Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Overwhelming gratitude
That is what I feel for the life I have. I feel thankful to have God to thank for this, if that makes sense. I sometimes wonder what people who don't believe in God do when they feel overwhelming gratitude. I think everyone who is a parent has felt this, feels this often. So who or what do non-believers thank when they are feeling grateful? Or am I strange that I feel the need to thank someone at all? I don't know the answer to either question, but to me it feels right to thank God for my blessings at the same time as I pray for others. My heart is full.
There's No Place Like Home, Part II
Several friends of mine have gotten bad news lately and I am feeling more than ever a sense of gratitude for the life I have. We were out and about this morning and I just wanted to get off the road and go somewhere I feel safe. And my first instinct is to hole up at home. The same home that makes me crazy on a daily basis due to its poor design is the place I feel safest. I know bad things can happen anywhere and that there isn't an invisible forcefield of safety surrounding us here. Yet it still seems safer than being out in the wide world. I am appreciating this house, this HOME, more and more lately. We are blessed.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Just like riding a bike
Being an adult makes it harder to appreciate some things. Like birthdays. I used to love birthdays because I got one of my favorite things--cake! And how nice to be showered with presents. But as an adult, I can buy or make cake anytime I want. And I can buy pretty much what I want whenever I want (within reason, not talking a new yacht here). Suddenly my birthday is not so magical. I guess the upside is that any day can be a party now. I don't have to wait months at a time.
Come to think of it, my own birthday wasn't always so fun growing up. Having a summer birthday meant it was hard to gather friends, who were often on vacation or otherwise unavailable. I used to be so jealous of the kids with birthdays during the school year. Oh to be able to bring in cupcakes and have the whole class sing to you! Not possible when you are born in July. So often birthdays were more lonely than anything.
When I think back on birthday presents, I have mixed emotions, at best. For my 5th birthday I wanted, and got!, a green plastic turtle wading pool. It had a slide down the back of the turtle's head into the pool. I think somewhere there are photos of my friend Sara and me in our sundresses, sliding into the empty pool during the party. That was the only time I ever got to use it. The pool blew out of our garage in a heavy wind and got cracked on the gravel driveway. To this day I don't know why my parents didn't replace it. It was 1981; it cost $10 at most. But they didn't, and I never got another pool.
One year, I think I was turning 10, all I wanted in the whole wide world was a Huffy 10-speed bike, the kind with the curved handlebars. It was pink and gray and I couldn't think of anything more cool. But my parents told me repeatedly it was too expensive, just not in the budget. So I got over it and wondered what I'd get instead. The morning of my birthday, I got up early and found the bike in our living room. Instead of being overjoyed, I felt sick. My parents said we couldn't afford it and got it for me anyway. (Maybe to make up for the turtle pool years before. Ha ha ha.) It took me a while to be able to enjoy that bicycle. I always felt like I never should have gotten it. Even thinking about it now, guilt is the first thing that comes to mind, not carefree summer days. I don't know if my parents were trying to throw me off track and that is why they said I couldn't have it or if they really had to sacrifice for me to get it. I did have some fun on it, riding on camping trips with friends. But when I think back on my first, and only, bicycle I mainly remember the morning I found it and how awful I felt.
Wow, I am just depressing myself. There has to have been one year that was memorable in a good way! I can recall memorable gifts but I think most were from Christmas. I am sure I got some Barbie or baby doll I really wanted and loved. This is really sad. I honestly can't remember a year that was really spectacular. Most were just fine, quiet. The one thing I am taking away from this otherwise depressing post is that I hope my two kids will have more good than bad memories. Even if they don't recall what meaningful gifts they received specific years, I hope their birthdays will blur together in a memory of family and friends and feeling loved. Overall, I know I mostly felt loved. That is all that really matters.
Come to think of it, my own birthday wasn't always so fun growing up. Having a summer birthday meant it was hard to gather friends, who were often on vacation or otherwise unavailable. I used to be so jealous of the kids with birthdays during the school year. Oh to be able to bring in cupcakes and have the whole class sing to you! Not possible when you are born in July. So often birthdays were more lonely than anything.
When I think back on birthday presents, I have mixed emotions, at best. For my 5th birthday I wanted, and got!, a green plastic turtle wading pool. It had a slide down the back of the turtle's head into the pool. I think somewhere there are photos of my friend Sara and me in our sundresses, sliding into the empty pool during the party. That was the only time I ever got to use it. The pool blew out of our garage in a heavy wind and got cracked on the gravel driveway. To this day I don't know why my parents didn't replace it. It was 1981; it cost $10 at most. But they didn't, and I never got another pool.
One year, I think I was turning 10, all I wanted in the whole wide world was a Huffy 10-speed bike, the kind with the curved handlebars. It was pink and gray and I couldn't think of anything more cool. But my parents told me repeatedly it was too expensive, just not in the budget. So I got over it and wondered what I'd get instead. The morning of my birthday, I got up early and found the bike in our living room. Instead of being overjoyed, I felt sick. My parents said we couldn't afford it and got it for me anyway. (Maybe to make up for the turtle pool years before. Ha ha ha.) It took me a while to be able to enjoy that bicycle. I always felt like I never should have gotten it. Even thinking about it now, guilt is the first thing that comes to mind, not carefree summer days. I don't know if my parents were trying to throw me off track and that is why they said I couldn't have it or if they really had to sacrifice for me to get it. I did have some fun on it, riding on camping trips with friends. But when I think back on my first, and only, bicycle I mainly remember the morning I found it and how awful I felt.
Wow, I am just depressing myself. There has to have been one year that was memorable in a good way! I can recall memorable gifts but I think most were from Christmas. I am sure I got some Barbie or baby doll I really wanted and loved. This is really sad. I honestly can't remember a year that was really spectacular. Most were just fine, quiet. The one thing I am taking away from this otherwise depressing post is that I hope my two kids will have more good than bad memories. Even if they don't recall what meaningful gifts they received specific years, I hope their birthdays will blur together in a memory of family and friends and feeling loved. Overall, I know I mostly felt loved. That is all that really matters.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Beets
When I was a child I went everywhere I could with my dad. We went to lunch on Saturdays and to Radio Shack and to help out with HAM radio projects, a lot of HAM radio projects. My dad had many friends through his radio club and every year they'd have a potluck. I remember one potluck in the summer at a picnic area by a lake. There were the usual suspects on the buffet line--potato salad, baked beans, fruit, potato chips. And there were beets, not something a picky child would normally try. I remember my mom pointing out an older Ham whose hands were dyed bright burgundy. She quietly pointed out that he had grown the beets and prepared them himself, which is why his hands were red. I decided, or was encouraged, to try the beets to be polite because he had clearly put a lot of time and effort into making them. Lo and behold, I liked them. Pickled beets became one of my favorite salad bar toppings and very occasionally my mom would make fresh beets at home. But I never remember them tasting as good as at that picnic.
Last summer or the summer before I was overjoyed to find fresh beets at the Farmer's Market. But they shriveled up on my window sill before I had a chance to prepare them. I was sad and mad at myself for wasting them. I forgot about beets for a while until I saw them last weekend at the Market, sold by the same father and son who were selling them the last time. They were small, practically bite-sized, but I had to have them. I sent Jason over with money and he got the very last bunch.
This time I cooked them up before they shriveled up completely. I took the first tiny beet out of the cooking water and burned my hands as I peeled it. When I ate it tears came to my eyes. It tasted almost like I remembered, sweet and earthy. But more than that, it tasted like childhood. Like a time when life was uncomplicated and full of possibilities. When something as simple as an old man's red-stained hands could create a memory, a taste, a feeling I don't ever want to forget.
Last summer or the summer before I was overjoyed to find fresh beets at the Farmer's Market. But they shriveled up on my window sill before I had a chance to prepare them. I was sad and mad at myself for wasting them. I forgot about beets for a while until I saw them last weekend at the Market, sold by the same father and son who were selling them the last time. They were small, practically bite-sized, but I had to have them. I sent Jason over with money and he got the very last bunch.
This time I cooked them up before they shriveled up completely. I took the first tiny beet out of the cooking water and burned my hands as I peeled it. When I ate it tears came to my eyes. It tasted almost like I remembered, sweet and earthy. But more than that, it tasted like childhood. Like a time when life was uncomplicated and full of possibilities. When something as simple as an old man's red-stained hands could create a memory, a taste, a feeling I don't ever want to forget.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
It could have been worse, Part II
When something is truly unfortunate, why can't I just be sad or angry about it for a while? Isn't it okay, healthy even, to mourn what I am losing and then move on? Instead my mind keeps repeating, at least I still have X. Yes, I am losing Y, but I should just be grateful to have X. Yet the fact is that I am losing Y. I will never get it back and it is not fair and it breaks my heart.
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