The View from Here

Life Happens

     I have an idea for a terrific blog about technology. It's all in my head. I've written it and rewritten it and I think you'll love it. Unfortunately, it's going to stay in my head for another day or two. You see, I was going to work on it Sunday afternoon, but I got involved in finishing my "list of places I've lived". Then I had to put a coat of paint on a collage I'm putting together for our community group. Then I scanned a few photos for my brother. Then it was time to go to church and stay afterwards for the business meeting.

     Yesterday I was going to get home early and at least start on writing it. But a parent was late picking up her child. I had a meeting to attend and it lasted a little longer than I expected. Then I had to feed my husband. And well, I can't miss CSI. Come on, you don't expect me to be a saint!

     Tonight I got home early, but I had to help my neighbor install a new program on her computer (by the way she's in her eighties, and yes she will be part of the technology blog!). Then it was the whole "fix dinner" scene again. Then an hour writing and emailing publicity for the fund raiser for the fire department. Then a long (enjoyable) phone conversation with my daughter. Then a post to my Caddo blog. And here I am...

     Life happens. I'm an organizer. Some would say I'm a bit of a control freak. However, I've finally learned in my old age that sometimes you just have to go with the flow. Getting upset about the little curves in the road will only raise your blood pressure and cause you to toss and turn at night. Not me. I'm going to sleep like a baby tonight. And I'll get to that terrific blog tomorrow...maybe. In the meantime I'll at least give you this sweet picture I found on a negative tucked away in my mom's things. Who dressed me????

No Place Like Home(s)

I’ve moved 50 times. No, that isn’t a typographical error. I didn’t accidentally hit the wrong key. I actually have a list with addresses and dates and notes. In fact, I’ve been telling people for years that I’ve lived in 41 different “homes”, but when I checked my list tonight I found that I was wrong. I hadn’t looked at it in years and I’d overlooked a page the last time I did! I’d also left off a house that I found pictures of when I was playing around with the new scanner we bought for Christmas. I’ve been thinking about all this because I was looking for something today and it occurred to me that it is a miracle I have managed to save anything from my childhood, or from any other year for that matter.

I do remember most of the places I’ve lived, which I suppose is remarkable. Some were very interesting. Some were comfortable and secure. Some were “dumps”. A couple had fireplaces. Several had swimming pools. One had a darkroom. I’ve lived in houses and duplexes and apartments and mobile homes. I’ve lived in a van, a motel, and a motor home. I lived in twenty-five homes before Gary and I married. We’ve lived in twenty-five homes since then.  We’ve owned, rented, leased, and sub-leased. My husband and I have lived in our current home for thirteen years. I lived in some former residences for only a week.

          By far, the most memorable house of my childhood was one that my grandparents also lived in for a short time. It belonged to a member of the Forestiere family, who also owned “Forestiere’s Underground Gardens”. The Underground Gardens were a Fresno, CA landmark for years. The seven-acre underground complex included living quarters, tunnels, gardens, and even a chapel. It was a tourist attraction and as I remember, my grandparents lived in a house on the grounds and my grandfather did some work for the Forestieres. I visited the gardens often. The most distinctive memory I have is of the strange sweet smell of the tunnels.  A few miles away was “the ranch” where we lived. It was a modest house, but it also had tunnels, a huge wine cellar, and lots of retaining walls made from the local hardpan. It even had a bread oven outdoors. It had a modest orchard and wonderful garden.

Several of my childhood homes were in the country. We lived on a dairy when I was seven. I remember feeding calves with a bottle. I remember Mom having a bird of some kind. I remember watching Dad plant alfalfa. We lived on another farm when I was nine. I remember learning to drive a car so I could help with the hay harvest.  I don’t remember what I drove, but I drove it very slowly across the field while the guys loaded hay on the trailer. I think I was ten or twelve before I ever drove a tractor. By the time I was thirteen we had moved again and I had learned to prune grapes and tend irrigation ditches. We lived in a small house with lots of rabbit and pigeon pens beside it. I remember having my own room and getting new linoleum.

I’ve lived in four states- California, Texas, Oklahoma, and Iowa. (I’ve visited 32 states by the way.) Each has its own merits. I loved the beaches and mountains and even the deserts of California. Since I spent most of my childhood there it seems most like “home”. Gary is also a native Californian. The best view we ever had was in Lone Pine, CA. We lived with our three small children in a cramped, converted garage, but it was worth it for the beauty of the mountains overlooking the little town. Lone Pine is at the base of Mt. Whitney, the highest peak in the contiguous states. It’s 14,496 feet high and we’ve been as far as 11,000 ft. Had to turn back before reaching the peak because of ice and snow. For some reason we never attempted it again.

We lived a short time in Texas while my father worked on a dam near Georgetown. I just remember all the birdfeeders our neighbor had hanging in her trees and how the red birds would congregate there. Oh, and one of our other neighbors was a genius. He was nine and in high school! He taught me how to play chess. I also lived in Texas for a short time while teaching there. I lived in Greenville during the week and here over the weekends.

We lived in Iowa a few years after my husband and I got married. His family founded the town of Wilton, IA. It’s a pleasant town in the midst of corn and soy fields. A nice place to live if you like snow. I don’t. We never quite adjusted to the winter. We’ve visited since then, but I have no desire to move back.

We came to Caddo, Oklahoma in a round about way that is a long story for another day. I’ve actually lived here several times. Moved, came back. Moved, came back. It seemed small and stifling when I was in high school. It seems small and secure now that I’m older. Oklahoma has just the right weather for me. A little cold, a little snow, and a whole lot of hot. I actually enjoy the hot, humid summers. (Remind me of that in July, will you?) I enjoy the people. I love the prairie.

But I ramble. Back to my search. I was looking for a photo, which I found. I have lots of photos. I have scrapbooks and diaries. I also have mementos from school, like my fifth grade social studies report. I have a few keepsakes from my children’s lives. I’ve managed to save little bits and pieces of my life even though I’ve moved. But I’ve lost a lot of things too. My children will tell you all about the time we were moving from California to Oklahoma, had a flat, and ended up leaving one of my huge elephant statues on the side of the road. I remember leaving a box of things at my mom’s house in between our moves. When she built a new house and also moved, the box disappeared. I’m not even certain what was in it. I see photos of things now and I think “What happened to that?”

My oldest daughter told me the other day that she felt “restless” so she rearranged her furniture. I laughed and told her that was “pretend moving”.  I’ve done the same thing many times! I’ve moved so much that for the first few years we were here I moved the furniture each spring. I got edgy and bored if I didn’t. I still move a few things now and then.

Will I move again? Probably. We’ve rented this home from a dear friend for a very long time. But we’re thinking of buying another house. We’re thinking of moving closer to town. We’re thinking of a newer house, a new garden. We’re thinking of changing our lives a bit before we settle into those “pre-retirement years”. I’m not sure what we will do. The details are up to God. But I have lots of experience with moving. If it happens I think I’ll remember how to do it. And I have lots of stuff that will go with me. Wherever we are will be home, and as Dorothy said, “There’s no place like home!”

Happiness

“Most people are as happy as they make up their minds to be.”---Abraham Lincoln

That’s always been one of my favorite quotations. In fact, it used to be on my refrigerator until the little scrap of paper it was on became frayed and yellowed. I made up my mind a long time ago. I’m a happy person! I’m generally positive, content, grateful, and eager to see what life has to offer. Now I’ve found out that someone actually studies happiness!

I got my new issue of Prevention magazine and there on the cover is the headline “How to be (and stay) Happy- 3 research-tested secrets to change your life.” Well, as I said, I’m already a happy person, but I  read the article to understand why I’m happy. I mean I’m not pretty, or rich, or famous, or without problems. I have one or two relatives who drive me crazy. I’m constantly engaged in an unsuccessful attempt at a new diet. I have a stressful job. I’ve had a couple of accidents and seven major surgeries so I have a few health concerns. We have our share of money problems. Then why am I always going around with this smile on my face? Why am I basically positive even when things don’t go well?

Dorothy Foltz-Gray’s excellent article explains the research of Martin E.P. Seligman, PhD, founder of the Positive Psychology Center at the University of Pennsylvania. He’s also the author of Authentic Happiness. According to his research, it’s the internal characteristics we have that make us happy, not the external events of our life. He has an excellent website at www.authentichappiness.org where you can actually take surveys to measure your happiness level, character strengths, etc. Turns out I have three of the characteristics that make people happy! I’m grateful- I include in my nightly prayers a list of things or people I’m thankful for and I try to acknowledge people who help me. I’m curious- I love to learn and explore new ideas. I love people- I have relationships with a variety of people and I feel loved by others. Reading that made me even happier!

Another interesting idea presented by Dr. Seligman is that there are three routes to happiness: the pleasant life, the engaged life, and the meaningful life. He says that “most satisfied people pursue all three”. The pleasant life is “full of pleasure, joy, and good times”. The engaged life is one which pursues a “passion or activity”. The meaningful life is “packed with purpose”. I like the idea of having a little of each, of creating a balance in my life. My life is probably more “engaged” than anything else, but it also has a little “meaning” and “pleasure”.

I’ve barely begun to explore the website and take some of the surveys, but I plan to visit again. I like the idea of someone promoting happiness and helping people find new ways to be positive. There are so many negative things going on in the world each day. The news is 90% bad, depressing, and discouraging. No wonder we have a hard time being positive without help!

Here’s an exercise from the article that you can try even if you don’t visit the website: spend a few minutes each night writing about what went well for you. According to the article the study group that did the exercise “felt happier for the full 6 months of the study”. I know that my “gratitude prayer” has certainly improved my life. I’ve been doing it for over a year and it just makes me take stock of what is important in my life.

So…be grateful, be curious, be loving. Visit the website. Take a survey. Write down what was good about today. Make up your mind to BE HAPPY!

            

Middle Child

          My second child baffled me from the very beginning. She was two weeks early, sickly, and small. She weighed a mere five pounds when I brought her home. My first child had weighed over nine pounds and I was a hefty eleven pounds at birth.  All my experience with siblings and cousins and neighborhood children had been with babies over seven pounds. I remember thinking, “What if I hurt her?” She seemed like a tiny doll. That’s when I made my first mistake.

I should take a moment to explain something very basic. I’m a first child. My husband is a first child. My only experience was in raising a first child. The characteristics of a first child are extremely different from other birth orders. First children are more likely to be organized, on time, controlling, demanding, independent, and gregarious. These things I knew how to handle. So…

I had searched through numerous name books and finally settled upon what I thought was a unique name- Katrina. Our heritage is Dutch and her big sister’s name was Karen, so it seemed perfect. However, when I saw how tiny and cute she was I decided to call her “Tina”. I even found an adorable children’s book called “Tina’s Truck.”  Well, little did I know that my quiet, shy, second child would have her own ideas. As soon as she was old enough to express her opinions she made it very clear that her name was NOT, and never would be, Tina. We’ve called her Katrina ever since.

At first she didn’t express her opinions very often. In fact, I took her back to the doctor the second week because she wouldn’t cry. She just mewed like a little kitten. The doctor said I was “anticipating her needs” and I needed to give her a little more time to get worked up about things. She needed to cry to develop her lungs. So I learned to ignore her, just a bit, until she cried. In a few weeks she really got the hang of it and we no longer had to worry about her lungs!

However, for the first few years we did worry about her speech. Katrina hardly spoke at all. She followed her sister around and before she had a chance to request anything Karen did it for her. She was also shy around strangers. She hardly raised her voice in a crowd. We had her tested to see if she was hearing impaired. No. The doctor said her problem was that we, her parents and her sister, were merely “anticipating her needs”. There was that phrase again! We started paying attention to how often we gave her things before she asked for them. We made Karen stop talking for her. Finally Katrina started talking more. And more. And more.  Imagine how surprised we were when as a teenager she became California’s Lincoln-Douglas debate champion!

I suppose that being a second, and later a middle child, made Katrina feel less special at times. We did some of the typical things parents do- fewer photos, less “wow” at every accomplishment, more group activities. Let’s face it, by the time the second and third children come along parents are older, wiser, and very tired.  But I think she had more freedom than her older sister. I knew eating dirt wouldn’t kill her. I was less apt to worry about messy activities like painting and play dough. I let her stay with friends and relatives and play with other children.

Over the years Katrina has continued to baffle me at times. She has been more courageous and more creative than I would have ever dared. I’ve read that the middle child takes risks in order to create their own identity, apart from the older sibling. She must have read the same book! She has chosen her own path and been less rigid about adhering to the conventions of life that are so important to first children. I don’t think she’s ever been on time in her life and it doesn’t seem to bother her. She can be organized, but she doesn’t feel a compulsion to have every aspect of her life in rigid control. She is  flexible, sociable, and sensitive. Because she was squeezed in between an older sister and a younger brother she learned to be a great negotiator, a trait that has served her well in her business career!

                               No, I don’t always understand my middle child, but I love her anyway. The best way to start a new year is with a new child, and 35 years ago I began the new year with Katrina. Today is her birthday and I wish her joy, peace, and prosperity. She deserves all three.

My Little Black Book

            I approach each New Year in a frenzy of resolutions, cleaning, and planning. “Out with the old, in with the new” is my mantra from December 1 to 31 as I clean files and drawers and closets. Throwing out old things makes me feel refreshed and ready to face new challenges. But this year I learned a lesson about old things. Some are worth keeping.

            “I need a new address book,” I thought several times as I wrote my Christmas cards. My old book is frayed and bent. There are doodles on the back cover and coffee stains on the edges. There are entries crossed out and notations in the margins. The “S-T” tab is held in place with tape. I imagined a new book with a pristine cover and blank pages ready to be filled with current information in my neatest handwriting.

            I almost wrote “address book” on my shopping list. I meant to do it as I finished the last card. Instead I hesitated and turned to the inscription on the first page of my worn-out little book. “Dear Gary and Mary” it reads, “God bless you richly. We love you. Adult II Sunday School Class.” A wealth of memories came flooding back. I remembered friends and neighbors who helped care for my children after I had surgery. I remembered Buck, who made violins in a shop behind his house. And Hazel, who baked cookies and listened to stories and treated my children like her own grandchildren. If I had closed my address book and packed it away they might have been forgotten in the hustle and bustle of my current life. And my new book wouldn’t have a notation in the margin that Buck died. Or that Hazel moved to a nursing home.

            So I sat for a time and just read my address book, not as a tool for recording names and addresses, but as a diary of my life. There are entries for former employers and schoolmates, friends and neighbors, in-laws and exes. On the inside of one of the divider pages is a Christmas card list of the employees I worked with at a hospital in California. On another page is the address of the truck-driving school where my husband found his second career.  I can follow my friends’ and children’s moves, marriages, and divorces by the crossed out addresses and name changes. The death of a dear friend noted and below it the address of her daughter. There are old friends and new among the listings, some who never write anymore, and those who write often.

            Perhaps it’s because I’m over fifty, but my memories are dear to me. The people who have touched my life remain alive in my mind and still help me when I’m trying to make decisions or cope with difficult situations. That’s why I’ve decided to keep my old address book. It will probably need some more tape in order to make it through another year. I may even have to add a few new pages to accommodate new friends. But I can’t bear to throw out the old ones. As I’m flipping through pages next year, I want to remember Buck and Hazel, and dozens of others who have helped make me the person I am today.

            Shakespeare said it best, “I count myself in nothing else so happy, As in a soul remembering my good friends.”* If you don’t believe it, just read my address book. Or better yet, read your own. 

*from: Richard II

I Love Flowers!

We must begin our New Year together with flowers. I always spend a portion of the first day of the year looking at seed catalogs and longing for spring. I'm NOT a winter person, and even though we are having a very mild one, so far, I know that my little treasures will not show their faces until it is spring. So I will give you a preview of my garden with these photos. Be sure to click on the album at the left for more. When you get to the "thumbnail" photos you can click on them for the actual picture. (The cleome is my favorite, favorite, but I won't say it out loud in the garden. Don't want to make the others jealous!) Enjoy! I'll take more. :)

P.S. Click on the photo below for a surprise.