Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Somewhere Along the Way
It’s
so depressing to hear all the news coverage of shootings at military bases, bullying and stabbings at schools, bombings, murders, molestations, and every
other unimaginable form of assault that human beings can wage against one another. There’s always been evil and always will, but
it seems that, in recent years, it’s become loud, obtrusive, and hard to ignore. The news programs interview experts, who discuss what can be done and their
solutions usually involve more screenings, more laws, more money, and more programs, but I think the downturn in our society has been due to a combination of slow, gradual, and, often, unnoticed changes.
Somewhere along the way, parents started thinking that, as educated, well read, open minded, high tech, professional people, we could handle this family thing on our own. One day, we began to see the Bible as a little dated and written for another time. One day, we showed God the door in our schools, because voluntary prayer could be viewed as offensive. Over time, we showed our kids that being PC is more important than standing firm on your values and that speaking out about your belief in God’s word is the same as being judgmental. At some point, we modeled that, sometimes, you have to go along to get along. One day, we got lazy and decided our voice couldn’t make a difference and we went with what we knew wasn’t right, because it was the easy thing to do...besides, it wouldn't matter that much. One day, getting the family to church took a backseat to getting them to sports or whatever else. Somewhere along the way, Sunday became just another day as the other six days just couldn't hold it all.
One day, we made our kids the center of the universe, showered them with gifts for every little thing they did and required very little responsibility from them. One day, trophies were handed out to everyone, games had no score, and award ceremonies were cancelled to prevent feelings of inadequacy. One day, dance recital gifts started looking like Christmas morning and under the Christmas tree, well, it looked like Toys 'r Us. One day, we wanted our kids to have the very best of everything, because that was a good reflection on us. One day, the bar was raised so high that our children couldn't imagine doing without much of anything. Somewhere along the way, we quit preparing them for the real world, where hard work and patience are required in attaining things.
Somewhere along the way, parents became their children’s defense lawyers instead of their disciplinarians…shifting blame, making excuses, and working for reduced punishments in schools or wherever they got themselves into trouble. One day, parents began to stand united with their kids instead of with authority......working to shelter them from any consequences that might arise from their mistakes.
Guilty.
God, forgive me.
Somewhere along the way, parents started thinking that, as educated, well read, open minded, high tech, professional people, we could handle this family thing on our own. One day, we began to see the Bible as a little dated and written for another time. One day, we showed God the door in our schools, because voluntary prayer could be viewed as offensive. Over time, we showed our kids that being PC is more important than standing firm on your values and that speaking out about your belief in God’s word is the same as being judgmental. At some point, we modeled that, sometimes, you have to go along to get along. One day, we got lazy and decided our voice couldn’t make a difference and we went with what we knew wasn’t right, because it was the easy thing to do...besides, it wouldn't matter that much. One day, getting the family to church took a backseat to getting them to sports or whatever else. Somewhere along the way, Sunday became just another day as the other six days just couldn't hold it all.
One day, we made our kids the center of the universe, showered them with gifts for every little thing they did and required very little responsibility from them. One day, trophies were handed out to everyone, games had no score, and award ceremonies were cancelled to prevent feelings of inadequacy. One day, dance recital gifts started looking like Christmas morning and under the Christmas tree, well, it looked like Toys 'r Us. One day, we wanted our kids to have the very best of everything, because that was a good reflection on us. One day, the bar was raised so high that our children couldn't imagine doing without much of anything. Somewhere along the way, we quit preparing them for the real world, where hard work and patience are required in attaining things.
Somewhere along the way, parents became their children’s defense lawyers instead of their disciplinarians…shifting blame, making excuses, and working for reduced punishments in schools or wherever they got themselves into trouble. One day, parents began to stand united with their kids instead of with authority......working to shelter them from any consequences that might arise from their mistakes.
One day, we got obsessed with our smart phones, iPads, and laptops and quit
parenting and talking to our kids. At some point, social media made it all about us. One day, our image became more important than our integrity. Someday, somehow, Facebook friends
and Twitter followers took the place of real relationships and
profile pictures became a mask for faces streaked with tears and voices that cracked with pain. Somewhere along the way, we quit being good friends and started sending text messages to say “Let me know if you need anything” or "I'm thinking of you"....after all, we just didn’t have time to talk. One day, there just wasn't much time for anyone.
Somewhere along the way, common sense was replaced with procedure. At some point, the fear of lawsuits began casting a dark, looming shadow over every, single situation. One day, things that made no sense were accepted without question, because we were all too busy to care. One day, the question of what we could do for our country took a backseat to what our country could do for us. One day, the greater good mattered very little when compared with getting what was coming to us. Somewhere along the way, "What's in it for me?" and "How will this affect me?" became the questions on most everyone's mind. One day, Black Friday shoppers rioted and protested a store's closing due to the fact that they'd trampled an employee to death on their way in. At some point, it came to be that no one else really mattered.
One day, we decided that our kids could sit
and play video games for hours with guns splattering blood everywhere and women being assaulted and we were ok
with that. It was just a game. One day, Andy Griffith and
Bill Cosby were replaced with shows that portrayed fathers as complete idiots and kids who were in total control of the household and we said that would be fine, too. One day, television became raunchy with some of its reality shows and such and we just kept watching and didn't turn the channel.
One day, we quit teaching our children about
the compassion of Jesus and we stopped raising hearts that were sensitive to the
pain of others. One day, we taught them that it was more important to come out on top than it was to help others along the way. One day, schools implemented bullying awareness programs to sensitize
the thoughtless, indifferent students that we were sending to school each day. One day, because of crime and fraud, fear squelched our desire to help and cynicism rooted out our pity. At some point, our sensitivities to other people's feelings drowned in cyber based communications.
One day, we found ourselves in the road all the time and too busy with all of our activities to cook, sit down at a table, and eat together. One day, our kids' accomplishments began to feed our own egos, so we signed them up for every activity possible until our calendars were filled to capacity and had no room for much else. At some point, we started eating meals in the car on the way to where we had to be next. One day, we didn’t read the Bible with our kids because we’d gotten home so late....and then the next day, too. At some point, we forgot what it was like to just sit at home with our family and enjoy it. Somewhere along the way, we started wearing our busyness like a badge of honor. One day, we were too stressed, too tired, and spread too thin to do the things we should've done.
One day, we found ourselves in the road all the time and too busy with all of our activities to cook, sit down at a table, and eat together. One day, our kids' accomplishments began to feed our own egos, so we signed them up for every activity possible until our calendars were filled to capacity and had no room for much else. At some point, we started eating meals in the car on the way to where we had to be next. One day, we didn’t read the Bible with our kids because we’d gotten home so late....and then the next day, too. At some point, we forgot what it was like to just sit at home with our family and enjoy it. Somewhere along the way, we started wearing our busyness like a badge of honor. One day, we were too stressed, too tired, and spread too thin to do the things we should've done.
One day. Somewhere along the
way. At some point.
It happened.
It happened.
Guilty.
God, forgive me.
Sunday, April 13, 2014
Weekend Highlights
We've had the most delightful weekend! Yesterday, some of my kinfolk from my Daddy's side came up for a visit and we enjoyed the most wonderful day together! His side....well, they're a fun people group, so when you combine them with good food, optimal weather, front porch swingin', and seeing my Daddy's face when I looked at my aunt, well, it all made for a perfect day.
Since they don't get up here much, their impending visit launched the type of cleaning spree that is set aside only for infrequent guests. The infrequent guest requires a higher level of cleaning as they can be fooled into believing that you keep an immaculate house as their visits are widely spaced and planned well in advance. You know when you have your "usual" company over, you just kind of hit the high spots, as, well... the cat is already out of the bag with them. However, let visitors who aren't on your frequent flyer list schedule a visit and you'll find yourself using attachments on the vacuum cleaner that you never knew you had.....sucking dust bunnies out of plantation shutters and crouched over baseboards behind furniture so large that only the good Lord sees them. This is the type cleaning that I found myself doing this week. I think that it should be a self imposed requirement to schedule this type of special company, at least once a quarter, so to bring scenes like this to the light.
These images contain graphic content, but I'm just keeping it real, people. I thought I caught a glimpse of something under the piece of furniture that houses Carson's television and Xbox and when I moved it back from the wall, this was what I found. It was to my relief that I discovered the white box, not to be cigarettes as I thought at first glance, but, instead, only poker cards. I would have to go with the vice of gambling over cigs at this point. Also found were the easily explained bouncy balls and the more difficult to justify....congregation of Frosted Flakes. I'm sure when this chest left Pier One, it could never have imagined anything like this. This was the most disturbing scene that was unearthed in my cleaning process, but I feel that it serves to connect us with the common folk as I know it, often, appears that it's just glitz, glamour, and all that is fancy over here with us.
Anyway, moving onto today, we enjoyed a fun family afternoon at Mississippi State....besides, of course, the part about the Bulldogs getting whooped by the Rebels. It was a long, arduous journey from the car to the field with it being Super Bulldog weekend and all and the fact that my purse housed Davis' large bottled water made it that much longer. Let it be said that Davis never pays $3.00 for water. Never. Regardless of the loss, baseball games are always relaxing......with the possible exception of when the clapper of Blair's cowbell goes airborne, almost taking out a couple of Bulldog children seated a few rows below us. A nice lady seated in front of us took our picture. It was so kind of her considering she had Carson's seasonal allergies going on behind her and Blair pairing each of the baseball players' last names with her name to see which one sounded best. I'm sure it was to her relief that we left a little early.
That was about it, I guess. Hope your weekend was as good as mine.
Anyway, moving onto today, we enjoyed a fun family afternoon at Mississippi State....besides, of course, the part about the Bulldogs getting whooped by the Rebels. It was a long, arduous journey from the car to the field with it being Super Bulldog weekend and all and the fact that my purse housed Davis' large bottled water made it that much longer. Let it be said that Davis never pays $3.00 for water. Never. Regardless of the loss, baseball games are always relaxing......with the possible exception of when the clapper of Blair's cowbell goes airborne, almost taking out a couple of Bulldog children seated a few rows below us. A nice lady seated in front of us took our picture. It was so kind of her considering she had Carson's seasonal allergies going on behind her and Blair pairing each of the baseball players' last names with her name to see which one sounded best. I'm sure it was to her relief that we left a little early.
Before we headed home, we went for coffee and what have you. Let it be said that Davis never pays $5.00 for coffee at coffeehouses. Never. But he does enjoy their comfy chairs, while everyone else is savoring their beverage.
Thursday, April 10, 2014
Ode to Sibling Day '14
Well, I hope National Sibling Day didn't sneak up and find you without a gift for your closest of relatives. All I know is that here it is after 10:00 pm and neither of my brothers have called to wish me Happy Sibling Day. It's hard to believe. You should always be extra nice to your brothers and sisters as you never know when you will need a body part and theirs are sure to be your closest match.
I love this picture of my little brother's first night at home from the hospital. The boy had a pair of lungs on him. That's good, I suppose....I may need one of those one day, Lee. Anyway, I don't think I liked the new living arrangement from the look on my face. Little did I know on this night, that one day, in the not so distant future, the one on the left would hold me down, while the one in the middle would pummel me in the face with the blue, wooden handle of his corn popper. What are siblings for, really, if not to create lifelong trust issues?
Growing up between two boys, there wasn't much time to sit around and be prissy. We also had mostly boys on our street, so unless you wanted to be a loner, you had to play what the boys were playing. Every day, there was some type of ballgame going on in our yard. It usually was whatever was in season. We played whiffle ball, Country Jay, HORSE, two hand touch football, croquet, roller skated and skateboarded in the carport, and hit the tennis ball against the house. I have to brag, too, that when captains starting picking teams in the neighborhood, I was always chosen pretty early on in the process.....I mean, for a little, skinny girl.
We also fished in the pond behind our house, rode bicycles from morning to dusk, and my all time favorite.....placed pennies on the railroad track down the street, so that we could go back after the train had passed and collect our flattened coins. Remember, this was the 70's when parents didn't mind if their kids played on the railroad tracks. We developed something called, common sense, as a result.
My mother still has a necklace that we all pitched in to buy her from the jewelry counter at TG&Y. When I say jewelry counter, I mean it in the loosest way possible. It was a lovely, golden chain or, at least, it was golden in 1978. I'm not sure what color it is now, but it rests in my mother's jewelry box. Anyway, its topaz colored plastic pendant bore the impression of a yellow wildflower in its center. My older brother, Zane, was the main financer of our gifts...I don't know where he got all of his money. I, the only girl, was always responsible for taking our stash of construction paper, white paste, and pinking shears and creating a lovely card....careful to pen a sentiment that expressed our gratitude, as a whole, to our mother. Lee, well, he was the baby and you know how that goes. He couldn't contribute much to our group gifts, but I guess when you're the baby, it doesn't matter....you're gonna be the favorite, regardless.
We were always given the chore of raking the yard and when we'd start fighting in the middle of it, we were all called into my daddy's office, where he'd turn us over his knee and give us a few whops on the derrière. He operated on kind of the" if one goes down, they all go down" type of system. Here we are on one of our yard raking days. This is obviously a "before" picture with us smiling and all.
Living with boys, I also figured out, early on, that the more nonchalant you could be, while they're coming at you with a lizard, snake, or dead animal, the less time the offending creature would spend in your face. Boys are into screaming and crying and if you don't give it to them, they lose interest pretty fast.
My little brother and I shared a common relief when our older brother left for college. For the first time in our lives, Lee and I felt like we might actually get all we wanted to eat as the bottomless goat had left home. For years, I'd accompanied my mother to the grocery store in order to push the second cart. The boy could put away some groceries as he is the root of my eating fast to this day. "If you don't hurry, Zane will get it", the little voice in my head still taunts.
Anyway, here's one last picture of our little family headed to church. Zane was rocking that leisure suit, and Lee, the baby, taking his rightful place on the throne of Daddy's arms. Me and my Pageboy haircut, if you'll notice, are the only ones with an offering envelope. Interesting. I'm sure all the boxes were checked off on it as having read my Bible daily, studied my lesson, and worship attendance.
I guess growing up with boys taught me a lot. I'm quite adept at hitting pop flies to Carson. I'm not afraid to bait a hook with a worm. I can sharpen a knife with a wet rock. I can catch crickets if the occasion ever calls for it. I can put a chain back on a bike. I'm good with tools and assembly. I know the rules of football and all the NFL teams and their colors. Quite possibly the most advantageous result....my nose is forever numb to the stench of sweat.
I hope they learned a thing or two from me, too.
Happy Sibling Day, boys.
I love this picture of my little brother's first night at home from the hospital. The boy had a pair of lungs on him. That's good, I suppose....I may need one of those one day, Lee. Anyway, I don't think I liked the new living arrangement from the look on my face. Little did I know on this night, that one day, in the not so distant future, the one on the left would hold me down, while the one in the middle would pummel me in the face with the blue, wooden handle of his corn popper. What are siblings for, really, if not to create lifelong trust issues?
We also fished in the pond behind our house, rode bicycles from morning to dusk, and my all time favorite.....placed pennies on the railroad track down the street, so that we could go back after the train had passed and collect our flattened coins. Remember, this was the 70's when parents didn't mind if their kids played on the railroad tracks. We developed something called, common sense, as a result.
My mother still has a necklace that we all pitched in to buy her from the jewelry counter at TG&Y. When I say jewelry counter, I mean it in the loosest way possible. It was a lovely, golden chain or, at least, it was golden in 1978. I'm not sure what color it is now, but it rests in my mother's jewelry box. Anyway, its topaz colored plastic pendant bore the impression of a yellow wildflower in its center. My older brother, Zane, was the main financer of our gifts...I don't know where he got all of his money. I, the only girl, was always responsible for taking our stash of construction paper, white paste, and pinking shears and creating a lovely card....careful to pen a sentiment that expressed our gratitude, as a whole, to our mother. Lee, well, he was the baby and you know how that goes. He couldn't contribute much to our group gifts, but I guess when you're the baby, it doesn't matter....you're gonna be the favorite, regardless.
We were always given the chore of raking the yard and when we'd start fighting in the middle of it, we were all called into my daddy's office, where he'd turn us over his knee and give us a few whops on the derrière. He operated on kind of the" if one goes down, they all go down" type of system. Here we are on one of our yard raking days. This is obviously a "before" picture with us smiling and all.
Around the fourth of July when firework stands opened, I remember that we'd go over to the vacant lot next to our house and set up army men and build them little forts with sticks. After we'd gotten it all set up, we'd throw firecrackers at each other's compounds, blowing them to smithereens. Of course, whoever caused the most destruction to the other team was the winner. Again....1970's....."Sure, y'all take those explosives out and play, while we watch Lawrence Welk." These are activities you could never do with a sister. I may not have had anyone to play dress up or share clothes with, but I learned the exact moment that you had to release a firecracker to avoid losing a finger. That is a skill that will serve you well your whole life.
Living with boys, I also figured out, early on, that the more nonchalant you could be, while they're coming at you with a lizard, snake, or dead animal, the less time the offending creature would spend in your face. Boys are into screaming and crying and if you don't give it to them, they lose interest pretty fast.
My little brother and I shared a common relief when our older brother left for college. For the first time in our lives, Lee and I felt like we might actually get all we wanted to eat as the bottomless goat had left home. For years, I'd accompanied my mother to the grocery store in order to push the second cart. The boy could put away some groceries as he is the root of my eating fast to this day. "If you don't hurry, Zane will get it", the little voice in my head still taunts.
Anyway, here's one last picture of our little family headed to church. Zane was rocking that leisure suit, and Lee, the baby, taking his rightful place on the throne of Daddy's arms. Me and my Pageboy haircut, if you'll notice, are the only ones with an offering envelope. Interesting. I'm sure all the boxes were checked off on it as having read my Bible daily, studied my lesson, and worship attendance.
I hope they learned a thing or two from me, too.
Happy Sibling Day, boys.
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
A Follow-Up or Two
Ok.... first, I have to share this picture taken by my friend, Jean, while she was on a shopping trip in North Carolina. Jean has located the retirement facility, where all of our 1970's playground equipment is resting comfortably, living out their final days. We should all make plans to meet there next Tuesday morning after "Captain Kangaroo" goes off and relive recess of 1975, while testing the weight limits of these rusty, childhood relics. Don't forget to wear your red Keds and bring your metal Holly Hobbie lunchbox and Thermos as lunch will not be provided. We should be home by the time "ZOOM" comes on at 5:00. No permission slip needed as, I'm sure, our parents are still not overly concerned with our safety.
Ok, next order of business.....I need to defend myself on the whole headlight issue. I realize that my brain has only functioned at about 30% since I turned, oh I'd say, 42 or so.....and, sometimes, I do things that cause me to pause and say to myself, "Good gosh, woman, you are on the verge of needing round the clock care", but driving without turning on my headlights was a first for me. Well, I was so relieved at dinner tonight when Davis says, "Oh, about your blog today....I think I may have switched your lights to "off" when I took your car in to be serviced yesterday." Well, there you have it, people. Did I not say that a leprechaun must have been responsible for that? The leprechaun's name is Davis. He would've felt horrible had the incident ended in a shootout or, even worse,......a fine, but all's well that ends well. I'd like to thank him for coming forward and not leaving me out there, all alone, in the land of self-doubt.
Also, today was my dentist appointment as I forge ahead in my quest to be checked from top to bottom. We can go ahead and check that one off of our list. So glad to have that over with for a while. Is there anything more torturous than having your teeth cleaned? They stick that long ice pick type instrument in between your teeth and they scrape and scrape and scrape. The metal against teeth sound makes its counterpart, the fingernails on chalkboard sound, seem like a melodious lullaby. Today was an exception, but, usually, I get the chatty dental hygienists, who want to have a conversation with you, while she's got four fingers, an ice pick, a little mirror, and a suction hose all up in your mouth. They'll usually ask questions like, "How old are your kids now?" or "How did the weather look when you came in?" You just try to answer the best you can with your tongue pinned down and all , "Ahaaaa eeeehhhh haahheeeaa aaheehaa". I have to say that I appreciated today's hygienist's understanding that you cannot have a conversation with someone, while your fist is in their mouth.
I have other reasons for not enjoying the dentist's office, not the least of which, are my hypersensitive gag reflex and overactive salivary gland. Those things that they stick in there to take the x-rays......they feel like 2x4s to a gagger and that little, tiny suction hose they use needs to be the size of a garden hose to keep up with my salivary gland. I'm a squirter. So embarrassing.
I guess that's all that happened around these parts today.
Hope your day was good.
Ok, next order of business.....I need to defend myself on the whole headlight issue. I realize that my brain has only functioned at about 30% since I turned, oh I'd say, 42 or so.....and, sometimes, I do things that cause me to pause and say to myself, "Good gosh, woman, you are on the verge of needing round the clock care", but driving without turning on my headlights was a first for me. Well, I was so relieved at dinner tonight when Davis says, "Oh, about your blog today....I think I may have switched your lights to "off" when I took your car in to be serviced yesterday." Well, there you have it, people. Did I not say that a leprechaun must have been responsible for that? The leprechaun's name is Davis. He would've felt horrible had the incident ended in a shootout or, even worse,......a fine, but all's well that ends well. I'd like to thank him for coming forward and not leaving me out there, all alone, in the land of self-doubt.
Also, today was my dentist appointment as I forge ahead in my quest to be checked from top to bottom. We can go ahead and check that one off of our list. So glad to have that over with for a while. Is there anything more torturous than having your teeth cleaned? They stick that long ice pick type instrument in between your teeth and they scrape and scrape and scrape. The metal against teeth sound makes its counterpart, the fingernails on chalkboard sound, seem like a melodious lullaby. Today was an exception, but, usually, I get the chatty dental hygienists, who want to have a conversation with you, while she's got four fingers, an ice pick, a little mirror, and a suction hose all up in your mouth. They'll usually ask questions like, "How old are your kids now?" or "How did the weather look when you came in?" You just try to answer the best you can with your tongue pinned down and all , "Ahaaaa eeeehhhh haahheeeaa aaheehaa". I have to say that I appreciated today's hygienist's understanding that you cannot have a conversation with someone, while your fist is in their mouth.
I have other reasons for not enjoying the dentist's office, not the least of which, are my hypersensitive gag reflex and overactive salivary gland. Those things that they stick in there to take the x-rays......they feel like 2x4s to a gagger and that little, tiny suction hose they use needs to be the size of a garden hose to keep up with my salivary gland. I'm a squirter. So embarrassing.
I guess that's all that happened around these parts today.
Hope your day was good.
Monday, April 7, 2014
A Brush with the Law
Well, I found myself in a bit of trouble with the law
tonight on my way home from the First Baptist Church Easter choir
practice. Yeah, you heard me. I may be
an alto in the church choir, but I can still get disorderly when the mood
strikes.
After the extra Monday night choir rehearsal that we had to prepare for our upcoming spring/Easter program, I decided it was still early enough to head to Lowe’s to pick up a couple of pots of flowers to plant tomorrow. When I got several blocks from the church, I noticed a police car pull up right behind me and turn on his lights and siren…….and, wait a minute, another police car pulled up behind him…..and, wait a minute, another police car pulled up behind him….all with their sirens and blinding blue lights “ just a-goin’”. I immediately pulled over as I was certain that they were attempting to get around me in a race to catch some ruthless thug. However, when I pulled over, they did, too. Hmmm. I was glad that I quickly got over as I surely did not want to add “Evading Police” to whatever other offense I’d committed that was warranting my being chased down by one-third of our local police force.
Anyway, as I sat there eager to hear my charges, the police car directly behind me turns on his big, bright spotlight and shines it into my car. For what seemed like forever, I waited…..all the while trying to figure out what I could have done. If I’ve learned one thing from watching reruns of COPS, it’s that when you have three police cars behind you with a spotlight shining in your car, you don’t want to make any sudden movements. I was careful not to reach for the glove box, my purse, or the console as I didn’t want to set off any type of gunfire and land myself on both the front page AND the obit page of the Tuesday morning paper...nor was I interested in the local news playing clips of my car windows all shot out with close ups of my bullet riddled Easter music covered in glass.
So depressing to get to this stage in life. It would’ve made a much better story if my offense had been more scandalous and less geriatric in nature, but this is where I am, apparently. No mugshot. No newspaper clippings. No film at 10:00. Move along, there's nothing to see here.....nothing but a perimenopausal woman with her lights off......and probably a purse on top of her car.
After the extra Monday night choir rehearsal that we had to prepare for our upcoming spring/Easter program, I decided it was still early enough to head to Lowe’s to pick up a couple of pots of flowers to plant tomorrow. When I got several blocks from the church, I noticed a police car pull up right behind me and turn on his lights and siren…….and, wait a minute, another police car pulled up behind him…..and, wait a minute, another police car pulled up behind him….all with their sirens and blinding blue lights “ just a-goin’”. I immediately pulled over as I was certain that they were attempting to get around me in a race to catch some ruthless thug. However, when I pulled over, they did, too. Hmmm. I was glad that I quickly got over as I surely did not want to add “Evading Police” to whatever other offense I’d committed that was warranting my being chased down by one-third of our local police force.
Anyway, as I sat there eager to hear my charges, the police car directly behind me turns on his big, bright spotlight and shines it into my car. For what seemed like forever, I waited…..all the while trying to figure out what I could have done. If I’ve learned one thing from watching reruns of COPS, it’s that when you have three police cars behind you with a spotlight shining in your car, you don’t want to make any sudden movements. I was careful not to reach for the glove box, my purse, or the console as I didn’t want to set off any type of gunfire and land myself on both the front page AND the obit page of the Tuesday morning paper...nor was I interested in the local news playing clips of my car windows all shot out with close ups of my bullet riddled Easter music covered in glass.
Of course, the first thing I had to ask myself as I sat
there was, “Ok, this is my car, right?” I have been known to attempt to unlock the wrong car at the mall, on more than one occasion. I quickly established that it was, indeed, my car. But what if, while I was singing “Come Thou
Fount of Every Blessing”, my car was stolen and used in some type of heist
involving automatic weapons, zip ties, and a shovel. As the spotlight went back and forth through
my car, I made my way down a mental list of what else I might have done. I hadn't produced any crack cocaine.....not today, at least. (Kidding...relax, Protestants.) I have been known to be a speeder, but I was
sure that wasn’t the problem in this case.
I certainly hadn’t been weaving from drinking. I’d been to Baptist choir practice and
Baptists never drink at choir practice.
I wasn’t texting. I’d stopped at
all the stop signs. I started to feel a
little panicky as the policeman finally walked up to my door. I mean, it’s not every day that three cop
cars have you pulled over. This had to
be serious in nature.
The officer walked up to my window, after about five minutes
of keeping me in suspense, and greeted me with a warm, “Good evening, ma’am…….do
you realize that you’re driving with your lights off?” I first thought, ”Ok...well, this is embarrassing”,
but then I tried to imagine how his communication with dispatch must’ve sounded. “I’ve got a white, female suspect driving with her lights
off. I’m going to need backup. Stat.”
Anyway, I quickly responded with an appropriate, “Oh, my
word! No, sir, I did not realize that….I’m
so sorry!” I immediately reached down
and flipped the lights on as, obviously, a leprechaun had broken into my car,
while I was at church, and turned the light switch from “Auto” to “Off”. There’s
no other explanation. Anyway, the officer continued, “We’re going to
need you to turn those on for us”. I
didn’t really like the patronizing tone of his command, but responded with
a humble, “Yes, sir”. I have found in my
past brushes with the law that using “sir” in a humble tone, while apologizing
for your lawlessness is your best safeguard against being ticketed.
Well, I suppose I’ve reached that point in life and it has
come to this. The next thing you know,
they’ll be pulling me over to tell me my seatbelt is hanging outside the door
and is making sparks on the pavement…….or that my dress is caught in the door and flapping
in the wind.....or that I’ve had my blinker
on for three miles.
So depressing to get to this stage in life. It would’ve made a much better story if my offense had been more scandalous and less geriatric in nature, but this is where I am, apparently. No mugshot. No newspaper clippings. No film at 10:00. Move along, there's nothing to see here.....nothing but a perimenopausal woman with her lights off......and probably a purse on top of her car.
Saturday, April 5, 2014
Not Much, How About You?
I guess I
don’t have a whole lot to say about any one thing today, but, instead, I have a
tiny bit to say about a few, random things that you may or may not find
interesting. Our life, around here, has
just been fraught with thrills and adventure…the kind that movies are made of…..so it’s difficult
to hone in on one topic today.
First, we
have to talk about this pollen. It’s
that time of year again. The South is covered with a thick, yellow blanket and
the air is so full of the pesky powder that it has taken on a smoky appearance
at times. Sitting out at Carson’s baseball
games this week, I caught enough pollen in my hair to impregnate a national
forest. As a result, my head has been
pounding for the last 5 days. It feels
like a little blacksmith is in there, beating the stew out of some steel or
something. (I don’t have any idea what
it means to beat the stew out of something , but it’s just what we say down
here…usually used by your Mama to describe what she was going to do when she got
you and your brothers home.) Anyway, my
eyes are so bloodshot that I look like I’ve been having way more fun than I
actually have. My “allergic to
everything” boy, Carson (Gold bless him) is sneezing with every breath and his
nose and eyes are dripping like a faucet.
He takes three medicines daily for allergy and asthma plus an inhaler
and allergy shots, so I don’t know what else we could do for him short of the
bubble approach. Even the dog’s eyes are
watering. It’s serious around here, but
the rain we’re getting should help matters.
I do wish
that the pine trees could be a little more discreet with their love nonsense and not
involve the rest of us in their indiscriminate relationships.
I did read, however, that pine pollen offers several health benefits
although I have yet to experience any of them.
It boosts the immune and endocrine systems, reduces pains, lowers
cholesterol and inflammation, and most notably….it is a very effective testosterone
booster. I suppose you should go stand
outside if you’re in pain or if your cholesterol is high, but, for goodness
sake, keep your man indoors. The last
thing most of them need is any kind of boost or inspiration from the pines.
Switching
gears, we renewed our family phone plan this past week. Blair and I got new iPhones, Davis got my old
iPhone and Carson will get his first smart phone when final grades are released
as part of an incentive program we implemented.
Davis, the federal government
employee, has been using his government issued 1990’s flip phone for the last
decade. I know that there is much
wasteful spending that should be exposed in our government, but, I am here to
tell you right now, it cannot be found in the USDA employee phone program. I would text him, “Are you still at work?” and it would take him forever to respond as he’d have
to hit “9” three times for “Y”, “3” two times for “E”, and “7” four times for “S”. It was just a notch above Morse code. It goes without saying that we are all excited
about his stepping up in the phone world.
Each time we
get new phones, update our phones or do anything new with our phones, my line
and Blair’s line seem to get crossed up, because we share an iTunes account. The first time this happened was last
fall. My cell phone rang one night and
when I answered it, a young man on the other end said, “Hey,..where you at?” Resisting my urge to point out that his
sentence was lacking a verb and ended in an unnecessary preposition, I told him
that I thought he might have the wrong person.
Unbeknownst to the poor boy, he had been connected, not with Blair, but
her 45 year old mother, who was sitting on the couch, eating an ice cream
sandwich in her stretchy pants with night cream on her face. Imagine his surprise.
Well, we had
the problem all worked out until this past week when we renewed our family plan
and our new phones were issued. Within
an hour of having my new phone, I realized that we were crossed up again when a
young man texted “me” and asked if “I” would like to see a movie with him over
the weekend. I have to say that it has
been a long time since I’ve had this much excitement, but you can imagine Blair’s
eagerness to get the problem resolved. It
was kind of reminiscent of back in the day, when a boy had to go through your
Mama first as she’d answer the phone on the kitchen wall and when you took it
from her, you’d have to stretch the coiled cord into another room for a little
privacy. I say let’s go back to that. It built character and made us the people we
are today.
Oh, and last
night, Davis worked late, so Carson and I had a date night. We went out for pizza and calzones, bought his
first pair of jeans sized by WxL, got ice cream, and spent a great deal of time
trying on baseball gloves. Carson has
the most awesome sense of humor, so he's always a fun date. I do think I am loving this teenage son
thing. While he’s not near as eager and cooperative
as Blair when taking pictures, he did pump my gas…..a service that Blair does
not offer.
That's all I've got today.
Night, y’all….
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
But Seriously
I suppose you could say that tonight's post is a commercial of sorts. If you haven’t seen the movie, “Son of God”, I highly
recommend it as a way to prepare yourself for Easter. It's no longer playing here in our town, but I know it's still in many theaters. A couple of weeks ago, we saw it as a family and, while I know there have been many movies done over the years about Jesus’ life, I do think that they can serve the purpose of shaking us and waking us to things that we, often, let drift from our consciousness.
We can’t really imagine, here in 2014 America, what Jesus' life was like or the brutality of the time in which He lived. Heck, we can hardly wrap our brain around a world without granite countertops, high speed internet, and Starbucks. Movies about His life can be hard to watch, but I think it’s good for us to be reminded of the atrocities that He endured for us. When the beating and crucifixion came on the screen, we all shifted, uncomfortably, in our seats and some of us covered our ears and eyes. I’m guilty of getting so wrapped up in ME and MY little world and MY busy schedule, MY group of friends, and things that affect MY family that, sometimes, I feel a million miles and a million years detached from the cross.
During the movie, I tried to imagine being Mary, a mother who loved her son with all of her heart. Just like me. She’d carried her Son, held Him, watched Him grow, and, I imagine, worried about Him. Just like me. She loved Him just like I love my children. Knowing that kind of love, I imagined watching one of my children being beaten and crucified. I wondered how a mother’s body could survive the trauma of seeing her son tortured and killed right there before her eyes…how a mother’s heart wouldn’t just stop beating. Not only was her call to be mother to the Savior a difficult and awkward thing when she was a young, unmarried, pregnant girl, but it also locked her into some devastating grief and loss later in her life, too. She was part of God’s plan to save us. Sometimes, what God asks us to do is so very hard, but I want to trust that He has a reason and a plan....like Mary did.
I tried to imagine being Peter after he realized he’d denied Jesus just like he said he would never do. I’ve never denied Jesus in the flesh, but I’ve tried to distance myself from Him in more subtle and “acceptable” ways. There have been times when I should have spoken and I stayed quiet. There have been times when I should've done something and I did nothing.....maybe because I didn't feel comfortable being associated with Jesus in that particular situation. There weren’t any roosters that crowed to alert me to what I’d done and I didn’t have to look directly into Jesus’ face, but the sin was just the same. I’m sure Peter was in agony for three days, feeling like he’d blown his chance to prove his faithfulness……but Jesus came back, showed him mercy, and reestablished him....pointing him forward and not backward. There was the job of building His church that Jesus needed Peter to start on right away. Sometimes, God has to grow us before He can do His work through us. I want to learn from my mistakes, forget them, and move forward with what I'm supposed to be doing....like Pete did.
I tried to imagine being the thief, who turned to Jesus as he was hanging next to Him. I imagined how it would feel to know that you’re in your last hour of life. I’ve never been on a cross at the point of death, but I’ve hung very anxiously at the end of my rope. The times when I’m shaken by my own insufficiency is when I'm likely to look for God in the most serious way. Sometimes, He has to take us to the end of ourselves and to the end of our options to remind us to depend on Him. I want to know where to turn.... like the thief on the cross did.
I tried to imagine being Jesus. I tried to imagine knowing the horrific things that were about to happen to me, while watching my closest friends scatter. My mind couldn’t grasp the idea of asking for God’s forgiveness for people who’d whipped me, spat on me, and mocked me. How do you ask for mercy for people, who've harmed you so savagely and unapologetically? I also tried to imagine hanging on a cross for the sake of a woman, who would live over 2,000 years later….a woman who’d be a blogger, a busy mother and wife...a stubborn, complacent, undisciplined woman, who would offend me over and over and over again....a woman whose life would be so full that she wouldn’t give much thought to what I'd done for her on an average day. I tried to imagine the kind of love that you'd have to have to die for someone like that and I couldn't. I want to love people even when they're hard to love.....like Jesus did.
After the movie, the four of us walked back to the car and rode home in total silence. I think because small talk about work, baseball, school, or what’s for supper seemed so inconsequential in light of what we’d just seen. In our quiet ten minute ride home, we all looked out our own windows and, somewhere deep inside, where only God can hear, I think we were probably all whispering the same prayer, “I’m so sorry you had to do that for me.” In the quiet, I’m sure we all shared a similar, unspoken shame in the half-hearted effort we give Him most of the time.
God, forgive me.
We can’t really imagine, here in 2014 America, what Jesus' life was like or the brutality of the time in which He lived. Heck, we can hardly wrap our brain around a world without granite countertops, high speed internet, and Starbucks. Movies about His life can be hard to watch, but I think it’s good for us to be reminded of the atrocities that He endured for us. When the beating and crucifixion came on the screen, we all shifted, uncomfortably, in our seats and some of us covered our ears and eyes. I’m guilty of getting so wrapped up in ME and MY little world and MY busy schedule, MY group of friends, and things that affect MY family that, sometimes, I feel a million miles and a million years detached from the cross.
During the movie, I tried to imagine being Mary, a mother who loved her son with all of her heart. Just like me. She’d carried her Son, held Him, watched Him grow, and, I imagine, worried about Him. Just like me. She loved Him just like I love my children. Knowing that kind of love, I imagined watching one of my children being beaten and crucified. I wondered how a mother’s body could survive the trauma of seeing her son tortured and killed right there before her eyes…how a mother’s heart wouldn’t just stop beating. Not only was her call to be mother to the Savior a difficult and awkward thing when she was a young, unmarried, pregnant girl, but it also locked her into some devastating grief and loss later in her life, too. She was part of God’s plan to save us. Sometimes, what God asks us to do is so very hard, but I want to trust that He has a reason and a plan....like Mary did.
I tried to imagine being Peter after he realized he’d denied Jesus just like he said he would never do. I’ve never denied Jesus in the flesh, but I’ve tried to distance myself from Him in more subtle and “acceptable” ways. There have been times when I should have spoken and I stayed quiet. There have been times when I should've done something and I did nothing.....maybe because I didn't feel comfortable being associated with Jesus in that particular situation. There weren’t any roosters that crowed to alert me to what I’d done and I didn’t have to look directly into Jesus’ face, but the sin was just the same. I’m sure Peter was in agony for three days, feeling like he’d blown his chance to prove his faithfulness……but Jesus came back, showed him mercy, and reestablished him....pointing him forward and not backward. There was the job of building His church that Jesus needed Peter to start on right away. Sometimes, God has to grow us before He can do His work through us. I want to learn from my mistakes, forget them, and move forward with what I'm supposed to be doing....like Pete did.
I tried to imagine being the thief, who turned to Jesus as he was hanging next to Him. I imagined how it would feel to know that you’re in your last hour of life. I’ve never been on a cross at the point of death, but I’ve hung very anxiously at the end of my rope. The times when I’m shaken by my own insufficiency is when I'm likely to look for God in the most serious way. Sometimes, He has to take us to the end of ourselves and to the end of our options to remind us to depend on Him. I want to know where to turn.... like the thief on the cross did.
I tried to imagine being Jesus. I tried to imagine knowing the horrific things that were about to happen to me, while watching my closest friends scatter. My mind couldn’t grasp the idea of asking for God’s forgiveness for people who’d whipped me, spat on me, and mocked me. How do you ask for mercy for people, who've harmed you so savagely and unapologetically? I also tried to imagine hanging on a cross for the sake of a woman, who would live over 2,000 years later….a woman who’d be a blogger, a busy mother and wife...a stubborn, complacent, undisciplined woman, who would offend me over and over and over again....a woman whose life would be so full that she wouldn’t give much thought to what I'd done for her on an average day. I tried to imagine the kind of love that you'd have to have to die for someone like that and I couldn't. I want to love people even when they're hard to love.....like Jesus did.
After the movie, the four of us walked back to the car and rode home in total silence. I think because small talk about work, baseball, school, or what’s for supper seemed so inconsequential in light of what we’d just seen. In our quiet ten minute ride home, we all looked out our own windows and, somewhere deep inside, where only God can hear, I think we were probably all whispering the same prayer, “I’m so sorry you had to do that for me.” In the quiet, I’m sure we all shared a similar, unspoken shame in the half-hearted effort we give Him most of the time.
God, forgive me.
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