12.18.2011
Recalling this year's challenges reminds me that many of my gifts, my blessings, come in plain brown wrapping. So I give thanks that salvation was sent to us 2,011 years ago, embodied in human frailty. I look for the lesson, the perspective to see that every soul intersects my life for a reason, for my benefit. I call Andy* as my mentor in that capacity.
*Name changed to preserve privacy.
Andy was an experienced tradesman, could run any crew efficiently, adapt to constantly changing priorities, a great teacher. Despite this, he had his flaws. Patience was not his strong point. For awhile, I thought he simply didn't want a woman on his job. When I saw him browbeat another of the crew, I realized he simply didn't like anybody. So demoralizing was this daily tirade that I pulled over each morning halfway to work and threw up, for the first 6 months. My dentist thought I needed a bite guard, that I was clenching my teeth while sleeping. Andy drove off the entire crew one by one, including his own brother, over the course of a couple years.
As I really, really needed that job, I wondered what possible lesson I could extract from this punishment and what Andy's purpose might be in my life. I prayed for an answer and one day I recognized it: Andy's gift to me was callouses, a toughening-up. And these callouses came in handy when I dealt with unscrupulous people in my industry. No classroom prepared me better for the hockey game rules common in that field, or indeed, the world.
To wrap this gift, this blessing, in tissue would be to scoff at the abuse. So I share my epiphany regarding Andy. One morning much like all the others, he was evaluating my performance, critiquing my technique, and generally giving voice to his opinion, all at full volume and within an inch of my nose. And suddenly it struck me: He hasn't hit me and he hasn't fired me. Either he can't or he won't. With that realization, the yelling seemed to fade away, and my lips turned up just slightly. Almost imperceptible, but he caught it. "And just what the H*** are you grinning at?!" he demanded. I just shook my head to indicate nothing in particular. He resumed his assessment, but the volume was down and his heart wasn't in it. He continued on in his accustomed manner for the rest of my tenure there, but I graduated from boot camp to PFC, in Andy's view.
Merry Christmas, Andy, and may you appreciate the gifts and blessings in your own life, as you have taught me to treasure mine. And may this Season of Blessings bring all of you gifts wrapped sometimes in silk, and sometimes in burlap.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
12.09.2011 My Uncle Bill
12.09.2011
As I was growing up, my Uncle Bill seemed larger than life. Air Force Reserve, member of the Mountaineers, doting uncle to his niece, the only member of my extended family I knew.
I considered him my rich uncle, and I don't recall him ever arriving without a gift for me. Before my teens, these gifts evolved into experiences rather than material presents - summer camp, day trips, Scottish Highland events, memory makers that never break, wear out or expire.
In a tumultuous childhood, he represented stability. He always showed up, kept his promises, dependable. He funded my Girl Scout excursions, hauled me to museums, the science center. He took me on my first plane ride, expanding my picture of the world. Perhaps my early country-wide wanderings had their beginnings in that flight.
He put himself through college to get an engineering degree, acquired a pilots license and bought a small plane, climbed peaks with mountaineers in Washington State, and carried the first "portable" 2-way HAM radio to the summit of Mt. Rainier. The story goes that the radio out-weighed him by several pounds.
I remember him as a tall, handsome man, handlebar mustache, athletic, brilliant. He taught firearms handling classes, knew military history (is there any other kind?) back to ancient times, and served in the Korean War. Leaping tall buildings would not have surprised me.
Best of all, he loved cats. I think this is the part of him I treasured most. We both spoke cat, from the blue-bloods to the meanest alley cat. Their independence and agility, power and beauty appealed to me, and, I think, to him. Cat radar remains one of my litmus tests, amazingly accurate.
Uncle Bill married in his 40's, trading in bachelorhood for family life. All that love came to rest on a woman strong enough to recognize the warmth in his soul, and respect enough to share her own. First the grandchildren, then the great-grandchildren, came to know the loving, humble man that I know as Uncle Bill. And they tightened that circle when he bid the love of his life a lingering farewell until they meet again in the next life.
He doesn't pretend to understand why loved ones are wrenched away, even while he walks daily with his God. Faith takes over where neither logic nor reason can satisfy his great Why? Still he prays, still he believes, even without knowing if he will ever find out. Meanwhile, Earthbound, he is reborn again as each new great-grandchild arrives, to be that larger-than-life hero in their memories, maybe the greatest gift anyone can be.
As I was growing up, my Uncle Bill seemed larger than life. Air Force Reserve, member of the Mountaineers, doting uncle to his niece, the only member of my extended family I knew.
I considered him my rich uncle, and I don't recall him ever arriving without a gift for me. Before my teens, these gifts evolved into experiences rather than material presents - summer camp, day trips, Scottish Highland events, memory makers that never break, wear out or expire.
In a tumultuous childhood, he represented stability. He always showed up, kept his promises, dependable. He funded my Girl Scout excursions, hauled me to museums, the science center. He took me on my first plane ride, expanding my picture of the world. Perhaps my early country-wide wanderings had their beginnings in that flight.
He put himself through college to get an engineering degree, acquired a pilots license and bought a small plane, climbed peaks with mountaineers in Washington State, and carried the first "portable" 2-way HAM radio to the summit of Mt. Rainier. The story goes that the radio out-weighed him by several pounds.
I remember him as a tall, handsome man, handlebar mustache, athletic, brilliant. He taught firearms handling classes, knew military history (is there any other kind?) back to ancient times, and served in the Korean War. Leaping tall buildings would not have surprised me.
Best of all, he loved cats. I think this is the part of him I treasured most. We both spoke cat, from the blue-bloods to the meanest alley cat. Their independence and agility, power and beauty appealed to me, and, I think, to him. Cat radar remains one of my litmus tests, amazingly accurate.
Uncle Bill married in his 40's, trading in bachelorhood for family life. All that love came to rest on a woman strong enough to recognize the warmth in his soul, and respect enough to share her own. First the grandchildren, then the great-grandchildren, came to know the loving, humble man that I know as Uncle Bill. And they tightened that circle when he bid the love of his life a lingering farewell until they meet again in the next life.
He doesn't pretend to understand why loved ones are wrenched away, even while he walks daily with his God. Faith takes over where neither logic nor reason can satisfy his great Why? Still he prays, still he believes, even without knowing if he will ever find out. Meanwhile, Earthbound, he is reborn again as each new great-grandchild arrives, to be that larger-than-life hero in their memories, maybe the greatest gift anyone can be.
Friday, December 2, 2011
12.02.2011 Inclusive versus exclusive
12.02.2011
Julena, my surrogate daughter-in-law, brought a Thanksgiving feast to the house this year. She called early in the week, proposed an ambitious menu, and adjusted every dish to accommodate my allergy to all things Milk. 'I want to be in-clusive, not ex-clusive," she explained. And what a feast! No canned yams or cylindrical cranberry sauce at this table! Not everyone can pull it off like Julena .
Big deal. So what makes this dinner stand out? Just this: nobody else noticed. Nothing was lacking, everything was delicious, and I was free to overindulge with the whole family. In-clusive, not ex-clusive. Not separate, but familial. Wikipedia describes "family" thus:
Her smile upon her 10-month-old sons' face evidences faith that the world smiles with us. Sharing that sunshine is as natural as breathing, unconscious and unrestrained. Despite my rather solitary existence, she brings me into the circle by the simple yet powerful act of sitting down to break bread with me. A simple social convention.
But no bread ever tasted better.
Julena, my surrogate daughter-in-law, brought a Thanksgiving feast to the house this year. She called early in the week, proposed an ambitious menu, and adjusted every dish to accommodate my allergy to all things Milk. 'I want to be in-clusive, not ex-clusive," she explained. And what a feast! No canned yams or cylindrical cranberry sauce at this table! Not everyone can pull it off like Julena .
Big deal. So what makes this dinner stand out? Just this: nobody else noticed. Nothing was lacking, everything was delicious, and I was free to overindulge with the whole family. In-clusive, not ex-clusive. Not separate, but familial. Wikipedia describes "family" thus:
"In human context, a family (from Latin: familia) is a group of people affiliated by consanguinity, affinity, or co-residence. In most societies it is the principal institution for the socialization of children."
But no bread ever tasted better.
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