FROM THE SHOE

Gratitude is Always an Option

November 2011

I thought this column would be easy to write. Gratitude – that’s easy; I’m thankful…thankful for a place to live, for having enough to feed my kids and to pay some bills. My situation is definitely far from ideal or perfect, but there are many things for which to be grateful.

However, as I began thinking about this column and how I wanted to intertwine all the loveliness of Autumn with its colors and dancing leaves in the wind, Halloween and all the magic of the season, and especially its crown and glory, the Thanksgiving holiday, I found myself in circumstances that produced the contrary: self-pity instead of selflessness, bitterness instead of betterment and discouragement instead of decorum.

A perfect case of Murphy’s Law.

How do I write about gratitude when I am wallowing in these very ugly attitudes? I am learning that you can be thankful even when things are not going well. Many of us are in circumstances that do not reflect that Norman Rockwell picture of the happy family gathered around the Thanksgiving feast. Many of us are still looking for work to improve our lives and our children’s lives. Many of us are in relationships that are difficult at best. How can we be grateful when there is so much darkness and turmoil in the world, even within our own lives?

I am reminded of a story from Corrie Ten Boom’s A Hiding Place. Corrie and her family were arrested in Holland in 1944 for harboring and protecting Jews. She and her sister were together in the Ravensbruck camp. Now, these were dire circumstances. But her sister encouraged her to be thankful even for their present difficulties. On one of these occasions, a minor annoyance was the fleas in their bunker. Corrie told her sister she was trying to be thankful, but could not be thankful for the fleas. Her sister still encouraged her to be thankful, even for fleas. Later, Corrie found out it was because of the fleas that their dreaded prison guard visits were few.

Gratitude is always an option; always free. It is just the muck of our attitudes that thwart thanksgiving. There is always something to be grateful for. In this part of San Mateo County, there is wonderful, clean air (that is something I just can’t live without), sweeping vistas, delicious Hetch Hetchy water and the few occasions when one drives to the intersection of Oceana Boulevard. and Manor Drive in Pacifica and there are no other cars. So in our difficulties and for some, their suffering, gratitude can always be an option. As W. J. Cameron wrote,

“It is literally true, as the thankless say, that they have nothing to be thankful for. He who sits by the fire, thankless for the fire, is just as if he had no fire. Nothing is possessed save in appreciation, of which thankfulness is the indispensable ingredient. But a thankful heart hath a continual feast.”

So I hope thanksgiving will be a part of your feast this holiday. And if we practice thanksgiving throughout the year, we will be the richer for it. Happy Thanksgiving, and thanks for reading.

One Veteran

Today is Veterans Day, the day we remember the service and sacrifices of those who gave their time, and for some, their lives, in the service of the United States Armed Forces. My dad served in the Navy during the Korean War. My uncle served during World War II and my grandfather served as a pilot in the “war to end all wars” World War I. This day was originally set aside to remember those who gave their lives during World War I. It has evolved into a day of remembrance for all veterans of all wars.

Today I’d like to remember One Veteran: Steve Thompson. Steve served in the U.S. Army from 1984 to 1991. He served his country without apology; but his distinction, to me, where I believe he earned his honors, did not come in the service of his country while in the Army, but in his service to his family. His service didn’t stop after he left the military. No, it continued in the workplace and especially in the home. He adored his wife and their five kids. His home was always open to his children’s friends which included all of my kids. I am thankful my sons and daughters have his good example to look to. His service continued beyond the uniform by being a great husband and by raising good kids. One of which I am proud and grateful to call “son-in-law.” By serving his family, he enriched this country yet again.

Steve may have seemed like an ordinary guy, and in many ways, he was just that. But to those who knew him, and especially to his family, he was extraordinary. Sadly, Steve died last year, and his service to his family was cut short. There are grandchildren who will only know him through the many stories and pictures.

Steve Thompson is – not was – on the top of a short list of good men my kids know. “Is” because his influence is still felt in the memories his family carry and the character his kids have. His absence has left an unfillable void, no amount of remembering or praying can soothe the pounding ache. Only the distant star of resurrection Hope. I cannot wait to see that reunion, when the seconds are finally tallied, such is our hope as Christians.

Except for the birth of your future grandkids, there will not be any more great days because you’re not here. We can only hope for some good ones. My life is better because I knew you. I hope my kids always remember your service to our country, but mainly your service and your example to your family. R.I.P. Brother. You are sorely missed.

Many veterans, like Steve, continued their service by serving their families and communities, and through that secondary service gave more to our country. Thank you to all who have served and continue to do so.

I Am Not a Clock

Children, by their very nature, are inquisitive and curious. They are breeders of an endless array of questions. If your child is extroverted, there is a high probability that you are peppered with questions every day. Even the quiet ones lob a few queries your way. Of the myriad of questions a parent may face, some are profound: “How did God make that sunset?”; some are mundane: “Mom, where are my socks?”; some are welcome: “Mom, why are you so beautiful?” (of course, that child is my favorite), and some are not: “Mom, how did Gracie get puppies in her tummy?” Be prepared to dig deep into your reservoirs of patience, wisdom and perseverance to address them.

However, there is a category of questions that has tried my last nerve: The Unnecessary Questions. Yes, folks, there are some. The crazy-making “are we there yet?”, the mind-numbing, “what’s there to eat?”, and don’t get me started on “how do you spell ‘exasperation’?”. But, the tops in my book is, “Mom, what time is it?” What the heck do I look like, a walking Timex?

Unfortunately, I am probably the one to blame for their incessant and lazy questioning. At the onset of my parenting career, I wanted to be attentive and alert to my kids’ needs. I assisted in everything and felt I was doing them a service by being helpful and addressing the issues they had. If they needed a napkin, I would get up and get one; if they needed a pencil sharpened, I would go sharpen it and if they asked, what appears to be an innocuous question, like “What time is it?”, I happily answered.

Well, it’s time to stop! My children look at an analog clock with expressions ranging from bewilderment to catatonia. When I am asked that infernal question for the umpteenth time, I just point to the clock like the Ghost of Christmas Future pointed to Scrooge’s gravestone. They look at me, shrug their shoulders, (thank heaven, they do not roll their eyes) and repeat the question. I then dart them a look of intense contumely (yes, I used “contumely” and don’t ask how to spell it) that extracts a whimpering, “never mind”. My kids would not know how to tell time if it were not for digital clocks. I know they are taught analog time in school, but my kids must be clock-challenged.

When I was growing up, my sister and I had a blue, plastic grandfather clock bank. It was about two and a half feet tall and stamped on the base were the words, “Tempus Fugit”. Well, time, and many other things, may fly if they ask me that question again.

Next in the series: I Am Not a Garbage Can.

Driving Lessons

I’ve been driving for several decades. I’ve owned probably two dozen cars. My favorites were the ’67 350 “Camille” Camaro Convertible, which I sold (19 year olds do dumb things), the ’67 Nova “Sally” Station Wagon (doormat housewives do dumb things), an ’88 Honda Civic “Sam” I think and my ’76 “Simon” Capri. I love driving. I get a lot of writing ideas while I drive especially along 280 where you can’t beat the scenery. Too bad middle age, collateral damage from having too many kids and menopause have sidelined me to the back roads. But those back roads are beautiful too.

My experience as a driver includes a spontaneous road trip to Yellowstone with my friend, Vicky, in Camille who was radiator-challenged. We drove through the Nevada heat with the heater on to keep the engine cool and stopping every 30 miles to refill the radiator. Also, my friend, Mary, and I took many excursions in Simon Capri that included Washington State, Yosemite and another jaunt to Yellowstone where we were hit by a camper. Mr. Floyd Flood was prompt to give me his insurance information, that, unfortunately my agent could find no record of. Huh! My final road trip was with my St. Mary’s roommate, Robin, to Vancouver BC for the 1986 World’s Fair in her parents’ Red S10 “Blaze”.

I would say I’m a good driver. When I was younger that wasn’t the case. My friend, John, who lived in New York for many years, likened my driving to that of a New York cabbie. I took that as a compliment. However, with age, my driving has become cautious, considerate and kind. With this resume, I would like to pass on some lessons I’ve acquired from the road. There are many things I could write about, but I chose three, since these are the three that irk me the most.

No. 1 – The Blinker

I am dumbfounded with the general neglect of this device. I wonder if the newer cars even have them anymore such is the state of its absence in daily driving. Typically, this device on the left side of the steering column. When depressed, it activates indicator lights in the front and rear of your vehicle thereby informing surrounding drivers of your intention to turn left. If you lift the device, the lights will inform the driver of your intention to turn right. It really is a simple task. I am baffled that many folks do not use it. I do waive my irksomeness if said car is of a certain age or has weathered some crappy driver storms.

Skill level: Beginner. Suggestion: Use your blinker.

No. 2 – Yielding & Merging

I understand that these two terms might get mixed up, but permit me to define them. Yielding – Let ’em go. Just let ’em go. No need for some Disney background music. There is an intersection down at Westborough and Junipero Serra Boulevard, and there’s no sign, but I believe it’s a “Yield” situation, those cars are flying on JS, I’m not gonna try to merge with those folks. So I let ’em go. And the mergers behind me get mad. I don’t care.

Now, Merging requires some collaboration. You must assess the lane to which you’d like to enter and determine if current occupants are going let you in. If there is some coldness to a potential merge, you’re better off yielding and letting them go. Don’t stress out, unless, of course you have someone honking at you in the rear. No sign language please. Merging is an art. When I do drive the freeways, I always drive in the right lane and I have perfected the merge. When it works, it’s like a beautiful example of team work. Driving could be such an art.

Skill level: Intermediate. Suggestion: Study the art and flow of vehicle traffic.

No. 3 – Four Way Stops

Four Way Stops….ugh. Driving can be stressful. Yielding, merging, braking, always on the look out for pedestrians and more, but I don’t know what stressing a driver more than a four way stop. When all four come to the stop together, I can’t think fast enough who’s on my right and who goes first. For a people pleaser, this can be very agonizing. There are two intersections down the hill: Manor & Oceana Blvd. and Manor & Palmetto. By the time I get to Walgreen’s which is just beyond these two intersections, I need to go home and take a break. Unfortunately, in our fair city, there are some rogue drivers who refuse to obey Four Way Stop etiquette and dart out as soon as they see an opening. This is where you must use restraint because a four way stop etiquette infraction can make you mad and you’ll want to race after them and stick out your tongue at them. But don’t, yield to your better self.

Skill level: Advanced. Suggestion: Be alert when you come to intersection, and be considerate, most drivers are cool.

These driving elements can help on life’s road as well. Let people know where you’re going, don’t be too proud to yield or to afraid to merge. And be considerate and give the right of way to others. We’re all on the same road. Enjoy the ride!

Thank You, Susan Boyle

Commemorating the 15th Anniversary of Susan’s BGT performance. I wrote this blog post in 2015.

On behalf of the 99% of people who watched your stunning performance on Britain’s Got Talent in 2009, let me extend a heartfelt and enthusiastic “thank you”. In your debut performance, you didn’t just sing a song or dream a dream; you, in your ordinary manner, stood before the world and sang in a way that still shakes the ground on which we middle-aged folks live.

For those of us of “a certain age” who go about our daily, invisible lives, working and caring for children or spouses or older parents, for those of us whose dreams may have been sidelined, shelved or even forgotten, you stood up there and proved to the audience and to the world that, in fact, that our dreams can be resurrected, reshaped or redefined. Your performance coincided with the beginning of my column, and watching you sing encouraged me to keep writing even though I just entered my 50’s.

You, with the courage of a Daniel, stood up there and sang a song of unrequited love…and unrequited life. Many of us around your age live unrequited lives. Many of us are like what Oliver Wendell Holmes wrote in “The Voiceless”: Alas for those that never sing, But die with all their music in them. You shook us awake and reminded us that there is still music in us. You encouraged us with your “cheeky” grinned personality, to keep dreaming and start realizing those dreams. You reminded us that there is still a lot of life out there to live.

Thank you for having the guts to go in front of the world and sing. Thank you for singing that poignant song that reverberates into all of our beings. Thank you for being a great singer. We can all relate to you because you are one of us regular people sans the voice. We are happy for you and your success. Now, you are not only like Elaine Paige, but you also were able to sing with her. How cool is that!

Thank you, again, Susan.

Added note for 2024: We still have time to realize those dreams that have been buried for so long. Or even discover new dreams. Anne Lamott chides us: “You’re going to feel like hell if you wake up someday and you never wrote the stuff that is tugging on the sleeves of your heart: your stories, memories, visions and songs — your truth, your version of things — in your own voice. That’s really all you have to offer us,and that’s also why you were born.”

Lord willing, you can do this and so can I.

Commemorating the 15th Anniversary of Susan’s BGT performance. I wrote this blog post in 2015.

Thank you, again, Susan.

Lord willing, you can do this and so can I.

Dar Luz

My last six kids were born in Berkeley and were delivered by my wonderful midwife, Lindy Johnson. It’s her fault I had so many kids because she was so wonderful. Just kidding. She used to drive an old Volvo wagon with the license plate that read “DAR LUZ”. In Spanish, “Dar a Luz” means to give birth, but the words are literally translated “to give to light”.

Childbirth has three stages: labor, delivery and delivery of the placenta. Labor has three phases: early, active labor and transition. Early labor is typically the longest and the least painful. Of the many labors I’ve experienced, during early labor I could still run errands, like go to the bank. I did that with the first one, and I was admonished by the Operations Officer (who was my mom’s friend) to go home, “you’re in labor.” You can still get things done in early labor. Like sign up for emergency Medi-Cal like I did….twice, different babies though.

But as it gets increasingly difficult, you enter the active phase. Now you know you’re in labor. The contractions are strong, but tolerable. No more errand running. Sometimes the water breaks. Time to buckle down cause it’s gonna be a bumpy ride.

Then, there’s transition. Lovely transition. Transition takes your cervix from about 7 to 10 cm at which time you can start pushing. Transition is what you see in the movies, the screaming, the noises that are beyond description and the call for the drug cart. Thankfully, transition is the shortest part of labor for most. My poor sister was stuck at 6 for over 12 hours until they realized the baby was stuck, and my niece was born via emergency c-section.

Transition is the worst. This is the phase when you feel like giving up. You don’t think you can stand another contraction, and then before you know it you’re at 10. Time to push and get a look at that baby!

Raising teenagers is a lot like transition. It is intense, and you don’t think you’re gonna make it. That’s how I feel. Then they hit 18 – et voilà – they’re grown up and you’ve delivered them to adulthood. Sometimes they even move out. (Ironically, that is sad, but another blog.)

“Dar a Luz” can be applied here. In the intensity of these tumultuous years, these transitional years for them, I want to quit, but I know I can’t, just like when I was in labor. I have found many opportunities during these times “to give to light”. Often in tense moments, I’d want to go off, lose my temper and unload my anger and frustration. But I restrain myself because I know it will only feed an already out of control situation; so instead, I dig deep down — breathe, focus — and try to find words that will “give to light”. I liken the teenage years to the kids’ emotional birth, and the transition is just as tough emotionally as the transition was physically during childbirth.

I remember being a very difficult teenager. So I try to understand where they’re at and be patient. I breathe deep and focus on the goal of delivering these teens to adulthood. Most importantly, I want them to know that I am always here for them. Most of the time, they don’t talk, but sometimes, God opens a door and I’m amazed at their maturity. I am doing my best “to give to light” during these dark times of adolescence.

Cornered

March 21, 2009

Here I am lying on Ricky’s bed because there is no room in the other room. I am hemmed in. The job prospect I had hoped for was within my grasp, but I withdrew my hand. I cannot work right now. I couldn’t be home when they’d be sick, when they’d have vacations and when they needed me to be there.

I have felt like the children of Israel many times in my life, and again I am in a tight space with only the “Stand still and see the salvation of the Lord” as my foothold. I am so much like the cornered animal, looking for any way to get out of my circumstances. I may pause, appearing to acquiesce to my situation, but not really, my mind regroups and tries to goad against another wall of bricks.

“Be content in all things” is Paul’s admonition. Easy when you are in your own home with some bucks in the bank. Easy when there is even a part-time husband and/or father who may pick up the yoke from time to time. But this dark, no-vision path, no hope of ever getting up; nothing, but the One Quiet Star on the horizon which incidentally is getting dimmer. He is waiting. Waiting for me to quit striving. But I am a stubborn woman who still thinks she can do it all on her own.

His way is always effortless when the time is right, and every time I put my foot out, it is gently “smacked”; the time is not right or the direction is wrong. The marquis at the little church in Westlake had a quote:

Dear God, I have a problem. It’s me.

Yep, that’s about right.

#OOMF – One of Many Foibles

I consider myself relatively hip. I have four teenagers, and they keep me abreast of all the newest music, videos and lingo. I have a Facebook account where I keep in touch with my older kids and reconnect with pals from the past. In fact, my Facebook friends have been a great support and encouragement in my writing career. I have a Twitter account. This I do not use as much as Facebook. I have a whopping 27 followers, and I follow about 57 people or groups.

I follow a couple C.S. Lewis and Henri Nouwen groups. Their quotes are often very serious, which I don’t mind; but if they are tweeting up a storm, it can get a little too serious. So in order to lighten up my Twitter page, I follow one of my kids and #Portuguese Problems. Between the two of these followers and the others, I now have a pretty balanced source of information. Beautiful, thoughtful inspirational quotes find themselves next to “We are not alcoholics, we just get thirsty a lot…” and “I don’t wanna be a playaaa nomore.”

I noticed some of my daughter’s tweets referred to #OOMF. She seemed to have an ongoing, drama-filled tweet-a-tête with this person. As any attentive mom would do, I tried to find this friend. Was it somebody I knew? I looked through her Twitter friends and could not locate someone with the handle #OOMF. I went into full helicopter mom mode and searched Twitter for this handle. I got really nervous when all these people were tweeting about #OOMF, at about 20 tweets per minute. WTHWGO?? (What the heck was going on?) How does my daughter know this person who has so many friends, people I did not know at all? I got very nervous that my daughter might be ISSC (in some serious crap; BTW, there is an adult version used by teens that uses another “S”).

I finally went to Yahoo and searched #OOMF. Well I had to BTTU (back the truck up) when I learned that #OOMF means “one of my followers.” MB (my bad). While I WEOMF (wiped egg off my face), I whispered a little prayer of thanks like Steve Martin did in “Bringing Down the House.” But, honestly, I did feel even hipper and cooler now that I knew what #OOMF meant. I told my daughter about my little excursion into her world, and after she ROTFLHBO (figure it out), she said, “That’s dope!” Huh??

This column was originally published on Patch in Sept. 2012. New to the blog though.

If You Want to Read This….Thank a Writer!

Ok, wait, before any one gets upset, I know the common maxim is “If you a can read this, thank a teacher!”, and I want to give credit to those folks that taught us how to read and those who teach our children. I work for a school district, and I am so impressed with their organization, patience and mission to educate and nurture the next generation. Believe me, they do not do this for the pay. But, at the same time, I’d like to extend my gratitude to the wonderful writers who have helped shape our personalities, slipped into our childhoods and left lasting memories and images through the written word, and even as adults continue to challenge, illumine and comfort us in our earthly journeys.

A writer is not only an author, but could be a playwright, lyricist or poet. Whatever medium from which they come, their words can change and definitely enrich our lives, and without their wonderful words, lyrics and sentences, what would we read?? The ingredients to the shampoo bottle, the toilet cleanser or soap box. Here are a few words that have knit themselves into the fiber of my being.

Robert Bolt wrote the play, “A Man For All Seasons”, the story of Sir Thomas More and his confrontation with Henry VIII. Written in the early ‘60’s, it still feels like Bolt was recording actual conversations from the early 1500’s. Paul Scofield brought Sir Thomas More alive on the stage and the screen and whose voice was the perfect vehicle for Bolt’s lovely lines. Faced with imprisonment and possible death, More’s daughter urged her father to sign the Act of Supremacy to save his life, but More beautifully states:

“Listen, Meg, God made the angels to show Him splendor, as He made animals for innocence and plants for their simplicity. But Man He made to serve Him wittily, in the tangle of his mind. If He suffers us to come to such a case that there is no escaping, then we may stand to our tackle as best we can, and, yes, Meg, then we can clamor like champions, if we have the spittle for it. But it’s God’s part, not our own, to bring ourselves to such a pass. Our natural business lies in escaping. If I can take the oath, I will.”

I tell my kids that they love poetry. “Huh?” The songs they listen to are filled with all different kinds of poetry. We all have song lyrics that beat within our own hearts. What could be more wonderful than beautiful words set to lovely music? I can’t list all the song lyrics I love….there are so many. What parent is not brought to tears by the poignant lyrics of Joni Mitchell’s “The Circle Game”? Or whose heart doesn’t swell with pride when anyone sings “America the Beautiful”? Even Tupac’s “Dear Mama” brings me to tears, probably because one of the kids said they were gonna play it at my funeral. And Alan and Marilyn Bergman’s hauntingly beautiful love song “How Do You Keep the Music Playing?” must be the most romantic of all the love songs – “that in your eyes I may not see forever….forever…” Ahhh, truly sublime.

Who doesn’t have a favorite poem? I have many, some have changed my life. My old boss was posting some poems on Facebook not too long ago, and he posted this one:

That poem was a revelation to me, it was like God took one of those little flashlights you get at Walgreen’s, pointed it to my soul, and said, “See, I know you.” That’s what poetry does, that’s what good writing does. It helps us discover ourselves.

You see, reading is more than just filling out a job application or doing your taxes. Reading for some of us is as essential as eating or breathing. I read all the time much to the annoyance of my children, I can’t help myself. I do thank my teachers for teaching me to read, but I thank these writers and others for fueling the desire to read.

Let Them Read Books

Here’s an old “From the Shoe” column that I haven’t put on my blog yet. Got a late start with today’s blog, so I am posting an old column from 2011.

The holidays are right around the corner, and what will you kids do during vacation? Let them read books! Reading, what a great pastime. I love books. I mean, I really love books. What’s not to love? When I have extra money, I hit up the used book section at Florey’s or even splurge with a new purchase. One day last fall, I had some money, maybe like thirty bucks, (now that’s a lot for the used book section), and I stopped by Florey’s. I found some nice used books and was very pleased. But I was in for a more pleasant surprise. Coming out the bookstore, I saw the sign –“two day library book sale” at the Pacifica Library.

Oh my gosh. I still had an hour to kill before I had to pick up the kids and at least fifteen bucks left; and the sun was shining in Pacifica! Don’t you love those days when the stars align just for you!

With great anticipation, I scooted up the little hill to the library and even found a parking space. I spent the next 45 minutes hungrily searching the various sections and left with a bagful of goodies that only cost about thirteen dollars. Of course, I should have used the money for something more practical, like extra boxes of oatmeal or topping off the gas tank, or even, heaven forbid, put it in the bank. But I am a hopeless book addict. I have decided that if I get married again it will have to be to a man like the Beast in “Beauty and the Beast.” I fell in love with him when he gave Belle his fantastic library. Now that’s a man after my own heart.

My love for books was born in my grandmother’s Richmond District living room. She had a wall full of books”…literally. The built-in bookshelves stretched from her lovely carpeted floor up to the twelve foot ceiling. For a young girl, it was larger than life and filled with so much potential and excitement. Similarly, at her Russian River cabin, my uncle, who lived with her, had dotted the entire cabin with small bookshelves, so everywhere you went you were sure to find a history book or Dickinson’s poetry or a Shakespearean play.

No movie, no second hand account can convey the clear impressions of a great literary creation. Forever etched in my mind is Aeneas, wrestling over whether or not to plunge the sword into Turnus’ chest, in Cecil Day Lewis’ translation of Virgil’s “The Aenied”. Or the divine act of kindness by hungry little Sara Crewe in Frances Hodgson Burnett’s “The Little Princess,” when after she found a coin in the gutter, she bought half a dozen hot cross buns only to part with five of them to one hungrier than she. Or Ray Bradbury’s sensational descriptions of autumn and spooky nights in “Something Wicked This Way Comes.” And finally, the serene, sublime words, “he restores my soul,” from the shepherd-king’s most famous psalm.

I am but a poor dilettante traveling the rich borderlands of a vast continent of literary landscape. I hope our kids will learn to appreciate all that can be experienced and learned from reading, so this holiday season… let them read books.