I didn't date a lot when I was a teen and young adult. When I met my husband I could count my prior dates on one hand. So, I didn't double date much then, and I certainly never expected to double date with a grandson.
Our 16 year old grandson is currently living with us. He recently met a girl at his high school. After spending quite a bit of time talking and "hanging out," they decided that they wanted to be "in a relationship." I think that's one of the ways young people refer to the arrangement. He was anxious for us to meet her. We had intended to go skating with them this evening, but the ice arena was closed to public skating, because of a hockey tournament. We ended up at Friendly's for ice cream and get-acquainted conversation.
How strange....I have never heard of grandparents double dating with a grandson and his girlfriend. Don't get me wrong here....I am certainly glad that he wanted us to meet her, and we were happy to do so. I'm just feeling a bit amused.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Right of Way
One of my pet peeves encountered in driving is the situation where someone wants to give me the right of way, when it isn't really mine. I see three difficulties with this. First, the person trying to force me into taking the right of way may not see the whole picture. Second, if an accident resulted, it would be my fault, not the fault of the person trying to be "polite." Lastly, the person trying to be considerate of me, may not realize he is being inconsiderate of vehicles behind him.
Today I approached an intersection and stopped for a red light. I had my turn signal on, because I was planning to make a left turn. When the light turned green, a car coming straight through from the other direction tried to wave me in front of him. I shook my head 'no,' so he tried to wave me on again. I pointed at the street I planned to turn into. An elderly woman was crossing, and I preferred not to run her down. He didn't understand that I was trying to get him to look in that direction, and with an exasperated expression and shrug, finally came through the intersection. He probably muttered for the next block about my lack of gratitude. I muttered for the next several blocks about what would have happened if I had just swung into that left turn based on his go-ahead.
So, don't do me any "favors" when I am behind the wheel. If the right of way is mine, I expect to get it. If the right of way is yours, please, take it.
There are some analogies to life in general here, but I will let you make them on your own.
Today I approached an intersection and stopped for a red light. I had my turn signal on, because I was planning to make a left turn. When the light turned green, a car coming straight through from the other direction tried to wave me in front of him. I shook my head 'no,' so he tried to wave me on again. I pointed at the street I planned to turn into. An elderly woman was crossing, and I preferred not to run her down. He didn't understand that I was trying to get him to look in that direction, and with an exasperated expression and shrug, finally came through the intersection. He probably muttered for the next block about my lack of gratitude. I muttered for the next several blocks about what would have happened if I had just swung into that left turn based on his go-ahead.
So, don't do me any "favors" when I am behind the wheel. If the right of way is mine, I expect to get it. If the right of way is yours, please, take it.
There are some analogies to life in general here, but I will let you make them on your own.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Rocks from the Riverbed
“When the whole nation had finished crossing the Jordan, the Lord said to Joshua, ‘Choose twelve men from among the people…and tell them to take up twelve stones from the middle of the Jordan…and put them at the place where you stay tonight.’ So Joshua called together the twelve men he had appointed… and said to them, ‘Each of you is to take up a stone…to serve as a sign among you. In the future, when your children ask you, ‘What do these stones mean?’ tell them that the flow of the Jordan was cut off before the ark of the covenant of the Lord…these stones are to be a memorial to the people of Israel forever.’” Joshua 4:1-7
From the riverbed of my life,
I will pluck stones,
A stone of gratitude for my very existence,
A stone for His redeeming love,
A stone representing His guiding hand,
A stone for his sustaining grace.
A stone for comfort in sadness,
A stone for times of great joy,
A stone for all of His good gifts,
A stone because He himself is The Rock.
When my family gathers next time, they may find a pile of rocks as a centerpiece in the middle of the dining room table. There may be some whispering to each other as they try to determine if Mom has finally lost her marbles or become as dumb as a box of rocks.
But surely one of the little ones will say, “Uhhh….Grandma….what is that pile of rocks doing on your table!?”
And I will talk to them about Joshua and the twelve men and say, “These are rocks from the riverbed of my life. They represent the times when God held back the flood of danger or evil which could have swept me away. I want you to know that He is the Rock on which I stand.”
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Looking Across
Friday evening, I drove from western New York back to northern New York on I-90 (the Thruway) and I-81. As I left the Buffalo area, I drove on a stretch of I-90 which parallels Genesee St. and is close enough that traffic on I-90 can be seen from Genesee and vice versa.
As I looked across to Genesee St., I also looked across six decades of my lifetime. I could see a car in the 1950s traveling away from Buffalo. I had been in the city visiting grandparents and was riding in the back seat of my parents car on the way home to Town Line Rd. which divides Lancaster and Alden. I peered out the side window of the car at the lights of the vehicles on the Thruway. Who are those people? Where are they going? What are their lives like? Will I be traveling there someday?
A few miles further on I-90, and I could see ponds. When I was a child there were gravel pits in that area. My parents would take us swimming in the gravel pits on hot days after my Dad got home from work. I could sit at the water's edge and hear the sounds of the traffic whizzing by on I-90. People about whom I knew nothing passed in proximity.
I did not know that the 66 year old me would be traveling that highway having been to western New York to work on settling my uncle's estate. I did not know that he would be the last in his generation to depart, leaving me as the oldest member of my family of origin. I did not know any of the joys and sorrows that I would experience in those intervening years. I did not know enough to be either excited or fearful. So much, both good and bad, was beyond my view and beyond my ability to even imagine.
About half-way between 6 and 66, I wrote the following:
I ponder the "what ifs" of my life,
The wide range of possibilities,
A broad spectrum
From disaster
To spectacular.
I recount the "supposes" of my life,
The infinite complexities,
Puzzle pieces,
Some dovetailing,
Other in hopeless tangle.
I indulge in a dream of "if onlys,"
Those happy coincidences
That propel one,
Soaring upward,
To grand success.
I shudder at life's "near misses,"
Those frightening times
When something unspeakable
Was inches
Or seconds away.
I bow in gratitude to Him,
Whose all-powerful hand
Has in the maze
Pointed and pushed
And protected.
I cannot see tomorrow. I do not know if I have decades left. I do not know if I will travel a road parallel to the one I am currently traveling. But, I continue to trust in the powerful hand to point, push and protect.
As I looked across to Genesee St., I also looked across six decades of my lifetime. I could see a car in the 1950s traveling away from Buffalo. I had been in the city visiting grandparents and was riding in the back seat of my parents car on the way home to Town Line Rd. which divides Lancaster and Alden. I peered out the side window of the car at the lights of the vehicles on the Thruway. Who are those people? Where are they going? What are their lives like? Will I be traveling there someday?
A few miles further on I-90, and I could see ponds. When I was a child there were gravel pits in that area. My parents would take us swimming in the gravel pits on hot days after my Dad got home from work. I could sit at the water's edge and hear the sounds of the traffic whizzing by on I-90. People about whom I knew nothing passed in proximity.
I did not know that the 66 year old me would be traveling that highway having been to western New York to work on settling my uncle's estate. I did not know that he would be the last in his generation to depart, leaving me as the oldest member of my family of origin. I did not know any of the joys and sorrows that I would experience in those intervening years. I did not know enough to be either excited or fearful. So much, both good and bad, was beyond my view and beyond my ability to even imagine.
About half-way between 6 and 66, I wrote the following:
I ponder the "what ifs" of my life,
The wide range of possibilities,
A broad spectrum
From disaster
To spectacular.
I recount the "supposes" of my life,
The infinite complexities,
Puzzle pieces,
Some dovetailing,
Other in hopeless tangle.
I indulge in a dream of "if onlys,"
Those happy coincidences
That propel one,
Soaring upward,
To grand success.
I shudder at life's "near misses,"
Those frightening times
When something unspeakable
Was inches
Or seconds away.
I bow in gratitude to Him,
Whose all-powerful hand
Has in the maze
Pointed and pushed
And protected.
I cannot see tomorrow. I do not know if I have decades left. I do not know if I will travel a road parallel to the one I am currently traveling. But, I continue to trust in the powerful hand to point, push and protect.
Friday, November 25, 2011
Dry Spot or Deluge?
I haven't written on this blog in almost 2 weeks. It isn't writer's block....it's writer's overload. A handful of friends know the events of the past several days and think I need to write a book. Every time I decide on a topic...and there have been multiple possibilities....I realize that there is no way to throw that information out in the public arena without hurt to someone. Changing names to protect the innocent...or the guilty...would not be sufficient.
If I can't write about what is consuming my thoughts, then I can't write about anything, and so I have been silent. If I ever extract myself from the vortex of chaos surrounding me and arrive at some focal point, I will have lots of material.
If I can't write about what is consuming my thoughts, then I can't write about anything, and so I have been silent. If I ever extract myself from the vortex of chaos surrounding me and arrive at some focal point, I will have lots of material.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Gratitude for Little Things
My husband's return from a business trip to California was the occasion for me to be sitting in the baggage claim area of the Syracuse airport. His flight was about 30 minutes late, so I occupied myself with a knitting project. Although I was focused on my yarn and needles, I was aware of a woman of Indian or Pakistani origin who was obviously also waiting. She walked around the baggage claim area coming closer to me with each circuit. I figured she noticed me knitting and was eventually going to come close enough to engage me in conversation.
After several minutes, she did indeed approach and ask me what I was knitting. I told her it was a sweater for a doll. She sat down beside me, and we carried on a typical get-acquainted conversation. Where are you from? For whom are you waiting? How many children do you have? How many grandchildren? What are their ages? Where do your children live?
As we chatted, I came to a spot in my knitting where I needed to do something I had not done before. I mumbled something to myself and made an attempt which didn't look right to me. She questioned what I needed to do, and said, "Oh, I know how to do that. Give me the needles." She quickly did two stitches, and that was enough for me to catch on to the technique. She handed my project back, and off I went. I am not sure how long it would have taken me to figure this out on my own.
How nice that our paths crossed and that she was available with knowledge at the precise time I was in need of it. We never actually exchanged names, but I am glad for those few minutes.
I am grateful for the tiny slices of life when I receive an unexpected blessing.
After several minutes, she did indeed approach and ask me what I was knitting. I told her it was a sweater for a doll. She sat down beside me, and we carried on a typical get-acquainted conversation. Where are you from? For whom are you waiting? How many children do you have? How many grandchildren? What are their ages? Where do your children live?
As we chatted, I came to a spot in my knitting where I needed to do something I had not done before. I mumbled something to myself and made an attempt which didn't look right to me. She questioned what I needed to do, and said, "Oh, I know how to do that. Give me the needles." She quickly did two stitches, and that was enough for me to catch on to the technique. She handed my project back, and off I went. I am not sure how long it would have taken me to figure this out on my own.
How nice that our paths crossed and that she was available with knowledge at the precise time I was in need of it. We never actually exchanged names, but I am glad for those few minutes.
I am grateful for the tiny slices of life when I receive an unexpected blessing.
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