This morning, a friend called.  He'd listened to my potential problem. Figured it would cause me angst. He wanted to offer a wonderful solution. A solution that would involve time and work for him. Years ago, my response might have been: Thank you, BUT I’m OK, I can handle this. Today I'm a little wiser.

It's possible you believed, as I did – that ‘with age comes wisdom.’  We keep waiting.  This wisdom never seems to arrive. Perhaps that’s because when it does show up most of us don’t recognize it. Why is that?

Perhaps it's because ‘wisdom’ comes in many disguises.  It comes slowly.  It comes when we hear ourselves saying ‘I understand, and you are right – that would be wonderful -  thank you.’  And our acknowledgement is not followed by the word … but!

My measure of wisdom is in remembering. Remembering perfection is not necessary. Remembering ‘doing it all’ is impossible. Remembering money is not our most important asset.  Remembering to be grateful. Remembering to listen. Remembering children learn by example. So much to learn from remembering.

The dictionary says Wisdom involves three components: Cognitive. Reflective. Compassionate.  Recalling my friend's call this morning - I would add intuitive.   My friend understood. 

My personal 'wisdom' was in simply offering a sincere 'thank you' and dropping the 'but.'   Sometimes that's all it takes.

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The recent Heavy Load Grasshopper resulted in many heart warming and thoughtful comments.  Each writer shared a lesson in courage.

One response touched me deeply.  I thought I knew David Jones' story.  Seems I did not know 'the rest of the story.'  I asked permission to share, believing you would find David's ongoing journey inspiring, as I did.

David is a brilliant and successful entrepreneur.   For decades he has generously shared his knowledge and fortune .  He was a marathon runner. A cyclist. He kept himself in top physical condition.  He was engaged in many good facets of his community. Life for David and his family could not have been better. And then, the unimaginable happened.  While gardening, a rusty nail pierced his hand. Subsequently leading to sepsis and toxic shock, a fight for his life, and eventually the amputation of his right hand and forearm.  He is lucky to be alive.  We are lucky he survived to share his former and new-found wisdom.  Here is his response to The Grasshopper:

From David Jones. July 27 2025

From one simple person who experienced a trauma I would never wish on anyone: 

For eight or nine months I dealt with the emotional side of that heavy load. I think in most cases we can deal with physical trauma, but the mental trauma is something that defeats so many of us.

Often people say “do you mind if I ask you what happened? I tell them - and then I share how I moved forward - I tell them:  I learned a couple of things. The first was to find out how to face PTSD.  I did that by researching what it is and what its impacts are. For me, being able to break down why I was having those feelings mentally and physically, helped me understand what I needed to do to move on with my life - a life that was now forever changed.

I thought about who I am and what I had learned over my career, the challenges faced and overcome. I soon realized that God had prepared me for this life-changing trauma. I realized that my purpose now was to use this preparation to help other people face trauma and its effects. To help them, as it had helped me, to work my way back both physically and mentally. I realized that helping others would be my key purpose...not just in facing the sobering trauma of life and death, but also - for those who needed it - overcoming a complex and difficult journey as an amputee.

Often when someone asks me about all this, I turn to them and say “Believe it or not, I am a better person for having traveled through this life-threatening, devastating experience. It has made me appreciative and thankful for what I have. It has helped me, whenever I meet people  - and whoever they are - to look for the good  in them. I find it every time. It helps lighten their load and mine."

David H. Jones

In her Blog a few weeks ago a friend included a phrase that made me stop. Made me think.

She wrote - Because you carry it well doesn't mean it's not heavy.  She wasn't referring to me 

specifically.  The words apply to so many.

I thought of friends and colleagues who have lost a loved one, are dealing with serious health 

issues, experiencing different life changing traumas.

We say 'How are you doing?'  Mostly they will say 'I'm fine. I'm OK.'  How do we respond without probing?

It's difficult.  We don't want to shift the load in the wrong direction.

And so, I asked a friend who has carried heavy loads.  What do we say?  Her answer.  Simply say - 'If the load

gets too heavy, I hope you'll  allow me to help carry whatever I can.'

That's what friends are for.

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Lumping people into one giant good or bad category has long been a national pastime.  And our young people, it seems, receive a lopsided share of criticism.

Is the criticism deserved?  Watching, listening, working with college and 20-somethings for a few weeks I got my answer.  The decision was easy. Here’s why:

I hired four young men to plant numerous pots on my decks.  They were polite and hardworking. Their work was magnificent. They followed up to be sure all was well.  I would hire them again or invest in their company. They said  ’Oh, we love what we’re doing.'

Dining out with 11-month-old twin great grandbabies had promise of questionable joy.  A college student working summer as a server to the rescue.  Fast with highchairs. Faster with baby food.  Nothing too much trouble. She made the experience a pleasure. And the babies loved her.

Even the Emergency Room was made more pleasant by a young intern.  Can I get you anything?  Are you comfortable?  His goal – to be a great doctor.  Lucky patients. (Friends, nothing wrong with me – I was just a helper.)

The good encounters continued throughout the days  – from young smiling grocery check out staff, to being offered a hand on steep steps. The hands of so many young people are gifted, caring, hard-working.

So – thank you to those from whom they learned.  And, thank you to our young people.  You're pretty amazing.

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This morning an article titled 'The Wearables'  hit my inbox.  Thinking it might include attire with appropriate coverage for mature females, without ruffles and

bows, I eagerly clicked open.

Imagine my surprise.  The article was about wearable watches.  These magic watches would tell me:  If I slept well.  If I am breathing OK.  If my heart is ticking along in the right rythm.  If I walked enough today. If my anxiety level is high.

I thought about this great opportunity.  Do I really need this clever watch? My thinking, for my adult life, has been - If I'm still tired when I wake up, I did not sleep well.  So, tomorrow drink hot milk before bed.  Does my heart seem to be beating too fast? OK, Joan - Sit down, see if it passes. Did I walk enough today?  It felt like I did.  Is my anxiety level high? No, probably because I don't wear a watch that creates anxiety.  What if the battery dies and I can't tell how I feel?

No doubt some medical wearables and installations are amazing.  They protect and save lives.  They help us hear, see, walk, breath, talk  ... they are miracles of modern medicine.

Devices that tell me how I feel, or what I've done right or wrong?  I get enough of that.  My brain, body, and friends give me fast feedback.  They are rarely wrong.

And so, forgive me Apple and friends, if I did not hit the 'add to basket' button and add to the economy.  Hopefully my decision will not cause an anxiety attack.  Nah.

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Our family is fortunate to have a home in the North Carolina mountains.  The view is breathtaking. The atmosphere peaceful. The neighbors warm and welcoming.  For fifty years we’ve treasured our time there.

Recently two of our mountain neighbors, friends for decades, decided it was time to sell their homes.  Selfishly we responded … Oh no.   Say it isn’t so.

We thought of the void our neighbors will leave.  The more we thought, the more we realized - It’s not the house, not the view, not the peacefulness, that makes our mountain home so magical.

What keeps us returning with such eager anticipation is the people.  The memories. The friends who’ve shared our mountain home.  The grandchildren growing up there.  The traditions. The surprises. 

We’ll welcome new neighbors.  We’ll never forget the old.  They’re woven into the pages of our memory albums. That’s how  we create ‘do you remember’ stories. Stories to be shared over and over. Stories for future generations.

Much as we love ours - we know it's not just mountain homes where friends and memories are formed.  It can be a home any place - where the welcome mat really means welcome.  

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…

Today is Father’s Day.  New Dads, Older Dads, Dads in our Memories.  Dads who look forward. Dads who look back.  Dads still trying to figure it all out.  So many different Dads.

If you are among the lucky ones, you smile when you say ‘MY Dad.’   You remember all the good stuff.  Even the ‘punishments’ are smile-worthy when you recall the reasons they were doled out.

Our Dad was fun.  He did not accept excuses.  His ‘stop right now’ signal to me, who was prone to arguing, was ‘Enough. You’d argue with Paddy’s pig. Just do it. Now.’ 

We were lucky to have a Dad who taught by example. How to work.  How to sing. How to dance.  How to defend yourself. How to be a friend.  How to appreciate.  And – how to love and admire our mother, just as he did. 

Maybe it’s the luck of the draw or the lucky gene pool.   Maybe it’s being trained by his wife –  our mother.  Whatever the reason - you did a great job, Dad.  I’m now a great grandmother. I still remember all the songs, the stories, the lessons.  I share them with my growing family. So, thanks Dad. You live on.

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When was the last time you entered a room, and someone  gave you a big smile, and clapped with obvious joy?

For me it was just yesterday.  It was playtime with my 10-month old great grandbabies.  Now,  I’m not the only one who receives this standing ovation.  They are happy children.  I smile and clap in response. I dance into the room.  Their welcome makes my day brighter. Let the fun begin.

What happens to these spontaneous so happy to see you - I don’t mind you seeing my joy -  little people?  I’m afraid we, the adults of the world, is what happens.

At some stage we stop clapping when we see someone or something we love.  We stop jumping with joy.  We don’t want to look silly.  Children learn from example.

Perhaps it’s time to learn from our youngsters. While they are still young.  While silly is fun. While we are still the example. While there's still time to make a difference.

There are today’s and tomorrow’s we just won't feel like it. On the days when we do …clap loudly, laugh heartily, sing a happy tune. 

Gosh, that felt good.

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Today is Memorial Day 2025.  At 3 PM today I will pause for one minute to remember those who died in service to their country.  I will also give special thanks to those who defended our country and passed away after their service was completed.  Those with memories they could never erase.

I grew up in England during WWII.  Too young to understand the depth of the word sacrifice. Old enough to recognize grief.  Wise enough to reject the horror of war.

Please do not wish me a Happy Memorial Day.  This is a day of reflection, remembrance, gratitude, and honor.  One day to remember. One minute of silence.  Such a small tribute for the sacrifices of those we honor.

On Memorial Day (then called Decoration Day), family grace before our midday meal included reading In Flanders Fields.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place and in the sky
The larks still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below

We are the dead, short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields, in Flanders fields

Take up our quarrel with the foe
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch be yours to hold it high
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields

LEST WE FORGET.

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HAPPINESS is not for sale

Every article, blog or newsletter I pick up seems to suggest ways we can find happiness.  Or we are asked – what makes you happy?

This seems quite odd. My brain has always suggested one does not pursue happiness.  Happiness finds you.  It finds you when you are doing something you enjoy, something you feel is worthwhile.  Or you’re doing something you don’t like – but, by golly, you’re doing it because it needed doing.

When our grandchildren were much younger, I was sharing grandmom wisdom. “Money does not make you happy” was the theme.  Three pretended to agree – one had a different opinion.  He solemnly pondered this shattering news, and said “It would make ME happy.”   He was partially right. It depends on how we use our money

Few of us wake up saying “I’m going to be happy today!”  What activates our happiness button is a friend’s unexpected call, clapping as babies move with the music, a wedding invitation … simple things that keep life on keel.

When asked what makes me happy, my response is: being alive, play time with my great grandbabies, lunch with friends, a good book . It’s a long list.   

Have you noticed? If we make room, happy moments  seem to expand.  So, grab them – and hold on. 

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