I like to have a dance party when I go to work too.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Friday, February 22, 2013
I've got it in writing
So I'm starting a new project and I thought maybe you'd share my excitement about it. You know how much I love letters, right? One of my favorite sites is called Letters of Note (here's the link: www.lettersofnote.com) if you like them too. When my parents moved last week we came across the box of letters mom had kept from my grandparents to one another. These letters begin in 1936 so you can imagine the condition of paper and ink after all these years. Most of them are in pretty good shape, but time does a number on pen and paper so we figured we should go ahead and transcribe them before things get any worse.
I know I've mentioned more than once here how much I adored my grandparents, but I'm realizing as I read that I wasn't privy to the young version of them - only the settled, softer, versions of themselves. These letters date back to the beginning of their courtship and show the uncertainty and flirtatious beginnings of two young, hopeful people. These are voices I've not heard before and they are evidence of something lovely. I haven't even read through all of them yet - the cursive and spotty ink make it difficult to read some of them, but Olivia and I are muddling through their discussions of visits and family members and thoughts about work and a possible future together. And love.
The back story is that my grandmother Etsie was supposed to live the rest of her life single so that she could continue to take care of her widowed father and her brother Charley who had Down Syndrome. She sure as heck wasn't supposed to marry John Sparks Johnson. He'd already been married and, in order to get out of that relationship, had actually disappeared long enough to be declared dead (7 years was the time requirement). His return was a joyous one for his family, but his exploits all over the country during his disappearance probably didn't give him the best reputation among potential fathers-in-law. So there was that and then there's just LOVE and the fact that you can't keep people from it. And there's evidence of that in these first few letters even.
Here's the thing about actually writing something down. When I speak, I can be flippant. I'm not careful with my words all the time - you've heard countless times how I blurt out things I'd not intended. When I type I still do it. But when I write, when I take the time to be deliberate with my penmanship and my word choice, I think it's when I am most sincere. Don't you? Kenny's been writing notes for Olivia for over a year now. Every time he hits the road (right now it's every week) he pens a note telling her some specific things he's enjoyed doing with her or likes about her and what he's looking forward to next. They chronicle our life together and she's come to expect the little note taped to her mirror every time he leaves. It's a simple task, but it shows her he's deliberate about their relationship, that he knows her and wants to spend his time communicating with her. I'm telling you this because these sincere things become treasures one day. She saves them already. This is the value of letter writing - it's evidence you are loved.
I'd always known John and Etsie Johnson to be affectionate and sweet to one another, but to see his repeated pet names, Sweetheart, Kid, My Little One, and underlined The One I Love The Most, remind me of the fondness he had for her. She begins even the ones after they were married most often with My Dear One. They both sometimes claim to be blue over missing one another and always take a few words to share how pleased they were to hear from the other. This glimpse into their real intimacy is priceless and even makes me feel like it's a private thing that I should not be seeing at times. Of course, as soon as I think that, the writing moves to talk about how the garden is coming along and whether the Allen's cows are going to milk themselves. So it turns out that LOVE letters are sometimes just letters about your day too all because you took the time to use your hands and then send it to the one you love.
A person's handwriting tells you a lot too don't you think? I've always thought the the messiest handwriting is actually a statement in which the writer is trying to establish his superiority over you - how hard will you try to figure out my important statements? I see careful penmanship in most of these. They are taking time to make sure they are understood clearly so early in their courtship. There's one letter from John where it's apparent Etsie has asked him to clarify a rumor she's heard about him. After all, he's in a different town at this point. All she has is his word. His patient explanation reveals how desperate he is to be seen as a good man in her eyes. He swears more than once that he had never lied to her and never, ever would. I could tell by his firm print that he means it.
I can feel my grandmother's anxiety when she writes to him about how she will have to find a way to meet him to elope. She's worried that the roads will be bad and she will walk to the bus and it will rain and then maybe he will not come and she will be in the road soaking wet, muddy and looking like a fool. She worries that she will need to finish her chores first. She worries that he will change his mind. He worries that the gloves he's buying for her will be too big and swears that he'll be there to see how pretty she looks in her dress no matter what. It's so funny that I'm anxious because obviously it worked out. Their letters extend on into their marriage when he had to be gone a lot working to support their little household. In every one I've seen so far, there is evidence of the careful consideration they offer each other.
I'm only a few letters in, but I can tell you that John S. Johnson married Etsie Allen in March of 1937 and built her a house with his hands and made sure there was room for my great uncle Charley. He cleared with those same hands all 300 acres of Kentucky farm land he could buy and spent the rest of his life tending to that farm and to her and to his family and community. She took care of him and grew gardens, fed chickens, canned vegetables, and then raised their two daughters and took care of neighbors and church members and the little church cemetery with him. Their hands got tan and spotted fixing fence rows, snapping beans and growing tobacco. She hummed hymns while she worked and always cooked a little extra in case they had a guest and they were welcoming enough that they often did have one or two. They prayed for each other and made each other laugh for over 57 years. When he began to forget things and cough, she nursed him and when cancer grew inside of her he got down off his tractor and learned how to cook a little so he could be near her just in case she needed him. He told me he prayed every day he could just have her one more day because if he'd lost Etsie, he'd lost everything. And then within the month of her leaving he went ahead and left this earth too because he was telling the truth when he said it wouldn't be any good to stay here without her and he never, ever lied to her.
I know I've mentioned more than once here how much I adored my grandparents, but I'm realizing as I read that I wasn't privy to the young version of them - only the settled, softer, versions of themselves. These letters date back to the beginning of their courtship and show the uncertainty and flirtatious beginnings of two young, hopeful people. These are voices I've not heard before and they are evidence of something lovely. I haven't even read through all of them yet - the cursive and spotty ink make it difficult to read some of them, but Olivia and I are muddling through their discussions of visits and family members and thoughts about work and a possible future together. And love.
The back story is that my grandmother Etsie was supposed to live the rest of her life single so that she could continue to take care of her widowed father and her brother Charley who had Down Syndrome. She sure as heck wasn't supposed to marry John Sparks Johnson. He'd already been married and, in order to get out of that relationship, had actually disappeared long enough to be declared dead (7 years was the time requirement). His return was a joyous one for his family, but his exploits all over the country during his disappearance probably didn't give him the best reputation among potential fathers-in-law. So there was that and then there's just LOVE and the fact that you can't keep people from it. And there's evidence of that in these first few letters even.
Here's the thing about actually writing something down. When I speak, I can be flippant. I'm not careful with my words all the time - you've heard countless times how I blurt out things I'd not intended. When I type I still do it. But when I write, when I take the time to be deliberate with my penmanship and my word choice, I think it's when I am most sincere. Don't you? Kenny's been writing notes for Olivia for over a year now. Every time he hits the road (right now it's every week) he pens a note telling her some specific things he's enjoyed doing with her or likes about her and what he's looking forward to next. They chronicle our life together and she's come to expect the little note taped to her mirror every time he leaves. It's a simple task, but it shows her he's deliberate about their relationship, that he knows her and wants to spend his time communicating with her. I'm telling you this because these sincere things become treasures one day. She saves them already. This is the value of letter writing - it's evidence you are loved.
I'd always known John and Etsie Johnson to be affectionate and sweet to one another, but to see his repeated pet names, Sweetheart, Kid, My Little One, and underlined The One I Love The Most, remind me of the fondness he had for her. She begins even the ones after they were married most often with My Dear One. They both sometimes claim to be blue over missing one another and always take a few words to share how pleased they were to hear from the other. This glimpse into their real intimacy is priceless and even makes me feel like it's a private thing that I should not be seeing at times. Of course, as soon as I think that, the writing moves to talk about how the garden is coming along and whether the Allen's cows are going to milk themselves. So it turns out that LOVE letters are sometimes just letters about your day too all because you took the time to use your hands and then send it to the one you love.
A person's handwriting tells you a lot too don't you think? I've always thought the the messiest handwriting is actually a statement in which the writer is trying to establish his superiority over you - how hard will you try to figure out my important statements? I see careful penmanship in most of these. They are taking time to make sure they are understood clearly so early in their courtship. There's one letter from John where it's apparent Etsie has asked him to clarify a rumor she's heard about him. After all, he's in a different town at this point. All she has is his word. His patient explanation reveals how desperate he is to be seen as a good man in her eyes. He swears more than once that he had never lied to her and never, ever would. I could tell by his firm print that he means it.
I can feel my grandmother's anxiety when she writes to him about how she will have to find a way to meet him to elope. She's worried that the roads will be bad and she will walk to the bus and it will rain and then maybe he will not come and she will be in the road soaking wet, muddy and looking like a fool. She worries that she will need to finish her chores first. She worries that he will change his mind. He worries that the gloves he's buying for her will be too big and swears that he'll be there to see how pretty she looks in her dress no matter what. It's so funny that I'm anxious because obviously it worked out. Their letters extend on into their marriage when he had to be gone a lot working to support their little household. In every one I've seen so far, there is evidence of the careful consideration they offer each other.
I'm only a few letters in, but I can tell you that John S. Johnson married Etsie Allen in March of 1937 and built her a house with his hands and made sure there was room for my great uncle Charley. He cleared with those same hands all 300 acres of Kentucky farm land he could buy and spent the rest of his life tending to that farm and to her and to his family and community. She took care of him and grew gardens, fed chickens, canned vegetables, and then raised their two daughters and took care of neighbors and church members and the little church cemetery with him. Their hands got tan and spotted fixing fence rows, snapping beans and growing tobacco. She hummed hymns while she worked and always cooked a little extra in case they had a guest and they were welcoming enough that they often did have one or two. They prayed for each other and made each other laugh for over 57 years. When he began to forget things and cough, she nursed him and when cancer grew inside of her he got down off his tractor and learned how to cook a little so he could be near her just in case she needed him. He told me he prayed every day he could just have her one more day because if he'd lost Etsie, he'd lost everything. And then within the month of her leaving he went ahead and left this earth too because he was telling the truth when he said it wouldn't be any good to stay here without her and he never, ever lied to her.
Really?
Well here's something I never thought we'd live to see. There's a new service that can help you continue to Tweet even after you've gone to the great beyond. I can imagine nothing worse than the jolt of receiving a message from the dearly departed. Here's the article in case you don't believe me: _LivesOn: New Service to Let You Tweet When You’re Dead
Friday, February 15, 2013
Get the flowers
Well thank goodness that's over. Valentine's Day is perhaps the most highly competitive holiday we observe. Christopher called me yesterday saying how much he hates that holiday. He says it's like some competition among girls. To which I responded, "Hell yes it's a competition and you'd better WIN." He had asked the day before if he should get his new girlfriend flowers. I quickly responded with, "YES YES YES. I know she probably said she doesn't care for flowers, but that's so that she can appear low maintenance and you have to get them anyway to show that you have a romantic side. GET THE FLOWERS." I sent him the florist's number in his area. It's a game worth playing.
Judging by the number of pictures of flowers and candy and professions of love on Facebook yesterday I think we have all the evidence we need to support our theory that Valentine's Day is indeed a competitive holiday. And I'm sorry guys, but this holiday is not about celebrating you. It only involves you because you are responsible for all the work. Valentine's Day is for the girls. I went all low maintenance for several years, but I like a little romance and it became important to me also for Olivia to see the men in her life take Valentine's Day as an opportunity to show their affection for us. Kenny and Christopher set the tone for how men will treat her later when she makes actual choices about boyfriends and spouses. Fortunately, they are both capable of gushy professions of love. I heard her on the phone saying, "No. I love you more, Brother." To which I know he responded with his usual, "Not possible." Our house was filled with flowers and cards and presents that indicate that Kenny knows what the girls in his house like - I got a new jewelry box and Olivia got a new shotgun.
Valentine's Day is ridiculous, of course, but it's like the county fair or Gatlinburg. Just quit whining and get on board with the jug blowing dancing bears and flapjacks so you can have some fun. It's not like there isn't a payoff. I told Christopher he could at least answer every question or end every statement with the word, "Valentine" when he was out on his date. "Would you like something to drink, Valentine? Let me get that door for you, Valentine. Good night, Valentine." She will either think he is precious or hit him to get him to stop. Definitive either way.
I guess we could talk for days about how women and men miscommunicate about what we want from one another, but for today let's just all acknowledge that it's not a bad idea to do whatever it takes to get a smooch from your Valentine. Flowers are a good place to start.
Judging by the number of pictures of flowers and candy and professions of love on Facebook yesterday I think we have all the evidence we need to support our theory that Valentine's Day is indeed a competitive holiday. And I'm sorry guys, but this holiday is not about celebrating you. It only involves you because you are responsible for all the work. Valentine's Day is for the girls. I went all low maintenance for several years, but I like a little romance and it became important to me also for Olivia to see the men in her life take Valentine's Day as an opportunity to show their affection for us. Kenny and Christopher set the tone for how men will treat her later when she makes actual choices about boyfriends and spouses. Fortunately, they are both capable of gushy professions of love. I heard her on the phone saying, "No. I love you more, Brother." To which I know he responded with his usual, "Not possible." Our house was filled with flowers and cards and presents that indicate that Kenny knows what the girls in his house like - I got a new jewelry box and Olivia got a new shotgun.
Valentine's Day is ridiculous, of course, but it's like the county fair or Gatlinburg. Just quit whining and get on board with the jug blowing dancing bears and flapjacks so you can have some fun. It's not like there isn't a payoff. I told Christopher he could at least answer every question or end every statement with the word, "Valentine" when he was out on his date. "Would you like something to drink, Valentine? Let me get that door for you, Valentine. Good night, Valentine." She will either think he is precious or hit him to get him to stop. Definitive either way.
I guess we could talk for days about how women and men miscommunicate about what we want from one another, but for today let's just all acknowledge that it's not a bad idea to do whatever it takes to get a smooch from your Valentine. Flowers are a good place to start.
Monday, February 11, 2013
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Just trying to save your life here
Check out this study. Turns out that there's some science behind why we ought to be taking care of our neighbors.
Study finds it actually is better (and healthier) to give than to receive
Study finds it actually is better (and healthier) to give than to receive
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Wanna bet?
The last few times I've tried to write to you I stopped myself because I know I will sound opinionated and maybe bossy and nobody likes a know-it-all. But there are so many things going on in the world lately that seem to require an opinion so I probably will not be free to write anything else until we get this out of the way. My head gets clogged, so to speak.
I am not a fan of reality tv. It always seems scripted to me, but I have watched a lot of Dance Moms and, more recently, Cheer Perfection. If you watch Mob Wives or Real Housewives of Wherever, it's not much different. It's just a bunch of grown people losing their minds at one another and using language that makes me want to hide. I view all of these adults, parents and instructors, and probably if you want to push it, producers, as abusive to one another and to a younger generation. The lack of civility is repulsive and makes me feel desperate. The great big life they wanted for their children will be spent on the therapist's sofa trying to undo their horrible great big life.
Now if there's one thing I disapprove of in our relationships, its name calling. In all these years together, Mr. Barfield has never let a bad name for me cross his lips and I am fairly certain (you can be too) that I deserved more than one. I called him a jackass once and I am embarrassed of it. Can you imagine being able to forget that your beloved called you something horrible? No you can't, because you don't forget those cruelties and they have weight. So tell me, if we all agree that we ought to value basic civility in conversation, how it is that this world seems to be heavily populated by people who haven't learned that most basic of lessons - "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all?"
And the reason those things seem to matter so much to me right at this moment is because every horrific news story I hear in the world about abuse and bullying, school shootings, workplace explosions, political screaming matches, all seem to have in some part a connection to the way we talk to one another. Think about it. Is it possible that our snarky, judgmental comment is the one that pushed a person who's had just about enough of being called worthless over the edge? What if the consequence of that was played out at your child's school? Could you take responsibility for your part?
And what is my part? Beyond just the words we say, I think it's possible that a person can change the path of events by doing something simple, like making eye contact with the drive-thru cashier. Can you imagine what it's like to be unnoticed, unimportant, unworthy every single working hour? I think your extension of kindness can alter a lot of things and that we are being incredibly irresponsible if we don't see our full participation in this process. I'm no fool - I know your kindness probably can't make someone who's dangerous not be dangerous, but I'm only concerned about whether you and I can bear the consequences of not offering kindness in a world that is already cracking.
If you're not interested in the whole peaceful hippy talk, then let's just look at it in terms of getting what you want. How does calling your beloved a bitch lead to a happy marriage? How does blindly rejecting and fearing a person of different skin color or religious upbringing bring the peace you say you want for your children to the world? How does putting yourself at odds with every person not like you improve your life and generate a safe environment for your family? How does posting venomous political statements on Facebook create the united country you want to build? All of these questions lead to this: Is it possible that your very actions undermine the peaceful world you pray for after you watch the news?
I like to blame as much as you do. When I see a tragic shooting I immediately want to blame the family and if blame is important, maybe that's a good place to start, but I think you and I could both call the bluff on that one. For example, a caring home can't always be trumped by a miserable school life - just ask the loving parent of a child who commits suicide. The truth is that folks are influenced by a million small things and that the world can be a violent place, but I can point to times in my life when ONE SMALL act of kindness or attention made a huge impact on my belief in my self worth. I bet you can too. Would an occasional reminder of someone's value keep them from losing it with a weapon on a high school campus? I don't know, but if I had to bet I'd say it's a safer bet than NOT doing just that.
So it's a wager I'm asking you to make. On the off chance that you can affect people around you, I'm asking that you consider teaching your child to look for people around her who suffer at school and say a kind word. Give her a script that you follow too. I'm asking you to make eye contact with people who bust their asses in minimum wage jobs. I'm asking you to make eye contact with the person who makes your day better with a latte or a pedicure. I'm asking you to consider offering the mom who's struggling with a misbehaving child in Walmart an acknowledgement of how difficult parenting can be. I'm asking you to consider that donating money to a cause is not enough. I'm asking you to refrain from name calling in your political discussions. I'm asking you to refrain from saying about half of the things that irritate you about your family out loud. I'm asking you to stop getting in the way of your prayers for peace by putting yourself at odds with your neighbors, your colleagues, your students.
I'm trying here - really, really trying to not come across as a rose-colored glasses sort of person. I am not talking about ideology, even. I'm talking about something I experience. I've kept quiet during all of the election talk and the gun talk and the bullying talk and rape debates because I like you and I like that you read what I write and I'd hate to alienate you. But we agree, right? That the evil and sickness in the world is a real thing? So it's a wager I don't think I can afford to avoid. What if whatever light I can bring to my little world alters a tragic path or just changes a hopeless day for someone? I have to bet it's worth it.
Talk soon.
I am not a fan of reality tv. It always seems scripted to me, but I have watched a lot of Dance Moms and, more recently, Cheer Perfection. If you watch Mob Wives or Real Housewives of Wherever, it's not much different. It's just a bunch of grown people losing their minds at one another and using language that makes me want to hide. I view all of these adults, parents and instructors, and probably if you want to push it, producers, as abusive to one another and to a younger generation. The lack of civility is repulsive and makes me feel desperate. The great big life they wanted for their children will be spent on the therapist's sofa trying to undo their horrible great big life.
Now if there's one thing I disapprove of in our relationships, its name calling. In all these years together, Mr. Barfield has never let a bad name for me cross his lips and I am fairly certain (you can be too) that I deserved more than one. I called him a jackass once and I am embarrassed of it. Can you imagine being able to forget that your beloved called you something horrible? No you can't, because you don't forget those cruelties and they have weight. So tell me, if we all agree that we ought to value basic civility in conversation, how it is that this world seems to be heavily populated by people who haven't learned that most basic of lessons - "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all?"
And the reason those things seem to matter so much to me right at this moment is because every horrific news story I hear in the world about abuse and bullying, school shootings, workplace explosions, political screaming matches, all seem to have in some part a connection to the way we talk to one another. Think about it. Is it possible that our snarky, judgmental comment is the one that pushed a person who's had just about enough of being called worthless over the edge? What if the consequence of that was played out at your child's school? Could you take responsibility for your part?
And what is my part? Beyond just the words we say, I think it's possible that a person can change the path of events by doing something simple, like making eye contact with the drive-thru cashier. Can you imagine what it's like to be unnoticed, unimportant, unworthy every single working hour? I think your extension of kindness can alter a lot of things and that we are being incredibly irresponsible if we don't see our full participation in this process. I'm no fool - I know your kindness probably can't make someone who's dangerous not be dangerous, but I'm only concerned about whether you and I can bear the consequences of not offering kindness in a world that is already cracking.
If you're not interested in the whole peaceful hippy talk, then let's just look at it in terms of getting what you want. How does calling your beloved a bitch lead to a happy marriage? How does blindly rejecting and fearing a person of different skin color or religious upbringing bring the peace you say you want for your children to the world? How does putting yourself at odds with every person not like you improve your life and generate a safe environment for your family? How does posting venomous political statements on Facebook create the united country you want to build? All of these questions lead to this: Is it possible that your very actions undermine the peaceful world you pray for after you watch the news?
I like to blame as much as you do. When I see a tragic shooting I immediately want to blame the family and if blame is important, maybe that's a good place to start, but I think you and I could both call the bluff on that one. For example, a caring home can't always be trumped by a miserable school life - just ask the loving parent of a child who commits suicide. The truth is that folks are influenced by a million small things and that the world can be a violent place, but I can point to times in my life when ONE SMALL act of kindness or attention made a huge impact on my belief in my self worth. I bet you can too. Would an occasional reminder of someone's value keep them from losing it with a weapon on a high school campus? I don't know, but if I had to bet I'd say it's a safer bet than NOT doing just that.
So it's a wager I'm asking you to make. On the off chance that you can affect people around you, I'm asking that you consider teaching your child to look for people around her who suffer at school and say a kind word. Give her a script that you follow too. I'm asking you to make eye contact with people who bust their asses in minimum wage jobs. I'm asking you to make eye contact with the person who makes your day better with a latte or a pedicure. I'm asking you to consider offering the mom who's struggling with a misbehaving child in Walmart an acknowledgement of how difficult parenting can be. I'm asking you to consider that donating money to a cause is not enough. I'm asking you to refrain from name calling in your political discussions. I'm asking you to refrain from saying about half of the things that irritate you about your family out loud. I'm asking you to stop getting in the way of your prayers for peace by putting yourself at odds with your neighbors, your colleagues, your students.
I'm trying here - really, really trying to not come across as a rose-colored glasses sort of person. I am not talking about ideology, even. I'm talking about something I experience. I've kept quiet during all of the election talk and the gun talk and the bullying talk and rape debates because I like you and I like that you read what I write and I'd hate to alienate you. But we agree, right? That the evil and sickness in the world is a real thing? So it's a wager I don't think I can afford to avoid. What if whatever light I can bring to my little world alters a tragic path or just changes a hopeless day for someone? I have to bet it's worth it.
Talk soon.
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