Happy Quite

During the holidays I often feel like a hamster in a cage, running furiously on an exercise wheel. I might go faster and faster, but regardless of my speed, I don’t get very far.

We recently had events at Crowder and events at First Christian. Sandwiched in between the two, Big Al and I reluctantly thought we would squeeze in a little Christmas shopping. You may know; I’m a horrible shopper. I hate the pressure of picking out a gift for other people and I’ve learned from experience and the reactions of friends and family that I’m a little “off” in the gift giving department.

We made it through one store, when I had hit my limit. The crowds and lines were more than I could take, so we ended up going out to dinner and had a delightful time 'discussing' shopping.

I enjoy the side conversations at church. Those little bits of hurried conversation shared between pews. A laugh, a sign, a nod or a quick hug often conveys more than a long conversation.

This Sunday leaving the morning service, our friend Ben Moore remarked about the busy afternoon and evening in store for many of us and asked if I remembered the poem about the centipede. I did not. So he quickly wrote it down from memory for me:

A centipede was happy quite,
Until a frog in fun,
Asked ‘pray tell which leg comes after which?’
This raised her mind to such a pitch,
She lay distracted in a ditch,
Considering how to run.

It’s easy to be “happy quite” during the holidays until some jumpy old frog gets our brains working at a fever pitch. My brain-jam always comes back around to the last minute presents. So we’ve had to make a family agreement: Big Al will shop. I will cook. This always sounds more than fair to me.

On the topic of shopping, we heard the CEO of Toys R Us on a financial news channel last week. He was talking about the stores plans to stay open the week before Christmas around-the-clock.  There were to be nine days of 24-hour shopping at Toys R Us.

What really caught our attention though was his description of a new video game. In describing its functionality and touting all the bells and whistles, he referred to it as “platform agnostic” meaning it recognized the various game platforms (Nintendo, Wii, PlayStation), it simply didn’t care. The game would work on any of them.

I wish I could share what the game was, but unfortunately I was too intrigued by the description to remember the product.

Hope everyone is “happy quite” this New Year.

Slapped Silly By My Driving

I must first note, that I am writing this blog under duress. It has been brought to my attention that if I don’t “out” myself with the following anecdotes, my family will. Long held under my half-joking threats of the “blog worthiness” of the various events of our home, the tables have now turned.

Recently I began freelancing in public relations. I am driving a great deal. Big Al decided the time was right to upgrade our main vehicle and found a wonderful, slightly used Nissan Altima.

Driving to a client meeting last week, I thought I would listen to my iPod using the handy-dandy auxiliary plug in the car’s sound system. All was well and good for the first couple of miles of the trip. The tunes were cranked, I was singing, it was all good-to-go. Then I had to make my first tight turn and something slapped me hard across the face! Seriously. I was literally struck squarely across the side of my face.

Now, it was dark and I couldn’t see well with only the console lights, so concerned I slowed down and started to pull to the side of the road. That’s when I was hit again, but on the other side of the face.

Stopped now, I looked all around and finally determined that I had plugged the iPod cord through my steering wheel and then into the plug. Each time I turned the car wheel I propelled the perfectly palm-sized device into a direct orbit with my face.

OK, one confession down, here’s the second.

This new car needed a little body work. The dealership agreed to fix it as part of our purchase agreement and I borrowed my mother’s car for a few days.

Leaving another meeting, I hurried out to what I thought was my mother’s car. Throwing my purse and notebook in I discovered I had accidentally picked up some papers from the desk where we had been sitting. In an effort to “appear” casual and totally together I decided to lock my purse and large notebook planner in the car and run in to return the paperwork.

Coming back out to the car I attempted my mother’s automatic door opener. Nothing happened. I tried again… and this time could faintly hear the sound of the car lock beeping - except it wasn’t coming from the car in front of me.

Peering inside I could see a purse and a planner that resembled mine. Clicking the door opener again I see my mother’s car – across the parking light – flashing its lights to indicate the doors are now open.

Figured it out?

I had gone to the parking lot. Locked my planner and purse inside someone’s previously unlocked car and was now faced with the fun of taking my oh-so-not-casual-and-all-together-self back into the business to page some poor unsuspecting employee or customer to come fetch my things from their car.

I love this car and am confident the fun and columns are just beginning.

Booster Club Boost

I’ve often written about the matriarchs and patriarchs of Neosho. Individuals who leave such big shoes to fill, climbing into them seems insurmountable.

Who would dare to think they could be the next Hale McGinty or Ruth Bushmeyer. Who would think they’ve got anything on Ann Cope, Fred Clark, Peggy Payne or Robert Allen. Although these individuals probably never viewed themselves as role models, I’m confident at one time or another they’ve contemplated the servant leader concept of performing self-less acts for a greater good.

The problem with such steadfast role models is that often it appears overly intimidating to get in line and start shouldering part of the burden. Frankly, that’s my own weak-kneed excuse for not doing more.

It occurred to me at last Thursdays’ final football game that fortunately we are quietly surrounded by selfless individuals who have taken on community leadership roles simply because they felt it was the right thing to do. They recognized that someone needed to take charge, and they accepted the challenge; not because they had a vested interest or anything personal to gain, but simply because the opportunity to serve was there.

Each week Clark and Chyna Rhoades, Brett Day, Susan Elledge, Val Stauffer, Sandra Crane and Leslie Merrick put in time organizing and supporting the efforts of the Neosho booster club. Throw in a home football game and each of these individuals adds another six to seven hours of on-site volunteer work to their day.

I recognize that we’re not all sports fans and I’m confident that there are volunteers providing an equally impressive amount of time to the efforts of the agricultural students, band, speech and debate squads. Being confident that the Booster club model is not unique solely to the sports department makes me confident that we have the ability and the wherewithal to support Neosho and invest in its future pride and spirit.

Most of the individuals leading the Booster Club have children who are either too young or too old to participate in high school athletics. They’re in there for the students and never to promote themselves or their business.  I know I’ve never said thank you. I’ve thought, “Wow (he/she) is always here working. I should rally myself and volunteer to help.” When you think about it, wouldn’t that be the best complement we could offer; to say “You’re doing a great job. How can I help?

In the interim, if you see Clark or Chyna, Brett or Susan, Val, Sandra or Leslie, stop and tell them thanks for their service to our schools and the leadership roles they’ve claimed.

Pin it!

I’m curious as to how many of you who read this blog have discovered the time warp known as Pinterest.com?

If you’re like me, you’re just now coming into the realization that your Pinterest addiction is just that – an addiction. You’ll know you have a problem because of the amazingly quick manner in which you deny that you’re on Pinterest when asked by family members why you’re spending so much time on the computer.

For those of you who don’t know, Pinterest is an online community (yes, another one) where members can post pictures of items they find captivating, inspiring, amusing.  Members create bulletin boards where they “pin” their pictures, while at the same time following their friend’s pins, repining those they find appealing.

I’ve found wonderful organization tips; where else would I see a picture of how to create a business card file using a bamboo sugar packet box. I’m not sure if it’s serendipity to simply sad that I had an extra one of those and that I knew immediately where it was.

My knitting/crocheting works-in-progress have grown by two thanks to Pinterest and their alluringly simply photographs and patterns. It’s good that my secret yarn stash is dwindling and now easier to hide from the Marble men, but it’s a yarn-freak burden that everything I see is something I want to make.

Created by three amazingly creative and quick guys from Palo Alto, California; Paul Sciarra, Ben Sibermann and Even Sharp really hit upon a winner.  People around the world are using Pinterest to decorate their homes, plan their weddings, clean their homes and create amazing meals.

A common catchphrase between my girlfriends and I is “Did you find that on Pinterest?” or “Check my board, I just pinned the coolest idea.”

Please be warned, if you’re pressed for time, nearing the end of your graduate school education, needing to sleep more than three or four hours a night or actually interested in a clean home, be careful about your initial Pinterest experience. It’s a good idea for the uninitiated to actually set a timer for 15 minutes the first time they visit the site. It is surprisingly easy to lose hours.  

You’re welcome to follow my pins. I’ll tell you some of my recent favorites. A recipe for pumpkin poppers, a fabric wrapped bracelet, a crochet pattern for an oversized cowl and a poster that read “Done is better than perfect.”

Happy Pinning.

Serious Game

I’ve never claimed to be bright. Nice – yes. Funny – at times. Well mannered – try to be. But my intelligence quotient is not off the charts.

I’m also not a gamer, meaning I’ve never been one to really enjoy video games. Gamers are serious video game players. They play online. They play in tournaments. They obsess about their scores.

We’ve always tried to be balanced with the amount of time the boys spend in playing video games. We didn’t want them to be glued to the computer or TV screen, but we also didn’t want to take something away entirely and therefore make it incredibly attractive. There are limits on the level of violence of their games and the amount of time they spend playing them. We’re a competitive family and there is no need in becoming completely wrapped up in that false reality.

A month ago the news was sharing the story of a group of gamers and their success in decoding an AIDS protein that had stumped researchers for over 15 years. These video game players set about studying these complex structures, trying to unravel the puzzle and they completed it within the “game's” allotted three weeks timeframe. In fact, an update to the story I read stated that the protein decoding was done in just 10 days!

The gamers were participating in Fold.it where participants mapped out the protein structure competing for points allotted to the individuals with the better models.  On this particular puzzle, the results were published in the journal Nature. Fold.it was started in 2008 and has close to 250,000 players.

Just for kicks I visited the site. “Whoa baby” as my friend Coach Stuart would say, there were some seriously smart people involved in building the site and “playing” on it.  To borrow another Coach Stuart euphemism, “the math gods are happy” and smiling upon this online site.

Fold.it is the brainchild of researchers at the University of Washington. It shows great promise offering insights into various scientific arenas. It’s given me a new respect for video games, gamers, and the competitive spirit.  I’ll probably look the other way the next time the boys head toward the game console.

I love this time of the year!

Autumn arrived last week. The autumnal equinox occurred and once again we’re entering into the best time of the year to live in Neosho. I’ve got my favorite trees staked out. So far no changes on the Maples in front of the First Christian Church where members of the congregation are doing what
they do each fall, churning out impressive numbers of apple pies.

Fall sports are in full swing. It’s warm enough to enjoy the start of the game in shirt-sleeves and just perfectly suited to carrying along a light jacket.

Craft shows and festivals are in every surrounding community. The best thing about craft shows, in my opinion, is that they always have kettle corn. I’m not crafty nor do I have any more room in my house for more stuff, but I love going and looking, admiring the ability of others to create something beautiful, useful or both.

Wisely or in another serious act of self-loathing I have once again embarked on a serious round of dieting. What was I thinking? It’s the wrong time of the year to start that! I’m all about the pumpkin shakes, the pumpkin pie and more importantly the pumpkin donuts at the Donut House. It’s obviously a culinary oversight that pumpkin flavor isn’t enjoyed year-round, after all bacon is trendy and found in everything from desserts to drinks. Pumpkin is just as worthy. So I consider it self-preservation that I’m committed to saying no to all things pumpkin along with the funnel cakes and caramel apples.

I asked my photographer friend Julie and she agrees that the outside light looks better in September. The grass and trees sparkle. The blue of the sky is bluer. Vibrancy outside now hints at the changing leaf colors around the corner.A lot of folks like to live in climates where it’s perpetually spring or early summer. Not me. I’ll take the gamble of a snow-filled winter and a scorching summer for the brief autumn splendor that’s found here at home.

Nourishment!

We have a column routine at our house.  As soon as Big Al gets a chance to read the Wednesday paper, he’ll say something along the lines of “Good column Oprah.” (Oprah being the name Sister has called me for the last 18 years.)

A couple of weeks ago we had a deviation from our established column affirmation.  The Big Guy finished the paper, folded it in his lap and stated “Well, that was a good column, except you left something out.”

My stomach did a flip.  What word did I omit? What glaring proof-reading error was there to somehow correct?  Wide-eyed, I leaned forward and shrugged urging him to spit it out.

“You didn’t give Coach Stuart credit for the ‘Great day to be a Wildcat!’ saying,” he said.

“That’s ridiculous,” I shot back.  “Everybody knows that’s a Coach Stuartism!”

Alan went on to remind me how many new people we had in the community and how I had even written about the influx.  Surely not everyone who might happen across the column would know to give credit where it was due.

The twins had been listening to the exchange and were soon right in the middle of the conversation sharing their most treasured Coach Stuart sayings.  Coach Stuart is often quoted, never boring and envied by many for his enthusiasm and super-human metabolism.

“The math gods are crying” or conversely “the math gods are smiling” are two sayings Coach Stuart has shared with class after class of Neosho High School students.  Sticking with the numeric theme, reminding the class that “One is the loneliest number” has also stuck with Sister and the twins.

Food seems to be high on the Coach Stuart hit-parade.  Whenever it’s time for lunch he has been known to flash the peace sign and sing out “Nourishment!”  Every student who has ever crossed his path knows that Coach regards Dr. Pepper as the “nectar of life.”

The hardest part about trying to write a column regarding Coach Stuart is writing the words without conveying the delivery.  He always marries his sayings with his voice and smile.  They are a constant triptych of attention grabbing information.  I’m confident we could solve the problem of boredom within the confines of any subject matter if we had Coach Stuart offering the lecture.

On a purely personal note, Coach Stuart and I have shared a college rivalry for many years.  Both being graduates of the former “Big 8” schools; we enjoy good natured ribbing and trash talk anytime Kansas State meets up against Oklahoma State on the football field or basketball court.

I’m sure if you asked Coach Stuart he would tell you that every day is a great day to be a Wildcat!  He would say it with a smile and mean it.  Maybe there’s an idea there for the next Welcome to Neosho billboard!

Grotto Fine Arts Gallery

I’m an unabashed lover of Neosho.  I adore it when there are lots of things going on; folks running around the square, restaurant parking lots full, and the ball fields filled with kids. 

Maybe it’s partly the excitement of another school year.  I’ve always enjoyed fall. When younger, I looked forward to the beginning of a new schedule of classes and seeing friends again every day.  Although I enjoy the laid-back pace of summer, this year I’m not sad to see it winding down.  Goodbye blistering temperatures. 

The Wildcat Pride event was once again enjoyable and representative of what a good group of student athletes we have here in Neosho.  The faculty and staff of the school, the various business sponsors, the parents and community fans, made it “a great day to be a Wildcat.”  It’s a great sight to drive past the school and see the stands filled and the parking lot brimming with tents and crowds of people.

As a side note: I also love to drive past the high school campus during speech and debate competitions as well as theatre or musical performances and note the large crowds and groups of excited students.

Another recent Neosho “event” I hope you were able to participate in was the Grotto Fine Arts Gallery’s Finest Potters and Top Musicians Open House this past Saturday.  Big Al and I thought we would just pop in for a few minutes to take a quick look around.  Two hours later we’re enjoying the live music and visiting with friends when we  remember we have other obligations and to work hard to tear ourselves away.

April Davis and the many artists that have filled the Grotto are truly captivating.  You just can’t rush through the rooms.  Numerous local artists are represented, and if I wasn’t deathly frightened of leaving someone off I would try to start naming names.  Trust me on this one; make the time to visit the Grotto and view the art.  You’re going to fall in love with some work, or maybe several pieces.

What I strongly noticed during the Grotto’s event was how many folks were there that are not from Neosho.  Chatting with several they mentioned how much they loved the space, really enjoyed visiting Neosho and were planning on staying in town for dinner.  As far as we could tell, there were a lot of people in attendance just like the Big Guy and myself.  They were individuals with a full-plate of weekend responsibilities, rushing in to support the Gallery, then being awestruck once they got inside; striking up conversations, munching on insanely good snacks and generally reclaiming their weekend.

As a community, we’ve got so much to offer.  Every day is a great day to be a Wildcat on the field or in the gallery.

Nice Guys Are Always First In Customer Service Arena

Did you hear about the latest study that showed that “disagreeable” people in the workplace made more money than their more amenable coworkers?  Apparently, if you’re tough to work with and a man, you’ll make $10,000 more than your fellow male peers.  If you’re a woman and tough to work around, you’ll make $2,000 more.

Doesn’t that just seem wrong on so many levels?  I wonder if it’s a similar correlation to the theory some folks are falsely operating under that to be negative is to appear more intelligent or sophisticated.

I don’t know about you, but negativity and hatefulness repels me.  I’ve been mocked for being a Pollyanna and have stared back countless eye rolls when asked how I was and I’ve replied “awesome.” I can’t help but also think that organizations that pay disagreeable employees are either sure that those individuals have no contact with customers or they’re confused as to why they’re losing money.

I love a deal.  It’s great when I’ve found a good bargain or “stacked” some coupons in a shopping trip, but no matter how good the deal, if the employees of a store are rude, I’m not going back.

Fortunately, we have some incredible folks working in Neosho.  They may be employed by national chains, headquartered thousands of miles away, but these individuals still conduct themselves as our friends and neighbors.

A good example occurred earlier this week at Lowe’s.  The Marble homestead remodel has moved upstairs.  As I wrote about recently, the twins repainted their rooms.  Our attention has now turned to carpet and window coverings.  We’re nightly visitors at Lowe’s.  Some nights we don’t buy anything, but look at various products, trying to get a read on what appeals to two fifteen-year-olds.

On our last trip we were ready to make a window shade commitment.  Our plan was simply to purchase the blinds and leave them for sizing.  But within minutes “David” was at hand ready to cut them to order while we waited.  He and Big Al enjoyed a chat about fishing and fathers; David has just spent the day fishing with his father, and had scheduled a night shift to catch up on hours.

Within a few minutes we walked out with three set of custom-cut shades and a pretty good feeling about David and Lowe’s in general.  Good customer service and kindness always win the day. 

Go forth and paint young men...

I’ve written before about things I’ve sworn I would never do as an adult. I’ve never gone camping. Big Al didn’t exactly have it written into our wedding vows, and I would hate to think that it would have been a marital deal-breaker, but we had some serious pre-engagement talks about faith, family, and our shared no-camping sentiment.

Most of my “nevers” are personal idiosyncrasies. I never watch horror movies. I can’t turn them off in my brain when I go to bed and if I’m up I make enough noise for the whole house, so it’s in everyone’s best interest to keep my brain scary thoughts free.

There are a few “nevers” that we’ve just learned. For example, I should never pack. I hate to pack. I’ve always said I will never move from our house in Western Hills. It makes me nervous to put everything in boxes. If you’ve ever seen my work desk you know I like all my notes and papers spread out in front of me.

I also should never be allowed to paint. I am horrible at it. You will see every painting mistake on each patch where I’ve worked; brush strokes, runs, see-through patches. I’m over-the-top talented at bad painting. So I never do it.

For the past 15 years the twins have happily shared a room. There are three sets of twins, currently living, on my side of the family. I have girl-twin cousins, now in their 30s, and my sister had a boy-girl set of twins two years after our set was born. We’ve always thought the boy/boy combination led to their closeness. I can count on one hand the number of times they’ve disagreed since they were babies. So they’ve always been content to share the same four walls.

But now it seems appropriate for them to have their own room. Big Al thought it best for them to personalize their space as well. The guys picked out their own paint color down at Brown Paint & Propane, with David Freund mixing in a little bit of teasing about our turning loose gallons of paint to two teens.

I happily headed off to work last week, with Big Al taking a couple of vacation days to supervise. Every hour or two I would get a picture sent via text message, showing me progress on the wall, advancement on the trim.

The last picture Alan sent was of both boys in Logan’s room, paintbrushes in hand, grins on their faces…only a few drips of paint on their skin or clothes. They were obviously proud of their accomplishment

Now comes the hard part, moving and unpacking things back in their now separate rooms. I think the boys would rather paint the whole house instead. Looks like we’ve finnaly found something they inherited from me.

Neosho's Bright Future

When I moved to Neosho I was just 21.  Working in public relations at Crowder would be my first job out of college.  A few weeks before the position began; I came to town to look for a place to rent.  I remember stopping to eat a quick bit for lunch at one of the restaurants on the Boulevard.  It was a hot August like now, and sitting there I looked out across the highway at the high school. 

I remember thinking how nice it was that the school seemed to be at the heart of the town and that the football field was immediately next to it.  Even though it would be almost 10 years before I would have kids, I daydreamed a little about how nice it would be for my children to one day attend Neosho Schools.

My decision to start my career here was based as much on how impressed I was with Crowder as how hopeful I was to become part of Neosho.  I never regretted either decision.

Crowder was a great place to work for almost two decades.  And now for almost 25 years I’ve called Neosho home.  I’ve often compared our Western Hills neighborhood to Neosho in general.  It’s small enough that everyone knows everyone, but big enough that folks aren’t “in your business” all the time.  But at the first sign of trouble, people will flock to you, climbing over each other to help.

Neosho is the type of place where folks are just waiting to do something good.  A perfect example is the Hope Chest project at Mills Furniture.  The ripple effects from that effort are now felt far and wide; both in terms of those who have helped find and fill the chests along with those on the receiving end.

Last week Neosho’s Bright Future’s program kicked off.  Once again, there was no denying that Neosho was ready to answer the call.  Neosho First Baptist was filled with eager parents, dedicated teachers and fantastic community leaders all waiting to hear how they could become a part of this program that has so positively impacted the Joplin school district.

Each and every speaker that morning spoke from the heart.  Representative from the school, athletics, business, the court system and Neosho churches spoke about what ministering to students meant to them and how they saw Neosho’s Bright Futures program being a key factor in the success of our district.

There are so many ways to help: having lunch with a student, volunteering at a school, sponsoring a classroom, or even a school.  The organizers of Neosho’s effort have purposefully left portions of the next steps open.  They want to make this program – Neosho’s program; meet the needs of our students, here and now.

Get involved.  Check out “Bright Futures Neosho” on Facebook or call Neosho schools, 451-8600. 

Neosho is a great community with a very bright future.

Hacked

Every new parent quickly learns not to criticize the parenting skills of others, saying or thinking along the lines of “my child would never do that…”  Just as soon as those words are out of your mouth the universal jinx law is fully engaged and your preciously perfect little angel is on a collision course for that exact same act you only moments early mentioned with disdain.

Or who hasn’t chuckled as someone tripped or stumbled in your path, only to do the exact same shuffle step or trip just a short distance down the road. 

It’s simple.  Don’t criticize.  Don’t mock.  Don’t be cruel.  We live on a circular planet.  What goes around comes around. 

I’ve also observed that it’s best to the thankful in generalities.  Be thankful for your friends.  Be thankful that your home is intact and you had food on the table for dinner.

Don’t sit on the edge of your bed, like I did, on an otherwise perfectly good Saturday afternoon and think to yourself – smugly – I am really fortunate.  My email has never been hacked. As a matter of full disclosure I should state that I tried to take it back.  I closed my eyes.  I shook my head.  I tried everything to start up my mental eraser, but it was too late.

Overnight, actually at 1:52 a.m. on an otherwise perfectly peaceful Sunday morning, my email, the exact same account only hours earlier I had thoughtfully appreciated was hacked.  Most every one of my public-relations-professionally packed contact list got the now classic message that I was in Spain and needing money. 

By 7 a.m. my phone was hopping with calls and text from friends.  Eager to alert me to the crazy activity of my email outbox.  I can’t stress strongly enough how mad I was by the virtual invasion.  I was livid.

The reactions from friends and family lasted all day Sunday and well into Monday.  Gratifying were the friends who were quick to let me know that they knew it wasn’t me because of the poor grammar contained in the body of the message.  Thank you.  That was possibly the only bright spot in the situation.

I eventually found humor in the friends who contacted me to say they had sent money.  Seriously it scared me to death the first couple of times I heard it, but after the fifth or sixth message and the barely contained giggles I got it.

"Note to  self" everyone: if I ever get stranded out of the country, it would absolutely be in Jamaica.  And if I lose my wallet, I won’t be complaining about it.  “No worries ‘mon.’” I will take up my first-ever waitressing gig and consider it a sign from God I’m supposed to stay.

For now I’m thankfully home, well-funded and enjoying an empty in-box.

 

Milestone Week

Last week was a period of milestone events at the Marble household.  Two things took place that are both time/age related.

First, and most importantly, the twins have their first car.  It’s a near perfect black Tracker.  Big Al spotted it for sale by the side of the road when we were returning from Wheaton.

Low mileage, one owner, meticulously maintained, we were thrilled at our good fortune.  The twins were blown away by their early birthday present.  We surprised them with an envelope containing two keys at dinner one night.  At first they simply thought we were going a bit overboard in presenting them with duplicate keys to our “momma” van.

No surprise we spent the next two hours slowly driving around an empty parking lot at Crowder.  Fortunately for their middle-aged parents they are very careful and thoughtful drivers.  I’m confident this round of student driver excursions will be much less stressful than their older sister’s experience.

What a blessing the passage of time and the compounding of age can be to one’s memory.

Like all parents, it’s hard to believe when your children seemingly grow overnight from training wheels to V6 engines.  How does the passage of time always catch us off-guard like that?

Our next time marker of the week belongs solely on my head – literally.

I surprised myself a few weeks ago by becoming completely engrossed in a magazine article devoted entirely to “brave” women who were letting their hair go naturally gray.  The writer detailed clarifying shampoos to remove “product” build-up and help enhance the gray hair’s natural shine.  Additionally, good shampoos and conditions were checked off according to their ability to make fading hair color seem like a bold fashion statement

So there I was Sunday, in Walgreens, pacing the shampoo aisle.  Reading the labels on each bottle as if I was part of a TV reality show scavenger hung, looking for clues.  Finally I had to break down and ask a clerk for help.  She happily replied that they did have one shampoo appropriate for me, evening offering to “show it to me.”

That would have been ok, but it’s what followed that made me catch my breath.  If you’re a middle-age woman, you know what’s coming next.  She said the “m” word – ma’am.  Just strap me to a rocking chair.

I know it’s good manners.  I know my parents would have swatted my Oklahoma behind as a child if I hadn’t responded to one of my older female relatives by using “ma’am.”  The point is the “older” designation.

Regardless, I have to admit.  I bought the shampoo for silver highlights.  I bought the leave-in conditioner.  I like the results.

Maybe if we take a student driver run tonight, I’ll roll my window down.  I’ll let some of that jaw-dropping gray hair blow around in the wind.  I will make sure to admire my reflection in the rearview mirror and remark to my reflection how “with-it” I look for a ma’am.

Fiber Daze

If IfIyou know me personally or read this blog for any length of time, you know I’m crazy about yarn.  I credit knitting with saving my sanity through a few back-to-back years of bad ice storms and blizzards. 

It was a little embarrassing a couple of weeks ago when Mary Horine sent me the Link to Fiber Daze, planned for this fall at Crowder, and I turned into something closely resembling a kid two days before Christmas.  I could not stop talking about it.  I drove Big Al nuts.  I studied that class schedule like a pirate reading a treasure map.

The inaugural Fiber Daze is scheduled for Friday-Saturday, September 23-24, on the Crowder College campus.  Teachers from every area of the fiber arts are scheduled throughout both days for small-group classes.  If you’re like me and never learned to knit or crochet as a child, come to Fiber Daze for one of the beginner classes.  Always wanted to learn to spin your own yarn – there’s a class for that.  How about weaving?  Do you love hand-woven wraps and home décor.  Register and learn how to weave your own.

Socks are one of my downfalls.  I thought they would be a cool little project to tuck in my bag (read as overly large purse) and carry around with me while operating the last year of the mom taxi service.  I’m having difficulty though with the double-pointed needles.  If you haven’t knitted with them, you basically set up your yarn loops on three needles, forming a triangle outline, then knit the loops off each side with a fourth double-pointed needles. 

There is hope for me yet.  One of the classes I’ve listed to take is for the “magic loop” method of sock knitting.  I may have found my sock solution.

All this fiber-goodness is made possible through and organized by the Fiber Folks of Southwest Missouri. Fiber Folks is for everyone interested in any aspects of the fiber arts. Knitters, spinners, weavers, dyers, or those raising fiber animals, and living in southwest Missouri are part of this group. Fiber Folks meets the third Sunday of the month at various locations.

To see a complete Fiber Daze class schedule and to register to attend visit www.fiberfolks.wordpress.com .  I’ll see you there.

Value

Last week I was attempting to place the monetary value on the various components of a public relations campaign. A couple of pieces were hard for me to define and box into a standard fee structure; one that would more commonly resemble a pricing structure for advertising.

I threw the question out to a group of public relations friends I speak to daily. Immediately I received interesting feedback. Of the group of 10 or so who responded, not one gave me their estimation of cost, but each one presented their opinion on the significance of the item to the overall goal. Their quick and surprisingly frank comments made me consider the term “value” and how it is applied to our everyday considerations.

A definition of value includes the consideration of monetary worth: an amount expressed in money and considered a fair exchange for something. Another definition is the importance or usefulness of something to someone.

Take earbuds for example. Have you priced those little gems lately? Earbuds are the tiny headphones that connect into iPods and various other MP3 players. They stick inside your ears and basically cancel out noise, except what you want to hear.

Our twin sons are gifted and talented at losing their earbuds and/or wearing them out. So, it’s not uncommon for us to be shopping for something, totally unrelated, say groceries and one of them blurts out, “Hey! Think they’ve got any earbuds here? I need a new pair.”

Since you could wrap these up in a small ball and hid them in a pill bottle, you would think their monetary value should be about $2. Even if they were priced at $2 each, whoever produces earbuds for the universe would still make money off me. In actuality the starting price for these small listening devices is around $10; and that’s for the plain variety.

Branch out in earbuds colored like the American flag or the Jamaican flag and you’ll spend an extra $5. Pick a pair with comfort padding for better positioning in your ear and you’ll cough up another $10.

Rummaging through a box of electronic supplies this past weekend, I came across four or five orphaned earbuds. No one could honestly answer why they had been abandoned or why they were any less valuable then the pair we had replaced at $10 a pop earlier that afternoon. But with as much mom flair as I could muster, I rolled them up into a clear plastic baggy, waved it dramatically over my head and declared “Earbuds!”

This weekend the boys are part of a church-sponsored mission trip out of town. This same destination was one of the highlights of their summer last year and they’ve been planning their return trip ever since. Included in the packing list distributed by our youth minister was the recommendation for each youth to pack a couple of extra pairs of earbuds. It’s hard to imagine the noise and the disagreements if every one of these kids wanted to listen to their own tunes.

So I’ll end with an alternate definition of value: the importance or usefulness of something to somebody. Apparently earbuds are priceless.

Welcome to Neosho

Our children’s church message a couple of weeks ago was about making people feel welcome.  Our children/youth minister Melinda Gibson brought a welcome mat and asked the children what it was.  Most of them replied rug, which provided her with the opportunity to explain the phrase "putting out the welcome mat."

I’ve been thinking a lot about Neosho’s welcome mat every time I drive down Harmony Street.  It is so refreshing to see a full parking lot in the old McClintock’s/Scholastic parking lot.  One of the businesses damaged as part of the Joplin tornado has temporarily located to the space.  These folks are spending a large part of their day now in townand it feels good to know we, as a community, had the space to provide.

Reading a recent Neosho Daily News report, it was not surprising to learn that there has been an increase in local home sales since May 22.  Amye Buckley wrote that since that time, 87 new Neosho water customers established residency and signed up for services. The signs of change are evident in our neighborhood, three homes on our circle, long on the housing market, and have now sold.  All three are being occupied by families whose homes were destroyed by the tornado.

So many of us have felt lost as to how to help, and now it seems we have a perfect opportunity simply by throwing out Neosho’s welcome mat and making sure our new residents, no matter how long they’re here, know they’ve arrived somewhere they can regroup and right themselves.

If you’re like me, sometimes I’m asked if I know a particular person.  Even if we’ve never spoken, but if they’re from Neosho, I’ll say yes; because they’re “Neosho people.”  Having only lived here for the past 24 years, I have never experienced any feelings of being on the outside.  Neosho has always felt like home.

A quote I remember attributed to Thomas Hart Benton was his description of Neosho as a town addicted to celebration.  We have our Christmas parade, our arts celebrations, our car shows and Wildcat pride.  More importantly, I believe we celebrate each other.  We celebrate our commitment to our schools by volunteering when asked to help.  We celebrate our community when we participate in civic events; serve on committees and attending council meetings.  We celebrate the arts when we attend local plays and concerts.

Maybe now more than ever, we can prove Thomas Hart right and celebrate Neosho by welcoming our new residents.  A warm smile and a quick, “Welcome to Neosho.  We’re glad to be here for you,” will be one of the many ways we can help renew and rebuild.

God winks in Neosho

I still look for the God-winks in life.  Those times when you know comfortably and completely that you’re in the right place in the right time.

We enjoyed one of those experiences last week when we stopped for a quick lunch at a Neosho restaurant. Big Al and I were discussing Lauri Lyerla and Jennifer Matters' efforts at Mills Furniture to get “chests of hope” to kids and teens impacted by the Joplin tornado.

So many people are trying to find some way to help that whenever a creative idea is presented to them, they are eager to jump in and help.  Lauri had heard from folks with Oral Roberts University that they had a couple of semi-truck loads worth of donations ready for transport to Neosho.

While waiting on our lunch, I made a quick call to a friend at the Missouri Motor Carriers Office to relay questions about tags and permits needed to head to Tulsa to pick up the donations.

As I concluded the call, a lady walked up to our table and said, “Excuse me, but we couldn’t help but overhear.” 

“My boyfriend," she said, pointing to a gentleman at a corner table “is a truck driver and he has his own truck.  He would really like to talk to you about helping.”

We all moved back to his table and introduced ourselves.  Debbie Greene the woman who took the initiative to talk to us and her boyfriend John Van Syoc were connected emotionally to the tornado disaster like many of us who live and work nearby.  A quick call was made to Mills and by the time we had all been served and had eaten our lunch the logistics were worked out and a plan was ready.

By that evening, John had driven to Tulsa, loaded his tractor unit and a trailer owned by Scott Wade and was on his way back to Neosho.

We ran into Lauri that night at a fundraising event for the McKee family, who had their lives turned upside down by the tornado.  She was overwhelmed by the generosity and kindness of people who only hours before we hadn’t known, but who were now partners in something much bigger. 

We all should have known that the afternoon’s generosity was a delightful hint of the good things to come at the McKee benefit later that evening.  Initially, the event was intended to raise enough money to cover a month’s worth of living expenses, but wonderfully over five times that much was realized.  Kudos need to be extended to Head Football Coach Jared Schoonover, the football team, members of the Neosho Booster Club, the Neosho Youth Football volunteers, and the faithfully generous citizens of our community who opened their hearts and wallets to help.

It’s good to get the occasional “god wink” reminding you that you truly are in the right place at the right time.  It’s also pleasing to know that you’re living in the right place.  We received that reminder about Neosho last week. 

Servant leaders say yes!

There are a lot of positive aspects to being 45.  I’m not embarrassed to admit that I’m usually asleep by 8:30 pm.  I’m much more appreciative of a work/personal life balance.  I’ve found a “look” that I’m comfortable with in both clothing and hair style.  I live within a relatively sane budget and I’m surrounded with a wonderful group of friends.

I wrote that to back up the following; a couple of weeks ago I became completely enamored with a group of 20-somethings from California that were in town to help with the Joplin tornado recovery efforts.  The group was one of many that have bunked at our church here in Neosho after working all day in Joplin.  Several members of our church have been fixing the various teams dinner in the evening.

The dinners were one way I thought I could help relief efforts, not by cooking, but by washing dishes after.  Around 7 p.m. the group wandered in, from an almost a 12-hour day helping one family salvage some appliances remaining in the damaged home. 

They were dirty, hot and completely worn out, but they were happy and so appreciative of the meal we had prepared.  I hope, looking back, that I was that polite when I was 22 or 23.  They made over the meal and thanked everyone time and again.  They talked with great care and sensitivity regarding the family they had help.

It was obvious they had their whole lives ahead of them and that they were focused on lives filled with opportunities to help others.  They embodied servant leadership and were fascinating to watch as they rearranged our round fellowship hall tables into one large grouping so that everyone in their group would eat from the same table and share in the same stories and laughter.

While getting the room ready before their arrival, I found a folded bulletin that I assumed must have been from that morning church services.  Opening it I was surprised to find that it was the program from Hale McGinty’s memorial service.  I instantly thought of how fascinated Hale would have been with all the volunteer efforts currently underway and how proud he would have been in any part of Neosho’s involvement in helping Joplin recover.

Our minister shared a quote from Hale as part of that memorial.  “If you want to have a wonderful life there are some things you need to do.  The next time someone asks you to serve…say yes.” 

These “kids” said yes.  They didn’t see their job helping a family as too small or meaningless.  They didn’t feel their meals were owed them, but gave back warmth and love and let us share, for however short a time in the hope and happiness they brought.

Walk This Way

There nothing like finally being within 20 pounds of your “driver’s license weight” to motivate a girl to exercise.

If you’ve followed my newspaper column, you’ll know that I’ve written before with my year-long weigh loss effort.  So far, so good; I’ve dropped 60 pounds, which I’ve been told would be about the average weight of a young elementary student.  Hard to imagine I lugged the equivalent of an extra kid around every day.

So here I am, almost able to announce no change needed when I renew my license next year.  (Don’t doubt for a minute that I paid for the long-term license renewal.  No need to avoid eye contact and hide the old hips when grabbing a new license every year or two.)  Now I need to get serious and renew any semblance of an exercise routine.  In the process, I’ve learned a thing or two about what motivates me now, versus when I was in my 20s or 30s.

Twenty years ago if a girlfriend had said “Come with me, I’ve just started a great new jazz aerobics/step/stomp class.  You’ll have fun!” I would have been all over it.  Now, having broken my foot, twice, in my own house, doing routine, everyday things, I run/hobble away from anything coordinated.  My new exercise motivators include my neighbors, who late in the evening, sit on their porch and keep count of the times I make it around the circle. 

We give friendly little waves and for my reward we sit and pass the time catching up on the latest neighborhood news; but let’s be honest, I’m pretty easy on myself, or I wouldn’t have had any need to lose 60-80 pounds.  I need unbiased neighbors letting me know that my evening’s lap count was only two times around as opposed to four the night before.

I also now try to stay out late enough to see the fireflies.   I’m not “allowed” to stand around and watch them; I must be actively engaged in aerobic activity.  Fireflies are fascinating and one of the best parts of early summer.  So I may be slowing by the time their airborne, but at least I’m still moving.

Being social by nature, I’m not a good solitary walker.  I always prefer to have a walking buddy.  I’ve worn out my share in the 15 years we’ve lived here.  So far four different early-mornings walking pals have moved on.  They actually did move and I don’t think just to avoid my incessant babbling.

Currently my friend Misty and I use our late evening walks as a way to motivate each other and let go of any of the day’s stress.  We’ve been looking for a Web site that might give us a calorie burned count for talking.  We know we’re walking at least two miles, but we think we’re talking at least another quarter of a mile.

Whatever your motivator, get out and enjoy the early summer.  Neosho is a great place to take a walk.

Too Much Evidence

I collect quotes. A couple of weeks ago as my mind was reeling from the images and stories regarding the Joplin tornado, I ran across this one from a preacher in Tuscaloosa, Alabama.


This gentleman was interviewed on national television following the tornado that swept through his town and devastated the church he led. Asked if the devastation had in any way negatively impacted his faith or that of his congregation, he emphatically shook his head no and replied, “I have too much evidence not to be confident.”

That evidence and confidence was bubbling to the surface during the Joplin Tornado Memorial Service held on the campus of MSSU. Online comments and media observations following the event all praised the city's religious leaders along with Governor Nixon and President Obama for setting the perfect tone of reverence and determination to honor the memory of those lost while building for the future.

The following Sunday's church service, one of the hymns we sang was They’ll Know We Are Christians. I had never noticed the lyrics of the third verse until then.

We will work with each other, we will work side by side,

We will work with each other, we will work side by side,

And we’ll guard each one’s dignity and save each one’s pride.

Throughout the past couple of weeks, that working together has been as evident as the splintered buildings. Equally shared has been the comfort that music and lyrics can bring to the weary or the disheartened. Just consider the number of tribute songs and videos as well as the original tunes developed and shared freely with those in Joplin.

Time feels altered. Before the tornado, my days were rushing past. The last several have felt like individual years. I have projects on our dining room table that were “in progress” two weeks ago; they remain there today, now stacked and pushed to the side.

Like many I feel helpless to help much now. I heard a preacher shared with his congregation to help by doing what you do best. So I called and volunteered to wash dishes the next time our church hosts a group of out-of-town volunteers for a meal.

The recovery will be months in the making. There will be many opportunities to share our talents and gifts with those in Joplin. Like the elephants from the circus that made an appearance Memorial Day weekend, to help in any way they could. We won’t forget the folks who volunteered and helped us when spring weather stormed through and fields and homes. It will be our turn in the days and weeks ahead to do all we can.

Remember, there’s too much evidence not to be confident.

Weather

I’ve decided I hate weather. Weather in any form other than sunshine in a cloudless sky.


When I was younger I loved rainy or snowy days; which were perfectly suited for my wallflower, never speak above a whisper personality. I would tuck myself into a corner of a room, select the largest book on the shelf and commence reading. If I was lucky I would either completely lose track of time and read until dinner or fall asleep waking up just in time to go to bed.

Now these gray days bombard me with sadness and agitate me with deep need to right some natural wrong. I daydream of shaking a soggy fist at the gray threatening skies, daring the hail to fall.

That being written, I am still utterly in awe, and not in a good way, at the devastation Joplin’s tornado left in its hard to believe trail. For hours at work last week, I listened quietly as people cried about family members unaccounted for and homes lifted up like broken leaves in a mile-high debris field.

I don’t understand storm chasers. How many of these folks went chasing the storms, racing down the roads with their antenna laden trucks and cars, arms dangling out the rolled down windows, aiming smart phones and miniature video camera at the dark dangling clouds.

Prior to this year’s crazy weather, I would have said I loved experiencing four seasons. I’m now ready to give that up if it meant no more blizzards and no more tornados. Craft stores sell fake fall leaves and silk spring flowers. I’ll fake my seasons, thank you very much.

We’re all becoming weather addicts. My iPhone has as many weather alerts and apps as any other category. I check multiple times a day the anticipated hour of the arrival of rain, or seasonally the drifting of snow.

I’m ready to not care again about the condition of the skies overhead. So I'm warming up the comfy chair and researching retirement home locales. I want boring. Boring temps and boring skies, look out – you’re mine.

Graduation Comes Quietly

Jessica graduated this two weekends ago.


She was one of close to 300 hundred graduates being honored in the afternoon ceremony at the University of Central Missouri. Big Al, the twins and I joined in a springtime ritual like countless other family members and marveled at how quickly the time had passed and how suddenly she had morphed into an adult in front of our eyes.

There’s such a wonderful freedom in being a college student. Sweatshirts are always acceptable, especially if emblazed with the college insignia. Pajama bottoms are also appropriate, especially when worn with sweatshirts. Flip-flops are consistently fashionable and entirely accommodating to the Ramen noodle budgeted lifestyle most students embody.

Apart from the relaxed clothing is more often than not a laidback viewpoint to the future. College is all about preparing for the future, so while in process for getting there everything still seems obtainable. There are infinite futures, and endless outcomes. Once graduated, decisions become more concrete. The questions and answers black and white.

But Saturday’s ceremony was all about the traditions of the university and the grandeur of the ceremony, intermingled with occasional moment of hilarity.

As most young, exuberant grads will do, one of the young ladies seated on the same row as Sister, had written a message on her mortarboard. Apparently in bright, white tape she had spelled out “I did it!” a personal shout-out to her academic accomplishment. Unfortunately, she failed to consider in which direction she would be wearing her graduation hat and inadvertently placed her message upside down. In all of our pictures of the seated graduates there’s this one black square of gibberish, until you turn the image 180 degrees and read the intended words.

So many friends and family members are experiencing graduation ceremonies this year for themselves. For the grads it’s a clear line in the sand between childhood and adulthood. For parents like us, it’s a time to exhale a little, relax for a moment, until the time rolls around to prepare for the next round of children heading off.

And just as we’re all different as families and friends, so too are the ways we celebrate those incredibly brief graduation walks. I always enjoy sitting in the audience during Crowder graduation ceremonies. I’ve probably attended close to 30. I adore the way parents and grandparents, and not uncommonly children of the grads, clap and holler for their loved one.

Those precious 10 – 20 steps across the stage are being walked mentally by every friend and family member of the graduate as their named is called and the paper is placed in their hand. Some families mark the time with air horns and cowbells. Some clap wildly and holler “Way to go! We love you!”

While still other families like ours, large in numbers and extended in blessings, sit quietly, just soaking it all in; completely stilled by the passing of time and the possibilities yet to come.

I though teenage boys would eat anything!

You would think two fifteen year old boys would eat anything- especially since my definition of everything was smothered in cheese. But apparently I was wrong.


I’m once again in the middle of a crazy diet cycle. I’m losing weight but I’m starving. Everything smells good. My portion seems more like an appetizer than a full course. I’m pretty sure I will never again feel full.

Recently Big Al was on the road and I decided I would try something new in the kitchen. I fried up a couple of pounds of hamburger, chopped up a big onion and smothered the whole pan in cheese. To serve the goopy goodness I bake taco shells and sliced a head of lettuce.

Mind you, this looked like a feast to my baked chicken and grapefruit palette. The Marble men turned up their noses. Unbelievable.

These are teenage boys who believe microwave popcorn is both a first course and a dessert. They’ve never, until now, met a meal they didn’t like.

It must have been my own calorie deprivation that got the best of me. I’m operating on so low, a low-fat diet that I’m afraid to use hand lotion. I haven’t had a fried food in such a great amount of time, that with one taste I would probably pass out from sheer joy. Too bad the twins did’t feel the same.

Since I’ve never believed my kitchen is a short-order restaurant, I offered them the usual picky eater option. They could have any leftover they could scrounge, a peanut butter sandwich, or if really desperate make popcorn their main meal for the evening.

Once again I’ll claim hunger in making the above offer sound something more like lines uttered in the Exorcist movie rather than the voice of a loving and understanding mother. I considered waving my overcooked, backed chicken slice over the pan of simmering cheese, but the possibility of weighing heavier the next morning made me hesitate and move my place to the other side of the kitchen counter.

I tried to salvage my cheesy, fried meat one-pan extravaganza, but it was a lost cause. It's a good thing the boys don’t like food that is disastrous nutritionally. Even better news, maybe they’ll be smarter than their mom, always eating well and never needing to "crazy diet."

All-nighters just aren’t what they use to be

In college I would routine skip a night of sleep at least one day every couple of weeks. I would spend the time cramming for exams, taking a road trip, or just hanging out with friends.

Now, at age 45, an all-nighter is only called for when I have a raging case of insomnia (seldom), one of the kids is sick or I have unexpected work demands.

This past weekend, I worked an overnight shift unexpectedly. I hadn’t seen it coming and I hadn’t rested ahead of time.

I’ve wrote before that some theorize that the older we get the more our true personalities are displayed. I am now certain that a lack of sleep only serves to make any personality flaw more pronounced. Take the last couple of days for example.

I’m forgetful. I’m prone to having my head in the clouds, not really paying attention to the immediate but thinking of the “what ifs.” This past week, my sleep deprived state multiplied that side of my personality a thousand times.

I, along with three of my public relations friends were set to give a 30 minutes presentation to our peers at a monthly meeting in Springfield. I had worked on the PowerPoint presentation for the last couple of weeks and was pretty proud of the finished product. I double-checked that our presentation looked good on screen. I made sure the projector was charged, all the cables packed and the lens clean. I double-checked that our presentation, saved on a flash-drive was in a secure place in the case.

Everything was packed and checked. We had only to drive to Springfield to wow our colleagues with our expertise. Unfortunately I failed to check that I had placed the projector case and presentation drive in the car until we were half-way to our destination.

I was in a panic, but was reassured by my friends that I had indeed packed the case. Holding up a small, black bag, they waved it from the back seat so I could see it in the rearview mirror. Reassured, I drove the rest of the way to our meeting location, confident that it was only my lack of sleep that was messing with my sense of security.

That is until I took the case from my friends and instantly recognized that I was holding my lunchbox. Believe me, the shock of being an hour away from home without our presentation woke me up.

Ironically enough our presentation was on crisis management and responding to the blizzard this past winter. We decided to “wing it” and just talked with the group about our experiences and lessons learned.

Like all good terrifying lessons. I’ll not soon forget this one.