Tag Archives: Future solutions

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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!

Happy New Ice Cream

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Now that we are well ensconced in 2024, I have a confession to make.  I have never been one to get excited about celebrating the New Year. My contention is that if you had no calendar or clock, there would be no way to tell one year from the next. I know that sounds cynical and nonsensical. I don’t feel that way about other holidays. It could be because their focus is not specifically based on time. Maybe I didn’t always feel this way but long gone is my childhood tradition of watching Guy Lombardo ring the New Year in on television. If that doesn’t make sense to you, I suggest you google it. No, I am one who stays home, safe and warm, as another year rolls in and the last becomes history. Even though I don’t have the desire to celebrate, I find I must witness the change. It feels like my civic duty to oversee the event.

As in all aspects of life, attitude plays its part in how we view things. Watching the ball drop on television, or any other media, gives you the impression that it is so large that it must light up all of Times Square. I have actually seen the ball, in place prior to the New Year celebration, and it didn’t look huge. It actually looked dwarfed by its position on the building. This year I had the feeling that the performer wasn’t finished singing as the descent of the ball began. I might be the only one who was annoyed by what appeared to be an example of poor time management. I don’t feel that is the optimum way to start a new year, especially when the focus is upon the last minutes of the outgoing year.

I have a solution for myself and anyone else who might feel the need to make this holiday a bit more palatable. Let’s make the New Year ice cream and proceed that way. Incorporating sweaters and blankets might be needed rather than hats and noisemakers but I think we can meet everyone’s expectations. I fear there could be a select population that might not be fans of the idea. I personally hope my suggestion doesn’t alienate anyone.

I have heard, how you spend New Year’s Eve, is an indication of what to anticipate for the following 365 days. There are decisions to be made. How do you want your ice cream? Are you going to play it safe and have it served in a cup or are you going to incorporate a little bit of risk into your choice? If you go with a cone you not only get the ice cream but the additional treat of the cone. Are you courageous enough to take the chance? Yes, it could get messy, just like life, but there are napkins along with soap and water to help correct the situation. Another thought, as you prepare to celebrate Happy New Ice Cream, give some consideration to the flavor you select. Are you going to choose your favorite flavor or try something new? Your tried and true favorite might be a safe way to go and you will know what to expect. If you consider stepping outside your comfort zone and try another flavor, it might bring your taste buds excitement and sheer happiness. You never know unless you try. The decision of how you want your ice cream is entirely yours.

I doubt my suggestion will take the country by storm. Even though you won’t find me at a party reveling, I do believe that the New Year offers us all a fresh start. Resolutions aren’t required but meeting each day with anticipation and purpose will make it more appetizing. My wish for you would be the ability to look back and see that you not only had a delicious year but you might realize it was topped with sprinkles, or better yet, with whipped cream and a cherry. Now, you must excuse me. For some reason I feel the need to go to Dairy Queen.

Timber!

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Trees provide pencils, paper and oxygen. Growing up I remember the smell of fresh lumber in the house as my father always had something under construction. During my childhood Christmases, the aroma of some type of evergreen would permeate the house. I say “some type” as I am not an expert on trees. As a young girl I enjoyed watching Here Comes the Brides. The show’s concept was built upon the trials and tribulations experienced by the single women that were brought out to Seattle to accompany the lonely lumberjacks. I didn’t learn much about the lumber business by watching because, like everyone else, I had a crush on Bobby Sherman, one of the lumberjack brothers. Later, as an adolescent, I was an avid fan of the Waltons. Their family business had them operate a saw mill. I vaguely remember them harvesting the lumber strategically and being cautious not to strip the mountain. That little gem might have caught my attention as the concept of commemorating Earth Day was taking off. To celebrate its inception, President Nixon planted a tree on the White House lawn. If I haven’t lost you yet, you may have noticed that my knowledge of trees is enough to complete one paragraph.

Fast forward to present day. Surprisingly the lumber business has frequently come to mind. This time it has nothing to do with a television show but rather my place of work. I cross the mountain each day to find myself often staring at the edges of cut trees, piled high on a flatbed truck, as I wait for the light to turn green. There have also been unfortunate delays occasionally, as a truck is unable to complete a turn onto the narrow streets. Traffic is held up until the truck can inch its way to freedom. This current experience has expanded what has been my very shallow interest where lumber is concerned.

At some point, in school, I am sure we covered trees and their internal rings. I was not a big fan of Science but I do recall the concept of each ring signified a year in the life of the tree. It’s ironic that piece of knowledge has come back to me as I am presented with actual examples on a regular basis. During a lengthy wait behind one of these trucks, I took the time to notice that the size, color and thickness of the rings would vary from tree to tree. Nature is the catalyst or culprit behind these variances. If a tree was exposed to harsh outside elements, record of it would show in the rings. Fire and drought would leave its mark. The age and history of these trees would have remained hidden, under their bark, if they hadn’t met an early demise due to the handiwork of a saw.

I think we, the human race, can compare our lives to those of trees. Our exterior can hide the history of our growth and what we have encountered. There might have been times when we experienced drought. Maybe we felt like our lives were devoid of something: love and companionship, a decent wage or living situation, or the focus needed to select a better path. Possibly we were scorched or singed by living a little too carefree or pursuing a passion that was destined to go up in smoke. If we are fortunate, we live our lives without constant challenges. Just as a tree adds its rings, time goes by and we age, adding learned lessons and wisdom with each passing year. No one knows, as it could all remain hidden like the trees. If our experience is one that allows us to continue to rack up the rings, I would suggest we follow the example set by trees. Reach for the sky. Continue to focus on what is above and always look upward, constantly striving to become stronger each year. When the time comes to count your rings I pray they are immeasurable and unique.

Connections

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It was not hard to decide to attend Ruth’s Celebration of Life. Although I was 2 ½ weeks beyond my surgery I felt I would be mobile enough with the help of my friend. I wanted to be there for several reasons. Ruth had been my Girl Scout leader. At a time when young girls were exploring who they were and what they might aspire to, it was important to have someone step up and guide that process. I also had the good fortune to know her after I had become an adult. Although it was a given that she was a loving and selfless mother and grandmother, she was also known for her involvement with her community and faith life. Her daughter was a long time classmate of mine. We were not close growing up yet I feel we have created a bond through today’s social media. As my mother died over a decade ago I felt I wanted to offer my presence as one who understood the loss.

I didn’t know many people in attendance but there were a few familiar faces. Of those, I didn’t know what connection might have been forged between Ruth and them. I could have asked as I feel I possess enough social graces to inquire without being offensive. I decided not to and allowed conversation to go elsewhere. I found that after the day, I continued to question the connections life offers us. How are these relationships formed? Do they come to us randomly? Granted, Ruth was fortunate to be blessed with a long life, and there were multiple relationships she must have enjoyed over the years. So very often after someone dies, age will often dictate how many people attend their memorial. It might be a matter of practicality, illness, mobility issues or death itself that might strip someone of their vast social connections. It is comforting to see contemporaries as well as others from different generations come and pay their respects.

I continued to dwell on the thought of how a lifetime of connections would translate to the loss family, friends and community may feel in the passing of one of its members. If someone has the good fortune of living many decades the relationships built and enjoyed could be immeasurable. I am not contemplating the six degrees of Kevin Bacon but the reality of all of us and how our life creates interactions with those on an exponential level. As much of my professional life was spent working within the community I know there are those whose lives I touched, whose names and faces would be unfamiliar to me now. Truthfully, I relish the idea of being of service to someone who remains unknown to me on a personal level. That is the purest form of giving of oneself and I count myself fortunate to have the opportunity to have experienced such a blessing. I also am blessed by the myriad of people whose relationships are personal.

Is there a goal that comes as a result of my contemplation? It might not be what you expect. Do I want standing room only at my memorial? No, but I would like to think that those I leave behind would find comfort and solace in having a shared connection with me being the common denominator. We are inundated with news of climate change and how important it is to leave the smallest carbon footprint possible. On the other hand Chief Seattle was known for saying, “Take only memories, leave only footprints.” I know what goal I choose. I am not concerned about any remaining footprint that I might cast but I would rather bestow a smile and full heart with those I share a connection. I will make an effort to be civil, kind and thoughtful to those whose paths I cross. I hope that I would never hesitate to offer a hand or support when I see the need. I will continue to live my mantra: If I think something nice I share it. Further, I pray that gratitude be at the very core of my being, not just for every breath I am given but also for every connection made along the way.

Sorry

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I have been told that I am a complex individual. I am certain this opinion is the result of my eclectic interests. I am a self-professed political news junkie who is equally comfortable watching the old Walton reruns. Another contradiction might be the fact that I make a concerted effort to save money by my weekly dump runs rather than pay for trash pick-up at the house. It’s ironic that this habit allows me to enjoy purchasing a donut with coffee on a Saturday morning and suddenly not be overly troubled by the expenditure. Surprisingly, a trip through the drive thru recently provided me with an interesting lesson at no additional cost.

Although I get no financial kickback from Dunkin Donuts I will share that this is the location that I frequent when in the mood for caffeine and carbs. One such morning found me ready to announce my desire into the speaker. I was the only one in line, which was very unusual. I placed my order and drove around to the window. Again, with no one ahead of me, I didn’t feel like I had sufficient time to retrieve the payment from my wallet. I quickly pulled the funds out and handed them to the clerk at the window. He accepted it and offered my change directly. I took the money, prepared to return it to my wallet, which had me momentarily turn my back on the clerk. When I turned around again, he had my order at the window. Automatically, thinking I kept him waiting, I told him I was sorry and without missing a beat he said I had no reason to be sorry as I had done nothing wrong.

I looked at this clerk, who appeared to be barely out of high school, and wondered how someone so young had such a capacity for wisdom. I was still the only one in line and my purchase wasn’t holding up any other customer. The clerk would be paid, whether or not I took up any additional time at the window. There was no pressing business beyond my transaction, yet I professed that I was sorry. I realized that this was an all too common knee-jerk response. Although Elton John will sing how sorry seems to be the hardest word, it’s my experience that it rolls off the tongue much too often.

As a female, raised Catholic, I am an expert on guilt. When did it become the norm to be responsible and sorry for everything? It is uttered in personal conversations, professional settings and everywhere in between. It is professed regularly, without much thought or sincerity. Don’t misconstrue my missive as promoting a lack of civility. As I become cognizant of the countless times I utter “sorry” I find I’m trying to better express myself. I now apologize or ask for forgiveness when it is necessary and appropriate. I currently try not to jump to the all-encompassing contrition and chalk it up to additional self-awareness.

Before you accuse me of being extreme, by mentioning this habit many of us have, let me explain further. I will admit that offering the automatic remark of sorry is not going to upset the balance of the universe. Upon reflection though, in general, I sense that conversations could be more meaningful if engaged with active listening and spoken with additional thought, compassion, empathy and truth. Not every statement must be profound and there will always be room for teasing, silliness and humor. A cliché comes to mind: Say what you mean and mean what you say. The reality is that once words are spoken or shared through a chat or text mode, they can’t be retrieved. As I age I have had the sad experience of recounting what would be my last conversation with loved ones. I will make a conscious effort to never leave a conversation that takes on a tone of harshness, disagreement or anger. Bottom line, I will continue to express myself but in the end I remain hopeful that I won’t have any reason to be sorry.

Ivy

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It is sad to see an empty home, especially one that has stood on its foundation for decades. The vacant porch no longer hears the creaking of a rocker or the tinkling of ice in a glass of sweet tea. The living room is silent, conversation and music no longer heard between its walls. The kitchen is devoid of memorable aromas. The bedrooms, once the keeper of dreams, lay vacant. A home that once was a safe haven for a family is now unoccupied and may only have deterioration in its future.

I notice empty houses and wonder who once called it home. I am curious about its past and wonder what the future might hold. I am not the only one. Mother Nature has a way of reaching out to a lonely old house. She will often send out tendrils of ivy, in a possible attempt to offer misguided comfort. I can almost hear the whisper of the ivy as it slowly caresses a wall. It offers a greeting and upon no response invites more of its legions to join. Soon there is a blanket of ivy offering to help shelter the house and help keep its secret of abandonment. The house falls victim to the whims of Mother Nature as there is no one there to offer any resistance.

Although there are examples of well-tended ivy that enhances the appearance of a home it can also be detrimental to the surface. It can find its way into cracks and crevices and expand those joints, opening and inviting rot. Painted walls can become discolored and stucco can find that it is no match for the adhesion of ivy.  Something so natural, that happens so gradually, can become lovely when carefully cultivated yet damaging when its growth has no guidance.

I look in the mirror every morning to perform the obligatory check on hair and clothes. It is nothing more than a passing glance. I believe it is time to look a little longer and a little harder to see what appears in the reflection. What type of ivy is being cultivated?  Have I been successful in producing a healthy, vibrant crop that enhances the gifts I was blessed with from birth or am I letting the ivy run rampant? Is the growth acting as a mask, trying to hide something much like the ivy on an empty house? The good news is that there is always a season of growth. It is never too late to correct the direction of the ivy. It is not always easy, but cutting it off at the root or working diligently to change the path, a healthier harvest can be produced. I’m committed to checking its growth. Will you join me?

Time to Harvest

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One of my favorite memories has always been my brothers and I sitting around after a holiday meal, trading barbs. The bad puns would continue followed by laughter that sounded very similar from one sibling to another. It has been coined Blackstock humor. A longtime friend reminded me that I have used laughter as a response to much of life. That might have been a dangerous ploy to use with nuns but I managed to survive. It was upon this foundation that I created my first blog: My Punch Line (mypunchline.wordpress.com). It seemed appropriate to find the humor in life’s challenges. Now, upon retrospect, it doesn’t seem entirely suitable. There are challenges that life sends your way that need more thought and fortitude than laughter.

Life has blessed me with the best it has to offer: my son, my family who remains close, friends, travel and professional settings that have allowed me to leave my mark. Challenges and sorrow are not unknown to me: divorce, unemployment, health issues and those that I love that have made the transition to eternity. Ultimately I would like to think there is balance. The mountains and valleys are juxtaposed and simultaneously visible, no matter what my circumstance may be at the time. Whatever course I travel, it is rich in experience.

Life is certainly a mixed bag. I could offer a multitude of clichés that may or may not be proven. Is it true that you reap what you sow or is it a wives’ tale to keep you in line? We have all witnessed forces that deter the greatest laid plans. That brings me to the concept of this blog: Harvesting Life. Are you gathering what has been created or are you merely gazing upon it and seeing its completion but not collecting it or using it for its intended purpose? I recognize that there are seasons that the crop is substandard or even rotten. Those are the days one has to decide if the crop will be left to fester or cleared and replanted. Harvesting is work. It takes determination and strength. Substitute life for harvest and recognize it too takes determination and strength.

For the longest time I held a cynical view of life, stating we come into this world alone and we leave the same way. I’m now rethinking that and viewing it in a much more positive light. My mother carried me for 9 months before giving me life. A medical team was there to ensure that my journey began in a safe and healthy setting. As a matter of fact my father, who was career Navy, made the 300 mile trip by bus in a blizzard to meet me. No, I didn’t come into this world alone. I have no idea what my last moments on this earth might be but for now I will live and live fully. I’m holding space for you. Will you join me, figuratively standing shoulder to shoulder, and begin the process of harvesting life?