Seasons and Sneezins (or Issues with Tissues)

When Bob and I were first married back in 1975, our budget didn’t allow for frivolous items such as Kleenex or napkins. We bought toilet paper and paper towels, and they did double-duty, i.e. paper towels were used for napkins and toilet paper was used for Kleenex. Of course, never reused, especially after attending to the “duties” of life. (I thought I’d throw the word “duty” in there for my adult kids who still smile or chuckle when they hear the word. Confession: I do, too. Duty.)

Kleenex, like the word Xerox, is a brand name, which I was not aware of until I had to shop on my own and realized there was a generic version of tissues at a friendlier price. I have retrained myself to call them tissues out of respect to all the tissues who were miscalled Kleenex. That’s a lot to bear for a product. I’ve been called by my sisters’ names for my entire life, so I know how they feel.

Early on, I only bought tissues for “company.” Bob and I continued to unroll T.P. whenever our noses ran, but I would draw the line at getting a roll out for guests wearing short sleeves who happened to sneeze while they visited us. That, my friends, is what hospitality looks like.

Photo by Anna Shvets on Pexels.com

By the time we were raising our four children, I saw the wisdom of having real tissue boxes instead of the kids unrolling toilet paper every time they had colds. I was smart enough to dole them out as needed.

When I became a grandmother and the kids or grandkids got sick, I would send care packages consisting of Lysol, Gatorade and tissues, because I knew they would not own a box of tissues. They had to go through the toilet paper for Kleenex stage of their life like all of us do. By this season of my life I bought tissues from Costco, so I always had plenty.

Fast forward: Bob and I became empty nesters in 2015. We kept that title for about eight months before a parade of friends and family lived with us off and on culminating in my parents moving in back in 2017. Mom continues to live here.

We’ve been helping support our elderly parents for ten years, and we’ve learned a lot. One of the most important things is that you can never have enough tissues and it better be the good stuff. None of this sandpaper-rough one-ply garbage.

Mom told me she was running low on Kleenex (she doesn’t use the word tissues and that’s okay). I pulled the remaining three boxes from the linen closet and gave them to her. Before I handed them off, I said, “You can take the box from the kitchen if you want.”

She likes having a box there. That generation likes having a box everywhere. I’ve learned that this is part of their wisdom. They don’t move as quickly as we do, and a sneeze can surprise you. Nobody wants that.

Out of curiosity, I thought I’d take inventory of our boxes that are in use. Now I, too, have had my eyes opened to the wisdom of having tissues around. Not only for sneezes, but sad movies and books, bad news on the phone, watching the nightly news – all of these can have me reaching for a tissue.

Counting the boxes was one of those moments of self-assessment and contemplation. I have lived through so many different tissue seasons in my life. I’ve gone from zero boxes, to one or two, and now to ten open boxes of tissues. Ten!

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

What has happened to me, I asked myself. I must be either a hoarder or we’re a family of perpetually runny-nosed people. There is a box in each of our three bathrooms. (Since COVID, I don’t want people using our precious toilet paper for anything except its designated use.) Basically, any place where someone can sit or lie down in our house has a trusty box of tissues right there.

Is this the person I have become? A hoarder or one who lives in fear of runny noses or errant sneezes and panics over the thought of unpreparedness?

Or perhaps there is a third option. Maybe I’ve simply entered into a new tissue season – one that could involve having tissues up my sleeve at the ready for whatever the day may bring.

Nay. I refuse to go there. I will never be that woman. I may be what Southerners call a “seasoned” citizen and I am a magician’s daughter, but you will not find me pulling anything out of my sleeve no matter what the future may bring.

I don’t mind getting older, but thinking that I could be on the precipice of that time of my life where tissues have such elevated importance is enough to make me cry, but no worries, I have tissues right here beside me.

Joy in the Little Things

There was joy in Target this week as I ventured there to make a quick purchase, which of course I could not find. No big deal though as I strolled down the cereal aisle and found this!

It takes me back to raising my kids when anything Star Wars was an extra treat. I believe the force was with me, guiding me to find the only remaining Mandalorian Cereal in Central Florida!

I had to go through an asteroid field to get to the cash register, but I assure you that no people were injured during the purchase of this cereal. To me, that was a little Christmas present.

I was also super excited earlier this month when I found Elf Cereal. I snatched up two boxes – one for each set of grandkids that I’d see in December. I’m not sure who gets more excited about it, them or me. Honestly, it’s probably me, and that’s just fine. It truly is the little things.

With that in mind, I present:

An Ode to Cereal

Twas the week of Christmas; I was in my car

Shopping for presents, both close-by and far;

I stopped in a Target and there on the shelf –

Mandalorian Cereal – so proud of myself.

The grandkids are coming much to my delight;

But only one box might just trigger a fight.

No worries, they’ll share. It’ll all be just fine,

With Santa Claus coming they wouldn’t dare whine.

Besides there are other breakfast treats, it’s true.

Like this pretty green box of Elf Cereal. Whew!

These are two of the small things that bring me great joy.

To me they’re better than a fancy big toy.

The grandkids may protest and might make a face,

So we bought them other presents, just in case.

Target wasn’t the only joy filled store for me this week. I waited at the check-out in Publix as the store manager bagged my groceries. One of the employees came up to him:

“There’s no soap in the ladies room. I mean no soap. Like somebody took the soap dispenser.”

“That’s a new one,” he replied. “I think we have a spare. Who does that kind of thing?”

I replied, “I’m not sure who did it, but one thing’s for sure. You’ll never find them because they got away clean.”

Merry Christmas!

The Old Family Recipe

The year was 1975, I was a newlywed and would be spending my first Thanksgiving with my in-laws and away from my family. What would the holiday be like without my mom’s stuffing, not to mention without my mom and dad? I’m not one to be dramatic, but it just wouldn’t be Thanksgiving.

Bob never really cared about stuffing. This was one of the many ways we differed. To me, the stuffing was of more importance than the turkey, which simply served as an elaborate, weird, stuffing cooking device. I never thought about how disgusting it was for people to prepare food to be inserted into a turkey cavity, only to be scooped out of said cavity and served in a fancy china bowl to their loved ones. Pretty gross, but I digress

By mid-October 1975, I was contemplating making my own stuffing, but alas that was among the many, many things that I was clueless as to how to cook. I waited until a Sunday afternoon to call my mom for help. (This was way before cell phones, and long-distance calls were cheaper on Sundays.) In those days, we corresponded via letter through the Post Office, so she said she’d send me the recipe.

Mom’s letter outlined the intricacies of her prized stuffing. I wish I could tell you that I made it and it turned out great, but I chickened (or maybe turkeyed) out. In hindsight it was probably a good thing that I didn’t try to compete with my Home Economics mom-in-law’s cornbread stuffing. What woman wants her cocky new daughter-in-law to bring in a superior stuffing as a holiday icebreaker? And in my hands, who was to say it would have been superior, or even edible? But when I tasted hers that Thanksgiving afternoon, I understood why Bob wasn’t wild about it, and shed a little tear as I thought about what used to be.

Forty-five years later, I still have that letter. It is precious to me. Every year I get it out and read it. I love hearing how my nephew, their first grandchild, walked for the first time. It’s a sweet walk down memory lane. I have often thought I should frame it and hang it on my wall.

Since that time, I have made this stuffing dozens of times, and Bob loves it. I’ve tweaked the recipe a little, but it’s basically the same. My sister, Chris, and my daughter Dena both continue with this same recipe. It’s a cherished family tradition.

This Thanksgiving my mom sat at our kitchen table and watched me chopping celery and onions and making bread cubes. We chatted and I read her the letter. “This recipe is from Aunt Audrey, isn’t it?” I asked.

“I don’t think so,” Mom replied. “I think I got it out of the Betty Crocker Cookbook.”

“No, no, no. It’s from Aunt Audrey – not Betty Crocker. It’s a family recipe! I think I remember you telling me that,” I pleaded.

“I’m pretty sure it’s from Betty Crocker,” she said.

I was crestfallen. Betty Crocker! I’d been living a lie my entire married life! I spiraled into an identity crisis wondering if this woman sitting here was really my mom. Could Betty Crocker be my mother? Did she abandon me at birth and present me to my “parents” along with a recipe for turkey stuffing?

I pulled my own Betty Crocker Cookbook from the shelf. It was a wedding present and taught me a lot, but I didn’t want to give Betty credit for the family recipe. I wanted that to be from Mom or at least Aunt Audrey. But there it was on page 281 of my tattered cookbook.

I read from the book and then read from Mom’s letter. I had to admit they were the same. “…Turn into deep bowl. Add remaining ingredients…”

I looked at my mother, who was unphased by the unearthing of the largest plagiarism plot I had ever been exposed to, and said, “Why didn’t you just tell me it was on page 281?”

I guess we’ll never know. Please, don’t tell my sister and Dena. Sometimes it’s better to live with a wonderful illusion.

Veterans Day 2020

On this Veterans Day 2020, a fitting commentary to this year was provided by our American flag. It typically flies proudly from the roof in our front yard, but yesterday I found it on the sidewalk, slightly worn and tattered. It looks like it was pulled off its bracket by winds no doubt related to Tropical Storm/Hurricane Eta, which is traveling up the west coast of Florida. (I should add that it is late in this busiest-on-record hurricane season. We’ve used up the alphabet and moved into Greek. I’m not even surprised, 2020, but I digress.)

It’s been a rough year for our flag, which sadly will no longer see the light of day. But I still love it and all for which it stands. Flags can be replaced – they are just symbols, after all. But today I am thinking about people whom I love who fought for what that flag represents. Specifically, I’m reminiscing about my dad, Arthur L. Manning, Jr., and my uncle, Luther C. Cox.

My dad was a gunner in a B-29 in the Pacific campaign. During part of his tour, a war correspondent, Richard Tregaskis from the Saturday Evening Post, flew with his crew. My dad’s face is one of the young men surrounding Tregaskis in a featured picture in the series of articles entitled Road to Tokyo.

I don’t remember hearing much about the war when I was a kid. Perhaps it was because memories can be painful, or more likely it was because I was a kid and didn’t ask. In Dad’s golden years, though, he’d talk freely. He kept up with his crew or their widows until he was the only one left. So much so that their names were familiar to me. I am sure he was the last of them because he was the one who kept them together in each other’s hearts and minds all those decades after the war. Dad died three years ago at the age of 94. In the last years of my memories of him, he’s always wearing his hat. He was a proud veteran and loved his country fiercely.

Uncle Luther was a navigator of a B-24 bomber in World War II. He survived the crash of the “Double Trouble” when he was shot down over the Mediterranean Sea on a cold January day in 1943. For the next two years and three months, he would be a guest of the Fuhrer; but he survived that, too. He retired an Air Force lieutenant-colonel and went on to teach ROTC at Orlando’s Oak Ridge High School. Also surviving his internment was his journal, which was featured in the Florida magazine of The Orlando Sentinel on June 24, 1984. He published a book, Always Fighting the Enemy, a World War II Chronicle, which includes writings and drawings from his journal along with stories he kept in his heart.

Uncle Luther in Italy

I spent a lot more time with my uncle after I was married because we lived in the same state. He was ten years to the day older than my mom, and we celebrated their birthdays together. He was kind of a legend to me. I was and still am in awe of his surviving being shot down and all that time in POW camps. There is so much about him to admire. He and his wife adopted two children from Europe and brought them home to the states. I have many fond memories with Mark and Dee, and even though we live in opposite corners of the country, we visit with Dee and her husband about once a year. Thanks, Uncle Luther!

On October 31, Bob and I went to the Lockheed Martin Space and Air Show here in Sanford with our son and his family. I was pumped to see the Thunderbirds, but I had no idea that the entire program was going to thrill my heart and stir up so many patriotic juices. At the beginning of the show, several new Air Force recruits were sworn in, which moved me to tears.

Following is a little glimpse of the air show. Enjoy; and God, bless America!

It was a little loud for our grandsons.

The Importance of Knowing What’s Important

There’s been a lot of important stuff going on this past week. So many special days to celebrate! National Daughter Day. National Son Day. Drink a Beer Day. Coffee Day. Whew, it’s been busy.

I’m not sure who started this national craze, but now that the train has left the station, there is no telling how many national days lie ahead.

I do know that the first Thursday of May celebrates a National Day of Prayer. The way 2020 is going, I think we should extend that into a National Year of Prayer.

I’ve done my research so you can be prepared to celebrate the daylights out of October. Get ready. Today is National Black Dog Day, National Hair Day, Fire Pup Day, and National Homemade Cookies Day (at last something I can sink my teeth into).

The list for the month is extensive and you can find it if you click here.

Some of my favorites are:

  • National Produce Misting Day, Oct 2 (Is once a year enough?)
  • World Smile Day, Oct 4 (challenging due to COVID)
  • National Get Funky Day, Oct 5 (necessary due to COVID – Spread a little sunshine.)
  • National Greasy Food Day, Oct 25 (Do we need a day for this?)
  • National Hermit Day, Oct 29 (simple due to COVID)
  • National Candy Corn Day, Oct 30 (I don’t get this one. Why waste my sugar calories on candy corn when M&Ms are available?)

This is lots of fun, but the trouble with all these national days is, in my humble opinion, if everything is important then perhaps nothing is. Do I need a day to celebrate my sons and daughters? We used to call that their birthdays. Am I less of a mom because I didn’t pen a fitting tribute to these wonderful people? I’m going with a big NO. I will tell you, though, just for the record, God has blessed me with the most wonderful children and now children-in-law and grandchildren. I think they know that’s how I feel even if I don’t participate in National Days of tribute to them. (To quote Seinfeld, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that!”)

What’s most important to me is remembering how important the truly important is. That would include The Four F’s:

  1. Faith in God
  2. Family
  3. Friends
  4. Fellow man

Whatever we can do to celebrate these is okay with me.

And while we’re adding in National Days, perhaps we could make this day the “National Day to Share Bonnie’s Blog Day.” While that’s not truly important, I could celebrate that!

My parents in front of the church where they were married,

which is the church we attended when I was a baby.

Photo taken 2007

Face-to-Face and Loving It

I don’t want to dwell on the Corona, but it’s challenging not to have it affect everything in life right now. Even my faith is affected but in a good way. I am reminded that God has everything under control and my seeming control of any situation may be just that – seeming. I am constantly talking to myself about how I serve a good God and he cares for me (and you!). Recently when I had a near miss from a car t-boning me, I was reminded that there is a lot of danger out there besides Corona – a lot that I am not afraid of even though the possibility of “bad things” happening to me is (as it was that morning) just around the corner.

When my sweet husband suggested that I go see our kids and grandkids in the Carolinas before school starts, I was hesitant at first. The internal debate began, but I felt like it was a good idea to go. Bob knew how much it would mean to me and them. I married well.

I set out on a Sunday morning for a week of real live, face-to-face time and hugs. It was medicinal. From Oliver, the youngest (21 months), to Mia, the oldest (17), I received plenty of hugs to warm my soul. It had been only a few weeks since Bob and I helped our son move, so Oliver needed no adjustment time. He is active and cute and squishy. I’m so thankful they are closer to us now.

The biggest reward of the trip was surprising our daughter’s kids. She wisely didn’t tell them I was coming because no plans are set in stone nowadays. My last trip had to be canceled and we didn’t want to make 8-year-old Layna cry again. Mia is recovering from knee surgery, and when she came down the hall on her crutches and saw me standing in the foyer, she hugged me and cried. She’s been through a lot and is recovering well.

I would have been satisfied hanging around the house with the family, but Dena thought we needed some adventure. Adventure that would take face-to-face to another level. She, Layna, and I headed for The Lazy 5 Ranch in Mooresville, NC.

Here is where the meaning of face-to-face ratcheted up a notch or ten. I’ll admit that I wasn’t really excited about our prescribed adventure, but it sounded like the perfect thing to do with Layna while the older kids were occupied with a church outing. Plus, I can never resist hanging out with her.

The greeting committee at The Lazy 5 is well-chosen.

They do not understand the words “social distancing” and are hungry for interaction – especially interaction with someone who might have a bucket of feed.

On my initial encounter with this wild bunch, I thought to myself – this is how The Beatles must have felt when they went out in public. It felt a little dangerous. I felt slightly violated to have large heads and hard beaks invade my space. But I couldn’t stop laughing. That was the best part.

Layna was hesitant at first but she warmed right up to feeding the animals.

Dena made fast friends with a hungry, aggressive ostrich.

 

We were told not to feed the zebras. Evidently they like to bite. My window seemed to be going up in slow motion as I wondered if I was going to be additional evidence of why one doesn’t feed the zebras. This is my mildly panicking face. Dena said it went up a notch after she took this picture.

When was the last time you laughed with people? I mean that deep, belly laugh that makes you tired afterward in the most contented and happy way?

I highly recommend this adventure. I highly recommend any adventure that will reconnect you with people and allow laughter and love to flow. (I know, I know. I’m not advocating throwing caution to the wind. Being safe right now is all you hear about, and we should keep that in mind. But think outside of the box. Think outside. Outside is good.)

 

Proverbs 17:22 – A happy heart is good medicine and a joyful mind causes healing, but a broken spirit dries up the bones. (Amplified Bible)

 

The Lazy 5 Ranch is a drive-through safari. “The purpose of the Lazy 5 Ranch is to educate in an entertaining way, as well as provide an excellent environment for the reproduction of some of God’s most unique creatures. The Lazy 5 Ranch also seeks to help the recovery of several endangered species including the Grevy Zebra, Scimitar Horned Oryx and Ring-tailed Lemur.”

 

 

How’s Your Summer Going?

Is it getting to you yet? The constant reminders to be safe? The debate of masks or no masks? The fears that are controlling us more that any virus could?

I’ll be honest – it gets to me, at least sometimes. We took a road-trip to South Carolina to help our son and his family with their move from Michigan. That was a wonderful diversion. We hadn’t seen them in a year and the boys have grown so much. There was no place I would have rather been – nothing I would rather have been doing than helping them move and spending some time with them. Even in 97-degree, South Carolina heat, it was so worth all the sweat and sore muscles just to see them face-to-face.

These two!

It was wonderful, except for when I needed to use a restroom while on the road. You’ve never seen desperate until you’ve seen a full-grown woman pounding on the door of McDonald’s to beg the people inside to open the dining room just long enough for her to use the restroom. They gave me the same empty stare I’ve seen over so many masked noses and mouths. No sympathy. No compassion. No entry.

I’ll admit that was a low point, but I got through it. Now that we’re back home and into our usual/unusual routine, I find that some days I’m ready to jump out the window, then I remember we live in a one-story house. Then I remember I’m 64 and would likely hurt myself even from that height and I don’t like pain. Then I remember if I make a mess, I’d have to clean it up. Then I remember I have a lot of time on my hands right now so what’s one more mess to clean up in an effort to make my point. Then I remember I’ve worked hard at avoiding work, so I go take a nap.

Always the careful one, first I calculate the risk.

 

It looks like a medium risk of at least scraping myself or getting dirty from the window ledge. Not worth it.

So, how’s your summer going?

***********

I remind myself:

“The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I have a delightful inheritance.” Psalm 16:6

 

We are Puzzled

Usually summer is a time to kick back, relax by the pool, go to the beach, visit with family and friends, take a vacation, and so much more. For our family it also means game playing and jigsaw puzzles. But this is not the usual summer. While still able to do many of the above-mentioned things, we have done an exorbitant amount of puzzles. In all fairness, though, that began back in March. We took a little break during June as our eyes were glazing over after doing a couple of 1000 piecers with writing on them so small we had to use magnifiers, but the puzzling continued after that short respite.

As I’ve mentioned before, puzzles are in short supply around the country. We have borrowed and lent out puzzles. We have done every puzzle in our closet with the exception of the holiday/winter ones. I have even gotten in a virtual line at http://www.libertypuzzles.com to purchase a single puzzle. They simply cannot keep up. It took two weeks before my name made it to the top of the list and then I had 24 hours to place my order – one per customer. It is due to arrive this week. I’m so excited. Yes, it’s come to that. I’m excited about getting a new puzzle.

Also, my favorite local used bookstore, BrightLight Books, has taken some of my puzzles on trade (or they’ll pay you a reduced price – http://www.brightlightbooks.com). I love that store and they were happy to have the puzzles which caused eyestrain to Bob and me.

Picking out the perfect puzzle to reflect the mood of the day can be challenging. When I saw this Blockbuster puzzle, it took me back to 1975, the year I was married; and people were impacted in such a great way by a single movie that the beaches were a lot less crowded that year.

Of course we had to go birding. This 1000-piece puzzle about did us in. I’m sure someone has bought it by now and is cursing the day they did – unless, of course, they are under 40.

 

Yellowstone National Park and Grand Canyon National Park were on our puzzle travel list.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We did a quick pass of all the major national parks as well.

 

 

 

Bob wanted to go to the place where golf was invented. No problem.

I insisted on more bird watching.

We really loved our trip to Utah which we took two years ago. It was nice to revisit.

But I don’t know what I was thinking when we did the map of Bryce Canyon. Maps, maps, maps. Sigh… Bob wouldn’t let me quit though, even though the printing on the puzzle was miniscule.

This was as tall as we let our tower of puzzles get. Oh, this is not all that we did, but it is still a fun memory.

 

Enjoy your summer as best you can. We have a lot to be thankful for, and if you’re in my area, you can always stop by and borrow a puzzle.

Everything is Weird

Zoom! That’s what Bob and I did last week – only we weren’t on a video meeting, we were on an airplane. This is the only time since 9/11 that this has felt weird. And the only time ever that I can remember when masks were expected, I should say required, to be able to board the plane.

We were among 30 souls on a flight to Milwaukee. This golf trip had been on our calendar for months, and we were thankful that it was not canceled. Bob had been looking forward to playing with our son and his sons on the famed Whistling Straits golf course. He was not disappointed. It was beautiful most days and unseasonably warm, which means perfect for us Floridians.

But it was a weird trip. From the moment we pulled up to the curb at Orlando International and found no cars lined up dropping off passengers, it just kept getting stranger. No lines to check in. No one in front of us at TSA. No problems!

Orlando International Airport – May 25, 2020

Once on board, I settled into my window seat, bucked my seatbelt, and slid my mask down. I don’t know how people do it when they must work all day in one of those things! Bob was shocked to see my mask dangling from my neck. I am usually the rule-follower, but there was nobody except him within 20 feet of me – another advantage of the window seat.

The “service” on the plane was different. Canned water and real plastic straws were available, as were little packets of pretzel mix. These were easy for the flight attendants to toss to us from a safe distance. The cans of water – not so much!

My one disappointment – the typically funny Southwest crew had lost their sense of humor. I think it was the masks. Who can blame them!

Once we arrived in Kohler, Wisconsin, it was time to have our temperature taken and take a little quiz as to our prior activities and places we have been. You would have been proud of me, as I answered honestly and kept my inner smart alec under control. I was pretty sure telling them I lived in NYC would have been a bad idea. For once, being from Orlando seemed to be a perk.

The isolation in Wisconsin was much more pronounced than it has been here at home. They had just opened the state, and when I say opened, I mean that if you searched, you could find things that were open. Those things did not include spas, which my daughter-in-law and I had looked forward to visiting while the guys played golf. But we settled for having our temperature taken a lot – that’s almost as good.

Blackwater Run Meadows Golf Course

There was always shopping, which is cheaper than a spa, but again it was weird. We read the sign on the door to a boutique and knew we had to wear a mask and sanitize our hands. We opened the door and stood at the sanitization station spreading hand sanitizer over our hands in the full view of the only person in the store. She looked panicked to see our unmasked faces and rushed halfway across the store to tell us that we had to wear a mask. I assured her that I had not been fast enough to don a mask while sanitizing my hands and that we would comply, but the whole thing made me sad. She was afraid. I’m not sure if she was afraid of contracting COVID-19, or if she was afraid that she would get in trouble for having an unmasked person in the boutique, or maybe I have a foreboding air about me that I don’t realize. There was such a palpable fear and anxiety in her. I am ready for the fear to be gone.

After we started browsing around, she relaxed a bit, but she kept apologizing for the fact that the town was mostly closed. When I tried to tell her that it was okay, she said, “I hope you’ll come back another time when everything is open.”

I replied, “Oh, we’re never coming back,” but she didn’t give me a chance to finish my statement. She started apologizing again. Finally, I was able to persuade her that it had nothing to do with her or the town or anything other than we came for the guys to golf. They golfed. On to the next golf course. In short – she was a wreck. Poor lady! Seriously, I felt for her.

I think I would have enjoyed Kohler more under normal circumstances, but my husband got to play golf with our son and grandsons; and they had a great time. Successful trip!

Whistling Straits

Our flight home was uneventful except for Bob getting yelled at by a flight attendant. His favored aisle seat has disadvantages. When we were in the airport at Milwaukee, there was one restaurant open. I innocently bought a snack and a beer for the plane ride – I’m old enough! What I did not know was that there was no alcohol allowed on the plane. Since Bob gave him my trash, he assumed that Bob was the perpetrator. I just remained in my window seat pretending I was asleep and chuckling softly.

There was something weird about the Milwaukee airport. After going through security, there is an area to put yourself back together again – shoes, keys, cell phone, laptop. It can take time, so you need an area for that to happen.

This is where you go to get recombobulated after you have been discombobulated.

I love words and this one is a doozie. I had never heard it before but immediately knew what it meant. Barry Bateman, former airport director, never heard it before either, so he invented it. I love it! I think we should have Recombobulation Areas all through the country and not limit them to airports. So many of us are feeling angry and depressed, or baffled, befuddled, bewildered, buffaloed, confounded, confused, flummoxed, perplexed, puzzled, vexed, or even discombobulated. We can all agree that things just aren’t right in the world today. We all need some recombobulation. I’m hoping that now that we are allowed out of our houses, we can get to work on that.

 

If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.

Romans 12:18

A Whole Lot of Firsts

You already know that I’m not good with numbers, so I have no idea how many days we’ve been doing this COVID-19 thing. What I do know is – it’s more than any of us would like it to be.

I am sitting in amazement, though, at how God has prepared us for times such as these. For instance, just a few years ago grocery delivery was for the elite. Now it’s for everybody. (Except me. I can’t bring myself to do that yet. I like the grocery store. I like choosing my own produce. I may have to change my ways in the future, but not yet.)

Friday of last week I donned my mask and gloves and went to Publix. That was before it was advised that everyone wear masks in public, so it seems I was a little ahead of the times for a change. About a third of us were dressed the same. How embarrassing! Seriously, I was impressed at how kind and considerate everyone was. Publix has for its motto – Where Shopping is a Pleasure. It was a pleasure, but it was weird.

I color coded my hand-written grocery list so that I would not have to make return trips to an aisle I had already gone down. I was greeted by signs in the dairy department – one item of each kind per customer. I picked up a gallon of milk for my neighbor and a half-gallon for us. The Publix people were happy to let me do that after I explained why.

I opted out of help to my car (if you don’t have a Publix, you wouldn’t know that helping you to your car and loading groceries for you is part of their service, with no tipping their policy). When I peeled those gloves off of my sweaty hands, I thought about all of the health care people and other services where folks have to wear gloves all the time. I’m thankful for them all. (I was also thankful that I keep a small towel in my car so I could dry my hands and not have them slipping all over the steering wheel.)

On returning home, I set up a table in the garage and wiped down everything before it was allowed in the house. Some things I left in the garage for later. Honestly, it was simpler grocery shopping with toddlers, but I didn’t mind taking the extra precautions.

One reason for the extra precautions is that my mom lives with us. Bob and I are getting up there, but she is officially “up there.” (Again, full disclosure, I probably would go the extra mile of caution anyway; but having Mom with us helps me not get made fun of by my husband.)

Speaking of Mom. She has witnessed many things firsthand in her lifetime.  She was born in 1928 (she’s 92). Some of the firsts are, in no particular order:

  • Air-conditioned houses and cars
  • Televisions in homes and then color television
  • WW II
  • Microwave ovens
  • Cell phones
  • The internet
  • Man walking on the moon
  • Man-made satellites and a space station
  • Personal computers
  • Vinyl records, 4 track cassettes, 8 track cassettes, cassette tapes, CDs, downloading music
  • VCRs, Betamax, DVDs, Bluerays, streaming of movies and the like
  • Cameras have gone from little brownie box cameras to cameras on our phones
  • Fluoroscent light bulbs, LED bulbs, Smart bulbs
  • Google, Youtube, Facebook, Amazon (including the Echo Alexa that sits in her room, which she uses to sing along with her favorite hymns)
  • Hawaii and Alaska become states
  • And now a pandemic

Ten years before she was born, there was the 1918 Influenza Pandemic. Mom has been through a lot – even polio as a kid and waiting to see if her brother who was a POW in Germany in WW II would return home (he did). And now she’s going through social distancing during the current pandemic.

It’s a privilege for me to witness her adapting and marveling at the technology which I can almost take for granted. Here’s a few shots of her doing just that:

 

Mom watching my sister and her son sing during their on-line church service in Georgia

 

 

Mom attending the Zoom meeting of her Tuesday morning Bible study

In a day when in a sense we are all shut-ins, my 92-year-old mom lives a life of thankfulness for the things she has and the things God set in place ahead of time for such a time as this. God bless you all and keep on looking up!