Category Archives: Inspiration for daily living

Kinfolk

Posted on by
1

My brothers and I are transplants. Our mother’s side of the family came from the Philadelphia area, first emigrated from Italy. My father was from South Georgia. We were transplanted as a result of his Navy career. Growing up just south of the Mason Dixon line, it was easier to see family on our maternal side and we also had the added benefit of having our maternal grandfather live with us. That offered us a built in connection. My father’s side seemed so distant as it was more difficult to maintain that connection. I have shared before that at the age of ten I first read To Kill a Mockingbird. It portrayed the era that my father was raised and I thought reading it was imperative to understanding my southern roots. I will also admit that Gone with the Wind gave me a very inaccurate picture of the environment where my father was raised. He had shared that he grew up on the Colton plantation. What I had envisioned was far removed from the dark brown framed humble abode which was the reality.

With my retirement quickly approaching, I had planned a trip to Savannah, Georgia, as a gift to myself. There was no familial connection to the area yet it was front and center on my bucket list. In conversations with my Georgian cousin we came up with a plan to visit Savannah and then spend time together becoming reacquainted as family. I won’t go into details but that plan was abandoned and I spent my week with family enjoying a long overdue visit. My cousin and I hadn’t seen each other face to face since we were young but our connection has become strong in adulthood. I felt totally comfortable with accepting her offer which embodied perfect southern hospitality. I still have plans to visit Savannah but I thought it was more important to delve deeper into my family’s history.

What did I take away with me? I was already familiar with the red clay and the abundance of pines. Here in the north, we are fortunate not to fall victim to kudzu. This invasive vine can be seen everywhere, as it takes over hills, valleys and fields. The only plus I could grasp was the sea of green it created. Not every neighborhood has a wandering goat but my cousin’s does and I found it delightful. For the first time in my life, I tried boiled peanuts. That might be the last time they cross my palate as I think it takes a considerable amount of time to get use to the texture. I gave all the other southern fare a big thumbs up! Tender baby back ribs and the boiled shrimp was most enjoyable. I learned to appreciate many of the foods as a child since my father introduced it to us as part of our smorgasbord menu growing up. Good fried okra and pimento cheese is not considered a staple here, north of the Mason Dixon line, but I was grateful to find an abundance there. My cousin made a point to expand my sweet tooth and I found buttermilk and chess pies to be a wonderful dessert added as a delicious finish to a meal. It is amazing that we found so much time to talk, and catch up, when she spent so much time in the kitchen, cooking items to expand my horizons and waistline. We have talked about future trips and I hold out for the addition of peach cobbler and corn dogs the next time I am there.

Obviously I enjoyed my time visiting, eating and sightseeing. What I found more gratifying was the opportunity to meet my cousin’s grown children and her grandchildren, her husband and his siblings. It was important to me to understand what I had missed by not growing up there and fill in many blanks, as well as rehash family stories and histories. The last time I made a trip to Georgia I was able to visit with two of my aunts. They have since transitioned and I considered my brief time with them a gift. One expects the loss of their parents, and my aunts’ deaths, although mourned, didn’t come as a shock. What I do find unsettling is the loss of six of my Georgian cousins since my last visit. Little by little, I see time slipping away but I don’t want my southern roots going too. This visit has me reflect on the questions I wished I had asked earlier. In retrospect, I can’t make up for lost time, but I can change the future. Conversations and visits will continue and if they include fried okra and brewed tea, all the better.

Voices

Posted on by
1

I am hearing impaired, being totally deaf in one ear. It is manageable but I do struggle with locating the direction of sound. Hearing aids help but everything is funneled into the good “hearing” ear which doesn’t necessarily aid with detecting the origin. Some time ago I was in the parking lot of the behavioral health organization where I worked. I heard my name called but I couldn’t determine the direction it came from in order to acknowledge it. I stood there, looking around, unsuccessful at verifying who was speaking to me. Finally, when locating the individual who happened to be a client, I told her I had heard a voice. Without missing a beat, she said ironically they were the ones who were called crazy when they made comments like that. I have never forgotten that exchange as I have never been challenged with that troubling experience. I have always been able to appreciate individuals and the uniqueness of their voices.

My father never lost his soft southern drawl. Although I have committed his voice to memory, I would give anything to hear him speak again. It has been over 30 years since his death but he has not been relegated to history. I had a dream, several years ago, where my father appeared. It felt less like a dream and more like a visitation. He remained silent throughout the dream and when I woke I missed him more than ever. I found myself sitting up in bed with my arms outstretched, tears running down my face. I could feel his arms around me. It broke my heart that he appeared so life like, yet one of his endearing attributes was missing. It left me longing, more than usual, to hear his voice again.

With the advent of easily obtainable technology, things that would have been only a memory are now preserved by picture and video. It has become more than common place. As we celebrated what would be our mother’s last birthday, my son had the presence of mind to record it. Although her voice was softer and sounded tired, it creates a sentimental memory. My nephew recently posted a video interview of his mother, my late sister in law, on Facebook. Just like my mother, it was a bittersweet moment to hear her voice again. We were close and although we had spent countless hours in conversation over the years I still long for one more.

Technology has made it easier to stay in touch but it feels devoid of true personal connection. I remain current with my lifelong friend through texts and emails. We have lived thousands of miles apart for the majority of our lives. Face to face conversations and phone calls are limited. I laugh when I think about her mother not understanding why we had long nightly phone conversations after spending the day together in school. Maybe it was our way of storing up voice memories for the future. If I were to pick up the phone and hear her voice, there would be no need for introduction. There is a recognition that continues to last. It is much the same for others that I might not have talked to in some time. That individual’s voice is distinct and carries with it history and fond memories.

I will be truthful and acknowledge that not all conversations are pleasant. When my son was testing me, as adolescents and teenagers will do with their parents, there were many times that our voices would be raised. The words spoken were not the kind that you enjoy rehashing when the conversation ended. As we would part, I had a habit of asking my son something that bordered on the dramatic. If these were the last words we spoke to one another, is this the memory we would want to carry with us? Uncomfortable conversations do happen. Is it possible to speak in a calm tone, with truth and honest emotion, when you find it necessary to voice your opinion or anger?  I find it is just as important to voice pleasant and uplifting thoughts as they do no good held bound between someone’s ears. I choose to believe that our voices were given to us to be used as a tool, one for building others up and not tearing them down. Those on the receiving end, would be wise to listen with an open heart as one day that may be the only place that particular voice exists.

Post Script: This blog is posted a little bit later than usual. I had a long phone conversation tonight with a friend of over thirty years that I consider more as family. We are separated only by the miles. Do I need to tell you how good it was to hear her voice?

Pinching Pennies

Posted on by
Reply

I never knew my maternal grandmother. She died so young that my mother didn’t know her either. The fortunate part is that her fraternal twin sister was very much a part of our lives. She filled the role of grandmother and I always heard that I was very much like her. My great aunt Caroline never saw a sale she didn’t like. I am very much the same way. My mantra could be: Never pay full price when there is a discount to be had.

I have always fallen on the frugal side of the fence. Those who have been following my blog might be aware that my adult life has presented me with various financial challenges. I have had to start over a few times in the past. My divorce came later in life. There have been those who have said if they were in a similar situation maybe they would have stayed in the marriage. It would be considered a tradeoff that they were willing to make. The financial security that many years of marriage brought was not enough to hold me. There have been sacrifices along the way but I can live with a downgrade of vacations and a lesser amount of eating out. Within a year, I was able to buy a house and I have never missed a payment. My home is not large but it is cozy and I enjoy my life within its walls.

The experience garnered by my divorce served me well when I experienced the loss of employment, not once but twice. I considered my finances a challenge, not one that discouraged me but rather one that had me rise to meet the occasion. I refinanced the house and lowered my payments. I gave up trash pick-up and make weekend trips to the dump. I no longer have cable but I now consider myself the queen of YouTube as I find a wealth of entertainment there. I am a proponent of thrifting. I have never purchased a new car, only preowned. Give me a coupon and a discount and I can do wonders with the clearance rack at Kohl’s. I shop at a discount grocery store and additionally make use of a program at a local food chain. As food gets close to its expiration date, it is listed online for half price. If I don’t have plans for the meat it goes into the freezer so the benefit of that deep discount is not lost.

I am not the least bit embarrassed by these admissions. Those who know me well have bolstered my confidence by their comments over the years. One reflected on the fact that I am able to show creativity in finding ways to adjust my budget. She has observed times that it looked like I was going to bottom out but I am always able to bounce back and find a way to stretch the money a little bit further. Another friend once commented that I made being poor look easy. Many times throughout my professional life I might not have had a high income but I have never considered myself poor. I have never known hunger and my figure shows it! I have always had a safe and comfortable place to live and never worried about not having a roof over my head. I am proud to share that I hold an excellent credit rating. I have a special needs cat who has her necessary treatment at the vets each month. Necessity has always been met. This lifetime of frugality has prepared me well for this new lifestyle, that of retirement.

I have never been a bells and whistles kind of person and it is deeply ingrained. I recall my mother saying there were times I was difficult to buy for, not because I was picky but I never seemed to ask for anything in particular. My lifestyle is not for everyone but I am grateful for the things it has wrought. I know as a parent that I must have lead by example as I am extremely proud of the way my son handles his finances with such responsibility. I have learned to be gracious as my friends and family have extended generosity in many ways. I wake up each and every day with sincere thankfulness. I have been blessed with such abundance. It might not always manifest in a material way but what I have received over my lifetime leaves me with a feeling of gratitude and contentment beyond description.

Going, Going, Gone

Posted on by
1

In an ironic twist, I recently found myself making purchases at both a flea market and an auction. After my last post, More or Less, bringing items into my home appears to be a hypocritical choice. As much as I find it necessary to simplify my life and lessen the load I have collected over the years, I have never lost a certain level of sentimentality for certain items. Our mother, Rita, lived for twenty two years after the death of our father. Her home was filled with items acquired over time, permeated with copious amounts of love and memories. When she gave up housekeeping, I brought many of her items over to my home. I continue to call my style Rita Revisited.

I go through stages when I invest my time in auctions. I can remember the first one I attended. I tagged along with our father to one being held very close to our home. I don’t think I caught the main purpose of the event and I don’t recall if our father bid on anything. I do remember, being a child short in stature, I couldn’t see over the people standing in front of us. Our mother was much more a fan of yard sales as auctions made her nervous. She and Dad would spend Saturday morning scouting through others’ junk to find their treasures. They would pass items along to us that they thought might be helpful or needed. Maybe it was their hobby that now has me discern if I truly need something prior to bringing it home.

I have enjoyed auctions, although historically I am outbid. Many of them today are buyer friendly as you can review the items and place your bids online. The last time I attended an auction in person, I came home with sore feet and a sunburn. Recently I had picked up my online high bid items from an auction in my old neighborhood. I was aware of the house from living in the area. Being that it is well over a century old, I suspected it held character within its walls. I was right, it was apparent that the house had aged with charm. I had the opportunity to speak with the family on that bittersweet day. They lamented that they couldn’t keep all of their late uncle’s possessions but they would keep the memories of him and all the special occasions that they gathered there for holidays and events.

You might be curious about what items I am allowing into my home after sharing my battle cry about purging. I have begun collecting vintage handiwork: quilts, embroidered pieces and crocheted doilies. My plan is to repurpose them which pays homage to the time and talent it took to produce them and also gives them a new life that makes them available for daily use. I have a collection of these pieces from my maternal grandmother and her sister. I never had the opportunity to know them but I currently find it difficult to repurpose these pieces that they lovingly toiled over. My paternal grandmother was also very talented with needle, thread and crochet. In my own way I honor them. No longer present in this world, their legacy is very much a part of my life, but I am just not ready to take scissors to those items.

As I pay tribute to my ancestors, I question what legacy I may leave. I believe that each and every one of us is put on this earth for a reason. The majority of us will never know fame or fortune but within our small and personal realm there must be something that is left. I think of it as a ripple in a pond. Those concentric circles can continue on and reach farther than we might have intended or realized. For a long time I worked within my community. My hope was to make a difference in my small corner of the world. Now that I am beyond work and retirement is my reality, I revel in the fact that my time is my own. Satisfied with what I have achieved professionally I don’t want to drop the ball now. In the future, if there is a handcrafted item that brings joy to someone, than it was worth the effort. Putting words to paper brings me great joy and if there is something I have shared and it touches just one soul my time has not been spent in vain. Who could possibly be the proverbial high bidder on what is behind? I don’t mean our household goods and property but rather something we personally created. We have this one life, before it is going, going, gone, let’s not squander it.

More or Less

Posted on by
3

I recently began a new stage in life. I crossed the great divide and am now retired. As in all life changes, this prompted an introspective look. Am I content with my accomplishments? Are there things I have left undone? Are there important items on my bucket list that I feel I must accomplish? Like life, the answers to these questions present an ebb and tide in my mind. Depending on the day, the answers, contentment and resolve can often change. I do recognize there is a thought that seems rather pronounced. This transition has brought a personal perspective that others, my contemporaries, might have also come to realize.

When I was young, I wanted more. I had my whole life ahead of me. As cliché as it sounds, I truly did feel that the sky was the limit. My aspirations where not far from others in my age group. My plans for a higher education didn’t pan out exactly the way I would have liked but a bright future appeared to be within reach. My contemporaries and I might have shared the same checklist which had marriage, home and children. Looking back I can say: check, check and check. I wanted my professional life to be a reflection of who I was. I wanted responsibilities and programs that I could build with foundations that would remain strong and exist well into the future. I wanted to leave my mark. I would say I also desired more money but my career in nonprofit work would not ordinarily allow for it.

I have never considered myself materialistic, yet I still wanted more. A closet full of clothes was an acceptable quest. Vacations were something that were planned and enjoyed yearly. My home was filled with décor I enjoyed, trinkets and souvenirs. It was the normal and acceptable way of life. Again, it didn’t mean I wallowed in shallowness as this drive was even a part of my faith life. It was not enough to attend services on Sunday, I felt it necessary to be part of the church leadership. This also extended to other volunteer activities. I didn’t dare be a hypocrite. How could I ask someone to give their time if I didn’t do it myself?

I am not clear if this is an observation or a confession. Either way, it invokes exhaustion. I thought I was going with the flow but in retrospect it looks like there were times that rivaled what felt more like white water rapids. There were moves and new starts in different communities. A divorce and two professional positions that were eliminated had me muster both perseverance and flexibility. Those might have been the times that my original drive and passion for more began to chip away. I might have even accepted the realization that the status quo was something I could live with and still be content.

Now my retirement looms brightly before me. I laugh and say the losses in life gave me the gift of frugality, which will be helpful as I navigate the years ahead. I am content in the little home that I share with my quirky cat. I now find the need to clear out the items that I thought were once so important to acquire. I still enjoy a change of scenery but souvenirs are not nearly as important as the memories. I recognize time spent with family and close friends is priceless. Once consumed with “more”, a lifestyle of “less’ is what I now most desire. Would I change anything in the years that are now history? I don’t lose sleep even questioning it. What has taken me a lifetime to realize is that I am grateful for currently being enriched by less.

Bull

Posted on by
1

When our career Navy father was traveling the world, he did so with an 8mm camera. Upon his return, all those glimpses into faraway places would be captured on reels and then spliced into one long travelogue. Although it was the latest technology for the time, there was no sound. Every so often we would gather as a family in what we called our TV room and our father would set up the projector, close the curtains and we would explore the world through his eyes. His narration would cover the foreign locations and traditions. We learned the difference between Asian and African elephants, saw how Geishas looked with their makeup and costumes and experienced the excitement of bull fights. I remember how the matadors were dressed in brightly colored outfits. I can recall the stadium being full with cheering crowds yet we heard nothing. I don’t know if my conscience was developed enough at the time to become upset by the treatment of the bulls. Those mighty animals were aggravated for sport and at this point in time I don’t see the entertainment value in the activity.

In reality, I was aware of the strength and power that bulls possessed. I didn’t grow up on a farm but I had friends who did. I recall one afternoon two of us found ourselves in a barnyard with the resident bull. We took our plight seriously. I remember inching toward the fence in a painfully slow manner as not to trigger the bull. We made our way out safely but obviously the memory remained. The reality was frightening and it was a far cry from watching the humorous cartoons featuring Ferdinand the Bull.

All these memories came to me as I recently made an observation. Those of you who follow me know that I live in a rural area. I am comfortable living among crops and livestock. Recently I noticed a bull had taken up residence in a nearby pasture. What I found so unusual was that, although there was plenty of acreage available to him, he chose to stand at the corner of the field which runs alongside the road. He appears to remain there for extended periods of time. It has become the norm to ride by and see him stoically standing there with little evidence of movement. I questioned the strength of the fencing if he would become agitated by something on the other side from where he was confined. I also question why this creature, the epitome of strength, has a title that is likened to lies or untruths or anything negative that falls under the category of bull.

I have often read articles admonishing people who apply human emotions to animals. Those of us who live with domesticated pets often fall into that habit. We can’t read a pet’s mind but their reaction to events and activities do give us a clue to their mood.  There is no argument that they all possess different personalities. Yet they have no cause to defend or be offended by the random descriptions that are added to their name. If we attached human feelings to the animal world would they be upset by the fearful being called a “scaredy cat” or a “chicken”, an unbearable hot day considered a “dog day’ or something bordering on the side of falsehood labeled as “bull”?

The majority of us find it easy to care for animals as they have no voice and are reliant on us to meet their needs. The affection our pets return show us the purest form of unconditional love. I tend to believe that even livestock would choose not to bite the hand that feeds them. Animals don’t possess the ability to spread lies or slander and it is easy to have a soft spot in our heart for them. So much misinformation is perpetuated these days that I find I am offended on behalf of the bulls. The production of manure is a necessary commodity for fertilization but I have yet to see any reason to spread bull.

A Father’s Day Post

Featured

Posted on by
2

As I mentioned Mom in a Mother’s Day post, I would be remiss if I didn’t share some recollections of Dad on Father’s Day. It has been well over thirty years since he walked this earth. I miss that soft southern accent that never left him or his routine of pipe smoking and the scent of tobacco that would linger in the air. There are stories that he told which I hold onto with bittersweet emotion. They are just a small portion of the man he was. I would like to be a fly on the wall and observe, one more time, what a typical day would be like. What non important matters were covered by conversations no longer committed to memory? Why is it human nature to take so much of our daily lives for granted?

I was destined to be a Daddy’s Girl. My father, career Navy, made the trek from Norfolk, VA to Pennsylvania in a snow storm to greet me at the time of my birth. My three brothers and I were the recipients of many of his life stories. Being from southern GA, our father’s upbringing was so different to the one we knew. Hardship very much comprised his youth. It might have never been spoken out loud but I know in his heart, his desire was to provide a better life for us.

My father would recount the stories of his youth. He and his one brother, tried jumping off the barn roof with springs on their feet and once they pushed a winged crate out of a chinaberry tree to see if they could fly. One of them would hatch the plan to tie tin cans to the tail of their cow. The clattering sounds spooked the cow and she jumped over the fence, leaving her tail behind. I imagined that the cow wasn’t the only one with a sore bottom that evening. He would relish telling these stories. He didn’t dwell on the fact that he and his brother, as youngsters, would be the ones to find their father on the porch after suffering a heart attack. They struggled to get my grandfather into the house but his death was imminent.

Growing up in rural south GA, without a father, couldn’t have been easy. Dad was an avid fisherman. He never cared for hunting. He said he had to hunt to help provide meat for the table and it held no charm for him as an adult. He enlisted in the Navy with the theory that there was more to life than picking cotton. Dad would tell us about the good times he experienced in the Navy. I’m sure as a young boy he never thought he would have the opportunity to travel the world. His enthusiasm for the Navy rubbed off on me. My one high school term paper focused on Admiral Chester Nimitz, Commander in Chief, Pacific Fleet during WWII. I got carried away with my research and read several accounts of battles at sea. I remember one graphic description shared by a sailor.  He stated that during battle you could see your shipmate die a horrible death, next to you, which would cause you to vomit. There was barely time for that human reaction as you would have to quickly return to your gun. I disclosed what I had read to Dad. He listened and quietly replied that yes he was aware as he was there. That was the only somber admission that I ever heard about his Navy career.

Dad managed to get two full careers under his belt before retiring at the age of 62. He was never at a loss of how to fill a day. He and our mother had raised the four of us and opened our home to our maternal grandfather who suffered a stroke later in life. He remained at home with our mother being his caretaker. Finally, after a life of hard work and providing for all of us, it was Dad’s turn to slow down and enjoy the freedom that retirement would provide. It was not to be. He was diagnosed with cancer, a result of being exposed to asbestos during his years in the Navy. Although he was willing to follow recommendations and treatment he was resigned to his accept his diagnosis. If he was afraid of what the future held, he never showed it. Upon reflection he said that those were the cards that were dealt him. He died one month short of his 66th birthday.

I thank you for indulging me and my reminiscence of our father. We should all have stories to reflect upon for those of us who no longer have a reason to celebrate the day. For those who are fortunate to still have their father, I would suggest you listen to those stories and commit them to memory. You don’t know when that voice will be silenced. Let’s not squander the opportunity to keep them alive for the next generation.

Lost

Featured

Posted on by
2

I was looking forward to the day. It would be the last time I would be meeting with this group of colleagues. I wasn’t concerned about the drive that would take one hour and a half. Our agency is spread over several locations and I was used to driving. Virtual meetings have increased greatly since COVID made them a necessity and I now gladly accept the opportunity to meet face to face as it has become the exception rather than the norm. My clothes were set out and my lunch was packed the night before. I was set.

The morning came and I was ready to leave as I took one last look at myself in the mirror. How did I not notice that something had bled on my blouse in a previous wash? It was much too noticeable at that time and I scrambled to decide what to wear. It put me a little bit behind but not by much as I had given myself an extra half hour for travel. Translated: I gave myself time to access the drive thru at Dunkin Donuts and treat myself to the companionship of coffee and a donut on the trip. Once my purchase was made I put my coordinates in my phone and was ready to let GPS take control. It had been well over a year since I drove to this location and it was not committed to memory. I soon learned my phone was offline and there was no cajoling it to bring up the appropriate directions. I pulled out the cell phone provided from work and realized I couldn’t come up with the correct password. One attempt warned me that it would take five minutes before I could try again. Subsequent attempts pushed the time limit set for new efforts further out by fifteen minutes each. All of a sudden I felt I was trying to climb a mountain of shifting sand. It was the previous day that a conversation led me to state that I could read a map, but who carries them in their car anymore, even though my car doesn’t come equipped with GPS? If it wasn’t my last time, meeting with this team, I would have decided to change my plans and drive to my office. It didn’t seem like much of a choice as I enjoy the company of these people and knew I had to make the trip.

It was time for an executive decision. I would return home, a ten minute drive, and access maps on my laptop and go old school. I reached out to my manager to share my situation and that most likely I would be late, but eventually would be there to join them. I texted my son, who happens to be an IT guru, and asked for his input. This is a good time to let you know that my printer at home didn’t work and I jotted down the directions. I thought at the time it was enough to jog my memory and ensure me a successful drive to the location. I was wrong.

It is difficult to read directions when you are on a road whose speed limit is over 50 mph. I inadvertently turned down a road that was evidently incorrect. I believe the route number was correct but I couldn’t locate the connecting road. I was deep in God’s country. I never realized how many orchards there are in the area. Again, reaching out to my son by text, he suggested that I find a fast food business that would allow me to use their Wi-Fi and get back on track. I had to let him know that there was nothing like that for miles. I was in a location that remained untouched by progress for decades. He tried texting me directions with the sketchy information I was providing him. I was beginning to feel a bit frantic.

It was at this point that I noticed that the programed oldies station had dissipated and a Christian station had taken its place. I was not familiar with the songs but I didn’t need to be. It was the nudge I needed to fall back on the well-known: Jesus is my copilot. Additionally, I realized that I had a sign from my late sister in law. It made me laugh. I don’t know if I really trusted her directions in life and wasn’t sure if I was safe doing it in death. I pictured her in the passenger seat. It seemed so natural as I happen to be driving her former car. With these observations I made others. I was driving through some beautiful countryside. It was a gorgeous day with a bright blue sky and my gas tank was full. The backdrop was a luscious green from the vast amount of rain we had received and colorful beds of flowers could be found in every direction. I located a road whose name was familiar. Thank goodness I enjoy Civil War history as I recognized the road, knowing it would take me to the battlefield. I could easily find my way to the office once I had made it to this neighboring town.

When I reached the office, it was much later than I anticipated. I had missed a good portion of the business but it didn’t matter. I made a grand entrance with a joyful countenance. I had a story to tell and a lesson learned. Although I was physically alone in the car, I didn’t feel like I was driving solo. It took me a little longer than I would have liked but the realization that prayer is always an important option calmed me. Although I am still not sure I would trust directions from my sister in law, it was a pleasant reminder that the love continues once someone has transitioned to the other side. My son will always be my life line and I will think of him as my greatest blessing for so many reasons. I continue to trust that I am where I am supposed to be, when I am supposed to be there, regardless of my plans. As I enter a new stage in life, I am reminded I am not alone. There might be some unexpected detours along the way but I will reach my destination. I need to acknowledge that I have support, appreciate the scenery and enjoy the ride.

My Vote

Featured

Posted on by
1

I have given myself a challenge. Would I be able to write a blog, with politics at its foundation, and not raise anyone’s hackles? If I were to issue myself a second challenge, it might be finding a reason to use the word “hackles”. We live in a society where there is bipartisan bitterness at levels that are both unhealthy and unproductive. Being a self-professed political junkie, I have a definite opinion on policy, but I also try to carry a healthy dose of respect for others. As I wish not to be ridiculed for my opinions, I diligently try to be accepting of others, no matter how divergent our belief systems might be.

Recently, the 2024 primary election was held in my state. I was prepared to go into the polling center and be approached by those who volunteer to bolster their candidate’s chances at success. As usual I decline the pamphlets and brochures of the candidates who will not be found on my ballot. I do so with a smile and don’t shy away from pleasant small talk. Interestingly, my rejection of printed material caught the attention of the local president of the opposing political party. He invited me to join them and offered to bring me over to what he deemed the correct side. The conversation that ensued was filled with lighthearted banter and laughter. It carried me into the polling place where another pleasant conversation followed with a poll worker who was knitting in between her role in assisting voters.

Once my vote was complete and inserted into the machine, I headed for the doors. On the other side, conversation resumed with the volunteers outside. As it winded down and I was almost to my car, the local president told me he liked my attitude. With that, I was soon headed to the parking lot exit but not before waving to those to whom I had just spoken. It might have been the first time in a long time that an encounter, due to politics, brought a smile to my face.

I live in a small town and enjoy the atmosphere that it provides. Although I would be considered a transplant I have made friends, connections and consider myself comfortable in my surroundings. Something that has given me pause lately is the vitriol that I see coming to the surface because of the unyielding nature of some political supporters. Our community has a group on Facebook. It has been a helpful resource to know that the traffic is backed up on the interstate, which businesses or people come recommended for their services and other pertinent information. I am having a hard time understanding why sarcastic and mean-spirited political comments must be made on these timelines or as something as benign as a person seeking their lost pet or sharing that they found one.

There is solid reasoning behind those who hold themselves to the adage that it is never wise to discuss politics or religion. In the proper venue, with the appropriate decorum, any subject matter can be debated. We are all unique individuals, and it is that uniqueness that makes this world an interesting place. Our journey is a personal one. We might invite others to join us, but odds are that our path is not their path, our preferences are not theirs. I am not longing for the good old days. I can vividly recall the threat of Communism, the Vietnam War, the Civil Rights movement, and the unrest caused by all. No, I am praying for a world that has peace and acceptance at its core. Now that I think about it, I wish I had used that as a write-in on my ballet. That is what I would like to see leading all our communities.

Full

Featured

Posted on by
2

I count myself a very fortunate individual. I can be inspired easily by mundane surroundings. Observations that are truly unique may seem rather comical. If I tell you that seeing a septic truck brought creative thoughts to mind, you might think I have a need to talk to a professional. I think not and I will share why I feel that is the case, at least this particular time.

First, let’s discuss what a septic tank is and what service it provides. Then I will touch base on the importance of septic trucks. A simple search on Google will tell you that a septic tank is an underground chamber made of concrete, fiberglass, or plastic through which domestic wastewater (sewage) flows for basic sewage treatment. That is a rather delicate way to describe how to keep up with human waste. Those who live in a more populated or metropolitan area will rely on a sewer system which carries the waste off through underground pipes that transport it to a treatment plant. I understand if you think this topic may be bizarre but I promise you, there is a point to this blog.

I grew up in a household where we did make use of a septic tank. We were a family of seven, three adults and 4 children. That would equate to a lot of water usage and disposal. My father would try to combat some of that collection by having our washing machine drain outside through a hose. That way all the used water would not unnecessarily fill the septic tank and there were no concerns about it being a biohazard. You can imagine the amount of laundry that our family generated. It was a world of woe when the tank would reach its limit and a call was made to bring in a septic truck. I don’t recall what would trigger that request and it is probably just as well that I don’t remember. I do know it was a big deal when it happened. The truck would come and the driver would access the underground tank and pump out its contents. I don’t know what leads someone to choose that as a career but it remains an essential service.

Now let’s get back to my original premise, that inspiration can be found everywhere.  Whether it be a sewer or a septic tank, everyone needs something to rid one’s life of collected waste. The human condition insists that it exists. I’m asking you to use your imagination and not refer to bodily waste but rather negative thoughts, unkindness, nastiness or anything that could be considered within the realm of hatred. We don’t need to maintain it as part of our life and it is so much more beneficial if we rid ourselves of it and make room for the good. Life has so much goodness to offer. There are glorious experiences, relationships and positivity that exists. Just because this unpleasantness lay dormant below the ground, or under the skin, it not recommended that it be allowed to stay and fester. It is much healthier to wash it out of your system and purge yourself of it. Life is much too short to expend energy by lugging that heaviness around with you. Burdens find it hard to exist within the lightness. One more observation comes to mind. Be watchful and don’t let your tank ever get close to overflowing. Keep your thoughts and actions in check so the septic truck doesn’t need to make a house call. No one wants to be full of it!