Giving Credit Where It's Due

My mother rarely complained about her aches and pains, but when she did, all she would say was, "It's hell to get old."  I'm six years older than she was when she passed and can confirm her sentiments as accurate.  I have some spinal degeneration that makes it difficult to stand for more than a minute without leaning forward on something.  Walking very far also requires something to lean on, like a grocery cart.  I have learned to combine trips to create the least walking possible.  I even subscribe to Shipt, which is a grocery shopping service that buys the foods you request and delivers it to your door.  Anything to save steps.  Unfortunately, Shipt can't do everything for me, so I do venture out maybe once a week.  I can still drive with no problem because I can sit really well!  Sitting on my ample derriere, watching my feet swell, is my forte' !

With a 3"-6" snowfall expected early in the week, I decided that I needed to go to our Meijer store to stock up on some things I thought I might need in case I got snowed in for a couple of days, plus get some cash from the ATM at my branch bank inside Meijer.  I'd been bereft of cash for a few days, a condition that won't do in situations if I need to take advantage of people who ask if I need anything.  At first, I was going to go Friday, but talked myself out of that.  Then Saturday, I actually had my coat on to leave when my neighbor pulled his car behind mine in my driveway, unannounced.  He was taking a delivery of fireplace wood and needed to get his car out of the way.  (I didn't mind.  He helps me out in a lot of ways.  I figure I can put up with a little inconvenience for him.  It did, however, cause me to give up the shopping trip.  

So yesterday, it was do or die.  I figured I'd go to Meijer (like a Walmart Superstore) for the cash, then come home and have Shipt do my shopping for me...but Shipt shops at Meijer, too.  It seemed a little silly to pay the extra expense when I was already going to be in the store.  The things that I needed were going to take me to both sides of the store...the home side and the grocery side...and I was already shaky on my legs; thus, I did something I've never done before: I used one of the little motorized scooters to get around.  

Naturally, there is a learning curve to using those scooters.  Until I got used to the power lever, I was the queen of jerky starts and stops, and I beeped when I backed up.  Sometimes, I was going too fast.  I felt like A.J. Foyt!  I found that I still had to get out of the cart to reach some things and determined that I was often going the wrong way down aisles to get things from the opposite side.  I'm glad the store wasn't particularly busy.  I didn't run anyone down!

Goodness!  What a disturbingly long lead-in to the actual subject of this post!                                          As I was leaving the store after checking out, there was a young male Meijer employee doing cart duty in the entrance/exit area.  I stopped and asked him if I were allowed to take the scooter out into the parking lot to my car, parked just outside the doors.  He said I was, then followed me out to retrieve the scooter when I unloaded it.  He asked if I needed help unloading.  I said I wouldn't mind that, so he handed me the bags while I stashed them in the back seat.  At one point, I quipped, "What a team we are!"  His response was, "We are all better together."  It was such a simple statement, yet profound.  I doubt that the young man was even out of his late teens, but his attention to me and understanding words caused me to puddle up.  And I didn't even have the cash to tip him--not that he would have taken it.  (The ATM had only given me $20 bills.)  I thanked him profusely and asked his name.  He showed me his name tag:  Tyler G.  

When I got home, I called Meijer's Customer Service number.  They transferred me to the store manager.  I introduced myself and told him about Tyler G., and what a good ambassador he had been for Meijer to me.  The man honestly sounded a little shocked to hear a commendation instead of a complaint.  He assured me that Tyler G. would receive some sort of reward through a system that they use in the store.  I hope he does.  It meant so much to me, especially during these times when there is so much negativity around us.

I learned that little trick from my Salvation Army friend, Patrick, a number of years ago.  We had met halfway between Chicago (where he lived) and Indianapolis (where I live) in order to hand off some radio gear.  We'd stopped at a KFC, where we were waited on by a young, smiling, almost-bubbly young woman (who was also cute.  Patrick loved cute.)  After she had taken our order, Patrick asked to speak to the manager.  Suddenly, her smile took on a look of concern, as if she were saying to herself, "What did I do wrong??"  The manager arrived at the counter, and Pat--right in front of the young lady--started commending her for her wonderful, friendly attitude and efficiency.  The gal absolutely beamed!  I'm pretty sure it made her day.

I don't know why I never thought of that before.  When we receive exemplary service from people in the course of doing their jobs, we really do need to make sure their employers know it.  It costs nothing to put a note on a website or make a phone call--or even speak to a manager on the spot.  

One time, I came home from the drive-thru with my Subway sandwich.  The bag had my sandwich in it, plus a chocolate chip cookie that I had not ordered, wrapped in a napkin with a hand-written note on it:  "Have a wonderful day!"  Signed with a smiley face.  It brightened my day, so I wrote a commendation on the Subway Facebook page, noting the store location and the time of my purchase.  I hope the young fellow that waited on me at the drive-thru got some recognition for spreading some joy.  

Since then, I have made it a point to give credit where it is due, publicly.  Sometimes, thank you isn't enough.  Maybe--just maybe--the employees who go the extra mile for customers who didn't even request it, can go home at the end of the day feeling as good about themselves as they made their customers feel by doing what they did.  

We really ARE better together.  We can make it happen.    

   

Curb Merchandise

 I ventured out to the grocery store this afternoon in an effort to stock up on some things before our first snowstorm hits late tomorrow.  I don't get out much, so I try to soak up what I see when I do.  On the way home, I saw a tall four-door wooden cabinet out at the curb of one home.  From the street, it looked like it was in great shape, so I wondered what would prompt someone to discard something that nice instead of making an effort to sell it.  

In communities that aren't under Home Owner's Association rules (like most of Plainfield, IN, where I live), stuff on the curb is an invitation that screams, "FREE for the taking".  If it's on the curb, and you take it, it isn't theft.  It's a gift to both the homeowner and the scavenger.  Americans are all about getting something for free!

Back in 2008 or 2009, I had my garage converted into a bedroom, with a MAJOR financial contribution from my daughter.  When it was done, we moved me and my radios into the garage room, and transformed what once was my "radio shack" into a bedroom for my young grandson, a second bedroom my young granddaughter, and my old bedroom with a half-bath attached for my daughter's room.  The three of them had moved in with me without warning, and for many, many months, we were cramming four people into two beds.  The new situation helped us quite a bit.    

In the garage conversion process, there was a dumpster in my driveway.  At one point, a young man knocked on my door and asked if he could go through the dumpster to pick up scrap metal to sell.  (At the time, scrap metal had premium prices.)  I was reluctant because I was afraid he'd get hurt, but I appreciated that he asked rather than just dive in after dark and scare us to death, so I let him have at it.  He did come up with some stuff and, fortunately, didn't get hurt. 

Cleaning out the garage for the conversion remodeling left many, many things with no place to be.  Some got stashed back on my covered patio.  Some I gave away through freecycle.com.  Some, I just put out on the curb.  Among the latter was a pair of clunky-but-sturdy lawn chairs that my ex had given my daughter.  I put them out on the curb.  VERY shortly thereafter, a man in a truck appeared and took interest.  I happened to be outside.  He said he and his family camped quite a bit and thought they could use the chairs.  POOF!  Gone!  

Later (2017??), I managed to tear the meniscus in my left knee by just walking to the bathroom early in the morning.  I could swear I didn't twist the knee!  What followed was a long story not worthy to tell right now; however, my friend and co-grandma Judy (who is a retired nurse) took good care of me.  Among MANY other things, she borrowed a bedside commode from a local church for me to use, if needed--you know, the seat with a receptacle bucket?  I think I only used it once, and when I was done with it, I cleaned and bleached the bucket, then returned it to Judy to return to the church from which it was borrowed.  I really didn't want to give that up since it is one of those I-Might-Need-This-Again-Someday things, but it wasn't mine.

I swear on all that is holy, just a day later, I was driving down the street and saw one of those commodes at a curb!  I passed, thought about it, then went around the block and came back to pick it up.  It needed to be cleaned up.  Needed new rubber tips for the legs and a new receptacle bucket because the old one was nasty...so it wasn't FREE free, but I brought it home and fixed it up.  Now I have to store it, all the while hoping that I never have to use it!

But my favorite curb merchandise story happened just a year or so ago.  A long time past, I had purchased a steel chimenea for my backyard patio, on sale for $89.  Over the years, we burned trash in it, both to get rid of it and for warmth.  In time, the ash tray rusted out.  (Someone needs to explain to me why outdoor things are often made of materials that rust!!!)  I no longer felt confident to use it, so it was time to trash the thing.  My housekeeper suggested that we put it on the curb for metal scavengers.  I thought she was nuts.  It was full of ashes, soot, and rust.  If anyone took it, they'd have to have a truck and help to pick it up.  (It wasn't light.)  We did put it on the curb.  I just knew I would eventually have to pay to cart it to the dump.       

Obviously, I misjudged human beings.  Within a few hours, as I watched through my front window, a woman in a nice-looking sedan stopped to look that the burner.  She hailed a passing student on his way home from school to ask for help to put the thing in her car, then drove away.  Here is the amazing part to me:  she didn't put it in her trunk.  She and the student crammed that filthy thing into the back seat of her lovely car!  I was shocked, but who am I to question someone who was ridding me of something I didn't want anymore?

One person's trash is another person's treasure.  It starts at the curb!   

All of the Firsts

Today is Thanksgiving in the United States, a day that is traditionally celebrated with family gatherings and a turkey feast.  My last post talked about many of the Thanksgivings of my past.  Next year, if I am still living, I can add today's experience to the list.  

Thanksgiving 2020 is the first one I have ever spent alone in my entire life.  Many people feel bad about others that are alone on the holiday, but I want everyone to know that I'm okay.  I've lived alone for many years.  I do get lonely, sometimes, but never feel abandoned.  My immediate family is in self-imposed isolation in the Seattle area due to the most recent resurgence of the COVID-19 coronavirus.  I'm in my little bungalow in Indiana, also in self-imposed isolation, for the same reason.  My sister, almost six years older than I, is in the St. Louis area with her husband, also isolated.  Same reason.  My friends across town with whom I usually spend holidays that aren't otherwise spoken for, are also isolated because of the virus.  I would feel sad and alone were there not so many of my loved ones all in the same boat!  None of us wants to invite contagion into our homes.  (Reminds me of Edgar Allan Poe's short story, The Masque of the Red Death.)  

My mother died, unexpectedly, on the day after Thanksgiving in 1986, at age 67.  It's a circumstance I really don't want to go into here, except to say that it threw our entire family into a year of "firsts".  The first Christmas without our mom.  The first birthday without our mom.  The first Easter, Fourth of July, Mother's Day, etc., without our mom.  And then the first anniversary of her death.  All the while, the rest of us were trying to keep our grieving father propped up.  We had to create new traditions in her absence.  New places to be for the holiday.  Keeping what we liked about the old traditions, but changing venues and circumstances.  And you know what?  We got through it.  It wasn't smooth at first because Mom was the glue that kept us all grounded, the same as her mother was before her, but it happened.  Just before my mother's funeral service, my brother asked HER brother, a military man who had already lost his first wife to cancer, "What do we do now that Mom is gone?"  My uncle said, "Close ranks".  And that's exactly what we did.

Self-pity is crippling.  Yes, I am on my own for Thanksgiving this year, but I have traded traditional foods with my "family" across town.  We are all alone because we choose to be, for self-preservation.  I don't like it very much, but I don't feel any worse than I do any other time.  After all, Thanksgiving is just another day in the scheme of things.  

I pray that next Thanksgiving will be better and that I will live to see it.  Count your blessings!  

   

Thanksgivings, Past and Present

Thanksgiving is an American tradition.  It celebrates the survival of the European pilgrims who came to the New World in 1620, who planned a feast to thank God for that survival after a tough year.  The stories are all over the Internet.  I don't need to tell the story here.

The actual holiday, which hasn't been around all that long, has translated into family gatherings with traditional foods:  turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes and gravy, green bean casserole, candied sweet potatoes, other lovely side-dishes, and the piece-de-resistance, pumpkin pie.  Hopefully, the true reason for the day hasn't been missed: thankfulness.  People are so busy trying to provide the traditional foods for the disenfranchised that they sometimes forget the reason.

I have lived through many Thanksgivings in my lifetime:

*There was the one when it snowed relentlessly, and I followed a salt truck down the interstate, praying the entire distance that I would get to the farm for our family gathering in one piece.  I did.

*There was the one when my mother had made a snifter of martinis for a before-dinner drinkie-poo.  She had three on an empty stomach, and was so inebriated by dinner time that we weren't sure the meal would make it to the table.

*There was the one when my grandfather had TWO "libations" rather than his normal ONE prior to the meal.  He ate heartily, then fell asleep in his recliner.  When he woke up, he asked when we would eat the "boid".  He apparently didn't remember eating Thanksgiving dinner!

*There was the one when my father went hunting for rabbits on the farm after dinner.  He winged one, which ran toward the granary.  Dad tried to outrun it, fell on his shotgun, and totally shattered his pinkie finger in the process.  (It's a wonder his shotgun didn't go off and blow his brains out!)  He came in, showed me the poor finger that he couldn't even hold up straight, broke a clamp-type clothespin to splint his finger...and disappeared.  Mom asked, "Where's your dad?"  I had no clue.  He had driven himself, unannounced, to the ER in town.  Mom was furious that he had gone alone without warning.  Came home bandaged with the advice to see an orthopedist when they got home to the west suburbs of Chicago a day or two later.  He did.  The finger required surgery with pins.  They kept him overnight.  For a pinkie finger!  The pins were removed after some healing, but I don't think that finger ever worked properly again.  A Thanksgiving to remember!    

*There were the ones for which I bought the foods for another family.  They were grateful.

*There was the one or two that I shared with friends who had no other place to be.  One didn't show up until LONG after the meal was over.  I fed him anyway, and was happy to.

*There were the ones that I hosted, desperately trying to get everything done and still warm at the same time.  I don't know how my mother did it!

And now, there is this year.  I will be eating alone for the first time in my life, but not forgotten.  My friend Judy and I are trading foods.  We have to celebrate in isolation, due to the pandemic.  I will have all of the traditional foods and have plenty of thanks to give to God for my blessings.  I know my family is safe, so far.  That's all that matters to me, at this point.  It makes me sad to have to endure a traditional holiday alone, but I am aware that it is for ALL of us that I do it.  May God grant that next Thanksgiving will be a different world, and that I live long enough to see it!

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.  Appreciate all you have!  

  

We Are Family!

 Years ago, when I was still doing volunteer work for The Salvation Army's Emergency Disaster Services through amateur radio connections, I was introduced to a man in TSA's employ with the same last name as mine.  The minister introducing us said, "Peg McNary, meet Steve McNary."  We shook hands, and Steve McNary said, "We're family!"  There's nothing unusual or funny about that, except that Steve was very black, and I am very white.  We both chuckled, but the irony wasn't lost on us.  Our color and our name didn't matter.  In the course of generations, we are ALL family.

I have friends who live just a mile from me here in Plainfield, IN.  We go to the same church.  Over time, we might have run into each other, but my real connection with Judy and Phil came through our children.  Their son and my daughter were married and produced our two common grandchildren.  Our kids divorced, but Judy and Phil and I never did.  Their son now lives with his second wife north of Chicago, close to the Wisconsin border.  My daughter lives with her second husband and the children in the Seattle area, 2,000 miles away.  Judy, Phil, and I have remained close, not just because we have grandchildren together, but because we genuinely care about each other.  We're family, sort of.  Not related by blood but rather by love.

But not so fast!  All is not always as it appears!

Over the years since our children's divorce, we have looked after each other.  Thanksgiving has always been a shared meal.  Either they come to my house or I go to theirs.  This year, with the COVID virus running rampant, we have had to change plans.  We won't be together, but we will be trading food.  Today, I was talking to Judy to finalize our food trade items.  We are both talkers and can get side-tracked.  We are both into genealogy, so she happened to mention that a cousin had called her, and we started talking about ancestors.  She mentioned that the cousin had traced their ancestry back to the Mayflower.  I threw in that I had just recently--like last week--found out that I had Mayflower ancestors, too.  Judy said a name that rang a bell with me.  If our information is correct, her Mayflower ancestor and my Mayflower ancestor were brother and sister, and we share common grandparents from 10 or 11 generations ago!  What are the odds that two people in a small town in Indiana, who became close friends by marriage, would actually be related by blood to people who came to this country on the Mayflower??  My mind is blown! 

There is no lesson to this story.  I mean, if we could go back far enough in our ancestry, we all come from a common source.  I'm just still in shock about this particular family connection.  Who knew?  What a strangely small world we live in!  We are all family, indeed!  

         

What I Wish COVID-Deniers Would Understand

Before determining the title for this post, I spent quite a while considering my target audience.  I'm not directing my comments only to anti-maskers and COVID-deniers, but to anyone who might be thinking that they aren't going to live in fear just because of the Coronavirus and won't let their good times be thwarted by government restrictions/recommendations.  

Washington State, where some of the first cases of COVID-19 appeared in the U.S., is a state that is being run by a liberal government (much to the irritation of right-leaning people/politicians).  They struggled through the first round of the virus, losing many citizens as have all of the other states, but they are known to be an eco-friendly state with liberal policies.  Thus, now that the virus has come back again with avengence, the Governor returned to earlier restrictions.  My daughter and family live near Seattle.  I was comparing their restrictions to ours in Indiana and commented that so few people here would observe them.  Megan told me, "Here in Washington, they are more likely to."  Then I read a news article from their main newspaper, announcing that the Governor was asking people to cancel their family gatherings for the holidays.  The VERY FIRST public comment, printed at the end of the article said, in so many words, "No government is going to tell my family how to celebrate Thanksgiving...and no, we won't be serving fear at our table."  So much for social compliance for the greater good.

In the beginning of the pandemic, no one really knew how the disease was transmitted, what the lasting effects were, what drugs would help, or whether or not patients who recovered would then be immune.  It was a new entity.  Recommendations were made based on the science of prophylaxis:  wear masks; keep distance between others; limit exposure to crowds and circumstances that puts people in close proximity; keep hands clean; sanitize surfaces; and keep hands away from the face.  Some of the information coming out was confusing to some Americans.  And then the President, wanting to avoid a panic on the stock market--his biggest claim to fame--downplayed the whole virus thing every step of the way.  He maintained that the Democrats and media were talking it up just to derail his re-election possibilities, and his supporters believed him.  All the while, Americans were dying by the thousands every day.  Thus, the coronavirus was politicized.  The President refused to wear a mask and refused to limit attendance at his rallies and meetings.  His supporters followed his lead.  Then HE got the disease and was hospitalized.  When he emerged several days later, having been pumped full of steroids (which cause euphoria) and experimental drugs, he felt invincible.  "Don't be afraid of COVID," he said.  "You will recover.  I did, and I've never felt better."  

So now, here we are, nine months later, with new COVID cases hitting record levels daily.  Worse than before.  It isn't done with us yet.  We've lost all these months when we could have been slowing the spread of the disease which would allow us all to be free of restrictions sooner.  Obviously, some people did everything right and still got the virus.  Many died.  And some did everything wrong but never came down with it, proving to themselves that the whole virus risk had been overblown in the first place.  

What does all this have to do with me?                                                                                                      Back in March, near the beginning of the pandemic in the U.S., I had plans to go to Seattle where I would house/cat/grandson-sit while the rest of the family went on a planned camping vacation to Canada.  (My grandson didn't want to go.  He wasn't being excluded for any other reason.)  My plane tickets had already been purchased.  I was actually packing to go when the "what ifs" got to me.              *What if I picked up the virus at the airports or on the plane and took it home to my family?                    *What if the family left for Canada before I came down with symptoms, then had to come back to take care of me?                                                                                                                                                    *What if I got sick while the family was gone?  I would have a car but had no clue how to get anywhere.  Worse, my grandson didn't have a driver's license, so even he wouldn't be able to help me get to the places I might need to go in the meantime.  

My daughter pumped me every day about whether or not I wanted to chance it.  She sent me face masks and rubber gloves, just in case.  I knew that if I opted out, SHE would be the one to eat the airfare and the whole Canada trip.  There was no pressure for me to come.  The decision was up to me, and I knew it.  I didn't want to let anyone down; but then, I considered the realities.  The public message was, if you are elderly, stay home.  (I'm 73.)  If you have underlying conditions, stay home.  (I have COPD and heart disease.)  With mere days to spare before my flight, it hit me that if I went ahead with our plans, full speed ahead, I would be going against every single medical warning, and if I got sick (or worse, caused my family to be sick because of me), people would declare "What were you thinking?"  I would have deserved whatever happened due to bad decisions.  I canceled.  My family also, then, had to cancel their vacation.  (In all fairness, it wasn't just because of me.) 

The dominoes began to fall.  Schools were closed, so students did "e-learning" from home.  Adults who could work from home did.  Those who couldn't, either lost their jobs or worked with less income.  Restaurants were closed, many of them for good.  Government help got weird.  Businesses that were still open metered the number of people that could enter their stores and required masks...and then things really got strange.  (Still are.)  My granddaughter's high school graduation was canceled.  Parents and grandparents from three states all over the country had to bail out on their flights and motel reservations.  It hurt.  Robin started her college courses online in the fall.  Her choice.  A wise one, I think, even though she is missing out on the social aspects of being on her own, she is also missing out on potential contagion.  Since the virus has now taken a huge uptick all over the U.S., people are being advised about how to reintroduce their college students back into the home for the holidays.  Robin and family won't have to worry about that.

But I digress.  There is no magic bullet to guess or second guess the COVID virus.  The bottom line, for me at least, is that the younger folks who will get the virus and survive, or the other folks who get the virus and suffer for months from it may have time to recover and move on with their lives.  Perhaps they have people to come home to.  I don't. I live alone, and that's what I wish people would understand.

In order to protect myself from the virus, I wear masks.  I keep hand sanitizer with me everywhere.  I wash my hands.  I rarely leave the house, but when I do, I go home to a house in which no one else is allowed.  I've been in a semi-patient solitude, hoping the day will come that I will be able to see my beloved family, so far away, again before I die.  While people demand their rights to go maskless, to gather in groups without distance between them, to be free to live their lives as they want, I am hunkered down in my little bungalow hoping to be free again, too.  It is THEY who have kept the virus going, rising up again like an angry Godzilla.  We could have had this disease under control over the past nine months of its presence in our midst, but those who politicized it made it their quest to prove that they are better than a microscopic bug, all the while that the bug was killing people by the hundreds and thousands every day.  And every day of my self-preserving solitude ticks off 24 more hours of the hours I have left in life, with or without the disease.  Yes, I could get hit by a bus crossing the street, but since I don't go anywhere, that isn't likely.  I can tolerate being alone for Thanksgiving.  Odds are that I will also be alone for Christmas for the first time in my life.  All I want is to see my daughter and family again.  Is that too much to ask?  

Those who are white-knuckling the holidays on the notion that all can be normal again next year are likely young enough to bank that there will be a next year for them.  I don't have that luxury.  As of December 27th, it will have been a year since I was able to be with my only daughter and her fantastic husband, and my only grandchildren.  That has never happened before.  They are as locked down as I am, but they are a band of four.  I have never disliked my singleness, but I do now.  My nightmare is, right in this moment as I type in this blog, is that I will get sick from whatever and die alone, with no one allowed to be with me.  

This isn't selfishness; this is reality.  Everyone who has refused to wear masks, have gone to "super-spreader" events, called people like me "snowflake" or "sheeple" have no clue how hard I have worked all my life to raise my child, sustain myself, and to give back to society.  Those people keep the virus going when it would have been so easy to comply with recommendations to help slow it down.  And now, I have "lost" nine months of my life that I can never get back, just trying to survive long enough to see my family again.

I am angry, hurt, resigned, and otherwise depressed about what is going on.  I hope it's worth it for those who want to pound on the Constitution about their rights.  The rest of us will lick our wounds and hope for the best.                              

Song "Learning"

 Today's little venture into how my mind works takes us to the little games we play to remember how to spell things. Or at least I do.  Let it be known that I have always been an excellent speller.  I was the one who always won classroom spelling bees.  (Yeah...I was THAT kid.)  Generally, I could see a word and remember it.  As I matured, I began to see common threads in spellings, through root words, etc., and that also helped.  Now, as I have hit old age, I sometimes can't even think of a word I'm trying to say, much less be able to spell it.  Often, I will look at a word I've spelled correctly all my life and suddenly decide it doesn't look right.  I can't begin to tell you how many common words I've had to look up just in the last few years.  I'm still a formidable speller.  

Just last week, I had occasion to correct the spelling of "license" to a former student of mine in a Facebook post.  I try not to be a Spelling Nazi, unless someone has misspelled a word while feigning superiority in an online meme or in a personal main post.  The young man (now pushing 40) was one of the latter posters.  He was showing off something he was proud of  and used the word "lisensce".  It seems that everyone knows the actual spelling has a "c" and an "s" in it--both pronounced with the "s" sound, but where do they go in the word?  When I was young, I tripped over it, too...until I noticed that "lice" were the first four letters.  The spelling of "license" is as pesky as head lice are in real life, so I remembered it that way.  Never had a problem since.  (And now, neither will David, or so he said.  I just hope I didn't embarrass him.)

I have heard it said dozens of times that the way to remember spellings and lists is to make a song out of them.  This does work.  In fact, many songs have already been done for us.  I heard the character of Sheldon on the TV show Big Bang Theory sing the Table of the Elements in one of the show's episodes.  In elementary school, we were expected to memorize the US Presidents in order, and the US states and their capitals.  Somewhere on the Internet, I'm quite sure songs of these lists already exist.  

How many American kids learned the alphabet by singing the ABC song?  (And, along with that, how many American adults have to run the song through their heads before being able to put things in alphabetical order?)   Here's a link to the song I'm talking about, although I'm quite sure the reference is not needed:         https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=75p-N9YKqNo

Know how I learned to spell "encyclopedia"?  Jiminy Cricket from the old Disney Mickey Mouse Club shows on TV.  Jiminy was featured in many little vignettes about how to find the answers to questions by looking in the encyclopedia--which, at that time, was a set of books.  (Now, of course, we have Google!)  I can still sing Jiminy Cricket's little encyclopedia jingle in my brain every time I go to spell the word--which isn't often these days.  Here is Jiminy:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cy2jWJtO3lE

Oh!  And how many Bible scripture passages do I know simply from singing the choral pieces of Handel's The Messiah over the course of my life??  I can't cite chapter and verse, but I sure know the text of so many.  "Worthy is the Lamb that was slain and hath redeemed us to God by His blood, etc."  "The trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, etc."  "Come unto Him, all ye that labor, and He shall give you rest, etc."   "And His name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Almighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace, etc."  I could go on and on...

Just last month, my sister and bro-in-law came to visit for a weekend.  At dinner on Sunday, we were passing the food and filling our plates when I simply said, "Praise God from whom all blessings flow".  My BIL followed with, "Praise Him all creatures here below".  I said, "Praise Him above ye heavenly host".  And he finished with "Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost".  How did we know that little ditty without communicating with each other?  A song!  The Doxology.

One more little comment about spelling.  I figured out many years ago that German words that are full of "ie" or "ei" combinations can be spelled if the pronunciation is correct.  Ein (one) is pronounced "ine".  The second letter in the "ei" or "ie" combination is sounded.  Happens over and over again.  Albert Einstein's name is pronounced "INE stine".  Everybody knows that, right?  Leonard Bernstein has been incorrectly called "BERN-steen" for years by people who don't get it.  Likewise with Oscar Hammerstein.  If you just know this little trick, and people are pronouncing the words correctly, you too can spell German words.  The hot dog you just ate is spelled "wiener".  Get it?

No need to evict me.  I'll let myself out.       

Supporting--Or Enabling?

 So many questions; so little time!

For several decades now, I've been having internal struggles about what comprises being supportive of others through tough times versus enabling them to continue to make the decisions that put them in those tough times initially.  Where is the dividing line between supporting and enabling?  This can happen in families as well as churches and national politics, and I still don't have a definitive answer.

As an example of this, I have a dear friend who is the chief cook at my church's Homeless Feeding Mission--not for the homeless of Plainfield, IN, where we all live, but for the homeless in Indianapolis.  This man is a political conservative, but he is also a Christian.  Understand that some homeless folk are simply down on their luck, but many also have untreated mental illness or alcohol/drug addictions.  Church members who go to the streets to serve them food know this but feed them anyway, against the wishes of government authorities.  The authorities think of the homeless as they think of stray dogs: if you feed them, they will stick around.  Bad for business.  Hard to deal with.  They hope that if they aren't helped with food from churches, they will seek out homeless shelters, etc.  What they fail to understand is that many shelters are faith-based.  They may require the homeless to attend church services in order to stay there.  Still others won't allow the homeless to bring their "stuff" in the shelter with them, leaving every little thing they own to be at risk for theft while they sleep on a cot for the night.  (Also, they have to be out of the shelter by 10:00 AM.  They can return the next night IF there is a bed available.  Shelters are not a home!)  Robbed of dignity or permanent help, many of the homeless prefer to stay on the streets.  This is totally against Conservative values...yet my friend considers it his Christian duty to help feed these people the one meal a week that my church provides.  So...is he supporting the homeless or enabling them to stay homeless?

I am a devoted student of Dr. Phil.  I watch every show faithfully and have learned much in the process.  He often has people on his show that are at war with their children whom they have enabled to be moochers.  They believe their adult kids would be living on the streets were it not for their support, and what kind of parents would they be to let their own bairn suffer??   Ninety-nine percent of the time, Dr. Phil is able to show the parents that they've been parenting out of guilt, compensating for some perceived failures on their part, and thus giving and giving and giving in order to make themselves feel better, without even thinking of the lessons they are teaching the kids.  He often quotes Ben Franklin's Poor Richard's Almanac, when he says, "Necessity is the mother of invention."  In other words, when adults are faced with few acceptable choices, they will find a way to be in the world.  Giving them money or a place to live won't stop their problems.  They need to figure things out for themselves.

I'm not a rich person, and that is probably merciful.  If I were, I would be enabling people all over the place.  Can't do what I can't afford, but I still struggle with the idea of helping vs. enabling.  In my family, in my church, and in the nation.  

While it kills me to only be able to "help" one person at a time, I am reminded of an interview that Oprah Winfrey had with Melinda Gates, wife of Bill Gates, with millions to give to make better lives, worldwide.  When an African mother begged Melinda to take her child so the child could have a life, Melinda said she had to turn the mother's attention to other sources for help.  Oprah asked, "How do you handle that kind of pressure?"  Mrs. Gates said, after much heartfelt reflection, "First, you have to let your heart break."

I have had to get tough with my heart to realize that I can't save the world, although I really wish I could.  I'm having to determine what is supportive and what is enabling.  I wish there were easy answers!  

    

     

Gracious Losing

 The Andy Griffith Show, one of my all-time favorites, had an episode in which Andy was lecturing his young son Opie about sportsmanship-like behavior.  Opie had lost a race that he had dearly wanted to win and was visibly angry about it.  Some other kid was wearing the medal that, in his mind, should rightfully have been his.  He refused to admit that someone else had beaten him, fair and square.  Andy had to get tough with Opie.  "Winning is no problem.  Winning is easy.  You don't have to do anything special to be a good winner, but not everyone can win.  Someone will have to lose, and if you are that person, you have to be gracious about it.  You don't have to be happy to lose, but you need to learn how to lose."  (I'm paraphrasing, but that was the message.)  

My own family had a lesson in winning and losing back in the late 1980s.  My then-husband lost his principalship in a small school district of three schools in a Trumpish political move by the Superintendent who endeavored to save his own skin by convincing the Board of Education that two of the three school principals needed to go.  (He didn't outlive us by much.)  We had been in that community for eight years, and my husband had been principal in one of the elementaries, then moved to the junior high, over the course of his employment there.  

Losing his position was a major blow to us as a family.  We were internally bitter but never spoke of it outside our home.  Still, we didn't want the public to see the reality of what had been done because...well...the School Board had made its decision, and it was final.  There should be no hint of sour grapes from us.  

With my husband's permission, I prepared an exit statement and took it to the local newspaper to print (or not) as they saw fit.  (Thankfully, no one in the local press had stuck a microphone in Joe's face asking for a reaction, as they do now.)  The statement was short and sweet.  It said something about moving on, and about how the students who had just graduated from the junior high had been kindergarteners when we came to the district...and what a joy it was to be there to watch them grow up.  

The newspaper did print the statement.  One of the members of the School Board was also a mover-and-shaker in our church, also related to a local judge.  I heard through the grapevine that the mother of that family showed the exit statement to her teenage children who had been through the school district with my husband as their principal and me as the church Youth Director and told them:  "THIS is how to lose gracefully.  THIS is how to leave with honor."  

I wish to God that the President of the United States had received this lesson.  The votes are still being counted...again...and Joe Biden is clearly the winner (although it is close).  Donald Trump is pulling out all the stops to try to change the election results--law suits, unsubstantiated claims of voter fraud--anything to hang on to an election he believes he deserves and is being stolen from him.  No matter the results, he will not leave with grace.  America prides itself on the smooth transition of power from one election to the next.  It AIN'T gonna happen this time.  Our great nation is still going to suffer from the wrath of a narcissistic man who can't/won't believe that the American vote--even with the awful Electoral College deal that put him in power in 2016--applies to him.  

I'm still too worried to be assured.  Donald Trump is and has been a dangerous person to have at the helm of a strong nation.  It's going to take every bit of strength to get through this.  At least I am a little bit hopeful that our long Trump Nightmare will soon be over, but it won't be pretty.

Stay tuned.

   

Halloween, 2020

Perhaps it was due to the mild weather on October 31st, or perhaps families were just weary of the pandemic restrictions, but there were quite a few more trick-or-treaters at my door this Halloween over last.   One other thing was different this year over all the others: I had company.  My sister and brother-in-law came for the weekend; thus, I had help for the candy distribution!

Everything else was the same.  I put the bat wreath on the door--the one with the motion sensor that laughs maniacally and flashes its red eyes every time something moves.  I put out my "Boo!" garden flag .  Plunked my court jester's hat on my head to hide my undone hair.  Put the big bowl of candy on the mantel by the door.  Turned out the outside light, and waited for the ghoulies and ghosties and three-leggedy beasties to darken my stoop.  And they did!

Plainfield, IN, where I live, sets t-or-t hours for 5:30-8:30.  Of course, it's not carved in stone, but I have found that families generally abide by those hours.  We get the youngest goblins during the earlier hours, when it's still daylight, and the older ones after dark.  This year, I don't think we had any door knockers after 8:00, and we didn't have any marauders that I would consider to be too old to be out working the neighborhoods.  (I give candy to everyone.  Even the parents if they appear at the door.)  

Because my "guests" and I were tag-teaming door duty, I didn't have as many opportunities to interact with the kids as I usually do.  (Trust me: I'm not complaining!)  Both my sister (Shari) and my bro-in-law (Jim) probably took more turns than I did.  I think Jim secretly enjoyed it.  As he was handing out candy, he was calling the children "honey" in a soft voice.  "There you go, Honey.  Are you having fun?  Be careful...etc."  What a natural grandpa he must be!  

When I took my turns at the door, I tried to guess costumes as I usually do.  This year, nothing struck me as too unusual except:

    *One pair of kids came to the door together.  I guessed that they were Harry Potter characters, and I was right...but they informed me that they were BOTH the same character: Hermione.  Ooookay.

    *Another child was wearing a red union-suit with black dots all over it.  I had to ask.  She informed me that she was a lady bug.  Okay.  Maybe a lady bug worm??

    *One little princess arrived at the door with no bag or bucket to put candy in.  I handed her two pieces of candy, one at a time...and she grabbed my hand to get it.  Ack!  I had to sanitize my hand...but she ran right out to her dad to put the candy in his backpack.  To each his own!

    *One of the older kids was wearing a set of black wings on her back that I didn't notice until she turned to leave.  Have no idea what her costume was, but I asked, "Are those real feathers?"  She didn't know.  I felt them.  They were black feathers glued to cardboard, but they were real.  Somewhere, there are a bunch of black birds missing their plumage! 

*One mom came to the door with a group of six kids or so.  Not sure they were all with her.  I gave candy to the first three, and she was okay with that, but when I went to give candy to her group of younger ones, she took the candy and said, "I'd like to distribute it, if it's okay."  Yeah...it's okay.  Better to give your kids things they can eat rather than have others give them things that they can't.  Kids don't get it.  You go, Mom! 

At 8:30, we turned off the porch light and slowly returned to normal, with candy left over (hence the reason that I always buy candy that I like).  We "seen our duty and we done it".  Another Halloween in the books.  

God bless the children.  God bless my guests. And may Heaven protect us all!