A Can of Beans

I attended a church dinner and tasted the best salad I had ever eaten.  I could have eaten it with a spoon and just ignored whatever else was on the table.  It was a bean salad, and I had to meet with the woman who put it together.

“It’s a combination of various beans,” the young mother told me.  “It is very easy, and the recipe is on the back of the can of beans.”  I made a mental note to buy the specific can of beans.

A week later the young woman stopped me at church and presented me with a can of beans.  I thanked her and left with the most wonderful feeling about her.

Two or so months later I heard that through an accident the young woman had broken her pelvic bone and was bedridden.  With a husband and two pre-teen children I knew life would be difficult for her.  So I prepared a complete meal, and I added a big stack of homemade flour tortillas.  A week later I took her another stack of flour tortillas and cookies.  I also told her that I favored the tortillas because it was so easy to make a meal by just placing something like a scrambled egg or sausage or just about anything in the tortilla and folding it.  Presto, a meal.  She said they had come to realize that and were so grateful to me.

Isn’t it amazing how far a can of beans can take you?

Failures versus Successes

Several years ago I picked up my husband's instruction book on taking pictures.  I read the most amazing statement.  It said something like this: "As you begin taking pictures do not be discouraged when you see the professional work of some photographers.  They have discarded their bad pictures and just publish their good ones.  Just keep on working on your skill."

Of course...I said to myself;  that makes sense.  I began to generalize that information into other settings.  I love to sew, but I would not show you my failures.  Those I place in a bag and get rid of.  Then I show my good work.
I've had people tell me...you are really good at this.  I always reassure them that anyone could do what I do.  It requires a love of the skill and an investment of time.

To take this to another level...I try not to dwell on my failures in any area.  Those I try to learn from and then put aside.  Instead I seek to improve in the areas I work.  I hope I always show you my good work.  I try.

The Fastest Gunslinger

 

We used to watch matinee movies every Saturday afternoon.  After doing a few chores my mother allowed my older sister, two older brothers, and me to go to the movie theater.  Usually, we saw westerns: Hopalong Cassidy, the Cisco Kid, Gene Autry, Wild Bill Elliot, Johnny Mack Brown, etc.

The themes were all similar  with small changes, but we didn’t know any different.  We clapped and laughed at the same time as everyone else.  One story line used often was about a gunslinger.  He was fast, accurate, slim, and good-looking.  The role was played by a good guy wearing a white hat one week and a bad guy wearing a black hat the next week. 

One thing was always certain: lurking in the background or in the near future of the story was a FASTER GUNSLINGER.  The last gunslinger, the winner, was a good cowboy.

I learned this to be a fact of life: there is always a faster gunslinger.  A smarter person.  A more beautiful girl.  A handsomer guy.  A better quarterback.  Etc.  So before we start preening, or boasting we need to remember there is always someone who is ready to challenge the existing standard, to topple you off the pedestal.  And that is a good lesson for us all.

Keep on Believing in Yourself

Because of my son's high scores on a test a college wrote us and suggested our twelve year old boy might be invited to study in a special advanced program for three weeks in the summer.  I was very excited and immediately called his counselor.
She responded by telling me not to expect him to be invited.  "Only very sophisticated children can leave home and study in a college far away from home.  etc. etc. etc."  I knew she was wrong but I just let her continue with her negative stance.
I knew my son and knew he could do it.  Sure enough he scored high enough on another test that qualified him to attend the college.  I never considered her opinion.  Nice lady that she was, I had better information about my son in my possession than she would ever have.
And I believed in him and knew he would succeed.  And he did.
So I suggest...if you know you can do something don't let anyone dissuade you.  Good luck.

Attitude

I had a friend who seemed to always be happy, always smiling and was pleasant to everyone. Hmmm I thought...doesn't she ever have any problems? Doesn't anything ever make her unhappy?

Then one day I knew of something that came into her life which was not pleasant. And yet, when I saw her she was smiling and pleasant as ever. It came to me then, the answer to my question.

It was not that she didn't have problems. She knew how to deal with them and then continue with her life. Her happiness came from within, not from without. It was a good philosopy.

Since that time I have read other accounts that stated the following: It is not what happens to you that determines your happiness; it is how you deal with what happens to you.

So I choose to be happy.

Nes

When my grandson was a toddler and answered questions with a positive answer he would say, “Nes”.  We laughed about it as it seemed a combination of no and yes.  After dwelling on it I started thinking…perhaps he is saying maybe.  I couldn’t be sure.  Eventually he learned to say yes in a manner that left no doubt as to what he meant.

Since then I’ve decided “nes” is not a bad idea.  When you want to say yes, but you have your doubts perhaps “nes” is the answer you really would like to utilize.  I think I shall keep that idea in my pocket and one day when I am asked a question and I am not sure how to answer I may just say, “nes”.

Stumbling, Fumbling and Bungling

 Stumbling, Fumbling, and Bungling Through Life…that is what my son told me I was doing with my life.  He felt that I planned nothing and attained nothing because of my lack of planning.  He’s an engineer and every facet of his life is planned. 

So I drew a chart and on one end I wrote extreme planner with characteristics of an obsessive compulsive personality.  On the other end of the continuum I wrote non-planner.  In the middle with varying degrees of both extremes I wrote such words as plans some, plans much and plans but appears not to be planning.  In other words, no visible signs of stress.  I pointed to this line of the continuum and said, “That is where I am.  It appears that I don’t plan, but I do and am flexible so that if it rains on the day of the scheduled picnic, I don’t go to pieces.  And I appear to be perfectly relaxed.  Find yourself on this scale,” I challenged him.

A Safety Net

The young girl was in the 8th grade when the supervisor of the program for economically needy students held his first meeting. He asked, “I want to hear your names and the future plans of each one of you.”

The answers varied a bit and were somewhat like the following: “I plan to join the Army.” “I want to go to the Jr. College.” “I want to get married and have children.” “I want to be a policeman.” And so it went until Jean answered, “I plan to drop out of school as soon as I can.”

“What?” The supervisor asked in a shocked tone of voice. You see one of the goals of his program was to aid these children by letting them earn some money in the summer while aiming high for their future. He took her aside and spoke with her and discouraged her from dropping out. It wasn’t easy.

He said, “Wait a while and let me see what we can do at your school.” He talked to the counselors and told them of the girl who wanted to drop out. “Let’s do all we can for her because I know she has the potential of being a contributing person in our community.” The counselors listened and accommodated the girl.

He kept up with her and in high school he talked to her about her future. “I still plan to drop out,” she told him. “Besides, I need money for high school and I don’t have it.”

“Wait a while,” he told her as he talked to the high school counselor about the girl. And then he did a remarkable thing. As a teacher he had a job as a sales clerk in the summers to supplement his income. He gave up his job so the girl could take his place and earn extra money and stay in school, and then he found another job for himself. Long story short, as they say. She graduated from high school and then from college and became a teacher, an excellent one.

And her mentor…he continued his life with his wife and children until one day he died. Few people outside the teaching community took note of his death.

She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her Grave, and, Oh!
The difference to me.

Taken from “She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways” by Wm. Wordsworth

Angels

Not all angels have wings. My two sons were traveling on their bikes across Texas. One son was pulling a small trailer which held his pet dog, Raisin. His bicycle lost a spoke. Then they spotted two pitiful puppies by the side of the road. They were hungry and full of fleas and ticks. They picked up the pups and placed them with Raisin.

When they arived at the next town they went to a motel to spend the night. However, the motel room smelled and they couldn't stay there. A stranger approached them and after greeting them and finding out their problem asked them if they cared to spend the night in his backyard. My sons agreed. The man conversed with them further and then told them they could spend the night in his home. The boys accepted.

Thus began a pleasant evening with the stranger and his wife. Meanwhile our sons called us and told us of their predicament. The next day we drove to the town and met the folks who helped our offspring. I offered them a pumpkin cake I had made.

My husband and I met the angels and were surprised to find out they didn't possess wings.

Pain and Suffering

I read Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry. How sad I became when Gus McCrae died. I walked with my head facing the ground. If I found a pebble on the road in front of my home I kicked it. I forgot when it was time to fix dinner and was late in doing it.

“Why did Gus die?” I asked myself, “Why?” The children nudged one another at the dinner table. I looked at my plate and stirred the food around. Then absentmindedly I placed the dishes in the dishwasher.


The other part of my brain said, “It’s just a book. He is just a character.”
But why did he have to die…I kept asking. All to no avail. He was so kind to Lorena. Kind to the boy. Tough with mean folks. And reasonable with others. He took care of everyone.

Then Larry McMurtry came to town. No sooner had I settled in my seat in the small auditorium than a man raised his hand…”Why did you kill off Augustus McRae?” He asked.

The author answered something like, “It was time for him to go.” And then he opened his hands like there was no alternative. He didn’t feel the pain the man with the question felt or the ache in my heart. And time passed on.

However, that is when I learned this: to make a fictitious character real, the reader must hurt when the demise of the character occurs in the story.

And to this day, I still hurt.

Oprah's Last Show

I just finished watching the last Oprah show. She has given so much to the American public her influence shall be felt for many years to come. Oprah is like a wonderful teacher whose contribution to the betterment of her community is experienced by children who grew up and had children who were taught by the same teacher, and the goodness goes on and on.
And she never fails to tell you through word, action, inspirational talks…if I can do it, you can, too. Be yourself. Do your best. Be kind. Forgive because in forgiving you will be a better person. All true.
Her behavior and attitude impressed the people in high positions and the folks with little self-esteem. And that is best part of this lady, the way she treats her fellow man or woman, for as she and others have said, the years will pass and people will not remember what you wore but they will remember how you treated them.
It’s true. Your diamonds and big car may make you feel good, but if you want others to feel kindly toward you, treat them well, with respect and with interest in their well-being. They will rarely forget you.

Influence

When I first came to teach in this city a friend took me to a high school football game. Having just graduated from a university I had seen many a halftime show at football games during my four years in college.

However, this halftime show surprised me. A band appeared on the football field running and moving their white gloved hands in a vertical fashion. The spectators rose and loudly cheered. I, too, became excited.

A voice on the loudspeaker wailed, “The Miller High School Buccaneer Band.”
More cheers. The band performed and the crowd yelled and clapped enthusiastically.
I asked about this band, and that was when I first hear the name Eddie Galvan, the band director at Miller High.

Years later I heard his name again in the form of testimonies: A young man told me, “I was going down the wrong path when I was in high school. Mr. Galvan took me aside and told me to join the band. That was when I straightened out my life.”

A grandmother told me, “He was our musical father. He took us-many students didn’t have much-and he told us if we worked hard, we could win contests and earn awards. We believed him and it happened. I can’t even put it into words.”

I also heard the following terms: “teamwork; working hard; aiming high; we were a family.” What I was hearing was that Eddie Galvan, through his role as a band director, was teaching life skills, attitudes, and approaches that would help them succeed in the future.

Unbeknownst to us, the spectators, Eddie Galvan was doing much more than entertaining us. He was preparing the marching students for life. Thus his influence will never end.

The Picture

It was spring and the ice and snow were but a memory. Daddy came home from the service station he owned and announced, “Mrs. McCrary is having a photographer come to her home to take her picture; since he will already be in her home she said we could send one of the children for a picture. Let’s send the youngest.”

In our small town we didn’t have a photographer. The only person I had ever seen taking pictures, besides my brother, was a man who visited our school once a year and took pictures of all the students. So it was an exciting thought.

“Esther will take Mary Helen,” Daddy said. “The photographer will be at Mrs. McCrary’s home next Wednesday at 2:00 P.M.

Mother combed Mary Helen’s hair in pigtails. Then she crisscrossed them on top of her head. Lastly, she placed two little round combs right in front of the pigtails. My little three-year old sister wore an aqua colored taffeta dress Grandmother, an excellent seamstress, had made. With her white Easter shoes on her feet, we were ready to go.

We arrived at a beautiful two-story home. I knocked and was told to come in. Down the stairs walked an elderly woman. It was just like in the movies. She greeted us warmly and asked us to sit down until the picture-taking occurred. The furniture was dark and covered in flowers. A beautiful floral rug lay on the floor. I was in another world for a moment.

In a short while the photographer asked my sister to sit in a certain pose while I waited. He snapped the picture. And we walked back home. It was much later I found out Mrs. McCrary was the mother of the famous Tex McCrary, a WWII correspondent, and later the originator of the phrase, “I like Ike”.

My sister still has the picture.

A Mother's Ears

A mother’s ears have to be attuned to many things. As she makes her way through her home she must listen for the timer in the kitchen, which will tell her the cake for the church dinner is done. She must also listen for the baby who will cry out when she wakes up from her nap. The mother listens also for the dryer buzzer, which makes an irritating sound when the clothes are dry.

Then there is the doorbell for it is the end of the month. The paperboy may be there to collect. The telephone may ring and remind the young mother of the cake she promised for the cakewalk to be held at the Halloween Carnival at the elementary school where her second grader attends.

If the door to the front bedroom opens, that might be the three year-old waking from her nap. The mom will need to rush over there to make sure she gets her to the bathroom before it is too late.

And before she knows it the young mother and wife will hear the back door open and her husband will come home for he will be through at work. Oh yes, the sounds a young mother must listen for, the sounds which signal a change or a need, call demanding her attention until the day is done. Then the house is quiet and few sounds, if any, are heard throughout the home. Time for the young mother to rest so she can begin the routine all over again tomorrow.

Friends

When you become old and gray you start talking about friends you have had for thirty years. That is a long time and it is normal. However, one of my sons has had a friend for thirty years, and they are just both thirty-three years old.

I remember when they used to call each other after pre-school. “You’ve got a phone call, Matt.” The other children, all teenagers, would ask me who in the world was calling their three year old brother.

“I friend from school,” I answered. Well, the years have passed and the friendship continues. College is behind them and they are doing what they love in their respective careers in different parts of the country.

But thirty years is a very long time. Imagine when they are both in their sixties and they are in lawn chairs in the backyard belonging to one of them. Perhaps they will say to their grandchildren something like: we’ve been friends for sixty years. And the grandchildren will stand their amazed at a friendship that has lasted so long. It is a pleasant thought.

My mind is like a popcorn popper. If you will observe popcorn through a glass lid as it pops on top of your stove, you will not be able to determine exactly which kernel will pop open and turn into a lovely, edible morsel. Every pop is a surprise. So it is with my mind.

Memories

Sometimes you have to grow up to appreciate what you had as a child. When we were growing up in a small town in Central Texas, I puzzled over the destination of the cars that drove down the highway with such speed. Where were they rushing to? What lay up ahead in the big cities? What was there? It had to have been more interesting than the life we were leading. Everything was quiet where we lived and still, and it seemed nothing ever happened.

I remember a small town with graveled streets except for Main St. which had inlaid bricks. When it rained we played in the ditch in front of our home. We also caught crawfish after a big rain and spent afternoons playing with them.

We named our hens, at least one for each one of us. My brother Ben’s hen was mean and tried to peck everyone around. The rest of the hens sought nothing more than to eat, scratch on the dirt and move on and mind their own business. I was allowed to feed the tiny, yellow, chicks, a job I loved.

Betsy, our cow, docile as she could be produced a wonderful calf from time to time. Besides the fact she provided us with milk and butter, she was the most peaceful animal we owned.

I taught myself to sew and made my little sister several garments which she wore with pride. I also taught the two younger children how to ride my bicycle and trembled as they wobbled down the sidewalk.

Mama gave me free rein in the kitchen and I tried all sorts of recipes. Many failed as I didn’t know how to measure properly. Mother didn’t mind the failures. She applauded my efforts. In time I took Home Economics and succeeded in baking.
I also planted a small flower garden. Again, Mother praised my efforts.

I just didn’t know the quiet life we led and the simple activities we were involved in were so joyful and many years later would rush back into my memory bank like a sudden rain shower. And just like the rain showers that clean the air, those memories replenish my mind and make everything seem better.

The Chess Game

The small student arrived at the elementary school with his parents who registered him. Larry behaved in an unusual manner, looking up at us and then hastily looking down as though he had offended someone.

His behavior was the same in the fifth grade classroom, which provided fodder for those students who pounced on anyone who was different. To make matters worse, he had difficulty reading. In the cafeteria where I observed so many students day after day, I noticed Larry ate alone. His classmates ignored him during this thirty-minute period, which was probably a relief to the self-conscious child. Meanwhile, we conferred with the counselor: how could we help this student?

A teacher announced: every Friday after school anyone who was interested could come by and learn how to play chess. Many students showed up, some to enjoy the cookies and drinks; others to play chess.

Larry turned up at the door one Friday where the teacher taught chess and entered the classroom reluctantly. The teacher greeted him in a pleasant and warm manner. Larry stayed and paid attention. Surprising his fellow classmates, he learned to play Chess. Very well.

I noticed in the cafeteria now his fellow students said to him, “Larry, sit down to eat with us.” They all sat and conversed in an animated manner.

One day in the cafeteria as they walked in a line a student said to him, “You can’t read.”
Larry looked at him squarely in the face and answered, “And you can’t play chess.”
I realized then Larry was going to be all right.

The Speech

I assumed this reunion would be the same as all the others, but I was wrong.
This reunion was different. Tommy, a former classmate pulled me aside and said, “I have to tell you something.” And he began telling me a story about his life and where it had taken him.

“After I graduated I didn’t know what to do with my life. I used to walk by your dad’s service station, and when I did, he always called me over so he could talk to me.”

Your dad said, “Tommy, you must go to college. You can’t just do nothing. You have the ability. Go on and better yourself.”

“Every time I walked by his place of business he gave me the same speech. I knew he was right but I didn’t know how to go about pursuing such a dream. In time I went to Dallas, married and began having children.

“When my children started school the memories of your dad’s talk came back to me like a dream, and I said to myself…I didn’t go to college, but by the Grace of God my children will. I sometimes worked four jobs simultaneously, and I told my children, ‘Just go to school. I will pay the bills. All five children have gone to college and are in different careers. And it was because your dad planted the seed in my head.”

Like my father, Tommy has passed away, but I am sure he went straight to my father and thanked him for the good advice. His children will thank him forever.

Lemons

We’ve all read: If life gives you a lemon, make lemonade. Lately I’ve heard: If life gives you a lemon, throw it back and say ‘send something better’. If only it were that simple.

I knew a woman whose father abandoned the family, and the mother and children struggled for years. The result was a daughter who grew up to become an embittered woman. On the other hand, I met a neighbor whose father left the family and the mother and daughter suffered a great deal financially and emotionally, and the daughter came out of it happy and well-balanced. And I wondered …why the difference?

It isn’t what happens to you in life that determines your happiness, but rather what you do after something negative occurs that makes the difference in your life. It is how you choose to deal with the unpleasantness that results in your attitude.

And what is the element that helps or hurts the individuals who suffer? Both women in the above examples attended church and both had mothers who did the best they could. I think the answer has something to do with an inborn view toward things, some indefinable characteristic that tells you how to approach life. And it is a good idea to listen to that inner voice that tells us how to respond to unhappy events in a manner that will help us.