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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)