The Light Switch

                       I have long been fascinated by the under-appreciated light switch.

 

 

 

It is a mechanical magic trick….now you see it, now you don’t!  Any unassuming little light switch is a sure-fire entertainer for a little one; I remember holding my giggling grandson while he discovered the fascination of this out-of-reach wonder on the hallway wall.  What I hardly noticed he found delightful….it was, after all,  just a light switch.

In our daily speech we use the example of the lowly light switch to explain instant changes in mood, life goals and emotions, as in:  “We seemed to be getting along just fine and suddenly her mood changed like a light switch”!  

On any given day most of us use a light switch at least a dozen times without ever giving it a thought; somehow we know the little piece of plastic has the strength to stop the powerful surge of electricity in an instant.   Ever wonder exactly how that happens?   Me either…….   

Now we stand looking toward Labor Day; the time when Mother Nature flips her “light switch”.  We’ve no sooner torn the page off the calendar than the big switch occurs……..viola!   Go to bed on August 31^st with the ceiling fan slashing the humid night air….wake on the morning of September 1^st to see leaves lazily drifting past the bedroom window.  Wear a sleeveless blouse to work one day, pull a sweater out of the closet for the next.   The light switch has somehow been thrown and we didn’t even notice.

The next time you turn on a lamp or flip the switch that brings your room to life remember:  the light switch is a metaphor for life.    The things that make such a big difference in our lives we often take for granted; often we forget how powerful these small things are.   Pay attention to the small things and most of the time the big things will take care of themselves….because change can happen in an instant.

                                                               Life is Good

Authentic

Authentic…not false or copied; genuine; real: having the origin supported by unquestionable evidence; authenticated; verified; conforming to an original.

It is so easy for us to tell one another “be yourself”…….how many times have I said to someone, “just be who you are!” But how many of us actually follow our own advice?

Recently I’ve had some health issues that have held my attention; for a while it looked as if I might be introduced to a drug that would cost me my hair. I was assured it would grow back in, but it gave me pause to wonder what color my hair might be, and what would the texture be? I’ve heard women say their hair came back white, or curly or straight after some treatments. How would I look totally bald….and how would I look when the hair grew back?

At the moment I seem to have dodged the “hair loss drug” bullet, but this has set me on a new path. My last trip to the hairdresser I told Casey I wanted to let my hair go natural. You must understand that I have no idea what “natural “ is….I haven’t seen my own hair color in so many years that I have no idea what that might be. I do know, however, a good part of it is going to be white.

Casey is a wonderful hairdresser….she’s given me some of the best “hair years” of my life. I know my hair color epiphany took her completely by surprise. She studied me from the left. She studied me from the right. She ran her hand up the back of my head and finally said, “Well, you have a young face so I think you can pull it off.”

I have not arrived at this decision without giving it a great deal of thought. I realize I will most likely look “older”……but then I AM older! A little color from a dish and brush doesn’t convince anyone I’m 25…least of all me. No…I want to let my hair be the color it actually is because that's part of who I actually am. It’s really just as simple as that.

The last few years have been a wonderful journey of retirement from a long broadcast career….discovering the outdoors, kayaking and beachcombing….then becoming reacquainted with my love of the written word. I have been fortunate to have a friend who opened a door to me that I never would have found. That is my involvement with Heart of Ohio Magazine.

Perhaps it’s an age thing…perhaps it comes from taking time to think about things because of my recent health issues…but the fact is I want to be authentic in all areas of my life. I want to be me. Having said that, I know I have some “ugly hair” days ahead. Every woman reading this will understand the trauma associated with letting your hair grow out of a bad cut…let alone letting it grow to its natural state after years of coloring.

There are some things that could change my mind. I have my husband to consider; if he sees the white haired me and says “Whoa!” I may not be as inclined to be quite as “authentic”. 




Or, if the two of us are at dinner and a waiter says, " and what will your mother be having?"....all bets are off. Like every female on the planet I reserve the right to change my mind without notice.

It’s a little thing. It’s a big thing. It’s an authentic thing. I’ll just be the short, unobtrusive woman in the babushka for the next six months.

. LIFE IS GOOD

Race car or old, brown Hudson?

Once in a great while I run up on a picture that speaks to me….and this one is a pip.

I have this theory that we may have limited our enjoyment of life because of the shallow, mind numbing advertising that pounds us every waking moment of the day.  You cannot watch fifteen minutes of TV, listen to ten minutes of radio or even close a toilet stall door without experiencing an advertising “impression”.   People and products leer at us from the back of bus stop seats, stare out over the landscape from billboards and slogans and special offers are dragged along behind airplanes.  This expensive graffitti invades every waking moment of our days. 

It’s not bad enough that we simply must drive home the message of every sale, every new product and improvement on an old one…..but we also “advertise” who and what we are supposed to be.   This is especially true for women.    Evidently we are to be unlined, overdressed ectomorphs our entire lives.   To be less than we see in this picture is to be invisible….or at the very least un-chic!   And that, my friend, is the great advertising lie.

 Sporting the predictable bored super-model expression and flowing hair, this young woman embodies the “marvelously messy” look that fashion magazines would have us strive for.   In truth, she couldn’t possibly stumble around on those cobble stones in those stiletto heels….and that tiny purse has no room for tissues, candy, and the current McDonald’s fun meal toy waiting to be opened.  The bicycles in the background represent health; I can’t wait to see her try to ride one in those pegged pants and six inch heels.   Her round shoulders and concave chest would lead me to believe this young lady has lived on lettuce wraps for a long, long time….and her precarious stance makes me wonder if she isn’t waiting for someone to literally pick her up and take her away from all this. 

Most real women wear “mom jeans” and carry a purse big enough to accommodate enough things to keep her kids clean, fed and quiet when the need arises.  The foot miles we put in on any given day require comfortable shoes and clothes that can be thrown into the washer.  

I have long ago turned off and tuned out everything that tells me my life would be better if I only wore the right (sparkly) eye shadow…if I would only buy the handbag that Angelina Jolie carries…or lose enough weight.   I refuse to apologise for being who I am…and I do not envy the emaciated women in stiletto heels who are held up as “role models” to the women of this era.

In short I am not in the market for a “new and improved” anything….and I sure don’t look at pictures like this and feel I’m not being all that I can be.  Like Popeye the Sailor I yam whut I yam.  I wish every one of us would look for ways to translate that to our daughters and granddaughters; turn off the soul sucking hype and enjoy your life! 

I think my son must have been about ten when he summed it up this way: “Mom, there are two kinds of women.  Race cars and old brown Hudsons.”   I haven’t a clue where he came up with that, but I’ve always remembered it and never, for one second, have I regretted being an “old, brown Hudson”. 

                                  Life is Good

Little things that last a lifetime...

Looking through pictures and posts I found this picture of a Mercury head dime.   It took my thoughts back to two of these dimes that were very precious; I just didn’t know it at the time.

My three children are very close in age, and when they were small it seemed my washer and dryer never stopped.  One hot summer day I was distressed to find more water on the basement floor than there was in the washer.  This was a greatly appreciated turquoise stack set that my Dad had bought for us.   They were gently used when I got them and hadn’t stopped since.

I tried to find the source of the water but eventually I gave up and called my Dad.  In those early days of marriage my husband worked long hours, and Pop was the one I always called for help.  Of course he came over right away.

Soon my little washer looked naked as Pop took panels off, removing things I didn’t know could be removed.  He was flat on his belly on the basement floor, muttering expletives, when I finally heard him say, “Here’s your problem!”

He rolled over to show me the two Mercury head dimes he held in the palm of his hand.  They had somehow gotten into the pump and had been tumbling around in the water so long that the copper edges had worn, forming a copper ring around each dime.

I get my “ I can fix it” mentality from my Pop.  Instead of an expensive new pump, he went to the store and bought some gunk you would use to fix an aquarium.   Keeping his fingers in the pump he repaired the hole, keeping his hand in the washer until the patch dried.  Viola!   My little turquoise washer was as good as new.   I thought my Pop could fix anything….or at least he’d try.  Nothing was really broken till he ran out of duct tape; the fix might not be pretty but it was a fix.

I held on to the dimes; I asked my husband to drill tiny holes in them (my apologies to the US Treasury) and put sterling silver wires through them to create pierced earrings that I still have today.

Fast forward about thirty five years, give or take a few.   I sat at my Pop’s bedside, knowing he was very near his last hours on this earth.  I had returned to be with him in the middle of the night; now I was holding his hand and talking to him without knowing if he could hear me.  The very precious time was ticking away.

I talked on and on about everything and anything I could think of…from the activity of the squirrel outside his window to what the newspaper held….all with no response.   I chattered on as if, somehow, my voice could anchor him here.

Finally I got around to telling him what a wonderful father he had always been, and how much I had learned from him.  I recounted the story about the Mercury head dimes he had pulled from the pump that day, reminding him about the good laugh I’d had at his expense when his hand got stuck in the machine.   I smiled as I reminded him how he had saved the day by fixing my washer…….and he squeezed my hand.

I kept talking, telling him I still had the earrings I had made….and he squeezed my hand again.  I knew then that he realized I was there and that this time we had together was some of the most valuable time I would ever have in my life.  That was the last response he made to any stimulation….I am eternally grateful I was there.

As I’ve grown older I’ve come to realize that our lives are made up of small things that, as they happen, we don’t see for the big things they actually are.  Embrace the small things.

                                                          Life is Good