Is There an Embarrassing Reality Show in My Future?

They say that the appearance of one's desk is a reflection of one's mind. Just in case there was any question, here is proof that I am officially and certifiably insane.

I have never kept an uncluttered desk. But this is kind of ridiculous. I am overwhelmed at the sight of it and rather then tackle it, frankly, I think it would be easier to move.

The problem is that my bedroom isn't much better. Or the pantry. Or the closets. Or the drawers. And I am sitting here trying to figure out just how in the name of all things good and pure I ever let it get like this.

Someone told me this kind of mess is a sign of depression, but I don't feel depressed. In fact, in spite of the echo you can hear when you shout into our bank account, I am feeling fairly calm and hopeful. Still, the sight of this disorderliness just screams: "ATTENTION MUST BE PAID!!!" And yet, I am of a mind to just close my eyes and think of something less chaotic.

It's like I am a hoarder in training.

A Mom Memory

Growing up, we never made a big deal about Mother's Day. Or Father's Day for that matter. Maybe a card and breakfast in bed - but nothing like how most people celebrate. It didn't seem like a real holiday at all. Just an "oh, yeah." However, today, as my dear girls each remembered me individually, I thought about my mom.

Her name was Carol Simona Cushing Jackson and she died only a couple of months past her 49th birthday. She was a genuine "bleeding heart liberal" who stood up for unpopular causes. My mom would have enjoyed being popular but her willingness to be led by her heart, even if sometimes reluctantly, caused her to be something of an oddball to other women back in the early 60's - before hippies. She had tremendous integrity, but in those days at least, she was a little lonely.

It was 1964 when I was about 7 years old. We were living in the house on Sawleaf Street in theStarlite Hills development. Starlite Hills was a brand new neighborhood of tract homes that sat in flats at the base of the hills of Fremont, California - then mostly farmland and orchards. At the time, Fremont offered lots of new homes to new young families headed by "20-something" couples and their kids. The dads worked for companies like General Motors or Lockheed. But it was a time when no women worked and all the neighbors were friends. Except my parents were not big socializers.

I used to go over to the Hansen's down the street or to the Smith's across the street and was conscious of the fact that the moms were always visiting with one another - laughing at the kitchen table with their coffee and cigarettes. But my mom was not among them. The Brahamswho lived directly across the street, kept to themselves quite a bit too - but they were the only openly Christian family on the block and from what I have learned since, the shenanigans that took place on old Sawleaf Street between parents lived somewhere way downhill of anything scriptural. But that's another story. (And a good one!)

Perhaps it was all the shenanigans that kept my folks from getting too close to anyone as well, but at the time, I just felt like we were outcasts somehow. All the other families had better furniture and their moms all wore makeup and went to the "beauty parlor". None of that at our address. I thought I was the only one who recognized the difference between our family and the other families back then but I realize now that my mom did too. She sort of stood on the periphery of the social scene happening there at the time. My mother loved people but she didn't quite fit in on Sawleaf Street. Most of the other moms were nice to her but in the same way you are nice to people you don't really want to get to know: nice enough so that you can sleep nights. Not that they were actually mean to her, but Starlite Hills seemed - in retrospect - an extension of sorority life. My mom was not a sorority girl.

Anyway, I felt great relief when my mom struck up a friendship with Mrs. Keffer, up the street. It isn't a coincidence that my mom gravitated toward Mrs. Keffer. Mrs. Keffer was an artist and my mom loved artists. I think she secretly longed for a bohemian lifestyle and anyone with a bit of creativity in them was magnetic to her.

Mrs. Keffer made - mostly - mosaics. She made mosaic tables and such but what I remember most was that she made pictures of broken glass which she hung on the wall. She'd go out in the back yard and break up old beer, coke, and 7-Up bottles in a bag and then create some still life arrangement of fruit or whatever using all these shards of broken glass - which she ultimately framed and hung throughout the house. Even at 7, I thought she had too many of them. I remember my mom being inspired by Mrs. Keffer's artistic endeavors and tried her own hand at broken glass pictures - without quite the success. But it didn't matter, Mrs. Keffer (or Maryann, as my mom referred to her) was my mom's friend and I was grateful. For my mom to have a friend made life seem more normal to me. That was important to me. I didn't generally feel like my family was that. Normal. It didn't hurt that Maryann and Bob had two kids: Mike who was the same age as me and in my class at school and Julie, a couple of years younger but who owned the most amazing doll house I had ever seen. It had a ton of rooms which all sat on a magnetic table base. All the people had little magnets on their feet and with a wand you maneuvered underneath the base, you could move the people around from room to room without ever touching them. It was so cool! But I digress...

Central to the summer social scene in our neighborhood was the Cabana Club. This was the private pool club within walking distance of all of our houses. The Cabana Club was home to a sparkling swimming pool that warded off summertime boredom. It also offered exercise classes (ala Jack LaLaine) under the open but shaded overhang that ran along side the pool. This class was for moms only and it was led by the resident life guard/"boy-toy for bored moms", Mike. There were many rules to the club. You could not go into the pool for a full half hour after eating. Running could get you benched for 30 minutes. Girls, no matter how short their hair, had to wear those horrible rubber bathing caps that had rubber flowers or fish glued to the top and fit so tightly they made marks on your forehead that stayed for hours. Boys, no matter how long their hair, did not have to wear a bathing cap. Every 30 minutes or so Mike would blow his whistle and signal all the kids to get out of the pool so the adults could go for a swim without having to endure kid play. Even if no adults chose to go in, kids would have to sit it out until adult time was over. But we tolerated all these unfairnesses and indignities because the pool was cool and offered a party-like atmosphere. Most every family had a membership. However, my parents really struggled in those early years and there was a membership fee, so unless there was extra money around the house, we didn't join. It didn't stop us from being able to go as guests of our friends, but we'd have to pay 50 cents or something for the privileged and we were never allowed to go to the pool club parties - of which there were several in the summer.

Something was going well in 1964 though, because we did get a club membership that year and I remember feeling like we had made it. Not only did we get to go swimming whenever we felt like it, my mom could also be a part of all the "mom things" the club had going on. The Keffers were members too and Maryann and mom would take us all down and they would talk and smoke and lounge in the sun while we splashed for hours. I remember looking at my mom regularly to see if she looked happy - and she did. This made me feel that all was right with the world.

So one week during that summer they announced that there would be a contest for all the club moms. I don't recall what the prize was but the idea was that you had to to create a hat around a theme. It wasn't supposed to be a hat that you would actually wear - it was to be creative and fun - comical even. My mom was really excited about this. She said she didn't care but I knew otherwise. She expected that other moms would simply decorate one of their own real hats with stuff from around the house. The problem was, my mom forgot about Maryann.

My mother spent some time thinking about what her creation would be. I can see see her laughing and excited as she came upon her "eureka" idea. She was going to make a hat out of a dish drain and fill it with dishes. The straps to secure it onto her head would be made from dish towels. She was very pleased with her cleverness and had a great deal of fun putting it together. Furthermore, I know she thought she would win. And more to the point, I know she wanted to win.

The day of the contest, even though it was only two blocks away, we all got into the car and I clearly remember her dish drainer hat sitting on the car seat next to her. It had cups and plates and forks and knives and dish soap and dish rags adorning it and when we got to the club, we all got out of the car and watched her as she carefully placed it on her head, holding the side of it for balance. She was immensely proud as she walked into the club with her dish drain hat smiling at everyone there who clearly had not been nearly as creative a she had been. I was so excited for her. She walked past the pool with a sparkle in her eyes and her big toothy smile accepting compliments and laughing at her own "joke". A dish drain for a hat! Hilarious. My mom was experiencing some validation here - and it rubbed off on my own precarious ego.

But in an instant, I saw the sparkle leave my mom's eyes and her smile become less natural as she saw Maryann, running up to meet her. I knew immediately what was wrong. Maryann had made an enormous hat that held securely to her head - without the aid of her hand. Perched on top of her head was a large board painted blue like the water of the pool. It had a little diving board off to the side of it and she had utilized bendable cloth dolls - one bent into a diving position and secured to the diving board, two others cut in half and glued onto the "pool", their bendy arms raised high as if having a wonderful time in the water. There were also plants and flowers and chairs and details around the pool to make it look like the Cabana Club. She carried on about my mother's hat - how fabulous it was - but it was gratuitous. There was no contest and they both knew it. My mother's dish drain hat was diminished to nothing next to Maryann's Cabana Club hat. And my heart fell to my stomach. I watched as my mother pretended to be having fun during the judging parade, and as she clapped enthusiastically when Maryann went up to take her prize, awarded by Mike the boy-toy. So the dish drain hat came off and sat on the concrete next to her until we left soon after. She was not careful putting it back into the car. And she was silent as we drove home. And I remember most of all, later that night my father putting his arms around her while she cried just a little bit for having experienced such a disappointment by having been clearly beaten by her friend. And I hated Mrs. Keffer that night.

This isn't really a sad memory for me. Everyone knows the disappointment of coming in second when you want so badly to be first; this memory is a dear one. But I wish she were here today because I would put my arms around her and tell her that I loved her and that she will always be "first place" to me.

Creative Discipline

So here's something to try on your kids. Tell them to do this in their heads.

Pick a number between 1 and 5 (any number). Take that number and multiply it by 9. (They should have a two-digit number.) Take the digits from that number and add them together (example: 27 = 2+7=9). Take that number and subtract 5 from it. (They should now have an even number.) If A=1, B=2, C=3, and so on, have them assign a letter to this last number. Using the letter, ask them to think of a country in Europe that begins with that letter. Take the last letter of the country they chose and think of an animal. Finally, take the last letter of the animal and think of a fruit. Once they've done all of that say:

"The problem is, Kangaroos don't eat oranges in Denmark".

You will blow their minds and they will ask you how you did it and then you can say, "Because I know everything and I can read your mind which means I know exactly what was going on at that party you went to last night so don't ask me if you can go to another one any time soon".

Then they will look at you with guilt and you can send them to their room where they will believe they are being punished for whatever it is they did that they thought they got away with. You will have about 3 days before they try to pull the wool over your eyes again.

Not Quite What I Had in Mind...

It was only yesterday that I was praying for an improvement in our financial situation. Well, perhaps a tiny morsel of encouragement came in today's mail. A residual check from two episodes of a sitcom called "Wings" that I did back in the 80's. The check reflected residuals due me for recent basic cable airings and home video sales. The net? $13.56. So that ought to pay for... hang on, I'll think of something. I know!! 2.79 gallons of gas. If I buy the cheap.

And I have to claim it on my unemployment form this week. Which will no doubt hold my payment up two weeks while I wait for a phone interview they will schedule to follow up with me so that they can make sure that no, this check is not a result of me getting a job.

Remind me of that old saying about gift horses?

Um, Excuse Me God, But This Would Be Your Cue

My faith is being tested to the limit. I am waiting for what I have come to refer to as one of "God's 11th Hour Saves". After unemployment and excruciating taxes, we are down to what can only be called a code red level in our savings. And while Bob has hot irons a plenty in the real estate fire, nothing seems ready to move to the kiln. And there is nothing on the job front for me.

Don't get me wrong. We're not at code blue. We are paying our bills. There is food on the table. We own our cars and have greatly diminished our debt. But that big safety cushion? It is but an historical footnote. Because I think we paid General Electric's taxes with it this year. (But no, that couldn't be because General Electric owed no taxes this year. Silly me.)

So, while I am practicing deep breathing exercises, I choose to believe. I choose to doubt not. Why? Because God has never let me down. Never. As in never. And He is my rock. But...

Niggling in the back of my mind I am fighting the thought: "Well, there's always a first time." So I race to Google to find every scripture I can find on God's faithfulness and Hebrews 10:23 jumps at me: "Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for He who promised is faithful."

In the meantime, that which doesn't kill us, comes very, very close to killing us.

A Tornado Hits Our House

Remember when you were little, like four, five, or six and your whole world was about "YES"? ("Yes I can!", "Yes I will", "I can do it!") I remember that. Everything was affirmative because we were too little to know anything else. And we heard our parents say things like: "You can be anything you want to be - why, you could grow up to be the President of the United States!", or "The world is your oyster", or "If you're willing to work for it, there is nothing you can't do". We believed in ourselves because it was innate and because our parents and teachers reaffirmed it. Except for all those times as we grew older when they said: "No, honey. You won't be able to do that." Or, "Stop! You can't do that ." Or, "Honey, you've got to get real". Or the worst: "You are wasting your time on the impossible". The unintended message was that believing you can do anything was like believing in Santa Claus. Its fine if you're a kid but you really need to outgrow it. I believed the unintended message. Its a practical message. I've sent that message to my own kids.

I've got a friend who never got the message.

I met Sharon years ago when she and her talented husband and their girls started coming to our church. They are extremely successful and artistic and very hip. The live with horses, dogs, cats, chickens, and birds in a "to die for" home that they built on about 2 acres not far from our house. She is one of those natural beauties - healthy and athletic looking with a winning smile and a loud infectious laugh. She gets really excited when she talks. No. I mean really. Her eyes widen and her arms flap, her face lights up with a huge smile and she talks fast and purposefully, emphatically about the things she loves and wants to do. And like a five year old kid who never got "the message", she lives with the belief that if she can dream it, she can do it.

Sharon gets an idea for something and she's off - like a sprint runner. If you try to stop her or tell her she can't, she furrows her brow and argues with you. She is rarely deterred. I have never met anyone quite like her. When I first met her, I have to say, I thought there might be something a little wrong with her. When I realized that no, she was just "like that", I was fully intimidated by her.

When we went to Africa on a mission trip in 2005, Sharon and her family came too. We shared accommodations. She and her husband were the first ones up every morning and she was on fire to accomplish the objectives that had been laid out, and then some. I just stayed out of her way. She was like a whirling dervish and I had the feeling that I could get knocked down if I stood too close. Sometimes just thinking about what she's up to is exhausting.

In truth, for a very long time, while I always admired her, she was soooooo different from me I could not imagine why she would want to be friends with me. She is so cool. I am so dry. She is all "go, go, go", "do, do, do". I'm all "do you have a cushion for this chair?" I am a glass half-empty person. She is full glass spilling over. She is a tornado. I am an exhale.

So anyway, Sharon, as it turns out, does all her own landscaping and gardening, and decorating. And some time ago, when I was complaining about our impossible yard, she offered to take a look at it and help. I thought, well okay. Someday. Then, last Friday (a mere 5 days ago!), we were both at the church dropping off our kids for a youth group retreat and we stood outside in the parking lot and chatted for a while. I have no idea how the subject of my landscaping (or lack thereof) came up again but suddenly Sharon says "do you want me to come over now and take a look at it?" And I thought to myself: "oh no, I don't really want you to because then I have to have to explain to you why we can't do this or why we can't afford this and I know you will try to convince me that I am wrong". So naturally, I said: "Sure!" So off we went, Sharon following me in my car because she had never been here (oh my gosh, really? How horrifying!) and I stopped in front of the house. And she saw our house - the eyesore of the street - and I think she was horrified too. She took a few minutes to take it all in and then she started talking with her hands: "you need to flatten that out and put a tree there", "you need to dig all that out and put some flowers and shrubs in there". I suggested we needed to take out this huge, overgrown, un-managed 10 foot bush and she looked at me (with furrowed brow) and screamed: "Nooooooooo!" Then she smiled and said: "Why would you do that? That's a beautiful tree!"

"Really?"

"Yes. You just need to cut it back"

"Well, you'll have to show me because I can't see it at all".

And we went around the house and for the next half hour she excitedly "visioned" our yard. And then, the moment came. I had to tell her "no".

"This is really exciting Sharon but we really don't have the skills for this and we absolutely can't afford it right now".

"But Valri! This will hardly cost anything. We'll use what you have and I'll bring my 'guy' over and we can do this really fast". (Her 'guy' is this master-of-all-trades, day worker who is better than reasonable.) "I'll bring him over Monday". Now you need to know that right now, in addition to building a new studio for her husband Tim, she is getting her own two acres worked over and ready for the annual garden tour that our city sponsors. She's even being featured in the local paper. But Monday came and she and her 'guy' (Dave) were here in the morning. And we all got assignments and in 5 hours a tremendous amount had been accomplished and it all started to look - dare I say it - better. In fact, promising. In fact, it was quite impossible what got done. And to give you an idea of just how bad it was, neighbors we don't talk to honked their horns as they passed by or waved or smiled as they saw me pruning back the unruly 10 foot bush. And Sharon starts envisioning "areas" for benches and Adirondack chairs and potted plants. And she starts talking about rock she has left over from her own projects and benches she is getting rid of and suddenly, I am getting all these fabulous remnants - for free.

Today I went to her house and took a look at all the stuff she is getting rid of and then we filled her truck and came back to my house and unloaded and then - it was decided that I need to paint my house. So off to Home Depot we went, to pick out the colors. Because we are going to do it ourselves and it will hardly cost anything and we can have her "guy" and we can get it done in a couple of days. And I actually believe her.

And all the while, I am watching this woman, driving her truck from her house, to my house, to the nursery, to Home Depot, to the Salvation Army, to eat, to pick up the girls at school, to feed the horses, to drive someone else home, to run unending errands, and back to my house to survey the progress and then put her gloves on and dig in herself. And I am suddenly contemplating the relativity of time. Because time, as we know it, stops for Sharon. Because it is absolutely IMPOSSIBLE that she could get what she gets done in anything that resembles the hours we have to work with in a day. And I am completely astounded. But we have caught her enthusiasm and suddenly we are thinking in terms of "can" and "will" and Bob and I are getting really excited and we're diving into it like we had her energy. And suddenly we find ourselves tremendously uplifted at a time when we are low from experiencing unemployment and economic hardship. And my guess is that Sharon knew that getting excited about something (our yard) was exactly what we needed.

So I am moved. And speechless. Because I cannot believe that someone would put themself out and tackle such a monumental project, invest themself in our life when there is so much going on in their own, just because. Just because you are a friend and "that's what friends do". And the entire family is like that. And I am watching and taking in what it means to give - not your money (which is easy) but yourself (much harder). And I think I can take a lesson from this. I think I'm supposed to take a lesson from this.

And now I'm sore. And I'm tired. And I know that hanging on to Sharon the Tornado is going to make me dizzy - but I will be better for it. And eternally thankful as well. And while I cannot possibly repay her, she is surely storing treasure in heaven.

On Reinvention

This morning I turned on Good Morning America and heard Juju Chang tell me that unemployment is down to levels not seen since March 2009!

Well, Juju, here's the problem: I was unemployed then too. If there were a fifth horseman of the Apocalypse, if would be called unemployment.

This is getting more than a little annoying. I refuse to believe that I am a dinosaur but if I am one, I have to learn how to evolve so that I can avoid extinction. Not to sound depressed, but "reinvention" is nothing more than a buzz word if you haven't got an idea. SO here are a few "reinvention ideas" I am working on:

1. Princess. I'm thinking I might declare myself of royal (if not somewhat tainted) blood and convince the government to utilize some of your tax dollars to support me and "the fam". Now I wouldn't require Balmoral mind you, my current residence suits me fine. But I will be needing some repair and updating and a staff of one to cook and clean. The upside is obvious. The downside: Headaches from wearing a crown all day.

2. Movie Star. Now this might be in my reach because I can reactivate my SAG card. I am somewhat particular here though. I need to be of the Meryl Streep variety and not so much the "whatever happened to?" variety. The downside: That pesky George Clooney.

3. Lottery Winner. Poof! I get the golden ticket. And why not? The downside: There is no downside to this.

4. Writer. "Ba-blah, ba-ba-blah, blah, blah." And who wouldn't find that fascinating? The downside: Likelihood of making money only after I'm dead? High.

5. Weight Loss Guru. Everywhere you look people are making ga-zillions telling people how to lose weight. I have a great idea how to do it too! The downside: I'd actually have to do it.

6. Oprah's Best Friend. Move over Gale. I can make as much out of nothing she can. Not that she isn't smart and talented. She probably is, how would I know? But so am I. The only difference? The "O Factor". The downside: Oprah. (Although you can't really blame her. If you are Oprah, how can you not think you're some kind of Oprah?)

Feel free to weigh in. All these and more are being contemplated. And just in case you're wondering why "Find a Job" is not in there, well, I'm trying. But at nearly 54 years of age and no college degree, my months of experience trying to achieve this endeavor are telling me that I should probably stop living in a fantasy world.