Smiles

It wasn't the summer for gardens this year. Oh, we got some good tomatoes and a few beans, but everything else just withered. Not having a green thumb, I don't know if it was too much rain, not enough rain, wrong temps, lack of sun, too much sun, not enough good dirt, or some or all of the above. Whatever the reason, we were disappointed in our attempt to grow some of our own food this summer.

The sunflowers, though, came right on cue, thank goodness. Sunflowers just make me smile. Their colors are so vivid and bright, they stand so erect, even under their own heavy weight, and they grow as if they just want to be noticed. "Hey - Here I am!"

Sunflowers make me smile. I need to smile these days. Every time I turn on the news and hear the dire reports about the failing economy, natural disasters, and the lies being told in the presidential election, I either get mad or depressed. We certainly need more smiles in the world.

I laugh a lot, too. I laugh at corny Readers' Digest jokes. I laugh at my son imitating a horse (or memories of that!), or hearing him tell a story of going to the wrong airport in Chicago. I laugh at Baby Blues and Pearls Before Swine comic strips. I laugh when I talk to my cousins in Arkansas. I laugh when Rachel calls to tell me something funny the grandkids have said, or tells me of her "senior moments" at age 30. I laugh when my son-in-law Chris tells one of his hilarious stories. I laugh at daughter-in-law Sarah's expression when Ed does something stupid or inexplicable. I laugh with my sister; the kids always say that they love to be there when Joy and I get togther, as we laugh all the time. I laugh at "headlines" in the tabloids ("Abraham Lincoln was really a WOMAN!" - this with a doctored picture of Abe in a wig and bonnet, with a promise of "Bonus picture inside!" which I mistakenly read as "Bogus picture inside!"). I laugh at caricatures of chickens. Laughing is great for the abs, great for the heart, great for the spirit.

But some days are devoid of the hearty laugh, and that's OK. I compensate with things that make me smile. Memories of the kids when they were growing up. (Memories are dependable smile generators.) A tasty homemade meal made by Ed, bursting with flavor, or a crisp York apple straight from Virginia. A finished quilt. Talking to a friend on the phone. Working with beautiful fabric. My CMT certificate. Seeing a photograph of my dad. Going through my "past" box. Autumn with its brisk air, pumpkins, and football games. High-speed Internet. The pleasures of transcribing a clear dictator. Memories of getting on those airplanes last month and surprising my mom. Thinking of a birthday present my friend Sally sent me, wrapped and waiting for the 27th, and apparently another surprise on the way from my friend Audrey.

And, of course, those sunflowers.

I hope you have many, many smiles today!

The Pleasure of Food

Yum! It’s time for apples, pumpkins, and all the delicious food of fall. Ed and I are doing pretty well trying to eat local, seasonal, and fresh food and baking our homemade bread. We also enjoy reading about food. I thought this week I would list our favorite books on the subject. The listings below are from amazon.com. These books are informative, funny, well written and are a veritable joy to read, especially aloud. Bon appetit!
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The $64 Tomato: How One Man Nearly Lost His Sanity, Spent a Fortune, and Endured an Existential Crisis in the Quest for the Perfect Garden (Paperback)
by William Alexander (Author)
Key Phrases: stirrup hoe, corn bed, sod webworms, William Alexander, Christopher Walken, New York (more...)
  (47 customer reviews)

Joie de Vivre: Simple French Style for Everyday Living (Hardcover)
by Robert Arbor (Author), Katherine Whiteside (Author) "I LOVE BREAKFAST..." (more)
Key Phrases: New York
  (27 customer reviews)

Plenty: Eating Locally on the 100-Mile Diet (Paperback)
by Alisa Smith (Author), J.B. Mackinnon (Author)
  (1 customer review)

Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life (P.S.) (Paperback)
by Barbara Kingsolver (Author), Camille Kingsolver (Author), Steven L. Hopp (Author)
Key Phrases: United States, New England, Appalachian Harvest (more...)
  (300 customer reviews)

The Omnivore's Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals (Paperback)
by Michael Pollan (Author)
Key Phrases: industrial food chain, killing cones, steer number, George Naylor, Joel Salatin, General Mills (more...)
  (447 customer reviews)

In Defense of Food: An Eater's Manifesto (Hardcover)
by Michael Pollan (Author) "If you spent any time at all in a supermarket in the 1980s, you might have noticed something peculiar going on..." (more)
  (168 customer reviews)

Living on High Speed and Commercials

It's been a week now since our cable Internet/TV was installed, so I thought it would be a good time to report on how we are handling it and how it has affected our journey to simplicity and if it has tempted us to waste time.

I've always chosen to look at the TV and the Internet as two different services, which they are, so I'll have to write about each one individually:

INTERNET: All I can say is WOWEE! I remember a TV commercial for high-speed service that asked the question, "Where do YOU want to go?" My friend Sally says that sometimes she gets online, and decides she really doesn't want to go anywhere and would rather be doing something else, so she logs off. Surprisingly, that has been true for me as well. After all, with music and quilting (I'm working hard, Sarah and Matt!) and everything else in my life, I don't need to be on my home computer to keep me pleasantly occupied. There are some days I check e-mail, check into a couple of transcription sites, and I'm done. But on the days when I do actually want to "go somewhere," my new Internet speed is like taking a plane to Memphis instead of driving. Whoosh!

I pay lots of bills online - what used to take 15 minutes now takes about 1 minute. I can actually send and receive pictures by e-mail. Rachel sent me a video of Caroline getting off the school bus on the first day of kindergarten and I actually got to see it!! Apple notified me that I had updates to my computer, and lo and behold, I didn't have to pack up my computer and take it to one of my kids' homes to use their cable connection in order to download the updates!

I have a software program called Delicious Library for organizing all my books. I haven't been able to use it for a year and a half because when I scan the books' bar codes in, the software looks up Amazon.com for the information, and dial-up wouldn't cut it. Already I've entered 2 shelves of my 5 shelves of quilt books.

Oh, yes, the Internet is even better than I remembered it.

TV: We got high-speed just in time to watch most of the Democratic convention and all of the Republican convention. That was really cool. I still can't get over how clear the picture is after using "rabbit ears" for a year and a half with poor results. I'm watching just a few shows that I used to watch - What Not to Wear on TLC, for instance. But I usually save these shows for my weekend, which is the time period we used to watch our videos together (when I could stay up late).

There is one major shock, though - COMMERCIALS! Have they gotten worse in a year and a half or has it always been this bad? Good grief! It seems like 5 minutes of show followed by 10 minutes of commercials! We've been watching videos for a year and a half without, of course, commercial interruption. It is so annoying to be subject to them again.

So, one week into our experiment into major culture reinitiation, so far, so good. We've still been reading on Teddy Roosevelt's biography together, so we haven't been sucked into a new addicting technologically rich/priority-poor lifestyle. It is our hope that we can stay aware of when we use these technologies so they don't become purely mindless entertainment or unproductive distraction. I hope, if we do see ourselves slide into a downward spiral of wasted time, we will have the guts to cancel the TV part, at least.

I think awareness has everything to do with the journey to simplicity. Being aware of what we are eating, what we are buying, what we are spending time on, how we are impacting the environment - awareness is the key.

Fifty Years of Progress

What goes around comes around, they say. The first picture shows my cousin, Timmy, and me, as we tried to push an old reel mower through the front yard in 1956. The second picture shows me this morning, pushing a comparable new reel mower through our sparse backyard.

When we had this new ranch built, our contractor skimped on the seeding of the yard, and we couldn't afford to get it professionally done, nor could we afford to buy more dirt, so we are making do. We left our old power mower at the former house, so when it came time to get another mower, Ed opted for this beauty, which, of course, is quite stylish now that everyone is trying to protect the environment and save on fossil fuels. I went out this morning to mow, didn't have to pull and tug to start a power mower, didn't have to plug in anything or gas up anything - just grabbed the mower and went. It was efficient, kept the neighborhood quiet on this Saturday morning, and gave me plenty of exercise (especially on the hill). One small step for a woman - one giant leap for the journey to simplicity!

Looking Back, Looking Forward

Reflecting on my history of “flight fright,” there were several contributing factors, as other people have suggested. One, fear of heights. Two, claustrophobia. Three, fear of the unknown. And four, which I consider primary, has been the feeling of being out of control.

I figure I’m in control when I drive my own car. Even if Ed or my sister or one of my kids or friends drives me around, I trust their judgment and skills completely. It gets more tricky on mass transportation, but at least if it’s on the ground, it feels more secure. After all, I could have always exited a bus or train at the next stop if I had been uncomfortable.

In a plane, you’re pretty much stuck up there, totally dependent on other factors, the least likely of which is a terrorist being on board. Did the plane get inspected in a timely manner? Did the plane’s mechanic know what he was doing? How did the pilot sleep last night? Is the pilot healthy or suicidal? How are the air controllers feeling at the airports we will be using? How are their relationships - are they worried about something enough to be distracted? How is the weather? Any predicted storms or strong winds? All those questions went through my mind. Then, of course, one has to expand them. Assuming our pilot and plane are fit - what about other pilots and planes nearby?

My main problem, other than a tendency to chronic worry, is that I have a troubleshooting mindset. Whenever the hospital gives details of a new transcription platform or software purchase, or a new way of doing something, my mind immediately lands on everything that “could” go wrong. I have the gift/curse of being able to see both good and bad possibilities if we implement this new policy. So it is understandable that, going into any situation in my life, I apply the same logic.

What finally calmed me on the plane? Was it the fact that my head finally acknowledged that I had fewer risks than when I rode in a car? Was it the fact that my dear Matt and Sarah were by my side, encouraging me all the way? Was it the fact that I concentrated on the people I would get to see on each end of the journey? Was it the fact that I went into the whole thing with a good attitude? Yes, all those - but one more.

It was the fact that I surrendered. I have posted over and over about the Serenity Prayer being my guiding vision - To change the things I can, accept the things I can’t change, and have the wisdom to know the difference. Short on words, big on advice. I had to put my plane experience in the category, certainly, of “things I couldn’t change (control),” and surrender to acceptance. No matter how much I tensed my jaw, no matter how tight my muscles got, no matter how fast my heart was beating, I finally realized that up there in that plane, what would happen would happen, and there wasn’t a darn thing I could do about it. I might as well relax!

I have found that if I meet the “things I can’t change/control” with acceptance, that gives me a lot of energy left to deal with the things that I can change/control - like the fact we are (hopefully) getting cable installed this Wednesday, and we will be spending the ensuing weeks coming to terms with how we use it and how able we are to use it wisely on our journey to simplicity. That’s where I need to focus my thoughts.

Of course, like our determination to downsize and simplify, this is a challenge that will have to be met over and over again. It is not a one-time decision. Just as the high-speed Internet and TV will be there to challenge our choices every day, the next plane ride I take will again be another chance for me to either surrender to events or surrender to fear. In both situations, I hope my experiences have taught me enough about life to handle them wisely.

The sky's NOT the limit!

I’m back in Maine, which means, of course, that I survived the four flights that I had dreaded. With an optimistic attitude and a little lorazepam, I made it. I never did have to use the “freak-out” coupons that Matt and Sarah gave me, so I’m framing them. I bought a Continental Airlines plane keychain accessory to attach to my keychain, so every time I pick up my keys, I can say with satisfaction (and a bit of wonderment!), “Hey, I did that!”

This trip, besides giving me some absolutely incredible time with my family and friends, has given me yet another reason to believe in myself. Every time I look at my keychain, I will again realize my potential. Every time I gaze at the unused “freak-out” coupons on the wall, I will remember that I overcame a paralyzing fear of flying.

As with anything, the encouragement I received from my family and friends proved instrumental in my success. Ed gave me his blessing to make the trip, and Sarah and Matt took an understandable risk in accompanying me, considering my past experiences. I appreciate the fact that no one tried to belittle my anxiety, and instead of saying, “Oh, it’s nothing. It’ll be fine,” they acknowledged my anxiety and tried to ease my fear, and they all understood the significance of my ability to conquer it. Their support was invaluable.

Once again, I have come to realize that I am still capable of doing more than I think I can do. Without such challenges to give me the opportunity (and necessity) to expand my comfort level a little, how will I otherwise realize my potential? This is not to say that I am now anxious to take silly or dangerous risks just for the challenge. But I know that in a case of a fear that prevents me from doing something I really want/need to do, it is worthwhile to tackle. And thus I take one more step in my growth.

While in Memphis, I was amused to see the cross-stitch picture I had given my mother many years ago. It features a small chicken sitting atop a huge egg, and under it, just these words: Never say “I can’t." I will try to take that to heart. I may say, “I don’t want to,” or “It makes me uncomfortable to,” or even “I'm scared to,” but I’ll try not to say, “I can’t.” Every one of us has unique challenges. What may freak me out may be easy for you, and what makes you sick to your stomach may be effortless for me. For whatever reason, most of us are afraid of something and that fear is holding us back in some way. We doubt our abilities, negate our power, and succumb to pessimism - all of which drains our energy and limits our lives. Here’s to the challenges - and here’s to family and friends who choose to encourage and inspire! Thanks, everyone! You are all my heroes!

Taking Flight in Stages

Have you ever sung opera on a plane? I have. Have you ever sobbed uncontrollably on a plane for no reason? I have. Have you ever had a perfect flight in perfect weather, and when asked at the end of the flight, “Did you enjoy it?” replied rudely, “NO, I DIDN’T!!” Yep, I’ve done that too.

I’ve only flown twice in my life - both times a few days apart in October 1994. Ed and I were flying from Tennessee to Maine to close on our Victorian house. We had tickets to fly from Nashville to Boston, change planes, then fly to Bangor. We had plans to reverse the trip exactly on the way back. It was a gorgeous, sunny day. The flight was without turbulence of any kind. It was even years before 9/11. Yet I freaked. I didn’t have the foresight to visit my doctor to get an anti-anxiety medicine, so I tried to make do with a Tylenol PM. It didn’t work. I was totally in panic mode. I tried everything I could to distract myself. I sang opera (in a very quiet way). I recited poems. I cried. I tried to read a book. Then I cried some more. Finally, the guy in front of us turned around and said in an exasperated voice, “Lady, if you see me break this window and jump out, THEN you can panic. Until then, just SHUT UP!” I was so anxious, I had not even considered the fact that other people were paying attention to me. When we were exiting the plan in Boston, the flight attendant smiled, handed me a plastic pin and said cheerily, “Here are your wings! How did you like your first flight?” I said truthfully, “IT WAS TERRIBLE!” Well, I wasn’t the only one who thought it was terrible. Ed decided then and there to just lose the money on the second flight tickets and we rented a car to drive to Maine. He said, “No way am I getting on another plane with you until you've had a few days to calm down!”

On the way back, we retraced our steps and drove the rental car to Boston, and managed to survive another panicky flight home.

OK, so I'm scared of flying. A lot of you out there (my cousin, Tim, for one) think flying is as easy as taking a taxi. But it freaks me out. I have nightmares about it. My palms get sweaty just thinking about it. Hey, I can watch a detailed surgery on Discovery Health and can look at pictures of open sores and horrible skin conditions in a medical textbook and say, "Cool!" Just don't ask me to get on a plane!

Fast forward to 2008. In all these ensuing years, a lot has happened. 9/11, for one, changed the very fabric of flying. The government has fined airlines tons of money because they’ve been neglecting or ignoring safety inspections and requirements. Each year I am more aware of my mortality. And into this quagmire of anxiety I go again.

I’m leaving with my son, Matt, and daughter-in-law, Sarah, on Wednesday morning to fly to Memphis (changing planes at Newark). They had planned on going to Memphis to visit family by themselves, but asked me to accompany them on the spur of the moment. (This was before they knew the details mentioned above, and before they were totally aware of the extent of my panic attacks about flying). And just on the same spur of the moment, I said, "OK!" Ed was agreeable to my going (which shocked me), and Uncle Sam’s rebate check allowed me to buy a ticket, and I soon thereafter went to the doctor to get a lorazepam prescription. I had to buy luggage with wheels (didn’t need any before on car trips), had to buy some of those travel size toiletries for security inspection (didn’t have that much security on our trip in 1994), and, of course, print a copy of my obituary just in case (it’s sitting on my sewing machine). Matt and Sarah gave me two professionally designed coupons that they lovingly created, each good for one “freakout” - with specific instructions in fine print not to copy or reproduce them (and don’t believe I didn’t think about it!). They advised me to ration them, maybe use one on the way down and one on the way back, because when the coupons are gone, they’re gone. They assured me they would emotionally support me through two “freakouts,” but after that, they will pretend not to know me.

So here I am - full of two competing emotions. I’m insanely excited to see my family and surprise my mother - and I’m scared to death of getting on those planes. But I’m determined to get through this with a good attitude, because, even though there are many things about the trip I cannot change, my attitude is something I can certainly control. I’m going on this trip with the attitude - even if I feel as if I’m just acting - of this being a great adventure and exciting and, yes, even FUN, and I am going to concentrate on the positive part of the trip and downplay the negative. If I go into it with the idea that it will be scary and I will be unmanageable, I’m sure that it will play out that way. So I’m going to act. They say when you feel depressed, if you smile and try to act like you’re happy, your amazing body and mind will actually start to come into line with happiness - in other words, fake it enough and you won’t have to fake it anymore. So that’s my plan. I'm going to act as if I'm up for an Academy Award. I'm going to be the most joyous, excited, fun-loving plane aficionado that anybody has ever seen.

I’ll post next week on how everything turned out - if I’m still around. I’m not such a bad actress, either. All in all, I’d rather be acting the part of a carefree traveller than a dying opera singer. The curtain goes up at 6:38 a.m. next Wednesday. Wish me luck! (More importantly, wish Matt and Sarah luck!)

Temptation, Thy Name is Cable

Every once in a while, Ed will make a wry observation that my blog continually veers from the subject of “journey to simplicity.” Of course, that’s absolutely true, but I took some time this week to think about why.

I’ve been posting to this blog almost 2-1/2 years. I started it when we had decided to downsize, the first step being to put our huge house on the market and all the decisions that came with that. These were hard decisions - giving away/selling a lot of our stuff, trying to figure out what was important in life, what was truly valuable and meaningful. As reflection usually does, my introspection broadened and soon our adventures in downsizing were expanded to include my coming to terms with aging, my frustration with my co-workers, my procrastination, and my relationships with family members (hence this year, the birthday posts). I eventually learned that a journey to simplicity encompasses all this and more - because it gets to the very core what one considers to be life’s priorities and the kind of person one wants to be.

However, the main reason for expanding the blog is that, although we will never reach the goal of perfect simplicity, we have done rather well in these 2-1/2 years and on the whole I am pleased with our progress. We moved to a smaller house. We cut down our quantity of “stuff,” and what we have left we treasure. We have gotten used to low water pressure, shoveling snow off the cars, a cramped sewing room/office, and small closets. We have cut expenses. We try to buy most of our food local if we can. I gave up coloring my hair. I let some magazine subscriptions lapse. We go to the library more frequently and borrow books instead of buying so many. In essence, we are traveling fine, not much hassle, and there’s not as much to report in the journey as there was at the beginning. But without a doubt the hardest things we had to adjust to (sometimes kicking and screaming, I assure you) is s-l-o-w dial-up Internet and no cable TV.

As I’ve mentioned before, there are lots of times I am trying to download pictures from family and friends and it takes forever - so long that I have to leave the computer altogether for 5-10 minutes for each picture because I can’t abide sitting here and watching that blue status line creep along. Paying bills online is a nightmare. Ordering things online is likewise frustrating. Getting updates from Apple is virtually impossible - even overnight is not long enough to download them. I can’t watch videos - even a 1-minute video of Charlotte singing or Caroline reading is off limits. My medical transcription sites take so long to just to download one thread that I just avoid them unless I have plenty of time. I have access to an interesting blog with incredible pictures from a lady on Prince Edward Island who posts daily, but the download takes forever, so I don't visit as often as I'd like. I can’t use my Delicious Library software to scan and catalog all my books because it has to access Amazon.com for the information on each book. The list of why I miss my high-speed Internet grows longer by the day.

The TV part is harder on Ed, since he stays at home all day and has to fill his time after I go to bed at 7 p.m. five nights a week. His favorite shows used to be the cooking shows, history shows, and travel shows. My favorites were medical shows, TLC’s What Not to Wear, Designed to Sell, and any old reruns I could find of shows from my childhood. We’d hardly ever watch sitcoms, but give us a good biography and we’d be glued to the TV. Of course, it became a habit like anything else, and the TV would be on more and more hours a day. We’d start with the local evening news and keep it on until the late evening news, then I’d turn it on in the morning while I was getting ready for work, and Ed would turn it on when he got up and sometimes it would stay on until 10:00 in the morning. Ever since we moved, we’ve managed to get two channels with our rabbit ears - ABC and PBS, with at times inadequate picture and sound quality. We refused to get satellite for a variety of reasons, and took our chances on what we could get free. Needless to say, the TV is not on much around here anymore, unless we are watching movies from the library, the rental store, or our stash on the weekend.

I give you this detailed background to set the stage for a drastic change in our near future. Ed has always said that blessings carry curses and vice versa, and neither category is unadulterated. Well, we are about to get the blessing and curse of Time Warner cable access for TV and Internet. They are just finishing up in our neighborhood (after starting a full year ago and working on and off), and I actually have a real order number for installation in the coming few weeks. “How exciting!” you say. “Whatever is the problem? This is what you’ve been waiting for - the breakthrough - the ultimate luxury - the things you sacrificed when you moved out of town!” Aye, but the curse always accompanies the gift, does it not?

I love the sign that says, “Lord, lead me not into temptation; I can find it myself just fine.” And therein lies the curse: Are we ready for these old temptations to return to our lives? Have we been put on a diet for 2-1/2 years, only to wake up at one of the biggest buffet tables we ever saw? Have we learned enough in our journey to simplicity to handle this? That’s the temptation - that’s the fear.

Ed is afraid if I get high-speed Internet, I’ll hole up in this tiny office and he’ll never see me again. I worry if he gets cable TV, he will waste too much time when he should be doing more constructive things like cutting wood and walking the dog. (It also should be noted that I can “veg out” in front of the TV just as easily, justifying that I’m simultaneously doing quilting or reading, and he can now get on the Internet and look up stuff he wants to order, so these temptations are not exclusive to either of us.) There is no question that cable TV offers some great educational and life-enriching programs. But anyone can watch the “good stuff” 24 hours a day if he/she has a mind to. Then where does real life go? As far as the Internet, I tell Ed I will spend a shorter amount, not longer amount, of time on the computer because things will get done faster. Yes, he says, but I will use the time I “save” to go to more places and spend more time visiting with my online MT friends, etc. Activities expand to fill a time vacuum. It's as if you go to the store to buy a pair of pants for $50, they are on sale for $25, so instead of pocketing the extra $25 you saved, you spend it to buy something else. Your spending has expanded to fill your wallet vacuum. (The frustrating thing is, he’s probably right.)

I also know we could arrange to get the cable Internet without the cable TV, but I’ll bet there will be a package offer with a tempting price and besides, I would love to see some football this fall, and, oh yes, getting to watch the Macy’s Parade live instead of, on the day after Thanksgiving, watching a VHS tape recorded by Rachel the day before would be such a treat! Did I mention all the quilting and sewing shows I used to watch? Yes, but will I end up watching quilting shows instead of actually spending the time quilting?

Maybe we can just “try” the TV with an introductory offer and cancel later. Uh-huh. Right. On the other hand, maybe we have grown wise enough to handle what used to be out of control.

Do you see the dilemma? We have worked hard along our journey to simplicity, and now all of a sudden, temptation has moved into our neighborhood and will be knocking on our door any moment. Are we prepared? It is possible to regain cable TV and Internet without losing ourselves in the process? Have we gained enough wisdom in the last 2-1/2 years to be able to hand these two “gifts”? Are we up to a difficult challenge? Stay tuned!

The Apostrophe Has a Tale

(Today I'm sharing a story I wrote for 5-year-old Caroline. By the way, thanks, Matt, for the inspiration!)

There was once an apostrophe who was confused. He knew he was important, but he wasn’t sure where to go and what to do. So he went to the question mark to ask her opinion. “Where do I belong?” he asked. Well, the apostrophe soon learned that question marks can’t answer questions - they only ask them. So he didn’t get any help there.

Next he went to see the exclamation point. But the exclamation point was just too excited to help out the apostrophe. All he did was shout, “TRY THE PERIOD!!!” So the apostrophe went to see the period, who wasn’t any help, either. Every time the apostrophe started asking his question, “Where do I belong?” he could only get out the “Where do” part before the period said, “Stop.” Oh, my, that seemed a bit rude to the apostrophe.

He tried the comma next, but the only clue the comma gave him was, “We look alike, my friend. Where do you belong? All I know is that I belong down, and you belong up.” The semicolon was too confused to help the apostrophe, because he couldn’t make up his mind if he himself was a period or a comma. But the semicolon did say cryptically, “I think your purpose is to show something belongs to someone, and I think you work a lot with the letter S.”

Frustrated by his experience, the apostrophe started wandering around. He soon came upon a sentence. Hey, it thought, that sentence looks like it could use an apostrophe! The sentence was this: A bird fell out of its nest. The apostrophe thought that, since the nest belonged to the bird, it must be right, and without even asking for permission, he just hopped right into the sentence, and landed between the T and the S. The new sentence now looked like this: A bird fell out of it’s nest. The apostrophe was so happy that he finally found a job. But the other words were upset. “You don’t belong here!” they shouted, and they pushed him right out.

Poor apostrophe picked himself up, dusted himself off, and started searching for a new sentence. It wasn’t long before he saw a good possibility. The sentence was this: The dog chewed its toy. “Oh, boy!” said the apostrophe. “Surely this sentence needs me! The toy belongs to the dog, doesn’t it?” And he plopped right down, again between the T and the S, and the new sentence was this: The dog chewed it's toy. Before he could relax, though, the other words became indignant. “You don’t belong here!” they said. Then they shoved the apostrophe out.

Soon he came across this sentence: Cats are for loving. “All right!” he exclaimed. “I can work with the letter S!” and he jumped right in, so the sentence now read like this: Cat’s are for loving. But it wasn’t long before the letters were saying, “Hey, that word is plural (more than one cat) and doesn’t need an apostrophe! You don’t belong here!” and they gave a big shove and he fell across a whole page until he landed just short of yet another sentence.

The apostrophe heard tiny voices, and when he looked up at the sentence where he had landed, all the letters were speaking at once. “Please help!” they said. “We just can’t be seen like this! It’s not right! Please, won’t you help us?” they asked. The apostrophe looked at the sentence. It looked like this: Its going to rain. The apostrophe had made enough mistakes for one day, and he didn’t want to jump in and get all comfortable if he would get kicked out. But the letters were insistent, so the apostrophe closed his eyes and jumped with all his might and landed right between the T and the S, so the sentence now read: It’s going to rain. “Yay!” cried the words. "We are happy now! You fixed everything! Now we are not ashamed to be seen!”

“But I’m not showing belonging!” he replied. “We aren’t using you for belonging,” the letters all explained. “We’re using you to make a contraction!” The apostrophe soon realized that his job was not to jump in every ITS that he saw. He should wait until he found an ITS that meant “It is,” and he could make it a contraction, which means one word made from two words. So “it is” becomes “it’s.”

The apostrophe was content, but he still wanted to show belonging. “Can’t I ever be used to show belonging, or am I just stuck in contractions?” he wondered. Then the word RAIN spoke up. “Oh, yes, little apostrophe!” she answered. “Why, look at me! I can have several jobs, too! I can be spelled RAIN or REIGN or REIN and pronounced exactly the same way!” “Hey, that’s cool!” said the apostrophe, appropriately impressed. “But what else can I do? Am I only able to make contractions?”

The word RAIN giggled. “Silly apostrophe!” she laughed. “Of course you aren’t used just for contractions! Why, look here!” And she pointed to all the wonderful belonging ways that apostrophe, with his friend letter S, could do. Caroline’s vocabulary. Charlotte’s new bed. Mommy’s books. Our family’s car. Papa’s pipe. Nana’s cookies. Grammy’s quilt. Daddy’s computer.

Finally the apostrophe realized that he could be used in so many places correctly that it didn’t matter to him that there were some words where he didn’t belong. At last he felt useful, and he lived happily ever after.

If you read a lot, you might come across the apostrophe sitting calmly in a word where he doesn’t belong. Maybe he’s just forgotten what he learned, or maybe he’s trying to trick you to see if you notice! Just tell him to move on to a word that really needs him. Then the sentences won’t be embarrassed, and the apostrophe will feel valuable for all his days.

Happy Birthday, Joy!

Everybody has funny, embarrassing stories about their siblings, right? Well, I thought I did, too. Until I gave it some thought. I tried to think of an instance where my only sibling, Joy, stood alone and did something amusing. The problem is, every time I think I’ve got one, it’s not Joy alone - it’s Joy and me together.

Being the only two children, sisters at that, and less than two years apart in age, raised in a family where the mom stayed home, made it inevitable that we would do almost everything together. Add to that the fact that we always shared a bedroom and always shared a small closet - well, we might have been twins. By the time I started school, and two years later Joy started school, we had formed a lasting bond which only strengthened as we grew. After all, we attended the same school, the same church, had many of the same friends (and were familiar with each other’s friends). We watched the same TV shows. We took piano lessons from Miss Vuille. We shared the same wonderful parents and grandparents, aunt and uncle and cousins. The see-saw picture above tells it all. You can’t ride a see-saw by yourself.

This is not to say we never fought. Of course, we argued (but really, not much!). And I’m not claiming we were virtually identical. On the contrary, at bedtime Joy kissed posters of Davy Jones and I kissed posters of Abraham Lincoln. We could be very different. But we were raised as two peas in the same pod, sharing a remarkable assortment of memories.

I’ll bet we spent a third of our lives together in the back seat of the family car, back when gas was cheap. From our early years when Daddy was teaching Mama to drive a stick shift in the fairgrounds parking lot (“You’re gonna KILL us!” we screamed as the car jerked around), to later years when we travelled on memorable family vacations as teenagers, the back seat of the car was our second home.

Now, I’m telling you straight - you can’t share a back seat with a sibling for this much time without learning to get along. These were the days before iPods and DVD players for the car, before cell phones, before laptops, before all the modern distractions which can enable two kids to sit side by side yet be light years apart. Heck, we started out before there were seat belts! So we became creative. Remember the old Bingo game for car trips with the little “windows” to close over things you see - like cows, trains, etc.? We loved those! We played word games, sang songs, learned the French alphabet, counted license plates, asked truckers to honk their horns, and even took “notes” on our journeys. Of course, our snack-filled “goodie box” was kept in the back seat, too. Yes sir, on vacations, the back seat was the place to be!

Around town, it was a different story. Our ride to church was about 20 minutes long, and when you go to church on Sunday morning, Sunday night, and Wednesday night, and every other Saturday, you can sometimes get bored. But not us. That’s because we usually had to pick somebody up. You wouldn’t believe how many people we could squeeze in the family car! Even today I can’t believe it. Daddy was a choir director, and to make sure all the members had a way to get to practice, he’d go pick a few of them up himself. He would have tied them to the roof if he had thought they wouldn’t get to practice otherwise. So Joy and I would be squeezed into the back seat with, at various times, women who smelled like smoke, perfume, mints, or lemon and oatmeal cookies. We could always squeeze in another person. Little Mary Pat (a soprano’s daughter) was so skinny, we could always fit her in and never even know the difference.

Every other Saturday, we would get our grandfather and drive a couple of hours away to see our grandmother, who was in a state institution (she was anorexic before the medical community knew much about that disease). So we’d be riding with Paw-Paw, a simply marvelous man who smelled like chewing tobacco and Listerine. On those trips, Daddy would drive (sometimes Paw-Paw’s huge ocean liner of a car) and Paw-Paw would sit in the front seat with him, and we’d share the back seat with Mama - a real treat for us, not to mention the fact that she’d take out a piece of Juicy Fruit and give us each half. Unfortunately, on those trips we also shared the back seat with Paw-Paw’s precious cans - one for his spittoon and one for his worms. (He’d sometimes try to get in a little fishing back then.)

Sometimes, on our way home from church on Wednesday or Sunday night, after we dropped off the myriad crammed-in passengers, we’d beg Daddy to drive us to Dairy Queen before we went home. “Dairy Queen?” he’d usually say. “What a waste! Those cones cost 10 cents apiece, and I can go to the grocery store and buy a whole half gallon of ice milk for 42 cents!” Occasionally, though, we would catch the car going in that direction, and the whoops and hollers coming from the back seat filled the car.

Did you know you can get drinking water from a faucet in a car? When the back seat got too tiring and we’d get thirsty, we’d start whining for something to drink. Daddy would turn on the fan, put an imaginary cup up to the dashboard, and hand it back to us, which we would pretend to drink in the spirit of the moment. Funny, it actually could quench our thirst.

Oh, and I mustn’t forget the twin boys who lived next door. Mama volunteered to take them to school with us, as if we didn’t have enough strangers sharing our back seat at other times. Their names were Ronald and Donald, and one of them sat up front with Mama, and the other one shared the back seat with us. These were, let’s say, boys who were not boyfriend material. Luckily, the ride was not that long.

Sunday is Joy’s birthday, and I just wanted to go down memory lane (in the back seat, of course) to remind her that we have lived a third of our lives together a car, sharing the back seat just like we shared a room, a closet, and a whole host of fantastic memories. Happy birthday, dear Joy! I love you!

It's ALIIIIIIVE!

I had some wonderful teachers in elementary school and high school, but alas, no one could teach history very well. I really don’t blame them; they probably had lousy history teachers, too.

History can be the most boring subject you ever heard of (think dates and places and battles to memorize), or it can conversely be the most exciting subject in the world. A good history teacher realizes that history is more than dates and places and battles - it is mystery, intrigue, successes and failures, aspiration, greed, sacrifice, suffering and sorrow, anxiety, pride, and everything other experience that makes up the human condition. History is about people - and when the personalities and idiosyncrasies, the defects as well as the admirable characteristics of those people get lost in all the boring “facts,” history gets lost as well.

I certainly did not become animated about history from textbooks. I owe my fascination to my dad, who insisted that family vacations were not complete without several stops at historical places. That brought history to life for us.

I’m more into American history, and Ed is more into world history (especially ancient history), but I’m glad we both enjoy learning about the past. Many of the books I read aloud to him are historical nonfiction. For the last year, it seems, we’ve been “stuck” in the 1700s. We started out with the book about our second president, John Adams by David McCullough, which focused especially on his remarkable relationship with his wife, Abigail. It was very well written and enjoyable to read! Then we watched The Adams Chronicles (a 1970s miniseries which had its moments but was somewhat disappointing, so we donated it to the library). Last month we finally got to see the HBO miniseries based on McCullough’s book, which was splendid, and now we are almost finished reading Benjamin Franklin: An American Life by Walter Isaacson. Sometimes when we wake up in the morning, we have to reorient ourselves to the 21st century!

Back in school, my history teachers implied that the American Revolution was led by old men who all respected and liked each other, who had one common vision, when in fact, most of the men were young, and there were, as to be expected, intense feelings in the group - envy, disdain, annoyance, impatience, and vitriolic hatred as well as respect - and that sometimes given grudgingly. Each man had a vision of independence from Britain, but each man had his own ideas of how to accomplish that and what his individual role would be in the new country. And the characters! If one of my history teachers had told me that Benjamin Franklin had an illegitimate son who fathered his own illegitimate son who fathered yet another illegitimate son - well, history class would have been a lot less dull. And if my teacher had mentioned the fact that old Franklin enjoyed playing chess with women while both were lounging together in a bathtub - well, that would have sparked some interest, too. Who knew that Thomas Jefferson had money problems because he was a shopaholic? One of the reasons he sold his library to the Library of Congress was because he needed the money to pay debts. He wanted the finer things in life, especially for his beloved home, Monticello, and he managed to obtain them, regardless of the financial consequences. Ah, at last we understood the Louisiana Purchase! Jefferson saw 828,000 square miles of territory and said, “Hey! I want to buy that!”

So today, July 4, is the first Independence Day for me when I actually appreciate all the history bundled up in it. Memorizing dates and battles has never been my area of strength...but I can tell you that Adams and Franklin and Jefferson and others were crossing the Atlantic ocean in ships that had to carry livestock that they could slaughter for food during the voyage. Nothing like watching your dinner walk on board your vessel with you, huh? Happy 4th!

Self-made?

It was interesting to see in the news this week that Bill Gates is retiring from Microsoft. Some have called him a “self-made man,” but that phrase really is not a correct one. Sure, he has always been talented and creative and intelligent and has been a hard worker and passionate in his career, but self-made? None of us is really self-made. From the teacher (or parent) who taught him the alphabet to his employees who helped make Microsoft successful to the customers who buy his products, there are many, many people who helped Bill Gates along the way. As it is with each of us.

I was born into a loving family to two of the most wonderful parents in the world. I was brought up to respect others, to be tolerant and generous, and I was given on an extensive education, partly in the classroom, and mostly at home. I have not become rich or famous, nor have I invented anything of use to the world. But what life I have carved out I owe initially to that unconditional love and inexhaustible teaching that for a long time I took for granted. Besides my family, what other amazing teachers have I been blessed with? Miss Vuille, who taught me in elementary school how to play the piano on a “keyboard” made of cardboard, using workbooks where the half notes were nurses and the black notes were soldiers. Miss Stryker and Mrs. Watkins, who taught me how to read. Mr. Knight, who taught me French. Miss Gillespie, who taught me choral singing and joie de vivre. Mrs. Ray, who, along with my mom, taught me how to sew. Mr. Fleming, who taught me how to play a pipe organ.

Actors on awards shows have always been belittled for their endless “thank you” speeches. But if you think about it, those actors are facing the fact that they really do owe lots of people their gratitude. The make-up and hair artists and costume designers who made them look incredibly perfect, the lighting people who did the same, the casting directors who hired them, and all the other skilled workers in the industry, in addition to acting coaches, fitness coaches, voice/dancing teachers, agents, the theaters carrying their movies, and the family and friends who encouraged them. The soloist realizes she is lost without her backup singers and orchestra. The rugged young actor remembers who gave him his first break. Those Hollywood celebrities are indeed not self-made, and sometimes even they realize this.

I was thinking about this today because two weeks ago I finally finished that quilt for Rachel and Chris that had been 6 long years in the making. I did it by my (as of December 2007) self-imposed deadline - their 6th wedding anniversary, which, by the way, is today. Now I am halfway through another quilt, one for my 2-1/2-year-old granddaughter Charlotte, who is moving from a crib to a “big girl bed” very soon. To whom do I owe my ability to quilt? Back in 1987, when I was the choir at Trinity United Methodist Church in Memphis, another singer always had a quilting project in her lap during choir practice. I had sewn clothes all my life, and had learned to cross-stitch and even crocheted once, but I had never seen anything like what she was doing. I finally was intrigued enough to ask her about it, and she graciously invited me to her house near the church one evening for a one-hour quickie lesson on how to quilt. I took to it with passion and never looked back. I owe my quilting life to this young lady, who took the time to pass on her creative knowledge.

All through my 53 years, a myriad of caring people have supported and taught and encouraged me and made me who I am today. They have affected my hobbies, the books I read, the things I want to learn, how I interact with my family and acquaintances, and everything else that makes up me. They’ve taught me how to forgive and ask forgiveness, how to let go of mistakes, how to build on successes, how to tolerate those who are different, and, most of all, how to be grateful and appreciate what I have been given. Some have invested an extraordinary amount of time with me; others have just been there to point the way and wish me luck. Still others will hardly realize that they have had an impact on my life, as I am just one of many whose lives they touched.

Thank God we are not self-made! If that were the case, humility would be in even shorter supply than it already is. For those of you who have helped me and taught me and encouraged me and loved me, words cannot adequately express how much that means to me. I will never be able to thank you on national TV, but this will just have to do. Thank you. I couldn't have done it without you.

Passion

When work, commitment, and pleasure all become one and you reach that deep well where passion lives, nothing is impossible. - unknown

If there is no passion in your life, then have you really lived? Find your passion, whatever it may be. Become it, and let it become you and you will find great things happen FOR you, TO you and BECAUSE of you. - T. Alan Armstrong

Passion requires focused direction, and that direction must come from three other areas: your purpose, your talents, and your needs. ~ Steve Pavlina

Passion, it lies in all of us, sleeping... waiting... and though unwanted... unbidden... it will stir... open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us... guides us... passion rules us all, and we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love... the clarity of hatred... and the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion maybe we'd know some kind of peace... but we would be hollow... Empty rooms shuttered and dank. Without passion we'd be truly dead. - Joss Whedon

When I looked up the word passion today, I found definitions of everything from suffering to anger to enthusiasm to love. Indeed, one definition is "any powerful or compelling emotion or feeling, as love or hate.”

I have always been excited to have passions in my life. Some of my passions have been lifelong (passion for music, for instance), which broadened as I got older to encompass a wider range (the Celtic harp). I’ve had passions for grammar, spelling, punctuation. I’ve had a passion for Lincoln. I’ve had passions for sewing, quilting, and cross-stitch. I even have a passion for medical transcription, which is a relief, because I have to do it every day.

I love the first quote: “When work, commitment, and pleasure all become one and you reach that deep well where passion lives, nothing is impossible.” The passion described here is more than an interest or a hobby. Passion has to be something that when you think about doing it or making it or seeing it or hearing it, your heart automatically speeds up. (Maybe I have a passion about flying, since that’s usually my physical reaction! LOL). It’s a driving force that, as the quote says, comes from deep inside, almost uncontrollable. Sometimes it makes life worth living, sometimes it makes it exciting to jump out of bed in the morning, sometimes it serves a greater purpose of benefiting others as it fulfills one's self.

My family has a lot of different passions - I mean REAL passions that energize them from the inside and spur their lives on. Passions that make their eyes light up when they talk about them. Some passions I don’t even understand what’s so great about them, but hey, that’s the beauty of passion. Mine has meaning for me, and theirs has meaning for them. My various family members have passions for Star Wars, theology, gardening, car seat safety, history, teaching, scrap-booking, books, music, wood-working, acting, animals, shopping garage sales for things they can transform, music, Mac computers, and others I probably don't even realize. Such variety!

I wanted to post about passion this week, because of our son’s extraordinary achievement. He has created a web site called www.macyenta.com and it went live last Saturday. Matt has a passion for Mac software - software with details of quality workmanship, elegant design, and user-friendly interfaces - and in all this, his passion is clearly evident and growing. He decided that the internet needed a site where Mac developers, programmers, coders, and designers could contact each other and come together to create great projects, find suitable working partners, and other things to shake up the Apple world. As I said, he started the site on Saturday, and as of today, Thursday, there are around 500 registrants from all over the world! Matt brought this amazing thing in to existence and we all watched as it grew incredibly in just a few days. This is the power of passion, when it’s paired with talent, channeled by vision, and steered by commitment.

Congratulations, Matthew! When work, commitment, and pleasure all become one and you reach that deep well where passion lives, nothing is impossible.

Making a Statement

I talk to myself, both aloud and in my head. We all do this, of course. The experts say that examining your self-talk is vital, because when you say something enough, you program your brain to believe it. People who consistently say, “I’m ugly” or “I always mess up” or “I’m never on time” can say these negative things so often that their brain impulses actually hardwire the message, which makes it even more likely to be thought, and so on. My personal one has been “I’m a procrastinator and unfinisher, and that’s just the way it is.” You say it so much, you don’t even question its validity anymore.

When it comes to doing things, I have certainly had my share of conversations with myself. As I lay in bed last night, I thought of all the statements I had made about myself and the effect those statements have had on my life. Words are more important than we give them credit for.

“I want to do this.” This is one mantra of childhood. Kids in their naive and hormone-laden states want to do everything - even things that are unwise, dangerous for them or other people, or things they are not mature enough to handle. Many adolescents lack judgment and all they can think of is what they want. “I want to sleep in and skip school today.” “I want to have sex.” “I want to drive as fast as this car will go.” “I want to get revenge on this teacher.” “I want to see what it feels like to get high.” Add to this the wants for material things, technology, clothes, games, etc., and the first fourth or so of one’s life can be consumed with trying to satisfy all those wants. As an adult, it becomes “I want to lose 20 pounds” or “I want to be loved” or “I want to be content in life.” You see, wants are not always bad, but when you want something you know would be good or healing for you and don’t do anything to achieve it, then it’s empty. As an adult, “I want” is just not enough.

“I should do this.” This was my childhood mantra. I was a good girl. I was a good student. I was a good church member. I was a good daughter. I knew what was expected of me, and usually I did it. I’m not belittling that, of course. I’m glad I could be a good family member and citizen. A sense of personal responsibility is admirable. But as adults, if we find that our lives are totally filled up with doing things because a nagging voice says we “should” and nothing else, and we do these things with no passion, no purpose, and sometimes with dread, it turns an admirable statement into a negative one, and drains our energy and eats into our lives.

“I could have done this.” Ack - the regret syndrome. Oh, the wasted life! The unaccepted challenges! The road not taken! Sometimes this becomes pathetic, but sometimes it’s funny. I remember when Matt was in, I believe, 6th or 7th grade, one of his friends was a good runner. Matt had never done fast sports, only karate (a much slower, more intentional skill), and one day he ran a race against this other boy. As he told us later about how he lost, he ended the story to us with a smile and said, “I could have beaten him...if he had had his shoes tied together!” It’s good to laugh at ourselves! But we shouldn’t be consumed with glory dreams of what might have been. We can learn from the past, but we really have only the future.

“I’m afraid to do this.” Boy, don’t I know it! This is the other half of a kid’s mantra (ergo Caroline’s standing in the street in her first set of roller skates, panicking). I’ve had those moments as an adult. “I’m afraid to commit to a health regimen.” “I”m afraid to kayak on the bay in Bar Harbor.” “I’m afraid to attempt this difficult quilt pattern.” “I’m afraid to take the Certified Medical Transcriptionist test.” “I’m afraid to fly to Memphis.” Of course, all these will be followed with the word “because,” as in “...because I might give up,” “....because I might drown.” “...because I am not skilled enough.” “...because I might fail,” and “...because I might crash.” If we admit fear, that’s being truthful. If we let fear paralyze us so we never try anything, well, that’s a big waste.

“I can do this.” Now we’re getting somewhere. As I mentioned in an MT chat room yesterday, when I passed the CMT, it sparked something within my brain that said, “If I can do this, maybe I can do something else that seems scary or difficult.” Do I really have the wherewithal to give up Cokes for the rest of my life? Am I mentally capable of a commitment to daily exercise? Can I actually make a quilt and finish it in a reasonable amount of time before I start another one of the myriad projects in my head? Am I actually physically, emotionally, and mentally able to get on another plane after freaking out on one 14 years ago? I made a list of things that up until now I had said,”I want to...,” “I should do...,” “I could have done,” and “I’m afraid to do...” and started associated these goals with a whole new statement - one with energy and promise. I can do this. I CAN DO THIS!

“I will do this.” This is the commitment statement. This is the one where you’ve discarded all the negatives, accepted the certainly that it is possible, and have gone one step further to commitment. After the goal is met, the feeling is indescribable, and feeds on itself to other goals and challenges and self-confidence. This can be overwhelmingly powerful and gratifying.

Finally, there is one more statement. For a couple of weeks, I have been visiting a site called www.transformation.com. It’s dedicated to encouraging people to transform their lives to their God-given full potential - not only physically in fitness and good health, but spiritually and emotionally and every other way from the inside out. They recently featured a teenage girl with leukemia, someone I didn’t know anything about but whom everyone was praising as such an inspiration because of her positive attitude about life. They said that her favorite statement was “I get to.” In spite of her chemo treatments, nausea and vomiting, and physical deterioration, she could still say, “I get to live another day.” “I get to give back to the society.” “I get to use this illness to encourage others.” She died last week, and the online community's outpouring of grief was tremendous.

I wondered what using her statement would do in my life. “I get to exercise today, because I have all my muscles and limbs and am not in a wheelchair!” “I get to fly to visit my family in August and get there in one day instead of driving for solid week there and back!” “I get to work in this fantastic career, where I not only use my skills, but I learn wonderful new things every day!” “I get to accept this new challenge, because win or lose, the struggle will only make me stronger!” “I get to participate today in this incredible journey called life!”

Now, that’s what I call making a statement. What a wonderful way to hardwire your brain!

The Great Connection

I’ve been reflecting on pleasures this week. With all the angst of rising food and energy prices and worries about the economy, jobs, and the war, I don’t want to lose myself in anxiety and miss the small pleasures in life. Sure, there are some big pleasures that are planned in advance - such as my upcoming trip to Memphis to see family and friends - but I am trying these days to fine-tune my pleasure receptors to the unexpected, serendipitous rewards most of us can receive every day, if we are open to them.

One of my downsizing/simplifying goals was to make an attempt to get closer to nature. As I’ve posted before, I have always enjoyed indoor activities (quilting, music, etc.) over outdoor activities which are usually accompanied by sunburn, heat, cold, hazardous ice and snow, mud, humidity, rain, or - my personal favorite - insects. Ed has always said (and I tend to agree) that the farther away we humans move from nature, the more bereft and lost we become.

My co-workers, aware of my desire for initiating natural communion, gave me a hummingbird feeder for my birthday last September, and after a long, long Maine winter, I finally got to hang it up last month. The first week, I saw no hummingbirds at all. Then one day Ed called me at work to tell me there was some activity, but try as I might in the hours I was home, I never saw one tiny bird. He described to me their beauty, their coloring, their interactions with their fellow birds, but I only could use my imagination. Some nights, we would be eating our early supper, Ed in his chair that faced the sliding glass doors to the back porch, and thus the feeder, and me on the bench, back to the feeder. He kept a close eye out, and as soon as he saw a hummingbird, he told me, but by the time I turned around, the bird had already flown away. Understanding my frustration, Ed changed places with me, and from then on, I was sitting where I was facing the feeder.

Finally, it happened. I saw a tiny brown bird fly up to the porch, suspend herself in space without perching, drink the sweet liquid, then fly away. I never realized what an uplifting moment of pure pleasure it would be - something so simple, so natural, yet so spontaneous.

I’ve seen many hummingbirds since then, and I have enjoyed each one. I have found, though, that I need to remain open to the moment, for the experiences are unplanned and brief. I could stand there at the door for an hour and might not see anything, but on the other hand, I might be walking past the door on my way to the kitchen, and see two or three visitors. I have learned that if my brain is weighed down with the worries of life, focused on the negative, my eyes remain closed to the joy of the hummingbirds, because my brain is not receptive enough to notice.

It wasn’t long after that that I saw the first owl I had ever seen outside of a zoo. It was sitting in a tall tree in our backyard. Ed, whose “awareness quotient” has always been off the chart as much as mine has been below normal, saw it first and led me to the window. At first I thought it was a huge bird’s nest, as it was dusk and the light wasn’t perfect. But as I watched, the owl turned its head in that quick unmistakable motion, and I could see very clearly the object of our fascination. Before I could fully grasp the importance of the moment, the owl spread its big powerful wings and flew off.

To some of you nature-lovers and gardeners and people who think nothing of being out in the natural world, these may seem like trivial things. But to me, a city girl born and bred in Memphis, I still get a kick out of seeing an unexpected deer in our neighborhood, or a real moose. Even the little hummingbirds fascinate me.

I’ve been taking walks outside now that summer is here, so I’m not just observing nature through glass. But I am just now realizing the potential of those spontaneous pleasures, how fleeting they are, how memorable they are, and how I must keep my mind and eyes and ears open to their presence. I’m ready to embrace nature.

...Although, last week there were a couple of bears spotted in Ellsworth near the hospital where I work. I may be ready to embrace nature, but I'm not quite ready for a bear hug!

Happy Birthday, Rachel!

The month of May is full of family birthdays. Today is the last one. Our beautiful daughter, Rachel Rebecca, today turns 30 on the 30th. Several people (the birthday girl included) have asked me how I feel about that. Well, I kind of feel like some of the gas station owners when gas hit $4 a gallon, and they didn’t have enough numeral 4’s in stock to change all their price signs. I’m not sure I’m quite prepared to have a kid (OK, young adult) with the number 3 at the beginning of her age. But prepared I must be, for the day is upon us.

The greatest fallacy when a new family member is born is to think you are getting a “baby,” when in fact, you are getting a baby and, if you’re lucky, a 10-year-old, 20-year-old, 30-year-old, and many decades beyond. Each year has been full of surprises. We were surprised to find out I had been carrying a girl on May 30, 1978, for that is when she came into the world, and we have been surprised ever since.


That’s one thing great about having children - you can’t predict where anything will go.

In looking back over her childhood photos, one can see she had a....well....an eclectic sense of style. Now as an adult, she has wonderful taste in dressing herself and her family (although no telling what she’s wearing this morning at home as she reads this blog!). In high school, she was enamored with football, football, and more football. She was the first female manager of her school’s football team. She helped take her school team to the state championship. She never missed a 49’ers game. She was confident she would grow up to marry Steve Young, their quarterback at the time. Now she hasn’t had a chance to see a football game in ages. She doesn’t even keep up with the standings. Her life has become filled with other things more important.

As she grew up, she was never interested in cooking or domestic chores. (It didn’t help that her Dad did all the cooking in the family. For years she thought that was the norm.) She was a true women’s advocate. She believed women could and should do anything, and she prepared herself for a preferred career as ESPN’s first female football anchor. After signing onto college as a communications major, though, she read a book which helped her figure out that her talents lay not in sports broadcasting but in teaching, and she switched to education and never looked back. And how is she in the kitchen? Well, that young adolescent Rachel would have been amazed to learn that young adult Rachel cooks like a pro, makes her own bread, and even made her own baby food when she became a mother!

The teenage Rachel spent money like crazy, if she had it. The adult Rachel has learned the value of a dollar, little though it be, and spends accordingly. The Rachel of a few years ago would have thought choosing a pink environment for her little girl would have been giving into stereotypes - but guess what color Caroline’s room is? The teenage Rachel who was brought kicking and screaming to Maine in 1996 is now married to a native Mainer and can appreciate the beauty of the state.

Now the little baby who - gasp! - came home from the hospital 30 years ago today IN MY LAP IN THE FRONT SEAT OF THE CAR is a certified car seat technician, spending many hours volunteering at a local hospital and other places to check car seat safety, instruct parents on choosing and using car seats, and doing her part to make child safety a priority in all vehicles.

So as you can see, there have been a lot of major changes in Rachel’s life, as there should be, and I’m sure there will be many more, as there should be. But all the while, some things have not changed, and I pray they never will. She is still full of love, laughter, and creativity (even if she denies her gifts in the latter). She has always been intelligent and a fantastic speller, grammarian, and book lover, and those talents she is passing on to her children. She has always been exceptionally tolerant to human differences, and that has only grown stronger. She has always been loyal and committed to her family, and as a family we are better for it.

Rachel has been known to worry, however, that she has disappointed me in some way, because she has never taken up quilting or sewing or music. What she fails to realize is that I did not want a daughter who is my clone. I just wanted a daughter who was intelligent, kind, wise, who could spell like an expert, learn a smattering of French, and know some basic facts about Abraham Lincoln - and I got that and so much more! We couldn't be prouder!

Oh yes - and she has always loved birthdays - anybody’s birthday, but her own is always special. She loves the recognition, reflection, and celebration that comes with birthdays. So Happy 30th Birthday, sweet Rachel! You have matured in wise ways, and have stayed the same in equally wise ways. We love you!

Happy Birthday, Mama!

I’ve been trying this year to honor the birthdays of family members by posting in this blog, but this is one of the hardest to create. My mother turns 85 year old today. If you know my mother, you know that words fail when talking about her. If you have never met my mother, you’ve missed something special.

You can’t pick your parents (although my son Matt swore when he was younger that God took him on a world tour before he was conceived to have him choose his mother, and he chose me), but being born to this incredible lady was an extraordinary blessing to me and my sister. We tease her about her eccentricities and she laughs with us. She is the most patient person I have ever met, the most accepting of life’s events, the most generous and most encouraging woman. She is prepared to believe the best about anyone, almost to the point of naiveté. She has been robbed many times - from someone breaking in her house to someone stealing her license plate - twice - and someone digging up her azalea bushes in the front yard at night, which is kind of ironic, because if someone just asked her for something within her power to give, she would give it without hesitation. She will purposefully go without in order to have money to give to others. She finds equal pleasure in a photograph of her great-grandchildren sent through the mail and my sister’s homegrown lettuce. She celebrates with us in big things, yet delights in the very small things. It is so easy to bring a broad smile to her face, or, if you’re lucky, a hearty cackling laugh.

Our dad died in 1980, and for 28 years, she has lived alone, a hard adjustment, but one she has managed to do successfully. She will drive anyone anywhere, she will do a good deed for anybody, and she is always surprised when someone does something for her - as if she never expected it. Her life has been always lived for others - her family, friends, neighbors, and church. She knows no other way.

My sister and I play the piano today because she always wanted to play, but never got the chance to learn. She plays vicariously through us (and my two nieces, who have carried on the tradition).

And I live vicariously through her. I desperately try to emulate her generosity and patience and positive attitude, although I’m afraid I’ll never come close.

I’m flying down to Memphis in August to surprise her for a visit. Every minute with her is precious and bittersweet, as I am always conscious of another impending separation. What did I do to deserve such a wonderful mother? Nothing. What can I do to honor her? Live a life worthy of her daughter. I only hope I am up to the task.

Happy birthday, dearest Mother! I wish you many more years of being a blessing to those around you!

The Poor People Project

I had the pleasure of baby-sitting granddaughters Caroline (5) and Charlotte (2-1/2) today. I am a firm believer in teaching moments - and those are not one-way, either. The girls have as much to teach me as I have to teach them.

While Charlotte was napping, I asked Caroline what she wanted to do. She said she wanted both of us to draw pictures of Abraham Lincoln. But these weren’t going to be ordinary pictures - oh no. She continued: “Then after we draw pictures of Lincoln, we will fold them up and stick in a bunch of money and give it all to Poor People.” One never quite knows what Caroline is going to do or say, but it never fails to amaze.

She brought out two sheets of paper and her box of markers, and we set out to create our masterpieces. She apparently had messed up on her drawing, so she obliterated her false start with black marker and began to draw underneath it. Always feeling the need to give an explanation for everything, she said she had decided that that was a rain cloud, and she was starting over to draw Lincoln underneath the rain cloud. I told her that was quite appropriate, since in real life, Lincoln probably felt as if he were under a rain cloud frequently.

We finished our pictures. "Sign your picture, Grammy," she told me, as she carefully printed CAROLINE on the right side of her drawing, having run out of room after the N and having put the E on the next line by itself.

“Now for the money,” she said. We went into her room and she grabbed her piggy-bank off a shelf. Her piggy-bank looks like a jungle scene, and it plays Talk to the Animals. She struggled to control the heavy object as she lowered it to the floor. “I want to put in bills,” she said, “because Lincoln was a President and there are Presidents on dollars! Do you get it?” Yes, I got it. Then she said, “Except I don’t have any bills. But I have coins, and there are Presidents on coins, too!”

She turned the piggy-bank over and started reaching in a small hole, pulling out whatever coins she could retrieve. As she did so, she began to relate to me how much she wanted to help Poor People. I capitalize that because she used the phrase almost as if she were using someone’s name.

“Poor People need my help,” she told me. “We certainly don’t want them shivering outside, standing in the rain, in the mud!” She pulled out a couple of quarters, then looked up at me again. “This money will help them buy the things they need, like...houses, and cars, and couches.” She grabbed a nickel and pulled it through. “And if they can’t afford a car, they can use this money to buy a wagon and some horses.”

Finally she had about 20 coins. She folded her Lincoln drawing and poured the coins inside, then tried to tape the paper shut, but the coins kept falling out. I could see that unless I did something, she would be using a whole roll of tape to try to control the spillage. So I took apart her first attempt, and showed her how to line up the coins and get one piece of long tape and tape across the line to hold every coin in place. She made and taped two lines of coins, one on the top and one on the bottom of the picture. Satisfied with the result, she went to her desk and came back with an ivory envelope, and we carefully folded the drawing, coins intact, placed it in the envelope, and she ran her tongue across the flap and sealed it. She handed the envelope to me.

“I’ll write Poor and then you write People,” she instructed, handing me a pen.
“Do you know how to spell Poor?” I asked her. She spelled it aloud correctly, then wrote it in capital letters on the front of the envelope.
“Now you write People,” she said. So I did.
She then said, “Grammy, I want you to put a stamp on this envelope, and when you leave today, I want you to mail it.”

We, of course, weren’t through yet. We went back into the living room, got my drawing of Lincoln, and proceeded to do the very same steps - except this time, the coins were coming from my wallet. Again, we taped, and again, she wrote POOR and I wrote PEOPLE on the envelope, and again she gave me the same mailing instructions.

When Rachel got home, I brought out the envelopes and explained the situation. She said, “Caroline, I don’t think this is enough money for poor people to buy a car or house. But do you remember how the grocery store always has cans at the cash registers where they collect change for kids who have cancer or people who are hungry? Would you like to take these to the grocery and give the money to those people?” Caroline thought that was a good idea.

I went to Caroline’s house today thinking I would be a teacher, and I left a student. I was worried about how the ever-increasing gas prices would affect me as I filled up on the way home, and Caroline was thinking about Poor People, and not only thinking about them, but actually putting her thoughts into action.

“And a little child shall lead them.”

Trips of a lifetime

My sister sent me a great book last year called “Land of Lincoln: Adventures in Abe’s America.” It’s a very entertaining book, and my favorite part is the author describing his attempt to get his family interested in Lincoln history by bundling them in the car and going on a car trip, following the old Lincoln Heritage trail. He states that the Heritage Trail (which includes, oddly, some non-Lincoln sites in the states involved) was an invention of the Illinois, Indiana, and Kentucky tourist industries, in an era when gas was cheap and families took vacations together.

Alas, today gas prices prohibit even the most determined families from driving hundreds of miles in the car to see the country. Such a shame! My sister and I can’t imagine childhood without the annual vacation. Our trips were on a tight budget - our father didn’t make much money - but he made sure he saved enough to pay for an annual 2-week trip and enough film to record it for posterity.

For Joy and me, our trip started months in advance, when we spent our free time writing lists of everything we wanted to pack, from clothes to accessories to books to games to the old salon-style hood hairdryer, which we to this day can’t figure out how Daddy got in the trunk. Soon we’d see envelopes in the mail from AAA, and it wouldn’t be long before Daddy would be sitting down at the table at night, studying their recommendations and trying to find out which motels would give us discounts for what. As the trip grew nearer, the anticipation became almost unbearable. Finally, the night before the trip, Mama would stay up practically all night frying chicken and making the ingredients for our picnic lunch, a tradition on the first day. She also had to wash clothes and pack for Daddy, and then worry for the next couple of days if we had unplugged the iron and locked the house. We never could understand how vacations just made her tired, when they energized us!

When my husband Ed was young, his family took fewer trips, but their trips were a lot different. They traveled to one destination and stayed there for a week, for instance, in a nice hotel. In contrast, we tried to see as many things as we could in the time allowed, and the motel was not for luxury, but for a clean place to sleep, so we could rise early and try to cram in another full, glorious day. We ate one meal out a day, and the rest of the time we went to a local grocery store and filled our cooler with the staples - Vienna sausage, bologna, cheese, bread, crackers, pork and beans, cereal, maybe some fruit, RC cola (or whatever was on sale), and a little container of milk (enough for cereal), tuna fish. We had a “goodie bag” of candy and snacks, a transistor radio, Travel Bingo, and songs and word games to keep us occupied. Most nights we had a pool and TV at the motel. What more could a kid in the '60s and early '70s want?

And the things we saw! National parks, state parks, local parks. Museums, historical homes, old mills. Washington, DC (with a fit, sunburned Ted Kennedy graciously stopping to chat and appear in our home movies). Philadelphia. Toronto. Colorado. Niagara Falls. Florida beaches. Mountains, rivers, lakes, streams. Everything to do with Lincoln - birthplace, childhood home, lawyer's office, the house in which he married, the church he attended, Lincoln Memorial, Ford's Theatre, the room in which he died, his tomb, and his chair on the fatal night (that's in Dearborn, Michigan!). Along the way, Stuckey's travel stops and wonderful tacky gift shops at each location. Our destination didn't have to be famous to make memories, either. We interacted with a talking myna bird at one motel. Watched Mama eat brains at a restaurant for breakfast. All of us got sunburned once, and Mama put wet tea bags on us as her home remedy. (What did we expect? We used baby oil for suntan lotion!) The trips became so wonderful and memorable that I started to keep journals.

We knew the trip was coming to a close when Mama took her house keys out of her purse to hold them for the last 200 or so miles. It was always good to come home, drop the home movies film off to get developed, see the cats again, and enjoy the rest of the summer. It wasn't long, though, before Daddy was already planning the next incredible trip.

The days of $12 motels for a family of four and 35-cent-a-gallon gas are gone. So are the opportunities for so many families to recreate what we took for granted. But every spring about this time, I start remembering those old family vacations, and I smile. I can almost smell the chicken frying in the kitchen.

Happy Birthday, Caroline!

Five years ago today we were all sitting in a hospital room while our daughter Rachel labored to give birth. The decision was made to go for C-section after all other options (and Rachel!) were exhausted, so Ed and I were full of anxiety over the surgery as well as excited over the birth of our first grandchild - and up to the actual birth, none of us knew the baby’s gender.

We alternated our time between the nurses’ station and the patient room, waiting for word. Finally we heard a loud, lusty cry, and in just a few minutes, the midwife, who had stayed to assist in the surgery, brought a precious bundle to the room. I learned we had a girl - Caroline Alice - and I fell in love with her the moment I saw her. I cried when the midwife gave her to me. I was so overcome, I’m surprised I didn’t drop Caroline right on the floor. The whole experience was unbelievable. It seemed like just yesterday that I was having my own C-section, giving birth to my firstborn, Rachel (whose gender we also were unaware of until the moment of arrival; we like surprises in this family, I guess!)

Well, it wasn’t long before Caroline discovered her first book, and the rest is history. I have 9430 photographs on my computer with Caroline in them, the majority of them, I think, showing her with a book in her hands. She’s graduated to chapter books, of course, and has been reading for a long time, in spite of the fact she’s only just 5 years old today and will start kindergarten in the fall.

We’ve watched Caroline grow into a lovely little lady, going from shy and introverted to outgoing and energetic. Just as on May 6, 2003, I was venturing into the unknown about what being a grandmother entailed, today we still are heading into the unknown. What will Caroline be like as she grows up? What new activities will interest her? What things can I teach her? What will she look like at 10? 16? 25? This year we are finally seeing just a tiny preview of an older version of Caroline, but if the preview is accurate, life with her will be a marvelous adventure - one surprise after another!

As Caroline learned what it's like to be a baby, toddler, little girl, and preschooler, she has taught me what it is to be a grandmother. What a wonderful gift! We’re both learning together. And, I might add, she is a perfect teacher for me.

Happy 5th birthday, Caroline! Papa and I are so proud of you - your intelligence, your manners, your wild imagination, your sense of humor, your smile, the sparkle in your eyes when you are excited about something, your creative blog, and your willingness to help your little sister learn how to maneuver through this world. I am so happy to be your Grammy! We love you very much, our Fairy Princess!

Drains

I had the pleasure of bringing home a bunch of cassette tapes from our trip to Memphis last August. My sister had asked me to transfer them to CD, as I was trying to transfer other old ones into digital format. One of those cassettes featured a celebration of my Uncle Tommy’s 25th birthday in 1952, two years before I was born. It was such fun to sit there and listen in on my uncle, aunt, parents, all who were young adults at the time, fool around with the tape recorder, cracking jokes, and doing generally silly things. My maternal grandfather even joined in, as he was an old hand at “broadcasting,” since he used to have a radio show earlier in life.

Uncle Tommy at that time was apparently fascinated with a commercial for Ajax cleanser. Here’s how their jingle went, and a little paragraph about the ad campaign:

Use Ajax (ba bum)
The foaming cleanser (ba ba buma bum bum)
Cleans pots and pans just like a whiz (buba buba buba buba bum)
You'll stop paying the elbow tax
When you start cleaning with Ajax
So use Ajax (ba bum)
The foaming cleanser (ba ba buma bum bum)
Floats the dirt right down the drain (buba buba buba bum)
So use Ajax!

Ajax Pixies - Three energetic pixies who cavorted about kitchens and bathrooms cleaning dirty surfaces with Ajax Cleanser. Created by the Sherman & Marguette Advertising Agency for the Colgate-Palmolive Company, these three pointy-eared personalities were TV's first animated commercial mascots. Their Ajax Cleanser commercial also introduced TVs first jingle "You'll stop paying the elbow tax, when you start cleaning with Ajax." The pixies (a fat, a thin and a tall pixie all under three-inches in height) interacted with live-action shots and piped such scripted lines as "Foams as it cleans," "Cuts grease fast" and "Floats the dirt right down the drain." The commercials were accompanied by a bouncy "Bum, Bum, Bum, Bum Bum" musical score written by Joe Rines. Ajax "the foaming Cleanser" debuted on television with its three animated pixie mascots in 1948 and continued through the 1950s.

So on the tape, Uncle Tommy took the microphone around and had everyone present sing a shortened version of the Ajax jingle, changing the word “drain” to “dwain.” I know, it doesn’t sound like much entertainment these days, but the participants were obviously having a blast. Every time I think of drains, I think of this jolly family party in 1952.

And when do I think of drains? When I consider how I use my time and with whom I spend my time, and what impact this is on my life. Ever since we started to simplify, how to spend my time has been a major concern. It’s bad enough to waste money (and we have certainly done our share), but to waste time is worse. Time is so limited, and on top of that, we have no idea how much we have allotted to us. The older I become, the more acutely aware I am of the fact that I’m on the top of the hourglass and most of the sand is at the bottom now.

My desire is for energy, because I still have so much I want to accomplish in the coming years. In reality, though, it’s easy to watch all that potential energy float down the drain like the dirt in the jingle. So I am constantly examining my life, trying to identify the people, things, activities, and thoughts that drain me. That is where I need to make changes.

I told one of my friends the other day, who was thinking she needed to spend less time on the computer and more time in uplifting and productive activities, that on her deathbed she will not sigh and say, “I wish I’d spent more time in chat rooms on the Internet” or “I wish I’d spent more time on the computer” or “I wish I’d spent more time watching TV and living life vicariously.” What will I say? If I died today and had time enough to reflect before the event, I would say: “I wish I had spent more time with family. I wish I had spent more time in God’s beautiful, amazing, natural world. I wish I had had more patience, been more considerate, been more loving and forgiving. I wish I had not allowed so many negative people and thoughts, worries and anxieties in my life that drained me so much that I had little energy to devote to things I love, like my quilts, my music, and my books. I wish I had used my time more effectively to make the world a better place.” I’m not saying that we have to make decisions about what is good versus what is bad; I’m only saying we have to make decisions about what may be good versus what is better - what may be an adequate, occasionally enjoyable way to spend our time versus what is the best and most uplifting way to spend our time. And that, my friends, may be different for each of us. We are each answerable to our own idea of how to live our own life.

We are going through many changes at work, many of them quite challenging. I have a co-worker who is unfortunately looking at everything negatively. She is a sweet person, but easily discouraged, and life is weighing her down. Now, I’m not a pollyanna by any means, but I have learned in life that a positive attitude is energizing, and a negative one is draining. There is certainly enough negativity in the news these days, and I am not trying to make light of the fact that the economy is in serious trouble, energy prices and grocery prices and the war and everything else can be enough to make one want to hide away from it all. There are surely times I want to complain and whine and wring my hands in frustration. I have found that the more negativity I surround myself with, the more worried and anxious and drained I become. Having a “positive attitude” is so cliche, I know, but I believe it contributes to energy, contentment, and productivity.

We can’t avoid completely the drains in our lives. But we can minimize their effects by staying aware of who they are, where they are, and how they subtly infiltrate our activities and slowly suck the life out of us. If anything goes down the drain, let it be negativity, complaining, anxiety, confusion, and regret. Then the drain becomes a friend instead of a saboteur. You just have to know exactly what you want to see float out of your life.