Tag Archives: Deb Greiner Hutti

All That. And More.

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Looking back, I know it was a ridiculous job, but at the time, every Saturday morning for an entire summer, I’d head out thinking I was all that and more.  I’m pretty sure I’d strut to my workspace – lower level – center aisle – terminal one – Lambert St. Louis International Air Field.  I’d clip on that name tag, make sure everything was good to go and start my ever-so-important work as the girl manning the one and only STL Airport Tourist Information Desk.

Number 2 pencils, maps, up-to-date brochures, and a working sharpie to point people in the right direction were the tools of the trade.  All that and a solid working rotary dial phone which was free of charge to those I deemed in dire need of its use.  When I’d haul it out, I felt like Alfred Pennyworth contacting Batman on the Bat-phone.  

Like I said, I thought I was really all that.  And more.

Distressed travelers would ask for the  nearest bathroom.  I would point with authority.  Hungry travelers would ask for airport food choices.  I would confidently mention Orange Julius to the left, Cinnabons to the right, and the Airport Hanger upstairs for those with more time and money.  Frantic travelers would ask about lost luggage. I had no answers for them but that’s when I would pull out that complimentary Bat-phone.  

Since I was the lone employee, it was up to me to open and close up shop.  I was on my honor to put in my time and manage whatever challenges popped up. Most of the morning, I was smiling and nodding at people on their way in and out of the airport. In general, I had a great time, doing fun stuff, at an interesting location while being paid. 

All that.  More.

Fast forward to today, 2023.  Not so sure that this job is needed anymore.  

Forget paper maps, sharpies and brochures.  A cellphone, the airport’s website, a good google search, and texting offers everything plus way more than I could ever have as even the greatest Info-girl on the planet. 

Relevancy aside, it was a job that taught me a lot . . . perhaps more than most of my other positions.  It was a job I needed.  Because it put me in my place. Quickly.

At the time, I actually had little to no workplace skills.  I needed all the practice that I could find. And one thing the info desk offered was skill building. 

In particular, I had the opportunity to practice the one skill that I still need to practice.  It sounds simple, but it’s very hard.  I had to sit and listen.  It was all about listening.  Sitting and listening.  My only line was: “How can I help you?” and then all bets were off on where the conversation went.  

I learned to nod.  Take a few notes.  Smile.  Empathize. Pause.  Listen some more. If I was patient enough, people generally solved their own challenges without too much input from me.  It was all about just listening.

When I think about my listening skills today, I think about how sharpening them is so difficult.  

At the airport information desk, I knew very little and had even less that I could share with those approaching me.  Thus, listening was about all I could do.  As my jobs changed and my career moved forward, I knew a bit more about the topics at hand, and speaking became easier.  Listening became harder.  Still is.

When thinking about some of the most wickedly smart people I know, one trait they all have is the ability to say little to nothing, hear lots, and somehow converse exquisitely.   A goal for me.

The good news is I have nothing but time ahead of me to gain traction on the basic need at STL airport.  For me, listening is a skill that I have never mastered, only practiced.  So I keep practice listening in perpetuity on my to do list.  

One day I might be good at it.  Until then,  if you see me yapping on, just remind me that the listeners only need five words. 

“How can I help you.”

I recently visited the Missouri Botanical Gardens Information Desk. Very, very helpful.

Time to Think

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The moment that I confirmed that I had one of the greatest jobs in the world was perhaps the most boring, the simplest, the quietest day ever. I was just sitting in my office, glaring across my desk at a shelf full of books.  Not one of those books was open nor had I just read anything.

I was literally just sitting, leaning back on my chair.  The phone was silent – a landline at the time – and my computer screen was asleep.   I may have had a pencil in my hand twirling it from tip to eraser, back and forth on my empty desk.  

I could hear the keystroke of Betty’s computer, the person who managed the volume of paperwork that passed through my office on a daily basis, and I am quite sure that she knew that I was just sitting, staring into space in the office behind hers.  

Without a moment to alter what I was doing or more importantly not doing, the president of the college and my boss stepped through my office door. I had no report I could grab and pretend to be analyzing it, I was not engaged in any important phone call, and there was no current meeting happening within my office walls.  I was still just sitting.  Without a moment’s pause, he snapped, “What are you up to?”  

And I decided to go with honesty, “Well sir, I was just doing some thinking.” And it was his next line that sealed my belief that I had the the best job ever.  “Great,” he said.  “We hired you to think. Anything you want to share?” 

For the next hour or so, he and I spoke about the what ifs, the possibilities, the far-edge dreams, the thoughts about what could be, what should be, and more.  Some call it brainstorming. Some call it thinking outside the box.  I usually called it wasting time with a purpose.  

But most importantly, I was just reassured that my employer was paying me and counting on me to . . . think.  To think about things that are.  To think about new things, unknown things.  To consider the unexpected and the unusual. To ponder with no particular direction. He was encouraging me to press on with the world of wondering. 

And to me, that was wonderful.

I had spent a fair amount of time in a classroom as a student. And as we all know, students live in an endless stream of thinking time. Students read and listen. They investigate and ruminate. Students are afforded semester after semester to live in dreamland and to share those dreams with others.

Once we graduate and leave those hallowed halls, life changes.  Mine did.  I secured my degrees and took off on unexpected adventures, eventually landing back in higher education, but not as a student, rather as an employee. 

Initially, I focused on productivity.  I made sure that all my work – whatever that meant – was done by the end of the day.  I tied up all loose ends, leaving no hanging chads to face in the morning.  My office ran smooth as butter. 

But.  That is all it did.  

As time passed, I recognized that there was no ingenuity to it.  There was no bedazzling of anything.  It was all paperwork in, paperwork out.  And people in, people out.  Those breathtaking experiences that I had as a student in a college class long ago – where ideas were rampant and the try and fail method was expected and praised – was not happening in my job.  I was boring myself and I knew it.

The only thing I could do was , well, change.  Which is when I started to do some thinking.  Which was when the president caught me in the act of thinking.  And affirmed the activity.  And then joined me. 

I truly believe that the best places to work are those that allow time for employees to dream.  Somewhere out there are great ideas waiting to be found.  The only way to do that is for people to have the freedom and free time to search.  Employees also need extremely supportive employers and employment.  Who allow wonderment.

Though I did not solve all the problems of the world, I am quite sure that the moments that I was encouraged to devote beaucoup time to thinking were the moments that brought about the most positive change to the problems faced in my areas of responsibility.  

I don’t know what is happening in the world of work today.  I do know that we are in the midst of the great reshuffle.  I know that today’s technology is many light years beyond what was available for me.  (I’m thinking AI and beyond!) I also believe that today’s generation is clever, capable, and creative.  

I know that I still spend a great deal of time thinking about those what ifs.  (It’s the best part of my day even if it looks like I’m doing absolutely nothing to those on the outside.)  I can only hope that those behind me are devoting a boatload of time to sitting and thinking.  

Because there’s nothing better.  For all of us.  

Something about glowing red trees that makes me want to . . . think.

Anyone Can Learn Anything

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Just recently I had cause to think about one of my favorite thoughts that I had long since tucked in the back of my brain. I had heard this particular statement in my past life from two different, but very noteworthy sources, both of whom I still admire and follow today. And throughout my early life, I had kept this idea more prominent in myself than of recent times.

But due to many lucky moments in my current world, I was brought back to it and am so glad to have circled the wagons around it again.

The first time I heard this expression, I was much younger and most likely much wiser than I am today. I was in the heart of my educational journey, off to the races in seeking ways to help students learn. I was seeking knowledge from all corners of my life and there I sat in the middle of a large conference auditorium for an opening day symposium targeting what I thought was a very intricate, important, and tantamount subject for all learners – that of . . . . innovation. The conference itself was called Innovations. The subject was Innovation. I was ready to rock and roll forward into an area of learning that I believed, and still believe, fuels everything new and exciting. Innovation. (Yet, today, I am not sure that the conference process I used to approach that subject was the best and brightest idea. A topic for a different post.)

I had my pen at the ready, to take notes like a fiend. I was sitting in the line of sight of the speaker, so I would not be distracted by the comings and goings of the crowd. I was alert, awake, and enthusiastic – because I knew what I heard was going to be, well, innovative. Game on!

The speaker walked on stage to a cursory round of applause. He carried a few notes and, of great interest to me, a guitar. As the crowd settled in, he began to strum and play and sing. Interspersed between the music, he would stop and chat a bit. He mentioned that he was going to tell us a few secrets about innovation and students and how to create opportunities for students to be innovative.

Again, game on for me.

And then he matter-of-factly stated his first rule. To my surprise, it did not seem or feel so overwhelmingly earthshaking in terms of enlightenment on innovation. It seemed a bit simple . . . or generic . . . or pedestrian. At the time.

He said is a bright brief voice that the first rule in setting up innovative learning opportunities for students is to make sure that everyone believed that anyone can learn anything, given the right circumstances. And he repeated that phrase time after time after time. Anyone can learn anything. Anyone. Anything. He mentioned that the term anyone included everyone including me. He mentioned that anything included everything that I could ever imagine. And more.

Anyone can learn anything, given the right circumstances.

I jotted it down frantically. I didn’t want to miss anything. He spoke passionately about this idea and said that even though he was moving on to another thought, if I only took away one idea, anyone can learn anything should be it.

Fast forward to a few months later, and I was working on a project that needed a tool. And as with most projects, it needed a tool but had to be cheap to free. As luck would have it, there was someone in the world who had the brilliant idea to create just that tool . . . for free. And as I investigated the tool source, I was more than a bit awe struck. Not just by the versatility and usefulness of the tool, but by the philosophy behind it. It was a philosophy I had heard before and recently. It was a phrase that I had heard and perhaps had not listen to as well as I should before and recently. The spin was a little different, but the essence was the same.

Anyone can learn anything if given the right tools. Anyone can learn anything. Anyone. Anything.

I had now heard that phrase twice in a short time frame. My only flaw was my failure to listen as well as I could the first time and run with that idea.

Though it has been quite a few years since that moment, I recall stopping what I was doing and shamefully shaking my head. At that moment, I knew that the quicker I recognized that anyone can learn anything given the right circumstances or the right tools, the faster I could become a more useful and helpful part of the world.

It took me a long time to take those words to heart for myself. There have been many times that my response when facing something new, challenging, difficult, unknown, seemingly impossible, or foolishly difficult has been to think that I am not smart enough, strong enough, wise enough, cunning enough (the list goes on an on here) to succeed. But then I harken back to those words.

Anyone can learn anything.

And I start looking for the the right circumstances and the right tools and once again, game on!

My early attempts at anything new, daunting, different, ridiculously challenging, whole-heartedly off my comfort chart sometimes have led to grand scale failures. Make that have often led to grand scale failures. But with each attempt, I learn something and nudge myself closer to my end goal. I am a learner who has been told that I can learn anything. What fun! And the more I focus on knowing that I can learn anything, the smaller the great big world of ours becomes.

Without a doubt, I believe that one of the greatest lessons out there for future generations is to become confident in knowing that they are best part of the anyone who can learn anything. My job for them is to help develop all the right circumstances and the best tools.

Game on.

I’m working on a colorful quilt that is above my ability. But anyone can learn anything, so onward I go.

“Please sir,” replied Oliver, “I want some more.”

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It’s really no secret. It’s just not.

My family knows it.  Most of my friends know it. Mainly because I’ve talked about my trials and tribulations with it.  They know it’s one of my continual, enduring quests. A path that has not yet ended.  It’s always been on my to-do board. Always. And, of course, I have had more losses than wins with it, but the quest continues regardless of failures.  

I guess what keeps me going is the thought that my plan might actually work. It just might. 

Ever since I was a youngster, I have never thought that twenty-four hours was enough time in the day.  For some reason, my get-er-done list has always been longer than my available time.    Every morning for years, I start my day like a rocket heading to the moon.  I look at my list and I’m off to the races.  And every evening, the list is exactly the same length, with what seems like two new items replacing the one item I may have completed. 

I have tried rising earlier and staying up later. And though I did seem to have more time for awhile, eventually I ended up being too tired to complete anything successfully, happily, or coherently.

So after much pondering, I concocted one of the most glorious, crazy-funny plans to combat the dilemma of not having enough time in the day that I have ever concocted.  This plan is the type that has kept me way too engaged in activities that could have been considered monotonous or boring, but now I consider them whole-heartedly challenging.  

I call it my find-the-time plan.  And I have, indeed, found new, additional time with it.  In fact, one day I found nearly fifteen new minutes.  I recall spending those new minutes as if I were on the greatest of all holidays.  They were fleeting minutes, but they were fun.  I supposed it was just the idea that I nearly met the quest . . . of finding more time in a day.

How you may ask?

Well, the plan actually has two parts.  The first part is simple.  Well, it sounds simple.  Let’s double well that. Well, it is simple until and unless something goes wrong during execution, then it actually causes a loss of time.  But, in its origin, it is simple.  

Just do the ordinary faster!  Just do the ordinary . . . a lot faster!  

For many years, I made my son the same breakfast each morning.  Three eggs, scrambled.  Two pieces of bacon.  Two pieces of toast, buttered.  For the first few years, that particular breakfast took me ten to fifteen minutes to prepare.  I’d get to the kitchen, waltz around, get out the food, prepare it, dilly dally a bit, clean up a bit, and voila, it was fifteen minutes later.  

But as I started my find-the-time quest, I found that I could actually sail through this breakfast much, much faster.  Think Martha Stewart meets Usain Bolt. I learned to race to the kitchen,  crack those eggs while feeding the bread into the toaster. I flung bacon into the microwave, lathered butter on bread, supersonic scrambled those eggs, and tossed everything on a plate in record times. I found time that I had previously lost.  I was actually so amazed that I found this time that I really didn’t use the time I found too well. 

Doing the ordinary faster works great if there are no errors.  But the days that I burnt the toast, dropped the eggs, or flung the bacon on the floor by mistake actually took me more time to clean up and repair the damage than had I just leisurely made breakfast. 

So on to part two which is more failsafe, usually.

The second part to the plan is comically fun almost all of the time.  All I have to do is . . .double up.  Just double up on the regular and ordinary. Doing two unique things simultaneously saves a boatload of time . . . which fits so well in the find-the-time quest.

During find-the-time quest part two, I have learned to brush my teeth and make my bed . . . at the same time, a two minute save.  I have figured out how to dry my hair with two hair dryers instead of one, cutting a ten minute chore into five.  I clean my car while filling my gas tank. I think lots of us do this one!  Another two minute save.  When I take my shoes off, I make sure I am standing in my closet.  I only save a few seconds, but it’s still a save.  

I have dozens of double up wins and I also have a few double up losses.  If I lose, I give myself kudos for the attempt. 

My favorite moments are the times that I keep track of the double up minutes saved and it add up to nearly a half hour. What a bonus world to have thirty additional minutes in my day.  It’s magical. 

My find-the-time quest clearly is more trivial than earth shattering.  It’s definitely a personal day game that keeps my life in the groove.  

Yet, as trivial as it is, I have learned a great deal from it.  

I have learned that anything can be joyful. Really, just anything can be. Brush my teeth, make my bed, fun.  Scramble eggs at the speed of light, fling bacon frantically, fun.  Fritter away found time, fun.  

Such a simple quest has taught me that the mundane is only so if I let it be that way.   How I frame my life is how my life will be.  With a little effort, the ordinary, the normal, the usual becomes anything but. 

I pray this quest never ends!

Found a few minutes to be outside today. 🙂

My Earth, My God

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(In my world, life generally passes merrily along. Regardless of daily quandaries and world hardships, I tend to wake up each morning and wonder what joy and excitement will happen in my day, each and every day. I seek and I always find that which is magnificent, that which fills life with the positive. But the world is in a state of unique and perplexing challenge. Change is afoot. Big significant change. The momentum of change has been powerful, and thus, I respectfully share the poetry of my heart. Deb)

The Dogwoods in bloom – inspiration.

I felt the earth breathe. 

The chattering, the clamoring, the bellowing, the nash,

The pondering, the frittering, the parting, the dash.

The centering, the calling, the crying, the fell,

The sinking, the rising, the mourning, the beheld.

I felt the earth breathe.

Her gentle hand took mine with ease.

I felt her heart, 

I felt her breathe.

I heard the earth sigh.

The starting without finish; oft taking without give.

The anger without sorrow, no relent, no forgive.

The hallow of the voices, a shift of time, of weight.

The sound of sounds in echo, oft too much, oft too late.

I heard the earth sigh.

Her wide heart rested by my side.

I heard her call.

I heard her sigh.

I saw the earth stand.

The tumbling, the swirling, the falling, the fight.

The shifting, the mumbling, the clawing, the might.

The timing, the movement, the hoping, the wait.

The drumming, the driving, the impatience, our fate.

I saw the earth stand.

Her strong will holding all my land.

I saw her move.

I saw her stand.

I felt the earth breathe.

The guiding, the patience, her staring, her gaze.

The knowledge, her sharing, her waiting, all days

The wisdom, her acceptance, her caring, so blue

The challenge, her mapping, heading forward, heading true.

I felt the earth breathe.

Her sigh so strong, her stance so free.

I felt the earth breathe.

And it was for me.

You’re On Your Honor

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Those were the words. One simple statement.  Five little words. Spoken quickly and directly.  First a brief hug, followed by a look that recognized that adventure was going to abound, then some kind of glare that probably meant I was going to be missed, and finally just as my foot would reach for the first step towards leaving, he would lay it down . . . “You’re on your honor.”

My mind would have been filled with the promise of high jinx, with plans of spending time not so wisely, in the greatest of crazy-funny ways, with hopes of avoiding all rules and breaking those that accidentally cropped up.  And then he would add, “You’re on your honor.”   

He didn’t tell me to behave.  He didn’t tell me to make good choices.  There was no lecture and reminders of rules and such. He went for something  subtle and crafty.  He went for the big picture, using tiny words that I could easily remember.

You’re on your honor.

Honor wasn’t foreign term to me.  In fact, it was something that had been a part of my culture starting at a very early age. First, growing up in a large Catholic family, lots of time was spent talking about whether or not I honored my father and mother enough or in the right way. Like most kids, I was amazingly imperfect and caused my fair share of ruckuses. So, the term honor popped up regularly.

After all, honoring thy mother and father was and still is one of the big ten. I must ashamedly admit that it was one of my favorite venial sins to report in my weekly confession sin list because A) most likely I had done something to dishonor my parents within the past seven days, and  B) reporting that sin was better than reporting some of the other nine. At one point in my life, I distinctly remember a moment when my father looked at my heap  o’trash-  (with freedom at the heart) – filled bedroom and quizzically asked me, “Is that how you honor your mother? Clothes everywhere, bed not made, school work – dishes – and trash on the floor.  I’d say this is the definition of total dishonor, young lady.”   

The term honor also popped up at my childhood home when it was our family’s turn to house the traveling statue of Our Lady of Fatima. The OLF statue made its rounds throughout the entire OLF parish.  As the parish was quite large, the statue made its way to my family home  only once every few years.  But when it did, my mother was a force in teaching me what it meant to honor the life of Our Lady of Fatima.  We read her biography, said appropriate prayers, talked about why she should be honored, cleaned and polished the statue, and in general acted honorably for the period of time that it resided with us.  It was natural for me to equate the term honor with the term respect.

Finally, my childhood put me in routine contact with honor as all of my gal pals who moved with me from Brownies to Juniors to Cadettes to Seniors during the 1960s/1970s can attest.   For at each gathering, whether it be a weekly meeting, a special activity, an overnight event, or a multiple week long camp, we Girl Scouts would proudly recited the promise which put us in a state of honor at all times:

“On my honor, I will try to do my duty to God and my country, to help other people at all times and to obey the Girl Scout Laws.”

Through thick and thin, I pledged to do all that . . . on my honor.  This type of honor was still about respect, but it was also about something a little bit more.  We – my girlfriends and I –  were respecting the world and everything that was in it.  We were promising to give it our all to improve what we could, fighting for all that was right.  We were placing trust in each other than whatever the situation, we would behave in a way that brought pride to ourselves as individuals. We did not want, nor did we need anyone standing right behind us to tell us the best way to behave.  We were on our honor to just know what to do and we expected each other to do it. I was being held accountable by no one other than myself.

Hence, when my father told me that I was on my honor, he wanted me to remember that there were rules in the world and that some of them – for sure the big ten – needed to be followed.  There was also a belief when he mentioned those words that I would be able to recognize that there are individuals out in the great beyond that have lived lives that deserve honor. Some people show leadership during times of great hardship.  Some people lead saintly lives that should be remembered and revered.  They have done things that I can only aspire to.  Lastly, being on my honor meant that  I understood and respected the basic rules of society that can lead everyone to the greater good. And that someday there would be no one other than myself to make sure that I led an honorable life.

Currently, I am on my honor. But, I am not exactly on my ordinary honor.  Instead, it feels like I am standing on a tiny ledge on a high mountain in a vast world of what it means to be on my honor.  I know that it is not the time for me to step outside the lines of my honor right now.  It is important for me to look beyond myself in all of my actions.  I have a duty to assess the simplest of actions in order to honor society appropriately.  Honorable and dishonorable actions have so much more consequence today than they did a mere few months ago. 

With so much unknown in the world, I am very thankful. 

I’m thankful that I was sent out to practice being on my honor so many moons ago.  It becomes important when it’s no longer practice. 

Flowers

Nature is always honorable!

Perfect / Not Perfect

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I am not perfect.

In fact, I often believe that I am so far from it and that its target is way too small and the journey is beyond too tough.  Because I make a million mistakes . . . all the time.  And each mistake is bigger and larger and more daunting than the one before it. 

And I don’t seem to learn from my mistakes.  Too many times, I make a mistake, understand the mistake, live another day, and make the same mistake again, repeating the cycle more times that I can count. 

On top of that, it is not easy to personally or publicly admit that I make fantastic, blunderous mistakes. 

Hmmm . . . well, check that. There are some mistakes that are easy to own.  I spent quite a bit of an evening not too long ago ripping out all kinds of mistakes in a quilt that I am building.  I did not see them until I was a long piece down the mistake trail, which meant that not only was I required to spent time undoing what I had wrongly done, but I had hours of time to ponder out the origin, cause, and cure of my errors. And from my boisterous grunts and growls, (meant to alert those within earshot that I was upset), my family knew I was so.

Likewise mistakes with my recent construction project are easy to own.  I am a newbie to building, to using power tools, to measuring, cutting, and hammering pieces of wood together.  My expectations on how perfect I should be are skewed to the lower end.  Thus admitting that I make tons of mistakes is rather easy.  Besides that, construction mistakes are something that are easy to see and difficult to hide.  Admitting them is a matter of course rather than a matter of being honest and forthright.

It is everything else that fits into the box called mistakes that I find hard to admit.  The list of those types of errors is a list that grows day by day.  I fail to be empathetic.  I fail to curb my vocabulary, choosing words that harm way more than words that help.  I fail to complete and keep my promises.  I make mistakes in terms of what I think, gravitating towards thoughts that generate negativity quickly rather than positivity slowly.  I think things, say things, and do things that I shouldn’t.  It can be and is embarrassing.

Recently, after reading some news story about a senseless murder, I thought and said that the perpetrator “should be shot and I’d be happy to do it.” Not only did I think it, I said it. To hell with justice, a fair trial, to wading through facts and fiction, I read a few paragraphs and spouted off as if I was in the know about it. I went directly from non-violent to violent in a flash of a moment. Mistake.

I also had it in my mind that I was smart enough and bright enough to figure out the immigration issue, the next steps with the Mueller Report, climate change, and the workings of social security – generally all by myself. Big mistake.

Finally, I thought that my solutions to everything that was happening within my immediate family, friends, community, tri-county area, state, and the near midwest were spot on correct.  And sharing those solutions was a good to great idea.  Well, big huge mistake.  All wrong. 

While ripping out those quilting mistakes, I had time to think about it.  All of it.

I am not perfect.

Yet, there is much in the world around me that actually is perfect, that has no mistake.

Rain. The Forest. Animals. The Sky. The Ocean. Time. Stars. The Solar System. Math. Plants. Color. Wind. Ice. Mountains. Apples. I could go on and on and on.  And it is actually a great list to generate – a list of everything one considers perfect.

Horses running in a field – perfect.  Light bouncing off a hillside – perfect.  Twenty-four hours in every day, every week, month, year – perfect.  Gravity keeping everything in place – perfect.

I’ll let it be known that I have worked on the perfect/imperfect list many times.  And my result is always a lopsided list, showing me that there is by far more perfect in my world, than imperfect. 

And as much as I would like to add my name to the perfect list, I can not.  In fact, every time I spend time wondering about the perfect/ not perfect list, I have never made the cut. I think I am imperfect by design.  Making mistakes, being well less than perfect creates a great balance in my world. I always have a lot to work on.  I have much to improve.  Much to change. A lot to consider.

I keep up my hope by seeking the thoughts of others in terms of mistakes, failures, imperfection / perfection.  

– Wayne Gretzky – “You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.”

– Henry Ford – “The only real mistake is one from which we learn nothing.”

– Maya Angelou – “Every mistake is just another lesson.”

– Sandra Day O’Connor – “No one learns more about a problem than the person at the bottom.”

I would be a wise woman if I put these types of inspirational thoughts in front of me at all times to remind me that everything is possible, even perfection.  But, as you might expect, I often fail to do so. Thus, the journey continues.

In the meantime, my deepest apologies for all the mistakes I have made today alone, and an advance apology for the mistakes I will make tomorrow.

IMG_7831

Nature always manages to be Perfect!

What’s In Your Wallet?

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My husband is a very consistent type of guy. And for his four children plus me who know him well, we all know that he carries an odd conglomeration of whatnot everyday. All of the items fit comfortably within the corners of his pants pockets, and each of the them is practical as the day is long. None are overly expensive, and yet together they create more interest than he ever expected.

I, too, have a short list of items that I always carry. My grouping, however, is nowhere near as compact as his. In fact, mine can’t fit in a pocket and are instead kept in a dingy, yet rugged, ziplock bag, plopped in whatever purse I’m using. Mine aren’t near as purposeful and I am very uncertain about the message they generate. Still, I carry them.

His list is simple – a freshly laundered handkerchief for him and for sharing, a few dollars to buy him out of any monetary jam, a scrap of paper with an early morning minted ‘to-do’ list, and a pen. My list is a little more harebrained and non-sequitur-ish.  In no particular order, I carry a pocket-sized copy of the constitution of the United States, my first communion prayer book, a full rosary & a bracelet rosary, and one $2.00 bill.

If I sneeze or if someone else sneezes, I have no immediate particular solution. I’m like a dog chasing its tail, looking round and round for tissue somewhere, somehow.  I have witnessed my husband, on the other hand, reach into his pocket, pull out a crisply folded handkerchief, and use it for the save. In his line of work with patients, I am sure it is more than comforting to have him – without fail – carry an immediate solution to a potential germ crisis.

On the flip side of this coin, I may not be able to circumvent the common household sneeze, but I am able to quickly read the list of names of the Supreme Court justices in order – which happens to be part of the pocket constitution addendum, page 87, seventh edition. I can give guidance on the amendments, offer “Fascinating Facts about Six Founding Fathers,” and help if someone gets stuck reciting the Declaration of Independence. My mini-book is filled to the brim with great stuff to solve all constitutional crises.

However, if traveling on tollways or tipping valets or purchasing a food cart meal, it’s my husband who carries the right stuff. He’s absolutely correct that cash can quickly circumvents calamities. It just does. Need a five, he has a five. Need a ten, he has a ten. Need a twenty, he’s got it. He has all denominations and all combinations of cash and coins too.

He’s always cash rich and I’m always cash poor. Except when it comes to the two dollar bill. That’s my strength. Twenty dollars may cover costs, but a two dollar bill always buys a smile. The two dollar bill buys little, is used little, and is worth little.  But, it’s fun – which I believe is its sole circulation purpose.  No other paper denomination has such crazy-funny power.  And spending a twenty dollar bill is easy, but carrying and spending ten two dollar bills takes a little more courage and thought.  Just try it.  It’s not as simple as it sounds.

Moving on, having possessed my Saint Joseph Children’s Missal since 1964, it is showing severe signs of age. The spine is taped.  The pages are tilted.  And the cover is worn. But, the gentle message inside has the ability to keep me grounded. It’s not a matter of me reading it at a moment of need, just a matter of me being reminded that the world is still in front of me, that I have a group standing with me, and that there is nothing that is impossible when my God is with me.

Likewise is that little ‘to-do’ list that my husband carries. Threaded among the bullet points that remind him to run past the bank or pick up some grocery item are notes that remind him to follow his dreams, to think big and broad, to care for others, and to see the glass half full, not half empty. I only wish I had the fortitude to create and carry such a daily list. He’s got it. I don’t. Nuf’ said.

Then there’s his pen. The purpose of the pen is writing – and the majority of the time that’s what he does with it. But, I have seen him use it to pry things open, to clip something together, and to wedge something apart. He thinks he’s MacGyver.  Always has.  He sees a pen as a tool that happens to contain a little ink. Clogged sink – use the pen. Barefoot and a bug needs to be killed – use a pen. Burgers flaming out of control and spatula is missing – use a pen. There is no problem that the pen can’t solve with a little thought and ingenuity.  In the future, I am hoping to film his uses of the pen to create what I think would be one of the most viral YouTube videos this side of the Mississippi.

Me – my skills with a pen are limited to only those that include paper and writing. If I’m in need of an inventive solution to a difficult problem, I go for the rosary every time. In the short term, the pen might be more successful, but in the long run, the rosary – whole or decade version – may be the best choice.

In the end, the items that we collectively carry are only purposeful to us as individuals. He can’t use my rosary to pray his way out of a sudden sneeze and his handkerchief won’t help me understand the Bill of Rights.

I only hope that my tattered and nearly torn ziplock bag remains in tact for a few more decades. I gotta lot of trouble to explore and I may need its contents.

And I might add a pen for the just in case moments.

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Need a pen?  Or a two dollar bill?  Just ask us.

What We Need

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Everyone needs help.  There isn’t one of us alive who – at some time in our lives – won’t rely on help from others.

Clearly, we need help in our youth.  Baby to eighteen is a time when most humans need loving care and support from a variety of individuals starting with parents and ending nowhere in sight.  Caregivers, teachers, neighbors, friends, extended family members – There are just too many individuals to mention, and yes, it does take a village – or as I often call it a boatload of folks all rowing in the same direction – to help one person reach the average and usual milestone of adulthood – which often times stretches well beyond eighteen.

We need help during the middle of our lives.  The help we receive is much different than the diaper-changing, hand-holding, tuck-me-in / keep-me-safe assistance we received in our youth.  Often times, we need that gentle push behind us, telling us that our next steps are okay.

We need to know that there is a safety net – strong and wide – even though we have no intention of using it, hopefully.  We need comfort when we make mistakes.  We need to be reminded to laugh when we want to cry, and to cry when we think we can’t.  We need to know that the village is still there, that it hasn’t left us, but is instead standing with us like a herd of elephants at the ready.

During the end of our lives, from what I can see, we need a substantial amount of help, too.  I have watched far too many parents, aunts, uncles, friends and acquaintances reach a different life milestone, the one that is way beyond that middle part, further to what is that end part.  When facing the end, we need help with almost everything, again.

It seems like we actually need more than the village and the herd.  The needs become so great that it isn’t the number of individuals in the village that matters or the size of the elephants in the herd, rather a combination between the two plus time.  We need the village and herd to offer buckets of time and more buckets of time.  And as the journey of life becomes more and more complicated, we need them to double those time buckets again and again.

Caregiving – at any stage – youth, middle, end – isn’t easy.  We all know that it requires skill, patience, attentiveness, and mental acuity that keeps us one step ahead of the people for whom we offer care.  It also takes great models.

It has been my great fortune to have witnessed some of the best – a friend who cared for her dying brother, offering up nearly a year of her life for his care . . . a brother who opened up his home to my father for months. . . my parents who opened up their home (which was my home, too, at the time) to nearly every relative – young and old – who needed anything for any length of time.

I have watched friends adopt children with disabilities, relatives foster teenagers who lack family and guidance, acquaintances move from their homes and devote portions, and sometimes all, of their lives to the care for those in poverty-striken countries.  One of my cousins just recently and reluctantly detailed his work with a local homeless shelter.  He is out caring for those who can not care for themselves a couple miles from his home.  Impressive.

After a couple of years pondering this particular issue  – I am on the slow but sure train –  I have learned that throughout the time that we are caring for the needs of others, we actually are in need ourselves.  Though our needs as caregivers are quite different from the needs of those requiring the care, we still have needs.

We need time to refresh.  This need is perhaps the most common and the most apparent.  Ask any individual caring for the 0-18 set.  After hours, weeks, months of meeting the needs of youth, even the best of caregivers needs break time, recess for adults, a pause moment.  If this time comes with a little solitude – all the better!  Sometimes it only takes a few seconds, sometimes longer to refresh, but we need to refresh.

Call it a coffee break or a vacation.  Whatever it is called, I am a strong advocate for allowing folks who are going above and beyond in their offering of  service to others . . . time.  I am all for a national holiday that celebrates the efforts of those who so selflessly attend to the needs of others.  Call is Bravo Day – and let everyone helping others rest.  It is such a lovely idea, but of course, impossible to do, because we know that caregiving actually has no holiday.  So much for refreshing!!

We also need some type of confirmation that what we are doing is worthy.  Confirmation is different from refreshing.  All of us can provide confirmation.  That confirmation can emanate from the person receiving the care, from the rest of the village members who are also assisting, or from those who are simply watching from the sidelines.  Regardless of source, we need to know that we are of benefit, that we help, that we make a difference.

Even if we are humble, private or modest, we still need affirmation of our efforts.  That affirmation can be as small as a pat on the back, a wink of the eye, a card in the mail, or an utterance of two very powerful words that can never be used enough.  We need it.

So, thank you.

Thank you to every single person who is doing anything to help anyone else.  Thank you for being great parents.  Thank you for being great friends.  Thank you for taking care of someone who is in need.  Thank you for being part of the village and a member of the herd.  Thanks from the bottom of my heart. Please know that I need you.  We need you.  The world needs you.

Flowers

A Moment of Refresh – Missouri Botanical Garden April 2016

 

 

 

The Fine Wine Dine

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I can’t explain why.  I really can’t.  All I can say is that the evening stood out.  It was a first among equals night. It was one of those moments . . . a moment that as it happens everyone knows that it is destined to become a memory.

Ten of us had gathered.  All of us were friends.  Each of us had a strong connection to one or more of us. Yet none of us were childhood friends with all of us.  Our interests were diverse – nature, health, the spirit, the spirits, enterprise, numbers, learning, teaching – with a lot of some and a little of others.   We met at twilight – the time of magic between daylight and darkness on a cool crisp mid-winter evening.

Those hosting had planned and prepared and welcomed the rest upon arrival.  Though all of us had seen each other over the past couple of months, our greetings were as if we had not. Handshakes, hugs, kisses, pats-on-the-back, smiles – it was a tete-a-tete for ten that started the evening out perfectly. Again, I can’t explain why, but from the moment our feet crossed the threshold of the door, the aura of the making of a memory began.

Our intent was simple – food and wine and conversation followed by more food and more wine and more conversation.  The emphasis here should be, in particular, on the conversation about the wine, of which there was a great deal, for nine of us were learning from the one of us who was a master in that area.

For this year’s fine wine dine, the table setting included numerous wine glasses which to me looked like birds on a wire – straight, dainty, orderly and whimsical.  In addition, each setting included two black goblets, mysterious in both color and shape.  The first four wine flights to be served at the table had been pre-poured.  So all was ready.

However, like most gatherings, our first moments were spent in the kitchen.  We stood, and mingled, and chatted.  We listened and learned about recent trials and tribulations that occurred in our lives.  We watched as those cooking finalized the meal with brief finishing touches.  We were served our first wine flight coupled with a much appreciated antipasto.  Most importantly, we were pausing our busy lives for something beyond the ordinary. Worked stopped.  Fun ensued.

As we moved out of the kitchen, we soon learned much more about the mysterious black goblets.  Regardless of our viticulture ability – (me, a mere novice) – we were to identify each of the goblet’s contents without the ability to see it.  A better name for this portion of the evening might be the fine blind wine dine, a puzzling, curious challenge that had nine of us laughing on edge.

And laughter kept coming, from beginning to end.  We laughed at our ability or inability as hopeful wine connoisseurs.  We laughed at ourselves, at each other, at our futures, at our days gone by, at everything and anything.  At times, we laughed until we cried. We just laughed.  For hours.  For fun.  With friends.

Hours later, as we all departed, we seemed reluctant to cross over that threshold and head in the opposite direction.  If I had thought about my thoughts at that time, I probably was thinking about my luck – to be with a group of friends for a moment of fun on that mid-winter’s night.

I can’t explain why.  I really can’t, but I am going to try.

Like everyone else, there are twenty-four hours in my day and seven days in my week.  Of those twenty-four hours and seven days, the moments that I can recall are few and far between.  I remember the spectacular – the weddings, the graduations, the holidays, the birthdays, the anniversaries.  I remember the somber – the deaths, the funerals, the illnesses.  Most of my memories revolve around my family who are the individuals with whom I share hours upon hours upon hours of my time.   My mother, God rest her soul, has been gone for many years; yet, I can still hear her calling my name from the days of my childhood.

And somewhere in those memories now sits something a little bit different . . . unusual . . . unique.  It doesn’t involve the spectacular or the somber or my family.  It isn’t something of tradition or tragedy.  It isn’t marked by a date on the calendar or tied to a sibling, an aunt, an uncle or my parents.

It is a moment in my life that I spent with friends, good friends, doing something rather ordinary in an extraordinary way – eating, drinking, laughing, talking – personified.  The exact stories we told and why we laughed . . . I am not sure of it now.  I think it was all funny, but . . . then . . . it could have been the wine speaking.

What I am a little more sure about is the value of good friends.  I may not know my wines (to even the basest level of knowing the difference between red or white wine when placed in a black goblet), but I do know that friends are treasures beyond words.

Lesson learned. Enough said.

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The Mysterious Black Goblets