APRIL AGAIN?

Pink Peonies

I know, I know, it's the merry month of May!

So why all the rain? Are May showers going to bring June flowers? Probably not--flowers are already showing off  around my neighborhood--colors we hadn't seen since last year.

I won't be surprised to learn that Ma Nature knocked over her Crayola Crayon box and every bloomin' color fell out and when it hit the earth, it spread like butter on a hotcake.

Red Roses outside
my kitchen window

Or maybe the crayon box is still in the drawer and Ma's paint palette slid off the table and there they went--Alizarin Crimson, Cadmium Yellow, all the blues: Cerulean, Ultramarine, Cobalt, Prussian, Turquoise. I like the way they divided themselves into warm and cool colors: Besides Alizarin, we had Cad Red, also Lemon Yellow (quite a cool one, as you might expect). And some spectacular greens and purples straight out of the tube, no mixing.

Late March, but had to
sneak this one in

Right this moment, I have no exciting or provocative or even soothing thoughts to offer. I hope you'll forgive me for gushing over Nature's beauty and abundance; inspiration is everywhere, and all we have to do is look. Or maybe, all we have to do is just be. Sit outside and let sunshine warm us. Or feel the breeze--warm breeze, cool breeze--touch our faces and hands and lift our hair off our forehead. If we listen carefully, we'll hear birdsong, squirrel chatter, tractors heading down the road to the fields, lawnmowers singing their song . . . . And for a taste of Spring, how about some lovely home-grown asparagus? (We had some from my son's garden a week or so ago.)

Enjoy these moments, wherever you are, and for however long they last. Change is inevitable. In a few days we'll flip the calendar page again and sprint toward Summer. New Nature songs then!

Blessings,

Thursday's Child

Ready to plant!

  THE SHOE COBBLER’S CHILDREN GO BAREFOOT

[The year is slipping away, and I grow nostalgic . . . not for those long-ago days so I can return to them, but for the ways in which our families stay alive in our minds and hearts, because of the stories they shared. Maybe some of the ones I share with you today will spark memories for you also.]

Did you hear that when you were a kid? About the shoe cobbler's children? Did you know what it meant?

I must’ve been a teenager before I caught on (had other things on my mind)—and it all came clear to me when I realized: I’d never lived in a finished house that my dad built. So my take on the old adage runs like this: The Carpenter’s Children Never Live in a Finished House.

Now, right there, I have to admit, that’s a lie—only a little one, though; we lived in the house where I was born, built by my dad, and completely finished, until I was three. From then on, we lived in one (sometimes dilapidated) dwelling after another while the “new house” was being built. My dad had a regular job to provide income, so building our new house always happened when he got home from other work. He couldn’t quit his day job because that income provided the means of purchasing lumber, wiring, cement, windows and doors, and the good old etc. that were needed to complete the new project. And when it was done? Why, sell it, of course! Use the new money to start another house!

I remember a lot of those “other” houses—not because they were especially memorable, but because we moved so often and I had different sleeping arrangements. My preference was, naturally, the new house, when it was finally habitable—it was clean, smelled like new pine boards, and looked nice.

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I tell you the above tale to lead into something I’ve thought about over the years—the way we pass along our life lessons; our take on life as it happened to us and may be useful to our children; or simply, how I lived during my young years when my children didn’t know me at all.

Recently, I read a meditation written by Father Adam Trambley for Forward Day by Day. Paraphrased, the one for August 21st runs like this:

During this time of COVID, many persons are in hospitals and isolated from their loved ones. “Even after a death, families are unable to hold the usual public viewings or church services where lives are remembered and stories shared. The absence of these normal activities of grieving makes the pain of a loved one’s death even more difficult.”

He continues: Words of wisdom and meaning of life “might occur in a final letter to loved ones, be recounted in a eulogy or at a wake, or be implied in an obituary or other remembrance. Each life has something to pass on to us. Part of honoring the dying is ensuring they have an opportunity to share that gift.” (emphasis mine)

Each life has something to pass on to us.

That sentence jumped off the page and landed in my heart and mind. Now I’d like to share some of what has been passed along to me. Can’t promise I’ll remember who authored each “something” but I’ll try.

Here are a couple that will ring some chimes—home-grown advice on how to live:

“Always wear clean underwear in case you’re in an accident and have to go to the hospital.” (If you never heard this one, you probably weren’t born at the right time or in the right place.)

“Sing before breakfast, cry before supper.” (I realized, much later, this was my mother’s roundabout way of telling me to shut up so early in the morning. I still like to sing before breakfast, and haven’t noticed any untoward crying before supper in consequence.) 

Then there’s the preoccupation with lack of money and good luck:

“Money on my cup!” – said when bubbles cover the top of the just-poured coffee. (I suspect this one was coined during the Great Depression, when money was extremely tight or even non-existent and everyone was always looking for money. Seeing “money” on the coffee cup was a positive reminder that it could happen.)

“See a pin, pick it up, all the day you’ll have good luck.” Luck, like money, was an important consideration during hard times. Personally, I’ve never noticed any increase in good luck due to my picking up a dropped pin. The only good luck would be that I didn’t step on the pin while barefoot.

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Other old family sayings were much more helpful. Such as:

“Anything worth doing, is worth doing well.” (Common sentiment during my youth. I heard it often from my parents. However, striving to do something well often ended up in frustration because what I did was far from perfect. I’m not a fan of perfectionism. I prefer the learn-from-your-mistakes approach.)

“Don’t judge; walk in the other person’s shoes a while.” (My mom said, “Put yourself in their place.” That piece of advice really stuck with me. As the current saying goes, it’s part of my DNA. With maturity came a better understanding of how far I could go with putting myself in another person’s situation. Sometimes it wasn’t a good idea.) 

And when I got older, I learned that “beauty isn’t only the outward appearance of a person—true beauty reflects the person’s inner being—their heart.” (This one will always be true for me. And the older I get, the more beauty I see in other people. What a blessing!)

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The take-away from this essay was going to be wisdom/advice/etc. I had passed on to my children. But as I worked through the family sayings, it became clear: Passing the torch isn’t about teaching, it’s about doing. The old expression—“caught, not taught”—comes to mind. 

If you’re not up for writing a memoir of your childhood experiences, have a think about what your young relatives know or do or ask about. They may have caught something already!

Blessings,

Thursday's Child

 

 

A POEM FOR YOU

[We recently celebrated Mother's Day here in the U.S. It's a time of celebrating families--parents, children--and I often think of this poem by William Martin. This post appeared a few years back, and its message still rings true for me, as I hope it does for you.]

Thursday’s Child:

Today's post is in honor of Liz Flaherty's writing. We met over 25 years ago and have encouraged each other ever since. If you haven't met Liz through her books, look for them. They're filled with people you know--in fiction form, of course; you'll recognize not only the characters but also their stories.

A few years ago, Liz Flaherty quoted William Martin's poem "Making the Ordinary Come Alive" and I saved it to read over and over. In searching for the poem to share with you, I came upon this short meditation by David Lose on his blog, “. . . in the Meantime.” I hope you enjoy what he says.

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David Lose:

I don’t have a lot to say about the following poem. Sometimes that’s the only fit response when you encounter sheer wisdom. There is nothing to say, just a great deal to ponder.

William Martin’s counsel isn’t only for parents to children, I believe, but for all of us. For how can we give or ask for that which we haven’t experienced ourselves. And so before we can invite our children to see the extraordinary in the ordinary, we ourselves need to practice that discipline.

A meal cooked by a friend. The quiet fidelity of a spouse. A warm fire to banish for a moment the chill of winter. A good book. A shoulder to cry on. A hand to hold. Crocus – soon, we pray! – bursting through the snow. A quite (sic) moment to rest and reflect. A poem that makes you sit up and take notice.

Each of these is a small, even mundane thing. Yet each also has the capacity, if we are open to it, to usher us into an experience of grace, when God’s goodness presents itself not as a prize to be sought but a gift to be received. May it be so with our children…and with us.

Make the Ordinary Come Alive

Do not ask your children
to strive for extraordinary lives.
Such striving may seem admirable,
but it is a way of foolishness.
Help them instead to find the wonder
and the marvel of an ordinary life.
Show them the joy of tasting
tomatoes, apples, and pears.
Show them how to cry
when pets and people die.
Show them the infinite pleasure
in the touch of a hand.
And make the ordinary come alive for them.
The extraordinary will take care of itself.

By William Martin

[Thank you, Liz, for sharing this poem.]

 THE RE-LEARNING CURVE

We've all heard of--and experienced!--the Learning Curve. Started in our cribs and hasn't stopped since. Really! We're learning something all the time.

I've always thought (silly me) that what we learned never left us. After all, we've been told for decades that we humans use only ten percent (10%!) of our available brain/memory ability. Honestly! Ten percent! So, what about the other ninety percent? What happens there?

Sorry, folks, I don't have the answer to where the other ninety percent is or what it's doing. But I'm really concerned about that ten percent that I'm using. Is it full to bursting even though it's only a ten percent pocket?

This whole issue came up for me recently when I was able to return to a former project: knitting baby hats for the birthing center at a local hospital. Here's what happened:

For several years, our church group made knitted items (including hats) and sewn or quilted blankies for a large hospital's preemie unit. Then COVID changed everything--no meetings at the church (lockdown); members scattered in different communities so it was hard to keep our production going; but worst of all--the hospital (and other facilities) no longer accepted items made by anyone.

In my case, the production of items for babies stopped. I tried making other things, mostly items for family gifts.

Then a few months ago I learned that a neighboring county's hospital had re-opened and expanded its birthing center and was accepting knitted hats and blankies. Wow! Cause for celebration! I'm once again in the business of knitting for babies.

EXCEPT! I had to RE-LEARN how to knit those little hats. I remembered the basic pattern, but discovered flaws in my memory about finishing. Had to consult the pattern (much tattered from years of kicking around in my knitting tote), made several false starts, ripped them out, tried again . . . you get the idea. Knit--rip out--start again--repeat.

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This story  has a happy ending--one hat is finished (and even looks like a little baby hat should), another is on its way; and I have a basket of yarn (donated by my knitting buddy--thanks, Emily!) to keep me in stitches (sorry, bad pun) for months to come.

I did learn something, though--I learned that just because I once knew it and could do it, didn't mean I'd have it perfectly in mind forever. Some things had slipped off the mental shelf and had to be restored before the project could be finished.

To be fair to myself and my brain (now in its ninth decade) I do remember multiplication tables; know how to operate the add/subtract/multiply/divide principles. And percentages and decimals. Remember and mostly use good grammar. Spelling is also at optimum. And guess what? I learned all those things in my very young years, grades one through five or six.

So if you're having some problems remembering, cut yourself some slack and list what you DO remember. I'd almost guarantee it'll be more than you probably thought.

And the Re-Learning Curve? Relax. Everybody's got that going for them. We may have boosted our ten percent brain usage up to twelve or even more, but we're probably not going to remember everything. Give yourself a break. You can always RE-LEARN it, right?

Blessings,

Thursday's Child

 RULES AND REGS

[Repeating a post--way too much going on in my life right now. But I'm not giving up--just taking a breather. Hope to be back with you next week with something new to say. Remember, Hope springs eternal....]

One of my all-time favorite TV series was The Andy Griffith Show. Lots of memorable episodes, crazy humor, goofy situations. Whenever I needed a spirit-lift, I could count on Andy, Barney & Co. to do the heavy lifting. In an episode called "The Big House," Deputy Barney Fife lays down the law to the prisoners (both cells are filled): "Rule Number One--Obey All Rules!!"

That line still cracks me up. 

So I've come up with a list of rules that might resonate with you. For instance:

--"Don't make plans." This sounds like advice, rather than a rule. But if you have a little experience under your fedora, you can add it to your list of rules. There's nothing like making plans--simple ones, complex ones--to create a little chaos in your life.

--"Think twice, speak once." Took me a long time to get this one under my toque, but it has served me well. The second "think" is what keeps you from saying those words on the top of your mind and the tip of your tongue that might--just might--get you in big trouble.

--"Two ears for listening; one tongue for speaking." Another way of saying "listen more than you talk." You'll have more friends, or at least people who support you.

--"Just because something is not a secret, you still don't have to blab it around." Self-evident, right?

--"Off the record means off the record." If you're asked to keep a secret, or just to keep something under your balaclava, then do it. If a friend asks you, then it's a hard-and-fast rule. If a chance acquaintance asks you, then consider it a politeness.

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What irks most people is that rules are so prohibitive. They're all in the category of "thou shalt nots."

If we nudge that definition a little, we can consider these possibilities:

   --rules help us get through life with a little less chaos
   --rules can keep us from blundering around, hurting others, or losing friends
   --rules can show others we are trustworthy

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Another category is safety--rules probably started in your home when you were a toddler, and the rules increased exponentially once you hit primary school and beyond:

   --keeping the classroom safe
   --learning safety in fire drills (I hated those!)
   --being safe on the playground
   --being safe on the way to school/home
   --being safe in the laboratory
   --automobile safety (should've learned this in driver's ed)

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We've been subject to rules & regs all our lives--even before we were born, our parents and other ancestors lived by accepted procedures for their times. 

During our lives, we see how rules come and go--and sometimes come back again. In the past few years, there's been a hue and cry (quiet but gathering volume) for simple politeness to return. Maybe it will.

And if you need more evidence, pick up nearly any popular magazine and learn about what we "ought to do" to be slimmer, fitter, healthier; to live longer, reduce pain, be happier . . . . It's couched in terms of advice--but if you look closely, the advice is pretty much prescriptive. In other words, rules.

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Whether you call them rules or advice, these "words to live by" can be a positive force for us. (Another time I'll talk about breaking the rules--sometimes that's the best thing we can do.)