Bedtime stories

"Daddy, time for prayers and our story," two young voices shouted from the back bedroom. Two or three minutes passed and the little girl shouted again, "Dad-deee, come on!"

Soon his footsteps were heard in the hall and his loving, humorous presence entered and warmed the room. Both children had the covers pulled up, he would tuck them in before he left the room. But for now, he laid down beside one or the other of them on that child's twin bed, and they talked for a few minutes, the three of them, about special concerns or problems, then prayers were said together out loud, then anyone could add a special prayer about individual needs. When the prayers were done, if it wasn't a school night or one preceeding an early or extra busy day for anyone, it was time for the story.

Next came the discussion of what story we would have tonight. If he was really lucky, we fell asleep before a story decision could be arrived at, and he didn't end up telling one. Sometimes we settled for a song, soft and soothing in his melifluous baritone voice. He had a short repetoire of songs and a larger one of stories, but of course our list of favorites was fairly limited. And most wonderful of all, Daddy seemed to be able almost anytime to create fascinating new stories.

It is my great sorrow now that there were no audio tape recorders for the average household in those days and that neither my brother nor I realized what a treasure Daddy's stories were. If we had, one of us might have transcribed a few of them. As I remember, the characters were usually thinking, talking animals or fish, with humorous "Everyman" kinds of names, who got into difficult situations in very ordinary ways (as children interacting with/being led by their peers might do) and who, because of some trait which might ordinarily have been considered negative---like a little male fish who was made fun of because he was smaller than his peers---was able to get into a place which no one else could fit into and get the key or unclasp a latch unreachable by all who were larger and thus save the entire group. The stories always had a clear moral and fostered self-reliance and self-esteem, although we didn't really understand that at the time.
Unfortunately, the bedtime story I remember best and in the most detail was not one of his original stories, but the story he told most frequently. I can't remember whether he told it most often because we begged for that one, or because it was the one that was absolutely guaranteed to put us to sleep. It was a story of a colony of ants who for some reason had to move everything they had stored for winter from their old home to a new one. When the story teller gets to that point, the entire rest of the story is: "and another ant came carrying another grain of wheat; and another ant came carrying another grain of wheat; and another ant came carrying another grain of wheat;......" ad infinitum. Sometime during the repetition, we would slip into sleep and Daddy would get up and tuck us both in and go back to his evening with Mother.


These are very happy memories for me and I'm appalled that I cannot remember more about specific stories. I was so excited about this week's topic when I read it, and had great high hopes; but I don't feel like I brought it together well at all. I wanted it to be a tribute to my dad and the fascinating, educational but fun stories he created, and to the special time that was bedtime when I quite young.

Good

Many have mentioned songs using the word good. What pops into my head as old sing-song type drivel is a little poem I have NO idea when or where I learned, or why.
"Good, Better, Best. Never let it rest; til the good is better, and the better best."
A bit trite, but not a bad montra (is that spelled correctly? I have heard it said often but am not sure I have ever seen it written)

My initial and real thinking on the topic actually went a completely different direction, based, I am sure, on the fact that in the last 13 days, my mother-in-law (of 30+ years), who has really fought the good fight against cancer for the last 24 years, finally lost her battle to keep the demon at bay. That is not all bad, not when one has fought against such an adversary for more than one fourth of one's life, gone through chemo four times, and in between has tried to lead as normal a life as possible with husband, children, family and friends.

Wonderful relatives really came together for Mom's funeral and to support Dad. We had a gathering of cousins and aunts and uncles such as I have not seen since the last year we all did Christmas together in the early '70s, in the town where all 4 grandparents lived. After we laid Mom to rest beautifully, we were able to celebrate her life with laughter and happy memories. And thus my meditation on good:

Love is good. Love and faith are truly good. Little else is so wholly good. The love and support of family and friends in times of sorrow, stress, and/or need are literally the embodiment of good.

Pick a Super Power

Freezing time is actually not a power I can ever remember wishing to have, stretching it maybe to get more done in the time available. But even that doesn't appeal greatly. I have heard somewhere, and I am sure I am not quoting it correctly, that whatever you are trying to do will expand to fit the time you have to do it in. Even with more hours in each day, I think I would feel I could never get finished with all I need/want to do.

Also, there are good times and not-so-good times and some downright lousy times in all of our lives. From my age and vantage point, it seems the America I was a child in was a much kinder, gentler, lovelier, cleaner place. But would I go back and do it all again? Not if you paid me big money. And I feel I have had a very good life. But going through it all once is enough. I suppose there are specific days and specific occasions I would enjoy re-living, and a few I would like to have a chance to do better. But as was made clear in Thornton Wilder's "Our Town," that experience might prove so poignantly painful we would regret having tried. On the whole, I think the plan already in place is better than I could come up with. In addition, there seem to be some possibly very scary things on the world's horizon. I think I don't want us to slow down for those.

As to what super power I would select:
"World peace" has always seemed a pretty hackneyed response, and the movie "Miss Congeniality" has made it even more so. But, truly, if I could have any super power, my choice would be the ability to convince all the people in the entire world of the absolute need and value of living by the Golden Rule; of truly, deeply, and sincerely treating all other people as they themselves would like to be treated. I would like to see everyone love and revere whatever deity or faith they believe in with their whole heart and being ---but not try to force it on anyone else--and treat all other people and their beliefs with honesty, caring, and most of all, with respect. If people truly treated each other this way, there would be no wars. (Just call me Pollyanna.)
I guess while I am downloading my choice of super powers, I might add to the power already requested some way of reinforcing my powers of convincing people, like providing each person a little implant that would give him/her a little reminder shock or jolt anytime they treated someone else in a way they would not want to be treated themselves, and a lesser prick whenever they thought unkind, judgmental things about others. There would be NO monitoring of these devices by anyone, they would be only to help people be aware of these thoughts and behaviors until they no longer experienced them at all.
Oh, well, you wanted us to dream creatively. Yes? Super Pollyanna---not a very grand sounding super name or super being. But very me.

character sketch

With her slightly wild, long black hair flowing around, almost dwarfing her face, she scurried from table to table, overseeing the students and parents who were seated, filling out paperwork. Her long black dress swished around her legs as she moved between tables, intermittantly stopping to question or assist the families still trying to get their students registered on this first day of classes in the new school year. Every time she crossed through the entrance, her high heeled sandals clicked crisply on the uncarpeted area. None-the-less, things seemed to be bogged down, dragging.

I was here to show these new, but already late, students around the large campus and to get them to their appropriate classes having missed as little instructional time as possible. But I was just waiting around. In spite of her business-like manner, there was a pervading sense of inefficiency. Was she trying to do too much? be too many places at once? Why hadn't she lined more assistance, delegated responsibility? Even addressing the group as a whole for part of the process would have made better use of the time. Could it be that this new department head with a PHD didn't know some of the answers or necessary information and was trying to conceal that from all of us---students, parents, volunteers, even the other counselors??

I went to offer my assistance or to go get someone else from the office to help her. Her eyes were brilliantly turquoise and apparently kindly, but the kindness seemed superficial because there was no interest behind it. The eyes seemed to look at me, but she spouted only proper platitudes. She didn't seem either to hear what I was saying or to care what I was offering. Her polite but cursory response was a "thanks, but no thanks; don't break my concentration" reply, which made quite clear her feeling that only she could handle the situation and suggestions were not only unwanted but mildly annoying.

skin

These are my scribblings on the only one of the Sunday Scribblings topics since the first of July which I failed to get posted. I know they are now much too late to post to that website, but I shall post them to my blog any way. I did not find this topic easy, but my thoughts went in a different direction than most I read. And I did spend some considerable time and thought on the topic.

"Beauty is only skin deep"
"Pretty is as pretty does"
These time worn adages which I am sure I heard from my mother more times than I can count, are the things that come to mind when I ponder this week's topic: skin.

Although attractive by most standards, my mother was not a classic beauty. In fact, she chose to go by her middle name because she considered herself to be plain-looking with a very plain and forgetable name; and she was smart enough to know she did not want to be invisible and forgotten. How laughable that seems to me now. No one who ever really knew my mom will ever forget her. Mother was beautiful from the inside out. She was a little dynamo, a ball of energy, bright and involved--in her church, her community and in her children's life. She was president of the local garden club, vice-president of the Women's Club, and one of our Girl Scout troop leaders 'til my friends and I completed tenth grade. Although Dad was also a deeply commited Christian and an extraordinary role model, it was from Mother that I mostly learned the true meaning of faith and trust in the Lord, who loves us infinitely and has unfailing interest in our everyday life, and who, if we ask, will help us every day. Although beautiful skin and hair and features are extremely nice to be blessed with, it is love and faith coming from inside that make a person beautiful.

I have known people whose physical appearance was breath-taking, show stopping; yet once I got to know them, some of these were NOT beautiful. And thus I am reminded of Oscar Wilde's classic novel, "The Portrait of Dorian Gray," about the beautiful but rakishly evil and dishonest young man whose vile behavior was reflected only on his face and body as it appeared in his portrait, until his death. (If you've never read it, you should.)


It is not Botox or plastic surgery, I recommend, although I strongly urge the use of sunscreen to preserve the skin. The beauty reflected in one's face needs to comefrom what is inside: from faith, laughter, deep caring for one's fellow man/woman/creatures of this earth, and a true love of and spirit for life.