by Shari Lacy
Mr. John Singlaub is a normal guy. At least it seems that way when you first meet him. He and his wife Joan, recent transplants from the Washington D.C. area, are moved into their new home on Westhaven Blvd. and are settling into life here nicely. Three of their children, living between Memphis and Columbia, TN, wanted them to move closer to family at this stage in life, so everyone could be in proximity of helping each other when needed.
Take a closer look however, and you soon realize that the more you learn about Mr. Singlaub and his history, the more you understand his seemingly normal life has been steeped in everything but the ordinary.
To some, his name is John. To others, he’s been known for decades as Major General John K. “Jack” Singlaub, a highly decorated soldier who fought in World War II, Korea, and Vietnam, parachuted behind enemy lines into occupied France to organize, train, and lead a French Resistance unit which provided assistance to the Allied invasion forces during WWII, was later Chief of a U.S. Military Liaison Mission to Manchuria, served two tours during the Korean War and is the recipient of 45 military decorations including multiple Distinguished Service Medals, the Silver Star, Soldiers Medal and Purple Heart to name a few.
General Singlaub fought behind enemy lines in Europe and Asia, went to China to train and lead Chinese guerrillas against the Japanese, and just before the Japanese surrendered in WWII, he headed up a parachute team rescue mission into an enemy prisoner of war camp on Hainan Island. This resulted in the release of 400 Allied Prisoners of War. He led troops in Korea, managed the secret war along the Ho Chi Minh Trail during the Vietnam War, and worked with the Contras in Nicaragua.
The list of accomplishments throughout his career are endless and easily place him in the military elite.
His family, first wife Mary, and their three children, lived the quintessential military lifestyle, seeing the world base by base over the years. By all accounts, he’s a soldier’s soldier, and an intensely respected one at that.
His autobiography, Hazardous Duty; An American Soldier in the Twentieth Century, gives a revealing look at his 35 year history as one of the military’s top officers, along with his experience as an army covert operations specialist, and interesting behind the scenes information on the unique positions he’s held over the years, including time as an officer with the OSS (The Office of Strategic Services) during WWII. The OSS was the organizational predecessor of today’s CIA, an agency for which he would later become a founder.
General Singlaub turned 88 years old on July 10th and still talks about his military years with great interest and clarity.
He recalls the late 1970’s with great detail, representing the last few years of his military career in which he had a highly publicized encounter with then President Jimmy Carter. He opposed opposed the withdrawal of U.S. troops from South Korea. President Carter did not. In an off the record interview with a reporter, General Singlaub expressed his disagreement with President Carter’s decision to pull troops from South Korea at a time when North Korea was bulking up its military presence in the region.
“Withdrawal from North Korea will lead to war as sure as it did in the 1950’s,” Singlaub recalls saying from his desk in Korea in 1977. The off the record discussion ended up on the front page of The Washington Post, above the fold, and the General would find himself being summoned back to Washington D.C. from Korea, to defend his position to the President himself.
This event would be the beginning of Singlaub’s last years as a General in the U.S. Army but would not be the end of his involvement in military affairs.
After leaving the military, General Singlaub relocated to Winter Park, CO, where he was founder of the U.S. Council for World Freedom (USCWF) in 1981. General Singlaub testified before Congress during the Iran-Contra hearings and continues to speak, teach and consult with the military to this day. He remained in Colorado for over a decade before eventually migrating back to Washington D.C.
It was in the nation’s capital, on Sept. 11, 2001, that he watched from a window in his home as American Airlines Flight 77 was flown into the Pentagon building as one of the planned and targeted attacks on the U.S. that day.
He’s been witness to some amazing and historical events over the course of his long and storied career.
General Singlaub met his second wife, Joan, after his marriage of 44 years dissolved, and while on tour promoting his book. The two would later marry and have now been together for just under 20 years. With three grown children from his first marriage, four grandchildren, two great-grandchildren, Joan’s three daughters, five grandchildren and two great-grandchildren on her side, the Singlaub’s are, needless to say, quite busy.
It’s easy to see that General Singlaub has led a diverse, highly-respected and sometimes controversial life with the United States Army. His personal relationships with figures such as General William C. Westmoreland, Congressman Henry J. Hyde, Former Head of the CIA, William E. Colby, Oliver North, Jimmy Carter and so many more, have placed him the middle of some of the past centuries most politically charged events.
If you run into Mr. Singlaub and Joan someday, walking around Westhaven, pay attention. You’ll enjoy having them as your neighbors. Keep in mind you could be running into someone who seems like a “normal guy,” only now you know differently.
His book, Hazardous Duty; An American Soldier in the Twentieth Century, is still available.
Visit http://www.generalsinglaub.com/contact.htm
***
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
Laissez Les Bons Temps Rouler! With Papa Beaudreaux’s
Where Authenticity is King
Copyright 2009 Shari Lacy
Our drive down historic Old Boyd Mill Pike took us through the rolling landscape next to the new Westhaven Golf Course and out to Old Hillsboro Pike where we headed south to Leipers Fork and then onto the Natchez Trace towards the Kinderhook Exit.
Two momentarily interested white tailed deer shot us a quick glance as we passed their roadside dinner spot at sunset, only sparing a brief moment to see what we were up to and then quickly turning back to their grassy meal. It was dinnertime.
Our car, filled with five hungry passengers, was headed to Fly, TN, for an evening of culinary enjoyment and Cajun excitement, at a small, out of the way hole in the wall that we’d all heard tales about but that all but one of us had yet to experience. We were headed to Papa Beaudreaux’s.
Resident Alison Ude’s drove us in her car past the Fly general store on our left where we could see Mr. B. Wilbur Fly closing up shop for the night. Kacky Johnson told us about the town of Fly saying, “The Fly family settled the area. Fly is full of Flys! As a matter of fact, most of ‘em are Flys!”
We then passed the Fly Church of the Nazarene and not long after, we saw it. A tree lit up with Christmas lights and a canary yellow cinderblock building sitting quietly at the back of a gravel parking lot. This was Papa Beaudreaux’s.
The building, although utilitarian in appearance, also looked fun and colorful amidst all of the brown trees and faded out grass. Signs hanging from the building, lights along the gutters and the signature Cajun flavor wafting through the air, greeted us as we exited the car. We were ready and very, very hungry.
First thing to know is that Papa’s is not a big place. With only 7 or 8 tables in the entire place, you’d better arrive early or off-season if you want to be seated quickly. Red and white checkered picnic style cloths cover the old diner style tables and Mardi Gras beads serve as decoration. Chili pepper lights provide a warm red glow around the ceiling.
Everything is made from scratch here and dishes can be made to order if you call ahead. Gumbo, Shrimp Creole, Garlic Shrimp Pasta, Catfish Diablo are some of the items on the handwritten menu on the wall. We were the first to arrive this time but Westhaven Operations Director Amy Law was with us and she’d been here before. She introduced us to Papa Beaudreaux. When I asked him what originally brought him to Fly, of all places, the straightest answer I could get was “The witness protection program…ssshhh…don’t tell anybody!” and then he threw me a wink.
Papa is a shorter gentleman with a large presence, eyeglasses and a politically incorrect style of speaking that after a few minutes becomes endearing and intriguing at every turn. It is quickly apparent that he’s the real thing. Nothing pretentious here.
Born and raised in New Orleans, he’ll be the first to tell you that he doesn’t appreciate anything fake. He’s all about the real deal and makes no bones about it. “I retired 7 ½ years ago, lived in Russia and the Ukraine, a Buddist temple and an Oshram and then I decided to get married! My wife’s from New York.“
There are times during our conversation that I wondered if I was getting the true story or fabricated bits and pieces that made for more adventure. I’ll never know but either way, I was completely engaged in the conversation. Papa and his wife started a family and wanted to raise their daughter someplace other than the big city. It was through acquaintances that they knew about Fly. Arriving 5 years ago, they bought some land and a small building that was originally intended to be horse stables but now encompasses the restaurant.
The original concept for Papa Beaudreauxs was for catering and after visiting a Cajun restaurant in Nashville, whose “authentic gumbo” was more like “my grandmother’s vegetable soup,” as Papa puts it, he decided to start a Cajun restaurant that served it up just like they did in NOLA in his younger years. “I believe a chef needs to dwell with an authenticity,” he says. “My daddy helped me get back to authenticity with my cooking. My brother Charles does it differently. He’s a wonderful cook! He cooks what he does, the best and I do what I do, the best. I like eating other peoples food rather than mine. I’m really adamant about authentic food and eating what someone else cooks, and the way that they cook it is the real deal,” he adds.
I continued talking with Papa while Kacky Johnson, Amy Law, Julia Corrigan and Alison Ude delved into our delicious family style servings of Catfish Diablo and Shrimp Creole to name a few. We ordered five dishes in all. The Catfsh Diablo was a favorite as it was spicy but not too spicy, literally melted in your mouth and was doused in a delicious red sauce cooked up in the back room. “I like things to be soupy yet hearty. The way they make it in South Louisiana. I knew I was on to something when comedian David Brenner, a Louisiana native, said to me, ‘Your gumbo is just like my grandmothers! There was passion oozing through his every word,’” he says with a sly grin.
Amy says, “When you take a bite, the flavor literally just explodes in your mouth!” and the feeling among the group was mutual. There wasn’t one dish one the table that someone didn’t truly enjoy but if you’re on a diet, best to think twice before coming. Papa’s uses the best ingredients but he doesn’t cut any corners. This was evident when we finished our meal with our choice of blackberry cobbler and chocolate bread pudding.
It is telling that Papa’s culinary hero is Gordon Ramsey from the television show Hell’s Kitchen. “I love that show. He’s my idol!” Papa even sent a letter challenging him to a cook off. No word on that yet.
Above all, it’s quite apparent that Papa B loves what he does and he’s very good at it. His son does much of the kitchen work in the Fly location now. He’s getting ready to open up a second location off of I-40 near Dickson in the Ramada Inn. Who knows if the new location will be as good as the original. Many times, a sequel loses the ambiance but either way, you’re sure to get some delicious Cajun cooking.
We left with our bellies filled, our souls happy and ready to visit Papa’s again. Leave yourself a good 45 minutes to an hour to get there, but you won’t be sorry. Be ready for the real thing. You’ll be sure to find it at Papa Beaudreax’s.
Copyright 2009 Shari Lacy
Our drive down historic Old Boyd Mill Pike took us through the rolling landscape next to the new Westhaven Golf Course and out to Old Hillsboro Pike where we headed south to Leipers Fork and then onto the Natchez Trace towards the Kinderhook Exit.
Two momentarily interested white tailed deer shot us a quick glance as we passed their roadside dinner spot at sunset, only sparing a brief moment to see what we were up to and then quickly turning back to their grassy meal. It was dinnertime.
Our car, filled with five hungry passengers, was headed to Fly, TN, for an evening of culinary enjoyment and Cajun excitement, at a small, out of the way hole in the wall that we’d all heard tales about but that all but one of us had yet to experience. We were headed to Papa Beaudreaux’s.
Resident Alison Ude’s drove us in her car past the Fly general store on our left where we could see Mr. B. Wilbur Fly closing up shop for the night. Kacky Johnson told us about the town of Fly saying, “The Fly family settled the area. Fly is full of Flys! As a matter of fact, most of ‘em are Flys!”
We then passed the Fly Church of the Nazarene and not long after, we saw it. A tree lit up with Christmas lights and a canary yellow cinderblock building sitting quietly at the back of a gravel parking lot. This was Papa Beaudreaux’s.
The building, although utilitarian in appearance, also looked fun and colorful amidst all of the brown trees and faded out grass. Signs hanging from the building, lights along the gutters and the signature Cajun flavor wafting through the air, greeted us as we exited the car. We were ready and very, very hungry.
First thing to know is that Papa’s is not a big place. With only 7 or 8 tables in the entire place, you’d better arrive early or off-season if you want to be seated quickly. Red and white checkered picnic style cloths cover the old diner style tables and Mardi Gras beads serve as decoration. Chili pepper lights provide a warm red glow around the ceiling.
Everything is made from scratch here and dishes can be made to order if you call ahead. Gumbo, Shrimp Creole, Garlic Shrimp Pasta, Catfish Diablo are some of the items on the handwritten menu on the wall. We were the first to arrive this time but Westhaven Operations Director Amy Law was with us and she’d been here before. She introduced us to Papa Beaudreaux. When I asked him what originally brought him to Fly, of all places, the straightest answer I could get was “The witness protection program…ssshhh…don’t tell anybody!” and then he threw me a wink.
Papa is a shorter gentleman with a large presence, eyeglasses and a politically incorrect style of speaking that after a few minutes becomes endearing and intriguing at every turn. It is quickly apparent that he’s the real thing. Nothing pretentious here.
Born and raised in New Orleans, he’ll be the first to tell you that he doesn’t appreciate anything fake. He’s all about the real deal and makes no bones about it. “I retired 7 ½ years ago, lived in Russia and the Ukraine, a Buddist temple and an Oshram and then I decided to get married! My wife’s from New York.“
There are times during our conversation that I wondered if I was getting the true story or fabricated bits and pieces that made for more adventure. I’ll never know but either way, I was completely engaged in the conversation. Papa and his wife started a family and wanted to raise their daughter someplace other than the big city. It was through acquaintances that they knew about Fly. Arriving 5 years ago, they bought some land and a small building that was originally intended to be horse stables but now encompasses the restaurant.
The original concept for Papa Beaudreauxs was for catering and after visiting a Cajun restaurant in Nashville, whose “authentic gumbo” was more like “my grandmother’s vegetable soup,” as Papa puts it, he decided to start a Cajun restaurant that served it up just like they did in NOLA in his younger years. “I believe a chef needs to dwell with an authenticity,” he says. “My daddy helped me get back to authenticity with my cooking. My brother Charles does it differently. He’s a wonderful cook! He cooks what he does, the best and I do what I do, the best. I like eating other peoples food rather than mine. I’m really adamant about authentic food and eating what someone else cooks, and the way that they cook it is the real deal,” he adds.
I continued talking with Papa while Kacky Johnson, Amy Law, Julia Corrigan and Alison Ude delved into our delicious family style servings of Catfish Diablo and Shrimp Creole to name a few. We ordered five dishes in all. The Catfsh Diablo was a favorite as it was spicy but not too spicy, literally melted in your mouth and was doused in a delicious red sauce cooked up in the back room. “I like things to be soupy yet hearty. The way they make it in South Louisiana. I knew I was on to something when comedian David Brenner, a Louisiana native, said to me, ‘Your gumbo is just like my grandmothers! There was passion oozing through his every word,’” he says with a sly grin.
Amy says, “When you take a bite, the flavor literally just explodes in your mouth!” and the feeling among the group was mutual. There wasn’t one dish one the table that someone didn’t truly enjoy but if you’re on a diet, best to think twice before coming. Papa’s uses the best ingredients but he doesn’t cut any corners. This was evident when we finished our meal with our choice of blackberry cobbler and chocolate bread pudding.
It is telling that Papa’s culinary hero is Gordon Ramsey from the television show Hell’s Kitchen. “I love that show. He’s my idol!” Papa even sent a letter challenging him to a cook off. No word on that yet.
Above all, it’s quite apparent that Papa B loves what he does and he’s very good at it. His son does much of the kitchen work in the Fly location now. He’s getting ready to open up a second location off of I-40 near Dickson in the Ramada Inn. Who knows if the new location will be as good as the original. Many times, a sequel loses the ambiance but either way, you’re sure to get some delicious Cajun cooking.
We left with our bellies filled, our souls happy and ready to visit Papa’s again. Leave yourself a good 45 minutes to an hour to get there, but you won’t be sorry. Be ready for the real thing. You’ll be sure to find it at Papa Beaudreax’s.
Friday, June 20, 2008
A Giver or a Taker?
As a mother, a wife, business owner, boo-boo fixer, dog mommy, writer, publicist, daughter, sister, non-trained psychologist, temper-loser, impatient female, artist, Believer, hard-worker, loving, broken individual (and the list goes on), it has become apparent to me that life really is so short. I'm grateful for everyday I'm given. I truly am.
But, and it's a BIG but, it can be easy to slide past that gratefulness when life gets hold of you by the horns, drags you around the block a few times, crunches your "available" time like a pancake and makes you feel worn out.
That being said, life is good. I recently attended some training that was fairly intense and forced me to take a deeper look at myself over the 4 day period. It can be humbling at times to realize how imperfect each of us is. We go through life with our purposeful facades, trying to do anything and everything to appear as if we have it all together and in reality, we live in an imperfect world, with other imperfect people and it would help if we could give each other and ourselves a break.
We did an interesting exercise that has stuck with me. We were with a group of people that we'd only known for a few hours, maybe a day at most, and we had to clarify whether we saw them as a Giver or a Taker. This wasn't necessarily an indictment of us as people or the way we care for others, but it was an honest look at what we are putting out there, how we come across to others on a daily basis.
I can only speak for me but I often feel pulled in a million directions and find myself proclaiming (at least to myself) that I'm doing everything and I wish someone would do something for me for a change. Really? How selfish of me when I think about it. I was viewing myself as a giver. And I do try and give of myself always. I do it with no expectation of anything in return. At least I thought I did. But, by often not doing these things in the true spirit in my heart of giving without expecting anything in return, then am I really a Giver? or am I a Taker?
What really stood out to me is that I'm receiving every day and I'm not recognizing it. I get so caught up in my daily busy routine and seeing the dirty dishes on the counter or the garbage that still needs to go outside, that I'm missing things. What a shame!
None of us wants to admit we miss things. I know I don't but it's true. I want to say I'm fully aware each and every day but that wouldn't be true either. My 5 year old son starts kindergarten in August and I sit in amazement at how this happened? When did 5 years creep by so quickly? Our 1 1/2 year old daughter Ella is becoming a little person. Where did the baby go? Am I treasuring her touch each time she reaches out and grabs my arms unsolicited just to stare at me in the eyes and smile? Am I fully grasping Hayden's beautiful and truly loving personality each time he belts out from nowhere, "Mama?....I love you!?" Am i honestly embracing Dave each time I want to or am I getting caught up in the other stuff that needs to be done and putting that on the back burner?
Well, I'm challenging myself to "get it more." I don't want to be a Taker. I want to fully participate as a Giver. I really do. That means I need to have a paradigm shift. Life will still interfere, things will still happen, but life is still good. I have a great marriage, two gifts from God that wake us up each and every morning, more than a sufficient roof over my head and food on my table.
Whether I'm physically taking something or mentally taking instead of giving, I've had a wake up call. I'm sure I'll fall back to sleep at times but I want to live awake. Fully awake, fully aware, fully giving without expecting in return.
Wish me luck.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Questions unanswered....
It's been awhile since I've had the time to sit down and write something for this blog. I write all of the time. I write for magazines, newspapers, myself, my friends...but this blog has taken a back seat. That is until today as the 5 year anniversary of 9/11 and my son Hayden woke me up a little bit and nudged me back into the blogosphere.I assume like everyone else on the planet I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing on Tuesday, Sept. 11th, 2001. I was getting ready for work. Someone else was driving to work. Others were painting, some were drinking coffee and yet others were buildings houses or cleaning teeth or playing dolls with their daughter. We all have our story. I read an article today about the infants of 9/11 and how they are now old enough to ask about their daddy or mommy or whoever it is that they lost on that terrible day. What do you say? I suppose their parent has rehearsed the answers a million times and this is hard because there are really no good answers.
Our son Hayden posed some thought provoking questions to us this weekend that made me realize no matter how old you are, there are just some things that we don't have the answers for and probably never will. While driving late at night north from Tennessee to Ohio, we spotted a beautiful, full and luxurious orange moon lying low in the sky. It was so big that you felt like it might just roll out of the sky and hit the roof of the car. "Look Hayden, look at the moon...it's orange!" I said with great excitment. He kept replying, "Where? Where? I can't see it." Once we passed the long line of trees that were blocking his view, he was in awe at the beautiful sphere in the sky. As we continued driving, the moon slowing turned yellow and then white and at that point we had an aggravated three year old on our hands as he was mad that the orange moon was no longer visible. "Look Hayden, the moon is way up high in the sky now! and it's white," I said. He replied, "I don't want it to be white. I want it to be orange!" I then told him he'd need to take that up with God himself since I couldn't control the change of the moon's color. It was then that he started asking questions for which I didn't have a prepared answer. He said, "Where is God?" "Well," I said, "he lives in the heavens Hayden. "Is he far, far away?" he replied. "Well, in some ways he is but even though you can't see him, he's always with you," I said, knowing we were headed into an area of conversation that was about to make me feel very dumb. "Why can't I see God," he asked innocently. "Well...."and the conversation continued for several minutes. I realized that no matter how strong my faith is and how solid my beliefs are, I have not rehearsed a meaningful answer that a three year old might understand. It's hard to do that with such a complex subject but we did the best we could.
I felt the same way this morning when we woke up to the numerous 9/11 tributes on
television. We were sitting together on the couch and the relatives of the World Trade Center victims were reading their names one by one. You could see footage of the buildings prior to falling and then as they actually fell down to the ground. Then you could see the empty spaces in the ground as the area appears today. Hayden asked very maturely, "Where did the buildings go?" I said, "Well, buddy, they fell to the ground." He then asked, "where there people in there?" and I said, " Yeah, buddy...there were." "Were they on top?" he inquired. "Yes, and inside too," I said. Then, after nights of reading and learning Mother Goose and Humpty Dumpty verses, and in a somewhat mature yet innocent way, he said, "Did they all fall to the ground and break their crown?" and I got tears in my eyes. What an interesting way for him to describe it but accurate at the same time. I said, "Yes, buddy....they broke their crown," and then he went on to play.I was touched by the innocence of his inquiries yet each of them made my adult mind ponder deeply about how to better answer life's unanswerable questions. All I know is that I have a faith that is not easily wavered and a belief that people, in general, are good at heart. On this 5th Anniversary of 9/11, no matter how many media outlets tell us that the images are too graphic or the topic too solemn, we should always remember what happened that day. Perhaps, some generation down the road, our children and our children's children will know a world without violence or hate. Until then, perhaps we just continue to reach for the moon and know that God is on the other side of it and trying to help us answer our own unanswerable questions just like we were with Hayden.
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Catching Time
A big event that I am a part of putting on each fall came one month later this year, the end of October to be exact. That alone threw me for a loop and I sit here saying, "It can't be Christmas already, can it?" Where did it go?" Literally, like a shoe I've misplaced under my bed, I seem to have completely and totally made one month disappear along with the time that comes with it.
How in the world is that possible? I was, however, thankful that the event ended on Oct. 30th and Trick or Treating in our neighborhood was actually on
Halloween. I was dying to see my almost three year old son dress up in his cowboy hat and horse outfit and scoot around the neighborhood like he was ready to ride the range. It became apparent to me early in the process that I wasn't playing as pivotal a role as I thought I was, when I was walking about ten steps behind the galloping toddler who then stopped, rolled his eyes and looked at me like I was holding him up and waved his hand while saying, "Come on Girl!"
Now, here we are at Christmas time. I'm usually one who TOTALLY gets into buying presents and has some of them purchased and tucked neatly away in there own little safe spot in the closet until it's time to put them under the tree. I always have pretty specific ideas of what I want to get people and annoy others as I make a list throughout the year whenever I hear the slightest hint of what someone may want. This year though, between leaving an old house, moving into a new one, unpacking, decorating, working full time, Dave starting a new company, being gone for two weeks for the event, writing freelance articles and starting a column in a national magazine, running a toddler back and forth to daycare and breathing, my brain creativity was at an all-time low.
I hate this! I always like improving on myself. Each year I think I should be a better version of who I was last year. The holidays don't really stress me out. I love sitting in a dark room with only the Christmas lights on. Although some might worry when I sit there wearing my Mickey Mouse ears singing "Who's the Leader of the club that's made for you and me....M I C - see ya real soon...K.E.Y...Why? Because we like you...." What? Did anyone say looneybin?" But I digress...
I try to appreciate life's little moments but as many know, it can be challenging when you feel like you're being pulled in fifty different directions.
Here's my advertisement for 2006 -
"Searching for a better Shari! Tell me how we can make Shari better, stronger, smarter, taller, more time-efficient and more popular in gym class in 2006:-) Oh, and be on the lookout for time saving techniques that might help her juggle it all! Until then, keep on truckin', as I'm sure she will, unless you'd rather keep on bikin' or walkin' or wigglin' instead." Wait, The WIggles....maybe toddlers know something I don't....
So, as I reevaluate for 2006, priorities perhaps shift a little bit and the sane side of me kicks back in (yeah right!) saying, "I will not do things that don't bring me happiness and joy from here on out!" I'll look for ways to simplify my life, bring certain out of control trains to a stop and start riding a slower more energy efficient mule of some kind (okay, perhaps I'll stick to the mini-van) and get a stronger hold on creating my daily life in a way that I see fit and not the way "time" seems to direct it.
Might I suggest that you watch a movie called "Sliding Doors?" I watched it a long time ago but I've never forgotten it. It stars Gwyneth Paltrow and the basic premise is of a girl that gets up in the morning to go on with her day. The movie literally splits into two mini-movies and in one, you see how her life turns out when she makes the subway train ride that she was hurrying to catch. The other shows you how life turns out when she doesn't quite get through the closing doors on time. This one will have you thinking about the consequences of many of the smaller events in your life, the role that fate has to play in your daily rumblings, and your comparative thoughts versus some of the actions of the players in this film.
I read this today and it summized my thoughts beautifully. Have a wonderful Christmas and here's to a fantastic and simplified 2006! Don't worry about time....it's always going to be there....our challenge is to figure out how to catch it....
The 'LITTLE' things
As you might know, the head of a company survived 9/11
because his son started kindergarten.
Another fellow was alive
because it was his turn to bring donuts.
One woman was late
because her alarm clock didn't go off in time.
One was late
because of being stuck on the NJ Turnpike because of an auto accident.
One of them
missed his bus.
One
spilled food on her clothes and had to take time to change.
One's
car wouldn't start.
One
went back to answer the telephone.
One
had a child that dawdled and didn't get ready as soon as he should have.
One
couldn't get a taxi.
The one that struck me was...
the man who put on a new pair of shoes that morning, took the various means to get to work but before he got there, he developed a blister on his foot. He stopped at a drugstore ! to buy a Band-Aid.
That is why he is alive today.
Now when I am ~
stuck in traffic,
miss an elevator,
turn back to answer a ringing telephone...
all the little things that annoy me.
I think to myself,
this is exactly where
God wants me to be
at this very moment..
Next time your morning seems to be going wrong, the children are slow getting dressed,
you can't seem to find the car keys, you hit every traffic light, don't get mad or frustrated;
God is at work watching over you.
May God continue to bless you in 2006 with all those annoying little things and may you remember their possible purpose.
How in the world is that possible? I was, however, thankful that the event ended on Oct. 30th and Trick or Treating in our neighborhood was actually on
Halloween. I was dying to see my almost three year old son dress up in his cowboy hat and horse outfit and scoot around the neighborhood like he was ready to ride the range. It became apparent to me early in the process that I wasn't playing as pivotal a role as I thought I was, when I was walking about ten steps behind the galloping toddler who then stopped, rolled his eyes and looked at me like I was holding him up and waved his hand while saying, "Come on Girl!"Now, here we are at Christmas time. I'm usually one who TOTALLY gets into buying presents and has some of them purchased and tucked neatly away in there own little safe spot in the closet until it's time to put them under the tree. I always have pretty specific ideas of what I want to get people and annoy others as I make a list throughout the year whenever I hear the slightest hint of what someone may want. This year though, between leaving an old house, moving into a new one, unpacking, decorating, working full time, Dave starting a new company, being gone for two weeks for the event, writing freelance articles and starting a column in a national magazine, running a toddler back and forth to daycare and breathing, my brain creativity was at an all-time low.
I hate this! I always like improving on myself. Each year I think I should be a better version of who I was last year. The holidays don't really stress me out. I love sitting in a dark room with only the Christmas lights on. Although some might worry when I sit there wearing my Mickey Mouse ears singing "Who's the Leader of the club that's made for you and me....M I C - see ya real soon...K.E.Y...Why? Because we like you...." What? Did anyone say looneybin?" But I digress...
I try to appreciate life's little moments but as many know, it can be challenging when you feel like you're being pulled in fifty different directions.
Here's my advertisement for 2006 -
"Searching for a better Shari! Tell me how we can make Shari better, stronger, smarter, taller, more time-efficient and more popular in gym class in 2006:-) Oh, and be on the lookout for time saving techniques that might help her juggle it all! Until then, keep on truckin', as I'm sure she will, unless you'd rather keep on bikin' or walkin' or wigglin' instead." Wait, The WIggles....maybe toddlers know something I don't....
So, as I reevaluate for 2006, priorities perhaps shift a little bit and the sane side of me kicks back in (yeah right!) saying, "I will not do things that don't bring me happiness and joy from here on out!" I'll look for ways to simplify my life, bring certain out of control trains to a stop and start riding a slower more energy efficient mule of some kind (okay, perhaps I'll stick to the mini-van) and get a stronger hold on creating my daily life in a way that I see fit and not the way "time" seems to direct it.
Might I suggest that you watch a movie called "Sliding Doors?" I watched it a long time ago but I've never forgotten it. It stars Gwyneth Paltrow and the basic premise is of a girl that gets up in the morning to go on with her day. The movie literally splits into two mini-movies and in one, you see how her life turns out when she makes the subway train ride that she was hurrying to catch. The other shows you how life turns out when she doesn't quite get through the closing doors on time. This one will have you thinking about the consequences of many of the smaller events in your life, the role that fate has to play in your daily rumblings, and your comparative thoughts versus some of the actions of the players in this film. I read this today and it summized my thoughts beautifully. Have a wonderful Christmas and here's to a fantastic and simplified 2006! Don't worry about time....it's always going to be there....our challenge is to figure out how to catch it....
The 'LITTLE' things
As you might know, the head of a company survived 9/11
because his son started kindergarten.
Another fellow was alive
because it was his turn to bring donuts.
One woman was late
because her alarm clock didn't go off in time.
One was late
because of being stuck on the NJ Turnpike because of an auto accident.
One of them
missed his bus.
One
spilled food on her clothes and had to take time to change.
One's
car wouldn't start.
One
went back to answer the telephone.
One
had a child that dawdled and didn't get ready as soon as he should have.
One
couldn't get a taxi.
The one that struck me was...
the man who put on a new pair of shoes that morning, took the various means to get to work but before he got there, he developed a blister on his foot. He stopped at a drugstore ! to buy a Band-Aid.
That is why he is alive today.
Now when I am ~
stuck in traffic,
miss an elevator,
turn back to answer a ringing telephone...
all the little things that annoy me.
I think to myself,
this is exactly where
God wants me to be
at this very moment..
Next time your morning seems to be going wrong, the children are slow getting dressed,
you can't seem to find the car keys, you hit every traffic light, don't get mad or frustrated;
God is at work watching over you.
May God continue to bless you in 2006 with all those annoying little things and may you remember their possible purpose.
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
A Life Less Ordinary
I'm a quote person. I love them. Inspirational ones. Funny ones. Quotes that make me think and some that make me cry and some that make me say, "Yeah! I can do it!" I have journals and journals of them. I use them on handmade greeting cards and I work them into my writings on occasion. I even bore my dogs with a spiel or two every now and then. That's right after I get done dressing them up in sunglasses and baseball hats just for a good laugh. What? "Get a life," you say? Oh, easy. Isn't that what it's all about? Finding really cool moments in the silliest of things? And then there's the fact that I need to get a life.....
I'll always wear the year 1997 on my sleeve. We lost five family members and a good friend all within the same twelve months. We flew back and forth from Alaska twelve times and we said goodbye to people that added enormous amounts of extraordinary meaning to our lives. It was a hard year. It was a year of lessons."We make a living by what we get, we make a life by what we give."
Winston Churchill
I'll always go back to a small living room in Palmer, AK where my friend Christine was dying of pancreatic cancer. On the surface, it was incredibly tragic. She was 32 and had been misdiagnosed for quite some time and told that she wasn't as sick as she instinctively knew she was. She was a single mom with a twelve year old daughter and a two year old son. For all of the opportunities that there were to get hung up on the sheer sadness of it all, there were so many lessons being taught by Christine in her last days.
I sang with an accapella group from my church. Christine had an intense belief in God and she adored music. We used to show up at her house a few nights a week and just sit around her bed and sing worship music to her. She got lost in the music. I've never had someone's faith speak as strongly to me as Christine's did during this time. She would sit in the bed, wasting away daily and stretch her hands up in the air thanking God for all she'd been given while we sang at her side. It was hard to do but how can you not continue on when you're watching someone worship the way she was?
"It is not length of life, but depth of life." Ralph Waldo EmersonI was playing piano in a local coffee shop at about 8:30p the night Christine died. Her family had been on a 24 hour care rotation for her for over a year and their small home was right around the corner from the coffee shop. I remember a friend coming in and whispering in my ear that Christine was gone and I kept playing. I waited and then walked over to their house expecting to be saddened by it all. Quite the contrary. This loving, caring family of about ten, was playing cards, swapping stories, laughing, having a beer or two and remembering Christine with the spirit in which she lived her life. Christine's sister was going to care for her children and in some way, they felt a sense of relief that Christine was now out of pain. I always felt that the people who sat by her bedside for over a year, slowly saying goodbye to her, were angels. It was like sitting guard and it was an incredible witness to someone who stayed long enough to watch it unfold.
One thing this time in my life taught me was that I want to live a life less ordinary. I'm not saying I need to climb Mt. Everest or leap tall buildings in a single bound but I want to take chances. I want to teach my children that there is nothing they can't do if they try it. I want to reach out to others who are hurting the way I was hurting so long ago. I want to sail. I want to climb. I want to fly. I want to sing. I want to believe.
"The tragedy of life is not that it ends so soon, but that we wait so long to begin it." AnonymousRecently we had our neighbors over for Cincinnati Chili. I used my Grandma's recipe. Several people asked for the recipe in the event that it wasn't a secret. My only response was, "Of course it's not secret. As long as I make my Grandma's chili, she's always alive." It gives me a chance to continue to let her count. Even if it is just a bowl of chili. Telling stories about my mom's parents or lost friends or influences from long ago keeps their sounds, their laughs, their words, bubbling at the surface of my tongue and thoughts and therefore they live on and I live more fully.
To live a life less ordinary....that's really my goal.
Friday, September 30, 2005
The Got It Back Corvette
Okay, admit it…. Even if you are not a self proclaimed automobile nut, you still get those pangs of envy and your taste buds salivate every so slightly when you see a beautifully restored antique car driving down the highway on a sunny summer afternoon. Am I right? Who doesn’t love the look of an old Mustang or a candy apple red 1960-something Corvette? Whether you’ve come out of the “car lover’s closet” or not is another story.
I married a car nut. He was raised by a car nut. My husband Dave and his dad have an innate ability to name every car they’ve ever seen - the year, the make, the model - as well as other details about the car, as easily as I brush my teeth. We fondly refer to it as the “compartment of useless knowledge.” It’s a fascinating part of the family gene pool.
A neighbor friend of ours, Gary Engber, is much the same way. His life hobby is cars. He’ll tell you proudly of the 1967 Red Mustang Convertible that he’s owned for 25 years or the 1933 Ford Victoria that he’s had in his possession since 1953. It was the first car he ever owned. Then there is the 1940 Lincoln Continental Cabriolet that’s been around for a quarter of a century and the ’67 Camaro, a family member for just as long. His 1934 Speedster currently sits in the shop waiting to be transformed into a timeless beauty once again, but perhaps the car with the deepest connection is the one he went to the most trouble to get, his 1954 ivory and red Corvette.
At first glance, the license plate is intriguing – GOTITBK – it says. Got it back from where? The story is quite interesting.
Gary and his wife Mary purchased the Corvette on their honeymoon in California in 1963 for $650. Living in St. Cloud, MN at the time and needing to return to college for the winter quarter, they purchased the car and set out to drive home via the famed Route 66. Gary remembers little things about the drive like “the breaking of the day, the sun over the mountains and the glow from the dash. It was quite cold outside,” he recalls. They loved that car. It was a good trip.
A year and a half later, with a child on the way and the responsibility of owning a house, the Corvette had to be sacrificed. “We always thought about the car even though we lost track of it over the years,” says Gary. Then something interesting happened. In the early 1970s, Gary and Mary’s nephew, a teenage snowmobiling enthusiast in Minnesota, came upon an old, somewhat abandoned looking barn out in a field. He peered inside to see what might be living in the old barn and saw what he thought to be an old Corvette.
Knowing of his uncle’s passion for cars, he called Gary and told him about his find. A short time later, the two returned to the old barn, kicking and shoveling snow away from the front door in order to peek inside. It was a miserably cold day and they were wading in waist deep snow. After forcing the door open, Gary saw the Corvette. He said to his nephew, “Not only is it an OLD Corvette, it’s MY old Corvette!”
And the negotiations began.
The Corvette’s owner was an eccentric old chap, once known for painting the town gas station’s gas tank hot pink, just to make people smile. This gentleman had purchased the car from the man who bought the car from Gary years before and seemingly had no intention of using it, so it sat in the barn and became a happily inhabited bird’s nest. From the early/mid 1970s through 1990, Gary and the owner had regular conversations about Gary buying the car back from him but the owner never seemed interested although he did once state, “If I ever do decide to sell it to anyone, I’ll sell it to you.”
In 1990, now living in California, Gary and Mary were home in Minnesota once again visiting family and tracked down the car owner at Tom Thumb’s - the local small town coffee shop. Gary told him, “I’m only in town for a day or so. This is the time…either sell it to me now or let’s quit talking about it.” And so, after 15 years of negotiations, just like that, the owner sold Gary the car. The Corvette, now trapped inside the barn by a tree that had grown in front of the door, was removed with the help of a chainsaw, a tractor, a trailer, chains, good friends and a video camera to record the momentous occasion.
In 2002, Gary and Mary’s daughter Heather and her husband took the same pearl ivory Corvette with red interior that her parents had driven on their honeymoon, and drove it through the Green Hills section of Nashville en-route to their own wedding reception. With her wedding veil blowing in the wind and admirers looking on, the old automobile was once again in her glory, carrying two passengers into the future.
What an incredible thing for a daughter and her new husband to sit behind the wheel, decades later, of the same automobile that her parents drove on their honeymoon. For those life-long car enthusiasts who’ve experience the passion and excitement of seeing a pristine classic car pass them on the road or have shared a special moment with a dad or brother while looking inside a restored beauty at an auto show, it’s easy to grasp why the old car from the barn is such a unique find and special friend.
Even though it might have taken years to “get her back,” it seems the shiny ivory pearl has finally found the family that was meant to have her all along.
Friday, July 08, 2005
Not now! I'm Hi'ing
We all should take courtesy lessons from two years olds. I know people say 'The Terrible Two's' are the worst, and we're certainly getting our share, however, I've also noticed that two year olds have an innate desire to help and to please. With no real gain for themselves. It's just what they do. A few weeks ago, when Hayden was on our upstairs porch yelling at the top of his lungs, "HI! HI! HOW ARE YOU?! HI! HI!" to every passerby he could see, he was enjoying it. When his volume got so loud that I thought I should probably rescue the neighborhood from further greetings, I asked him to come inside. He promptly turned to me, pointed his index finger and said, "Not now Mama! I'm hi'ing!"
Well, okay then....
It was so cute I had to let him continue, I imagine much to the chagrin of the neighbors, but I'm pretty sure he sold a house to some of the folks at the open house across the street. Haven't seen the commission check yet though.
The older I get the more annoyed I get with bad customer service. Perhaps it comes from years of being a flight attendant and having to suck up the bad attitudes of ill-personalitied passengers for "the sake of front line marketing," or maybe I just feel that it's basic common courtesy to not be overtly rude to people but either way, I almost can't take it anymore.
I remember the airlines telling us in training, "You are the on the front lines as far as the marketing of this company is concerned. It doesn't matter if they've had a great experience with a ticket agent on the phone, if you as the flight attendant are rude or less than courteous to your passengers, then that will be their lasting impression of this company. They will tell someone and they will tell someone else." They were right. No matter how much I wanted to wollop the guy who called me "babe" or the one who tapped my rear end to get my attention. As my coworker once politely put it, "Excuse me sir, but that's not the seat that you paid for! Now, would you like Coke or Sprite?"
I find it a fun challenge, for the most part, to take someone who's in a bad mood and try to change their mood around. I've worked at amusement parks, state fairs, large conventions, music concerts, on enclosed capsules in the sky and more. Places where stress levels can run high and I've always tried to help people solve their momentary problems. I don't totally understand the attitude of "these people bother me so I'll bother them back." It is, afterall, your job ~ hulllloooo? ~ and you are getting paid to do what you do.
A few days ago, while walking through a Walmart, I was preparing to go stand in the "15 Items or Less" aisle with my cart of exactly 15 items. I actually counted. I had not even rolled my cart up to the line yet. As I approached, the sales clerk, some 50 miles and an ocean of people away at the counter, screeched back to me "ONLY 15 ITEMS ALLOWED HERE!" I couldn't figure out how in the world she knew I was approaching let alone how many items were in my cart. I was almost in Texas for pete's sake and she might as well have been in Rhode Island with the distance between us. I said to myself, "Surely, she isn't talking to me..." but when I noticed the line of curious shoppers all turning their heads to look straight at her victim, as if they were in a drugged induced coma, I realized I was the center of attention.
After removing myself from the situation, I spoke to a manager about it. It struck me, "Is it really worth losing a customer over one more item in the 15 item lane?" Perhaps if folks that deal with the public took the attitude of saying "not now" to their bad mood and looked straight at their customer, understanding that they are their lifeblood and say, "I'm hi'ing to you today! How can I make your day better?" then this world would be a better place. Or maybe better yet....let's put two year olds in charge of the register. I bet everybody'd be alot happier...
I now step down from my soapbox.....
Well, okay then....
It was so cute I had to let him continue, I imagine much to the chagrin of the neighbors, but I'm pretty sure he sold a house to some of the folks at the open house across the street. Haven't seen the commission check yet though.
The older I get the more annoyed I get with bad customer service. Perhaps it comes from years of being a flight attendant and having to suck up the bad attitudes of ill-personalitied passengers for "the sake of front line marketing," or maybe I just feel that it's basic common courtesy to not be overtly rude to people but either way, I almost can't take it anymore.
I remember the airlines telling us in training, "You are the on the front lines as far as the marketing of this company is concerned. It doesn't matter if they've had a great experience with a ticket agent on the phone, if you as the flight attendant are rude or less than courteous to your passengers, then that will be their lasting impression of this company. They will tell someone and they will tell someone else." They were right. No matter how much I wanted to wollop the guy who called me "babe" or the one who tapped my rear end to get my attention. As my coworker once politely put it, "Excuse me sir, but that's not the seat that you paid for! Now, would you like Coke or Sprite?"
I find it a fun challenge, for the most part, to take someone who's in a bad mood and try to change their mood around. I've worked at amusement parks, state fairs, large conventions, music concerts, on enclosed capsules in the sky and more. Places where stress levels can run high and I've always tried to help people solve their momentary problems. I don't totally understand the attitude of "these people bother me so I'll bother them back." It is, afterall, your job ~ hulllloooo? ~ and you are getting paid to do what you do.
A few days ago, while walking through a Walmart, I was preparing to go stand in the "15 Items or Less" aisle with my cart of exactly 15 items. I actually counted. I had not even rolled my cart up to the line yet. As I approached, the sales clerk, some 50 miles and an ocean of people away at the counter, screeched back to me "ONLY 15 ITEMS ALLOWED HERE!" I couldn't figure out how in the world she knew I was approaching let alone how many items were in my cart. I was almost in Texas for pete's sake and she might as well have been in Rhode Island with the distance between us. I said to myself, "Surely, she isn't talking to me..." but when I noticed the line of curious shoppers all turning their heads to look straight at her victim, as if they were in a drugged induced coma, I realized I was the center of attention.
After removing myself from the situation, I spoke to a manager about it. It struck me, "Is it really worth losing a customer over one more item in the 15 item lane?" Perhaps if folks that deal with the public took the attitude of saying "not now" to their bad mood and looked straight at their customer, understanding that they are their lifeblood and say, "I'm hi'ing to you today! How can I make your day better?" then this world would be a better place. Or maybe better yet....let's put two year olds in charge of the register. I bet everybody'd be alot happier...
I now step down from my soapbox.....
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Marching To Your Own Drummer
Funny how we forget to march to our own drummer as we grow up....
"You are worried about seeing him spend his early years in doing nothing. What! Is it nothing to be happy? Nothing to skip, play, and run around all day long? Never in his life will he be so busy again."
~Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Emile, 1762
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
It's All In The Dance
I recently picked up an oval shaped distressed looking picture frame in our house to look at the black and white photo inside and I was once again transported in time to an elegant 1950's evening affair. This photo is one that has been since the day I saw it and probably always will be, one of my favorites ever. A distinguished looking, almost white haired gentleman is dancing with a classy brunette with a bright smile, he probably in his 50's and she in her 40's, with a saxaphone player playing on the stage just behind them and an outline of the Eiffel Tower delicately made out of party streamers adorning the back part of the stage wall. They are in the moment and taking in the dance.
This picture, a momentary snapshot of my paternal grandparents dancing at the Elks Lodge in Middletown, OH, is one of my life treasures. I am especially drawn to this photo because I remember the same exact ballroom from my childhood, although at that time it was decorated for Christmas and Santa and his elves had taken over for the saxaphone player, tickling our little toddler minds with thoughts of toys for the holidays. For all I know, the saxaphone player WAS Santa, twenty years later, and his once brown hair had turned white.
I was heartbroken years later when I drove Dave to downtown Middletown to show him the Elks Lodge. It was nowhere to be found. An entire building...gone. I'd grown up going to this club of activity with my parents, aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents. We never entered through the front door. The alley and the side door were the way to get in. It was like entering a speakeasy during prohibition. The door was metal and you had to have a card to enter. I kept waiting for some little guy in a Keystone Cop hat to stick his head out the top of the door window and ask us for the password. My own little version of entering OZ.
We attended fish frys that could be found by following the fishy, oily smell down the circular metal staircase to the lo-ceiling basement where my grandmother was often standing behind the counter, handing out fish to the loyal Friday night masses (okay, so it was probably only a hundred or so people but that's my memory and I'm sticking to it.)
The walls were covered in old, brothel looking swirly red wallpaper with raised sections of velvet on it and I used to love to run my fingers around the shapes on the walls. It was a big thrill to leave the main room, go through the doors to the front hallway and use the ladies bathroom by ourselves. I still remember it. The room was dimly lit in a pinkish/yellowish light and the mirror was right in front of you when you walked in and the stalls sat to the right. A nice little sitting room first welcomed you into this female sanctuary.
In the front hallway the walls were lined with bronze like plaques with member names that covered the entire space of the wall. It was like looking at the Vietnam Wall. All were honored leaders in this club. My grandpa's friend Sherm used to give us quarters everytime we saw him there and drinking a 'Shirley Temple' was the highlight of the stay. A babysitter of Hayden's recently told me how she loved Shirley Temples. I hadn't heard of that drink in years. Sprite and a splash of Grenadine please!
This past weekend, while visitng New York for a family reunion, I watched Hayden run after his Grandpa on the farm. When he saw Grandma Cathy he'd scream "KIKI WAIT!" and his eyes lit up everytime he got attention from Grandma and GrampaDean especially while riding him around on the John Deere tractor and walking in the yard. He became especially brave with the Belgian horses. Considering that he held onto my legs like glue when we first arrived, he was quite liberal with his petting towards the end as we watched him climb the stall fence to get to the horses on his own. On our way back from NY we stopped in Cincinnati to stay with my family. Hayden would only let Papaw read to him in the morning and Mamaw was the bomb when we stopped by her work to say goodbye. I wonder what his memories of this will be.
I'm struck everyday how important and treasured some of these little, tiny nanoseconds of time are in the entire scheme of life. For me, it's not usually the big, momentus occasions, but rather the small, snapshot moments that occur in the midst of larger activity that end up staying in my memory longterm. The smile in the photo of my grandmother's face when she was dancing with my grandfather in the ballroom, the velvet wallpaper, Sherm's quarters, the alley entry, Shirley Temples, dimly lit ladies rooms....
Each time I pull a memory up from that card file in my brain, I remember that just like my grandparent's photo from yesteryear, it isn't usually the big soiree or the saxaphone player that gets priority in my file. It's the dance. It's all in the dance.
Friday, June 17, 2005
Here's Wishing You a Water Day!
Water Day......Water Day.....Dave & I could hear Hayden singing to himself over the monitor this morning, in his own made up little tune, about "Water Day" at Miss Debbie's yesterday. All week long the kids at daycare had trouble containing their excitment for this day to end all days - WATER DAY! WATER DAY! WATER DAY!! Miss Debbie pulls out a big, blow up swimming pool in the back yard, runs water in it, puts a plastic slide on one side and then changes everybody into swim suits and little swimmer diapers and OFF THEY GO! Splashing, yelling, screaming, playing, giggling, jumping, sliding and basically having the time of their lives.
It's all very simple really. There is no special pomp and circumstance to the event but to the kids it's the greatest. For the first three days of the week, everytime I mentioned Miss Debbie, Hayden would say inquisitively "Water Day?" No, not yet honey. A few more days to go. So, when we headed out to the store on Wed. night to buy him some Little Swimmers Swim diapers, the kid couldn't push his miniature shopping cart fast enough through the aisles when I told him we were getting "new pants" for Water Day. He loaded them in the cart himself and then bolted to the register, hoisted them up on the conveyor belt and handed the clerk the money I had given him. Accomplished!
Debbie said he went crazy with excitement once they were allowed in the pool. He was exhausted when I picked him up only to come home and help me garden and water the flowers. When I turned the hose on, he ran over to me in the front yard, pulled his shirt straight up in front of his face and yelled "Water tummy Mama, Water tummy!!!"
I couldn't help but smile and think Boy, we sure forget to have fun with such simples things as we grow older....Too much seriousness....So I turned the hose on him, drenched him through and through and he screamed and giggled with glee the entire time.
So....I hope somebody turns the hose on you today!...lots of splashing, yelling, screaming, playing, giggling, jumping, sliding. I send good vibes that you will have the Water Day to end all Water Days!
It's all very simple really. There is no special pomp and circumstance to the event but to the kids it's the greatest. For the first three days of the week, everytime I mentioned Miss Debbie, Hayden would say inquisitively "Water Day?" No, not yet honey. A few more days to go. So, when we headed out to the store on Wed. night to buy him some Little Swimmers Swim diapers, the kid couldn't push his miniature shopping cart fast enough through the aisles when I told him we were getting "new pants" for Water Day. He loaded them in the cart himself and then bolted to the register, hoisted them up on the conveyor belt and handed the clerk the money I had given him. Accomplished!
Debbie said he went crazy with excitement once they were allowed in the pool. He was exhausted when I picked him up only to come home and help me garden and water the flowers. When I turned the hose on, he ran over to me in the front yard, pulled his shirt straight up in front of his face and yelled "Water tummy Mama, Water tummy!!!"
I couldn't help but smile and think Boy, we sure forget to have fun with such simples things as we grow older....Too much seriousness....So I turned the hose on him, drenched him through and through and he screamed and giggled with glee the entire time.
So....I hope somebody turns the hose on you today!...lots of splashing, yelling, screaming, playing, giggling, jumping, sliding. I send good vibes that you will have the Water Day to end all Water Days!
~ Musty Figs Rule ~
I recently had a discussion with a radio DJ friend of mine. He's a legendary broadcaster in country & bluegrass music and is well known as one of the great historians of the genre and its pioneers. A wonderful old soul even though he's only 44 years old. His face looks young but he carries himself much differently. He's one of these people that should have been born in another era. You meet him and shake his hand and immediately feel like you've been transported back in time, talking with a man from Walton's Mountain in the 1930's or 40's. He'll tell you that too. We got to chatting about our grandparents. His grandfather will turn 96 years old this coming New Year's Eve, "if he's able to hold on," he says. His Grandmother just passed away this past winter at the age of 90. They were married for 74 years. Unbelievable.
My grandfather, soon to be 89, is one of two remaining siblings from a large family of about 10 children, I think. His brother Joe isn't doing very well and I've often wondered what it would be like to be older and slowly say goodbye to the people that you've known all your life, eventually finding yourself as one of the remaining few. I have alot of admiration, love and reverence for my Grandfather and for older people in general, for that matter.
Eddie and I talked about how we wished people had that same level of interest and respect for people of older age groups. I certainly have always loved my grandparents with all my heart but was younger and didn't get to know each of them in the same way. That's human nature I suppose. I was in elementary or high school and life would go on forever and so would the people around me. Of this I was sure.
I think certain lessons are just meant to be grasped once we've matured a little bit. I admire younger people who "get it" early. And for me, the history that my relatives embody is one of those lessons. Eddie said he and his brothers have always been old souls although he's "sicker" with it than they are. He's a musty, old fig and always has been, he said. Ending his sentence with a rousing exclamation of "Musty Figs Rule!"
Today, our society teaches us that we are self-reliant and that we know everything about everything. I'm pretty convinced however, that if we would all just take a moment to realize that we really don't know that much, then life would be alot easier. Stop putting so much faith in just ourselves. I think wisdom is learned and inherited from those that go before us and if I don't take the time to really pay attention, a lesson will disappear. Maybe loss is a good teacher. When you experience loss in your life, these lessons start to seem more important and worthy of our time.
I like the stories of yesteryear. I learn from them. I'm intrigued by people who have come through decades of experiences and want to pass their history on to the next group of people that will grow old. It's the circle of life.
I told Eddie that we hope to instill this in our son. I want him to be comfortable around older people. I want him to be excited to hear their stories. I want him to know that musty figs really do rule.
My grandfather, soon to be 89, is one of two remaining siblings from a large family of about 10 children, I think. His brother Joe isn't doing very well and I've often wondered what it would be like to be older and slowly say goodbye to the people that you've known all your life, eventually finding yourself as one of the remaining few. I have alot of admiration, love and reverence for my Grandfather and for older people in general, for that matter.
Eddie and I talked about how we wished people had that same level of interest and respect for people of older age groups. I certainly have always loved my grandparents with all my heart but was younger and didn't get to know each of them in the same way. That's human nature I suppose. I was in elementary or high school and life would go on forever and so would the people around me. Of this I was sure.
I think certain lessons are just meant to be grasped once we've matured a little bit. I admire younger people who "get it" early. And for me, the history that my relatives embody is one of those lessons. Eddie said he and his brothers have always been old souls although he's "sicker" with it than they are. He's a musty, old fig and always has been, he said. Ending his sentence with a rousing exclamation of "Musty Figs Rule!"
Today, our society teaches us that we are self-reliant and that we know everything about everything. I'm pretty convinced however, that if we would all just take a moment to realize that we really don't know that much, then life would be alot easier. Stop putting so much faith in just ourselves. I think wisdom is learned and inherited from those that go before us and if I don't take the time to really pay attention, a lesson will disappear. Maybe loss is a good teacher. When you experience loss in your life, these lessons start to seem more important and worthy of our time.
I like the stories of yesteryear. I learn from them. I'm intrigued by people who have come through decades of experiences and want to pass their history on to the next group of people that will grow old. It's the circle of life.
I told Eddie that we hope to instill this in our son. I want him to be comfortable around older people. I want him to be excited to hear their stories. I want him to know that musty figs really do rule.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
The Bellowing Sounds of Summer
"Croooaaaaak.....Ribbeettttt.......Wuubbbbiittttttttttt...."
Recently making the move from the wilds of of Ridgetop, TN and our overgrown, lush green two acre lot, I was sad to say goodbye to the "sounds of nature" as I imagined moving to suburbia as the cataclysmic end to anything outdoorsy. I was convinced that I was now going to be hog-tied and dragged into everything from fancy tea parties to stuffy proper gatherings instead of the good bon fires and music pickin' parties we've come to enjoy. (for the record, I was wrong - shhhhh...dont' tell anyone:-)
I have such fond memories of pulling down our gravel driveway years ago and seeing a family of four deer standing in the trees at the back of our yard, looking at me with that 'deer in a headlight' look. Yes, I had my headlights on - Ha, Ha :-)
And then there was the time I took Tucker & Sully up onto the 60 acre farm above our woods to run free and get some exercise. They both disappeared into the woods for a few moments. I wasn't overly concerned but started to wonder where they'd gone when all of the sudden I heard crunch, crunch, crunch, swoosh, swoosh coming at me louder and louder from the woods. I jumped back as I saw a large deer come FLYING out of the woods, hopping and gliding through the air followed by the neighborhood beagle followed by Sully followed by Tucker followed by another dog I did not recognize. It was such a comedy to watch. That poor deer. She must have been convinced she was somebody's lunch that day but she was able to escape just fine.
Tucker loved that field. He's a hard one to catch when he gets loose but we'd set him free up there because he eventually 'tuckered' himself out - yes, that's how he got his name. One time we could see that he was VERY interested in something on the other side of the field. Nose digging, tail wagging, throwing some dark disc shaped object up in the air time and time again. Trying ever so cleverly to keep his treasure from our grasps, he turned it into a big chase. Eventually he brought his 'find' our way although still keeping it at a safe distance. It became apparent that he had been tormenting a turtle who had long before disappeared into its shell, certain to need therapy when he saw daylight again.
Then there was the family of eight mice that invaded our kitchen cabinets and drawers for a few weeks for which I needed therapy. Me and the turtle together on the couch...
Little did I know that creatures follow you. Now that we're in our new 'neighborhood development', we're finding the sounds of nature are still prevalent. Our next door neighbors have a little pond in their yard and the world's BIGGEST bullfrog has taken up residence there. I can honestly say I've never heard a frog with a set of lungs like this one. Talk about bellowing! I'm convinced that when night falls, he dresses himself up in a little tuxedo, stands on the side rocks of the pond, walks up to a microphone and starts releasing burps and ribets through a professional sound system. My mind is boggled when I think about the decibles of croaking noise that we'll experience when the HUNDREDS of tadpoles that the frog has left in the pond come to age. Yes, the frog gave birth.
Then there is the mentally challenged cardinal outside of our family room window. Daily, it crashes head first into the upper glass. Must be a female bird with issues (wink, wink!) or could it be that the windows are so clean she thinks it's an opening? Nahhh, I know my windows aren't that clean.
So, we find ourselves still enjoying the sounds of nature. As the music of summer proceeds and the visiting bullfrog breaks into concert with a cocophony of bullfrog sounds and Wayne Newton's "Danke Schoen", entertaining his tadpole moshpit of an audience, I sit back, read a book and thank my lucky stars that I haven't found mouse poop in the silverware drawer. I'll take that anyday.
Recently making the move from the wilds of of Ridgetop, TN and our overgrown, lush green two acre lot, I was sad to say goodbye to the "sounds of nature" as I imagined moving to suburbia as the cataclysmic end to anything outdoorsy. I was convinced that I was now going to be hog-tied and dragged into everything from fancy tea parties to stuffy proper gatherings instead of the good bon fires and music pickin' parties we've come to enjoy. (for the record, I was wrong - shhhhh...dont' tell anyone:-)
I have such fond memories of pulling down our gravel driveway years ago and seeing a family of four deer standing in the trees at the back of our yard, looking at me with that 'deer in a headlight' look. Yes, I had my headlights on - Ha, Ha :-)
And then there was the time I took Tucker & Sully up onto the 60 acre farm above our woods to run free and get some exercise. They both disappeared into the woods for a few moments. I wasn't overly concerned but started to wonder where they'd gone when all of the sudden I heard crunch, crunch, crunch, swoosh, swoosh coming at me louder and louder from the woods. I jumped back as I saw a large deer come FLYING out of the woods, hopping and gliding through the air followed by the neighborhood beagle followed by Sully followed by Tucker followed by another dog I did not recognize. It was such a comedy to watch. That poor deer. She must have been convinced she was somebody's lunch that day but she was able to escape just fine.
Tucker loved that field. He's a hard one to catch when he gets loose but we'd set him free up there because he eventually 'tuckered' himself out - yes, that's how he got his name. One time we could see that he was VERY interested in something on the other side of the field. Nose digging, tail wagging, throwing some dark disc shaped object up in the air time and time again. Trying ever so cleverly to keep his treasure from our grasps, he turned it into a big chase. Eventually he brought his 'find' our way although still keeping it at a safe distance. It became apparent that he had been tormenting a turtle who had long before disappeared into its shell, certain to need therapy when he saw daylight again.
Then there was the family of eight mice that invaded our kitchen cabinets and drawers for a few weeks for which I needed therapy. Me and the turtle together on the couch...
Little did I know that creatures follow you. Now that we're in our new 'neighborhood development', we're finding the sounds of nature are still prevalent. Our next door neighbors have a little pond in their yard and the world's BIGGEST bullfrog has taken up residence there. I can honestly say I've never heard a frog with a set of lungs like this one. Talk about bellowing! I'm convinced that when night falls, he dresses himself up in a little tuxedo, stands on the side rocks of the pond, walks up to a microphone and starts releasing burps and ribets through a professional sound system. My mind is boggled when I think about the decibles of croaking noise that we'll experience when the HUNDREDS of tadpoles that the frog has left in the pond come to age. Yes, the frog gave birth.
Then there is the mentally challenged cardinal outside of our family room window. Daily, it crashes head first into the upper glass. Must be a female bird with issues (wink, wink!) or could it be that the windows are so clean she thinks it's an opening? Nahhh, I know my windows aren't that clean.
So, we find ourselves still enjoying the sounds of nature. As the music of summer proceeds and the visiting bullfrog breaks into concert with a cocophony of bullfrog sounds and Wayne Newton's "Danke Schoen", entertaining his tadpole moshpit of an audience, I sit back, read a book and thank my lucky stars that I haven't found mouse poop in the silverware drawer. I'll take that anyday.
Monday, June 13, 2005
NASCAR and The Glass Slipper
"I don't like your kind." Never were such romantic words spoken....
These were the loving words expressed to me last night by my darling husband of 10 years. "My kind" evidentally being the cruel, unfeeling wife who absconded with the TV remote control after her husband's seemingly A.D.D. induced channel surfing reached epic proportions. Ahhhhhhh!
Okay, so maybe I'm spewing a wee bit of drama here but the fact is, he's in denial. He doesn't think he makes us watch NASCAR all weekend but....shhhhhh, come closer..... he does! The sounds of engines revvving and vroooming and whrrrrring are ever present on a rainy Sunday afternoon, so much so that our 2 year old Hayden recently yelled, "DADDA!!!" and ran straight to the television set when I accidently switched to the wrong channel. Evidentally, Dadda has been moonlighting as a member of somebody's pit crew :-) (unbeknownst to Mama!)
So, imagine my surprise (and giggle) when I walked into the room last evening and found him engaged in the ancient love story of Cinderella as depicted by Drew Barrymore in Ever After. A classic romance ten-fold. And, much to his dismay, he can't help but get absorbed in a good chic flick every now and then, courtesy of LIFETIME ENTERTAINMENT TELEVISION, swearing he's slowly turning into a girlie man.
But....I wouldn't have it any other way. He's the best thing I know!
So, go ahead honey....I think Cinderella's stepmom was overly mean to her too :-) Not too worry....we'll balance it out with another race next weekend and all of the testosterone will be back in full swing.
These were the loving words expressed to me last night by my darling husband of 10 years. "My kind" evidentally being the cruel, unfeeling wife who absconded with the TV remote control after her husband's seemingly A.D.D. induced channel surfing reached epic proportions. Ahhhhhhh!
Okay, so maybe I'm spewing a wee bit of drama here but the fact is, he's in denial. He doesn't think he makes us watch NASCAR all weekend but....shhhhhh, come closer..... he does! The sounds of engines revvving and vroooming and whrrrrring are ever present on a rainy Sunday afternoon, so much so that our 2 year old Hayden recently yelled, "DADDA!!!" and ran straight to the television set when I accidently switched to the wrong channel. Evidentally, Dadda has been moonlighting as a member of somebody's pit crew :-) (unbeknownst to Mama!)
So, imagine my surprise (and giggle) when I walked into the room last evening and found him engaged in the ancient love story of Cinderella as depicted by Drew Barrymore in Ever After. A classic romance ten-fold. And, much to his dismay, he can't help but get absorbed in a good chic flick every now and then, courtesy of LIFETIME ENTERTAINMENT TELEVISION, swearing he's slowly turning into a girlie man.
But....I wouldn't have it any other way. He's the best thing I know!
So, go ahead honey....I think Cinderella's stepmom was overly mean to her too :-) Not too worry....we'll balance it out with another race next weekend and all of the testosterone will be back in full swing.
Saturday, June 11, 2005
Help! I'm In My Garage and I Can't Get Out!
Ever moved into a new house? We did a few months ago...our first house with a garage. Yes, it is being used as the SPOT OF DENIAL as we load it up with everything that doesn't yet have a "home" and we've chosen to forget about it, albeit briefly.
So, today, as we participated in our first neighborhood garage sale, I was once again struck by how much JUNK we have! And, as my friend Holly pulled up in front of our driveway and handed me a beautifully made, colorful "Simply Organized by Holly" business card, looking like it was straight out of the pages of Real Simple Magazine, and told me I could be her pet project (you have no idea what your getting yourself into Holly, you'll be sorry :-) I once again felt the urge to close the garage door and sink back into my house and live in my OWN spot of denial, pretending I really am Martha Stewart (pre-Camp Cupcake) and make tea and crumpets in my non-cluttered kitchen.
I am absolutely convinced that 'stuff' procreates one tiny piece at a time, in the wee dark hours of the morning, so as not to be too obvious to its owner. I'm not kidding. I should set my alarm clock some night and creep out into the garage, you know, dressed in black so as not to be noticed. With my night vision goggles on, I fear I would immediately have to cover my eyes in embarrassment when I find I’ve intruded on the lawn mower and the weed wacker getting to know each other a little better, while the sultry sounds of Barry White play in the background.
I digress. One day, when that owner actually decides to take account of the contents of their garage, they are amazed to find that their stuff has birthed great-grandchildren in the short span of a few years and the "Too Much Crap" Family Reunion has decided to hold its annual gathering in your garage. Having edged out the actual space for automobiles early on when they forgot to send them an invitation.
Fact is...we should probably hire Holly but then I'd have to listen to my husband go on about the clutter again and then I’d feel pressured to spend every waking moment organizing gas cans and old furniture so someone else doesn’t have to keep themselves above water in our ocean of mess.
So, for now, the garage door will remain closed to the outside world and I'll work little by little to break up any future family gatherings. It's the middle of the afternoon so I feel pretty confident that I can go open the door to the garage and not turn 8 shades of red while I wade myself through the bookshelves and futon covers. I've set myself a curfew of 8p though just in case....
So, today, as we participated in our first neighborhood garage sale, I was once again struck by how much JUNK we have! And, as my friend Holly pulled up in front of our driveway and handed me a beautifully made, colorful "Simply Organized by Holly" business card, looking like it was straight out of the pages of Real Simple Magazine, and told me I could be her pet project (you have no idea what your getting yourself into Holly, you'll be sorry :-) I once again felt the urge to close the garage door and sink back into my house and live in my OWN spot of denial, pretending I really am Martha Stewart (pre-Camp Cupcake) and make tea and crumpets in my non-cluttered kitchen.
I am absolutely convinced that 'stuff' procreates one tiny piece at a time, in the wee dark hours of the morning, so as not to be too obvious to its owner. I'm not kidding. I should set my alarm clock some night and creep out into the garage, you know, dressed in black so as not to be noticed. With my night vision goggles on, I fear I would immediately have to cover my eyes in embarrassment when I find I’ve intruded on the lawn mower and the weed wacker getting to know each other a little better, while the sultry sounds of Barry White play in the background.
I digress. One day, when that owner actually decides to take account of the contents of their garage, they are amazed to find that their stuff has birthed great-grandchildren in the short span of a few years and the "Too Much Crap" Family Reunion has decided to hold its annual gathering in your garage. Having edged out the actual space for automobiles early on when they forgot to send them an invitation.
Fact is...we should probably hire Holly but then I'd have to listen to my husband go on about the clutter again and then I’d feel pressured to spend every waking moment organizing gas cans and old furniture so someone else doesn’t have to keep themselves above water in our ocean of mess.
So, for now, the garage door will remain closed to the outside world and I'll work little by little to break up any future family gatherings. It's the middle of the afternoon so I feel pretty confident that I can go open the door to the garage and not turn 8 shades of red while I wade myself through the bookshelves and futon covers. I've set myself a curfew of 8p though just in case....
Friday, June 10, 2005
Stress Management....
A lecturer, when explaining stress management to an audience, raised a glass of water and asked, "how heavy is this glass of water?" Answers called out ranged from 20g to 500g. The lecturer replied, "The absolute weight doesn't matter. It depends on how long you try to hold it. If I hold it for a minute, that's not a problem. If I hold it for an hour, I'll have an ache in my right arm. If I hold it for a day, you'll have to call an ambulance. In each case, it's the same weight, but the longer I hold it, the heavier it becomes.
He continued, "And that's the way it is with stress management. If we carry our burdens all the time, sooner or later, as the burden becomes increasingly heavy, we won't be able to carry on. As with the glass of water, you have to put it down for a while and rest before holding it again. When we're refreshed, we can carry on with the burden.
So, before you return home tonight, put the burden of work down. Don't carry it home. You can pick it up tomorrow. Whatever burdens you're carrying now, let them down for a moment if you can. Relax; pick them up later after you've rested. Life is short. Enjoy it!"
He continued, "And that's the way it is with stress management. If we carry our burdens all the time, sooner or later, as the burden becomes increasingly heavy, we won't be able to carry on. As with the glass of water, you have to put it down for a while and rest before holding it again. When we're refreshed, we can carry on with the burden.
So, before you return home tonight, put the burden of work down. Don't carry it home. You can pick it up tomorrow. Whatever burdens you're carrying now, let them down for a moment if you can. Relax; pick them up later after you've rested. Life is short. Enjoy it!"
Think of it this way...
Since I seem to have an incredible urge to communicate in one way or another, and much to my chagrin, people don't always wish to hear me communicate (just ask Dave wink, wink), I was inspired by a friend to reach out and get into the 'blogsphere' to post my ramblings. So, now, instead of talking to a wall (no offense honey! you're a very soft wall :-) I can talk to a screen and if you listen, it's your choice.
I don't know how often the posts will be. I'll probably test the waters on some of my writing samples in addition to keeping our family and friends up to speed on the daily triumphs in the Casa de Lacy. Goodness knows that life is interesting, if nothing else.
Think of it this way...
You'll be prolonging our marriage simply by reading and Dave will thank you! and the pathetic site of me sitting in a corner of our house with the dogs, telling them about my day might cease to be so frequent and the dogs will thank you :-) Currently, Hayden talks more than me but we haven't tought him to type yet.....
That's it for now but stay tuned for more incredibly exciting or dolefully drab postings from my side of the fence. You be the judge :-)
Ciao for now,
Shari
I don't know how often the posts will be. I'll probably test the waters on some of my writing samples in addition to keeping our family and friends up to speed on the daily triumphs in the Casa de Lacy. Goodness knows that life is interesting, if nothing else.
Think of it this way...
You'll be prolonging our marriage simply by reading and Dave will thank you! and the pathetic site of me sitting in a corner of our house with the dogs, telling them about my day might cease to be so frequent and the dogs will thank you :-) Currently, Hayden talks more than me but we haven't tought him to type yet.....
That's it for now but stay tuned for more incredibly exciting or dolefully drab postings from my side of the fence. You be the judge :-)
Ciao for now,
Shari
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