Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Help Joplin!
Trying something new. Hope this works!
In case you missed it, I've been taking donations for Joplin in my store and handing out free pops to all who donate. It's been great so far, but many of you have asked me how to donate cash. Maybe you live out of town, or can't for whatever reason, get over here, so hopefully this will make it easier. I set up a ChipIn account, that works through a Paypal account, and the best part is, YOU don't have to have a Paypal account for it to work. Just give through this system, it goes to my paypal account I have set up, and everything is secure. I hope to raise $1000 for Joplin, along with the supplies that are coming in. Thanks!!! (Any questions...call me at the shop at 336 621-3320 or write a note on the Chocolate Pops Facebook page or comment below, leave your email, and I'll get back to you.)
Friday, March 11, 2011
Funeral Blues
I wanted to write about Choco-Van today and what she's meant to me over the years, but the tears keep coming, and I just can't seem to find the right words. So I hope you don't mind if I borrow, in part, the words of that famous bugger, W. H. Auden. This is what I really want to say:
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone.
Prevent my dog, Cocoa Bean, from barking with a juicy bone.
Silence my Ipod and with muffled drum
Bring out the flatbed tow truck
Let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead,
Scribbling on the sky the message
She is dead.
Put crepe bows round the necks of my chocolate ducks and doves
Let the U Pull It guy wear black cotton gloves.
Choco-Van drove me North, South, East and West
Drove me during my working week, my Sunday rest.
At noon, at midnight
Listened to my talk, my song
I thought the van would last forever
I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now
Put out every one.
Pack up the moon
And dismantle the sun.
Pour away the ocean
and sweep up the woods
For driving an Accord can never
come to any good.
Rest in Peace, Choco-Van.
You will be missed.
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone.
Prevent my dog, Cocoa Bean, from barking with a juicy bone.
Silence my Ipod and with muffled drum
Bring out the flatbed tow truck
Let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead,
Scribbling on the sky the message
She is dead.
Put crepe bows round the necks of my chocolate ducks and doves
Let the U Pull It guy wear black cotton gloves.
Choco-Van drove me North, South, East and West
Drove me during my working week, my Sunday rest.
At noon, at midnight
Listened to my talk, my song
I thought the van would last forever
I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now
Put out every one.
Pack up the moon
And dismantle the sun.
Pour away the ocean
and sweep up the woods
For driving an Accord can never
come to any good.
Rest in Peace, Choco-Van.
You will be missed.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Good Morning?
This morning was the morning from hell. Really. Got up early, but still managed to run late. Couldn't get the kids to focus, so then they, too, were running late. Parker had one heck of a knot in his Converse...ten minutes lost there. Got lunches packed, new puppy under-foot, needing to go outside, no time for coffee with the foam on top, so settled for plain...not as good. Out of orange juice again. (We are ALWAYS out of orange juice!) Made kids smoothies, but of course, that takes longer. On the way to the boys' school, still in my jammies, spilled that cup of coffee down my front. Owww...Tried to explain to the boys how running late with them makes me run late the whole day, but they were too busy singing the latest Bruno Mars song on the radio. Realized just how much sound like my mother. argh... Got Savannah to school, puppy taken care of, my bag packed...only to realize I had forgotten something at the shop.
See, I was teaching a class today out at Lifespan, and I didn't want to be late. Got to the shop, then realized my store keys were on the kitchen counter at home. Argh....Calgon? You there? Take me away, please!
Yes, I made it to Lifespan. Yes, they were all waiting for me. Sigh. I hate being late. (For those who don't know, Lifespan works with those who are developmentally disabled.) Suddenly, I was caught up in melting chocolate, popping popcorn, showing them how to drizzle the melted chocolate, how to dip the pretzels. Smiling, laughing. That next hour changed my attitude. Working with those folks made my whole day, literally.
On the way back to work, my first thought was: "FINALLY, coffee!" Driving along, sipping my Starbucks, I then thought about my morning. But in a different light. I woke up this morning. Blessing number one. Wearing my favorte, soft jammies, I then made up our warm, comfy bed. Blessing number two. Chad kissed me. Blessing number three. Got the puppy and let her "wake up" the kids (love to see those little smiles in the morning!) Blessing number four. While the puppy was outside, I stepped into the laundry room and turned on the dryer to finish a load of laundry. Blessing number five. (BIG blessing: having your own washer and dryer.)
Asked the kids what they wanted for breakfast. Choice of food: Blessing number six. You see where this is going. I realized I can cook, drive a car, keep house, own a pet...heck, have kids even. I can run my business. I can juggle a million errands, pick-ups, drop-offs, and still remember my brother's upcoming birthday. So what if sometimes I forget the orange juice or spill my coffee? Look at all the blessings in my life. Look at all the blessings in yours. Count them. Name them one by one. I did.
See, I was teaching a class today out at Lifespan, and I didn't want to be late. Got to the shop, then realized my store keys were on the kitchen counter at home. Argh....Calgon? You there? Take me away, please!
Yes, I made it to Lifespan. Yes, they were all waiting for me. Sigh. I hate being late. (For those who don't know, Lifespan works with those who are developmentally disabled.) Suddenly, I was caught up in melting chocolate, popping popcorn, showing them how to drizzle the melted chocolate, how to dip the pretzels. Smiling, laughing. That next hour changed my attitude. Working with those folks made my whole day, literally.
On the way back to work, my first thought was: "FINALLY, coffee!" Driving along, sipping my Starbucks, I then thought about my morning. But in a different light. I woke up this morning. Blessing number one. Wearing my favorte, soft jammies, I then made up our warm, comfy bed. Blessing number two. Chad kissed me. Blessing number three. Got the puppy and let her "wake up" the kids (love to see those little smiles in the morning!) Blessing number four. While the puppy was outside, I stepped into the laundry room and turned on the dryer to finish a load of laundry. Blessing number five. (BIG blessing: having your own washer and dryer.)
Asked the kids what they wanted for breakfast. Choice of food: Blessing number six. You see where this is going. I realized I can cook, drive a car, keep house, own a pet...heck, have kids even. I can run my business. I can juggle a million errands, pick-ups, drop-offs, and still remember my brother's upcoming birthday. So what if sometimes I forget the orange juice or spill my coffee? Look at all the blessings in my life. Look at all the blessings in yours. Count them. Name them one by one. I did.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Thirty-four dollars
What can you buy with thrity-four dollars? You could treat a friend or two (depending where you go) to lunch. You could get a pedicure and leave a lousy tip. You could, according to my daughter, download a whole bunch of music for your ipod. Chad and I could see a movie, but probably have to cough up more moolah for Twizzlers and popcorn. Or, according to my boys, you could buy eleven packs of Yu-gi-oh cards OR the latest bionicle's motorcyle. Hmmm...
Why is thirty-four dollars on my mind, you ask? Here's the story. My Grandma's brother, Joe, 88, recently passed away. He went downhill quick: sick at Christmas, trouble swallowing, then pneumonia, then a feeding tube, two surgeries, paliative care, and days where we knew he was gone but he was just lying there, lingering. Bless his heart; he was such a vibrant, active man. To see him just lying there was hard on all of us. That wasn't the Uncle Joe we knew and loved.
One morning, I made my way up to the fourth floor of Moses Cone to sit with Uncle Joe before I had to go to work. When I walked up to his room, the family of the lady across the way was in the hall crying. She had just passed. It just touched me. I went on into Uncle Joe's room, sad from seeing their pain, sad to see Uncle Joe lying there, breathing so uncomfortably, eyes closed, not knowing I was even there. On the table next to the hospital bed was a plant and a card. "Mr. Joe." I opened it to read it to him, and out fell thirty-four dollars. The plant was from the folks at Harris Teeter, and the card was signed from each one. "We miss you," "Get better, we miss seeing you," "From your favorite meat man." I bet there were twenty or more well-wishes, each from a different employee who had become one of Uncle Joe's friends. Why did they send him money? I have no idea. Obviously, quite a few of them contributed because it was made up of fives and ones, a little from each friend.
Friend. That's what he called everyone. "How are you today, my friend?" What a personality. Uncle Joe was quite the character. He had many conspiracy theories. Never trusting banks, he liked to squirrel away money in jars buried in the back yard, or wrapped in aluminum foil in the freezer, or in envelopes taped to the under-side of kitchen cabinets. He thought city water at my Grandma's house was "dirty," so each day, when he visited her for lunch, he would bring his own ice-cubes, even though he lived right across the street (same water). He loved new shoes and always sported a new jacket or cap. He fed any cat he saw, so eventually every stray cat within a five mile radius of his place knew where to score dinner. And each Christmas, without much ado, Uncle Joe would hand us envelopes. Fifty, a hundred, we never knew. Once he handed my Grandma an envelope with ten-thousand dollars.
Remember that old word, dapper? Uncle Joe was dapper. And charming. So charming that he knew all the workers at "the market." (The Harris Teeter closest to him.) And he was good with the ladies, always having me make them chocolate popcorn for each special occasion. In fact, the number of his ladies started at around 10, but soon grew to 50 or 60. I could set my watch by his call. "Wendy, it's almost Valentine's..can you make me some popcorn for my ladies? I don't want to trouble you."
Once, at Christmas-time, Uncle Joe ordered popcorn, and asked me to write his name on a tag so everyone would know who it was from. I made cute little tags and wrote "Love, Joe." When he called me for his Valentine order, he got onto me. "Now listen, don't you go writing Love, Joe on these. I don't love all these women." I will so miss him.
The Sunday after his memorial service, my mom and I made tons of popcorn, and set up pictures of Uncle Joe on the table at Dolan Manor where he lived. We invited all the residents for one more "Valentine" from, not love, Joe.
So what to do with this thirty-four dollars? I have thought and thought about it. I want to do something that would truly honor his giving spirit. I posted it on Facebook the other day, and thanks, by the way, for the suggestions. Here's what I've decided to do. I went to the school today where my boys go, and asked the secretary (who is wonderful) to help me with my plan. I told her I wanted to start with thirty-four dollars and make it grow. I asked her to find me a kid who has it rough, a family who needs a little help, someone, maybe a single mom, who is working hard but just not making it. Then I want to anonymously send them a card each month, along with thrity-four dollars. My kids will be able to donate a portion of their allowance if they choose, and we will mail it through the secretary so no one will know who it is actually from. She will be our go-between.
I know thirty-four dollars is not a lot of money, but when you're struggling, sometimes the smallest help, helps. I have been there. I know how it feels to not know how the heck I'm gonna make it to the next payday. I have been a single mom. Once, when I was struggling, Uncle Joe handed me an envelope. Inside was $100. I have to tell you, that was the biggest $100 I ever received. Right when I needed it the most. A young customer told me the other day, how she wanted to one day, "have what you have, a place like this." That hit me like a ton of bricks. Sometimes I look at what I have and think it's not enough. So each month, when I put that thirty-four dollars in that envelope and seal it up, I'll be thinking just how much I do have, how blessed I truly am. And thanking my Uncle Joe up in heaven for teaching me how important it is to give.
Why is thirty-four dollars on my mind, you ask? Here's the story. My Grandma's brother, Joe, 88, recently passed away. He went downhill quick: sick at Christmas, trouble swallowing, then pneumonia, then a feeding tube, two surgeries, paliative care, and days where we knew he was gone but he was just lying there, lingering. Bless his heart; he was such a vibrant, active man. To see him just lying there was hard on all of us. That wasn't the Uncle Joe we knew and loved.
One morning, I made my way up to the fourth floor of Moses Cone to sit with Uncle Joe before I had to go to work. When I walked up to his room, the family of the lady across the way was in the hall crying. She had just passed. It just touched me. I went on into Uncle Joe's room, sad from seeing their pain, sad to see Uncle Joe lying there, breathing so uncomfortably, eyes closed, not knowing I was even there. On the table next to the hospital bed was a plant and a card. "Mr. Joe." I opened it to read it to him, and out fell thirty-four dollars. The plant was from the folks at Harris Teeter, and the card was signed from each one. "We miss you," "Get better, we miss seeing you," "From your favorite meat man." I bet there were twenty or more well-wishes, each from a different employee who had become one of Uncle Joe's friends. Why did they send him money? I have no idea. Obviously, quite a few of them contributed because it was made up of fives and ones, a little from each friend.
Friend. That's what he called everyone. "How are you today, my friend?" What a personality. Uncle Joe was quite the character. He had many conspiracy theories. Never trusting banks, he liked to squirrel away money in jars buried in the back yard, or wrapped in aluminum foil in the freezer, or in envelopes taped to the under-side of kitchen cabinets. He thought city water at my Grandma's house was "dirty," so each day, when he visited her for lunch, he would bring his own ice-cubes, even though he lived right across the street (same water). He loved new shoes and always sported a new jacket or cap. He fed any cat he saw, so eventually every stray cat within a five mile radius of his place knew where to score dinner. And each Christmas, without much ado, Uncle Joe would hand us envelopes. Fifty, a hundred, we never knew. Once he handed my Grandma an envelope with ten-thousand dollars.
Remember that old word, dapper? Uncle Joe was dapper. And charming. So charming that he knew all the workers at "the market." (The Harris Teeter closest to him.) And he was good with the ladies, always having me make them chocolate popcorn for each special occasion. In fact, the number of his ladies started at around 10, but soon grew to 50 or 60. I could set my watch by his call. "Wendy, it's almost Valentine's..can you make me some popcorn for my ladies? I don't want to trouble you."
Once, at Christmas-time, Uncle Joe ordered popcorn, and asked me to write his name on a tag so everyone would know who it was from. I made cute little tags and wrote "Love, Joe." When he called me for his Valentine order, he got onto me. "Now listen, don't you go writing Love, Joe on these. I don't love all these women." I will so miss him.
The Sunday after his memorial service, my mom and I made tons of popcorn, and set up pictures of Uncle Joe on the table at Dolan Manor where he lived. We invited all the residents for one more "Valentine" from, not love, Joe.
So what to do with this thirty-four dollars? I have thought and thought about it. I want to do something that would truly honor his giving spirit. I posted it on Facebook the other day, and thanks, by the way, for the suggestions. Here's what I've decided to do. I went to the school today where my boys go, and asked the secretary (who is wonderful) to help me with my plan. I told her I wanted to start with thirty-four dollars and make it grow. I asked her to find me a kid who has it rough, a family who needs a little help, someone, maybe a single mom, who is working hard but just not making it. Then I want to anonymously send them a card each month, along with thrity-four dollars. My kids will be able to donate a portion of their allowance if they choose, and we will mail it through the secretary so no one will know who it is actually from. She will be our go-between.
I know thirty-four dollars is not a lot of money, but when you're struggling, sometimes the smallest help, helps. I have been there. I know how it feels to not know how the heck I'm gonna make it to the next payday. I have been a single mom. Once, when I was struggling, Uncle Joe handed me an envelope. Inside was $100. I have to tell you, that was the biggest $100 I ever received. Right when I needed it the most. A young customer told me the other day, how she wanted to one day, "have what you have, a place like this." That hit me like a ton of bricks. Sometimes I look at what I have and think it's not enough. So each month, when I put that thirty-four dollars in that envelope and seal it up, I'll be thinking just how much I do have, how blessed I truly am. And thanking my Uncle Joe up in heaven for teaching me how important it is to give.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Resolute!
"Oh no," you're thinking, "not another blog/article/news story on New Year's Resolutions." Yes it is, sort of. I do make resolutions each year; I am part of that number of optomists who think of each new year as a fresh slate. And I hear ya, pessimists, I really do, and I get it. Most resolutions are like gym memberships: a good idea in January and a faint memory in February. But I gotta tell ya, most year's I stick to mine.
I think it's because I'm a list-girl. Got tasks? Make a list. Got dreams/goals/aspirations? Make a list. Then check them off. Simple. Easy. Organized. (Except when I lose the list.) I do, however, try to keep my resolutions simple and attainable. Instead of making the ever-popular resolution to lose weight or get fit, I re-word it to "lose 5 pounds, then set new goal for February," or "drink water with meals instead of tea." That way, the goal doesn't seem so big and I don't feel so overwhelmed.
I encourage the kids to make resolutions too. For themselves and then I give them one. Mine for them this year is "Take care." It emcompasses a lot but seems little. Just take care. Take care of our belongings...like no swinging the lunch box until it winds up in the tree outside my store...take care of our bodies and hair...like no more trips to the bathroom, BOYS, without wsshing your hands, and actually USING the soap and shampoo when you shower, not just rinsing! For Savannah, it's taking care of her stuff, like the $100 calculator she had to have for school which I constantly find on the floor, or the new clothes she just HAD to have which she keeps conveniently located spread out all over the floor.
For me, I won't bore you with my personal goals, but I will tell you that most of them revolve around the shop and making it grow this year. Someone recently told me that survival is the new success, but this year, I don't want to just survive; I want to grow. That means, new stuff. New chocolate creations. Right now, with the Christmas decorations down, the store is a blank canvass, and I am ready to paint, baby! I have been racking my brain, coming up with new ideas, and I am so excited.
This summer, I am launching a whole new type of pop. Not to spoil the surprise, but it's sweet and savory and so exciting! Meanwhile, back to the kitchen. I've got a lot of creating to do! Happy 2011!!!
I think it's because I'm a list-girl. Got tasks? Make a list. Got dreams/goals/aspirations? Make a list. Then check them off. Simple. Easy. Organized. (Except when I lose the list.) I do, however, try to keep my resolutions simple and attainable. Instead of making the ever-popular resolution to lose weight or get fit, I re-word it to "lose 5 pounds, then set new goal for February," or "drink water with meals instead of tea." That way, the goal doesn't seem so big and I don't feel so overwhelmed.
I encourage the kids to make resolutions too. For themselves and then I give them one. Mine for them this year is "Take care." It emcompasses a lot but seems little. Just take care. Take care of our belongings...like no swinging the lunch box until it winds up in the tree outside my store...take care of our bodies and hair...like no more trips to the bathroom, BOYS, without wsshing your hands, and actually USING the soap and shampoo when you shower, not just rinsing! For Savannah, it's taking care of her stuff, like the $100 calculator she had to have for school which I constantly find on the floor, or the new clothes she just HAD to have which she keeps conveniently located spread out all over the floor.
For me, I won't bore you with my personal goals, but I will tell you that most of them revolve around the shop and making it grow this year. Someone recently told me that survival is the new success, but this year, I don't want to just survive; I want to grow. That means, new stuff. New chocolate creations. Right now, with the Christmas decorations down, the store is a blank canvass, and I am ready to paint, baby! I have been racking my brain, coming up with new ideas, and I am so excited.
This summer, I am launching a whole new type of pop. Not to spoil the surprise, but it's sweet and savory and so exciting! Meanwhile, back to the kitchen. I've got a lot of creating to do! Happy 2011!!!
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
The gift and the giving
When I logged on today to write this, I realized my last post was dated November. December's such a blur, isn't it? So hurried, so rushed, a big sliding board ride from Thanksgiving to Christmas, with no way to slow it down! Nothing to do but throw your hands up above your head and enjoy the ride.
And I am enjoying the ride this year, I really am, but today I am a bit sad. My kids are on a plane right now going to Memphis to visit with their dad's family and this will be the first Christmas since they were born that I have spent away from them. I have gone from humming "Holly Jolly Christmas" to "Blue Christmas." And, of course, I have been reflecting.
Christmas is a time of giving...we all know that...but it doesn't hurt anyone of us to be occasionally reminded of that small wondrous fact. To find examples of how to give, and how NOT to give, I need look no further than my own family. There are a few people in my family, not naming names, who never give presents. I don't know if they forget (although "forgetting" can't possibly be an excuse year after year after year!), or if they just don't care, or if they just weren't hugged enough as children. But whatever the reason, these certain someones always seem hurt if they don't GET presents but never GIVE presents. It's a weird paradox. And a bit hurtful. And a bit thoughtless. Now, before you jump on me about the economy and how times are tough, let me just say that excuse is hogwash. There is ALWAYS something you can give: your time, a small token, even a hand-written letter saying how much you mean to someone...there is always something you can give. It's not that I want a present; I just wish they would find joy in giving.
Changing gears to my wonderful parents, the best example I can think of, they are true givers. When I was growing up, my parents showed be time after time how to give. They were the first ones to step up to the plate, the first ones to dig deep into their pockets, the first to open our home to whomever needed a place to stay. And now, they are older, and in their words, "really don't need anything." My dad told me last year at Christmas, that all they ever wanted was to live to see my brother and me happy and set and to spoil thier grandchildren. "We are there," he told me. "We are there."
So, instead of giving each other gifts, my mom and dad for the past few years have been giving each other $100. The catch is...they must each go out and help someone with that money, then report back to the other person. Who they helped and how is their gift to each other. $100 is not a huge amount, but sometimes $100 is huge. Sometimes $100 can turn your whole attitude around. Sometimes $100 can feed your family. Sometimes $100 can bring a struggling parent Christmas for their child. My mom and dad love doing this. They get excited like little kids. I know whomever is on the receiving end of their gift truly appreciates it, but words cannot decribe the joy my mom and dad get from giving. And what a good lesson to me and to my kids.
Speaking of my kids, they lost their grandfather this past fall. I knew at that moment, when I realized my ex-mother-in-law would be sad at Christmas, facing that first holiday without her husband, that my gift this year would be her grandchildren with her on Christmas. It didn't cost me any money, but this was a hard gift for me to give. Yes, I am sad, and yes I miss them already, and yes, I am tearing up even typing this, just thinking about them boarding that plane and saying, "Bye Mommy." But in about an hour or so, at the other end of that plane ride, there is going to be some sincere joy, and I will know that I had a hand in creating it.
I wish you all a very happy Christmas, and a very giving holiday season.
And I am enjoying the ride this year, I really am, but today I am a bit sad. My kids are on a plane right now going to Memphis to visit with their dad's family and this will be the first Christmas since they were born that I have spent away from them. I have gone from humming "Holly Jolly Christmas" to "Blue Christmas." And, of course, I have been reflecting.
Christmas is a time of giving...we all know that...but it doesn't hurt anyone of us to be occasionally reminded of that small wondrous fact. To find examples of how to give, and how NOT to give, I need look no further than my own family. There are a few people in my family, not naming names, who never give presents. I don't know if they forget (although "forgetting" can't possibly be an excuse year after year after year!), or if they just don't care, or if they just weren't hugged enough as children. But whatever the reason, these certain someones always seem hurt if they don't GET presents but never GIVE presents. It's a weird paradox. And a bit hurtful. And a bit thoughtless. Now, before you jump on me about the economy and how times are tough, let me just say that excuse is hogwash. There is ALWAYS something you can give: your time, a small token, even a hand-written letter saying how much you mean to someone...there is always something you can give. It's not that I want a present; I just wish they would find joy in giving.
Changing gears to my wonderful parents, the best example I can think of, they are true givers. When I was growing up, my parents showed be time after time how to give. They were the first ones to step up to the plate, the first ones to dig deep into their pockets, the first to open our home to whomever needed a place to stay. And now, they are older, and in their words, "really don't need anything." My dad told me last year at Christmas, that all they ever wanted was to live to see my brother and me happy and set and to spoil thier grandchildren. "We are there," he told me. "We are there."
So, instead of giving each other gifts, my mom and dad for the past few years have been giving each other $100. The catch is...they must each go out and help someone with that money, then report back to the other person. Who they helped and how is their gift to each other. $100 is not a huge amount, but sometimes $100 is huge. Sometimes $100 can turn your whole attitude around. Sometimes $100 can feed your family. Sometimes $100 can bring a struggling parent Christmas for their child. My mom and dad love doing this. They get excited like little kids. I know whomever is on the receiving end of their gift truly appreciates it, but words cannot decribe the joy my mom and dad get from giving. And what a good lesson to me and to my kids.
Speaking of my kids, they lost their grandfather this past fall. I knew at that moment, when I realized my ex-mother-in-law would be sad at Christmas, facing that first holiday without her husband, that my gift this year would be her grandchildren with her on Christmas. It didn't cost me any money, but this was a hard gift for me to give. Yes, I am sad, and yes I miss them already, and yes, I am tearing up even typing this, just thinking about them boarding that plane and saying, "Bye Mommy." But in about an hour or so, at the other end of that plane ride, there is going to be some sincere joy, and I will know that I had a hand in creating it.
I wish you all a very happy Christmas, and a very giving holiday season.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
what "they" think
On my morning visit to my Grandma today, she was excited to show me something she had "found." I put "found" in quotations because my Grandma forgets easily, and she is always "finding" something she has had for years. I joke with her that it's the beauty of early dementia; each day everything old is new again. In reality, watching her forget is tough. She just grins and says, "It's the process of aging."
This morning, she had found a box the kids had made her a few years ago, full of tiny notes from each of them. I had helped them write them. On each note was their name and what they love about Grandma. She delights in reading them again and again, and that's exactly why I had the kids make them. I sat in her old rocking chair while she read them to me.
"I love Grandma because she doesn't get mad when you make a mistake."
"I love Grandma because she has a strong faith in God."
"I love Grandma because she always has ice cream in the freezer and cinnamon buns in the kitchen drawer."
...and the lsit goes on and on. Each little note brought a smile to her face. She read them to me twice. On my way to work, I started thinking, what would my notes say?
If my friends, family, customers wrote tiny notes about me, and put them in a box, would I want to even open it?
Then I thought, what if, just for fun, I imagined what I would WANT thse notes to say about me, then actively made myself into that person?
I can tell you a few things poeple have said about me in the past...funny, always upbeat, positive, nice style about me (one of the elderly ladies, Edna, from my Grandma's place), thoughtful, giving, takes time with her family, treasures her grandmothers, good mom, good wife...I've received these complements before, and sometimes brushed them off, but what if I took them all to heart, believed that the person they're describing is the real me, or the me I want to be?
So that's my early resolution: Go out and be that person. In effect, put that pen in the critic's hand,and go out and make myself be that person I want to read about, so that one day, I'll cherish that box when I open it.
This morning, she had found a box the kids had made her a few years ago, full of tiny notes from each of them. I had helped them write them. On each note was their name and what they love about Grandma. She delights in reading them again and again, and that's exactly why I had the kids make them. I sat in her old rocking chair while she read them to me.
"I love Grandma because she doesn't get mad when you make a mistake."
"I love Grandma because she has a strong faith in God."
"I love Grandma because she always has ice cream in the freezer and cinnamon buns in the kitchen drawer."
...and the lsit goes on and on. Each little note brought a smile to her face. She read them to me twice. On my way to work, I started thinking, what would my notes say?
If my friends, family, customers wrote tiny notes about me, and put them in a box, would I want to even open it?
Then I thought, what if, just for fun, I imagined what I would WANT thse notes to say about me, then actively made myself into that person?
I can tell you a few things poeple have said about me in the past...funny, always upbeat, positive, nice style about me (one of the elderly ladies, Edna, from my Grandma's place), thoughtful, giving, takes time with her family, treasures her grandmothers, good mom, good wife...I've received these complements before, and sometimes brushed them off, but what if I took them all to heart, believed that the person they're describing is the real me, or the me I want to be?
So that's my early resolution: Go out and be that person. In effect, put that pen in the critic's hand,and go out and make myself be that person I want to read about, so that one day, I'll cherish that box when I open it.
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