The Christmas Gift

The Christmas season evokes strong memories for most people. Whether it's scents and sounds, songs, food, or toys and special gifts, Christmas is filled with good thoughts and happy times.

The makeup of those memories has changed significantly over the past hundred years, I've noticed.

Back in the days of the pioneers, the gifts were usually handmade items, often of a practical nature, from materials that were readily at hand. The children might get a pair of pajamas, or a pair of fur lined leather mittens, and for a special treat, some candy made over the fire.

If they were especially lucky, their mother would make them a sawdust or corn cob doll to play with, or perhaps a whittled gun. For an extra special girl, she might get a new dress for the holiday, while a boy might have a new pair of pants that weren't handed down from an older brother (or two.)

When my mother was little, the holidays had gotten slightly more commercial, and some city people were giving and getting more, both in quantity, as well as expense. My mother's family, however, were rural farm folk struggling to survive in the midst of the Great Depression, with no extras available for holiday cheer. My mother tells stories of the wonder of Christmas, but she is referring to the Christmas tree alight with candles burning on each branch, not the multitude of packages under it.

My mother still lives in the farmhouse where she was born, and it is easy for me to envision the scene that she has described. The living room doors, pocket doors that have never been closed in my life, were closed in the winter when she was small to help conserve the heat which was provided by a large wood burning stove in the dining room. The tree would be hidden behind those doors, and on Christmas Eve, the candles would all be lit, and the children would sit around the tree in wonder and watch it sparkle and shimmer and glow.

I'm sure my grandparents couldn't have begun to imagine the lighting displays that we see now; fiber optics and LED lights and the chasing, flashing ornaments that adorn even the most humble of trees. My mother tells me it was a once a year treat to see the tree alight, and to sit and stare in wonder at the glory of it all. I am not so sure that with our fancy displays we have captured the wonder of the season any more effectively than that once a year tree lighting in a humble farmhouse set in the middle of a harsh Minnesota winter.

One of my most cherished tree decorations is a small candle holder from her childhood tree, a tangible reminder of all the people who have been there before me. I clip it onto my tree each year in a prominent place as a way to bring the past to the present, a reminder that we are a part of them, and they are a part of us, and we are all together in celebrating this holy holiday.

My mom, when pressed, will talk about the small tokens she received and we chuckle, because they are hardly worth a mention in the current acquisitive climate. My favorite stories are about the doll and the pair of skates she shared with her younger sister, obviously from different holidays. I giggle every time I think about the two of them, each wearing a skate, holding hands and holding each other up in the middle!

But the doll and skates were important presents to them, because they are the only presents she remembers getting. Their stockings were filled with an apple and some nuts, a tradition she carried through to when my brother and I were little. They were simple gifts, it's true. But they were also meaningful, because of all the things that have filled my stocking over the years, the nuts and fruit are the ones I remember.

When I was little, Christmas had gotten more consumer oriented. I recall the commercials that would start shortly after Thanksgiving, hawking the trinkets they wanted you to believe you couldn't live without. I remember all the gadgets that would be sold, the original infomercials, shilling hot doggers and snow cone makers and other electronic toys that they hoped the children would find irresistible.

I'm sure everyone has their own commercial that sticks in their mind, but for me, the harbinger of Christmas each year was the Norelco razor, swooshing down the snowy hill like a sled, coming to brighten your holiday with a closer shave. That commercial was on television for many years, and it always signaled the start of the holiday season for me.

I got many wonderful gifts for Christmas while growing up, although they may not seem all that exciting to today's child. Mostly, I got clothes and practical gifts, because we didn't have much money, and my mother is a practical person by nature. (She is a Minnesota Lutheran. I shouldn't need to say more.)

I got a doll nearly every year, and by the time I was ten or twelve, I had a pretty sizable collection of them, some of which I still have today. There is a certain scent of plastic that will bring me straight back to Christmas Eve and the simple thrill of opening a new baby doll even now. (Often with some now treasured handmade clothes to go with her. The clothes were my mother's works of heart, and they are all beautiful.)

Usually we had a jigsaw puzzle to work on during the 12 days of Christmas, because my mom is the world's most dedicated puzzler. There would be another toy or two, as well; perhaps a board game to play, or something for a pet.

One year, I got the hottest item being advertised, a Baby First Step, which was an exciting moment indeed. She was battery operated, and when you turned her on, she would actually walk across the floor. It was thrilling to see her move all by herself, and I was the envy of everyone around the tree. (Well, okay, maybe not everyone. But I was the envy of my younger cousin, Ahna, who wanted her, too. She got one the following year.)

Although I got many wonderful presents over the years, one of the best presents I ever received was a black and white kitten with the biggest paws you've ever seen, given to me by my older brother. Unfortunately, he didn't think to check with my mom before handing over the box with the live animal in it. I screamed, she groaned, and the cat won, because he got a new, loving home with a girl who adored him.

He was the gift that kept on giving, because he brought joy and aggravation in equal measure for all the years of his life, which were too few, because he was a tomcat, and he had a wandering nature. Living on a farm, there were lots of opportunities for him to find trouble, and despite his enormous size, he always seemed to come out on the worst end of the battle. But I loved him, and he remains one of the best presents I ever received.

I have been thinking a lot about the past this Christmas season, and how Christmas has become one of the main drivers for our entire economy. Retailers live and die by the weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas, and a slow spending season is the death knell for many of them. While we argue over whether or not a nativity scene can be placed on the courthouse lawn, the reality of the financial importance of the season is all but ignored. It seems ridiculous to me that it is called the "winter holidays" by many, as though it were some kind of generic event, rather than acknowledging that without Christmas, our entire retail system would likely fail.

At the same time, I feel that the real meaning of the season has been overshadowed by the need to give and get the most expensive, newest items available, regardless if they are affordable or not. I doubt that there are many homes in which a simple tree with lights on it will be enough this year. And I wonder whether our joy in the season is any greater than it was back when a stick of candy and a rag doll was considered a bountiful holiday.

I am as guilty as anyone, of course, and I'm not putting anyone down for either giving or getting. I enjoy the giving at least as much as anyone, and I enjoy receiving what my loved ones think will bring me happiness, as well. I believe that Jesus was The Gift from our heavenly Father, and it is a good tradition to give to the people we love in response to the gifts we have received.

But this year, I have spent more time than money on my gifts, creating handmade items that I hope will bring joy to the recipient for a long time to come, not just because of what it is, but because of the love that went into the creation of it. I have spent a great deal of time, which is as scarce as money in my life, to dream up something that will be meaningful to each person, and have put together presents which I think will be appreciated as much for the love they contain as the gift itself.

Although a lack of financial wherewithal is a part of the impetus for this crafty expression of my love, it is also a frustration with the loss of the meaning for the season that is increasingly about what we can get, instead of what we've been given. Although holiday "creep" is an increasing problem, I was genuinely shocked to see Christmas aisles going up in the stores immediately after the school supplies were relegated to the clearance aisles this year.

It makes me sad that entire holidays are being overlooked because they aren't lucrative in order to push the shopping orgy which Christmas has become. I recently saw Christmas referred to as Giftmas, and I thought that was a fair analysis of the holiday in our time. I don't think we are better off for it.

I don't propose to do away with the gift giving. The pile under my own tree gives the evidence to that. But I do wish that we could spend more time focused on what Christmas means, instead of worrying about having the means to pay for it all.

I wish that we could watch the old Christmas movies and eat popcorn and play board games together, and find the joy in each other this Christmas season, instead of losing ourselves in the latest electronic toy that brings the world to us, but takes us out of our world and away from the people who mean the most to us. I wish that instead of spending time texting people outside our homes, we could talk to the people who are right in front of us. I wish that instead of wishing we were somewhere else, with other people, we could be happy for where we are, and who we are with. I wish that instead of wishing for more money, we could have more time to enjoy what we do have.

My real wish for each person this Christmas is to find the Gift that God has given to us, and to spread that Gift to everyone we know. Live well, laugh often, give much of yourself, and the world will be a better place for all of us.

Merry Christmas to each and every one of you in 2010. I do hope your wishes come true, and that each present you give and receive will be a reminder of the love that is abundant in our lives, if only we care to see it. I wish you grace, and peace and comfort, and a holiday filled with all good things.

Christmas time is coming...

Unless you have been hiding in a cave over the last few weeks, you may have noticed that things have gotten more festive all of a sudden. The annual homage to retailing, also known as Christmas, arrived with a bang before Halloween had even scared us with the potential for dental disaster, assaulting our senses once again with the superficial reason for the season.

Don't get me wrong - I am not opposed to the superficial reason. I like giving and getting as much as anyone, and I love the displays and ornaments and clothing everywhere. I would, however, like to see Christmas returned to its rightful place - a holiday of grace following the holiday of thanksgiving for all the bounty bestowed upon us, but I think I'm in the losing faction on that one. Retailers live and die by the holiday season, and it's no surprise that they are pushing it earlier every year.

Yes, Christmas is big and extremely vital business, however much the aggressively non-celebrating may want to believe otherwise. Without the out of control spending that occurs in the last two months of the fourth quarter, most retailers wouldn't be around for you to shop at the other ten months of the year, so scoff at your own risk.

It's not only in gifts that Christmas has become the retailing bonanza of the year. All the other accouterments that accompany the festivities need to be bought and put to use - clothing, food, employee holiday parties and Christmas bonuses to be bestowed, trees and ornaments and, of course, the decorations.

Ah. The decorations. The centerpiece of the holiday spirit. Red and green and lights and tinsel and sparkle all around. The decorations make or break your holiday presentation, and they are different and unique for each family, which is what makes them so interesting.

It is the outdoor Christmas displays that capture my attention each year, because I think they reveal much more about the home and family being represented than the usual, everyday landscaping. Most people conform to what is expected of them in their own particular neighborhood for the everyday appearance, and there is, in the end, very little to distinguish one house from the next. But with Christmas decorations, people allow their real personalities to burst through for that brief time every year, and I think we are allowed a small glimpse of the child still living within.

It is endlessly entertaining to me to see garish "Christmas Vacation" style displays next door to a home decorated only with netted white mini-lights, carefully laid over the well manicured bushes with military precisionS. I can't help but wonder about the people living inside, with such opposite world views being exposed for everyone to see.

I also wonder each year whether families correspond with their decorations in the way I think they should. Do the houses with the boisterous lighting displays also hold boisterous families within? Do the prim and proper netted bushes with their perfect twinkling lights reveal a prim and proper family that remembers to remove their shoes at the door, and would never tolerate a Jack Russell Terrier tearing around the inside of their house? (Just for the record, if you are that kind of family, don't get a Jack Russell Terrier, because they are not for you.)

Or perhaps the netted white twinkle lights reveal a family that wants to join the festivities, but simply doesn't have adequate time to do a big display, and the nets are quick and easy, and it's the best they can do. Perhaps the yards and houses covered in lights are covering up for the lack of family spirit at other times of the year, and are over-compensation for what is missing inside.

I wonder sometimes, are the over the top displays done tongue in cheek? Or do those families just get carried away with the spirit of the holiday, and lose themselves in the enjoyment of it all? Either way, I think it would be a lot of fun to spend the time with them while they work. I imagine Christmas carols wafting out a slightly opened window, and hot chocolate and cookies waiting inside for the cold and hungry decorators.

Of course, if tacky Christmas is your goal, it can be achieved with a minimal display as easily as going over the top, depending on the execution. It's like the picture you don't want to be in - if you stand there showing how much you despise being in it, you are the one who ends up looking stupid.

Most families seem to be a mixed bag, and the outdoor displays are probably the work of only one or two family members most of the time. In our case, we have one who couldn't care less, one who does it because someone else will make sure life is not worth living if the mission isn't carried out, and one who lives for Christmas all year through, and grieves the lack of festive lighting adorning our abode, no matter how much is out there, with vociferous complaints.

So each year, I dutifully wait through the warm fall until the coldest day of the year, and then trudge outside to string lights on as few bushes as possible to get the job done, so I can run back inside where the temperature is more to my liking. Why do I wait until it's cold? Well. Isn't that an interesting question that isn't going to get answered?

I will go festive sometime this weekend, because the Christmas lover is coming home soon, and I have to have things in place for her to feel shock and awe when she drives into the neighborhood. It is something she looks forward to all year, and it seems like the least I can do. I would do almost anything for her, so throwing a few lights on bushes isn't really that great of a sacrifice.

But I draw the line at lights on the roof. Given my klutzy nature, I'm surprised she would even consider that a possibility, since I'd probably get tangled in the string and fall off the ladder. Lights on the roof has been a goal of hers for a long time, unfortunately. So each year she complains that my wimpy bush displays are inadequate, failing dramatically on her festivity scale.

One year, awhile back, we were driving around enjoying the many festive displays, and she made note of each home that had lights on the roof. She was thrilled anew each time she spied one, and pointed out how much more exciting those homes looked with the outline of lights against the dark sky.

Finally, she turned to me and said, "Why don't we have lights on the roof?" Well. That's awkward. How do you explain to Miss Christmas that you don't want to because it's just too much work?

In a brainwave, I carefully explained that lights on the roof is a "dad" job, and we did not have a dad available, so therefore, no lights on the roof. She was little, and I thought that would hold her, despite my constant preaching that anyone can do anything they really want to. Yes. I am a hypocrite sometimes.

But she was always one to press forward, and she had to go and point out the obvious. "Mom, we have never had lights on the roof." Since that was true, I told her she would have to take that up with someone else, because I'm not the dad, and it wasn't my job. She thought about it for quite awhile as we continued driving around, then finally offered up this statement of love that I will never forget. "You deserve to have someone who will put lights on your roof."

Here's wishing you a heart melting moment of your own this week. Don't forget to treasure them when they come, because they will sustain you when you need it most. And here's wishing you lights on your own roof this holiday season!

Giving thanks....

This Thanksgiving holiday weekend has been different for me, an interesting reminder that my life has changed permanently and with finality.

The same trappings that have always been a part of the holiday weekend were there. We ate the same foods, we bought a tree and got it trimmed, we wrote our Christmas letter and signed our cards, we did our usual day after Thanksgiving shopping jaunt - in fact, we followed most of the same rituals we always have. But the weekend itself has transformed into an ongoing reminder of just how much life has changed for me and for my kids over this past year.

The weekend began by the return of my children from their respective colleges, a return that is familiar to the one, and a new experience to the other. As my college newbie ran around to familiar haunts in a whirlwind of activity, seeing her friends that she has missed, doing familiar activities, and enjoying the things she has loved for her whole life, there was a new appreciation for what she has taken for granted because it has always been there for her, and it has been missed.

But I also observed a new maturity, as she experienced the college disconnect for the first time, and she realized the truth of the old cliche that you can't go home again. Everything is the same and everything is different, all at the same time, in a way that cannot be explained, it must be experienced. She is ready to return to her new life in college, and she will embrace the time there with a new enthusiasm, I suspect, because she has now gained an understanding of what she has there by being here once again.

It is always a thrill to see your children stretch in their understanding of life, and I feel fortunate to be on the sidelines cheering them on. For those parents still in the throes of the hands on child raising years, I promise these times make it worth every tear that will fall and every moment you will wonder if you will all survive the experience.

I saw my eldest, an old hat at managing the equal demands of wanting to see friends and also spend time with family, also work to manage the new demand of a very significant other who was also managing her own family and friend demands. It is a new experience for me, as well, as I let go even more of what has always been my right as a mother to his time and attention, and watch him set his own parameters for his choices this weekend. It is very clear what is important to him, and I am satisfied that his priorities are firmly in the right order - he is managing his time and his obligations as well as anyone can when there are too many demands and not enough hours in the day for everything that is important.

But I realized this weekend that my kids are not the only ones who have stretched and grown and changed these past few months. I have also transformed, into an only person, someone unaccustomed to having company and conversation and additional life in the house. I have developed new routines and a new schedule and new habits, and I have found that the old demands no longer fit like they once did. The growing pains are hard on everyone, but ultimately, I think we will all be better for having gone through them.

If it sounds as though I am looking forward to being alone again, au contraire. In fact, I will miss my kids more now than I did when they left this fall. I have a new appreciation for what each of them brings to my life, and I will miss each of them more acutely for their absence. I am getting a glimpse of the rest of my life, when they will be truly gone, in lives and homes of their own that have nothing to do with me at all, and I will miss them and what they have brought to my life on a daily basis for the last 25 years more than they can imagine.

But I also look forward to the opportunity I have to forge ahead in new ways, and to build a new life for myself as an independent adult, something I have never done. I will continue to enjoy the things that I have been enjoying - the peace and solitude I have never really experienced before, the opportunity to schedule my days based on my own whims instead of someone else's needs, the freedom to do whatever I want, whenever I feel like it, without answering to anyone. (Well, except my boss and my clients, obviously!)

It is a surprise to me to find out that as my children grow and change and transform, I, as their parent, am doing the same. In short, this Thanksgiving, I have found old things for which to give thanks in new ways. This year, I am very thankful for:

My family: I am not only thankful for my two children, who fill my life and give it meaning, but for my extended family, as well. I am grateful for the mother who is nothing short of my guardian angel, a woman whose place in my life words are simply inadequate to describe, so I won't try. I adore my "big" brother, who is always there to count on and lean on and sort things out with. I am grateful for the wife he brought into the family circle, providing me with the wise and loving older sister I have always wanted, and the example she doesn't even know she is. I am thankful to have two nieces and a nephew whom I love and who are endlessly entertaining, each in their own way. They all bring something totally different to the family table, and they fill a hole that we didn't even know was there until they showed up.

I am also thankful for the extended family that has graced my life for all these years. I didn't fully appreciate or understand just how important they were to me until now, when we are losing them one by one, and I feel bereft of their love and their caring and everything else that made each one unique and special. I have been well and truly loved my entire life, and that is a gift without measure. My family has taught me about unconditional love my whole life, and it is the gift that keeps on giving as it spreads to new generations through each of us.

Old friends: I am so grateful for the very special old friends that I can still call on for whatever I need, be it a laugh or a shoulder to cry on, or something else entirely. I have been ridiculously blessed with the best friends anyone could ever ask for - totally undeserved, but thoroughly appreciated and valued.

New friends: I am gradually accumulating new friends, especially as my children bring their friends into my life. As they develop significant relationships, I have been blessed in surprising ways by people that I never knew would be a part of my life, but whom I'm glad are there now. I have always enjoyed people of all ages, and I am so happy that I can count as my friends kids who are teens as well as men and women well into their mature years. I have been richly blessed, and I look forward to many more years of friendship with those people I never realized would be so important to me.

Pets: I am thankful for the critters that inhabit my household and make things interesting. One of them was ill over Thanksgiving, and my concern for him reminded me of how much pleasure he brings me each and every day. My relief at his recovery, and my joy in hearing him once again sing his happy little song reminds me of God's words that His eye is even on the sparrow. Each creature is a part of the plan for our world, and I would be a lot lonelier without them.

Material goods: If we are honest with ourselves and each other, we are thankful for the tangible goods that we have accumulated, even if we tend to focus more on what we don't have. This has been a hard year for me business-wise, and the end is not in sight. And yet, through God's grace and a lot of help, I still have a home and food on the table, and I am more grateful for that fact than ever. I would even posit that the lack of wealth has served to clarify for me what is truly of value in my life. The "stuff" that used to be so important in my 20's has faded, and the things that matter to me now are clear and easy to identify. That is a gift in itself for which I give abundant thanks.

Time: I am grateful that, more likely than not, I have time to work on myself and my life, and to get right what I have so far gotten wrong. I am thankful that I can mend fences that need mending, and I can show appreciation where it is due. Although we never know how much time has been allotted to us on this earth, I live each day as best I can, so that at the end of the day, I will never have to look back and regret.

Blog: I am thankful that in my middle years, I have found an outlet for my driving passion of writing, one which went begging before I found the blogosphere. Whether one person or many read what I write and throw into cyberspace is less important to me than that I have the amazing opportunity to do it at all. I am thankful for the talent I have been given, and I hope that someday I will put it to even better use. I wait on God to tell me when that time and place will be, and look forward with enthusiasm to the opportunity to continue improving as a crafter of words and phrases until then.

God's grace: I am thankful each and every day for God's grace in my life, and the example that is set for me. It has made me the person I am today, and it continues to encourage and inspire me to be a better mom, daughter, sister, niece, cousin, and friend. Grace is the gift of life, because it is the promise that no matter what I do wrong, I will have another opportunity to get it right. There is no greater gift than that.

This Thanksgiving, I encourage you to take time to think of not only what you are especially thankful for, but why. Sometimes it takes a special day to remind us of what really matters in life. So take this time set aside to give thanks, and recognize what gives your life meaning and makes it worth getting up each day. I think it will give you a new outlook on being thankful. At least it has for me.

Happy Thanksgiving one and all! To each of you, I wish you all the best of the holiday season upcoming. Breathe easily, relax, and realize that no matter what doesn't get done, the holiday will be perfect in its own way as it is every single year. Let the magic happen as it comes, and it will be a success!

Merry Christmas!

Well, at least that's something...

I find human beings fascinating in their ability to adjust to adverse circumstances. No matter what may have happened to them, most people seem to have an endless capacity to reconcile themselves to their current situation and somehow find a way to cope with whatever is going on in their lives at that moment.

There are many different ways that life can, and often does, go wrong. Flat tires, stains and spills, forgotten appointments and running behind ~ the every day ups and downs of an ordinary life provide lots of examples of people routinely rising above their circumstances, in tiny doses of inspiration for those who are paying attention.

But sooner or later, every life will have some true catastrophe to derail the ordinary; a moment that will test personal strength, as well as faith, in a contest of good and evil that will ultimately reveal the character within. The surprise, I think, is not that some people fail the test, but that so many people pass it so spectacularly.

It is that resiliency, that true human spirit, that amazes and thrills me as an observer of people. Watching someone I care for bent and stretched and ultimately forged (a nicer way of saying forced) into someone better than they were before is an incomparable privilege of being alive, and it inspires me each and every time.

I was struck by this process once again as I recently listened to my daughter describe the process of sorority rush. Rush, for the uninitiated, is a weeklong routine reminiscent of medieval torture in which anxious females have their spirits crushed over and over before ultimately rising like a phoenix to find their appointed place in the Greek world. Although it may seem like a superficial example, I think it is the perfect showcase of the human ability to adjust expectations, and it rather effectively demonstrates the human instinct to survive and rise above whatever adversities life throws in the path.

Most girls come to rush week with their preferred sorority already firmly planted in their mind. The impressions they have formed come from many sources: family, friends, movies, television shows, web searches. The list of sources for information is limited only by their willingness to google, and their hopes and dreams are limited only by their own imaginings.

It is a long and difficult week for most girls, characterized by one loss after another as their dreams have to be repeatedly modified from their original expectations. Cuts are announced each day, and if they are not on the list for their preferred house, there are tears and heartbreak, at least for the moment. But then most of them gather up their remaining dignity and press forward, suddenly noticing positive qualities in the remaining houses that were previously hidden by a mistaken understanding of what would be best for them.

The most interesting aspect of the entire week, at least to me, is that when the houses announce their selections, most girls are thrilled to have been chosen by whatever house claims them, even if that was the last house they would have wanted at the beginning of the process. Many of them go on to be as dedicated to their altered outcome as if they had chosen to be there from the very start.

People of limited vision would say those girls have lost something, because they did not attain what they had originally hoped for. But I would posit that those who learn to accept and adjust to unforeseen events and build new dreams are the true winners, because they have gained in maturity and wisdom from adversity they never wanted. It is, in fact, a crash course in the harsh realities of real life, where sometimes the best thing that can happen is not to get what you hoped for, because there is something better elsewhere, once that door has closed.

Some people would say this is a superficial example, something that doesn't really matter in the context of a full life. But I would argue that the process of rush, psychologically brutal as it is, is a microcosm of real life. It is, for many girls, a forging experience, revealing the underlying mettle of the girl within. Hopes and dreams drift away in a daily wave of tears and regrets, while they watch their options temporarily limited. For many, this is the first time they have been told a true no to something they really want, and it is a tough thing to accept.

But other new opportunities come knocking, if only they can open their hearts and minds to the other options that have now opened up, and a surprising number of girls rise brilliantly to the occasion. It is, to me, a fascinating study into the ability of human beings to adjust their expectations to the circumstances in which they find themselves, and not only accept, but actually embrace both the hardship that got them to that end, as well as the outcome itself.

Many crises arise in a long life, of course, times in which people reveal themselves as the flexible phenomenon they truly are. When someone has a lingering illness, they make plans and say goodbye and even prepare for their own funeral, even though the human instinct is for survival.

I have seen people endure their house being blown to bits by a hurricane or burned to the ground with nothing but ashes to remind them of their past, and their first words will be about what went right in the catastrophe. That sort of mind bending flexibility in thinking is an amazing quality that defines our spirit.

I don't know if it's a regional quality, but I have lived in a number of states, and I have never seen anything to rival the ability of Minnesotans to downplay disaster. It isn't that they don't notice. Given the number of tater tot hot dishes that make the rounds, there is plenty of misery going around, and lots of people notice.

Quite simply, they are determined to recognize the good fortune that it wasn't worse, because it surely could have been. Whether it is a big catastrophe, like a death, chronic illness, or divorce, or a smaller crisis like a flat tire in the pouring rain with no spare, they will find a way to minimize the inconveniences of life.

But Minnesotans aren't satisfied merely with self-deprecation and personal uplift. There is an expected, and really rather charming response to this Pollyanna-like display of unreality, so that everyone can participate in the feeling of well being. (Whether they want to or not.) In case you are ever in Minnesota and find yourself desperately trying to fit in, there is one phrase that will almost guarantee your instant acceptance into the club.

Allow me to assist you in navigating the deceptively still emotional waters you will encounter.

When you are told that someone has terminal cancer and only six weeks to live, but at least now they won't have to get that crown they've been putting off, the proper response is, "Well, at least that's something...."

If your house burned to the ground, and you focus on the fact that your cat survived the experience, someone will be sure to point out that "at least that's something...."

If you go in to the dentist for a cleaning and discover that you have a cavity, a true Minnesotan will be glad they didn't need a root canal. Because... well... at least that's something....

See how easy it can be to play along?

Although it can be annoying at times to have your real life catastrophes persistently reduced to a catch phrase, it is an invaluable way of both reassuring us and putting us in our place. Misery does love company, but the pity party eventually has to end. It can be helpful to be reminded of what has gone right when everything feels wrong.

Being a Minnesotan is not just about a state or a place. When it's your birthright, the expectations are so ingrained it's impossible to leave them behind. Wherever in the world Minnesotans have gathered, sooner or later you are almost certain to hear the words, "Well, at least that's something." And I think it's a pretty solid way to live your life, all in all.

Whatever happens to you this week, keep in mind you can always find something positive in almost every situation.

Because... Well... At least that's something....

Cinderella is a fairy tale; real glass slippers break...

My advance apologies to everyone who closely follows the entertainment industry. I don't watch television, (I rarely even turn it on,) so most of the "stars" of today are unknown to me. I rarely go to movies, don't usually read People magazine or EW, and don't particularly care about what people are doing in Hollywood.

I'm truly not an intellectual snob; that job is reserved for my son, Mr. Sandwich Himself. If keeping up on celebrity "news" is your hobby, then knock yourself out. I'm a big believer in the adage, "To each his own," and it looks like there are lot of you out there with the same hobby. (Although, to be fair, I will admit I don't exactly consider actresses and actors to be deep thinkers, and rarely take anything they say seriously.)

No, I'm not speaking from a platform of intellectual conservatism. The truth is much simpler. I really just don't care a whole lot what people are doing anywhere, unless it's actually my business. And hardly anything is, I have found. I could say a lot about people keeping their noses out of other people's lives at this point, but that's a different blog post, so I'll keep myself in check. (I am now glowing with self-righteousness for being so self-disciplined.)

Anyway, I stumbled over a delicious quote this week that really spoke to me, and I had to query her name to find out who she was, because I had never heard of her before. Turns out, she's an actress.

I don't know if she is vain or humble, empty headed or a Mensa candidate. I don't know if she is a good actress or a bad actress. (I have heard of her show from my daughter, an aficionado.) I have no idea what kind of character she has, or if she is big into community service or other ways of giving back to the world.

Surprisingly, however, I think she and I may have something in common. That is, if you think that the 89 pounds on my 5'9" frame the day I graduated from college is a problem. (I thought it was, but I'm guessing my reasons and yours are slightly divergent. Completely opposite, even.)

Anyway, Portia hit the nail on the head with a very perspicacious statement this week, upon which I simply could not resist expounding.

The statement in question was, "You can't put a size 8 foot into a size 6 shoe."

Simple? Yes. Obvious? Perhaps. But how many times in life have we tried to do exactly that? It's not just Cinderella's step-sisters that were desperate to be someone they weren't.

We are surrounded on all sides by the pressure to be someone else. It's not surprising that in the fantasy capital of the world, an actress would have a problem with her body image. After all, Hollywood is all about the illusion, regardless of the cost to real people - whether actress or fan - in self-esteem and life satisfaction.

Although Portia was talking about eating disorders, I find this statement to be a great metaphor for most things in life. If you are forcing yourself to fit someone else's image, you are, quite simply, doomed to failure. Underneath it all, no matter how hard you try to be someone else, you are still going to be you.

If you have a size 12 frame, you are never going to be a size 6, no matter how much you starve yourself, no matter how many hours a day you work out, no matter what you do or don't do. You will be a 12, it's just a matter of whether you are an emaciated 12 or a full figured 12.

If you are a global thinker, you will struggle in an accounting job where the details matter.

If you are a free spirit, you are going to struggle in a world that wants to pin you down.

It doesn't mean you can't do it; after all, Cinderella's step-sister cut off her toes to get that shoe on, and you could, too. (On a side note. Don't you sort of wonder what that would have looked like - the crystal glass shoe rapidly filling with deep red blood?) But that seems like a rather painful way to fit into something that is clearly wrong for you.

I think it's only fair to point out that she didn't end up with the prince in the end, either, so it's a cautionary tale.

I wish we lived in a world where differences were celebrated instead of denigrated. I would like to be part of a world where speaking different languages was only a barrier to conversation, not to understanding. I would like to be part of a world that valued teachers as much as stockbrokers, and maids as much as executives, because they were following their dream with passion and doing the job well.

For a long time I didn't have a scale in my house, because I refused to allow my vision of the perfect number that much control over my own self-esteem. Whether it's 89 or 129 or 409, that number doesn't change the person hiding inside, the real me. It doesn't define what makes me a good friend or bad, a good mother, sister, daughter, person. It is a superficial way to evaluate someone, especially one's self, and is a path doomed to failure, no matter how enticing it may be.

The consequences of imposing false expectations on ourselves or others can be life threatening. Karen Carpenter, one of my favorite singers ever, died for the illusion. So did Tyler Clementi, Ana Carolina Reston, and Christy Henrich. Although the dream they were reaching for was slightly different for each of them, the illusive win was rooted in the same desire to meet or exceed artificial expectations, reinforced by an unforgiving culture in which a narrow definition of perfection is not everything, it's the only thing that matters.

Much of life is simply beyond our control, but we do have the ability to set our expectations realistically. We can make our goals achievable, and we can intentionally disregard those who insist on bringing us down to some other vision of how we should be. Society focuses on the superficial exterior; how beautiful the glass slipper looks. Karen, Tyler, Ana, Christy, and hundreds of others like them, are a testament to the reality that it is also fragile and unreliable.

Although I occasionally enjoy wearing my high heels, most days, I'd rather wear tennis shoes, (usually a size too big in case my feet swell.) Glass slippers can break, and I would hate to get splinters in my foot.

Life is not a bowl of cherries. Except when it is....

I think cliches, like Christmas letters, have their place in this world, and it's an important one. After all, a statement doesn't become a cliche by accident. It's because so many people have so many similar experiences that after awhile, they start to say the same things, and voila, a cliche is born.

I have a whole arsenal of cliches, ready at any moment, which I can use with deadly accuracy to remind my family that they are not the first person to have ever done, thought, or felt any given experience. I think it's important to remember that when it comes to being human, we really do have more in common than not, even with people on the other side of the world.

Each culture has its own unique cliches which are used to express their common experiences. For example, a penny for your thoughts would not make any sense in Qatar, where they don't use pennies. But I'll bet they have something similar to show that the person asking values you enough to want to know what you are thinking. (Of course, a penny was worth a lot more back when this one came into being. These days, it's more of an insult, so use it sparingly.)

As a sidelight, isn't it interesting how we will give someone else a penny for their thoughts, but we want to give our own two cents worth? Does this indicate that most people feel what they have to say is twice as important as what anyone else has to offer? I think that is something worth asking ourselves whenever we give an unsolicited opinion.

(I suspect my own children wish I would take that advice more seriously. They seem to value my life experience a lot less highly than I do, for some reason. I guess they don't realize that practice makes perfect.)

Cliches come and go, of course. Don't take any wooden nickels isn't a line you hear often any more, although it was quite the catch phrase back in the early part of the 20th Century. And yet, the advice contained in the adage is solid gold - don't be gullible. That is advice that we need in every time, because there is always someone out to cheat you in this world.

An apple a day keeps the doctor away may sound trite to our sophisticated, modern ears, but in fact, it was a reminder that fruits and vegetables are the way to stay healthy. (Turns out those old people weren't so dumb after all.) It is more fun to keep the doctor away than to simply eat your fruits and vegetables, don't you think? The old fashioned food pyramid was not only more entertaining, it was a lot easier to remember.

As a parent, I have repeated ad nauseum (which means until my kids want to throw up or run away from home) the phrase, "Two wrongs don't make a right." This goes along beautifully with the idea that "People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones." Even in the Bible, cliches ring out with truth and clarity, "You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother's eye." That is a fancy way of saying, fix your own flaws before you start working on someone else's! (That is Matthew 7:5, by the way.)

Mostly, it seems, cliches center on behavior or attitude, things you can control and change, if you really want to. Love is blind, actions speak louder than words, misery loves company, it takes two to tango, beauty is in the eye of the beholder; all are about the way we deal with the world around us, and what life throws our way.

So, fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me. In that case, you need to shape up or ship out. After all, life is not a bowl of cherries. (Unless you bite into a pit and break your tooth. My own addition to the lexicon of cliche-speak.)

Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it. Of course, easy come, easy go, so perhaps you won't hang on to it, if you didn't work for it. In the end, what goes around, comes around, and you don't want to be on the wrong side of Karma.

I have heard it said that the Christmas letter itself is a cliche, and that no one cares about them any more. If that is true, then Hallmark has made a serious marketing mistake, and I don't think they have spent millions of dollars on market research to make mistakes. The holiday stationary is already flooding the stores, and the post office has printed their holiday stamps, which will go on millions of envelopes in an effort to connect in an old fashioned, tangible way with those we love and care about.

I think, in fact, most people do enjoy Christmas letters, well written or not, because, in spite of the ability to be constantly in touch with e-mail, texting, cell phones and IM, people are less connected today than ever. In our harried, hurried culture, we rarely take the time to share what matters to us, or to let people into our lives in a meaningful way. And in spite of the jokes and criticisms, most of us want to know both the good and the bad that have happened in the lives of those we care about.

I think that cliches, also, have a valued place in our personal dialogue. If you really pay attention to the cliches, you will have a useful handbook on living life well. You will certainly learn about the pitfalls in life, and to laugh at yourself when things go wrong. After all, laughter is the best medicine!

House beautiful....

Humor is, in my world, as essential an element of life as air or food. Without laughter, life would be dull and miserable. Therefore, I try to find a reason to laugh about everything.

Some things aren't funny until much later, but eventually, almost everything is funny. Even divorce, which wasn't at all funny at the time, but I find my ex-husband hilarious now that I'm not related to him any more. Or cleaning house, which, from my point of view, is almost as bad. It is also something which I am seeing from the perspective of up close and personal these last few weeks.

I'm going to make a confession here, in case you don't know me well. For years, I have blamed my children for the shoddy condition of my home. It is not because I am an atrocious housekeeper - it is because I am a parent that I am so domestically challenged.

I have complained, often and loudly, that my offspring have never learned how to move a light switch to the off position, despite the ability to move it to on, even if they are just passing through. The television apparently only has an on switch, because it has never been turned off as long as they have been alive. They have never put anything away. Ever. They do not know where any wastebasket is located, despite wastebaskets being strategically placed throughout the house, including their own rooms.

How can I possibly keep a clean house with them following behind me to mess it right up again, I ask you? It's an impossible dream, and I don't have Richard Kiley around to sing about it. (If you don't know who he is, Google it, and you will have had your educational moment of the day. If you do know, feel superior that you are so smart, and find something else to learn today!)

So I gave it up as a lost cause a long time ago. As I have been fond of telling people, I can either have my children, or I can have a clean house, but I can't have both.

Fast forward about 15 years, (that is about the time I lost control of the whole situation,) and here we are, A-Day. Which stands for Alone in the House and No More Excuses Day. The baby left for college this fall, and I knew the moment of truth was upon me. Now we would see whether or not the source of the problem was them or me, and I was a little nervous about the answer.

Between wallowing in fear for a couple of weeks, followed by being so overwhelmed by the scope of the problem that I didn't know where to start for a couple more, I was sort of paralyzed by inaction the first month or so. Then I thought I would just pitch in and do one room at time, which, after spending an entire weekend on one small room, became apparent was not going to be a working solution.

Ultimately, I came up with the strategy which I've employed the last couple of weeks, and which has resulted in spectacular results. (There will be humor, I swear, but I am also passing along a cleaning tip or two here. This is a multi-purpose blog, providing both form and function for your reading pleasure. But seriously. Talk about shock and awe. This is it. Me offering cleaning advice is something none of us ever thought we would see!)

The magical answer for me has been to spend 15 minutes a day on cleaning. No more, no less, usually on my lunch hour, although 15 minutes after work is acceptable, too. In addition, I do one load of laundry a day, washing, drying, and putting away, which, with only one load, takes a total of about ten minutes of my time. I throw in the load first thing in the morning, I throw it into the dryer at lunch time, and I fold and put away after work. Simplicity itself, and I always seem to have whatever I want to wear, which is like having a whole new wardrobe at my disposal.

I have been amazed at how beautiful my house can look, when I spend only 15 minutes a day on it, and don't have anyone else coming behind to mess things up again!

The answer is in. It's not me! It really IS them! Thus, the humor. I love being right. Every time I walk through my house and see how put together it looks, my heart soars at the sheer pleasure of it all.

A bit much? Okay. But it is nice to not be embarrassed to have someone come unexpectedly to the door, at least.

So the next time you look around your house and you feel like giving up, take heart. At the most, you have 18 years until you, too, can have house beautiful. Or at least house the way you always wanted it! And in my world, that's all I need.

Wishing you a clean week!

Princess, child of God....

My post this week is a foray into the controversial, which I generally try to avoid. I am not a controversial person, and I don't seek out arguments. But I wanted to share my thoughts with my friends on something I experienced, and that I would love for everyone else to experience as well. So, here goes.

Last week I watched a video that came with a powerful message, and it sincerely moved me. The video itself, a product of the pro-life movement, put a face on abortion - a genuine, human face, a living, breathing, walking, articulate woman who was a survivor of an attempted saline abortion when she was a seven month old fetus. She is passionate about her life and her story, but in a very simple, straightforward way that makes her easy to listen to, and which only serves to humanize her further.

She is, quite simply, like me, and it was very easy for me to relate to her. She was born to a teenaged mother who didn't want her, she was adopted by a family that has nurtured and loved her deeply, and she has grown up to be an articulate, strong, vital person in spite of her early difficulties. She could be me, and I could be her, and she spoke directly to my heart on a topic that is very difficult for me to reconcile within myself.

I am one of those people in the very murky middle of the abortion debate. For me, Gianna Jessen lives as a necessary reminder that the fetus that some so casually dismiss is, in fact, a human being, destined to have thoughts, emotions, and a life just like mine. Whatever you feel about abortion, I think it is necessary to understand the true impact of it - a life snuffed out before it's time.

I do not want to start an abortion debate among the people I know, or amongst those who stumble over this post. Like most people, I believe there is a time for it, but it should be rare and truly necessary.

But I also strongly believe that we should make informed choices about everything we do. If you believe abortion is a choice, you should know what that choice really entails. If you believe abortion is never a choice, you should also know what the consequences of that decision might be.

I am tired of the abortion debate being fought by the extreme poles, with their all or nothing attitudes, and an unwillingness to accept that sometimes we live life in shades of gray. I would like to see the discussion moved towards the center, where the overwhelming proportion of the population stands, so that we can talk rationally about when and how and if abortion is a reasonable option. I would like to see the fiery speeches and the dramatic protests replaced by serious conversation about the impact on the lives of the people involved, and that includes the life that is lost in the process.

I had this discussion with my son recently, and he dismissed my ideals as impractical. He pointed out that as soon as either side gives a little, the other side takes it and keeps pushing for more, in a sort of macabre tug-of-war over a life and death issue.

To me, that is the problem. It is a serious issue, and deserves a serious, carefully considered response, not the canned and scripted sound bite statements of the extreme adherents of either side.

Protesting with pictures of dead fetuses on the side of the street or putting up thousands of little white crosses on a church lawn doesn't really address the needs of the women involved, nor does it persuade those who believe in the right to abortion to change their minds.

On the flip side, insisting that any woman has a right to an abortion at any time for any reason, without regard for the life that is being lost is an untenable position for anyone who values human life. It isn't going to persuade anyone of the justice of their position, and they lose support even from those who concede that there are times when abortion may be the best of the bad answers in a given situation.

When I make a difficult decision, it is important to me that I look at it from all sides, and consider every single angle, to be sure that I am making the most informed decision possible. I believe that is the only reasonable way to ensure that I am going to be able to live with the outcome for the long term.

I would hope that at some point we can shut down the extremes, not only on this issue, but on every critical issue facing the citizens of this country, and allow for some reasoned discussion by those of us in the majority who sit somewhere in the uncomfortable middle. When I was little, my mom used to tell me that there was a time and a place for everything. It is long past the time to come to a reasonable agreement that most women, in conjunction with their physician, should be in control of the ultimate decision, with strict, common sense limitations on when, how, and why it is an appropriate option. But in making that decision, I think it is also reasonable to ask that they understand exactly what that decision entails, and accept the true consequences of the action they are taking.

Both sides appear to be afraid of the power that comes with knowledge and education, and in my opinion, that makes us all losers. If you want to be educated on the issue of abortion, I would encourage you to google the name of Gianna Jessen, and watch her presentation that is available on You Tube. She tells her story in a very clear and simple way, and it is very powerful. And then google the stories of women whose lives have been saved because of the ability to safely and legally end the pregnancy that threatened them. Look at both sides, because only then can you truly understand the impact of your personal beliefs.

Gianna refers to herself as a princess, child of God. That belief gives her the courage and the power to tell her story, so that we all might be more aware and informed on this issue. I believe that she lived for a reason, and I believe that she is fulfilling it by sharing her life with the world. Don't be afraid of a princess - embrace the opportunity to see true royalty at work.

Wishing you a thought filled week.

Well done, good and faithful servant....

This summer was hard for my extended family, as we lost two beloved uncles in the space of a couple of months. It reminds us all that time is passing too quickly, and we are truly just a tiny speck in the eye of the universe.

This past week, I too, passed into a new phase of life, middle age, as I reached a birthday milestone that makes clear I am no longer the youth that I was just yesterday. I am now, undeniably, what my son so charmingly refers to as a "real adult."

It is impossible, given the events of the last couple of months, not to at least briefly consider what will be said about me when my grieving friends and relatives are gathered around the urn. I don't dwell on it, but I occasionally wonder how I will be remembered, and what people will think of when my name is mentioned in conversation.

In every sense of the word, how you are remembered is your legacy to the world. Money is fleeting, but your reputation not only precedes you, it lives far beyond you as your descendants, even generations later, want to hear about your life and know who you were.

My Uncle Bud was a humble man. He was full of life and laughter and fun. He had simple tastes and simple needs. He was even tempered, and very hard working. He never drew attention to himself, and didn't need the accolades of the world at large to feel his life was fully lived.

The people gathered to honor his life were, I would imagine, most of the people he cared about that remain in this world. The tears that fell were all too real, and the love that pulled us together in that church was genuine and heartfelt. There is no famous person, no celebrity, that is missed more honestly than my uncle Bud, whose loss we will feel until we join him in our own eternal rest.

At his funeral, there was a lot of laughter as we recalled the funny anecdotes that reminded us of the man he was, and why we all loved him so much. But as I listened to everyone reminiscing, I realized that if I had to choose a single word to describe my uncle, I would choose the word faithful.

Bud was, first and foremost, faithful to who he was - a simple man with a straight forward goal to be there for his family at all times and in all ways, no matter what it took. I never had a moment's doubt that if I called on him, he would be there for me in whatever way I needed him. There was no facade with Bud - he was exactly who he appeared to be, a quietly spectacular guy.

When they hear the word simple, many people feel that it is an insult, as though being complicated is somehow a virtue. I feel the opposite. I mean it as a great compliment, because to me, it means you are the person you appear to be, open, honest, and straight forward with the world. That was my Uncle Bud, to his very last day.

My uncle Bud was also faithful to his family. He worked for many years on a job that may not have been thrilling in order to provide for a stable home and family life for his wife and children. His hard and faithful work provided them with not only a house, but opportunities to travel and explore the world in ways that few people have ever experienced, all with a positive attitude and gratitude for what he had been given. I have no doubt at all that he gave 100% on the job at all times, and that he was a terrific employee, because he knew why he was there, and he had a higher purpose.

Bud was faithful to his God and Savior, as well. He attended church every Sunday for most of his life. He was an usher and a quiet role model for many kids growing up in the church, one of whom, now a pastor, spoke quite eloquently at his funeral in fond remembrance. He was quietly faithful, a servant of his Lord in the best sense of the word, one who walked the life instead of just talking about it.

God gave Bud a capacity to see humor in every situation, and he always found a reason to laugh, no matter what was happening. I rarely saw him lose his temper, even when sorely pushed. When Bud wasn't laughing, it was time to shape up, because he laughed at everything all the time. Even as dementia stole most of who he was to us, his laughter remained the hallmark of his personality, and it is that God-given ability to see humor in every situation that those who loved him will miss the most.

Bud was also faithful to his country, serving in World War II in the Pacific in the navy. He rarely talked about his experiences, but when the uncles got together, it was always interesting to sit on the sidelines and listen to their stories. They were not a generation to moan and groan about what they had been through, and they didn't. They found the humor and laughed about their hardships together, and quietly reminded us why we call them The Greatest Generation.

One of the things Bud was best known for was his nicknames that he gave the people that he loved. When you had a nickname, you knew you were in his heart. He was always creative with his nicknames, and he had a way of making you feel special, even though it wouldn't have been a compliment from anyone else. When we all remembered our nicknames, it was with much laughter, as we talked about how each one came to be.

I love and miss you, Buddy Boy. I am grateful that I was a part of your life, and that you were in my world. You remain one of my strongest role models for living life well, and I miss hearing you say, "I don't care what anyone says, you're all right in my book." These words are so inadequate, but I wanted the world to know a little more about you, because I am so proud of who you were.

If I am remembered with as much fondness and laughter and affection as my Uncle Bud, then I too, will have lived well. We are told that heaven will have everything we need for all eternity. In that case, I see my dad and my uncles Harris and Bud on a lake in a small boat, catching fish and laughing and telling stories, and happy to be together again.

My uncle Bud didn't go out in a blaze of glory. That was never his style. Instead, he slowly faded away, quietly and without fanfare, just as he lived his life. But in the end, those of us who were at his funeral remembered someone that was uniquely wonderful, special to each of us in our memories of him. I can only imagine Bud approaching his heavenly future, and God greeting him with the words we all long to hear, "Well done, good and faithful Servant. Welcome home."

I love and miss you, Bud.

Watergate

Movin' on up. To the ghetto?

Today's tale is a true story. Maybe. I may have taken liberties by changing names and details to protect the young and inexperienced. Or I may not have. I leave that to you to judge. It is a little long, but it is a cautionary tale that is guaranteed to make you laugh. Or, at least, it has made everyone laugh who has heard it thus far. But there is also an important message in it that I want to share with everyone who reads this blog.

Enjoy!

Once upon a time, there was a boy whom we will call Adam. Tall, dark and intellectual, he was brimming with the over-confidence of all new graduates, ready to take on the world. He had a girlfriend, a sweet and kind redhead whom we will call Carmen, who was hardworking and earnest.

Together, they were moving to a distant galaxy called Wisconsin, to the quaint little burgh of Madison. It is a smallish city, as cities go, full of life and zest - the state capitol, as well as the home of the flagship state university, where Adam would soon be attending graduate school.

Adam and Carmen, full fledged adults, decided to make this move with little advice or direction from other adults, because they felt they were skilled enough, having moved across town previously, to handle the cross country move without assistance. [This is called foreshadowing, just in case you missed it.]

Our story begins when the daring duo traveled to Madison by rocket ship in the spring, to view their potential new locale and learn everything they could before making the move. Talk about foreshadowing. They left eight hours late, and had car trouble three hours from home in the wee hours of the morning.

They toured apartments where they hoped to find their perfect new abode. Adam met with educators and administrators, to find out more about the school and the opportunity he would have in this faraway land. They toured the local nightlife, they absorbed and imbibed in everything Madison had to offer, and they saw the lakes and parks and other attractions. Finally, their curiosity satiated, they returned to the land of Oz.

At last, they made the momentous decision that would change both of their lives. They were going to move to Madison to begin life anew in this foreign land.

They were excited, they were nervous, they were happy. Real Life awaited them; away from the confines of the small town where they had spent the last few years, and away from the families that smothered them with advice and direction. They were Mary Tyler Moore standing in the middle of Nicollet Plaza, throwing their hats in the air, declaring their independence. It was intoxicating, invigorating, thrilling.

They finally made a choice of apartments, and committed to one by ceremoniously signing the lease and faxing it in. [They were very welcome. Anything to get their stuff out of my dining room so I could walk through it again.]

One curious detail that they glossed over, however, was the lack of a security deposit required. While that seemed very strange to the Parent currently In Possession of them and too much of their stuff [from here on out known as PIP,] who eventually heard this bit of news a day or two before the move, the brave couple assured said PIP that things were handled differently in this strange galaxy, and no deposit was required. PIP was delighted to hear this, obviously, and though still concerned, kept qualms to self so as not to crush the spirit of the adventurers.

They made their plans, Carmen made list upon list, and moving day gradually crept up on them. Suddenly, before they knew it, it was time to pack the truck and head off into the sunrise [they were heading northeast, thus sunrise, not to mention they keep the weirdest hours, another reason they would not be as missed as you might imagine] to begin making it on their own.

Except there was a problem. There was no truck. Sadly, one of the items missing on the detailed list was the early procurement of a moving truck. Thus, mere moments before the truck should have been loaded, we find our heroes sitting in the kitchen in the dark of night, attempting to reserve a moving truck for August 1, which is, unbeknownst to them, the single busiest moving day of the year. [Apparently it did not occur to them that just as they wanted to move in on August 1, so would a lot of other students. All across the country. At every single university and college. Who knew?]

Eventually, after a false start or two, including a two day delay, they found a moving truck that would work within their budget, and they began rejoicing. They created a master moving plan, timetable detailed to the minute for the day of the move. Their belongings scattered across the state, they decided they required a full day to load up the van, allotting three hours here, four hours there, a couple more hours somewhere else, and finishing up with a flourish by dinner time.

They discussed the options, and felt they would be able to rest after dinner, then drive through the night to reach their new home in late morning. PIP was scheduled to arrive at the end of the day to help unload and unpack and get the apartment set up.

The big day arrived, and they were up and out nearly on time, which is, in itself, nothing short of a miracle. They procured their truck, and they commenced loading. The first that PIP knew of any difficulties was a phone call fielded at 9 p.m. letting her know they were a little off schedule.

How little, you ask? Well, they were still in the first location, and weren't quite done. They still had another location to go, not to mention everything that was here. Which, curiously enough, was not fully packed, ironic though that was, considering how many times the suggestion had been made to get it ready to go. But I digress.

A new plan was clearly in order, and thus, PIP was suddenly in the vanguard, leading the way to the new galaxy, with the belongings to follow later in the day.

PIP took off early in the morning, to arrive in time to be available for the internet installer to be let in. To shorten this story slightly, things did not work out as planned. Shocking, I know, but true.

The modem, which was required for install, was in the moving truck, still eight hours away. Thus, the install was cancelled and rescheduled for a couple days later. Since the boy and girl of the hour were not anywhere in sight, PIP got herself a hotel room for the night, and checked in before going to the apartment.

The hotel was in a very nice area, less than a mile from the apartment. After checking in, PIP headed over to see for herself what they had come up with. As she drove, her spine began tingling, and she felt the nerves in her stomach tightening with each passing moment. The neighborhood was going to the dogs [pit bulls] and she felt many misgivings as she glanced around the too slowly moving vehicle.

PIP pulled up in front of the complex, having nervously observed a group of young men standing across the street. Unless she was much mistaken, it appeared to her that they were a gang, and she was pretty sure she was not mistaken. PIP nervously contemplated her options as she frantically dialed the number given to her to reach the manager, and finally decided to get out of the car and look bold.

Which she did. She looked really bold. All 5'8", 125 pounds of her. She leaned against that little white Mustang convertible as though she owned the world, meantime shaking in her flip flops like she was having a seizure. But she looked bold. Yes Indeedy.

While waiting, PIP sent a text to Adam, suggesting the possibility that this neighborhood left something to be desired. Like, for example, safety. His response? We checked the online reviews, and they were very good. [More foreshadowing here. Just saying.]

The manager finally returned the call several extremely long minutes later, and informed PIP that she was in the wrong place. Well Then! Okay. PIP drove further down the street, only to realize that, in fact, she was only a couple of buildings off, and was now situated across the street from a Habitat for Humanity house, currently unoccupied. PIP was happy that there was underground, enclosed parking, because she had a strong feeling that the daring duo was in over their heads.

PIP received the paperwork and door keys from the manager, and he indicated he lived in the next building over if there were any problems. He was very sweet, but in quite a hurry. Such a hurry, he didn't even ask for first month's rent, which was a definite indication to PIP that she needed to vacate the neighborhood before dark. PIP did ask about safety issues as she saw his back rapidly receding into the dusky evening, and was assured by a comment thrown over his shoulder that things were definitely getting better in the neighborhood, and everything was swell now. Um. Okay.

The apartment was lovely, new appliances, and carpeting had been installed just that morning. Walls were repainted, and it was really very nice throughout. A lot of apartment for the money. Yes, folks, this is another indication something is not what it seems.

PIP went back to the hotel, and sacked out for the night, leaving the key to the apartment in the car for Adam to find when he finally arrived. Which he did at 5 a.m.

At 7, PIP awoke to a text stating that moving had commenced, but now sleep was required, and come over at 4. In the afternoon. PIP was flying out the next evening, so that did not leave a whole lot of time to help, leaving PIP feeling a little miffed. Finally, around 1, PIP received another text letting her know they were up and ready to move, so she headed right on over to help them out.

This is when things got really interesting.

The street was quiet, save for a few mothers and their children who were out playing in the front yards. One of which had weeds waist high. Xeriscaping, perhaps? Low watering landscape plan?

Carmen remarked on how sweet it was to see the children playing, in fact. This was immediately followed by four police cars pulling up directly in front of the moving truck, and eight officers running to the house across the street.

After the excitement had died down, Adam went over to the nearest cop and asked if crime was a problem in the area. The cop looked at him and laughed, then said, "No." Adam came back telling us this, feeling a little bewildered as to why the police would laugh at an honest question like that. [You will figure out the answer for yourselves, I promise.]

About 3 p.m., Adam decided he was hungry, and needed sustenance. Since there was no time to go elsewhere, he called for pizza delivery. As he talked, his face grew more and more incredulous. He eventually got off the phone without having ordered anything, and told Carmen and PIP that the pizza shop, which was three blocks away, would not deliver to that block because their drivers kept getting held up. It was at that moment PIP saw the truth begin to dawn upon the fair maiden and her gallant knight. It was not a pretty sight.

By this time, Adam, being the upstanding kind of guy he is, felt he had to get over to the office to pay the rent, so it would not be late. He took off with the checkbook, and was gone a very long time, which caused PIP grave concern. She was just beginning to think it was time to form a search and rescue party when she saw an amazing sight coming towards her.

It was Adam, in his little white flip flops, long blue shorts flapping wildly, grubby wife beater shirt exposing limbs flailing wildly as he ran across the grounds screaming, "GET IN THE APARTMENT NOW." This unexpected apparition was so startling, PIP and Carmen were dumbstruck, and had no response. Again, he screamed, "Get in the apartment NOW." PIP and Carmen felt it would be best to comply, and met Adam at the door. Everyone went with great haste to the apartment, whereupon PIP said, "What on earth is the matter with you?"

Adam uttered the words that no one in that room will ever forget. "We need to get out of here NOW."

Well, this was a little disconcerting, considering we had just spent the last few hours moving everything they owned, including their three cats, into that very apartment. Cooler head prevailed in the form of PIP, who pointed out the obvious, that this was where they were now living, and leaving really was not an option. Adam then told his story, and a hair raising one it was.

As he walked across the grounds of the complex, another resident yelled at him from the doorway of her building, and said, "What the hell are you doing here?" To which he quite naturally responded, "What?" He proceeded to talk with her, and got quite a bit of information that would have been good to know before they signed the lease. Including the murder that happened at the school down the street last year, and the dead body which had been found in the back yard of the house across the street two weeks previously. When PIP mentioned the underground parking perhaps making the apartment safer than it would appear, it seems the evidence also included stories of people following drivers into the parking garage and robbing them there.

Adam, Carmen, and PIP contemplated the situation with some horror. Adam said the woman told him that the management would likely work with him, since they were new to the area, but PIP had a strong suspicion that was a little optimistic. PIP told them to call the management immediately, to notify them that they would have to break the lease and get out. Carmen called, and hung up rather quickly, then informed us that they would be allowed to break the lease, but they would have to pay the full 12 months rent in advance.

That was not going to work out, since no one had that kind of money available, so PIP decided it was time for an angry adult to step in and get this resolved before it all got any further out of hand. She got the management back on the line, and after being threatened with legal action, arranged for the supervisor to call in the morning to further discuss the situation. By this time, Adam was slack-jawed at seeing his usually calm and complacent mother being so pushy, and Carmen was just panicked at what they would do.

It was not a good evening for the trio of unhappy people. They eventually drove to that pizza parlor and got pizza, then they spent the rest of the night strategizing and organizing themselves to face the enemy in the morrow. They got a game plan in place, and awaited the fateful call that would determine their fate.

Meantime, PIP decided to google the block to which they had committed themselves for a full year. The first item that came up was about a dead body. PIP could only shake her head in amusement as Carmen and Adam consulted and discussed the reviews they had seen online. A quick perusal of the reviews showed them to be several years old, which probably should have tipped them off, but live and learn, right?

PIP also contacted everyone she could think of and asked them to pray, as there was a situation at hand, and they really needed God's help to make this all work out as it needed to. [Pay attention to this part, because it's an important part of the story.]

In the morning, the manager called, and said the supervisor had gone home ill and couldn't talk to us, but had decided to give us two options. Either we could list the apartment on Craig's List, and as soon as it was rented, they would get out of their lease, or they could break the lease with two months rent up front.

PIP felt very optimistic at this point, as she had predicted this outcome the previous evening, and now the worst case scenario was something manageable. So she then said they would be right over to discuss the options further, and they drove to the office. Less than a block away.

Upon reaching the office, PIP demanded to speak to the supervisor, and finally said that either they were going to her, or she was coming to them, but one way or another that situation was getting resolved now, and she needed to participate. Eventually, the supervisor came dragging in, whereupon the situation was pleasantly outlined for her in short and to the point terms - out of towners, no clue what they were doing, taken advantage of, young and stupid, not equipped, learning lessons is great but no one wants anyone to die for it, you get the drift. Ultimately, she asked what was wanted, terms were agreed upon, [move out immediately so it could be rented as not having been lived in yet at the cost of one month's rent] and we were good to go.

Then we had a few hours to get everything out of the apartment, find a new place for two people and three cats to live in a college town on August 4, and get them moved in before I had to get to the airport for a 5 p.m. flight. Tall order.

Made even taller by the groups of teenaged boys who kept strolling by the truck and texting people as we were moving everything out as quickly as possible. No one felt safe with Carmen out there, so she was in the apartment making calls for appointments to see apartments while Adam and PIP loaded up that truck in record time. [In case anyone wants to know, it was 3.5 hours, and that 17 foot van was full to the rafters.]

By 2 in the afternoon, we had everything out, the truck completely loaded and three people and three cats in the car, ready to go. Except for one teensy problem - they had no where to live. Adam and Carmen looked at each other and said, "We are homeless. Everything we own is in a moving truck and a car, and we have no where to put it." Um. Ya. Bad moment. We won't go any further into that.

First appointment, PIP remained in the car with the cats while Adam and Carmen scouted out the apartment. There were two available, and Carmen came back and asked PIP to go and have a look. [Apparently they had figured out more heads are better than two, especially when the two are both under the age of 25.] PIP was happy to see something workable available, and felt that would be the ultimate destination, but encouraged them to look at the other available options, just to be sure.

Ultimately, at 4:30, Adam and Carmen made the decision to go back to the first apartment, and arrived almost at closing time. This apartment complex required checks with prior landlords, going back three years, before they would rent to anyone. They required co-signers for anyone that didn't have a three year rental history. They required a deposit, and the first month's rent pro-rated from that day, meaning they had to pay out another month's rent plus deposit unexpectedly.

In addition, PIP had to change her flight for the following day, because there was no way they could get everything done that needed to be done before the flight left. Fortunately, her travel agent is her cousin, who took care of that situation while we dealt with the paperwork.

The office staff was very kind to the traumatized pair, and stayed after hours to enable them to get into their apartment that night. Everyone [four previous landlords] that needed to be contacted for recommendations was miraculously available at 5:00 p.m. on a Friday night. PIP was able to co-sign, and although they had to pay the first month of pro-rated rent, they would get the second full month's rent, which turned out to be exactly the same amount as the first apartment, for free.

They got the truck backed up to the apartment building, got the cats situated, and then collapsed. They decided to go have a meal and assess what had happened in the previous eventful two days.

If you ever ask yourself if God answers prayer, my answer to you is that He does, in everyday situations, even for people who have done everything possible to screw things up.

God moved the heart of the management to allow them to break the lease, even though the law said she didn't have to.

They got everything in and out without any trouble from a neighborhood which clearly wanted to find some.

They ended up in a much better situation for the same amount of rent.

They had to pay a month's rent to break the lease, but ended up getting one month's rent for free at the new place.

The old place posed a serious hazard to the three cats, in the form of a loft on whose short wall they kept jumping up onto, which the new place did not have. They got the walls painted and all repairs done to the new apartment within the week, and it turned out to be a lovely place to live.

The flight was easily changed, and the events which the PIP was worried she would miss by the delay all went off exactly as planned.

Although I have enjoyed sharing this story with everyone who knows Adam and Carmen, the truth is, I have used it over and over to remind myself that God truly does answer our fervent prayers. When you give your troubles over to God, He will stand in the gap for you, and will see you through. He didn't solve the problem - we had to do the work ourselves. But there is not a question in my mind that God moved the hearts of all concerned to enable this young pair to find the home they needed when they needed it.

Oh, and by the way, they love Madison, now that they have moved on up out of the 'hood!

Low Hanging branches....

Everyone is familiar with the story of Prince Charming, dashing to the rescue of his Princess Bride, handsome, debonair, perfect. Prepared for anything. Nothing will stand in his way as he gallops to his lady love, solving all problems before they waylay him, slaying every dragon, and ultimately saving her day [and often her backside] in the end.

Real life looks a little different, at least from where I stand. My life is filled with low hanging branches, and I'll be darned if I don't ram into every one of them along the path. I don't know if I need new glasses, [maybe I should check into Lasik a little more seriously,] or if I just need to look ahead more often, but I have been knocked off more charging steeds than a jouster at a Renaissance Festival, and I have the broken bones and bruises to show for it, too.

I have been told by a well intentioned person, ignorant of my reality, that we bring our own outcomes upon ourselves. If I want a more positive outcome, I have to think positively, instead of always expecting the worst.

If only I had known. All this time I thought it was just real life hitting me upside the head. Evidently, I should have positively thought my way to life success a long time ago and just avoided that whole divorce nonsense, not to mention unemployment and poverty. Thanks for the helpful tip. I'll get right on that.

Of course, she has been married for over 30 years to the same adoring guy who actually thinks she walks on water, her children have turned out perfectly, they have plenty of money and have, by and large, had life go pretty easily for them. I would like to invite her to walk a week in my skin and see how the other 95% of the world lives.

Lest you think I'm throwing myself a pity party, I don't consider myself to be unique. It seems to me that most people have low hanging branches threatening their progress as they travel the road of life, no matter how pretty things look from the outside. Almost everyone gets hit in the head periodically by an unexpected limb hanging in the path that they just didn't recognize until it was too late. I think, in fact, that getting knocked off your horse is something that most people have in common, which is why we all giggle when something goes wrong for someone else [we're just so glad it's not us, for a change,] and immediately want to help them get back on the horse [we would want a hand, too.]

The same well meaning person told me that my string of life failures is God's way of telling me that I am not sufficiently humble - I have a lesson to learn, and until I learn it, I will continue to be humbled. Let me just say right now, I will grovel lower than pond scum just to successfully duck under one branch and ride on unscathed. If humility is what God wants from me, I'm all over it.

In fact, I got off to an early start on that particular lesson when at my birth, my own mother took one look and said, "Ah, I don't think so." I guess I wasn't sufficiently upbeat upon making my entrance for the first mom to hang around, if my acquaintance is correct in her advice on living more successfully. I wonder if I could take a mulligan?

[I am kidding about that, obviously. Fortunately for me, I ran into a family with slightly lower standards, and they took me in just as I was. Which gives this story its happily ever after ending. Sort of. Well, it's happy for me, anyway. I'm not so sure about my mom, who may have second guessed her decision a time or two, but is WAY too nice to say so. Ignorance is bliss and all that.]

My brother once made a simple, yet very profound observation as we were walking through my beautifully manicured former neighborhood of cookie cutter homes, where every third house looked exactly the same down to the basketball hoop in the driveway and the van in the garage, and there was little to distinguish one house from the next. He remarked, as he looked at the lovely expanse of little homes in front of us, that while everything looked beautiful from the outside, there was real pain hiding behind each and every door.

That insight is something I've remembered all these years, because he hit on a home truth that means a lot to me. Everyone has their problems, and just because things look beautiful from the outside, that doesn't mean there is isn't a struggle going on inside. Someone may live in a beautiful house and drive a new car, but still have an empty life. You can have all the earthly rewards the world has to offer, but if you have sold your soul to Satan to get it, then you are still lost.

I continue to look backwards too often on the path that I've left littered behind me, dwelling on the sticks and the branches that are clinging to my hair and the concussion that is lingering, instead of picking myself up and putting myself back on the horse. I am even more reluctant if it requires a hand from a friend to get there, because in true Minnesota Lutheran fashion, I don't want to put anyone to any trouble. I frequently forget that the most important part of any journey lies ahead, and if I want to miss the low hanging branches that surely await, I have to pay more attention to where I want to go instead of where I've been. If I spend too much time looking at the path someone else has taken, I will miss the twists and turns in my own route, and before I know it, I will be on the ground, wondering what happened.

There is a saying, life is a journey, not a destination. That is a matter of fact, because when you have reached your destination, life is at it's end. Between here and there, we all have a lot of living to do, and unfortunately, that includes a large number of low hanging branches for everyone.

You can't always anticipate the obstacle that will be thrown in your path, because life takes sudden U-turns and sharp curves that we can't see until we're in them. But you can look around you at the others who are nearby, and realize you all have branches in your hair, and we are really all in this life together.

We cannot control what life throws our way. A lot of bad stuff happens to good people, and that's just how life is. People get divorced, lose their job, have children that screw up, make bad financial decisions, have friends that stab them in the back, get cancer, have accidents, and the list goes on and on. Everyone has something that has gone wrong in their life. We can't control what life throws at us. But we can control how we respond to those incidents, and how we move forward from there.

So give a hand to a friend who needs uplifting. Jump on your horse so that your friends will feel good about jumping back onto theirs when they fall. If you encounter a low hanging branch, know that it won't be the last, but you can still learn something from it for the journey forward.

Personally, I've decided to get new glasses, and I am going to put on my helmet, too. I will still get knocked off, but hopefully I'll see it coming, and I'll be prepared for the fall.

Wishing you helmets and good vision for your journey this week. And when you're on the ground, give a shout. Someone will be right there to help pull you back up on the horse. Guaranteed.

The family that laughs together....

I know people who associate their family gatherings with the sound of arguing. There are some people who associate their family gatherings with frigid silence. Some families embed their angst into succeeding generations until no one even knows any more why they are mad at each other, but they stay mad, anyway.

I associate my family with the sound of laughter. I grew up being loved and nurtured by people who appreciated the humor in everyday life, and were not afraid to laugh over good fortune or misfortune and everything in between.

The ones who led the way along the journey are leaving us too quickly, and too soon. But I know that God is having a lot more fun in heaven today than he was before, because my Uncle Bud Bishop is there now. I hope he has found my dad and my Uncle Harris, and they are all laughing together about something silly like a last piece of pie.

Bud, you are missed more than you know, but you are in my heart forever. Believe it or not, that is enough.

Birthday boy no more....

Twenty-five years ago today, I first held my child in my hands. It is a magical moment, when you see that child you have been harboring under your heart for nine long months, and you are suddenly A Mom. The mixed emotions of wishing to keep them close to you, and yet dying to see them, hold them, and ultimately throw them to their own fates to see what they will be overwhelm you. You are humbled and grateful and weary at the impending responsibilities that have suddenly been thrust upon you.

And yet, you know that you will be the best parent who ever lived. You will never say or do the wrong thing. Your child will be perfection itself - behavior, attitude and actions all conforming with your ideals, because you will Do It Right, and thus, your child will do no wrong, and both of your lives will be perfect.

What a difference 25 years makes.

Yesterday, I held that same child in my arms, hugging him goodbye. Now 6'6" and living on his own in a city eight hours away, we said our farewells in a airline terminal, and I watched him walk away into his future.

After a few tumultuous days, he is beginning his new life as a graduate student in a state very different from the one he is used to. The people will be different, the city is new and offers a lot to explore, his studies will be harder and yet, hopefully, even more fulfilling, and his life is changing in every way.

Along the path to this day, I have made every single mistake that parents have made since Cain and Abel. I have criticized when I should have hugged, I have coddled when I should have used tough love. I have been too strict at some times, and too lax at others. I have said no when I should have said yes, and vice versa.

My child, while under my care, managed to take a lamp apart while it was still plugged in. He swallowed a penny and had to have it surgically removed. He stopped breathing on a nightly basis and had to be monitored for the first year of his life, leaving me forever traumatized upon hearing a certain type of alarm. He snores. He is moody and temperamental, and even those who love him best concede that he can be a little difficult at times.

He loves Beethoven and the Beatles, forgets everything immediately except useless trivia that no one needs to know, for which he is guaranteed to have instant recall forever. He has unruly curly hair that he can't control, and wears polo shirts all the time because that way he doesn't have to worry about whether or not he looks nice. He refused to wear new clothes when he was little, and he is gifted and ADHD.

He is, in short, a fairly normal human being, with his good qualities and his bad points, and when added up together equal a pretty great, but hardly perfect person.

I am so grateful to have a son in my life. He has brought kites and baseball and fights with his friends on the front yard into my life. He has given me moments of great pride and moments of total humiliation. He has been the highest of highs, and the lowest of lows, in the biggest swing of the pendulum life has to offer.

At 25, he is who he will be, the framework nearly completed. Although the finishing work will take the rest of his life, you can see the outline of the person he is, and I am gratified. When we started this process, I thought I would be responsible for the outcome. I have learned that he was born his own person. I just provided the guidance system to get there more efficiently.

He makes mistakes, sometimes huge ones, and still has a lot to learn about life. But he takes his life lessons and moves ahead, and rarely needs to review what he got wrong the first time, because he is all about education, both in class and outside of it.

I don't know what the next 25 years will bring, but I do know this much. The other night, I sat at a table and listened to my son talk about me, and what he perceives to be my good attributes. Hearing his heartfelt appreciation for something that he has always taken for granted was touching to me, because I know there are a lot of people who wouldn't say those same words about their own parents.

No matter how many mistakes I have made, no matter how many things I've gotten wrong in his life, my son forgives me for the wrongs, and only holds on to the rights. We are not perfect, either one of us, and we have made our mistakes on his life's journey. But the child who made me a mother makes me proud and excited to see the future, even as I look back on the past with fond memories of days gone by.

Adam, we grew up together, and I am grateful for your patience and courage in trusting a mom who didn't even know which way to put on a diaper at the start. I think we have done well, you and I. You are no longer a boy - you are a man, and one I am very, very proud of.

Happy birthday, Sonshine, and many, many more are wished for you to come. I hope this day holds only good things for you as you get settled into your new place, and your new life. You know how much you are loved, not only because I say so, but because I have shown you every single day of your life, and I look back with confidence that you will never lose sight of that. I wish you a wonderful year in your new life, and I look forward to the stories to come.