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.