2024

My brother, who lives in England, has been visiting for the past ten days.  We decided we must be getting old.  It seems a lot of our conversations, many of which ended with a good belly laugh, began …” Do you remember?”’

Not surprising, most of our memories were good ones, funny ones, about people who helped us.  The freedoms we had as kids, eccentric teachers, stories our parents told.   We laughed about Mr. Airy, a teacher who wore a little rear-view mirror on his glasses; and could whirl a blackboard duster with amazing accuracy at a misbehaving student.  Imagine that today.

We reminisced about how young we were, making our way via public transport from our town in the North to the big city of London.  Another, imagine that.

Food, always a good topic, recalled simple home grown, home prepared foods.  We never ate in a restaurant, except for the occasional fish and chips shop.  The result was  healthy kids, and a deeper respect for ‘how in the world mother did it all.’ 

Memory Lane, providing you don’t spend too much time there, is a great place to visit.  It made Jim and me remember our roots, the good times, how fortunate we were.  Today, as always, we live in a not-so-perfect world. And yet, we can almost guarantee, when your grandchildren go on Memory-Lane trips they will remember the good stuff.  That’s just how we are.

Thanks for the memories …

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One week ago today the world for many of our friends, families, and neighbors changed. Beauty and calm turned to horror and destruction.

Amidst the tears, desperation, and losses yet to be fully realized; one thing rose to the top.  America, as we know it in our hearts, came through.  Neighbor helped neighbor.  Compassionate people around the country strove to provide links to survival. 

The response was instant, it was instinctive, it was real.  No second guessing, no red tape, no what’s in it for me … it was full blown ‘we care’ at its most personal level.

We couldn’t reach our Asheville son. A resourceful neighbor found a way to let us know he was OK, or as he nonchalantly put it ... we are hanging in there together.

Hurricane Helene left widespread misery in her path.  She also left us with the conviction that despite reports to the contrary, there are still more good people than others.

 As Robert Frost said, ‘we have promises to keep – but there are miles to go before we sleep.’  And so, good people, from my son's neighbor  ... hang in there, together. We need each other.

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Yesterday, while taking my evening walk, I suddenly heard a voice.  I swiftly swirled around.  A young man, radio on, was close behind on an electric scooter.  He foot-scraped to a stop and blurted out “Oh sorry, you didn’t look OLD from behind.” 

Despite not knowing whether to consider this a compliment, or a concern since my front obviously did not meet expectations, I had to laugh.  The rest of my walk I pondered … how did we become so humorless about words never intended as insults?

My husband, who did not have a disrespectful or mean word in his vocabulary, often spoke to Garden Club groups. He would sometimes begin by saying, “I’m so glad to be here with my new-made and old-made friends.”  The women laughed. They made him an honorary member.

Fast forward: The card game “Old Maid” has changed its name.   It is now Bold Made.  The new name being less ‘controversial.’  Made me wonder if it was ‘old’ or ‘maid’ that demanded change.

 Without question, some words or combinations of words should be forever stricken from conversations. No matter the conversations are in person, print, or electronically. Others?  It’s difficult to stop saying ‘Aunt Lizzie was an old maid. We’re not sure if by  choice or circumstances.’

A PC too far?  Just be kind in word and thought – that’s all that matters.

Game of Old Maid anyone?

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I'm in love. This is the real thing.  Sure to be a forever love affair.

It's just ten days since twin great grandchildren Everett and Elizabeth entered my life.  It seems much longer.  It's as though we've known each other forever.   I can't stop looking at them. We talk about the fun things we'll see and do.  They don't comment, but they seem to understand.

What is it about these tiny miracles?  You hold them and feel such trust.  You hear them cry, and say ... it's OK, we'll make it all better.  You watch them squirm, and encourage stretching.  Feeding time again?  Enjoy. Get strong.  We'll do our best to keep our promises.

These complex little people are human. They cannot be created by artificial intelligence. They respond to the human touch.  They flinch when anything cold or hard touches them.  Without  a day's training, they sense when they are safe.  Whether the hands that hold them are hands that care. They are miraculous. 

Do these brand new little ones feel love?  Oh yes.  How do I know?  They smiled.  Their Dad, my grandson, said it was not really a smile.  Well, I'm their great grandmother and I know better.  They smiled.   

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While driving to the mountains a few days ago, a route I have driven hundreds of times, I caught myself saying ‘I don’t recall seeing that before.’  Then I realized why.  Today I was driving in the slow lane.  I never drive in the slow lane.  Getting around, ahead, and first has been a lifetime game.

Our sons tell stories of going to the ice cream shop.  Mom sees others headed in the same direction.  Hurry up boys, all those people will get ahead of us.  Most were not even going to get ice cream. Still if they had been – we'd be there first. 

 Swimming, walking, running, driving, working – it didn’t matter.  Keep moving. Fast.

Driving in the slow lane I saw wildflowers, funky diners, families picnicking, inviting antique shops.  Funny thing.  I seemed to get to my destination in no time at all . So many interesting sights along the way.

My husband Robert’s frequent admonition was ‘Joan, everything can’t be instant pudding.’  He's right. It can’t be.  We wouldn’t want it to be. That was the message.   Taking time helps flavor more than the pudding.

Suddenly life in the slow -or at least slower- lane seems more than OK.  It allows time to listen, learn, and enjoy life's flavors.   Not caring if you’re first.  Being productive in ways that matter.  Really participating when it's important.

Confucious says: It does not matter how slowly you go - so long as you do not stop.

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Am I imagining this, or is the landscape suddenly awash with ‘experts?   How does one achieve the title?  Can one earn a degree in expertness? 

Take the expert in home organizing.  Can he or she organize my kids. Can hoarding and sloppy habits be organized.  How will I know if I passed the organizing test.

There are experts offering to organize our resumes. Do they know more about us than we know about ourselves. Oh, right - they use words that just make us sound better.

The expert political adviser currently has our attention. Amazing how many variations of the same theme the experts seem to offer.  Which expert is the real expert?

As time goes by – we realize we are not experts at or in anything.  Makes life so much easier. When asked a question to which we have no answer.   We just smile and say, “I have no idea. You’ll need to ask an expert.”

Grasshopper expert? Nah.

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Our family gathering to celebrate Independence Day followed the usual agenda this year.  We never plan an actual agenda.  It just happens.  We feast, toast the day’s importance, catch up on new aches and pains, marriages and babies. And then begins the trips down memory lane. 

It’s the stories we remember. Our favorite stories were told long ago around the coal fire.  The stories Dad told about Ireland. The ‘troubles,’ the fiddlers, cutting the bog.  Tiny Tim and the Cratchit family always made us cry.  Brave Robin Redbreast, who had to go to the barn to keep himself warm - and hide his head under his wing - poor thing. We all learned to feed the birds.

The same stories were told over and over.  We never tired of them, or said  ‘you’ve told us that twenty times.’   All the stories ended with … “see how lucky you are?”  In other words, things might be difficult, but others have it a lot worse.  Or, 'well now, see what happened because Jim stopped to help?'    Every story had a lesson – and because we did not know it was a lesson – we remembered.

There’s magic in storytelling.  Stories, told well, are lessons.   Tell me a story today, and I will tell it to my grandchildren tomorrow.   The magic and memories continue.

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At dinner recently, several friends and I observed one of our least favorite diners.  He was a pompous looking individual.  His frequent hand raising and clicking his fingers to get the attention of the server was annoying. An interesting source of conversation.

I recalled an old English tale about another all-important fellow in a London Club.  He felt he was not getting the attention he deserved.  Finally, he said to the server – ‘young man, do you KNOW who I am?’  To which the young man responded, “no sir I do not, but I will make inquiries and inform you directly.”  In other words, the young man had decided the fellow could not help his bad behavior, because he was confused.

The tale is humorous.  The question, we decided, is profound.  Why do some individuals believe they are more important than everyone else?  We acknowledged some, by virtue of their age, longevity as a customer, or special challenges should receive special attention.  They rarely demand it.

Our group included mothers, grandmothers and great grandmothers.  We decided these self-absorbed ‘do you not know who I am?’ individuals had missed a chapter in the book of manners. They missed the chapter spelling out the rules of polite behavior, in public and private.  We asked ourselves, ‘should we overlook their demeaning behavior?’ 

Final consensus: We should attempt to fill their missing chapter and teach by example.  Plus, as one of our less forgiving group added, ‘with steely-eyed looks of disapproval of their behavior.

Here’s looking at … who are you?

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Plumbers have my utmost respect and admiration.  Some of the jobs they undertake are most unappetizing. Their good humor, patience, and stoic attitude is priceless.  When you need a plumber, there is no short cut or substitute.  Plumbers are in high demand.

Recently, I needed a plumber.  You could say it was an emergency.  It looked like my guest room ceiling was ready to collapse because of an obvious leak from the great unknown. 

Hello Plumbing Company, I have an emergency.  I’m a long-time customer.  Here’s the problem… “We have a lot of emergencies today, “says Ms. Kind Receptionist, “I will send someone the minute they are free.”  It looks like water is still building up, and the ceiling could cave in any moment.”  “Yes, that does happen.  Our crew will take care of it. They will be there as soon as possible.” 

With the help of friends, I installed tarps, buckets, and tried to protect anything in the line of danger.  And watched the clock and the ceiling.  Where are they?  This is a disaster waiting to happen.

Three hours later the plumbing crew arrived.   The ceiling had not collapsed.  The crew tore open the ceiling, located the problem (a big one), and went to work.  “How long do you expect this to take?” I asked.  “No idea,” was the honest response, “we’ll do our best.”  And they did.

Why am I sharing this temporary misfortune?  It occurred to me that Ms. Kind Receptionist must make priority decisions with every call she receives.  She has to weigh the facts, the depth of the problem involved, who or what will be affected, how quickly this problem needs to be resolved.  Sound familiar?  Just like our life decisions.

So, the message - which I personally needed: Trust the service person you are asking for emergency help. They have usually mastered the art of recognizing urgent emergencies.  Because of their skills, we all benefit. 

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Earlier today I was talking with a remarkable individual.  He’s had an interesting life, filled with unique people, places and challenges.  He is an artist, a writer, and a life-long believer in carving a path for others to share.

My conversation was around a young woman who seemed to share similar talents.  She was becoming discouraged by what she called a lack of ‘real’ success.  What, I asked, would be his advice for her?

The response was so simple, prefaced by the words … this is not advice, it is opinion.  In his opinion, if you really enjoy doing something then do it without expectations.  Just keep doing it.  Stick with it.  Being a baseball lover, he used a baseball analogy … “observation informs me that the more you step up to the plate, the better chance you have of getting a hit.”  And proceeded to name friends who had done just that. Not necessarily getting hits, but continuing to try.

Enjoy what you’re doing.  No expectations. For the pure joy of it.  What a way to start each day.

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My family would be shocked to hear me share a ‘housekeeping’ tip from our sister Kathleen.  She was a reader, daydreamer, and not attracted to mundane chores.

In an emergency, and often because she just couldn’t be bothered, Kathleen’s remedy was to sweep offending crumbs, dust bunnies, or anything else that would fit – under the rug.

When I was younger, I thought this was a great solution to a messy or problem situation.  Hide it.

As I got older, I realized the ‘mess’ under the rug didn’t magically disappear. The 'mess' grew, ruined the floor underneath, and sometimes left a dreadful odor and bigger problem.  Eventually, and usually by someone else, what was under the rug had to be dealt with.

And such is life. Hard to hide embarrassing moments, errors, or smells-fishy deals.  Our sweeping them under the rug guarantees – come discovery day -  the dust bunnies will have multiplied.

That’s what bunnies and secrets do.

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I used to know how to type AND spell ... 

Sorry Confucius ... didn't mean to drop the 'i' out of your famous name.

And, not to waste good time and paper ... another Confucius quote:

"Be not ashamed of mistakes and thus make them crimes."

Thank you Confucius.

I've never thought of  myself as super sensitive. Still, there are some comments and phrases that send annoying signals to my brain.  The words don't have to be mean, ill intended, or coarse.  They are usually oridnary words, spoken in an ordinary conversation.  And yet --

When someone says to me, 'just let me explain that to you ...' My heckles go up.   Or, 'you don't seem to understand..' Yes, I understand, I simply don't agree with you. Other  itchy words to my ears are, 'well obviously'.  No, it is not obviousor I wouldn't be asking the question.  When a self appointed critic looks at something and says 'that's WRONG' my eyes get a certain glint. Each of these remarks, and more, tend to suggest there is only one answer; and it's most defnitely theirs. 

What is it that affects my brain? Not the words.  It's the presention of the words. Instead of let me explain that to you, if the individual said ...'let's see if we can figure that out.'  All ears.  Rather than 'you don't seem to understand,'  perhaps 'that's a tricky one, let's look at it.'   Oh, thank you.  Change 'well obviously..'  to 'what do you think?'   For the scholar who announces 'that's WRONG' how about 'Does that look right to you?' I look again ...Hmmn, maybe not.

Words are powerful - the way they are presented makes them even more powerful.  We learn from questions.  We remember the answers.  We enjoy being part of a good plan or conversation.  It makes us feel like contributors.  

A message from Confucus.  "Tell me and I'll forget.  Show me and I'll remember.  Involve me and I'll understand."  Some of these old adages still hold mighty truths.

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If your earlier Grasshopper had strange hieroglyphs .. apologies.  I have absolutely no idea from whence they came...and it would take this Luddite too long to figure it out.

This past week I attended a truly enjoyable luncheon. ​The event was to honor ​students and women who had made a difference. ​ I left there inspired.

My inspiration came from cheering the accomplishments of ​so many  women - both young and older​.  It came from hearing​ their messages of hope.  It came from listening to stories of failure, determination, and the real meaning of success. ​ 

Two​ quotes from the speeches - which, happily, were more like pleasant conversations than boisterous boasting​, hit a chord.  One speaker asked us 'not to confuse kindness with weakness.'  The other begged us to get comfortable being uncomfortable.  ​Both should be on our daily to-do lists.  This was the 39th year for this particular luncheon. Never during all those years have we needed those reminders more than we do today.

The luncheon was on a University Campus.  The room was filled with past, present and future leaders.  The speakers and our surroundings reminded us ​t​hat leadership and learning are indispensable to each other.​ The 'breaking news' junkies were jolted into realizing information is not knowledge.  Lots of heads nodding in agreement.

The final take-away was from Elbert Hubbard:  She/he has achieved success who has worked well, laughed often, and loved much.

Yes.  It was a memorable day.   Now I can just remember and put into practice all I #learned.

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What to do on dark and dreary days? The kind of days  when the outdoors do not look inviting.  Some of us read, write, play mind games, call friends.    And then there are the neat freaks.  We play a game called What can I get rid of?  I played that game again recently.

A lof of the decisions were easy.  Old CD's - out.  Pointy-toed shoes- away you go.  Pillows without purpose?  Gone.  And then we come to the drawer (it used to be a box) titled cards, letters, friend photos, kids drawings.   Each gets a new review.  Everything jolts a memory. Brings a smile.  Begs the question - whatever happened to?  Before you know it, hours have gone by.  Not a single item or memory has been added to the 'done with you' pile.

Strange, or maybe not so strange, what we value.  What gives us forever joy.  It's never the once loved 'stuff.'  It's the threads of our lives.  The message that says 'it's a  lonesome old town when you're not around...'  Aaaw.  Letters from your exuberant college aged kids. You really said that?   Baby photos.  Oh my gosh, look at them now.  It is the mosaic of people and places that have shaped who and what we are.

How could we throw any of our life away?  How dare anyone think of it as clutter.  Back into the magical drawer you go.  In the meantime, when the next decluttering urge hits; there will likely be two drawers titled 'this is life, do not throw away.'

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On rare occasions during my growing up years, I'd moan that I was bored.  The annoying and unsympathetic response was always: Life is boring only to boring people. Well, I certainly did not want to be one of those.   If I persisted about the lack of anything interesting to do 'around here,' a variety of opportunities would immediately be presented.

The opportunities usually involved domestic chores, helping an elderly neighbor, or worst of all going to the grocery store.  You can see why audible  'boring' moans were rare.  The results were never in my favor.  The cure for boredom in our home was to keep moving, stay busy, make yourself useful.

Our parents believed if we spent too much time thinking about ourselves it would lead to afflications worse than boredom. They were convinced self absoprtion would hamper our brains from expanding, and even worse - it would lead to laziness. Laziness being high up on their list of mortal sins. 

If I close my eyes, I can still hear 'don't tell me there is nothing to do, there is always something to do. Just look around.'

Once again - they were right.  Look around.  There's always something to do .  Some of the things to do are actaully fun and refreshing.

Make yourself useful ... 

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Remember when your mother would raise her arm, and sometimes her voice,  and say 'STOP all that noise. I can't hear myself think.'   As a youngster I'd wonder - how silly is that? Who can hear themselves think? Now, as restorative quiet becomes more scarce, I understand.

I used to relish my quiet solo walks.  It was a time to clear my head.  Let new thoughts find a place to lodge. I'd return home rejuvenated.  Those renewing walks seem  a long noisy time ago

Today my walk was filled with the noise of leaf blowers, lawn mowers, barking dogs, other walkers on their phones, automobiles with music blaring.  I returned home with a furrowed brow, and a headache.

Why is  quietness so difficult to find ?  AI can create artistic masterpieces, we can put humans on the moon, produce driverless cars.  Is there a reason we can't make silent lawn mowers, 'phones that don't beep, elevators that don't give inane instructions - floor 7, step back, the door is closing.  Why must every waiting room, restaurant, and even restrooms have  background music?   Are robots trying to further reduce all human conversation? Have we become allergic to silence?

There are many enjoyable sounds that break the stillness.  The sound of the wind, rain, even thunder and lightning. Hearing small children prattling together.  The sounds of life.  The sounds we should  listen to.

The rest?  As an almost-Luddite, I raise my arms in a silent plea - 'stop all that noise ... I can't hear myself think.'

# # #

This week I attended  a 92nd birthday celebration for a good friend.  Nothing unusual about that, you say?  This gathering was not just unusual, it was fun, thought provoking, and rare. The honoree was a man, the party was planned and hosted by his wife of 60+ years.  All the guests were women, fondly referrred to and accepted with joyful smiles, as 'the chics."

Our birthday fellow got to speak to his chic friends.  No notes.  Memories and magic.  His focus was not on pride in his many accomplishments and awards. It was on gratitude. He was grateful for his family, and named each one.  He was grateful for friends.  For the opportunity to serve - his country, his community, and those in need of support.  Gratitude oozed out of every pore of his being.

The chics beamed.  Their admiration and inspiration had been well placed. This was their friend who helped shatter the glass ceiling because it was the right thing to do.  Because it was just.  Because he was grateful for the opportunity to create needed change.

Once again - that magic word - gratitude - speaks calmy over the years.  The proof it works was on display as we listened to our friend. 

Here's to age 93 and and beyond.

One of the grateful chics.

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