"On Tumultuous Times"

Tumult is a very personal, individual matter.  I looked the word up in the dictionary and found it to mean disorder, great mental or emotional confusion, violent agitation of mind or feelings.  It is one's response to what may seem a cataclysmic event in our lives.  It can also involve a lot of noise, but I am referring to the inner turmoil which results.

When I speak of tumultuous times I'm not talking about a bad hair day or the fact that, ever since I had some ignition work done on my truck, it dings when I open the door whether or not the key is in it.  Those are annoyances, a nuisance.  I'm not even talking about a vacation when the weather was not cooperative or those 3 or 4 days that kept everyone housebound because the snow was a foot deep.  I'm talking about those times in our lives which resemble an emotional tornado, an earthquake, those times when everything is turned upside down and mark a turning point in time.  Those are the times we use as a "before" and "after" marker in our lives.

The "Flood of '64" was that kind of an event for my young family.  A warm Chinook wind hit an early snowpack in the Cascades, melting it.  The low-lying areas of the small coastal town where we lived were filled with water, and that is where our home was.  Everything we owned was wiped out by an unusual set of circumstances.  We had no money as we had put it all in the mobile home and the move to this area.  I can still remember trying to set up a household afterward in the small motel suite provided for us by Red Cross.  I will never forget how that time felt.  At the time I did not apply the word "tumultuous," but it is a perfect description.  While the entire community was affected, I was dealing with my own individual loss.

I am betting that each one of you has had your own "tumultuous time" in your life and can relate to what I am saying.  I'm not going to spell out a hypothetical list of events and circumstances that may or may not be applicable.  As I said in the beginning, "Tumult is a very personal, individual matter." 

This much I know and believe to be so:  I am given three choices when life hits me full on.  I can turn to my Creator, I can turn on Him, or I can deny the fact that He even exists and cares.  In my life I opt for seeking Him and His help.  Life is hard enough as it is.  I prefer not to do it by myself when I don't have to. 

I am also of the belief that nothing is happenstance, that there is purpose and design to my life.  Four months after that total devastation we found ourselves on two acres of country property.  That is a whole other tale for another day.  This was the site where we raised our four children and were able to give them "the best childhood any kid could ever have."  And this is their quote, not mine.  The "Flood of '64" was life-changing for me on so many levels.  Spiritual and emotional growth and maturity comes at a price sometimes, tumultuous or otherwise, but it is invaluable.  It is what makes it possible for me to simply stand.

"On Being Real"

Real:  n.--the state or condition of authenticity.  syn.--genuine, without pretense; ant.--counterfeit, facsimile, facade.  (Note:  my definition, not Webster's.)

So what set my mind in motion on the subject of "being real?"  I have not a clue, though it was a sunny day.  Where my mind goes, your mind comes along as well, if you are prone to reading these entries, so here we go.

In the 80's my son worked for a well-known pizza company whose claim to fame was its use of real cheese.  Who even knew there was fake cheese?  That was one of my first exposures to the world of artificialdom which has escalated to the present, a world where things are not as they seem to be. They aren't real.  I recently had a CD made of several piano renditions.  The end product is not real.  I did not play the music as mistake free as it sounds.  The producer repeatedly told me that this is how CDs are made.  In that world it's called editing, a process where notes are moved around, where time between notes or phrases is either squeezed together or lengthened.  Photographs are manipulated, music is electronically contrived, accounts of current events are distorted, and we aren't even aware it is happening.

Even though the physical world we live in is filled with everything that is fake I hold to the importance of being real as a person.  What do I mean by that?  I am of the belief that each of us began our lives in that state of being real.   Over time that authenticity was compromised.  Perhaps it was a parent requiring us to say "I'm sorry" to a sibling when what we felt was anything but sorry; perhaps it was a teacher expecting "good" behavior in order to maintain order in the classroom; perhaps it was a spouse or friend asking for a concession that was given in order to maintain the peace; perhaps it was a minister suggesting punishment for misbehaving.  As the mother of four children, I'm all for getting along.  What I am talking about is compromising myself, how I feel, and what I think in the process until I no longer even know how I feel or what I think.  I don't even know myself.

A person who is real in your life is like money in the bank.  They say what they mean and mean what they say.  They do not sugar coat, they won't tell you what you want to hear just to be "nice."  Their emotions, reactions, and responses are valid; they don't play games with people, emotional or otherwise.  They will never try to control another but offer guidance, leadership, and support.  Support from a real person is beyond measure.  You always know where you stand with this kind of a person.  There's never any doubt or question.

The facades and layers that build up on us over our lifetime take some time to peel away.   Layer after layer must be taken off until the real me (or you) is uncovered.  For me, it was a discovery of sorts, becoming acquainted with the person I really am.  It was unnerving at times, because I didn't know who or what I was going to find or if I would even like what I found.  I have found the child within me, the 5-year-old who loved life, was outspoken, and who drove her parents up the wall with her inappropriate questions.  I loved being that little girl!  For me the end result was well worth the process.  I like the person I have found. It is a place and a state I highly recommend.

"A Personal Shout-out"

I want to give a shout-out to two of my grandgirls, Kendall Jean and Avery Ione, for their stellar attitude and behavior this past week.  With Mom and Dad both gone and Gramma (that would be me) on the home front, it could not have been easy for two girls, but they performed above and beyond.  They got along with one another, they did everything that was asked of them, and I only had to throw the I-pad and phone in the garbage one time for each girl.  Just kidding. 


I know they love reading about themselves in this forum, so I wanted to dedicate a special entry just for them.  I had a great week with them and loved the conversations on the trip to school.  I honestly cannot think of a negative time the entire week.  #Hip, hip hooray for Kendall and Avery!  I am very proud of them, and they have every right to be proud of themselves as well.

"On the Aging Process"

It happened while I was on my hands and knees weeding Bruce's blueberries prior to fertilizing them.  I turned a corner and ran smack-dab into a wall.  It wasn't a literal corner or a literal wall, but it might as well have been.  It was that tangible, that palpable.  In fact, it was so real, I didn't know if I would ever find my way past it.  I was not a happy camper as it was the first day of real sun in forever, a day without rain, and the last thing I wanted to face was the fact that I am aging.  Reality aside, what a grim thing to be thinking about! 


Several days ago, my daughter sent me a picture of the two of us, one I had not seen before.  I asked her when it was taken and who the old lady was with her. The two just didn't match--What I saw with my eyes and how I feel.  There is a two to three decades disparity between my chronological age and what I feel within me.   I don't feel old, but "pictures don't lie," and boy, this one didn't do that!


I began thinking today about the fact that aging is a process as are many things related to the body.  There is the birthing process, the healing process, the dying process.  The very word itself is indicative of something that takes place over a period of time.  It is not something that happens overnight, but it does happen. 


I also began thinking about how our lives often go full circle, ending up where we started.  We all began this life being taken care of.  Someone saw to it that we were fed, clothed, that our basic needs were provided for.  We never had to be concerned over bills, budgets, the weather.  This doesn't sound all that different from the assisted care life provided for an older person.  We eagerly awaited the magic 16-year-old birthday when we could get our driver's license.  Having the keys to our own car was a rite of passage.  At the other end of the spectrum,  the license isn't renewed, the keys are taken away, and driving privileges revoked due to age.   It is a circle of limitations and boundaries placed on a person beginning in childhood, ending as an elderly person.
 


This morning I heard myself say, "Let  me live my life with grace and bring honor to you, God."  The aging process is part of life.  I hope this is something I am able to do and to do it well.  This process is not personal, it is universal.  I guess I was just expecting it to circumvent me.  It hasn't.


I made it past the wall today, and this much I know:  Having a sense of humor and a positive attitude at any point in life is priceless.  Having a daughter who says, "You're gorgeous," when you know the two of you were looking at the same picture is even more so.  What is that saying about not being able to stop progress?  Oh, yeah, that has to do with progress, but the aging process can't be stopped either.  Thank God that one can look old AND be old, yet not feel old.

"Hashtags aka The Generation Gap"

You know it's a good day when it begins with a gut chuckle and an experience that is going  to have a smile on your face for the rest of the day.  That is how my day began as I was taking the grandgirls to school.


The commute to school with two grandgirls and myself in the cab of my small pickup truck is always unpredictable.  One never knows what the dynamics are going to be between siblings, and the space is crowded and cramped if they decide to be physical.


The trip was uneventful until they decided to have a "hashtag" conversation. That is an off-shoot of tweeting, and every comment begins with that word.  "Hashtag be quiet."  "Hashtag I don't have to."  "Hashtag I don't care."  Just imagine that for a couple of miles in a very small vehicle.  I asked them to stop and, of course, that was unsuccessful.  Finally I said, "Hashtag settle down."  There was a drop-dead silence, then embarrassed giggles before the older one said, "Somehow that just doesn't sound right coming out of your mouth, Gramma."  The laughter rolled out of me, and the stage was set for my own hashtag comments.  We were all laughing as I dropped them off at the school door.


Electronics is not my niche so I am fairly clueless as to what is current and up-to-date in that realm.  I rely on the grandgirls to turn their respective televisions on and off, I only learned about FaceTime two nights ago, I have a "stupid" phone rather than a smartphone, and I have a sparse idea of what Twitter is and the correlating hash-tag.  The girls know that so the grandgirl's comment was spot-on.


I had my own generation gap experience today, but it was a fun one.  I know I'll be smiling over this one not only today but for a long time to come.








 

"On Being a Grandmother"

I love my grandgirls, all 5 of them.  I became a mother when I was 18 years old.  I did not become a grandmother until I was 54, but oh, was it ever worth the wait!

I lived with my daughter and her family for a year and a half, from the time my oldest grandgirl was 6 months old until she was 2.  You don't think that didn't make for a bond?  We are both early risers, so she and I spent hours together during a time of the day when no one else was awake.  I introduced her to chocolate-dipped pumpkin ice cream cones, zucchini squash, and a whole slew of other vegetables.  It was just the two of us for several years and relinquishing the status of Nana's only grandchild was not easy for a little girl, but she did, welcoming four cousins into the family.  She is an excellent big sister/cousin and is worshipped and adored by them.  Now a 15-year-old, she has introduced me to hip-hop dancing and friendships that exist via texting.  And yes, she still enjoys her vegetables.

Two of the grandgirls were my next-door neighbors their whole lives until they moved out of the neighborhood a year and a half ago.  That connection earned me the distinction of "neighbor Gramma."  Since the move I am now "Gram, Gram" or just plain "Gramma."  The oldest, now 9, is a deep soul.  She was called an "old soul" as an infant.  Even then her eyes could bore a hole through you, causing one to wonder just what she was thinking.  She is quiet, but mighty.  I have saved her from more than a few spiders in her life, making me her heroine.  The little sister, 7, was born with a zest for life and a smile on her face.  This one knows how to laugh at herself and does so quite frequently.  What a gift!  "Spitfire" is probably the most accurate description of her.  Talk--oh, how she loves to talk.  I've often told her that her ears and mouth don't work at the same time, but that has been a futile attempt to get her to listen. 

The other two grandgirls, 11 and 7, are moving to the other side of the world.  Not really, but compared to the 45-minute road trip it takes me to land at their front door, Boise, Idaho seems a world away.  The older sister in this family has the most infectious laugh you will ever hear.  She is one who devours books and loves volleyball.  One of her most favorite interludes in the world is to see who can be the grossest in a conversation with her Uncle Doug.  Add her love of unicorns and sloths to this description and you can see how broad her interests are.  The younger sister is one who marches to the beat of her own drum.  She has a consistent disposition in life which is unique for a child.  Not much ruffles her.  She knows no fear and has a level of trust which strikes the very depth of panic in a parent or grandparent.  She knows no stranger.  I am Gram or Gramma to these two as well.

While each one is unique and individual, they share common traits of being strong-willed, stubborn, independent, honest, out-spoken.  These are positives, not negatives, just difficult for parents to deal with at times.  That's when being a grandparent has its advantages.

I very rarely use the word "blessed."  I feel it is over-used, misused, and abused.  However, in the context and scope of having been given a gift from God, I am blessed.  I love my grandgirls, all 5 of them.  I cannot imagine my life without them.

"On Thinking For Yourself"

I spend a lot of time thinking. Allow me to extol the virtues of thinking...for yourself. 

As one raised in an environment where self-thought was not particularly promoted, I know the difference. No one told me what to think. However, the parameters of any given subject were sensed and felt. I knew what thoughts were acceptable. Over time I adopted them as my own. I enjoyed the approval that came with it--and a place where I fit. 

I maintain people do this all the time, young or old, in all varieties of circles--religious, the classroom, political, social, familial. Sometimes it just seems easier to either be told what to think or accept the current narrative. Thought that differs from the norm may be viewed as controversial, so it is often avoided..

"What do YOU think?" was the impetus of a new adventure for me. In the beginning, thinking for myself was not an easy thing. All kinds of thoughts ricocheted around in my mind before I settled down to a conscious assessment. Even now, when approaching a situation or a problem, I often start with "What DO I think?".

Thinking is different from worry. Worry is negative and non-productive. Talk about going in circles!  Worry will do that to you every time.  

Thinking is elemental. The process of thought is what makes humans different from animals.   It is the basis of decision-making, opinion, belief, conviction, or an action.  It may be a simple assessment of facts, or it may include one's emotions, past history, and experiences. It is productive, often culminating in a conclusion.

No one else in the world thinks as I do. My thoughts are mine and mine alone, as are yours.  They are as individual and unique as my DNA. They are personal and private and become privy to others only if the choice is made to share them. 

We have all been given the capacity for thought. Don't squander it. Don't waste it on garbage. And--most importantly--don't turn control of it over to another. Use it wisely.