List 38 - Nike Shorts, Duffel Bags and What I wish I could tell my girls and all the rest of them . . .

We've entered a new era here in the Graham world.  It's not new to the rest of the world.  Young people have been going through it for ages.  I went through it.  You probably went through it.  We all know about it.  I would argue that it's getting worse by the day, but it is definitely not new.

We are deep into what we 'have to have' and what we 'just love so much' and 'what everybody gets' and so on and so on and so on.  I'm trying to be somewhat logical about it all.  I really am.  I'm trying to mother my children, want what's really best for them and leave them with some small sense that I am not actually the least withit human on the planet.  It's hard.

I'm trying to remember that feeling I had in the fourth grade one Saturday afternoon when I looked down at my feet and realized that I was looking at the coolest scene in the history of the world - I FINALLY had blue striped Adidas and the coolest footies with bright blue pom poms.  Just thinking about how amazing I was swells my head even to this day, but I digress . . .

Truth is, it is sickening to watch when our children stop thinking as individuals and begin 'liking' and 'loving' and 'wanting' and 'needing' in swarms of a hundred.  It's disheartening.  It's scary.  It leaves a Mama feeling like she didn't do a good enough job on the You Are Special push.

We've never been much on Christmas lists.  The kids might write a letter at school to practice handwriting, but we've never gone by a strict list of exactly what to provide for Christmas morning happiness.  I grew up that way, and I've loved continuing it.  Shopping for the kids has been creative and fun.  We've wondered and considered and loved the times when a complete surprise was a hit.

That's over now.  On one level, I understand.  I get it that my girls are older, that they have a more discerning palette about what they wear and they are making more decisions on their own.  But that's just it it - these exact lists about precisely what they want have left their own brains completely out of it!  I'm almost certain that I could have exchanged their requests with any of their friends and found the same things.

Creativity?  Fun?  Thinking for yourself?  Surprises?  Bah, humbug!  They all want the same thing.

I know, I know, I need to chill out about it.  But it's not the wanting it that bothers me; it's their feeling that they MUST have it that leaves me feeling raw.  I'm delighted when they get a present they love.  I want them to feel as cool as I knew I was when I looked down and had those gorgeous Adidas staring back up at me.  I just wish they knew that the Nike shorts and the Vera Bradley duffel bags and the perfect phone case and on and on and on have absolutely nothing at all to do with what makes them completely amazing.  I just wish they knew.

I wish I could tell every young girl:

1. The Vera Bradley bag is cute and colorful, but the unforgettable thing is the look on your face when you board the bus for the church ski trip or come home excited after a fun spend the night party.
2. The iphone case looks great, but it doesn't compare to the sweet glimmer you get in your eye when you know you are being funny.
3. The Nike shorts are fine but what's awesome is how hard you worked to tackle something difficult and made it!
4. The perfect backpack has nothing to do with how gorgeous you are walking down the hall at school after you've just said something to make your friend's day.
5. The bright orange tennis shoes are awesome, but they are paled by the look on your face when you know, deep inside,  that you have just given everything you have to help your team.
6. The real reason that people are staring is not because you just spent two hours straightening your amazingly beautiful curly hair;  it's because you just sang like an angel.
7. The real people in the world aren't looking at your Uggs, for they are concentrating on your gorgeous smile.
8. What you use to pull back your hair doesn't matter in the least; we see the sheer beauty in your face when you are concentrating on building your brain or solving a problem.
9. When we look at a group of you, we don't concentrate on what you're wearing; we see each of your faces and pray for the day when each of you will KNOW that we love the ways that you all are different.
10. You're bigger and brighter and better than the best name brand item you own . . . you are precious and smart and talented and beautiful, and we can't wait for you to love what you bring into this starving world as much as we do!

One little question . . . and a bunch of hope.

You know how it feels when you hear something and you know, somewhere deep inside, that you won't ever forget hearing it?  I had that experience yesterday, and I'm delighted about it.  It's a bit of a life changer, I do believe.

The last few weeks I've participated in a parent class/discussion at my kids' school.  It has been a good experience, with  meaningful conversations and much to consider when I leave the group.  I'm thankful and grateful to know that the folks around me are just guessing at this 'life' thing, too.  It feels better knowing I'm not the only one who is hypothesizing in child-rearing and life and relationships and all of the other things that get tricky.

The class has been helpful in making a few things more concrete, and I like that.  Maybe because I taught kindergarten for years or maybe because my brain just needs assistance, I like pictures - I like lists - I like simple ways I can remember difficult things.

Yesterday I heard a question in a completely different way.  "What do you want to be when you grow up?" was the question.  Just plain ole' that.  Nothing fancy.  Nothing out of the ordinary.

The belief of the instructor is that that very question may be the most important one we can ask our children, and maybe anyone.

Why?  I wondered the same thing.  What's the big deal?  The big deal is that the question offers the answerer hope that they will grow up and that there is something bigger to live for.

I love it - I really do.  We can ask that one little question and change things?  Well, I believe so.  I guess it doesn't much matter whether the answer is a cowgirl fairy go-go dancer princess or a medieval knight who fights fires on the weekends.  The point is that it matters, that there is a future, that you have a vision.  I'm all over this thing, folks.  I'm taking it on the road.

I'm thinking back over long past conversations with my kids and the trillions of kids I've known.  I'm remembering their various answers to the age-old question.  (I've been smiling a lot during this thinking.)  I remember asking the question when my girls were tiny, and I'll never forget their answers.  Emma wanted to be a cashier at Kroger and she wanted Daddy to be her bagboy.  Molly wanted to be a doctor and she wanted me to be the 'sticker lady' at her office.  Their answers have changed 1,567 times since then.  Molly realized she didn't like blood or needles and Emma realized the life of a cashier seemed tough.  That's not the point.  The point was that those little tiny souls knew way back when that folks cared about them, that they would grow and grow and grow and they had a vision of the future.

I sit here now, wondering about the simple ways I could change things - you could change things - if we but wondered, alone and with others, about what we want to be when we grow up?  I wonder at the ways I could offer hope to those who need some and the ways I might help someone formulate a vision when it's needed.  Sometimes we need a vision, a big and bright one, for way in the future.  Other times, I realize we all might just need help with the next five minutes or so.

I'm liking this newly attained tool.  I'm liking how it makes me think, how it slapped me in the face, woke me up and said, "Look at things with new eyes!"

What do you want to be when you grow up?

List 22 - Lessons learned from the yearly get away

I'm lucky.  This weekend is the occasion of a yearly get together with friends unlike any others.  A few years ago, my friend, Cherie, invited a bunch of us to join her at her family's cabin up in Hayesville, NC.  It took us about 2 seconds to revert back to our comfort with each other that we had first enjoyed forty years ago!  (Wow, that makes me sound old.)

Not surprisingly, the special time has become a yearly tradition.  I wouldn't miss it for the world.  We arrive at different times, from various places, with completely different life stories.  But, when we assemble on the porch, none of that matters at all.  I've learned a lot from them.  I've laughed a lot.  I've been thankful more than I ever could have thought for these friendships started when I was just beginning on life's journey.  I highly recommend this practice!

I ask the 'girls' to help with today's list.  Not being ones to shy away from conversation, I did not have to ask twice.  They were quick to throw out their suggestions on some of what we have learned in our yearly visit.

Here's today's list . . . Lessons we have learned from old friends getting together:

1. You need a porch.
2. No matter how close you feel, it's still best to steer clear of politics and religion.
3. Laughter is good - really good.  Diapers are optional.
4. Our time together is loud.
5. Sometimes we remember things from the past differently - no problem.
6. Pajamas are fine at any hour.  No one cares how you look.
7. There is a lot to recycle when our weekend is over.
8. Our new tradition of renting the pontoon boat is more conducive to our good time than was the yearly hike.
9. There is always a friend behind you to push you up the pontoon ladder.
10. Old music is good.
11. Old memories never fade - but lots of them get funnier!
12. Facebook conversations, re-tellings of the weekend, are unintelligible to folks who weren't present.
13. Sadly, we moved into short conversations about reading glasses.
14. Ruminating is good.
15. We've established a rug of truth - you don't have to stand on it if you don't want.
16. All that really matters is being nice.
17. Everything with us ends in a laugh.
18. We are who we are.  We're fine with that.  
19. We've made a tentative plan to move to Bab's house at the lake when we are old.  We will drink heavily, so we'll wear shock collars to keep us from falling into the water unattended.  We'll pool our money for our own cabana boy.  
20. In conclusion, we have a question:  Why is it that alcohol can kill brain cells and not fat cells?

Have a good weekend, everyone.  I know I will.  I give thanks to God for these friends, these laughs and the continued goodness of really being known by others.  

List 18 - My Dream Jobs

Okay, friends, it's time for the Friday list.  Let's pretend today.  (Or, as I said as a child, 'Let's ten-like.')  [Or, as my sister said as a child, 'Let's benten.']  Call it what you will, it's time to undertake a bit of make-believe.

Let's imagine that there are no barriers, money is no object, no training or education is needed.  What would you do, even if just for a day?  What would you like to try?

What do you want to be when you grow up?

I'll go first.

When I grow up, I want to be:

1. One of the people who looks awesome in a wet suit and trains the dolphins.  I'd be the one who rides the dolphins and gets thrown, flying into the air, arching into a magnificent swan dive and entering the water gracefully to swim with my dolphin friends over to hand-feed them (I'm the only one who can feed them - they like me best).
2. Aretha Franklin.  
3. A safari guide/driver in the Serengeti.  My old Toyota Land Cruiser has been on the job for a long time and is weathered in that cool way - folks can stand up on their seats to look up and out of the open top and get a better view of the animals.  I'm a specialist at big animal location and the other drivers often search for me to find the best areas.  
4. A SCUBA diver for National Geographic, responsible for all special coral reef exploration, all over the world.  My underlings search out and find the best dive spots on the earth, and I am the first to dive their pristine waters and uncharted areas.  
5. A Mexican cliff diver.
6. Annie Leibovitz.
7. The top chick on the world's best roller derby team.  
8. The host of a super cool travel show on tv.  My people scope out unknown travel spots, which I am flown to.  I am wined and dined by the locals and stay in the best suite.  I'm daring, so sometimes I am in quiet corners where no Americans have been.  My experiences are varied, affording me amazing adventures that are fun to talk about with my tv viewers.
9. A stunt pilot whose plane is uncrashable.
10. An artist, author, anthropologist combination who lives in a historic beamed cabin on the top of a mountain in the forest, surrounded by amazing views, artistic pieces, fine wine and fabulous friends.  

Ahhhhhhh.  That was fun.  Try it!  Put your career options in the comments section of the blog - I want you all to meet each other!  

Loosen up, friends, and ten-like you can do anything!  Go for it!  

Monday Morning Mary George

I'm forgoing the usual 'Monday Morning What is it?' because this is a special week - this week I've decided to use the whole week to highlight an incredible person I've known.

On Saturday I woke up and realized that it was my Mother's birthday.  Of course I had known that before that morning, but the busy week had let it slip from my mind.  When it came back to me, I took a few moments to just think about her.  I spent a little more time than usual to consider how old she would be if she were still alive and what she might be doing.  I guess I've done that before, but maybe I've not given myself the time to really let it sink in.  On Saturday I did.  I thought about how it had been twenty one years since I last saw my Mom and I thanked God that most days I can still hear her laugh in my head.  Twenty one years is a long time.  A long time when you consider all that happens in lifetimes in twenty one years.

I did the math and realized that my mother would have been seventy three on Saturday and thought about how different that is from fifty two.  It was a lot to think about.  My sister and I, and all of my Mom's friends and family, have done a lot of things since we've seen her.  A lot has happened.  Of course I've kept her posted and I have a strong sense that she knows the good stuff, the way we all are doing.

I thought about devoting the blog this week to her and I instantly liked the idea.  And then I had a little laugh - my Mom never knew about blogs.   She was such a writer, I'm sure she would have one today if she were still here!  I can just imagine all of the stories she would tell, all of the ways that she would have us all en-rapt and laughing and crying and thinking.

Maybe her story-telling is what I'll tell you most about.  There is lots to say about Mary George Dean Murphy; but if I had to describe her in one word, there is no doubt that the word would be storyteller. 
I have a sense that those of you who knew her are nodding your heads right about now.

This week I want to tell you some of her stories, and let her tell you some.  I want to tell you about how hilarious she was, what a devoted and life-changing teacher she was and I want to tell you about her bravery.  I don't want to make her perfect.   That would not be fair.  I won't tell you that we got along perfectly in all of our twenty seven years together or that my Mom's life was full of bliss.  No one's life is perfect and that wouldn't do justice to the many layers that were her life.  I remember a conversation I had with my good friend and priest, Martha, just after Mom died.  Martha gave me insight about remembering my Mom and she urged me not to do the 'easy thing' and make her perfect in death.  That was good advice.  Lives are too full of too many different things, and sweeping the hard stuff under the table seems too much like erasing part of the life.  My Mom's life was wonderful and hard and complex and interesting and rich and so much more.  I can't tell that story in one week, but it will be fun to try.  Thanks for coming along on the ride.

I've read that blog posts should be short and concise - excuse me, as I ignore that rule.  Today I want to let my Mom tell a story.  I want you to meet her (or reunite with her) with her as narrator.    Narrator was a role she liked!

Like me, my mother had close relationships with both of her grandmothers and they meant a great deal to her.  She often told me about all that she learned from each of them, different things that made her life richer and wiser.  Mama Jones, her mother's mother lived in the country and Mama Dean, her father's mother, lived in the city.  They couldn't have been any more different.

 Mama Dean (the town grandmother) and Mama Jones (the country grandmother)

I knew Mama Dean (the one from the city) and loved her.  If I could do her justice, I would write a book about her.  She was larger than life and left us with boocoos (did you get that flashback to an earlier post?) of stories.  Mom never got to write her story about Mama Dean, and she wanted to.  She told me often that she was attempting to come up with the right story, the one that would paint a picture of Mama Dean.  She had figured out how to illustrate Mama Jones, but she was working on what to say about her other grandmother.

So, this story is about Mama Jones, her country grandmother.  When I came into the picture, Mama Jones was a tiny woman, quiet and very old.  My mother could make me see what she had been in life, but I did not witness it myself.  My mother told me some of her magic, and I've always been grateful to have this story.

It's long, but I hope you'll find time to read it.  I think you'll enjoy it.  I imagine that it can be a fun respite from this world to take a few moments and read about another time.  Maybe you can wonder about some of the folks in your family who lived before.

Enjoy this gift from my Mom . . .

Snap. Got it!

I love it when something wakes me up, pulls me out of wherever I am and grabs me, makes me pay attention.  The other day, as I was readying my equipment for a shoot, I saw this.  I wasn't there to take this shot.  This little guy was on his way to ball practice, not part of the photos. 

But something made him stop, turn around and stand right there in the doorway for just a second or two.  My head was busy scanning the area for the perfect light, when my eyes caught sight of him.  He just got me, standing there, doing whatever it was that he was doing.  

I grabbed my camera, hurried to put on the lens and snapped as quickly as I could.  Just as soon as my finger hit the shutter, he was gone.  I don't know why he stopped there, stalling for just a moment on his way to practice.  I just knew that I wanted to capture it, knew that was a moment that wasn't coming back.

There is nothing remarkable about this photo.  Technically speaking, it's not superb.  The reason shots like this are special, at least to me, is that they represent moments.  They are tangible pieces of history that we can look at and touch later, when this little leaguer is a man.  

He must walk in and out of that door fifty times in a day.  It's all very average.  But years down the road, he won't look like this.  That little uniform won't fit.  He'll have moved on to bigger things.  I wanted this shot because I scanned the area and my eyes stopped to focus on a moment - an average old moment when a five year old slugger was about the important business of growing up.  

I pressed pause for just a sec and we can stare at that later for as long as we want.

What will you see today?  What might your eyes focus on while you are busy doing something else?  Is there something you might want to press pause on today?  

You could take a photo, write it down, say it out loud or laugh about it with a friend.  Try that; it will last longer that way.

List 4 - I miss . . .

I thought about a funny list for today, but somehow memories kept flowing into my awareness this week. They haven't been sad memories; just memories and they've had me thinking.  Sometimes I tend to get hung up on things (not meaning objects exactly, more like experiences) that I had that my children will not get to have.  Sometimes I go on and on about that - just ask my children.  More than once, one of them has tried (unsuccessfully) to explain to me that they don't miss the 'things' I'm talking about and they are just fine.  But I MISS THEM for them, I try to explain.  That's usually unsuccessful, too.

So, today's list is a few things I miss.  As with all of the Friday lists, this is not complete, there is no particular order and I reserve the right to add to, take away or amend items at any time.  Check out my list and then make your own.  You could even use some time this weekend to bore your children or some friends with your list.  I'm hoping to use mine for a couple of pleasant day dreams (and then I'll go over it again with my kids).

In my home growing up, there was a gallery of family pictures on the landing at the top of the stairs.  In the middle of all of the framed photographs was a small plaque that read, "While giving our kids the things we had not, let's not forget to give them the things we did have."  I didn't get that.  Now I do.

THINGS I MISS:

1. Screen doors on houses (that are missing the paint right around the handle) and squeak a little bit and make a loud bang when they are let go.
2. Cabooses.  Apparently they held no real importance, but they meant a lot to me.  They helped make sense of things and helped us all know that things were in order.
3. Footies with balls on the back and white Adidas with royal blue stripes.
4. Eating fruit at the 'right' times.  I liked it when it was special to eat a watermelon, a peach or a tomato and you had to eat them when they were grown.  I know in my heart that I haven't tasted as good a piece of fruit in my adulthood as I tasted in my childhood.  It has been suggested that perhaps I am remembering it with fondness, recalling other feelings that went along with the eating of the fruit.  No way - they tasted better.  I hate to sound like Andy Rooney, but I'm just right about this.
5. The little corner booths in the front of Pizza Huts.  If you don't know what I'm talking about, my thoughts are with you.  I'm sorry, but you haven't truly lived.  I can think of nothing that feels quite like getting to the Pizza Hut and realizing that one of the two booths was  open and you and your sister were going to get it - nothing.  There wasn't a ton of wiggle room, but the pizza definitely tasted better in that spot.  It did.
6. Strumming a tennis racket and singing along, while performing a rousing rendition of "Crazy Horses" by the Osmond Brothers.  Guitar Hero?  Whatever.
7. Going to people's houses and looking up on top of their refrigerator and seeing that shiny cool Charles Chips tin.  What happened to those?
8. Those nice men (usually there was one in each church or sitting by the door at a gas station) who gave you a nickel or a dime or a quarter.  I think some of them gave away a piece of hard candy. They were nice and said, "Here, get you something nice with this."  Somehow, they weren't creepy and everybody loved them.  They were always prepared; and lots of times, you could hear the coins jingling when they reached into the pocket.  Some of them had side talents to go along with the gift, like talking like a duck or pulling the coin out of your ear or repeating long tongue twisters.
9. The slide at "Wheeler Park" in Douglas, Georgia (where my grandparents lived).  It was at least five million four thousand two hundred and thirty six feet high and was undoubtedly the coolest piece of play equipment ever invented.  I count myself among the few, the proud, the privileged ones that got to spend afternoons on that skyscraping edifice before sensibility came into play.  If there was a slide like that today, I'm afraid I would see children harnessed to their mothers and being brought down slowly, one child per two minute period.  Never will there be a cooler thing.  If I knew where that slide was, I believe I'd buy it and put it in my yard as art.  And if it has been melted down for the metal, I hope I never find out about it.
10. Walking home from school.  I did not walk home from school uphill both ways in the snow.  I did not carry a tuba.  I just headed out of the back of Gaines School, loitered a bit on the playground, met with other kids, cut through the woods that went from the road behind the school to our neighborhood and meandered along home.  Ponderosa Drive was a long, winding hill and what started as a loose gang of twenty or so kids, eventually wound down to just a few.  Sometimes we laughed and talked.  Sometimes one person was mad at another.  One time we saw a dog get hit in front of the Tumlin's and helped wait with the injured dog until a vet arrived. Sometimes we might stop at someone else's house to look at something or have a snack or watch tv and sometimes we might just walk straight home.  No parents were involved.  No worried grown ups watched us from behind trees; we just walked along.  We were learning about what to do on our own.  I guess we must have had to hurry some times, but I can't remember that.  It all seemed kind of slow.  I'm thankful, and I wish my kids got to do it, too.