Friendship Continued

Oh the irony! My granddaughter told me this week that friendship is the greatest gift in the world. She is six years old. We were on our way to the library where she picked ten books to check out. One among them was called, “The Friendship Book”. While her brother looked at pictures of trucks and machines, I read about making friends with my granddaughter. It was beautiful basic information. We can be friends with people who are different from us in the way we look, dress and think. We can be different ages and in various stages of life. Great reminders. The biggie is how to initiate a relationship when we see someone we would like to get to know and spend time together. It is easy for extroverts when gathering with people daily at school, church, or events. For those who are resistant to make the first move it can be a challenge. I’m not entirely sure if my granddaughter identifies as shy or outgoing, but she did engage three librarians in two hours and hugged two new friends at the Chick-fil-A after lunch.

Finding a perfect friend who has all the characteristics we admire may sound like a fantasy. We want a person who is honest, loyal, fun loving, available at all hours and interesting. We want someone who still loves us with all our flaws and baggage. How do we connect when we are in a stage of life where we do not have many opportunities to meet people in a healthy environment?(I am not likely to go to a bar at this point). How can a married couple find compatible people when we are new in town? Well, churches are making a come back after the pandemic, and may be perfect for retired people who are service minded. This is where I started. I have never met anyone online, but I know there are meet up groups that play games, hike, dance, or just have coffee and talk business. There are more than a thousand people involved in Euchre groups in our town of Fishers! My grandmother used to be in a Pinochle group. My parents were in a Newcomers club. I feel certain we will find friends in addition to the dear friends we have known for over thirty years who happened to move to Indianapolis too.

Maintaining long distance friendships is another matter. You may have experienced what I have. Some people believe that I fell off the face of the earth when I left their town. There are friends I never heard from again. I am not blaming anyone of neglect; it just happens when we do not see people. With text messages and FaceTime it is easier. My Uncles thrilled me with a FaceTime call and said it was like something out of a Dick Tracey episode. I wish my family and friends were not so shy about using FaceTime. I do not care if you are in your jammies or if you have combed your hair. I have found it true with long distance relationships that we can always pick up where we left off.

I would be remiss not to mention “What a Friend We Have in Jesus.”( It is an old favorite hymn of mine). He gave his life for those he loved. He died like a soldier who fights for people they do not know. You may agree with my granddaughter, or you may argue that God’s love is the greatest gift. Either way, be open to new relationships for those who are seeking. Happy New Year!

Friendship is not a Fantasy

The day my hubby said, “You are my favorite person,” it validated my existence, gave me purpose, and sealed our bond of friendship. Friendships may be the single most important factor to a happy and healthy life. There is a strong argument for faith in God and Spiritual connection as a critical component to survival, because is has given people strength when friendship and all else has failed. Yet, the tangible relationship with another person with whom we identify and share common interests and goals, may be the happiness factor that supersedes all else. Those who have a warm friendship with their spouse are indeed lucky. Those who have lifelong friends know that it takes commitment and care. I have wonderful friends in many states and I miss them. I vow to communicate with them more.

Even though I recognize my need and desire for good friends, I am not always sure that I am being the best friend I can be. I really want more time with women friends and I truly would like a small group in my new home where the friendship is honest, helpful, fun and rewarding.

In the past few years, friendships have struggled due to the pandemic restrictions, political or moral convictions, time management and travel issues, and changing family structures; just to name a few big ones. This lack of human bonding has led to self-doubt, depression, and poor health habits. I personally, have become too sedentary without my athletic friends. I have fretted about staying connected to long distance friends that I have moved away from. I miss their love and care and I worry about their well being when I do not hear from them. The women that I love dearly do not like social media; and I find it the easiest way to share my thoughts and events. The challenge is to converse on a regular basis with those whom I want to continue building a relationship.

I need a confidant on a weekly basis. My mother was the perfect person to to share all my concerns because we had a common faith, set of values, and deep love for family. She encouraged without judging. I find it harder for me to do the same for my daughters because their faith seems to be very different than mine. They do not take the same comfort from the promises of God, prayer, worship and scripture lessons like the last four generations of women in our family. For them it would be akin to me refusing to take medicine that science has proven as a cure and worked for them. So we are learning to navigate the relational waters differently, and I have to stop standing and rocking the boat. Our three daughters do have a sweet friendship with each other that will surely strengthen as they share the trials of motherhood with each other.

We all need someone to talk to easily without being shamed or lectured. What I enjoy most is playful time and laughter. We are never to old to play. It may be dominoes or cards as we get older, it can even be dress up as we shop together or go out for the evening. Play keeps us young and allows for lighthearted conversation and opportunity to be silly and laugh. We all know laughter is the best medicine. What is the last thing you remember that started a giggle fest with your friends? My daughters make me laugh at myself, our circumstances, and the unexpected things that people say. The sound of their laughter has cured me from deadly disease. I literally coughed out the pneumonia from my lungs last week when they got me laughing.

I plan to explore the qualities of friendship a little further this week. Hubs and I look forward to building and nurturing friends in Indiana and maintaining the dear friends we have been blessed with throughout our lives. You are so very important to us.

Cover Up!

This morning, I was nearly done with a painting project. The interior of our twenty year old house was painted with flat paint colors. The bathrooms all showed dirt stains and water marks that would not erase with a Mr Clean Magic sponge. I decided new colors would freshen up the bathroom and cover up the stains. My daughter had half a dozen paint samples, so I borrowed some of them to choose a new color. They all clashed with my tile, so I went to Sherwin Williams and studied the paint chips. “ Lemon Verbena” was the first choice for my lower level guest bathroom. The job was fun and easy while hubby was out of town. We agreed the color was too dark for our en-suite bathroom, so I tried to match the tile with a warm beige. “Natural Linen” looked right, so I bought a quart. Apparently our white woodwork is nearly the same as Natural Linen so the color was too light. I took it back and the sales clerk added additional pigments to get a “Saddle Back” color. I felt confident it would be perfect. Too yellow. I mixed it with the Lemon Verbena and got a lovely Castelvetrano olive shade. I prepped with lots of blue tape to protect the baseboard and started painting. The color was calming and complimentary to the tile.

Hubby was home this time and helped reach the higher ceiling area for me. Team work! We agreed the satin finish will withstand the water stains better. I was very careful climbing the step stool and painting with minimal messiness. It was not until I was pulling the blue tape off and admiring the two coats of paint that I misstepped and started to fall. I caught the towel bar and ripped it from the wall as my foot searched for the next step. Okay, that hurt a little on my ankle and forearm, but my confidence came crashing down hard when I saw the hole I left in the wall. This is going to take a big patch job.

Hubby returned from his morning walk and saw the pout face while I confessed, “I had the bathroom put back together only to yank out the towel bar with a hunk of dry wall attached”. Good hubby that he is asked if I was okay. “Not really”, I said with my ego severely damaged. He promised it would be an easy fix. Hopefully it can be done before my custom color paint mix dries up.

I thought about covering up the wall stains and how we cannot ever cover up our mistakes completely. They show through like a poor paint job. Christians believe we cannot cover our sins, but Jesus can wash them away as though they never happened. This is what makes Jesus so popular. Our confidence and ego can be restored when we understand that He cares for us with all our flaws and missteps. How can an ancient teacher and healer be relevant after 2023 years? He synthesizes all the laws down into two. “Love God with all your heart, soul, and mind; and love your neighbor as yourself.” Following His way makes every relationship perfect. All hardships can improve when we have relationships with loving people who are always ready to help.

I have some “hot mud” to make a patch for my wall. Forget the towel bar. We will have to set that bar higher. My painting may have covered a few flaws, but Jesus covers all of mine- thank God!

Barbie Clothes

Yesterday, I played with Barbie! (The famous voluptuous doll and not a real person). I do not actually know anyone named Barbie. This was a Christmas edition doll, with silky long blond hair, that my daughter chose as a gift when we were traveling right before the holiday. My granddaughter has been playing with it and dressing it in an assortment of clothes. I tried to comb the wild hair back into curls, and had about the same success that I have with my granddaughter when I try to style her hair. The doll is about twenty-five years old- a classic but not vintage. I sorted through decades of clothes and retrieved the ones my mother made on her Singer sewing machine. There were also dresses and sweaters my grandmothers crocheted. I hand washed each one and spread them out flat to dry. Hubby was out of town, so I took over the whole bathroom for the night.

It was emotional. Memories of my mother flooded my mind while the bathroom sink was overflowing with bubbles and Barbie’s laundry. I rinsed out little suits made out of corduroy and wool that were scraps left from clothes my mother had sewn for herself. There were ball gowns made from taffeta, red velvet pants, a flannel overcoat, and my favorite; a white lace wedding gown with a chapel length train that snaps in place. There was a veil, but it has been missing for years. Barbie is now wearing the wedding gown and it fits her perfectly. That shapely figure is the same (if we could all be so lucky) as it was in 1958 when Mattel introduced her to the “baby boomer” children.

Beautiful fashion and romance are a big part of playing with Barbie and Ken. I used to pack my mother’s Samsonite suitcase, a little overnight bag, with all my doll clothes. Barbie, Midge, Ken and Alan traveled one block to Primrose Avenue to play all afternoon at Lise’s house. We did not cut our doll’s hair or decapitate them, as my daughters did years later when they set up Barbie World in their playroom. My mother did not interfere with our play, nor did I supervise my daughters while they acted out their private dramas with their dolls. We were free to interpret adult behavior as we saw fit. Barbie let us take control of our own fantasies.

So, did I go to see the Barbie Movie? I had no intention to. I figured it was for children- though it was not! My friend Liz invited me to go with her and her daughter. So I went and we giggled the whole way through. The movie had several poignant commentaries on women’s issues. The best one was on the high level of expectation we put on women to be a superstar in the workplace and the perfect mother at home. The funniest one could be described as “Don’t put Barbie in a box.” (A la “Nobody puts Baby in the corner”, thank you Patrick Swayze).

The movie had it right when depicting Ken and Alan as having a minor role when we were at play. There is a remote possibility that my brothers would pick up those dolls when I was not around, and launch them into adventure. Then, along came Skipper. She may have been offspring, but more likely a nice neighbor girl.

I have carefully stacked the retro clothes of the sixties and sealed them in a glad bag. Some could use a little repair and others need to be handled gently if they are to survive another generation.

There are so many things we hope to hand down someday, but the most important seems to be the traditions. Barbie was a Christmas gift. I hope the Christmas gift our family will cherish the most is the Good News of the birth of baby Jesus who was given as Savior to change the world. Nothing makes me more emotional.

Realities and Illusions

Hubby and I had a lovely two days in New York City. The focus was sports; his favorite entertainment. The US Tennis Open did not disappoint. We stayed at the Cornell Club on 44th Street; close to 5th avenue and Central Park. I requested a tour of St Patricks Cathedral and to do something whimsical. I really could not believe hubs agreed to visiting the Museum of Illusions after our lunch at Pier 57. Inside the museum, there were forty displays and most of them were interactive. My favorite was the last one where I sat on a chair. Suddenly, I became doll size and hubs patted me on my pretty little head. Let me know if you can figure out how we created the illusion.

The reality is that my sweet hubby has never minimized me; my ability, or my value. He has given me all kinds of support in many of my endeavors. The financial and physical support is appreciated, but even more than that, I love the emotional and spiritual strength he has given me in the last five decades.

Women often feel insignificant and oh so small in a world where there are endless problems to solve and so many people with vital needs that cannot be met by a single person. My hubby does not let me wallow or grow weary when the word “hopeless” escapes my lips. He pulls me out of the illusion and assures me that every kindness, volunteer effort, and phone call has immeasurable worth to someone who needed a friend, teacher, or gramma.

Illusions often involve mirrors. They show endless depth or a whole picture when there is only a half an object. When I look in a mirror, I see a whole life in my face that includes sunshine and smiles. The spots and lines are a reflection of laughter and beach walks. The gray hairs might show all the worries, but half of them are still my original ordinary brown. (Can you guess how hubby put my head on a platter?)

The last pictures show me off kilter and hubby doing some awesome push ups. All illusions. All for fun. I do sometimes climb the walls when I am anxious. Hubby really can perform wondrous feats, in his job and at home, and make it seem effortless.

The best part of the museum experience was following a family with two boys around the course. They were giddy looking at holograms and measuring lines that could not possibly be the same length but were. Their joy was contagious, and they offered to take the last photo us. How much of life and history is actually an illusion?

So many fantastical stories are in the Bible. People believe some were exaggerated or the Israelites were seeing illusions that skewed reality. There are always lessons to be learned from every story that leads us to understand the awesome power of love and the goodness of God. There is no deception when it comes to the way Jesus taught us to love with healing words and hands. There were no mirrors in the empty tomb when Jesus conquered death and the grave. He endured His bloodshed for our redemption. He gives us hope for the impossible and his love defies reality. We can be assured by His promises and strengthened by His Holy Spirit. Our worth is never minimized in His eyes.

Ring Ring

My grandmother’s wedding ring is ninety years old. My Uncle Jim gave it to me the last time I visited him in Iowa. I love the artistry and style of the delicate gold band with horseshoes of diamond chips on both sides of the the center solitaire. Grandma’s fingers must have been far more slender than mine, because the ring only fit my pinkie finger. I decided to pass it on to my daughter who could then give it to her daughter on a special occasion, much like I did with my mother’s wedding ring. My mother surprised me by giving me her original engagement ring as a gift for my fortieth birthday. We were going out for an anniversary dinner with our daughter and her husband, so I put the ring on my pinkie and to pick them up.

When we arrived at their house to pick up the kids, the rain was coming down in luminous curtains. I opened an umbrella to escort my daughter to the car. When we got back to the car, the ring was missing from my hand! “Oh no!” I said three times while checking my seat and clothing. “What is it mom?” my daughter inquired. “I have lost grandma’s ring that I wanted to give you this evening.”

She said with certainty, “Don’t worry, we will find it.” She sent a text to the neighbor who was watching the grandchildren. “Be on the look out for a gold ring on the floor.”

I felt deflated that I lost the ring so quickly. After dinner, we checked the driveway and the car. No ring. I felt hopeful that someone would find it. Hubs reminded me that his wedding band had once disappeared during the winter, but when the snow melted the following spring, a friend spotted it next to the driveway while we stood chatting. I had already bought him a new one – which we promptly returned.

Is everyone thinking about the woman who lost the gold coin and continued to sweep and look for it until it was found? I did not give up either. Later in the week, I moved the passenger seat of the car up and looked. I could not see anything. I reached as far as I could with my hand and prayed it was there as I swept back and forth. I felt something; probably a stray cheerio (though that would be unlikely in hubby’s car). Then with the phone flashlight, I guided the object to an opening, and viola! It was the ring! “Thank you Jesus, thank you Jesus!” I repeated while feeling much like the biblical woman who kept searching. It pays to be persistent.

My daughter now has the ring. I wonder if wearing it will remind her of the lost and found story. Jesus told the story to tell us of His relentless love. If we ever feel lost; He will find us and love us where we are. This is so important to me since I am always on the move and not always sure where I am. I do know what I am and who my heart belongs to.

Pruning and Poetry

The boxwood hangs on to the dead leaves of the winter’s sub zero weather.
We wait for regrowth, but it is hidden beneath the brown withered kill.
I decide it is time to release what will not return to a healthy state,
And carefully glove for the procedure, then place the wheelbarrow to collect the remains.
With three foot rubber handles and the parrot beak pincher made of metal,
My pruning tool transforms me into a surgeon.

I imagine carefully extracting cancer as I clip away entire sections.
The fresh green baby leaves are growing deep within.
Some of the good growth on the top is sacrificed to sculpt
The shrub into a balanced shape that promises to regenerate.
It is a hairless patient desiring to be whole and free,
From any more chemicals to ward off the bugs and fungus.

Is there a way to protect what we cherish from the perils of the environment?
Can we encourage the rebirth and remember the point in which
The shrub was fully magnificent and mature?
Creation was made to heal and bloom and bear good fruit.
It is too soon to watch for its demise. I strip off my gloves and wash
The pruner. The shrubs sing a song as they breathe in the summer air.

From Teacher to Writer

We never know if our best was enough.

Every morning, I start with quiet time to read a chapter of the Bible. It took four years to finish when I read one chapter at a time, but I did finally read the whole bible. What a story. It takes one year to read the Bible with a set program that includes a chapter in the Old Testament, New Testament, Psalms or Proverbs. So, I read through a second time and became more familiar with the characters, lessons, historical events, and wisdom. Then, I continued reading bible verses along with a devotional. Proverbs 31 Ministry sends out a “Daily Encouragement”, written by women addressing personal and emotional problems. I post a verse everyday to glean a nugget of wisdom for the day. It often is a handy reminder when faced with issues during the day. This year, I have zeroed in on the words of Jesus written by His disciple, Matthew- an unpopular tax collector. I added a #hashtag after the scripture to remember the main idea.

A few people read what I write. Not many. Most friends are more interested in pictures of the grandchildren- they are super cute. I love seeing their family photos as well. A few people judge me and are offended by what I write. It is never my intent to be pushy or preachy. I Certainly could quote other wise people and use prettier pictures. I continue with the good news of love and forgiveness, which Jesus professed and demonstrated through His healing and creating a community for the disenfranchised. It caused Him great difficulty- as He knew it would- with the Jewish religious leaders. They put Him to death. He fought for freedom of the soul and body. He generated a Spirit of truth and courage that continues.

I continue to write moved by this Holy Spirit.

I am sorry if people think I am trying to achieve a “holier than thou” state of being. I am sorry if people find me naive, hypocritical, judgmental or boring. I do not think they know me very well. I am glad for those who find comfort and inspiration from the words of Jesus (and my interpretation). I rejoice for those who gain strength and faith in the future by the words of Jesus. He said some harsh things. His frustration was not withheld from the people He taught and loved. He endured brutal tests and His reputation was muddied by those who thought they knew better. Sometimes His own family doubted Him and His methods. I keep trying to understand Him by the little we know from the gospel texts, and by the personal faith experiences which have tested and strengthened me.

I do not wish to cram dogma down anyone’s throat. I do not wish to proclaim Christians as superior in their endeavors. I am grateful I can pray; even silently in schools and government buildings. I can pray looking in the eyes of the doubters and debaters, and know the Holy Spirit can change their lives. My sorrow continues for those who are tired, hurting, lost. My hope for transformation continues for those who are cruel, selfish, misguided, hard hearted. I am a simple, humble servant with the task to tell the story.

Vision

My life is a blur. Not just time slipping away, but my eyesight has diminished. Hubs and I went to see the optometrist together. Hubs got the standard reading glasses. The friendly doctor said I needed “progressive” glasses. He told me they take a week or two to get used to. I ordered the works: pretty blue frames, computer blue tint and sun protection. They cost five times the amount of hubby’s glasses. After two weeks, I was not adapting. I was also afraid to take them anywhere for fear of  losing or damaging them. I tried a third week and called the eye doctor to beg for something different.

“What seems to be the problem?” he asked. “My glasses are not compatible with my phone and laptop,” I explained. “Even with my chin up, the words slant of the whole screen tilts. Is there a bifocal option for me?” The doctor suggested an “executive” bifocal. The bottom would be for reading and the top for driving. There would no longer be two tiny circles for me to find a sweet spot. “Do you want to keep these until the new pair comes?” The doctor asked. “No, I have been driving in a blur this long, a couple more weeks should not matter,” I replied.

Well, it seems my depth perception is also an issue. Yesterday, I tried to pull into the garage slowly and the brick engraved a little love note on my right front bumper. I marched into the house with my sad long face and confessed to hubs. “The house is okay, but the car is scratched up,” I admitted. “Please do not go out and look at it.” He did not. I might have to get a job at Walmart to pay for my costly mistakes. Our financial planner did not figure in the cost of living with a part time clown.

My new glasses will help me see more clearly. My drug store readers help me get by in the meantime. Vision is important. True vision requires understanding the past, awareness in the present and looking to the future. My favorite bible characters had visions and interpreted dreams. This talent brought them favor from kings and authorities. Visionaries gain trust and make a difference in lives of others. I would like to have that talent added to the features of my new glasses.

Let’s hope I will see clearly enough to drive safely. If I need a chauffeur, I have a handsome one that is still willing to take me anywhere.   

Go Gramma Go!

Oh no, am in big trouble now! My grandchildren can ride two wheel bicycles and I cannot keep up on foot. I tried to stick next to my three year old grandson to prevent falls or crashes, but it was to no avail. “Grandma, I can do this,” he said with confidence, while my concerns focused on the crushed gravel by the curb. “Lord, don’t ever let him get hurt on my watch,” I pleaded. The responsibility felt more intense than being a parent. A grandparent’s home should be a happy place of perfection and safety. My role has changed from the primary caregiver of a parent to playmate, spiritual guide, facilitator, mentor and historian for my grandchildren.

History of the family is important. It helps our understanding of who we are and what we believe. My Uncle Jim gave me all his photo albums, so now I have pictures to go with my memories and historic stories. I loved hearing my grandma tell me about the people in the pictures. I wax nostalgic looking at their clothes and hairstyles, along with the table settings and home decor. My favorite memories revolve around the church activities and weekly worship. I hope when I share these treasures, I will find a member of the next generation to pass the memorabilia to. 

The nurturing mentor is an essential role for every grandma. Grandmas have a little more time in their retirement to sit and listen. We have many skills to demonstrate and delight little ones. We have a virtual file cabinet of suggestions and answers to questions. It takes patience, which sometimes flies out the door, but I am discovering their learning styles and what helps my grands to feel appreciated and supported. I will never be a substitute for their parents, but would rather be the icing on their cake. Any pearls of wisdom I may have from my teaching and parenting years are strung together at random times, and perhaps kept in their mental treasure box.

The roles of playmate and facilitator go together in many cases. A few toys and craft materials are good to have on hand. I have designated shelves and drawers just for them. Most of the time, my grandchildren are so full of energy and imagination, all I have to do is join in. I never touched my mother’s closet, but I loved playing dress up with a trunk full of things she provided. Well, my closet is a favorite playground where both grands like to try on everything they can reach. They catch us off guard when they emerge with hats, scarves, heels, and color combinations that are rarely seen. I may not be a fashion role model, but my grands have turned my closet into a place of wonder. 

Everyone should have a spiritual advisor. Grandparents carry cultural and religious traditions that span many generations. Each generation fine tunes their perspective of moral behavior and the sense of right and wrong. I hope to be sensitive to the changing conditions that emerge in every decade and offer a loving perspective for my grandchildren to emulate. Faith in the God of Love can carry people of all ages through fears, traumas, and dilemmas. The example of Jesus can boost anyone’s compassion, joy, and peace in a world filled with high stress, pressures and expectations. Grandparents should be good examples for their grandchildren and shepherd them to green pastures.

I thought being a gramma would be easier than it is. I thought I would have more energy than I do. I will leave the athletics for the parents and I will enjoy the slower paced activities and the quieter times of drawing and learning to read. It may take a motorized wheelchair to keep up with the kids on the side walk. For now I will do the best I can with what the good Lord gave me.