Lessons from My Dishwasher

The new dishwasher when we moved into our home five years ago was not the dish-cleaning powerhouse Consumer Reports touted it to be. It will not clean unrinsed, but carefully stacked dishes and a few precariously stacked pots. And the stainless steel innards grew cloudy quickly.  We therefore learned how use an energy efficient appliance, an oxymoron – for it made more work for me.

My Energy Efficient Sink . . . 

Lowered phosphates in dishwasher soap meant no matter what the manufacturer had promised, getting the dishes ready for washing meant scrubbing them thoroughly, and not filling the racks to their capacity. And because the (cheap) plastic interior racks broke, I couldn’t fill’er up.  (Phosphates and Dishwashers) We also hit the button for a sani-rinse cycle. After I load the dishwasher, I can wash by hand what won’t fit.  If I forget to follow the simple instructions, crusty stuff coats the dishes.  And I have start over, and run the dishwasher again.  So, keeping bad chemicals out of the environment means I use 2-3 times more water – not to mention using additional energy to heat the water for the extra hand washing what my “powerful” new dishwasher can’t handle.

So much for energy efficiency. 

Nonetheless, I see some applications. Like my energy efficient dishwasher I don’t always live up to what I would like to be . . . a Proverbs 31 kind of gal. Nor, can I do all the stuff I used to tell people I could – I don’t think I thought I was Invincible but I was a lot more sure of myself in the early 1970’s than I am at the prospect of the real “seventies!” 

Once upon a time, our church started at nine – and before we walked out the door, to pick up midshipmen and my mother I had Sunday dinner in the oven. Seriously – I think I remember that right, too.  Who was I? I was barely forty – that’s who! Now, we might be late to 11 o’clock services and I won’t have a clue what’s for lunch.

Like my dishwasher, I work – but often, I need to do-over some things that seemed simple enough. Or, I have to do things in much smaller segments!

And like my unpredictable dishwasher, I can use another rinse cycle – especially come this time of year.  The holidays evoke all kinds of emotions from grief to greed, melancholy to the munchies – and from joy to depression. Even right after church, I could use a re-do. My soul feels gritty, like the cups when I pull them from the dishwasher and discover how counterproductive over stacking the racks were.

Still, I am not pumping water from a well, like my grandmother had to do. Nor must I balance heavy jugs on my head and make a long trek from a water source to my home. And the water [I take for granted] is clean: Every day, 6,000 people die from dirty water. (Samaritan's Purse -- Clean Water)

So, thank you Lord for lessons from unexpected places, and directions from unexpected things.

Petition

From that which You have delivered me,

through the stuff You have carried me,

so I might live, thank You God.

God, help me walk – even when I can’t.

Shame me when I won’t, reminding me of the walk You took for me.

For my sins You have forgiven,

so I might have mercy, help me, Lord.

God love through me when I can’t –

 shame me when I won’t,

reminding me of how You first loved me.

Without You, I have no light.

Keep my lamp burning lest I curse the darkness.

 And now to the dishes!

Meandering

I moved my desk from its spot in the front window. So, when I lift my eyes, I don’t see my friend – the wordless evangelist -- a neighbor’s oak tree that has helped me mark the seasons the past five years we have lived here. (A Wordless Evangelist) I stepped outside and noted that its leaves have not turned – they still are a rich green, unlike other trees, which border our home, are dropping leaves, branches and acorns all over the back yard. 

 

On November 9 -- Sill Green!

Seeing brown leaves falling over red geraniums still blooming in the wonderful cooler days we have been enjoying is odd. What is odder is I did not kill the geraniums this year – I followed the directions for these cheery beauties, bred for Texas heat, and did not over water them.

Coming cold weather this week may expedite the evangelist’s change, and the geraniums’ demise.  Time to get the pansies in before the dirt in the "edited" flowerpots becomes cold and uncooperative.

 

Reduced Number of Plants to Plant

This fall my father’s youngest brother died. Thomas Francis Williams lived to be 100.   As he aged, he never became cold or uncooperative – and he had more than one reason to be bitter or cantankerous – he fought cancer, Guillain-Barr Syndrome and macular degeneration. He lived in a nursing home -- He lost his loving wife seven years ago.  While his world grew more restricted, insular, lonely he was unfailingly happy to hear from my brother or me – he never made a secret that he cherished his daughters.  I believe I saw the fruit of a century’s worth of cultivation in the midst of severe pruning.

It’s never too late to work now on the person I hope to become. Tom Williams modeled what Paul Newman preached – if you have a pulse, you have a purpose.    

May God teach us to number our days, to invest the time we have left time in worthwhile work, and pleasure – and confirm the work of our hands, confirm the work. (Psalm 90)

Do not regret growing older. It is a privilege denied to many. ~Author Unknown

 _____________________________

 Parts of Speech and Suffering

 My Window Now Faces South

New Photos of the Old Me

Andree Seu Peterson has the same problem with her newest picture, that I have with mine – they reveal change – and changes we aren’t so crazy about revealing.  (The New Photos) It was a timely reflection, given my recent high school reunion. I came across three photos that testify that not only are gray hairs victorious in my formerly colored head of hair – but gravity and girth are more obvious than I wish -- but hey – if you enjoy eating a little too much, and dread exercising – spread happens.

The first photo is fifty years old – that’s half a century in other words. I thought I was overweight. The next photo is thirty years old – I knew I was plump. The last one – I see I am quite substantial.   

I thought I’d never get to graduation from high school --  It’s true what Robert Southey observed: Live as long as you may, the first twenty years are the longest half of your life. ~  The Doctor .  (Note in this book, you will find dear reader, the first story of the Three Bears)

The second twenty years of my life, when I woke up in my forties – my age in the second photo – zoomed by. Who knew so much could be packed into so little time?   The most recent score, though, broke the sound barrier! Who is this woman in the last picture?

I don’t feel older than I did at 18 – except when I try to stand up to quickly from a seated position. So, looking in a mirror longer than to see  if I’m decent isn’t a good use of time.  A quick glance at reality, and I can replace my self-awareness with . . . other images.  I may not see myself as that bright-eyed brunette – but somewhere between the strawberry blonde and the gray-haired granny.

Ironically, the keepsake 50th reunion coffee mug faded as fast as the current memory of my real reflection in the mirror.  It was inscribed with a maroon emblem, and the occasion – 1964-2014. But apparently, my dishwasher, which doesn’t always get the dirty dishes clean, washed off the burgundy crest and date.  That’s convenient.

 

Sigh
·      The truth is: I still have a full deck; I just shuffle slower now. ~Author Unknown

·      The comfort is: It's sad to grow old, but nice to ripen. ~Brigitte Bardot

·      And my prayer for thee and me is: Some people, no matter how old they get, never lose their beauty — they merely move it from their faces into their hearts. ~Max Buxbaum

Living with Thorns

 

Thorns in my Garden

An unscratchable itch is one way to describe eczema, which is an irritated or inflamed skin condition. Over the past year or so, it has been a new normal for me* – teaching me lessons about dependency, embarrassment and compassion, reminding me even annoying little afflictions can help me understand bigger truths

Eczema can hurt like an unexpected thrust of a thorn; pruning roses, I know what it feels like when my hand brushes against the formidable thorns on the old rose bushes in our yard.  Its pain can be a real handicap! So, when Paul said,   “I have been given the gift of a handicap to keep me in constant touch with my limitations.”  I can now better imagine his frustration.  (2 Corinthians 12:6-10)

Granted, on a scale of handicaps, mine barely qualifies for the least of them, but when the eczema flares, all kinds of simple chores and pleasures become more complicated because my stupid fingers hurt or bleed all over the place.  And the itch is unsettling in the rapidity with which it robs me of charm.

Ugh! 

I have learned eczema is not uncommon, and it affects children more frequently than adults -- I really feel for little ones who can’t understand how to cope with the spiky itching that is a hallmark of this thing!

The exact cause of eczema is unknown, but it's thought to be linked to an overactive response by the body's immune system to an irritant. It is this response that causes the symptoms of eczema. (See WebMD – my go-to source for freaking myself out!)

So, what is irritating me?

Too much chili or barbecue? Too many tacos? Surely not!  

Or, maybe, this irritant is invisible: fear, worry, and resentments, or fatigue?

Because we aren’t certain of its causes, we have no foolproof cures. This year – when I screwed up the courage to mention my hands, folks, even younger than I, told me they struggle with crackly, dry, painful skin. Moreover, everybody has a recommendation for a lotion, ointment, or tonic, including superglue!  Some suggestions work well, others -- not so much.  

The relief comes and goes. Suddenly, tiny cracks or itchy blisters may re-appear, sending small shock waves of itchy pain. Interestingly, I can see those cracks are along the line where I formerly cut or burned my fingers or thumb or palm  – it’s as if the healing has been superficial, and beneath layers of skin, damage persists – a reminder that being past something doesn’t mean being over it. 

My faith teaches that God has separated me from my sins as far as east is from west. (Psalm 103:11-12) But I can recall details of what was buried -- which can be equally disabling and discomforting. The longer my walk with Christ, the sharper my memory seems, too!   When the memory of my meanness -- in all the nuances of that word – breaks out, precious little relieves the awful spiritual itch.  

 

The heart has its reasons, which reason does not know. We feel it in a thousand things. ~Blaise Pascal

I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart:  I am, I am, I am.  ~Sylvia Plath

Crackly skin may just qualify as another thorn, one that time and again drives me to distraction, or discipline and prayer. Like the unexpected tear on my fingers or thumb need cleansing and care, my heart does too.  I need consider cleansing and talk candidly to God like David did. (Psalm 51) Or, maybe I need comfort, balm, which only God can offer, and also the literal help of sleeping well and eating healthy stuff. (1 Kings 19)

·      The healthy and strong individual is the one who asks for help when he needs it.  Whether he's got an abscess on his knee or in his soul.  ~Rona Barrett

·      Lord, help me not to despise or oppose what I do not understand.  ~William Penn

*(Amateur Diagnosis)

Gardening Goals

Last week, as the weather warmed, I had such a yen to fill up all the barren flowerbed spots with bunches of plants – plants that could not survive a sudden plunge in temperatures. (And it has turned chilly in recent days!) I longed to see blooming red geraniums – reminders and portenders of good summer times. And I wanted to see roses everywhere there’s a gap in the garden!

 

UGH!

But, sobered by a warning about knock-out roses’ susceptibility to “diseases” and remembering that rain is not a given here in July, August and September, I rethought my daydreams to recreate an east-coast style “spring” garden. (As if that’s what my “gardens” ever looked like when I lived there!)

Moreover, that winter ice storm gave me an extra patch of dirt to beautify -- the spot from whence  our ice-laden old cedar departed. This spot enjoys the afternoon sun, unfiltered, and little water.  

 

Barren and BORING!

 It’s tempting to quickly fill it up with favorites but even geraniums bred for Texas heat, and knockout roses would be poor choices. What I need are plants that can withstand heat and drought -- but most of them aren’t my first choice.

Musing on what to plant and where leads me again to think about my own  opportunities to keep on flourishing in the “golden years.”  Bloom where you are planted is an exasperating adage.

Coming closer to seventy than I care to admit, I have gained understanding, insight, and so much practical experience – so much good advice to give!   But just when it seems the perfect time to plant some of these precious “seeds,” I hear wise women in my past say, “Keep your opinions to yourself – and be useful instead of an expert.”  Then, I remember:  I can’t force desires or daydreams to become realities, anymore than I can force Maryland –friendly plants to take root in Texas.

A good gardening goal, literally and spiritually, is to do things differently instead of only talking about it. I am still itching to fill in around the house with vibrant, long lasting color – and Paul reminds me, there’s still work to do in this “autumn” garden of mine:

·      Love from the center of who you are; don’t fake it. Run for dear life from evil; hold on for dear life to good.

·      Be good friends who love deeply; practice playing second fiddle.

·      Don’t burn out; keep yourselves fueled and aflame. Be alert servants of the Master, cheerfully expectant.

·      Don’t quit in hard times; pray all the harder.

·      Help needy Christians; be inventive in hospitality.

·      Bless your enemies; no cursing under your breath. Laugh with your happy friends when they’re happy; share tears when they’re down. Get along with each other; don’t be stuck-up.

·      Make friends with nobodies; don’t be the great somebody.

·      Don’t hit back; discover beauty in everyone. If you’ve got it in you, get along with everybody.

·      Don’t insist on getting even; that’s not for you to do. “I’ll do the judging,” says God. “I’ll take care of it.”

·      Our Scriptures tell us that if you see your enemy hungry, go buy that person lunch, or if he’s thirsty, get him a drink. Your generosity will surprise him with goodness.

·      Don’t let evil get the best of you; get the best of evil by doing good. Romans 12:9-21 (The Message)

Reminders and Portenders

Limitations on Choice

So, in preparation for the motor trip that wasn’t, I collected eleven audio books from the local library: mysteries, histories and biographies – and J. K. Rowling’s The Casual Vacancy. Three days driving each way: well, we would have a variety from which to choose, even if we didn’t go through all of them.

Choice is a valuable exercise – enjoying what we would prefer exercises our minds, and refreshes us. And it is often as rare as it is delightful.  Therefore, on last Friday afternoon at the doctor’s office, we were startled how suddenly we lost the choice to travel by car – airplane, or any other conveyance. We were not simply delaying our departure, when we learned that the antibiotics we hoped would clear up Doug’s cough would be administered by trained medical personnel, as into the hospital he was quickly admitted.

Now I know a more precise connotation of blindsided.

But, the blessing of having lost our choice about how and where we would be spending our weekend, is we were given the gift of doctors, nurses, aides – in clean and comfortable surroundings, and care that has been good. Most of the world does not enjoy this limitation.  (See Sodo Hospital. )   

The window in Doug’s room has been similarly a sharp reminder not to whine about what we “lost” this weekend, for it looks out on the helicopter pad at Baylor hospital’s expanding campus. He and I can see the folks who may have been as surprised as we were to be in a hospital, and some with more complicated problems than ours.   

One good thing is that we have many good books to engage our imaginations during Doug’s recovery.

Look at everything as though you were seeing it either for the first or last time.  ~Betty Smith, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

Granted:

from Wiki Article

I watch too much TV . . . but sometimes the fare on cable is mesmerizing!  And it beats the news by a long shot!

The other night, watching "America’s Worst Tattoo" I realized that of all the things I never did, not getting a tattoo was a good thing.   In the two episodes I watched – transfixed – the tattoos people showed were unattractive, inappropriate or incompetently rendered. They wanted their tattoos covered up – the “new” designs were startling solutions.  

Tattoos are as taboo for me, as piercing ears were for my mother – She about took gas when I had my ears pierced, by her sister-in-law.  But now, the nicest people have chosen to commemorate events, dreams, or opinions by tattooing them discretely or blatantly.  (Link to more than you might want to know – but read anyway)

 My mother couldn’t convince me not to pierce my ears – any more than I could convince someone to avoid decorating their flesh with color and designs. But I can share two warnings --

·      Think before you ink!  ~Author Unknown

·      Women, don't get a tattoo.  That butterfly looks great on your breast when you're twenty or thirty, but when you get to seventy, it stretches into a condor.  ~Billy Elmer – comedian

And finally – just thinking about the reality of skin that is losing a wee bit of elasticity:

·       When you make a mistake, admit it; learn from it and don’t repeat it. (Bear Bryant)

Another Marvelous May Morning in Texas

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Wow . . . Lush and green are like synonyms.  The roses still are arresting my breath; we have enjoyed an abundance of them this season; even the winter pansies have continued blooming. This morning -- the weeds look good!

Gardening chores are a welcome relief given today’s headlines, or too much information on BBC world news: a newsreader dispassionately reports slaughter, chaos and more violence. 

Our Lord has written the promise of the resurrection not in words alone, but in every leaf in springtime. --Martin Luther

But . . . shortly the plants and I will be HOT and dry! And as summer stomps out the bright freshness of this season’s garden, this morning will be a happy recollection.

The wordless evangelist across the street is enjoying this morning also – as if the sunshine and breezes are making her laugh, even though two pockets of dead branches blemish her.  I can’t get too far from the certainty; disability and death are always the context of what is delightful. 

This twosome is the ruin ever-circling my autumn’s garden. 

It is important to speak of suffering and death in a way that dispels fear. Indeed, dying is a part of life. - Pope John Paul II in Austria: Message to the sick and suffering June 1998

When the cancer that later took his life was first diagnosed, Senator Richard L. Neuberger remarked upon his "new appreciation of things I once took for granted--eating lunch with a friend, scratching my cat Muffet's ears and listening for his purrs, the company of my wife, reading a book or magazine in the quiet of my bed lamp at night, raiding the refrigerator for a glass of orange juice or a slice of toast. For the first time, I think I actually am savoring life. _Better Homes and Gardens_

Providentially, I read separate blog pieces that are grand weed-killers,  powerful antidotes for fear and grief. May I commend them?    

 . . . My problem with euthanasia is not that it is a immoral way to die, but that it has its roots in a fearful way to live. (Dying and Euthanasia)

. . . For those who may, this day, be fearing the dark and feeling lost... there is a light shining in the darkness... trust it... follow it... there is safe harbor there for your souls. (A Light for the Darkness)

The Word for the Day: DREY . . .

Which means squirrel’s nest.

For years, I thought of squirrel’s nest as a euphemism for a messy, disorganized room, sloppy thinking or an untidy hair-do. But no, some squirrels built their homes high up and stuff them with twigs, leaves, pine needles, or grass, and line them with shredded grasses, fresh leaves, moss, and lichens are used to line the inside of the nest. I never saw one until recently – when I looked up from my desk, and saw the oak tree across the street silhouetted against a winters’ sunny sky.

The tree across the street now is completely bare – and I can clearly see a squirrel’s nest or two. They look precarious – too large for the supporting branches – and it seems as if they could crash to the ground with the slightest provocation. We’ve had several days of extra breezy weather – enough so as I wonder how that drey stays put, and I wonder if there are little critters inside it, how they are managing.   For now, I can see plainly, what will be hidden in the coming weeks as green haze deepens into an enormous verdant canopy. 

Some days I feel like those squirrels’ nests look – precariously resting on limbs that may not support me – and completely exposed. 

Perhaps this is a gentle reminder to keep editing how much I hang out in cyberspace. My sister-in-law’s gentle observation of the various flowerpots dotting our garden’s perimeter has become a mantra: you need to edit the pots.  Too much of even a good thing is still too much.

Or, these precarious feelings may bubble forth from all the joys of maturity continuing as they present themselves: stumbling, bumping into things and sometimes falling can really wreck a girl’s confidence; losing words; forgetting names. Too many examples are still too much.

·      In a [woman's] middle years there is scarcely a part of the body [she] would hesitate to turn over to the proper authorities.  ~E.B. White

These feelings when intertwined with memories, resentments, fears, disappointments and guilt can be like those squirrels’ nest I see; they need editing – and deleting – as surely as the embarrassment of mangy looking flower pots dominating our garden.

·      You are as young as your faith, as old as your doubt; as young as your self-confidence, as old as your fear; as young as your hope, as old as your despair.  ~Douglas MacArthur

To that end, I heard some good old advice recently at a meeting: Don’t believe everything you think.  Or, just because I think something is so doesn’t make it so. A timely reminder not to lean on my own understanding to prop myself up. What I think may be as wobbly a support as those bare branches appear to be! (Proverbs 3:5-12)

Fear can be the stiffest breeze blowing through my branches – Hope is the red marker I am using to edit my thoughts – as well as gratitude.  Looking up, the squirrels’ nests are holding in the current winds blowing through Dallas. Looking around the garden, I have edited the number of pots – just in time for spring planting.

·      There is always a lot to be thankful for, if you take the time to look. For example, I'm sitting here thinking how nice it is that wrinkles don't hurt.  ~Author Unknown

Sailing Lessons

 MOVED to https://autumns-garden.com/our-sailing-adventures-a-metaphor-for-our-marriage/

N-n-n-n-n-o-o-o-o-o-o-!

As world, national and local TV devolves, I switched to watching cooking, travel and home improvement shows. (Or, my brother-in-law urges watching the golf channel.) Heretofore, the home shows or cooking shows were a respite from 24/7 cable news of the reality of a world going its own way. But too few cooks are truthful about the caloric cost of their creations. (Or, how many hours of exercise their tasty treat will cost!) And now, HGTV’s House Hunter’s has been revealed as a hoax!  It seems the productions are filled with as much hooey as some newscasters I’ve stopped watching. (Info.)

Truth be told, though, I am just as likely to cut corners -- prevaricate – and obfuscate stuff as all the entertainment and news producers may do; smoke and mirrors aren’t limited   to magicians. Writing as a daily routine reveals my penchant to put myself in the best possible light.

My friend Solomon was quicker at spotting man’s pretenses than I am – which is why Ecclesiastes is a handy personal compass in these uncertain times – when so much is not as it seems, and nobody seems embarrassed or contrite about getting caught behaving badly – myself included.

Recently, I’ve been reading through Psalms – words of worship written through all kinds of times – Solomon knew these songs. Maybe their wisdom goaded him to conclude Ecclesiastes as he did: Don’t waste any opportunity to know and grow up in God, before you grow old and can’t. (Ecclesiastes 12)