Rainbow River Rock

I was reminded yesterday of a delivery that my husband and I made during the year we were trucking together. We were in a small town in Montana to pick up a load of rock that was headed to a landscaping business in Santa Monica, California.
We were pretty sure that our directions were wrong. We found ourselves driving down a dirt road with nothing but farms. Just as we were getting ready to turn around we caught a glimpse of a small sign at one of the farms. This was the place. An old farmer and his son came out to load us up.
We looked around us and couldn’t believe our eyes. This was truly a one horse operation. What surprised us was the amount we were getting paid to make the delivery. This old man was making some pretty good money shipping rocks to California.
Then one of the bags broke. My husband started laughing and called out to the farmer- “Hey, isn’t this pea gravel?” (Pea gravel is the stuff at the side of our roads.) The farmer looked very sheepish. He replied, “Yes, sir, to people like you and me it is pea gravel. But call it “Rainbow River Rock” and people in California will pay more for it. They use tons of it in landscaping.”
Sure enough, at the delivery end, they were really happy to get it because the company was all out. It was a very popular item. The landscaping company that we delivered at was in the center of Santa Monica- just a few blocks from the famous pier.
I think that we should take time in our lives to reassess and to make sure that we are not spending our time, money or energies on things that are just gravel, especially those things that are packaged as “Rainbow River Rock”.
That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?

Critter Crazy

My dog lost his manhood today. Yup, I took him in to get snipped. In the early morning hours, a number of us dog owners huddled with our dogs against the cold wind while we waited for the doors to open. Today was surgery day and we were all there for the same reason.
There were two very pretty little girl dogs that Benji took quite an interest in. I let him. I also took him aside and whispered, “Enjoy your self. After today you won’t care anymore!” I always feel guilty about this particular elective surgery.
I waited anxiously for the “all clear” phone call not so much out of concern for Benji but I needed to know when I could pick him up. I need to make one thing clear- I am an animal lover but I am not a fanatic. I think that basic vet care is important. I also think that we have gone a bit overboard in the take care of your pet department. Actually, I think we have gone a lot overboard in that department.
When I see people spend hundreds of dollars to cure their cat from cancer or kidney transplants for the family dog or dental care, I feel uncomfortable. There are still starving children all over the world. How are we going to justify those choices to God?
And I think we forget that while our animals are beloved and have a special place in our lives, they are still just animals. I know that the animal health care people forget this. Otherwise, how could they give the “discharge” instructions that they do.
I kid you not, this is exactly what I was told about “post operative care”:
1. Don’t let Benji chew or lick his incision. The incision is at his privates. HOW do you keep a dog from licking his privates? It’s what they do!
2. Keep him calm for a few days. O.K. give me drugs then. He’s a Shihtzu/Pomeranion mix- hyper is his middle name. As soon as we arrived home and he left the car, he was all over and under the welcoming committee which consisted of my two other dogs and Benji’s favorite cat.
3. Don’t let it get wet down there. Well, unless I’m willing to follow him around with toilet paper and wipe his weeny every time he pees that’s not doable either.
4. And my favorite- don’t let him jump for several days! He’s a freaking small hyper dog, people, jumping is what he does. As a matter-of-fact, in order to get around my big dog lying on the living room floor, Benji jumps from the couch to the coffee table to the rocking chair to the kitchen floor. Driving home he jumped from the back to the front about a zillion times before he jumped into the back window to settle in for the ride.
At least with kids you can reason, bribe and threaten. Dogs will be dogs no matter what else we might want them to be. That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?

Choices

I was talking to a young man close to Valentine’s Day. He was thinking about popping the question to his girlfriend. He was uncertain about whether she was feeling the same way. He was really having a hard time making this important decision. He was afraid of being rejected but he was also afraid of regretting it if he didn’t do it. He asked for my advice.
That question and the answer I gave him sent me down a new self- discovery road. I have made a lot of decisions in my life that have not been understood by those around me. I’ve received criticism, insults, and all forms of derision for some of them. I’ve been admired by some and hated by others for choices I’ve made. I myself have wondered how I’ve been able to make choices that I know will be met with opposition by even those I love the most.
I have several friends that say I’m a “balls to the wall” type of person. I’m unsure of the exact origin of this reference but I have come to understand that they think I am fearless and don’t mind doing the hard things. This is appreciated by some- not so much by others.
It is also untrue. I’m just as afraid as anyone else but I decided a long time ago NOT to let fear run my life or influence my choices. I told this young man that when I was about his age I learned that ultimately I have to live with myself every day. I decided then that I didn’t want a bunch of “shoulda’s, coulda’s, maybe’s, or if only’s” cluttering my life. I told him that it is sometimes a difficult, lonely road but for me the road of regrets would be harder.
I shared that “it is better to have tried and failed than never to have tried at all” was somewhat a personal motto. I can deal with failure better than I can deal with regret. It is not an easy way to live but it is my comfort zone. This is a totally personal decision that each person has to make.
Just as I’ve not let others opinions rule me, I am trying to learn that their actions don’t need to either. People are who they are. Situations are what they are. Often, nothing I do is going to change that. It is what it is. I can, however, change how I react to anything.
For instance, a rude hand gesture can be met with a smile, unkindness can be met with kindness, disrespect can be met with respect. I DON”T have to treat others the way they treat me. I can treat them the way I wished they treated me. Sound familiar? It’s an age old concept and it works.
My sister has been on this journey with me and she puts it like this- “At the end of the day, it’s about being the kind of person you want to be, no matter what.” Yes, it is.
That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?

Love Songs

One day while helping a friend move, I remarked that I should have brought a radio to fill the silence. One of the young movers heard me and very kindly offered to play his cellphone/ipod music for us. I must have made a face because he instantly assured me that it contained nothing but love songs. We accepted his offer.
After he set it up, he must of realized that some of the songs might not be appropriate for two grandmothers. He showed me how to press the skip button and left. He was obviously happy to be sharing. We felt honored by his thoughtfulness.
Then the music began to play. We weren’t stupid enough to expect Barry Manilow but we sure were not prepared for what did play. I listen to today’s soft rock and know many of the current hits. I didn’t know any of these. We realized quickly that what he sincerely considered “love songs”, we would have termed “sex songs”. We found ourselves in a dilemma. He was popping in and out of the house as he packed and carried. We didn’t want to hurt his feelings by turning it off or by skipping all of them. Since I was nearest to the phone it was left to me to skip the worst ones and let the others play.
My choosing criteria came down to bad words. Those with swear words got skipped. Let me tell you, I received an education in how many ways you can describe “the deed” without using swear words. There were a few songs that had us huddled in the corner of the room giggling like school girls as we tried to make out if they were saying what we thought they were saying!
The only one I can remember had a chorus that kept telling us that “everyone in the building knows my name”. Apparently, if we understood correctly, his girlfriend called it out frequently during…… well, you get the idea.
The next day he had it all set up when we arrived. Again, I became the censor board. This day we had another friend helping for awhile. She was our bishop’s wife. We didn’t think much about it until she was getting ready to leave. She softly asked my friend if the music was hers or the movers. I know she couldn’t understand why we were letting it play but she hadn’t seen how pleased this young man had been to share his music.
The value of being introduced to a new form of music- iffy. The value of making a young man’s day and bridging the generation gap- priceless. That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?

Integrity

I have a plaque in my office that says-“ INTEGRITY is doing what is right even when the only one who knows is God.” I used to tell my children that what really counts are the choices we make when no one else is looking. Webster says integrity is “uprightness of character”.
We are losing our integrity as a people, as a nation and as a world. We seem to live in a society that worries more about getting caught than just not doing it in the first place. People blow thru stop signs, cheat on their income taxes, spouses and employers with regularity and see nothing wrong with taking things home from work, i.e. paper, pens, trash bags, TP, copier ink, etc.
I was fired last year in part because I kept the rules. I would not falsify paperwork. To do so was a fireable offense as well as possible prosecution. Apparently, not doing so was also a fireable offense. I guess it was “understood” that everyone did it. That is everyone but me. In choosing to do what was right, I was doing what’s wrong!
Atticus Finch was once described as being “the same person in his home as he was at work.” It was also said of him that he was someone that could always be trusted to do the right thing! Wow, that’s an achievement!
Yes, Atticus is a fictional character but there have been many of whom the same could be said. My daughter-in-law’s grandfather passed away recently. The man that he had worked with for many years said this about him, “He was the same man at work as he was at church.”
One of my young daughters said that she really hated it when people said they would do something and then never did. Lack of integrity! A friend hates to listen to politicians talk because they say what people want to hear. Lack of integrity! Another family member hates people who say one thing and do another. Lack of integrity!
We need a superhero- Integrity Man!! Since most people only care about getting caught, he could catch us and teach us. Or maybe a reality show like Candid Camera? There could be nanny cams all over the place. Or maybe just maybe, we all wake up tomorrow and try each day to be more honest, more true, more integral- even when no one but God is looking. Now there’s a thought!
That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?

Tsunamis

There are many of us in the world today that have had our lives completely changed in what seemed to be a blink of an eye. Sudden death, severe accidents, changes of heart, job loss, natural and not so natural disasters can sweep in and destroy completely the life we knew. We are left in devastation. We cling desperately to the ruins as we try to rebuild.
And when it happens to others, we, too, ache inside. We weep with those who weep and mourn with those who mourn. Our hearts break repeatedly as we stand witness to the pain and ruin of our fellow man. It doesn’t matter that we live on the other side of the street or town or world. We feel their pain.
The tsunami that hit Japan hit the rest of us, too. It swept in unannounced and forever changed thousands of lives. The effects will reach far into the future as families, villages, governments and our global communities struggle to put themselves back together.
The emotional tsunami that accompanies such disasters can be just as overwhelming. We feel shock, sorrow, helplessness, fear, and even despair. We may be so overcome that we feel nothing. We just want it all to go away. We can get angry when it doesn’t. We can feel guilty that so many suffer but we sit in our safe comfortable homes. We can feel relieved that it didn’t happen to us and then guilt washes over us for feeling that way. We can be just plain mad, asking, “Why, why, why?”
These are all stages of grief. These emotional tsunamis are normal, part of the human experience just as real tsunamis are part of Japan’s experience. The key to healing is to let the feelings wash over you when they come and then get on with your life. It may take days, months even years for the aftershocks to stop but they do. Remember that Japan always rebuilds!! We can too.
Ronnie Dunn has a beautiful new song out (he’s country). I love it more each time I hear it. It is particularly appropriate for now- “We all bleed red, we all taste rain, all fall down, lose our way…….My scars, they are your scars and your world is mine. Sometimes we’re strong, sometimes we’re weak, sometimes we’re hurt and it cuts deep- we live this life breath to breath. We’re all the same, we all bleed red.”
To the people of Japan, we are bleeding and weeping and praying with you! That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?

Artists?!

I have a good friend who is an artist. She dabbles in many mediums and everything she does is amazing! I belong to that pathetic group of people that have a hard time making stick people look right. To say I worship her abilities is pretty strong but to say I admire them is weak. So my feelings towards her talents are somewhere in between.
Recently, I spent an afternoon in her home. The miles between us as well as our too busy lives prevent this from being a regular occurrence. I love her home. It is so like her. The house itself is simple. She has filled it with things she loves. She would be the first to say that filled is an understatement. With her artistic, Victorian, romantic style she has used every inch of space.
Her walls are covered in works of art. Some are small, some large. Some are hers, most are other artist’s work. Some are originals, some are reproductions. It is like walking through a favorite art gallery. There are sculptures of all sizes within and without the home.
Most of her furniture is antique. Again, it is everywhere. If most of us tried to copy her style, we’d look like we should be on that hoarders show. She pulls it off beautifully! (I did accuse her of having a sadistic streak when I used the toilet-an old, ornate, large mirror is on the wall facing the toilet- can’t say I enjoyed the view as I did my business.)
Upon arriving home, I looked around to see what my environment says about me. My house is simple. I have surrounded myself with things that I love. I, too, have antiques. Whereas her home looked like an art gallery or museum or upscale shop, mine is best classified as “shabby chic”. I love old, worn, faded things.( My kids would tell you I rescue junk.)
If something comes into my house it must be able to do work. It also can’t require lots of care. The first thing most people notice is that very few things in my house do the work they were meant to. An antique chest holds our firewood. A large pickle crock holds pinecones which we use for kindling, etc.
When I see things, I don’t see what they are- I see what they can become. For instance, a 60’s type bunk bed ladder is horizontal on the wall. It is used as a picture shelf. Several antique wooden levels are used in a similar fashion. The inside carry cases that once belonged in trunks now adorn my walls as shelves. You get the idea.
But this particular day, I saw something I had never really noticed before. She, as an artist, has surrounded herself with color, texture, and art. I, as a writer, have surrounded myself with words! Books are everywhere. My walls have plaques with favorite sayings, reminders of who I want to be- Believe, Faith, Give Thanks in All Things, Dream, See the Possibilities, etc. I have a very old embroidered serenity prayer hanging. There are scripture quotes in frames.
I realized that just as her home reflects her- mine, too, says a lot about who I am. She paints pictures with oils- I paint them with words. So, who cares if I can’t draw stick people?
That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?

Temper Tantrums

Brent and I used to teach the nursery class at our church. The ages were 18 months to 3 years old. We loved it!! It was hectic but exciting as we watched them become accustom to the routine. We also were able to be silly. We don’t get to do that enough today.
There was one 2yr old girl who was having a hard time being left by her parents. One parent stayed every Sunday to help her make the adjustment. This went on for longer than usual. One day I suggested that they just leave her with us. I felt that she knew us, was comfortable with us and played well with everyone. I thought she was ready. She was. But boy, she was angry about the whole thing!
She screamed and cried but she was willing to cuddle on my lap as she did. I held her, sang softly to her, rocked her and talked to her. We also continued class as normally as possible. With typical toddler innocence, her class members brought her toys, patted her back and ignored her in turn.
She calmed down a little but still refused to turn around on my lap and participate. I’ll try to explain what happened next. I looked over her head at all the fun she was missing by being mad. The only one she was really hurting was herself. She didn’t get to play. She refused snack. She sat on my lap pouting throughout dance time.
I whispered in her ear, “Oh, sweet girl, I wish I could tell you that it gets better but it doesn’t. You will be having this same battle for the rest of your life. It is a battle with your self. You are missing out on so many things because you don’t want to do what you know you should. If only you could see it the way I do. You would stop crying, get down and be part of the fun. You are loved and those around you want what is best for you.”
At this moment a picture jumped into my head. It was me sitting on my Father’s lap. I was crying. I was saying “No, I don’t want to!” He was rocking me gently, singing to me softly and whispering in my ear, “Oh, sweet girl, I wish I could tell you it gets better but it doesn’t. You will be having this same battle for the rest of your life. It is a battle with your self. You are missing out on so many things because you don’t want to do what you know you should. If only you could see it the way I do. You would stop crying, get down and be part of the fun. You are loved and those around you want what is best for you.”
I was reminded of this lesson during this past week as I did major battle with myself. There have been plenty of times that I have screamed into my pillow- “No, I don’t want to!!” There have also been plenty of times that I finally have said- “Your will not mine”. It is then that I feel His love wash over me and blessings that I could not have foreseen come forth.
That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?

Snakes

A young man was hiking a trail in the Rocky Mountains. It was a beautiful spring day. The sky was clear and very blue. The earth was waking up from its long winter sleep. Creatures were waking up too. He came upon a large rattlesnake trying to warm itself on a rock. He turned away to avoid disturbing it.
“Pleassssse”, said the snake. “Pleassse pick me up and hold me against your body so that I might warm up.”
“No!” replied the young man. “You will bite me and I will die!”
“I promisssse I will not bite you. I want only to get warm.”
“You are a snake! You WILL bite me and I will die.”
“No….. no… no… I will NOT bite you. I am sssso cold. Pleasssse hold me closssse and help me get warm.”
“I cannot help you. If I pick you up, you will bite me and I will die. I’m sorry.”
The snake continued to beg until the young man finally gave in. “Alright, I’ll pick you up and carry you down the mountain to a warmer place.”
“Thank you,” said the snake. “But you musssst hold me closssse to your chessssst that I may be warm on the walk down.”
“Yes, I will do that”, answered the young man. He bent down, picked up the snake and stuffed it into his jacket against his chest. The snake bit him. As he fell to the ground, he exclaimed, “You promised not to bite me.”
“Yessss, I did. But you knew what I wassss when you picked me up”, the snake replied as he slithered away from the dying young man.
We live in a society full of snakes. Many of them are recognizable as snakes and yet millions are picking them up each day. We can’t allow ourselves to listen to the snakes’ alluring pleas. They WILL bite us and we WILL die.
There are the snakes of addictions: alcohol, cigarettes, drugs, gambling, pornography, etc. We knew what they were when we first picked them up and yet so very many have picked these snakes up. They have held them to their chests and exposed their life’s blood to them. I have seen family after family destroyed by the picking up of these snakes. I have seen individuals completely ruled and then ruined by their lethal bites. What is so alluring about them that so many are tempted to just pick them up?
There is the snake of power. In the past few years, I have seen this snake rear its ugly head. So many people think that they must control the actions of others whether at home or at work. There is no happiness for either the controlled or the controller in such a situation.
There is the snake of deceit. Honesty is no longer valued or admired. Not getting caught is the goal instead of not doing anything you don’t want to be caught at. Why tell the truth when a lie is so much easier? This snake’s bite is especially poisonous because it destroys trust. And trust is the stuff that relationships are made of. “Oh, what a tangled web………”
I don’t what to do about it except to keep yelling as loud as I can- “Put down the snake- back away carefully- now RUN!!!!!!”
That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?

Tumbling Tumbleweeds

I watched a really scary movie the other night! I went to bed and had nightmares all night long! The name of the movie was “The Wizard of Oz”. Stop laughing, I’m not kidding! I mean, who’d of thunk it? I’ve seen the movie a zillion times.
What was different this particular night is that we live in a high wind area and this night, winds howled by at 40 mph. I heard that in my sleep and pretty soon started dreaming about my house spinning round and round. The witch flew by screeching obscenities. Trees, cars and trains blew by my dream window (I also live near train tracks and a highway). Although exhausted, I was relieved to see that my house was still where it belonged when I awoke!
Wind is our primary weather problem here on the Columbia River. I think the reason they seem so strange is that they come alone- unaccompanied by rain or snow. This is unlike most other areas of the country with their tornados, hurricanes, gales, blizzards, etc.
I have been in this area for 10 yrs. There is still a phenomenon that occurs with these high winds that I have not been able to accustom myself to- the tumbleweed migration! It very much resembles herds of animals trying to cross the road. A herd of tumbleweeds will be crossing the road at a point in the highway. You can see whole families- great big grandpa and daddy tumbleweeds are followed closely by medium sized grandma and mommy ones, then the teenagers (you can tell them by attitude as well as size, they keep jumping out of line), they are followed by the younger ones rolling very fast in an effort to keep up with the bigger tumbleweeds.
Once in awhile, you’ll catch a glimpse of a rogue out on it’s own but they tend to stay at the side of the road. They don’t often try to cross the road on their own. However, there are times when you see one that didn’t make it plastered on the front grill of a car or truck.
Even harder for me to bear are the tumbleweeds that now tumble with a limp because they did get hit- their roll is not smooth and lightening fast anymore, it’s more like a grocery cart with a broken wheel- kerthump, kerthump, kerthump. I find them particularly heartbreaking!
And than there are the “Prison Break” weeds- they pile themselves against a fence or barrier until others can just roll over them and get over the fence! That’s a rare but amazing sight.
Now that I live in Oregon maybe I should start a “Protect Migrating Tumbleweed” movement. Never mind, someone probably already has.
Well, that’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?