Zingers

4. Don't take yourself so seriously. No one else does. *

All my friends had gotten their driver's license when they were in their teens. But me, I was long since an adult in my 20's married and with children. When I arrived to the Bureau Department of Motor Vehicles all grown up and ready to conquer the world, I put my thinking cap on backwards, but smiled with big fake confidence.

Back in the day the drivers tests were two fold consisting of an oral exam and a driving test. An officer in the BMV usually administered them. I was lucky enough to meet with an arrogant officer. And, of course, I acted very composed, mature and mostly dismissed his arrogance even though my stomach twisted into knots.

The officer followed me outside and we buckled ourselves into my grandmothers little car. I maneuvered the cones, parallel parking and stop signs well enough to pass.  Next, the officer escorted me into the office for the final portion of the drivers test. It felt like an interrogation, but I stayed composed. Everything moved along nicely until he asked me to name the X sign. To which I replied, "It's a Zing sign". 

"What?" the officer asked.

"It's a Zing," I repeated.
 
He burst into laughter until he guffawed. I started feeling uncomfortable and hoped he would run out of air. Finally he caught his breath  and asked, "What the hec's a zing?"

Yeah that's a real gut buster ....and they let officers this clueless administer road tests and carry weapons?

"Well, it's a crossing," I said.

"Why didn't you call it a crossing then?" he laughed again.

The truth? I always thought an Xing was pronounced Zing. I passed the oral test, but went home feeling stupid and horrified. Who knew Xing really didn't mean Zing? Well, derrr, me for one. And it bothered me for years! Yes, years. Until one day I realized what a silly thing - to harbor a silly thing. My little incident likely became great fodder for funny stories the officer retold over and over. He probably meant no harm when he laughed, but I took it all wrong.

Have you allowed a silly or insignificant thing to make you feel insecure or stupid?

* Quoted from Regina Brett's 45 life lessons and 5 to grow on

Choose Love

3. Life is too short to waste time hating anyone *

We moved to a small village, which offered absolutely nothing for entertainment, unless the corner store counted. When my children scoped out the tiny neighborhood and found other children lived around the corner, I felt ecstatic. Little kids had parents, of course, which equated to potential friends for me. We wasted no time introducing ourselves and quickly became great friends. None of my family lived in the state and my new friends Sam and Julie had similar scenarios. Well, Sam's family lived across the country and Julie's lived a couple hours away, but they were weird. Very weird.

Sam and Julie were excellent parents, lovely people and we grew as close as family. We shared our joys, accomplishments, tears, illnesses, sorrows - good times and bad together. I would have never guessed Julie had lived through a horrid abusive childhood. She told me how her father tormented her and her sister, but only on rare occasion her brothers. She described how he attached electrical wires to the bed to jolt her sister if she wet her pants during the night. He used fear of snakes to manipulate, threw bugs on them, fired shotguns, withheld food, and molested Julie for years before finally raping her. She never whispered a word to her mom about the sexual abuse, but wondered why her mother didn't offer more protection for her and her siblings from the other abuses.

We sipped many cups of tea over long venting sessions, which brought peace and healing. Never once did Julie express hate toward her parents. In fact, she lamented the loss of a real relationship with them. She mourned when she learned of her mother's cancer diagnosis and felt cheated when she lost the short battle with it. She mourned that her father would be alone. She worried when circumstances forced him to sell the property and move. She made phone calls to her parents over the years trying to reach out.

I marveled that Julie didn't choose a path of unresolved anger nor did she allow it to destroy her joy. Instead, she chose healing. She chose forgiveness, though her parents never asked for it. She demonstrated how to overcome evil with good and lived to love. How much brighter the world would be today if more of us could shatter darkness with the light of love as opposed to allowing misfortune, affliction, abuse or ______(fill in the blank) to breed hate.


* Quoted from Regina Brett's 45 life lessons and 5 to grow on

Her legs were made for writing

2. When in doubt, just take the next small step. *

When she was a kid, she doodled on paper and dreamed of living on the other side of the tracks. After high school, she never dreamed of going to college because she didn't know it was an option. Instead, she married, the house grew with children and she dreamed of being a writer. For years she took care of her family, dreamed and prayed. And she wrote between diaper changes, helping with homework and taking care of her house. She wrote letters, games, journals and poems - and threw them out. Because she knew she couldn't be a writer.

She asked God to make her a writer. One day someone told her "God will never do for you what you can do for yourself". It seemed a simple consideration and provoking. The notion of achieving the same things on her own as others did never occurred to her.

After months of contemplation, she put legs on her dreams and prayers. She walked them with herself into a community campus office and requested an application for enrollment. She didn't know if she could graduate from college. She didn't know if she could be a writer. But, she put one foot in front of the other.

She became a single parent, worked a low-paying job, juggled the family's appointments, fought with housework, kid's homework, mountains of laundry and a car that always let her down. She attended night classes, came home late sighing as she kissed the faces of children often long since asleep then burned midnight oil over books and pen. She never retired the legs on her dreams and prayers. Every morning she rose and carried the dreams and prayers with her. Sometimes she thought she couldn't carry everything, but she mindfully placed one foot in front of the other.

She wrote for the church paper. She wrote for the campus paper. She won a writing award. She waved her diploma as she stepped to the other side of the tracks and hailed other dreamers over. She wrote articles and essays and children's books. She submitted to editors. Sometimes she couldn't walk her work above the ceiling, but past experience taught her she made great strides one small step at a time. 

* Quoted from Regina Brett's 45 life lessons and 5 to grow on

e

I received a forwarded email this week from a friend. Admittedly, many forwarded emails I receive end up in the trash bin unopened, but this one looked interesting. Although the email had some inaccurate details and/or left some out, my Snopes search returned the original story about a columnist who penned a list of life lessons in celebration of growing older. As I read the list, my shoulders relaxed and my view widened. My heart warmed at the bigger pictures which flashed in my mind with each line and for the first time in a long time, the notion of aging seemed less formidable. 

I wondered if I made a list how it might read and concluded it would likely be similar to the columnist’s list. Over the coming weeks, I’ll be posting stories and memories the 45 lessons evoked in my mind along with images I hope will inspire you as much as Regina Brett’s list inspired me.


1. Life isn't fair, but it's still good.

His mom calls him “e” and I like the originality. He’s 3 years old - bright, cute, busy, happy, fun – and very sick. E’s become quite special to me although we’ve never met. Every day I check the updates his mother posts and pray the news is good. My hope for him increases each time I read an encouraging report. And when the news isn’t favorable, my heart sinks and I wonder how his mother must feel. 

My children are healthy. We’ve had fevers, infections, injuries, stitches and/or asthmas and allergies. I spent many sleepless nights cleaning up vomit or the other, but daylight never greeted me with a punch in the gut like a pediatrician’s grave report must surely deliver.

Looking at the pictures of e enjoying his life in spite of the needles, chemo, tests, drugs, tubes and other things most of us don’t have regular intimate relationships with, behooves me to cultivate contentment with such blessings as I have - which are vast.

Fair isn’t a variable in e’s life. It’s a meaningless, non-relative word that will neither improve his health nor affect a cure. Every morning he wakes up is a new day to live and explore within the limitations of an illness, which doesn’t negotiate.

Today the news appears encouraging. The surgeon didn’t think the spot he removed from e’s lung looked like a tumor. This brings him one step closer to the needed transplant. Although I haven’t asked e’s mom, I’m guessing she believes life is good.

Life Ain't Bad

I awake feeling grateful the moon didn't tumble into the oceans while I slept. I'm grateful for the sun, which sits in a sky that didn't fall during the night. I feel grateful at the safekeeping of the entire universe.

I saunter down the steps, open the front door and find the birds chirping, flowers blooming, trees still rooted in the ground and the right amount of oxygen in the air to keep us all alive. I walk to the kitchen sink to fill the coffee pot, and notice through the pane the buildings in the distance appear in tact and standing tall. I can tell it's going to be a good day.

My son arrives at the breakfast bar famished. I watch him attack his food as if he hadn't eaten in days while I pack his lunch and glance out at the deck. The menace squirrel scurries around looking for the tall leaf bags he tore into for days. His partner in crime digs in my fresh-mulched flowerbed until a robin chases them off. The neighbor's dog yaps and yaps and yaps.

My boy' s departing hug lingers long after he steps off the front stoop, moseys down the walk and disappears around the corner. I pray for his safekeeping. The neighbor boy walks his dog across the grassy mound and vanishes leaving the canine traces behind. I frown. A middle school girl in high-heeled clodhoppers with an odd gait ambles down the middle of the street.

Husband meets me at the bottom of the stairs in his warm smile and I bask in our quiet time together before he leaves for the office. Everything seems normal in a regular like kind of way. The best part of waking from a bad dream: realizing life is good.

Morning Coffee

I look forward to the first cup of morning coffee almost as much I look forward to seeing my boy come through the door from school each day. Both make me jubilant. The anticipation livens my day.

I like crème with my coffee and a teaspoon of sugar. Nothing else - except maybe a dollop of real whipped crème. But, nothing more - no toast, cereal or protein bar. Food comes later. Besides, too many things need tackled in the morning like email, Twitter updates and the ten Word docs I left open on my desktop the night before.

Each weekday morning, I observe the same routine, like it's a religious holiday. Once I saunter down stairs, I grind the coffee beans and pack David's lunch. We chat while he eats breakfast and the coffee brews. Occasionally, I tell some way good jokes and he laughs. I pour my coffee, kiss his face and sneak in a sideways hug before he dashes out the door. I sip my coffee on the stoop until he rounds the corner and disappears from my hen-like sight.  

I can hardly wait to get to my desk. A tickle starts in my tummy and lands in my toes as I dash to my office. The prospect of great things happening under my fingertips excites me. The creative juices start flowing. Each sip of coffee gives me added inspiration to tap out the next line. I love coffee!

Lately, I've been having some issues with my morning coffee. First, it was electrical problems every morning with my coffee. Then it was kid issues with my coffee. This week - water heater problems with my coffee.

But, the hot water tank is still under warranty. The customer service rep said the recalled replacement parts were free and I could collect them at Lowe's. And best of all I could install the parts myself because instructions were included. All six pages of instructions to be exact. I pictured myself overcome with gas vapors sprawled on the basement floor, face down in spilled coffee, wrench in hand.

The technician from the Water Heater Company likely outperformed himself replacing the recalled parts in 15 minutes or less today. Electrical problems - gone. Hot water heater problems and 125 bucks - gone. Kid problems? Could be having some of those with my coffee for a while.

I'm looking forward to my first cup in the morning almost as much I look forward to seeing my boy come through the door from school tomorrow, assuming he doesn't arrive with a giant spider on his back...err a girl clinging to his arm. Lord knows most anything is better with my coffee than trouble.