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One Thing

Posted on by Joy / 8 Comments

 

I’ve been reading lots of New Year’s blogs.

People are listing things they learned in 2015.

11 things I learned in 2015

15 things I learned in 2015

52 things I learned in 2015

All the things I learned in 2015

Other people are listing goals and resolutions for 2016.

12 ways to make the write resolution

16 goals to set for next year

50 New Year resolutions and how to achieve each

 

Whoa!

I’m all for lists.

I like learning things.

Goals are good things … usually.

But at this stage of my life a list of 11 or 16 or 52 things (heaven forbid!) is too long a list to take with me as I hike through life over the next year.

I like 3.

1 is better.

Yes, one thing I have learned is that it is best if I focus on One Thing.

I don’t need to write it down somewhere and then forget where I put my list. I can keep it in my head!

After all, if I have to write down what I’ve learned, have I really learned it at all?  If I have actually learned something, shouldn’t it just be part of who I am now?  Shouldn’t it be somewhere in that vast data base in my head?  Even have become part of my character? Do I have to keep a list to remind me of what I already know?

A skilsaw and a circular saw are actually the same thing.  Oh that’s right.  I know that!  I’m so glad I had that on my list of things I learned this year.

I have also learned that when God asks me to do something, obedience is non-negotiable. But I don’t need to write it down.  It has become so much a part of me that I rarely question the why’s or what if’s anymore when God speaks.

As for goals, I like the feeling of accomplishment as I check off things on my list.

  Clean the kitchen – checkfile0001564894818-2

  Water the plants – check

  Buy a gift for Mom – check

But for the most part, a list of goals stresses me out. I can’t rest until they are all done. Even if it is a goal that will take a year to accomplish, it niggles and niggles at me until it is done, and then I can finally breathe. I can’t relax and enjoy the ride. That’s just how I roll.

Recently, I was part of a Facebook discussion on the statement that goals are meant to be flexible. That is, you make your goals but you are constantly readjusting said goals in order to fit your life and unforeseen roadblocks.

Hmmm. That’s interesting. But I’m wondering … if you are constantly readjusting your goals, what kind of goals are they? Aren’t you then failing to meet a goal you have set? Are you just trying to make yourself feel better for not meeting your goal?

If goals are meant to be flexible, wouldn’t they be called suggestions?

It’s confusing to me.

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In the 100 metre race, the goal is to cross the finish line at 100 metres. You don’t move the finish line to 87 metres just because you can’t make it the full 100.

If I decide that I’m going to lose 10 pounds a month, but then I get to the end of January and have only lost 5, do I say to myself, just kidding … my goal was to lose 5? That doesn’t work for me because I’d still be kicking myself that I didn’t lose 10.

Overweight

 

No, my goals can’t be flexible. It wouldn’t work for me. I’ve learned that when I make a goal or resolution, I better make good and sure that I am physically able and mentally capable to accomplish it. I’m too much of a perfectionist and it’s not worth the guilt and self-loathing that accompany broken resolutions.

As far as New Year resolutions go, I prefer to use a method my sister-in-law introduced to me:

Think over the last year and choose one or two things that I did right.

Then, decide to continue doing that thing right. Even improving on it.

It promotes the idea of growth and forward movement rather than making some unmanageable or unreachable goal.

It works for me, makes my life a little less stressful, and helps me focus on positives rather than negatives.

So here’s my One Thing. It is based on the Bible verse Luke 10:27 – “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbour as yourself.”

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Love God, love people.

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That’s it.

That’s my One Thing.

And what I love about it is that those four little words encompass all kinds of creativity.

No stress. No lists to lose.

Just One Thing to keep at the forefront of my brain as I walk through this next year.

What’s your One Thing?

 

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Ring Those Christmas Bells

Posted on by Joy / 2 Comments

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I love Christmas carols. I love how, for about 6 weeks of the year, believers and non-believers alike are singing praises and glo-o-o-o-o-oooo-o-o-o-o-oooo-o-o-o-o-ooorias.

Secular radio stations are dashing through the snow to deck the halls, asking Santa Baby for yachts and diamond rings, and wondering how on earth Grandma could get run over by a reindeer.

But they are also proclaiming Therefore, Christian men, be sure, wealth or rank possessing, ye who now will bless the poor, shall yourselves find blessing.

And

O morning stars, together proclaim the holy birth! And praises sing to God the King, and peace to men on earth.

And

O come let us adore Him, Christ the Lord.

 

Even Charlie Brown sings “Glory to the newborn King”!

What kind of weird and wonderful world IS this?? That Christ’s name should be heard and sung by people who haven’t yet grasped the miraculous idea of God’s precious life-giving, soul-saving gift.

It makes me wonder as I wander, and giggle like a babe in Toyland.
Yet some could say that it isn’t the most wonderful time of the year, 2015. It’s not a yum-yummy world made for sweethearts. They would agree with Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s words, “There is no peace on earth, I said”.

When Longfellow penned the words to his poem “Christmas Bells” on December 25, 1864, he was still grieving the death of his wife, Fanny. She had been fatally burned in an accident 3 years before, on the very same day that the first shot of the American Civil War was fired. In 1862 his journal entry for Christmas Day reads, “ ‘A merry Christmas’ say the children, but that is no more for me.”

In 1863 he learned that his oldest son, Charles, had been severely wounded in battle.

So in 1864, Longfellow’s world was not at peace either, and hadn’t been for years. What’s more, he had been personally affected by the war.

He wrote seven stanzas to his poem that Christmas Day in 1864. Two of them are never sung in our version of “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day” but I think they are important to include because they give us a good idea of Longfellow’s world, which strikingly parallels our own. They help us to understand why he said, “there is no peace on earth”, and to remind us that “God is not dead, nor doth He sleep”.

 
In our writers group this month we were challenged to write a new verse to a favourite Christmas carol.

The words “there is no peace on earth, I said” resonated so much with me that I did some research on the song and then added my own verse at the end – my proclamation in response to the stanzas before it.

 

 

Christmas Bells
(Longfellow’s original poem, complete with all seven stanzas, and an extra one added at the end by Joy)

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Till, ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Then from each black accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;
“There is no peace on earth,” I said;
“For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead; nor doth he sleep!
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men!”

Now let me gather up my faith.
My God’s at work; His love is great.
Loud let bells ring,
And I will sing,
Of Peace on earth, good-will to men!

God is not dead, nor doth He sleep. He’s still at work. He’s still Love. He’s still in charge.

So rest ye merry, sojourners, let nothing you dismay. Remember, Christ, our Saviour, was born upon this day: to save us all from Satan’s power when we were gone astray.

O tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy.
O tidings of comfort and joy.

 

 

****************

This article first appeared at InScribe Writers Online , December 20, 2015.

(Edited)

 

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Of Mice and Me

Posted on by Joy / 8 Comments

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Mice.

They have their place and I have mine. And never the twain should meet.

In theory.

The truth is, over the years, mice and I have had a relationship of sorts. And not a happy one. This discord is all due to the mice, of course, and their insistence on invading my space.

The problems began when we moved with our young family to an old country home. I hadn’t had any experience with mice before that so it was distressing to have these visitors arrive in my home uninvited and expecting to stay! They acted like the place belonged to them. The nerve!

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A particular barn cat liked to bring her mice to the front door and lay them out for us to ooh and ah over. Often, if we didn’t get there soon enough to praise her, we would just find the remains of what had become a good lunch. This was a slightly disturbing occurrence that I got used to. After all, those mice were outside, not invading my space, and … well … dead.

Of the many memorable mouse moments from that time in the country, the following one stands out:

It is night – almost my bedtime. As usual, the Cowboy is away from home for work so I am on my own.

Sweetie, Peaches and Babe have been put to bed and I am in the dimly lit kitchen doing last minute puttering before heading to my own bed. Out of the corner of my eye I see movement.

There, scurrying along the wall is a tiny fuzzy creature. I jump onto the nearest chair and scream into my hands (so as not to wake the sleeping children, of course).

Before I’m done screaming the critter has scooted into the old fashioned heating vent and disappeared.

I gather my wits and do the only thing I can think of doing.

I build a barricade – in the doorway between the kitchen and the rest of the house. (This was long before I knew mice could climb and jump. Yes. Yes they can.)

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When the Cowboy comes home on the weekend, I am leaving for a conference. I tell him that by the time I arrive home at the end of the weekend I need every last mouse gone from the house, please.

Sure enough, they are. Not only are they all gone, every crack and cranny around the outside of the house has been filled with insulating foam sealant.

 

(That’s the thing about cowboys. They will do everything in their power to protect their women.)

 

Several years later we moved to the city. But, just like the children’s book says, there are city mice too. And they liked to visit the cupboard under my kitchen sink, and run around under the stove.

Babe’s cat liked to play with them.

The door to Babe’s room faces the basement stairs. One day as she came out of her room she saw a mouse fly through the air across the opening to the stairs down below. She screamed, “Mom!” and I came running.

Turns out, the cat was playing. Only he didn’t know the mouse wasn’t playing back. He was chasing the critter, tossing it into the air, waiting for it to land and start running away so he could chase it again.

By the time we got there, the little creature was exhausted and barely moving. The cat was visibly disappointed with his playmate, and quickly losing interest.

I grabbed a nearby bucket to trap the thing under before he got his second (or third or fourth) wind. But my timing was off, and I caught him half in and half out. There he lay, body under the bucket and head out, with the rim cutting across his throat, looking me dead in the eye (no pun intended).

A thought scrabbled its away across my mind … I strangled a mouse today …

I didn’t mean to. It just happened. But I was glad he wasn’t running around my feet.

After that incident, and the one when I accidentally poured a drowned mouse down the garbage disposal, the Cowboy and a helpful son-in-law went around the outside of the house and meticulously foamed in all the cracks they could find.

We had no mice in the house for a long time.

Then … we renovated the sunroom.

Somewhere a new mouse doorway has been opened up. Because suddenly, one of the squeakers dashes across my path in the kitchen.

In plain view!

I’ll admit he must be as startled as I am because he’s having trouble scrambling in a straight line.

The Cowboy takes care of things quickly and efficiently after receiving the PLEASE COME HOME NOW! text. And he promises to seal off any new openings.

A couple of weeks later I hear unusual noises coming from under my stove. To be on the safe side, I lay 3 large sticky traps end to end in front of the stove.

In the evening I turn off the TV when I hear it again.

“Do you hear that?” I ask the Cowboy.

“It’s the fridge,” says he.

“It’s NOT the fridge,” say I.

The next morning, there are two tiny legs sticking out from under the stove. The Cowboy pulls the sticky trap into full view to unveil a stuck mouse, and glued right next to him … a toy car.

IMG_3947Which makes me wonder … was he playing with that toy? Was he giving it a push, there in the safety of the under-the-stove and racing to see who got to the other side first? Was he actually entertaining himself? I suppose only God can know the mind of a mouse.

However, I have learned other things about mice I never would have known had I not experienced these disturbing episodes in my life. That’s the thing about annoying, disturbing, difficult life occurrences. You learn. And then you can pass on the knowledge, wisdom and experience to others going through the same ordeal.

If you want to know if you have a mouse problem, invite me to your house. I know the sights, smells, and sounds to look for. I know how high to build your barricades. I know the most effective traps to use. I know how tiny a crack they can fit through. I know their favourite toys now. And, I can identify mouse innards, just in case you’re preparing for a biology exam.

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They may be cute and furry but they don’t belong in my space. They’re messy disease carrying rodents. They have no business in my cupboards, on my countertops, or under my stove playing with toys that don’t belong to them.

That’s why, until the foam sealant gets applied, I have 3 traps on the floor in front of my stove and no fewer than 7 under my sink. Because I believe the best defence is a good offence.

Don’t get me started on moths.

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Secret Places in My Hat

Posted on by Joy / 0 Comment

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It pains me to admit it here in this semi-public forum but … I am not as put together as I look. (It occurs to me that I may not even look all that put together, but that’s a topic for another time)

I have been known to occasionally let my imagination run a little wild, often in instances when complete calm and level-headedness is better required.

I chock it all up to the fact that I’m a writer. I have been making up stories in my head since I was old enough to know I was making up stories in my head. My imagination is a wonderfully fantastical place and I’m quite entertaining to myself … usually.

Sometimes, however, it’s best not to let that imagination … OUT.
It only confuses my family and friends.
And is exhausting for me.

Case in point #1:
I drive Babe to her University classes. Because of an incident the day before, she has a possible concussion and shouldn’t drive. I drop her off and decide to do some errands and get groceries while she attends class. Then on my way home, I will pick her up and take her to her job.

I arrive in the designated pick-up spot early. When she is done at 12:50 there will be just enough time to get her to her job by 1 o’clock.

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I wait.
And wait.

It’s not like her to be late for work.
I text her: Everything ok?
No answer.
More minutes tick by. Maybe the prof went overtime.
OR
Maybe she is waiting for me at a different pick-up spot.
That must be it.
I text: I’m at the little pick-up spot where I dropped you off.
Nothing.

It is now past 1 o’clock.
She would never be late for work.
Where could she be? Did class finish early and somebody else take her to work?
Surely she would have texted me. But lately her phone has been crashing for no reason. Maybe she can’t text me.
OR
Maybe she can’t text me because she got dizzy and passed out!

She passed out because of that concussion.

And had to be taken to hospital.

And nobody got ahold of me.

Why wouldn’t they let me know?
boy-entering-classroom-300x200Wait!

How do I know she even showed up to class this morning? I dropped her off but I didn’t watch her go through the door like I did when she was 5. I just assumed she was okay.

That crazy concussion!

She got disoriented when I dropped her off and now she is out wandering somewhere and she doesn’t know where she is!

And some lowlife took advantage of the situation and snatched her up and now we will never find her!

SHE’S A MISSING PERSON!!

I take a deep breath.
Get it together, woman.

I park the car. Go to the administration office.
No answers. Because of privacy laws they can’t even tell me whether or not she is a student there.

I resist the urge to barrel down the halls like a mad gorilla, screaming her name.

 

Mad-Gorilla
Agitated, I white-knuckle it home. Someone may have left a message on the landline.

No messages on the home phone.
But suddenly there is a text: I’m in class. I work at 2.

 

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Case in point #2:

3363343283_8008f1db2bThe Cowboy and I are on our cruise vacation. We are getting ready to leave our cabin for the day, for a shore excursion.
But I can’t find the cash.

I have checked the safe. Twice.
The contents of my bag have been dumped on the bed. Books and papers are scattered all over the desk.
I am going through closets and drawers, checking pockets of clothing we haven’t even worn yet.

The Cowboy is annoyingly calm.
When did you last see it?

IMG_3149I had it with me yesterday when we came home from the beach.
I go through the papers on the desk again.
I thought I put it right here …

Suddenly it hits me.

They are siphoning money off us!!

Siphoning mo … who is?

Them! The stewards who clean our room. Little by little they are taking money and they think we will never notice.

What? Why would they do that?

I leave him to ponder answers to that question because I am remembering … my hat. The one Mr. Cowboy calls my “nerd hat”.

Oh. Now I remember. It’s in here.

I grab it off the hook on the wall and check.
Sure enough, there is the money tucked safely and serenely in that secret place in my hat.

The Cowboy looks absolutely astonished.
Are you kidding me? Only you would have a secret compartment in your hat!

He belly-laughs all the way off the ship.
************
This week the Cowboy & I attended a play based on a tragic story in Canadian history: the massacre of the Donnelly family by their neighbours and community.

Vigilantes.

As we leave the theatre I’m feeling vengeful. That poor family!
I comment,
It’s a shame those Donnelly’s didn’t know anything about poison. They could have snuck poison into all of their neighbours’ drinking water. Then all of THEM would have died and none of this would have happened.

I look up into the Cowboy’s horrified face, and see him mentally calculating the last time I offered him a glass of water.

Yeah … sometimes my imagination is best kept in the secret places of my hat.

 

**********

 

PHOTO CREDITS

Top Hat
photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/30515687@N05/4359966258″>Benjamin Harrison-Reid Portrait Top Hat, 1892</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”https://www.flickr.com/commons/usage/”>(license)</a>
Watch
photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/51942038@N04/7657917478″>Fossil Nissan Watch Black Square Face</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/”>(license)</a>

Child entering school
photocredit: http://www.parentscanada.com/school/how-to-choose-the-right-school-for-your-child
Mad Gorilla
<a href=”http://s293.photobucket.com/user/alyk11_2008/media/Mad-Gorilla.jpg.html” target=”_blank”><img src=”http://i293.photobucket.com/albums/mm46/alyk11_2008/Mad-Gorilla.jpg” border=”0″ alt=” photo Mad-Gorilla.jpg”/></a>
alyk11_2008’s photo on Photobucket
Lego head
photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/20436015@N00/3741330170″>lego_head-embarassed</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/2.0/”>(license)</a>
Cruise ship
photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/71365354@N00/3363343283″>St. George’s-Grenada (4)</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/”>(license)</a>