You are hereReflections


  • warning: Creating default object from empty value in /home3/tjwise/public_html/modules/taxonomy/ on line 34.
  • strict warning: Non-static method view::load() should not be called statically in /home3/tjwise/public_html/sites/all/modules/views/views.module on line 906.
  • strict warning: Declaration of views_handler_argument::init() should be compatible with views_handler::init(&$view, $options) in /home3/tjwise/public_html/sites/all/modules/views/handlers/ on line 744.
  • strict warning: Declaration of views_handler_filter::options_validate() should be compatible with views_handler::options_validate($form, &$form_state) in /home3/tjwise/public_html/sites/all/modules/views/handlers/ on line 607.
  • strict warning: Declaration of views_handler_filter::options_submit() should be compatible with views_handler::options_submit($form, &$form_state) in /home3/tjwise/public_html/sites/all/modules/views/handlers/ on line 607.
  • strict warning: Declaration of views_handler_filter_boolean_operator::value_validate() should be compatible with views_handler_filter::value_validate($form, &$form_state) in /home3/tjwise/public_html/sites/all/modules/views/handlers/ on line 159.

Thanksgiving Gratitude

I first shared this post November, 2007. I don't think I could write anything else that better reflected how I feel this Thanksgiving or every day of the year.

Happy Thanksgiving to all of my US friends, and to everyone, I wish you a year filled with abundant blessings and gratitude!

Reflect upon your present blessings, of which every man has plenty; not on your past misfortunes of which all men have some." ~Charles Dickens~

          In a couple of days it will be Thanksgiving, and I must admit, I know exactly how the Pilgrims felt. They invited their new Native American friends over for dinner, and they were astonished when they stayed for three days! Talk about a challenge! Those early American hostesses needed to figure out how to turn leftovers into savory meals that would nourish and sate a houseful of noisy guests for what was perhaps the first 3 day weekend! As I prepare for my out-of-town children to descend, I check and recheck the pantry and fridge to make sure I have enough on hand to keep their tummies full and their taste buds delighted. Unlike the Pilgrims, I have the luxury of planning our meals and sleeping arrangements, but I can visualize our creative foremothers, scratching their heads under their starched bonnets, and coming up with yet another way of serving the Thanksgiving bird! (Which, I’ve been told,  was pheasant, not turkey!)

            When thinking about this year’s Thanksgiving story, many delightful tales come to mind. There was the year my brother and his wife bought a turkey that was so huge it wouldn’t fit in a roaster, and they placed it directly on the lowest rack of the oven. (Instead of cleaning the oven afterward, they threw it out! They really did need a new oven, this just hastened the process!) Or the year my daughter brought home 2 college dinner guests. One was from India and one from Korea. Neither had celebrated an American Thanksgiving, and after loosening their belts and reaching comatose levels of gluttony, they whole-heartedly concurred that America was truly a wondrous place! Or the Thanksgiving when I threw up every 10 minutes (a terrible case of morning sickness) and was fearful that the smell of roasting turkey would forever be nauseating to me! (Fortunately, I got over that!)

            Finally, I decided to share a story that has nothing to do directly with Thanksgiving, but it is in fact, all about giving thanks. My mother grew up on a farm in a tiny town in Texas. My maternal grandmother, Bushia, had 13 children. Before she passed away she had buried four of her own children; her first born died of heart problems when she was just three days old, a ten month old son died of pneumonia just as he was learning to take his first steps, a son was killed in the Korean War, and her oldest son died of a heart aneurysm. I can’t even begin to imagine taking care of so many people while spending a total of TEN YEARS PREGNANT! But most significantly, I can’t imagine living in a time and place where common childhood illnesses were life threatening. (My fraternal great-grandparents lost all five of their children in one episode of influenza before leaving Poland and starting all over in America!)

            But on to my story! One day my cousin and I were visiting Bushia. We were sitting around the kitchen table comparing notes, and I suppose, complaining…a lot. (In our defense, I wish to point out, at the time neither of us were married, and we were bemoaning our boyfriends, not husbands and children, so I gotta think Bushia’s reaction was probably fueled by listening to her own daughters complain, and we were simply the recipients of the proverbial “final straw” syndrome!) She was busy fussing in the kitchen, coming in and out of the room, and not directly involved in our conversation. We were shocked and aghast when on one of her “pass-throughs” she stopped, slammed her hand on the table, and said, “You women have it so easy today. When I was a young woman I didn’t have dishwashers or washing machines. I couldn’t go to the grocery store to buy dinner, and there wasn’t a television to watch if I got bored. I didn’t worry about how much attention my husband was showing me, I was too busy! So was he. A good day was a day that everyone got fed and no one died. Stop whining and start being grateful for what you have.”

            With those words she went about her business…even in old age she was always busy making her house a home and providing for the comfort of others. And she was happy…or maybe a better word was content. My cousin and I continued to sit around the table talking, rather shame-faced, both making a silent pact to NEVER vent around Bushia again! But in my heart, I knew she was right. Not that our lives today are perfect and without worries. We have concerns today that my grandmother never had to contend with, but the most valuable lesson I learned that day was that happiness is not something given to you by other people or things; it’s something within you that permeates everything you do. Every day you can choose to focus on the things you don’t have or be grateful for the things that you do.

            So this Thanksgiving, and every night before going to sleep, I take a moment to ponder my day. In the simplest of terms, if I can say “Everyone was fed today and no one died” it WAS a good day, worthy of praise, and a reason for Thanksgiving!  

A Day In the Life of the Chronically Disorganized

NOTE: I'm back! To all my friends that use to follow me here, I hope you will find your way back to the fold. I've missed you all :)


Me: Tim, have you seen my to-do list?

Tim: What's it look like?

Me: Like a piece of paper with stuff written on it. ((Geeze!))

Tim: Can you be more specific?

Me: No. I can't remember if I wrote it on the back of an envelope or on a blank piece of paper.

Tim: ((Rifling through one of my piles.)) Found it!

Me: ((Inspecting the list)) ((Heavy sigh)) That's an old list.

Tim: Then why don't you throw it out?

Me: Because I haven't done everything on this list. ((Getting a little preturbed))

Tim: Am I done here?

Me: Sure.

At this point I grab a new piece of paper. And I, of course, start a new to-do list.

1. Find all of my other to-do lists and combine them.

This is a typical day in the life of a disorganized person... or at least THIS disorganized person! Don't get me wrong. I get a lot done... perhaps more than your bear (Yogi, anyone?) but I admire, nah, I am envious of organized people. I've got to believe they get more done. I tend to do what is historically referred to as "spinning my wheels", although I'm not sure as to the wheels of which they speak. (Note to self: look up the etymology of that phrase.)

Anyway... I soooo want to be organized. Tim, God love this perfect human being, has done lots of project managing. So, as always, I turn to him.

Me: Please help me get organized. I get so overwhelmed some days I wind up curled in the fetal position, sucking my thumb, and do nothing.

Tim: Okay, what I want you to do is to sit down and make a list of ten things you need to accomplish. BTW... I've never seen you suck your thumb.

Me: Figure of speech. Anyway, I have way more than 10 things I need to do.

Tim: ((Dropping a stack of 3 x 5 cards on the table.)) Doesn't matter. Just list the first 10 things you think about. Chances are they will be the most important and the ones you should tackle first.

Me: Hey, do you want to take a drive with me to Staples?

Tim: What do you need to go to Staples for?

Me: Well, if I'm going to have stacks of 3 x 5 cards, I need somewhere to put them. As a matter of fact, I should go to Michaels. It would be so cute to get a wooden box to keep them in. It would be adorable if I painted the box to look like a steamtrunk. I think saw something like that on the net. ((Turning to me computer.))

Tim: Am I done here?

Me: ((Lost in Pinterest)) Huh?

So, be honest... are you the super organized type that would make my mouth drool or do you tend to leave post-it notes everywhere, then use them to blow your nose if you run out of kleenex?



Soulful Dichotomy

Tim and I have this nature dichotomy thing going. On one hand we love animals and encourage their residence in our yard. We pay more money monthly for our bird seed and peanuts than we do our cable, and if we had to give up one, the t.v. would go. We established a National Wildlife Federation's Certified Wildlife Habitat in our yard, and have the sign to prove it! And we spend time every morning having coffee with the birds and squirrels.

On the other hand, we are gardeners. And by virtue, we are often at odds with the animals we invite into our yard. Bottom line, wildlife ARE NOT courteous guests. They have little respect for our property, never offer to help, and I've yet to get a thank-you note from a single one. We read about natural ways to keep the animals out of the areas we don't want them, but obviously they don't read the same books because it seldom works. And they never seem content with the virtual cornucopia of gastronomic delicacies we put out for them. Instead, after filling their bellies with seeds and nuts, they move on to tender foliage and juicy roots.

We've managed to curtail the abuses of rabbits and deer enough to get meager crops from our yard, but what we've never been able to get a handle on, is the destruction from chipmunks. Such cute little guys, gluttonously filling their cheeks with seeds, planting them deep in the ground, only to forget where they stuck them later. But we're okay with that. The problem is they like to tunnel under our perennial beds and eat the roots. Their destruction is camouflaged and deadly. This is how it works. You have a lovely plant in your yard, let's say a coral bell. It looks beautiful and healthy. No nibble marks on it. Then one day, when you are watering, you notice the bottom leaves look a little wilty. When you reach down to examine the plant, the whole bloody thing falls over. There isn't a root left to anchor it to the ground or to nourish the plant. And in the corner, just out of reach, a chipmunk is rubbing it's belly, enjoying the afterglow of a gourmet's nosh.

The only way we've found to deal with chipmunks, is to trap them, and take them for a long drive. On a good summer's day, we can relocate 8 of these little rodents. Because I really hate breaking up families, we always drop them off at the same place, hoping they'll be reunited with their loved ones. It's this lovely, quaint little country cemetery, and I don't think the residence mind their roots being munched on.

Given this on going battle, it might come as a bit of a shock, when yesterday morning, Tim looks out of our bedroom window and says, "Oh no. There's a chipmunk in the pool." Looking out the window, I see a chipmunk doggy paddling for all he's worth. This is just a little plastic sided pool we keep on the deck for the kids to splash around in after they get out of the big pool. (This is where they have their evening bathes on many summer's nights.) But once in, the little guy could not get out. I'm not sure how long he was in there, but when Tim scooped him out, and laid him on the deck, it was obvious he was nearing death, and undoubtedly heading toward the light!

He was so pathetic. How long had he been there? What little chipmunk thoughts were going through his head? I wonder if he was thinking about all the things he had yet to accomplish in his life. There were so many coral bells yet to be ate. Had he properly prepared his children for survival? From my bedroom window, I'm telling Tim to lift his head and rub his chest. Doubting his ability to properly resuscitate a drowning rat, I headed outside, wrapped the little guy in a towel, and began stroking his chest. "Don't give up little, guy. You made it this far, don't die on us now." After about 15 minutes of stroking him, I sent Tim in the house to get another dry towel. We were going to make a little bed for him until he got his strength back. When Tim came out, carrying the towel, it felt warm. "I heated it up for him." (I kid you not.) We placed the towel in a basket making a little nest, and set the little guy inside. He briefly lifted his head, I'm going to believe he was thanking us, then settled in.

He was still wrapped in the towel a half an hour later when I needed to leave the house, but his nose was twitching more, and he tried to dig deeper in the towel when he saw me. When I came home 2 hours later, he was gone. I felt elated. I know tomorrow I'll be griping about the chipmunks in the garden. I will gently chide our border collie for not chasing them off, and we'll set a trap in hopes of transporting another chipmunk over the county line. But we'll go nose to nose with a strong and healthy chipmunk. We were not going to take advantage of the little guy's weakened state. I'd like to think he will repay our kindness by sticking to bird seed and leaving our plants alone. But a fish has to swim, a bird has to fly, and a chipmunk has to nibble on roots.


Gone, but not forgotten

Okay... Don't you hate it when you stumble upon a blog, through divine intervention or happenstance, and fall madly in love with it, only to realize that the author has not contributed anything for months... maybe even years. "Bad form", I scream! "I enjoy your blog. What right do you have to stop? I was never consulted." When a blog you enjoy closes up shop, we all experience a sense of loss. It's like a friend moving to another country, and leaving no means of getting in touch with them. Just like our fascination with obscure childhood television stars of our youth, we want to know "Where are they now?" To quote Edward Cullen, "I hope you enjoy disappointment." In the blog world, we aren't always given the final chapter!

Blogs give us insight into other people's lives. Sometime they are chatty, sometimes they are helpful, but all the great ones are personable. We want to "hang out" with the author. We develop a sense of friendship, even though it is often one sided. We get to know the author, and begin to anticipate how they will react in a given situation. We feel their pains and share their jubilations. I guess that's a large part of friendship, isn't it? But just like the "real world", sometimes we have to say goodbye and wish our friend good luck.

I do wonder what's become of the authors of some of the blogs I enjoyed. Did they take on new responsibilities that put time restraints on their blog time? Did they just grow weary and decide to go on hiatus... indefinitely? Heck, were they abducted by aliens? We may never know. BUT I would like to send out a generic "Thank you" to everyone out there that has written blogs that I enjoy reading. You have brightened my days with witty repartee, shared recipes for delicious meals, taught me some new crafting techniques, shared your take on recently read novels, and generally, enhanced my life. If it is time for you to move on, I wish you well. If you decide to come back, I'll be waiting. That is, after all, what friends do, right?  

BTW and FYI... This was not a preamble to telling you I am leaving the blog world. I am not closing up shop, although "reliability" hasn't been a catch word with me lately... at least not here at One Gen! No. It's just that recently a couple of well read and enjoyed blogs have grown quiet and it's given me pause, and cause, to wonder... Anyway, hope everyone is having a lovely summer and doing some "living in the moment"!   


Strange Bedfellows

There is a saying attributed to Charles Dudley Warner, “Politics makes strange bedfellows” which most people have heard and understand. There are times in politics, when people of seemingly opposite beliefs, are forced by circumstance to work together toward a common goal. What most people don’t know is that like many “quotable” quotes, it was first penned by Shakespeare in The Tempest: “Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.” This was uttered by a man shipwrecked on an island who must seek shelter besides a sleeping monster.

Although I have not found myself sleeping next to any monsters, I have found the misery that has touched our nation, has brought together many unlikely bedfellows. The other day I was having my furnace cleaned. Although the service technician has been to my home many times before, we’ve never really talked. I’m not sure how we got there, but soon we were sitting at the kitchen table, talking economics and its impact on our own families. I learned things about this man I never would have known if not for this crisis. But people are scared, and when we are scared, we band together.

The frustration level in this country is running so high right now, in part because we are a people of action, and NO ONE knows what to do. So, here is my one piece of advice to everyone for all it is worth, “Be excellent to one another.” We are ALL in this together, and we should be there for one another.

If misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows, sleep around. We can all use a good hug.