Tag Archives: Future solutions

Pride Before the Fall

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Most people that know me well, know that my favorite place to shop is Kohl’s. Much of my wardrobe spent time there before being bagged and making its home with me. I maintain restrictions on what I buy. It must come from the clearance rack and I must be accompanied by a coupon for 30% off. I make no excuses and am proud of how far I can stretch my dollar. I had put my Kohl’s shopping to rest when I retired last year. I was no longer in need of an expansive wardrobe. With my new found freedom, I didn’t miss my shopping extravaganzas. I didn’t miss them one bit until I received a coupon for a $10 savings in an email. Like an addict, I relapsed and found myself headed to Kohl’s.

I have never been one to shop for special designers or specific brand names. If I happen to buy one, that would be considered an added bonus. Since I don’t live under a rock, I am familiar with top of the line clothing, which is why I was proud to pick up this exceptional bargain. I came across a Vera Wang sweater, marked down to a ridiculously low price. It was styled like a cardigan, only longer, and its thickness would carry me into the season of winter. With its neutral shade, it would match a considerable amount of my pieces. I even managed to find yarn in my stash that would make a lovely scarf to go with it. If one could be smitten with a piece of clothing, I believe that best would describe what I was experiencing.

Monday morning came and putting my usual attire aside, I dressed for the continuing education class I was enrolled in at the community college. I put my favorite pair of pants on and a new top that I picked up previously at Kohl’s. The pants are an odd color and hard to match. My new top went with them perfectly. Before heading out the door I picked up my new sweater and wrapped myself in what I felt made a stylish statement. It would have been perfect if I felt better but I am sure my appearance didn’t give away the struggle I felt I was having with my health.

After the two hours of classroom time, I was absolutely ready to return home. Even though I reveled in my new outfit I began to realize it was probably foolish to go out feeling that way. When I reached my driveway, I took time to gather what I had in the car and then stepped out of the vehicle. It felt as if someone pulled me from behind. There was no way to stop the inevitable and I fell backwards. For the most part I thought it was fortunate that I landed on my bottom. It did nothing to erase the embarrassment. There was a slight breeze and I watched my handouts from class escape my grasp and dance upon the lawn. At some point I realized my left elbow felt wet. Initially I thought I had managed to land in such a way my elbow had made contact with my lawn, rather than the driveway. It didn’t take long for me to realize that my elbow took much of the brunt of the fall and it was bleeding profusely. Yes, there were copious amounts of blood on my new top and sweater. After seeking medical assistance and being stitched up I was left to deal with a sore elbow and a bruised ego. As an adult it is embarrassing to fall but ruining a new outfit added insult to injury. The biggest lesson I took from this episode was I should never covet any clothing, even if that clothing bears a designer name. I will put my pride on ice in the future so I don’t have to put any other part of my body on it.

Exploring

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I don’t know why I was there. The house, although still furnished, was no longer inhabited. It was clear that no one continued to call it home. It stood silent, an interior that once must have boasted a vibrant past, one full of life, now stood quiet as dust collected on every surface. Exploring buildings of this nature was not a normal activity for me. Long gone are the days that I provided disaster relief and had to enter impacted homes in order to assess and validate the damage. This house didn’t tell a tale of disaster but rather sadness. I didn’t fear my safety from a compromised structure but I did feel uneasy. The sun didn’t provide much illumination throughout the rooms and apparently there was no electricity.

Entering the hallway, I saw a large opening into a room. I took notice of the wooden pocket doors at the entrance. They were tall, thick and still in working order. I didn’t attempt to close them but someone I was with took steps to pull them together. Just as the doors were closing, I noticed a figure move inside the room. It had the shape of a human but with the swift movement I couldn’t tell if it was a shadow or an actual person. Either way I believe we were given proof that we weren’t alone in the house. The movement startled me. As the pocket doors were coming together, I was conscious that I held something in my hand. I chose to ward off any harm that might beset me by throwing it into the room. There was no time to aim with precision but my gut instinct was to show that I was aware of their presence and I would take steps needed to protect myself. As the doors were within a foot of closing all the way, I threw the object toward the doors and heard a crash.

It was then that I woke up, safely tucked in bed. There was a soft illumination in the room as the television was on. It gave me enough light to notice that the noise in the room not only startled me but also woke my cat. Her head was up, staring in the direction where we heard the crash. Instantly I knew that I had been dreaming. It was obvious that I had quickly fallen asleep while checking out whether there might be a program that I wanted to watch. I still had my glasses on and they were propped up on the tip of my nose to allow my focus from that angle. What was missing was the remote. My right hand was empty and I swiftly recalled it was the same arm I used to throw the item in my dream, the one I used to keep myself safe. I would check for damage in the morning and locate the remote. The cat and I both settled back into a peaceful sleep. If I explored any other houses in my dreams, I don’t recall.

Dreams have always held an interest for me. I have understood that they exist so your unconscious mind can explore solutions for various issues while you sleep. I have yet to explore what the frightening exploration of that house might mean. No matter how many times I have checked into the meaning of my dreams, I have yet to find a resource that gives me a definitive explanation. Upon retrospect, I imagine that is the way it should be. We are all individuals, exquisite and special in our own right. No interpretation would suit everyone. I will continue to question the meaning of my night time visions but revel in the dreams I enjoy during my waking hours. Those are the ones I plan to fully explore, the dreams that provide my guidance to the future.

Unconditional

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I have often heard if you want unconditional love, get a dog. I am going to ask your indulgence to also include a cat in that statement. Throughout my adult years I have had cats as pets. It’s not that I don’t care for dogs, I do and enjoy their company immensely. I have found my lifestyle was more compatible to sharing my home with feline companions. As I age, I look at my most recent rescue and realistically consider her possibly my last. I have had the good fortune for my cats to live close to two decades on average but I can’t predict what the future holds.

When I rescued Molly, my most recent, I didn’t anticipate any issues. Having multiple cats previously I always took my time to introduce the most recent arrival. This time, as there were no other resident cats, it should have gone easily but that wasn’t the case. Molly could be cantankerous and defensive. In a very short period of time, I learned she has severe arthritis and her front legs are swollen and bowed. She gets a monthly shot and a daily supplement but I think she may still have some discomfort. I have excused her behavior but at times I have referred to her as Miss Cranky Pants. As time passes, she has become loving and loyal. She has made it clear that I am her person and will often let others know she has no time for their presence in her life.

Molly refrains from hissing, growling and swatting unless she feels threatened. I don’t see this behavior but the vet and others have told me it still exists. The other week I fell while at home. As I writhed in pain on the floor, Molly began hissing at me. Recently, I had the need to call for an ambulance. As I struggled to stay on my feet without falling, Molly again hissed at me. When taking the time to think about her unusual reaction, I couldn’t help but put a human emotion to her response. After seven years, her former owner had relinquished Molly to the shelter when her health necessitated a move into a nursing home. It may be a stretch to think that during my times of ill health she might have recalled her former life and it frightened her. I’ll never know as Molly’s not talking. Maybe it was that or it could have been the result of her unpredictable moods. I do know that while I was hospitalized and my son and brother spent time at my home with Molly, she acquired two new nicknames. Calling her Pissy Paws and Molly the Mutilator is not the result of her providing pleasant, affectionate company.

I make light of Molly’s moods but I do take seriously that she has been entrusted to me for the best care I can provide for her. It’s not challenging like motherhood. In the beginning, when you are so tired, you still must find the energy to provide all things to this new little life you have brought into the world. The bond and deep love you possess carries you through a lifetime. Through the years, when my son pushed the envelope, he knew it would never diminish the unconditional love I have for him. It is unrealistic to love and be loved by all who cross our path, but to open our hearts to care and accept others should be something we all strive to do. We may be met with a less than a welcoming response, one that may be the result of previous experiences and disappointments. At least we will know that we tried. Caring for a temperamental cat seems easy in comparison.  I bet Miss Cranky Pants would even agree.

Spring Forward, Fall Behind

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Some might argue that this blog is unnecessary as I am now retired.  I would take the stance that it is being posted as I want my voice to be heard, no matter what time it is.  When the clocks were moved forward one hour so we could “enjoy” day light savings time my life takes a serious turn toward lethargy.  I have yet to be convinced that there is any enjoyment to be found in this action.

First, I must offer a disclaimer that no research took place prior to this blog being written.  Google was not employed because, quite truthfully, I had neither the energy nor inclination.  I have understood that this change initially benefitted the farmers.  I see farm equipment behind my home operating with headlights after dark. I trust I was misinformed on this matter. The day continues to be 24 hours long. During the week someone shared that it was the grill industry that pushed for day light savings time. If this is true they were effective in their lobby efforts convincing others of the economic importance of grilling dinner late into the evening.  Someone should tell Thomas Edison that his invention of the light bulb was all for naught.

I will admit that I have known for some time that I am more of a sunset type of person as opposed to  sunrise.  When pictures of the glorious dawn are posted on Facebook I look and acknowledge mentally that I have not witnessed those colors across the horizon.  I consider myself fortunate to see the time on the face of the clock through my swollen eyes.  I am hard pressed to find anything magnificent or intriguing in the upcoming day when robbed of an hour’s sleep.  I do appreciate the vibrant hues displayed by a setting sun.  It has not been lost on me that I must now wait an additional hour to witness a beautiful sunset.

It has been documented that the week following the move to day light savings time is fraught with heart attacks and car accidents.  Fortunate not to experience this first hand I can empathize with those who have. It would be their collective voice that would make a difference in our plight. The remainder of us will quietly go out into the light and patiently wait for the signal that we are allowed to turn back the hands of the clock.  We will revel in the time we are given the nod to fall back, whether that movement is on a clock or into bed.

Landscapes

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I happened to notice a house on the market. It caught my eye as it was located down the street from where I grew up. I can recall who resided there, so many decades ago. She was an elderly widow.  Her curtains would remain drawn and her house always seemed cool and dark. She was a tiny woman, whose overstuffed chair seemed to swallow her as she sat and told her tales. I would listen eagerly as she would recall how different the landscape was years prior. I was intent on learning what changes she witnessed in what we considered our neighborhood. With her description it was not hard to imagine what the route close to our homes looked like as a dirt road traversed by horse and buggy rather than the current paved road.  I always enjoyed my time with her. I never imagined that one day I would be the individual remembering how it used to be.

We lived on a road that was not, at the time, a major thoroughfare. The city limits were literally located across the street from us. As children we witnessed changes but they felt few and far between. Down the street a rundown gray clapboard Cape Cod was torn down as the land adjoining it was to change from pasture into a complex of multiple schools. One home on the corner of the intersection was torn down to make room for an ATM. On the opposite side there was a lovely brick rancher that was also to become history. On its land a convenience store was built. We seemed to take it in our stride. The farm down the street was sold. The field that once produced crops was to become a printing plant. In time, long after we had grown and moved on, the historic farmhouse would soon give way to be demolished along with the large printing plant. It was all replaced with a warehouse. The only thing that seems to remain unchanged is the spiral staircase manufacturer at the other end of the street. Could it be that we were the last children to make our way there and climb to the top of their display model that was erected at the corner of their property?

It’s not uncommon to hear residents complain about the local rural landscape being swallowed by new warehouse construction. Many of them are occupied bringing traffic and noise to a once docile environment. I notice many appear to remain empty. Built on speculation, they continue to wait for their time of activity. Many ponder if this type of growth is actually necessary and sustainable. I would imagine that the displaced wildlife population might wonder the same thing. Concerned with their own survival they must adapt to the changes brought by our economy. I wince when I think that I, too, might have contributed to this expansion due to my online shopping purchases.

Another change witnessed by those in rural communities is the proliferation of solar panels. Fields once farmed, offer energy as the new crop. Not to play devil’s advocate but they don’t seem to be as intrusive as the warehouses. They don’t hide lovely sunsets and once constructed there doesn’t appear to be an increase in traffic. I was pleased to see a herd of goats recently in one such field. Later along the fence line I saw a hawk. Maybe this is a more gentle way to change the landscape while welcoming the future.

Years ago, when I purchased my home, one great selling point was the farm field adjacent to my backyard. The first improvement I made to my home was to screen in the back porch. I have enjoyed the views and the privacy. Although I understood that a development of independent senior cottages would be built to accompany the existing assisted living residence nearby, those plans might have changed. A large sale sign, advertising the location, was erected. It has since been removed. I question whether the land has sold or if it was removed from the market. Either way, I have already determined what changes I will make to the back of my property to continue to enjoy the possible change in landscape. My rocking chair remains on the porch. If I find that no one comes to hear my tales of how it used to be, I might be tempted to continue to share them with you.

Sail On

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One of my friends is ill. I could extol her many outstanding virtues and characteristics yet there are other thoughts that sickness brings to mind. Those thoughts are like clichés, sailing through. Without being boorish, I would like to share a few revelations that have recently come to me.

Collectively, there is truth in the statement that none of us are getting any younger. When I look back at my youth, I can recall the dreams and aspirations that I held. Although my friends aspired to be teachers, nurses, nuns and mothers that was nothing I desired. I did go on to marry and have a son and I hold him as my greatest achievement. That is a role that is not fulfilled by everyone as we have our own path to follow. Although I envisioned my calling within the field of communications, my professional life lead me to work within nonprofits and local governments. I feel my accomplishments are many and I don’t regret the time spent supporting our communities. Now that I am retired, I have no desire to return to any of it. There are no do-overs. That ship has sailed and I am not getting any younger.

When I was in the market for a house, after my divorce, my criteria was rather simple. I envisioned this purchase to be the home in which I would retire. I was looking for one floor, with an area for laundry and a large dining room to hold my family for holiday meals. At the time my realtor explained that being so particular about a dining area might not be very practical. It most likely would not be a room I would use on a regular basis. I would accept none of his guidance. I saw myself as a very social being, with holidays being the ultimate gatherings. It is fair to say that I am satisfied with my dining space but all the entertaining I envisioned is more history than future planning. The plates and serving pieces I acquired aren’t currently being used. My holiday gatherings are smaller now that death has robbed us of several of our loved ones. Due to my chronic illness, fatigue is often a constant companion and I am no longer inspired to entertain. I do hope I find the energy and resolve to clean out all those unnecessary serving pieces and pass them along. Elaborate and laborious proposals have given way to simple gatherings for holiday meals. That ship has sailed and I am not getting any younger.

In retirement it has become blissfully clear that trading time for wages is no longer the norm. In many ways, time is my friend as I am not bound by schedules and alarms. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t aware that my senior status reminds me that a larger portion of my life is behind me rather than ahead. Yet I am allowed to give myself permission to enjoy my time. If a book’s subject matter intrigues me, I am permitted to take the time to read. If God paints a beautiful sunset, I am allowed the time to sit and let the colors envelop me.  When I find a skein of yarn calling to me I can find the time to employ a crochet hook and start creating something. If I am consumed by a group of videos on YouTube there is no issue in watching them but I must remember that portrays someone else’s life and I still need to continue to live mine. Living mine translates into not putting everything off until tomorrow, a day not promised. Realistically, how many of us are ever ready for that ship to sail?

I have often thought of the wisdom of Erma Bombeck in dealing with this topic. Excuse my poor example of paraphrasing, but she was correct in her nudging to live life and not wait for a special occasion.  Now is the time to use the good china or burn the candle. Again, in thinking of illness I find it to be a humbling adversary. Now is the time to pick up the phone, send a note and share a meal. I know that I, in honor of my friend, now choose to live intentionally. I don’t want to be standing on the dock, looking out over the horizon with the sinking feeling that the ship has sailed, this time without me.

Kinfolk

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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.

Protecting Children

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My intention in creating this blog was to offer a helpful and positive viewpoint to those who it reaches. In a time of division and increased tensions, I feel we all need a little nudge to walk on the positive side of life. It doesn’t always come easily but I promise it is worth the effort. I have found myself being drawn into watching short videos with kittens, puppies and babies that leave a smile on my face. It’s the simplistic and innocent start of life that I find uplifts me and joyously helps me see hope for the future. Personally, it also invokes a feeling of protection in me.

It has been decades since my son was a child, let alone an infant. Still, I can’t help but feel I will always be a mama bear. With that admission, I know better than to intercede in his life. My role now, as his parent, is to pray for him daily and hope how he was raised will continue to lead him the best way through life. I can still recall his first steps, the transition from a crib to a bed and the first time he rode a bike without training wheels. These are the moments captured in the pages of a baby book.

There are the typical moments that a parent can gladly recall but there are other memories that elicit the opposite in response. Those are the times that you find your heart in your throat and your breath strangely gone. I have experienced those moments. One recently came to mind. Rather than a typical high chair I wanted my son to have a baby butler. It was a high chair surrounded by a table, more than just a tray. That is what my brothers and I had when we were young and I wanted the same for my son. All was fine until one day the bottom dropped out of the chair. I am grateful that even at that young age, my son had the presence of mind to grab the bars around the edge of the table preventing him from falling through. I shudder to think of what harm that fall could have caused.

There are dangers that children can face through no fault of their own. Summer continues to bring the sad stories of children left alone in hot vehicles. There are other dangers that can affect them. I recently saw where a child was safely removed from a deep drop into a channel for a sump pump. If a sibling had not alerted the parents the outcome could have been different. The cover had become loose and dislodged and the child fell in without any warning. A longtime friend has recently shared with me a danger that exists in many yards, that sounds much the same as the sump pump cover. Another culprit is the inadequately secured septic tank cover.

Very often I write my blogs with tongue in cheek. If you follow me, you might remember I posted a blog about Septic Trucks in April. Cutting to the chase, it was suggested the reader would be much better off if they were not “full of it”. With the new information that was shared with me I find the only responsible thing to do is share it with all of you. In all seriousness, children are dying by accidently falling into septic tanks and drowning. It is the result of lids that are loose or deteriorated. Through the neglect or ignorance of an adult, a child can be put in a life or death situation. If you have a septic tank, waste no time in checking that your lid is secure and in good working order. Don’t take it for granted that the individual who last emptied the tank or the last one to have mowed over the area, left the lid as secure as it should be. If your neighbors also make use of a septic tank, a reminder to them would be helpful. A few minutes to ensure the security of your lid could protect the life of a child. It’s too late for the 50 children who die annually but we have the power to lower and eliminate that statistic.

There are times that children find danger innocently through play and considering the world their adventure. Their role in life is to grow and learn while it’s our role to protect them as they are entrusted to us. I can think of nothing sadder than to lose a child, and further acknowledge that it would not have happened if a few moments of focusing on safety had taken place. If you find this message is a bit different than most of my blogs, please know that in my mind, there is nothing more important than safeguarding a child. I would appreciate it if you would do me the honor of helping to spread the word.

Lost

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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

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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.