An Unusual Compliment

The most unusual compliment I ever received came from my ophthalmologist, a Dr. Yorkgitis by name.  During an eye exam a few years ago, he murmured, "You have the warmest eyes."

At this his medical assistant commented, "Well, of course, they're brown." 

"No, it's not the color.  I'm not sure how to explain it, but when I look deep down into either of  her eyes, I see warmth."

My hope is that people see and respond to that warmth whether it be while saying hello to a stranger on the street or in conversation with a close friend.  It feels like a special gift.

Yes, I Did

While I prefer being a homebody, I do find road trips enjoyable.  Florida, South Carolina, Maine, Canada, California, Washington, Kentucky, Michigan, New York, Maryland, Delaware—all places visited over the last 20 years.  The most unusual trip?  Hmmm, would that be the trip to Florida with a spinet piano in the back of our Honda Pilot?  Or the train trip to California (including an hours long breakdown in Utah) with 4 young children while my husband finished remodeling our house?  Perhaps it was driving to Quebec and taking the train back home to Pennsylvania with a train change in New York and an overnight with a friend in Philadelphia.  Though each of those presented their own unique joys and challenges, the most memorable road trip was the time I went solo in Northern California.

It all started with my dad’s desire to attend his 60^th high school class reunion in Tulare, California.  We flew to Bakersfield with plans to stay at his brother’s house, he for the duration and me for a night on either end.  The day following our arrival, we visited my aunt’s sister’s farm in Visalia.  Being used to the farms of several hundred acres on the east coast, this 1000+ acre produce farm was eye opening.  The output was incredible—huge peaches, luscious grapes and much, much more. 

From there I continued, just me and the rental car, going further north than I had ever been on the West Coast.  In spite of spending most of the first 21 years of my life in California, I had never been further north than Fresno/Sequoia/King’s Canyon.  This was my opportunity.  Our youngest son was spending the summer interning at Point Reyes National Park, and that’s where I was headed.  But first I made a stop in Modesto where a friend was in the hospital after a hiking accident.  He was glad for the visit, brief though it was, and I left him with a very large, beautiful peach from the produce farm.  Back on the road I headed for Stockton and then turned west, traveling through rolling hills, vineyards and hundreds of windmills.    

I arrived at Point Reyes just after dark and met up with our son, Jonathan, at a “let’s all get together and hang out” type party.  It may have been somebody’s birthday; I’m not sure.  A lot of new faces, names I wouldn’t remember, and conversation.  I was by far the oldest there—in my mid-fifties—but everyone was welcoming and kind.  The rest of the week was spent at the house Jonathan shared with a co-worker, a ranch style house from the days when the Park had been ranch land.  While Jonathan was at work, I explored the small town of Inverness, read from the collection of books at the house and spent time bird watching out the windows.  After work, he took me sightseeing in various parts of the park.  And on the last day we tackled the Point Reyes lighthouse.  The 308 steps down to the lighthouse were easy to navigate.  The lighthouse itself was rather small, especially compared to the rocky outcroppings, but interesting.  The rocks were draped with sea lions who were quite the attention getters. Then came the “climb” back up.  My son and his coworker, being young and in great shape from working outdoors, sprinted to the top and waited for me.  I and most of those around me took our time, not hurrying, not lagging, taking each step upward with a measured, steady pace, conserving our energy.   I definitely felt a sense of accomplishment at the top and celebrated by buying a Point Reyes Lighthouse poster which I have to this day.

 But all good things must come to an end and on the morning that marked the end of my visit, goodbyes were said and hugs exchanged.  I was headed for San Francisco and the Golden Gate Bridge, not wanting to miss the opportunity to see something of the city as I drove through or the experience of driving over the famous bridge.  It all passed by quite quickly and I soon found myself on Highway 1, another of the experiences I had put on my list to accomplish.  The road was good; guardrails were pretty much non-existent and the locals drove very fast, but the scenery was more than worth it and the frequent turnouts helped keep us tourists from giving the locals too much grief for which I was thankful.

A turn back east and I was back at my uncle’s house to spend an evening and night with them.  In the morning my dad and I flew to Tucson, Arizona to visit my brother and family and then to Iowa to visit our other son, family and new baby.  And then home to Pennsylvania. 

Quite the adventure all around, but the best part was going solo.

Advertising

I am probably close to being part of an advertiser's worst nightmare.  We have no TV.  Our newspaper subscription is to our small local weekly paper with limited advertising, mostly for upcoming events.  I only listen to the radio when I am in the car and then mostly Christian, classical and NPR.  The one lonely AM station to which I listen does have commercials and for many of those I turn the volume down.  I skip YouTube commercials after the mandatory 4 seconds and only view the Facebook videos I truly want to see because of the advertising inserted in the middle of some of them.  The billboards on some local roads do garner my attention, but only to look for the negatively notable, such as a local hospital proclaiming they have been preventing colon cancer for over 15 years (if that were true the world would be beating a path to their door, early detection--yes, prevention--no) or the jewelry store that is still advertising their holiday sales event.    Unsolicited flyers in the mail go in the trash.  We are on the Do Not Call list and if an unrecognizable number does show up on the Caller ID, it goes to voicemail.  When I go to the store, I prefer to be in and out as quickly as possible, ignoring product placement endcaps and the advertising videos sometimes playing in various departments.  I do enjoy shopping with my sister when visiting South Carolina, but the local thrift stores are our destination.  I do appreciate all the effort and creativity that go into an advertising campaign, but for the most part I am immune, well, except for books and things fiber related. Fortunately, the advertising in those realms is limited.

That being said, I did hear an amazing piece of salesmanship today at a local flea market.  The vendor was in the midst of pointing out all the features of a fishing rod to the customer when he said (and I quote), "Now this here, this is brand new.  It was just put on three years ago."  Maybe I should have stayed around for the rest of the spiel.

Growth is easy; growth is hard

Plants grow, children grow, storm clouds grow, dust bunnies grow, potholes grow – all apparently effortlessly.   

Knowledge grows, relationships grow, skills grow, faith grows – all with diligence and labor, with prayer and perserverance.

Road trips

My daughter, Carrie and I have taken some really good road trips.  From Pennsylvania to Florida, and Maine, twice to Canada, and points in between, we’ve logged many miles replete with companionship, music, and good conversation.  

Most trips found us taking a wrong turn or two with no smart phone to keep us from the error of our ways.  Only one town, Greensboro, NC, tripped us up twice at exactly the same place due to terrible road signage.  Almost as bad was a small town in Georgia outside of Atlanta where the streets by and large had no street name signs.  Then again if you had lived there all your life, you wouldn’t need them.  A way to keep out-of-towners to a minimum, I suppose.  And the ongoing construction (20 years worth) made our lives interesting when driving the interstate through Charlotte, NC.  The beltways around that city have made a vast improvement.

Driving from Greenville, SC to Tampa  FL a few years ago earned the nomination for best driving experience.  The weather was delightful, traffic flowed smoothly, and there were no delays due to construction.  The trip through Maine to Quebec would qualify for second place.  A highlight of that trip was a stop at a family-owned motel.  The check-in “lobby” was a large room attached to their home.  The walls were lined with taxidermied animal heads of all kinds and the couch and easy chairs were covered in pelts.  Whatever one’s view of hunting, the chance to feel the soft luxurious pelt of an arctic silver fox was amazing.

The most memorable road trip without question was the one taken in 2007 with a family visiting us from Russia, a dad, mom and three children.  Carrie and I were their transportation to Orlando where ex-pat Russian friends had a time share week.  After dropping them off, we spent our time in Tampa with family.  On the return trip, we were forced to stop in South Carolina on our way back due to a violent thunderstorm with possibility of tornadoes, but found a nice restaurant with a TV tuned to the weather news in which to wait out the storm.  But what made the trip one for the record books was listening to the family playing Uno in Russian for the better part of 2000+ miles.  And though I learned to recognize the numbers one through nine in Russian, my favorite remains the number four.

It managed to still sound lyrical, even after hearing it hundreds and hundreds of times.

I wish...

As a child, my wishes ranged from the ridiculous to the sublime.  I wished I had gotten the Chatty Cathy with the blue dress for Christmas instead of the one I got with the red dress.  I wished I fit in better at school instead of being quite so free-spirited.  (I mean, what other sixth grader brought knitting to do at recess?)   

 In junior high, I wished my new loafers were prettier.  I wished I had more control over my sweet tooth, especially with a penny candy store right across the street from the junior high school.  (Maybe it was an occupational hazard that came with the name Candy.)  I wished my best friend lived closer to me.

In high school I wished I could solve the world’s problems or at least those of my friends as I usually choose to befriend those on the fringes rather than the “in” crowd.  I wished that popular girl sitting kitty-corner from me in Creative Writing class didn’t sneer at me quite so openly.  I wished my Spanish teachers were better at teaching Spanish.

As a wife and mother of four, I wished I could be a better housekeeper like “S”, that I could decorate my home as effortlessly as “B”, that I could be as organized as “M”.  I wished I could be as charming as “R”, have the joyful abandon of “N”, play the piano like “J”, sing like “M” and be as adaptable as “L”.

If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

If turnips were watches, I'd wear one by my side.

If "if's" and "and's" were pots and pans,

There'd be no work for tinkers' hands.

Thankfully, the Lord has been teaching me more and more about who He is and who He has made me to be.  Contentment with who I am--and my less than “perfectness”—is still a work in process.  I still catch myself wishing for things from the ridiculous to the sublime.

And I wish I hadn’t forgotten to put away the ham and bean soup last night.  Some of the best bean soup Barry has ever made had to be consigned to the compost pile.

When there is a Will, there is a way

My dad, Will, loved catchy sayings.  Many were quoted verbatim such as “If it were a snake, it would have bit me.”  “Smile, things could be worse” was a favorite, said with a goofy grin.  Many of them would have a unique twist, making them his very own.  After successfully completing a task which required ingenuity or a measure of creativity, he would say, “When there is a Will, there is a way” with the emphasis on his name.  “Another day, another dollar” was amended to “Another day, another dollar and I’m still flat busted.”  “I’m a peace-loving man” ended with, “but I’m slowly losing my patience.”  And the explanation “my stomach done lapped over my belt” followed “I have Dunlap’s Disease”, usually said after a particularly satisfying meal.  At least one saying was completely his own—“That was a musty meal (or particular food item); must have some more”.

I distinctly remember when one of his sayings was said for the last time.  It was probably 1964 and my dad had been laid off from his construction job.  Some good friends of my parents, Billy and Bunny Shultz were at our house for dinner, whether to commiserate or cheer us up, I don’t remember, perhaps both.  They may have even brought the meal.  Billy had a dry sense of humor and Bunny was hysterical.  As the meal progressed, the hilarity increased and soon we were all laughing uproariously.  The phone rang, and my dad, thinking it was a friend whose call he was expecting, answered, “Pine Crest Mortuary.  You stab ‘em; we slab ‘em.  Stiff speaking.”  There was a prolonged silence on the other end, followed by a tentative, “I’m looking for a Will Wentworth?”  Turns out, the caller was a contractor calling to offer my dad a job digging graves. My dad got the job.  Our fortunes were restored.  But oh, the irony.  He never answered the phone that way again.