Giving More Than Crumbs

I was scrambling to get ready for work. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my children get on the school bus. Two minutes later I saw Annie from next door running toward the bus stop.

Poor Annie. My heart ached. I’d have to tell her she’d missed the bus. I should tell her that I’d take her to school. But the school was three miles in the opposite direction and I was already running late for work.

My mind reeled. I could afford to be twenty minutes late for work. Or could I? If Annie’s dad, who worked second shift and slept late, had to get up and take her to school she’d get a tongue-lashing all the way. I’d heard him yelling at his children many times. But should I interfere in their family problems?

In the end, the selfish chicken in me won out. I let Annie solve her own dilemma and went to work.

That evening, getting ready for a meeting at church, I remembered I was supposed to bring food for the Human Concerns kitchen for the needy. I pulled some canned goods from my overflowing cupboard and tossed them into a bag.

On the way to church I thought, How much of a sacrifice is it for me to give up that food? Most of it is stuff I’ve had on my shelves for months. Who likes canned lima beans anyway? Then I thought about Annie. Taking her to school would have been much more of a sacrifice and a better solution to her struggle than my tossing a few canned goods into a box for the needy. Why can’t you be more giving, more considerate of others in a more personal way? I asked myself.

Have you ever been guilty of giving just the crumbs of your excess? From now on, let’s both try harder to give to others until we can actually feel the loss, and then the redemption, ourselves.

Get Over Yourself

The winter before my dad’s sixty-ninth birthday, he and his retired friend Fritz decided to clear away trees and brush along a canal just a few blocks from Dad’s house. Every morning Dad and Fritz bundled up and with their gas-powered chain saws blasted away the overgrowth on the slope next to the water. By springtime, they’d cleared a mile-long stretch six to eight feet wide. The next winter, with the help of a few more volunteers they recruited, they did 1.2 miles, completing the project.

Impressed with the canal’s new look, the Rock River Development Authority widened and resurfaced the path along the canal for bikers, walkers and joggers, and in July that year organized raft and canoe races. Then the Department of Conservation did some landscaping and added a ramp to the path for the handicapped.

Because of the initiative of two retirees in their late sixties, a beautiful new state parkway was created for the whole county to enjoy. Dad says the harder he worked those two winters, the better he felt and the more energy he had. “Doing something positive for the town makes me feel good about myself!” he added.

I know one thing, when struggles get me down the surest way to reclaim my smile is to organize an event for the residents of my neighborhood. Whether it’s a dinner at a favorite restaurant, a card game, pool party, or craft fair in the clubhouse across the street, doing something for others to enjoy is a blues blaster for sure. Doesn’t hurt to keep busy, either.

If you’re thinking, I don’t have time, that’s just an excuse. Remember the old saw about, “If you want something done, give the job to the busiest person you know.” It’s true, busy people are the most organized people.

Let's all think about it. Let's ease our struggles by volunteering. Ask somebody who does. They’ll convince you.

Never Hug an Alligator

There’s something about alligators that intrigues me so much that I will bike five miles each way to a park to see the ‘gators that live in the lake there. Once, when I first moved to Florida, while riding my bike on the narrow path around the perimeter of that lake, I saw a seven-foot-long ‘gator sunning itself on the shore. I jumped off my bike, grabbed my camera and quietly moved closer and closer to get a good shot.
Five feet from the massive creature I took another step. The gator started to move slowly toward the water. I stepped closer. Just as I lifted my camera I heard a loud nerve-numbing growl and then Pow!...its tail slapped the water. The gator had done a 180 degree turn and was telling me to back off. I raced off on my bike without looking back.
I learned later that an alligator can run as fast as a horse and I’d better hold my distance, especially during mating season. That made me think about all the things in my new life in Florida I had to learn to respect. Like the Florida sun. It too, can be a killer. So I started using sunscreen liberally every time I ventured out from 10am-4pm.
Another thing I need to respect with great care is my diet. There are so many restaurants and early-bird specials down here that it would be easy to eat out three or four times a week. But I need to avoid the high fat, high cholesterol, high sugar, low fiber foods that many restaurants serve.
Most of all I have to respect my relationship with Jack. He needs his time and space, just like I do. His space includes watching football, hockey, basketball and baseball games on TV. He’s retired and enjoys recliner time in between his active lifestyle with me. So I’ve learned to take advantage of the times we’re apart by getting all sorts of things accomplished in my own condo. Writing books is my favorite accomplishment.
Yup. I have to admit those gators have taught me a lot about respecting others as well as myself.

LIFE IN 3-D

One day when I was taking my morning walk, I noticed a sheep in someone’s yard. Upon closer inspection I saw that it was only a piece of plywood cut out in the shape of a sheep with a face painted on it and real sheep wool attached to the wood.

As I continued my walk into the next block, I noticed a girl sitting in a swing that was hanging from a tree. A few houses beyond that was a woman in a red plaid dress bent over pulling weeds in her garden and her bloomers were showing. Both she and the girl in the swing were also wooden cut-outs. Before I got home, I saw cut-outs of birds, painted red and blue, and placed in the trees of a house on the corner. Somehow I felt cheated by all these flat animals and people.

When I got home I saw my teenage son totally engrossed in the two-dimensional images of his computer. Later that night I sat staring at the TV set, being entertained by flat two-dimensional images.

I wondered if we aren't becoming a nation of zombie-like creatures who are entertained, informed and educated by flat, single-sided images. Are we becoming watchers instead of doers?

I heard of one high school girl who sent over ten thousand text messages to her friends in one month’s time. She had to have psychological help to break her addiction as do many teens and adults who sit glassy-eyed in front of two-dimensional screens. My sister-in-law and niece recently opted out of Facebook because they discovered they spent way too many hours in front of the computer, addicted to two-dimensional socializing.

I say it's time we turn our two-dimensional lifestyles into three-dimensional real life experiences. Instead of flat, fake pets we can make sure our children grow up with real pets. Instead of watching life whiz by on TV, we can make sure we all have more opportunity for outdoor adventures and travel. Instead of being captured by the computer, I-phone, and go-with-us-everywhere laptops we can limit the time we spend in front of any screen, TV, computer, cell phone, or video game.

I, for one, plan to get a grip and recapture life in 3-D. Time to get outside and discover the real world instead of virtual reality.

HOPE Floats and Floats

For twenty-four years when I lived in Milwaukee I loved sitting on my second story deck in the spring and summer having tea with the birds, squirrels and gentle breezes. I was at eye level with a thick forest of trees twice as high as my two-story house.

During the icy, cold, snowy, dreary winters, the trees looked like a maze of brown, barren, leafless sticks. Instead of thick green leaves, all I could see from the deck were roofs in the subdivision behind me. During those winter days I’d look at photos taken during the warm months. I’d hope for warmer days, for leaves to appear, for the lush green to return.

I've hoped for many things over the years. When I sprained my ankle I hoped for pain free days. When my mother died at age 57 I hoped for a time when my every thought wasn't consumed with her untimely death. When my 2nd husband married his girlfriend the very day our divorce was final, I hoped I'd survive the humilation. When he died two years later, I hoped for courage and strength to raise our son alone and my three teens from my first marriage. When I decided to sell my lovely six-bedroom house in Wisconsin and get rid of two-thirds of everything I owned and move to a small condo in Florida, I hoped I had the ability and strength to say goodby to wonderful old friends and start a new life a thousand miles away. When my only sister's only son was killed in a plane crash at age 18, I hoped she and her husband had the stamina and strength to suffer through the grief and gently move forward with their lives.

Hope is what gets us through. One of the books I've written is titled "THE FIVE THINGS WE NEED TO BE HAPPY And Money Isn't One of Them." One of those five things is HOPE. Something to hope for. Hope may be my favorite of the five things because it covers so much territory, expands our horizons, gives us courage to go on and helps take us out of the past and into the future.

Hope is better than a day on a deck in the summertime.

Friends, anyone?

1989 was one of those years when everything went wrong. The man I'd been dating for eight months suddenly moved to Oklahoma. My oldest daughter Jeanne was caught smack dab in the middle of one of California's most devastating earthquakes. Shortly after that my ex-husband died of leukemia, a devastating loss for our nine-year-old son Andrew. Then a woman named Sonny, whom I'd only met once in my life, moved to Milwaukee from Georgia and decided I was going to be her best friend since I was the only person she knew in the whole state of Wisconsin. Only I didn't have the energy to be anybody's best anything that year.

That's when I formed a group of women called The Swill Gang. SWILL stands for Southeastern Wisconsin Interesting Ladies League. I had to find a few good friends for Sonny.

In addition to finding friends for Sonny, all of us in the Swill Gang took each other under each other’s wing. We women laughed, cried, consoled, prodded, jabbered and generally uplifted each other out of whatever struggles any of us were experiencing at the moment. We found so much healing in our laughter and conversation that we continued to meet six to eight times a year for over seventeen years until I moved to Florida in 2004.

Perhaps today is the day we start flying easier by getting into formation with others who can provide social and spiritual uplift. I learned years ago not to be afraid to make that first phone call to get the formation started.

Happy Birthday George

During a three-day visit to Philadelphia, I toured Congress Hall, Independence Hall and Carpenter’s Hall—restored buildings that tell the secrets of where and how the Declaration of Independence was written and where the first presidency was carried out.

I felt a sense of awe as I gazed at the elaborate silver inkstand used to sign the Declaration of Independence more than two hundred years earlier, and then ran my hand down the very same wooden banister on the same stairway George Washington used in Independence Hall during his two terms as president from 1789 to 1797. From 1790 to 1800, the nation’s capitol was in Philadelphia, while Washington, D.C. was being built.

What amazed me most about my trip through American history was Washington’s humility. Our guide told us that the people of Philadelphia built an elaborate palace for Washington outside the city for him to live in while he was president. Yet he refused to live in it, feeling his place was among the people. He also refused to serve more than two terms as president even though he would have been easily reelected to a third term. Rather than follow the example of England’s monarchs who ruled for their lifetime, Washington felt that no U.S. president should be in power more than eight years. In a precedent-setting act of humility, in the face of many struggles during his presidency, after just two terms, he stepped down and, in effect, handed the presidency to John Adams.

That visit to Philadelphia taught me that the struggles of leadership are framed in acts of humility. I also learned that humility is a very appealing characteristic in a human. I’m going to practice it today in honor of George Washington. I’ll do something quietly for someone else without any big announcement. I suspect that if we humble ourselves by being servants to those we love, perhaps we’ll be revered the way Washington was revered by his countrymen.

Mom's Amazing Budget

When my mother died at age 57 of ALS, Lou Gehrig’s disease, I never thought I’d survive my grief. I was 33 years old and pregnant with my fourth child. I’m not sure which upset me more, the loss of her daily friendship or the fact that she would never see or know my youngest child, Andrew.
Shortly after Mom died, Dad gave me a box of papers from her desk. Included were her down-to-the-penny household statements for each month during my childhood years.
Every month she paid eleven bills by check: house payment, taxes, insurance, utilities, groceries, etc. The rest of the family income was place in ten separate envelopes labeled: church, school expenses, clothes, gifts, repair and improvement, dues and licenses, doctor-dentist, Dad’s allowance, Mom’s allowance and savings.
The June 3, 1960 ledger states that she wrote $274 in checks. The cash in the envelopes totaled $130. Our family of five was living on $404 a month. In spite of the tight budget, Mother and Dad were giving more to the church than they were keeping for themselves. Mom kept $10, Dad kept $10 and $24 went to the church.
I was stunned. They were giving away more than they kept for their own spending money. I thought about my own life as a young mother. Had I followed in my parents’ footsteps? Hardly. The excuses came too easily. Four children to put through college. A big mortgage. An emergency that might come up. The vacation fund.
As a child I never had the slightest notion that my parents inched their way through life on such a tight budget. Yet every month they gave no thought to doing any less for the church than the absolute maximum that their tiny budget could stand. Maybe that’s why I felt so rich as a kid. Maybe that’s why I should start giving more and keep less for myself. Maybe that’s the secret to overcoming life’s daily struggles. Give more than you think you can afford.

Stepping Out of the Family Circle

When she was twelve years old my daughter Julia announced that she did not want to be a member of our family anymore. She was tired of our rules, chores, and even eating dinner with her sister, two brothers, step-father and me.
“I’d rather just eat by myself in my room and not do anything with any of you,” she stated with her hands on her hips.
My husband Harold, a wise high school principal, stepped in. “You know, that’s a fine idea Julia. We’ll let you live in your bedroom. You don’t have to do any chores, no more babysitting your little brother. You’re on your own.”
“Fine!” Julia snapped.
“But of course this also means that we don’t have to do your laundry, cook your meals or take you to your activities.”
“I’ll get rides with my friends, do my own laundry and fix my own food.”
That night supper was a quiet affair without chatterbox Julia in our midst. I saw her in the kitchen that night fixing a sandwich. The next morning she was waiting for the school bus before I even made it to the kitchen.
Julia kept to herself for the next two days and never once asked for a ride anywhere. Harold reminded the older children that they weren’t to engage Julia in any conversation since she didn’t want to be a member of our family.
By morning of day three I was becoming frantic. How long will this go on, I wondered.
That night Julia appeared at the dinner table, head down with one of her famous letters in hand.
“I’m sorry. I do want to be a member of the family.” She had us read her long missive about the lessons she’d learned the past few days of living alone in her bedroom.
Then we all hugged and Julia, from then on, was very much an active member of our clan. Still is.
Those three days reminded me that struggles make us smarter, more experienced, more understanding and certainly more appreciative of our blessings. I think Julia learned a lot, too.

Snuggles and Struggles

My fiftieth year was a blockbuster. Right before my 50th I went to Hawaii and snorkeled for the first time with a gazillion fish and a few enormous sea turtles. The spring after I turned 50 I went to Europe for the first time in my life, chaperoning twenty-six teenagers, including my youngest son, Andrew. That summer I water-skied behind my brother’s speedboat on the Ohio River. But the most important thing that happened to me during the year I celebrated my 50th was becoming a grandmother for the second time.
Hannah was born a month early with a head full of thick, shocking red hair. The first time I saw her she was in the neonatal intensive care unit at the hospital, attached to all sorts of wires and monitors and sleeping in a heated bassinet. She was so small I wondered how such a tiny baby could survive in such a big world. Her back seemed only a few inches wide as she snuggled into my hand. Her skinny little arms were punctuated with perfectly formed fingers that squeezed my little finger.
Holding and rocking my dainty, darling redheaded granddaughter in that hospital brought on such feelings of joy that during my two-day visit I practically begged my son, Hannah’s dad, to let me go in instead of him during the few minutes each hour that one of us was allowed in the intensive care unit. A number of times Michael gave in and stood outside looking through the thick windows of the nursery while I rock and cuddled my precious grandchild.
As Hannah and I snuggled, I knew without a doubt that no matter what adventures I have, where I go or what I accomplish in the second half of my life, absolutely nothing can come close to the intense feelings and joy of being a mother and a grandmother. I know for certain all my grandchildren will have struggles in life. But knowing our big family is here to surround each member in times of struggle is a comfort beyond measure.
Happy 14th birthday, Hannah Banana Rosanna Dana. May the struggles you have in life be met with grace and may each one of them help you become stronger and more appreciative of your blessings.

What's on your tombstone?

When I read a biography of a man who was in the prime of his life exactly 200 years ago, I wondered, Were people just immensely smarter and more talented than they are today? The bio said the man had been a lawyer, architect, naturalist, linguist, farmer, Governor of Virginia, U.S. Minister to France, Secretary of State, Vice President of the United States and finally the third President of the United States.
Thomas Jefferson was an amazing man. I suspect most of us have elevated him to the greatness of such men as George Washington, Abraham Lincoln and whichever modern day president is your favorite.
But the thing about Thomas Jefferson that amazes me is the fact that he was adamant about what would be printed on his tombstone. At his own request "and not a word more" he requested the following: "Thomas Jefferson, author of the Declaration of American Independence, of the Statute of Virginia for religious freedom, and Father of the University of Virginia."
This man, who will certainly always be known as one of America's greatest presidents, obviously valued political and religious freedom and education higher than his other major accomplishments of being Governor, Secretary of State, Vice-President and President of the United States of America.
Freedom and education. That’s what Jefferson held dear. Today, over two hundred years later, we still value them above all else. It reminds me that even when personal or nationwide struggles become mind-boggling we still have to keep our priorities straight.
This week as we celebrate President's Day, let's be hopeful that our nation's presidents always keep freedom, both political and religious, and education in the forefront of what is truly important in this country and in all countries.
Being able to focus on what’s really important can split a major struggle down the middle and make life a lot more palatable. It’s all about seeing the big picture.

Learning to Love Your Struggles

Do you ever struggle with the idea that television is sucking the marrow out of your bones, the blood out of your heart and the cells out of your brain? I mean, really, how many reality shows can we stand in one lifetime? How long can we sit in that recliner munching salty-sweet-crunchy things that are bad for us?
I don’t watch much TV in the summertime but these long winters when it gets dark around 5:30 just make it too easy to end up half-woman, half-vegetable in front of the boob tube. I always feel guilty watching the brain-freeze machine, but after a long day of water aerobics, mornings at my computer, lunch with the girls or my friend Jack, more work…well, that television often becomes my nighttime companion.
One Sunday, just before Lent, the following appeared in our church bulletin: (author unknown)

THE 23rd CHANNEL

The TV is my shepherd,
I shall not want.
It makes me lie down on the sofa.
It leads me away from the faith.
It destroys my soul.
It leads me in the path of sex and violence for the sponsor’s sake.
Yea, though I walk in the shadow of Christian responsibilities,
There will be no interruption for the TV is with me.
It prepares a commercial for me in the presence of my worldliness.
It anoints my head with humanism and consumerism,
My coveting runneth over.
Surely, laziness and ignorance shall follow me all the days of my life.
And I shall dwell in the house watching TV forever.

After I read that I turned off the TV for a month during Lent. I read, wrote letters, cleaned shelves, helped my son with his science projects, baked cookies, put the photos in albums, did the mending, called my kids. It was the best Lent ever.
Can I do it again? Sanity is calling.