I don’t know about you, but I’m a member of several communities. My family, of course. My town, obviously. My church family. My civic groups. At one time, I was a part of a work community but now in retired community.
And now there’s a new one.
A few months ago, a friend who lives down the road from me told me she had joined the Wellness Center and asked if I wanted to go. I was only too happy to join since I had been a member in the past and with my friend down the road going anyway, I had transportation. I was thrilled to be able to use the weight machines, treadmill, and walking track again, but the biggest surprise was how much I enjoyed the aerobics class.
Back in the day, I took Jazzercise classes and then worked out to those Jane Fonda videos at home, so participating in the aerobics class (I guess it’s a Silver Sneakers class?) was not a stretch for me. Our leader, known as LT, designs classes for all ages and ability levels, but let’s face it–all of us are “of a certain age” with some more “certain” than others. You know what I mean.
The fun of the class, though, wasn’t the only surprise. The second surprise developed rather than burst on the scene. I reconnected with people I hadn’t been around in years and met new people. I started being around former college friends, former co-workers, parents of former students, parents of children who are my children’s ages, and on and on. Soon I realized I was a part of a group unlike any I’d been a part of since college.
For the first time since college graduation, I spend a few hours each week with a group of people who are in or near my age group. Yes, I know, the eighty-somethings are not near my age, but we are all categorized as “senior citizens” whether we want to be or not. And although we come from a variety of backgrounds, we are able to have fun with each other while we work to keep ourselves as fit as we can.
LT does a great job of leading the classes, and honestly, I don’t know how she keeps from laughing at us. As we do the moves, we are definitely not in sync. Arms flying every which way, and some going left when they should be going right, and not to mention how we sometimes run into each other…I almost crack up laughing just looking at the few around me as we try to keep the pace. With her looking at approximately 40 people facing her, she’s bound to be wanting to laugh out loud.
This past Monday, members of the WC gathered for a Friendsgiving. We signed up in advance for what we’d bring (I made homemade bread, in case you’re curious), and the center closed for two hours to allow enough time to set up, eat, visit, and clean up. More than 100 people were there to enjoy the event.
You know, I think small towns get a bad rap. People complain of nothing to do, but in our town of just over 11,000, you can find plenty to do. You just need to look for it and take advantage of what’s offered. I’ll stop right there because that’s a blog for another day.
Back to my topic–ever notice how I get off-track in my blogs??–about community. I think of it as a group of people who share a common interest or circumstance. Think of sports fans, especially college sports fans. My husband has several Vols (Tennessee Volunteers, in case you don’t know what “Vols” means) caps and shirts, and he wears them wherever we go. If we are out of state, I guarantee he’s going to hear at least one person say, “Go, Vols!” Vols fans are a community, even if they don’t know each other by name.
Our common interest at the Wellness Center is to stay (or get) strong and fit. We don’t have to be best friends or share our feelings or any of that. But we can chit-chat, share recipes, talk about great books we’ve read or movies we’ve seen, and even our families. It doesn’t have to go beyond that to be a community, and honestly, I still don’t know everyone in the class. But I’m learning.
One Friday afternoon, I asked my husband to drop me off so I could use the weights and walk on the treadmill since it was too messy to walk outside. I was amazed at the emptiness of the gym. Two other people were there. I did my routine, but I didn’t enjoy it. It was boring not having people go by and greet me or ask me about something. It was boring not hearing the music played during the exercise classes. I didn’t like it.
Yes, I’m a sociable person. I love being a part of multiple communities. And when I can exercise and have fun doing it, I’m in a win-win situation.
If Glenda had not asked me if I were interested in going to the center, I never would’ve known about the classes and likely would not have tried them on my own even if I did. I might have joined the center but would have been limited to going in the afternoons most days since my husband is involved in the mornings with his own community–a bunch of Pickleball players who play three mornings a week–and I would have to rely on him for transportation.
I hope you’re a part of at least one community outside of your family or work. Don’t forget that it takes time to feel a part of a group, but in time, you likely will.
So, in this season of gratitude, I’m adding involvement in communities to my list of reasons to be thankful. My faith that sustains me, my family, my home, food to eat, clothes to wear, friends, electricity, running water…my list of things I’m thankful for is too long to share.
It is my hope yours is too. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.
I was going through some old documents and deleting what I no longer want to keep and found this short story I wrote seven years ago. If you choose to read it, I’d love to know what you think happens to Hope after…well, if you read it, you’ll know. I have my own idea of the kind of person she is. I’d love to know what you think. And maybe, just maybe, you have been a Hope or a Callie.
Love and Hallmark
“That kind of love doesn’t exist, Hope. You’re delusional because of those cheesy Hallmark movies you watch all the time.”
I stare at my best friend over the rim of my coffee cup. Callie doesn’t know what she’s talking about, but I understand why. Her mom’s been married and divorced twice and is currently dating a “prospect.” Her dad’s only been married once – to her mom—but he’s had a series of live-in relationships. These days he’s with a tall, too thin woman only five years older than Callie.
“You’re just jaded, Callie. It’s not like that for me.”
“Jaded?” She arches a perfectly crafted eyebrow. Everything about Callie is perfectly crafted, from her blunt cut red hair that just brushes her shoulders to her airbrush quality make-up to her sleek black and white dress that probably cost more than most people earn in a week. I guess there are some perks to having rich parents who try to buy their way out of their guilt.
I can’t imagine. My parents stopped paying my expenses when I landed my first full-time job out of college. I get it. My two brothers are still in high school, and my folks are teachers. Rich, we’re not.
“Yes, jaded, cynical.” I take another sip of my Starbucks caramelized honey latte, my weekly Friday morning caloric and financial splurge.
“I know what jaded means. And I’m not jaded. I’m a realist.” She shakes her head. “There is no such thing as forever love or love at first sight. Lust, maybe, but not love. And no love lasts forever.” She snaps her fingers. “Something goes wrong, and it’s over, just like that.”
My parents have been married almost thirty years, and sometimes they’re so lovey-dovey it’s disgusting, but I’ll take it over what Callie has. All four of my grandparents, married to the same person for over fifty years. I don’t just think it; I know true love is real.
“You’re wrong, Callie.”
Callie gives me that smile that says, “I love you, girlfriend, but you are so naïve.”
Maybe she’s right. Maybe I am naïve. Maybe I should have been born in the fifties instead of the nineties. Maybe the modern world is just a too modern for me.
“I need to get to work.” I stand and pick up my drink to finish on the short walk to the financial firm where I will spend my day juggling numbers.
“Me too.” Callie follows my lead. The men in the coffee shop stare as we walk by, but they’re staring at Callie, not me. I’m a mere shadow. She’s tall and curvy in all the right places. I’m average height and maybe five or ten pounds over average. She has amazingly green eyes to go with that dyed-red hair. My brown hair and brown eyes fade in comparison. She’s extraordinary. I’m . . . ordinary.
We part ways at the law office where she works as a paralegal, and I continue another couple of blocks to the skyscraper I have worked in for the past two years. The security guard smiles at my usual greeting but doesn’t say anything as I show my ID and head to the elevators.
My heart skips a beat. He is waiting for the elevator too.
The doors open, and we step inside, just the two of us. This has happened before, and we usually make small talk, the kinds of things co-workers say when they think they have a connection just because they work for the same company.
“Morning.” He nods his head at me as the doors close.
“Good morning.” I search for something to say. Talking about the weather is too mundane. What can you say? It’s July, so it’s hot. And humid. And maybe there’s a chance of an afternoon thunderstorm.
“Casual Friday for your department?”
I look down at my dressy jeans, black high-heeled sandals, and turquoise, black, and white top that Callie insists shows off my best feature, my olive skin. “Yes, it is for us every Friday.”
“Wish it was for us. I’m in meetings all day.”
He’s wearing a navy suit, white shirt, and light blue tie that make his gorgeous blue eyes sparkle.
“Too bad.” I smile, then take a sip of my lukewarm latte. Callie has told me I have a beautiful smile. I don’t think so, but ever since she said that, I find myself smiling a lot more than I used to.
“Yeah, too bad.” He grins, and my heart lurches. He’s looking at me, really looking at me, like maybe he likes what he sees. “The place I worked before had casual dress every day. The past month here has been an adjustment.”
No wonder I hadn’t noticed him before June. He’s new. “What department do you work in?”
“Investments. Pretty interesting.”
High pressure too. I wouldn’t want the responsibility. “I work in accounting.”
The elevator stops on my floor, and I step out, wishing I could stay longer. “Have fun in your meetings,” I say, then want to shake myself. How lame.
He laughs. “Thanks. Have fun crunching those numbers.”
I feel better at his equally lame reply. The door closes, and I head to my cubicle. A few co-workers wave as I go by, but everyone is already focusing on their duties. Casual Friday it may be, but the work is constant, with no let-up. It’s because the company is growing so fast, our manager says, which is good for all of us. Bonuses, pay raises, all sorts of good things will happen if we keep it up.
I sit down and log in to my computer.
“Hi, Hope.”
Derrick is smiling at me. He works in the cubicle across from mine, but we can’t see each other untless one of us stands up.
“Hi, Derrick.”
“TGIF, especially with having Monday off for the fourth.”
I repress a sigh. He always tries to make conversation, but he’s not very good at it. I know Derrick is interested in me. He has never said anything, but a girl can just tell. He’s a nice guy. Good-looking enough, too, with sandy blonde hair and hazel eyes, although he’s a little stockier than I like. Not tall and muscular like the hunk in the elevator. I wish I knew Mr. So-Handsome-He-Could-Be-A-Movie-Star’s name, but he never wears a name tag, at least not when I’d seen him.
“Yeah, a three-day weekend will be nice.” I click on the program I’ll be using for the next hour or so. Derrick is still standing there, like he wants to say something else. “Did you need something, Derrick?”
He blinks. “Do you have any plans for the fourth?”
No, I don’t, but I don’t want to tell him that. I’m a little more than unhappy that my parents and brothers chose this week to go on their annual vacation with my grandparents to Gulf Shores. Too far to be worth my while to take the time to drive and too expensive to fly. Besides, my own vacation is in two weeks. Callie and I are flying to New York. I have scrimped and saved for a year to be able to go.
“Nothing special,” I hedge. “Just the usual. What about you?”
“The usual.” He hesitates. “A day at the lake water skiing. Want to go along? About seven or eight of us in three boats. We eat at a restaurant on the lake, watch the fireworks at dusk, then head home. Interested?”
It’s my turn to hesitate. Usually I spend the fourth at home with my family, so I had lied to Derrick, which makes me feel bad. This year, though, the fourth will be nothing more than sleeping in and spending the day alone. Callie is going to her dad’s. She invited me to go, but I turned her down. Her dad creeps me out. Fifty and shacking up with a thirty-year-old. No doubt she’s in it for the money, but the visual images that their relationship brings to my mind. . . yuck.
I am tempted to say “yes.” I love to water ski, and a holiday alone is not appealing. I hear myself saying, “Sounds like fun.”
I regret the words as soon as they slip out, but it’s too late. Derrick’s eyes light up. “Great. Want me to pick you up or meet you somewhere?”
I don’t want him to know where I live. “Can we meet up at the riverfront park?”
“Sure, how about nine? I’ll be in a white Dodge Ram.”
I should have known he drives a truck. He has “country boy” written all over him. I bet he really knows his way around a Bass Pro Shop.
“Looking forward to it,” I lie. I know lying is wrong, but I think lies that keep from hurting other people are okay, so I don’t feel guilty. Unless my agreeing to go to the lake is leading him on. A guilt attack hits.
I shove the guilt aside and go through my workday. When I leave at four-thirty, I don’t see Mr. Good Looks anywhere. It’s just as well. Seeing him would make me regret Monday even more.
Saturday and Sunday pass too fast, although I don’t do anything special. I can’t wait for Monday to be over, and I spend half my time trying to come up with an excuse to back out. Why, oh, why did I accept?
Sunday night I get over my anger with my parents enough to call Mom. She had texted me when they got to Gulf Shores and told me it was raining. I hope it rains there all week.
“Hi, hon, how has your weekend been?” Mom always sounds so cheerful. Despite myself, my spirits lift at the sound of her voice.
“Okay. Did my morning run yesterday, some window-shopping at the boutiques in midtown, and treated myself to pizza last night. Today I’ve been lazy, watching a movie right now.” It’s one of my favorites, when a big-city girl goes to a small town to take care of her grandmother who is recovering from hip replacement, and the girl falls in love with a guy who owns a bed and breakfast. Of course, she decides to leave the big city and run the B&B with him. Callie says they divorce two years later when she is bored out of her mind and ready to go back to the city. I prefer to think they have a kid on the way.
“What about Callie?”
“Remember, Mom, she’s at her dad’s.” Mom never retains what I tell her.
“Oh, that’s right. Are you lonely?” She’s worried, I can tell. Good, she should feel bad for leaving me in the lurch on a holiday weekend.
“A little. But I’m handling it.” I put just the right amount of bravado in my voice.
A pause. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, it has rained every day since we’ve been here.”
I grin. Yep, I do feel better.
“I’m going to the lake with a co-worker and some of his friends tomorrow.” Oh, no, I said the word “his.” Now she knows it’s sort of a date.
“Oh, that’s good!” She’s almost gushing, and I frown. Her guilt hasn’t lasted nearly long enough. “Who’s the guy?”
“Derrick . . .” I don’t even know his last name. “He works in the cubicle across from mine.”
“So, what’s he like?”
“He’s okay. Mom, don’t get your hopes up. I’m not interested in him. It’s just something to do.”
“Well, have you met anyone you are interested in?”
Before I know it, I’m telling her about the elevator guy. “There’s just something about him. I’ve never been attracted to anyone like I am to him. I guess it’s how you must have felt about Dad.”
Mom is quiet for a moment. Then she laughs. “Hope, what makes you think it was love at first sight for your dad and me?”
I frown. “Well, Dad always says he knew right away.”
“Maybe he did, but I didn’t.” Mom is still chuckling. “He pursued me, Hope. I was interested in Ben Chambers, a boy I dated for about six months. When we broke up, I was heartbroken and wasn’t interested in dating anyone else for a very long time. Your dad had a crush on me for at least a year before he got up the nerve to ask me out.”
This is the first time I’ve heard this. My mom dated someone else besides my dad? Not only that, she had really cared for someone else? Makes sense, but I still don’t like it. Dad probably had a girlfriend before Mom, too, now that I think of it. After all, they were in their early twenties when they married.
“You never told me this. So how long did it take before you knew that Dad was the one?”
“Several months. I liked your dad, liked him a lot, but it wasn’t right away.” She pauses. “Be careful, Hope. Don’t shut out the possibilities. I fell in love with your father for many reasons, but maybe the most important reason of all was because he loved me and treated me well. He’s solid. That’s what I want for you. Someone who will love you and treat you like a queen, someone who will stand by you. That’s true love, Hope. Not what you see in those Hallmark movies.”
My head is spinning. “But I want that kind of love.”
“You will have it. Believe me, I wouldn’t have married your father if I hadn’t felt that way. But it takes time. It doesn’t have to be love at first sight.”
It doesn’t have to be love at first sight, I remind myself the next evening when Derrick drives me home. I’m exhausted, but in a good way. Derrick’s friends were a lot of fun, and I spent hours on skis. I probably won’t be able to walk tomorrow, I’ll be sore, but it was worth it.
But now the day is over, and I know Derrick thinks we’ve been on a real date. That means he might be expecting something, at least a good-night kiss. Me, I’m not feeling it.
He pulls into a parking space and turns to face me. “Well, here we are. I had a great time today.”
“Me too.” That’s true. I’d had a great time, but I would have had just as good a time with Callie or my brothers. “Thanks for inviting me.”
He has a strange look on his face. I can tell he doesn’t know what to do, so I decide to help him out. I reach for the door handle. “See you at work tomorrow.”
Before he has time to get out and open the door for me like he’d done earlier, I hop out.
“Yeah, see you tomorrow.” I can see the disappointment on his face, and I feel like a heel. But wouldn’t it be worse to make him think I’m interested?
I get in my car and make the short drive to my apartment. I want to slap myself. Why can’t I be attracted to him? He’s a nice guy, seemingly solid, like Mom said. Not like Mr. Wonderful, but maybe Mr. Wonderful is not so wonderful. Not so solid. He might even be engaged or married.
When I get home, my head talk continues. By the time I go to bed, I have convinced myself that I was stupid to shut Derrick out. I need to give it time, get to know him.
I dress carefully for work, my olive skin just a shade darker after my day in the sun. The coral blouse and tan pants look good on me, I must admit. Maybe Derrick will think so. Then again, maybe I don’t care what he thinks.
When I enter the building, no one is in the lobby. I press the “up” button and tap my foot while I wait. What am I going to say to Derrick?
“Good morning.” My tapping stops, and I look to my left. Mr. Gorgeous has arrived.
“Good morning.” I give him my best smile.
He smiles back. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
I laugh as my heart skips a beat. “Or at least introduce ourselves.”
“Good idea.” He extends his hand, and we shake. His warm skin sends shivers up my arm. How is that even possible? “I’m Kyle Patterson.”
“I’m Hope Stone.”
“Nice to meet you.” I like how his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. “How long have you worked here?”
“Almost two years.” The elevator doors open, but we remain standing there as two other employees brush past us. I don’t miss the questioning looks they give us, but I ignore them. The elevator doors close.
He nods. “I thought you looked like a seasoned veteran. Me, I’m just a small-town guy working his first big-city job. Exciting, but I’m still learning the ropes.”
“It’s a good place to work.” I’m at a loss for words, but at the same time, I don’t want the conversation to end.
“What time do you go to lunch?”
I don’t usually eat lunch in the cafeteria on the main floor. My usual lunch is a peanut butter sandwich in my cubicle while I check Facebook and Pintrest. “At twelve-thirty.”
“Want to meet up in the cafeteria? I can go to lunch whenever I want.”
“Sure, sounds good.” It sounds better than good. It sounds great.
He pushes the “up” button, and the doors open immediately. We step inside and make inane small talk. The ride to the fourteenth floor ends too soon. When I step out, he says, “See you in a few hours.”
“See you then.” The morning is going to drag.
Derrick is not in his cubicle, so I’m spared the awkwardness of greeting him, at least for now. The morning goes by faster than I thought it would, and before I know it, it’s time to head downstairs to the cafeteria.
“Where’s Derrick?” I ask Miranda, the receptionist on our floor.
“He got a promotion. Friday was his last day in our department.”
I’m stunned. He hadn’t said a word about it. Heat creeps up my neck. He’s been here less than a year. Our degrees are the same. A promotion already?
Miranda goes on. “You did know he’s Mr. Jensen’s grandson, didn’t you?”
The founder of the company? I shake my head. “I had no idea.”
Miranda sighs. “I’ve been trying to get him to notice me ever since he got here, but no luck.”
I frown. “He told me he was from a small town.”
“He is. His parents divorced, he was raised by his mother.”
Miranda sure knows a lot about Derrick.
My thoughts are spinning as I make my way to the cafeteria. I’m a fool. I had a nice guy and heir-apparent to a multi-million-dollar business interested in me, and I had shut him out because of a schoolgirl crush on a guy I know nothing about.
Kyle is waiting for me, his coat unbuttoned, standing with one hand in his pocket, looking like a manly version of a catalog model. Much more manly. My knees turn to rubber as warmth spreads all over my body. He gives me a lopsided grin, and all thoughts of Derrick flee.
Callie’s warnings to be careful with my emotions are screaming in my head, but I don’t care. No doubt in my mind, this is love at first sight.
Then I see another guy standing next to Kyle. I keep my smile plastered on my face.
“This is my cousin Lucas. He works in the building next door.”
I’m confused, but I nod and say something appropriate.
“Kyle has been telling me about you,” Lucas says. “I’m an accountant too.”
I stare at him and then at Kyle, who has headed toward the food line. So, that’s what this is. A set-up. Kyle’s not interested in me. He thinks I’m a good match for his not-nearly-as-good-looking-and-much-shorter cousin.
“Oh.” I can’t help it. My smile fades. I’m crushed. Lucas clears his throat and looks away. I pull myself out of my heartache enough to feel a little bad for him. “So where did you go to school?”
He looks encouraged, but I know there’s no future here. Lunch is going to be awkward.
I think I’ll text Derrick later. I really should congratulate him on his promotion. Tell him I miss him being in the cubicle across from me. Thank him again for a great time yesterday.
I can see it all now. Small-town girl dates heir to a fortune. She’s hard to get at first, but he wins her heart. They marry and live a good life.
In the movie Brown vs. The Board of Education, there is a great line. One of the fighters for integration tells Sidney Poitier’s character about one of the others involved, “He’s a great lover of mankind. It’s people he can’t stand.” Now that’s an oxymoron or paradox whichever way you’d describe it.
Me, I love people. This friend in the photo who did the St. Jude Walk with me in September also loves people. I know because I see what she does. She doesn’t have to tell me. I see it in her generous giving of her time, in the way she takes care of those going through struggles (health and emotional), the way she is always ready to give a helping hand. She has always done this but even more so since losing her husband a little over four years ago. Her grief continues, but she doesn’t allow it to make her withdraw from the world. She’s too outgoing to do that, and she’s too concerned about others.
I’m one of those people she has helped and continues to help. But that’s the subject of another blog.
I had one sibling, a brother nine years older than I was, and in a way, it’s as though our parents raised two only children. By the time I was seven, he was sixteen and working part-time jobs and doing things with is friends when he wasn’t in school. I was the pesky little sister who invaded his room at times or did annoying things. When I was about 17, we developed a close friendship, but it wasn’t the same as if I’d had a sibling closer in age.
When we moved to a town in Middle Tennessee (people from Tennessee understand why I capitalized those two words, don’t think it’s grammatically incorrect), I was almost 12, and we moved to a neighborhood with no kids. Everyone on our street and nearby streets were older with no children living at home. That was a first for me. I’d always had neighborhood friends. Those were lonely years for me. Every now and then a friend came over or I went to a friend’s house, but most days were lonely ones. We lived a couple of blocks from the library, and during the summer months, I walked to the library, checked out five or six books, took them home and read them, and then three days later walked back to the library. You get the picture.
When we moved to a newer neighborhood when I was 15, I had a few friends within walking distance, but the game-changer then was…I got a telephone in my bedroom! How exciting! And when I got my license as soon as I turned 16, the world opened up.
I loved school for the most part. Why? Because I was with other people my age. I was in clubs like the Drama Club, Interact, and more. I was on the yearbook staff. I went to every home football and basketball game even though I didn’t care about sports. Sure, I cheered for our team and found it exciting, but I was there for the social interaction.
College meant dorm life, and I loved living in the dorm. I really did. I loved having friends around me most of the time, and if I mention this dorm and someone who was there reads this, they’ll understand–Ellington Hall. The best!
When I graduated from college and went to work at a local bank, my co-workers were near my age but married. I was single. My roommate had a steady boyfriend who took up all her free time, so, just like those early years in Middle Tennessee, I was bored and lonely when not at work. I looked forward to Mondays and hated the weekends.
Don’t get me wrong. There were and are times I needed alone time. When I was in high school and busy with classes and clubs, there were Saturdays I just wanted to stay at home and do my own thing. When I was teaching and surrounded by hundreds of people every day, there were times I longed to be in a log cabin in the woods, with just my family, to get away from the busyness of life. I used to call those times suffering from “people pollution.”
But, for the most part, I need to be around people almost every day. If I go many days staying at home, even if I talk on the phone to friends and even though my husband is around, I go into a semi-depressed state. Well, maybe depressed is the wrong word. But the days seem so long.
Before you think I should just get out and go on those days, remember: I can’t drive. That is the worst part of losing sight. Once again, that’s a topic for another blog.
I have several friends enduring the hardship and grief of widowhood. I have friends who have lost children. I have friends who are dealing with incurable health conditions. Some deal with their struggles by being with other people. Some withdraw. Some are open about their loss and reach out to others going through a similar struggle while others remain private.
We’re all different.
I have wished many times I wasn’t as sociable as I am. I have wished and even prayed about being better at being at home most of the time. My mom loved being at home and never wanted her life scheduled in any way except for going to church. I couldn’t get her to go to the senior citizens’ center. She had no interest. Oh, she did love working part-time at Walmart in the fabrics and crafts section. And she was sociable when it came to call ing people on the phone and chatting. She never understood why I wanted to be on the go so much, and I guess I don’t understand it myself.
Yet I do. I honestly like most people. I can count on one hand the number of people I dislike. And I am a great lover of mankind. I want the world to be a better place. I want people to be the best they can be, to live in the best they can for their situation, and I wish all the political division would go away. Fight for what we believe in, but do it in the right away and always with love in our hearts for others. Christians and members of some other religions know what I’m talking about. That, too, is a topic for another blog.
But that same passion makes me struggle with the life I am now living. I am involved in several civic groups and church groups, all of which meet the first two weeks of the month beginning in the fall and continuing through spring. And I know myself. I know during those two weeks my mental state will be good, and I’ll even appreciate my time at home after being involved with those things. But I also know myself well enough to know the last half of each month and the summer months will bring back the restlessness.
I recognize it’s just who I am. I’ve tried to change me, and maybe I will succeed as time goes on. I’m a work in progress. I am blessed with good health, and I know if I were not in good health, I would be fine with being at home most hours of each week. So I don’t want to lose my health just to change my attitude. I had Covid a few weeks ago, and I texted my best friend from my growing up years: “The bad news is I have Covid. The good news is I’m not bored just being around the house.”
The bottom line is each one of us is unique. I often say I’m weird. After all, I am the one who can live without chocolate just fine and am not a huge fan of pizza or hamburgers.
Please don’t misunderstand me. I am blessed beyond measure. I have my wonderful husband and my children, daughters-in-law, and grandchildren, even though my children and their families do not live in the same town so I can see them regularly, and I have all the physical blessings (health, home, etc.) we all want. I know this sounds like I’m complaining. I’m not. I’m just explaining why I feel as I do at times.
My favorite movie is The Sound of Music. I loved it when it came out, and I still love it today. Maybe it’s because of the music. Maybe because of the beautiful scenery. Maybe it’s because of the story.
But I have a feeling it has a lot to do with that nine-year-old girl watching a family with so many children and wishing she had siblings close to her age and the adult she became wishing for the same thing.
Our dog and I have something in common. Read on to find out what it is.
If you read my book Learning to Live with Vision Loss, you understand what blindness is and what it isn’t. But in case you haven’t, I’ll share that 85% to 90% of people considered blind (i.e. legally blind) have some functional vision. Some may only see light and dark, but most of us have enough vision to do daily tasks using technology and other aids.
That means we sometimes think we are seeing more than we are.
In my book, I shared the funny story about the time I thought I’d killed a fly in the kitchen only to have my husband tell me, “You sure did. You definitely got that popcorn kernel.” It was a funny blind moment, not an embarrassing one.
Then there was the time we stopped at a rest area on the interstate. We have traveled I-40 in our state frequently, and when my husband parked at the rest area, he asked if I needed his help finding the facilities. I knew the area well and told him “no.” When I came back to the car, I opened the passenger door then stopped. A bag of chips was in the seat. “Wait a minute,” I thought. “I wasn’t eating any chips.” I glanced up and was shocked to see a man (fuzzy, blurry, not clear but definitely not my husband) sitting behind the steering wheel. He was speechless as he stared at me. I immediately began apologizing. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I’m visually impaired and thought this was our car!” I said it again as I backed away and closed the door. My husband was sitting in the next car watching the whole thing and unable to do anything about it. That vehicle, the same color and similar to ours, had not been in that parking spot when we pulled in.
“Well,” I told my husband when I got into our vehicle, “he’s got a story to tell for the rest of his life.” It was embarrassing but funny at the same time. Most of my VIP (visually impaired persons) friends have had similar experiences.
Recently, however, I had a blind moment that was not so funny.
I was helping serve the after-funeral meal of a dear neighbor and friend, and I was managing to recognize some people by their voices, height, and other clues I use to identify people. A young woman with long, dark hair came up to me as I was helping clear tables. She had already spoken to me in the kitchen, and at that time I wasn’t sure who she was but knew she knew me since she said, “Hi, Mrs. Pam.” After the meal, she was near the family, and I hugged her tightly, thinking I was hugging the daughter who had lost her father.
After a few words, however, she knew my mistake. “Mrs. Pam, I’m (name).” She is a close friend of the daughter, which is why she was there, and she was very understanding because she knows my situation, but still…it was embarrassing.
One of my many flaws is I am an extrovert to the extreme. I love people. I’m a hugger. (Sorry, germ phobes, it’s just an automatic reaction in many situations.) I always tell myself I’m going to change, that I will think before I speak and think before I hug, but somehow those tendencies overtake me. At my age, you’d think I would have figured it out, but obviously, I am still a work in progress.
I have countless other stories, and I guess despite the embarrassment, I have to laugh at myself. I did plenty of stupid things before vision loss, but the incidents have increased in number the past six years.
At the beginning of this post, I shared that our dog and I have a lot in common. No, he’s not blind. But he is extremely sociable. He loves people and loves other dogs. He’s excited when we take him to the kennel. When people come over, we have to restrain him at first until he calms down because he wants to be near them. As a matter of fact, he gets so excited about new people in the house, he shakes all over while his tail wags furiously.
He’s four years old, and we continue to try to train him to be calm and not want to jump up on people or bother them with begging to be petted. At least he doesn’t lick. He may never be trained completely.
I may not either. But I’m going to try. It’s the only way I can think of to avoid more embarrassing moments!
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.”
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.
I used to love to make things for others at Christmas. It started with my niece when I was in college and on a very limited budget. She was seven, and I made a Raggedy Ann type of doll and a quilted robe for her Christmas present from me that year. Over the years, I sketched pictures of my parents, framed them, and gave to them as presents. I made lap quilts for family. I did cross-stitched pictures and had them framed. I made macramé towel hangers and purses, which I lined with a satin fabric. I painted country scenes like a barn or cabin or a country church for my parents because they longed for their younger days.
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.
I wish I had a better picture of him, but for some reason I don’t. I wish I had a picture that shows the twinkle in his eyes, his contagious smile, even a picture that depicts his famous bear hugs.
This Thursday, family and friends will honor Gregg and his life, sharing their memories, funny stories, and no doubt some serious ones. I’m sure there will be many tears. There already has been.
A few things about him that make him exceptional, especially in the world in which we live. He married his high school sweetheart after he graduated from college, and they recently celebrated 44 years of marriage. There was no doubt he adored her. He had a way with words and was not afraid to use them to honor the people he loved. He was the father of three children and three grandchildren. He was a dedicated employee, working more hours than he should to help the company succeed.
He loved his adopted hometown, and he enjoyed nothing more (other than time with family) than being with his classmates and friends he made growing up here. At class reunions, I always noticed how he talked to every classmate there, whether they had been good friends or not, and how he asked questions about their lives and truly listened.
He and Barry were high school friends, and Barry was a groomsman in his wedding. He and his wife moved away, and the two in pre-email and pre-cell phone days lost touch. But when they moved back to Tennessee just a little over a couple of hours away, they reconnected, and so began years of activities. Weekend trips to the Smokies, week-long trips to the beach, multiple get-togethers with our unit of four couples at different houses. Card games, trivia nights, putt-putt competitions, even an escape room adventure–we enjoyed our time together.
A former DJ at a radio station, he loved music, and I can only imagine how long his playlist is. He loved sports and was a loyal Cardinals baseball fan, unlike Barry who has been a Pirates fan since his Little League days. But they never argued about their difference in loyalty.
He was the type of guy who, if he hadn’t seen you in a while, would give you a big hug and hug you again when he left, as did his wife. He (and she) were always the first to tell us “Love you guys.” He told his friends how much he appreciated them, even in text messages.
Like any of us, Gregg was not a perfect person, and he wouldn’t want us to think he was. He could get worked up about politics at times, and maybe some other things, but normally he was an even-keeled, kind man who was always ready to laugh, to share a good memory, to praise others for the good things happening in their lives.
So what are the lessons learned from our decades-long friendship? We don’t all have his outgoing personality or ability to be open in our affection for others. But we can all smile, laugh, be kind, be good listeners, and value our friends and family. We can all be the kind of people that when it’s our time to leave this earth, people will miss us, say kind things about us (and mean it), and maybe say they learned a few things from us.
His passing was sudden, so it is taking us a while to accept. It is surreal. But how comforting it is to know the last thing he said to us the Thursday before he passed away was that he loved us, and we told him the same. He meant it, I know.
Life As I know it 