Friday Tidings

  At fifteen, many of my friends were getting part-time jobs, so I decided to look for one too. My hometown was almost entirely small businesses.  Since I loved music, I ventured into Johnny’s Music Box and filled out an application.    Johnny knew me from the time I’d been in fourth grade, when I’d shyly approached him to see what instrument I might like for band.  He’d let me try them all before settling on the clarinet. He’d then seen me month after month as my parents made payments.    Now, I was seeking a job.   I was soon behind the counter that ran almost the full length of one side of the store.    My job included dusting the instruments (carefully) and making sure the racks of albums were orderly.  Once a week, I rearranged the top twenty 45 records—finding out ahead of time what the number one song of the week was.   These were the days of vinyl, and AM/FM radio. Little did we know it wouldn’t last.   But what was lasting, were the skills I learned—customer servi

In 1996, my young daughter wanted her own flower garden. She made rock-lined sawdust pathways and planted little patches of ground cover. Tulip and daffodil bulbs were the spring harbingers followed by flowering shrubs throughout the growing season. She planted an ornamental cherry tree as the centerpiece. She could see her mini-garden from her bedroom window—year after year until she graduated and moved on. Without her caretaking, the ground cover eventually blanketed the area, and the valiant cherry tree was the sole survivor. Over the years, the chipmunks created an elaborate underground tunnel system around the trunk of the cherry tree. Why it hasn’t killed the tree roots is a mystery. It’s as if the cherry tree and the chipmunks made some sort of symbiotic agreement. They share their space. Every autumn as the leaves turn colors, I wonder if this will be the tree’s final year. How long can a tree thrive with handicapped roots? One more hard winter? Then, I think of my

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

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.