In Need of Rewiring

A couple of days ago, my husband mentioned that the lamp on his side of the bed wasn’t working.  It has a three-way switch, and the lamp was not working in any of the three settings.  He asked if I had a 3-way bulb to replace the burned out one.  It seemed odd to me that the entire bulb would burn out at the same time.  Usually in a 3-way, one of the elements burns out before the other so the lamp works in at least two of the three “on” positions.  I wondered if it was the lamp that had become defective.  Sure enough, he put in a new bulb, and it immediately blew.  So…it wasn’t the bulb.  It was the lamp itself.

At this point, it dawned on me that years roll by speedily, and the lamp must be at least 40 years old.  The base is still in great shape, but the wiring could certainly have an issue that would cause it to short out after that much time has passed.

So today, I trotted myself out to Home Depot and bought a lamp rewiring kit.  I disassembled the lamp trying to keep track of the positions of all the pieces.  It is a lovely large brass lamp with many pieces!  I laid them out carefully on the table.  I didn’t pay too much attention to the sequence in which I took pieces off…just their relative positions.  That was a mistake!  Since the replacement wire has to go through some pieces with small holes, and once you tie the “underwriter’s knot,” it’s not going through those holes, sequence is important.  Also, the center tube through which the wire goes has to be positioned allowing enough of the threads on the ends to protrude and screw into the pieces at the top and the bottom.  I ran out of hands to hold all of that in place simultaneously.

I finally had it all back together….I thought.  Whoops…there was a piece still laying on the table.  I had forgotten to replace the unit that holds the shade.  That required taking most of it apart again.  So after four rounds of disassembly and assembly, I plugged it in and it worked!

It’s gotten me to thinking though….how long will my personal wiring work before I short out?  I am amazed and grateful that after 73 years, everything still functions pretty well, and in spite of occasionally feeling like my circuits are over-loaded, I haven’t blown any fuses yet!

I guess some acquaintances probably think I’ve blown some fuses, but at least I haven’t had to be rewired.

Music

Nothing to which it can be compared,

No adequate words to portray,

With reckless abandon I jump into the stream,

Let the current sweep me away.

While the vibrations penetrate my body,

My heart syncing with the beat,

I drift on a tide of melody.

And thrill to the harmony’s heat.

But robbed by tremor and age,

The song is trapped inside.

Instead of bursting from heart and soul,

It leaks in drops from my eyes.

Trumper/Temper Tantrums

When I was a toddler, I threw temper tantrums.  I do NOT remember this.  I have a few memories from very early years, but I have probably…and gratefully…suppressed this one.  So, what I know is hearsay from my Mother….I strongly suspect she was truthful!

My Dad was fighting in France in WWII when I was born, and we didn’t meet each other until I was seven months old.  At the end of the war, men had a period of adjustment trying to find jobs and reestablish themselves.  Consequently, we lived with my maternal grandparents for a time, as did all three of my mother’s brothers who were also returning from military service.  Picture this:  one cute, sassy, curly headed toddler girl living with five men….a grandfather, a father and three doting uncles.  I was spoiled rotten.  The uncle who was attending law school told me that when my mother scolded me, I should tell her that I was “standing on my constitutional rights.”  I did learn to say that.  Poor Mom!

I was quite insistent on getting my way, and when I did not, a tantrum ensued.  These were not little crying jags.  I actually laid down on the floor, kicked and screamed and eventually worked myself into such a frenzy that I vomited.  I was even known to do this in public. 

My mother frequented a bakery where the owner thought I was such a cute little girl that she always gave me a cookie with a cherry on top.  I called this a “charry.”  One day, we went into a different bakery.  That proprietor thought I was cute and gave me a cookie, but…..horrors!...it did NOT have a “charry” on it.  I threw myself on the floor of the bakery and pitched a royal fit.  My Mother was mortified as she scooped me up and carried me out kicking and screaming.

After months of dealing with this behavior, my Mother decided on drastic action.  The next time I began to have a tantrum, she put me in my room alone.  She told me that I could scream and kick and make myself throw up or whatever else I wanted to do, but that I could not leave the room until I was done and ready to behave.  She closed the door and stood outside listening.  It was dreadful, but eventually I came out.  I was an absolute mess, but I was calm.  I NEVER threw another tantrum.  I realized that my days of getting attention in that way were over.

Every teacher and many parents have encountered a child who is so anxious for attention that even negative attention is welcomed.

Now here is what I propose.  We all ignore Trump!  The left stops hollering and whining about him.  The media stops reporting on all his bizarre behavior.  The right isolates him.  We put him in his room and shut the door figuratively speaking.  He is a toddler throwing tantrums for attention.  We should have expected this from someone who reveled in reality television, and who isn’t just rich, but ostentatiously rich.

Sadly, I know this isn’t going to happen.  The “left” hates him so much that they don’t have the self-control to stop picking at every little thing he does.  The media relies on controversy to sell themselves. The more bizarre his behavior, the better for them.  The “right” thinks they need him.  They embrace him knowing he may just “puke” on them.

But…when a toddler throws a tantrum, the best remedy is to ignore him…or her.

This Moment in Time

Is this moment in time a razor’s edge,

Where past and future fall off precipitously

In opposite directions?

Is it as vacillating as the shoreline,

Where the hard grains of the past slip under

The dancing waves of the future?

Is it a single spot of color,

Surrounded by swirling pigments of the past and future,

Casting various shades on the central splotch of the present?

Can every moment be one of acute consciousness?

Or are the moments lacking in intentionality,

A balance essential for sanity?

And when the final grain falls through the hour glass,

Will I collide with the brick wall of death,

Crumple at its foundation, and claw my way through?

Or will I slip gracefully and effortlessly,

Through a filmy drape of gauze.

Into a brighter and more intense reality?

"Organic" Spaghetti Sauce

My dear husband knows how to grow tomatoes.  Two days ago, I picked a bucket and a half of tomatoes and made two large pots of sauce.  Today I picked another bucket full, leaving on the plants anything that I thought could wait another two days.  Some of the tomatoes will be for eating fresh, some will go to a neighbor, some I put whole in the freezer, and the rest are now bubbling in another large pot of sauce.

The tomatoes are organically grown and straight from the garden, as are the green peppers. I caught the insect that crawled out of the green pepper and dispatched him, so he didn’t end up in the sauce.  I added onions, garlic powder, salt, pepper, parsley and oregano.  I may or may not have added something extra this time.

It is an exceptionally warm and humid day.  While standing over the sink peeling the tomatoes which had been scalded with boiling water, I found my face was perspiring profusely.  I did my very best to prevent the perspiration that was dripping off my nose and chin from landing on the tomatoes or in the pot.  I cannot guarantee I was completely successful.

But….I washed my face this morning, and I had not yet put on moisturizer or make-up, so I figure the liquid rolling off my face was completely organic.

If I get compliments on this batch of sauce, I plan on saying that I really put something of myself into it.

Truth vs Lies

I am not in favor of lying…. not ever…not for any reason.  I am not sure if I could lie to save my life, or even the life of someone I loved.

Ironically, I was once accused of lying by the same person(s) who accused me of being too truthful…of telling the truth when I didn’t need to do so.  It is a compulsion I have.  I sometimes go into more detail than necessary, in an effort to be perfectly clear and to make sure a situation is not misrepresented.

I know President Trump “lies” and I know the press “lies.”  That is, they both misrepresent the truth.  They are both so accustomed to lying that the don’t know how to be totally truthful.

I think Trump’s condition may be pathological.  He has his own version of reality, and it is so altered from the reality of most of the world that he doesn’t even recognize he is in an alternate universe.  I am sick of hearing about every one of his lies in the media.  If I protest to this nitpicking on Facebook, I get accused of defending him.  I think his critics should stop picking at every little thing.  That just weakens their arguments and makes them look like whiners.  They should just wait until they can catch him in something huge and impeachable. 

But, who is going to monitor the media?

The media always has an agenda and makes the facts fit it.  Over the years, I have been involved in public meetings where the media was present.  I was there.  I knew what happened.  But, it was hardly recognizable when I read about it in the paper the next day.  The reporter would not report on the meeting as a whole or even the most important elements.  He/She would pick an obscure but controversial part of the meeting and blow it up into the whole article.  Technically the reporter was telling “the truth,” but he/she was totally misrepresenting the situation.  That is not honesty.  That is having an agenda and squeezing the facts into it.  It might be called “fake news,” although perhaps not by Trump’s definition of “fake news.”  In any event, I am cautious about believing what I read or hear on the news.

When Christ was being questioned by Pilate, he said, “…I came into the world, to testify to the truth.  Everyone on the side of truth listens to me.”

Pilate replied, “What is truth?”

And that is a very good question appropriate for today.  Truth is very hard to find…that is, TRUE TRUTH.  How does one discover actual facts, that have not been bent or distorted or placed in an altered context?  Pilate didn’t know and neither do I.

But

I do know that Jesus and a relationship with him are still the answer to life’s huge questions.  I cling to the promise that someday the crooked will be made straight.

Nothing in all creation is hidden from God’s sight.  Everything is uncovered and laid bare before the eyes of him to whom we must give account.  Hebrews 4:13

Thankless Tasks

I could live my life quite happily without ever folding the laundry.  I also know I would be unhappy if there were piles of clean, but unfolded laundry strewn about the house or heaped up on the bed.  I have been in homes where that is clearly what happens.

As I folded laundry today, I thought that I can understand women who avoid the task, but I also cannot understand women who avoid the task.  (I say women, because, let’s be honest….not a lot of men do laundry.)  Folding the laundry is not inspiring.  It is not creative.  No one has ever thanked me for doing it.  And, the job is never finished.  The laundry basket or hamper which is empty this afternoon will by nightfall have the day’s dirty clothes in it, and the cycle begins again.

There are a lot of thankless tasks in housekeeping.  Cleaning the bathroom isn’t fun.  Dusting isn’t fun.  Picking up toys isn’t fun, and neither is trying to teach the kids to do it themselves.  Changing the bed linens is a monotonous routine.  It may be fun to cook a lovely meal…that can be creative, and one might even get compliments…but cleaning up the resulting dishes is a downer.

So why do any of this?  I have heard it said that it is much more important to spend time with your children….that they will never remember whether or not your house is clean.  I don’t agree with this.  I think kids do remember whether or not they grew up in chaos.  Could they find a matching pair of socks?  Was the shirt they wanted to wear a wrinkled mess in the middle of the heap?  Were there so many dirty dishes stacked in the sink that they couldn’t get at the faucet for a drink of water?  Were they embarrassed because I friend came to see them and there wasn’t a chair available to sit on?  I have been in a home where something was stacked on every chair except for a folding chair at a card table.  I’m pretty sure kids remember these things, or that the disorder is even built into their personalities.

I spent a lot of time with my children.  I enjoyed playing games with them, reading to them, going for walks or bike rides, taking them to playgrounds, teaching them to bake…and…I did teach them to fold the laundry.  I don’t go around inspecting, so I suppose they may have decided it is just too much trouble, but so are lots of other things in life that are worth doing.

Somewhere there is a balance between work and play.  “All work and no play make Jack a dull boy.”  I’m afraid that all play and no work make Jack a slob, and it is probably a sign of depression.

So…if you’re reading this instead of folding the laundry….