A time to keep and a time to give away; "To every thing there is a season"

 

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Someone I know is cleaning up his life. He is selling or giving away the bulk of his possessions. Things like a vintage car, a tractor, a truck, a vacant chicken house, a kit for a building he never built, a fiddle, a mandolin, books ... 

    "It's all going," he tells me. 

    Why? Because he is an octogenarian, and time for him is running out. So that his children will have less to do when he departs to a place where clutter does not exist, he is sweeping out the contents of his house and barns and sheds. These acts of simplification have been underway for several months, and he is making headway, but there is more to do, as his earthly possessions are plentiful.

    Earthly possessions. We all have them, and most of us have more than we need.

    I ran across an article about this very thing, along with the mention of a book titled, The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning: How to Free Yourself and Your Family from a Lifetime of Clutter (2017). The title reminded me of Someone I Know, and I decided to read the book.

Musings from a Facebook Flunkie

 

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Several years ago, my twenty-something nephew told me I should join Facebook. I responded by saying that my quiet life did not warrant postings for all the world to see. Eventually though, I signed up and crept onto the Facebook bandwagon. It carried me through some positive experiences and a few negative ones. 

    I had the most fun on Facebook when a different nephew created a particularly witty post using words that sounded alike but were spelled differently and had different meanings. Everyone who commented followed his lead, and the ridiculousness snowballed from there. Creativity shifted into high gear when every commenter tried to be more creative than the previous one. One of the most memorable words from that exchange is the word truculent, which my nephew finagled into a sentence about the "truck you lent me." The whole conversation continued for days, not hours, and it provided tons of laughter and a welcome diversion from the seriousness of life. 

    Putting that silly episode aside, eye mostly find social media to bee mundane, predictable, and at times, a source of confusion ore irritation. Therefore, eye call myself a Facebook flunkie. Before leading a writers' club, daze and weeks went bye between logins, and aye have taken at least won year-long hiatus. When eye do sine inn, eye am only checking inn with my extended family and distant friends, two sea pictures of tots dressed up as pumpkins four Halloween, or rambling threw thee strawberry patch picking berries inn the spring. 

    My biggest beef with social media is that it takes away from my precious free ours. It reduces my thyme to right. Own thee other hand, social media has its benefits, and creatives are using it too there advantage. It is a place where authors promote there books, artists promote there art, and clever individuals promote there cleverness.

    Recently aye listened two a podcast where thee host said social media is knot fore finding an audience; it is four connecting withe them. I suppose that Facebook is sort of like a marriage, inn that won gets out of it what won puts into it. Eye enjoy thee thoughtful posts and interesting pictures, but four me, a telephone call or a written note is more special than a Facebook tag.

    Words are sew much fun!

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Age happens, and there's nothing you can do about it.

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Yet again, I have had another birthday accompanied by the profound realization that a lot of years have come and gone; more than I care to admit. What have I done with those years? Well, I've laughed some and I've cried a lot. Many of those tears were from sadness and disappointment, a few were from happiness, and some were from anger, which might surprise the people who know me, but yes, a long time ago, anger had a hold on me, but I contained it quite well.

    Now, I am over the sadness and disappointment and anger.

The Long and Short of a T-shirt

 

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On a trip to Utah years ago, I bought a rust-colored, long-sleeved T-shirt. On the front are images of rocks and the names of five of the six national parks we visited. The caption reads: Utah Rocks. (It's a play on words.) 

     I remember standing in the store and contemplating which size to buy. A small fit me better, but I settled on a medium because it would offer more comfort in wearing and ease in putting it on and pulling it off. Back at home, my new T-shirt seemed too long and sloppy. I liked the memento and especially its autumn leaves color, but after wearing it only a few times, I stored it in a drawer with other T-shirts that were long on sentimental value and short on fit.

Water and Wildlife

 

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Living by a small body of water is one of the joys of my days. Water entices an array of wildlife. Mergansers, buffleheads, wood ducks, and Canada geese are only a sampling of the species that stop by to swim and dunk their heads underwater. Some drop in for brief visits, and some stay for years. On any given morning, I can look out the window and see a flock of feathered fowl taking their morning baths.

    In all the years we've been here on this special spot of earth, baby ducks have eluded us -- until now. A wood duck and her three ducklings have been frolicking at the edge of the lake and even coming ashore. The baby ducks are almost too cute for human eyes, but a photo shoot is out of the question, as ducks are skittish.

    Last year in one of the duck boxes, Barry found a nest with several eggs that had been abandoned by the layer. Wildlife, like humans, sometimes do wretched things, but for the most part and from my observations, ducks and geese and other birds of a feather are amazing caretakers of their young. 

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Tidying a Room Requires More Than a Broom

 

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Barry and I often interject humor into our conversations by quoting favorite lines from The Andy Griffith Show. Lines like, "Don't get your clothes all dirty," which is what Andy said when Opie wallowed on the jailhouse floor in a pretend tantrum. Or "Got time to breathe? Got time for music," as said by Briscoe Darlin' when Andy asked if they had time to play one more song. My all-time favorite, and one that is particularly fun to work into a dialogue, is Ernest T.'s clever remark, "I'm a little mean, but I make up for it by bein' real healthy."

    Another quote that racks up a lot of mileage for us is from the episode where Andy comes up with a scheme to introduce Ernest T. at Mrs. Wiley's dinner party, and fool her into thinking he is a refined individual. To help Andy pull off the feat of turning a rock-throwing, illiterate misfit into a socially adept, genteel man-about-town, Barney, who sees himself as a polished gentleman, offers his expertise. He volunteers to teach Ernest T. how to behave and mind his manners in a social setting. The first lesson is "How to Walk into a Room."

The Magnificent Obsession?

 

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While stitching pieces of fabric on a Sunday afternoon, I kept tabs on a 1954 movie starring Jane Wyman and heartthrob Rock Hudson, titled Magnificent Obsession. The heartthrob enticed me to watch the movie, but the title drew me in and convinced me to follow through. I had to know what the obsession was.

All because of words on a page

 

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The clouds hid the sun, making it possible for me to sit comfortably in the car while waiting for him at an appointment. In my hands I held a book titled The Long Winter by Laura Ingalls Wilder, and the last three chapters remained unread. I had been saving the ending for this block of quiet time. With the windows down and cool breezes blowing, I delved into my reading, as people walked down the sidewalk and pulled in and out of parking spaces around me.

    I finished two chapters and began the last one. Right away, the author pulled at my heartstrings in such a way that tears began rolling. I reached for a tissue and dabbed my eyes, hoping that passersby would not notice a blubbering woman sitting in a car outside a medical facility and wonder if she had been given some devastating news. I kept on reading words and dabbing tears until I had read the last word on the last page. Then I closed the book and sat there, relishing.

It's not as ridiculous as you think

 

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Someone near and dear yet far away handed me a paperback to read and keep. My heart skipped a beat at the thought of him even thinking of bringing me one of his favorite reads. As handsome as he is intelligent, he lives miles away from me, and our paths cross a couple of times a year. He is a youngster. Well, actually he is in his third decade, but he is a youngster to me. 

    Standing with him in the sunshine that afternoon, I looked at the title of the book he had just given to me: Howl's Moving Castle. Uh-oh. I felt conflicted. Happy over his thoughtfulness; uncertain about the book.

Majestic and Mean

 

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Through the kitchen window, I spotted a big bird on the limb of a tree in the back yard. I grabbed my camera and clicked once before it flew. 

    I later posted the photo on FB where folks enjoyed seeing it. One described it as "majestic"; another said, "gorgeous," and another said I made his day. Someone else said something about hoping it would come back so I could see it again.

    In full disclosure, I do not welcome the eagle to land anywhere on my property, especially at this time of year. In a few weeks, there will be adorable little goslings scrambling all over the yard, trailing after their mamas and daddies. The last thing I want to do is look through my window and see a helpless, fuzzy, yellow baby goose writhing in the talons of an eagle. 

Is the eagle majestic and gorgeous? Yes. But I would rather it go away and not come back, at least, not until fall and not when it has a ravenous appetite.

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Are We Having Fun Yet?

 

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You might not believe this, but someone once told me I needed to lighten up and have more fun. 

Ouch!

    I will bet that Charlie Finley never heard words like those, because he wrote the book on having fun, and he shares his expertise in a compilation of short stories, Are We Having Fun Yet? Needless to say, it's a fun read. Charlie writes mostly about past pranks, the ones he pulled for no other purpose than the partaking of a few laughs and maybe to occasionally make a point.

    In full disclosure, I am not a prank puller, but I delighted in sitting on the sidelines of Charlie's narratives and witnessing his practical jokes. The world needs more fun. It's something we forget to do when the seriousness of life bears down on us.

Hell-bent on profanity? Think twice when writing for public consumption.

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This post might step on some toes, so put on your steel-toed boots. Pour a cup of coffee, too, because my tirade will take a while.

A Spin in the El Ranchero

 

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My friend and I were exchanging stories about the cars we used to drive. He's a car guy, and I mentioned having a funny story for later when I had more time. That was a while ago, and yesterday my friend reminded me that he is still waiting for the story, so here it is. It's about one of the cars I drove in my teens. Or was it a truck? The reader can determine the proper terminology after learning all the facts.

Not a bedtime story

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I'm not sure how the book In Cold Blood ended up on my reading list, but it had been there for years. I heard about the murders a long time ago, and I have vague memories of seeing the movie. When I ran across the paperback at the library, I checked it out in a hurry. Funny though, as I was reading it, I mentioned the title to two friends, and neither one had ever heard of it.

        A true murder is not exactly sweet dreams material for someone like me who settles down to read at night before going to sleep. This book is different from the ones I typically reach for, but I was curious enough about what happened to this family, that I gave in to the urge, and I prepared myself for a tough read. 

Time runs faster than I do

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My dear friend from high school and I reconnected after almost forty years, and we decided that for our birthdays, which are two weeks apart, we would celebrate with lunch at a restaurant. With that event in motion, we kicked it up a notch and invited other classmates to join us. We reserved a room, ordered a cake from a bakery, and spread the word. On a Saturday at noon, about twenty of us showed up for fried fish and hush puppies and remembering our teenage years. 

    The lunch idea took off and continues monthly to this day, but because I live in another state, I rarely attend. When I see the announcement of the next gathering, I sigh.

    I especially sighed when I heard that Mrs. Loggins, my tenth grade English teacher, popped in at one of the luncheons. Mrs. Loggins stands out in front of all my other teachers, and I would have given anything to see her.

    Considering that I would never have the chance to meet up with Mrs. Loggins, I settled on writing a letter, to tell her about such things as me sitting on the edge of my seat when she carried us through MacBeth, and that by picking my short story as the best one and reading it to the class, she gave me confidence in my writing. 

    Penning a letter to Mrs. Loggins was always the next thing to do. 

Minding my mindfulness in the New Year

 

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Mindfulness seems to be the buzzword of the day. It had been calling out to me here and there, when coincidentally, a mindful friend gave me a book about the art of watching birds, mindfully. Reading the book has been pleasant so far. Turning the pages makes me feel relaxed and calm, because the author's tone and the subject matter are relaxing and calming. It is also making me want to be more mindful, not only in bird watching, but in other aspects of my life. 

        The dictionary compares mindfulness to awareness. I already consider myself to be aware, or mindful, especially of my surroundings when out and about, but there are times when I am not mindful enough. 

    So, at the beginning of January and the start of a New Year, I resolved to be more mindful, partly because of the book given to me, and partly because being consciously mindful seems like an excellent idea. If I am more mindful, maybe I will not make as many mistakes, at least, that is a partial intent in seeking to be more mindful. 

        Only two days into January, despite my mission of mindfulness, I made my first big flub, because I was not mindful enough. I baked a chocolate pie for a friend's birthday, and when I sliced it, syrupy chocolate filling ran onto the plate. I should have baked it longer. If I had inspected it more carefully when taking it out of the oven, I would have known. Instead, I trusted a note from long ago that I had baked it for thirty-five minutes, failing to take into account that a new oven had been installed since then, and that different ovens deliver different results. Next time, I will be more mindful.

        Mindfulness is a two-way street. There are times when our mindfulness is overridden by someone else's mindlessness. No matter how mindful we are, mindfulness and mindlessness sometimes collide.