The View from Here

Daffodils and Dandelions

I have daffodils blooming!! Yes, I promise you I am not making this up, even though I don’t have photos. (I swear I’m going to buy a digital camera sometime this year.) Anyway, it’s amazing how quickly after the New Year that I kick into “gardener” mode. I’ve already breathed a heavy sigh of relief because WalMart and Lowe’s are putting out seeds and bulbs and tools and all my favorite stuff. I have four seed catalogs next to my reading chair and more are arriving almost daily. Time to gear up folks! I don’t care if we are freezing this week—spring, gardening, and lawn mowing are right around the corner! Keep the faith.

Green Roses

        My friend and I were talking about polio and discovered that each of us had once had a neighbor in an iron lung. I remember visiting the young woman who lived a few doors down the street from us. I was fascinated by the machine that kept her alive. And I pitied her because she couldn’t walk to my house the way I could walk to hers.

That brief memory led to a drive home filled with the neighbors of my past. The one who always drank milk for dinner. The one who had such beautiful violets in the window. The one who ironed her husband’s underwear. It’s always been a mystery to me why some of the smallest details of life remain vivid in our memories, while other more important things elude us. I’ve read that traumatic events stay with us. So it’s no surprise that I remember standing in the back seat of a car that smelled like wet wool, and holding onto the little strap above the window while my grandmother screamed “Bobby slow down!” My grandmother told me I was not quite three when we were skidding along that mountain road and she thought we were going to have another accident (I was in one as an infant). I understand why I remember the shock of a window falling on my face and my mother yelling “Don’t open your eyes!” Or the rush of adrenalin I feel any time I’m in a small dark space resembling the storage room I got trapped in. What I don’t understand is why tiny bits of information stay with me. Why can I still remember that our neighbor in Georgetown, Texas had green roses?

Don’t say it’s because they were so unusual. I also remember that another neighbor made strudel on her kitchen table. I can still “see” her rolling it out and cutting it. I remember another neighbor who had shelves and shelves and shelves of National Geographic magazine. And yes, I would sneak peeks at the naked natives. Didn’t you? One of our neighbors loved to dance. So what? Why do I remember that?

When I was about eight we had a neighbor who always smoked. I’m talking about one of those people who never used her left hand for anything except holding a cigarette. I clearly remember her ashtrays. They were all over the house and they looked like little mountains. I don’t think she emptied them more than once a week.

I remember exactly what my grandmother’s neighbor to the north looked like and how she talked and the gestures she used when she was excited. I can’t recall what the neighbor to the south looked like even though I talked with her as often and eventually bought her house. Why? What intrigues our brain and triggers our memory’s “record” button? Or is it all there and we just can’t find the replay button?

And why would I remember anything about any neighbor, given our history of moving every time the wind blew? Yet there are some memories of neighbors, and their houses that are more lucid than memories of our own home. I’ve probably given this more thought than any sane person should, but I’ve come to the conclusion that many of my childhood neighbors made an impact on my memory because focusing on them was an escape from some of the pain of moving. It was as though I could soften the impact of the move if I could retain as many memories as possible. Their faces and their stories became part of my past, part of my story. It helped add a bit of normalcy to my life if I could envision them going about their daily lives while we “hit the road” again. The people left behind were carrying on, and hopefully, remembering me as part of their story.

Sick

I’ve been sort of sick since last weekend. I say “sort of” because I’ve had a nagging, hacking cough, headache, and general blah feeling, but nothing serious enough to keep me in bed. No fever, so I’ve managed to drag myself to work each day.

Being sick always reminds me of my childhood. I’m not sure if it was because we were poor, or because my father secretly wanted to be a doctor, but my parents definitely believed in “home remedies”. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve endured the “Vicks cure”. First my mother would boil water and Vicks VapoRub. Then she would put a sheet over a couple of chairs and make a tent. We would sit on the floor with the pan of Vicks water and breath until she thought we sounded better. (I say “we” because my oldest brother and I usually ended up sick at the same time.) Of course by that time our eyes were burning!

I swallowed cod liver oil so often I can’t even think about it without gagging. We got an aspirin for any pain, and Pepto Bismol for any upset. Fever meant being wrapped in cold, wet sheets like a mummy or dipped into a tub of cold water. Itching?- baking soda paste.

Dad also seemed to think that Merthiolate cured any scratch or scrape. If it didn’t…well there was always bleach. Dad never did any actual surgery, but if you had a problem that wasn’t going to require more that one stitch, he’d whip out his pocket knife and dip it in bleach. Look out! I stepped on a piece of barbed wire once and he not only dug out the prong, he soaked my foot in bleach for an eternity! I don’t remember what he put on my brother’s foot after he removed a rose thorn from the top of it. I just remember the screaming.

I guess removing teeth doesn’t qualify as surgery. If you yank something out with pliers that isn’t exactly a science. I remember hiding under the porch once so Dad wouldn’t find out that I had a loose tooth. No wonder I hate dentists!

‘Course Dad knew his limitations. I went to a real doctor when I broke my arm and when I stepped on a broken wine bottle. My brother went when he fell into a trash fire. But if we just had an ache or pain or childhood illness there was bound to be a home remedy for it. If not, Dad would invent one!

Ice Storm 2007

Here are a few photos from last weekend's ice storm. We missed all the action this weekend and actually got some sunshine.

Technical Note

Apparently the link (in the left column )for Stories Too Long wasn't working. Thanks to Roman for letting me know. I think I have it corrected.

Of Relatives and Relationships

I’ve been thinking about relationships this week. I have a lot of friends and relatives, acquaintances and colleagues. However, because of some recent correspondence from someone related to me, I’ve been examining what it is that constitutes a relationship. Of course the first thing I did was look it up in the dictionary. The basic definition is “the state of being related or interrelated”. Duh. However, there are several other definitions, and the one that struck me as most appropriate to my philosophical dilemma is this one: “the relation connecting or binding participants in a relationship”. If that sounds like a circle within a circle, it is. But what exactly is IT, that elusive connection binds us to another person?

We know from experience that it can be passion or need, but sometimes it is simply circumstance. That describes a lot of our relationships with relatives, co-workers, neighbors. We’re thrown together by random combinations of genes or the accidental sharing of our environment and we’re forced to relate to each other. We can do it with joy or with dread, and either can have a profound affect on our sanity.

I suppose what I was really searching for in the wee hours of my morning commute, when I think about such things, is what makes a good relationship-  the kind we yearn for, treasure, and do our best to maintain through good times and bad. I came up with these requirements:

·        A good relationship requires time: time spent talking, listening, visiting, enjoying, and understanding.

·        A good relationship requires shared values and interests. Yeah, I know “opposites attract”, but “birds of a feather flock together” for a reason.

·        A good relationship requires trust and respect. I’m not going to trust you with very much of my heart and soul if I don’t think you’ll treat it well.

·        A good relationship requires commitment.

Not the most profound thoughts in the world, but thinking through this has lead me to the conclusion that not all of our relationships are worth maintaining. I’m not talking about the ones that cause us grief. We usually manage to shed those if we possibly can. But sometimes we hang on to “borderline” relationships out of habit or routine. These are the ones that need to be examined. Are they enriching your life or harming it? Bringing you joy or causing you daily stress? Helping you reach your potential or holding you back? It may be time to move on. And I think you can do it gently, without hurting or blaming anyone. I have. 

Food for Thought

I spent part of our ice storm weekend reading “Don’t Eat This Book- Fast Food and the Supersizing of America” by Morgan Spurlock. Mr. Spurlock was the producer, director and star of the movie, Super Size Me, that documented his 30-day McDonald’s diet. The book discusses the movie, fast food in general, McDonald’s specifically, diets, and school lunchrooms. It is entertaining, motivating, and downright frightening.

Mr. Spurlock found that his month of gluttony not only affected his health, but his attitude. He talks about exhibiting many of the same behaviors of addicts who crave cigarettes, alcohol, or drugs. And he went through withdrawal symptoms when he returned to healthy eating. Makes for some interesting reading, but what really grabbed my attention were his remarks about “cradle to grave” marketing. I had already read about this concept in James McNeal’s book, "Kids as Customers".

Most toddlers in this country already associate the big arches with food and fun. They love the “Happy Meals”, the playground, and of course Ronald. School children can practically recite the McDonald’s menu for you. This ensures that children will continue to eat their favorite food from cradle to grave. But as Spurlock warns, if we keep training our children to eat sugar and salt laden fatty food, the grave may come sooner than we’d like. And Spurlock doesn’t single out McDonald’s. Cereal companies and other manufacturers also understand the buying power and influence of children. And most of the products marketed to children contain far more fat and sugar than growing bodies need. Some shocking statistics in this section that should really alarm parents.

I questioned some of Spurlock’s statements, but he has plenty of references to research. So far I haven’t found him to be wrong about anything. Reading this book may be just the beginning if you are interested in food, children, or dieting. I urge you to look for it at your local library.

And while we are on the subject of food I want to mention a magazine sample I received in the mail yesterday. It’s called Cuisine at home and I’m really enjoying it. It’s published without advertising, by August Home Publishing. Some of the topics covered in this issue include salt (different types), Santoku knives, and basic cooking techniques such as how to melt chocolate. Recipes include parmesan crusted chicken, chicken piccata, and crispy crusted red snapper. Mr. Spurlock makes the point in his book that with the widespread use of frozen food most people don’t cook meals anymore, they just “assemble” them. That’s basically what I do! But maybe with a magazine like this I could actually COOK something.

Helpless...

that’s how you feel when you are sitting in the dark, staring at a flickering candle. In the middle of the “Ice Storm of 2007”- without power, water, or phone service (NO INTERNET)- my husband and I were sitting in the dark musing about what in the world people did before electricity was the norm. In our technology-dependent world we feel utterly helpless when everything is stripped away. Oh, sure, I have a pantry full of food and a few dozen candles. I have flashlights. I have eight or ten gallons of water on the porch. If the road thaws out I could drive to town this afternoon for supplies. But those things are nothing when compared to our normal lives. We are so blessed and we live in such abundance that even a few days of discomfort seems endless.

Obviously the power has been restored and we have phone service again. Still no water, but that may return in a few more hours. We have propane heat, so we haven’t been freezing. However, our propane comes from a tank and it is getting frightfully low, so I put in a call for more. Hopefully the truck will be able to make it out by tomorrow.

The ice has been amazing and beautiful in its own way. We went outside for a few minutes and Gary took some photos. Ice is also heavy, and dangerous. We have to be very careful because the limbs have been crashing down for two days. The top of the mimosa tree is gone. A huge limb fell from the hackberry tree and is partially blocking the road. Several cedars have split and/or lost limbs. The beautiful redbud trees are also damaged. I’m sure it will take weeks to clean up this mess.

There will be hundreds of stories to be told after this is over and I’m sure our little bit of discomfort will be nothing in comparison to the losses of others. I’ve already heard on the news that twelve deaths have been blamed on the storm. I’m thankful I only had to sit in the dark for a while.

The Blue Glow

            Gary and I went to another wonderful musical performance at SOSU. This time it was a brass quintet, Manhattan Brass. They performed a variety of music from Bach to Duke Ellington. This was another performance in the “Musical Arts Series”. Some of the events are presented in association with the Red River Arts Council. Appearing  this spring will be Velvet Brown (tuba soloist), Zephyros Winds (chamber ensemble), Katona Twins (guitar duo), Oklahoma Opera Festival, SOSU Symphonic Band, and the Biava String Quartet.

I enjoyed the music, but what I also found entertaining was the intermission. The audience was filled with young music students and as soon as the performers left the stage I saw little blue glowing lights appear as cell phones were switched back on. (Everyone had been asked at the beginning of the performance to please “turn off anything that talks or makes a noise”.)

As the phones came back to life no one spoke. Oh, no…fingers were flying as the students sent text messages. And I don’t think anyone was reporting on the concert. I heard giggling and comments behind me that were much more personal! J

I’m just getting used to email, and you remember my experience with my new cell phone, so I guess it’s no surprise that I don’t understand the need to constantly send text messages. I’ve heard from parents of teens that their children are sending and receiving hundreds, sometimes thousands, of messages. I wonder what they have to say that can’t wait until the end of a concert, or until after class, or until they get out of their car. 

I wonder, too, if this generation will be able to speak English as they grow older, or if they will adapt to the language of their electronic devices.  I imagine sometime in the future the conversations of this generation will evolve into a shorthand of grunts and perhaps six to eight essential words. No will make eye contact. Everyone will have calluses on their fingertips. Little blue lights will glow in the night…

Too Late

I had a faculty meeting and an art meeting Wednesday night. Didn't get home until 7:00pm. Cooked dinner, sat down and promptly fell asleep on the couch. Went out to dinner and a wonderful performance by Manhattan Brass last night. Didn't get home until 10:00pm. So...two late nights...too late to blog. Just wanted you to know I hadn't forgotten. Blog tonight- about cell phones in the audience.