Almost Spring

As I look around for signs of spring, I can actually feel the morning air is not stinging my skin when my four-leg friends wake me up for a quick potty break.  Although the time change has upset my body clock, I can almost manage leaving my warm bed in the morning. Giving myself a pep talk,  I look forward to walking across campus in the sunny warmed air. 

Yet spring is such a tease. Just when I think I can put away my long johns and wool pants, the weather spreads snow flakes on my day. According to my lunch table meteorologist, I can expect these variables in temperature for a few more weeks. Why did my spring break come so early?

summertime, some time

WHat is there about the hesitation of a season that allows reflection? Here among the cacophony of Georgia songbirds I am enjoying the change from the academic world to the simple existence of human being. Philosophers recommend awareness--live in the present moment. What a gift! To shut off the incessant demands of struggling in the "frizzle-frazzle" and take stock of one moment. As I sit enjoying this moment on Only Son's and #1Daughter-in-law'sporch, I momentarily forget the nagging emails and obligations of life. sweet summertime, some time! Moz poses as a mophead on the screened in porch. Button tries to usurp the real possessors of this mansion, Koda and Maya. for this rebellious act, she is relegated to the fenced in yard. This confinement strikes her as unjust. What a lovely enclosure of green! A silent thank you for whatever fates allow this moment to absorb and replenish.

Summer Is Coming

The time between graduation from college and the dismissal of elementary school reminds me of waiting between connections of trains. While the dress up ceremony of graduation marks the passage of another year of teaching and releasing students to their journeys to the real world, the occasion also marks a respite from the hustle bustle of vacation trips.

One has a chance to adjust from the strict routine of grading to the luxury of reading books that have nothing to do with one's discipline.

What a luxury to stay up late and lose oneself to a mystery with Special Agent Pendergast or Sherlock Holmes! Suddenly one can be transported from a stuffy office with final essays to a big game hunt in Kenya with the turn of a page.

Awareness of Time Passing

Several seniors I know say that they do not feel any older than they did when they were in their thirties. Their lives testify against all those commercials for pain relief medications we see on television or hear on the radio. They ignore all the hooks of advertising to buy products like stair lifts or alert devices that claim to maintain independence. Everyone enjoys the lovely actress who says, "That is for old people." Despite the hooks of advertising, the definition of old is undergoing revision.

If we listen to media, any pain is an symptom of old age. What makes these seniors unique from the image television pushes. Have they drunk from the fountain of youth and are pain free? Of course, illness visits their lives, but they do see a pain as an indication of approaching senility or infirmity. They are involved in living their lives, no matter what is happening in their bodies or the latest government ineptitude. They enjoy sharing the latest with new acquaintances or old friends, through telephones, email and personal encounters.

Clearly, these seniors have accepted the mantel of wisdom and experience as well as their authority of knowledge holders. For with all their experiences, they have much to share with younger generations. I hope that everyone has at least one of these rare humans in their lives. These authentic persons have much to teach us about living our lives. In fact, I have been blessed to know many of these special seniors. What is the secret to their outlook? For several, the view they hold on life informs many. Others keep involved in the world through reading, working, enjoying companionship and giving of their talents. They did not share the idea that life is over once you are eligible for AARP. They do conform to limitations of age or the model of a granny rocking in her senior living center room.

Reflection

Christmas is a magical time for children and those who keep wonder in their hearts. However, one problem has surfaced in the difficulty of keeping Christmas from becoming the commercial competition that advertising colors it. Television and periodicals bombard us with messages to show our love by buying special tokens of affection. The message of hope and joy becomes a distorted jingle: If a person cares enough or wants to make a dear one happy, he or she will purchase some expensive item that requires months to pay off.

Other ads assault audiences indirectly with feelings of inadequacy. Husbands become targets for guilt if they do not have a beribboned new automobile in the driveway for the little woman.

To the dismay of mature women, ads show glamorous young women in lingerie to persuade them that all they need is a new scanty garment to gain the adoration of a spouse.

The underlying message hints that we must buy to feel whole or less needy. Magically, all our problems of the job, family, and friends will disappear if we make our love manifest in materials for those around us. But the targets do not cease with male and female.

After a dose of commercial guilt ads, even grandparents feel the need to make sure that every grandchild has an equal amount of gifts. Tight budgets fade in proportion to the mounting importance of give, give, give.

At the same time, charitable organizations put in their bid for the holiday spendfest. Visual ads call attention to those individuals who barely manage to eat in foreign countries and our own society. Entering the grocery store, a bell ringer wishes us Merry Christmas and reminds us that not everyone will have a happy holiday.

As time passes, I realize that I am no purist and have felt the tug of media's call to transform Christmas. Yet I, too, have heard the message to remember those who have less and share. My problem with the current trend is why only one season to remember others. Perhaps this rant boils down into commemorating Christmas in our own unique way.

We can give something more wonderful and unique by listening to those we love or those who feel forgotten, and we can provide joy. We can recognize and value another human being. A gift can be a smile we give a stranger or the time to inquire how life is treating someone.

Many observe Christmas going to church and celebrating the birth of our savior. This may truly be one way to check the seasonal insanity.

But whatever way we keep Christmas, we must be actively vigilant to restore a magical time of wonder.

Without Saying Goodbye

I remember reading somewhere that the loss of a loved one is the first time in our lives that we begin to know what it is to miss someone. Only after we experience the absence of a person do we fully realize how much they filled our lives. When I was nine, I lost my father. At that age, I was not fully aware of how much his passing affected my life. As life continued, I began to accept the natural order of life events: birth, living, death and missing. While some find comfort in the promise of seeing those who have gone before us someday, we must still daily live with the pain of those absent from our lives.

Recently, a friend made me aware of the importance of living in the moment. This friend was not a childhood companion nor a school chum. She became my friend by accident, and I was granted the privilege to know her, hear her stories and break bread with her on Thursday nights in the warm months of the year. Little did I realize that these occasions were not to be taken for granted. I guessed that these enjoyable times would continue indefinitely. So many times, we as humans do not realize that life is a short gift of which we must make the most. I am guilty of trying to think of life and those important to us as a given. Today I want to express my gratitude for lessons learned from a friend:

Lesson One—make life more beautiful than we find it. My friend ritually planted her environment with flowers. She shared her knowledge of plants with family and friends. I remember a story of how she recommended hollyhocks to a new neighbor because the flower would enhance a front yard dramatically. Another time, she told of the pleasure of helping her daughter with the landscaping at a new home. Faithfully, every year no matter how illness was slowing her down, she maintained her ritual of gardening and planting. She found joy in the simple beauty of life.

Lesson Two—share a laugh with those around us. My

friend valued every person who found themselves in

her presence. She shared the stories of her childhood, the people of her small town, and the events of her life. If one would listen closely, she was instructing listeners that perspective is the important part of retelling. I do not recall her complaining of life's disappointments nor the unfulfilled dreams of her life. Truly, I believe she was leading by example. If a person has to mention or complain, make the experience funny.

Lesson Three—cherish the living. In the recent years, she made sure to spend time with her family: husband, daughter, grandsons and son-in-law. Even though the chill of winter stiffened her bones, she made sure to return to the colder season for the holidays. During these times, we would gather as friends to break bread together. In addition, she would meet for breakfast at the small restaurants with her husband and friends, of which my husband was one. At other times, she would enjoy repast with her lunch bunch or the morning diners. Everyone in her group from fellow customer to staff listened to the stories of antique finds or shopping trips or a funny story she had heard.

Lesson Four—spread kindness. I will not divulge the many charitable acts that she performed anonymously. She did not want to spoil the simple joy of giving by making her contribution known. She believed that a gift was meant for the recipient, and a thank you only embarrassed her. Everyone was welcome at her table. She did not recognize unknowns to treat them as strangers. They were her fellow travelers on this journey.

Lesson Five—be honest. My friend was not one to mince words. If someone earned her dislike, she did not pretend otherwise. As my life partner often admired, she was not a hypocrite; she was real. If you were her friend, she felt compassion for your trials and short comings. She accepted human frailty for what it is, a characteristic of human imperfection.


Lesson Six—Face life with courage. Though ill, she confronted her body changes with grace. Occasionally, she might mention a new condition, but she did not bemoan her destiny. She bravely stared at these physical limitations with humor. She learned to adapt to new situations. When her eyesight blurred, she enjoyed listening to books on tape. She made an effort to carry on her daily tasks in spite of diminishing stamina.

Lesson Seven—Live each day to its fullest. Celebrate your friendships and friends. Share the time we have on this earth with those we love. Laugh loudly. Care about those we love. Accept aging gracefully, but never give up the battle.

Dearest Friend,

I wish I had known what a place you held in my heart before you left. Thank you for showing and reminding me how short this life is. Since you left so suddenly, today I finish my phone calls to family and friends with “I love you” because your departure denied me the opportunity. Accumulating candles on the cake does not mean we lose our ability to enjoy life or others, only the chance to singe our hair.

God hold you in his hands, Marian.

Visit with the Past

During a whirlwind visit with relatives and friends in the South, I enjoyed a side trip to the Uncle Remus Museum in Eatonton, Georgia. Not only did I get to view the hard work of a community, who take pride in its famous descendants, but I also had the pleasure of some long buried memories of childhood.

This museum is dedicated to the author of The Tales of Uncle Remus, Joel Chandler Harris. Harris recorded the stories he heard from the sages of the black community of Eatonton.

Garden at the Uncle Remus Museum in Eatonton, Georgia.










Luckily born to a family who read, I listened to hours of stories. Although reading may have been a device to make me sleepy, I anticipated story time. Not only did my grandfather read Aesop's Fables to me, but also my mother read The Tales of Uncle Remus to me.

My Disnetized Version

Some of you may be shocked that I was raised on the latter tales. However, during my childhood the works of Joel Chandler Harris had not yet been labeled racist propaganda. My only remembrance was how anxious I felt for Brer Rabbit with all the tricks Brer Fox and Brer Bear played on him. As the story continued, I would become very worried that the fox and bear would get the best of the little rabbit. In fact, this rabbit appeared in many of those bedtime stories like The Tales of Peter Rabbit and Uncle Wiggily.

Even more interesting was the fact that when the local theater featured Song of the South, we were all impressed with the technicolor images. I was really too young to appreciate the full effect of the film's technology, but I will never forget the song "Zippedy Do Dah." Perhaps the time seemed happier because the war was over; the future looked bright with all the modern inventions and discoveries. Living in a small Midwestern town, we did not realize how limited our view of the world was. We assumed that everyone was treated fairly and had equal opportunity.



Later the times changed, and we could no longer assume that fairness was universal. As a community we could not hide from the truth that many did not enjoy the same rights and privileges. We came of age in the civil right movements. We were shocked at the treatment of the minorities. In our effort to correct this unfairness, we tried to remove anything that seemed to demean others. Some of our literary works gained pejorative reputations if they contained hints of past injustice. For example, books like "Little Black Sambo" were assumed to be about Africans and banned from bookshelves.





Were we so concerned about a heritage the perpetrates discrimination that we failed to closely examine the geographical facts? Tigers do not live in Africa but are native to India. Perhaps this case was the same with Uncle Remus. Instead of seeing the historical values of preserving African tales, outraged progressives decried its racial links to the practice of slavery. Even Huckleberry Finn became suspect of preserving racial inequality and joined the list of banned works.





Have we become so phobic that we cannot see any historical value of these books? Truly slavery was a disgraceful practice, but we cannot deny its existence. Why do we look for ghosts to the point of losing the record of African American folk tales heard by a man who became a columnist and editor for the Atlanta Constitution?