Sisterhood of the Silver Foxes

I have a new club to which I am a proud member.  Forget hair club for men.
What I have is a sisterhood of gray haired ladies.

It seems like since I've embraced my white hair (dear hubby calls it 'platinum'.  I think I'll keep him) I've had many random conversations with other white-haired gals I don't know. I've met 'sisters' in public restrooms and checkout lines. I even had a woman stop me outside a fancy mall during my LA visit.  And we all act as if we've known each other for years.

The opening conversation is always something about whether the color is natural.  Then how long we've worn it this way.

Then it gets down to what products we use. "Do you use the purple stuff?"

We look at each other knowingly and then walk on, knowing we aren't alone in this brave quest of letting the world see us as we really are.

That's scary.  It's been interesting and challenging to let go of the past (hair color) and embrace the future (me as I really am).  My whole attitude about myself and where I fit in has changed.

I kind of like it.

My point is that when we recognize something with whom we identify, it's okay to cut through the clutter of small talk and get to the important things (apparently there's a hair product for my crowning glory that will make it look EVEN BETTER at the beauty supply store).

You may be the founding member of your sisterhood.  Whatever it is, believe me, you aren't alone.  Think of all of the future sisters just waiting to find someone just like you.

California Dreaming

Hi Everyone!
I just got back from a week in California where the average temperature was 75-80 degrees.

Jealous?

Wow, I thought St. Louis drivers had a death wish.  Drivers in LA must do the 'bumper car' method of navigation: just keep going until you 'bump' into something.

Of course, that something could be a trash can, pedestrian, or another car.  It's all the same to them.

Fearless, that's what they are.  Or clueless.  Or just so self-absorbed and distracted they don't even know that their lives just passed before their eyes.

But I knew! It was amazing how many drivers tried to get into the same small place on the freeway.  Then I discovered that my braking foot was less cramped when I spent the ride either looking at the houses built high up or by staring at my knees.I cleaned my purse several times, too.  And checked my cell phone.

Don and I went to CA to visit dear daughter Kari and her hubby Gareth.  Plus our two grand-kitties.  We drove around locally in Sherman Oaks and went to the Santa Monica Pier.  There Kari and I watched both Don and Gareth take surfing lessons.  Poor Don was the oldest student on the beach and he worked so hard to keep up with everyone (personally, I thought he did great; I don't think I'd have even survived donning the wet suit...).

Of note was all the quality time I spent with my baby girl.  We shopped ourselves to death and I even tried on jeans (now THAT'S love!).  We talked and talked and caught up on life.  I bet we shopped everyday for at least 3 hours, more on other days.  Normally I would start whining about 2 hours into a shopping trip but this time I had the stamina of 10 men (or a mom with a preschooler).

It got me to thinking about situations we get ourselves into and how difficult the journey can be.  We feel isolated, exhausted and hopeless crawling through the challenges.  Sometimes even having 'encouragers' along doesn't help much, especially those who spout platitudes about how we need to trust and pray more.

But put us with someone who is meaningful in our lives, someone who knows us and is willing to travel with us and we can find that extra ounce of strength and courage to keep going. Those friends/relatives are few and far between but well worth hanging on to.  I hope you have such a person in your life.

Even to trying on jeans.

Indelible Words

Let's talk about tattoos.

In the 'olden days' only circus performers and military personnel got tattoos.

Now, it's rare that anyone over 18 is tattoo-free.  I find myself 'reading' people all the time; I figure if they went through all that discomfort to get the artwork done it's up to me to admire it.

But I can't imagine ever being committed enough to a design to have it permanently etched on my skin.  If I can't decide what earrings to wear with an outfit, I'm certainly not ready to pick out a tattoo.

However, many folks are more than eager to pick out something meaningful to carry with them the rest of their lives.  That's cool for them; I, on the other hand, am thankful I never got a picture of Donny Osmond inked onto my torso.

My computer recently displayed a photo that I can't get out of my mind.

The photo simply depicted a graceful woman's arm and hand, fingers apart. On the arm and hand was what looked like delicate lines of writing of some type.  The caption, paraphrased, said,
"Imagine if every word you spoke was tattooed on your skin."

It struck me that I was guilty of having a bad tattoo.  The words I speak at times are frivolous and meaningless, intended merely to take up space in a conversation.

Other times my words can be sarcastic or biting.  I would hate to have those words permanently displayed for the world to see.

But I also thought of the words I DIDN'T say- those words of comfort or encouragement.  The times I should have spoken about the Cross but I didn't.  I imagined blank patches of flesh unmarked by any words at all.

So my personal challenge is this:  I must be aware of my words, whether I say so many foolish things that the tattoo would have to be compressed and squished together so that they all fit in the area.

But I must also be mindful that not enough of the right kind of words can be a sterile slate.

Think about these things.

At the end of the day, do you want your indelible words to be beautiful or an embarrassment?

Ode to a Sister-in-Law

Ode to a Sister-in-Law

Oh, masterful sister-in-law!

Gracious hostess, provider of playing cards

And massive slabs of barbecued meat.

How can I describe your many talents oh

Thou rememberer of all things directional?

Thou fair includer of friends olde and newe

For playing games and telling stories, embarrassing

And non.

Sharer of refrigerator, camper, and picnic table.

How does one describe thy virtues, thou

Leader of overboard outhousing?

Thou guider of husband, however futile.

Thou listener of father-in-law, however eternal.

Thou director of sisters-in-law whose only desire is

To lighten your load and receive your praise?

We bless you and praise your name to the heights

As an anchor in the householde of Sir Ronald.

Let me ring out the words of our hearts.

You done good.

Is It Just Me?

Am I the only person who negotiates with Spider Solitaire?

I strut up to the computer keyboard with great confidence, arrogance really.

"(Wo)man over machine," I tell myself. This is kid's stuff.  I will blast that game- after I toy with it a little bit.

I start with Level 2.  No Level 1 since it's too simple for me.  

I click on the deck of cards displayed on the lower right side of the screen.  Not much comes up to work with but I still have plenty of turns left. I am still confident.

I click again.  I can make several moves and my over-inflated ego expands even more.

"Oh, yeah.  Watch out, here I come!"

I click again.  Several more moves but no king through aces of the same color go over to my side.

"Hmmmmm.  Okay.  I have two more moves. I can still win if I can make a suit on this next turn."

Nothing.  Well, yes, I can move the cards around a little but no matches.

Here's where the negotiation begins:

"All right.  I can still win if I'm very careful."

Click.  I'm stumped.  Again.

"I would be happy if I can make ONE suit.  Just one.  I won't be fussy."

Click.  I lose.

"Maybe I'll do better on the NEXT game."

So much for negotiation.  


p.s.  One night I played so badly and for so long that I actually looked around ON THE FLOOR to see if I'd dropped any cards!

Vacation Excitement

Nothing is more eagerly anticipated than a vacation.

It stirs up thoughts of freedom and rest.  Or of  fun and excitement.

Some folks I know think waay ahead and shop for a new wardrobe.  They begin packing early.

Then there's me.

I kinda sorta know what I think I maybe will need.  Then I make lists that I promptly lose.

I know where I'm going most of the time but the other details remain fuzzy.

To me, if too much is planned it can't be much of a vacation.

Which always leads me to the mecca of all vacation spots:

Wal-Mart.

For some reason, Wal-Mart looms large in terms of vacation planning.  Although I can go to my local store 24/7 any day any time of the year it seems to hold more promise when vacation comes around.

I look around with the expectation that whatever is around the next aisle is the ONE THING I need to make this trip perfect.  New flerp flerps?  Of course! Little canvas bags and sun umbrellas and weird plastic plates and cups?  How could I have ever lived without them before this?

The place even smells exciting.  Now that one I can't explain.

Buying the disposable paper plates and wet wipes, the sunblock, floppy hat and magazine (that I'll save for the trip, of course) makes me unreasonably happy.

Perhaps it's simply the idea of fun and relaxation on a long awaited journey that makes Wal-Mart such an oasis. Even stepping into an out-of-town Wal-Mart implies that something cool is just around the corner.

Of course, when vacation is over for another year, Wal-Mart turns back into a pumpkin.  The lipgloss is just gooey stuff and beach towels are just towels.

But for that brief moment in time it signifies escape and freedom and fun.

And they even greet you at the door.

Celebration of Life...And Death

The month of May has been challenging to say the least.
(And the 'least' I say the better, right?)

Early in May my family had the privilege of hosting/attending the 90th birthday of my Dad.  It was fun to do, especially since my sister-in-law Sally did most of the work while the rest of us did whatever she wanted us to do.

For once.

Anyway, that gathering was a great blessing to me, as it brought many friends, family, and associates together to honor my Dad and let him know how he had influenced them over the years.

It was a blessing too because I was able to work alongside my siblings in a way we rarely-if ever-get to do.
I was able to witness what other families see as commonplace- everyone working together for a common goal.

I knew my Dad had gained many friends over the years.  But to hear them share their pleasure at being included in this celebration really showed me that I'm in a pretty cool family. It was a joyful experience.

The following week I was notified of the death of a dear church lady.  This widow lady was someone I would call a 'delightful disaster.'  Ruth was the smartest, sweetest, most clueless person I ever met.  Everyone who knew her would just smile, shake their heads and say, "Bless her heart."

My most memorable experience with Ruth was the time she asked me to go with her to her late husband's graveside.  Once we got there she pulled her ukelele out of it's battered case, sat down on the grave and began playing and singing, 'Won't You Come Home Bill Bailey?"  It felt weird; but not much really felt weird around Ruth.

Ruth never met an animal she didn't love; she had nicknames and endearments for everyone's pets and remembered their names.  Interestingly, one of her requests for those attending her viewing or funeral was to bring their pet.  As I stood beside her casket I thought it was somehow fitting that my dog Teddy was there too.

As I left the funeral home that evening, I was struck by how similar yet different these two life events were.

One, my Dad's birthday, was celebrating his long life and the gathering of dear friends.

The other, Ruth's funeral, was also a celebration. I couldn't help but celebrate that Ruth was finally reunited with her husband Don and her son Joe there in Heaven.  I thought about how we had honored someone's life so far and celebrated where someone else's life is headed.

I'm so happy for my Dad.  I hope he understands how much he is loved (and sometimes simply tolerated!) by his friends, family, and golfing buddies.  Not many folks get the chance to experience so many healthy years with such good people.

But I'm especially happy for Ruth.  We had our differences to be sure.  But I can just picture her in Heaven, sitting at Jesus' feet, greeting (by name) every dog-cat-parakeet-bunny-guinea pig that she had ever loved while on earth. I wouldn't be surprised if God put her in charge of the Celestial Zoo and Kennel.

Now THAT would be heaven for her.

Rubbing It In

I am not a gracious winner.

Since grade school I, like most of you, was taught to be a gracious loser.  As if we needed training to handle something rare.

We're supposed to shake our opponent's hand and say such lame things as
"Good game"
"Nice job"
"Great catch"

when we REALLY mean

"You jerk"
"You cheated"
"I was better than you."

The winner then is expected to humbly bow their head, scuff up the dirt with their dusty tennis shoe and mumble

"Aw shucks, it ain't nuthin.'"

Well, let me tell you what I do:

I rub it in.

When I win I celebrate my victory like it was Wimbleton.  The World Series. The Oscars.

I gloat, I poke, I do my dance of joy.

When it's in a conversation against someone and my side wins I insist the loser repeat "You were right"
until I'm satisfied. Sometimes it takes all day...

I stop at having them put it on Facebook but I'm seriously thinking about it.

So what if I'm not gracious?

It ain't nuthin.'

Understanding the Grief of Others

We really can't understand what we haven't experienced.

Or, more honestly, we'd like to understand it WITHOUT having experienced it.

I'd love to nod and give perfect wisdom to dear friends who experience pain and grief.

And it's so easy to give advice to someone who is indescribably burdened.  We quote verses and tell them to trust God.  We say 'This too shall pass."  And we go home.

Admittedly, it's very difficult for me to walk alongside someone who needs me in a crisis. Sometimes I want to cut and run.

I grieve as I watch friends and other loved ones suffer.  I want to get into the mix and fix it.

I want to hire a ninja.

But since I can't, all I can do is BE with the sufferer.  Not to say things or to heal anyone.  Just to be a calm/protecting presence in the crisis.

Only then can we begin to understand the grief of others.

You Have GOT To Be Kidding!

My sense of humor is often twisted.

Now quit rolling your eyes they might stick that way.

I think it's funny to be slightly inappropriate when it's least expected.  I have too many examples to name (perhaps those of you who know me would like to share...).

But even I have my limits.

Okay, admittedly I have very few limits but this is one of them.

White Castle scented candles.

Yes.

The bane of women and teenage-girls-on-dates everywhere White Castle.

Of course, I don't know if it's pre-eaten White Castle or post-eaten White Castle; either one strikes fear into my heart.

I have a 'no White Castles in my office' rule at work.  Seriously.  That room is just too small.

I have actually watched couples FIGHT over whether hubby should stop there on the way home. Or if he already had.

Anyway, I see(smell?) trouble looming.   I wonder if this is the beginning of the end for mankind. Instead of mace or pepper spray in our desk drawers or purses we have to carry portable febreeze.

Or we could propose a ban on matches.  After all, White Castle scented candles don't kill people- but lighting them might.

checking In

Hey Folks.

Just checking in to check to see if you've been checking up on me.

Check?

Check.

It's been a busy year so far although I can't tell you what has kept me so busy.  From talking to other people I don't seem to be the only person to experience this.

I've even taken to writing down in my day planner what I actually did that day.

 Apparently I'm a pretty busy gal.

This is when I'm supposed to talk to you about mindfulness; that being the habit of noticing and making sure you experience every moment of your life, making sure you appreciate and savor it all.

I realized not too long ago that most of us focus more on what's NEXT rather than what's NOW.  What we have to DO rather than what we're DOING.

It's time to stop and smell the roses, I think.  What good is life when it becomes a check list rather than an experience?

So I'm checking out right now to check in with my dear hubby and check out in front of the tv.

Check?

Check.

Be Careful What You Wish For

When the new year began I decided I was tired of the 'somedays' of my life.

SOMEDAY I'm going to keep all my lunch meeting promises with friends.

SOMEDAY I'm going to take my dog for more walks.

SOMEDAY I'll take MYSELF for more walks!

SOMEDAY I'll start planning to accomplish a few things on my bucket list.


So in my fervor to accomplish something I asked hubby Don to go away for a weekend so I can finally concentrate on writing my new book.  He was willing and I felt satisfied.

His weekend visit is now a weeklong trip to Florida to visit his family (I'm glad cuz his family is important).

But now I'm faced with the reality of doing what I set out to do- write my new book.

The 'what if's' that strike us all is in my face with a vengeance.

WHAT IF I can't express what I want to say?

WHAT IF I have writer's block?

WHAT IF I sound like every other Christian writer out there?

WHAT IF it is too long or too short when I'm done?

WHAT IF I have a stroke of genius and I get accused of plagiarism?

At any rate, I can rest in the fact that I'm not expected to produce a masterpiece with my first draft.

That's a comfort.

It's just that this next work is way deeper than my first one, "Lord, Shut Me Up!"  I'm already opening up some of my own pain and hurts from my past.  That's risky. Plus, um, it hurts.

So as I pray and write and pray some more, I have to admit that risk is risky and sometimes we have to be careful what we wish for.

We just might get it.

Wanderings and Ponderings

I've always known I don't think like other folks.  And other folks who think wonder what I'm thinking.

So here's what I think I've been thinking lately.

I've been visiting Pinterest quite a bit.  I love that it's like shopping without dragging a bored husband along.  It's like collecting magazine articles and photos without scissors (and I'm dangerous with scissors).

Such a variety of ideas and interests!  My collection of pins seems to be comprised mostly of rude comments and cute animals.

Culling through the assortment of available pins I often wonder how that photo was taken.  Where were they, how did they do it?  Some of my questions include the phrase, "Why bother?"  Oh, and/or "Who cares?" Let's not forget the classic "What IS it?"

But what has caught my attention lately are the cutesy pictures of the awwwwdorable baby photos.  Now I like baby pictures as much as anyone- not really- I only think MY babies were adorable.  All the others are simply tolerable.

So what I'm wondering lately is who ever thought to stuff sleeping babies in flowerpots and mailboxes?  What creative genius thought putting naked sleeping babies on flower petals was a good idea?  Is that legal?

And where did they find the babies?  Did they send out a request to talent agencies looking for naked sleeping newborns?  Cute naked sleeping newborns.  Cute naked sleeping newborns who could look even cuter wearing little angel wings and bumblebee costumes.

Or did the photographers sneak into hospital nurseries in the middle of the night, pick out the adorable one with the little headband on who just happened to be sleeping resting his/her little head in his/her cute little hand?

I worry about things like this!

In 20 years or so I can just picture a new client sitting in my office with this issue:

"It all began when I was a newborn..."