A Need for Nit Pickers

I'm always amused by the different approaches that people have to solving everyday issues. I usually hate power tools because of all the noise they make, but for de-leafing the deck, it sure is easier to blow than sweep. Richard, who normally loves power simply sweeps, which I don't understand because our joke about Richard is that if he was an obstetrician he'd deliver babies with a router.

The single father that I knew may not even own a mop, as he slides along the floors with a wet towel under foot. (Of course, now that someone has invented a power mop, he may have changed his ways.) Every other cleaning task requires either a leaf blower, vacuum cleaner, or pressure washer, all with powerful motors that make lots of boy noises. And we wonder why our men can't hear anything we say?

Fred has confessed to vacuuming the leaves that invade his home and returning them to their natural habitat, while I without thinking dumped my swept-up fall treasures into the garbage can. I saved on power, but increased the landfill load. Who is more sensitive to our environment?

Now, I've heard of a dad that had a few novel ways to combat his child's head lice. While I'm pretty sure that my daughter's father would have shaved my daughter's head, this dad went all out to save his darling daughter's hair while exterminating the offending critters.

This didn't, however, happen as his first response to the crisis. As any good dad would do upon being alerted that his princess has creepy crawlies, he sprang into action on the internet. The result was a detailed list of instructions for what the mother of his child should do to solve the problem. Upon being informed that this was to be a joint effort, he did the next best thing: attempted to locate a service that one could hire to do the dirty deed. His wife is still laughing at the idea that one can open the phone book and find a service called "Nit Pickers."

The parents discussed wrapping the flowing locks of their precious princess in a garbage bag and setting off a bug bomb, but thought better of it, as it may exterminate more than the insects. When none of these ideas bore fruit, our hero bought an armload of weapons of nit destruction; one of the items being a taser comb. Who knew that their were power combs on the market that would electrocute head lice?

Problem solved, and one more business opportunity for an intrepid entrepreneur in the current job market: "Nit Pickers, Inc." anyone?

Queen of Clean

Jack says it's time to sweep
When we must wipe our feet to go outside.
We love fall leaves on our trees
But they walk into our home with pride.

They never want to walk back out,
So eventually we have to clean.
Along with the cobwebs they must go
Back to their outdoor scene.

I thought about telling people
That they were all fall decoration,
Waiting for all our mountain friends
To arrive for a celebration.

But the bathrooms still needed scrubbing;
There was laundry, both dirty and clean.
So I was finally forced to bite the bullet,
And don my cloak as a housework queen.

The house is a bit more tidy,
But we have a long way to go.
Maybe we'll get fall back outside
Before our first winter snow.

Cooperation Beats Competition

This is chili cook-off, football and festival season, all areas of intense competition. My niece has been recruited to judge a queen contest and a chili event, and we've observed other festival-related contests. I just don't get the competition thing.

I hate competition, even though it seems that everything in life, from beauty to parenting, to eternal salvation becomes a competition in the minds of many. The Almighty gave each of us only certain strengths, and in some of us, a great amount of limitation. I can't be more than I am, but I know I must work to be all I can be. How can I gauge whether I living up to my worth without comparing my contributions to those of others?

Life isn't a chili cook-off or beauty pageant, but sometimes it helps to have others assist us in discerning what's best for us and all those in our network, as well as who is best suited to lead in each lap of life. Sometimes it's difficult to see where discernment ends and competition begins.

I've done an extensive survey of people who profess to know and love me, and the consensus seems to be that my greatest strength is my appreciation of the gifts given to others. I go through life trying to glue people's gifts together, which makes many feel that I'm trying to take control. All I know is that my strength comes from the bonds I have with others, so maybe I try to push wildly diverse people together so they can see how happy it will make them. Maybe many people don't want to be in a pot of gumbo; they'd rather be in a bowl of something more familiar and soothing, like chili.

I know that I'm a cheerleader in life, not ever meant to be the captain of the team. But then again, maybe "captain of the team" is just an illusion created by power-hungry people. I prefer life to be like a relay race, passing the lead role off to others until the race is completed; then the whole team can take a bow.

Not being "captain of a team" material has been extremely problematic for me as a business manager and as a mother. I always felt that my children had not been given to me, but that they had been lent to me for safekeeping. I often questioned the wisdom of putting such a shaky parenthood driver as I am behind the wheel, but somehow there seemed to always be an engineer steering my children safely into adulthood. I am grateful and in awe.

There are many people who drive around with bumper stickers proclaiming, "God is my co-pilot." I wonder if they mean to say, "I'm God's co-pilot." Are we really ever in control? Don't we get ourselves in the most trouble when we allow other voices to compete with the one in our heads that tells us what's moral and prudent?

Whenever I think about the possibility of parenting again, as many grandparents of my generation are doing, I ask The Almighty, "Please don't give me that load to tote. I wasn't comfortable mothering when they were my children; do you really want to jeopardize the good jobs my children are doing with their children by putting me in charge? I certainly wouldn't win in a contest for who is the better parent for children not made by my marriage."

I've immensely enjoyed cooperating with my kids in nurturing their children, but as the teen years loom large on our grandchildren's horizons, our input seems to simply put us at odds. My grandchildren's parents are still alive, healthy, and very capable of continuing to protect and nurture their own progeny. I don't even want to compete for that responsibility. I can still maintain my on-call co-pilot status. What a relief that is! But I sure do miss mothering.

A Slow Slice of Life

The day dawned as beautiful as any autumn day could be. I know this because we were up and at 'em before sunrise. We were going to Kefauver Park to participate in the Buzz Fest with Jack and the book that we built. Driving down the mountain, my niece couldn't help but repeatedly exclaim what gorgeous views met her sight no matter which way she turned.

It was a might chilly lakeside in the park at that hour, but we had brought enough layers of clothing to survive an arctic blizzard. Any further fear of freezing was addressed by a church group handing out free hot cocoa, which fixed us right up. I'm pretty sure Jesus would have approved of their methods of spreading their beliefs; each cup of cocoa came with a printed Bible verse. It wasn't turning wine into water, but it was what we wanted at the time.

Jack amused himself marveling at an early-morning jogger running laps around the lake, but lost count of how many times she went around. I pointed out to him the many miles he walks while exploring his surroundings, to which he replied that he walks; he can't do it trotting. I don't know what thrilled him more, the fact that this was a woman with such determination, or the energy she was expending on trotting instead of walking.

When the sun was high in the sky, the breeze was still cool enough coming off the lake that nothing felt better than to sit with the sun on our faces. I was as cozy as a cat on a sunny window sill watching the people of Monroe County walk by. Thank The Almighty, Jack has become quite a salesman; otherwise, I don't think we'd have sold any books at all.

We had to cut our attendance at the fest short because we had other duties to perform that evening. My niece was scheduled to judge Deborah and Charlie's chili cook-off. And what a wonderful night we had around the campfire at their Coker Creek Saloon. I felt like a Girl Scout again, except that there were men with us at the campfire, and we were missing the endless choruses of Kumbaya. But Don did play a bit of music as Adam went around handing out hugs.

We also cut this event a bit short because my niece needed to get back to our house in the holler to "tuck" her "baby" into bed with a goodnight call -- one of the small inconveniences of living so far back in the forest that there's no cell phone signal. I was happy to cuddle up under many layers of cover with the book that was on my nightstand, a hand-me-down read from my niece. Of course, with her Kindle these gifts may be coming to an end.

We sure are slow in our slice of Coker Creek; we still read books and have to be home to call across the country. Imagine that!

Mountain Mama's Muscadines

Mountain Mama called about muscadines;
She said there's plenty left on her vines.
She hates to see anything go to waste,
Although we've lost lots of crops at her place.
With life happening as we make other plans,
Sometimes our best intentions get slammed.
We try our best to be good land stewards,
But our lives are complicated beyond any words.
With friends who are dying, and friends that are ill,
And the visitors who come to give us a thrill;
With so many events to record here and there,
We have to set priorities for that which we care.

Sometimes our people get in the way
Of picking, and plowing, and laying down hay.
So maybe we'll never be farmers in the dell,
But Mountain Mama thinks our efforts are swell.
The freezer is full of muscadine mash,
And the pantry is overflowing with our jam stash.
We had as much grapes as we could bear to lift,
And were glad when Charlie accepted them as a gift.
The circle of life is only a short drive;
Sharing our bounty helps all our friends thrive.
Several are happy about this arrangement;
So with a sigh of relief, back home we went

Pining For My People

Not only am I dependent on my computer network working, I also am so interconnected with the people in my life that I have trouble putting one foot in front of the other without checking in with my peeps. Richard is fond of saying, "Act proves potency." For most of my life, I've had to continually add to my circle because I love having people with a purpose, a plan, a positive attitude, and a good track record for success as my advisers. And these people have all been busy using their talents to improve their areas of the earth.

I like to brainstorm with potent people, and I've always been fortunate that so many busy people allow time in their schedules to share their areas of expertise with me. Most of my potent people are now retiring, and I'm not often enough with them to enjoy basking in their glow.

I'm now faced with a dilemma; I've expanded my network into Coker Creek, and many of my people from New Orleans are spread all over the country, a number of them because of being displaced, like we were, by Hurricane Katrina. I love sharing ideas and talents while sharing physical space, but this is no longer possible given the distances between me and many of my loved ones. When I'm at our Tennessee Mountain Home, I'm pining for my far-flung friends, and it keeps my soul from settling down.

It's hard to get the same feeling from "LOL" and "LMAO" as I get laughing until we cry (or wet our pants) with a good buddy who is laughing with me in the flesh. And about "WTF," there are lots of things in life about which we should be angry enough to attempt to change them. It takes a lot of energy to emote over the phone or into a keyboard, and sometimes it just doesn't seem to get the proper passion going. A hug can't be sent through cyberspace, snail mail, or satellite signals, and nobody will ever convince me that "xxxooo" is an acceptable substitute. I like to touch and be touched by those I love. I like to see in the eyes of my beloved ones what effect my words have while I'm speaking.

Is any amount of aspirin as good at relieving shoulder tension as a nice impromptu shoulder massage given by a good friend? It is impossible to infuse the same comfort into a troubled breast from across a thousand miles as we can impart by putting our arms around the body housing the troubled soul. Not only babies need cuddling; our souls are often only soothed by the physical sharing of our spirits.

I know The Almighty holds me, but I feel The Almighty in the embrace of someone who knows and loves me. And I'm pretty sure that nobody knows me like my family and my oldest friends.

Messy Memories

With my niece here, several people have suggested to her that we "should" be taking drives to see the changing leaves. Some of these people have never been to our Tennessee Mountain Home, so they don't know the joy of sitting in front of our fireplace, enjoying a cozy blaze while peering out the window as the light autumn rain carries the gold of black walnut leaves across our line of sight. Neither have they sat at our kitchen table watching the birds fight for a place at the sunflower seed feeder hanging from our brilliant red-leafed dogwood tree.

I am so pleased to have my niece to share these moments with me. It helps to take away my misgivings about what follows fall, so I can be more in the moment.

Living in the moment may seem obvious to some, but to those who have experienced a great deal of trauma in their lives, it can present quite a challenge. One never knows when a simple step in any direction will open up a Pandora's box of messy memories. Everyone else in the room my be celebrating, and the monsters of one person's past can pop out of the Pandora's box and turn that single person's joy to terror.

Such is my challenge with this fall in Coker Creek. We had a very rough winter last year, as we had several periods of being iced into our home for days at a time. I never learned to drive on snow, much less on ice, because New Orleans isn't prone to such events. Hurricanes, I can handle, but even a dusting of the white frozen stuff sends me into a panic.

As luck would have it, our worst ice storm since we moved into our mountains occurred when Richard was in the hospital last winter. It wasn't a pretty sight, the Wild Cajun Woman of Coker Creek, crawling along the iced over roads to get back and forth to the ICU. Oh, and did I mention that I don't drive the mountain roads at night, but Richard had to be brought in after dark? And I was in such a hurry to get him to help that I ran on fumes and ended up out of gas in an ice storm when I was ready to leave the hospital once they finally got Richard settled in ICU at three in the morning?

As I look out our window, with winter edging ever closer, I just keep reminding myself that this moment remains beautiful as long as I remember to breathe...and Richard keeps our firewood bin filled.