Even with all our blessings are we thankful? Not hardly! We complain about the economy. We fault our leaders (the same leaders that we have had the freedom to elect). We hate our jobs. And we are jealous of others who have more than we have.
We are spoiled. We’re used to the good life and we don’t want to make any sacrifices to our expectations. We don’t want to buckle down and put a little energy into making small adjustments in our lives. After all, why should we have to do this!? It’s everybody else’s fault that there are less natural resources. Our only role is to be a consumer. This is what we’ve have always done and this is what we want to continue to do!
I know…I know. I, too, complain when I have to pay more than $80 to fill up my gas tank. This, to me, is a fortune. (Of course, I think nothing of spending more than $6 a day for a pack of cigarettes!) I have, however, found a solution for my mental and physical health. I now fill up my tank when it is half empty. (I can mentally handle $40-plus better than double that amount!) And I have cut my smoking to half a pack a day. Most important, I have learned to start and end each day with a short prayer of thanksgiving. These efforts have made me feel quite okay living in the USA! Try utilizing your own “recovery” plan. Your smile just might get a little wider!
The arrival of summer—finally—has resulted in the grounds around my home being awash in tiger lilies, a favorite flower since childhood. The orange smatterings have not only brightened my gardens, but my outlook. (How can you feel bad with such glorious splendor?) The opening of these flowers’ petals has reminded of a time so long ago.
With the somewhat-limited budget of a just-out-of-college and newly-employed professional, I liked to entertain…a lot. And I liked to do it in splendor. My means certainly didn’t justify the end that I liked to accomplish: wonderful food and beverages and beautiful table arrangements with magnificent floral centerpieces. But I managed. (My credit card statements at that time indicated just how I accomplished my festive and popular dinner parties.)
Driving past a large and lovely field of tiger lilies at a public park gave me an idea. The park wouldn’t miss a handful of flowers, which would make a perfect centerpiece. I solicited my sister for a night-time escapade to the park to retrieve (a better word than “steal”) the blossoms.
The night before my dinner party with nerves and anxiety at top peak, we accomplished our mission. I brought home the booty to discover not glorious flowers, but closed-up elongated globs on green stems. That’s okay, I thought I’ll put them in water and they’ll open up by tomorrow night’s festivities.
Didn’t happen! The buds remained closed throughout my dinner party—which was a complete flop because everybody got so drunk that the meal went unappreciated!
I thought the closed buds were God’s penalty for stealing and vowed at the time to travel only the right road. No more short cuts! I have since learned that tiger lilies are in the day lily family and that there is a reason that flowers of this species are called “day” lilies! Luckily, however, I learned a lesson from my failed centerpiece (and party) so very long ago: If I don’t have the money to do things right, I don’t do them! Also, I make sure that I get outside every day—before sunset—to enjoy the tiger lilies!
Yesterday when I was waiting in line to check out with the cashier at a drug store, a “lady” came and stood next to me. When it was my turn to move up to the cashier, she rushed in front of me leaving me in her dust. Amazement and anger turned to inspiration.
“Thank you for taking my turn and giving me some extra time in line,” I said to her in a gentle voice and with a smile on my face. She turned to look at me and said in a nasty voice, “It was my turn!”
Her words didn’t dissuade me. “Now I have time to pray for you,” I said. She mumbled something under her breath while I said a prayer for her…then one for myself. I also had time to thank God for the wisdom that he had bestowed on me in this incident. Peace filled me…and then I checked out. I had won!
On those days when my outfit ranges from “less-than-pleasing” to “just-plain-ghastly” I always run into someone I know. Even worse, that someone is usually the most fashionably dressed individual in my community. My first instinct is to run and hide. But alas! Mister or Miss Perfectly Dressed spots me immediately. Maybe it is because my pink pajama bottoms and blue clunker boots are the only thing visible under my faux leopard coat. Or they might be attracted by my “headful” of pink and blue giant hair rollers—I need the rollers to tame my very curly and very frizzy hair. Or it could be my lack of makeup—a no-no for a 60-something woman—combined with my royal blue sweats that were a perfect look for scrubbing toilets, but definitely not suitable for a quick trip to the supermarket for some more bleach!
Now I am working hard to achieve a well-put-together-look whenever I walk out my door. I’m doing this to assure that I’m never uncomfortable about the way I look when I have a chance meeting with someone who always takes great effort to personify the word “perfection”…at least in their public appearance. This, however, isn’t the only reason for my efforts to improve my public appearance.
What if I were kidnapped on one of my I-don’t-care-how-I-look-days? Imagine what the news reports would say? “…last seen wearing green plaid trousers, a purple and pink sweater, a yellow trench coat and blue and white athletic shoes.” Talk about embarrassment! My husband would probably deny that he knew me, much less get together the ransom money!
My daughter, Libby, and her husband, Brian, are making me a grandma for the second time. The baby (sex?) is due in early November. Because Libby has had a couple of miscarriages, the couple wanted to hold off on the news until the first trimester had passed. It has and the baby’s heartbeat is strong and everything, according to the doctor, looks good!
Now this 63-year-old grandma needs to get her other two kids married so the grandchildren ranks grow even larger! (There is a disadvantage in getting married later in life. I was one month shy of my 33rd. birthday!)
Anyway, I’ll take what I can, and a second grandbaby is a joyous gift! (Now you know the secret, too!)
An advertising “trick” led me to my most recent bump in the road on my optimistic travels. On one exceptionally busy day—the kind with numerous stops on my driving itinerary—hunger struck me. I needed something to eat and with little time available, I needed to make a fast-food run to a drive-through. Ahhh! I decided to try one of those KFC (as in chicken) “snacker” things that are advertised so generously on TV. They are only a buck each—what a deal—and look large and delicious on the screen. (It takes the actor two hands to hold this food offering!) I ordered one with a beverage and drove out the drive-through salivating as the smell of the chicken hit my nostrils.
Now I know that a “snack” is just that: a snack and not a meal! The word “snacker” should have been a hint! But…it took the actor two hands to hold this menu item! It must be big! Or so I thought.
The one thing that this experience taught me is to look more closely at things, including TV commercials. There’s a new one airing for a chicken wrap offered by another fast-food establishment. Ahhh! All the actors are holding their wraps with two hands! Who does that?!
Now I know the answer! Two-handed holds are used by advertisers to trick consumers into thinking that something is bigger than it is. I won’t be tricked again!
I read recipes, but I often don’t follow the steps as written. A recent example was a couple of loaves of sweet bread. Instead of doing step one…then step two…then step three, I put in the required ingredients as I took them out of the cupboard. Or so I thought. I mixed up the bread; poured it into the greased loaf pans and just as I was about to put the two loaves into the oven I realized that I had forgotten to add the three eggs (step one). The reason: the eggs were in the refrigerator; all the other ingredients were in the cupboards.
Another mistake I make in cooking, and something I did when baking these loaves of bread, is to prematurely remove the food from the oven or stove top when I think the food is done. Forget what the recipe says! If something looks done, it must be done! Just because this bread recipe says to bake at 350 degrees for one hour, I knew they were done at 50 minutes. Sure I could have put a toothpick into the center, but who can find the toothpicks in my less-than-organized kitchen? So out came the bread and the first slice revealed a mushy, gooey center. So what did I do? You guessed it! I returned the loaves to the pans and put them back in the oven. (I’ve done this many times before.) The loaves came out 15 minutes later burned. Like many of my other baking attempts over the years, the two loaves ended up feeding the garbage disposal.
Under baking and under cooking is just one problem. I am also an expert at over cooking and over baking. If something doesn’t look done to me, I keep cooking or baking. Again, forget what the recipe says!
Needless to say I must have been daydreaming or sick during my home ec class in high school when cooking and baking were covered. Or I must have thought that I would never need these skills because I would be so rich that I would have my very own chef toiling away in the kitchen when I grew up.
There have been some advantages to my kitchen disasters. My children learned to cook and bake at very early ages—Now let’s see…were they in preschool?—and I husband willingly picked up takeout (still does) many times a week. Also, for friend and family celebrations, my assignment is to just bring the rolls (store bought, of course). Maybe it’s good at times to never learn how to do something well!
My husband promises to do this or that. He doesn’t. When I remind him that he promised, he’ll promise again and even give me a target date for fulfilling his promise. And, guess what! He again misses living up to his promise. This has been going on for more than 30 years and I should be used to it, but I’m not. To me a promise is a promise.
Friends and family members make promises that they never keep. To them, their promises are just words that they think I want to hear so they say them. I’ll give them the benefit of a doubt. I believe that they plan to keep their promises when they make them, but, most times, if keeping the promise is inconvenient or just lip service, the promise goes unfulfilled.
I’ve tried to instill this attribute into my children and, for the most part, they have lived up to their promises. They, however, have joined the masses at times in reducing “promise” to a word and not a positive action. Because of this, I try to reinforce another principle that I firmly believe in: think before you speak!
No one, me included, would be that upset if a person is honest and says they can’t make a certain promise. Sure…initially I’m disappointed, but, in the end, I appreciate that I shouldn’t plan on that person doing or giving me something. I can move on without waiting for a “promise” to be fulfilled.
The second definition of “promise” moves this word and the person who makes and keeps a promise up to a new level. It is “indication of future excellence or achievement.” It means that a person has promise. To me, if a person makes a promise and keeps it, they truly are “excellent” in my eyes.
I’ll continue to make and keep promises. This is important to me. And maybe, just maybe, keeping promises will become important to those around me. If so, they, like me, will discover to true meaning of the word “promise” and the joy and satisfaction that comes when actions back up the word. It’s a great way to live!
When my kids were young and “just knew” that this or that was going to come true, I pulled out the “count your chicken” adage. But, like me, they choose to ignore the good advice behind the words. Many times, they, too, were sadly disappointed.
Now that I am all grown up and know how the world works I try to refrain from expecting anything until it does, in fact, become a reality. A recent example: I went to dinner with friends to a restaurant that had high reviews. I ordered the specialty dish, which the menu had given a five-star rating. It was expensive, but, I was sure, it was well worth the hefty price. My mind and taste buds worked overtime waiting for my food to arrive. I was about to have the best meal that I have had in a very long time. Finally it arrived. The presentation was everything that I had hoped. I savored the smell as I picked up my fork for a truly great culinary experience. The first bite told me that although it was good, it wasn’t that good. I’m not known for my cooking skills, but I know I could have done equally well preparing this dish. I was so disappointed and my wallet was depleted!
]]> This is just a minor example of why I should wait before I become “too sure” about things. There have been many times when I’ve planned my life around things that never came to fruition. I once turned down a great job because I was sure that I would get an even better one. Bad move! In high school, I said “no” to a prom invitation because I was sure that some other guy was going to ask me. Bad move! I decorated the nursery for a girl before my first child was born. Bad move! (Andy, my son, still looked cute in the lace-laden, pink, yellow and blue pastel room!)I have made a lot of “bad moves” by not adhering to the wisdom offered in this adage. So now I try to count my chickens after they hatch and not before…well, at least some times I do!
When I was in my 20s and dating a guy named Bill, I thought I was in love. He was great looking, intelligent and treated me very well. There were, however, lots of negatives. He was secretive and unable to share his true thoughts and feelings with me. And, if the truth be told, he was quite boring. But alas! He was really great looking, had a good paying job, drove a red Mustang convertible, dressed well and took me to really nice places. Who wouldn’t want a man like this? I thought I did…especially one night after a really good date with him. I was getting ready for bed and my radio was playing in the background. Just as I was turning the light off a song I had never heard before came over the radio. A woman singer was belting out “Bill, I love him so and I always will…” A “sign,” for sure? I was meant to be in love with Bill! Forget my misgivings, Bill was the one!
More men and more “signs” passed through my life…until I met the man that I would marry. There were no “signs” in this relationship…just a caring, wonderful man.
I have used “signs” for other choices besides romance. Twice it was a “sign” that made my decision on buying/leasing a car.
The first time, again in my 20s, was when I was happily driving a red VW bug convertible. I loved this car. It had been my dream come true. My roommate, however, had another idea on what I should be driving. Her father was a car salesman, selling Fords. He needed sales and my roommate started working on me to buy a new car from her father. She brought home brochures for the new Maverick. A sporty looking car, it offered a wealth of colors and “oh my God” stripped upholstery on the seats, including an orange strip. Orange was my favorite color at the time. This was a sign! A new car it was. The very day I turned in my bug for my new car, I cried. I knew I had made a mistake. Forty years later I still miss my VW bug convertible!
A few years ago, after years of driving a minivan, my children convinced me that I needed to move up to a SUV, a Dodge Durango. From the moment they suggested this SUV that’s all I saw on the road. Everywhere I looked a Durango was driving by. What a clear sign that was! A Durango it was! Big mistake! Not only was this car (truck) uncomfortable, but it was a gas hog. And, of course, gas prices began to rise the very day I picked up my new vehicle. For the two years I had the SUV, I could hardly wait for the lease to be over. As soon as it was, I happily returned to my better-mileage, more comfortable minivan.
Now it’s no more “signs” for me…well, maybe there are still some signs in my life, but they are only one factor in making decisions. I also use my brain, as well as advice from knowledgeable people.
My best friend Marilyn—we’ve been friends for 40 years—made “signs” very clear to me. One day when we were driving somewhere in her car, she stopped and lingered at a “Stop” sign. She pointed to the sign and said “Now there’s a true sign!” She then reminded me to stop looking for “signs” that weren’t there. I didn’t need a sign to tell me what a really good friend I have!
My children are now all adults and although I am still treated to some precious moments with them, I wish I had more fully enjoyed each stage in their lives. I wish I had picked them up more and hugged them more. I wish I had lingered longer in their bedrooms when I put them to bed instead of rushing out to fold the laundry or clean the house or pick up my knitting needles. I wish I had volunteered more at school instead of passing these opportunities off to others. I wish that I hadn’t impatiently rushed them through their stories about school or friends or whatever nonsense they were talking about. I wish I had taken less of “my own time” and had had more time with them.
I recently discovered a great book for young mothers: “Let Me Hold You Longer” by Karen Kingsbury. (You can get it through Amazon.) It’s a great reminder for too-busy mothers of what’s really important. Too bad I didn’t have such a book 20 years or so ago. If I had, maybe I would have been a lot smarter mother!
I’m the type of person who will share anything and everything with others. I am what is known as “an open book.” Ask me about my husband and I’ll tell you what you want to know. Ask about my children and you’ll get the whole story. (Luckily, my husband and children are such exceptionally good individuals and most people don’t want to hear all the good stuff!) Ask about me and well…how much time do you have?
Carrying around a secret someone has shared with me is a great responsibility. If it’s a good secret, I really want to share it. If it’s a secret about something that leads to others making a wrong judgment about someone, I’m tempted to set the record straight. In either case, I’m cooked because I promised to keep my mouth shut.
Now I know that everyone needs a good friend or family member with whom they feel free to share anything. But why does it have to always be me? At any given time, I’m loaded with secrets! I can’t tell those I love to keep these things, these secrets, away from me. What kind of friend would I be?
I’ve been keeping secrets for decades and I guess I’ll be doing this for years to come. Just don’t give me a funny look if you see me with my hand or a piece of tape across my mouth. It might be my way of controlling my diet, or it just might be that I am carrying still another secret!
Soon after my husband and I were married, we discovered that getting pregnant and having children might not be possible. When we heard this devastating news we began a nightly ritual, on our knees, praying to God for a child. We also began weekly visits to a fertility specialist and a regime of tests and procedures. The combination of God and medicine worked. We were blessed first with a son and then a daughter. Our family was complete. We had a boy; we had a girl. We had everything we had hoped for…or so we thought.
Having two small children—they are 18 months apart in age—was sometimes overwhelming for an “older” mom and dad. Our energy was challenged, but our joy never was.
Nine months later, our gift from God—this time without medical intervention—arrived and life has been one exciting adventure after another. From almost the very beginning, Emily has been the sunshine (and, at times, the thunderstorms) in our home. She’s the type of being who adds electricity to the air the moment she steps into the room. And she has certainly played the “baby in the family” role to a tee. She gets attention when she wants it…she gets things that she wants when she wants them…she has even earned the “brat” label at times…but she also much more!
Emily is a loving person who adores her brother and sister. They, too, adore her. She is loyal beyond reproach and will defend family and friends and all things right. For more than 20 years she has left love notes on my pillow when she knows I am having a bad day. She always offers to help me clean and cook when I am entertaining and is the first to help with household chores. She is, like her sister and brother, a dutiful child.
God knew what he was doing on March 3, 1983. With a twinkle in his eye and a smile on his face, he gave us and the world Emily. Happy Birthday, my dear baby!
I love to knit. It’s a relaxing hobby that brings me joy. Since I’ve been a knitter for years, I’ve tried many different projects and because of this, family and friends have been treated to many of my hand-knitted creations.
A few years ago, my favorite hand-knitted gifts for new moms and new grandmothers were cute little caps for the new arrivals. I made pumpkin caps, strawberry caps, blackberry caps, watermelons caps. I also make flower caps for spring and caps with Christmas and winter themes. I knitted and gave many caps.
I enjoyed making them and giving these caps. The receivers were thrilled with them, so much so that many suggested that I make them to sell. Although I knew better—I don’t like to turn a hobby into a business—I decided to do this. I even went as far as finding a children’s boutique willing to sell my caps. (It would pay me $20 for each cap it sold and it would retail it for double this price.) This sounded great to me and I began to plan how I was going to spend all the money I was going to make.
Finally, with a collection of 50 caps—that’s $1,000 worth—I delivered my product to the boutique and waited to become rich. I avoided working on personal knitting projects because the thought of picking up knitting needles was the furthest thing on my mind. This saddened me because normally I love to knit. But, I reminded myself, the money would be worth all the exhausting effort and my diminished desire to knit.
Three months later the store had sold seven caps. That’s $140 for me. Six months later my sales had increased to 11 caps. A few more caps a few months later and the grand total of my effort was less than $300. The children’s boutique then requested that I pick up the unsold stock of caps. (I still have a wealth of hats for gifts!)
Six months ago I got into making felted knitted purses for gifts. (Luckily, my love of knitting returned a few months after I completed all the caps.) The recipients of my felted purses raved about these creations and encouraged me to sell them. My good judgment was again cast aside.
For the second time in my life I spent many hours a day, day after day and week after week knitting with the dream of making big money. Again, my effort was for naught.
I’m done with knitting…or sewing…or doing any of my other hobbies for money. I enjoy them too much to “cheapen” them. And speaking of “cheap,” my cap and purse ventures were no-win propositions from the beginning. If I had taken into consideration the price of yarn and other materials and my time, even if I got the price I wanted for these original creations, my hourly rate was less than $3 an hour! What was I thinking?
]]>
A young (in her early 40s) friend’s diabetes has forced her to have both a kidney and pancreas transplants. Following these major surgeries, her vision began failing. Now she is blind.
I met this person and we became friends more than 10 years ago when she was a vibrant and successful businesswoman. Attractive, single and with a great sense of humor, it was easy to like her. Besides, I thought, it’s good having younger friends—I’m 20 years her senior. Now I’ll have someone to take me to my doctor appointments when I get old! (This was just a passing thought and definitely not the reason for my friendship with her. She was and is a wonderful person!)
So I do what is needed begrudgingly. My friend is super appreciative and always offers money for gas. I, however, am one busy lady. It’s hard to work around her needs…but I do. I rearrange my schedule. I’m angry every time she calls for still another need of my time.
Others, especially my family members, who try to help me with all of these driving needs, say I’m heaven-bound because of my “good works.” (In addition to my blind friend’s demand on my time, I take my 85-year-old neighbor to doctor, beauty shop and other appointments.) But forget heaven, I want it to be a little easier on earth!
My blind friend and elderly neighbor have both tried the limited services offered by community organizations, but these attempts haven’t been too successful so my taxi service continues. Now I just want to feel good about what I’m doing and this is where I’m having a problem. I’m working on this “joy thing,” but so far I haven’t been too successful. After all, wasn’t I promised a rose garden?