Are you Bored?

When I was in college, I recall walking in for a final in Composition class and being handed the classic ‘blue book.’ Four or five topics were on the board to select from and we were to pick one topic from the list to write about. For some strange reason, I picked the topic boredom.

Maybe I selected it because it was a foreign concept to my life, at the time. I was a single mother of two school aged children, home owner, and working 30 hours a week. When I was not working at a book publishing company as an assistant editor, I was either attending college or studying for classes as I carried 18 credit hours to ensure a quick graduation. I had active children also that played soccer year round. I had a calendar that had more arrows on it to fit all activities on it that is looked more like an illegible city map!

To this day, I wish I had a copy of that term paper to read! I thought of it the other day, as I lay in the pool on a float just relaxing. I remember thinking to myself, ‘If someone would just pay me to do this, I would be eternally grateful and happy as can be!” I wondered then why I am never really bored.

The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines the word bore as “to weary with tedious dullness.” Maybe therein lays the issue because I find life exhilarating. Signs of life are miracles, God’s little whispers to us that all is as it should be. So I am not sure I have ever found myself in too many situations that are innately blah, e.g. boring.

Given my age, I thought back to younger days in my life. In particular, long summer breaks from school spent for days on end at the local pool recreational center. Many a day I was there from dawn to dusk, swimming, playing ‘keep a way’ and flirting with the boys. And yet, as fun as it was, by the end of July, I did not want to admit it but I was ready for school to start. Seeing day after day the limited number of kids that came to that particular pool was getting monotonous. Soaking in the sun was getting, boring! That word was applicable at that point in my life. I think I am representative of most at that age, our youthful years, we are always wanting to run away from boredom. We thrive on excitement and drama!

When I look at the time period of my twenties and thirties, there was no time to schedule boredom. Too little time and too much to do with it! My career, my marriage, parenthood and just facing the adult world was time consuming . When I was not on the go, I was sleeping out of exhaustion. And the sleeping came in short supply.

About the age of mid forties, I begun to get a life that was not spiraling with a constant influx of new stimuli to adjust to and I was slowly down. I begun to see that stillness can be healing, and soothing to the soul. I realized that now I run more to that state I use to call boredom instead of away from it! I cherish serenity in a way in my youth, I simply could not. I rejoice in that which is stable, an d steer clear of chaos and drama. Funny how time changes one’s perspectives. I would much rather be bored yet happy than not bored and over stimulated.

As I look to the future, approaching old age, I wonder how my views will change towards having empty hours on my hands. It is hard to predict. Time changes all of us. It is hard to walk by the elderly, as a child, and even contemplate ourselves being, one day, that image. But we will, most certainly, God willing.

In a world of changes and noise, dull moments should be embraced and rejoiced. These are the times we can reflect and grow. Boredom is a temporary state if you find the fine line, the balance, between living and just being.

*** Don Bergfors once said, “ I do not consider myself old. Old age is anyone that is ten years older than me, at any given age!”

Mommy can Mow!

Years ago, one hot summer, I had to go out and buy a lawnmower. I had never even cut the grass in my life, up to that point. And then in a split second, I found myself smack dab at the Sears department store, in the section where mowers are sold. Standing in the middle of all this heavy duty equipment with large price tags made me take stock of my life. I was feeling somewhat lost., Here I stood, divorced and trying to raise two kids on my own. I was in college full time and working part time. And, one more thing on my to do list, cutting the grass?!

The backyard in question to cut was treacherously steep. The children were not allowed to sled down it in the winter time or they would land up in the neighbor’s yard. I contemplated this while reviewing model after model in Sears that day of mowers. I quickly transitioned in my mind wondering if I had long to live. The image of myself in tennis shoes going back and forth a steep hill with two gradients that were hard to walk up, pushing a heavy lawn mower sounded like a deadly combination.

I knew that day, in Sears, contrary to women libbers everywhere, I had to find a man and I had to find him fast! Not one to marry, mind you, but one to help me decide which lawn mower I should buy as I saw, if it did its job well, as my new best friend. Especially if there was one that could cut the lawn all by itself.

As luck would have it, my man appeared. He was godlike, even though his baggy yellow shorts and beer gut did not do much for me romantically. He looked dirty so I figured, he was a man’s man and I quickly latched my eyes on his. Honestly, though, I think seeing me standing there with two kids drooling chocolate chip cookies everywhere, was a sure sign to him. I was a damsel in distress and even he could not pass up the opportunity to be my knight in shining armor. We chatted briefly and he gave me pointers on things to take into account when deciding on mowers to purchase. I am not sure he was listening to well as I thought I had made it clear I could care about the value proposition statement of each of the countless metal beasts. I only wanted to know, based on my yard’s description, which mower would make my job easier. He eventually obliged and what seemed like record time, my new mower was bought, put in a large box in the back of our little car and we were heading home.

My car was a small black Chevette stick shift, complete with faded red and orange racing stripes up the back side panels. Even as my children’s young ages, they knew this was not a cool car. Our vehicle would do nothing for our images around town. They were insisting already that, when I drove them anywhere, drop them off a block away so they were not seen in the car that looked like a black trash can on its side. The bucket seats in the front meant they were both sandwiched in the seat together. If that wasn’t uncomfortable enough, they also had to hang on to the edges of the box containing our new purchase for dear life. And then I drove slow home, trying to avoid any bumps.

Once home, the man of the house, my fourth grade son, helped me haul the box out. Silly me, I thought when I opened the box it would be assembled. No such luck, I had to put it together myself, the women who could not build a house out of Lincoln logs. Much to the amusement of the men gathered across the street my neighbor’s front yard, I had to read the directions. And read them I did, over and over again, till they made some semblance of sense. And that evening, before dark, I managed to put it together , our brand new mower.

Then came the scary part, would it start? When it did, wow, was I impressed with me. I tried hard to ignore the chanting from across the street as the men not only laughed amongst themselves, but yelled comments at me while I had attempted to do what they said was the impossible. And in the end, I did do it. I sat back and stared at my mower in admiration. This starry eyed glaze did not last long as my son reminded me that it was near bedtime and they wanted a snack. How could they think of such trivial things as eating when we had this wonderful new mower just begging to be used?

The next day, at the crack of dawn, I was out there in the backyard. It was a slow start as I had to learn how to leverage my body lower on the hill than the mower so I could direct the mower across the yard without it, and me, landing in a heap at the base of the hill. I was just about getting the knack of it when my kids popped out the back door and quickly shouted me how proud they were of me. As I looked over my shoulder, I recall seeing them in just about direct line with the mower and visions of me losing my grip came to mind. I quickly shouted back, please go back in the house. I told them the truth, with me behind the mower in our yard, it was not safe to be outside. They ran in as quickly as they could. I am not sure if this was a sign of good faith in my advice or lack of faith in me in controlling our power mower.

That summer flew by but the memories of that experience live on in me. I was out there countless times, cutting the grass alone. My neighbors all had burly husbands to do this manly work but not I. The first few times, the men gathered again and sat in lawn chairs just to watch me cut the grass. As they teased me, and I acted as if I did not hear a word, I begun to find humor in their inability to find something more worthy of their time than me cutting the grass.

Later in the summer, I learned something quite amusing. The neighbors husbands, the same ones that saw fit to tease and taunt me, began to resent me too. Apparently they had used the day they cut the grass at their homes as a convenient excuse to not do anything else around the house. Many times, they felt, since the job was so difficult, they should be allowed to play eighteen holes of golf the following day Sunday verses spending time with their wives and children. However, the day I started cutting the lawn also, things begun to change. These wives saw me out there, bright and early with as much lawn to cut as their husbands. They saw me later, washing the car and playing with the kids. I was taking them back and forth to soccer games, helping them collect leaves and bugs for science projects, and grilling dinner out. There was not room in my life, at that time, to be tired and have down time. But, the women knew, it was no longer just ok for their husbands to make feeble excuses for not helping out more. Cutting the grass was only one chore of many!

I look back on memories like this fondly and with laughter. I had such a big hill to walk up and cut. Much like life, lots of uphill walks are taken. The steps we take are not always on steady ground either but more on faith and motivation. Those days are long gone. Today, I live on even more property than I did back in those days. Yes, the acreage of my current yard far surpasses that steep hill in Kentucky. When I met my present husband, and we began corresponding, early on the subject of mowing came up, of all topics! I learned, coincidentally he enjoys it and feels reenergized riding his large mower. It takes literally hours each week to cut his lawn here in Tennessee. And when I reflect on this, I think I knew back then, especially when I saw his big tractor, I was smitten for life!

The Gift

It has been said throughout the years that a gift is in the eyes of the beholder. For what matters not what is in the gift but what it does to the receiver….what emotions it evokes, what it does to their soul. Does it send their spirit soaring?

To a dying man, a gift is a smile.

To a hospital patient confined to a bed, a gift may be hand delivered flowers to remind them that beauty lies right outside the door and someone cared enough to break a sprig of it inside!

On holidays, my favorite gift to give, when I travel and have to stop for gas, the attendant in the store that has to work the holiday shift, money out of my wallet, usually at least a twenty dollar bill. The look on their face, seeing it light up with surprise is priceless!

Getting a card from a stranger that just says they are sorry you are hurting, in pain or in sympathy for a lost loved one is a gift. Unexpected compassion from a stranger that wants not recognition but wants, simply to give you a piece of their heart…no strings attached!

A gift of priceless value is the gift of an organ. Being an organ donor gives life to so many others that might, otherwise, not have that opportunity to thrive.
I heard a priest say recently a gift is anything we do that causes someone else to have faith. Simply passing someone on the street and wishing them a nice day for no reason is hope. Helping someone cross the street that is feeble is respectful and gives praise to the life they have led. Giving someone that cannot bear children a child gives faith, that they can provide a child a loving home.

Some of the best gifts are the anonymous ones. I remember a friend that had to have an expensive procedure done when he was terminal with cancer. He reached out to his church family and asked for assistance. They all pitched in to help this man, this child of God, this dad of two small children, have one more chance to fight to live. When all the money was collected, the day it was all due to his home, a big envelope was found on the front porch. When he opened it, inside was a small note, signed anonymous donor. It was a cashier’s check for the entire amount that had been raised! Hence, all the money was returned to the donors but that check not only let him get the treatment but that gift instilled everyone associated with this man to realize God truly does work in mysterious ways!

The importance of gifts was even mentioned in the Bible. The New Testament tells the story of three wise kings that traveled from afar to bring a gift to the feet of the baby Jesus, while he lay in the stable in the manager. These were three wise men who knew that the scripture spelled out the birth of a king. They were in awe of the glory and when he was born, wanted to give a symbolic gift in reverence to him.
Our faith tells us to believe in our fellow men, our body of believers. But it also tells us we should shower others with our blessings. What good are riches if they are not shared? Hoarded riches serve no real purpose except to put oneself higher than others.

Riches are also not only monetary items. Spiritual riches can be anything that warms the soul, softens the spirit and instills God’s light into others. Giving of one’s time to elders in a nursing home is rich and a gift, to both the giver and the receiver. Rich is telling moralistic tales to children to help them see that good character breeds contentment.

To give is to receive. In tough times, when money is tight and time is a precious commodity in short supply, compel your heart to look around and take notice. Give of yourself if you can’t afford to give of your purse. Helping others makes us at one with God. The best gift in life IS the gift of giving.

A Still Moment

I once worked with such a wonderful young spirited girl named Carrie. We quickly bonded and, in spite of our age differences, found we had so much in common, especially a love of laughter in our lives! We both worked in the high pressure business of printing and promotional products working with large corporations that wanted everything yesterday. We worked diligently, long hours and lots of stress and yet, still found time to share parts of our lives with one another.

Carrie had grown up in Middle Tennessee where I was a northern girl. When we started working together, she was a newlywed. Yes, she had just come back from her honeymoon and within weeks was interviewing and then offered the position. She worked as my customer service/project manager/back up sales person and did everything needed to help me be successful from making collection calls, to invoicing, trouble shooting, etc… I lost count of how many times I said to her “I would not want your job if it was the last job on earth!”

When I left that position, we remained in contact with each other. We kept communicating so we would know what was going on in each other’s lives. Never did a phone call or email slip between us without the words I miss you and I love you expressed.

I look back with fondness remembering the stories she shared, her husband’s surprise Christmas gift their first married holiday together, her first purchase for the new home. A beautiful couch she agonized on the perfect color combination to get and then went on to trying to decide what color she should use for throw pillows. She put her decorating questions to the test by asking each of us in the office our thoughts. Naturally, all being women, none of us agreed which only served to add more stress to Carrie’s decision! Her husband Greg was not into this sort of thing. I think his only requirement was to not incorporate pink!

The marriage had its usual share of ups and downs, misunderstandings, joy, laughter and tears. But over time this couple built a strong solid foundation upon which they were excited to bring a child into the picture. Greg had an adorable son from a previous marriage that Carrie spoke so fondly of also. She knew, after watching Greg’s parental skills with this young son, he would indeed make a wonderful partner for raising a child with her in the future.

Fast forward to present day. Carrie is eight months pregnant with a little boy soon to come and add laughter and mischief to the household. Baby showers are happening, friends are talking and getting excited. The world is waiting for that special moment, the miracle of birth.

In the real world, dreams sometimes get shattered in a way only God truly understands the whys. This story indeed has a major fork in the road. Greg went on a motorcycle ride the other night and did not make it home alive. His spirit will live on in his son and the son due in a month. His love will live on in his darling Carrie and all of us that are blessed to know Carrie, our wonderful spirited bubbly friend. But for a moment, the world will stop just long enough tomorrow and on Thursday to reflect on this young man’s live and family.

Greg, we thank you for your contribution to this world. We thank you for making our friend Carrie spill over with delight at your presence in her life. You had the ability to make her eyes light up with excitement and the rest of us were slightly envious with what we saw in Carrie. Thank you Greg for the love you bought into this world and may God keep you in the light of his presence. May God’s love be overflowing in you.

A moment will indeed come, in time, when you will be joined in heaven with your beloved Carrie and your two boys for all of eternity.

Click on title for link to obituary for Greg Van Dette.

Happy Birthday dear Niece Elizabeth!

The day you were born,
I never heard such a content sigh
Come from my sister Terri
As she gazed at your eyes.

Your eyes are pools of blue,
Reflecting adventure and wit,
They are keys to your soul
And reveal you cannot be licked!
No matter how you get kicked,
You will come back stronger!

You have tenacity girl
And a heart of gold,
So no matter how many years go by
Do not be afraid to be bold.

From the ends of your long blonde hair
To the tips of your toes,
God made every cell in your body,
And because of you he Rose.


May this year go by
And thru it all, feel God’s breath on your face...
I wish you joy, peace and laughter
And above all, heavenly grace.

Take my gift,
And please use it as you will,
Know that it is sent with much compassion and love
Since you, dear Lizi, are getting one step closer to over the hill!

Love knows no limits....has no boundaries....

Breath of New Life

I attended a funeral on Friday for a dear friend’s brother in law. I did not know the man personally, other than hearing the story of how his life had played out through my friend. He was young, 41, and seemed much too young to be called back up into the heavens. I was attending to let my friend and her husband know their sorrow touched me. Also, even without knowing the man, I too was impacted by his life, his story.

Sitting there at the funeral, watching the family shuffle in to their seats in the front row, immediately what caught my eye was an adorable baby being held by one of the deceased man’s loved ones.

The site of the innocent young baby made me think back to the last several funerals I have attended. When I reflected back, the realization came to me that every single funeral I have attended there is always a small child or baby present. I find this soothing.

Many years ago, when my children were small, I told them that for every person God calls back to heaven, he places another human life on this earth to experience our world. This new baby grows and thrives, touching others throughout this process of aging; much as the deceased person he has called home.

I think this is so symbolic of the circle of life, we are born, we live, we die and we are raised back up. Perhaps in this way we make room on earth for another. It is almost as if the deceased person leaves their body and their spirit breathes life into another thus life is created again.And again…..

In times of sorrow, when death is at a dear friend or loved one’s door, perhaps reflecting on this circle of life may give solace. God does not take away, he is a giver. To question death is human. But, to have faith, when at those defining moments in life when things do not seem to make sense, is divine. God has a plan for us all. Though we may not understand, it is enacted in our lives. He is in control not us.

Seeing that baby at a stranger’s funeral compels me to reflect and write. May you all find, that in facing someone’s death, it gives you renewed vigor for life. And when the day comes to face your own mortality, and you are slowly gliding towards the light, think of this : Your last breath will be someone’s first.

PICTURE OF CHILD ABOVE THAT ATTENDED FUNERAL: Kinley Ann Pulley, she was Eric's first and only great niece. Eric's brother is also the other family member holding Kinley.

Lazy Days of Summer, Remembering Michelle Bell

Years ago, a dear friend of mine, Michelle Bell suddenly died at the tender age of 40. I did not hear about her passing until long after her funeral so never really got to say good bye or share some of my best memories with her family. With summer here and this representing some of our best times together, it seemed perfect to talk about those long ago lazy days of summer I spent with Michelle.

Michelle and I met in 1st grade at Saville Elementary. We had a connection right off the bat; we were the two tallest kids in the class. Some days it felt like in the entire school. She got the nickname Beanpole and because she was slightly taller than me, I was spared. But none the less on picture day, when kids line up by height, every year, Michelle and I would just head to the back of the class knowing full well our place, last in line.

We both lived in Saville Estates, a subdivision named after the elementary school that was at the opening of the neighborhood. She lived a few streets over. By today’s standards, the distance was a long walk, but in days gone by, it was not considered far at all. Our routine was the same, one of us would call the other and off we would trot in the direction of each other’s house. When we met, somewhere in the middle, we would decide what the day’s adventure was going to be.

I loved seeing what Michelle was wearing. She was much more fashion savvy than me. Her creativity was expressed in everything she wore, from her hair, to her jewelry and to what she came up to wear on her body! I remember her taking scraps of material and tying them around her midsection as a self created body top. She tied fabric all different ways and to the bystander, it looked like fashion right off the runway show. I tried to mimic this style, wanting to look cool like her. It was not easy, there was only one Michelle. What she could pull off, others just simply could not.

Those self made tops that involved not a stitch of sewing were commonplace for us in the summer. We were both so thin and flat, in those days, that it did not take much fabric to fit around our skinny midsections. We traded fabric with each other to make it look as if we were fashionable and rich with a wide selection of clothes. I sometimes wonder if our parents shuddered at the sight of us walking outdoors with those thinly clad tops on our bodies!

Long days were spent over summer at the most popular swimming pool in our area, Eastview Pool. The days there were mixed with splashing in the pool, ogling over cute life guards and also moments where we laid flat on our backs soaking in the sun. Those days were some of my favorites as we both bore our souls to one another, our shortcomings and our dreams for our future. We knew we had in each other a friend for life, a willing caring confidant while in the tough stage of trying to build our own identity and self worth.

Taking breaks from swimming and walking around the pool area, we would spread out brightly colored beach towels on the grass and plop down on our backs. Michelle and I would spend what seemed like hours looking up at the clouds rolling by. Those big billowy white clouds that seemed to just fill the summer sky were artwork, in our eyes, that God created just for us. We saw images in different cloud formations and would discuss what each one represented long before either of us had ever heard of the inkblot tests of psychology. I wonder if our visualizations we saw were windows to our souls. It is funny, looking back, how time stood still at times like this with Michelle and me.

Careful and no consideration of sunscreen were on our minds back then! I don’t even recall it being in an issue in those days. Our agenda was to simply enjoy the long lazy summer day. We didn’t care about getting a tan, but it happened inevitably from so much time spent outdoors. We would both get as dark as can be by midsummer. We would spend whole days there at the pool, eating lunch and dinner some days and not returning home to it was dark. Meals would consist of buying a grilled cheese at the snack bar and as a fill in, of course, ice cream and candy. Yet, we both remained skinny as rails no matter what we ate. Metabolism, back then, was a good friend to us both.
There were also the active days, when we would bike ride everywhere. We would head to a local shopping center, Airway Shopping Center, with not a penny to our name. We would go through the stores as if we had a huge allowance that was unspent, trying on things, going through departments pretending we mattered as, in those days; I think both of us felt like we didn’t matter much to anyone. Living vicariously through pretend shopping made us feel powerful and passed time. It also was a fun creative way to waste away an afternoon at a time when television was boring and video games were not created.
Michelle had a hammock for awhile and we thought we had died and gone to heaven laying in that! It did not matter how hot it was, we would both squeeze in there together, and just enjoy it. If the wind swayed it some, we would giggle with delight. We would sing songs together in that hammock as loud as if we were in the shower. Unfortunately, neither of us had the vocal chords to make music sound beautiful but we didn’t care. We were young, carefree and enjoying the moment.

Looking back, we were both poor losers when it came to board game playing. If we fought at all, it was usually over whoever lost. One of us would leave crying like a baby that had been badly bruised and going home upset over the loss. The one that won the game never really felt very victorious as each of us had our turns of watching the other’s backside walking away, heading home with the sounds of muffled crying. How willing we were to let our sensitivity show. The compromise was the winner would call the other and essentially apologize for winning. How funny we were back then!

At night time, we would often catch fireflies. I would provide the coffee cans with the holes punched in the lids so they could breathe. Michelle was so soft hearted she could not bear the thought of them staying in the jar. She always talked me into letting them loose. I think she found that, the unleashing of them into the night, just as exhilarating as catching them.
As the years went by, Michelle and I stay connected. Our relationship faded in and out as times changed, new friendships were formed and life just moved on. I moved away and started a family. The last time I heard from Michelle was a phone call, out of the blue. Somehow she had tracked me down to Northern Kentucky, where I lived at the time.

I picked up the phone and was met with a vaguely familiar voice telling me I was a hard person to reach. She identified herself quickly but by then I knew who it was. All these years had passed by and hearing her, the memories came rushing back. We laughed on the phone recounting all those days gone by, in particular the summer months spent together. I learned a few new things about Michelle’s life, but as always, she was somewhat reclusive and slow to confide in others. It was as if she was more interested in hearing about me and if I was happy with my life.
I wanted to arrange to meet her somewhere but she refused. Michelle still lived somewhere in the Dayton Ohio area, where we had grown up but she refused to give me her phone number or address. She assured me that her number was unlisted as she wanted to live as obscure as possible. She said that a lot had changed; she did not look the same at all and wanted to be remembered by everyone that knew her in the past as she was back then and not now. There was a heavy sadness in her voice as if a part of her had already given up on life. The sensitivity of Michelle and possibly all the years of feeling different made her choose to alienate somewhat from life. I tried, in vain, to change the course of the conversation. I told her that day that the change did not matter to me at all, what we had was the foundation of our relationship and that was constant, unchanging and unwavering. But she was adamant, if she wanted to reach out, it would be on her terms and she just wanted me to know she missed me. That call left a hole in my heart.

A few years passed and then the news. Finding out of her passing made me stop and reflect on that last call, but not for long. I am certain, all those long wonderful summer days of past we spent together is how she would want me to remember her and so it is in just that way I memorialize my dear friend Michelle. Human nature and emotion kicks in from time to time, making me want, no matter how rich my life has become, that I could spend one more day together with my dear friend and kindred soul mate Michelle.
Lazy crazy days of summer are some of the best times in our lives. Too often we run around and do not find time to just be still with others, dear friends and loved ones. I know in my heart that Michelle’s days are now filled with moments like these. She is probably in heave, in a hammock with a cute outfit on and a big smile enjoying a spiritual life where there is no pain or heartache. No more does my friend cry over losing a game, have her feelings hurt over being teased about being tall and skinny or want for more than she has. Yes, my dear friend Michelle Bell is eternally happy.

Until I see you again Michelle, please save a spot on the hammock for me.

What is in an age?

What is in an age? Does it tell you anything much about a person? I am not so sure these days. Some people take their experiences in life and allow themselves to grow, in fact strive for that greater wisdom that comes from digesting all of their experiences and those others share with them. Their attitude is life is a journey of discovery.

But it is not a given that growth equates to age. Many of us have met grown adults whom we refer to as teen agers, not ready to face the inevitable fact they are aging and should act age appropriate. Party behavior is great for dorm parties in college but on a middle aged adult, it seems somewhat silly. I think it is entirely possible to have fun, cut up and enjoy life while aging but in a more responsible way. I also think some folks are self centered and think the only experiences in life that truly have value are the ones they have had, firsthand. They miss out on others insights. Thus, they remain somewhat locked in their own perceptions and biases to the world. This stunts personal growth and makes these types of people less interesting.

I thought of this a great deal on Saturday as I attended a party for my husband’s birthday. It was amazing to sit back and see, not only him enjoying himself, but everyone present. I have never heard of a party where everyone that was invited showed up. In fact, people that were not invited asked to attend! I think this is because of my husband’s ability, even at his age close to 60, he sees value in everyone and people he meets sense that quality. He enjoys not only sharing his life but hearing, in depth, about others. Folks respect him for that and value him in their lives.
Yes, he is indeed a great teacher on life for so many that have gotten to know him and spend time with him. His wisdom is immense as he has made a lifetime of concerted choices to continue to learn. He believes in change, in openness and also that young people have as much to contribute to our lives as older adults. He is not close minded and feels everyone has a voice that should be heard,

My husband has mastered that long ago art of storytelling. He can tell a story on practically any topic. The material he uses comes from people he has met who are as diverse as they come. From the man who lived in Vietnam, to the close friend shot down at point blank range when he tried to help an older woman being accosted, to the early days of flying on small Cessna planes. Yes, he lives a rich full life and he practices active listening. Anyone that has a story they want to share will find a worthy audience in him. This information is fodder he uses for later recanting stories of human interest to others that have not met the wide range of people he has met in his lifetime, and continues to meet.

Adults that have this attitude are young at heart. They see limitless possibilities of learning with each brand new day and with everyone they come in contact with, no matter what their station in life. Are you like this, like the toddler exploring your surroundings with abandonment, reaching for more truths and widening your knowledge base? If not, trust me, you will age quickly and be less interesting. Friends will not flock to your birthday party and you will deprive only yourself of the joys on this earth and life’s greatest lessons, those we learn and impart to others.

Precious Moments Bubble Over

As I stood on the front porch in May with the sun streaming down on the front yard,
my eyes were fixated on my little granddaughter. She was bent over with her bottom practically touching the concrete she was standing on. So intent was she on the little pink bottle containing her biggest delight since ice cream cones. She was in another world, or as my kids say, “in the zone.”

With her right hand grasping so tightly an orange wand that her fingers were drained of color, she dipped the wand down. Her hands were shaking in anticipation as she tried hard to focus on navigating the wand thru the opening on the top of the bottle.

When she succeeded in getting the wand all the way inside, she laughed out loud knowing what she was pulling out, a wand full of bubble formula, which in her mind, was bubble magic. Lucky for her it was a slightly windy day so as the wand came out of the jar, quickly bubbles were dispensed and filled the area around her head. She screamed with delight as she watched the bubbles dance on air and slowly but surely float away along the front lawn. She stood gazing in amazement as the sun hit the bubbles and showed the slightest hint of a rainbow on their edge.

Quickly she ran down the length of the lawn, chasing the bubbles at will and praying she could touch one. She ran with not a care in the world, no hesitation for tripping or missing one but with the high hope, anticipation and joy of knowing she was living in the moment. Oh, the sheer ecstasy she felt each time her little fingers reached out and touched one and she saw it pop. Some escaped, and away they floated, as far as the eye could see, with the wind carrying them like a sailboat on a stormy day, no real destination in mind but sheer force of the wind whipping the bubbles this way and that.

Moment after moment, I watched this same scene play out. My husband and I took turns helping her make more bubbles, cheering her on so she knew we believed she was capable of not only making beautiful bubbles but of catching and chasing them all down. We all laughed, screamed with abandonment with her success, and giggled at the failures but moved right on to the next wand wave. We knew that just like a bubble that suddenly bursts without warning, one day, our grand daughter would grow up, with lightening speed. We wanted to make certain she knew that this day, this moment in time, our world was wrapped about her. That she was special enough to make bubbles that even we, as adults, her grandma and grandpa could laugh outloud at, enjoy and yes find sheer joy in her success.

We hope this approach, that of cheering and sharing happiness with our grand daughter, is a constant reminder to her of what God created - her unique personna. We can be, as grandparents, the back up support system, and fill in when needed. We can and will let our granddaughter know that we will always make time and enjoy the little moments in her life. Moments that mean so much to our Ava will always mean the world to us too.

Yes, indeed, we know that one day our only granddaughter, Ava Alysee will find herself just as happy as we are, watching her granddaughter blow bubbles in May on the front porch one lazy afternoon….

Campside Heroes

I attended a wonderful camp this weekend for cancer survivors and was spell bound with what I witnessed! It was called Camp Bluebird and was held at Lakeshore Campgrounds in Eva, TN. The surroundings were beautiful and peaceful, even amidst rain storms and clouds.

Heros were everywhere, each with a special unique story to tell. Folks from all walks of life in and around the area came to celebrate life after having been diagnosed with cancer. The venue gave a voice to the disease ‘cancer’ spoken purposely by its victims.

There were also several nurses, care takers and volunteers to help with the weekend’s activities, including crafts as well as a good old fashion costume contest. Each activity was embraced with smiles and joy to be alive and have one more precious memory.

This crowd was one that was grounded, one where friends are made for life. The wall of secrecy is down at all times and folks talk openly, honestly and with heartfelt thanks. The listening skills of all that attended were at full tilt as we took turns talking and telling our story, what we still struggle with and how our lives have changed.

I heard the story of the beautiful marketing director who survived a horrendous marriage only to be confronted with a cancer diagnosis. There was the lady who survived horrible child abuse to grow up, regain personal strength and then triumphantly beat cancer. There were men in attendance too, each unique but with one common thread ..cancer. One newcomer had survived cancer only to have his wife diagnosed and in less than two years, die. There were more tears for the woman who is now fighting her fourth or fifth battle with a different type of cancer and she just remains strong. She is like a batter that strikes out every time at bat and yet walks up to the plate with the same level determination as if it is the first at bat. She is just waiting for that big swing that makes others simply stand back and watch her ball sail out of the ballpark. Those of us who met her pray that hit comes soon.

The sharing and caring was more than just about cancer, it was about humanity. I met a young woman, close to my daughter’s age, that was from another country and had not completely mastered the English language. She was there to give back, because she cared about others hurting. She felt cancer was an unfairly given, life changing diagnosis. She had her share of hard knocks in her own life, including a childhood were she was made to feel less than everyone else, simply because she was different. Why is it the world does not embrace diversity anymore? Everyone is quick to judge and point out differences of others verses celebrate them. This girl should not have been overlooked as a child. She has so much to offer, and in time, she will continue to touch so many lives with her kind gentle nature and loving heart. Those that never gave her a chance missed out on truly seeing that blessing.

I had been asked to attend this several times and never felt I really had the time to spare. After having gone, I now giggle inside that I ever thought something else on my plate was more important than this. My weekend was filled with memories to sustain a lifetime. I met one hero after another. Each one was willing to be real,with no pretense or reservations about sharing their successes, failures and struggles. I learned so much from listening. I was provided an opportunity to share as well and offer some advice to others. This experience was, as someone there said, life altering.

Heroes come in all sizes and shapes. Truly take the time to learn other’s stories. You may find the differences you once thought you had are minor compared to the similarities. Learning from each other is more what God had in mind for us all. Let down your wall, open your ears and ask for the story behind the person. Then sit back, take it in and thank God for another blessing brought in your life! Heroes want to share. Heroes persevere. Heroes are among us all. May their strength and determination light a path for us all!