Hi, Lydia!
I read with interest your blog post about some of the scary decisions you've been making and how torturous it is not to know what the future will bring, especially when you have no clear idea of when you will be employed...or where. Humor an old lady and read what I have to say, will you please?
It isn't advice. You don't need that. It's experience, and maybe some of it will fit you. I hope so!
So, you graduated from Ball State a semester early. That in itself is an accomplishment. Then you packed up your bags and moved to Los Angeles, halfway across the country from "home". Do you have any idea how much I admire your courage? I grew up in a different generation than you. Being the good little girl that I was, I always did what I thought I was supposed to do. I never had the chutzpah to wander far from the homestead, and in some respects, I suffered for that. I was raised as a military kid with no roots. We traveled far and wide, but when it came time for me to be an adult with a career and a family, I wanted a place to be that I could call home, and stay there. You were raised with roots. Spreading your wings is only natural, in that case. Still, I've often wondered how different life would have been for me had I not limited myself. I applaud your decision to try things on your terms. It is the only way to find out what you really want and how high you can fly!
Once upon a time, when I taught English to 12th graders, I came to understand that so many of them were terrified at the notion of leaving home and school for the big, bad world, only because they were insecure in how well they had prepared themselves. Many of them had no idea what they wanted to be when they grew up, even though they had already reached the age of majority. I spent some portion of every year talking to individuals about their choices. I would say, "You don't have to know what you want do for the rest of your life right now. You only need a direction. You need a skill. If you think you might want to do something that requires a college degree, head for college. If you want to be in business, think business school. A trade? Try a technical school. It is not at all unusual for young people to change directions in medias res." Some listened. Some did not. Many of the girls started having babies before they had husbands or a post-grad education, so they had to get jobs--any jobs--to support their children. Same thing with the guys, many of whom were convinced that they could just hire on with Uncle Frank and his roofing business and make enough money to support themselves and their children. Advantage: Lydia! You always seemed to have a direction, smarts, and a level head. (Translate: maturity.) And from what I've seen, you are pretty good at what you do!
In my field of expertise (education), students right out of college were snapped up quickly. Even though districts often said they wanted people with experience, the new graduates represented fresh fish in small districts because they were at the bottom of the pay scale. (My first teaching contract in 1969, was for $6,400 in Heyworth, IL.) I'm not sure the real world is still like that. But here's the deal: someone is going to take a chance on you, even if you sign on for something less than what you want or need. Experience comes from that first job. No one expects you to stay with that first job forever. Better opportunities will come along, and when they do, circumstances will improve. In the meantime, you may have to flip a few burgers. In the entertainment biz of the LA area, it's called Paying Your Dues. You have what it takes, Kiddo. Just hold onto the edges of the flying carpet so you don't fall off in the meantime.
So, what happens if your dream falls through? What if you don't find that perfect job...or any job at all? You can second-guess yourself and kick yourself all you want, but it will not change what is. If you count yourself as a failure, you will have given in to the stupidity that holds us back from taking chances. It's like playing the lottery: you can't win if you don't buy a ticket, right? In taking the risks you have taken, you've bought a ticket to your future. If the ticket doesn't win, you will still have a future! You can always come home. As Robert Frost once said, "Home is where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in." (From "Death of the Hired Man".)
Do not lose heart! Do not be too hard on yourself! Don't expect more from Lydia than what Lydia can conceivably do! In the meantime, please understand that there are a whole lot of people in the Midwest who love you and have faith in you. And yes, we'll take you back, no questions asked, if you need us.
The irony, of course, is that--while I envy the daylights out of the decisions you have made--I'm cursing my daughter for doing the same thing. How DARE she move my grandchildren to Seattle!
God bless you in your venture. I'm making new plans of my own--new, daring plans--to leave almost everything I have behind and move to Washington to become a burden to my family! I'm as scared as you are! And the beat goes on....
Love you, my friend!
Peg McN
Friday, February 26, 2016
Monday, February 22, 2016
When East Meets West
Have you ever seen someone pour cooking oil on top of his morning oatmeal, followed by ground flax seed, then a big dollop of butter? How about slathering a thick layer of full-fat sour cream on top of bread, then adding thick slices of swiss or cheddar cheese? Or brown sugar in tea? What about piling mayonnaise over everything from sirloin steak to cooked broccoli? Maybe ketchup on egg noodles? No? Do you want to? If so, come to my house! My live-in Russian friends--my son-in-law's parents--are a veritable cornucopia of odd eating habits, all the while thinking they are eating "healthy".
Sergei has been treated for high blood pressure for years. He always declares, "NO SALT" for foods that we prepare, yet he pours soy sauce on stir fry, and eats cheese and cold cuts like you wouldn't believe. All very high in sodium. (Translate: salt.) Both he and his wife, Luda, have been diagnosed with high cholesterol and blood fats and were told, "No more mayonnaise or foods high in dairy fat" by American doctors. Yet they brought home whole milk last week, ice cream, full-fat sour cream, full-fat cottage cheese, mayo, cream cheese, other hard cheeses, ad infinitum. After my initial lecture about how much fat they were eating, I decided to save my breath. Yes, I understand that low-fat foods don't taste as good as the Real McCoy, but they are better than nothing...and better than the heart attack that is to come.
I think the Russians--and I noticed this with my son-in-law--put sauces on foods to cover up the taste of lower cuts of meat in their native country. This morning, after several days of high-fat meals, the R's decided to have "diet food". Sergei thawed boneless, skinless chicken breasts to cook on the grill for dinner. That's a good start, I thought. And then he concocted one of his own special marinades that those low-fat breasts have been soaking in all day. I guarantee there is mayonnaise in there somewhere and who knows what else? He totally negated the relatively fat-free nature of the chicken with his marinades. Unless it is swimming in oil/fat (which some of the meals have been), I will eat it. I just can't seem to get through that what they are eating just isn't good for them!
There are other Old World habits that aren't so bad. The R's won't wear their street shoes in the house. I've tried to explain that only households with new carpets or young children remove their shoes in the US, but apparently it's what they do in Russia, so I'm not against that.
Also, they have street clothes and house clothes. What they wear outside the house is different from what they wear inside, and never the twain shall meet! I'll bet they change clothes at least three times a day. Going to the store? Outside clothes. Come back? Change to inside clothes. Walk in the park or trip to the Rec Center? Street clothes. Home again? House clothes. I would be exhausted...but I do understand that, some. When I was a child, we had school clothes and play clothes...and church clothes. Today's American society has blended all three to the point that people generally get dressed in the morning and stay in the same clothes all day, due to the convenience of better laundry machines, etc.
The Russians and I are getting along fine. I am so very grateful for all of their work on my behalf. I feel like I should teach them how to play euchre or something useful to do when they get to Florida, but I don't know how to do that with only three of us in the house. Heh heh...I noticed Sergei correcting Luda's English today. I've got her reading some science books of my grandson's. Today she was reading about thunderstorms. Her pronunciation is awful, but she is comprehending what she reads, so that's good. They spend an hour or two every day on the computer studying Rosetta Stone English. We just keep on keeping on!
Sergei has been treated for high blood pressure for years. He always declares, "NO SALT" for foods that we prepare, yet he pours soy sauce on stir fry, and eats cheese and cold cuts like you wouldn't believe. All very high in sodium. (Translate: salt.) Both he and his wife, Luda, have been diagnosed with high cholesterol and blood fats and were told, "No more mayonnaise or foods high in dairy fat" by American doctors. Yet they brought home whole milk last week, ice cream, full-fat sour cream, full-fat cottage cheese, mayo, cream cheese, other hard cheeses, ad infinitum. After my initial lecture about how much fat they were eating, I decided to save my breath. Yes, I understand that low-fat foods don't taste as good as the Real McCoy, but they are better than nothing...and better than the heart attack that is to come.
I think the Russians--and I noticed this with my son-in-law--put sauces on foods to cover up the taste of lower cuts of meat in their native country. This morning, after several days of high-fat meals, the R's decided to have "diet food". Sergei thawed boneless, skinless chicken breasts to cook on the grill for dinner. That's a good start, I thought. And then he concocted one of his own special marinades that those low-fat breasts have been soaking in all day. I guarantee there is mayonnaise in there somewhere and who knows what else? He totally negated the relatively fat-free nature of the chicken with his marinades. Unless it is swimming in oil/fat (which some of the meals have been), I will eat it. I just can't seem to get through that what they are eating just isn't good for them!
There are other Old World habits that aren't so bad. The R's won't wear their street shoes in the house. I've tried to explain that only households with new carpets or young children remove their shoes in the US, but apparently it's what they do in Russia, so I'm not against that.
Also, they have street clothes and house clothes. What they wear outside the house is different from what they wear inside, and never the twain shall meet! I'll bet they change clothes at least three times a day. Going to the store? Outside clothes. Come back? Change to inside clothes. Walk in the park or trip to the Rec Center? Street clothes. Home again? House clothes. I would be exhausted...but I do understand that, some. When I was a child, we had school clothes and play clothes...and church clothes. Today's American society has blended all three to the point that people generally get dressed in the morning and stay in the same clothes all day, due to the convenience of better laundry machines, etc.
The Russians and I are getting along fine. I am so very grateful for all of their work on my behalf. I feel like I should teach them how to play euchre or something useful to do when they get to Florida, but I don't know how to do that with only three of us in the house. Heh heh...I noticed Sergei correcting Luda's English today. I've got her reading some science books of my grandson's. Today she was reading about thunderstorms. Her pronunciation is awful, but she is comprehending what she reads, so that's good. They spend an hour or two every day on the computer studying Rosetta Stone English. We just keep on keeping on!
Sunday, February 21, 2016
Letting Go.
It has mostly been decided that I am fixing up my house for sale for a move to Seattle to become a burden on my family. For years and years, I have worried about what would happen to "things" if I died before I had taken care of the cleaning out process. So now, the time has come. I have my Russian friends here to help me clean up, paint up, fix up, etc... It is a long and torturous process that has needed to be done forever. Having them here to assist has been a godsend. They are virtual whirlwinds! Hard and willing workers. I'm taking advantage of them as best I can.
Of course, there are things they simply cannot help me with in the whole sorting process. What to keep? What to pitch? What to donate? There are stories behind all of my worldly possessions. It gets hard to decide the distribution of each little thing, especially since many of them aren't even mine. My daughter left them behind...so now I try to communicate online daily about what she wants me to bring and not bring.
In going through what was my granddaughter's room, I came upon the Raggedy Ann doll that my mother made for my daughter when she was a very little girl. Meg didn't play with dolls much, yet Raggedy Ann has a dirty cloth face and removable clothes, all made by Grandma Covill. Fourteen years ago, I found my pregnant daughter sitting in a rocker in the nursery that we were preparing for her first-born, and she was weeping. Raggedy Ann was in her lap. Megan had taken the doll's clothes off and saw the embroidered heart on her chest that said, "I love you". Meg was in tears because she realized that, even though Grandma had died when Meg was only 7-years-old, she was being reached beyond the years and the tears with the message that she was loved by someone who couldn't be with us. I'll never forget that. I will also never forget that the expected baby arrived on Grandma Covill's birthday. Coincidence? I don't think so! Obviously, Raggedy Ann will move with me.
In going through files and papers, I ran into things from the bad old days of my divorce. Most of them are just amusing to me now. I've trashed much but have kept the important things in my ex's handwriting. Something for my daughter to remember him by...
I'm trying not to get too involved in the sorting process of keep, pitch, donate, choosing to handle each piece just once....but I hate to give away things that cost so much to begin with. I'm offering things to people I know can probably use them...not just randomly giving everything away to Goodwill. I hope others can appreciate the history behind what I have to bestow on them. Whatever!
My help will be leaving on March 28th, so I need to step up my game. Going tomorrow to get paint supplies. I hate this!
Of course, there are things they simply cannot help me with in the whole sorting process. What to keep? What to pitch? What to donate? There are stories behind all of my worldly possessions. It gets hard to decide the distribution of each little thing, especially since many of them aren't even mine. My daughter left them behind...so now I try to communicate online daily about what she wants me to bring and not bring.
In going through what was my granddaughter's room, I came upon the Raggedy Ann doll that my mother made for my daughter when she was a very little girl. Meg didn't play with dolls much, yet Raggedy Ann has a dirty cloth face and removable clothes, all made by Grandma Covill. Fourteen years ago, I found my pregnant daughter sitting in a rocker in the nursery that we were preparing for her first-born, and she was weeping. Raggedy Ann was in her lap. Megan had taken the doll's clothes off and saw the embroidered heart on her chest that said, "I love you". Meg was in tears because she realized that, even though Grandma had died when Meg was only 7-years-old, she was being reached beyond the years and the tears with the message that she was loved by someone who couldn't be with us. I'll never forget that. I will also never forget that the expected baby arrived on Grandma Covill's birthday. Coincidence? I don't think so! Obviously, Raggedy Ann will move with me.
In going through files and papers, I ran into things from the bad old days of my divorce. Most of them are just amusing to me now. I've trashed much but have kept the important things in my ex's handwriting. Something for my daughter to remember him by...
I'm trying not to get too involved in the sorting process of keep, pitch, donate, choosing to handle each piece just once....but I hate to give away things that cost so much to begin with. I'm offering things to people I know can probably use them...not just randomly giving everything away to Goodwill. I hope others can appreciate the history behind what I have to bestow on them. Whatever!
My help will be leaving on March 28th, so I need to step up my game. Going tomorrow to get paint supplies. I hate this!
Saturday, February 20, 2016
Am I Ready for "The Home"?
I think my brain has gone south. Here's why:
My church puts on a free lunch on the last Saturday of each month, open to the public. They always ask members to donate desserts, and being the good little church member that I am, I usually volunteer a cake if I am home. Desserts are due in the church kitchen by 9:00 AM on the Saturday in question.
This month, I didn't volunteer; however, I got a mass emailing from the gal in charge yesterday morning indicating that they were about four desserts short of what they need, so I emailed back that she could count on me for a cake. Here's where things get confusing.
All morning yesterday, for reasons known only to God, I thought it was already Saturday. I knew they wouldn't be asking for desserts for that very morning, so I figured the cake would be needed NEXT Saturday. A bit later, I called a friend of mine for some help installing a garbage disposer. He told me he'd be over as soon as his son got out of school. School? On Saturday??? That's when I realized...silly me...it isn't Saturday. It's Thursday! The church would probably need that cake a day from now, so I'd better not forget. I made a mental note: bake cake for church tomorrow.
In the course of yesterday's activities, it became clear to me that, not only wasn't it Saturday, it wasn't Thursday, either. It was Friday! This was confirmed by my Russian friend who is staying with me because it was also her birthday. And then it dawned on me: Uh oh...That means the church does, indeed, need that cake THIS Saturday. As in tomorrow. So, before bedtime last night, I got busy and made the cake. It was to cool overnight, to be frosted this morning. Then I would deliver it to church by 9:00 AM. Whew! (Following me so far?)
This morning, I was up in due time. Got myself dressed and got the cake frosted, then left for church right at 9:00. No one answered the outside church kitchen door. Hmmm... This happened to me one other time when I got there before the Last Saturday Lunch workers did, so I decided to drive around for a few minutes to give them time to arrive. When I came back to the church the second time, there was still no one there. By this time, I was beginning to question my timeliness. I decided to go home (not far) to check the calendar. I was doing the calculations in my mind. Let's see...today is Saturday, February 20th. There are 29 days this month. Seven days from today is February 27th...so yes, this is NOT the last Saturday of February. I BAKED THE CAKE FOR THE WRONG STINKIN' SATURDAY!!!!!
Were it not such a comedy of errors, I wouldn't admit to this whole thing. Not only did I make one mistake about the day, I made two. I mean, it is funny....isn't it? Should I be worried? In any case, guess what we are having for dessert today. Go on...guess!
My church puts on a free lunch on the last Saturday of each month, open to the public. They always ask members to donate desserts, and being the good little church member that I am, I usually volunteer a cake if I am home. Desserts are due in the church kitchen by 9:00 AM on the Saturday in question.
This month, I didn't volunteer; however, I got a mass emailing from the gal in charge yesterday morning indicating that they were about four desserts short of what they need, so I emailed back that she could count on me for a cake. Here's where things get confusing.
All morning yesterday, for reasons known only to God, I thought it was already Saturday. I knew they wouldn't be asking for desserts for that very morning, so I figured the cake would be needed NEXT Saturday. A bit later, I called a friend of mine for some help installing a garbage disposer. He told me he'd be over as soon as his son got out of school. School? On Saturday??? That's when I realized...silly me...it isn't Saturday. It's Thursday! The church would probably need that cake a day from now, so I'd better not forget. I made a mental note: bake cake for church tomorrow.
In the course of yesterday's activities, it became clear to me that, not only wasn't it Saturday, it wasn't Thursday, either. It was Friday! This was confirmed by my Russian friend who is staying with me because it was also her birthday. And then it dawned on me: Uh oh...That means the church does, indeed, need that cake THIS Saturday. As in tomorrow. So, before bedtime last night, I got busy and made the cake. It was to cool overnight, to be frosted this morning. Then I would deliver it to church by 9:00 AM. Whew! (Following me so far?)
This morning, I was up in due time. Got myself dressed and got the cake frosted, then left for church right at 9:00. No one answered the outside church kitchen door. Hmmm... This happened to me one other time when I got there before the Last Saturday Lunch workers did, so I decided to drive around for a few minutes to give them time to arrive. When I came back to the church the second time, there was still no one there. By this time, I was beginning to question my timeliness. I decided to go home (not far) to check the calendar. I was doing the calculations in my mind. Let's see...today is Saturday, February 20th. There are 29 days this month. Seven days from today is February 27th...so yes, this is NOT the last Saturday of February. I BAKED THE CAKE FOR THE WRONG STINKIN' SATURDAY!!!!!
Were it not such a comedy of errors, I wouldn't admit to this whole thing. Not only did I make one mistake about the day, I made two. I mean, it is funny....isn't it? Should I be worried? In any case, guess what we are having for dessert today. Go on...guess!
Sunday, February 14, 2016
SCOTUS
Doesn't that seem like some kind of private body part? SCOTUS? Nasty!
Just yesterday, one of the Supreme Court of the United States (SCOTUS) justices apparently died unexpectedly in his sleep. Of course, that just throws all of the politicians of the country into a flurry of activity. Here we have a Lame Duck President, whose responsibility it is to fill the vacant seat on the Supreme Court, and a whole bunch of presidential wannabes who would rather fill the position themselves after one of them is inaugurated almost a year from now. They are calling for the Prez to let the job fall to his successor. Think he will do that? Not on your life!!
Antonin Scalia was politically conservative and hard-nosed about it. President Obama is a liberal politician. Why would he pass up the opportunity to nominate a justice to the highest court in the land? Of course, he can nominate anyone he wants, but then the nomination must be approved by Congress, and there's the rub. Whoever is appointed will be in that seat until voluntary retirement or death. It's not a position to be taken lightly, and folks on both sides of the political fence will be playing it for all it is worth. President Obama can nominate anyone he chooses, but how long can the Conservative Republicans stall off approval? I've read that the longest period to get a justice through the nomination/approval process took 125 days for Brandeis. Obama has 342 days left in office. Care to guess if we are going to see a new record? I should start a betting pool! The odds are in my favor.
I bring this up for two reasons:
1. I'm not sure if I have the stamina to endure the political posturing that is going to take place now. I have absolutely no patience for people who play games with our country and the lives of those they claim to champion for their own political gain. None. It angers me to the point of having to walk away from the news if I still want my blood pressure to stay down so I can sleep at night.
2. I have two immigrants from Russia living in my house right now. They speak English on a rudimentary basis and ask a lot of questions. I have tried to explain what they are seeing on the news in the best way I can with a limited vocabulary of comprehension. Although they are not citizens and cannot vote, what happens will affect their lives as well as mine. I am trying not to bias them or frighten them...but if I AM biased and scared, myself, how am I to do that? How can I impart how strong a nation we have if we fight each other over stupid political games??
Whoever President Obama nominates will come under close personal scrutiny. It won't be fun. I hope to God that this whole process doesn't send us down yet another road to Perdition. Praying about that!!!
Just yesterday, one of the Supreme Court of the United States (SCOTUS) justices apparently died unexpectedly in his sleep. Of course, that just throws all of the politicians of the country into a flurry of activity. Here we have a Lame Duck President, whose responsibility it is to fill the vacant seat on the Supreme Court, and a whole bunch of presidential wannabes who would rather fill the position themselves after one of them is inaugurated almost a year from now. They are calling for the Prez to let the job fall to his successor. Think he will do that? Not on your life!!
Antonin Scalia was politically conservative and hard-nosed about it. President Obama is a liberal politician. Why would he pass up the opportunity to nominate a justice to the highest court in the land? Of course, he can nominate anyone he wants, but then the nomination must be approved by Congress, and there's the rub. Whoever is appointed will be in that seat until voluntary retirement or death. It's not a position to be taken lightly, and folks on both sides of the political fence will be playing it for all it is worth. President Obama can nominate anyone he chooses, but how long can the Conservative Republicans stall off approval? I've read that the longest period to get a justice through the nomination/approval process took 125 days for Brandeis. Obama has 342 days left in office. Care to guess if we are going to see a new record? I should start a betting pool! The odds are in my favor.
I bring this up for two reasons:
1. I'm not sure if I have the stamina to endure the political posturing that is going to take place now. I have absolutely no patience for people who play games with our country and the lives of those they claim to champion for their own political gain. None. It angers me to the point of having to walk away from the news if I still want my blood pressure to stay down so I can sleep at night.
2. I have two immigrants from Russia living in my house right now. They speak English on a rudimentary basis and ask a lot of questions. I have tried to explain what they are seeing on the news in the best way I can with a limited vocabulary of comprehension. Although they are not citizens and cannot vote, what happens will affect their lives as well as mine. I am trying not to bias them or frighten them...but if I AM biased and scared, myself, how am I to do that? How can I impart how strong a nation we have if we fight each other over stupid political games??
Whoever President Obama nominates will come under close personal scrutiny. It won't be fun. I hope to God that this whole process doesn't send us down yet another road to Perdition. Praying about that!!!
Thursday, February 11, 2016
Fairy Tale Assignment
I wrote this fairy tale in 1991 as fulfillment of an assignment in a Children's Literature class I was taking at Indiana State University. I include it on my blog just to get it into the archives.
GLORY AND THE PRINCE
Once there was a carpenter and his wife who lived in a small village at the foot of Castle Mountain. High above them, in all its majesty, rose the castle of the king and queen who lived with their young son, amid riches and finery. But in the humble village below, the carpenter and his wife, who were good people, worked hard, side by side, so that they made a meager living but were most content.
As it happened, both the carpenter and his wife were very homely. The other people in the village believed that they belonged together because, in their ugliness, no one else would have them.
When their only child was born, the carpenter and his wife were amazed to see, as were the people of the village, that the baby was not at all ugly like her parents. She was a beautiful child. The proud parents named her Glory and prayed that their daughter would grow up to be as glorious as her name and face proclaimed.
Indeed, Glory grew prettier with each passing year. Her smile illuminated every room, and it was thought that she was beautiful enough to be the future bride of the young prince up on Castle Mountain. Her parents surrounded her with as many fine things as they could afford. They worked and sacrificed to give Glory all that she wanted so that her lovely face should never show the worry and care of hard work and lean days.
Glory became petted and spoiled, and when hard times fell upon the family (as hard times often do), she became angry and impatient with her parents' inability to provide her with the finer things. When Glory whined for a new dress, her father sold his favorite chair to buy the cloth. When Glory envied a gilded mirror, her mother took in washing for a month to trade for the looking glass. Once, when Glory insisted on a veritable feast to celebrate her 16th birthday, her parents ate only boiled potatoes so their beloved daughter could have her heart's desire.
Alas, it was never enough. As Glory wanted more and more, she smiled less and less. A permanent, selfish scowl drew lines upon her face. Her temper left indelible marks upon her beauty. Her parents, though bowed from years of hard work and worry, continued to love their Glory with all their hearts and grew strangely more patient as Glory grew less. People in the village thought they were not as ugly as they had once been, nor was Glory quite a beautiful as before.
Then, in the summer of Glory's eighteenth year, word came down from Castle Mountain that the king had died of a broken heart soon after the death of his queen. The prince, it was said, would surely seek a bride in order to have an heir to the throne that was soon to be his. The very next day, the prince arrived at the home of the carpenter to commission the building of a fine, mahogany coffin in which to bury his father.
The carpenter and his wife took pity on the grieving prince. The carpenter set to work immediately and with great skill to build a coffin worthy of the king, while the carpenter's wife made a mourning cloak for the prince and soothed him as with a mother's care. The prince stayed for hours, never giving Glory the slightest glance. When he returned the next day, he brought gifts for the homely carpenter and his homely wife who had been so kind to him. There was no gift for Glory. He could see that she didn't need a thing.
After the king's funeral, the prince visited the carpenter often. Soon, Glory grew jealous of his attention to her parents. Finally, she stamped her foot and declared angrily, "Why do you waste your time with worthless, homely people when you could be preparing to marry me?"
The prince looked stricken. "Have you no love for the parents who have given you so much of life? I'll not marry so ugly a woman as you! It is sad that you could not have been born with your mother's inner beauty or your father's kindness!" With that, he retired the old carpenter and his wife to Castle Mountain to live out the rest of their days as his adopted parents. In time, he took a bride: the blacksmith's charming daughter.
Glory soon became the wife of another village carpenter and had a beautiful child whose smile illuminated every room. They named her Joy, and prayed that their young daughter would grow up to be as joyous as her name and face proclaimed....
GLORY AND THE PRINCE
Once there was a carpenter and his wife who lived in a small village at the foot of Castle Mountain. High above them, in all its majesty, rose the castle of the king and queen who lived with their young son, amid riches and finery. But in the humble village below, the carpenter and his wife, who were good people, worked hard, side by side, so that they made a meager living but were most content.
As it happened, both the carpenter and his wife were very homely. The other people in the village believed that they belonged together because, in their ugliness, no one else would have them.
When their only child was born, the carpenter and his wife were amazed to see, as were the people of the village, that the baby was not at all ugly like her parents. She was a beautiful child. The proud parents named her Glory and prayed that their daughter would grow up to be as glorious as her name and face proclaimed.
Indeed, Glory grew prettier with each passing year. Her smile illuminated every room, and it was thought that she was beautiful enough to be the future bride of the young prince up on Castle Mountain. Her parents surrounded her with as many fine things as they could afford. They worked and sacrificed to give Glory all that she wanted so that her lovely face should never show the worry and care of hard work and lean days.
Glory became petted and spoiled, and when hard times fell upon the family (as hard times often do), she became angry and impatient with her parents' inability to provide her with the finer things. When Glory whined for a new dress, her father sold his favorite chair to buy the cloth. When Glory envied a gilded mirror, her mother took in washing for a month to trade for the looking glass. Once, when Glory insisted on a veritable feast to celebrate her 16th birthday, her parents ate only boiled potatoes so their beloved daughter could have her heart's desire.
Alas, it was never enough. As Glory wanted more and more, she smiled less and less. A permanent, selfish scowl drew lines upon her face. Her temper left indelible marks upon her beauty. Her parents, though bowed from years of hard work and worry, continued to love their Glory with all their hearts and grew strangely more patient as Glory grew less. People in the village thought they were not as ugly as they had once been, nor was Glory quite a beautiful as before.
Then, in the summer of Glory's eighteenth year, word came down from Castle Mountain that the king had died of a broken heart soon after the death of his queen. The prince, it was said, would surely seek a bride in order to have an heir to the throne that was soon to be his. The very next day, the prince arrived at the home of the carpenter to commission the building of a fine, mahogany coffin in which to bury his father.
The carpenter and his wife took pity on the grieving prince. The carpenter set to work immediately and with great skill to build a coffin worthy of the king, while the carpenter's wife made a mourning cloak for the prince and soothed him as with a mother's care. The prince stayed for hours, never giving Glory the slightest glance. When he returned the next day, he brought gifts for the homely carpenter and his homely wife who had been so kind to him. There was no gift for Glory. He could see that she didn't need a thing.
After the king's funeral, the prince visited the carpenter often. Soon, Glory grew jealous of his attention to her parents. Finally, she stamped her foot and declared angrily, "Why do you waste your time with worthless, homely people when you could be preparing to marry me?"
The prince looked stricken. "Have you no love for the parents who have given you so much of life? I'll not marry so ugly a woman as you! It is sad that you could not have been born with your mother's inner beauty or your father's kindness!" With that, he retired the old carpenter and his wife to Castle Mountain to live out the rest of their days as his adopted parents. In time, he took a bride: the blacksmith's charming daughter.
Glory soon became the wife of another village carpenter and had a beautiful child whose smile illuminated every room. They named her Joy, and prayed that their young daughter would grow up to be as joyous as her name and face proclaimed....
Sunday, February 7, 2016
The Russians Have Landed!
I hereby have company that is going to stay for a couple of months. My son-in-law's parents from Russia are between homes right now, so it was decided that they would come stay with me to help me clean up and clear out my house, and make repairs, for a potential move later in the year. They arrived just after dark on Friday, Feb. 5th.
That first night, we just unloaded their car and chilled out a little. The next day, they unpacked, set up their computers and got them connected to the Wifi. All is well.
It's different having other people in the house with me. I'm not used to that, but I welcome the company as long as we can all function without getting in each other's way. So far, so good....but it's only been two days. I'm sure, in time, they will gripe about me and I will gripe about them. For now, I am grateful for the help they bring me.
Their names are Luda and Sergei. The first time I met Luda, Sergei had stayed back in Russia. Talking to and understanding her became an exercise in frustration, just to try to communicate across the language barrier. It was exhausting! We would try to talk for a bit and look forward to her son's return from work, just so we'd have an interpreter. Then we'd invariably go to our own separate corners of the house for awhile. Both of us. It was as tiring for her as it was for me.
The next time I was with her, Sergei had come, too. He knew less English than Luda. Some of our communications were humorous. He knew enough to say "night food" when something he liked to eat was brought into the house. Still, Sergei was what we would call a "sleeper". He listened and he picked up on things. The very next time I saw him, maybe a year or more later, he was MUCH easier to talk to. (So was Luda, but she is less worried about making mistakes in chatter. She talks; Sergei listens. The result is the same!)
So now, after almost a year of living in the US, and several months of taking an ESL class at the local community college near where my daughter and son-in-law once lived, they have improved enough to function in the real world. Where I once just acknowledged that I knew what they were saying, mistakes and all, I now correct them. We have daily English lessons. Today, the question was how/when to use "not". I've never taught English to people who didn't speak it natively (even though native speakers mess it up A LOT). I had to explain that "not" is tied to a verb...not a verb in itself. You can't correctly say, "I not go". It took a lot of explaining on my part. I think Luda got it, finally, even though she pointed out to me that "go" was a verb, so why wouldn't "I not go" work? Whew! Excellent question! Hard to explain! Took probably an hour to get through...but you know what? Until you have taught English to someone who doesn't speak it as a first language, you don't really understand how tough English is to learn!!! Today's lesson probably took an hour. Thank God, they are willing learners!
What is the old Girl Scout saying? "Every day in every way, I'm getting better and better." We're going to make this work because we need each other. I can offer them a place to be for a couple of months, and they have the youth, energy, and drive to keep on when I give up. Damn the torpedoes. Full speed ahead!
That first night, we just unloaded their car and chilled out a little. The next day, they unpacked, set up their computers and got them connected to the Wifi. All is well.
It's different having other people in the house with me. I'm not used to that, but I welcome the company as long as we can all function without getting in each other's way. So far, so good....but it's only been two days. I'm sure, in time, they will gripe about me and I will gripe about them. For now, I am grateful for the help they bring me.
Their names are Luda and Sergei. The first time I met Luda, Sergei had stayed back in Russia. Talking to and understanding her became an exercise in frustration, just to try to communicate across the language barrier. It was exhausting! We would try to talk for a bit and look forward to her son's return from work, just so we'd have an interpreter. Then we'd invariably go to our own separate corners of the house for awhile. Both of us. It was as tiring for her as it was for me.
The next time I was with her, Sergei had come, too. He knew less English than Luda. Some of our communications were humorous. He knew enough to say "night food" when something he liked to eat was brought into the house. Still, Sergei was what we would call a "sleeper". He listened and he picked up on things. The very next time I saw him, maybe a year or more later, he was MUCH easier to talk to. (So was Luda, but she is less worried about making mistakes in chatter. She talks; Sergei listens. The result is the same!)
So now, after almost a year of living in the US, and several months of taking an ESL class at the local community college near where my daughter and son-in-law once lived, they have improved enough to function in the real world. Where I once just acknowledged that I knew what they were saying, mistakes and all, I now correct them. We have daily English lessons. Today, the question was how/when to use "not". I've never taught English to people who didn't speak it natively (even though native speakers mess it up A LOT). I had to explain that "not" is tied to a verb...not a verb in itself. You can't correctly say, "I not go". It took a lot of explaining on my part. I think Luda got it, finally, even though she pointed out to me that "go" was a verb, so why wouldn't "I not go" work? Whew! Excellent question! Hard to explain! Took probably an hour to get through...but you know what? Until you have taught English to someone who doesn't speak it as a first language, you don't really understand how tough English is to learn!!! Today's lesson probably took an hour. Thank God, they are willing learners!
What is the old Girl Scout saying? "Every day in every way, I'm getting better and better." We're going to make this work because we need each other. I can offer them a place to be for a couple of months, and they have the youth, energy, and drive to keep on when I give up. Damn the torpedoes. Full speed ahead!
Friday, February 5, 2016
My Sister's Visit
Shari told me she was coming from Illinois for a respite visit. (Her husband has dementia. It's tough to live with that all day, every day.) Because of circumstances, I honestly didn't believe she could do it...but she did! She came with the mission of helping me get my house ready for company that will be here for a couple of months. I didn't want her to have to come with a mission since she already takes care of the masses at home. In spite of that, I am eternally grateful that she did!
There are a couple of factors at work in that. One is that sometimes we all need someone to help see us through. Guilty! Any task is easier when there is someone to talk to and help...and give a fresh eye to things we might have become blind to. And when you're ready to "slough off", it's nice to have an accomplice! People who knew us way-back-when assume that we will stay up late, drinking and smoking ourselves into oblivion. Not so anymore! We are old now. Neither one of us can make it much past 10:30 in either time zone.
Then, too, my sister felt like she was paying it forward for times when she needed me and I was there. Doesn't happen often! She is a strong lady--has to be--but we have a silent understanding. I love her unconditionally. She knows that. She loves me unconditionally. I know that. But what a treat it was to have her here with me for four days without restrictions.
Did I say without restrictions? Oh...well....there are the phone calls. Home called her several times a day. The calls were fraught with tragedy...car repos...husband's threats...that always ended with "Have a good time, Mom. I've got things covered here." Uh......huh?
Did she have a good time? She says she did. But how much of a good time can be had when you are working your fanny off? Shari is six years older than I, but you wouldn't know it. Times when I was ready to drop, she kept us going. In the end, we had moved mountains! We got rid of a ton of trash...donated two small bags of stuff to Goodwill...and made room where there was once clutter.
The only real thing I can offer my sister is freedom from criticism, which she gets at home. If she coughs, I don't care. I cough, too. If she wants to stay up later than I do, she is welcome to do so. We ate what we wanted, when we wanted. We worked and worked...and now that she knows all of my secrets, I should probably kill her, but I'm not hiding anything!
Thank you, dear sister, for all of your help. You have now seen, first-hand, all of the dirty windows, dirty blinds, cluttered rooms, and how very much I needed your assistance. If you want to come back in the near future, I'm ready!
My Russian company arrives today and will stay until early April. All I want out of life right now is for it all to work. Pray for me!
There are a couple of factors at work in that. One is that sometimes we all need someone to help see us through. Guilty! Any task is easier when there is someone to talk to and help...and give a fresh eye to things we might have become blind to. And when you're ready to "slough off", it's nice to have an accomplice! People who knew us way-back-when assume that we will stay up late, drinking and smoking ourselves into oblivion. Not so anymore! We are old now. Neither one of us can make it much past 10:30 in either time zone.
Then, too, my sister felt like she was paying it forward for times when she needed me and I was there. Doesn't happen often! She is a strong lady--has to be--but we have a silent understanding. I love her unconditionally. She knows that. She loves me unconditionally. I know that. But what a treat it was to have her here with me for four days without restrictions.
Did I say without restrictions? Oh...well....there are the phone calls. Home called her several times a day. The calls were fraught with tragedy...car repos...husband's threats...that always ended with "Have a good time, Mom. I've got things covered here." Uh......huh?
Did she have a good time? She says she did. But how much of a good time can be had when you are working your fanny off? Shari is six years older than I, but you wouldn't know it. Times when I was ready to drop, she kept us going. In the end, we had moved mountains! We got rid of a ton of trash...donated two small bags of stuff to Goodwill...and made room where there was once clutter.
The only real thing I can offer my sister is freedom from criticism, which she gets at home. If she coughs, I don't care. I cough, too. If she wants to stay up later than I do, she is welcome to do so. We ate what we wanted, when we wanted. We worked and worked...and now that she knows all of my secrets, I should probably kill her, but I'm not hiding anything!
Thank you, dear sister, for all of your help. You have now seen, first-hand, all of the dirty windows, dirty blinds, cluttered rooms, and how very much I needed your assistance. If you want to come back in the near future, I'm ready!
My Russian company arrives today and will stay until early April. All I want out of life right now is for it all to work. Pray for me!
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