Crazy for You Baby

My husband and I are crazy for our grandchildren. We dearly love the weekly webcams we have with them. It is the next best thing to seeing them in person. We arm ourselves with assorted props: frog puppet, crazy viking hat, assorted items from the toybox. I love that our thirteen month old grandson is really beginning to get that those two crazy people in that computer box are really talking to him. He smiles and waves and claps his hands for us. He blows kisses and laughs at our crazy antics as we try to interact with him over the world wide web. On Saturday, after finishing his lunch as we watched and chatted, he lifted his empty plate, set it back down, spread out his little arms and announced "All gone". I loved it. To be able to see the progress he is making as he takes in the world around him. His time in front of the webcam is usually somewhat limited by his camera loving older sister. She commands us from across the ocean, as we read her books and play games with her. We take turns playing hide and seek, one of us hiding while she counts to ten, the other taking the computer on a search through the house so she can find us. We happily oblige when she asks us to take the computer outside so she can see the flowers on the porch, or when she asks us to cut out shapes and color for her. She sings songs and reads to us. She adjusts the camera so she is the main focus on the screen. I know one day she will get bored with it and our visits on webcam may get shorter, but for now I am enjoying every minute we can get. To be able to reach across the vast ocean and interact with them both is absolutely mind-boggling. We are totally and enthusiastically crazy for you Amelia and Evan!

A Moving Experience

Today I spent some time clearing some things out of our storage shed. I gave up on the notion of having a yard sale so I loaded my vehicle with items to be donated to a local charity. After several trips back and forth with the boxes of smaller items I was finally ready to load up some of the bigger items. I scooted a desk out to the SUV and then contemplated how I would lift the heavy, bulky item up into the back of the vehicle by myself. Determined not to have to move it back into the storage unit, I looked around for a possible solution. I did not want to take a chance of scratching the vehicle and I sure did not want to hurt myself lifting it. Then I spotted a couple of table leaves standing in the corner. I propped them against the bumper creating a makeshift ramp. Then I tilted the desk onto its back and slid it up the ramp and right into place in the back of the SUV. Problem solved.

My thoughts flashed back to a similar situation I ran into years ago when I held a yard sale. The extra long plaid sofa that my husband had helped me move out into the yard before he left for work had not sold by the time I needed to go to town to pick up my children from school. The skies were beginning to darken and threaten rain so I needed to move the sofa back inside the house. I had no nearby neighbors to help me. How could I move this monstrosity across the lawn and up the steps to the screened porch? After a few minutes of contemplation I came up with an idea that just might work. I slipped each sofa leg into my children's roller skates and tied them on tightly. I was able to roll the sofa across the lawn right up to the steps. Lifting one end over the steps I was then able to then lift the other end and roll it straight into the house. Then I rushed off to pick up my kids from school.

When I was growing up it was not uncommon for my mother to decide at a whim to repaint a room and rearrange the furniture in the middle of the night while no small children were afoot. Sheer determination to get a project finished before the light of dawn made for some ingenious methods of moving bulky heavy items. I credit her for passing on the problem-solving gene to me.

I also credit my grandfather for allowing us to experiment with all sorts of tools and devices in his basement workshop. Under his guidance we learned to build gocarts, skateboards, pulley systems, bike ramps. We learned how to motorize our bicycles. We learned about the function of ball-bearings. Without those experiences I may not have understood the laws of motion and gravity as well.

So I have also been known to rearrange the furniture in the middle of the night while everyone else was sleeping. I would use rugs or sheets of plastic to help slide big pieces across the floor. It took a while longer than if I had help but I was a night owl and I did my best decorating and arranging with everyone else out of the way. And I did not have to irritate my husband when I wanted to try multiple arrangements before I decided on what fit my mood at the time. My family never knew what they would wake up to.

Office chairs were great for moving televisions and other heavy electronic equipment and boxes. Planks of wood became ramps. Belts linked together became great hoisting straps. I have used a makeshift rope and pulley system to hoist bedroom furniture up and into a second floor bedroom window in my daughter's college apartment because the spiral staircase leading to the second floor was so narrow. A strip of plywood made a good surface for sliding heavy furniture down stairs.

So thank you Mom and PaPaw for allowing me the opportunity to learn these valuable skills. They have come in handy many times over.

Grace and Gratitude

Last week my father-in-law's long struggle with Alzheimers and/or vascular dementia ended. He passed away at his home under the devoted care of his beloved wife. I am sure that he is in a better place now. Being trapped within his own body and mind, unable to embrace life with the energy and enthusiasm that was typically him, failed to rob him of his faith and optimism. Faith in God so unwavering and optimism that things would always get better, even if in a way not fully comprehended by the human mind. He was an ordinary man who lived an extraordinary life of value, honor, service and love. Not a day went by when he didn't greet and close the day with prayer. Never did he fail to express his love to his family and friends with a kiss, hug, or handshake. Stranger was not in his vocabulary. He befriended all he met and took great care to extend that friendship to those whom society rejects. Never seeking accolades for his service, he humbly volunteered his time to his church and community, serving as board member or dishwasher, fundraiser or mentor, repairman or teacher, actor or clown. He was a buzz of hyperactivity, seizing the day with great intention. Yet he was able to center himself through prayer and reflection. He was always grateful for the goodness in his life. And when things went wrong, as they always will, he was optimistic that it was going to get better. He was not perfect and he recognized that. He simply chose to never stop trying and to look for the lesson in failure. His optimism allowed him an ability to see hope where others saw despair, to seek out the good in spite of the bad, to live a life of grace without the need for glory. His spirit will remain in our hearts and hopefully live on through us as we seek our own path to grace and humanity. I am honored to have known him.

Crunch Time

My little sister has recently informed me that she has noticed how much of a potty mouth she has developed. Words fly out of her mouth that she would have been embarrassed to have uttered in public in prior years but the stress of her job and the constant buzz of cursing around her by her male coworkers have taken a toll on her censory abilities. Now that she is acutely aware of how she sounds she has started a self-imposed deprivation program based on Pavlov's theory. First, she started wearing a specific bracelet and ring to work so that every time she sees them she is reminded of her goal to clean up her vocabulary. Then, the hard part: for every foul word that escapes from her subconscious thoughts she will punish herself with ten stomach crunches.

I had to laugh when she told me about this plan. I could just imagine how her days would go over the next few weeks:

"I can't f'...ing believe those assholes. Oh shit, I didn't mean to say f....! That's ten damn, I mean darn, crunches. Oh crap, I just said shit, didn't I? That's twenty crunches."

Never mind that she glossed over a few and by my count she probably should have done at least fifty crunches. The next morning would start out something like this:

"Holy shit, I can't get out of this freaking bed. I am so sore from doing those crunches. How the hell will I be able to work today?" Wincing in pain as she rolls out of bed, she realizes she now has earned twenty crunches to start off the new day. "Crap, I have got to get a handle on this." With shallow breathing and shuffling feet, she walks in to work just in time. Glancing at her bracelet she vows to make it through the morning without further punishment. All goes well until her coworker announces that he has to take a road trip to pick up some parts -code for he's going home for the rest of the day. "That son-of-a-bitch....! No, no, no, what the hel..ck is wrong with me? I have got to stop my mouth. That's thirty crunches and it's not even lunch time yet. God help me. It just pisses me off so much that I work my ass off while he's out screwing around."

Stopping for a moment, she realizes just how hard this endeavor is going to be. She grabs her cigarettes and heads outside to take a break. She calls me for a bit of phone therapy. "Crap, I forgot my lighter. No, crap is not a potty word. I'm thinking more like the F word, you know, the bad ones." She borrows a lighter and as she takes a long draw from her cigarette she contemplates other methods she can add to reach her goal. I suggest a rubber band around her wrist that she can snap to inflict pain instantly whenever she slips up, truly Pavlovian conditioning. She envisions a visit to the hand surgeon as a result and vetos the idea. Maybe a swear jar where she drops in a quarter for each infraction and she has to give the proceeds to those infuriatingly lazy coworkers each day. This goads her into another round and she bites her tongue.

This bad habit may be hard to break but she very well could end up with abs of steel in the process. Good luck Sis!

Tumbled Memories

My dryer is not working properly so I have had to do the wash then haul it off to the laundromat for drying. I would hang it out on the line to dry but with all the trees in my yard I am afraid the birds would make a mess of it. So I loaded the baskets into the back of the car, grabbed my library books and a soda, and drove down the road to the coin laundry. As I parked the car near the door I was glad to see that I would be the only one there. After dropping my quarters into the slots and selecting the heat settings I settled into a chair to read. As I sat there my mind wandered away from my book and back to my childhood. My mother would be doing this very same thing, late at night or very early in the morning so she could stake claim to as many washers and dryers as necessary for a family of eight. If any of us kids were awake and willing to go she would let us tag along to help with the folding and hanging and the loading of the car. I always loved it if I got to be the sole accompaniment and have time to talk to her without all my brothers and sisters around. It didn't seem much like work because time spent with my mother was always a pleasure. She would let me put the coins in the slots and slide them in to start the wash and she would follow me down the row of machines adding detergent. A few extra coins would appear for the soda machine and then we would take our seats and flip through the magazines, talking idly as we listened to the swoosh of water cleaning away the dirt of our busy lives. It was at the laundromat that my mother taught me how to sort the clothes, to get out stains, when to take clothes out of the dryer before they wrinkled, how to fold sheets so they would feel fresh and sleek when stretched tight across the beds. It was at the laundromat that I learned to appreciate the quietness of the early mornings, the glow of neon, the clean powdery smell of laundry soap, and the dance of colors as the clothes tumbled and floated in the dryers.
I was brought quickly back to the present when a mother and her teenage daughter walked in with their baskets overflowing with wet clothes. The teen loaded the dryers as the mother went in search of the change machine. Then they too settled into their seats with magazines and sodas, chatting off and on as they flipped the pages. I couldn't help but smile to think of how these most mundane tasks have a way of becoming the concrete foundations of our relationships and a pleasurable pool of memories from which to dip as the years go by. I closed my book and waited quietly until the dryers buzzed, wishing I could have my mother here with me, thankful for the times we shared before the light of dawn.

I Love You Most

After a wonderful, long-awaited visit from our daughter and her family it was finally time to say our farewells and see them off for their long flight back to London. That is the hardest part of the visits, not knowing how long it will be before we will once again hold them in our arms and wrap them with our love. After hugs and kisses and trying to hold back tears we left our daughters and our grandchildren at the check-in counter of Virgin Airlines. My husband and I walked slowly down the corridor then stopped to get one more glimpse. As we stood there watching them checking the bags and pulling out passports our three year old granddaughter, perched in the baggage cart, caught sight of us. Cupping her little hands to her face she called out loudly "I love you". My husband and I called back "We love you more" to which she immediately responded "I love you most". And that is what will get me through the months to come until we see them in person again.

Rocky Day

Somehow I missed the memo that today was Take Your Raccoon to Work day. If I had gotten it I am fairly certain I would have been more prepared for the sight at the gas station this morning. As I stood pumping money into my seemingly bottomless tank I glanced across the parking lot to see a man emerge from his pickup truck with a small raccoon perched upon his shoulder. As I blinked in disbelief he sauntered into the mini-mart, the masked critter clinging to his shirt for balance. Emblazoned across his T-shirt were the words The Tree Man. I wondered what exactly one would do with a raccoon while out trimming trees? Perhaps send the animal as a scout to scare away any animals lurking in or near the tree? Or maybe Tree Man uses the raccoon as an unpaid laborer, sending the little creature up into the highest boughs with a small chainsaw to top the trees? Maybe the raccoon helps with tying off limbs by dragging ropes up the tree to the designated point? I finished filling my tank and walked warily into the store to pay. As I approached the counter there was Tree Man talking to the wide-eyed clerk. I kept my distance, not wanting to alarm the creature who was now clinging to the man's head. I could envision being attacked by this woodland creature for invading his space. I wanted to turn around and leave but I didn't want to be charged with theft so I waited quietly in line. After the man had paid for his Slushee and cigarettes he turned ever so slowly, and the raccoon scrambled from his head, across the counter, and onto the clerk's shoulder. She laughed nervously and the man stepped aside to allow me to step up. I practically threw my money at the clerk, not wanting to encourage another change in transport for the raccoon. On the way back to my car I made a mental note of the truck so I could drive on by the next time I might happen to be stopping for gas. I think I would probably make it to the next station instead. Why do people have to take their pets with them everywhere they go anyway?