by jphilo | Mar 24, 2016 | Three Thoughts for Thursday
- A year ago, we were complaining because gas cost $2.42 a gallon. Two months ago, we were rejoicing because gas prices dipped to $1.43. Now we’re complaining because a gallon of gas now costs $1.98. We become ungrateful far too quickly.
- This morning, I was awakened by an unfamiliar noise. I finally identified it as bird song. Ah, spring!
- As a kid, I hated wriggling into tights, wearing a scratchy petticoat, working buttons through the stiff buttonholes of a new dress, pulling on white gloves, and tightening the buckles on my Mary Janes. As an adult, I miss getting gussied with my sister for Easter Sunday services and having Mom take our picture.
by jphilo | Nov 26, 2011 | Reflections on the Past
If you read yesterday’s post which listed three Thanksgiving faves, you might be assuming today’s entry continues the holiday weekend favorites theme. In which case, the color of choice would be black because of Black Friday.
A logical thought, but not quite where this post is going.
This post is going for a memory triggered by this morning’s sunrise. Or more specifically, by my sister’s comment about the lovely Minnesota sunrise visible from their four season porch. “Look,” she said, “it’s sky blue pink with a heavenly border.”
Something stirred deep inside, and I asked, “What did you say?”
“Sky blue pink with a heavenly border. That’s what Dad always said when we asked him to name his favorite color.”
Suddenly, Dad was with us, two little girls hanging on the arms of his wheelchair. Two little girls asking, “What’s your favorite color?’
“Mine’s blue,” my big sister said.
“Mine’s pink,” I added.
“And mine,” Dad winked and grinned, “is a little bit of both. Sky blue pink with a heavenly border.”
The true meaning of his words went over my head and into my heart where it lay dormant for decades. Until this morning, when my sister commented on the sunrise, and I understood that Dad – a man normally more attuned to humor and practicality than to poetic and artistic thought – loved the beauty of sunrise.
From now on – whether my morning walk proceeds under gloomy, grey skies or those streaked blue and pink and orange by the rising sun – if you inquire about my favorite color, the answer will always be the same.
“Sky blue pink with a heavenly border.”
Thank you, Dad, for loving beauty more than you let on.
by jphilo | Jun 17, 2011 | Family
I’m so glad the bro and sis weren’t here this morning, sitting in the audience during my workshop this morning. They would have been rolling on the floor with laughter, and that would have been way too distracting.
Why?
Well, the topic was how to organize research and writing. During our mutual childhood, my reputation was more space cadet than organizational maven. I could not keep track of either time or toys as a kid, so their soda pop would have squirted out their noses at the thought of their middle sister (who also reversed the letters d, b, p, and q with reckless abandon) teaching writers how to stay organized.
Gross, but true.
So the bro and sis need to take note of this: the workshop was well-received and my true confessions of past space cadetitis gave the organizationally challenged in our group great hope. You two can snort Pepsi out your noses all you want, but my charts and forms made more than one writer’s eyes light up. If either of you want copies, let me know. Ditto for cleaning your closets, sorting your files. I draw the line at folding underwear. I don’t even fold my own underwear. No sense being too organized.
Gross, but true.
by jphilo | Feb 22, 2011 | Out and About
This morning, I was feeling sorry for myself, stuck in Iowa for the entire winter, slogging through the rewrites of my new book, day dreaming about February of 2009 when Hiram, my sister, and I went to sunny southern California for a long weekend visit with an elderly relative. This post from February 27 of that year shows that the trip was not the completely idyllic interlude of my recollection. It also reminds me of the parents who found comfort in my first book, A Different Dream for My Child, and who want to read the second one, Different Dream Parenting.
It’s also the perfect segue into a reminder for readers. The Readers’ Choice Awards contest is still on, and A Different Dream for My Child is one of five finalists, presently in third place. The hot and heavy voting continues, and you can vote once a day, every day, through March 8 at about.com. Thanks!
Waiting for the Ocean View
Okay, go ahead and laugh. We’re not in California and won’t get there until this evening since our morning flight to Minneapolis was delayed (mandatory rest for crew) so we missed our connecting flight. Our new flight doesn’t leave until later this afternoon, so Hiram and I are enjoying a day in the Omaha airport. Guess we can check that one off our Bucket Lists.
My sister, who drove to the Minneapolis airport through the snow, made her connection just fine. And to think that last night we were congratulating ourselves for picking the cheaper Omaha flight and missing the Minnesota snowstorm we would have driven through to fly out with her. She’s a really good sister. She didn’t even say “I told you so.”
But to wet my ocean whistle, I found this photo I took a few years ago. My friend, Helen, and I had a great afternoon, walking on the Atlantic beach and wading through the warm August ocean. After visiting Helen for a few days, I went to a writers’ conference near Boston. At that conference I hatched the idea for A Different Dream for My Child with the woman who advocated for my book and Discovery House Publishers and is now my editor.
This morning, we chatted with our linemates as we inched toward the ticket counter. We talked about our jobs and my book came up. One man asked how he could buy the book. He and his wife have one child, a five-year-old son with severe autism. I directed him to my website and gave him my business card, wishing the book was already published. Suddenly, the line moved. He went one way, we went another.
Afterwards I realized I didn’t know his name. But his son’s a beautiful, brown-eyed boy named Conner. And Conner’s dad said what every parent who needs the book says when they hear its title. “That’s exactly what it is,” he said. “A Different Dream, not a bad one.”
His attitude put one less day at the beach in perspective. It’s a different dream, not a bad one.
by jphilo | Jan 10, 2011 | Reflections on the Past
Sometimes, I’m amazed by how much my perspective has changed since childhood. Way back then, when my sister and I made this magnificent snowman (with the help of a college student who rented a room in our basement), snow was the best thing about winter.
Snow meant a day off from school and from Mom’s eagle eye. Back in those days, teachers had to go to school on snow days, so we had eight hours of free reign in front of the television. Dad was our willing conspirator in TV gluttony, joining our worship of Captain Kangaroo, I Love Lucy reruns, Password, and Concentration, interrupting the frenzy just long enough to catch the market reports on the noon news broadcast. All the talk of pork bellies and hog futures was nauseating, but quickly forgotten when the Dating Game came on.
Fifty years later, snow’s the worst thing about winter, not counting the cold, the dark, ice, mittens, snow boots, coats, and hats. But I’m not counting them, so pretend I didn’t say anything. Snow’s really, really the worst thing during a week like this one, with four speaking engagements, which means I have to be on the road. Or decide not to travel, which means an event has to be cancelled, which means disappointing people. And I hate disappointing people, which is why snow is my least favorite thing about winter.
Which means this week will be either an adventure in driving or a series of disappointed people. So far, I’m ahead of the snow because I drove to Independence, which isn’t supposed to get as much snow as back home, a day early. We’ll see how long it takes for Old Man Winter to get ahead of me.
Oh, to be five again, loving snow, watching TV with Dad, playing outside with my sister, building the best snowman ever. Oh, to make everyone happy. Oh, to feel completely safe.
