Tag: daily prompt

gratitude · Life

20 Things I Love

Sally1 Comment

The RDP prompt was “cardinal” which led me to a post I had written in 2015: “Quick — 20 things you love.” That was over 11 years ago. Without studying the old list (although I posted it down below), I thought I would post the first 20 things that came to mind today.

  1. Flowers in the asteracea family — you know, the ones with petals, like daisies. My Shasta daisies are blooming in abundance. The purple coneflower is starting to bloom
  2. Stories — personal stories. Oral histories. I love when someone sits in my office and shares a sliver of their life.
  3. Melty vanilla ice cream
  4. Cold crisp Chardonnay
  5. Calls for no reason other than to say hi
  6. Books that make me think
  7. Travel to other countries where English is not the first language
  8. New sneakers — especially from Xero shoes whose zero-drop shoes gave me a new lease on walking
  9. Homemade cinnamon rolls
  10. Kneading bread dough
  11. Dinner out
  12. Photos of my grandkids — especially those that are spontaneously sent to me on my phone. They brighten my day.
  13. Blue skies — you need a few smoke-obscured skies to appreciate the blue ones.
  14. Getting rid of boxes of stuff — so satisfying
  15. Birdsong at dawn
  16. Coyotes howling in the middle of the night
  17. The smell of vanilla
  18. Simon & Garfunkel
  19. Jumping in the lake
  20. Going for a long walk

 Quick – 20 Things You Love

A friend posted this challenge: “Quick. Twenty things you love. (Not family, friends, or Jesus. We know that.)”

1. Going for a walk
2. My mother’s smile
3. Biscotti
4. A Military Tattoo — the kind with bagpipes, not ink on skin
5. Old stained glass windows
6. The smell of chlorine from a swimming pool
7. Days when I have nowhere to go
8. Bare trees of winter
9. Bare trees of winter with cardinals adding color
10. A good poem
11. A handmade quilt
12. Sunrise
13. Losing weight
14. A full tank of gas
15. Sleeping in my own bed when I’ve been away
16. Lilacs
17. Getting real mail
18. Warm feet
19. A free hour to spend in a used bookstore
20. A new song that catches my heart so I listen to it six times in a row.

Life

Temptation

Sally3 Comments

This post was in the draft folder and dated: 2016/05/06 at 1:14 pm. It came up when I searched my Draft Folder for the word “timing” — RDP’s prompt today.

I got a phone call yesterday that has been rattling around inside.

In a good way.

Kind of also in a bad way.

“Hi, Sally,” the voice said, “Do you have a minute to talk?”

“Sure,” I said. I was just washing dishes. They could wait.

It was the AD (Athletic Director) at Greene. I knew him. I had worked for him before, and, at one point, lived two doors away.

“We’re looking for a varsity swim coach for both the boys and girls next year. Our contract requires that we do an internal search to fill coaching positions which we’ve done, but your name keeps coming up. We would love it if you would come back to coach,” he said.

He went on to do some salesmanship, telling me how they’ve updated the timing system, put in a new heating system, refurbished the diving boards. “We’d really like you to come back. You did a great job before, and we’d love to have you as part of our swim program again.”

Oh my goodness.

The dangling carrot was so appealing.

I love coaching. Oh, not every minute of it, as my children could tell you. But the overall reward of being involved with young people, especially of the teenage variety, is incredible.

Several years ago I wrote a post during a time when I thought I was done coaching called “MomSwimCoach.”  It’s now up at Laura Brown’s Makes You Mom site [no longer active], and is about a one of the greatest gifts I ever received — a quilt with squares made by one team of swimmers.

But this temptation — to have the whole swim program and run with it — so so tempting.

I knew the answer.

“Thank you so much for thinking of me,” I told the AD, “but my mother died in November and I’ve been taking care of my father since. I couldn’t commit to you the time needed.”

We finished our conversation with pleasantries, but, as I said, it rattled around.

I went for a walk, mulling it over.

Temptation comes when something

And there ends the draft.

If my draft had shoulders, I would grab hold of them and shake them. “When something WHAT?” I would demand.

It’s funny that the prompt word — timing — was triggered by my reference to timing systems for swim meets, but the bigger broader story has to do with the timing of an opportunity. I’m in the same boat today. I have an opportunity, and it’s a great opportunity — but I have to weigh it all out. The timing is questionable. I should write the details in a blog post and save it in the draft folder for 8 – 10 years.

For the record, I have zero regret about not pursuing the swim coach job. In fact, I had totally forgotten about it until this showed up after searching my draft folder. I made the right choice back then. Now for a repeat performance.

family

Fill in the Blank

Sally8 Comments

From June 2011 —

*****

I laughed aloud the other day when I heard a quote from Sartre — “Hell is other people.”  I don’t necessarily agree with it, but it made me laugh.  Sometimes dealing with people is hard.

My sister, who works in a church, once told me, “Ministry would be fun — if it weren’t for the people.”

Last night I found myself thinking, “Parenting would be fun — if it weren’t for the kids.”

You could go all sorts of places with this quote — just fill in the blank.

(blank) would be fun if it weren’t for the (blank).

A teacher might say, “Teaching would be fun if weren’t for the students.”

An RN might say, “Nursing would be fun if it weren’t for the patients.”

A retail salesperson might say, “This store would be fun if it weren’t for the shoppers.”

And so on.

Last night, Laurel couldn’t sleep.  There was a storm earlier in the evening.  But I don’t think that was what caused her insomnia.  The next day was going to be a busy day and I think she was anxious about it.  The problem was that I was tired.  I wanted just a few minutes to myself.  My compassion was very low.

Finally, after I snapped at her unkindly, she came to bed with me.  Parenting would be fun if it weren’t for these darn kids.

In the middle of the night I rolled over and found myself face to face with Chim-chim, her stuffed monkey.  She was hugging him in her sleep and I hadn’t even noticed that she had him when she came into bed.  Her monkey did a better job comforting her than I did.

Beyond the monkey I saw a little girl just trying to deal with life.

My heart melted.

Being a kid would be fun if it weren’t for the parents.

For the record, hell isn’t other people.

And being a parent can be heaven.

*****

Note from 2016: Draft folder rescue — this was first written 5 years ago. I briefly published it, but then took it down. I didn’t want anyone to misinterpret what I was saying. Parenting is incredibly fun — because of the kids. Sometimes parents just get a little tired.

Today’s note (July 9, 2016) — I took this post down not long after I published it THE SECOND TIME. Today it showed up when I searched “insomnia” which is the RDP prompt word of the day.

For whatever reason, it strikes a nerve and some people find it offensive. Let’s see how long it lasts this go-round.

Life · swimming

Swimming Lessons

Sally4 Comments

This is a post that I started in 2018 and never finished. It’s a draft folder find when I searched “lane way” because LANEWAY is the RDP prompt word today.

M– drove me crazy.

He was always late to practice — through no fault of his own. He lived in the next town over, so his mother had a longer drive to the pool. Plus he was only eight years old with the short attention span so many boys that age have.

He usually walked out of the boys’ locker room twirling his goggles on one finger, carrying his cap in the other hand, and looking at the ceiling, or the other lanes, or out the window, while we were finishing up the warm-up in the lanes right in front of him.

“Whaddawedoin’?” he asked while pulling on his cap. Then he jumped right in the pool without waiting for an answer.

“I’m going first,” he said to one of the girls in his lane and planted his scrawny little body in front of hers.

“You need to warm up,” I said to him.

“Nah — I’m good,” he said.

“You need to warm up,” I said again, and thus began the first argument of practice.

M– argued with me about everything.

“Every time you push off the wall, I want you to get your arms up into a streamline position,” I told my group at every practice, demonstrating with my arms extended over my head, squeezing my head, my hands overlapping to form a tight point. Then I stood at the end and watched as each swimmer pushed over the wall.

Here endeth the draft.

I remember M– well. Unfortunately, I don’t remember where I was going with this story.

M– was bratty kid, but a talented swimmer. He went on to set records on the age group team and the high school — none of which had to do with my coaching. I actually tried to get him moved down to the beginner group until he could behave himself better, but I was overruled.

At the final meet that year, he swam fast, won races, set records, blah-blah-blah. He came to me and took me by the hand. “I want my picture with you,” he said. I dutifully smiled next to a scrawny kid on a starting block, but I still resented his disruptive ways.

The next year, he moved to the next group, and I stopped coaching to take care of my father.

Then there was a pandemic.

I didn’t lose sight of him. This is a small town, and the swimming community is even smaller.

I watched coaches pander to him and fuss over him. Team rules didn’t really apply to him. He was fast. Yes, he was fast.

Here’s where I get on my soapbox. There are things that are far more important than athletics. Being nice ranks pretty high for me. As does being thoughtful and listening. Respect, moral character, leadership — I could go on.

Hypothetically, if M– became an Olympic swimmer and got disqualified from an event at the Olympics, I would hope that he would take his lumps. If the disqualification call was a bad call, all the better. Those build even more character. The worse thing that could happen to him would be for the President of the United States to call the President of the Olympic International Committee to plead with them to reconsider — and then have the call reversed.

But that’s just me. There are things I value more than gold medals, World Cups, or bragging rights.

family · Life

Hike to Star Field

Sally9 Comments

This was originally written in March 2016 but has sat in my draft file since then. The RDP word of the day is trail which led me back to this post.

Temperatures were in the high 30s to low 40s that January day. Winter has been funny this year.

The warm air beckoned, Come! Come outside and play!

My daughter heard the call.

“I’m going to go for a quick hike to Star Field,” she said as she headed out the door.

Star Field was our go-to hike when the kids were little. From where we parked, it was about a 1 mile hike over easy terrain to a field with a great view of Otsego Lake. The kids could dawdle in the woods and not get lost because the road/trail was wide and straight.

She called a few minutes later. “The road is closed,” she said. I had forgotten that it was a seasonal road. “I may park in that lot off Lake Road and hike up past Natty Bumpo’s cave.”

The alternate route to Star Field was significantly steeper. I hadn’t been that way in years.

At home, I was trying to figure out what to have for dinner. My father isn’t a big pasta fan. That cuts my choices of things-to-make-for-dinner-that-everyone-likes-to-eat in half.

The phone rang again. “Hi, Mom,” and I knew immediately that something was wrong. She sounded shaky and scared. “Ummm…. Ummm… I slipped. There’s ice under the leaves and stuff on the trail.”

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yeah… I’m a little shaken. The trail was icy and I slipped.”

The more she talked, the better she sounded. She hadn’t worn the right shoes. She hadn’t figured on the ice. She thought she could find her way out by going up. She talked and talked and developed a plan.

But then she sent me this picture:

IMG_5912

“It was a slow slide,” she said, “and this tree stopped me. See? I’m right by a drop-off. The tree saved my life.”

Now it was my turn to be shaken and scared.

“Don’t try to climb up,” I said. “Let me get help.”

“Who are you going to get?” she asked. “I’ll be fine. I’m pretty sure I can climb up to the trail.”

I stared at the picture on my iPod.

“Please stay where you are,” I begged. I wracked my brain for someone who might be able to help. I even called my outdoorsy son in British Columbia. Like he could help. He had some suggestions, but I was also watching the clock. We only had about another hour of daylight.

Here’s where the draft ended — but I’ll finish the story for you.

I went to the Adventure Department at the sports center where I now work. It was late in the day, but I had the photo that I showed the guys who were getting ready to go home.

One of them jumped up. “I’ll go get her,” he said enthusiastically. Within minutes, he emerged from a backroom with ropes and carabiners and all sorts of other gear slung over his shoulder. “Don’t you worry,” he said, as he headed out the door.

Of course I worried.

I couldn’t go with him because of other people who were depending on me.

It was an act of blind trust — but his exuberant confidence set my heart at ease.

And when my daughter walked through the door less than an hour later, I was thrilled.

Faith · family · Life

Growing Pains

Sally1 Comment

The RDP prompt for today is kindness. I searched my draft folder and found this incomplete post that had been written in October 2011.

When I read it this morning, I remembered some of the difficult circumstances of that time. It was years before my brother died, years before I was helping care for my mother, years and years before my father died.

Just because I wasn’t dealing with death, it doesn’t mean life was easy. I had my hands full in other ways. My children at that point ranged in age from 7 to 26. I was homeschooling two, had one in public school, some in college, some working, one married.

Without further ado, here is the unnamed post which I will call “Growing Pains.” If it feels incomplete, maybe it is.

One of the most profound things I heard Andrew Peterson say was not at Hutchmoot, but at a concert in Cortland.  He was talking about his books, the Wingfeather Saga. (Note: he was still in the process of writing the series. The final book wasn’t published until 2014.)  I didn’t write this down or record it so it may not be verbatim, but I think it’s fairly close.  He said,

The main character in these stories is a boy named Janner.  When I started writing, I saw the man he would become, but I knew that he would have to go through many trials and difficult situations to become that man.  I knew that he would have to suffer some terrible things…

I have been thinking about some of the difficulties my own children have had to endure.  They are rather small in comparison to Janner’s battles with Fangs and Gnag the Nameless, but they shape my children nonetheless.

And then I started thinking about that whole idea conversely.  If my children didn’t suffer anything, how would they turn out?

For instance, in order to develop perseverance, they need to stick with difficult situations and work them out.  If I allow them to quit every time the going was hard or not fun or required something of them, they would become the kind of adults who always take the easy path, who quit, who are unreliable.

In order for them to develop compassion, they need experience some hard times and also experience unwarranted kindness to them.  I imagine that the guy in the Good Samaritan story who had been attacked by robbers didn’t later cross to the other side of the road to avoid helping someone who was different from him, although without his experience, he may very well have looked the other way instead of helping.

To develop patience, they need some annoyances.

To develop peace, they need some turmoil.

family · Grief · Life

Terrible

Sally6 Comments

The RDP prompt for today is twelve. I searched my draft folder and found this incomplete post that had last been edited in February 2016. My mother died in November 2015. I wrote so many posts following her death. I think it was my way of untangling the knot—and it helped.

This post was never completed. When I read it this morning, a flood of memories engulfed me.

Here’s the post which I called “Terrible.” At the end, I’ll try to complete it — though the 10 intervening years surely have changed where I was going with the original.

THE ORIGINAL

The one nurse said, “Well, I guess you’ve never seen a dying person before.”

She was matter-of-fact. Tart. A little smug. Definitely too cheerful.

The other nurse was different. Compassionate. Caring. Gentle.

“Can I do anything for you?” she asked every time she checked on my mother. “Can I get you anything?”

With twelve hour shifts for the nurses, we mostly saw only these two.

When I would ask the first nurse

THE 2026 COMPLETION

When I would ask the first nurse for anything, she did her job, but with so little compassion that I ended up avoiding her. Truth be told, today I can’t even picture her.

Forgettable — that’s what she was. I’m glad I didn’t spend time dwelling on her.

What I remember about my mother’s final hospital stay are definitely the kindnesses:

The other nurse bringing food in for us.

The doctor who called a family meeting. She began with these words, “Mom is very sick, and she isn’t going to get better.” She went on to talk about the fact that modern medicine could keep her alive, but we should think about what was best for her. One of my brothers still refers to her as “the doctor that told us to kill Mom.” It’s that dark famiy sense of humor that we have. I have no doubt in my mind that it was the right decision.

A group of women from the church came to the hospital room and sang to my mother. They had all been in the choir with her, and now they sang for her. It still brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it. Out-of-tune warbly voices of older women joined in some of the most beautiful music I’ve heard.

My siblings and I gathered around the bed, each telling my mother that we loved her. My youngest brother told my mother that it was okay for her to go. I had heard that it can be important to say that, and he said it, all the while rubbing her foot as he stood at that end of the bed.

I feel pity for that nurse whom I had labeled “Terrible.” Her words, I guess you’ve never seen a dying person before, are so hollow.

I don’t know what prompted them, but today, I would take her hands in mine, and say, “I hope that some day, you can gather with your family around the bed of someone you love very much, and you can be with them when they pass. It’s a beautiful thing.”

Terrible vs. beautiful. I’ll remember the beautiful.

Life

Sewing With Burlap

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The good thing about burlap is that it is inexpensive.

The bad thing about burlap is — oh, where to begin?!

Burlap wears its flaws on its proverbial shirtsleeve, although I shudder to think how uncomfortable a burlap shirt would be.

It is coarse and crotchety, like an old man who has worked hard his whole life and never been been appreciated for a single thing he has done.

It frays easily and often.

It does not like to be straightened.  Lesson #1 in 4-H sewing decades ago included straightening the fabric.  Burlap is just ornery enough to say no.  It sort of looks like it is willing to comply, and then, BAM, an in-your-face refusal when the cutting begins.

Despite all that, burlap is quite lovable — especially if you’re partial to cantankerous types.

I’m sitting here, staring at various burlaps, trying to think how I can get along with them.  How can I coax this rough piece of fabric into something beautiful?

IMG_4499[1]

In my first attempt, I lined it with a cheery cotton print.  The burlap lost its burlap-ness.  It was like taking a hobo and dressing him in a business suit.  What makes a hobo appealing is his relatively carefree life, hopping trains, bumming food, answering to no one, but a businessman has to present himself just so, and answer to all sorts of people.

No, I was glad the lined burlap cone was nixed. It was too incongruous.

DSC02204

My next attempt was a simple burlap sack.  Simple. Hah!  To make a casing for a ribbon to go through was nearly impossible. And then, I didn’t cut a long enough piece of ribbon.  And then I kept wondering if jute would be better than ribbon.  And then I just got mad at the whole darn thing because it refused to look like what I had pictured in my head.

I had an idea for my next attempt.  I would work with the fray-happy fabric. I saw it on Pinterest.

Except… I’m pretty sure all those wonderful Pinterest ideas require fingers, and, as it turns out, I’m only equipped with thumbs. Ugh.

The more I fuddled around with the burlap, the more I saw this as life.  Things don’t always turn out the way we hope.  Plan A becomes Plan B becomes Plan C.

And still we remain hopeful. Still we try again.

[I decided to started searching the Ragtag Daily Prompt word in my draft folder so I could relook at some of the things written years ago. Today’s word was HOPEFUL — and this post came up. This post was originally written in August 2014 as we were getting ready for son #2’s wedding.]

Life

Cinnamon Rolls

Sally3 Comments

I started cooking again in the last year.

In order to do that, I had to stop cooking several years ago.

Life’s twists and turns had taken the desire to cook right out me. Occasionally, when I did cook something, digging out an old tried and true recipe, it didn’t necessarily turn out right.

I think it was around last Thanksgiving when one of my children mentioned cinnamon rolls. I used to make cinnamon rolls for almost every holiday. Sometimes for birthdays. Sometimes just because. But I had stopped making them.

So I pulled out the recipe and tried it again. The cinnamon rolls turned out meh. Just meh.

I made them again.

And again.

Something about kneading dough is therapeutic. I’d say that it scratches an itch — but that doesn’t really describe it. It’s the rhythm of push-pull-fold-turn. It’s the warmth of the dough and the way you can feel life starting to happen. It’s such a good feeling.

Then, when that lump of dough rises to double in size, it always feels like a miracle. Little things thrill me — and that’s one that does.

Rolling out the dough, spreading the cinnamon sugar filling, rolling it up again and cutting the neat rolls — well, that’s all fun too.

The dough rises again.

The rolls bake and smell amazing while doing so.

A little frosting goes on top when they come out of the oven, so the frosting melts a little right into the roll.

They are so good.

Last weekend, I made a batch of cinnamon rolls. The big snow was coming. While they were still warm, I brought some to the maintenance shed where I work, where the guys who plow the parking lots and driveways for the facility go inside to get warm.

My co-worker looked puzzled when he saw me at the door there. “I made cinnamon rolls,” I told him. “They’re still warm. I think it’s going to be a long couple of days for you guys.”

His face broke into a huge smile. “I just came inside to get warm,” he told me. “These will be great!”

I laughed and told him to be sure to save some for the other guys.

Then I took about a dozen cinnamon rolls to the county highway department. I told them the same thing I had told the guy at my workplace. They were so appreciative.

It’s a win-win for me. I love making them and I love sharing them.

I’m glad I started baking again.

This post is in response to the last two JusJoJan prompts. Yesterday’s was “cinnamon” and I ran out of time. Today’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt was “scratch an itch” — and I thought I could make it work for what I had been thinking about for cinnamon.

I should have taken pictures of the cinnamon rolls last weekend. They turned out perfect!