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This was tempting, but I resisted...

We who live in the Pacific Northwest have come through a week of historic temperatures that have spiked 25 degrees above normal.  Elsewhere, our triple digits might sound laughable, but here it’s serious business.

My momma didn’t raise no wimp, but I have to confess I’ve turned into a whiny baby this week.  When my patio thermometer reached 108, I declared war on sweat.  I thought, There’s gotta be a way to ignore the temps and fool myself into feeling cooler.  Cold showers only worked for ten minutes, so I tried thinking of myself sitting on a humongous block of ice.  That worked for about six seconds. I continued on, imagining the famous blizzard scene from March of the Penguins.  I felt downright goosebumpy for a minute or two.

But sometimes hot is hot and cold is cold and there’s no in-between. Just gotta accept it and realize it is what it is.  Period.

The same thing applies to paydays at Squidoo. Every time another payday rolls around, I hear people lamenting about how hard they worked for such a low amount. They wonder  why-why-why they didn’t make enough money to get that oil change on their car or take that trip to Belize.  Some make noises like they are planning to leave, and others take it as a challenge to just try harder.

It is what it is.  Move on.

Visions of ice or visions of creating a lensmaking momentum that will eventually pay off–both require thinking ahead, and a whole lot of want-to.  Anything worth doing is worth doing well.

That’s my backstory, and I’m stickin’ to it.

__________________________________

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Someone asked me recently if I’d ever thought of becoming a teacher. The answer was a resounding “Yes!” I used to daydream about teaching first grade. I don’t know why that particular grade jumped out at me, because my teacher, Miss Crandall, was at least a hundred years old, with a sharp look that could make any student shiver and quake.  I used to pray that she would get tired of teaching and retire.

Now I realize that she was probably only in her mid-forties. I will soon turn 59.  Need I say more?

Life has a surprising way of shaping us. I never became a teacher, but I have taught children through my stories and books. I’ve planted seeds of friendship, too, and also enjoyed a bountiful harvest of what others have poured into my life. My grandfather was someone who encouraged me to use my gifts. At the time, I didn’t know what a gift meant, outside of birthdays and Christmas. Because he took time to exchange letters with me for many years, I learned to appreciate myself as someone unique.

My dad made me feel that I could become anything my heart set out to become, and when my first book came out, my mother wandered around a bookstore until she found a copy of it, then practically tackled the store manager to gush, “I gave birth to this author.”  That’s love in its purest, zaniest form.  When my husband’s job  took us overseas, I met young friends to mentor, and older friends who in turn, mentored me. Each turn in the road has brought me face to face with somebody who shared something special with me, like white-haired Laura, who shared stories of traveling by covered wagon from Missouri to Texas as a twelve-year-old and taught me about perseverance.

Then and now. Now and then.  The road from childhood to adulthood collides as I remember experiences, people, and places that have contributed to who I am today.  I realize that my lifeprint is much different than yours, and by visiting your Squidoo lenses and blogs, I continue to learn and grow as a person.

I ran across an inspirational video that really grabbed my heartstrings. Based on a poem by Linda Ellis, it inspires me to use each and every day like a priceless gift, becauses that’s exactly what it is. Today felt like a good day to share The Dash Movie.  Enjoy!

The Dash Movie

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When I heard about Twttrlist lenses, I thought about various topics that might make a good fit. Usually when I’m searching for writing ideas, I open my memory bank up wide and let a good breeze blow through. Yesterday that breeze swirled around a memory of my first vegetable garden.

Oh boy. Did I really want to talk about how a know-it-all, 30-year-old daughter of a farm advisor treated a 10×6′ plot of dirt as if it were the size of a city lot, overplanting, underweeding and thoroughly botching up a perfectly good little garden bed? The results looked more like a tangle of rainforest vines than the garden I’d dreamed of having someday.

To add insult to injury, I hadn’t thought to leave room to maneuver through the rows to water and hoe. I couldn’t tell where the cucumber vines ended and my Big Boy tomatoes began. Bell peppers, carrots, onions, and a couple of cauliflowers held on to each other for dear life, as cucumber tendrils curled around stems like a snake exploring uncharted territory.

Ohhh, Martha.  Please don’t hate me.

So that summer, my parents decided to pay us a visit. In my ignorant bliss, I eagerly dragged my dad around back to show him my pride and joy. He tried his best not to laugh, really he did. He even slapped that big ol’ mitt of a hand over his mouth to hold back the rising guffaw. But I spotted those telltale laugh lines hugging both eyes, and knew exactly what he was thinking.

“Wow. What a garden!” he said. “Uh…just one question: Why did you plant eight tomato plants in such a small space?” he asked in his best imitation of a polite person.

“I like tomatoes.”

He moved around the fringes of the garden. “Hmmm. These look like carrots,” he said, reaching down to touch lacy green tops.

“Yep. They’re carrots alright.”

“And…?” He could see that they were hardly mature. In fact, they lay there like castoff greens from a fastfood dumpster. Sad sight.

“Well, I was curious how fast they would grow, so I sort of tugged at them every now and then to see how cute they were. Little baby carrots…”

Yesterday I launched my first TwttrList: Great Gardening Tips on Twitter, because I still need all the help I can get. I’m happy to report, though, that I’m not previewing carrots anymore, and I now plant three tomato plants every year instead of eight.

I feel like such a grownup.

(*image ©Bonnie Bruno 2009)

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Email is like dust on a coffee table. You can polish your empty Inbox to a squeaky-clean shine, but watch out. Tomorrow there’ll be more.  We complain about the spammers, smile at our funny email friends,  share life’s ups and downs electronically, and so much more. But what would we do without this quick daily form of communication? It’s as much a part of my life now as my cup of morning coffee.

Thinking about life before email reminds me of a movie I saw years ago. The Postman was a fictional account of what the world might be like if life as we know it were destroyed, right down to the delivery of mail. It was something I’d never thought of before, but something I’ve thought of from time to time since. Can you imagine, being cut off from long-distance friends and family members? How would your life change if you couldn’t sit down and shoot off a quick email or letter? What if our phone communication were to suddenly disappear?

This subject of communication takes my thoughts in a lot of different directions. I created In Praise of Paper Letters one day when I was reading through my treasured collection of family letters. In my earlier days of marriage, we lived overseas in Germany for six years. It was before the days of personal computers, and email hadn’t arrived on the scene. We’ve often talked about how much we would have enjoyed the luxury of email, and the ability to attach photos of our kids and our travels for grandparents to enjoy. Instead, we wrote weekly letters home to our families and friends in the U.S., then had to wait at least two weeks for a reply. It cost $13 per minute to call home and our budget was stretched to the max, so we communicated only by letters.

I’ve kept the letters our families wrote to us through the years. Yes, they may seem like just a pile of paper, but to me they’re beautiful links to the past–like a kaleidoscope of family history tucked away in pretty lidded boxes. There’s a letter my maternal grandmother wrote to my mom the day I was born.  The first letters my parents ever exchanged shortly after WWII. Letters from my Grandpa, who was a great encouragement to me during my teen years.  Thoughts from a dad after our firstborn entered this world, written in the scraggly handwriting of one who had suffered a stroke at age 38.

So much of who I am today can be attributed to the loving words of those long-ago letters. My favorite uncle struggled with Alzheimer’s disease the last eight years of his life. He was upbeat and funny, and faithful to write to me every month. His letters now echo the positive influence he had on my childhood. He eventually lost the ability to speak, but his words live on via the chatty notes he took the time to write.

After my parents both passed away, I discovered that my mother had kept all the letters I’d written to them, too! It’s fun to re-read family news and remember the busy days of raising a family and setting up housekeeping 9,000 miles from home. Those letters are such treasures to me now, and if ever we have a house fire, guess what I’ll be flinging out the window first?

Email or stationery…it doesn’t matter how we express ourselves, really. Only that we do it when we feel appreciation and love bubbling to the surface. Take time to write to someone today. It might be the best thing you do all day for them–and for yourself.

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I’ve been waiting to share some earthshaking news.  I hope you can contain your excitement. Five days ago, I received a remarkable email from Dr.Claudio Thomas. It began:

Greeting !!!

This is to bring to your notice that a bank draft of £750,000.00 Great British

you will receive this mail and act fast.

Imagine how excited ol’ Claudio must have been as he sat down that morning with his cuppa tea and keyboard to deliver that message. I’ll spare you the rest of the email, because I suspect you may have received the same lovely message. Claudio is a busy boy.

How to Become a Billionaire in Three Minutes was hatched from a collection of oddball emails I’ve recieved over the past three years. I should be a billionaire by now, but I’m not. I should at least be the beneficiary of a Nigerian prince’s uncle’s mother-in-law’s dead cousin’s fortune, but I’m not. My parents didn’t raise no fool, but apparently there are plenty of people out there so hungry to get rich quick, they’re replying to these kooks.

Back when dinosaurs roamed my neighborhood, spammers werent’t so frugal; they actually bought postage stamps and sent fake award notifications by snail mail. Now they streamline the process by buying up lists of email addresses (don’t get me started on that topic) and off they go, spreading fairy dust throughout the world. Isn’t that special?

Might as well laffaboutit.  Visit the lens and laugh along with me.  Speak your mind while you’re there, too, in the  Duel, a poll, and of course, the guestbook (with plenty of room for ranting).

~~~~~~~~~~~

Need more comic relief?

Squidoo’s Unofficial Procrastination Primer – Cooking Disasters I Lived to Tell About – Help! I’ve Lost my Hippocampus! Embarrassing Moments We’d Rather Forget – Blame it on Squidoo – Turkey’s Last Stand

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