Rebecca Carpenter

 
          Sporting bright pink shoes, a pink shirt, and white capris, two year old Emily grabbed hold of her pink, three wheeled, Dora scooter. With a grin she confidently stood on it, but nothing happened. She lunged her shoulders forward hoping to coax the scooter into motion which also did not make her move.  Helpful instructions came from her parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents. Reluctantly, she placed one foot on the ground and tried to move the scooter like her sister who was zooming past on her two wheeled scooter. Deciding that the technique was not satisfactory, Emily again put both feet on the scooter and hoped she could glide effortlessly. Grandpa saw her plight and gently pushed her. However, her steering skills were similar to her pushing ones so she kept ending up in the grass. After several tries, he was able to propel her a short distance on the sidewalk. She smiled at her accomplishment of riding like Ashlyn.
 

          After grandpa stopped, she tried a few more times to ride by herself but soon gave up. We all laughed when we observed her lying prostrate on the sidewalk with her sweaty head resting on the footrest of the scooter like a pillow. She had attempted to ride the scooter on her own, it was difficult, she was tired, so she quit. I am sure that the scooter and sidewalk were uncomfortable, but to her it must have been preferable to the hard task of riding.
          Adults also face instances when it is easier to quit and face uncomfortable circumstances instead of working harder to accomplish a goal.
 

            This weekend, my parents celebrate sixty-three years of marriage.  When so much in our world is temporary and fleeting, it is remarkable to have such an enduring marriage, but they join several of their brothers and sisters in longevity of marriages.  Some were over fifty years, and three were also over sixty.  In fact, one couple just celebrated their sixty-eighth year. 

            My parents related stories of hardships in their early years when there was little money.  Since rationing was in effect in 1945, someone loaned them tires so that they could make the trip to the family lakeside cottage for their honeymoon. They both worked hard to make ends meet and to put my dad through college.  He used his education degree for forty-two years as a teacher, coach, and principal. 

            With meager wages from teaching, they began a family with my mom staying home to raise three children and manage the household.  She sewed many of our clothes, tended a garden, canned food, and found other ways to run the home with frugality.  Each summer my dad earned additional income by painting houses, barns, and schools. He also took graduate classes at a distant school at night for his master’s degree.  Classes had to be arranged around a coaching schedule too.  When he became a principal, an extended calendar enabled him to give up his summer painting jobs.

            When I was 10 or 11, my mom started college part time to also get a degree in education.  It took her many years to obtain her degree because she could only take a few classes at a time.  Also, we did not live near a university so she had to travel in the summer and at night for the classes. After a while, she was able to take day classes and graduated a year before I started college.  She also continued on and received her masters before I graduated.  Looking back, I wonder how she was able to juggle all of her duties at home while going to school.

            Our needs were always met, but I realized when I was older that money was tight.  Instead of having a lot of luxuries, we spent time together as a family and with friends.  Each summer weekend found us at a small, family lake cottage in northern Indiana.  It was very simple and for years there was no running water or inside plumbing.  We carried buckets to a community well where we would pump water and slosh back to the cottage.  A metal dipper was used to get water for drinking, cooking, and washing.  Eventually, we had a well, electric pump, and a bathroom but no tub or shower.  When we needed a bath, we took a bar of soap to the lake and soaped up as we swam which was great fun.  We did not feel deprived because of the lack of facilities but privileged to have so many exciting adventures. For entertainment, we swam, boated, fished, and played games with our extended family.  There was no television or phone so we talked and enjoyed nature.  For years, our only boat was a wooden rowboat that my grandfather had made.  We were elated when we finally had a motorboat and learned to zoom through the water and to ski. 

            Several times we moved as my dad changed jobs and moved up to principal.  It was sad to leave friends but exciting to find new ones.  In each new location, one of the first things that my parents did was to find a church where we could attend and become involved.  Each week we dressed up and went as a family which helped form who we were. 

            Their faith enabled them to overcome trials and stay committed to each other. They have been a positive example to me and many others as they have shared their love with family and friends.  I feel blessed to have them as my parents. 

          Curious looks, giggles and stifled laughs greeted my husband, Alan, and me as we crossed the parking lot. One driver stopped, smiled, gave us a thumbs up, and waved us across in front of him. All eyes locked on us as we stepped into the crowded, lunchtime eatery. I immediately scanned the lines of customers and was relieved to find more of our herd. A huddle of five stood at the counter, three were chewing at a booth, and a few stragglers were scattered among the wary customers.
           “Oh, no!” I exclaimed with a laugh. “There is someone that I know.” We had just discussed that we hoped that we would not see anyone familiar.  I greeted her as she whipped out her camera to take my picture. So much for being nameless. We had traveled farther from home so that we would not be noticed.
          We advanced to the counter to complete our mission—a free lunch. The manager indicated to our server that we would get the combo because we were decked out in a full costume from head to toe. Our white t-shirts with black spots, black ears attached to black caps, black pants, black shoes, and black gloves completed our cow costumes. As we ate our free meals, we talked to other cows and engaged non-cows in our conversations. I am sure that some thought we were slightly crazy, but it was fun making people smile and talk to each other.
          Empowered by our success, we decided to stop at the food court in the mall, which we had previously avoided, on our way home. Stares followed us in the parking lot, through the doors, and past the line of restaurants. Many eyes quickly looked away when we saw them gazing at us in disbelief. A few could not suppress their laughter at seeing two adults dressed as cows parading by them. I scanned the food court for other bovine, but unfortunately, there were none. A terrible thought occurred to me. What if that restaurant was not participating in the promotion? Thankfully, at that moment a group of silver balloons caught my attention. They were printed with an invitation to dress like the cow mascot. What a relief!
          Teen aged workers smiled as they filled orders and gave us takeout meals that we could eat later. Confidently carrying our white bags of food, we strolled past diners who appeared bewildered by our dress. Even a tough looking biker nodded at us with a trace of a smile.
          Next to our car, a vehicle parked and five cows exited.  The teenagers all wore cow costumes similar to ours and informed us that it was their third Chick Fil A of the day—one for each meal. To complete our day of free eats, they stated that 7-11 was giving away free slurpees to celebrate the company’s birthday. That would be a perfect ending to our adventure.  We stopped at a store near our house. We were the only cows but enjoyed talking with patrons and workers.
          We laughed on the way home about our silly but fun excursion. When we were working as a teacher and insurance manager, we would not have even thought of dressing like cows and going out into public. However, retirement has made us less inhibited about our images.  Now we spend more time having fun and striving to touch the lives of others. We saw many people smile and laugh at us that day which I hope was an encouragement. Several talked while waiting in line and maybe they just needed some interaction. We had no idea who we reached or how they were touched, but hopefully, someone had a better day because of two amusing cows.
 

         Sporting a whistle around my neck over a black and white striped shirt, I was prepared to referee the volleyball tournament at Young Life’s Sharp Top Cove camp in northern Georgia. My knowledge of volleyball was somewhat limited, and my experience as a referee was nil, but the 460 teenaged campers had been informed that the referees were always right. Bolstered by my newly attained power, I was ready to begin.
          As each team entered my court and the games progressed without incident, I became more comfortable with my role. Large and larger boys played, won, and lost with enthusiasm and competitiveness. A few teams of young ladies also entered the court and proved their skills. Then a surprise awaited me.
          A team of trim girls, with a Superman symbol emblazed on the front of their blue t-shirts, eagerly assumed their positions on one side of the court. Facing them on the opposite side was a group of bewildered females wearing a hodgepodge of multicolored stripes looking uncertainly at their leader for instructions. She carefully maneuvered the players into their spots and signaled when they were ready. A dark-haired Superwoman served first for her side. The unique rules required that each team was to serve five consecutive times with a final game score of ten. Surprisingly, the score was nearly even when it was time for the striped team to serve.
          After eight serves, the score was five to three. With utmost patience and compassion, the leader selected a girl to serve and then showed her how to hold the ball to hit it. Every eye was on the server as she tried valiantly to imitate what she had just seen. She swung back, hit the ball, and watched it fall far short of the net. As if on cue, the blue shirts grinned and applauded her efforts. When the final server awkwardly held the ball, nodded to her leader, and struck the ball, it rolled toward the net. The opposing team also encouraged her by clapping.
          The game ended in a tie as tears came to my eyes. The Superwoman team smiled, formed a line, and walked over to congratulate their opponents warmly. Most of the striped shirted girls said little and probably heard even less, but they smiled back and were delighted with their performance.
          When I hear stories about teenagers getting into trouble, being disrespectful, and only thinking about themselves, I will remember the extremely compassionate, extremely humble, and extremely encouraging girls who made my day when the Superwoman team from Texas met the girls of the School for the Deaf and Blind from St. Augustine. That was extreme volleyball.
 

     When I entered the retirement home, I noticed that gray hair seemed to be the prominent color as we passed a cluster of people in the lobby. After visiting for a while in her room, I received instructions on how to proceed to another aunt’s room in another section of the facility.

      During my short visit to Indiana, I tried to see as many family members and longtime friends as possible. The schedule was tight so I only had a few minutes to find my aunt before a friend from eighth grade arrived to see me. The walk down the long hall to the elevator was uneventful, but the wait seemed long. Finally, the door opened and an empty elevator welcomed me. In my hand was a paper with her room number written on it so I proceeded to her floor. With relief I discovered that her room was not far down the deserted hall. I knocked. No answer. I knocked louder. Still no answer. Cautiously, I opened the door, but no one was inside. I had no time to wait and did not see anyone who could help me. With a few minutes to spare, I retraced my steps to the elevator and pushed the button. I watched the numbers go above and below me. I pushed the button again and again as the elevator kept bypassing me. I had been told that there was a code to get onto the second floor but not from the first floor where I had entered. No one told me that I needed a number to get off the floor so I was not sure why the elevator was avoiding me. I noticed a set of stairs but was afraid to try it. What if I left the floor, the door locked behind me, and then I could be trapped in the stairwell. I kept pondering what I should do when a helpful nurse appeared. I asked how I could get out. With a smile, she asked if I had the code. My negative answer caused her to punch in a number on the keypad. By glancing at my watch, I saw that I had just enough time to make it to the lobby to meet my friend.

      When the elevator opened, what a relief I felt. I did not like being locked up, but staring at the red numbers produced more anxiety. Was I supposed to go to level 1 or the ground level. I had entered the home on the ground level but thought that I had only gone up one flight on the elevator. In my haste, I had not noticed which floor I was on. Oh, dear. If I got off on the wrong floor would I again be stuck? Was there only one floor that was secured? I had no idea. I decided to try the ground floor. I thought that I had gotten on the elevator on one side but the door opened on the opposite side. Was my memory fading or was I on the wrong floor? I did not know. If that floor was also secured and it was the wrong floor, I might not be able to get back on the elevator. I leaned out of the elevator to see if anything looked familiar. It was definitely not the right place but where was the right one? My time was quickly running out. Scenarios played over and over in my mind. Should I try another floor or get off and explore? Thankfully, a real person with brown hair appeared in front of me. Surely, she could help me. When I exited, I asked her how to get to the Garden Entrance. She tried to direct me to the greenhouse which was not where I wanted to go. We found a map of the complex and tried to decipher it. I gazed down a long hall which did not look familiar at all. We looked out the windows and noticed cars parked nearby. A brilliant idea formed in my now confused brain. I would leave the building through a nearby door and walk around the huge building until I found the correct entrance. I thanked her and quickly went outside. I scampered up a long sidewalk that meandered up a hill. Finally, I recognized the area where I had first entered the building. Because of the hill, I had entered on the first floor and not the ground floor.

    I hoped that my friend had not yet arrived. A man using a weed eater  stopped to let me pass. He smiled, and we exchanged hellos. I scurried into the lobby to find it empty. I had made it. A couple of minutes later, my friend arrived. She asked if I had seen a guy we had gone to school with working in the yard. I had no idea that I knew him since he certainly looked different from the tall, gangly, teenager that I knew and liked in ninth grade. When we greeted him, he said that he had recognized me. That was amazing since I last saw him in ninth grade. That was a tonic to make me feel younger since I was certainly not ready to go to a retirement home any time soon.

           As we passed a police car, I mentioned to my two granddaughters in the backseat that grandpa was taking a police class so that he could be like a policeman and would be driving a special police car for Citizens on Patrol.

          A small voice asked sweetly, “Is that what he is going to be when he grows up?”

         “Yes,” I answered with a giggle to myself.

          A slightly older voice announced, “He is already grown up.”

         When I thought about their two widely different answers and perceptions, I decided that they were both correct. In stature, grandpa was grown up, but in actions he was still growing and experiencing life. Just because a person becomes an adult and then retires does not mean that life is over. In the later years there are so many exciting opportunities and advantages that were not available earlier. I can’t wait to see what grandpa and I will be doing when we grow up.

      “Did you go to the story and craft time at the library?” I asked four year old Ashlyn. 

      “No, I do not go anymore,” she replied. 

      “Why not?” I inquired. 

       In a matter of fact way, she answered, “I whined too much.” 

      I was surprised since I knew that she enjoyed going to the library. “Why did you whine?” 

     “My craft looked silly,” she replied. 

      I recalled a time when she was doing a craft and when it did not look the way that she wanted it to, she got upset. Even though it looked fine to me, she was not satisfied with the outcome. 

     “I did not think that your craft looked silly,” I encouraged. To me her crafts were delightful and appropriate for a four year old. 

     With an intent look and pointing to her large, brown eyes, she rebutted my answer, “But you do not see it with my eyes.” 

    “You are right,” I said thoughtfully. What wisdom comes from children when we listen carefully. 

    I have recalled her statement several times “But you do not see it with my eyes.” How many times do we look at a situation and become upset when others do not see it our way? How often is there a conflict or quarrel because each party only sees the problem with his or her eyes? As I deal with people, I plan to be more sensitive and try to “see it with their eyes” instead of just with my own. I will remember Ashlyn’s precious, brown eyes giving advice to my much older, blue ones. 

          High pitched tweets drifted across the stillness of the lake. Tiny chirps filled empty spaces. In the background I noticed sweet sounding trills. Then a deep blaring honk rose above the gentle music. Answering sounds echoed back and forth from shore to shore. Crickets added their clamor with a rising crescendo and then stopped abruptly. Across the lake another set of insects began their reply. The quiet that I first envisioned was actually a morning filled with diverse and pleasing sounds.
          A magnificent, white wood stork loomed just above the water in front of me, zoomed to the edge of the lake, made a u-turn, and gracefully touched down on the shore. His massive black tipped, white wings folded around his white body as he thrust his head into the dark water. His long beak snatched up tidbits while his body rotated around his head. His graceful flying certainly did not seem to go with his bumpy, homely face. or unusual manner of obtaining food. In a short time, he rose again into the air and vanished.
          Swaying branches of the weeping willow announced that it was not dead as I had feared. Emerging from the water were delicate, white, wild lilies. They stood next to purple Mexican petunias which I had planted from one enlarging specimen. The cut stems had multiplied and filled out the area. Amaryllis poked up near the willow. The bulbs had been separated from clumps given to me by friends many years ago. Wild, yellow lilies continued to grow and extend across the bank adding lovely color and greenery. Under the bird feeder a throng of sunflowers, which sprouted from birdseed, nodded their leaves as they prepared to bloom. Lavender lilies of the Nile towered over a miniature pine tree near the lake. Flowering dill stood regally where I had discarded seeds from my last crop. 
          My private sanctuary was filled with beauty as I began my day. It was a combination of my planting and nurturing but also filled with wonderful surprises. Some plants had been purchased in pots while others came from cuttings and seeds of established plants already in the garden. The plants that I had carefully placed were next to the wild ones that had arrived unexpectedly.
          Isn’t that like our lives? We may try to arrange everything very carefully and methodically but wonderful surprises can add beauty and meaning. If I waited for wild flowers to assemble in my garden, it would take a long time and probably have bare areas.  However, if I pulled up every wild flower that emerged, I would miss out on some special blessings. Interspersing the planned with the unexpected can enrich us and help us grow.

      I could hear them before I could even see them. Loud quacks pierced the early morning serenity. Bright sunlight illuminated the lake as five glistening specks rounded the island and came into view. As they drifted closer, I could make out their shapes and see the precision of their line-a brown mother duck and her four adolescent ducklings. Her commanding quacks revealed her authority, and there was no back quacking or disobedience. Each offspring acquiesced to her instructions and dutifully joined the procession.

      Yesterday, five white ducks had swum to my yard and began eating at the water’s edge. For over a year they had been appearing sporadically on the lake. At first, there were six, but one had been missing for quite some time. They all appeared to be siblings with no parent to lead them. In spite of that, they moved together and always arrived as a group. There must have been a parent with them when they hatched to protect them, guide them, and teach them. They must have been taught where to go, how to procure food, and how to remain together for protection. Because of their early training, they still exhibited behaviors which enabled them to have healthy, productive lives.

     Just as ducks work diligently to prepare their ducklings for adulthood by teaching them to listen, be obedient, and follow authority, human parents must also teach their children the same lessons. Perhaps the missing duck did not follow instructions and strayed into danger. Children who are allowed to ignore the teachings of their parents and take over at a young age will be headed for disaster. Mother ducks must prod and discipline wayward ducklings, but they know that the lessons are crucial so they do not waver or give up. Each mother continues with perseverance as her little brood grows and matures. What important lessons can be learned from watching the parents and offspring of the animal world.

           After my morning devotions, I rode my bike for a few miles, walked for thirty minutes on the treadmill, and even increased my weights for my strength training. I was feeling fit with plenty of energy to cook and bake for weekend events that we were hosting. I turned on the tv to the Golden Oldies channel for music as I worked. What a shock I received as the music began playing. I checked the station because I thought that I had made a mistake. What I heard was definitely not Elvis, the Beatles, or the Beach Boys. I was dumbfounded when I looked at the tv screen and saw Golden Oldies—the 90’s. My mind just could not comprehend it. How could the 90’s be considered Golden Oldies? My feeble mind began calculating and discovered that 18 years might be old to someone who was very young. However, if that was old then I must be ancient. With my strength waning, I returned to the menu to find another channel which would be more suited to an old person. I spotted the Easy Listening one and decided that it would be satisfactory to focus my thoughts as I worked. I assumed that it would be music from my parents’ era. With much effort, I was able to depress the correct button. Another surprise awaited me. Beautiful sounds drifted from the speakers as I heard Ricky Nelson, the Four Seasons, and Chubby Checker. It was a pleasant but unnerving surprise. Who determined that music from the 50’s and 60’s was easy listening? Reality hit me as I realized that I must be considered part of the old generation by the young whipper snappers who assembled the music. I had felt great before the tv channel told me that I was old and past my prime. Defiantly, I turned the music up louder, twisted to the kitchen, and sang heartily as I worked in the kitchen preparing food for a fun filled weekend. I was not going to allow outside forces to determine how I felt or what I could accomplish. I had a lot more living to do.