It's Not The El Dorado...

The house that has been our wonderful home for the past 17 years has been revolting against us.  All normal wear and tear, really, but our family has aways been prone to the “when it rains, it pours” approach to challenges.  Of course, a 27 year old water heater was going to go.  Air conditioners don’t last like they used to.  Carpets and furniture need life support.  And so on and so on.

Carpets were removed and beds and couches left the building with plans for flooring and more comfortable seating.  Unfortunately, our perfect storm hit at a time when my income stopped flowing, so all improvement plans were put on hold for better days.  Fair enough.  Floors can wait and we’re comfortable enough on temporary furniture.  We knew the HVAC was struggling but we survived the hottest part of August and September and felt victorious!

And then…then the water heater threw in the towel.  Or, I guess I should say WE threw in the towels to prevent the steady stream of water from getting to the vintage amplifiers in the room on the other side of the wall.  We were lucky!  Well, we were lucky that we caught the breakdown before we left the house (as we were about to do).  We stopped the hemorrhaging and forgot about it for a few hours.

Pulling back into the neighborhood, we remembered there was work to do…and there was school tomorrow for two girls who could really use a shower.  Thankfully, I am my mother’s daughter and those instincts guided me into action.  Large pots of water hit the stove and old fashioned baths saved the evening.  Then, financial juggling commenced and 12 days later, we had hot water once again.

Obviously, none of these life hiccups are all that unusual.  That’s part of home ownership.  That’s the luck of the draw sometimes.  That’s life.  We survived it and, in the grand scheme of things, I’d choose that challenge over many others and, I hope, our children learned something about life by observing the way we handled it.

When I talked to my brother Mike about our latest adventure, he said that when faced with residential breakdowns, he tells himself “It’s not the El Dorado, so I’m doing okay.”  I laughed, because I think of the El Dorado often – usually when dealing with a minor inconvenience and wondering how my mother did it.

I’ve mentioned the El Dorado before, usually as a funny little aside when talking about other adventures.  As an adult looking back at myself as a child, it IS kind of a funny adventure we had.  As an adult looking back as a mother, I am astounded by my own mother.  We were kids and kids are resilient.  How did SHE survive?  More to the point, how did she survive with her sanity and sense of humor intact?

Let me walk you through this.  My mother had lived in the same town all of her life.  This place was home to her parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and half of her siblings.  One of her brothers was in Maryland, preparing to open the first of many restaurants and he thought she needed to come along to help him.  I can’t pretend to know what moved her to pick up everything she knew and head east, but that’s what she did.  What we all did.

First, we needed a place to land, so my oldest brother Tim headed to Baltimore with my uncle to scout landing pads.  Tim found the perfect home for our family - a cool house in a great neighborhood, close to schools and everything a family would hope for.  All that was left was to load up the station wagon and complete the move.  So my mom, her nine children aged 5 (me) to 16, along with two extra teenage boys, said our goodbyes to our hometown loved ones and away we went!  I was little, but I was excited for this adventure and I remember the drive pretty clearly.  I remember plotting with my brothers about what our new life would be like.  I remember finally seeing our new house in our new neighborhood and I remember walking though the knee-high grass in the yard.

That’s all I remember because that’s as far as we got.  After the long drive, with a car load of energetic kids, we were met with the news that we would not be moving in to this new and exciting home.  Again, I was 5, so I don’t recall what happened next.  There was an issue with financial paperwork and we had no place to go.  No home back in the home town.  No home in the new town.  11 kids – including 2 extra brooding teenage boys – now what?

My uncle made some calls and worked out a temporary landing spot for us.  Next door to the restaurant he was opening, was a motel called the El Dorado Motor Lodge.  A closed, completely vacant for a very long time motor lodge with limited plumbing and limited electricity.  But, we’re on an adventure, right?  Besides, this was only a hiccup on the trail, right?  Right!?!?

What I remember is the fun.  We had free range of countless motel rooms to explore!  We were experienced campers so we can do this!  And we’ve got a roof over our heads and actual beds instead of sleeping bags on the ground!  What I remember is my brothers sneaking me in to the movie theater across the highway to see Jaws!  I remember elaborate hide and seek games.  I remember dumpster diving and finding treasures like notepads and pencils.  Fun!

Looking back, what I also remember is that we were there for about 8 weeks.  Our new unavailable home was 25 miles away.  My mother drove us all 25 miles every morning to the elementary, junior high, and high schools.  I was in kindergarten which was only half day.  So after driving us to school, she drove back to try and untangle the paper nightmare that was keeping us homeless.  Then she picked me up at lunchtime.  We’d go to a park to eat a sandwich and use the playground until it was time to retrieve my siblings.  Then back to the El Dorado, where she pulled groceries from the camping coolers that we had, to assemble dinner using an electric skillet, an electric popcorn popper, and an electric coffee pot.  We also had a camp stove, but I don’t remember using that inside.  After dinner, dishes were washed in the bathtub in one room while homework was done, showers were taken and grumbling was done in other rooms.  Buckets of old bath water flushed toilets.  Extension cords ran to powerless rooms for those few with power.

Eight weeks.  Two months.  Eleven kids.  100 miles or more a day.  I never saw her cry.  If she did, she did it out of our line of vision.  Life at the El Dorado Motor Lodge was an adventure.  For me.  I was five.  For my mother, I can only now imagine that it was a hell that most of us can’t fathom.

Things worked out.  We finally got in to our fabulous new house in Baltimore (furnished, in part, by dressers and tables acquired at the motel).  We were in a great neighborhood, surrounded by all the wonders of a bustling city, and we made friends with kids from our block who are still in our lives to this day.  I don’t know the behind-the-scenes details of those El Dorado days, but I believe that my entire family is stronger for having lived it. 

There’s no question that my mother quietly provided that strength.  That she never *showed* us any chinks in the armor allowed us all to carry on with faith that all is right in the world.

So, when my house stages a revolution and I want to scream and cry, I think back to those times and remind myself that It’s Not The El Dorado.  This, too, shall pass.

Splinters In The Toe Of Humanity...

My house is undergoing a bit of a transformation.  Long overdue repairs and cosmetic updates, mostly, but it’s enough to feel the ripples throughout the daily flow.  In preparation for the new flooring that will come, we pulled up all of the 17 year old carpet that lived through 2 kids, 2 dogs, one cat, and a thousand spilled chocolate milks, magic markers, and muddy footprints. 

In the interim, this leaves us with rough plywood subflooring upon which to walk.  It’s a step in the process, so we’re not complaining about the disturbance.  However, we still have a household of active bare feet.  Bare feet + rough plywood = frequent splinters.  That’s the cost of progress and we have tweezers at the ready.

Usually, this is a problem with a simple solution.  Shine a light on the area and eject the offending intruder.  Sometimes, however, the offender is more persistent and will not leave easily but the evil has been identified, so the solution shifts to applying healing salve and monitoring the situation until the healthy body ejects the intruder on its own.

Hmm, this seems familiar, doesn’t it?

Unless you’ve been under a rock for the last several months – and, honestly, I can’t say I’d blame you – you are aware of some of the bigger disturbances happening in our bigger homes – our country and our planet.  Splinters in our foundations.

The thing about splinters is that they arrive unannounced.  Even if we know we’re walking on rough wood, we assume that the care in our steps will be enough to prevent attack.  But the splinters see our tender skin and get under it in effort to show their might and deliver their painful messages.  They think they’ve accomplished something but all they’ve really done is gotten our attention and caused us to shine a light on their hurtful acts so they can be ejected.  If they don’t go easily, a salve of love and healing will drive them out.

Likewise, when rough hateful groups show up and attempt to cause harm, the solution is to shine a light on them, identify them, and drive them out with a show of love and human healing.  That strips them of any power they may have thought they had and strengthens the true power – LOVE.

Sometimes, we are called upon in other ways to show our loving humanity.  In the past couple of weeks, Mother Nature descended upon us in the form of hurricanes and, instead of splinters, we were attacked with water.  Lives were lost, homes were lost, but LOVE was never lost.  In the hours and hours of news reports covering two hurricanes in a very short time, that’s where the focus lies – the loving humanity.

Businesses opened their doors to provide free shelter.  Families took in strangers.  Celebrities raised funds to support recovery.  Neighbors gathered food and clothing for strangers who lost everything.  A millionaire hunkered down on his private island not to save his things but to save animals.  You know what these news reports never talk about when reporting these acts?  Politics or religion.  Just humanity.  Maybe that’s the lesson here.  I hope the lessons carry forward.

Just like my human body will eject an ugly and annoying splinter that happens in the midst of my home's transformation, perhaps we should look to our humanity to eject the Ugly in our daily world.  Shine the light, folks.  Apply the loving salve  Heal.  Transform.

Nostalgia Burgers...

The old adage says “you can’t go home again”.  I disagree.  True, you can’t go back in time and experience things the same way and the past is not a healthy place to reside, but there’s nothing wrong with taking a peek at the Used To Bes and Once Weres.

I moved enough as a kid that I didn’t have my own connection to my family’s hometown.  I certainly have memories created during summer visits but that was vacation for me.  I loved my grandfather’s tour of all the sites and places that were important to him.  “Over there’s where the barn used to be. It’s not there anymore.”  I sat on barstools next to him, drinking my YooHoo, listening to him talk to his buddies about all of those places that used to be.  They mattered.  They mattered to him because they were part of his life story.  They mattered to me because they were part of my life story, too.

As adults, ,my siblings and I shared ice cold Stag beers at the bar that used to be the Bikini Club…which used to be the school house where our father went to school as a boy.  Sure, many years have passed and many bodies have crossed that threshold since those school days, but I believe some of those memories linger in the ethers.

The first place that I really called MY home – the town where I spent my formative years and shaped the Terri that I am today is a place that most people only visit from time to time.  Before MTV descended upon us, the beach of my heart was a sleepy little haven between Labor Day and Memorial Day with a noisy party thumping during the summer in between.  All of my first big moments happened there.  First job.  First kiss.  First car.  First place of my own.

I’m lucky enough to be able to return to that beach every once in a while.  Naturally, the beauty of the place is the main draw, but I can’t help but run through the Memory Tour.  It feels good to glance back sometimes.  And now, with my kids next to me, maybe they’ll understand a bit about me beyond “Mom”, in the same way I saw my grandfather as more than just my grandfather when he reminisced.

Sadly, many of “my” places now only live in the land of Used To Be.  The Pier 99 Motor Lodge, where I was a 13 year old maid (hardest physical job of my life) is no more.  In its place is yet another towering condominium.  But Pineapple Willies - which I watched being constructed as I squeaked my toes in the sand behind it - is still going strong.  Miracle Strip Amusement park has been gone for a few years now.  The pier radio tower where I first thought “I could be a DJ” is probably not even a memory for many of the families who visit now.  The Treasure Ship perished in a fire.  Dracula’s Castle gave way to giant souvenir shops.  Their absence doesn’t stop me from pointing out where they Used To Be to my eye-rolling husband and kids.

Last weekend, I had an opportunity to visit my beach again.  After I squeaked my toes in the sand, I promised my girls a visit to my hometown anchor – Funland – for a Nostalgia Burger and maybe a round of Goofy Golf.  We only made it to Funland but that was enough to restore my soul.

You see, when I lived there, the roads were uncluttered.  A drive on the main road meant there was beautiful visible beach on one side and small houses and mom and pop businesses on the other.  Perfection, really, but for teenagers, we could always find fault in something.  There was no high school on the beach in those days, so early morning loooong bus rides or a beat up old car were necessary.  There was no McDonald’s, no fast food at all. 

But there was Funland.  Steps from my front door, I could meet up with my friends, eat a delicious hamburger, have some ice cream, and play a little skeeball while figuring out where to go next.  Go drink beer in the dinosaur’s belly at Goofy Golf?  Catch up with the skaters at the pier?  Both?

 

The first time my husband’s band was booked at Pineapple Willie’s, I told them to go have a Nostalgia Burger at Funland.  They saw the beauty of the place right away.  Any time I am within an hour of the place, you’d better believe I’ll make it there.  It never disappoints.  The moment I walk in, the bells ringing and games clanging take me right back to 16. 

My kids see the magic of the place.  OK, they’re probably just humoring me so I give them game tokens but they do appreciate the snack bar.  They surely cringe when I talk to the folks behind the counter and call my Nostalgia Burger a Nostalgia Burger, but that’s what it is and I will honor that!  They pretend to ignore me when I strike up a conversation with the same maintenance guy that has been there since 1982 but I think they’re also paying attention.  These things matter.

This place, with its burgers and cheap beer and pinball helped to shape me.  It is my hope that I will always be able to get a Nostalgia Burger and that, one day, my kids will have their very own memories of the place.  At the very least, I trust that *they* will have a place for their own version of Nostalgia Burgers.

 

Embrace The Mad Genius...

Recently, my family was on an impromptu vacation, wandering the hills and sites of Chattanooga.  It’s close to home and one of those places that we always drive through on the way to someplace else, so why not?

 Chattanooga, if you’re not familiar, has a landscape of mountains and valleys and is under 150 miles from Atlanta, Nashville, Knoxville, Birmingham, and so on.  Geography historically made it a desirable place to set up camp.  First for the Cherokees, and then for soldiers and miners.  So, my family set up camp (in a motel with a pool and breakfast buffet) for a few days. 

Mother Nature did a fabulous job designing the area but human nature is to tinker and make changes and improvements that suit whims or needs of the moment.  So while the caverns, waterfalls, and mountain ridges were pretty great on their own, man made them accessible and more comfortable for other humans to enjoy.  Not so coincidentally, these adaptations created money flow. 

As a tourist, I appreciate these “upgrades” and embrace them.  However, because my brain works the way it does, I always find myself marveling at the creativity and tenacity of the people behind the technology instead of the natural beauty in front of me.  We know why the railroad was built.  We know why and how roads were constructed.  We can kind of understand the need for the cable rail that goes a mile up the side of a mountain. 

Tour guides can explain the reasoning behind the technology and can talk about the challenges or obstacles on the way to the top, or to the bottom to the falls.  But they never really shed light on the mad genius behind it all.  That’s the tour I want to take. 

What made that chemist tunnel under ground for 17 hours in the first place?  When the first hang glider strapped himself to wings and launched off the side of a mountain, how sure of himself was he?   

I think maybe I come from a long line of natural tinkerers.  Grandparents, uncles, brothers, and cousins who, when met with a problem, figure out a way to keep getting the work done.  It’s not so uncommon.  My grandmother figured out how to make her own tin cookie cutters (and sold them to neighborhood housewives) when such things weren’t readily available during war rationing.  My grandfather, working in a meat packing company, suggested that White Castle poke small holes in their burger patties to speed up line cooks (he received a cash reward and they are still made that way), and my mother can create the perfect box or packaging for whatever she needs with cardboard scraps. 

Those are all very practical things.  But what about the weird and/or fun stuff?  That’s where my brothers come in.  Brother Ken once created a very elaborate system to reach around a corner and across a room for the sole purpose of swiping frosting off of a cake that was being closely guarded.  Why?  Probably just because he could and seemed like fun.  That was the only reward. 

I’m always most impressed by the people who create not out of need, but for the fun of it.  I wish I had that in me.  I absolutely have the creativity and have countless zany ideas in any given moment.  I just don’t have the drive to see it to fruition.

 

When we strolled through Rock City and heard the tale of the man who turned a rough natural treasure into a fairyland garden, I was moved by the vision of this local guy who recognized a resource and turned it into something grand.  Perhaps I was just in the right frame of mind to notice, in one of the many gift shops, this little gem!

It is exactly what it appears to be:  a retired cigarette machine – the kind once found in every bar or restaurant in the country – but with a new purpose!  This particular machine is an “Art-O-Mat”, vending handmade goodies from local artists.  Hand crafted soaps, oil paintings (which, I imagine, are probably small), jewelry, etc.  There was even a Mystery selection, so who knows what your five bucks could have gotten!

 

Now, my focus was off of the rocks and rope bridges.  I wanted to know about the mad genius behind this object!  Because this is just the kind of thing I would create in my head but that would never actually happen.  1. I’m lazy by nature and 2. I’m easily distracted so the first time my idea was rejected, I’d certainly drop it. 

I think the world would be a much happier place if we appreciated and encouraged our mad geniuses more.  True, this recycled vending machine isn’t solving world hunger or global warming, but it’s definitely spreading whimsy and encouraging the growth of ideas into reality.  And who knows, maybe it’s the thinkers of this variety that are going to save us all!

What I Am Is What I Am...

I come from a pack of musicians.  I married a musician.  I birthed a couple of natural musicians.  But I’m no musician myself.  Still, nearly every moment of every day delivers a song to my head.  More often than not, I find myself speaking in song lyrics.

That makes my kids crazy – which may be why I do it.  Whenever they lodge a complaint or ask for something, I often respond with relatable lyrics.  They give me funny looks and ask if that’s a real song.  Thanks to youtube, I can always share with them the soundtrack in my head.

Unless you were paying attention in the late 80s, you may be unfamiliar with the current song in my brain’s rotation.  Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians said “What I am is what I am. Are you what you are or what?”

Why this one?  Frustration, I think . It seems that more and more in this world, people are demanding labels for everything.  The old “what do you do?” question when first meeting someone has been around forever and will probably never fade.  The expected response is to name your profession and claim that label as your identity.

People have become bolder and more demanding in wanting others to identify their labels. Are you Liberal? Conservative? Christian?  Carnivore? Vegan? What’s your Nationality? Whose team are you on?  What I am is what I am. Are you what you are or what?”

What I am is a Person. I am Mother, Daughter, Wife, Sister, Friend. I am Grateful I am Loving.  That’s the end of the labels I’m willing to wear for anyone else.

I often say that I know a little about a lot of things.  Lessons learned by just being present with open eyes and ears.  “Oh, I'm not aware of too many things.  I know what I know, if you know what I mean.”

Some of this acquired knowledge enables me to do a job.  Some informs decisions I make in the things that matter.  Some guides me through challenges.  Some steers me away from conflict and frustration.

Since labels seem to be the thing people are most focused on right now, I will temporarily wear Frustrated Human Being.  When my fellow humans are choosing separation and conflict, it’s frustrating.  Anger and fear have no place in my world, but I see it swirling around me.  When Ego – be it political, religious, or just plain arrogance - runs rampant, it seems that instinct is to cling to all of those labels one carries and try to run with them.  That only serves to fan the flames and fuel the fire.

For me, I trust that security comes from standing with my feet firmly planted, wrapped in the blanket of the only labels I need.  Good Person. Mother. Daughter. Wife. Sister. Friend.  What I am is what I am. Are you what you are or what?”

 

 

Can't Never Could...

I think every family has regular sayings that come up as steady reminders.  History lessons, etiquette coaching, just general good ideas about how to behave in the world.  Naturally, in a family as large as mine, we had plenty that carried us through life. 

Most were practical in nature – “On your feet, lose your seat” was a real survival mantra in a house with more butts than chairs.  “Mom called.” meant expectations were being presented. The list goes on, but the ones that mattered are the ones that have stuck with me outside of the safety net of childhood.  These are the things that have guided me through life so far and the things that, one day, will be shared with my own kids.  Eventually.

I don’t remember my mother saying “Sometimes it’s better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission” when I was young and safe in the nest, but she definitely shared that with me as I was testing my wings.  You know what?  It’s great advice and has served me well  I’ve paired it with my own advice found out here in the world – “What’s the worst that can happen?  If the answer is ‘Nothing’, then go for it.”  Now, I won’t be passing that one on to my own kids until I think they’re ready to handle it, but it’s still solid advice.

I’m sure my own kids will grow up to remember me saying “I didn’t ask you if you want to” when they protest a command to clean their room or something.  I have many similar things, but the one I hope they carry with them through life is the one that will take them the farthest.

“Can’t never could”.  I remember my grandmother saying this when I complained that I couldn’t do something.  I remember my mother saying this, too.  I try to be mindful of this when choosing my words to my own kids.  When they come up with some seemingly hair-brained scheme that I’m pretty certain will flop, I try not to tell them they can’t do it.  I may question their plan with an “Are you sure?” or “How are you going to do that?”without ever saying “You can’t do that!”  and let them see for themselves.

By “Can”, I mean is capable.  It’s not about permission. I definitely say “You may not” or “You’re not allowed to do that” but words matter in our world (As I remind them by singing “our words are prayers, be careful what you’re saying” to them) and try to steer them away from seemingly bad ideas but their young lives have only just begun.  Who am I to tell them what they can do?

My 8 year old has been saving apple seeds all her life.  She states her intention to plant them one day and squirrels them away in pockets or paper cups until they are lost and she starts over again.  In my grown up mind, I know that I buy apples of unknown origin from big box grocery stores, so planting those seeds is not likely to produce anything but disappointment.  But I never said “You can’t do that!”

About two months ago, “Someday” arrived.  My little farmer instinctively knew how to germinate those seeds.  Then she planted them in a small paper cup, with soil she scrounged from the back yard and positioned them under a lamp.  And she watched.  And she waited.  And I’ll be damned if tiny little sprouts didn’t rise up from the dirt!

Every day, she watched and measured.  She loved those seeds into life!  We transplanted it from the tiny paper cup to a small flower pot.  And it kept growing.  So it went to a bigger pot.  And it’s still growing. 

 

Two months later, this tiny little seed that should not have developed is a 14 inch tall, healthy, sturdy plant.  I need a bigger pot.  Eventually, I assume, we’ll have to put it in the ground and love it some more.  Will it ever bear fruit?  Maybe.  Maybe not. I don’t know.  But I will never say that it can’t.  Because Can’t Never Could.

When my daughter sees this plant, I hope she remembers that she defied probability and made something happen.  When I see it, it serves as a reminder that the ideas and hearts of those who are determined can make the improbable become possible!

 

Just The Tip Of The Iceberg...

I talk about my family often, so if you know me, you know that I hold my grandmother on a platform as an example of the woman I strive to be.  She was loving and nurturing, but she was strong.  She raised smart, kind, strong children who became smart, kind, strong parents of smart, kind, strong children. There was nothing that she couldn’t do if she wanted to and she did a lot.  She worked hard.  She was inventive and creative and could always find a way to accomplish whatever needed to be done.  But for all of the things I could say about Josephine,.  I never would have said that she was playful.

That is, until I saw some newly discovered photos of the young girl who had not yet become a wife, a mother, a grandmother.  She was eating watermelon, making faces, and clearly horsing around with her brothers.  In hindsight, I realize I saw that in her.  She had a sly sense of humor, but was very quick and quiet about showing it.  She, well into her late 80s, could still play pool (one handed!) like the shark she learned to be at her brothers’ sides.  And, now that I think about it, the way she helped her grandchildren learn Readin’ Ritin’ and ‘Rithmetic was done through games, rhymes, and songs.  She DID have a playful silly side!

Still, I never would have said that she was sentimental.  In my family, I think I carry the sappy torch of schmaltzy remember-whens that make everyone else roll their eyes.  I never would have guessed that my grandmother had that in her.  The other day, however, my mother and I were talking about fabric and quilts, which reminded her of the time my grandmother made a wedding ring pattern quilt for her youngest child – my aunt Ruth – with fabric from Ruth’s dresses and clothing over the years.  You could have knocked me over with a feather with that revelation.  My stoic, practical grandmother had an emotional connection with fabric scraps!?!

Now, she’d been quilting all of my life.  Every family baby was welcomed with a quilt made by her hands.  Of course, I knew those quilts were made with love and devotion.  They were all received with love and a bit of reverence for the heart and hands that made them.  I just never realized that those sentimental feelings were a two way street. 

This new insight to a woman I thought I understood just made me think of the old iceberg adage.  We’ve all heard the expression “just the tip of the iceberg”.  It’s generally intended to say that there is so much more to a situation than one can easily see.  Sometimes, that can mean things that seem simple are actually very complex.  Sometimes, it’s used as a warning that the worst of a situation is yet to come.  Sometimes, however, it’s delivered as advice to persist because beyond the good that you can see, there is only more bounty to come.

The Josephine that I knew was just a tiny portion of who she really was.  And I think, if we’re being honest with ourselves, that rings true for all of us.  No matter how much we say we’re open and present our whole selves, there’s no real way to display all of the ingredients that make us who we are.

My kids used to love those little scratch art sheets that, at first glance, are a sheet of one matte solid (usually dark) color.  Using the tip of a little plastic pencil, they’d scratch away the solid and reveal the bright rainbow of color that lay beneath.  Life’s kind of like that:  scratch away the darkness to reveal the beautiful picture.  The catch is, if you scratch it all away, you’re left with nothing but a meaningless blob of color.  It's the dark veneer that holds the shape.

Likewise, it’s the deep-set foundation that gives the iceberg strength.  We see what’s visible.  If we get closer and stick around a bit, it becomes clear that there’s more below the surface than we first saw.  I once saw a quote (sorry, don’t recall who said it):  “Personality is the tip of the iceberg someone shows you.  Character is their true foundation.”

With this in mind, I will continue to be surprised by the base at the iceberg of every person I meet and I hope we all experience more awe and beauty and less “Titanic”.. 

 

Bob Ross Is My Spirit Animal...

When I was younger, I never would have claimed to be an optimist, but I guess that’s always been the case.  Looking back, I always had a soft spot for the outcast, the sad sack, and the underdog.

I’m sure that’s just hard wired into my DNA.  My grandparents never walked away from an opportunity to help.  My mother took in every stray animal – be it cat, dog, or teenage boy – that crossed her path.  My father, broken as he may have been, was a torch bearer for causes that mattered to him and was quick to take action when the alarm bells rang.  So, I guess that’s just who I am.  I’m happy to even have a glass, so when something’s in it, it must be half full.

My friends often joke that I’m “The Diplomat” because, when there’s tension, I’m pretty adept at pointing out the positive spin.  If the silver lining isn’t obvious, I try to direct the eye to the other places it can be.  That’s not such a bad trait.  I’ll take it.  I’m like the Bob Ross of real life scenarios! 

Anyone over twenty who’s ever spent any time watching public television is surely familiar with the man with the soothing voice and big, fluffy afro who just wanted to share his Joy of Painting with anyone who’d watch.  He was a master with his brushes and oils and could whip out a beautiful landscape in the half hour that he had to share with us.  More than that, he was a master with his words of encouragement and his uncanny ability to turn any misstep into an intentional part of the story he was painting.  As he said in nearly every episode, “We don’t make mistakes.  Just happy little accidents.”

I’m no artist.  The only painting I do is on the walls of my house.  But Bob’s approach to painting has been an excellent guide for my own approach to life.  He voiced one of my deepest held beliefs – one presented to me all my life by my mother and grandmother – in such a way that it really registered with my adult self: “The secret to doing anything is believing that you can do it. Anything that you believe you can do strong enough, you can do. Anything. As long as you believe.”

When I catch myself doing things that maybe cause others to give me the side-eye, I’m reminded of Bob saying  “People look at me like I'm a little strange, when I go around talking to squirrels and rabbits and stuff. That's ok. Thaaaat's just ok.”  Once again, no one has ever accused me of being appropriate.  I will continue to talk to strangers, to squirrels, and I will continue to look beyond the dark and the thunderstorms for the rainbow that I believe will be there on the other side.  I think Bob Ross is my Spirit Animal.

Now, maybe more than ever, there are unintended splotches on the canvas.  I’m going to morph them into happy little clouds or strong green trees.  Every day, we have the opportunity to shake our brushes clean, let in some light, and get to painting! As the man said “We're gonna make some big decisions in our little world.”

Thanks, Bob.  For the art, of course, but mostly for the inspiration.