Today is my father’s birthday. He turns 88 years old. As a child, the idea that someone could be 88 years old was something I simply could not fathom. But as an adult in my 60s, years take on a different perspective.
Like me, Dad tends to be a worrier. We worry about things we have absolutely no control over. But unlike me he is calm. That is an enviable quality I wish I could possess. He has the ability to live in the moment – where as I am always looking ahead, planning for every impending disaster that I am sure will come. My brain is always creating contingency plans for every possible scenario. In doing so, the joy of the present passes me by. But his calmness helps me weather the storms.
Last August, with the scorching Texas heat, the promise of a coming winter seemed so inviting. In Texas we don’t hold out much hope for the changing colors of fall or new beginnings of spring to segue into the harsher seasons. Any inkling of fall or spring disappears in the blink of an eye.
The weather here can change quickly. It’s not surprising to see 80-degrees drop to 50 or lower in a matter of hours. Winter can last for a few days or go on for months on end. Warm spring-like days punctuate the weeks. Like bookends, they frame episodes of snow flurries and ice storms - teasing glimpses of hope that spring has arrived only to be cut short when the frigid north wind pushes south, blowing the warmth away.
For a couple of months it looked like we would have a mild winter escaping the characteristic “blue northers” or ice storms that are commonplace between November and April. But alas, it was not to be, as Mother Nature blessed our parched prairie with some ice and snow just last week.
I admit to enjoying a few “snow days” away from work. If the power stays on, there’s no reason not to just relax and enjoy it. Just don’t get out on the roads. People here don’t get the concept of slowing down when driving on ice. Every red neck in an oversized pickup truck or yuppie in a Hummer presents a “real and present” danger to everyone else on the road.
Weather and its complete unpredictability make me crazy – OK crazier. Things that I can’t control or at least spend weeks preparing for – well, you see where I’m going here. It’s possible that I’m a little bit OCD. I am most comfortable when I can plan ahead, and then make dozens of contingency plans for what might happen if things don’t go the way I expect.
As one might imagine, weather can be particularly challenging for me.
This is where Dad comes in. He knows how I am about the weather. If there is anything at all going on meteorologically, I can count on him to give me a heads up or at the very least check on me. As confidant and self sufficient as I profess to be, I really need him to check on me. It makes me feel like I am not totally alone.
I remember years ago when my oldest daughter was just a baby and there were tornadoes all around Dallas County. I was terrified and absolutely sure both myself and that tiny defenseless creature were going to perish. I wasn’t just afraid – I was certain this was going to happen. So, of course, I called Daddy. He was postmaster at the DeSoto station at the time and I’m sure he had more urgent things to deal with as the tornado sirens blared and people were taking cover, than to talk to talk to me. But he did. In a calm voice he told me where to take cover and reassured me. He made me feel like I could manage the situation. He made me feel safe.
Since that day, I always hear from him when things get dicey. He calls to make sure I’m not stupid enough to go out on icy roads – that nothing, not even work is worth taking a risk with my safety. And usually I’m right where I should be waiting out the storm or lingering conditions. But even so, just hearing his calm, comforting voice and that “I love you” before we hang up makes me feel like he’s right here watching over me – keeping me safe like when I was a terrified scrawny little kid snuggling up next to him during an early summer thunderstorm.
On that afternoon the skies were so black it seemed like nighttime had settled over our house. The hot winds shifted and the air was chilled. We walked through the house together opening windows before settling on the nubby beige sectional sofa in the living room. Then we watched an afternoon baseball game on our black and white Motorola. As I scrunched up next to him, as close as I could get without climbing up in his arms, he narrated the game, explaining the rules and offering details about the teams and which one we were rooting for. I’m not a sports fan by any definition of the term, but that day I hung on every word and focused intently on every swing and foul ball.
Eventually the storm passed and the clouds parted. I’m sure I scampered off to roller skate or ride my bike leaving him to watch the rest of the game like nothing had ever happened. But the event stayed with me. And whenever the winds of change blow through, he is the one I turn to and he never disappoints me.
Monday, March 9, 2015
Faith
This morning I ran head-on into one of my neighbors. I credit that to the time change. Normally I am outdoors when everyone else is fast asleep, wrapped in the warm cocoon of crumpled sheets and down comforters fitting our recent stint of frigid, snowy weather.
Although it is considerably warmer this morning and rainy, there is still a tiny pyramid of snow in the courtyard – the remnant of a small snowman built by someone in the complex.
The woman I encountered is one of only two black people residing in the condos where I live. Both are single females, as am I. The complex is a throwback from the 1950s with a pool in the center surrounded by 30 or so one- and two-bedroom units. It is a charming place – quiet, once you learn to tune out the planes that fly over taking off and landing at Love Field only a few blocks away.
She was dressed in her Sunday best – black dress, heels and matching hat. A handsome suit- and tie-clad gentleman was waiting patiently in the parking lot. They were obviously headed to church.
I see her often, early on weekday mornings as we both head off to work. I assume that she is a doctor, nurse or other medical professional from the scrubs she wears and our close proximity to the hospital district.
She is friendly and always speaks in passing. She smiles. Not the fake smile you put on when speaking to people you don’t really know – but a genuine warm smile. I think she must be kind and compassionate – at least that is what I would like her to be.
She works rotating hours – sometimes days, sometimes nights. Her posture is confident. She seems to know who she is; and I am envious. She radiates optimism.
Seeing her depart this morning to worship, I wonder if that optimism I sense is simply her faith. Because my own faith tends to wax and wane with daily circumstances, I have difficulty imagining or believing in the possibility of a complete and unquestioning devotion.
But I find this woman inspiring. I want to be like her, exhibiting both strength and the softness of femininity. I want to capture that - to embark on the world each day into a total unknown, feeling secure in my abilities to face whatever challenges the day holds and at the end of the day releasing any transgressions or regrets to the universe to be forgiven so that tomorrow, a new day is truly a new beginning.
This woman and I may not share the same beliefs, but that doesn’t matter. Whatever power guides us and gives us the strength to persevere is equal. We don’t have to be the same. But I am fortunate to have encountered her. Perhaps this is the universe encouraging me to set the bar higher, strive to be better and kinder to those around me and to myself - or to just have a little faith.
Although it is considerably warmer this morning and rainy, there is still a tiny pyramid of snow in the courtyard – the remnant of a small snowman built by someone in the complex.
The woman I encountered is one of only two black people residing in the condos where I live. Both are single females, as am I. The complex is a throwback from the 1950s with a pool in the center surrounded by 30 or so one- and two-bedroom units. It is a charming place – quiet, once you learn to tune out the planes that fly over taking off and landing at Love Field only a few blocks away.
She was dressed in her Sunday best – black dress, heels and matching hat. A handsome suit- and tie-clad gentleman was waiting patiently in the parking lot. They were obviously headed to church.
I see her often, early on weekday mornings as we both head off to work. I assume that she is a doctor, nurse or other medical professional from the scrubs she wears and our close proximity to the hospital district.
She is friendly and always speaks in passing. She smiles. Not the fake smile you put on when speaking to people you don’t really know – but a genuine warm smile. I think she must be kind and compassionate – at least that is what I would like her to be.
She works rotating hours – sometimes days, sometimes nights. Her posture is confident. She seems to know who she is; and I am envious. She radiates optimism.
Seeing her depart this morning to worship, I wonder if that optimism I sense is simply her faith. Because my own faith tends to wax and wane with daily circumstances, I have difficulty imagining or believing in the possibility of a complete and unquestioning devotion.
But I find this woman inspiring. I want to be like her, exhibiting both strength and the softness of femininity. I want to capture that - to embark on the world each day into a total unknown, feeling secure in my abilities to face whatever challenges the day holds and at the end of the day releasing any transgressions or regrets to the universe to be forgiven so that tomorrow, a new day is truly a new beginning.
This woman and I may not share the same beliefs, but that doesn’t matter. Whatever power guides us and gives us the strength to persevere is equal. We don’t have to be the same. But I am fortunate to have encountered her. Perhaps this is the universe encouraging me to set the bar higher, strive to be better and kinder to those around me and to myself - or to just have a little faith.
Daylight Savings Time
It is Sunday morning. A gentle rain makes a tinny sound on the corrugated metal awning of the carport. I’m comfortably sipping my morning coffee and enjoying the early hours before my neighbors step out to start their day.
Last night marked the beginning of daylight savings time. We were instructed to “spring forward” obliterating an hour to stay in sync with the mandated change.
I despise daylight savings time. I hate that I am required to make this change. I pay my taxes. I obey traffic laws. I endure long lines at airport security checks. I drink fluoridated water. I understand that these things are often necessary for public welfare and safety and in some cases even logical (well fluoridation may be questionable), but do “they” really have to mess with time?
I am excessively time oriented. In most cases I know approximately what time it is without looking at a clock. Because I am so obsessive about time and being on time, I have given up wearing a watch and I have to control my need to constantly look at my cell phone to check the time. I can actually look up at the sun and get a reasonable approximation of the hour. But daylight savings time really throws me off my game.
Is daylight savings time really necessary?
DST is supposed to “save energy and make better use of daylight hours” and has been used at various times throughout history according to timeanddate.com. In my lifetime, because the states had the choice of whether or not to adopt the policy, creating much confusion for the transportation industry, Congress passed the Uniform Time Act of 1966 mandating that DST would begin the last Sunday in April and end the last Sunday in October. States still had the authority to refuse compliance.
In 1974-75 DST was extended to save energy because of the 1973 oil embargo, but there were still complaints largely pertaining to public safety.
Now more than 70 countries use DST. In the United States, the Energy Policy Act of 2005 amended the schedule to begin the second Sunday in March and end on the first Sunday in November, approximately seven months. Within the 50 states, only Hawaii and parts of Arizona do not observe the time change.
And so it is. For the next few months, until my body and senses acclimate to the forced time change, instead of arriving at my destination an hour early, I will likely find myself flitting away two hours when I should be doing something more productive. The upside is an extra hour to take a deep breath or get lost in the prose of a good novel and maybe just stop worrying about what’s going to happen in the next minute or hour or day and just live in the moment.
Last night marked the beginning of daylight savings time. We were instructed to “spring forward” obliterating an hour to stay in sync with the mandated change.
I despise daylight savings time. I hate that I am required to make this change. I pay my taxes. I obey traffic laws. I endure long lines at airport security checks. I drink fluoridated water. I understand that these things are often necessary for public welfare and safety and in some cases even logical (well fluoridation may be questionable), but do “they” really have to mess with time?
I am excessively time oriented. In most cases I know approximately what time it is without looking at a clock. Because I am so obsessive about time and being on time, I have given up wearing a watch and I have to control my need to constantly look at my cell phone to check the time. I can actually look up at the sun and get a reasonable approximation of the hour. But daylight savings time really throws me off my game.
Is daylight savings time really necessary?
DST is supposed to “save energy and make better use of daylight hours” and has been used at various times throughout history according to timeanddate.com. In my lifetime, because the states had the choice of whether or not to adopt the policy, creating much confusion for the transportation industry, Congress passed the Uniform Time Act of 1966 mandating that DST would begin the last Sunday in April and end the last Sunday in October. States still had the authority to refuse compliance.
In 1974-75 DST was extended to save energy because of the 1973 oil embargo, but there were still complaints largely pertaining to public safety.
Now more than 70 countries use DST. In the United States, the Energy Policy Act of 2005 amended the schedule to begin the second Sunday in March and end on the first Sunday in November, approximately seven months. Within the 50 states, only Hawaii and parts of Arizona do not observe the time change.
And so it is. For the next few months, until my body and senses acclimate to the forced time change, instead of arriving at my destination an hour early, I will likely find myself flitting away two hours when I should be doing something more productive. The upside is an extra hour to take a deep breath or get lost in the prose of a good novel and maybe just stop worrying about what’s going to happen in the next minute or hour or day and just live in the moment.
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