27

On my way to work today I had to first stop and pick up my car from yesterday’s oil change.  It was blocked in by a double-parked truck, and although I tried to wriggle my car free, I know when I’m beat, and I graciously allowed the owner of the shop to move it out for me.  To my good fortune I found five pennies from heaven in the parking lot while I waited on his expert driving skills to get me on the road to work.  At some point during my drive the largish chocolate-banana-protein shake I took time to make this morning spilled over in its carrying bag, and even though I righted it quickly I guess it was not soon enough.  Because…walking in from the parking lot, as I was holding the bag closely, I began to feel the wetness seeping through.  I rinsed my blouse as best I could in the first-floor bathroom sink, and I’m hoping I do not reek of soured chocolate-banana milk by the end of the day.  This part reminded of a short story I dearly love by Miranda July called “Roy Spivy.”  If you’ve never read or listened to it, please do.  Four, is all I have to say about that.

Spilling, dripping, tripping, or dropping are not new to me, so why should I even note my botched morning on this day?  Well, because today is June 1^st, and exactly 27 years ago was the first day of the job I have held ever since.  I admit 27 years is a long time to be in the same job. I think to some people it marks me as unambitious or incompetent to do anything else.  True, ambition has never been my strong point, I’m still trying to figure that one out.  But lack of ambition isn’t the anchor that has kept me moored to The University of Southern Mississippi for 27 years. The fact is, (shhh, don’t tell) I like my job.

When I walked into the ELI building, the one with the rotunda, 27 years ago I didn’t know what to expect. All I knew is I needed a job other than the retail job I had, and this one presented itself by pure fate.  I had only a few encounters with international students in my undergraduate years, not for lack of interest but more because I didn’t pay attention to the world outside my bubble in those days.  I had traveled and studied abroad, but my global interest extended only to those particular countries I had visited. Suddenly, in a cramped office that was once a storeroom off of the kitchen, I found myself face to face with international students with a myriad of accents, some heavy, who amazingly to me were not hard to understand.  Three days after my first day on the job the Tiananmen Square massacre took place, and for the first time in my young life my bubble burst, and I began to pay attention to the world outside my new office door.  A desire was lit in me to learn everything I could about the cultures of the people I would be meeting.

Not a day on the job has gone by in the past 27 years that I have not learned something new about a country, a culture, a religion, or a personality.  I’ve had to talk students through breakdowns, meltdowns, depression, grief, and joy, and these things aren’t in my job description.  I’ve met South Americans, Central Americans, further North Americans, Africans, Eastern Europeans, Western Europeans, Asians, Southeast Asians, Pacific Islanders, Caribbean Islanders and people from every other nook and cranny of the world in between.  They have been Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, Jews, Christians, and godless people who have lived under communism, socialism, republics, democracies, and dictatorships. 

I have learned that religion and politics really do not mean a thing when it comes to the soul of a person.  Sure, some students I’ve met have been narrow minded when it comes to these things, but the vast majority of them have displayed big hearts and open arms ready to embrace their new experiences and the people they meet along the way.  To me it all boils down to a story of hope.

International students are the embodiment of hope and optimism.  Maybe that’s why I have stayed in the same place for 27 years.  Negativity is not for me.  Bring on the hope.  It assures me that, yes, the world IS an awesome place after all.  I’ve got 27 years of experience to prove it.

Time to get up

There’s something about me only a few people know.  I tried for a long time to keep it secret by staying away from crowds, sitting in dark corners, and dressing incognito.  Sadly, word got out, people began to talk, and photographs were circulated.  So now my secret is out, and there is no turning back.  Now the world knows I am fat.

Being of surplus weight is painful both emotionally and physically.  For the past few years the physical pain and exhaustion prevented me from doing anything that would cause exertion.  The one activity I actually enjoyed that I had to give up was gardening.  Not that I’ve ever been good at it, but I do enjoy sprinkling some seeds around and watching them grow into colorful flowers.  At least I tried for a while.  Then I stopped trying anything at all.

The good news is I’ve done something about the weight, and it’s dropping off slowly but surely. The pain is fading on all fronts.  I’m enjoying life again after a long time of not enjoying anything except the taste of sugar.  It’s like waking up after a long sleep and realizing I forgot to set an alarm and almost missed my life.

The husband is waking up a little bit, too, I think.  He’s begun to think about cleaning out the garden beds that have sat neglected for over two years.  He even bought me some chickens to liven up things around here.  If I could bottle and sell the stress-relieving feeling I get from watching chickens, I would never have to work again.

The husband has started the long-term garden plan by tilling up the side yard, so I’ve finally got some bare, tilled dirt I can sprinkle a few seeds in to watch them grow.  I’ve even gone as far as to plunk some tomatoes and peppers in the ground, something I did not even consider doing last year.

The front gardens are still in a sad state, and it will be a long time before I can do any planting in them.  Even then the plan is to make a lawn instead of flower beds.  Instead, to satisfy my garden cravings I put some new things in old pots, spruced up some old things that have been languishing, and put all the pots along a brick wall outside my breakfast room window so I can enjoy them and remember to water them.  I know I’m going to water the chickens, so it makes it easy to water the plants at the same time.

For the first time in a very long time, I’m finally feeling myself again.  I’m shedding the bad Halloween costume I’ve been wearing and emerging from the shadows. Like those seeds I sprinkled around I’m growing in a good way, and allowing myself to show my colors again.  What a relief it is.

Passing it on

 Having been raised in a Catholic school I probably have just as many memories from being in church and religion class than I do of anything else that happened in all those eight years.  In fact more than fifty percent of my entire fifth grade year was one long religion class, but that’s a story all of its own.  Back in those days the songs we sang in mass and in class tended to lean towards the peace, love, and harmony motif; think “Kumbaya.”  There was one song we sang quite often called “Pass it On”.  It starts, “It only takes a spark to get a fire going / and soon all those around can warm up in its glowing.”  I liked the song, but I couldn’t sing it because it was always in a key too high for me.  So it became a joke to sing it really high and ridiculous.  Maybe that’s why I have remembered it all these years.  And still, when it replays in my mind, it is in my too high and ridiculous voice. Ironically that song came to mind in mass tonight in a moment that was definitely not ridiculous.

Easter Vigil mass is my favorite mass of the year.  It starts in complete darkness and after the first few readings the new Paschal candle is lit and the flame is shared to light the candles we are given before mass begins.  Bit by bit, flame by flame, the light spreads until at last the entire congregation is warming up in the glow of candlelight.  That one flame is enough to share with everyone in the church, and yet it is never depleted.  As long as the flame is fed it will burn brightly and sustain a light that can be infinitely shared and multiplied.  In the end that single flame is responsible for bringing the church from total darkness to a light bright enough to see clearly.

Like the song says, “that’s how it is with God’s love, once you’ve experienced it.”  The light from the Paschal candle is meant to symbolize God’s light.  Substitute the word, love, for light, and the meaning is the same.  Just like the flame, God’s love can be infinitely shared and multiplied as long as it is fed and protected.  God’s love is alive.  It can’t be hidden away or abused.  It must be fed through prayer, reading His Word, and sharing it with others.  Spread His love to everyone.  Pass it on. Pass it on.

Lucky Jar

It’s a little late to be suggesting New Year’s resolutions, but a resolution can be made at any time, not just beginning on January 1.  For example, right this very minute I resolve to not leave my seat to get a cookie!  I would probably break that resolution in the next five minutes if there were actually cookies for me to get up and get.  I do have a suggestion though, for anyone interested in keeping a three-dimensional journal of sorts, and it’s fun.

I’ve mentioned countless times of the spare change I find, mostly pennies, I attribute to my mother sending me messages from heaven.  My sisters have similar things that happen to them so last Christmas, not this past one but the one before, the pesky sister made us jars to keep our found money in throughout the year.  I left it on a side counter with a wee pencil and pad given to me the same Christmas by the Godchild Number 1, and I took the exercise a step further.  Not only did I put my money in it, but I also used the tiny paper from the tiny pad and wrote myself little notes with the tiny pencil to remind me of my blessings.  I added the notes and other mementos to the jar throughout the year.  I call it my Lucky Jar. 

A few days ago I finally got around to emptying my 2015 jar and reminiscing over my year.  Here are some of my memories:

There are many notes such as:

January 2^nd – “A lazy day. My cat loves me.” 

January 7^th – “My work life is peaceful”.  Unbeknownst to me at the time only a few days later my work life went from peaceful to hellacious trying to balance two demanding job positions for the next nine months.  It was a relief to deliver that baby.

January 8^th – “I saw the sparkles in the kitchen.”  Sparkles need no explanation. Either you see them or you don’t, and I prefer to say I do.

January 17^th – “The Goldfinches are here!”  If I were to write that again this year I would have to make a comment like “the ground is moving” because we have so many they are impossible to count.

January 31^st – “Lucky to have friends, good food, and the Mona Lisa and Moon Pie parade.”  

The note from February 7^th has a pink puffy heart sticker given to me by a little girl at church who was sitting behind me.  How lucky was I that day?

March 5^th - I won my first and ONLY game of nine-hole-golf.  Stacy’s house is lucky.

April 3^rd - I saw my first live skunk, or at least I think it was.  It was in the back of the yard and it was dark, so I can’t be sure, but I thought it was important enough to write it down.

June 10^th - I got to see the 6:00 a.m. deer crossing my yard.  They are so silent and stealthy it is always a treat to catch them.

August 22nd – “I bathed a cat”. My first and last time.  Sadly, she had to be put to sleep in December.  I miss her.

The notes dwindled over time because I was too tired from work to think about it.  But I left more in the jar than just notes.  There were ticket stubs from movies, concerts, raffles, and ball games.  My favorite was the ticket stub and a piece of red crepe paper from the Weird Al Yankovich concert my family attended in May, a birthday gift to my youngest.  My note on the stub says “Got to see them smile.”  It was a great night, and I regret there have not been more times like that over the years.

There are losing lottery tickets, five fortune cookie fortunes, sea shells from beach trips, a ribbon from a rice bag from a friend’s wedding, and a paper napkin from the Morning Call coffee shop in New Orleans from May.  We were in New Orleans that day to buy me a new phone, and took a detour from shopping to spend a few stolen moments with my husband's aunt, uncle, and cousins on their way to take his cousin Sheryl to the airport.  It was a good visit over beignets and coffee with good people we do not see as often as we should.

There are wristbands from ball games and a hospital stay.  There’s also a pink rubber wristband in honor breast cancer awareness I bought for students to wear in the university’s homecoming parade in October.  That was my last official event as their director, and I thought it was a great way to end my career in that role.  It was an exhausting but rewarding experience, but like I said, I was relieved when that overdue baby was finally born.

Oh, and then there’s the cash: 55 pennies, 12 dimes, and three quarters.  I also kept an Island View Casino Cashout Ticket for 11 cents because I refused to leave empty handed.

There’s a souvenir penny with the impression “I love you” I found in my couch.  No one will claim it was theirs, so I declare it was from Mama.  Also include is one Sacagawea dollar, a gift from my aunt when she moved to St. Louis.  As far as paper money goes I kept the $1.00 from my cousin Hope, seed money for my cousin, the Artist, and I to start our ice cream parlor.  It sounds nice, but it was actually a matching insult for the Artist telling the highly successfully CPA she could be our bookkeeper.  Last but not least is the $100 bill I found in an old purse before I tossed it in the donate pile. Mama watched out for me on that one!

One of the last things in my jar was a St. Louis souvenir tintype with the faded image of a man I think is my dad.  I found it my mother’s things, so it is probably him.  Even daddy found a way to send me a little gift.

Looking back over the contents of my last year I remembered fun times with exceptional people, and realized I had a pretty fine year after all. There were days when I was doubtful, but the proof is in the jar.  How many others received a puffy heart sticker from little girl, and found $100 in an old purse?  How lucky is that?  Not really.  Life is what you make of it, and if you want to feel fortunate then you have to look for the small things to make you happy.  My jar overflows.  

Five things

On this day of thanksgiving Americans all over the country show their thanks by overstuffing themselves with food that is rarely seen on the table any other day of the year.  Sure, we eat turkey on other days, but how often do we take the time to baste and roast a full bird?  The same goes for dressing, sweet potato casserole, and cranberry sauce; foods that make you go “Ugh, I ate too much! Pass the pie.”

More important than the food is the thanks we are supposed to be giving for the blessings God has bestowed upon us.  Using gluttony as a tool for thanking God has a certain oxymoronic ring too it if you ask me. Perhaps Thanksgiving should be a day of fasting instead of feasting.  Or perhaps we should be more mindful of giving thanks every day instead of saving it all for the last Thursday in November.

My aunt, the Sister, has the right idea.  This is what she has to say about being thankful, 

“I tell you what.  Every morning think of five things that you’re thankful for.  I can name all my five I name every morning.  Five things that you’re thankful for, every day.  That will make you feel a little bit better.”

Since she told me this I’ve tried it many times.  It’s hard to think of five things at 5:45 in the morning, but I think God appreciates the effort at least.  The first thing at the top of my list is “Thank you, God, for letting me open my eyes on another day.”  Then I stumble out of bed and hobble around until the muscles in my back warm up enough to allow me to stand in an upright position and continue my mental list of five things. 

I am thankful for my family every day.  I am thankful I have a home to keep me warm and dry and a job so I can continue to be warm, dry and fed.  The list could go on and on, and sometimes there are so many things to be thankful for I have a problem prioritizing them into a list of only five.

My aunt is a wise woman, and her daily list of five things is an inspiration to me.  But on Thanksgiving I think we should set aside the list of five and give a sum total of all the things for which thanks should be given for the whole year.  Here is mine for this year:

Thank you, God, for my family, my home, and my job.  Thank you for ten months of opportunity to prove to myself I can do a job that is beyond my comfort zone, even if I blundered at times.  Thank you for the blunders to prove to myself I did not want the job.  Thank you for new friends, old friends, new experiences, and refreshing changes. Thank you for the moxie to make a life changing decision and stick to it knowing it will be hard at times but worth it in the end.  Thank you for sending me to church even on those days when I would rather go back to bed.  Thank you for time spent with my sister cousins and friends.  Thank you for card games that run late.  Thank you for allowing me to wreck my car and survive, proving that every minute is a gift not to be taken lightly.  Thank you for pennies from heaven, rocks with faces, bird feathers, and all of the other little things you set in my path to brighten my day.  Thank you for the laughter and tears, and the stability to know the difference.  Thank you for giving me words to express my feelings, and your Word to live by.

Tomorrow morning I must try to remember to list my five things.  As my aunt says, “That will make you feel a little bit better.”  I’m agreeing.