Independence Day

Not a day goes by that I don’t think about this great country, this choice land cradled between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. From sea to shining sea, we are a diverse, heterogeneous group. In terms of language, race, religion, ethnicity, and tradition, the United States probably has a more motley population than any country in the world. If you ever doubt it, take a trip to the Big Apple, and you might find yourself feeling somewhat like a minority. I know I did. In fact, I snapped the above picture at Ellis Island recently because of  all of the faces represented,  I couldn’t find anyone who looked like me. The second picture is of the same “faces” from a different angle.

When the 4^th of July rolls around, I find myself reflecting even more on our great land and also on the many Fourths that I’ve experienced in the past. I’m not going to bore everyone with a long trip down Memory Lane, but I would like to mention one of my most unforgettable July memories. It has nothing to do with food, parades, fireworks, family get-togethers, or patriotic songs.

About 20 years ago, my first husband and I arose before daybreak and left our three sleeping children in the care of my mother so that we could go to the beach for an early morning run. Mornings are always special in that they hold the fresh promise of a new day, but this July morning was even more extraordinary. It was Independence Day, and we were on the beach. We thought we were alone except for a few scattered shell seekers, and then we saw them: a Vietnamese family huddled closely together on the steps of one of the beach access walkways.  Quietly staring at the ocean, there were grandparents, parents, and three young children.  Why the scene hit me with such force, I don’t know. I guess it had something to do with the combination of the holiday with the sight of the family staring out to sea. I was forcibly struck with the thought America is a land for ALL PEOPLE, not just descendents of those who came over on the Mayflower.

Yesterday was a fine, somewhat low-key day, one that began with breakfast with Paul and Amanda and ended with a cookout with a few members of my husband’s family. I’ve had some pretty spectacular Fourth celebrations, including a crazy one in which Carrie and I joined festivities in Camden, Sumter, and Florence before arriving  home in Myrtle Beach around midnight. I’ve seen fireworks on the Hudson River in New York, on the coast of Myrtle Beach, and on the Washington Mall with Paul, Ella, Joanna, and thousands of other celebrants, but yesterday I didn’t see a single flash of light. While that was okay, next year I plan to go wherever the fireworks are so that I can better commemorate America’s birthday with my fellow Americans.

As George W. Bush would say, “God bless America.”

Sunday’s Uplift

I’ve been quite remiss in my blogging lately. I could blame working and traveling, but it seems that I’ve allowed facebook to eat up my blogging time. It’s easier and faster…and fun too. Although it doesn’t take that much time (I’ve limited myself to 15 minutes per day), it still take me away from blogging. That said, I thought I take a few minutes this morning and post one of the many things I’ve been thinking about.  

This past Sunday my daughter Elizabeth and I had the opportunity to go to church in Conway. It was an exhilarating experience for us for a couple of reasons. It’s always spiritually uplifting to worship with like-minded people, especially those who genuinely care about you. That’s the way it is in Conway. We know and love most of the people there, and I’m sure that if we lived there, we’d grow to love them all. Some of those people have known Lib since she was an infant and one man in particular still refers to her as “Elizabeth Sue.” I won’t mention any names; I’ll just say that we used to LOVE to hear him sing “Master, the Tempest is Raging” when he was the bishop of the Myrtle Beach Ward.

The other reason that Sunday was so uplifting is because of the phenomenal growth that the church as experienced there. In the late 1990’s our family was one of the few who began attending the Conway branch. We were small in number but strong in spirit. At that time we met in a modular unit, and then in 2003, we moved into a newly constructed brick and mortar building. In 2006, the branch became a ward, and a couple of years later the growth necessitated an expanded facility. Consequently, the Conway ward met in Myrtle Beach for about a year until this past Sunday.  With the newly expanded church completed, the members met in it for the first time. Knowing about this event ahead of time, I couldn’t resist topping off my weekend trip to the beach by worshipping in this beautiful building with my fellow Saints and friends. Who knows? Maybe that ward will one day become a stake center.

Okay, I’ll add another reason why Sunday’s service was so memorable: the speakers, the music, and the lessons. I’ll expand on some of what I came away with at another time, but for this morning I’ll be content to mention a scripture that’s found both in Isaiah and in the Doctrine and Covenants: “Come now, and let us reason together.” (Isaiah 1:18). The spiritual uplift I got from “reasoning together” with the Conway folks on Sunday is still with me today.

One last thing. I’m writing this from the Johnson City, TN Public Library. DH is playing golf, and I drove to the library to look for information about the area. Earlier this morning, I drove through the campus of ETSU, and I wrote in my journal while sitting in a parking lot there. Overlooking the beautiful mountains and surrounding scenery, I was reminded of something one of  the speakers said Sunday. He mentioned that it seemed to him that when God wants us to see things, he sends us to a high place (think Moses) so that maybe we can see things the way He does.  Interesting thought, huh?

Moms and Dads

A few years ago I read a great article about why and how fathers are important. It was a long and kind  of boring treatise, so I won’t go into all of it, especially since I don’t remember but a couple of points that captured my attention.  Why? Because I knew that from my perspective and experience, they were true.

According to the article, children fare better with two parents because each offers something unique and vital to the child’s development. While mothers, generally speaking, are nurturant and supportive, fathers tend to have more of a  “step up to the plate” sort of mentality.  When a child whines or complains that something is unfair, a mom (at least this mom) is tempted to soothe the little one and try to make things “all better.” Sure, she might agree that yes, things are tough, but she (again, generally speaking) will perhaps try to help the child to see the big picture or actually help him or her with whatever the “unfair” situation is.  Dads, on the other hand, are more likely to say something like, “Who says life is fair? Stop whining and get moving.”

Furthermore, while both parents might see the world and the future as fraught with danger and pitfalls, their remarks and reactions to it are different. Mothers look for safety and are more likely to say things like, “Be careful,” or “Call me when you get there.” They take on sort of a protective role. Fathers, on the other hand, see the same dangers, but their goal is to prepare rather than to protect their children.  They want to toughen their kids up enough so that they won’t break when life sends them a curve…or two or three.

Couple of examples. When Carrie was a junior in college, her grades began to slip, and she was having entirely too much fun doing everything besides studying. I cajoled and encouraged, but it didn’t seem to be working that effectively. Her dad told her that if she didn’t straighten up and fly right, she’d have to earn every penny of her own tuition. That worked. When we bought Paul a used car, the deal was that he’d pay for repairs. The very next month, something happened to the little Sentra, and the bill was nearly $200. I felt sorry for him, a high school student with a part time job at Chick Fil-A, and I offered to help him out with the bill. His response, “No, Dad said it was my responsibility.”

Whose way is right? Both. Children, just like adults, need someone in their corner to soften the edges and assure you that things will work out just fine. They also need someone to make them walk the proverbial chalkline.

Happy Father’s Day

A shout out to all of the fathers tonight. I can’t write about all of them, but I can’t let the day pass without sharing one of many stories about my father that happened when I was about 14. I copied and pasted it straight from Musings.

“Somewhat rebellious, I was perturbed that my parents wouldn’t let me go to a fellow middle schooler’s party, an unchaperoned event, so my friends and I decided to take matters into our own hands. The plan was to spend the night with this one particular pal, Becky, and go to the party from there. No one would be the wiser—or so we thought. As the evening progressed, my mother thought of something she needed to ask me and innocently called the home of my friend. Becky’s mother, not knowing of our devious scheme, told my mother that we had gone to a party. Shocked and disappointed in my behavior, my mother called the party giver’s home to tell me that my father was en route to pick me up. Mortified, I tried to “make a deal,” but talking was pointless. Within ten minutes, my father had arrived in the trusty family station wagon to collect me AND my friends.  I’ll never forget the long ride back to town with me in the front seat and my friends in the back. They implored him to let me go on home with them, but he calmly ignored their requests. He was smoking, and in my opinion (biased of course), he looked like a cool James Dean. Once at home, he and I sat down at the kitchen table and had one of many parent/child talks about obedience and trust.  And love.  Yes, love. Enough love to take the time to drive out on a cold Friday night to pick up a disobedient daughter, bring her safely home, AND then take the time to discuss the matter.”

Before his death nearly ten years ago, one of the things my father told me is that he and my mother felt fairly confident about how to discipline and teach the four of us when we were small children. When we became teenagers, however, he confessed that they were often completely flummoxed.  They tried all sorts of strategies depending on the child and the situation, but behind everything there were feelings of love and concern. We all four felt it, and we never wanted to disappoint them…at least not in the long run when we awoke from our rebellious years.

A Little Venting

No travelogue tonight Friends. I just have a couple of things on my mind that I feel like sharing before getting ready for book club.

Earlier this week I was reading the newspaper and came across two interesting articles on the same page, and while both had to do with money, the stories were totally different. One was about how more women are getting into the Avon and Tupperware businesses on the side. Why? To make extra money to supplement the family income.  I then saw a short piece about a man who didn’t understand all the hoopla about his bonus. After all, he deserved it, by golly! The thing is, his company has lost BILLIONS, and he got a 75 MILLION dollar bonus. Huh? Here are moms peddling plastic while this guy is raking in millions. I’ve read that the income gap is widening, but this is ridiculous. By the way, I can’t remember the name of his company, but I’m not making this up. Really.

I’m picking up mssc54’s lament about the number of mothers having babies out of wedlock. It’s astounding to realize that 40 percent of America’s babies are born to single mothers. Don’t take my word for it; check it out for yourself. I just do not understand this. Call me an old fogey or whatever else you want to throw my way. But before you do,  check out the research on child development, and you’ll learn that study after study confirms that children with two parents in the home fare better in every way: emotionally, socially, psychologically, physically, and financially. Yes, I know there are two-parent homes where abuse and neglect are regular happenings, but still….Don’t take my word for it. The studies are easy to find, and they all say the same thing; babies raised by single mothers (and it’s usually the mom who’s raising the child) are more likely to live in poverty and suffer the consequences (often long-term) that go along with that.

This phenomenon (single mothers), long a concern in psychology and sociology circles, has now captured the attention of the media. A couple of weeks ago I happened to catch part of the evening news, and an interviewer was asking a young single mother WHY. Why did you opt to have this baby out of wedlock and keep him? She said that it (motherhood) was something she purposely sought and that the reason she didn’t want to get married was because she didn’t want to be cumbered with a husband.  She, however, wanted to have a full life, one in which she experienced all sorts of things, including motherhood. The baby was looking at the camera in big-eyed curiosity. I wonder when his daddy-ache will begin or how he’ll react when he begins school and gets asked/teased about his father. But hey, does that really matter as long as his mother feels fulfilled?

Only one more thing. I’m wondering why so many people feel that it’s necessary to take potshots at President Obama. Lately some columnists have been giving him a hard time for having what they perceive to be a condescending attitude towards Americas and perhaps too much of an empathic one with some of the folks he’s been visiting overseas. President Bush got bashed for having too much of an ethnocentric, “we’re #1” attitude. Can any high profile person avoid getting slammed by the cynics?

My next post will be more upbeat. I just had to get this stuff off my chest. Does anyone have any answers to the above???

Sparrows and Jersey Boys

 

 

It’s great to travel, to experience sights and sounds a bit different from the same-old, same-old. It’s a doubly delicious experience when it involves people you love.

Friday afternoon DH and I left town and headed west to Atlanta for a weekend visit with Amanda and Paul. After a couple of stops along the way (one in Madison, GA where I ate one of the best Chick Fila sandwiches ever), we arrived at their apartment around 10 p.m.  We chatted for a while and headed to Slumberland around 11:00 so that we’d be ready for the next day’s activities.

I set my clock for 6:30 and was out the door by 7:00 for an early morning walk up Roswell Drive. One of the things I enjoy so much about walking is that it allows you to see things in a different way than from a car or tour bus. When Pat and Charlie take you to the streets, you’ll see things you’d never notice otherwise. Case in point…the tiny little sparrows hopping around in an empty parking lot.

After the walk, we all piled in Paul’s car where he drove us to a breakfast diner with quite a reputation. I could see why. There was quite an array of choices, and the food was muy delicioso. Well, my vegetarian omelet was. So were my grits and wheat toast. Amanda’s cinnamon raisin pancakes, which she graciously let me sample, were pretty tasty too. Appetites satisfied, we went back to the apartment to hang out for a little while. I read on the back porch while enjoying the beautiful trees and gentle breeze.

 Soon thereafter, we again loaded up and headed out to do a little shopping and some sightseeing. The young Crolleys had not yet discovered a Marshall’s right up the road from their apartment, but now that they have, I think they’ll go back. All that shopping took a lot of energy so we had to visit the Yogurt Mogul for a little snack. Ummm. Good, especially after I added strawberries, bananas, raspberries, Butterfinger chips, and walnuts to the top. You only live once, right?

Energized, we headed for Roswell, a delightful community about 15 or 20 minutes from Sandy Springs. There we toured an old mill site that included a creek, two waterfalls, a bridge, and many splendors of nature. If you look closely in the top picture above, you might spot a little white dog in the right hand bottom corner. We watched him swim. Fun. We also hiked a little bit and read a lot of historical signs. After leaving the nature walk, we hung around Roswell a little longer before going to  (yes, you guessed it) eat dinner. The restaurant, Ted’s Montana Grill, had been recommended by one of Paul’s friends, and we weren’t disappointed. Paul had the most unusual fare, a bison burger.

After dinner, we rushed back to the apartment to get freshened up for the play we were going to see that night, Jersey Boys. Rather than drive downtown, we rode MARTA and thoroughly enjoyed the experience. In fact, when I asked DH to tell me his top enjoyable activities, the MARTA ride made the list. Once downtown, we joined the other hundreds of people who seemed to be going in the same direction we were: the Fox Theatre.

What a treat it was to walk inside of that fabulous old theatre. It was beautiful, breathtakingly so. Of course, we had to hustle because of the crowd so I didn’t get to gawk too much, but from what I saw, I’m rating it as the most unique theatre I’ve seen. Once we got to our balcony seats, I wished I’d bought some pricier ones a little lower down. The stage was so far away that we could hardly distinguish one actor/singer from another. Still, the music was phenomenal, and we all enjoyed it. The only thing that was a “fly in the ointment” was the language, but then I guess it was how the Jersey boys talked in the 1960’s.

Play over, we walked out with the other 4,600 people and headed back to the MARTA station. On the way we saw too many interesting sights to mention. We heard some cool stuff too, like the lone trumpet player playing his heart out on a street corner. Beautiful.  I’ll always remember that sound and associate it with a warm summer night after an evening at the theatre with some of my favorite people.

The next morning we all four went to church, the perfect way to end our time together. Although the speakers were inspirational, what I got most from the meeting was the feeling of love. That’s right, the “feeling” of love all around me. Here’s one quick example. The Primary children sang a medley of Father’s Day songs since next week is Stake Conference, hence a different program than one honoring fathers.  DH and I both noticed this cute little boy on the front row who didn’t sing a note. He seemed cooperative, and once in a while, he’d move his lips, but he never really got into it like the other children. When he came back to join his family, he slid into the row behind us, and I heard his father say, “Awesome. Good job.”  Some parents would have said, “Why didn’t you at least try?”  or “What’s wrong with you?” but not this dad.

After Sacrament, Paul and Amanda walked us outside to tell us good-bye, and we chatted briefly about the next time we’ll get together. As I’ve always told my children, there’s the promise of another hello in every farewell. You don’t always know when or where that will take place, but you have to believe it will happen.

Framing Andy Warhol

Isn’t that a great picture? I posted it for two reasons.

I like it. It’s a cool picture AND the saying is something I believe to be true.  True, there are people who drive us crazy, who try our very souls, but for the most part, we need to try to find something good about the folks around us. We’re all in this together, and working interdependently as part of a unified, cooperative whole is better than bickering, backbiting, and belittling. How’s that for alliteration? Whenever I come across someone whom I absolutely cannot abide, I give them plenty of space. Why make myself miserable?

The other reason I like it is because of the super way it was framed last week. I was visiting Myrtle Beach, and before I left I went to the Frame Factory on King’s Highway to leave the Andy Warhol poster (above). I LOVE the service, advice, tastefulness, and reasonable pricing of the business, and for the past eight or nine years, I’ve taken all of my prints and posters there to be framed. I’ve even sent them several other pleased customers. 

Last Friday I took the poster in, and within minutes, the gentleman who was working that day and I had agreed upon the frame. The employees really know their stuff there, and many times I have gone it with my mind settled on a certain “look,” only to have it changed by someone at the Frame Factory with a different and better idea.  When I told the man that I wouldn’t be back in the area for a couple or three weeks but that my daughter would pick the picture up, he asked if I’d be around through Saturday. If so, he’d have it ready by then. “No, I’m leaving as soon as I leave your shop,” I said. He then asked if I could find something to do for 15 to 20 minutes. If so, he’d go ahead and frame Andy and his pithy words then and there.

It’s not as though the shop needed the business; it’s just that the employees aim to please. That’s why they’re so successful! That and the fact that they all have expertise in color, design, texture, and taste. If you’re anywhere near Myrtle Beach and need to have something framed, it’s worth the drive.  And the poster? I ordered it from AllPosters.com for $7.95. Isn’t that a great price? Oh, and in case you’re curious, it cost $16.30 (or thereabouts) to have it framed.

May I Have Some Conditioner Please?

A couple of things that have happened in the past few days have made me think more about customer service. In the text we’re using for a human relations course, the authors (Reece & Brandt) say that organizations are increasingly concerned about the quality of service to customers.  They say that in any service-type business, “there are thousands of ‘moments of truth,’ those critical incidents in which customers come into contact with the organization and form their impressions of its quality and service.” Amen to that. Here are two recent experiences.

This past weekend Elizabeth and I stayed in a Day’s Inn in Rincon, GA, probably for the last time. Here’s why.  Neither  of us brought hair condtioner, but we weren’t too concerned about it. Most motels have the little bottles available for use. Not this one. The only toiletry on the counter was a small bottle of shampoo and a tiny bar of facial soap. No problem, or so I thought. I’d just pick some up when I went to the office to get another towel. We only had two, both pretty small and threadbare, and Lib needed one for her hair. Problem. Day’s Inn in Rincon doesn’t offer conditioner for travelers. Incredulous at this news, I was then told that these things had a way of disappearing. So??? I mean, aren’t these items meant to be used?

It gets worse. When I asked her for an extra towel, the desk clerk (after rolling her eyes) walked to another room, got a towel, and told me it was the last one.  I might add that this wasn’t a “cheap” place. We’ve stayed at the Holiday Inn Express and Comfort Inn near the interstate for less $$, and the rooms, staff, and frills were much nicer. The price was less at the other two motels too. We just opted to stay at the Day’s Inn because of the proximity to Carrie’s house. Next time, we’ll go for comfort and customer service rather than convenience.

Connie says one of my favorite words is juxtapose, and maybe she’s right. But then I have a lot of favorite words like stellar and higgledy-piggledy and deterge. But I digress.

Juxtapose the Day’s Inn scenario with this. Last night we dined at the local Fatz Café with some of my husband’s family. We were celebrating Karen’s birthday of May 5^th. Yes, we’re a bit behind schedule. But again, I digress. Anyway we had to wait quite a while because there were no tables or booths available for six people.  Just when we thought we were about to be seated, the party decided to stay for coffee and conversation.

Alas, we waited about 20 more minutes, but to soften things a bit, the hostess apologized profusely and offered us something to drink—twice.  Finally seated, we ordered our food from the senior menu (we love this!) and chatted some more while waiting for the entrees. We also munched on some warm rolls. When the food arrived, I was given teriyaki chicken instead of salmon, and the young server apologized and scooted off to the kitchen to rectify things. In the meantime, the manager came over, and he too apologized AND then said there would be no charge for the meal. He also said he was sorry we’d had to wait so long AND then sent for more rolls.

Moral of the story: Stay away from Day’s Inn in Rincon, GA and frequent Fatz Café any chance you get. About the former, no one should ever have to pay for shoddy service and the skimpiest of offerings.

Little Decisions

Just a short post to say how proud I am of my children and some of the choices they’ve made lately.  Sometimes I take their behavior and responsible attitudes for granted, but today I’ve been reflecting on the wise choices that all three have made in just the last 24 hours.  Though it took a monumental effort to feed and dress four young children and take them to church, Carrie did it yesterday…just as she does every Sunday. Though tired and weary from a quick trip to Savannah and back, Elizabeth worked hard to finish a project that was due by midnight yesterday. Though it would have made a difference in his salary and provide insurance benefits, Paul turned down a job today that required working on Sundays.  As he and I were talking about his decision, I remembered the quote from my morning’s reading and shared it with him. He listened politely.

I like to start my day by reading something inspirational, and this morning, I picked up Come, Listen to a Prophet’s Voice, a compilation of short passages by LDS prophets. I had intended to read a little more in my sister’s book about dysfunctional families of the Bible, but my hand seemed to have a will of its own and landed on this small volume of daily counsel. Right away I knew that’s what I needed to read because of a quote by Gordon B. Hinckley on the back cover:  “The course of our lives is seldom determined by great, life-altering decisions. Our direction is often set by the small, day-to-day choices that chart the track on which we run. This is the substance of our lives–making choices.”

I got a little carried away and read about ten passages, all good. All worth pondering. Here’s another one from President Hinckley that originally appeared in Stand a Little Taller. “The small, daily decisions we make each day determine our happiness here and our destiny hereafter. They accumulate to influence for good or ill the great, life-altering decisions we make. Indeed wrong decisions are rarely made about those big issues when righteous decisions are made in daily living.”

Kind of makes you think, huh? Carrie, Elizabeth, and Paul might think those little decisions were nothing special, but I know better.

Brooklyn Bridge

 

My mother said that once on our way home from Charleston when I was about 3, I wanted to take the Cooper River Bridge home with me. Hmmm. I think that was just the beginning of a lifelong affinity for bridges. There’s just something about them that captivates me. Maybe it’s because they symbolize movement from one place to another or a change from one part of your life to another, a transition of sorts. You can’t very well reach the other shore if you stand shivering and afraid on the homeland (so to speak).

When Connie and I dined on Mexican food earlier this evening, we began talking about our New York trips and the fun and memorable experiences we had. Although we went at different times and with other people, we still enjoyed reminiscing about the high and low points of our visits. As we chatted, I realized that I hadn’t written anything about my most recent visit to the Big Apple at the first of May. The hour is late, and my brain is a bit muddled, so I’m not going to go into a detailed description of everything we did.  Nope. I’m just going to mention THE BRIDGE.

For weeks before we left, Lisa and I talked about how she’d walk across the Brooklyn Bridge with me if I’d sit in Central Park with her and sip a latte or some other tasty beverage.  “It’s a deal,” I promised. After reading A Tree Grows in Brooklyn as a book club selection last year, I was determined to at least “set foot” in young Francie’s city. Yet when the time came, our schedules got a little too crammed, and I soon realized that if I was going to cross the bridge over to Brooklyn, then I was going to do it alone.  Leaving Lisa and Linda on the tour bus, I bravely (my perception) walked the two blocks to the start of the bridge ALONE. Well, sort of alone. I was surrounded by throngs of humanity, all strangers.

Approaching the bridge, I was awed by its beauty and structure. I was also surprisingly pleased at its human traffic since hundreds of people were traversing the mile long bridge between lower Manhattan and Brooklyn. While many were tourists with cameras like yours truly, many were not. The latter were dressed in suits, scrubs, uniforms, and other types of clothing that indicated that they were either coming or going to work. One of the neatest things I saw was a young Japanese couple having wedding pictures taken.

I took several pictures on the way over, and some of them are in this blog. The South Street Seaport shops where we had browsed the day before is the first one…after the shot of me waving good-bye to Lisa and Linda.  The others are simply bridge shots. I loved the experience. It was awesome, and I plan to do it every time I visit the city in the future. I think, however, that it’d be more memorable and enjoyable if I had a walking buddy next time. Do I have any volunteers?