The Family Web

Family.  A small word that is larger than eternity.  When two people become 3, then 4, and more, a family is born and eternity grows just a bit bigger.  When a family loses a member the loss is enormous.  As families are created and grow, the complex web of their connections are like the knots of a fishing net; they are so essential to each other that the loss of even one member creates a huge hole in the net rendering it severely damaged.  Tragedies, illnesses, accidents and other unforeseen situations affect families in this way every day.  The remaining members are left shocked and in grief, realizing that the gaping hole in the family web can never be repaired.  There are holes in my family net that are the result of life’s endless cycle of birth and death.  But there are also yawning, gaping holes created when insensitivity, jealousy, or even malicious behavior has won the ‘game’ from caring, understanding, and nurturing.  One of life’s great mysteries is the question of why people, who are so undeniably and intricately meshed together, choose to rip the web apart – and perhaps never to meet again and repair it.  I surmise that this is a question to be answered by a Higher Power who awaits us all in the afterlife.  I can accept that – but only because there is no other choice.  If there were a way to peer deep into the holes of my family web and repair the missing fibers, I would.  I would wait until eternity to speak and to hear the words, ‘I’m sorry, I love you, and all is forgiven’ and it appears that that is exactly how long it is going to be until the web is whole again.

The LIttle Train

As a child I loved to read and to have stories read to me.  A very favorite was ‘The Little Engine That Could’, by Watty Piper.  For those who do not know the story, it is about a little train engine that huffed and puffed and practically blew a gasket trying to get up one particular hill until he finally did.  And the entire time he mumbled to himself, ‘I know I can, I know I can’.  Note to parents:  if you are raising a particularly earnest minded child, reading this story to them could be a bad idea.  The moral of the story is that if you try hard enough, you can overcome any obstacle or challenge.  Sounds okay, huh?  What the author fails to point out to earnest little minds is that sometimes the obstacle or challenge is just NOT going to be overcome and that if the little engine had a brain, it would stop and consider its options after trying and failing several times.  We Americans are a particularly earnest society on the whole and many of us follow the example of the little engine that could, right into the ditch.  As the overpaid, smug human resource consultants of today like to point out, change is inevitable.  I agree.  As an adult my favorite book now is ‘Who Moved My Cheese’, by Spencer Johnson.  Why?  Well, even at my senior age, I still need to hear that sometimes trying and trying and trying – has the same lame result and, HEY, you just might want to change your tactics.  Our current economic downturn is a good example of an obstacle that the little engine just won’t overcome.  Even if he chugs and chugs, because the price of fuel has gone sky high, the greenies are lobbying Congress to ban his activities, low-life’s have torn up and removed his rails to pawn for cash, and no one is particularly interested in riding the route he is running – he might consider stopping.  He might consider making some personal changes in order to adapt to current conditions.  Oh, another thing those overpaid, smug consultants like to point out is that sometimes change is difficult to adapt to and requires maximum effort.  THAT is where the little engine and his incredible Power of Will would really shine!  Moral of the story:  don’t stop trying but at least consider changing directions when the hill up ahead is too big to climb and the only thing waiting on the other side is the wrecking yard.

America for sale

Garage sales are the backbone of America’s barter economy.  You can find anything and everything there from great-grandma’s backscratcher to modern do-dads bought on impulse from HSN and quickly deemed unnecessary.  You can also find a great deal of our country’s heritage for sale there in the form of objects once cherished and brought over from the Old Country by our deceased family members.  These bits of china, old firearms, paintings, etc., weren’t simply objects to their former owners.  They were connections to ancestral origins, values, ethics, beliefs, love.  They meant something to the people who bought them here.  I’m sure that their former owners rest in peace believing that these cherished objects of meaning will remain with their descendants.  But somehow that connection was lost and now these objects are viewed by modern Americans according to modern American value:  can I sell it, is it worth lots of money, can I go onto TV and show it off on some pawn shop or antique roadshow program?  True, some of these objects have very little functional value in our modern world.  We may actually need to sell them to pay our bills.  Before we do, though, I hope that we take a moment to look at them through the eyes of our ancestors who found in them a purpose higher than functionality, or monetary value, or pride.  I hope we look at them and find the meaning of what they represented to former family members and perhaps even present-day family members – connection.

This is my country

As we were idly chatting over coffee the other morning my husband blurted out, ‘hey, did you know that when we were kids there were Civil War soldiers still alive?’  OK, this day is starting on an annoying foot.  ‘Really?’ I tried to sound incredibly fascinated while realizing that if the math is right, we are OLD.  Later that afternoon I did some quick research on Google and it appears that yes, there really were soldiers from the WAY BACK THEN still living in the 50’s.  Ain’t that great?  As my generation watched in amazement when a rocket blasted off to the moon, the last of the Civil War soldiers passed to their final reward.  Tell me, do you think our society has made as much progress as those soldiers would have wished before their passing?  They fought and died to preserve a Union that is rapidly spending itself into debtor’s prison even as we moan and complain that the price of gasoline has risen another dime.  Hmmmm, I’m believing that they wouldn’t think too highly of our values right now.  Maybe the time has come for us to look back – WAY BACK – to the beginnings of this great nation for some insight into how we became so powerful and wealthy in the first place.  If we all start our mornings with just a teeny, tiny bit of the sacrifice and fortitude that those folks exemplified, we might deserve a teeny, tiny bit of the blessings we all enjoy in this country – their country - today.

Middle Age Texting Codes

My friend, Deb Hendricks, suggests that her friends repost her FB post which is too hilarious to miss!

MIDDLE AGE TEXTING CODES:
ATD -at the doctor.
BFF -best friend fell

BTW -bring the wheelchair
BYOT -bring your own teeth
FWIW -forgot where I was
GGPBL -gotta go, pacemaker battery low
GHA -got heartburn again
IMHO -is my hearing aid on?
LMDO -laughing my dentures out
OMMR -on my massage recliner
ROFLACGU -rolling on floor laughing and can't get up.
TTYL -talk to you louder!

Senior-itis

Life has a way of sneaking up on us all.  Last week I felt the call to volunteer my many unemployable skills at a local non-profit organization, the Bainbridge Island Senior Center.  Feeling quite proud to share time and talent with our local seniors, I called to chat with the coordinator.  Mind you, it hasn’t been all that long ago that I was slogging away in the regular working world, guzzling caffeine and attending meetings designed to numb minds to the reality of how boring our jobs really were.  So volunteering seemed like a fab idea and how exciting to be doing something valuable for our senior community!  Halfway through the conversation with the coordinator she asked a simple question, ‘how old are you, dear?’  I answered 55.  ‘Oh how wonderful!’ she exclaimed.  ‘You are eligible to join the Senior Center as well as to volunteer.’  Uh oh, a flash of panic dashed through my mushy brain.  Me, a senior?!  Ha!  Not possible!  Why just yesterday I was working, etc., etc.  Wait a minute – was that yesterday?  Or months, no years ago?  Uh oh, what the hell happened between 45 and 55?  Was I in a coma or did those years freaking fly by?  It must be the latter because as I tried to speak brilliantly to the lady on the other line of the phone, I quickly flipped the calendar and sure enough, it is 2011 and I am 55 years old.  ‘Great, I’ll meet you at noon on Monday,’ I choked out before hanging up the phone.  Geeze, that was so disturbing that I need a nap and might as well throw in a Tylenol and some tapioca along with that.  Where is that heated blanket throw and the back support pillow for my sciatica?  Wait, better hit the bathroom first and – geeze, what was I running off to do now?  Can’t remember.