Category Archives: Family Matters

Yosemite!

Yosemite National Park

Yosemite National Park

When my kids were younger, they got really excited any time we decided to take a road trip.  After a decision to take a road trip, I began the process of preparing us for the drive.  I researched the route, being mindful of the places we could stop for food and gas. I mapped the course, including the estimated travel time, to ensure that I had  enough snacks and activities for the duration of the ride.  Before the invention of portable electronic devices and vehicles with built-in video capabilities, we packed books, games, and a small television that had a VHS tape player.  I even had a music playlist for the car, including music I purchased that was kid and car ride friendly.  Our playlist were first housed on cassette tapes, then on CD’s, and then on flash drives.   I always had enough movies and activities to keep the kids busy during the course of the ride and those same provisions came in handy at the destination to entertain them during idle times.  Now cell phones absorb most of their time and energy during the car rides whether they are texting, tweeting, snapping, or shopping for new shoes.  Sometimes it seems their only concern is agreeing on what percentage of battery life means you get to use one of the chargers in the car.  When they are not asleep, they spend their time playing backseat DJ’s.  The invention of bluetooth means they can link their own playlists to the car and really practice their DJ skills.  (This wasn’t supposed to be a blog about technology, but I am realizing how much technology has changed the family travel game.)

With that as a backdrop, let’s turn to the day someone with a lively, enthusiastic tone announced, “We are going to Yosemite!”  The young adults looked up at the excited one from their devices and replied, “Really?!” and “Well, ok, why?”  Honestly, I wasn’t thrilled about the idea of a family trip to Yosemite, but I supported the idea because 1. I respect natural wonders and 2. I wanted to support the family member whose bucket list included a trip to Yosemite National Park.  I wanted to “see” Yosemite National Park, but my want did not rise to the excited anticipation expressed by the family member with the bucket list wish.  So, I tried to offer encouragement by saying how cool it would be to see the park, but those dang cell phones and that internet provided the young ones with access to the park in seconds and they were both looking at me like they knew the only reason this was happening was because I wanted to support the excited one’s bucket list wish.  Despite the side eyes and sighs, I put on the mama, planner hat and thought, “Well, ok then.  Let’s do this.”

The dreamer in the house with the Yosemite National Park fantasy was not a planner.  Therefore, it was up to me to figure out how to make this dream a reality.  I took to the internet and I did a little research about the park.  My research was primarily related to lodging since I knew that this adventure would require at least a night’s stay somewhere and I knew where we were not sleeping – in the car or outside.  My investigation into lodging at Yosemite revealed that the park offered a variety of options for lodging from plush hotels to outdoor camping.  Well, I quickly ruled out anything that did not include running water, electricity, beds, and onsite dining.  Once I limited the search to hotels with the desired amenities, there were no rooms at any hotel in the park for the weekend we planned to visit.  In fact, there were no hotel rooms in the park for months after our planned visit.  Who knew that there were people who actually planned visits to the park more than six months prior to their visits?  I couldn’t imagine that people loved the outdoors that much.

We moved from the south to the west coast about three years ago.  It seemed that the people in this western town looked forward to any chance to go camping or hiking.  I was accustomed to people going to the beach or enjoying a boat ride or a fishing excursion during holiday weekends, but in this part of the country folks pack it up and take to nature for their breaks.  For some reason, somebody thought that we family members who loved portable electronics and hotels with beds, electricity, and running water would run enthusiastically toward the park.  I will just say that we all gave it a gallant effort.  We packed an overnight bag, pulled out a cooler, bought some snacks, collected our chargers, and loaded the car for the trip.

The drive down was beautiful.  We drove through some small towns and took in picturesque views.  My neighbor suggested the route and she told me what a great experience it would be for us.  She also agreed to Swaggy-sit while we were away.  She is the forever optimist and she loves the outdoors so she helped talk up the wondrous adventure we were embarking upon.  I laughed and accepted her advice about the trip.  I felt certain she kept talking because she knew I had those young adults to convince that this was a grand idea.  Her laughing eyes and her snickering told me that her empathy was blended with some amusement at the forced excitement of most of the folks in my house.

If you have ever been around people who care about you and you have asked them to do something that only you are excited about, you can respond in one of two ways.  You might say “Well, I know you don’t want to do this, but this is on my bucket list and it would make me so happy if you would share this experience with me.  I hope that something about it will be awesome for you too” or you can get frustrated with your people and let them plan the whole trip for you as they dream of cozy amenities and cell phone connectedness.  Well, the excited one took the later course and if you choose the later course with young adult children this is what you will get: “Mama, you have to drive the entire time because he will be looking all around and drive us off of a cliff.”  “Will you plan this so that we can stop at Chic-Fil-A on the way back home?” “Will you make sure we only have to be in the park for that day?” “We will look at the main attractions and figure out how to take him to see those sites so that we can get out of there sooner?”  Word to the wise: Don’t trust the resistant crew to plan your bucket list experience. Plan it yourself or hire someone to do it for you.

We arrived at the Park’s Tioga Pass entrance and the sign read “Elevation 9945” and we had to admit that was pretty cool.  When we got to the gate to pay the attendant the entry fee, she gave us a map and said, “This pass is good for a week.  Keep it visible on your dash.”  I said, “Thank you,” but the thought bubble in my head and the heads of the young ones said, “Who stays in the park for a week?!” I knew what they were thinking because they chuckled as I said, “Thank you” and began to raise the driver door window.  While we sat in sheer amazement that people actually arrive there with the intention of staying in the park for a week, the excited one felt affirmed and welcomed by kindred park spirits.  The excited one grew more impassioned and believed he could do the impossible – convince grown people that the idea was a genius move because other people agreed with him.  Hmmm.  That “Oh kids look at what they are doing, it must be really cool” logic and strategy only works on little kids. It does not work on almost grown kids with some independent life experiences.  So, the mission of the travel savvy kids in the car began – to scope out an information center to obtain a more useful map and actually have a conversation with a person knowledgable about the park to learn about “the things we shouldn’t miss.”

We located the information center and spoke to a really nice lady about the park.  Good thing we stopped there first because we learned some valuable information that outdoor enthusiasts probably already knew like:

  1. We should have packed food that was substantial in nature and not just snacks.
  2. The restaurants in the park were far apart.
  3. We should expect long lines at restaurants in the park or an ask about whether or not we had a reservation for dining.
  4. The nearest restaurant was the convenience store/gas station/food joint we passed about twenty minutes ago.
  5. It would take us at least three and half hours to drive through the park.

Suddenly, the panic of being in the park after night fall was real as were the quick eye movements and head sways that communicated a need to formulate a new course of action.  It really wasn’t that hard to discretely develop another strategy for surviving what we were still intent on making a day trip to Yosemite because the excited one was taking in all of the sites and not really paying us any attention.  Thank goodness for all of those fliers, artifacts, placards, and trees at the information center.

Since we were all hungry, we decided it best to back track, in the car of course, to the combo store/gas station/food joint.  We ordered food and I used my history of loving to explore more deeply any opportunity to shop as an excuse to go to the store to buy us more drinks and snacks since we now understood this was going to take a bit longer than we expected.  We also knew that we were definitely under prepared for this day trip.  The excited one would never have supported the idea of buying more snacks because he was feeling as if we could live off the grid and off the land at that moment.  Not!

With our bellies full and the cooler restocked, we forged onward through the park.  The kids had taken the kind lady’s advice and determined the course we should take in order to see all of the things we shouldn’t miss.  They did a phenomenal job navigating and we stopped at the most scenic spots for picture opportunities.  We “climbed” to the top of some really big boulders and posed as if we had climbed Mt. Everest.  We even found a guy to take a picture of the whole family enjoying the experience.  While the excited one was experiencing an adrenaline rush and a hurried excitement to get to the next scenic spot, we were methodically checking things off of the list and watching the clock.  Through text messaging and side bars we had a scripted time limit for each stop that would enable us to see all of the sites and exit the park before sunset.  The roads were narrow and there were no street lights so visibility would surely be limited at night.  Since I remained the designated driver and would be for the entire trip, I knew that exhaustion might be a real issue the later it got so we had to stay on schedule.

While we orchestrated the guided tour, the excited one was looking out the window pointing and commenting on things like a little kid in an amusement park and that phone camera was just clicking away.  We were all humored because his bucket list experience was living up to his expectations.  The only thing that probably could have made it better was the excited one being on this journey with a group of tourist yearning to explore the park for a few days.  I wish we had thought of that during the planning stages at home.  We could have paid for the excited one to stay in the park for a few days with more dreamers and come back to get him.  I am sure we could have found some things to do in California for a few days.  Plus, we had that parking pass to get us back into Yosemite without an additional charge.  It was a extraordinary plan, but too late to save us that day.

All seemed to be going well until we spotted a waterfall that appeared within walking distance.  We decided to stop in a restricted area for a quick picture.  The excited one got out of the car and eased closer to the tree line for a better picture.  Ok.  All was still going fine until the excited pronounced that the water fall seemed to be in walking distance and the optimal location for a photographer and lover of nature would be at the base of the waterfall.  “Oh no!” exclaimed the crew, “He will mess up the plan!” As we were trying to assess what just happened and how this happened, he vanished into the woods.  Visions of darkness and cautious driving to avoid animals and people walking in the road in dark clothes danced in my head.  The crew began to vocalize their concerns about the delay in reaching a location for dinner and free wifi.  Heck, consistent cell phone service would have been nice.

Just before the excited one drifted into the woods he said, “I will be right back.  This won’t take long at all.”  Famous last words, right.  Right! After about twenty minutes, the car dwellers started debating about who could reach out to him without him getting upset with us for suggesting that he speed up his dream experience.  We selected a missionary and waited for a response.  After about fifteen more minutes, someone got out of the car to see if there was any sight of our resident explorer.  He was seen far in the distance moving closer and closer to the waterfall.  We began to do the math.  If it took forty minutes to get to the location, we could only hope that it would take about thirty to get back because he would be so excited to tell us about his encounter with the water.  Meanwhile, the park ranger kept driving by our car that was still in the restricted area.  We knew we couldn’t get out of the car and leave it, but we were also beginning to feel like this didn’t look like a temporary situation after an hour of sitting in a restricted area waiting for someone to jump out and take the quick picture.

In order to avoid the uncomfortable feeling I got every time the park rangers drove by, I moved the car into a parking lot that required special permissions and we sat there hoping not to be asked to move. We waited and we waited and we grew more tired, hungry, and frustrated as we waited.  We were certain that the excited one was exacting his revenge on us for the collaborative spirit of resistance shown on this day trip.  We imagined that the excited one was determined to take the entire day to meditate and soak in the aura that was Yosemite.  As we neared what must have a been a beautiful sunset that we couldn’t see because of the vastness of the trees, someone said, “There he is.” Finally! We were physically and emotionally beat down and there was the excited one still pumped up, smiling and talking to some people he met on the journey.  He was all bonded and gearing up for the argument that it really didn’t take him that long and that it was worth the time it took to see that amazing site.  I tried hard to give a smile and an “Oh really.  That WAS pretty amazing” because  I wanted so badly to keep the vibe of support alive, but concern about the darkness and the my growling tummy occupied all of my brain cells.

What he didn’t know is that the focus of the crew shifted while he was on his merry journey.  We made a plan that involved the backseat DJ’s alternating turns playing music or talking to me to help me stay focused and alert.  They vowed to be my eyes as we moved toward the exit.  We debated about whether one of them could take over the driving, but we all knew that the excited one would call rank and take the wheel.  The thought of him driving and exploring was real so I maintained my role as driver and the crew held up their end as the navigational squad.  The last thing we needed to do was miss a turn and be in the park maze an additional hour or two.

We successfully made it to the exit and to interstate.  We located the hotel and considered the blessing of having a restaurant with an open kitchen in the parking lot adjacent to the hotel.  While the excited one went to check on the room reservation, we ran across the parking lot, into the restaurant and ordered take out.  We happily ate our food in the room that welcomed us with wifi, beds, a bathroom, and a television while the excited one basked in the glorious memories and beautiful pictures he took during his day at Yosemite and all was right with the world.

 

 

 

 

2016: The year that loss and change will enhance villages!

symbols of change and maturity

symbols of change, maturity, hope&courage

I am sure you are wondering what toy cars and trucks have to do with anything.  Well, after a year of change and loss, I have decided to embrace changes and to set new, crazy, stupid goals for myself.  Heck, if I survived 2015, I can certainly harness that same strength and energy to do something I plan to do to achieve a few goals I set for myself.

January 2015 began with my son making a decision to graduate from high school early in order to enroll in college in what would have been the last semester of his senior year.  While that is an exciting decision and a praise worthy accomplishment, I became an empty nester about six months ahead of schedule.  Then, a week after my boy moved out my mother died and my duties and habit of being a caretaker were no more.  Separation from my previous roles meant that I had to manage the emotional clutter and the literal baggage that remained after their unexpected departures.  I had to sort through their belongings and decide whether to keep or discard items.  It was very difficult for me to throw away, destroy or give away items that belonged to my children and my mother.

The sorting process was painful and necessary.  I have often referred to this process as purging. However, after I looked up the word, I realized that although I really didn’t use it correctly, I realized that I still experienced the outcomes of the process that occurs when one purges.  My initial goal of sorting and purging was to separate from things that no longer had value to my home or my mother’s home because the people who claimed ownership of the things were no longer present.  What I found was some weird connection to their things.  A connection that caused me to feel like eliminating the things from my space would increase the distance between them and me.  This feeling made no sense because they were both gone from my space and my actions could not change the moments that took them away from me.  Each time I picked up, touched, or looked at an object I transferred energy that gave new life to the thing.  Suddenly, I found myself surrounded and overcome by dancing memories, thoughts and emotions brought on by things that I aimed to categorize as useless and worthy of the pile of things to be discarded.  I realized how people might become hoarders or why I hang on to that pair of shoes or that box of books in the garage or that plastic container of cars and trucks years after any of those things serve any purposeful existence other than as place holders.

I allowed myself to sit with each thing and reminisce about how we came to be acquainted and how we were blessed to share and enhance the life of someone we both held dear.  The shared moments with the stuff mirrored a lyrical continuum of a classical composer.  Like symphonic movements, my emotions filled my body from the deepest place inside and engaged me completely.  Whenever I relaxed into the moments and permitted the emotions to take hold of me, they made me laugh until my stomach hurt or sob until I was breathless. Months of this process was exhausting.

By the end of 2015, I made a decision that it was time to experience the freedom from the clutter that my loved ones left behind.  I accepted that in most cases the value in the things laid in the experiences with the ones I loved and not in the inanimate objects.  I bonded with these things like they could keep the spirit of my loved ones breathing in my space.  I empowered the things to do what I feared I could not – remember the moments with my loved ones that I cherished.

In 2016, I have decided to find new ways to hold on to and honor the legacy of the journey with the parents who I still love and the children I raised.  In 2016, I will preserve those memories by telling stories through my writings and by use of my voice.  I will speak about the impact of parts of the journey with them that made me laugh and some parts that caused me pain.  I will speak from my heart in a way that I hope will bless my audience with encouragement, empowerment and enlightenment.  In 2016, I will purposefully and intentionally pass on things that I hold dear with great hope that their new owners will love them and make new memories that provide enjoyment, pleasure and empowerment.

I took a picture of the toy cars and trucks as a way to preserve the memory for a later date.  These toys were my son’s favorites and I bought him cars to add to his collection whenever I traveled.  They also made neat stocking suffers for Christmas (not to mention that were pretty inexpensive).  These toys are the first specially cherished things I have been holding on to that I will pay forward.  I am excited that this decision to share my family legacy of love and support has presented an opportunity for me to heal while simultaneously arousing creativity, dreams, and enjoyment for the recipients of the gifts! These gifts will be kindling in a fire built to encourage, empower, and enlighten many villages.

In 2016, what will you pay forward from your journey?

 

50 things I couldn’t imagine!

I couldn’t imagine life without my parents.

I couldn’t imagine my first anything without them.

I couldn’t imagine mentioning them in the past tense.

I couldn’t imagine saying what they used to say.

I couldn’t imagine my sadness when my last shopping trip for my mom included paying for her funeral expenses.

I couldn’t imagine my holiday plans not involving spending time at home with them or having them at my house with me.

I couldn’t imagine being separated from the sound of their laughter while we looked at old pictures of us in outfits we thought were so cool and hip.

I couldn’t imagine that my parents would miss high school and college graduations of my children.

I couldn’t imagine that so many people and relationships in my life were connected to them and their presence.

I couldn’t imagine that I would ever miss my dad slurping the last sip of coffee or soda just to aggravate me because he knew how much I hated for people to make noises when they ate.

I couldn’t imagine missing the “shh, shh, shh” from my mother when I discussed anything she didn’t want to hear about or that she didn’t want to talk about.

I couldn’t imagine life without their smiles and hugs whenever I returned home to visit them.

I couldn’t imagine life without them having all of the things we liked at the house whenever they knew we were coming to visit – chocolate cake, pound cake, chocolate ice cream, Coca-Cola, bacon, grits, and a host of other foods dipped in grease.

I couldn’t imagine purging through their things and trying to decide what to do with all they treasured and left behind.

I couldn’t imagine that I would ever appreciate my dad’s curfew rule that, “Young women know what time a young woman should be home.” Oh the pressure!

I couldn’t imagine the cool memories and practical lessons I would learn while I helped my dad refurbish the old boat he towed from Hartford to Montgomery and that old beat up white van he bought for $500 because he always dreamed of owning a boat and a motor home.

I couldn’t imagine that their stories about living through segregation and the integration of public places and schools would still be a relevant conversation after they were gone.

I couldn’t imagine that I would have to trust my memory to recall the lessons they taught me because I wouldn’t be able to ask them to repeat the lessons to me again.

I couldn’t imagine that I would wish that my father could be alive to see the advancements in technology because he absolutely love working on the televisions, being the first to have the latest electronic invention, and his passion for HAM radio was evident in his car and my first bedroom that he converted into his office.

I couldn’t imagine that my father’s instincts with electronics would live in my son.

I couldn’t imagine that my daughter would house my mother’s pensive, classic presence that allowed her to show up and own a situation, social or professional, in a meaningful and purposeful way that was not aimed at diminishing the strengths of anyone else.

I couldn’t imagine what a wonderful blend of my parents I would see in my children who are smart, witty, socially conscious, caring, well-spoken, respectful, global thinkers who are also easy on the eyes.

I couldn’t imagine the parenting lessons I would later grasp from my dad’s genius move of teaching me to fish at pond where they raised catfish – the art of baiting the hook, how to cast the line, to reel in the catch, and how to enjoy the moments that you spend waiting.

I couldn’t imagine how my daddy’s quotes would still make me laugh after all the years he’s been gone.

I couldn’t imagine how alone I would feel when they were both gone.

Now, I can’t imagine having any other people as my parents.

Now, I can’t imagine my life without their love and support.

Now, I can’t imagine my existence without the lessons they taught me.

Now, I can’t imagine learning from my mom that quiet strength and well-timed comments are critical.

Now, I can’t imagine my conversations without my dad’s comedic timing.

Now, I can’t imagine being a villager to others without the compassion and nurturing spirit of my parents.

Now, I can’t imagine what I would have done if mama hadn’t answered the phone to gossip and giggle with me about whatever the subject was that day.

Now, I can’t imagine life without my dad’s directive to ask because I have a fifty percent chance of getting what I want or need.

Now, I can’t imagine my life without their guidance and encouragement to dream outside the village.

Now, I can’t imagine life without the benefits of the higher education they encouraged me to seek and then helped me finance.

Now, I can’t imagine missing the lessons on screw drivers, lawn mowers, and basic car knowledge I learned while hanging out in the yard with my dad.

Now, I can’t imagine learning from Mama that “Everything ain’t for everybody,” especially where the wardrobe is concerned.

Now, I can’t imagine life without Daddy’s lesson to treat everyone the same because “We all put our pants on one leg at a time.”

Now, I can’t imagine life without my parents’ lesson to take good care of those “who cook, clean, and take care of stuff around you because they know stuff and they will look out for you.”

Now, I can’t imagine life without the memories of dancing to big band music and blues with my dad and smiling now because I am comfortable dancing and singing whenever and wherever the music makes my soul smile.

Now, I can’t imagine thinking about learning the art and therapy of shopping from my mom and accepting that I am still unable to achieve her diva status that included coordinated outfits every day at home and on the go.

Now, I can’t imagine walking through life without remembering my dad’s lesson that, “my rights end where the next person’s rights begin.”

Now, I can’t imagine my life without learning the art of people watching from my parents that could generated gut wrenching laughs especially when the master of the art, my dad, was providing the narratives and commentary.

Now, I can’t imagine not understanding the necessity in life to laugh at myself, laugh through my pain and challenges, and to just find reasons to laugh until it hurts with people I know well and those who are new to the village.

Now, I can’t imagine being raised by the guy who wouldn’t give money for good grades because “You are expected to make good grades.”

Now, I can’t imagine life without parents who opened their home often with little notice to provide shelter, food, fellowship and a stable environment to most of the folks who needed it whether they were family members trying to finish college or kids in need of sitters while their single moms looked for work, or folks who just needed a place to hang out to watch Ali fight while they enjoyed food, a shot of something to warm their spirits and a cigarette from my daddy’s pack of Kool’s.

Now, I can’t imagine my life without the character check my dad gave me my freshman year of college: “Don’t become the people you don’t like.”

Now, I can’t imagine life without the lesson I learned to work at my craft and be really good at the things I know.

Now, I can’t imagine the lesson I learned from my parents to welcome the knowledge and expertise of others in areas I am not well-versed in to further the cause and the mission.

Now, I can’t imagine living life without their legacy of class, compassion, dedication, hard work, strength, humor, dreams, and the mission of being an excellent villager. #Lola&Charles

 

 

Thankful.

This month I have seen friends and family on various social media sites posting statements of gratitude and thanksgiving for things, events, and people.  I am really not one to participate in  chain emails or chain posts on social media and I don’t tend to accept invitations to play any of the games I am invited to play either.  I am not sure if that really says anything about me as a “friend” or “follower,” but that is a truth about me.  And there is a part of me that still wonders if the expressions of thanksgiving are real or just people regurgitating old cliches.  I wonder about their sincerity like I wonder about the people who ALWAYS respond, “Blessed and highly favored!” every time they are asked how they are doing.  Don’t misunderstand me.  I am blessed, favored, and thankful.  However, when I ask people how they are doing, I really am interested in knowing what’s going on with them on more than a surface, artificial level.  So, when I hear someone give the same response EVERY time someone greets them , I just figure the person really doesn’t want to be known on a deeper level or they really don’t want folks in their business.  Although this may not make sense to anyone else, “The reasons I am thankful” posts remind me of those rote greeting responses.  The result of both situations is that my critical mind takes over.  Although I am somewhat cynical, I have succumbed to the pressure and feel the need to express my gratitude and thanksgiving in a simple, yet public way.  You know, simplicity can be impactful and powerful.

I am thankful that:

  • Winter is only ONE of the seasons in a year.
  • I have seat warmers in my car.
  • My kids are smarter than me.
  • My canine kid is happy to see me EVERY time I walk into the house.
  • I can be easily entertained.
  • My kids can carry on an entire conversation in song lyrics.
  • Ink cartridges come in multiple colors.
  • My bottom survived the years of sitting and waiting on kids to finish stuff.
  • Aloe vera lives in my medicine cabinet.
  • I found at least one box in the garage that has stuff I really should have saved.
  • My kids chose not to use those journals I bought them to write about their life experiences because they knew one day their mama would be a writer and need them.
  • People don’t judge me for being a coffee snob or a chocolate snob.
  • The leagues and networks have figured out how to start basketball coverage before football season ends.
  • Living on the West Coast often means avoiding social media for hours Thursday nights to avoid the threads that have no spoiler alerts.
  • I still have hope that one day I will be invited to go to Ellen’s Twelve Days of Christmas with my daughter.
  • The dirty dish fairy feels welcome in my kitchen.
  • There are no smelly, dirty, clothes and shoes hidden in the back of my car making it smell like a locker room.
  • We don’t use dial up at our house anymore.
  • I never have to worry about whether my handbags are gonna be too tight.
  • My husband likes to drag us into bookstores to wait for him to read every word in some book on the history of some random topic.
  • At least summer reading programs at local libraries got my kids to read books even if only for the microwave popcorn and trinkets they could earn.
  • The book mobile came to my neighborhood when I was a child.
  • I know my neighbors by name which unfortunately ain’t common anymore.
  • My childhood church family valued public speaking and leadership opportunities for kids.
  • My neighbors care about my business, but try not to be in my business.
  • My “kid cab” provided countless safe rides to kids for many years and the “car ministry” blessed kids with a place to laugh and talk about kid stuff.
  • I have a closet full of board games and the kids will be home this week.
  • I can’t shake the need to follow the sweet with the salt.
  • We still pop popcorn the old fashion way with olive oil, kernels, sea salt, and butter.
  • You took the time to read this post and support my blog.

 

For the love of hair

When I was young, the kitchen sink served as the shampoo bowl and my mom performed the duties of the technician.  My mom’s ideas about haircare for a young girl were very basic and that was probably because her skill set was very basic.  She cleansed my hair and conditioned it.  Once it was dry, she would sit me in a chair and she would perch herself on a bar stool and get the stove warmed up for the pressing comb.  I used to wish she would straighten my hair and put some curls in it.  Nope.  She would straighten it, then part it down the middle and put it into two pigtails.  I had a permanent part down the middle of my head from wearing this same hairstyle every day for years.  She did allow me to choose what color hair bobs I would wear or if I would wear any at all.  I used to wish she would consistently send me to a beautician at a real shop.  Unfortunately for me, trips to the beauty shop and hairstyles with any type of curl or wave were reserved for special occasions like weddings and Easter.  I think fancy hair completed the lace and patent leather shoes I wore for those special occasions.

I remember when she decided that I would begin regular beauty shop appointments with her friend who my daddy called “the hairdresser.”  The hairdresser lived in the neighborhood down the street.  In the discussion about why she decided that I should go to the beauty shop, my mom said something about learning that she had a pinched nerve in her left hand and because of it she burned my hair.  She said she never wanted to do that again.  What the what? You burned my hair? Well, I really didn’t know how she knew she burned it and I wondered whether anyone else could tell that she burned it.  At any rate, I was excited about the announcement that I would be going to the beauty shop every other week.  “Yes!” I thought.  This was a time for celebration until I realized that she was in cahoots with the beautician and the permanent part would possibly be there the rest of my life.  Shampoo, condition, dry, press and part it down the middle.  Shampoo, condition, dry, press and part it down the middle.  Really?!  Yes, really.  Every other week my mother and the beautician achieved the goal of healthy hair with age-appropriate styling.

I was definitely my mother’s child because I was pretty limited in the hair styling business myself.  I found myself filling my daughter’s head with pigtails wrapped with cute, colorful hair bobs and bows.  When she was about three, we used to sit at least twice a week and watch the movie “Jungle Book” while we did hair.  We would collect the bucket of hair bows, the comb, the brush, a pillow or a kid-sized chair for her to sit on, and some snacks.  It was quite a production, but it was necessary.  We knew all of the songs from the movie and we sang and quoted movie lines while I did hair.

I think it was middle school when she made it know that she was not hearing the healthy hair, age appropriate styling talk.  I reminded her often that I was not a skilled “hair dresser” and that someday a beauty shop would be a necessary part of her life if she wanted diversity in hair styling. As much as she did not want to spend her time in a beauty shop, she was forced to go through the rite of passage that is the African American beauty shop experience.  She quickly learned that she could get some homework done or pretend to look at hair design books like the other women in there who were really eavesdropping on the other conversations happening in the shop.  And, in the age of cell phones and text messaging, we engaged in text message conversations about whether certain wives tales were really true or why somebody didn’t comb out their curls before leaving the shop or the day that women in the shop realized Miss So and So had a weave.  We can share each other’s beauty shop experiences from many states away because of the cell phone.  The camera phone enhanced the beauty shop experience by allowing us to share pictures of our new do’s.  I have even been able to keep in touch with my favorite beautician in the Midwest when my girl was in her chair.

I am proud to say that my daughter demonstrated more hair skills than I do.   She has done a pretty good job with her own hair.  But, she ain’t no technician.  One of the best family memories we have relates to the evening my husband was preparing for work and announced that he needed somebody to give him “a line.”  I was usually the one to give the line, but that evening our daughter said, “Oh, let me do it.”  To my surprise, he said, “Ok. C’mon.” What?! I followed them into the bathroom so that I could witness her coming of age moment.  She was about to perform one of the most important hair care rituals for African American men (or at least the one’s I know) – “lining him up.” The hair cut is not complete and the look isn’t fresh if the edges are not crisp.

“So, where do you want me to put the line,” she asked.  He said, “Right here” as he pointed to a spot just behind his right ear and even with the top of the ear.  She said, “Ok” and prepared to give him a line.  I left the room for some reason and when I returned I saw the line going across the back of his head stretching from the top of the left ear to the top of the right ear.  Oh my gosh! I couldn’t believe my eyes.

I wondered what was going through his mind as he sat there when she made the first cut and he knew there was no going back.  How did he sit there and let her meticulously cut that line across the back of his head on a level up near the crown of his head instead of near the nape of his neck?  She was proud of her work and he apparently didn’t have the heart to tell her to stop.  He let her work her barbering magic on his head knowing that he had to report to work within hours.  All I could do was laugh out loud.  I think my laughter was the first signal to her that something was bad wrong with the line.  She stopped and said, “I did what he said.”  Yes, she literally did what he said.  Then, she said, “I was just trying to help.”  Laugh out loud.  Oh wow!  He never made her feel bad for the barbering mishap, but it was clear that she needed to direct her energy toward being a good student because she was not showing much potential as a barber.  It was a good thing that her daddy had time to shave his face and his head before reporting to work.

 

The gift that keeps on giving

In general, it is a good thing to have a gift that keeps on giving.  Even when we are traveling and shopping for souvenirs, I look for items that will be useful to me or the family when I get back home.  I purchase things like neck ties for the guys, scarves, socks, crafty jewelry, dish towels, or special brews of coffee or tea.  My mother used to say that I was too practical.  She was right.  I always did and still do think it’s wasteful to buy things you will never use.  My mother was a child of the depression and she had a lot things that she cherished that were rarely used.  We had beautiful living room furniture that was only used by special guests and her club members.  She would only allow us in that room when there was an overflow of family members visiting or when she wanted me to show everyone the new song I learned to play on the piano.  The only other time I can remember us using the living room was Christmas morning.  We would all sit in there while we opened gifts.  When my brother came over with his family, we would sit in there and sing Christmas carols.  He was the true musician in the family.  His ability to read music and play several instruments, including the piano, was a gift to the family that kept on giving.  As a child, I figured out that my family gifted me with material things and they gifted me by sharing their talents with me.

Many years later, after my kids were in elementary school and middle school, I learned that my family’s gift giving ability was not as limited as I believed in my youth.  One day I got light-headed and passed out in my kitchen.  I remember my son cut his finger while he was trying to cut an apple, I think.  I had fallen asleep on the coach and was awakened by his shout that he cut his finger.  I rushed him to the kitchen sink to rinse away the blood and assess the situation.  I asked my daughter to bring us a bandaid and she did.  I opened the bandaid quickly and attempted to wrap it around the injured finger.  For some reason, the finger kept moving away from the target area.  I couldn’t understand why it wouldn’t stop moving.  I heard the kids ask if I was all right and I replied that I would be fine.  Honestly, I remember thinking, “What is going on? This is weird.”  I didn’t feel fine.  As I faded back into consciousness, I heard my kids screaming for their dad to come downstairs.  I remember my daughter asking if they should call 911.  I remember telling the kids that I was fine and they just needed to check my son’s finger.  Later the kids told me that I sounded like a really drunk woman trying to tell them she was fine.  My daughter decided to make the call.  I remember thinking that if I could have laughed I would have laughed at my daughter telling the emergency operator,”If I knew what was wrong with her, I wouldn’t have called you.  Can you just send someone to help my mother.”

After the ambulance ride to the emergency room, the doctor came in to review the battery of paperwork I completed and he said, “Wow, you are doing a pretty good job managing your health.  Your family history has not done you any favors.”  Man!

Recently, I had a similar experience when I was having an eye exam and the technician had “just a few questions” about my medical history.  “Any heart disease?” “Any diabetes?” “Any strokes?” “Any breast cancer?” “Any hypertension?” “Any other cancers?” “Any issues with the kidneys?” “Any cataracts?” “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,” I replied.  I only answered no to the question about liver issues.  As I sat in the chair shaking my head, I said aloud, “I think I should write a blog called the gift that keeps on giving.”

I have heard people say time after time that I remind them of my parents or that I have grown up to be just like my parents.  Heck, I can remember sometimes thinking that I have become my mom or dad.  Every time I am asked about my medical history I realize how much I am really like my parents and other family members.  We resemble each other from the inside out.  As much as I looked up to them and admired many of their qualities, I can’t say that I looked forward to having any of the illnesses that plagued them.  It was not a badge of honor to positively identify with heart disease, hypertension, cancer, or diabetes.

The family history of breast cancer led to mammograms in my early thirties and I recently received an order for a colonoscopy and I am not yet fifty.  I constantly work to manage my diet and do some walking so that I can ward off obesity which can enhance my chances of heart disease, diabetes, and some cancers (or at least that’s what I have been told).   Last year, I participated in some genetic counseling and some genetic testing to determine if I had any mutated genes that might give me a higher probability for breast cancer.  The findings suggested that I did not have a higher risk than any other person so my probability for developing cancer cells would probably be based on environmental exposures.  Wow.

There is no way I can control every environmental factor that might effect my health negatively.  I do the best I can to eat more fruits and vegetables and avoid second-hand smoke.  I have tried to encourage my children to eat healthy, whole foods and exercise regularly.  I told them in their younger years that I wanted them to teach their bodies to crave good foods and to crave exercise so that their normal would not be my normal.  When I am real honest and talk about what I seek in times of stress or relaxation, I will tell you that I revert back to what is comfortable for me – sitting on a couch with a book and a glass of sweet tea (and a remote control nearby just in case I need a break from the book).  My body may crave good foods, but exercise takes me coaching myself or making deals with myself to get this body up and moving.  I recently started tracking my steps and that has been a great motivation for me each day because I look forward to reaching the daily steps goal.

I try to limit the unhealthy food choices in the house by not buying foods that are  unhealthy because of the ingredients or because I will eat ALL of the servings in the container in one sitting.  When my kids were younger, I didn’t keep soft drinks in the house on a regular basis or candy.  People who visited my house would ask, “Why don’t you let your kids eat candy or drink soft drinks?’  I responded, “It’s not that they don’t eat candy or drink soft drinks.  I have found that they come home with all that trash so I figured I didn’t have to buy it for them and keep it at home.” I decided that we got plenty of treats, snacks, and greasy stuff in our day-to-day lives outside of the house.  So, I figured we needed to have more sensible options at home.

Now that my kids are older, I tend to keep more of the things they enjoy, the healthy and the not so healthy foods, in the house.  I think it cool that they don’t over indulge in the not so healthy food options.  I am excited when they recognize when foods they are served are not fresh, but probably canned.  I am thrilled when they talk about their last workouts.  My kids have a legacy of great people in their lineage who have given marvelously to their families and communities.  These great family members have also given a medical history to me and my kids that I can’t change.  My goal is to teach my kids about as much of their medical history as I know and direct them to make choices that won’t enhance their probabilities of ever having to deal with those medical issues.  The only part of the family legacy I want my kids to own is the gift of greatness and the gift of good looks.  Ha!

 

 

A woman and her hats

My mother loved her hats and she loved her hat boxes just as much.  I don’t think I realized how many hats she really had until she got sick and I had to organize her things at her house.  Maybe part of her methodology was to keep things looking a little disorganized to make it difficult to get an accurate accounting of her wardrobe pieces and accessories.  I know that I have hidden things in the car or in the closet or tried to disguise new purchases so as not to bring attention to them until I was ready to justify the purchase.  I think my mother had a gift for creating this same type of confusion.  It was also helpful that she had four closets and the blessing of a deep top shelf in the walk-in closet in her room.

Mama loved the straw hats she wore in the southern heat.  I think all of her straw hats had large artificial flowers attached to them.  The one I remember most vividly was of the floppy, limp hat variety.  She wore it when she went out shopping or on picnics with her social club. Mama also donned straw hats when she worked in her flower garden.  Her hats completed her outfits even when she labored over her plants.

Mama also purchased beautiful hats for Sunday services.  She used to talk about “Sunday go to meeting clothes.”  Because being appropriately dressed for church was important to her, she invested her resources in making sure that she had an abundant selection of suits and dresses to wear to church and any other meeting for that matter.  No outfit was complete, however, without the accessories which included a hat.  There were hats in seemingly every color of the spectrum.  Her hats varied in shape, sizes, fabric textures, and color.  She had hats for all occasions like the black net for times she attended funerals or the pastel colored net for Easter service.  Some of the hats were accented with jewels and pins.  The selection of hats permitted her to coordinate the color and style of the hat with any dress or suit she might chose to wear for any occasion.  Most of her hats were stored in hat boxes with paper stuffed in them to maintain the shape.  In the years that led up to the start of her illness, she didn’t wear hats that often, but the hats remained a part of her identity.  I knew the hats were important to her, but I had no idea the hat boxes were valued by her to such a great extent until one particular visit to her home.

Once, my husband, my kids, and I went to visit Mama.  We spent days helping her clean out her frig, kitchen cabinets, and pantry.  Our visits home also involved taking her to run errands so that she could complete tasks that she saved until she had a visitor.  Often she used these trips as opportunities to reintroduce us to all of the folks she “traded” with in town.  It was always a rush to run all of the errands she had on her list and complete her list of chores before it was time for us to return home.  In addition, to the cleaning, errands, and chores, we had another ritual which involved pound cake.

My mom’s sister who lived in the area made the best pound cakes and every time we went home we would hope that Mama would remember to ask her sister to cook a pound cake for us.  All of us would survey the living room to see if the glass cake plate contained Auntie’s pound cake.  During the course of the visit, we would thank Auntie for baking the cake and we would also ask her to bake one for us to take home with us.  On this visit we ran short on time so in order for us to get the pound cake, another relative had to connect with my aunt and then deliver the cake to us.  Before we left, I put the cake which was already in a plastic bag into a brown paper bag.  My mother said, “You can’t take a pound cake on a plane in a paper bag!”  She went into her room and came back with a really pretty hat box.  I am not sure why it mattered if anyone knew that my paper bag held a cake wrapped in foil and tied up in a plastic bag.  It didn’t matter to me, but it mattered to my mama who ate her cake slices on a glass plate.  How did she ever raise a girl who was content to eat her pound cake over a napkin or over the palm of the other hand.

So, the pound cake played the role of a hat and found a temporary home in one of Mama’s prettiest and most prized hat boxes.  Mama felt a lot better about this method of transport.  She hugged me goodbye and said, “And don’t forget to bring my hat box back.”  I knew she meant every word of that directive.  My mother chose her words carefully and she loved what she loved.  I completely understood that she loved that hat box and she meant for me to bring it back to her unharmed.

We got on the flight in Birmingham and flew to Tampa.  After an enjoyable trip home, we landed in Tampa, got our bags, and got to the house.  As we pulled up to the house, I said, “Oh no! The cake!” I heard a swarm of other voices saying, “What?! The cake? Where?” Oh my goodness, we left the cake in the overhead compartment over our seats on the plane.  With fear and panic setting in I thought, “Oh no, Mama is going to kill me.”  I got on the phone quickly and called the airline to announce that I left a cake on the plane.  The nice lady said that they throw away food and beverages when they find perishable items that have been left on flights.  I told her that they wouldn’t know it was a cake because it was in a hat box.  She said, “Oh, well in that case, the hat box will be taken off of the flight when the plane is taken out of service.” I said, “Ok, good.  So, when can I come to the airport to pick up the hat box and the cake?” She responded, “That plane is on its way to Ft. Lauderdale.”  “What?! Do you think I will get the hat box back.  It is my mom’s and she will have a fit if I lose that hat box.”  The lady advised me that they would do a search for the hat and send a message to the folks at the South Florida airport to send the hat box with the cake back to Tampa.”  She came shy of promising that the cake and my mother’s hat box would be returned to me, but she did say that an airline representative would call if they recovered it and got it to Tampa.

Well, a day or so later I got a call that my package was at the airline office at the airport.  I raced over after work and the security guard outside let me leave my car at the curb while I ran in to collect my goods.  I remembered the directive to bring my picture I.D.  I quickly reached into my purse for the I.D. and ran into the airport.  I was greeted by the representative and I advised that I was there for a package.  I put my identification on the counter only to learn that I grabbed my credit card in my haste.  Frustration set in and I shook my head in disbelief.  The attendant asked what I was coming to retrieve and I said, “The cake in the hat box.”  Then, there was laughter.  The person said, “I will give it to you.  You are the only person I know who would be looking for a cake in a hat box.”  I was relieved to have Mama’s hat box back and thrilled that we were reunited with the pound cake.

Spirit filled!

Recently, I heard a comedian joking about people who say they are filled with the Holy Spirit.  The first time I ever heard anything about anyone “feeling the spirit,” being “filled with the spirit,” “getting the Holy Ghost,” or “getting happy” was when my dad’s mother started crying and praising the Lord at what seemed to me to be a very random time in the living room at my childhood home.  So, as a young child, her response to welcoming “the spirit” into her presence seemed very strange and weird.  As I remember the experience, I was headed into the living room with a light, skippy kid gait and froze in my tracks when I saw my grandmother twitching like she was having a seizure.  Huh?!  What the heck was going on?  She didn’t see me or realize I was there because she was definitely in the middle of some type of experience I did not understand.  I took that foot that was going to step forward and I put it down behind me, pivoted, and moved quickly and quietly in the other direction.  I went to find my daddy to tell him that something was going on with Big Mama.  I told him that she was reading her bible and singing a song and then something happened.  He said, “Oh, she’s  ok.  She just got the Holy Ghost.”  The thought bubble over my head read, “Oh, ok.  Thanks for making that clear, Daddy.”

“Getting the Holy Ghost” was not a normal occurrence in the church I grew up in where hymns and anthems were the custom.  My Big Mama was an evangelist who had a Pentecostal background. My church experience at Old Ship was a more formal service with a scripted format.  Outward expressions of your spiritual encounters were not discouraged; however, they just rarely happened.  In my church, you might have seen someone wipe a tear or give a head nod in approval of a point made by the pastor or in response to a scripture reading.   So, my Big Mama’s actions were pretty foreign to me as was my experience in my church one Sunday.  There was  an older sister who had been a visitor in the church for a few Sundays and she asked me to sit by her because she thought I was a sweet, cute little girl.  My mom thought it would be fine.  So, I agreed and took a seat way up front on the left side in about the second pew next to the lady.  I normally sat on the right side in the middle with other kids my age.  So, this move to sit with a woman who seemed very old to me on the far side of the church felt strange and uncomfortable.

My mother sang in the choir so I  spent a lot of time staring at her for reassurance.  She would give me her gentle smile and a head nod to assure me that I was performing an acceptable service to this old lady who needed the comfort of a young child.  Well, things were moving along like normal until the choir started singing a song.  We didn’t have a gospel choir at that time and even if we did they couldn’t have been singing that Sunday because my mom sang in the Cathedral Choir and a gospel song still would have sounded like an anthem if the Cathedral Choir sang it.  The pianist, the organist, and the choir had the melody bouncing from the stained glass windows and the dark wooden pews.  We had excellent musicians in our church who were very accomplished and respected.  My experience with the “Holy Ghost” had only been related to gospel music and the Pentecostal worshipper.  Because of my limited insights on this subject, I never expected that the Holy Ghost was even in my church and it never occurred to me that the Cathedral Choir and the gifted musicians could play anything that would invite the Holy Ghost up in that church.

Well, as the choir sang the selection, I soon figured out that my youthful worship experience was much different from that of the old lady next to me because she seemed to be the only one on the pew or in the general vicinity who knew that the song was ushering the spirit into the sanctuary and into her personal space.  I had no idea.  I was not aware until the smoothness of her black leather pocketbook slammed into my face as she sprang from her seat flinging her arms out to either side and proclaiming the name of the Lord and His goodness.  Shock and confusion overcame me.  I don’t believe there was any bruising, but I do remember the stinging sensation that followed the whack to the face.  What’s funny to me is that there was probably not a person, including the ushers, in my church who new the proper response to manage this worship expression.  I am almost certain in a church oozing with formality and protocol that there was nothing in the usher manual for this situation.  I don’t remember anyone coming to save me.  As I remember it, there were a lot of surprised looks and their thought bubbles probably said something like, “Oh my.  Who invited her?”  They might have also been thinking something similar to what I was thinking, “I will NEVER sit by this lady again in life!”

Writing about this experience reminds me of a time Big Mama was visiting us and my daddy dropped her off at Day Street Baptist Church.  She was always talking about how she wanted to find a church to attend when she was visiting our house.  I am not sure who told her that the service at this church would be more in line with her expectations for a worship service than my church. But, in all fairness, the black Baptist church had a reputation for being a bit more spirited than the A.M.E. Zion church my family attended.

Based on Big Mama’s intel, my daddy dropped her off at the church for the eleven o’clock service and came on back home.  At some point after the service began and prior to the scheduled end of the service, the phone rang at the house.   My daddy answered and I heard him say, “Ah huh. Ok. I’m on my way.”   He jumped up and grabbed his keys and I went too.  I said, “Where we going?”  He said, “I gotta go check on Mother.”  (He called Big Mama Mother.)  We hopped in the car and headed to the church.  When we drove up to the church, there were some men standing outside waiting for my father to arrive.  I think they were deacons or officers of the church.  I was sure Big Mama had gotten sick and needed medical attention.  I remember an “Aw hell, Mother” before my daddy went into the church.  The story was that they were having trouble moving the service forward because Big Mama had turned the sanctuary into a track meet.  She was running laps around the sanctuary exclaiming her love and gratitude for the Lord.   Like my church, this baptist church clearly had no protocol for this type of spiritual encounter either because they had to call my daddy and wait for him to get there to quiet the spirit and remove her from the church.  Oh my gosh, that had to be one of the funniest church memories.

I don’t know what experiences you have witnessed in churches, but these two and the one with the lady who rolled under pews in a Tennessee church after being “hit by the Spirit” made me cry with laughter.  The funniest part of that story was watching the ushers start to fan her with the church fans donated by the local funeral parlor then seeing the looks on their faces when she appeared to collapse even after their efforts to provide calmness and coolness.  We thought she fainted until we saw the ushers bending down and peering under pews like they were hunting Easter eggs.  Eventually, after rolling under three pews she surfaced at the front of the church.  They quickly popped a white sheet and covered her to prevent us from seeing all of her business.  Haha!  Too funny!  But, at least they had a plan.

 

Moving Day

My parents were school teachers.  They believed that they would retire in the school system in which they worked and that they would live in the same house all of their lives.  My parents believed they would work in the same field, in the same county, and have no change in their lives that meant a move would be initiated because of an employment change.  Those days of predictability, certainty, and security are gone for most folks, including my family.  Our family has lived in seven states and eight if we could count the state we lived in twice.  Over the years, we have lived in thirteen different houses or apartments plus two other places we maintained when we had a commuter family.

Each move delivers varied emotions and responsibilities. I think each move has a personality of its own with a story line like no other move.  For me, there was always the acceptance that the move was ahead and that change was visiting my house.  The decision to move was a decision that we controlled even when others believed the decision was inevitable because the job change occurred.  Once we decided to move,  the clock began running on the checklist of things that must be done before the scheduled move day from the current city and the list of things that must be done in the next city to prepare for the day my family and our belongings would arrive in the next city (keeping in mind that the things and the family may not arrive in the next city at the same time).

The most recent move brought some logistical issues that I had never encountered before simply because the move was from one coast to the other, from the southeastern region to the far western region of the country.  I was relocating to a place that resembled nothing that I considered familiar to me.  I was leaving the humid south for the dry dessert.  I was leaving an area with a melting pot of cultures and moving to a place with less cultural diversity.  I was moving from a place with seasonal concerns about tropical storms and hurricanes to live in a state where droughts and fires were common.  I had to keep redirecting my attention from the longing for the familiar to the task at hand – organizing and staging for the move.

Over the years, when I learned that we would be moving the first thing I did was contact the chamber of commerce in the new city to request a new resident packet.  The new resident packet always contained information about the city, including the events the locals enjoyed most, information about shopping in the area, facts about the schools, and a detailed map of the city.  I would read about the city and use the map to chart landmarks and street names to guide me directionally until I felt more comfortable driving around the city.  As intimidating as learning a new city was when we made the first move, it became the least of my concerns during later moves.  In more recent years, the internet has provided a new and welcomed method to learn about the targeted city.  I was able to visit the local chamber site then link to many other sites to gather information about my new city.

The checklist for the moves involved finding out whether the new employer would fund the move and if so how much was budgeted for the move.  The preliminary questions also included learning whether or not the employer had a moving company under contract a list of  the guidelines of the contractual agreement with the company that would pack, load, and move us.  You should find out if the new employer will pay the cost of transporting your vehicle(s), whether the company will pay for your family’s travel to the new city, and whether the move will include boats, livestock, or pets.  Call you insurance agent ahead of the move and inquire about insuring your property in the new state.  A call or search of the DMV site in the new state will also help you prepare for obtaining a new driver’s license and registration for you car(s).

Then, there was the paring down of things accumulated over the time we were in the last to determine what really needed to make the truck destined for the western desert.  The most recent move challenged me because most of our belongings were in a storage unit in Florida.  The unit housed almost everything that had been in our home in a midwestern state and those items that my husband used when he lived in a studio apartment the season prior in a southern state.  Because this move was of the cross-country variety, it would be more expensive than the regional moves we experienced in the past.  Additionally, we knew that whatever we left would be left forever.  This was also the first move in which we had to consider leaving a kid on the eastern side of the country to finish college, helping the other kid transition to yet another high school, and consider how life with a pet would impact the particulars of the move.

My trip to scout the new city had to be planned strategically.  It had to occur during the college spring break of one kid so that she could stay at the house with the other kid who was still in high school.  This trip to house hunt like other previous house hunting trips meant having a limited amount of time to search for housing and visit schools.  I had to get back to my kids.  So, before I left home I checked out the rental properties in the zip code of the high school that my husband decided would be the best option for our son.  I spoke to a realtor and gave him the list of properties that I wanted to see and the days that I could house hunt.  I also relayed the date we needed to move into the rental and the amount we budgeted for rent payments.  I had two days to find a place, visit the school to secure all registration materials for enrollment and sports, and take a driving tour of the city.

The best advice I have for the actual move is to build a good working relationship with the person who the moving company assigns to be your trip coordinator.  That person will assist you in coordinating the pick up and delivery of your shipment.  My coordinator was magnificent!  She reviewed the contract line by line with me to ensure that our shipment costs would not exceed the budgeted amount.  In addition, she removed unapproved charges placed on our bill by one of the shippers.  Moreover, she made certain that we received emergency funds to purchase food, a television, kitchen supplies, and hardware for our table after I called her to report that the movers left all of our televisions, all of the kitchen supplies, and the hardware for the tables in Florida.  The items we labeled as the most important items in the shipment had been left many states away when the crew ran out of space in the moving van.  What a mess! This mess upset my perfectly timed cable television installation for almost a week and it was NBA Finals season so my son was not happy.

If you ever have to move, I hope that something I wrote better prepares you for your move or provides a tip or two to enhance your relocation experience.  You should also know that no matter how well you plan something will happen during the process that you could not have planned or expected.  When those unexpected things happen address them as best you can and move on handling the things you can control like lining up the boxes in a specified location creating aisles between the boxes so that you can walk between the boxes when the time comes to check box numbers in an effort to ensure all of your property was delivered.   Also, make sure you use the help of the crew to help you place furniture so that you won’t have to do it after the movers are gone.  Make sue that you walk out to the truck near the end of the delivery and engage them in friendly conversation while you scan the truck for anything they may have left on the truck.

Make the best of the challenges that will come and find ways to enjoy the time that you must wait for the challenge(s) to be resolved.  My children said that it had been a long time since we played boardgames and just hung out without technology.  Since we had no television and no internet access, we opened the boxes of boardgames.  We played, we laughed, and did a lot of trash talking.  I can assure you that in the months and years that follow the move and the challenges it brought, you will laugh and shake your head when you think about the craziness that made the move frustrating.  I promise.

 

 

When life happens

Over the years, I have had many times when I thought that life happened to me.  I knew that those happenings would forever alter my life because my progress and journey were slowed to what felt like a crawl.  Often, I felt that my movement was stunted by the figurative boulders and gravel blocking my pathway.  There were other times when I just felt like the road just blew up into a million pieces and made the road completely impassable.

I remember shortly after my mother had a stroke about six years ago I found myself holding my breath.  I found that I was anxious and afraid.  I couldn’t believe that the circumstances in my life meant that I had to manage affairs at my house in addition to my mother’s affairs three states away.  I had to think about her medical care, the best places for her to receive the care she needed, and how to maintain her stuff.  I had to deal with the critics who always had commentary about my decisions, but no demonstrated desire to step in and provide a refuge or source of positivity for my mother or for me.  I had to trust the opinions and information of many strangers while keeping my emotions and physical weariness under control.  Well, at least I thought I was keeping it all under control.  The moment you realize that you are having recurring episodes of holding your breath and feeling like you are going to hyperventilate you have to admit to yourself that life is happening to you and that you must figure out how to manage the madness.  Involuntary episodes of shallow breathing frightened me and made me feel insecure about my ability to manage my life and the lives of those in my care.  I had to learn to take intentional breaths, six counts in and six counts out, while I envisioned beautiful sunsets in the distance over the bluest body of water imaginable.  I imagined brilliant rays of sun brushing across the waves.

Once I calmed my insides and my mind, I did what anyone in the midst of life happening would do – cry and wish things were different.  After shedding some tears of disbelief, talking to God about this unbelievable situation, and wishing it was different, I had to do what my son’s kindergarten teacher said her mother would tell her to do, “Buck up, Joan.”  Haha.  In times of crisis and chaos, there is just not a lot of time for crying and wishing for change.  I had to retrieve some memories of good days past, develop a plan, breath, and keep things moving in a positive direction.  Over the years, I have entertained myself and used verbal power to infuse the positive forces I needed into the moment.  Those powerful words enabled me to rise up and take control of the madness.  I dug deep for memories of comments and situations that made me chuckle or laugh.  For example, when we lived through what I called “The Kentucky Experience” a friend told me that my church should be upset with me for using up all the prayers when life handed me the top five things that cause stress – a hiring, a firing, a move, the birth of a child, and the death of a family member in six months.  Well, it’s funny now.  I remember the laugh I got when my mother was finally “passing” the test with the long term care insurance company and she asked me how she was doing.  As sad as it was, I found reason to be happy that she was finally going to receive the benefit of the years of paying premiums to the company and not being able to qualify when we requested consideration previously.  I would entertain myself by creating bumper sticker phrases to describe my world like “chaos is my normal” and “Laughter is all I got.”

I heard Justin Timberlake tell Oprah in an interview that he practices his routines so many times that it looks easy when he performs for an audience.  I have had times in my life when I wondered if the Master plan for me was to look like an expert at adjusting my emotional, physical, and organizational registers to deal with chaos.  I have thought that life brought challenges repeatedly until I demonstrated the ability to manage the crazy.  However, that train of thought failed to produce the positivity I needed to overcome the challenges.  In past and present situations, instead of thinking about the fact that there were recurring chaotic situations, I learned that I needed to force my brain to own that I was not that much of a failure.  My story had to be more about me being the best person on the planet to deal with the parade of chaotic situations moving through my space.  Moreover, I had to be the one uniquely designed to make the decisions and provide the direction that would guide my family members through whatever situation arose.  I had to learn to celebrate the gifts and skill sets that made me able to manage it all.  Prayers, perspective, breathing, laughing, and a positive attitude are key factors in managing your world “when life happens.”