Global Warming

One of my fondest winter memories happened in the late 70’s, sometime in April, when we had the biggest snowstorm I ever laid eyes on.  It was crazy! School was called off for a week.  Cars were literally buried to the point you did not see them.  

My Dad fired up the old snowmobile.  And I mean old.  He hitched up the sleigh that went with it, and began going door to door in my neighborhood asking the lady folk what they needed from the store.  He took the lists, almost like Santa Claus really, and headed to the nearest grocery store roughly six to eight miles away. 
 

The snow was so deep the entire County was in gridlock.  Except my Dad.  Now mind you, this was a kids’ perspective.  Naturally, the other Dads’ were probably moving and shaking things up in their neighborhoods too.  Even the main road of M-59 was only passable with snowmobiles!  

When he arrived at Food Town, the shelves were almost bare, and only one or two employees made it in to work that day.  He bought up every roll, bun, or bread equivalent he could get his hands on, along with any milk equivalent he could muster up, and anything else he could pick up from the list, or it’s nearest counterpart.  He loaded up the sleigh and headed back home making the deliveries on our street.  My Dad was a hero that day.   

This has been a snow crazy month here in my little town.   The storm that started yesterday doesn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon.  Everyone is busy getting their exercise with shoveling and snow blowing.  I feel so blessed in that I have received a lot of assistance.  I could not do this snow clearing alone, and apparently I don’t need to.  When God was handing out goodwill towards men – I was given extra helpings.  I have the best neighbors, friends, and family in the world.  

For me, Global Warming has nothing to do with ozone layers, and everything to do with our heart.  It is people helping people, paying it forward, creating a world wide epidemic. 

Pete and Repeat

You know how sometimes when you are visiting with older folks they tell you the same story a lot.  Or you call your Mom, for example, and she tells you the same story again, and again, or gives you the blow by blow list of everything she has done, is doing, and planning on doing that day.  And just when you think you have a breaths’ moment to chime in to say ‘yeah, you mentioned that before’, they just keep going, as if you are not there.  It’s almost as if they are air talking.

I have two things to say about this.  1)  It happens.  2) Start doing some really crazy stuff so people will want to hear the story a lot.  

Recently, during a visit with my baby sister, I made mention of Mom, and asked if she noticed her telling the same stuff over and over.  And in that moment, which turned out to be one of the most humbling sorts of moments, she informed me I do the same thing.  I’ll be danged.  Apparently it runs in the family.

As if that wasn’t enough truth telling for one day……………I proceeded to share my story with Frito, and,  like my sister, she agreed, and pointed out it was true, I repeat myself.  Well isn’t that great.

A few days later I asked my sister something about her schedule via a text, and she reminded me how she had told me three times about what she had going on.  Another problem surfaced, I have a listening problem.   The best part though, I caught her admitting to repeating herself.  I cracked up laughing.  She is way too young for that.

Picket Fence Living

Have you ever wondered if Norman Rockwell was a dreamer, or if his work was based off real life memories he expressed onto canvas?  Something about his work tugs at the heartstrings of America.  At least mine.  Is it his vision?  Is it his way of capturing ‘a day in the life of’ whatever it may be we look at, and see?  I have never researched him, or his work, I am just speculating.

Perhaps I romanticize that everyone sees the world through the same lens.  I have been accused of thinking life should be a Norman Rockwell painting, and told it is not.  This confuses me, because I do see life as a white picket fence of loveliness, and sometimes it just has a bunch of mud smeared on it.  There is nothing wrong with this line of thinking, if you have the guts to endure disappointment.  

How about circus mirrors.  If you think Norman Rockwell is in a fantasy world – how about good old circus mirrors?  I love those too.  They make us laugh and see ourselves entirely different than we really are.  It is just fun, that’s it.

Everyone wants a little chunk of the white picket fence life.  Lucky me, I found a chunk at a barn sale this past summer.  It needs a little bit of mud scrubbed off of it, and some white paint, and it will take its’ permanent home at the corner of my new cottage garden.  I am sure my fairy garden gnomes will be happy as larks.  

And who knows, it may attract a gardener.  I am just speculating again!