayschool. I had a CD that I burned with a couple of Greg and Steve's songs on them. For those of you who aren't up on the preschool music these days, Greg and Steve are a couple of guys who have made quite a living singing and playing the guitars for children.
I am sure when these musicians were teens or even young adults that they envisioned making it big in the music industry. I am sure they hoped to make and sell enough of their music to support themselves and perhaps a family. What I doubt is that they planned on making it big with the littlest of listeners. But they have.
They have over 20 CDs; they've been nominated for a Grammy award; and they have received "Parent Choice" awards. So I guess you can say that they are doing okay.
Nevertheless, I had a very energetic time with these preschoolers stretching, bending, and dancing to their music this morning. The musician (Greg or Steve, not sure which) would tell us how to move while they were playing their guitars. You had to listen to know what to do. I had started with the oldest two classes which was good because they did pretty well on listening. I knew after experiencing this with them what might happen when I got to the three year olds.
Those three's were into the moving part for sure. Uh, now, the listening part was a little off for a some of them. But we made it through the first song and then came the "thinking of my feet" part. I knew that the second part that I had done with the older ones would not go to well with these guys. So I went for the "freeze dance"--you know dance and move until the music stops and then freeze.
The song was "Shoe Fly" so the children (and me) tiptoed, swam, and jumped to the music. They got on (pretty much) to the freeze part and enjoyed all the motions. When it came to the crawling, I dropped to my knees and began crawling. Yes, I crawled. All the kids loved it and started crawling too. I figured they would just crawl around on the carpet, but when I looked around they were following me! After a bit, I crawled to the CD player to turn it off so they could "freeze." I turned it off and at the same time I glanced over my shoulder.
It was the funniest sight. It looked like a bunch of ants circling a piece of candy and I was the candy! All of those cuties were bunched up on their hands and knee inches behind me. Too funny.
But that's the way it is when working with kids. You gotta enjoy the moment and think fast when the moment goes awry. And if all else fails, get down on your hands and knees and crawl!
I am sure when these musicians were teens or even young adults that they envisioned making it big in the music industry. I am sure they hoped to make and sell enough of their music to support themselves and perhaps a family. What I doubt is that they planned on making it big with the littlest of listeners. But they have.
They have over 20 CDs; they've been nominated for a Grammy award; and they have received "Parent Choice" awards. So I guess you can say that they are doing okay.
Nevertheless, I had a very energetic time with these preschoolers stretching, bending, and dancing to their music this morning. The musician (Greg or Steve, not sure which) would tell us how to move while they were playing their guitars. You had to listen to know what to do. I had started with the oldest two classes which was good because they did pretty well on listening. I knew after experiencing this with them what might happen when I got to the three year olds.
Those three's were into the moving part for sure. Uh, now, the listening part was a little off for a some of them. But we made it through the first song and then came the "thinking of my feet" part. I knew that the second part that I had done with the older ones would not go to well with these guys. So I went for the "freeze dance"--you know dance and move until the music stops and then freeze.
The song was "Shoe Fly" so the children (and me) tiptoed, swam, and jumped to the music. They got on (pretty much) to the freeze part and enjoyed all the motions. When it came to the crawling, I dropped to my knees and began crawling. Yes, I crawled. All the kids loved it and started crawling too. I figured they would just crawl around on the carpet, but when I looked around they were following me! After a bit, I crawled to the CD player to turn it off so they could "freeze." I turned it off and at the same time I glanced over my shoulder.
It was the funniest sight. It looked like a bunch of ants circling a piece of candy and I was the candy! All of those cuties were bunched up on their hands and knee inches behind me. Too funny.
But that's the way it is when working with kids. You gotta enjoy the moment and think fast when the moment goes awry. And if all else fails, get down on your hands and knees and crawl!
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
Growing Old with Jane
She doesn’t know me. I don’t really know her, but here I am growing old with her. Jane Fonda appeared on the Today Show this morning buzzing about her new book, Being a Teen. Of course, she looked gorgeous and young. During the interview there was a reference to her last book about growing older called Prime Time. So I looked it up on Amazon, being more interested in this part of life than the teen-aged years.
The reviews for Prime Time were good so I put it in my Amazon cart, but I haven’t bought it (yet). I must tell you that I still have the Jane Fonda workout book--you know the one with her in her leotard and leggings. It’s the huge coffee table version, too. (No, I don’t have it on the coffee table any more.) I also had at least one of the videos of her workout sessions. It was a video, so you know it’s an old one. And I did that video many times with Jane.
Like I said, Jane and I are together--mind and body. Of course, my body in reality is not the body in my mind and it certainly isn’t a Jane body. But it is relatively healthy. For that I am extremely grateful.
Recently, though, I have been reflecting and saying that I wish I had my old body back. I’d take the one I had in my 40’s or even the one in my 50’s. Something has happened in the last 7-8 years and it’s not pretty. And it’s not Jane-like.
I remember years ago my sister made this comment, “I yam what I yam” quoting none other than “Popeye.” So every once in awhile when I get discouraged about not having the body of my youth, I think of what she said way back then and justify my present day body by saying that. Now, I must tell you that this same sister still has her college days figure.
Then I also hooked into the segment that the Today Show had on last week called, “Love Your Selfie.” I love my body, I love my body, I love my body. I love my body. I heard if you say something often enough, then it’s true. Oh yes, my body could be a lot worse. I am not obese. I am tall and have skinny legs and a skinny behind. I can hide that thick tummy a little. So there. I love my selfie.
Who cares if Jane’s body looks the same as it did in that leotard--I guess it does--she didn’t have one on today. She is a movie star for heaven’s sake. She has to look good, right? Therefore, how can she possibly understand the rest of us.
Well, although Jane looks fabulous, she addresses more than looks in that book of hers that I plan on buying. The subtitle is “Love, health, sex, fitness, friendship, spirit; Making the most of all of your life.” Ok, Jane, I’m with you again. There is more to getting older than the way I look. I’m into refocusing on all those other things.
On Amazon, there is a letter from Jane in the Editorial Review of her book. I'm sure she is just writing to me, but you can read it. Evidently it is from an out of print or unavailable edition.
In this letter she makes an interesting metaphor about growing older. She explains how the familiar comparison of life is to that of an arch (I see the St. Louis Arch) starting with birth, then growing up as children; the top of the arch depicts us peaking as middle-aged adults, and then the down-hill part of the arch is the last years of our lives. I think of that last leg of the arch as a fast slide, don’t you?
However, Jane's metaphor was more appealing to me. It was of an image of a staircase, continuing upward until the end. I like that image; I like that I don’t see the end of the staircase. And I like that I don't see that I have peaked and now going down hill. I know the end of the staircase exists--it's there but not right here, you know what I mean? I was a late-bloomer growing up, so I like to think I am still blooming and the end of the staircase is a ways away.
I like this upwards image though; it presents the idea to me that we can still grow as we live--it's not over. She calls it “an upward ascension until the end.” I certainly don't feel like my life is over. I'm as busy now as ever just not on one single job. I like being busy.
And I don't mind the getting older thing. Despite a few more aches and pains, not seeing or hearing quite as well, and taking a little longer to get up off the floor, I don't feel like I'm old. I even think I don't look that old--until I look in the mirror. Let me tell you, that's no Jane Fonda looking back at me. But it's okay. It's me and "I yam what I yam."
Now I do appreciate the fact that there are ways to make the most of my life past 60. That’s where I think I can learn some from Jane's book. Probably most of the things in her book are things that I already know, but reading and focusing on these things should help me regroup.
Ok. I’m in, Jane. I’m buying the book. I gonna read that book. I'm gonna do all of that good stuff and make the most of my life. But right now, I gonna go to bed. I'm tired.
Later, Jane.
The reviews for Prime Time were good so I put it in my Amazon cart, but I haven’t bought it (yet). I must tell you that I still have the Jane Fonda workout book--you know the one with her in her leotard and leggings. It’s the huge coffee table version, too. (No, I don’t have it on the coffee table any more.) I also had at least one of the videos of her workout sessions. It was a video, so you know it’s an old one. And I did that video many times with Jane.
Like I said, Jane and I are together--mind and body. Of course, my body in reality is not the body in my mind and it certainly isn’t a Jane body. But it is relatively healthy. For that I am extremely grateful.
Recently, though, I have been reflecting and saying that I wish I had my old body back. I’d take the one I had in my 40’s or even the one in my 50’s. Something has happened in the last 7-8 years and it’s not pretty. And it’s not Jane-like.
I remember years ago my sister made this comment, “I yam what I yam” quoting none other than “Popeye.” So every once in awhile when I get discouraged about not having the body of my youth, I think of what she said way back then and justify my present day body by saying that. Now, I must tell you that this same sister still has her college days figure.
Then I also hooked into the segment that the Today Show had on last week called, “Love Your Selfie.” I love my body, I love my body, I love my body. I love my body. I heard if you say something often enough, then it’s true. Oh yes, my body could be a lot worse. I am not obese. I am tall and have skinny legs and a skinny behind. I can hide that thick tummy a little. So there. I love my selfie.
Who cares if Jane’s body looks the same as it did in that leotard--I guess it does--she didn’t have one on today. She is a movie star for heaven’s sake. She has to look good, right? Therefore, how can she possibly understand the rest of us.
Well, although Jane looks fabulous, she addresses more than looks in that book of hers that I plan on buying. The subtitle is “Love, health, sex, fitness, friendship, spirit; Making the most of all of your life.” Ok, Jane, I’m with you again. There is more to getting older than the way I look. I’m into refocusing on all those other things.
On Amazon, there is a letter from Jane in the Editorial Review of her book. I'm sure she is just writing to me, but you can read it. Evidently it is from an out of print or unavailable edition.
In this letter she makes an interesting metaphor about growing older. She explains how the familiar comparison of life is to that of an arch (I see the St. Louis Arch) starting with birth, then growing up as children; the top of the arch depicts us peaking as middle-aged adults, and then the down-hill part of the arch is the last years of our lives. I think of that last leg of the arch as a fast slide, don’t you?
However, Jane's metaphor was more appealing to me. It was of an image of a staircase, continuing upward until the end. I like that image; I like that I don’t see the end of the staircase. And I like that I don't see that I have peaked and now going down hill. I know the end of the staircase exists--it's there but not right here, you know what I mean? I was a late-bloomer growing up, so I like to think I am still blooming and the end of the staircase is a ways away.
I like this upwards image though; it presents the idea to me that we can still grow as we live--it's not over. She calls it “an upward ascension until the end.” I certainly don't feel like my life is over. I'm as busy now as ever just not on one single job. I like being busy.
And I don't mind the getting older thing. Despite a few more aches and pains, not seeing or hearing quite as well, and taking a little longer to get up off the floor, I don't feel like I'm old. I even think I don't look that old--until I look in the mirror. Let me tell you, that's no Jane Fonda looking back at me. But it's okay. It's me and "I yam what I yam."
Now I do appreciate the fact that there are ways to make the most of my life past 60. That’s where I think I can learn some from Jane's book. Probably most of the things in her book are things that I already know, but reading and focusing on these things should help me regroup.
Ok. I’m in, Jane. I’m buying the book. I gonna read that book. I'm gonna do all of that good stuff and make the most of my life. But right now, I gonna go to bed. I'm tired.
Later, Jane.
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