Listen Closely....

I started my morning by treating myself to a luxurious McDonald’s egg white/English muffin sandwich and a plastic bottle of milk.  Something sticky oozed from one side of the paper wrapped sandwich.  While I’m assuming it was some kind of imitation cheese or something,  I refused to ask.

Anyway, one of the best things to do when you find yourself in a McDonald’s early in the morning is eavesdrop on the conversations that bounce around you.  As I sat looking at my iPad I was actually paying more attention to the conversation the four older men were having at the table beside me.

Let me say first that the reason all of us ended up in a McDonalds early in the morning is because we were all obviously retired.   These guys were older than I, but then I’m not exactly looking for the 20 year warranty on things I purchase these days, either.

When I first became aware of their conversation it was about cars, and tires, and how the guy four condos down tries to impress everyone with his car, even though it’s not a Cadillac.  Much to the chagrin of the four fellas discussing him, it seems the guy just put a “pretend” tire on the back of his car to jazz it up.  “And”, the one fella leaned in to say, “He bought the thing at a garage sale”.  They all nodded knowingly.

Eventually the group tired of bashing the guy from four condos down and the conversation turned to women.  One guy in a plaid shirt and a bad comb over shared the fact that he had been on a first date with a lady, and he was looking forward to seeing her again.  The guy on his left shook his head from side to side and intoned, “You’d be better of getting a job to keep you busy.”   Plaid shirt took a lot of abuse from his friends, and I was hard pressed to keep from choking on my egg white sandwich as it began to sound more like a locker room full of sophomore boys.

Slurping down the last of my plastic jug of white milk, I gathered my things and headed to the door.  I gave a last glance over the late 70’s/early 80’s group of men as I exited.  While it’s not polite to eavesdrop on conversations, I’m glad I did. 

I’m passing this on to those of you who are taking care of elderly parents.  Hearing these fellas chiding one another just reinforced what I learned as I helped my own parents during their last years.  We age outside, but we do not change inside. 

If you are caring for an elderly female, remember she is still a woman, an elderly man still a man.  Recently I was deleting some pictures from my phone when I found one from my daughter.  One day last August she spent the afternoon with her grandmother.  At the end of the day she sent a picture of mom with the caption, ‘Our hair is combed, our nails are done, and we are ready for the day!’  Mom sat smiling in her recliner, looking as if some first class primping had made her day.  I remember she told me about it many times over the next days. 

Always try to remember whether your loved one is still living alone or in a nursing home, they’re still the same person inside their weathered exterior.  Why should it be any less acceptable for a 75 year old to be excited about a second date than a twenty year old?  I gave myself a mental kick for being ‘amused’ at the conversation.

I don’t believe the need to be loved and accepted has an end date.  On the other hand, perhaps it does…it expires when we do.

                                                               Life is Good

Having a Kodak moment

Since my mom’s death organizing has taken on a new meaning.   Certainly it is part and parcel of “I don’t want my children to have to do this”, but it’s more than that.   It has slowly dawned on me that I’m the last one standing.   If I don’t get some of the (literally) hundreds of photos in order and labeled with the names of the subjects, much of my children’s family history will disappear when I do.

My goal is to create an electronic set of all pictures for each of my kids so I can pass the actual pictures, clippings, etc. on to people who would appreciate having them.  My mom kept everything, so I have newspaper clippings, photographs, even funeral cards, that might add to someone else’s family history. 

And so it was with respect for today’s technology and an honest understanding of my un-technical nature (I am the family test-dummy)  that I set out to find a way to handle these photos.   I looked at iPhone/iPad software…too work intensive to do these one at a time.   I checked out chute fed photo scanners…financially impractical. There is a company to whom you can send the whole lot and they scan them and return them to you on a nice, silver disc.  My own deeply held beliefs about Murphy’s Law keep me from trusting these cherished photos to the US Postal Service.

Finally my son Brian, the family keeper of technical knowledge, located a little scanner on line called a Doxie.  For just about a hundred dollars he picked up this handy gadget that is simple enough for me to operate (the biggest consideration) and makes the scanning process a breeze.  I’ve scanned three hundred photos so far, and now I am in the process of learning the software to see just how much editing capabilities it might have.   So far I’m impressed!

This project will go on for months in my spare time. By turns I’ve dissolved into giggles and tears as I go through mom’s old photos.  I am touched by the young couple who became my parents; struck by my mom’s beauty and my dad’s good looks, not to mention his head of black, crisply curly hair.  Their obvious joy at being a newly married couple is evident in a photo of mom leap frogging over my dad’s shoulders.  There are pictures of their friends, young and strong and holding babies who grew up to be my friends.  Most of my parent’s friends are gone now, or in nursing homes. 

This little project reminds me that each person with whom we come in contact is a chapter in the story of our lives.  I’m at the point now where many of these chapters are now closed; I know how their stories ends.

There are rewards for doing this…I’ve discovered some real treasures in this box.  I truly do not believe I ever saw my dad’s mother smile.  She’s been gone a lot of years, but I’m betting this picture of her with a sweet smile on her face was a treasure to my dad.  I found pictures with mom’s scrawl, “my best buddy”, a cousin she talked about often.  Another photo simply bears the last name of a young soldier to whom she was engaged when she met my father.  I think that must have been tucked into this old box to be pulled out occasionally as an ‘I wonder what would have been if…’ photo.  I am curious about the conversation that might have started if I had only taken the time.

One photo of my dad, circa 1945, shows him sharply dressed in a top coat, the scarf knotted around his neck looks quite dashing; I didn’t think Pop ever owned any dressy clothes.  So much of my parent’s young lives is displayed as I go through these pictures; I wish I had gone through them years ago when I could have asked the questions that now tumble around in my head.

The older I get the more I believe in looking for the lesson in every event. This heap of old pictures left to me is a reminder that nothing lasts forever.   The lesson gleaned from that is spurring me to plan a family soup night that will include soup, home baked bread and old photos.  It’s high time we have this session before my children find themselves sitting alone with pictures that hold so many questions… and no one the provide the answers.

                                                       Life is Good

What's the Magic Word?

I am constantly amazed as I read the news about all the computer hacking going on.  Countries invading the data banks of other countries….disgruntled employees laying out the emails of their supervisors for public consumption…banks and credit card companies drained of their data banks full of private customer information.  It’s scary, and I’m jealous.

Don’t get me wrong, I do not want your social security number or your private medical information or your credit history….I simply want to get into my Pottery Barn account!!

No company in the world works harder to get my money than Pottery Barn.  I get a catalog every other day, daily emails and special offers to tempt me.   A while back I received the sacred on-line promise that my bill is secure and available for my perusal if I simply snuggle comfortably into the security blanket of their website.  It’s like family…only with less cooking.

After thumbing through the newest every other day catalog I discovered their over-sized, over-priced, over-the-top couch pillows were now 20% off!!  Imagine my delight when I remembered I had points, or whatever they call them, to use that would save me even more money.  Halle-shopping-leujah!!!

I vaguely remembered doing it before; to find out how many points I had  I decided to take a look at my on-line, secure from the outsider but accessible to me, bill.   Evidently I had checked in from my laptop; now I was trying to gain entrance on my iPad and the site did not recognize my computer.  Following the instructions I went through the steps to fix that; they emailed me a “code number” which I dutifully entered in the appropriate pulsating square.  They didn’t like that.   I did it again and was told….well, I forget what I was told, but it didn’t work either.

Totally frustrated, I opened my laptop to try again.  Perhaps I’ve awakened the Troll under the bridge with my iPad; using my laptop will surely quiet the beast and allow me entrance to the kingdom.

Clicking the proper places and holding my tongue just right, I was taken aback when I was once again denied access.  The next step was to answer identifying questions that, once answered correctly, would put things to right.  Problem is I don’t remember filling out any questions.  The result was predictably negative.  Eventually I ran out of patience before they did, and I gave up.

As of this date I’ve still been unable to access my account on line.  That means I will have to call the “customer care” number and, after listening to a 40 minute flute solo, explain my problem to someone who will chirp apologies at me and finally fix the problem.  Somewhere in the labyrinth of offices that make up the Pottery Barn dynasty I know there is a huge reset button.   Once that sacred button is pushed I will be able to access my bill online, figure out how many points I have, and rake in the savings.

   

I heard on the news that there will be a big internet summit in Washington that brings together the greatest minds from companies like Apple, Microsoft, Google and others.  These mental giants will try to come up with a solution to the hacking problem as they ponder the complexities of creating a firewall that cannot be penetrated by our enemies, both foreign and domestic.  I wish them luck as they work to keep the World Wide Web safe for financial transactions and internet porn.  

Frankly I think they’d do much better (and save the tax payers money) if they turned the whole thing over to Pottery Barn.  I’m sure PB is prepared to deflect any cyber-attack while offering America what it really needs…more decorating help. 

                                                       Life is Good     

Let Them Eat Cake

When you're going through the holidays after losing a loved one you may find you are really just going through the motions.  That's been my situation this season, so to find inspiration and Christmas spirit I turned to a great source for a lot of women.  Pinterest.

Nothing says lovin' and promotes healing like something from the oven. At least that's what I told myself.  Pinterest is full of beautiful pictures of cakes, so I perused it's electronic pages for ideas.  I've always loved to cook, but baking...not so much.  There's all that flour and sticky stuff to contend with, isn't there?   And so,  due to my unfamiliarity with baking, I decided to keep it simple.

Next day my shopping excursion was to find the right cake pan; I'm a great believer that equipment is half the battle.   I found a wonderful Nordic Ware  pan that promised to produce two gift box cakes that I could decorate or simply sprinkle with powdered sugar.  Knowing how quickly my enthusiasm can wane that seemed like a good option.

To jazz up the display a wee bit I found a "pin" on how to make plates from peppermint hard candy.  I grabbed four bags of star mints, the ingredients for a drop-dead-delicious chocolate cake (also a Pinterest find) and I headed home.

Once I got into it my cake baking filled the house with delicious smells.  My first effort I used a Christmas tree shaped pan I had bought years ago.  I remembered why it got pushed to the back of the cabinet when I tried to remove the cake, which  produced nothing but delicious chocolate goo. After it cooled I delivered the tasty (but ugly ) reject to near by neighbors who pronounced it delicious in spite of it's unrecognizable shape.  Waste not, want not.

Whipping up another batch of cake, I filled the new gift box cake pan.  As I pushed it into the oven I sent  up a little prayer that this would go better than my first attempt.   It was getting late, and I was running out of hungry neighbors.

While I waited I heated the other oven and started unwrapping mints,

which is the most difficult part of making the candy plates.  I arranged the candy on parchment paper, plopped it onto a cookie sheet, and stuck it into the oven.

  By the time the cakes were done the plates were on cooling racks.  Then it was time for the moment of truth....I flipped the cake pan over and out popped two perfect little gift boxes. I may not know what I'm doing, but I know when it goes right!

It looked to be impossible to ice them, and I thought powdered sugar would be boring, so I simply painted the part of the cake shaped like ribbons with icing, then dusted that with sparkling candy sprinkles!

Once they were decorated and sitting on their colorful candy plates the cakes were really pretty.

So pretty, in fact, that I had to convince my family it was okay to cut them.  At least I like to think it was because they were too pretty to eat.  In truth it may be they were just being cautious because of my lack of baking experience.   Either way they eventually disappeared.

I've always found being busy to be the best way to deal with anything that's bothering me; I guess I have to work through my pain.  We all missed my mom this holiday season, and i know that won't end when the holidays are over.  So....I guess I'll be looking for more projects on Pinterest.   I just hope my neighbors are up to it!!

                                                           Life is Good

Looking for the Past

Today I had a morning “reality check” that started with the search for a wine glass.... 

Last evening we had our annual “Golden Girls” Christmas dinner here at my house.  The (now) three of us had a glass of wine before dinner.   As a surprise, after dinner I had planned a special recognition of this first Christmas get-together without our good friend, Chris Butler. 

As we talked over dinner we remembered last year’s get together where the four of us ate and laughed and had a great time together.  Chris seemed to be emerging from a long spell of illness.  She had put on some weight, looked better than she had in ages, and we all seemed to be in a good place.  We had no idea that she would be gone in just four short months.

Last evenings dinner had a quiet to it that covered a deeper sadness.  After we finished, I announced that we were heading out into the cold to send off a sky lantern to wish Chris a Merry Christmas.  We all bundled up and, after carefully reading the directions, headed for the driveway.  As is usually the case I assumed I had this thing all figured out, and it caused not a little laughter as I tried to light the lantern in the wind without igniting the whole thing.  Finally the fuel pad grabbed the flame and the lantern filled with hot air.  After a few seconds it gracefully lifted up into the black velvet night sky.

It really was a beautiful sight, a heart lifting moment as we sent our Christmas wish skyward.   I was more than a little relieved when the lantern cleared the roof of the house as the wind took the fiery lantern in a north easterly direction.   (Note: check wind direction or don’t try this at home.)

The glowing white orb rose soundlessly as we watched.  Then, quite suddenly, it seemed to stand still in the cold night air.  I was mentally going through reasons this might happen, like some cold air/hot air ratio, when Becky announced, “Uh-oh!  It’s stuck in a tree”.

 

All sentimental thoughts ceased as we watched, horrified and hoping the thing would quickly run out of fuel. (Note:  the fuel lasts a loooong time)  The skeletal fingers of that huge old tree clutched that lantern like a catcher’s mitt at home plate.  I held my breath and squinted in the darkness, hoping not to see any signs of fire on the tree limb; after what seemed like forever it went out.  Demonstrating that it was well worth the price, the thing is still up there this morning to greet me as I took the dog out.

You might think this ruined the moment; in truth it couldn’t have been more perfect.  The three of us went from solemn, to shocked, to laughter in the space of a minute.  It took much longer for me to get the sound of Chris’s laughter out of my head after we went back into the house.  I ended the evening with the feeling that the four of us had once again shared a good laugh…and if it’s possible for Chris to have orchestrated it, she did.

That takes me back to this morning.  After the gals went home last night I got lazy and left the dishes; ‘tomorrow is another day’ type thinking.  This morning I multi-tasked as I sipped a cup of coffee, loaded the dishwasher and filled the sink with things that needed to be done by hand.  I started to wash the wine glasses, and that’s when I noticed one was missing.  Automatically on the hunt, I trailed my way through a couple of rooms before I remembered there wouldn’t be a fourth wine glass to find this morning.

 

The Golden Girls now number three, but there will always be four of us in our hearts.

                                                          Life is Good

The Giving Season

Here we are at the doorstep of another Christmas.  This will be my 68^th, and the first one I’ve ever spent without my mom.  It’s not something I wanted or expected but…it simply is what it is.

As I’ve half-heartedly prepared for the holiday, picking up a gift here and there, I’ve come to think a lot about this being the season of giving and receiving gifts.   The years pass and all those gifts seem to run together.  I remember a small record player when I was eight or nine…a heart shaped pendant from my husband one year…a box containing a baby rattle to announce the upcoming birth of our first grandchild…other than that I can’t specifically remember many gifts.   Where do all those memories go?

I’ve been blessed to have been born into a family of ‘givers’.  I never left my grandmother’s house without what I jokingly called my “care package”.  It was usually comprised of a quart of her home canned green beans (which I reserved for our Thanksgiving table ), and a pint of her delicious jelly made from whatever berries were plentiful the past summer.  She might also tuck in a quilted potholder she’d made, maybe a doily she had crocheted.  There was always something delicious and personal in my package, and I hope I was as appreciative then as I am today for each of those things.

My Mom followed in that tradition.  Sometimes I tried to escape without  taking something home, but I seldom got out the door without some delicious left overs or some small things she’d ordered from TV that she thought I just had to have.  The last two years of her life she was unable to get out and shop; I was first her transportation and, ultimately, her personal shopper.  Still, she’d carefully wash out Styrofoam containers from the meals that were delivered to her.  “These can come in handy for your lunch, you never know when you can use them,” she’d say as she tucked them into a used grocery store bag she had squirrelled away in a drawer.  Even when she had so little, I almost never went home empty handed. 

This will still be a joyous Christmas, because the reason for the celebration hasn’t changed.  I will revisit my blessings, and be thankful for every one of my friends and family around the table this year.  The conspicuously empty chair will remind me how lucky I am that my entire life has been lived in a giving season, and that now it is my turn.  Perhaps I can give the important people in my life the one truly priceless thing that was given to me…the memory of hearts so full they always had something to share. 

Merry Christmas to all…make every day a giving season.

  

The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men......

I have always been in awe of people who ‘plan their work and work their plan’.  I wouldn’t say my life has been a complete accident, but that would be closer to the truth than to say I’ve always had a plan.

Even when I have one my plans just never seem to work out.  As I was thinking about this blog entry it occurred to me I have seldom worked in a job for which I formally applied.   My pattern during my working life was to decide on a job, work on my resume, apply for the job….then end up doing something entirely different for someone who came after me.  Somehow that seems to have gotten me where I am today; retired.

Anyway, as I closed my fifth year as editor at Heart of Ohio Magazine my mother’s health was declining.  I made my plan to retire so I would have more time to spend with and care for her.  At the close of October I would retire, write articles on a free-lance basis and spend more time as caregiver. 

Making the decision wasn’t easy because I’ve enjoyed watching the magazine grow and develop; it may be the most satisfying thing I’ve ever undertaken. Still, I knew I could satisfy my need to write without being in the office.   Mom didn’t have to know exactly why I was stepping away, and I could give her the attention she required as her needs increased.   Sounds like a plan, yes?

As we moved into October we hired my replacement at the magazine.   Adelyn Belsterling and I got to know one another, and I felt comfortable knowing the editor’s job was in good hands. 

My mother has always been a strong willed woman who had to have the last word.  It is a trait I share with her, but she perfected it long before I mastered the technique.  In mid-October she became ill and passed away October 21^st, just ten days before my retirement became official.

Even though my plan had changed I decided to go ahead with this (second) retirement.  I now had my mother’s affairs to take care of, and her house to prepare for sale.   A new plan slowly formed; I would use the winter to empty the house, paint the rooms and prepare it to be put on the market in the spring.  I imagined myself, a mug of hot cocoa beside a chair, going through mom’s papers and pictures; then moving on to drawers and closets.  This sad but necessary task had to be accomplished while I wrestled with this new feeling of being an orphan.   No matter how old you are when your parents die there is a loneliness that cannot be explained…only experienced.

Larry and I spent the days after mom’s death just doing the paperwork such an event produces.  We waded through the funeral…the burial…thank you notes and returning calls…cancelling services and policies and direct withdrawals that were, sadly, no longer necessary.  It is the kind of thing that, for me at least, is always mind numbing and sometimes maddening.  He took the lead and I followed behind making my curmudgeon noises. Finally, we were done.

Sitting in the family room one evening, three weeks to the day after my mother’s death, I was settled in with a late cup of coffee and a movie recorded eons ago.  My deep sign of relaxation caught in my throat when Larry appeared in the doorway, “Get your shoes on, your mom’s house is on fire.”

Racing across town we drew as close to the house as the gathering of fire trucks would allow.  No flames were visible, but the smell of burnt wood and belongings filled the rainy night air.  The fire had started in the back of the small house and it burned, scorched and melted everything in its path.  Firemen in yellow slickers and helmets showed us around the rubble of what had once been my parent's home.  The flashing lights of the trucks created a surreal illumination that revealed the damage in pulsing bursts of light.

My latest plan lay smoldering around me.  No papers to go through…no walls to paint…no drawers or closets to empty.  Instead smoke rose from the black, sodden mess that had been my bedroom as a child and mom's room after dad died.  Now the discussion would be with fire investigators and insurance reps.  It crossed my mind that my mom, a very private person who would not appreciate anyone fussing around in her belongings, may have once again had the final word. 

Mom always worried that I worked too hard, that she demanded too much of my time, and that she was a burden.  Even tho I knew none of that was true, she never would have wanted to put on my shoulders the sad duty of clearing away the remnants of the sixty plus years of life she spent in this house with my dad.  Now the work was done, and everything she would have wanted left untouched was gone.

The wheels of the insurance industry are slowly turning; there will soon be a time when we decide what our next course of action will be with mom’s house.   I refuse to think about it constantly, I refuse to give in to grief….and I refuse to call our next step, whatever it might be, “a plan”.

                                                                     Life is Good  

   

 

       

Welcome Autumn

One afternoon last week I sat in the green porch swing, peeling and slicing pears that my husband had collected from his brother’s orchard.  Their sweet, spicy smell filled the air as the juicy fruit plopped into the large mixing bowl in my lap.  The last few days of summer promised to be sunny, and warm, and brief.

A big, fat bee buzzed around the box of pears as I slowly pushed the swing back and forth.  It was a delightfully quiet moment; my mind drifted back to projects like this, watching my Grandmother on hot summer days in Kentucky.  At this time of year her kitchen counters were filled with canning jars of green beans, jelly, green tomato relish and beets.  Conversation revolved around how many ‘quarts’ she had managed to wring from the baskets of produce.  Telephone lines buzzed with women just like her who discussed how pretty their cans were; their own self-worth somehow wrapped up in the amount of food they put in the root cellar for the coming winter.  My contribution as a child to such work was minimal, but my memory of those days proves I was paying more attention than even I knew. 

The pears, now peeled and sliced and sugared, filled four containers for the freezer.  A taste of summer in a cobbler or pie or muffin will be welcome as the soon-to-come cold winter marches through our landscape.  My little project left me with a feeling of accomplishment. There is satisfaction in completing a task, so often in life it seems nothing is ever really finished.

Back in the porch swing I looked out over the green back yard, watching blue jays gather at the base of my blue bottle tree.  Does the sun glinting on the color of their own feathers attract them?  I wonder….

Sitting there, I poured tea from a bottle over a glass of ice.  The level of the tea rose slowly, covering the ice and approaching the rim of the glass.  Slowly, deliberately, I filled it until the level in the glass reached the level of the quiet feeling I enjoyed.

It occurs to me that contentment does not come in a quick-filling rush, but the slow and quiet trickle that happens over the years.  The fall is a lovely time of year, and a lovely time of life.   My glass is full.

 

Three Little Words

                                                           

                                                             



                                                           

There are three words that, when used together, change everything.   If you think you know which three they are you’d be wrong.   It’s not “I love you”….although those certainly are life changing words.  It isn’t the cheery “please come again” cashiers chirp as you exit a store.   It’s not even the three words that strike fear in every heart, “some assembly required”.  These three words are the real game changers…they are ”the last time”.

The last time is a phrase that carries varying degrees of distress with it.  “The last time I saw my car keys”….uh-oh.  “When was the last time you made a payment?…..hmmm. “I remember the last time your mother stayed for a week”…..oh, yeah.  String them together and these words cause us to turn around and look back.  It's a sneaky phrase, and the worst part is that you often don’t know it’s the last time when it’s in progress.

 

For me 2014 has seen the loss of some very dear and very long time friends.  A couple of the losses were shocking…a couple expected….none was welcome.   As we confront the finality of death we are also left to deal with “the last time”. 

The last time I saw my friend Linda was last February. Larry and I were returning from spending a month in Florida and, just as we had the year before, we stopped in to visit on our way through her town.  We spent a couple of hours together, laughing and remembering old times.  I shared with her my most vivid memory of her when we were young.  I imagine we might have been twelve or thirteen, gathered around one of the many bon fires I was lucky enough to enjoy in her back yard.  We toasted marshmallows on long, sharpened sticks and she sang a Beetles song, “Give me Money” as the fires light played across our faces.  She smiled at the memory, surprised I even remembered those bon fires on the long ago fall evenings.  As I hugged her goodbye I didn’t realize it was for the last time.

My friend Chris and I met two others for dinner once a month to catch up on what was going on in each of our lives.   We grew up together in the old neighborhood, went to school together and stayed in touch for more years than I like to admit.  At dinner she talked about her coming trip to Arizona, it would be a welcome break from the frigid Ohio winter, and we would all catch up with one another in the spring.  We all hugged and raced off into the cold winter evening. It was the last time I ever saw her…if only I had known I’d have taken more time, soaked up more memories.

Going through my Face Book friends list the other evening I realized there several who are now gone.  People with whom I’ve worked over the years…high school classmates…close friends and relatives…gone.  With each one I had a “last time” encounter, even if it was an instant message.  Not even once did I recognize it might be the very last time I saw or connected with this person.

Thirteen years ago today approximately three thousand Americans did not know it would be the last time they saw their family or loved ones.  As those people poured into the towers for what seemed like just another work day, they had no idea their names would go down in history as one of the victims of a heinous act of terrorism.   The scenes of those planes striking the buildings, of people fleeing for their lives as brave police and firemen running toward the chaos, will be with me the rest of my life.  If we learned anything at all from the tragedy it might just be to always be mindful of “the last time”

.

Pray for our country, hold your loved ones close, and celebrate your friendships so that when “the last time” comes you will have left nothing unsaid.

                                                        Remember 9/11/200l   

   

Arm Chair Traveler

Like most people I believe we are living in a world that is experiencing a technology glut.  Too many devices and way too much software to learn about.  Knowing the down side doesn’t keep us from enjoying the upside, however.  Here’s one of the websites I visit often…..

EarthCam.com is dedicated to the voyeur in all of us.  It was founded in 1996 in Hackensack, New Jersey.  Over the years it has expanded by leaps and bounds, a window to the world for anyone with a computer. 

Some years ago I had a device that would scan web cam sites, giving me a ten minute view of any place I chose as long as it was in the system.

The sites from which to choose were fewer in those days, but every morning I would have my coffee as I checked in on Loch Ness in the Scottish Highlands, then the picture might be from atop the Eiffel Tower, the Brooklyn Bridge or the Hollywood sign looking out over the valley. I could travel the world daily without ever putting my coffee cup down!

Today the EarthCam offerings have grown to include hundreds of sites.  Locations range from a Las Vegas wedding chapel shown in real time to a botanical garden in Ferrara, Italy. 

 The Statue of Liberty torch cam

provides a look at all the cameras originating their feeds from the statue. 


In Keystone South Dakota, the cameras are always aimed at Mt. Rushmore, providing us a close up view of the sixty foot high faces of four of our most famous presidents.  It’s no effort at all to find web cams in dozens of countries and, very likely, in places you’ve always wanted to visit.  It’s the next best thing to being there.

 

Several years ago my husband and I were planning a trip to Niagara Falls.  He found a web cam located on the Minolta Towers building, and asked for a room close to the camera's location because the view of the falls was so beautiful.  We ended up in the perfect room to look down on the falls because of that camera.

Some sites are live, some update every few minutes.  You can entertain yourself by watching the action on Bourbon Street, or the inaction of an anonymous home owner’s cat door.   Sometimes I check in to see the conditions on my favorite beach, the white sands of Panama City Beach, Florida.   The site is as eclectic and off beat as the Internet itself.

If you’ve always wanted to see the Aurora Borealis you might want to visit Porjus.eu, or visit Porjus Northern Lights Apartments on Facebook.   Every year my husband goes to Canada fishing, and he’s always told me how fantastic the northern lights are.   I’ve seen them, too, without ever having to bait a hook.   The cameras for Porjus are located in Lapland, Sweden.

Whenever you want to ‘get your British on’ all you need to do is check out Abbyroad.com for 24 hour, real time audio and video of the Abbey Road crossing.  This is the street where the Beatles shot the iconic picture used for their 1969 album cover; the web cam service is provided by Abby Road Recording Studios.

The Internet of chocked full of interesting time wasters, and this is just one of them.  The earth cams are something that I enjoy, but you do need to pay attention when you’re searching these sites.   Some of the things I’ve accidentally stumbled upon would make a world traveling sailor blush.

The Internet has taken us from “Calgon take me away” to “Internet take me anywhere I want to go”.   It’s a great way to travel with absolutely no unpacking…..

                                                                         

                                                          Life is Good  

Spare the Rod

Proverbs 13:24:    He that spareth his rod hateth his son:  but he that loveth him chasteneth him betimes.

Having been editor of Heart of Ohio and Pairings Magazines for the last five years I’ve gotten to meet some really interesting people.  Even before Heart I’ve always been fortunate enough to have a job that brought into contact with motivated, talented and sometimes off-beat people…but the magazine contacts have added another dimension that I’ve embraced and enjoyed.

A few weeks ago I conducted an interview with a young man whose religion and lifestyle are totally different from my own.  I came away from our conversation with an enhanced respect and a little better understanding about what it means to be Amish.

Like most people I’ve always been curious about the families I see getting in and out of vans at stores in our area, or those guiding clip-clopping buggies along route 13 as Larry and I head to the lake.  I was honored this man consented to speak with me, and amazed to find him so candid and friendly. 

If you read the upcoming September/October issue of Heart of Ohio Magazine you’ll find my interview and story.  What you won’t find in those pages is this story he shared with me as we sat talking about many things.

As conversations with adults often do, ours drifted to family and raising children.   I asked about Amish teens, and he smiled as we talked about the challenges they present in every culture.   In today’s world where “time out” is the socially acceptable form of punishment I asked if he believed in spanking.  I still believe corporal punishment is warranted in some cases….he agreed with me and told me this story:

 “When I was a boy I had done something totally out of character and definitely something that required punishment.  My Mother, never one to react in anger, said we would discuss this later.  I waited all day, and finally she took me aside for our discussion.  We had a stirring stick she used as a paddle, and she had that with her.  I knew what that meant, and I said, ‘Don’t bother telling me this is going to hurt you more than me, cause it isn’t’.  My Mother looked at me and said, ‘you really don’t know what it means to discipline someone you love, do you?’  With that she gave me the small paddle and said, ‘I will let you discipline me.  I want you to hit me with this, and I know how hard I paddle you, so don’t hold back.’  For a moment I thought I’d lucked out! I took the small paddle, and then I looked at my Mother.  ‘Go ahead, son…’  I couldn’t do it.  I could not strike my Mother.  That was when I understood that disciplining your child is painful and hard, but necessary to the growth of the child.  I’ve never forgotten that.”

His eyes misted as he told me the story.  I was touched as he went on to explain his belief that it is never right to discipline a child out of anger, and how carefully a disciplinary decision must be made.  I shared with him how many times I was forced to go back and apologize to my own children because I had reacted out of anger and/or exhaustion. Patience has never been my strong suit, parenting did nothing to improve that trait.  The young man smiled as he said, “Every parent worth their salt has had to do that.”

If I could go back in time and do it all over again (how many times has that sentence gone through your head?) I would do things differently.  I would try harder to remember that parenting isn’t something allotted to the short amount of time left after a full time job, cooking, dishes, laundry and the myriad of other things that absorb the daylight hours.  I would make the most of ‘bath time-story time-bed time-can I have a glass of water time’ every night.  I would know enough to constantly remind myself how quickly these days will be gone, and I would try to be as good a parent as I think my own children are to my grandchildren.  Hind sight being what it is, I’d have more to work with…remember I was raising children without the benefit of the Dr. Phil show.

The one thing I would not change is the occasional fanny warming.  I believe that children need to have consistent boundaries, they need to know what those boundaries are, and they need to know there will be consequences if they cross them.  I am not condoning physical violence, and I don’t support the people who pummel their children in the grocery aisles or knock them around when they get home.  That isn't discipline, that's abuse.  However, I think there is a time and place for corporal punishment.

Think of a youngsters fanny as a physical "reset button" if you will.  A willful four year old who is intent on breaking the television remote with a coffee mug is told to stop.  Looking at her mother defiantly she says, "no!"., and continues to flail the coffee mug.  A time out is surely in order...but on the way to the designated time out area a smack on the rear end pushes the reset button.  The child is no longer thinking about how determined she is to destroy the remote.  Her concentration has been directed to her derriere and the possibility that there may just be another fanny smack where that one came from. The child knows Mom is fully engaged, paying attention, and not willing to put up with any more of her nonsense....reset!  Not exactly a Dr. Benjamin Spock moment, but his son didn't like him anyway.

What the young Amish man’s story said to me was this:  Here is a man who was raised to honor and obey his parents.  He says he never struck in anger, but disciplined in love.  Years later he tells this story and what it taught him about raising his own children in a voice that rings with the highest regard for his parents.

I know my thinking may be considered old fashioned, and it’s certainly not the popular opinion of today…but look around you at the “time out” generation and explain to me how raising a child that fears nothing and no one has advanced our families or our country. 

I believe today’s adage should be “spare the rod and someday you may need a bigger weapon to defend yourself”.

                                                               Life is Good

If it Ain't Broke....

This past weekend I made a happy discovery as I was cleaning out a cabinet in the spare bedroom.  I discovered an unopened container of body butter, a kind I’d used for a number of years.  Somehow it had been pushed to the back of the cabinet and I had forgotten about it.  After happily showering and slathering it all over myself I went to the Internet to find out how much it costs these days.  Surprise, surprise….they don’t make it any more.

I grew up in the days when there was a thing called ‘brand loyalty’.   Everyone and his brother didn’t make a knock-off version of each product, so if you used Noxzema, you used Noxzema.  Every time you went to the drug store shelf that chunky blue jar would be waiting for you.   It always looked the same….it always smelled the same….and it was in the same doggoned place you expected it to be.   We all knew Noxzema cured acne, stopped itching, soothed sunburn and healed dishpan hands.  It was nothing short of a mentholated miracle, but recently I was disappointed to discover it doesn’t smell the same!  I want to go on record as saying I do not want new and improved...I want old and relateable!

I remember a huge jar of Ponds Cold Cream on the cabinet in my grandmother’s bathroom.  She used it to clean her skin, soften her hands and, my bet would be, it likely eased the squeaks on a few door hinges.  It just seemed to be good for everything. I still recall how silky and cold it always felt, even on the hottest summer days.  Every now and then I would quietly close and lock the bathroom door and twist open the jar to inhale the creamy scent, poking a finger into the gooey stuff.

These things ran through my mind as I researched  the newly discovered jar of my old favorite skin cream on line.   Why don’t things stick around anymore?  In this ‘hurry up and change’ world we live in I think we’ve all come to terms with the fact that it doesn’t pay to get attached to anything.   Find a bra you really like and I guarantee it won’t be there next time you shop your favorite lingerie department.  Victoria’s real “secret” is the invisible expiration date on everything produced for consumers these days.  Why don’t they just stamp “this item will not be available after 00/00/00”?  At least it would give us a chance to warehouse some quantity of a favorite hair spray or skin cream or under garment for future use. 

 

It seems to me that companies spend more on advertising than on production. ‘Our product may not be good enough for the long haul, but if it’s promoted well we can make a profit and get on to the next big advertising campaign before they wise up to us’, seems to be the mantra of big companies these days.  I blame a lot of that mentality on the fact that competition is around every corner.  Make a good product and in six weeks you’ll see a knock off on the pharmacy shelf just below yours at three dollars less.  Wait three months and there will be an end display of “As Seen on TV” products that mimic yours for $9.95.  Finally, another version of your product shows up on a late night television infomercial selling as a ‘buy one get one free, just pay separate shipping and handling’ offer.  It has to be frustrating.

I guess it’s just the way this world works today, but I still miss the simpler times when Ponds Cold Cream, in an un-researched, generic black and white jar, sat atop my grandmother’s dresser.  The world seemed simpler and ever so much more predictable.   Embracing the slogan “nothing is constant but change”, I guess I will just have to stock up next time I find a skin cream I really like.   The trick is to ferret away just enough stuff.  If I multiply the number of bottles (or jars) of skin cream by the number of ‘leg shaving’ years I have left….then divide that by the total days of sunshine predicted for the next ten years I might come up with a workable number. 

That’s my own new and improved formula……..

                                                             Life is Good