Culture Shock

Warped 

Jerry went to do research for school assignments as a kid in this building.  Is it as amazing inside as it is from the outside?  I understand they are planning a new, new Parmly Library. Sixteen million dollars worth of new library.  Although I can't imagine how this one could be improved upon for intrigue, character and antiquity, perhaps they are running out of space for actual books and people, an amazing and beautiful exterior aside.  This old building reminds me of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft;  would it not inspire imagination just climbing the steps up to the entrance, and passing through the doors leave one breathless with anticipation for the wonders to be revealed within?

The internet - so awesome.  My youngest son explained to me what it would be like.  Sure enough, it has grown, really exploded seemingly overnight,  into a network of information, of opportunities to learn things almost instantly, with a touch of our fingertips on keyboards around the world.  How much more could be learned in "real life" by listening intently while getting out of that so-called "comfort zone" we are always hearing about.  When have I ever learned anything new by doing something my way or the easy way, or the way it has always been done, or the way I was taught?

Perhaps it is partly pride.  Okay, maybe it's mostly pride.  Not maybe.  Probably. But if I have to choke on the bitter truth, that is as far as I am going with that thought for the moment.  And then there is that big ol' stumbling block: fear.  The books that could be written, that should be written, that HAVE been written are a good place to start receiving, sharing, giving.  To start weaving ideas into my life from the musings and experiences of others.  Why not take the opportunity to get a more solid grasp on something, anything.  Yet, someone recommends a book.  I hesitate, procrastinate.  Duane told us about a professor in college who, as a parting gift, chose a book specifically for each of her students.  For him, she chose A Confederacy of Dunces, by John Kennedy Toole, and he was completely delighted with the book, however unenlightened I was when I started reading it.  Thanks to my kids, I now have some insight to help me see the humor behind the rather, to me anyway, crude subject matter, and even piqued an interest in exploring the wonderful vocabulary.

Mindy went to Chile, South America with a friend for three weeks during her senior year of high school.  My (very) picky eater came home and told me about eating sea urchins.  Right out of the sea, raw, alive, and whole in one great gulp.  Last week, while visiting home for the first time in a year, she explored all the changes with eager interest.  Then, at breakfast I watched her use a fork and fingers to search an egg on her plate, looking for something cooked enough to eat.  Finally giving up, nose upturned in disgust, she removed it to the serving platter.  No changes there. I can't help but wonder at her temporary Chilean courage.  While semi-cooked eggs don't scare me, I highly doubt I would have been brave enough to try swallowing even one live sea urchin.  Mysteriously a treat for Chilean kids, they eat them on the fishing boats when they go out fishing with their families from the island of Melinka.  She told about being in class in Spain with people discussing our culture, especially from a political standpoint, and being nearly swept away by a different point of view, then standing up for the United States of America.  What a rush.  Out of the comfort zone, into the middle of conflict. Expanding the point of view of students in Spain, defending her country.  So proud.

Another thing she brought home from Chile was a vivid memory of blue paint.  Seems a certain shade of blue is used extensively, which inexplicably they dubbed  "platypus blue".  I am envisioning a rather bright, harsh tone of blue, perhaps like a deep tropical sea without the sparkle.  More importantly, she brought a sense of people being happy, working hard, and of contented, extended families crammed together in small spaces with one gorgeous crystal chandelier or a lovely piano, the pride and joy of their home.  Buying bottled water and finding out it was unsealed.  Learning that "stuff" makes our lives more complicated than necessary. But the building code is in serious need of examination.  All before graduation.  Awesome.

My kids are going through stages where is seems they are in the midst of troubles, changes that don't seem to be for the better. Being the mom, the cheerleader, the rapt audience of one to surprising drama, my soapbox is my vision of their greatness, supporting with all my might their exceeding potential and excellence, their vision, their soaring intellect.  I am the preacher and the subject of my sermon is their right to advance the causes they believe in.  Yet when I'm the one who needs to change, it's like being the passenger with a teen driver who has a brand new learning permit; if only there was a brake on my side of the car, there would be deep impressions of it in the floorboard.  So there is my give and take -  with strong reservations.  I really need to, have to, learn from my kids as the world changes around me with increasing speed.  Be open to new ideas.  It is vital for my healthy future.

 Jerry likes me to talk to him.  On Sunday evening he was driving and a couple of times, as I was passing the time playing a game on my cell phone, the steering wheel jerked.  I wondered if he wanted me to drive.  He said, "I will be fine if you talk to me!"  The second time it happened was even scarier, and I decided that maybe talking was only part of what needed to happen.  I drove the rest of the way. He would rather I talk to him than listen to an audio book.  One thing that happens is that I know a little about a subject, so I start talking about it.  He ALWAYS seems to ask the wrong questions.  If he would just ask the right questions, I could answer them.  

Knowing my subject better is the solution, of course.  Sometimes I realize I don't want to talk about what he wants me to talk about. Or he doesn't want to hear what I have learned about. The conversation is kind of like introducing Gerber strained beets to a baby - nice and healthy it may be, but it just doesn't taste right. Too often I just don't have the details he is interested in hearing. Don't know.  Nope, don't know the answer to that one, either.  Again and again, my grasp on a subject is sketchy.  It is frustrating to give the same answer again and again.  Nope, didn't think of that.  Besides my idea simply won't work and here's why.

There is a positive side to all of this, and perhaps it is one of the secrets to our upcoming thirty-third anniversary.  What one of us doesn't think of, the other does.  I often feel amazed at the solutions and ideas he presents, and I know he will usually proceed with caution even after he has thoroughly explored all the options, has in fact exhausted me with questions and plied my unwilling brain of minute details. Another reminder that one of the things I love about marriage is two heads thinking things through.  My higher tolerance for risk could, I suppose, lead to ruin.  At least in his opinion.  ...Smile.

The saying goes, "We can be part of the problem or part of the solution." Meaning, in this case, willingness to expand my grasp on my subject so that our time together is spent sharing ideas, discussing points of view and brainstorming, rather than thinking people, and he in particular, should just trust my excellent judgement.  After all, my sister did.  

My dad loves to state his point of view.  One of the things about him I find most intriguing is how he can make an opinion sound like a fact.  I suppose our opinions are facts to us. However, if any one is willing to debate, a good presenter may find that Dad's opinion is subject to change with more information.  Notwithstanding, that person had better be ready to  make their point very clearly and concisely.  

One of Dad's opinions that sound like a fact is one of his most definitely demonstrated sayings: Life isn't fair. The timeliness of his words often illustrates his point thoroughly. Still, I have spent most of my life to this day trying to prove him wrong.  My kids will testify to many a dismal failure despite every cheerful, positive thought I've encouraged them and myself to think, and yet for all of that, who can define fair?  Mom said to count my blessings.  So on the one hand, if life isn't fair, and I focus on that thought, on the other hand I find blessings to count, innumerable, especially when I consider the people living in truly troubled areas of our world.  

Trouble arises because I become disappointed when my endeavor to see positive thoughts to fruition doesn't develop as I hoped.  Perhaps in our great universe someone outweighs me on the negative, or the plan is greater than I thought, and more depth is needed from this gravely shallow heart of mine.  Will it matter in 100 years? It only matters now if I allow bitterness to overwhelm me.  I would rather find a blessing in it.  There is almost always a blessing, I think. however deeply one must dig.  I would like big, obvious blessings, and much more immediate ones.  There is that old 100 year plan popping up.  Sometimes I really get tired of waiting.  Then I think of someone like George Washington, or Abraham Lincoln.  Great men, and they suffered much.  Cold, hunger, war, opposition of lesser men, lack of honor, misunderstanding.  And they gave of themselves and led our country into greatness.  Their ideals inspire me.  There are more men like them I hope to learn about.  John Adams is on my reading list.  Also Thomas Jefferson.

"There has never yet been a man in our history who led a life of ease whose name is worth remembering," said Theodore Roosevelt.

Rather than avoiding the deep uncertainly that causes me to avoid a discussion, I should be making mental notes of the concepts I need to study in greater depth, no? Life requires me to give more of myself, much more than I am comfortable with. And in these experiences, I must become my own cheerleader.  Hence, many quotes.

 I suspect the bigger problem with sharing my knowledge is actually being inadequately prepared for a discussion, unless, of course, I enter it willing to learn something.  I know from training and seminars and great coaches that so many times we struggle with a mental block. What really stops me is how I view the situation, rather than the actual elements of the situation. Acknowledging that I may actually need to reconsider my point of view can be rather uncomfortable. Could it be my overwhelming self-confidence doesn't allow me to consider having less than all the answers? The first item of business, we are taught, is to acknowledge the problem with as much honesty as can be mustered. Since we are truly helpless when we think we are helpless, and unbearable when we are overly confident, starting with the truth is a great aid to great conversation.  I have the choice of being stubbornly unwilling to change and especially to acknowledge my own fallibility, a wall of my own making, or alternatively to recognize the limit I have on my openness, and doing a little more research.  Giving up pride, my fear of appearing foolish, has its own unexpected, surprising rewards, too. Finding out where my weakness lies means I have an opportunity to address it.  

Interesting though, is the depth of understanding it takes in a subject to be really effective in holding your ground. And, the most exhilarating conversations occur when two people do not agree on everything.  Nevertheless, let us not sink into inertia by too much discussion and too much caution.

Finally, does it really matter if I "look dumb"?  My ego does think it matters, but it really doesn't matter that much, and sooner or later, I am going to look pretty dumb.  Probably 100 years from now it won't matter, anyway.  Every time I risk my pride, it is an opportunity to learn something wonderful, or maybe take a hit.  Either way, I am fairly certain that no one expects me to be perfect, so there is no need to disappoint them.  In fact, I think my ego needs to take a rest.

"Each problem has hidden in it an opportunity so powerful that it literally dwarfs the problem. The greatest success stories were created by people who recognized a problem and turned it into an opportunity."


                                                                      -- Joseph Sugarman

A civilized society is one which tolerates eccentricity to the point of doubtful sanity.

Robert Frost

Weekends are a bit like rainbows; they look good from a distance but disappear when you get up close to them.

 ~John Shirley

I do not believe that sheer suffering teaches. If suffering alone taught, all the world would be wise, since everyone suffers. To suffering must be added mourning, understanding, patience, love, openness and the willingness to remain vulnerable.

Anne Morrow Lindbergh

The world is so full of a number of things, I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings!

Robert Louis Stevenson

Mock's Barn

Russian Olive

It's a funny thing that when a man hasn't anything on earth to worry about, he goes 

off and gets married.

Robert Frost

Bjarne's quick, but not as fast as Kitty.

High Centered

The reason why worry kills more people than work is that more people worry than work.

Robert Frost

Speed of Light

The world is full of willing people; some willing to work,

 the rest willing to let them.

Robert Frost

The brain is a wonderful organ; it starts working the moment you get up in the morning and does not stop until you get into the office.

Robert Frost

Half the world is composed of people who have something to say and can't, and the other half who have nothing to say and keep on saying it.

Robert Frost

Learning Lessons

True merit, like a river, the deeper it is, the less noise it makes.


  ~Edward Frederick Halifax

Field of Honor event brings 800 flags to Cody : The Billings Gazette - Montana & Wyoming News

Wyoming, where the mountains touch the sky.

Winners take time to relish their work, knowing that 

              scaling the mountain is what makes the view from the top so exhilarating.

                                    ~Dennis Waitley

Finding some quiet time in your life, I think, is hugely important.

Mariel Hemingway

Men talk of killing time, while time quietly kills them.

Dion Boucicault

Sundown
Well-timed silence is the most commanding expression.

Mark Helprin

Siberian Iris

My patronus must be an antelope.  Bjarne and I were out walking on the Peaks' road, and heard a call.  The only thing we saw was an antelope.  I didn't know the sound, so at first I didn't know it was coming from him and being a rather odd sound, almost more bird- or cat-like, I convinced myself it wasn't coming from the antelope.  After a bit, I noticed him off to my right, and running just a bit behind us.  It occurred to me that he was running with us.  No, I thought.  It must be my imagination.  It wasn't long after that and he stood.  I heard the sound again.  This time I was quite sure he was interested in us, trying to get our attention. 

 I think it was Bjarne that caught his attention.  A deer came to investigate yesterday when Bjarne was out in the yard.  The puppy barked and barked, but he didn't go out into the field where the deer was, while the deer stood still and watched him, then took big, very slow, graceful, steps away, and stopped again, waited and watched for the longest time.  He seemed more curious than afraid.

Later I noticed the antelope ahead of us, and I thought it was a different one.  He was running cross country in a west to eastward direction.  Then he stopped on top of a hill and called to us again.   When we came back down the road, he was off to the west again, and called.  By this time I knew what an antelope sounded like.  A high pitched warble-y yowl, a bit like a cat's screech, but short and not unpleasant.  He appeared to be circling us, and if it was just the one, he circled around the other way, crossed the road maybe 50 feet in front of us, and I realized then he had circled around us several times.  Jerry told me they are curious creatures.  

I took some pictures of him silhouetted on the top of the hill, and it was a cool image, soft in the evening light with his curved horns like parentheses standing in sharp contrast against the evening sky, but it disappeared in the transfer from camera to computer.  There's some magic for you.

http://twsoh.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=creation&action=display&thread=148

 

You must have been warned against letting the golden hours slip by; but some of them are golden only because we let them slip by.

James M. Barrie

For disappearing acts, it's hard to beat what happens to the eight hours supposedly left after eight of sleep and eight of work.

Doug Larson

   What kills a skunk is the publicity it gives itself.                                                                                
                                                                       
                                                                                            ~Abraham Lincoln                                     


                                                                             

 

My dad worked in the woods, ran logging jobs.  He left for work about 4 a.m. and came home after dark.   He would sit down in his recliner and put his feet up, too tired to remove his black, laced boots.  Sometimes he would ask us to untie them for him and when we would pull the boots off his feet, his socks would be clammy and damp.

When I was a teenager, he didn't do much logging.  He stayed on the farm more often, raised cattle and cleared land, grew wheat and hay. He had daughters to wash the dishes, and a small son who was able to do a lot of the tractor work from a young age.  That was nice.  Occasionally he would ask one of us girls to help with some field work and I would follow him, he doesn't know how much I trembled, going out to the barn or field.   Willing, but scared.

One day he needed someone to drive a truck and he had Eric working on something else.  I was glad to help, but all the driving I had done was on vehicles with automatic transmissions, and a tractor once in awhile to pick cherries or haul some hay, or bring home a load of sticks from the field clearing we had done.  Not often enough to feel significantly confident.

Turns out this truck had to be started with jumper cables.  Every time.  So together we rode out to the field on the tractor.  Just in case he had forgotten, I reminded him that I didn't know how to drive the truck. He knew as well as I did that this was my first time to drive a manual transmission, but he also knew that there was one way to learn, and we might just as well get it over with.

Standing nearby, Dad was coaching me. Breathing shallowly, my heart fluttered in my chest while I listened to the instructions.  Put in the clutch, let it out slowly and meanwhile, give it a little gas.  And don't kill it.  "Of course", he said, "You WILL kill it."  Just loved the vote of confidence.  At least, I figured, I had nothing to lose. Maybe I could have done it if I hadn't been so nervous.  Sure enough, it gave a hearty cough, a jerk, as I attempted this complicated trick, easing the clutch out, stepping lightly on the gas. Not enough gas.  Promptly died.  And wouldn't start again.  Life got a little more complicated.   The ache of failure hanging a little heavily on me, we rode the tractor back to the shop to get the pickup and jumper cables.   Ah, well, at least I had known what to expect, and since Dad expected the same thing, the only damage was to my ego and the loss of precious time.  My ego could take it.  The time?  Gone forever.

My brother was 9 years younger, and spent a lot more time helping Dad.  He was running equipment with confidence before he could reach the pedals and see over the steering wheel at the same time.  The expectation may have been that we girls would naturally know how to run equipment.  By osmosis, perhaps, because actually we were as green as green could be.  Luckily, Dad was pretty savvy.   One day I sat on the tractor seat, engine running with the harrow hooked up behind me.  Dad was standing off to my left giving me instructions.  Suddenly, my foot slipped off the clutch and with the tractor in gear it leaped forward.  Dad took off running to get clear of the harrow while I managed to get the tractor stopped.  Shaking his head at the close call, and from an even safer distance, Dad told me he had been expecting that to happen.  How did he know?  I don't think he did.  I think he knew things could happen and he knew things might happen.  Experience gave him, and me, a healthy respect for equipment, machinery.  I got that lesson very well!

My eldest son has figured out that I have a kind of terror of things with motors, but this doesn't stop him from using every available person to get the job done.  If he were around more there is no doubt in my mind that fear would be tested again and again.  He looks me in the eye, softens his gaze in understanding, and tells me what I have to do.  He doesn't seem to expect miracles, just that I do what he asks, very slowly.  Under his confident guidance, I have, still trembling, done things I never thought I could.  Exhilarating.

I was the first kid, so I guess things just went a little less smoothly for me than they did for the kids after me.  Someone had to break in the parents.  Luckily a couple of Mom's brothers paved the way, so I knew enough not to drive the car off the Paradise Valley Hill.  That made Dad mad, and he wasn't planning on anyone forgetting it.  In fact, I was terrified of that steep, windy hill on the way to our home, and was in no hurry to get my driver's license.  As a matter of fact, it would be interesting to know how many trips it took before I stopped visualizing the yellow car with the white top sitting among the trees where it flew off the edge of the road. Too bad for me, it was legal to get a driver's license at age 14 in those days and Mom and Dad needed someone to go for parts.

In spite of watching my uncles' experiences, I still had lessons I had to learn the hard way.  One day, as the platter of fried chicken was served, I was the first one to take a piece.  I reached for the plump white breast piece and got the surprise of my life.  Dad had had his eye on me and it should have been my warning.  He sort of exploded.  When I tried to explain, it was very eye opening.  I heard myself saying, innocently, that I had just chosen the best piece.  Umm. Yes, apparently that was the problem.  A great little lesson in being considerate of others.  When I got married, I learned that my grandmother-in-law, the mother of 15, learned to love the wings of the chicken.  Tenderest, most juicy part of the chicken.  And all that was left, most likely.

I had a much bolder friend who was constantly pushing the limits well beyond her parents' wishes.  My friend informed me one day that my parents were strict and assured me that her parents and others agreed. As if the consensus made it so.  After giving some thought to her comment, somehow I felt sure that although it may have appeared that way to others, I disagreed.  I was learning some amazing things, and was far from competent at any of them.  The challenges were mind-boggling to me, just an ordinary girl. Also, I knew my parents cared about me and about my safety. While there were other ways that  town kids spent time, I was not feeling ready to tackle another world.  Sneaking away would have been an option, had I not lived in mortal fear of getting in a wreck, getting caught, and getting in trouble. Dad seemed to have a pretty good idea just how foolish his children were and was fully prepared to put a stop to it.

Describing Dad feels a little bit like the blind men and the elephant.  Each one had their hand on part of the elephant and when asked to describe an elephant, one described what the trunk felt like, and one described what the tail felt like, and one of them described what the leg felt like.  It was not the whole elephant.   Dad does things his way.  I learned quite young that his way of doing things just did not work for me.  He's amazing.  It doesn't mean  people always see or appreciate the amazing side of him.

My husband grew up without a dad because his father died in an airplane crash when Jerry was 15 months old.  A few precious stories is all he has to know his daddy by.  We talk about our dads, honor them, love them, learn from them, get frustrated, perhaps, without even giving it much thought that someone lives with the pain of not knowing their father, and at those moments comparing notes about our fathers, someone sits silently. While the stories he would tell about me are not very flattering, and who would know better the resistance he met with, the battles we fought because I didn't want to cooperate, the fuss I made about painting the gas tanks and the bale wagon, probably nothing has made me appreciate Dad, and Mom, more than learning about someone who didn't have a dad to learn from.  What a difference he has made in my life, so much good I have seen, not just heard about from others.  I've seen energy, effort, talent, reponsibility.  Mistakes?  Even in that we have agreed, by Dad's example or lack thereof.  I learn from his, or learn from mine.

Growing up around interesting and talented people, I have never thought of myself as one of the amazing ones.  My cousin learned to sing tenor, and had a beautiful voice.  Comfortingly, she told me that we need plenty of sopranos.  All God's creatures have a place in the choir.  Some sing low, some sing higher.  Some of us are just grateful to sing at all, any old place will do.

Both young children and old people have a lot of time on their hands. That's probably why they get along so well.

Jonathan Carroll

 Taking it Personally

Don't find fault.  Find a remedy.  

~Henry Ford~

Between the great things we cannot do and the small things we will not do, 

the danger is that we shall do nothing.  

~Adolph Monod

 A nod,

a bow,

and a tip of the lid

to the person

who coulda

and shoulda

and did.

~Robert Brault

The question isn't who is going to let me; it's who is going to stop me.

 ~Ayn Rand

Shoot for the moon.  Even if you miss, you'll land among the stars.  ~Les Brown
(We attended a seminar where this man spoke.  I loved that he laughed more than anyone at his own jokes!)

      Dad's Words of Wisdom

Everyone makes mistakes. Do you think you are so special that you would make no mistakes?  (I played the piano for a crowd at his urging, and was embarrassed that I made so many mistakes.)


If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all.  (After grumbling about something. Don't remember what, but I think it was something at school I wasn't happy about.)


Don't tell me what you intended to do.  It is meaningless to say you meant to do something, if you don't do it.




You cannot borrow a dollar tomorrow of time you have wasted today.




Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.




My girls work better for me than the men I have hired in the woods.

         

           Mom's Words of Wisdom


Never be critical of your husband.  Why should you question your own judgement?

Try not.  Do or do not.  There is no try.  

~Yoda in The Empire Strikes Back

Since waking up gently is my preference, my husband was letting me sleep in for a while, last Thursday, as he often does.  Partly this is because a quick hop out of bed actually gives me vertigo and after several years, I have managed to convince him that I enjoy my day a lot more if it doesn't start too fast. Meanwhile, he started doing the month-end customer invoices.  However, he was not finding the right number for the next invoice and wanted to know how to search for it.  His patience extends from about 5:30 a.m. when the alarm goes off until 6:30.  If I delay until close to 7 a.m., he teases me, saying, "Good afternoon!" On statement days, the patience factor is reduced considerably.  By the time he was ready to go out the door I had folded some laundry, taken a shower, and gotten dressed all the while coaching him through the search process from a safe distance, say 25 to 35 feet away from my desk.  Don't want to get too involved that early in the morning.

We go through this every month about this time, so I thought jogging his memory would do the trick. Go to Edit, Find, Invoices. Press Enter. No such luck.  Instead, it seems to be rather like me trying to decipher which plumbing part is called what this time, and I have learned to just ask because the description of a swamp cooler pump and a sump pump aren't all that different, even though the price is about $375.00 for the sump pump compared to $25.00 for the swamp cooler pump.  Besides a myriad of plumbing parts to remember, the warehouses and the data entry people all contrive to make sure they have an unrecognizable description.  The plumber calls it one thing, the warehouse another, and the data entry person manages to come up with something else altogether.  Never mind the customer, although they are usually willing to learn that we call it a stool, not a toilet and a lav, not a sink, but a faucet is usually a faucet, although it may be a valve or a sillcock.

Jerry keeps threatening to take me out on the job-sites so I can learn the parts.  Because he has not followed through on the threat, I still have to think for a minute.  What is a dresser coupling, and is this 2" SxF PVC adapter something we already have in the catalog, because I can't find this size, but it seems like it should be here?  By the time he left for work, he was feeling the pressure of all he had to do for the day, while I was determined to keep my distance.  The last straw was when the invoice he had been working on disappeared. He realized the effort for the whole morning had been wasted.  He was not happy. Obviously. Slamming down his daily planning book, he used some moderately frustrated language which I choose not to repeat, but makes me laugh.

This brings to mind a story that still makes me smile. Jerry doesn't find it funny, however, and he doesn't think I should either.  We had started a remodel project, adding on a 19 x 20-something addition to our house when we lived in town.  Before we started putting up walls, Jerry decided that adding on a small entry way would make a lot of sense.  Oh, probably about 5 feet by 8 feet more.  We had already planned two lovely large closets in the main part of the addition, so we only needed some space for removing our boots and some coat hooks.  Maybe a shelf above the hooks, with an octagon window, besides the small powder room: sink and stool, and a window for cross ventilation.  The concrete was already poured for the larger addition, so Jerry decided to do the concrete pour himself for the addition to the addition.

When you see this man dig, you know what a trooper he really is.  He dug the dirt out for the footings himself, and formed the footings, then poured them.  When it was time to pour the crawl space walls, he rented the four foot forms from a contractor in town.  The concrete was scheduled for the next morning  as we set the forms and placed long pins through the forms horizontally to connect the two sides.  Jerry was trying to figure out how to connect the pins so they wouldn't slide out of the forms.  It seemed like it wasn't working just right.  They slipped out of place quite easily.  I didn't know how to connect them, so I suggested he call someone and ask. A local builder, a friend. He thought maybe we were supposed to take a hammer and beat them over, but I was sure that wasn't right. Again, I urged him to call someone and find out what to do. This seemed to be a necessary solution to me, but there seems to be some unwritten rule against men asking for directions.  So, what choice did I have? I watched skeptically as he decided that must be how they worked,  but I could not fathom any way they would actually hold when the concrete was poured.  Maybe he should just use the hammer idea.  Jerry reasoned that the weight of the concrete would somehow cause them to "catch" and stay in place.  Not happening, I thought.  Okay, MAYBE, but that just seemed beyond any reasonable hope to me.  But what should be done, I had no idea unless we were missing some parts.

The concrete truck was bright and early, right on schedule.  We had started checking and rechecking the forms early.  Examining, measuring, moving things out of the way on that sunshiny morning, probably hoping some inspiration would occur to us regarding the mystery of constructing concrete forms, while filled with nervous anticipation. I chewed on the problem like a puppy on a fuzzy, squeaky toy, worrying about those slippery pins, expecting trouble but not knowing what to do about it.

Somehow the arrival of a concrete truck is so exciting, the epitome of a long process of preparation, the main event, and that moment had arrived.  The driver released the concrete down the chute, and we watched as the cement filled the chute and at last, poured into the forms.  It seemed to hold, then suddenly, I saw my suspicions realized.  The forms were not even one quarter full on one side when the pins popped away from the forms....pop, popp, poppp, creak, groan, sploosh.  Forms split open at the bottom, and unable to contain the pressure, they spread apart like an accordion. The walls started falling in slow motion, plopping down on one another, going down like dominoes. Concrete oozed out the bottom, lifting the forms, and from my vantage point atop the plywood floor, I thought of my husband's refusal to ask for directions.  And I laughed.

My poor husband didn't have time to acknowlege my reaction right then, but I was in for it later.  His frenzied efforts to shovel the concrete off the footings, reset the forms, then frantically shovel the concrete from the ground where it had spilled, over the top of the forms, and finish the pour, while the driver was waiting, didn't allow for much self reflection.  Hammering the pins over on the ends was a last gasp, desperate measure to hold them in place, although not one that would turn out very evenly.  Saving the concrete order was in no way funny, I was informed afterwards.  This is true.  It was a ton of work, and really hard work; all done while the driver was waiting, the concrete was ready. And I didn't grab a shovel, thinking I would just get in the way.  Big mistake on my part, it turned out, but I really didn't think I would be much help.  I probably wouldn't have been, but the effort would have been appreciated.

When we removed the forms, the concrete walls were not exactly square and straight, but they had been through a lot in a short period of time, and although there were some thicker spots, Jerry was more than a little surprised that they turned out so well. The minor variations would be covered by the walls sitting on top of them.  All in all, the results were satisfactory thanks to good preparation, despite poor execution.

The tricky thing about communicating is how to get someone to listen when you know you don't really know anything about it, but you're sure there is a problem.  Letting someone find out the hard way isn't so good, obviously.   Later, when he returned the rented forms, he found out there were fasteners that should have been given to him for securing the pins.   Nowadays, if you want to know how to do anything you can find an instructional video on the internet.  What a difference that makes to me, when I have all these how-to-do something questions tossed my way, when I have NO idea.  Research is a wonderful thing!

Months later, we were relaxing in the bubbly water of the whirlpool tub in the basement of the large addition.  As soap suds rose in heaps around us, we discussed an article in a magazine that asked what is the key to a happy marriage.  Jerry's answer? Forgiveness.  Surprised at the definite tone of his comment, I was taken aback.  Wow.  Did I need forgiven so very much?  If so, I realized I did not really want to know what was on my tab, so I decided not to ask.  Good to know, though humbling, that it was part of our marriage.

If you want to make your dreams come true, the first thing you have to do is wake up.  

~J.M. Power

Salsa

The best angle from which to approach any problem is the try-angle.

  ~Author Unknown

Surfing the Net with New Phone

One of the secrets of life is to make stepping stones out of stumbling blocks.  ~Jack Penn

 I have always thought the actions of men the best interpreters of their thoughts. 

~John Locke

Don't say you don't have enough time.  You have exactly the same number of hours per day that were given to Helen Keller, Pasteur, Michaelangelo, Mother Teresea, Leonardo da Vinci, Thomas Jefferson, and Albert Einstein. 

 ~Life's Little Instruction Book, compiled by H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

When I was a Boy Scout, we played a game when new Scouts joined the troop.  We lined up chairs in a pattern, creating an obstacle course through which the new Scouts, blindfolded, were supposed to maneuver.  The Scoutmaster gave them a few moments to study the pattern before our adventure began.  But as soon as the victims were blindfolded, the rest of us quietly removed the chairs.  I think life is like this game.  Perhaps we spend our lives avoiding obstacles we have created for ourselves and in reality exist only in our minds.  We're afraid to apply for that job, take violin lessons, learn a foreign language, call an old friend, write our Congressman - whatever it is that we would really like to do but don't because of personal obstacles.  Don't avoid any chairs until you run smack into one.  And if you do, at least you'll have a place to sit down.  

~Pierce Vincent Eckhart