What Joy is

Recently I received a Christmas card from our life insurance agent. We met him over 40 years ago in Utah and have never seen him again. We have communicated, when necessary, first over the phone, and now on the internet. How often does one need to to communicate with a life insurance agent? Exactly. Maybe two or three times in a 40 year span. But he always sends us a Christmas card, and so I feel as though I know his family. A few years ago his wife had cancer and the picture on the card showed this man and his five sons with their heads shaved in support of her chemo-induced baldness. Last year announced her cancer-free condition with a picture of them in some sunny vacation spot with broad smiles on their faces. This year we received a cute picture of them with Santa hats on, huge smiles, and he giving her a kiss. I thought, "How great! She is still doing well." But when I turned the card over I saw what I think constitutes the true reason for their smiles: a picture of all eight of their children, their spouses, and 25 beautiful grandchildren. They were all together, and it appeared they were having fun, and enjoying each others' company. That is what real joy is.

Christmas chumps

For years (maybe 40?) I have shouldered the sole responsibility for conceiving of and executing a happy Christmas for all of our family members, and for those friends, and work associates, who we exchange gifts with. I have spent hours figuring out what will be most meaningful for each person, if everyone is receiving comparable items, etc. (Heaven forbid that one child got 4 gifts and another got 5! They do keep track and as they got older and the number went down but the dollar amount went up it became especially tricky).
Well, after weeks of planning, then shopping, then wrapping, and then mailing when necessary, my dear husband, whom I have dubbed the Christmas chump, has often said to me, on or about December 24th, usually at 4 in the afternoon, "So, are we all ready for Christmas?" which, being interpreted means, "Did you get everything purchased and prepared for the big day, because I haven't given it a thought until this very moment."
A few times, a very few, I have done what I like to call "pitch a fit" and insisted that he help out. I admit, once I put my foot down he has helped some, but his interest is short-lived, and it rarely includes (I am not sure if it ever has!) the wrapping, labeling, or placing under the tree. Certainly I never sent him to the post office, because, I mean, when asked if the package contained anything perishable, liquid, or hazardous, how would he know?
Perhaps there is a husband out there who really gets " into" the whole gift-buying thing, making sure everything is equal, thoughtful, and beautifully adorned. I would like to talk to that guy, but I would really like to talk to his wife.

Must have been sleeping

I have often wondered if, before one comes to earth, he or she is given certain physical characteristics to live with throughout mortality. Did we have choices of what we might look like? Are there lines we stand in for hair, leg shape, height, metabolism, etc.? If so, I must have been sleeping or horribly distracted by the heavenly beauty around me. I hardly believe I purposely chose to live with my thin, fine hair, and my thick, unshapely legs (just to name a couple of my physical failings)--I must have been sleeping while the desirable characteristics were being handed out. One might say it is genetics but if so, why would my sister be several inches taller, with much better hair, and my brothers have good eyesight, when I have had to wear glasses for five plus decades? There had to be something other than just genetics in play and I just missed out. Did I really agree happily to live with less than acceptable physical features?

I can imagine long lines of spiritual beings waiting patiently in the "Get Your Great Hair Here" line, or the "Long, Killer Legs Found Here" one. Perhaps we had to choose between great physical features and other gifts which would help us in our earthly existence. If so, I can't imagine what I thought I needed, or why I may have discounted the advantage of having a high metabolism. Another mystery to solve when this life is over. Well, I must go brush my teeth--did I mention that I hold the record for the number of fillings and crowns found in a single mouth?

She's a little slow

I once took a speed reading course. Well, actually I began to take a speed reading course, but when I realized it flew in the face of one of my most deliberate habits, I abandoned it. The fact is, with speed reading one skims each page, focusing on the middle words and allowing the eyes to merely peripherally take in the words on either side of the page. What fun is that? The way I read is to say each word in my head as I read. I realize be admitting this I am immediately labeled as a slow reader ( perhaps not quite as bright as my parents had hoped). But I love reading; it is one of my favorite hobbies. I can get caught up in a well-told story with the best of them. To spoil the experience by rushing through is like eating a good piece of chocolate without thinking about it. Okay, I admit I have eaten one or two or ten pieces of chocolate without really thinking about it, but you get the picture.
I wonder if there really are people out there who like to read by speeding over the pages, never formulating a word in their heads. How does that work, anyway? Are they just getting the idea, not the specifics? How could you appreciate a well-written sentence if all you read were the 4 words in the middle? I say why ruin a happy past-time by turning it into work? Not me! This is one habit I will never abandon. You may go off and formulate your negative opinions of me now...

So it has been 6 plus weeks since I wrote a post- that is what happens when one returns to the reality of home, I guess, and doesn't make blogging a priority or goal. It isn't that I haven't been thinking of what I would like to say, just that the days merge into each other and before you know it, six whole weeks have gone by, or more. Kind of like one's life; before you know it , it is nearing the end of 2011. No goals, nothing accomplished.

One thing I have been thinking about is driving, and specifically, how easily it is to become a perpetrator of road rage. For those who know me well, do I appear to be someone who could become irrationally angry over being cut off in traffic? (Don't respond, please). There is something that absolutely 'gets my goat' when another driver speeds past me and then quickly gets in front of me. I will give you an example: One day I was driving in Utah (never a good idea) and my lane was ending. I put on my blinker so that those behind me would know I had to move over. A car came along side and just kept going, when he could have easily moved to the left lane (no one there). I had to hit my brakes to avoid hitting him. Wow, did I feel my blood pressure go up. I was so angry I caught up with him and tailgated him for a block or two, even considered rolling down my window to yell. I actually had to take some deep breaths and talk out loud to myself (no eye rolls please) to calm down. Why???? How silly to care if I am in front or behind another car? Maybe I should see a
professional to analyze the emotion. Anyway, given my extreme feelings, I can readily understand, (but not justify), how someone gets into confrontations on the road. Now for the rest of the story:
After I had calmed myself back to rationality, I did pull up along side the other car. Imagine my feelings of shame when I saw a very old man (yes, older than me!) driving that car. He appeared to be completely oblivious to me, staring straight ahead and absorbed in his own thoughts. He probably had never even seen the lane ending. I ate a huge piece of humble pie right then, wondering how many times I had done the same thing to someone else...

Why 20 kids makes sense

I should have had 20 children. I had six when I could have been a super mother to three, just because I love new babies so much. (For the record, I have never, ever, regretted having any of these children, and in my opinion, they have become pretty awesome adults.)

Here are just some of the reasons why I love babies:

Babies never complain when they are served the same thing for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and, the preparation of these meals is simplicity at its finest.

Babies love you to sing to them, and could care less if you can' t carry a tune or don't know the real words.

Babies will let you snuggle them whenever you want to.

Babies look at you like you really do know what you are talking about.

Babies show appreciation for the smallest acts of service, -by smiling at you, and again, letting you cuddle them.

Babies never talk back.

Babies love to stare at lights, which always reminds me that it wasn't long ago that they were enveloped in divine light.

Babies smile at you even when you have morning breath, dirty hair, and haven't 'put your eyebrows on' yet.

Babies also don't care if you are a "fun" grandma or a more dignified one. They love you because you love them.

Babies don't care if you have saggy skin or a middle-aged stomach bulge.

Babies, at least new ones, stay where you put them--no wondering what they are getting into.

Babies accept your agenda for the day, and go along with you wherever you decide to go.

Babies also accept your choice of clothing for them-your taste in fashion is great with them.

Babies exude pure innocence- what a joy to feel it through them.

Literary appearances

I love to read. I have always been an avid reader and during my childbearing and child caring years, I used to go to the library just to get a "rush" of enthusiasm when my life seemed too mundane. Sadly, during those years I rarely had time to actually finish a book, but being surrounded by possibilities filled me with optimism for what lay in the future.
Now I can read as much, nearly, as I like, and I admit I don't often take advantage of this stage of my life as fully as I could. (It's that ugly, when-I-finish-the-laundry syndrome, which interferes).
No one loves a well-written piece as much as I do. I marvel at the talents of some authors. I appreciate the ability some have to effectively express in words their thoughts and feelings.
Now comes my tell-all. Sometimes I love to read a fast-moving, maybe not so well-written novel on occasion. I like to get lost in an impossible, silly story line where I don' t have to ponder any deeper meanings. This may not be such a sin, except I have realized that my personal pride requires that I keep these reads quiet. For example, if a friend asks what I have been reading lately, I would never mention these books. Now don't get me wrong, I have not sunk so low as to read a romance novel. I do have my standards. What I am talking about are quick read suspense novels, or love stories by an author like... okay, I will not mention names. You get the picture.
I realized how important appearances were to me in this area when I went to the doctor, bringing my copy of Tale of Two Cities to read. The doc saw this and said, "I knew you were an intelligent person. You read the classics". Time to hurry out to my car and bury that other book I was consuming at the time.
Now I have revealed this weakness along with what a fake I am--I hope someday my great-grandchildren will look past these foibles and love me for my more stellar characteristics.

Old News But True

This is not new information, but I feel the need to vent. Every female on the planet who has ever associated in any way with a male knows that men and boys cannot do more than one thing at once. My husband calls it "focusing" but I believe it is an inherent developmental flaw. Here is an example, "Honey, could you please take out the trash?" "Sure, no problem." At that moment the timer goes off on the oven, signaling that our delicious casserole (yes, I am amazing) is ready to be removed from the oven. I am upstairs at the moment, transferring the wet laundry to the the dryer while simultaneously wiping up some dirt off the floor with a paper towel, and talking to my daughter on the phone. Does my dear husband stop his trash run to take the food out of the oven? No, he can only focus on one thing, and it really never occurs to him to do otherwise. Consequently, we have an overdone casserole, and in his mind, he is totally innocent.

Given a little more time, I could come up with countless other examples, but the point has been made. I don't think males can help themselves, they just don't have the multi-task gene. I have only known one man who did, and yes, although married, he did exhibit a bit of femininity. This same man, along with the multi-task gene, also had an attention to detail which was startlingly like a woman's . He'd come home from work and notice that the front rug was slightly askew, and carefully straighten it. One day he actually noticed a new, unwanted spot, the size of a dime, on a throw pillow. I witnessed this myself in utter amazement. I am not sure I'd be comfortable with this kind of preciseness because, let's be honest, sometimes I don't mind a crooked rug. I guess I will continue to cope with my multi-tasked impaired spouse.

My Heart Strings

Take a waving American flag, softly sung "God Bless America", and a few personalized stories of September 11, 2001, and I am reduced to a blubbering mess in 30 seconds. Today I viewed a special "Music and The Spoken Word" , the program which features the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. The program, narrated by Tom Brokaw*, highlighted some personal stories of that fatal day in September, coupled with lovely arrangements by the choir. It was, of course, very well done, and I believe, designed to bring old softies like me to tears.
This day does bring many thoughts of how grateful I am to be an American, and living at this time in the history of the world. We have been so blessed with protection in this country; we really can't conceive of the kind of troubles so many other countries face, and often: government take-overs, droughts, epidemics, terrorist violence.
I am also more fully aware of the importance of family and faith. In all the stories retold on the program today, these two factors were what sustained the individuals. I am grateful beyond words for both.

Good versus Happy

Seriously, are there individuals out there who only eat when their bodies tell them they need nourishment? If so, they've got to be few in number.
Each day I have an inner battle with myself over the ridiculous subject of eating. I cannot number the times I have resolved to eat "healthy" or be "in control" for the day. And, of course, I have abandoned that goal by about 10 a.m. I proudly declare that on rare occasions I have made it to as late as 7 p.m. But who can ignore that urge for popcorn or ice cream after 7 p.m.?
When I was young, around 18, I had a killer metabolism which allowed for binges of candy bars and pizza at midnight with absolutely no consequences, at least on the poundage front. Sometime between those fond days and now, decades later, that metabolism slowly disappeared until I have arrived at the point when even a thought of those goodies can add a pound or two, which are then impossible to get rid of. Isn't it hard enough to watch one's face become wrinkled, one's body submit to gravity in a saggy mess, and countless aches and pains emerge? Why couldn't us middle-aged souls enjoy a life of indulgence when it comes to food, when it could bring such comfort and could help in our acceptance of all these ailments? If and when I have a say in creation, this may be one of my top priorities.
As for today, I am doing very well--it is 8:14 a.m. and I am still on track for being "good".

World Record Showerer

It is true. I can shower faster than anyone else I know. I have been known to wash my hair in the sink prior to showering , just so it will dry faster. Taking a shower is a necessary chore: get in, wash quickly and, get out. My son verified my skill this summer when he asked when I would be done in the bathroom. "Give me three minutes," I said, "and I will have showered and dressed." "Oh, sure!" he moaned, "I bet!" Exactly three minutes later I emerged. He was very impressed.
In comparison, my husband takes a ridiculously long time to do this daily activity. He is in there FOREVER. I've asked him why he is so slow and he claims it is his time to think, to plan, and, as he puts it, "solve the world's problems". I can't relate. I do my planning while eating breakfast and checking emails. I make lists of how I am going to "solve" the world's problems, along with the shopping, cleaning, and studying.
Someone should do a study (government sponsored-ha!) on the different bathing styles of individuals to see which type is most successful in life. I'm sure someone could scrounge up some government funding for this one. Maybe a psychological study would be more appropriate. Come to think of it, I could likely be a subject for numerous psychological studies! This I do know: my day's list is half completed by the time my husband is getting started on his.
And although it has never occurred to me until this moment, my showering habits have undoubtedly earned me favorable points with the conservationists in the world.

Is it a circle?

Yesterday I became a grandmother for the sixteenth time. Birth is such a miracle, but this one was especially so because the mother, my daughter, is 37 and this is her first baby. I prayed long and diligently for her marriage and, now, a baby. I'll meet this little fellow in a few days, and I really can't wait. I absolutely love holding, cuddling and even singing to tiny infants. (Luckily for them, their hearing isn't fully developed). I am continually amazed at the whole process of creation. I mean how is it possible that this new little person could have been scrunched in tight quarters for months, in the dark, immersed in liquid, and fed by a tube, and suddenly he can see, cry, and drink? And what does he know or remember that he is unable to tell us?
Today I was comparing the short life of our new grandson to the very long life of my uncle, who is 99 and a half. My uncle's mind is sharp, and he can communicate well, but his physical body is deteriorating. He has difficulty standing up for more than 30 seconds without his walker, and needs help with all of his daily activities. I use the word "activities" liberally, because, honestly, he usually just sits most of the day. His eyesight and hearing are noticeably impaired. (maybe I could sing to him?) There is a clear comparison to be made between him and this new baby. Both are pretty darn dependent on others to care for them.
If asked, I am sure my uncle would express his amazement at quickly his life has gone by. Certainly he has had priceless experiences, witnessed world, family, and personal events which have contributed to who he is and what he knows.
It is impossible to fathom what our new grandson will see, experience, and witness in his lifetime. Part of me (okay, a big part of me) wants to shelter him from most of it, but realistically I know its important that I don't. Given the longevity of my family, and the medical advancements to come, it is likely he will live well into his 100's, but I'll bet as he nears the end of his life, he will still say its gone by quickly.

Long Term Marriage

Two days ago I celebrated my 40th year of marriage. I call that pretty long-term. I can't imagine how I ended up with 40 years under my belt, because, honestly, I don't feel that old, and it doesn't seem that long ago that I was a young, know-nothing child bride. I was actually nearly 21 when I married (okay, now you all know how old I am) but in so many ways I grew up after marriage. It wasn't always pretty. I had my share of poutings, hurt feelings, and disappointment in what marriage was supposed to be like. My poor spouse was as patient as anyone could be as I worked through young adult-hood and first-time motherhood. As I look back, I feel pretty sorry for him! Knowing we had made commitments we weren't going to break helped through the tough times. Mostly it was all good, that's for sure, and the positive definitely outweighed the negative.
Being married to the same person for 40 years means you know that person--really, really know him. And, he really, really knows you. Having said that, though, we still have to make time to talk to each other about feelings and expectations. There are still gaps in our understanding. Why? Because human beings are complicated, and that differentiates us from the other mammals on the earth. Oh, and then there are hormones...

Fall-ing

It is August, late August, and this time of year seems to always be difficult for me. Why? I think it is because August used to mean back-to-school time, which was a time of very mixed feelings for me. Before marriage (yes, I can sometimes remember back that far), back-to-school meant excitement and dread stirred together. Excitement for new experiences; dread of forced routine and other people insisting that I do tasks I didn't want to do. And, I suffer from self-imposed pressure to finish projects well before they are due. I am not a procrastinator. This tendency increased the 'dread' feelings. After I had children, back-to-school time meant I would finally have more time to clean my house, do the laundry, and perhaps sneak in some reading. But it also meant the loss of the hub-bub that children provide, including spontaneous hugs and cute behaviors to view. Now, as a reluctant empty-nester, late August holds some kind of ominous feeling that others have activities coming to entertain and busy them, which I will not have.

I seem to be pretty negative, huh? I guess another piece of chocolate will cheer me up...

If I am so busy, why am I bored?

Last week I went to a BYU Education Week lecture on finding joy in everyday life. Just attending this lecture tells you a lot about how I am feeling. The man did have several good (even great) ideas for finding that elusive joy. My favorite was to eat a piece of chocolate every day, very, very slowly, and savor its taste. I have tried this, but I can't seem to make myself eat it slowly enough that I don't want another piece immediately. One thing he said hit a nerve--don't try to find happiness by being excessively busy all the time. In other words, take time to enjoy nature's beauties and a great hug from a loved one.

I hate having to decide how to spend my time. There is always a lingering thought, deep in the recesses of my brain, which is judging whether or not what I am doing is worthwhile and/or necessary. I have tried to analyze this, and the best I can come up with is that my mother was such a hard worker, and very unselfish and she somehow instilled a fear of laziness and selfishness in me. I became completely task-oriented. If I am not doing something, I must be lazy (and thus, selfish). I am not blaming my mom because maybe I came this way from the pre-earth life. My siblings don' t seem to have this much trouble relaxing and doing what they want to do. Of course, all of them are working at paying jobs right now except for one brother who manages his properties and thus he is, obviously, doing worthwhile things.

Now, to tie all these ramblings to my first paragraph about finding joy, and the presenter's statements about not trying to find joy in being busy. Each day I make a list and charge through it as fast and efficiently as I can. Thus, I am usually really busy. It is easy to fill a day with bank deposits and withdrawals, grocery store runs, bill-paying, and household projects. The truth is, though, I am pretty bored and really feel at odds with myself most of the time. Good to discover all these inner-self realities, but what to do about them?