The other day, I stopped at a hotel to use the restroom on my way from Tennessee to Ohio.
Yes...a hotel.
I started using hotel restrooms when I was potty-training my daughter because they are usually very clean. Years later, I still use hotel restrooms for the very same reason.
Sometimes there are paper seat covers provided above the toilet. I always pull those things apart so that when I put the cover in its proper place, the center drops into the water and it can be flushed away when I’m finished with nature’s call. Always nice to have that added little bit of protection since my mother taught me that I should never, never, ever sit on a naked toilet seat.
All that is fine as long as the “eye” (that tells the toilet when to flush) isn't too quick on the draw. My exasperation came when I would place the seat cover and turn around to sit on it only to hear the big flush before I could accomplish what I came for!
Wait! I didn’t even get to sit down!!!
So I placed another cover on the seat...turned around again and “flush!” It happened again!
Third time’s a charm, they say (whoever ‘they’ are) so I made my third attempt on the task at hand. And for the third time, it happened! Premature flushing.
I felt like that poor, hapless Charlie Chaplin in one of his movies...or Lucille Ball...or maybe I was on Candid Camera! No. I knew better than that. And there was no one else involved in this situation so I knew that it wouldn’t be an episode of ABC’s show “What Would You Do?” John Quinones wouldn’t be lurking outside the stall.
So, I gave it ONE MORE TRY. I got myself ‘ready’ so that when the cover was in place I could drop down quickly and beat the flush!
Didn’t make it.
Mother, I sat on a bare-naked toilet seat. I knew better, but the flusher had me beat.
(Hey...that rhymes!)
I always close my blog postings with this thought:
If you have a pulse, then you have a purpose. Make your life count!
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Saturday, October 6, 2012
More Dobie Tales (not tails)
I’m writing this blog entry while in our Virginia home. My husband and I have the family home, the house we will likely retire to someday...in a little coal-mining town called Appalachia, Virginia. Yes, there is an area called Appalachia, but there is also a town by that name where my hubby was born and raised.
The Greens moved into this house in 1950, when Joe was just eight months old. His oldest brother was born in 1937 and one more Green was added to the family in 1960 bringing the grand total of seven children for Roy and Mary Ruth. In fact, the last child was born on Mary Ruth’s 45th birthday. And he was not a surprise baby either! Some folks call them “uh-ohs” or “surprise blessings” but David was planned. Roy asked Mary Ruth one day if she missed having a little one around the house (Joe was 10 years old by this time) and she said she did.
“Why don’t we have just one more?”
“Alright,” said Mary Ruth and next thing you know...David was on his way! His arrival came a little too early and he struggled those first months. But all the while, his mother ‘kept the faith’ and Dave grew to be a strong and healthy member of the Green clan. He is now one of seven undertakers in the family, with the latest one being the fourth generation in the funeral business.
Joe and his oldest brother are ordained United Methodist ministers, so you could say the Greens are a ‘full-service family.’ They can marry ‘em and bury ‘em!!!
My hubby tells people that the hardest thing I had to get used to when we married was learning to sleep in a bed with a lid on it. (Remember that this is the same man who proposed to me in a cemetery, asking me if I’d like to be buried in the family plot!) His daddy saw me putting my makeup on by the light of the kitchen window one day and told me if I handed him my brushes and laid out on the kitchen table he could make me look really natural...just like I was asleep! He was a funny guy so his son comes by his humor honestly.
Back to the house...
We inherited this wonderful old place after Joe’s mother went to heaven in 2009. I think the house was built around 1920...big brick structure with two floors, a full basement and wonderful old attic that is fun to explore. The house has good bones. After the rest of the children got the furniture and things out that they wanted, Joe and I began to move many of our things into the place. It is really special to sit in the living room and look around. Some of the furniture that I inherited from my mother and daddy is mingled in with his parents’ furniture. It gives me a warm feeling to see it all together like that...kind of like the two of us!
When the family gathers here now, it is so meaningful to Joe and me because this is what his parents enjoyed...having a house filled with family, lots of activity, laughter and music.
The only one in ‘our family’ who doesn’t seem to feel content here is our dog, Dobie. When we come up once every thirty days to spend a night here for insurance purposes, he usually travels along. He’ll follow us around as if he thinks we’re going to suddenly leave him here. It’s kind of the way he acted when we first moved into our new home in Cleveland, Tennessee but he finally became contented there. Here...not so much.
It’s almost 3:00 in the morning as I’m writing this. I fell asleep around 10:30 last night and slept soundly until about an hour ago. My sleep patterns have been that way of late. Sure hope this stage passes soon because I enjoy a good night’s sleep and miss having them!
Dobie seemed to know that I was awake and moved around on his chair, rearranging the blanket he is now comfortably curled into. But not long after I awakened, I sent him into a frenzy of ‘poodle proportions!’ All I had to do was mention two magic words in the form of a question.
“Go outside?”
Suddenly he did his little routine that he does each time the question is asked, which is licking his lips...running around in circles...and yipping. Sometimes he cuts such a shine, running in circles even on top of us, that we can’t stop laughing! And we’ll let him go on and on and on, which is kind of mean on our part because he probably really needs to GO!
Why does he lick his lips when he’s going out to do his ‘business?’
I don’t do that.
Joe doesn’t do that.
Do you?
Dobie does it because he knows that when the deed is done, he will get a treat! And he’ll launch into the routine again after he is finished with the job until he gets it.
No one ever gives me a treat when I do my business. If they did...trust me, I’d be bigger than I am now because I do my business a LOT!
Dobie is crate trained thanks to our son-in-law, who suggested it when we purchased the poodle. Best idea ever! (Andrew's had other good ideas since then, too.) But the other night, the pooch brought a whole new meaning to the term ‘crate trained.’
Our coffee table is an old chicken crate. My father thought that was a really dumb idea when I was out in the driveway scrubbing the feathers and other stuff out of it. But even he admitted it was a cool idea after seeing it in front of our sofa.
It’s filled with character now...water spots, scratches (that blend in with the ones that were already there) and crayon marks. I smile almost every time I notice them because my little girl (who is now a graphic designer for HGTV) put them there while diligently coloring in one of her coloring books or sketch books.
There are two places in the crate where ‘rungs’ are missing (...those posts that are in place to keep the chickens in place). Well somehow, Dobie squeezed himself in thru one of them the other night. Joe and I were looking around calling him and he wasn’t coming to us. We didn’t see him right away but heard this little pigeon-type noise coming from the crate. Yes, he makes a pigeon sound. Strange for a dog, I know...but look who is owners are! Looking down, there was this pitiful poodle laying in the chicken crate with no hope of escape. We tried coaxing him out by putting our hands next to the spaces where he’d obviously gotten in through. He wouldn’t budge. Finally, Joe brought a treat to the crate. Dobie began going around in circles and licking his lips right then and there before convincing himself that a treat was worth the risk of squeezing through his tight spot.
Even in the chicken crate he did his little routine!
That night Dobie brought a whole new meaning to the term being ‘crated trained!’
Remember...if you have a pulse, you have a purpose. Make your life count!
The Greens moved into this house in 1950, when Joe was just eight months old. His oldest brother was born in 1937 and one more Green was added to the family in 1960 bringing the grand total of seven children for Roy and Mary Ruth. In fact, the last child was born on Mary Ruth’s 45th birthday. And he was not a surprise baby either! Some folks call them “uh-ohs” or “surprise blessings” but David was planned. Roy asked Mary Ruth one day if she missed having a little one around the house (Joe was 10 years old by this time) and she said she did.
“Why don’t we have just one more?”
“Alright,” said Mary Ruth and next thing you know...David was on his way! His arrival came a little too early and he struggled those first months. But all the while, his mother ‘kept the faith’ and Dave grew to be a strong and healthy member of the Green clan. He is now one of seven undertakers in the family, with the latest one being the fourth generation in the funeral business.
Joe and his oldest brother are ordained United Methodist ministers, so you could say the Greens are a ‘full-service family.’ They can marry ‘em and bury ‘em!!!
My hubby tells people that the hardest thing I had to get used to when we married was learning to sleep in a bed with a lid on it. (Remember that this is the same man who proposed to me in a cemetery, asking me if I’d like to be buried in the family plot!) His daddy saw me putting my makeup on by the light of the kitchen window one day and told me if I handed him my brushes and laid out on the kitchen table he could make me look really natural...just like I was asleep! He was a funny guy so his son comes by his humor honestly.
Back to the house...
We inherited this wonderful old place after Joe’s mother went to heaven in 2009. I think the house was built around 1920...big brick structure with two floors, a full basement and wonderful old attic that is fun to explore. The house has good bones. After the rest of the children got the furniture and things out that they wanted, Joe and I began to move many of our things into the place. It is really special to sit in the living room and look around. Some of the furniture that I inherited from my mother and daddy is mingled in with his parents’ furniture. It gives me a warm feeling to see it all together like that...kind of like the two of us!
When the family gathers here now, it is so meaningful to Joe and me because this is what his parents enjoyed...having a house filled with family, lots of activity, laughter and music.
The only one in ‘our family’ who doesn’t seem to feel content here is our dog, Dobie. When we come up once every thirty days to spend a night here for insurance purposes, he usually travels along. He’ll follow us around as if he thinks we’re going to suddenly leave him here. It’s kind of the way he acted when we first moved into our new home in Cleveland, Tennessee but he finally became contented there. Here...not so much.
It’s almost 3:00 in the morning as I’m writing this. I fell asleep around 10:30 last night and slept soundly until about an hour ago. My sleep patterns have been that way of late. Sure hope this stage passes soon because I enjoy a good night’s sleep and miss having them!
Dobie seemed to know that I was awake and moved around on his chair, rearranging the blanket he is now comfortably curled into. But not long after I awakened, I sent him into a frenzy of ‘poodle proportions!’ All I had to do was mention two magic words in the form of a question.
“Go outside?”
Suddenly he did his little routine that he does each time the question is asked, which is licking his lips...running around in circles...and yipping. Sometimes he cuts such a shine, running in circles even on top of us, that we can’t stop laughing! And we’ll let him go on and on and on, which is kind of mean on our part because he probably really needs to GO!
Why does he lick his lips when he’s going out to do his ‘business?’
I don’t do that.
Joe doesn’t do that.
Do you?
Dobie does it because he knows that when the deed is done, he will get a treat! And he’ll launch into the routine again after he is finished with the job until he gets it.
No one ever gives me a treat when I do my business. If they did...trust me, I’d be bigger than I am now because I do my business a LOT!
Dobie is crate trained thanks to our son-in-law, who suggested it when we purchased the poodle. Best idea ever! (Andrew's had other good ideas since then, too.) But the other night, the pooch brought a whole new meaning to the term ‘crate trained.’
Our coffee table is an old chicken crate. My father thought that was a really dumb idea when I was out in the driveway scrubbing the feathers and other stuff out of it. But even he admitted it was a cool idea after seeing it in front of our sofa.
It’s filled with character now...water spots, scratches (that blend in with the ones that were already there) and crayon marks. I smile almost every time I notice them because my little girl (who is now a graphic designer for HGTV) put them there while diligently coloring in one of her coloring books or sketch books.
There are two places in the crate where ‘rungs’ are missing (...those posts that are in place to keep the chickens in place). Well somehow, Dobie squeezed himself in thru one of them the other night. Joe and I were looking around calling him and he wasn’t coming to us. We didn’t see him right away but heard this little pigeon-type noise coming from the crate. Yes, he makes a pigeon sound. Strange for a dog, I know...but look who is owners are! Looking down, there was this pitiful poodle laying in the chicken crate with no hope of escape. We tried coaxing him out by putting our hands next to the spaces where he’d obviously gotten in through. He wouldn’t budge. Finally, Joe brought a treat to the crate. Dobie began going around in circles and licking his lips right then and there before convincing himself that a treat was worth the risk of squeezing through his tight spot.
Even in the chicken crate he did his little routine!
That night Dobie brought a whole new meaning to the term being ‘crated trained!’
Remember...if you have a pulse, you have a purpose. Make your life count!
Sunday, September 2, 2012
Beth's Big Adventure
Last week my hubby and I spent time at Lake Junaluska, North Carolina participating in an orientation for new District Superintendents (DS) and Directors of Connectional Ministries (DCM). As the men and women, new in their positions attended their sessions, the spouses in attendance also had sessions. I made some wonderful new friends and got to spend time with one of my favorite people and an old friend...Vicki...who is a ‘newbie’ like me! (And no, she isn’t old...I could have been her babysitter back in the day. We’ve been friends a long time.) Vicki’s husband is the new DS for the Knoxville District in our United Methodist Conference. My Joe is the new DS for Cleveland District, so she and I are embarking on an adventure as ‘Cabinet Wives’ and I’m thankful we’re learning this together. One evening, waiting for our husbands’ return from a meeting, we parked ourselves on a sofa across the hall from the main elevators...and had WAY too much fun, laughing, talking and laughing some more! In fact, we had so much fun that we totally missed our husbands and they were back in the rooms wondering where we were! Nathan texted Vicki, asking where she was and she replied that she was safe...with me. She may have been safe, but I’m not sure I’m the ‘safest’ person to be with. After all, I attract danger.
Yes. Danger.
Not like “Castle” or “NCIS” danger.
Not “James Bond” danger.
Think more like Alfred Hitchcock danger. Yep. That’s it. Hitchcock...as in “The Birds” with Tippi Hedron.
Here’s the story:
It was a dark and stormy night....
Just kidding.
It all began on a sunny Sunday afternoon as Beth joined her handsome husband on a mission to buy an ice pack and a heating pad. His silver hair caught the glint of the sun as they walked across the Walmart parking lot. She felt warm and comfortable as she strode beside Joe...admiring his handsome, strong profile and sure step next to her pitiful limp because her knee had a catch in it and she was unable to straighten her leg.
Okay, that’s enough of my ‘creative writing.’ We both know it wasn’t very good. Although I liked the description of Joe’s profile. He has a nice profile.
Actually, Joe dropped me off at the entrance because of my hurting knee...something that has plagued me off and on for more than 45 years because of an injury in school. I chose and paid for the needed items to relieve my pain. As I walked out to the parking area, Joe met me, saying there was a falcon sitting on a car near where he’d parked. As we walked in that direction, there were two police cars nearby and the officers, along with several people watching a falcon that was sitting on the roof of a van. The van’s owner had called 9-1-1 because she was afraid to attempt entering her vehicle.
Several bystanders...including me...began taking pictures of the falcon with our cell phones, being careful not to get too close. I made a little clicking sound with my tongue in an attempt to get the raptor to look my way. It did. I took another picture, then it flew down from the van roof to the blacktop of the parking lot. Still keeping a good distance, I took two more pictures. All of a sudden that falcon came after me...flapping it’s huge wings and digging it’s sharp talons into my pant leg!!!
I screamed! And I stood there screaming and shaking my leg (the one with the bum knee) trying to get this creature to let go of my pants! I was too stunned to run until some woman in a car yelled, “Run, lady, run!” (No, Forrest Gump did NOT come to mind.) So I ran, shaking my leg and it let go. Thinking back on it now, I probably looked like I was running with a loaded diaper!
Thankfully, the falcon’s talons did not get my leg...only my slacks. I stood there once it let go, trying to gather my senses, and as I turned to walk away, I heard my husband calling, “Beth! Look out!”
That blasted falcon had me again!
Same pant leg...and this time it had a more ‘fixed’ hold, flapping it’s wings and holding on. I was running, screaming, shaking my leg and crying all at the same time! It seemed like an eternity that I was running and screaming, but it was probably only about ten or fifteen seconds. I was terrified! Running in circles! Screaming again! Once the falcon let go, I never stopped running and then I began screaming, “Unlock the car! Unlock the car!”
Joe yelled, “What?!?”
“U N L O C K T H E C A R ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !”
I jumped inside the safety of our CRV, shaking and crying. Joe quickly followed me. He kept asking if I was okay. I kept telling him to DRIVE...as if that falcon would peck it’s way through the vehicle and come after me again (because Alfred Hitchcock would have wanted it that way).
Five miles’ drive and we were back at our hotel. I will still shaken. My whole body was shaking. I could barely step out of the car. Once inside the safety of our room, I took time to check myself. My leg was unscathed. Then and now I will say, “Thanks be to God!”
My slacks, on the other hand, didn’t fare so well. There were several little holes where the falcon’s talons had been clinging. Brand new slacks! I’d only worn them twice! And they were from my favorite store, C.J. Banks...they had been on sale...and most important of all, they fit my bum really well. And now they have puncture marks.
I guess I should go ahead and wear them, just so I can make interesting conversation.
Or I could just be really cheesy and say they’re my ‘church pants’ because they are ‘holey.’
Alfred Hitchcock never would have closed with a line like that.
Remember...if you have a pulse, you have a purpose. Make your life count!
Thursday, August 16, 2012
No butts about it...
It’s no good to have a walk-in closet when you can’t walk in it. I realized that weeks ago, but just remedied the situation this morning. Along with thinning out my collection of clothes and shoes yet again, I moved things around to make navigation a little easier. Now the carpeted floor is visible! (...took me long enough to get sick of stepping on things!)
Since our move in mid-June, I haven’t found a good place to store our clean towels and extra rolls of bathroom tissue. So this morning I remedied that situation, too, by installing a shelf over the closet door. Now I have nice stacks of clean towels at the ready. I just have to stand on a little stool to reach them is all...
The bathroom tissue/toilet paper storage issue was solved by installing a similar shelf in our water closet. Yes, it’s a water closet. At least I guess that’s what it is called. Maybe it’s a bathroom stall. Or a toilet room.
I like calling it a water closet. Sounds kind of impressive. Like maybe we have a fancy, big house, which we don’t. But hey, if bathroom talk is meant to be impressive...I’ll settle for water closet.
As I began to unpack the boxes of spare bathroom tissue to put on our new shelf, I had a revelation. We have entirely too much toilet paper for only two occupants!!! There are two bathrooms in this house and 41 rolls of paper. Yes, you read it right. 41 rolls. And that isn’t counting the packages from a Knoxville wholesale club that are on a shelf in our garage. How did two people (with one bottom each) end up owning so much toilet paper? I have no answer. But I won’t have to put that on our shopping list for quite some time to come!
How many people spend their valuable time counting rolls of toilet paper? Your answer doesn’t count if it has anything to do with stocking retail shelves or working for Charmin. It’s just that as I began putting the rolls on the new shelf, I realized there was a ridiculous amount of the stuff!
But compared to the news out last week from NPR, my collection of toilet paper isn’t so unusual. I just wish it were for such a noble cause...
The Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation is buying 50 pounds of fake poop to test high-tech toilets they're creating for third-world countries at their ‘Reinvent the Toilet Fair’ next week. http://www.gatesfoundation.org/watersanitationhygiene/pages/reinventing-the-toilet.aspx
Read even more by going to: http://www.npr.org/blogs/health/2012/08/08/158447235/why-is-the-worlds-largest-foundation-buying-fake-poop?
And how many people spend valuable time reading about funny names for toilet paper? Me, for one. The following are actual trademarked toilet paper brand failures...not the paper itself, just the names.
Tainted Love Bath Tissue
Butt-It’s-Soft
Bear In The Woods (Oak Scented, Extra Strong) Toilet Paper
Quilted Arse-A-Nol
Mr. Poopy Posterior E-Z Single Serve Buttwipers
Cottony Soft Sphincter Delight
Justin Beiber’s Bum B-Kleen
I’d love to wrap up this blog posting with something really funny or clever but I’ve got nothing.
Unless it would be to say that I’m wiped out and just can’t type anymore.
Yep.
That’ll do.
Always remember that if you have a pulse, you have a purpose. Make your life count!
Saturday, July 21, 2012
I found a good dry-cleaner, a grocery store (that has a wicked-good deli), a bakery (which I didn’t need to find) and a favorite gas station. I’m not looking for a new hairdresser because when you find the perfect person to take care of your hair...why in the world would you want to look for another?!??!? Same deal with my dentist...except he doesn’t really care about how my hair looks. We even have a new family physician...one I found because my daughter works at HGTV with his son. So, all in all, it looks like we are settled in for the next six to eight years.
One thing I dreaded looking for was a new kennel for Dobie to visit when we’re out of town. Dobie is our toy poodle who really doesn’t know he’s a dog. We’ve never told him. The last place we boarded him is the only place he’s ever known. Dobie was born in January of 2004. My daughter informed me that I bought him as her replacement when she would leave for college that fall. Maybe. Maybe not. One time she jokingly told me that she thought I might love that dog more than her. I assured her I didn’t love him more. Sometimes I might have liked him more...but I never loved him more! (insert smile here)
Back to the kennel.
I asked a friend who used to live in Cleveland to recommend a good kennel for us to board Dobie. She had just the right place, so I went to visit the facility and found exactly what we needed for our little guy. He spent one night this week and did great! He even came home with a report card! Yes, these folks sent him home with a “Happy Camper” report card, complete with checkmarks for eating well, making new friends and being the paw-fect pet! There was even a picture of him included in the card!
I call him my baby-dog. Even when he gets scolded, he soon forgets about it and comes back to cuddle. I should learn to forgive and forget so easily!
I wish I knew who wrote the following so I could give credit where credit is due. But I think you’ll enjoy this...
ALL I REALLY NEED TO KNOW I LEARNED FROM MY DOG

1. Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joy ride.
2. Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face to be pure ecstasy.
3. When loved ones come home, always run to greet them.
4. Take naps and stretch before rising.
5. Run, romp, and play daily.
6. Be loyal.
7. Never pretend to be something you're not.
8. Eat with gusto and enthusiasm.
9. If what you want lies buried, dig until you find it.
10. When someone is having a bad day, be silent, sit close by and nuzzle them gently. 11. Thrive on affection and let people touch you - enjoy back rubs and pats on your neck.
12. When you leave your yard, make it an adventure.
13. Avoid biting when a simple growl will do.
14. No matter how often you're scolded, don't buy into the guilt thing and pout...run right back and make friends.
15. Bond with your pack.
16. On cold nights, curl up in front of a crackling fire.
17. When you're excited, speak up.
18. When you're happy, dance around and wag your entire body.
19. Delight in the simple joy of a long walk.
I have #8 and #18 down really well. Especially #18...because I can wag my entire body even when I’m not trying! It wags when I walk! In fact...it wags for a few moments when I stop walking! My upper arms wag whenever I’m waving. My thighs wagging against each other could start a small fire.
Okay, okay...I know I shouldn’t make snide remarks about my body. According to Psalm 139:14, I am “...wonderfully made...” and my daughter was one of the first to point out to me that self-deprecating humor is unbecoming. In fact she said it to me in front of my mother who couldn’t hear too well. Mother replied, “Self-defecating humor?!? What kind of humor is that?”
Mother wasn’t really too far off the mark on that. She got to the bottom of that kind of humor, so to speak.
Always remember that if you have a pulse, you have a purpose. Make your life count!
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Blueberries made me cry yesterday...and if you keep reading you’ll find out why. As I type this blog I am sitting on a comfy, familiar sofa...in a messy unfamiliar house. But it’s my house. Our house.
On Tuesday, Joe and I moved our comfy, familiar sofa (and everything else we own) from 17 years of living and loving a church family and community in Alcoa, Tennessee...to our new home in Cleveland (Tennessee, not Ohio, for the benefit of all my Ohio readers). Joe is the new District Superintendent for this area in the Holston Conference of the United Methodist Church. He has 69 churches and 45 ministers to look after. Those 45 ministers are our new church family...and already many of them have stopped by or made contact with us and helped us feel at home.
Even with this warm welcome and beautiful home, I feel as though there is a big sheet of glass inside me that just one little push could cause it to shatter and break. I am feeling on the verge of tears at every moment. I know this will soon leave my being, but I suppose I am grieving...
Grieving that I’ve moved an hour and a half from our only daughter. (...and that for this summer her husband is interning in NYC and she is lonesome for him every moment of every day.)
Grieving that I’ve left an amazing church family behind.
Grieving that I left a wonderful neighborhood with exceptional neighbors.
Grieving for a ‘history’ of life in Blount County, Tennessee.
I’m also grieving for some kind of order...a feeling of normalcy. This house is filled with boxes and piles of things that I must slowly move through, unpack and make this new house a home. I’ll have to take my time so I can get it right.
And in the midst of this grief...I am so excited! This assignment for Joe is a wonderful opportunity to be a minister to ministers! Isn’t that a blessing? I know he will be effective as a Cabinet member. He is 62 years old and has stepped from his comfort zone...from a church he served happily for 17 years...and into a whole new arena. I really admire him for this leap of faith.
I’m excited about my role in all of this...to have time with the ministers’ spouses of the Cleveland District. Joe and I have been in ministry for nearly 40 years, so maybe there will be some way I can encourage or motivate. Who knows? Well, I think God does and just maybe that is why Joe and I are in this place at this time in our lives.
I will still miss my daughter.
I’ll have another church family...many, in fact!
I’ve already met several of our new neighbors and everyone is so nice! There are three boys, aged 6 to 8, that live nearby...Hayden, Jackson and Caedon...with lots of energy and personality. As 8 year old Hayden was walking off last night he turned around and said, “It’s a great neighborhood! You’ll like it here!” And yes, Hayden...I think I will.
And as far as a ‘history’ goes...I must remember that when we moved to Alcoa 17 years ago, I left behind a history in Radford, Virginia. I then proceeded to make a new one, and will do the same right here in Cleveland!
As I continue to find my way around the maze of boxes in this house, the virtual sheet of glass inside me that I felt could shatter at just a touch, will soon disappear. I’ll be fine. I’ll never stop loving or missing Alcoa...the same way I’ve never stopped loving and missing McClure and Dryden, Ft. Oglethorpe and Radford and our church families in those appointments!
Not long after it was announced the we would be moving to the Cleveland District, the wife of another cabinet member told me that the spouses of the cabinet call themselves the ‘Spice Cabinet!’ I quickly replied that “...now I must be a Spice Girl!” Remember them? I’m not Sporty Spice, Brown Spice, Posh Spice or Baby Spice...I think I’ll be Nutmeg Spice. The “Nut” part because I am. And the “meg” part because that is my monogram! (for Mary Elizabeth Green)
My sweet hubby, Joe, said I should be called “Old Spice” but I hope he’s had time to think about that one.
And about the blueberries...
The first Sunday at our church in Alcoa, the families there gave us a “pounding” which is where food is brought to the new parsonage family. “Pounds” of potatoes, sugar, flour, fruit, pasta, meat, etc. were shared with us.
The Hitchcock family gave us a pound of blueberries. John and Brenda, with sons David and Brian were the folks who gave us our first fresh fruit when we moved to Alcoa. The berries were delicious! They were grown right there behind the Hitchcock house. That was in 1995.
Fast forward to this past Sunday afternoon...
Brenda Hitchcock dropped by with a bag of chocolate chip cookies and a bag of blueberries. The cookies were a nice treat as we worked on the last of packing up the house in Alcoa. I saved the blueberries though. And today, I pulled them out of our new fridge to enjoy with lunch. I put several berries in my mouth and bit into their juicy goodness.
Then I cried.
Joe asked what was wrong. I couldn’t say, exactly. All I know is that those blueberries made me think of Alcoa. They reminded me of Brenda and her sweet family...John, who is now in Heaven; David, who travels to various parts of the world for Apple; and Brian, who is in Seattle, Washington with his wife.
Brenda’s blueberries made me cry. But they brought back a sweet memory from our move to Alcoa.
That was a new beginning in 1995...and in 2012, so is this one. We did fine there and we’ll do fine here. I’ll likely have blueberries for breakfast tomorrow and maybe I won’t cry this time. But if I do, Joe won't have to ask why...
Always remember that if you have a pulse, you have a purpose. Make your life count!
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Purging and packing...
This month is momentous for us on so many levels:My husband Joe, a minister in the Holston Conference of The United Methodist Church, is set to become a District Superintendent in Cleveland, Tennessee. Because of that appointment, we are leaving a church and community we have loved for 17 years. I’ve never lived anywhere for this long. It breaks my heart to think of leaving, yet I know we are meant to go. God’s hand has been traced through every circumstance surrounding this move. We sold our house (didn’t even put it on the market because a friend bought it) on a Friday morning and closed on another house (in Cleveland, Tennessee) the same day!
For the first time, we will leave our daughter behind. The farthest we’ve ever lived apart was the 20 minute drive to UT’s campus when she was a freshman in college. Now we’ll be 90 minutes away. Of course, she is nearly 27 years old, has a husband, a job, and a life of her own...but it’s still weird to think about. And before long, she will likely make a move with her husband to a new city and a new life.
We’ll go from one church to 69 churches and 45 ministers and Joe will be a “pastor to the pastors” for the next several years. Alcoa First UMC is likely the last church where he will serve full-time. After this job, he’ll likely retire. (But he’ll never stop being a minister...he’ll find a little church and keep on going just like the Energizer Bunny.)
I have known since late January that we would be moving. I slowly began to develop a plan of action. Slowly is the key word here. I’ve been sorting items that need to go to our retirement home in Virginia and things that need to move to Cleveland with us. I’ve also found out that 17 years in the same house causes one to collect a lot of STUFF!
I have too much stuff. Thankfully, I don’t have so much stuff that I could be on an episode of “Hoarders!”
I have stuff that is still packed from our last move. I’m not sure why I still have that stuff! I’m not sure why I thought I needed that stuff! And since I’m not sure...it’s out of there!
I have stuff that belongs to our daughter that she might want to add to her pile of stuff.
I have stuff that belonged to my parents that I cannot bear to part with, so I’ll keep moving it with me till I die. Never have I seen a hearse pulling a U-Haul, so someone else will have to purge THAT stuff.
I read several things about “stuff” in the Oxford American Writer’s Thesaurus...
stuff: noun
1 suede is tough stuff: material, fabric, cloth, textile; matter, substance.
2 first-aid stuff: items, articles, objects, goods, equipment; informal things, bits and pieces, odds and ends.
3 all my stuff is in the suitcase: belongings, (personal) possessions, effects, goods (and chattels), paraphernalia; informal gear, things.
How could that Thesaurus nail me so easily?!? It’s as if some one from Oxford came to my house and looked around...opening closets, drawers and cabinets! It’s uncanny!
And if something happened to my “stuff” I know I would survive. I’d probably be sad about it being gone, but I could live without my stuff.
I recently sold some antiques that I had purchased over the years. A friend asked me how I could have let one particular item go that I’d enjoyed so much. I told her that I have memories of it and it’s likely in a picture somewhere, but that it is just a thing. And it’s time for someone else to enjoy that thing.
There are other items that I cannot imagine letting go of...and they are just “things” too! But I believe I’m finding a balance here, and if I can keep the momentum going for the next week, I’m all set! The moving van arrives in 7 days!
My brother shared with me a quote he’d heard: “We endlessly define ourselves by what we keep and by what we throw away.”
Uh-oh.
"Houston, we have a problem..."
And always remember that if you have a pulse, you have a purpose. Make your life count!
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