Adventure On

Though it would have been much easier for the four of us young girls to decline the offer, it was an opportunity that gave us pause. There we stood pondering. Thinking. It was as if we could feel the birth of an adventure. We were experiencing that moment that feels like it’s moving in slow motion. As if we were standing on the sideline knowing that in a blink, the tenure of our plan would be exploding into something much different than we originally thought. It became a time when talking less meant understanding more. We were barely blinking as our eyes looked from one to the next. And with four ever so slight nods, we knew that we were all in.

Adventure on.

We didn’t cheer. We didn’t yelp. Perhaps because we were equally as afraid as we were excited. We were going into the unknown. A place we liked but feared. Which at age thirteen, was pretty much a norm with every situation. But this time it felt a bit different.

We packed pretty much in silence – speaking only to affirm that someone had grabbed something the others may have not. Flashlights. Hammocks. Netting. Canteens. Rope. Knives. Matches. A flare. We knew there would be no heading back for missed items. Darkness would prevent that. And communication with the rest of our group would be severed by whatever wilderness was between us and them. This was pre-cellphone. So we were just being about our business as we sorted through our need versus our wants.

Within what seemed like minutes, but was more likely an hour or two, we were off. We trudged into and through the woods until we found eight suitable trees to hang four barebones hammocks. We set up the sleeping arrangements and quickly created a centralized rock-fenced campfire, put our canteens somewhere nearby and unpacked everything we had just stuffed into those duffle bags. The food we brought could only be described as well less than sub-standard on the nutrition scale. Potatoes wrapped in tinfoil thrown in a fire. S’mores. Maybe apples. Popcorn.

As darkness approached, we settled into those hammocks, threw the netting over us, and speaking for all four of us, were frightened out of our minds from sunset to sunrise. We prayed our flashlight batteries lasted until the light of morn.

Just hours later, we hopped out of those hammocks like four victorious warriors. Though our bravery was due to our inability to return in darkness to the nearby lodge, we convinced ourselves that we had lived a confident night rather than a fearful one. Regardless, we have always rearranged the details of this story to fit a champions’ narrative.

The march back to our origin was filled with chatter. We did it. It was over. Now what.

That’s the thing about adventures. They have beginnings. They have endings. And for me, there is always the hope of what is to come with the next adventure. It is the time after the end of the previous adventure and before the start of the future one that is most interesting.

Without a doubt, there can be a feeling of uneasiness. Which I describe as a free falling, not knowing where or when or how I will land. Will I have another adventure? Do I still have great adventures waiting for me? There is that big vast unknown. I know that I must welcome whatever lies ahead, but I am always a little hesitant. A little resistant. A little scared. Scratch that . . . a lot scared.

But that’s the thing about adventures. I do believe they are endless. Certainly they come in different shapes and sizes and durations. I can see that they are not meant to last forever, and I have a feeling that I’m supposed to experience lots of different types of them throughout my life. Again, adventures always include walking into that giant unknown.

An adventure in my life has just closed. It was one of the greatest adventures of all time – filled with the unimaginable and the incredible. There were moments of great perplexity coupled with moments of unbridled joy. My mind and my body were constantly put to the test in ways that I was rarely fully – if ever –  prepared.

It was an experience that God graced me with and I only hope that I met the challenge. With adventures, I never know. And I truly hope that I can once again experience such joy, exhilaration, excitement, contentment, and exuberance in a future adventure as I did with my previous one.

I have such great hope.

Always wanted to know what adventure my dad was on in this photo! Looks quite exciting!

The Golden List

Early this spring, I started a new project. I have no idea how or why I thought of this particular idea. It just kinda came to me. I think I was sitting in what my family fondly calls the Big Room in our home – a space that is relatively quiet, on the second floor, furnished with all that represents yesteryear including a 1980s plaid sofa, a worn out pool table, several chairs that would fit in no home (including mine) but there they are in the Big Room. And there I was using one of them when this idea hit me.

On the surface, the idea is simple. Initially I gave myself thirty days to complete it. I actually chuckled at that thought as I figured I would have it finished in a day, two at the most. But as the timeline was going to be self imposed, I kindly allotted myself a month just to be on the very safe side.

The task centered around my next great writing adventure.  My blog has been chugging along for many years, and I thought maybe it is time to press on to new adventures and new worlds.  Maybe I need to take that big, giant leap forward.  After all, according to Mr. Gretzky – hockey’s The Great One, “You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.” So, not moving my writing forward was much like not taking the available shot.  I will miss out for sure if I never try.

So, the new writing quest began.

Step one of the task at hand has been to identify one hundred words that describe . . . me. Words on this list could be nouns or verbs . . . or adverbs . . . or adjectives. All parts of the English language are welcome. The words can be positive or negative, simple, complex or compound. Slang . . . acceptable! Onomatopoeia . . . acceptable! Acronyms and abbreviations – thumbs up! The list can include words that describe my past, present, and/or future as long as each entry somehow tells the story of me.

It seemed so easy when I thought of it.  One hundred words with no holds barred.  A laundry list of what it means to be me.  I wasn’t challenging myself to anything so whoppin’ grand that it was going to take all my might to complete it.  Just a list of one hundred words.  I don’t even have to alphabetize them.  Just jot them down.  One at a time.  Until I hit one hundred.    

It’s sixty days later. Sixty days. And I have yet to even come close to finishing.  I’m not sure if I am embarrassed or scared. Or both. What does it say about me to not be able to quickly come up with one hundred distinct words that describe me.  Sadly, yesterday I noticed there was a duplicate, and it was difficult erasing from what was already slim in number.  

As of this moment, there are – count them – a measly thirty-nine words on the list of me. Thirty-nine.  Thirty-nine.

I’ve lived much more than half a century.  I have a family and relatives and friends and a house and stuff.  I’ve done a lot of the usual and some of the unusual.  I’d call it a good mix.  But, there are still only thirty-nine words on my list and it feels like I am permanently stuck there.

To make myself feel a bit better, I’m extending my timeline.  I’m giving myself an additional six months to see if I can broaden out the list.  I may resort to reading the big giant unabridged dictionary that is kindly sitting on the lower shelf in my living room.  Doing so, however, seems to walk close to that plagiarism line.

In any event, though my latest idea may have been a failure in that I have only met a bit more than one third of my goal, it has taught me much, much more than expected.  

I am only unique by a thin margin.  

Measuring differences is difficult.  

Before I can describe anyone else, I had better be able to describe myself.  

I got some work cut out for me

All That. And More.

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.

The Making of Our Tapestry

It was July 20th, 1969 and my grandmother was sitting front and center.  She was in what we called the den, aka a summer porch with triple track screen windows, twelve inch square pinkish gray linoleum tile flooring, sturdy leftover furniture, and a state of the art T.V. console.  We kids were sprawled on the cold floor.  The other adults had pulled out folding chairs and inched as close to the set as possible.

We were mesmerized.  The nation was mesmerized.  The whole world was.  Walter Cronkite had babbled all day, and now he seemed to be speechless. The moment had arrived.  And through a fuzzy feed via a scratchy audio, Astronaut Neil Armstrong set foot on the moon and said it:  

“That’s one small step for man.  One giant leap for mankind.”    

I’m not really sure what happened after that.  I don’t know who else may have stepped out of Apollo 11 and joined Armstrong.  I could not tell you how long they stayed or what it looked like or any other moon-walking fact.  But I can recall these few short words as if it were yesterday.  

Same with the words “Let’s Roll.” 

They were spoken on September 11th, 2001, by Todd Beamer on United Airlines Flight 93 as he led a group of heroes in giving their lives to save the rest of us. I’m not sure where I was when I first heard what had been said by Mr. Beamer.  I don’t know who I was with or what day it might have been, but these two words bring back such a sad, such a horrific, such an unforgettable event that each time I hear them, my heart pangs.

These words – these brief sentences – are part of my . . . well, my tapestry.  The words of my life.  The words that mean something to me, that I can not only recall but that I want to recall. The words that may bring that which is the brightest and best all the way to the hardest and most indelibly challenging.  

And there are more words in my tapestry.  

“I have a dream.” Martin Luther King, Jr. 06/28/1963. “Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country.” President John F. Kennedy 01/20/1961. “Each person must live their life as a model for others.” Rosa Park, undated. “The greatest glory in living lives not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.” Nelson Mandela, undated. “And still, I rise.” Maya Angelou, 1978. “Dream, Believe, Dare, Do.” Walt Disney, undated.

Words are so powerful. So very powerful.

They have shaped me like no other.  From the very famous of famous quotes that I so vividly remember to the knowledge that my own father never – not once – said what he described as “curse words” in front of me for an entire lifetime.  Words (or lack of) have created a great big tapestry full of thoughts and ideas that have become me.  

I’d like to think that I choose my words carefully at all times.  But that is where that greatest glory from Mandela comes in. I often fall down in that particular quest.  Drivel often escapes from my mouth and if there was a life instant replay, I’m sure I would be fretfully embarrassed on a daily basis.  Sometimes I say things and moments later I wonder if I have some type of stunt double who creeps forward at all the wrong times with all the wrong words.  Without a doubt, the best thing I can ever do is listen twice as much as I speak.  But, alas, I might like talking too much.

Words.  

I have a feeling that my tapestry isn’t finished quite yet.  I think that out there in the great big world, there are statements and sayings and words that I have yet to hear. And memorize.  Not the kind that I might find in a dictionary or wikipedia, rather the kind that occur naturally that skew my life just a bit or a lot . . . that set me in a new motion . . . that puzzle me.  

For those around me, I say bring on your words.  Challenge me with your thoughts.  Give me a few good sizzlers that stupefy me. Make me ponder.  Or make me laugh . . think Yogi Berra with “If you come to a fork in the road, take it.” Offer me some crazy-funny stuff, some decidedly serious stuff, or just sit and chat for a spell.  I promise to listen.  And use your words to improve myself.

 Add to my tapestry.  Please.

I think about these words sometimes – Because I always wanted an elevator!

Time to Think

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.

Seeing the Simple

I didn’t count, but I’m guessing we were 20+ in total.  We had pulled tables together and snatched chairs from elsewhere until there were seats for all.  It was Friday, and Friday meant lunch.  The location was always the same and could only be described as the area’s finest local dive – great food, great fun, great atmosphere all in one. It had a local flare with beer well before noon, free help-your-self popcorn, and fun over-portioned monthly specials on the menu.     

We had been there many Fridays before. It was our end of the week landing place after hours of a common court sport.  Our group could easily be described as a rag-tag bunch of folks, but that would be using by-gone language.  In today’s lingo, we were an inclusive, open, accepting conglomeration of people accidentally brought together by a common interest.

At first, this Friday seemed to be no different than those of the past.  We arrived sporadically and sat randomly next to whoever had arrived moments prior.  We ordered drinks and lunch with little to no change in what we may have ordered the previous Friday.  

We talked about who may have won or lost a match, the comical antics that may have occurred while at the gym, the person whose skills were off-the-chart great for that day, and other various sundries found in common friendly banter.  Normally, I would have described the moment as talking about lots of stuff and nonsense with style!

But this particular Friday was a bit different.

In the midst of all the stuff and nonsense, as we laughed and chatted, Dave leaned across the tabled and said to me, “We’re lucky, aren’t we!” I looked at him and at first said the usual, “Yes we are!”  But he continued.  He talked about looking forward to lunches just like this one, to valuing friendships like those we had at this table of 20.  To knowing that this was something unusual . . . special.

Those sitting nearby stopped and listened.  He actually didn’t say that much, but what he said was all the right words.  He said what everyone else knew and thought. He mentioned in less than a paragraph that it was of value to him to have a circle of friends who ate lunch most Fridays together.  Where the conversation was simple and the laughter was easy.  Where the food was cheap, but the friendship priceless.  

The moment ended and we went on with our lunch.  But an hour later, as I was in my car heading back to my home, I must admit that I was given pause by my friend Dave, who had simply and succinctly described something that I am still not sure that I can put into words. 

There are times in my world – and in everybody’s world – when the living is hard.  Life can be a bit challenging at times with problems that may or may not have solutions.  My realistic side knows that not everything is always bright lights and daisies. 

Yet, when I really think about it, life can also be pretty doggone simple. It can be and often is.  I just have to look carefully for the moments when life is at its best.  I have to be willing to see what is right before my eyes that might be glorious.  I have to stop and take notice when the world is spinning in the right tempo in the right direction with just enough sass to make it fun.  

All too often, I fail to stop and smell the roses of the world.  I either speed through it, going a thousand miles per hour on some quest of mine or I simply am totally unaware of that which is happening around me.  

Regardless of reason, I was gently reminded by Dave and my 19+ other lunch partners that I need to look up more and see the simple.  Seeing the simple creates a huge path for me towards all that is positive, all that is creative, all that is fun.   

Here’s hoping that everyone finds their Friday lunch group and sees the simple.  

Something about Squirrels that seem so simple to me.

Anyone Can Learn Anything

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.”

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. 🙂

Did Someone Say Annie Oakley?

Fifty-five years plus later, and I still smile when I think about that jingle. Just that tiny little jingle  No matter how loud the outdoor noise on top of the indoor noise would be, whether windows opened or windows closed, I could still hear that little jingle. A unique sound.  The sleigh bell sound.  That jingle.

It’s not like that jingle was heard often in my world.  In fact, it might have been at most twice a year. Mid-summer?  Early fall? My memory well eludes me in the timing area.  From ages 5 to ten, I may have been lucky to hear it a total of ten times. But its sound is still clear to me. The sleigh bell sound. That jingle.       

If I heard that jingle after dinner, there was no need for action.  At that time of day, I was up against my dad, who had been hard at work, had now arrived at home, and was either engaged in some routine suburban house chore or sitting in his designated chair reading the newspaper and watching television.  Either way, he would have a great big do not disturb look all over his face.  

If I heard that jingle near breakfast time, I was at battle with my mom who spent each morning, all morning, cleaning, cooking, and tending to me and the rest of the siblings.  And I knew that there was no stopping a stay-at-home mom on a mission towards home life perfection. A lost cause. 

But, if I heard that jingle in the afternoon, on a calm day, with no over-arching schedule, I was in luck.  For with no barriers like church or school or chores, and if the tenor of the house was on the happy positive side rather than the trouble’s brewing side, my chance of answering the jingle’s call was, . . . well . . . probable. 

That unique sound, that sleigh bell sound, that jingle was ever-so-connected to what I fondly call . . . the pony man. 

From the eyes of a youngster, the pony man was a guy and his horse who trotted down my street every so often.  The horse pulled a small cart full of pony props (hats, boots, spurs, bandanas, big buckle belts, chaps, and more) and as the pony man and his steed clopped along, the bells on the pony’s bridle would jingle.  Hearing the jingle, I knew that I only had a few moments to convince my mom to pay the pony man enough money so that I could ride that horse.

The pony man didn’t say much to hawk his services.  He didn’t have to.  If I heard the jingle, ran outside, saw the horse, had the money, I could go for a ride.  Simple.  And every so often, my mom was agreeable.  Horse and cart would stop on my suburban front lawn and pony rides would ensue.  What felt like a full afternoon of pony-riding was probably much closer to less than thirty minutes.  But what a great thirty minutes.  

To any child not yet into double digit ages, pony riding down the street on a summer afternoon was a glorious event.  I became a rough and tumble, adventurous horse woman for just a few minutes.  It gave me the opportunity to live what I may have only read about in books.  I was learning how to live the dream on horseback in my front yard.

Years later, my mother and I spoke fondly about the pony man.  And she shared with me more of the realistic side of the pony man, a guy very hard on his luck, who needed a way to earn some money.  He used the resources he had available to him to the benefit of all.  He may or may not have had a bit of trouble with the law, as my mother would say.  A traditional career at that point was a hurdle too difficult to overcome.

So, he made his way up and down nearby streets seeking business much like the ice cream truck, milk truck, and dry cleaner van did. For a small cost,  he would entertain and enchant riders and provide parents with a wonderful photo op. His costs – nominal.  His customer base – phenomenal.  It was a win-win for everyone involved.  

Fast forward to today’s world and I am not sure that the pony man would be as welcomed or as revered.  

As naive as I like to believe myself to be, I have acquired a level of fear of the unknown that isn’t always healthy or useful.  I wonder whether I would openly welcome a strange man walking a horse down my street to stop at my yard.  I wonder if I would willingly place my child or my grandchildren on the back of a pony and watch them trot off gleefully. 

Would I graciously pay the pony man too much money for his service, knowing that he may have a past that prevents him from obtaining a job elsewhere?  Would I step up or shy away? 

Something as simple as the pony man memory has given me pause.  I have thought dearly about my line of demarcation. How do I make the call to be trustful, to live the good life of a naive yet savvy resident, to be understanding of the hardships and trials of others while maintaining what Robert Frost may have called good fences?  I want so badly for there to be a rule book that I can thumb through that gives me an explicit code on situations like the pony man.  

But there is not.  

Oddly enough, a couple days ago, I saw a man riding a horse at the end of my street – something of an oddity in my neck of the woods, but not totally surprising. I was secretly hoping it was a pony man, but unfortunately, I knew both the owner and the horse.  And there was no sleigh bells. No jingle.  

But if there had been, I’m pretty sure that I would have an updated pony man photo.  At least I hope I would. 

• 

My brother, Jeff, and I . . . living our best lives.

My Earth, My God

(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.