Posts Categorized: Joy

The Eyes Do Have It

| Joy

Thursday morning, I went to the hospital with a friend who was having a procedure done. I was the designated driver.

When the procedure was complete, we were waiting for her discharge, and a physician walked by. He had on his scrubs and a hospital jacket and a cap and a mask. My friend said, “Oh, there goes Dr. —–.”

“Oh,” I said. “I’d have never recognized him.”

His family had been members of our church, several years earlier. I’d known him and his wife, and his daughter had been a preschooler in my Sunday School class. I’d have recognized him in his street clothes, but not, apparently when only his eyes were showing.

I’ve never been good at recognizing folks. I have to meet someone more than once (and sometimes several times) before I’m sure about their identity.

It’s embarrassing. I’ll be introduced to someone, and then, a week or so (or a day or so) later, I’ll see them at a store or a library or church, and be uncertain about who they are, and where do I know them from, and what is their name?!?

If I do run into someone that I think I’m supposed to know, I might start a generic sort of conversation: “Hi. It’s good to see you.” That sort of thing, with the hope that there will be some clue about how and where I might have met this person and what is it that we have in common (church? knitting group? neighborhood?).

I have a new neighbor across the street. I wave to him and his little twin boys.

I also have a new neighbor next door. I wave to her and her four kids.

If I should see either one of these adults, without their kids, at a store, I’m not sure I’d be certain who they were. I need to spend a few more conversations with them to be absolutely certain who they are. I should spend more time in my front yard at the approximate times they arrive back home. I should set my watch.

Anyway, back to the doctor.

While I was waiting for my friend to get checked out and ready to leave the hospital, that doctor walked back by me. He looked at me and said, “Hello, Gayle.”

I was pretty surprised. After all, I had on a mask, too, so only my eyes were showing. And, it had been several years since I’d seen him. I certainly wouldn’t have known him, all masked and hatted as he was, if my friend hadn’t pointed him out, earlier.

And I said, “Hi,” back, and told him that my friend had pointed him out to me. We chatted for a moment and then my friend came back and we talked together for a few minutes. Then, of course, he had to leave to go and do some doctoring.

I said, “If all I’ve got to recognize people is their eyes, I really need folks to wear name tags. Otherwise, I’ll never know who they area.”

 

There were two blind men sitting by the roadside. When they heard that Jesus was passing by, they shouted, “Lord, have mercy on us, Son of David!”  The crowd sternly ordered them to be quiet; but they shouted even more loudly, “Have mercy on us, Lord, Son of David!”  Jesus stood still and called them, saying, “What do you want me to do for you?”  They said to him, “Lord, let our eyes be opened.”  Moved with compassion, Jesus touched their eyes. Immediately they regained their sight and followed him.

Matthew 20:30-24 (New Revised Standard Version)

 

‘Way back last February (remember last February, when we could go places and visit with people and not be anxious), I had signed up for a series of informational classes through a Baylor program for senior adults. I’d sat down in the last chair on a row and there were a couple of empty chairs beside me. A minute or so later, a couple of ladies came in on the other end of the row, and people who were already seated scooted down to make room for the friends. I moved my purse from an empty chair. The woman who sat down next to me looked at me. I smiled at her and she said, “Gayle Goodwin!” And I said, “yes,” (as that’s my maiden name). She said her name, which I recognized from high school.

“Hello!” “Hello!” we said to each other, and chatted for a moment.

“I’m surprised you recognized me,” I said to her.

“Oh,” she said. “I see it in your eyes.”

So, maybe I should be sure my eyes are opened, as I’m smiling at the only part of people’s faces I can see. It’s important for people to really be seen.

 

Maybe It’s Normal for You, But For Us, It Was AMAZING

| Goodness, Joy

Okay. It snowed.

For several days, the forecast said, for Sunday, 80% chance of snow. I did not find that credible. Snow is really, really rare for Central Texas. It’s really, really amazing, but pretty rare. So I was in a, rather, whatever frame of mind. I slept a little late on Sunday morning, and when I got up, I did look out the window, just in case, and Ollie, Mollie, Gollie, snow was falling, quite steadily. The tree limbs already had snow stacking up, and the fence next door sported a significant accumulation. Well, significant for Central Texas. And, even more amazing, the snow kept falling down.

I kept on checking, thinking that, as soon as it stopped, I’d go out and take some photos, to be able to get the maximum snowfall photos.

Looking out the front door, late morning. This is some serious snow for Central Texas.

 

And then, looking out the kitchen window, at the back yard. There was a bird on the bird feeder, and I verrrrry carefully edged over to get a photo, but, I’m not as careful and stealthy as I thought I could be, and he took off. Trust me, there was a bird!

 

 

 

I kept looking out the window, checking the snow. At one point, the flakes were, well, not flakes, but large blobs of snow falling, made up, it seemed, of scores of actual flakes. It was like a movie.

 

 

The back yard and patio–

All the patio plants are either winter hardy or they die down with colder weather and make a come back in the spring. More tender plants are in the little plastic greenhouse. Some of those will most likely not survive the winter, but, some will. I looked in on Thursday afternoon and they all look all right. If we get a deeper freeze, some will need to be replaced.

 

 

 

This photo shows the footprints of my next door neighbor, who trekked over in the late afternoon. When we answered the doorbell, I was surprised to see her. She was doing what neighbors do . . . she needed a cup of flour for making dinner, not having realized that she was out. I asked if her kids were at home (there are four of them), but they were at their Dad’s. She said that we’d have heard them, playing outside, if they’d been at home.

I said that, if I had heard them, I’ve have come over and, if they’d been making snowmen, I’d have offered our snow to them, if their yard didn’t have enough.

 

 

 

The last bit of snow, on Wednesday afternoon.

 

And, on the right, on Thursday afternoon . . .

These bougainvilleas have a lovely brick-colored flower. I like the way they look with the bricks on the house. After they were so swaddled in snow, I thought they’d be all done for the season. But, they’ve put out new little flowers and seem quite unscathed by the wintry weather.

 

Just as rain and snow descend from the skies
    and don’t go back until they’ve watered the earth,
doing their work of making things grow and blossom,
    producing seed for farmers and food for the hungry,
so will the words that come out of my mouth
    not come back empty-handed.
They’ll do the work I sent them to do,
    they’ll complete the assignment I gave them.

So you’ll go out in joy,
    you’ll be led into a whole and complete life.
The mountains and hills will lead the parade,
    bursting with song.
All the trees of the forest will join the procession,
    exuberant with applause.

Isaiah 66:10-12 (The Message Translation)

 

My dad grew up in northern Ohio. There, snow began falling in the autumn, and it stayed until early spring. I remember one fall, when we were on the phone, chatting with Daddy’s family. Suddenly, my uncle said, with a big sigh of resignation (or maybe a little bit of frustration), “It’s snowing.” “Oh, wow,” we said, with excitement! He was not nearly as enthusiastic as we were. I guess we’re more excited about a snowfall because we don’t have to shovel the stuff.

Yes, Some Christmases ARE Memorable, for LOTS of Reasons

| Joy, Patience, Peace

In 1976, there were some, um, problematic events, at Christmastime. Nothing epic, just a series of things, that were frustrating for my mother. One of my aunts, who liked to write poetry, wrote a poem about them.

One issue involved some dessert plates. We’d gotten a set of beautiful blue glasses, as wedding gifts. Then, we found some matching plates. A few years after we were married, we moved to Lubbock for David’s graduate studies, and I packed a few of those plates. Our kitchen was pretty small, and things were stacked around as best as I could manage. One day, I was reaching for a couple of those plates, in a top cabinet. I knocked some of them over, and four of them crashed to the floor, breaking.

When we moved back to Waco that summer, I thought that I should go to one of the stores that carried them and replace what I had broken. Mother had the same idea, and, quietly, bought them for me as a Christmas present. At some point, before Christmas Day, I mentioned that I’d replaced them. Mother sighed, a little bit, about it, and returned them.

Another Aunt and Uncle always put up a large Christmas tree in their living room, and decorated it with beautiful red and gold ornaments. As Mother shopped, early in December, she found a red and gold ornament that she thought would be perfect for their lovely tree. She took it, with great holiday anticipation, to their house, excited for them to see it and add it to their tree. But, when she went inside, she was startled to see a very small, plain, sparsely decorated tree. “Oh,” they said, “it just got to be too much for us to handle.” They were several years older than Mother and Daddy, and she understood. But was disappointed.

She got a new billfold for my grandmother. Before she could mail it off to Ohio, she learned that someone had recently given my grandmother a new one.

She bought a sweater for my dad, but, some members of their Sunday School class, which Daddy taught each week, asked for gift ideas, and she handed over the sweater for them to give him.

Mother’s oldest sister, the one who liked to write poetry, had a number of in-laws who had been important in her life, when her sons were growing up. One of that family’s holiday traditions was baking buttermilk pies for Christmas morning breakfast.

The web site well plated, describes buttermilk pie as “a classic, old fashioned southern dessert that tastes like a custard pie but is SO. MUCH. EASIER. to make. Buttermilk pie tastes similar to crème brûlée.”

Sounds yummy.

In 1976, that aunt decided that she, too, should make buttermilk pies to share with family members. She purchased all the ingredients (which is a short list), along with frozen pie crusts. (Those pie crusts often come, frozen, in a stack of three.) She mixed up all the ingredients, laid out those pie crusts, poured the creamy batter in, and baked them up, the day before Christmas, and delivered them.

On Christmas morning,  Mother got the pie, warmed it up, and began to slice it into pieces. She tried and tried and tried, but just could not get the knife through the pie. On more careful examination, she saw that my aunt had neglected to remove the paper circles that were in the bottom of each frozen pie crust, to keep the crusts from sticking to each other. So, you had to scrape the yummy filling out, and eat it with a spoon, then, you could remove the paper and eat the crust.

I’m bringing all this up for a reason.

The dishwasher. At Thanksgiving, it began to develop suds during the cycle. Maybe it makes suds all the time, but they’re gone by time the cycle is finished. Now, when I open the thing up, there are suds. Still hanging around. Several inches of suds.

Then, on Monday morning, yes, just last Monday, when I walked into the kitchen, all ready to make my usual egg-and-cheese breakfast burrito, I looked at the microwave oven and noticed that the black rectangle, which usually displays the time, was blank. Hmmmm. I pressed the buttons to indicate how long the microwave should run. Nothing. I pressed start. Nothing.

Nothing. Nothing. And more nothing.

I got a stool to be able to reach the electrical socket at the back of the cabinet above the microwave. I pulled out the plug and then put it back in. No time showing up on the microwave. I went outside to the breaker box and flipped the appropriate switch back and forth, then went back inside. No time showing.

I had to get out the griddle, warm it up, warm up the flour tortilla, scramble an egg and cook it, on the griddle, and then put cheese on the tortilla, which is, by now, not hot any more. And then put the egg on top of the cheese and warmish tortilla. Not quite the same.

So, now, dishwasher not working right, microwave not working at all!

I worked a little on wrapping gifts, doing household stuff, took a package to the post office to mail.

Back at home, I went to switch on the light in the room where the dining table is. And, oh, I’d forgotten. The bulb on the ceiling fan’s light fixture was out. I got the step stool, climbed up, and loosened the small screws that hold the light’s cover on the fixture. I took the old bulb out and got another one. When I screwed it in, it lit up, then dimmed, then went on and off. Hmmm. Not right.

I went and got another bulb. A different wattage. I screwed it in. Same thing. Bright. Blink. Weak.

Yep. SOMETHING ELSE ISN’T WORKING THE WAY IT’S SUPPOSED TO.

And, company is arriving on Friday night.

I went to Lowe’s Tuesday morning and bought a new microwave. I called Kevin and explained the situation, because he and April had installed the first over-the-stove microwave we had. He said that was the worst experience he can recall, in his whole life. The second microwave we had was put in by the store’s official installer. This new microwave seems very much like that one, so I said, “Maybe, since the new one is very much like the one that’s not working, it would be easy to install. Maybe.” He says he and April will try, when they come this weekend. And I said, “Great,” and that the store has an installer, which we can ask for, if they decide against installation, themselves.

David felt like the light fixture on the ceiling fan could be repaired, so I phoned an electrician. The earliest appointment was not until next Monday, so I made that. Then, on Wednesday morning, the company called and said they had someone who could come that day. “Oh, yes,” I said. “Please send them.” When they came, one of them took the glass cover off and looked at the socket. “Oh, no,” he said. And he pulled the socket part down and looked further up into the fixture. “Oh, no, no, no. You don’t want this repaired. It’s not safe.”

“So, I’m going to need a whole new fixture (fan included)?” I said.

“Yes,” he said. And I asked for input about brands and he gave me a couple of suggestions. I said we’d go shopping for a new fan over the weekend. And to please tell their office to keep that Monday appointment we had scheduled, and they could come and install it then.

As I write this, on Wednesday, things are looking up. There’s a microwave oven in a box in the garage. There’s an appointment to install a new fan w/light. And, after doing quite a bit of cooking this afternoon, I filled the dishwasher up and ran it. When I looked in, towards the end of the cycle, there were no suds. Maybe something had gotten stuck in a drain? Maybe the dishwasher soap . . . . fell into a drain and, instead of dissolving like it should, it just stayed there and kept sudsing up, which seems really improbable, because I don’t see how that could have happened. Anyway. I’d love to think that the issue has resolved itself. We’ll see.

And I, I am going to stop complaining. We’ve stayed healthy. We’re going to be able to spend time with Kevin and April and Peter. There are gifts under the tree, and the stockings are bulging. We are fortunate in so many, many ways.

 

Praise the Lord. Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his love endures forever.

Psalm 106:1 (New International Version)

We Gave Thanks

| Joy

We don’t usually have a big blowout Thanksgiving dinner, with adding all the leaves in the table and scouring all over the house to find enough chairs for every one to sit in. It’s usually a small affair, and it was this year, also. I got Peter from school on the Friday before the holiday and Kevin and April came on Wednesday. We are careful, as are they, and we’ve been together a few times over the summer and fall and felt comfortable being together.

I was trying to get ahead of all the baking, etc. Monday, Peter and I measured out bread dough ingredients and put them in the bread machine and pressed  the “dough” button.

 

Listen! A virgin will be pregnant, she will give birth to a Son, and he will be known as “Emmanuel,” which means in Hebrew, “God became one of us.”

Matthew 1:23 (The Passion Translation)

 

 

O come, O come, Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel,

that mourns in lonely exile here, until the Son of God appear.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.

Fall: The Good Parts

| Joy, Peace

I don’t want to believe in Global Warming, but some days make it rather difficult to deny. Friday and Saturday this weekend have projected temperatures of 79. Thanksgiving Day is predicted to be 75. I don’t want it to be freezing, but a little crisp in the air seems more appropriate. Or, rather, it used to be appropriate.

Many years ago, when I was a teen-ager, we’d made a summertime visit to my Dad’s family, who lived in northern Ohio, quite close to the Michigan border. I was trying to explain Texas weather to a couple of cousins.

“Well,”  I said, trying to find a comparable example, “what clothes do you wear on Thanksgiving Day? We’d wear slacks and a shirt and a sweater.”

“That’s what we’d wear,” they said, as though I’d made some sort of ridiculous comparison.

“Outside?” I asked.

“Well, no,” they replied, a little taken aback. “Outside, we’d wear a heavy jacket and probably a hat and scarf.”

“That’s the difference,” I said.

(I’ve checked the Wauseon, Ohio, forecast, and Thanksgiving Day has a predicted high of 52 (low-39). However, on the Sunday and Tuesday before Thanksgiving, snow is predicted. So, sounds like jacket, hat, and scarf weather for those folks.

Last Saturday, the weather was just right. I was going to read for a while, and when I stepped out to get the mail, before settling down, the weather seemed perfect. I could read outside. Well, I did get a sweater. And then I sat down, with my enormous book, on the pew that’s on the porch.

I’ve watched the musical Hamilton several times, being a fan of Mr. Hamilton, and I do realize that Mr. Manuel-Miranda took some creative liberties with the story. Also, I’ve read a couple of novels, recently, about parts of Mr. Hamilton’s life, which contain scenes that I know aren’t exactly accurate. So, I thought I really must read Ron Chernow’s exhaustive biography of Alexander Hamilton that inspired Lin Manuel-Miranda to create the musical.

The day was fabulous, the breeze gentle, the temperature just right. Sometimes there was sun; sometimes, the sky was overcast. Every now and then, a small gust of wind would blow by, scattering the fall leaves along the street. Some of my across-the-street neighbor’s leaves would skitter over into my yard. A few minutes later, a gust would come from the other direction, tossing my leaves over to her yard.

At one point, I heard an amazingly loud ruckus from behind the house, either in our back yard or from the house behind us. Then, suddenly, a group of crows swooped over the house, in a formation that the Air Force Thunderbirds would find impressive. And they were just about as loud as the Thunderbirds. They raced across the street and over those houses, and off to who-knows-where, searching for who-knows-what. And then, several seconds later, one last, late, crow zipped over, too. I bet he got into trouble, late like that.

I spent several hours reading, out there on the porch. I read and read and read. I must admit that I skimmed over, quite a bit, the Federalist Papers part. Mr. Chernow described the contents of every single one of them; there are 85. If you’re interested, you can read all 85 of them here. Or, you can check out, from your local library, a copy of Mr. Chernow’s book, and get his synopsis of each one.

I’ve still got quite a ways to go. Library books are checked out for three weeks. I can renew a book twice, as long as no one has put in a request for it. The library has a few copies. So, I can have as much as nine weeks to finish a book. I believe, this time, I’ll have to turn it in, and then check it out again, later, for another round.

This is what my front yard looks like, now. Several homes on our street use the same lawn service. I told them, last week, that I thought I was done with them until next spring. The first year I said that, they said, “But you’ll have leaves that the mowers will shred up for you each week.” And I said, “I like to rake.” Which is true. Plus, I use those leaves for compost. But, also, I’m a senior adult woman who needs to stay active, and raking is perfect.

So, the across-the-street neighbor’s yard is all nice and neat, because the yard guys have come. Last Saturday, my yard was a carpet of leaves from the red oak tree. I raked up a couple of trash bags worth of leaves, much of which will go into our green bins, which get recycled with other yard waste. And, though you can’t see it, this tree still has lots of green leaves left on it. I’ll be raking for many more weeks.

 

 

Let everything alive give praises to the Lord! You praise him! Hallelujah!

Psalm 150:6 (The Living Bible)

 

Maybe that’s what those crows were cawing about.

 

The bookmark in the book is my favorite one. It has a Groucho Marx quote:

“Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read.”

 

Apparently, I’m Trendy

| Joy, Peace

As a senior adult lady, I’m not exactly trendy. My clothing is pretty dull and unexciting, and I shop for comfort and durability. I used to love shoes. Now, I have old lady feet and have to wear old lady shoes.

I don’t buy lots of new clothes, but, what I do buy, I often get at Target. I don’t get lots of stuff. I’m not wearing out or outgrowing my clothing.  I do, however, keep my eyes peeled for overalls. I find them in the clothing department for teens. Those teen-agers are buying them to be cool. I am buying them to work in the yard. They often have rips and tears in them, as a fashion statement (which I am unable to translate). I buy those ripped denim overalls anyway, because I’m going to be working outside in the dirt and with tools, and rips and tears are pretty much inevitable, anyway. I do always check the pockets. The overalls that are in Target right now have pockets that are just for show. They’re about 2 inches deep. I’m not interested in those. I need pockets that will hold my phone, my glasses, my gardening gloves, and, often, a hand tool or two. I need two ample rear pockets, two ample side pockets, and a large front pocket.

I’ve talked before about my first pair of real overalls. They lasted quite a while. The next pair weren’t quite as roomy, and the pockets weren’t quite as great. I got them in the spring of 2013. Since then, I’ve bought more overalls, which must mean that that second pair wasn’t exactly great. I’ve purchased two pairs of short overalls and two pairs of long overalls. One long pair is okay, has no rips, but lacks that roomy front pocket. The other pair is FULL of rips, but has better pockets and is roomier. I’ve not worn them, yet, but I may need to make some attractive patches for the ripped portions, because the wind from cooler weather is going to whip right through them, I’m afraid.

All that to say, I do sometimes wander through Target and into the clothing department meant, primarily, for young ladies quite a bit younger than I am.

The pink dress

A few months ago, I saw a dress that seemed perfect for me. It’s actually a sun dress, with straps. It buttoned up the front, was an attractive pink and cranberry and white plaid, and was long enough for me to feel comfortable. And, the deal-breaker, it had pockets that were deep enough to hold my phone. I went over (quickly) found my size and put it in my cart. At home, I put on a white t-shirt and then the jumper and was delighted. I loved it. I think I stayed wearing it for the rest of the day.

And I thought about Target.com. I don’t do much shopping on the Target web site, mostly because I find what I need in the store. I don’t do much clothing shopping online at any site. But, I so liked the dress that I wondered if there were other colors available. I did go, did scroll through the dresses, and did, absolutely, find that dress in a variety of colors. I most certainly did not need to purchase one of each color, but I looked over all ones they had, chose a pretty green and white stripe, and ordered it. I’ve enjoyed wearing both of them.

The green dress

Now, the amazing part. I was watching something on the television a few days ago, and there was a commercial for the Latuda medication, which is described on the website as a “prescription medicine for bipolar depression.” There are a variety of television ads for the medication. Recently, there’s an ad using art that people with bipolar depression have created. Towards the end of that ad, there’s a woman, who looks like she’s relaxed and enjoying herself, at an outdoor cookout. She’s wearing a green dress.  Yes, the same one I have. I imagine that some wardrobe tech did the choosing, instead of the actress. Still, some wardrobe supervisor said, “This is the dress we want.” I understand exactly how they felt. I want that dress, too.

 

 

 

And why do you worry about clothes? Observe how the wildflowers of the field grow: They don’t labor or spin thread.  Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was adorned like one of these.

Matthew 6:28-29 (Holman Christian Standard Bible)

 “An da clotheses, how come you worry bout dat? Tink! Da flowers dat grow in da field, how dey can grow? Dey no work o make dea own clotheses.  But I telling you, even King Solomon, wit all his awesome stuffs, neva get awesome clotheses like da flowers.

Matthew 6:28-29 (Hawai’i Pidgin)

 

I am grateful, particularly these days, that I don’t have to worry about things that so many other people do have to worry about. I’m able to pay my bills and purchase things we need. I can buy masks for the elementary school near my church. I can talk with my family whenever I want to. I can donate money and food. And, I can buy a new dress. We are so fortunate.

Four New Friends

| Joy, Kindness

Actually, not exactly new friends, but four new folks that I’ve been able to converse with, while all masked up.

I wrote, a few weeks ago, about my homemade, folded-up type of mask. I had two of them, and they were sort of warm, and, as summer approached, I looked for another option. I’d seen, on Facebook, a mask that I wanted. I ordered two of them.

I was grateful for the instructions, which included helpful illustrations. There were those two barrel-shaped things that I could attach to the elastic loops to make those loops fit my face. And, thank goodness, they included the very important paper clip, which I could use to pull the elastic through those barrels. I guess there are people who don’t have paper clips on hand. I have scores and scores of them. Of course, once you unbend one, they’re a little difficult to bend back into shape. I was, however, able to use the first paper clip to also adjust the second mask, so, at this point, I’m a paper clip ahead.

 

On Thursday, I met the fourth person who pointed to my mask and said, “University of Hawaii.” Not a questioning, “University of Hawaii?” But an assured, “University of Hawaii.”

 

The first person who said, “University of Hawaii,” was a pharmacist’s assistant at the Target pharmacy. “Yes,” I said, surprised, as it’s not a logo that most Central Texans easily identify.

He said that he’d lived there for a few years, when he was growing up. His dad was a career Air Force member. I said that my husband had also been in the Air Force, and that’s where I had finished college.

“You must have lived some interesting places,” I said.

“I was born in Iceland,” he said.

The next place that the mask got recognized was at Bed, Bath, and Beyond. I was removing a cart from the row outside the door and was watching a little kid who was playing by the carts.

“It looks like you’re having fun today,” I said (as I cannot stop myself from talking to little kids, but when I do, I’m careful to keep my distance and keep my hands on my cart’s handle). A man with him (who I thought was his dad), said, “University of Hawaii.”

“Yes,” I said. And then a friend of theirs walked up, and I didn’t have an opportunity to talk more.

A couple of weeks ago, Jeremy came for a visit. We weren’t able to visit the restaurants that we might have chosen, in a less pandemic-type time, but we could order things and go, all masked, and pick them up. As we were leaving a sandwich place, to take our lunch home, a young man walked by and said, “University of Hawaii!”

I said, “Yes. How did you know?”

“My sister has just enrolled,” he said. “I went with my family to take her there.”

“That’s where I finished school,” I said.

And, then, the most recent recognizer, a guy at Wal-Mart.

“University of Hawaii,”  he said, as I walked by him. “Rainbow Warriors.”

“Yes,” I said. “How did you know?”

“I follow college sports,” he said.

“You must follow lots of teams,” I said.

“Well,” he said, “I’m from Los Angeles,” which explains why he might be well-versed in West Coast teams.

“I grew up here in Waco,” I said.  “My husband was in the Air Force when we were first married, and he was stationed at Hickam Air Force Base. Our two years in Honolulu were so very interesting. It broadened my horizons considerably. And I finished school there. So, yes, I am a Rainbow Warrior.”

He was now the local Coca-Cola distributor guy, and was checking on all the Coke products, which are numerous.

“Thanks for talking with me,” I said, after we chatted a few more minutes. “Welcome to the area.”

 

That’s why you must encourage and help each other, just as you are already doing.

1 Thessalonians 5:11 (Contemporary English Version)

 

I realize that, in Texas, people may be a little chattier than in some other places. But a nod and a smile aren’t difficult ways to make a brief connection. And, these days, it seems as though most folks are feeling a rather “we’re all in this together” sort of kinship. (Smile big, since it’s only your eyes that are showing.)

Shortly after I got the masks, grandson Peter came for a visit. After we’d run a few errands one afternoon, he said, “What’s that ‘H’ for, on your mask?” I said, “It’s where I went to college. Where I graduated from.” I held it up and said, “University of . . . . ” (I thought he might know, since his dad was born in Hawaii, right before we came back to Texas, and he knew that’s where Kevin was born.) Peter thought a moment, and said, “University of Hillsboro?” (Hillsboro, for you non-Texans, is a small town between Fort Worth and Waco, where we sometimes stop if we need gas or a bathroom break. Reasonable guess.)

 

 

Alexander!

| Joy, Patience

I’ve been a fan of Alexander Hamilton since high school. Part of our Junior year curriculum included American History. At some point, we got the assignment to write about an American Revolutionary figure. I don’t know if I chose Alexander Hamilton, or if my teacher made the assignments. However that happened, he was my guy. And this wasn’t a huge research project, it was just a report, a couple of pages or so long.

When I was just three years old, my parents purchased a set of encyclopedias, thinking that they would be a great help to me and whatever sibling came along (turned out to be JoAnne). And the encyclopedias were helpful. For example, at some point, when I was in elementary school, I awoke in the night with the panicky realization that I’d forgotten about a report I was supposed to write a about the sun or moon, or something spaceish. I crept into the den, pulled out the appropriate volume, and sat in my closet (which, thank goodness had a light in it), and wrote the report. So, really helpful.

Years later, when I got the Hamilton assignment, I started with the encyclopedia, reading the entry and then making an outline (as English teachers for a couple of years, or more, had drummed into us). Because my dad had a love of books and a love of history, there was also a one-volume History of the American Revolution, sitting on the built-in shelves, and, I think, another book, whose title I can’t recall. I read through all those, made notes, plugged the information into my outline, and wrote a rough draft. The next evening, I went through it again, and then wrote the final draft to turn in the next day in class.

The day after that, we all trooped into the classroom and sat ourselves down in our chair desks. I was in the second chair in my row. Our teacher walked over to me and handed me my Hamilton report.

“Would you please come up front and read your report,” she said. Hmmmm. It had an “A” on it, so I didn’t think I was in trouble. But of course I did what she asked. I read it all and then sat down.

The teacher stood up and said, “THAT is what a well-researched report should sound like. Copying an entry from an encyclopedia is NOT what I assigned.” And she stalked back to her desk and snatched up the other reports and handed them back. A friend who sat in front of me leaned back and whispered, “What did you do?”

I leaned forward and said, “I had a few books, and I read about Hamilton. And then I made an outline and used all the information I’d read and wrote the report. What did you do?” I asked.

“I copied it from the encyclopedia,” she said.

I like to read, and I like to write. For many years, I wrote preschool Sunday School curriculum and Missions curriculum, and articles and support pieces. That friend, whom I occasionally see at a local sandwich shop, is a CPA. A ‘way different skill set from mine.

 

 

Put your heart and soul into every activity you do, as though you are doing it for the Lord himself and not merely for others.

Colossians 3:23 (The Passion Translation)

 

When I learned that there was going to be a Broadway musical about Hamilton, I really wanted to make a trip to New York. But I suppose that those shows would have been sold out for, possibly, longer than I might still be alive. So when I heard that they had actually filmed a version, and that it was actually going to be televised, I was pretty excited. Kevin and April have Disney+ and I thought that they might let me come up on July 3 and watch it. Then I looked and discovered that a month’s subscription to Disney+ was about $7.00 or so, which is less than the cost of a tank of gas to Fort Worth and back. Of course, I subscribed. I’ve watched it three times. So far.

Meanwhile, back to that set of encyclopedias. When JoAnne, who was five grades behind me in school, needed to write a report about satellites, she went straight to them. The entry said that, “The moon is a satellite of the earth. And the earth is a satellite of the sun.” Not exactly what she was looking for.

The Royal Purple

| Joy, Patience

I’ve mentioned before (a couple of years ago) about the amount of yarn that I got when David’s mother passed away. She was quite a yarn shopper and yarn hoarder. And also quite a knitter.

Over several weeks time, I took bags of yarn to my knitting group until almost all of it was carried away by delighted knitters and crocheters. I did keep a little bit of it for myself. I have several skeins of beautiful green that I cannot decide, still, what to do with. And there’s some blue I like. And, there’s some purple.

A friend of mine really likes purple and I thought I’d make a cowl for her. I had two kinds of purple yarn. One was lovely and soft and wool, and, therefore, a little itchy. When I held it up to my cheek, it was rather uncomfortable. It went into the Goodwill bag. The other one was just as soft and just as beautiful, but was acrylic and not at all itchy, so that’s the one I went with.

I found a pattern that I liked in one of my knitting books. I checked the suggested needle size and, of course, didn’t have the right one and had to go buy one. But, now, if I get another beautiful piece of yarn, I can make a cozy cowl for someone else. Or for me.

The nice thing about knitting is that I can sit around watching movies or television programs and not feel like I’m wasting time. I’m knitting!! I’m making a gift! The pattern is easy, and, since it’s a cowl, it’s just pretty much knitting around and around and around, without having to think, the way one has to if they’re making a sweater, for example. Those things have necks and armholes and you have to make sleeves, too, and, really, a cowl seems like the way to go.

I knitted my way through Hamilton and, yesterday, I discovered a movie, Downfall, about the last days of the Third Reich. I thought that sounded like something that would be interesting while I was trying to knit my way through to the end of the cowl. I started the movie and discovered, to my dismay, that everyone is actually speaking German. Yes, German. Which meant subtitles. Fortunately, I was just knitting around in a circle, and I managed. Except that I became more and more infuriated by those Nazis. But, I did finish the knitting.

I did have to weave in some ends, as there were two small skeins of the purple, and so I had to weave in the ends of those and the beginning and end of the berry stripes. But, now, TA-DAH, I’m done. It’s all ready to pack up and mail off to my friend. It will be a few months until the weather’s chilly enough to need to wear it. Maybe she’ll send me a photo of herself on a blustery, cowl-wearing day!

 

During the night, Paul had a vision of someone from Macedonia who was standing there and begging him, “Come over to Macedonia and help us!” After Paul had seen the vision, we began looking for a way to go to Macedonia. We were sure that God had called us to preach the good news there. We sailed straight from Troas to Samothrace, and the next day we arrived in Neapolis.  From there we went to Philippi, which is a Roman colony in the first district of Macedonia. We spent several days in Philippi.  Then on the Sabbath we went outside the city gate to a place by the river, where we thought there would be a Jewish meeting place for prayer. We sat down and talked with the women who came.  One of them was Lydia, who was from the city of Thyatira and sold expensive purple cloth. She was a worshiper of the Lord God, and he made her willing to accept what Paul was saying.  Then after she and her family were baptized, she kept on begging us, “If you think I really do have faith in the Lord, come stay in my home.” Finally, we accepted her invitation.

Acts 16:12-15 (Contemporary English Version)


From the History web site:

“The reason for purple’s regal reputation comes down to a simple case of supply and demand. For centuries, the purple dye trade was centered in the ancient Phoenician city of Tyre in modern day Lebanon. The Phoenicians’ “Tyrian purple” came from a species of sea snail now known as Bolinus brandaris, and it was so exceedingly rare that it became worth its weight in gold. To harvest it, dye-makers had to crack open the snail’s shell, extract a purple-producing mucus and expose it to sunlight for a precise amount of time. It took as many as 250,000 mollusks to yield just one ounce of usable dye, but the result was a vibrant and long-lasting shade of purple.

The royal class’ purple monopoly finally waned after the fall of the Byzantine empire in the 15th century, but the color didn’t become more widely available until the 1850s, when the first synthetic dyes hit the market.”

So, these days, we’re saving the lives of those little snails. And possibly, we should be spending more time down at the river. Who knows who might turn up.

 

Rock-a-bye Baby

| Joy, Love

Kevin was born just a couple of months before David got out of the Air Force. We were living in a furnished apartment at the time. Some people had, a few months earlier, given us a bed. The couple had a king-size bed in their bedroom, but, in their guest room, there was a double bed. They’d recently taken a vacation and visited relatives, who also had a double bed in their guest room. The couple found that bed absolutely too small and uncomfortable. When they got back home, they went and purchased a queen-size bed for their guest room. At church choir rehearsal one evening, the husband told people that they had this bed they were giving away, and did anyone want it. David immediately said, “Yes, we could use a bed.” It wasn’t a new bed, but it was a bed that had hardly been slept in, and we were accustomed to sleeping on a double bed, anyway.

I think we took the bed frame from the bed we had and the new bed’s frame, and leaned them against the wall in our bedroom. And then we stacked the box springs from the bed in our apartment and the hand-me-down bed, and then put the two mattresses on top of that. It was a wobbly few months. When Kevin was born, he slept in a car bed sort of thing we had purchased. Another church friend had given us a used crib, but we didn’t have space to set it up. It was in pieces in a storage space in under some stairs. The only other furniture items we owned were a couple of stools.

On David’s last day in the Air Force, packers were scheduled to come and put all our belongings into boxes to ship to Waco. It took much less time than usual for them, as they typically pack up whole houses of furniture and all the household stuff. We had household stuff, like kitchen stuff and a couple of sets of dishes. When we first moved in, we’d bought a set of plastic dishes, and those movers wrapped every single piece of that stuff, individually, in paper. They were very careful packers.

We did have a broom, and the packers carried it around for a while, not having a good place to pack it. “We’ll figure it out,” they said. Then they labeled all the boxes, checked them off, gave me a list to check, and I signed the form, and they carried all those cartons down the stairs and into their truck.

David came home from work a little while later, walked into the apartment, took off his uniform and put on civilian clothes, and went downstairs to the trash cans, and threw away that uniform. Then we picked up the suitcases and the baby (and the baby stuff) and went to the airport and flew away home.

We lived with my family for a few weeks. We rented an apartment, but had to stay with them until our stuff came. We finally got the phone call from the moving company and I met them at the apartment. Our shipment of household goods was pretty paltry in that great big van. The movers brought in all the boxes and then gave me the official list to sign. All the boxes were there. As we were finishing up, I noticed, at the bottom of the list of numbers representing all the boxes, the word “broom.” I pointed that out to one of the movers.

“Oh,” he said. “Well, there is a broom out there in the van.” So, our broom made the long trip, across the ocean, across half the country, lying loosely among the crates, all the way to Waco. There was a piece of masking tape around the handle that had our shipping number on it. It was definately our broom.

We had a bed and a crib. My parents had purchased some new pieces of furniture for their den, but had saved the sofa and chair for us. An aunt and uncle, who had recently moved to Waco, had a kitchen table and chairs that didn’t fit in their new home, and they gave us that. Mother was also ready to redo my bedroom, and gave us the desk and the chest of drawers from that room. She’d planned to buy us a crib, but, since we’d been given one, she bought a chest of drawer for Kevin’s things, instead.

We were all set, except for that piece of furniture that all new parents need. A rocking chair. We bought a rocking chair for rocking our new baby.

As essential as that rocking chair has been for us, I was surprised to have difficulty actually finding photos.

 

 

We wondered how much it would cost to find a similar rocking chair to put in this space. We talked about trying to find someone to repair it, as my sister and brother-in-law have moved to Seattle. And I brought up the fact that we have another rocking chair. “It’s too big,” he said. We measured all the parts of it, and it’s only a smidgen larger. It came from my paternal grandmother’s house. It’s really sturdy.

And, because I never thought about asking, I’m sad to not know if they bought the chair, if it was a gift, was it handed down from other family members. I never thought to ask the questions. I’d like to know. But, I guess it’s more important that it still does its job as a rocking chair, even with its secret history. And, even if it is only I who rocked a sad toddler, who sat and read a magazine article, who relaxed while the pasta was cooking, who took a moment to thank God for a warm home in winter and a cool home in summer, and a place to rest and relax, even for just a few minutes at a time, that’s enough joy for me.