(I found this post I had written some time ago, but not surprisingly, I had not been able to figure out how to post it until I got some refresher instructions from my daughter).
I really detest most yard work, genetically passed on from my dad who hated it with a passion. There is, however, one activity associated with a yard that gives me much satisfaction. It is the job of pruning bushes. Living in the lush East, bushes and trees grow quickly and voraciously so pruning must be done frequently and aggressively. I really love taking those loppers in hand and chopping off the errant branches and small "suckers" which have spontaneously sprouted. There is some immediate gratification as I view all the cut limbs on the ground surrounding a bush with a new haircut. I love seeing the result of a well-defined bush or tree, although most often the final product won't appear for several weeks. As a matter of fact, often the freshly cut bush looks rather stark and even funny. Being driven by production-oriented, tangible goals, I suppose I enjoy the pruning because I can quickly see the fruits of my labor, for better or for worse. When I exercise patience, and wait for a little time to pass, the result is even more gratifying.
For the past few days I have been cutting and chopping to my heart's content in our back yard. As I have been working, my thoughts have turned to a talk I have read several times called "The Current Bush". It is an excellent discourse on why God allows adversity to come into our lives. In the story, a little current bush asks why the caretaker is so aggressive in cutting back his branches. The "Lord" of the House kindly explains that the pain is necessary in order for the further growth and health of the bush. As I have thought about this talk, I have wondered if God feels the same satisfaction when He "prunes"us as I do as I prune my backyard bushes. He knows that our temporary pain will bring glorious results. Immediately following an aggressive pruning we, too, will sometimes appear bare, vulnerable, and a little beaten down. Before long, however, we will be better than we could have ever imagined.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
It's how you play the game? I don't think so.
I read a blog post of a dear friend the other day and it prompted some thoughts of a loss I suffered centuries ago. I believe I was in the seventh grade, and since my birthday is in the fall, I was a young 7th grader. I was feeling desperate to be accepted by my peers. Not being particularly out-going or flirty, I decided that one way to achieve my desires was to become a cheerleader. These girls were always popular with the boys and envied by other non-flirty, nondescript girls, like me. They didn't seem to have to try very hard either. This was the way to go.
In my middle school, called a junior high at the time, cheerleaders were chosen by a panel of "judges", consisting of several teachers, the vice principal and, I think, the class presidents of each of the three grades. Prospective candidates received some instruction for a few days by other cheerleaders and a woman P.E. teacher. Everyone learned the same short routine which was performed on the last day of try-outs in front of the judges. These were the days of bouncy, cutesy cheerleaders- no gymnastic moves required, just lots of enthusiasm, a big smile, and it turns out, blonde hair. I thought I had a chance, except no one told me about the hair color part.
There was only one other girl who attended the same church that I did, and it seemed she was constantly my nemesis. When there was an youth activity at church, she was there, flirting with the older boys and making friends with the High Schoolers. It didn't help that she had a gorgeous older sister, also very popular, who included her little sister in her high school crowd. And wouldn't you know this competitor had blonde hair, she was smiley and out-going, and her name ended with "Jo", a real plus for 12 and 13 year old girls at the time.
The first day of try-outs, much to my dismay, ____Jo was there! I remember thinking to myself, "Why does she want to be a cheerleader? She already has the status we all seek." And I admit I secretly hoped she'd sprain an ankle. Of course she quickly learned the routine, and of course, all the other participants loved her, as did the teacher. I was livid.
On the day of try-outs, I was the second-to-last to perform for the judges. I thought I did a decent job: I remembered to constantly smile the biggest, cheesiest smile I could muster, and I was as bouncy and cutesy as anyone. But the stars were not lined up in my favor. ____Jo was after me. Yes, she wowed them all.
Each judge gave points for certain items they felt particularly important, (and I am certain hair color was one of them). It was the ridiculous custom to call out the winners in front of everyone, giving the number of points earned by each contestant. Other girls' names were called, beginning with those who had earned the most points. After the expected squeals, tears, hugs, and laughter, everyone moved aside. There was just one spot on the squad left. The air was tense, ____Jo and I held our breaths, and then, of course, her name was called. Just one point separated us. She gave me a little "Sorry" and hopped off to join the other winners, who, if I remember correctly, all had long blond hair.
This experience was a life-changer for me, at least in my junior-high life. I walked home alone (who hangs around a loser?) and spent the evening in my bedroom convinced that I would never amount to anything. For the next couple of years I hated all cheerleaders and would not participate in the cheers they led at games. In fact, I tried to become the opposite of all that was bouncy, cutesy, or blondish. I believe I even died my hair black for a time. Anyone who says, "It doesn't matter if you win or lose, it's how you play the game" really does not understand the mind of a middle school girl.
Thankfully, time was a healer, and while never a close friend of _____Jo, I did forgive her for earning that one more point. While the jury is still out, I do believe I ended up a pretty decent individual with some admirable achievements. I mean, I did win the 7th grade science fair didn't I?
In my middle school, called a junior high at the time, cheerleaders were chosen by a panel of "judges", consisting of several teachers, the vice principal and, I think, the class presidents of each of the three grades. Prospective candidates received some instruction for a few days by other cheerleaders and a woman P.E. teacher. Everyone learned the same short routine which was performed on the last day of try-outs in front of the judges. These were the days of bouncy, cutesy cheerleaders- no gymnastic moves required, just lots of enthusiasm, a big smile, and it turns out, blonde hair. I thought I had a chance, except no one told me about the hair color part.
There was only one other girl who attended the same church that I did, and it seemed she was constantly my nemesis. When there was an youth activity at church, she was there, flirting with the older boys and making friends with the High Schoolers. It didn't help that she had a gorgeous older sister, also very popular, who included her little sister in her high school crowd. And wouldn't you know this competitor had blonde hair, she was smiley and out-going, and her name ended with "Jo", a real plus for 12 and 13 year old girls at the time.
The first day of try-outs, much to my dismay, ____Jo was there! I remember thinking to myself, "Why does she want to be a cheerleader? She already has the status we all seek." And I admit I secretly hoped she'd sprain an ankle. Of course she quickly learned the routine, and of course, all the other participants loved her, as did the teacher. I was livid.
On the day of try-outs, I was the second-to-last to perform for the judges. I thought I did a decent job: I remembered to constantly smile the biggest, cheesiest smile I could muster, and I was as bouncy and cutesy as anyone. But the stars were not lined up in my favor. ____Jo was after me. Yes, she wowed them all.
Each judge gave points for certain items they felt particularly important, (and I am certain hair color was one of them). It was the ridiculous custom to call out the winners in front of everyone, giving the number of points earned by each contestant. Other girls' names were called, beginning with those who had earned the most points. After the expected squeals, tears, hugs, and laughter, everyone moved aside. There was just one spot on the squad left. The air was tense, ____Jo and I held our breaths, and then, of course, her name was called. Just one point separated us. She gave me a little "Sorry" and hopped off to join the other winners, who, if I remember correctly, all had long blond hair.
This experience was a life-changer for me, at least in my junior-high life. I walked home alone (who hangs around a loser?) and spent the evening in my bedroom convinced that I would never amount to anything. For the next couple of years I hated all cheerleaders and would not participate in the cheers they led at games. In fact, I tried to become the opposite of all that was bouncy, cutesy, or blondish. I believe I even died my hair black for a time. Anyone who says, "It doesn't matter if you win or lose, it's how you play the game" really does not understand the mind of a middle school girl.
Thankfully, time was a healer, and while never a close friend of _____Jo, I did forgive her for earning that one more point. While the jury is still out, I do believe I ended up a pretty decent individual with some admirable achievements. I mean, I did win the 7th grade science fair didn't I?
Monday, May 28, 2012
Lower Your Expectations
I have long been known as a "glass half empty" kind of person. I admit I tend to imagine most situations to their "worst case" end. I am sorry to say that I passed this on to at least one of my daughters so perhaps one could conclude that this is a genetic trait. Thus, may I be absolved of all responsibility for it? All those positive thinking people would undoubtedly be disappointed if I tried to pass this off, if they allowed themselves to think badly of anyone. My husband, the quintessential positive, is often frustrated by this line of thinking, but recently it worked to my advantage.
One of my daughters and her husband live in Equatorial Guinea, a country located on the west coast of Africa, near the equator. The capitol city, Malabo, is on an island, roughly 250 miles west of the rest of the country. This is where they live and where the US Embassy is, where my son-in-law works. This is not, by any stretch, a vacation destination. From the time they received this assignment I have been less than enthusiastic about going to see them, but in a weak moment, I agreed to spend a week there. This is when my natural negative thinking proved invaluable. After arranging our travel I began to imagine all kinds of horrendous scenarios where "safe" and edible food was scarce, snakes, cockroaches and spiders were plentiful, and hot and humid temperatures unbearable. In other words, my expectations couldn't have been lower. To further put my feelings into perspective, one must know that I detest sleeping under the stars, have never spent more than one night at girl' s camp, and have a phobia of anything crawling on me or my clothing.
What a relief to arrive there and find all of these worries unfounded. The town house where our daughter and husband live is very nice, and there is even a small swimming pool right out front. I saw very few bugs inside or out, and most were already dead (my very favorite kind of bug). The weather, although extremely humid, was tolerable and on occasion we even enjoyed a breeze. Due in large part to shipments from the U.S. we ate "normal" food. My son-in-law did try to convince me to go to a local restaurant named Ali-Babba's but I couldn't do it. It was my conceived view of what their kitchen must look like that kept me away.... We had hot running water, electricity and air conditioning. Not bad for a third world country.
This experience in Africa has reinforced my belief that if one conjures up enough negative things to worry about, there is no way but up. Negative thinking has served me well thus far. Maybe I should write a self-help book about it.
One of my daughters and her husband live in Equatorial Guinea, a country located on the west coast of Africa, near the equator. The capitol city, Malabo, is on an island, roughly 250 miles west of the rest of the country. This is where they live and where the US Embassy is, where my son-in-law works. This is not, by any stretch, a vacation destination. From the time they received this assignment I have been less than enthusiastic about going to see them, but in a weak moment, I agreed to spend a week there. This is when my natural negative thinking proved invaluable. After arranging our travel I began to imagine all kinds of horrendous scenarios where "safe" and edible food was scarce, snakes, cockroaches and spiders were plentiful, and hot and humid temperatures unbearable. In other words, my expectations couldn't have been lower. To further put my feelings into perspective, one must know that I detest sleeping under the stars, have never spent more than one night at girl' s camp, and have a phobia of anything crawling on me or my clothing.
What a relief to arrive there and find all of these worries unfounded. The town house where our daughter and husband live is very nice, and there is even a small swimming pool right out front. I saw very few bugs inside or out, and most were already dead (my very favorite kind of bug). The weather, although extremely humid, was tolerable and on occasion we even enjoyed a breeze. Due in large part to shipments from the U.S. we ate "normal" food. My son-in-law did try to convince me to go to a local restaurant named Ali-Babba's but I couldn't do it. It was my conceived view of what their kitchen must look like that kept me away.... We had hot running water, electricity and air conditioning. Not bad for a third world country.
This experience in Africa has reinforced my belief that if one conjures up enough negative things to worry about, there is no way but up. Negative thinking has served me well thus far. Maybe I should write a self-help book about it.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Why they take your driver's license away
My age caught up with me last week. I am still unclear as to how it happened, but I had a silly, no ridiculous, mishap on a 4-wheeler. To begin the story, I must say that I met with a cardiologist who told me "You have absolutely nothing of concern going on with your heart, for your age (my absolutely most-hated phrase). However, I would like to see you do some form of exercise at least four times a week to get your heart-rate up." I determined that this meant walking down and up my 3/4 of a mile driveway, much of it up-hill both ways (and I am not kidding). So, I walked to the mailbox. I saw there was mail, and a fair amount, so I decided to walk home and get the car. However, the thought occurred to me (certainly not a case of divine inspiration) that because gasoline is now over $4 a gallon I should take a 4-wheeler. This is where I can easily lay blame on my husband for what happened next.
The vehicle available was not one I was familiar with: it required shifting gears with one's foot, not hand. My husband quickly explained what he thought was sufficient information and I was off down the field. On the way down I began to worry about having to shift into reverse. For those of you younger readers, 'worry' is something that increases as you get older, it is often unfounded and irrational, but it can become a time-consuming past- time if fostered.
Anyway, I decided that to avoid a shift into reverse I would make a wide turn at the base of the driveway and leave the ATV facing uphill while I retrieved the mail. All was going well until I realized as I approached the fence that I was not going to clear it. Now the details get dicey... For some reason (a slight stroke?), I pushed on the gas instead of the brake and I careened into that fence with full force. My cell phone which had been on the seat flew into the grass with such force that it came out of it's case. I scraped up my hand, and later realized I had bruised a rib, injured the back of my heel, and hit my right arm. I discovered the only saving grace for having fat arms--all that flesh cushioned the bones and I came away with a horrific bruise but no broken arm.
Perhaps the most humorous part of all this was when I called P. to come and get me. He was working in his wood-shop so I assumed he could drive down to pick up the injured. Wrong. I called him and said in a somewhat shaky voice, "Umm, I have had a little accident. Could you come and get me?" "Oh, well, you will have to wait--I am in the middle of gluing some wood together." I guess I hadn't realized that one should never get between a man and his glue.
I am sure if someone had been filming my actions we could have made some real money on "Funniest Home Videos". Too bad. I was able to use the event to my advantage for the rest of the evening, though; I had to rest, so P. did the dishes.
The vehicle available was not one I was familiar with: it required shifting gears with one's foot, not hand. My husband quickly explained what he thought was sufficient information and I was off down the field. On the way down I began to worry about having to shift into reverse. For those of you younger readers, 'worry' is something that increases as you get older, it is often unfounded and irrational, but it can become a time-consuming past- time if fostered.
Anyway, I decided that to avoid a shift into reverse I would make a wide turn at the base of the driveway and leave the ATV facing uphill while I retrieved the mail. All was going well until I realized as I approached the fence that I was not going to clear it. Now the details get dicey... For some reason (a slight stroke?), I pushed on the gas instead of the brake and I careened into that fence with full force. My cell phone which had been on the seat flew into the grass with such force that it came out of it's case. I scraped up my hand, and later realized I had bruised a rib, injured the back of my heel, and hit my right arm. I discovered the only saving grace for having fat arms--all that flesh cushioned the bones and I came away with a horrific bruise but no broken arm.
Perhaps the most humorous part of all this was when I called P. to come and get me. He was working in his wood-shop so I assumed he could drive down to pick up the injured. Wrong. I called him and said in a somewhat shaky voice, "Umm, I have had a little accident. Could you come and get me?" "Oh, well, you will have to wait--I am in the middle of gluing some wood together." I guess I hadn't realized that one should never get between a man and his glue.
I am sure if someone had been filming my actions we could have made some real money on "Funniest Home Videos". Too bad. I was able to use the event to my advantage for the rest of the evening, though; I had to rest, so P. did the dishes.
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Home Sweet Home
Somewhere in my lineage I have gypsy blood. I have a constant need to move on, to be somewhere other than where I am, and to experience new things. We just returned from being gone from home for over three weeks and already I am thinking about somewhere to go. Perhaps it is my parent's fault, because, as a child every year we would spend the summer somewhere in the country, usually in the east. We would drive across the country, rent a house or apartment, stay for about 8 weeks while my dad taught at the local university, and then head home again. That whetted my appetite for a change of scene. Also, in the first years of my marriage we moved every 2-3 years. I can't say I minded it because every place provided new experiences and new friends. I was younger then, and moving a household wasn't so daunting. It has been twelve years since we moved; high time to be on our way.
For the short term we have a trip planned to Africa, a road trip to Utah and a short visit to southern California (all in May!) My gypsy side is thrilled. Sometime in the spring ( it is spring until June, after all) I am planning some day trips, probably with my darling youngest daughter. Unfortunately (facetious here) she went and got a job and our outings will be governed by her work schedule.
There is just one enticement to coming home--my bed. I do love my bed, and it is great to return to it from time to time. I think my husband bought this bed to keep me somewhat tethered.
For now, though, I am extremely anxious because I have at least 6 weeks this summer with no travel plans. That must be rectified! I am sure this is fodder for psychiatric discussion, but so be it.
For the short term we have a trip planned to Africa, a road trip to Utah and a short visit to southern California (all in May!) My gypsy side is thrilled. Sometime in the spring ( it is spring until June, after all) I am planning some day trips, probably with my darling youngest daughter. Unfortunately (facetious here) she went and got a job and our outings will be governed by her work schedule.
There is just one enticement to coming home--my bed. I do love my bed, and it is great to return to it from time to time. I think my husband bought this bed to keep me somewhat tethered.
For now, though, I am extremely anxious because I have at least 6 weeks this summer with no travel plans. That must be rectified! I am sure this is fodder for psychiatric discussion, but so be it.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
All right already!
So when I casually mentioned to my husband last night about my last post concerning February 29th, he laughed out loud. This wasn't a 'free day' he said--we didn't receive an extra 24 hours from anywhere. I know that is true, technically, but I still contend that it gives us (me?) something to contemplate. And besides, didn't those who were working for a daily wage receive an extra day of employment??? Didn't those who have a Feb. 29th birthday get to celebrate?
You may make your own conclusions about my faulty thinking, but please don't share them with me because I am, after all, getting older, facing a sure decline into uselessness, and my self esteem is tenuous at best...
You may make your own conclusions about my faulty thinking, but please don't share them with me because I am, after all, getting older, facing a sure decline into uselessness, and my self esteem is tenuous at best...
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Its a gift! And its for You!
Today is February 29th, 2012, a day which didn't exist last year or the past 4 years for that matter. I awoke this morning with the thought--here is a 24-hour-period that all human beings have been given (at least those who follow our calendar). What shall I do with it? The choices are endless, really, and one could easily decide to squander those hours on activities not normally done, or to use them to do something truly amazing, and/or to serve other people. Wise use of time takes planning and forethought, and frankly, I didn't do it this leap around. My husband and I went to get "virtual physicals" ( a topic for another time) which ended up taking 6 hours including travel time. We had planned on three so the day was really one of waiting and driving, along with a great discussion with a radiologist regarding our magnificent insides. I feel a great deal of remorse that I didn't plan more efficiently so I could have used this free day in a more meaningful way. I guess spending six hours with my spouse of 40-plus years is pretty meaningful and maybe this was the best use of my "free" time. Next leap year, 2016, I have resolved to be more prepared and dazzle everyone with my fabulous choices. How did you use your 24 hours?
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