It's a very American thing. In conversations we ask … what do you do? What did he do?  And usually, we’ll hear what their job is or was.

Recently someone asked, ‘what did your father do?’   I could have said he was like Loretta Lynn’s Dad.  I resisted. He was more than that.  Yes, he worked in the coal mines.  His job was to dynamite the coal face. Blast out the precious black diamonds.

That’s not who he was. He was a storyteller. A singer of Irish songs.  A champion of our goals. A hard worker.  A teacher.  He was all those things and more.  So, what did he do?  He taught by example.   Of course he wasn’t perfect.  That’s a good thing. 

Love, admiration, and friendships happen by knowing the person.  Never because of the person’s job. It’s how that person makes us feel.

To answer the question: What did your father DO? He made me feel special.  That’s what good friends, good parents, and good teachers do.

Next time I’m tempted to ask – ‘what do you do?’  I’ll try to remember to say, ‘so, tell me about yourself.’

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Today was one of those days.  One of those days when you say -   OK, maybe you should go back to bed; and start the day over. We've all had them.

It starts simply.   I saw a lotion-looking lump on the bathroom counter.  Can't waste that.

Scooped it up, rubbed it on my face.  It was toothpaste.

Scurry to the kitchen for a coffee revival.  No coffee. It had not perked.  Check the outlet.  Check the breakers.  Panic. I had never poured water into the machine.

Rush to my trainer's.  No trainer in sight.  I call her cell. Oh, your appointment is not until 11:30.  I throw up my hands.

Then I remembered advice my mother shared decades ago.  A wise, quiet, woman of deep faith.  She said, 'This is God's way of telling you to slow down, Joan. Pay attention to what matters.'

And so, I asked my grandson and his wife if I could come 'play' and enjoy my twin great grandbabies.  An enthusiastic 'yes.'  My day changed.  My brain is back in gear. My smile is back in place.  Paying attention to what matters is a game changer. Perhaps even a life changer.

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Today was Youth Sunday at our church. 

It was special for several reasons.More family cheerleaders in the pews. Proud to see their youngsters.   Likely saying to themselves – well, maybe we did a few things right.

If you did not have a youngster participating; you still felt a sense of pride.  A sense of hope.  A sense that these young people care.  Care enough to make a difference in the way our world continues.  They made me believe we can count on them

Two weeks ago, I applauded ten college students being honored for their scholastic, community, and business accomplishments.  Several had graduated, others already in the business world.  Each honoree was focused on what they can contribute.

Listening to these still unfolding journeys, seeing the determination, focus, and what's do-able was inspiring.  Like most my age, I trust and verify.  I trust these young people.  They are well on their way to verifying that trust.

The take-away from spending time with our young colleagues: We are in good hands. I’m a believer.

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A while back I became fascinated with birds.  My friends, already bird lovers, warned me: Be careful, you’ll find yourself adopting these beautiful creatures.  Next thing you know, you’ll be talking to them.

Sure enough.  This chilly morning, I found myself asking a visiting Cardinal: How do you survive this cold?  Where is your mate? I hope she’s OK.

The mate appeared. Oh good, says me, I’m really glad to see you.  By the way, do you like the new food?  I read where it is a favorite of yours

What is it about birds that both captivates and calms us? Do we envy their freedom. Are we fascinated by the variety. Lulled by their music.  The way they protect their young.  Because they always seem so happily busy.  Or, do we believe that, in our own way, we are helping them survive.

Whatever it is, I am hooked.  Two mourning doves just joined my family. Best get more food.

Thanks Dr. Doolittle, for understanding.

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Extra from: My mother, who loved birds. A poem she taught us:

The North winds doth blow, and we will have snow,

And what will poor Robin do then?

He’ll hide in the barn, to keep himself warm.

And hide his head under his wing – poor thing.

A few weeks ago, I sat next to a recently retired gentleman at lunch.  Before retirement he’d had a pretty lofty title.  I’m guessing the position came with a staff that handled pesky details for him

Making conversation, I asked, “what’s keeping you busy these days?”  His response ... I seem to spend most of my time getting ready.  Getting ready for what? Everything. This luncheon. Guests.  A trip to New York.  His list was long and humorous. I did not spare him any sympathy.   In fact, I might have been inwardly smiling.

Still, he made me think. How much time do we spend anxiously getting ready. So much, it seems, that when the big day arrives we are: Too tired to enjoy it.  So overwhelmed with details we’re confused. So absorbed in ‘wish I’d done this instead of that’ our stomach rebels.

Think Weddings, Galas, Thanksgiving – any place our talents, or lack thereof, are on display. With or without help, this is the stuff that creates ‘what did I forget’ nightmares.

Here’s what’s true: Our guests don’t look for flaws.  They are happy to be invited. Eager to help you celebrate. 

Here’s what else is true: Most of your guests are far less talented.  At least that’s what they tell me.  And, of course, I believe them.

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My family attempts to delay my becoming a curmudgeon.  They recently commented that I spend a lot of time, and words, glorifying things I miss.  They referenced the recent Grasshopper headlined ‘Out with the New, In with the Old'.  I’ll bet, said one, there are more new things you enjoy than there are old things you miss.  Challenge on.

As usual, my observant family was correct.  The useful inventions over the decades far outnumber the ‘stuff’ I think I miss.  The list of the new is, as Dr Seuss would say, longer than long.

Topping the list of what I would not willingly part with: Washers and dryers.   Cars with automatic drive.  Mobile telephones.  Suitcases with wheels.  Computers (yes, computers).   Grip jar opener.  Panty hose. The list continues to the tiniest indulgence of instant hot water for my afternoon tea.

Did I live without the old things I miss?  Yes.   Could I live without the conveniences I now enjoy?  Of course.

So, what could I not live without?  Nothing tangible.  Oh, I’d miss music, art, fresh strawberries, cozy slippers.  Still, I could survive without them.  What I could not happily live without is hope.   Without hope I’d miss knowing that, whether I take advantage of it or not, each day presents an opportunity to make a difference in some small way. 

To quote an unknown author: We are shaped by our past, but we are not chained to it. 

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I just finished re-reading 84 Charing Cross for the third time.  It's a book first published in 1970.  There's no real story or plot.  It's not a mystery, not a thriller, not a romance. Definitely not Sci-Fi.

So, what keeps taking me back to this book of under 100 pages?  It's a book of letters, written over a period of 20 years between 1949 and 1969.  Not love letters.  Just every day letters between a book seller in London, and a book buyer in New York.

The letters allow us to feel friendship, trust, sharing, and understanding developing. There are no photos, so we get to create our own images of the writers. I find myself cozying up to the warmth of conversation. Writing down the names of the books purchased, and recommended.  Wondering if they will ever meet.  Not to be a spoiler - but, no - they never meet in person.

My re-readings remind me how much I miss hand-written letters.  For years I devoured the letters from home.  I could hear the voices, see the places, smell the shepherd's pie. I could keep them close and read them again whenever I needed a taste of home. I still have many of the letters.

Sadly, most letters today are email (guilty as charged). Even if I could find them on my computer; it's not the same.  It's like e-books, I use them for convenience.  Holding a book, rustling the paper pages - makes me one with the story. 

Perhaps health advisors could suggest writing a letter by hand is relaxing and gives great satisfaction to the writer and recipient. Who knows. Could start a reverse trend.

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This was a chilly day. Well, chilly for these parts.  It was a good day for what I call rummaging.
 

Rummaging through old files, albums, recipe books.  Looking for nothing in particular. Finding plenty to make me smile, recall an occasion, decide I must bake MawMaw’s corn bread.
 

Today my rummaging uncovered a game I used to play when I was stalled, waiting for someone or something.  Like most brain games, it was a form of learning. The goal was to write down as many words as possible in the time I had. 
 

I came across my always handy notebook, and the heading on one page said: Words I like to use, continued.  Of course, I checked the old list. 
 

I found words like Dignity. Different. Gossamer. Delicious. Dream. Think. Baby. Hugs. Dance. Emerge … more than 100 words.  It must have been a long wait.
 

The chosen words I observed were, for the most part, happy or hopeful.  I did not find the words Money.  Greedy.  Revenge. Cheat.  Of course, I do speak those words – but my game was Words I LIKE to use.
 

Perhaps on my next rummaging day I’ll find the earlier pages.  In the meantime, I enjoyed this challenge more than Wordl.   I’ll be doing it again.
 

Favorite words? Try it.  Bet you’ll like it.

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For the past few days an old song has drummed around in my head. Perhaps it was turning the calendar to another year.  The catchy tune, written in 1949, is Enjoy Yourself.  It could have been written yesterday.

Sing along at your own risk, it will not go away (especially if you are over a certain age): 

You work and work for years and years, you're always on the go
You never take a minute off, too busy makin' dough
Someday you say, you'll have your fun, when you're a millionaire
Imagine all the fun you'll have in your old rockin' chair

Enjoy yourself, it's later than you think
Enjoy yourself, while you're still in the pink
The years go by, as quickly as a wink
Enjoy yourself, enjoy yourself, it's later than you think.

I changed my brain channel and thought. How do I enjoy myself?  How do others truly enjoy themselves?  It is not, it seems, the parties, far-away places, luxury hotels, and gourmet foods.  They are fun, a special treat, and not to be scoffed at.  I DO enjoy them.

Your friends are likely to say their purest and lasting enjoyment comes from coffee with a friend, volunteering, sharing their time, talent and treasures.  It’s knowing they have someone to call, no matter what the time or the problem.  The simple things.  The things where a little bit of ourselves is left behind.  Enjoying life at rewarding levels.

So -- enjoy yourself, it is later than you think -- but it is never too late.  

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We seem to hear the phrase more often as the calendar spins into another year: Out with the old, in with the new.  And I want to shout … not so fast.  Old does not mean useless.  In most cases it does not mean obsolete.  The older I get, the louder I want to shout.

My friends of a certain vintage and I speak longingly of the old things we’d like to bring back.  We want a human to answer the telephone when we call. Not a mechanical voice that says ‘listen to the menu, our options have changed (no kidding).  Many of us don’t recognize the ‘options’ offered as anything we’d want.  We press zero.  The robot says ‘sorry, that is not an option, please hang up and call again.’  Why bother?

We called the department store, and a real person answered.  Where can I direct your call.  Shoes. The shoe department answers and checks if they have what we want in stock.

Booking an Airline ticket. Talked with a nice agent who helped find the right flight at the best price. We can still do that. After a long wait the nice agent answers. They immediately inform us there is a $$$ fee for them to personally book our ticket.  (We are placing an order, right? Giving them our business.)  We must decide if we will pay fees for legroom and location on the plane. We won’t question why a round-trip ticket has different departure and return prices.

What happened to full-service gas stations.  Even if we could, we don’t want to change the oil, test the air in tires, monitor the coolant – wherever that is.  We prefer not to stretch across the vehicle to wash the windshield.  Where is the attendant who took our credit card and brought it back with a friendly comment on the weather.  Now, we insert our cards and we’re likely to see on the screen ‘something went wrong. Please see cashier.’

The list of ‘the old’ we miss is much longer.  The ‘new’ is exciting to welcome. Let’s hope the new will include some of the old human touches.

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