I originally started this post last week from the airport, but I was sans internet connection so I'm just getting around to actually finishing it and sharing it with the world! Er, my three readers.
Fact: The airport is one of my favorite places on earth. I love to fly. I would travel somewhere every week if my job (and salary) allowed me to do so. I especially love super busy airports. Lucky me that the "world's busiest" is also "my" airport!
As I write this, it is 9:55 a.m. I've been here since 7:15. I knew that something was amiss when I settled in at my assigned gate with my freshly brewed Seattle's Best and blueberry muffin and instead of Chicago, the destination posted was Valdosta. [Who flies to Valdosta?!?] It turned out that my flight was cancelled. I do not love cancellations, but that is a matter absolutely beyond my control. [Someone's life lessons in control are paying off, aren't they?]
Now that I've had a couple of extra hours here, I've had the opportunity to make and note a few observations:
When going through security with an infant in a car seat, please don't kick said infant carrier to move it forward. I'm not a parent, but my gut instinct tells me to kick the bag and carry the baby instead of vice versa.
When using a public restroom, please close and lock the stall door, m'am. My eyes have seen things this morning they were not prepared to see. Ever.
When flights are cancelled, the nicer you are to the cranky ticket agent, the nicer she will become and the harder she will try to get you on an earlier flight.
One should not spray rose scented perfumey stuff one moment and then proceed to cough all over fellow travelers sitting in close proximity to you when waiting at the gate.
Is there a place in the airport that sells fried salmon patties? What is that woman across from me eating and why does it smell like fried salmon patties?!?! Isn't 10:06 a.m. a wee bit early to be eating fried salmon patties? I wish that whatever this food that she is consuming would be banned by the TSA.
I have no idea how all of these people are going to fit on the plane. And why did the guy on the speaker just say that we are going to Pensacola? I'm far too overdressed for a trip to the beach.
All of these important and nicely dressed business folks who are looking at their phones with furrowed eyebrows and furiously typing on their touchscreen phones? I suspect that it's not business, but a mean game of Angry Birds or Words With Friends.
A fun game that I like to play when waiting is to try to guess where people are going based on what they are wearing. Something makes me think that the guy in plaid shorts and flip flops will not be on my flight.
I'm kind of torn when it comes to airport chit-chat. Like, when people make general statements to no one in particular, but I obviously hear them, am I obligated to respond? I vote no.
There's a man on my flight who looks just like Ted Kennedy. Except I know it's not him because well, Ted has gone to glory and this gentlemen has the last name of Briggs and needs to make a reservation for December 12, 13, and 14. So I've heard him shout between curse words at least eleventy-dozen times. I hope he's not my seat row buddy, but I would choose him over Miss Salmon Patty, I believe. [Fun fact: The ghost of Ted Kennedy, Mr. Briggs, was my seat row buddy!]
After one cancelled flight, and three more delays and sitting on the plane for 30 minutes, we are finally on our way. Phones, laptops, electronics are all powered down. Oh, what's that you say, Mr. Pilot? We've traveled no less than the distance of a football field, and we're going to sit here so it's ok to turn on our cellular devices? Got it.
You know how some pilots are all business and some pilots need either a dog or a therapist based on the amount of chatter that comes from the cockpit? The pilot on today's flight was chatty. He proudly informed us when we flew over Kentucky and into southern Indiana. I admit, that I don't mind when they point out landmarks or give a little update so I can get an idea of where we are in relation to where we're going. However, when we were about 60 miles out, Mr. Delta, announces over the intercom that we've been put into a holding pattern. He then starts all this talk about our vector and how the tower is flipping the runway because the wind has changed so they have to change the direction of the incoming and outgoing flights. So, that's all well and good and really cool if you think about it. BUT as I looked outside of my window, there was nothing to see but fog. I know, I know, their instruments see for them, but what happens if a pilot was checking his Facebook status or texting while flying or changing the music on his iPod and missed the whole announcement about rerouting all traffic in one little circle of a holding pattern? I would have regretted the will power I exercised to resist eating a half-dozen Krystal burgers after spending what amounted to half a work day in the airport, for one thing. What screams "perfect last meal" better than a bag of teensy tiny fake hamburgers? Obviously that didn't happen and these people are pros at this kind of stuff, but I couldn't help but to giggle just a little bit when he was talking because I felt a little bit like I was living the Seinfeld stand up routine that he does about pilots.
My return flight was equally as entertaining. I sat next to an airplane mechanic. As in, when I boarded the plane and sat down beside him, he was pouring buckets of sweat and eating his sandwich like he was due back down there to tighten one more bolt before take off. He was super tall and reminded me very much of my dad (minus the fact that dad always swore he would never fly and this man has to fly in order to get to work some days). We had a very interesting and educational conversation about the frequency in which the tires on a plane are changed as well as the distance allowed between planes when in flight. Any guesses? I focused on that information instead of his statement about how he had been working non-stop without any sleep for a day and a half. I think that when I make my recommendation to the TSA about banning airport foods that are noxious to the olfactory nerves, I will also recommend that the people responsible for fixing the metal capsules that shoot us through the air at fast rates of speed get a full eight hours of sleep each night.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Friday, November 11, 2011
11.11.11
Do you all remember back when we were kids and had a "favorite" of everything? Favorite color, favorite cartoon character, favorite superhero, favorite sports teams, favorite this, favorite that, favorite number. In fact, we still play favorites in adulthood. It just so happens that when I was a little girl my favorite number was 11. And why wouldn't it be? It is a prime number. It's symmetrical. If numbers could be palindromes, 11 would be one. What's better than one number 1, but two 1's right together? Nothing! It's greater than 10 so there's never that whole debate between spelling it out or just writing the actual number in formal writing. But at the end of the day, the real reason why I dubbed 11 as my favorite is because when I was a softball player (slow pitch...completely different than fast pitch), Daddy was the coach and his number was 00. Therefore, in my childlike rationale, I selected 11, and it just kind of stuck. If I had the foresight to realize that in my lifetime I would see the date written as 11.11.11, it would have been more than my geeky little brain could have handled. This morning in the paper I read about a set of twins who are celebrating their 11 birthday today. I was a little bit jealous.
Today is about so much more than six 1's lined up when we write the date though. It's about recognizing that as a child, I was free to fill my mind with things like choosing my favorite number for the back of my softball jersey. In fact, I am still free to fill my mind with such trivial matters into adulthood. I've written about the significance of this day before here. It's a day to think about why I was fortunate enough to live a carefree and peaceful childhood that has carried over into my older and wiser years.
Earlier tonight during my drive from the airport to home, I was thinking about what a terrible news week it has been. Babies are missing and their mothers are suspects. Heinous and cruel acts against innocent boys that could have and should have been prevented have been brought to light. There are people who desperately want jobs so that they can feed their families when there is another group of people who are walking around with an over-inflated sense of entitlement and their response is to simply do nothing until someone does something for them. Countries are on the brink of defaulting on their loans which puts world markets at risk of just toppling right over. All of this is enough to make those of us reading about it feel like we are carrying the weight of the world on our shoulders. Yet for others, it's their present reality and it's a never-ending nightmare. I sometimes have the tendency to get so overwhelmed in all the negative, it's a challenge to remember and celebrate the good. I believe in the importance of striking a balance between the two.
I still do not, nor will I ever, understand why God saw fit in his infinite grace for me to be born in the United States versus some other part of the world that does not have the first-world problems that I am accustomed to. Yet, I am so thankful that I have been given the opportunity to live in this great nation. I will celebrate that. I am also going to celebrate the men and women who love this country so much that they put it and its citizens above themselves and their own families time and time again in order for this great nation to remain just that: great.
Earlier today when I was still at O'hare, I saw this man holding his baby boy before he handed him back to his wife as he said good-bye. So on this 11th day of the 11th month in the year 2011, I celebrate the family members too because it is truly a family sacrifice when mom or dad isn't at home to see the first steps or ballet recital or simply share an evening meal together.
While Veterans Day is a day to honor and celebrate our Veterans, I think it's also a time for the rest of us to look inward to discover ways in which too we can serve our country. The burden of responsibility does not lie solely with those who wear the uniforms. We all have something to give because we all have been given so much.
Today is about so much more than six 1's lined up when we write the date though. It's about recognizing that as a child, I was free to fill my mind with things like choosing my favorite number for the back of my softball jersey. In fact, I am still free to fill my mind with such trivial matters into adulthood. I've written about the significance of this day before here. It's a day to think about why I was fortunate enough to live a carefree and peaceful childhood that has carried over into my older and wiser years.
Earlier tonight during my drive from the airport to home, I was thinking about what a terrible news week it has been. Babies are missing and their mothers are suspects. Heinous and cruel acts against innocent boys that could have and should have been prevented have been brought to light. There are people who desperately want jobs so that they can feed their families when there is another group of people who are walking around with an over-inflated sense of entitlement and their response is to simply do nothing until someone does something for them. Countries are on the brink of defaulting on their loans which puts world markets at risk of just toppling right over. All of this is enough to make those of us reading about it feel like we are carrying the weight of the world on our shoulders. Yet for others, it's their present reality and it's a never-ending nightmare. I sometimes have the tendency to get so overwhelmed in all the negative, it's a challenge to remember and celebrate the good. I believe in the importance of striking a balance between the two.
I still do not, nor will I ever, understand why God saw fit in his infinite grace for me to be born in the United States versus some other part of the world that does not have the first-world problems that I am accustomed to. Yet, I am so thankful that I have been given the opportunity to live in this great nation. I will celebrate that. I am also going to celebrate the men and women who love this country so much that they put it and its citizens above themselves and their own families time and time again in order for this great nation to remain just that: great.
Earlier today when I was still at O'hare, I saw this man holding his baby boy before he handed him back to his wife as he said good-bye. So on this 11th day of the 11th month in the year 2011, I celebrate the family members too because it is truly a family sacrifice when mom or dad isn't at home to see the first steps or ballet recital or simply share an evening meal together. While Veterans Day is a day to honor and celebrate our Veterans, I think it's also a time for the rest of us to look inward to discover ways in which too we can serve our country. The burden of responsibility does not lie solely with those who wear the uniforms. We all have something to give because we all have been given so much.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Next Stop: Fountain of Youth.
Today I learned that the 6th grade is not the place to go in order to boost one's ego. Actually, I learned this in 1990 as a 6th grader so technically I guess today I was just reminded of this fact. Last month I wrote about my experience with a 6th grade class. At the time I had no intention of a recap of my monthly meeting with them turning into a regular segment on this little blog o'mine. And by "regular", I mean "occurring more than once." ...just so we're clear on that.
This morning I asked the question "How old do you think the oldest student at the college I work at is?" A student from the back exclaims: "37!!" Awesome. [The real answer for those of you playing along at home is 84.] I don't really know what happened next, all I know is that suddenly, one student informed me that I was "middle-aged". Really? From the current outbreak happening on my face, I can see why someone might confuse me for a 16 year old boy, but middle-aged? I think not!
So at the end of my presentation, I once again opened up for the floor for questions about going to college or my job, etc. Big mistake. Huge. Because here's how that went down:
Question 1: "Are you married?"
Just Me...HP: "No."
Question 2: "Well, do you at least have any kids?"
Just Me...HP: "No." [In my mind I'm thinking "thank heavens" when I answer this one considering my answer to #1.]
Question 3: "Don't you get lonely?"
Just Me....HP: [as I'm wiping the tears from my eyes and curling up into the fetal position...oh, kidding!] "Nope, I've got plenty of time still for marriage and babies."
Little boy who earlier reported that one of his favorite activities is eating pork chops, collard greens, and cornbread: "Well, my mama, she 33 and I a whole lot older than yo' babies gonna be when you finally have 'em."
The whole thing is really quite hilarious. I don't feel a minute over oh let's say 24, but the truth is, I'm getting older. But here's a fun little fact: When I started the 6th grade, my mama was also 33, and I thought she was o-l-d. [Hi, mom! Love you!] It wasn't until she had a baby at the end of my freshman year of college at the age of 41 though that I actually point blank told her that she was old. What's that they say about karma?
This morning I asked the question "How old do you think the oldest student at the college I work at is?" A student from the back exclaims: "37!!" Awesome. [The real answer for those of you playing along at home is 84.] I don't really know what happened next, all I know is that suddenly, one student informed me that I was "middle-aged". Really? From the current outbreak happening on my face, I can see why someone might confuse me for a 16 year old boy, but middle-aged? I think not!
So at the end of my presentation, I once again opened up for the floor for questions about going to college or my job, etc. Big mistake. Huge. Because here's how that went down:
Question 1: "Are you married?"
Just Me...HP: "No."
Question 2: "Well, do you at least have any kids?"
Just Me...HP: "No." [In my mind I'm thinking "thank heavens" when I answer this one considering my answer to #1.]
Question 3: "Don't you get lonely?"
Just Me....HP: [as I'm wiping the tears from my eyes and curling up into the fetal position...oh, kidding!] "Nope, I've got plenty of time still for marriage and babies."
Little boy who earlier reported that one of his favorite activities is eating pork chops, collard greens, and cornbread: "Well, my mama, she 33 and I a whole lot older than yo' babies gonna be when you finally have 'em."
The whole thing is really quite hilarious. I don't feel a minute over oh let's say 24, but the truth is, I'm getting older. But here's a fun little fact: When I started the 6th grade, my mama was also 33, and I thought she was o-l-d. [Hi, mom! Love you!] It wasn't until she had a baby at the end of my freshman year of college at the age of 41 though that I actually point blank told her that she was old. What's that they say about karma?
Monday, September 12, 2011
The day after that day.
This morning when I woke up I wasn't exactly sure what day it was or even where I was for that matter. That, my pals, is a sure sign of either a wild night out or a good night's sleep. Considering I was in my jammies watching 20/20 by 9:00, you can use your good sense to figure out which one I experienced. Once I realized that it was in fact Monday, I rolled myself out of bed and began going through the motions of getting ready for the day just as all responsible working adults do on a daily basis. Soon my thoughts turned to the same thoughts that I have been having for about the last week or so leading up to the 10 year anniversary of 9/11. Honestly, I've said about all I can say about that specific day and my feelings regarding it here and here.
However, this year I have been thinking a great deal about the day (and all the other days) that followed. When I woke up on the morning of September 12, 2001, I was a little shell-shocked. Sure, I was safe. All the people that I loved were safe. But for the first time in my 22 years on this earth, I woke up with the understanding that there were no guarantees that this would always be the case. There was the possibility of a "next time". Not only that, there were still so many unknowns about "this time". For the families who were directly impacted, that Wednesday was simply a continuation of the seemingly unending nightmare that began on Tuesday. For the rest of us, it was our first "regular" day in a post-9/11 world. We rolled out of bed, we brushed our teeth, we fixed our breakfast, just as we did the day before and the one before that. I am so glad that we did. Sure, there was pain in our hearts and anger and confusion brewing just below the surface, but we got up and met our new day.
It has become my belief that our response to events in life define us even more so than the actual event itself. What would have happened if on that morning, we as a nation had simply pulled the covers back over our heads and stayed in bed because we were frozen with fear? What would have happened if that initial anger we all felt remained lodged within us? Would it have eventually evolved into sheer hatred that creates nothing but hardened hearts? Who would have those folks with missing and lost loved ones have looked to for strength had they not had our prayers or had we not rallied around them with compassion in their time of greatest need? Not only that, what if we had remained in our little silos of safety and solitude? What would we look like today as a nation? Some may argue that we are a dismal sight anyway given the economy and the this and the that, but when I read the "World" section from any news website or hear first-hand my international students talk about conditions and the way of life in their home countries, I am reminded that I am still going to sleep each night in the greatest place on this planet.
I am sorry that our world and way of life that we had always known changed so dramatically beginning with the day after that day. I am sorry that I have to say to my international students more often than not "well, since 9/11..." It is a standard phrase that I have always known in my entire working career. I am sorry that each time I get on an airplane I scan the faces of my fellow travelers. I do it almost subconsciously now, yet I still do it. More than anything, I am sorry that a handful of people made the decision to participate in a horrible plan that took away the freedom and lives of thousands of innocent people.
Yet the thing that alleviates my sorrow over all of those things is the pride that I have in knowing that on the day after that day, those of us who were able to, got up and met our new day.
God is our refuge and strength,
an ever-present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,
though its waters roar and foam
and the mountains quake with their surging.
However, this year I have been thinking a great deal about the day (and all the other days) that followed. When I woke up on the morning of September 12, 2001, I was a little shell-shocked. Sure, I was safe. All the people that I loved were safe. But for the first time in my 22 years on this earth, I woke up with the understanding that there were no guarantees that this would always be the case. There was the possibility of a "next time". Not only that, there were still so many unknowns about "this time". For the families who were directly impacted, that Wednesday was simply a continuation of the seemingly unending nightmare that began on Tuesday. For the rest of us, it was our first "regular" day in a post-9/11 world. We rolled out of bed, we brushed our teeth, we fixed our breakfast, just as we did the day before and the one before that. I am so glad that we did. Sure, there was pain in our hearts and anger and confusion brewing just below the surface, but we got up and met our new day.
It has become my belief that our response to events in life define us even more so than the actual event itself. What would have happened if on that morning, we as a nation had simply pulled the covers back over our heads and stayed in bed because we were frozen with fear? What would have happened if that initial anger we all felt remained lodged within us? Would it have eventually evolved into sheer hatred that creates nothing but hardened hearts? Who would have those folks with missing and lost loved ones have looked to for strength had they not had our prayers or had we not rallied around them with compassion in their time of greatest need? Not only that, what if we had remained in our little silos of safety and solitude? What would we look like today as a nation? Some may argue that we are a dismal sight anyway given the economy and the this and the that, but when I read the "World" section from any news website or hear first-hand my international students talk about conditions and the way of life in their home countries, I am reminded that I am still going to sleep each night in the greatest place on this planet.
I am sorry that our world and way of life that we had always known changed so dramatically beginning with the day after that day. I am sorry that I have to say to my international students more often than not "well, since 9/11..." It is a standard phrase that I have always known in my entire working career. I am sorry that each time I get on an airplane I scan the faces of my fellow travelers. I do it almost subconsciously now, yet I still do it. More than anything, I am sorry that a handful of people made the decision to participate in a horrible plan that took away the freedom and lives of thousands of innocent people.
Yet the thing that alleviates my sorrow over all of those things is the pride that I have in knowing that on the day after that day, those of us who were able to, got up and met our new day.
God is our refuge and strength,
an ever-present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,
though its waters roar and foam
and the mountains quake with their surging.
There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
the holy place where the Most High dwells. God is within her, she will not fall;
God will help her at break of day.
Nations are in uproar, kingdoms fall;
he lifts his voice, the earth melts.
The LORD Almighty is with us;
the God of Jacob is our fortress.
Come and see what the LORD has done,
the desolations he has brought on the earth.
He makes wars cease
to the ends of the earth.
He breaks the bow and shatters the spear;
he burns the shields with fire.
He says, “Be still, and know that I am God;
I will be exalted among the nations,
I will be exalted in the earth.”
The LORD Almighty is with us;
the God of Jacob is our fortress.
-Psalm 46
Thursday, September 1, 2011
I'm just glad Bob Ross will never see it.
In elementary school I hated arts and craft time. I cringed each year during VBS when I had to create some sort of popsicle stick masterpiece and my stomach still hurts a little bit when I think back to that terrible ornament constructed during my stint as a Brownie Girl Scout from fabric scraps and one of those foam ball things found in craft sections of Wal-Mart all across the land that hung on my mama's Christmas tree for at least a decade. Why did I hate such activities? Because I suck at them, that's why. I decided at a pretty young age that it was best for me to stick with the things that I'm good at and forget the stuff that I'm less than mediocre at doing. Practice makes perfect? Bah! There's no amount of practice in the world that could hone my art skills beyond that of an average 6 year-old.
So. Now that you all know this about me, I will continue with today's post.
A couple of weeks ago, some pals and I went to one of those places that are the current trendy rage. You know what I'm talking about...you go with your favorite gal pals with a bottle or two of wine in tow in order to drink and paint the night away. In theory, each artist is supposed to walk away with her very own canvas creation that closely mirrors that of the instructor's. Rarely do theory and reality ever mirror each other though. But it wasn't about the actual artwork...it was about the fun and good memories to be made with my people. When the day o' fun arrived, I called one of those two pals in the afternoon prior to meeting. This particular friend is a bit Type A. And she loves a good set of clear instructions. Plus, she likes to be really good at the things she does. [Sometimes I wonder why we are even friends...it's like we cannot relate to each other at all.] In our conversation I confessed my heightened anxiety level over having to paint something in front of complete and total strangers who would for sure be comparing their work to my own work. I knew immediately that I had made a wise choice in calling her because instead of talking me down from my unnecessary ledge, she too confessed that she had created a mantra of "it's just circles, it's just circles, how hard can it be?" in order to prepare for the evening. After a couple of minutes, we checked ourselves before we wrecked ourselves and decided that of course we could do this because after all, according to the picture on the calendar we were just going to be painting circles so it really couldn't possibly be that hard.
Y'all. Have you any idea how difficult it is to paint circles?!?!
Look at me ruining the end of the story. However, it should come as no surprise to anyone who knows me even a little bit that I struggled with painting a bunch of circles. Especially after I tell you all that no where in the place was a finished version of the creation we were supposed to paint. This means that I could see no further than the canvas right in front of me. Sure, the instructor was painting at the same time we were, but I like to see the ultimate goal of what I am trying to get to and then work backwards in a sense to try to get there.
So over the course of a couple of hours on that particular evening, I had the opportunity to ruin a perfectly good blank canvas. But not really. Now that I have an advanced degree in adult learning theory, I'm always looking for the meaning in my experiences. What I lack in painting ability I make up for in analytical prowess.
The truth is that painting a canvas full of undefined circles is one of the best exercises that I could have participated in. Why? Because I have an aversion to the abstract. I love symmetry. I love clearly defined lines. They are even. They are clean without jagged edges. Clean, symmetrical lines look even better on a black and white canvas. Oh, how I love things to be black and white. Why do color printers even have a "gray scale" option? Who needs gray? Not this girl.
I know what some of you may be thinking because I've thought it multiple times in the last 2.5 years: How in the world did this poor girl ever make it this far in life? [Answer: Grace. Not my own, by the way.] Painting a picture of circles without having any circles to look at and go by took me completely out of my comfort zone. I mean...I didn't have a protractor so my circles were not perfect circles. And then I got all sorts of caught up in trying to make the circles within the circles even and the same width. Don't even get me started on color selection. Yes, as a matter of fact I should have drank more than one glass of wine because I would have been much less concerned with symmetry and circle width and color selection.
Nope, this is not some big epiphany that I experienced for the first time in my 32 years. It's yet another reminder of what I've known for quite some time: Life is not black and white. It is not symmetrical with clearly defined lines. There really can be no finished product and pattern to work from because we are all unique individuals. Even when we model our behavior and make decisions based on the influence of others, it looks a little bit different than it would look if another person behaved the same exact way and made the same exact decisions. We never really know what the final product is going to look like until it's done.
When I really think about it, as much as I love lines, they just create a box. Boxes are constraining. Once full, there is no room for anything else in it. Because I'm human, I'm ultimately going to want more than what there is room for in a box. And regardless of whether I want it or not, I'm given things on a daily basis that I would have never even have thought about making room for in my little limited-vision box in the first place.
So. Now that you all know this about me, I will continue with today's post.
A couple of weeks ago, some pals and I went to one of those places that are the current trendy rage. You know what I'm talking about...you go with your favorite gal pals with a bottle or two of wine in tow in order to drink and paint the night away. In theory, each artist is supposed to walk away with her very own canvas creation that closely mirrors that of the instructor's. Rarely do theory and reality ever mirror each other though. But it wasn't about the actual artwork...it was about the fun and good memories to be made with my people. When the day o' fun arrived, I called one of those two pals in the afternoon prior to meeting. This particular friend is a bit Type A. And she loves a good set of clear instructions. Plus, she likes to be really good at the things she does. [Sometimes I wonder why we are even friends...it's like we cannot relate to each other at all.] In our conversation I confessed my heightened anxiety level over having to paint something in front of complete and total strangers who would for sure be comparing their work to my own work. I knew immediately that I had made a wise choice in calling her because instead of talking me down from my unnecessary ledge, she too confessed that she had created a mantra of "it's just circles, it's just circles, how hard can it be?" in order to prepare for the evening. After a couple of minutes, we checked ourselves before we wrecked ourselves and decided that of course we could do this because after all, according to the picture on the calendar we were just going to be painting circles so it really couldn't possibly be that hard.
Y'all. Have you any idea how difficult it is to paint circles?!?!
Look at me ruining the end of the story. However, it should come as no surprise to anyone who knows me even a little bit that I struggled with painting a bunch of circles. Especially after I tell you all that no where in the place was a finished version of the creation we were supposed to paint. This means that I could see no further than the canvas right in front of me. Sure, the instructor was painting at the same time we were, but I like to see the ultimate goal of what I am trying to get to and then work backwards in a sense to try to get there.
So over the course of a couple of hours on that particular evening, I had the opportunity to ruin a perfectly good blank canvas. But not really. Now that I have an advanced degree in adult learning theory, I'm always looking for the meaning in my experiences. What I lack in painting ability I make up for in analytical prowess.
The truth is that painting a canvas full of undefined circles is one of the best exercises that I could have participated in. Why? Because I have an aversion to the abstract. I love symmetry. I love clearly defined lines. They are even. They are clean without jagged edges. Clean, symmetrical lines look even better on a black and white canvas. Oh, how I love things to be black and white. Why do color printers even have a "gray scale" option? Who needs gray? Not this girl.
I know what some of you may be thinking because I've thought it multiple times in the last 2.5 years: How in the world did this poor girl ever make it this far in life? [Answer: Grace. Not my own, by the way.] Painting a picture of circles without having any circles to look at and go by took me completely out of my comfort zone. I mean...I didn't have a protractor so my circles were not perfect circles. And then I got all sorts of caught up in trying to make the circles within the circles even and the same width. Don't even get me started on color selection. Yes, as a matter of fact I should have drank more than one glass of wine because I would have been much less concerned with symmetry and circle width and color selection.
Nope, this is not some big epiphany that I experienced for the first time in my 32 years. It's yet another reminder of what I've known for quite some time: Life is not black and white. It is not symmetrical with clearly defined lines. There really can be no finished product and pattern to work from because we are all unique individuals. Even when we model our behavior and make decisions based on the influence of others, it looks a little bit different than it would look if another person behaved the same exact way and made the same exact decisions. We never really know what the final product is going to look like until it's done.
When I really think about it, as much as I love lines, they just create a box. Boxes are constraining. Once full, there is no room for anything else in it. Because I'm human, I'm ultimately going to want more than what there is room for in a box. And regardless of whether I want it or not, I'm given things on a daily basis that I would have never even have thought about making room for in my little limited-vision box in the first place.
Remember that reference to grace earlier? For me, it's one of the most abstract things in the world. Just as I am incapable of painting perfect circles, I am incapable of understanding God's perfect grace. But just like the paint filled my ugly, broken and uneven circles and eventually made them whole, his grace fills our ugly, broken, and uneven lives and eventually makes us whole.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Look out for a better outlook.
Preface: If you ended up here after searching for helpful MS Office Outlook hints, you are barking up the wrong tree. Good luck though in finding that out-of-office assistant feature in the most recent version. I once heard about a girl who spent her entire lunch hour plus some looking for it.
It seems to me that as humans, we love to identify ourselves according to our habits, preferences, styles, beliefs, etc. For example, you're either Team Edward or Team Jacob [and don't act like you're above knowing who Edward and Jacob are]. There are night owls and early risers. There are beach people and mountain people. Sure, it's a bit presumptuous of me to make such a claim since I represent only one member of the six-billion plus population, but that social psychology class that I took in undergrad totally qualifies me to do so. For the purposes of this post, it's appropriate that I identify myself as a night owl who would live in a valley surrounded by mountains on all sides [with Edward Cullen, but that's beside the point]. So knowing these fun facts about yours truly, why in the world did I subject myself to the torture of waking up day after day before sunrise while on vacation? Because I was looking for this:
When I was at the beach last September, I took this picture of the sunrise on my last morning there. Some of you may remember that I even wrote about it here. I was inspired. I was wowed. Quite frankly, the weeks leading up to my recent vacation were full of stress and long hours at the office and all of those other things that everybody else deals with on a daily basis in this little rat race that we call life. These factors helped me to develop an inflated sense of entitlement and led me to believe that I was overdue for another "wow" moment. Therefore, I set off in search of one. On Wednesday the sunrise was well, eh. Hakuna matata though because we still had a few more days at the beach. Thursday morning, I cursed my inner need to experience sunrise on the coast of the Atlantic as I stumbled out of bed, put on my best pre-dawn beach attire, found my glasses, camera, and phone and began my two minute journey from hotel room to sand.
Here is evidence that I was up and at 'em at an absurd hour because y'all, you can see the moon in this picture. [It's the tiny little silver sliver in the top center if your eyesight isn't 20/20.]
Much to my dismay, more evident to me than the presence of the moon was the presence of the clouds along the horizon.
I was quite certain that the sun was going to come up directly behind one of those big clouds. What? No, my glass is not half-empty, thankyouverymuch. It's just that I'm a realist. Oh look, there on the left...there's some pink on the top tip of that big cloud.
What's that I spy with my little eyes? More pink?
Oooh...the pink is bringing along some orange with it now. I suppose it could be worse.
But hey, look at this junk that's literally right here in front of me. I wonder if that bird has avian flu? Probably, it looks weird. Hmmm, what's the turquoise thing right there? That's shiny. Ugh, why is seaweed so weedy? If only the sand could be this cool in the middle of the day as opposed to burning the skin off the bottom of my feet hot like it was yesterday. Wait? Why am I out here during the 6 o'clock hour in the first place?
That's right. I remember now. I'm in search of a breath-taking sunrise. Speaking of which, what's that tiny orange dot that I see illuminating the clouds and is beginning to crest on the horizon?
And then over the next few moments, what I had already decided was going to be a poor performance by mother nature, evolved into the center of our universe [for those heliocentrists out there] revealing itself so clearly that the brightness burned my eyes to the point that I finally had to stop looking directly at it. This sunrise happened 4 weeks ago. Yet I have thought about it almost every single day since then. In fact, I started writing this post on August 11, and I had to take a break until tonight because often my simple little mind takes its sweet time thinking and reflecting and processing the "big" stuff. I feel like it would be a waste if I didn't record the "big" stuff [I'm a wordsmith at work, blogosphere.] here for the sake of posterity. I never know when I'm going to need the reminder. Twenty minutes spent on a beach in South Florida one Thursday morning in late July has reminded me of the following:
I do not have the ability to predict outcomes. No matter how clear and obvious it seems in the beginning, my human eyes do not have the ability to see beyond what is right in front of them.
Speaking of right in front of me, all too often I get distracted with the junk that's in my direct line of vision. When I look at the junk, my view never changes. And while that view never changes, there is a whole world changing around me. I was reminded that my focus is so important to my perspective and outlook. Sure, the junk is sometimes shiny and pretty and tangible and more appealing and more immediate than what I'm waiting on. Yet when the shiny and pretty and tangible becomes used and less appealing, all too often I act surprised and find myself wondering why I wasted so much time staring at junk. Junk could be television or drama among people in our lives or that Facebook friend's that you haven't seen since middle school vacation pictures from 2009. When it comes right down to it, I don't want to get so distracted with the junk that I miss what I'm looking for in the first place. Kind of like I almost did on that Thursday morning at the beach when I was waiting for the sun to rise. Recently I read this C.S. Lewis quote from The Screwtape Letters. Typically I avoid Lewis because his writing makes my brain hurt. But I do love it when seemingly unrelated events [sunrise and random book reading 2 weeks later] weave themselves together so I am going to share this quote. Don't be afraid to read it twice, or four times, in order to get it. "Let his inner resolution be not to bear whatever comes to him, but to bear it "for a reasonable period" -and let the reasonable period be shorter than the trial is likely to last. It need not be much shorter...the fun is to make the man yield just when (he had but known it) relief was almost in sight." This quote is from the perspective of the antagonist, by the way. In other words, don't get so impatient and frustrated waiting for a pretty sunrise, Heather, that you give up and get distracted by the insignificant stuff right in front of you.
Just as I cannot predict outcomes, I am incapable of timing events to the nanosecond. Sure, I used my handy smart phone to get a general idea of when the sun was supposed to rise that day, but what exactly does that mean? Is it daybreak? Is it when the sun first peeks over the horizon? Is it when it's fully visible over the horizon? The picture is different at each of those stages. Oh how I would love to be able to predict timing of events. I am a planner to the Nth degree. Yet, if I knew the precise moment and could plan my life accordingly, then I would have literally rolled out of bed 4 minutes before hand just in time to throw on my glasses, shoes, and get to the beach. I would have missed those pink tipped clouds. I would have missed the sliver of moon still visible in the sky. The blinding sun would not have been as glorious because I would have not known those dark clouds that came right before it. The end of a book doesn't really make that much sense unless we've read the chapters leading up to the final sentence.
Try as I might, I cannot control the final outcome of events. Yes, I realized that I mentioned outcomes initially. Yet, obviously it deserves another mention because I am challenged (ahem) when it comes to relinquishing control. I went to the beach looking for and expecting a sunrise like I witnessed last September. On Wednesday, it was boring, but I knew that the sun was going to rise the next day [good Lord willing, that is]. So I went back with the hope and expectation that it was going to be a good show. And it was. Not like I would have predicted, not even like I imagined in my "ideal" sunrise, yet it was glorious. It was new. It was unique to that day. I am glad that my imagination is no better than my eyesight because it sure does make the final outcomes much sweeter.
The view changes quickly. I have been reminded of this more than my little imagination could have ever imagined over the last week. Once the tip of the sun rose above where the sky meets the ocean, it seemed like only seconds until it was fully revealed. If I had taken my eyes off of it for even a second, I would have missed a significant part. I have learned that I must be ready for the view to change because once it starts, it's not going to stop. Then again, perhaps it does. Not so much stop, but just sets like the sun. Fortunately, where I'm at now with this particular situation, it's about 11:00 in the morning which is a pretty good place to be. Life and experience have taught me that if the sun sets or the ship sails or whatever trite analogy you want to insert here happens, then another opportunity or option will come. Not comparable to the one we have held onto from our memory. Different. Better. Brighter. Yet the source is always the same.
It seems to me that as humans, we love to identify ourselves according to our habits, preferences, styles, beliefs, etc. For example, you're either Team Edward or Team Jacob [and don't act like you're above knowing who Edward and Jacob are]. There are night owls and early risers. There are beach people and mountain people. Sure, it's a bit presumptuous of me to make such a claim since I represent only one member of the six-billion plus population, but that social psychology class that I took in undergrad totally qualifies me to do so. For the purposes of this post, it's appropriate that I identify myself as a night owl who would live in a valley surrounded by mountains on all sides [with Edward Cullen, but that's beside the point]. So knowing these fun facts about yours truly, why in the world did I subject myself to the torture of waking up day after day before sunrise while on vacation? Because I was looking for this:
When I was at the beach last September, I took this picture of the sunrise on my last morning there. Some of you may remember that I even wrote about it here. I was inspired. I was wowed. Quite frankly, the weeks leading up to my recent vacation were full of stress and long hours at the office and all of those other things that everybody else deals with on a daily basis in this little rat race that we call life. These factors helped me to develop an inflated sense of entitlement and led me to believe that I was overdue for another "wow" moment. Therefore, I set off in search of one. On Wednesday the sunrise was well, eh. Hakuna matata though because we still had a few more days at the beach. Thursday morning, I cursed my inner need to experience sunrise on the coast of the Atlantic as I stumbled out of bed, put on my best pre-dawn beach attire, found my glasses, camera, and phone and began my two minute journey from hotel room to sand.
Here is evidence that I was up and at 'em at an absurd hour because y'all, you can see the moon in this picture. [It's the tiny little silver sliver in the top center if your eyesight isn't 20/20.]
Much to my dismay, more evident to me than the presence of the moon was the presence of the clouds along the horizon.
I was quite certain that the sun was going to come up directly behind one of those big clouds. What? No, my glass is not half-empty, thankyouverymuch. It's just that I'm a realist. Oh look, there on the left...there's some pink on the top tip of that big cloud.
What's that I spy with my little eyes? More pink?
Oooh...the pink is bringing along some orange with it now. I suppose it could be worse.
But hey, look at this junk that's literally right here in front of me. I wonder if that bird has avian flu? Probably, it looks weird. Hmmm, what's the turquoise thing right there? That's shiny. Ugh, why is seaweed so weedy? If only the sand could be this cool in the middle of the day as opposed to burning the skin off the bottom of my feet hot like it was yesterday. Wait? Why am I out here during the 6 o'clock hour in the first place?
That's right. I remember now. I'm in search of a breath-taking sunrise. Speaking of which, what's that tiny orange dot that I see illuminating the clouds and is beginning to crest on the horizon?
And then over the next few moments, what I had already decided was going to be a poor performance by mother nature, evolved into the center of our universe [for those heliocentrists out there] revealing itself so clearly that the brightness burned my eyes to the point that I finally had to stop looking directly at it. This sunrise happened 4 weeks ago. Yet I have thought about it almost every single day since then. In fact, I started writing this post on August 11, and I had to take a break until tonight because often my simple little mind takes its sweet time thinking and reflecting and processing the "big" stuff. I feel like it would be a waste if I didn't record the "big" stuff [I'm a wordsmith at work, blogosphere.] here for the sake of posterity. I never know when I'm going to need the reminder. Twenty minutes spent on a beach in South Florida one Thursday morning in late July has reminded me of the following:
I do not have the ability to predict outcomes. No matter how clear and obvious it seems in the beginning, my human eyes do not have the ability to see beyond what is right in front of them.
Speaking of right in front of me, all too often I get distracted with the junk that's in my direct line of vision. When I look at the junk, my view never changes. And while that view never changes, there is a whole world changing around me. I was reminded that my focus is so important to my perspective and outlook. Sure, the junk is sometimes shiny and pretty and tangible and more appealing and more immediate than what I'm waiting on. Yet when the shiny and pretty and tangible becomes used and less appealing, all too often I act surprised and find myself wondering why I wasted so much time staring at junk. Junk could be television or drama among people in our lives or that Facebook friend's that you haven't seen since middle school vacation pictures from 2009. When it comes right down to it, I don't want to get so distracted with the junk that I miss what I'm looking for in the first place. Kind of like I almost did on that Thursday morning at the beach when I was waiting for the sun to rise. Recently I read this C.S. Lewis quote from The Screwtape Letters. Typically I avoid Lewis because his writing makes my brain hurt. But I do love it when seemingly unrelated events [sunrise and random book reading 2 weeks later] weave themselves together so I am going to share this quote. Don't be afraid to read it twice, or four times, in order to get it. "Let his inner resolution be not to bear whatever comes to him, but to bear it "for a reasonable period" -and let the reasonable period be shorter than the trial is likely to last. It need not be much shorter...the fun is to make the man yield just when (he had but known it) relief was almost in sight." This quote is from the perspective of the antagonist, by the way. In other words, don't get so impatient and frustrated waiting for a pretty sunrise, Heather, that you give up and get distracted by the insignificant stuff right in front of you.
Just as I cannot predict outcomes, I am incapable of timing events to the nanosecond. Sure, I used my handy smart phone to get a general idea of when the sun was supposed to rise that day, but what exactly does that mean? Is it daybreak? Is it when the sun first peeks over the horizon? Is it when it's fully visible over the horizon? The picture is different at each of those stages. Oh how I would love to be able to predict timing of events. I am a planner to the Nth degree. Yet, if I knew the precise moment and could plan my life accordingly, then I would have literally rolled out of bed 4 minutes before hand just in time to throw on my glasses, shoes, and get to the beach. I would have missed those pink tipped clouds. I would have missed the sliver of moon still visible in the sky. The blinding sun would not have been as glorious because I would have not known those dark clouds that came right before it. The end of a book doesn't really make that much sense unless we've read the chapters leading up to the final sentence.
Try as I might, I cannot control the final outcome of events. Yes, I realized that I mentioned outcomes initially. Yet, obviously it deserves another mention because I am challenged (ahem) when it comes to relinquishing control. I went to the beach looking for and expecting a sunrise like I witnessed last September. On Wednesday, it was boring, but I knew that the sun was going to rise the next day [good Lord willing, that is]. So I went back with the hope and expectation that it was going to be a good show. And it was. Not like I would have predicted, not even like I imagined in my "ideal" sunrise, yet it was glorious. It was new. It was unique to that day. I am glad that my imagination is no better than my eyesight because it sure does make the final outcomes much sweeter.
The view changes quickly. I have been reminded of this more than my little imagination could have ever imagined over the last week. Once the tip of the sun rose above where the sky meets the ocean, it seemed like only seconds until it was fully revealed. If I had taken my eyes off of it for even a second, I would have missed a significant part. I have learned that I must be ready for the view to change because once it starts, it's not going to stop. Then again, perhaps it does. Not so much stop, but just sets like the sun. Fortunately, where I'm at now with this particular situation, it's about 11:00 in the morning which is a pretty good place to be. Life and experience have taught me that if the sun sets or the ship sails or whatever trite analogy you want to insert here happens, then another opportunity or option will come. Not comparable to the one we have held onto from our memory. Different. Better. Brighter. Yet the source is always the same.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
"Why did you look so sad?"
This morning I had the opportunity to speak with a class of 6th graders because I participate in a local area adopt-a-class program. I know what some of you are thinking: "Ugh, middle school." To be honest, I was kind of thinking that myself as I prepared my presentation. Who here remembers middle school? Perhaps the better question is, who here remembers middle school fondly?
I must admit that these kiddos were the highlight of my day. Perhaps it's because we are only in the second week of school and the 6th grade group is still doe-eyed and excited about all things related to middle school. Or perhaps it's because I didn't give them enough credit. To my surprise they were full of questions which is a nice change of pace from the high school seniors who know all there is to know about everything that typically fill my normal work day. A few questions included:
His question was in regards to this:
As my introduction, I included slides that explained that it was 1990 when I was their age, George H.W. Bush was president, etc. And then I included 3 pictures of myself from my 6th grade year. This move would have been complete social suicide 20 years ago. Fortunately my peers are no longer 11, and I wore my hair straight today as a means of boosting my confidence when I showed the pictures.
Why did I look so sad? Let me count the reasons:
I must admit that these kiddos were the highlight of my day. Perhaps it's because we are only in the second week of school and the 6th grade group is still doe-eyed and excited about all things related to middle school. Or perhaps it's because I didn't give them enough credit. To my surprise they were full of questions which is a nice change of pace from the high school seniors who know all there is to know about everything that typically fill my normal work day. A few questions included:
- "How old do you have to be to go to college?"
- "How old were you when you went to college?"
- "Are you married?"
- "How old is the oldest person to go to college?"
- "Who are New Kids on the Block?" [Just go with it.]
His question was in regards to this:
As my introduction, I included slides that explained that it was 1990 when I was their age, George H.W. Bush was president, etc. And then I included 3 pictures of myself from my 6th grade year. This move would have been complete social suicide 20 years ago. Fortunately my peers are no longer 11, and I wore my hair straight today as a means of boosting my confidence when I showed the pictures.
Why did I look so sad? Let me count the reasons:
- I was wearing glasses that both Sally Jesse Raphael and Steve Urkel would have beaten me up in a dark alley to take for their own.
- My hair was 4 times bigger than my actual head.
- I was wearing a blazer. With shoulder pads. At the age of 11.
- And pantyhose. Why in the world was I wearing pantyhose at the age of 11 underneath pants?
Friday, August 5, 2011
My Summer Vacation. Brought to you by the letter "S".
They say that a picture is worth a thousand words which you all should be thankful for in this particular situation. Instead of an 8,000 word post, I present to you all here in the blogosphere 8 pictures that best sum up my vacation last week. Quite frankly, I couldn't muster up the energy to type 8,000 words right now if my life depended upon it. [Good thing I didn't leave my flair for the dramatic at the beach, huh?] This week of going to work for 5 whole days in a row for 8 hours at a time has worn me out. I think the only remedy is a vacation.
Side note: Blogger has frustrated me beyond measure because I did not upload these pictures in this order. And I can't get them to move. I don't so much think it's the pictures' refusal to move as opposed to the operator's inability to make it happen.
Without further ado...
Sunrise.
"Sexy" Senior Citizens in Speedos.
Surf and Sun.
As a matter of fact, I did go through an entire bottle of SPF 45 and SPF 70 sunscreen in a 5 day period.
Sweet Snacks.
Shark Attacks.
Standing in Line. You know how Moses led the people through the wilderness for 40 years and he never actually made it to the promised land? I can totally relate.
In conclusion, a good time was had by all.
Side note: Blogger has frustrated me beyond measure because I did not upload these pictures in this order. And I can't get them to move. I don't so much think it's the pictures' refusal to move as opposed to the operator's inability to make it happen.
Without further ado...
Starbucks.
I'm sure my mid-afternoon lethargy in this office this week has no connection to our morning and afternoon vacation ritual.
Sunrise.Tuesday was the only morning I was not up in time for the sunrise. Primarily because I had been up since 3:00 am on Monday morning in time for the 7:15 flight.
Sand.
South Florida sand is different than North Florida sand. There's really not much that gets by me.
"Sexy" Senior Citizens in Speedos.I'm pretty sure he was an extra in the movie "Where the Boys Are" that was set in Ft. Lauderdale. In 1960. I'm also pretty a sure that a more appropriate "S" descriptor is "scary".
Surf and Sun.
Sweet Snacks.My daily Starbucks habit was aided and abetted by my daily ice cream shop habit.
Shark Attacks.My grandma told me before we left to look out for sharks because they were coming out of the deeper waters and closer to shore. Turns out, she was right.
Standing in Line. 
In conclusion, a good time was had by all.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
More vacation, please.
I just got back from vacation. It was grand and glorious and relaxing. I'm sure those three words were the exact ones that came to your mind upon seeing the above picture. And just as soon as I finish painting clothes on the other inappropriately dressed vacationers, I'll be back with another post. Patience, please. There's a chance that it's going to take me at least until this time next year to get all of those edits done.Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da...
If you know me at all then you know that my brain is absolutely full of useless and random knowledge. Who here needs to know what kind of car the Director of Career Services at North Georgia College & State University drove between the years of 1997-2001? Duh, a white Honda Accord...probably a 1995 model. What? You find this odd? If so, then you may also find it odd that while I can remember that kind of information, I cannot for the life of me remember exactly what date it was when my dad passed away. Sure, I vividly remember that I was wearing a turquoise sundress with smocking at the top and that I had watched the movie "Up" [cue Alanis Morrisette's Ironic here] earlier that day and what I had eaten for lunch and how the next afternoon Maggie and Katie drove me back to Athens to help me pack for the visitation and funeral, but as to exactly what day it was in June of 2009...that detail is a blur.
As it turns out, it was June 14 which means that as of yesterday, I have now made two trips around the sun without my dad here with me. There's not a day that goes by that I don't think of him even though when he was still here with us, many days would go by between our conversations. You know what they say about taking things and people for granted? Well, they were right. I do miss him terribly. I've learned that the thing about missing someone is that sadness isn't the only emotion associated with those feelings. Sometimes it's happiness. Other times it's anger. Sometimes it's relief. Relief? Yep, as in "I'm so glad that daddy isn't here to say 'I told you so.'" When I think back over the last two years, I can't even begin to list [nor are you interested in reading] the ways that I have changed and grown. But you know, I've decided that's what we're supposed to do. Even when some of the people that we love aren't here to see it happen. Life really does go on. I think moving forward is one of the greatest ways to honor the loved ones that we have lost. [That's eerily close to a line in the Phi Mu creed without me even intending for it to be.] Just this morning as I was driving from one campus to the other I heard Don Henley's song Dirty Laundry on the radio. Sure, maybe not every child associates this song with their childhood (which is probably a good thing) but I could not help but to smile to myself as I was "rockin' out" and think about the fact that this was a regular hit played during the Friday Night Dance parties in the Page household. Had I heard this song 2 years ago, it would have made me burst into tears because the grief was still too new and the territory of loss too unfamiliar. But the human heart has an amazing ability to heal without developing too much scar tissue around it to block the feeling of any emotion. Trust me on this one.
Perhaps one of the reasons why I can't really remember the date that dad died is because I would rather remember the good than the bad. However, I also believe that healing and moving forward requires us to remember the bad too. Remember how I wrote earlier that sometimes when I miss him that I am also angry? I've learned that anger is also a natural part of loss. I get angry that he chose cigarettes [PSA: PUT OUT YOUR CIGGIES. LIKE NOW. THANKS.] I get angry that he wasn't the kind of dad that doted constantly over his little girl. [But if he had been that dad, my sarcasm would have never lived up to its full potential now would it?] Or I get angry that I didn't work harder at my relationship with him during my adult years. In the first year or so, I felt guilty for getting angry. You know, it's like a rule to not speak ill of the dead or something, right? I find that ironic considering we rarely have a problem speaking ill of people when they are alive and kicking! I've learned that there's a difference though between getting angry and staying angry. Staying angry is what prevents us from moving forward in life.
Two years ago today I wrote what I had the privilege of reading at his funeral. Honestly, I haven't read it since. But I'm posting it here today in the event that I decide to do so in the future. I'm sure there are grammatical errors and typo's and I could have said it differently or better, but it was my heart. And even though he would have never said it out loud to me because for better or for worse that's not the kind of person he was, I know that Daddy was most proud of me when I put my heart into something.
I am much better at putting words on paper than actually speaking them, but today is a special day so I am going to give this my best shot. With any luck, you all will have the opportunity to help me out in these next few moments as I’m speaking by laughing and smiling instead of crying and looking forlorn. Even if nothing that I say is the least bit funny, laugh anyway because we all know that is what my Daddy would prefer. When mama, the boys, and I began to discuss how we wanted him to be remembered, we decided that we wanted it to be done in a manner so that the life that he lived on this earth is celebrated by all of his family and dear friends.
The truth is, it's a hard thing to watch someone you love with all of your heart pass from this world into the next. Especially when that person once stood 6'4" and was the strongest person you knew. Even though it's the natural progression of life for a parent to pass away before a child does, it's also natural for a child to expect that his or her parents are always going to be here. They are mama and daddy and when it seems that nothing else in life is constant, they are.
Selfishly, I'm thinking about all of the things that I still need my daddy for. Who's going to ask me if I have checked the oil in my car lately? Recently he fell down a little bit on this job because it just so happened that I randomly checked my oil and there was essentially none whatsoever in the reserve. And yes, the fact that there was a reminder sticker for my next oil change which was obviously long overdue in the top left hand corner of my windshield is absolutely a moot point. I had no idea that it was possible to receive so many phone calls from the same person in a one mile stretch of road between my apartment and the gas station, but in that moment I was not an irresponsible 30 year old, but simply his little girl and he wanted to make sure that I was going to make it safely without any problems.
Who is going to call me during the middle of my favorite TV show just to say hello? Was it a coincidence that these phone calls typically always took place during the same time each week? I hardly think so. He just liked to keep me grounded by reminding me that people are always more important than TV shows. Who am I kidding? He always did it to simply annoy me beyond measure.
Who is going to remind me of what a wise decision I made to raise and train a Chocolate Lab puppy in a one bedroom apartment? As if the chewed up shoes, furniture, pillows, and kitchen flooring is not reminder enough.
Who is going to give me away on my wedding day? Though I can only imagine the argument that would have ensued when I informed Daddy that wearing overalls to walk me down the aisle was absolutely against proper attire protocol, I find it quite unfortunate that I will never have the chance to have such a discussion.
While on the one hand I feel absolutely cheated and robbed of so many memories that I never got the opportunity to make with my daddy, on the other, I feel so fortunate to have had him for the years that I did. As I think back through the years, it seems as if a flood gate has been opened up and the memories come to mind in flashes one right after the other. If there was a way in which I could bottle them up forever so as not to forget a single one, I would.
Take for instance, the weekend "dance parties" that he, mama, and I had when I was a little girl. He was the DJ while Mama and I would dance up a storm to whatever record was spinning on the turntable. Because of him, I could identify John Fogerty’s voice quicker than the average 6 year-old.
My daddy never got the chance to see the Laser Show at Stone Mountain. It's not that we never went, it's that once we got there, I would freak out over the fact that there was going to be fireworks at the end so Daddy always carried me back out to the car because I was so scared. He finally issued an ultimatum and said that if I ever saw the Laser Show, I would have to drive myself there in order to do so. Now each time I go, I always tell him what a great show he is missing out on and how he really should get down there and see it sometime. Something makes me think that those lasers might look a little piddly compared to the sights he is currently taking in.
Daddy was my softball coach for years. It was the father/daughter activity that he and I did together. It was how we bonded. But the thing is, on the field he treated us all as equals and it wasn’t that I was just another player; it was that we were all his little girls.
I love that daddy was sometimes a bit spontaneous. Take for instance that time he went out and finally bought a VCR because I was at home sick with strep throat and needed something to watch on TV. Because everyone knows that back-to-back episodes of Little House on the Prairie were not adequate enough for a bed ridden elementary schooler. And let’s not even talk about the time he decided to buy me a Nintendo the week before the Christmas when I got a computer as my big gift. …and people wondered why I had such a difficult time relinquishing my only child status at the age of 14.
I’ve never been more thankful for these memories than I am right now.
Daddy was a man who was filled with love.
My daddy loved kids. He was never happier than to just sit and watch kids play or pick at them in his good-natured manner. I cannot tell you the number of little girls he has thoroughly confused by asking them what their name was before they got married. He would have been an incredible grandfather. I'm sorry that my children will never get the opportunity while here on this Earth to know their Grandpa Page.
My daddy loved making people laugh. He was witty, sharp, and absolutely hilarious. Of course I think this because my humor is very much like his…sophisticated. He taught me how to take a joke which is one of the most valuable life lessons I have ever learned. Even though many of those lessons were not always very fun at the time!
My daddy loved his family. How do I know that he loved us? Because one of the Waffle House waitresses that showed up during visitation told me how much he talked to her about his family, that’s how. Not to mention the fact that he told us and showed us that he loved us too.
And this I think is the hardest part about losing him. We all loved him back very much and when you really love someone, these are the people that you take for granted. You say things that maybe you shouldn't say. Or don't say things that you should. How I wish that I could have just one more conversation with him…even if it was during my favorite TV show. I remember the very last thing I said to him on the Sunday afternoon before he was put into the hospital on Tuesday as I was leaving to go back to Athens. Of course I needed him to do something for me, and it breaks my heart to know that this cannot happen now. My heart also breaks when I think about how losing a parent is a big thing for a 30 year old to grasp…I cannot imagine experiencing this at 16 or 11. It breaks my heart to watch my mama grieve the loss of her teammate...her soulmate...the love of her life.
My daddy loved naps. I can remember hours of endless frustration as a child when he would go lie down for just a quick nap…and wake up 2 hours later. But now that I’m older and wiser, I can see that when one works as hard as he did for so many years, a 2 hour nap every now and again is quite justifiable after being worn out from a hard day’s work.
In his last days, he was probably the most tired he had ever been. He fought hard. He defied the odds because his doctor told us twice in 12 days that he would not make it through the night. [Have I mentioned that my daddy was a bit stubborn and liked to do things on his own timeline?] Praise Jesus that my daddy is not tired anymore. He is at rest on this earth, but alive and well and enjoying quite a welcome home party in his new forever home. I don't know if overalls fit the dress code in Heaven, but I like to think that he had a brand new pair waiting for him once he got there.
I’m really going to miss my daddy. But I am so thankful for the time that I had him, and I take comfort in knowing that I will see him again one day. I am most thankful that we both have a Heavenly father who makes this pending reunion possible. So until then, I will rest in God’s promises and celebrate my earthly daddy as I strive to live in a manner that would make them both proud to be my father. And rejoice. I will definitely rejoice. I hope that you all will join me in doing so as well.
“Rejoice in the Lord always. Again I will say, rejoice! Let your gentleness be known to all men. The Lord is at hand. Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Jesus Christ.” –Philippians 4:4-7
As it turns out, it was June 14 which means that as of yesterday, I have now made two trips around the sun without my dad here with me. There's not a day that goes by that I don't think of him even though when he was still here with us, many days would go by between our conversations. You know what they say about taking things and people for granted? Well, they were right. I do miss him terribly. I've learned that the thing about missing someone is that sadness isn't the only emotion associated with those feelings. Sometimes it's happiness. Other times it's anger. Sometimes it's relief. Relief? Yep, as in "I'm so glad that daddy isn't here to say 'I told you so.'" When I think back over the last two years, I can't even begin to list [nor are you interested in reading] the ways that I have changed and grown. But you know, I've decided that's what we're supposed to do. Even when some of the people that we love aren't here to see it happen. Life really does go on. I think moving forward is one of the greatest ways to honor the loved ones that we have lost. [That's eerily close to a line in the Phi Mu creed without me even intending for it to be.] Just this morning as I was driving from one campus to the other I heard Don Henley's song Dirty Laundry on the radio. Sure, maybe not every child associates this song with their childhood (which is probably a good thing) but I could not help but to smile to myself as I was "rockin' out" and think about the fact that this was a regular hit played during the Friday Night Dance parties in the Page household. Had I heard this song 2 years ago, it would have made me burst into tears because the grief was still too new and the territory of loss too unfamiliar. But the human heart has an amazing ability to heal without developing too much scar tissue around it to block the feeling of any emotion. Trust me on this one.
Perhaps one of the reasons why I can't really remember the date that dad died is because I would rather remember the good than the bad. However, I also believe that healing and moving forward requires us to remember the bad too. Remember how I wrote earlier that sometimes when I miss him that I am also angry? I've learned that anger is also a natural part of loss. I get angry that he chose cigarettes [PSA: PUT OUT YOUR CIGGIES. LIKE NOW. THANKS.] I get angry that he wasn't the kind of dad that doted constantly over his little girl. [But if he had been that dad, my sarcasm would have never lived up to its full potential now would it?] Or I get angry that I didn't work harder at my relationship with him during my adult years. In the first year or so, I felt guilty for getting angry. You know, it's like a rule to not speak ill of the dead or something, right? I find that ironic considering we rarely have a problem speaking ill of people when they are alive and kicking! I've learned that there's a difference though between getting angry and staying angry. Staying angry is what prevents us from moving forward in life.
Two years ago today I wrote what I had the privilege of reading at his funeral. Honestly, I haven't read it since. But I'm posting it here today in the event that I decide to do so in the future. I'm sure there are grammatical errors and typo's and I could have said it differently or better, but it was my heart. And even though he would have never said it out loud to me because for better or for worse that's not the kind of person he was, I know that Daddy was most proud of me when I put my heart into something.
I am much better at putting words on paper than actually speaking them, but today is a special day so I am going to give this my best shot. With any luck, you all will have the opportunity to help me out in these next few moments as I’m speaking by laughing and smiling instead of crying and looking forlorn. Even if nothing that I say is the least bit funny, laugh anyway because we all know that is what my Daddy would prefer. When mama, the boys, and I began to discuss how we wanted him to be remembered, we decided that we wanted it to be done in a manner so that the life that he lived on this earth is celebrated by all of his family and dear friends.
The truth is, it's a hard thing to watch someone you love with all of your heart pass from this world into the next. Especially when that person once stood 6'4" and was the strongest person you knew. Even though it's the natural progression of life for a parent to pass away before a child does, it's also natural for a child to expect that his or her parents are always going to be here. They are mama and daddy and when it seems that nothing else in life is constant, they are.
Selfishly, I'm thinking about all of the things that I still need my daddy for. Who's going to ask me if I have checked the oil in my car lately? Recently he fell down a little bit on this job because it just so happened that I randomly checked my oil and there was essentially none whatsoever in the reserve. And yes, the fact that there was a reminder sticker for my next oil change which was obviously long overdue in the top left hand corner of my windshield is absolutely a moot point. I had no idea that it was possible to receive so many phone calls from the same person in a one mile stretch of road between my apartment and the gas station, but in that moment I was not an irresponsible 30 year old, but simply his little girl and he wanted to make sure that I was going to make it safely without any problems.
Who is going to call me during the middle of my favorite TV show just to say hello? Was it a coincidence that these phone calls typically always took place during the same time each week? I hardly think so. He just liked to keep me grounded by reminding me that people are always more important than TV shows. Who am I kidding? He always did it to simply annoy me beyond measure.
Who is going to remind me of what a wise decision I made to raise and train a Chocolate Lab puppy in a one bedroom apartment? As if the chewed up shoes, furniture, pillows, and kitchen flooring is not reminder enough.
Who is going to give me away on my wedding day? Though I can only imagine the argument that would have ensued when I informed Daddy that wearing overalls to walk me down the aisle was absolutely against proper attire protocol, I find it quite unfortunate that I will never have the chance to have such a discussion.
While on the one hand I feel absolutely cheated and robbed of so many memories that I never got the opportunity to make with my daddy, on the other, I feel so fortunate to have had him for the years that I did. As I think back through the years, it seems as if a flood gate has been opened up and the memories come to mind in flashes one right after the other. If there was a way in which I could bottle them up forever so as not to forget a single one, I would.
Take for instance, the weekend "dance parties" that he, mama, and I had when I was a little girl. He was the DJ while Mama and I would dance up a storm to whatever record was spinning on the turntable. Because of him, I could identify John Fogerty’s voice quicker than the average 6 year-old.
My daddy never got the chance to see the Laser Show at Stone Mountain. It's not that we never went, it's that once we got there, I would freak out over the fact that there was going to be fireworks at the end so Daddy always carried me back out to the car because I was so scared. He finally issued an ultimatum and said that if I ever saw the Laser Show, I would have to drive myself there in order to do so. Now each time I go, I always tell him what a great show he is missing out on and how he really should get down there and see it sometime. Something makes me think that those lasers might look a little piddly compared to the sights he is currently taking in.
Daddy was my softball coach for years. It was the father/daughter activity that he and I did together. It was how we bonded. But the thing is, on the field he treated us all as equals and it wasn’t that I was just another player; it was that we were all his little girls.
I love that daddy was sometimes a bit spontaneous. Take for instance that time he went out and finally bought a VCR because I was at home sick with strep throat and needed something to watch on TV. Because everyone knows that back-to-back episodes of Little House on the Prairie were not adequate enough for a bed ridden elementary schooler. And let’s not even talk about the time he decided to buy me a Nintendo the week before the Christmas when I got a computer as my big gift. …and people wondered why I had such a difficult time relinquishing my only child status at the age of 14.
I’ve never been more thankful for these memories than I am right now.
Daddy was a man who was filled with love.
My daddy loved kids. He was never happier than to just sit and watch kids play or pick at them in his good-natured manner. I cannot tell you the number of little girls he has thoroughly confused by asking them what their name was before they got married. He would have been an incredible grandfather. I'm sorry that my children will never get the opportunity while here on this Earth to know their Grandpa Page.
My daddy loved making people laugh. He was witty, sharp, and absolutely hilarious. Of course I think this because my humor is very much like his…sophisticated. He taught me how to take a joke which is one of the most valuable life lessons I have ever learned. Even though many of those lessons were not always very fun at the time!
My daddy loved his family. How do I know that he loved us? Because one of the Waffle House waitresses that showed up during visitation told me how much he talked to her about his family, that’s how. Not to mention the fact that he told us and showed us that he loved us too.
And this I think is the hardest part about losing him. We all loved him back very much and when you really love someone, these are the people that you take for granted. You say things that maybe you shouldn't say. Or don't say things that you should. How I wish that I could have just one more conversation with him…even if it was during my favorite TV show. I remember the very last thing I said to him on the Sunday afternoon before he was put into the hospital on Tuesday as I was leaving to go back to Athens. Of course I needed him to do something for me, and it breaks my heart to know that this cannot happen now. My heart also breaks when I think about how losing a parent is a big thing for a 30 year old to grasp…I cannot imagine experiencing this at 16 or 11. It breaks my heart to watch my mama grieve the loss of her teammate...her soulmate...the love of her life.
My daddy loved naps. I can remember hours of endless frustration as a child when he would go lie down for just a quick nap…and wake up 2 hours later. But now that I’m older and wiser, I can see that when one works as hard as he did for so many years, a 2 hour nap every now and again is quite justifiable after being worn out from a hard day’s work.
In his last days, he was probably the most tired he had ever been. He fought hard. He defied the odds because his doctor told us twice in 12 days that he would not make it through the night. [Have I mentioned that my daddy was a bit stubborn and liked to do things on his own timeline?] Praise Jesus that my daddy is not tired anymore. He is at rest on this earth, but alive and well and enjoying quite a welcome home party in his new forever home. I don't know if overalls fit the dress code in Heaven, but I like to think that he had a brand new pair waiting for him once he got there.
I’m really going to miss my daddy. But I am so thankful for the time that I had him, and I take comfort in knowing that I will see him again one day. I am most thankful that we both have a Heavenly father who makes this pending reunion possible. So until then, I will rest in God’s promises and celebrate my earthly daddy as I strive to live in a manner that would make them both proud to be my father. And rejoice. I will definitely rejoice. I hope that you all will join me in doing so as well.
“Rejoice in the Lord always. Again I will say, rejoice! Let your gentleness be known to all men. The Lord is at hand. Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Jesus Christ.” –Philippians 4:4-7
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