31 Days

It’s 10:48 PM on January 31, 2010.  Tomorrow we will all rip off the January page of our calendars and reveal a new set of days to be filled in with events, appointments and new memories and we will call it February. As I look back over the last thirty-one days, so much has happened.  I thought I’d share what was on my calendar before I toss it into the trash and it becomes but a passing thought. Here are a few of the things that filled the little boxes on my January page:

took down Christmas decorations

watched three RedBox movies

watched seven cub scouts make monster cookies

help sand a pinewood derby car

made dinner twenty-six times

played cheerleader at eight basketball games

sung hymns

worked-out sixteen times

read two books and eleven magazines

balanced the checkbook

folded forty-eight towels

had tea and homemade pumpkin muffins with my girlfriend

played sparkle with amazing fifth graders

took two naps

watched my little guy swim

started this blog

visited King Soopers six times

attended a cub-scout pack meeting

told the story of pandora’s jar to twenty-seven third graders

watched the boys ice skate

ordered pizza twice

made a world record scrapbook

prayed

made rice-krispie treats

drove 531 miles

made beds thirty times

ate lunch with my girlfriend

talked about baby names with my book club ladies

wrote about my thoughts and ideas

slept in twice

had a sleepover at my parent’s house

connected with old friends

visited the orthodontist’s office

watched the construction of a catapult

With three less days in the next month, how will we ever fit it all in?  I know my time management skills will pay off and that somehow I will find a way to make it work.  I can do it!  Here’s to a wonderful new page on your 2010 calendar.  Make each day count. 

Great Grandma Josie

My Great Grandmother, Annie Maria Josephine Ecklund Anderson, or Grandma Josie to us, never sent a text in her life. She was born in 1892 and didn’t watch American Idol, or check her e-mail three times a day.  Nor did she Skype her family thousands of miles away, and I am most certain she never did a Google search for an apple pie recipe. What would she think of our lives and our lifestyles of speed and instantaneously satisfying our every need right then and there?  Would she think all of this was good?

I have to admit; I have sent a text, watched AI (as it’s called by its followers), checked my e-mail four times during a day, Skyped my family and friends, and most certainly have searched Google for an apple pie recipe.  Does this make my life less meaningful? Does all this technology disconnect me, at some deeper level, from family and friends?  That’s a tough question.  There are days I would say I am extremely bothered by all of the texting, emailing, etc., and then there are days that I’m so grateful for having access to it.

In the perfect world, I think combining the eras would be ideal, at least for me.  I would love to have regular meals with my neighbors and friends and catch up on the weeks’ events because that’s just what you do.  I know I would enjoy cleaning out the barn on a Saturday together as a family and then having homemade ice cream that we all took turns cranking, then coming inside to Skype with family about their busy day and actually see their smiling faces.  We could then e-mail pictures of the new kitten we found alongside the road to family after a day of fishing in the creek (a mile away - that we walked to). 

I think it’s the extremes that we question. Some make us want to be completely unplugged and others make us feel grateful for advancement in the world of all things techy.  Like many of you, I don’t like hearing a phone ring while I’m out to dinner with family, and often feel disconnected from people when they are carrying on a conversation with you while checking their e-mails on their phones.  And, I am truly happy to buy my milk at the store rather than milking the cows in the barn for hours to get it.  I also enjoy being able to drive somewhere in my car and it take ten minutes instead of planning every trip to town then having to harness the horse to the wagon when it’s snowing and eight below.

It all comes down to how you use technology and to what extreme. We all know this, but don’t always stay ever-present in that fact. I’m guilty of going overboard on a given day with my computer, but do try to take a step away and do things with family that doesn’t require a charger or the car adaptor.  I do.  We do.  We can’t lose sight of the times when life was very simple; drinking sweetened iced tea with neighbors when it’s hot out and playing cards together instead of watching TV or sending that all important e-mail before we kiss each other good night.  I don’t want to ever hear my children tell their children a story about the time their mom got a funny e-mail.  “It was a Saturday, when my mom got a long e-mail from one of her friends…”.  Never.  Ever.

Could This Be?

Does it ever seem that some days are aligned in the universe better than others?   There are days that we wake up and all is right.  Why is this?  The words that come out of our mouths are just the right ones put in the right order to be delivered on a silver platter at the right time.  Time seems to flow perfectly.  No rushing, no hurrying, as the clock ticks at the right pace and we’re able to keep up with it.  We can breathe in and out and can feel our lungs working.  The sun shines just enough to keep us warm and we can hear the air move.   Why is this?  Is it because we’re well rested or because we ate carrots the day before? Is it because we made a new friend or found a $10 bill in our coat pocket?  Or does this happen because we’re in tune to that sixth sense at that moment we arise and start the day? 

Perhaps there is a gathering of the days and only a few are chosen to be this special gift for us on a particular day in our life when we need it most.  A day when the cloudy thoughts suddenly make sense and become clear.  A day when being who we are feels right and we know what road we are on and where it just might be headed.  Should we acknowledge this gift in some special way or just receive it and enjoy its blessings?

Or maybe, every day is aligned perfectly in the universe and we either choose to see it or not and feel it’s benefits or not.  We choose. We decide to open our eyes, our hearts, and our souls and welcome that gift that is there for the taking. Perhaps that act of welcoming, brings a clarity and an awareness to us that is always there before us if we choose it.

Our hearts and minds are so complex and so simple simultaneously. Life can be easy and difficult at the same time.  But, if we’re open to new things and to this “universe” perhaps our hearts and minds work the way they were intended to work.  Then, that overflowing awareness we feel is the joy and love that makes us say the right words at the right time and we enjoy each moment as it comes and don’t try to rush it.

Could this be the mechanics of our universe working with well-oiled gears?  Could this be the stars aligning perfectly on a winter’s night?  Could this be the energy we feel from the sun reflecting off the snow?  Could this be knowledge of ourselves?  Could this be a gift?   Could this be God?

Things That Make Me Smile

Waking up after a good nights sleep.

Having my cats come into the bathroom and talk to me each morning.

Seeing a father kiss his teenage children.

Sonic commercials.

Hearing “Nights in White Satin”.

A high school band.

Baby kittens.

Happy people.

A 9 year old and a 13 year old.

Candles by the bathtub.

My husband asking me to lunch.

Looking at old pictures.

Getting a front row parking space.

Having chicken salad sandwiches with my best friend.

Talking to my parents.

Listening to my nephew babble over the phone.

Getting a hand-written letter in the mail.

Holding hands.

The thought of living by the water.

Finding a pair of jeans that fit.

Window-shopping on vacation.

Hearing that school has been canceled.

A full moon.

Crayons.

A good blonde joke.

An unexpected gift.

A slow snowfall with gigantic flakes.

Watching my children grow in every way.

Twelve new e-mails from friends.

An elderly couple laughing together.

Seeing children hug each other.

Getting my favorite magazine in the mail.

The letters A, and I

When prayers are heard.

Witnessing human kindness between strangers.

Long-awaited good news.

Making Your Move

In general, I would describe my youngest son as pretty reserved and generally quiet and low-key.  He does however, have quite a sense of humor and surfaces sometimes when you least expect it.  Yesterday was one of those times.  We were in the kitchen after school, getting homework out and he was scavenging through the snacks when he turned around and announced that one of his friends told him about three ways to put your arm around a girl. This was completely out of the blue.  (He obviously had been waiting for the right time to show us his new found skills.) This is how it went.

            MY SON:

            Method #1:  Counting Shoulders

The first way works by counting shoulders.  You have to stand with the girl on your right and say, “Hey, let’s count shoulders!”  With your right hand, you start by counting your left shoulder, then right shoulder, then her left shoulder and end with your hand on her right shoulder.  The way he counted it out made my head spin.  It was beyond funny.  “One, Two, Three, Fooooouuuur!”  He was raising his eyebrows and using very “grown up” facial expressions and quite the infliction in his voice.

Method #2:  I Caught a Fish Story

Again, the girl has to stand on your right and you begin explaining to her that you went fishing and caught a fish,  “I went fishing and caught a fish this big,” (hands show length of fish to be about 6 inches apart). “Then I caught a fish this big,” (hands show length of fish to be about 20 inches). “And the last fish I caught was thiiiiiiiis big,” (right arm goes behind the back of the girl allowing you to place your hand on her shoulder).  He had the same tone and expression and I could barely hear the last method because I was laughing so hard!

Method #3: Pirate’s Parrot Shoulder Preference

Just like the other two ways, the girl has to stand on your right.  This one is short and quick.

“Which shoulder do pirates prefer to put their parrots on?”  “This shoulder?” (Hand touches

his left shoulder.) “Or thiiiiiiis shoulder?” (He places his hand on her right shoulder.)

His delivery was impeccable.  Unbelievably funny.  It was as if he had practiced it in his head ten times before he got home to show us.  And the part that made it so hilarious was the fact that it was so out of character for him.  His tone and actions were so grown up and not to mention the subject matter was so beyond his circle of topics (at least at this point in his life).  

He even showed Nani (all on his own, mind you) the three methods and couldn’t stop smiling while he demonstrated his techniques for her.  I haven’t laughed that hard in quite a while.  Plus, I couldn’t get past the fact that this was a discussion he and his friend actually had out at recess. 

Who needs television or any other entertainment when you have children to amuse you?

Digger

Thanks for the inspiration, Heather.  This one's for you.

Fiction

When the church volleyball league announcement was posted in the Sunday bulletin, I couldn’t help but think that might be something I’d enjoy.  After all, I did play volleyball in 8th grade intramurals for two weeks everyday before school.   How hard could it be?  Being new to the church, it might be a good way to meet some of the other moms and get to know them outside of the sanctuary and choir loft.  So right after the service was over, I waltzed over to the activity table and signed up.  Mrs. Peters said the coach would be contacting everyone by Wednesday to schedule practices and to find out what position we wanted to play.    The coach? Position? This little church league has a coach and I need to play a specific position?   Eighth grade intramurals never played positions.  We just all stood on our side of the net and when it was our turn to serve, the P.E. teacher told us where to stand.  I began to feel duped and like the middle-aged woman I really was. 

Come Wednesday night, I hadn’t heard from the coach and began to feel a little sigh of relief.  Perhaps there was a shortage of players.  That would be a graceful way out.  I began to practice my disappointed voice for when the coach called.  “Oh, really?”  “Not enough players?”  “Well, maybe next year.”  The phone rang just then and startled me out of my rehearsal.  It was the coach.  “Yes…Uh, huh…Yes, I’ve played before...Digger (I had looked up volleyball positions on line yesterday and liked that one best)…Tuesday’s at the church’s Fellowship Hall at 7:00pm…Great…See you then.”  I hung up the phone and once again felt that familiar pang of “why did I sign up” feeling of stupidity.  I will never learn. 

Not being a quitter, I had to go to practice on Tuesday.  I bought a pair of shorts that looked a little more athletic than I really was (ok, I’m not athletic, but didn’t want them to know that.  How could a Digger not be athletic?) When I got to Fellowship Hall, all the women were changing their shoes and putting on their volleyball shoes.  I knew this was going to be bad, but couldn’t turn around fast enough in my Keds and get out the door before Mrs. Peters, Linda, came over and told me how glad she was to see me again and how happy they were to have a Digger this year.  I thought I was going to faint.

We did a warm-up lap and then took our positions. All I had looked up on-line was that Diggers were on the back row, so that’s where I took up residence.   When our server, Sheila, did her warm-up serves, I not only felt faint, but the nausea was beginning to take over. Church league volleyball was to be fun.  Church league volleyball was for socializing and joking and laughing.  This was not going to be any of that.  Our coach, Jan Martin, marathon runner and college All-Star volleyball player, had a clipboard, a whistle and legs that went from her lower lip down to the ground.

Jan blew the whistle and away Sheila’s serve went.  The other ladies on the other side of the net set it up and then as I watched the ball, it seemed to be making a beeline right for me.  I couldn’t duck or that would be the end of me and all church leagues to come and I’d never get another chance to ever meet any of these women socially.  So I did what all Diggers do.  I dove for the ball with both arms stretched out in front of me and prepared to set it up for my team down low.  That’s when it happened.  My Keds deceived me and as I lunged forward, my right foot planted itself into the old wooden floor and my right ankle kept on going.  I screamed as if I had given birth to my now 10 year old all over again.  Everyone came running and helped me into a chair. Jan called my husband, who couldn’t stop laughing all the way to Urgent Care. 

All the ladies were so thoughtful the rest of the week.  We had a blueberry pie for dessert on Wednesday, fried chicken and coleslaw on Thursday and on Friday, Jan brought over a pink t-shirt that said “MANAGER” on the back in bold black letters.  I immediately accepted the position and began to confess that I wasn’t really a Digger.  Jan smiled at me and chuckled and told me that I hadn’t fooled any of them but appreciated my honesty.  I went on to ask her what had given me away.  Surely not my Keds or my blue athletic shorts with the white stripe down the side?  She pointed to my hands.  I laughed out loud. My French manicure said it all.  Diggers don't have nails, let alone polished ones.

On game day, me and my sprained ankle sat right next to Jan and passed out water bottles to all the ladies on the team. I gave high fives to all of them as they came off the court.  They loved that I had also brought homemade chocolate chip cookies with me for half-time.  It was the best of both worlds.  I didn’t really have to play volleyball, and I met the sweetest bunch of volleyball smashin’ women around.  Church volleyball league was going to be as great as I had imagined it would be after all.

Go UMC Spikers!

The Start of a Book?

The bus was fifteen minutes late and I was anxious to leave.  Why did it have to be late today? It had been four years since I had seen her and now I was being forced to wait even longer.  I tried to push the tears back down, but the more I tried, the blurrier my vision became from the tears that I had held in for so long. 

Finally, the bus crawled into sight from behind The Cotton Building on the corner and into the station.  Fourteen people got off, including three children traveling alone, and headed straight for a lobby filled with old vending machines.  The scheduled layover was to be ten minutes.

I boarded the bus and stood at the front of the aisle and quickly gazed over the remaining passengers and tried to find an open seat. All I wanted to do was sit and be left alone.  I took the seat across the aisle from an elderly man in a tweed jacket holding a bouquet of wilted white daisies.  I sunk into my seat and searched for the travel packet of tissues somewhere deep in the caverns of my bag.  The tears wouldn’t stop and began to fall from my cheeks onto my sleeve.

The elderly man reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a hand kerchief with an embroidered pink letter “R” on it and handed it to me.  I hesitated taking it from him, but then reached across the aisle and took it from his shaking hand.  I wiped my tears. 

As the bus left the station, I felt numb.  What would I say to them when I got to the house?  They didn’t want me there and I knew that, but I had to get there.  I had to be there.  I had to make things right.  I tried to close my eyes and just focus on my breathing.  In.  Out.  In.  Out.  I could feel my heartbeat slowing.   In two hours I would have to tell them.  I would have to tell them why I left.  The truth.  

The Process

I don't have a lot of free time, but did yesterday evening so decided to watch TV for a bit.  Surfing the channels, I came across a conveyor belt of round balls of dough making their way to an oven the size of the new Cowboys Stadium.   I love these shows more than I'm probably willing to admit.  I don't know exactly what attracts me to this type of show, but I could watch them all day.  This one, Food Tech, the "Cheeseburger and Fries" episode was following the making of hamburger buns and processed cheese.  Fascinating! My eyes were fixed on the tray of two dozen dough balls making its way through the maze.  I watched the dough rise, sesame seeds get sprinkled onto the top, then baked in the oven, and then even get tested in a toasting machine to see if they have the "right" brown color when it's all said and done.  

How do they do this?  How do these machines get built?  Who works for 10 hours watching the sesame seeds get shaken onto the buns?  Who decides a two-story drying rack is the "way to go" for the best cooling process?   When I'm watching these programs, I guess that's the heart of what I enjoy about them.  I truly appreciate the process.  Any process.  In this case, the manufacturing process, but in reality, I do have an unspoken (and sometimes spoken) appreciation for the behind the scene goings-on.  The gears that move, the people that work, the time involved.  Someone actually went to bed one night and decided that the two-story rack was better than a three-story rack.  Really in truly.  This was a thought someone had.  And, if they hadn't had that thought, I probably wouldn't enjoy my hamburger nearly as much as I do.

I have such an appreciation for the actual process and effort that goes into a project, a book being written, a school curriculum being planned, a theater production, an airport running smoothly (on most days) and the list is infinite. So today, I am honoring and showing my appreciation with a bigger smile or thank you to the hard workers, the creative thinkers and those who are behind the scenes.  Including all the thousands of hamburger bun makers of the world.  My hat is off to you and your contribution to this world.  I appreciate you.

Not My Average Thursday

Today was just supposed to be a normal Thursday, but something happened inside me that changed that.  I was returning a book (that I didn't read) to the library, when I decided to see if there were any books on "How to Write a Book".  It's been tugging at my heart for a while now so I thought I'd see if there was something that would inspire me.  Actually, I was hoping there would be one just screaming my name, because deep inside my heart of hearts, I think I would like to write.  What? I don't know. But do know that writing brings a joy to my life and a sense of peace to my soul.  Yeah, that sounds deep and all, but it's true.  There's something about it that makes my heart pound loud enough for the car beside me to hear it.  Really.  I'm not joking.  

As I walked to the 800.20 shelf, my feet weren't my feet any longer.  I felt I was being pulled by a rope to the shelf and as God is my witness (and I'm convinced, was probably the one pulling the rope) I walked straight to the shelf where these books were.  Keep in mind, I am a fiction reader and not big on non-fiction, so am unfamiliar with this section of my library.  Somehow though, my feet stopped right in front of the shelf.  Tears came to my eyes for a second - out of nowhere.  What was I feeling? Tears?  These are just books.  Why the sudden urge to have wet eyes? I've been a bit emotional some days, but I was feeling just fine when I walked in there. It hadn't hit me yet.  I began pulling books off the shelf and ended up with an armful of six selected titles. One was titled "A Guide to Greeting Card Writing" and was published in 1979. I'm sure things have changed since then, but it sounded interesting.  Plus, it probably hadn't been checked out in years! I felt sorry for it.  I checked all six out and then headed to my car.  When I set them in the seat, the tears came again. My left ring finger's middle knuckle started to throb and hurt.  This was my sign.  It always happens when I experience deep emotions or feelings.  Not the kind you get watching an uplifting or emotional movie, but true, deep, raw feelings.  

Then it dawned on me.  Maybe this is what I'm supposed to do.  Maybe I can write something meaningful, enjoyable, real.   I smiled so big the whole way home.  I needed to write.  Right then.  I got home and decided to just "do" rather than plan it out and make a list like I always do.   I would start a blog.  All the signs were there, but I just didn't have my eyes open wide enough to see them.  Our neighbors, who recently moved, started one and I loved reading it. I have been writing some "wish lists" online and people have enjoyed reading them. I've recently had several friends tell me I should write.  A friend recently wrote a note on her FaceBook page about living now and finding your passion and engaging in life.  I had just read an article in one of my magazines I subscribe to about a woman who blogged for a living. However, I read the article in the magazine my mom gave me (we subscribe to the same one) and must not have seen it when I received my copy.  (So that sign actually counts twice since I didn't get it the first go 'round.)  It was right there in front of me, but somehow the timing just wasn't quite right until today.  Thursday, January 21, 2010.  

So instead of thinking, I'm "doing".  No plan.  I will write this blog and see where it leads.  It's a road that I am very anxious to travel.  How will this bring joy to our lives? How will I know what to write about?  Will someone enjoy what I write?   What will I learn about myself? We shall see.  This is my story........this is my song.  The song of my heart and my journey.  I can hardly wait to see where the road goes.