Category: Choices

Boundaries and Routines

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When most folks get to our age, older than dirt, we get comfortable in our routines and things we like to do. We tend to eat the same food, go to the same places., and like to do business with the same people. We have a regular line which we rarely cross, and if we do, it is to slip a toe over the line and move back to the comfortable boundaries as soon as possible.

The days of having a carefree, adventurous, no holds barred lifestyle have become days of planning ahead, careful decisions, and concerns about health, medicine, and doctor appointments. Taking a walk requires more than just grabbing a jacket, putting a lead on the dog and heading out the door. And suddenly, an obsession with the weather takes an important part of each day.

Honestly, it is just too much trouble to learn how to do new things, unless they are an extension of what we already know. The Mr. mucks about with computer and science stuff that is so far over my head it leaves a wind as it goes by. I muck about with literature, writing, cooking, and doing craft stuff with my grandchildren with they come around. Things the Mr. finds boring beyond words. But that is fine, we rub along well with a multitude of things from music to politics.

This past weekend we went to our local Japanese restaurant and I not only stepped over the line, I jumped right into a foreign place that I swore I would never try out. I ordered a bento box lunch. It had the tempura vegetables, chicken, and something I had never heard of, but hey, it couldn’t be that bad with the other things. Imagine my horror to see that the unknown item was sushi. Gag, gross, blech! But I actually ate half of the rolls in the box. I even ate one with the sea weed wrapped around the crab, avocado, and bamboo shoots. If you know me, you know I can’t stand sea weed. It smells like rotting fish to me. I admit I took the sea weed out of the other two I ate. They were, surprisingly, quite good. I even added fresh ginger, but not the wasabi, the last time had that it took hours to get my taste buds to work again. But by heaven I DID IT. It was a great feeling to step out of the routine boundaries, even if was trying a new food item. It was moment of both fear and excitement, something I didn’t know I was missing until then.

I know that its kind of pathetic to you young folks who haven’t had to learn to be careful. But children, when you get to our age, remember this lesson. Try, no matter how trivial it may seem, to find something to take you out of your boundaries. Reach for something new, no matter how small. Remind yourself that though you may be old, you aren’t dead, and until that time comes, even small adventures are needed to keep your spirit reaching for joy and excitement.

Merry Christmas

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Once again it is the Christmas season, a day all Christians celebrate with joy, family, giving, feasting, and laughter. For most of us, the carols played bring a feeling that makes us take a second to sing along, or simply contemplate the meaning of the lyrics.

For those suffering loss, monetary difficulties, or loneliness, it is much harder to find peace in the season. Reach out to those who are in the same situation, band together, and find friendship among those who suffer, you might be the answer to a prayer, or you may be the very person they need to hug them and tell them they are a blessing to you. Even those with everything often stand alone and in loneliness.

My basket is full of family. I am supremely blessed with all the love I have around me beginning with my beloved husband, right down to my youngest great grandchild. This year we got to spend four whole days with two of the grandchildren, and my son and daughter in law will be here through New Years. We will have a family dinner with three generations, four if my mother decides to join us. And when we roll away from the table, the Nerf Wars will commence, filling the house with laughter. How can I not feel joy with a family like mine?

Anyone who knows me well, knows I am crazy about Christmas and decorate our home inside and out with lights and beautiful things. But I never forget the reason for the season, the birth of the Christ child who changed the world for all of us. Among all my beautiful decorations are no less than seven Nativity sets in everything from simple plastic to fragile china. Lovely in their simplicity, moving in their spiritual meaning. as I set them up each year, I pause to remember what the meaning of each piece means. Each Nativity set has a story of when and where I obtained it, and those stories often make me cry with the memories of days past. Not in sorrow, no I cry because I miss the people who have gone out of our lives since then. But no matter how much my life has changed, one thing never does, and that is the love that Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father have for me and all those that I love.

As we feast, celebrate, and enjoy the Christmas season, look around at the loved ones in your presence, and remember that they are first and foremost a Child of God. Some may stray from the path, some may get lost in the darkness of the world, but they all deserve to be loved for the small spark of sacredness within their souls.
May you all have a blessed and happy Christmas. Allow joy into your hearts and soul. Laugh out loud, hug someone, give of your happiness, and share your bounty, be it small or large. Blessed be one and all. Merry Christmas.

It is an honor to say, “I am an American.”

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I had an interesting conversation with the young man who does my nails every month. “Tony” is from Vietnam. He came here with his family when he was sixteen, and he is almost twenty-one now. His parents immigrated so their seven children could have an education and be able to live above the poverty level of their country.

I commented on how well he spoke English and asked him if he took English as a second language course. He said he learned to speak English by going to High School and when he graduated and started working at his parents nail salon, he spoke with all his clients and much as he could. Many were kind enough to help him with his pronunciation and how to speak sentences correctly.

I asked him if he liked living in the United States and opened a flood gate about the US. He said that it was everyone’s dream to come to America. In Vietnam there was no freedom. Only the wealthy government people had enough food and money. In his home village few made it past what we would call middle school because it was so expensive to send children to school. The government determined who could and could not move forward. Everything was controlled by the government, including what a person would do for a living. There is a class system and if you are born in one class, you will grow old and die in that class. Tony took a deep breath.

In the US we are free. I can become anything I wish to become and there is no one saying I can’t be successful. If I work hard and study hard, I can learn anything. It is such a blessing to have freedom. I can say what I want without the police coming to put me in jail and my entire family for not thinking right. I am equal to everyone. He paused. I will be more equal once I am a citizen of the US. I will take my exam soon and hope to become a citizen before America votes in the next election. I have saved all the money for everything. I was a bit taken aback by his fervent desire to become a citizen.

I asked him why he wanted it to be before the election. He carefully looked over his shoulder and leaned closer to me. Then he really surprised me when spoke just above a whisper. “I want, he said, to vote for my hero, President Trump.” I smiled, because I am a Trump fan too.

I asked him what he liked about the President. H had a list of things he found admirable about President Trump. He said that the President didn’t just say what was popular, he spoke the truth. That when he made a promise to do something, he did it, and he didn’t do it for fame, he did it for the betterment of the entire country. He like the President because he spoke honest words, not fancy words designed to impress fancy people. He was a business man who understood money and how finance worked and he would always get the best outcome for the United States no matter who he had to deal with. He like the fact that the President wasn’t afraid to be wrong and admit it, but he wasn’t often wrong. Tony said. “Vietnamese people are loud and rude according to American ways, but the President speaks like we do.. We understand him.” I want to vote for him as one of the first things I do as an US citizen. I think my jaw gaped open, and I know I had tears in my eyes.

I asked him if his family felt the same way and he nodded, then he said,”All the people in my community feel the same. We admire and appreciate the President. We are so grateful for the Immigration that brought us out of poverty and gave us opportunity to be free to do what we want in life.” What else could I say other than I hoped he got his wish. The subject changed to every day topics, but I left there feeling as if I had been given a lesson in what America was all about. Freedom, independence, hard work, family, belief in the individual, and determination to become better than the last generation. That amazing young man is the exact kind of person we need to stand for the Constitution, the kind of man who is much like the original immigrants who came over on leaky wooden boats like the Mayflower. I was worried about the country’s future, but between young people like Tony and the young people I see here in Indian Country who blatantly wear their MAGA hats and rebel flag t-shirts, I think we just might make it as the country the founders meant us to be. As Tony said, “It is an honor to say, I am an American.” We often forget that.

Worry

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I have met women from all over the world over the years. They came from different cultures, countries, religions, and spoke different languages. They were single, with or without children, married with or without children, elderly, and of various levels of education and walks of life. But we all have one thing in common, other than loving others; we worry.

We worry all day, or late at night, or both. We worry about our lives, our children, or careers or lack thereof, money, paying bills, and if that odd noise is something important breaking on the furnace, or someone breaking in.

We worry about meeting the love of our lives, or if we have, if we are letting our relationship get stale. We worry about our weight, our hair, our clothes, and our abilities. We worry about making decisions and if we have made one, if it is the right one. We worry about our parents, especially if they are elderly, and we worry about our health too.

Depending on where we live, we worry about feeding our children, making sure they get the medication they need, and if we are good mothers or not. We worry about our teenagers and the choices they make, and we worry about letting them make mistakes without rushing to rescue them. We worry about their grades in school, or how they are doing in their work – even if they are in their forties and long since on their own.

We worry about life, death, our pets, and what to do next. Even if the choices are clear and the road laid out before us, we still worry. Sometimes worry paralyzes us, keeping us from moving forward or backward, keeping us in a holding pattern until something forces us to make a decision.

Sometimes we worry because we have no regrets and wonder if we missed a step or not. Sometimes we worry when we look back and realize how happy we are, and wonder if we deserve to feel so good about our lives and our choices. All of us worry, even if we never show it, act like it, or share our worries with others. It is simply something we, as women, have coded into our DNA.

As we age, we worry about different things, but we often reach the conclusion that we need to pick and choose what we worry about because we can’t change what other’s choose to do, and we can’t change the past, we can only accept life is what it is and keep on moving forward. At my age, I can’t be bothered to worry too much or I would make myself even crazier than I already am. I simply learn what I can change by changing myself or my choices, or I can look forward to seeing the outcome of those choices in the future. Worry is a part of life, but it is my choice to allow it to consume or control me, or I learn to control its influence on me heart and mind.

To all the women in my life, take a deep breath and a step back from the worries and love yourself a little more before taking on the day. After all, the worry will still be there tomorrow, or something new will crop up to worry about, that is a given fact. Just don’t let the worry get in the way of unconditional love and joy. Give your friends a hug, and ask for one on the hard days. We all need to stand together in this world of worry.

Armchair Critic

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Lately I have become addicted to cooking shows on the Food Network. I have learned a lot about food that I didn’t know, and I have become the armchair critic about how I would make a dish out of the contents of a basket or the crazy items from Guy’s Grocery Games. And, yes, I have made some of the recipes from various shows. They were pretty darned good too.
I have learned other things too:

For instance, never try to bake a cake of any kind in 30 minutes. The majority will not bake in time.
Never, EVER try to bake a bread pudding. You WILL NOT get it done 99.9% of the time and you will lose the game.
Do not make the mistake of using oils like Sesame oil or Truffle oil as a garnish or last minute sauce, it will over power the entire dish and you will lose the game.
Don’t get in front of the camera and brag that you KNOW your dish will win the game because nine times out of ten, the braggart ends up being the one chopped from the game. It happens all the time.
Do NOT be the cocky smart ass chef with a holier than thou attitude. The judges don’t like that at all, neither do the other contestants, get ready to lose the game in one or two rounds.
Learn to be humble and listen to the judges comments on your cooking without getting defensive and copping an attitude. It annoys everyone, including the audience. It makes me shout at the television to tell off the contestant even if it makes me look silly.
Work hard, or at least make it look that way, right up to the last second. Don’t get done early and stand there with nothing to do, you can always make an improvement. Just don’t use fancy oil to do it.
Learn plating techniques. Choosing the right plate is vital to serving a perfect dish.
Learn to make your plate or bowl pretty. The contents need to look like a magazine photo. The kind that makes a person drool and want to make your recipe.

Learn time management under pressure. Focus, focus, focus.
And most of all, don’t be a poor loser. After all it wasn’t the judges who cooked and plated the food, it was you. No pouting or bad mouthing the judges, it makes you look childish and petty.
Many people will watch you. They will know where you work and many will vote not to go there because you want to be a star and you are simply nothing more than a moon.
There are more things I learned about people who are in a cooking contest, some good, some make me want to reach through the television and smack the contestant cross eyed. But, at the end of the day, I learn more about cooking in every episode and that benefits my family because I have new and better ways to cook things that they like. Works for me, the armchair critic.

Small Town Living

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Today’s Blog: Small Town Living
 
You know you live in a small town when the fire officer who came and inspected our storm cellar greeted us like old friends when we went to the same local restaurant. He is also a neighbor, just down the street and around the corner.
We were having breakfast at Mother Juggs and I sucked up the courage to go ask the guys at the Overall Millionaire Table if they knew anyone who would sell us half a butchered beef to put in the freezer. They greeted us like old friends too. Chatted about who our people were – one of them is from Atoka County too and was happy to chat about the people we both knew. Then two of them offered to find out about the beef for us. Raymond got there first but there was a short verbal tussle on who would do it.
I called him by his last name and he got offended, I am to refer to him as Raymond. And he would call me Karron. The other guys gave him a hard time, teasing us both. All the time I was dealing with that, Hal was talking to the other guys and making in roads to being friends. You know, folks around her might seem standoffish, but all you have to do is start a conversation and they take right too you like you have been here all your life.
When I told them we moved here because we fell in love with the house, they nearly laughed themselves right out of their chairs. “Well gal, you need to take a look at some of the land around here and buy some beef of your own, then you will really know what it is like to be and Okie.” He may be right, but I am done with living on dirt and muddy roads. Too old to start that all over again.
I feel more at home now that I know I can walk into Mother Juggs and say good morning and get a welcoming howdy back.  Oh, and the cook at Mother Juggs knows what we like and has an order of Cinnamon Toast hot and ready the second we sit down. Gotta love living in a small town in Oklahoma where everyone wants to know your name.

Two Stop Lights

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We finally retired. Something the Mr. has looked forward to doing for the past three years or so. We packed up everything we felt was important to keep with us, loaded up a big old moving truck and moved to our final home until we take up our plot in the cemetery near our son and my mom and day.

We lived in a pretty big place, just south of Memphis, Tennessee. Lots of traffic, loads of school buses and a constant hectic pace was normal for us. We lived there for twelve years, and it became the way we lived. The Mr. had his morning commute into Memphis from the neighborhood we chose to live in, and then would reverse the trek every evening. I hated it, he hated it, but it meant we had a pay check every pay day. And, like most folks, we got used to it and it became part of our life. But as time went by, we began to yearn for a life where we could spend time together and with our family without rushing anywhere.

We have been retired for about a month. Our new home is in a small town in Oklahoma. There are two stop lights, one at either end of town. The only fast food is a Sonic Drive-in, and there are two restaurants, one traditional southern food, the other Mexican. Both are quite good, but we had to learn the times they are open because the hours are erratic compared to some place like Chili’s. Mother Juggs breakfasts are great (bisquits and gravy are highly recommended.) The Mexican place has great fajitas. The only grocery in town is a very small family run place that always has a place to park and they even carry out your groceries for you if you are old like me.

Our house is in the ‘nice’ side of town. Read that the houses cost more that the average home in this town. The town was founded by the Black Seminole Indians after the Civil War. Their reservation runs right along the road that goes past our house. On our side is the Creek Reservation, on the South side of the road it is fully Seminole. One of the most asked questions is what tribe we belong to. Doesn’t really matter, the Mr. is a card carrying Creek, so he is more than welcome. We love our house, it is exactly like the kind we used to visit when we were first married. We never dreamed we would be able to afford one, but here we are, living in one, unpacking boxes, and slowly making it our home.

It is interesting the things we find, like a very fancy restaurant just out side of town with amazing food. It may be fancy, but we can afford to each there several times a month if we want. There is a museum about the Seminole Tribe in town, a library, and a genealogical society available to everyone. This is the county seat for Seminole County. The old part of down town and much of the old neighborhoods are run down and empty. But new growth in the county is making a difference. The folks in charge are welcoming and friendly. Looks like we might get a bit involved with the local activities.

Last night we went to Mother Juggs for supper. As I tried to get out of the booth to leave, my legs gave out and I nearly fell. The lady in the booth behind me got up and helped me stand. She didn’t know me, I had never seen her before. It didn’t matter, she just got up and helped. As I thanked her, embarrassed that I couldn’t just stand up and walk out, she just shrugged and said she would help anyone in need. She patted my hand and told me I would be better soon and to take care of myself. The Mr. came back from paying the check to see me and a strange lady holding hands. As I hobbled to the car, I told him what had transpired. He was pleased someone offered help. I realized that people in Oklahoma stand back and watch the new folks with a bit if suspicion, but if in they are truly in need they will step up and make a difference in their day.

We live in a small, quiet town filled with the under privileged and poor, but they have pride, traditions, and a sense of community that is admirable. We may only have two stop lights, but folks here have a lot of go.

Looking At The Past

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As I was packing up the bookshelves, I found several Junior High and High School year books. I started looking through them, boy did we have ugly hair styles and uncomfortable clothes in Junior High, but by the time we were in High school, the hippie look of long hair, peasant blouses, and jeans were in style. It was definitely a solid change in how one style changed the way we dressed. In fact, I know many people my age who still live in jeans and peasant blouses. Guys still wear long hair and jeans and T-shirts too. Although I think any guy over forty needs to rethink the long hair and bald spot look.

One think that was clear in the yearbooks was who the popular crowd was. Their faces were plastered all over the books. Cheerleaders, class president, football players, all were involved in every sort of club and activity. Well, there were the nerdy groups like chess club and the motor heads (aka greasers) who were big in things like shop and band. But it was always the popular kids, those that were the favorites of the teachers and administration who were front and center, even in crowd photos.

I remember that there was one table in the cafeteria where they gathered and spent lunch putting down the rest of us pathetic losers who simply didn’t measure up to their beauty and power. And they did have power. One hint from them that someone in their group no longer belonged and that person was immediately personae non grata. The girls were much more vicious in this behavior than the boys. It was a sad thing to observe.

I wasn’t part of that group, I was a nerdy kid who stayed in the background and simply observed the world around me. I didn’t exist in their world, I was a total non person to them. Fine with me, I didn’t have to deal with their behavior and attitude. I wondered, as I flipped though the pages of the yearbook, what happened to the school leaders and popular crowd.

The internet is an amazing thing when it comes to finding people. A few stokes of the keyboard keys and low and behold, they are found on various sites. Interestingly enough, most of them had their glory days in High School and haven’t really done a great deal since then. Thye mostly still live in the same area, working regular jobs, married with kids. Some went to college and hold white collar jobs doing the mundane white collar things. Not a one of them has burst out of the shell around them and become an outstanding policeman or woman, a military hero, or a political leader in their home town or state. What a waste of potential and ability. Not that I am all that different.

However, I have met most of my dreams and items on my bucket list. A college education, living abroad, traveling the world, raising children, and staying married to the love of my life. I’ve written two books and published them on Amazon (under the name Jo Calhoun). I have lived every day to the fullest, and in my aging days I am still trying to learn, grow, and make a difference in my world. When I look at folks who never tried to fulfill their potential, it makes me sad and a bit frustrated.

Not that there is anything inherently wrong with staying home and raising kids, I did that for years. Not that there is anything wrong with being a hands on kind of guy or woman who stays at the same job for years. It is a comfortable way of life. But there is so much more to see and experience in the world. Sometimes, all it takes is one step out of the comfort zone and the power of discovery takes over.

Now that most of the folks my age are retiring, it is a great opportunity to step out of that zone and step into discovery of a whole new world. Maybe I will see you there, Mr. or Miss Popularity, and this nerdy girl will be able to enhance your life too.

How the Hell Did This Happen?

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Today, according to government stats., I am officially old. I am 65 and yesterday I was not old at 64. Statistics do not always add up to a happy ending when everything changes over night, I didn’t think it would bother me, but it does. Just like turning 31 made me upset because I was over 30.

I never expected to be this old, and I have one burning question, How the HELL did it happen so fast? Seems like a few days ago I was living in Harrison, Arkansas raising my boys and going on hikes with my friend Candace Lovelady and hanging out with scouts and the kids from Church. And now I hang out with folks at the dialysis center and the farthest I can hike is the limit of my oxygen hose. This was not what I had planned for my retirement.

But my plans and God’s plan aren’t always the same. There is a lesson in all of this illness and aging thing. I don’t know what it is yet, but God always has a plan, and I just need to figure out what he wants me to learn or needs me to understand. I have always been a bit slow in letting go and letting God lead me. It’s the stubborn Neanderthal genes in me that causes me to be so bossy.

So Happy Birthday to me, and everyone else turning 65. Now we can take our opinionated selves down to the senior center and gossip, argue, and debate with all the other old farts – while we get a free lunch. For today, however, I am going to dialysis then out to dinner with the love of my life. It isn’t exciting, but it is what it is and I am thankful for that much. Still, I want to know how I got this old so darned fast!

WHAT?

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I stopped growing at the age of fourteen. For the past fifty years, I have been exactly five feet three inches tall. I took pride in the fact that I was taller than my sisters. I wasn’t tall, but I was secure in my place in the family. Until last week. The Home Health Nurse measured me for the first time in years. I was, to my shock and disbelief, five feet, two and a half inches. I was so astounded, I could only gasp out, “What?” Then resorted to deep slow breaths to calm my nerves.

Not that I have anything against short folks. It is just that I already had enough trouble reaching things at 5’3”. Counters, cupboards, the top shelf in a grocery store were already out of reach. Now they are half an inch higher, so unless I have a step ladder, I will never reach the last bottle of Diet Doctor Pepper on the top shelf of the grocery. Not without asking for help.

Not that I won’t ask for help, but when I do the taller person acts like her or she wants to pat me on the head and pinch my cheeks because I am so cute. Cute is for bunny rabbits, not old women with an attitude and bad temper. But it happens all the time now. I can hear the carefully suppressed, “Aww, she is so cute,” every time I need someone to hand me something I can’t reach. It makes me clinch my teeth when I tell them thanks for helping. I may be old, and I may be short, but I am not cute.

I can’t change what is, even if I don’t understand how this happened. I am old, truth in that. Can’t change it either. There are so many frustrations that come with being short. Ever try to buy a pair of sweats? They come in one length, generally, and unless I get the trousers with elastic in the legs, they are always two inches too long or longer. So I have to hem them, or resort to wearing high heel tennis shoes. The shoes don’t work too well in a gym, or even for walking far. Vastly vexing. Even more so is the shirt sleeve issue. Just because I am short does not mean I have arms like an orangutan. Finding a long sleeve shirt that fits in the arms is very rare. I have to resort to rolling up the sleeve, or pushing it up on my arm to be able to use my hands. Short arms, short legs, short person. How hard is that for manufacturers to understand?

The hardest thing about being short is being in a crowd of people. Folks who are taller than me fall into two groups, those whose elbows hit me in the chest and those whose elbows hit me in the face. I am always dodging an elbow because people simply don’t see me, just like they don’t see a child in a crowd. No one remembers to look down when checking out a crowd. It is all about looking ahead at shoulder height. Not only am I over looked, I am totally dismissed by the tall as I fight my way through the chaos. No wonder I hate Christmas shopping so much. In fact, I hate crowds and will only face one for something like an Elton John concert. (Brilliant performance by the way.)

So here I am, unable to change being old and short (and cute apparently). I have few choices left in this mess. I can be hateful and mean to those around me, or I can use the situation to my advantage by being the helpless little old lady that inspires the young and tall to want to pat me on the head, pinch my cheeks, and think of me as (gag) cute. Meanwhile, I am going to go educate my cussing corner with a few choice words it has never heard before. Cute being one of them.

Later people.