Preservation

I've written frequently in this blog about making memories. Today I want to talk about preserving memories.

Part of the journey to simplicity is clearing out useless stuff and saving important things. Lord knows that is one of the most difficult and time-consuming parts of the process. One only has to revisit my early posts from 2005 (has it been that long??!) to understand the heart-wrenching details of our trying to weed out the clutter as we struggled with what to save and what to trash at the beginning of our journey. At that starting point, it was hard enough to make the decision of whether to save something, let alone worry about how to save something. But, as my sister and I have come to learn last week, without the proper preservation, the initial decision to save becomes irrelevant.

I spent last week in west Tennessee visiting my family, and during my visit, my sister Joy and I spend some time cleaning out our mother's house. Mother has done marvelously recuperating from her auto accident (and her subsequent broken hip and ankle) at Joy's house, but Mother's own house still needs some attention and maintenance, and we took the opportunity to do just that.

The old attic, of course, proved to be the worst part. Our beloved childhood family church, Harris Memorial Methodist, has been officially disbanded for decades, but our choir-director/church-leader father saved every bulletin and every canceled check from that congregation. We laughed when we came across choir attendance record books from the '40s - if you were a choir member of Harris Memorial and your life depended on knowing whether you attended choir practice on a certain Wednesday in 1942, just contact us! Dad died 3 months before age 65 and his planned retirement, so we figured he would have spent some time up in the attic had he lived in order to sort out some of this stuff himself. But it fell to us to do that for him. Some things we easily discarded, but we were bewildered with old magazines and newspapers, most of the time not having a clue as to why they were saved.

So lesson #1: If you save something for future generations, please put a note with it about why it is important! Your kids and grandkids will not be mind-readers. A birthday card is easy enough to identify, but what about that old fountain pen? How are we to know it was a gift from a special person on a special occasion? What was the article in the yellowed magazine that you wanted to save and why? Who's the wise guy behind the old textbook that on the flyleaf says, "Turn to page 102," then on page 102 says "turn to page 14," then similar random page-turning instructions until you come to the message of "You're a damn fool for doing this!"? Who is that unidentified old lady or little girl in the black-and-white picture? Is this baby dress mine or my sister's?

Summary: If you take the time to save things for future generations, please label, label, label!!!

Lesson #2: Consider your chosen method of saving your important things. Time, moisture, insects, dust, sunlight - they all do their best to destroy your precious memories. As a quilter, I have always been aware that, for instance, a wooden chest is not an appropriate way of saving a quilt unless you use special acid-free paper to wrap the quilt in, because the acid in the wood will ruin the fabric. Baby clothes, old embroidery, tatting - anything that is made of fabric - needs to properly stored. Especially photographs! Hint: Storing photographs under what would become mildewed curtains is not a good plan. A box like that could easily have been misidentified as trash and thrown out without even sorting through.

Summary: If you take the time to save things for future generations, please store carefully! If necessary, do some research on the method that will be the most appropriate for your treasures!

Lesson #3: Don't let the family stories die. This one is tough. When you're a kid, the last thing you want to do is sit with some old family characters as they ramble on for hours about this and that from their childhoods. You're too young to realize the importance of this moment. Even in young adulthood, you're usually busy with raising kids and making your own memories that you forget to sift through and salvage the irreplaceable memories of your parents and grandparents before dementia or death takes them away. Our mom doesn't talk that much about the past, and to get her to give us details is like pulling teeth, but our Uncle Tommy, bless his heart, likes nothing better than to tell story after story, and he is a treasure trove of family history. Only now do we appreciate this. The time will come when, unless remembered and preserved, those stories will be lost forever. Let your relatives talk, and listen carefully. Write it down, retell it, make a video - whatever it takes to preserve something you can't see or touch but which is irreplaceable.

Summary: Preserving these memories is just as important as preserving those baby shoes. Take every opportunity to appreciate and pass on.

And there you have it - my three "journey to simplicity" lessons I learned last week in my childhood home in Memphis. Some of the most wonderful things we possess are memories. Be careful with your family history or one day you won't be able to locate and identify your great-grandfather's photograph or even be able to retell the story of Aunt Bessie as a girl with her dog whose eye barely hung on by a thread (those lovely stories always told at mealtimes)!

The blessing of average

I had to chuckle on my commute yesterday. At 5 a.m. while it was still dark, I was driving down a highway with a posted speed limit of 50 mph. I was going about 50. It wasn't long before I had to brake for a car in front of me that was going about 35 for no apparent reason. I felt uncomfortable passing at that time, and as my turnoff was just a couple of minutes away, I just continued to creep along behind him. A few seconds later, a pickup truck zoomed up behind me. He too had to slow down, but only for a moment, as he couldn't stand it and passed the both of us. Three drivers, three speeds. I personally was too fast for one, too slow for the other.

This little scenario was a life lesson for me in one minute. There will always be people going slower than we are in life and others going faster. There will always be people smarter than we are and those not so intelligent. There will always be people more attractive, wealthier, talented, and healthier than we are - and the other way around. I can sing better than some folks, but not as good as others. I can quilt tinier stitches than some folks, but not as tiny as others. I can transcribe faster than some, but not as fast as others. This is why we can't constantly compare ourselves with our friends, neighbors, and even strangers. No matter how hard we try, odds are that we will always be somewhere in the middle. Feeling inferior because we don't measure up makes us unnecessarily depressed. Feeling superior because we are ahead of some other person just makes us unbearably vain.

It's not bad being in the middle, and it's not bad being average. Welcome to the club of normal!

By the way, speaking of going fast, I will be going very fast tomorrow as once more I take the remnants of my fear of flying and put them to the test. I am looking forward to flying to Tennessee (with daughter Rachel and 4-year-old Charlotte) to see my mom and my sister and her family, as well as whatever other relatives or friends I can squeeze in. This will be Charlotte's first time on a plane, so I am hoping I can be a good role model for her and put her at ease. I am certainly looking forward to the week ahead! (Tennessee - hold the tornadoes, please. Thanks.)

The State of the World

The world can be a scary place. Every media outlet brings us fresh news daily to affirm this. Violence, pain, injuries, death - poignant stories that make it seem as if the earth and humanity cannot even coexist anymore.

Take natural disasters, for instance. The recent earthquakes in Haiti and Chile have just underscored the violence that Nature can have. The victims can be young or old, rich or poor, hardworking folks or bums. There seems to be no discernment (except in the case of richer areas that have built stronger buildings). I’ve heard recent stories of lobstermen who’ve drowned in the ocean, campers lost outside who’ve died from hypothermia, skiers who’ve perished in avalanches. Areas in drought need rain for crops while other regions are overcome with disastrous flooding and mudslides. I know one verse in the Bible that has been interpreted as saying something like all of Nature is standing on tiptoe to see what the children of God will do....and these days I keep thinking that it might be said that all of God’s children are standing on tiptoe to see what the natural world is going to do - for it seems like a losing battle.

Added to the above are the tragedies inflicted by the biological world of our bodies. Disease is everywhere - again, striking no one in particular and everyone in general. From cancer killing young kids who have barely lived, to Alzheimer’s crushing the once vibrant minds of our elderly - there is no sense of fairness or justice. And let’s face it - the tortures of the mind and spirit can be as devastating as the tortures of the body.

Although it is probably true that we have contributed to these tragedies by our choices involving how we treat our planet and our unhealthy lifestyles, the bottom line is that a lot of life consists of unfair calamities beating us to a pulp, unexpected, undeserved, with no meaning whatsoever. This thinking is the origin of the infamous bumper sticker delicately translated as “Crap happens.” No way around it. You can maneuver good to come out of the situation, but you can never explain why it happened in the first place.

All in all, the world is full of strife and suffering. Whether it’s ourselves, our loved ones, or somebody we read about in the newspaper, we’re all affected and despondent. If natural disasters and disease were the only powers trying to bring us to our knees, that would be one thing. But the list does not stop there.

As if there weren’t enough suffering already, we seem to insist on adding to it. I’m one of the most accident-prone person I know. I’ve cut the skin off my finger when peeling potatoes, slipped on an olive-oil spill on the kitchen floor while carrying a pot of pasta in boiling water, “burned my face off” with fire starter and had to be taken to a burn center to be treated - all because I was either moving too fast or wasn’t paying attention. These are called accidents because they aren’t done with purpose or malice - they just happen because we’re not aware of our surroundings or thinking about other things. Some are just inconveniences and others are pure tragedies. I’ve read one too many horrifying stories of parents accidentally running over their own toddlers as the parents backed the car out of the driveway, assuming everyone was accounted for. It’s bad enough to cause an accident for oneself, but I can imagine the heartbreak a careless moment can create if it involves someone else as the victim.

Of course hurting others physically by accident is not the only way we inflict injury. We do the same thing with our words. Because we don’t think of the consequences or because, again, we are just not paying attention, we let words slip that can never be taken back once spoken, and we have unwittingly contributed to the lowering of someone’s self-esteem or said mean or hateful things that it takes a second to say but years to regret. I would bet we have all done this at one time or another.

First, nature’s indiscriminate fury - leaving us feeling helpless. Next, our own accidental contribution to the grief of our world - preventable. Finally, there is the pure evil around us - those who lack some kind of compassion or moral compass or whose greed or hatred or quest for power dominate their lives and they don’t care who gets hurt in the process - also preventable because they are human choices.

As I’ve contemplated the state of the world this week, the word "preventable" kept coming to the forefront of my mind, and my whole spirit is agonizing over what we have contributed as individuals and members of the global society to our own grief and suffering. And, as my favorite prayer states, “Help me to accept the things I cannot change, change the things I can, and have the ability to know the difference,” I want to renew my personal goal of changing what I can - paying more attention, focusing, avoiding mistakes and accidents, being a presence of joy to the world (and myself) rather than bearer of pain, and in this journey I am praying that we all try to cut the preventable suffering in our lives. Lord knows there’s enough we’re stuck with from the get-go.

The difference

One of the goals of simplicity is to be able to find joy in everyday pleasures. One blog I follow recently described the personal satisfaction in using an old-fashioned pen and paper to jot down lists. I responded that to me, a fresh, sharpened wooden pencil is my personal preference. I remember how my son Matt never liked the grainy feel of wooden pencils when he was growing up and he preferred a smooth mechanical pencil. For some, I'm sure, the only simple, satisfying solution would be to forget a writing utensil and paper altogether and quickly type a list on a laptop. My blogger wisely responded:

This is a perfect example of simplicity being different for different people.

A foundational principle of Methodism is something called the quadrilateral. How can various religions and denominations hold one book - the Bible - as sacred, yet firmly believe that it says things quite the opposite of what other religions and denominations believe it says? The difference is all in interpretation. Using what is called "the primacy of Scripture," (the main leg, shall we say), the quadrilateral states there are three other legs to this guiding system of belief - that every individual has to interpret Scripture using tradition, reason, and experience. I have thought for quite a while that these three methods of interpretation can easily apply to other areas of our lives, including the ongoing question of what constitutes simplicity.

As a lover of all things involving history, I fully agree that one's tradition has to be included in this. Tradition, whether owned by cultures or families or churches or other groups, has much to teach us. There is a reason that wisdom from the past has survived generation after generation. The caveat here is that tradition is not a static thing but instead is a living thing. Traditions evolve and adapt. Some old traditions which have lost their meaning morph into newer traditions - trying to honor the past without being chained to it. I definitely think tradition has a place when one is trying to discover what it means to simplify. The wisdom of the ages can teach, instruct, and inspire, certainly. But you cannot stop there. You can't inherit and use a tradition, for instance, that you find personally abhorrent, or one that you think died long ago, or one that you feel bound to just because great-aunt Dorothy said it was so.

Enter reason. Critics say we humans seem to be able to rationalize anything, and I suppose that is true. Sometimes emotional arguments and prejudices can overpower what we know in our hearts and heads is the right thing to do in our personal situations. The beauty of applying simplicity to our lives is the fact that, unlike joining an organization with pages and pages of rules to follow, and unlike joining a specific religious group which says it doesn't matter what you do as long as you believe the appropriate things, simplicity involves simple, reasonable changes in your life. Nutrition experts say that your chosen diet cannot be so extreme that it is impossible to adhere to in the long-term, and in the same way, personal choice to simplify has to be doable and meaningful for you - not your parents or friends or co-workers - but you. Maybe you can't recycle every bottle or cardboard box - but you certainly can try to recycle as many as you can. Maybe you can't afford regular purchases of expensive grass-fed, humanely raised beef - but a carton of cage-free eggs is within your weekly budget. Maybe you watch 20 hours of TV a week and decide to cut it to 10. Maybe you decide you can live with 15 pairs of shoes instead of 50. You can't afford solar panels for your house, but you can change to some energy-efficient light bulbs. For some folks, these changes don't go far enough. But for others, these small simplifying improvements in their lives constitute progress. This we should not belittle, for progress is always relative. With frequent introspection and analysis, you reason out your own life changes, where you want to go and how to get there.

And that brings me to the last foundational leg - experience. This is why each of us has a valid comment to bring to the table of any simplicity discussion. My whole being is made up of the total of all my life experiences - which are different from those of my husband and different from even those people I grew up with. They are unique to me, and they are valid, just as yours are unique and valid. The ugly reaction of intolerance is so many times the result of reluctance to acknowledge and fully grasp this fact. My experience teaches me what works for me, what improvements need to be made for me, what changes are appropriate for me, what priorities should underlie decisions that I make for me. I can accept advice, I can listen to opinions, but in the end, these are my choices based on what I have learned in my life. This is not a selfish thing - it is the only way I can function and be true to myself - and likewise, for you, it is the only way you can function with the same integrity, and Lord knows, to be able to answer the call to simplicity with integrity intact is one more step towards contentment and happiness.

So there you have it - my take on how simplicity is different for different people. We're all in this individually, and we're simultaneously all in this together. My goal is to make my choices based on my tradition, reason, and experience, and if we all work towards the goal of doing this based on what that means for each of us, we will collectively bring a richness to the discussion that can only come from the richness of our differences. And there, my friends, will be immeasurable blessing!

Someone Else's Words

One of the problems with being a regular blogger is the realization that so many other people can state your thoughts and dreams better than you can. As a blogger, I try to observe the world and then with introspection and sometimes struggle digest the information in a way that makes sense for my life, and, in this case, for my ongoing journey towards simplicity. What pieces of information have come across my field of vision that inspire me? What things have I read that have given me insight? What circumstances in my life have culminated in learning experiences that will nudge me, challenge me, or open me up to a whole new world of thinking? And, most importantly, how do I put that into words so that it solidifies its message for me and may in turn help others? Sometimes I can't. Sometimes I just have to pass on the words of someone else and just say, "Amen."

I keep an ongoing log of quotes that I find significant. Some make me smile and nod. Others just take my breath away with their discernment. Some I could read every week for the rest of my life and still not absorb all they have to offer. Obviously, I gather these from various sources, but this week I want to highlight two quotes that have stopped me in my tracks.

One of the pleasures of being a word-lover is the ability to subscribe to the "word-a-day" emails from wordsmith.org. It's always enlightening to learn a new word, of course, but sometimes an even greater serendipity is to read the thought-provoking quote at the end of each email. This week I had just had to share this one for all of us on the long to road to simplicity, peace, contentment:

"For money you can have everything it is said. No, that is not true. You can buy food, but not appetite; medicine, but not health; soft beds, but not sleep; knowledge but not intelligence; glitter, but not comfort; fun, but not pleasure; acquaintances, but not friendship; servants, but not faithfulness; grey hair, but not honor; quiet days, but not peace. The shell of all things you can get for money. But not the kernel. That cannot be had for money." -Arne Garborg, writer (1851-1924)

The second quote is from Oprah Magazine:

To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy, not respectable; and wealthy, not rich; to study hard, think quietly, talk gently, act frankly....to listen to stars and buds, to babes and sages, with open heart; await occasions, hurry never....this is my symphony." - William Henry Channing

Wow. I'm not going to take the time or space to try to paraphrase or explain or add to these beautiful words. I think they speak for themselves. They strike at the very heart of what I believe our lives are about. I offer them here in the hope that they will bring you the blessing they have brought me this week.

Mirrors

As I get older, mirrors seem to irritate me. Most of the time I avoid them. Sometimes their presence draws me in a magical sort of way, where I take some time to examine my face or body closely. On most of those occasions, I start the inevitable fault-finding; at other times, though, I try to keep my negative opinions out of the self conversation and instead approach my face with a kind of wonder. Who is this older lady, anyway? How many of those wrinkles came from worrying? How many from children? How many from worrying about children? How come makeup loses more of its efficacy with every birthday? How come hair leaves places it’s supposed to be and grows where it’s not supposed to be? It is too late for braces? No, Mr. DeMille, I’m certainly not ready for my close-up.

Mirrors aren’t pure evil, of course. They come in handy when you think you might have chocolate on your chin or broccoli in your teeth. They’ll confirm that you shouldn’t have applied lipstick while riding over a pothole-filled road or that you should have bought that waterproof mascara.

The picture above is Daddy holding me in front of a mirror that used to hang in our living room. I remember how special it felt when I was a little older and he would hoist me up to the mirror - something I couldn’t reach on my own at the time. Mirrors are fascinating objects to babies. Seeing yourself and others in a different way can be most entertaining. I think one of a parent’s first responsibilities is to introduce their children to mirrors and, ideally, to teach a child that the image she sees is a reflection of a person of value, deeply and unconditionally loved. My parents did pass this self-esteem lesson on to me, but alas, ensuing life experiences and the ubiquitous wounds of societal influence made considerable headway in tearing it down.

Ed says that prophetic preaching holds up mirrors to congregations - and for some, there’s no worse thing that can happen than looking in that spiritual mirror, for the image seen there can be quite distasteful. On the other hand, he says preachers tend to preach most vehemently about their own sins, so in essence, a preacher’s sermons are mirrors of shortcomings of the preacher’s own self, and a wise minister will take heed of that observation.

Every once in a while, a book or film will come along and function as a mirror for our society. Food, Inc is one of those films. The majority of this documentary is not pleasant to watch. It simultaneously vindicates, horrifies, nauseates, educates, and inspires. It gives us a mirror to watch how the food we eat is grown and made, processed, engineered, and in many cases genetically altered and in most cases unregulated as to its safety. It’s human nature to have no desire to see ourselves in a mirror such as this, but it is an important task, as this particular mirror has much to teach us. I highly recommend it. But wait until after you’ve eaten. It will spoil your dinner like no dessert ever could. If you like Food, Inc, you can go on and read Fast Food Nation and The Omnivore's Dilemma. Who needs Weight Watchers to lower your appetite? Just visit your neighborhood bookstore and start reading these best-sellers. I'll guarantee you that you will be smarter - and probably lose a few pounds in the bargain.

Boys to Men?

I've got babies on my mind. One of my coworkers just delivered her first, my friend Sally in California will welcome her first grandchild next month, and my own son and daughter-in-law are expecting their first baby (our third grandchild) this summer.

I, of course, love babies. I love their smooth skin, their baby smell, their tiny lips, their long eyelashes, and their fuzzy heads. I've had two babies myself - only they aren't babies anymore.

And that's the rub. As families, we're so wrapped up in having a "baby" that we don't realize we are giving birth to a toddler, an adolescent, a teenager, and a full grown human being. That's the journey we are beginning at delivery. I know it can sound scary to new parents, but it's actually an exciting thing to think about.

When I was in junior high, my teacher made us memorize poems. There are two I remember quite distinctly. One was The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes. "And the highwayman came riding, riding, riding...the highwayman came riding up to the old inn door." Such a classic - but very long to memorize. The second poem that still beats in my brain was by William Wordsworth. It's very short:

My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began; So is it now I am a man; So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The Child is father of the Man; And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.

Although we had extensive discussion in Mrs. Regan's class about the meaning of this poem, I never did understand most of it. I'm reflecting today, though, on one line: "The Child is father of the Man." That's what will happening to us this summer - Our Child will be father of the Man (or Woman).

Some people have a knack for looking beyond the present into the future. A family friend bought savings bonds for our babies, for instance. I myself have bought diapers for new parents that were a few sizes bigger than newborn size, knowing they would need them eventually. When Rachel had Caroline, a teacher friend of hers gave her a pink frilly ballerina-style dress that Caroline would not be big enough to wear, of course, for several years. I remember visiting that hospital room and seeing that costume hanging on a door. That's when it hit me. We aren't just having a baby. We're having a little girl - and some day a grown woman. The picture above shows Caroline when she was finally big enough to enjoy the dress. How much pleasure that brought her! All her other baby gifts were forgotten, but that dress was still enchanting.

It is a blessing to be a parent or a grandparent or innumerable other "titles" - and to be able to see a child born into this world and to participate in their journey toward adulthood. There is happiness and sorrow, but most of the time, the joys far outweigh the disappointments. At least, that is my story.

Welcome, babies (going-on-adults) of the world! Your future awaits!

The Road Less Traveled can be isolated

I've always been, well, different. I have always been aware of this, and many times I have wished that I could fit in here or there, but alas, most of my life I've felt like a fish out of water - or at least one dumped in the wrong aquarium.

Don't get me wrong - I've had a remarkably happy life. Thank goodness one can be different and still be content.

I am different because, for one, my interests are not conventional. I can't even read People magazine anymore because I have no idea whose these "celebrities" are. I would rather listen to Mozart or big band tunes from the 1940s than what is considered "popular" music. I'd rather enjoy a black-and-white movie from 1935 than see Avatar. As a girl, when my classmates had posters of the latest male teen idol on their bedroom walls, I had a giant poster of Abraham Lincoln. When others were bemoaning English class, I got my kicks by diagramming sentences.

It's that latter part of my personality that keeps me out of the mainstream of society. You see, I love anything to do with words - spelling, grammar, construction, punctuation - the whole lot. I migrated to a medical transcription career due in part to my love of language. I have my favorite words (cream is one) and words I can't stand (puce is one). I have favorite authors (Agatha Christie) and authors whose writing put me to sleep (Thoreau).

See? Just imagine it - all of my favorite composers and authors are dead. Does this mean I'm an old fogey at 55, or does this just mean I've been out of the loop for a long time? Does this mean I am self-righteous about what I consider to be good music or good writing, or does this just mean I started stagnating at about age 14? Considering the fact that I wasn't a typical 14-year-old, that wouldn't explain it either.

This feeling of my being outside the mainstream culminated this week with some dire news: SPELL is going out of business. SPELL will be no more within the year.

Now, because you readers are probably popular and good-looking and wealthy and all the things I'm not, I'm sure you don't know what SPELL is. If you did, you would be weird like me, and, man, in that case, I'd feel sorry for you.

SPELL is the Society for the Preservation of English Language and Literature. They send out a newsletter every couple of months for us word junkies. They have clever articles on puns and word origins, and invite members to send in their language pet peeves. In the middle of the newsletter, there are two full pages of items that members have submitted showing grammatical and punctuation errors from all sorts of signs, magazines, newspapers, and other media. Yes, we SPELL members laugh and roll our eyes and make fun of all the mistakes. My husband Ed thinks we're all judgmental and quite insane. But in that SPELL group, I feel that I belong. Why, I've discovered folks just like me! Folks who care whether it's peaked or piqued! People who double over in agony at a "tomatoe" for sale! Individuals who realize there is a time and place - and not - for an apostrophe! I basked in acceptance.

But the latest SPELL newsletter said they would have to stop publication. Why? The number of subscribers had dwindled too much to make SPELL financially viable. Which, of course, puts me smack in the minority - again.

I can't say I would want to change, even if I could. It can be quite pleasant in my little world. But it seems as if it is getting lonelier every year.

Loss

I lost a friend this week. I didn't know her last name (and she probably didn't know mine), I never heard her voice or talked to her on the phone, and I never met her. I didn't even know what she looked like; all I had to go on was a snapshot taken of her when she was young. She taught, yet she was not a teacher. She lived alone, yet had a whole world full of followers and colleagues. She was dependably there at her computer every day, giving of herself, until one day the silence became unusual, then it became worrisome, then it became downright scary, and soon the world found out that AnnR had died.

This friendship I had with her was one of those unusual Internet relationships that flourish through chat rooms. In this case, it was on Internet boards catering to medical transcriptionists. AnnR was the name she went by. Everyone knew AnnR. Almost everybody had a question at one time or another about medical terminology or surgical instruments, or medications, or, in my case, ova and parasites. She had given an answer to someone else's question about ova and parasites, and I still did not understand the nuances. I sent Ann a message and she sent me a detailed answer which cleared up my confusion. She shared her medical knowledge thousands of times. She wouldn't just give you the answer - oh no. She gave you tools to find the answer, places to look, and if you found it, she was pleased. Then if you still needed more information, she was always willing to provide it. All these medical transcriptionists from all over the world knew AnnR, and every one of them probably hoped that she was at her computer when their question was urgent. She usually was.

In making thousands of posts, Ann stayed pretty much a private person. We knew she lived in Washington and loved the coastline. We knew she enjoyed growing tomatoes. We knew she had even gone to medical school for awhile, then decided to go another route in life instead. We knew she was smart, had a sense of humor, possessed a generosity of her time and knowledge, and did her best to stay out of the usual arguments and disagreements which inevitably arise on sites such as this. She wasn't there to argue - she was there to help.

And help she did. I can even remember my first question on MT Chat many years ago when I was a new MT, training on the job. I was trying to find something called a shovsteck sign. I asked my supervisor, the only other MT in my office at the time, and she didn't know either. I told her, "Hey, I know this place where you can go ask questions when you're stumped, and there are experienced MTs who might know the answer!" She said to try, so I went on-line and posted the question. A few minutes later I checked again, and Ann had responded and led me to the Chovstek sign. I was so happy that I didn't have to leave a blank. I told my supervisor, and, impressed, she said, "Hey, ask her if she wants a job!" That was my personal introduction to AnnR.

Through the years, I watched as she helped newbie MTs and veteran MTs alike. It got to where I perused the posts, not to ask anything, but thinking I might help someone like Ann had helped me. I was able to help occasionally, but mostly I enjoyed learning from others' questions and answers. Ann gave answers which sometimes shocked the reader - How ever did she know that? How indeed!

When other chat rooms spun off from MT Chat, Ann was a presence there, too. She seemed to be always around, and I just assumed she would be here forever. I think we all did.

Tell me and I’ll forget. Show me and I may remember. Involve me and I’ll understand.

- Chinese proverb

AnnR - the teacher who wasn't a teacher, but who affected patients' medical reports all over the globe. Her legacy lies in not just helping fill blanks, but in her ability to inspire other MTs to always strive to learn more - and to be as generous with the knowledge they obtain.

Goodbye, Ann. You were one of a kind.

The Happiness Quotient

My 6-1/2-year-old granddaughter Caroline is often saying witty things, and many times she has unknowingly given me perfect quotes for my blog. Recently she told me that every morning in her kindergarten class, the students sit in a circle and a designated child starts the go-round of “good mornings.” She said, for instance, one day if she were chosen to start, she would turn to her left and say, “Good morning, Josh,” and he would say, “Good morning, Caroline,” then Josh would turn to his left and say, “Good morning, Emily,” and Emily would say, “Good morning, Josh,” then turn to her left, and so on. In relating this ritual to me, Caroline said all was well and good, except one boy had to mess it up, because when his turn came, he said impatiently, “GOOD MORNING TO EVERYBODY IN THE WORLD!” With this, Caroline reported that she told him he couldn’t say something like that, because there people in the world for whom it was night, not morning.

Although this story reflects Caroline’s wonderful thinking pattern, I was intrigued by the boy who wanted to get it all over with at one time and wish everyone happiness. I remember as a child saying my bedtime prayers, and, growing tired of the litany of asking God to bless loved ones by name, would just say, “God bless everyone in the world. Amen.” I figured that covered it.

I’ve been considering the happiness of the world this week, as well as the happiness of those close to me. I have had two long long-distance phone calls with people I love who are hurting and frustrated because of things that have come up in their lives that they neither wanted nor deserved, but are having to deal with on a daily basis. My heart broke for them and I was overpowered with a helpless feeling as they described events and situations which made them angry, depressed, confused, and worried - and about which I could do nothing but listen empathetically.

Eugene V. Debs is given credit for saying, “As long as one man is in prison, I am not free,” to which one person commented it was “because of his emphasis on shared responsibility.” In the Journey to Simplicity, through trial and error, angst and forgiveness, introspection, and examination of my priorities, I have finally come to a state of relative contentment with my life. Everything seems to be going great - I love our little house together and our marriage. Our kids are grown, healthy, intelligent, capable. We have two healthy and precocious granddaughters and another precious but unknown-gender grandbaby on the way. We aren’t rich, and there are times I worry about finances to cover emergencies, but we have always been able to pay our bills on time. I love my job, I feel for the most part appreciated for what I do there, I enjoy the MT profession, and I am thankful for the good health insurance I receive from the hospital. I have generally come to terms with the aging process, and can still feel grateful that Ed and I are healthy enough to get out and shovel a foot of snow. I have people in my life who make me laugh (most appreciated!) and people who love me in spite of my flaws. Most days, I am surprisingly content and happy with my life.

And that’s the catch - because I don’t live on an island, in a cocoon, or anywhere else where I’m cut off from those I love who are hurting; indeed, I see daily on the news the people in the world whose lives are less than ideal, who are hungry, dying, separated from family, losing their children to starvation and disease and war. How do we find the balance between being happy while others are not? How do we reconcile our personal contentment with the daily frustrations of those we love?

I realize a lot of folks, when met with disaster, tragedy or sorrow, look up and say plaintively, “Why me???” But I’ll bet there are also folks (maybe even some in that same group) who, when blessed with health, security, and contentment, cry out, “Why me???” I don’t deserve to be this lucky/happy/healthy/satisfied, if how I’ve lived my life is a prerequisite for happiness. And my loved ones - these dear ones who have been two of the most caring people I know - are stuck in situations that sadden them on a daily basis. How can I be truly happy when others are hurting?

Ed’s favorite motto is “Life is not fair. Get over it.” From the Bible’s Job to Harold Kushner and his book Why Bad Things Happen to Good People, life’s inequities have confused human beings for a long time. Some folks explain it away by reincarnation, others “karma,” and others don’t even think about it. But today, I’m not concerned so much with why it happens. I’m more concerned with my reaction to when it happens. I have come to the realization that my happiness will always be tempered by the sadness that others are experiencing at the very same moment.

It is this balance I am seeking - the balance to enjoy my contentment at the same time I am grieving with others in their pain. It doesn’t help to say platitudes like “Pain just shows courage,” “This too shall pass,” “You’ll get your heavenly reward for the trials you’ve endured.” As Ed likes to say, “It’s hard to think about the beauty of the swamp when you’re up to your neck in alligators.”

Can we be truly happy when others are hurting? I don’t know. But I carry the sadness of these two loved ones in my heart every day as I appreciate my own life circumstances - and that’s just, as Walter Cronkite would say, the way it is.

A Christmas of Tears

A lot of folks joke about "homemade" presents, but I'm a big fan. If I had the time and didn’t wallow in procrastination, I would be able to make all my Christmas gifts each year. This year I unfortunately made nothing - but the kind of gifts I received this year can’t be bought. And, coincidentally, they all involved the word “Daddy.”

My sister, bless her soul, has been spending countless hours working on our family genealogy on our father’s side. Unlike our mother with her close family, Daddy (who died at age 64 in 1980) presented us with only one memorable relative - his mother, who died when we were adolescents, so we didn’t know her that well. Our dad, as I’ve posted before, was one of a kind. His experiences in life gave him a social conscious that became his passion and directed his choices. In his life, he did everything from touring in a bell ringer group to being a clerk in the army to being a choir director for decades. What led up to this remarkable man’s life? Who are the people and what are the events that shaped his mind? My sister, using Daddy’s journals and detailed records, went on a fascinating journey, starting in 1747 when Thomas Tiffin was born “somewhere in North Carolina.” Every once in a while she would send me e-mails of various facts she had learned, and I had often wished I had them compiled in a chronological story format to enjoy. She gave me that this Christmas in a book she created, including family history up to our current kids and grandkids, with scanned photos ancient and new. She did all the work and I (and future generations) get to reap the benefits. What a gift! What a treasure! I cried, of course.

Then my daughter and her husband worked tirelessly to transfer our silent home movies (from the ‘50s through the ‘70s that my father took) from VHS to a digital format, burned onto DVDs. She gave them to me with a poignant letter about how watching every minute of these hours of family history affected her, how she realized she had been born into a family that loved each other, and loved her. She said she cried many times during the process. She cried tears of joy that she had been born into such an environment, and she cried tears of sadness that my Daddy, her grandfather, died a month before she turned 2 years old, and she described the heartbreak of never knowing him - and that this gift of home movies was basically his gift to her almost 30 years after he left this earth. I got a double gift - the gift of my precious home movies in a format that assures their continued existence, and the gift that my daughter had such an emotional reaction realizing how blessed our family has been. She wrote, “It was surreal to see my parents get married, my pregnant mother walk around, and to see Papa stroke my baby back and Paw-Paw tickle my baby feet...I can only hope that one day my girls will remember their childhood and family as fondly.” She cried when she presented it to me, and I cried when I received it.

Finally (besides giving me comfy gloves and slippers that I needed desperately) my son and his wife presented me with the ultimate homemade gift when they told us recently that Sarah was pregnant with their first child which will be born this summer! More tears of happiness from me - and I still can hardly believe that my “baby” is going to be a daddy, and that around July 2010, I will get to hold our third beloved grandchild.

I cried a lot this Christmas season. I was blessed to see the march of time from 1747, through my father’s exceptional life, through the growing-up years of my sister and me, then through making preparations to welcome a new baby to the family and beyond. I got to travel through memories of the past and hopes and dreams of things to come. I found it highly appropriate that this Christmas, I felt a little like Scrooge and his whirlwind journey through time.

All the money in the world could not buy the “homemade” gifts I received this Christmas of 2009!

Two years and counting

I used to love Cokes. Occasionally I’d drink Dr. Pepper, Sprite, or even Pepsi, but Coke was my lifeline. I’d guess I used to drink at least a bottle or two a day. Since I have always hated coffee, Coke provided that caffeine for me.

I write about Cokes in the past tense because as of yesterday, December 20, 2009, I have been without a Coke for 2 years. It doesn’t sound like much, considering Ed has been sober for 25 years, but it’s a big thing for me. This time in 2007, I just finally decided that Cokes had no redeeming value (hey, even ice cream has calcium!) and no telling what the high-fructose was doing to me, so I quit cold-turkey.

Standing here in 2009 and looking back, I can’t believe I managed to do it. I understand one of the difficulties in giving up cigarettes, because I now have to drink something else with fast food, with pizza, first thing in the morning, and all the other times Coke was by my side.

The older I get, the more excited I become when I do something or overcome something that I just knew I couldn’t do or overcome. You’d think by age 55 I would know more of myself and my capabilities, but I’m constantly learning. Of course, I have a ton of bad habits and personal weaknesses to work on - but to say that in December 2009 I’ve been without Cokes for 2 years? That brings a smile to my face!

I think I’ll celebrate - with a Coke! (Just kidding!)

A lesson in lenses

Part of the advice given to the newbie medical transcriptionist from the experienced transcriptionist is usually, “You don’t know what you don’t know until you know more and realize what you don’t know.”

Rachel found that out this week. She got glasses. She used to wear glasses for a short period of time as an adolescent, but thinking she didn't really need them, she quit wearing them. She seemed to do fine with school and everything else - graduated from high school and college with excellent grades, went into teaching, etc. Recently, however, she is feeling her “old age” of 31, she says, and she realized she was having trouble reading fine print. She made an ophthalmology appointment and lo and behold, she needed glasses. She told me that she was shocked when, after receiving her new glasses, what a difference it made. The clerk asked her to read a sample of fine print with her glasses, then asked her to read it without the glasses. Rachel was amazed in the difference in clear vision and blurred vision. She didn’t know what she was missing until she saw clearly.

Ed said when he first got glasses as a child, he finally realized the things he had missed seeing. Once he realized what sharp vision was like, he understood what poor vision was like. Until that happened, he assumed he was seeing the same way as everyone else.

Both Ed and Rachel “didn’t know what they didn’t know” until the situation changed and their eyes were opened, so to speak. Assumptions can be a dangerous part of life. Like Ed who assumed his vision was supposed to be that limited, we are often so darn sure of what we think we “know” until something happens to challenge our perspective.

Ed and I have gotten into the habit of doing the crossword puzzle in our daily newspaper. In yesterday’s puzzle, I had one of those words that I absolutely knew fit the clue. The number of letters fit, the middle letter fit, and the whole word was a sure thing. I penciled that word in and tried to work around it. Then I got to a point where I was stuck. Some of the words I was lettering in didn’t make sense. It got to be very frustrating. Finally after a good deal of time, I realized by trial and error that the very word I had put down in the beginning, the sure bet, the word I just knew was the right one, was - of course - wrong. Once I got the right word, everything else fell into place.

You’d think we humans would have become smart enough and wise enough to realize we don’t know everything. One of my favorite movies is “Christmas in Connecticut.” The heroine has been living a life totally incongruent with her real identity. She is a magazine feature writer who writes about her life - and claims to live on a farm in Connecticut, cook divinely, is the perfect homemaker and wife and mother. In real life, however, she lives in an city apartment, is single, has never been to a farm (much less lived on one), and can’t even boil water. The trouble starts when her publisher decides to visit “her farm” for Christmas and despite our heroine's desperate attempts to maintain the farce, keeping up appearances becomes harder and harder until it all blows up. She gets fed up with the mess she has caused by pretending to be something she is not. She says in essence how she is disgusted with herself because she appears to have all the answers, and everybody believes that, but in reality really she is clueless. She got tired of being expected to know everything and having to pretend she did.

Yet we still fight on to preserve our way of thinking, even if our basic assumption is as unworkable as my “sure thing” word in my crossword puzzle. We are so stubborn (or arrogant) sometimes to think we have life down pat, we know more than anyone else, we have nothing to learn, and frequently that stubbornness gets us in tight spots because we refuse to let go. When we start out with a false assumption as our foundation, and build from there, the life we are building always topples in some way and we have to start over. Also, when we are so sure of our thinking and pathway, we are blind to life’s little pleasant surprises when they appear. Whether we are politicians, preachers, teachers, doctors, lawyers, or dishwashers, a sense of humility is always appreciated. Even if you are one of the world’s expert in one thing, I can guarantee you there are thousands of more things you don’t know or understand - the preferred outcome being, of course, that you become wise enough to “know you don’t know.” I don’t think we can even look at the universe and think we know all the answers. Without humility, there can be no awe.

It is true that the longer I am a medical transcriptionist, the more I realize I don’t know about anatomy, body systems, instrument names, medicines, and everything else. And that is, as Martha Steward would say, "a good thing." It shows I am growing in wisdom, I am ready to learn, I never become so rigid that I let self-confidence become arrogance, and I never lose my respect for the complexity and miracle of life itself. Sometimes you see clearly and realize your vision was always flawed before - or you keep insisting you see fine and don't need any changes. Sometimes you figure out substituting one word for another in the crossword puzzle can alter the whole outcome - or you throw the whole paper away in frustration because you can't grasp the possibility that the answers you are so sure of may be wrong. Sometimes you can realize your weakness, swallow your pride and say, "I'm sorry...it was my fault...please forgive me" - or you can be stubborn and defend your actions to the grave.

These are the choices we have in life. The hymn I sang at my dad's funeral was "Be Thou My Vision." Sometimes a new way of looking at things can make all the difference.

Street of Gold

Welcome to the season of giving...and getting, of course. One of the hard things about Christmas is to separate our wants from our needs, and, as I am always reminded to do, continue to get our priorities straight.

Depending on the world’s material goods to make us happy is a dangerous detour on the Road to Simplicity. Easier said than done. I remember the day I caught Ed looking at a pricey clothes catalog. He had put at least 20 of those sticky pad pages in it, marking things he would like to have. I remember how he laughed when he realized it, and his observation was, “I’ve bookmarked this like I have money!” Ever since then, when we see those bookmarks sticking out of our catalogs, we both smile at the dichotomy. Most of the time, they all go into our catalog collection basket and then to recycling - bookmarks still intact, almost as a compromise between our wants and our needs and what we choose to spend money on. They are saying, “I want this, I really, really want this, it would be perfect for me, I deserve it, I wish I had the money for it,” then relinquishing those wishes to the recycling center. For in reality, we enjoy wishing and dreaming, but we know our priorities and our limits. We know those things marked would be a pleasure to have but their presence in our lives will not make us happy. In fact, we can be perfectly happy with less than we think.

In the Season of Consumerism, I am reminded of one of Ed’s best sermons. It was on this verse from Revelation:

“And the twelve gates were twelve pearls; every several gate was of one pearl: and the street of the city was pure gold, as it were transparent glass.”

Ah, yes, the street of gold and the pearly gates. One of Ed’s seminary friends frequently said, after doing something good, “Well, that’s another jewel in my crown!” He meant, of course, that one day in heaven he would be rewarded for all his good deeds - and that reward would be precious jewels. The idea that heaven is filled with things that are precious on earth is one that a lot of Christians believe wholeheartedly. What does that mean, exactly?

Here is where Ed turns things upside down. If the street of heaven is paved with gold, and the gates are made of pearls, maybe it’s because those things are worthless in heaven! If you want to take this Bible passage literally, you might conclude: “Pearls and gold and jewels are everywhere in heaven precisely because they are worthless, not because they are precious.” We know that it is usually the rare things that are expensive in this world of ours. If all our streets were paved with gold, and diamonds were covering every roof of every house, their very abundance would mean they had no value, wouldn’t it? Common equals cheaper; rarity equals expensive. Maybe this passage is demonstrating to us that heaven’s priorities are not our earthly priorities - and maybe that will make us stop and consider how our lives would be changed if we examined the way we live using heaven's standards.

Of course, when folks are trying hard to pay for heating oil, wondering if they can pay the rent or mortgage, losing their jobs, going hungry, running up unpaid medical bills, I know it is comforting to think that after death, they will finally “make it.” They will have gold and jewels and pearls and everything that says “wealth.” It sounds kind of like winning the lottery. But if you really look at the implications of that verse, you may come to Ed’s conclusion. If God thinks gold and pearls are in reality worthless, what does God think is valuable? If we ask those kinds of questions at the beginning of this Season of Consumerism, maybe we’ll come out at the end a wiser and simpler people.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Quick Guide to Life

Stress is everywhere. The latest edition of my favorite magazine, “Experience Life,” has articles titled, “Overcome Anxiety,” “Relax and Renew,“ and “How to Avoid Holiday Overload.” As if we didn’t have enough stress with the economy and unemployment, here come the holidays, and all the commercials trying to convince us that this toy will make our kids happy, or that this piece of jewelry is the only way to show your love, or this technological gadget will make our lives complete.

I’m not the world’s expert on stress by any means, but after thinking for awhile, I came up with three ways I try to handle stress. They sound simple, but they can get really complicated. The Journey to Simplicity is frequently not simple.

Change and the wisdom to know
Go with the flow
Let go

The wisdom to know is from my favorite prayer, the Serenity Prayer. I’ve blogged about it several times and it never loses its power for me. “God grant me the ability to accept the things I cannot change, change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” If we sat down and made a list of things we worry about, and divided those up into “what I can change” and “what I can’t change,” already our lists would be shortened. And yet... there are some things you may realize you can’t change on your own, but integrity demands you follow through anyway (such as voting for a lost cause on election day). Of course, as admirable as it is to want to change society for the better, and as much as I would encourage it, the fastest and most productive way to effect change is to change yourself. “Be the change you want to see in the world.”

Going with the flow is a tricky one. There are times you need to go with the flow, and there are times you need to fight your way upstream. Again, the wisdom to know the difference is the key. Our daughter, Rachel, has a tendency to be anxious, especially when her best laid plans go awry. I wrote letters to both kids until they were 18, when I had them bound and gave the collection to them. I included a final letter from their dad, giving advice to each child. For Rachel, he told her she needed to be more like the tree that bends in the wind, and less like the tree that is so hard and inflexible that it breaks in a storm. The expression, I believe, is that we make plans and God laughs. Things rarely turn out exactly as planned. And yet...integrity sometimes demands that you hold your ground or fight against the current. Ah, the wisdom to know the difference!

Let go, “Let go and let God.” Release the lifeline, open your hand, let go of everything you think you need for security. Let go of your need for control. Let go of your need for excessive material goods, let go of your need to please people in a way that violates your integrity, let go of expectations. That latter one is so hard. I gave a children’s Advent sermon once where I held up a sign with the word EXPECT in big letters on one side. I told the kids that the Jews expected the Messiah, they expected a king, they expected a glorious revolution. They wanted God to fulfill his promise to them. Then I turned the sign over. On that side was the the same group of letters rearranged - the word EXCEPT in big letters. The Jews got God’s promise fulfilled, EXCEPT it wasn’t in the way they EXPECTED it. Sometimes we have to let go of expectations. Yet....sometimes you have to expect a miracle, or expect happiness, or expect that things will work out. Some people call this release of positive energy, others call it faith. There are times we believe something utterly unrealistic, something others may mock or scorn, but we know in our hearts it can be done...it WILL be done. In those cases we have to hold on to our expectations with all our might. Sometimes you have to hold tight to expectations for yourself. I never would have given up Cokes or learned to tolerate flying if I had not expected so much of myself. I learned that I can accomplish more than I think - I now have that expectation.

So it all comes down to wisdom - to know when to hold your ground or give in, to know what you can change and how to change it, to know when to hold on and when to let go, to know when to expect success or to allow life to bring surprises, to know when to work toward your dreams, and when to let go of your dreams, or just change your dreams.

I used to think wisdom was knowledge, but eventually I learned the difference. Knowledge is easy to get. In fact, I know a lot of smart people who know more than I will ever know about anything, but I think they lack wisdom. It’s quite elusive. In the end, it is the one gift I hope we gave to our children, not just for the holiday season, but for all their lives - the wisdom to know the difference.

Overnight lessons

I had a dream last night that I lived in a big house with many rooms (when I dream, the house always symbolizes myself - the multifaceted being that I am!), and as a surprise, friends from my life showed up to spend some days with me. The funny thing was that a few of them I didn’t remember ever meeting before, and they only stayed one night, but some more familiar faces stayed several days and beyond. Unfortunately, as delighted as I was, I spent the whole time rushing around cleaning and straightening (as I had had no warning that they were coming) and never spent time with my visitors.

When I awoke, I started thinking of all the people who have come in and out of my life; some have only stayed for a few moments, and others for decades. No matter how short or long their interactions with me, they have affected me in some way. Former neighbors, fellow students, the friends of my children, teachers from official school and “the school of life,” parishioners from past churches were Ed was the pastor, choirs I have sung with - all have left their mark, no matter how superficial or transient my association was them may have been. Of course, those are people I physically encountered. Then there are the people that I have never met in person, but whose life situations, personalities, generosity or lack thereof, wisdom or foolishness, taught me things that made me a better person - the patients I transcribe about, people I see or read about in the news, authors of books that changed my life. There are even people who have skills that inspire or teach me - such as Sylvia Woods (the Celtic harpist), Caroline’s violin teacher whom I never met, and even the anonymous folks who post videos on You-Tube - such as the one I saw the other day which showed very clearly the technique of putting in an invisible zipper!

All the people mentioned above and many others apparently come to visit me throughout my life. Some faces I recognize, some are strangers, some are friends I haven’t seen for years, and some are friends and relatives I saw yesterday. They are all a part of me. I have learned from them what to do or what not to do. I have received from some of them inspiration and reassurance that maybe I can learn something new. I have received from others a warning about how greed or power can warp my priorities. I have learned from some how to deal with grief and loss, or how to bear up under unimaginable circumstances.

The second lesson from the dream, of course, is that I need to live in the present. I couldn’t enjoy my visitors because I had my mind on other things. The other day I was driving home from work and I had the discomforting experience of seeing the rising moon in the sky in front of me and the setting sun in back of me. I had the feeling that I was caught between two worlds - the future and the past. Somehow the whole drive made me feel in limbo - that whatever I was doing in the present was not real. It’s the time of year again when we think about, as Scrooge had to, Christmas Past, Christmas Present, and Christmas Future, and you can add Thanksgiving to those time delineations as well. Planning and scheduling - are we having Thanksgiving on Thursday or Friday in our family this year? Who is hosting? What should I bake? Do Matt and Sarah plan on having us out for Christmas Eve this year? If so, should we try to spend the night with Rachel’s family so we don’t have to drive back to Hancock at night? Should we even buy a Christmas tree this year? What presents should I buy and when? What should I wear for the family Christmas picture we take on Thanksgiving?......and on and on. And each of these questions is matched with “Well, what did we do LAST year?”

I have always had a difficulty living in the present, not just living, but being fully and wholly engaged in the present moment. I’m a great planner and list-maker. I haven’t finished sewing my blouse, but already I’ve bought fabric for the next thing to sew. Last night’s dream just reminded me once again of what I need to work on. Of all the teachers in my life, my dreams (where my mind processes my life experiences) have been exceedingly important. The insights they provide have been invaluable on my journey.

My Excuses

I’m one of these poor souls who gets into the Christmas spirit early. I usually start listening to Christmas CDs in my car around September. It’s really not my fault. There are two good reasons for this: 1) I’m a seamstress/quilter/crafter. 2) I’m a choir director’s daughter.

Everyone knows if you make some of your Christmas presents, you have to get started early. Many years have I ignored this caveat and spent late nights with little sleep trying to finish a project near the deadline. (Projects invariably take longer than I assumed they would.) So, as much as I get frustrated with seeing stores change over to Christmas merchandise the day after (or day of or days before!) Halloween, I need to get in the Christmas spirit if I am planning to make one or more of my gifts. I also need to be able to buy the holiday-related materials for my projects.

On top of that, I’m a choir director’s daughter. Choirs always have a Christmas program, and, well, you need lots of weeks to practice, so as a choir member, you’re used to singing Christmas music starting in October.

Now, we hear all about how hard it is to be a PK (Preacher’s Kid - just ask Matt and Rachel), but nobody ever talks about the wild lives of a Choir Director’s Kids. Here is a rundown of what you would have done as a CDK growing up in our family: For one thing, you're inducted into the choir early - like 12 years old. The choir needs another soprano or alto, and the choir director's daughters just fit the bill. If you play the piano, you will have to fill in for the organist when a substitute cannot be found. Church is your second home - Sunday mornings, Sunday nights, Wednesday nights, and some weekends. Your parents take you to the church on some Saturdays, where you go into the tiny dark choir room and take music out of file drawers and stack it in piles on a long pew in the sanctuary. Then you take all the sung anthems (choir music) out of the folios (music holder folders) and place the new anthems in said folios, in the order in which they will be used. While you’re there, you are even asked to tidy up the place! But it’s not all work and no fun. You can always find a few minutes to stand at the pulpit and pretend you’re the preacher. You can do a lot of things when you’re the only people in the building.

Of course, Christmas at church was special for Joy and me. I mean, really - the choir was singing our names! “While by our sheep, we watched at night, glad tidings brought an angel bright. How great our Joy! (echo: Great our joy). Joy, Joy, Joy! (echo: Joy, joy, joy). Praise we the Lord in heav’n on high! (echo: Praise we the Lord in heav’n on high!)” I’m not counting, but that’s 7 Joys in each refrain. My sister en”joy”ed every moment. I got her back, though, when we got to “I heard the bells on Christmas Day, their old familiar carols play...” Of course, those are within the lyrics - but titles were actually in the bulletin, where we could see our names in print. She got “Joy to the World” in the bulletin, but I got her back with “Carol of the Bells.” (I just don’t understand that nasty rumor that Joy and I were always competing.)

The sad thing is - I work on Sundays now and haven't been in a choir in over a decade. I also don't know if I have enough time to make any of my Christmas gifts this year. Nevertheless, it's in my genes to have my eyes focused on December 25 months ahead of time.

Halloween will be over tomorrow night, then it’s all speed ahead!

Dear Charities:

Dear Worthwhile Charities:

I understand your need for money. Indeed, times are tight for all of us. We all must step up to the plate and help our fellow man/woman. I give regularly to several charities, and have for many years, the primary two being Habitat for Humanity and Komen Breast Cancer Research. I understand that if I give you $10 one year, I am on your mailing list for the rest of my life. I appreciate your return-address stickers, your labels, your little cards, your calendars, and your heartfelt letters stating your cases.

I remember a letter to an advice columnist a few years ago from a lady who received such "gifts" in the mail. She said she felt guilty keeping them if she didn't send any money back, but was she supposed to just throw them away? The columnist said the items had not been solicited, and therefore were hers to keep and do whatever she wanted with them.

Knowing that I cannot possibly send money to every charity that writes me, I have to selectively choose which ones to support. For every one I support, there are at least 30 more of you that send me solicitations. It seems like such a waste - you are paying for envelopes, paper, plus your little "gifts," and I am sending you nothing. I guess it is just a risk you take. Maybe you feel that people are more likely to send money when they receive a little nicety.

But this year you have gone too far. You are sending me nickels and dimes. You state, "Just send this nickel/dime back to us with your check." Now this really upsets me because it puts me in a quandary. I don't like quandaries. I like to do the right thing. I certainly don't like guilt. Yet, here I am with these nickels and dimes. I can't afford to support your charity, so I can't send a check, yet I have your nickel or dime. I don't really see the value in paying 43 cents postage to mail back your 10 cents. I certainly can't throw it away.

I'm sure you started this gem of salesmanship because your marketing guys thought it was a great idea to pour on the guilt. I'm sure they did research that says people will feel guilty enough to write a check twice as fast if they get a nickel or dime than if they get some labels. You are deliberately putting people in a quandary. I may not be able to afford to donate to your causes, but I certainly don't want to take money from you instead!

So here is my compromise. We are keeping a jar of all the nickels and dimes from you good charities that we receive. When the Salvation Army bell ringers appear, we will take the jar and drop its contents in their kettle. That way, the money still stays in the charity realm. It just changes hands.

Now, honorable charities, I would really appreciate it if you ask your marketing guys to use their collective genius and think of another way to ask for donations, because your current method is not playing fair with our consciences. Take a cue from our Good Shepherd Food Bank here in Maine. They sent me a 3 x 5 card with an envelope. No gifts, no gadgets, no guilt. In 12 precise sentences, it states the facts of their need far greater than your 2-page letters and stickers. I am sending them a check next week.

Keep up your good work, my friends. I hope you prosper. But please - nix the coins. Thanks.

Sincerely,

Carol Tiffin James

Kudos!

We have holidays to honor mothers, fathers, grandparents, bosses, secretaries, plus the usual weeks to honor various careers. (A favorite topic on MT Chat is “What did your company do for Medical Transcription Week?”) I saw a topic on the web today that asks this question: If you could create a new holiday, what person or event would it honor and how would you want people to celebrate it?

I didn’t even have to think about it. I would create a “Tell the Boss Day.” Let me explain. I read a letter in one of the national advice columns years ago that said something like this: “If you find that someone in his/her employment capacity did an outstanding job, went above the call of duty, helped you in some special way, or represented the company in an admirable manner, complimenting that employee is a wonderful think to do. But go one better - TELL THE BOSS.”

Ed and I have done this many times. It’s the best feeling in the world to go “up the ladder” and tell a restaurant manager that our waitress did such a great job. Sometimes we do this in front of the employee; other times, we don’t know if the employee ever realized our intervention. People tend more to complain than to compliment, so when a customer makes a boss aware of an exemplary employee, I imagine that would brighten the boss’s day too. Everyone involved - the complimenter, the employee, and the boss - can benefit from a major attitude shift toward the positive. Most of the time, it involves just a little effort to pass on the commendation.

At my job, I try to go the extra mile if I can, especially as our hospital’s mission is quality, timely patient care. For instance, if a patient is admitted and a recent office note has not been yet transcribed and the dictator verbalizes how helpful it would be if she had access to that note, I will find the note and transcribe it if possible, then send an e-mail to the dictator that it was ready to view. I will most of the time get a gracious thank-you. On other occasions, I have sent e-mails to doctors asking for clarification on a misspeak in their dictation - and they write back that they are so thankful that I was paying attention enough to catch the error in question. Those are very satisfying moments for me, of course. Any MT will tell you that a compliment from a practitioner is always well received. However - if that practitioner had actually contacted my boss to relay the “job well done” message, that would have been even more exciting!

(Oh, and by the way, this works with parents, too. There is nothing in the world like having a stranger, friend, teacher, or whoever, come up to you, stating, "Your child has such nice manners!" or other such compliments.)

So since my suggestion for such a national holiday is unlikely to be granted anytime in the near future, I propose that we all take advantage of our opportunity to make every day Tell the Boss Day. Pass it on!

Creation

I’ve been listening to two new Christmas harp CDs I bought last week. The performances are incredible! I can picture in my mind those professional, talented fingers just gliding over the keys, seemingly effortlessly. They put my poor attempts at harp-playing to shame.

I used to wonder why I even try to play the harp. If I want to hear harp music, all I have to do is pop in a CD and hear professionals execute exemplary form, perfect rhythm, and flawless technique. I’m also an adequate pianist, but why spend time playing on my old digital keyboard, when I can download from iTunes the great Van Cliburn playing a Steinway?

After questioning myself, I cannot deny that the above statements are logical and practical. But beyond logic and practicality, there is something else going on here. It’s the ability to create. To lean the harp against my body and pluck one string after another and hear them vibrate their beautiful sounds - there’s nothing like it. To sit down at the piano and be able to play “Moonlight Sonata” or “As Time Goes By” as I touch the keys and give my expression to the pieces - wow! Oh, certainly, I wish I knew more of what I was doing. I wish that on piano and harp I used the correct fingering, hit all the notes I should, and could create a seamless performance. But perfection is not the goal here. It is creation.

Ed and I recently watched a show on PBS about crafts in America. The show highlighted the apprentices and masters still in this country who try to create objects of beauty, from jewelry to pottery. The section that impressed me most was the part featuring people who make violins. I never thought about where violins came from or who made them - at least the non-mass-produced kind - but the whole process looks intriguing, starting with a cutout of a violin-shaped piece of wood and taking it from there. I could see the pride in their work, their joy at creating something so beautiful. Each violin is its own unique self.

And so are my performances. Every piece I play is different - it has its own beauty and imperfections. But it’s mine - I own it - I create it from the depth of my soul. I take an inanimate, silent instrument and bring it to life. I take various fabrics and sew them into a one-of-a-kind quilt. I take flour and water and salt and a couple of other ingredients and bake a loaf of bread that didn’t exist yesterday.

God has many nuances, but one of those is the Creator. Ed always said that when we make something in this world, we are co-creators with God. We see the joy of bringing something to life with our stamp on it. It doesn’t matter who wrote the music, built the harp or piano, wove the fabric, or grew the wheat - the bringing it all together is the thing that brings me incredible satisfaction.

An old “rule” for quilters is that you leave one error in your finished quilt - to remind you that only God is perfect. In other words, give up trying to make the perfect quilt or play the perfect song. The satisfaction is from the creating, not the perfection. Those harp CDs are lovely, but actually sitting down to a harp and plucking it - that’s the real joy!

Birthday Reflections

There are two times every year when I reflect on my life, values, goals, weaknesses, desires, and priorities. One is, of course, on December 31. The other is September 27, my birthday. Hence, the following list of things I have learned in the last 12 months:

1. I don’t want to play for any more weddings. Most weddings are lovely, but the hassle of accompanying them on piano or organ is just no longer worth the trouble. I receive much more pleasure being just a guest and enjoying the festivities, rather than waiting for cues from the minister, wondering if the piano is in tune and if I have good lighting, trying to lengthen or shorten pieces according to the wedding party movements, and other distractions. I might consider singing for weddings in the future, as that is not so time-consuming, but I think I will retire my accompanist availability.

2. Speaking of singing, I have learned this year that I had no idea how important it was to me. I started singing at an early age, and my father, a choir director, roped me into singing in the choir at age 12, and I’ve been singing ever since. I’ve sung in churches, schools, nursing homes, and countless other places. I’ve sung with the choruses of two operas. I’ve sung as the mother in Amahl and the Night Visitors. I’ve sung in church dinner theaters. I’ve sung solos, duets, trios, quartets, in small choirs of 6 and larger choruses of more than 200. I’ve sung at weddings (including my sister’s) and funerals (including my father’s). I’ve sung in French and Italian. I’ve sung torch songs sitting on a piano in a sequined purple evening gown (see picture above, courtesy of the best photographer Memphis ever had, Earl Major), and I’ve sung stirring Mozart and Handel arias on Easter Sunday. I’ve always taken singing for granted...that is, until I had my thyroid surgery in August. I panicked when I tried my first note after the surgery, and even though the surgeon assured me that my voice would come back as the swelling went down and my tissues healed, I wondered what I would do if it didn’t. I can’t imagine a life without singing. As I gradually get my singing voice back, I think I will never take it for granted again.

3. I’ve learned if you have specialized shoes for playing the organ, and you don’t use them for over a decade and store them in a plastic bag which at times has sat in a storage unit between moves between houses, they will mildew and you have to throw them out.

4. I’ve learned that my electronic piano that I’ve had for 20 years sounds a lot worse than I thought it did, thanks to a week of playing my sister’s perfect, shiny baby grand piano. The comparison is simply incredible.

5. I’ve learned that instead of printing out family photos at Walgreen’s here in Maine, sticking them in an envelope and taking them to the post office to be mailed to my mother in Collierville, Tennessee, I can upload them to Walgreen’s online, pay for them, and request that they be printed out at the Walgreen’s store in Collierville, where my sister will kindly pick them up for her!

6. I’ve learned never to trust a corporation, specifically a credit-card company, because they will stick it to you no matter how good and reliable a customer you are.

7. I’ve learned that my sister Joy has more generosity, patience, and strength - and our mother has more resilience and determination - than I ever thought possible. For Joy to take our mother (and her dog) into her home after Mom’s wreck and surgery demonstrates a love that knows no bounds. Joy had to turn her dining room into a hospital room, put up with potty chairs and wheelchairs and sleepless nights and everything else to take care of Mother. For our mom to come through the trauma of an MVA at 85 years old, hip and ankle surgery, constant pain, immobility, and having to leave her own home and her independence behind - without giving up and staying in bed the rest of her life - awes me. She was determined to get out of that wheelchair and walk again, and now even does light household chores. What remarkable role models my family has in these two strong women!

8. I’ve learned that having grandchildren is fantastic, but having a granddog is kind of fun, too!

9. I’ve learned that remembering my age is much easier when I’m 55 than when I was 54. Those increments of 5 really help.

10. I’ve learned in reading a book about the beginnings of American exploration that Hernando Desoto joins many of his fellow conquerors/explorers in having carrying out horrible atrocities and now I wonder why they honored him with the Hernando Desoto bridge over the Mississippi River at Memphis. We have peculiar heroes.

10. Finally, I was astonished that America in my lifetime would elect a man of color as President of the United States.

So this is what I have learned over the past 12 months. Life is certainly full of learning experiences, and I'm sure there will be many more to come!