GrandMae's Dictionary . . .

Recently I met a woman on her ONE HUNDRED AND THIRD birthday!  103.  That is a big number.  She was beautiful and gentle and had a quiet wisdom that matched perfectly with her spunky personality.  I'm glad to have met her, and I couldn't resist asking her (what, to me, was) the obvious question.  I had to ask.

What's the secret?  What's the trick?  Someone who lives one hundred and three years must have the manual for a secret formula.

Her lips curled up in a sneaky smile, she clapped her soft hands together and peered over at me - Secret?  What's the secret?  Oh, there's no secret.  I wish I had had a few more moments with her, though, because the child-like, sly smirk on her face made me think she had more to say.  She had some secrets.  I hope we get to talk again.

That conversation has had me thinking.  From time to time, I find myself pondering my own question - wondering to myself what the secrets are.  We probably all know them somewhere deep inside.  I guess the secret is allowing yourself to get to them, to burst through all of the busyness and flotsam and jetsam of these crazy lives of ours to see the obvious.

One secret keeps burbling up in my mind; and for me, it is symbolized by the picture of a great big dictionary in a warm home I used to know well.  I believe - no, I think I KNOW - that one of the secrets is to stay curious, to keep wondering and I hold in my mind the clear picture of someone I've known who wondered and asked until her last days.

Once we had the sweetest of neighbors.  Her name was Mae and she was married to Jimmy and years ago we luckily landed next door to them.  As we started a family, they quickly became Grandmae and GrandJimmy and they were delights.  Our lives are better for having known them.  I could write post after post about them, about what they taught me, but today I remember Grandmae's dictionary and consider how it was one of the physical manifestations of a life well-lived for a long, long time.  It was living proof of one of her secrets, I just know.

The dictionary was one of those great, big, chunky ones; the kind you see in the library, always opened to a page close to the middle so the chance to find something new is always awaiting the right person.  There were signs on the book's edges that were evidence that once each page was framed in gold and its pages were curled in just the right amount, to let you know that each and every page had been attended to, had been studied.  It sat on Mae's 'porch', a bright room at the back of her house that had long ago been a porch but years ago had been converted to a comfy den.  The dictionary laid atop a table at the perfect height, just under a great big window to the back yard and its old hardwoods and memories.

Just having the book was not her secret.  The book was grand and majestic in its own right, to be sure, but it was its aid to a life lived out that made it special.  It was its role in her days that I remember, that I draw on when I'm being truly alive.  It was how she used it that made it special.  

I doubt there was ever a time I spent in her home when she didn't refer to the grand ole' book.  I can see her now, jumping up from her perch to look up the meaning of a word, to figure out how to explain something in our conversation.  That was one of her secrets, I believe.  She kept wondering, asking and jumping up to find the answers.  I'd love to know the number of times her sweet hands held that book, the times that great mind was filled a bit more with some new, juicy bit of knowledge.  That would be  a big number, to be sure.

I won't see her grasp those worn, metallic-edged pages again, but I've got a perfectly clear picture in my head.  I carry it with me wherever I go, and I remember to keep wondering.  That has to be one of the secrets.  I just know it.

Possibilities . . .

We've recently moved.  We love our new (very old) house, and part of the fun of starting over is discovering all of the pieces of the picture that unfold with each new day.  I will admit, it being a house built in 1930, some of the surprises are not all together happy ones; but many of them are!  It's fun seeing little glimpses of the past or watching what comes up in the yard as different weather makes its way here.

This morning, as I headed out with Sadie for our walk, I loved seeing all of the fall blooms that emerged overnight.  I couldn't help but smile, wondering who planted the bush?  What were they going through at the time it was planted?  How long did they imagine it might bring smiles?  Etc., etc., etc.

If you've read this blog for any length of time at all, you know that my brain works like that.  I like wondering.  I like imagining.  And . . . well, I like flowers that bloom overnight without my help!

I was delighted by the blooms, I was.  As I walked, though,  I realized I was actually more delighted by something else - something not as beautiful, but more giving, I believe.  (I hope no former English teachers are reading this - I'm well aware there were some rule breaks in the former sentence.  That's the way I wanted, though.  So there.)

What delighted me most - what brought me the most hope - was the bountiful number of buds.  The bush is laden with buds too many to count.  That means flower after flower after flower, for days and days.  That means that as we begin to don our jackets and sweaters, we are promised the gifts of blooms and blooms.  I love that!

I spent the rest of my walk considering the gifts of possibilities.  I wondered how many I pass by and don't notice.  I wondered how many times I see the picture right in front of my face but fail to notice and wonder about the possibilities hanging all around.

What other possibilities are out there?  Are you missing any?

Two boys, one barn and tons of fun . . .

Stare into those big blues and you'll see one of the reasons I adore what I do!  

This was a super fun shoot with two special guys I've had the pleasure of knowing for a good bit of their lives.  Meeting a couple of boys and their mother at a friend's farm makes for big fun, wondrous eyes and lots to look at and investigate!

We were just in time to watch the horses get fed, and that made for long, dreamy looks . . .

and a few conversations!

I love this look!

The hay pile was a big favorite and led to lots of slip sliding fun!

A couple more blues . . .

It just keeps getting better!

I loved this one and wonder what they were talking about as they strolled.

The more stuff to climb, the better!

Ahhhhhhhh.

Sweet, sweet boys.

And, locating the tractor at the end of our time, was the perfect surprise!

Y'all come back now, ya hear?

Laughing out loud . . .

A few days ago I ran across a quote by one of my favorite authors.  The quote was at the bottom of a good friend's email, and I almost missed it.  I sure am glad I didn't.  Barbara Kingsolver is the author, and if you have not read her books, I urge you to have a look.  She has written much, with varied subjects and themes, short stories, non-fiction, a bit of everything.  Her book, The Poisonwood Bible, is definitely one of my favorites.

Oh, but the quote . . .

It's completely usual for me to get up in the morning, take a look around, and laugh out loud.


You cannot know how much I love that.  I laughed out loud when I read it and a zillion memories came rushing back.  As a parent, one never knows what one will wake up to - especially after the children begin waking up before you on the weekends.  It's never a dull moment; I can assure you that.

This past Sunday morning, I woke up last (no surprise) and was more than delighted to see that the children were almost completely ready for church (surprise).  It was a miracle in itself.  And then they all began to explain that they had even finished breakfast.  The laughing out loud came when Harry (age 8) proudly stated, "I just finished the best BBQ sandwich ever."  I laughed, then I thought about crying, then I hoped no one else would find out, then I decided:

1. He was showing his responsibility by foraging and preparing his own breakfast.
2. He was happy.
3. His meal contained one serving from the wheat group and one serving from the protein group.
4. I am mother of the year once again.

Just a few days before I found the Kingsolver quote, I found this on my dresser when I awoke.  I cannot explain it.  I don't really think it means anything.  I believe it was just one of those things that one might find sitting around in a house with three imaginative children.  Again, I laughed, and then I did what I always do when I discover a new oddity - I wondered what in the world was on the funny little mind of the person who arranged this peculiar table decor.  

Was it to signify:

• Mama, I decided I do want to go to swim practice tonight?
• I'd like to learn a bit more about Amelia Earhart?
• Has anyone seen a body to go with this head?

I'm just not sure.  Who knows.

I say, keep it coming.  Bring it on.  Keep me thinking.  Keep me laughing.

And now, we must announce the winner for yesterday's WHAT IS IT contest!

Good work, you guys!  I thought I had you fooled, but I didn't trick too many of you.  

This was the photo:

(Just for the record, all of you Smarty Pants, I never saw the bug until you pointed it out!)

Here is what it was:

Nicely done, folks.  Thanks for playing!  The winner of this week's free photo session is Heather K.!

We'll go again next Monday!

I heard it again . . .

I hear it a lot, and I have spent a long time trying to make sense of it.  You've heard it too, and we've probably all said it at one time or another.  We've heard it or said at times when we want to understand, to understand why something horrible happens to someone else and not to us.  "There but for the grace of God go I."  That's it; that's the phrase that bugs me.

I remember hearing that from time to time as a child.  I didn't think much about, and I guess I filed it away in that drawer of sayings, phrases and colloquialisms that I might pull from in a moment of need.  As I grow, I notice that phrase more, I try harder to make sense of it.

I researched the origin of the phrase to find that some sources trace it back to John Bradford.  Historians don't agree, though, about whether it was first uttered from John Bradford.  If it was ole' John, apparently he said it in kindness and it has long since been used in the same way.  That doesn't work for me.  It doesn't seem like a kind sentiment to me, and it makes me wonder about all of the phrases I must utter in kindness to a friend, all of the phrases I might use when I want to give hope or love and that not be the message I give.  Makes me think.

"There but for the Grace of God go I" sounds like humans doing a real whammy on God's grace, seems like a terrible oversimplification of something so wonderful, something bigger than anything we can understand.  The phrase sounds nice, it does.  But when I break it down it feels like the speaker is implying that God didn't give grace to the one who is hurting, the one who is unlucky, the one who has experienced a misfortune.  Why would we ever say that to someone?

When our friends hurt, when they have lost the love of their lives or their child is sick or they experience an unbearable pain, we are sorry; and when we can be honest with ourselves, we imagine how it would feel to experience the same loss.  We can't help but feel scared that it could possibly happen to us, that we could experience something that terrible.  We can't help but imagine.   But would we ever say that God's grace is only for us, pray that God cover us in grace when our friends received no grace?

I can't stand that.  I know those words are always spoken in love.  I do, but when I slow down the phrase, it doesn't work for me anymore.  I know enough to know that I am only beginning to learn about grace.  I can't explain it.  I am thankful beyond words for God's grace; that I know.  I'll spend my life continuing to learn about and explore God's grace.  I'll keep asking questions and keep wondering.

I'll hear that phrase again, and it will bother me.  I'll know that the sentiment is one of love, but I'll keep searching for something else to say.  I'll keep trying hard to come up with other ways to tell folks that I am sorry, sorry beyond words.  Maybe that's the deal - there aren't great phrases to say to folks who have just had their life kicked out from under them.  Maybe what we say isn't the point.  We don't understand, we can't explain.  We can offer love, support and friendship, but there really isn't anything adequate to say.

I decided I shouldn't complain about something without offering an alternative, even if just for myself.  I thought and thought.  I don't have one.  Lots of times really bad things happen to people we love.  Sometimes really bad things happen to us.  We don't know why.  We have no idea.  We can't explain.  I have no alternative, no new words.  I have pictures, though, and I offer those, moments of grace captured when I pressed pause for just a second.

A few illustrations of grace, pictures of times I've known God's grace and remembered to be thankful.  I don't know all that grace is, but I am confident that God's grace is for me and for my children and family and for my friends and for the people I know and the people I don't know and the people who are lucky and the people who don't seem so lucky and the people I understand and the ones I don't understand.  I'm confident that God's grace is big enough for us all.

A few pictures of grace for now, while we all keep wondering . . .

Would you like a sticker on your head or an answer with that question?

When my sister and I were young, we had some incredible teachers - really incredible.  This story, however, isn't about one of those.  This is about a well-meaning young teacher who hadn't quite thought things through . . .

My sister, Jodi, was in the first grade and loved school.  She would come home excited every day and tell us the highlights of life at Gaines Elementary School.  She loved learning and she loved her teacher.  Her only disappointment was that she never 'got a sticker' on her forehead.  I remember my Mom and Dad weren't sure why she couldn't get the sticker on her forehead, but they knew she really, really wanted one.  She wanted a sticker on her head like all of the other kids.  She would tell us every afternoon how hard she tried to get the sticker, but it just never worked.

It appeared that the sticker on the forehead was some reward for being a good student or finishing your work on time or showing politeness - we weren't sure - we just knew that Jodi really wanted one and she was trying hard every day.

Finally, finally one day she came in from school with a great big smile and a sticker on her forehead!  It was a wonderful celebration, and we were all so happy for her!  She had finally gotten the sticker; she had figured out how to get it, how to please the teacher, how to make it in the first grade.

Over dinner that night, my folks asked lots of questions to try to figure out how she finally got the sticker. I remember when one of them asked the question that helped the first grader finally figure out how to explain how she did it - and I remember the look of surprise and disgust on the faces of my parents when the sticker secret was revealed.

"Oh, I finally got the sticker on my forehead like everybody else, 'cause I didn't ask any questions all day!"

You read that right - great educational tool, huh?  I'm not sure if that poor first year teacher had any clue  the damage she was doing, the message she was sending out about life-long learning or the wrath of the two people who had just busted her system!  I don't imagine that was a pleasant parent conference.

I won't forget that story because I am a questioner.  I like asking questions.  In college, my friends called me 'Who, what, when, why, where' because I asked so many questions and my husband often refers to me as 'Barbara Walters' as I interview new friends.  I like to know things!  I like to find out how things work!  I like learning - what can I say.

I've changed my mind on lots of things since I had my own children, but I always knew that I wanted my kids to feel free to ask questions.  I haven't changed my mind about that, but I'm being tested - that's for sure!

I made it through the "why?" stage with all three kids.  That phase can get kind of frustrating, but it wasn't too bad.  The questions get much, much tougher, though.  Much, much tougher.  And I'm sure that we are yet to scratch the surface!

My kids DO ask a lot of questions, and I DO try to answer.  I realized that the smart little devils had finally called my bluff when they began firing off their inquiries, followed by, "and Mama, don't say 'We'll Google it tomorrow'!"  Hmmmffff.  Tough.  Sometimes I just don't know the answer.

I'm keeping my promise, and I'm trying with all of my might to find the answers to the questions, and I'm finding that way too many of them can't be answered easily.  Some of them don't have simple answers, some have many answers, some have different answers for different people - it's tough work out here for us official 'question answerers'!

It is hard, but I say, let's keep asking the tough questions, keep searching for the answers, keep wondering and thinking and considering . . . 


I say we should keep working to answer the questions, and I say it from deep in the trenches . . .

A few nights ago, as I was saying good night to my youngest and leaned in to kiss his forehead, Harry  said he had two questions.  As I said, it's tough in the trenches - here were the questions, joined together in a compound sentence as if they actually went together . . . 

Do people who have Asperger's know they have Asperger's and why are there so many ways to spell Hanukkah?  

I did what I could with those two toughies and I'll keep on trying in the days ahead.  I don't want anyone I know getting a sticker on their forehead.  Life is way too interesting for that.  That I know.