Blurred Lines - Day 1 in Dublin

My soundtrack:  Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For by U2
https://youtu.be/stillhaventfound

I not only want to be in Ireland - I want to be Irish.  How could you not?  They're such an affable lot. You have to give it to them - despite the Norman invasion, Irish War of Independence, the Irish Civil War and all the other conflict the country has seen, the Irish have an unflappable patriotism and pride of country that can't be surpassed.  And they're friendly and engaging to boot.  So as we arrive in Dublin, our hopes are high for our short time in the city.

After a seven hour flight, we arrive in Dublin at 9:00 a.m. along with a plane full of Americans eager to celebrate the week leading up to the St. Patrick's Day festival.  We check into our hotel, take a one hour power nap then set out to explore. Despite the nap, we stiff suffer from tremendous jet lag so we decide to simply tour the Guinness Storehouse which is only a couple of blocks from our hotel.  We set off on foot towards the large facility that takes up several city blocks. As we wander aimlessly, a young guy stops and asks if we know where the entrance is. We confess we're lost and, having pity on us, he offers to lead in search of the entrance. Our new friend, Cooper, shares that he is originally from Belfast but now resides and works in Dublin. He, in turn, inquires about our home and what we're hoping to see while in Ireland. My husband innocently replies, "We want to stay away from the touristy places and get some local flavor" to which Cooper dies out laughing then asks, "Then why are you going to Guinness?" Good question.

As we round the corner to the entrance, the realization sets in. There is a line of tourists wrapped around the building. We smartly purchased our tickets online so there is no waiting for us. We enter  this massive 7 story complex that is part museum, part dining adventure and part brewery. In sum, it's like beersney world on steroids with the goal being the 7th floor to indulge in the panoramic view of Dublin while sipping a Guinness.

Initially we stop at each exhibit to learn the beer-making process. But by the time we reach the 3rd floor I'm ready to blow past the remaining exhibits and the throngs of people straight to the 7th floor. My family holds me at bay and suggests we participate in the Guinness Academy on the 5th floor where we learn the art of pouring a proper Guinness.

Step 1:  Choose a 20-ounce, tulip-shaped pint glass.  The wider neck allows nitrogen bubbles to move down the side of the glass and back up into the neck.  Tilt the glass to a 45-degree angle.

Step 2:  Pull the tap and fill the glass to the bottom edge of the tulip bump.

Step 3:  Stand the glass up and let it settle so there is a clear distinction between the dark body and the creamy white head.  If you don't let the beer settle, it will have a bitter taste.  Once settled, put the Guinness back up to the tap, push the tap away from you, aim directly into the middle of the foam head until it is half a millimeter about the rim of the glass.  Then let it settle again.

Step 4:  Bring the glass to your lips and sip the foam until you hit the beer.  You must have a foam mustache after sipping.

I'm not a dark beer fan but this is good.  They've won me over.

So we've mastered the perfect pour and move up to the 7th floor with our full glasses of Guinness and with every other tourist for the beautiful view of Dublin.

And it is an amazing view.

We're dragging at this point and have had enough of crowds.  A friend suggests we hit the oldest pubs in Dublin so we search out the Brazen Head.  It is officially Ireland's oldest pub and dates back to 1198.  It's a cozy place full of locals watching the rugby match between England and Scotland. We find a table, order pints of Guinness and join in cheering on Scotland.  I'm not certain why anyone else is pulling for Scotland but assume it has to do with a potential future match-up with Ireland.  I know nothing about rugby.  It's a brutal game with no helmets, no pads. From the looks of it, each team is trying to murder the man with the ball when they're not in a huge, human heap pushing, punching and kicking each other. Alas, Scotland loses but that doesn't dampen our spirits.  Except maybe for Boy No. 2 who hates for me to take his picture.

Score:

Tourist Trap - 1

Local Flavor - 1

But tomorrow is another day.

Pineapple Express

My soundtrack:  Pineapple Express by Huey Lewis & the News
https://youtu.be/pineappleexpress

Someone recently asked me how I met all my nutty friends.  Without even thinking, I replied, "Crazy people naturally gravitate to me." While my response was in jest, upon reflection I realize there may be some truth to the statement.  

This can't be any more true than when I travel. Back in the heyday of flight, passengers actually dressed up to board a plane.  It was an event in which you wanted to look your best.  Now I'm not surprised if half the people on my flight are wearing pajama's.  And don't get me started on the crankiness and rudeness.  But that's enough about me.

We have family who reside in San Diego so my husband and I travel there frequently.  I know what you're thinking - first world problems.  But spending time in sunny, southern California isn't the problem.  It's the flight there.  That's when they - the crazy people - come out of the woodwork to torment me.

There's that time the man sitting directly behind my husband projectile vomited.  Then there's the time a lady (I use that term loosely) walked down the aisle of the plane and screamed, "Whoever brought on the burrito with onions, I'm gonna kick your ass!"  She then proceeded to sit across the aisle from my husband and me and painstakingly describe her life in the porn industry.  I have to admit I hung on every word.

But those incidents pale in comparison to our latest flight on Southwest Airlines.  This flight will go down in infamy for me.

We start with a 2 hour travel delay due to fog which is my first sign this day is not going to go as planned.  Everyone is thrilled when we board the plane for a second time and it looks like we're actually going to take off.  That's when I spot him and he walks into my crazy life.  Down the aisle proudly strolls a grown man wearing lime green knee socks, lime green t-shirt and lime green and yellow pineapple shorts.  Did I mention this is a grown man?  My mean girl emerges as I lean over to my husband giggling and whisper, "Nice outfit!"  He is affectionately referred to as Mr. Pineapple Pants for the remainder of the flight.

All tray tables are in their upright position so we take off for what seems to be an uneventful trip.  That is until about 2 hours into the flight.

My husband and I get up at the same time to go to the restroom so we cause the least amount of disturbance to our seat mate. Somehow Mr. Pineapple Pants falls in behind my husband.  As he is about to enter the restroom, Mr. Pineapple Pants asks, "How badly do you need to go?"  Taken aback by the odd question, my husband responds, "Pretty bad but I'll be quick."  I'm then left with the unfortunate task of waiting in the service area with my crazy, new friend.  I'm minding my own business when I suddenly hear the flight attendant shout, "Sir, you CANNOT do that!  Sir, sir, stop that now!"  Startled, I turn around to find Mr. Pineapple Pants' back to me but I can only assume the worst.  "Is he peeing?" I ask the flight attendant incredulously. She retorts, "Yes! In a cup!"  (I confirm later with my husband that you can't "stop that" once it's started.  I don't want to know how he knows this.)  

Turning her attention back to the crisis at hand, the flight attendant barks, "Please do not touch anything!"  My worst fears have come true.  No more drink service and I only have half a Bloody Mary left!  I inquire of the flight attendant how soon we are landing when she looks at me and deadpans, "Not soon enough."  You gotta love those Southwest Airlines flight attendants. 

In a cruel twist, once we land no one is allowed to disembark.   A cleaning crew bursts into the back of the plane like a raid in a cop show and cleans that mess up before we're allowed to get up from our seats.  Once we finally de-plane, I notice the flight attendant speaking to the police as we step onto the jet bridge.  Mr. Pineapple Pants is detained and questioned and I'm hopeful the offender will recompense his victims for the buzz kill. 

Within a few minutes we see Mr. Pineapple Pants at baggage claim acting as if nothing unusual has happened.  I guess peeing in a cup in the service area of a plane is not an actionable offense which is laughable because I've been practically stripped searched for going through security with a full size tube of toothpaste in my purse.  What have you got to do to get arrested these days?  Surely the outfit alone was a crime.  I am serious. . . And don't call me Shirley.

  

When a Door Closes

This article was originally published in the Belzoni Banner, January 10, 2017 edition.

www.thebelzonibanner.com

The remaining members climb the 14 steps to the front door of Isola United Methodist Church for the last service. As they participate in the Order for the Leave-Taking of a Church Building, a flood gate of emotion bursts open.

The church has been a part of Isola since 1902 when the first Methodist congregation was organized. At the turn of the century, Mr. and Mrs. F.H. Hutson donated the land for the church. At the time, the town was known as Lake Dawson and was part of Washington County. Soon after a plain, white frame building was built. Eventually, in 1919 the town became known as Isola and was part of the newly formed Humphreys County. The congregation had bigger plans for their church and in 1926 under the direction of B.A. Wright, J.Q. Smith, J.E. Herron and R.H. Hooker, the current building was constructed. This was quite a feat for the day as the people of Isola were of modest means and the congregation was small but faithful.

This leap of faith resulted in the beautiful structure that sits today at the corner of Edna and Baird Streets. The two-story building consists of a basement which houses the kitchen, nursery, restrooms and the fellowship hall. The second story not only holds two classrooms but the large sanctuary. This sanctuary has always been the heart of the church with its colorful, towering stained-glass windows that were added in the early 1960’s. The building overlooks the town and has presided over many milestones within the congregation.

The year after the completion of the building, the Mississippi River overran the levees and the entire delta flooded. The muddy waters engulfed the town of Isola. The basement of the church filled with water but the sanctuary, perched high above the crest of the flood, stayed dry. Months later when the flood waters receded, the congregation resumed services.  

In the early years in an ecumenical move, the towns people rotated from church to church to worship together despite their doctrinal differences. The first and third Sundays they worshiped with the Methodists; the second and fourth Sundays were reserved for the Baptist Church; and one Sunday a month they worshiped at the Presbyterian Church. Bobby Ann Castle once commented, “When people ask me if I’m Methodist, I tell them I’m Methodist, Baptist, and Presbyterian!” Eventually that practice ended and each congregation met at their own church.

The membership of the church never grew very large but as the Bible states “where two or three are gathered together in My name, there am I with them.” The church was vital to Isola and extremely active for its size. Because of it’s small size, everyone had to play a role in the church.

The men of the church were community leaders not just in Isola, but the county as well. They included farmers, merchants, bankers and lawyers to name a few. As far back as I can recall, Billy Garrard led the adults of the church in Sunday school until he succumbed to a brain tumor. At that point, his brother and my father, John Garrard took over the adult teaching duties.

The church was also blessed with wonderful female leaders and teachers. When we were children, Virginia Tirey kept us in the nursery in the basement. There was a large sand-box style table in the room that held all the hand-me-down toys with which we played. In addition to our lessons, Ms. Tirey read wonderful books to us that exhibited unconditional Christ-like love including The Velveteen Rabbit and The Giving Tree. Whenever I see these books today, I am immediately taken back to those halcyon days in the nursery.

Pauline McMath taught the elementary school children. She was a faithful teacher and provided a lesson every Sunday even if only one student was in class. In our later years, we were lead in Sunday school by Kathryn Garrard and Mary Ann Sory. They provided us with wonderful Christian insights. Kathryn, a life-long school teacher, tried her best to get us to memorize the books of the Bible but I’m not certain she succeeded with any of us. Mary Ann was always approachable as a teacher which was important during those awkward teenage years.

Along with weekly Sunday school for our small youth population, Methodist Youth Fellowship was held every Wednesday during the school year and was open to all youth, whether members of the Methodist Church or not. We hopped off the school bus at the McMath house for snacks and playtime before participating in an informal Bible study meticulously prepared each week by Pauline McMath.

Other contributions by the ladies of the congregation included the Missionary Society. This group met monthly and presented programs on Methodist missionaries in the field and oftentimes raised money to support them. The ladies of the church also cooked and served lunch to the all male membership of the Isola Lions Club which held its monthly meetings in the basement fellowship hall.

The building was always teeming with activity. There were weddings and funerals held there not to mention piano recitals, Easter egg hunts, Christmas pageants, town meetings, class reunions and innumerable pot-luck dinners. At one such dinner, the pastor at the time enjoyed the rum balls so much that he had to be sobered up before he could drive back to the parsonage!

Being a small congregation lent itself to many other funny and unusual moments within the church. Former member Jennie McMath Jackson laughs as she recalls the uncomfortable silence that fell over their Sunday school class when they asked their teacher, Willie Belle Castle, what adultery was. Another former member recollects B.A. Wright, Chairman of the Deacons, contacting members if they fell behind paying into the church treasury. Mr. Wright even went so far as to show up at the members’ homes to collect, but it was noted he always brought vegetables as a gift.

Janice Bearden’s fondest memories revolve around Tim Beard, the pastor of the church from 1992 to 2002. “Mine and Spooky’s marriage was performed by Tim Beard and was the last marriage at the church,” explains Janice. She also laughs about the time Pastor Tim went on a diet. She and Spooky had arrived early for church one Sunday. Carolyn Garrard and Walker Sory were practicing on the piano and organ while Pastor Tim was getting ready for communion. He bent over to pick something up and his pants fell off. Everyone, including Pastor Tim, had a big chuckle over the incident.

Longtime member Carolyn Garrard’s favorite memories revolve around the numerous times members’ dogs sneaked through the doors of the sanctuary to sit with their owners. No one so much as batted an eye at the pooches perched under the pews. Carolyn is convinced that Dwen Stevens’s dog was very religious since he was so well-behaved. Spooky and Janice Bearden’s dog could have been a member of the choir with his tail keeping perfect rhythm to the hymns.

The most prolific memory relates to the music in the church, especially Margaret Hutson’s piano playing. As Virginia Tirey recalls, Margaret loved to “put in the extra notes!” Sometimes it felt more like a honky-tonk than church. Her boogey-woogie style of playing, all by ear, definitely livened up Sunday services. The congregation was also immensely blessed to have Esther Sory as its organist and pianist. She was an accomplished musician who taught most of the town’s children how to play piano. Ms. Sory also led the church choir which made a joyful, if somewhat off-key, noise to the Lord every Sunday. I can still picture Gladys Pittman being front and center as the choir belted out Surely Goodness and Mercy.

Time has taken a toll on both the members and the building. Several of the members are unable to make their way up the steps to attend services. The old, majestic building is expensive and difficult to maintain. “To every thing there is a season . . .a time to keep and a time to cast away” and in November the congregation made the agonizing decision to close the church. But in a progressive move, they decided to give the building to the Pilgrim’s Rest Baptist Church congregation as long as it is utilized as a place of worship.

The congregation works their way through the Litany of Thanksgiving and Declaration of Deconsecration. As a final act, the Order of Disbanding the Congregation is issued. The alter items - the brass cross, candlesticks and offering plates are removed. The tears flow freely as the recessional hymn is sung:

When darkness appears and the night draws near

And the day is past and gone

At the river I stand

Guide my feet, hold my hand

Take my hand precious Lord, lead me home.

Discovering the Poor's Wealth

Read my latest article in the Williamson County Sun entitled, "Discovering the Poor's Wealth"

On a crisp fall morning in Georgetown, children run and play among the pumpkins spread across the lawn of the McKinney Ministry Center at First United Methodist Church, oblivious to the talk of revolution and disruption taking place inside the building.  This revolution is not what you think.  It doesn’t involve politics or overturn of a government although eventually politics and government come into play.  This revolution relates more to the radical teachings of Jesus, who turned the world upside down by instructing us that the last shall be first and the first shall be last and commanding us, among other things, to love our neighbor as ourselves.  And on this Sunday in Georgetown, there is talk of disruption in the way in which in which we deal with the issue of poverty and the poor.

Dr. Ron Swain serves as President of The Georgetown Ministerial Alliance.  He is also Director of Transformative Missions Ministries at FUMC Georgetown.  Dr. Swain explains that Transformative Missions is a ministry in which we become more Christ-like by building loving and trusting relationships with our neighbors as a result of sharing God’s love and grace through various ministries.  A community development advocate, Dr. Swain hopes to create a high quality of life for all people, not just members of the church congregation. 

In August 2015, Dr. Swain heard a man named Larry M. James speak at the Texas Christian Community Development Conference.  Mr. James has been the CEO of CitySquare in Dallas since 1994.  CitySquare is a faith-based human and community development corporation that serves several inner-city neighborhoods in Dallas as well as San Antonio, Austin, Fort Worth and Houston.   

 Intrigued by his presentation, Dr. Swain also listened to one of Mr. James’s sermons posted on YouTube then subsequently read his book The Wealth of the Poor.  Dr. Swain arranged to tour the CitySquare facilities in Dallas then invited Mr. James to speak to the congregation at FUMC Georgetown regarding his work at CitySquare.  James’s presentation and book outline the organizational success story of CitySquare.  He advocates for a “paradigm shift” in how we think about and perform mission ministry by targeting four areas:   housing, hunger relief, health and the creation of hope through a food pantry, job training, medical, legal and other services. 

The first step in tackling poverty is to admit there is a problem.  In Georgetown, approximately 10.2% of the population lives below the poverty line.  Of this amount around 18% are ages 12-17 and about 12% are age 65+.  The U.S. Census Bureau Weighted Average Poverty Threshold for 2012 defines poverty as a four-person family of two adults and two children with an annual cash income below $23,283 or a single parent family with three children with an annual income below $23,364.

James’s book points out that there is a division among those who believe “poverty is a result in the failure to take personal responsibility and those who believe government is the solution to the problem.”  James suggests that to bridge this gap we must first “discover the wealth of ‘the poor.’”  The initial step in this discovery process is to not look at the poor as a problem, project or a program, but to see them as peers, partners and most importantly, as our neighbors.  When we work in conjunction with our neighbors, it affects how we engage the poor, restores dignity and helps us to see “the wealth of human capital.”  A key component to discovering their wealth is to encourage those being served to consider what gifts they have to share and to work as volunteers themselves.  James states in his book that “the people with the problem are also the people closest to the problem and therefore are the people who should be consulted first about any solutions.”

This radical community development model that James espouses focuses on the value of people regardless of their economic status.  CitySquare wants to bring systemic change that will alleviate the “perpetual need for charitable assistance.”  They hope to accomplish this in three ways:  first address the immediate charitable needs of its neighbors.  Once they are back on their feet, discover what these individuals have to contribute to the community.  The final puzzle piece is tackling and challenging public policy so that there is more equity and justice for people with little or no voice.

From reading James’s book Dr. Swain is reminded that “each of God’s beloved children are persons of worth and value and deserve love and respect.”  What Dr. Swain likes about the CitySquare model is that it is holistic, addressing homelessness, health, hunger and giving people hope.  Likewise, Dr. Swain wants to see a shift from charity and handouts to more development and empowerment for people to help themselves.  Dr. Swain agrees that we should “never do for people what they can do for themselves,” a common aphorism among James and other authors, such as Robert D. Lupton, who have written on this subject.

While Mr. James indicates that the biggest return on investment of his time is not the church but government agencies, businesses and foundations, Dr. Swain’s vision includes the church and various non-profits in Georgetown working together.  “Based on our history and heritage of compassion and justice, I expect that FUMC Georgetown will have a lead role in creating the beloved community, “ asserts Dr. Swain.  “As our city grows with more people living and working here, services and programs will be needed to meet emergencies, but also to empower our neighbors toward self-sufficiency and sustainability.” 

How this is best accomplished has yet to be determined.  The various non-profit agencies located in Georgetown are independent of each other but sometimes work together to resolve issues.  Organizations like the Georgetown Community Resource Center were created to coordinate social services by housing multiple non-profit organizations under one roof.  Dr. Swain agrees that the concept of an umbrella agency is worthy of further exploration because a great deal of cooperation and collaboration are needed.  But as James jokingly counsels, “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing poorly.  Don’t let a quest for excellence kill the good you can do.  Just start.  It’s not going to be perfect.”

Sometimes the biggest obstacle is fear from the community.  James concedes that classism, racism and feelings of superiority will never be eliminated.  But the community can work on extinguishing the fear by demonstrating the good that will come from the efforts.  “We’ve never had a negative experience by improving the living conditions of people.  Once they’re given the resources and opportunities to solve their own problems, they will perform far beyond any of our fears.”  There will always be people who disagree with the work being done but James stresses that doesn’t mean the people instigating the change have to be uncivil or unkind.  “We have to work harder and longer.  We have to prove ourselves but let’s don’t fool ourselves about how much progress we’ve made because people are still going to protect their asset,” he admonishes.  “We have to figure out just how much courage we have at these times.”

It's a Lovely Ride

My Soundtrack:  The Secret of Life by James Taylor
https://www.youtube.com/secretoflife

I haven't written my blog for awhile but I'm starting to see all the end-of-year retrospectives and resolutions so I thought I would join in and give a parting shot to 2016.  

For as long as I can remember, I've been running away and making excuses.  I never wanted to deal with problems.  I tried to ignore them and hoped they would go away.  Nor would I ever step up to the plate and take responsibility for much of anything.  I could always blame something or someone else for my circumstances.  And I never wanted to put myself out there for fear of failure.  That horrible, small voice in the back of my head constantly tells me I'm not talented or smart enough. 

Like everyone else in the world, I have dreams.  I always had the usual dreams of a husband, 3.2 kids, house and dog but my ultimate aspirations always involved travel and writing.  When I was in my 20's I confided in a friend about wanting to move and live in Australia.  I tried to talk her into going with me because I was too afraid to go alone.  Of course, that was my dream and not hers, so she wanted no part of it.  I never made it to Australia.

I've always been better at the written word as opposed to the spoken word.  The south is an incubator  for many raconteurs.  Both fiction and non-fiction stories fill the recesses of my brain.  My intent is always to eventually put them on paper.    Once again the demons show up.  I'm too busy working at my real job to earn money to pay my bills. No one wants to read anything I write. I can't get anything published.  The excuses go on and on.  

I was talking to someone on the phone last night when this person screamed at me, "Are we all living in denial?"  Maybe.  Maybe that's why I've been binge-watching Gilmore Girls.  Reality, problems and our inner demons are sometimes hard to face.  The funny thing about trying to run from problems is that I soon discover they are just hiding in the shadows, waiting to rear their ugly heads at the most inopportune moments.  And those voices in my head telling me I'm not good enough never really go away.  

2016 has brought me the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. I abruptly quit a good job albeit one I didn't love and soon discovered I am much happier doing contract work.  Through this blog, I discovered I am a decent writer and can actually get paid for it. I've also learned that I can't ignore unpleasant family issues in the hopes they will go away.  It takes planning, patience and my presence. There's no room for denial.  I've also seen the best and the worst in people this year but I choose to believe the good far outweighs the bad no matter how hard it is to see sometimes.  Finally, I'm learning to turn down the volume to those inner demons and to step out on a limb.

As I leave Stars Hollow and re-enter the real world, I peer into the rear view mirror of 2016 with mixed emotions.  I refuse to join in with the people who are ready to give the middle finger to the year and move on to 2017.  I've learned a lot about myself in 2016, the most important being that the secret of life is just enjoying the ride.

You Don't Know What You've Got 'Til It's Gone

My Soundtrack:  Big Yellow Taxi by Joni Mitchell
https://www.bigyellowtaxi

This day will go down in infamy.  At least in my world.  I didn't believe in curses but I do now.  

The day starts innocuously enough.  Just a regular Saturday of errand running, laundry and catching up on other chores that fall by the wayside during the week.  As with all other Saturdays at my house, I clean out the frig, dumping any leftovers still lurking inside.

My husband isn't a leftover eater.  Or a microwave heater-upper for that matter.  Once I went out of town and left a refrigerator full of food for him to warm up or cook while I was gone.  Big mistake.  I arrived home two weeks later and found the food still in the frig untouched.  

"Why didn't you eat any of this food?" I inquired irritated.  

"If I open a container and can't figure out what it is, I'm sure not going to put it in my mouth!"

"Of course not, after it's grown legs, arms and morphed into a science experiment," I retort.

So on this particular Saturday, like many Saturdays before, I clean out the refrigerator of any leftovers.  But today, unlike previous days, I decide to dump everything into the garbage disposal instead of the garbage can.  Another mistake on my part.  

As I'm running the water and the disposal my mind, as it often does, drifts off into a reverie when I look down and realize nothing is going down the drain.  Not only is it not going down, it is gurgling back up and forming the most gosh-awful cesspool in my sink.   It mocks me by swirling in the sink growing larger by the minute.  I quickly turn off the water and the disposal.  At this moment the fight or flight response kicks in.

I nonchalantly walk out the door to my car and mention in passing to my husband, "Hey, the sink is stopped up.  Can you plunge it?"  "Sure," he unwittingly replies, "No problem."  I then get the hell out of Dodge.

When I return several hours later, I discover my husband devoured up to his waist by the kitchen cabinet, trying his best to undo my mess.  From the bowels of the cabinet he asks incredulously, "What in the world did you put down the disposal?"  "Just a few leftovers," I reply casually.  As he pulls his head out from under the cabinet to look me in the eye, I can tell that he isn't buying my story.  I smile sheepishly.  "This is a clog of epic proportions, worthy of more than just a passing, 'oh by the way, the sink is clogged,'" he chastises.  "Really?" I innocently respond trying to continue my deceit.  "It looks like an elephant threw up in the sink.  And you wonder why I don't eat leftovers!"  I can't argue with him there.  At this point, their appeal is lost on me as well.

My husband continues to poke, prod, and churn into the intestines of our plumbing system when he begins pulling out what looks to be an alien appendage.  He must pull for a good 5 minutes until the end of the contraption is extracted from the pipes.  

Covered in sweat and brown liquid regurgitated from our plumbing, hubby asks me to cut on the water and flip the switch to the garbage disposal.  Voila!  It's fixed and it only took 3 hours!  I'm exhausted just from watching.

Sadly, this isn't the end of the cursed day.  No, this is only the beginning.

It hits me at the same moment my husband manages to get out from under the sink.  It's hot in the house.  Yes, it is a warm day in Texas and I am constantly having hot flashes but this is a different heat.  Do I dare mention it to Bob?

"Gosh, it's warm in here."

"You're always hot."

"No, it's definitely hot."

Then the words roll off my tongue and smack Bob right in the gut.  "I think the air conditioner is broken."

Bob looks like a man whose dog just died.  We investigate and discover that, in fact, the air conditioner is not working as the temperature gauge registers 84 degrees.  So after 3 hours of working under the sink, Bob crawls into the 110 degree attic and investigates.  Bless him.  He spends another 2 hours in the attic working and thinks he has the problem resolved.  But by morning it's apparent that his fix was only temporary.

To add salt to the wound, it's a holiday weekend so we make the tough decision to wait until Tuesday to call in the big guns, the real repairmen, in order to avoid exorbitant holiday rates.

Tuesday finally rolls around and while I'm at lunch with my husband, he gets the call.  This is the face of a man who has just been told that we need a completely new air conditioning system.

And as all good curses go, we're told they can't install the new unit for another 2 weeks.  Then the universe decides to join in the torture.  The weather up until this point has been pleasantly mild.  But now the temperature begins to rise.  And rise.  And rise.  Along with the humidity.  Despite having every ceiling fan on in the house along with several portable fans, we are sweltering.  It gets so bad that I resort to getting ready for work in the dark so that the heat from the bathroom light bulbs don't add to our misery.  Did you know that it is virtually impossible to dry and style your hair in stifling heat and humidity?  Trust me on this one.  Imagine my shock when on several mornings I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the office elevators and find that I look like Stevie Wonder dressed me, Alice Cooper did my make-up and Rosanne Rosannadanna fixed my hair. I am, as they say, a "hot mess." Literally. Hot. Mess.

The day arrives for the installation of the new unit.  I want to dance naked throughout the house but fear this would traumatize the repairmen and they won't finish the job so I abstain.  They work all day and at last flip the switch as we hold our breath.  We hear a low hum then feel cool air emanating from the vents.  Success!  We rejoice until it comes time to pay and we fork over enough money for a down-payment on a new house.  But it's worth it because you really don't know what you've got until its gone.  And that includes curses.

Living on the Edge

Read my latest article "Living on the Edge" in the Williamson County Sun!  Click on the link below.

http://www.wilcosun.com

Many retirees are part of a new trend in this country called “unretirement.”  Instead of whiling away their newfound freedom on the golf course or devoting time to other hobbies, these seniors are taking jobs in fields in which they have expertise or with organizations for which they have a passionate interest.  That passion for local Georgetown residents, Scott and Judy Finnell, involves our national parks.  And a fortuitous conversation among friends led to a summer adventure at the Grand Canyon. 

Scott’s and Judy’s love affair with American national parks originated while on an Alaskan cruise where they were introduced to the Passport to Your National Parks program.   This program is a tool to ignite the public’s interest by allowing visitors to the national parks to obtain cancellation stamps within a passport book similar to a traveler’s passport.  It worked on the Finnell’s.  “We want a stamp from every park!” proclaims Scott.  They now make a point of visiting any national park or monument that is close by on their many travels.  But spending only 4 or 5 hours exploring isn’t enough time for the couple to really get to know a park. 

During a conversation at church one Sunday, a friend of the Finnell’s announced he was leaving to spend the summer working at the North Rim of the Grand Canyon.  The thought of staying at a national park for an extended period of time and escaping the broiling Texas summer heat was appealing to them.  They jumped on the bandwagon and applied online for jobs at the Grand Canyon Lodge – North Rim through www.coolworks.com, a clearinghouse to “find jobs in great places”. 

The entire process, including a couple of phone interviews, took approximately one week to become hired by Forever Resorts, the company that holds the contract with the North Rim resort.  Judy hired on with the gift shop as a cashier and Scott as the employee shuttle van driver.  However, the couple admonishes, “It’s critical that people recognize that for us, this was an adventure.  For the resort, it’s business and it’s a job.  And they are hiring people to do a job so be sure you get the job you want.  Because if you get a job that you don’t want, it’s not too much fun.”

And don’t expect to get rich.  They were each paid $8.05 an hour.  From each of their paychecks the resort withheld $12.00 a day which covered their lodging in a dormitory and 3 meals a day in the staff cafeteria. 

Upwards of 240 seasonal employees arrive by planes, trains and automobiles.  But the trek isn’t easy – the North Rim is at an elevation of 8500 feet, roughly 75 miles from the nearest town of Fredonia, Arizona and 3 hours from the nearest airport at St. George, Utah.  

The employees’ home-away-from-home consists of a compound of 4 dormitories.  Each dorm room is equipped with its own bathroom and walk-in closet.  The rooms have neither air conditioners nor TV’s.  The only TV’s at the resort are located in the dining hall and the employee pub.   The resort also provides WiFi albeit slow and inadequate for the number of people living there.  It was difficult at best to get online to any social media site or to catch up on news.  Ironically, the remoteness of the resort was appealing to the Finnell’s but the lack of easily accessible electronics and internet left them also feeling isolated.   This isolation was a culture shock for some of the younger employees.  

Being cut off from the world wasn’t as noticeable on the days they were working.  When they had time off, they sometimes felt they were stuck in their own “Groundhog Day” doing the same mundane things over and over such as laundry or visiting the same towns off the mountain.  The happiest people on their days off were the hikers who wanted to hike every trail.  “I’m a runner,” explains Scott, “not a hiker.  I wasn’t living for my days off to go do that.”  During these off hours, Judy often enjoyed sitting on the veranda and gazing at the canyon.  “It was different every day.  I never took it for granted and always appreciated the magnitude.” 

The Finnell’s were expecting the other employees to be similar demographically to themselves but quickly realized they were moving into a “microcosm of the world” that included not only retirees like themselves but also people leaving the corporate world behind, college kids and foreigners, as well as men and women living on the edge who were struggling with alcoholism, drug addiction or indebtedness.  Many of them just needed a second chance.

Scott and Judy were taken aback by the economic imbalance among the employees.  There was a gulf almost as large as the canyon itself between the “haves” and the “have nots”.  Forever Resorts hires a considerable amount of employees who move from resort to resort throughout the year and live paycheck to paycheck, hand to mouth.  A couple of ladies were living in their cars at the resort and only using the dorm facilities for showering.  These cars will continue to be their homes once their tenure at the North Rim is over. 

Some of the Finnell’s favorite interactions were with the young, single employees.  Scott and Judy forged relationships with many of these “kids” - Scott acting as social worker and Judy acting as surrogate parent. 

As their days clicked by, it became increasingly apparent that the resort could make good use of a social worker to assist many of these employees with getting their lives in order.  “It’s not necessarily the resort’s responsibility, but it is in their best interest and to the social good to help these people manage their money and turn into more productive citizens,” proposes Scott. At one point, Scott and Judy had a serious conversation between themselves about why they were there and what they were supposed to be doing to help.  Judy explains, “Scott decided, really, we’re kind of doing mission work.”

Despite the disparity among the employees, they made many new friends.  Dinner time often stretched for a couple of hours or more since the majority of social interaction among the employees happened at this time.  Visiting with the other employees also filled the electronics void.  They chatted about their day, swapped stories of their lives and families, and created lasting bonds.  The Finnell’s even befriended a couple from Granger and laughed that it took temporarily relocating to the Grand Canyon for their paths to cross despite only living 18 miles apart from each other in Texas.

Initially the Finnell’s talked about committing for the entire 5 ½ month season but after a few weeks at the North Rim, they decided they would depart after 3 months.  “This has been the perfect adventure for us.  We loved it every minute.  If we had stayed for 5 months, we would not have loved it.” 

Would they do it again?  “Yes, but not at this point in our lives . . . as long as we have responsibility for elderly parents.  And we’d like our grandchildren to be a little older.” 

Both Scott and Judy think that our country’s national parks are the greatest things about being American.  As Franklin D. Roosevelt once stated, “There is nothing so American as our national parks. . . .The fundamental idea behind the parks is native.  It is, in brief, that the country belongs to the people, that it is in the process of making for the enrichment of the lives of all of us.  The parks stand as the outward symbol of this great human principle.”

Scott agrees.  “The richest people in the world do not have any more access than the poorest to the beauty we have in the parks system.  We’re clearly not in the Rockefeller wealth category, by any means, but I lived at the Grand Canyon for 3 months!  Did he?”

As Scott and Judy reflect on their time at the canyon, the words of Theodore Roosevelt, when he dedicated the canyon as a national monument, resonate with them.  “[K]eep it for your children and your children’s children and for all who come after you, as one of the great sights which every American, if he can travel at all, should see.”