In the car the other day, my son asked which super power I'd like.
I thought about that for a moment.
I don't think I'd like to fly as I'm afraid of heights.
I don't think I'd want to be super-strong. My phone would be ringing off the hook with 'friends' who would want me to move their pianos and sofabeds.
On the other hand, super-flexibility would be neat. I'd be very impressive in a Yoga class. And scratching that hard-to-reach spot between my shoulder blades would no longer be a problem!
But that's not the power I'd like.
I would like to read minds.
"Are you sure?" my husband asked, "Do you really want to know what people are thinking?"
"Oh, I'm pretty confident that I already know what most people are thinking," I replied. "I don't think I'd be surprised."
"Do you know who I'd be?" my daughter asked.
"Batman." I responded.
"That's right!" she sounded surprised. "How'd you know?"
I'd know that little piece of information because we had just searched all over the Mall for Batman pajamas. Found some super hero ones, but no Batman.
"Guess what I'm thinking now?" my son said.
"You're hungry. You want something to drink...not water. Soda. And you want to play video games when we get home. But not just any video games. The ones that you got from Jay on Sunday."
His jaw dropped. He whistled lowly.
"How did - wow Mom. Are you sure you're not a super hero?"
Don't be deceived though. Although I'm pretty pleased with my powers of observation and listening...I'm not always that good.
The other night I was working on about fourteen thousand different projects at once. Didn't even notice if my family was at home or not. In fact, if you'd asked me then what they were thinking...well, my mind was elsewhere. I was too wrapped up in my own stuff to pay attention.
Sadly, sometimes that kind of night can turn into a week...or longer. We can get so disconnected from each other that we almost have to start over and introduce ourselves.
"Hi. I'm Carrie. I'm the Mom and wife."
"Oh...yeah. I thought you looked familiar." my husband nodded. "I'm Steve. Husband and father." We shook hands. "Nice home we have here." I said, awkwardly trying to start a conversation.
"Have you met our dog?"
"We have a dog? When did that happen?"
Okay, so that might be a slight exaggeration, but I think you get the point.
My daughter just got her drivers permit. I think to myself, "When did she get to be this age?" Time is moving so fast! Before long she'll be on her own and everything!
Enjoy your time with your family. I realize that they can be some of the most difficult folks to deal with...on the other hand, they won't be around forever. Make the most of your moments together and listen to each other. Maybe you'll become a mind reader.
As for me, I'm now seriously considering time travel as a super power.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
No thanks necessary!
The dream is always the same.
I walk into the kitchen and find Speedy (our big dog) cooking a meal next to Emeril. "Bam!" I hear Emeril say. "Bark!", replies Speedy. What they're preparing looks suspiciously like Gravy Train, but actually smells pretty good. I hear a feminine, delicate "Arf!" behind me and I turn to see Nina (our smaller dog) setting the table.
What follows next is my amazed gazing at a group of hounds and pups gorging themselves on a feast that they've helped prepare. After dinner, a few of them sit around the table and play poker. I take a picture of them. It becomes a huge seller and I become a millionaire. Then I wake up.
It's not a bad dream. But it's not reality.
My reality is as follows: I wake up and stumble blindly into the kitchen. Before I can start the coffee I scoop out some food into the dog dish and give the 'camels' some fresh water. Otherwise, it feels as if I am taking my life into my own hands as I'm surrounded by a pack of wolves!
For some reason, I seem to be the only one in our house that's certifiable....er...certified to feed and water the pets. For some reason, I have to tell the two-legged creatures living with me to do this simple thing. I think that my family believes that 'feeding the dogs' somehow falls under "Mom's Job Description". Listen to me. Just because I taught Speedy to speak doesn't mean I taught him to pour water. I say this over again and again. Speedy is the only one that answers back.
It can be very frustrating, can't it? The feeling of "I am the only one that has to do this!" Each morning I will selfishly think, "If I don't feed those dogs...no one will!" And then the ugliness occurs. I start thinking about ALL THE THINGS I DO for everyone else...and how NO ONE does anything for me!!
It's a lie. I should know better. You should too! Let's face it...we all feel that way once in a while. However, it takes some of us a longer time to stop feeling that way.
Here's something that helps: Do something for someone else without expecting a thank you.
"But Carrie!" I hear you protest, "That's EXACTLY what happens! I do things for others all the time and don't get thanked! How will that be helpful!?"
The problem isn't the lack of thanks. The problem is the expectation of thanks. What's motivating you to do things?
Sometimes I struggle with doing things for others so that they will do things for me. And that's NOT EXACTLY what we're supposed to do.
We're supposed to treat folks the way we'd like to be treated.
My friends, I encourage you to do one selfless thing this week for someone else. Here's an idea: Feed the dogs without being asked to feed them!
If you've taught them to speak, you just might get an unexpected Scooby Doo-ish "Rank Roo" in return!!
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Indulge me....just don't overdo it!
Recently I've been watching a lot of television.
I know this because the other day I woke up and tried to start the coffee maker with the DVD player remote. I also used it to try and fast forward through the argument my kids were having over whose turn it was to "find the tv show listings for Mom" and whose turn it was to "move her to the other side of the couch so the cushions wear evenly".
Another more obvious clue was my poor attempt at trying to fit a 52" tv into a 42" bathroom because I didn't want to miss the season premiere of that new show with whatshername in it.
Now, before you judge me, I have to admit that some of my viewing has been very educational. I've learned how to make my own mustard from a French Chef (well, it looked like mustard. I kind of had a hard time understanding what he was calling it); I can easily identify Mammoth tusks at an archeological dig in Alaska (you know, if I'm ever there!); and I can now tuck point the basement of this old house of mine (although I believe we've already had that done. Maybe I should check with my husband.).
Some of my viewing has been entertaining. I laughed myself silly through an 80's sitcom, an Italian opera, and the weather report. That was some funny stuff right there.
On the other hand, I've also been less than entertained by a lot of the shows I've been watching. Just last week I watched thirteen movies from the 70's that starred Lindsay Wagner, forty five infomercials on weightloss, and twenty seven reality shows.
The good news, however, is that I've spent less time on the computer.
Why is it so easy to over indulge? (A phrase, by the way, I learned from one of those commercials!) I'm not sure I understand why I don't find myself wanting to make my bed over and over...yet I'm willing to sit and watch an NCIS marathon even though I've seen every episode at least twice already!
My husband has a similar problem. The man can do all kinds of mathematical functions and figurings. He measures things and counts things. Multiplies and divides. Until he gets to the grocery store and faces his own Kryptonite. A "five items for $5" sale.
He's come home with sixty seven boxes of spaghetti, three boxes of cereal that no one eats, twenty two boxes of sandwich baggies and yet still can't remember to get the milk I asked for in the first place!
"You know," I say to him, "You don't HAVE to buy five to get the sale price on one item."
"It was a good deal!" he'll respond. We ate pasta for fifty two days straight. The cereal is still sitting in the pantry. The good news there? It's all been separated into individual baggies.
My friends, I propose that this week will be different. I am going to watch less television, make my bed once a day, and send my teenagers to the grocery store.
After all, they know what kind of cereal I like!
I encourage you to consider the things that you're over indulging on in your life and how you might live with less.
Thanks for reading!
I know this because the other day I woke up and tried to start the coffee maker with the DVD player remote. I also used it to try and fast forward through the argument my kids were having over whose turn it was to "find the tv show listings for Mom" and whose turn it was to "move her to the other side of the couch so the cushions wear evenly".
Another more obvious clue was my poor attempt at trying to fit a 52" tv into a 42" bathroom because I didn't want to miss the season premiere of that new show with whatshername in it.
Now, before you judge me, I have to admit that some of my viewing has been very educational. I've learned how to make my own mustard from a French Chef (well, it looked like mustard. I kind of had a hard time understanding what he was calling it); I can easily identify Mammoth tusks at an archeological dig in Alaska (you know, if I'm ever there!); and I can now tuck point the basement of this old house of mine (although I believe we've already had that done. Maybe I should check with my husband.).
Some of my viewing has been entertaining. I laughed myself silly through an 80's sitcom, an Italian opera, and the weather report. That was some funny stuff right there.
On the other hand, I've also been less than entertained by a lot of the shows I've been watching. Just last week I watched thirteen movies from the 70's that starred Lindsay Wagner, forty five infomercials on weightloss, and twenty seven reality shows.
The good news, however, is that I've spent less time on the computer.
Why is it so easy to over indulge? (A phrase, by the way, I learned from one of those commercials!) I'm not sure I understand why I don't find myself wanting to make my bed over and over...yet I'm willing to sit and watch an NCIS marathon even though I've seen every episode at least twice already!
My husband has a similar problem. The man can do all kinds of mathematical functions and figurings. He measures things and counts things. Multiplies and divides. Until he gets to the grocery store and faces his own Kryptonite. A "five items for $5" sale.
He's come home with sixty seven boxes of spaghetti, three boxes of cereal that no one eats, twenty two boxes of sandwich baggies and yet still can't remember to get the milk I asked for in the first place!
"You know," I say to him, "You don't HAVE to buy five to get the sale price on one item."
"It was a good deal!" he'll respond. We ate pasta for fifty two days straight. The cereal is still sitting in the pantry. The good news there? It's all been separated into individual baggies.
My friends, I propose that this week will be different. I am going to watch less television, make my bed once a day, and send my teenagers to the grocery store.
After all, they know what kind of cereal I like!
I encourage you to consider the things that you're over indulging on in your life and how you might live with less.
Thanks for reading!
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
The Nature of Things
Look, I'll be honest. When it comes to nature, I love it. I enjoy being out in it...seeing it's beauty. Smelling the flowers, feeling the warm air.
I'm all for it.
But...and this is a big BUT...
the bugs need to stay outside. You know, where nature is.
That's my rule. If I find one of you critters in my house...well, I can't say for sure that you will live to see the next showing of Ants on HBO.
A couple of days ago, however, I realized that I needed to amend my rule. Add on to it. Make sure that the bugs understand exactly what I'm talking about when I say, "MY HOUSE".
Goes a little something like this:
The party of the first part (that being me) informs the party of the second part (that being bugs) that when the term 'house' or 'home' is mentioned by the party of the first part, she is, in fact, stating the entire property...inside and out. Please make a note of this. Thank you.
A couple of days ago, I noticed these flying insects (about 20 or so of them) hovering low to the ground. They reminded me of bees at first...but I couldn't get a really good look at them. They were in the area where the dogs go out to 'do their business'. I wondered if perhaps they were flies (because of the 'area' in which they were flying around)...but as I said, I couldn't get them to sit still long enough to get a good look at them. I stuck to my thought of bees (or perhaps hornets?) and was concerned that there might be a hive under our deck.
I've seen horrible pictures of these huge ol' hives in bbq grills and yes, under decks. I didn't want my deck to be the next forwarded email sensation.
In a fit of bravado, later in the day, I went outside and didn't see them. I wondered about the hive again and stomped the whole area of the deck...ready to run into the house as soon as I needed to...nothing happened.
The next day...there they were...same bat time...same bat channel. They didn't seem to be bothering the dogs and were, as I mentioned, just kinda flying around low and hovering.
I told my husband about them. After all, bugs are in his job description. I handle the laundry...he takes care of the creepy crawlies. He suggested that perhaps they were ground wasps. I googled ground wasps and found out some info on the web about them.
1) Also called 'cicada killers'. (which sounds very dramatic to me! A movie title of a grand sort! Can't you hear that 'movie guy' doing the trailer for it?)
2) Very practical insects. They help the environment and all. (Yeah, okay...but they still have stingers, right?)
3) Info on the potential nest. A small round hole in the ground. With some dirt kicked up around the area.
Hm...very interesting. While I didn't see any pictures 'exactly' like my bug...I did see enough similarities to think that perhaps this was what we had 'moving in'.
Sunday came and my daughter and I spied them after returning home from church. She stepped on two of them in 'mid-hover' and killed them. Thus supplying us with a closer look. Yeah, they kinda do look like ground wasps.
So...I told Steve that we needed to find the nest and get rid of them. I didn't want the kids or the dogs to be stung by one. Wasps don't play around when they sting. And, unlike their 'cousin' the bee...don't have the decency to die after they sting you. No...they just keep on doing it.
That's when I realized I needed the amendment, you see. After all, I make the house payments on this property. And until I see some cash on my doorstep from those 'cicada killers'...well, they need to re-locate.
Steve poured gasoline into the hole he found yesterday. Stuck a rag in there.
Now we wait and see if that did the trick.
We'll show you who's in control!!
Yep. Feeling pretty large and in charge...that's me. When you google me, you'll find "QUEEN KILLER OF THE CICADA KILLERS!!"
(well, actually it was technically Steve. And Hannah killed two...but hey! Who's writing this??)
I love feeling like I'm in control. It's powerful. It's giddy at times, isn't it? That feeling of 'nothing can stop me!' Not a hovering little wasp-y thing that helps the environment but has tragically picked a bad place to raise a family...not ANYTHING!! (Now I hear the Rocky theme playing in my head...)
Well, this morning I went for a walk up Catfishhead Road. (That's what we named the road. It's a long story...maybe for another time.) It's a little access road that runs next to our defunct railroad tracks.
Well, it was foggy this morning. And very dewy.
As I walked, I noticed in the tall grass there between the road and the railroad tracks...spider webs.
Hundreds of them! I mean, I know that there are a lot of spiders out there...but wow! I had no idea that many of them were lurking in the fields!!!
Just garden spiders. Nothing dangerous. In fact, I think that as spiders go, they're very pretty to see. I just wasn't prepared for a party that size!!
And it was about halfway down the road that I realized something.
I really have very little control over things. I mean, I may be able to kill out one gaggle (hoard, herd, family?) of wasps...but that's about it.
It's humbling. And a little scary. Isn't it?
I mean, I don't know about you, my friend...but I don't always enjoy the feeling of NOT being in control.
The good news is: I know that Someone Else has things well under control.
I find that comforting. Hope you do too!
Thanks for reading!
I'm all for it.
But...and this is a big BUT...
the bugs need to stay outside. You know, where nature is.
That's my rule. If I find one of you critters in my house...well, I can't say for sure that you will live to see the next showing of Ants on HBO.
A couple of days ago, however, I realized that I needed to amend my rule. Add on to it. Make sure that the bugs understand exactly what I'm talking about when I say, "MY HOUSE".
Goes a little something like this:
The party of the first part (that being me) informs the party of the second part (that being bugs) that when the term 'house' or 'home' is mentioned by the party of the first part, she is, in fact, stating the entire property...inside and out. Please make a note of this. Thank you.
A couple of days ago, I noticed these flying insects (about 20 or so of them) hovering low to the ground. They reminded me of bees at first...but I couldn't get a really good look at them. They were in the area where the dogs go out to 'do their business'. I wondered if perhaps they were flies (because of the 'area' in which they were flying around)...but as I said, I couldn't get them to sit still long enough to get a good look at them. I stuck to my thought of bees (or perhaps hornets?) and was concerned that there might be a hive under our deck.
I've seen horrible pictures of these huge ol' hives in bbq grills and yes, under decks. I didn't want my deck to be the next forwarded email sensation.
In a fit of bravado, later in the day, I went outside and didn't see them. I wondered about the hive again and stomped the whole area of the deck...ready to run into the house as soon as I needed to...nothing happened.
The next day...there they were...same bat time...same bat channel. They didn't seem to be bothering the dogs and were, as I mentioned, just kinda flying around low and hovering.
I told my husband about them. After all, bugs are in his job description. I handle the laundry...he takes care of the creepy crawlies. He suggested that perhaps they were ground wasps. I googled ground wasps and found out some info on the web about them.
1) Also called 'cicada killers'. (which sounds very dramatic to me! A movie title of a grand sort! Can't you hear that 'movie guy' doing the trailer for it?)
2) Very practical insects. They help the environment and all. (Yeah, okay...but they still have stingers, right?)
3) Info on the potential nest. A small round hole in the ground. With some dirt kicked up around the area.
Hm...very interesting. While I didn't see any pictures 'exactly' like my bug...I did see enough similarities to think that perhaps this was what we had 'moving in'.
Sunday came and my daughter and I spied them after returning home from church. She stepped on two of them in 'mid-hover' and killed them. Thus supplying us with a closer look. Yeah, they kinda do look like ground wasps.
So...I told Steve that we needed to find the nest and get rid of them. I didn't want the kids or the dogs to be stung by one. Wasps don't play around when they sting. And, unlike their 'cousin' the bee...don't have the decency to die after they sting you. No...they just keep on doing it.
That's when I realized I needed the amendment, you see. After all, I make the house payments on this property. And until I see some cash on my doorstep from those 'cicada killers'...well, they need to re-locate.
Steve poured gasoline into the hole he found yesterday. Stuck a rag in there.
Now we wait and see if that did the trick.
We'll show you who's in control!!
Yep. Feeling pretty large and in charge...that's me. When you google me, you'll find "QUEEN KILLER OF THE CICADA KILLERS!!"
(well, actually it was technically Steve. And Hannah killed two...but hey! Who's writing this??)
I love feeling like I'm in control. It's powerful. It's giddy at times, isn't it? That feeling of 'nothing can stop me!' Not a hovering little wasp-y thing that helps the environment but has tragically picked a bad place to raise a family...not ANYTHING!! (Now I hear the Rocky theme playing in my head...)
Well, this morning I went for a walk up Catfishhead Road. (That's what we named the road. It's a long story...maybe for another time.) It's a little access road that runs next to our defunct railroad tracks.
Well, it was foggy this morning. And very dewy.
As I walked, I noticed in the tall grass there between the road and the railroad tracks...spider webs.
Hundreds of them! I mean, I know that there are a lot of spiders out there...but wow! I had no idea that many of them were lurking in the fields!!!
Just garden spiders. Nothing dangerous. In fact, I think that as spiders go, they're very pretty to see. I just wasn't prepared for a party that size!!
And it was about halfway down the road that I realized something.
I really have very little control over things. I mean, I may be able to kill out one gaggle (hoard, herd, family?) of wasps...but that's about it.
It's humbling. And a little scary. Isn't it?
I mean, I don't know about you, my friend...but I don't always enjoy the feeling of NOT being in control.
The good news is: I know that Someone Else has things well under control.
I find that comforting. Hope you do too!
Thanks for reading!
Sunday, August 9, 2009
S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y NIGHT!!
Right now I'm listening to a current popular tune that I think would make an excellent roller skating rink song.
I wonder if anyone else has considered this? I could mention it to my daughter, but she'd just roll her 15 year old eyes at me and mumble something about how she needs to get my application filled out for the nursing home. She hates it when I bring up 70's-80's music.
Ah well. She'll appreciate me someday, right?
I was five years old the first time I put on a pair of roller skates. It was my birthday. They were the kind that you strapped to your shoes. I remember the feeling of exhilarated terror I felt as I careened around our kitchen, leaving deep nail marks in the countertop.
I really liked skating. My family would travel to Hoopeston frequently to skate at a rink there. I loved the music, the light show, the wooden floor. I remember thinking that when I grew up, I wanted to be one of the 'skating guards'...those teenagers with their whistles and their backwards skating ability. I remember how weird it felt to take off my skates at the end of the evening. That 'lighter than air' way your foot felt. Totally weird.
In junior high, the skating rink in Paxton became the place to go on the weekend for me. I put my big ol' comb in the back pocket of my white painter pants (they were SO COOL looking under the black light!) and I would feather my hair and carefully consider the boys there. Who might be a partner for the "Couples Only" skate? The Eagles or the Bay City Rollers would come over the speakers and we would skate around and around and check out who was making out in the Corner (it was never me!) and I was always surprised when it was time to go home.
Of course, once I had my driver's license, I didn't want to go skating much. And anyway, I think the rink was closed by then, so it didn't really matter.
After I had children, they received passes for the local skating rink. I remember putting on skates again for the first time in years and reacquainting myself with the wheels. It wasn't much different from when I was five...except now the nail marks were in the wall of the rink or the shoulder of a skating guard as I desperately attempted to stay upright.
'It was easier to skate when I was younger,' I remember thinking. 'This is risky business. I could break my wrist or something!'
I think we could all find something that was 'easier' when we were younger. I guess my question to you is: How are you handling the 'risky business' in your life? In most cases, age brings wisdom and there are things that I wouldn't do now that I'm older if you paid me cash money...just because they're too dangerous. Too risky.
However, there's that other side of risk. The safe side. And that, my friends, can be crippling. It can keep you from trying new things. Or trying old things. Like roller skating.
Take my advice. Grab that big ol' comb of yours, put on that old Bay City Roller album and take a risk today! Speaking of albums, I wonder if I can get my daughter to download some disco for me! Now that's risky!!
I wonder if anyone else has considered this? I could mention it to my daughter, but she'd just roll her 15 year old eyes at me and mumble something about how she needs to get my application filled out for the nursing home. She hates it when I bring up 70's-80's music.
Ah well. She'll appreciate me someday, right?
I was five years old the first time I put on a pair of roller skates. It was my birthday. They were the kind that you strapped to your shoes. I remember the feeling of exhilarated terror I felt as I careened around our kitchen, leaving deep nail marks in the countertop.
I really liked skating. My family would travel to Hoopeston frequently to skate at a rink there. I loved the music, the light show, the wooden floor. I remember thinking that when I grew up, I wanted to be one of the 'skating guards'...those teenagers with their whistles and their backwards skating ability. I remember how weird it felt to take off my skates at the end of the evening. That 'lighter than air' way your foot felt. Totally weird.
In junior high, the skating rink in Paxton became the place to go on the weekend for me. I put my big ol' comb in the back pocket of my white painter pants (they were SO COOL looking under the black light!) and I would feather my hair and carefully consider the boys there. Who might be a partner for the "Couples Only" skate? The Eagles or the Bay City Rollers would come over the speakers and we would skate around and around and check out who was making out in the Corner (it was never me!) and I was always surprised when it was time to go home.
Of course, once I had my driver's license, I didn't want to go skating much. And anyway, I think the rink was closed by then, so it didn't really matter.
After I had children, they received passes for the local skating rink. I remember putting on skates again for the first time in years and reacquainting myself with the wheels. It wasn't much different from when I was five...except now the nail marks were in the wall of the rink or the shoulder of a skating guard as I desperately attempted to stay upright.
'It was easier to skate when I was younger,' I remember thinking. 'This is risky business. I could break my wrist or something!'
I think we could all find something that was 'easier' when we were younger. I guess my question to you is: How are you handling the 'risky business' in your life? In most cases, age brings wisdom and there are things that I wouldn't do now that I'm older if you paid me cash money...just because they're too dangerous. Too risky.
However, there's that other side of risk. The safe side. And that, my friends, can be crippling. It can keep you from trying new things. Or trying old things. Like roller skating.
Take my advice. Grab that big ol' comb of yours, put on that old Bay City Roller album and take a risk today! Speaking of albums, I wonder if I can get my daughter to download some disco for me! Now that's risky!!
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Truth be Told...
So...last week or so I started a small group study on this book Truefaced, which is about being real with people. And at about that same time I went to youth group with my kiddos and played Balderdash, which is all about lying to people.
As The Doors said so aptly, people are strange...aren't we?
On the one hand, we want people to accept us for who we are...warts (if you've got 'em...I don't!) and all. And on the other, we're always lying about something...(for instance, not having warts.)
Oh, you disagree? You're not a liar? You tell the truth all the time?
Well, I don't. I freely admit it. I find myself lying constantly...
To my son:
"Why no, Jake. There are no onions in that casserole. Now eat!" (it was an ONION CASSEROLE!!)
To my best friend:
"Your new haircut does not make your butt look big!" (sadly, she'd have a big butt regardless!)
To the girl scout:
"I've already bought two boxes of thin mints. Sorry!" (it was actually 7 boxes. And they were the peanut butter ones that I can never remember the name of...!)
We humans lie.
And one of the first lies we tell ourselves is this: Lying will 'fix' the situation.
Lying doesn't fix anything...in the long run. It has a tendency to complicate things, actually. But it's 'easier' to lie than to be honest sometimes. Isn't it?
"Who broke this vase?" "Not me! It was an alien..."
Kids can tell whoppers of lies, can't they? And why? To avoid getting into trouble, to avoid work, to avoid conflict.
I am a girl. And since girls are typically encouraged by society to avoid conflict, we are taught to do what? Lie.
We girls are taught to be 'kind' to people, aren't we? So we lie and say things to others in order 'to be nice'.
"That shirt looks good on you." "It's not you, it's me." "Your invitation must've been lost in the mail." "No, your feet aren't big. Size 13 is the new 6."
I'm going to cut in here and present the word "Tact" to you. Now tact is what we REALLY need to be taught. Boys and girls alike. And tact isn't about lying...or telling the truth. Tact is about timing.
A definition of tact is this: a keen sense of what to say or do to avoid giving offense; skill in dealing with difficult or delicate situations.
My tactful word is "interesting".
"Mmm...this liver pate' you've made for the first time has an interesting flavor."
"Interesting" is what I use when I am not sure that the truth is wanted by the other person or when I don't want to tell the truth and hurt someone 'at that moment'.
It's not lying. It's not truth. It's...well...avoidance.
For instance...the last thing a bride needs to hear on her wedding day is that white is NOT a good color on her.
Is it going to benefit her at all on that day to tell her that? No. The fact that she looks bad in white should've been pointed out months ago.
What I'm trying to say is that sometimes, conflict is a good thing to avoid. So tact comes into play.
However, tact is NOT supposed to replace truth. As I mentioned, the bride could've been told the truth earlier.
So is truth about timing, then?
Um...no.
Truth is about relationship...and we'll talk more about that later. Think about truth and lies, won't you? Right now, I have to um...do something else. This has been interesting...thanks for reading!
As The Doors said so aptly, people are strange...aren't we?
On the one hand, we want people to accept us for who we are...warts (if you've got 'em...I don't!) and all. And on the other, we're always lying about something...(for instance, not having warts.)
Oh, you disagree? You're not a liar? You tell the truth all the time?
Well, I don't. I freely admit it. I find myself lying constantly...
To my son:
"Why no, Jake. There are no onions in that casserole. Now eat!" (it was an ONION CASSEROLE!!)
To my best friend:
"Your new haircut does not make your butt look big!" (sadly, she'd have a big butt regardless!)
To the girl scout:
"I've already bought two boxes of thin mints. Sorry!" (it was actually 7 boxes. And they were the peanut butter ones that I can never remember the name of...!)
We humans lie.
And one of the first lies we tell ourselves is this: Lying will 'fix' the situation.
Lying doesn't fix anything...in the long run. It has a tendency to complicate things, actually. But it's 'easier' to lie than to be honest sometimes. Isn't it?
"Who broke this vase?" "Not me! It was an alien..."
Kids can tell whoppers of lies, can't they? And why? To avoid getting into trouble, to avoid work, to avoid conflict.
I am a girl. And since girls are typically encouraged by society to avoid conflict, we are taught to do what? Lie.
We girls are taught to be 'kind' to people, aren't we? So we lie and say things to others in order 'to be nice'.
"That shirt looks good on you." "It's not you, it's me." "Your invitation must've been lost in the mail." "No, your feet aren't big. Size 13 is the new 6."
I'm going to cut in here and present the word "Tact" to you. Now tact is what we REALLY need to be taught. Boys and girls alike. And tact isn't about lying...or telling the truth. Tact is about timing.
A definition of tact is this: a keen sense of what to say or do to avoid giving offense; skill in dealing with difficult or delicate situations.
My tactful word is "interesting".
"Mmm...this liver pate' you've made for the first time has an interesting flavor."
"Interesting" is what I use when I am not sure that the truth is wanted by the other person or when I don't want to tell the truth and hurt someone 'at that moment'.
It's not lying. It's not truth. It's...well...avoidance.
For instance...the last thing a bride needs to hear on her wedding day is that white is NOT a good color on her.
Is it going to benefit her at all on that day to tell her that? No. The fact that she looks bad in white should've been pointed out months ago.
What I'm trying to say is that sometimes, conflict is a good thing to avoid. So tact comes into play.
However, tact is NOT supposed to replace truth. As I mentioned, the bride could've been told the truth earlier.
So is truth about timing, then?
Um...no.
Truth is about relationship...and we'll talk more about that later. Think about truth and lies, won't you? Right now, I have to um...do something else. This has been interesting...thanks for reading!
Sunday, July 26, 2009
A Family Divided (by four)
Growing up, we went to the county fair every summer.
I loved it! There were rides, and food. Games, and food. Prizes, and food.
Mmmm. Fair food. I don't know about you, but despite my begging, I could not convince my Mom to make me funnel cakes for breakfast. It just wasn't happening!
And it just wasn't FAIR!
Speaking of that, I feel we've been friends long enough now that I'd like to share something with you. There's a battle going on at our house.
And I, for one, am ready to tear the white pillowcase off of my bed and wave it on a broom handle in surrender.
I cannot do this anymore, you see. It's worn me to a frazzle over the past 13 years and I simply don't have the strength or the math skills, to be honest. I'm tired.
What's the problem, you ask?
There are four people in my home. Four folks who eat together each day. And...each day I have to make sure that the amount of food I cook is divisible by four. You know, so that everyone gets the same amount.
I count olives...and pork steaks...and lettuce leaves. I count brats, and pizza slices, and tacos. Thankfully, no one's questioned my peas or corn distribution! However, just to be on the safe side, I don't purchase raisins or Oreos. It's just too painful!
Do you do this in your home? I am sure I am not alone on this. And I don't really understand why it's such as isssue, as my children are constantly told over and over again that Life Is Not Fair.
I was constantly told that Life Is Not Fair while growing up.
Were you told this? How do you handle it? Because I try, I really try...to make things fair. But the fact of the matter is: hot dogs come in packages of 10, hot dog buns come in packages of 8. The odds are stacked against me. I'm not always going to be able to divide by 4. I cannot guarantee that fairness is always an option.
So what do you do when you feel you've been unfairly treated? When you've been shorted a hot dog bun? Do you get angry? Do you feel sorry for yourself? It's difficult, isn't it, when it appears that everyone else has things going for them and we don't. It's not fair that I work as hard as her and she's promoted. It's not fair that my neighbor has a new car and I still drive this old one. It's not fair that he's well and I'm sick.
My friends, the only consolation I can offer is this: there is ONE fair thing going on in this world. We all experience 'unfairness' in our lives. WE ALL EXPERIENCE IT.
There isn't one person around that hasn't felt they've been unfairly treated at least once or twice or twenty bajillion times. That's the good news. The tricky thing is trying to remember that the next time we want a hot dog...or a funnel cake for breakfast.
Think about that the next time you find yourself faced with 10 brats for 4 people. Who packaged these things?? Thanks for reading!
I loved it! There were rides, and food. Games, and food. Prizes, and food.
Mmmm. Fair food. I don't know about you, but despite my begging, I could not convince my Mom to make me funnel cakes for breakfast. It just wasn't happening!
And it just wasn't FAIR!
Speaking of that, I feel we've been friends long enough now that I'd like to share something with you. There's a battle going on at our house.
And I, for one, am ready to tear the white pillowcase off of my bed and wave it on a broom handle in surrender.
I cannot do this anymore, you see. It's worn me to a frazzle over the past 13 years and I simply don't have the strength or the math skills, to be honest. I'm tired.
What's the problem, you ask?
There are four people in my home. Four folks who eat together each day. And...each day I have to make sure that the amount of food I cook is divisible by four. You know, so that everyone gets the same amount.
I count olives...and pork steaks...and lettuce leaves. I count brats, and pizza slices, and tacos. Thankfully, no one's questioned my peas or corn distribution! However, just to be on the safe side, I don't purchase raisins or Oreos. It's just too painful!
Do you do this in your home? I am sure I am not alone on this. And I don't really understand why it's such as isssue, as my children are constantly told over and over again that Life Is Not Fair.
I was constantly told that Life Is Not Fair while growing up.
Were you told this? How do you handle it? Because I try, I really try...to make things fair. But the fact of the matter is: hot dogs come in packages of 10, hot dog buns come in packages of 8. The odds are stacked against me. I'm not always going to be able to divide by 4. I cannot guarantee that fairness is always an option.
So what do you do when you feel you've been unfairly treated? When you've been shorted a hot dog bun? Do you get angry? Do you feel sorry for yourself? It's difficult, isn't it, when it appears that everyone else has things going for them and we don't. It's not fair that I work as hard as her and she's promoted. It's not fair that my neighbor has a new car and I still drive this old one. It's not fair that he's well and I'm sick.
My friends, the only consolation I can offer is this: there is ONE fair thing going on in this world. We all experience 'unfairness' in our lives. WE ALL EXPERIENCE IT.
There isn't one person around that hasn't felt they've been unfairly treated at least once or twice or twenty bajillion times. That's the good news. The tricky thing is trying to remember that the next time we want a hot dog...or a funnel cake for breakfast.
Think about that the next time you find yourself faced with 10 brats for 4 people. Who packaged these things?? Thanks for reading!
Saturday, June 13, 2009
A Limited Understanding
This is not the first time it's happened.
And what frustrates me the most about it, is that it happens at the WORST possible time!
The other day, I had a smarillion things to do. And like most people, I was trying to save myself some time and go a little over the speed limit.
Okay, maybe a lot over the speed limit.
However, it wasn't long before I found myself "stuck" behind someone who was actually obeying the law and not speeding.
"COME ON!" I threw my head back and wailed, "I HAVE PLACES TO SEE AND PEOPLE TO GO!"
This 'people' wasn't 'going', though. At least not over 55 miles an hour.
"AUGH!" I groaned. It felt as if my van had just stopped in the middle of the road. Like there had been some sort of Star Trek time/space continuum thing...and I was frozen on Ridge Road. Unable to move ahead. 'Quick, Scotty,' I thought, 'Beam me up and over this slowpoke so I can get to where I have to be!'
Finally, after seventeen years, three months, two weeks, nine days, fourteen hours, twenty-two minutes and five seconds...I was able to pass this person safely.
As I drive by, this gal smiles at me and waves.
I do not wave back. She is oblivious to the torment that she has caused me. I have a lot to do! Doesn't she understand that there are only 24 hours in the day and I've already used up EIGHT of them! The items on my To Do list are barely checked off! I'm behind schedule! I don't have time to wave! Besides, my cell phone is ringing...!
What a day that was! I was frazzled that entire time. Trying to get things checked off, adding more things to the list, pushing myself to do more.
But someone was trying to tell me something that day...
As I passed that gal on the highway, I saw a speed limit sign fly by.
At the grocery store, I was going to stock up on shredded Cheddar Cheese and grabbed five packages. Then I saw the "Limit Three per Customer" sign and had to put two packages back.
At the mall, The Limited was having a sale. On tanks, not cheese.
Later, while watching t.v., I saw that a cable channel was running an Outer Limits marathon. Then a commercial came on and told me that I could buy this amazing item that was being offered at this amazing price 'for a limited time only'.
And finally, when I was breaking up yet another argument between my children over whose turn it was to be on the Playstation, I heard myself saying, "That's it! I have reached my limit! I'm tired of the arguing! Now give me the guitar and I'LL be the Hero!"
And that's when it hit me.
I have limitations. Limits.
The word 'limit' is often looked at as a 'bad' thing. We want to buy more, drive faster, spend fifteen hours on the Playstation wailing on that Aerosmith song.
Okay, maybe only I do those things. What I'm realizing though, is that limits aren't bad. They can actually be very healthy. We can't do it all. We need to have boundaries. Too much of a good thing is indeed, too much! Setting boundaries on our time, money and items is not a bad thing! By staying within a boundary, for instance, I still get what I need. I get enough. Not too much.
Think about that, my friends, while I set my timer for fifteen minutes of Guitar Hero. That's my new limit! Thanks for reading!
And what frustrates me the most about it, is that it happens at the WORST possible time!
The other day, I had a smarillion things to do. And like most people, I was trying to save myself some time and go a little over the speed limit.
Okay, maybe a lot over the speed limit.
However, it wasn't long before I found myself "stuck" behind someone who was actually obeying the law and not speeding.
"COME ON!" I threw my head back and wailed, "I HAVE PLACES TO SEE AND PEOPLE TO GO!"
This 'people' wasn't 'going', though. At least not over 55 miles an hour.
"AUGH!" I groaned. It felt as if my van had just stopped in the middle of the road. Like there had been some sort of Star Trek time/space continuum thing...and I was frozen on Ridge Road. Unable to move ahead. 'Quick, Scotty,' I thought, 'Beam me up and over this slowpoke so I can get to where I have to be!'
Finally, after seventeen years, three months, two weeks, nine days, fourteen hours, twenty-two minutes and five seconds...I was able to pass this person safely.
As I drive by, this gal smiles at me and waves.
I do not wave back. She is oblivious to the torment that she has caused me. I have a lot to do! Doesn't she understand that there are only 24 hours in the day and I've already used up EIGHT of them! The items on my To Do list are barely checked off! I'm behind schedule! I don't have time to wave! Besides, my cell phone is ringing...!
What a day that was! I was frazzled that entire time. Trying to get things checked off, adding more things to the list, pushing myself to do more.
But someone was trying to tell me something that day...
As I passed that gal on the highway, I saw a speed limit sign fly by.
At the grocery store, I was going to stock up on shredded Cheddar Cheese and grabbed five packages. Then I saw the "Limit Three per Customer" sign and had to put two packages back.
At the mall, The Limited was having a sale. On tanks, not cheese.
Later, while watching t.v., I saw that a cable channel was running an Outer Limits marathon. Then a commercial came on and told me that I could buy this amazing item that was being offered at this amazing price 'for a limited time only'.
And finally, when I was breaking up yet another argument between my children over whose turn it was to be on the Playstation, I heard myself saying, "That's it! I have reached my limit! I'm tired of the arguing! Now give me the guitar and I'LL be the Hero!"
And that's when it hit me.
I have limitations. Limits.
The word 'limit' is often looked at as a 'bad' thing. We want to buy more, drive faster, spend fifteen hours on the Playstation wailing on that Aerosmith song.
Okay, maybe only I do those things. What I'm realizing though, is that limits aren't bad. They can actually be very healthy. We can't do it all. We need to have boundaries. Too much of a good thing is indeed, too much! Setting boundaries on our time, money and items is not a bad thing! By staying within a boundary, for instance, I still get what I need. I get enough. Not too much.
Think about that, my friends, while I set my timer for fifteen minutes of Guitar Hero. That's my new limit! Thanks for reading!
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Go Ahead....make my day...
I approached the customer service desk with some trepidation.
Why, you ask? Well, I'll tell you. And because you're my friends, I'm going to tell you the truth and admit something about myself.
I don't like dealing with customer service desks. I really don't. I mean, nine times out of ten I don't have the right receipt (it was the one I accidentally stuck my chewed gum into), or the item I want to return cannot possibly ever be returned (on a particular 'bad Mommy' day, I spent 27 minutes trying to get the gal at Best Mart to take my temper tantrum throwing three year old off my hands), or there's no one actually at the customer service desk (seriously, it was like a ghost town! I think, at one point, I even saw a tumbleweed go by!).
At any rate, those are the reasons I generally dread going to the desk. However, today I was going to try something different. Because, you see, it's my understanding that insanity is doing the same things over and over and expecting different results. So today...I'd try something new. I formulated a plan. It wasn't very complicated. It was a simple, easy to do plan. This time, as I approached the desk, I was going to do something I hadn't done before.
I was going to smile.
That was my plan. A big ol' grin.
So, as I was saying, I slowly approached the desk, smiling. The gal behind the counter was taking care of a customer when another person stepped up to her and demanded attention from the clerk. She (the clerk) was amazing! She smiled and said in a friendly voice, "I'll be right with you. I'm taking care of this customer right now."
Well, the other gal was having none of that, and continued speaking...at which point the customer service clerk politely asked the other customer to wait a moment and handled the 'squeaky wheel'. She got her out of there quickly and took care of the first customer. I patiently waited. (After all, I was just relieved that there WAS actually someone behind the counter.) And I still smiled.
As the first customer moved away and I stepped forward, the gal behind the desk began muttering as she tidied up her area. It sounded a little like this:
"Tell me that you need--garbled mumbling--mezzarazza something--why don't you--something something--growling--that's the last time I--ragafraggle--"
She saw me standing there at the counter then.
"Oh," she said mechanically, "Welcome to Best Mart. How can I help you?"
My jaw beginning to ache a little from the smile, I say, "Well, you see-" and I hand her the receipt that I managed to keep my chewing gum out of this time.
"Can you believe some people?" she says, interrupting. "I mean, what do they expect? Am I just supposed to drop everything for them? Just create stuff out of thin air for them? It's like, you know, they want me to wave some sort of magic wand and POOF! There's their stuff! I mean, what has happened to common courtesy, I ask you?"
"Well, I - " I began, my smile faltering a little. Just then the store phone rang.
"Excuse me." she said. And she answered the phone. And I continued to wait...patiently. I found myself pushing up at the corners of my mouth a bit. It looked less like a smile and more like I had a severe denture issue.
Still, I attempted the grin. And marveled as I watched the clerk manage to talk on the phone and take my item at the same time. With ruthless efficiency I see her print out a new receipt, staple one to the other, ask me to sign on the dotted line, and hand me back my cash while hanging up the phone.
Without missing a beat, she continues our conversation.
"People just don't know how to treat people nicely anymore. I don't understand it. It's like there ought to be a class on courtesy! But you know what? I'll bet no one would show up!"
I stand there, receipt in hand, slightly smiling. I look down at my purse on the counter.
"Well, thank you!" I manage to say, taking two steps back.
"SEE? No one says that anymore! Thank you! You made my day!" she says. "And go Cards!"
"What?" I ask, confused. And then I look down and see that I'm wearing my Cardinals tee shirt.
"Yes," I respond weakly. "Go Cards! Well, you have a good day."
"You too! Thanks for being such a great customer!"
As I sat in the car, I pondered over what had just occurred. I hadn't done anything truly remarkable. All I had done was smile.
And I think that smile made a difference.
My friends, consider smiling at just one person today. Just one. See what happens. You might make someone's day!
Why, you ask? Well, I'll tell you. And because you're my friends, I'm going to tell you the truth and admit something about myself.
I don't like dealing with customer service desks. I really don't. I mean, nine times out of ten I don't have the right receipt (it was the one I accidentally stuck my chewed gum into), or the item I want to return cannot possibly ever be returned (on a particular 'bad Mommy' day, I spent 27 minutes trying to get the gal at Best Mart to take my temper tantrum throwing three year old off my hands), or there's no one actually at the customer service desk (seriously, it was like a ghost town! I think, at one point, I even saw a tumbleweed go by!).
At any rate, those are the reasons I generally dread going to the desk. However, today I was going to try something different. Because, you see, it's my understanding that insanity is doing the same things over and over and expecting different results. So today...I'd try something new. I formulated a plan. It wasn't very complicated. It was a simple, easy to do plan. This time, as I approached the desk, I was going to do something I hadn't done before.
I was going to smile.
That was my plan. A big ol' grin.
So, as I was saying, I slowly approached the desk, smiling. The gal behind the counter was taking care of a customer when another person stepped up to her and demanded attention from the clerk. She (the clerk) was amazing! She smiled and said in a friendly voice, "I'll be right with you. I'm taking care of this customer right now."
Well, the other gal was having none of that, and continued speaking...at which point the customer service clerk politely asked the other customer to wait a moment and handled the 'squeaky wheel'. She got her out of there quickly and took care of the first customer. I patiently waited. (After all, I was just relieved that there WAS actually someone behind the counter.) And I still smiled.
As the first customer moved away and I stepped forward, the gal behind the desk began muttering as she tidied up her area. It sounded a little like this:
"Tell me that you need--garbled mumbling--mezzarazza something--why don't you--something something--growling--that's the last time I--ragafraggle--"
She saw me standing there at the counter then.
"Oh," she said mechanically, "Welcome to Best Mart. How can I help you?"
My jaw beginning to ache a little from the smile, I say, "Well, you see-" and I hand her the receipt that I managed to keep my chewing gum out of this time.
"Can you believe some people?" she says, interrupting. "I mean, what do they expect? Am I just supposed to drop everything for them? Just create stuff out of thin air for them? It's like, you know, they want me to wave some sort of magic wand and POOF! There's their stuff! I mean, what has happened to common courtesy, I ask you?"
"Well, I - " I began, my smile faltering a little. Just then the store phone rang.
"Excuse me." she said. And she answered the phone. And I continued to wait...patiently. I found myself pushing up at the corners of my mouth a bit. It looked less like a smile and more like I had a severe denture issue.
Still, I attempted the grin. And marveled as I watched the clerk manage to talk on the phone and take my item at the same time. With ruthless efficiency I see her print out a new receipt, staple one to the other, ask me to sign on the dotted line, and hand me back my cash while hanging up the phone.
Without missing a beat, she continues our conversation.
"People just don't know how to treat people nicely anymore. I don't understand it. It's like there ought to be a class on courtesy! But you know what? I'll bet no one would show up!"
I stand there, receipt in hand, slightly smiling. I look down at my purse on the counter.
"Well, thank you!" I manage to say, taking two steps back.
"SEE? No one says that anymore! Thank you! You made my day!" she says. "And go Cards!"
"What?" I ask, confused. And then I look down and see that I'm wearing my Cardinals tee shirt.
"Yes," I respond weakly. "Go Cards! Well, you have a good day."
"You too! Thanks for being such a great customer!"
As I sat in the car, I pondered over what had just occurred. I hadn't done anything truly remarkable. All I had done was smile.
And I think that smile made a difference.
My friends, consider smiling at just one person today. Just one. See what happens. You might make someone's day!
Thursday, May 14, 2009
The MOREL of the Story
First of all, I think he was lying about the gunshot scaring them into showing themselves.
I think he was.
I think...
Still to this day, I'm not positive. I mean, I wanted to believe him. Because I trusted his judgement on so many things, I wanted to trust it on this. After all, he'd been doing it for years. He must know what he's talking about, right? So, it kinda made sense, in a way.
I know that for myself though, if someone fired a pistol around me, I'd want to hide. Not show myself.
But he assured me that it would work. The gunshot would scare them into showing themselves.
So he fired the pistol...
and later that night, while we ate, I wondered at his practices...but enjoyed the result.
I learned a lot that day, in the woods.
And mushroom hunting has never been the same...
You see, my friends, several years ago my father-in-law Gordon took me mushroom hunting for the first time. In fact, the whole family went along. The more folks, the merrier! The more folks, the more mushrooms!
Do you like mushrooms? I like mushrooms. But they're not an "in between" food, are they? I mean, you either like them...or you don't.
And as I said, I like them. So the idea of hunting for them was intriguing. I'd never done it before. How hard could it be, right?
We headed out one fine morning in April to this patch of trees that belonged to a friend of Gordon's. He'd let him hunt on the property. I don't know if Gordon paid his friend back in mushrooms or what, but this had been going on for a while, because Gordon was very familiar with the land.
However, it was not easy to get to the land of 'shrooms. We had to hike along a fenceline for what felt like 12.7 miles. It wasn't like there was a sidewalk there; it was work to get over those big ol' dirt clods! And those big ol' dirtclods were really more like mud...so I was hot and a little sweaty before we even started to actually hunt. I began to wish I had some sort of native guide...or a pack mule or something...
Eventually we entered the woods. It was like another world. Dark, quiet. Gordon gave me some tips on hunting.
"Kick the logs first. Then step over them." Gordon directed.
"Does that help with finding mushrooms?" I asked.
"Scares the snakes!"
Great.
I'm not going to find mushrooms now. I'm going to find some snake neighborhood! Um, maybe mushroom hunting is not for me after all.
"Once you find the first one," Gordon continued. "You'll see 'em all over the place!"
SNAKES? Once I find my first SNAKE? EEEEEK!
But he was talking about the mushrooms.
"And be careful. Some mushrooms look like Morels, but they're poisonous."
Great. As if I wasn't worried enough about the snakes...now there are 'bad' mushrooms to be on the look out for!
I can't really explain the joy and excitement I felt when I found my first Morel. It wasn't very big. And I could've sworn that I'd looked in that same spot about 27 times...but there it was!
"Is this one?" I asked, gingerly holding it up.
"Yep!" Gordon clapped me on the shoulder. "You found one! Now let's scare the rest of 'em out of the ground!"
And he fired his pistol into the air.
And I about wet myself.
It was almost too much excitement for one person to experience.
I'll never forget that day in the woods. You know what? We found enough mushrooms to make one meal. Just one. It was a lot of work and effort for what seemed like very little payoff...but they were SO delicious!
There's something, my friends, to be said for working hard towards a goal. There's a delicious reward at the end of the day. What we have the hard time with, however...is the job itself. Because the job can be muddy, lengthy, and possibly full of snakes and gun shots. It can make us weary, and we can discourage easily...because sometimes all of our hard work doesn't look like much.
Stay strong, though. Here, have a Morel. I just picked it.
I think he was.
I think...
Still to this day, I'm not positive. I mean, I wanted to believe him. Because I trusted his judgement on so many things, I wanted to trust it on this. After all, he'd been doing it for years. He must know what he's talking about, right? So, it kinda made sense, in a way.
I know that for myself though, if someone fired a pistol around me, I'd want to hide. Not show myself.
But he assured me that it would work. The gunshot would scare them into showing themselves.
So he fired the pistol...
and later that night, while we ate, I wondered at his practices...but enjoyed the result.
I learned a lot that day, in the woods.
And mushroom hunting has never been the same...
You see, my friends, several years ago my father-in-law Gordon took me mushroom hunting for the first time. In fact, the whole family went along. The more folks, the merrier! The more folks, the more mushrooms!
Do you like mushrooms? I like mushrooms. But they're not an "in between" food, are they? I mean, you either like them...or you don't.
And as I said, I like them. So the idea of hunting for them was intriguing. I'd never done it before. How hard could it be, right?
We headed out one fine morning in April to this patch of trees that belonged to a friend of Gordon's. He'd let him hunt on the property. I don't know if Gordon paid his friend back in mushrooms or what, but this had been going on for a while, because Gordon was very familiar with the land.
However, it was not easy to get to the land of 'shrooms. We had to hike along a fenceline for what felt like 12.7 miles. It wasn't like there was a sidewalk there; it was work to get over those big ol' dirt clods! And those big ol' dirtclods were really more like mud...so I was hot and a little sweaty before we even started to actually hunt. I began to wish I had some sort of native guide...or a pack mule or something...
Eventually we entered the woods. It was like another world. Dark, quiet. Gordon gave me some tips on hunting.
"Kick the logs first. Then step over them." Gordon directed.
"Does that help with finding mushrooms?" I asked.
"Scares the snakes!"
Great.
I'm not going to find mushrooms now. I'm going to find some snake neighborhood! Um, maybe mushroom hunting is not for me after all.
"Once you find the first one," Gordon continued. "You'll see 'em all over the place!"
SNAKES? Once I find my first SNAKE? EEEEEK!
But he was talking about the mushrooms.
"And be careful. Some mushrooms look like Morels, but they're poisonous."
Great. As if I wasn't worried enough about the snakes...now there are 'bad' mushrooms to be on the look out for!
I can't really explain the joy and excitement I felt when I found my first Morel. It wasn't very big. And I could've sworn that I'd looked in that same spot about 27 times...but there it was!
"Is this one?" I asked, gingerly holding it up.
"Yep!" Gordon clapped me on the shoulder. "You found one! Now let's scare the rest of 'em out of the ground!"
And he fired his pistol into the air.
And I about wet myself.
It was almost too much excitement for one person to experience.
I'll never forget that day in the woods. You know what? We found enough mushrooms to make one meal. Just one. It was a lot of work and effort for what seemed like very little payoff...but they were SO delicious!
There's something, my friends, to be said for working hard towards a goal. There's a delicious reward at the end of the day. What we have the hard time with, however...is the job itself. Because the job can be muddy, lengthy, and possibly full of snakes and gun shots. It can make us weary, and we can discourage easily...because sometimes all of our hard work doesn't look like much.
Stay strong, though. Here, have a Morel. I just picked it.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
The Easy Button
There are few things I'm scared to talk about with folks. I love swapping a good grandchild story, or sharing really bad jokes...sometimes I even enjoy a rousing discussion of an economics class syllabus, or a healthy back-and-forth about the subtle differences in brands of house paint.
Still, I realize that there are some things that you're NOT supposed to talk about. Ever.
Like politics...or religion...or The Donald's hair.
People have very strong feelings on these things. Whether they want to or not. Countries have been known to war over these very issues.
And there is a topic that everyone has an opinion about...good or bad...right or wrong...and it is WEIGHT.
I hate to talk about it. I would much rather have to endure Chinese water torture or a Barbra Streisand concert....than talk about weight. Loss or gain. Diets, plans, food guides, point systems...these things can, within seconds, reduce me (no pun intended!) to tears.
My desire is not to just see the outside of someone. To judge their abilities based on the way they look....because I know....I KNOW...that we don't look the same forever...we are constantly changing.
Just like the information on weight constantly changes. And do you know why?
I think it's because we want an Easy Button.
We want things to change easily...without much effort on our part. We don't like the situation we're in...we hate our boss, or our couch, or our size...and we wish these irritable items would just 'go away'...like Kevin in Home Alone...sometimes we want to make our family just....disappear.
It is frustrating, though...when things do not happen overnight. When we wake up the next morning and it's the SAME! And sometimes, we scream inside. Because the Easy Button didn't work this time...
About two weeks ago, I decided that I need to do something (besides slapping an Easy Button) about my weight. And I've been keeping track of the good choices I've made...in an effort to encourage myself to keep going. To stay on track. I even had someone on Sunday ask if I'd been losing weight! I was feeling pretty good about the way things were going...feeling good about myself...
and last night I visited a nursing friend of mine who informed me that she too, is trying to lose weight and she'd just purchased a new scale...would I like to use it?
Since I felt pretty confident about myself...I thought, "no big deal"...and I assuredly stepped over to the scale and weighed in.
And in the blink of an eye...in one small second of time...everything changed.
When I saw the number on the scale...and really considered the task at hand...I got very frightened.
All of the encouraging thoughts I'd had went right out the window just then.
Because I realized...that this will NOT be an easy thing to do. It WILL require work. Diligence. Determination. Effort. Sacrifice.
So...what to do? Give up? Grit my teeth and dig in? Ignore what truth I saw there on the scale and pretend that everything is 'okay'? Listen to the lies that tell me that even the small things I've done don't matter...because that number is SO big?
My friends, what do you do?
Sometimes, the truth can hurt us. Especially when it means changing something...without an Easy Button. It is not pleasant. It is not...easy.
Politics, though they seem to be ever-changing...are basically the same as they ever were.
Religion, while one is in the spotlight more than the other at times...doesn't really change.
The Donald's hair...sadly...will never change. I promise you that.
But you, my friend, CAN change. You can.
You just can't do it all on your own.
Lucky for you, there's Someone who can help...
Still, I realize that there are some things that you're NOT supposed to talk about. Ever.
Like politics...or religion...or The Donald's hair.
People have very strong feelings on these things. Whether they want to or not. Countries have been known to war over these very issues.
And there is a topic that everyone has an opinion about...good or bad...right or wrong...and it is WEIGHT.
I hate to talk about it. I would much rather have to endure Chinese water torture or a Barbra Streisand concert....than talk about weight. Loss or gain. Diets, plans, food guides, point systems...these things can, within seconds, reduce me (no pun intended!) to tears.
My desire is not to just see the outside of someone. To judge their abilities based on the way they look....because I know....I KNOW...that we don't look the same forever...we are constantly changing.
Just like the information on weight constantly changes. And do you know why?
I think it's because we want an Easy Button.
We want things to change easily...without much effort on our part. We don't like the situation we're in...we hate our boss, or our couch, or our size...and we wish these irritable items would just 'go away'...like Kevin in Home Alone...sometimes we want to make our family just....disappear.
It is frustrating, though...when things do not happen overnight. When we wake up the next morning and it's the SAME! And sometimes, we scream inside. Because the Easy Button didn't work this time...
About two weeks ago, I decided that I need to do something (besides slapping an Easy Button) about my weight. And I've been keeping track of the good choices I've made...in an effort to encourage myself to keep going. To stay on track. I even had someone on Sunday ask if I'd been losing weight! I was feeling pretty good about the way things were going...feeling good about myself...
and last night I visited a nursing friend of mine who informed me that she too, is trying to lose weight and she'd just purchased a new scale...would I like to use it?
Since I felt pretty confident about myself...I thought, "no big deal"...and I assuredly stepped over to the scale and weighed in.
And in the blink of an eye...in one small second of time...everything changed.
When I saw the number on the scale...and really considered the task at hand...I got very frightened.
All of the encouraging thoughts I'd had went right out the window just then.
Because I realized...that this will NOT be an easy thing to do. It WILL require work. Diligence. Determination. Effort. Sacrifice.
So...what to do? Give up? Grit my teeth and dig in? Ignore what truth I saw there on the scale and pretend that everything is 'okay'? Listen to the lies that tell me that even the small things I've done don't matter...because that number is SO big?
My friends, what do you do?
Sometimes, the truth can hurt us. Especially when it means changing something...without an Easy Button. It is not pleasant. It is not...easy.
Politics, though they seem to be ever-changing...are basically the same as they ever were.
Religion, while one is in the spotlight more than the other at times...doesn't really change.
The Donald's hair...sadly...will never change. I promise you that.
But you, my friend, CAN change. You can.
You just can't do it all on your own.
Lucky for you, there's Someone who can help...
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Everyone Needs a Kennel to Call Their Very Own
I hate to say it, but yes...it's true.
I yelled at the kids the other day.
Oh....don't judge me. I had my reasons...all perfectly reasonable ones.
It was Spring Break. They were being what the French refer to as TRES' annoying. And I wanted quiet.
So I hollered.
(and yes, I see the irony. Thanks for pointing that out!)
Speedy, our dog, took his big ol' dog be-hind off the couch and quickly trotted it into our bedroom.
Into his kennel.
That's where he goes when he wants to feel safe. Loud noises generally make him move in that direction...or he'll go there when he wants to protect something. Like his Chewie.
It got me to thinking.
Do you have a kennel?
Not necessarily for your dog...altho I highly recommend one.
Where do you go when you feel threatened? Do you have a safe place to lie down in?
See, sometimes...sometimes we need to get away from the loud voices. Sometimes we need to go where we can breathe easier. Or regroup. Sometimes we need to go to a place where the worries, the pressures, the stresses of the world don't seem so pressing.
For some of us, this place is called Hawaii.
:)
For the rest of us poorer slobs, well....we need to locate somewhere closer...
and you know, I'm not necessarily talking about an actual place...so much as I am about boundaries. About keeping things balanced, maybe.
We are hit with a lot of stuff in the course of a day. A lot of 'mom's hollering at the kids in the house'.
What do you do then? Do you join in the yelling? Do you run out of the house?
Do you go to your kennel?
The more I think about it, perhaps this isn't the best analogy I could come up with. But what I do see when I watch Speedy is kind of interesting. He doesn't stay in the kennel for very long during those times. And he seems to be pretty well behaved for the most part. Perhaps he recognizes when a 'fight' isn't something he needs to be involved in...
I dunno...it's just making me think today...
I yelled at the kids the other day.
Oh....don't judge me. I had my reasons...all perfectly reasonable ones.
It was Spring Break. They were being what the French refer to as TRES' annoying. And I wanted quiet.
So I hollered.
(and yes, I see the irony. Thanks for pointing that out!)
Speedy, our dog, took his big ol' dog be-hind off the couch and quickly trotted it into our bedroom.
Into his kennel.
That's where he goes when he wants to feel safe. Loud noises generally make him move in that direction...or he'll go there when he wants to protect something. Like his Chewie.
It got me to thinking.
Do you have a kennel?
Not necessarily for your dog...altho I highly recommend one.
Where do you go when you feel threatened? Do you have a safe place to lie down in?
See, sometimes...sometimes we need to get away from the loud voices. Sometimes we need to go where we can breathe easier. Or regroup. Sometimes we need to go to a place where the worries, the pressures, the stresses of the world don't seem so pressing.
For some of us, this place is called Hawaii.
:)
For the rest of us poorer slobs, well....we need to locate somewhere closer...
and you know, I'm not necessarily talking about an actual place...so much as I am about boundaries. About keeping things balanced, maybe.
We are hit with a lot of stuff in the course of a day. A lot of 'mom's hollering at the kids in the house'.
What do you do then? Do you join in the yelling? Do you run out of the house?
Do you go to your kennel?
The more I think about it, perhaps this isn't the best analogy I could come up with. But what I do see when I watch Speedy is kind of interesting. He doesn't stay in the kennel for very long during those times. And he seems to be pretty well behaved for the most part. Perhaps he recognizes when a 'fight' isn't something he needs to be involved in...
I dunno...it's just making me think today...
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Simply Put...
It's a day until the official start of Spring here.
Do you want to know how I know that?
No...it's not the arrival of robins. Or the daffodils blooming.
It's not the grass getting greener or the temperature rising.
I can tell that Spring is almost here because everywhere I look...I see...
farmers.
Yep. It's true! They're everywhere!
Getting their fields ready for planting.
In fact, I had to pull over the other day so that a tractor that's got more square feet than my house could get across a bridge. The farmer waved at me as he passed. I waved back.
It took 30 seconds out of my day to do that. To pull over and let him go first.
Not a big deal.
Or is it?
So often in our busy days we get caught up in our stuff and can easily negate the 30 second rule.
What's the 30 second rule, you ask?
Something I just made up, actually. Thanks for asking! And it doesn't have anything to do with eating dropped m and m's...
My friends, take a moment (we'll call it...oh, I don't know....30 seconds!) to time out 30 seconds.
It's okay. I'll wait. I've got time.
(whistles the "Jeopardy" tune to herself)
Did you see how LONG 30 seconds really is? It's a nice bit of time.
Now think about how often you may say during the course of your day "I don't have time for that!"
The truth is: we all have been given the same amount of time in our day. And more truth is: we usually waste a lot of it on what we consider to be 'important' things. Like criticism. Or complaining. Or justifying. Or ranting.
But enough about me....let's talk about you!!
Do something nice for someone today that takes just 30 seconds. Send a nice email message...or give someone a hug. Let that farmer get around you with that big disk thing...
You'll feel better. And so will someone else!
And the best thing is: you'll never miss that 30 seconds of complaint!
Do you want to know how I know that?
No...it's not the arrival of robins. Or the daffodils blooming.
It's not the grass getting greener or the temperature rising.
I can tell that Spring is almost here because everywhere I look...I see...
farmers.
Yep. It's true! They're everywhere!
Getting their fields ready for planting.
In fact, I had to pull over the other day so that a tractor that's got more square feet than my house could get across a bridge. The farmer waved at me as he passed. I waved back.
It took 30 seconds out of my day to do that. To pull over and let him go first.
Not a big deal.
Or is it?
So often in our busy days we get caught up in our stuff and can easily negate the 30 second rule.
What's the 30 second rule, you ask?
Something I just made up, actually. Thanks for asking! And it doesn't have anything to do with eating dropped m and m's...
My friends, take a moment (we'll call it...oh, I don't know....30 seconds!) to time out 30 seconds.
It's okay. I'll wait. I've got time.
(whistles the "Jeopardy" tune to herself)
Did you see how LONG 30 seconds really is? It's a nice bit of time.
Now think about how often you may say during the course of your day "I don't have time for that!"
The truth is: we all have been given the same amount of time in our day. And more truth is: we usually waste a lot of it on what we consider to be 'important' things. Like criticism. Or complaining. Or justifying. Or ranting.
But enough about me....let's talk about you!!
Do something nice for someone today that takes just 30 seconds. Send a nice email message...or give someone a hug. Let that farmer get around you with that big disk thing...
You'll feel better. And so will someone else!
And the best thing is: you'll never miss that 30 seconds of complaint!
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
A Long Way from Depressed
When I look back on it...the signs were there. I just was too optimistic, I guess.
I should've known it would cause pain.
I should've known that sacrifices would have to be made.
I should've known that I would be taken advantage of by their smooth words and innocent eyes.
I should've known.
But, as I mentioned, I was too optimistic. I thought that this time...this time it would be different!
This time I would be able to do it!
This time...this one small moment in my existence...I would be free to enjoy it as I wished. No judgement. No one to answer to...just me and my Hershey Bar.
I was going to eat the entire bar. And like it!
But, sadly, I'm here today my friends, to tell you that that was not the case. It simply was not meant to be, I guess.
You see, chocolate is a big deal at our house.
A very.big.deal.
And I gotta say that it wouldn't matter if my children had just eaten a fourteen course meal (with double desserts no less!!)...they will still sit there and demand that I share my Hershey Bar with them.
Who knew that those little squares of milk chocolate would have so much power?
Because, my friends, I don't like to share my Hershey Bars!
Not.at.all.
You know, the financial news these days is so depressing. I can't hardly listen or watch any economic news whatsoever. I get so glum and find myself sighing heavily and wanting to just run and hide under my bed for a few months. Money is tight right now, (not that we were ever swimming in it in the first place!)and disciplining ourselves about spending is a daily...sometimes hourly exercise of will.
There are so many things I feel I'm doing without. I can't buy the things I want for my kids...for myself...for my husband. I am tired of casseroles, of store brand toilet paper, of counting every penny. I was never very good with numbers anyways!!
I am tired. I am depressed. I am frustrated. I am scared. I am quietly screaming inside at times...and yet....
And yet....I am encouraged. I am hopeful. I am looking for joy in the small things.
And I'm sharing my Hershey Bars.
Here's why:
There is a book I read a few years ago called "A Long Way from Chicago" by Richard Peck. It takes place during the Depression in Central Illinois. Two children are sent from their home in Chicago to their Grandma Dowdel's home right here in our area. The actual location is never really mentioned, but Piatt County is...so it's close to home.
Grandma Dowdel is an amazing woman. She uses all the items she has at her disposal (which isn't much!) to help others out...even if they don't seem to 'deserve' help. She feeds some bums, for example...when the Sheriff just wants them to move on. She helps a neighbor who's losing their home and belongings. And one of my favorite moments of the book is when she takes the kids to Aunt Puss's house.
Here's an exerpt:
Aunt Puss was by many years the oldest person we'd ever seen up till then. Bald as an egg, but she needed a shave. And not a tooth in her head.
"Who's them chilrun with you?" she demanded of Grandma.
"Just kids I found along the crick bank," Grandma said, to our surprise. "They was fishing."
"I'm hongry, girl." Aunt Puss pulled her shawl around her, "You hightailed it out of here after breakfast, and I ain't seen hide nor hoof of you since."
"She ain't seen me for a week." Grandma muttered,"But she forgets." Then she called out to Aunt Puss: "Catfish and fried potatoes and onions, vinegar slaw, and a pickled peach apiece. And more of the same for your supper."
"I suppose it beats starving," Aunt Puss snapped. "Hop to it, girl."
I thought I might faint. No one spoke to Grandma like that. And lived.
"Grandma,is that nasty old lady your aunt?" I asked in the kitchen.
"Naw, I was hired girl to her before I got married."
"What did she pay you for that, Grandma?"
"Pay? She didn't pay me a plug nickel. But she fed me."
I thought about that.
"And now you feed her," I said, but Grandma didn't reply. "You take her food every week, don't you Grandma?"
"Generally a good big roast chicken. She can gum on that for days. It keeps her out of the poor farm, and it gives me a quiet day in the country. That's a fair swap." Then her jaw clenched in its way. "But it's just private business between her and me. And I don't tell my private business."
My friends, when it is dark, share some light. When you think you that you have little to spare...think of the ones with nothing at all. Because there is something really satisfying about sharing. Oh, it can hurt a little, I guess...if you choose to dwell on what you're missing. If you choose to look at your selfishness.
But if you take a look at what you're giving...well, it can be almost better than having an entire Hershey Bar to yourself. And if you keep it your 'private business'...it will make you feel even better!
Share with someone today. Share your time...or your money...or your seat...or your Hershey Bar.
Here, I'll start. Have a piece of mine...
I should've known it would cause pain.
I should've known that sacrifices would have to be made.
I should've known that I would be taken advantage of by their smooth words and innocent eyes.
I should've known.
But, as I mentioned, I was too optimistic. I thought that this time...this time it would be different!
This time I would be able to do it!
This time...this one small moment in my existence...I would be free to enjoy it as I wished. No judgement. No one to answer to...just me and my Hershey Bar.
I was going to eat the entire bar. And like it!
But, sadly, I'm here today my friends, to tell you that that was not the case. It simply was not meant to be, I guess.
You see, chocolate is a big deal at our house.
A very.big.deal.
And I gotta say that it wouldn't matter if my children had just eaten a fourteen course meal (with double desserts no less!!)...they will still sit there and demand that I share my Hershey Bar with them.
Who knew that those little squares of milk chocolate would have so much power?
Because, my friends, I don't like to share my Hershey Bars!
Not.at.all.
You know, the financial news these days is so depressing. I can't hardly listen or watch any economic news whatsoever. I get so glum and find myself sighing heavily and wanting to just run and hide under my bed for a few months. Money is tight right now, (not that we were ever swimming in it in the first place!)and disciplining ourselves about spending is a daily...sometimes hourly exercise of will.
There are so many things I feel I'm doing without. I can't buy the things I want for my kids...for myself...for my husband. I am tired of casseroles, of store brand toilet paper, of counting every penny. I was never very good with numbers anyways!!
I am tired. I am depressed. I am frustrated. I am scared. I am quietly screaming inside at times...and yet....
And yet....I am encouraged. I am hopeful. I am looking for joy in the small things.
And I'm sharing my Hershey Bars.
Here's why:
There is a book I read a few years ago called "A Long Way from Chicago" by Richard Peck. It takes place during the Depression in Central Illinois. Two children are sent from their home in Chicago to their Grandma Dowdel's home right here in our area. The actual location is never really mentioned, but Piatt County is...so it's close to home.
Grandma Dowdel is an amazing woman. She uses all the items she has at her disposal (which isn't much!) to help others out...even if they don't seem to 'deserve' help. She feeds some bums, for example...when the Sheriff just wants them to move on. She helps a neighbor who's losing their home and belongings. And one of my favorite moments of the book is when she takes the kids to Aunt Puss's house.
Here's an exerpt:
Aunt Puss was by many years the oldest person we'd ever seen up till then. Bald as an egg, but she needed a shave. And not a tooth in her head.
"Who's them chilrun with you?" she demanded of Grandma.
"Just kids I found along the crick bank," Grandma said, to our surprise. "They was fishing."
"I'm hongry, girl." Aunt Puss pulled her shawl around her, "You hightailed it out of here after breakfast, and I ain't seen hide nor hoof of you since."
"She ain't seen me for a week." Grandma muttered,"But she forgets." Then she called out to Aunt Puss: "Catfish and fried potatoes and onions, vinegar slaw, and a pickled peach apiece. And more of the same for your supper."
"I suppose it beats starving," Aunt Puss snapped. "Hop to it, girl."
I thought I might faint. No one spoke to Grandma like that. And lived.
"Grandma,is that nasty old lady your aunt?" I asked in the kitchen.
"Naw, I was hired girl to her before I got married."
"What did she pay you for that, Grandma?"
"Pay? She didn't pay me a plug nickel. But she fed me."
I thought about that.
"And now you feed her," I said, but Grandma didn't reply. "You take her food every week, don't you Grandma?"
"Generally a good big roast chicken. She can gum on that for days. It keeps her out of the poor farm, and it gives me a quiet day in the country. That's a fair swap." Then her jaw clenched in its way. "But it's just private business between her and me. And I don't tell my private business."
My friends, when it is dark, share some light. When you think you that you have little to spare...think of the ones with nothing at all. Because there is something really satisfying about sharing. Oh, it can hurt a little, I guess...if you choose to dwell on what you're missing. If you choose to look at your selfishness.
But if you take a look at what you're giving...well, it can be almost better than having an entire Hershey Bar to yourself. And if you keep it your 'private business'...it will make you feel even better!
Share with someone today. Share your time...or your money...or your seat...or your Hershey Bar.
Here, I'll start. Have a piece of mine...
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
I can't get no...or can I?
Satisfaction.
I can't seem to get any of it. And like the Stones so aptly sang, "...I'm on a losing streak."
I CAN'T GET NO.....NO NO NO!!!!!
At least it feels that way.
There is so much on my mind right now. Money, cars, kids, money, illnesses, jobs, money, government, church, money...the list goes on. Feel free to insert your own stuff in there.
My brain is full. There's a lot of hurt out there. And inside myself. It can be overwhelming. Lately, it seems that nothing I'm doing makes much of a difference. I feel I have very little control...and mostly what I'm left with is this deep feeling of dis-satisfaction.
Both with myself and others. With life in general.
So what do you do with that?
What did I do with that?
I'll tell you....
I went where I always go when I want questions answered.
Wikipedia?
Nope. Although I venture there repeatedly...
A therapist?
Huh uh. Not that there's anything wrong with them...
I went to my magic 8 ball. Yeah, that's right. I went to my magic 8 ball and I asked, "Will I ever be satisfied?"
And I shook it....turned it over....looked...
and it said, "It is decidedly so."
Cool, I thought. Excellent.
But...seven and 1/2 minutes passed and I did NOT feel decidedly satisfied. Stupid, cheapo 8 ball isn't that magic at all...I'm not sure I trust that information.
So I went to my other source.
My Bible.
We've been studying the book of Matthew at church recently. So I went there first. And this is what I read in my sidenotes of Matthew 5:
"Jesus promises that satisfaction will come to those who seek the good things of God. He says that they will be filled - not with the material goods of this world, not with an easy way of life, not with something of limited value that can be taken away from them...but with the joy and contentment that comes from doing God's will."
Matthew 5:6 says: Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.
Hmmm....I think about what God's will is...what that looks like for me right this minute...I mull that over in my head...then turned to another section in my Bible. I have a devotional Bible that I have been reading in lately. And when I turned to Wednesday's (todays) reading, I read this:
"What does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God." Micah 6:8
I raise an eyebrow. If you do not believe that God can speak to you with His Word...then you are missing out on a wonderful conversational opportunity.
Have I been humble lately? No, not really. If I had, I don't think my dis-satisfaction would be so evident. I obviously feel that I am somehow 'DUE' to have these things I want so badly...and even if they aren't 'bad' things...they are still things that I'm trying to control somehow...in all my 'human greatness'.
Woo.Hoo. Like I can somehow Do God's Job.
I can't do that. I cannot do God's job for Him.
But....
I can do His Will...I can act justly, and walk humbly...and love.
Three things that cover the Ten Commandments, the Golden Rule...and the Sermon on the Mount.
Wow.
And what do you think will happen then? Will I find that satisfaction?
It is decidedly so...
and God told me that. Not the 8 ball! :)
I'm praying that you will find Satisfaction in Him today...
I can't seem to get any of it. And like the Stones so aptly sang, "...I'm on a losing streak."
I CAN'T GET NO.....NO NO NO!!!!!
At least it feels that way.
There is so much on my mind right now. Money, cars, kids, money, illnesses, jobs, money, government, church, money...the list goes on. Feel free to insert your own stuff in there.
My brain is full. There's a lot of hurt out there. And inside myself. It can be overwhelming. Lately, it seems that nothing I'm doing makes much of a difference. I feel I have very little control...and mostly what I'm left with is this deep feeling of dis-satisfaction.
Both with myself and others. With life in general.
So what do you do with that?
What did I do with that?
I'll tell you....
I went where I always go when I want questions answered.
Wikipedia?
Nope. Although I venture there repeatedly...
A therapist?
Huh uh. Not that there's anything wrong with them...
I went to my magic 8 ball. Yeah, that's right. I went to my magic 8 ball and I asked, "Will I ever be satisfied?"
And I shook it....turned it over....looked...
and it said, "It is decidedly so."
Cool, I thought. Excellent.
But...seven and 1/2 minutes passed and I did NOT feel decidedly satisfied. Stupid, cheapo 8 ball isn't that magic at all...I'm not sure I trust that information.
So I went to my other source.
My Bible.
We've been studying the book of Matthew at church recently. So I went there first. And this is what I read in my sidenotes of Matthew 5:
"Jesus promises that satisfaction will come to those who seek the good things of God. He says that they will be filled - not with the material goods of this world, not with an easy way of life, not with something of limited value that can be taken away from them...but with the joy and contentment that comes from doing God's will."
Matthew 5:6 says: Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.
Hmmm....I think about what God's will is...what that looks like for me right this minute...I mull that over in my head...then turned to another section in my Bible. I have a devotional Bible that I have been reading in lately. And when I turned to Wednesday's (todays) reading, I read this:
"What does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God." Micah 6:8
I raise an eyebrow. If you do not believe that God can speak to you with His Word...then you are missing out on a wonderful conversational opportunity.
Have I been humble lately? No, not really. If I had, I don't think my dis-satisfaction would be so evident. I obviously feel that I am somehow 'DUE' to have these things I want so badly...and even if they aren't 'bad' things...they are still things that I'm trying to control somehow...in all my 'human greatness'.
Woo.Hoo. Like I can somehow Do God's Job.
I can't do that. I cannot do God's job for Him.
But....
I can do His Will...I can act justly, and walk humbly...and love.
Three things that cover the Ten Commandments, the Golden Rule...and the Sermon on the Mount.
Wow.
And what do you think will happen then? Will I find that satisfaction?
It is decidedly so...
and God told me that. Not the 8 ball! :)
I'm praying that you will find Satisfaction in Him today...
Monday, January 26, 2009
The Dog Arguer?
Well, it's Monday morning. I'm checking out my to do list for the day. And I'm arguing with my dog. Kinda looks a little like this:
Speedy: I want a chewie.
Me: You cannot have one.
Speedy: I want a chewie.
Me: It isn't happening, dog.
Speedy: I want a chewie.
Me: Go.Away.
Speedy: I want a chewie.
(I stare at him for a long moment. You can literally hear the Western showdown music playing. My eyes squint. He cocks his head to the side and uses his 'cute face'. I square my jaw. He wags his tail. And I say...in my best Clint Eastwood voice:)
Me: Eat the breakfast that's in your bowl, punk. And maybe, if you're good, I'll give you a chewie later.
(Speedy stares at me for a second or two. And then begins to eat his breakfast.)
Me: Good dog.
I tell you, my friends...that there are days when I am beggin' for my chewie at breakfast. I haven't done anyhing to earn the chewie. I haven't done anything to NOT earn a chewie. I just want it. And I want it now!
Waiting is awful, isn't it? Friday night my daughter and I went to the movies. And
there was a line to get in. Apparently, this particular theatre has only 2 people working on tickets on a Friday night...and what's worse...I was told that the movie began at 7:30 p.m....but the sign at the theatre said 7:10 p.m. It was 7:20 p.m. I HATE BEING LATE FOR MOVIES!! So I feel myself start to panic a little inside. "Let's go, people...let's go!" I say under my breath. Finally, after what feels like 4,000 hours...we get our tickets and go. And the movie hadn't started yet. I'd been anxious. And it was a waste of my time.
Was Speedy anxious, I wonder? I should ask him. You see, the kids and my hubby think it's funny that I talk to the dog. And he talks back. We converse. We share ideas and opinions. We contemplate the stars and the subtle differences between vanilla ice cream and french vanilla ice cream. But mainly, seriously, really....we argue about the chewie.
Yeah, that's pretty much it. And when I give him a chewie...do I get a thank you? Rarely. Sometimes, for fun...I ask for the chewie back.
That doesn't go over well. Suddenly, mild mannered Speedy turns into Savage Beast of a DOG Speedy! RAWWWR! It's a little scary.
My friends, the sobering thought here is: sometimes Speedy and I have a lot more in common than sharing the same address and fondness for ice cream. I don't want to wait. I want my chewie RIGHT NOW! And if/when I get the chewie...I can almost guarantee that I am not eagerly interested in giving it back.
And sadly, sometimes I do not say thanks.
Waiting is hard. Working is hard. Being denied your chewie on your time is not easy.
Are you tired of arguing? Can you be satisfied just eating your breakfast for a little while longer?
Oh, and here's another thing to remember: I love Speedy. I love him with a passion sometimes. And there are times when I want to just get up and give him the chewie. And there are moments when he gets two...just for fun.
I think he knows that. I should ask him.
There is Someone, my friends...that doesn't want to argue with you. He wants to spend time with you. And He cares deeply for you.
His chewies...by the way...are well worth the wait.
SPEEDY! STOP BARKING AT ME! I'm trying to blog here! Oh, for the love of...I gotta go! Have a great day!
Speedy: I want a chewie.
Me: You cannot have one.
Speedy: I want a chewie.
Me: It isn't happening, dog.
Speedy: I want a chewie.
Me: Go.Away.
Speedy: I want a chewie.
(I stare at him for a long moment. You can literally hear the Western showdown music playing. My eyes squint. He cocks his head to the side and uses his 'cute face'. I square my jaw. He wags his tail. And I say...in my best Clint Eastwood voice:)
Me: Eat the breakfast that's in your bowl, punk. And maybe, if you're good, I'll give you a chewie later.
(Speedy stares at me for a second or two. And then begins to eat his breakfast.)
Me: Good dog.
I tell you, my friends...that there are days when I am beggin' for my chewie at breakfast. I haven't done anyhing to earn the chewie. I haven't done anything to NOT earn a chewie. I just want it. And I want it now!
Waiting is awful, isn't it? Friday night my daughter and I went to the movies. And
there was a line to get in. Apparently, this particular theatre has only 2 people working on tickets on a Friday night...and what's worse...I was told that the movie began at 7:30 p.m....but the sign at the theatre said 7:10 p.m. It was 7:20 p.m. I HATE BEING LATE FOR MOVIES!! So I feel myself start to panic a little inside. "Let's go, people...let's go!" I say under my breath. Finally, after what feels like 4,000 hours...we get our tickets and go. And the movie hadn't started yet. I'd been anxious. And it was a waste of my time.
Was Speedy anxious, I wonder? I should ask him. You see, the kids and my hubby think it's funny that I talk to the dog. And he talks back. We converse. We share ideas and opinions. We contemplate the stars and the subtle differences between vanilla ice cream and french vanilla ice cream. But mainly, seriously, really....we argue about the chewie.
Yeah, that's pretty much it. And when I give him a chewie...do I get a thank you? Rarely. Sometimes, for fun...I ask for the chewie back.
That doesn't go over well. Suddenly, mild mannered Speedy turns into Savage Beast of a DOG Speedy! RAWWWR! It's a little scary.
My friends, the sobering thought here is: sometimes Speedy and I have a lot more in common than sharing the same address and fondness for ice cream. I don't want to wait. I want my chewie RIGHT NOW! And if/when I get the chewie...I can almost guarantee that I am not eagerly interested in giving it back.
And sadly, sometimes I do not say thanks.
Waiting is hard. Working is hard. Being denied your chewie on your time is not easy.
Are you tired of arguing? Can you be satisfied just eating your breakfast for a little while longer?
Oh, and here's another thing to remember: I love Speedy. I love him with a passion sometimes. And there are times when I want to just get up and give him the chewie. And there are moments when he gets two...just for fun.
I think he knows that. I should ask him.
There is Someone, my friends...that doesn't want to argue with you. He wants to spend time with you. And He cares deeply for you.
His chewies...by the way...are well worth the wait.
SPEEDY! STOP BARKING AT ME! I'm trying to blog here! Oh, for the love of...I gotta go! Have a great day!
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Maybe Mrs. Tuggle was right...
Help me out here people. How can folks run in -44 below temperatures? I could, I guess, if I were running towards say, a warm, inviting Taco Bell....or perhaps just running to my car to get out of the cold.
How do they do it? It boggles my mind. I can come up with 465,093,123 reasons not to do that. Not to run in this weather.
Who am I kidding? I don't run. Ever.
You see, I've never been very interested in exercise.
Yeah, I can hear you gasping in surprise. Take it easy on the sarcasm, okay? Knock it off.
Even as a baby, I didn't really exert myself. Wasn't one of those amazing kids that you see walking around at 3 1/2 months. Nope. I preferred to take it easy. Maybe drag myself along if I had no other option. Used my baby cuteness to get myself picked up and carried around. Did that until I was twelve. Yeah. Seriously.
There's the reason my name is what it is. I am supposed to be carried!
Sure, C. Whatever helps you to get to sleep at night. Aren't you a little big to be carried now? You know, if you would do a little exercise...like maybe, oh I don't know....run?
Seriously, I said knock it off.
Anyways, like I mentioned, exercise and me...we don't get along. The exercises that I actually do somewhat enjoy (like swimming) aren't possible right now due to money mostly. I just don't have the cash available to join the Y or whatever. And yeah, I know that sounds a lot like an excuse. But I don't care. And you know what? Chalupas are cheaper...
But...thanks to dictionary.com, I now know why I don't get along with physical exertion.
It's training. It's putting forth strength. It's effort. It's practice. It's...
It's sweaty, y'all. And tiring. And requires a good deal of discipline to be really effective in the long term.
Discipline. Oooooh. There's a word for you! I looked up "discipline" in my Webster's Dictionary and found this:
Discipline - (noun) PUNISHMENT.
Ah...dictionary.com must be written by someone who exercises...because it lists 'punishment' as the number 3 definition!
PUNISHMENT.
Not a good word. Look it up and you find "Suffering, pain, penalty, p.e. class".
Okay. So I lied. You won't find "p.e. class" there. But you will find a picture of Mrs. Tuggle, my jr. high gym teacher.
It's not pretty.
Punishment, I mean. Not Mrs. Tuggle. Although I have to admit that the woman was not the cutest banana in the bunch.
See, my problem is...I don't like pain. I don't enjoy suffering. I'm not that into p.e. class. In fact, p.e. class felt kinda like being on a chain gang.
And who wants to do that? Who volunteers for the chain gang?
No one.
But here's the kicker. I need discipline. I need training. I need to do push ups because that which doesn't kill me...makes me stronger, right?
Push ups kill me. Even the thought of push ups makes me light-headed and a bit freaked out.
I think one of my problems with this is perfectionism. I think I have to be just like that gal who's been running for 40 years and has a negative body mass index number. The gal that's running in -40 below temps. And smiling.
I blame an absence of oxygen for the grin. I do. Unless she's running say, to a Taco Bell...
So what does discipline take?
Small, little, wee steps. Baby steps. And it takes time. You have to do it every day. Every day. Small steps every day. For 40 years.
It seems a little daunting.
Daunting, by the way, is defined as dismay.
And...unfortunately, that's what I feel when I think of exercise. Not anticipation. Not enthusiasm.
Dismay.
Like I'm missing out on something better by taking the time to exercise.
Do you ever feel that way about something that disciplines you? Like budgeting, or smaller food portions...or waiting to purchase that big screen t.v.?
We don't like to wait. We don't want to hear that things take time. I mean, my perfectionism tells me that I should be able to have that body type NOW. With little effort or time.
Seriously?
I know. It's dumb, isn't it? But I know I'm not the only one that struggles with those sorts of thoughts.
We get overwhelmed by the task ahead, don't we? So we choose to not do it...or put it off. Thinking what? That somehow, down the road, the Chalupas we ate at Taco Bell will just melt off on their own?
My friends, I encourage you to take one small step towards a discipline today. I will. And you know what?
I will try not to focus on the sweat too much...sheesh...where's Mrs. Tuggle when you need her??
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Death of a Toaster
It's a new year. A new month. There is a glorious, wonderful expectant feeling in the air.
THIS YEAR...THINGS ARE GOING TO BE DIFFERENT!
And boy howdy...that, my friends...is true. I'm not pyschic...but I know that I can say that sentence above with confidence. You, regardless of age, race, religion, gender, education, experience, dog person, cat person...
Your year, my friend...THIS YEAR...THINGS ARE GOING TO BE DIFFERENT.
Write it on your calendar. Stencil it on your wall in your kitchen. Make it a scrolling marquee on your computer screen saver. Scrapbook it. Whatever.
It's a fact.
The question is not...will this year be different? The question is: How will I handle the changes?
It was October, 1986. I was a freshman in college at Millikin that fall. Talk about change! I had a 'new home' in a dorm room, a 'new roommate' from the Chicago area that I was still trying to get to know, new classes, new teachers (oh, wait...they're PROFESSORS now!), new friends were being made. That fall EVERYTHING was new! Everything was different. It was a little overwhelming...but I was really trying to see the positive side of things.
And then my Grandma Sybil died. Suddenly.
Something different. Something new. Something unexpected.
I went home for the funeral. I thought I was handling things pretty well. I mean, as well as one handles the death of a grandparent. I read her last letter to me several times. I remembered the wonderful times we'd had at her house as kids. All 'typical' or 'classic' mourning stuff.
Then my Dad called to tell me that they were cleaning out Grandma's apartment and was there anything I wanted furniture wise?
Yes! Yes there was! Two things. A round table(George Washington style, I think...is what Antiques Roadshow calls it) and her toaster.
Her magic toaster.
As a child, staying overnight at Grandma Sybil's was just about the best thing in the world. She made us milkshakes...and played Pollyanna with us...and Seven Up...and made us watch Lawrence Welk.
It was a blast! And mornings were amazing! Because of the magic toaster!
This toaster was different from every other toaster I'd seen in my seven years of life. This toaster DIDN'T HAVE A BUTTON! There was no button to push down! You set a piece of bread into the slot...and it sank gracefully, noiselessly down...out of sight...and then, as you waited in anticipation...toast would slowly appear...rising out of the heat of the machine silently. No dinging sound...no jumpy toast. Just....magic toast.
Excellent with some Skippy peanut butter and a glass of milk.
So I got that table and toaster. And for 22 wonderful years...I've been watching toast rise out of that machine...and I have to say:
I still think of it as a magic toaster! It, to this day, still causes me to behave in a somewhat childlike fashion. I'll actually stand there and watch the bread sink down...and wait....and watch toast rise up!
Well, I did. Until Christmas Eve. That's when I...killed the toaster.
I guess, looking back, I should be glad that it wasn't a bigger fire and all. I lit a pastry thing on fire in the toaster...and now it doesn't work anymore.
I know. It's a stinkin' toaster, Carrie. GET OVER IT!
Here's the thing: the past couple of weeks, I've been really down about it. And I think it's because of a couple of things. One, I'm struggling with the fact that I'm missing my toaster...and two: part of me has felt that by having the toaster work...having it 'be alive' so to speak...that Grandma was still 'alive'. I mean, I know she's not...perhaps I'm not explaining that well.
So what have I learned? I am grieving all over again. Mourning. Because it's different in my kitchen now. I have a different toaster. And while I fully appreciate it for what it is...it isn't magic. Something's missing.
Acceptance is hard. And just yesterday, I talked to someone who thinks that maybe...they can fix the old toaster.
But you know what? Part of me doesn't want that. Part of me thinks that it's TIME for a change. That I need to have a new toaster now. I'm old enough to handle it.
I am keeping the Magic Toaster. It's on top of my kitchen cabinet with some other antiques. It is...a part of me. Even if it is a simple kitchen appliance.
I'm sure most of us have things like my toaster around us.
Change is hard. Different isn't always a good thing.
But attitude, my friends...attitude is everything. I know, for a fact, that Magic Toaster or not...I am still the same goofy gal I've been.
Wait, maybe I'm not. Maybe I AM different! In fact, by losing my toaster...I understand loss better. So my loss might help me to understand your loss.
If the things in our lives didn't experience change...we wouldn't grow.
That's what makes toasters amazing in the first place! They change bread, right??!!
Time to eat some breakfast. Let me know what's different in your 2009...
THIS YEAR...THINGS ARE GOING TO BE DIFFERENT!
And boy howdy...that, my friends...is true. I'm not pyschic...but I know that I can say that sentence above with confidence. You, regardless of age, race, religion, gender, education, experience, dog person, cat person...
Your year, my friend...THIS YEAR...THINGS ARE GOING TO BE DIFFERENT.
Write it on your calendar. Stencil it on your wall in your kitchen. Make it a scrolling marquee on your computer screen saver. Scrapbook it. Whatever.
It's a fact.
The question is not...will this year be different? The question is: How will I handle the changes?
It was October, 1986. I was a freshman in college at Millikin that fall. Talk about change! I had a 'new home' in a dorm room, a 'new roommate' from the Chicago area that I was still trying to get to know, new classes, new teachers (oh, wait...they're PROFESSORS now!), new friends were being made. That fall EVERYTHING was new! Everything was different. It was a little overwhelming...but I was really trying to see the positive side of things.
And then my Grandma Sybil died. Suddenly.
Something different. Something new. Something unexpected.
I went home for the funeral. I thought I was handling things pretty well. I mean, as well as one handles the death of a grandparent. I read her last letter to me several times. I remembered the wonderful times we'd had at her house as kids. All 'typical' or 'classic' mourning stuff.
Then my Dad called to tell me that they were cleaning out Grandma's apartment and was there anything I wanted furniture wise?
Yes! Yes there was! Two things. A round table(George Washington style, I think...is what Antiques Roadshow calls it) and her toaster.
Her magic toaster.
As a child, staying overnight at Grandma Sybil's was just about the best thing in the world. She made us milkshakes...and played Pollyanna with us...and Seven Up...and made us watch Lawrence Welk.
It was a blast! And mornings were amazing! Because of the magic toaster!
This toaster was different from every other toaster I'd seen in my seven years of life. This toaster DIDN'T HAVE A BUTTON! There was no button to push down! You set a piece of bread into the slot...and it sank gracefully, noiselessly down...out of sight...and then, as you waited in anticipation...toast would slowly appear...rising out of the heat of the machine silently. No dinging sound...no jumpy toast. Just....magic toast.
Excellent with some Skippy peanut butter and a glass of milk.
So I got that table and toaster. And for 22 wonderful years...I've been watching toast rise out of that machine...and I have to say:
I still think of it as a magic toaster! It, to this day, still causes me to behave in a somewhat childlike fashion. I'll actually stand there and watch the bread sink down...and wait....and watch toast rise up!
Well, I did. Until Christmas Eve. That's when I...killed the toaster.
I guess, looking back, I should be glad that it wasn't a bigger fire and all. I lit a pastry thing on fire in the toaster...and now it doesn't work anymore.
I know. It's a stinkin' toaster, Carrie. GET OVER IT!
Here's the thing: the past couple of weeks, I've been really down about it. And I think it's because of a couple of things. One, I'm struggling with the fact that I'm missing my toaster...and two: part of me has felt that by having the toaster work...having it 'be alive' so to speak...that Grandma was still 'alive'. I mean, I know she's not...perhaps I'm not explaining that well.
So what have I learned? I am grieving all over again. Mourning. Because it's different in my kitchen now. I have a different toaster. And while I fully appreciate it for what it is...it isn't magic. Something's missing.
Acceptance is hard. And just yesterday, I talked to someone who thinks that maybe...they can fix the old toaster.
But you know what? Part of me doesn't want that. Part of me thinks that it's TIME for a change. That I need to have a new toaster now. I'm old enough to handle it.
I am keeping the Magic Toaster. It's on top of my kitchen cabinet with some other antiques. It is...a part of me. Even if it is a simple kitchen appliance.
I'm sure most of us have things like my toaster around us.
Change is hard. Different isn't always a good thing.
But attitude, my friends...attitude is everything. I know, for a fact, that Magic Toaster or not...I am still the same goofy gal I've been.
Wait, maybe I'm not. Maybe I AM different! In fact, by losing my toaster...I understand loss better. So my loss might help me to understand your loss.
If the things in our lives didn't experience change...we wouldn't grow.
That's what makes toasters amazing in the first place! They change bread, right??!!
Time to eat some breakfast. Let me know what's different in your 2009...
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