"On The Thinking Part of Your Mind"

The little one and I were watching as the older sister played her softball game, and we were talking, which is something the little pit bull does a lot of.   But then, so do I, so the conversation flows when we are together.  I reminded her of a ball field in the area where she had played earlier in the season, but she couldn't remember where it was.  

"Think," I said, "just think."   "First I have to find the thinking part of my mind," she responded.  

She began walking her fingers all over her head just like the Yellow Pages advertisement from years gone by, searching for that area.  You know, "Let your fingers do the walking."  She has a non-stop giggle and the ability to talk and giggle at the same time, and so she did while covering her entire head, citing the areas she had found--the food part, the dance part, the school part, the play part--but alas, the thinking part remained elusive. 

One need not look far to see this happens quite often with people--the inability to find and use the thinking part of their mind.  At least Sydnee tried. 

"A Pearl to Think About"

I can believe anything I want, but that does not make it so.  I can believe with all my heart that the moon is made out of blue cheese, but that does not make it the truth.  My beliefs need to be questioned, challenged to find what is truth and what is a lie. 

"Warning: Content Unsuitable For Youth Under the Age of 55"

"It was the summer of my 69th year when my body began to betray me."  This refrain has been floating through my mind for days now, weeks even.  It sounds like it should be the opening sentence of a book, don't you think?  Or even the beginning line of a song.  It is both of these--It is the story of my life and the words of a song permeating my being. 

My Father was a muscular beast of a man.  His stature wasn't overly large, but he was a picture of strength and sinewy muscle.  He cut his eye-teeth on hard, physical labor.  As a young man he and his brother sold fire-wood, cut by hand with a cross-cut saw.  I remember watching him as a little girl as he wielded gunny sacks filled with grain and countless numbers of bales of hay.  To say the farming kept him active and strong is a gross understatement.

Another memory stands out in my mind.  He was an older man then, probably in his 70's, dressed in his Sunday best.  As he showed me his upper arm he referenced my Grandfather.  "I remember when Granddad told me he had lost his muscle tone," Dad said.  The same thing had happened to him. I'm not sure if he was preparing me or just sharing.

And here I am.  The gardening keeps me active.  I haul equipment in and out of my truck every day, carry bags filled with debris and dispose of them as well.  On occasion I have flexed my bicep to verify the physical labor involved.   However, a change is taking place in my body.  As with my Father and my Grandfather, the muscle tone is diminishing.  "Buff" is not a word applied to those in my age group.  We may be described as being strong or active, in good shape, with the qualifier "for his/her age," but very rarely are we  labeled "buff."

Much of my work is done for those who are my age.  Aging and change are often part of our discussions.  One client recounted the body parts that are bothering her--shoulder, hands, feet, back.  Another friend categorizes all the changes and maladies as O. A., old age.  Ever since I did my faceplant in the street I have been more conscious of my knees than ever before.  One cannot splat shamelessly on all fours and not have some after effects.  There was no injury, but the knees were tender and, two weeks later, the abrasion is just now healed. 

I have always been fascinated by life's cycles, how we end up not far off from where we began, often going full circle.  When my son was born 6 weeks prematurely I learned the lungs are the last to fully develop before birth.  There were no neo-natal ICU's 50 years ago, only incubators.  I remember watching his tiny chest move up and down like a hummingbird's wings.  Later on in life I learned the lungs are often the last to give out when one is dying.  How many times have you heard of pneumonia as a cause of death?   

Flexibility, agility, strength, balance, co-ordination--These are all things that infants learn and master.  They are the very same things which become fragile as we age.  Reality is always another story, and I'm not sure if I still view these cycles as fascinating.     

The body does betray us as we age.  Those things we once relied on, expected, and even took for granted are no longer there.  However, in addition to the theme song playing through my mind another passage has countered.  It is this: "Bodily exercise profits little; but, be spiritually fit."  I am a poster child for the first part.  I am also one who has great disdain for exercises in futility so I am placing all bets and all of my focus on the second part.  For me it as a win, win.

   

 

"On 'Old Lady'"

The topic began as soon as we closed the front door and before we even got to the truck.  I was taking two of the grandgirls to school, and the little one stated, "Ladonna is an old lady name."  I agreed with her and told her that is was a name that suited an adult rather than a child.  I disliked my name as a little girl; it was a heavy name.  I only became comfortable with it as I got older.

As we got in the truck the conversation continued.  The sparkly grandgirl, the one who initially started the endearing "old lady" nickname added her own description.  I suggested that "old lady" is attached to anything that has to do with me.  I mentioned the old lady toothbrush I have and the old lady toothpaste as well.  The little one said they were used to brush the old lady teeth.  I started rolling with laughter as did they.  Then she added, "...which you can see in the old lady smile." 

I love laughing with my grandgirls, even when they are laughing at me.  I had thought perhaps my status would be raised some since I had replaced my old lady cell phone with a new I-phone, but apparently it hasn't.  And time is not on my side here.

"On Change"

Part of the fence between the two backyards had been removed to create an opening, a pass-through from the neighbor's yard into mine.  It was a short trek from back door to back door for the grandgirls, myself, my daughter and son-in-law.  The routine was the sound of a knock on the back door and, as I peeked through the window, I would find two little girls standing on the steps, waiting to come in.  This was a welcome part of my life for several years, one that brought me great joy.

My son-in-law boarded up the opening when the family moved into a larger home.  I had no idea what a change that would be.  That one simple change was the statement of a much larger whole.  I cannot tell you how many times I headed next door only to run into that boarded-up fence.  Neither can I express the emotions that were stirred up every time I did.

The definition of change is the process of becoming something different.  In my thinking, the opposite of change is stagnation.  The first has to do with life and living; the second has to do with death and dying.

Mother's Day 2014 brought with it the gift of a new I-phone from my children.  Talk about a change!  It was meant to replace my contractor's cell phone, one which was functional, serviceable, and withstood countless trips to the pavement.  The sparkly grandgirl went so far as to make fun of it whenever she saw me use it.  She seemed amazed that it even worked.  A friend had been after me for several months to replace my dinosaur of a phone with a "new and improved" one.  "You'll love it," I was told. 

The old was replaced with the new, and I have been thinking about "change" ever since.  My initial reaction was to revert back to what I knew, what I found comfortable, what worked for me.  However, since the old phone was rendered inactive that was not possible.  Change is a process, and it does take time to adjust. 

The type of change I found myself thinking about is the kind that takes place within.  I am one who begs my Heavenly Father for personal change. I am of the belief that a work from the inside-out is far preferable to one from the outside-in.  I do love that kind of change, the kind where you find yourself with nary a ruffled feather when, in times past, temper and anger would have flared; where impatience and intolerance are replaced with patience, tolerance, and understanding; the kind where you find yourself listening, really listening, instead of needing to dominate, needing to be heard; the kind of change where you have an inner peace instead of mental turmoil. 

This kind of change is priceless and is a gift.  It doesn't necessarily come easily and often it comes at a cost, that of giving up self and one's own way.  But, for me, change is evidence of life, continuing development, ever moving forward and becoming more than I had ever hoped to be.  I do want to come to the end of my life being able to say that I am not the same person I used to be, that I have been changed.

The new neighbor and the fence without an opening is part of my everyday life now.  I'm getting used to my new phone and, yes, I do like it.  In fact, my daughter told me how to turn the ringer on today.  Change is a fact of life whether we like those changes or not.  The one I still haven't got used to is the reflection I see of myself when I look in the mirror.  Just when did that happen, where was I, and what was I doing?

"On Faceplants"

It was an afterthought, really, the split-second decision to get my mail from across the street.  You know the kind which, in retrospect, makes you realize your life could have been changed forevermore.  I was on a mission to get the lawn in my back yard mowed and was heading that direction when the lure of the possibility of a check in the mail sent me heading to the mailbox instead.  I live on a busy street, but there wasn't much traffic at that time of the day.  

Just then the neighbor who lives across the street came zipping up.  He has a certain parking technique which entails doing a U-turn so he is able to back in his driveway.  That is when it happened.  Wanting to be out of his way so he didn't do a reverse job on me, I began hurrying instead of walking.  The toe of my rubber work boot caught on a raised area, and I found myself looking at the pavement, on all fours.

Initially, checking to see if traffic was coming, I was more mortified than anything.  Picking myself up, I found I was still mobile so got my mail and headed on back to my house.

The fall shook me up; even more so, the possibilities had me reeling.  Youth is not a factor in my life.  I'm pushing 70 here.  I could have broken both wrists, destroyed both hands.  I landed on the upper part of my knees rather than the lower part.  I can only imagine what would have happened otherwise.  Gardening, my means of earning a living, could have easily been wiped out.  What did I end up with?  A small bruise on one knee and a road burn the size of a quarter on the other.  Oh, yes, and a large dose of humiliation. 

The thought "My God is a good God" has been flowing through my mind.  My life with Him, my experiences with Him are real, they are living.  As my life goes on I may or may not have understanding as to why I did a face plant in the middle of Echo Hollow Road.  At any rate, I am a thankful and grateful girl today.

"On Priorities"

The floor has needed vacuuming for days and days now. Plus, the furniture begs to be dusted. I would like to say I am one who cleans religiously on a weekly basis. I'm not. I never have been and, at this point in my life (a seventy-something), never will be. My impulsive nature is to deal with it when the urge hits. I guess you could say a regular schedule of cleaning isn't a high priority.

My days begin early. I'm usually up by 5 or 5:30. It's a habit begun many years ago when I had four children at home. The very early morning was the one time of the day I could call my own. After the children left home, that practice continued. A cup of green tea, spending time at the piano, working on Christmas ornaments for the family, time spent on the phone with friends--There's nothing like the crack of dawn to accomplish these. If I were to categorize this time in my daily life, it would certainly be placed at the top of the list as a priority.

A priority is like a yardstick which measures the level of importance something holds in a person's life. The mark may be high, low, or somewhere in between. Each of us has our own most important priorities which factor into, and even control or motivate our lives. 

For some, that criterion of high priority is met in education, financial worth, a circle of friends and business contacts. It may also include political or environmental causes, church, health and fitness, hobbies, or sports interests.The range is as broad and varied, as one-of-a-kind as we are as humans.  

When one's priorities are revealed, it is like peering through a window deep into that person's being. An undeniable statement is made without words, explanation, or definition. A person's priorities are a true representation of what they deem to be of value. We invest our time, our money, and ourselves in that which is most important to us; if it doesn't matter to us, we don't.  

The true worth of a priority, however, is when it is measured against God, life, and eternity.  Will it matter in the end? Is it eternal?

Personally, my life springs from two base priorities: God and family.  He is the author and source of my life; my family comes second only after Him. 

The urge to vacuum hit. I am hoping I will have that same kind of impulse to mow my lawn.  Apparently the care and upkeep of my yard isn't a priority either. A friend asked recently what I would do if I was retired.  My response was I would probably have a cleaner house and a yard I enjoy. I can hope, but time will tell. They may not be that much of a priority after all.


"For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."  Matthew 6:21