This world moves very quickly, and during the course of a 24 hour period of time, we have implanted in our minds, things that we'd like to accomplish. Lists of "Things To Do" is what runs through my mind, and usually is scribed somewhere on a 3x5 card. I am such a lucky woman to have a few of these 'lists' around.
One is my 'General List for Work', which includes the simple tasks that I don't always do on a daily basis, but need to be accomplished. If they're real 'technical' (legal documents) they get a special list of 'Paperwork for Work' list all to their very own. These lists are usually accomplished in a relatively short amount of time, and when the tasks at hand are completed, the list is simply thrown away.
My home has a few lists of it's own. One's a general "Housecleaning To Do" list, another boasts the title of "Projects @ the House", while still another holds the coveted "Important Dates/Times" list. Why, you might ask, are lists such a prominent part of my life? It reminds me of all of the things that I not only expect my self to execute, but what others are relying on me to complete as well. I have to admit, that sometimes, just sometimes, there are a few items on the list that don't get completed, but I still cross them out, as though the task at hand was done. It's not cheating, after all, most of this is just to organize my thoughts, my wishes of how I'd like my world, my day, to run. Not like the 'List Nazis' are gonna check up on me and my follow-through, right?
These items, the one's that I put on my 'list', which ever one it may be, are usually a chore, task, errand, etc. that needs to be completed, but isn't something that I REALLY want to do. So, my dearest friends, I have decided that I want to create a list (NOT my 'bucket list' ~ that has different parameters) that has some positive connotation to me... be it just fanciful, or even a tad practical.
1) Dance the night away
2) Learn the secret to happiness
3) Discover why men have to be the driver when the other passenger is a female
4) Read for a minimum of 4 hours each day of whatever you want.... (I know, for me, unrealistic)
5) Tweet at least 5 compliments to 5 different people each day (watch your following grow!)
6) Give a hug to at least 4 people a day.
7) Imagine "What if.." on a scale so huge, IF it were to happen, your life would be forever changed.
8) Spend time alone, no electronics around, and reflect on those people who mean so much to you.
9) Sing, loudly, to your favorite music while driving around 'back roads'
10) Find out who teaches kids to jump on chairs, couches, or beds
11) Meditate on positive people, places, and events in your life...
12) Spend a day with someone under the age of 21, they are FASCINATING!
13) Write a letter by hand to a dear friend or family member, put it in an envelope, mail it!
14) Send a "Thinking of You" note to someone you just thought of (See #8)
15) Order something, anything, online, to be delivered whenever ~ as a gift to you.
16) Take a 2 month trip down the Rhine, visiting EVERY castle along the way
17) Take a horseback ride under the full moon (again!)
18) Spend a night watching a meteor shower
19) Go on a photographic expedition of an area that's always fascinated you
20) Find out who teaches kids to jump in mud puddles (see #10 ~ they might be able to help)
I know I've got more... but I'll end it here for now ~ as soon as I accomplish a few of these, I'll be adding another. In the mean time, get going, you've got a list to make and things to do!
A Family Portrait ~ Just in Time for Christmas!
We currently live in a lovely little sub-division, neatly dotted with look-alike homes. I would venture to guess that well over half of the properties have children (ages ranging from 0-21) residing with their parents. Many of 'the first families' in the neighborhood still exchange Christmas cards, goodie baskets, and of course, the holiday family portrait, the same one that Aunt Eunice in Topeka gets in her Christmas card.
I had been honored to have been asked to take THAT family picture for a young couple this last holiday bout. The family was dressed in matching flip flops, shorts and adorable shirts. They looked like something out of a catalog. We discussed where the picture would be taken, who would sit where, and what palms should be in the backdrop. The pool had to be in the photo too... I mean, you can't JUST have the kids in shorts for a December picture without the constant reminders that 'we live in a warm climate' screaming at your relatives, who are most likely buried in 8 feet of freshly fallen snow.
It was perfect, they were perfect. They sat together, the young couple grinning, the children excited. Then it happened. A flip flop fell off, much to Mommy's chagrin. Daddy explained that 'you are a grown up 4 years old, you need to act accordingly and not flop around like a fish.' Apparently, the two year old decided that since he was NOT 4, he SHOULD flop like a fish, and in doing so, inadvertently hit his mother squarely on the bridge of her nose. Her nose began to swell, and the tears she was producing were ruining her perfect make up job that she had administered to herself earlier that morning. After we applied ice to her nose, the dog ran into the planted palm, dumping its contents onto the newly scrubbed brick pavers. The children became whiny, as what began as an exciting moment became a comedy of errors. It was close to nap time too ~ and I could feel the frustration taking a toll on us all, as I wanted to claim 'nap time' along side the children.
Before the day was through, we did manage to get a couple of pictures taken, one of them actually made it as 'the' picture for the holiday greeting card. The young mother thanked me for my time, and was exasperated over the whole ordeal.
The young mother lamented about the photo shoot, claiming that nothing comparable had EVER happened like this before. She was clearly embarrassed and frustrated. I explained to her the cliché lines that I was once told, that this was something she'd look back on and laugh about. I then shared my family's own little holiday picture shoot extravaganza with her.
All four kids, ages 6 months, 2, 6, and 8 years of age were dressed up, well coiffed, and ready for it. The diaper bag was packed for the trip to the Department Store Photo Studio; otherwise known as ~ "we still have floor space, what do we do with it to make money" area.
We had made an appointment, but due to the New England weather, either the photographers, previous appointments, or all of the above were running late. I liken waiting with small children in a confined public area as an opportunity to expose any and all dysfunction a family has or COULD have. As you can guess, our 3 1/2 hour wait consisted of the typical stressors that a young family would encounter: the 4 diaper changes, the toddler that was ready for her nap 1/2 hr before the sitting, and two kids that wanted nothing more than to go back to the toy area to dream of what Santa would bring them, began to fray our nerves.
My husband and I began getting short with the children, then correcting one another. We were, after all, in public. I had been smart enough to bring my 2 year olds favorite stuffed bear, aptly named "Bear", to sooth her while we waited. By the time we were ready to select the backdrop, figure out where we were sitting, and get the children in place, there was nary a smile in the place. Tears ran down faces, whining ensued, and complaints of 'This is stupid!' and 'Why do we need to do this?' made me reflect on whether or not it was truly a good idea.
The children were constrained into poses, yes, constrained, as between each shutter click, my husband and I mumbled words that a sea-fairing soul would identify easily. The two year old, to the point of being un-consolable, was offered "Bear" and would not part with him. Growling under a pasted on grin, we told the kids that there was just a moment or two more, and all of this nightmare would be over..
The photo was lovely, my grandmother even said so. My parents and in-laws cooed over the portrait, which, to this day, sits prominently in the living rooms of their homes. When a friend comes to visit, they point out how much the children have grown, and how they have/haven't changed. Every time I look at it, I smile, and am grateful that I don't have to re-do that day again.
We have taken only one other official family portrait, many years later. The kids were much more at ease, there was no need to wrestle with diapers or snacks. There were moments, ones that were spent grumbling about one little thing or another. The photos, after all, are a snapshot of what we are, what others see, when we're in public.
I had been honored to have been asked to take THAT family picture for a young couple this last holiday bout. The family was dressed in matching flip flops, shorts and adorable shirts. They looked like something out of a catalog. We discussed where the picture would be taken, who would sit where, and what palms should be in the backdrop. The pool had to be in the photo too... I mean, you can't JUST have the kids in shorts for a December picture without the constant reminders that 'we live in a warm climate' screaming at your relatives, who are most likely buried in 8 feet of freshly fallen snow.
It was perfect, they were perfect. They sat together, the young couple grinning, the children excited. Then it happened. A flip flop fell off, much to Mommy's chagrin. Daddy explained that 'you are a grown up 4 years old, you need to act accordingly and not flop around like a fish.' Apparently, the two year old decided that since he was NOT 4, he SHOULD flop like a fish, and in doing so, inadvertently hit his mother squarely on the bridge of her nose. Her nose began to swell, and the tears she was producing were ruining her perfect make up job that she had administered to herself earlier that morning. After we applied ice to her nose, the dog ran into the planted palm, dumping its contents onto the newly scrubbed brick pavers. The children became whiny, as what began as an exciting moment became a comedy of errors. It was close to nap time too ~ and I could feel the frustration taking a toll on us all, as I wanted to claim 'nap time' along side the children.
Before the day was through, we did manage to get a couple of pictures taken, one of them actually made it as 'the' picture for the holiday greeting card. The young mother thanked me for my time, and was exasperated over the whole ordeal.
The young mother lamented about the photo shoot, claiming that nothing comparable had EVER happened like this before. She was clearly embarrassed and frustrated. I explained to her the cliché lines that I was once told, that this was something she'd look back on and laugh about. I then shared my family's own little holiday picture shoot extravaganza with her.
All four kids, ages 6 months, 2, 6, and 8 years of age were dressed up, well coiffed, and ready for it. The diaper bag was packed for the trip to the Department Store Photo Studio; otherwise known as ~ "we still have floor space, what do we do with it to make money" area.
We had made an appointment, but due to the New England weather, either the photographers, previous appointments, or all of the above were running late. I liken waiting with small children in a confined public area as an opportunity to expose any and all dysfunction a family has or COULD have. As you can guess, our 3 1/2 hour wait consisted of the typical stressors that a young family would encounter: the 4 diaper changes, the toddler that was ready for her nap 1/2 hr before the sitting, and two kids that wanted nothing more than to go back to the toy area to dream of what Santa would bring them, began to fray our nerves.
My husband and I began getting short with the children, then correcting one another. We were, after all, in public. I had been smart enough to bring my 2 year olds favorite stuffed bear, aptly named "Bear", to sooth her while we waited. By the time we were ready to select the backdrop, figure out where we were sitting, and get the children in place, there was nary a smile in the place. Tears ran down faces, whining ensued, and complaints of 'This is stupid!' and 'Why do we need to do this?' made me reflect on whether or not it was truly a good idea.
The children were constrained into poses, yes, constrained, as between each shutter click, my husband and I mumbled words that a sea-fairing soul would identify easily. The two year old, to the point of being un-consolable, was offered "Bear" and would not part with him. Growling under a pasted on grin, we told the kids that there was just a moment or two more, and all of this nightmare would be over..
The photo was lovely, my grandmother even said so. My parents and in-laws cooed over the portrait, which, to this day, sits prominently in the living rooms of their homes. When a friend comes to visit, they point out how much the children have grown, and how they have/haven't changed. Every time I look at it, I smile, and am grateful that I don't have to re-do that day again.
We have taken only one other official family portrait, many years later. The kids were much more at ease, there was no need to wrestle with diapers or snacks. There were moments, ones that were spent grumbling about one little thing or another. The photos, after all, are a snapshot of what we are, what others see, when we're in public.
Goinkalinks Need Not Apply
My father was a busy man. He worked for a large corporation and ran the front lines for them at the district level. A number of years in management, he knew how to work a balance sheet and cut shrinkage. It was a normal practice when I was young to go into work on Sundays (when there were things such as 'Blue Laws') to do price changes and stock shelves.
Daddy knew what worked and how to manage people. He could joke with you and get his point across subtly, or, he could be down right, in your face, quietly harsh. My brother and I were pretty much handled as employees of his. We had our work to do, expected outcomes, and when the business of home was running well, we'd all get a bonus (good Christmas presents or a needed family trip).
The man had a way of using the psychology courses that he took in college to his advantage when he was raising my brother and I. Reverse psychology? My old man was the master of it. So much so, that I think they used him for the examples of 'what worked'. He also utilized a vague label, one that makes me smile today, but back then, would make me extremely concerned.
"You, Suzy, are the Chiefest of Goinkalinks" he pronounce to me at the family dinner table one evening.
"I'm a WHAT?"
"Goinkalink. You know... there are schmoinkers, nixies, and then, there are goinkalinks. You, my dear, are certainly a goinkalink if I ever saw one."
I sat there, not certain as to whether or not this was an admonishment of behavior, or a reflection of my personality. Exactly what the old man wanted. Being a very mature seven year old, there were certain things that I was certain of, but this goinkalink thing, I wasn't sure if I really fit the mold.
"Daddy, what's a goinkalink?"
"Why, it's exactly what YOU are. What you do, what you say, everything, it makes you a goinkalink." He chomped on a piece of meat, smirking at me, and chuckling to himself.
When Dad didn't like what we were doing, but realized that it was his 'opinion', he would pull that now family-famous moniker out. If he wanted us to think about our next move, he wanted us to take our own view, we were graded at some level: chief, head, general, or colonel of goinkalinks. At times, when Dad knew that he was being a bit hot headed, and to diffuse the situation, we were goinkalinks. When he wanted us to figure out that what we were doing was being independent, taking positive steps, taking calculated risks, we were goinkalinks.
To be a goinkalink was to reflect on what you said or did, review your station, think about where you were going, on more than one level. It was a 'time out' for both Daddy and us, to figure out whether or not one of us was out of line or over-reacting. It was a label that, just in the sheer craziness of the sound of it, made you stop.
As time went on and we grew older, Daddy would call us goinkalinks in a loving manner, to tease us. It was our job to figure out whether we were doing something positive, or if it was a negative. We had caught on to the old man's game.
One pleasant summer evening, my brother and I cornered him at the back yard picnic table. He divulged his little secrets to us. Daddy explained that he could 'label' us, and allowed us to create what a goinkalink was in our own minds eye. He was allowing us to find our own moral compass, with a bit of guidance. Those child and developmental psychology courses in the late 50's and early 60's really created some twisted souls, Daddy being one of them.
Flash forward to twenty years later.... My husband and I were with our two youngest children, seated in my parents living room. We were talking about something that I thought was pretty 'normal' in our world, when I saw a flash in my Dad's eyes, one that said 'I don't know what that kid said, but it didn't sound right' moments. To save Daddy from embarrassment, and to save my children from a lecture on what would and wouldn't be accepted conversation, I jumped up and exclaimed "Just like a goinkalink to say that, don't you agree Dad?"
The old man's eyes twinkled. A warm glow came across his face, and his body relaxed.
"Indeed. I didn't realize you were raising a bunch of goinkalinks Suzy! You should have said something." looking directly at my two children, and then back at me, winking and giving a soft smile.
"What's a goinkalink?" my 15 year old daughter asked. Her 13 year old brother seated next to her, placing himself on the edge of the couch, was also eagerly awaiting the definition of this new and exotic word, a title, the label they'd never heard before.
"Why, it is YOU!" I proclaimed.
Daddy knew what worked and how to manage people. He could joke with you and get his point across subtly, or, he could be down right, in your face, quietly harsh. My brother and I were pretty much handled as employees of his. We had our work to do, expected outcomes, and when the business of home was running well, we'd all get a bonus (good Christmas presents or a needed family trip).
The man had a way of using the psychology courses that he took in college to his advantage when he was raising my brother and I. Reverse psychology? My old man was the master of it. So much so, that I think they used him for the examples of 'what worked'. He also utilized a vague label, one that makes me smile today, but back then, would make me extremely concerned.
"You, Suzy, are the Chiefest of Goinkalinks" he pronounce to me at the family dinner table one evening.
"I'm a WHAT?"
"Goinkalink. You know... there are schmoinkers, nixies, and then, there are goinkalinks. You, my dear, are certainly a goinkalink if I ever saw one."
I sat there, not certain as to whether or not this was an admonishment of behavior, or a reflection of my personality. Exactly what the old man wanted. Being a very mature seven year old, there were certain things that I was certain of, but this goinkalink thing, I wasn't sure if I really fit the mold.
"Daddy, what's a goinkalink?"
"Why, it's exactly what YOU are. What you do, what you say, everything, it makes you a goinkalink." He chomped on a piece of meat, smirking at me, and chuckling to himself.
When Dad didn't like what we were doing, but realized that it was his 'opinion', he would pull that now family-famous moniker out. If he wanted us to think about our next move, he wanted us to take our own view, we were graded at some level: chief, head, general, or colonel of goinkalinks. At times, when Dad knew that he was being a bit hot headed, and to diffuse the situation, we were goinkalinks. When he wanted us to figure out that what we were doing was being independent, taking positive steps, taking calculated risks, we were goinkalinks.
To be a goinkalink was to reflect on what you said or did, review your station, think about where you were going, on more than one level. It was a 'time out' for both Daddy and us, to figure out whether or not one of us was out of line or over-reacting. It was a label that, just in the sheer craziness of the sound of it, made you stop.
As time went on and we grew older, Daddy would call us goinkalinks in a loving manner, to tease us. It was our job to figure out whether we were doing something positive, or if it was a negative. We had caught on to the old man's game.
One pleasant summer evening, my brother and I cornered him at the back yard picnic table. He divulged his little secrets to us. Daddy explained that he could 'label' us, and allowed us to create what a goinkalink was in our own minds eye. He was allowing us to find our own moral compass, with a bit of guidance. Those child and developmental psychology courses in the late 50's and early 60's really created some twisted souls, Daddy being one of them.
Flash forward to twenty years later.... My husband and I were with our two youngest children, seated in my parents living room. We were talking about something that I thought was pretty 'normal' in our world, when I saw a flash in my Dad's eyes, one that said 'I don't know what that kid said, but it didn't sound right' moments. To save Daddy from embarrassment, and to save my children from a lecture on what would and wouldn't be accepted conversation, I jumped up and exclaimed "Just like a goinkalink to say that, don't you agree Dad?"
The old man's eyes twinkled. A warm glow came across his face, and his body relaxed.
"Indeed. I didn't realize you were raising a bunch of goinkalinks Suzy! You should have said something." looking directly at my two children, and then back at me, winking and giving a soft smile.
"What's a goinkalink?" my 15 year old daughter asked. Her 13 year old brother seated next to her, placing himself on the edge of the couch, was also eagerly awaiting the definition of this new and exotic word, a title, the label they'd never heard before.
"Why, it is YOU!" I proclaimed.
Did you Win Powerball?
The line moved slowly. There were numerous people, bustling in and out of the store, things to do, errands to run, all on a time frame that seems too small for any given day. I stood in line, shifting my weight back and forth, almost patiently waiting to get to the cashier. The buzz around the customer service center was about the large $600 million Powerball that was about to be drawn that very evening.
I shuffled my items down the beltway toward the woman at the scanner. She smiled, asked if I found everything I needed. My reply to her, "Yes, thank you, but I need a winning Powerball ticket please. Make it four tickets, there are four of us at home."
The girl rang up my total, ran off my four chances at a blissful life, and handed them over with a smile and a wish of 'good luck'. The ticket was then unceremoniously folded with the receipt and placed in my clutch. As I walked out of the store, I began to think of what I would do with all of that money.
My first priority? I'd contact the only CPA that I've trusted. Invite him to fly down to Florida, meet with me, and offer him a 'full time' position working for me to take care of my vast sums of cash. He'd be needed, as I'd have too many 'friends' that haven't recalled my telephone number in years, calling me up and asking about my health.
Next? I'd set up trust funds for my kids. Certain amount every year ~ done. A stipend to be paid out to each set of parents, as well as each sibling ~ done. No 'going back to the trough'. I'd fix up my home, find a family that needs it, and give it to them. I'd buy a nice car (under $40k) that gets good gas, one for each of us. Then, I'd throw a great end of year party for the students at the grade school I work at. There would be enough to finance the completion of the 140 schools without Wi-Fi in the district. I'd set up a fund that would be specifically used for specialists for ESE and Gifted students for each school that has a need.
My next venture would be to fund shelters to take care of abandoned animals. Give them a home, medical care, and find permanent homes with loving families.
Lastly? I'd just find a nice couple of homes to buy. Nothing too big. Something a tad secluded. Hire a teacher full time for my kids, and find some local grocery store that wouldn't know who I was, so I could continue to grocery shop without problems.
My list, when it was done, included a number of friends, some that I haven't seen in years. Nothing too elaborate, but a year's salary to each sounded appropriate. After the list was tallied, the numbers crunched, I realized that I would be giving away 9/10ths of what the prize was to be. I'd be living a comfortable life, and as long as I was not a spendthrift with that 1/10ths, I'd be good until my final days.
I guess I didn't win tonight, but what a nice opportunity these few hours gave me to dream. I figure that it was OK that I didn't win. I was going to give most of it away anyways.
I shuffled my items down the beltway toward the woman at the scanner. She smiled, asked if I found everything I needed. My reply to her, "Yes, thank you, but I need a winning Powerball ticket please. Make it four tickets, there are four of us at home."
The girl rang up my total, ran off my four chances at a blissful life, and handed them over with a smile and a wish of 'good luck'. The ticket was then unceremoniously folded with the receipt and placed in my clutch. As I walked out of the store, I began to think of what I would do with all of that money.
My first priority? I'd contact the only CPA that I've trusted. Invite him to fly down to Florida, meet with me, and offer him a 'full time' position working for me to take care of my vast sums of cash. He'd be needed, as I'd have too many 'friends' that haven't recalled my telephone number in years, calling me up and asking about my health.
Next? I'd set up trust funds for my kids. Certain amount every year ~ done. A stipend to be paid out to each set of parents, as well as each sibling ~ done. No 'going back to the trough'. I'd fix up my home, find a family that needs it, and give it to them. I'd buy a nice car (under $40k) that gets good gas, one for each of us. Then, I'd throw a great end of year party for the students at the grade school I work at. There would be enough to finance the completion of the 140 schools without Wi-Fi in the district. I'd set up a fund that would be specifically used for specialists for ESE and Gifted students for each school that has a need.
My next venture would be to fund shelters to take care of abandoned animals. Give them a home, medical care, and find permanent homes with loving families.
Lastly? I'd just find a nice couple of homes to buy. Nothing too big. Something a tad secluded. Hire a teacher full time for my kids, and find some local grocery store that wouldn't know who I was, so I could continue to grocery shop without problems.
My list, when it was done, included a number of friends, some that I haven't seen in years. Nothing too elaborate, but a year's salary to each sounded appropriate. After the list was tallied, the numbers crunched, I realized that I would be giving away 9/10ths of what the prize was to be. I'd be living a comfortable life, and as long as I was not a spendthrift with that 1/10ths, I'd be good until my final days.
I guess I didn't win tonight, but what a nice opportunity these few hours gave me to dream. I figure that it was OK that I didn't win. I was going to give most of it away anyways.
A Broken Soul to Mend
What do you do with a broken soul? Very few of us are lucky enough to have walked through life without having our heart trounced upon and torn asunder. Our soul, often a fragile thing, is something that can, in life, wither to near non-existence out of desperation to save what is left of what we know as 'self'.
Our lives are inextricably intertwined, all of us. Each serving a purpose in supporting either the nurture or the demise of that heart that is so tenuous perched on serenity or sadness. Case and point: My more than weekly visits to the local grocer has created and fostered a unique bond with those that work there. They know when I'm 'spoiling' my husband with his Rocky Road, and when my children have a sleepover by what I purchase. In turn, I asked them about their lives, how their college courses are going, what time the grandchildren are coming over to visit, and whether the wife got the application for soccer camp. It is a brief visit, but a nurturing one.
My visit the other day, quite like any other, was filled with sundries for the home. Upon checking out, the cashier said "You don't look like your cheerful self today ~ are you ok?". It was a bad day, it's been a grueling few years. I imparted a short comment about worrying about my children, and how difficult the present moment seemed. What came next was an amazingly earnest, brutally heart-opening moment.
"I worried myself. Had done so for years. Tried to protect and shelter my kids from the ups and downs of this world." the cashier started.
She stepped out from the small area behind the scanner and began bagging the last of my groceries. With a deep breath, she stopped, stared me directly in the eyes, and began again.
"My daughter had been given everything, I made certain that she went to a good school, fought for her when things weren't going right, and made sure that if she was emotionally uncomfortable, I would be there to take that problem away." Her tone deepened, her voice became quieter. She was sharing something lodged deep in her heart.
"My girl got out on her own, and couldn't handle it. She buried her emotions and problems with drugs and alcohol when I wasn't there to resolve her issues, because she never learned to deal with it by herself. She died of an overdose two years ago." My heart sank at her candidness; she had just opened up her chest cavity, bared her broken-ness, and was sharing it with me.
"Be grateful for the times you can't save them now. They will learn how to handle it, become stronger, and hopefully, a better person for it. This too shall pass."
My eyes began to well up with tears. Ache poured out of my heart, I was no longer thinking, but feeling completely, the anguish and lack of control that a parent really has. The feelings that we all have at times, when the world isn't working the way we need it to.
Tears streamed down my face, and the woman with a broken heart moved passed the bagging carousel to me. We gave one another a hug, knowing that there was nothing else we could do but share our hurt.
I left the store, still crying. I guess I needed it, and I guess my hurt helped my cashier feel that she was making some difference in someone else's world, view the problems at hand in a different light. I was reminded that we all carry a pain, an ache, a hurt. Something that can one day, hopefully, heal.
Our lives are inextricably intertwined, all of us. Each serving a purpose in supporting either the nurture or the demise of that heart that is so tenuous perched on serenity or sadness. Case and point: My more than weekly visits to the local grocer has created and fostered a unique bond with those that work there. They know when I'm 'spoiling' my husband with his Rocky Road, and when my children have a sleepover by what I purchase. In turn, I asked them about their lives, how their college courses are going, what time the grandchildren are coming over to visit, and whether the wife got the application for soccer camp. It is a brief visit, but a nurturing one.
My visit the other day, quite like any other, was filled with sundries for the home. Upon checking out, the cashier said "You don't look like your cheerful self today ~ are you ok?". It was a bad day, it's been a grueling few years. I imparted a short comment about worrying about my children, and how difficult the present moment seemed. What came next was an amazingly earnest, brutally heart-opening moment.
"I worried myself. Had done so for years. Tried to protect and shelter my kids from the ups and downs of this world." the cashier started.
She stepped out from the small area behind the scanner and began bagging the last of my groceries. With a deep breath, she stopped, stared me directly in the eyes, and began again.
"My daughter had been given everything, I made certain that she went to a good school, fought for her when things weren't going right, and made sure that if she was emotionally uncomfortable, I would be there to take that problem away." Her tone deepened, her voice became quieter. She was sharing something lodged deep in her heart.
"My girl got out on her own, and couldn't handle it. She buried her emotions and problems with drugs and alcohol when I wasn't there to resolve her issues, because she never learned to deal with it by herself. She died of an overdose two years ago." My heart sank at her candidness; she had just opened up her chest cavity, bared her broken-ness, and was sharing it with me.
"Be grateful for the times you can't save them now. They will learn how to handle it, become stronger, and hopefully, a better person for it. This too shall pass."
My eyes began to well up with tears. Ache poured out of my heart, I was no longer thinking, but feeling completely, the anguish and lack of control that a parent really has. The feelings that we all have at times, when the world isn't working the way we need it to.
Tears streamed down my face, and the woman with a broken heart moved passed the bagging carousel to me. We gave one another a hug, knowing that there was nothing else we could do but share our hurt.
I left the store, still crying. I guess I needed it, and I guess my hurt helped my cashier feel that she was making some difference in someone else's world, view the problems at hand in a different light. I was reminded that we all carry a pain, an ache, a hurt. Something that can one day, hopefully, heal.
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