Falling in Love, or Just Falling

"Falling in Love!" We all know that phrase from songs, poems, and experience, but how about just "Falling?"  Hopefully, my readers, you aren't as familiar with that. 

Some of us are just more clumsy than others, and it seems that many of my family members (usually the older ones) have unfortunate familiarity with falling. I won't identify everyone because I'd like to remain friends as well as relatives. 

    Perhaps I should start with my motivation for this Valentine's Day Blog, more than just "Falling in Love." Today is Friday the 13th, but for me, Monday was the 13th. A simple trip to our library became a huge TRIP for me as my concentration shifted from getting my flip-flopped feet up a simple step to gawking at a somewhat bizarre person. Note to self…rude to gawk. Anyway, I fell hard on the flagstone patio leading up to the door. Purse, glasses, and books flew in opposite directions, and people came running. The object of my gawking ran for ice, another dear lady had a bandaid for my bleeding wrist, someone asked permission to gather up the contents of my purse and restore it, and my four books were gathered up as well. Then a man from the city came and asked, "Do you know your name?" Fortunately, I did, and was able to get up before the paramedic arrived. I missed that, thank goodness, because I was in the stacks by then. I'm fairly certain none of the great people who helped me would ever read this blog, but I sure am grateful to them for their help. 

     As my dear husband and I have nursed my sore knees and several other landing points this week, I've had time to "Count the ways of How We Have Fallen." 

     1. Down school steps, garage steps, and department store steps

     2. Forward over logs in the campground, parking bumpers in lots, a stupid decorative thingy on a sideway where it     didn't belong, and just plain over backwards. 

    3. Into a manhole (only one leg), between a loading dock and a truck, off a tram, off a ladder, through a screen door,   and onto the roller skating rink floor.

Counting the damage incurred over the years; one broken hip, a broken heel, broken ribs, broken ankle, damaged hips, knees, and shoulders leading to later replacement, countless bruises, stitches and a lot of shattered pride.   Oh yes, did you know falling up steps is as bad as falling down? As I said, this partially covers my immediate, older family members, but it doesn't stop there. This is a picture of a friend's new t-shirt. 

www.pattersonprintshop.org

Murphy's Law - Anything that can possibly go wrong, does

That guy, Murphy, has been here again this week. Wednesday he was in full swing and I just had to chronicle his effects on life at the Clucas house.

Wednesday is the day we pick up our granddaughter from school and try to do something fun with her until 7:00 when we take her home or her mom picks her up.  So, wanting the house to be clean for her visit, I spent the morning cleaning. Of course I stepped on the vacuum hose, slipped on a throw rug, ran out of laundry detergent, and bumped my head on a cupboard I left open.

However, I did finish and things sparkled, including the tile floors I'd wet mopped. Not having any pets, I   only do that every other week. I know, lazy. Oh well, on Wednesday, they sparkled! Hopefully, Murphy had exited stage left.

When we picked Peyton up from school, I marveled again how cute she was with her blonde hair recently cut in a sweet style with bangs. She was bubbling with excitement over a dance she and a friend were working on, and danced up and down the aisle at the market while I shopped. She had asked if she could bring in her jumprope, but not even Murphy could be responsible for what could happen, so I said "No."  

When we finished and were driving home, she was bursting with a  plan for Grandpops to park only halfway up in our drive so she could dance and jumprope in the rest of the driveway. Oh, and could we leave the car radio on loud enough for her to hear? We seldom say no to a plan unless it involves physical harm, so at that point, Murphy was back in business.

Just a few days before, Don had planted a tiny flowerpot with succulent compost and a teeny donkey tail, and had positioned it so it hung from the ceiling of the carport directly above the driver's windshield as a guide for me when I pull our new RAV4 in. It's a bit larger than the Camry. Anyway, there it hung in all its useful charm. So, RAV4 was parked just on the apron of the drive with Radio Disney playing as loudly as we felt we should, and Peyton readied herself for the dancing. Arms flailing, legs kicking, and that gorgeous blonde hair swinging around, I thought she looked awesome.

Then, she decided to incorporate the jumprope into the dance. Picture in slow motion which really only took half a second: The rope sailed up, caught on the charming little succulent above her, and at least a cup of compost poured onto that lovely hair, down her shirt, and all over the drive. 

By the time I got her into the shower, bits of dirt and wood shavings also covered the tile floor! Yep, Murphy was there, grinning like a maniac.

New Streets

The sound of a very large motor starting brought me out of sleep last Monday, and from the bedroom window, I could see the shadows of an assortment of at least six huge vehicles, accentuated by scores of small yellow lights which dotted their outlines. One by one, they made their way up the road and around to the street outside our house. We were to be the starting point of the new road!

Bee-beeeep, bee-beeeep, bee-beep!!  Rumble, rumble, rumble, crash!! A dinosaur-like machine began to tear up, chew up, and spit out the asphalt street in front of our homes into truck after  colorful truck. A bright green one would fill, and drive away to be immediately replaced by another; shiny maroon or sky blue. Then a pair of yellow Bobcats worked in tandem, much like a broom and dustpan, to lift out huge black remaining chunks and carry them to waiting trucks for removal. In a matter of hours, every trace of blacktop was removed on "The West Side" of Las Brisas, leaving clean, packed dirt.

The next morning, before light as before, the behemoths came to life again, intent on refilling every dirt-packed spot with steaming hot asphalt. Each truck slowly rolled in perfect timing with the spreader, filling it from the top so it could distribute new paving from under its odd-looking mechanism. Men walked along, checking the depth of the load with probes as it poured from under the machine. And then the rolling began! Over and over until they were satisfied with the surface, the roller went back and forth. In cartoons, the Roadrunner often got caught under the roller and survived…huh uh!! Anything under that became flatter than an Saran Wrap!

Before nightfall, they were finished with our streets, and would begin the whole process again on the East side. It was noisy, it was smelly, we couldn't drive out, but it was so worth it! Our streets will be good for years to come.

One Thousand Gifts

On my birthday last year, my sister-in-law and brother gave me an empty journal with a picture of a violin on the front. Not being in the mood to write at the time, I put it aside and forgot about it. (sorry, Barb and Ron!) Then three months later, I joined a Bible study class, and was introduced to Ann Voscamp's book One Thousand Gifts. 

The premise of Ann's book, simply put, is to follow in her footsteps of chronicling  the many gifts from God which we receive day by day, even hour by hour, and thereby realize the goodness of God rather than the sadness or emptiness of life.  "Ingratitude was the fall - humanity's discontent with all that God freely gives."   Ann Voscamp kept paper and pen handy to record the gifts.  Grace, Thanksgiving, and Joy. 

Ann's first three gifts were such simple things:

1. Morning shadows across the old floors

2. Jam piled high on the toast

3. Cry of blue jay from high in the spruce

As members of this new study class, we were to begin writing the gifts or blessings we found each day. My leader wrote hers on Facebook, and I began to wonder where to keep mine.

As I looked at the cover of One Thousand Gifts, I realized the font seemed familiar and began to look at other books I had. There it was: Journal, the one with the violin on it! Under the picture was scripture; "Give thanks to the LORD for He is good! His mercy endures forever." I Cor. 16:34  A perfect place to begin. 

                                                     1. Fiery wisps of sunrise clouds

2. Dancing flames on my favorite candles

3. Hot coffee on my lips and tongue

One thousand seemed so far away back in January, but day by day I've put God's gifts around me down in ink. Here is a sampling, at random, of my recorded gifts:

   30. The Glorious Full Moon

  50. The coyote's call in dark canyons

  63. Dew drops sparkling in the sun

112. Enough flowers in the garden for a bouquet 
203. Air conditioners

  269. Walk on the beach

326. Seals on buoy, barking

454. Dead car battery gave me more time at home

530. Orioles every day

603. Super fun day in Los Angeles

691. Rafting on the Gallatin River

764. Sweet grapes (my latest entry)

I have quite a ways to go before I make it to 1,000, but have no doubt I will. God's grace is so abundant and ready to be recognized! The love of friends and family, water, dog eyes, colorful flowers, humming birds, the smell of bacon cooking...

Where Have All the Manners Gone?

During our short trip to Catalina, we had occasion to be confined in some fairly small places with a lot of people. The Catalina Flyer has rooms on board to seat perhaps a hundred in each, the restaurants we went to held sixty or so, and the hotel, while divided into many rooms, probably had a hundred guests. 

Now I'm aware that each person is capable of a range of sound from whisper level up to scream, and many levels in between. I know a variety of interactions; celebrated occasions,  conversations, even games played depending on the venue, go on ceaselessly in our lives. There are socially accepted behaviors in public, or there       used to be.

Hopefully, without sounding too archaic, I want to ask "Where HAVE all the manners gone? Perhaps as I get older, my nerves are shot, but three times on this trip, in three different places, some one or several people have shrieked so loudly as to actually scare me!  These people were in the confined, and formerly quiet places I mentioned, such as restaurants or on the boat. The occasion of a bridal shower, a bachelorette party, and a family game, all provided the sounding boards to decibels much higher than an airplane taking off. I know these people are excited, but what happened to civility and quiet joyfulness? Or parties in someone's living room? 

In every restaurant, there seemed to be one person, (sometimes two) who had the voice of a soccer announcer, who kept up an endless barrage of talk, usually about themselves. Could these be the same people who made noise until midnight, and let their children yell at each other at 6 a.m. in the hotel? 

On the street, some people screamed back and forth, others walked along conversing at the top of their lungs with someone on the other end of their phone. Small gangs walked three abreast, yelling at each other as if the Mississippi were between them. Actions speak louder than words when the mini-gang continues to walk straight at you on the sidewalk, obviously not caring if an older person has to fall off the curb or walk on wet grass. 

Finally, one word; DRIVERS. Enough said. Thanks for reading my rant.

Use, Recycle, Restore

I'm all about recycling, using up, and restoring useful items.  

I've saved plastic tomato containers, tubes from paper products, and matching cans, all in hopes of making something fun with my granddaughter when she's in a creative mood. If that mood doesn't come, then the recycling bin will get them, but never the trash.  Glass jars become vases for a tiny bouquet.

One thing I like to do is cut open plastic hand lotion tubes when not one more drop will squeeze out. I cut them horizontally in thirds, then cut again along the side in order to open up each section as needed. The sections stay in a Baggie until all the cream has been wiped out. There may be another three days worth of expensive product salvaged from an "empty" tube!

I love to crochet but invariably have yarn left over from a project. I have made doll blankets, a crazy, mixed-up blanket for a granddaughter, and scarves from the remnants..  

A few months ago, we decided to replace our down comforter because each section of fill was totally bunched up, leaving many areas of material only. Not warm or comforting at all. I put it in a large bag and meant to donate it. However, as I priced new bed coverings, another plan emerged. Rescuing the cast-off quilt from the car trunk, I laid it out on my work table, and began to restore it. Sixty sections of bunched up fill, one at a time, became smoothed out and secured by running stitches of strong thread. We slept under it again last night! 

In the garden I enjoy salvaging a geranium or succulent stem to put in water until I see new roots growing. Then I transplant it or put it in a pot for a gift for new neighbors or someone who needs some cheer. . 

 Benefits from saving, using up, and restoring, are the good feelings which come from saving a bit of money, creative thoughts and activities, and sometimes, opportunities to brighten someone's day.

Learning From Sweet Peas

 Since my last post, the sweet peas have begun to grow earnestly. We have had the perfect mix of sunshine and rain this week, gracing all the plants equally. I haven't done a thing except to check on their progress.

Many, many of the plants have decided to grow upward, their tiny tendrils holding fast to the strings of the net where I entwined them last week. A few, such as this lovely, white sweet pea, have continued their upward climb, clinging to the net with tiny tendrils, accepting the sun's gift, and bursting into fragrant bloom.  This one has  grown far above its fellows! 

Oddly enough, about a third of the plants have set their tendrils on to other plants which are also trying to grow skyward. Unfortunately, since the plants in this category haven't found the real support, they are leaning sideways.

And then there are the poor babies which worked their way out of the net and fell back to the ground to lie flat on the dirt. They are matted and small.

Growing among the sweet peas are some impostors; gorgeous little orange flowers, but obviously not sweet peas.  Don once said that the definition of a weed is anything growing where you don't want it or didn't plant it.

I'm still working on the analogies…children, students, people in general. The sunlight, water, and soil all must have their counterparts, and perhaps the reader has thought of his or her own.  Let me know your thoughts in comments below! Thanks.