Memorial Day Thoughts

My husband and I spent the weekend working on our home improvement list. This requires us to find our favorite rock station on the radio and crank the volume up…way up. This drowns out our hearty attempts of “singing along”. The station we were listening to had a commercial reminding us of the true reason for having a Memorial Day which is of course to honor those who have fought for our country.


I have cousins that fought in Vietnam, a father- in- law and an ex father –in- law who both accomplished heroic feats (which they never talked about) in the Korean war, friends who served in Desert Storm, one son who is on his second tour of duty and another soon to go on his third. So this is a subject and a day that is close to my heart.

In my search for something that best matched my sentiments I have read many speeches and stories. I read with many tears and have loved them all but I was surprised to find that one short speech that I had memorized and recited back in grade school stills says it best. It is the Gettysburg Address by President Lincoln. And because nothing I could write would be better… here it is:

“Four score and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting place for those who gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But in a larger sense we cannot dedicate, we can not consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember, what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave their full measure of devotion, that we here highly resolve that those dead shall not have died in vain, that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”

To which I add only amen. That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?

You can't have your cake and eat it too.

I’ve wanted to write this blog for a very long time. I just haven’t been sure that I can make myself clear. It is about what I call “the cake and eat it too” syndrome. It is when people want conflicting sides of the same issue to be true and in place. I can best explain by giving examples.


Many years ago I was following Senate debates on late term abortions. You know, the ones in which a doctor sticks a syringe into a baby’s brain just before it is born and sucks its brains out. The baby is then “dead” when completely birthed. I was sickened that anyone could call that an abortion and not murder.

During this time a young college girl gave birth in a motel room. Her boyfriend helped her. He then bashed the baby’s brains out against a wall and threw it away. Some of the same people that supported late term abortions were now screaming for revenge against these “baby killers”. I didn’t see much difference in what these two kids did and what doctors were doing. I remember being so angry that I yelled at the TV, “You’ve already showed young people that babies have no value, what do you expect?”

Since then we can add these conflicting ideas: murderers of expectant women are charged with double homicide and mothers who do drugs during pregnancy are liable for child abuse. Most people agree with these decisions. I know that I do but I oppose abortion. My point is either a fetus has rights or it doesn’t- you can’t have your cake and eat it too.

This morning I read about an 18 year old girl charged with sexual assault because she had a sexual relationship with a fourteen year old girl. It is being played up as a gay rights issue. If this was an eighteen year old boy with a fourteen year old girl no one would bat an eyelash at the charges. Adults don’t have sex with children, period. If you want equal rights than you have to accept equal consequences. You can’t have your cake and eat it too.

Another area we see this syndrome played out is in politics. I could write a book on that. Instead, I will pick one example. In my personal experience the people who want the most benefits from government are the ones that complain the most about paying taxes. If you want government to take care of all the “social” issues of the day then you need to expect to pay for it. The more services a government supplies the more the citizens of that government will be required to pay to sustain those services. I know one couple who cheat on their taxes but expect the wife’s disability check to arrive each month. Again, you can’t have your cake and eat it too.

Freedom of religion and freedom of speech are other areas in which this syndrome is apparent. My right to worship God is protected by the same right that allows you not to. Your right to say what you think about that is protected by the same right that allows me to disagree with you.

I looked this saying up and it was explained “meaning when people want two things that are incompatible, i.e. you can have a pretty cake to look at or you can eat it but then it will be gone- you can’t have it both ways.” I think that’s a big problem in today’s world. Everyone wants both ways but it can’t be. You can’t have your cake and eat it too. That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?

A Fresh New Start

I know a woman who has had a severe substance abuse problem for most of her adult life. She hit a significant age and realized that if she was ever going to change her life it had to be now. It was time to grow up. She had children and grandchildren that needed her. That was part of her motivation. But mostly she just wanted to find the her she had lost to addiction. She couldn’t get back the lost years but she was damned if she was going to lose any more.


So she quit- just like that- no more drugs, no more alcohol, no more cigarettes. And she started a diet/ exercise plan to lose the considerable amount of weight she had packed on over the years. All of this was made doubly hard by an abusive addicted husband who didn’t want anything to change. But this woman was a strong, determined person. She resisted temptations, survived withdrawal, lost the weight and finally left the husband. She took only a bag of clothes. She moved in with relatives for financial and safety reasons.

So fast forward to now- she has a good job, bought a new car, looks and feels great and is in a promising relationship. She had determined it was time to get rid of her wedding ring and all that it symbolized but all the pawn shops were closed. Her friend suggested giving it to someone in need maybe a homeless person. Although she was disappointed that she couldn’t get rid of it immediately she thought his idea was great.

On the trip home, she stopped at a rest area. There was a woman sitting on the ground with a pile of belongings and a sign asking for help. Our heroine sat in the car for a few moments watching. She then got out and walked straight towards the woman who lowered her head as if expecting a confrontation. Our heroine held her hand out, the homeless woman held hers out timidly. The ring was dropped in the outstretched hand and our heroine headed to the bathroom. Not a word had been spoken by either.

But this simple act of paying it forward lifted the burdens of both women. Our heroine left more than a wedding ring. In realizing how easily that could have been have been her sitting there, she left her past and embraced her bright new future. She has reached that place of healing where the voices in her head are no longer saying “No, you can’t you’re not good enough.”

She left more than a wedding ring for the other woman, too. She left hope, a feeling that someone cares and perhaps for awhile a silencing of her own voices. What a great way to get a fresh start!

That’s the view from my side of street, what’s yours?

Oil in Our Lamps

There is a story in the Bible about ten women waiting for the bridegroom to show at a wedding. It was the custom of that day for guests to wait outside for the groom to show. All ten women had brought their oil lamps with them but only ten had brought extra oil. The five who didn’t have the extra oil ran out and asked the others to share theirs but they replied that they could not.


My head has always understood this story. If the five shared their oil they would also run short and be caught unprepared when the bridegroom came. I understood that the oil represented our faith and knowledge. The story tells us that some of us will be prepared for the groom’s coming and some of us will not.

In my young adult days, this story was a point of discussion on a number of occasions with some good friends. We tossed our ideas around like a ball. We always came out of these discussions feeling like we truly understood the concept of this story. And we did- in our heads. It has taken quite awhile for our hearts to finally get it.

Growth, learning, maturing, whatever you want to call our life journey, is a process that takes time and many lessons. Learning is like an ogre -it has many layers. And it is IMPOSSIBLE to share those many layers of learning with someone else in a few moments of time.

How can you impart everything you’ve learned about parenting to a new mother and father in a few moments? How can a couple married for 60 years teach everything they’ve learned about marriage to a young newly wed couple? How does an expert electrician, carpenter, plumber, etc. train someone new to the profession to take over his job in one day? It simply can’t be done!

The student must be ready to learn, he must be prepared, he must be willing but even if he is all these things there are some things that can only be experienced to be learned. It’s impossible to tell first time parents how much this baby will change their lives. It’s impossible to tell them how much they will love this unknown child before it is born. But they will understand after.

I know a young man who has been highly trained to be a sniper in the Army. He has had countless hours of teaching. He has been declared an expert marksman. But he has not had to kill anyone yet. No amount of training can fully prepare him for how he will feel when that time comes.

Life is our training field- we can not at the end of it, borrow someone else’s oil. It is up to each one of us to collect our own oil by making the most of our experiences here. And I really don’t think that pointing our fingers at someone else while we say, “They didn’t share!!” is going to cut it, do you?

That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?

The Junk Man

My husband’s phone rang about suppertime Friday night and he was told that paramedics were working on his dad and to meet them at the hospital which we did. It was not good. He had stopped breathing and been resuscitated. At the hospital, he had been hooked up to a breathing machine. Something he didn’t want to have happen but one of our daughters had the paperwork and the hospital had to wait for it.


The paperwork came. What family was available gathered around him. We said our good byes and the tube removed. We had been told that after a few breaths, it would be over. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

He became VERY agitated, flailing his arms, moaning, trying to talk and looking back and forth at us. We tried to calm him with soothing words and touches. This only seemed to aggravate him more. I have never been prouder of my husband as I watched him hold his dad in his arms, tears streaming down his face and assuring him that everything was okay and repeating over and over how loved he was. We mentioned those that couldn’t be there and repeated their messages of love and concern. We told him they said good-bye. We told him he was going to an amazing place and his mission here was finished. We told him we would take care of Grandma.

We expected each ragged breath to be his last but to no avail. Caught in the moment we had no idea of how much time had gone by. The hospital staff was giving us privacy and time to grieve. Finally a nurse peeked in the room to see if we were ready to leave and saw what was happening. She asked if we wanted him to have pain meds. YES!!!

It seemed to take a lifetime for the meds to arrive but they did. He relaxed and within fifteen minutes it was over. We hugged and cried, shared I love you’s and headed out into the starry night to start making the first of many phone calls and texts.

People keep asking if it was unexpected. The best answer to that is we’ve been expecting it for five years but not particularly on Friday. He had heart problems, diabetes and Alzheimer’s. He had wanted to die for awhile but he didn’t want to leave Grandma.

I struggled a little finding an appropriate poem to send him off with but I think I found the perfect one. I’m pretty sure he would love this.

The Junk Man- by Carl Sandburg

I am glad that God saw Death and gave Death a job taking care of all who are tired of living: …When all the wheels in a clock are worn and slow and the connections loose… And the clock goes on ticking and telling the wrong time from hour to hour… And people around the house joke about what a bum clock it is,… How glad the clock is when the big Junk Man drives his wagon… Up to the house and puts his big arms around the clock and says: …“You don’t belong here, You gotta come… Along with me.” How glad the clock is then, when it feels the arms of the Junk Man close around it and carry it away.” That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?

Mother's Day- Heaven or Hell?

It’s the day after Mother’s Day. For many, that means back to the day to day reality of being a mom after a sweet day of recognition. For others, it means a deep sigh of relief that we have made it through yet another Mothers Day in one piece. In church yesterday, a wonderful older man read the resolution that made the day into a holiday. I don’t believe that the early founders of Mothers Day could even conceive of the day when such a holiday would cause so much pain.


There are those whose mothers are no longer here for them to honor on this day. This causes deep pain to those who are experiencing this loss for the first time. My heart goes out to all of you. I cannot tell you that the pain goes away or even that it lessens. It’s more like your capacity to bear that hurt gets bigger.

There are others whose relationship with their mothers is not what it should be and that causes distress. There are longings on both sides for a better situation but neither side seems to know what to do. Mothers Day might feel like the proverbial lemon being rubbed across an open wound.

This year a number of events have caused me to deeply ponder the parent- child dynamics. Family relationships are not what they used to be. They have become disposable like everything else in our life. But that does a great disservice to our progress and growth into adulthood.

It is a universal truth that teenagers are going to hate their parents. It has been so since the beginning of time. It is also a universal truth that all young adults just starting out in life or marriage or parenthood just know that they will NEVER be like their parents. Their parents did EVERYTHING wrong. It is also universal truth that the day comes when you are like them.

We don’t ever get to know our parents as people until we are grown. As children and teens, we see them only as PARENTS. They don’t have struggles or issues or stress or anything that might explain their bizarre behavior.

But as we mature in to adulthood we realize how hard things really are. We then begin to relate to our parents not as children - adults but as adults- adults. We are old enough to ask real questions and get real answers about their life. We hear their stories as we spend time with them and others who knew them at different times in their lives.

In short, we find out the behind the scenes stuff we never knew as kids and this allows us to see them in a different light. This allows us to see past the authoritative giants we saw in childhood to see just people trying to get along as best they could just like we are doing.

The problem is that in this disposable, move away, Twitter communication world, we don’t get to experience that transition. So many of us are stuck in those child- adult feelings for our parents, we blame them for everything which not only destroys those relationships but keeps us from growing up.

And sometimes parents themselves never allow for that transition. They are the ones keeping the adult-child part of the relationship alive by not allowing the adult- adult stage in. This too robs both of the fullness that was meant to be.

“We may, if we choose, make the worst of one another. Every one has his weak points: everyone has his faults; we may make the worst of these; we may fix our attention constantly on these. But we may also make the best of one another. We may forgive, even as we hope to be forgiven. We may put ourselves in the place of others, and ask what we should wish to be done to us, and thought of us, were we in their place. By loving whatever is lovable in those around us, love will flow back from them to us, and life will become a pleasure instead of a pain; and earth will become like Heaven; and we shall become not unworthy followers of Him whose name is Love.” Anon.

If we could apply these principles to our families, home really could be Heaven on earth. That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?

Food for Thought

I have always “stocked up” on food and other necessities of life. I lived in New England for forty plus years. It was a requirement of life there. Not only were trips to town few and far between and money scarce at times, weather was a big incentive to keep supplies on hand. Trips to a store weren’t always possible and being prepared for these contingencies was a way of life. Alternative heat, light and cooking sources was also a must have.


Growing our own, making our own, building our own was also a way of life. It was healthier, cheaper and self satisfying, all important things to a true blooded New Englander. Jeff Foxworthy says that the seasons in New England are “almost winter, winter, still winter and road construction”. That’s about right. So staying “stocked up” was smart living.

It’s still smart living and I don’t care where you live, you should be doing it. Everyday natural and not so natural disasters are hitting places all over the earth. There are so many more things happening that could keep you homebound for days if not weeks. Recent events in Boston showed us what city shutdowns look like. It also showed officers getting milk for families with babies and children.

Not only do these disasters affect their immediate areas but they interfere with food sources, economies, transportation of goods, etc. Are you prepared? If all outside sources were cut off, do you have resources to care for your family for a day or a week or a month? Do you have water? Do you have diapers and formula? Is there food enough to feed your kids if all outsourcing was cut off?

This is no longer “doomsday prophecy” type stuff. We are seeing it happen all around the world. We are also witnessing the unbelievable cost of food climbing at an unprecedented rate. Is there a reason to think that is going to suddenly stop?

I’m sharing this today because of an unexpected trip to Wal-Mart yesterday. It was a Tuesday afternoon. The place was packed and shelves were empty. Wow, I thought, it’s a Tuesday! Then I noticed some of the produce…I couldn’t believe my eyes! I have never in all my years seen produce at a store look like this did!

The celery was limp, full of leaves and ungrown. The computer is telling me that is not a word but I can’t think of another one to describe what this was. Not one single stick of celery on one single clump was of a useable size. Not one.

And then I saw the bananas. Again, I have never in all my years seen such green bananas on a store shelf. They looked like the Mexican bananas we have for sale here that are supposed to be green. They never turn. These bananas I was looking at hadn’t even begun to ripen.

Being from a trucking family I wondered why the store had even accepted the loads. They were not up to store standards in any way. Was it the best they could get? Is that what we have to look forward to? It could have been a mistake but I still can’t believe they put it out to sell.

And I went home with another reason to keep “stocking up”. Disasters, emergencies, financial problems, and now this…uneatable food, if you don’t have at least a 48 hour supply of necessities for your family, I urge you now to do so. When that’s done, add to it until you have a weeks worth. Check out emergency sites if you don’t know where to begin. Consider it part of your savings. Every day is proving that anything can happen anywhere. This is just smart living for today. That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?

A Simple Act of Kindness

This past Friday found me going to town and doing all our errands alone. Most of the time I am accompanied by my husband which I enjoy but this time I was alone which I also enjoy. While he has always been patient about my “scrounging” through thrift stores, I hurry knowing that he really doesn’t like it much. I was looking forward to taking my time. Especially since there were some things we really need for summer.


I was in one of these stores for a considerable amount of time. It has a .25c clothes pile which is usually worth the time it takes to check out each item. It was particularly worth it this week. I found six pairs of jeans which will fit one of my daughters around her middle. The fact that they were way too long or that some of the knees were ripped doesn’t matter because I’m planning to make them into capris and shorts.

I noticed an Hispanic lady searching for as long and as hard as I was. I ended up with a cart full and she had one very nice blouse that appeared to be for her. We arrived at the checkout together. At such times, I invite the person with the least amount of items to go ahead of me. She thanked me and went. Her English seemed to be limited as she struggled to understand the cashier. She was trying to pay for the item with a card. This particular store only accepts cash or checks. I saw real disappointment on her face as she realized that she could not pay for this beautiful top she had found.

Stepping forward I asked how much it was. The cashier replied, “$4.50”. I turned to the woman and asked her if I could buy it for her while pulling a five from my wallet and gesturing towards the register. She understood and looked at me questioningly. I answered her look by shaking my head yes and saying, “It’s alright. Please let me do this for you.”

She nodded and whispered, “Thank you.” All the time the cashier was ringing it up this woman looked at me and then the cashier in disbelief. She was handed her bag and I told her to have a nice day. She whispered her thanks again and reached out hesitantly as if to ask if she could give me a hug. I said I love hugs and we hugged. I could feel her emotion and gratitude in that hug. It was obvious that this meant a great deal to her.

I began to unload my cart when I heard the cashier say, “You made her cry.” I looked up from the cart, “Excuse me?” “You made her cry, she cried all the way to her car” was the reply. The cashier herself seemed choked up. Another employee came over to tell us that customer was crying and the cashier told her what had happened.

I was embarrassed now and mumbled something about it not being a big deal, it was only five dollars, etc. I was surprised by the employees’ answers, “But nobody does things like that any more. We’ve worked here for several years and we’ve never seen someone do that.” That response hurt my heart. Really? Never?

I am not sharing this story for a pat on the back. What I did really was nothing…just a simple act of kindness that anyone would do. But apparently we don’t. That makes me sad. Maybe we are afraid or maybe we are too busy to notice or maybe we just don’t care. I don’t know what holds us back from being kind.

I don’t know why this woman reacted as she did. Maybe she was having a terrible day or maybe the blouse was for a special occasion or maybe she was used to rudeness from white people. I don’t know what her life is like that made such a small kindness so very meaningful to her.

What I do know is that for a few moments our female hearts spoke to one another. We didn’t need to understand each others words because we could understand each others feelings. We reached through the darkness of a world full of hate and hurting to share a moment of kindness and caring. And we both came away better people for it. That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?

My Lilac Twig

Not having much money has been (as most things are) both a blessing and a curse. The blessing has been that I have learned to find very creative ways of getting the things I want. One of those things has been a beautifully landscaped yard. There are several ways to accomplish this with little to no funding.


One way has been to buy what my kids call “used plants”. I prefer to call them “homeless”. These are actually the end of season dead and dying perennials that stores get rid of for less than a dollar. It’s a crap shoot but most will come back up the next year if planted and cared for this year. Spring is always exciting around here because we have no idea what might pop up.

Another way has been to beg for plants from friends and neighbors. I have even traded my labor for plants (I’ll thin that flower bed out for you if I can have the throw aways). Once or twice I have stopped at a complete stranger’s home to ask for a few plants spilling into the road or driveway. I have even been known to stop on the side of the road or at old abandoned homestead to dig up a few attractive plants. What can I say? I am a scrounger. It’s in my New England blood.

Last year, a kind neighbor gave permission for us to dig up some of his overflowing lilac trees. We carefully dug up a number of seedlings and replanted in a variety of areas. I nurtured them throughout the season although they all looked dead. This spring I realized that most of them were, all but one tiny little seedling still growing at the corner of my house. How excited I was to find that one tree no bigger than a twig and about 12 inches high sprouting a few leaves! I was disappointed that none of the others had made it. But this one had and that made it very special. I pictured it being a full grown tree, filling in the corner spot and covered with blooms. I wondered how long it would be before it was big enough to bloom. I wondered if I would even be here when it did. No matter, I thought, someone will be.

Fast forward a few weeks…I’m mowing the lawn…I turn around the corner of the house…and see lilac blooms!! My little lilac twig had produced…not one…not two…but five lilac blooms! They were tiny like the tree but they were complete and perfect! My twig was giving me blooms! Not only was my special little twig a survivor it was a producer, too! Whoo-hoo!!!

I thought a lot about this as I continued to mow the lawn. Lilac trees were put on the earth to bloom beautifully and smell wonderful. They were not put here to produce fruit or nuts like some other trees. They weren’t put here to compete with other flowers. This little twig was not trying to be a rose or a lily or a gladiola. Despite its history and the fact that all of its siblings had given up and died, it had decided to be a survivor and bloom where it was planted. It didn’t wait until it was bigger or stronger or better off. It wanted to be the best little lilac tree it could be at this time and it is. It is fulfilling the measure of its creation and in so doing bringing joy to those around it.

I was thinking we humans could learn a lot about life and living from this little lilac twig. That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?

Becoming a Writer

I realized recently that I am a writer. This probably sounds funny to those of you who have been reading my blog for the past three years. But the process of becoming anything is just that…a process. We become step by step. Sometimes the steps are tiny. Sometimes the steps are huge.


I began three years ago with this blog. I didn’t know at the time that writing anything (other than news) three times a week was ambitious until some newspaper people told me. So I did it. Of course, as with anything we do long enough it became easier and my writing improved. My biggest surprise was how long it could take to get 600 words just right.

I had a lot to learn about writing and about my audience. Some of the simplest “just get it done” blog entries have been the most passed around while the ones I worked really hard on did nothing. I learned that I can never tell what will strike a chord with someone or what won’t.

I also learned that as with any art form the finished product is often very different from what it started out to be. Things seem to take on a life of their own as you get going on them.

This past year I started a few other writing projects. I am working on a play and interviewing people for a book while writing a completely different book. I am jumping the hurdles that come with changing writing styles i.e. the play is spoken words written down, the blog is my thoughts hopefully written clearly for others and both books are completely different. It has taken me some time to acquire the skill needed to jump back and forth.

The biggest surprise has been that more and more I find myself “thinking” like a writer. I scribble notes everywhere, a line of a song, a personal story, a billboard, an ad, a newspaper, etc. I find ideas in all these places. I have a blog notebook full of blog ideas and another one for my other projects. My family has become used to me stopping everything to write down a thought. My notes are on store receipts, scraps of paper, my hand, and anything I find at the moment.

These are all telltale signs that I am becoming a writer but the biggest sign…the one that made me truly realize that my thought process had changed was this: on a twelve hour road trip with a friend from church, I found myself constantly annoyed with the book on tape we were listening to. I voiced my thoughts a few too many times and was told (kindly) to just shut up! It was terrible writing and I couldn’t see past that to even enjoy the story which could have been good if the writing hadn’t been so bad.

This was the moment that I knew…I am a writer. As a reader, I would have disliked the book for the same reasons but I wouldn’t have been rewriting it in my head which was exactly what I was doing. I hope this phase doesn’t last too long. I used to love to read. That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?