"We're all just fragile threads, but what a tapestry we make." – Jerry Ellis

Archive for the ‘Personal Essay’ Category

Is it Apathetic to be Content?

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Is it apathetic to be content? In today’s world, I find myself asking this question a lot. This past Sunday Darrell and Tyler were watching football and I noticed that so many commercials with athletes send the message that you should always strive to be better, to do more, and to work harder. Being content with your performance today is being mediocre. Although I can’t argue with the admirable work ethic, I sometimes wonder if the message the world sends to all of us is that we are never good enough and it is wrong and downright lazy to be content.

In the Jimmy Johns sandwich shop near my home, they have a sign hanging up with a story by Mark Albion about a fisherman on a small island. I found the version below at: http://www.awakin.org/read/view.php?tid=70#sthash.wrHhZh4w.dpuf  It really speaks to me:

Businessman and the Fisherman

–by Mark Albion (Apr 19, 1999)

A young businessman was at the pier of a small coastal village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked. Seeing several large yellowfin tuna inside the small boat, the businessman complimented the fisherman on the quality of the fish and asked how long it took to catch them. “Only a little while,” the fisherman replied.

A little surprised, the young business man asked, “Why didn’t you stay out longer and catch more fish?” The content fisherman said, “This is enough to support my family’s immediate needs. I don’t need any more.” “But what do you do with the rest of your time?” asked the confused young man. “I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take a walk with my wife, stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine and play guitar with my buddies; I have a full and busy life.”

The lad scoffed, “I am a Harvard MBA and could help you. You should spend more time fishing and with the proceeds buy a bigger boat with the proceeds from the bigger boat you could buy several boats, eventually you would have a fleet of fishing boats. Instead of selling your catch to a middleman you would sell directly to the processor, eventually opening your own cannery. You would control the product, processing and distribution. You would need to leave this small coastal fishing village and move to LA and eventually NYC where you will run your expanding enterprise.”

The fisherman asked, “How long will this all take?” to which the young man replied, “15-20 years.” “But what then?” The business man laughed and said “That’s the best part. When the time is right you would announce an IPO and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich, you would make millions.”

“Millions, sir? Then what?”

“Then you would retire, move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take a walk with your wife, stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your buddies.”

In many ways, I find myself identifying with the fisherman on the island. In truth, I have the best of both worlds—a regular paycheck and work experience, but since I work part time, I have more time and energy to write and do things with my family. Yet, I feel like I should be doing more. After all, it would be nice to have the extra income having a full-time job can bring, but at this point in my life, would the additional stress it would bring to our family actually be worth it? My kids are teenagers. In a few short years they will all be in college and embarking on their own careers and lives. Ideally, this is the time of my life to put my ducks in a row for when the day comes when I will return to working full time again. Instead of enjoying the season I’m in now, I worry about what if this or that happens, or what if I don’t get the job I want. I wish I could think more like the fisherman and less like the businessman!

The flip side of being content, at least for me, is the “Someday” trap. Filled with apathy and no commitment to a goal, the Someday trap puts all my dreams in future tense. I will finish my novel…someday. When I’m in Content mode, it’s easy to put off the small things that make Someday possible, like building and promoting a blog. This is where discernment comes in, and when I have to question the motives behind my goals. It’s a delicate balancing act—as well as the reason why I need deadlines! It’s when I have to ask myself what small step I can do today to make my Someday happen, you know—SOMEDAY.

So for today, I will be patient and content with this season in my life, with only one eye on the future. Because we should enjoy the here and now…and everyone needs a Someday.

Category:

balance, Blogging, family, home, Personal Essay

As the Kitchen Goes, So Does the Rest

I’ve posted before about how I continually seem to battle the natural disorder that likes to take over my house when I’m not looking . With the kids back in school, I’ve decided that I want to tackle some overdue projects that would simplify and make my life a little easier. My pantry has been bothering me for several years now, and I just felt overwhelmed by the whole premise of where to start. That could be because I started with Pinterest and the types of posts there about pantries have alphabetized spice racks and color-coded expiration date systems. I’ve not reached that level of organization. If I live to be 178 years old, I might.

My pantry is HUGE comparable to the size of our home. It’s a walk-in pantry that had some very deep, ill-spaced shelves. Not a good combination for people like us. Or more specifically me. I’m just a bit of a food hoarder. I don’t know why—we never went hungry as kids or anything and it’s not a result of my stocking up in bulk on the cheap. My friends have been known to say that in the event of a Zombie Apocalypse they are coming over to my house. I think I just grocery shop too much when I’m hungry and everything looks good. In any event, lots of non-perishable food would be brought home and get stashed in the pantry. So eventually there would be three opened boxes of Cheez-Its because the kids wouldn’t bother to dig out the already-opened box.

The more the problem pantry grew (literally), the less I felt inclined to deal with it. Quite the metaphor for life that contains all the elements of a First World Problem—overabundance breeding the problem of “too much” and then an overwhelming inability to know how to handle it. Or more accurately, the energy and desire to “fix” it.

Because I’ve found that as the kitchen goes, so does the rest of my life. When my kitchen’s a mess, it’s generally a reflection of how we’ve been spending our days. When it’s non-stop activities and not enough time at home, the kitchen is the first place to becoming the family dumping ground, minus the great family time around the kitchen table that’s supposed to be there. It’s living in survival mode, and it wears me down very quickly. Once I take an hour to just put away everything that’s wandered its way into the kitchen and polish up the stove top, I feel like I’ve regained a bit of myself.

Before I could get a decent before picture, Darrell had the shelves out. This is what it looked like empty with builder's grade primer on the walls.

Before I could get a decent before picture, Darrell had the shelves out. This is what it looked like empty with builder’s grade primer on the walls.  Probably just as well–I cringe at the thought of my “before” pantry being out there for the world to see!

So over Labor Day weekend, with the help of my talented and very patient husband, we took every single thing out of the pantry, including those shelves. Darrell patched the walls and painted it a very generic color with a pole-dancer-sounding name, “Vanilla Delight” and we started over again. We came up with a different configuration of the shelves. We purged and re-thought how to organize the various types of foods, paper supplies, small appliances and baking sheets and pans that have been haphazardly put away over the last few years. A small step for mankind, to be sure, but a huge one for Amy.  It feels terrific, even if not everything has found its permanent home yet.

In all her painted glory. It took almost three quarters of a gallon of paint to cover just the pantry because the walls soaked it in.

 

I never want to revert to how we had the pantry before. Even if it means following my kids into the pantry and pointing out where the bread goes. Because, although I may never color code the expiration dates, it still looks pretty damn good. If you’ve got any great tips for pantry organization that don’t involve alphabetizing or color coding, share them with me in the comments.  I’d love to hear them.

The after. Still need to put a few of the shelves back in. Although you can’t see the exact contents, it made a difference having similar items put together and lesser used items put in the back corners. What comes naturally to some people was an epiphany for me!

Category:

Cleaning and Organizing, embarrassing, family, home, housework, Personal Essay

What Mom Doesn’t Know—the Secret of the Broken Chair

chairFamily history has always interested me. I grew up in a family where my parents and grandparents told us stories about their childhoods. I’ll admit there have been times when I’ve thought, If she tells that one more time…but now that my grandparents have passed away and my parents are getting older, I worry that I’ll forget those stories. I also find that I’m one of those people that tell the same story over and over again to my kids. I know it drives them crazy, like it once did me, but I’m purposely repeating them in the hopes that maybe, just maybe they’ll have insight to their old Mom’s life.

My dad, Paul, wanting to compile some of his stories, wrote out a few from his life, and I typed them for him. I submitted them to a magazine called Storyteller on his behalf a few years back, but as far as I know, nothing ever came from it. In any event, I ran across some of his old stories, and I thought I’d have him be a guest blogger today.

Thanks, Mom and Dad, Grandma and Grandpa, for sharing your stories with me!

It was the fall of 1966 when Mom and Dad sold the family home on Natural Bridge Road, in St. Louis, Missouri. Their house was located across the street from the University of Missouri-St. Louis (then known as UMSL), which was expanding and wanted to turn it into a dormitory. The increased traffic had become unbearable during rush hour, and Mom and Dad decided to have their dream home built at Champ Village, near Bridgeton, Missouri.

Mom and Dad’s new home wasn’t finished yet, so they moved in with my grandmother. My younger brother, Richard, who attended UMSL, went to live with my Aunt Evaline and Uncle Arnold, who lived in nearby Bel-Nor. Our younger brother, Russell, went to college in Fulton, Missouri, and came in on the weekends. Though I had recently gotten married and moved out, seeing the house sold felt like the end of an era.

Mom and Dad had put all of their furniture into storage, except for the dining room set, which they’d sold. On the Saturday before the big move, Mom had asked Russell to stay at the house to meet with the people who had bought the dining room set. Richard decided to come over from Aunt Evaline’s house, and I joined him in keeping Russell company.

“So, Mom sold the dining room set.” Richard said.

“Yes,” Russell replied. “I guess it didn’t fit in with the décor on the new house.”

We all broke out into laughter. About a year earlier they had gotten into a wrestling match in, of all places, the dining room. One of the dining room chairs got broken in the process. Instantly, the fighting had stopped so they could ponder their next move. Together Richard and Russell came up with a simple, but brilliant idea. They would glue the chair back together with Elmer’s Glue.

It was early in the morning. They hoped the glue would set by evening and for good reason. Pastor Press and his wife were coming for dinner that night. They got the chair glued together just in time as Mom returned from her appointment at the Beauty Salon.

That evening, Richard and Russell tried to place the chair in such a position that either one of them would sit on it. As luck would have it, somehow Mrs. Press sat on the chair. Fate was on their side—Mrs. Press was a slim, petite lady. They were both on pins and needles until the meal was over and they retired to the living room. If Mom had noticed how little they’d eaten, she didn’t say anything. If the Elmer’s glue company needed a testimonial of how good their glue was, my brothers could have given them one.

At last, a moving van and car pulled up to the side of the house, bringing us back to the present. A young couple got out and came to the door. The wife was eager to show her husband her treasure.

“Darling, don’t you think this set is beautiful?”

“It looks like it’s brand new,” was his comment. We brothers quickly hid our smiles. With that said, two husky men loaded the set into a moving van. With the dining room set gone, a piece of family history went with it.

With the dining room set gone, Russell and asked Richard, “Do you think we should tell Mom about the chair?”

Richard thought for a minute, then said, “What Mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

Category:

family, family history, Grandparents, growing up, Personal Essay

The Best Advice—A Dragonfly Top Ten

Advice

As part of the college application process, Tyler is writing essays on various topics. The application he’s working on now gave him the option to write on either his opinion of a current international event or the best advice he’s been given. He decided that he wasn’t so sure about voicing a strong opinion on something that could be political, and took the softer option of good advice. What’s fun for me is that it got us talking about advice in general and we had more than a three sentence discussion on it. We both agreed it was hard to think of a single sliver of advice we’ve been given that was really earth shattering, but it got me thinking. What are the little tidbits of advice that have re-surfaced in useful ways in my life? So I came up with a top ten.

10.  Never pass up the opportunity to use the bathroom. I tell this to the kids all the time, but they still don’t believe me. Maybe it’s because I’m older and this body has given birth to three babies, but there’s nothing worse than wishing you’d used the restroom when you’d had the chance. Real life examples include being stuck in traffic and going out on a long run on a nature trail.

9.  Eat your vegetables. Oh, how I hated that one as a kid. It wasn’t told to me as advice exactly—more like a directive, but, having grown up eating them all of my life, I’ve learned to enjoy them. Besides, you cannot take part in any healthy lifestyle or diet that does not tout the health benefits of vegetables. I’m not ashamed to say that I still wish they tasted like chocolate, though.

8.  Don’t bite off more than you can chew. In food, finances and commitments. No matter how much I think I can pull it together at the time, I eventually choke when I overextend myself.

7.  Do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life. I can’t say that I wake up on Monday morning overcome with excitement about my job as an Administrative Assistant. But there are many other jobs out there I’d be miserable doing. I’ve had a few of those in my past—the kind you drive to work with a knot in your stomach dreading. I would be a lousy telemarketer or collections person.

6.  Never say something about somebody that you wouldn’t say to their face. It’s so hard to abide by this advice when the gossip is so juicy. But the older I get, the more I know that it’s the best policy. If in doubt that the words you say will be held in confidence or aren’t sure if what you’re saying is the whole truth, keep your mouth shut.

5.  Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today. Disclaimer: While this is great advice to live by, I find I still can be a chronic procrastinator. I am so much happier when I keep on top of things.

4.  No one can ever tell you how much you’ll fall in love with your baby. I read this in the doctor’s office in a parenting magazine when I was pregnant with Tyler. Up until I’d had my own children, I hadn’t been around babies very much. But even though I knew I loved my baby before I had him, I never dreamed how deep that bond would be. From the first time I laid eyes on my babies, I knew I loved them with an all-encompassing, unique love that is mind blowing in its simplicity and depth.

3.  Forgive others. Because if you don’t, it only hurts you. Bitterness is an acid that eats your soul if you let it. I’ve watched it happen to people in my life because they don’t understand that forgiving someone doesn’t mean having to condone a wrong; it only lifts the burden from the forgiver’s heart.

2.  You can tell a lot about a person by how they treat their waiter, tangled Christmas lights and lost luggage. Honestly I think the last two might cause a person to come to the conclusion that patience isn’t my personal best virtue. But being rude or degrading to the wait staff is a pretty good indicator of a person’s character.

1.  Be kind to everyone, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle. Even the most seemingly “together” person has something in their life that they’re dealing with at the moment. Maybe the kind word or the smile you give them will be the one thing that day that was positive. Sometimes being kind to someone doesn’t necessarily get you ahead. I struggle with the “nice person” syndrome. But I do feel like there’s a need for more compassion in this world. I like to think it starts with me.

So what about you? Got any advice you live by? I’d love to hear about it!

Category:

Advice, Personal Essay, writing prompts

If Only I Had the Words

As a parent, I’ve found myself having to explain things in discussions with my kids that I’m not always comfortable with because they’re topics I’m not sure I grasp myself. On the past two Mondays, our family has learned of deaths of people my kids know who have unexpectedly passed at a young age. And while my kids are old enough to have past experience with deaths of pets and even great grandparents, it is tough to process the death of someone who they saw in their everyday lives that they never thought twice about not seeing again.

Last Monday we learned that a boy Erin goes to school with died over the weekend in an ATV accident. She went all through grade school with him and he was her “locker neighbor”. I wanted to have words of wisdom to share with her, but I found that I struggled with trying to make sense of it. He was only thirteen years old. He should be pestering his parents about picking out new school clothes, school supplies and those new “kicks” he wanted. Instead his mother has to pick out what he will be buried in while his father struggles to survive his own life threatening injuries suffered in the accident. Damned if I can explain to my daughter how to understand that.

Tonight we found out about the death of my daughter Emily’s volleyball coach. She died suddenly in her sleep over the weekend. Not only was she was the mother of six children at home, she was a coach and mentor to many involved in the sport. A very devoted Christian, she was the Director of the Patriette Lights Volleyball League and taught the girls so much more than volleyball—she taught them about playing with graciousness and as a representative of Christ. While I know in my heart that she’s gone home to be in His Kingdom, the selfish part of me just wants Patty to be here on Earth with her family and the volleyball girls, modeling her faith for them like she always did.

The way we individually deal with grief and loss are handled differently for everyone, and I see my children learning as they grow how that all plays out. I’m not afraid to tell them that I don’t know what to say because sometimes there aren’t any words. Sometimes there are only hugs or tears or sighs that we have to get through before we can start to remember the things about that person that made him or her special to us. And I have to remember that it’s okay to just leave it at that.

It is in times like these that I am grateful that I have faith, even though I think I’m a lousy witness to it. As Christians we believe that people who have died who knew Christ really are “in a better place”. But I cannot say those words to people who are hurting and are devastated at losing someone. I cannot quote scripture and point out places where Christ tells his followers that He’s prepared a room in Heaven for those who believe. When someone dies, especially when it’s unexpected or the person was young, I think it’s natural for those left behind just to want their loved one back. I believe most people, even those who have faith in Heaven, want to hear that person laugh again and say “I love you” and for life to be the way it was before he or she died. I don’t think that makes me any less of a Christian to respect those feelings. Sympathizing with their pain just makes me human. And God can handle much more than our mere humanity and emotions.

I don’t think I will ever fully comprehend why there are people who have to leave us too soon, nor do I feel like I’ll ever become an expert in the field of grief counseling. I will always wish I had the right words. Instead, I only know what comforts me personally: my belief that God loves us more than we can even imagine, as cliché as that may sound.

Our former pastor, a man whose faith I admire greatly, once told us something that I try to keep in mind about death, whether in regards to my own or others. When questioned what Heaven would be like, he said that he didn’t know what Heaven amounted to—what it would look like, or what form our souls would take. “But I have no fear about that because God loves us so much and I don’t have to worry. It is better than anything we can ever imagine.” It may not be the perfect words, but it’s a start.

Rest in Peace Chance and Patty. You will be missed.

Category:

faith, family, grief, growing up, Heaven, letting go, loss, Personal Essay

In a Room Where It’s Always 4:57

So it's hard to find a clock image with 4:57 on it. I found this cool one courtesy of momastry.com

So it’s hard to find a clock image with 4:57 on it. I found this cool one courtesy of momastry.com

In the music room where Erin takes viola lessons the clock is broken; the second hand bounces without ever moving forward. Even though I know it’s broken—it hasn’t worked since she moved over to that room—I catch myself glancing over at it to check the time. But it’s always 4:57.

Sitting there, listening to her lesson, I think about what it would be like if time could just stop like it does in TV shows and movies. You know the scene where the main character is moving in slowmo, and everyone else just freezes. Some days, I wish I could do exactly that. When I’m feeling overwhelmed and just want to take a breather. In the morning right before the alarm goes off. Or when I’m enjoying a moment, and I want to savor it before it slips into the past. It would just be nice to say, “Hang on Universe, I’ll re-join you in a minute or two”.

The flip side of wanting to have time stop for a moment, is wishing it would already be a certain time. Like when you’re a little kid and you can’t wait for Friday so you can go to your friend’s birthday party. Later on, it becomes wanting to hurry up with high school or college so you can start your “real” life. I remember in college counting down the days to get finished with that last semester so I could get a grown up job. Now, in my grown up life so full of responsibility, I wish I would have savored a bit more of those college days instead of pressing forward so hard to the future.

As a parent, I’ll admit there have been times in my children’s lives that I have had to buckle down and just get through. In the beginning it was cranky babies crying and trying to get them to go to finally go to sleep. New parents stumble through those days, feeling like those nights without enough sleep will never end. People told me those days would go by so fast, but I never really believed them. The elementary school years, filled with those awful required science fair projects and being the homework police—they told me those days would go by fast, too. I started believing they might be right, but still…

And now we’re getting towards the end of summer with one seventh grader, a freshmen and a senior in high school all picking up their schedules and gearing up for another school year. And I wish I had a time machine. Or at least a video that I can rewind of what the heck happened over the past two months because I can’t imagine how it went by so fast. I want to throw us all in a room with a broken clock where it’s going to be Summer 2014 a little while longer.

Yet, there’s a tiny part of me, filled with hope and enthusiasm for the future, that wants to see what happens next—for the kids, for my husband and me. What excitement is just around the corner that if I stopped time right now I’d delay getting to enjoy? So I’m glad I don’t really have a choice in the matter. And we forge ahead.

If I can’t have the broken clock, can I at least have a better memory?

Category:

family, home, kids growing up, motherhood, Personal Essay, Summer, teenagers, Time, Vacation

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In Defense of Lollipops and Rainbows

Image from mistiquecandy.blogspot.com If you like candy, check out this blog!

Image from mistiquecandy.blogspot.com
If you like candy, check out this blog!

As this is The Lighthearted Dragonfly blog, not The Depressed and Down-trodden Dragonfly, I try to keep my musings (hopefully) a little more positive. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not naive’ enough to believe that the world is full of lollipops and rainbows, but I try on my blog and in my daily life not to focus on all that’s wrong with the world.

Recently I read an article about the craft of writing Personal Essays. After I read it, I felt like I should just quit writing all together because if the author was to be believed, you have to be dark, brooding and borderline suicidal to ever be published out there. Luckily, I read this just before my weekly Writing/Therapy meeting with Kim, my writing buddy, who was able to make some valid counter arguments. I disagree with the point the article made that essays that don’t probe the depths of human despair are not worthy for submission. Yes, most people love to read about others’ struggles, including me. Whether it’s because it makes us feel better about our own problems or because we like having others to identify with, it’s just plain old interesting when someone bares their soul and allows us into their head.

But I feel like there’s also a place for humor in the midst of the mundane. A place for observation of everyday life. Even a place where gratitude is expressed for people who make our lives worth living. Do essays always have to be joyful? Definitely not. That would be so boring. But sometimes I get tired of all the negative, deep thoughts and just want a little fluff or a good laugh. The darkness in the world needs to be balanced with redemption.

I’m glad I read the article, despite the initial discouragement I felt after reading it, because it opened my eyes to the idea that the type of writing I do on this blog only appeals to a small niche of people. It also made me realize that my other writing projects (family history one aside) may need to be a little edgier with meaner characters than what I tend to write. Lesson learned. But in real life, I really do hold out hope for those lollipops and rainbows.

Category:

family, Personal Essay, writing