Seasons of Life

Summer Jobs Provide Lessons for Life

Summer Jobs Provide Lessons for Life

The mass on my desk was beginning to pulsate, taking on a life of its own. Hundreds of tiny legs began to emerge, disentangling, disengaging, apparently seeking a way out. At least five grasshoppers had already hopped off my desk and were making a clean getaway across the office floor. Several groggy beetles were zigzagging in random patterns across the surface of my desk; one was obligingly headed toward the sorting trays to my right. A few mayflies were literally trying to rise above it all.“Dang! The lab didn’t use enough carbon ‘tet’ again this morning,” I muttered to the slowly shrinking mass in front of me. My job had just become messier and more physical than usual. Bugs are much easier to count and sort when they are dead. I was glad that I had worn an older dress to work, but slacks would have been even better for…

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A Clock Needs a Voice and a Heartbeat

A Clock Needs a Voice and a Heartbeat

I am not a clock-watcher by nature, but I do like a house that “tick-tocks” and “bongs,” that has a heartbeat. I feel at home where household activities and conversations are punctuated with deep clangs, melodic chimes, and “cuckoos.” I rarely wear a watch, but when I do, I prefer one with a face and hands and a heart that ticks.As a child, staying overnight with friends and relatives, I realized that every home throbbed with some version of these audible announcements of the passage of time. These metronomes of our lives provided a certain rhythm to each home. Grandfather clocks often presided over household events with a slow steady beat; for homes short of space and money, mantel clocks or bedside clocks tick-tocked reassuringly through the days and nights.I especially loved to visit my aunt and uncle who had a cuckoo clock sitting on a small table next to…

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WAIT!

“There will be a fifteen to twenty minute wait; we will call you when your table is ready.” “Please take a number and wait for the next available clerk.” “Make yourself comfortable in the waiting room; your car will be ready shortly.” “You will have a three hour lay-over between flights.” And so, I dutifully pick up a stale magazine or start next week’s grocery list or simply “go on hold” (you know, when your eyes glaze over, you start twirling your hair with your little finger and, as you cross your legs, your top leg starts to swing like a metronome) . It’s called WAITING. However, I dislike wasting time and, since the stages and activities of our lives seem to require periods of “biding one’s time,” I decided to observe how other people handle life’s intervals. A recent wait at the airport provided the opportunity. Upon settling into…

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Key Contemplations

“I have no idea what this unlocks.” I muttered to myself as I examined the key in my hand. I had been working all morning on the tangle of keys piled on the kitchen table. Since one of my New Year’s resolutions is to organize and simplify my life, the key rack seemed to be a good place to begin. There were at least a dozen key rings. Some sported one key; others clutched up to 17—most were unlabeled. I started with the easy ones—the few that were labeled. These included keys to neighbors’ homes. We have an exchange agreement in case of emergencies and pet sitting. I put those back on the rack, along with the keys to my parents’ home. I recognized a couple of the unlabeled keys as possible extra keys to our front door. I locked the door and tried them. One work; one did not.…

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Aging is Hard Work

“Oh, would you look at that,” Della exclaimed, her face brightening with a huge appreciative smile, “Isn’t it just beautiful?!” I looked at the blank wall in the hallway where she was pointing. “What do you see, Della?” I asked. I stopped pushing her wheel chair and tried to follow her finger, my eyes straining to see what her vision had revealed to her. “See, over there in that lovely green meadow by the creek,” she persisted, “the cow and her calf--isn’t it a wonderful sight?!” I looked from the unrevealing wall to her raptured face. What she saw brought her so much joy and delight that it was contagious. I felt a smile spread over my own face. “Yes it is, Della,” I answered, “thanks for pointing it out to me. Now let’s get you down to the dining room for lunch.” On another routine day at my job…

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Boots

The boots had always been there, inside the back door at the bottom of the stairs leading to my friend’s kitchen. We all went visiting through her back door; the front door was reserved for formal visitors. No one remembered when the front door was last used. And so, after her smiling face, the boots were the next things I saw when she opened her door. Silent sentinels, worn and tired, they made no apology for their appearance. The alchemy of time had changed the composition of the soles, and they were brittle and cracked. In contrast, the high-top leather uppers had grown into soft molds of my friend’s feet and ankles. The gouges, nicks, and scrapes had not rendered them less serviceable through the years. In fact, it had been a rare day that they were not called into service. They were a tribute to the lessons taught early…

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Cereal Boxes

Maybe because it was green that it caught my attention, awakening a long-dormant emotion I had yet to identify. I continued to stare at the image on the cereal box. Imagine: a brain-shaped ball, like a small football, except that it was convoluted like a brain. The now-awakened excitement was surfacing. Wow, I could be the first kid in my neighborhood to have one! Besides, every kid knows that cereal boxes hold more magic than cereal. It was all coming back to me, like the chorus of an old summer camp song: When you hear the whistles blowing, and you see their wings of tin, you will know the Junior Birdmen have been sending their box tops in. Remember, it takes only one box top, plus 10 copper pennies, or two fat nickels, or one thin dime! Normally, I am a prudent and rational shopper. I save coupons, recycle, shop…

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Companions

Do you still fly by my window When the wind blows? I can't quite hear you and I can't yet see, But, I know you're there; I know you come.   I know you run in the morning sun; You prance and you dance; And you shout and sing— Spirits of childhood? Angels with wings?   Or, are you memories that mock me Of what is no more— Demons of glee who tap at my door, taunt me, Then hide, to laugh at my finding Nothing there?   Or, are you a part of me-- Forever young, longing To play in the Autumn sun, A part of me forever free, Forever strong and lovely, Forever one with you?   Ah, Yes! I see you now! Shimmering wings— Full of Light! Laughter! Joy Unending! I know you, my Dear Companions! Come! Take my hand; Carry me to that Promised Land!

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Family Pets, a Rich Legacy

“He looks better than he has for days,” I said. “The medicine must have worked; he isn’t covered with fungus anymore.” “Yeah, his color is almost back to normal,” my college-age son agreed, as he bent over the goldfish bowl. “Yes, he’s actually looking pretty good, almost healthy.” There was a pause “It’s too bad he’s dead.” “Yup,” I said. Indeed, Mr. Fish was floating belly-up, definitely dead. And we felt sad, reluctant to scoop him out. After all, he had been a member of our family for more than eight years. We had become as attached to Mr. Fish as it is possible to become attached to a fish. Also, he was the last of the childhood family pets. We reminisced about the day my son brought the two tiny black fish home from the pet store. They had seemed happy in the fish bowl. Then, about a week…

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Hair Wars

It’s a funny thing about hair, those few square inches on top of our heads that occupy our morning grooming ritual. For those of us who flirt with vanity, a Good Hair or Bad Hair morning is perceived to be a celestial indicator of blessing or curse upon the whole day. We are cautious even then, because we know that even a Good Hair day can be spoiled by a nasty bout of Hat Hair. The truth is, our hair, whether thick or thin, tinted or drab, straight or curly, short or long, graying or disappearing, can easily intimidate and dominate us, taking up too much time and undermining our self-esteem. For some of us, it is even more tyrannical; hair is our enemy. It is a separate entity living atop our heads, forcing us to battle its tendrils and tufts daily. Sometimes the morning’s battle takes up to an…

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