Not Quite Good Enough
Are you one of those people, like me, with unreasonable self-expectations? I demand more of myself than of anyone else and offer myself little mercy. It’s not surprising there’s an official OCD diagnosis in my medical history. I work hard and aim for perfection so it’s no wonder I often feel not quite good enough. Let me recount some painful failures. At age seventeen I was college-bound, considering a major in piano. That summer, though, I got sick with severe pain and swelling in my joints. The diagnosis: rheumatoid arthritis. The disease made it difficult to even climb a flight of stairs; long hours of practice on the piano were unthinkable as was any chance of majoring in music. I was ready to leave home, fly to independence, but instead, couldn’t get out of...
Cutting Off the Years
After a year in retirement, I was feeling old and drab. Perhaps it was time for a change. My hair was long, all one length and worn in a ponytail. I wanted to freshen my look with something new so it was back to shoulder-length hair with layers. The natural curl bounced back in and, since the hair now hangs loose, the gray prominent around my hairline is covered. The result is that I look less gray–without using hair dye! I didn’t realize quite how different my appearance was until an encounter with a little neighbor girl, Arden. Arden knows me as Mrs. Karen and is always excited to see me. On this particular day, she gave me a big hug, but then asked her mom, “Is this Mrs. Karen’s daughter?” You’ve heard the phrase, what a difference a day makes. But I...
The Screaming Lady
As George and I were about to enter Jim & Nick’s Bar-B-Q, a man came out pushing an old lady, presumably his mother, in a wheelchair. As he wheeled her through the door, she let out such a terrified scream we stopped in our tracks, not knowing if she was about to fall out of the chair or was at the point of death. We had no idea what to do. Then she shouted, “It always jumps up at me!” I looked around anxiously. What jumps? The sidewalk? The outdoors? Did she just get new glasses or was Alzheimer’s involved? Whatever it was, it didn’t seem to bother her son, who continued on towards their car. He was apparently accustomed to such behavior. And the lady—well, she quickly got over it and seemed oblivious to everyone around her. I laughed later about the scream,...
Use Your Words
When my daughter asked for help getting two Christmas casseroles out of the oven, I was more than happy to assist. She had the baby strapped to the front of her, after all. I stood in front of the oven for a moment, looking to either side for something to use in handling the hot dishes. “Use your words, Mom,” Jen said, as she removed two potholders from a hook above the stove and handed them to me. “Thanks,” I said, grateful for her help, but a bit surprised that she would give her mother the same instruction she might give her two-year-old son. It was some time later that the word, potholder, came to me, a word I’ve known for well over half a century. On that particular day, though, this sixty-two-year-old couldn’t use her words because, unlike the two-year-old...
Gatlinburg
My memories of Gatlinburg go back more than fifty years. My first visit was in the early sixties, when I was seven or eight years old. On later visits, we always camped in the Smokies, but that first time we needed a hotel. That’s when I learned what the word vacancy meant, as Daddy instructed us to look for hotels that displayed only that word (without a no in front of it). I was snacking on Bacon Thin crackers at the time and kept thinking how similar vacancy sounded to bacon. When we discovered every hotel was full, Daddy went into one and pleaded for help in finding a place for our little family to stay. The manager directed us a block off the main street to a home whose owners occasionally rented out rooms. The people gave us an upstairs bedroom from which...
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