The View from Here

Remembering...

$100

The recent announcement of more store closings for Sears brought back childhood memories of one of my favorite fall pastimes- perusing the Sears toy catalog. The thick volume traditionally arrived around Thanksgiving and my brothers and I argued each day about whose turn it was to take possession of it. Sharing is not a natural instinct for children!

When it was my turn I played my usual game. What would I buy if I had $100? No, I didn’t imagine having $500 or a million like my foolish brothers. They were young and greedy and didn’t understand the wisdom of selecting a budget that was more restrictive. If I had a million dollars there wouldn’t be the agony and ecstasy of choosing. I could have just said, “I’ll buy everything.” What would be the fun in that?

So I sat for an hour or more and carefully selected the toys that would make my life more enjoyable. My grandmother was very fond of saying, “If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.”  I bowed to her wisdom most of the time and made sure my most important hopes and desires were accompanied by my own effort to fulfill them. However, Christmas was the one time when “someone else” was definitely in charge of granting my desires, so I figured I might as well play along.

I realized, even as a child, that my time spent with the catalog was probably an exercise in futility. I seldom got anything that was on my “wish list”. But I usually got some version of it. I might not get the latest, best, favorite doll of the year, but I got a doll. And I was surprisingly happy with it.

My time spent with the catalog taught me that my own desires changed often. There wasn’t one item that would make me happier than another. I could envision a dozen toys or games that could be entertaining and delightful. The next time I looked through the catalog I would find a different dozen. The possibilities were endless. That fact was proven one year when my dad found an erector set. We were driving down the highway when he spotted several boxes strewn along the side of the road. He stopped and retrieved them and one of them contained a brand new erector set. I had never, ever desired one for even a moment- that was a boy’s toy-yet I spent hours building with it. That incident broadened my horizons and changed some of my imaginary selections.

Yes, I miss the Sears catalog. I miss thinking that $100 will buy my heart’s desire of the moment.  If wishes were horses…

The morning after...

Psalm 37

 

¹ Do not fret because of those who are evil
    or be envious of those who do wrong;
² for like the grass they will soon wither,
    like green plants they will soon die away.

³ Trust in the Lord and do good;
    dwell in the land and enjoy safe pasture.
⁴ Take delight in the Lord,
    and he will give you the desires of your heart.

⁵ Commit your way to the Lord;
    trust in him and he will do this:
⁶ He will make your righteous reward shine like the dawn,
    your vindication like the noonday sun.

⁷ Be still before the Lord
    and wait patiently for him;
do not fret when people succeed in their ways,
    when they carry out their wicked schemes.

⁸ Refrain from anger and turn from wrath;
    do not fret—it leads only to evil.
⁹ For those who are evil will be destroyed,
    but those who hope in the Lord will inherit the land.

¹⁰ A little while, and the wicked will be no more;
    though you look for them, they will not be found.
¹¹ But the meek will inherit the land
    and enjoy peace and prosperity.

I urge you to read the remaining verses in your own Bible. Be blessed and have faith.

Time

At least once a week I wish that I was younger, smarter, stronger, and had more time. Doing everything I want to do in the sixteen hours a day that I am awake usually proves to be an impossible task. So I am forced to prioritize and pray that I live another day to complete the tasks that mean the most to me.  I’m not truly anxious about the process, just aware. Time becomes more precious as one gets older and realizes that it is a finite quantity.

This morning I awoke at my usual time, which meant that the clock’s time was 3:30. Our annual fall ritual requires some adjustment and I’m sure that I’ll need a few days to reset my internal clock to accept the new schedule. It always seems a little strange to sit down here at the computer and see that it has already reset for me. I wish my microwave, coffee pot, and truck would do the same.

Today is also a reminder that I no longer wear a watch and anxiously check the time every hour. I did that throughout most of my working career, until a reaction to a new watch and a terrible rash forced me to take it off for a month. The freedom of not wearing it, and the knowledge that other time pieces were all around me was liberating. I haven’t worn a watch in decades. I’m not sure why anyone feels the need to do so anymore since our phones, vehicles and appliances all flash the time at us. And if we’re out and about the banks help us out by displaying the time and temperature.

Tomorrow will be the most difficult day of adjustment for those working long schedules. Changing our time means facing the darkness in ways that are not only challenging, but in some circumstances dangerous. Darkness and fatigue are not good partners. And as the hours of sunshine naturally wane it’s imperative that we get outside as often as we can during the day to soak up a little natural light for the sake of our mental and physical health.

Today is supposed to be a day of rest and reflection, so set aside your anxiety about the time change and tomorrow’s schedule and spend the day enjoying each moment that you are given. I plan to “reset” my attitude and do the same.

Leaves

November is the month of leaves- turning colors, falling down, transforming the landscape in a dozen ways. I often think that leaves are God’s way of reminding us that change is natural and inevitable.

Leaves seem to irritate some people. I see my neighbors raking, blowing, bagging their leaves, and stacking the bags at the curb to be hauled away. I’m not sure why. They’re good for the soil, provide winter homes for dozens of critters including butterflies in various stages (only Monarchs migrate), and shelter your plants from harsh weather. They can be mulched by a mower, which saves time and energy for most of us. They can be raked by those younger and more energetic than I am. They can be piled up in a corner or spread where they are needed. Once they are wet they seldom leave their assigned location.

Leaves are natural. Leaves are useful. Leaves are beautiful. They come in a variety of sizes, shapes, and colors…just like people.

Beauties on the move...

Butterflies are busy in the garden. They love zinnias and wildflowers. 

Harsh Words...

I searched through a few dictionaries this morning. Highlighting and italics are mine.  So are the thoughts that follow the definitions.

 

Speaking your mind-

to tell people exactly what you think, even if it offends them

to say what you really think, not what people want to hear

say firmly and honestly what you think about a situation, even if this may upset or offend people

                Thinking implies considering the facts, reviewing your experiences, listening to the opinions of others, seeking counsel, and forming an opinion…not just speaking words based solely on ego and emotion.

Diplomacy

the art of dealing with people in a sensitive and effective way

skill in handling affairs without arousing hostility 

A diplomatic communicator is someone who can get their message across and convince people to change without damaging the relationship. 

Diplomatic communicators use reason, kindness, and compassion. They show respect for the other person. 

Diplomatic communication is about being honest, but not brutally honest.

            Two people simply shouting their random thoughts at each other is not communication.

Tact

adroitness and sensitivity in dealing with others or with difficult issues

a keen sense of what to do or say in order to maintain good relations with others or avoid offense

the ability to induce change or communicate hurtful information without offending through the use of consideration, compassion, kindness and reason

            There are some people who may never change, admit fault, or accept the truth. Instead of wasting time confronting them, it is often best to simply show them a better way by your example of honesty tempered by kindness. And my mom taught me that sometimes silence is best. You don’t need to offer your opinion if it isn’t solicited.

Wisdom

            I urge you to read all of Ephesians 4, but here are some highlights:

I, therefore, the prisoner of the Lord,  beseech you to walk worthy of the calling with which you were called, ² with all lowliness and gentleness, with longsuffering, bearing with one another in love, ³ endeavoring to keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.

¹⁴…we should no longer be children, tossed to and fro and carried about with every wind of doctrine, by the trickery of men, in the cunning craftiness of deceitful plotting, ¹⁵ but, speaking the truth in love, may grow up in all things into Him who is the head—Christ

²⁹ Let no corrupt word proceed out of your mouth, but what is good for necessary edification, that it may impart grace to the hearers. ³⁰ And do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, by whom you were sealed for the day of redemption. ³¹ Let all bitterness, wrath, anger, clamor, and evil speaking be put away from you, with all malice. ³² And be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God in Christ forgave you.

Because I Said So...

My grandmother always told me that you “pay for your raising” by having your own child. She went on to explain that in order to really teach you a lesson, God gives you a child with at least a few of your own traits. My father must have been a willful, stubborn child because he certainly produced one…me.

We often disagreed over the simplest things. When I was a very young child it was always boundaries. He once sent the dog after me because I was about to cross the road. The dog knocked me down on the lawn, which was a much better fate than getting knocked down by a car in the middle of the road. Of course our country road only saw one or two cars a week, but it was the principle that mattered to Dad.  Another time he drove out to the bus stop at the end of our road to make me return to the house. I had been told by both my father and a doctor that I could not attend school for a week because of a deep cut in my foot. Of course I missed my classmates, so I headed out on my crutches to join them. Didn’t quite work out the way I had planned. I went back to the house and stayed there because Dad said I had to.

Dad and I must have disagreed about food from the moment I was born. I can’t remember many meals that didn’t include at least one food I disliked. At first I was quite vocal about my preferences. Later I tried to be devious. Mom never allowed a dog in the house, so I couldn’t sneak food to my boxer. Instead I tried to sneak food to her, or hide it under something. Of course when I attempted to hide liver under my mashed potatoes Dad simply asked why I hadn’t finished my “favorite food”.  How do you answer that? “I’m not hungry” was never the correct reply because then I had to endure the “children are starving in China” lecture. How dare I be ungrateful? I ate what was on my plate because Dad said I needed to.

As I grew older and stronger Dad expected me to work more on the ranch. I wasn’t a lazy child, but I didn’t like working in the cold months of winter or the hottest weeks of the summer or weekends when I knew my classmates were going to the park or reading in their rooms. Dad was always working right there next to me, but sometimes he asked me to do things that I didn’t think I could endure. Driving a tractor, managing irrigation pipes, dragging a heavy cotton sack, loading a trailer with grapes, and working in the drying yard were not activities on my “favorites” list. Once Gran came to visit while we were loading a trailer and shouted at Dad, “Bobby Lee, you do know that’s a girl!” Perhaps he let me slack off a little after that, but I still worked nearly every weekend because Dad said he needed me.

I almost felt sorry for Dad during my teen years. I didn’t openly defy him very often, but I certainly gave him some headaches. He was very protective and had very precise expectations. I once returned from a date ten minutes late and he was pulling out of our driveway to look for me. Many discussions of my preferred plans ended in his presentation of a totally different plan, followed by a simple reason: “Because I said so.” I wonder if today’s teens ever hear those words, or if they realize how much they will one day miss them…

After I became an adult Dad and I still disagreed from time to time, but he respected my right to make my own choices. He let me marry a man with “clean fingernails” (not a farmer or mechanic), he came to accept that I drove a Ford, and he understood that I needed to live in California for a while. He didn’t use his favorite reply unless I tried to refuse his offer of help or one of his too-generous gifts. Then he would just smile and say, “Yes, you will…’cause I said so.”

Balancing Act

I did something foolish Saturday and I’ve been chastising myself ever since. My husband and I attended Caddo’s annual Heritage Day Celebration. It’s one of my favorite events and I love to photograph all of the activities, especially the parade. In past years, way past, I stayed from 8am to 4pm. As my age has increased and my abilities have diminished I’ve reduced that by several hours. Last year I left at about 2pm. This year I really should have left at 1pm. And I should have taken a couple of morning breaks. And I should have packed a lunch. And I should have known better than to stand still for thirty minutes. By 1:30 I was doubtful that I could walk the two blocks to my truck. Thankfully I did.

It took me much longer than usual to recover and that resulted in a few anxious hours on Sunday. Those of us with ongoing conditions and chronic pain walk a fine line between meeting a little extra challenge and doing something that causes further injury or permanent damage. My normal, everyday pain level is two. My pain level for Saturday evening was four. Sunday was three. Monday morning I was back to two and saying a prayer of thanks.

Some people have suggested over the past few years that perhaps I need to take more pain medication. I currently take enough to keep my pain manageable, but if I totally blocked my pain signals, how would I measure the progression of my condition? How would I know when to rest? Obviously I had a bit of a problem determining that on Saturday. If I had been on a stronger medication I might have stressed my body beyond its ability to recover. I firmly believe that my best course of action is to listen to my body and try to do all things in moderation. Life is a series of choices and each day is a balancing act between comfort and pain, joy and sorrow, wisdom and foolishness. I just need a reminder now and then…

Fifty Years

Tomorrow the Caddo High School class of 1968 will be having their 50^Th reunion.

Wow! Fifty years!

I suppose I’m looking forward to it…and yet.

I haven’t seen many of my classmates since we graduated. I moved away and many of them did the same. We have nothing in common other than previously enduring four years of school together.

The classmates I really bonded with are still friends and we have kept in touch on our own. We’ve never needed an event or a date on the calendar.

I spent a lot of my high school time with students from other classes, especially those in the senior class. I really miss the “whole school” reunions we used to have every four years.

My high school years were a roller coaster of high achievement and poor decisions that lead to personal pain and tragedy. I’m not sure I want to chat with people who might recall only the latter.

I’m not really nostalgic about my high school years. I always felt like a bit of an “outsider” at CHS. Even though I had visited Caddo many times, I didn’t enter high school until February of my freshman year…after everyone else had bonded and adjusted to classes and joined groups. I married in the spring of my junior year. I graduated in December of 1967 and did not participate in all of the exciting events of the last semester.  I walked in line and received my diploma with my classmates, but being a college student, married, and pregnant made the experience a little anticlimactic.

My current physical condition makes it difficult for me to function at evening events. Added to that challenge will be the fact that tomorrow is Heritage Day, an event I’m very nostalgic about and have always attended unless I was out of town or in bed. By the time I walk around and enjoy HD for several hours I may not be physically able to visit with my former classmates. I’ll make an effort to see most of them during HD, but that may be the extent of my “reunion” with them.

I have to affirm that I AM very happy to have lived long enough to celebrate being out of school for 50 years. Several of my former classmates have already died and others are suffering with health conditions far worse than my own. Those of us who are still here should say a prayer of gratitude.