Stress IS Normal!

 Do some days just feel like life is crazy?  The stress never ends, the "Emergency" is about to happen? A cloud is hanging over your life today?  I know lots of people experience this feeling by the looks of my Instagram feed. It is filled with memes reminding people everything will be okay.

Have we just forgotten that just general life is always a constant blur of fixing this, juggling that? Where do we get the idea that life is supposed to be calm and serene?

It certainly was not like that for our ancestors.  They spent every day gathering food, chopping fire wood, knitting socks and underwear!  Life was not calm. Life was not spent indulging in reading a book all day. Life was spent living and doing this that helped you live.

I grew up watching television, not too much because I also spent lots of time outside playing and riding bikes around our neighborhood. I sewed and wrote stories and played my guitar too. But the little I watched television was already setting me up to expect life's problems could be solved in 30 or 60 minutes.  Or at the worst, continued until next week's show!  TV taught us how we should look, dress and have a career. It didn't teach us how to cook, clean or create, at least not until HGTV but even there everything is easy to do because behind the scenes they have a huge crew doing all the work. It's not just a husband and wife revamping, renovating or building anything!

I let my kids watch television too, also not too much, but I think the damage has been done now for two generations indoctrinating us that life should be stress free and now we have this next generation thinking they are messed up because there is stress in life when stress is just a normal part of life!

I think it is times to get rid of the untruthful box that sits in our house and go back 100 years before television and move on with life.  Let's realize that we have to cook and clean every day. We work and we make time to play. Then rinse and repeat. It's that simple. And not stress about anything that comes along to interrupt that because that is part of living life too, the interruptions, change, doing it different or inventing a new way.  

Good luck and may God go with you!

An Eclipse of Time and Trust

 We were so very blessed to be in just the right spot a few days ago when God commanded the Heavens and earth and the moon to give us a show of awe and wonder!  I sat outside with our school children to experience the awe and wonder moment of the moon covering the sun.  Listening to everyone talk and fiddle with their special glasses as the moon slowly moved in front of the bright sunlight. 

Everyone commented on how weird the light looked, not quite twilight, almost pre-storm light. Yet it was not a storm but odd semi-dark that was coming. And when it did, it was so odd to see at the horizons it was still day.  There was dark before us, but at the edges the sun could not give up it's reach and you could still see around you.

My brother took a beautiful shot of the sun at the climax of  the eclipse, and I took a shot of the light at the horizon.  Two beautiful examples of awe and wonder of God's creation.

The ooo's and awes and the huge cheer that erupted from the crowd surrounding me when the moon continued on its path and the sun was bright again.  It was the collected relief of thousands of people knowing the sun was supposed to be bright again, yet also the wait of baited breath that it actually did shine again like we are accustomed to.   

Trust. 

The Fingernails of Decision

This past Lent I was working hard on patience. The first was not losing patience with my technology, something I have to work with day in and day out at work and at home.  

But now I also realize I am a beast when I'm in the car so I want to tame this beast and try praying better in the car for myself and for the other drivers out there.  the world needs peace, not more people yelling and screaming at each other.

I knew I was going to need a reminder every day of how to work on this.  Some people wear rosary bracelets or carry a token in their pocket. A physical reminder of what they are doing extra or working on for Lent.  I would need that too, but what would it be?  What can you carry in your car that reminds you to not yell or throw a fist at another driver? What could attached to my windshield or steering wheel that wouldn't impede my sight?

I was sitting at Mass the day after Ash Wednesday when it came to me.  As we made the sign of the cross at the Gospel, the one where we take our thumbs and make the sign of the cross on our forehead, lips and heart.  I looked at my thumb.  I could paint something on it!  We paint our nails with polish all the time. What could I paint that would be a good reminder?  A happy face? A stop symbol? Cross?  Maybe something that wouldn't need explaining why I don't have my other nails painted? Me and nail polish, gels, stick ons just don't get along. Nothing lasts, and I am afraid of those glued on salon nails! I tried a stick with a happy face.. that lasted about one hour. I am so hard on my nails since I type all day l on, play some guitar, knit and crochet and dig in the dirt weeding.  

Well, I'll give it a try anyway and see how it goes...

Families Surround Us

 While enjoying the Easter festivities of the beauty of Mass and the visiting afterwards seeing old friends who are home visiting, or introducing new babies to the church family, I am always struck by how families surround us. It doesn't matter whether you are single or married, living a single vocation or your marriage has ended, all the people that surround us at church or home are family.

I love when I hear people talk about their "Auntees" a woman who may or may not be related to you but she is given the title of Aunt in her own way.  I think that is so beautiful!  And many non-related men are addressed as Uncle in the same way.

It wasn't just a passing thought of God to have his son come to us as human in the middle of a family. He knew that family is important and that it takes fathers, mothers, grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins and extended families to raise a child.  Unlike the 'it takes a village' phrase, I think "it takes a family" to raise a child.  It is important for children to have that sense of connection to their extended families.  My granddaughters know that my sisters are also their aunts, great that they may be, they are still just called Aunt.  My sisters and brother had a great aunt of my dads. She was always Aunt Ruth, not Great Aunt Ruth.  She doted on us as much as she doted on my father when he was young and we loved her for it.  

I also have to laugh when I greet my granddaughter on the playground during recess I get called "Frankie's  Grandma' by the other kids out there. They see that connection and it helps them relate to me as well. We are related by family, all of us, whether our families are big or small.  They watch out for us and help us grow and love us beyond measure. It is a beautiful thing and something wonderful to be reminded of especially at Easter time! 

Three Days of the Resurrection and New Babies With Old Sleepovers

 We got a wonderful Easter gift this past weekend when our youngest daughter delivered her baby during Holy Week.  It was a little surprise because she wasn't due until Holy Saturday but everything was good and wonderful.  Needless to say we had all be making plans for the upcoming birth, but were just a little caught off guard when she arrived three days early.  My daughter has two other children who spent their time while mom, dad and their new sister were in the hospital with my husband and me.  

While the girls have come over often to have what they call 'sleep-overs' which mean lots of activities including playing Barbies, Legos, dance party, video games and snacks, those visits are always one night occasions. But this time it wound up being three full nights at Grammy and Babba's house and by the end you could tell the excitement and fun was beginning to wear off on them. It's just not the same as being home in your own bed, your own toys and backyard to play in. I get it! I was always excited to go to my Grandma's to stay for a week but by the time the third or fourth night came around I was wanting to get home. 

Three days...hmm kind of funny how that matches the time Jesus spent from Good Friday to Easter Sunday. But like Easter, my granddaughters were looking forward to someone brand new, a brand new life to share joy with!

My daughter did have to share when I asked if the  girls were happy to get back home to a normal routine.  Yes, they were, she told me, and the four year old told her, "Mom, that was a really long sleepover!"

Notebook Sharing

 I pick up one of my many 5 x 8 inch notebooks, the ones I carry with me everywhere, my purse, my backpack, my bedside, my home office, near my knitting/crocheting.  I never know when inspiration may hit me and tracking down a missing notebook can kill creativity quicker than anything!

But I have discovered that my young granddaughters share my love of notebooks.  As in, they love MY notebooks.  It doesn't matter how many notebooks I have given them, they are more interested in my notebooks. I don't know why, maybe because they contain written words.  They are six and four and while the six year old is beginning to write words and sentences, they are still fascinated with the long writing that goes on inside my notebook. The problem is when they take a pencil and begin to fill in all the empty pages of my notebook and suddenly I am left without a clean sheet in the whole thing.

But despite this problem, which only gives me an excuse to purchase more notebooks, I love them having the fascination for writing and scribbling inside the notebooks, because that is where imagination begins!   Many a time I sit with my notebook and pencil looking at a blank page and just begin writing words. The words invariably become sentences. Sometimes a whole paragraph turns into a short story or at least the beginnings of one.  That is so exciting!

I am glad my granddaughters hold the same excitement I feel when picking up a notebook and pencil.  Their creative juices are flowing and will improve each and every time they make a mark.  If I were a writing teacher I would give each of my students the same little 5 by 8 inch notebook and a fun pencil and tell them to never let it leave their side!  Write, write anything words, sentences, descriptions, flowery prose, whatever it takes to just write and let the imagination begin. That is so very important!  And writing with a pencil or pen on paper is more important and helpful than typing letters on a keyboard too.  The act of physically making letters stimulates the creative juices inside as well.

Get a notebook and try it.  Just give it a try and see how it can push you forward, creating new worlds and freeing yourself for fun.  Do it!

Dangers of Craft Stores

 I discovered a new craft store while out of town that I fell in love with until I got to the checkout lane. I did not realize that in order to make a purchase anywhere in this part of town you have to either state your age or admit you are over 21. I'm not kidding!

I brought five skeins of hunter green yarn, a set of bamboo double pointed needles and a couple of knitting magazines to the front and was promptly asked if I was 21. Not quite understanding the clerk, I looked at the screen which displayed everything I was purchasing. The register monitors were up high, in plain view to everyone in line behind me.  I assumed he was telling me how much I owed.  Wow, that was some kind of sale!  So I double-checked and asked, "My purchase is $21?"

He laughed and shook his head, "No, are you twenty-one?"

I looked at my husband who snorted, but he's not 21 either, and I said, "Uh, no...kinda over that, why?"

"I'm just trying to give you a discount."

"For what?"

Suddenly the clerk got embarrassed and began shoving my purchase into bags, "For being over 21. Did you put in your payment?"

I stopped everything and stared hard at him, "It's finished, I pulled my card out already."

He dropped a skein of yarn on the floor and quickly picked it up putting it in yet another bag, "Okay then, here you go."

"You mean I got a discount for being over 21? Why?" I stood there not moving.

"It's you know, the senior discount."

"Why did you think I was a senior?" Now I was baiting him because everyone who knows me or even sees me knows I have a head full of long silver hair that most likely makes it easy to guess I'm not twenty-one, but I'm also not over sixty either, the usual senior discount age and I have never been asked this question in our hometown or for that matter been given a senior discount. And I sure wasn't going to start now.

By this time my husband is almost doubled over in laughter as were the people standing in line behind us.   The clerk began to stammer, "No, you just have that mature, wise look to you."

Oh brother, mister you are getting yourself in deep now. "You mean my gray hair gave my age away?"

Panic was welling up in his eyes as he tried to laugh it off, "People dye their hair to get it to look like yours."

That was it, I grabbed my bags, shoved my receipt into my purse and walked out of the store. So much for that fun time. We hurried to the car  in the rain and headed to a nearby fast food restaurant to grab some food.

"Seriously?" I squawked to my husband? I cannot believe that!"

He just laughed, "He was just trying to be nice and give you a discount."

"But I don't want a discount! I can pay for this, I'm not retired yet!"

We drove to the restaurant and ran through the rain. They were not busy so we had time to stand and figure out what we wanted. Walking up to the cashier, I put in my order as did my husband. He pulled out his wallet only to find he was two dollars short. "Can you spare me a couple of dollars?" he asked me. We do this all the time, we split our cash when going out of town and he had already spent most of his.

"Sure," I grabbed my wallet and began to pull out some cash when the cashier who had heard my husband ask me for extra cash, interrupted, "No you guys are fine, I gave you a discount."

"A discount? For what?" I asked my eyebrows which are not as gray as my hair is raised.

"A VIP discount. Here is the new total." The machine read exactly two dollars less than it had just a minute ago.

"I don't understand, what discount..." My husband quickly grabbed our drink cups and number and pushed me along to the drink dispenser before I could start fuming.

"Again? What is the deal with everyone thinking I'm a senior citizen up here? I'm not even sixty yet! I'm going to pull out my license and show that young man!"

"No you're not, let's find a place to sit down, Granny!"

The Ducks on Icy Pond

 

The ice gathers slowly as temperatures drop and the water freezes quickly because the water is so shallow.  It barely covers the grass it surrounds on the vacant lot behind the store. This small triangular shaped plot of land less than a quarter of an acre lies above the Osage Creek in my hometown.

It has been for sale for many years, but because it is stuck between a building  and a creek and a street bridge, it doesn't sell.  Only the smallest quick stop could fit and that would not even having parking or good access from the street.  But the current residents at the pond don't care. All they want is the water and the fresh greens it holds every time it rains. These aren't the loons of Golden Pond by any means, but the ducks of Osage Creek.

The ducks along the creek live and eat, have their ducklings and find food down within the rocky walls that make up the man made creek bed.  Made of rip rap and no vegetation except for a mass of weeds that threaten to overtake the rip rap every spring, the wall is steep enough to prevent people from entering the creek at this point.  This makes it an excellent place for the ducks to feed nearby. No one is going to disturb them and they don't seem to mind the traffic less than twenty feet away from the marshy land they feed on either.  Hundreds of car speed back and forth past oblivious ducks and their young. The ducks are only concerned with one thing; food. 

The only problem with their choice of dining places is it is only open during the rainy season. The rest of the year it lies dry and flat covered with green weeds that the landowner mows once a month or so. But when it rains it is a veritable feast of overnight green grass shoots and the ducks are in heaven.  They are there, in small numbers, flipping over upside down to grab the shoots under the water which is only a few inches deep.  

People driving by can get a quick glimpse if traffic isn't too crazy and enjoy the hilarity of duck butts mooning the sky as each duck feeds.  

Occasionally if the water remains for too long, neighboring geese muscle their way into the feeding ground, pushing the ducks over to one side because even ducks are a little afraid of these giant birds.  The geese don't look as cute when overturning to feed, because of their size, their bottoms don't flip over like the duck bottoms do to eat.   But soon they fly away leaving the ducks to begin scrounging again for a meal.

There is a sign in the middle of the lot offering the land for sale.  Often times I am tempted to call the phone number listed and either beg the owner not to sell or offer him or her a price.  I don't want to see the land developed into something the ducks cannot return to.  But common sense convinces me by the time I arrive home, that I don't need the expense of a plot of land I can do nothing but pay taxes on.  Yet the urge to take care of the feeding place of a bunch of ducks is strong and my husband has learned to just listen and smile knowing I am not going through with my threat to spend what little money we have on such a frivolous and every un-businesslike adventure.  I worry what the new business that just moved into the building next to the lot will do about the ducks. It is a farm and feed store so I am hoping maybe they'll purchase the lot and encourage the ducks to keep coming and maybe even dig the natural depression where the water gathers during a rain, into a regular duck pond.   Maybe instead of me purchasing the land, I could encourage the owners to do so. It may increase the traffic in their store to add a viewing stand out the back door where customers could come and watch the duck butts.  

Maybe I am too much of a Pollyanna to consider such ideas are good. But you never know.   The ducks chose this place and as long as they are happy, maybe I should just be too.  You cannot guarantee such serendipitous things in life.  Sometimes you just have to enjoy those moments that pop up like a rain filled depression in the ground that gives food to passing fowl and animals.  Our society tries too hard to make such things last too long instead of just enjoying the moment.  So for now, during this dry period of January, I will wait for a rainy day and hope for the depression to fill and the ducks to return, pushing away the ice and feed.  They at least don't seem to mind that this place is merely a fowl-weather feeding station.

Not Always Mechanically Inclined

 

Though I work in a church office, I actually have to do a lot of tech stuff. I run our computers and help everyone with their smart phones, maintain the website and social media sites. So I know my way around computers, but some other mechanical stuff I don't always handle well. Ask my husband about his wood chisels sometime. But my mechanical safety ability came into question several years ago, when I was standing at the gas pump trying to fill my new van with gasoline.

I have been filling my own gas tank for a very long time...like over 40 years so I know how to use the pump. In fact, one time, (before I was married) I was pumping gasoline in my little green Ford Maverick, and a young guy at a nearby gas pump walked over and said, "Hey you pump gasoline really good."  To this date it's the stupidest pick-up line I've ever received.

But my new van was being persnickety. First of all it didn't even have a locking gas cap on it. There was no button to push inside that pops open the lid. That should have been my first sign of trouble!I finally just pushed on the gas door and it opened. I stuck the nozzle in like usual and began pumping. But it kicked it back out at me. What was going on? I looked at the little cartoon directions on the gas door. All it showed me was how to fill one of those little red containers for lawn mowers. No help at all.

I pushed it back in and finally after several tries and kickbacks, it got going. I relaxed and set that little locking mechanism so I could let go of the pump handle.

Now, I've always set that locking mechanism when pumping gas and I know that when the tank is getting full it is supposed to automatically kick off and stop pumping.

Yeah, well this gas pump didn't know the rules because as the tank got full it began spewing out of the tank of my car and the pump handle didn't kick off. Luckily I was still standing close by and I grabbed the handle but it was still spewing up into the air and like a fountain cascaded all down my head and arms and legs!

Oh my God I'm going to die!! I had gasoline all in my hair on my brand new blouse and capris.

I looked around for help, but NOBODY came over to my rescue or to even say are you okay? I even looked back at the store to the cashier but they weren't looking in my direction at all. Totally scared and angry, I quickly put away the pump and grabbed those towels you clean your windows with.

I began wiping the gas off my face which I was sure was going to have acid burns on and off my bare arms and legs. Still nobody came. I debated whether I should walk into the store and announce I had just covered myself in gasoline but I was really afraid they would either report me to the police for a dangerous act or insist I wait for the fire department EMT's to hose me off.

So silly me I just got into my car and raced home.

I met my husband at the round-a-bout near our house and flagged him to follow me home. As soon as I got out of my car I began hyperventilating while telling him that I had just doused myself in gasoline.

My near hysteria wasn't catching because all he said was, "Well you're not smoking, you're okay!"

I'm not smoking? Like I was on fire?

"What?" I screamed wondering why he could be so calm. I knew my face was going to begin melting any moment from my gasoline facial

"I said, you're not smoking...you don't smoke cigarettes so you are fine. Go inside and take a shower and give me your clothes. I'll put them in the wash."

"Oh, okay," I finally understood I wasn't going up in flames. "But it got all over my hair and face, will it burn me?"

I stumbled into the house trying to pull off my sandals so I didn't track gas all over the kitchen floor.

"No, I don't think so, just wash it off good." He replied calmly.

"I don't understand what could have happened, I was just putting gas in and it kicked it out and spewed gas all over me..."

"I'm going to go wash your car."

"The car? It's me that needs to be washed."

"Yes, but gas isn't good for the paint on the car. So I'm going to go wash it while you take a shower."

I looked at him. If gasoline wasn't good for the paint on the car just what the hell good was it on my hair, skin and everything besides?? So still cussing about stupid new cars and even stupider gas pumps I got in the shower.

I survived with no injuries to my body and even my clothes came out okay after adding a lot of vinegar to the washer to get out the smell. But I am done with gassing up my new car. I love my van but it has taken me nine weeks to get over the fear of putting gas in it so my husband has had to do it since there aren't any full service gas stations any more. (really showing my 40 plus years now...)

But I am happy to announce that this morning on my way to work, I got the courage up to try it again. I had no choice, hearing the van shout that I needed to stop and get gas soon or I'd be walking was an incentive. So I stopped and gingerly pulled the pump out and placed it in the tank NOT latching the locking mechanism. I put in three gallons and was good to go. That will get me to the weekend when my husband can finish filling it.