Remembering

My Aunt Lois Ruth passed away last week.

What makes this more noteworthy than other losses I’ve experienced lately is that she was my last remaining aunt and the last member of my father’s family, once consisting of seven siblings born to my grandparents.

The other noteworthy thing is that I admired—no, make that idolized her as I was growing up. She was only twelve years older than me so by the time I was a tweenager, she became the most glamorous and exciting person I’d ever known. Don’t you think so too?

She wore open toed heels and white sandals and soft sweaters and sundresses. She had a bedroom dresser full of perfumes and dusting powders. She had a boyfriend and was studying to be a dental hygienist. Ahh…sigh. I wanted to grow up to be like her. No, I wanted to be her. Well, at ten years old, anyway.

My sister Christine and I would “powder” her back. This became something of a ritual with my aunt lying on the top of her bed as Christine and I concocted a pasty mixture of Pond’s dusting powder with Evening in Paris perfume. This we would apply to her back, rubbing it all in and then dusting it further with the powder puff. 

I’m sure the room stunk to high heaven. But my aunt was clearly basking in the luxury of it. This, to my sister and I, was more than an activity, something to simply occupy us for a while. It was something close to a spiritual bonding experience.

Fast forward a few years to my aunt’s wedding. Her groom, my Uncle Glenn, was  of course the most handsome man I had ever seen. The wedding was dreamy. Fitting for my Aunt Lois Ruth. And more idolizing on my part.

The newlyweds moved to Colorado so I didn’t see much of them after that, only if our trips to visit my grandparents coincided with their travels. And then they became parents to Kent and Kelley. Coupled with my growing older and my life moving me forward in all the expected different ways, powdering my aunt’s back became a fond childhood memory.

But my aunt’s greatest legacy and gift to me was her consistent love for family, living her Christian faith, being a role model, and, yes, always remaining gracious and glamorous.

Isn’t she still so beautiful on her 90th birthday? A life well lived, a life well loved, always remaining someone to look up to and emulate.

Rest in peace, my dear Aunt Lois Ruth Page.

And, as always, thank you for reading my random thoughts.💭 

Hello April

 

Oh, April. We are so glad to see you.

Spring is the most exciting time of the year, I think. It’s so full of promise as life starts again, renewed and ready for the warmth of the sun. The crocus opens its petals, tulips begin to pop up from the soil, ready to shake the dust off from winter as if to announce they’ve had their sleep and hello! dear April.

Yesterday I moved my deck furniture and rugs out to take their place in their familiar spots and now, in my mind’s eye, I can see the flowers I’ll arrange in their pots putting color back into my outdoor view. 

But we still need to be patient, don’t we? Not get over anxious over what’s not quite ready for us. Garden soil still needs the sun’s warmth and here in Minnesota, with very little snow over the winter months, much more moisture. (I had to envy Arizona’s Easter Sunday all-day rain which would be so wonderful here.)

Yesterday as I was waiting in line for a car wash, I looked over at a bank of very dirty old snow from the last bit we got here. The top of the bank looked black and crusty, not attractive at all. Then I thought of the children in my neighborhood where we also have a similar bank of old snow. They had pushed and packed that old snow together to create a mountain with a plastic lawn chair perched on top. They took turns climbing up to sit in the chair and you could hear their delight as they played “king of the mountain.”

So, see…you can look at a dirty pile of old snow and simply see a pile of old snow. Or see that pile as a perfect afternoon of fun and entertainment for children who imagine it to be a mountain.

Today I will use my imagination to think of those flowers blooming on my deck, my tomato plant ripening, my herbs ready for seasoning. 

And I decide that Spring is worth the wait.

Thank you for visiting and allowing me to share my random thoughts with you. 

Good Friday

Today is a solemn day as we remember Jesus’ suffering at the hands of soldiers and a large crowd of Roman citizens who blindly joined in the fray perhaps not even having true convictions of their own. Simply because they were followers. Simply because since they heard accusations hurled at Jesus, they figured they must be true. Simply because they were angry.

We know there is a joyous ending to be celebrated in three days, but thinking about those roaring crowds watching the vicious treatment of a fellow citizen without fully understanding the so-called charges nor imagining the cruel outcome got me to thinking about anger. 

There are parallels to the Good Friday account throughout history; many others, martyrs, who were unjustly denied any kind of trial, innocents who suffered because of the orders of a leader who at the root of it all, was angry, a crowd who blindly followed. And we know the accounts throughout ages of imprisoned and tortured victims of war, the power of angry leaders who put them there with seemingly no conscience whatsoever and not a single ounce of regard for humanity. An entire race could simply be annihilated in Germany. Another race could be bought and sold into slavery, treated as inferior beings.

In what we think of as our civilized world, has much changed? Would the people in Ukraine, Gaza, Syria say it has? We still have the crowds who blindly follow a leader, an angry leader. Look at the images we see today, study the faces. Here and in countries abroad, you will see anger. And the consequences are always in the end the same.

Perhaps we’re slow to learn, slow to understand, lessons from the past. Is our society really all that different from Jesus’ day, the Good Friday of long ago? Do we have any power or ability to change it? My personal belief is a resounding YES. We can be in that crowd that insists on justice, peace, equality, kindness, generosity, compassion. That will always speak louder than anger.

Thank you for visiting and thinking I have something worthwhile to say.

Ironing

 Who irons anymore? 

I’m reasonably certain that my kids and grandkids don’t own an iron or ironing board. And today I’m trying to figure out what about me says that I need to iron my freshly washed and wrinkled clothing, some of which I wouldn’t think of wearing until I’ve ironed them.

The problem is, I usually don’t have time to iron on laundry day so my clothes get hung on hangers awaiting my attention. But then another laundry day comes along. More hangers. And another. More hangers. So today, given that I’m running out of clothes to wear, I’m ironing.

Remember back when the ironing board was almost like a piece of furniture? In our house, it was always set up, never taken down, at the ready for Mom’s basket of ironing. For a family of eight, that darn 🧺 basket multiplied until clothes toppled over, then another basket was filled. 

And, as the oldest of six, take a wild guess at whose job it was to do the weekly ironing. Mind you, this didn’t always mean just the clothing we wore. No, pillowcases, handkerchiefs, kitchen towels and more went into the basket too (although those always got ironed first because they were easy).

But, wait. Before ironing, everything was sprinkled with water from a pop bottle with a sprinkler top held firmly in place by a cork. You sprinkled, sprinkled some more, then rolled up the clothing to supposedly stay damp which supposedly made the ironing easier. By the time I got to the ironing, I never encountered anything damp.

But when the iron was heated and doing its job, steaming away on clean clothing as it made wrinkles disappear, the smell was heavenly. And there was a satisfying feeling as you finished one of Dad’s shirts, a house dress of Mom’s, a stack of pillow cases, your four sisters’ dresses. By the time the basket was empty, you felt as though you climbed Mount Everest. And you gave yourself several pats on the back for this major accomplishment.

Well, today my ironing chore pales in comparison to those days. But I can’t wear wrinkled shirts and my jeans and slacks need creases.

Oh, kids, you don’t know what you’re missing.

Thanks for the visit today and for thinking my random thoughts 💭 are worth reading.

Whirlwind

That’s the most apt description of my state of affairs since I’ve returned home from Arizona. Coupled with the busy-ness and the speed at which the days whiz by, everything seems to take me longer. I don’t focus as well and find myself taking frequent rests and breaks. 

This isn’t a malady exclusive to me. Others my (ahem) age have reported the same.

I have a problem with non-productivity. Not sure where in my past this comes from, short of my inherited work ethic. Thanks, Dad.

Contributing to the whirlwind is my tendency to take on too much, sign up for anything and everything, while underestimating the time and energy required.  

I joined a Facebook group of people trying to declutter with various degrees of success. They post their dilemmas, frustrations and tips for how they’re making it work. So after several days of reading their posts, I got the declutter bug and I’m going after it with fervor. And in doing so, I’m learning much about myself. 

Weeding through my collections of things, it’s little wonder I’m constantly overwhelmed. I have more stitching charts, fabric, threads and supplies than I could possibly use in several lifetimes. Scrapbooking and card making? Yep, paper, tools, ribbon, embellishments—more than it’s even possible to use. Knitting—you got me there, too. Every size knitting needles, yarn and patterns fill a cupboard and big basket. 

Do we have to talk about my books?  Bookshelves overflowing, stacks of books in various places, boxes of books under the bed. The more I try to thin them out, the more they grow. They’ve taken over the house. It would be near impossible to read them all.

So I’m trying to figure out how to declutter my mind. Having so much stuff and accumulating more and more and more takes up valuable real estate in my head. I’m slowly and painfully working on letting go and bringing my collections to a more realistic and manageable level. Why does that sound so good yet is so hard to do?

It’s tough getting there and it’s a slow process. There’s mourning involved in letting go. But I’m after the freedom that comes with the effort, freeing my mind, freeing my time, freeing my space.

Sigh….

Thanks for visiting today and reading my random thoughts.

Homeward Bound

On Sunday, I will board a plane headed for Minneapolis. I’ve been here in Arizona since November caring for my friend and former neighbor. Now my work here is done.

Leaving Arizona is bittersweet. On the one hand, it will be nice to be “home, sweet home.” On the other hand, this retirement resort park is where George and I spent thirteen fabulous winters and the reality is I may never return.

My neighbors here on J Street in Mesa are the “salt of the earth” kind of people. It’s not just a street to live on, not just a block where your house is, but a family neighborhood. We laugh and cry together, mourn those who have passed and welcome newcomers. We help each other when a need arises. We keep in touch when we’re apart during the summer months by way of a Facebook group and sometimes by text messages. And one by one, we reunite in the fall.

Some play tennis; some golf; others hike. We walk, ride our bikes, drive our golf carts, play cards, enjoy crafts, work in the wood shop, dance, or just pull out our lawn chairs to sit in the sun, which is an open invitation for anyone and everyone to join you. Bring your Coke, water or a beer.

But what sets us apart from other streets is our every-Monday afternoon Happy Hour with a chicken 🐔 toss and chicken ⛳️ golf. That’s right, chickens. Well, plastic ones anyway.

Yes, we have a course set up on the street; yes, we are very competitive; and yes, we have trophies. The course is a tough one and the object is to toss the plastic chicken into the hole. The problem is the hole doesn’t stay stationary and tends to wobble. But our girls persevered.

There are other things that set us apart as well, and makes J Street unique. For example, we have a mayor. And an official flag. And an official anthem. All of which we take very seriously.

Mayor Denny calls us to order with his official wooden microphone and the first order of business is to pay homage to our flag. And our anthem? 

I don’t wanna be a chicken   🎶 

I don’t wanna be a duck. 🎵 

So I shake my butt. 🫨 

👏 👏 👏 👏 

And this is complete with hand and body actions, and of course, do-si-do-ing. We also get a report from President Glen on the most recent board meeting, how our stock is doing, etc. Oh wait, I forgot to mention most of us own stock in J Street’s own Naked Egg, Inc. company. You think I’m making that up?

We’re also known for our assorted array of Jell-O shots, a large tray of which is made each week by Greg and Mar, and on which we’ve all come to rely. The food table rivals any smorgasbord and we have our own cookbook.

So if I cannot return to J Street, my memory bank is filled to the brim and I am forever grateful for these lovely people who bring so much joy to every gathering. They hold a special place in my heart.

Thank you for taking the time to read my random thoughts.

Misunderstood

Introverts are often misunderstood. I am an introvert. 

While extraverts draw energy from action and being with and among people, gatherings and activities, introverts get their energy from a calm atmosphere and time to be reflective. Introverts are somewhat inhibited; they rebuild their energy from quiet time, and time alone. They work well independently.

There are some major misconceptions about introverts. One is that we are shy, reclusive and antisocial. Nothing about this is true. The dichotomy is that I am introverted while being an outgoing and social person. My personality can be described as a joiner, a leader, a group player.

And I present this persona. Because it works. Because it is more acceptable. Because I don’t want to appear unfriendly. And because it’s necessary. 

But my first thought in a crowd—at a party, at church, a class reunion, really any large gathering—is how and when can I escape? I feel out of place and exhausted within the first few minutes. True confession time: I often excuse myself to go to the ladies room. Not because I’m in need of it, but because it’s private and quiet. I get a reprieve for a short time, then I’m refreshed, at least temporarily. When I was working, I chose a bench to sit on with my lunch and my book, rather than eat in the cafeteria. 

If you know me, you may be very surprised at this because it’s not what you see. But again, it’s characteristic of an introvert and it’s how I’m wired. 

I read an article recently about introverts in the church. Acting as if they’re conforming, introverts may not even be paying attention when the hymns are sung, the prayers are said or the sermon is preached. (Side note: I love my pastor’s sermons and hang on to every word, mulling it over while other parts of the service are going on.) The article goes on to say that the church needs both types, extraverts and introverts alike, to function and fulfill its mission. 

There are personality tests to determine your type, and they may even surprise you. The Myers-Briggs Type Indicator in one such tool and is often given in the workplace to determine how staff interact with one another and to inform how they are productive with very different tasks and in different environments.

The Myers-Briggs inventory is based on the theory that people experience the world using four principal functions: sensation, intuition, feeling and thinking, and that one of these four functions is dominant for a person most of the time. The test measures four categories: introversion/extraversion, sensing/intuition, thinking/feeling, and judging/perceiving. Each person is said to have one preferred quality from each category. (Wikipedia)

My results, although some years back, indicated I am I N T P.  Introverted—Intuitive—Thinking—Perceptive. This explains why I like to work alone, read and undertake projects independently, carefully ponder pros and cons when making a decision or taking action, and look at the big picture (sometimes rushing to offer solutions).

So there you have it. Now you know what makes me tick. But, again, the world is richer for all of us with all types, don’t you think?

Thank you for taking the time to read my random thoughts.