Ramblings by Rose Mary (archive January 2008)
Please refer to the Ramblings by Rose Mary main page for columns published in other issues.
Rose Mary can be contacted via e-mail at rwclarke@mibor.net.
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Try Recycling Last Year's Resolutions
As soon as I get around to it, I’ll finish my annual New Year’s column. Meanwhile, here’s the last of my Christmas Diary.
7:30 a.m. Christmas Eve: What a wonderful Christmas we’re having! My lengthy to-do lists, early preparation and meticulous planning have paid off, and everything’s ready for the great day. What bliss! I even went to Krogers early this morning and beat the last, mad influx of shoppers.
4 p.m.: We did have one trifling incident that’s akin to the is-the-tree-straight debate. As I was taking the ham out of the oven, Bill said, "Do you think it’s done?" "Yes." "But it was frozen. Was the bone thoroughly thawed?" (How the hell should I know if the bone was thawed?) "Sigh." The ham went back in the oven.
5:45 p.m.: All is calm. I just have to do the stuffing and then relax until time to go to the service at Irvington Methodist. … Uh-oh! Where are the onions? "Bill, did you buy onions?" "No, you said you would." "What are we going to do?" I yelled. "We have to have onions for stuffing, and Krogers is closing in 15 minutes!"
I grabbed my purse and keys and roared out of the garage, bound for the Kroger store that’s about three blocks from our house. The parking lot was so full that people were parking in unauthorized places and literally galloping across the lot in order to get into the store before six.
Using a grocery cart for support, I went at my fastest shuffle. One door was already closed, and a deputy sheriff stood at the other. I grabbed the onions. When a woman got in the check-out line behind me, the stony-faced young clerk snapped, "I’m closed." "Please," the woman pleaded, "I only have five things." I was opening my mouth to say, "Put your stuff with mine, and we’ll settle up afterwards," when the clerk relented grudgingly, "Oh, all right." People who tried to enter as I was leaving were told firmly by the deputy, "We’re closed, but K-Mart is open till midnight."
Christmas day: We had the is-the-turkey-done? debate. We pay no heed to the pop-out thingy as professional chefs say they’re unreliable. Every year we say that we’re going to get a meat thermometer, but never do. We had a lovely day with Sarah and visits from relatives who dropped in.
The morning of New Year’s Eve: This is my least favorite day of the year, when Bill will pack away our cherished decorations, and I have to thoroughly dust the house. Tomorrow, Grandson Bill and his wife will spend the night, and on Wednesday we’ll go to the Hoosier Dome, where he’ll join other members of the National Guard for a send-off before final training in Georgia prior to being shipped to Iraq in March.
Friend Bill Vrabel told us about his New Year’s resolutions. He said, "I decided in 2003 to keep it simple and realistic by having only a few resolutions. I went to my computer and typed three resolutions in big print. Then I put the page in a plastic sleeve and displayed it in my office where I see it every day." "What were your resolutions?" "Lose weight. Exercise more. Keep in better contact with friends."
"How’d it work?" "Well, the next January, I crossed out 2003 and wrote 2004. The next year I crossed out 2004 and wrote 2005. I did the same thing in 2006 and 2007. Now I suppose I’ll change it to 2008." How efficient!
I haven’t made any resolutions yet, but I think that I’ll have only one that I’ll print in huge type: "QUIT PROCRASTINATING!"--but I have to get around to it first. To be continued. My e-mail address is rwclarke@mibor.net.
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Tomorrow Never Knows It Will Never Arrive
I could list many New Year's Eve resolutions that would improve my health, looks or personality. Why bother? My life is papered with good intentions. Have I lost weight? No. Have I faithfully dusted the house very week? What do you think? Have I taken a walk every day? Of course not. Have I been a nicer, kinder, gentler, wiser person during the past year? If so, no one has mentioned it to me.
"Don't put off till tomorrow what you can do today," my parents used to say sententiously. My tomorrows are booked from here to eternity! Sloth is a deadly sin, but perhaps procrastination is worse.
One of my nieces sent me this charming poem written by my nephew, David Gard, who has inherited the poetry-writing talent of my grandfather, William McKinney Gard, who was the minister of the Knightstown Christian Church at the turn of the 20th Century.
"PROCRASTINATION"
One day when I've time
I'll tell you the tale
Of the creature known as
A round-to-it
Round-to-its are needed
By all that I know
So they can get up
And go do it
Whatever the task is
You need a round-to it
So you can get up
And go do it.
Without a round-to-it
I'd sit in my chair
And ponder and plan
But never get up and go do it.
Too often I hear
I can't do it today,
But I'll get a round-to-it tomorrow
Round-to-its are flighty
And wispy and misty
And live some place in the air
They're quite elusive
And extremely rare,
But whatever is needed
We each need one to do it
One day last week
I sent Jared out
To find us a few
Round-to-its
He came back quite late
With his hands in the air
Saying "There are no round-to-its round here
"I searched all the shelves
And I searched in the back
I even went out
And checked the trees and the grass
There are no Round-to-its round here!"
Somehow or other
We got through our day
And never got a round-to-it.
One day if I'm lucky
And sneaky and stealthy
I'll track down and capture
A young breeding pair.
I'll take them home
And treat them with care
Then I'll have
Round-to-its to share.
But until then
The best I can say is
I'll get a round-to-it tomorrow.
Someday or another
I should write this verse down
I may get a round-to-it tomorrow.
I guess this last stanza
Could be omitted
I finally sat down and did it.
One of my deepest pleasures is when disparate events of my life come together in a very pleasing way. David's poem provoked thoughts of Dr. Charles Ballard, then minister at the Irvington Methodist Church who preached meaningful and thought-provoking sermons. One Sunday, he passed out wooden disks. "These are round-to-its," he said. Then he preached about procrastination.
I don't know what happened to the round-to-its that Bill and I carried home that day. We're both "savers," so they're probably around here somewhere in a desk drawer, mug full of pens or one of those random places where we poke things.
I called Dr. Ballard. "Dr. Ballard, do you remember the time that you passed out round-to-its in church?" "Yes, but that sermon is long gone, and I don't remember its content." "Do you have any?" "I think so." "May I have one?"
I called Dr. Ballard
Then went to his house
To get a round-to-it.
Perhaps this reminder
Will at last make me a finder
Of the time
To finally get up and go do it!
My e-mail address is rwclarke@mibor.net.
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War is War, Then and Now, Now and Forever
2008 started with the new experience of watching a loved one go off to war in what was the largest muster of troops in Indiana since World War II. As I cooked my eldest grandson's favorite breakfast of pancakes, I saw in my mind's eye little Billy and the twins perched at the bar, gobbling pancakes as quickly as they were cooked. He is "Bill" now, a man setting forth to do manly things - too soon, too soon!
Bundled up against the near-zero temperature, we drove him and his wife to the Indianapolis Zoo, from where a shuttle bus took us to the RCA Dome. I encountered first-hand the Army slogan "Hurry up and wait." We arrived shortly after 9 a.m., but the proceedings didn't begin until 1 p.m.
Some of the fellows didn't look big enough to carry a rifle. A petite girl in combat boots had one pack on her back, another on her chest. Guys who didn't look old enough to be fathers cuddled babies. A couple held hands, gazed soulfully into one another's eyes, whispered, and gave each other little pecks. Two young wives sat in front of us, each with a toddler.
While the crowd of over 20,000 waited, many of the 3,500 soldiers came into the stands for final hugs. Megan and Vicki will see Bill again in Georgia before he leaves for Iraq. Sitting there, I realized that all of us, strangers to each other, shared common emotions, fears and hopes for these men and women who are being sent to the most dangerous duty of driving Humvees and guarding supply caravans. It was hard to think of things to say during those last hours. All around me everyone spoke the same language: "Love you!" "Love you, too!" "Keep safe." "I will." "Be careful." "I will." "Write!" A young woman - really, just a girl - said her goodbyes and then turned when she reached the aisle and blew a kiss: "Bye, Grams. Love you!"
I saw no big displays of emotion. This was a time for a stiff upper lip. Those around me didn't shed tears, but I suspect that many were crying in their hearts as I was. At last, the mayor of Indianapolis, the governor, congressmen, Senator Lugar and military brass spoke. No doubt they were sincere, but eventually words like "our pride," "the nation is grateful to you and your families for your sacrifice," "brave," "heroes," "a noble cause," and "the best that Indiana has to offer" fell on my ears like so many gung-ho, morale-boosting platitudes.
The speaker who resonated with me was the mayor, who had left his family to go off to war himself.
My life has been full of confluences where events run together. The older we are, the more past experiences we have to be evoked by current events. I was just a kid during World War II, but the memories are vivid: My parents, clucked Beverly, needed a light while she got ready to go to work at Perfect Circle in Hagerstown. Knightstown was under black-out orders lest a light guide German bombers. Mother said that I was helping the war effort by stomping on tin cans to flatten them before they were turned in to be recycled. Mother had a ration book with coupons for sugar and shoes. At least one of my sisters had a baby while her husband was gone. Neighbor women went with each other to the hospital. Beverly went with Lois Frazier when Barbara was born.
Don't tell me that the Holocaust didn't happen. I saw battered snapshots that my Knightstown brother-in-law, Orville Jones, had of emaciated people and skeletal bodies that were stacked like cordwood in a small concentration camp. Another brother-in-law, Arnold Thurston, lived through the Battle of the Bulge, where he crawled on his belly, directing tank traffic with a whistle. "That wasn't when I was the most scared," he said. "It was when I was going down a narrow road on a motorcycle, and a plane strafed me. I jumped off into the ditch, and the motorcycle went on down the road. Messed my pants!" I remember well Beverly's anxiety and depression when she didn't hear from Donald for many months. Eventually, he came home a changed man from his duty as a radio operator on flights over the "Hump' - the Himalayas - from India to China, one of the most hazardous duties because of turbulence, icing on the wings and the difficulty of getting the heavily laden planes over the mountains.
I've seen from a lifetime of witnessing wars that they take on a momentum of their own. One waits and one hopes.
My e-mail address is rwclarke@mibor.net.
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Procrastination Can Lead to Massive Collections of Stuff We Later Want to Dump
After reading my New Year's column, an Irvington friend e-mailed me the words "Quit Procrastinating!" with a fancy border. Also, I visited Dr. Charles Ballard who gave me his round "tuit." I sent it to my nephew who wrote the poem about round-to-its that was in The Banner: "Dear David, I've made good use of this round tuit and am sending it to you in your hour of need. I note that you spell it "round-to-it"; whereas, mine is a round "tuit." I suspect that somewhere in their family tree the To-its changed their name to Tuit just as some of our ancestors changed theirs from Schwartz to Black. I trust that this updated version will prove to be efficacious. Now, just get busy and do it! Warmest regards, Aunt Rose Mary."
Confessions of a Packrat: Around Thanksgiving time, Bill said, "Our house needs an overhaul We've got too much stuff. We need to go through things and get rid of some of it. Let's start with the back closet and the office." The closet and office were absolutely crammed with an accumulation of many years of saving. Hoping that Bill would forget about it, I said, "O.K., but I'm not about to tackle this before Christmas." He didn't forget. Christmas has come and gone, and this is where the rubber hits the road as Father Tim, the protagonist of Jan Karon's Mitford books, said.
Our problem is that we're both savers. Perhaps it's in the genes. Bill's mother saved gift wrap, ironed it and re-used it. When Christine and I helped Mother pack to move to New Castle after her marriage to Edgar Wallace we counted 31 cream pitchers that she'd bought at garage sales and dozens of plastic margarine tubs. Oh how we laughed at Mother!
Monday: I'm better prepared to force myself to get rid of stuff than Bill. Giving most of my clothes to Vicki toughened me up so that I'm more willing to part with the accumulation that spans over 40 years. Armed with my "Quit Procrastinating" certificate and the round tuit, I set to work.
Friday: Oh, oh, oh! We've worked like donkeys, and we're still not done! The office and the family/room/dining room area where we do the sorting are a shambles. We're exhausted after five days of sorting, shredding, pitching stuff out and re-packing what we've agreed to keep - and this is just the back closet and the office, mind you. I said, "What would it have been like if we'd waited until we were 80?" "We'd just have had a path to walk through." At least we're not as bad as a woman on Oprah who was a compulsive shopper who stacked items several feet high to the point that her husband and she had to take turns using the bed.
We've discarded boxes and files of decades-old bank statements, bills, canceled checks, stubs of pencils, out-of-date travel guides, the text books that I used to teach French 40 years ago, insurance, computer, appliance and telephone manuals, guides to Medicare and various Medicare and health insurance documents, yellowed clippings of articles that we never got around to reading or intended to send to a friend, air mattresses that leak, old computer discs and more…
We hauled out about 20 bags of trash, and packed two boxes for Amvets. There was so much paper with our names, address and Social Security numbers that it would have taken ages to run it through our shredder, so I burned it in the fireplace. Some people become irritated when I say that in some ways the past was better, but you didn't have to shred your mail to keep crooks from stealing your identity.
This doesn't begin to include our personal memorabilia and treasured collection of recipes. Finally I wailed, "Why couldn't we have just waited until we were dead and left it all to Vicki?" Bill replied, "That's absolutely rotten of you. The poor thing's already going to have to bury us!" (That was a subtle dig about my stubborn procrastination about buying cemetery plots.)
My e-mail address is rwclarke@mibor.net.
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