MAGIC OF CHRISTMAS

MAGIC OF CHRISTMAS

Christmas is magic. The crowning of the year with the shortest day and the reversal of the sun’s journey gives life to our planet. We come through the time of the ultimate darkness and turn back to the light. The joy of the season is the recognition that the darkness is once more moving from us.

With the internet, the preparation for Christmas is awesomely simple. I don’t even wait for Cyber-Monday, I just get out there and get with it. I ordered more things than usual this year and threw my credit card company into a panic. “Please call us and verify that no one else has your card, you have some unusual activity occurring.” Just doing my part to promote economic prosperity for all I was able to touch electronically.

The magic is in my grandchildren’s faces when they see the wrapped things of mystery. They are too young to be at that greedy stage and still just wonder where all the wrapped things come from. Too young to even acknowledge the Santa myth, but not too young to know that Grandma is really fun, and there is some really fun stuff at her house.

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DECORATING FOR CHRISTMAS

DECORATING FOR CHRISTMAS

I used to go all out in the decoration department. ‘All out’ involved getting ready for Christmas by what you did. So when my daughter was little, I crocheted about twenty five snowflakes that decorated our tree for years.

My personal favorite was the ‘Jesus Set’ my daughter punched out and set up for several years. It was fun to read the Christmas story, punch out the cardboard figures, and set them up on the window sill.

I won’t argue that those were the good old days, but I will stand up for our traditions. We had a bunch of them. We painted wooden ornaments with my sisters in law. We baked those plastic ornaments that filled your kitchen with the toxic smell and made your eyes burn. We painted cork ornaments one year. We made the flour dough ornaments and painted them one year. All of this activity was to make the point that it was what you did to get ready for Christmas, not what you bought that made Christmas preparations special and meaningful.

When my daughter was about ten years old, she looked at me and said, “This year I want a ‘Jesus Set’ you don’t punch out.” So the tradition of the cardboard ‘Jesus Set’ you punched out bit the dust.

When my daughter married and left home, I sent all of the ornaments with her from her childhood. When she left home, my son was two and we created a whole new set of traditions. I have since passed onto his wife most of the ornaments we made while he was growing up. My grandchildren are busy creating now their own traditions. I say Merry Christmas and carry on.

 

BEADED ICICLES

BEADED ICICLES

My son loved the shiny crystal beads. We made beaded icicles when he was little. He did not like to color or paint, but he could string beads with the best of them. He made a beaded garland that was several feet of beads. He probably created twenty five beaded icicles all together. His trees looked completely different from my daughters.

We found lights that played carols one year. They were red bells that blinked with the music like strobe lights. They looked awesome on the tree, red and shiny. If you didn’t get the two strings timed in sync, they would raise a cacophony that you can’t imagine. One of the group of carols would be slightly behind the other, like an echo. My husband swore that the ‘blinking lights would cause seizures’ for anyone who looked at them.

Well, okay, they were fun for awhile. Finally, they squeaked their last carol, and were sent to the dust bin where Christmas lights go when they are no longer useful. I have to admit I was recently tempted by a group of shiny pine cone lights that advertised ‘plays five carols’, but that would mean I would have to commit to putting up a Christmas tree. So I resisted the tempting and beautifully shiny little things. I haven’t reached that stage of Christmas fever yet.

 

P.S. I am now doing book reviews at http://www.marytkincaidauthor.com.

MEDICINE

MEDICINE

I have been wrestling with health issues the past couple of years. Often the problems I am having will be the result of a drug that I am taking that I have a sensitivity too. I will take it awhile and then suddenly I will have some problem that I haven’t experienced before. A terrible red rash on my arms that itches. Diarrhea that keeps me in the house and stops my routine. Dizziness, nausea, the list goes on and on.

I had a bad drug reaction when I was young. I was hospitalized briefly while they tried to figure out what was wrong. I found out I was allergic to a chemical bond. Imagine, an entire chemical drug group. They found it because they had prescribed three drugs out of the group for asthma. An experience I don’t want to repeat.

Today I used all the tools at my disposal. WebMD, the pharmacy function of my drug plan. The pharmacist was very helpful. I would not hesitate to use them if you need them. I at least eliminated the possibility of drug interactions from prescribed drugs. The pharmacist suggested the drug that might be causing me problems. I have an appointment with my doctor to talk to him about this possibility.

What’s the lesson here? Be vigilant. Use all of your tools. Assume responsibility for your health by being sensitive to your body and its needs. Take care of yourself.

 

GRATITUDE

GRATITUDE

Being grateful is a decision that you make every morning when your feet hit the floor. Gratefulness will orient you correctly. In this grateful state you can find joy and peace in the little things that start your day. Toast that is beautifully toasted. Preserves that contain fruity bits for your mouth. Hot coffee.

When you are truly grateful, you know that everything you need is out in the universe waiting for you. Your search for ideas and other works will lead you to the place you are supposed to be. Your waiting expectantly and gratefully will be enough. All your accomplishments will mark the path on which you should be moving.

I wake up in the morning and I greet the sun. Hello Sun, Sister Moon, all creation waits for the sons and daughters. Imagine the creation is out there listening and waiting for our gratitude with faith that we will one day get it right. Come with me, let us join together, with gratitude and seek peace, joy, and grace.

YOGA

YOGA

Most of my life I  have been competitive. I love the challenge of beating. Winning is a good feeling. Lately, I have turned inward. This inward turning led to the discovery of the practice of Yoga. Locally I practice with instructor Bee Bradley of the Sun-Moon Yoga Studio. This is a new experience because there is no competition with Yoga.

The meditation aspect of yoga is an inward turning. Learning to quiet your mind and just be. This is a powerful state. It can be to sitting quietly with God. Praying as we Christians often do it involves pleading and invoking to get our way. I believe that God is happiest with us when we are just being in his goodness and presence. Sitting still and knowing He is there is, perhaps, the greatest form of companionship with our creator.

The world would be a different place if all the other type of praying were sufficient to solve problems. I think many things would be resolved. Perhaps we are all being called to meditate on our own spiritual and physical well being.

My competitive nature will not be denied indefinitely. As I practice Yoga I become stronger and set little challenges for myself. My goal is to become strong enough to stand on my head, an inversion. Right now my arms, wrists, and shoulders are not strong enough but stay tuned.

 

BOOK REVIEWS

BOOK REVIEWS

I love to write book reviews. They are wonderful training for conciseness. You want to share what the writer has shown you. There are many writers in the world and many visions. The reason there are so many is that each writer us is unique and speaks to a unique group of people. Many, many books speak to me. The world is full of excellent story tellers. I love them all.

There are books to curl up with on a Saturday afternoon while it is raining. Their stories go well with hot chocolate, maybe popcorn. These little mysteries grab your shirt front and drag you right into the middle of the action before you can say who-done-it. I like the ones with humor or some quirky main character.

The romances that will draw me in are a little more sophisticated. I like a sassy heroine on her way somewhere. Usually my favorites are supported by a classical plot structure. I have found plots from Shakespeare in romance novels. Romances that are not well done are just not that interesting.

I like heroes that start at one point and move to some development as a product of experience or time. My favorite heroes and my favorite villains are not that far apart. There is a very thin moral line of redemption between the best good guy and the great bad guy. I think that villains are harder to craft because you have to know so much about them to create a good one.

Graphic novels are becoming favorites also. My daughter and I read the Sandman series at about the same time. I was enchanted by the possibilities of art becoming another character in the story.

I love children’s books. A good one will send me to the order site for my grandchildren. Good pictures, wry stories. They are sometimes the best present of all.

I am off to review another book for Amazon. My kindle and I’ve become great friends. I’ll download a free offer at the drop of a hat. I always try to offer a concise and encouraging review.

 

FAIRY HOUSES

FAIRY HOUSES

I have a fairy house on my piano. My granddaughter and daughter made it for me. It is lovely. I enjoy imagining the fairy that might live inside of it. It is elegant glass with a central chandelier that is blue when the light shines through it.

There are rules to making fairy houses. Even though they are simple, they’re followed religiously by the fairy house builder’s union, granddaughters and the young of heart. They are constructed out of stuff you find around, in the garage, in the shed. Things no longer useful, needing a redesign for a new purpose. Often the structures are found next to trees, or hidden away in garden nooks. They are small constructions, bits of whimsy. I love to look at them.

I think fairies, like the rest of us, have different skills. The one that lives on my piano is young and just learning to play his music. I hear him sometimes practicing his twinkle, twinkle. I’m sure he will eventually master the tune. I suspect his name is Dunstone. He is trying things to see where he has talent. Next he is going to learn hang gliding.

I saw a fairy house once that had a lapel pin on the roof and my granddaughter told me the fairy received cable. Fairies are capable of anything you can imagine. I’ll have to tell Dunstone’s story one of these days, he is interesting to watch and will surely teach us something.

 

SHOPPING CART RAGE

SHOPPING CART RAGE

Late in the afternoon at the local box store which sells groceries, I noticed a bit of crankiness and short tempers. I observed this while pushing my cart along the aisle of cat litter; it also has pet toys and pet medicines. I love this particular brand of cat litter, clumps nicely, but refuse to clip the coupons because that would be measuring my life in cat crap. I simply won’t do it. Well, I don’t know if it is products located there, but people are testy along this aisle.

The aisle is so narrow that you can barely pass another cart going the opposite direction. There is clearance of maybe inch or inch and half. To add to this if there is any restocking going on then the cart and boxes carrying these goods will have to be avoided as you navigate. You can be in the position of trying to pass one of these carts, full of boxes of cat litter, and not be able to do it because you have been blocked by the restocking activity. You can wreck if there is another cart coming forcefully toward you going in the opposite direction.

But the event I call your attention to occurred when I exited the aisle and left the stocking of cat litter behind. When I exited, I was rammed by the cart of another lady coming out of the cleaning products aisle on my left and one of those electric cart thingys coming out of the stationary aisle on my right. Picture it if you can. A crash in the space that used to be a central aisle but now is not wide enough to be a central anything. The cart drivers were very cranky. I was the victim of a perfect case of shopping cart rage.

There was no stopping to check for injuries just frowns and glares as those impeded by my basket sought to clear the way for their advance. What has happened to our society? When did we get so cross that we must crash our basket aggressively while we study our list?

 

EARLY WARNING SYSTEMS

EARLY WARNING SYSTEMS

I love the weather radar Doppler whatever. It gives all of the details about where the storm is originating and where it will head. Who is in its path and what they need to do. Much better than my childhood years of sitting in the hall closet with my mother while she smoked, and then opening the closet door and peeking around the corner at the TV. We would let the smoke out of the closet while trying to get an idea about where the storm was going to go.

Historically we were not as prepared for the storms as we are now. Even with our current preparedness we still have awful tragedies and terrible personal losses. We need to continue our research and refine our instruments. It is the collective will and our collective resources that has developed this new warning system that works for us. We have to continue to do all that we can do to avoid the death and destruction of these huge storm systems.

I might still find myself sitting in the hall closet opening the door to check the TV for the storm’s location, but there is no smoke now. No smoke is a wonderful improvement as I peek around the corner at the dopplar spinning to see if it is in my neighborhood.

JAMAICAN METAL ARTWORK

JAMAICAN METAL ARTWORK

I consider my privacy fence a blank palate. I love to hang objects on it that enhance the plantings beneath them. Nothing is better for this than the Jamaican Metal Art. I have purchased this art at my church’s international market in the fall. I have used the website of www.serrv.org to order it, and I have ordered it from a clearing house in Jamaica by googling Jamaican Metal Art and finding something I like.

The artists in Jamaica use oil drums to make their sculptures. Drums washed upon theirs shores during and after World War II. So the artists took a hammer, and awls, hoping it is not just a nail, and pounded out some of the loveliest things I have hanging on by garden fence. I have beautiful angels on my garden gates guarding the entrances to my little Eden. Along the fence on the east side, I have a tree of life, a sun, and a calypso band of women adding to the beauty of the plants below them.

Everyone has their own style. A unique style dictates individual pieces of art hanging on the fence and other objects place around the plantings. I have worked long and hard on my sanctuary. I would encourage you to decorate your quiet reflective place, and consider some of the pieces of Jamaican Metal Art.

 

CAUTIONS, WARNINGS

CAUTIONS, WARNINGS

I just purchased a bottle of tarnish remover for sterling silver. I hate it when my earrings start to lose their shine. I am now at the table reading the terrifying label for this product. The warning on the label reads: “Warning: This product contains thiourea, a chemical know to the state of California to cause cancer.”

This statement brings so many questions to mind. Do other states know? I feel pretty sure that if it causes cancer in California it will also cause cancer in Oklahoma. Why define a carcinogen so strangely? Is there something unique about California cancers?

Where do we go to discuss the idiocy of the labeling process?

To my knowledge cancer does not know geography. This product is distributed by a company based in Skokie, IL. Does it cause cancer in Illinois from where it is shipped? Who is regulating the information on this label? I would like to think that some inspector somewhere is looking out for the safety of the consumer who goes to buy silver polish or tarnish remover, but I am afraid that is not the case. Just look at the label.

RAISIN SEASON

RAISIN SEASON

I spent thirty years in the South training for the rest of the world. The South has its own perspective on things. Everything is seasonal, forget the scripture about planting and sowing, I am talking about lawn mowers and children’s toys.

I moved to the South with a child of two who had a birthday in July during lawn mower season. Not a toy to be had in a small southern town before the days of the huge box stores. You bought your housewares in spring around Mother’s Day. Forget wanting to purchase a broom in November, that’s holiday season, toys and ornaments.

I learned about this phenomenon the hard way. I wanted to make raisin bread in June. I gathered the ingredients. No raisins. Can’t make raisin bread without raisins, what would be the point. I went to the store and looked in the baking aisle, I looked in the fruit aisle, and I asked the manager of the store.

“Do you have any raisins?”

“Lady, ya have to buy your raisins during raisin season.”

“When is raisin season? I thought they dried them so I could have them year round.”

“Raisin season is in the fall when everyone does their holiday baking.”

There you go. Enjoy raisin season. It is coming upon us.

DYING

I know my time on earth is limited. It is a condition of being human. We are all dying. The only time I worry about leaving this existence is in a Walmart line waiting to check out. Standing next to the tabloid of the alien baby with a head like a goat. All of my neighbors decided to come to Walmart at the same time. Here we are at our glorious best. I have eliminated the tee shirts from my closet that are even vaguely hostile, so I am standing in my tee shirt with the marinara sauce stains on the front.

What if I die waiting in line at Walmart? How would I explain it to St Peter?

“They had a bargain on bananas. I wanted to stock up for baking so I was standing in the line glancing at the tabloid headlines. Dropping my bananas is the last thing I remember.”

Is he going to commiserate with me or laugh? “You were doing what, trying to save .10 a pound? Waaa ha ha ha”

I resolve in the future to spend as little time in line as I possibly can. Look how many things that will automatically take out of my life. Amusement parks, autograph gathering, and possibly big box stores. Doing without standing in line will streamline my errands. I will have to plan for the extra time I’ll have in my life. More time to bundle sticks in my yard or gather the walnuts from my native walnut tree. I’ll be happier, anxiety free.

SURVIVAL

SURVIVAL

Everyone needs to know how to cook. It is a basic survival skill, and everyone eats. The important thing is not to be discouraged by failure. If you cook, you have failures, it’s simple fact. I’ve had splendid failures in my time at the stove. I’ve made greens so bitter, my husband swore ‘a Jew wouldn’t eat these standing with his hat on at Passover.’ It might be slander implying Jews with their hats on will eat almost anything green as a bitter weed. It took many pots of greens before I learned how to cook them.

After you practice on the basics, mastering some of the cooking skills essential to life, you will want to do something fancy like doubling the recipe. It sounds so simple, doubling. Take everything and just times 2.

During one of my early efforts at doubling, I made a pot of chicken and dumplings. Recipe said it served six. Since it didn’t seem like very much, I doubled it, math calculations and all. Imagine my surprise when my husband was over at the stove scrapping the bottom of the pot during supper.

“How can you still be hungry?” I asked him. “I doubled the recipe, it served six before I doubled it. The pot of dumplings should have served twelve in theory.”

My husband just looked at me and said, “twelve midgets on a diet.”

My husband is learning to bake cookies. His approach is to turn on an opera, Marriage of Figaro for example, loud so you can get every note and syllable. Then gather ingredients and bake.

So here is the lesson for you. Don’t be discouraged by failure. Try again, don’t give up. Find out if you are feeding hungry people or twelve midgets on a diet. Everyone needs to know how to cook.

 

THE SEAT OF POWER

THE SEAT OF POWER

I just met with a friend who was telling me about her four inch high heels. She felt powerful wearing these shoes, in control, demanding attention.  Many women have this mistaken impression that wearing four inch heels puts them in a powerful position. Not true, power does not come from the shoes. This is a myth of four inch heel makers.

A woman’s power comes from her MAGNETIC TITS. Yes, it is true. Those breasts draw things to you sure as a compass points true north. Treat them with respect. The tricky thing is to learn how to screen your causes as they adhere to your chest. Everyone is called to work on a certain number of things in this world, and each one of us must learn which ones belong to us.

I am not sure that I have discovered my causes. A writer likes to explore all things, walking around them getting the view in stereoscope. Many causes are not mine but I admire and support those who are called to work on them. Troubled children…Food for the hungry…Literacy…Mental Health. All great things to buttress and sustain. My contribution to the things I support comes through in my writing. I don’t suppose it takes a reader long to pick out what these things might be.

I try not to be obvious about what I believe. I hope I am not anyway, since I believe that a writer must strive to address beliefs with a little subtly. But rest assured I do the best I can, bringing my story to you, serving it up with my limits and possibilities.

MY MAILBOX

MY MAILBOX

I don’t know why my mailbox is a target. I suppose it is a metaphor for communicating with the outside world. Every yard  on my street has a mailbox. My neighbors host a variety of mailboxes. Some of them are the utility ones made by rubber maid. Severe aggressive plastic tubes sticking up to receive the family’s correspondence. Just try to do damage to me, they dare you. They come in green and utility gray, putty, or whatever.

At the left end of my street resides a wonderful old fashioned mail box, like the one I used to have. Every season it is decorated with different covers to celebrate the holidays. Just like clockwork, the mailbox sits there bright and cheerful proclaiming the season. It doesn’t seem to have sustained the damage mine has endured, and I hope it stays that way.

To the right of my house down the street are several no nonsense brick columns that hold mail receptacles. They mean business. They have never received damage and probably never will. There has to be some happy medium from having a damaged old metal box and a brick bunker for your mail. I could pave a walkway with the bricks required to make such a house for mail.

I am looking around for a new mailbox. Maybe something in the shape of a flamingo, or a giant gnome would be good. But I don’t want to encourage the vandals by providing them with a temptation. Perhaps there should be a season on mailboxes. They should only be hunted during a short period of the year, so then we could budget for their replacement as a homeowner expense. We could declare a season such as: Only odd numbered houses on the Wednesdays after the new moon. If we set a different season every month, we might be able to distribute the damage fairly to everyone.

MY CHAIR

MY CHAIR

I am pretty sure that I have the only recliner in town that requires a tool box as standard operating equipment. Reclining in this chair can be compared to bronc riding. It is very rough. It operates on friction, hah, as if there were some physics principle at work in this chair.

In the first place, it is a king size chair with a seat so big and wide that I just rattle around in it. Safety standards board would probably require a seat belt if they knew how it truly worked. On a good day when I approach the seat and cautiously slide my bum across the bottom, my feet are flung up to sky. Just try going from 180 degrees to 90 and measure the Gforces at work.

In the second place, it squeaks and gronks like the Inquisitioner’s rack. The squeaking and gronking are the bolts shearing off. Eventually they are cut by the actions of the chair and have to be replaced. Hence the toolbox. It holds the tools and bolts necessary to fix the monster. I always know when the bolts go because then the foot rest flings out and hits me in the bum when I am trying to stand and walk away from it.

For now I must sit in the chair and plot its replacement. I will eventually replace it. I will have to find another chair and negotiate the removal of this beast in the sales process. Then I can stop practicing the moving dismount that I currently list among my skills, and recline in peace.

Today my husband complained that the chair practically knocked him down when he tried to get up from it. You have to do a fast dismount from the chair. “Move faster,” that’s my advice to him. Not in my budget to replace this chair yet, but I am plotting and planning. The replacement day will come.

 

THE MATERIAL RIVER

I have watched a lot of Star Trek. I conclude that the Ferengis have it right. Whatever you need is out there flowing in the material river waiting for you to use it. Everything we might need is already provided for us. Just imagine whatever you want ready and waiting for your use. This material river constantly ebbs and flows washing things upon our shores and taking other things away for someone else to use. I often find my garage full of the things the material river has deposited for me during low tide.

Eventually someone will come along and one of my treasures will be just what they need for their project. So there is a great ebbing and flowing of things that are useful to someone, but have to be transported to another location by a new owner.

If you wake up needing a supply for one of your projects, bricks for example, be comforted. Bricks are out there with your name on them waiting for you to claim them. The Ferengis, who were cast in the role of black market smugglers, defined their business as transport. Material transport,

from one location in the universe to another, is an important commercial function.

I find that transport is often the issue. Materials that I need are out there located in a place that doesn’t need them. The task at hand is often moving them from the place where they are excess to the place where they are needed.  I feel wealthy. I have anything I need. I just have to solve the materials transport problem.

 

OLD WORLD BREAD

If you haven’t been to the local farmer’s market, make an effort some Saturday morning between May and October. There is a wonderful collection of local offerings from all kinds of craftsmen and local farmers. You can buy local honey from the beekeeper, plants from the gardeners, soaps from soap makers, and bread from the local bakers. Often you can hear local talent singing, and playing instruments. It is a fun way to start a Saturday if you haven’t tried it.

There is an old world bread maker there who makes the best breads. Imagine yourself in a shop on a village street along the Mediterranean. You will see before you a wonderful selection of breads that are not sold anywhere else.  Her name is Adrienne. She is the essence of what you believe a bread baker should be. Every Saturday she displays her breads, and cookies. She invites you to try some new sample each week.

I have several favorites. Her pumpernickel is wonderful. She makes it from rye flower with caraway seeds. It is a rich color and flavorful, delicious with slices of ham and tomato on it. My other favorite is  potato  bread. There is nothing like it anywhere in town. I am addicted to it as a bedtime snack. You have to come early if you want a good selection. I am not the only one who is a connoisseur of these delights. I almost had to wrestle an old plaid shirted man one Saturday over the last loaf of potato bread.  

She asked me to tell my friends about her breads.

TRUE DIVERSITY

TRUE DIVERSITY

 Just when I think the human race is doomed, because I have watched the idiocy on the news about voter registration or some such, I make the toy aisle at the local box store. This foray into the wonderland of toys is always redemption for the entire human race.

Today’s excursion was down the doll aisle. On one aisle resided the homogenous Barbies with their blond perfection and pink accessories. They are fun and have been around long enough for all of us to have worked out our anxieties with our therapists. Horror is being afraid as a little girl that you will never look like a Barbie. It doesn’t matter what color her hair is. Hair is not enough of a distinction to make a true identity difference. The figures on the dolls are all uniform. Their facial features have been stamped out to perfection, no noses with interesting bumps or other characteristics. Bodies are all uniform, small, thin, petite and impossible for a woman to achieve and live with.

Residing across the aisle from the Barbies are the Disney princesses. These are wonderful dolls with full color cartoons to go with them to enhance the many hours of play. These dolls are still pretty uniform. The Disney princess pretty much conforms to expectations. They are so uniform in fact that I had a drawing made of a warrior princess for my granddaughter. In this drawing the princess is wearing armor over her dress that has snow white sleeves and drawing her sword. It is not that I am militant about where girls should be, or their place in the military. It is just that these dolls represent such a traditional place in the world. I want my granddaughters to find their own place and not a place assigned to them by the princess industrial complex. We really want to raise girls who will seek all of the education they can achieve and make up their own minds about things.

Imagine my delight when I walked down the next aisle and saw the Monster High dolls. Now because they are combined mythic monsters, they represent true diversity. They come in many flavors. That is what struck me when I stood in the aisle and looked at them. How different they all are. Part vampire and squid, what an imaginative combination. All right, let’s cheer for the tormented mind at work that developed them. These combinations represent for little girls new possibilities no matter how gruesome the adults find them. These dolls can do things that Barbies or princesses can not and would not do.

There is hope for the human race after all. What starts in the toy aisle of the local box store will affect a generation’s attitudes. Monster dolls will do more for little girls, than auto mechanic Barbies, or physicist Barbie because the girls playing with these dolls will see new possibilities for beauty for themselves and others. We are all different. What fun they will have with these dolls imagining different and new things.

WHY I WANT TO WRITE

WHY I WANT TO WRITE

Why would a quiet introspective person want to spend time blogging? I am wondering as I type this… The introspective nature has given me a lot of time to think, and I have a rich inner world that I am willing to share. It has taken a lifetime to develop this inner view. Many people have had input into it, as they have moved through my life. I bring everything that I have seen and shared with me. This inner world requires discipline and energy. It also requires a willingness to take risks. Possibly the greatest risk to overcome is fear which would keep me from sharing this picture of my world with you.

There is so much noise in the world today. Everyone learns to screen out what they can. My inner life is one of peace. Peace must be worked for, it is not something you are given. You must surrender your vanity and strivings to begin to assimilate its presence into your daily activities. There are so many things over which one has no control. I have learned trying to control these things leads to discord and stress. So after many failed attempts, I have come to a place of peace and surrender about what I cannot control. Come with me. See what I can show you. Strive to live in peace.

Writing is the bravest thing a person can do. Submitting thoughts to a medium that could possibly exist forever is mind boggling. I have been comforted by the thought that I would pass from this place. My passing would leave the stage blank for those who come behind me. Perhaps they will live in better ways than I have lived, offer more than I have offered, show more than I have shown. The past should not be allowed to stand in the way of the future. Each of us must exit to make this important improvement. So now I face the possibility of lingering electronically to infinity. Not sure how I really feel about this.

My world is one of possibilities. Heroes and villains exist side by side struggling to understand their part. So, perhaps in some future, the myths I create might help someone to look forward and define themselves. Each of us has our own mythic reality. We must come to terms with ourselves and overcome the myths created for us. We must each write our own myth and begin to tell our own story. So I embark on that journey, not for the infinite future, but for you today who might find me. Let me show you my world.

 

TEN YEARS OF STICKYS

TEN YEARS OF STICKYS

I am not afraid of failure. Failing is tiresome and will make you revisit the things you thought you understood. But I am not sure loosing certainty is ever a mistake. When you think you have it all figured out, that is when you may be in danger of failing. Think about it…what does failure do for you? It gives you a second chance. Maybe some of us need more chances than others. I have always envied those with the conviction of their destiny.

I, however, have floundered down paths blundering along doing the best I could. Occasionally the paths have been wrong and I have had to turn and retreat. I find no shame in retreating, take your lessons and move along to a new place and begin again. In this journey, I have discovered important things about myself. Things I wouldn’t have known if I had not explored the option I have since discarded. People are of the opinion that as you age, you must surely move past this stage of making mistakes and trying things. I am not sure that is the case perhaps you only stop trying things if you become weak or ill.

My sticky notes are an elegant reminder of this type of adventure. The adventure that was a mistake, the one from which I had to backtrack. They have the shadow symbol of a red hawk on them. They will remind me not to be afraid to soar, even though I might make a mistake, I can always take another thermal current and try something else. I order the lot for the price break so I will have this reminder around for awhile.

DREADED SCAREY POKING FINGER OF DEATH

DREADED SCAREY POKING FINGER OF DEATH

My son and nephew were reminiscing about their younger days, I say this ironically because they are in their twenties and still children. During this review session, they reminded me about the technique for subduing them known by them as the “dreaded scary poking finger of death.” This finger appeared to jab them when they were being disorderly or a general public nuisance. They believe that I inherited this poking finger from my mother who used it on them also.

I need to clarify that they were “don’t let them build a devise” boys. Words of advice give to me by a professional when asked if they could get into trouble listening to conversations with a walkie talkie and a hand held phone.

They played hours of video games. Worlds were conquered, villains were vanquished, game levels mastered. At one point they even consulted with sailors who would mail their game discs to them to get them to help with their individual games. They played enough hours to warp their brains, so perhaps their behavior came under extra scrutiny when they were in public. I had to overcome my fear that they were not being properly raised, hence the “…poking finger…”

 They were expecting me to chastise my grandchildren. My grandchildren are lambs and 

will never require such a vigorous tool of chastisement as the “dreaded scary poking finger of death.” The scary poke of death was a direct tribute to their general unruliness and lack of deportment. My grandchildren will surely be better behaved and never require such a severe tool.

LIFE IN THE PERSHING EXCHANGE

LIFE IN THE PERSHING EXCHANGE

I remember talking to my paternal grandmother when she lived on such a tight budget that she counted the nickel phone call a luxury. She made a list of things she wanted to talk to us about. The children would line up to have their turn to talk to her. She was very business like in her phone conversations.

Having experienced this approach to phone conversation it is strange to see people go down the grocery store aisles chatting with a cell phone to their ears. I know someone is probably reading them the grocery list that they left at home. At some point we will surely be all talked out, as we continuously extend our conversations all hours of the day and night.

My brother developed a different approach to Sunday conversations. He calls us all when he has to return a call because he has to pay a certain rate for the first phone call and every additional one after that is free. We get to catch up with him on holidays and odd intervals as he uses his phone plan to his best advantage.

The old days of the Pershing exchange our phone number started with PE and then the rest of the phone number. We have become a nation of so many phone conversationalists  that our numbers are now ten digits long. We have so much more to say than we used to. I think we provide better support to each other than we did back then. Then if you had trouble you just had to deal with it, now you can call upon a bigger support system to help you. I think we live in a better world today. Those were not the good old days. As my grandmother would say, “time’s up.”

BOX COLLECTION

BOX COLLECTION

I enjoy purchasing labor saving gadgets that eliminate heat in my kitchen and will help me feed my family. Sometime I will tell you about my electric pressure cooker, so cool. I am always on the lookout for something that will make a difference. I look not just for myself, but also for my daughter and daughter in law. When I find something I like, I will give it as gifts to save their time and energy. I understand the pressure of having hungry people standing around like victims in a concentration camp.

This leads me to the eccentricities of the….box collection. In one corner of my garage I have the collection of superstitious warranty protections known as the original boxes. I understand the minute I throw the original box away I will have to return the product to the manufacturer or the place of purchase. This collection seems to ward off returns but it does take up space and look like a fire hazard. Most people purchase the extended warranty but I keep the box. Usually if I have a product fail it will fail immediately after I have discarded the carton.

I haven’t done any research on the relationship between buying products that continue to work without an entry in the box corner and those I have to return because I have thrown away the box. Nor do I have a big enough garage to do much more additional research. Surely there is grant money out there for such a study. If not, why not. Clean garage corner relationship to product failure, sounds real to me.

 

FEELERS

FEELERS

My hair goes out into the atmosphere like feelers or cats whiskers. Any day now I expect to get signals on it. Perhaps some Chicago radio station playing blues from the 1950s, who knows how long those signals hang out. Some days it acts as a weather vane, not only indicating which way the wind is blowing but the humidity content of the atmosphere.

I take this head of hair to a beautiful beautician about every four weeks. She cuts it in a special way just to accommodate its unique properties. We have spent hours agonizing over which hair care products to use to subjugate it to our will. It just happens that what it will do in this age of free expression looks quasi-fashionable. For this I give thanks to my Creator everyday. The truth of the matter is that I really don’t like to be fooled with and getting a fifteen minute hair cut, dry…won’t sit still for shampooing and heaven forbid she try to blow dry it. I tip her for just leaving it on my head and letting me leave. Like I said, she is a beautiful person.

Occasionally I get a product from her salon that disagrees with the head of hair. I can go from gentle curls to mane if the hair care product leads the hairs in revolution. I purchased this particular one because my old favorite was being improved by the manufacturer. I just want to say that when I find something that I am happy with I don’t always see change as an improvement. I would add that about lipstick colors also. I don’t need to be reminded that I struggle to remain current by being told at the lipstick counter that my color was sooooo yesterday. This product created the illusion of the wind tunnel for the hairs. I didn’t deserve the wind tunnel because I didn’t even blow dry. To say it made me cranky to look in the mirror and see the hairs in full revolution is an understatement. So I called my beautician before my appointment and said you must help me with this. The hair is in full revolt.

Her calmness was a spectacular example of people skills because I was sitting in the chair looking into the mirror saying: “the last time I saw someone with this head of hair, she was leading an army of short spear carrying mutants.” Her response was: “it doesn’t look that bad. I am very proud of your hair. It is a unique haircut.” Shamed…I was ashamed to be casting aspersions on her good work. She washed the offending product out, told me to return it, and suggested that perhaps I was stressed by my life, or my writing, or something… My hair looked okay. Like I said: “She is a beautiful person.”

BLESSINGS, GRADUATED

BLESSINGS, THE GRADUATE

My family comes together when one of our children graduates. We have been doing this for almost twenty years. Our children have been spread out over time. It is a time of affirming the next generation. It has not always been easy for our children to attain this accomplishment. They have had to work very hard. They struggle for definition sometimes changing their lives two or three times before they succeed.

All the children are beautiful and accomplished. They each have a unique way of seeing things and looking into the future. I appreciate their new view. Not much progress would be made if we were all alike. Attempts to perpetuate the past are not productive as we must give way to the new visions. Our next generation is global. They have looked up and seen the world as their front yard. All of them travel. They enjoy going to new places.

This year’s graduate is a global problem solver. She is kind and beautiful, a powerful combination to bring to international problems. Her scope and vision surprise me. I remember her as a little girl who liked bracelets, hats, and cats. She had awesome science fair projects, and was a good student.

She pursued the study of soil and water technology. She has a project in Sierra Leone working on water filtration systems with people there. I will sit and watch her cross the stage new week, knowing she is just beginning to show us a little of what she sees. I hope she will help us to change the world, to make it better, and share with us some of the possibilities of her future.

SHINY WHEELS BE ROLLIN'

SHINY WHEELS BE ROLLIN’

I am not fussy about what type of conveyance I drive. Ultimately they are just a means to get from A to B. At one point, early in my driving career, I even drove a 1956 Chevy with a red hood and a green fender, the rest of the body was white. Transportation... I had learned to gauge my speed by how fast the pavement was speeding past the floor of my car. I could park anywhere so that I wouldn’t have to use reverse gear. It takes a lot of careful planning, but it can be done. Reverse would stick and no one wants to crawl under a car with a pair of pliers in their panty hose. (Panty hose, that dates me doesn’t it, been around so long I can remember ruining pairs climbing trees for a college botany class.) I relate all of this to describe my usual indifference to traveling apparatus.

This prologue does not prepare you or me for the horror I faced when I came out of my back door one day last week and discovered my right front tire had lost its hubcap. There in front of my eyes was an ominous dark place where the dull chrome should be shining. Dull because we are in a drought and at one time no car wash was open here in town. Perhaps this dullness is something I can fix if we get some rain. I digress. Finding this was as if the abyss of chaos had opened just outside my garage door, swallowed my driveway, and threatened to take me down to the depths. How could the car roll with three chrome wheels and one blighted one? Was it even possible, maybe it wouldn’t start!

So I found myself in the auto parts place. I began by asking the clerk if I could order the proper one for the make and model of the car I am driving. The short answer to this innocent question is “no!” Have to go through a dealer to even consider ordering this part. Well, okay, moving along, no dealer in town. I confronted the display of possible rims. Wow! Glorious! What a shiny assortment of dazzling possibilities! I understand the “need” now to make an individual statement about your “personal” vehicle. The wheel possibilities are amazing. Would I want spinners, typhoon IIs? Maybe something to hang from my rear view mirror?  Fuzzy Dice? Plastic Leis?  No bobble head dog… driving a hatch back. I could really make a statement. But could not bring myself to consider the bright leopard seat covers for my economy subcompact.

I will admit that I could possibly be entering my second childhood. Since I just went for utility the first time around, I can’t guarantee that I won’t do something different this time. The goal for my second childhood will be having more fun. Not drinking or drugs fun, but really making a study of the absurdities of my life, and bringing them to your attention. My daughter told my son that she thought I just wanted to convert my red subcompact into something like the batmobile. To which I replied, “Don’t be silly you can’t get hubcaps with a bat symbol in the center of them, I looked.”

 

END OF AN ERA

END OF AN ERA

The water and sanitation department have informed me in my latest bill that I am being moved to one garbage pickup a week. They have also listed new rules for what I may dispose of in my magnificent 96 gallon can. Rules! Can you believe that!

Gone are the days of cheering when the sanitation men toss the commode from the bathroom remodel into the back of the truck. I have spent summers playing ‘will they take that away?’ It goes like this: okay they took the commode but what about the huge vanity and cabinet. Not any more, they now have new rules. ‘Will they take that away?’ was as summer as baseball or water skiing.

In the future if I want to get rid of a commode, I will have to break it into small enough pieces to put it in a garbage bag. They want all garbage now in a garbage bag, don’t even think about letting your garbage loose inside the splendid 96 gallon can. Remember the garbage bag commercial where they were hauling a tire in the bag?  Contain it. Keep the can clean. It has a serial number and can be traced, in case you are contemplating a can adventure.

There might be a more sinister reason for the garbage bagging, perhaps they are not taking our garbage to the dump. That could be one reason for these new rules. They might be saving our dump and mailing our garbage somewhere. This could be the reason for the new rules. Just imagine Fed Exing the garbage.

Finally It's Spring

It hasn’t been that long since our last killing freeze. What an unpredictable spring it has been, and we will just slam right into summer. I would really enjoy some warm afternoons and cool nights before the heat descends upon us. The roses are blooming. When roses that have taken so long to get established bloom, I don’t want to do anything but sit beside them and smell their perfume.

They looked like twigs when they were first planted. It has taken a little longer to get them established because of the weather. I neglect them. I take a survival of the fittest approach to rose growing. They are among the hardiest of plants and the secret is to find the right location for the right rose. If you are successful then you will be rewarded by wonderful days of blooms and scent.

Before spring gets here I often have to go to the nursery and fondle the leaves of the plants. This is a poor substitute for spring but sometimes it will pull me through the last of winter. It is a completely tactile fantasy, stroking the leaves and wishing for spring. Doing this keeps the use of heavy drugs down when it is too cold to think about going outside and digging.

Yesterday the tornado hit Moore. Today they are digging among the rubble for the survivors. In little ways we are all survivors, called to go on in spite of the sorrow of sifting through the rubble. It is an unimaginable horror, this job of searching for loved ones.

Spring always brings the violent weather to Oklahoma. The storms of great destructive forces taking lives and destroying property blow through here again. The beauty of the roses will only last until the winds of the spring storms come. Like the roses each of us blooms in the right location. I take my tea and enjoy my roses while I can. Last week I was able to sit beside them on most days. They are fragrant and full of blossoms. Wonderful!

Today the winds have passed through here. Most of the petals of my roses are gone. The bushes look to be in mourning, as their branches lay in the mud. Flowers ripped from the bush. So it is with all of us as we sit and wonder at the destruction that we have survived.

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This is the anthology for the Bartlesville WordWeavers. Please download it free and enjoy the talents of the local writers.

KEEPING UP WITH THE TIMES

KEEPING UP WITH THE TIMES

My son was a beautiful child. He was serious, always thinking, blond curls, and really funny. We have had many adventures while he was growing up, like the “flying, fuzzy rat thing of Arkansas.” I loved the time I spent with him. I always felt we were very close.

Imagine my surprise after confiding to him that I was researching blogging and really thinking about doing it, when his response was “WTF, mom.” I couldn’t believe it. Was he casting aspersions on what I had to say or my technical ability to perform the task? Did he think me so inept that I couldn’t master a new skill? This is the child that knows I can learn new stuff.

I think as someone who is of the female persuasion with gray hair I must look so inept and harmless that he thinks I just sit at home or knit doilies, or bake bread. I did do a lot of baking when he was little but not so much lately. Rather, I sit at home nursing a desire to share my voice and observations with whomever I can find out there in cyberland. I have even checked out the Blogging For Dummy’s from the library and it has pictures. I have mentors who will answer my questions. I am not without resources.  I will continue to do my research and get my blog started.

I know that those of you out there can’t imagine this statement coming out of the mouth of your precious two year old, but just wait. They say this when they tower over you and believe you live in the dark ages. Where has my sweet wonderful child gone? I grieve. I will show him…”WTF.”