Knot Sewing

Knot Sewing

       Sewing was something that all young ladies did. Actually, it was something that middle aged and elderly women did, too.  My mother had tried teaching me to sew at home, but she thought I definitely needed to take it in school.  In seventh grade, I made a duster with a cap.  Later, in high school clothing classes, I made other articles of clothing that, thankfully, I choose not to remember. 

       It was a chore to sew at home on mom’s machine, because of dropping bobbins, out of control stitching and constant ripping out of knots.  The sewing machine would regularly make horrendous stitching and the thread would break after only making a few stitches. The machine was not a very good one. In fact, it was in terrible condition.  I would get so upset, because the machine just would not do what I wanted it to do.

       I had seen the many beautiful things that my grandmother and my mother had sewn.  I did so want to make those beautiful things, too. 

       One of my first purchases with my teacher’s salary, after the necessary car, was a sewing machine.  It was a symbol to me that I wanted to be a wife and mother someday to make exquisite home decorations and cute clothes for my children, just like my mother and grandmother had done.  In the meantime as I waited for Prince Charming, I could be thrifty and make my own clothes. Certainly, Prince Charming would recognize worth in this.

       There was a time when I make most, if not all, of my own clothes. (I shutter to think of them now.)  I took adult sewing classes. I made a “stretch and sew” red blazer, slacks, many dresses, tops, cushions, and curtains. That was what I was supposed to do. I could be thrifty: I could be domestic.  That was the right thing to do!

       Eventually my new sewing machine started doing the same horrible things that the old machine at home did.  Often, I would go no more than a few inches without the thread breaking, the bobbin dropping, the stitches balling up or the needle breaking. There were knots instead of stitches up and down the seams. Maybe, it wasn’t the machine after all. 

       Then, at some point in time, I realized how expensive the material was, how much time it took to sew, how frustrating sewing was for me, how less than mediocre the items I made really were and I decided to start buying clothes instead of sewing.  It was like a big burden being lifted from off of my shoulders.  The joy of not sewing had arrived! No more knot sewing!  I had found my joy and only a little guilt!

        

A Tale of Two Movies

A Tale of Two Movies

        The two cities were Washington DC and Paris (and other French towns).  The time frame for both movies was within a general period of the mid 1800’s. (“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…”) There were some general themes that were similar: oppression of the poor, law and grace, the courage of those fighting against tyranny, freedom and God’s will.

       Both lead characters died for others and their cause. Both had Christ-like qualities.   Both lead characters were powerful examples. Both characters were and are totally unforgettable and, yes, extremely famous.

       One story was done in music and one in words. One was fiction and one was fact. Both of these stories were told in two and a half hour movies.  Two and a half hours of intensity and total absorption into the stories. Both offered lessons for life. You know I am talking about Les Miserables and Lincoln, two recent films and two of the best movies I have seen in a long time.  

      Though I read Les Miserables and saw two other stage versions and one film version of the story, I was totally enthralled. Though I have read at least 20 books about Lincoln and consider him to be a personal hero, I was overwhelmed with this movie.

      The “tear factor” is a gauge I use to determine how involved I am in a movie and how moved I am emotionally. Sometimes my “tear factor” gauge does not work, because a movie is just too sad for tears. However, it usually does work for my purposes.  I cried a little while watching Les Miserables, but there was no surprise since I had seen it before.  The music was totally moving, though.

       Now, Lincoln should not have brought even a tear to my eyes, because I knew the story, or so I thought. Since Team of Rivals has been on my night stand for over a year untouched and unread, I was totally, surprised and moved by the story. (Most of the ideas from the movie came from this book as I understand.) I just bawled.  The film was so realistic and well-done. The acting was superb as was nearly every aspect of the film. I cried mostly because it seemed to be such a realistic portrayal of this most humble, loving, courageous leader.

      Lincoln, the movie, like Lincoln, the man “belongs to the ages” as the Edwin Stanton said upon his death.  Let us not forget the gift that Lincoln was to our nation.  Let us not forget how really great he was. For his words, deeds and example, we should be grateful.

       Though I enjoyed both movies, there is no doubt in my mind which I liked better. Truth can truly be more powerful than fiction. In the case of Lincoln, joy was brought to me just realizing that someone like Lincoln really lived. (And, yes, I have already started reading Team of Rivals.) 

      

       

      

      

      

Snow

Snow

 

       I have always loved snow.  There is something so pure and good about it.  Some think that it symbolizes the dull, dreariness of winter, but I think it symbolizes a purging and cleansing to prepare the world for the new beginning of spring. It is like God is cleaning the slate to make a new beginning.  I do not think of the old that is erased, but the new that is coming. The layers of new fallen snow remind me of heavenly beauty and an upcoming fresh start.  Nothing is more pure than fresh clean falling snow. Nothing is more relaxing to observe. Snow represents lots of wonderful things to me.

       I can think of nothing more fun that playing in snow, building a fort or snowman, sledding, tubing, skiing, or making a snow angel. I remember ice skating outside and warming up by a fire.  I remember making snowmen and snow angels. I remember laughing and laughing and laughing.  Snow makes me think of fun and laughter.

      Bundling up for an adventure in the snow is fun, too.  You put on all your layers of clothing, your hat, mitten, boots and scarf and outside you go.  You are so warm that nothing could make you cold you think.  The contrast on your cheeks of the cold, wet snow is scintillating.  As you move through the snow you get hotter, until you start getting wet.  Then, the chill can hit you. Snow is full of dramatic contrasts.

     

       I have been caught in snowstorms on my way to and from the small town forty miles from home where I taught for my first nine years of teaching.  I was not a very experienced driver in my 20’s and had many times that I was stuck in a ditch on those country roads.  I experienced the kindness of friends and strangers many times.  Students’ and teachers’ families offered to put me up for the night because of the snow.  Snow brings out the best in people.

    

       As a young teacher, when we had snow day from school, my teacher friends and I would go skiing.  It was just the best time. We took a day that could have been dull and boring and turned it into the most wonderful of adventures.  Snow represents adventure!

       When I had a child, it was really important to me that my son loved snow, so I would bundle him up when he was very small and take him out to play in it even if he did not act like he wanted to go.  It was always a lot of fun for both of us.( Sometimes I could even drag my husband along.) I took him ice skating, tubing, and sled riding many times.  My sister enjoyed this too, so she was always game! When my son was five, my sister and I took him skiing, so that winter would be fun for him; and to this day, it is!!! Snow had a way of binding us together. Snow is relationship building, too!

       There was a day in February, twenty-six years ago.  What a beautiful sunny day it was!  It was a day full of hopes and dreams!  After church, my fiancé and I stopped by to see my elderly great aunt and when we left her apartment, we were immersed in the most beautiful fresh falling snow. It was a totally unexpected snow!  It was not a cold day, but the falling snow was thick and luscious.  The flakes were big, sparkling and precious.  I can still remember the feeling of exuberance and joy that I felt when I saw the snow on that particular day.  I remember my little white satin shoes stepping in the snow and the warmth of my fiancé’s hand. On this day, snow represented love and joy.  It was our wedding day and God gave us the gift of pure, good, lovely, fresh fallen snow to start our lives together. 

Uncluttering to Find Joy

Uncluttering to Find Joy

        Uncluttering our homes, our offices, our social relationships, our eating habits and our lives may be one of the best things we can do. It will help us keep our focus on what is truly important and give us time to appreciate what we have. It will help us to have time for gratitude and joy.  Resolving to simplify life and uncluttering may seem like a daunting task, but it is worthwhile.

        Many of us talk about multitasking and even find delight in multitasking, because it helps us get things done faster.  We want to get things done more rapidly so we can accomplish more.  The more we accomplish the closer we are to our vision of success or a feeling of being uncluttered. Maybe the multitasking approach is part of the problem, however. If I do the dishes, mop the floor, nurture my little child, spend time with my husband, talk on the phone, bake bread and give myself a facial all at the same time, perhaps something will be slighted. Some things need my entire focus of attention. I am only uncluttering my life, when I repeatedly multitask, to find time for more clutter.

         There is actually a speech disorder called cluttering.  It is characterized by lots of starts and stops; racing thoughts, saying things that were not meant to be said, leaving off parts of words; omitting endings of words; using lots of “um’s and ah’s” and being unaware of how one’s speech sounds to others. It is as though the person has a cluttered mind. Isn’t that metaphorically what we are doing when we clutter our lives?  Isn’t that how our brain feels when we are cluttered in physical, spiritual or emotional ways? It is like being on a treadmill and not being able to get off.

       Being cluttered can be a way of talking, thinking, living and even hiding.  Have you ever been in a room where most everyone is someone you know and you say “hello” and a few words to everyone in the room, but realize that that was all there was time for? You feel cluttered because you did not have time to really connect to anyone. Maybe, that is how we hide.  We just do not have time to let anyone really get to know us or really get to know someone else. Moving through life that way will not lead to strong relationships.  It is another way of being cluttered.

       Eating without a plan can be an act of cluttering. Cluttering one’s body with foods that are not nutritious and not beneficial can be another form of confusion to one’s health and well-being.  It is true that good food tastes better when one eats primarily good foods. Healthy eating promotes good health.  How simple and uncluttered is that?

      Can uncluttering even promote weight loss?  Ms.Lynne Johnson, a professional organizer, said in the January 5, 2008 NewYork Times that she often sees a link between her client’s efforts to get organized and weight loss. “I think someone decides, ‘I’m not going to live like this anymore. I’m not going to hold onto my stuff, I’m not going to hold onto my weight,’” she said. “I don’t know that one comes before the other. It’s part of that same life-change decision.”

       Collecting junk and saving useless things is the obvious form of cluttering that we think about when we talk about this issue.  I try to clean out closets and drawers periodically and this activity proves very positive.  It gives me a feeling of control of my life to a degree.  I like to control my “stuff”, not let the “stuff” control me.  What we hold on to says a lot about what we value, as does what we are willing to part with. “Less is more”.

         We give our children in America so many things that they do not have time to appreciate them.  When you look at most suburban children’s rooms, you see numerous colorful toys, stuffed animals, gadgets and craft supplies.  These items are layered upon each other and then stuffed in boxes so quickly that there is little time to enjoy or appreciate them.  The children are easily bored, because they have not been given the time to delve into anything.  They are given one stimulating item after another without the time to explore them.  They are taken to lots of classes and sports activities, but time to enjoy the simple things is not available.  We are a nation of doting parents, but the fruits of our labors are cluttered children who will soon become cluttered adults.

        Simplifying our lives and controlling our clutter is a possible task if we see this as important.  Cluttering in our lives can be seen in many ways.  It can be seen by how we multitask, how we over-stimulate our brains, how we interact socially, how we eat, how we collect “stuff”, and how we prioritize our lives.  It can be seen prominently in how we rear our beloved children to become cluttered adults as we are. 

        G.K. Chesterton said, "The modern world has far too little understanding of the art of keeping young. Its notion of progress has been to pile one thing on top of another, without caring if each thing was crushed in turn.  People forget that the human soul can enjoy a thing most when there is time to think about if and be thankful for it.  And by crowding things together they lost the sense of surprise and surprise is the secret of joy."  That is exactly what I think!

       

      

Willow

Willow

I look out into my backyard which is two and a half stories down and I see a faded trampoline and right beside it is a pussy willow tree.  The tree is absolutely beautiful.  It was given to us by my dear friend Willow and her husband.  It had gotten really big in the 20 plus years since it had been planted there, the year my husband and I were married.   Though it had been pruned many times, we decided three years ago that it had to go.  Part of the trunk had split and was growing parallel to the ground. It seemed dangerous when my son tried to mow.  What a surprise to find that after chopping it down, it was still there the next year and still growing strong!  Such it is with a willow tree. It has a hardy root system and is nearly impossible to destroy.

Willow is just like that.  She is strong and dedicated and her roots run deep.  She is tenacious and loyal.  Once you are her friend, you are her friend for life. You can leave her, but she will not leave you. There are “friends for a reason, friends for a season and friends for life.”  She is a friend for life.

My first encounter with Willow was when she called me telling me that she was given my name by the school superintendent as a potential roommate.  I was a single teacher and so was she.  I had said to the superintendent in passing that I might want to live in the small town where I taught.   Little did I know that he would give my name to a new teacher.  

When I met her, she was very graceful, beautiful and a little shy.  I could not think that she would want to room with me; especially when I told her that I was getting very interested in religion.  How geeky was that!  I, honestly, did not think she would want to live with someone like me.  I tried really hard to talk her out of the arrangement, but she was determined and, as matter of fact, she too was interested in religion.   We both taught similar subjects and had remarkably a lot in common, as it turned out.

We were baptized on the same day and definitely felt that God had put us together.  We were in each other’s weddings and our families were very close.  Willow and I would spend lots of days hanging out with our kids in the summer when the guys were at work.  We would talk and talk.  Time just flew by when we were together.  Our time together always ended before we were ready.

I did not even know she read my blog when in the mail I received numerous little books about all of the subjects I had written about. She just knew I would like them. I was about to throw the package away when I found a pressed gardenia in the bottom.  It was a bit wilted, but the scent was perfect.  (I had just blogged about how much I loved pressed flowers and…the scent of a gardenia.) It is so like her to notice even the tiniest detail.   

This is another amazing quality that she has. She is an attentive listener. In today’s rat race, this is a rare quality.  She remembers the details of your life and makes you feel as if those details are as important as her own. 

Willow has many strong characteristics. Willow loves to read, travel and learn new things.  She is a wonderful mother, wife, teacher and friend.  She knows about all kinds of useful things.  She is thoughtful, artistic and creative.  Her loyalty, tenacity, faithfulness and all of her other amazing qualities go back to her Christian roots. I expect to enjoy my friendship with Willow and our willow tree as long as I live, because of… the roots.

Happy Birthday, Willow!

Dear Scarlett

Dear Scarlett,

     I am writing you to let know the change I am making.  This is a big change for me and I hope you won’t be terribly hurt by it. 

     As you know, when I first saw your story on the big screen, I was a teenager about the same age as you were when your biography began.  I had never before seen a movie or read a book that did not have a happy ending.   For the entire second half of your movie, I bawled my eyes and heart out.  Somehow, I identified with you because we were the same age and both had dark brown hair; after that, all similarities ended.   I thought that the movie was so well acted and the characters were so real that I could not believe it was fiction.  I ached for days for the horrible choices you made and felt genuine sadness at the pitiable condition your selfishness created for you and the other people in your life.  There was so much for me to learn about people and choices and life at that time. Some of it, I learned through you.

     Then, after empathizing with you so much at the theater, that summer I decided to read your book.  The book was one that I literally one I could not put down.  So instead of bawling for 2 solid hours to the point of being sick, I cried for 6 solid hours as I read your story and became immersed in it.  Again, I was practically ill from the pain of the story.  Thus, I declared at 16, that your story was my all-time favorite book and movie.  The quality of the writing was amazing and the characters were so well-done. Everything seemed so real.

     Your story was one that I referred to a lot in talking and thinking.  Emotional experiences tend to stick with you for a very long time.  I may have sat through the entire show one or two more times in the decades that followed.  I am not sure.  I was such a fan that I sought you out in Atlanta, the home of your biographer.  There are several museums that are about you and your story. I just had to visit them.  My husband-to-be even gave me a romantic card of Rhett kissing you when we were engaged.

     For decades, I continued to claim that GWTW was my favorite book and movie.  Then, a few years ago, we got cable TV and your story was readily available.  I would smile when I thought that I could watch it, but, then, when it came right down to it, I did not want to watch it.  I could not watch it.  There was just too much pain associated with your story. 
     Two days ago, it was on cable a number of times and it was on even two different channels at the same time.  My husband wanted to watch it and wanted me to watch it with him.  Somehow, I could not sit there and observe your shameful actions.  I ache for you but I don’t want to see your story again.  The only way I would ever want to watch your story again is as an object lesson to a teenager, maybe a grandchild, someday.

    Another person,whose story begins when he was a teenager, is David, the son of Jesse.  His story is full of shameful, selfish actions that hurt many people; but he turned his heart to God  when he erred and that made all the difference.  Your story, on the other hand, ends when Rhett, who once really cared about you, walks away and states, rather finally, using shocking words for that day and age, that he no longer cares. Your story ends the way a story would for someone incapable of true repentance and totally immersed in self as you were. Once you finally understood, it was too late.

    I realize, as a person seeking joy, I can no longer say that your story is my favorite book or movie.  I will have to choose something more positive and uplifting. I cannot even stand to watch it.  Frankly, Scarlett, I do not care any more. (Okay, maybe, just a little...)      

                                                                        A Former Sympathizer

Transplant Joy

      When I first met Joy, she was a transplant from Pasadena, California, but she was really just a young, small town Ohio, girl who had lived in California for a while and ran out of money.  She sat in the middle of a large auditorium, where our church met, all alone.  (If she was shy and backward, she would, definitely, not have sat in the middle.  She would have sat in the back or on the sides.)

     It was easy to spot her as a newcomer. She had a little bit of the “hippie” look with a long flowing skirt, loose clothes on her thin frame, long curly brown hair pulled back with clips, huge green eyes with dark eye lashes  and big wire-rimmed glasses.  Right from the beginning, she was direct, articulate, funny and a little sarcastic. She was always an adventure to talk to from day one, so we would talk and talk and talk.

      I love the adventure of meeting new people.  I enjoy the challenge and excitement of discovering people and getting to know them. It was not unlike me to be one of the first to meet someone new: I just like meeting people.  After a while, though, my part in the adventure would be over and they would make other new friends.   “…and the beat goes on…”

     With Joy, the Transplant, it was different.  She loved Columbus and all the things that our group of single friends enjoyed.  She was an adventurous girl and all of us, in those glorious days of the late ‘70’s and early ‘80’s, had a myriad of adventures on a shoestring, of course.   She and I kept talking and talking. 

     When she was transplanted, again, to Cleveland to get married, she always missed the great times she had in Columbus.  The adventure kept going, somehow, because we talked and talked. 

      She tried many times to move back to Columbus, but it never worked out. She has now been away for 28 years.  Her grown daughter moved to Columbus, two of her sisters and many friends reside here, but the Transplant could not make moving back here happen for her.  So, we talked and talked.

     She decided to find adventure in her city, Cleveland: to bloom where she was planted.  She started a blog that is an adventure to read! [www.itsajoyfuljourney.wordpress.com, (A Sojourner’s Guide to the Mistake on the Lake)] It is a delightful journal of a baby boomer trying to find joy in Cleveland and trying to see something familiar with new eyes.  Now, besides talking and talking, she is writing and writing.  I highly recommend this blog, because it is direct, articulate, funny and a little bit sarcastic, just like the blogger. (She is now a trim, blonde with smooth hair. She wears no glasses and has trendy and classic clothes.  She even has a good job and two grown daughters.)

     As I reflect on my friendship with Joy, I realize that the adventures that we shared were more about conversation than anything else. (I think that is the essence of a lot of my friendships.)   The adventure was in the conversation, the communication, the talking…and the listening…The adventure was not going somewhere new, but in learning something new about a another person.   It was found in sharing something about ourselves, too, because as we open up to someone we refine and sharpen our own ideas and self-image. “Iron sharpens iron; so a man sharpens the countenance of his friend.”