The Room Upstairs

My two precious grandchildren were visiting Saturday, and if you want a taste of the simple life, just sit and observe a 6-year-old and 3-year-old. For some reason, ours have a fascination with our attic.

We have one of those attics that I grew up with (except it’s completely floored), with the retractable stairs in the hall ceiling. Charlotte, the little one, has always been willing to do anything physically challenging, so she has always climbed right up and climbed back down without a hitch. Caroline, the older one, could read at an insanely early age but has always been wary of the physical realm, so it took her a couple of years to get comfortable with climbing up and down.

At any rate, now they are two attic fans (no pun intended!) and can’t understand why most of the year, they can’t climb up and stay up there for an hour or so. In the summer, it’s too hot, and in the winter, it’s too cold. They had luck this week, though, because Maine has been experiencing unseasonably cool and rainy weather, and the temperature was perfect for some attic visiting. One by one they climbed up. Before long, they decided to make their own “room.” This entailed scouring the corners of the attic in search of things they wanted in their “room.” I had to nix Charlotte’s idea of “wallpapering the walls” with rolls of my Christmas wrapping paper, but other than that, I pretty much let them have their way. They took the wrapping paper roll and put a lampshade on it to make it a lamp. They took a stool, a kid’s rocker, and a booster chair to sit on. I got tickled when half the things they found, they asked me, “Grammy, what is this?” Of course, it didn’t matter what it was intended for; they wanted it in their “room.” They had it all - shoe racks, teapots, pieces of ribbon, sewing kit, dish strainer, suitcase, miscellaneous books - quite a collection. When they finished (the only way they decided they were finished is the fact that their parents called them down to get into their pajamas and leave), I had them pose in their “room” and took a picture of their smiling, proud faces.

That’s really the essence of simplicity - you don’t waste time wishing you had more things or different things - you just work with what you’ve got. You find the valuable things in unlikely places and find creative ways to use them. I, of course, spent part of the time wondering if I should put everything back or leave everything for their next visit, and the rest of the time trying to keep them from falling down the stairs as they searched for treasures. When Caroline asked if I could keep the “room” intact for a while, I promised I’d try, and that elicited, “Grammy, you’re the best Grammy in the whole world!” and a big hug from both girls. It was then I realized that all three of us had indeed found our treasures.

Lights, camera, action!

The film is grainy and sometimes jumpy, frequently with artifact of dust, etc., crossing the screen, but the picture are priceless. They are silent home movies taken of my sister and me when we were growing up. Daddy not only took movies of the family; he also took movies of people at our church. He’d finish a roll, get his movies developed, come home with small reels, set the projector on the dining room table aimed at a white wall, and we’d get to see for the first time what he took. We’d laugh or be embarrassed as the case may be, then he’d spend some time with his little splicer machine, cutting from one reel and splicing it onto its appropriate big reel. He always liked to keep family movies separate from church movies, so “I won’t bore the church with family pictures or the family with church pictures.” This means we have wonderful documentation not only of our family but of our church from about 1957 until Daddy died in 1980.

We still have the original reels, but we transferred it all to several VHS tapes, and now will gradually shift to DVDs, trying to keep the movies current and viewable.

We have separate reel-to-reel audio tapes, of course. Daddy would sit us down after every vacation trip and we went over for posterity everything we did and saw on the trip. But we have no actual video with me or my sister talking when we were young.

Today, of course, kids are recorded for posterity from before they are born - starting with ultrasound, labor, birth, and going on from there. Almost every moment of their lives is documented, especially the highlights: Birthdays, holidays, learning to walk and talk, first day of school, learning to ride a bike, acting in plays, graduations, weddings - it’s all there with sound and pictures. Of course, to these kids, such as Caroline and Charlotte, this is something they will be used to. Even now, Rachel occasionally slips in a DVD of the girls when they were toddlers and the girls have fun watching themselves. She also makes a DVD of the highlights of each girl’s year on her birthday.

I remember when the VHS camera first came out. I asked Daddy if he was going to get one, and he said he’d just leave the "new stuff" to us. We got our first VHS camera in 1990, so our kids don’t have the “new stuff” documentation of their lives until they were about 7 and 12 years old.

Now technology has changed dramatically. There are no more reel-to-reels, no more tapes. In the new world, there are digital camcorders, digital cameras (even phones that take pictures!), DVDs, Blu-ray, and whatever else comes next (Matt thinks it will not be a “thing” at all, it will all be digital downloads) to both record and view our lives. Not only can we record the movies and photographs, we can edit them with a click of a mouse and even send them to friends and family digitally immediately. How I wish we had had this technology when my sister and I were growing up - to be able to see ourselves, of course, but to also have the ability to see our parents through the years.

Life was slower then. It had to be, because everything took longer. Daddy had to find a dark room to even take his film out of the movie camera or the film would be ruined. He then had to take it to a store to get developed, then had to pick it up a week or so later, decide how he wanted to edit it, and find time to sit down in the evening with his splicer in order to get the job done. Even viewing the movies took time. Fellow baby boomers can relate to the memories, I’m sure: Getting the screen out of the closet and setting it up. Finding something sturdy to set the projector on, making sure the projector was at the optimal distance from the screen. Getting the appropriate reel, threading the projector, turning the lights in the room out. Then sitting back and watching the silent show. The only good thing about its being silent is that anybody could talk aloud during the movie, laugh, cry, whatever, and no one says “Shhh...” The required darkness of the room came in handy when our faces turned beet red with personal embarrassment. There is a Family #2 reel in which my sister's pajama pants slid down as she was running from the room when she was a very little girl. It's infamous now, of course.

The documentation from those reels is all the product of our father, who scrimped and saved on other things so he could afford the expense. I can still see the flickering light and hear the loud whirring of the projector. Daddy didn’t realize it, but he made double memories for us - once when he took the movies, and again when we viewed them. They continue to bring us pleasure. I think he would be so proud today that we still cherish them and are still trying to update them in a form for future generations to enjoy.

Memories, anyone?

Good Housekeeping magazine’s July edition has an article called “The Price of Happiness.” The author, Brett Graff, says there are three ways to “get the most bliss for your buck.” The first suggestion is “Load up your memory bank.”

Of course, the article does mention that memories are not always free; for instance, a ski trip creates great memories, but you have to have skis first, and they will be expensive to purchase.

We found ourselves in this predicament this spring. We needed a new couch. We haven’t had a couch since we gave away ours to Rachel when she got married six years ago. Not only did we want a couch to cuddle on while we watch TV on the weekends, but we needed a sleeper sofa because in our little ranch we have no guest room and no extra beds. While our previous 3-story Victorian gave us enough room to open up a hotel, now we don’t even have an inflatable bed.

What does this have to do with memories? We are ready for 6-year-old Caroline to spend the night with us for the first time by herself, and the poor girl needs a place to sleep, right? Hence the couch. Trying to simplify, Ed and I thought long and hard about spending so much money on a couch. Was this a necessary expense, or were we just trying to rationalize a new purchase? We weren’t trying to replace a perfectly good old couch; we didn’t have one at all. We really were tired of spending the evening in two separate chairs, and we really wanted to make memories with Caroline. The justification outweighed the concerns, so we took the plunge.

I remember that when the kids were growing up, I was acutely aware that we were making memories. Even times I did not consciously realize I was making memories, I was still doing so. I laugh sometimes when I talk to the kids about their childhood memories, because some of the “staged” ones didn’t “take,” while instead they remember some oddball thing from the past. I’m the same way, of course. While I remember a great many experiences with my relatives, my first memory is of the person. I remember that my grandfather smelled of Listerine and chewing tobacco, that he had an infectious hearty laugh, played mean ragtime on the piano, and he always carried a cane which he would toss and catch in the air for fun. He always made sure we had a big store-bought Easter basket every year and a brand-name toy for Christmas. I remember Great Aunt Bessie, filling our little house with cigarette smoke early in the morning when she stayed with us for a week at a time, how she finally gave up smoking at an elderly age and went to hard candy instead, how she used to tell funny stories about her childhood pets, and her laugh was more of a snicker/chuckle with a half-smile but we could always tell she was really amused. She sent us homemade peanut brittle for Christmas. We knew our parents’ eccentricities that made them so lovable - Dad hated crabgrass, was always frustrated when he saw misspelled words on signs, and called bad drivers “Friend!..” because he knew otherwise he would be saying a derogatory word and he was not that kind of man. Mama accidentally killed our goldfish, let us keep a wild bird flying around the house for a while, let us use her real rubber jacks ball, hid our Easter eggs, and tucked banana peels in chair cushions and other sundry places, then forgot she had done so, and later they would show up in less-than-perfect condition at unexpected moments.

Buying things do make memories, experiences make memories, but it is the infusion of the human element that cements and seals them. Sometimes I wonder what our grandchildren will remember about us. Will they remember the “tree faces” nailed to three of our trees outside? Our attic? Babe? They will undoubtedly remember Ed’s pipe smoking and beard and almost-bald head, as well as his role as family cook. They will certainly remember me as the one who always had a camera, taught them some French, read them lots of books, and was someone who was willing to climb in their little tent in the basement and pretend there were big snakes all around us. The fact is that our whole being and interaction with kids is what makes memories. The good memories are not restricted only to holidays and birthdays; they are the everyday experiences of enjoying life with someone you love.

Our couch was delivered a couple of weeks ago - one more tool in the grandparent memory-making business!

Now what was I doing?...

I don’t have ADD. I really don’t. But some days it certainly seems that way.

I was going to blog a couple of hours ago, but when I sat down at the computer, I realized I needed to add another item to my list of “what to talk to the doctor about during my physical.” I pulled that list up on the screen and edited it. As I turned around, I realized that I had not hemmed my cropped pants I bought last week, and decided to go ahead and do that. I turned them inside out, and as I looked around for my measurement gauge, my eye caught the old newspaper article from the spelling bee that I blogged about last time, and I thought that really needed to go back up in the attic, so I put the pants down, picked up the article, and made my way to the dining room where we keep our pile of things that need to go up to the attic. As I placed the clipping in the pile, I noticed my cup of hot tea that I had made earlier in the morning and never drank, so I put it in the microwave on a minute to reheat, and while it was reheating, I saw the book that Sarah let me borrow on Sunday, and I thought what a good time it would be to read it, so I went over to the couch and put it there. Just then our dog Babe wanted to go out, and when I let her out the sliding glass doors, I realized what a pretty day it was, and how fun it would be to take my harp out in the backyard and play it outside. The big harp was too cumbersome, so I picked up the little harp, and, of course, a harp has to be tuned every time you play it, so I looked around for the tuning equipment. At first I accidentally picked up the lever adjuster for the big harp, but after looking some more, finally I found the one for the little harp. I sat the harp on the table and started tuning it, then realized the cup of hot tea was no longer hot because it had been sitting for a long time after I reheated it, so I started the microwave again, then came back to tuning my harp. Well, I needed some sheet music, so I rummaged around in my music drawers for the appropriate book, then took the harp and book outside to play.

It was indeed a gorgeous day. I played for a long time. And I am finally blogging. But my pants are still sitting there unhemmed, the book is still on the couch, and Lord help me, my cup of tea is still in the microwave. Sigh. The older I get, the less distraction my mind can handle, it seems. I’m afraid some things will never get done. But I can’t say I wasted the afternoon. Out in the cool breeze, the music surrounded me. (So did the ants, blackflies, and other assorted insects.) Hello, summer!

D'oh!

Watching the National Spelling Bee this week brought back memories for me. I’ve had a lot of disappointments in my life so far, as is true of everyone, but the disappointments whose bitter memories of regret still linger are those times when I have disappointed myself. I don’t really consider myself a perfectionist, but I do have high standards and aspirations.

I’ve never been a great cook, but one dish in 1974 singlehandedly ruined my culinary reputation with my husband - curried apricot pork chops. I don't think it was anything I did; it was a dreadful combination of flavors to begin with. Hey, if it’s printed in a cookbook, I figured it has passed some kind of taste test. Ed occasionally “experiments” in his cooking repertoire these days, but he does this with aplomb because he can always say, “Well, that was bad, but not as bad as those curried apricot pork chops.” It’s so rewarding to know that my cooking effort has been set as the gold standard - for failure.

I’ve been disappointed in how my quilts turn out and how my solos (voice, piano, organ, harp) sounded. I’ve been disappointed in photographs I have taken. I have been disappointed that I quit college after one year (and worried that I let down my parents even more with that decision). I’ve been sorely disappointed with some grades I have received. But I can say that the personal failure that gnaws at my gut every time I think about it is the Memphis Spelling Bee of 1968.

Spelling has always been a passion of mine. I like the exactness of it. There is no room for ambiguity. A word is spelled this way, not that way. Of course, a few words can be spelled more than one way - therein lies my pitiful story.

Picture it: I was an 8th-grade geek who won the East Junior High Spelling Bee in Memphis, and as such, had moved on to the Memphis Spelling Bee, which was broadcast live on the radio. Such opportunity! Such pressure! It finally came down to three contestants, two girls and me. I can’t remember any words I spelled in that whole bee - except my nemesis word - ELEGY. Oh, yes, ELEGY. The word is burned into my brain. So is this paragraph in the local newspaper: “Carol Tiffin, an 8th-grader at East Junior High, won a $25 bond from The Press-Scimitar as second runner-up. Carol missed the word ‘elegy,’ but a judge said after the contest that the word she spelled would have been accepted if the judges had realized at the time she correctly spelled the wrong word.”

How does one “correctly spell the wrong word”? I spelled the word ELOGY, as I could have sworn I had seen that word somewhere at some time. After the bee, I went down to the judges’ huge dictionary and looked up the word ELOGY. It was there. And since the winning words were IMMUTABLE and ONYX - words I could have easily spelled - I could have been a champion. Sigh.

Just for fun, today I looked up the word ELOGY on onelook.com. Yep, it’s still there. A testament to my missed opportunity for fame and fortune. You might think I’m petty to continue to think about this after 41 years, and you may be right. However, it’s one of those missed opportunities I wish I could go back and change. A 14-year-old named Betty Gay Luton (described in the article as a “tall, willowy eighth-grader” - a description which rubs salt in my wound) won the Memphis Spelling Bee that year.

I wonder what those judges are doing today. I hope they are preparing to sit down to a tasty meal of curried apricot pork chops. Revenge can be sweet.

The School of Life

As I get older, I frequently contemplate the skills I would like to learn before I die. It’s not really a long list, but it is pretty specific. I’d like to learn and become fairly proficient at knitting and crocheting. I’d also like to learn how to play some other musical instruments, especially the flute, the cello and the violin. (A few years ago my wish was to learn guitar, but after several lessons, I just couldn’t “get it,” and surrendered that dream.) The rest of my goals are concentrated around the desire to just be productive and learn new techniques in skills that I already possess - my quilting, cross-stitch, harp playing. I also have a list of things that I have no interest in learning - gardening, scrapbooking, cooking, or how to install car seats. And why should I? I have my sister, my daughter-in-law, my husband, and my daughter respectively who have mastered these skills with passion and perfection. I will just bask in their glory.

But I’m thinking these days mostly about the violin. It is such a beautiful instrument, and so wonderfully portable, too. Caroline, my 6-year-old precocious granddaughter, has taken violin lessons for months now, and she has shown talent along with a keen interest (always a good combination). Therein lies the rub. Sweet little kindergartner Caroline can play the violin. I can’t.

When did that happen? I’m supposed to be the teacher here. Every time I visit, I teach her a new vocabulary word. I teach her about Lincoln, sing her special songs, teach her French and quilting. All of a sudden, here she is, gaining skill at something I know nothing about. It’s humbling - and intriguing.

Almost everything I learned about the computer and other technology has been from my son, Matt, starting when he was in junior high school. Sure, I was older and he was younger, but age didn’t matter. He was willing to teach, and I was anxious to learn. One of these days, I will be ready to learn the fundamentals of playing the violin. And at that point, the tables will be turned, and Caroline will share her knowledge with me.

Even though I never stayed in college, I’ve always considered myself a learner for life (the only difference being that now I learn what I want to learn and not what I have to learn). I think the key to lifelong learning is the openness to allow others to teach, sometimes in unconventional ways, sometimes by unconventional methods. Those who have the skill and willingness to teach are blessings to those of us who continually want to learn. The older I get, the younger some of my teachers will become - that just goes without saying. There are actually people who think there is nothing new or exciting to learn, or that they are too old to learn, or that there is no one worthy enough to teach them anything. How sad!

Part of the wonder of my job as a medical transcriptionist is that every day I learn new things. I love all the parts of learning - anticipation, learning on my own from books and web sites, having things explained to me where they make sense, the “aha” moment of understanding, and finally, the last and ever-continuing step in learning - the teaching to someone else what I have learned. And the cycle continues.

Forever student, forever teacher. Sounds like a good plan to me.

Snapshots

Inevitably when I babysit my 3-year-old granddaughter, Charlotte, I bring out my camera and take lots of pictures. And just as inevitably, she asks if she can take some herself. I usually let her. Then when I get home and load the pictures onto my hard drive, it’s always fun to see the kind of pictures she took.

Some, of course, are not very good, but others are surprisingly well done. Recently she took a close-up picture of a pillow, which I deleted, but yesterday she took a few great pictures of Ed and Babe. At one point she took a picture of the sky - and I think there is a tiny rainbow in the resulting photograph. Mixed in with all the pictures of her surroundings are always a few self-portraits.

Now, self-portraits are hard to do when you are holding the camera, because you can only get as far away as the length of your arms as you extend the camera out to the front. In addition, you have no idea what you are taking a picture of - you point the camera generally in the direction of your face, but that part is quite tricky. I should know, because years of trying to hold out the camera to take a head shot of myself for a handful of Internet chat sites has led me to bring out the tripod and do it the right way. Nevertheless, it intrigues Charlotte to turn the camera on herself.

They say that we never really see ourselves in reality, because all we have access to is a flat image - in the mirror or in a photograph. We can’t see ourselves in time and space with three dimensions, which is the way we see our fellow human beings. And I don’t know about you, but the older I get, the less I like looking at myself in mirrors or photographs. Ouch.

The one time I do allow myself to examine what makes up “me” is in this blog. One can avoid mirrors or cameras to a degree, but eventually the introspection can’t be avoided - and that’s a good thing, I suppose. Even if this blog were never read by another single soul, in the activity of writing it, I am forced to reexamine my life, my priorities, my goals, my relationships, my life experiences, my triumphs and failures, strengths and weaknesses, in the Journey to Simplicity. Sometimes my introspection just turns out to be a picture of one eye or the top of my head, or, if I’m lucky, I am rewarded with a good clear “photograph” that makes me smile, laugh, or sometimes cry. Yeah, the crying part is important, too.

Everyone learns about him/herself in different ways, and that’s the way it should be. My internet friend from Prince Edward Island (http://cre8ive1.blogspot.com/) documents her life with almost daily blog posts, with a lovely photograph accompanying each post. What a remarkable record! I’m lucky if I manage one blog post a week. I think it’s helpful for us all to take a little time now and then to do some self-examination, whether you post it on the Internet or just write it in a journal. It’s not all deep psychological introspection - it’s also good just to stop and take stock of where you are in life, where you are going, if you’ve strayed too far off the chosen path or if it’s indeed time to choose a whole new path - and to celebrate how far you’ve come in this fascinating journey of life. To stop and give thanks, shout a big “aha!” or sigh a big “whew!” - life goes so fast and we can feel as if we don’t have enough time to respond. And keep a camera handy. Such wonderful inventions - especially in the tiny hands of a 3-year-old ball of energy!

Pretend You Don't See Me -Thanks

I get tickled when I hear about people wanting to seek their “fame and fortune.” The fortune part is fine (although that brings with it a lot of problems, too) but fame? No thanks!

On the TV show TLC’s “What Not to Wear,” the fashion advisors lament the fact that they see so many young women dressing as if to fade into the woodwork, looking as if they want to just be invisible. So what’s wrong with that? Some days I just run some errands and hope I don’t see anybody I know because I look like a total mess. Of course, I wouldn’t want to live my whole life that way, but occasionally it’s just reality.

As the news junkie I am, I enjoyed watching all the reports and commentary leading up to President Obama’s election. I remember one reporter saying that he didn’t think the reality had yet set in for Mr. Obama that he can no longer remain anonymous. He can no longer blend in. He can never again run to Burger King for a quick lunch, pop into the store to buy underwear, head over to 7/11 for a Coke. Once he became world-famous, life as he knew it once was essentially over.

I can’t imagine what it would be like to be a celebrity. Famous people say that some parts of it are horrible. Can you imagine not being able to leave your house without photographers waiting to snap your picture? Some paparazzi even specialize in securing photographs of celebrities that reveal the stars' cellulite or wrinkles or paunches or bad hair days or faces without makeup. Every pound the celebrity loses or gains is news. In addition to invasion of privacy in the physical sense, if you’re rich enough and famous enough, and have children, you have to worry about the possibility of kidnapping. Finally, everything embarrassing thing you’ve ever done (or will do) in your life is up for grabs as tabloid fodder. Past and current acquaintances (and nasty competitors) are always willing to sell your humiliation for a price, and photographers are waiting in line to catch you in a misstep.

Of course, with your life an open book, you'd better practice what you preach. Can you imagine the publicity and embarrassment if you were Oprah, just having talked in public about your struggle to lose weight, and you were seen eating a Quarter Pounder? We've seen politicians pleading for morality being caught in affairs and televangelists preaching against fornication ending up with prostitutes. Sports heroes bemoan steroid use and then fail their own drug test. In regular life, if we slip up, we hope it's a private thing, or at least limited to our community, depending on how well known we are. On the other hand, if you're famous, all bets are off.

Some famous people didn’t start out with a desire to be famous. They just wanted to act or sing or play an instrument and be one of the best. Fame appeared as a byproduct. Others wanted to be stars from early on in their lives. Regardless of how it arrived, fame is another one of those curses/blessings that I’m glad I don’t have to deal with. If you occasionally look as bad as I look sometimes leaving the house, you ought to be thankful, too!

The 3 D's

My almost-86-year-old mother was recently diagnosed with macular degeneration. Being a medical transcriptionist, I had to immediately research the disease to learn more about it, as curiosity is one of an MT’s great assets. Here is a quote from emedicinehealth’s web site:

Age-related macular degeneration is the leading cause of legal blindness in people older than 55 years in the United States. Age-related macular degeneration affects more than 1.75 million individuals in the United States. Owing to the rapid aging of the U.S. population, this number is expected to increase to almost 3 million by 2020. Because overall life expectancy continues to increase, age-related macular degeneration has become a major public-health concern.

That certainly made me think. As a Baby Boomer, I’ve read lots of insightful articles on whether our out-of-control healthcare system in this country can accommodate the great numbers of our age group who are going to be laden with diseases of old age. What? Did we really believe we could scientifically add years to our lives with no downside? In spite of health advances enabling most people to live to a ripe old age, unfortunately the medical knowledge has not found cures for all the diseases of a ripe old age. It’s the old gift/curse syndrome.

I, like a lot of people, I suppose, have spent a great deal of time wondering at what age I will die, but even more than that, I yearn for healthy, active, independent, and productive years leading up to that time. (OK, Rachel, I know this freaks you out, so you can quit reading now...) Everyone wants to live a long life, but more and more we are thinking about what constitutes a healthy one. We grow old, blessed with the increased years longevity gives us, cursed with the 3 D’s - disease, decline, and degeneration - that accompany those extra years. At some point, your body just can’t handle it anymore. When I was pregnant with Matthew 26 years ago, my maternal grandfather died. I don’t remember the exact age Paw-Paw was at the time, but he was old and had lived a long and productive life, and at one point, all his friends were gone, and his body just got worn out and he was just tired and ready to go. They say each of us is actually dying from the moment we are born - that natural process is put into action even while cells are growing and multiplying. Eventually the “shelf life” of our body parts is limited. We are not meant to live forever as physical beings.

Fortunately in my mom's case, her car accident, although it set her back physically, did nothing to impair her mentally, and she is as sharp as ever. Damage to the neuro and brain system (such as dementia or stroke) is probably one of the most prevalent fears of Baby Boomers. We can handle aches and pains and other signs of wear and tear, but we want to be able to recognize our family members.

Because we are discovering so much about how good food and exercise and decreased stress are all so integral to our health, it does make me regret a lot of choices I made in the past, and makes me wonder how much time I have left to implement habits that will preserve my health as I age. I remember my mom always saying, “If you’ve got your health, you’ve got everything.” As with most of her maxims, I can appreciate its wisdom the older I get.

Worms and Pears - All about timing

“The early bird gets the worm.” I don’t know about you, but I heard that piece of wisdom many times growing up, probably when Mama was trying to coax me out of bed. In spite of its being, well, a little unappetizing for me, it always seemed to be a straightforward proverbial gem. First come, first served. Early to bed, early to rise. Get there early, be first in line. That sort of thing.

As I got older, I started to rethink my interpretation. I don’t think it is meant to glorify the state of being early as it does timeliness. Being at the right place at the right time. For birds, that may indeed be early, assuming there are a limited number of worms available and every other bird is out for as many as they can catch. And that makes sense - for birds. For humans, it’s a bit more complex. Good timing can be due to lots of things, including planning and just plain good luck. Some timing is in our control. For instance, in 1994 when we decided to move from Maine to Tennessee, we sat down and figured out when the perfect timing would be. We decided to wait until 1996 when our oldest, Rachel, had graduated from high school. Her brother, Matt, would be 13 at the time, finishing 7th grade. We figured we could move to Maine in June 1996, and that fall, Rachel could start college, and Matt could have a year in junior high to make friends before he moved on to high school. It worked out well.

On the other hand, there are places in life we gamble about timing. Who hasn’t wished for a life rewind button when stocks plummeted last year and beyond? I imagine there are some lucky or smart people who managed to buy low and sell high, but for most of us, it was and is a total gamble. I try to time my gasoline fill-ups to coincide with the lowest price, but sometimes I wait too late and the price has gone up again. Only recently being able to fly, I am novice at buying airline tickets, and hope that I wait late enough to see if the price goes down, but not too late to get the flight I want, or, heaven forbid, the price goes up.

I recently had three completely different timing experiences with fruits. I bought a mini-watermelon a week ago. I know - way too early for ripe watermelons, especially in Maine, but I was lucky; it was bright red, juicy and delicious. I decided to press my luck, and got another mini-melon from the same store a week later. Inedible. I could hardly remove the fork once it was in it. Then we bought some pears, brought them home and put them in a paper bag to ripen. Ed announced they were ready yesterday - and they were the most perfect pears I have ever eaten! We timed it exactly right.

The best piece of wisdom we have ever heard about eating food is this: “Choose foods that spoil. Eat them before they spoil.” It’s all about choice and timing. You know the foods that can spoil are the best for you - fresh, unprocessed, and full of vitamins and minerals. The catch is on the timing part. You have to try to eat them right at the peak of ripeness and flavor for that particular food. Sometimes, as I said, it takes instinct, planning and sometimes it’s just luck. (As much as I recall my grandfather thumping melons at roadside fruit stands, they say that’s not a good indicator of a good melon.) It’s so disappointing to taste a fruit or vegetable and discovering that it’s not ripe or one that is past its prime. It’s also frustrating to buy fresh produce and forget to prepare it before it is spoiled. But those days you bite into The Perfect Pear of Ecstasy, it makes it all worthwhile. “Choose foods that spoil, and eat them before they spoil.” Welcome spring - the race is on!

The Good Life, 2009

One of our goals in downsizing and simplifying is that elusive status of “the good life.” A description of that, of course, varies from person to person. In fact, through my life, I have lived many “good lives” and many not so good. Sometimes I was living “the good life” and “the bad life” at the same time. But generally, these days, I consider the good life for Ed and me to include these things: The basics of family, friends, health, reliable transportation, secure employment and income, sustainable food-shelter-clothing. To those necessities of life in America, I would add the extra things that add joy and pleasure to our lives: Internet access, a dog, books, music, a digital camera, quilting and other creative opportunities. I have to include a cozy fire in the wood stove during the winter; one of Ed’s home-cooked meals; the serendipity of seeing a deer, owl, wild turkey, or moose; a neighborhood walk on a sunny spring day; the first snowfall of the season; the gorgeous autumn foliage, going through my “past box” and reminiscing. Then there are the real intangibles: Hearing from old friends, celebrating weddings and births, watching my grandchildren play, learning something new about myself, laughter, enjoying what I do for a living, teaching a skill to someone, doing a good deed, giving to charity, or watching another person discover his/her passion.

My favorite magazine these days is Experience Life. If I could afford it, I would buy a subscription for each person I know. If you are interested in a richer, healthier, more sustainable and happy life, I highly recommend reading it on a regular basis. There is an article in this month’s issue called "The Better Good Life: An Essay on Personal Sustainability," written by Pilar Gerasimo (Editor-in-Chief of the magazine). Here is an excerpt:

So, what exactly is a “good life”?,,,We’d prefer a life that feels good in the moment, but that also lays the ground for a promising future - a life, like the cherry tree’s, that contributes something of value and that benefits and enriches the lives of others, or at least doesn’t cause them anxiety and harm. Unfortunately, historically, our pursuit of the good life has focused on increasing our material wealth and upgrading our socioeconomic status in the short term. And, in the big picture, that approach has not turned out quite the way we might have hoped.

For too many, the current version of “the good life” involves working too-long hours and driving too-long commutes. It has us worrying and running ourselves ragged, overeating to soothe ourselves, watching TV to distract ourselves, binge-shopping to sate our desire for more, and popping prescription pills to keep troubling symptoms at bay. This version of “the good life” has given us only moments a day with the people we love, and virtually no time or inclination to participate as citizens or community members.

It has also given us anxiety attacks; obesity; depression; traffic jams; urban sprawl; crushing daycare bills; a broken healthcare system; record rates of addiction, divorce, and incarceration; an imploding economy; and a planet in peril.

From an economic standpoint, we’re more productive than we’ve ever been. We’ve focused on getting more done in less time. We’ve surrounded ourselves with technologies designed to make our lives easier, more comfortable, and more amusing.

Yet, instead of making us happy and healthy, all this has left a great many of us feeling depleted, lonely, strapped, stressed, and resentful. We don’t have enough time for ourselves, our loved ones, our creative aspirations, or our communities.

The article is way too long to quote here, but Ms. Gerasimo talks about the times (encompassing all areas of our lives) when we choose short-term satisfaction over long-term goals, not considering how our choices will affect our own lives as well as those sharing this planet with us. She reports that as the Gross Domestic Product has tripled over 54 years, our Genuine Progress Indicator (the environmental and social effects, including happiness), has not gained much, and that gap between the two is widening.

She ends the article with 3 questions to ask ourselves:
1. Given the option, would I do or choose this again? Would I do it indefinitely?
2. How long can I keep this up, and at what cost - not just to me, but to the other people and systems I care about?
3. What have I sacrificed to get here; what will it take for me to continue? Are the rewards worth it, even if the other areas of my life suffer?

It all comes down to your interpretation of “the good life.” Considering the impact our life choices have on ourselves and those around us, they are questions I guess we need to continue asking throughout our journey. Happy Earth Day, April 22nd!

Let's Face It

I consider myself relatively computer literate. I mean, I know how to create a blog and post and edit. I can work with and manipulate digital pictures. I work at home on a Mac and at the hospital on a PC. I send and receive e-mail and can pay bills online and shop online and order pictures to be printed off at my local Walgreen’s. But heaven help me - today I joined Facebook and I am drowning in technological awe. I bow down to those who can navigate that alien world.

My husband Ed was kind of scared of letting me put more personal information out there on the Internet - but, of course, Ed is scared of everything technological. I was so excited the day when he actually learned how to turn our computer on. I was doubly excited when he could click on the Safari icon, and triply excited when he could even look up a bookmark I had saved for him and go to his chosen site. Hmmm...I should probably never have shown him how to put items in a cart, but he still has to come get me in order to check out. There are some things he never needs to learn.

Anyway, under Rachel’s encouragement, I joined Facebook tonight. I thought that all I had to do was sign up and then I could look around. I was wrong. Facebook had me click on this, click on that, then gave me a list of people it figured I knew. Some were familiar - my kids and their spouses, a few friends - but some I never even heard of. I thought Facebook was asking me if I wanted to go see their profiles, so I started clicking away. Before I could say, “Yikes!” I realized that e-mails were being sent to all these people to confirm I was their “friend.” Afterward, I tried to remember on whom I had clicked. Would they even know who I was? Was there someone somewhere who gets this confirmation e-mail and thinks, “Who the heck is THAT?”

Next, I had to take a picture of myself. It’s not my favorite thing to do - in fact, I avoid it religiously - but that generic silhouette up at the top of my profile looked kind of weird. I have a built-in camera in my iMac, but my computer is in my messy sewing room/office and I don’t have good lighting, and the background is always cluttered. Enough excuses - I did some more clicking and got my photo up there.

Oh, look - I have a message on the screen! It says my daughter deigns to be my “friend.” Oh, the excitement! I must reply! But I have no idea how. I can’t see a “reply” button. I don’t know all these terms - what’s a wall? Wall-to-wall? It’s all so intimidating. And to think even kids in elementary school can do this.

It isn’t long before I realize that a person could spend HOURS on this site. I’m on a journey to simplicity - I don’t have HOURS to spend. I barely find the time to blog once a week or so. Fortunately, Facebook didn’t have me click on a button which made me promise to check in 30 times a day. At least I don’t think I clicked on that button. Who knows? I was pretty extravagant with that mouse trying to set all this stuff up.

Technology is the insidious beast on many a Road to Simplicity. First it pleasantly surprises you, then leaves for a bit and you get back to your other duties and relationships. The next thing you know, it starts walking with you more frequently until one day, you realize you’re palling around with technology so much on the Road that you have lost track of time and have missed some beautiful scenery.

Ed says every blessing has a curse, and every curse a blessing. That’s certainly true of technology. Joining Facebook? Intriguing and free. Being able to check my e-mail and see a picture of my precious granddaughters? Priceless! I think I’ll be thankful for technology, and I’ll accept it on my journey to simplicity. I just need to remember to use it as one of many tools to make my life richer and make the walk a little more pleasant. As long as it stays in its proper place, I will enjoy the company.

Now....what the heck is wall-to-wall????

Come on over to my house!

One of the most interesting things to do is watch the faces of children. They are so transparent. And, being kids once ourselves, we can empathize with whatever they are feeling.

At a family gathering last year, I think something happened that favored Charlotte for some reason, and my daughter-in-law, Sarah, started laughing because she was watching Caroline’s expression at that moment. Sarah, who grew up with a younger brother, said she knew that face, and knew that she herself had sported that expression many times growing up.

At another time a few days ago, I didn’t see Caroline’s expression because I wasn’t there, but I wish I could have seen it. She had a good friend from school over to her house. It sounds like they had a great time, playing, dressing up, making pizza, etc. When the girl’s father came to pick her up, the girl didn’t want to leave. Here is how 5-year-old Caroline described it in her blog:

Once upon a time when I was five, my best friend Judy came over. The first thing we did was go into my closet and wear some costumes. I wore Big Bird, and Judy, my best friend, wore the bear costume - Bear in the Big Blue House. I loved that. We danced around and soon I wore Bear in the Big Blue House and Judy didn't wear any other costume.

Judy and I had lots of fun after that, Then we made pizzas. Then when the pizzas were finished, my mom put them in the oven. While we were waiting, we jumped in the bouncy house. Then Mama said, "Lunch time! Lunch is ready!" And Judy and I went up to have our pizzas. They were certainly yummy! And I loved them! And Judy did, too.

Then after lunch, we went sledding. After a few sleds, I was on my belly holding onto the handle bars of one sled. When I was almost to the bottom of the hill, my face slammed down onto the sled. One of my top teeth came very loose, and my gum was bleeding. It hurt really bad.

Then I went inside and had a popsicle. Judy did, too. Judy made me feel a lot better since she's my best friend. When Judy finished her popsicle, she wanted to go back outside again.

I said, "Okay, but I'm not going outside, but I'm not going outside, because I don't feel well enough to go outside."

Then Daddy said, "Why don't you go outside and watch?"

I said, "Okay, but I'm not sledding."

I went outside and watched for a while. Then my Daddy came outside and tried sleds on two way bigger hills. There were branches, and my Daddy almost got blind.

Just then, Judy's dad came in his truck. When the truck pulled in, Judy faced backward away from the truck and folded her arms across her chest.

Then when her Daddy said, "Come on, Judy!", Judy said, "I'm not leaving," still with her arms folded across her chest, but she had turned back facing her Daddy now.

"Yes you are," said Judy's dad, and they went on arguing back and forth, back and forth, until Judy went away. But Judy forgot her shoes. My Daddy waved went out and waved them at the truck. He brought them to the truck, and Judy was happy.

I imagine Caroline was so proud - proud of her mom, who helped them make pizza, proud of her dad, who went out sledding with them (even if the branches were out to get him), proud of her sister, proud of her house and her toys, and especially I can imagine a satisfied smile on her face when her friend didn’t want to go home.

There’s a certain vulnerability in having a friend visit your home, especially when you are younger. My sister Joy and I grew up in a very small ranch house, all four of us using one tiny bathroom, Joy and I shared a bedroom, and the kitchen was so small that it was crowded with two people in it. Our toys were limited. We realized that a lot of our friends’ families were financially a lot more well off than we were. One of my friends named Debbie lived in a very fancy house in a neighborhood built around a beautiful lake (with ducks!), and when she showed me her attic, it was full of board games - just like a toy store - all the games I’d seen advertised on TV but never owned. She had two sisters and each child had her own room. It was so much fun spending time at her house!

But do you know what? I had an ever greater time when she came over to my house. I was never embarrassed that most of my toys weren't brand-name, or that I shared a room with my sister. I was always proud of my parents, too. I always considered them to be interesting and entertaining in their own right, just different enough from other parents to make them special. Our home movies (which is another thing none of my friends had) show Debbie and me at the Mid South Fair, just two friends, no distinctions, having a blast with my sister and my parents.

Yes, it’s vulnerable when as a kid you invite someone into the most personal of all spaces, your home. You are giving them an opportunity to judge your taste in decoration, your fight against clutter, the size of your living area, your financial status, your neighborhood, the kind of food you eat and how it is prepared, and especially your parents and siblings. I still thank my parents today for the fact that I was always excited to have a friend come visit - because I thought I lived in the most awesome family in the world. If I had any part in creating that same atmosphere for our kids as they grew up, I am content. (You’ll have to understand I’m in a reminiscent mood, as my “baby” Matthew turns 26 years old today! Happy birthday, Matt!)

We Are There

If you had asked me any day in the last 2 weeks what my evening plans were, I would have said, “I hope they finally drop The Bomb.” Before you send me to the mental hospital for a long overdue checkup, I must explain: Ed and I are in the middle of the book Truman by David McCullough.

I am a great lover of history, and know more American history than world history, but still I knew precious few things about Truman before we started the book. The main thing I knew, of course, was that he made the decision to drop the first atomic bomb. Events in the book are escalating toward that end, but we’re not quite there yet. For some reason, I want to get that part over and get on with it. It was an event of such magnitude, a decision of “no turning back,” a tragedy of enormous proportions, a military decision over which some people agonized and about which some people never thought twice. It is uncomfortable to read about over half a century later.

McCullough is an award-winning writer, and his talents have drawn us into the story. We are right there when Truman campaigns, when his opponents denigrate his naivete and humble beginnings, when he marries his childhood sweetheart, when he is elected to the Senate, then the Vice Presidency, and finally “inherits” the top office when Franklin D. Roosevelt dies. We are right there in the room when he is talking to Churchill and Stalin. And we will be right there when The Bomb is dropped.

One of the reasons some people hate history (and I love it) is that the reader already knows what is going to happen. That takes the fun out of reading for a lot of folks. It’s similar to the year we had no TV and had our daughter tape the Super Bowl for us, and we watched it a week later, all the time knowing who had won - that was indeed not as exciting as watching it in real time. So what if we know that Truman will take over when Roosevelt dies? There are still questions - how did he find out? What was his reaction? How did he deal with the transition? How did it change his family life? How did he cope with being suddenly thrust on the world stage at a pivotal moment in history?

I approach history differently than some. I like the fact that the word “story” is included in the word history, because that is exactly what it is - Lincoln’s story, Truman’s story, your story, my story. So far, science has not unraveled the possibilities of time travel, so this is the closest we will come, it appears. If you can find a good story - and a good storyteller to impart it - well, that’s one of life’s pleasures.

I just want them to drop The Bomb soon, so I can get over this horrible feeling of knowing something dreadful is about to happen. It’s one thing to read in textbooks the dry scenario of facts; it’s another to be right in the middle of everything as it unfolds minute by minute, with all the accompanying angst and foreboding that a good writer can muster.

The main thing I learned from reading history aloud to Ed is that all of our personal life stories have meaning and are worth telling - not just those of famous people. The other thing I learned is that my being in the medical field does strange things to reading aloud - and it’s frustrating when Truman is in important secret communication with Roosevelt and “statin.”