Posts Categorized: Faithfulness

Autumn Update

The first time I handed out apples for Halloween, was, I think, the year before Jeremy was born. David was taking Kevin around to family and friends, and I was home with the porch light on and apples in a bowl. Most kids seemed happy about the apples, but not one. He knocked on the door and I opened it and held out my bowl of apples. He looked down at it and said, a little angrily, “Apples! I don’t want an apple!”

“Well, that’s all I’ve got,” I said. And he turned around and stalked back down the sidewalk to his dad, who was waiting at the curb.

What did you say to her?!?!” Dad yelped. And I shut the door with a bit of a smile. Halloween is a nice time to learn manners and appropriate behavior.  And I’ve persevered.

This year, I bought four bags of apples for Trick-or-Treaters. I emptied three of the bags into a basket to take to the door. I didn’t count the apples, but it seems like I maybe gave out about one-and-a-half bags worth.

The weather forecast was dreary, but the rain had fallen late in the afternoon, and by time kids came, things were just damp. I think our house might have been the only one on our block with the porch light on.

A group of three or four came early, and then there was quite a lull. But, later, there were several doorbell rings and small groups of children, all ages, and all dressed up.

I’m still a little amazed that most kids think that apples are a cool thing to get for Halloween (and I’m determined to be the lone voice of reason in a sea of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups–which I would eat six of every day, if I was allowed that sort of thing–the Reese’s, not apples).

One little fellow, the smallest of his group, the ‘way smallest of any group, stood solidly by the door as his companions reached, one by one, into the basket for their apples. For every apple they put in their bag, he put another apple in his little plastic pumpkin, saying, rather zombie-like, “Apple! Apple! Apple! ” with every one. I finally stopped him, because I was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to get safely down the steps without falling over sideways from the significant weight of his apple-filled pumpkin.

Lots of apples remain, which is not as much fun as an apple basket full of Butterfingers, but better to have around. We may need to make applesauce in Sunday School.

Meanwhile, the fall plant report.

As long as the earth remains,
there will be planting
    and harvest,
    cold and heat;
winter and summer,
    day and night.

Genesis 8:22 (Contemporary English Version)

 

 

And, I suppose, squirrels.

 

We the Jury . . .

I got this jury notice. I don’t even remember when it came, but I was supposed to report last Monday.

The card always says to call their recording after 5:30 on the Friday before report time, to see if we actually have to report. I called. We had to.

My jury duty history has been rather spotty. When Kevin was a toddler, I got a summons, and there’s an exemption if you have a child at home with no one else to care for him. So I circled that one and sent it back. Then we moved to Lubbock for a year. Then we lived in a rental house for a couple of years. Then we moved into the house we bought. So, I’d forgotten about juries. I guess they lost track of me, as my address kept changing, and, I guess, those cards kept getting returned.

Then, once, when neighbors were out of town and we were getting their mail for them, our mail got mixed up with theirs, I completely overlooked a jury notice. When I found it, I was panic-stricken (thinking they might arrest me or something). I called frantically. Turns out, it was one of those days when the prospective jurors actually didn’t have to report.

Then, 1991, I had to go. And I actually got picked to be on the jury. And I actually served, start to finish, for the only time ever. It was a Workman’s Comp case, and, we the jury, did not think the guy was owed any more money.

I did get picked another time. It took so long that they sent us off for lunch before the trial began. When we got back, and were sitting in the jury room, someone, I guess one of the prosecutors, came in and said that, while we were at lunch, the case had been settled. He assured us that our presence had not been for naught. Our being there and having the jury chosen and the case ready to be presented, made whomever was on trial decide that maybe that deal that had been offered wasn’t so bad after all. He said that our willingness to be part of the judicial process helped the case get resolved. And thanks. And our checks would be in the mail. ($7.50, I think.)

Once, I got a summons and showed up for a case that involved a drunk driver. Oh boy, I thought. I am going to fry this guy. But then the lawyers began to talk about being unbiased and listening carefully to all the testimony and making a good and honest decision, and I felt bad and resolved to be a good juror. And then they asked if anyone was a non-drinker, and I raised my hand and that was that.

Then, more recently, I had a summons. They come a few weeks before jurors have to report. I forgot about it. I felt really bad about it. And really anxious about it.

A few months ago, one Monday morning, so few potential jurors showed up that there barely were enough people to handle the week’s court cases. Needless to say, the judge was FURIOUS!! This was after I’d neglected to show up, but, I’m being more careful and attentive now.

So, I showed up. But I wasn’t quite as anxious as I’d been when I first got the thing. For those of you who haven’t kept up with local legal events here, the first Twin Peaks shooting case has begun. The ladies who were sitting on either side of me in the potential juror room, and I, were all grateful that that’s not the case we’d be hearing. (It started a couple of weeks ago. The shooting happened two-and-a-half years ago.)

So, quite a few people who felt they had legitimate exemptions went up and talked to the judge. Most of them got to leave. Then, they called the names of 60 folks, and told them to leave but to return on Tuesday morning. Then, they called the name of 62 more people (including me), and also said to come back on Tuesday.

I went back on Tuesday. And this time, not to the juror room in the Annex building, but right up to the third floor of the courthouse. At 9:00. I didn’t want to be at all late, and I wanted to be sure I could find parking (which isn’t all that hard, after all), so I arrived at about 8:15. But, I brought some work to do. At around 9:15, I got up and walked around a bit. Actually, around and around and around the big open space that looks down on the rotunda. I stopped and talked to a friend I haven’t seen in many years. And talked. And talked. Finally, at 10:15 or so, they opened the doors and called us, by name, to enter the courtroom. They lined us up on the benches, six per row, all going in in the order in which they had called us. That took a few minutes.

Then, the judge said, “We’re sorry we had to keep you out there so long. And we’re sorry that we couldn’t tell you anything. But if we started talking to you about what was going on in here, then it would have undermined the whole process.” There were several cases on the docket, and all of them got resolved with pleas and deals. And we were done.

And again, the judge was sober and serious about the fact that our showing up and our being ready to be part of a jury had made the process work. Cases were resolved.

I looked at my watch and thought, “Hmmm. I can actually get over to West Avenue Elementary School in time for the Reading Club time that I thought I was going to miss.”

Everything you were taught can be put into a few words:

Respect and obey God!
This is what life
    is all about.
God will judge
    everything we do,
even what is done in secret,
    whether good or bad.

Ecclesiastes 12: 13, 14 (Contemporary English Version)

I guess if God’s doing the judging, a jury of my peers might not be all that reliable. They might have a bias.

 

 

 

Bag Lady

I wonder if that what’s the employees at the grocery store and Wal-Mart and Target say (or just think) about me. Because I am a bag lady.

Whenever I go to those places, I almost always have a bag full of bags slung over my shoulder. And I’m a little surprised that more shoppers don’t.

My parents, and generations before them, used up, reused, and recycled (before it was a thing). They save used envelopes for list-making and note-taking. They kept wrapping paper from gifts, ironed out the creases, and re-wrapped and re-wrapped gifts. They kept all their leftovers and ate them all up in subsequent meals.

And then things became disposable, not-worth-the-effort-to-keep, and groceries went home in those flimsy plastic bags instead of the nice brown paper, stands-up-by-itself bags. If those brown paper bags got blown away in the wind, they just ended up stuck behind some garage or in some ditch, where they got sunshined on and rained on, after which they deteriorated and became mulch and enriched the earth. And when those flimsy plastic bags got blown away by the wind, they got stuck high up in tree branches where they are to this day.

So. I try to do my part. We recycle the cans and the bottles and the plastic and the paper, and sometimes our blue recycle bin is filled to the brim on recycle pick-up day.

And I take my bags to the stores.

Target has a variety of sizes and weights of reusable bags. They are pretty and red and useful. I’ve purchased several. One of my favorites was a bag that folded up and there was a zipper that held the whole thing closed. It disappeared. I think that maybe it was on the edge of the car’s seat and may have fallen out, unnoticed, when I opened the door. But then, they made another kind, similar, but it had a Velcro fastener that kept it all together.

 

I love this Target bag. It’s canvas and big and heavy-duty; holds a lot. Typically, I’d put all my other, smaller Target bags in it and go off shopping to Target. See this bag? This bag from the inside? It’s empty. It’s empty because it’s a brand-new bag, and it’s the only Target bag I have now. I think what must have happened, because I have searched and searched the house, the car, the house and car again. And again. No bags. I must have gone to Target, with the bags, down in my cart, didn’t find what I was looking for, and, without thinking, put my cart back at the front of the store, and left. After several days, of looking and wondering, befuddled, and finally thinking that maybe I knew what happened, I went to Target to check the lost and found. No luck. No luck at all. And, after shopping that day, I was checking out and saw, behind my checker, the nice canvas bags. “I’ll take one of those,” I said. I’m starting over.

 

Let the heavens rejoice, and let the earth be glad; let the sea roar, and the fulness thereof.

Let the field be joyful, and all that is therein: then shall all the trees of the wood rejoice

Psalm 96:11-12 (King James Version)

Let’s hear it from Sky,
With Earth joining in,
And a huge round of applause from Sea.

Let Wilderness turn cartwheels,
Animals, come dance,
Put every tree of the forest in the choir—

Psalm 96:11-12 (The Messge)

Once, when I was checking out at Wal-Mart, but using my HEB grocery store bags, the Wal-Mart checker sort of took me to task. “You’re bringing those HEB bags here to Wal-Mart,” she asked, sort of skeptically. “Really,” I said. “Here I am, with my HEB bags, but I’m shopping at Wal-Mart, instead. You’d think that the Wal-Mart people would be overjoyed.” Nobody at Wal-Mart has ever again said anything to me about it. And me, I’m just trying to do my part to keep the sky, the earth, the sea, and the trees all singing their happy songs!

 

 

…By Any Other Name Would Smell as Sweet

Possibly there are folks out there who don’t recognize this partial quote. (The title of this post) It’s Shakespeare, from the play Romeo and Juliet. The longer quote is:
“What’s in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;”

The speaker is Juliet, and she’s unhappy that the young man with whom she’s recently fallen in love is from a family on the outs with her family. Her point being that his last name doesn’t matter; she loves him anyhow, in the way that the scent of a rose is going to smell just as nice, even if we called it, for example, “stench-plant.”

The name “Romeo” has come to mean a lover, a ladies’ man, etc. (you can look it up). I don’t know what Shakespeare meant by it; maybe it was just a common name in those days.

But … moving on. A while back, I kept reading in the newspaper’s television page about the program TURN, the story of George Washington’s spy ring during the Revolutionary War. Like: “Tonight on TURN, the spy ring finds a new ally.” That sort of thing. Finally, during season 4 (the final season), I got interested and discovered that the library had DVDs of the first three seasons. (Yes, I know. We’re archaic. My kids think we’re ridiculous because we don’t have Hulu.) I watched all those videos and then watched the fourth season on the AMC website.

Then I found, also at the library (how old-fashioned am I!), an audiobook edition of the book Valiant Ambition: George Washington, Benedict Arnold, and the Fate of the American Revolution. I’m listening to it. All 13 hours and 19 minutes of it. I’m a little more than halfway through it, but sometimes I have to go back and start a chapter anew. When I’m listening to an audiobook, I’m almost always doing something else, like working in the yard or doing housework, and, at some point, I realize that I’ve been thinking about herbs and not paying attention to patriots, and I have to skip backwards a little bit. And, for this one, a book of Revolutionary War maps would have helped. And a complete list of all the characters. And which side they were on.

Which brings me to Benedict Arnold. The only thing I knew, and pretty much still know, about Benedict Arnold is that he was a traitor during the American Revolution. I think that may be all that most of us know. And some of us probably don’t know that much. But the name means “traitor.” As in: “That which we call Benedict Arnold, by any other name would still be a traitor.” Even knowing more about him and the positive things he did during the Revolutionary War (before he changed his mind about us), he’s still famous/infamous for trying to sell us down the river, almost literally, and would have, if the plot hadn’t been discovered. And the British guy he was working most closely with, John Andre, got captured and hanged. Arnold slipped away and got himself to a British ship and fought with those guys until the end of the war. And then, afterward, in England, tried to stir up things anew! Give it up, Ben!

It’s interesting, at least to me, maybe you, too, that there are names out there, that, when bestowed at birth may just have been names that parents liked, but they’ve come to mean something that no one might have imagined. Like Benedict Arnold. Like Adolph Hitler. Like Benito Mussolini. Like Josef Stalin. Like Caligula.

And there were other names, that have come to mean something that the name-givers (or name-takers) might not have expected. Or, maybe they thought, all the time, that those named would become so significant. Like Mother Teresa. Mohandas Gandhi. Martin Luther. Marie Curie. Johann Sebastian Bach. Alexander Graham Bell. Anne Frank. Francis I.

A good name is more desirable than great riches; to be esteemed is better than silver or gold. (New International Version)

A good reputation and respect are worth much more than silver and gold. (Contemporary English Version)

Proverbs 22:1

 

I guess “a good reputation” is what scripture means by “a good name.” Our actions, our behavior, and our attitudes, are what make our “names” good.

 

 

Oh, My Aching Back!!

I thought I had sciatica. A sharp pain ran across my left hip, down the back of my thigh, and on through my calf. I tried thinking that it would disappear on it’s own. It didn’t. Walking didn’t help. My regular routine at Curves didn’t do anything to alleviate the irritation. It wouldn’t go away.

The pain wasn’t severe. At night, in bed, I could always arrange my leg so that the discomfort diminished; I could sleep. I could do what I needed to do. I just was uncomfortable all the time.

The physical therapy place is right by Providence Hospital. Apparently, there is no nice photo anywhere online.

The physical therapy place is right by Providence Hospital. Apparently, there is no nice photo anywhere online.

At my regular checkup, my doctor showed me an exercise that might help and, more importantly, she said she would send me to physical therapy a couple of times. A few days later, therapy phoned and set up an appointment. Therapist Richard did a thorough exam, identified the problem (probably a bulging disc), and explained everything. He gave me a brochure with guidelines for a healthy back, and sent me to the secretary who set up eighteen appointments–three a week for the next six weeks.

The next visit, Richard led me through a few exercises and reviewed the changes I was making at home: how I got in and out of the car, how to lift things properly, and how I should squat instead of bending over to retrieve things I dropped on the floor. I never realized how often I do drop stuff on the floor until I had to squat to pick them up.

A spine with it's hip bones attached

A spine with it’s hip bones attached

In the therapy suite, there are numerous models of various bones and sets of bones. Richard brought over a spine for me to examine.

“If we can stretch out the vertebrae,” he explained, tugging on the lower part of the spine.

“It will give that bulging disc an opportunity to slip back into its place. That will relieve the pressure on it, and make the pain go away.”

He furrowed his brows a little and, with a bit of a question in his voice, suggested we try “mechanical lumbar traction.”

“Fine,” I said. “I want to get better.” He led me to a small room off the physical therapy gym, and we stood together in front of a exam table.

“This belt,” he said, pointing to a wide vinyl strap, “will go around your abdomen. It attaches to the top of the table. This one,” he said, showing me another strap, “will go around your hips. It attaches to this machine.” He pointed to a blinking box at the other end of the table. I looked at him soberly.

“Richard,” I said, solemnly. “This is a rack.”

“Well,” he admitted, “sort of.” And he strapped me in.


Richard explained that the machine would tug for 40 seconds, then relax for 40 seconds. It would repeat that cycle for 20 minutes. He handed me a call button. “You can press this at any time, and it will stop the machine,” he said. “In case it gets unbearable.”

“Is it going to be unbearable?!?” I asked, a little alarmed.

“Well,” he said, “some people feel a little claustrophobic. Sometimes.”

“Ah.”

With that, he walked to the door, switched off the light, and pulled the door closed.

The machine gently tugged for 40 seconds, then rested for 40 seconds. Tugged for 40; rested for 40. I snoozed.

Twenty minutes pass pretty quickly when you’re napping.

Next session, I was ready. I had ear buds and an audio book to listen to while I was mechanically lumbar-tractioned. I loved it. How many times does someone say, “Lie down. Relax. Stay right here for twenty minutes.”

It was certainly my most favorite part of therapy. Besides the rack, I spent time on the squat machine, strengthening my thigh muscles. Numerous exercises, machines, and routines were designed to strengthen my “core,” so my abs would hold me up straight and keep my back strong.

Sometimes, Richard would have me lie down on a large platform, on a pad, and say, “Just for fun . . . .” and then explain some wildly difficult and goofy exercise.

“Richard,” I would reply, “your ideas of fun and my ideas of fun are are as far apart as the East is from the West.”

One such exercise involved my lying, face up, on a long dense foam cylinder, about 6 inches in diameter, that ran from my neck to my hips. With my arms above my head and my feet on the mat, knees up, just balancing on the thing required all my concentration. Then he said, “Just for fun,” (not from where I’m lying, Richard!) “raise your right knee and bring you left hand down to touch it. Then, do that with your left knee and right arm.” As I worked with intense diligence to perform this maneuver, my arms and legs flailed about, and I often rolled right off that thing. I’ve looked online, through several sites that show how to use a foam roller for strengthening and for physical therapy. Out of all of them, only one suggested lying on the thing with it along one’s spine. And they were NOT lifting their legs from the mat.

“Do you ever film patients in therapy,” I asked.

“Sometimes,” Richard said.

“And then do you guys get together at parties and show them to each other and laugh at us.”

“Of course not,” he said, bristling. Hmmm. Maybe I believe him.

Anyway, I needed ten weeks of therapy in all. But I got stronger and the pain disappeared. I do my exercises regularly, and I try to remember to put bags and boxes and my purse on a chair or a counter or a shelf. Then I don’t have to squat down to pick them up again. I’m working on not dropping so much stuff on the floor. And I got a treadmill for walking, which is the best thing for spine health.

For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.

Psalm 139:13-14 (New International Version )

So Long, Old Friend

I’m about to have to say goodbye to an old and dear resident of my closet. (No, not some living thing. Some fabric thing.)

The McCart Family Thrift Store. It's amazing.

The McCart Family Thrift Store. It’s amazing.

Several years ago, I was in Fort Worth, visiting Kevin and April, along with my sister and niece. JoAnne and Natalie were wanting to do some shopping for Patrick’s (the middle child) wedding. JoAnne didn’t find anything (despite April’s strong encouragement to purchase a pair of bright pink cowgirl boots). Natalie did find a nice sundress with a pink and peach floral pattern on it, in the colors of the wedding. The place April had taken us to was a huge, well-organized, clean, and well-stocked consignment store. McCart’s Family Thrift Store. We all did a bit of shopping, and, as I looked through clothing, I made a wonderful find! Denim overall shorts! Giant-sized! They looked perfect for working in the yard and around the house when I was doing messy things, like painting. It was in good shape; I don’t recall what I paid for it, but whatever it was, I’ve gotten great wear from it.

Recently, though, it’s begun to show just how much work it’s done over the past few years. And, it’s beginning to have holes so large that it might be becoming inappropriate for me to wear in public (even if that “public” is in my backyard).

So, I went to the place where I do most of my where-can-I-find-that shopping: Amazon. I asked for “Cherokee (the brand of my old overalls) short denim overalls.” Looks like the Cherokee people do not make short denim overalls any more; nothing matching what I had been wearing for several years came up. So, I tried asking for “denim overall shorts.”

 

I ordered them. Not the largest size, which was 4X. That seemed overzealous. But I did order the 2X. I’m not going for looks. I’m going for comfort, and plenty of space so that I can put my gardening gloves in a pocket and a pair of small pruners in another pocket and my phone in a pocket and my glasses in a pocket. And a couple of shirts underneath the overalls, if it’s a little chilly out. I just want lots of room.

And, news from the front yard …

 

She considers a field and buys it;
    with the fruit of her hands she plants a vineyard.
She girds herself with strength,
    and makes her arms strong.

Proverbs 31:15-17 (New Revised Standard Version)

Okay. It’s not quite a vineyard. It’s an herb garden. And a thyme garden. And a shady place with a garden bench. But my arms are strong enough to transfer a big bag of mulch or topsoil from the car’s trunk to a wheelbarrow, and to cart that bag to the backyard. And spread that mulch or topsoil where it needs to be. While wearing my overalls.

What Definition of “Great” Are You Using?

Earlier this week, I watched three episodes of American Experience on PBS, about America’s involvement in World War I. I never knew much about the war; I guess we never got that far in World History (in something the same way that we never got much beyond the Civil War in American History, or much beyond the Alamo in Texas History). Starting in 2014, as the centennial mark of the beginning of the war meant that there was more attention to it, I tried to become more informed, which just lead to lots of weeping. But, I started with:

Also, I knew that my paternal grandfather served in France in WWI. My maternal grandfather, by time America got involved and established a draft, had four daughters, including a young infant, so most likely draft-exempt.

 

Leroy Goodwin began his service on October 2, 1917, and was part of the American Expeditionary Forces, from June 1918 ’til January 1919, with an Honorable Discharge on February 15, 1919. Armistice Day for WWI was November 11, 1918. I know absolutely nothing else about his military service.

Except that he had some time to shop, probably in those weeks between Armistice Day and when he came back home.

My grandmother in the center. From the left: her brother, Frank, her Army son (Ozero, my Dad), Grandma, her Navy sons (C.L. and Joe)--they all came home alive

My grandmother in the center. From the left: her brother, Frank, her Army son (Ozero, my Dad), Grandma, her Navy sons (C.L. and Joe)–they all came home alive

 

My dad’s older brother C. L. enlisted in the Navy right after the Pearl Harbor attack. Their younger brother, Joe, wanted to, but had to wait until he was a little bit older. My Dad was in college at Ohio State, and wanted to finish school. But, he got drafted into the Army. He ended up stationed in Texas, where he met my mother. He was part of the occupation army in Japan, after the war ended. He did finish school, but instead of Ohio State, it was at Baylor in Waco, where he and my mother lived happily ever after.

David’s dad was a medic in WWII, in Belgium and Luxembourg. His brother was an army man, too.

 

 

 

 

 

I looked at maps, to try to see how WWI affected Europe.

Also, I found this: 40 maps that explain WWI. When I have some time, I think it will help explain things, too. But, I will not have time now. Peter’s coming!

 

After this I heard what seemed to be the loud voice of a great multitude in heaven, saying,

“Hallelujah! Salvation and glory and power to our God, (New Revised Standard Version)

και μετα ταυτα ηκουσα φωνην οχλου πολλου μεγαλην εν τω ουρανω λεγοντος αλληλουια η σωτηρια και η δοξα και η τιμη και η δυναμις κυριω τω θεω ημων (1550 Stephanus New Testament [Greek])

יט לאחר מכן שמעתי קול אדיר שנשמע כקול המוני אנשים בשמים: “הללויה! הודו לה’! הישועה, הכבוד (Hebrew)

Afta da big angel guy wen talk, jalike one dream, I wen hear one big noise dat wen sound like get plenny peopo inside da sky. Dey singing,

“God, he da greates! Hallelujah! He take us outa da bad kine stuff we stay in! He da awesome One! An he da One dat get plenny power! (Hawai’i Pidgin)

  После этого я услышал голос, звучащий, как голос огромного множества людей. Они восклицали в небесах:

– Аллилуйя!
    Спасение, слава и сила у нашего Бога (Russian)

Revelation 19:1

No matter how you say it, it’s Hallelujah! Our God reigns.

I Was Lulled into Inaction . . .

. . . by the previous two winters. They were mild. And, whenever there was a threat of freezing temperatures, all the plants were just fine. It’s always warmer in my backyard than it is at the airport, ‘way out of town. So, this past December (I think it was), when low temps were forecast, I was an unbeliever. Oh, they’ll be fine I said to myself. And, the big cold front that was supposed to blow in after sundown, blew in a few hours earlier, and I went out and got a cute bougainvillea that I really liked. And I moved other stuff closer to the house, which has worked in the past. Then I came in, too chilled by the earlier-than-expected temperature drop to do much else.

And I lost most everything.

But, there’s some good news!

 

 The flowers are unfolding in the fields;
        the birds are warming up their songs,
 The cooing of the turtledove
        is heard throughout the land.

Song of Solomon 2:12 (The Voice)

 

 

IMG_3068This photo, and I am so not making it up, is a picture that my phone took of the inside of my overalls’ bib pocket. Really. I was working outside and heard the click of a photo being taken. I looked down and saw that the smooth side of a snap, on the inside of the pocket, was right in line with the shutter button on the phone (which was facing forward but upside down). So, there you go. The machines are beginning to take over. I hope they can live peacefully with the plants and flowers.

They Really Don’t Make Things Like They Used To, Do They

Yeah, we hear that all the time, don’t we. Or, at my age, we say that all the time. Things don’t last. Everything seems to be the fad of the moment. Planned obsolescence.

My parents used the same telephones for, oh, maybe thirty years. You used things until they wore out or broke down.

Almost everything in our house now is something timeless and durable, from my parents’ or my grandparents’ time.

The desk where I sit to write (and play computer games, and watch videos, and listen to music and read e-mails) was one of the first pieces of furniture that my parents purchased after they married. If there’s a tornado, I should probably sit in the kneehole; it’s pretty solid.

I’ve been working on a writing assignment, and there were just lots of pieces of paper, with plans, and information, and a notebook, but I needed to have stuff more spread out. The small library dictionary table (where the paper cutter usually stays) just wasn’t spacious enough. I kept having to pick up the pile, shuffle through it, put what I needed on top of the pile, then, within minutes, need something else, shuffled through the papers, finding what I needed, and so on. And so on.

“I need a table, or chairs, or something…” I started to walk around the house, and walking by the hall closet, remembered. At the back of the closet, not exactly easy to get to, but not impossible, was the old card table.

Lots of parties, lots of game nights, lots of overflow seating for extra family and friends.

The new card table was round and had matching chairs. Mother got them with Green Stamps.

The new card table was round and had matching chairs. Mother got them with Green Stamps.

Mother and Daddy often had friends over on Friday or Saturday nights, to play cards. Then learned how to play bridge. They got a better card table.

Do I need to explain to you what S&H Green Stamps were?

And that card table saw lots of parties, lots of game nights, lot of overflow seating for extra family and friends. But, of course, Mother and Daddy didn’t get rid of the old, square, cardboard-topped card table.

After Mother was gone, and Daddy moved to a retirement residence, we had a big estate sale. But first, we went through things and decided what to keep and what to sell. JoAnne took the round table with the chairs. And I thought, oh, well, it doesn’t take up much room; I should probably keep the old one.

We get it out every now and then, when we’re working a jigsaw puzzle, or, just need some extra flat space.

IMG_2979

It was perfect!

You can see that the little library table was simply not adequate. It was full. The bed was full. And the card table, older than most of the people I know, sat on its stable legs, held up (on its saggy top) all my papers, all the information I needed just a twist away from the computer screen.

Kevin and Peter have arrived, and I’ve sent in almost all of the writing project. The few things left are easily managed. I’ve folded up the card table, and it’s ready to return to the back of the closet until next time. Maybe they don’t make things like they used to. But…they used to.

 

 

This is the day that the Lord has made;
    let us rejoice and be glad in it.

Psalm 118:24 (New Revised Standard Version )

There’s always so much to rejoice about. Having what I need when I need it. Getting important work done. And Peter’s going to be here for a couple of days.