The Gift of Laughter

The most wasted of all days is the one without laughter.  

- e.e. cummings -

This was my Grandmother's favorite quote, and one she lived by each and every day.  She always had fun with whatever she was doing, and shared her laughter and love of life with all of us in her family.  She taught us all that a little laughter in every day was what made life bearable in the worst of times, and joyful in the best of times.  She always had some sort of funny thing to tell you about when you'd see her.  Through the years, it was some of those funny times that are some of my fondest memories.

Grandmother and I had a running joke that lasted more years than I can remember.  One of us would start it off by asking the other, "Have you told anybody yet?"  The other person would respond with, "Good heavens, no. Have you?"  (This whole conversation was carried on in the most serious of voices, no laughing... that was the rule.)  Then we'd begin the usual exchange of things like, "I saw someone the other day that wanted to know, but I wouldn't tell them."  Or, "I started to tell somebody yesterday, then thought better of it. Some things are best not known, ya know?" This would go on for up to 10 minutes or so sometimes.  Everyone around us would be looking at us like we knew some big secret, but it was never anything at all.  There was no secret.  Just us pretending that there was, and everyone around us wanting in on it.  If someone asked us what we were talking about (and they often did), we'd look at each other with a twinkle in our eyes, and decide between us that we just couldn't tell, not right now anyway.... maybe tomorrow... or next week.  It was always so much fun, and we'd collapse in a pile of giggles before it was over.  It wasn’t until after she passed that I finally told Mom that there really wasn’t anything that we weren’t telling.... there was no big secret.  It was just us two, having fun with an inside joke.

Then there were the “laughing fits” that she and I would get into once in awhile.  It could be just about anything that set us off initially, and then it would become a case of laughing at how hard we were laughing, and wiping tears, and snorting, and then laughing again because it was all so funny.  There would be a pause as we tried to gather our senses, then we’d glance at each other and collapse in laughter again.  Usually by the end of it, we were both breathless, with eyes full of laughing-tears, and had forgotten just what it was that set us off in the first place. 

She loved to play practical jokes on people too.  She had this story she'd tell about a little bunny.  I can't remember the way the story went, but she'd have this cotton ball hidden in the palm of her hand with a little bit of water in it.  By the end of the story, that hand of hers was in your hand, demonstrating something about the story, and she'd squeeze the cotton ball to make you think the rabbit (or was it a frog... hmm?) had "wet" your hand. 

Her practical jokes became something of a family tradition that as time went on, and as cousins began to grow up, she'd receive some of the funniest gifts at the family's Christmas gathering.  One year, some of the cousins made her a "coat of arms".  No, it wasn't the family crest, it was literally a coat, with a whole buncha arms sewn onto it (3 or 4 on each side).  She got the biggest laugh out of all the joke-presents that were given to her over the years, but her favorite jokes were the ones she'd play on other people. 

Oh, her practical jokes were harmless (mostly), and everyone would end up laughing when the joke was revealed.  She had a friend with whom she used to swap aprons every year, each making the other an apron each year.  One year, she must have forgotten to put a pocket on the apron she made and was jokingly reprimanded about such an oversight because the next year she made an apron that had so many pockets on it, it was hilarious... and each one was labeled with fabric paint letters.  There was a pocket for a spool of thread, one for a Kleenex, one for a toothpick, one for a thimble, one for lost buttons... There must have been over a dozen pockets on that apron.  When her friend passed away, the family gave the apron back to Grandmother as a keepsake.  Mom now owns that apron.  It’s become one of many symbols we have of Grandmother’s love of laughter.

The Apron Grandmother Made With All The Pockets

 Laughter was Grandmother's greatest gift to our family.  She taught it to her kids, who taught it to their kids, and now we teach it to our kids, who are teaching it to theirs.  It's an inheritance that is self-perpetuating.  When all us cousins were growing up together, every family gathering would become a contest to see who could “out funny” the other one.  Kids will make a contest of anything... and for us, it was who could be the funniest. 

Laughter was what got us through the difficult days that always comes with a life fully lived.  It's what makes our family gatherings always something to look forward to.  I'd go so far as to say it's the glue that has held our family together through the years, and made "home" a place worth coming back to. 

Grandmother - in her clown outfit,
dressed for Fall Festival/Halloween

The last time I got to see Grandmother before she passed, we were sitting and talking (probably laughing about something.... ("Nope, I haven't told anybody yet, have you?"), and I asked her what she would have been, had life been such that she could have picked a career of some sort instead of being a housewife on a farm all her life.  (I wasn’t inferring that life on a farm wasn’t a viable career, but when she was growing up, she didn’t have a choice... and I had wondered what she would have chosen if life had been more like it was when I grew up.)  She thought a second, then beamed a smile, and, with that mischievous twinkle in her eye, said, "A circus clown!!".  Her answer caught me by surprise, but it didn't take but a few moments before I beamed a smile, laughed, and said, "Yea, I can see that!".  She was a clown to us Grandkids, and one we loved dearly.

When I look back over my life, both as a kid and as an adult, and try to find a common thread weaving through all of it, holding things together in the tough times, enhancing the good times even all the more, I see laughter... not the type of laughter that is mean and self-seeking, but the kind of laughter that is all-encompassing... the kind of laughter that lifts people up, not puts them down.  Grandmother was a “glass half full” sort of person... and I’ve spent a lifetime trying to follow in her footsteps.  It’s as simple as deciding to look at Life differently.  Sure, there were (and will be) days when the only thing I can think of to be happy about is the very fact that I was able to wake up and get out of bed all on my own again that day.  There are days when even that doesn’t seem like such a blessing.  But it is... it always is.  It’s through the storms in Life that we learn our biggest lessons... it’s unfortunate that it has to be that way, but we humans are a hard-headed lot, so it takes knocking us down to get our attention sometimes.  When you can get to the point that you look at the storm and ask, “What is the lesson in this one?”, you have won, my friends... that’s the entire point of it all.  

It Takes a Village... Thank You "Church Moms"!

We’ve all heard it said that "It takes a village to raise a child".  I was blessed with growing up in a rural community that did just that.  Oh sure, our parents were the ones in charge of feeding us, making sure we had clean clothes to wear, a roof over our heads, and all the necessities of life, and most of all, loving us beyond any real definition of “love” could be... but it was what I call the "nourishment of the soul" that the community was a large part of. 

There were all sorts of people in the community... some more kin to us than others.   There were Mom's parents, Grandmother and Granddaddy, just across the field from us, and her two brothers and their families.  There were second and third cousins all over the place.  Shoot, you couldn't throw a rock without hitting a cousin back in those days... everybody was kin to everybody else.  Still are, for the most part, but there are lots of folks that have moved in around these parts that didn't grow up here, so it's not quite so full of only kin folk anymore. 

And then there was the heart of the community, the one place that everyone gathered at least once a week... a place that acted as community center and religious center... our church, and all her people.  It was the members of the church that were our "other family".  Granted, most were kin folk anyway, but they were all family, no matter the blood line.  All the mothers, grandmothers and aunts of the church mothered all the children of the church.  At some point or another, each one was a Sunday School teacher, Bible School teacher, or Youth Fellowship leader, and had some part in helping us learn how to treat other people, what was right from wrong, and how to turn the other cheek, and abide by The Golden Rule.  Every father, grandfather, and uncle has some part in the goings on around there, and showed us the right way for a grown man to behave, helped and guided us as the need arose, and showed us what dependability and responsibility was all about and why it was important for everyone to hold up their end of the deal. 

Ours was (and continues to be) a loving church community.  There are ladies in the church that I go up to each Sunday and give a hug and call them one of my "Church Moms".  They were special to me growing up.  When I look back at my life as a child, I see them as part of it, and understand why that, of all memories, stuck.  Whether they knew they were teaching me or not, they helped me become the woman I am today.  They helped to give me the firm foundation that became the bedrock I so depended upon as I walked the rocky road called Life.  And now that I'm living back home again, it's time I loved on them some, letting them know how very special they were (and are) to me.

I think none of us truly realize how many lives we touch during our lifetimes, nor the importance we play in those lives.  If we knew, if we had any idea, we would truly be overwhelmed with love and gratitude at having had the opportunity to make a difference.  That’s why it’s so important to take the time now and then tell someone that made a difference in YOUR life... thank them for what they did for you, explain why it made a difference.  It may seem to them as if it was nothing really, but to you, it meant the world. 

"To the world you may be just one person, but to one person, you may be the world."

~ Dr. Seuss ~

Shootin' Stars 'n' Makin' Wishes

Shooting star in the night sky

In August of each year, the Perseids Meteor Shower occurs, and this year August 12^th was the peak night to view it.  The news was hyping it to be the best we'd seen in many years due to Jupiter doing something or other, way out there in space.  NASA streamed one of their Sky Watch cameras so that folks that had clouds overhead could have a way to watch online... or for those that didn't want to stay outside and get eaten alive by the skeeters, like me.  However, I saw more of them by just going outside for a few minutes than I did by looking online. 

My sister and I slipped out the front door around midnight, when they had been telling us the meteors would start, and stood on the wet grass in our bare feet, and waited for our eyes to adjust to the darkness.  Within a few minutes, we could see more stars than a person could count (an advantage of living far away from city lights), and stood there with our necks craned up looking at the night sky.  We'd see a plane go by now and then but no shooting stars.  Then it happened, and the first one truly took my breath away.  Yes, I'd seen shooting stars before, but something was special about that first one.  Then we saw another, and another, and another.  In the course of about twenty minutes or so, we saw six or seven shooting stars.

Then I heard it.  That all too familiar buzz in my ear.  A Skeeter!  I had applied bug spray earlier in the evening, but didn't want to take any chances.  I'm allergic to skeeter bites and seem to draw them like a moth to a flame.  Some folks do, and I am one of those folks.  So we came back inside and left the shooting stars to the night sky. 

Perseids Meteor Shower 2016
Photo Credit:  Space.com

I remember when we were kids, Mom's oldest brother would came over and we’d spread old quilts out on the front yard and watched the sky.  My uncle would point out the satellites in the sky.  I can't remember what we were looking for at the time, or why we went to all the trouble of laying out blankets and everyone watching the sky, but it was fun family event, and something out of the ordinary, so it stuck in my mind as a favorite childhood memory.   Maybe we were looking for meteors on a warm August evening... maybe we were looking for satellites.  The annual meteor showers did their shows back then as well, as far as I know. 

My sister and I always shared a bedroom when we were growing up.  At one point, my bed was under the windows in the corner of the room in such a position that I could lay in bed at night and look up at the stars, if I sorta scrunched up against the wall just right.  The windows were open all the time during the summer, back in those days, and the trees in the yard hadn’t grown so tall as to block out the view of the sky yet.  We had no air-conditioning like we do today, so I liked to lay in front of the window and feel the evening breezes as they came through those windows.  I'd lay there, watching the stars, and listening to the crickets, and the whip-o-wills and owls in the woods nearby.  I don't remember if I ever saw any shooting stars, but it was always a favorite way to fall asleep on a warm summer evening.

Wishing upon a star.
Credit:  Deviant Art

What is it about shooting stars that tend to take our breath away?  Is it simply the novelty of the situation... the fact that we don't get to see them every day, which makes them seem so special?  Is it, perhaps, that we were told as kids to "make a wish" when we saw a shooting star, as if it held some sort of magic?  There were always rules about making those wishes though.... just like the wish you made before blowing out your birthday candles on the cake.  Well, first, you had to suck in all the air you could hold because you had to blow out all the candles in one breath.  Then, (whether shooting star or birthday candles) you couldn't tell anyone what you wished for.  If you did, then the wish wouldn't come true. 

I realized something, as I stood outside that night, bare feet soaked in the dew on the grass...  neck bent all backwards, staring up at the night sky... watching that white streak across the sky for mere seconds.   I realized that some of the most special moments in life are held within mere seconds... that beauty is all around us if we'll only look... and that it's important to look up now and then, and have your breath taken away.

"God is the friend of silence.  See how nature - trees, flowers, grass- grows in silence; see the stars, the moon and the sun, how they move in silence... "

~ Mother Teresa ~

Handy Crafts 'n' Purdy Thangs

Aunt Bet's Sugar Cookie Recipe
(Made by my sister each Christmas)

Traditions are something sacred in the South, and nothing more so than Family Traditions.  Whether it’s the annual Christmas gathering, or a Family Reunion, or the birthday of the family matriarch or patriarch, it’s always a special time of fellowship and fun.  However, traditions can be smaller things too, like marks made on a certain wall that record the growth of the children in a family, or always making sure that Aunt Bet’s recipe for Sugar Cookies is made at Christmastime.  Whatever the tradition, it’s something special, and somehow gives connectivity through the years to times and to people gone before. 

Quilting at Uncle Eli's Quilting Bee, Apr. 2016

Crafting is a tradition is my family.  I’ve often thought that it probably started way back in the times when everyone HAD to make everything they had.  If you wanted fancy lace on a garment, you tatted it.  If you wanted a new dress, you sewed it.  If you needed another blanket, you quilted it.  If you wanted a fancy pillow, you needle-pointed or embroidered it.  Need a new throw rug?  Get out the scraps of material and crochet one.  Whatever was needed, it was made somehow.  Woodwork, needle crafts of all sorts, painting, crocheting, knitting, the list goes on and on... everything was created because that was the cheapest way to get it.  Back in those days, no one had much money, so everyone became handy at making things.  Women traded craft tips and knowledge every time they got together.  Men did the same, but more on the gardening and woodworking end of things, usually.  Knowledge of how to do the crafts was passed from father to son, and mother to daughter... and grandparents to grandchildren.  It wasn’t even a conscious effort.  The parent or grandparent was making something, and children (being the curious creatures they are) would want to know what was being made, how it was being made, and “Please, can I give it a try?”

Count Cross Stitch Embroidery
Gift to my sister

It was my Grandmother that taught me the most about all the crafts that I do today.  Mom’s Mom was extremely versed in all sorts of crafts, and while I wasn’t all that enthusiastic about learning when I was a kid, those lessons came in handy as I grew into an adult.  Not only did she get me started on the path to learning those sorts of things, she gave me the courage to find instructions about the things I didn’t know already and give it a try.  Today there is hardly a needle craft that I haven’t at least tried at some point or another.  As Grandmother would say, “It keeps my hands busy.” That, and the fact that I love seeing a creation come to fruition as I work through the steps to finish it. 

Crafting a gift for someone is a special experience.  I find myself in thought about the person I’m making the gift for, as I make it.  Then, once it is given, the person has something that reminds them of me... or at least I hope that’s how it works out because when I look at paintings that Grandmother painted for me, or a scarf that Mom knitted for me, or look at the embroidery picture that my daughter did for me, it always brings thoughts of them to my mind.  I feel the love reaching out through the years and remember the fun times that we shared.  It somehow ties past, present, and future all together... which is often very comforting in today’s chaotic world of busy-busy and hurry-hurry. 

My son loves Dr. Who, so I designed
and made him this Count Cross Stitch

Here's the thing though... crafting something can be almost therapeutic.  It clears the mind to be so singly focused on something that the world disappears around you.  It's calming to hold fabric and thread, or yarn and needle, and create something out of seemingly nothing.  Sure, there are some frustrating moments when you drop a stitch, or have to pull out embroidery stitches, but you're getting frustrated at "a thing", not a person, and gradually, oh so gradually, you find that you're learning patience with some of the little things. These seemingly small lessons tend to ripple throughout your entire life.  Try hard, concentrate, don't let the little things keep you from completing the task, measure twice - cut once.... so many many little lessons... as you create something beautiful, and treasured. 

Origami Swan
made for Mom by my son

It saddens me sometimes when I go to a thrift shop and find something that someone obviously spent a great deal of time making, and wonder why it was cast aside.  I realize we can’t keep everything that is of sentimental value, but some of the things I run across should have become family heirlooms, handed down through the ages.  Then again, today’s families have become disjointed in some cases, and when parents pass away, the children are often left with keepsakes that they don’t understand the real value of.  I don’t fault the children, or the parents, for that matter.  It’s just how the world is today.  I think that, overall, we’ve lost a great deal in our attempt to make life easier.  It’s important to remember origins, traditions, and how things were done.  It ties us together into a family, a community, a way of life.  

_,.-'~'-.,__,.-'~'-.,__,.-'~'-.,__,.-'~'-.,__,.-'~'-.,__,.-'~'-.,__,.-'~'-.,__,.-'~'-.,__,.-'~'-.,__,.-'~'-.,_

“Her fingers work steadily, flicking the yarn – a light lavender in some places, nearly plum in others – around a small golden crochet hook and drawing it secure through a loop made a moment before.”   – Jaclyn Shambaugh –

Crocheted Doll
(made for a special little girl as a gift)

Slow Down... You Move Too Fast....

Slow down...

Vacations are good for the soul. Cleansing when we feel muddled. Clarifying when we feel the world is in chaos.  We regain our focus when we feel we have lost sight of what's important.  We get in our daily/weekly grind, and lose perspective on what we're even trying to accomplish.  I've heard it said many times that it's hard to see "inside the bubble" when that's where we live.  Vacations give us that bit of time that we need to regroup... to forget the grind for just a bit and remember what we believe in, what we are striving for, and who or what is truly important in life.  It gives us a chance to step outside of that bubble and see the real world.  

As a child, I knew vacations were special times, but to my young mind, it was just another opportunity to play.  As an adult, I came to understand that taking a break now and then isn't just "fun", it's absolutely necessary.  These get-aways can be short or long, near or far, simply a weekend or a month.  It can be a trip to the mountains or the beach, or an excursion to far away lands and exotic places.  

The destination and length isn't the important thing.  The important thing is to change the venue.  When you change the venue, you see the world differently for a short time, then when you look back at where you were (at home, at work, at school... etc.) the view is somehow different. There's a clarity that wasn't there before... at least somewhat.  That's why many of us find ourselves saying "I've had a good time on vacation, but I'm so glad to be home."  The familiar is comfortable, soothing, relaxing.  But it can also be blinding, if it's not broken up now and then with something different.

I know that many times I have been working on something intensely for several days, becoming more frustrated as the days go on because some problem or other seemingly can't be solved.  If I take a break, do something completely different for awhile (take a walk, work on something else, relax and play a game.... anything to get my mind off of what I was doing for just a bit), I often (very often) find that when I return to my original task, the solution is right there... hiding in plain sight all the time.  That same principle is what makes vacations (mini or mega) so important.  It's a "human thing".  We all do it... can't see the forest for the trees, some would say.  Take a few steps back, turn around, and lo and behold, there's the forest right in front of you.  

I worked with/for a fella once who liked to walk.  We worked on a college campus, so the opportunity was there on a daily basis.  Didn't matter if our destination took us completely across campus, he would walk.  I didn't understand this at first, but came to both appreciate it as a way to take a short break during a work day, and to appreciate the time it would give us to talk about things.  One of his first comments to me when we first started walking everywhere was:  "You walk too fast."  I was puzzled.  Asking for clarification, he said:  "We're Southerners.  We don't 'walk', we 'mosey'.  (Pronounced "moh-zee" for those of you not familiar with the word.) There's an art to moseying." He proceeded to demonstrate the slow walk, the unhurried pace, the deep breathing to take in the smells.  I remembered that was how Granddaddy used to walk around with us kids. Moseying gives you the opportunity to look around at what's beside you, notice the flowers, look at the butterflies and birds, pick up an interesting rock, look closely at the bark of a tree.  Moseying gives you the opportunity to squat down and see if that really was a four-leaf clover you saw in that spot of clover that you just stepped over. Moseying is one of the South's hidden secrets... and most of the time we Southerners don't even think twice about it.  It's just how we walk, how we enjoy time on a minute by minute basis, even if it's just while we're moving from one place to the other.  Hey, I get it... late for a meeting, gotta hurry.  But that's not always the case, is it?  Plan ahead when you can and give yourself a few extra minutes.  Stroll, don't walk/run.  Learn to mosey!

Hurry... Hurry...

Look around you... in the mall, on the street, at work, at school... how do the people walk?  Chances are it's a brisk, purposeful walk, lost in thought, worried expression on their faces, as they contemplate what they need to accomplish next, worrying about meeting the next deadline, or trying to figure out what's going to be for supper that night.  We all have things we have to accomplish in any given day, but it's HOW we go about doing that, that can really make a difference to our own selves.   Something as simple as allowing yourself to truly "mosey" (at least some of the time) can change your whole perspective.  It's not being lazy or selfish... it's YOU giving YOU permission not to be in high gear all the time.  Really, it's fine.  Things will get done just as they need to.  Give yourself permission to slow down at some point during every day... and not just at the end.  

Perfecting the art of moseying...

So go for a stroll, and to coin a phrase, stop and smell the roses.  Take a break. Learn to mosey.  Sometimes the only "hurry up and..." in life are the ones you've impose on yourself.  Change the timeline.  It's your timeline, after all.  

There was a song back in the '60's by Simon & Garfunkel, called "59th Street Bridge Song" that I've always thought of as a good reminder to take time to mosey.  It is, in fact, good music to mosey by.  The tune is slow and lilting, and the message is clear from the very first line:

"Slow down, you move too fast.  

You've got to make the morning last.  

Just kickin' down the cobblestones.  

Lookin' for fun, and feelin' groovy."

Simon & Garfunkel "59th Street Bridge Song"