Recalculating

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The late, great Jack Benny once said, “Mary and I have been together over forty years and I can honestly say we never even once considered divorce.  Murder….maybe.   Divorce….never.”  He delivered that line as part of a comedy routine; those of us who have been married a long time know it was only partly in jest.

The hardest thing to do is to keep a long term relationship fresh, interesting.  If you’re looking for some input on how to do just that here’s something you might try:  Buy a Garmin and go on a long road trip together.

My husband, Larry, and I recently returned from a month in Florida.  Every year he plans our trip down to the last fast-food salt packet.  All I do is pack a bathing suit and get into the car.  The only request I have is that we be on the beach; the ocean makes really great white noise and all my cares seem to melt away in the salt air.  He has never failed to find a beautiful place and plan a wonderful time away for the two of us.

Since he is so good at planning vacations you might wonder what I have to write about.  The challenge isn't in enjoying the vacation; the hang up is in the “getting to” and the “coming back from” part of the trip.   Given today’s technology one would imagine the only stressful part of car travel would be in locating enough road side rest areas……not so. 

In our case it begins before we leave the drive way.  Belted in and packed to the window tops we start out with our handy-dandy little Garmin (which I have dubbed “the talking lady”) snuggled into her bean bag on the dash board.  Her cheery “turn right” as we leave the driveway is the last instruction she will make without a return comment from my husband.   We are now embarking on an 18 hour argument with technology.  

Things are fairly peaceful while we’re still in Ohio, but once out of our borders the gloves come off.  Driving along at something loosely close to the speed limit my husband says, “Pull into the next gas station.  We need a map!”

“Why?  We have the talking lady and she knows where we’re going, doesn’t she?” I queried.  His response was a cold stare as he gestured me into the gas station lot.  He returned to the car to grumble, “Used to give these things away.  Five bucks!  A map is five bucks now!”

I longingly looked at the three hundred dollar piece of equipment sitting on the dashboard poised to take us to our first destination.  It was programmed to use the closest route, and the lady who sounds like Connie Chung was all set to give us detailed directions…but sadly I knew that’s not good enough.  Too late it crossed my mind that my husband might accept directions better if they were delivered in a male voice.  Food for thought for our next trip.

Back on the road my husband proceeded to unfold the biggest road map I’ve ever seen.   It covered the dashboard, fought for position against the windshield, enveloped his head, then pooled in the front seat floor well; a corner of it made a sharp turn at the door and dripped over the head rest to fill the back seat.  It looked like a full sized hot air balloon had deflated in the front seat of our car.   

The map moved and undulated like a living thing while Larry struggled beneath it looking for a shorter route.  The talking lady chirped “In point two miles turn right,” and the map snapped to attention.  “Don’t listen to her….don’t listen to her!  She doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” my husband mumbled from deep under the road map.  Again the Garmin told me to turn, but my husband drowned her out with “no-no-no” so we rocketed straight ahead while the talking lady struggled to get her bearings.    Ten miles later his head popped out from under his map canopy and he said, “Where are we?”

“I thought that’s what you were doing?   I’m just steering the car,” I said.

“I think you missed something,” the map crinkled and crackled, “pull into this service station and let me check something out.”  For the next fifteen minutes my husband and a beefy mechanic (who bore an uncanny resemblance to Larry the Cable Guy) pointed, gestured and shook their heads as I sat watching. 

Finally he returned to the car.  ‘We’ had missed a turn while he and the talking lady were in a full blown argument; I doubled back ten miles and got us on the right road.  Eventually we arrived in Charleston, then on to Florida; after a terrific stay we made it safely home.  I knew the trip home wouldn't be boring because it required a brand new set of directions.   I hate to admit it but the whole trip down and back was taken up with arguing and ugly words…..not between the two of us but between Larry and the talking lady.  I don’t know how he takes the stress.

The next time your marriage seems to be lacking in excitement you might want to take my advice and plan a road trip.  It will very likely give the three of you hours of laughter after it’s all over….you, your spouse and the talking lady.

                Recalculating….Recalculating….Recalculating….Recalculating….Recalculating

                                                                   
                                                                                Life is Good 

On the Beach

 

A storm blows in and the birds desert the beach.

 

Another February has come and gone and, hopefully, spring is right around the corner.  We’ve just returned from a month at the beach where we soaked up sunshine and rain, seemingly in equal amounts.  February has become a favorite month.  Turns out it is when I have time to take stock and endeavor to pull my new year’s resolutions out of the ditch.  It never works, but it gives me a raft of new things at which to fail.

I must confess that I am not good when presented with open ended time.  It seems the only way I can manage to accomplish anything is when I’m under the gun.   I had planned to finish a second book (long story really) to publish on this blog….that didn’t happen.  I wanted to lose five (just five!) pounds over the month and return home triumphant.  The close proximity of fresh sea food and the accompanying butter in which to render it even tastier blew that off the map.  Another honorable goal was to walk every day…the rain made that sporadic at best.  It seems my creative nature was able to come up with an excuse for just about any positive thing I had planned for this time away.

Sitting in a rocker on the balcony that overlooked the ocean I contemplated the nature of the universe, celebrated the lovely surprise of sunrises and the colorful display of 28 sunsets.   I thought long and hard about the inevitable brevity of life…..and dozed.  How lucky I felt to enjoy the pleasure of watching the water turn from emerald green to azure blue. Sometimes it looked like cold steel before a storm; lighting crawling across the ocean is an amazing sight to behold.   

Collecting seashells from the beach and every hole in the wall shop we wandered through seemed to be the most taxing thing I had to deal with.  Suffice it to say this was a luxuriously lazy month.

Time is only wasted if you don’t enjoy what you’re doing.  Doing nothing in February is something Larry and I enjoy…and we have the credit card bills to prove it.

                                                              Life is Good

Technology: Remotely Interesting

Recently we moved my Mom into assisted living while she recovers from surgery.  If you haven’t moved someone who’s lived in the same house for sixty years, you just haven’t lived.  Everything went rather smoothly until we got to the television.

My bet is that sixty years ago, when a person moved into a new home,  they were thrilled with indoor plumbing and more than two electrical outlets in any given room.  The kitchen and bath would be set up, the beds in place and… viola’….you were home!  That’s not the case any longer.

The two most important elements in today’s home (I have learned through this experience) are a working telephone and a cable connected TV with a working remote.  Giving up the cable box in one location means getting that service hooked up at the new location.  It also means giving up your remote.  In this case a new flat screen was added to the living room; the old TV was to be relegated to the bedroom.  That’s when the problem started.

 

If you're ever bored enough to search through your house, start a pile of remote controls and see how large it grows.   My Mother had saved every remote control she had ever owned, none of which matched her old TV that sat quietly waiting instructions in her new bedroom.

A trip to a local electronics department offered up a “universal remote”.   We never could figure out what universe it came from, evidently not one that was familiar with fifteen year old analog TV technology.  It was returned.  Eventually we gave up and replaced the old TV as well.  No one gets up and changes the channels by hand any longer; certainly not an 87 year old woman recovering from surgery.

Sitting there, looking at this pile of useless technology, I began to think of all the things for which we’ve had remote controls and I wondered if they were still around.  Let’s see, a six slot cd carousel, a wall mounted stereo, a minimum of three VCR boxes, two DVD players, Bose radio remotes and ceiling fan remotes….even our fireplace has a remote control!    We have six TV sets, all of varying ages and all with remotes.  There are at least two old sets stored on the shelves in the basement for some reason with their remotes taped to their sides.  I’ve safely tucked away garage door openers that do nothing, and we have remote start and door opening key fobs that are left over from cars long gone.  My best guesstimate would be two or three dozen “remotes” that no longer serve any purpose await my next cleaning frenzy.  

When I finally dig into this project I am also going to get rid of all the “remote organizers” I’ve invested in over the years.  In an effort to keep these things in one place I’ve purchased oddly shaped plastic things, artfully woven baskets, warm colored leather cases, beautiful hammered metal boxes and some wooden things with slots and bins and spaces only a true pack rat could appreciate. 

It is beyond my comprehension why we save these things.  I suppose I feel guilty because this is technology I never mastered beyond the “on/off” and “channel/volume” functions.   Perhaps it’s out of respect for what these controls could have done (if only I’d read the book) that keeps them squirreled away.  Seeing my Mom's collection of useless plastic has only made me realize that, at best, our house is a disorganized technology scrapbook of sorts.

              I’m waiting for a snowy, blustery Sunday to test my resolve to toss them all away.   Unless, of course, I come upon a technology museum that takes donations.   

                                                                            Life is Good

Music of my life.....

MP-3….iPod….music channels…CD’s...it seems to me that music is just music when you get it in one of these efficient, but unromantic, ways.   But music was an experience when you dropped nickels into a juke box. 

Of all the ‘machines’ of my youth the one I miss the most is the juke box.  Anywhere you went…there it was!  See it?  Sitting there in the corner of the dimly lit room?  Some had bubble lights, others had sequential colors flashing; but each one was a well-lighted, arched box of entertainment.   I can remember pumping nickels into the hulking, friendly robot; watching as others did the same.   I’d try to count the “clinks” of their change to see how many records I’d have to listen to before my favorite song played.  It was a real bonus if someone else played the same song!  Ah…….the music!

There was only one thing that might equal hearing your favorite song played on the juke box; hearing your favorite song played on the radio!  I remember calling WCLW and WMAN to request a song dedication.  “And now, this song goes out to Diana….Purple People Eater!”  A fleeting moment of fame; my name on the radio.  It just didn’t get any better than that in 1960.   

A storefront downtown sold the used 45’s for twenty cents each when they changed the inventory in the area juke boxes.  I was in ‘five for a dollar heaven’ when I got a chance to go in there and buy records.  I still have many of those old 45’s stored in our basement; they have my maiden name scrawled in a childish hand across the label.  In those long ago days everyone took their favorite 45’s to parties to dance to and that made sure you got them back.

Listening to the oldies I make no judgment on today’s music.   The popular music of our generation silly, repetitious nonsense...and I loved it.  It still makes me happy today; whisking me back to a simpler time in our country’s life, not just my own.  I am grateful to have been a child in a world that was still enjoying the sleep of the innocent.

Today’s music may be easier to come by, more portable and goodness knows there are more varieties from which to choose.  That’s progress. But something seems to have been lost in the change.   I still see the crowd around the juke box, waiting for that special song to drop onto the turntable…their faces lit by the red and green and blue and yellow lights winking around the cathedral shaped box.   It wasn’t just listening to the music, but the anticipation that made it not a background, but a foreground experience.

I hope I always remember the music.    Life is Good.

A Kiss is Just a Kiss....

Do you remember your first kiss with your significant other?  If you’ve been married as long as my spouse and I have that experience may have faded into one of the darker corners of your mind.   I think my husband would rather I didn’t, but with his permission here is the story of our first kiss.

It was my fourteenth summer; I would be fifteen in the fall.  He was sixteen (drove a convertible) and his seventeenth birthday would be in the fall as well.  I wasn’t really allowed to date, but my Mom was wavering on that so I pushed the issue when my best friend’s cousin asked me to go for a root beer at the local drive in.  (He drove a convertible!)

And so it was that the totally inexperienced young couple ended up at the root beer stand.  My Mother had sternly told me to be home in an hour, and now we sat waiting for our car hop to break our uncomfortable silence.

Every time it crosses your mind how “difficult” it is to be a grown up, try to remember how gut wrenchingly hard it was to be a young teen.  Will he try to kiss me?   What if I bump his nose….Oh, my God I know I’m going to bump his nose!  It was really scary stuff.

Making small talk when you’re fourteen is difficult when you’ve had as little life experience as I’d had at that stage of my life.  An only child, I’d been born to a Mother who loved me with ‘industrial strength’ love.  She was strict in most ways and I was amazed that she had allowed me to go for root beer with this older man of sixteen.   Have I mentioned he drove a convertible?

Finally the car hop emerged from the side door with a tray that held two large root beers in frosty mugs.  I was relieved to have something to do; I expect Larry felt the same.  In excruciating shyness we drank our root beers and talked.  All too soon we had finished; he replaced our mugs on the red cloth that lined the silver tray attached to the car window.   

I sat cuddled close to him, his right arm around my shoulder.  Now….the moment of truth!  He leaned over and kissed me soundly; since neither nose was misplaced it went rather well as I remember.  And then, in a self-assured way, he fired up the convertible and swept out of the parking lot.   The macho squeal of tires was impressive as we sped off with the silver tray and two root beer mugs still attached to the car window.

The old adage, “Youth is wasted on the young”, isn’t really true.  The great thing about it is you can relive it over and over again in your mature years.  I remember my own quite clearly…..and I drive a convertible.

                                                                Life is Good 

   

......as old as you feel.

 

 

My Mother is 87 years old.  In my mind’s eye I still see the lanky young woman with a cloud of curly black hair, show girl legs and a friendly gap-toothed grin.  In reality she is a grey haired, much smaller version of herself with practical shoes.

About six weeks ago I was at lunch about forty five minutes away from home when my cell phone rang.  “Diana….I think I may have a problem.  I fell and I think my hip broke.  I’m on the front porch and it’s so cold…,” my Mom said.  Thankfully she had shoved her cell phone into her pocket before going out for her mail.

“Stay still, Mom.  Help is on the way,” I said with much more calm than I actually felt.

I immediately dialed 9-1-1 and had the dispatcher patch me through to the proper county.  They assured me that they had a squad on the move.  Next I called my husband, Larry, who was much closer than I to her home; he also headed out to help.  I was in my car and rocketing toward home before I got off the phone.

With some calls from my husband, and pretty good luck, my brother in law and sister in law, Ron and Sue, were pulled into the action.  They managed to meet the rescue squad at her house, Larry met the squad at the hospital and I set a new land speed record from my appointment to the hospital.

 I arrived to find my Mom on a gurney in the emergency room;  Larry, Ron and Sue keeping her company.  She was not experiencing any pain and seemed fine, with the exception of being chilled to the bone.  I hunted down a nurse who was kind enough to get us some blankets from the warmer and things seemed to be under control.

It was my Mother’s good fortune that an orthopedic team was performing surgery that day; they had just enough energy left to do one more hip replacement.  Three hours after she arrived in a rescue squad she was in surgery; everything went well and three hours after that she was in her own hospital room.

Weeks in recovery and therapy have gotten her back on her feet, even if she needs a walker right now.  She is thinner, her step more hesitant, but she seems to be on the mend.  Her fondest wish is to be back in her customary pew at church very soon….it is also my own.

When the rolls reverse and you are caring for a parent it brings you to terms with things you’ve been able to push to the back of your mind.  I guess in a way it’s another step in growing up; I’m surprised at this age to find I still have lots of growing to do.

It has been my  great good fortune to have a supportive husband and children.  They help in every way possible to reach the goal of getting Mom strong and independent once again.   Without family to commiserate and celebrate with, I don’t think that effort would be doable.

It has been a struggle to keep from completely taking over the reins of my Mother’s life.  Patience has never been a virtue of my own; it is easier and quicker to just make a decision myself and get on with it!    Trying not to fall into that “my way” trap I remind myself daily that she is an adult with preferences and choices that may not be the ones I would make, but they suit her just fine.
I have made a concentrated effort to include her in conversations with therapists, doctors, nurses. 
For some reason they speak to me and behave as if my Mother can’t hear or answer for herself.  I try to gently pull the conversation back to include Mom. If that conversation needs to be a little louder or perhaps a little slower….so be it. 

While she struggles to regain her footing Mom has taught me something important.  I've come to understand that she is always surprised to see an 87 year old female looking back at her from the mirror.    While our bodies age and become cranky, we do not get old inside.  I believe the spirit does not age; somewhere inside us the storehouse of who we are withstands all the ravages of time.  I know that, inside, my Mom is still a young woman who loves to dance and laugh. 

It is my wish to be my Mother’s advocate and, when necessary, her voice.  At the same time I try to remember she is still a person with likes and dislikes….fears and memories and needs. 

Dealing with age, mine and hers, requires a different skill set and a different placement of ones ego.  It is more important to be kind than to be right….to be loving instead of being on schedule.   As tough as it can be sometimes it is better to lead with your heart.   Everything else, hopefully, will  follow.

                                                                  Life is Good

                                       Letter from a Mother to her Daughter:

 

My dear girl, the day you see I’m getting old, I ask you to please be patient, but most of all, try to understand what I’m going through. If, when we talk, I repeat the same thing a thousand times, don’t interrupt to say: “You said the same thing a minute ago”… Just listen, please. Try to remember the times when you were little and I would read the same story… night after night until you would fall asleep.

 

When I don’t want to take a bath, don’t be mad and don’t embarrass me. Remember when I had to run after you making excuses and trying to get you to take a shower when you were just a girl?

 

When you see how ignorant I am when it comes to new technology, give me the time to learn and don’t look at me that way… remember, honey, I patiently taught you how to do many things like eating appropriately, getting dressed, combing your hair and dealing with life’s issues every day…

The day you see I’m getting old, I ask you to please be patient, but most of all, try to understand what I’m going through.

If I occasionally lose track of what we’re talking about, give me the time to remember, and if I can’t, don’t be nervous, impatient or arrogant. Just know in your heart that the most important thing for me is to be with you.

And when my old, tired legs don’t let me move as quickly as before, give me your hand the same way that I offered mine to you when you first walked.

When those days come, don’t feel sad… just be with me, and understand me while I get to the end of my life with love. I’ll cherish and thank you for the gift of time and joy we shared. With a big smile and the huge love I’ve always had for you, I just want to say, I love you… my darling daughter.

                                                                                                                    -written by Sergio Cadena

 

 

The Third Time's a Charm

                                                                     Miniature Wedding Dress


Like so many women I remember my wedding day as one of the most exciting days of my life.  I also remember mine as a comedy of errors that set the tone for our marriage.

          Diana (Kegley) Coon
                 May 15, 1965

May 15, 1965 was a gorgeous day.  It was not the date we’d planned on; Uncle Sam had summoned the groom-to-be to report to Fort Knox, Kentucky the week before the date on the invitations.  Stubborn man, that Uncle Sam; we moved the wedding up from June 20^th to May 15^th by inserting a card with the new date into the invitations.  That caused a lot of curiosity and finger counting, but it couldn’t be helped.

The day of the wedding my maid of honor, (and cousin) Theresa, and I got our hair styled then loaded our gowns into the back of a station wagon to head to the church.  I had carefully gone down my check list of things to take with me; unfortunately I’d forgotten the hoop that went under my dress. A groomsman had to run back to the house for that important item. 

The day stretched out before me as one long problem solving test.  Once the hoop arrived we realized the string at the waist had been lost in transit.  I grabbed a large safety pin and fished the green string from the florist boxes through the waist band; problem solved. 

The bridesmaids were supposed to be wearing white carnation head pieces and carrying matching bouquets.  Someone, somewhere, must have enjoyed those items;  my bridal party wore the (wrong) pink carnation head pieces and bouquets with their teal gowns and actually looked quite spiffy.   Too late to change anything; problem solved.

Quite a bit of time had elapsed since the bridesmaid dresses had been ordered and we found that my maid of honor had gained a couple of pounds since the last fitting.   To make things work we put her into my white long line bra and hoped for the best as we zipped it up.  In spite of her shallow breathing she looked lovely.  Under my white wedding gown I had to wear her black strapless bra; by some miracle it didn’t show through my dress.  Too late to do anything else; problem solved.

If any of you had a groom that was late on his wedding day I can sympathize with you.  There was a parade going down Park Avenue past the First English Church that day; my groom was delayed and actually had to ride in the parade for a time to get to the wedding.  What’s a groom to do?  Problem solved.

The parades of my youth always featured what looked like a caboose with a small cannon mounted on it;  I think it was a service club that sponsored the thing. The parade on our wedding day was no exception, so the wedding service was punctuated by cannon-fire.   The ceremony went something like this:

“Do you, Anita, (BOOM!) take this man (BOOM!) to be your lawfully wedded husband? (BOOM!)

It was at this point in the ceremony that we quietly interrupted and informed the minister that my name was not 'Anita'…he corrected himself and continued; (BOOM!)

At last we got through the service and headed to the front door, only to be diverted to the side door because the parade was just finishing up.  I balked!  I’d waited for the day I could walk down those front steps to be showered with rice. (These were the enviornmentally incorrect sixties, remember) I wasn’t about to be relegated to the side door.  I won the argument, but lost the war because our guests had been directed to the side door.   They had listened, done as they were told, and moved on.  Eventually everyone came back around to the front of the church and I had my hard-headed way.  Larry and I finally exited the beautiful old church by the front door.  Clumsy but doable; problem solved.

This wedding got our marriage off to a good start with a sense of humor that has come in very handy over the years; but that’s not the end of the story.

After the wedding I took my dress to Swan Cleaners where it was cleaned, wrapped in blue tissue and sealed into a big box.   The box, marked YOUR WEDDING DRESS, was shuttled from attic to basement to attic through our various moves.

From time to time I would open the cover and admire the bodice of the dress through the large sealed window of the box.   The sequins and little beads sparkled and winked; replacing the top I would again tuck it away.

                                                                                                  Wendy (Coon) Hunt

                                                                                         11/28/1989

As the years flew by we produced three great kids, a son and two daughters.   Eventually the day arrived that one of our daughters was to be married.  Our  Wendy was marrying Todd Hunt and had decided she wanted to wear my wedding dress; naturally I was thrilled.  They had a beautiful, but much less eventful, wedding than our own.   Afterward the dress went back into the box and was returned to the corner of the attic from whence it had come.

                                                       

 

                                                             

                                                                   

           Tracy (Coon) Whitaker
                       12/26/1997

More years passed, and now daughter number two was being married; Tracy also wanted to wear my wedding dress when she married Bob Whitaker.  The dress made a third trip down the aisle at First English Lutheran Church, then was once again packed away.  By this time the big blue box had fallen apart; the well-used wedding dress was now consigned to an airtight plastic bin and placed on the shelves in the basement. 

In June of last year I had the good luck to meet Jo Hill.  If you read the current edition of Heart of Ohio Magazine you know I met her at Malabar Farm where she was displaying her miniature reproduction of the suit Lauren Bacall wore when she married Humphrey Bogart.  Jo is a very talented woman who painstakingly created miniatures of Jackie Kennedy’s gown and the wedding gown from Gone with the Wind, to name a few.  Meeting her reminded me about my own wedding dress and the fact that my daughters didn’t have one of their own to keep.

Interviewing this soft spoken seamstress for the article, it occurred to me to ask Jo if she ever made miniature wedding gowns from the original gown; she said she had.  So, one late summer day, I found myself taking my gown and the pictures of the three of us wearing the gown to Jo Hill.

A few weeks later I got a call saying the gowns were finished; Jo would bring them to my office the next day.  As anxious as I was to see them, I simply didn’t know what to expect.  When she pulled the first one out of the box and put it on the stand I was stunned.  Using my gown, the sequins and lace, even the zipper, Jo Hill had created an exact miniature of the original.    

Although I had asked Jo to make two gowns for my daughters she had enough material left to do a third. When she left that day she took the ‘left-overs’ with her and two weeks later she delivered my own miniature wedding gown to me.

My intention was to give the dresses to the girls at Christmas, but I simply couldn’t wait that long.  Patience has never been my strong suit, so of course I found myself calling them to come over for coffee. They arrived with a ‘what’s this about’ look on their faces that changed to surprise and happiness when they opened the big box that contained the beautiful miniatures. 
I don’t think I have ever given anyone a gift that gave me more pleasure.  I have enough pieces of the original gown left to fashion something to go into the bouquets of my granddaughters and the brides of my grandsons.   It could serve as “something old” should they decide to do a traditional wedding, or perhaps a head wrap if they are married on a Harley.  If I am fortunate enough to be there I will be pleased to know that our wedding gown is still being put to good use.

Thank you Jo Hill for sharing your talent with me to make it possible to give this special gift to my daughters.

It should be noted our son, Brian , presented me with a third daughter when he married Carla (Hrivnak) Coon at First English Lutheran on 7/31/1998.  Although she was much too tiny to wear my dress, she occupies a big place in my heart. 

Just like a lot of stories, this one has a moral:  When you get married it is very important that you choose a groom and a wedding dress that will hold together for the long haul.

                                                                       Life is Good 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Swinging into a new year....

        The best way to predict the future is to create it.
                                                               Dr. Forrest C. Shaklee

 

The first day of a new year feels like a clean slate.  Of course it’s not; the bills that were on the counter last evening are still there this morning and the problems that plagued us all year are still firmly in place.  But, just for a moment, let’s assume one can start over on the first day of a new year….what would I really change?

Hmmmmm…..I wouldn’t trade husbands.  I wouldn’t change my children or grandchildren one fraction of an inch.  I love working on the magazine.  No change needed there.

To be honest, when I think about changes for the New Year they are all to repair shortcomings in myself:   De-junk closets and the basement and stop being such a pack-rat….seems doable.   Buckle down and finish the two books I’ve started so I can enjoy serializing them on my blog….very possible.    I want to take the time to sit down and find out how I can get a web page started to house “The life and times of an unremarkable woman”….I even know the talented lady (Kym Lamb) I need to sit down with to discuss that.  I want to make 2013 the year I grow friendships.   I enjoy my “girl time” and I want to nurture the friendships that are important to me.   And then, off course, there are the obligatory ‘lose weight, get more exercise, early to bed/early to rise’ things I promise to do every year.

Looking back over my list I see the New Year’s list of a woman who is very fortunate.   For the most part the changes I need to make simply require buckling down and making the most of the next twelve months.   To set the stage for rose smelling and taking the time to relax with friends Larry and I had a pergola built over the back deck.  I’m going to finally have something I’ve wanted for a long, long time.  When the weather breaks, that back deck will be the setting for a new wooden porch swing.  It will hang from chains and boast a patchwork pad on the seat just like my Grandmother made.  It’s something I enjoyed as a child; sitting in the porch swing with my grandmother or my cousin and watching the summer go by.    This time I will be the grandmother swinging with her grandchild, discussing the world with her husband, laughing with a friend.  It may sound simple, but I think the year ahead looks very inviting as I contemplate swinging on the porch.

I am very aware that my list of changes is also a list of blessings.  Like everyone I only need the one thing I’m not in charge of to make it happen……time.   I will have to give that some thought when I’m sitting in the porch swing.   Happy New Year

                                                                             Life is Good

 

The electronic apple

 

 

 

Back at the beginning of time there were two; Adam and Eve. 

The story goes (obviously written down by a man) like this:  Eve was beguiled by a beautiful snake.  The creature glistened in the sun light, slithered sensuously around her and hissed its message in her ear.

 

“Eat of the Tree of Life and you shall know the truth.  You will have the knowledge of good and evil, you will know all the things that God does not want you to know.  Eat….eat,” the snake whispered.

 

 

Now Eve, being the curious creature she was designed to be, is reported to have fallen for this.  I have a suspicion she may have been the worlds first blonde.  Anyway, she ate the apple and the veil of innocence fell from her eyes.  Realizing she was completely naked, and not in the best shape, she grabbed some leaves and strategically placed them for cover.  Then she set out to find her mate…..and you know the rest of that story.

 

Last night I sat watching the news.  It's something I do infrequently because, no matter what channel I watch, I am aware it is biased and self-serving to the ownership.  The truth is there is very little truth in news….get over it.

Sitting there I had an epiphany; TV is the modern day version of that snake in the Garden of Eden.  'Eat from this fruit and you will know the truth'.  The unblinking eye is jam packed with all the things a kind and caring deity would not want you subjected to.  Not because you should live in ignorance, but because some things are just better left alone or taken in very small doses. 

Each broadcast is a display case for human misery, ignorance and insanity.  The formula is simple.  Lead with the bloodiest, follow up with the saddest, end with a chuckle about the local sports team.  It is predictable, insensitive and lucrative.   How many times do we need to see a microphone shoved into the face of a grieving parent or a hurricane survivor? 

The coverage of the latest mass murder has raised the killer to cult worship status.  To fill airtime this event will be broadcast year after year on the anniversary of the tragedy; thus giving every nut-case a time frame to construct his/her own nightmare.

The worst thing that ever happened to television is the 24 hour news channel, because you have to fill 24 hours with something.   Over and over the horror of these events is driven home with the ratings jackhammer.

You’re probably thinking, “Yes, but if we didn’t know about things like the tsunami how could we raise money for aid?”  Good question…and my rebuttal is, “How much money did you send to tsunami victims and how many hours, days, weeks of the death and destruction and horror did you see?”  In truth I think watching hours and hours of this kind of coverage may be making us immune to the pain and suffering of others.   Perhaps it is easier to step around a homeless beggar when you’ve seen a whole country suffering.

I am fully aware that I will sound out of touch to a lot of people.  I'm not promoting ignorance, and I am aware people need to know what is going on.  But you must remember that television is a business.   Because networks are dedicated to winning ratings wars we must have enough common sense to turn it off at some point. I am simply suggesting we should all be as particular about what we watch (and how much we watch) on television as we are about anything else that takes up time in our lives.

We can dress it up and call it anything we want but the truth is at best every sitcom, every news cast and every talk show is simply an advertising delivery system.  The programming is ‘flavoring’ to make the message go down more easily.  Since human beings realized the crowd would throw coins at dancers in the town square, or hand pennies to the town crier, money has been the motivating factor in entertainment and news.

                                                     Do not be beguiled by the snake…

                                                                Life is Good

 

The Night Before Christmas

Here we are on another Christmas Eve.  The gifts are wrapped, the food prepared and waiting for tomorrow’s big dinner with the family.  I’m on the grownup end of the holidays; but I still love Christmas.   

This was always a magical night when I was a child; I remember my grandfather holding me as we watched out the window for a shadow that might mean Santa was passing overhead.   Then it was off to bed to try and sleep; Santa doesn’t really come till he knows you’re sleeping.

As an adult it seems I can no longer achieve that peaceful sleep I knew as a child; that was a time before I knew about sickness, the homeless, death, the hungry and the broken.   Now celebration is tempered with the understanding of other people’s pain; the real definition of growing up.

So many of the presents I received as a child have disappeared into the blackness of my memory; the gifts received as a by-product of growing older will stay with me forever.  I'd like to share a few of those gifts with you: 

      Never wait for the misfortune of others to make you appreciate what you have right now.

            Never pass up a chance to be kind…it is much more important than being right.

                                        Take nothing for granted….nothing.

Look for the beauty around you to fill the spaces that can just as easily be inhabited by ugliness.

                         Be grateful for everything; the world owes you nothing.

                          Nothing lasts forever....nothing good and nothing bad.

 

                Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!!!!

                                                                    Life is Good

Looking for Christmas Cheer

I think there is a very good chance that I may be an ill-mannered Neanderthal.   I say that as a person who was born before ‘political correctness’ came into vogue…and refuses to bend to this tyrannical trend. 

While joining the throng trying to exit a store this week an elderly woman held the door for me as I followed her.  I stepped up my pace so she wouldn’t have to just stand there and, as I cleared the door, I said, “Thank you and Merry Christmas to you.”    With no facial expression whatsoever she looked at me and said, “We don’t celebrate Christmas.”

That stopped me in my tracks; as we hesitated for a moment in front of the store I said to her, “My wish to you came from a happy heart.  You do not have to observe Christmas to receive my well wishes for a joyous season, no matter what you do or do not celebrate.”

The woman was as short and grey as her hair-do.  She chewed the inside of her cheek, looked up at the overcast sky, then at me, and finally said, “Okay, I get that.”

As she stomped away I questioned my response and wondered from whence it had come.   Eventually I realized that Christmas combines all my happy childhood memories, the love for my family and just a general gratitude about being alive.  If it is rude to share that with a complete stranger I make no apologies.

And so, if you should encounter someone who seems to be offended by your well wishes, so be it.                                           Frankly I will accept all the happy feelings you might be able to spare.   In today’s world we all need all the help we can get.

                                                      Merry Christmas

                                                          Life is Good