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Marie on Sunday

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Years ago, our Sunday routine included stopping off at a senior living community and giving Marie a ride to church. She always met us out front, I opened the car door for her, and then I slid into the back seat. The drive from her apartment to church was less than ten minutes, but Marie never failed to make that drive fun. She laughed often and had the best smile. Her signature statement was “I’m as happy as a clam in high tide.” And she was. She might have been “old” (her description), but she didn’t allow her age to be a detriment to her decision to be happy. She was wise, considerate, and never once did she complain about her life. As a widow, she had to be lonely, but you’d never guess it from the joy she gave away. She was grateful for the ride to church and always made us feel like we had made her day special just by being us. She was so easy to please.  I’m fairly certain she left this earth with a broad smile on her face. I hope that if I have the privilege of livin
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Karen Time

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Long before cell phones could reveal the truth, I would purposely set the clocks seven minutes fast. It was my little secret for years.  My family would glance at the clock and be out the door in a timely way. We’d arrive at our destination comfortably early. When the kids were older and wiser they caught onto my ruse. Thereafter it became “Karen Time”—that seven-minute advance on the clock. As teens they knew that time was my button to push if they wanted to stress me out—yet now in adulthood, they have ascribed to my “Early is On Time” principle. But maybe there was a lesson for me in all of this clock-setting.    I’ve finally realized that all the precious minutes have added up to a lifetime. In this season of my life, I really don’t need to set the clock any faster.   
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Say it in a Sentence

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  We’ve been through an election gauntlet. Words are powerful influencers. But weaponize words and causalities result. I’m reminded of a class I took a few years ago. We were learning how to share with care.  The instructor felt that sometimes the less said the better.  He was fond of telling us: “Say it in a sentence.” I’ll say it in a sentence this election week: Let’s heal, have hope, and work together for our nation.
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Collaborations

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For our college final project, my husband and I lobbied the school’s music department to work together to produce the school’s first ever record album. Because of the college’s incredible recording equipment, Evergreen had attracted amazing talent. Artists submitted demo recordings, we put together a selection committee, and because there was so much varied talent, we decided to go big—to produce a double album.  The album title: Collaborations. We strategized and marketed the album in the age before computers—this meant phone calls to radio stations and writing letters to record companies, promoters, and music reviewers. Maybe this could be the road to stardom for some of the artists on the album. Collaborations garnered the attention of Seattle AM and FM radio stations. That was big time—for all of us. Our final college months were hectic with music promotion.  The album title resonated with me—we really were collaborating. All our various talents merged and our differences
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Under Construction

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In the city where my daughter and family live there is a busy intersection under major construction. This particular roadway is at the confluence of a grocery store, the library, the high school, two elementary schools, and the city pool. It’s busy.   One morning,  the flaggers halted traffic during rush hour. Quickly, the backup extended blocks in four directions. Want to test someone’s patience? Stop traffic when school starts on time, and you’re stuck for at least 15 minutes. I listened to a chorus of honking horns. I watched kids get out of cars and walk to school rather than be stuck in traffic. And then I walked past a sign next to the torn-up intersection:      Love is a two-way street constantly under construction. Love is under constant construction—as in never fully finished? I thought about my young married days when my love was like a honking horn during traffic backups—I had no patience for love to do its work.  Then I recall trying to force my one-way soluti
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The Way it Was

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Back in the early-60’s, I walked hand-in-hand with my grandmother in her rural town. We had driven the twenty miles from the ranch. Most farms were about 1000 acres and the homesteads were a mile or two apart. Oats, barley, and wheat were spread across the fertile soil. Grandma had her list, and I waited patiently as she conversed with the butcher. She then pushed a large cart up and down the aisles for her groceries.  Afterwards, we headed across the street to the drug store, and then to the tractor shop for Grandpa’s parts he needed. It was a routine that was repeated weekly—and on Sunday we went to church—seeing farmer friends, the men no longer in overalls. Ten years later, I’d do all these chores on my own—speeding into town in their Ford Ranchero.   Now this little town, well over a half century later, revealed that change sometimes takes things away. Some families passed on the farm chores to the next generation, and those are the ones still here. But others sold their la
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My Vote for Purple

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As a child, I loved purple. My bedroom walls were all purple, which perfectly matched my purple curtains and bedspread.     I wore as much purple as I could. Even Grandma helped me by knitting purple sweaters, gloves, hats, and mittens.   And then, while finger painting in Kindergarten, I mistakenly discovered that when I spread blue over my red, it became purple.   My world changed that day.   Suddenly every finger painting featured my unique scribbly blend of purple.   Okay, I’ll get to the point.   This election features bold Red and Blue choices.   But to get anything done, it will take purple—a willingness to mix together and see what we can paint on the canvas of our nation—and in our communities.    The solutions to our problems are far more complex than mixing colors, and I’ll be the first to admit I haven’t always put my Kindergarten lessons to work—listening, sharing, and being kind, but I’ll do better. It is a sad reality that our media is more attracted to our
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