HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

In another day, we'll celebrate the birthday of our nation--July 4th. You can google Declaration of Independence and get the whole text, plus the names of all who signed it.

Today, though, I want to talk about personal birthdays.

      As an aside--if you're a purist, you'll call it the birth anniversary. Fine with me. But I've always called it a birthday, so you'll just have to make allowances for me.

Anyway! Birthdays in my family have always been special times. Now that we are growing in numbers--four generations add up to a larger number every year--I seldom get to celebrate birthdays with my children, grandchildren, or greatgrandchildren. But the greeting card industry is still in business in part because I remember everyone with a card.

There are folks who say, "I never celebrate my birthday." Or, "I just ignore birthdays." Well, that's their choice. But I like birthdays for one simple reason: It's a day that celebrates the birth of a person I know and have affection for and wish them well in their journey.

A friend of mine recently celebrated his birthday. A few years ago he told me he doesn't add a year to his age each time--he started subtracting a year! He's now the same age as his child, or maybe a year younger! (By the new measurement.)

If the only reason people want to ignore their birthdays is so they don't have to acknowledge their age, I'm afraid it's a lost cause. The motor vehicle bureau has your number. So does Social Security (if you're qualified). Your doctor and all other medical personnel and institutions.

So, whether you celebrate the day you became an independent, breathing, resident on this planet, or decide to ignore it--welcome anyway. Some of us wish you a happy birthday!

Blessings to all,

Thursday's Child

 

  PLAYING THE OLD CARD

Bacon: 1561-1626

[Took a walk down Memory Lane, also known as my blog post archives, and came upon this one published in June of 2022. Obviously, I'm even older now than I was in '22, so it was interesting to read my thoughts from three years ago. Happy to say, I'm still on board with the subject of aging and "playing the old card," when need be.]

Last week I was loading my groceries into the trunk of my car when a youngish (hard to tell these days, but I'll say mid-30s, at a guess)--anyway, a youngish employee of the store smiled and said, "I'll take your cart."

I had parked very near a cart-return, my usual plan so I don't spend much time on foot in between vehicles, but I agreed she could take my cart. I thanked her.

As I drove away, I thought about that little exchange. She was the age of my grandchildren. She was an employee of the store. She had a nice smile and a pleasant manner. And I was quite happy to have her look at my gray hair and walking shoes and decide it would be a good thing to offer to take my cart back to the store.

The success of our little exchange was her attitude--she came across as genuinely happy to help me, but she wasn't going to push it.

Best of all--I didn't have to play the old card. She did it with grace and style, and I left smiling because I'd had help without being made to feel old.

Let's have some definitions. Here are some of the ways people have made me feel old:

--handicapped - helping without asking
--deaf - talking too loud or very slowly
--feeble - taking my arm when I don't want help
--worn out - saying "you poor thing" 
--slow - sighing with impatience (my perception)
--blind - telling me what I'm seeing
--mentally impaired - not giving me time to think

Nearly anybody 20 or more years younger than I am can move faster, think about a dozen things at once, and put on a show of strength. Long, long ago I gave up trying to keep up with the younger folks. Not because I'd lost all my super-powers, but because I refused to compete. 

Even when I don't play the old card, I know other people will. They'll also help me when I don't want help, but I've grown outspoken enough to tell them no, thank you. (This is important if you have an arthritic shoulder that shrieks when someone tries to dress you, such as, help you put your coat on.) And if I can do it with a smile, we're both happy--they offered, I declined with a pleasant look on my face (and no pain in that shoulder).

When I get fed up with trying to explain that I'm not as old as they think I am, I entertain myself with some of the great sayings of famous people. Hope you enjoy these.

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          Old age is like everything else. To make a success of it, you've got 
          to start young. 
          Theodore Roosevelt (American statesman, writer, US President
          1901-1909)


          The excitement of learning separates youth from old age. As long as 
          you're learning you're not old. 
          Rosalyn S. Yalow (American medical physicist 1921-2011)


          The secret of genius is to carry the spirit of the child into old age, which 
          means never losing your enthusiasm. 
          Aldous Huxley (British writer, novelist, philosopher 1894-1963)

          One of the many pleasures of old age is giving things up. 
          Malcolm Muggeridge (British Journalist 1903-1990)


          [I especially relate to Mr. Muggeridge--lately I've grown very partial
          to giving things up.]

          Scripture is filled with examples of men and women whom God 

          used late in life, often with great impact - men and women who 

          refused to use old age as an excuse to ignore what God wanted 

          them to do. 

          Billy Graham (American evangelist 1918-2018)

          Old age is when the liver spots show through your gloves. 

          Phyllis Diller (American comedienne 1917-2012)

Whatever your age, have a blessed week!

 KNOW WHAT TOMORROW IS?

If you said, "Summer" you're right on the button.

My calendars agree, tomorrow is the first day of Summer. But let me tell you, Summer as a season comes when it comes.

In my youth, and we know that was in the long, long ago, Summer arrived when school was out. Right about Memorial Day. Warm days (or hot, humid ones!) were June, July, and August. Summer was over on Labor Day, which is when Autumn began. Also, not coincidentally, school started.

We didn't have to look at a calendar to know when the season changed. We just knew.

I miss that sense of seasons connected to my personal life--the school year. Later, it was the school year for my children.

I suspect this is a good example of that Golden Age--the one that never was but always is. Probably didn't exist in fact, but is always in our memories.

-----

My Summer days were mainly for reading. I walked to the Carnegie Public Library in Charleston, Illinois, to check out two books. Read most of one on the way home, finished it that night. Read the other one the next day, and returned both books. Checked out two more. Repeat. 

That's what I remember most about Summer--a time of uninterrupted reading. If I'd had siblings, mine would have been a different story. But I didn't, so I had companions from books.

Wishing you a good Summer. Hope it lives up to your expectations.

Blessings,

Thursday's Child

 MY WEATHER RANT FOR JUNE

(and a gratitude)

There is something wrong with the weather. I go to bed, too warm, hope the a/c (now on its last legs) will keep things comfy overnight. I keep a lightweight cover nearby. Make sure my summer-weight pjs are clean. So far, so good. All is well until a little after midnight. Then I start to notice I'm chilly. Grab a cover--a/c not running--feet feeling like blocks of ice. When I realize my nose is cold, I'm up, out of bed, grabbing whatever additional cover is handy. My alarm clock (which knows all) tells me the temp is in the nose-chilling range.

By the time I get warmed up a little (the extra covers are doing their job very nicely), I can drop off again. The alarm wakes me (if I've remembered to set it) and I see there's light outside--a lot of light. Definitely morning. My room is cool, but not cold. Hall is warmer. Kitchen warmer. Coffee will revive me. I think things are going well.

Then warmer becomes really warm. As the sun makes its way around the house (I know, the sun doesn't really move)--every room warms up. A lot. The a/c unit wheezes and groans (it is not a hundred years old, but it acts like it) and tries its best to keep the temp comfortable. I start taking off layers of clothes.

By the time the day is thoroughly established, say, ten AM, the house is not just warm, it's hot. The weather app on my phone calmly announces high temps today. And for the next day. AND the next!

Now I'm not complaining about the hot weather. Not exactly. It's nearly summer, after all. But what I am having trouble with is the nighttime lows--highs in the day time of 80s; lows at night in the 50s.

It has occurred to me (often) that I live in the wrong place. Then I realize that I've lived in northeast Indiana for over 60 years and I don't remember this yo-yo weather lasting so long.

If you've read this far--and if you have a solution that you know will work, please let me know. I've done my part and ordered a new a/c unit, which is supposed to be installed next week. If I live through that, I'll let you know. I also have floor fans and ice-cold water.

THE GRATITUDE - As much as I rant about the weather (like, 24/7), I am grateful that our weather does not include the word "dangerous" or "threatening." I don't go to bed with one ear cocked for the tornado siren, signalling immediate action. I'm not in the path of wildfires or tsunamis. And beyond all that, I am grateful that my local heating and a/c guys are scheduled for next week to upgrade my cooling system to 21st Century standards. Could be worse, right?

Until next time--hope you're keeping comfortable with this abominable weather (just my opinion). And I wish you all the blessings you so richly deserve.

Thursday's Child

 JUNE 6

1968 - Robert F. Kennedy, age 42, dies of wounds sustained the previous day when he was shot in Los Angeles; he has just finished a speech celebrating his victory in the California presidential primary.




-----

1944 - D-Day ("Operation Overlord") - Allies storm the Normandy coast; all five beaches are secured by the Allies. Soldiers from the US, UK, and Canada lose their lives.

". . . . . . by day’s end, 155,000 Allied troops–Americans, British and Canadians–had successfully stormed Normandy’s beaches and were then able to push inland. Within three months, the northern part of France would be freed . . . ." https://history.com/this-day-in-history/d-day

Note:  The National D-Day Memorial Foundation lists 4,414 names of Allied personnel who died on D-Day. This number was arrived at after intense study of various official sources and is considered a more accurate count than the estimates usually cited.

-----

I've read a lot about World War II; I've seen some movies set during that time. And though a large number of people liked the movie Saving Private Ryan, I couldn't get past the first three or four minutes. Never mind Stephen Spielberg directing, never mind Tom Hanks acting. Some part of me seemed to be in that time and in that place. I couldn't take it.

-----

I'm also not very political. I don't keep up with what's going on and argue with anybody who is on the "other side" from me. In fact, I find it satisfying that there is more than one side, more than one way to look at life, at our country, at the ways we govern. 

Today's post doesn't come with a happy ending. There is no ending. Wars come and go, and come again. Our country tries, as best it can, to help make things better. That may not happen, but then again, if no one tries, it surely will not happen.

-----

"Lest we forget" is appropriate at any time, not just Veterans' Day or Remembrance Day. If remembering the sadness, the pain, the horror is too much, then we can remember the good that was intended, the kindness of those who gave their lives. And give thanks for the love they showed, for us and others.

 THINGS THAT MAKE ME HAPPY

[As May fades away into June, I want to celebrate some beautiful things in my area of the planet. This essay first appeared three years ago, and it's word-for-word what I see and feel now. Please enjoy.]

Yesterday I drove through the countryside from my home to another small town to meet friends for lunch. Our meeting place is about halfway between our two houses.

And I saw many lovely things, Nature's offerings for our enjoyment:

• more flowering trees than I remembered from other years--pink ones, white ones, tall ones, short ones.
• yellow "flowers" along the roadside--at 50 mph I couldn't quite figure them out; then after a while I recognized a few of the yellow heads had gone to seed and then it was obvious--dandelions! I even love to see the ones with fluffy heads, though not in my yard.
• also yellow somethings in the unplowed fields, which I seemed to recall were a flowering mustard plant; not, apparently, the mustard bush of Biblical times, because these never get get more than six inches or so above the ground.
• in town, trees are outdoing each other to see who has the most leaves with the most green--or red, in some cases (Japanese maples, some of them).

Back home, I discovered birds of many feathers had discovered our recently filled feeders. There'll be another filling session this weekend no doubt. One suet cake is already down to crumbs. But then, this is the breeding season, and birds need more protein during this time.

On my front porch hangs a new flowering basket of fuchsia, a Mother's Day gift from my Ohio daughter. Elsewhere in the yard peonies, resurrection lily, narcissi, hostas, and some things I don't remember the names of are all not only up, they're straining skyward. Others won't bloom until fall, but foliage is already gung-ho. The rhubarb looks like a pie in the making.

-----

A lot of little things make me happy. Those flowers and trees and blooming weeds don't need to be appreciated. But their exuberant color adds joy to my days. We've had plenty of cloudy, rainy, stormy days already, and there'll be more. What I see in Nature reminds me that clouds and rain and storms aren't all there is to life. And thanks be for that.

Other things that make me happy--lunch with friends; the little phone bag my friend made and gave me when we had lunch yesterday; air conditioning to help us sleep on these suddenly hot nights; summer clothes that still fit this year; new books to read; library services (I'm in love with Evergreen, who keeps providing me with DVDs of a series no longer being streamed on the channels I get).

The worst part of spring--oho! you didn't think I'd say anything bad about spring, did you?--well, there is a part I don't appreciate: Allergies. Fortunately they don't last forever (it just seems like it). And I wouldn't be without the flowers that provide the pollen that drives my sinuses and eyes and nose crazy. What a drab world that would be.

Better to celebrate the things that make me happy, because then I can pass along some of my joy in Nature and her bounty to other folks who may have lost their zest for spring and flowers and leafing-out trees.

Wishing you happy days in your life!

Til next time,

Blessings from Thursday's Child

   MEMORIAL DAY

MEMORIAL DAY

It is easily forgotten, year to

year, exactly where the plot is,

though the place is entirely familiar—

a willow tree by a curving roadway

sweeping black asphalt with tender leaves;

 

damp grass strewn with flower boxes,

canvas chairs, darkskinned old ladies

circling in draped black crepe family stones,

fingers cramped red at the knuckles, discolored

nails, fresh soil for new plants, old rosaries;

 

such fingers kneading the damp earth gently down

on new roots, black humus caught in grey hair

brushed back, and the single waterfaucet,

birdlike upon its grey pipe stem,

a stream opening at its foot.

 

We know the stories that are told,

by starts and stops, by bent men at strange joy

regarding the precise enactments of their own

gesturing. And among the women there will be

a naming of families, a counting off, an ordering.

 

The morning may be brilliant; the season

is one of brilliances—sunlight through

the fountained willow behind us, its splayed

shadow spreading westward, our shadows westward,

irregular across damp grass, the close-set stones.

 

It may be that since our walk there is faltering,

moving in careful steps around snow-on-the-mountain,

bluebells and zebragrass toward that place

between the willow and the waterfaucet, the way

is lost, that we have no practiced step there,

and walking, our own sway and balance, fails us.

-----

Michael Anania was born in Omaha, NE in 1939.

-----

It was called Decoration Day when I was a little girl. We gathered wild iris and tiger lilies from the ditches that bordered the fields where corn was just beginning to thrust its green shoots through the black Illinois soil. We carried the flowers in quart jars of water to the cemetery where we decorated two small graves of my brothers. I didn't know what it was all about. But I felt the atmosphere of loss and mourning.

Now I know it as a day of remembering the ones who have left us--the Episcopal burial service says it beautifully: "Father of all, we pray to you . . . for all those whom we love but see no longer. Grant to them eternal rest. Let light perpetual shine upon them. May . . . the souls of all the departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen."

Blessings,

Thursday's Child