May Day Baskets

Photo Courtesy of Google Images 

Ahh May Day.  The memories this morning brings me are of my old neighborhood.  Small, imaginative, and excited about taking part in anything and everything I remember waking-up and getting out the boxes of markers and colored construction paper, creating tiny cone-shaped baskets with fragile paper handles and filling them with any candy that I could find laying around the house and small trinkets that I could bear to part with.  All the while keeping a keen ear turned towards the door hoping the hear the doorbell and reach the front stoop before one of my sisters could beat me to the tiny basket that would take the place of its carrier.

We made just enough for our friends and any neighbors that we weren’t dreadfully afraid of upsetting.  Then we’d take our baskets, crouch behind a shrub and wait for the perfect moment to make our entries followed by a sudden disappearance.  We took it to a level where our skills in the games of spies and ding-dong ditch were tested at their up-most importance.  Getting caught wasn’t an option, and being seen was the equivalent of having your fingers slammed sneaking a cookie from the jar. 

Once the coast was decidedly clear we would carefully place the basket in the center of the stoop, angle our body away from the door ready to sprint, ring the bell, and take off around the corner to the opposite side of the house.  Once all of our baskets were successfully delivered, we would run home and wait by the door in hopes of catching our own may-dayers in the act.

It is our duty as a generation of successful MayDayees to pass on our own secrets for success.  May the best tactic win :)

Small Memories

On many occasions growing-up I was told that I looked like my grandmother’s grandchild, and as I got older I took immense pride in our similar features.  I always remember thinking how cute she was.  Her big eyes would crinkle when she laughed, and she always showed only one row of teeth.  I remember when we all started passing her in height, how much the boys would make fun of her and she would pretend to get saucy about it like it bothered her that she only came up to everyone’s armpit in the giving of farewell hugs.  I remember her stories, how my mother often joked that they got a little more interesting every time she told them.  I remember loving to listen to gossip about my parents as youngsters, running around, staying out late, and my mother’s scary teenage bedroom.  This story interested me immensely, and I used it as ammunition in my own fight for up keeping of my bedroom at home.  I remember her slippers, how she wore them everywhere she went after having her toenails removed, which leads me to remember how bad I felt one time when I stepped on her foot unaware of her recent surgery as a little girl. 

I remember the old house, before our family cabin was built.  I remember her reminding us about the four little monkeys who jumped on the bed when she would walk in on us cousins doing exactly that on her and grandpas mattress while watching TV.  I remember how she used to buy us these barrels of pickles, and roll her eyes jokingly when she discovered that we had inhaled the entire jar by the end of our visit.  I remember Easter egg hunts, and climbing up the trees to reach the eggs hidden in the branches, after all, the hardest ones to find always had a dollar in them.  I remember my first encounter with a bee sting, how I had stepped on an under-ground nest in the yard and ended-up with my first sting just below my shoulder, running to the deck crying for a band aid, and how she met me at the screen door with a soapy cloth and a cartoon one all the while assuring me that I wasn’t, in fact, poisoned with a deadly serum.  I remember being afraid of the basement unless she was down there, and how she picked up a daddy-long-leg once by that old fireplace to prove to us that they weren’t that scary.  It is also the house where she told me that every fly was her friend, and they were all named Elmer, so that I wouldn’t be scared when they landed on me or my food.

And her Christmases.  There is not a celebration world-wide that could ever take the place or the memories of my Christmases growing-up.  The anticipation and the excitement of seeing boxes and boxes of presents piled higher than the Christmas tree was tall.  They were the Christmases that all kids dreamed of having. The cookies and sugary goodies that she would spend hours making before our arrival, and spend hours after trying to replenish as we munched throughout the day.  I remember how she sat there watching us open our gifts, her anticipation of our surprised and excited reactions as we each opened box after box of the presents she picked out for us.  I remember thinking, how funny it was, that she got so much joy and delight from seeing us kids open our gifts.  And I will forever be amazed at how our gifts were picked out for each one of us, at how she must have planned and shopped all year for what to get us.  Christmas was her favorite time of the year, and in turn, all of ours as well. 

The cabin to me will always be a huge part of my childhood.  Spending weeks without our parents running around wild, going for boat rides, tube rides, and learning to water ski.  I remember one time, when she made SPAM sandwiches for lunch, and not one of the grand kids would it them until she told us it was our only ticket to go outside and play, but how she never made them again after that meal.  I remember once when she had an old blanket and some stuffing, and she helped us each make our own stuffed animal to teach us how to sew.  I remember how she would turn off the lights in the family room at night, and switch on all her houses.  She always had candy lying around too, and if she ran out of candy, she would whisper to us to go look in her purse for some cough drops. 

Getting older we got to go out and shop with her and our mothers, and in the chaos of black Fridays she was the most organized shopper there, leaving the store most often with everything she came to purchase, and anything we had thrown in the cart during the process.  And her coupons!  She was one savvy shopper, she always stood-up and defended any discount or magazine price that she handed the teller at kohls.  And you can be sure, that that receipt was double-checked immediately after leaving the vicinity for any corrections that needed calling attention to. J

Among these memories and many others, I remember the day that I heard that we had been diagnosed with cancer.  I remember taking a walk around the park with my thoughts, and calling my cousin Mikey to discuss the situation.  I remember crying the first time I hugged her and felt the difference in her body-weight.  I remember searching for the right moment to tell her that I was proud of her, that I wasn’t angry with her for habits, something I never got the chance to tell her, but that I know was important for her to have heard.  I remember telling every customer at Super America that came in for a pack of smokes that they were bad for them, until I had angered enough customers and was asked nicely to stop with the friendly warnings.  And I remember being scared, when I would see her in pain, when she couldn’t hide it.  She was herself though, for us, as much as she could be throughout the end.  And I will always appreciate her effort to buy a little more time to spend with all of us, even though it meant harsh treatments for herself.

I love my grandmother.  And I miss her dearly.  Everyday something reminds me of her. My drawer full of her pot-holders, the picture of her wearing a dinosaur cap on her last Christmas with that one row of teeth smile and those crinkly bright eyes that I pass in my hallway, or the tiny mouse that I had tattooed on my ankle in her memory. 

To me, my grandma is not gone.  And she never will be.  I will forever miss her hugs, her smile, her laugh, and her loving personality, but I wont ever forget them.  My family will never feel complete without her, but because we grew-up with her, we will always be a family.  The things that she taught us, the joy that she brang to us, and the memories that she gave us are always going to keep us together, no matter how far apart we grow in the years to come. 

And in the end, she gave us all many gifts that will forever continue to give.  They were not wrapped with a bow or purchased with any coupons, but I know she is still watching as we enjoy them.

Consider Being Considerate.

There is a man that stands on the corner of a popular intersection across from the Arizona State University Campus.

He stands there most days of the week, with a sign in one hand and a megaphone in the other.  The sign reads a brief warning, and he uses his megaphone to scream at passer-bys:

“Accept Jesus into your life, or prepare to burn in hell! You are all going to hell!”

His words do not have the kindness of a church sermon on Sunday morning. Or the comfort and accepting feeling of a youth group gathered in a circle on Wednesday nights.  His voice is accusing, and unbecoming to those that have the poor fortune to cross on that side of the street.

I am not an atheist. Not that I have the right to say that there is anything wrong with being one, for everyone is entitled to their own opinion. But I do not go to church, head a youth group, nor am I involved with any Christian organization. 

But I do believe that there are much more ethical, much more moving, much more efficient ways to reach out to others about your own personal beliefs.

Christians are often taught to love one another, to support one another, and to accept others for whoever they are.

But a lot of them, not all, seem to forget that a person’s thoughts, feelings, and personal beliefs are all a huge part of what makes them, them. 

And they are not the only ones who do it. 

Every religion in this world believes that theirs is correct, theirs is real, and theirs matters.

How many people who believe in the same Jesus Christ as Jehovah’s Witnesses pretend to not be home or avoid going near the windows when they come by knocking on your door with a handful of pamphlets?

Why are there so many different denominations of churches for Christianity when there is only one Bible?

So many religions in the world that all pray, or give, or dedicate their life’s practices to some source of higher power?  Each one with it’s own history, practices, and beliefs?

Think about it. No matter how different each one is, they are all equally important to many people.

 Now the fifth amendment gives that man the right to stand out on that street corner with a megaphone and scream at anyone he pleases, and it gives people the right to recite bible versus in their facebook statuses, proclaim their excitement about Hanukah, and to speak out about their faith and knock on people’s doors handing out pamphlets about the good of Jesus. It gives people the right to Pray to whoever, whatever, whenever, and however they please.  It also allows me to publish this post despite its possible offensive quality. 

But there is a right way to reach out to a community, to advertise the greatness of your higher figure, and try to lead people in whatever direction you feel is best for them:

Respect their willingness to listen or avoid, Respect their wanting to learn more or desire to do anything but listen to what you have to say.

Sharing your beliefs is a two way street.  If you want to go out and share your beliefs and be taken seriously and be respected, then you better be willing to listen to someone else’s beliefs with the same amount of respect and dignity, even if it is every bit the opposite of what you yourself believe. 

Searching for Love in a Young Generation

High school relationships rarely make it past the double doors by graduation, early marriages are a rarity are aren’t expected to withstand the trials of time, and marriages due to an early, unexpected pregnancy are considered a faulty choice by those that watch.

Why is it so easy to fall in love as a young person, but so hard to make it last?

In the beginning, no one can separate you, in the end, no one can stand to be around you together.  You go asking for advice, should we stick it out? Something just isn’t there anymore… that spark seems to have an expiration date for most all teens and young-adult couples.

If you take a few steps back, it’s almost crazy NOT to see it:

Women of a younger age often walk around advertising everything the good lord gave them, and men can’t help but notice.  Girls at the beach lay and watch the shirt-less lifeguard from across the sand. 

When the ties are limited to titles such as “girlfriend” and “boyfriend,” the loyalty tends to wane here and there.  When you’re young and not completely committed, you can’t help but notice that there are just SO many choices out there. 

When there are two rings, four children, and sagging body parts involved, the effort to make things work becomes self-less.

Not everyone believes that there is only one other person out there for them anymore. 

Teens like to get wild, they indulge in clubbing, drinking, and as they come of age, their hormones are skyrocketing and physical appearance mean more than they really should, especially when it’s put out there so willingly.  Leaving very little to the imagination.

Others are so tempting, and you hear stories of cheating and disloyalty like people used to discuss the Sunday paper.

Some people just can’t handle being tied down, others give it a shot and still can’t help but notice the other options surrounding them.  Then there are the few that are devoted and dearly worth the risk.

Young life is the definition of drama, struggle, mistakes, and faulty judgment.

But it’s also the center of desire, risk, living, loving, and learning.

“You have to kiss a few frogs before you find your prince.”

I always hated those words.  But their more often true than not.  Being raised as I was and being the personality I do, I’ve always known what I’ve wanted from a relationship.  I’ve always had my beliefs as to how they should work, the behavior to have and the actions to take when in one. 

Finding someone who mimics your beliefs is like finding a needle in a haystack.

Maybe harder.

The only advice I have, is good luck.

Keep your eyes open and your heart slightly closed.

Protect everything you have, and choose wisely.

Then choose more wisely every time there is a next time.

Love is a beautiful thing, but often mistaken.

These Colors Don't Run the World.

The stars and stripes amid the American flag have always represented the most powerful country in the world, the United States of America.  On September 11^th, 2001 America was attacked by a group of terrorists whose schemes shook our country to the core, killing innocent people and putting fear on the screen of every television nation-wide.  Our President made a promise to this country that we would reek justice, by starting a war that was meant to find the perpetrators, create a working governmental system, un-hinge the bad guys, and make sure no more attempts could be made that could forfeit our people’s safety.  We had our reasons for starting this war, but now after years of needless fighting, destruction, and death, Americans are singing a new tune with rallies and protests telling us to bring our troops home.

           

“THESE COLORS DON”T RUN THE WORLD.”  This visual piece is sending a clear message to its onlookers; for many years now, America has been considered the most powerful country in the world.  But power can and has been abused.  The terrorist attacks on our country do not give us the right to barge into the Middle East and take out throngs of innocent people as we try to find the masterminds behind the chaos.  And where does messing with the governmental system in other countries become our duty or business?  What started out as a war in Iraq has spread to other neighboring countries such a Kuwait and Afghanistan, and has been out of our hands for years.

America truly has become the bully of the world.  We are no longer the most technologically advanced, with the biggest army, the most powerful leaders, and it scares us. It scares America that other countries are catching-up.  So we feel need to have some say and get involved in every other country’s affairs to prove our meaning and worth, our willingness to get our hands dirty.

 But at what cost?

Many of the signs in the protest picture are about peace and evil.  Our country was shocked by the terrorist’s actions, coming into our country and killing our people… but what are we doing over there?  Why can we wipe out entire cities, and consider it a victory versus an action of injustice and evil?  Why do their innocent people with no part in the attacks, seem to matter less than the innocent people we lost on 9/11 at ground zero?  How many people in those countries will have to die, before America feels that it has had its justice, and can again sleep soundly at night. 

Another sign in the picture reads “END THE WAR IN IRAQ: TAX CUTS, NOT BOMBS.”

Who are we, to tell a country how to run things, when our own governmental system is corrupt in itself.  Our politicians can’t even handle half of its own controversies, much less that of another country.  How about listening to the people of America about their needs, before telling someone else how to run it’s own people?  We are biting off more than we can chew, simply because the more we dip our fingers into other people’s business, the more control we feel like we have over the countries that have proved that they are perfectly capable of catching up to our standards all on their own.

Though the visual aid given obviously speaks of the war in Iraq, it branches out to many other meanings for me as well.  As the world continues to develop, and other countries start to loose the training wheels, America is going to have to for-fit its pedestal at the top, and learn to work with others and share the knowledge and wealth of being a successfully developed country. 

I am an American, and I love my country.  But I also love what it has, and should always stand for.  The Land of the free, and the home of the brave.  The land of milk and honey, the breeding ground for dreams, and the soil of success and opportunity. A country full of heros, with leaders that make choices that will benefit, not destroy and corrupt.  What happened to our country will forever leave a scar, and was complete injustice, but we have brought many of the perpetrators to justice.  It's not just their lives that are continuing to be lost, but our soldiers as well.  

I say, that we bring our troops home. 

A Battle as Old as Time Itself

I don’t ever in my life wish to assume that being a parent is an easy task.  It’s a parent’s responsibility to bring up a tiny infant person and make them into a responsible, flourishing adult some day.  They have to keep them safe, they have to teach them right and wrong, and they occasionally have to make them eat their fruits and vegetables. 

There are a lot of people that I know, who have come to believe that I cannot possibly have been the easiest child to raise.  I’m a very independent person, I keep to myself, I like to do things on my own, and I like to do things my own way.  I will jump off the cliff as many times as I possibly can before I go to an instructor and ask if he or she can help me find an easier way down.  Naturally, this leads to me making many foolish mistakes, angering some people, and usually doing much more work than I would have had to, had I just asked for help sooner. You can call it pride if you want, but I call it learning.  I can honestly say that I have never been arrested, come anywhere close to commiting a federal offense, nor have I done half of the things most kids my age get into.  I got a few “C’s in high school.  And that is what most of my punishments growing-up were for. In my own personal opnion, I am still college bound, I am still alive, and I’m still a good kid despite all the temptations around me despite a few average grades.

Many a brilliant human being that has worked in careers involving children has, in some form, said “It’s not what we can teach our children, but often what our children can teach us.” As hard as it seems for parents to grasp this context, by age sixteen we really do have full-functioning brains of our own.  We are capable, because of our parents, to make good decisions, and decide for ourselves what is best.  We do stupid things sometimes knowing they are dumb, but if it’s a choice we want to make, good luck stopping us. 

Parents are not supposed to be your friends.  I believe that there is a thin line to cross there.  Most kids I know want to be able to tell their parents things, but they are afraid of being punished, or being told how to do something, or what they should have done instead.  They want to be able to cry on their parents shoulder about a break-up without being told “I told you so,” or given some drawn-out lecture about things they themselves already knew. 

“If you knew it was a bad idea, then why did you do it?”  This one is my favorite.  Oh I don’t know mom and dad, when you broke a lamp playing soccer at age thirteen, I bet hiding it seemed like a good idea to you too.  Can you tell me what your reason for throwing out your sisters favorite doll clothes was?  I bet your reasons seemed pretty solid to everyone but your parents at the time too. 

We will always need our parents.  I’m not trying to disclaim differently.  They are smarter only because they have truly gone through every same aspect in life we ourselves are coming up to experiencing.  And though they only mean to warn you about avoiding the bad stuff and help you with the good, a lot of the time they go about in a completely wrong way of carrying out those good-intended actions.

The battle between parents and teenagers or young adults will always be a constant fight.  There are parents that are pushy, that try to live their dreams through their children, that need to have something spectacular to brag to the other parents about, that talk bad about their children, that always push them to be more and do more than they themselves want to do or be.  And there children who want to please their parents and will do things they hate just to make them happy, children who will rebel authority, who have their own dreams and are determined to follow them, who let every decision be made for them, or who get into criminal offenses or a bad group of friends despite the words from the wise.  There may never be a perfect example of child understanding parents or vise versa, but the key is to decide wisely how much you care about what other’s think of you, be-it that group of moms at the church or your group of friends in school, and how much your decision that others may not approve of mean to you.

I’ve chosen to try my hardest in life at the things I choose to do, despite anyone else’s blessings, and if they truly love and support me, they will cheer me on no matter what those choices happen to be. 

With Wisdom Comes Years

I remember one specific Saturday, about eleven years ago: it was early in the morning, say maybe seven, and I was up-and- running.  I ate my cereal while I watched a few cartoons, went downstairs and made a few fairy dolls, played some barbies, had a sandwich and a juice box for lunch, went for a dip and game of mermaids in the pool, got out, dried-off, and laid in the grass.

While laying in the yard, I remember my mom yelling out the screen door that dinner would be in a few minutes, and that I wasn’t allowed at the table in my swimsuit so I’d better run and change if I wanted anything to eat. I remember wondering what in the world I was going to do after dinner.  I had already done everything that day that I could think of, why was this day taking so long to be over with?

I wish for days like that now.  My days off work seem to fly by, where as when I was younger the suckers seemed to have no end.  I used to get bored easily, now I can’t seem to find enough time in my day to do everything on my list.

I never believed people when they said that the older you get, the faster the years seem to go, but it’s true.  Especially on the good days. 

I was driving in the car this morning and I passed a lot of different people, all distinctly much older than myself, and I wondered, what it felt like to be forty or fifty and to know that your life was already half- over. I wondered that if I asked any of those people for a grade of their life up until that moment, what kind of answers I would receive.  Are they satisfied with their pasts?  Did they accomplish all they’d wished they would up till now?  What was the number one thing, if they were given the chance, that they would change, and what would they leave exactly as it was? 

Of all the lives there is for one to live, I have always wanted only one version.  A home, a faithful husband, children, horses, dogs/cats, and a large green yard for them all to enjoy.  

As perfect as that all may sound, there’s always dirt in life that you can’t avoid; arguments and differences with friends or family, deaths, accidents, sicknesses, weaknesses, and etc.  My grandparents and parents always said to me “with years comes wisdom,” but I agree only to a certain extent.  Yes, as you age you experience more and learn more, but more so that with that wisdom comes years.  I don’t exactly know how to describe to you the difference that I see between those two sayings, but there is a distinction to be made between them.  They don’t, as similar as they are to one another, say quite the same thing.

To me, it says that at any age we are capable of learning anything and everything there is to know about life.  And as we get older, the things we experience are essentially the same, just put within a different setting.  Kids were mean on the playground and kids will be mean in high school.  Some bosses sucked when you worked at the local DQ and others in your later career will be the same.  Decisions between candy needed to be made when you had only quarters as profit from your lemonade stand, and decisions between name brands and generic can be difficult when you allow yourself half a paycheck to go shopping.  The harder you work, the more you can receive.  Friends come and go, boys come and go, and the world keeps turning a full circle no matter what is happening at the present time. 

  With the wisdom you’ve always had comes only more years to use it wisely.