Nancy

New and Improved?

March 20, 2015 by Nancy 20 Comments

I realize this blog post may guarantee my listing on the “greatest geezers of all time” list, but write it I must.

Has anyone else noticed that progress isn’t always, well…progressive? Just because something is new on the market doesn’t necessarily make it better or more useful than something that has existed for a long time.

Case in point, the new one-cup-at-a-time drip coffee makers. I’ve been to several gatherings in the past year where 10 or more people are offered coffee and have to queue up to select a choice. Then they wait for the coffee maker to very slowly make their individual cups of coffee. By the time the tenth person in line gets some java, the first three people are ready for seconds. Heaven forbid there is anything else on the agenda for the gathering, because getting everyone a cup of coffee will pretty much take up all the time. And, if I may be so bold to proclaim, no matter which variety you select it ends up tasting like the instant coffee my mother made when she ran out of the real kind.

Have we forgotten the convenience of a coffee maker that makes a whole pot of coffee at once? Not only can you brew as few or as many cups as you need, you can pour exactly as much as you want into each cup. When you want a second cup, guess what? It’s already brewed, and the coffee maker has kept it warm for you in the meantime. Brilliant, no?

Next category: iron-clad cookware. Like many couples, my husband and I succumbed to pressure from the younger generation to get rid of a perfectly good set of pots and pans and go for the much heavier iron-clad variety. Not only did I have trouble lifting a full pot off the stove, I couldn’t understand how it was progressive to have cookware that you couldn’t give a good scrubbing, and couldn’t put in the dishwasher! We gave them away, and I bought a wonderful, lightweight set of stainless steel pots and pans. You can scrub as hard as you want, they all go in the dishwasher, and I can actually pour soup out of the pan without having to grasp the handle with both hands, bend my knees, and count to three before lifting.

One last thing and I will have “geezed” enough for today. I’m not yearning for the friendly grocer who would call all your kids by name, load cans and a bag of flour into a cardboard box, and carry it out to your car (well, maybe I am), but I do appreciate and respect grocery store checkers. I feel that the prices I pay for the items I purchase in a grocery store are set to cover the salaries of these well-trained, competent employees. Not only do I “check out” with my favorite checkers, but “checking in” with them on a periodic basis is a social interaction I enjoy.

So why would I want to self-check my groceries? I’m not good at it, and it’s obvious the machine doesn’t like me any more than I like it. Never once has it asked me about my day or laughed at my jokes. Instead it makes rude comments like, “Strange item in bagging area.” Human checkers are better. After all, God made them, and you just can’t improve on His work!

Letting Go of Luggage

February 17, 2015 by Nancy 12 Comments

I have difficulty emotionally letting go of both cars and luggage. Once I’ve driven a car for 8 or 9 years and it has taken me safely wherever I wanted to go, trading it in seems like such a betrayal. Likewise, it’s hard to let go of a suitcase that’s collected memories like the stickers they used to put on the old steamer trunks.

Yet trading up to a new set of luggage had become a necessity for my husband and me. Even though we didn’t particularly want new luggage, we needed it. No really. We’d already had the zippers on the old set repaired once, and had resorted to using paper clips for zipper pulls. Each bag in the set is pretty well coated with airport grime, the faux leather trim is scraped off in many places, and the linings are ripped and holey. It was time.

I look at the new bag we bought (shown on the right) and it’s exciting to imagine all the places it might go with us as we move into Act 3 of our lives; but I look at the old bag on the left and remember all the places it’s been.

I have so many memories of the old bag laying open on our bed as I struggled through packaphobia before any one of the trips I’ve been blessed to take—often with a cat or two curled up inside hoping to go along unnoticed. That bag has been on numerous trips to visit grandchildren over the last 10 years or so since I bought it on sale at Sears…one of a nesting set of three for about $100. (The day I bought it I never dreamed it would last this long.) It’s carried Christmas gifts, birthday surprises, stuffed animals…you name it.

I can’t begin to remember all the vacations this bag has taken, but I know we pulled it for what felt like miles over cobblestone streets in Venice a few years ago as we looked for our hotel. That may be why the wheels are a bit wobbly. It was also on our 25th Anniversary trip to California in the Summer of 2013. Did it enjoy traveling the Pacific Coast Highway from the back of our rental car as much as we did from the front seat?

Maybe my affection for luggage stems from the fact that, like a long lost friend, I’m always so happy to see it again after a separation. When my bag emerges from the belly of the airport onto the carousel at my destination, my heart skips a beat and I’m silently screaming, “There it is! My bag made it!”

I know suitcases don’t have feelings (well, I don’t think they do!) but just before taking this one out to the donation pile I wanted to stop and acknowledge how grateful I am for all the times it traveled alongside me, showed up when I needed it most, and fulfilled its purpose well. May the same be said of me some day.

Meet Two New Friends

January 14, 2015 by Nancy 8 Comments

Today I’m happy to introduce my blog subscribers to Carol Heilman, an author I met through Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas (the publisher of my book THE HOPE OF GLORY) and her wonderful character Agnes Hopper. Carol’s book, AGNES HOPPER SHAKES UP SWEETBRIAR, will release on January 29th. Having met some wonderful “characters” in assisted living communities myself, I can’t wait to read it. Click HERE to order on Amazon.com.

When I asked Carol how she came to write about Agnes, this is what she told me:

AGNES HOPPER SHAKES UP SWEETBRIAR began as a short story assignment for a creative writing class at the University of South Carolina over ten years ago. Our instructor told us to place ourselves, along with some of our friends, in a foreign environment and to step back and see what developed.

I chose the porch of a retirement home because a standing joke, among a group of my friends and myself, was that one day we would end up living in such a place together. Before I had written two pages the characters, with their own, unique names took on their own personalities. I was fairly new to such writing adventures and was taken aback. They began to assert themselves and I decided I needed to pay attention, to listen and watch—for my scenes often unfold like a movie in my mind’s eye.

The short story ended when Agnes slipped out the back door of Sweetbriar Manor. Then I began to ask questions. What if she . . . Agnes Hopper’s story evolved and continues to evolve and surprise me. I am delighted to have a part in the telling of it.

Wishing all the best to you and Agnes, Carol! Thanks for sharing.

Christmas Tears

December 19, 2014 by Nancy 20 Comments

What is it about this season that has us gazing at blurry Christmas lights as we fight back tears? Or digging through our purse for a tissue as we let them flow?

There are many reasons for the feelings that fall from our eyes this time of year. Many of them joyful. My granddaughter Amanda called to tell me, with great excitement in her voice, that she’s engaged! I’m truly happy for her, and at peace that her match with her fiancé Taylor is a God-ordained one, yet I cried off and on for about 24 hours. I can’t explain it; I just needed to cry. For the precious little girl she once was. For the beautiful, Godly woman she’s become. For the future she’s been given. For love.

To stem the tide of tears, my husband took me over to the Broadmoor Hotel, a very nice resort near us, to walk around the lake and see their Christmas decorations. That helped for a while, but we also browsed a specialty kitchen shop there and I happened to pick up a jar labeled: Southern Pecan Pie in a Jar. Jim took one look at me and knew the tears were going to flow yet again. “You can’t put Southern pecan pie in a jar!” I exclaimed, as a flood of memories of my mom’s pecan pie, served around her dining room table in Tennessee, washed over me—along with the realization that while I have her recipe, I’ll never taste her pecan pie again.

In fact, memories of loved ones who have gone before us stimulate many of the Christmas tears we shed. Last Christmas season I offered to take a dear, recently widowed woman in our church to a “remembrance service” the church held. During the service I saw her dabbing her eyes with her embroidered handkerchief and silently but foolishly gave myself a mental pat on the back for making the effort to bring her to the service. Yet afterwards, when I asked her what she thought of the experience, she said, “I think it made it worse.” So much for trying to comfort her. Sometimes we just have to cry, and for a time at least, little else helps.

Yet could it also be that our senses are more alive this time of year? Everywhere we look the world is aglow. Bright lights adorn church sanctuaries and gas stations alike. People are kinder. Faces of loved ones are dearer. Life is sweeter. It’s all just enough to make a grown woman cry. And the music! We can’t forget the music. Last Sunday our worship pastor invited a cellist to play with our praise band. The melodies of familiar carols never seemed so rich and uplifting, nor the words so meaningful. There I was, digging in my purse for that last tissue I knew was there some place.

“There is a sacredness in tears,” writes Washington Irving. “They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love.”

It’s the unspeakable love that has my Christmas tears flowing this year. Love for family. Love for friends. And the love that came down on Christmas. The love we read of in John 3:16: For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish, but have eternal life. Unspeakable love indeed.

If you’re also feeling weepy this Christmas, let’s just watch Hallmark movies until we can’t cry another tear. Let the feelings flow into a sea of unspeakable love. Then our hearts and minds will be cleansed and ready for the New Year. Tissue, anyone?

The Thanksgiving Table

November 25, 2014 by Nancy 18 Comments

I saw her coming down the hall as I was setting up for The Hope of Glory class in assisted living. Her feet were well padded with several pairs of socks, making it possible for her to propel her wheelchair slowly along using one foot at a time.

“Nellie!” I called out. “Are you coming to Bible study? Would you like me to push you?” She answered yes to both questions and then lifted her feet straight in front of her to expedite our journey into the activities room where I wheeled her to the end of the table.

On the table was a multi-colored fall tablecloth. It was one I’d taken home to wash after an event at church, only I’d forgotten to take it in on Sunday, so it was still in the backseat of my car. I saw it when I reached for my book and plate of cookies for class. At the last second I grabbed the tablecloth also, thinking it might brighten someone’s day. Little did I know how much.

During class, I noticed how fascinated Nellie was with the tablecloth. “Oh look,” she said, pointing with her gnarled finger to specific places in the design. “There are apples and grapes on here. I could make apple juice with apples like that—and grape juice with those grapes, too!”

Our lesson was titled Attitude of Gratitude: How it’s important for us, as we age, to replace any grumbling with gratitude for the gift of living a long and productive life. We looked at key Scriptures on thankfulness, including how we are to give thanks in all circumstances as we read in 1 Thessalonians 5:18—not necessarily for all circumstances but in all circumstances. And we talked about how remembering what the Lord has done for us in the past can help us be more grateful in the present. But I’m not sure Nellie was listening.

I noticed her place both hands on the tablecloth, palms down, and begin smoothing out the wrinkles, just as women have done for generations when setting a Thanksgiving table. What is she thinking about, I wondered. Is she remembering Thanksgivings when she set a beautiful table in her home for her husband and children, or when she helped her grandmother smooth out her best linen tablecloth for a family Thanksgiving on the farm?

Nellie picked up one edge of the cloth and slowly ran her fingers along the hem to the corner. I wondered how many tablecloths she had laundered and folded in her lifetime.

I felt so blessed after class. We don’t have family coming home for Thanksgiving this year, so I won’t be setting a fancy table or stuffing a turkey. I’m fine with going out for a change, but seeing Nellie’s reaction to that tablecloth brought back a flood of treasured memories. I remembered my mother’s Thanksgiving table with mums in the turkey centerpiece, and all the tables I set for our family over the years.

Are you setting a table this year? If so, get out your best tablecloth. Smooth out the wrinkles with both hands. During dinner, record the faces gathered ‘round the table in your heart. We can’t always be with the people we’d like to be with on Thanksgiving due to weather, distance, resources, even death or divorce. But we can be grateful for those who are around the table with us, and be fully present for them.

At the end of class today, when I asked Nellie if she had any prayer requests to add to our list, she looked up at me and smiled. After a moment’s pause, she said, “Just for everyone to be happy.” Me, too, Nellie. Me too. Happy Thanksgiving.

Fall Gardens

November 19, 2014 by Nancy 14 Comments

Before last week’s brutal cold and snow, my husband and I busied ourselves getting the gardens ready for winter. I was reminded of a Back Porch Break classic column from 19 falls ago:

Sometimes the simplest tasks can bring unexpected rewards when we have the time to do them consciously. I’m reminded of this as I make one last trip through the yard and garden before winter.

When the last of the leaves go into the lawn bag, I find myself appreciating the tenaciousness with which they held to the trees. Don’t we all try to hold on in times of change? Two leaves escape and bounce across the yard in the wind. The cat chases after them for a while and then decides he will also let them go.

On top of the leaves go the trimmings from the pansy plants in the big iron pot by the door. My mom and I are connected by pansies. I remember the photos I sent her last summer, and how hard it was to convince a little grandchild to stay next to the pot long enough for me to snap the picture. As usual, the plants are left in place in hopes they’ll make it through the winter.

Clipping the heads off a row of dianthus, I notice new green growth underneath the dead stems. No doubt the plants were fooled by the warm days of autumn. I smile at their impatience and hope they won’t suffer too much for it.

Arriving in front of a stand of iris, I kneel down beside them and stop. Before I reach out to pull away the brown leaves, I imagine the regal purple blooms on top of sturdy stalks swaying in the early breezes of summer. These iris aren’t from catalog bulbs. My dad gave the bulbs to me when he divided the ones in his yard in Tennessee. I’ve had the same bulbs, or derivatives of them, at two houses in Tennessee and three houses in Colorado. They have transplanted as well as I, and they grow ever dearer now that my dad is gone. Sleep well, my friends.

Around the rose bush I rake the smallest leaves I can find, creating nature’s equivalent of flannel sheets and goose down comforter. As the wind picks up, I collect the last of the Columbine and Sweet William leaves and a handful of fading mint. The mint still has a rich aroma, much headier than its summer offering, so I save a few twigs to add to a potpourri inside.

On to another patch of garden. The shriveled cherry tomato plants come up easily, uncovering a feast of sun-dried tomatoes for some yuppie birds to enjoy on their way back to California. The strawberry leaves, now a russet red, are an unexpected find. Having a “Martha Stewart moment,” I collect a few to tie to the top of a loaf of pumpkin bread cooling in the kitchen, leaving the rest as a quilt for the small berry bed.

The ritual complete, I realize how dulling to the senses it must be to live year round in one of those places where the seasons never change; a place where a forecasted temperature of 62 degrees sends everyone scurrying off to find a wool coat. No, I need the seasons.

The lawn bag is closed and tied; the garden gloves and clippers find a home on the shelf in the garage. Let it snow.

(The small grandchild I referenced then was Francesca, now a college graduate living in Ireland where she’s finding wonderful subjects for her photography, like the photo of the red berries above! ©FrancescaMcConnell.com)