The Whole Mower?

The business sign hadn’t been painted or touched up in fifty years.  The dirt road was covered by bushes and overgrown trees and I was worried I was going to be greeted by a pit bull tied to the fence by a heavy chain as I got out of my car.  This wasn’t Lowe’s or Home Depot, that’s for sure. 

I pulled up behind a green 1970 something Ford pick up filled with old lawn mowers, a broken lawn chair and a chain saw in need of a new blade.  The owner climbed in the truck and tipped his hat at me as I opened my door (all the while looking over my shoulder for a growling dog that had to be chained up somewhere).  

I walked toward the open door in search of the voice I spoke to over the phone only a half hour earlier.   My eyes couldn’t take it all in.  Small engine belts hung all over the walls in various sizes covered in layers and layers of dust. One hundred plastic bins lined the counter and wall behind the counter all over-flowing with dirty plastic bags filled with mounting washers, thumb screws, spark plugs and the like. 

The north wall was covered in newspaper clippings, photos of dogs from childhood, lawnmower decals, a business license (that was probably expired, but didn’t dare look too closely at the date) and parts hammered to the wall that didn’t fit into the bins behind the register.

The gentleman behind the counter looked at me over his dirty glasses.  “What ya got?” I explained to him that I was trying to fix the pull cord on my lawn mower and when it wouldn’t recoil, I took off the cover to give it a twist and to try and… 

He interrupted and scolded me. “You don’t take that off ‘less you know what yer doin’!” Obviously I didn’t know what I was doing and couldn’t fix it myself, thus, my reason for visiting his fine establishment on this wonderful Monday.  I was already mad at myself for removing one too many screws and did not need him to remind me of my blunder.  Thank you very much.

I handed him the bag of parts I had disassembled, when he asked if I had the whole mower.  The whole mower?  Did he think I was a fool?  No, I only brought the wheels and the broken pull cord with me. I thought that would be enough to repair it.  YES, I brought the whole mower with me.  He then politely asked if I needed help getting it out of the truck.  Duh!  (I wasn’t about to go into details about how my 14 year-old and I struggled to get the awkward thing in there in the first place.  He wasn’t one for small talk, and I wasn’t about to be left in the rain trying to get it out alone.)  I politely said, “Yes, please,” and followed him to the back of my car.

I filled out my name (first name only please) and phone number and signed my life away on a form that was at least 30 years old.  I didn’t even ask how much it was going to cost for fear a dog would come out from behind the desk and bloody my ankles.  I asked how long and he said just a few days, so I smiled with thanks and left.

 I climbed back into my car and made a u-turn near the back end of the lot where dozens of old lawn mowers sat with weeds growing through them, paint rusted out and all missing wheels and pull cords.   The dirt road was now filled with rain puddles as I made my way back out through the jungle of small engines and used lawn mower parts strewn along the side.  I felt as if I was leaving a movie set.  I only hoped that behind the closed garage doors were real people working on real lawn mowers and that I wasn’t just another fool dropping off a lawn mower in hopes of having it repaired. I didn’t want to be taken for a fool twice.  Only time will tell…

My 15-Minute Parking Pass

I drove downtown today to a beautiful private college campus to pick up tickets to a dance concert that my husband and I are going to on our date tomorrow night. I parked the car in the only spot available marked “15 minute parking” and rushed to find the building to purchase the tickets. 

The groundskeepers were driving around in their topless golf carts, covered in dirt.  The camp leaders were standing in the street watching their 8 year-old campers cross safely.  The cafeteria crew was assembling the tables under a white tent on the front lawn for some evening dinner about to happen.  The birds chirped loud enough for me to hear them and the smell of a hundred year old building brushed my nose as I entered the hall to complete my ticket purchase.  

I quickly paid and walked back out onto the campus.  I had ten minutes left on my honor system parking. (Was anyone really watching me as I parked, noting my arrival time?  I don’t think so.)  I wanted to just sit on the front steps of the elegant old building and soak up all the history and collegeness that was there.   It was the most beautiful afternoon and the campus was ready for it’s new brochure cover shot. 

Something was tugging at my heart.  I wanted to be there.  Stay there.   You know the feeling when you walk into your first home. You just know it’s going to be yours.   It just feels right.  I have this strange feeling that comes over me every time I step foot onto a small college campus.  This just happened not too long ago as well when visiting our friends out East who work at a college.  We toured the campus together and the same feeling just filled me up. 

Could this be a sign?  Could this be a God whisper?  I’m not sure. All I know is that I wanted to stay.  I wanted to be a part of that atmosphere that filled my every nook and cranny as I walked across the crayon green grass back to my car.  Someday.  Maybe, one day I’ll be back on a small college campus and stay for a while and trade my 15-minute parking pass for a "staff only" parking pass.  Just maybe. I’ll have to wait and see.

There's a Dinosaur in My Movie

The last time I watched a movie with a dinosaur in it was when my boys were 2 and 6, that is, until today.  I called mom to see if she wanted to go see a movie at the downtown theater (which is known for showing the more “artsy” type of movies - this should have been my first warning), which looked interesting and right up our alley and entitled "The Tree of Life". It was described as being set in the 50’s in Texas and about family life, faith, and oh, Brad Pitt was staring in it.   How could we go wrong? 

We found our seats, settled in and the lights dimmed as the movie began before us. 

Music, no words, whispers we could barely understand, kids playing kick the can in the street, artsy shots of the sun coming through the trees, sunflowers in the field, more whispers.  This went on for almost forty-five minutes.  I don’t think there was any dialog for almost the first hour. (You’ll have to confirm that for me if when it comes out on DVD, because I will likely not be watching it again anytime soon.)

After many whispers and glimpses into the lives of this family living in Texas, the screen went black for a few seconds and then felt as if I had been transported into a documentary about space, the Grand Canyon, stars, fire, moons, ocean waves, and then there were more whispers.  It was as if the editing department fell asleep on the job and the intern thought it would be funny to splice in footage from the local planetarium as some film student prank.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I know that art can be so far outside of the box, that to the average person it appears weird, odd or even uncomfortable.  I get that.  But this?  This wasn’t just outside the box; it was in a whole other zip code and possibly a whole other galaxy. 

When I finally realized and accepted that this was not going to be the movie experience we were seeking, it happened. 

In the distance at the stream’s edge, three dinosaurs appeared, drinking the cool water.  The camera angle then focused in on what appeared to be another small and injured velociraptor lying in the water with labored breathing.  From the other end of the stream, a larger bi-pedal dinosaur, let’s say it was an ovirapotor (remember, I’m the mom of two boys who lived and breathed dinosaurs for many years) came up to the injured dinosaur lying in the water and  shoved it’s foot right onto its head, not once, but three times then ran off.  Just shoot me now.   There are dinosaurs in my movie!!!

I didn’t dare turn to look at mom beside me for fear I’d burst out laughing if our eyes met during what others might have thought was a pivotal moment in the story line.  (Which, by the way, I would suggest you read thoroughly, along with all the reviews, before you venture out to see it.)

Was this art?  Was this a movie real actors and actresses couldn’t wait to be a part of?  I was so confused.

Skip ahead to the last twelve minutes of the movie. (I am going to tell you how it ends, so if you want to have the same baffled feeling we did, stop reading.)  The older son is in present day on his way up an elevator and at the same time he’s going through a stand-alone doorway onto the beach where all of his family and many other people are dressed in their 50’s attire, barefoot in the sand, looking longingly into each other’s eyes.  I didn’t know if I was in heaven or he was going to commit suicide.  I was beyond mystified.  I was flummoxed. 

The movie ended and there was silence.  No music at the end. Nothing.  Silence, except for two people in the back who were applauding.  I thought of seeking them out, because clearly they understood something I most certainly did not and apparently they liked having dinosaurs in their 1950’s Texas movie. 

It’s been almost five hours since it ended and I still don’t know how I feel about what I saw.  It’s thrown my head for a stegosaurus-sized loppty-loop.  Give me a few weeks (or months) and maybe I’ll have another thought about what it was supposed to mean, and if I do, and that’s a BIG if, I’ll let you know.

Select All and Delete

The upper right hand corner of my delete key has a shiny spot on it from where I hit it far too often.   I start a post and then inevitably hit “Select All and Delete”.  Do overs are a good thing.  The clean page feels good to see, but are the words I deleted still there?  Do the letters leave an electronic imprint out in cyber world somewhere?

photo credit

Wouldn’t it be convenient to have a delete key in your pocket to use when you say something you shouldn’t?  Just press the key and poof, gone, vanished forever, the words would be erased. Wouldn’t life be so much easier?  If you say something short and ugly just hit  “delete”. Unfortunately that’s not the case and sometimes we say things we wish we could take back. 

However, life doesn’t have a delete key.  Those words stay out there on that person’s heart and yes, sometimes they sting.  Perhaps an apology will help the hurt or a hug will soften the harshness, but those words are out there and fall from our lips and we have to own them.  We can’t just hit the delete key and start over.  It isn’t that simple.

I have said things in a tone I shouldn’t have.  The words stung and I’ve apologized for them, but it can’t always take the sting away and I know that.   I have to own my tone and words and hope that time will fade them and through kind words and a soft tone of my future words, I hope the unkindness will become less painful and fade.  How I wish I could “Select All and Delete” some days.

No U-turns for Me this Week

The past few weeks have been overwhelmingly filled with activities, travel, joy and frustration, new experiences and let’s throw in a little dash of stress for kicks.  I won’t list all of the events that have taken place around us, there’s no need, but as I look back over the events of last month, a common thread has tied them all together and has presented itself to me over and over again.  Perhaps it’s a lesson I refuse to learn or a quality I so admire that I keep bumping into it to remind me of its importance in life.  Patience.

As many of you know, patience is not my strong suit.  I always joke that when God was passing out patience, I stood in line with a strainer and most of it ended up on the floor.  (Now, when I stood in line for Organization, I had a steel bucket and was first in line.) Being patient does not come easy for me like it does my dad.  He can sit and be quiet and wait for hours and never complain.  Never.

photo credit

If we are patient, then God has time to work and lay out the road before us and lead us where we need to go.  If we rush, we miss the signs, we miss the turn in the road creating a whole other series of events for ouselves.  You have to make a u-turn, possibly ask for directions, fill up with gas and hope there is another on-ramp to the road you were supposed to be on. We create problems for ourselves by not being patient and thinking we know best.

If we are patient, we may still have the struggles that come in life, but the solutions are easier to see, to feel, to hear.  When we slow down and listen, are consciously patient, we see the flowers that grow beside the stop sign we quickly run through. We can feel the warmth of the sun on our backs when we are tired from the day. We can hear our favorite song playing in the restaurant behind all the chatter and forks clanking.  Being patient requires effort on our part to see things differently, to see what God sees in us and our lives.

We live in a world of instant gratification, instant messages, instant downloads, instant coffee, instant everything.  It’s easy, but is easy always better? I don’t think so.  This week I will be patient and listen and then listen some more.  I will learn this lesson and appreciate all Patience has to offer and try my best not to make any u-turns.