Snow is on the way in our part of the world, and if you’re looking for something new to fill the hours, maybe you’ll like one or more of my suggestions.
YouTube has several channels I subscribe to, and I’ve broken them down by category.
If you like artsy stuff, try Andrea-Nelson-Art for watercolor creations that are easy to do and fun to watch her create.
If you have concerns about flying or interest in learning about behind-the-scenes of a pilot’s life, check out CaptainSteeeve. That’s right, 3 e’s in a row. You’ll understand when you hear him sign off!
If you love dogs and haven’t yet discovered Teddy, search for aguyandagolden, all one word and lower case. The Teddy videos make me smile!
The next two suggestions are if you need hope in dealing with adversity or a wake-up call to realize how blessed your life is. I suggest Joni’s channel. Those of you near my age may remember Joni (pronounced Johnny) and the book she wrote about becoming a quadriplegic due to diving into a shallow lake and breaking her neck. If you remember the cover, it depicted a brown-haired girl holding a paintbrush in her mouth. Now she has a channel called JoniandFriendsVideo — well, maybe JoniandFriendsVideos–in which she talks about her condition but also shares her Christian faith and how it helps get her through. Her husband of 42 years joins her occasionally.
A woman who is a quad-amputee due to bacterial meningitis when she was 19 has a channel in which she demonstrates how she manages with prosthetics for hands and legs/feet. She drives and works as an occupational therapist. Find her by searching for glamputee-14V. She is amazing!
If you enjoy Bible study and are a fan of “The Chosen,” you might like three seasons of Drive-Thru History on Prime Video. They are free. The seasons are: The Gospels, Acts to Revelation, and To the Ends of the Earth. The host is very interesting as are the sites he visits. I’ll never travel to the Holy Lands, so this is the next-best thing.
If you are “of a certain age,” I recommend these shows: “Elsbeth” (I stream on Paramount Plus but it airs on Thursday nights on CBS); “Matlock,” the one with Kathy Bates on CBS and streaming on Paramount Plus; the movie “Mrs. Harris Goes to Paris,” which used to be on Netflix but not sure if it’s still there–look for it; the movie “A Dog’s Purpose” if you like dogs (it has a good ending, not a “Marley and Me” ending); and “A Man on the Inside” on Netflix (he is spying on a nursing home).
Let me know if you try any of these and like them. If you don’t, that’s okay. We’re all different, and I’m definitely different. I’m the weirdo who doesn’t love desserts and definitely does not love chocolate!
I copied this photo from images on the Internet. When I look at it, I see an innocent young girl who had no idea of the life ahead of her. I see what appears to be a loving family. I see a girl who should have everything she wants in life and happiness as a result.
But Lisa’s recently published memoir depicts anything but happiness.
Lisa began writing her memoir but struggled to put it together. About a month before she passed away, she asked her oldest child, Riley Keogh, to help her write it, thereby giving her access to Lisa’s recordings as she described her life, her relationships, her emotional struggles, and her addictions. Because she died before the book was completed, Riley took it upon herself to fill in the gaps and have it published.
The audiobook is structured with Lisa’s actual voice recording at the beginning of each chapter. Julia Roberts reads the part of the book from Lisa’s perspective. Riley reads her own writing. Each chapter contains all three perspectives.
It is obvious that Lisa loved her father and her children more than anyone else in her life. Elvis spoiled her and gave her total freedom at Graceland, and that freedom plus his strong love for her made him the favorite parent. When you find out what happened to her while under Priscilla’s care, it is easy to understand why she loved him the best.
She is open about her own insecurities. She hated fame and was an introvert. She felt unattractive, untalented, and unloved after her father died. Her involvement with scientology had a positive impact on her life, but it didn’t last. Her first husband, Danny Keogh, was the one constant in her adult life despite their divorce and her marriages to Michael Jackson, Nicholas Cage, and Michael Lockwood.
Riley talks about her brother Ben–how he was Lisa’s favorite, how the two had a special connection like Elvis did with his mother, how Ben took his own life. Riley describes how loving Lisa was as a mother, but she is honest about Lisa’s emotional struggles and addictions.
It’s obvious from the book that Lisa never got over losing her father at the age of nine. She carried that grief with her until she died, and I wonder about that. Today is the anniversary of my own father’s death 13 years ago, but I don’t grieve. I was very much a daddy’s girl myself, but I cherish the memories of times with my dad and rejoice that his sufferings have ended. I believe he is in a better place, and I believe I’ll see him again.
Lisa didn’t have that faith. Nor did she have a normal family life.
I often think people without a purpose are the most unhappy people on earth. They have all the money they. need and no reason to work for anything, so that leaves too much time and money so they become bored, indulge their every desire, and fall into unhealthy lifestyles and habits. This book is proof of my belief.
Riley provides a good balance to Lisa’s perspective, and the book shows the good, the bad, and the ugly of their lives.
The book is worth the read. There is some strong language in it, which I don’t appreciate because I’m offended by it, but I realize that for many in the world these days, that’s the normal way of talking. I don’t like it, but my desire to read the book overcame my dislike. If strong language bothers you to the point you don’t want to read anything containing it, don’t read it.
I won’t read it again. Once was enough. But I’m that way with most books.
The title of the book is From Here to the Great Unknown, words taken from the gospel song Elvis recorded “Where No One Stands Alone.” Despite his many weaknesses and arrested development, Elvis loved gospel music above all others. He found solace in it for his own struggles.
One of the blessings of being retired is the time to do more for others. A blessing of being a part of a church family gives me more opportunities to do those things.
Civic groups are great, and no doubt there are multiple opportunities to help the community at large as well as individuals through those groups. I’m in three of them.
But our congregation, which normally has attendance in the upper 300’s most Sunday mornings, has multiple behind-the-scenes activities going on, things I’ve learned about and some of which I’ve become a part of, that I believe are worth sharing with people outside of our church family. Maybe you can get some ideas for your own church or be interested in sharing what your congregation does.
The Mad Hatters is a group of women that began years ago with just a few, maybe five or six, who got together monthly to crochet caps to distribute to hospitals for premature babies, children, and adults. There were five of us yesterday, and while we worked with the looms to crochet the hats (in case you’re wondering, I’m able to do this by using some specialized glasses and a very bright light–it’s a slow process but enjoyable) we talked and shared things going on in our lives. Yes, there was quite a bit of grandchildren talk. Once a certain number is completed, we donate them to local hospitals plus the VA in Memphis and St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital. I’ve been a part of the group for about a year, but most of the women have been doing this a very long time, at their own expense. When Hobby Lobby has a sale, they take advantage of it! Since beginning this group years ago, they’ve given away, I think, around 15,000 caps. That’s right, 15,000. When I work on my projects at home, I’m motivated by knowing what I’m making may help a baby, a child fighting cancer (or adult), and a homeless veteran in need of warmth. I’m not quite finished with the project depicted, but you can see the loom used to make it. You don’t have to use crochet needles. Anyone can do this.
Then there’s the Casserole Crew. It began as the brainchild of a couple of women in our congregation. On the first Tuesday of each month September through May, several of us get together to make 20 casseroles (not the full size, the size in the picture) to give to those in need. It began as a ministry for widows and widowers in our congregation, and they are still among the recipients, but it has expanded to include shut-ins, those fighting illnesses, and people in our community who might need a visit and some food. A dessert is always a part of the package, but honestly, from what we hear, the recipients are more appreciative of the visit when the food is delivered than they are the food. Shut-ins, especially, or those who live alone and are limited in their ability to get out and about, seem to love the chance to talk with others outside of their normal circle.
Our Esther Class is simply a ladies class. We study different topics, our current one being a study of prayer, but we also do an annual Christmas meal for the “single senior saints” of our congregation. The meal is a lunch after Sunday morning services, and it is traditionally lasagna, salad, bread, and a wide selection of desserts. Games, songs (sung by some of the children of the young ladies in the class), and conversation make it a special event (we hope) for our members who are older and live alone.
There are other acts of service of which I’m not a part, but because I’m a part of these activities, I thought I would write about them. The men and women of our congregation do multiple individual acts of service behind the scenes–transporting people places, sending cards, making phone calls, visiting, helping with house maintenance issues, and more.
I remember President George H. W. Bush spoke of the 1,000 points of light concept. His point was that if each of us in our own community did acts of service and kindness to make our communities better, our nation would become better. I agree. Whether it’s through a church, a civic organization, or just an individual effort, our world is a better place. You can go to third-world countries and do amazing things, but for those of us who don’t have the means or the courage or abilities to do that, there are needs right here at home.
I used to tell myself my job as a teacher was a sort of ministry. If you’re a teacher, nurse, doctor, social worker, therapist, firefighter, police officer, or other occupations I can’t think of right now, you know what I mean. Those careers are all about service to others.
I’d love to know what your church or civic group does to make this world a better place. I may look at the world through rose-colored glasses, but I believe in the goodness of people, and I have hope for a bright future for my grandchildren.
Doing for others helps us take the focus off our own problems. It’s a win-win for everyone involved!
I hesitate to write about this because I’m afraid you’re thinking, “There she goes again, writing about vision loss. Let it go.”
But I feel the need to explain for my benefit as well as the 85% or so of the blind community who are like me, who are not completely blind and likely have more vision than you think we do. We have functional vision.
The truth is, I don’t need a cane to walk in most places. I can see the road, the sidewalk, the floor, etc. But when I’m walking outside, by myself, I CAN’T tell if there is a rise in the sidewalk, a dip, maybe a small obstacle. I can see garbage cans just fine, although I don’t know they’re garbage cans until I’m about ten feet away. Maybe that dark shape is a person. Maybe it’s a tree. Maybe it’s…what?
I used to walk my dog in my neighborhood without a cane. Until I fell because there was an obstacle in the road I didn’t see. I knew that blob of concrete was there, but I had forgotten, and the next thing I knew, I was on my hands and knees and had blood pouring down my leg. Luckily no broken bones.
I use my cane when I walk to town on my own. My husband hates for me to do that, but he hates even more for me to be unhappy because I feel trapped in my house and neighborhood or feel dependent like a much older woman, not the healthy, active woman that I am. You want to feel embarrassed? Accept a ride with someone in their nineties. They’re still driving. You’re not. You appreciate the offer, but it is humiliating.
It is also humiliating to use a cane when you’re not completely blind. You feel as though people see you walk around that garbage can with no problem or cross the street (after stopping and listening carefully for cars). “She’s not blind,” they might think. “She’s just wanting attention.”
Nothing could be further from the truth. It is embarrassing to use that cane. But it signals to drivers that I can’t see them until they are maybe 10 or 20 feet away from me. They are more cautious and observant so I can cross the street feeling safe.
I use it in stores when I’m on my own because if I ask a clerk where something is, the clerk is likely to point and say “over there.” If they see the cane, they are more explicit or take me to the area I requested. I don’t use it at Walmart. I use my wearable headset to look at shelves or items when needed, and people soon figure out I can’t see so well. Or I use my ReBokeh magnifier on my phone or my Seeing AI app that will read aloud to me.
You may be wondering why I do things on my own. Why not just wait and go with someone? Well, first, I’m independent. I hate being dependent on anybody for anything. Second, I get really, really, really bored being at home most of the time. Some of you are homebodies. That’s great. I’m not. I like to be out and about and have my comfortable home as a place to come home to, not a place that sometimes feels like a prison instead of a refuge.
So I use the cane. I have to weigh my embarrassment against my restlessness and boredom, and the embarrassment pales in comparison.
In my vision loss journey, I am determined to learn strategies and adapt to be able to keep my independence and do things for myself. I cannot be that person who wants others to do for me.
I hope this blog will help you to understand people like me. I hope you will spread the word that not everyone that uses a cane is completely blind.
The cane is a tool. It doesn’t help me balance, but I don’t need help with that. I don’t need it in buildings that have smooth floors, although it’s very useful at the airport since it keeps people from running into me as they rush along to wherever they’re going. And, oh, I wear sunglasses outside for the same reason you do. To protect my eyes and avoid the glare. The glare for someone like me can be painful.
As always, thank you for taking the time to read this blog. To my VIP friends, I wrote this for you as well as me. We say we need to educate, so that’s what I’m doing.
This is a sketch I did of my dad when I was probably in my teens, meaning he was in his forties. For those that remember him, they know the sketch is not perfect but recognizable. It was from a church directory photo with my mom. I sketched her picture also and gave the framed sketches to them as part of their Christmas presents that year.
Dad was a hard-working, dedicated Christian. He wasn’t perfect (none of us is perfect), but he was a good man. He was a faithful husband, a loving father, and a daily Bible reader.
He also had strong opinions. And one of those opinions was he thought people who reported near-death experiences were making it up. Or at least just reporting a dream.
He passed away on February 12, 2012, but the dying process began weeks before that. On Christmas 2011, he fell, slipped into unconsciousness, and ended up in the hospital, where he received a blood transfusion that brought him back to consciousness.
That’s when he told me his dream or vision or whatever you want to call it. I’m going to write this as though he’s telling it, although I know the words are not exact.
“Everything was quiet,” he said. “There was a man in front of me who looked like he didn’t have any clothes on but he did have clothes on.” I questioned him about this until I figured out the man was covered in something like a wet suit, everything fitting tightly but covering all skin. “He motioned to me and turned around and we started flying through a tunnel.” He held out his arms like Superman. “I wasn’t touching anything. We got to a room where there were people sitting in chairs. Nobody was talking. The man turned to me and told me it wasn’t time yet, that I had to go back.”
When Dad was telling this story, he had to pause several times because he was so weak, but you get the idea.
Then began episodes of him seeing people in his room who weren’t there. He talked to my mom’s brother, my uncle, who had passed away earlier. He laughed at things he was seeing that no one else could see. He was disoriented and would try to get out of his bed, saying he needed to go home, even though he was at home and in his own room. He was in a hospital bed since breaking his hip over a year earlier, so maybe that’s why he thought he was in a hospital.
A few weeks later, he lost consciousness again. Back to the hospital. Another blood transfusion.
The doctor talked to us about hospice care, and we agreed. When I read the literature they gave us, I read about the tunnel experiences, which I had never heard of. Dad had many of the episodes described.
I asked Dad one day how he felt during the tunnel experience. “I wasn’t touching anything,” he said. “No,” I said. “I mean, how did you feel emotionally?” His voice was raspy when he answered in a matter-of-fact tone. “I felt peace. Everything was peaceful.”
Since Dad’s death, we’ve been at the bedsides of my mother-in-law and father-in-law as they passed peacefully. My mom was the last one to pass away, and her experience was quite different. She fought death every step of the way, and it wasn’t until she went into an unconscious state that she stopped struggling.
I know this is a morbid topic to most, and I know other experiences with their loved ones are as varied as the people themselves. But I always think of this as the anniversary of Dad’s death approaches, and I remember his words. “I felt peace.”
You may be wondering what this photo of a very young me has to do with the title of my blog, but read to the end, and you will find out.
I was talking with a fellow church member the other night, and during the course of the conversation, I learned about the many struggles and issues she has had for years because of her health. Diabetes has taken away her ability to drive due to neuropathy in her feet. That condition has caused her to fall, break bones that had permanent consequences, taken away her independence, and made even walking with her walker inside her own home a challenge. Because of the neuropathy in her hands, she has to support her hand holding a fork with the other hand to enable her to eat. Even at that, she drops food and makes a mess. And now the diabetes is attacking her vision. She has to get eye injections, something I know only too well, to keep the atrophy from spreading. So far, the shots are working and she can see well enough to read most things and watch television.
But diabetes didn’t cause the cancer she battled. It didn’t cause her husband’s cancer. Cancer is its own insidious disease. She is through with treatments and only has to go for annual check-ups, but friends and family who have had cancer tell me it’s always in the back of their minds, wondering if it will come back.
She’s just a few years older than I am, and when I did the math on when these problems began, I realized she was much younger than I am now.
So I asked her how she handled everything emotionally. She told me she just took one day at a time. “I never ask ‘why me?’,” she said. “My family won’t let me give myself a pity-party.”
Her attitude was upbeat, and I was impressed by the “one day at a time” philosophy. She was able to say this despite the fact she can’t dress herself very well due to the damage from one of her falls that broke shoulder bones and left her unable to raise her arms. You know what she does? She lays a front zip or front button garment, something we used to call a housecoat, on the bed, lies on it, slips her arms in it, and then fastens the front. If she needs to wear more appropriate clothing for being around others, her husband has to help her dress.
Yet no pity-party. No “why me?”
The truth is, some people have more struggles than others, and it doesn’t seem fair. Why should that cranky old man who growls at people in restaurants and drives his family crazy have such great health while this young mother or young child faces what seems to be insurmountable hurdles?
We all know people who have lived well into their nineties who never knew tragedies we all fear. They never lost a child, they never experiences severe health issues, they even never knew divorce or abuse or broken relationships. Maybe they outlived a spouse and suffered from the loneliness and loss of widowhood, but their losses were the normal ones, the expected ones if we live long enough.
Believe it or not, I’ve never asked “Why me?” with my vision loss. Don’t get me wrong, I hate it. I’ve cried plenty about it, but I’ve come out of the valley. Sure, I’d love to be able to see like most of you see, and there are still triggers that might bring tears to my eyes or cause me frustration.
But I know it could be so much worse. So I’ve learned to count my blessings and really mean it.
If we can find the blessings in our lives, despite the terrible tragedies we experience, we can get through them. If we focus on the simple blessings, we can realize that we can endure.
What does the picture of a very young me have to do with any of this? Well, It’s because that photo is a reminder of the innocence of youth. That little girl had no idea what lay ahead of her in life. I was cared for by her parents, and her biggest concerns were food to eat (well, I was a picky eater and not really into food…), a comfortable bed when tired, and playing with my cat and the few toys I possessed. I was too young to think of the future or worry about anything.
Some of you reading this have experienced more heartaches than I have. It could be your joy will never fully return because of the losses you’ve had or the struggles you continue to face. But maybe, if you’re asking “why me?,” it will help you to know there are others enduring the same or even worse situations.
Life can throw a lot at us. But it never helps us or anyone else to ask “Why me?” That doesn’t mean we can’t be sad or grieve or get frustrated. But accept that this world is full of heartaches and problems. And don’t feel as though you’ve been singled out for punishment.
No one ever said life was fair. But the strong know how to persevere.
I am a praying person and a Christian. My prayer for those of you who might be asking “Why me?” is for you to understand and accept life’s challenges and that you will take your negative and turn it into a positive to help others. Mentor someone going through the same struggles you’ve had. Visit or call the lonely. Participate in organizations who are connected to your cause. Don’t allow yourself to become isolated and bitter.
Sorry for the sermonette. No, I’m really not. I think it needed to be said. You can disagree with me, and that’s fine. But I can’t help but imagine what a wonderful world it would be if people were kinder, more understanding, more helpful, and less focused on self. I’m including myself in that admonition. I need to do more, to think less of me and more of others.
And I don’t ever need to ask “Why me?” There are 8 billion people on this planet. Why not me?
This is Elvis at a concert I attended in 1975. No, I wasn’t this close, but a friend was and sent this photo to me.
I’ve been an Elvis fan, but not an Elvis fanatic, since I was six or seven. My brother, nine years older than I was, had his records, and his girlfriend took me to see his movies. My family likes to razz me and say I had a crush on Elvis, but I really didn’t. I thought he was gorgeous in his younger years, but as a little girl, I was captured by his charisma and all I knew was I wanted to be his friend. The innocence of youth. My celebrity crushes were Kurt Russell, Lee Majors (think Heath Barkley in “The Big Valley”), and others. I did want to grow up and marry Heath Barkley, though. Not Lee Majors. And definitely not Elvis.
But I was fascinated with the Elvis rags-to-riches story. The poor Southern culture in which he was raised was all too familiar, and the fact that he lived in my home state just added fuel to the fire. He was a local guy. He was one of us.
Needless to say, I learned a lot about this man, both the bad and the good, and I thought you might have fun testing your own knowledge of the man known as the King of Rock and Roll.
Where was Elvis born?
What high school did Elvis attend? (side note: a local woman lived in Memphis at the Tim and had Elvis as a student in last period study hall. She told me he used to skip study hall every day, walking by her room and glancing her way and laughing. She thought he was a thug.)
What record was Elvis’s first national hit?
Put these movies in the order they were released: Loving You, King Creole, Love Me Tender, Jailhouse Rock
In what year was he drafted into the Army, and where did he do basic training before being sent to Germany?
Elvis bought Graceland in 1957. How much did he pay for it? (multiple choice) a.Was it? $245,300? $175, 300? $102,500? $210,500?
What car did Elvis buy for his mother even thought she didn’t drive?
What was Elvis’s favorite music?
What percentage of Elvis’s earnings did Col. Parker draw as his agent? 10%, 15%, 25%, or 50%?
Which of these members of the Memphis Mafia, Elvis’s group of bodyguards, is still alive? Joe Esposito, Jerry Schilling, Red West, or Sonny West?
Answers:
Tupelo, Mississippi
Humes High School in Memphis (the family moved to Memphis when Elvis was 13)
“Heartbreak Hotel” on RCA. “That’s All Right, Mama” was on Sun and a regional hit.
Love Me Tender, Loving you, Jailhouse Rock, King Creole
1958, Fort Hood, Texas. I lived in Killeen, a town near Fort Hood, part of 1967 and 1968. One day I was at my friend’s house and saw a framed picture of a pretty young woman with Elvis. Of course, I asked who and what? It was her older sister. Her dad was Army, and one day when they were eating on base, Elvis was seated alone at a table near them. Jeanie’s sister kept looking at him, and he finally winked at her while she was bringing a glass of tea to her lips. It flustered her so much, she spilled tea all over herself and on the table. He burst out laughing and came over to talk. They went on a few dates.
$102,500
a pink Cadillac (wonder if that’s where Mary Kay got the idea?)
gospel. His true desire was to be a member of a gospel quartet.
50%–the man took advantage of simple country folks
Jerry Schilling. He was several years younger. Elvis bought him and his wife a house in California, and that is where he lives to this day.
Well, let me qualify that title. I’m not talking about the presents or the rampant marketing strategies retailers do to generate the income that will get them through the rest of the year. I’m not talking about Elvis songs, although the title is one of the Christmas songs on an album he recorded in the ’60s.
I’m talking about the way our attitudes and feelings change for the better. Don’t get me wrong, I know we all have our Scrooge moments, and the gift-buying can cause stress for many reasons: financial (can’t afford the gifts for your loved ones you’d like to get), emotional (loved ones who are no longer with us or an empty home because of living alone), frustration (what do you buy for someone who has the money to buy whatever they want for themselves?), and busyness.
I’m talking about the overall feeling of good will. People are reaching out and helping others. They’re donating to charities. They’re remembering people with thoughtful, not expensive gifts, like their hair stylist, cleaning service, and so on. Even the drive-through workers at our local McDonald’s occasionally say”thank you” when my husband goes through the line to pick up my once or twice a week treat of a Diet Coke. Yes, I know it’s not good for me. That’s why it’s an occasional treat. Don’t judge me.
Looking back, I realize those presents may not have been that meaningful to the recipients, but making them brought me joy. I hoped they would appreciate the hours it took for me to make those projects, and I hoped they’d appreciate the fact that while I was making them, I was thinking of them. I wanted to give them something special that couldn’t be purchased in a store, something that was identical to countless other items. I wanted them to receive something special.
I can no longer do many of those things, but I try to put as much thought into my gift-buying as I did when thinking of a project to do for my loved ones. It’s challenging, I’ll admit. And my inability to get in the car and drive to all the cute shops in our area to look for “just the right” present makes it even harder. I know many of you love online shopping, but give me the good old days of catalogs and in-person shopping where you can see a wide variety of things and pick from them without having to search for something specific. Not to mention the fact that when the item arrives, it doesn’t look like it did on the computer. Those of you who follow my blog know I write these blogs the same way I shop online: my laptop is connected by an HDMI cord to a 47″ television, and then I enlarge the screen so the font is about 30 pt. so I can see what I’m typing.
Maybe, though, the best present we can give someone is our time. Watch that ballgame with the men even if you’d rather be doing something else. Visit shut-ins. They get so lonely. Invite your widowed mother out for a day of shopping or at least go to lunch. I know I would love to have a daughter or sister in town I could call upon anytime I felt like getting out of the house and doing something. My husband is great about taking me where I need to go, but he can’t replace the fun and companionship of female conversation. Not to mention I could have really used another female helping me select gifts since I’m out of the loop with what’s new and trendy or useful. Shopping this year has been tough, and I’m not happy with what I’ve ended up with, but I’ve tried. So if you’re reading this and you are a relative of mine or a close friend, reach out to me next year the next time you plan a shopping spree for Christmas. I’ll pay for the gas and even your lunch.
With all that said, why am I still thinking Christmas is a wonderful time of year? Because of the music, the decorations, the smiles and “Merry Christmas” being heard. It’s the thoughtful Christmas cards received and sent (sorry, I didn’t mail any this year, but I did sign and designate 30 Christmas cards for the shut-in bags at church).
However you spend your Christmas, I hope it brings you joy, and I hope that joy continues. There are so many in the world who would give anything to have a shelter to keep them warm in winter, cool in summer, and dry when it rains. They’d love to be able to choose what they want to eat instead of eating whatever they can afford. They’d love to have clean drinking water and electricity 24 hours a day. Maybe some would just love to have electricity.
Most of us in this country are blessed with these conveniences, and we’re all guilty of taking them for granted.
The photo is one of my Thomas Kinkade houses given to me by my sister-in-law when her mother passed away. When I set up the five houses and church each year, I think of Dorothy. My favorite part of decorating is setting up my Christmas village. To me, the village represents the beauty and simplicity of Christmas in the past.
The title song ends with these words: “For if every day could be just like Christmas, what a wonderful world it would be.”
For the hundred or so of you who follow and hopefully read my blog, I hope the good feelings of the season continue into the new year. Thank you for reading my blog. Your time dedicated to reading it is a gift you give me all year.
No matter what your holiday tradition might be, there is one idea that all beliefs can embrace. Not only can we embrace it now, but we can embrace it all year.
Donate. Yes, donate to a food pantry, a homeless shelter, an angel tree, or a clothing drive. But be careful. Too many times I’ve seen people pull up in their Lexus or similar vehicle and drop off a sack of canned items they would never consider buying for themselves. Faded clothes, some with holes or frayed hems, scratched cookware, broken picture frames…it’s as though we are saying the less fortunate should be grateful for anything given to them, and to some extent I think they are. But what would be wrong with donating new clothes instead of used ones? They do’t have to be designer clothes, but brand new jeans and shirts from Old Navy are likely to be more appreciated than the designer jeans you no longer want because of the bleached out spot when you accidentally spilled some on the pair.
I know a man who requests that his family donate to a favorite charity instead of buying him Christmas presents. I think they might get him something anyway, but it’s usually something not too expensive, and the bulk of their present to him is the donation requested.
I have been thinking about this a lot lately. I’ve thought about the students I worked with and how sad the holidays were for too many of them. When I was principal at a middle school, a new girl in our school wore very old polo shirts (in compliance with the district’s dress code) and ill-fitting jeans every day. I called her to my office one day and told her an anonymous donor wanted me to select a deserving student to receive a special Christmas gift so I was going to submit her name and asked her what her clothing sizes were.
About a week before Christmas, she opened the bags in my office, and there was no mistaking her appreciation for the three new pairs of jeans, the three new polo shirts, the new jacket, and some other items. She shared her thanks, but I knew she appreciated them because after that, I never saw her wear any of the older clothes again. Every time I saw her, she was wearing the Old Navy jeans and J.C. Penney polo shirts.
Some of you may be like us and already donate monthly to places like St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital or another charity, but during the holidays is a great time to give a little extra.
Here are some organizations near and dear to my heart:
St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital. This leader in research and treatment of childhood cancers shares their knowledge with other medical organizations, and all treatments are free. Some people have the misconception it is funded by the Catholic Church, but this is incorrect. It is funded by donations of multiple organizations and individuals. You can make a one-time donation or decide to become a Partner in Hope, in which your credit card or checking account is charged each month. I think you can donate as little as $20 a month.
Hadley. This free online resource for the visually impaired, legally blind, and totally blind is extra special to me. I have been learning Braille for well over a year. They send the free books to me, and I access the lessons by phone or online. They have tutorial videos in using smart phones, how to navigate with a cane, how to cook safely, how to garden, and countless other topics. They sponsor podcasts, book clubs, writing groups, and more. It’s all free, and it’s all funded by donations.
Your local library. You may not be aware of it, but library budgets often do not include extra services like children’s summer reading programs, guest speakers, and other activities. All too often, their budget for books, videos, and other resources are not adequate to meet the needs of the community.
If you don’t like the idea of giving to an organization, you might want to contact a local school and be the anonymous donor/gift buyer to brighten the holiday time for a particular student.
There are too many opportunities to list in this blog, but if I’ve encouraged at least one of you to be more giving this year, I have accomplished my goal. And, to be honest, writing this has inspired me to more giving as well. So, happy holidays and happy giving, everyone!
Orphaned at the age of nine, he was never allowed to go to school, used instead as a farmhand on his half-sister’s husband’s farm. He never learned to read or write.
He grew up, married, and had nine children. He worked as a coal truck driver and as a sharecropper. The family lived in poverty, and his six daughters and three sons were expected to do their share of chores and hard work.
His youngest son, a sickly boy who was not allowed to go to school until he was nine, was expected to do his share as well, and it wasn’t unusual for him to feed livestock and collect eggs even though his body was ravaged with fever, his throat swollen, and his lungs full of infection. When he began school, a new life opened up to him. He excelled in learning to read and write as well as arithmetic. He loved being away from the hard work on the farm and being around other students.
When he was 15, at the end of sixth grade, his illiterate father who’d known nothing but hardship his entire life, forced him to quit school. The two older brothers had been drafted to fight in World War 2, and his help was needed for the small family that remained on the farm. Three years later, he was drafted into the Army.
He never went back to school. He married, tried to continue farming, worked at a flour mill, and finally found his gift in working in production at a local newspaper. His skill in setting type, burning plates, working in the darkroom, laying out pages, and running the massive press offered him opportunities to advance and earn a good living until he was injured on the job and forced to retire too early, much sooner than he’d planned.
The illiterate sharecropper–my grandfather. The sickly boy–my father, who lived to be almost 86. When he was dying, he had only one regret. “Why,” he asked me about a week before he passed, “do you think Pap wouldn’t let me go to school?”
“He needed you,” I told him. “He couldn’t see past his own hardships to think of what was best for your future.”
Both my parents valued education. As far as I know, I was the only one out of all my cousins on that side of my family to not only go to college but obtain a master’s degree. Public education offered me opportunities my dad didn’t have, and public education prepared me for what was needed to succeed as an adult. Just one generation separated me from a history of illiterate ancestors, and now my sons, both college graduates and one with a master’s, are successful in their chosen fields.
My dad would be bursting at the seams with pride of he could see them now.
I’m not saying everyone should go to college. But everyone deserves to learn and develop the skills needed to enjoy a good quality of life. Public schools give everyone that opportunity.I know public education has its flaws, and I will be blogging about those flaws in the future. IMany states are pushing for bills to send money to private schools so parents have more choices in their child’s education, and I can appreciate the parental concerns that drive that. But I have concerns for public education and what will happen to it if funds are diverted away from it? What will happen to those students whose parents can’t afford private school tuition even with public funds being sent to offset some of the cost? What will happen with students whose parents who, like my grandfather, do not appreciate the value of a good education? What will happen to the teaching population if the pay drops and the best teachers leave the profession, with mediocre teachers left to impart knowledge to an already-struggling group of children?
There are many things the general public do not understand about education. The federal Department of Education, for example, is what oversees laws for disabled students and students with learning disabilities. Does the department need to be revamped? I think so. But I don’t have all the information needed to determine how it should be changed.
Parents, the best thin you can do for your children is to be involved in their learning. Know what they’re studying. Know what’s being taught. Work with them on homework assignments or quiz them to prepare for tests. Most teachers give study sheets from which the test is created. Most of all, hold them accountable for their effort and work. Failing a class because of seven zeroes that grading period? It’s not the teacher’s fault. It’s your child’s fault. Help them be successful, and if you can’t do it, reach out to the school for someone who can.
We teachers are not perfect. We’re human, and we make mistakes. But most of us truly care. Yes, I’m retired, but I will always be a teacher at heart. Our kids deserve the best education possible whether they plan to attend college, go straight to work after high school, go to trade school, or complete a specific program of study and training not requiring a four-year degree. Maybe public education isn’t the answer for all. But I believe it should be the answer for most.
My next blog will be about what’s wrong with public education and how I believe it can be fixed. Just my opinions based upon research and experience, but, hey, isn’t that what blogging is all about?
Life As I know it 